#sadly that comes to the issues of me looking at past pages going 'uh'

[grimae]

I know 100% fully perfectly that I make prints of my Book of the Sun pages, but each time I draw a new one I completely throw that knowledge out of the window and draw it in a way that I need to readjust and edit it for printing anyway.

[superman86to99]

Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says:  “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

I should start off my section with a big caveat:  I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them.  My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time.  Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it.  It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.  

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual.  I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both.  But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film).  It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent.  Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background.  This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way.   Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era.  Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me.  Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children.  So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character.   Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails.  The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead.  Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either.  It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman.  Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story.  Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

[zigtheeortega]

out of time

✿ pairing: sienna x danny

✿ word count: 3354

✿ warnings: death, loss

✿ author’s note: well, i thought i’d just flesh out what we didn’t get to see, since i highly doubt they’ll expand on it since it’s off screen. it’s not my best work, but it was written out of spite so hopefully that makes up for the lack of quality LMAO. anyways, i tagged everybody who liked this post and added it to the end since there were quite a few! [sidenote: i wrote this post after i’d started this fic so if you see similarities, that’s why] i really hope you like it and that i did both sienna and danny justice!

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

She sprinted down the hallway, pager still beeping erratically on her hip, the weight of the numbers enough to make her feel like she was slugging through wet concrete.

No, no, not him, please, not him, she chanted to herself, vision blurring with tears before she had the chance to let the negative possibilities set in.

He’s gonna be okay. It’s okay. We’re okay.

Thankfully she was only one floor away, taking the steps two at a time, shoes squeaking against the waxy floor. Sweat formed on her brow as she shoved through the stair’s exit door, pushing past every intern in her way.

Normally she’d stop to apologize, but not today. She didn’t know how much time she had. It could be minutes, and she wasn’t going to waste even a second apologizing when someone’s life was on the line.

She saw the small crowd forming outside of the room and barrelled towards them without a second thought, tearing her way to the front.

When she saw Spencer’s terrorized gaze, her chest tightened involuntarily. Her body covered the entrance to the room, so she could barely see into the room, but she did catch a glimpse of something that made her blood run cold.

A purple pant leg strewn across the floor, ankle relaxed, unmoving, peeking out behind Spencer’s side.

“Sienna, stop. You can’t go any further,” Ethan murmured, gently holding her in place with his arm.

“But I have to – Danny – he’s –” she struggled against his grip, lip wobbling.

“Please,” he said, more of a statement than a question, like he was holding back, too, the strain in his voice enough to stop her in her tracks.

She watched, helpless, as Spencer and Rafael scrambled to seal the room, Bobby convulsing on the ground, Travis passed out, and Danny getting weaker and weaker by the second.

It was like turning on the news and seeing tragedy after tragedy – she always felt absolutely helpless. Her empathy always felt like a curse in those moments. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling everything, whether she wanted to or not.

She wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingernails into her side, rocking from foot to foot. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Danny’s frail form on the ground.

“Hey, I came here as fast as I could,” a voice huffed at her side. She turned, met with Jackie’s concerned gaze, hands on her hips as she panted, tiny sweat stains dotting her teal scrubs.

“It’s… All of them, Jackie, –” she couldn’t find the words to quite describe the soul crushing weight of the situation.

Bobby, Rafael, Spencer, and Danny… people that had been her emotional rocks through the lowest points of her life.

Bobby was her unsung hero. He’d keep guard while she cried in the supply closet so she wasn’t disturbed, in return for a dozen of her chocolate chip cookies. After the first few times, she brought him baked goods weekly regardless of whether she had a breakdown or not.

Rafael was her empath twin, as weird as it sounded. She’d branded them that as a joke, between giggles, on her late night break at the cafeteria. Despite it being stated jokingly, it was true – they found themselves confiding in each other each time they faced a difficult situation, bonding over the fact that their jobs took a lot more out of them than the normal person.

Spencer was her late night confidante, the person who she’d crawl into bed with at 3 a.m. after having another detailed nightmare where she was cursed with endless terminal patients. There weren’t that many people she’d platonically cuddle and sob until she was a snotting mess next to.

And Danny… he was the future. He was a vision of what she’d always wanted.

It took her too long to break away from Wayne’s hold. She knew he was toxic, but she didn’t want to admit it – how was she supposed to admit that she’d been wrong for that long?

With Danny, she was comfortable. He got her in a way no one else did. He had the potential to be every single role that her friends played simultaneously.

God, and she’d told him she needed time. She hadn’t properly healed from Wayne so she needed some time before she moved on and –

Now it’s too late, she thought to herself as she watched them wheel out Travis and Danny in glass cases.

And Bobby in a body bag.

“Holy shit,” Jackie breathed, eyes widening. “Fuck – Oh my god, Sienna –”

The tears were already flowing as she slammed her face into Jackie’s chest, body wracked with inconsolable sobs.

She’d never hugged Jackie like this before, as she hated physical affection unless it was… PG-13.

Jackie stiffened, but wrapped her arms around Sienna’s shoulders, patting her back, slowly melting into the embrace.

“We’ll visit him as soon as we can,” she said in her ear, holding Sienna up as she nearly crumbled.

––––

Danny’s body was still, the only movement his heaving chest as he took shallow, labored breaths, his normally warm skin tone muted, drained of color.

“Hey, it’s me,” she called as she closed the door behind her, voice shaky, tote bag at her side. “I hope you can hear me.”

No response.

“Uh… I brought some of our favs. Secret of Ninradell and some music to play so hopefully it makes your dreams a little sweeter – ” she forced a laugh, trying to keep her brave face. “I brought some cookies that I baked last night – uh, I’m sorry they’re not fresh – I –”

Her voice cracked, and she rolled her lips together to keep her chin from trembling. She dragged a nearby chair closer to the glass box, sliding into it, never taking her eyes from his face.

God, why did it have to be you? She thought to herself, covering her mouth with her hands as she cried, her soft sobs muted by the loud machines monitoring his vitals.

She popped open the cover of the hardback, highlighter in hand. “I’m gonna read this to you, if that’s okay? I’m highlighting passages that remind me of you,” she smiled sadly, watching his eyes roll underneath their lids. He was dreaming.

“I know you hate when I mark up books. That’s the librarian speaking, huh?” She giggled, remembering the time he told her about his job in the campus library, and his deep hatred for the Dewey decimal system.

She began reading, trying her best at different accents, failing miserably, but it distracted her from reality if just momentarily.

Her year had been full of blow after crushing blow, both professionally and personally. Losing Wayne, breaking the news to terminal patients, dealing with the toll it took on her mental health, as well as dealing with an intern that was using her – she wasn’t stupid. She just would rather suck it up than have someone upset with her that was supposed to look up to her. Stupid, but she couldn’t handle the thought of disappointing another person.

Hours later, voice hoarse, pages and pages marked up, her hands stained with neon yellow ink, she was drifting off to sleep where she sat – but a groan startled her awake.

“Uhhhhhh,” he moaned, visibly in pain, writhing uncomfortably.

“Danny? Hey, I’m here,” she rushed forward to the box, pressing her hand up against the side, hoping he could feel the warmth of her hand through the glass.

“Sienna…?” He asked, eyes fluttering open and closed. He couldn’t focus on her face.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

“Good,” he croaked, weakly flopping his hand to touch the glass.

He didn’t know it, but those two words were enough to strengthen her withering resolve. She fell asleep cradling the glass, arm slung over the top.

–––

She was ripped from her sleep by intense beeping from the machines surrounding Danny, and she glanced down, peering through the glass at Danny’s quivering form, switching between violent shakes and gentle shivers.

She slammed the emergency button and quickly went to work trying to find the source of the issue, waiting for the nurses to come as back up.

“Danny. Danny, stay with me. Listen to my voice. Hold on, alright? Nurses are heading here now, and we’re going to take care of you,” she said calmly, betraying her shaking hands.

They set to work immediately, trying to keep him from slipping into unconsciousness, all four nurses working swiftly, nimble fingers and precise movements, never getting into each others’ way.

Sienna watched from outside as they worked, glass box open, desperately wishing she had a hazmat suit. Ethan and Jackie observed, giving calm commands.

“Sienna!”

She turned, eyes red rimmed from crying and lack of sleep, startling Elijah as he rolled to a stop next to her.

“Jackie asked me to send an intern up to bring you a hazmat suit… but I thought I’d bring it myself, to check on you,” he said, eyebrows furrowed, handing the folded hazmat suit from his lap to her arms.

“Don’t feel like you need to talk to me right now, alright? I’ll wait out here, if you need me.” He gave her a sympathetic smile as he patted her arm.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, hastily throwing on the hazmat suit and ripping at the zipper, growing more and more frustrated as it caught on her clothes. “Come on. Come on, come on –”

“Here, let me help,” Elijah offered. “Bend down and I’ll zip it up.”

She followed his instruction and squatted as Elijah glided the zipper upwards, patting her back softly when he was done.

And like before, she had no time to thank him. She didn’t want to miss one second with Danny.

She burst into the room, not disturbing the hive-like efficiency of the nurses.

She watched as they poked and prodded and worked tirelessly to keep him conscious. There was an undeniable tension in the air, stretched so thin it could snap at any moment.

The strained atmosphere of the room didn’t come from the doctors – it came from the nurses. Sienna knew how much Danny meant to his coworkers. He was always the first to resolve conflict and make people feel at ease.

They were tight knit; losing Danny would be a crushing blow.

“Please, Jackie, tell me what’s happening,” she said between panicky breaths, unable to contain her anxiety. “I need to know.”

“We’re trying to stabilize him… but we’re not sure what’s causing him to go into shock in the first place,” Jackie said, brows furrowed.

Three long, painful minutes later, his heart rate returned to normal, his whole body in a feverish sweat.

“That took a lot out of him,” Sienna whispered, watching a nurse press a damp, cool cloth to his forehead and neck.

“You know we have to get rid of your bag, right? It’s contaminated,” Jackie grimaced, motioning to the nurse that was zipping it into a sealed bag, about to throw it away.

“No, you can’t – I didn’t even get to finish reading Ninradell to him last night,” Sienna pleaded, rushing forward to the nurse.

“You can’t take it out of this room,” Ethan shook his head, his statement dismissive, but his tone of voice sympathetic.

“Can I at least finish reading it to him? I promise I’ll dispose of it properly. I just… I need some more time with him.”

“I don’t think –” “I’ll stay with her,” Jackie nodded, holding Ethan’s gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ll page you if anything happens.”

With one firm tilt of his chin, he left the room, presumably towards Spencer and Rafael.

“We think he can hear what’s going on around him, so it’s actually a great idea to read to him,” Jackie said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It might help pull him through this.”

Jackie grabbed the bag from the nurse wordlessly, handing it back to Sienna. “You can take a break,” she said to the group of nurses anxiously huddled next to Danny. “We’ll watch over him.”

One of them started sealing the box, but Sienna stopped them with a frantic “Wait.”

“Keep it open. I’ll seal it later,” Jackie ordered gently.

She slipped into the seat next to him, holding firmly onto the edge of the glass.

Jackie must’ve noticed she was debating whether or not she should touch him, so she confirmed it for her. “You can touch him. Don’t be afraid.”

“But I am,” she said, voice cracking, tears threatening to spill. It was tiresome how much she’d cried over the past twelve hours.

She was thankful he’d held on for that long, but she had no idea when it was coming. From his steadily declining health as well as appearance, it was inevitable.

“I’m so scared,” Sienna whispered, refusing to look at her, eyes trained on the rise and fall of his chest.

“You have every right to be, babe. I’m so sorry,” Jackie said, striding over to rest an arm around her shoulders.

“I… told him I needed more time to be me, you know? I needed to figure out more about me because with Wayne and with surviving last year and the stuff with Spencer and Mrs. Martinez and – and –” she cut herself off, trying to regain her composure.

“You lost sight of who you were.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. Everything I thought I knew was thrown out the window and it’s like I haven’t even had time to recover,” she said, her voice still wavering.

“I did the same thing last year. But you can’t beat yourself up about it. You never in a million years would’ve guessed that this could happen.”

Sienna took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to unravel the tight coil in her chest. “But he was the only thing making coming to work worth it. I like him a lot and I just… told him to wait.”

“If he had a problem with that, he would’ve moved on.”

She glanced up, met with Jackie’s soft expression, sympathetic and kind – so much different than the tough exterior she was used to. “Don’t blame yourself, Sienna. It’ll break you.”

She knew she was right, but the nagging voice at the back of her mind wouldn’t allow her to let it go. 

She cracked the book open, flipping to the last page she’d read from, about two-thirds into it. But before she could start reading, Danny stirred.

His hand twitched, his fingers flexing like he was grabbing for something. Without a second thought she grasped his hand between her glove-clad palms, the book clamoring onto the ground.

“Sienna…” he whispered, trying to open his eyes, but they fluttered shut, like a weight pulling at his lashes.

She wanted desperately to see his bright eyes again, to hear him to reassure her that it’d all work out. That she’d be okay. That he’d be okay.

“Hey, I’m here,” she said, lightly squeezing her hand.

He moaned, presumably in pain, wiggling like he couldn’t stay still.

“How bad is your pain on a scale 1-10? I’m gonna count up and you squeeze my hand to stop me, alright?”

He gave a weak tilt of his chin, a single nod the only thing he could muster.

She began counting. “One… two… three…”

Nothing.

She kept counting, feeling a weak squeeze when she said “Nine.”

“I’ve never felt this bad before,” he whispered, Sienna having to lean in to hear him.

“Danny, if it’s a ten, you need to tell me,” she chewed the inside of her lip, already racking her brain for the best pain medicine that wouldn’t react with the mystery poison.

“It’s not at a ten…” He stirred, wincing, managing a weak smile. “Because you’re here with me.”

He sighed, like it took a lot out of him to say two sentences.

“That was so sweet,” she said, glancing up at Jackie, knowing her haunted expression would ruin the moment if she let him see it.

Jackie looked equally as upset, her jaw set, fists clenched at her side.

“Stop it, Dr. Varma… you’ve done –” he took another deep, shuddering breath. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

“So have you. You’re a trooper,” Jackie nodded, looking up at the ceiling. Sienna couldn’t tell if she was trying to hold back tears or keep herself from thinking about it. “Thanks for holding out for us, Danny.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can, though,” he said, gripping Sienna’s hand, opening his eyes unexpectedly.

She shook her head, holding his hand to her chest. “No, don’t think like that. You can hold on for a while longer. I believe in you.”

“Sienna… You’re my favorite person,” he breathed, looking up at her with a spark of life in his eyes, a contrast from the gaunt look of his face. His dark circles gave the allusion that his eyes were sunken in, a skeleton of who he was less than 24 hours ago.

It scared the hell out of her how quickly he changed – and how content he looked with slipping away.

“You have to let them test on me,” he squeezed her hand. “It’ll help.”

“No, you’re gonna be fine –”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, a soft smile adorning his lips, pale and cracked. “You’ll be okay.”

He craned his neck, trying to hold his head up. Sienna slipped her hand underneath the nape of his neck, supporting him. He tilted his head forward, lightly pressing his damp forehead against her hazmat suit.

She leaned forward, pressing hers against the loose protective fabric, feeling the warmth of his skin through it. 

“You can’t go, I – your family hasn’t even gotten to visit you –” She choked, the warm tears dotting the thick plastic screen, streaking down to fall farther into her suit.

“They couldn’t get here in time,” he said, matter-of-factly.

They sat there like that for a while. Her concept of time was thrown out the window as soon as she got the initial page, so it could’ve been ten seconds or ten minutes.

“Thank you for reading to me.”

She laughed, sniffling. “We spent all night talking about Ninradell, so it was only fitting I stayed up all night to read it to you.”

Another little while passed. Talking took so much out of him, that he had to take a few breaks between his speech so he wouldn’t pass out from exhaustion. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said, cutting through the silence. “You couldn’t have stopped this.”

She stared at her hands, clasped around his own, drained of color. He’d closed his eyes, so thankfully he couldn’t see her pained expression.

“I know. I can’t help but feel responsible for everything, even when it’s out of my control… I’m so sorry,” she said, voice breaking for the millionth time. She could barely form words without choking on them.

She cursed herself for not being stronger. Overwhelming emotion was enough to render her speechless, meanwhile Danny was pushing through searing pain in order to leave her with words she’d carry with her forever.

He’d mustered his last bit of energy to tell her to be kind to herself.

The machine behind him beeped. His heart rate had slowed to a crawl, and he was gone before Jackie could spring to action.

And when his hand went limp in between her palms, she let out an inhuman wail that no one, not even Spencer, had heard before.

––––

tags: @saintniceguy ; @part-of-the-circus ; @vandalasal ; @dudebro-lahela ; @averysheart-raleighsdick ; @cptnvers ; @bringing-back-socks-with-sandals ; @la-huerta ; @ironysyndrome ; @anotordinarygoldfish ; @pumpkinbutt ; @browneyedmissy ; @soo-empty ; @anonymous2094 ; @lumpyspaceprincessismybitch ; @lady-stirling ; @papinaveensbitch ; @writinghereandthere ; @unusualvisionsblog ; @beccadavenport ; @messofakind ; @violinet ; @serafinedupont ; @raleiighcarrera ; @pixeljazzy ; @pixelsandkink ; @altairadtaz

[dsoe-masteroftheheavenlyyard]

Chapter 2–Hunt for the Deadly Sins; Scene 4

master of the heavenly yard pages 28-38

They had no compass nor a watch, so Nemesis had no choice but to determine the direction they were heading from the movements of the moon.

It seemed they were going south.

“Hey, Allen,” Nemesis spoke up as they were walking.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember anything about a ‘Moon Goddess’?”

“…No. That title wasn’t anywhere in the ‘Blackbox’ archive either.”

So then that meant it wasn’t someone who existed in the Third Period.

“Moon Goddess”…I feel like that’s someone’s nickname. Someone who was on the “Climb One”.

But no matter how Nemesis thought about it, she couldn’t come up with an answer.

Maybe I ought to take more interest in other people.

It wasn’t that she was someone who liked being alone, really. It was just that she’d been too earnestly focused on her research.

I was studying the hearts of man, and yet I didn’t know anything about the people around me…Geez, if that’s not ironic.

The closer they got to the “black box” that was in the air, the noisier it got.

It seemed there were a great many people up ahead—a gathering of souls.

“We should continue a bit more cautiously,” Allen called out to Nemesis in a warning tone. “We don’t know yet if the people ahead are friend or foe.”

Nemesis nodded and moved forward slowly, hiding herself in the underbrush.

--When they eventually reached the area right under the box, assembled there—

Were men in uniforms.

Their number likely exceeded the hundreds. They were all sitting prostrate before the black box as though they were worshipping it.

“The insignia stitched onto their uniforms…If it isn’t the soldiers of Tasan Elphegort!” Nemesis cried out quietly.

Allen whirled around to face her. “So then that makes them your former underlings.”

“Yeah. To be more accurate, they were devotees of the Tasan Party…There’s a few people I recognize among them.”

Encheri, Polrio, Areus…Nemesis offered up several names.

“In that cause, maybe we don’t have to be so on guard.”

“…I wonder. The atmosphere feels weird. Maybe we should observe a bit—Hey, look…is someone standing up there?”

Nemesis pointed to the top of the box while crouching in the overgrown weeds.

“You’re right, I can see someone. But I can’t tell who it is from here.”

The two of them decided to keep watching events unfold while they remained hidden for a while.

--Maybe two or three minutes went by. The figure on top of the box suddenly issued a booming voice down to those below. “Comrades! Thank you for gathering here!”

At that voice, all the kneeling soldiers looked up at once, and started to chatter.

“That voice…”

Nemesis’ face seemed to pale.

“Friend of yours?” Allen asked.

“Yeah, sort of… Gammon—so he really was in the theater after all.”

There was a time before the world was destroyed where Nemesis had gone to the theater searching for him, Gammon having been the former head of the Tasan Party. She had failed once, and though she’d safely reached the theater a second time…she’d been assailed by a different problem before she could meet with him.

A reunion with her mother…Ultimately Nemesis had quickly fled from the theater, and then afterwards—

--I pushed the firing switch for “Punishment”. For me that was my last memory before the world’s downfall.

Gammon made no followup speech for a time. Perhaps he was waiting for the murmuring of the soldiers to die down.

Eventually, when silence had enclosed the area around them once more…his voice could be heard from above the box again.

“…Among you gentlemen there may be some who don’t understand our current condition. So first I’d like to relay the clear facts to you here—The world was ruined thanks to the reckless rampaging of my successor, Nemesis…We were scattered across the land of Evillious before we could achieve our goals.”

He spoke with less inflection than he had just before.

Even so, his voice resounded to the ears of all who were assembled below him.

There were some among the soldiers who were lamenting and shedding tears, but the majority of them seemed to be waiting for Gammon’s next words with calm expressions.

“—Our souls now wander this world, without being invited up to heaven. Why is that? …I shall give you a bit of history now. The ‘Twins of God’ were born and the Evillious calendar began one thousand years ago. Back in those days there were two kinds of people. The virtuous, and those who were not—The purely malicious ‘HER’s.”

For a short while.

Nemesis and Allen looked above them without a word.

“—The queen of Levianta, Merry-Go-Round, tried to destroy those who had malice, but she failed. In the end, the elements of ‘evil’ were spread all over the world…And that was the start of every tragedy. Ever since, for these one thousand years, various ‘evils’ have caused incidents to occur. The Duke Venomania Event, the Lucifenian Revolution…Perhaps those of you who are religious will say that this is because influential figures of the time were possessed by demons. But…That is wrong! What is truly, sinfully dreadful—is the desires of humanity! The ‘demons’ that dwell in people’s hearts!”

There was cheer from the soldiers.

Gammon waited for it to quiet down, and then continued.

“—‘Evil’ hearts have bring society to misfortune. And that is why we of the Tasan Part fought to exterminate them. …But we were blinded by our focus on our external enemies. We failed to notice that the true ‘evil’ was among us!”

And there, Nemesis gave a small sigh. “Hah…Don’t like this. I can imagine what the rest of his speech is going to be.”

Gammon’s voice resounded.

“—Nemesis! Sadly enough, she too was ‘evil’! …No, not just Nemesis. In spite of our best efforts, the world was already filled with ‘evil’. And so…the gods abandoned this world. …However!”

The tone of his voice changed to be even more passionate.

“There is no need to worry! The gods have given us one last chance, and the power to achieve it. That is this very box—the ‘Blackbox’!”

Once more there was a cheer.

In contrast to that, both Nemesis and Allen had completely solemn expressions.

“—Our fight is not yet over. With this box, and your determination, we shall purify this ‘evil’!” …Hm.”

Suddenly the performance ended, and in the next moment the figure atop the box flew up into the air.

Then he slowly dropped down—until finally, he touched down on the ground.

Just as she had thought, there was no mistaking it—this man was the Gammon Octo that Nemesis had known.

…Have we been spotted!?

Allen and Nemesis crouched even lower upon seeing Gammon gazing around him.

“—You there.”

But the person Gammon spoke to was a soldier that looked a generation younger than the rest of them.

“You look somewhat unsatisfied.”

“N-no…It’s not that.”

“I’m not criticizing you. If you have something you’re thinking of, you should say so without hesitation.”

“—Uh, I—I went around looking at a few things before I came here…It feels like there are a huge number of people on the ground world right now. More than there were before the world was destroyed.”

“That is true. It appears that the gods have chased even the souls that lived in the past from heaven. They number in the ten millions…No, more like they exceed the hundred millions.”

“So then, the ‘evil’ that you speak of, comrade Octo, must be in pretty high number too…Can we fight all of them with just those of us here now?”

In contrast to the young soldier as he spoke with a nervous countenance, Gammon had an extremely calm demeanor—Rather, he was even smiling a little bit.

“I see. That’s a very good question. …But you can relax. There’s no need for us to fight against all of the world’s ‘evil’.”

“—What are you saying?”

“According to ‘god’, ‘evil’ is apparently like branching blood vessels.”

“Hah…”

“For example, if your arm were to get wounded in battle and start spurting out blood…What sort of treatment would you give it?”

“I would disinfect the wound and then stop the bleeding with a bandage.”

“And what if the bleeding didn’t stop?”

“Ah…I would put pressure on a spot on my arm closer to my heart to stop the flow of blood…Probably.”

“That’s exactly right. To make an extreme argument, if you were to stop your heart that is pumping blood through your body, then that blood would stop flowing completely.”

“But…then I would die.”

“Naturally, that’s true. So we can’t do that to our virtuous allies. …But if we were to assume that the item the heart is pumping is not blood but ‘evil’—”

“…I see, I think I’m able to understand now. You mean to say that there is something that’s the root of ‘evil’, rather than one of its ends.”

Gammon put a hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

It seemed that though they were both spirits, they were able to come into physical contact with each other.

“You are correct,” Gammon said with a smile.

“But what in the world is the ‘root’--?”

Gammon looked around at the sitting soldiers without answering the question.

“My comrades. The ‘evil’ we need to vanquish is—only five in number. Once we have erased the five souls that ‘god’ has indicated, then all of the ‘evil’ at the ends will be purified too,” he said, pointing up at the box floating above his head. “Look at the ‘Blackbox’. The individuals that will be projected on there are our targets.”

As though his words were a cue, the front surface of the box began to light up in a grid pattern—After it vanished, the image of a woman in a red outfit showed up on the screen.

“…Banica Conchita. Someone who took in the magical power of ‘Gluttony’ and calls forward the corpses that sleep in the earth. There are likely those among you who have experience fighting with these ‘dead soldiers’. The source that created those repulsive monsters—is her.”

The screen switched over.

What it depicted next was a pink-haired woman. She was wearing a kimono.

The moment he saw that, Allen’s expression grew more severe.

“…Kayo Sudou. Someone who slaughtered an innocent family out of her own selfish envy. Don’t be fooled by her calm appearance. The two scissors that she wields make very dangerous weapons.”

A new figure appeared on the surface of the box.

--Nemesis could clearly hear Allen click his tongue.

“…Riliane Lucifen d’Autriche. The famed ��Daughter of Evil’. An unforgivable, grave sinner who trampled over our home country of Elphegort out of her own pride.”

It had been all women up to this point, but the next to be displayed was a man’s face.

A great commotion began amongst the soldiers once they saw it.

“…It’s understandable that you all would be surprised. You must think that he—looks extremely like me, right? But he is a different person. Sateriasis Venomania. Lamentably enough, he is my ancestor. He is a man who drowned in his lust, made a flower of malice bloom, and then spread its seeds across the world.”

A man who appeared to be a general raised a hand and stood up. “Comrade Octo, are you…okay with this?”

“With what?”

“Attacking your own ancestor for the sake of justice?”

“Yes. I believe that too is a test given to me by ‘god’,” Gammon answered without a hint of doubt.

On seeing this, the general nodded and once more sat on the ground.

“And now…the next is the last.”

A green-haired girl showed on the box.

“…I have no need to explain her in depth. Nemesis Sudou. The one responsible for destroying the world.”

Nemesis drew closer to Allen in front of her and lightly tapped his shoulder.

“Looks like…we shouldn’t linger her any longer.”

“…Yeah.”

After they exchanged their whispered remarks, they moved to leave before Gammon and the soldiers noticed them.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[enchantedsugden]

but i think i’ve found magnificence

ao3 link

written for robert week 2020 day 3: family

-----------------------------------------------------------------

 As he was driving there Aaron was starting to get more and more doubtful about the whole thing, his sister looking moody in the passenger’s seat wasn’t in any way helpful either.

This all changed once they finally set foot in the shelter, his younger sister not being able to hide how her face lit up.

  Aaron had done some research into what it was like to have a cat, what they would need, where they would get one. In the end he decided to go to the nearest animal shelter- knowing that there they would find many cats in need of a home.

Liv had been shocked and pretty bitter when Aaron told her his plan.

(“Aaron you love dogs! You always said we could get a dog. And now we’re getting a cat as a surprise for Robert!”)

She had also said that Robert wasn’t keen on animals but Aaron had disagreed. Yeah, maybe he had been a bit dismissive of Lachlan's dog- Dog- in the past but Aaron knows his husband.

Robert had been withdrawn ever since he gotten back from prison. It had gotten better but they weren’t there yet, there was still a long road ahead of them. Therapy was helping Robert a lot and Aaron was so proud that his husband had worked up the courage to speak to a professional. Aaron still saw his own counsellor as well and of course they often spoke about Robert. Aaron wanted to help his husband in any way but there were times that he felt so useless. His counsellor had asked about Robert’s hobby’s, how he spends his time. She asked whether they had any animals at home and Aaron had shaken his head but it stuck.

He thought of getting a dog straightaway- something to get Robert out of the house every day, but he didn’t want to push him- make his husband feel that he needed something to keep him busy, that he needed to feel useful. It lead Aaron to some more research, at one point thinking that a rabbit or even a goldfish would be a better fit.

Aaron didn’t dislike cats necessarily, but it wasn’t like he was too keen on them either. Maybe he was slightly indifferent towards them. He definitely had never think of getting one as a pet.

It was a family day trip to Filey that really put the idea into Aaron’s head. As they wandered the streets of Filey after they had spent the whole day on the beach, Aaron noticed how his husband face lit up each time he saw a cat in someone’s window or garden, or when they came across a cat on the street. It reminded him of many other times Robert’s love for cats had been on show in such a quiet way, during trips either abroad of at home- something that Aaron had noticed before- but just hadn’t thought of too much.

Back at home with Robert sleeping next to him, Aaron had sat in bed with his laptop browsing pages and pages of information.

He read that cats were good company, as were dogs of course- but in a different way. They were a lot less maintenance but apparently good for emotional balance. Aaron didn’t know whether to believe it all but it did sound intriguing and he couldn’t stop thinking about his husband and about the days he would withdraw from all of them. He imagined a cat walking around the place- the way it could be a calming influence on his family now and in the future. Aaron really started to warm up to the idea of a cat being the first pet they’d get together. He kept thinking of the way Robert’s face would soften at the sight of the many cats they had seen in their lives together.

Aaron continued his research- not getting to sleep until 3 in the morning.

  Liv’s pointing and awing, her bitterness clearly forgotten when a young woman comes up to the both of them.

“Hiya, my name is Ellie, Aiden told me this will be your first cat?”

“Hi, I’m Aaron and this is my sister Liv. Uh yeah- that’s right.” Aaron feels nervous. Robert isn’t even aware of any of this happening but he doesn’t want to let him down.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” She says, smiling at them with kind eyes so Aaron feels himself relax a little. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your living situation like- do any young children or other animals live in your household?”

“Uh, no-no other animals. We do- uh me and my husband- we do have a little boy, he’s turning four in a couple of weeks. We’re planning on having more kids.” Aaron gulps, feeling shy and slightly uncomfortable discussing this with a stranger but Ellie’s still smiling at him.

“Okay, that’s great. I’ve already got a few cats in mind, although it’s your choice in the end.”

“I’m sure we will trust your opinion- you know them best.”

“That’s true. But there are always people who like the look of an animal so much that they dismiss any character traits and potential problems. What about age? And are you looking for a male or female cat?”

“Uhh.” Aaron stammers, he had somewhat looked into what Ellie was asking him but most of his research had been focused on stuff like food, activities and necessities.

“We don’t really care whether it’s a male or female I don’t think.” Aaron says as he looks at Liv who’s shrugging her shoulders. “And age wise- not too old I suppose but I bet everyone says that and the older cats don’t get a home.”

“It is harder to place older cats, yes.” Ellie sighs sadly. She seems to notice Aaron’s doubts which had come up to the surface again.

“Let’s just meet some of them shall we? It might make it all a bit easier.”

Aaron nods thankfully.

  In the end, a decision is made with Aaron’s heart aching at the knowledge of leaving every cat but one behind.

“This is Henry.” Ellie had said as a ginger cat pushed himself up against the bars of his cage. “He’s very friendly and used to young kids. He was brought here not so long ago. The family decided to adopt two dogs and Henry was going to be in the way.” She looked angry and Aaron could relate to that. It did raise a question though.

“Does this mean he doesn’t get along with dogs? We are thinking of adopting a dog at some point in the future. Sorry I should have said.”

“Oh no it’s not that. The family had already made that decision before they actually adopted the dogs. Of course we don’t have the means to test our pets for every household setting, but knowing Henry’s character we’re pretty confident that living with a dog shouldn’t be a problem. Having multiple animals in the house can always lead to all sorts of issues but at the same time this doesn’t have to be the case at all.”

Liv was smiling while Henry was acting as if he already knew he was the chosen one.

“I think we can give Henry a good home.” Aaron smiled.

  With Liv and Henry (in his cat basket) in the back of the car, Aaron drove home a lot slower than was necessary.

“Is something wrong?” Liv asks. “You’re not regretting it are you, we can’t bring him back now.”

“No, no of course not. I want to give him a home, but what if I got this wrong. What if Robert likes cats but doesn’t necessarily want one in the house. Oh my god what if he’s allergic.” Aaron couldn’t believe that that possibility had never even crossed his mind.

Liv’s eyes widen at that. “Well if that’s the case we will find a good home for him somewhere else in the village. I’m not having him locked up in there again.”

“No, yeah. You’re right.” He sighs, thinking about his approach. He knows Robert is at home, looking after Seb. All the stuff Aaron’s bought for their new family member is in the back of his car, he hadn’t wanted to risk leaving it somewhere in the house for Robert to find.

“We’ll take him in and Seb will love him so even if Robert isn’t happy he is gonna be kind of outnumbered.” Liv decides, a determined look on her face.

“Okay.” Aaron replies as he turns into their driveway. “We’ll deal with the logistics of it all later, you stay here and I’ll come outside when I’m ready.”

“For what?” Liv asks, a confused look on her face.

“Just wait here.”

 When Aaron comes in he’s met by the sight of Robert and Seb sitting on the ground, building what looks like some sort of fort.

“Hi.” Aaron says, noticing how out of breath he sounds- his nerves clearly getting to him.

“Has something happened?” Robert asks and Aaron feels bad for making him worry.

“No, uh. I’ve got a surprise for you. I just hope you like it.” He stammers, watching how amusement becomes evident on his husband’s face.

“Of course I’ll like it.” Robert says, he’s got a teasing smile on his face but Aaron can also tell that he’s sincere with it, that he realises that Aaron really is nervous about this.

“It’s for Seb as well.” Aaron says before he turns around, leaving Robert looking even more confused. He can hear Robert mumbling to their son as he walks out.

“Let’s hope daddy Aaron hasn’t done something silly eh? Like-“

Aaron can’t hear anything else because Robert suddenly stops his mumblings abruptly and Aaron realises that his husband is probably thinking along the right lines, probably expecting to see Aaron walk in with a dog any second now.

The confusion is evident on Robert’s face when Aaron walks in holding the cat basket.

“What-“ Robert stammers, while Seb is up immediately, running over to where Aaron places the basket on the ground and kneeling in front of it.

“Seb, careful. You don’t want to hurt him.” Robert says in a gentle voice, and Aaron watches in surprise as Robert kneels next to their son.

Aaron takes a mental snapshot of this moment, his husband and son admiring Henry.

His husband looks up at him. “Is it a he or-“

“Yeah. He’s called Henry.” Seb looks absolutely delighted at this and starts squealing the cat’s name over and over again while Robert looks even more confused.

“How do you know, where did you find him? Are we keeping him?” It takes a beat before Aaron gets what his husband means.

“I- no. This is my surprise, one that I planned out. Me and Liv got Henry from the shelter today. We can change his name of course, he’s ours but we can also keep calling him Henry. I know I might have overstepped the mark. Are you allergic? I-“

“Aaron.” Robert says calmly, interrupting Aaron’s ramblings.

“You got Henry for me?”

Liv seems to have the sense to leave them in their own bubble and moves over to sit next to Seb. “Can we please let him out now?”

“Uh.” Aaron stammers but Robert is already nodding.

“He might wee everywhere-“

“Liv.” Aaron says, watching Robert carefully but his husband looks amused again and Aaron let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“I got him for you, yeah.” He answers finally. “For our family but yeah with you in mind. I’m sorry if this was the wrong thing to do. I’ve seen how much you seem to like cats and they say there are good for stress- they have a calming effect. I don’t know, once the idea took hold I couldn’t let it go. I’ve already bought everything he needs. It’s in the back of the car.”

“Thank you.” Robert breathes and before Aaron can say anything else his husband is grabbing his face and kissing him.

“I’m- you’re happy? You’re not mad?”

Robert puts some space in between them, shaking his head. “Mad? Don’t be daft. I couldn’t be even if I was allergic or something, which I’m not by the way. How could I be mad when you did this for me. I- I didn’t think you like cats, if you’re not keen you really don’t have to do this for me Aaron.”

“I do like them. I think I do- but most importantly I like Henry.” Aaron says and Robert smiles, looking over his shoulder to see Seb pointing out everything in sight to Henry, who seems to want to do all of the introducing at his own pace.

“Aaron- this is so thoughtful.” Aaron smiles, grabbing the older man’s hand. “Of course I don’t know if all that calming stuff is true, but I like the idea of it.”

“I love you, so much.”

“I love you too.” Aaron says as he holds Robert closer again and kisses his head. “Go sit with Seb and Henry for a bit yeah? Me and Liv will get all the stuff out of the car.”

  Aaron is about to walk down the stairs when he hears Robert talking to Seb.

“Seb mate, you need to be gentle with him. He isn’t used to us yet. He’s spent weeks living in a cage at the shelter, our house is a bit different to that isn’t it? He’ll get used to us all soon enough but for now keep holding your hand out to him first so he can have a sniff before petting him. Like this.”

“He did have a home before though.” Aaron hears Liv say.

“That’s true. But he has to get used to an actual house again hasn’t he? Plus ours is different to what he knew before.”

“Like daddy.” Seb says and Aaron feels his heart break.

“A bit yeah mate. I went away for a while too didn’t I? Henry just needs some time, that’s okay isn’t it?”

“Uh huh.” Seb says enthusiastically and Aaron hurries downstairs, going to sit in between Seb and Robert- placing a hand on his husband’s back, anchoring him.

  It’s finally the two of them again, after a long and hectic but great day.

Robert has his head on Aaron’s chest. “I want to thank you, like properly.” Robert says. “But I don’t think I have the energy for it right now.”

Aaron grins “I’m disappointed but I will get over it, as long as I get my thank you tomorrow morning.”

“Oh I’ll make sure of it.” Robert laughs before they fall into their quiet little bubble again.

“Why did you never hint at getting a cat?” Aaron finds himself asking, the question had been in his head for a while now, and now he had seen the way Robert really did love cats he just had to ask.

Robert makes a shrugging gesture. “I never really thought about it. And you and Liv were always on about dogs so I just never thought of it as a possibility. I don’t mean that in a bad way or anything but yeah.”

Aaron nods. “Seb loves him.”

“God I know, he hasn’t stopped smiling since Henry arrived.” Robert chuckles.

“Do you think Henry is okay?” Aaron asks.

“I think so, I’ve heard nothing like a crash just yet.”

“No, not yet.”

“We’ll learn along the way. And you have done loads of research. He’s part of our family now. It can’t be any harder than looking after a baby or a teenager right?”

Aaron laughs “I guess not.” He thinks of the way Henry had indeed been weeing everywhere and how the next few weeks will most likely be filled with more chaos- Henry has a lot to learn but so have they. Aaron is okay with that.

“Yeah he’s part of our family now.” Aaron says, repeating his husband’s words. He remembers the way he’d melted at seeing Robert with Henry, the gentleness he showed as he and Seb both followed the pet around, his upset at hearing why Henry had ended up in the shelter, and his determination to provide a good home for him.

“As long as he doesn’t get in our bed I’m all fine with it.” Aaron says and Robert laughs “you’d let him, you’re soft like that.”

“Oi, shut it you.” Robert’s still smiling before he turns more serious. “Really though, thank you. This was such a good day. You’re amazing.”

Aaron blushes, shaking his head slightly. “Now you’re really going to have to shut it before you start me off.” It’s hard to see why Aaron had doubts before. He can’t believe they didn’t adopt a cat sooner before realising that actually the timing was perfect. He tightens his grip on Robert’s shoulder.

“You’re getting better and learning to deal with your memories from that place and we can see adding Henry to our family as some kind of new start can’t we? We’re never looking back Rob.”

“Aaron-“

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. I just need you to know- I’m so proud of ya. I told Ellie- the girl helping us at the shelter- about our family and how we want to have more kids.” It comes out before Aaron can stop himself.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They had talked about it before- once Aaron felt that Robert would be ready for such a conversation, ready to talk about something that had been one of the biggest things going on in their lives before everything fell apart. Robert still wanted to add to their family as much as Aaron did and now he started getting better, Aaron could tell how much more confident Robert was about it all, that he really started to believe that he was deserving of it and that he could be a good father despite his traumatic experience of spending time inside (something Seb has played a big part in, the little boy practically glued to Robert’s side whenever he’s with them).

“I can’t wait. I love you.” Robert mumbles, eyes barely open.

“I love you.” Aaron says as he kisses at Robert’s hair.

 Their future is looking good.

[cheliceraekisses]

Vintage Voidcraft

F/F - android/mechanic - nsfw 18+

A mechanic from the frontier of space gets her dream girl and her dream ship, all in one day.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112583

The bell over the door of the hangar rung, pulling Jay’s attention away from the magazine she’d been poring over. She sighed. Customers were good, but she’d been hoping to spend the rest of her day with the latest issue of Vintage Voidcraft. Hopefully they’d at least driven something interesting into her shop, and not another one of those boring, sterile ships Rekko kept putting out. She tossed her magazine on the table, putting on her best customer service smile before leaving the office.

She rounded the corner to the lobby area she’d set up in the hangar and froze, looking at the prettiest girl she’d seen since, well, since coming to Ceres Station, this backwater in the middle of nowhere. Her practised smile fell away immediately. She was short, maybe five feet, and dressed all in pastels, a leather choker with a heart shaped ring at the front topping it off. Her blue skirt went down to mid-thigh, with pink knee socks and plain white flats. Her long white hair, streaked with pink and blue, fell over her shoulders, framing a lacy white blouse. Really, in every way, the opposite of Jay’s black tank, red flannel and half undone overalls. She would have done up the other side, if she knew where the button had gotten to. The pretty girl was looking up at the bell with an amused smile on her face.

Jay cleared her throat to get the girl’s attention, but before she could launch into her usual welcome, she was cut off with a giggle.

“Why do you have a bell on a sliding door?” The girl asked, her voice melodic and sweet and just as pretty as she was.

“Huh? Oh, that. My parents owned a mechanic shop back on Earth, I guess it reminds me of home?” She looked at the work she’d done, attaching a short rod to the door to hit the bell on its way past. “It’s kinda silly but it didn’t feel right in here without it.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle, blushing furiously.

Desperately searching for something to say, her eyes landed on the empty hangar. “So, what brings you in today?” She asked. “Don’t see a ship in here, did you fly in?”

“My ship broke down in an asteroid field a couple parsecs out,” came the reply from behind her. “Had to hitchhike here. I heard you could give me a tow, so here I am.”

“Yeah, sure, give me a minute to bring my ship around and we can go. You can wait in the office if you like.” She gestured to the small building she’d set up in the corner and, trying to hide her blush, fled the hangar far faster than she’d meant to. The dingle of the bell as she left did nothing to help her embarrassment.

The second the door was closed, she pulled out her phone, pulling up the camera and checking to see how obvious her blush had been. Very obvious, apparently, her cheeks almost as red as the old flannel shirt her dad had given her. No way the girl didn’t know she was totally smitten. Worse yet, she realized she’d forgotten to even ask for her customer’s name. Smooth. This run was going to be the death of her.

She took her time starting up her ship, checking the cockpit to make sure she hadn’t left anything embarrassing around. The ship was old and reliable, and she made sure to keep it in good shape despite it’s age. She’d had it since she left earth and never had a problem she couldn’t fix. She was saving up to buy herself a second, personal ship and leave this one for work, but nothing on the market now interested her and vintage craft were always expensive.

The engine sputtered to life, roaring in the commercial hangar full of silent, modern ships. Jay never understood the point, every engine was silent once you got it into space anyway. Besides, how could you drive a ship when you couldn’t hear what it was doing? She just couldn’t get the hang of looking to the screens for every little thing. It took too long, and half the time it didn’t tell her what she wanted to know anyway. She hoped the pretty girl waiting in her office agreed.

The drive around Ceres station took around ten minutes, but it was another five before Jay worked up the courage to step off the ship and find the mystery woman. She found her in the office, reading her copy of Vintage Voidcraft and smiling to herself. She looked up when Jay walked in, dropping the magazine where it was, open to a page on N.A.I.A.D. class ships.

“Paper? Not digital?” She asked, gesturing to the magazine.

“Oh, yeah, the relays out here suck, half the time it’s quicker to get the paper copies in.” It really was, the slow sub-FTL connections completely flooded with the station admin’s traffic. God knows when your data would get through. “Plus, this way I’ve got stuff to leave out for customers to read. It just, uh, you know.”

“Feels like home?” Her voice had taken on a teasing lilt that made Jay’s heart jump into her throat.

“Yeah, that,” she finally managed. This girl was gonna kill her. “By the way, I forgot to ask your name before?”

For the first time, Jay felt like she’d gotten the upper hand, the question making the girl start. “Um, my name? It’s, er,” she floundered for a moment. “Nadia. It’s Nadia.”

“Mine’s Jay,” Jay replied easily, still basking in having made the gorgeous woman flustered. Nadia, pretty. It suited her.

“I know,” Nadia said, the smile returning to her face. She knew? Well, it was on the door, Jay supposed, and it’s not like she had any employees.

“Well, tow’s here. Should we get going?”

“Sure,” Nadia said, moving to the door and ending up very close to Jay. Too close, she thought, looking down at the other girl. Her eyes really were gorgeous, a bright, coppery brown with a vertical line of pale gold cutting through the irises. Definitely robotic.

Her staring was cut off after several seconds by a gentle cough. “Are we going?” She asked, fully recovered and back to teasing by now. Jay jumped, spluttering out an apology and leading the way to the ship.

Jay prepared herself for the worst as Nadia came back out to the hangar, looking at her old beater of a ship. Surprisingly though, Nadia just smiled at it. “You take good care of her, huh?” Was all she said, running her hand over the paint before boarding. Jay beamed, her whole month made by just one bit of praise from a pretty girl.

“So,” Jay said, dropping into the captain’s chair and pulling up a map, “where did you say you left your ship?”

“Just over here,” Nadia said, pointing to the screen.

“Just over here” turned out to be several hours out, and Jay groaned inwardly, realizing how long she’d be spending in close proximity to the prettiest woman she’d ever met. They’d barely met an hour ago, and already she could barely contain herself. The next six hours were going to be rough.

Thankfully, Nadia opened up the conversation and saved her. “So, you like vintage ships too, huh?” She asked with a warm smile.

“Too?” Jay asked hopefully.

“Yeah, spaceflight used to be so much more classy. New ships just feel so cold?”

Jay was over the moon. Not only was this girl damn near exactly her type, she loved old ships. They slipped into conversation easily, swapping stories about the coolest old ships they’d gotten to drive, repair, and even just see in the wild. Before Jay noticed two hours were gone and they’d nearly reached the asteroid field.

“So,” she asked, slipping back into work mode. “What kind of ship are we looking for out here, anyway?”

“Don’t freak out too bad,” Nadia said with a smug grin. “It’s a N.A.I.A.D.-3.”

Jay freaked out. How could she not, the N.A.I.A.D.-3 was her dream ship, the one that cost way more than a frontier system mechanic would ever see and made her consider a career shift to piracy whenever she’d gotten to work on one. That settled it, she had to marry this girl. Guiltily, she hoped the ship would be more than a little damaged, so Nadia would stay around Ceres station for a while. There wasn’t much at the station, but she figured she could pull a decent date together if she tried.

Sadly —no, happily, she reminded herself— the ship appeared perfectly fine from a distance, floating safely behind an asteroid. She pulled her ship up next to it, feeling more than a little jealous parking her blocky old tow ship next to the gorgeous little dart. The N.A.I.A.D.-3 was built for speed, with an engine that purred like a cheetah and a beautiful, sleek profile. Nadia’s ship was in perfect condition too, clearly well-loved and taken care of.

“Before you get the tow hooked up, wanna go over and look around? Engine’s busted but the ship itself is still working fine,” Nadia said, with an easy smile. Not waiting for an answer, she turned on Jay’s short range boarding system and jumped across. Jay didn’t hesitate, jumping out of her chair to follow.

The interior was just as gorgeous as the outside, clearly redone recently. Every surface was polished, onyx panels with gold controls laid out before a black leather captain’s chair. The lighting was warm, easy on the eyes but bright enough to see everything. Standing next to the chair, Nadia threw a jokey salute. “Have a seat, Captain,” she practically purred, laughing. So this was what love felt like, Jay thought, relaxing into the comfiest chair she’d probably ever sat in.

Nadia bit her bottom lip, moving the second Jay’s eyes were off of her. She casually crossed the small cockpit, climbing into the chair and dropping into Jay’s lap, facing her. Jay’s eyes went wide, her cheeks glowing. “Nadia? What are you—”

“Shush,” Nadia whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

Jay returned the kiss enthusiastically, almost immediately realizing something. Nadia wasn’t human. More than just the natural excitement of kissing the prettiest girl she’d ever seen, Nadia’s tongue made her’s tingle, like licking a battery. So she was an android then. Jay spared a thought for a few of the magazines she ordered that didn’t make it to the rack in her lobby. That was just fine with her.

What was quickly becoming a problem however, was that Nadia clearly had no need for oxygen. Jay pulled away from the kiss to breathe, feeling light headed, and before she could gasp down a single breath Nadia was chasing her down, pinning her head to the chair and sucking her tongue, hard. Jay finally had to push her back, just for a moment, to catch her breath.

Nadia laughed, watching Jay intently and worrying her lip while Jay breathed. Idly, Jay wondered if she was one of those androids who were just, well, into humans. She certainly seemed to be enjoying the show.

After a moment, seeing Jay wasn’t going to be done soon, Nadia spoke. “I should apologize, I told you a couple lies earlier.” She reached behind Jay, pressing a couple buttons on the control panel, and the ship’s engine roared to life. “The ship’s not broken at all. I...” She paused, looking nervous. “I brought it here to give it to you. As a gift.”

Jay just stared, all thoughts of catching her breath gone. After a moment, Nadia continued. “I... I fell in love with you a while back. So I brought you this...” She laughed awkwardly, waiting for Jay to say something.

“Do we... Have we met before?” Jay asked quietly. She figured she would have remembered meeting someone so exactly her type.

“Not exactly,” Nadia sighed. She took a moment to gather her courage. “Nadia isn’t my name. I’m the N.A.I.A.D.’s control system. Er, not just this one. All of them.”

Jay had stars in her eyes. She’d met androids before, of course, and she knew the N.A.I.A.D. class ships had a networked control system, but for a whole system like that to wake up as an A.I. was the kind of thing you only ever heard rumours about. “Wait so, how did you fall— No wait, better question. Your name’s Naiad and for your fake name you went with Nadia?”

Naiad pouted, looking away to the side. “Look I... Set all this up, bought this body,” She indicated herself. Er, her android self. “Picked one of my ships, had the whole thing refitted for you, came up with this whole story, I had a lot on my plate. I forgot you humans cared so much about names anyway, and when you asked me I—”

“You panicked,” Jay said, stifling a laugh. Naiad’s pout deepened, and Jay threw her arms around her with a laugh. “So, can we kiss some more?” She asked.

Naiad didn’t bother responding, instead diving right in, shoving her tongue in the butch girl’s mouth. The shocking feeling was stronger this time, nearly making Jay’s tongue numb. She moaned into the kiss. She could get used to this.

At length, they stopped kissing, just sitting together comfortably. “So,” Jay started, “What did make you fall in love with me then?”

“I... My bodies... That is, the ships, obviously they’ve been to a lot of mechanics. Most of them hated working on such old ships, or they were just... Rough on me, or sometimes they’d recommend scrapping the ship entirely and buying a new one. But every time someone brought one to Ceres, they’d get directed to your place, and you always took such good care of me.” Naiad looked embarrassed, and if she could have blushed, she probably would have. “Perfect replacement parts, pretty new paint jobs, I could feel how much you love your job every time I visited. Pretty soon... I guess I wanted to return the favour, and take care of you as well,” she said, her tone making it clear exactly how she wanted to return the favour.

Jay could feel herself getting harder by the second, as Naiad’s tone steadily turned to honey. Of course, she wouldn’t deny being taken care of, but... “Naiad,” she whispered, “How do I take care of you too? Do I just have to do maintenance on the ship while we fuck?” She laughed at the image. She’d never been with an android before, and even if she had she imagined Naiad would be a special case.

Naiad quietly took Jay’s hands, raising them to her breasts. They felt surprisingly real, and the moan she let out was genuine, the hottest sound Jay had ever heard. Her body must have cost a small fortune. All to fuck a mechanic from the backwaters of the frontier. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well,” Naiad began, pausing to gasp loudly as Jay groped her. “I can feel everything you do to this body.” She started to slowly roll her hips, ghosting her apparently uncovered slit over Jay’s growing bulge. The light tingle between her legs told Jay Naiad had the same electricity coursing through her pussy as through her tongue, and her cock twitched, spurting pre at the thought. “But maybe I bought a few special upgrades for the ship as well,” she gave Jay a lustful look, biting her lip as she slid herself back off the chair and onto the floor, palming Jay’s cock through her overalls. As she did so, a flash of silver pulled Jay’s attention upwards, to a pair of steel tentacles extending from the cabin’s roof. Tenderly, they pushed her flannel off her shoulders hooking their way into the arms and gently pulling it away to fall behind the chair. Naiad smiled up at her, a mischievous glint in her eye, and popped the button on her overalls, pulling them down while the tentacles hooked through the straps of her tank top, tugging it off as well. Naiad’s fingers played softly across her abs, watching in wonder as the muscles tensed under her touch.

It took Jay a moment to realize how quickly she’d been stripped, only registering as she felt the cool air of the cabin on the head of her cock. She looked back down to see Naiad playing with her, bringing her the rest of the way to attention. She smiled up at her lover, searching her face for any signs of discomfort before giving the same half salute she’d given before. “You’re so big, Captain,” she drawled, kissing her way up and down the shaft in front of her, eyes widening with every twitch.

Meanwhile, with a soft sound of metal scraping, the tentacles opened, revealing something akin to suction cups. One attached itself to Jay’s breast, and the other went to her neck, suckling, sure to leave an enormous bruise. She closed her eyes, focusing on the pleasure, trying to think how she could repay the favour.

She got her answer when something bumped against her lips. Opening her eyes in shock, she saw a third tentacle had descended from the roof, this one with an artificial dick not unlike the one she kept by her bed at home on the end. Except for that this one likely cost several thousand dollars more, judging by the sound Naiad made as she excitedly leaned forward, taking it into her mouth as deep as she could and swallowing around it. So she could feel through the tentacles then. She raised a hand to rub the tentacle, matching pace with her bobbing head, trying to draw more noises from the beautiful girl in front of her.

Jay’s pace broke when Naiad’s tongue touched the tip of her length, sending a jolt coursing through her. She bucked her hips, hard, accidentally sinking the head of her cock into Naiad’s mouth fully, locking up, fearing the stimulation would overwhelm her. After several seconds of somehow managing to hold back, her lover turned up the power, flicking her tongue over the head of her cock and driving her over the edge, cum flooding Naiad’s mouth and spurting past her lips, falling down her chin and splattering onto her blouse. She kept sucking, doing her best to draw forth every drop, before sitting back, proud of her work, watching her tentacles roughly handle her love.

Jay pulled the tentacle out of her mouth, giving it a long, wet lick, and reached a hand out towards the android. “Come up here,” she said with a smirk, “Let me undress you.” She pulled the girl into her lap, kissing her passionately, moaning at the taste of her own cum and the tingling sensation that accompanied kissing Naiad. Her hands went to her hips, sliding under the blouse and lifting up, fingers dancing up along her back before pulling the blouse over her head, smearing more than a little cum on her face and hair in the process. Naiad didn’t seem to mind, laughing and running her finger through the cum splattered on her cheek, slowly licking it off.

Next went her skirt, shimmying it down her hips, revealing a cute little patch of artificial hair, pastel pink and blue split down the middle, over a very realistic looking pussy, wet and inviting enough to have Jay stiffening all over again, despite how sore her cock felt. Having the girl of her dreams in her lap and the tentacles, now both on her small tits, sucking away was certainly helping. Naiad’s shoes hit the floor at some point while she was staring, but when the android reached to remove her knee socks Jay reached out to gently push her hands away. Naiad cocked an eyebrow at her, moving her hands to gently tug at Jay’s cock instead.

As Jay relaxed into the feeling of Naiad preparing her cock for another round, she felt a pressure from below her, coming out of the chair she sat in. A moment later, sure enough, a fourth tentacle slipped through the chair, pushing itself up against her ass, already lubed. It wormed its way, slowly opening her up but barely going inside her. Meanwhile, a fifth tentacle slid out, fondling at her balls and the base of her cock. She moaned, grabbing the tentacle still waiting near her mouth and sucking it down into her throat, hoping to provoke some action out of her new girlfriend. Well, hopefully girlfriend.

Naiad moaned, falling forwards to lay her head against Jay’s neck. Fine, if she wanted it so bad, she could have it. All at once, she slid her tentacle inside her lover while dropping her hips down in one smooth motion, taking her right to the base. Rather than waiting for the girl to get used to it, she started bouncing, timing the sucking and thrusting of her tentacles perfectly with the roll of her hips. For the first few seconds anyway. Riding in a body she wasn’t used to yet turned out to be harder than she’d anticipated, and she quickly found herself falling forwards, only for the mechanic’s strong arms to catch her. Jay tried to look as smug as she could with a tentacle-cock in her mouth, moving her arms around Naiad’s hips and steadying her, guiding the roll of her hips and showing her exactly how to move.

A particularly deep thrust had Naiad moaning lewdly again, only this time she moaned through the ship’s speakers as well. She gripped tightly to Jay’s arms, seemingly taking as much pleasure from the mechanic’s manhandling of her as from the fucking. The lights flickered, the tentacles perfect rhythm faltered, and the noises of Naiad’s pleasure came out of the speakers at ever increasing volumes. Several of the monitors around the room flashed warnings, as various safety features, convinced the ship was suffering a catastrophic core meltdown, fired off. Through it all, Naiad refused to give her lover even a second of rest, pulling the tentacle from her mouth and stuffing it between their joined breasts, pushing the suckling tentacles to tug at Jay’s neck and pulling her into a passionately violent kiss.

Naiad finally came with an explosion of sound, as her final cries of “Don’t stop” and “I love you” blasted over the speakers. The tentacles jerkily continued their assault, spraying thick, white simulated cum over the two of them, the power in her body ratcheting up further, the shock coursing through Jay and dragging her over the edge as well, her cock spasming and flooding Naiad’s cunt with her seed. The thought of getting the android knocked up flashed through her mind, pulling her back to the brink, and it seemed the same had occurred to Naiad as she moaned the words into Jay’s mouth, redoubling her efforts despite the orgasm only just finished tearing through her. Relying entirely on Jay’s arms to guide her, Naiad slammed her hips up and down, milking a final orgasm out of each of them before her body’s safety features kicked in to prevent her from literally fucking her lover to death.

Naiad collapsed onto Jay, lying still against her chest. Jay breathed heavily, finally having the opportunity to breathe easily again. She watched as the tentacles retracted, pulled Naiad close in her arms, and let herself drift off.

---

Jay woke up looking around to find she was in her bed at home. She briefly panicked, thinking perhaps the whole experience was a dream, before catching sight of pink and blue through the door to her room. She dragged herself out of bed, finding Naiad on her couch, playing with her collection of old video games. She smiled, plopping down on the couch next to her and hugging her close.

“Morning sleepy,” Naiad said, looking slightly embarrassed at having the mechanic’s arms holding her again. “Sorry, some of us don’t need to sleep,” she shrugged, missing an easy jump for a moon and falling to her death. Cute, they’d have to work on that.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Jay blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “So, like, uh... What... Happens now?” She was too tired for this discussion, but she wanted to know sooner than later.

“The ship’s yours to keep, like I said. It’s a courting gift,” Naiad shrugged. “I got it all registered to you when we got home. As for me,” she turned her head to the side, ignoring the sounds of her character getting knocked off the stage by an enemy. “I’m yours to keep as well, assuming earlier meant as much to you as it did to me,” she said, hopefully.

Jay kissed her, deeply, quietly reaching over to move her character out of the way of another pointless death. She pulled back, looking into her gorgeous, coppery eyes, a satisfied, easy smile on her face. “Of course, beautiful. I love you too.”

[rallamajoop]

Some musings on symbiote morphology (AKA when size does matter)

So, back when Venom was still in cinemas, I saw it with a friend who (like me) enjoyed it mightily -- though said friend did roll her eyes pretty hard at the She-Venom scene, because of course the female!Venom has to be skinny and sexy. Of course she does.

I mean, the sexual dimorphism on display here is, uh... pretty extreme.

Usually, this would’ve gotten to me too. Few issues in genre film stick in my craw like the double standards applied to male and female bodies (ask me my thoughts on the likes of Wonder Woman or Gamora at your peril). So it was a little surprising to find that this was one I was mostly willing to shrug off.

Why? Well, that requires a bit of backing up and some more context. But mostly, it’s the perfect jumping-off point for a whole lot of rambling about visual shorthands and how symbiote morphology has been handled in the comics over the years, which apparently I had a whole essay’s worth of thoughts on. So here we go.

Now, Comic!Venom =/= Movie!Venom. They aren’t the same character, don’t have the same history, and their biology doesn’t follow the same rules.  But one is still the basis for the other, so we’re going to start waayyy back at the beginning.

Since the symbiote's introduction back in '84, precious little about the species has remained consistent through the many writers and retcons, but one detail that Marvel was -- mostly -- consistent on back in the early days is that the shape a symbiote takes depends a lot on the body of its host. So when Spider-man was wearing the symbiote the result was (by design) literally just Spider-man-but-in-black:

But Venom's next host did not have the muscularly-lean body of Peter Parker, he had the jacked-up muscle-mountain that was Eddie Brock’s -- and the result is the Venom we all know and love.

Whereas when completely-normal-human-woman Anne Weying first bonds with the Venom symbiote in Sinner Takes All, we get a much slimmer She-Venom.

You can see the same trends at work with the Life Foundation Five and various other examples. So, in the comics at least, there’s some internal consistency explaining why He-Venom and She-Venom should look so very different. (Why Eddie and Anne should be such wildly different sized humans is a whoooole other topic, but best left in the Don’t Get Me Started pile for now.)

Of course, when the guy you've cast as Eddie has the physique of Tom Hardy rather than, say, He-Man, the logic of why Venom looks so huge falls apart. 

  ⬥ Venom and She-Venom, actual size comparison.

While comic book writers of the 80's may have been able to convince a generation of fans not to question why a professional journalist would be jacked enough to dwarf Captain America, film adds a layer of realism and audience expectations that would make that a much harder sell (not to mention limiting your casting options to a much smaller pool). Casting Tom Hardy was inarguably the right call. 

If Eddie no longer looked like Venom, the other solution would have been to make Venom look more like Tom Hardy--but good luck getting that past the existing fanbase. When it comes to pleasing the longtime fans, it's safe to say that Venom, not Eddie, is the character who has to look the part. Plus, Venom is entirely CG, so casting and realism no longer have to matter. Fanboys can have their giant Venom and tiny She-Venom, and the fangirls can have Tom Hardy getting all prettily roughed up. There are worse solutions.

Don't get me wrong: they could and absolutely should have evened up the difference on screen by giving She-Venom some extra body mass (she is on screen for like ten seconds, the fanboys can effing deal). But when the key decision that fucked up those ratios is making Eddie so much slimmer and sexier than he was originally supposed to be, I am unusually willing to give them a tentative pass. I mean, I love comics!Eddie too, but I can’t see him working on screen.

While I’m talking symbiote-bodies, it’s worth going into some of the other reasons to make Eddie+symbiote so huge, the obvious ones being to a) make him more threatening, and b) emphasise that Eddie's bonded with the symbiote in a way Peter never did. As a shape-shifter, Venom can make his host look bigger but not smaller (which is presumably why Rad Eddie may look younger than regular!Eddie, but is still suspiciously large for a skateboarder hanging with teens).

But size isn't the only way to make a character like Venom threatening. Compare Carnage, who is much more dangerous than Venom -- but (along with his host) fairly consistently drawn as smaller and leaner than the original.

He's still plenty threatening, though -- not because he's huge, but because he's completely bugfuck nuts and into murder for recreation. His design gets this across with a texture less like skin than a mass of veins and tentacles. Size is a good visual shorthand for danger, but it's not the only shorthand that works for symbiotes of the 90′s heyday.

You can see the same logic at work in Toxin too (a lesser-known and sadly mistreated Carnage-spawn from the early 00's). Precious little about Toxin's look remained consistent from one creative team to the next, but the impact of the host body is still there. His first host, Pat Mulligan, was a pretty average-sized dude, which is reflected in his bonded form (left), but when Eddie gets the Toxin symbiote later on, we get a much bigger Toxin (right). And Eddie's Toxin has more tentacles and rougher skin, so we know he's not going to be friendly (Eddie was really not in a good place at this point in his history).

Perhaps the most interesting example is Agent Venom, who turns up when the military bonds the Venom symbiote to Flash Thompson: disabled vet and card-carrying Spidey fan. His Venom-look is a brilliant bit of storytelling-through-design: the face and overall build hearkens back to Spider-man's time in the symbiote, the equipment signposts his military connections (past and present), and black will always be the signifier of a guy working black ops.

Perhaps most important, there's no mouth (compare both Spidey and Toxin #1), which is our sign that the symbiote's under control -- drugged into submission by the military, in fact.

But key to Flash's time in the role is that the Venom symbiote doesn't always stay drugged and docile, and whenever it starts to break free, Agent Venom morphs into Venom's traditional look -- gaping mouth, no belts or shoulder pads, and lots of bulky muscles a la the original flavour Eddie Brock (you can see him mid-transformation on the left below).

Does that make sense, when Flash is the host? Probably not, but comic book logic, as usual, is suspended for the sake of visual shorthand: fans know what Venom is "supposed" to look like, so that's what he looks like when the comic wants to telegraph that Flash is losing control. And that, I suspect, is why Lee Price's Venom (above right) looks more like Eddie's, even though Lee Price looks more like Flash. Price may be the one in charge, but he’s also a madman, so his Venom has to look out of control. The comics have officially hit Tom Hardy territory: Venom is huge now because people have come to expect Venom to look like the original Eddie-Brock!Venom, regardless of who’s inside.

There are bigger exceptions to the rule, however -- two of the more interesting turned up almost simultaneously in 2015, when both Venom!Flash and Toxin!Eddie got significant redesigns in the pages of Venom: Space Knight and Carnage (2015). Now Flash's Venom is the bulky muscular one, while Eddie's Toxin looks slimmer than Eddie has ever been before or since. What's going on here? Did the artists just screw up?

Well, not entirely -- the characters haven't just flipped looks, they've flipped roles. Now Toxin's the one being drugged into submission by a US agency (and we can only assume those drugs somehow prompt a symbiote to produce pouches, because we're two-for-two on that front). Meanwhile, Venom's been "purged of corruption" and has finally bonded with Flash as a full partner, which may be why they opted for something closer to his original look. Note that Venom has no mouth, and Toxin's is positively restrained by symbiote standards, which tells you a lot about the temperament we can expect from both of them.

That said, I don't think either design really works. Venom's new look is a real step back in creativity from his Agent Venom days, and the helmet-face would be better suited to a mech design than a symbiote who's being treated as a real character for the first time. Meanwhile, Toxin’s look doesn't really work for Eddie, for all the same reasons it did work for Flash: Eddie isn't a trusted agent in this scenario, he's more like an intelligent animal on a short leash. It isn't just the builds that are wrong -- none of the story comes across well in these designs.

All in all, the longer Venom’s been around, the less the standard host=symbiote rules seem to apply. Venom is huge because his look is sufficiently iconic that that’s what the fans expect, regardless of who’s on the inside, or whether we’ve just rewritten his entire backstory and made the jump to film.

Speaking of which, it’s worth pointing out that there is actually precedent in the comics for female symbiotes who aren't drawn like a bikini model in a layer of black body paint. One is Patricia Robertson, who bonds with the "Venom" symbiote (read: not actually the Venom symbiote) in the 2003 Venom series.

Though Trish is a woman of fairly average build, her "Venom" is virtually indistinguishable from Eddie's (too much so, if anything -- it's very hard to tell which is which when they clash). Unfortunately, the 2003 series is otherwise an ugly, incomprehensible mess of a comic, containing almost nothing that has ever been referenced again. I can really only recommend it to absolute completists.

Somewhat better handled is Tarna, a skrull Agent of the Cosmos who appears in Venom: Space Knight. Tarna's symbiotic look is not remotely feminine, and one suspects that's the point: it's ugly, threatening, and gives no clue as to who's inside. (Her symbiote can also separate from her while maintaining form, making the comparison pic unusually easy for me).

But as a shapeshifting alien bonded to a shapeshifting symbiote, Tarna perhaps doesn't make the best example for general principles. It’s worth keeping in mind that every design has a storytelling function too: Patricia’s Venom needs to be mistakable for the original Venom for plot reasons, and the reveal that Tarna is a humanoid woman under her symbiote is set up as a surprise. But the creators of the film wanted us to know that was Anne under the symbiote from the moment she appeared, so sexy!She-Venom it is.

All that said, at the very end of the day, I’d much rather not have to make these excuses for the film. I’d much rather see more Tarnas and fewer She-Venom’s, and both film and comics have a long way to go before we get there yet.

[drakepad]

Classic Break-Up Lingo

I need to talk to you when you finish work tonight.

The text was read a first time, then a second, then a third. And then a fourth, just to make sure he was reading it correctly and that he hadn't missed any words. 'I need to talk to you.' Those six words caused Launchpad's chest to tighten and made his heart sink to the lowest pit of his stomach. They were words he was all too familiar with-- words he had heard before, words that he had said himself to other people. And it usually all led up to one thing: a break up.

He continued to stare at the text with wide eyes as his brow slowly furrowed. What could 'I need to talk to you' possibly mean besides breaking up? He had never heard it in many other contexts before-- besides from his boss, usually after he crashed into his fence or his water fountain or his incredibly expensive ice sculpture at that party that one time. 

"Launchpad!" Scrooge yelled from behind him, prodding his cane into the back of Launchpad's driver's seat, making Launchpad jolt and drop his phone to the limo's floor. "Eyes on the road, ya blasted buffoon!"

His hands gripped to the steering wheel, making a rough turn so he didn't crash into the side of a building.  A forced smile stretched across his face as he glanced at his boss in the rear-view mirror. "You got it, Mr McDee!" 

The car ride was agonizingly slow, and deafeningly silent aside from the turning of a newspaper from the backseat. Launchpad tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as they waited in rush hour traffic, accompanied by some awkward humming, attempting to take his mind off of the anxiety inducing text he had received from his boyfriend. 

Scrooge peaked above his newspaper with a quirked brow, with Launchpad's tapping of the steering wheel at an increasing speed and his incessant humming distracting him from the article about himself that he was reading. 

"I told you that you should start switching to decaf coffee, Launchpad." Scrooge said as his eyes fell back onto the article. Launchpad blinked and turned his head to look at his boss, and he let out a loud, forced laugh, making Scrooge jump in his seat.

"Ha! Yeah! You're right, Mr McDee! Tooootally forgot. I'll remember that from now on. Decaf coffee. That's what I need." He pointed a finger at his boss with a grin, before turning back to face the car in front of him with a furrowed brow, clenching the steering wheel so tightly it made his knuckles pop. The sight made Scrooge frown at his chauffeur, and he sighed, folding his newspaper and placing it in his lap. He flattened down the wrinkles of the pages carefully before looking back to Launchpad. It wasn't often that Scrooge allowed himself to become close enough to his colleagues that he would willingly ask them what was wrong when an issue occurred, but Launchpad wasn't just his chauffeur and pilot-- he was family, and Scrooge cared about him as such.

"It's not caffeine that has you so positively on edge, is it?" He questioned gently, entwining his fingers together and placing them in his lap. 

Launchpad's shoulders tensed at that, and then Scrooge heard a sigh. Launchpad took off his hat for a moment, ran a hand through his hair and then placed the hat back on his head. He slung an arm across the back of his seat so he could turn and see his boss better, and with his other hand, he scratched the back of his neck.

"No, sir. It's not." Launchpad finally replied, looking out of the passenger seat window. Silence fell onto both of them after that, and Scrooge quirked a brow.

"The only time I've seen you this worked up is the day after the boys and Webbigail had convinced you to take them to see one of those, eh, new fangled fancy horror movies with all those obscenely obnoxious special effects that appear to be all the rage these days." Scrooge stated. "So either you've watched one too many of those movies knowing that you can't rest for days afterward, oooor something else has put you entirely on edge." He lifted his cane to gently prod Launchpad's arm that was slung over the back of the seat, and Launchpad smiled a little sadly in return.

"Ya got me there, Mr McDee." Launchpad said softly, and then he sighed. He glanced at the traffic, and it appeared they had come to an absolute standstill, so instead of sitting in tense silence for the rest of the drive home, Launchpad figured he would take up the opportunity to confide in his boss about his worries.

Scrooge's eyes didn't leave Launchpad for a moment. Launchpad took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"So… you know how me and Drake have been together for a while, right?" Launchpad began, still not meeting Scrooge's line of sight. "Well-- I got this, uh… text from him, saying he needs 'to talk to me' or something." He let out a laugh, as if trying to play off that this one text hadn't made him panic and rethink everything he could have done in the past few weeks to potentially have triggered Drake into wanting to break up with him. 

Scrooge frowned. That was it? That was what put Launchpad so on edge that he wasn't able to talk his ear off as usual? He couldn't help the somewhat frustrated sigh that escaped his mouth at what sounded like teenage sweetheart nonsense to him, but he quashed his bitter thoughts and continued to listen to Launchpad,  who, luckily, had not heard the sigh. His chauffeur/pilot needed a friend, and since there was no one else around, he didn't mind lending a shoulder to cry on.

"Go on, lad." Scrooge prompted.

Launchpad fiddled with his tie as he spoke. "It's just-- I've heard that before. I've said that before." He told his boss. "And it almost always means 'we had a good run!' or 'thanks for bringing out the best in me but I think we need to go our separate ways now' or 'I have to change my name and move countries because I'm a secret agent but I'll never forget you.'"

Scrooge pulled a face at that last part, choosing to believe that Launchpad was talking about an ex. Launchpad didn't notice.

Launchpad ran a hand over his face, and Scrooge could swear he could see the glint of a tear in the driver's eye.

“Now with Gosalyn in the mix, too…” Launchpad continued, forever thinking fondly of the little girl he and Drake had come to love and care for within the past few months. “He’s spending the day with her today, without me there. Which is fine, y’know? But… what if he’s… what if he’s realised he doesn’t want me there?”

Scrooge listened to Launchpad silently, ensuring Launchpad let out everything out before even attempting at any reassurance.

"What am I gonna do?" Launchpad said, barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, and spoke a little more loudly. "This was never just some brief fling for me, y'know?"

Having only had one very on again/off again relationship his entire life, romantic advice was not something Scrooge McDuck particularly excelled in, but he didn't exactly enjoy seeing his usually cheerful and chipper driver being close to tears, so he decided to give it a shot.

"You love this lad?" Scrooge chirped up, leaning his head to the side slightly. Launchpad jolted his head up at that, and looked over at his boss, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He nodded slowly at first, but then his nod became more firm.

"More than I've ever loved anyone, Mr McDee." Launchpad admitted, almost sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck again.

Scrooge nodded at him, with a small smile and a furrowed brow. 

"And he loves you?" He asked.

Launchpad fell silent, but smiled thinking about his boyfriend, looking out of the window again before looking back at his boss.

"I like to think so." He replied.

Scrooge thought back to all the times he had seen Drake around the mansion since the cancellation of the Darkwing Duck movie, more than a year ago now. All the times he had seen Launchpad wrapping his arms around Drake just outside of the garage, all the times he had spotted them holding hands. All the times he had seen the way Drake looked at Launchpad, how he barely stopped smiling around him, how hard he laughed-- how he appeared to understand Launchpad in a way that no one else could even begin to comprehend. And he knew how much Launchpad adored him, too. He was the one who spent morning and night with him, just the two of them in the limo together. He was the one who had to listen to how amazing Drake was daily and how Drake had said the funniest thing the day before. It was something truly special indeed, and it did his old heart good to see Launchpad so happy. Not to mention the way Launchpad beamed when he laid his eyes on both Gosalyn and Drake, as if this little girl he had come to know in such a short space of time had been in their lives for as long as she had been alive.

"I may not know Mr Mallard as well as you do," Scrooge began, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. "But what I do know is that he cares about you. Deeply. Clearly, you both have a lot of love for each other. And yes, he may need to talk to you-- but that could be something as simple as, eh… not wanting you to eat burritos in bed anymore." 

Launchpad let out a genuine laugh at that, and reached up to wipe his eyes. Scrooge smiled at the sound.

"Yeah." Launchpad said, smiling at his boss warmly. "You're right. Thanks."

"Not at all, McQuack." Scrooge replied, returning the warm smile in kind. "Now, uh, if it's all the same with you, I'd quite like to get back home now." He stated, pointing at the large space between the limo and the car in front of them, and a loud beep that came from behind them made Launchpad jump.

"Yep! No problem, Mr McDee!" Launchpad exclaimed, flooring the gas pedal and jolting them both forward.

Each step towards his boyfriend’s apartment was another step in the direction of gut-wrenching anxiety. His talk with Scrooge certainly was helpful, but as he neared Drake’s residence, Launchpad couldn’t help his thoughts from escalating. He made a futile attempt to ignore them, but as he stood outside Drake’s door, his hand nearing towards the door handle, he couldn’t help but brace himself for the worst.

He took a moment to compose himself, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, before finally opening the door and walking into Drake’s apartment. Launchpad cleared his throat.

“Hey!” He exclaimed heartily, eyes still on the door as he closed it, only to be met with a harsh ‘shush!’. Launchpad’s brow furrowed and he looked over to Drake, who was carrying a sleeping Gosalyn in his arms. His heart melted at the sight, with Gosalyn being a more than welcomed recurring figure in both of their lives these days. Launchpad looked at him apologetically, mouthing ‘sorry’, and Drake sighed softly in response. The response made Launchpad’s heart sink even lower, and he unzipped his jacket it and tossed it onto the coat hanger along with his hat as Drake left the room to place Gosalyn carefully on his bed. 

He swiftly walked back into the room moments later, and Launchpad noticed how tired Drake looked. He knew Gosalyn had boundless bouts of energy (he’d spent his fair amount of time with the little girl they had saved a few months ago, too, and she had spirit unlike anyone he had ever seen), and with patrol on a night, it appeared to be taking its toll. Drake smiled at Launchpad, and made his way over to him, his arms wrapping around his middle in a gentle embrace. Launchpad enclosed his arms around Drake, squeezing him just that little bit tighter, and placed a kiss atop his boyfriend’s hair that lingered, almost as if he was savouring that moment--almost as if it’d be one of their last moments.

Drake let go at what felt like all too soon for Launchpad’s liking, and Launchpad watched as his boyfriend made his way into the kitchen of his apartment.

“I made you some dinner.” Drake said simply, a hint of raspiness to his voice that Launchpad recognised from the many mornings he had woken up next to Drake in the last year. “Oh, and we need to drop Gosalyn back off at the orphanage in an hour. She passed out after a rather intense game of hide and seek.” A look of fondness found its way to Drake’s face then, and Launchpad smiled warmly at the sight. “I heard her snoring behind the couch just before you came in.”

“And here I thought Gosalyn could never tire herself out.” Launchpad said with a gentle laugh, and Drake didn’t say much in return apart from a brief exhale of air, clearly meant to represent his own tired laughter.

Launchpad followed Drake to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, almost as if he were trying to hide his anxiety. Drake seemed to be a little preoccupied, cleaning the counter and passing Launchpad the sandwich he had made for him without even so much as a second glance, and Launchpad was practically begging Drake in his mind to look at him. But instead he took the sandwich with thanks and placed it to the side, his usual bottomless pit of an appetite failing him. Had Drake forgotten that he wanted to talk to Launchpad? Was he scared to finally break up with him? Was he trying to drag it out as long as possible? Launchpad tried to ignore the thumping against his chest but he was almost sure it was audible. He picked up the sandwich as he leaned against the counter and fussed with it, eyes barely leaving Drake as he moved around the apartment with the same amount of noise as a gentle cat with not nearly half as much grace, tripping over various toys Gosalyn had left on the floor, but Launchpad watched Drake with barely blinking eyes, taking in this sight of domesticity he had come to love and cherish so dearly that he may never get a proper chance to see again.

The apartment was silent apart from the low hush of talking coming from the TV, which sounded much too loud for Launchpad. Drake was barely saying anything apart from mutterings to himself whenever he tripped over or bumped into something, and Launchpad had given up on eating his sandwich entirely, arms now folded over his chest again and fingers tapping anxiously on his own biceps. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Drake asked, quirking an eyebrow as he looked at Launchpad from across the counter. Launchpad’s eyes widened, and his breathing escalated so that his chest was visibly heaving. Drake shot him an expression of worry, and opened his mouth to speak again before Launchpad interrupted him.

“If you’re gonna break up with me, can you do it quickly?! Just-- like a bandaid, y’know? Rip it off!” He yelled, flinching immediately after as if bracing himself for the impact and holding his head in his hands.

Drake stared at Launchpad in silence for a moment, before stifling a confused laugh and moving towards his boyfriend. He pried Launchpad’s hands away from his face, holding them in his own hands. “What are you talking about? I’m not breaking up with you!”

Launchpad averted his gaze for a moment, but then his eyes fixed on Drake’s. “What? You’re not?!”

“No!” Drake clarified, eyes not leaving his boyfriend’s face. “Why would you possibly think that?”

“You texted me saying you needed to talk to me! That’s classic break-up lingo!” Launchpad frowned in frustration. Drake looked at Launchpad, then rolled his eyes with a smile, shaking his head.

“Sweetheart, I am not breaking up with you. That’s not what I needed to talk to you about at all!” He stated, lifting a hand to caress Launchpad’s face gently. Launchpad melted into the touch as if he hadn’t felt it in years, and every worry he’d had throughout the day seemed to wash away with that one touch. “I’m sorry-- today has been pretty chaotic. I just needed a moment to tidy round before we talked.”

Launchpad’s brow furrowed. “....So...what did you need to talk to me about?” He asked, voice slightly softer now.

Drake smiled warmly, and held a little tighter to Launchpad’s hands. He guided him over to the couch and sat him down before sitting down beside him, and he took his hands into his own again. Launchpad looked down at their hands and ran his thumb over Drake’s knuckles before looking back at his boyfriend, who’s smile could put all the stars in the sky to shame.

“Well… there’s sort of… two things I need to talk to you about.” Drake started, and Launchpad nodded silently, holding his boyfriend’s hands with the usual firm but gentle touch he always had that forever made Drake feel safe and secure.

Drake cleared his throat. “The first thing is… I’m kinda tired of you going back and forth all the time.” He said, and Launchpad frowned, and opened his mouth to speak before Drake pressed his hand gently to his beak. “And before you jump to any conclusions, let me get to my point first.” He laughed softly, and then continued. “I’m tired of you going back and forth from here to the mansion all the time because… I want you to live here. I want you to stay here, with me. I want you to move in-- that is, if you want to.” He reached up to the front pocket of his shirt, and lifted out a key, placing it in Launchpad’s hand. “I… I got you a key cut already, too.”

Launchpad blinked, staring down at the key that had just been laid in his hand, then a smile beamed across his face. “Drake, I--”

“Hold on, hold on, I’m not finished.” Drake said, wiggling a finger with a grin, and Launchpad sat back slightly, although his smile remained.

“My bad. Go on.” He said through teary eyes.

“I want you to stay here with me. But I also… want Gosalyn to stay here with us, too.” He said softly, eyes looking over to the corridor where his bedroom was, where the duckling lay sound asleep atop his bed. Launchpad’s heart leapt into his throat at that, and his hands gripped a little tighter onto Drake’s.

“What are you--”

“I’m saying…” he took in a breath. “I’m saying… I want to adopt Gosalyn with you. I want her to be ours. No more taking her back to that orphanage, no more painful goodbyes at the end of days spent with her. I want her to be ours.” 

Launchpad felt a tightening in his throat, and he was almost at a loss for words. “You-- you want me to be Gosalyn’s dad? With you?”

Drake nodded slowly, then quickly, tears forming in his eyes that were threatening to unravel his calm exterior. “That is-- if you want to. If you don’t then I… I get that. It’s a lot to undertake. Being a parent, that is. I don’t want it to seem like I’m pressuring you, or anything, I-- I just want to give her a good life. A safe life. And I… I see the way you look at her when you’re spending time together. Like you would do anything to keep that beautiful smile on her face for as long as possible, no matter what it takes. That’s what I want for her. Parents who cherish every second they get to spend with her. Parents who would do anything to keep her safe. Parents… like us.” Drake said gently, giving Launchpad’s hands a squeeze. Launchpad had been frozen up until that point, and once he laid the key to the apartment that he had just been given to the side, he immediately pulled his boyfriend into a tight embrace, gaining a yelp of surprise from Drake as he was enveloped into his boyfriend’s arms but it was an all too welcomed gesture. 

“And to think I thought you were going to break up with me all day.” Launchpad said, his voice cracking as he held back his own tears, and Drake nuzzled his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder, his hands grabbing at his shirt as if his life depended on it.

He pulled away, cupping Launchpad’s face in his hands as he did so. “Never. I love you so much.” Drake told him, thumbs gently running over Launchpad’s cheeks in reassuring motions. Hands rested upon Drake’s waist, gripping almost a little too tightly in an effort to be as close to Drake as possible in that moment. 

Launchpad finally loosened his grip on his boyfriend to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I love you, too. More than anything-- or anyone. I mean, apart from…” He gave a nod to the direction of the bedroom, and he felt himself almost overcome with emotion. “God. I’m going to be a dad.”

Drake snorted a laugh, then sniffed afterwards, tears rolling down his face with him powerless to stop them from doing so now. “You are. We’re going to be dads. If it all goes according to plan. God, I hope…” he said barely above a whisper, and Launchpad gave his hands another squeeze.

“It will.” Launchpad clarified with a firm nod, and Drake looked at him, and nodded back, smiling. “When we drop her off tonight, we’ll tell them we want her to be ours, and we’ll go from there. Before you know it, we’ll be bringing her home without ever having to take her back.”

Drake wiped his own eyes, and nodded again. He leaned in and pressed his beak against Launchpad’s, arms wrapping around Launchpad’s shoulders, and Launchpad pulled him closer with that same familiarly firm grip. They parted, and nuzzled their beaks together, and Drake pressed a few more smaller kisses on Launchpad’s mouth before pulling away to look at him.

“You really thought I was going to break up with you?” Drake asked, raising an eyebrow as his hands lifted to play with the hair on the nape of Launchpad’s hair. Launchpad looked at him, almost embarrassed, and nodded.

“I may or may not have totally chewed Mr McDee’s ear off about it on the drive home.” Launchpad confessed, letting out a small chuckle.

Drake shook his head with a smile. “Oh, honey. No. Although if you don’t stop eating burritos in bed once you move in, I may have to sentence you to the couch for a few nights.”

Launchpad looked to the side, frowning. “How did Mr McDee know…?”

Drake snorted, then looked at Launchpad fondly. “I love you.”

His heart swelled at that, and he pulled his boyfriend closer once more. “I love you.”

They were then interrupted by the presence of the young duckling that accompanied them in their now shared apartment, yawning and walking into the living room slowly as she rubbed her eyes. Gosalyn’s curly hair was sticking up on end as she made her way over to where Drake and Launchpad were sitting. She asked what was going on, and they welcomed her onto the couch with opened arms, ready to tell her about the proposition they had just decided on together. Their arms enclosed around her shoulders simultaneously, and they both relished in the comforting thought that one day, someday soon, when they were all sat on the couch together on a quiet night like this, they would never have to take her back to the orphanage again.

[eddieeatsass]

7 and 21 for reddie😎 only if you want to❤️

Sex Magic/Sex Pollen + Blind Date from this prompt list

This combo was so interesting, it really made me wrack my brain to figure out how to meld these two concepts together. My friend Jack actually helped me come up with this idea, so thank you for making us both push the limits of our imagination!

Read On AO3

The System had been in place for nearly a decade; the population’s first ever completely computerized dating process. A computer took in all of your data, scanning your life history, your future goals, your medical status, as well as having each client fill out a ten page questionnaire. All of that information was then used to narrow down everyone in their database, giving you your most compatible mate.

There were two experiences you could choose from; The Classic, which involved a regular blind date, and The Neo, which ended with the release of their patented pheromone gas. Clients who chose the later would get to experience the sensuality and intimacy that usually resulted at the end of a successful date. Clients were able to opt out at any time during the date, if they decide they do not want to go through with the final step. Despite that, however, the public still argued about the morality of the consent issues that could arise from this practice.

Because of this outrage over the program, The Neo got used less and less over time. What was once new and exciting had now taken a back seat to The Classic.

Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak were two of The Neo’s first clients in months. Of course, the company couldn’t tell them that they’d only been paired together because they were the only two participants available, so instead, Richie and Eddie went into a blind date expecting to find their computer generated soul-mate.

It was a bright, sunny Friday afternoon when Eddie approached the dating center. He was welcomed warmly, and after reading through and signing all of the consent forms and legal documents, he was lead to a room. The building he’d arrived at was nice, the lobby had been decorated in a way that reminded its clients of why they were there; to find love. However, the room Eddie found himself in was starkly opposite.

It felt like he’d walked into a hospital. Everything was white, and the air smelt of disinfectant poorly concealed with the artificial smell of roses. In the middle of the room was a small square table, already set up with a table cloth, a candle, and two plates of pasta that couldn’t possibly be fresh. To the side there was a bed, barely big enough to fit two people but obvious in its purpose. Eddie was just considering bailing on this whole thing when he heard the door open behind him.

He turned to see a tall man stumbling in, eyes darting around the room before settling on Eddie. He was accompanied by the same worker who had brought Eddie in moments ago, but she quickly left with a curt nod, shutting the door behind them.

The two men stared at each other for one very long, very awkward moment, before the taller man took the lead.

“Hi, I’m Richie, you’re soul-mate, apparently.” Richie stuck his hand out towards Eddie, a charming but shy smile revealing a set of slightly buck teeth.

Eddie grasped his hand, shaking it timidly before deciding Richie was decently attractive. Definitely the type of guy Eddie would try and pick up at a bar. He was pleased with the introduction so far.

“I’m Eddie-” His voice was abruptly cut off by the crackle of a speaker.

“You’ve got thirty minutes before the gas will be emitted. If at any point before that you wish to end the date, you may discreetly press the button beneath the table, at which point one of our staff will be in to get you. Thank you for choosing The System as your dating course of choice. Good luck at your happily ever after.”

The voice was monotone, the disclaimer obviously rehearsed and recycled for every new date they supervised.

Eddie was quick to stifle his giggle, finding the contrast between the person’s lack of enthusiasm and the idea of finding your one true soul-mate hilarious, but unsure of how Richie would take it.

Surprisingly, Richie laughed unabashedly.

“Wow, with an introduction like that, how could we not be excited.”

Eddie let his giggle bubble up, soothed by the knowledge that Richie thought this experiment was turning out just as ridiculous as he did.

“Do you wanna see how terrible the food tastes?” Eddie asked.

“Eddie, my dear, nothing would make me happier.”

The food was awful, but that much shouldn’t be a surprise. This was a dating service, after-all, not a restaurant. The meals were probably made in giant batches, left to sit out all day and only being stirred or re-heated when necessary.

They poked at their pasta more than ate it, focusing instead on the conversation that seemed to flow freely between them. So far, Eddie had found out that Richie had recently moved to the city, was an only child but had a friend named Stan who he considered a brother, was trying to become an actor, and had a pet turtle.

“So, Eddie spaghetti,” Richie said, pointing towards the neglected spaghetti with his fork and a self-satisfied smile. “What led you to sign up for this romantic excursion?”

There it was, the question Eddie had been dreading. He knew it was going to come up, but hadn’t quite figured out a way to explain without coming across as lonely and desperate.

The truth was Eddie had gotten to a turning-point in his life very recently, where he’d had to choose between his own happiness and the happiness of others. After years of letting his mother dictate his life, choosing his school, his career, his partner, his sexuality, he’d had enough. But how could he sum that all up without Richie thinking he was a loser?

“Uhm, I came out recently…” Eddie chose that route; not quite a lie, but not the whole truth.

“Hey, congratulations!” Richie cheered, clinking his glass of water with Eddie’s before taking a sip. The action caused Eddie to startle, unfamiliar with someone congratulating him on, well, anything.

“So, you thought this might be the best way to find that special man?” Richie winked, gesturing at himself comically.

Eddie nodded, a small smile secured across his features.

“What about you?” He asked, eager to turn the attention away from himself.

Richie raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t been expecting the question to be turned around on him.

“Oh, uh, well my friends signed me up for this actually.” Richie rubbed the back of his neck. “But, well I guess it’s because I’ve been moping around for the past few months. Bad breakup and all that, you know. They must have decided it was time to get me back out there, and thus, here I am.” Richie gestured to the room around them, bringing their attention back to the bed that sat tauntingly in the corner.

“Apparently sex is part of getting me back out there.” Richie added, trying to make a joke out of an awkward moment.

Eddie smiled a little sadly.

“Well, if this was your friends’ idea, you certainly don’t have to, you know, act on anything. There’s no pressure.”

Richie’s featured contorted, almost as if he was offended Eddie would even suggest Richie might not want to see this through with him.

“Thanks for the out, but I hope you don’t mind if I don’t take it.”

Eddie’s cheeks tinted pink, a bashful smile causing him to tilt his head down.

“You’ve got a cute smile.” Richie murmured, almost too quiet for Eddie to pick up, before he was suddenly changing the subject.

The half hour they had to talk went by quickly, but they still found the time to discuss their entry questions for the program. They found out that they’d answered almost everything entirely the opposite from one another, leading them to question just how the algorithm worked.

“I still can’t believe you’d prefer a night at an arcade over a horse-back riding lesson for a first date.” Eddie teased, rounding back to the first question they’d been asked on their entry questionnaire.

“Hey, I stick by my guns; horses are terrifying creatures and I wish never to meet one.” Richie joked.

“I’ll have to introduce you to my friend Mike. He owns a farm and they’ve got the most gentle horses you’ve ever met. They wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

The insinuation of meeting up again after this program didn’t go unnoticed. Richie’s grin widened before Eddie realized what he’d said, slumping a bit lower in his chair and bringing the water glass to his lips.

“You know, if you want.” Eddie added, hiding his own smile behind a gulp of water.

“Already introducing each other to the friends, huh? Why Eddie, I didn’t know we were that serious.” Richie drawled in a dreadful impression of a southern belle.

Eddie’s face was flushed, his heartbeat preparing to send him to the hospital, when the overhead speakers came to life once more.

“We are now commencing part two. Please get comfortable as the gas begins to take its effects. Under the bed you will find anything you might need to make this experience more enjoyable.”

The two looked at each other with mixed expressions, the tone in the room suddenly thick with anticipation. The faint hissing of gas filtering in could be heard, but after looking around they couldn’t find its source.

Richie was the first one to move, pushing himself away from the table and heading towards the bed. He crouched down, reaching under the low bed frame and blindly feeling around until his hand met a box.

Once it was pulled out in full view, Richie and Eddie’s eyes both widened. The box was filled with an assortment of condoms, different types of lube, and even a few sex toys that were still in the package, marked with bright price stickers that implied if they used them, they were purchasing them to be taken home after.

“Wow, this is really happening.” Eddie said from where he still sat stock-still in his chair.

“Only if you want it to.” Richie said firmly, turning to give Eddie a genuine look.

“I don’t think that’s quite how it works. Soon our hormones are gonna take control and we won’t be able to help ourselves.”

“Hey,” Richie got up from his perch and walked over to Eddie, kneeling down in front of him and locking on to his gaze. “I will not do anything you don’t want me to. I don’t care what kind of crazy sex magic this is, I can and will hold myself back, if you tell me to.”

The tightness in Eddie’s chest began to loosen at Richie’s assurance, or maybe it was loosening because of the gas. Either way, Eddie found himself feeling more at ease, more confident, brazen.

He rose from his seat and passed by Richie, beginning to strip his shirt off as he walked towards the bed.

Richie was frozen in place, heart beating quickly at the mere sight of Eddie’s back. He was all tan skin and freckles and toned muscles; Richie found himself wanting to trace every curve with his tongue.

When Eddie’s hands began undoing his pants, Richie shot up and strode over within seconds, stilling Eddie’s hands with his own.

“Leave some for me, w-will ya?” He tried to joke, dry throat causing him to stumble over his words.

They couldn’t tell if the heat in the room was rising, or if it was the heat in their bodies. What had felt comfortable moments ago suddenly felt stifling. Getting rid of each other’s clothes became both lust-fueled and an attempt at regulating their temperatures.

Eddie began finding himself noticing things about Richie he hadn’t before. His hair was not an even shade of black, but rather a meld of dark browns and raven tones. It curled up in ways that made you want to run your fingers through it, and it looked so soft it was tantalizing.

Richie was noticing similar details about Eddie, like the swoop of his tiny nose and the smattering of freckles that didn’t just dust his cheeks, but scattered across his forehead and down his jaw. Richie followed the freckles down Eddie’s body, eyes glazing over as he took in the delicious planes of bare skin. When his gaze finally settled on Eddie’s cock, pink and perky, he dropped to his knees automatically.

Clients had to be free of STIs to pass through, so Richie didn’t think twice before taking Eddie into his mouth. The warmth of him on his tongue matched the warmth Richie felt all over, and the weight of the cock grounded him. He found it easy to focus on that and nothing else.

Eddie let out an unrestrained moan, letting his head tilt back as his fingers wound into that tempting hair. It was just as soft as he’d imagined, and he found himself gathering as much of it as he could in his fists.

As wonderful as it was to look down and see Richie’s mouth formed around his cock, eyes shut as he sucked with fervor unlike any Eddie had ever seen (or felt), Eddie needed more. His body tingled all over, his hole throbbed for attention, and all he wanted was for Richie to stuff him so full he wouldn’t be able to walk out of this place without assistance.

“Are you okay with topping?” Eddie struggled through his syrupy thoughts, trying to form a coherent sentence.

Richie hummed questioningly around Eddie’s cock, sending a shock of vibration up his shaft that had him cursing silently.

“Richie, are you okay with topping?” Eddie tried again, this time gritting the question through his teeth as his fingers tightened in Richie’s hair.

He got the same response, and irritation mixing with arousal caused Eddie to yank on Richie’s hair, pulling his head back and leaving him slack jawed and staring up at Eddie.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Eddie asked, all composure gone from his tone, replaced instead with desperation.

Richie smirked, raising on shaky legs and pulling Eddie close. Eddie’s hands were still tangled in his locks, causing his arms to rest on Richie’s shoulders.

“Oh Eds… I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll be wrecked for anyone else.”

Richie leaned in, capturing Eddie’s lips in the first of their kisses. It was messy, driven by passion and an intensity that nearly knocked them off their feet.

Richie began steering Eddie backwards towards the bed, keeping their mouths connected with melding tongues and swallowed moans.

When Eddie felt the mattress hit the back of his legs, he turned around and crawled across the bed on all fours, lowering his chest until it touched the bed so his ass was in the air. He reached back with both hands, spreading his cheeks and presenting his hole to Richie. It was such an unexpected lewd pose that it nearly had Richie choking on air. Eddie looked like a cat in heat, bearing himself completely to be at the mercy of Richie.

“You better make good on your promise.” Eddie challenged, his voice a bit breathless.

Richie grabbed a bottle of lube from the box provided and hastily joined Eddie on the bed, his excitement causing him to stumble momentarily.

Richie’s chest was tightening, a slow spring getting ready to launch him into the abyss of infatuation. He was already completely taken with Eddie, but now, with the addition of the pheromones, he felt completely consumed by his obsession over this boy.

Richie was quick to squeeze some lube out onto his fingers, surprised when the smell of cherries drifted up to his nose. He looked at the label on the bottle, seeing it was indeed marketed as cherry flavored, and made a mental note to test it later when he wasn’t so hyper-focused on getting as deep inside Eddie’s guts as possible.

Richie brought a single digit to Eddie’s hole, admiring for a moment how pink and pretty it was; like a small flower waiting to bloom. He teased around the ring of muscle, enjoying the way the skin twitched in response, before he experimentally began pushing in.

Richie was surprised as Eddie’s hole essentially sucked him in, pulling him through the warm channel until he was up to his knuckle.

“I… may have stretched before coming here…” Eddie admitted, wiggling back into Richie shamelessly.

Richie’s brain was spinning, partially from the gas but mostly from the sight in front of him. Eddie was taking him so well, so eager to be stretched open and fucked good, and boy would Richie deliver.

After a few pumps and twists of his finger, Richie was already able to add another. In addition to Eddie having already stretched himself, a side effect of the gas was that it relaxed you, loosening your muscles and making your body more pliant. So Richie was able to get three fingers deep in record time, having received not a single complaint from Eddie, but instead continuous encouragement and hip swivels.

At this point, Eddie was basically fucking himself back on Richie’s fingers, and Richie legitimately considered letting him get off just like that. However, Richie’s own length was feeling ignored, so he shelved that idea for another day.

Richie removed his fingers, soothing Eddie’s whine with kisses along his back as Richie reached towards the box for a condom.

“No, n-no condom.” Eddie panted, trying to pull Richie’s hand back towards himself.

“Wha- are you sure?” Richie asked, despite his heart rate skyrocketing at the idea of being inside Eddie completely bare.

Eddie nodded, accompanied with a little moan.

“I want to carry your load inside me for the rest of the day.”

That’s all the encouragement Richie needed to convince him. He let his forehead rest between Eddie’s shoulder blades for a moment, letting out a shaky breath as he tried to compose himself so he didn’t cum then and there.

“You are going to kill me if you keep saying things like that.” Richie huffed out.

Eddie wiggled his ass back against Richie once again, only now that Richie was hunched over him, Eddie was grinding right back into his lap, the thick head of Richie’s cock catching on Eddie’s rim every few seconds.

“Then shut me up.” Eddie challenged coyly.

Well, Richie might only last a few seconds, but at least they’ll be a blissful few.

Richie drew back his pelvis, lining himself up with Eddie and pushing in without hesitation. The resulting moan was wanton, filling the room with a small echo that bounced off the walls. Richie momentarily wondered if these rooms were soundproof, and tried to think back to when he’d been walking through the halls. Had he heard anyone? Were there people listening to his most intimate moments right this second?

Eddie’s tight heat clenching around him was enough to shake those thoughts from his head. If they wanted to listen, then god bless them, because Richie would put on a show.

He pulled his hips back before pistoning forward with a vigor that knocked a choked moan out of Eddie. Richie quickly set a tempo that had Eddie unable to keep quiet, making sure to angle himself in a way that he found Eddie’s prostate, and keeping himself aimed towards it with every thrust.

“Fuck fuck hhhhhnnnnnngggg- so full.” Eddie groaned, reaching one of his hands down to his abdomen and pressing in, as if he might be able to feel Richie within him.

“So tight.” Richie responded, petting down Eddie’s back.

“I don’t know if it’s the g-gas but I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked this g-good- oh my god yesssss right there.”

Eddie was meeting Richie thrust for thrust, the sound of skin slapping together the only thing that could be heard apart from their moans.

“That’s not the gas- fuck- it’s all m- mmmmmm- all me, baby.”

Normally Eddie would hate a cocky response like that, but right then it went straight to his cock, causing it to twitch and release a heady string of pre-cum. He could tell he was going to cum soon, could feel the tightening in his balls and the constricting of his abdomen.

“I’m gonna cum, Richie- ‘m gonna- ahhhhh-”

Richie reached a hand around to Eddie’s front, grasping his cock in a gentle hold and giving it the attention it craved. Within seconds Eddie was spilling over Richie’s deft fingers, soiling the bed beneath them with waves of his release.

It took Richie another few minutes to cum, fucking into Eddie’s overstimulated hole to chase his own high. Eddie didn’t complain, didn’t wince away or whine, he just stayed open and willing, a vessel for Richie to get off.

When Richie finally finished and pulled out, Eddie collapsed on the bed, too far out of his mind to care that he was laying in his own cum, or that Richie’s was dripping out of him.

Richie lowered himself down beside Eddie, catching his breath as he let his eyes wander over the man’s lithe form. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was after having sex-gas initiated intercourse with a stranger. Did you cuddle? Kiss? Was he allowed to ask him on another date?

As the gas induced haze started to leave their minds, they became more and more aware of the state of them.

“Do you think they have showers here?” Eddie’s voice chirped up after a long silence. It was smaller than before, shy, maybe, which Richie thought to be endearing after he’d been begging for Richie to destroy him mere minutes ago.

“I hope so. I’m not too keen on the idea of walking home covered in my own spunk.”

Richie heard a small giggle, and when Eddie turned to face him he just about stopped Richie’s heart.

The smile on his face was radiant, shining up into his eyes and directly into Richie’s soul. Richie nearly missed his next few words, too busy falling so hard he thought he may get a concussion.

“I’ve always hated that word. Spunk.” Eddie repeated it, scrunching his nose up in disgust.

Richie wasn’t aware of his hand moving until it was curling a lock of Eddie’s hair around his ear, fingers drifting down to his cheek bone and along his jaw. Eddie’s face fell into a new expression, surprised, but also inquisitive and searching.

Richie let his hand settle on to Eddie’s neck, thumb grazing back and forth over his jaw. He locked in to those hazel eyes before slowly, carefully, leaning into Eddie’s space and placing a gentle peck on his lips.

Eddie responded with a light press of his own lips, eyelids fluttering shut only for them to pop back open when the kiss ended before he was ready.

“Eddie…” Richie took a breath, stilling himself before continuing. “Will you go on a date with me? A real date?”

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his grin from showing through. He tried to calm his heart down before responding.

“On one condition.”

Richie raised an eyebrow.

“The food has to be better than that slop.” Eddie nodded towards the table where their forgotten dinner laid.

“Of course, Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie smiled before recapturing Eddie’s lips.

[oscar-piastri]

lost soul [ben hardy x reader]

title: lost soul

pairing: ben hardy x reader

summary: ben helps the reader to move on after she got her heart broken. ben and reader are like 23 in this

words: 3.7k

taglist: @styles-charli

notes:  This has been in my drafts for a month. It’s very messy, but this is what happens in my head. Writing this is helping me to feel better and as I wrote that, I decided to throw away some stuff that reminded me of my crush, after he left me on read for the 29282 times. Every time I have a crush on someone new, I have all the memories hitting me in the face of how dumb I was and how heartbroken I still am after years.

masterlist

Feelings, memories, you wished it could all disappear as your eyes landed on a small piece of paper. It was lost in a box, almost torn but you knew what it was, as you remembered clearly what’s the story behind it.

It was a simple note, just the kind of notes you write to your classmate in class to communicate in a discreet way so your teacher wouldn’t see what was happening. You should throw it away, it was a useless thing to keep. But you heart and your mind couldn’t accept that, and you knew you’d keep it forever, only because he wrote it, more than 5 years ago.

He was your classmate and the closest friend you ever had. You fell in love pretty quickly, and you drowned even more in your feelings when he acted protective with you. For months you tried to tell yourself he was just your best friend, nothing more, but everytime he smiled, you knew it was love that you were feeling. And what broke you is that he never felt the same way. You moved away and you took that opportunity to forget about him; but it never worked.

Your phone rang, making you leave this state of nostalgia. The name of your best friend could be seen on the screen, making your curse when you remembered you were supposed to see her and some of her friends. Ever since you told her about this, she established a little tradition; going out once a week with her friends because “you need to move on”.

For a moment you thought it would be a great idea, but as weeks passed you realised it was useless. Your friend made her best to make it work, she introduced you to a friend of her boyfriend; Ben. Let’s say it, Ben is handsome, with beautiful vibrant eyes, he’s smart and funny, but it was just reminding you of your past and how your hopes got your heart to shatter.

God, if you weren’t obsessing over that stupid heartbreak, you’d probably be dating Ben by now. But everytime you think of more than just talking with Ben, you just think of your high school’s crush and just lose any confidence.

The sun was shining and meeting your friend at a park was a great idea, somehow the brightness provided by the sun made you better and happier. While your friend and her boyfriend Joe went for a walk just the two of them, around the park, you found yourself sitting alone with Ben. You felt good in his company but couldn’t help but hold back your feelings, sensing some doubts in your mind.

You felt Ben looking at you and you looked up from your phone to gently smile at him. You noticed he was about to speak and you put down your phone, so your whole attention was on the young man. “Y/N, uh… We’ve been hanging out together for months, and I’m starting to really like you. So.. Maybe instead of seeing each other with Joe and your friend. Maybe we could go on a date? Just the two of us?” Ben asked you, hesitantly. You blinked quite a few times, repeating his words in your head before you found the ability to speak.

To be fairly honest, you didn’t know what to say. “I don’t think I’m ready to see someone. It’s… Complicated” Complicated was the right words; you could be starting a new chapter with what seemed to be the perfect man, but you were still tied to the past, scared to believe in something that could never happen.

“Oh” Ben simply replied, and you could feel that he was disappointed. His cheeks were still rosy from his revelation and you couldn’t help but feel guilty about this situation, doing something that happened to you and fucked you up, this is not fair.

“It’s not you! It’s me… It’s really me! I have some love issues I’m trying to fix” you justified yourself right away. But it didn’t seem to make Ben feel any better.

“Never heard that one before” Ben mumbled, and you couldn’t help but have a flashback of the moment you found out the guy you liked had a girlfriend. You bit your lips, asking yourself whether you should give a better explanation to Ben.

“Do you remember your first love, Ben?” You finally asked, but you didn’t wait for him to answer “Because I remember mine. It’s a painful memory, but sadly, after 5 years, the memories are still haunting me, and I feel like I’m being stabbed in the heart all over again but I keep thinking about him. He was my best friend and to follow the cliché, I fell in love with him.” You told Ben the story, how you met him on the first day of school, how you became friends pretty quickly. Just telling his name; Luke to Ben made you feel a knife in your heart.

Of course, you couldn’t forget to mention that you used to share your lunch with him because his parents didn’t give him enough money, that you used to talk via notes during French class because he was always giving you great advices. On top of that, you ranted about how he was protecting you all the time; one you got hit by a water bottle someone threw and he got so mad he yelled at everyone. You didn’t leave the part where he was the shoulder you always cried on when you were on edge of breaking, because your parents and yourself were always fighting.

“He even played footsie with me, in class!” You continued, almost yelling. “No wonder why I got the wrong idea” you grunted, enraged at your own self. “He made me hope! He was flirty and my dumb ass thought he wanted to be with me! But I was wrong, he showed up with his new girlfriend and I realised I played myself” you couldn’t help be talking. At first you just wanted to explain the situation to Ben, but the more you talked, the more it brought back memories and the more you needed to let out everything. “I loved him and I thought he did too. In the end, he didn’t realise I was in love with him. What a dumb boy, everyone knew I loved him, it was so obvious”

Ben stayed silent the whole time, but he was staring at you and you knew he heard every word you said, he did exactly what you wanted him to do; just listening to you. But then, you looked at Ben and for a second, you didn’t see him, but instead you saw your old crush. You felt your heart beating way faster than usual. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you all of that. It was a mistake” you apologized, feeling the tears in your eyes that were ready to roll down your cheeks. You grabbed your bag and left in a hurry, not bothering to look at Ben one last time, as you let him alone in the park, totally unaware of what was happening.

When you got to your place, you threw your stuff on the ground and wandered towards the couch. You let yourself fall back on it, watching the ceiling and mentally cursing. You took your phone to text your friend, to let her know that you were back to your place, but unconsciously you opened the messenger app and scroll down until you found the conversation you had with Luke about two years ago. You remembered staying up until 3 am just talking, trying to help him choosing the right school for him but as you reread the text, you realised he only replied to be nice, clearly bothered by you messaging him.

Without realising it, you were now stalking his facebook page, trying to find him on instagram, and googling his name to have more information. Your heart dropped when you saw that he was dating someone. and you couldn’t stop the tears that were about to roll down your face. It shouldn’t be hurting you that much, but it does and there’s nothing you can do about it. You were relieved when someone knocked on your door, giving you the chance to move on from that just for a few minutes. You hurried to get up from the couch, and wiped the tears away before you opened the door, thinking you’d find your friend but you couldn’t hide the surprise when you noticed Ben was standing right in front of you.

“It looks like you weren’t expecting me, darling” he joked, putting a small smile on your face.

“N-no, I thought… I mean… How do you know I live here?” you asked, moving to the side so you could let Ben come inside. To be a polite host, you asked if he wanted to drink or eat anything but he declined and you moved to the living room.

“You left in such a hurry, I was worried about you. I texted your friend to get your address” he explained, sitting next to you on the couch.

“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you” you shyly replied, hiding your phone under some pillow to hide the fact that just two minutes ago, you were feeling miserable because of a dumb post on some social medias. But you weren’t great at getting rid of every evidence of your recent feelings, as Ben noticed your teary eyes

“Are you sure you’re okay Y/N?” Ben asked, placing his hands on yours, that were anxiously resting on your laps. “You seem...”

“I feel like I’m going crazy, Ben!” You sobbed, cutting him mid-sentence. Ben was quick to react, as he wrapped his arms around you in order to hug you.“ I want the pain to go away” you cried against his shoulder. “I want to erase those memories, but I can’t! I can’t stop my brain from thinking about him every time I feel lonely” you continued, your lips quivering. “I shouldn’t be thinking about him… I should be thinking of you… I really like you Ben” you confessed, nuzzling your face deeper in his shoulders.

“Y/N….” He whispered against your hair, his hands gently rubbing your back. He wanted to smile at the fact that you liked him, but you were feeling terrible, vulnerable and it made every inch of happiness in him fade away.

“I’m really sorry about earlier Ben” you muttered as he unwrapped his arms. “I know it’s dumb but I’m just scared to fall in love again, I don’t want to feel this pain again. I’m aware that you won’t necessarily hurt me, but I’m just scared of getting my heart broken. I still haven’t healed….” you confessed, feeling a sense of relief running through your veins. You did felt better, letting your emotions out.

You asked Ben to hang out a little bit longer. He texted your friend to let her know that you were feeling better, and he agreed to stay a few more hours, mostly because he wasn’t feeling like leaving you alone in your state. You ordered some food and watched dumb shows on the tv, but it all helped to cheer you up. It was only 9pm but you kept yawning, and even though it made Ben laugh, he decided to leave so you could have some rest. You escorted him to the door, where he gave you a small kiss on the forehead. “Call me if you need help”, he said and you nodded with a weak smile before he left. You went back to the couch, too tired to find your way back to bed, and collapsed on the pillows, falling asleep right away.

A few weeks happened since that day, and to be quite honest, spending time with Ben now that he was aware of your little issues, was easier than before and it made you believe you were in the right direction to finally move on from the past. You were taking things slow, hanging out as friends as long as you weren’t ready to try for more. You were doing great, counting the days where you didn’t go emotional about Luke, you were now able to see his profile picture on messenger without grunting or crying.

But a phone call from your sister crushed your hopes of doing better, when she announced that she randomly saw Luke and his girlfriend somewhere. You said nice words about him being happy while you felt your eyes watering. As soon as you hung up, you ran to your room and opened the box that contained your high school yearbook, where Luke wrote some notes inside.

You looked at his pictures and back at the notes, then back at the notes. You were completely zoning out after minutes, thinking of the day Luke told you he liked your hair down for the picture. And you listened and spent the following day with your hair down.

The loud knocks on your door made you come back to reality. You checked your phone to see a few texts from Ben, but also to realise that you completely lost track of time and wasted one hour. You mentally cursed when you realised that Ben was at your door, probably worried because you were late to movie night.

“It’s open” you announced, raising your voice so Ben could come inside. When he got in, he saw you sitting on the couch, a box of tissues next to you and the yearbook on your laps.

Ben’s eyes were wide open as he was quite surprised to find you like that. “Y/N, what are you doing?” He questioned a little bit worried.

“I don’t know what to do…. I know what I’m doing is toxic, holding on to those memories, it’s destroying me little by little… But I can’t control that” you replied, holding the book against your chest like your life was depending on it. “My dumb heart is controlling my mind and he makes sure that Luke is in my head non stop. But I swear I wanna forget about him, I just…. He’s no good for me, I’m well aware of that! I just wanna move on, but every time I take a step in the right direction, something is pushing me back and I’m stuck all over again.” you mumbled, your voice getting lower as the words come out of your mouth.

“It’s okay, love. I’m here” Ben said, offering once again his shoulder for you to cry on. He was sitting right next to you, and you were looking at him with puffy eyes, on the edge of crying again, but you bit your lips to make the tears go away, not wanting to show Ben how miserable you are. But what was making it more painful, was that the more time you spent with Ben, you realised he was the man of your dreams and that because of your obsession with Luke, you were gonna let an amazing relationship break, before it even happened. You shouldn’t let Ben put his love life on hold, waiting for you, when you know deep down that you’ll never get over the past, he deserved to be happy too, not wait years for something that might never happen.  

“You’re wasting your time with me! Waiting for me to get better, when you should be out dating other girls, who are ready to start a relationship” you blurred out, tightly squeezing the yearbook in your hands, making your knuckles go white from the strength you put in your act.

“No, I’m not” Ben replied right away, determined to put this dumb idea out of your head. “And I will wait as long as it takes, not because I wanna go on that date, but because you deserve to be free of the memories and let yourself move on” he continued, placing his hands on yours. Your grip soften at his touch and you eventually let go of the yearbook, dropping it back on your laps. Ben grabbed it and threw it on the ground, far away from your view, making you laugh, letting a smile appear on your face.

The two of you stayed silent for a few minutes, just looking at each other while you’re trying to make the sadness go away. But after minutes, Ben finally broke the silence that was weighting in the room. “This might sound stupid, because you already know that, but Y/N, you have to get rid of everything you own that reminds you of him.” He said, and you wished for a second that he never talked. You knew he was right, but it was still hard to hear. “The thought of him keeps dragging you down and you don’t deserve that. Let go, let go of the memories and allow yourself to find happiness and love, because you deserve to find love with the right person”

You listened to what he was saying, his last sentence echoing in your brain. Ben noticed you were chewing on your bottom lip, thinking about what he just said. He knew you might not listen to him, but it was important for him to try and help you, the best he could.

“I know we missed the screening, but we can still go out?” Ben suggested and you timidly nodded

“Some fresh air won’t hurt me” you concluded, before excusing yourself to get ready.

When you came home later that night, it was impossible for you to find some sleep. You kept tossing around in your bed, wondering if you were strong enough to get rid of everything. You didn’t know what to do: you wanted to destroy everything that reminded you of him but you also wanted to hold on to some of them, because it helped you feel better somehow. You finally decided to grab your phone at 3am, unlocking your phone and going straight to the facebook application.

You finally managed to sleep for like two hours. As soon as you woke up, you texted Ben, asking if you could meet for lunch. He didn’t reply right away, you were expecting that since it was just 7am and that he was probably gonna have a busy day. You went on with your day, checking your phone every minutes to see if he answered. You were over the moon when you saw his text, telling you to meet him after his rugby practice.

Sitting in the bleachers from the stadium where he was practising, you were waiting for him to leave the locker room so you could grab something to eat.

“I’m sorry you had to wait” Ben apologizing as he jogged towards you.

“I’m not the one who’s waiting for someone the most” you replied, giving him an apologizing look. Ben shut you off right away by telling you again that he was fine with waiting.

“By the way, I have another practice in half an hour, I don’t think we’ll have enough time to eat outside, so… I got us those” he explained, taking snacks out of his sport bag. “Vending machine didn’t had much choice, but I hope you’ll like some of those”

You both were eating, as Ben told you about his practice but you had to ask him to explain rugby because you were just a big stranger to this sport. But you knew it was an important thing in his life, and you felt like it was the right thing to know more about it. When it was your turn to talk about what you did this morning, you couldn’t help to feel excited.

“I deleted him from facebook!” you almost shouted because you couldn’t control how happy you were about this achievement. “I mean… I know it’s not something big, but I’m so fucking proud of myself”

“It’s okay Y/N, baby steps are still important” he reassured you. “And I am so proud of you” he continued before pulling you in a tight hug. You giggled when you felt his hair ticking your neck. For once in your life, you felt that things were finally moving for you and in the good way. And just like Ben said, baby steps are important.

You found yourself a few times wanting to see Luke pictures but instead, you always ended up on Ben’s facebook page. Things were going great with you, you loved every minutes you ever spent with him, and you knew for sure, that you’d never want Ben to be out of your life.

“What’s inside?” Ben asked as he walked inside your apartment, using his fingers to point the box you put on the table. You closed the door behind him and quickly followed him.

“Memories. I put pretty much everything I owned that reminded me of Luke: pictures, playlists, notes and stuff” you enumerated. “I’m ready to throw all of that away. I might just need help, like a mental support” you admitted, looking at Ben.

“You can count on me” he affirmed. “Hey, let’s do it now!” he suggested. He did not wait for you answer, he already grabbed the box and was halfway through the doorway. You hurried to grab your stuff and followed him.

Ben stopped at the nearest dumpster and when he found one, he gave you back the box.

“Do it when you’re ready” he reminded you, not wanting you to feel pressured to do it right now.

You actually waited a few minutes, you took this time to remember the happy moments you had with Luke. When you felt like you were finally ready, you threw the box in the trash, leaving your past and your memories behind. You were now more ready to move on and give a chance to Ben. You’ve never felt like this before, and you loved this feeling of being reborn, finally free of that terrible obsession and influence.

“Luke is my past, but you, you’re my future” you whispered, but Ben heard you and he interlocked your fingers with his before kissing your head softly.

[justauthoring]

No Reason To (4/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

It has come to my attention that by adding links to my posts, it stops that post from being seen in the tags tagged. So, sadly, I will no longer be able to tag previous parts of NRT on new chapters. BUT all part can be found easily on my “No Reason To Series MasterList!”

A/N: I am absolutely blown away from the positive feedback i’ve received. It both baffles me and makes me really happy - so thank you all so, so, so much! You’re sweet and supportive comments only inspire me to write more frequently, so please, keep at it and i’ll keep being consistent!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 01x06 and 01x07

Tag List: @potterheadbbc - @sunsetblake - @mythicalamphitrite - @loverofwaytoomanythings618 - @creamychickenuggets - @mnk - @gazebros- @colie87 - @quilliamfears - @quellum - @pessimisticbullshite - @desired-love-@thinkwritexpress-official - @kaylinfayezink - @maiabiovillage - @tr1chst3r - @arkcangel - @quirkytwinkles - @thegirlwhoimagined - @noones-girl1980 - @illumminated - @fairchild345 - @all-will-be-well-love - @animemes-trash - @starryrevelations - @literallyhelpme - @theskytraveler - @jinandtion1c - @ilovemymoose - @bibliophilesquared - @stilessarcasmqueen - @mersuperwholocked-lowlife - @newtsshelbys - @wyattgoleft - @pancakefancake - @saturno-in-the-night - @pizzamelon7384 - @riskregretting If you’d like to be tagged, just let me know! Any in italics are those Tumblr won’t let me tag!

The sound of murmured talking woke you from your sleep. Blinking, you picked your head up from your pillow, turning it to the left to glance at the clock. It was half past midnight.

What the hell was Scott doing at half past midnight?

You attempted to ignore it, but after everything that’s happened the past few days, not to mention that you’ve barely seen your brother in those past few days, you find it hard to ignore. Your dick of a brother never actually even asked if you were okay after what happened with Jackson in the video store. You wondered if he ever actually would.

“Ugh,” you groan, pushing yourself up and onto your feet with a frown. You quietly open up your bedroom door, careful not to wake up your mother given that she has an early shift in the morning, instead of an late shift, and creep past her bedroom. Though, you can’t help but peek into her bedroom a little, smiling softly to yourself at her sleeping peacefully.

You wonder, in that moment, how she’d react if she knew what Scott was.

Shaking your head, you turn back towards your brothers bedroom, taking the last few steps over to it. You debate on just opening the door, but realize it’s probably better if you knock. So, raising your hand, you do just that, calling out a quiet; “Scott?” in question.

There’s a moment of scuffling before Scott is whisper-yelling back; “busy!”

Your brows furrowed, lips tightening into a straight line. “What the...” You mumble, grabbing a hold of the door knob. “Come on, Scott. I know I heard you-” 

The moment you open the door even just a little, a weight is pushed against it, shutting once more. You blink, lips parted in surprise as you glance up at the door, as if imagining you can see right through it and glare at Scott. “Scott?”

“Not the time, Y/N,” he calls back, his voice gruff.

A deeper, almost recognizable voice responds before you even have the chance to; “is that your sister?”

Eyes narrowing in confusion, you hear Scott shush the man before speaking back at you; “just... just go, Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You open your mouth to argue, but pause, letting go of the door knob and taking a few steps back. You wait, knowing Scott is listening to make sure you’ve left, hoping that if he just doesn’t care that much, you’ll be able to listen in.

“Just let her in,” the deeper voice says again. Your eyes widen, finally able to recognize the voice - that’s Derek. “It’s not like she doesn’t know who-”

“Shh,” Scott snaps again, “she’s still there.”

Frowning, you shake your head, turning around and heading off back into the direction of your bed. Still, you can’t help but wonder what Derek is doing in Scott’s bedroom, and what else Scott is hiding from you.

-

“The what of who?”

“The beast of Gevaudan,” Allison replies, leaning forward in her seat to turn and look at both you and Lydia. You barely pick up your own head in response, picking at your food distractedly. “Listen. ‘A quadruped wolf-like monster, prowling the Auvergne and south Dordorgne areas of France during the year 1764 and 1767.”

“La Bete killed over a hundred people. Becoming so infamous that the King Louie the fifteenth sent one of his best hunters to try and kill it’.”

“Boring,” Lydia response, shaking her head at Allison.

She only continues; “’Even the church eventually declared the monster a messenger of Satan.’”

“Hmm,” Lydia pauses in thought, “still boring.”

“‘Cryptozoologists believe may have been a subspecies of hoofed predator, possibly a mesonychid.”

“‘Slipping into a coma’ bored.”

“’While others believe it was a powerful sorcerer who could shape-shift into a man-eating monster,’“

“Gotta admit,” you speak up, meeting Lydia’s eyes. “It’s kinda of boring. Does any of this have anything to do with your family?” 

“This,” Allison nods, turning back to her book. “‘It is believed that La Bete was finally trapped and killed by a renown hunter who claimed his wife and four children were the first to fall pray to the creature.’“

“And what does that have to do with your family?” You repeat, raising a brow.

Allison’s laughs lightly, blinking up at you; “his name was Argent.”

“Your ancestors killed a big wolf,” Lydia dismisses, shaking her head; “so what?”

“Not just a big wolf,” Allison corrects. Looking down at her book, she flips through a page, before turning it around towards you and Lydia. “Take a look at this picture,” she says, pointing at said photo. Following her lead, you glance at it, trying to understand what she’s getting at. “What does it look like to you guys?”

Leaning forward, you feel your heart race somewhat when you see the same red eyes that you saw that night with Jackson. They’re staring back at you just like they had that night, and the fork in your hand drops with a shaky breath, your eyes widening. It feels like you’ve been staring into that same image for days, stuck in your mind, and it isn’t until Allison sets a hand on your arm do you snap out of your stupor.

You blink, rubbing at your eyes in distress as Lydia answers. “It looks... like a big... wolf.” What you don’t know though, is she was just as scared of the image as you, just in a different way. At least you know, in a realistic sense, what that is. And what that thing was that night at the DVD store. All Lydia is that it’s a werewolf, and up until a few days ago, she probably thought they never existed.

Sending the two of you one last smile, Lydia stands up, picking up her tray, obviously done with the conversation; “see you in history.”

Allison turns into the bench, facing you. She sets down her book, flipping through a few more pages as silence falls over the two of you. As the two of you just sit there, you start picking at your food once again, not really finding the appetite within you to eat it.

You get lost in your thoughts. Thinking back to everything that’s happened, and trying to pinpoint when everything went so wrong.

But what’s really on your mind is last night and why Scott shut you out like that. He’s been doing that a lot recently, and it’s not the first time you and him have been out of tune in a twin sense. It just feels different this time. Feels like he doesn’t trust you enough, or have enough faith in you to tell you everything. And the worst part is Stiles is doing the exact same thing.

“Y/N?”

Blinking, you look up from your food, meeting Allison’s eyes once again; “hmm?”

Her lips curve downwards, a frown befalling her features. “Is everything okay?” Her voice is soft, concerned and for some reason, it takes everything within you not to just spill out the truth. You know you can’t for Scott’s sake. But, oh God, do you want to...

Just to have someone to talk to about it all, that isn’t Scott or Stiles. 

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, i’m fine.”

“Really?” She questions, raising a brow. “That’s the second time you’ve zoned out. Not to mention you haven’t even taken a bite out of your food. What’s on your mind?”

You hate it, but you can’t help but glance behind yourself, meeting Scott’s eyes from afar. He’s hid some of his face behind a world history book, but you’re still able to meet his eyes. 

Sighing, you turn back to Allison; “just a little tired.”

Allison seems unsure and suspicious, obviously not missing the way you glanced Stiles and Scott’s way, but not wanting to push the issue, she shrugs. “If you’re sure.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you are interrupted by Stiles saying; “uh-huh. Oh, yeah,” causing you to turn around in confusion. It catches Allison’s attention as well, and you both watch as Stiles hastily stands up, grabbing his books off the table, as well as the book in Scott’s hands and his backpack.

Making a last minute decision, you follow Stiles lead, standing up yourself and racing after him. You miss the panic that falls over Scott’s face, or the way Allison is calling for his name, too preoccupied with Stiles.

“Stiles!” You call, “wait up!”

He listens, surprisingly, this time, turning to face you. His face softens somewhat at the sight of you, and the moment you reach him, you’re reminded of the awkward tension from the last time the two of you spoke.

Pushing that aside, you plaster a smile on your lips, meeting his gaze. “Where are you going?”

“Uh, actually,” Stiles blinks, looking around the hallway. Your heart falls when you realize he’s about to come up with an excuse.

“Okay, you know what? Never-mind.” Holding up your hands, you shaking your head up at Stiles, taking a few steps backwards. Just as you’re about to turn your back on him and head off though, Stiles grabs a hold of your wrist, halting your movements.

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head. “I’m about to try and teach Scott how to control his powers before Derek’s able to. We’re about to go to the lacrosse field.”

A genuine smile falls on your lips, “i’ll come.”

-

“What is Y/N doing here?”

“Y/N is here to help you,” you answer for Stiles, sending your brother a cold smile. “And she’s not leaving.”

Scott blinks at you, glancing at Stiles who only shrugs, before meeting your eyes again. He opens his lips to argue, but one look at your face and he knows now isn’t the time.

Once that’s dealt with, Stiles butts in; “okay,” he nods, setting down the duffel bag and lacrosse stick onto one of the benches of the bleachers. Taking a seat himself, he reaches into the bag, pulling something out; “now... put this on.”

Handing it over to Scott, said boy hesitantly grabs a hold of it. “Isn’t this one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, “I borrowed it.”

You take a step forward, taking a seat next to Stiles and in front of Scott, setting your hands in your lap. Turning to Stiles, you send him a pitiful smile; “stole it.”

“Temporarily misappropriated,” Stiles corrects, before turning his attention back on Scott. “Coach uses it to monitor his heart rate with his phone while he jogs, and you’re gonna wear it for the rest of the day.”

“Isn’t that coaches phone?” Scott asks, brows furrowed.

“That, I stole.”

Shaking your head, you can’t but ask; “why?”

“All right, well, your heart rate goes up when you go wolf, right?” Stiles asks, to which Scott confirms. “When you’re playing lacrosse, when you’re with Allison, whenever you get angry. Maybe learning to control it is tied to learning to control your heart rate.” 

Woah, you think, that’s actually pretty good.

“Like the Incredible Hulk,” Scott smiles.

“Kinda like the Incredible Hulk, yeah.”

“No,” Scott mumbles, “i’m like the Incredible Hulk.”

“Just shut up and put the strap on,” you grumble, shaking your head.

-

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my free period,” Scott mumbles, glancing behind his shoulder with his hands tied behind his back. You can’t help but laugh a little, biting your lip as Stiles only ignores him, picking up the duffel bag and backing away from Scott.

“All right,” Stiles calls, “you ready?”

“No,” Scott sighs.

“Remember,” you call, raising your voice as you grin widely. You are definitely enjoying this. “Don’t get angry!”

Stiles drops the duffel bag next to you, leaning down to turn on the heart rate app that coach uses.

“I’m starting to think this was a really bad idea,” Scott mumbles to himself, staring at the two of you worried. Stiles doesn’t seem to really care as he picks up the lacrosse stick, scooping one of the balls he’d place before him into the net and swinging his arm back. With aim you didn’t even know the boy had, he manages to hit Scott directly in the stomach, groaning loudly.

Stiles giggles to himself, repeating the process again and landing a hit on Scott’s chest. He sends him stumbling back, another loud groan leaving his lips. Without even giving him time to collect himself, Stiles does it again, throwing it a little bit harder this time.

“Okay,” Scott huffs, “that one... kind of hurt.”

“Quiet,” Stiles dismisses. “Remember, you’re suppose to be thinking about your heart rate, okay? Thinking about staying calm.”

Scott nods, bouncing on his feet; “staying calm. Staying totally calm. There’s not balls flying at my fac-”

You let out a chuckle, holding your hands by your lips as Stiles manages to hit Scott right on the cheek. Stiles turns to you then, a wide grin on his face, extending the lacrosse stick over to you; “wanna hit?”

“I’d love one,” you grin, stepping forward and taking the lacrosse stick out of Stiles hands. Scooping the ball into the net, you grin up at Scott who groans loudly once again.

“Really?” He whines, “you too, Y/N?”

You don’t reply, only shake your head before swinging your arm back and hitting him directly in the shoulder. He stumbles back, losing his footing as Stiles turns to you, high-fiving you.

You do it once more, hitting Scott at the top of the head, before shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “I better hand it back to you before I really hurt him,” you mumble to Stiles, sending him a grin.

Taking the lacrosse stick from you, Stiles wastes no time in continuing.

“Oh!” Scott cries, “son of a bitch!”

“You know what?” Stiles calls aloud, “I think my aim is actually improving.”

“I’d agree,” you laugh, smirking.

“Wonder why,” Scott snaps, and in response you hear the heart rate beep in response.

“Hey, hey,” you call, “don’t get angry.”

“I’m not getting angry.”

A few hard hits later, you can tell Scott’s starting to get increasingly annoyed and you imagine, sore.

“Stop,” he calls, but Stiles doesn’t listen. “Just wait. Wait, just hold on.”

The last hit sends to Scott to his knees, and your eyes widen when he never picks up his head. It’s then that you notice the phone beeping loudly and increasingly fast, causing you and Stiles to crouch down and look at it. Sure enough, Scott’s heart is racing madly.

“Scott?” Stiles calls, voice soft with hesitancy.

You flinch when Scott rips the duct tape holding his wrists together, gripping the grass beneath him. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and you feel your own heart increase in panic.

Then, after a terrifying moment later, Scott’s heart begins to slow down.

Glancing over at Stiles, you both silently agree to head over to Scott, creeping forward. Stiles extends his hand forward, setting it on Scott’s shoulder before said boy rolls over. 

“Scott,” you whisper, “you started to change.”

“My anger,” he breathes, “but it was more than that. It was like, the angrier I got, the stronger I felt.”

“So, it is anger, then. Derek’s right.”

Letting out a heavy exhale, Scott shakes his head; “I can’t be around Allison.”

“Just because she makes you happy?” You question, confused.

“No, because she makes me weak.”

-

A sudden pounding on your door pulled your attention away from your homework. Blinking, you glanced up from your position at the kitchen table, turning your head around to glance at the front door. It was a little past ten o’clock. Who the hell was here at ten’o’clock?

The knocking only continued, growing a tad bit more urgent the more you left it.

Sighing, you pushed yourself up to your feet, heading to the front door. “I’ll get it!” You called, Melissa replying with an ‘okay’ in response. Continuing your way over to the front door, you unlocked it with another sigh before pulling open the door. You’re not sure what you expected, but Allison and Jackson definitely wasn’t it.

“Hello?” You mumble, raising a brow.

“Hey,” Allison smiles, leaning in past Jackson. Although she’s smiling, you can tell there’s something behind the lids of her eyes. “Is Scott here?”

“Shouldn’t he be on a date with you?” You question, cocking your hip out.

“Precisely why we are here,” Jackson speaks up, rolling his eyes. “He isn’t home?”

“Nope,” you shake your head, shrugging, “haven’t seen him since school.”

Allison is about to reply before her phone going off interrupts her. She sends both you and Jackson a confused glance, before pulling it out of her back pocket and switching it on. You turn to Jackson as you wait, somewhat unsure of what to do.

Then, Allison’s sliding her phone back into her pocket and turning to Jackson; “we’re going to the school.”

“Wait,” Jackson blinks, shaking his head. “Why?”

“Come on,” she urges, ignoring Jackson’s question, before turning to you. “You too, Y/N.”

You hesitate a moment, glancing back in the direction of your homework before looking back at your two friends before you. Shrugging, you lean over to the coat hook, grabbing your jacket; “anything’s better than homework.”

A short drive later, and you’re at the school.

You wait for Jackson to step out, pulling the seat forward so Allison, then you, can crawl out of the back seat. The moment you’re on your feet, you turn to the school, raising a brow.

“What’re we doing here anyway?” Jackson asks, shoulders dropping with defeat.

Glancing down at her phone, Allison pauses a moment before flipping her phone screen to you and Jackson. “All I got was this.” Leaning forward, you read the text Scott apparently sent to Allison.

Meet me at the school. URGENT.

Furrowing your brows, you lean back, glancing up at the school once more. That seems a bit odd.

“They lock the doors at night, you know?” Lydia reminds, glancing up at the three of you through the drivers window.

“That ones open,” Allison calls, pointing forward before stepping past you and Jackson and heading over. You glance at Jackson one final time, before the two of you follow after Allison.

“You don’t need me to state the obvious, right?” Jackson questions, halting Allison as she turns around to look at the both of you. You can’t help but bite your lips at his words, glancing at the opened door in worry.

“That it looks like they broke into the school?” Allison responds, shaking her head. “No, pretty obvious.”

“Want me to come with you?” Jackson offers, and you turn to him in confusion. That was oddly chivalrous. Jackson was nice to a very few selected people. Somehow you managed to fall into that category, and up until now, you thought Allison hadn’t been apart of it.

Shaking her head, Allison crosses her arm over her chest. “Mm, it’s okay.”

“Well, i’m coming with you,” you butt in, stepping past Allison to head up the stairs. You hear Jackson call after Allison, and choosing to ignore him, you continue to make your way up the steps and over to the opened entrance, crossing your arms over your chest in nervousness.

“Y/N.”

Jumping a little, you spin your head around, setting a hand against your chest. “Jesus,” you breathe, sending Allison a small smile. “You scared me half to death.”

Flashing the light onto her face, Allison laughs; “boo.”

Shaking your head, you snatch the flashlight from her hands, walking through the door. “Let’s go.”

-

“It’s cold in here,” you whisper, tensing up in the arms.

Allison mumbles in agreement, continuing to look around the pool in concern. You can’t help but do the same. You have no idea exactly what happened here or why Scott and you’re guessing Stiles are here, and you can’t even begin to think why. But you know it has to do with something supernatural. And along with you being concerned with their safety, you can’t help but worry what you just walked into.

The both of you jump once Allison’s phones ring, you nearly dropping the flashlight in response.

“Answer it,” you urge after a moment of Allison just staring at it.

“It’s Lydia.”

You nod, turning around to continuing looking around as she starts speaking. 

“Hello,” you hear her respond. “Yeah, we can’t seem to find them.” Another moment of silence. “Okay, give us a second and we’ll be there.”

Turning to you, Allison nods; “we have to head back in a minute.”

“Sounds good,” you smile.

The two of you are once again interrupted by the sound of Allison’s phone ringing. If you were confused before, you are absolutely baffled now. Turning to Allison, you raise your brow, silently asking who it is.

“Stiles,” she mumbles, brows furrowing.

“What?”

Answering her phone, Allison presses her phone against her ear; “Stiles?”

You don’t hear what he says in response, but a moment later Allison replies; “we’re in the school looking for you, why weren’t you at my place?”

Once again, you don’t know what is said in response, but you take the few short steps over to Allison, curious.

“With Y/N on the first floor.”

Allison’s eyes widen and she glances around herself; “the swimming pools.”

Allison grabs a hold of your wrist, causing you to look up at her concern. “Okay, okay,” she replies, “we’re coming.” Suddenly, you’re being pulled forward by the wrist, nearly stumbling over your own feet.

“Wait, where are we going!”

-

“Why did you come? What are you doing here?”

Blinking, you slow to a stop next to Allison, glancing at both Stiles and Scott in bafflement.

“Because you asked me to.”

Scott’s face scrunches up in confusion; “I asked you to?”

“You texted her,” you mumble, shrugging your shoulders.

Both Scott and Stiles reel over to you; “and you. What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“Allison came to our house searching for you,” you explain, narrowing your eyes. “Then you texted her. Obviously, I came along.”

“Okay,” Stiles suddenly speaks, holding up his hands by his head. “What text?”

Turning to Allison, you patiently wait for her to pull up the text message on her phone before flipping it around for Scott and Stiles to see. You feel your heart drop though when Scott glances up at the two of you, lips parted.

“Why do I get the feeling you didn’t send this message?” 

“Because I didn’t.”

“Did you drive here?” Stiles asks, stepping forward.

“Jackson did,” you shrug.

Scott steps back in panic, turning to Stiles in alarm; “Jackson’s here too?”

“And Lydia,” Allison adds, raising her voice. “What’s going on? Who sent this text?” As Allison speaks, her phone starts ringing once again, causing her to trail with her words, answering it. “Where are you?”

As soon as Allison finishes speaking, the sound of a door opening quickly echoes. You spin around, meeting Lydia and Jackson’s gaze. Rushing over to you, Lydia shoves her phone into her purse, breathing out; “finally. Can we go now?”

You nod, falling by Stiles side.

A second later, a loud thud echoes from over your heads. Without thinking, you shuffle closer to Stiles, feeling your heart rate start to pick up.

You’re not sure what’s happening, all you know that it’s bad. But then, Scott’s turning his head to face you all, and his eyes are wide with panic. Then,

“Run!”

You don’t dare glance behind yourself, nearly stumbling over your feet as the six of you start sprinting forwards. Whatever it is, you can tell that it isn’t human by the loud thuds and inhuman growls that leave the creatures lips. You make sure not to leave Stiles side, feeling your entire body tense with panic.

The lot of you burst through a set of doors, and the moment you’re all through, Scott wastes no time shutting and locking them behind you. 

Feeling your heart pound against your chest, your breath rapid and uneven, you pace inside the classroom, fists clenched in distress.

“Help me get this in front of the door,” you hear Scott bellow to Jackson, referring to the teachers desk.

“Wait, no,” Stiles calls, bringing your attention on him. “Not here.”

“Scott,” Allison cries, “what was that?”

“What came out of the ceiling!”

“Will you just help me?” Scott screams in response, voice raw.

You hesitate, focused on Stiles who is desperately trying to get everyone to listen to him. “Guys... Can we just wait a second? You guys, listen to me, w-- Can we wait a second? Guys? Stiles talking.”

No one but you listens as the four of them continue to barricade the door to the extreme.

“Hello!” You call, shaking your head in distress. “Guys! Listen!”

They fail to listen to you either, and turning to Stiles, you hear him huff before taking a step forward; “hello!”

The four of them snap to the two of you, Stiles’s shoulders falling in defeat. “Okay, nice work.” He huffs, “really beautiful job, everyone. Now, what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?” And to add to his point, Stiles side steps, gesturing to said windows.

Rubbing your hands against your face, you sigh; “idiots...”

“Can someone please explain to me what is going on?” Allison cries, latching onto Scott’s arm. “Because i’m freaking out here. And I would like to know why.” Scott only stares back at her in response, lips parting in uncertainty. “Scott?”

He only rips his arm from her gasp, stepping forward before slumping against one of the desks.

Shaking your head, you pace on the spot. This is so not the time to be keeping secrets Allison, if the group of three completely freaked out and scared people, and you, are anything to go by. And yet, both Stiles and Scott refrain from giving the four of you any answers.

Scott just remains silent, and with a groan of frustration, you turn to Stiles. “Is anyone going to answer us? Because i’d really like to know what’s going on myself.”

Stiles looks at you, body still, before he takes a deep breath, stepping forward. “Somebody killed the janitor.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “the janitors dead.”

Allison attempts at a smile, hoping it’s all some sort of sick joke. “What is he talking about? Is this a joke?”

“Wha-,” Jackson stammers, “who killed him?”

“Non, no, no, no. This was supposed to be over,” Lydia panics, eyes wide with fear. “The mountain li-”

“Don’t you get it,” Jackson interrupts. “There wasn’t a mountain lion.”

“Who was it?” You screeched, “what does he want?”

Fumbling, Allison’s whispers; “what’s happening?”

All the while, Scott keeps his back turned to the five of you, silent. A bout of anger floods your entire being at his lack of response. Can’t he ever just answer you? Tell you something?

“Scott!”

“I-I don’t know,” Scott stammers, finally answering and turning around to face you all. “I-I just... If we go out there, he’s... he’s gonna kill us.”

“Us?” Lydia screeches, “he’s gonna kills us?”

“Who?” Allison repeats, turning to Stiles when she knows Scott won’t answer her. “Who is it?”

Stiles only turns to Scott, seemingly waiting for him to answer. During the moment of silence, you inch closer to Stiles, touching his arm in an attempt to get an answer out of him. He only keeps his eyes trained on Scott, willing him to answer the question he apparently doesn’t have answers for.

“Derek,” Scott suddenly calls, “it’s Derek Hale.”

What?

“Derek killed the janitor?”

“Wha... Are you sure?”

“I saw him,” Scott admits.

“The mountain li-”

“All of them?” Allison interrupts Lydia.

“Yeah,” Scott nods, “starting with his own sister.”

“The bus driver?”

“And the guy in the video store,” Scott confirms, and you furrow your brows. That doesn’t make any sense. You were there in the video store. That couldn’t have been Derek. “It’s been Derek the whole time. He’s in here with us.”

“No,” you whisper under your breath, shaking your head. “That isn’t right.”

You feel Stiles’s eyes fall on you, and you snap your own to his, pushing for answers. You receive none.

Only silence follows your words, before Scott straightens his back; “and if we don’t get out now...” He turns, facing the five of you. “He’s going to kill us too.”

-

“Call the cops.”

“No,” Stiles responds, not even turning to face Jackson.

“Wh-What do you mean no?” Jackson huffs in response, shaking his hand out at Stiles.

“I mean no,” Stiles repeats. “You wanna hear it in spanish? No.” He finishes off with a slight accent before continuing. “Look, Derek killed three people, okay? We don’t know what he’s armed with.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jackson continues; “your dad is armed with an entire sheriff’s department. Call him.”

“I’m calling,” Lydia says, stepping forward with her phone in her hand. Stiles is quick to leave your side, rushing after her. “No, Lydia, would you just hold on a second.” Before he can reach her though, Jackson steps forward, grabbing a hold of Stiles by the shirt and pushing him back.

“Hey,” you call, affronted, as you step forward, pulling Jackson’s grip off of Stiles. He sends you a narrowed look, to which you respond with one of your own, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yes,” you hear Lydia, pulling your attention off of Jackson and onto her. “We’re at Beacon Hills high school. We’re trapped, and we need you to--” Her words suddenly halt, causing you to furrow your brows in response. “But--” Pulling the phone away from her ear, Lydia glances down at her phone, stunned. “She hung up on me.”

“The police hung up on you?” You question, doubting her words.

“She said they got a tip warning them that there are gonna be prank calls about a break-in to the high school,” Lydia explains, voice pitched with panic. “She said if I called again that they’re gonna trace it and have me arrested.”

“Okay,” Allison urges, “then call again!”

“No,” Stiles sighs, “they won’t trace a cell. Then they’ll send a car to your house before they send anyone here.”

“What the-” Allison stammers, shaking her head. “What-- What is this? Why does Derek wanna kill us? Why is he killing anyone?”

“That’s what i’d like to know,” you mumble under your breath.

After another moment of silence, everyone’s eyes falls on Scott’s who’s own widen in response. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”

“Is he the one that sent her the text?” Lydia questions, referring to the message Allison received early.

“No,” Scott panics, “I mean, I don’t know.”

“Is he the one who called the police?” Allison adds.

“I don’t know!” 

“Alright,” Stiles interrupts, easing the tension. “Why don’t we ease back on the throb, yeah?” Setting his hands on Scott’s shoulders, Stiles gently guides the boy back. You glance back at Jackson, Allison and Lydia, before following after the two them, eyes narrowed.

Once the three of you are far away in enough, you glare at them; “the two of you better explain to me what the hell is going on,” you whisper angrily. “Because you both know I know it wasn’t Derek.”

“It’s Scott’s beta,” Stiles quickly explains to you, “Derek... Derek’s dead...”

“Jesus...” You breathe, setting your head in your hands. 

“We think he’s dead,” Scott corrects.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Stiles suddenly snaps, reeling around to face Scott. “Good job throwing Derek under the bus. Nicely done.”

“I didn’t know what else to say,” Scott replies, voice urgent. “I had to say something! And if he’s dead, then... it-it doesn’t matter, right? E-Except if he’s not,” sighing, Scott shakes his head. “I totally just bit her head off.”

“And she’ll totally get over it,” you huff, shaking your head up at Scott. Is that really what he’s worrying about right now? Getting mad at Allison when your lives are in danger? “Bigger issues at hand here, like how do we get out alive?”

Scott turns to you, eyes wide; “but we are alive. It could’ve killed us already. It’s like it’s corning us or something.”

“So what?” Stiles murmurs, “he wants to eat us all at the same time?”

“No! Derek said it wants revenge.”

“Against who?” You ask, shrugging your shoulders.

Pausing in thought, Scott offers; “Allison’s family?”

Stiles lips part, as your eyes widen. “Maybe that’s what the text was about.” Scott tilts his head, silently asking Stiles to clarify. “Someone had to send it.”

“Okay, okay,” Jackson interrupts, pulling your gazes on him. “New plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. Are we good with that?”

Glancing back and forth between Stiles and Jackson, you sigh. It’s pretty obvious Stiles doesn’t want to get his dad involved less he get hurt, but Jackson is right. You can’t just sit here waiting for Derek to burst through this windows or somehow break down the barricade.

“He’s right,” Scott boomed, “tell him the truth if you have to, just call him.”

Staring at Scott with a dumbfounded expression, Stiles shakes his head; “i’m not watching my dad get eaten alive.” He shrugs, stepping past you and Scott. You flinch though when Jackson lunges forward, grabbing a hold of Stiles’s shoulder.

“Alright, give me the phone.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief when Stiles reels around, punching Jackson directly in the cheek, causing the boy to go stumbling back, losing his footing. 

“Jackson!” Allison cries, running up to the boy. “Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?” She glances back at Stiles, lips parted in disbelief. You can’t help but do the same. Though you don’t necessarily blame Stiles, you would’ve never expected him to do that.

At the glances he receives, Stiles huffs, pulling out his phone and calling his dad. You wait a moment, Stiles eventually saying; “dad, hey, it’s me. And it’s your voicemail. Look, I need you to call me back now. Like, right now.”

You jump, head reeling around to face the door as a loud banging echoes. It only continues, becoming more rapid and sporadic by the second. Everyone backs up in response, and you find yourself in between both Scott and Stiles as the latter continues speaking; “we’re at the school, okay? We’re at the school.”

Your eyes widen when you see the barricade failing.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

“The kitchen,” Stiles suddenly says, “the kitchen suddenly leads to the stairwell.”

“Which only goes up!”

“Up is better than here.”

-

“I’m getting the key.”

Eyes widening, you whip around to face your brother, already knowing that that’s a terrible idea.

“Are you serious?” Allison breathes, voice quiet with uncertainty. 

“Well,” Scott swallows thickly, “it’s the best plan. We wanna get out of here.”

“You can’t go out there unarmed,” Allison whispers urgently in response. 

Scott hesitates a moment, glancing around for something he can use. Grabbing one of the pointer sticks that teacher’s use, he faces everyone else. Like you, everyone’s heads fall. This is such a bad idea. 

“Well, it’s better than nothing.”

Shaking your head, you take a step forward; “there’s gotta be something else.”

“There is,” Lydia replies, causing you to turn to her. Tilting her forward, she gestures to something, the five of you taking a moment before you turn your heads to the chemistry lab cabinet.

“What are we gonna do?” Stiles blurts, “throw acid on him?”

“No,” Lydia snaps, “like a fire bomb. Everything you need is in there to make a self-igniting molotov cocktail.”

“Self-igniting--”

“--Molotov cocktail.”

Another moment of silence passes, everyone staring at Lydia in disbelief.

“What?” She questions in response, breath spiking. “I read it somewhere.”

“We don’t have a key for that either,” Stiles reminds.

Huffing, Jackson rolls his eyes, slamming his elbow into the glass of the cabinet, breaking it.

“Well, looks like we’re doing it.”

-

“All right, can we not argue for half a second here?”

“Where’s Scott?” Allison sniffles, pacing on the spot. “He should be back by now.”

“Shes’ right,” you huff, biting your lip worriedly.  As soon as you finish speaking, there’s the slightest sound of the lock clicking, causing you to turn around. Just as you’re about to step forward, Allison pushes past you, slamming her fist on the door; “Scott. Scott! Scott!”

Shaking your head, you back up, utterly confused as to why Allison can’t get the door open. What did Scott do?

“Stop,” Lydia mumbles, Allison not hearing her. “Stop!” Halting, Allison whips around to face Lydia, eyes wide. “Do you hear that?” Furrowing your breath, you listen closely. “Listen.”

Police sirens... faint, but they’re there.

Rushing forward, the five of you crowd around one window, a breath of relief leaving your lips when you see a police car pull up next to Stiles’s jeep, followed by another.

-

“I’m okay. Thank you, Mr. Stilinski.”

Said man sends you a bright smile, though a tired one, nodding his head. “You two have a good night. Stay safe.”

Scott smiles, while you turn your attention on Stiles, sending him a wave and a small smile. He replies with the same, and then you’re leaning back, watching the Sheriff’s car drive away.

The moment the car’s gone, you turn around, without even batting Scott a look, intent on making it inside as quick as possible. You’re stopped, though, by Scott’s hand falling on your arm, halting your movements. You pause a moment before turning to face him, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves.

“Y/N-”

“Don’t,” you breathe, glancing down at your feet. “Just don’t.”

“Just let me expl-”

“So you can lie?” You cry, turning around to face him. You hate it, but you can’t help the way your eyes water in response, every emotion that you’ve been keeping buried and hidden all tumbling over the surface. “Or, rather, just not tell me the whole truth?”

Scott looks confused, distress. You know that Allison just broke up with him, it was pretty obvious by the way he got into the car earlier. And maybe this isn’t the time to be dumping all of your frustrations on him. But you can’t keep it hidden anymore. You can’t keep pretending like everything’s okay.

“Please,” Scott whispers, voice desperate. “Just let me explain. Everything.”

“No,” you repeat, putting emphasis on the word. “You act like i’m incapable of helping you. That i’m not good enough to help you. And yet, i’m always there. Always doing my best. I’m your sister, Scott, but lately, it feels like i’m nothing to you.”

A tear falls past your defenses, one you hastily wipe away at.

Scott doesn’t respond. Instead, his lips remained part, eyes wide with distress.

Sighing, you let your shoulders drop; “we better get inside. Mom’s probably worried sick.”

And without another word, you turn, heading up the steps to your front door.

-

let me know what you thought? remember, reblogging always helps!

i sort of struggled writing this chapter, so i hope it’s enjoyable nonetheless!

[kaekiro]

Open Mind, Open Heart

Pairing: Eren/Mikasa II Rating: T (?) II Words: 3095 II [AO3] Warnings: tidbits of soft porn don't look at me  A/N: This is for a request I received from AO3 user TheMoonThatKissedTheSun almost (and I am very ashamed to admit this) two years ago, asking for a sequel to chapter 24, "Foolish." I'm so sorry that it took me so long to come around. If by any chance you're still in the fandom and you see this, I hope you can forgive me and that you like what I wrote. It's the longest thing I've written in a while sjdfljd. This is for EreMika White Day: Non Traditional/Free I’m not sure if I’m early or late lol

—

Shaking fingers trace his script as she looks over the letter one more time, the usual steady drum of her heart taking on a loud, sporadic rhythm when she reads, ‘I’m coming home by the way.’ At first, she half-snorted at the sentence as if it were another one of his tasteless jokes before she paused, using the wobbly mailbox for support as she strung each word together and actually processed their meaning. How very Eren of him to deliver the news so casually, to end his letter with the very words she’s longed to see ever since she found out he was accepting a job that would take him away.

A sudden thought has her turning on her heal, feet stumbling over each other in her hurry to tell Carla the news, but something at the very bottom of the page anchors her step, has her adjusting the sheet to make sure she’s not seeing imaginary things. She brings the paper closer for inspection, wondering how she almost missed the tiniest of arrows pointing at the bottom corner. Curious, she turns the page over, finding another message that had been hidden within the back folds of the letter.

I can’t wait to marry you.

—

“Mikasa,” he mumbles against her mouth, and then he’s chuckling, the sound deep and so rich that she ignores the rushed murmur of her name and pulls him close again, fingers unintentionally ruining the hair he’s tied back. Though his voice has taken a new depth and his hair a longer length, she finds that not much has changed in his absence. She took relief in it, having missed his weak, silly attempts at making her laugh, the conversations that could keep them up all night, his summer-like presence. And in his own way, he lets her know that he’s missed her exactly the same.

His hands are restless, pushing her arms up and helping adjust them securely around his neck, weakly grasping the fabric at her lower back, smoothing over the pleated skirt bunched at her knees until they press against her cheeks in another attempt to get her attention. He’s barely gotten out the first syllable of her name before she boldly pushes her tongue past his lips the moment they part, satisfied at the strangled noise she draws out.

“S-stop, wait a minute,”

She listens this time, pulling back and fixing her gaze on his rudy blush as their sighs mingle into one warm breath, filling the space between them.

“You want me to stop?”

“No. Yes. I mean,” a frustrated groan softly rasps from his throat before he clears it, frowning at her teasing smile. “I have something for you.”

She respires slow and heavily, blinking away the haze from her eyes. “For me?”

He hums, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “Give me a second.”

He doesn’t leave any more room for question, already standing at his full height and as his footsteps recede, she slumps back on her bed (or rather what used to be his old one), dizzy from the attention he’s lavishing her with. Each breath she takes cools her skin from his heated touch, the muscles in her face aching and not used to all the smiles. In fact, she’s not used to any of it; loving and being loved like this. She keeps discovering new things about him, about herself and though the unfamiliarity of their intimacy makes her nervous, it also sparks an excitement that ignites the desire for more.

She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, only realizing that she’s fallen half asleep when Eren tugs at her sleeve, pushing aside the bangs that are tangled in her lashes. Her arms push her upright, the mattress dipping as he sits. “Eren? What… where did you go?”

His cheeks redden. “I, uh, was having trouble finding what I was looking for. Sorry I took so long.” Again, he adds in an afterthought, snorting. She huffs in their mutual amusement, shaking her head.

“It’s okay,” she says softly, the small package in his hand catching her attention. “What’s that?”

He snaps into a straight posture like he’s already forgotten about the item, quickly shoving it onto her lap. Settling against the headboard, she carefully undoes the simple knot binding the box, looking at him one last time before lifting the cover. Inside is a key, unique in shape and she holds it between her fingers, unsure how to react and shrinking somewhat under his expectant eyes. Is it a souvenir of sorts? What is it supposed to mean?

“Um…” she laughs a little, thinking herself dumb for her next question. “What’s this for?”

He gladly elaborates, taking the hand holding the key into his own. “While I was away, I found this really nice house… and well, that the key to that house. It could definitely use some work, but since we’re starting a new chapter of our lives, I thought it’d be nice to… what?”

“You… bought another house?”

“Yeah…?” he slowly ascertains, as if he’s trying to guess the right answer. “Well, I didn’t exactly buy it. I put down some money on it, and I’m going to pay it off in installments.”

“When? What about this house? What about Carla? Why didn’t you talk to me first before buying it? Where -”

“Woah, wait Mikasa one question at a time. I just…” he winces, slow and confused. “I wanted to surprise you with something nice.”

Inside, she softens at his sincerity in his voice, can see the good intention behind it, but -- “Eren, you can’t just make big decisions like that without asking. Does Carla even know?”

“I mean… I was getting around to telling her -”

She scoffs, the sound almost inaudible yet his ears manage to pick up on it and just like that, both of their moods turn sour. They spend the next hour pacing around the room and around each other as they argue. It ends when they stay silent for a few minutes too long and Eren wordlessly leaves the room, going somewhere to blow off steam she’s sure. A part of her wishes to call out as he walks away, to tell him and come back so they can make up for the time he’s been gone, just like they were earlier. But by the time she’s willing to put her pride aside, he’s already gone. She stares at the key they set aside on her dresser, and without much reason, she puts it back inside its box and fixes it the same way it was given to her.

—

In the morning when she wakes, Eren isn’t home.

It’s Carla who tells her of his whereabouts after she asks; even if she’s upset with him, it doesn’t ever stop her from worrying.

“All he told me is that he’s going to be gone for a few hours, maybe longer. He wasn’t sure. I couldn’t even ask where he was off to! He was already walking out.”

Her face falls, fingers wrapping tighter around her cup. “I see.”

Sensing something off, Carla sits across from her, reaching over the small table to squeeze her wrist. “Dear, what’s wrong? What happened between you two?”

Talking about it was probably one of the last things she wanted at the moment, but if anyone could understand, it’s Auntie. She goes on to explain the argument she had with Eren, and as she relays the heated words he threw at her and she at him, something like guilt and regret starts to coil in her gut, the look on Carla’s face anything but reassuring.

“You know,” she starts after a minute, taking a sip of her drink, “When I married Eren’s father, we had hardly been together for a year, but I knew I loved him and at the moment it just felt right. Back then, my mistake was thinking that marriage would be easy. Grisha and I disagreed and argued about a lot of things. Having Eren made things harder because it was no longer just about me and his father, we had to think about him too. We almost split when Eren was still a toddler. It wasn’t what I wanted, though. Not for me, and most certainly not for our son.”

The short story comes as a shock to her because as long as she has known the Yeagers, they never seemed to have any issues of the sort. It makes her wonder if her own parents had something similar happen to them. “How did you fix it?”

Carla smiles sadly, sighing a sigh that spoke her grief for the husband that vanished without any explanation. She comforts her this time, resting a hand on Carla’s worn one. “It didn’t happen right away. But eventually, we learned to work together and compromise, set boundaries that were not to be crossed. We still had our disagreements here and there, but it’s like that with every type of relationship. The point of this, Mikasa, is to tell you what I wished someone would have told me when I was about to get married: disagreements and arguments will and are bound to happen between you and Eren. Part of being together means that you have to learn how to communicate and work as a team instead of against each other.”

She contemplates this and reflects on last night, taking a lot of fault for the situation turning into an argument when they could’ve talked it out. Reacting the way she did though... she wasn’t sure it could’ve been helped. 

“Eren is like me when I was his age. He’s still a bit carefree and sometimes does things on a whim, though I’m sure you already know that. I think what he did, getting that house, was him being spontaneous and trying to make you happy.” Amber eyes don’t miss her melancholic reaction, so she continues. “That doesn’t mean that he did it the right way, though. Like you said, he should’ve talked to you first. You both are going to make mistakes in the future and as you work through them, you learn something and become better. Just talk to him, Mikasa. These things take a lot of patience and understanding, but if it’s you two… it will be alright. Eren may not make the wisest decisions all the time, but I think one of his best ones is choosing to marry you.”

—

Later at night, when everything is still and she’s certain Carla is asleep, she tiptoes to her old room, pushing the door open until she can fit through and then closing it behind her. If he’s awake she isn’t sure, but she walks over nonetheless, tucking some hair behind his ear and leaning down to kiss his cheek. She doesn’t pull away entirely when he stirs, watching as foggy eyes open halfway and peer up into hers.

“Mikasa?”

She hums, lips brushing against his temple. “I’m not dreaming?” Smiling against his skin, she shakes her head.

“No, you aren’t.”

Lifting the blanket, she motions for him to make room and sighs as she settles against the heat of his body, palm smoothing over his chest. He is stiff and audibly swallows before his arm cautiously pulls her close, fingers curling around her shoulder. They stay like that for a bit, his gentle touches and her kisses conveying their apologies until the tension leaves their muscles and they sink comfortably into the bed.

“I left earlier to find that seller and tell him I wasn’t going to keep that house.”

He sounds sad as he tells her, and she scolds herself for getting upset and thinking only about her feelings. Sure, she would’ve liked to know beforehand, but Carla’s advice echoes in her ears, making her mindful of her selfishness. He is adventurous, always looking for the next new thing and always so eager to give. She knew this, saw how happy he looked at the thought of starting their life somewhere new. And yet she gave in to her own fear of change and made him go through all that trouble. Eren breathes out, clearly tired.

“It was hard, but in the end, he understood. What I forgot, though, was to bring the key with me to hand back,” he laughs emptily. “You think you could give me the key tomorrow? I need to return it as soon as possible.”

He turns his head towards her, waiting for an answer. She puts a finger to her chin for a moment, feigning deep thought before settling against his shoulder once more. “No, I don’t think I can give it back.”

She can sense his eyes on her and she resumes tracing his collarbone, trying to calm the slight tremble of her fingers. “Wha… what do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t want you to give the house away.”

He shifts, leaning on a forearm to look down at her. “But you said -”

“Nevermind what I said. I was wrong. I know how much this means to you, so we’re keeping it.”

“Mikasa,” he whispers, pushing aside her bangs. “If that’s how you feel now, then why do you look scared?”

“Because I am,” she admits, almost unwillingly. “I’ve lived in this town all my life, it’s all I’ve known. And - I know I’ve only been here at this house for a few years, but…” her words trail off and she shyly looks up at him, immediately noticing the concern creasing his face and trying to smooth it out with her thumbs. She shakes off the thought, firming her words. “I wouldn’t mind starting our life somewhere new. If it’s with you, I think I can do it.”

Though it’s unexpected in the seriousness of the moment, she welcomes the ferocity of his kiss by tugging him closer, bodies shuffling and tangling until she feels his weight settle between her thighs.

“Eren,” she whispers harshly, pushing at his arms yet tilting her head back as his lips traverse the length of her throat. “Your mother is down the h-” Her moan escapes her lips in muffled fragments as he grinds his body against hers, calloused hands squeezing her bare thighs when they move to bunch her gown at her hips.

“I’m - serious,” she manages to gasp out, gripping his hands and pulling them from beneath her clothes, breathless with how quick things are escalating. “Wait a minute…!” 

He licks his lips, the glint in his eyes mischevious. “You want me to stop?” She raises a brow at his mocking tone, and it takes only a moment for her to remember saying the same thing to him the day before. She buries her face in her hands, unresponsive to her name and turning bright red. She eventually looks at him between the gaps of her fingers, answering his question with an annoyed yes.

“Fine,” he sighs, slumping next to her, playfully disappointed. “I’ll wait till our wedding night then.” How shameless, she thinks, throwing a pillow over her face and ignoring his laughter.

“Hey Mikasa?”

She lowers the pillow when he tugs at her arm, peaking an eye out.

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

—  

There’s a different kind of buzz in the air on the morning of her wedding, all the women she knows coming to the house and fussing over her appearance. Though she wants to be annoyed (because really, it’s only a small ceremony), she learns to appreciate the help, knowing that there was no way she’d be able to do all of this on her own. The local seamstress puts the final touches on her gown, making her tear up at the small mentions of her mother, how much they look alike and how proud she insists her mother would be of her today. Sasha puts on some light makeup, adding color to her otherwise pale skin as Carla does her hair, weaving the long strands into intricate braids and bringing them together in a neat bun. When the last of many small flowers are placed in her hair and Auntie finishes adjusting the veil, all the women in the room step back and shower her in compliments, making her face and the inside of her chest warm.

“Wow,” a familiar voice whistles, “You look so beautiful, Mikasa. How did someone like Eren get you to marry him?”

“I’m still not sure myself, Armin,” Auntie jokes, laughing.

She shakes her head and smiles, moving through the small crowd to reach one of her best friends. “Thank you, Armin. I’m so glad you came to see me before the ceremony.”

“Of course,” he grins, embracing her. 

“It feels like it was just yesterday the three of you were half my height and chasing each other around my yard,” Carla sniffles, looking over them fondly. “Stop growing up so fast, I can’t keep up.” They both pull her into their embrace, swept up in their shared nostalgia.

“Mikasa,” a woman calls from the door, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The officiator is here. Are you ready?”

The room fills with excited murmurs and she swallows, fiddling with her ring anxiously. This is it. Carla grabs her shoulder lightly, her gaze soft and knowing and she nods, both at Auntie and the woman. “Yes, I’m ready.”

—

It takes quite a bit for her to be moved to tears and even more to make her laugh, but she finds herself caught in both acts as he stutters over his vows, mouthing an explicative and doing his best to ignore the embarrassment and vulnerability he feels. She squeezes his fingers reassuringly, understandingly, and it’s enough to help him finish before she takes her turn. After a single, shaky breath, she repeats the words she’s rehearsed so many times, the rough yet gentle swipe of his thumbs over her skin comforting, inspiring more confidence in her. His smile reaches his eyes, making them so bright and warm that she melts into his hand, punctuating her promises with a kiss to the center of it.

And though she had told him that she wanted Carla’s ring and nothing else, he surprises her with another one anyway, the piece of jewelry bearing stones with cuts she’s never seen before, nearly every edge of it glittering as he slips it above the simple band she’s grown attached to. It’s far too beautiful for it to belong to her and she whispers as much, but he simply tells her to shut up, twining his fingers between the braids in her hair and kissing her, making everyone around them cheer and whoop wildly.

[polandspringz]

Killing was never easy, not for me anyway With whomever comes to mind for it?

Okay, so I started this back in May, but didn’t touch it for three months and just sort of banged out the second half of it last night at 3 AM, so it might read a little jarring. This prompt was part of the “First Sentence” writing prompts, so I had to start with the line, although it won’t make much sense until later in the story. I decided to write about my gen:LOCK OC Yolanda and her trying to distract herself a few days after she had to kill Union soldiers in battle, and the perspective shifts and the way she’s thinking is rooted in my own habits of narrating things, so I apologize if it’s confusing.

If you want to read about Yolanda and where she exists in the gen:LOCK universe, click here for my profile about her!

Killing was never easy, not for me anyway.

“Hey, Cameron!” 

The tech-whiz kid visibly stiffened as the high pitched voice bellowed from down the hall. The walls of the Anvil carried it and the sound of clicking heels as the older girl raced at her, one hand cupped over her mouth as she waved her arm wildly, some sort of fabric scrap in her hand. This was the sixth time this week that the pink-haired woman had approached her like this, and it was only Wednesday.

As the footsteps got closer, Cammie eventually turned around, sighing as she braced herself to be slammed by exuberance. Sure enough, she opened her eyes to find a bright white smile and lime green eyes smirking at her through her bubbling energy.

“Yolanda, I told you already-”

“This isn’t about that! I listened to what you said and talked to Dr. Weller about it, so that’s all good-”

“-not to call me Cameron-”

“-but I wanted to get your measurements so I could sew something for you! I finished up my gift for Miranda, so I was hoping you would let me design for you next!”

Cammie winced as she thought about the previous designs Yolanda had dished out. While they were pretty, in their own way, their practicality during a time of war was debatable, and Cammie had a hard time wondering what the Colonel would say if she tried to send them out on the battlefield. She tried her best to look busy with whatever she could yank up on her display and gave her best fake smile.

“Oh… Well, while that’s nice, Yolanda, you shouldn’t waste your fabric on me, or any of us, for that matter! We can’t really change out of our suits so-”

I knew what she meant. I watched the two of us interacting from afar, and could see myself from above flailing to get her to listen to me, to tell her it was no trouble at and that if she would just see my sketches, that I promised I could make her something special.

I ended up slumping away from that, my heels clicking away, and the fog in my mind persisted, and I felt my soul float up and overtop me once more as I made my way disheartendly back to the dorm and my sewing machine.

Valentina heard the door clicking open before Yolanda’s hand even fell on the doorknob. Or perhaps it was her heels down the hall, that even though Valentina insisted on wearing something similar, never sounded as obnoxious as their own. They pushed themselves off the bed and stood up, leaving the other person grumbling as they went.

“Just stay there, Yolanda is coming in.”

Kazu groaned something intelligible in Japanese, to the point that the tech in their eyes couldn’t even translate it. Valentina sighed and rolled their eyes, yanking the blanket overtop of Kazu’s form just as the door opened.

“Oh, Valentina…” Yolanda sounded nervous, which was weird, for starters. There were only a handful of occasions that Valentina could cite that didn’t start with Yolanda bursting into a room with some high and mighty laugh and began to harass all of them. They tried not to look alarmed, and instead popped one hip as they waited for the girl to come in all the way.

“Did you need something?”

“Oh, I was just going to sew something again, but if you’re in here I can take my machine and go elsewhere-” 

The girl had stumbled over to the desk and began picking up her tool belt with shaking hands, all the while Valentina’s eyes followed her across the room and back towards the door. 

The dumb machine is so heavy. I can hardly lift it with my wrists, but if I take too long, Valentina will get annoyed or think I’m weak. I need to hurry and-

A pair of scissors leapt out of the belt as she hurriedly jostled it towards her waist. Valentina swooped in and caught the blades expertly before Yolanda could flail and cut herself or drop it on her foot, which was vulnerable somewhat through the suit she wore. They regarded the blades for a moment, the rusted and scratched up state of the dulling blades, before handed them handle first to the girl.

“Try and be careful,” was all they said before the picked up the sewing machine with ease, “Do you have a cart or were you planning on carrying this by yourself?” 

“Oh, uh, well! If you handle it to me I can carry it, I promise! No need to worry, but if you’re offering then I really don’t- Oomph!” 

Yolanda blinked and the machine was thrust into her hands, Valentina walking back towards the bed, flopping down beside the blanketed form of Kazu. Yolanda tried to ignore the pain in her wrists and she shuffled through the door. 

“Is she gone yet?” Kazu’s voice registered and translated itself on the display in her eyes. 

The door slammed shut behind me. It took me a moment to clear my mind and walk forward, but I can confidently say that I was okay!

She narrated to herself even as her lips trembled, her face growing red as she tried to hold it all in. No, go back to the angry but sadly optimistic stuff. She shook her head and forced a determined smile, and if her hands were free she would’ve pumped a fist to psyche herself up.

I staggered out of the dorm, waddling from the weight of the machine. Thankfully my scissors had been away before Valentina had given me the machine, or something bad might have happened. 

But, it’s okay. So I can’t sew in the dorm? So what? Or should it be, sew what? Chase would hate that pun. But, it’s not just my dorm. There’s got to be plenty of places I can I’ll just go to the lab. Dr. Weller will let me sit in there and sew. He’s done it before. Surely he’ll understand-

“Watch where you’re going with that thing!” She barely had a moment to register that she had banged into someone before she was stumbling backwards, then forwards, and then she was tumbling towards the ground, her hands flying wildly, the machine leaping from her hold to crash against the concrete floor.

“I’m sorry!” She yelped just before the sound of springs and metal exploded in her ears and her machine popped apart right in front of her face. It had bounced a few feet, but the force had sent it colliding straight for death, and she could see the mess that had fallen on the floor. She was not looking so hot either, as-

My sewing shears had flown out of my pocket and slid across the ground to be beside the trashed machine. My bobbins and thread, they wrapped around me, my thimbles were rolling by my eyes, and my spare needles and pins had fired out of their casing and were stabbing my elbow and my cheek. If I wasn’t so lucky, they might’ve poked my eye out.

She forced herself up from the floor to kneel, and without a word or anything said to the spectators, she went about picking up the pieces of her fallen work. She grabbed the shears and sliced through all the string that had tied itself into a bundle, and made quick work of tucking it all back into the pockets of the tool belt. The case for the needles was gone, so she threaded them into the canvas fabric of the thing and then went about scooping up the gears and coils that had rocketed out of the machine like a jack-in-the-box. When she actually got close to the machine, however…

“Yolanda, are you okay?” Chase was leaning over her, his hologram staring at her concerned.

“Oh, what? Of course I am! Just a little stumble.”

“But, your machine-”

Don’t let him see. Don’t let him see, “This old thing? I’ve dropped it so many times, much worse too, it’s no big deal! I can fix it in a few minutes, once I find a spot to set up. I’ll be back to making outfits for Caliban to wear in no time!”

He seemed assuaged by that, as he straightened up as Yolanda pulled the broken thing onto her lap to hold, “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried for a moment. Leon saw you fall, so he paged me. Apparently the others were too busy, but I’m faster anyway,” his eyes gazed around at the remaining screws and other machinery that was still on the ground, “Sorry that I can’t help you pick this stuff up.”

“No, no, it’s okay! Really.” That’s it. Force your best smile. It’ll all be-

“Are you really okay though? Leon said you seemed kind of down.”

You idiot! Hurry up and move past him! Get going before he sees- “Me? Down? Does he know who he’s talking about?”

“I saw you leave your dorm looking distressed. I figured it was a gL team issue so I didn’t want to get involved right away,” Leon said, walking over, “But hearing you say sorry after knocking into someone? Yolanda, I never knew you had those words in you.”

Leon folded his arms and stood beside the Chase, looking down at her. 

“He does have a point. You seem rather… polite, no offense though. Are you positive nothing is up?” 

“Yeah, normally by now, you would be calling us names or demanding we bow down and help you. I picked these up for you, by the way,” Leon said, holding a broken off piece of plastic from the machine’s thread guides in his gloved hand.

She took it and tucked it away before standing with the machine wrapped tightly in her arms. Her face was getting hot, and she knew it was apparent by the two’s expressions, but she forced herself to remain calm.

“Of course I’m fine! Just trying to find a decent place to sew around here! I’m going to the lab. Chase, I know you live there, but if you’re going to bother me please don’t return there while I’m working. I’ll be there all night, at most. And you don’t need to sleep anyway, right?”

That was a low blow, even for me. She pushed through the two of them with her head bowed, and when she reached the elevator and heard Chase calling after her, she bolted inside, shutting the door and letting the platform ascend to the third floor. Now that she was alone…

Once I was alone inside the elevator, I found myself circling back to Valentina and Kazu. It a shared room, yes, but I haven’t sewn in there for weeks, and there was no reason for them to be so rude about it all, what with slamming the door closed and all-

There was still a little bit of time before the elevator would shift and the door would open, so she set the broken machine down and pressed her hands against her face. I’m feeling hot, I’m probably all puffy and red. This won’t do. She sucked in a deep breath and smacked her cheeks twice, trying to calm herself down, but her eyes kept stinging. I couldn’t allow myself to cry. I don’t want anyone to think I’m upset now, do I?

I need to think about something different. This elevator ride is long, the Anvil should really add some music…

As the door opened and she shimmied the machine back into her arms, she let herself become consumed in her internal discussion about which classic J-Pop song would work the best for the rides. Something from the 2000s or 2010s, she said as she felt herself returning to her usual self, PonPonPon maybe. I’m sure Kazu would get a kick out of it. She rounded the big window that stretched on the wall outside the ESU, her heels clicking along the polished tile, she felt a smirk stretch across her face, her eyes crinkling with pride as she shook her head and let her pink hair tickle against the nape of her neck. Her long elegant strides carried her through the doorway and into the main part of the lab, where she heard voices echoing.

“I’m telling you Doctor-”

“And I’m telling you, Colonel, that I am not allowing-”

“Hello, Rufus!” Yolanda interrupted with a cheery voice, waving one hand slightly from where it was buried underneath the weight of the machine, “Do you mind if I sew?”

I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that the two of them were very much in a meeting right now. I could see as clear as day the fact that the Colonel was appearing in person in the ESU instead of mixing in as a hologram or summoning the Doctor upstairs to her office. However, I needed this. Dr. Weller would never say no to me, I knew that-

“Oh, Yolanda! I’m sorry, could you wait a bit? I’m a bit occupied at the moment with the Colonel,” His eyes glanced at the woman twice for emphasis, and Yolanda couldn’t deny that she was pierced by some form of annoyance even though the Doctor masked it behind a kind smile.

No… I found myself thinking, no… he can’t say-

“Merriweather. You heard the Doctor. Leave us.” The Colonel demanded. Yolanda was frozen in her tracks.

“Ah, but I thought that-”

“This is the ESU, a lab meant to advance gen:LOCK technology. You shouldn’t even be bringing your hobbies inside of here, as it will only get in the way. You have a dorm for that. Now, go.”

“Colonel, that’s a little harsh, don’t you think? I’m sure she means no harm?”

Yolanda’s mind was spinning, complete radio silence buzzing in her head as she struggled to find the words, to spin something together. Luckily, her face and vocal chords went on autopilot, and her muscles shifted into her trademark grin as she backed out of the lab flashing a peace sign at them.

“You’re right! So sorry! I shouldn’t have barged in like that, forgive me!”

She could see from Dr. Weller’s face, that she had said something wrong. She crossed the threshold and felt panic rising in her. He was looking at her sympathetically, brow furrowed as he watched her. 

What did I say, oh god, what did I say? Her words had sounded like mush in her own brain, but the Colonel seemed pleased by them, because she turned back and continued addressing the Doctor. Yolanda kept slowly backing away until she was around the corner again and back in front of the elevator. Just before she stepped in, she glanced back through the large window, and froze.

Chase’s eyes were open and watching her from the tank. 

I dropped the machine with a crash and bolted into the elevator. The doors closed before I could see if any heads turned their way at me.

Probably not. I didn’t matter anyway.

She wasn’t even two seconds into her elevator ride to who knows where when Chase appeared behind her. Yolanda let out a scream as she jumped and slammed her back into the buttons, adding to the confusion on which floor they were traversing. Chase merely folded his arms and stared her down.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, but honestly, there’s something wrong and you have to talk to at least one of us about it.”

“What are you on about?! There’s nothing wrong!” She snapped as she turned away, folding her arms. 

“Yeah, as if you apologizing once and curling into a ball wasn’t enough, you apologized twice. Plus, you’ve been super jumpy all day.”

“I have not been jumpy.”

“You just left your sewing machine on the floor of the ESU’s hall. I’m pretty sure it’s in even bigger shambles than it was earlier, when you dropped it the moment you accidentally banged into somebody. Now, look, you can talk to me. What’s up?”

I watched the numbers fall lower and lower on the elevator’s display. We were going to the hangar, it seems. The basement even-

“Hey,” Chase’s hand brushed against her, causing soft sparks to erupt along her shoulder as the hexagonal display forced itself around the solid it was cutting through, “You’ve been doing that a lot. Out of your head now. We’re in our brains too much in those crazy Holons.”

Yolanda leaned against the elevator wall and twisted her body, her legs almost crossing as she hugged herself tightly, “That’s the point of them, Chase.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’m not dumb, and I know you know that. I also know, from what Yaz tells me about that mindshare you guys did a few days ago, that you think way too much. We’re outside now. We gotta use classic words to communicate.”

The door to the elevator dinged open, leading to an empty concrete space. Unless she turned around a hit another button, and risked being subjected to another music-less elevator ride with her interrogator, this would have to do.

I sighed and gave him a glare, waving my hand so he backed off. I could have easily walked through him but-

“Hey,” Chase reminded her as he tapped his finger against his head. She sighed again, shoulders slumping as she stepped out into the tunnels.

“Alright, fine. I thought about walking through you but that seemed rude, so I did that. Happy?”

“Not really. I will be when you tell me what’s wrong, though.”

“UGH!” She screamed as she clawed at her face, throwing her head back in frustration, “Nothing’s wrong! Nothing that any of you would even care about is wrong! We’re in the military, my petty problems about my machine breaking and being unable to find a place to sew don’t matter! You heard the Colonel! My hobbies should be in the dorm, but unfortunately, Valentina and Kazu didn’t really want me disturbing them right now! I wanted to make something for Cammie because I was starting to feel really good for once even though I haven’t been sleeping, but she didn’t want it either!”

“So you haven’t been sleeping. Yaz had a feeling about that.”

“Like I said, that’s not a problem, oh my ga-awd!” Yolanda drawled out as she began to storm down one of the tunnels. Chase quickly teleported in front of her.

“Now, hold on-”

“It doesn’t matter what Yasamin said, okay? We tried to mindshare, and it fell apart. It was a complete failure, so whatever she gleaned from that was probably corrupted or whatever.”

“Yeah, well, she said it failed because the amount of information you were giving off was too much to handle. She was getting too much from your head, she couldn’t decipher anything that was happening. She said it was like reading a novel or something. What’s up with that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, tube boy.” Yolanda hissed as she sped past him so more, trying to shove him out of the way but instead her arm sliced through him, almost at the exact spot his real body ended at, to add insult to injury. I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t care, I just wanted to get away from-

Chase continued to reform every few feet so he was next to her face as she stormed off.

“That’s another thing too. Sure, on a good day you’re a bit harsh, but you would never say shit like that to me. There’s got to be something seriously bugging you if you’re pulling out these sorts of jokes.”

“They’re not jokes! Okay?! Just leave me alone!” This wasn’t good, my composure’s shattering, she thought, the words spinning in her head making it easier for her to steel her expression even as tears welled up and her face grew puffy.

“Look, I’ve been locked in that tank- or tube, if that’s what we’re calling it now-  for a long time. I think I get what you’re going through, you’re narrating in your head, right?”

“Just, stop! Stop, stop, stop! Okay?!”

“Although I did it to help me pass the time, I realized with the help of the Doc and Yaz that it was something else. Depression. Something’s affecting you right now too, isn’t it? Well, it’s not going to get better unless you open up a bit.”

“It’s nothing-!”

“It’s the soldier, isn’t it?” Yaz’s voice cut through the echoey chamber of the place, and Yolanda froze. Standing in front of the elevator, the young woman stood patiently, “I may not have been able to get much out of that chaotic mindshare, but I know that I got plenty of fear from it. Your emotions were spiking, but you were keeping them under control with your words, giving feedback on every single motion you did to what was going on in front of your eyes. It was a lot to process.”

She walked forward and after the string of silence stretched out, she reached for Yolanda’s hand, holding it surrounded by her own.

“You weren’t here when we all arrived, but everyone else saw something terrifying their first time. Right after Kazu, Valentina, and Cammie suited up, they watched a Union spy die from being incompatible. Then, Cammie had her head torn off by that Union mech. I-” Yasamin swallowed, “I may not show it, but every Union soldier we swat away, send flying to their death or shoot down from their jet, I always have to stop myself from overthinking because… I know there’s a chance there’s someone I once knew inside there.”

Yolanda stood there, frozen for a few more seconds as Yasamin’s words sunk in. Chase’s presence was comforting beside her as well. Even though she had been rude to them too since she got here, they had been the most understanding of her plight, and the least bothered by her haughtiness. She slowly let herself be lulled by Yaz’s confession-

But then she felt the tears on her face and her strength came back to her and she pulled away harshly, her hand smacking away Yaz’s as she looked at the woman with disgust almost, “How dare you think you understand me. I’m not upset in the slightest. I always wanted to join the military, I knew what I was getting into-”

“You joined it to develop technology, clothing- you didn’t sign up for battle-”

“I knew it would happen eventually, okay?! I’m not an idiot… “ She turned away, rubbing her eyes so they couldn’t see, and yet, she felt herself spilling, “I get it… I’m not the best person to be around, I’m terrible, no way around it. I can’t hold my tongue ever, and in times like this, I just get panicked and I just became meaner and meaner, and worse and worse. I’m spoiled, and I don’t like it that everyone here is so content with how things are. I’m not. I’m not happy in the slightest. I wasn’t happy when I left for England, I’m not happy that I’m back. I don’t know where I want to be frank, I just know that this isn’t the world I was meant to be in.”

She thought she heard Yasamin’s gasp, but Yolanda kept going.

“That soldier… He wasn’t a drone… He wasn’t mindless… They screamed for help when I smashed them into the ground… I… I didn’t mean to be that strong, I didn’t mean to do it that roughly… I just didn’t know how to stop him and it was my first time in battle with that Holon and the necks of people are so small and our hands are so big then and underneath my feet I thought about how many people I had trampled accidentally that evening and I just-”

At long last, her legs gave out and she felt all the pieces of her break, spilling out onto the floor like the machine she had dropped earlier. She was thankful none of them tried to hug her, as they weren’t that close and while Chase physically couldn’t, Yasamin settled on giving her a simple hand on the shoulder as they both waited for her to finish. 

When her breathing had been reduced to mere hiccups, and her words slurred to simple angry comments at herself for being so uncouth, (crying in a tunnel underneath the military base, like, who I am?) Yasamin gave her a gentle smile.

“Killing isn’t easy for any of us. We all find our own ways to deal with it. Cammie and Kazu treat it like a video game, Valentina knows what those people are capable of, and stays back so they don’t have to hear or see the lives they’re taking. Chase and I-”

“We get up close, because we know that it’s the only way we can take back what they took for us.”

“-Yes. You just have to find your own way.”

Yolanda sniffled and thought for a moment, hands balled up on her knees as she felt her feet slipping along the floor.

“Does it have to be something on the battlefield? I don’t think that’ll work.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. You’ll need to be calm afterwards so you can download, so-”

“Then,” Yolanda sat up, feeling strength come back into her even as she felt more vulnerable than she had before, “then, can I sew you something?”

“What?”

“I tried to ask Cammie but she said no, and Kazu and Valentina were busy so I didn’t want to bother them but I’ve thought of designs of things for you guys and even though I know we won’t get much use out of it all I wanted to try making stuff and I stayed up late the other night because it helped calm me down and-”

“Alright, alright, alright. I’ll let you, but no guarantees I’ll actually wear it. Now, let’s go back up, shall we?”

“We’re going to have to fix your machine first though,” Chase added.

“And we will need to talk to the others,” Yaz said, helping Yolanda to her feet, “It will be important in improving our connection to you.”

“You may be a member of gen:LOCK 2, but until we find more compatible people, you’re part of our team.”

Yolanda managed not to cry as she let Yaz support her with an arm slung over her shoulders and a hand on her waist, supporting her as her legs had gone weak with the sudden exhaustion brought on by crying.

“So, what’s the to do list? Machine, sewing, dinner, group talk, then I can give you guys my gifts?”

“Actually, it’s sleep, then we have the talk. Fixing the machine and sewing come last.”

“Sleep?”

“We’ll kick Valentina and Kazu out. We don’t know when we’ll have another attack, and you need to be in your best form if we want to try mindsharing again.”

“Okay,” was all Yolanda managed as they reached their floor and walked out. 

Yolanda easily fell into slumber after Yaz and Chase managed to extract the other two from the dorm. Unbeknownst the girl, they called Cammie and everyone to the lab where they spoke to Weller about what they had been told. Although no one was really surprised, and Valentina certainly felt no guilt towards whatever had been happening (“It was her choice to bottle it up”) and Cammie continued to feel annoyed at the girl (“She’s mean spirited. I doubt she actually cried that hard,”) Chase was the one who managed to convince them all to settle down and work on including Yolanda more in their lives on the Anvil.

“We all managed to click from spending all of time together. Maybe she’s still mean spirited because she doesn’t feel connected to any of you guys yet, and doesn’t want to intrude.”

“A wall, I certainly agree,” Dr. Weller added from where he tinkered with the broken mish-mosh of metal and plastic that had been dropped outside the lab, “I’ve spoken with her a few times alone, she would genuinely like to get to know you all.”

When Yolanda woke up, she went into the dorm bathroom and washed her face as she tried to get whatever blotchiness still remained off. Yesterday was embarrassing, she was completely out of character and let herself be too weak, she thought. It was one thing to be giddy about a design, it was another to spill your guts out to two strangers you hardly knew. 

It was late, according to her watch, but Yolanda had never been one for rules. Breaking the curfew, she strolled down the halls to where she assumed her machine had been dumped off at, after that second drop she assumed no one else would recognize it as anything other than trash, but couldn’t find it near there. She traced her way back up to the ESU, finding a few screws on the ground by the elevator, but no signs. Carefully, seeing Caliban was still circulating while Chase rested, the jazz music playing through the open door into the hall, she snuck inside, looking around the lab for another clue.

Her eyes landed on the rebuilt machine, covered in sticky notes of different colors with a message from each member.

I spotted your designs when I went to tinker at the desk earlier, I liked that jumper with the rabbit ears! - Cammie

It may not be sewing, but you could design something for me in the Ether maybe. -Val

The design with the studs wasn’t too bad… -Kazu. This one was in Japanese, but the tech in her contacts easily altered it for her.

Same thing Val said, I may be pretty dressed down in the other world, but it wouldn’t hurt to get a bit more fashion oriented. -Chase

The embroidery you started was beautiful. I look forward to seeing the finished product. -Yaz

Chase and I could always use the company, don’t let what the Colonel said get you down. You’re welcome anytime she isn’t around. It’ll be our secret. But hey, maybe if you make something for her too, she’ll be more receptive. -Dr. Weller.

She smiled down at the last one, noticing the way he had underlined his signature. She knew she was pushing it calling him Rufus, but it was too fun not to be see where she could get the Doc to crack. Sure, she may have broken down earlier today, but like Yaz said, they all had done something like that at one point or another, so it wasn’t weird. Besides, she couldn’t keep going around apologizing and being sappy. That just wasn’t her. 

She felt a mischievous smile come to her as a new design idea began to bloom. Eagerly, she sat down and flipped over one of the post-its, pulling out a pen as she quickly sketched. 

She hadn’t even thought about doing something for Leon, yet. She would have to come up with something extra gaudy to make him forget her pitiful state from earlier today, she grinned.

[impala-dreamer]

Broken Crown - Chapter One

~Sam Winchester has never had the best timing. Now, as he and Dean close in on a chance to save Mary and Jack, and in turn the entire world, Sam falls in love. He can only hope this time will be different.~

Reader, Sam, Dean, Castiel, OCs

1,565 Words

Chapter Warnings:  Nothing. Show-typical opening. Possible Spoilers for s13. Nothing major. 

2018: A/N: I have been working on this for about two months and I’m ready to share. Hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think. I’ve wanted to explore the theme of this with Sam for a long while. :) Also, I wrote Dean’s comment way before the finale aired and I’m super proud of it. lol.

2020: A/N: We are coming back to finish this! Chapters 1-9 have been re-edited for grammar and such.Also a new pic :)

 Broken Crown Masterlist ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon 

The hallway was dark. Y/N’s sneakers squeaked on the freshly waxed floor, the treads sucking hard against the high gloss. She danced as she walked, moved by the music in her earbuds, oblivious to the voice calling after her.

“Jackie!”

Y/N marched on, shaking her hips as Justin Timberlake cut his teeth on a catchy pop song from days past. 

“Jackie, wait up!” 

Y/N did pause her journey, but it wasn’t to answer the page. With closed eyes, she stopped mid-hallway and started to dance in full, singing under her breath as she moved. “Baby bye bye bye- oh!”

Her flailing arm had whacked something solid yet soft, and Y/N opened her eyes to see that she’d landed a pretty good jab to Brian’s chest. Thankfully, her friend was a burly fellow, and he took the hit with a smile. 

“Ouch,” he deadpanned. 

“I am so sorry, dude,” Y/N laughed over the music blaring from the tiny speakers, a little too loud for the empty hallway. 

Brian chuckled and reached over to yank the wire from her right ear. “Always with the music, Jackie.” 

Y/N sighed and rolled her eyes, taking the remaining earbud out. “What’s up, Brian?”

“Just figured I’d walk you out,” he said an innocent smile that hardly hid his true intentions. 

“OK.” Y/N turned back towards the door and let Brian walk with her. She knew he liked her; it was more than obvious, but she wasn’t interested. He was nice and all, but she’d heard too many secrets over the years, and his was a bed she didn’t want to rest in. 

“So, any plans for the weekend?  

“Nah, I’ve got some Netflix to catch up on,” Y/N said and stopped at the exit. 

Brian pushed the door open and stepped aside, allowing her to pass. “After you,” he grinned. 

“Thanks.” 

The night was cool but nice, and Y/N took a deep breath of fresh air as she stepped out into the nearly empty parking lot. 

“Well,” she said, turning to bid adieu to her coworker, “good night.” 

Brian stumbled over his tongue, trying to find the right words to make her stay and chat. “Uh, would you, I mean- can I give you a lift home?” 

Y/N shook her head and shoved her earbuds back in. “No thanks, I’ll walk.” Brian said something that wasn’t loud enough to penetrate Nsync chirping in her ears. “Night!” Y/N waved as she spun around, heading west towards home. 

Her place wasn’t far from the clinic, which was just one reason she loved working there. She walked to work every morning, stopped at the bakery for breakfast, had a little layover in the park to feed her muffin crumbs to the ducks; it was nice. Things were good.

As Y/N passed the pond, the wind shifted. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she slowed her walk. She kept her head down as it was, but her eyes darted around, looking for whatever had caused the change. 

A cloud of impossible black smoke wound through the trees, whipping up the wind as if shot towards Y/N. She grit her teeth and stood frozen, watching as the apparition flew by her without pause and disappeared behind her. 

Y/N turned with it, facing the clinic once more, squinting into the dark night, struggling to see where the smoke had gone. Her answer came rather quickly, for Brian’s large silhouette began barreling towards her, and Y/N nearly tripped over herself turning to run away.

“Oh, Y/N!” Brian’s malicious tone overpowered the boyband in her head, and Y/N broke into a sprint. “You know you can’t run from me.”

“I can fucking try,” she shouted in reply, but he was right, Y/N was in no shape to out run him. 

Giving up, she skidded to a halt and took a deep breath before turning to face him. Y/N held up her hands and clenched her jaw as black eyes bore down upon her and a scream ripped through the air.

“Beer,” Dean announced, as he walked into the Library, holding up two brown bottles. He reclaimed his seat across from Sam and slid the undrunk beer across the table. “Drink.”

Sam barely looked up, just lifted his chin and cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, thanks.” He reached for the bottle, but missed, his eyes still stuck on the text in front of him.

Dean sat back and shook his head as he kicked his feet up onto the table. “You’ve been at that for what, a week now? Take a break.” 

An annoyed breath caught in the back of Sam's throat and he scoffed. “I...we can't take a break, Dean.” He air quoted Dean's words sarcastically. “We need to get that rift open again. Jack and Mom…”

“I know!” Dean threw up his hands and then cradled his aching head, lowering his voice. “I know. I just mean, ya look like shit, Sam. Take five minutes and rest your eyes. Nothing's gonna be lost or found while you take a nap.”

Sam sighed and wrapped his hands around the bottle. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right.” He sat back and lifted the beer to his lips. “What's five minutes, right?” He smiled sadly and took a sip.

They sat in silence for exactly three and one half minutes before the big door at the top of the stairs opened and a familiar voice broke through the air. 

“Dean? Sam?”

The brothers both recognised Castiel's troubled tone and gave each other a knowing look.

“So much for a nap,” Sam whispered as he sat up and leaned his elbows on the table. “What's up, Cas?”

Castiel nodded in greeting to each man as he descended the stairs and stopped at the head of the table. He noticed their relaxed postures and half drunk beers, and his brows knitted in annoyed confusion.

“Is now really the time to be drinking?” he asked, eyeing Dean specifically.

Dean rolled his eyes and dropped his feet from the table top. “A,” he began in defense, “I'm always drinking. And two, we're stuck. There's nothing we can do right now.”

Castiel looked to Sam who sat up and coughed a bit. “He's right. I don't know where to look next. Every book is a dead end.”

A sly smirk lit Castiel's face and Sam narrowed his eyes in response. 

“What?”

“I think I might have something,” the angel offered. He reached into his coat and pulled out a newspaper, dropping it dramatically onto the table between Sam and Dean. 

Dean glanced at the paper but made no move to pick it up. “Care to elaborate? I've already read the funnies today.”

Sam rolled his eyes and snatched up the paper, scanning it quickly while Cas explained. “Two suspicious murders in Eltingville, Wyoming-”

“Victims had their eyes burned out,” Sam interrupted. “Angel kills?”

Castiel shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps, but it doesn't quite fit. There seems to be no motivation for the attacks. Victims were both normal, upstanding citizens, no records or secret dealings.”

“That doesn't mean much,” Sam said. “They could be hiding things.”

Dean sat forward and grabbed the paper from Sam's hands. “Why is this an ‘us' problem? We have bigger issues right now than some rogue angel.” With that, he tossed the paper back to its original place mid table.

“Because,” Cas said slowly, more than a dash of annoyance filling his voice. “There's more to this.” He paused for effect, hoping Dean would be interested, but when he wasn't, Cas went on. “This doesn't seem like an angel killing, so there is something out there strong enough to mimic a smiting. Something powerful enough to look like an angel.” Again he waited for Dean to catch up, but it was taking far too long. “So…”

Sam saved the day. “So maybe whatever is doing this could help us open the rift?”

Cas nodded and crossed his arms, relieved that Sam understood. “It's worth a look at least.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “OK. Let's go to Wyoming.” He drained his beer and stood up, exhausted and done with everything. “When this is all done, I'm going on vacation.” Sam laughed, but Dean wagged a finger at him. “Mark my words, brother. I'm talking white sandy beaches and those fruity drinks with the umbrellas in them. I'm done. I deserve a break after this.”

“Dean, you say that every time,” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “And yet you've never been to the beach.”

Dean gasped, offended. “So it's my fault the world keeps trying to end?”

Sam cocked his head and cringed, ready to remind him that a few times, it had in fact been his fault.

“Don't answer that,” Dean snapped and spun around towards the bedrooms, heading off to pack a bag. 

Sam stood up and collected the books, clearing up his mess. “You really think this is worth a trip?” he asked Cas, who stood over him, thinking.

“I do,” Cas sighed. “There's a strong concentration of power there, and while I'm not sure what it is, it's not going to hurt to take a look.”

“OK,” Sam said, turning to shelve a book. “Road trip it is.”

[phantomofthepairofdice]

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness: A Spoiler-Filled Review

The most recent installment in the juggernaut of serialized storytelling that is the MCU has recently hit theaters with Sam Raimi’s Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (heretofore referred to as MoM for brevity’s sake). Like most of the other films and series of this phase, the feeling of transition seems to overwhelm the ability for the project to be its own story. While it may be foolish to expect something self-contained this late into the episodic structure of the grand narrative, MoM suffers from feeling like it has to wrap-up the past and set-up the future, not really given the time for the present. The result feels like it’s trying to be positioned as a massive crossover miniseries, but feels more like a tie-in or a “Road to..” issue.

While it’s worth mentioning that Scott Derrickson, director of the first film, was attached and may be responsible for some of the interesting ideas that come during the set pieces (think Edgar Wright and Peyton Reed), it’s not too bold to assume that Raimi is to thank for the film’s best pieces: its horror tinged elements.

As a Raimi lover (though, admittedly, not a completionist - sorry For Love of the Game and Crimewave), it was moments like a fight of musical notes recalling a classic cartoon and the much ballyhooed violent goofball antics that had me actively and audibly enjoying the movie. A few times I was pleasantly stirring the “I can’t believe how whacky this is” stew in my brain before Raimi would sprinkle in another dash of the manic macabre. The Zombie Strange who looks like a Deadite, piloted by 616 Strange through a dreamwalking spell of course, gives series newcomer America Chavez her emotional activation speech in the final act - Groovy!

God bless Black Bolt’s cranial explosion. I love Zombie Strange’s cloak of demonic ghoulies. I love the sloppy sound effects of a monster’s eyeball plopping out (not to mention that the monster looks ripped from the pages of the recent Aaron/Bachalo run in the comics). I love the bent frames after drinking a spiked tea. I love the single tear rolling down a charred corpse’s cheek. I love the havoc wreaked from reflections, and the contortions needed to pass through them. Bruce Campbell serving pizza balls (shouts Eric Andre) certainly livens things up. The post credits scene is such a hoot. Hail to the king, baby.

What I wish there was more of from Raimi was his color palette and his earnestness with genre fare. This movie has less of the patented “uh, that’s not a thing” type snark that has infected all pop culture, but it’s certainly not got the earnest sincerity that makes his Spider-Man films succeed. Raimi doesn’t wink here, but that’s a low bar to clear.

But what of the titular madness that this multiverse holds? We get some ever-too-brief glimpses at the visually alluring and conceptually exciting universes Strange and Chavez traverse while fleeing danger feel like potential unfulfilled. It’s truly lame that the universe we spend the most time in outside of Earth-616 is most different because red means go and green means stop. That being said, credit must be paid the universe in which the Sanctum Santorum is the last gothic vestige in a world of ash and bones - creating something genuinely evocative and creepy. However, this interesting element is emblematic of the root issue of what keeps this movie at merely a flawed good time. 

The sum of the movie, sadly, is weaker than its parts. Hemmed in by the ever-encroaching requirements of tying plots from across the multimedia blitz of the current MCU, MoM plays like an extended second act, the first having taken place over almost 10 hrs of TV and 2 hrs of the first Strange movie (generously ignoring the other bits of detritus from the losing battle of quality that Marvel is waging like What If and Inhumans).

Marvel movies, and now their integral television counterparts, have mostly succeeded in the arenas of character and plot. Every now and then, a director with an ideology or a visual flair will weave those components in the fabric of the film so as not to have a larger studio ask to pull that thread without the tapestry of the film unraveling. I think mostly of movies like Black Panther, Iron Man 3, Guardians 2, and First Avenger when I refer to this class of MCU movie. Overall, though, it’s the characters and their stories that fans are attracted to, not the panache of the set pieces or the larger ideas at play.

Markus and McFeely, the writing duo behind the mega-scripts that set up and paid off Endgame, were always very gifted at using every chess piece on the board, even if those pieces were always limited to the movements we expect them to make. If anything, they’re architects, and each wing of their marvel McMansion is at least not at risk of collapsing - save for the one that MoM most reminded me of: Civil War.

The script for MoM starts with an idea that the calculated choice Strange made to bring on the Snappening had consequences all their own, including, potentially, the reason that Strange’s romantic interest Christine is moving on with another man. Rachel McAdams is a great actor, and she’s got more to do here than I had anticipated, which is quite a treat, but as far as the payoff for Strange’s insistence to be the greatest hero, the one always has the knife in the parlance of the film, the finale doesn’t quite deliver. This is, in no small part, due to the fact that this is less a Strange sequel than a WandaVision continuation - the same phenomenon of Civil War being an Avengers prequel more than a Captain America sequel.

The movie’s larger structural problems in Michael Waldron’s script are what most hinder the its success, but there are also head-scratchingly obtuse pieces of dialogue sprinkled throughout. Wanda declares in the second mountaintop temple the film visits, “It’s not a tomb, it’s a throne.” Mike, my guy, why not go with “It’s not a tomb, it’s a temple,” especially when there isn’t a chair in sight? That’s forgivable if not a bit illustrative of the polish this script lacks.

The trailer for MoM features a line where Wanda questions why she’s viewed as a villain for what she’s done while Strange is painted the hero for similar choices. Despite the movie’s insistence that it’s complicated, the answer to her question is simple: Wanda’s goals are for her own sake, Strange’s are for everyone else’s. The narrative ground in which the seeds of Wanda’s personal motivations are planted is quite rich. It’s a shame her characterization is stagnant and doesn’t indulge in either delicious camp theatrics nor the compelling compromise of heroics for selfish ends. Michael Stuhlbarg is able to imbue the thinly written exposition he’s given with more tragic discomfort and resentment than Olsen can conjure as the co-lead and emotional engine of the plot. I don’t expect Gena Rowlands in Opening Night, but sheesh, this is weak.

To that point, we have truly failed as a culture if Lady Gaga’s force of nature performance in House of Gucci has been written off because of her accent while we let Elizabeth Olsen slide for the one foot out the door bologna she’s got going lately. Shame on us, shame, shame indeed. Olsen’s lazy lack of commitment to the voice is just part of the shrug of a performance in a character whose risible motivations are rooted in the bunk domesticity that was previously written as a pitiable fabrication of a desperate woman longing for normalcy. Doesn’t it feel a bit regressive for a female character’s sole motivation for endangering the world to be based on tucking in kids she made up? Not to mention that in this hypothetical, Vision isn’t in the picture?

The Scarlet Witch’s resolution comes when she realizes that another dimension’s version of her kids don’t accept an evil version of herself from another universe as their mom - partly because she just beat up their real mom in front of them. It’s not reckoning with the fallout of her actions on anyone beyond herself. That’s not bad writing, per se, but it’s definitely writing I don’t find to be personally satisfying.

The most disappointing shortcoming of the script, for me, is the film’s conception of America Chavez. While I appreciate the addition of a character whose identity has rarely been on screen, it’s very disappointing that Chavez isn’t a character, so much as a plot device. I enjoyed the conceit of the flashback in which we see how her powers are tied to deep guilt - another square covered in Raimi bingo - and I think she has loads of promise down the road, but I can’t believe how helpless and nondescript she is for most of the movie. Disney keeps reminding us that true representation is more than mere inclusion. It’s nice that we get to project meaning onto the fact that characters are fighting over the sanctity of America -there just so happens to be a country with that very name, you see - but it reduces her to a concept.

Now allow me to remove my film fan hat and adorn my comic dork hat. The multiverse, currently, is messy as could be. What are the boundaries of variants and incursions? There are 3 Spider-Man actors, Richard E. Grant is Loki, but Cumberbatch is every Dr. Strange? What’s going on here, really? I’m all for fudging the rules, so long as they don’t contradict themselves. This feels most akin to the contradictions the prequels have with the original Star Wars movies. 

But now, dear readers, it’s time for me to come clean about the main source or soreness for this viewer. It’s very rare that a moment of fan service perturbs me beyond the cheap pop of Pavlovian applause in recognition - the crass corporate insertion of which triggers nostalgia designed to justify the money spent by the viewer whose time and joy is being systemically programmed and vampirically devoured by the ghoulish mega-conglomerate overlords. That bums me out, but, I’m not made of stone, so a musical sting from ‘97 X-Men cartoon did elicit a smile. But there’s a bit here that genuinely upset me.

I love the Fantastic Four with a fervor that’s matched by few things. I find their dynamics endlessly nuanced and compelling, their focus on the high concept sci-fi truly wondrous, and the aesthetics of the world and power set to be nearly unmatched. While Jon Watts has orchestrated his Spider-Man movies to successful effect, the instrumentation was more Yamaha keyboard than Stradivarius. To see John Krasinski as Reed Richards cast a pall over the whole affair. Not only was it a moment that was designed to excite that did the opposite, it stepped on the ember of hope I had left for the MCU FF movie like a Timberland heel on a cigarette butt. He is so profoundly miscast, that I can’t really fathom how it came to be other than his star power and the lack of upcoming, unclaimed characters without stars attached. He’s not an actor that reads as hyper-intelligent or dorky. The thing that’s amazing about Reed is that he’s so preoccupied with what could be, that he takes what is for granted. He’s prickly and stiff, and can be callous. But he’s also endearing in his optimism and excitement for trying to make every world in every universe a better place. I really try not to gatekeep and hold possession over characters with which creators can tell any story, but this one is oddly more precious and painful than I though it would be. Maybe it was the fact that I thought the MCU FF would hew closer to what I envisioned than the previous whiffs from Tim Story and Josh Trank. I hope I’m surprised and that my notions and worries are proven to be moot. Time will tell. Now back to the actual movie being discussed, not the one that’s years away.

MoM feels like it spends most of its runtime attempting to establish a new franchise foundation with some hunks of rubble that have carried over post-Endgame. It’s a testament to the crew that it’s still a good time watching this movie scramble to find its footing. If the solid ground the MCU is so exasperatedly trying to establish itself on after Endgame is in line with where I think it’s going - the comics work of folks like Jonathan Hickman and Al Ewing - then I hope we get there sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I’ll hope for a bit more polish in scripting phase and more memorable moments like the ones Raimi injects here. This is certainly more vivacious and fun than his Oz movie, but I think it falls squarely in line with his Spider-Man 3. Over-stuffed, under-written, but punctuated with creativity and a commitment to zaniness that’s sadly left behind in far too many trips from the page to the screen of these pop icons.

[thalassomania]

so here’s my super-duper belated @danganronpasecretsanta​ gift for @ofdesperationis​. it’s not finished--i’ve been a complete mess for a while now and i’m becoming aware that i may never be able to get this done.

but i wanted to submit what i have because i wrote approx. 14 pages and 8600 words. there was supposed to be more here and maybe there will be at some point but here’s everything i had.

trigger warnings include a lot of unreality, violence, and way too much despair. also spoilers for dr1, sdr2, dr3, and probably ndrv3 but i can’t remember at this point. i’m sorry, agh... i hope this is suitable at best. i can send other plot details too if need be.

main characters: junko enoshima, mukuro ikusaba, izuru kamukura

Junko Enoshima was a queen.

“Princess” was far too childish of a name for her, “empress” was nice but altogether too serious, and “Her Glorious Majesty of Despair” was apparently a mouthful. Being called a queen was precisely what she wanted, and she lived for it.

Any queen of her stature deserved a palace, and Junko was proud of her own. She placed a gloved hand over her forehead like a makeshift visor as she observed the castle's towers, stretching upwards into the sky. Her home was perfect, just as she was; unfortunately, though, her garden was still in need of work.

With a sigh gently carried by the breeze, Junko returned to her task. She turned toward her rose bushes and gingerly trimmed some wayward stems, wielding an oversized pair of rose-gold scissors and humming to herself. She paused occasionally to pluck a rose and place it in her cascade of pinkish-blonde hair, slowly becoming the closest possible approximation to a human bouquet.

As she reached out to pick another flower, her routine was interrupted with a sharp jab into her finger. “Ah!” she exclaimed, pulling her hand back. A thorn had made a minute hole in her pristine white glove, and a droplet of blood had begun to stain the area.

It was so charming that Junko couldn't help herself—she let out a stream of giggles as she held her pricked finger in front of her face. There was something uniquely endearing about it, especially when she considered what would happen if her blood didn't clot. Each time she raised her hand more ichor would fall from it, until anemia got the best of her and she collapsed, as if sleeping, into the garden that had caused her untimely demise.

The despair of the idea—killed by the flowers she loved so dearly—was intoxicating, as was the smell of the roses in her hair. She twirled, her magnificent skirt almost catching on the rose bushes that surrounded her. As her shoes pressed into the grass, she thought of the roots below stretching downward further and further, just as her tendrils of despair had ensnared those who dared stand in her way....

“Shh. Over here!”

Speak of the devil. Junko came to a quick stop and lifted her head in the direction of the noise. The rustling of the leaves couldn't have been more obvious. With her scissors piercing the earth like a sword, she lifted her skirt and began a silent patrol through the garden. There was at least one intruder in her midst—likely two, one speaking to the other—and she wasn't about to let such things slide. She couldn't deny loving the feeling of her personal spaces being soiled, but she loved spreading that despair to others even more.

There were two of them, as it turned out. Two small girls, too young to have wandered off on their own unless parents weren't an issue; good parenting was in short supply, Junko supposed. The taller of the two had countless clovers woven into her twin braids, so long that they reached her ankles and occasionally tangled with various twigs and other such trappings. The shorter ducked under an obscenely large hat, perhaps to shield her pale skin from the glow of the sun. They were smiling and giggling to each other as they wandered through the garden, and Junko smiled to force down an imminent surge of nausea.

“Hey. Hey,” the taller said, grasping the tiny hands of her companion. “This is nice, right? We can still find places to play.”

The other blinked dully, seemingly half-awake. “Uh...uh-huh.”

“There are still some good places.” The taller grinned. “Let's stay hopeful, alright?”

A slow nod. “'Kay.”

Junko could only watch their banter for so long before uncomfortable memories surged in her chest and she found it impossible to restrain herself. Sweeping her hair back behind her shoulders, she rose to her full height and looked down upon her unwanted visitors. “Excuse me! Just what do you think you're doing here?”

The taller girl jumped in surprise, immediately looking up to face Junko. Her smaller companion followed suit. “S-So sorry, Miss! We...we were just—”

“Intruding where you don't belong is what you were doing,” Junko corrected, folding her arms across her chest. “You have no idea just how much time I spend in this garden each and every day! I'll have to make you pay for entering my private quarters....”

“Please don't, Miss!” The taller girl's hands curled into fists. “We didn't do anything wrong! We were just looking for a new place to play, ma'am...I mean, Miss...I mean—!”

“Hush, child.” Junko stepped closer, light as a spider's web on the wind, and cupped the girl's chin in her hand. Blood smeared across her skin as Junko's gaze darkened, possessed with an ability far beyond anyone's understanding. “Feel as I feel.”

The briefest of locked gazes was enough to change something in the little girl—the light in her stare faded as her shoulders relaxed, her face devoid of expression.

The other girl fidgeted, lifting the brim of her hat to get a better look at her friend. “Nnah...Tenko, what's wrong?”

A sharp turn caused Junko's fierce eyes to meet hers. What little strength rested in her face melted almost instantly, replaced with an uncanny flatness. “...Ah....”

“That's better, isn't it?” Junko chirped, rising to her feet once more. “Maybe you'll think twice next time you try sticking your noses where they don't belong.”

“...Himiko...” the one called Tenko mumbled, her voice soft, “...what are we doing here?”

“...playin'?” Himiko replied, as if she had forgotten the reason she had gone outside at all.

“This is...no fun.” Tenko reached out to take Himiko's hand, but seized her wrist instead—the motion was sudden and painful for both parties, and she immediately set her free. “Let's go.”

Himiko nodded silently, her hat bobbing as she did, and the two children stumbled back into the woods. Junko felt the heaviness settling over their hearts and sighed happily; after all, girls their age were a breeze to turn. She took a deep gulp of the despair permeating the garden air, letting it fill her lungs and settle inside her like a newfound friend.

“Junko?” A voice from somewhere inside, calling her name. “Junko? Where are you?”

Excitedly, Junko let her head tilt upward—she'd know that voice from anywhere. “Coming!” she trilled, spinning around to fetch her scissors.

As she danced out of her garden and into the castle, a few clouds of greenish mist settled around the woods. Beyond them, all anyone could see was the dilapidated remains of what had once been grand buildings, the sorry chunks of asphalt that had once been streets, and most importantly, an entirely decimated campus that had once been known as Hope's Peak Academy.

♡

The clink of a porcelain teacup against its saucer brought Junko back to awareness. Time ceased flowing in her personal chambers—she had no idea how long she'd tuned out her sister's incessant rambling. Regardless, she cocked her head and tried to pick up at least a few words so she wouldn't get chewed out.

“...and environmental conditions are steadily deteriorating, with at least two surviving species of flowers finally giving in over the past week. Though their loss is unconfirmed, they will be assumed extinct until they are rediscovered somewhere in town.”

“Mm.” Junko sipped her tea, which had gone unpleasantly lukewarm. Despair flooded her thoughts. “How sad.”

“Very.” Mukuro Ikusaba bowed lightly, her hands linked. “Is there anything you'd like me to say to the general public on your behalf?”

“Nah,” Junko replied, casually placing her saucer on the miniature table before her. “Honestly, I couldn't care less.”

Mukuro's cheeks turned a blistering red. “S-Sister...please, listen to me. I've been handling your affairs for months now—the least you could do is respect the effort I'm going through.”

“Respect?” Junko giggled into her palms. “What made you ever think I respected you, or even cared?” With a delighted cackle, she stuck out a leg at just the right angle to kick a teacup off the table.

“Ah, hold on,” Mukuro said, darting forward to pick up the discarded pottery as it landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thunk. “Let me—”

“Oopsie!” Junko sprang to her feet and pressed her shoe onto the teacup. It shattered under the sudden weight, splintered shards littering the area around her ruby-red heels. “Seems as if I took a wrong step...upupu! Still feel like cleaning up after me?”

Mukuro lowered her head, her dark eyes glinting with recognition as she familiarized herself with Junko's latest method of pushing her. “With pleasure, dear sister,” she said as she cupped the pieces in her hands, the off-white color contrasting with the black leather of her gloves.

“That's more like it, mm?” Junko leaned back in her chair, coated in enough overly ornate decorations and fabrics to be called a throne, and grinned. “Finally, a task befitting of someone as lowly as you....”

For a brief moment, Junko could taste her sister's despair on her tongue. In the next moment, Mukuro charged at her and threw the teacup's remains straight into her face like a grenade. “Aieee!” she shrieked, flailing ineffectively. “You got me!”

Mukuro instinctively backed away from the thrashing mass of lace, velvet, and porcelain fragments. “It seems as if I have. Feeling the despair yet?”

“Only in the way you know best,” Junko replied as her body relaxed. “Sadly, you're still a bit too predictable...I daresay I'm feeling a whole new form of despair just watching you struggle.”

Mukuro folded her arms across her chest. “Tsk. Fine.”

“I'm growing bored....” Junko stood up, brushing the last of the teacup from her skirt. “I think it's playtime!” With a gleeful twirl, she picked up a large plush rabbit from the foot of her throne and wrapped her arms around it. “Isn't that right, little one?”

“Playtime...?” Mukuro paused, uncertain, before the reality of the situation came to her. “Oh, right. Enjoy yourself, then. I'll be cleaning the kitchen in the meantime.”

“Just because you tell me to do it doesn't mean I will! Hm...maybe you should be the Super High School Level Maid,” Junko called as she left the room, stroking her plush's floppy ears. “All you need is a short dress and some revealing panty-shots.”

Mukuro had an indignant reply prepared, but bit her tongue to stop from embarrassing herself further; after all, Junko had already slammed the tearoom door behind her.

♡

The Despair Castle—a tentative name, but a fitting one at the very least—had more than its fair share of rooms, and Junko had reason to love each and every one. Her bedroom always smelled of incense and allowed her to sleep on the finest of mattresses the world over. Her bathroom gave her a place to bathe in water saturated with rose petals, and she couldn't stop herself from chuckling at her warped reflection in the marble tiling. Even her dining room, which didn't need to be anything more than drab as drab could be, was decorated with flags in garish colors, paintings several feet tall, and custom dinnerware emblazoned with bear-shaped symbols.

Junko's playroom was by far her favorite, though, since it was the one room she didn't have to share with anyone; more accurately, the only room no one else was allowed to enter without her explicit permission. Even Mukuro grew boring after a while, and her toys were always waiting for her when she needed a change of pace. Sitting in the center of the circular room and surrounded by massive pillows and plush dolls, Junko hummed a surreal little tune and ran a brush through her seemingly endless locks of hair.

“Hm...oh, I'm sorry! Do you want a turn?” Junko asked the doll sitting in her lap. She used her free hand to tilt its resin head up and down in a gesture reminiscent of a nod and, with a cheerful smile, began to brush its hair instead of her own. The brush lightly tugged at the doll's pink hair, which ended in graceful little curls at its shoulders—the treatment wasn't doing it any good, but Junko didn't seem to mind. She found a strange sense of comfort in the rhythm of the brush and the way the curls sprang back into place each and every time.

“Feels nice, huh?” Junko asked the doll, moving its ball-joined arms up and down. “Bet you feel pretty silly for having failed me, Ryota.” She turned it around so it faced her, and she found herself earnestly smiling at its lifelike features—the “Ryota” this doll was modeled after had been captured perfectly. She admired the thin lines around the mouth and the faint dark rings underneath the eyes, chuckling even now at the anxiety visible in its features.

“Mhm! Pretty silly,” she repeated to herself as she placed the Ryota doll down beside her. “A panicked mess, too scared to do anything but cry like a baby...I'd be feeling the despair already if I were you. At least you're not alone, right?”

Giggling to herself, she lifted a smaller china doll with a nurse's uniform onto her lap. “That's right!” she said, in a purposely high-pitched voice to imitate this new arrival. “At least you're not alone! We'll never be apart anymore...we can cry together...!”

“You heard the girl!” Junko said to the Ryota doll, placing the nurse next to it. “You and Mikan can be together, okay? It was what you really wanted...or, at least, what she really wanted. I guess you can't really move without some divine intervention, but beggars can't be choosers. Now then...who else wants some special playtime with their queen?”

“Ooh!” Mikan chimed in. “I think Nagito does!” Junko rested on her stomach, now at the doll's “eye” level, and angled her arm so she was pointing to a wall-mounted shelf.

“Oh, really?” Hopping to her feet while trying not to dislodge anything in her pillow fort, Junko grabbed a white-haired porcelain doll and cradled it in her arms. It was well-worn from hours of its owner's brand of play, its hair brittle and paint chipped in places; despite the damages, though, its tired smile remained intact.

“Is she telling the truth?” she asked the doll, stroking its chest through its shirt. “I'd hate for anyone to be lying to me....”

“No liars here!” Junko piped up, in her Mikan voice. “Nagito told me he wants to be with you all day long, and go with you everywhere in the castle! Maybe even...in your bedroom?”

“Is this true, Nagito?” she asked, her pitch lowering at the drop of a hat.

“It's true, milady,” she replied in Nagito's voice—a bit deeper than her own, and just husky enough to sound sick. “I want to be by your side...forever.”

“Forever?” Junko spun around, pressing the doll against her ribcage. “That's a tall order, sir...Just what would we do together for all that time?”

“Well, if we really had an eternity together, I'd let you brush my hair and dress me in any way you like.” She made the Nagito doll's eyelids flutter cutely. “We could take baths together, and eat at the same table...that is, if you'd be willing to put up with garbage like me for that long. If not, I could always eat off the floor with your sister....”

“Even she's better than you,” Junko retorted, poking Nagito's cheek. “I can't put up with your self-hatred and hope bull for that long. Besides, I'm already spoken for! That reminds me....” She dropped the doll, causing it to land on the enlarged stomach of one of her plush bears. “I think I have someone I need to check up on.”

“Please, oh please, don't leave us!” Junko's Ryota voice was wobbly in a comedic sense. “We need you here, miss Junko! It's not the same without you! I'd rather die than spend another moment alone....” The Mikan doll, humorously, fell onto its side.

“Then suffer,” Junko replied to herself, smirking. Her eyes flashed as she pressed her foot into the carpet, just inches away from where the Ryota doll sat. “And who said you were on first-name privileges? I certainly don't remember saying it....”

“Not me, ma'am,” Mikan cut in, still toppled over. “Maybe he's a glutton for punishment.”

“Is that so?” Junko asked, tapping one finger against her chin. “I have a dungeon I need to visit...I simply don't have time to punish you appropriately! All I can say for now is that you certainly didn't deserve to touch the same hairbrush as your one and only Queen of Despair, Junko Enoshima!” A light kick sent the Ryota doll flying across the room, landing in a corner to be neglected for at least a week. When she didn't have time to enact one of her favorite ironic executions, abandonment was always a good second choice: it would leave her victims wondering when she'd return until the hope left them completely and boredom consumed their very souls.

Desiring a punishment was an entirely different can of worms, though...She pondered the idea of someone sitting in the dark for months on end, waiting for her to come back with an execution she'd spent many a night poring over. At first, the thought seemed too easy, but then she reconsidered: what if she came in, prepared to enact a punishment the likes of which had never been seen before...and then ever-so-casually went for a stab in the heart?

As she left the room, Junko clapped her hands and felt her cheeks flush at the thought of sending someone into such pure, unfiltered despair—it was almost too much for her to handle. Behind her, the lights flickered off and the toys were left alone. At some point, she'd have to order Mukuro to come in and clean up after her, but she had more important topics on her mind than her sister wiping dust from Ryota Mitarai's face.

♡

As a child, Junko had never taken time to appreciate the joy and fervor that came with running down spiral staircases; now, as an adult, she was ecstatic to be given the opportunity to set foot on one. The steps leading to her dungeon went downward in a fast and volatile circle, and she often found herself running up and down those steps until her breaths shortened and her heart raced.

Reaching the bottom gave her heart a whole other reason to race. Keeping one arm draped across the banister to steady herself, Junko peered into the darkness of the room before her. The only source of light was the evening sun filtering in from upstairs, its rays teasing against the stone floor. The so-called “dungeon” itself was always chilly—a coat rack near the entrance held two of Junko's favorite winter robes, in case her impromptu exercise routines weren't enough to keep her warm. All she could make out beyond the rack was a hospital bed and a squarish machine hooked up next to it.

Junko took a series of gentle steps into the dark. “I'm back, darling,” she called, cupping a hand around her mouth while using the other to slip a robe over her shoulder. “Did you miss me?”

There was no response from the bed's occupant, though they shifted slightly. Grinning, Junko strutted closer to the person in question—what had once been a well-meaning, if talentless, teenage boy had been transformed into an emaciated, pale-skinned figure unable to leave their resting place. A small cluster of tubes stuck in their arms kept them from moving much at all, seemingly attached to the nearby machine. Junko closed her eyes for a moment to listen to its slow, soft beeping, which quickened as she approached.

“Kamukura,” she breathed, alighting herself on the edge of the bed. “I'm here.”

The figure tilted their head in the direction of her voice, but didn't speak. Their eyes—formerly hazel, now slowly turning red—fluttered open and fixed their gaze on her.

“It's me,” Junko said, taking on a romantic edge. “Don't you remember?”

The figure winced as they struggled to move, eventually lifting a twitching hand to brush their bangs away from their forehead. Though the tips were brown, most of their hair had become a velvet black that made Junko's body pulse with adoration. She was, however, less than impressed with their response, which came out in little more than a dry whisper. “...who?”

“You forgot again?” Junko asked, stretching her legs across the bed and flaunting the shape of her thighs. “I'm Junko Enoshima. I rule the world, in case you weren't aware. You must be one lucky stud, since I'm madly in love with you and all that.” She held a hand out expectantly, her red nail polish glittering in the faint light. “And you are...?”

Their lips parted, emitting a faint wheeze. “...Jun...ko?”

“I'm Junko,” she said as her hand sank. “I'm the only one worthy of such a name.” She laughed sharply, moving some of the tubes to give herself more space to lay down—she stayed cautious, however, so as to cause them as little pain as possible. “And you are Izuru Kamukura...or, you will be, once your brain works again. Don't worry, I'm waiting patiently for that day; well, I am for now.”

Kamukura's eyes sparked with brief recognition, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared. “...I...am...?”

“Izuru,” Junko purred, snuggling next to them. She pulled at the collar of their flimsy hospital gown and rested her hand on their exposed shoulder. Their skin was clammy, but she'd grown used to it with time. She was more concerned about the state of the bed—it had gone unwashed for weeks, and even with medical adjustments and catheters, the smell of excrement lingered. In truth, her prisoner-turned-lover looked pathetic, but she was willing to ignore it; or, at least, until she remembered to ask Mukuro to clean the dungeon again.

“I...zuru,” Kamukura breathed, their voice hitching on a syllable.

Junko nodded, cupping Kamukura's face with her free hand. “Good job,” she said as she planted a kiss on their forehead. They flinched, but didn't react otherwise.

A moment of silence passed as Junko cuddled her mildly unresponsive partner. The lack of noise was welcoming, and Junko felt a happy sigh pass through her body—spending time with Kamukura refreshed her more than anything. When they could move on their own again, she'd decided she would take them for a walk in the garden and show them the world she'd taken over. She imagined their hair, which she assumed would be waist-length at that point if not longer, idly tickling the rose petals. A sliver of drool fell from her lips.

“Oops! Upupu,” she said to herself, wiping her face on her sleeve to avoid touching the bedsheets. “Hey, hey.” She reached behind Kamukura and lifted their head, fingers brushing across the nape of their neck. “Izuru. Look at that.”

Kamukura blinked slowly, trying to clear their blurred vision. “Where...?”

“Up there,” Junko said, pointing toward the staircase. “You see that? The light?”

Without waiting for a response, she continued. “That's the outside world. You can see some sunlight now, but it'll fade before too long and you'll be alone in the dark.

“That's what despair is like—every night, you hold onto your hope up there...and it fades away. You keep waiting for something different, but it'll never come. And that's what the world is like too. That light is the last of the old world. B.E.—Before Enoshima, as I like to say,” she said, having never said it before. “Get it?”

“Nn—” Kamukura whined as Junko tugged on errant strands of their hair to keep their attention. She curled them between her fingers, ignorant of Kamukura's obvious pain. Even as they cringed and tried to pull away from her, a light press of her other hand on their chest kept them firmly in place—the wires in their arms, too, prevented them from escaping. Junko's face flushed as she felt their heartbeat under her palm.

“The world you knew is gone; that is, if you can even remember what it was like. What lies beyond this room is my world...and when you're better, it can be ours. We won't have to share it with anyone. Not even my sister has to know—we can lock her up here and have the rest of the world to ourselves. No one will be able to tear the two of us apart.”

“Ah...” Kamukura murmured as Junko let go of them, causing their upper body to thump against the headboard. Their gaze drifted, becoming unfocused. “...that hurt.”

“Did it, darling?” Junko asked dreamily, poking Kamukura's cheek as she snuggled against them. “Maybe you're starting to feel again. That's a step forward, isn't it?”

Kamukura slumped back into bed, already exhausted. With a soft giggle, Junko ran her fingers across their forehead—mildly feverish, might have to get that checked out—and kissed their nose. She figured she would work toward kissing their lips, perhaps when they remembered how to kiss back. She could hear someone moving about upstairs, presumably Mukuro, but left her to her own devices; after all, this was her special alone time with Kamukura and she wouldn't let anyone take that from her.

Kamukura stared at the ceiling as the last of the evening light withered and died, their consciousness melting away with it. Junko, meanwhile, felt a smile form on her face as she rested beside her beloved. The machine beeped faintly as the duo's breaths synchronized—then, with little fanfare, the sun set completely and the darkness took them both.

♡

Not all queens necessarily had to look down upon their subjects, but Junko wasn't willing to skip that aspect of her daily life. She had more thrones throughout the castle than just the one in her tearoom, and her dining room throne was particularly elegant—a hand-carved wooden model that rose several feet above the other chairs around the table. Though it took some effort to climb onto the throne in the first place, Junko appreciated the perfect view it gave her of her rather sour mealtime company.

“Aren't you going to eat, sister?” she called from above. “There are starving children in...well, everywhere! In fact, there's one in the room with us as we speak, so why don't you eat before she sneaks another nibble?”

Mukuro's gaze snapped to the silver-haired child sitting across from her. She was thin and all too pale, her once-pristine outfit smeared with dirt and dried blood. Though she had been addressed, she hadn't raised her head or even made a noise of acknowledgment, seemingly preferring to blend into the metaphorical background. Mukuro knew her sister wouldn't have any of it.

“Come on now, little one,” Junko said, idly swinging her legs back and forth. “Why don't you try to snatch a pea or two? Children should eat their vegetables, right?”

“They are healthy, yes,” Mukuro mumbled, patting her cheek with a napkin. “So why aren't you eating any of them?”

Slowly and almost comically, Junko looked down at her plate of chocolate-strawberry cake. “...Well, I'm already grown up! I don't need to worry so much about eating right anymore.”

“You should worry,” Mukuro commented, delicately cutting her ham into pieces. “You want your reign to last as long as you do, right? You won't be around to rule the world for very long if all you eat is dessert.”

“Hmph!” Junko crossed her arms and huffed. “We'll see about that. You!” She pointed at her guest, who flinched but didn't react otherwise. “What do you think your queen should eat?”

The little girl cautiously raised her head just enough to meet Junko's blue eyes. “Ah...um...I think you should....”

“Go on. Spit it out.” Junko flicked a few cake crumbs in her direction. “Maybe I'll give you something nice if you answer correctly.”

“M-Miss Enoshima should...maybe...consider eating some vegetables when she can.” The girl fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. “I-I could provide some for her...I know a few good recipes, a-and if you have the right ingredients, we can—”

Mukuro shot out of her seat to catch the fork Junko had thrown toward the stuttering child. “Junko! Would you really want...would you....” Her features softened as she struggled to find a way to get her sister to stop, while their guest whimpered in fear.

“Would I want what?” Junko asked, pointing a knife in Mukuro's direction. “I certainly wouldn't want to eat any of this runt's horrible cooking!” She laughed harshly, digging the knife straight through the center of her cake. “You're no Super High School Level Chef, are you?”

The child's face paled further. “...no, but....”

With a flourish, Junko leaped down from her throne—trying not to flinch when her boots hit the carpeted floor—and leaned in close. “But what, little one?”

The girl's muscles tightened as she managed a small, disdainful frown. “Kirumi.”

Junko's face twisted into a grin. “Sorry, what was that? I didn't quite catch it.” Across the table, Mukuro sat perfectly still and ready to launch into battle should the situation go awry.

The girl swallowed and stared straight at Junko, defiance shining through her chalky features and muddied cheeks. “My name is Kirumi.”

“Kirumi...” Junko said, drawing back like a snake. “Hm. I can't say I've heard that name before...and now that you're in my clutches, nobody will hear it again.”

Kirumi's confidence faltered. “Wh-What?”

“Take a look at this.” Junko turned Kirumi's head so it faced Mukuro and began rummaging through her dress. This particular ensemble was outfitted with seven different pockets in various places on the skirt, just in case she needed a secret weapon. “My darling sister and I are going to play a game.”

Mukuro pushed her chair out and got to her feet. “I'm not interested, Junko. Actually, there's something I've needed to talk to you about—”

“Ah-ah-ah! Too late!” Junko exclaimed as she withdrew a small, but needle-sharp dart and threw it straight at Mukuro's neck. With almost inhuman reflexes, she stepped out of its way, only for it to embed itself in the wall. “You have to play...or else, little Kirumi might meet an untimely end.”

Mukuro's pupils shrank. “What are you saying?”

“You win the game, and I might let her live,” Junko explained, twirling another dart between her fingers. “You lose, and...well, the prognosis is grim for our friend.”

“Wh-What is she talking about?” Kirumi asked, her bravado fading as she watched Mukuro dodge two more darts at a speed only Junko could match.

“You know damn well what I'm talking about,” Junko said between heavy breaths. Her body temperature rose as she sprinted across the room, tossing darts to and fro in a makeshift dance. Mukuro had to vault across the table at one point to avoid a particularly expert throw. “I saw her give you food under the table.”

“What?!” Mukuro cried, twirling in midair to save herself yet again. “You said it yourself—she was starving! Do you expect me to let her suffer?!”

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Junko said, with a haughty laugh. “Clearly, Kirumi has absolutely no fortitude or strength, since even I could refuse such temptations better than she did.” With no more darts to throw, Junko picked up a plate and lobbed it at her sister. “She had to survive to earn my respect, and you had to maintain your reputation as my despair-inducing sibling. Seems as if you both messed up big-time, hm?”

“Enough!” Mukuro roared as Junko hurled another plate. The sounds of shattering ceramics made Kirumi clap her hands over her ears, though she felt slight relief knowing none of Junko's ammunition had connected.

“I said you had to play,” Junko reminded her, sticking her tongue out in mild irritation. “I guess it doesn't matter, since we're out of time anyway.” She spun on her heel to face Kirumi and threw a steak knife straight toward her. “At least we can have a grand finale!”

Mukuro's breath caught in her throat as she made a flying leap in Kirumi's direction, catching the knife in midair and tumbling to the ground. A glass tipped over, red wine staining the tablecloth. Kirumi watched in horror and amazement as Mukuro got to her feet, a bit shaky but alive.

“Ooh, good job!” Junko said, applauding loudly. “Bravo! Bravo, I say!” She reached out to pat Mukuro's shoulder, but she shrank away from her. “Hm. Fair enough.”

“I've been trying to talk to you,” Mukuro said, taking a series of labored breaths. “Something...isn't right around here. It smells like roses everywhere, even when we're inside...haven't you noticed? A-And...and those clouds...aren't they getting thicker?”

Junko paused, as if in thought, but then sighed and folded her hands behind her head. “Nah. To be honest, I don't really care. If something's going wrong, that's your problem, not mine. And speaking of things that are mine....” She lunged forward and grabbed Kirumi, who squealed and flailed in her grasp.

“What are you doing?” Mukuro said, too worn out to put a stop to Junko's misdeeds.

“Finishing this brat off,” Junko replied, as casually as one would talk about the weather. “Why?”

“I...I won the game!” Mukuro spat, reaching for Kirumi. “You said you'd let her live if I won!”

“I said I might,” Junko clarified, squeezing Kirumi's face and pulling it closer to hers. “Besides, you should know by now that I don't play fair.”

“Junko!” Mukuro tried to grab her and knock her to the ground, but the game had left her weakened and exhausted. She slumped to the floor, her knees aching, as Junko's eyes met Kirumi's.

“Do as I do.”

In a matter of seconds, Kirumi's face had gone slack. Her gaze seemed colder, her breaths slower, her body limp in Junko's arms. When she put her down, she immediately stood next to her in a protective manner, looking down upon Mukuro's prone form.

“Now, you...” Junko began, putting her hands on her hips, “...you have no name. You had one at one point, though—and an identity, too. So on the basis of your old life, I'll ask you one more time: you're no Super High School Level Chef, are you?”

Kirumi sneered at Mukuro. “No, ma'am.”

“No!” Abruptly, Junko brought her foot down on Kirumi's, causing the girl to wail in surprise. “You will address me by name, servant!”

“N-No, miss Junko, ma'am,” Kirumi said, trying to keep her voice stable even with the despair coursing through her veins.

“Much better. Maybe you could take care of this pile of garbage while you're here...that is, if you really want to earn my love.” As Junko strutted out of the room, Kirumi tried to yank Mukuro up from the floor; however, she paused when she smelled something familiar in the air.

“...Roses,” she mumbled to herself, squeezing Mukuro's hand with both of her own. “I may have...enjoyed those, once upon a time.”

Outside, Junko's garden continued to grow, twisting around the castle walls and black iron fences. The world beyond her home seemed more distant than before, as the clouds misting the sky grew ever darker.

♡

“Hm.”

“What? What is it?”

“Hmmm.”

Mukuro stood as still as she could while Junko flitted around her, peering at her silky black dress from all angles. The frilled sleeves itched, and the skirt only reached to her knees—Mukuro's bare legs stuck out beneath, planted firmly in the plush carpeting. She would've changed clothes in a heartbeat if her sister hadn't been so insistent about her participation in today's activity.

Junko tugged on the skirt from behind, and Mukuro cringed. “Hm...I think this one shapes you nicely! If only you had bigger breasts to show off...maybe you could actually take your place beside me on the throne!”

“You wouldn't let me even if I did have them,” Mukuro said through clenched teeth.

“Fair enough,” Junko replied, with a chuckle. “You're not the type I'd share the world with anyway—way too selfish, and no sense of humor.”

“Right,” Mukuro grunted. “Sure.”

Junko stood in front of her sister, hands on her hips. “...You don't really like this dress, do you?”

“N-No,” Mukuro said, trying to maintain her composure.

“That's fair,” Junko replied, with a shrug. “Doesn't really match your complexion anyway.” She turned away, wading through a pile of squishy pillows and dolls she had yet to return to their shelves. “Go on and change. I won't look, just this once.”

With a sigh, Mukuro removed the ensemble. Even taking it off was uncomfortable, the lace making her itch even more as she pulled it over her head. Quietly hanging it up on a rack Junko had wheeled in earlier, she let herself relax for a moment. As she stretched her back, she spoke up again: “Junko? I'm done.”

“Mm?”

Mukuro's eyes narrowed. “I said I'm done.”

“Mm, sure.” Junko faced away from her, fiddling with one of her dolls. “Have you met my little friend, dear sister?”

Mukuro tried to keep her temper down—Junko had already grown bored of her and was looking for a new toy. “My dress, Junko. You said you wanted me to try another dress.”

“Huh? Oh!” Junko whirled around, a pale cloth doll hanging limply from one hand. “Of course! You'll like this one, for sure. It's leather!”

Mukuro's gaze drifted as Junko fiddled with the rack, pulling out a black dress that looked ready to squish Mukuro's spine into an entirely new shape. She watched Junko carry the doll alongside her, unable to tear her eyes away from its sad, unsettling stare. Most of its design was simple, complete with blue yarn hair and mitten-like hands, but its eyes were all too real and uncomfortably glassy.

“Do you like her?” Junko asked, shoving the dress into Mukuro's waiting arms. “This is Miaya. They don't make wheelchairs in her size, so she can't move without her queen helping her get around.” She raised and lowered Miaya's hands, making the red scarf covering most of her face bounce lazily. “Isn't she cute?”

Mukuro sucked in a breath as she tried to pull the dress on. “She seems...sad.”

“You think so?” As Mukuro changed, Junko sifted through the clothes on the rack and pressed a polka-dot ensemble against her body. “Check this out. I look like a cartoon character!”

“Mmph!” Mukuro exclaimed as she struggled to fit herself into the dress. “Y-You do....”

“Aw, is that too tight?” Junko was at her sister's side in an instant, messing with the zipper at the back of the dress. “Maybe we should try another one.”

Mukuro's breath caught in her throat. “Another...one?”

“Well, sure!” Junko tossed Miaya at Mukuro with a flourish before ripping the dress off, with extravagant gestures and sudden movements that made Mukuro wail in pain. “Don't you like playing dress-up with me?”

Now clad in nothing but black undergarments, Mukuro felt naked and embarrassed. She couldn't reply honestly—when she considered it, an image of the broken and damaged Kirumi flickered through her mind. “S-Sure,” she forced out, pressing the Miaya doll against her chest.

“You're lying, but that's fine.” Junko threw off her own dress, chuckling at she and her sister's matching lingerie. “You can't really get out of this anyway.”

“Right,” Mukuro mumbled, now burying her face in Miaya's hair. It smelled familiar to her, perhaps like a childhood home...but she only had a few moments to think of it before the doll was yanked from her, and her vision was obscured with another dress thrown over her head.

“My playthings are playing?” Junko chirped, wiggling into a dress of her own. “How cute! Miaya isn't playing dress-up right now, though. She can't move on her own, so I'd have to help her try things on...and this is our fun time! She'll just have to watch.”

Mukuro glanced at the Miaya doll, which was now splayed on top of one of the pillows. She could feel its gaze on her back as she changed, and the more she thought about it the more awkward she felt. She was a child in a fairytale castle, playing dress-up with her sister, but the game had gone on too long and she just wanted to go home.

After what felt like an eternity of trying on clothing, Mukuro finally stood before Junko in a silky black dress with a short skirt. It still had some of Junko's all-too-elegant touches, like white frills and puffy sleeves, but it was generally sleek and comfortable. Mukuro couldn't help herself—she twirled lightly, letting her skirt spin.

“Oh, you like it?” Junko tilted her head back in a fashion model's pose, clad in a similar dress but with pale pink silk and white and black frills. “Glad we finally found something that works.”

“Why didn't we just try these on first?” Mukuro asked, admiring the way her outfit wrapped around her body. “They do match nicely....”

“I guess I just wanted to keep you around,” Junko replied, rummaging through piles of discarded clothing. “Sibling bonding is always fun, don't you think?”

“Sure,” Mukuro said, half-heartedly. Her gaze drifted back to the Miaya doll, sitting in the same place it had before. “Maybe you should invite Kamukura next time.”

“Kamukura?” Junko got to her feet, holding both hands behind her back in a surprisingly graceful fashion. “You'd rather Kamukura take your place here with me?”

“N-Not like that,” Mukuro said quickly. “I just...I have other duties, and....”

“Don't worry! I understand.” Junko giggled. “I'm just glad you reminded me of the finishing touch for today's dress-up game!”

“What are you talking abou—” Mukuro was interrupted with a violent shriek as Junko whipped her hands out, brandishing twin pairs of shears. Laughing loudly, Junko tore into Mukuro's dress and ripped it to shreds in a matter of seconds, leaving a pile of silk and fluff on the carpet.

“Junko!” Mukuro exclaimed,  assuming a defensive position to shield her body. “What are you doing?!”

Junko spun around gleefully and tore into her own dress, creating another pile of fabric to join the first. “There's nothing quite like finding that everything I put you through meant nothing, right? It fills me with an all-new form of despair! Upupu!”

Mukuro cringed and shook her head, stepping away from her sister. Her right wrist was starting to itch, and as she looked down at it she realized Junko had nicked her. She pressed her thumb against the tiny wound and gently licked the blood off. Watching her sister's pathetic motions, Junko continued to laugh. “Well?” she asked, hands on her hips. “Feeling the despair yet?”

With no energy to fight, exhaustion settled in quickly. “Y...Yes.”

“Alright!” Junko cheered, jumping in place with excitement. “My test is complete! I can't wait to try this out on our next visitors...maybe they'll like becoming mannequins!”

Mukuro bit her lip and turned away, one hand pressed against her wrist. The Miaya doll sat and stared at her, a piece of a silky black dress covering part of her forehead.

Long after the sisters' foray into trying on clothing together, Mukuro went to sweep the upstairs floors while Junko wandered into her dungeon. The staircase was littered with rose petals, and the bed itself had a few roses scattered across its sheets. Even the machine Kamukura was hooked up to seemed to have roses growing around it, which Junko considered a rather romantic gesture—perhaps Mukuro had prepared it as a surprise for the both of them?

She nestled into bed beside Kamukura, twirling strands of their brown-black hair between her fingers while they reacted with little more than a half-lidded stare. They breathed through their mouth, each exhale sounding more like a dissatisfied sigh.

“You should've seen the look on her face, Izuru,” Junko said, twisting their hair into a small, makeshift braid. “It was simply...dazzling.”

“I...zur...u,” Kamukura mumbled, trying their hardest to lock eyes with Junko. “Yes.”

“Dazzled with despair,” Junko said in a singsong voice, letting go of the braid to press her finger to Kamukura's nose. “She wasn't expecting the scissors at all. I'm so glad I kept that Genocider girl around long enough to master her techniques.”

“Yes.”

“You could probably learn them too, if you wanted.” Junko leaned in close, her lover's bad smell tuned out slightly by the aroma of the roses. “You're capable of anything, after all.”

A slight head tilt. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Junko propped herself up on her elbows, unable to find a comfortable position. “Do you...remember who you are today?”

“I...zuru?” Kamukura asked, softly.

“I-zu-ru Ka-mu-ku-ra,” Junko replied, sounding out the syllables. “Repeat after me, okay?”

“Ka...mu....” They lost track quickly, pain dulling their senses. “...zu-ru.”

“Good enough,” Junko said, plopping down beside them. “You know you're mine, right?”

“Yes.”

“Mine, mine, mine.” Junko pressed her body against theirs, sleep creeping in with the lightest and gentlest of footsteps. “Forever mine.”

As she fell asleep beside them, Kamukura let their gaze turn to the ceiling. The room was pitch-dark and even colder than usual, and something about the roses was off-putting to them. They couldn't think about it for too long before their head began to hurt.

All they could think of doing was vocalizing—or trying to, anyway. So while Junko dreamed her life away beside them, Kamukura continued to mumble to themself. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes....”

♡

“Junko?”

Her Glorious Majesty of Despair stirred in her bed, but didn't wake up.

“Junko. Wake up.”

She kept on sleeping, tangled in her favorite red sheets.

“Junko!”

Finally, her eyes snapped open and she sat up. “What? What is it?” she exclaimed. “Your queen is trying t—ow!” With a wince, she rubbed her back and felt a noticeable ache. “Ouchies...that really smarts....”

“I assumed something was up.” Mukuro stood before her, looking less agitated and more concerned. “You were making weird noises in your sleep.”

“That's what she said,” Junko mumbled in reply, trying to straighten her spine. “Ahh...How did this happen? Nothing feels right...and I just had the strangest dream. I think. I'm already forgetting it...such despair....”

“Junko.” Mukuro spoke sharply, taking her sister's hand in her own. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Ew, what's this about?” Junko yanked her hand away and stuck her tongue out in mock disgust. “Don't touch me, commoner!”

Mukuro sighed in defeat and reconstructed her emotional mask, trying to be as straightforward as possible. “Junko, answer my question.”

Junko stretched her arms, slowly raising them over her head and lowering them back down with practiced motions. “...Hm? What?”

“Are you feeling alright?” Mukuro repeated.

“...I think so?” Genuine confusion rose in Junko's voice as she tilted her head, her hair bouncing with it. “Aside from whatever that dream was, and the ache in my back....”

“You were shrieking,” Mukuro said, her tone grave. “In your sleep, I mean. You'd stopped by the time I got here, but I could hear you from across the hall.”

“Sheesh,” Junko said, flicking stray hairs behind her shoulder. “I'm such a drama queen. Probably just feeling some unfiltered, pulp-free despair!”

“Please take this seriously,” Mukuro said. “I think something is wrong here. You see, when looking outside....”

“I think you're the one who's wrong. Think fast!” Junko shot up in bed and sprang to her feet, preparing to deliver a mighty kick and startle her sister. As she moved, though, a wave of dizziness washed over her and she found her reflexes slightly inhibited. Having just woken up would dull her combat sensibilities under ordinary circumstances, but this was far more obstructive.

Mukuro quickly swept her leg out to stop her, completely on instinct. It connected with Junko's ankle and she tumbled to the carpeted floor, her hair spilling out around her. “Aieee!” she cried, frantically brushing her bangs away from her face. “Ouchies! Ow!”

“S-Sister?” Mukuro rested one knee on the carpet, though she kept her distance in case this was a prank. “What's wrong?”

“This is wrong!” Junko pointed to her ankle, which was already turning slightly purple with the onset of a bruise. “I should have got you that time!”

“Perhaps we're evenly matched,” Mukuro replied, letting herself smirk for the briefest moments. “You can't win them all, you know.”

“Sure, whatever,” Junko mumbled, surprisingly upset over a bruised ankle. “I get it.” She stumbled to her feet, putting all her weight on her non-injured leg. “Sometimes the underdog has to win for the audience's benefit.”

“I'm...not an underdog,” Mukuro said, averting her gaze.

“Whatever,” Junko said with a wave of her hand. “I don't even remember what we were talking about. You're too boring to focus on, anyway.”

“That's a lie.”

“Which part?” Junko spun around, grabbed a pale pink bathrobe resting on top of her closet, and threw it over herself with a flourish. “'Cause you're definitely a bore.”

“You remember what we were talking about,” Mukuro said, standing her ground. “You're clearly just as troubled by it as I am.”

Junko blinked slowly and swallowed. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said, carefully choosing her words. “I'm not 'troubled' at all.”

“We're sisters, you know.” Mukuro folded her arms across her chest. “You can tell me if something's wrong.”

“Forget it,” Junko sang, though she gritted her teeth in secrecy; in truth, she was bothered by her lackluster attempt at a kick. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have been a problem—after all, her back was sore and she'd just woken up—but it felt as if time itself had slowed to incapacitate her. She wasn't sure how to tell Mukuro this, or if she even cared enough to tell her, so she kept it to herself.

“...Forget it?”

“Forget it,” Junko echoed, digging through the bathrobe's pockets in search of a leftover snack. “I want something to eat.”

“Wait, what?” Mukuro raised an eyebrow. “You're...sure about that? I need to talk to you first. Please, look at this....” She approached the window at Junko's bedside and threw back the curtains—the world outside was obscured by soupy, greenish mist. Junko could see her garden if she squinted, but most of the Enoshima Estate was covered.

“...Bad weather,” Junko commented, nonchalantly.

“It's more than that,” Mukuro insisted. “Those clouds...they've never been this thick. Your garden's growing much faster, to the point that it's hard to even leave the castle to go hunting. Something isn't right here, and I need you to know that.”

“I need you to know that I don't care.” Junko swung her injured leg back and forth, trying to balance on one foot as she stood before her sister. “I want something to eat.”

“...Are you sure?” Mukuro asked, her gaze discolored.

“Absolutely-tutely,” Junko replied. “I need breakfast. Come on! Chop chop!” She limped away, trying to look as graceful as possible even when restrained by a sprained ankle.

Mukuro followed along behind her, her tone growing desperate. “But—but, Junko, please—”

“I don't care,” Junko said with a sudden firmness. “I can't think on an empty stomach, anyhow. Hurry up! Breakfast time!”

Mukuro lowered her head, absentmindedly running her fingers across the bandages now covering her itching wrist. “...You just had breakfast before your nap,” she murmured.

Junko turned slightly. “Sorry? I didn't know the underdog was speaking.”

Mukuro sighed, wondering if she'd fabricated the memory. “It's nothing,” she lied. “Just...just forget it, right?”

A light, forced chuckle echoed down the hall. “Yup! Forget it.”