#saw the look from a post somewhere so here we goo

[vesselrae]

annihilation send tweet

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART SEVEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: men being shitty and creepy!! possible trigger for sexual assult Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: things are taking an odd turn, right? (sorry this is posted so late) 

taglist: @valleyd0ll​ @satingrass-maidensfair​ @guitarfingers​ @thebohemianpenguin​ @peaceisouranthem​ @oblvions​ @hansonobsessed​ @myownparadise96​ @lara-gvf​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​ @bigblack-catattack​

MASTERPOST 

You woke up to the shrill chiming of an alarm cutting through your head like a circle saw. The unexpected noise made you sit up instantly, putting your gaze directly on a desk, the top of it overflowing with sheet music. 

Josh started to stir next to you, his hand reaching out from under the blanket to grab his phone from where it sat in between you.

The sore spot on your ribs made you wince, and your eyes drifted down to find your own phone, pressed into the mattress from you sleeping on it. 

When the screen flicked on, you let out a sharp gasp. 

“Josh, we have like fifteen minutes to leave!” you yelped, hopping instantly out of bed and finding your knees a little wobbly. 

He sat up then, rubbing across his face. 

You gazed back at him, frowning at the odd setup; he was laying on top of the comforter but under a different blanket.

“Shit, I had yesterday’s alarm still set for my late class,” he murmured, inching himself toward the end of the bed. 

“Oh my god,” you whined, racing to the bathroom. You brushed your teeth way too quickly, knowing in your heart that you did a poor job.

When you returned to Josh’s room for your phone, he was pulling a clean shirt over his head.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sounding somewhere between asleep and awake.

“It’s okay, I should have set my own alarm,” you admitted, snatching your cell from the bed and scooting past him again. “It’s really okay. Are you going to be ready to leave in like ten?”

He nodded as he ran his fingers through his curls. “Yeah, you?”

“I’m praying.” 

On the walk to school, you remembered. 

“Fuck, my presentation is today. And I got high and didn’t practice.”

He chuckled under his breath, clasping his hand around your shoulder. “You’re going to be fine- just breathe and stay calm. If you mess up, take a pause and keep going.” 

You nodded furiously. “Okay. Okay. Can you text that to me? What if I forget?”

He laughed in earnest then. “Yes, I’ll text you.” 

You exhaled a lengthy breath, nodding as you tried to calm your nerves. 

In front of the entrance to the B hall, he spun you around to face him, holding the biceps of each of your arms. He mimicked taking a deep breath, prompting you to do the same without another thought. 

“Relax,” he instructed coolly. “And I’ll see you at lunch.”

+++

You had your hands clasped tightly in your lap, nervous enough that your palms were sweating. Getting up and speaking to a room of people was high on your list of things that felt like torture, especially since you hadn’t had time to shower or do anything with your mess of hair besides pinning it up into a bun as best you could. 

You thanked a divine power that the outfit you had thrown on in a haste ended up looking surprisingly presentable. 

As it neared your turn, you got your papers in order and straightened up your posture. When your name was called, you promptly stood, descending the steps and ending up down at the podium. 

You had just opened your mouth to start when your phone chimed in your pocket. Your eyes popped open wide, hoping you’d hallucinated the sound instead of forgetting to silence your ringer. 

The professor was giving you an unamused look as you gave a weak laugh.

 “One sec, sorry,” you muttered, fishing out your phone. You flicked the little button down on the side, but as the screen lit up, you got to read what the message said. 

Josh      just now Just pretend everyone’s me or pretend they’re naked. Probably not both though.

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh as you tucked it back away. The nerves that had you so on edge started to dampen, just a bit. 

+++

That afternoon, you walked home alone. Josh had texted you that he’d be staying until 5 or 6 to make sure the production was going along smoothly, but when he returned to the apartment, it was with a bottle of wine. 

You were doing some of the dishes from the previous day and had to wipe your soapy hands on a dishtowel before he crossed the room and pulled you into a side hug. 

The two of you had talked about how well the presentation went when you met at lunch, but you hadn’t imagined he’d make such a big deal about it. 

“I had Jake pick me up and take me to the liquor store, and I got this so we could celebrate,” he informed, his voice kind of soft - either sheepish or tired, you couldn’t quite tell. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, but couldn’t suppress the huge grin splitting your lips. 

He nodded, offering a soft smile. “I know.” He set the bottle down on the table pointedly. “I wanted to.”

You fished the make-shift corkscrew from the utensil drawer, brandishing it like a knife to earn a melodic laugh from Josh. 

He popped the door of the fridge open to peer inside. “We might be able to make something special for dinner. Or, at least more special than mac and cheese or sandwiches.”

When the idea popped into your head, you crossed the room and grabbed your purse. 

“I still have about,” you paused to count the bills in your wallet. “$34 from shopping. I was saving it for something nice, so why don’t we order something in?”

He grinned at you, leaning back against the wall next to the fridge and letting his head rest against it. “What kind of take-out are you thinking? You should get to pick.”

“Oh, please,” you huffed, playfully rolling your eyes as you started unwrapping the foil around the rim of the wine bottle. “One, I could have never done so well if it weren’t for you. And two, you’re from here, so you’d know what’s worth ordering.”

His pink lips tilted up into a smirk. “I’m not from here though.”

“Close enough.” You took a moment to think before continuing on. The tip of the corkscrew was broken, leaving a blunt edge and he watched you struggle to pierce the cork with it. “Is there any kind of Indian? Or Thai maybe?” 

He nodded. “There’s an Indian restaurant downtown. It’s pretty yummy if I remember right.”

“That kinda sounds perfect, right?” 

He held his hand out, flicking his eyes down at the corkscrew and then back up at you until you reluctantly handed it over. He picked up the bottle and popped it open with ease, his smirk only growing. 

“Yeah, perfect.”

+++

Thursday evening, Trevor showed up around five, just as you were finished making your bedroom look like a cute study nook. You weren’t entirely sure how much studying either of you planned on doing, but since he only brought one notebook and nothing else, you weren’t very hopeful about getting any work done. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to have a roommate,” he said in a playful tone.

“I do. When I moved here, I knew I couldn’t afford to live alone, so I rolled the dice. He’s a great friend, as it turns out. Do you want something to drink?” you asked as he stepped through your doorway and set his stuff down on your bed. 

“That’d be cool.”

“We have juice and milk and water and iced tea.”

He shrugged with a smile. “Anything but milk, please.”

You nodded. “I’ll bring you some juice.” 

Josh, who was seated in the sitting chair in the living room, working on his own homework, looked up at you through his eyelashes with a mischievous-looking smile.

You shot him a scowl. “Don’t be weird,” you whispered, and then in a normal tone, finished with, “Would you like some juice too?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head at you. “That’s okay, I can get my own. You just worry about him.”

Trevor happily took his glass as you handed it to him, giving you a “thank you”. 

“Of course,” you replied as you sat next to him on the bed and pulled your stack of textbooks onto your lap. “Where should we start?”

“You actually want to study?” he mused, sounding disbelieving.

You bit your lip. “Probably for a little while at least, right?” 

He shrugged back at you, but you tried to brush off the odd attitude. Maybe you’d given him the wrong impression as to exactly what this would be, but you could fix it. 

“So, we’re supposed to read chapters ten through sixteen and then do all the questions,” you informed, flipping the book open. “You want me to read it out loud?” 

You thought maybe offering to do most of the work would brighten his mood, but every time you looked over at him while you were reading, he was scrolling through his phone. He had a bored expression painted across his features, and it took him nearly a full minute to realize you’d stopped reading. 

When he finally looked up at you, he gave a smile that you knew he thought was the most charming thing you’d ever seen.

You could hear a knock on the front door and Josh shuffling around in the living room. 

“Have you been listening to any of this? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” You tried to keep your tone from sounding annoyed, but you knew you couldn’t hide it as well as you wished. 

“I’d rather be doing anything else if I’m being honest.” There was not a single shred of an apology in his voice, and when you spoke again, you knew it would be even less put together.

“Why did you want to come over for a study session if you didn’t want to study?” It was less of a question and more of a scathing review of his character, or at least what you’d seen of it so far.

He frowned at you, looking a shade on the accusatory side for your liking. “I feel like you should have known what that actually meant.” 

You could hear a conversation going on in the kitchen, and you silently wished you were out there instead. The longer you heard them talk, the more convinced you became that it was Jake, and you wondered if Josh invited him over on purpose, or if he just showed up.

“You said you thought I was good in class and that part of why you asked me out was so I could help you with classwork.”

He rolled his blue eyes. “Yeah, if I hadn’t, I can’t imagine you would have invited me over.”

You had your mouth open to snap a response, but somehow, his words hurt you. Not much, but just enough for your chest to feel tight, and not just from anger.

 “Did you think you could manipulate me into having sex with you?” you asked quietly, your brows threaded close together in a frown. 

He gave a long, bored-sounding sigh. “Don’t act like I’m a bad guy, here. Everyone does it. Give some fake compliments and then make your move, you know?”

For emphasis, he placed his hand on your thigh, a little too high up. It made your teeth clench, jaw tightened by rage.

“Don’t touch me. You should go,” you stated. 

He huffed a sarcastic laugh as he inched his hand a bit further up your leg. He moved toward you until his face was nearing your neck. “Come on, what’s the big deal?” 

Before you could stop yourself, you reached a hand out and slapped him across his face, your palm making contact with the hollow of his cheek. You hadn’t been expecting the crack of noise when you made contact; it ripped through the room, and out into the living area if you had to guess. 

It took him a beat to realize what happened, but as soon as he did, he stood from your bed. You picked up his notebook and handed it to him, and he ripped it from your grasp, a dirty look on his features. 

“You’re a cockteasing bitch,” he snapped, nursing the red spot on his cheek. 

He was already halfway through the living room when you moved to stand in the doorway of your room. 

“Fuck off,” you called through clenched teeth as he opened the front door and let himself out. When he was gone you realized that Josh and Jake were both looking at you with similar degrees of concern from where they were sat on the couch. 

“What happened?” Josh asked, frowning up at you. 

Embarrassed, you flicked your eyes over to Jake who had one eyebrow quirked up at you. 

“Oh, you know. Just boys lying to me so they can fuck,” you snapped as you retreated to your room and closed the door. You instantly felt bad for being short with them, especially since Josh is just about the last person you could ever imagine being mean to, but you’d apologize later. 

Right then, you were going to curl up in bed.

After a couple of hours, Jake left and you wondered how long it would take before Josh came in to bug you, but he didn’t. You listened for his footsteps coming toward your door, but you could hear him in the living room, turning the page of a book every now and again. 

Eventually, you couldn’t help yourself - you threw the blankets off and stood. The stiffness in your muscles was a poor consolation prize for the day. 

He looked up at you, shutting his book instantly, his homework caught between the pages. 

“Hey,” he greeted quietly. He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “I’m sorry your...thing went so poorly.”

You were too annoyed to care anymore, so you laid your head on his shoulder, letting out a long sigh. It surprised you when you felt a tear drip down your cheek and you could feel your face start to warm in response. 

He heard you sniffle and his form stiffened immediately. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you tight to him. 

“Did he hurt you?” It sounded like Josh’s throat was tight, making his words hoarse.

“No, he just,” You weren’t sure how to finish that. He hadn’t really hurt you, per se. “He just tried to touch me. And then he didn’t stop when I told him to.”

“What?” His tone was charmingly offended on your behalf. 

“It’s okay,” you assured, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “I’m more angry than anything. I just kind of can’t believe I fell for that, you know? The whole ‘let’s study’ thing.”

“Stop that - it’s not your fault.” You could feel the hesitation as he laid his hand against your ear, but you leaned into it, grateful for the comfort.

It was quiet for a long moment while you calmed yourself down. His presence was more of a reassurance than anything else you could have imagined at the moment.

“You’re my best friend,” you breathed, turning to nuzzle your nose against the fabric of his sleeve. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

Through a smile, you heard him say, “Me too.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens one-shot - “Wrong Address” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Since Aziraphale won't let his demon come over during lockdown, Crowley decides to send him a special gift. It doesn't work out quite the way he planned...

... but that might turn out to be an unexpected blessing. (1655 words)

Read on AO3.

"Anthony J Crowley! Did you send me a care package?"

"Yes, indeedy, angel," Crowley admits, a smug smile tugging his lips up at the corners. He reclines in his throne, phone pressed to his ear, staring out his windows in the direction of his angel's shop, beaming at the smile in Aziraphale's voice.

"What a wonderful surprise! This has positively made my day! Whatever made you think of it?"

"Well, when you mentioned finding those cookbooks in your shop, you sounded so damned happy, I wanted to see if I could top it even if you won't let me come over so I can watch you eat your tasty creations... " Crowley mutters on the finish, still bitter at his angel's reluctance to bend the rules, especially since those rules shouldn't apply to them. There's no way either of them can get sick! "So when I saw this online, I thought it could be a way for me to be a part of your culinary journey."

"How very thoughtful of you," Aziraphale says apologetically. He's not trying to hurt Crowley. He would love nothing more than to have him slither over and share a crumpet or two. 

But angels assigned to Earth stations are meant to be role models. What he does, he does for appearance's sake. 

He must lead by example.

Though, to be honest, it's quite annoying being penned in like this for the good of mankind when humans can't see fit to sit on their arses for a few months until this whole virus bother blows over. 

"So... " Crowley nudges as an expectant silence falls between them, each waiting for the other's next move.

"Indeed! Don't keep me in suspense!" Aziraphale says, rubbing his palms together. "What's inside?"  

Crowley rolls his eyes. Like he's going to set up this whole surprise and then just spill the beans! "You won't know until you open it, will you?"

"Oh! You want me to open it now then? With you on the phone?"

"That's wot I was hoping. I want to hear your reaction. You know, since I can't be there and all."

"Okay. Give me a moment. I need to find a letter opener or a box cutter or... or something... " 

Crowley sinks further into his seat, closes his eyes, and makes himself comfortable. Knowing Aziraphale and his unique organizational system, this could take a while. But listening to his angel hum as he roots through his desk drawers relaxes him. Crowley finds himself drifting off, lulled by the sounds of Aziraphale simply being Aziraphale. But he can't let himself get too cozy. It would be a shame if he knocked out and missed Aziraphale digging into his gift. 

Crowley considers snapping his fingers and giving his angel a hand with the packing tape when he hears a dull pop! and a triumphant, "Success!" Unpacking noises follow - the crumpling of paper wrap being pulled apart, amplified through Crowley's phone, then a giggle that falls somewhere between nervousness and confusion. "Oh! Uh... "

Crowley sits up straight, peering into the distance as if he could see what Aziraphale sees from Mayfair if he tries hard enough. "Wot? Wot's going on?"

"I... I don't know how you intend on me making a meal with what's in this box. Or are you punishing me because I won't let you come over? That would be unnecessarily hurtful, even for a demon."

"Why?" Crowley springs up and stalks over to the glass, addressing the greying treetops below. "Wot'sss in the box?"

"Don't you know?" Aziraphale teases when he starts to suspect this as an honest mishap and not a ploy by his demon.

"Obviousssly I don't!"

"Let's sort through the contents together then, shall we?" Aziraphale reaches into the box, pulling out items one by one. "We have here a pair of silky black knickers. I think these would suit you more than me, my dear."

"You think so?" Crowley asks, annoyance replaced in an instant by intrigue over his angel's impression of him.

"Oh, yes. I think they'd be most flattering on you. And here we have something called a Ben Wa ball, some... " Aziraphale clears his throat before he owns up to the next one "... anal beads... "

Crowley snickers, more at Aziraphale's tight tone than the item itself.

"... a Do Not Disturb sign with an illustration on it that’s anything but subtle, and an object I can only describe as a gel-filled self-pleasuring device. Oh... this one needs refrigeration."

Crowley's mouth goes dry, his imagination running wild with that description, trying to conjure a vision in his head of what such a thing might look like, and where it would go, especially cold. He presses a hot palm to the glass and shivers involuntarily. "Oh my... "

"You sound surprised. Is this not what you ordered, dear?"

"No!" Crowley squeaks. Aziraphale stifles a chuckle when his voice cracks. "No, I didn't," Crowley repeats, fighting for composure while the rest of him itches to bust through the window, unfurl his wings, and fly to his angel. 

He could probably make it to him before the first splinter of glass hits the pavement.

But no. 

Boundaries. 

Aziraphale's determination to not have Crowley over is about more than protocol. Crowley knows this. Angel set up boundaries. And even though his reasons for doing so are ludicrous, Crowley needs to respect them. "Is there a company name on the box?"

"Let me check." Aziraphale mumbles as he searches the package for a name. "This end up, handle with care... here it is! Tantalize Me - the premium adult date night mystery box. Ooo! That sounds interesting! Do you think there could be a murder to sort out in all of this?"

"I don't think that's what they mean by mystery, angel," Crowley says, hearing Aziraphale dive back into the box.

"A-ha! I think I've found the problem."

"And that is... ?"

"I'm afraid this package was meant to go to another bookshop on my same block. It's entirely possible they may have my box."

"I think you learned some information about your competition that you maybe didn't want to know."

"Yes, I suppose I did."

Crowley sighs. "But now I feel like a heel."

"Why is that?"

"I promised you a meal and I didn't deliver."

"Pun intended?" Aziraphale asks with a snort. 

"Not," Crowley replies, less than amused.

"I don't think you can be blamed for a mix-up with the post, my dear."

"Bet I can... " Crowley says, thoughts shuffling back to that awful Horizon IT scandal he lazily threw together that went, unfortunately, better than he'd planned.

"There is one thing to eat in here."

"Really?" Crowley grumbles, turning away from the glass and leaning his back against it, an intense chill seeping through his clothes and into his skin, its sting matching his rapidly fouling mood. "What's that?"

"A tube of personal lubricant. And it's chocolate flavored!" Crowley's eyes widen when he hears the telltale snap of a flip-top lid opening, followed by a wet squelch. "Mmm. It's not half bad."

"Are you actually eating that?" Crowley asks breathlessly.

"Only a little. I licked it off my finger."

Crowley fumbles his phone, catching it before it crashes to the floor. "A---Aziraphale... " 

"Listen to this! It says on the label that it tingles with body heat. Isn't that interesting?"

Crowley's eyelids flutter shut and he swallows hard, his entire body becoming a solid, throbbing ache. Aziraphale doesn't have body heat. Not all that much. But as a demon, Crowley is full of Hellfire. What would it feel like to have his angel spread that lube on him, press his body against him with his skin tingling like crazy? Jesus Christ! "Aziraphale... "

"Whatever is the matter, my dear?"

"Nothing. Except now I think you're punishing me."

"Carl and Tish Lloyd are probably expecting their package. They must have some big plans. I should send it on its way," Aziraphale suggests with infuriating rationale. "Shouldn't I?"

"Th---that wouldn't be good form!" a desperate Crowley argues. "You've already opened it! And sampled it! You can't give it to them in that condition!"

"That is true. That wouldn't be very neighborly. But what to do with it? That's the question... " Aziraphale wonders while Crowley dies inside, a moan trapped in his throat struggling to break free every time he thinks about Aziraphale licking chocolate-flavored lube off his fingers. "Did you want to... uh... try a bit? Of the chocolate goo, I mean?"

"Are you going to ship it over?"

"I guess I could do that," Aziraphale muses. "But who's to say it will get there? What with the post office making such tragic errors. No. I think there's only one way we can ensure that you get your fair share."

Crowley's brow furrows, his brain cluttered with mixed signals. "Are you asking me... ? Can I come over?"

"I have some conditions."

"Name them," Crowley says, prepared to bolt the second Aziraphale gives him the go-ahead.

"You can come over only if you can make it here without being seen. No giving the humans irresponsible ideas. I know that's your job, but I can't be a party to that. Deal?"

"Deal." A snap of his fingers and a second later, Crowley snatches the tube of lubricant out of Aziraphale's hand. He takes Aziraphale's right wrist gingerly in his grasp, squeezes a dollop of lube on it, then licks it slowly off, amber eyes locking on his angel's blue gaze. Aziraphale's whole body shudders from a single swipe of his tongue, Crowley's tastebuds tingling on the finish. He licks his lips, depositing a thin layer of the lube, which fires across his skin like firecrackers. He sees his angel tremble, sees the white glow of lust in his eyes, and he grins. 

Crowley is about to enjoy the best meal of his life.

[youllallriseintheink]

The Friendly Long Horse

Long Horse is a character created by Trevor Henderson. Please support his works.

---

I was leaning against a fence, watching my wife’s two horses graze in the field. The brown one, Buttercup, trotted over to me for pats. I reached out to pet her, and her lips peeled back from her teeth. She bit down hard, and tugged off my hand. I pulled my arm away, screaming. My hand disappeared into her mouth. Her ear flicked, her eyes were calm. Like nothing was abnormal about this. Then, she put her head through the fence and bit my arm. Before I knew it, I was being pulled through the fence and into her mouth, bit by bit, until she’d consumed all of me.

I woke up.

A dream. Of course. If it weren’t a dream, I would have run away once she’d eaten my hand, and she wouldn’t have put her head through the barbed-wire fence, anyhow. Of course, that’s all pretty silly to mention considering that no horse, but especially not Buttercup, would casually eat a human alive.

In the early morning darkness, I noticed what looked like a horse skull, with no jaw and a few strands of black mane, peaking out from behind my door. I dismissed it as a trick of the light and went back to sleep.

The next morning, the horse skull was still there, staring at me.

Unsure what to do, I approached the door. The skull vanished the second I opened it, as though it was never there. It had moved, as though by teleportation, to peeking out at me from behind a corner before the staircase. That’s how it was all morning- the horse skull was always there, watching from behind something, disappearing whenever necessary. I value my privacy, so I tried pushing it out while I was in the shower, but it vanished right before I could touch it, appearing at the other side of the shower curtain.

It was with me on my way to work, peering from behind lamp posts as I drove. I turned on the radio. Turned it way up. This had to be a hallucination. An entire horse could not fit behind a lamp post. Not to mention everything else wrong with this. I sincerely hoped that I wasn’t losing my mind.

The thing is, this didn’t map onto any mental illness I knew of, and as a psychology PhD who has worked for years at an insane asylum, I would know. People who have hallucinations don’t know that they’re having hallucinations, and any psychotic disorder you could name comes with other symptoms, like slurred speech and delusions. Of course, the person is not always aware of these symptoms- my clients have often said that the first sign of an episode starting is that strangers treat them differently.

I did not want people to treat me differently, so I did not mention the horse skull to any sane human being. However, I did mention it to one of my clients that day, while administering an ink blot test.

“Do you see the horse skull?” I asked.

My client, a slack-jawed 28-year-old man who looked twice his age, squinted at the ink blot photo that I held in my hand.

“No. I mean the one over there.” I pointed to it. He looked over his shoulder and then back at me.

“No. Should I?” he asked.

“No. No, that’s a good sign,” I said. I felt as though the skull were mocking me.

Every night for the next three nights, I had nightmares of dying at the hooves of a horse. I’d been trampled. I’d ridden horses off of cliffs or into incoming traffic. I’d even had a horse drown me in his trough.

Each morning I would wake up to that damned skull, and I was able to sense her in a new way. On the first day, I became capable of smelling her- she smelled like cinnamon and rotting bone. The next, I became capable of hearing her make her little snorts and whinnies. On the next, a fog descended upon everything in my immediate environment, and I felt that it was a part of her.

I didn’t know what to do. To be frank, I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to spend my evenings on the other side of the insane asylum walls. I didn’t think it would help, anyhow- I’d had time by now to thoroughly consult the DSM-V, and if I were crazy, it was a type of crazy that no one had bothered to study or cure yet.

On the fifth day I spent with that skull watching me, I came home in the evening to a message written across my bedroom wall in black:

Go ride Blackjack.

I went. I felt insane for obeying the message, but I went.

Blackjack is ostensibly my horse. My wife had thought Buttercup was lonely, and that it would be nice for us to ride horses together, and so she bought a black gelding that was big enough for me to ride. I found out pretty quickly, though, that riding is not at all my thing, and so Blackjack hasn’t been ridden in a couple years. She tells me that he’s perfectly happy just running around the pasture, and she’s the one that would know. She grew up on and inherited this farm- I’m just some city mouse that she met at college.

Once I got to the stable, the first obstacle presented itself: I didn’t know where his saddle was, and even if I did, I had no idea how to put it on. The horse skull peered me from behind a wooded post and patted Blackjack’s back with her chin.

“Bareback?” I asked.

She nodded in response.

I prayed that I wasn’t committing some sort of horse abuse, took Blackjack out, and got on him. He started galloping immediately. My heart nearly stopped. This was like too many of my nightmares.

Blackjack took me down a dirt road until we came to a wooded area. By then, the sun was setting, and combined with the fog that I’d become used to squinting through, it was making it difficult to see. We entered the wooded area. And there was what she meant to show me.

Approaching the corpse under the giant, rotted tree, I desperately hoped that it was just a big deer. As soon as those solid, round hooves came into view through the mist, though, I knew better. It was Buttercup, her ribs torn open. Her body was cold, and yet there were no tooth marks on her. She was perfectly preserved except for a surgical-looking slit on her belly, and the fact that her ribs looked to have been torn open and then put vaguely back into place.

My wife would be devastated, and what was more, I now had to face that I wasn’t crazy. Something supernatural was happening, and I didn’t know what.

The horse skull was floating next to me now- the first time I saw her and she wasn’t hidden from me. She tapped me on the shoulder and then floated over to a patch of dirt. Her mist parted, revealing a message constructed from Buttercup’s intestines.

LEAVE WHILE YOU STILL CAN

I got back onto Blackjack, who gave me a swift ride home. I said nothing of the event to anyone, even when my wife mentioned that Buttercup was missing and called the police over it. I did not sleep that night. It didn’t feel safe. I thought about waking her up and getting her to leave with me, but how would I explain to her that I wanted to leave home because a horse skull had led me to a message spelled out in Buttercup’s remains? Finally, I came up with an excuse.

“Sharol?” I said, shaking her awake. “We should leave. Whoever took Buttercup is probably still out there. We’d be safer somewhere else until the police can come and take a look at what happened.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, still snuggled into bed. “We’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”

I’d known it was a long shot. Still, I didn’t want to leave her. “Please. I feel like we might not be safe here.”

“It’s two in the morning,” was all she said.

I... left without her. I shouldn’t have. I was still in the mindset that this wasn’t quite real, I guess. I was going to leave for a motel, but the fog on the road was incredibly thick. I could see nothing but white all around me. The horse skull appeared in front of me on the road, and it seemed to be backing up at the same pace as I was going towards it. Finally, I got out of the car. The skull approached me, and a few feet of spine appeared behind it. It- no, she, I knew it was a she now, somehow- encircled me. I was expecting something awful to happen, but nothing did. The words, “It has arrived. Stay here if you want to live,” appeared to me in the mist.

Of course, I wanted to go back for Sharol. And I got into the car despite the horse’s protests, but I couldn’t find the turn-off to our house in all of the fog. 

“Get rid of it!” I yelled at the horse skull. “I know you can! Get rid of this fog so that I can go back to my wife!”

The horse skull did not respond. I ended up just spending the rest of the night in my car, with the horse skull curled up on my lap.

The fog dissipated a few hours later, and I took that as a cue that it was safe to go back home. It was not a pretty sight. A quick look in the barn made it seem as though all of the livestock had been turned inside out, and various equipment had been thrown about. There were no bloody footprints on the ground, and anyhow, it would have been nearly impossible to butcher and flay so many animals in only a few hours. The inside of the house looked as though a hurricane had hit it. I remember stepping over piles of broken glass and pottery in the kitchen. I went up to our bedroom, terrified, but Sharol’s corpse wasn’t there. Maybe she’d gotten away. I went to the garage to see, and... there it was. The mutilated corpse of a human, with a sledge hammer in her hands. Black goo covered one side of the sledge hammer like blood. She’d been trying to fight off whatever had been here.

The horse skull put its chin on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. I picked up the sledgehammer from her hands, shaking with the temptation to bash the creature’s skull in for not doing any of the things it could have done to save her. The damn skull could have told me what was coming. It could have given her a message. It could have given me a message that I could have shared with her without showing her Buttercup’s disembodied guts.

In my anger, I took a swing at her, and the skull fell to the ground, seemingly undamaged somehow. In an instant, I could see her entire spine- I guess because she was out cold and wasn’t able to hide it anymore. The spine went right out of the garage door, out the door to my house, and down the street for what seemed like half a mile. I saw a car drive over it, seemingly clipping through as though her spine didn’t even exist. Then, it started moving, picking up into the sky. And she left. Maybe she was mad at me for being ungrateful for her protection, or scared that I’d hurt her again, or she just had the understanding that her work here was done. But whatever her reasons, I never saw her again.

[alittlebitgoofy]

I don’t mean to taunt, but I can’t help but flaunt

i tend not to bold these but this is smut, i normally write fluff and this is not that so if that makes you uncomfortable pls don’t read

so this is something, i never thought i'd be out here posting smut but here we are, after like 2 months this is finally done. can't say i'm gonna write this again any time soon it was mostly an experiment but if people like idk

title from can you do by the aces which i implore people to check out bc it slaps

thanks to zyan and mermelada for both betaing i was a fun experiance and i needed the help lol

ao3 link

“Come on, you’ll love it, and I told her I’d bring a friend. Are you telling me you don’t want to see girls with a lack of clothes? I know you do, Lem.” Priyanka poked a clearly annoyed Lemon in the shoulder, not stopping the constant questions for her to come see her friend at a strip club.

Lemon claimed she didn’t want to, but it made no sense: Lemon liked girls, and had even expressed interest in going a few days prior. Either she got a kick out of turning Priyanka down, or there was something more to it.

“Alright, alright. Is your hot friend going to be there?” Although they had never met, the pictures that Lemon had seen of Priyanka’s friend were enough to get her very interested in the girl. She didn’t know much about her, only that they were long time friends, she went by the name Juice, and she was one of the prettiest girls Lemon had ever seen.

“Oh? Juice works there. You’ll be able to see her perform if you come.”

That was all Lemon needed to hear; she quickly agreed. The chance to see Juice in action was too good to pass up.

---

By the time they made it there, Juice had already begun performing; she walked around like she owned the place, and it immediately caught Lemon’s attention. Priyanka got them a table, leaving a distracted Lemon as she went to get drinks.

Something about the way Juice moved her body was magnetic — Lemon couldn’t help watching as she made her way to customers, taking tips and seeming to flirt a little with them, in a way that made Lemon burn with jealousy. She had no right to feel that way, though watching Juice interact with anyone who wasn’t her was infuriating.

Juice expected it to be a normal night, do her thing, flirt with a few people for extra tips and such. Then, she locked eyes with a pretty girl from across the room. To say she was clearly checking her out was an understatement — the girl looked at her in a way that no one else had: as if Juice was the hottest person around, and it was an honor to look at her. She was cute, staring with her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes were always on Juice, no matter where she moved.

Lemon felt herself lose all ability to function the second her hands grabbed a tip the blonde had somehow been able to hand her. Juice stayed there for longer than Lemon could cope with; as if she wasn’t hot enough already, seeing her toned arms move to grab the tips drove Lemon insane. She wondered how strong Juice was, would she be able to lift Lemon? Probably. If she could lift a person, how strong were her similarly toned thighs? Could they crush Lemon’s head if—

“Lem, stop drooling over Juice. She knows you find her hot,” Priyanka said, interrupting whatever had been going on between the girls. She placed down two drinks and greeted Juice, as she kept her eyes locked on Lemon.

“Oh, so you’re the Lemon that Pri has been telling me about? She didn’t mention how cute you were.” Juice practically cooed at Lemon, one of her hands angling her face up to meet her eyes. She didn’t miss how Lemon seemed to hold her breath at the touch, or how her eyes darted after a few seconds of eye contact.

Lemon felt her face heat up the more Juice stared at her, it wasn’t fair how hot she was — the way her dark hair fell over her shoulders, shimmering in the overhead lights, her obsidian eyes that sparkled with something that Lemon couldn’t quite grasp; something that, if she spent too long thinking about it, would overflow and make her feelings all too clear to those around her. As if it wasn’t obvious enough.

She was already in too deep, anything the brunette did left her breathless. Juice smirked at her, turning around to leave, giving Lemon a wink that left her speechless and pining for more.

“I can’t stick around too long, but I’ll be back soon, my darling.” Juice smirked behind her, feeling Lemon shakily inhale at the prolonged contact. The pet name seemed to push her over the edge, melting into a pile of goo that could only just hum out a response. Lemon was left staring in awe of the brunette, who already knew that she had the cute blonde girl wrapped around her finger.

“So, you two get along well.” Priyanka prodded Lemon, who had been too occupied watching Juice move on to the other customers to notice her friend. She turned to her, seeing a smug grin that made her want to hide from the upcoming mocking. “I’ve never seen you so whipped; I know she’s not wearing much, and you’re as useless as they come, but seriously? You lost it at her touching your face? That’s impressive.”

Lemon groaned, shoving Priyanka before burying her face into her hands, growing hotter the more Priyanka stared at her. “I hate you.” Although it was meant to come out annoyed or lightly harsh, Lemon’s words cracked with her embarrassment. She knew the moment she looked up, Priyanka would still be staring, wearing that smug grin that made Lemon want to fade away then and there out of embarrassment.

The night continued, other girls came and left, Lemon and Priyanka enjoyed themselves while a certain someone was preoccupied with other customers. She felt her eyes wander over to the girl, and every so often they would make eye contact, leaving Lemon flustered.

Something about the way Lemon ducked her head down the second Juice winked towards her was adorable, and left Juice wanting to know more of her quirks.

Priyanka was less amused by everything. It was her own planning and fault; she had somewhat underestimated how enamoured Lemon would be. There was something about her blank stare, the way she couldn’t quite respond to their conversation, too distracted by the small brunette. It was funny at first, getting progressively less amusing as time went on. She wanted nothing more than to force them into a room to get rid of all this sexual tension.

Oh... They had private rooms in the back of the club, open for any customer to hire out. Priyanka saw her escape from Lemon in this state when Juice made her way back around to their table.

Juice offered a silent nod in greeting to Priyanka, before finding a place in Lemon’s lap. It was amusing to watch the blonde freeze, trying to process what was happening and blankly not knowing how to react.

“You two need to get a room.” The curt observation came out snider than intended. Juice laughed in response, her hands once again finding their way to Lemon’s face.

“We could always go somewhere a little more... private?” Her hand slipped lower, slowly making its way down Lemon’s hip, leaving her staring wide eyed, breath hitching in her throat as Juice lightly gripped her waist. “If you wanted that, princess?”

The use of the pet name made Lemon’s eyes glint with something Juice needed to unravel, the only response she got was a nod, followed by more money quietly pushed into her hand.

“Oh, no, you’ve given me enough. This is on the house; let’s go somewhere more private. I’m sure you’re dying to,” Juice murmured, guiding Lemon up and keeping her hand on her waist. Their hands intertwined as the brunette led Lemon to the back of the club, past the other tables of horny old men staring at the clear sexual tension as if it was the most foreign thing.

Juice practically pushed Lemon into the room, locking the door behind them before her hands latched back onto her body. One moved back to her face, pulling her into a heated kiss that only broke as they positioned themselves on one of the couches in the dimly lit room. Lemon pulled Juice on top of her, finally finding it in her to respond with more than a whimper. Her fingers found themselves curling around the fabric of Juice’s bra, tracing her thumb over the top of it, itching to pull it off but not yet having the confidence.

“Look at you, still so nervous, aren’t you, princess? There’s nothing to be worried about. I’ve got you, and I'm not letting go until I've made you feel good.”

Lemon blanked again, but for a different reason: Juice had stopped playing, pulling her shirt off quick and easily, and had begun toying with her breasts, delighting in the little gasps Lemon let out as she did so.

That wasn’t enough; after a moment, the once quiet girl was now whining for more. Juice made her way down, undoing Lemon’s jeans and sliding her fingers inside them. The constant teasing had done a number on the blonde over the course of the night, leaving her letting out soft moans at every touch. They got louder as Juice put in more energy, Lemon hiding her head into her shoulder to muffle her loud moans. It wasn’t long before she climaxed. Glancing up at Juice with a blissful expression, she pulled her into a softer kiss, one not tainted by lust, but tinged with something that Juice knew would lead to more.

Her shift ended soon after that; and she left with Lemon, ready to go again when they got to Juice’s apartment. The wait was tortuous, especially with the flirtatious comments Juice couldn’t resist as they drove there. At every stoplight, Juice was briefly turning to Lemon with an unreadable expression, or a rare kiss on the cheek if she felt the desire. Watching Lemon gradually lose her ability to mask her impatience was the most temptatious thing she had ever seen.

Luckily for the blonde, they arrived back soon enough. Lemon felt her control slip away as Juice looped her arm around her waist, using the other hand to pull her into a kiss. They went slower this time, Juice more careful than before. She took the time to take in her beauty, admiring every part of the blonde as she pleasured her. The way Juice softly ran her free hand around Lemon’s body, exploring it all as she thrusted her fingers into the girl. Lemon didn’t take long to climax. Every time Juice touched her, it made her feel something special. It was stronger with her than it had been with anyone else for a very long time. Although the second time took most of her energy, she was still craving to show her affection to the brunette in a way she would appreciate.

“I wanna make you feel good,” Lemon whispered into Juice’s ear, sending shivers up the other girl's spine as her arms wrapped around her. Juice held back a squeak as Lemon slid her hands under her shirt, pulling it off quickly and getting to work on her jeans.

Something in the blonde had shifted and it was a sight to behold. Gone was the whiny, needy girl that Juice had been enjoying tending to, and in her place was a soft, confident woman that knew what she wanted and didn’t stop to think about it. She made her way on top of Juice, pressing their lips together in a slow, tender kiss before making her way down.

Lemon clearly knew what she was doing, occasionally slowing down to check on Juice, but never hesitating with what she did when she got the confirmation it was okay. She got noises out of Juice very easily, reveling in all the different pleasure-filled sounds she would make as they got further. It started as soft moans until she lost the ability to hold back, squealing as she came closer to her orgasm. In the end she felt a rush of euphoria, lying back as she attempted to recover from what had just happened.

She felt something warm envelop her, realising Lemon was pulling her into a cosy hug that made her eyes begin to flutter shut as a soft feeling washed over her.

“Who would have thought you would tire so easily!” Lemon teased, poking Juice’s cheek to little reaction other than an adorable scrunch of her face that made Lemon’s heart melt.

“I’ve been working all night, ‘course I'm gonna be tired,” Juice yawned, her words almost slurred in her sleepy state. “I’ll have a lot more energy next time, don’t worry, princess,” she continued, a grin quickly taking over her features as she rolled over to face Lemon, nesting her head on her shoulder.

“Oh, there’s going to be a next time? I’m looking forward to it.” Lemon smiled as Juice let out a humm of agreement before yawning again. She couldn’t stay awake much longer, but made her desire for affection known as she nuzzled into the other girl and slung an arm over her waist. Lemon knew she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and that wasn’t a bad thing.

Juice would wake up tomorrow, remembering everything they had gotten up to with a devious grin, but calmed her desires with soft kisses that made her want to spend all day curled in bed together. While it couldn’t last forever, she made her affectionate feelings known, getting Lemon’s number in the process and agreeing to set up a date in the near future.

Maybe listening to Priyanka once in a while wasn’t so bad, though Lemon would never tell her that and risk boosting her ego even more.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

Season 4: What do we know?

What with it being summer break during a pandemic, I am quite bored. I’ve decided to take a look at what we know about the upcoming season.  It turns out, we don’t really KNOW a lot. What do we know then?

1) There appear to be nine episodes, and the first one is (currently) titled The Hellfire Club. This is all based on the Stranger Writers Twitter account. Nine episodes would be welcome, as last season felt a bit rushed to me.  As for the Hellfire Club, that’s where we can really only speculate...which I will happily do here because, again, I’m bored and starved of content. The Hellfire Club was first a reference to organizations in 18th century Britain or Ireland. They seemed to be hedonistic in nature, and some possibly existed as a mockery of religion. They basically congregated to have a safe place to escape social taboo. From the information I was able to find, they seemed relatively benign. There’s no evidence they were Satanic or anything malicious, though rumors were abound of evil magic and other goings on. From my readings, I get the sense they were basically like stereotypical frat houses of today: excessive indulgences in food, drink, and sex, along with weird rituals and pledges of loyalty and secrecy. I struggled to connect this to anything that could occur in Stranger Things. Hellfire Clubs as the rumors of the time saw them may fit into the supernatural aspects of the narrative, but it would be a very obscure reference. It could be a secret organization investigating things that would otherwise be frowned upon (the occult and/or supernatural). It could be a club or organization that others see as bad, like perhaps a school clique of outcasts, but it’d be quite something for an 80s kid to know the reference. To them, they’d probably more likely associate it with a comic book. The Hellfire Club was also the name given to a villainous group first shown in Uncanny X-Men #129. It is ostensibly an international elite social club, but is more or less a front for an group of powerful people, including several powerful mutants, to use their wealth and power to secretly influence world events. They were introduced during the Dark Phoenix storyline, as members of that organization tried to bend the Phoenix to their will in order to make use of her power. So, perhaps the Hellfire Club (likely named by one of our comic-loving boys) is made up of antagonists looking to capitalize on Brenner’s work. Brenner himself could very well be behind it all. The main issue I see here is that this would require not only revealing this to the viewers in the first episode, but also to the kids in order to allow the name. 2) Hopper is...somewhere This is old news by now, but we know Hopper hasn’t been reduced to goo like everyone else exposed to the Russian experiment. Where he is remains a mystery, though they seem to want us to think Russia and that he is the American mentioned by the guards. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that he could have slipped through the gate (intentionally or not) and ended up in Russia. It would make me wonder why the show played its hand so early though. They may have just said “screw it” when so many people noticed there were no remains like with everyone else who got blasted. It may also be a misdirection. I’m not a huge fan of those, as I think having to be blatantly deceptive is cheap writing, but I’m also not a writer. What we do know is that part of the plot will have to involve finding and rescuing Hopper, wherever he is. 

3) Murray knows something that would be of interest to Joyce

In an easter egg after Season 3, we were treated to Murray’s answering machine message. Writers know that a number of fans will call a phone number (or go to a website) provided on a show or movie and often set up supplemental material to go with it. Along with scolding his mom for calling him when she isn’t supposed to, he also includes a message for Joyce. This shows that he was anticipating her call, suggesting that they had remained in contact. Murray is intentionally vague about a discovery he made, but refers to it as an “update” and “not good or bad, but something.”  What we can get out of this is that Murray has been working on something of interest to Joyce, possibly at her request. What could interest Joyce that an investigative reporter would want to work on? The obvious answer is Hopper’s whereabouts, but that would imply that she thinks he’s alive. Perhaps she wanted to be sure that her family is safe from government agencies, Russians, and the supernatural.  The part that stands out to me is that it’s “not good or bad.” You’d think Murray would have some idea of what he discovered. This could just be a way for them be all “hey, Murray’s gonna be involved next season” without giving anything away. 4) The party will be split, at least at first I mean, this is basically a given, but, since it’s something we know, it should be included here. The Byers and Jane have left Hawkins for parts unknown. Jane presumably is going with them, but keep in mind her aunt is still out there. However, if Jane were to be going to live with her aunt then her goodbye wouldn’t be quite so impactful. Becky Ives is shown to live relatively close to Hawkins given the ease with which Jane gets there. Mike’s conversation with Jane where he invites her and Will over for the holidays suggests he expects them to be living together. We may not have seen the last of Jane’s biological family (or Kali for that matter), but she’s almost certainly going to live with the Byers, at least initially. With the emphasis the series has put on not splitting the party, we can expect them all to reunite somehow. However, the initial action would have to occur separately unless the entire season occurs during the course of a visit. This was all I could think of in terms of known information. Everything else would simply be speculation. I’m not opposed to that, but that would be for another post at another time. Please feel free to fill in any gaps I’ve left or correct any mistakes I’ve made (politely I would ask). 

[lookbluesoup]

Hey Wyn! I Just read all of your Blue Soup series! I love it all!!! Every word of it is fantastic! I've been wanting to start writing Fanfiction for Fallout for a long time, but I've always been intimidated by the prospect of writing already-established characters and "ruining them" (especially characters like Piper, Preston and Nick, who I plan to make main characters in my story). Do you have any advice on dealing with this?

Hi Anon! Thanks so much for your kind words! ;w; I’m certainly no expert and know this fear personally, but I’ll ramble here about my process and how I try to think about things. Hopefully it can encourage you, too! :D I’ll add the disclaimer that this is what works for me, and what works for me might not work for others, that’s ok! 

First off - writing is for fun. Wanting to do justice to the characters and capture their essence is a great goal, and also a learning process. You don’t have to do it perfectly, nor should you try. Perfection implies there’s nothing more to learn or grow over, which is one, unachievable, and two, the death of innovation. Just do the best you can with what you know, and let your passion for the characters guide the process. And be gentle with yourself. 

Our own experiences and preferences will effect how we write these characters, what traits of theirs stand out to us, how we define their shape, at least in small ways, and that’s not inherently bad. Just like many different artists can draw a character in 100 different styles and that character is still recognizable and familiar (and enjoyable!), writers can emphasize 100 different facets of that character, too. If you’re putting your heart into it, you won’t ruin them. Saw a beautiful LotR post the other day about that, talking about how the movies are different from the books, but the love for the story and characters shows because the people who made those movies were passionate about it, and they’re worthy adaptations of the stories’ spirit. It’s the same for fanfiction.

It’s personally more fun for me to think about the writing process like I’m exploring a character rather than making a statement about a character, which are two very distinct mindsets for me. Exploring is fun, engaging, its ok to change your mind and edit or alter your story as you get new information. It’s like a puzzle, thinking through a character’s motivation, finding ways to incorporate that into a story. Making a statement is more 'fixed’, and implies pushing a narrative as the correct one, which adds a lot of pressure. Personally? I don’t like pressure hahaha 

Still - it’s hard not to feel obligated to do something to a certain standard for one reason or another. My anxiety likes to tell me lots of little lies, and it can be very convincing. When it strikes, working through my nerves is often harder than actually writing LOL

When I first started writing Fallout fanfic, I didn’t post it anywhere. That took a LOT of the pressure off, knowing that none of this needed to, or was even intended to be, shared with others who might judge. These stories were just between me and the characters. It was safe. I could work at my own pace and enjoy the process in my little tide pool. Since deciding to share them, I’ve been really grateful for the support readers have given! It feels good, I’m glad I found the courage to post them.

As for working out that puzzle of what seems most likely for a character, how to capture the heart of them, I love voice lines! Codex entries! Compilations! The best way to get to know a character is to spend time with them. I take Piper everywhere with me, I want to know what she thinks about everything, her character really struck a chord with me and, well, cue hyperfixation hahaha I use the Windows 10 Game Bar to record audio clips and have a massive archive of her voice lines. Flipping through these is a useful tool for me to get back into her “pattern” of speaking. All the Companions have distinct voices and tendencies, which is another neat aspect to writing them. I feel more confident knowing I had access to the source material. Also I just. Like listening to her voice sometimes. Shhh

Other great resources for this are the wiki (which has text files of most, if not all, each character’s dialogue lines and conversation trees) and youtube companion reaction comps - this SOUNDS like a lot of work. But for me at least I love it, it doesn’t feel like work because I’ll be excited looking for specific lines a la “how does she talk when she’s angry”, “what does she have to say about mirelurks”, you don’t have to keep everything about each character in your head memorized - these audio and text files are great archives to find what’s relevant to a scene quickly.

When I got into Fallout, I also got interested in 1950s movies, music, and even radio shows like Johnny Dollar and Green Hornet. This gave me context around the characters, too. For example, Piper’s kickass reporter vibes throw back to a lot of old sleuthing reporter tropes, and interpreting her actions through some of those filters felt more authentic to me than applying her behavior to a modern day setting or my own inclinations. I guess along with that I’d also say, take notes! Have an observation? Write it down in a notes file, or a google doc, somewhere you can sync between your devices and add to whenever you think about it. What stuff sticks out to you as important or defining for these characters, what trends do you notice? If you have bullet points written down, these also make great quick references. Here’s a few screenshots from the terror that is my notes docs:

You can see they’re just short notes or scribbled down thoughts that I can quickly reference if I’m wondering how she might act in a certain scene at a certain time! For me getting into a character’s headspace is often more of a feeling than any kind of scientific research, having easy access to these pointers helps put me in the right state of mind to jump into the creative pool and swim around and get soaked in - character goo - okay bad metaphor. Anyway,

None of these are rules that you have to follow or things that you have to do to get the characters “right”, they’re just potential tools that can help you find information to build off of, and hopefully feel more confident. Maybe something else is more useful to you with organizing or keeping your head clear for writing, it’s cool to experiment and find out what works for you!

[lady-lyrjok]

Buried in Bones: It’s not a Stretch to Say...

I wrote another one!

I got a request to explore Stretch as he nearly falls during our time stranded in Echo with G. It’s a long one so I’ll have to leave most of it under the cut. Need context? This is the events beginning at the end of Chapter 47 in On Top of the Bone Pile but from Stretch’s POV.

Warnings!

Contemplation of death

Hallucinations/Panic attack

Depressed and panicked boy is depressed and panicked

Previous

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

“honey don-!!!!”

A blinding light filled the machine room. Stretch dropped to the floor with a curse and covered his skull. As fast as the light appeared it vanished.

“nooo no nonononononono!!!” 

Hauling himself up he peeked down through the observation window. Smoke was billowing from the  machine. Sans, Red and Mutt were sprawled across the floor un-moving. Alarms blared from several computers behind him… you… where were you? He had last seen you next to the machine. Where the fuck were you?!

With just barely enough wherewithal to check his computer for signs of radiation, Stretch bolted for the door.

You had to be under some debris, or maybe one of the others had tackled you out of the way and that’s why he couldn’t see you. Yea. You had to still be here. He hadn’t apologized yet. You had to be here! Pain radiated through his soul and he sagged against the wall. Was that you? Shit. With shaking hands, Stretch punched in the code to get into the machine room. An alarm blared in the background and smoke continued to billow from the machine. 

“h-honey?!” He called.

No response.

Sans and the others hadn’t stirred yet so you may still be on the floor somewhere. As carefully as he could, he picked his way around the room to look where he had seen you last. Hope withered in his chest at the sight of some odd black goo around where you had been standing but no you. Someone groaned behind him and he whirled around.

Sans.

This was his universe, he had to be able to get you back from… wherever the fuck you had gone.

“sans?!” He called out and moved towards him. Out of the corner of his socket, he saw Red staggering to his feet.

“pull those wires before the rest ‘f the machine goes up with ‘em!” No one answered his call to help as he scrambled towards the machine to do it himself.

More movement came from Mutt as he dragged himself up to reach a computer for a damage read-out.

Sans groaned again as Stretch seized the front of his lab coat and began to babble. “she’s gone. she’s gone. i-i tried to warn her not to touch the machine but - oh stars sans what dowedo?”

Mutt turned away from his computer screen. “coolin’ tower one has been disconnected, we gotta shut ‘er down or we’ll fry half our servers!”

NO! They had to find you! Stretch glared around at Mutt and let go of a very dazed Sans. “if we shut it down we might not get her back!”

Mutt’s eye lights flared as he glared back. “we let it run, everythin’ melts down an’ i guarantee we’ll not get ‘er back.” He growled. Red had made it over to Mutt and the two of them rushed from the room.

Looks like neither of them were going to be helpful. Stretch whirled around and moved back to the machine. He had a pen and notepad in one of his lab coat pockets that he pulled out. He had to get any notes down about the machine now before they pulled the plug on it. He heard Sans fumbling around behind him. 

Wait. There were numbers on this screen. Frozen numbers. They usually flashed up then left.

“stretch did you see what happened?” Sans’s voice wobbled as he spoke. Stretch had no time for him.

“she touched the machine.” He hoped that that was a good enough explanation for now. He had to run these numbers upstairs. He had to get you back!

“that shouldn’t have caused this though, we touch it every day.” Sans was still talking. Stretch only nodded and headed for the door. A hand clamped onto his arm, twisting him around and dragging him down to look at the jaded version of his brother. “were you running a simulation while she was in here?” he snarled.

What? No! He had brought everything to a halt after Mutt stopped his algorithm and left with you. Saying as much to Sans, he yanked his arm free and hurried back up to the observation room. The sound of the machine powering down lending speed to his steps.

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

Sans was refusing to search through the data upstairs with him and the others, he sat at a computer in the machine room so he could dig by himself. Stretch watched him break down several times from his vantage point in the upper room. Mutt and Red weren’t much help with the data either as they were in and out working on restoring the cooling lines to their servers. 

His soul hurt.

His skull hurt.

Where were you?

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

The cherry red tip of his cigarette glowed bright as he inhaled. Leaning against the side of the lab, Stretch was on his second pack that day. It was eleven in the morning. He had been out smoking more than searching today.

He couldn’t help it. The observation room was getting claustrophobic. Mutt had parked himself in a chair finally to help sort through the data dump. Red posted up with a laptop on the floor so he could pace as he worked from time to time. 

You were alive. They had determined that at least. Their bond with you was still intact. But feeling the constant pain of your absence in his soul day in and day out was starting to get to him. 

“are you here for the bond you tried to run from, or are you here to just get your kicks with some monsters?”

Stretch groaned and smacked the side of his skull with his palm. Why did he say that? It wasn’t your fault. He knew it wasn’t your fault that you had so many bonds. If anything, it was Sans’s fault for messing with the machine and dragging his and the other’s universes here in the first place.

He had always craved a connection. Not necessarily a bond, but a genuine connection with someone. Someone he could go to, and would come to him. Someone who would see him and his many flaws and love him anyway. Someone that was for him… only him. 

You were all of those things except the last. It was that last thing he had fixated on and blew up on you about. And now you were gone, with no way for him to apologize. 

“I-I’m not playing games.”

You had looked so scared of him. Why didn’t he apologize? Why did it hurt so much to see you drowsy and tangled up in your bed with his brother? Or to see you happily play fighting so close to that asshole Black? 

Stretch stomped out the cigarette and ground his palms against his sockets. They came away wet… and dusty? His hands began to shake as he gingerly felt around his sockets. The bone felt coarse where it used to be smooth.

Dropping his hands to his sides, Stretch clenched them into fists. How fitting. It was just his luck to finally get something good, push it away, lose it, then start to fall. It was his own damn fault.

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

What is sleep? Stretch spun himself in his rolling chair. Mutt didn’t look that much better than him from his spot nearby as he worked on building a new code for the communication device Red had just put together for the machine. Sans was supposedly out getting more coffee, and Red had left to take a smoke break.

With a sigh, Stretch stood and rolled the stiffness from his shoulders. “gonna take a walk.” He muttered in Mutt’s direction as he headed out the door. The sterile hallway and fluorescent lights grated at his exhausted sockets. But he couldn’t sleep, every time he shut his sockets, all he could see was you disappearing in a flash of light over and over again.

Movement caught the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head, there was nothing there.

“sans?” He called and followed where he had seen movement. There was no response, only the solid doors leading into the machine room.

Frowning, Stretch let himself in and looked around. The machine room was dim, the brightest light came from the observation windows above him where Mutt was working. No one except him was around.

But…

“hello?” He turned his skull at the sight of your band t-shirt. You had been wearing one when you came in. 

Nothing.

“honey? are you in here?” The low whine of the machine paired with the ringing of his own confused magic in his skull seemed way too loud. What if you needed to say something to him that would help bring you back?!

“honey?!” panic welled up as he whirled around again and again, chasing the visage of you out of the corner of his eye.

“Stretch.”

That was your voice! Stretch bolted after the sound. There you were. Standing next to the machine, smiling at him. His long legs ate up the ground as he rushed over to you.

“you’re here! you’re home! how di-? actually, i don’t care you’re back!” He made it to your side and scooped you up on a tight hug. “i’m so sorry darlin’ i-i was a total ass, i don’t care anymore. i’ll share the bond, i promise, i- honey? you okay?”

You hadn’t reacted at all to him or his words.

“Don’t look down.” You murmured, then you started to dissolve.

“wha- n-no, nonono honey don’t go!” Magic tears streaked down his face as you dusted in his arms. “come back! i’m sorry! please no, i’ll share for you!” He fell to his knees, desperately trying to keep a hold of you as you slipped away.

“N o !”

A hand clamped on his shoulder making him jump.

“stretch, wake up!”

What were they talking about? He was awake! He…

The dust on the floor was not yours.

Wait.

“stop! you’re hurting yourself!”

Stretch struggled against the hands grabbing at him as he clawed at the floor where you had just been. Someone moved in front of him, it wasn’t you.

Crack!

The shock of being slapped halted the tumultuous magic inside of him. He blinked and brought a hand to his cheek bone.

“ya back in yer skull now?” Red’s voice above him made him blink again. Looking around he found Sans gripping one shoulder, Mutt holding the other. Concern on both of their faces. Red was standing over him rubbing one of his hands.

“yea,” Stretch gazed around in confusion. “yea, i’m back in my skull.”

“good, get upstairs. sans brought breakfas’” Red grumbled and walked off. Mutt also released him and gave him a once over with his eyes before following Red out.

“you good now?” Sans let go of him but stood by.

Stretch nodded and grimaced at the dust on the floor. Sans followed his gaze. “looks like ya scraped your hands pretty bad, i gotta monster candy if ya need it.”

“sure.” Stretch staggered to his feet and trailed after Sans as he made his way out of the machine room. 

“Don’t look down.”

You had said that to him. 

He didn’t need a candy, he was falling.

There was no stopping it now.

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

How long have you been missing? 

How long has this pain pricked at his soul?

How long could he possibly hold on?

The machine was up and running again. Not that it mattered. It did the same thing it was doing before you vanished. Machinery was not his area of expertise. He knew about the stars and planets, not this infernal hunk of metal.

Speaking of… Stretch scratched the back of his hand. Little dust particles sifted off of him and into the air. He liked to think that he was just space dust, held together with magic. If only he could die like a star. Exploding into a beautiful supernova. Then maybe a part of him could be rocketed out into space to drift forever in the cosmos. But no, he would just dissolve into a miserable pile of dust. Just waiting to be swept up and dumped in the garbage.

Stretch frowned at the particles of him drifting around in front of his skull. How big would he have to explode to break through Earth’s gravitational pull? And if he did manage to escape, would some other intelligent life find his dust and trace him back here? To the others who could tell how he died missing you so much? He would be like a cosmic ray, flying forever through space. That sounded nice.

At least he could be found and traced. If only finding you was so simple. Cosmic rays had a starting place to connect to the end point. All they had was some random numbers and the knowledge that you were alive because of his connection to you through his soul.

…

Wait.

There was an endpoint. 

Stretch waved away the dust in front of him and glanced over the mess on his desk. He was connected to you, they all were.

You were traceable!

"i got it." He blurted out and jolted out of his seat.

"got what?" Sans asked from behind him.

Stretch scrambled through the papers on his desk, "cosmic rays." Could this actually work? 

"what about ‘em?" Red growled.

“they’re hard to track, ah ha!” Magic surged like a shot of adrenaline as Stretch found the note pad that he had recorded down the numbers left on the screen when you disappeared. Tossing them at Mutt, he turned to look at the others.

“yea, and? we’re lookin’ fer a person, not energy particles.” Red grumbled from his place on the floor.

Did he not see it? Stretch shook his skull and began to pick his way over to the whiteboard on the wall. “but we should be looking for particles, for links. how else do you think we track things hm?” 

He could hear the excitement in his own voice as he explained the basic principles of tracing cosmic rays. His excitement scared him, if this didn’t work, he would most likely dust on the spot. This was all he had left.

His soul soared when Sans said that there was a chance of it working.

He could get you back.

He could apologize.

He could learn to share, no matter what it took.

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

It worked! You were home!

Who came back with you?

Shit.

It still hurt.

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

Stretch fidgeted with his phone as he leaned against the kitchen counter. Papyrus’s time with you was almost up. He was next. He caught sight of the new skeleton coming in. What did he call himself? G? The golden eyed monster paused then approached him.

“stretch right?” He asked, extending a hand out to shake his. 

Stretch nodded but kept his eyes on the timer on his screen as he absently shook the other’s weird hand. He could feel that single eye light looking over him from head to toe as he let go. The new guy made a quiet ‘huh’ sound while looking at the hand he had just clasped his with. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but Stretch’s timer went off, it was his turn to sit with you.

Stretch walked up to your room. His magic was all over the place and he didn’t trust himself to teleport at the moment. Papyrus met him at your door.

“She’s still out cold.” He murmured. “But sitting with her does seem to help.”

Stretch nodded and slipped into your room. Papyrus shut the door on his way out leaving Stretch alone with you.

For a long minute, all he could do was stare. Too afraid to reach out and touch you only to find that you were part of his imagination again. Just in case you dissolved again. He resolved to sit next to you and turn on a show to distract himself.

You rolled over and curled up against him as you slept. You were solid at least. He wasn’t so sure about himself.

And then you stirred. Looking down in surprise, he watched you clamor up to a sitting position.

“hey, hey. glad to see you up.” Well at least his voice sounded calm.

You blinked and looked at him in confusion. Did you not remember him? Did traveling through the multiverse damage your memories?

“Mn, hey.” You greet him and look around, taking in your surroundings. “Where’s G?”

Stretch’s soul sank, you wanted the other skeleton. “downstairs with the others.” He heard himself say.

“How did you get here?” You asked, finding his face again.

“uh, the door?” Really? That’s your response? The door? Stretch doesn’t blame you when you roll your eyes and stumble out of the bed. He does keep a careful eye on you as you make your way over to the window to throw back the curtains.

The way your body sagged in relief spurred him to follow you to the window. “had to be sure huh?”

You nodded and fell into his arms. You didn’t dissolve. You were solid, alive, home. He felt like his soul was going to burst with relief. In a daze, he led you back over to the bed.

“mind if i just, hold you a while?” he asked.

You shook your head and he wasted no time pulling you into his lap. He stared at the silent show playing on your TV but didn’t process any of it. You were home, you were real and in his arms… he needed to apologize.

“i don’t care anymore you know.” That’s not an apology. You turned your head to look at him in question. “sharing the bond, it’s okay.” Still not an apology.

“Just like that? You asked.

There’s your opening, try again! “mmhmm, it was too much. losing you like that, it just doesn’t matter anymore.” What the fuck, none of those words were ‘i’m’ or ‘sorry’ what was wrong with him?

You were looking at him in the socket, “You sure?”

He’d be damned if he didn’t try. “missed seeing you.” Why couldn’t he say those two little words? 

The smile on your face said that he must be doing or saying something right though. “Missed seeing you too.”

Welp, if he was damned, so be it. His eye lights drifted down to your lips. Stars, he wanted to kiss you, convey everything he couldn’t say through his touch instead. “maybe… to celebrate… you know… your return.” Real smooth Stretch. “we could… talk later and uh, work on our touch?” Wow, he was just going to go for it huh? Why could he ask for a kiss and not say ‘i’m sorry’?! 

He tilted his skull down to you, holding back enough to let you decide. To his absolute delight, you moved to close the distance.

The door opened.

“THAT’S AN HOUR CARROT STICK, IT’S TIME TO SWITCH.” Fuck you Black.

Stretch jerked his head up and let out a harsh breath. He could feel you burying your face in his chest, probably equally embarrassed.

“okay, i still care.” He muttered. But he can care and still try… right? Hardening his resolve, he wordlessly moved you off of his lap so he could get off of the bed and leave. He shot you a grin on his way out in the hopes of looking like he was okay with all of this.

When Black shut the door behind him, Stretch slumped against the wall. Nothing had changed. It still hurt to see you with someone else. 

But…

He had to try. 

For you. 

He would find a way.

[n1ghtt1me-stars]

Part 4

Warlock helps to melt some demons (Warlock saunters vaguely into their lives part 4)

Part 1: https://randomwriter2002.tumblr.com/post/187065577775/day-17-accidental-baby-acquisition

Part 2: https://randomwriter2002.tumblr.com/post/187180513209/part-two

Part 3: https://randomwriter2002.tumblr.com/post/187372887856/part-3

Warlock was a bit worried about Nanny; he was out most of yesterday and had left again this morning to talk to Brother Francis.

Last night, Nanny had sat down with him and gave him some hot chocolate.  Warlock couldn’t help but stare at his eyes as Nanny had removed his glasses for the first time. They were yellow and snake-like and, currently, flickering around as if Nanny was nervous.

Warlock had never known Nanny to be nervous.

Looking Warlock in the eye, Nanny started talking, “Right dear, this is going to be difficult to understand but you’ve probably figured out that me and Brother Francis are not… normal.”

“I think everyone knows that, Nanny,” Warlock said. He was happy that that had made Nanny smile, if only briefly, before he began to explain everything.

The explanation took most of the evening, mostly because Nanny kept going off on different tangents as he tried to explain everything. Warlock remained silent throughout it all as he tried to digest the information. Surprisingly, the fact that Nanny and Brother Francis were a demon and angel was easy to deal with (they had always been a bit odd); the up-coming Armageddon was a little concerning but Warlock knew that Nanny would take care of it.

No, the hardest bit to swallow was that his parents weren’t his real parents.

“Is that why they never cared about me?” He couldn’t help but ask despite how much it hurt for him to think about it.

“No,” Nanny said fiercely, “Warlock, your parents love you and are trying to do what they think is best for you. They have no idea that you’re not their biological son.”

“Okay,” Warlock said. He tried to sound unbothered but, unfortunately, Nanny saw through his act.

“Dear, your parents–”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Warlock bit out. He crossed his arms and slouched in his seat which, thankfully, made Nanny relent.

Instead, Nanny asked, “Do you have any questions?”

“How are you stopping the end of the world?”

Nanny’s response was subtle but Warlock spotted the slight wince as his lips tightened, “We’re still trying to find the Anti-Christ. But dear, I promise I’ll keep you safe even if we can’t locate him.”

“How?” Warlock asked.

“The universe is a big place. We’ll run away together to somewhere far away, like Alpha Centauri. I can make sure you’ll survive off earth and I doubt anyone will bother chasing us with the war going on.” Nanny looked as if he had thought everything through but Warlock’s feelings were a mess. The idea of the rest of eternity with Nanny and Brother Francis was like a dream come true but his family would be on earth when it ended.

Warlock didn’t like the thought of them dying while he was safe but he also didn’t want to upset Nanny.

“So, it’ll be me, you and Brother Francis? If the world ends?”

Nanny’s eyes filled with pain, “Aziraphale… I mean, Brother Francis might not be able to come with us.”

“What?” Warlock said, outraged. “I’m definitely not going if he isn’t. He has to come as well.”

“I tried!” Nanny shouted, and Warlock could see unshed tears in his eyes.

“Well try harder.”

Slumping back into his seat, Nanny sighed, “Okay,” he said, suddenly looking exhausted. Warlock felt guilty for arguing with Nanny. He was about to apologise when Nanny continued, “It’s late, go to bed dear. I’ll sort this out tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Nanny,” Warlock said and he left the room. At the doorway, he looked over his shoulder to see that Nanny hadn’t moved from his seat but was, instead, staring at the ceiling.

*

Warlock woke up the next morning and went to find Nanny. He followed the sound of the TV to the living room but paused in the doorway. Instead of the usual presenters for the morning talk show, two disgusting people sat in the chairs and Nanny was… talking to them.

To be honest, after last night, Warlock was not that shocked by this.

“Where is the boy, Crawley? What have you done with him?”

“Hastur,” Nanny said with exaggerated confusion, “I’m as surprised by this development as you are. The last I heard, the boy was heading to the Middle East.”

“Crawley,” the other demon said, “stay where you are. You have to face consequences for your negligence.”

The demons disappeared and the normal hosts came back. Nanny stood up swiftly and hurried towards the door but stopped short when he saw Warlock standing there.

“Nanny,” Warlock asked, “Are you in trouble?”

Nanny smirked, though Warlock could see that it was just a front, “Dear, I’m a demon. It’s part of the job description.” His smile dropped however when he continued and said, “You really won’t leave without Brother Francis will you?”

“No,” Warlock said.

“Yeah, neither will I.” Nanny smiled softly and then said, “Stay here okay, I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” Warlock said. Nanny ruffled his hair as he passed. Once Nanny left, Warlock went to get his phone; waiting would be excruciating so he would need a distraction.

*

Not long later, Nanny was back without Brother Francis. Warlock couldn’t help but ask why he wasn’t here though he immediately regretted it. Nanny looked so sad at his question but he still answered, “He’s trying to talk to God and ask Her to stop the war.”

“Seriously? The actual God?”

“The almighty Herself,” Nanny said. He muttered under his breath but Warlock still managed to catch the words “He’s such an idiot” before Nanny focussed his attention on him. “Warlock dear,” he said, “some very bad people are coming here and I need you to hide while I take care of it.”

“I want to help,” Warlock said stubbornly. He refused to hide while Nanny protected him.

Nanny said, “There’s no time to argue,” but Warlock wasn’t listening.

“I want to help,” he repeated.

Nanny relented, “Fine,” he said and gestured for Warlock to follow him. Warlock trailed behind as Nanny collected a plastic bucket, a ladder and the plant mister and then went to the Mona Lisa sketch. Amazed, Warlock watched as the picture swung to the side to reveal a safe. Nanny opened the safe and then stepped back.

“Okay Warlock,” he said, “Pour the water from the thermos into the bucket. Do it carefully, you can’t get any on the floor.” Warlock followed Nanny’s instructions and then placed the empty thermos on the table. Nanny had set up the ladder next to the door and Warlock walked over with the bucket.

Moving away, Nanny directed Warlock as he balanced the bucket on top of the door. It was actually quite easy for Warlock as he had played a similar trick on a secret service worker once when he was around seven. He thinks Nanny helped with that as well.

Warlock put the ladder in the corner of the room and faced Nanny. “Go hide in the bedroom,” Nanny was saying, “and don’t come out until I say it’s safe –”

Rushing over, Warlock hugged Nanny tightly, “Please be alright.”

“Of course dear,” Nanny said, returning the hug, “Now go, I can hear them.”

*

Waiting was killing Warlock; he stood tense behind the door which he left slightly ajar so he could watch what happened. He couldn’t help but feel glad when the first demon melted when the water fell on him. That left just one for Nanny to deal with.

The ringing of the phone made Warlock jump but, thankfully, the demon was too focussed on Nanny as he hung up on Brother Francis and started talking about the Dark Council. Unlike the demon, Warlock knew this was definitely a bluff though he could tell by Nanny’s exaggerated gestures that he was nervous; things weren’t going to plan.

Then Nanny disappeared, followed by the demon, and Warlock didn’t know what to do.

He wandered into the other room and curiously looked at the remains of the first demon. The black goo was steaming slightly and had a horrific odour. Tempted to touch it, Warlock lifted his foot to prod the disgusting substance when he heard a whoosh behind him.

Spinning round, Warlock’s fear disappeared when he saw Nanny standing there. He looked out of breath but unharmed and Warlock ran to give him another hug. Nanny’s arms wrapped around him and they both relaxed.

The demon’s voice erupted from the phone and Warlock looked over at it, almost expecting for the demon to jump out. “Where is he?” he asked.

“Trapped in the answering machine,” Nanny said with glee in his voice, “He shouldn’t be able to get out of there.”

“That’s good,” Warlock said, “What are you going to do now?”

“We,” Nanny said, “are going to find Aziraphale and make a plan to stop the world ending.”

Part 5: https://randomwriter2002.tumblr.com/post/187727797976/part-5

[kookmin1913]

Questions Asked and Answered

So I stated a couple of days ago that I was sent several questions in my DM, and I would work on getting responses to them.  Well here is that post.  This may end up being a long post.  Please bare with me and keep in mind, that the answers to some of these questions are strictly my thoughts and opinions.  Let’s get started.

1. How old are you?  

I am over the age of 30

2. Where are you from?  

Texas

3. How long have you been Army?  

May 2018

4. Will you strictly be a Jikook blog?  

Yes most content and blog related posts will be Jikook.  I will probably still share OT7 videos or pictures, but mainly Jikook or Kookmin, whichever you prefer to go by.

5. Who is your bias and why?  

Jimin.  At first he stood out to me because of his dancing  watching the MV’s, when I originally started following and learning about BTS.  As a person with a dance background, I always noticed that about him first.  He is such a powerful performer.  As i continued to learn more about him through the eyes of the members and himself, I just fell in love with what he seemed to be as a person. Beyond him being a talented singer and dancer, he just appeared to be a genuinely nice guy.  He was always smiling and laughing with the members and being very supportive of everything they did.  You don’t find many people who are as nice as JM seemed, but the members have all talked about how JM is one of the nicest people to everyone, and that he is the member they can lean on the most when things get hard and how he is such a great listener.  This is just a little bit of why I love him as my bias. 

6. Who is your bias wrecker and why?  

Jungkook.  I pretty much noticed him the same way I started with JM with the dancing and performance and then his voice stood out of course.  As I started following them more, started to feel like JK is a little like me.  I can appear cold to be people at first, because I can be quite shy initially getting to know you and I can have a hard time opening up.  But in my own time, I slowly drop my walls to let people into my world, and they find that i can be the sweetest person in the world.  I felt that JK was a lot like that.  He finds it hard to let you in, but once he does, he goes all in.

7. What made you start shipping Jikook? 

Let me first say that I don’t ship them, I support them, as I believe they are in a romantic relationship with each other.  GCF Tokyo is what made me start supporting them.  As I mentioned in my “New Kookmin Blogger” post, I was introduced to shipping first through Taekook.  I watched quite a few videos of them, but I honestly never saw anything romantic or sexual in nature with their interaction as the analysis videos always tried to imply.  I was being told by TK shippers that I should stick with this ship and that JK actually hates JM.

So one day, the GCF Tokyo video popped up in my YouTube recommendations to watch, so I clicked on it and watched.  By the end of the video, i was sitting there looking with big wide eyes at what i just watched, slightly misty eyed and smiling ear to ear all at the same time. I thought to myself at that point, who in the world makes a video like that for someone they supposedly hate?  I know I wouldn’t do it.  Then I found out that JK actually PLANNED and PAID for trip as an actual birthday gift for JM.  At that moment I was like, this is NOT how you treat someone you hate. So I started searching for Jikook content and it lead me to seeing several things that I hadn’t seen from the other ship videos that I had been shown.

The subtle looks between the two: I know that all the members have looked at each other before, however, there was certainly a different vibe I felt when JK looked at JM and vice versa.  For JM, there always seemed to be a fondness in his eye for JK, like he just wanted to wrap him in arms and give JK all the hugs, cuddles, and kisses he could muster.  For JK, his eyes literally light up when looking at JM, whether he’s intently listening to JM talk during ending ments at concerts or just generally being silly, JK seems to melt into a puddle of love goo.  LOL!  They both smile and laugh at anything the other does, even when it’s not a moment they should.  Their eyes are always searching for the other.  It doesn’t matter if they are sitting side by side or far apart from each other, it’s almost as if they crave looking at each other like it brings them peace or calmness.  

Both JK and JM’s submission/softness for each other: I’m not talking in a physical/sexual sense.  The members have all stated how both JM and JK can be stubborn and strong willed.  JK himself has stated, that he could be very selfish.  What’s mine is mine and what’s yours in mine. They are both extremely competitive by nature, but when it comes to each other, they both seem to toss all of that out of the door and flush it down a drain somewhere, because JK will do just about anything that JM ask of him without much fuss, compared to what we see sometimes with the other members.  In addition, JM may be older, but he willingly relinquishes some control over to JK as well by expressing how much he feels protected by JK, which I think allows JK to not feel like the “baby” in the relationship.  We all know JM is quite capable of protecting himself, but by showing that vulnerable side to JK, it allows some of JK’s natural protectiveness to shine.  JK and JM can be quite loud and boisterous when talking to the other member, they both get this quiet softness in their tone of voice when they are speaking to each other, like they don’t want anyone else to invade the conversation meant for just them.  

How the members react to the Jikook:  They always seem to be monitoring what they will do or say around each other.  They seem paranoid sometimes or literally end up just separating them by giving a look, or a tap on the shoulder, etc. for them to not cross some imaginary line we can’t see.  The members facial reactions during interviews and concerts. They literally have the “please don’t say that” or “here we go again” faces.  It’s also how the members defer to JM or JK when it comes to the other.  For instance Burn the Stage when JK was on the verge of exhaustion and JM was the only who stayed in the room with medical staff or recently from the behind scenes Paris DVD, it was JM yet again with JK getting his stitches removed by medical staff. Of course, this doesn’t mean the other members don’t care, because we know they do.  It just appears to me that members seem to naturally let JM and JK take care of each other in these types of moments.

Talking about one another in interviews: I always find it interesting they always seem to bring the other up during an interview. Always talking about the infamous GCF Tokyo trip, or answering questions with each other’s names. They never seem to be far from the other’s mind which i love seeing.  In the recent Japanese interview, it was asked, “What’s the moment you feel connected to a member”, and JK literally said, “When my eyes naturally connect with JM’s” he feels connected, like WTF? JM saying in an interview once, how he tends to hold everything internally, but that if it wasn’t for JK noticing this and always coming to do something to make him laugh, he would just hold it until he probably explodes.  

Whole host of other reasons that I won’t discuss in this post because this is already hella long and i haven’t gotten through all the questions. 

7. Do you hate Taekook?  

No. I hate toxic TK shippers.  I hate those shippers who like to make JM the evil person who is supposedly coming in between Tae and JK, or when they make JK the vile person who is always hurting Tae trying to make him jealous by hanging out with JM, which then leaves Tae as this sad person who’s miserable all the time.  These boys all love each other. I also dislike toxic Jikook shippers as well. Like I’ve said before, you can feel free to ship who you want to ship, but you don’t have the right to spew hatred to other members in support of it.

8.  Why don’t you believe Taekook is real? They have touchy moments, plus a lot of off cam content.  

I think Tae and JK are close friends.  I don’t see any romantic attraction or feelings between the two. All the boys are touchy with each other, especially Tae in my opinion.  He appears to be someone who shows affection to whoever is near him. He’s an affectionate guy which we love.  The off cam thing I truly don’t understand because ANY moment we get to see of the boys is literally on cam.  If it’s off cam how do you know what the boys do in their spare time, unless they post it or tell us themselves later on. The only off cam stuff we get is when they are caught out in public by fans, like the Jikook “dates”, when they hung out in L.A, Paris, went ice skating, dinner, etc. those are considered off cam moments.  

9.  Why does BH hide Taekook with Jikook?

I REALLY DON’T UNDERSTAND this line of thinking.  So BH is hiding one gay relationship with another gay relationship? That’s not hiding anything, because there are still two people being exposed with JK as the common denominator between the two ships. So JK and JM expose themselves as the gay couple to hide Tae and JK’s gay relationship.  Somebody please make this make sense. So in my opinion NO, BH isnt’ pursuing some Jikook agenda to hide TK contrary to what most TK shippers would like to believe.  If JK and JM are together all the time, it is because they CHOOSE to be with each other.  End of story!

Well that was all the questions i received.  Thanks to those who messaged me.  I hope i was able to convey my thoughts decently.  As I stated before, these are my opinions and you do not have to agree, but please be respectful.

That’s it for now.  Please feel free to send asks to my inbox.  

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 12

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,191 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Also on ff.net and AO3. Note: I haven't actually read either of the books referenced in this chapter, but they came up when I was doing research and seemed to fit so I threw them in there.

Scars are souvenirs you never lose The past is never far Did you lose yourself somewhere out there Did you get to be a star

We grew up way too fast And now there's nothing to believe And reruns all become our history

-Goo Goo Dolls, "Name"

————————– 

Then. On Monday, Tim went to the library as usual once classes were over, but with a different purpose in mind than simply secluding himself in studies.  …That is to say, he wouldn’t be by himself this time. He wondered why he even agreed to this. That knock on the head must have scrambled his judgment – that was the only explanation he could think of for permitting himself to be possessed by such an insane notion. When he reached the agreed-upon meeting place though, there was someone else sitting at the table instead of the person he expected.  She had short, pitch black hair – sleek and strict – a style resembling Annie’s but with a widow’s peak; far darker bangs parted in the center, pulled back taut by a barrette. In addition, her skin was much more pale in comparison, emphasizing midnight mascara and lips.  Both her chin and slanted eyes were sharper, piercing pupils snapping up from her book to stare straight at him with such intensity he flinched on instinct.  He’d never seen anyone react so immediately to his presence. “Uh… Hello?” She eyed him with suspicion, silent and unmoving.  Statuesque. “Sorry to bother you, but… I’m supposed to be meeting someone here soon…” Again, no response. Tim didn’t know what to do. He thought about just giving up and turning tail (hey, can’t say he didn’t try at least), though somehow the prospect of presenting his back to her seemed like a dangerous idea.  He was about to retreat in reverse by slinking slowly into the shadows – safety – of shelves when a pair of hands suddenly emerged from behind him, blocking his vision. “Guess who~?” “Gah!” He whirled around in a panic, almost about to punch the invader to his personal space when he saw it was – of course – Stephanie.  The librarian sternly looked up from the counter at the loud disruption and pursed a finger to her lips, shushing. “Fuck- don’t do that,” he hissed with a sibilant shiver, clutching his rapidly beating breast. “…Sorry,” she whispered back, contrite. “It’s okay,” he muttered with a heavy sigh.  “Just give me some warning next time.” Meanwhile, the seated spectator was still watching the two intently, stony view shifting back and forth between them.  Tim felt even more uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze, and was about to suggest they move to someplace else when Steph waved to the glum girl in gleeful greeting. “I see you’ve met my roommate,” she chirped as she bounded over, cheerfully clasping hands on the sculpture’s stiffened shoulders.  “This is Cassandra, but you can call her Cass.  She doesn’t say much, but she’s a nice girl.  I hope you don’t mind if she joins us for today.” As she briskly babbled introduction in lieu of the stranger herself, who still had yet to speak, Tim felt he was starting to understand how Steph was able to put up with his own severe lack of social skills. “Um… Okay.  Sure.” “Awesome.  I’ll be with you guys in a sec, just let me finish shelving these books.” She bustled off again, leaving Tim alone with Cassandra before he could even say anything. Defeated, he laid his bookbag on the table and took the chair diagonally across from her, not wanting to remain directly in her field of vision.  She continued to follow his movements closely though, keeping sight trained on him as if a hawk tracking its prey – rigid and unwavering.  …It was starting to seriously creep him out. “So, er… What’s that you’re reading?” He blurted out in a feeble endeavor to fill conversation. Mechanically, she raised the cover so he could see.  Judging by the winged figure in frilly jeweled fashion painted next to a medieval knight, both holding what appeared to be fanciful masks, it looked like some kind of fantasy young adult fiction novel. “I… see.  Is it interesting?” She simply nodded, before (blessedly) returning attention to her reading material. … Can I go now? As the suffocating silence stretched on, Tim wasn’t sure if the situation was any better than before. Though her scathing appraisers were now fully fixed on the page in front of her rather than him, they didn’t seem to be making any progress.  …Which he supposed only made sense, given the orientation of the subject. …Should I let her know she’s holding that book upside-down? To his surprise, a rosy tint developed on the other’s complexion as she subtly flipped the tome to the correct position.  Odd, he was sure he hadn’t said that statement aloud.  …But then, reality was such a fickle thing these days. Yet, even though the volume was righted, her focus still didn’t seem to advance at all.  He mused idly if she was actually absorbing any of it. Don’t tell me she can’t actually read. “I can read.” Tim startled at the unanticipated answer.  …Okay, this was really getting weird.  He definitely hadn’t said anything that time.  Given that the supposed responder still hadn’t budged an inch, he began to doubt whether he was really hearing things… Before he could decide whether to inquire further out of sheer curiosity, Stephanie conveniently showed up at that precise moment, arms inflated with textbooks. “Back!  Sorry about that.” She plopped the heavy publications and herself down, insinuating cozily between the two, apparently without noticing the aura of awkwardness permeating the air. “Shall we get started then?” “Y- yeah.” Tim cast one more confused look at Cassandra before attempting to apply concentration to his other company instead.  It was difficult when said study partner’s own awareness kept wandering though, growing bored and fidgety within minutes.  In the corner of his periphery, he could sense the third party’s irises still peeking at him from over the pages as well, albeit remaining mute throughout the entire period. By the end of the (exhausting) hour, Tim had managed to at least hammer in a few concepts.  As they finally stood up and started gathering their things, Stephanie sheepishly apologized for her short retention span, and promised she’d be more attentive next time.  Meanwhile, Cassandra quietly shut her text and rose, maneuvering fluently – like lighter fluid, hazardous and almost undetectable – around the desk to approach Tim.  To both his and Steph’s astonishment, she leaned in alarmingly close, lifting delicate digits to lightly touch his forehead.  He swallowed apprehensively as she scrutinized his mystified expression, as if searching for something. After a bewildered beat, she lowered her hand, and placed the paperback she had in his. “Here.” He blinked at her in bemusement. “Read it.” She merely instructed, before departing without another word. “…What the heck was that about?” Steph pondered, scratching her hair. Tim shrugged.  “Beats me.  You know her better than I do.” “Yeah, but I have no idea why she does stuff sometimes.”  Stephanie paused, contemplating with a half-anxious, half-amused countenance.  “Hey, maybe she likes you.” Tim blushed, busying with packing away his possessions again. “Yeah, right.” … As he lay on his dorm bed later though, looking at the lent item against the light, he reflected on the strange glance and gesture she gave him.  It wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before.  It was as if the cold contact infiltrated deep into his soul, chilling to his very core… Conner came in then, bearing a broad grin. “Yooo Timbo, so how’d it go with that girl?” Tim shrugged, sitting up. “…She brought her roommate along.” The other boy elevated an eyebrow. “Dude.  That’s a bad sign.  Inviting someone else on the first date means you’re totally in the friendzone.” “I told you, it’s not a date.” “What is it then?” Tim exhaled, shaking his head. “…I don’t know.” Conner crossed over to clap a thick paw on Tim’s shoulder. “Lighten up, man.  You’ll win her over, don’t worry.” He elbowed with a wink and cheesy thumbs-up, and Tim rolled his retinas, but didn’t say anything. Conner’s eyes caught the object in the other’s lap, and he plucked it up without warning, wrinkling his nose as he examined the lacey title. “The Black Swan?  Since when do you read chick lit?” “It’s not mine,” Tim defended hastily.  “Steph’s roommate told me to read it.  Now give it back.” Tim made a swipe for the article, but Conner easily kept his extended muscle out of the shorter one’s reach as he flipped teasingly through the embarrassing narrative, reciting passages aloud with gusto. “‘Odile watched her father's back, swallowing involuntary bitter tears of disappointment and rejection, feeling her head droop a little as her heart sank with dejection.’” “Will you shut up?” “‘If she could have wept, her tears would have burned furrows down her face, so bitter were the dregs of degradation that she drank at that moment.’  …God, who writes this stuff?” Tim grimaced as he made another desperate effort to grab at the entity.  In the midst of their scuffle though, two tags secretly tucked into the spine slipped out from between the sheets, landing at their feet.  They both blinked and bent down to pick one up each, puzzled by the bizarre bookmarks. They were playing cards. Conner glimpsed up from the Ace of Clubs he was holding towards Tim, whose eyes were expanded wide with shock and – horror? – as his hand began shaking. “Hey, you okay, man?  What’s wrong?” Gulping, Tim gradually rotated the thin cardboard around to reveal its front: not a number or face… but a Joker. Anger and concern promptly carved onto Conner’s visage. “What the hell is this?  Some kind of sick joke?” Tim said nothing, as he peered down at the scarlet diptych design of mirrored angels and demons on the backside to find a brief note written in bold, black marker: Park.  4PM. Biting his lip in baffled frustration, Conner revolved his own cue around to discover a much longer message.  His brow furrowed as he tried (rather unsuccessfully) to pronounce the alien language it was inscribed in. “‘Rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno’ – what is this, French?” “It’s Latin,” Tim clarified.  “’A rare bird in the lands and very much like a black swan.’   It likely refers to a recent theory published by Taleb.  It’s a metaphor to describe an event that comes as a surprise, that’s hard to predict since it’s beyond the realm of regular expectations, and has an extreme major impact as a result.  Afterwards, it is rationalized by hindsight, as if it could’ve been anticipated if the relevant data were available – but this only becomes apparent in retrospect.  The phrase itself was coined by the ancient poet Juvenal, back when people thought black swans didn’t exist and that such an abnormality was impossible. It was only later proven wrong when the first one was discovered in 1697.” Conner blinked vacantly at Tim, looking as lost as he always did whenever the other went off on an encyclopedic (if perhaps slightly pretentious) tangent. “So…  What does it all mean?” “I don’t know,” Tim admitted as he took the pair and headed determinedly over to his computer, booting up the system.  “But I’m going to find out.” He navigated to the browser window – keeping a weather eye on the worrisome memo as it unwillingly brought back bad memories – and did some digging. … By the time he was done with his research, the hour of summons was fast approaching.  He snatched his jacket and was out the door before Conner could even get a word in edgewise, racing towards Gotham Central Park. As soon as he arrived there, he stilled for a second at the entrance gate, surveying the tranquil scene of people walking casually to and fro: lovers holding hands, families enjoying late afternoon picnics and games of Frisbee or Fetch with their pets, children running joyfully to their parents across the grass – the latter giving affectionate hugs and pats before sending off with smiles to the playground, all while keeping a careful watch on their precious bundles from a distance. Tim spotted Cassandra sitting by herself on a swingset towards the outskirts, exuding a gloomy atmosphere that likely aided in deterring any nosey youngsters. He neared cautiously, observing her glide like a gentle pendulum for a while, before she slowed to a stop and looked at him finally. “You came.” Dispensing with preliminaries, Tim cut straight to the chase. “How did you know who I was?” Cassandra smiled softly. “The way you move – it resembles him.  No openings, always on guard, not a single wasted motion…”  She then added in a hush: “Plus, I read your mind.” Her head declined in apology. “Forgive me.  It’s not something I normally like to do to others, especially to someone I’ve just met. …There was such a dark cloud surrounding yours though, I- I couldn’t help it.” She dragged a heel through the dirt. “Besides, you know who I am now, don’t you?” Tim sat down on the swing next to her, repeating everything he had learned based on his hunch. “Several years ago, the Joker broke into a Cadmus facility in Arizona. He released five metahuman kids, who had been abducted from their families shortly after birth and raised as secret weapons for the government.  He took them on as his own protégés, calling them the ‘Royal Flush Gang’.  The strongest of them was named ‘Ace’, who possessed telepathic powers the likes of which the world had never seen before.  …’Ace’ reportedly died not long after of a brain aneurysm in the presence of Batman, who was the only witness, in a park not unlike this one.” Cassandra merely nodded affirmatively. “…He helped you fake your death, didn’t he?” “It was the only way to free me completely from Cadmus’ clutches.  Otherwise they would keep hounding me forever.” She gripped the chains bitterly. “He sent for an expensive foreign doctor who performed the surgery in secret.  Afterwards, he gave me a choice: I could stay and be a part of his team, or I could live peacefully on my own. …I chose this.” Tim afforded her an odd look, thinking how close he evidently could’ve been to having an actual “sister” his age. “…I’m guessing ‘Cassandra’s’ not your real name either.” “It is the name he gave me.  After the Greek prophet from mythology.” “Can you actually see the future?” Tim questioned, genuinely intrigued. Cass regarded the horizon, as if squinting into some sort of far-off void. “What I see are… ‘possibilities’.  Infinite paths our lives could’ve taken, had we made different choices.  If just the slightest factor changed course.  ‘Alternate realities’, if you will.” She told him, about a world where there weren’t just two Robins, but a third Robin and then a fourth, a world where Barbara was the one shot and paralyzed instead of Dick, where Joker lived and he died and came back to life and his name wasn’t Tim it was- “Stop.  I’d rather not hear any more.” Tim prolonged a palm to halt her crazy-sounding speech, grasping his aching skull in the other. “I’m not saying I totally understand or believe you, but basically what you’re saying is… ‘Something’ was bound to happen sooner or later.” “…If that is how you wish to interpret it.” She removed her limbs from the links, resting on her legs instead. “I am sorry, for what he did to you.  The… things I saw inside his mind, they were so terrible, I should’ve known better than to leave him be.  I… should’ve ended him when I had the chance.”  Her knuckles clenched, impressing into her thighs. “Even though they trained me to use my powers to kill, I- I couldn’t.  I didn’t want to.” Tentatively, Tim reached out to wrap his own hand soothingly around her wrist. “Hey, that’s not on you.  It’s not your fault.  None of it was your fault, including-”  He hesitated. “-What happened with your parents.” He heard an abrupt wailing coming from the court where a kid had tripped and fallen from the bottom of the slide, scraping her knees on the wood chips.   Her mom and dad hurried to her side, cooing and consoling as they stuck numerous kisses and band-aids with colorful cartoon kitties and pretty princesses on them to the boo-boos.  Turning, he saw there were tears rolling down Cassandra’s cheeks as she unfurled her fist, knotting fingers into the comfort of his. While her nails were startlingly long, she took care not to wound his flesh, closing just tight enough to exchange warmth. “You and I… are similar.  I don’t mean just because of Joker either.”  She meditated off into that empty space again.  “The two of us are anomalies.  Outliers.  Outsiders. We don’t fit into the grand scheme.  We’ve always been… ‘different’.  We don’t ‘belong’.” Tim wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about.  But he took a stab at alleviating the mood anyway. “I guess you could say we’re… ‘Wild Cards’?” She stared at him. “…Sorry, bad joke.” And people say I’m humorless now. Cass looked a little put-off as she pouted, and he winced, remembering she could hear what he was thinking as well.  He swiftly opted to switch the topic instead. “You cannot tell Stephanie about any of this.” “I don’t intend to.”  Gray eyes narrowed with gritty resolve as her voice dropped to a grave mumble, digging her toe into the earth and gravel.  “Someone like her should not know of the horrors we’ve been through, the darkness that we come from.  The number of evil sins we’ve committed.  …It will only lead to causing the same kind of pain in the end.” Her face contorted obliquely as she said this, ominous and foreboding. Breathing out, she monitored the fading violet brightness of the sun as it started to set. “Stephanie… is light.  A ray of hope.  She’s the first person I’ve met who wasn’t instantly afraid of me, but accepted me right away for who I was. She’s the first real ‘friend’ I’ve ever had.  …I would never do anything to hurt her.” She looked down at their connection, as if realizing the implication just now, and nervously began to relinquish.  Tim didn’t let go though.  Something she had said triggered a thought in the back of his conscience, and he stood up, coaxing mildly. “Come on.  There’s someone else I think you should meet.” Timidly, she trailed after his tow.  Whilst they stood there waiting for the bus, he overheard a passing elderly duo remark wistfully on that “cute young couple”, which in turn urged him to be the one to impulsively liberate this time.  As they both coughed and avoided each other’s eyes, Cassandra spoke up in a somewhat troubled tone. “There’s… something else I should mention.” “What?” “When I… looked into your subconscious, I saw an even greater darkness buried deep down.  I can’t explain it, but… I fear it may consume you someday.”  She frowned in vexation at her inability to identify, to express.  “…It bears strong resemblance to him.” Though he was afraid to ask, Tim did so anyway. “Who?” She gave him an ambiguous look, constricted and conflicted dots overwhelmingly obscure. “Both.”

————————–

And now we're grown up orphans That never knew their names We don't belong to no one That's a shame But you could hide beside me Maybe for a while And I won't tell no one your name

[pandemonshq]

Welcome, Zelda, please grab your stake on your way to your tumblr to play Hermione Granger-Weasley here at Pandemons. We loved how you decided to take us up on make this your own by giving Hermione a new role as Head Healer of the Janus Thickery Ward in Saint Mungos. We can’t wait to see how Hermione deals with the new strangeness building in the magical world and all the past (and present!) relationships she can build here.

OOC

Name: zelda

Preferred Pronouns: she/her

Age: 26

Timezone: est

Activity Level:

I’m usually pretty active, especially with the times right now, I spend a few hours on a day and can usually be found lurking every now and then too. I’m a very free person and when I join a group I am very dedicated.

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Character’s Name: Hermione Jean Ganger-Weasley

Bloodstatus: Muggleborn

Birthday: 19 September, 1979 ( 40 years old )

Gender and Sexuality: cis female & pansexual

Every where she looked Hermione always saw a man and a woman, there was never anything different and when something out of the ordinary came about she didn’t know what to think. For the longest time she always thought that love was supposed to between a man and a woman, it’s what she was raised to believe. But the older she got it didn’t matter the gender of your significant other so long as you were happy in the end. Hermione doesn’t find herself attracted to whether someone is male or female. In fact Hermione is more attracted to someone’s intelligence and personality over what body parts they have. Hermione is seen as someone who is pansexual.

Former Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Infection:

no

Faceclaim:

Older Candice Patton with younger Zendaya Coleman

SHORT HEADCANON TOPICS (PLEASE PROVIDE AT LEAST ONE PARAGRAPH PER TOPIC)

Occupation (title and one paragraph explanation): Head Healer of the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungos

Ever since she started at Hogwarts Hermione had always thought about fighting the good fight to free magical creatures and letting them have the chance to live lives. She always wanted to make a change in the wizarding world and she was determined to. She first started with S.P.E.W. a movement to free house elves and give them a free life. When she returned for her seventh year and finished Hogwarts she wasted no time in getting a job at the ministry and worked on her plan. She tried for years to get bills passed but nothing would happen.

She couldn’t make a difference when people didn’t want to try. She felt defeated and knew that she couldn’t continue on like this so she left the Ministry and went to train as a healer. It wasn’t long before Hermione soon discovered that she really enjoyed the work. She enjoyed mixing the potions and helping people when they needed it. She discovered that she excelled in this profession and she didn’t want to do anything but. Over the years she raised in the ranks and before she knew it she was the head healer of the Janus Thickey Ward, the ward that deals with permanent spell damage, such as permanent jinxes, hexes, and incorrectly-applied spells.

Marital Status/Ships: Married to Ron Weasley

When it comes to Ron Weasley, Hermione can remember their first meeting clear as day. She always thought of him as the frumpy boy who didn’t know how to take care of himself. Yet over the years as they grew closer as best friends she soon realized that her feelings weren’t just those of friendship. She found him loyal and caring and could always be there for a good laugh if needed. She found his personality that attractable and she loved it, plus it did help that his eyes always held a slight air of mischief to them. But all in all he was her best friend, companion and husband all in one. He was someone she could always lean on and talk to about everything. He was always there for her when she needed him. Even when he left on their hunt she knew that she could never forget him no matter how angry she was. He is her person as much as Harry is.

Ships: When it comes to shipping I do ship Ron & Hermione but at the same time I do have a few crackships that have stolen my heart. But I am open to other things and exploring her sexuality and what could of happened and what could of been. I’m not here to force something on someone, so long as the chemistry is there then lets go! If anyone is every curious about anything message me and we’ll plot.

MULTIPARAGRAPH OR MULTI POINT TOPICS

Family:

Being raised in a family of muggles Hermione did kind of feel a bit left out, especially when her parents put a bit more attention into their work than they did learning about her life. She always knew she didn’t fit in the muggle world, she just wasn’t normal enough. When she found out she was a witch that only pushed her further away from her family. When she erased the memories of her parents she knew it was for the right cause but at the same time she felt a small pang of loss enter her. She vowed to return their memories when everything was safe, yet when she went off to look for them she couldn’t bring herself to take them from the happy life they created. She just couldn’t ruin them again. So she left them and moved on with her life, she never told anyone that she didn’t reverse it in fact she never told anyone that she set out to find them.

Childhood/Hogwarts:  anorexic tw

Growing up Hermione as a bit frightened when she discovered that she that she could make things move. When she wanted a cookie and her mother said no? Well Hermione made it float on over. Things didn’t start making sense for Hermione until a man named Professor Dumbledore came along and explained everything. She was ecstatic to learn that she wasn’t abnormal but in fact very normal. She was a witch and everything that was happening was supposed to happen.

When she arrived at Hogwarts, like every other child she could only stare in awe at the beauty. The little bookworm had truly found her home at last or so she thought. She wasn’t welcomed very much due to her blood status and her know-it-all attitude. In fact it wasn’t until Harry and Ron saved her from the Troll that she truly made real friends. Over the years she became very close with the two of them, they were three peas in a pod.

As the years flew by she knew that dark times were coming and she refused to let Harry go through it all alone. She knew that if she didn’t lend a hand that he could end up dead somewhere. She refused to lose two of the most important people in her life. She was a very strong and hard headed girl that took charge when things looked dark. She was always quick on her feet and knew exactly what to do before someone else could form a thought.

When Harry stated that he was going on the hunt Hermione knew in a split second that she would go with him. He was her best friend and she refused to let him go alone. She was brave but also over thought a lot, there were even times when she would let her thoughts get ahead of her and she couldn’t think straight. It wasn’t until the trio were caught and taken to Malfoy Manor that Hermione knew her time was coming to an end.

She never expected to make it out alive from Malfoy Manor, she expected to bleed out on their perfect floors. She expected Bellatrix to torture her until her mind was a puddle of goo and hand her over to Greyback so he could have his fun. She never expected for Harry and Ron to break out and save her in the end. She never expected her boys to bring her to safety at shell cottage. All in all that would be a night that would leave Hermione scarred physically, emotionally and mentally.

She never expected for herself and her peers to go through a war that would tear their innocence away and leave them all tortured and scarred. She didn’t expect for them all to suffer and lose so much. Yet with the end of it all it brought a sort of peace to them. A sense of peace to the wizarding world. Something that she could hold on to and actually see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Post Hogwarts:

After everything Hermione was not okay. She was the furthest thing from being okay. There were many nights that Hermione would wake up screaming and crying due to terrors she had gone through. There were times that she’d lay in bed sobbing for those that lost their lives far too soon. There were times that Hermione would stay up for hours worrying that someone would break in. She constantly slept with her wand gripped tightly in her hand. There were even times that Hermione would go a couple of days with absolutely zero sleep, sometimes to the point where someone would have to shove a sleeping potion down her throat so she could get some sleep.

Along with this Hermione also has a very hard time eating, with being on the run for so long Hermione learned that she needed very little food to survive and focused on drinking lots of water. At family meals in the burrow she would find it very hard to eat a full plate of food. Sometimes the smell of the food would make her stomach churn. There were times that she could eat a few biscuits and be done. Other times she could eat a few bites and that would be it. It took Hermione a good year until she was able to get her eating habits back to normal. She was almost to the point of being anorexic

Hermione also suffers from PTSD and has a very hard time letting herself be touched by others. There are only two people that can lay a hand on her shoulder her without her knowing and she wouldn’t jump one bit, Harry and Ron. She has gained a bit of trust issues from everything that has happened and tries to work on it but at the same time it’s hard for her and she can’t bring herself around.

Current:

Hermione is far better today than what she was. She has turned her life around and is the head healer of a department at St. Mungos. She has found peace in her life and has come to terms with a lot of things. With the help of the Weasley family and Harry, Hermione has been able to overcome so much.

Though there are still times when the terrors will plague her dreams some taking the form of Bellatrix the other’s taking the form of Voldemort himself. All in all Hermione will always have trouble getting the proper amount of sleep and can’t stop her worrying and constant protection. Even in this very moment she will continue to strengthen the wards placed around her home, wards so strong that only those invited can get through.

With what’s stirring up now Hermione can’t shake the feeling that something bad will happen. It’s bring back old feelings about the first war she went through and she hopes that nothing ends the same. That the children of today don’t go through what they did. That they do not lose their innocence as quickly as Hermione and her friends did.

Plots

The Past - I would love to explore threads of the past, get a chance to dive a bit deeper into Hermione’s character and what she was like in Hogwarts. To see what friends she could of had or enemies because that’s always fun to play out.

Relationships - I feel like Hermione wasn’t so strict about studies and that she would of had a bit of adventure every now and then. I feel like she would of explored a bit and dated some. That she would of dated some and let her self live a bit more than what we saw. Also maybe we can even figure something out for current time and maybe she has affections for someone that’s not her husband or maybe someone is brought into their relationship. It’s all exciting to explore.

Occupation - I would love for her to either have co-workers that she can interact with and form friendships with or maybe even patients that she had for long periods of time that she grew close with. Ouu or maybe even an enemy that she had to tolerate due to her job.

Family - Family is very important to Hermione and I would love to explore the bonds she has with each remaining Weasley member and the bond she has with Harry. I feel like there’s so much that can be touched on that wasn’t and we can make it all such a beautiful thing.

OTHER

Submitting this from my mockblog a pinterest inspo can be found here - https://www.pinterest.ca/zeldaslegends/brightest-witch-of-her-age-hermione/

[searchingwardrobes]

Name

Happy Birthday, @lenfaz ! I have a confession to make, I almost chickened out posting this. You see, you and I have never really interacted. I’ve just read almost all your fics and subscribe to you on Ao3. So I feel like a fangirl giving this to you. Anyway, I hope you like it. I loved Sea Squad so much, and I tried to put a little bit of that Jones Brothers/adopted family crew vibe to this. And I know from following your blog that you love Liam and Frozen Jewel, so I kept Liam alive in this and gave him a happy ending! Anyway, hope your day has been great!

This fic also solidifies that I have an addiction. An addiction to Lieutenant Duckling and historical war aus. They say the first step is to admit you have a problem . . . Is there a support group?

Summary: Every time Killian saw the beautiful blonde named Emma, she had a different last name. Maybe her whole life she’s been trying to get back to where she started. Inspired by the Goo Goo Dolls song.

Rating: T

Also on Ao3 

Words: 4,000

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @let-it-raines @shireness-says @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening

And now we’re grown up orphans that never knew their names. We don’t belong to no one that’s a shame.

 Her name was Emma Smith. His name was Killian Jones. Their parents apparently cared enough to give them the first, but not the second. Hers was knitted in the corner of a baby blanket, his was on a note pinned to the front of his sleeper that merely said: “His name is Killian. Please take care of him.” Both were left where their parents most likely thought they would be safe: Emma on a bench outside of a hospital, Killian on the front steps of a church. “Baby Smith” and “Baby Jones” were easy labels for those who found them.

Neither would remember the first time they met; sharing a crib in the Catholic orphanage. If they had been born in any other decade, they would have been quickly adopted. But this was 1932, and the nation was in the throes of a Great Depression. There were separate orphanages for boys and girls, so they didn’t share their crib for long. Killian Jones was sent to the state-run boys’ home, and by the time he saw Emma Smith again, she would have a different name.

********************************************************

He was eight years old, and though times were still rough, they were slowly but surely getting better. So much better that people were able to give once again to the less fortunate. There was slightly more food than before, slightly warmer blankets. Yet the Depression had taken its toll, and now there were twice as many orphans.

Still, the Catholic church down the street had enough donations that they could throw a modest Christmas party for the city’s orphans. The boys were spit and polished as much as they could be with what little they had and were marched the several blocks to the church. They were herded into the sanctuary under the strict gaze of their caretakers, and on the stage in front of them were the residents of the girl’s orphanage. As a gift to their guests, they did a concert of Christmas carols.

Killian barely heard the words to the song: all he could focus on was the little blonde girl in the front, her hair glowing in the lights from the flickering candles. She opened her mouth along with the others, words spilling forth, but her eyes were dull. From boredom or cynicism, he couldn’t say, but something about them was so familiar.

In the fellowship hall, the nuns served refreshments and handed out candy and trinkets to the children. There was no Santa – orphans knew better than anyone there was no such person. Killian found the little blonde girl sitting alone, nursing a peppermint stick. He shuffled his feet nervously, then finally blurted out:

“Hi, I’m Killian. Killian Jones.”

She raised both eyebrows. “Emma. Emma Miller.”

He felt himself go hot all the way to the tips of his ears, and he had no idea what to say next.

“Want a peppermint stick?” she asked, holding out a second one clutched in her other fist.

He smiled, taking the proffered sweet and sitting in the chair next to her. Neither remembered sharing a crib as newborns, but they both had the strangest feeling they had known each other a long time. Killian didn’t know that Emma acquired her new name when the Millers adopted her. He didn’t know how they had a baby of their own and sent her back to the orphanage at age three, unable to feed two young mouths. Neither did Emma tell him. As children often do, they spoke of more immediate things and giggled as they used their peppermint sticks as miniature swords.

It would be five more years before they saw one another again.

*****************************************************

Orphanages weren’t pleasant places to grow up. The common opinion was that such children needed strict discipline and a heavy hand. Mercy and grace were rare; tenderness and affection completely absent. Killian lasted until the age of eleven before he just had to get away. Boys of thirteen were cast out anyway to find work. Why wait for the inevitable?

The streets of Boston weren’t kind to a boy of eleven, however, and his freedom came at a high price and an often empty belly. There were street gangs too, and Killian was small for his age. He tried to go unseen, but it was only a matter of time before he crossed the wrong group of street kids. They had him surrounded in an alley behind an Italian restaurant. He had only been searching for food scraps; he hadn’t known it was anyone’s “territory.”

He fought back at first, flinging trash and swinging the lid of the garbage can, but eventually all he could do was duck and cover his head. Maybe if he curled into a small enough ball, they would lose interest. As the kicks and punches rained down on him, he realized how wrong he had been.

Suddenly, there was a shout and one large boy was pulled away from him, then another. The rest of the boys turned to face the new threat, and all Killian could do was scramble behind the largest trash can. He peeked around the side of it to watch three boys take on his attackers. One had sandy colored, close cropped hair and looked about his age. Another had light brown curls and was broad and strong, raining down punches with a righteous indignation in his eyes. Killian guessed he had to be at least fifteen, maybe older. The third was armed with a slingshot. The other boys couldn’t get close enough for hand to hand combat without getting pelted. He was probably somewhere in the middle of the other two age wise, perhaps thirteen.

It wasn’t long before the gang were sent running. Whoever these three were, they were tough in a fight. The question was, were they rescuing Killian or wanting him for themselves? And if the second, what for? For that reason, Killian made himself as small as possible behind the trash cans.

“It’s okay, you can come out,” one boy called to him.

“We won’t hurt you,” a second assured.

Hesitantly, Killian came out from hiding. He tasted blood on his lip, and his temple throbbed. He was sure he looked pitiful. Nevertheless, the oldest of the three boys smiled in a way that put him at ease.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked him.

“Killian. Killian Jones.”

The teenager’s grin broadened. “No kidding. My name is Jones too – Liam Jones.”

It turned out Liam had gotten his last name the same way Killian had – from being an abandoned nobody. He was going on sixteen, and the unofficial big brother of the group. The other eleven-year-old was David, and the thirteen-year-old with the slingshot was Robin. They weren’t a gang, just friends who looked out for each other because they were alone on the streets. They adopted Killian, called him “little brother” (David liked to point out he was almost twelve at every opportunity), and for the first time in his life, he was part of a family.

****************************************************

The orphaned kids of the depression were now orphaned teenagers – juvenile delinquents, according to the adults. The streets were filled with them. The ones who were old enough had joined up for the war, most of them never to return. The rest plagued the city and were easy prey to adult crime bosses. Girls were less common on the streets, but they were there. They were even more vulnerable to exploitation than the boys.

Liam said to stay away from girls; they were nothing but trouble. David had a soft spot for one particular girl with dark hair who was just as good with a slingshot as Robin. She’d run away from her stepmother after her father died. Killian was thirteen now, David nearing fourteen, Robin was fifteen, and Liam himself was almost eighteen. Liam’s “no girls” rule was quickly becoming a lost cause.

Killian saw her again for the first time in five years warming herself around a fire in a trash can behind an old canning factory. Many street children and even homeless adults had taken to socializing here, and even though there was a code of sorts, young girls were still vulnerable here.

A gray hat was pushed down onto Emma’s head, but the gold in her hair still shone bright by the flickering light. She held her hands, clad in threadbare gloves, up to the warmth. He approached her slowly, as if she were an apparition that might disappear.

“Emma?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. He must not have looked threatening (he was still rather small at thirteen, he hated to admit) because her face quickly relaxed. She tilted her head, studying him closely. He patted his chest.

“Killian Jones. The Christmas party?”

A smile slowly filled her face. “Of course. I wouldn’t forget a name like Killian.”

“Neither have I forgotten yours.”

She lifted one shoulder dismissively. “It isn’t Miller anymore, though. It’s Emma Swan now.”

“I like it,” he told her, “it suits you.”

She ducked her head, a blush staining her cheeks. “Well, the Millers threw me away, so why would I want their name?”

“May I ask why you picked Swan?”

She chewed at her lower lip. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Never.”

She let out a long sigh. “The story of the ugly duckling.”

“Ahh, I see. He was really a swan all along.”

She shrugged again.

“Like I said,” he told her, leaning closer, “I like it.”

Liam had said “no girls,” but Mary Margaret was already a constant fixture in their group, so Emma was welcomed, albeit a bit reluctantly on Liam’s part. They found an old tenement apartment, condemned by the city, to crash in. Emma was a master thief and contributed to the group’s provisions so well that she eventually won even Liam over. And when Liam brought Elsa home, shivering, her lips almost blue, the “no girls” rule was officially dead.

Elsa was different, it turned out, a runaway but with a family who loved her and never stopped looking for her. It was her sister Anna who found her crashing in the remains of the tenement and begged her to come home. No one was surprised when Elsa caved. Anna had an innocence about her that was difficult to resist. And in that moment, everything changed.

Liam was eighteen now and in love with Elsa. A girl who actually came from a decent home with a decent family. Liam had to prove himself worthy of her; it was time for him to makes something of himself. Couldn’t the rest of them understand that?

“So what will you do?” Killian asked, his jaw clenching to hold back the tears. At some point, Liam had become the bar he strove for. They may have shared a last name by chance, but in every other way Liam was his big brother. His idol.

“I’m joining the Navy.”

“Then so will I,” Robin vowed, surging to his feet.

“Me too,” David added, chin tilted in defiance.

A feeling of pride and belonging swelled in Killian’s chest. “A band of brothers. Forever.”

Mary Margaret stood by with unshed tears shining in her eyes. But Emma . . .

“You are all assholes, you know that?” she screamed, her hands fisted at her sides.

Then she ran.

Killian found her down by the docks, looking out at sea. He stood beside her wordlessly, slipping his hand in hers.

“The ocean is big,” she said.

He nodded.

“I’ll never see you again.”

“You could join too,” Killian said, his voice rising as he warmed up to the idea, “girls can, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not until they’re twenty, and besides, girls can only be nurses or secretaries. That’s not me.”

He hung his head. He knew she was right – he couldn’t see her doing either of those things and being happy.

“You’re still going, aren’t you?”

The sea wind had blown hair in her face again, and Killian reached out to tuck it behind her ear. “When I turn eighteen, yes.”

Honestly, at fourteen, it seemed a lifetime away. He had a lifetime to be here with Emma, so he traced her jaw with his fingertips and leaned in close. It was his first kiss and hers too. Their lips pressed together awkwardly; their noses bumped; they giggled and tried again. It was perfect.

*****************************************************

Four years, it turned out, wasn’t a lifetime. It was, however, long enough for Killian Jones to fall completely, hopelessly in love with Emma Swan. He and David were heading to basic training, and Emma and Mary Margaret were there to say goodbye. Mary Margaret already had an engagement ring on her finger. David had proposed the day he enlisted, just as Robin had before him with his girlfriend Marian and Liam with Elsa before that.

Emma, on the other hand, had warned Killian weeks before, “If you propose to me just because you’re joining the Navy, I swear to God, I will punch you in the face.”

Now they stood in a crowded bus station, and Killian wished he had a more private location to say what was on his heart. He couldn’t stop kissing her, couldn’t stop threading his fingers through her hair. He reached into the front of his shirt and pulled out the ring he wore on a chain around his neck.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah,” Emma protested, holding up a hand, her eyes wide.

“Calm down, I’m not proposing,” he assured her with a teasing glint to his eyes. He may have imagined it, but Emma actually looked slightly disappointed. He pressed the garnet ring into her palm and closed her fingers over it. “This ring was sewn into my baby blanket when I was left on the church steps. I want you to have it. I did as you asked by not proposing, but . . . “ he took a deep breath before looking deeply into her eyes, “I love you Emma. I vow to find my way home to you, always. Will you wait for me?”

The color drained from her face, and a sadness filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she whispered, pushing the ring back into his hand, “I can’t.”

“What?” he felt suddenly unsteady.

She shook her head rapidly, golden strands of hair brushing her cheeks, “I can't lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

Not knowing how to respond, he surged forward and kissed her with all the feeling that threatened to consume him. She kissed him back with equal fervor, and he knew it was only her fear holding her back. He pressed the ring back into her palm.

“I still want you to keep it.”

Killian understood Emma better than anyone, so when he left her at the bus station that day, he told himself that her love for him would be enough. She was just too scared to admit it. He would keep his vow, and when he got home, the two of them would have a future together. When letters didn’t come during basic training, he still held onto hope and his love for Emma.

Then June 25th, 1950 came. War was declared on Korea. Killian had been sending Emma letters religiously, and he sent her one to let her know he was shipping out. Still he got nothing in response. It didn’t matter to him, though, he would keep his vow anyway.

***************************************************

It was 1953 and Killian Jones was a young man of twenty. He was war torn, minus a left hand, but he hadn’t lost his tenacity. A man who isn’t willing to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. Growing up in an orphanage during the depression, living on the streets as a teen, and serving in the military had all taught him that. His band of brothers had all made it through alive: Liam, Robin, and David were all home and settling down with their young wives. How many others could say that? Now all he had to do was find the woman he loved and show her he had kept his vow. He didn’t even worry about his disability; it would just show Emma how much he had fought to get home to her.

Neither Mary Margaret or Elsa knew where she was; Emma had withdrawn from them shortly after the men left. That didn’t stop Killian, though. He returned to their old haunts in the city, asking everyone if they had seen her recently, showing off a well-worn photograph that had survived a war.

Finally, his searching had brought him here, to a modest apartment complex in Eastie. He straightened his shoulders and knocked.

Of all the times he had imagined seeing Emma again, he had never pictured her with a six-month- old baby on her hip. Yet there the child was, big brown eyes staring at Killian as he rested his chubby cheek on his mother’s shoulder.

“Swan!” he still couldn’t help blurting out.

“It’s Cassidy now,” she told him carefully, “Emma Cassidy.”

The new last name was like a physical blow. His gaze flickered to her left hand. There was no ring.

“Umm,” she said nervously, her free hand running through her hair. It still shimmered like gold, her eyes were still that clear shade of green. She was still breathtaking, perhaps even more so. She was a woman now.

“Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” she agreed, ushering him in. She shut the door behind them, then set the baby down in a high chair beside the kitchen table. The apartment was small, the living room and kitchen one space. She handed the baby a zwieback cracker, which he gummed happily. “He’s teething,” Emma explained as she straightened, hands fluttering nervously, “so I hope he doesn’t fuss.”

Killian swallowed as they stood there awkwardly staring at one another. Finally, he just blurted it out, “You got married?”

Emma shuffled her feet and stared at the floor. “For only about two seconds, but yeah.”

“So you’re not anymore?”

She merely shook her head.

“Emma, why?” he asked brokenly.

“I never promised you anything.” She tilted her head in defiance as she said it, yet the tremor in her chin and the moisture in her eyes sent the opposite message.

“Did you love him?”

Emma rubbed her palms on her house dress and bit her lower lip. Finally, she deflated and sighed. “What’s the point in lying to you? You could always see right through me.”

She collapsed into the kitchen chair, her head dropping to her hand. Killian’s heart broke a little at the sight, and part of him longed to go to her and just take her in his arms.

“I ignored your letters because I was afraid, but part of me still hoped we could pick back up where we left off when you got home. Then the war started . . . “ she lifted her head then to look at him, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. “My fear turned to absolute terror. I guess I thought if I could let you go in my heart, it wouldn’t tear me apart if . . . if . . . you never came home again.”

Killian’s jaw ticked, anger welling up inside. “So you what? Started sleeping around?”

She didn’t even attempt to argue with him or defend herself. “Yes. Neal, Henry’s father, was the only one who kept coming back around. The one-night stands weren’t doing the trick, so when Neal swore he loved me, I thought maybe he was the answer.” She paused, tracing the pattern on the plastic floral placemat in front of her. Killian gave her time. “When Henry came, he told me he wasn’t cut out for fatherhood, and just . . . left us. And here we are.”

She looked up at him and shrugged. She was right, he knew her so well. The shrugs, the nonchalant choice of words, all of it attempted to mask the pain he saw shining in her eyes.

“What did you mean the one-night stands weren’t doing the trick?”

Emma blinked. “Ummm . . . making me forget you.”

“And your . . . “ he closed his eyes, almost choking on the next word, “husband . . . did he do the trick?”

A single tear tracked down Emma’s face. “No.”

Silence descended between them, broken when Henry started banging on his high chair tray. He babbled “mama” in a fussy, demanding tone, and Emma hurried to get him another zwieback cracker. Once the baby was satisfied, she turned to Killian with a dejected air.

“I know it’s too late,” she told him sadly.

Killian crossed the room in long, easy strides. Her eyes widened in surprise when he grasped her upper arms. Her eyes flickered to his stump, and he realized how right he had been. She had only just now noticed. She took it in her hands, pressing her eyes closed as tears flowed freely.

“Killian,” she breathed, “what happened?”

“I survived,” he told her simply, “because I had a vow to keep.”

She gasped as she fixed her gaze on him. “You must hate me.”

He shook his head. “Never. Let me ask you one question Emma, and I want you to be completely honest. Whatever your answer, I’ll honor it. Do you still love me?”

She reached out a trembling hand to trace his jaw. “Yes,” she whispered, “I never stopped.”

Killian pressed his forehead to hers. “Neither did I. No matter where life has taken me, it always seems to lead me right back to you.”

When he claimed her lips with his, she kissed him back with abandon, her entire body trembling at his touch.

“You found me,” she said over and over against his lips, and he tasted the salt of her tears.

Emma Smith. Emma Miller. Emma Swan. Emma Cassidy. Killian had loved her even before he knew what a soul mate was. Yet nothing compared to the name she took on a beautiful spring day in 1954 – Emma Jones. It was as if it were always meant to be hers.

[jdsass]

What a life🌚

Baekhyun was hiding. The enemy could be anywhere here and he tried his best to move forward, sneak between the buildings to stay inconspicuous, without making any noise. He was almost there. He heard someone shifting outside the room and he checked his pistol and slowly moved in the shadows. He held his breath and he was about to aim when a loud "Ping!" resounded the entire room followed by multiple other pings and in a moment of distraction,he had shifted in the wrong direction and now he was dead sure that had given away his position to his enemy. Shitshitshitshit what if he had been found? Oh God this is seriously going to be a mess he can't die yet... Not at this stage when he is almost there, being one of the two sole survivors at this point, definitely not now and-

He had been shot.

Cursing under his breathe, he glared at the 'You have been killed by User:Kimjongdaewifeu' message mocking him on his screen. He was literally moments away from his chicken dinner and he was so furious he let out a wild cry and reached for his phone, the root cause of his misery, fuming with rage. Whoever is the one behind this notification,he is so gonna murder that motHERFUC-

WAIT. WHAT? A new video from SeChan? Aren't they on their vacation in LA right now? Must be one of their random vlogs. His confusion only increased further when YouTube displayed the title of the video, "SeChan-What a life- MV". It was followed by multiple messages of '@real_pcy tagged you in a post' and '@oohsehun tagged you in a post'.

Wow. So the father and son were definitely NOT on a vacation, but they had the time to compose and record a song, and even shoot a music video for that? On top of that they had the audacity to hide the entire thing from him. Or was it one of their old compositions? He doesn't remember seeing or listening to anything called 'What a life,though. He scrunched up his nose further in confusion and clicked on one of his Instagram tags. He was, indeed tagged in a picture of his husband and son wearing some expensive af suits and smirking at the camera (Goddamn he so badly wanted to wipe that smirk off of his husband's face) and he read the caption below. "@baekhyunee_exo for you🥂".

Huh. What does that even mean? Did they dedicate the song to him? He was confused all the while trying to fight the blush creeping up his face 'God Baekhyun control yourself you're not a fucking teenager you've been married for 19 years now ughhhhh' and then he scrolled down further to see his son has posted few more pictures too and tagged him in them. He decided it's time he check out the MV for himself and clicked on the YouTube notification.

The music was fresh. Totally their style. Baek was in awe at how did they manage to pull this off in literally 15 days. Pride swelled up inside him, his family has, indeed, been blessed with talent. He was even singing along with the chorus. This is gonna be a chartbuster! He immediately started replaying it once the song ended,and now the initial adrenaline rush is gone, he actually started paying attention to the lyrics and the things that he missed during the first listen. And thats when he noticed something.

"Come out if you have time

Gather around for a meeting

Circle, square, triangle, and x

It’s boring playing games everyday..."

Park.Fucking.Chanyeol. Did he just write a diss track. He can't belived that he got openly called out by his husband for being a homebody and not moving when they called him to join them on this trip. in his defense, he had a few urgent stuff to deal with, as the co-creative director of the clothing line brand he created. And he absolutely can't believe that little shit, his son, agreed to his Dad's idea? Was all the love he had shown towards his Appa a frigging lie?!???!!!! Watch him throw his shoes at this ungrateful excuse of a son the next time when he comes and tries to snuggle with his 'Baekhyunie Appa'.

But seriously though, the song was really good and Baekhyun can't help but be proud of them both and that thought, made him go soft for both his husband and his son. Not to mention how good looking the both of them were. That gave rise to another wave of exasperation inside him that now there will be a herd of fangirls ogling at his husband and his little kid. He rolled his eyes at the thought and smirked to himself, because he is the one who officially owns the ~non-existent~ ass of Park Chanyeol. Still, decided to do some snooping around, and he switched to one of his private accounts to scroll through the comment section and fight those annoying idiots.

"Oppa we're so proud of you! This is a bop🎇🎉"

"Oh God the visuals, the music, the concept everything is DOPE! We love it!!!💝💗💖💓❤️💚❤️💙💟♥️"

"Love from India!❤️"

"Stream Stream Stream!"

Seeing these type of comments filled him up with excitement and joy. The fans like it so much, too. Intellectuals.

Baekhyun scrolled past the typical comments and decided he had done enough of undercover work and thought of exiting the comment section, that's when he noticed few stuff written in hangul. He thought he saw wrong, and squinted his eyes to see what was written once again.

A loud snort escaped him. Inappropriate scenes? Oh if only he could, he would show everyone the REAL inappropriate. And what did the poor yacht do? When did girls dancing on a yacht became a crime? Can't two gay men party with girls? Also why does it hurt these idiotic fangirls, when they can't even seem to digest the fact that their 'oppars' won't even spare a glance at any woman, let alone these dancers. He had his devilish grin on, and he started sending a plethora of attacks ranging from a middle finger emoji to comments like 'I hope you choke and di e, bitxh' (very mature, Baekhyun) to everyone who attempted to even touch his babies, his earlier annoyance at both of them totally forgotten, and he was starting to feel happier inside the more people he fought..

His little counter attack session was interrupted by a phone call. He saw the caller ID and his face lit up but in a nanosecond, the fury came flooding back.

"YAAAH PARK CHANYEOL! DO YOU WANNA DIE?!!!!" he literally started screaming into the phone and he was able to hear his son cackling in the background.

"I told you Dad, keeping the speaker mode on and putting that phone 5 metres away was a good idea. I knew that Appa was gonna scream like that!" his son managed to somehow speak all the while wheezing and trying not to die.

"Did you like it, Baekhyunee?" the deep voice of his husband brimmed with expectation and adoration sent a shiver down Baek's body. Oh God no wonder this giant puppy of a human can literally get away with anything he does, Baekhyun sure becomes a puddle of goo whenever he hears his husband's voice spoken to him closely and intimately. He can still hear the faint dying whale noises of his son somewhere in the background.

"Ofcourse, you big baby. I loved it. But you sneaky little shits hid a whole song production from me. I'm mad."

"Well then how do you want me to make it up to you, Baek?"

"Ew can you two please stop for now and continue this when I'm not here I don't wanna know the details-"

"PARK SEHUN YOU BRAT!"

[turquoisephoenix]

Eye for an Eye

A Skylanders one shot Every evil villain has to start somewhere. For Dr. Krankcase, his villainous career unfolded in the most classic of fashions - with a petty act of revenge. Saw a post somewhere saying that no one writes the villains being the villains so I decided to fill that void and write a little something involving Dr. Krankcase doing what a villain would do and ruin a bunch of people’s lives. Minor content warning for violence. Rating: T for violence. Characters: Dr. Krankcase, the Evilikin ————————————————-

It had been a crisp, uneventful summer night when Hawkthorn Keep fell to ruin.

Like most structures built by the Drow, the elves of Skylands that had turned to The Darkness and considered themselves the true leaders of the skies, Hawkthorn Keep was built purely with function in mind with none of the frills expected from the elf race. It was a small fortress - unremarkable by evil fortress standards really - made entirely of black stone and shaped by Earth magicks. Not a single tree was harmed in its creation; the drow may be evil, but they were still elves through and through.

The Keep had one purpose - protection. Like a panther made out of brick and mortar, it sat hunched next to the enchanted forest that shared both its floating island and its name, guarding it from harm and wordlessly marking the island and Hawkthorn Forest as Drow Territory.

The only other building on the island was a tiny structure that sat on the opposite end of a forest, far newer and far less imposing than the stronghold. Several months ago, an invader had landed on the island and had built a small makeshift factory there in order to experiment on the raw timber from the forest. He had made a bold attempt to keep it all a secret - he had even tried to argue that he wasn't going to be there long - but the drow saw to it that his operation was stopped before he could turn any more of the forest's trees into wooden monstrosities. Already the forest was reclaiming the sad burnt out husk of a building, with vines and tree roots snaking through the cracked stones and shattered timber. New growth was already forming in the tiny place near the factory that was clear cut for raw materials.

"Commander, you've received this message via carrier bird."

Commander Florin didn't even look up from his desk as he worked on the Keep's accounts, his fingers stained black with ink. Like any dark elf worth his mettle, he dared not to trust anyone else with the calculations of his keep's treasury. Instead, he tallied all the gold that went into his coffers by hand, mumbling to himself and scratching his chin. His war armor hung on the wall behind a display case, its well-polished steel catching the light from the candles that illuminated his room.

Like Hawkthorn Keep, he was rather unremarkable by drow standards. He was lean and well-toned, a middle-aged drow that had seen the sting of combat many times. His hair was already fading to grey in places, the light in his white glowing eyes was already starting to fade, and retirement was now something that floated in the back of his mind. He knew that he was stationed here not because of anything extraordinary done in his life but because no one else was; Hawkthorn was so far away from any major base of drow operations that the other Commanders often cracked jokes on how long it'd be before the trolls, the other species of elves, or even the Skylanders claimed it.

And, in his mind, that made his job even more important. He alone made sure that Hawkthorn Forest was in the hands of the superior race of Skylands.

After standing there in silence for a good minute, the young elf cadet realized he wasn't going to get a verbal answer, cleared his throat, and began to read from the scroll out loud. "To whom it may concern, the suspect responsible for cutting down part of your forest has escaped. We don't believe he's dangerous, but he sees you responsible for his accident and might try to retaliate. If he attacks your fortress, please capture him alive and send him safely to us. Fond regards, The Mabu Defense Force."

Florin still didn't answer, leaving the younger elf to fidget in place.

"The subject they're speaking of is the inventor we apprehended more than a month ago." the cadet added with a hesitant smile.

Ah yes, Florin remembered that day well. A scout had alerted him of a troll-like beast that had set up shop in his forest and was chopping down his trees, so he sent a squad of twenty elves to bring them to justice. The intruder, a miserable-looking creature with blue hair, green skin, and yellow eyes, took one look at the spears pointed at him and fled as fast as his webbed feet could carry him.

They didn't carry him far.

In their haste of ridding their land of the terrible blight that the intruder had brought them, the elves had accidentally made the roof collapse. They found the trespasser pinned to the ground, sobbing in pain and weakly clawing at the several tons of metal and timber trapping his legs. Had it been up to Florin, that would've been the end - a swift spear to the throat would've been an act of mercy at that point - but then Master Eon and the Skylanders, who had picked up a distress signal from the intruder, intervened. The green creature escaped with his life, but now missing two of his limbs. An appropriate punishment for harming a drow forest.

"Hmph. Only Mabu would lose a prisoner with no legs." The Commander answered with a dry chuckle. Florin, like most elves, had nothing fond to say about Mabu. But then again, he had nothing nice to say about anyone who wasn't a drow.

"Toss the scroll in the garbage and return to your post. Dismissed." he barked. The cadet quickly saluted and hurried out the door, his armor rustling in his wake.

With a snort, Florin's head bent over the many papers littering his desk and he began tallying the accounts once more. As he sipped idly on some mint tea (previously stolen from a Mabu airship that had sailed too close to the keep a couple weeks prior), the dark elf was confident that there'd be no more interruptions.

He was wrong.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to his office suddenly exploded inward in a lime green flash and crashed in an awful heap of metal and glowing green goo on top of his desk, ruining an entire day's hard work in mere seconds. Suddenly, tallying up the keep's books wasn't on Florin's mind as he leapt to his feet and watched as a sinister wooden and flesh monstrosity with a gun in each hand and clothes the color of dried blood slowly scuttled into his office on five wooden spider legs.

"Knock knock." hissed a very familiar intruder as a Cheshire cat grin split his face in half.

It was the same intruder as before - the creator of the tiny factory that Florin ordered to be destroyed - but there was something...different about him. Something had changed in the frog-like creature, something that unsettled the drow. He wasn't thinking about how the bottom half of his body was now a madman's facsimile of a spider's legs made out of wood and hydraulics. Nor was he thinking about how the intruder got a costume change in the short time that had passed, switching from a simple workshop ensemble with an apron to a classy red top hat and coat.

No, what really made Florin's flesh crawl was the utter madness glittering in the creature's eyes. He was grinning wildly like a wolf, lips drawn fiercely back away from his bottom tusks, as he locked eyes with the dark elf. A darkness had claimed this creature's soul where there had just been quiet meekness before, and inwardly Florin wondered just what kind of monster he accidentally unleashed onto Skylands that fateful day.

"Hello there! I don't believe we've been properly introduced." The intruder said in a cheerful voice that didn't match the bloodlust that glinted off his eyes. "My name is Dr. Krankcase and you are Commander Florin, Head of Hawkthorn Keep. I do believe the two of us have unfinished business, don't we?"

Florin, despite his many years of training, could feel fear creep into his bloodstream, freezing him in place. 'So much for the Mabu believing he wasn't dangerous,' he thought grimly. "How did you get past my guards?" he said, keeping his voice even. Oh how he wished his armor wasn't hanging uselessly behind glass...

Dr. Krankcase looked casual, conversing as if he had met his best friend at the local farmer's market.

"Oh you know, I'm a pretty versatile doctor. A kick to the face here, an explosive there, and everyone got their own helping of sleep medication." Florin's eyes quickly darted to the creature's legs again, and he noticed with horror that there were droplets of blood on some of them. "Speaking of which-"

Dr. Krankcase shot Florin's hand with a bullet of green acid as it reached for a spear that was hanging on the wall. The elf screamed in raw agony.

"No weapons while I'm making a house call." he said in a cheeky tone as if scolding a child.

"Why are you here!?" Florin pleaded desperately as he crouched behind his desk, one hand grasping the other as he clawed vainly at his knuckles in order to tear the sticky goo from his flesh. An acrid smell was filling the air as the awful scientist's concoction sizzled and popped on his hand.

"I'm operating with the three R's. Retaliation. Reimbursement. Revenge!" he said eagerly as he moved closer, his legs clanking noisily against the stone floor. He leaned in closer to the dark elf, savoring every moment of Florin's agony.

"The destruction of my factory - among other things - put me behind schedule and also put a dent in my savings so I figured that you'd make a humble donation of-" he quickly mimed counting on his gloved fingers. "All of the gold and valuables in your keep."

Anger replaced pain and fear, so shocking was the audacity of the intruder. Did he really think he could march into his keep, fancy new legs or no, and steal from him? Florin's back went rigid as he shouted in the monster's face as he still clutched his burnt hand. "Vile dog! And how do you plan on doing that!? My soldiers outnumber you 100 to 1!"

The damned wolf's grin never left Dr. Krankcase's face.

"Ohohoho, I was waiting for you to ask that question..." he chuckled, happily rubbing his hands together.

It was then that Florin noticed that there telltale background noise of war outside his keep. Dr. Krankcase had kept him so distracted that he didn't even notice until now. The clash of steel rang through the air like church bells on a wedding day and Florin could feel the bottom of his stomach plummet to his knees as the intruder laughed.

"You...might want to turn around." Dr. Krankcase said.

Numbly, the elf did what he was commanded, turning his back to the mad inventor and slowly walking to the window behind his desk in a sleepwalker's daze. His injured fingers lightly grazed stone as he gripped onto the windowsill to keep himself from falling over in shock. What Commander Florin saw outside defied explanation.

Hundreds of monsters (for what other word could he use for these things?) made out of wood, hideous constructs of a mad scientist, shrugged off every spear attack and arrow with ease, their eyes glowing yellow in the darkness of night. They were swarming the keep in a pincer formation, engulfing his small battalion of trained soldiers. Most of his soldiers were already either laying in a senseless heap on the ground, bound by the wrists in rope, or had surrendered. Weapons were effortlessly seized and carried away to one of the many small ships moored at the floating island's edge.

"Did you really think that I would attack your keep first?" came a mocking voice, inches away from his right ear, as he watched a giant made out of wood smash open the door to the treasury and lead smaller clockwork constructs in. Their wooden talons were greedily snatching away any treasure chest they could find. Fistfuls of gold coins gleamed in a creature's claws. "When all of Skylands is just full of poorly maintained troll factories and lumber yards? You will find that this new model of Evilikin is not so easily destroyed."

Even without looking behind him, he could feel Dr. Krankcase shrug. "But look at me, I'm forgetting the real reason why I'm in your office!"

Without missing a beat, Krankcase punched the middle-aged elf in the face, sending him crashing backwards and laid him flat to the floor. The Commander of Hawkthorn Keep didn't even try to get up.

"Do you know how good it feels to be able to finally do that, Commander!? After waiting so long for my chance while I recovered in a hospital bed, hearing from doctors that I would never walk again!?" Dr. Krankcase yelled, his everlasting smile finally dissolving and revealing the bubbling fountain of rage that the scientist had kept bottled in all this time. He slowly advanced, legs clicking against the floor. He was practically shaking in rage as he placed a spider leg on the commander's chest.

"Like 'em? Had to build them myself after you so graciously destroyed my previous pair!" he hissed. The other four legs maneuvered themselves until Dr. Krankcase was standing on top of Florin, pinning him down like a juicy fly in a spider's web. Wisps of smoke were now rising up outside; Dr. Krankcase paid it no mind. He wanted to relish in this moment.

"Do you know how many days I went without sleep, trying to prove those doctors wrong? At first I tried to rebuild my two legs with wood and metal, but then I realized that I could do something far more creative." A spider leg crept to his neck and began applying pressure there. Florin lightly sobbed in terror. "Why create duplicates of my older legs when I can create something more powerful? That's when I had an epiphany and went with nice, dependable spider legs. They leave a lasting impression, don't they? Certainly proved everyone wrong!"

The drow didn't answer and Dr. Krankcase kept standing there, perched on his prey, sizing him up. The scientist opened his mouth to say something - whether it was more gloating or a threat on his life Florin would never know - when the sound of heavy footfalls made out of gears and timber came crashing towards them, causing the mad scientist to turn his head towards the hallway.  

"Yo Boss, we've found every shiny thing and valuable we could find!" called a heavy voice behind them, emerging from a jaw with loud metal joints and rotating clockwork parts. From his position on the floor, Florin couldn't see the owner of the voice, and honestly, he was grateful for that. All he knew was that the creature dwarfed both of them.

"Great job, Scrap Shooter!" Dr. Krankcase said, answering him fondly like a long-time friend. He crawled off the elf commander and casually brushed the dirt off of his coat. "Load up the ships, we'll be leaving very soon!"

He turned his head to look down at his captive, fingers idly playing with the two guns strapped to his waist. "Now I'm a pretty friendly guy so today, I'm going to let you off with just a stern warning and a slap on the wrist. Everyone in your keep gets to stay alive, and all you get to lose is a couple buildings and-" he paused as a series of explosions rocked the island, sending dust cascading down from the ceiling. "-and all of your valuables. Lucky you!"

Dr. Krankcase's arm, quick as chain lightning, suddenly shot out and he grabbed the drow by the throat. He lifted him off the floor until their eyes met and he smiled, bottom tusks glimmering under the candlelight, as his gloved hand started crushing Florin's windpipe, cutting off airflow. Rigor mortis set in the scientist's grin as choking sounds filled the air, turning it into a grimace laced with venom.

"However...if you so much as send a scout after me, I will chop off their legs and mail them back to you gift-wrapped. You try to take revenge yourself, and I'll see just how many bones I can break in your body before you start begging me for the sweet release of death."

He brought the elf closer, his voice dropping in volume until it was barely louder than a whisper.

"Do I make myself clear, Commander?"

The Commander of Hawkthorn Keep's only response was a faint wheeze. The world was starting to turn black. Stars began to burst in his vision but still he managed to nod.

"Gooooooood..."

He dropped the elf to the floor like a piece of trash, leaving him to gasp helplessly for air.

"Farewell, Hawkthorn Keep! May we never meet again!" Dr. Krankcase called, and with those words, he crawled out of the window like a giant insect and jumped, landing effortlessly on his feet and rushing to meet his creations.

Numbly, after laying on the floor gathering up his final reserves of strength, the disgraced and beaten commander shakily rose to his feet. Using his ruined desk as balance, he could only look out the window and watch as the small fleet of ships flew away from the floating island, leaving behind only chaos in their wake. It was this small action that allowed Florin to see that Dr. Krankcase left him one final parting gift - one final twist to the knife in his gut - to complete his act of revenge.

Hawkthorn Forest was on fire.

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

Dr. Krankcase crouched next to several open treasure chests full of gold as his airship cut through the night sky with several smaller vessels filled with Evilikin trailing behind him. Hawkthorn Keep was now nothing more than a glowing red dot on the horizon, already fading into the clouds, its purpose in his life fulfilled.

His fingers rubbed a gold coin idly as he stared off into the endless skies that unfolded in front of him, lost in thought and the gravity of just what he did sinking into his bones as the roaring sound of the ship's engine filled his senses. He was still getting used to his diminished sense of touch in his fingers, which were now scarred at the fingertips from when he tried to claw himself free from several tons of wood and metal.

In his mind's eye, he could see a future that would never come to pass - a future where he had made exactly one hundred Woodikin, submitted them for peer review to his fellow scientists, and then received a giant grant to begin mass-producing them so that they could benefit every race in Skylands. In this future, he'd be a well-respected scientist, an inventor of a household brand of robotic assistant. He would've brightened the lives of many.

A couple months ago, Dr. Krankcase, a young inventor fresh out of school with a brand new doctorate and a bright idea shining in his clever little brain, would've been horrified at what he did tonight. Now, he was surprised at how good he felt. He flexed the hand that once held the elf's throat. That level of cruelty came so naturally to him and a mixture of emotions overwhelmed him. Was he revolted? Yes. But he wasn't ruling out the possibility of doing it all over again either.

His hunger for vengeance was satisfied - he had no desire to keep holding onto a grudge against an entire race or even against that specific commander - and he had built more than enough wooden creations to prove that his newly invented goo concoction could bring things to life. By all accounts, the Skylanders should see him as a hero for bringing down a drow keep like that. He was a smart man - he could come up with a very convincing excuse to sway the Skylanders to his side.

"Boss, what's your next command?" said the wooden robot at the ship's wheel.

But then again, he thought to himself as darkness wove its tendrils around his soul, why should he play by the rules? He was through with playing nice - after all, playing nice was what cost him his legs. Perhaps this was a more fruitful job opportunity. He closed a fist around the gold coin as he thought about the many more gold coins he could see in this bright, new future - more alien and darker than the one now closed to him - unfolding in front of him.

He turned to face his wooden subjects, smile on his face. They all gazed up to him, their master, in raw adoration. Perfect.

"Fly to the nearest settlement! Town, keep, castle. Troll, Drow, or Mabu. It doesn't matter who or what we attack so long as they have gold and lumber!" he yelled to his Evilikin with his fists clenched in triumph.

A rousing cheer - inhuman and terrible but still music to his ears - filled the air as his wooden creatures screamed towards the sky in exhilaration.

Dr. Krankcase beamed in pride and then let the gold coin fall from his hands. He made his choice now.

"It's time for me to make a name for myself."

[giddleford]

I had a dream

Buckle up cause it's a long one.

I was somewhere in the mountains, snowy ones, a village close by. I was there with friends and family, perhaps just coming back from skiing or with the intention to do so at some point. We were entering this village with an old cozy atmosphere, smooth stoned floors and small buildings that had white walls with the wooden structures poking out, very north European. We then walked through a tunnel in between the houses, one that connected to a back street in an odd twisted way. As I walked and the tunnel became wider I spotted something on the floor, it was a token of some sort, one that I connected with the game theorists. I picked it up, this was my first choice, and then spotted more. It was like collecting candy from a broken piñata, frantic and with ambition to get the most. Other people were joining in, I didn't know them but I knew they were as ambitious as I was.

Just like it happens in the dream world a green arcade style machine appeared. I could exchange these golden coin tokens for merchandise, merchandise that I desperately wanted. I kept collecting, tokens going from the beautiful gold they were to this black goo that mashed together in a random bucket that suddenly had come into my possession. I was winning, I knew this for certain, and I did in fact win. A high wooden platform with a giant hamburger suddenly came into my vision, it was all very logical in that moment but it wasn't there before. I jumped onto the platform and a voice declared me the winner. My prize was to open this giant burger that had been tied together with some rope, but when I did everything went black. I had been stuffed into an octopus costume. I knew it was pink and that it had tentacles, so it might have been a Spongebob jellyfish since it all had to do with Spongebob all of a sudden. It didn't matter anyway, I could feel a flubber ring over my face, of which rubbery tentacles came out, covering my eyes and mouth. The ends of my feet were exposed and the rest was covered with the outside layer of the costume. It was if I had turned into a toy and I could feel how others would touch my legs and sides to play with me.

Through the darkness I heard a voice, it was, oddly enough, PewDiePie. He was talking about a mission, about how he was tired of a certain type of people that I can't recall. He wanted to eradicate them, he wanted to use me. While he was talking I could see him, a headshot of his face with a castle in the back. He was angry and determined, and most importantly, I agreed. My vision changed it was not longer him, it was a drawing of ared bellied snake shedding it's skin, giving birth to a snake who's accent color was blue instead of red. I knew the blue snake was me, and that I was the weapon. I remembered very well that this would make other people angry, that the viewers would be shouting, that PewDiePie was going to be painted as a villain once again. This only means that I knew other people would see it, and in a way, if you're reading this, you are.

Out of the blue, I was no longer trapped, yet I still felt like I had to continue with caution. I was in an alley, very blue and dark from the night, very orange and bright from the lamp post not too far away. To my right there was a grey grainy wall, to my left, blue fog. I saw someone in front of me. They were in a crisp white suit, black shirt and red tie. It was Darkiplier, big shockers here, and he was talking to me. Curiously enough he wasn't glitching, he didn't have any of the voice effects, he was pretty regular so he might have been just Mark. He was trying to seduce me, he wanted me to be with him forever, but it just felt wrong, unnerving, untrustworthy. He gave me two options, I could either go with him or go back through a door in my right, one that would take me to where I was before. I looked at the door, it was ajar and through the crack I could see flashes of previous events. Then I looked ahead of me, Dark was gone from his previous spot, he was at the back sitting behind a table, very office style. I knew I had two options yet I decided to do something else, I looked behind me and suddenly thought, what would happen if I ran in that direction? I made a run for it, going as fast as I could towards the diffused white light but I was pulled back. As if I was tied to a string I was pulled and I found myself sitting in a dining table, with Dark in front of me.

I remember pretty well how we weren't alone, there were more people sitting in the dining table with us, enjoying the feast. There was this girl in Dark's side that I recognized, it was a friend of mine that for narration and personal protection purposes I will call Eve. He had his arm around her, blatantly flirting the both of them and it filled me with a lot of dark emotions. First of all disgust, honestly they were being cloggy. Then it was anger, I was right in front of them and they acted as if I wasn't there. Finally it was jealously, a strong jealously that burned inside me like a strong acid close to spilling out. The fascinating thing is that I don't know what I was jealous of. Was it Dark, the one who promised me to be with him forever? Was it Eve, this gorgeous friend I have in real life that I really wouldn't mind kissing? Or was it what they had? It didn't matter because they stopped. Eve was now sitting beside me and Dark was talking to me. He has sensed my jealously and teased me about it, he also found it funny how I thought running the opposite direction would work. People had started eating and I joined, asking for a pot of ice cream in the other side of the table. He stared at me with disgust as if he thought me better than try play his games. Really I just wanted to try that ice cream. It was unexpected when Eve whispered to me something of great importance. Now, this is based in real life so when I heard it I felt kinda dumb for not thinking of it earlier. She told me her strategy was playing dumb. Eve is really smart, like genius smart but she doesn't look like it because that's what she wants people to see. Except that in this very moment she wasn't being the most smart for she was repeating the statement increasingly louder. She did stop though.

I fused with her, taking my number 18 and mixing it with her 3, hoping, really hoping that this would work. I saw the two numbers flash intermittently, one after the other, increasingly faster in a dark green background. For a moment I thought it would've worked, but it didn't. Dark was talking once again, I felt stupid for thinking he wouldn't have noticed that really loud whispering Eve was making. He laughed at me, did I really think that would work? Oh look how cute, she still had hope. I was going to be trapped forever, and there was nothing I could do about it. Except, it reset. I was back in the alley, with the two options, and the extra one I had discovered. Perhaps it did work, perhaps it didn't and I was bound to be always trapped, it didn't matter, because I woke up.