#so cliche that it's completely possible too. i think his GHOST killed everyone either right before the deliveryman arrives or

[7-oh-ta1]

This is a horror game post don't freak out lmao

I can't decide which I think is canon: Kohei broke and killed everyone in the apartments BEFORE the landlord killed him, or if I think Kohei (as a spirit) killed everyone AFTER he was killed

[snlhostharry]

crooked love

harry x reader

1.5k words

you and harry are broken up, he lives down the block and something has you up at three in the morning. 

a/n: yes this is based on I wish you would by Taylor Swift, yes everyday I think about what would’ve happened if harry had pulled the car over <3 

It’s way too early to be awake. You’re not quite sure what time it is, but it’s early enough that the sun shows no signs of rising to signal the morning. You have to go to work in a few hours, but you can’t sleep. Something is keeping you awake, something keeps drawing you towards your bedroom window. You lean against the headboard and let out a sigh, you’re mind drawing back to the one thing you don’t want to think about. It’s one of those nights where you lie awake and let yourself think too much about all the mistakes that you’ve made, the things you didn’t say, and the things that you did. 

You refuse to believe that Harry Styles is your one that got away. Mostly because it’s cliche, to have some celebrity be your one that you regret letting walk right out of the door (he actually got into his car and drove away but still), the whole thing sounds like an over-romanticized version of a story told in some books and fantasies by fangirls. It’s also to avoid the truth, the truth that if he came to your door right now and said that he wanted you back you would say yes, you would forget everything and you would say that you were sorry. There’s so many things to apologize for, there are so many things to say but the words die on the tip of your tongue, and the thought of texting or calling leaves your fingers paralyzed. 

He did say, “Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you're sorry too,” in his song. You think the song is beautiful, but you can’t listen to it anymore. Instead your content just staring out the window at what you’ve discovered is three am, thinking about how he bought that house just down the block from your apartment, thinking about what he must be doing right now. 

You look down at the street, the morning fog hovering just above the road, the streetlights barely illuminate the grass on either side. It all looks haunted, just like you are, because if you look down at the sidewalk you can see him still standing there. Like a ghost, the memory of that moment stays with you, even though it's been a year, and even though there have been other guys since then. There’s just something about the kind of emotion contained in that moment, the kind of love that makes you fall so hard and fast, that pushes every button, so much so that there’s only one possible way it can end: in flames. The kind of raw emotion carried in the way that you screamed at him, and he stood there taking it until he just couldn’t anymore. 

“You never loved me!” You scream. The force of your anger could shake the streetlights if you allowed it to, if you had enough power to show him. “You forgot about me like it was nothing, all you cared about was your career, and who you were going to be seen with.” 

“I love you,” He says, the eerie calmness in his voice counteracting the abject emotion in yours. At the time you’d taken that to mean that he didn’t care about you, that you loved him more than he could ever love you, that here you were again stuck wounded out in the cold. Everyone could see you bleeding, he could see you bleeding. “I love you, now. I don’t know what I can do to make you believe that.” 

“You should’ve been here!” You tell him, “That’s how you show me! You show me by being here, instead of out somewhere with some girl instead of just calling me.” He doesn’t say anything, “All I see is that I mean nothing to you.” 

“Are you just going to keep yelling at me?” He asks, his voice harsh. “Can we have a conversation? Can I come in?”

You cross your arms, “No.” 

“y/n-” 

“No. I am so angry with you right now, if I let you in I might just kill you and hide the body.” 

He throws his arms in the air in frustration, “Fine! If you’re not even going to try to listen to me, then I’m going to go home.”

“Then go home, or go out or do whatever you want.” 

He looks at you and shakes his head. You don’t move to go in, you stand there, watching him get into his car and at last watching him leave. The anger rising in your chest destroys all taste of reason, in hindsight you shouldn’t have let him leave like that. You shouldn’t have let him think that you hated him so much that you would never speak to him again. 

Time keeps marching on. You stand at the window now, but somehow you're also still standing on the sidewalk watching his car drive down the road and disappear into oblivion. This has been a ritual the last couple of days, you waking up with a strange kind of sleeplessness, staring out at the street stuck between two moments that are in complete juxtaposition to one another. There was a week where he would call you everyday, sometimes twice a day, and you always hung up. You wish now that you would’ve picked up the phone. 

How long is it going to take you to admit that you’re waiting for him at the window? He has that house down the street, and sometimes you swear you see his new car drive down the street with its windows down. It makes your heart skip a beat everytime because sometimes you convince yourself that it’s not his car, that he’s in his house with some model not even thinking about you in the slightest. Other times, you wish that he would just pull over and knock on your door. 

A car passes by the window, the headlights momentarily illuminating your room. You take that as a sign that you should go back to sleep, so you lay down in the bed again, trying to stop your spiralling thoughts. But the room is illuminated again with white headlights and you sit up. A car is pulled over next to the sidewalk, and suddenly the door opens. You grab your phone, ready to call the police to report an intrudenter but when the figure stands under the light of the lamppost you almost drop your phone to the floor. 

The next thing you know you’re standing outside the door, hands shaking as you reach for the doorknob. You know exactly what’s behind it, but you think you might be dreaming, or subject to sleep deprivation. Suddenly, your hand is on the doorknob and you finally open it. 

Harry Styles looks the same. The same as he did on Instagram last week, the same as he did in his contact photo (him smiling like an idiot on a beach in italy) and the same as he did when he got into the car and drove off, a fact which sends a chill down your spine. What is this? Whos’ to say that even if he is here to say sorry or to ask you to try again that there's even a chance that it would work out this time? 

“Hi,” He says semi awkwardly as he stands there. 

You lean against the doorframe, “It’s early.” 

“I know,” He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know if you would be awake.” 

“Funny story,” You say, “I’ve been awake for an hour.” 

He half smiles, “So have I.” A pause. “I have to tell you something.”

“You’ve been driving past my house for the past week, with your windows rolled down, yeah?” 

“How did you know?” 

“Recognised your car,” You say, “From when I drove past your new place.” 

“Oh.” 

“You wrote a song about me,” You break the silence, “And you bought a house a block away from me.”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

You cross your arms, “No shit.” You relent, “I’ve been thinking about you too. To the point where I stare at my phone, and I think about calling you.” 

“I called a lot.” 

“You did,” You say with a sigh. “I’m sorry for screaming at you, you didn’t deserve that.” 

“I thought you hated me,” He says.

As much as you’ve selfishy imagined the moment he showed up at your door, and you were able to tell him all of the things you should’ve said that night, standing here with it actually happening throws you for such a loop that you don’t know what to say. “The life you live can be overwhelming,” You tell him, “I was mad because I was confused, and I miss you.” You keep going, “I constantly miss you. I was mad for awhile, and then I started missing you. Then I got mad at myself because I realized I was going to have to spend the rest of my life missing you.”

“And I drove past your house everyday for a month,” He smiles. 

“And I was sitting at the window when you pulled up,” His words finally hit you after he says it, “Wait a month?”

He laughs, “Can I come in now?” 

“Yes.” 

[capriciouswriting]

— coping mechanisms.

pairing: agent whiskey / unnamed (agent absinthe) oc. (ao3, oc pinterest aes)

warnings: angst. minor character death. mentions of blood, drugs and guns. swearing.

word count: 1.6k

angst prompts from this list:

52. “Don’t look at me like that.”

59. “I’m fine. Stop asking.”

45. “You can’t keep it all inside, you know? Bottling it up won’t do any good.”

Her older brother had been the only good thing in her life. Granted, she couldn’t say the same for him. She was a complicated woman, someone who was too difficult to handle and much too opinionated for her own good. She was frustratingly unabashed, and far too lacking in the self-care department.

Her brother was too good to her, far too kind, and far too forgiving. He put up with all her bullshit, and loved her through it all. He saw her for who she was before the booze, drugs and guns - saw who she could be, even when she forgot who that was. He didn’t have to try and always help, he had a good job working security for some whiskey making company (she learns differently later, of course), and had left her back in Texas while he made his way to Kentucky. Whilst her brother moved onto bigger and better things, becoming successful and making good money, she moved down and started to get mixed in with the wrong people. 

It wasn’t always like this, either, for a while she had been doing well and was even enlisted in the police academy - ranking as the top female in her class and best overall with her weaponry. She was doing well, but the tragic cliche story of most downfalls is usually just that - tragic and cliche. A bad boyfriend who got her mixed into his bad business, promises of material goods and an everlasting love. Her brother warned her countless times, telling her that the man was no good for her and the two nearly exchanged fists when he spoke badly to her in front of her older brother. The only good decision she made while her brother was still here was leaving that boyfriend, the bad decision was that she was already knee deep in bad shit to just up and leave. 

So, she didn’t.

When her brother died, she felt like a ghost of herself. The two men on the doorstep of her barren apartment looked upset, feeling the loss of her brother heavy on their own shoulders. This is when everything was explained to her by a man who simply went by “Agent Champagne”. Her brother wasn’t just running security for a whiskey company, and the low-life drug and gun running business she worked for had been the reason her brother was no longer around to bother her.

(“He was doing it for you,” Champ explains, “He wanted to get you out.”)

She couldn’t bring herself to cry, but what she did do was run straight to her bathroom and vomit all the contents of her stomach. The emotions coursing through her becoming all too much for her to handle in that single moment. 

When she’s sitting across from the two men again, Champ’s voice barely meets her ears as he speaks. She knows she’s looking directly at the one in the black hat, Agent Whiskey, as he looks at her with such disdain she swears he thinks she killed her brother with her own two hands. She can’t bite her tongue, she wishes she had more self control to, but in that moment she can’t find it within herself to be polite towards Whiskey.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

She has to take her anger out on someone, she thinks, and he just happens to be the one to mess with the bull.

They’re in each other's faces before Champ can even really comprehend,Whiskey going nose to nose with her. She’s unafraid, looking at him dead in the eye while her nostrils flare with anger - and if Whiskey weren’t so angry with her he would’ve commended the bravery. But he’s too angry, and so is she, so instead they’re standing toe to toe while Champ is pushing on both of their chests and trying to yell over them to step away.

She does, and asks them to quickly leave so she can finally stop her hands from shaking and so she can focus on what she’s going to do next. Champ breaks her heart, though, explaining that they can’t do that. He explains that her brother had explicitly stated, if he had died, she was to be in the care of the Statesmen. And as angry as she was with Agent Whiskey, she couldn’t bring herself to go against anything her brother would ask. Not anymore.

Not when the guilt was clawing its way up from her stomach, into the valves of her heart, and threatening to escape through her throat like the vomit. The guilt and anger burned her insides while simultaneously turning her veins into ice, making everything ache - from her bones to her soul.

She learned about the Statesmen slowly, mostly unwilling. Meeting them all one by one but staying obnoxiously close to Champagne. Memories of her brother were shared between everyone as time went on, except Agent Whiskey. His own judgement clouding any sense of actually getting to know her. They both steered clear of each other for a long time, despite Champ speaking to them both individually about the matter. Whiskey was, after all, her brother’s best friend within the Statesmen. But neither of them heeded the advice. Sneers and glares were haughtily shared, and there was one more instance where Tequila had to step in between the two in question when they got into another yelling match about her brother.

(“It’s your fault he’s gone, he was trying to protect you from your shitty decisions!” Whiskey had yelled at her, she swung at him as soon as the words left his mouth. Choosing to lash out physically instead of verbally.)

This time they completely avoid each other, and as more time passes she becomes more involved and acquainted with Statesmen business. Champ kept his last promise to her brother, and when she finally took over her brother’s title as Agent Absinthe, Agent Whiskey was none too happy. He stomped out of the meeting room despite voting her in, but tells himself it’s because it’s what her brother would’ve wanted. Not him.

They go back to not speaking, and avoid each other at all points humanly possible. This changes when they’re sent on a field mission together to watch and infiltrate the same group of people she was once affiliated with, the same group of people who killed her brother - and the same group of people who nearly killed her.

Whiskey barely got her out, and she had been covered in blood and screaming obscenities at him and the people who had killed her brother. Absinthe is barely able to walk right, and she’s leaning so heavily on him that he’s practically carrying her out. Arm wrapped around her middle, her own arms wrapped around his neck for support. She’s lame in one leg, blood oozing from a gunshot wound she had sustained early on. 

(“They’re dead, Absinthe, they’re dead,” Whiskey chanted to her as he hauled her away, she’s still panting out obscenities, “I promise, they’re gone.”)

Her body is starting to feel heavy, to both Whiskey and herself. So, he gets them a safe distance away from the chaos before he stops, setting Absinthe on the ground carefully. He works quickly, removing the belt around his waist and wrapping it around her thigh. He keeps asking her under his breath if she’s okay but she’s refusing to speak or even look his way.

“Hey,” He snaps his fingers in front of her face in an attempt to get her attention. Her breathing has slowed, and she looks far away. Like she’s there, but not really, “You okay?”

“I’m fine, stop asking.”

He frowns, aggravated. Whiskey wants to shoot something back at her, and feels like he has every reason to be an asshole.

“Why’d you get me out of there? You don’t even like me.”

He looks up as she speaks. She’s paler, and covered in blood in random places on her face and clothes. But when Whiskey looks at her, really looks at her, he sees the dark circles under her eyes and the smallest indent of her cheeks sinking in. The exhaustion is evident, and he can’t bring himself to recall if she actually ever cried when him and Champ came to tell her that her brother was gone. He can’t remember if she ever shed a tear when stories were shared from other Statesmen. Whiskey knows she didn’t even cry, when she had all the reason to, when he put her brother’s death on her shoulders.

“He’d kill me if I didn’t.”

The understanding is immediate, and it’s the first time he’s ever gotten a laugh out of her - granted it’s short, and akin more to a huff of a laugh than anything, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

Whiskey shifts on his haunches in front of her, “You can’t keep it all inside, y’know? Bottling it up won’t do any good.”

Absinthe leans back against the wall, shoulders falling slack as she looks towards him finally, “Don’t really have anyone to talk to, do I?”

Whiskey sighs, leaning down to help her up so they can start moving again. They’re quiet for a long time, it’s a silence that - for the first time - is very comfortable between them. Neither say anything, and only when they’re both sitting on a plane to head back to the Statesmen headquarters, does Whiskey decide to say something.

“He wouldn’t want this for us,” he shifts to look at her, “And although you’ve been nothin’ but a pain in my ass, and I’ve been nothin’ but an asshole back… He’d want me to listen if you’d need it. So, I’ll listen.”

Only then, does she finally cry.

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

Are we getting the twin fic anytime soon? please feed me ma'am I'm starving

Here is is! The next update in the twins story. It became a mix of many things we all talked about and this was the end result. I kinda feel it needs a Part 2 but we shall see heh heh.

There are some time-jumps which are broken up with ---

ALSO BE WARNED THERE IS SMUT IN THIS FIC INVOLVING OUR SWEET JEFFREY HARMON! 

😇😇😇

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Jeffrey had always been admired. His golden hair shimmering halo-like, complete with sinfully vibrant eyes that knows the deepest desires of your heart. People followed him almost without regard, brazenly. Unlike the narrow-minded dolts at Hawthorne who saw Michael’s power as being the epitome of success, once on the surface again away from that primitive hollow, Jeffrey’s true beauty could the bloom. 

It was only a matter of time before someone couldn’t resist his brother’s draw. Someone would want to pluck Jeffrey’s ripeness, to taste his plump lips and devour his innocence. Michael noticed firstly how Orion lingered too long during meetings. Jeffrey’s attendance at Kineros was so incredibly rare there was even a rumour going round the company that the Antichrist had no brother. The white-wearing male was a facade, a projection created by Michael himself to throw everyone off. To ensure their loyalty was firmly with Satan. Perhaps out of ignorance or determination, Orion didn’t ever notice Michael’s eyes burning into his back. 

It was all just so simple. 

Orion would hand Jeffrey his tea complete with no sugar but so much milk to almost completely dilute the golden colour. 

Just how Jeffrey liked it.

‘No sugar again?’ The Angel would smile, his eyes soft as the cup and saucer are placed before him. 

‘You’re sweet enough.’ Orion would remark, the back and forth completely cliched. 

Michael’s fists clench under the long, obsidian table. The latex squeaks and that is enough for Orion to pick up on the taste of danger Michael sends wafting over to him. The young designer straightens and drops himself in a seat next to Mutt.

‘Move.’ Michael’s voice commands, his displeasure still obvious. 

There’s a beat as the entire boardroom wonders who the Antichrist is referring to. Jeffrey’s laugh tinkles round the room, ‘Let’s not be petulant, brother.’ He cautions, ‘Everyone is here for you.’ 

‘Are they?’ Michael’s eyes sweep across every face, ‘Is everyone here for me, or my father?’ 

The mood is sickening. Jeffrey shrinks away, trying to make himself as small as possible. 

‘Dude, we totally respect you.’ It’s Jeff who speaks up, ‘You’re awesome, bro.’ 

‘Yeah. Fuck the planet.’ Mutt echoes, going as far as to stand up. ‘Blow it all to fucking pieces.’

The room joins in at once, everyone murmuring their dedication to the Antichrist and the plan. Orion however, remains quiet. He nods along enthusiastically, but his eyes dart helplessly to Jeffrey. 

Michael’s revulsion deepens. 

What the fuck does he know? 

                                                           ---

Michael held off on his concerns, more due to being far too busy to corner Jeffrey’s admirers. He didn’t think anything of it, till words flitted into his ears as he passed the break room. ‘He’s just so stunning isn’t he? There’s a real mystique and power there but it’s so subtle.’ He paused, Michael more than eager to have his ego stroked. 

‘Personally I’d like to see him get down and dirty.’ A woman whispers back, ‘See him in something other than white.’

His stomach curls. They’re talking about Jeffrey.

His Jeffrey.

‘Don’t get me started.’ Orion agrees, ‘I’d kill to see what’s underneath him. What really makes him tick.’

Michael can’t listen to anymore. He strides towards his office, the doors flinging open without his touch. Jeffrey jumps, closing Michael’s laptop lid, ‘You gave me a fright.’

‘Grow up.’ Michael snaps, ‘You should be used to me by now.’ 

Jeffrey’s eyes glint as he catches on to his brother’s mood, ‘I am.’ He agrees, ‘All too well after so many years, Michael.’ The Antichrist sweeps into one of his office chairs, sinking down and letting the chair swing round. Jeffrey watches from Michael’s desk, ‘I’m not the person to ask to deal with someone, if you’re struggling yourself.’ 

‘I’m not.’

‘Right.’

Michael stops swinging, ‘Why do people like you?’

A smile winds up Jeffrey’s face, making Michael want to slap it off at once. ‘Because I treat people with respect. With kindness.’

‘So did I!’ Michael is on his feet at once, bearing over his brother. ‘And what did it get me? My Mrs Mead dead. The Warlocks dead-’

Jeffrey looks away, his hands dropped into his lap. ‘This isn’t about me really, is it?’

Michael swallows, ‘You have…admirers here.’ 

‘Well that makes a change.’ 

‘What does that mean?

Jeffrey pushes away from the desk, his white shirt today is sheer revealing his toned body underneath. ‘Did I ever once complain at Hawthorne, when you had your band of merry followers hanging on your every word, tainting our room with the stench of sweat?’

‘You didn’t have to say anything.’ Michael retorts, ‘Your disdain was evident in your looks. Why do you think we ended up in the library so often?’

‘Oh how considerate of you.’ Jeffrey gushes, but the ice is plain in his voice. ‘May I remind you I don’t have to be here.’ 

That has Michael backing down, ‘No.’ He admits, ‘No you don’t.’

‘But I am. Because I love you.’ 

‘Love you too.’ Michael repeats it back automatically.

Jeffrey’s fingers ghost over Michael’s shoulder, ‘I like hearing you say it. It’s been a while since I heard that.’

‘Starving makes you see what’s important.’ Michael says, ‘Who is important.’ 

Jeffrey’s hands cup either side of Michael’s face, those eyes so similar to Michael’s own swim before him. The Angel is on his knees before him, ’You will always be the most important person in my life.’ 

‘Will I?’

‘You have to let me speak to people. You have everyone here. You have your Mrs Mead back now. Who do I have?’

Michael knows he has a point, ‘Be careful?’

‘I promise.’ 

                                                           ---

It brings Michael out of his slumber, a breathy sound that a normal human wouldn’t be able to hear. Michael’s senses sharpen as he zeroes in on what he can hear, shuffling of feet, the sound of something dropping onto the floor. 

Moans. 

He pads quietly on bare feet across his bedroom and opens the door. Michael makes sure not to make a sound as he leans over the railings and peers down into the living room below. The sight before him burns. Jeffrey’s shirt is on the floor, the column of his throat peppered with dark bruises and hickies. A tongue works a new one into his skin as Michael’s little brother squirms in delight.

‘Oh God.’ He moans sacrilegious sin into the air as Orion drags their lips back together. 

Jeffrey’s hands run all over the designer, through his hair and down his chest as Jeffrey works open the buttons. 

He’s divine like this, full of abandonment as Jeffrey embraces the taste and flavour of his first sexual encounter. Michael sinks down with his back to the railings, he can’t keep watching can he? That wouldn’t be right? But Jeffrey’s eagerness is more than prevalent as the sound of movement alerts Michael again.

When he peeks round, Michael’s eyes widen. 

Jeffrey is pressed over the kitchen countertops, his cheek against the cool marble. ‘Please.’ He begs, ‘I need it. I’ve craved you to touch me and make me sing.’

‘I will, sweetness.’ Orion vows, ‘You’re so beautiful. Thank you for giving me this.’ 

‘Michael can’t ever know.’ Jeffrey pleads, ‘I want to be with you, but if he knew….he wouldn’t forgive me.’ 

So now they keep secrets from each other? Michael knows he doesn’t have a good track record, but never in his life has he concealed a part of himself from his brother. Jeffrey knows everything, he’s been there through everything up until Michael’s sojourn into the forrest. Was that the moment that changed them irrevocably? Did Jeffrey’s decision to remain behind, to not chase after hhis brother for the first time in their lives create a chasm that Michael can never bridge? What else doesn’t he know about his brother? Jeffrey knows the most intimate details of Michael’s life. His twin and only his twin knows how Michael only hurt the cats because they lashed out and scratched him first. He must have been holding them too tight and now Jeffrey knows Michael won’t go near any innocent animal. Jeffrey knows Michael only tolerates French Toast because Mrs Mead thought it was his favourite and he doesn’t have the heart to tell her it isn’t. Even to this day. He doesn’t realise he’s crying till the tears are flooding down Michael’s cheeks. 

Jeffrey, how could you? 

‘He doesn’t own you.’ Orion says, tugging Jeffrey’s trousers down. The intruder mouths kisses over Jeffrey’s spine and across the inside of the Angel’s thighs. ‘You can do as you wish.’ Jeffrey’s thighs almost flutter at the affection. He begs for more, taking every sweet ripple of pleasure Orion gives him. Jeffrey allows himself to be selfish, to demand that he become submerged in sensation. ‘You know that, right?’ Orion presses him, his eyes lifting to look into Jeffrey’s. 

Michael too waits for the answer.

Jeffrey struggles, but one more kiss from Orion and his mouth is running. ‘He’s so innocent though.’ Jeffrey’s lost in this new world Orion is opening up for him. ‘He likes to make out he’s the big bad one but he’s so scared. Underneath it all…he needs someone to love him. He needs my love, if he knows my heart has turned to you…’

Orion murmurs against Jeffrey’s lips, ‘I don’t plan to get in his way.’ 

‘You already have done.’ Jeffrey whispers, but Michael still catches every word of betrayal. ‘Because you chose to love me.’

‘I do love you.’ Orion agrees, standing and unbuttoning his fly. ‘I’ve loved you since I first saw you float into that boardroom. I lost all train of thought, couldn’t finish presenting my idea.’ 

‘It was a good pitch.’ Jeffrey whines, spreading his legs to give Orion room to make himself at home. 

‘No more talking.’ The designer murmurs, ‘I’m gonna take you now. I’ll be slow, gentle.’ 

‘No!’ Jeffrey’s head turns like lightning to make eye contact with his lover. ‘I’m tired of gentle. I can take more than people think. I can do it.’ 

Michael doesn’t want to hear more. He picks himself up from the upstairs landing and throws himself on his bed. He clutches his pillow tight to his chest as the tears pour from his eyes and his chest shakes and everything around him is blurred and hot and stings. His chest howls with pressure and pain, just as it had those four days he’d spent alone. Losing his Mrs Mead when the world was just too cruel for him and all Michael had wanted to do was to gouge out his own heart and every muscle and organ responsible for giving him emotions. He prays to his father to abolish him of feeling. To take away the hurt and the lies people feed to him and leave him with an empty cavity. 

It has to be better than this.

He can’t keep being betrayed by a brother who despises him enough to give his heart to another so freely.

Who the FUCK did that designer think he was? To take away Jeffrey Harmon from him? From the Antichrist? 

The sounds of sex rise up from below, like demons chanting their verses in Michael’s ears. He can hear every grunt, every thrust and hitch as Jeffrey cries out when Orion clearly bottoms out. Michael flings his pillow over his head. He can’t leave without Jeffrey knowing and his twin believes he’s working late tonight. Jeffrey would never think Michael might want some time with his brother. No, he must work and work and work and work and work. Michael must bring about the apocalypse and Michael must continue to devote his entire life for a world he doesn’t fully believe in. Hatred fuels his actions, revenge and mutiny against those fucking witches. 

He’s not scared. 

He’s the Antichrist. 

Clarity covers Michael as he rolls onto his back. The lovemaking continues but Michael’s mind is working overtime. 

Was this Cordelia’s fault too? 

She took his Mrs Mead and the warlocks…but what did she say to Jeffrey? 

Did she poison his own twin against him? Is Cordelia fucking Goode the reason why Jeffrey is in the arms of a stranger, someone they don’t even know. Giving his sacred virginity away to some fake-glasses wearing fucker? Is that why Jeffrey no longer comes to visit Michael? He gets the notifications from security that his brother is at Kineros, but Jeffrey rarely visits him anymore. 

So….why is he there? 

What is he doing?

Is he using those times to see Orion? To hook-up with him and fuck in Michael Langdon’s dominion? 

When did his priorities change from Michael….to another? 

He dials Mrs Mead immediately and the robot picks up on the second ring, ‘We need to pay a visit to Dinah Stevens tomorrow.’ Michael’s eyes blaze, but his lips curl into a smirk of victory. Oh he’ll make that supreme bitch pay for taking his twin from him. He listens to Mrs Mead bluster on till he cuts over her, ‘Pick me up at 7am tomorrow. She’ll know how we can get into that coven and blow them all to fucking pieces.’ 

He ends the call only to hear silence. It’s over. They’ve finished for now. 

Michael removes the pillow from his head and finally lets his body relax back into the bed. He’s exhausted, drained and most definitely sacking off work tomorrow.

Tomorrow is a day for him.

Tomorrow he’ll end the witches and then, perhaps if he’s feeling particularly vengeful he’ll end the day by slitting Orion’s throat. 

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[dragonroyaly]

Alright, I'll bite. Tell me about your new MID AU.

WHY THANK YOU FOR ASKING ANON!

Quick heads up though: Death warning. I don’t usually make only fluffy AUs and this is not one of them. Proceed with caution.

Okay so like there’s a bunch of shit going on in this AU and I’m not exactly sure where the best point to start is so let’s start with Pierce.

I like the idea that the Daemos have little elements, so I decided to take a swing at that too. And I swung and Pierce ended up being like a grim reaper sort of dude, becuase who better for that role than the gentle giant.

He can see ghosts like they were actual people, and he can kinda sense when who he’s seeing is dead or not, but with the magic crisis and all the ‘Sense Death’ ability is dulling as the magic drains.

He tries to help ghosts move on to the afterlife the best he can while still doing his job, he really does care about this as the Grim type of Daemos are super rare and usually ghosts can’t really move on without help, but also being Asch’s guard or whatever he does interferes with that a great deal

So, cannon shit happens, y’all know the drill, and in comes Rileigh.

Rileigh is an OC, Ava’s twin brother, and very dead.

And in comes Ava’s part of the story. I keep giving characters tragic backstories becuase I’m That Bitch, I guess, and Ava’s Tragic Backstory is the kinda cliche ‘Dad was just Gone, mom never talked about him, mom was also highly abusive’ shit, y’all know the drill.

Cut to a couple years later, their mom either dies from like alcohol poisoning or she gets caught or something, I actually haven’t thought that part through, she just can’t take care of them anymore one way or another.

So, Andrew and Devon adopt them, both are really Really nervous because as previously mentioned their mom Was Not Nice and they hoped there was such thing as good parenting but also they were like eleven at the time and hadn’t been shown kindness by like Anyone before.

And Andrew and Devon were really great dads! They loved Ava and Rileigh so much! They knew their mom hadn’t been the best and they’d be wary of them one way or another but like the underestimated how bad that’d be.

A thing about their mom, she was usually all-around bad but sometimes thing got real good for a couple days, maybe a couple weeks, she would spoil Ava and Rileigh and be really nice but then things got really really REALLY bad and Ava and Rileigh decided next time that happens they’re just gonna end it.

So, using their not-too-smart and very traumatized eleven-year-old brains, they decided that Andrew and Devon would eventually turn out like their mom did and tried to kill themselves by overdosing on some pills they found.

And Rileigh did. But Ava didn’t. So Rileigh just decides he wants to see Ava safe and followed her around as a ghost, he’d move on when Ava died and he’d be with her in the afterlife.

Fast forward to cannon events, Rileigh’s still following Ava around, Pierce can still see ghosts, and eventually figured out Rileigh was a ghost.

So, Pierce does what he does, tries to see what Rileigh wants so he can peacefully move on. Rileigh isn’t having any of that, and Pierce can’t even meet his requests becuase he’s just like “I’ll move on when Ava moves on.” “But Ava’s still alive. I’m not going to kill her.” “Exactly.”.

Rileigh is happy that someone can see him, and Pierce doesn’t really have anything better to do, so sometimes they’ll just stay up and chat. Usually in the livingroom in the middle of the night when everyone else is asleep.

Anywho back to Ava for a bit.

I have trouble seeing a world with magic where people aren’t able to sense if others have magic or not, even if it’s more dulled than others are, so the Daemos would be able to tell Ava’s completely bullshitting it after a while.

So, I do the logical thing and I give Ava magic. Extremely powerful magic. And the Daemos know. Ava does not. She used to think she might have superpowers because in moments where she wasn’t completely there, like her being sick, or just waking up, or extremely zoned out, she swore she could levitate things or fly or freeze things, set them on fire, grow plants faster, stuff like that, but eventually chalked it up to her having an overactive imagination.

So, another thing, Ava has a lot of magic, easily enough to fuel Daemos for another century at least, but it’s all kinda just trapped inside her body and whatever the Daemos are sensing is a very dulled version of her true power. If Ava gets a scratch or something, more magic would come out.

So, one day they’re all just kinda la-dee-da-ing around the apartment, the boys are hanging out in the livingroom, Ava’s in the kitchen making soup or something, chopping carrots, and she accidentally nicks her finger becuase she has the hand-eye cordiation of a blind goose.

Cue all of the boys kinda just freezing in shock because it doesn’t matter if you have hyper magic sensing (Rhys) or dull magic sensing (Noi), that’s more magic than they’ve felt in their lives.

All from a tiny scratch. And Ava’s just like ‘Ow yikes gotta go get a mcfricken band-aid’ and all the boys are just. Staring. Becuase they knew she was powerful but not to this degree.

Rileigh, still very ghostly, is kinda there, witnessing their shock like ‘??? What’s going on? Yo Pierce you wanna explain this shit? Is it the smell of blood, are y’all like vampires or something??’

Needless to say the Daemos are very careful around Ava from then on becuase she could probably blink at them and kill them instantly. Though she didn’t know that.

Rileigh learns what happens, laughs, continues to have a mini existential crisis becuase holy shit would he have had that much magic??

Fast forwards a couple months. The Boys have now been gone on Daemos for like two years and no one can get to them becuase there’s no longer enough magic left to open a portal to Earth. I am estimating on the time here go easy on me.

Pierce has gotten himself into a bit of a sticky situation. He has. The biggest fucking crush on Rileigh. Cue a couple internal crisises or whatever the plural of that word is, asking Ava what love felt like because all of the boys are stupid with emotions and Pierce is no different, Ava very loudly responding “BABY DON’T HURT ME” as a knee-jerk reaction to Pierce asking ‘What is love’ and a very quick run-down on memes.

This is also where my now commonly used line “I mean you do you but I have questions” comes from. “So how would y’all react if I said I had a crush on Ava’s dead brother” Pierce says. “I mean you do you but I have questions.” Asch says.

Ava is also aware she has magic now, and very strong magic at that. Still can’t use it for shit. Has made books go flying straight out the window when she tried to lift them with her telekinesis or whatever.

Fast forwards another little bit, Rileigh also has a crush on Pierce, tells him becuase he’s not a fucking coward and also knows emotions and shit.

Quick note, I know Daemos don’t do human shit but like kissing is a thing on Daemos becuase I fucking said so. They also tap horns together but like irrelevant.

So, Pierce, due to the nature of his magic and me being a cliche bitch, if he kisses someone they’ll straight-up die. He knows this from experience and swore off love after that.

So back to the scene, Rileigh and Pierce kiss, which would’ve looked hella weird if you couldn’t see ghosts but Pierce made sure that literally no one else was in the same room as them when he and Rileigh talked.

Pierce describes this as quite possibly the best thing that’s ever happened to him and kissing Rileigh feels like heaven.

And guess what happens next?

It takes a hot minute but eventually Pierce is like ‘Wait a sec Rileigh isn’t giving me dead people vibes anymore what’s up with that’ and both kinda freak out when they realize apparently that legit brought Rileigh back to life.

Cue Rileigh yelling becuase no one could hear him for the past like twelve odd years so he got a little used to just Shouting when he wanted to, and he woke Ava up.

Ava who was VERY surprised to see her previously dead brother (Who now looked her age because if one twin dies and the other doesn’t and the dead twin doesn’t move on they’ll continue to age like nothing happened), Pierce being caught in the middle of this kinda just stuck with the surprised Pikachu face, Rileigh who’s feeling Hella Hyper and Happy becuase he’s alive and also Pierce fucking kissed him.

There were tears. Ava cried and clung onto Rileigh. Rileigh also cried. Pierce was just sitting on the couch for all of it wondering what the hell he should do. At some point the other boys come out and are collectively like ‘WHO FUCK THE IS THIS BITCH??’ And Pierce has to explain the whole thing in detail becuase Ava and Rileigh are too caught up in their little ‘Holy shit you’re alive’ ‘HOLY SHIT I’M ALIVE’ thing.

Cut to like a week later, everything’s perfect, Rileigh’s alive, Pierce has gotten himself an entire boyfriend (That he can kiss and stuff without killing!), Ava finally got a mcfricken job. Andrew and Devon don’t know about any of this becuase that’d mean explaining even more stuff to them that Ava’s not sure she can do without getting a headache.

Asch suddenly realizes “WAIT SHIT WE’RE SUPPOSED TO GET MAGIC BACK TO DAEMOS SHIT” So after Ava gets home they have to do that.

And they fuckin do that, just open a portal in the middle of the livingroom and go through. They didn’t exactly have a plan, just take a bit of Ava’s magic, she has enough of it to fuel that entire dimension for ages, as previously mentioned, and with Rileigh in the mix, who does in fact have magic like Ava does, there should be a peaceful way to solve this, right?

They did not get to explain the plan fully before The Daemos are like “So like if we kill The Magic Princess we’ll never have to worry about magic and right? Right. Okay bye we’re gonna go publicly murder her now.” And dragged a very confused and panicked Ava away before any of them can react.

I should say during this whole thing Rileigh was not immediately present. He was out getting groceries or something, I don’t know.

The Boys forget they can like rebel against the kingdom or go after them and explain that you don’t need to kill her you idiots just take like a teaspoon of blood and we’ll be fine for decades but you know how Daemos are. Only using their Violence Brain and all.

It takes Rileigh getting home with Lorelai in tow, he ran into her at some point and she was like “Hey you look like Ava!!” and Rileigh being like “Oh yeah I’m her twin!!” an Lorelai being herself and he ends up bringing her home with him to hang out or something.

Rileigh finds the portal and all there and is frozen like “What the fuck??!?! THEY’RE GONNA KILL HER??? NO???” And the boys still don’t remember they can just save Ava and go fuck off to her apartment for like until they die.

Lorelai, understandably, completely snaps and goes rushing into the castle or whatever because portal landed like right outside of Asch’s room, grabs two swords off the wall, like, you know those displays?

So it’s just Elizabeth’s fight scene from Black Butler but Lorelai and Daemos guards and Lorelai just guessing off of where Ava’s screaming is coming from.

The Boys finally fucking remember this does not have to end with Ava dying, which was pointed out to them by Lorelai, who is completely human with absolutely no magic whatsoever, and not built for fighting whatsoever, her just rushing in without a second thought, and also Rileigh, who screamed at them and kicked Asch in the head.

So they follow the trail of dead bodies Lorelai’s leaving behind and Ava’s screaming and end up looking at where there’s already a crowd, Ava’s about to be killed, Lorelai’s not close enough to save her, Asch fireballs whoever was about to kill her the fuck away.

At this point, Ava had just about complete shut down, just zoned out due to panic, so she was just kinda sitting there in front of the shocked audience who by this point had been like ‘Wait we were running out of magic? Wait killing her will give us like unlimited magic? WAIT THE PRINCE JUST KILLED A FUCKING GUARD WHO IS THIS LADY??’

So after like five minutes the boys and Lorelai and Rileigh are all surrounding Ava and trying to protect her and then.

And then the goddamn king shows up.

The king, very feared, Asch’s father, Rhal’s too but like Rhal had been backed into a corner due to Lorelai being Angerey so he wasn’t present for any of this.

And everything just seems to freeze. The crowd, the guards, Asch and Co’, Ava was still zoned out, Rileigh was clinging onto Ava, and everyone was staring at the king.

He takes about the same stance as everyone else like ‘So spilling this lady’s blood will give us unlimited magic? Sounds good to me if y’all aren’t going to kill her I’ll do it myself.’ but like logically more threatening sounding than that but like before he can do anything Ava kinda half zones back and looks up at him.

Now, here’s why Ava and Rileigh have magic and Daemos doesn’t.

Daemos had gods, very powerful gods, but eventually they all got tired and fled to different dimensions. The gods were fueling everyone’s magic, the followers of certain gods got certain powers, y’all get it.

So, eventually, there was just this one god left, right, the main dude who was the only one fueling anyone’s magic anymore.

He got tired, and he got lonely, so he gave the rest of his followers magic power and fled to earth. The King, who was his most loyal follower, got the highest amount of magic. Please note that The King was a total nobody before this. Didn’t even have magic. Why is Asch like that then? His mother, obviously.

The God went on to fall in love with Ava and Rileigh’s mother, and, surprise surprise, is Ava and Rileigh’s father. And even before all the other gods just left and dumped their duties onto him, he was still the most powerful. So that’s why Ava and Rileigh are so damn jam-packed with magic, they’re demi-gods.

Ava, who is still mostly zoned out but some deep dark part of her definitely recognizes this dude’s magic is the same as hers.

So she’s like “You have my magic, that you don’t deserve. Give it back.” In like the Irene voice or whatever and she stands up and looks at The King and please be aware she is zoned-out during this entire thing.

The King, who can also sense the same magic he has in Ava but definitely stronger, but is an idiot, goes ‘No, you will give me, me and the rest of Daemos your magic.’

And Ava’s like ‘Then if you will not give me my magic back willingly, I will take it back by force’ and straight-up absorbs this dude’s magic leaving him completely powerless and then both The King and Ava pass the fuck out. Rileigh absorbs half the magic Ava absorbed from The King becuase she couldn’t take all of it on her own and still be stable since like he tainted it or whatever. Daemos were not meant to handle magic, humans were.

So like no one knows what’s going on becuase both The King and Ava are unconscious and everyone’s still trying to handle the shock of the whole event and Lorelai never really snapped back out of Fight Brain.

After a moment, Leif just scratches Ava’s arm enough to bleed a little bit which, as I’ve said, is enough to fuel the dimension for like a solid year or so human time, and then they all run back to Earth and close the portal before anyone can get mad at them.

Ava wakes up after a bit, has one hell of a fever since The King had tainted the magic she had just absorbed and that was Not Fun, but they explain everything to her after the whole sick event after now like once a year Ava has to give up a tiny bit of blood to keep Daemos running happily and The Boys live on Earth becuase they like it there and Pierce has Rileigh and they’re all happy.

There’s a whole other disaster when Andrew and Devon find out about all of this because Ava’s just decided it’s not worth lying about. She wasn’t even sure how she’d explain Rileigh.

“RILEIGH’S ALIVE??”

“Shit dude yeah he sure is. Hey he’s got a boyfriend too, did you know that?”

“RILEIGH’S ALIVE AND HE HAS A- WHAT?!”

“Yeah, Pierce brought him back to life through the power of love or some shit. Hey did y’all know me and Rileigh are demigods?”

And at that point they’re just kinda staring in complete shock.

Lorelai always goes back to Daemos for their yearly teaspoon of blood sacrifice as Ava’s personal guard. Ava did not ask for this. No one asked for this. Lorelai is feared throughout Daemos due to the whole Elizabeth Fight Scene stunt she pulled. She low-key enjoys seeing people this scared of her. She is aware this is a problem.

Anywho this AU was like a lot more detailed than I previously thought, but it’s fun being able to talk about this. If anyone has anymore questions like specifically or as like a suggestion for this AU let me know!

[waitineedaname]

sofa smooches

me @ myself: pleas work on your other wips I’m begging you

my hell brain: hhhhhh soft davekat kisses

also on ao3

Like most days on the meteor, Dave and Karkat were spending the evening on the couch in the TV room. The shitty rom-com Karkat had picked out had long since ended; they’d watched all the way through the credits, like they always did, no matter how many times Dave told him there wasn’t going to be anything new at the end, like watching it for the seventeenth time would somehow unlock a secret ending where those background characters do end up together and go on their own cliched adventure. But. Karkat was stubborn and insistent, as always.

It was kinda cute.

It was not the first time that thought had occurred to Dave, but it had yet to be less startling.

Dave put his phone down, having beat Peggle for the twentieth time, and looked up at Karkat from where he was draped across his lap. He’d laid himself there about a third of the way through the movie, and Karkat hadn’t complained. In fact, neither of them seemed to want to be the one to disturb the little cuddle sesh, and they’d silently agreed to occupy themselves with whatever wouldn’t disturb the other. Hence, Dave’s Peggle endeavors and Karkat’s shitty romance novel. He was holding it with one hand, propping it up on Dave’s legs, because his other hand was resting on top of Dave’s free hand, only lifting away to turn a page every now and then, always returning to gently curl around Dave’s hand. Sometimes he’d absentmindedly rub his thumb along Dave’s knuckles, drawing circles and tracing the scars and freckles that littered his skin, and it. It was nice.

Dave wasn’t sure if he was in the right headspace to think about how touchstarved they both were, or how just those little comforting brushes of affection seemed to comfort an ache in his soul he’d never really paid attention to, or how Karkat’s touches when they cuddled like this were so much more gentle than he ever expected from someone who yelled himself hoarse and threatened bodily harm on the daily.

Dave didn’t think about any of that. He just thought about how nice it was to have his hand held, and how the perpetual pinch in Karkat’s brow was softer from this angle, and how he really wanted to kiss him.

Huh. That was a thought.

“Hey.”

Karkat ignored him.

“Hey.” Dave snapped his fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

Karkat smacked his hand away and turned the page.

“Hey.” Dave reached back up and flicked Karkat’s nose. Karkat, predictably, overreacted and reeled back, his whole face scrunching up.

“Ow! Fucker!” He yelled, covering his nose.

“Oh, come on. That did not hurt.”

“Fuck you! Maybe it did! You don’t know, maybe trolls have especially weak noses! For all you know, that could’ve been a built in insta-kill button! You could’ve killed me, Dave, and then how the fuck would you feel?”

“Pretty shitty, but then I’d let your ghost punch me in the face in the next dream bubble we fly through, so we’d be even.”

“What the fuck ever, you wish I’d punch your stupid face.” Karkat rolled his eyes, but he closed his book so Dave counted that as a win for Strider. “What was so important that you had to almost kill me anyway?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?” Karkat blinked down at him blankly and well shit, that’s all Dave needed to take off on the rambling train, next stop: off the rails and straight into embarrassment territory. “Forget it, I could totally be misreading this whole cuddle thing, for all I know this might be a normal thing in troll culture, just snuggling between bros, like I could maybe expect it with your whole moirail thing except I’m pretty sure we’re not moirails? I’d probably know if that was what was happening-”

“Yeah, you can kiss me.”

“-especially since I don’t think either of us are like keeping the other from succumbing to homicidal tendencies or whatever because you can do whatever the fuck you want and I’m just chilling-” Dave paused mid-tangent, suddenly processing what Karkat had just said. “Wait. What’d you say?”

“I said you could kiss me, dumbass.”

“Oh. Cool. Great.” Dave found himself frozen for a second, realizing all that meant, and he slowly sat up, sliding off Karkat’s lap and turning to face him. This close, he could see Karkat swallow thickly, and he realized this was just as big of a deal for Karkat as it was for him.

Okay. He could do this.

Dave put his hand on Karkat’s cheek because that seemed like the right thing to do, and before he could second guess himself again, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Karkat’s.

It was really nice. It was clear they both didn’t really know what they were doing - they’d spent most of puberty on a meteor with the same tiny group of people, of course they were inexperienced - but it was still nice. The feeling of Karkat’s weirdly warm lips against his, the feeling of sharp teeth pressed up just behind them when they parted the slightest bit.

It didn’t last very long. Probably just a few seconds, but it felt like forever. Dammit, he was a god of time or whatever, he should probably have a better grasp of its passage, but Karkat seemed to knock out what little sense he had in the first place.

To be perfectly fair, Karkat seemed just as dazed as he did. When Dave finally pulled away, he curled his fingers into Dave’s sleeve to keep him from going too far and hey, when’d his hand end up on his upper arm? Not like Dave was complaining.

They both stared at each other for a second, two annoyingly talkative people on most days suddenly stunned silent.

“Thanks.” Dave finally said, and Karkat snorted, the moment broken.

“Thanks? Do you thank everyone you kiss, just to make up for having to deal with your stink breath?” There wasn’t any bite to the insult since they were definitely still close enough for Karkat to be smelling his supposedly stinky breath, and he didn’t seem to plan on moving away any time soon.

“Yep. Just a courtesy. You know how goddamn polite I am, got etiquette seeping out my damn pores. Gonna get pimples that’re sayin’ please and thank you with how clogged my pores are with all these manners.” He leaned in and bonked their foreheads together gently. Karkat looked like he was having a very hard time not snickering.

“Right. Maybe it’s your human etiquette that’s stinking the place up since you’re apparently drenched in it.”

“Oh, yeah. Good manners are notoriously noxious. They have to wear gas masks in Canada because of the permanent politeness stink.”

“You should know by now I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” Karkat let go of his arm to tuck a piece of blond hair behind Dave’s ear and the gesture was so soft that Dave’s heart almost stopped. He definitely didn’t lean into the touch a little bit. Nope. Not at all. Shut up and mind your business.

“So. My lips as impudent as you thought?” Dave said to distract himself from how fluttery he was feeling. Karkat gave him a blank look, then grimaced as he suddenly remembered.

“Oh my fucking god. You cannot still remember that.”

“Of course I fucking remember that. You were hitting on me and John at the same damn time. You hadn’t even met us yet. Horny idiot.” Dave said, accenting his point by poking one of Karkat’s nubby horns.

“Shut up! I still think it’s offensive that humans use that phrase like that.”

“What, horny? Dude, we started using that word way before y’all ever even appeared on our radar.”

“I’m not convinced.”

“You think I’d invent an expression just to poke fun at you? Wait, don’t answer that, I definitely would.”

“Exactly. Dick.” Karkat huffed, then took Dave by surprise by leaning in to kiss him again. They shared a few more gentle kisses, a couple of them ruined by smiles from either of them and what was definitely not a giggle or two, and then Karkat lifted his head a bit to press a tiny kiss to the tip of Dave’s nose. Dave was pretty sure he was gonna explode from the tenderness. Pirouette off the fucking handle or whatever but in the best possible way. Here lies Dave Strider, he died because his alien boyfriend was too damn soft.

Wait.

“Hey, are we boyfriends?”

“You mean matesprits?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I dunno.” Karkat worried his lip with one of his fangs. “Do you wanna be?”

“I dunno.” Dave said, unintentionally parroting him. “Maybe? I-. I wouldn’t be opposed. To being matesprit-boyfriends. Maybe we can try it out for a while, see if we’re both down to clown- wait, bad choice of words, hopefully no clowns will be involved.”

“Yeah, that might get fucking weird.”

“Definitely. If you somehow become a clown, that ‘maybe’ will immediately turn into a no.”

“If I turn into a clown, you have my explicit permission to kill me instantly.”

“Punch the kill-button on the nose, right?” Dave said, brushing their noses together.

“Exactly. I’m trusting you with the secret to killing trolls, use it wisely.”

“I promise to only use my knowledge to put an end to my clown boyfriend’s horrible hypothetical existence.”

“You’re so dumb.” Karkat mumbled, tone full of affection, and he tucked his face into Dave’s neck.

They stayed there for a while, hours maybe, rambling and teasing each other. It really wasn’t very different from how they normally spent their time except they were a tangled mess of limbs and half on each other’s laps, cutting off particularly pointless rambles with kisses and effectively changing the subject completely.

Dave knew there were definitely things to worry about, things he’d have to deal with eventually, but with an armful of happy troll kissing him, he couldn’t be any happier.

[thethotwithoutfear]

For the Brave of Heart

A Modern Art Student Steve AU 

Steve Rogers/Reader

Word Count: 2,691

Warnings: None

A/N:  This is a sweet little character study of sorts I suppose that I wrote to cheer myself up as an artist. I thought other’s might find some comfort in it as well. I would be more than happy to write more of this if it peaks anyone’s interest! 

Summary:

“Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way to make life more bearable. Practicing art no matter how good or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”- Kurt Vonnegut 

It was one of those perfect rare weekends. The one's Steve prayed for every week since the first month of the semester had passed: a weekend where his favorite on campus studio would be miraculously empty. By some divine grace his fellow art majors would decide to procrastinate and finally decide to leave it well enough alone to party and in doing so leave him and his canvases to exist in peace.

He gave a deep sigh of contentment; the weight of the boar bristle brush in his hand like an anchor for his relaxation as he gracefully swept it across the clean surface of a freshly stretched canvas, the smell of the oil paints and Liquin an earthy comfort. If Steve could successfully do this for the rest of his life he would without a doubt be a happy man. He relished the feeling, the comfortable isolation, he didn't mind painting around others but there was truly something so special about the graceful dance between a perfectly channeled piece and it's vessel without an ounce of distraction to cause a misstep.

Time seemed to slip away, so much so he'd apparently been far too entranced in his work to notice the other quiet presence in the room, making itself known through the sound of running water. He turned quickly to spot the source of the sound near the paint splattered sink. There filling up an old yogurt container of water stood a girl, over-sized sweater sleeves rolled up to her elbows, worn jeans flecked with the ghosts of old paint. He'd never seen her before, at least he'd never seen her in class before, and he wondered now who this stranger was to intrude on his perfect weekend.

He carefully turned back to diddle with his canvas as he watched her walk to one of the few tables in the far end of the room. A pad of large paper, two containers of water, small tubes of paint, a shallow pallet, and delicate looking brushes were sprawled out in a familiar but chaotic arrangement on the table. She dipped one of the brushes in the water and wet a small glob of paint in the pallet, practically caressing the paper as her hand glided seemingly upon it.

“You know my mother always said it was very rude to stare” she said in an almost laughing but quiet tone, voice startling Steve from his observations. Her eyes never left her work.

Steve cleared his throat in an attempt to reset his thoughts, “I-I'm sorry I just thought I was alone.” He felt his face heat up in the embarrassment of being caught, thinking he'd been quiet stealthy.

She gave a small knowing smile, “Sorry for intruding on the trance pal. You honestly looked a million miles away I didn't think you would mind a little company.”

“I don't, just rare to get a day alone in here so taking advantage of the solitude is a luxury. Usually everyone else is finishing up assignments in here but I guess the latest Stark frat party peaked everyone's interest enough to ditch homework for one weekend” he said with a shrug. Steve turned back to his canvas and began to add another layer to background of his painting. The soft robin's egg blue calming his strange nerves.

“You not one for Stark parties? No offense but I was honestly a little surprised to walk in here and see a guy like you. You know? Built, blonde, a little...jock-ish? I've never seen you around before” she said, lips quirked in a thinking position.  

He couldn't help but give a small laugh. Steve was used to being misjudged for the jock type but it still gave him a strange little satisfaction to surprise people when he'd say he was a visual arts major. And that's precisely what he did.

“Actually I'm an art major. Haven't played a sport long term since junior year of high school. I haven't seen you round here either. What's a girl like you doing around here...you know...normal-ish?”

She caught the tinge of sarcasm at the end of the sentence, it got a quirked eyebrow out of her. “Oh so you aren't too off the frat boy type then huh? Just gonna assume all art chicks have to be weird, the 'I worship Ginsberg on the weekends and watch Woody Allen movies' (Which by the way, YUCK) types?”

He liked her little bite back, it was charming and frankly he wasn't minding this intrusion too much now. “Well seeing as I've never seen you around here, and all I usually see in class are girls draped in black turtlenecks with 3 empty coffee cups around them trying to replicate some abstract expressionist piece, then yeah you kinda stick out from the weird norm. I hate cliches but sometimes they're very real.”

A cute little snort came from her corner of the room, Steve looked up to see her grinning, eyes closed as she shook her head in amusement. The paintbrush in her hand hovering above the paper finally, a strange little sense of pride swelling up in his chest knowing he had broken her focus just as she had his. He went back to his work again, a small satisfied grin on his face as he laid the outline of the figure he had in mind in a rich brown.

It went comfortably silent for a moment. He took another peak at her, arms slightly crossed, brush still in one hand, she looked at him with an amused smile, face seeming to think something over. She began to walk over to him and he felt the tinge of a thrill.

“My name's (Y/n), (Y/n) (y/ln)” she said, sticking out her hand for a shake. Steve couldn't help but notice the small stain of crimson pigment on one of her fingertips, a charmed grin gracing his features at it.

“I'm Steve, Steve Rogers” he replied, his much larger warm hand meeting hers in introduction. A touch of robin egg blue streaking along the skin of one of his knuckles. She found herself trying to rub it away with her thumb, the action not registering as awkward to her. The oil of the paint feeling cold and slick against her finger. She looked up to find a unfairly radiant smile on his face, a scalding heat crawled up to grace her cheeks at it.

“Shit, sorry! Habit I guess” she said shaking the daze from her head. Truly a smile that dashing could cloud a girls brain. He gave a rumbling chuckle and she hated to admit it but it made her knees a little weak too. They both looked down to realize they hand't ended the hand shake and awkwardly took back their hands with nervous giggles.

“So (y/n) why exactly haven't I seen you around here before?” he asked to break the growing tension. The art building was a sea of all kinds of people yet Steve had honestly never seen her in the two years he'd spent walking and working within it's walls.

“I don’t know, just started coming here recently. The art building I mean. I made the fool hardy decision to change majors at the last minute before starting this year. Imagine spending a full year studying medicine just to realize you weren't doing it because you wanted to. My parents sure weren't pleased to know I traded pediatrics for paintbrushes” she said, rubbing at her neck in what Steve considered a completely understandable sense of anxiety.

“Yeah most people would probably call it a little foolish,” he said with a nod only to have that god awful familiar sense of dread start to cling on to her insides, “BUT if you ask me, doing what you really want in life is pretty damn brave and art ma'am, art is for the brave of heart.” A sweet sincerity swam in the pools of his blue eyes as she looked up in surprise. Jesus Christ, he was trying to kill her wasn't he?

“Thanks Steve,” her voice sounding a little wobbly, “I haven't really talked to anyone about it much since the change. As you can imagine the feedback wasn't so nice. 'Oh (y/n) why are you wasting your life like that!? How are you gonna make a living!?' You know the same old shit. My parents have wanted for me to be a doctor since I could walk.” It really did mean a lot to her to know someone understood. Months had gone by with her feeling alone in the decision. She had felt so sure of it initially but it was hard to shake the negativity it had caused to befall her and had ultimately started filling her with doubt. Until now that is...

“I get it. Came from a military family myself. You could basically say I was raised to be a soldier. Dad served during the Gulf war and I followed along thinking I had this legacy to maintain after he'd died when I was 10,” he explained with a far away look in his eyes it was as if a former Steve was speaking, “Decided to break the cycle after my last tour. I started to realize I didn't agree with the ideas running around at the time people were joining for either. The whole sentiment of nationalism and othering after 9/11, it wasn't right. I decided I couldn't continue to be a part of that. My old military friends tried to convince me to stay but I couldn't. I decided I was done and made my life about me. Not some ghost of a legacy I had no obligation to continue.”

The air had gone still suddenly. Maybe the over sharing had taken it's toll or perhaps the heavy look on Steve's face had invited a thick cloud of sadness around them with a history left unspoken and lingering in the air. She reached out a hand and placed it lightly on his shoulder, the small touch grounding Steve again as he shook his head. He felt suddenly embarrassed to have droned on about something a little too heavy during an initial conversation. But looking at her now he saw nothing but calm empathy grace her features.

“God I'm sorry. Talk about over sharing” he blurted out. Her hand fell to grasp his in a comforting gesture. “Hey it's fine. Seems like the two of us have a lot of things we need to let out" she said with a scrunch of her nose to lighten the mood. She let her hand fall back to her side, the other pushing the paintbrush she had been gripping the whole conversation behind one ear. “You might be right about that. Anyway change of subject!” he said with a clap.

“Do you mind...if I look at what you're working on?” he asked sheepishly. A bright smile beamed at him, the dark cloud dissipating with it. “Not at all! I was about to ask the same honestly.” she answered. They walked over to the smooth black table her tools still lay waiting for her.

Upon the stark white of the watercolor paper was the beginnings of a portrait in bright crimson, the face's basic features already set in place, highlights and shadows waiting to accentuate the makeup of whoever it was meant to be. Steve wondered how long time had passed for her to have done so much already without him ever having noticed her come in, let alone work. He realized she must have been considerately silent as not to bother him. Her control of the lines within the features of her subject were mesmerizing, the thinness of the closed line of the mouth, the thick line of a brow, charming his eyes as they studied the piece.

“Well (y/n) I'd say trading in those biology courses for watercolors was a wise choice. I mean I know its the bare bones right now but this is already fantastic.” His fingers lightly grazed the small bundle of brushes laying beside her pallet as he spoke, their bristles soft as silk. It was funny he thought, the difference between their mediums and tools. His brushes were anything but small and delicate, they were hefty and a little coarse with use and cleanings in solvent. He hated to think so cornily but it was like a mirror for the two people in the room.

“Thank you so much Steve, you're sweet! Now,” she said in a bright tone, “Let's see what you're working with.” She glided over to where Steve had set up his easel and canvas. He stayed a few steps behind her and the work station, feeling a little self conscious suddenly. A smile was plastered on her face as her eyes scanned every inch of the canvas. The brightness of the blue reflected in her black pupils.

“Jeesh I shoulda’ bothered you a good while ago. Could've gotten some tips. This is falcon isn't it?” She said giving him a radiant and genuinely curious look. If Steve hadn't known better he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at the sun she had for a face looking up at him. He could practically hear the questions churning through her head too.

“Yeah. Its for a friend. One of the few military buddies I got left, Sam. He actually goes to school here for child psychiatry. It's his birthday in a few weeks so I thought he might like it.” He came to stand next to her now that his insecurity had washed away.

“He'll love it. You really have control of that paint. I tried oils once when I was younger. I found it so hard to manage their consistency, let alone figuring out how to blend them without making them look like a streaky mess. You blend so beautifully I'm jealous. Those layers of feathers are going to look so realistically fluffy and beautiful when you go in for the details.” Her eyes fell between the blue of his eyes and the piercing ones of his falcon as she spoke.

“You know for someone who hasn't taken art classes you got the lingo and a little experience under your belt so it seems” he said, a little glint of pride in his eyes at her compliments. He noticed the encouraged and determine smile that began to blossom on her lips at his comment, it was honestly ridiculously endearing.

“Self teaching can go a long way if you want it to...” her eyes began to scan the wall across from her, her face struck with panic as her eyes landed on the clock across the ways of the studio, “Shit is it really 4 already!? I was supposed to meet with a friend to study for one of my core classes like 20 minutes ago! Fuck, I gotta go, sorry Steve!” She moved at a break-neck speed to pack up her things. The pad of watercolor paper delicately and slowly closed unlike her others things and slipped into her portfolio bag like a precious gem. The gentleness of the action made Steve smile.

It suddenly dawned on him that the second she left the room he may never see her again, his chest began to tighten with what he assumed was sadness, looking back down at his canvas in worry. He probably had never seen her before because she'd been in introductory art courses whilst he'd moved on to more advanced ones, clearly their schedules hadn't allowed for a crossing of paths either. She was about half way through the door way before he could turn and stop her. He watched her old boot take it's last step out the door and sighed. He sunk down on the stool he'd been using to sit and paint on not glancing at the spot she'd occupied.

But when he'd finally looked up, a little tent of white paper called to him against the black of the table. He walked over a little faster then he cared to admit and picked it up. There written on a scrap of paper, to his great relief, where she'd clearly been testing out her color mixtures in simultaneously neat but illusive handwriting was a note and a number:

It was great meeting you today Steve!

Call me, we can get coffee, tea, what a cliche..WHATEVER...let's discuss method sometime ;)

-(y/n)

Steve couldn’t stop the grin on his face from reaching unbelievable proportions. 

Yep, it really was a perfect weekend and he would definitely be praying for more just like them to share with another brave heart...

Please leave kudos or comments on my ao3 or drop me a hello on my main @chrisevansheartofgold !!!

[mira-eyeteeth]

Captivating, pt. 1

Happy birthday, @sylphidine! I wrote you the first part of a Nightmare Dork supervillain story! It’s set in the same universe as this one(x). It features standard supervillain courting procedures, which, as you may imagine, aren’t generally the best way to go about wooing the object of your affection.

Perhaps it was cliche, but they had first met in a bookshop. Piki had been taking a walk to clear his head and get away from his infuriating twit of a twin when a combination of interest and chill winter winds had driven him to seek shelter in a small cafe attached to a bookstore. Soon he was cupping a warm cup of coffee in chilled fingers and idly wandering the shelves to kill some time. And maybe pick up a new novel. He had been looking to replace his rather ratty copy of Salomé; the spine was practically coming apart on his. The filing system of the place seemed to be rather unintuitive, however, and he was having a hard time locating where the play might be if they had a copy.

A flash of white out of the corner of his eye made Piki turn his head in time to see a young man, white-blond and pale as death, vanish between the shelves. For a moment he fancied that it might have actually been a ghost, that there was something supernatural about this place he had stumbled into by chance. Maybe some kind of terrible accident...

The sound of shuffling books from the next aisle over ruined the fantasy and Piki wandered around the shelf to see the young man shelving a set of paperbacks. "Oh, do you work here?" he asked mildly, stepping forwards. The young man jerked, almost dropping the book he was holding, and turned to gaze at Piki with wide blue eyes. "I was wondering if you could direct me to where I might find a copy of Wilde's Salomé?"

The pale young man stared at him for an instant longer before dropping his gaze and hunching his shoulders, wringing his hands in front of him.

"...Do you not work here?" Piki asked.

The other gulped and opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out and he closed it again, biting his lip.

"...Right. Sorry to disturb you. Thank you for your time," Piki said, giving up on any conversation with the silent waif. What an odd young man, he thought as he wandered back to where he had been searching before he had been distracted. Piki wondered if he was actually mute. Not that it was any business of his, really. He spent a few more minutes browsing before he finished his coffee and felt sufficiently thawed, having found nothing that caught his particular interest at the moment. He shrugged and started to head for the door.

A hesitant tap on his shoulder made him pause. He turned around to find the pale young man from before standing there, eyes downcast and holding out a copy of Salomé. "Oh," Piki said, blinking. "Thank you?" He took the book and watched with some interest as the young man nodded and scuttled back into the dusty labyrinth of shelves.

Piki hummed and glanced down to see that the novel had a sheet of notepaper sticking out from between the pages. He pulled it out, curious, and flipped it over to read the shaky, hastily scratched message that had been scrawled on the sheet. I hope this is what you wanted. I'm sorry about earlier. I'm working on being able to speak with others, but it's I hope you weren't too inconvenienced. Have a wonderful day! Sorry again, -Jack.

...That was actually rather charming. This Jack person seemed to be trying to overcome some personal difficulties of his, admirable. Piki wondered if he was like that with everyone, or if he had found Piki particularly intimidating. Well, probably not, not in Piki's street clothes. If he saw Piki in his proper get-up, fully powered and seething with shadows, well, that would certainly provoke an interesting reaction from the poor boy, he was sure. He smiled a little at the thought and idly folded the note back up to tuck it away.

He headed up to the cashier to pay for the book that Jack had so kindly retrieved for him. Piki snagged one of the pens littering the desk and scribbled a quick Thank you, this was just what I was looking for on the back of his receipt.  He slid the paper to the cashier, folded in quarters to conceal the writing. "I was wondering if you could give this to Jack for me?" he asked, smiling when the woman nodded. "Thank you." Moments later he was back into the chill winter evening, black boots crunching softly through the new-fallen snow as he headed back home, a satisfied smile on his face.

Piki found himself gravitating back towards that cozy little bookstore only a few days later. It was still cold outside, after all, and Pitch was still a twit. Besides, the selection he'd remembered from his last search seemed promising, even if the organization of it was a bit perplexing. Piki knew who he could ask for assistance now. Though...

He stopped by the front desk to buy a spiral-ring notebook and a pen.

Piki wandered through the shelves, and it did not take long for him to spot the flicker of white as Jack vanished around one corner. He was on-shift, then. Well, presumably, at least. It was not outside of the realm of possibility that Jack did not work in the store at all, given that he appeared spectacularly unsuited for retail service. Perhaps he was just some neurotic passerby who took it upon himself to try to impose order on this place. Either way, he was fighting a losing battle.

Piki peered around the shelf. “Excuse me,” he said, and watched as Jack flinched and nearly dropped the paperbacks he had been clutching.

Jack whirled around and met Piki’s eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze back down to the floor.

“I- Did you get my note?”

Jack nodded.

“Well, good. I…” Piki trailed off. He retrieved the notebook from under his arm and tore out a sheet. I’m looking for some new reading material. Do you have any recommendations? he wrote on the dismembered page, before stepping forwards and holding out the sheet and pen to Jack.

It was the first time he saw Jack smile.

He'd returned to the bookstore regularly after that, and it became something of a routine for Jack and him to exchange notes in lieu of conversation for an hour or so as Piki nursed a coffee and became increasingly more familiar with the bookstore's layout and Jack's routine within it. It was when he prompted a soft little chuckle from Jack with one such note that Piki realized just how much he wanted to hear Jack laugh and speak with him, how much he wanted to be close to the young man.

If only he had some inkling of how exactly he could go about doing that. He had to be careful, about this, after all. Everything had to be perfect.

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

Piki really could have put just a little more effort into his secret identity. The way it was right now, a monkey could have figured it out. As a civilian, he didn’t bother to act even a little bit differently, or change his voice, or stop being glued to the side of his brother who obviously made up the second half of their little super-criminal enterprise. Seriously, twins who called themselves twins in their supervillian title? Might as well hand out business cards with their civilian identities. On top of all that, Piki wore a costume that left very little to the imagination, in more ways than one.

Not that Jack would complain about that particular choice.

That was, if not for it, he probably would not have taken any notice at all of the Black Twins. They were still small fry, barely on the radars of the City's heroes, let alone something of consideration for the higher-level villains. If Jack hadn’t immediately been able to recognize the bookstore patron who he had been having his eye on for the better part of two months, he would have completely forgotten first encountering them back when he'd been making his escape from the Guardians after nabbing the blueprints for the City's newest tech facility. They'd had some unkind words to say about ruining their reconnaissance mission or something, Jack wasn't sure. He mainly remembered the crick in his neck from the double-take he'd done at seeing Piki.

So it had been a blessing in a terrible, god-awful disguise.

And now, oh, now they were interesting. Or, at least Piki was interesting; clever and ambitious and leading a double life as well...

He could really do without Pitch, though. Pitch was brash and harsh and he had nearly given Jack a panic attack when he stormed into the bookshop to yell and drag Piki away. Pitch was a bad influence on Piki, he could see that much when he ran into the Black Twins during their nights of crime.

Which had admittedly been happening more frequently now that Piki has caught his eye. He couldn’t help it, he wanted to know more. The dark of night and villainous deeds felt more special, knowing that Piki was operating under the same star-strewn sky.

And, well, it was just nice to be able to actually talk to Piki.

Compartmentalization was a hell of a thing. He could trade effortless witticisms and barbs with any heroes or rival villains while he was the Winter King, but the second he went back to Jack Sickle, he couldn’t open his mouth without tripping over his own damn tongue. Trying to make small talk with strangers, or worse, acquaintances who might actually remember him, got his anxiety and stress skyrocketing in a way that heroic pursuit and very, very narrow escape never could. He could scale a skyscraper and break through the most sophisticated security system in the City, but he couldn’t ask Piki if he wanted to get a coffee with Jack at the cafe ten feet away.

Piki had been kind and patient and accommodating for Jack. And Jack… Jack had been pathetic. It wouldn't be surprising at all if Piki looked down on him. It had been months and he still couldn't so much as say “hello” without his stammer rendering the word incomprehensible.

Jack didn't want Piki to think he was pathetic. Jack wanted Piki to be impressed, to be awestruck. He didn't want Piki to have to be patient with him. He wanted to prove that he was worth something.

Jack Sickle couldn't do that. But the Winter King could.

All he needed to do was get Piki alone.

-----------

Piki swore under his breath and darted down a branching tunnel, cursing Pitch and cursing himself for ever thinking this was a decent idea.

Getting into some kind of glorified pissing contest with one of the most powerful metahumans in the City was a mistake. It had been so tempting, when they heard rumors of the latest heist target the Winter King was planning, to try to snatch it out from under his nose. It would have been so satisfying, returning the little favor that the Winter King had paid them. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

His spite was going to be the end of him, and possibly the end of Pitch, too.

Now they were split up, and Piki was lost in the warrens of the sewers, and judging by the way the temperature was dropping all around him, the Winter King was closing in.

He didn’t have enough power to teleport, not without Pitch, and his talent for fading into the shadows was rendered utterly useless by the white plume of his breath that steamed in the frigid air. The Winter King would have to be blind to miss such an obvious sign, and while Piki wasn’t strictly opposed to going for the eyes, he doubted he would be able to blind the other villain. He didn’t even have enough shadows to lift the manhole cover he had planned on escaping out of, something he only realized when he reached the top of the ladder. Who would have thought the damn things were so heavy?

He was out of power, out of weapons, out of options.

Piki slid back down the ladder and grimaced at the sound of approaching footfalls. What did the Winter King even want? It wasn’t like they’d successfully managed to steal the stash before the Winter King did anyway. Piki dashed down another tunnel, ignoring the burning stitch in his side.

The footfalls picked up behind him, dammit. He was close enough to be heard.

An unexpected dead end cut the chase short, and Piki whirled to keep his back to the wall, hand fumbling along the stones behind him for a loose chunk of masonry, something he could throw.

The Winter King peered around the corner, stepping fully into the entranceway of the tunnel after Piki didn’t blast him with darkness. The brilliant white of the ice and snow practically seemed to glow in the gloom of the sewers.“There you are, boogeyman. All out of shadows already?”

“Not… even… close,” Piki ground out between gasping breaths. “I’m just… giving you the opportunity… to rethink antagonising me.”

“That’s terribly considerate of you,” the Winter King replied, smirking. “I should really return the gesture somehow. Hm, how about I show you some good, old-fashioned hospitality?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You can find the most interesting little trinkets for sale, did you know?” The Winter King withdrew a small, irregularly-shaped golden ball from a fold of his icy cloak.

Piki opened his mouth to snap a response back, but the Winter King tossed the orb and it burst into a spray of golden powder, covering Piki. The world dissolved into darkness.

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

Piki started to stir thirty minutes after that, which had given Jack enough time to get him to the hideout and organize everything. He waited on the opposite side of the ice bars that closed off the room Piki had been placed in, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

Piki sighed and rolled over on the bed, before flinching and clutching at his head. “Ngh, Pitch, not so loud! Yes, I’m oka-” His voice cut off when he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He sat up abruptly. “What the hell?”

“Good morning. Well, technically morning. It’s about 3 am,” Jack said, and Piki’s eyes fell on him.

“What is this? Are you trying to ransom me? Pi- My partner didn’t successfully steal anything tonight, so if you’re missing anything, it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“No, no, it’s not anything like that. I just wanted to have a conversation. I think it’s taken long enough for that to happen,” Jack replied.

Piki raised an eyebrow. “Look, if you want to tell random strangers whatever thoughts pop into your head, just make a twitter account like the rest of us. I guarantee you it will be a lot easier than this was.” He pushed off the blankets and got off of the bed, scanning the room for an escape.

Jack smiled. “Oh, I would hardly call us strangers.”

“We’ve spoken only once or twice before this. Acquaintances would be a very generous term for it,” Piki replied, taking a few steps towards the barred doorway.

“Hm, I suppose. But I believe you do know me a lot better than you think you do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

"Well, if you’re still having trouble working the puzzle out, maybe this will help..." Jack withdrew a small square of paper from a pocket and held it up for the captive man to read. In hesitant, jerky cursive that was far too familiar, it read: 'Hello, Piki.'

Piki's eyes widened, flicking from the note back to Jack. "You..." he breathed, disbelieving for a moment, and Jack felt a little rush of triumph. Then Piki’s eyes narrowed and his face twisted in a snarl. "What did you do to Jack?!"

Jack almost flinched back from the fury in that glare. "What?  N-n-nothing," he stammered out, before he could think about it. The return of that hateful stammer made him reflexively grasp the frayed edges of his persona and wrap it more tightly around himself. He wouldn't be pathetic, not now. He was strong and cunning and in control; he had to be in control. The Winter King straightened his back and cocked his head, meeting the glare with a little smirk, letting the witticism roll off his tongue without thinking. "Well, nothing yet."

Piki surged forward, gripping the bars and baring his teeth. "You-!" He bit back whatever else he was going to say and wrenched his gaze away from Jack. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath, knuckles going white as he clenched the bars. He slowly loosed his grip, shoulders slumping. "...fine, you win."

Jack blinked. "Pardon?"

"You win. I'll do what you want. Anything. Just leave Jack out of this," Piki replied, not raising his head.

Jack felt his heart clench. The absolute failure of his plan crashed over him all at once.

After showing him the note, Jack imagined that Piki would catch on, connect the dots. That he would be impressed at how clever and powerful Jack had proved himself to be. Instead, he had thought Jack was just some helpless hostage of the Winter King. It would be infuriating, if Piki hadn't just shown how willing he was to sacrifice everything to protect him.

"Piki, I-" Jack reached out to touch Piki's hand, but pulled back before he made contact.

Piki might not believe him now, even if he dropped his disguise entirely. And if Piki did believe him, then he would hate Jack. Despite his dreams and grand plans, Jack hadn't established himself as a rival, as an equal. He had acted like a puppetmaster, and he had toyed with Piki. He'd been so focused on being impressive, on being clever, and now he had ruined everything.

Jack didn't want Piki to hate him.

What else could he do now?

The Winter King sighed and waved a hand. The bars on the cell dissolved. "Well, you're no fun at all," he drawled. "You should really work on spotting forgeries, in the future. It's something that comes in handy in our line of work."

Piki stumbled forward half a step at the disappearance of the bars. He lifted his eyes, blinking. "What?"

"Forgeries. You know, fakes?" The Winter King waved the note once before freezing it solid and letting it drop to shatter on the ground. "You can relax, boogeyman. I don't hurt civilians. Just happened to find out about your little crush and wanted to get a rise out of you. I admit, I didn't think you'd go the martyr route. Ah, well. You can see yourself out," he replied airly, gesturing down the hall before turning on his heel and striding off.

He'd gotten five steps away when he heard Piki spit out a dark, "Fuck you."

The Winter King glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. "Only if you ask nicely."

Jack managed to get around a corner and behind a closed door sealed with ice before he slumped to the ground and held his head in his hands.

[imnotsurethatwastheirvision]

the Nun

(Image stolen from a Google search result for The Hollywood Reporter review written by Harry Windsor, posted 9/15/2018. Here it is:

I love horror movies because they make me laugh. I know that’s not the societal norm. I don’t really give an F. I studied film in college enough to aquire two degrees saying I kinda did so I just assume that gives me free reign to interpret them as I see fit until my school loans are paid off which will be never.

So. Here. I. Go.

My favorite sub-genre of horror are possession/exorcism films because the not-that-subtle references throughout are hilarious to me, and also, if the Holy Catholic Church spent as much time, effort, and money on what has essentially boiled down to A&E-worthy ghost hunting adventures over the centuries as they could on a comprehensive mental health program for thier overall leadership team there very well could be less strife in the world.

But what do I know. Also, where’s the fun in that?

So. Did you see The Nun? Please do reference the review posted above for all the particulars. This is just my take on the thing, which amounts to a hill of beans.

The film opens...

...with two nuns in a dark and horrifying basement hallway of some abby in Romania. Already I completely understand these bitches’ pain.

Cold. Dark. Damp. No. Thanks.

Well, they are freaking out as they approach a door marked something like “The Buck Stops Here” but not that, something about God.

Anyway, the one nun unlocks the door and goes in while the other one stands back in the hallway freaking the fuck out! Understandable! Anyway, the one that went through the door gets pummeled by something back there, crawls out to warn the freaking out one that the thing kicking her ass is coming for her next, then gets pulled back into the dark for more abuse and I just assume death.

Yikes.

Well the one in the hall is not interested in all of that so she runs as the monster (The Nun, and subject of the film, as opposed to a nun) closes in and she resorts to killing herself via a dramatic hanging out the window from her tower bedroom in order to escape.

Whoa bitch. A bit much, but I get it, kinda.

Here’s the deal. The Nun (again, the subject of the film, as opposed to a nun) is pretty jacked and I am in no way referring to like a hot guy at the gym, necessarily. What I am saying is that The Nun is one bad bitch. However in no way the kind of bad bitch you are perhaps aspiring to be. I am saying more like a really fucked-up-in-the-face drag queen who is OBVIOUSLY a malnourished virgin who perhaps turned to the gay community as a last resort and took things a little too far and is now pissed about it because now there’s no fucking way he is ever getting laid now. He’s surrounded himself by nuns and these bitches are resorting to killing themselves to escape! That’s, like, totally not even part of God’s rules so you know it’s bad. The Nun is. I’m saying The Nun totally sucks to be around.

Anyway fast-forward like a couple/few weeks and the literal hottest French-Canadian guy in Romania at that time is doing some kind of cliche’ groundskeeping bullshit and he stumbles upon the lifeless and rotting body of that nun that hung herself. Ew!

Ok, so now somehow transition to a grade school scene where a not-quite-yet-fully-sworn-in nun is teaching some English kids about dinosaurs and a for-real nun walks in and judgingly stops the lecture.

Lolz all around.

It turns out that the Vatican has dispatched their version of an FBI agent with absolutely no self esteem left to pick up the not-quite-yet-fully-sworn-in nun to help him investigate the suicide the hot French Canadian guy found because she apparently has visions and some kind of cool app on her phone with a really cool map feature for that specific part of Romania. It’s like a super weird yet exceptionally-convenient coincidence.

Well, she meets the FBI agent and it turns out he got inaccurate info because phones didn’t even exist at that time, much less apps of that accuracy for such a rural area of Romania, but he takes her anyway because she’s one of the key main characters of the film and the plot has progressed to the point in act one that if she didn’t go nothing would make sense moving forward.

Anyway, the not-quite-yet-fully-sworn-in nun and the Vatican FBI agent just show up on the hot French Canadian guy’s door unannounced and there’s a cute scene and then he agrees to just drop everything to accompany them to the scene of the accident. Where he found the hanging nun. Because what else is he even doing right now? Absolutely fucking nothing. We’re still unclear at this point as an audience on what this guy even does, but I am going to go back to my original groundskeeper-of-some-kind speculation because that cliche just seems to work here.

So the three of them go and see the body and then infiltrate the abby and a whole host of scary stuff ensues and I’m going to just mostly gloss over act two for the most part because I already mostly forgot and I’m not going to review any scenes just for this shitty blog post. There’s some good stuff though.

Oh, side note: the Vatican FBI agent is technically an official exorcist and he fucked up not exorcising a little boy awhile ago correctly who ended up dying and he can’t seem to work through the memory and crushing guilt of all that thoughout this film so that kid is occasionally popping up throwing snakes at him and stuff throughout all this and I found myself hoping he sent some notes back to the Vatican to alert the priesthood to stop “saving” young boys moving forward because it just really is this whole thing but I guess that message still has yet to be relayed.

So, right at the climaxing unravel that is act three getting turnt the fuck up there is a point where all the nuns form a super-ineffective (as they’re known to be) prayer warrior group to try and get some semblance of control of the situation and they all get their asses handed to them aside from the not-quite-yet-fully-sworn-in nun who just gets a sweet-ass pentagram tattoo. Prison-style though so, like, ow.

Anyway, in act three keep your eyes peeled for a shockingly racist scene that is so self-refrencial and obvious that it almost becomes not-racist in the way that one controversial Childish Gambino music video last year wasn’t racist.

Also, the not-quite-yet-fully-sworn-in nun insists on taking her final nun vows at what just could not possibly be a more inopportune time, right in the middle of the action (typical!), for everyone else, despite her new tattoo. I honestly question if her nunning actually took, the filmmaker does leave you guessing there. I am telling you people that French Canadian guy is hot.

So at the end The Nun is finally overcome by the one person that he could have *possibly* had a chance with if it weren’t for his face and overall personality prior to her super-inconvenient-for-everyone-else vows and is sent back to his hellhole where he belongs by the simple sight of blood being spat in his face after trying to actually murder the now-officially-sworn-in-new-nun.

That’s what cha get.

Although, speculations afoot on him (The Nun) sneaking in just the tip with the hot French Canadian guy at some point when no one was looking because he later turns out to be possessed and if you’re thinking I’m making an STD joke here I’m like totally not.

Anyway, as is the general case with these kind of films, there’s a ton of additional easter eggs I didn’t even bring up worth you watching this film to find. This movie also held my undivided attention the entire time which either says a tremendous amount or nothing whatsoever.

If you liked the Haunting of Emily Rose you won’t sleep through this is basically what I’m saying to you.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I saw: 

Return of the Jedi- Not “Revenge” like the patch I got sent as a kid in my fan club renewal.

SPOILERS....because I don’t give a damn!

 Han gets rescued from Jabba with the help of the whole gang. Oddly when Luke gets captured he isn’t forced to wear a metal speedo and chains to be Jabba’s new dancing boy. Apparently only girls get lusted over and subjected to bondage by baddies, even if the baddies in question are a completely different and sexually incompatable species. Go figure. 

Then Luke pops in to see Yoda who claims he’s fully trained, though back in the day they would force little kids to leave their mamas in slavery while enduring many, many years of training. Maybe Yoda dies so he doesn’t have to deal with our wannabe jedi and the fall out from all the lies Luke’s been told. Sorry Ben, “A certain point of view” excuse doesn’t really apply here. You lied about Luke’s daddy and weren’t going to tell him who his sister was until he realized through the force. Or maybe it wasn’t the force but a wild guess based on saving face because the only girl he knows picked the cool guy in the hot rod over his whiny ass. Only know he has gone all Jedi, meaning he’s trying to act all cooler than though, emotionally detached and wearing back. His little act of “I’m a jedi now” is either adorably adolescent or creepy.

Anyway, the Empire has built themselves a new Death Star that is already nearly functional. Death Stars are just their thing now, though how you quickly bash together a new weapon the size of a moon with no one noticing the purchasing of material, transport of equipment, transfer of personal and the like I dunno. Maybe they were already starting a spare with the first one got broken. The team sent to a forest planet like moon to deactivate the equipment keeping the second Death Star from getting’s own race to go boom naturally is made up of Han, Leia, Luke, Chewie, C-3PO, R2D2 and some nameless extras.

On the moon things go a bit unexpectedly for them. Leia gets seperated and ends up with the teddy bear people. The fur balls must have mad sewing skills because by the time the boys get caught by the Ewoks she is wearing a dress fashioned to fit her  perfectly, despite the fact that she is a couple feet taller than them and they only wear hoods and little capelets. Of course it could be left over the last time they sacrificed some humanoid captives, like nearly happened to the boys until Threepio got over his aversion to claiming to be a god and Luke used the force to scare the little savages. Savages, right, the cliched primitives to help save the day thanks to the crappy lowest bidder gear the stormtroopers are kitted out with. 

Luke does take a moment to finally tell Leia that Vader is his father and she is his sister. The fact that this means Vader is HER father too, this guy that having killed the crew of the ship she traveled in subjected her personally to torture, then held her back while she watched her home world with most likely murdering the entire family she grew up with and possibly everyone she ever loved. You know, the guy that froze her boyfriend and tossed him to a bounty hunter. That guy. She should have some serious issues about this revelation! 

Look, Luke doesn’t have the same reason to know the evil of Vader personally. Vader did hack off Luke’s hand, but it was quicky in a fight and he got a nice cybernetic replacement. Luke doesn’t know his aunt and uncle were killed by Vader’s orders, but then he hardly mourned them. He seemed far more upset when Vader killed Ben, despite the fact that he barely knew Ben and Ben basically commited suicide deliberately letting kill him. Considering Ben has continued to pop in to have chats with him, I doubt he has too much of a rage at the dark one over it.

Does remind me though: We get proof the Leia is a really nice person because she comforts HIM on the Falcon when she’s the one that just watched the genocide of her people and might still be feeling the after effects of torture! I mean, geez Luke, why is all about YOU?

So yeah, it’s Luke that goes off on a crazy quest to save his daddy, claiming there is good in him. Considering I saw the lousy prequels I take issue with that! He might have had potential as a child, but by adulthood there wasn’t a damn thing likeable about the jerk! Now, of the two Skywalker kids he is the one that would be able to forgive Vader, what with being to ignorant and idealistic to face  reality. On the other hand, he has always been emotionally impulsive and proves an idiot because he lets the Emperor goad him into teetering on edge if giving into his dark side. I mean, the Emperor pretty much tells him “I’m trying to make you angry so you act stupidly and join our evil club. Because we are evil, in case you didn’t notice. Aw, come on, you know you wanna!” I really think Senator and Princess Leia, leader in the resistance before it even went public, might have been a lot less of a risk at giving into her dark side, even with her reason to hate Vader. Because she isn’t an idiot like Junior Jedi boy.

It all works out like you expect. Teddy bears smash imperial gear, so Lando, Wedge and company can turn Death Star II into a fireworks desplay that must have rained down debris on our little forested moon. Luke gets his daddy to finally have one moment of change of heart as his boy is tortured. So all is forgiven, all those horrible, cruel and impulsive deaths he inflicted don’t matter. Luke burns the armour, because armour is known for being so flammable, and Vader gets to be a ghost with a couple decades worth of face lift unlike the other force spirits hanging around who look about like they did when they died. Love triangle cured on account of suprise siblings, Leia and Han get to be a happy couple (well until the Force Awakens tells us it didn’t work our and they spawned an evil, temper tantrum throwing brat) There is rejoicing all around, including, in the SE version we are stuck with, the captial of the bloody Empire! Because we know they celebrated with fireworks  in Berlin and Japan at the end if WWII. “Yippie! We Lost!!” Whatever. It was all over, the good guys won and the trilogy mostly satisfactorily finished.

You know, back in the 90s a magazine called SciFi Universe had a cover story saying something like “50 Reasons we Hate Return of the Jedi...but love Star Wars” (I may not remember that right, it has been a LONG time!) It surprised me when I read it. I existed totally removed from fandoms and was oblivious to popular feelings. I had always considered this movie the weak link of the three, by a wide margin, but “hate”? Nah, I don’t hate it. In fact, I am kind of fond of the reviled  Ewoks. But yeah, I I do sort of shrug and fail to feel the slightest bit guilty mocking it. Still, even though I don’t rewatch it near as often as I do the two that precieded it, I do once in a while. That’s better than a certain other Star Wars triology! LOL 

[belladonnachaos]

Dead Air

Chapter 13

3rd person POV:

‘Don’t worry Mark stay strong and keep a hold on your sanity, they are coming and they aren’t dead like that nasty demon said so.’ The tiny box tried to comfort him as much as he could for being tiny but in the end he helped the sobbing man sleep. However a fever could be felt through Mark’s clothing from the infections raging in his body so he sent a message to a dear friend of his to meet up with the group and be prepared for a sick fever ridden Mark.

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  A soft patting on his face was what woke him up unlike the sharp smack or painful yanking of his hair which was how Dark usually woke him up. It’s a strange change to what he was getting used to while he was being held captive. The soft mummering voice that was like a soothing lullaby cooed nothings into his ear, soothing the nightmare that has fester deep in the night. The patting kept on going while the voices kept on whispering sweet nothings into his ears until he woke up completely to a world that burned cold, causing shivers to run through his already weaken body by the abuse of the last couple of days. Through the hazy that covered his whole vision even when he was full awake was what he blamed when he saw what or in this case who. Tiny box Tim who finally noticed that Mark was awake, started to fuss about from a fever that Mark had to the fact that one of the wound had reopen has night. Small thuds could be hard as Tim got from point A to point B, looking worry about whatever he saw on Mark or even around him. The silence made him a bit paranoid that Dark could come in at any moment for more torture. Somehow Tim say what was going and assured Mark that everything was going to be alright, Dark was busy getting beaten by his friends and help so that they can rescue him, he was going to be free now from that demon’s clutches. He really hope that was true, that any of this true but it wasn’t and could never be. No matter how much he wished his friends were alive to come after him that wasn’t true no matter how much it hurt. His friends were dead and that left no one to come save him.

   Tim knew that they had to hurry up in the fight against Dark before Mark was too cemented in his belief that they were dead and never coming back for him. This was all due to the torture, the sick taunts that the demon delivered daily and the high fever that Mark had started to developed the day before from all the injuries that haven’t heal completely. He had even gotten a really bad infections which was starting to spread into other parts of his body from his legs which were swollen and red tint, blood poison was starting to set in. They had to hurry before the medicines they had wouldn’t work on Mark. Hopefully when Mark woke up freed from the fever, he could see that he was real and not just a dream like he thought that his friends were dead like Dark told him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  After more countless fights against other monsters who seem to keep on spawning one after another, they finally reach the territory that house the demon and a helpless Mark. Setting up a camp, they ready themselves for the fight to save their friends from the clutches of a sick demon who shouldn’t have to exist at all if it wasn’t for everything that was going on. Weapons out and weird ghost magic they slowly creeped toward the entrance of a cliche villain, after a few minutes they finally saw the demon standing there looking as smug as ever.

  “Ah you guys finally came for dear old Marky,” the demon taunted as he slowly shifted onto a combat stand, “I was so sure you little human would have left him for death so I could have as much fun time with him as possible. He believes that you all dead in the worst case scenarios and in the best case scenario, you guys just forgot about him for good but at least still alive.” Chuckling at his own joke he scanned the faces and spirits of everyone in front of him, he spots a small little pup at the feet of one of the few tall human. “Awww how cute, you even brought along a pet, maybe I will kill it first just to see you all squirm and beg for it life,” the demon taunted them cruelly while Gar got in fighting stance, hair standing up eyes glowing intensely and snarling low. That set everyone into a fight stance, ready to fight and protect anyone that the demon went after, the main object was to either take it down or temporarily bring him down for them to take Mark and run the hell out. They wouldn't let him beat them without actually saving Mark, they wouldn’t even leave him behind.

  The ghost all disappear at once, leaving Dark with smug smirk on his face, thinking the humans were left behind to face off alone, until they all appeared behind him wielding different kinds of weapons in hand. The weapons they had wear also the same color they were, light blue with the exception being JP whose own was a swirl of color like him. They all attacked at the same time, throwing and distracting the demon from the humans, who had split up to search for Mark within the lair of the demon. After a few moments of searching, they finally found a lump of dirty bloody blankets which barely moved when they approach, in fact the breathing seemed to slow down when they got any closer. Other than the lump of blankets that were covered in blood, they didn’t see anywhere Mark could be so the safe bet was that he was under there. Cautiously Wade went to pull back the blanket when a soft child’s voice could be heard, “you won’t hurt him right? You came to help him, right?”  Wade was utterly confused since there was no place for someone to hide from them. Gar slowly walked forward sniffing one side of the lump when a small box popped out, making everyone backwards except Gar who just borked excitedly. “So you won’t hurt him right? He needs help before he falls completely to whatever is in his mind, he needs his friends with him. Can you guys take me along as well, I don’t want to leave his side.” Wade looks like he’s about to cry at the sight of the small box that wanted to stay with Mark and his declining condition. Wade thought for a moment, then spoke up ”sure you can come along, just jump on Gar he’ll take you and ensure you won’t get left behind,” he told the box with a small smile while Gar just happily bork at the idea of helping.

   Wade was finally able to see his friend close up, seeing what damage has been inflicted on him. In the background he could hear the sounds of a winding battle while the other two stayed behind, providing some support to the ghost as they tried to banish the demon. Wade slowly check Mark over for broken bones which thankfully he found none so he picked him up and carried him towards the other, Gar at his side with the small box on his back. Shimmering blue light greeted them, that had the other two covering their eyes, when it was gone the ghost were the only ones left, the demon nowhere in sight. Their confusion must have shown because Felix spoke up, “he’s gone now, we were able to banish him away from he. He won’t come back to get revenge or harm Mark anymore. We should go back to camp to get him looked over.” That said they moved forward with Felix and the two others up at the front speaking in hushed voices Wade and company in the middle with the ghost in the back. “What’s your name?” Wade asked the box riding on Gar’s back, even though he had his suspicion what the name could be. “My name is Tim, Tiny box Tim is my full name but you can all call me Tim. Why is it that you ask?” the box asked somehow looking like a small child which made Wade even sad at that thought. “No reason other than Mark is going to be super excited when he sees you and hears your name.”