#so like technically plants do scream when hurt

[wazzappp]

I took a shot at writing!

Thank you to @rokhal for letting me mess with your dream sharing idea its absolutely DELIGHTFUL

And thank you to @moosemonstrous for beta reading for me. Its so fucking cool to have an author I admire so much giving me advice <33!!

Basically, RE! Robbie having Jill’s nightmare from RE3 remake, and all the consequences that follow

A loud crash of thunder woke Robbie up. He blinked a few times and unstuck his face from the desk he had apparently fallen asleep on. Again. His mouth felt unbearably dry in the way that tended to happen after a good hard sleep. At least he had a glass of water ready to help him wake up.

He sipped it and let the sound of rain pattering surround him. It was usually so quiet this far out in the woods. It almost made it hard to sleep. There was no ambient sound of the freeway, no trains passing or people talking when they walked by. No neighbors banging on the door drunk at 3 AM pleading for their exes to take them back. Pros and cons to everything, he supposed.

He grabbed the book on local wildlife he had been attempting to read before drifting off and headed to his room. His back never really hurt after falling asleep in odd positions anymore. That kinda made sense. If he could come back from a fractured arm after a few minutes, a pulled muscle or two shouldn't be anything to write home about. 

He still didn't really know how to feel about… all that. At least the only thing he seemed to do was heal fast. The black mold leaking out of his eyes and writhing around the day he found out about his infection seemed to be a one time deal, thank god. Gabe hadn't been so lucky, but he seemed to be coping with his new plant powers fairly well. Were they plants? Technically speaking, the flowers were made of mold and he was pretty sure mold was something different. Would it be suspicious for him to ask the BSAA lady for a book on fungi? He still had so many questions.

They hadn’t really talked much about each other's powers - god. Powers. What the fuck was his life - after the initial ‘bike-meets-garden’ incident. He had questions for sure, he just wasn’t sure how to go about asking them. Really, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey Gabe, I’m trying really hard to be chill about your mold minion deal, but I gotta ask; Why do you glow?’ Would Gabe even know the answer? Robbie really just hoped it didn't hurt. 

Maybe the BSAA were keeping him and Gabe to see if they could find a better cure. That seemed almost too good to be true. He shuddered at the memory of their last attempt. on the Baker Estate. Bodies shriveling up and breaking into pieces like statues made of crusted over baking soda, screaming all the while before falling mercifully silent.

He reached the end of a hallway that felt way too long and opened the door as quietly as he could so he wouldn't wake Gabe. The fact that their rooms were on two different floors really didn't make a difference. He set his stuff down on the side table next to his bed before flopping down onto the mattress. God he was tired. The day felt grimy on his skin, even though he couldn't remember what he had been doing when the sun was out, and a shower seemed wasteful at this point. A little face wash and then he could go back to bed and wake up without horribly crusty eyes in the morning.

He forced himself up and walked over to the bathroom. His private bathroom, jeez, what a luxury. Turned on the water and waited for it to warm up. He felt a tickle in the back of his throat.

Robbie coughed a couple of times and felt a bit of phlegm come up. Oh, come on. Being sick with one weird disease wasn't enough? He spat it out into the sink so it could drain along with the rushing water. 

It was black.

He stared as it swirled around and around in the sink. He coughed again. More black. More and more and more until it was dribbling in an almost constant stream down his chin. Okay. Alright. This had happened once before when he first started his medicine. It had sucked but he was ultimately fine. This was probably fine too.

He met his own eyes in the mirror and tried to take a steadying breath. The mold had started dripping out his nose. His left eye blackened and seemed to deflate. Shriveling and sinking into his skull as more mold spewed out of the rotting socket like a fountain. He wheezed and slapped his hand over it to try and stop everything inside him from leaking out. 

There was a sort of snapping in his right eye as blood vessels there started to burst. The same feeling as breaking the last few nerves holding a loose tooth in. In seconds it was entirely bloodshot. His iris lightened from it’s usual dark brown to a jaundiced yellow. The same eyes covering the creature in the boathouse that called itself Jack Baker.

He stumbled back from the mirror and felt something in his jaw break loose. He reached up to try and feel what was wrong but stopped when he caught more black spreading up his hands. His scars formed deep grooves as his flesh molded over and shrunk down to the bone. It was creeping steadily up his arms, shooting through his veins like little spiderwebs, turning his skin the dull gray of a long dead corpse. He grabbed at his arms, desperately trying to stop it from spreading, only to spill more black as his new claws dug deep into what should have been skin and muscle. It didn't even hurt. He didn't feel anything except the panic presently choking him.

The endless black spilled over and dribbled into little puddles on the floor. He shuffled further away from the mirror until his back was against the wall and watched the mold spread across the linoleum as it had spread across himself. It was spilling over the edges of the sink now. Growing on the mirror. On the cabinets. On the walls. Each part of the bathroom that he made a habit out of bleaching meticulously was covered in black speckles. Everywhere he had stepped, each place his fingers brushed. Everything he touched was rotting.

There was a gun on the counter.

Something that sounded like distress came out of his throat. It was hard to tell. It was garbled and choked and chittering. Its reverberations ran deep into his chest and rattled his teeth. The sound was utterly inhuman. He forced himself forwards and grabbed the gun. He didn’t remember how it got there. Has it always been there? He couldn't remember.

His sharp fingertips were digging into what remained of the countertop, and he was having trouble fitting his claw through the trigger guard. He eventually managed. This wouldn't kill him, he knew that. But maybe it would allow enough time for Gabe to run away and get a head start before he totally lost himself. Would it be worse for Gabe to find him with a hole in his head or as a rotting husk of himself, attacking everything in sight?

He chittered again. A strip of flesh fell off his cheek and landed in the sink with a wet plap. 

Robbie raised the gun up to the side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Or eye, rather. It didn't matter. For some reason he could still see his reflection. Whatever was doing this wanted him to see it through to the very end. The teeth under his horrible red eye were starting to peek through his rapidly decaying cheek.

The bang of the gun sounded off alongside his garbled shrieking.

-

Shrieking that woke him up.

No chittering that shook his skull and disjointed jaw. Just plain screaming. He never thought he would be so happy to hear it. He huffed, trying to catch his breath. Checked his hands; no traces of black mold. Just tanned skin striped with scars and damp from a cold sweat.

He breathed a sigh of relief and let himself relax back into the twisted sheets he had apparently been thrashing around in. There was a loud thump from downstairs, like someone had fallen down, which was swiftly followed by smaller thumps. A sound he had grown to recognize as Gabe rushing up the steps. He sat up and mentally prepared to put his brother back to bed.

Gabe slammed the door to Robbies room open before he could even stand up. His eyes were red, just in the normal way. Not the nightmare red and yellow. Tears were streaking his face. He sobbed and ran at Robbie, tackling him in a hug.

“You aren't allowed to do that!” He cried into Robbies chest.

Robbie held him close and stroked his hair, “Sorry, Gabe. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can try and get some good headphones for you so it won't happen again.”

Gabe sniffled against his shirt. He adjusted himself so he could glare up at Robbie. It would be adorable if he weren't so clearly upset. 

“What? No, I don't care about that. I mean you can't do that!”

“I don't - I’m really sorry Gabe I don't know what you’re talking about.” Gabes glare got narrower. He raised his pointer finger to the side of his head and mimed ‘pow’.

Robbies spine went ridgid. What the fuck.

“I don't care how sick you get. I don't care if you heal fast. Don't. Do. That.” He felt his heart break a little. Gabe had buried his face back into Robbies shirt. That was nice. It made sure Robbie didn't have to try and hide whatever the hell his expression was.

Something repeated in the back of his head: It gave you my nightmares. That was what Gabe had said. It felt like an eternity ago but it had probably been just a little over a month. 

“I didn’t--” Jesus, motherfuck, what the hell was he supposed to do? Maybe if he just started talking, he could find the right thing to say. Was there even a right thing to say at all? No parenting manual he’d ever read had a guide for what to do if you started sharing dreams with the person you looked after. Especially horrific nightmares like the one he just had.

Breathe. Focus. Gabe is upset. You know what to do when Gabe is upset. 

Robbie pulled him closer, “It's okay. Everything is going to be okay.” He really couldn't guarantee that, but it had to be said for his own sake as much as it was Gabes. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to see that.” I didn’t want to see it either. “I don't think that's going to happen. I think it was like your dream. You remember what I said then, right? It’s just our brains coming up with what scares us most.”

“That's what scares you?”

“Yeah. If I–--” he swallowed, “if I'm not… myself, then I can't take care of you.”

“I get it. I didn’t like losing myself either.” God, he was so stupid. Stupid and selfish, of course Gabe knew what that was like. He had been stripped of his own self control, changed on a fundamental level and had powers Robbie was too scared to ask questions about. Here he was, running away from things, and his brother was stuck paying the price for it.

Robbie tried to talk past the lump in his throat. “I'm so sorry, Gabe.” He could feel tears leaking down his cheeks. He prayed to God they were normal. “I don’t - I don't know how any of this works and it freaks me out a little. You don't scare me, I meant that when I said it, but it’s hard for me to understand things I can’t see. I don’t see stuff in my head the way you do.” He took a moment to breathe and leaned back so he could get Gabe to look up at him. “Do you think you can explain how it works to me? I think you might know better than I do.”

Gabe scrubbed his eyes and sat up. “I have an idea, but I don't know for sure. I’m really not like Eveline, Robbie. She talked like she knew how everything worked and I just don’t. I could be really wrong.”

“That's okay. I don't expect you to know everything, just do your best.”

Gabe kept his eyes down, “So, the plants and my fr- flowers. My flowers. They connect and talk to each other. You can do that with people too, Robbie. Evie used it to tell everyone what to do, but I think you can just make it smaller. Like connecting just two people.” Gabe looked up at him, “I think sometimes, in our sleep, you and me talk like my flowers. Talking without talking. Showing each other things.”

Okay. That was a lot. It made sense, it did. But accepting that would mean that his brain had been more affected than he thought, that his body was probably more affected than he thought. If they could do this, what else was possible? Knock it off. Solve the problem in front of you.

“Alright. Do you know how to stop it?”

Gabe shook his head. “No. I thought my flowers made you sick and that was why we dreamed together, but it's not that. It takes a lot to break that connection.” Robbie remembered Gabe stomping on one of his flowers until it was nothing but a smudge on the forest floor. Probably not a good method to repeat. 

He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, “Maybe we could just try to have good dreams instead?”

Robbie let out a short laugh, “That would be nice. I’d like to have good dreams with you. What would we dream about?”

“Hmmmmm… maybe ice skating? I can actually try it now! Ninja Wolf went ice skating before and he looked so awesome. He hopped on his swords and skated around on them, Robbie!”

Robbie would almost assuredly fall on his ass right away, but he would gladly take a dream about repeatedly slipping on ice over what their nightmares had been in the past. “That sounds nice. Do you want me to put you to bed downstairs and see if you can dream that?”

“No!” Gabe hugged Robbie tight again.

“Okay, that's okay, hey,” he started petting Gabes head again, “do you want to just stay with me tonight?” Gabe nodded and sniffled. “Alright, here let's just get a little more comfortable.”

He leaned back until he was resting just a little upright on his pillow so Gabe could lie down. His arms stayed wrapped tight around Robbies torso, like he was scared he’d disappear. Robbie shimmied the blankets up and over to cover them both.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

Gabe hugged him tighter and looked up at him very seriously, “I don't care if our dreams are close. I want to be actually close.”

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. “I want that too.”

They slept dreamlessly. 

[syncrovoid-presents]

Okay but consider, if we stretch eyes to include all eye-like organs and not just human-like eyes, then we must include pinhole eyes (eyespots and photoreceptors, to be more scientifically accurate).

Therefore, you must consider Giant Clams! These beautiful creatures have not one, not two, but several thousand eyes each, all along the edge of their outer mantles! Each eye spot is around .5mm wide, so imagine how many of those you could fit on the mantle of a 4 foot to 4.5 foot (average size of a giant clam, it depends on the species). Plus there are approximately 12 species and they can live upwards to 100 years old!

So! That means each giant clam adds a few hundred eyes to the eye count. If you count a clan's foot as a leg, each adds only one to the leg count. (Yep, that's right. Clams have one singular foot.)

Also underwater you can find Chitons. They are truly bizarre and outstanding creatures, and also have photosensitive eye-like structures, sometimes aesthetes and sometimes ocelli (possesses lenses). Guess how many of these eye-like structures a chiton has? Not one, not 100, but upwards to a thousand (or more depending on the species!) of eyes. Want to know something even cooler? Though there isn't solid proof, I must mention that there is a small theory that chitons can even regrow eyes if they lose them. Plus they have no real legs!

I think that balances out some of the leg counts from millipedes.

AND!! I AM NOT DONE!!

If you count compound eyes as singular, then yes a dragonfly or butterfly only adds 2 to the count. But if you count compound eyes as exactly that, a compounded group of eyes, then bugs add hundreds or thousands to the eye count!

Consider, a human eye has one lens, and each facet of a compound eye has one lens. Both are a single point where light or vision is achieved, so a compound eye would be like if a human face was covered in eyes. A bit like that anyways! But then multiply that to thousands, because bugs have so many eyes!

Dragonflies have up to 30 thousand facets/lenses, butterflies have up to 17 thousand. Mantis shrimp, who have some of the most impressive eyes, can have upwards to 12 thousand. And spiders? These lovely little creatures have single lens eyes, so they only have 8. But scorpions can have 12!

Now here is the most controversial take. If we consider eyes as structures that allow a living thing to see, regardless of how bad that vision is, we need to talk about plants.

Plants, you may ask? Well, dear reader, are you aware of the fact that plants can, in a rudimentary way, see? Plants have special structures called photoreceptors, not too different than some scaled creatures that have a specialized "third" eye, a photoreceptor organ that let's them detect light. For plants this let's them detect an array of wavelengths, allowing them to sense light. They "see" through the visible, far red and ultraviolet light spectrum, although their vision is quite different than a human's.

Plants can see you (though their vision is so poor they cannot see the difference between different humans), and they can also feel you, how silly!

But with plants it isn't as easy and counting how many photorexeptive structures they have, as it grows and changes as the plant does! But if we say every plant counts as one more eye (though it would be more accurate to say hundred, just think each tree leaf counts as an eye, how many leaves does a tree have? That's a lot of new eyes to count!).

Personally, I am on the side of the plants, so I will count them as having eyes (as should you, as should you! It is very rude to ignore those that can see you (this is silly, they don't actually watch, don't worry! @:P )

Also don't forget all the microscopic creatures that live on you, because each person is an entire ecosystem of their own! But the less mentioned the better. Protip to everyone, do not look up demodex eyes. One would expect I formation of the animal, but that is not the case. And for anyone with scopophobia don't research giant clam eyes)

SO!! There are many, many eyes in the world, so think again about this question. I, for one, voted for eyes, as I am a firm believer that there are more eyes than legs on this very planet. And another fun fact, technically the average human has less than 2 eyes, which means that you reading this, yes you. You quite likely have more eyes than the average human. Aren't statistics funny?

Please vote eyes

[rootspiral]

Agatha all along deep dive: episode 1 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1])

Okay, let's keep going through Agatha All Along epsode 1, in which detective Agnes sees Nicky's lock of hair inside her brooch and is stunned into silence for a long ten seconds

she's feeling agonizing heartbreak and cannot even tell why

you know what, she technically is home. she's in her living room as we speak. but every line has multiple readings, so go home... where? to her old self? to her witchy roots? to her coven? to Rio? to Nicky, in the afterlife?

I wonder if all the water puddles are deliberate. do they symbolize mirrors, is she gone through the looking glass? or is water = rio?

the way she has to steel herself before getting into Nicky's room

THE MOON PHASES OVER THE BED. as if she wishes there was a coven looking over him, protecting him

I saw some reactors laughing their asses off at this scene, still hung up on the parody of it all, going "did they make the rabbit into a dead kid backstory? that's HILARIOUS." Sure. So funny.

(they keep associating Nicky with rabbits tho, in the previous scene with Rio there's a blink-and-you-miss-it moment when a plant in the background suddenly turns into Nicky's picture. was señor scratchy named after him?)

why can't they properly light their scenes goddamnit I shouldn't have to use 6 layers to see her face

oh look it's Aubrey Plaza and pizza, two of the sexiest concepts humanity has ever come up with

first of all: open vest and white shirt? that's hot. second of all, the way she's sitting so confidently with her whole chest out, so open, taking deep breaths. she just wants to drink her all up, all of her, her beauty, her sorrow, her goofiness. she's SO damn in love.

what a goober. what a delight. plaid shirt and no makeup, drinking beer and snorting when she laughs, a bit awkward and bashful. what a stud. I would die for her. I would wife her so quickly. I'm gonna say this whit my whole chest, the more femme presenting Agatha is, the more she's wearing a shield and playing a part. this is Agatha raw and defenseless and true, and I want to protect her like she's a precious kitten. (me and Rio both, tbh)

case in point: Agatha is manspreading like some idiot lumberjack, and Rio looks like she has never seen anyone hotter

Agatha: "I have a lead in the case". Rio, with goddamn bedroom eyes: "that's not why I came over."

But then when Agatha looks overwhelmed she immediately course-corrects and encourages her to talk about the case. Love me a boundary-respecting king. Real talk, she's been respecting those boundaries for a long time. And even if she's quite angry at Agatha, she won't unleash all that on her when she's so defenseless.

She pushes a little, and the moment it's too much for Agatha she steps back and regroups. She's being SO gentle.

That's fascinating that her subconscious knows what happened to Billy. Exactly how connected are they?

Whoops, we're leaning in again.

She says yes so openly. When the real Agatha has been running away from Rio and this confrontation for centuries! The real Agatha is SCREAMING in terror, but he body won't listen because it's fallen back into that feeling of domesticity and trust. This is the same body that will always yearn to kiss Rio. The mind that categorically forbids it is shut away for the time being.

Why is Rio trying to wake Agatha up? She could let her stay like this. She could easily make Agnes O'Connor fall in love. The two main reasons why she doesn't are: because she's so fucking angry with her, and she wants them to finally have a mature conversation about Nicky and she needs Agatha to understand that she's hurting too. The second reason is - because she loves her too much. It's honestly just that. She cannot let Agatha live like this, tortured, imprisoned, without agency. She want to have a mature conversation with the real Agatha, she wants to get angry with the real Agatha, most of all she wants Agatha to be okay. Do you see the difference? She's not just in love with her, because being in love is a selfish act, but to love someone is fundamentally selfless. And she will keep loving Agatha no matter if they are together or not. She loves her enough to bend the rules of the universe for her. She just... she loves her.

and this, letting Agatha exist in this form, is a punishment too cruel for Rio to allow

The half smile, the bitterness behind it. An Agatha who doesn't hate her is just a beautiful fantasy, but Rio knows better.

it's Billy! and another mirror! yep, that's a theme.

Ha, the real Sharon was calling him a hooligan. RIP sharon, gone too soon

so intense!!?! even when she's not doing it on purpose, her characters are cheesy and cliched. and it takes a lot of talent to write a bad show too, so kudos to jac schaeffer & co

go to part 3

[five-and-dimes]

Sleeping Beauty-esque au where Dream wants to Stop Living but doesn’t want to go through making someone be his replacement (being Dream of the Endless is so hard, how cruel would it be to subject that role to someone else?) and it occurs to him that he is the Dreaming and the Dreaming is him so what if he just… took one of those out of the equation? As long as there is a Dreaming then technically there is a Dream even if he’s not human-shaped anymore and so one day he goes into one of the gardens and he lays down and closes his eyes and lets Dream the Person sink into Dream the Place. 

Matthew comes looking for him and gets lost because his magic-raven-senses, which are supposed to always know where Dream is, are telling him he’s everywhere?? And finally he stumbles upon a body, still breathing but with moss and ivy and briars slowly growing around him, a living body being reclaimed by nature and Matther naturally freaks the fuck out, clawing at the plants and pecking at Dream’s hands and pulling his hair to try to wake him but all it does is make the ivy grow faster and he’s pushed back by a gust of wind that feels like a sigh. 

Cursing as loud as a raven is capable of, he books it back to Lucienne, and it takes a few minutes for her to make sense of his panicked cawing but then she is dropping the book in her hands and rushing to call anyone she can think of, which includes both the rest of the Endless and also one particular immortal human because that’s how desperate she feels. 

And then it’s a line of people taking turns sitting next to Dream the Body, gently pushing back the greenery around him, some of them sobbing when they see how the plants are starting to grow through him, and the body is still breathing but it’s decomposing, sinking deeper into the landscape, and it’s hard to tell but they think Fiddler’s Green is crying, pleading with the Dreaming itself to walk on two legs again. 

I think eventually Hob, who has been coming and speaking every night in his sleep, trying to bribe and barter and goad his friend to come back to them, finally snaps when he comes and sees Dream’s body completely covered by moss and vines, looking for all the world like just an uneven patch of field, and he thrusts his hands into the earth and physically tears Dream out, standing and dragging him away from the plants that reach to take him back, and he starts sobbing and screaming about how Dream isn’t getting rid of him that easily, Hob is immortal by stubbornness alone, if Dream thinks he won’t fall in love with a goddamn patch of grass he’s got another thing coming, he wants Dream to walk with him and live with him, but if he has to marry Dream the Place then that’s what he’ll do, he will make the realm itself his husband and spend eternity nurturing it, give whole new meaning to the term “husbandry”. And the ivy is crawling up Dream’s body, trying to pull him out of Hob’s arms, but before it can cover Dream’s face Hob is kissing him for all he’s worth. 

And then the ivy slows, and the wind seems to shudder, and the land is still but Hob thinks he feels a separating within it, like the red sea parting beneath a blessed hand, and it takes a moment, because so much of Dream has spread like roots throughout the Dreaming and it’s hard in so many different ways to pull it all back into himself, but Hob holds him through it, peppering his face with kisses as the earth falls away from his withered body and being a person again hurts, but Hob’s love soothes it like a balm. 

And then he awakens, opening his eyes for the first time in months, cradled in Hob’s arms, with soft memories of everyone who had tried to bring him back because they wanted him back, and he is still so tired, but. But maybe, he thinks, being awake, being here, is not so bad if there is someone to hold him like this.

Hob kisses him again.

[solaneceae]

imprint

a team bolas oneshot. q!baghera centric (read on ao3) hurt/comfort, found family

Day Five is technically one of the good ones, because their minds are not drowning in bloodlust and fog-mist, Foolish is making great progress on the castle off in the desert, and the other teams have been leaving them alone for the most part.

Doesn’t mean it’s a good day for Baghera, though. “My body’s so far away,” she whines, rummaging through the chests in search of iron armor and food. “You need help getting back to it?” Phil asks. The duck shakes her head, because she refuses to make him waste twenty minutes just chaperoning her as she stumbles around the map looking for her corpse. “I’ll be fine,” she sighs, picking up a diamond sword and fastening her mask onto her face. It requires some adjustments, with her having a beak and all, but she makes it work. “I’ll be okay.”

(Ten minutes later, her eyes open to dark cave ceilings and glittering gemstones, body tingling from respawn. She wants to scream.)

Phil is back with more resources, and Baghera feels strange. Not bad, just… strange.

It’s a feeling that’s been lingering even since they all fell into Purgatory, growing stronger or weaker in no discernable pattern, always somewhere at the back of her skull. Like a voice almost, not also not that, because there are no words being whispered, only vague drives. And right now, as their fearless leader busies himself at the crafting table, she gets the uncontrollable urge to get his attention. Hello, she chirps, walking up to him. He hums, but doesn’t acknowledge her further, too focused on his task. Her hindbrain gives unhappy. Hi, hi, she tries again, getting into his personal space and jumping around him and what is she doing? “Phil, Phil,” she quacks, look at me, pay attention to me! She forgot what she needed, what did she need? Hi, flock, dad, dad! 

“You’re— Jesus Christ,” Philza bursts into laughter, evading her smaller form as he moves to a nearby chest. “You’re getting in the way, Baghera.”

“Do you have a boat?” she asks, and right, that’s what she needed. He cocks his head, an amused smile on his face. “Do I have a boat.”

“Yee.”

“I don’t— I mean, sure, I can make you one.” She makes a happy sound, bounces off her heels as he gets to work. Flock, dad. Hello. “I’m not, you know I’m not gatekeeping crafting shit,” he laughs as he hands her the boat and she magicks it into her inventory. “You could make your own.” And yes, that’s true, she could. But she likes it when Philza hands her things, like earlier when he dropped food onto her when she was stuck in that hole. It makes her brain happy, somehow.

It only hits her later, when Phil has gone off somewhere, that she had started to truly associate him with that hindbrain-thrum of dad, not as a bit, but something way too real for her taste. She resists the urge to crawl into a hole and shrivel away, and decides to make one last attempt to recover her old body.

(It fails, as things tend to do today. But at least she got distracted.)

***

The silence is deafening. She can hear the occasional grumble in Portuguese coming from her earpiece as Cellbit works on the maze inside the castle, and she wishes she was there making traps instead of getting dirt all over her wings. “I want to kill some people,” she huffs as she digs through rich soil to plant yet another tea sapling. At least farming she could do without messing things up. “I wanna just— run at them and scream.” Can she have that? Can she have this one thing, can she have a little bit of fun today before her timer runs out?

Cellbit hums into her earpiece. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, and she can feel another part of her wilt at his final tone. “Death counts too much today, you know?” (You will die, his words twist in her tired mind. You’re weak. You can’t be left alone. You’ll drag us down.) “And Phil did so much for us this morning, I don’t wanna disappoint him.”

Well I already did! she wants to scream. I’m just a dead weight, and I waste everyone’s time and don’t accomplish anything on my own! “...Okay,” she replies instead, whisper-soft, and just keeps planting.

(She misses the rest of the family-flock. She misses Jaiden, and Charlie, and Carré, all asleep inside the nest with no sign of waking up anytime soon. She wishes she could join them, put an end to this cursed day already — but she clings onto her fear of letting Cellbit down even more than she already did, and presses on.)

Cellbit renames Iris after a commercial mascot, and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And she knows she shouldn’t be mad, because he doesn’t know she’s just spent twenty minutes having a breakdown over them and imprinting like crazy, but she just feels so dismissed by that. So she buries herself somewhere in the desert and screeches out her frustration where he can’t hear her, comms off.

***

“Baghera?”

Her ear feathers twitch. She looks up from the little cozy spots she had made for Iris (they’re gone now. Probably with Cellbit, helping him withe the maze. the maze she wanted to help with. She wishes Charlie had woken up earlier, so they could commiserate over their shared feelings of inadequacy.) “Phil…?” she sniffles, quickly rubbing at her cheeks to erase the evidence of her breakdown. Didn’t the crow run out of time earlier today? She hears a ch-ch-chrrrrp, and she mimics it without thinking, hindbrain buzzing with something soothing. Philza Minecraft appears from behind a corner, and his eyes are soft  or maybe he’s just tired. “Come here,” he beckons, and she finds himself getting to her feet and stepping up to him. “Something wrong?” she cocks her head at him, and he chuckles lightly. “Nah, mate. Just come over here.”

He leads her out of the alcove and into their… sleeping quarters, which was just another part of the cave with their nest in the middle. “Kay, sit down,” the crow says, patting the side of the nest, and part of her panic with the childish fear of oh shit, am I in trouble? “You’ve got sand in your feathers. Lemme help you get that out before you bring it with you in the family pile, yes?”

Oh. She glances at her comm, realises she only has about twenty minutes before it knocks her out for the day. She clacks her beak in frustration — she had accomplished a whole out of nothing today. Fais chier. “...Okay,” she sighs, because at least a little preening sesh would be a decent way to end this shitty day.

“I noticed you were having a rough time,” the crow hums, carding his claws through the down on her arms to dislodge a few pebbles. “Thought you could use some TLC.”

She blinks owlishly (duckishly?). “I don’t know what that means.”

“Ah, like, just taking care of you a little. You felt sad and frustrated all day.”

She deflates, ear feathers drooping. “Didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It’s not. I just notice this shit better than most,” Phil hums, dislodging more sand that drop outside the nest and digging his claws further in. Baghera closes her eyes — it feels nice. Her wings had been so itchy all day. “Especially when it comes to other avians.”

Right. Philza had retained more memories of his time outside the island than most of them, that made sense. “I’m sorry for calling you dad,” she blurts out, before she loses the nerve to. “I know everyone�� I know everyone did it, for the joke, but I think I forgot it was a joke.” (“Dad, are you proud of me? I killed a silverfish!”) 

She remembers Charlie belting out a ‘papa!’ when Phil came back with apples and berries two days ago. She remembers Jaiden calling him dad when he bandaged her left wing after a bad fall, Cellbit’s whiny ‘daaad, when are you gonna come pick me up?’, Carré jokingly moaning out a ‘gracias papi!'. Foolish is the only one that didn’t follow the pattern at this point, probably because he, too, is an immortal being… and the only one free of daddy issues and trauma, apparently. “I don’t mean to,” she breathes out. “My brain’s been all weird since we came here, and I don’t… I don’t mean when we get all starved and murder-y.”

Phil hums, plucks out a loose feather. “Yeah, same. Something about this place is fucking with our code I think. Mob code, specifically. That’s why they’re buffed to hell, It’s not your fault.”

“But it’s,” she groans, struggling to find the right words, both because of the language barrier and her own messy feelings. “You already have kids. I’m an adult. I can’t force that role on you, but my stupid bird brain keeps screaming at me. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s natural, Baghera. I don’t mind. And… forgive me for pointing it out, but if what you said yesterday was true, then you’ve never had an older avian to imprint on as a child. So it’s no wonder your instincts are going crazy now.”

She freezes. “...Oh,” a quiet realization, shame, regret. “You, um. You understood that.” You took it seriously. You remembered. Somehow, that makes her feel… a bit better. Seen. Despite the fact that she just blurted out her deepest darkest secret as a bit, and lo and behold, consequences. Phil shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anyone else did,” he hums, smoothing out her left wing with a satisfied croon. “Gimme the other one? Good, nice.”

“You’re not mad?” she asks, so quiet and hesitant Philza stops and looks up at her. “That I’m a clone. That I’m… Federation property.”

“Don’t say that shit,” he bares his teeth, puts his hands on her shoulders to squeeze them tightly. “They don’t owe you. It doesn’t matter if they made you or whatever, you’re not them. If anything, you’ve got even more of a reason to hate them as the rest of us.”

“I don’t know…. I don’t know what they did, to me. I don’t even think I’m a real avian.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not like you. Or like Jaiden.” she gestures to her left wing. “I have a bill, you have… human face. Mostly human.” She makes a strangled sound. “Your wings are on your back, mine are just my arms, they’re just this. And even if— even if they weren't clipped, I couldn’t fly with those, only glide, maybe. I know that. They made me wrong.” Her eyes well up with angry tears. “They all… my siblings, they’re all dead, Phil. They all died, and I’m the only one left, and I’m not even good. I’m defective. Maybe that’s why I mess up everything. Maybe that’s why I’m such a burden for you guys.”

“Dude, stop.”

Philza closes his mouth before he can protest, both pairs of eyes turning to a sluggish Charlie, sans glasses, pushing himself up from his blankety prison without rousing Jaiden or Carré. “That’s… that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard you say. And we debated about human milk cheese and the ethics of eating your own eggs, so that’s saying something,” he mutters, more serious than the duck has ever seen him. The effect is a little diminishes by his squinty, smaller-than-usual eyes (she was so used to seeing him with her glasses permanently stuck to his face) and the yawn that drowns out the end of his tirade, but it still makes Baghera’s breath hitch and her throat close up with emotions. “Charlie…”

“Okay look— I barely feel real right now, yeah? I just woke up, and I haven’t got a modicum of context here, but I’m not letting you talk shit about yourself.” The slime hybrid hauls himself up with a wince, the corruption on his arms and face buzzing and writing angrily for a second. “G-ah. T-Thisssss is gon-gonna b-be a bad, ba-aad day, hu-uuh.”

“Slime— wow, mate, maybe you should lay back down and wait it out.”

“S-Sorry d-aaaad, I’m going th-through mmmmy rebell-bellious phase.” Charlie staggers up to them and sits across Baghera movements stilted and visibly uncomfortable. The duck hybrid opens her bill to tell him off — no no stop it, you’re hurting yourself — but he wraps both arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder, the tingle-freeze of his codified parts stunning her into silence. It doesn’t hurt, and she’s not about to refuse a hug from a constantly touch-starved Slime, but it does sting a little. Like static shock, but not quite. “You’re so fucking great dude,” the man says, corruption leaving his voice as the glitches diminish in intensity. “I never told— never told you this, but the first day we met. The wedding? That was the first time in a while that someone was willing to go along with my bullshit.” He squeezes her a bit tighter. His face feels a bit wet agaisnt the feathers of her shoulder, and Baghera lets out a string of hurt? hurt? no, flock, clean. “It felt good. And— hey, not only that, but you were also the only one where who didn’t have pity, or scorn, or, or distrust written all over your face. But maybe I just didn’t know how to read duck body language at the time, haha.”

“I wasn’t pitying you,” Baghera murmurs, trembling arm coming to rest against her friend’s back. Words feel like jagged rocks going up her tight throat. “I didn’t know anything about you. I just found you funny, and you listened to me when we talked about the elections. You kept making sure I was being heard, and… and you were nice to Pomme on her birthday, too. That was enough for me. You know?”

Slime chuckles wetly. “Yeah. She’s a great kid. We’ll fucking get her back, okay?”

“I hope so…”

“Hey. Listen.” He draws away to cup Baghera’s face, squishing it slightly between his hands. Her feathers puff up as a result, it’s funny. “Listen well, Baghera Jones. My—” a sharp intake of breath. “M-My Flippa’s fine, yeah? She’s just waiting for me back at the island, she’s not in danger. But your kid is. And if… haha, if I can be sappy for a sec. With Jaiden, you’ve been the closest thing to a real friend I’ve had for a long time. So I’ll help you get Pomme back, alright?”

The duck’s green eyes well up with tears, some of which start painting dark streaks down her face. “Of… of course I’m your friend,” she sniffles, and she keeps making low chirp-trills Charlie doesn’t understand. “And you’re mine too. I care about you, Charlie.”

“I know. I… I know. And I won’t have you saying bad things about yourself either. You’re litterally so fucking cool, and you put up with my bullshit like nobody else, and I feel safe blurting out the most unhinged crap on God’s cubic Earth because I know you’ll just double down and make me question my sanity, in the best possible way.” He giggles, an unsteady, wild little thing slightly cut up by a stray glitch. “Or whatever’s left of it.”

Baghera’s comm beeps, startling the three of them. Philza approaches (had he moved away to give them space? Aw.), scoffs, glares at the bright red numbers on her wrist. “Fuckin— stupid-ass time limit,” he curses. “We don’t have much time, but we can end your day on a good note, okay?”

The duck hybrid glances at Philza, then at Charlie, pupils so wide the green can barely be made out. She takes a deep breath, thinks of the team. Of her children, waiting for her somewhere. Of everyone else that they lowkey hated right now. And she nods.

***

“Do it Baghera, do it!”

“That’s right, fuck ‘em up!”

“I’m doing it!” the duck woops, pouring the final bucket over the structure and watching it roll across the soil and crops who quickly start to catch on fire. “It’s working, it’s working!”

“Baby’s first lavacast,” Phil coos fondly from his roosting spot, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m so proud.”

He and Charlie watch as Baghera cackles madly, her eyes alight with the fires of war, staring down at her handiwork. “They are so gonna know it was us,” Slime hums, a huge smile on his face as he marvels over Blue’s farm being covered in ash and cobblestone. Phil shrugs. “Yeah, there’s no way. Worth it though.”

“So worth it,” the slime hybrid nods approvingly — Baghera was finally having fun, and seeing her smiling was definitely a highlight of today. “Oh we’re gonna get fucked in the ass tomorrow. No lube, all diamond sword just like God intended.”

Philza bursts into mad, crow-like cackles at that, hitting the slime hybrid’s shoulder to push him off the perch. Charlie falls with an indignant, high-pitched scream that makes Baghera laugh even harder. “How much time left?” the Crowfather calls out at her, and she turns to him with a mad ducky grin. “Eleven seconds!” she quacks back, and Philza’s eyes widen. “What?!”

“Yepp! Gonna pass out now see you tomorrow catch me or let me die I don’t care I have nothing on me!” she sing-songs rabbit-quick, pulling a little jig on top of her dirt tower before her body seizes with a gasp, her comm shocking the literal daylights out of her. Slime lets out a loud oh shit and takes off in a mad sprint as Philza jumps down as well, managing to cushion the duck’s fall with his own goopy, goopy body. “Ow,” he whines, voice muffled by the loose dirt he’s faceplanted into. “My sometimes-existing bones.”

“You good mate?” Philza reached them both, kneeling to check on Baghera — not a single heart of damage on her, her face neutral and peaceful in electronically-induced sleep. “Good catch.”

“Thanks.” Charlie lets his friend roll off his body with a grunt, pulling himself back together quickly before, hauling his friend on his back. “Mission accomplished, Crowfather Phil! Now let’s skedaddle the fuck outta here before Tubbo or BitchBoyHalo shows up.”

“Yeah, time to dip. Back to base, Bolas!”

“WOOOOOOH YEAAAAH! LET’S FUCKING ROLL!”

[raointean]

Elrond Week Day 2 - Grief and Growth

Elros could hear nothing but the blood roaring in his ears and his own panicked breaths as he stuffed himself deeper inside the craggy rock hollow he and Elrond had always used as a hiding place during play. They were not playing anymore. Elros had followed his nanneth’s instructions and ran for the woods as soon as he was out the window.

He had lingered there on the forest’s edge, waiting for nearly a minute, but his mother had not come out of the house. Nor had Elrond.

He tried to quiet his breathing lest someone come across his hiding place and discover him and did his best to quell his tears. Nanneth and Elrond were almost certainly killed, Ada was away at sea, and Elros was entirely alone. No one to protect him, no one to pull him out of the spiral he had fallen into.

Just as he was about to lose the battle with his tears, he heard a scuffling outside of the hollow. His heart skipped a beat and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stop his squeak of fear from escaping, but as he listened more closely, the scuffling sounded… strange. Unsteady, lightfooted, not accompanied by any clank of armor or weapons.

Elros chanced a glance out of his hiding spot only to see Elrond! He called to him in a harsh whisper, beckoning him towards the hollow. As soon as he was within reach, Elros pulled him inside and pushed the both of them as deep in as they could go, so that they could only be seen from above.

“What happened?” he asked in a soft whisper. “Where is Nana?”

Elrond didn’t react, staring directly at him with wide eyes and uneven pupils, not registering a thing in front of his face. A cursory glance revealed the probable cause of his brother’s condition: a massive bruise blooming in the middle of his forehead to complement his still sluggishly bleeding nose. That wasn’t good. If Elrond was hurt so obviously, he could be hurt elsewhere. But if he could not speak, he couldn’t tell Elros where and how he was hurt.

Gently, Elros took Elrond’s hand and pushed his sleeve up, checking for injuries like Nana had taught them. As he searched, he spoke to Elrond, trying to get some kind of response from him. “We’ll be alright. We are outside of the village and away from the kinslayers where they cannot find us.”

No response. Elros tried a different tactic. “What… is your favorite plant today? I know that changes all the time. Is it something edible? Something pretty? Something… venomous?”

Still nothing. The damage was clearly far beyond anything Elros could treat if Elrond would not even correct his simple mistake of poisonous vs. venomous. He needed a healer

Elros kept up a constant stream of quiet chatter as he finished checking Elrond for wounds and made plans for how to get him to a healer. They would sneak out of the hollow at nightfall - surely the kinslayers would be gone by then - and find other survivors. But what if there were no other survivors? Elros immediately pushed the thought away- it was unhelpful and, if it were true, they were doomed.

All of a sudden, a shadow fell over them. Elros fell silent immediately, praying it was just a cloud or some large bird.

His prayer went unheard.

Above him loomed a monstrous figure, stained with blood and impossibly tall, staring hardly down at him. Elros hit, kicked, and bit as he was dragged out by the scruff of his neck and handed off to another kinslayer, but was unable to do any real damage.

He took no notice as he was handed to yet another murderer, this one on a horse, and taken to the nearby Fëanorian camp. He took no notice of his home burning behind him. He took no notice of the dark-haired Fëanorian’s calls for a healer.

He did take notice when Elrond began to scream as if stabbed when they passed a stretcher bearing a redheaded corpse.

What would become of them?

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

I also wrote what happened to Elrond (this is technically chapter 2) but it was a little gory for this challenge week. If you want to read it though, you can find it here.

@elrondweek

[peachy-lemon83]

Why am I reacting to these like it’s my first time seeing them?? I’ve watched these like at least 3 times and that’s for the new episodes because I was absent in the fandom bc I am a wondering cat who can not stay in one fandom house or even fandom neighborhood lol)

Okay but I actually love Logan giving Deceit room to speak in selfishness v. Selflessness Redux (wether he wanted to or not)

Him being upset at Patton for skipping his information just bc it didn’t contribute to his side

Logan teaming up with Deceit! it was great

It definitely felt like a “you’re both hurting him too” moment for Patton and Roman, especially Patton who seems to be like the purest of light sides. We’ve seen them unintentionally hurt Thomas before but this was huge

(Also is it me or does Deceit seem kind of salty/passive aggressive, almost like he’s upset that something happened bc Thomas wasn’t taking time for himself… mmmmm wonder what big things have happened bc Thomas wasn’t taking his time and listening to parts of himself… -glances at Virgil ducking out- on top of the three of them already being pushed down and out for so long, not being given the seat at the table)

Also why do all the dark side so far have the same humor, it’s always the sarcastic not technically wrong mixed with the taking things literally

Virgil: oh I’m sorry, was I not wanted at this exact second? (His literally 2nd line in the whole series lmao)

Virgil: do you actually want me to count them? (See a previous post of mine for more details and a better actual quote but it was a response to a question from Logan where he couldn’t tell if he actually wanted him to count out how many times they’d done something or if it was rhetorical)

Remus: (in reaction to Logan saying “and figuratively dress him down”) oh! Well if that’s what you wanted, Logan *pants unzip* you could’ve just said so!

(To which Logan screams about how this is the exact reason he puts the silly “figuratively”s in there for since Roman constantly calls them unnecessary)

Also Logan seems to have gotten this form of combating this down pat(ton) and it makes me wonder if he hangs out with them or just maybe just Virgil and that’s why he has this habit or is it just him being himself

Janus: you’re right we wouldn’t want to plant too many trees (after giving a face/noise of “well…” when Patton said something like “everything in moderation”)

Janus:(in response to Romans: “well when is it enough?” Where he’s pretty obviously talking about the previous topic) …trees?

All to come down to my point I love their sense of humor so much lmao

[mercy-thompson-fanfiction]

Leah and Bran's conversation after the events of Wild Sign

A/N: I had this one already drafted and just never posted it because I literally hate how much I find Bran fascinating as a concept. Like, we all recognize that he did technically do this twice that we know of right? Anyways, he's devolving and I think we can all agree that's fine. ETA: link at bottom to AO3

“You love me.”  The words felt wrong on her tongue. It came out so much flatter and emotionless than she had meant for it to, but she was tired. 

The weight of two centuries being closed off and held at arms length was bone-crushing. Two centuries. Two hundred years she had felt nothing and now even something that should have felt normal—would have felt normal to any other mated werewolf—felt like a tsunami.

“You only want to apologize because I remember.” Everything in her wanted to turn away, but something was forcing her to stay with her feet planted firmly where they were. 

He was thinking too much if he wasn’t responding, gauging her reaction and trying to analyze the best possible outcome. That was what he did always, though usually he was quicker. 

“Unless you refuse to even give me that.”  

“Greatly wronged,” was what he had said, “I don’t want to lose you”.  Manipulation at its finest, he never would apologize. 

There was so much to unpack and Leah didn’t quite think she had the energy for it. She had remembered nothing until that split-second moment of death. Then she had known and it felt as if she’d never failed to know. Like her body had always remembered even if she had not always been able to recall it.  Confessing to her then would have given her power. Admitting he had done wrong would have been too kind. 

I love you.  The only one she could remember loving before these last few days. 

“I don’t forgive you.”  

It was ridiculous. It was against her character. The tears in her eyes clouding her vision betrayed her insecurities more than anything else did. The embrace he met her with wasn’t kind or loving, it wasn’t there for comfort. It was a restraint because she had punched him, half unaware of when she’d made the decision to even swing. 

“I deserved that.” His agreement wasn’t helping, it only made her feel undeniably insane. 

Even in his grip, she couldn’t stop. She shoved at him, only vaguely aware of her own voice. 

Screaming. She was screaming and most of it wasn’t actual language, just noise for the sake of an outlet. The other bits and pieces were senseless—thoughts crossing her mind too fast to process. She screamed because he had stolen her chance at peace, because his children hated her, because he had made her feel less than, because he had ruined her. She felt ruined. There was no way to leave, even if she did want to. He had manipulated her then and he was using her now, using her own emotions against her. Using his feelings which he had kept hidden under lock and key to make her happier. 

She wasn’t happier. 

He had been in the doorway, hadn’t passed into the room at all initially.  She had crossed into his space and hit him and he’d grabbed her and squeezed, catching her hands between them where she was still pushing even as he stepped into the room and slid down the wall until they were in a heap on the floor. 

The tears hadn’t stopped, traitorous fiends, and what few words were still tumbling out of her mouth didn’t even make sense to her. There was no attempt at hushing her, just acceptance or maybe resignation.  

Once, very early on, she remembered him telling her that there was no way he could hurt her. His wolf wouldn’t let him.  Bullshit, she bit him to stop herself because she was making a ruckus and embarrassing herself but neither his his nor the taste of his blood made her recoil. It did give her enough satisfaction, however, to draw a trembling breath before she fell limp altogether in his arms and rested her forehead on his now-bloodied shoulder.

“You hurt me.”

“I recognize that,” He was still agreeing with her and that alone was unnatural at best. “If you would like me to, I will do better.”

If she would like? She wasn’t very sure what she’d like, but that seemed an appropriate starting place. He should do better, should have been doing better this entire time if he thought she was worthy of his affection and appreciation. 

Because she’d said it was love, what she felt from him, but was it? Was it anything more than recognition that she was good at her job, at her role as his mate. 

“You have every reason to doubt me—“

She moved her hand from its place between their bodies to touch a finger to his lips and closed her eyes. Her body was still shaking, her head still on his shoulder. She should move, there wasn’t really a world where she wanted to wake up and actually have the conversation they needed to have. Right now, she needed to unpack it all. 

Alone.

“That is…understandable. I can give you a day to think about it.”

One day to unpack two centuries of abuses. 

How generous. 

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 13: Kann

Faced with an ultimatum, you consider your options. But someone from your past changes things for you and the Mandalorian. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-12 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: DV, attempted SA, graphic depictions of violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only

Length: 2.3k

It was not a restful night for you. Your mind was racing, thinking of ways you could run, just slip away. Maybe stow away on a transport leaving early the next day, regardless of where it was heading. Anything to not be caught up with the Mandalorian again. 

His leaving you on Dantooine had broken something in you, cracked you so deep you knew you couldn’t live through it again. It wasn’t his fault. You knew that, you felt that deeply, but he wasn’t safe. Anyone who had that much sway over you couldn’t be safe. 

Years of isolation had taken its toll on your psyche. You knew that, too. It’s why you’d latched on to the armored man so hard in the first place. It was worse now. You’d seen almost no one except your husband, Kann, for three years and you’d avoided him as much as you could. You’d regularly gone days without saying a word or seeing another person.

Both of you had made an effort, early on, to at least be friends. He’d been kinder then. But you weren’t built to do what he expected of a wife and his frustration with you grew more and more obvious. When you slept with him, you thought about being held against an armored body while being flooded with pleasure and the feeling that you mattered for a reason beyond your skillset or role. 

You’d only been with Kann a few months the first time you walked to the woods. You’d left a note, at least: Went for a walk, back later. You’d intended to come back later and technically you did, it was just a few days later. It’s not like you’d brought supplies with you, just some water to get you through the day and your knife. But being alone, surrounded by the overwhelming feeling of the wild was so freeing, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn back. You climbed trees until you were so high the fall would surely kill you and turned your face to the stars. You took a gamble on what plants would be safe to eat after watching piket feeding and just hoped what didn’t kill them wouldn’t kill you, either. After two days of rain that didn’t show any sign of easing, you hiked home. 

Kann had been furious. He threw you into a wall, pinning you there with his arm against your neck, screaming. 

You’d still been strong, then. You stared him down, a rage building inside you that was unlike anything you’d felt before. It was hard to tell if you’d ever felt anger like this on your own behalf, the intensity usually reserved for someone else being harmed. You grabbed your knife and flipped it open, pressing the tip of it against his stomach, hard enough to hurt but not so hard that it would break the skin. 

“Touch me again,” you said, your voice eerily calm. “And I will kill you.” 

He stepped back from you then, a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said, closing the distance between you with the knife still out. “You don't know who I am, why I'm here or what I've done. But trust this. I know how to kill you in dozens of ways. I’ve done it before and I will do it again if you force me. Do not force me.” 

He left, taking the speeder. He didn’t come back for two days. When he did, he apologized for his reaction, swore it wouldn’t happen again. Asked to start over. You agreed. What choice did you really have? 

It was OK for a while. You tried to do the things he asked of you, mostly work managing the infrastructure of the farm you lived on. But while you were a good liar, he was just as good. You hadn’t realized just how much he hated you, simmering just below the surface. 

It had started slowly. Crops weren’t doing as well this season, he said. Food wasn’t as plentiful. Without much to eat, you cut back on training, saving your strength for things that were more important. You got smaller and weaker. 

There weren’t many credits to be had and Kann started keeping them in a safe. He kept the speeder away from you, too. You weren’t very good at driving it and you couldn’t afford to fix it right now if something happened. 

It all had made sense. Things were difficult but you’d lived through far harder times. Life was calm and quiet, you could still walk and climb when you had the time, there was a sense of tolerance between you and Kann. You hadn’t even realized how dependent you’d become on him, how little you’d be able to do if you needed to fight or flee. He’d lulled you into a false sense of security. 

It stayed like that until Aidla and Tam died. You hadn’t actually seen them in more than a year but you wrote regular letters back and forth - hand written, so you were free to say anything you wanted without risk of a transmitted message being intercepted by anyone looking for you. Aidla had become your only friend, feeling like the older sister you’d never had. And then she was gone. 

Kann didn’t wait long after that. He slapped you, the first time. You’d pushed back on one of his requests - you didn’t even remember what now - and instead of quietly accepting it, he slapped you. You punched him, hard, in the face in response, splitting his lip open before you ran to the woods. You scaled the first really tall tree you could find and watched from above as he looked for you. He never thought to look up. 

There were cycles to it, things building and building for months until the night you fled. He’d tried to hold you down, pull off your clothes. But even after months he underestimated you. You got your teeth around his ear and ripped, your mouth filling with blood and you had to spit the piece of him you’d torn away onto the ground. He pulled back from you, far enough that you could get your hands up, pressing your thumb into his eye until it popped out and you ripped it free as he screamed. He rolled off of you and you ran, grabbing your ring and twisting it open, pressing the sedative into his neck. You got your blaster, the credits, your data pad, your knife and considered killing him before you left. You pointed the blaster at him, aiming it at his head. But he was the only person you’d seen in months, the only person left in the universe who knew you existed as you did now. He’d shared your bed, made you laugh a few times. You thought he’d been good, once. Sometime before. You took the speeder and drove recklessly to the nearest city, selling it to get enough credits to make it off world. 

The last time you’d felt truly safe with another person had been with Din. You knew, with quiet certainty, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Hands that destroyed anyone else touched you with a passion and tenderness that you could barely understand. He’d been your friend, even if it was just for a short time. The only real friend, from a connection forged through circumstance and not blood or duty, that you’d had in nearly a decade. But he’d just left you, said you’d never happened. It had been so easy for him. 

Being near him again was dangerous. 

But he’d tied your hands. You didn’t want Kann dead. Well, not entirely true. If he dropped dead of natural causes, if a speeder crashed into him, if a bar fight went wrong you’d be relieved. You certainly would’t miss him. But you didn’t want his death on your conscious and Din hunting him - and you knew he could - would be on you.

You packed what little you had - just three changes of clothes that you’d managed to scrounge together after getting off Dantooine, the data pad, the handful of credits you’d managed to save, the knife - and left the small room that had been home for the past month. On the way to the spaceport, you stopped by the cafe, leaving a chunk of the credits you had for Shura. She’d been kind to you, slipped you free food on days you couldn’t afford to eat. It wouldn’t get her far but she deserved something good. 

You used most of the rest of the credits you had to grab rations at a market near the port. You wanted to owe the Mandalorian as little as possible and you weren’t about to start this trip as ill-prepared as you were for the last one. 

He was at the market, too. Easy to spot even though you weren’t looking for him, his new armor shining in the sun. He was holding the kid this time, his eyes wide as he took in the sights and sounds. You smiled a little to yourself. The warrior and his failed quarry. An unlikely pair but they somehow fit. The Mandalorian noticed you then, you could still feel when his eyes fell on you. You raised a hand in greeting and took a deep breath, about to join them when the knife slid into your back, making you gasp. 

“You thought you could take my eye and I’d just let you live?” Kann’s voice was in your ear as you collapsed to the ground, eyes still on shining armor as you fell. 

*** 

Din almost dropped the kid when he saw you drop, your body crumpling as you went limp, a man’s face pressed to your ear. Everything happened slowly then. He couldn’t seem to move fast enough, crashing through the press of people, the child pressed against his side as the man came down on top of you. You tried to shove him off but he was bigger and stronger than you and he punched you across the face. Din crouched low as he broke through the people who were suddenly parting to avoid the attack on the street. He set the kid down and tackled the man in the same motion, knocking him off your body and splaying him onto the street. His one remaining eye opened wide in shock, a panicked look on his face. It had to be your husband, a man he already desperately wanted to destroy. He scrambled for a blaster but the Mandalorian knocked it aside easily. 

Time moved differently again. He could hear the blood in his ears, so loud it was like the man pleading for his life below him wasn’t making a sound. Heat filled him, rage so acute it overwhelmed him. Normally, he’d cuff someone like this, hand him to the local authorities or see if there were any open bounties on him. If he got too wild, he might shoot him, end it quickly. Not this time. 

Din brought his fist down on the man’s face with all the force he had inside him, every ounce of rage, the pain of being without you, the ache of knowing he’d left you somewhere that you’d been hurt. He rained it on him, blow after blow after blow, blood pouring from the man’s face. 

“Din!” You were screaming for him, a blaster bolt going past his head and striking another man coming for him. He looked over his shoulder to you, your body in an unnatural position on the ground, but you held the child to your chest with one hand and clutched the blaster he’d knocked away from your husband with the other. Your eyes were still wide, looking past him. He looked up, two more men - not in uniform so not security or police - running for him. He pulled out a blaster and shot them both before punching the man below him again. The blood had stopped pouring from him. Instead, it was just a trickle, his face unrecognizable. There was no more heartbeat left to pump the blood from his body, his chest no longer rose and fell. 

Din looked down at himself, breathless for a moment. His armor was covered in blood, his hand looking like he’d stuck it inside the dead man he was so slick with it. He got up, panting for breath, staring at the dead man below him for a moment, before turning back to you. 

The crowd that had formed was silent as he scanned it for more trouble as he went for you. Your upper body went limp as you gasped for breath, the child reaching one hand to your face, his ears drooping, the blaster only loosely held in your fingers. 

He crouched beside you, your eyes closed. Your face was already swelling where you’d been hit. He gently cupped your uninjured cheek and you pressed your face into his palm in the way you’d always done, wincing as you did, like it was an instinct you couldn’t stop. 

“I’ve got you, Cyare,” he said softly. He tucked the kid into the bag at his hip and delicately lifted you into his arms, your body almost a dead weight against him. Your head rested in the blood at his chest, your breaths shaky. “You’ll be OK, I’ve got you.” 

“Din,” you said quietly, body trembling. “Din, I can’t feel my legs, something’s wrong I can’t feel…” 

You passed out and he held you tighter, leaving bodies and a silent crowd in his wake. 

[ribesrubrum]

under the mask of pride (fear rises as a guide)

//so i feel...honestly, a little guilty for how little i've been around as of late, especially since things are picking up drama-wise. irl debuffs aplenty will do that to you. but i wanted to get some writing out to kind of describe Carmine's mental state, so. here we are.

//fair warning: this fic is technically kind of offscreen rp in that it's at least canon that ren and carmine talked like this, though i'd greatly prefer it not be spread as a rumor or leak or something. but it also does talk about some heavy topics; namely very heavy self loathing, some mention of parental abandonment and abuse (heehoo headcanoning carmine's parents/why she's like this), mentions of bullying, self harm in the form of hair pulling/trichotillomania, and uh. ...look i'm not gonna beat around the bush, i don't wanna edgelord, i wanna treat this with respect but i also don't wanna sugarcoat it, this gets about as close to implying carmine was about to take drastic measures to alleviate her suffering as i'm comfortable with getting. the less implicit version of this warning will be in the tags. please uncollapse the tags before reading. dead dove: do not eat is in full effect here.

//this is going to be pretty heavy, and also stupid long. feel free to click if you're okay with handling that.

Carmine's listlessness has only grown as the days have worn on, she's finding. It doesn't help that her knuckles are still raw from punching her wall a day prior--she's thankful it seems like the wall fix went off without a hitch, and all she got was a rather stern talking to about making noise so late at night before the teacher that spoke with her went off. Cardigan's been sticking close to her side since Leavanny elected to stay near Kieran at least for a time, but even now, she feels pathetic for it.

Pathetic that she can't help her brother. Pathetic that she can't help her girlfriend, who simply wants to make sure that the whole club that they built together and maintained isn't destroyed because of Drayton's boneheaded move. If Carmine looked deep within herself, she'd be looking at Kiki's actions too, that he allowed this, that he's possibly setting himself up to lose everything. That Drayton's encouraging it, and she's been more on edge than ever and ready to tear someone apart for it. If she doesn't wind up punching him out when all is said and done, she's going to be very surprised.

Cardigan trills a bit from beside her, and she looks down to the flower-less Lilligant, pausing a bit as she looks down. She recognizes that trill, and knows that she's probably being concerning right now. Emotional regulation is still something that Carmine struggles with, even now, knowing that she can't and she shouldn't scream her feelings out to try and get people to understand, that yelling doesn't help, that you have to see other's perspectives. Even if sometimes, they trounce all over your own. Carmine looks down to Cardigan, giving the Lilligant a tired smile.

"...Sorry, Cardi. I know I'm probably not making your job very easy." It's soft in a way Carmine never usually is. In a way that Carmine never allows herself to be--she's all bravado and arrogance because for years, that's what kept her safe. That's what kept her and her brother safe, even if it clipped his wings and made everyone around her hesitant to approach either of them. It was safety, the thorns and briars that she metaphorically planted around herself, letting them spread where she walked and lashing them out at anyone who would even for a second think of hurting her. It was safety, it was lonely, but it was home.

...It's no wonder she likes grass types so much. The Lilligant's gaze only seems to get sadder when she says that much, gentle, leafy hands going to take one of her own as Cardigan stares up at her, as if trying to communicate something with those amber eyes that almost seem pleading. Carmine's hand trembles a bit, because once again she doesn't understand, she can't understand, why can't she--

Carmine hears footsteps, and immediately, her guard is up. She's immediately ready to go on the attack, in case anyone saw her, in case she has to defend being out for a walk in the Canyon Biome with her therapy Pokemon, something she's already received plenty of jabs about--but no. There's a familiar mop of blue hair, and that silly, dorky looking Orthworm is following them and waving with them, as Terry and Mio seem to take over where they left off. Ren's an idiot, in the bluntest of terms, but there's a sense of safety that comes with them. That they can see her, at her worst and most cruel, and laugh and let it slide off their back so easily. Because they were her age once. Her gender once, even, though that's largely irrelevant. They always seem so certain and keep their spirits so high, even if she's the only one they've trusted with some of their worries. And Carmine in turn, has trusted Ren with some of hers.

...They're about as disconnected from this entire situation as they can be, even though they met during that trip. It's as Carmine is contemplating going up to them and being a bother and just turning heel and walking away that the choice is made for her, as they turn around, start walking and see her--

"Oh! Miss Carmine, hey!"

She could walk away. She could just tell them to piss off and lash out, and destroy one of the few unconnected relationships she has with this entire mess, one of the few things that's genuinely hers. She could recede inside herself, lock herself away like she did after she reached her breaking point, when she nearly...

"Hey, Ren. Finally getting your nose out of those cameras?"

The barb is light, half-hearted at best, and could probably make someone deeply passionate a little upset at being teased. And yet Ren takes it in stride, laughing easily as they walk up, Lulu going to Cardigan and just kind of talking with the Lilligant for a moment. "You know it, girlie! Arc, all of these worms are doin' so well, they ain't overwhelmin' the environment nor gettin' overwhelmed themselves--everything's so perfect right now, it's really amazing! Ohh, I gotta tell you about some of the babies, they're just--"

For a brief moment, Carmine thinks she can just get away with Ren going on a hyperfixation ramble and forgetting her own worries in favor of focusing on the things her rival has accomplished. Because it is quite the accomplishment, even if Carmine's definitely harped on them for trying to downplay it before. But their gaze goes to Cardigan and Lulu, falling quickly and their words fading off as Carmine looks, and now everyone looks concerned.

Carmine's posture tightens as she realizes she can't get away with this so easily. She feels their gaze dart back to her, and she's already sure her expression is stormy, and...

"...I think that's enough about me." Fuck. Their voice has softened considerably, and she knows she's done for. "Miss Carmine, are you--"

"I'm fine, Ren." It comes out too sharp, too defensive, and there's a brief moment where she's hoping Ren will just walk away at that. She's shaking, she knows she is, and her gaze averts a bit only to feel not just Cardigan, but Lulu--that stupid, brainless worm--take her hands, wrapping them both in leaves and tendrils, and it feels disgusting and bitter and she wants to run and hide, she wants to tear her hands away--

"...Miss Carmine." Ren's voice sounds so soft, so...sad for a moment, and there's a pause as more footsteps can be heard--Carmine doesn't even bother to flinch, but she feels a tug on both of her hands as she opens her eyes, seeing Ren nod at both Pokemon before looking to her with a smile that's both soft and sad.

"Come on, Miss Carmine. Let's go somewhere else to talk, okay?"

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

The trip back to her room is arduous, even though it barely takes more than fifteen minutes. Every agonizing second feels like a walk of shame, but she realizes something along the way. It's only so long because Ren knows their way around here like the back of their hand now; they know where people aren't, because they aren't some social butterfly who likes to help in every club. They take her through an easy but arduous path that leaves her alone in her head, and it takes a couple of second after Ren's stopped for her to stop too.

"...You must have a lot on yer mind to be makin' mistakes like this, Miss Carmine." Ren's voice is soft, non-judgemental, and they don't even flinch when she turns back to face them with something of a severe expression. It's the kind of care and kindness she doesn't deserve, she's sure, but as she unlocks the door to her room and ushers Ren and their Pokemon inside, it's something she finds herself internally thankful for.

Carmine's room is a mess, perhaps moreso than usual. Stress eating will do that, bags of chips and other sweet and savory alike strewn about. Cardigan doesn't even seem surprised, but Lulu, bless his stupid little soul, seems taken aback by it as he draws himself inside. She hears Ren's footsteps as they close the door behind them, a small sound escaping them as they walk in front of Carmine.

"You want some help cleanin' off that bed of yours?" Carmine looks over at her messy, disheveled bed, and it's many snacks and wrappers as well. It's an absolute Tepigsty, more than she'd ever allow anyone to see. She feels herself listlessly nod her head as she looks over to Ren, who's concern hasn't dampened even an inch as they move to help in an instant. She's thankful she's got a vacuum and that it's early enough in the afternoon that nobody's likely around the dorms; Cardigan and Lulu both assist as well as they help clear it off, at least enough to let Carmine sit down on it once they're all done.

Cardigan hops on the bed with Carmine as she sits down, and Lulu rests his head near Ren's feet as he gets himself comfortable on the floor, and Ren looks to her, finally broaching the topic, "Ya look like you got a lot on yer mind, Miss Carmine. You sure everything's okay?"

It takes Carmine a lot longer than she'd like to respond. Cardigan gently takes hold of one of Carmine's hands, gently petting it with her own leafy appendage. The eventual response she settles on is a bitter laugh.

"...I don't know." It comes out so soft and uncertain, it feels like she's a different person entirely when she says it. "I thought everything was fine. I thought...I don't know, I thought that everything would be okay. I really let myself believe that now that I made up with my brother, that everything would go back to some sort of normal, but..."

Carmine's voice pitches higher and higher with every word, and she finds herself shaking a bit. She can't even look at her rival right now, how pathetic can she even get?

"Oh, Carmine..." There's not even that weirdly respectful 'Miss' at the beginning of her name, and a part of her hates that, that she's being seen as sympathetic for even a moment when she doesn't deserve it, she doesn't deserve this, if she'd just trusted Kiki-- "Nothin' is ever that easy, but I remember how relieved ya were when Kiki actually bothered to respond."

"Yeah." Carmine confirms that much, listlessly, but a ghost of a smile traces her face. "...It really filled me with hope, for a second. That maybe things could go back to some sort of normal, that I could really see Kiki for all he is. It wanted to be seen and come into it's own, and I...I didn't know how to do that, but..."

"...But you wanted to try." Ren's words softly intervene. Carmine nods shortly after.

"I wanted to try. I still do. But it's...that big fight happened, and now everything's just...it feels like we're right back where we started."

Carmine's voice breaks a little bit, and try as she might to rein it in, it's harder to get back on track. At this point, she feels, she might as well just give up.

"...I don't know what to do."

Carmine's gaze stays down, because she can't look at Ren, she can't, she just can't. But Ren's words; soft, steady words, a contrast to the cold steel they loved so dearly, pour out none the less.

"...It's a tough position to be in, Carmine. Ya got your brother and it's undyin' need to win on one side, and ya got Miss Amarys tryin' her damnedest to hold everyone together on the other, yeah?"

"Yeah. And it's like--I don't want to destroy the relationship I have with my brother. I want to rebuild it, to let it come into it's own. But I...my beloved is right, even if I worry about saying it. She tries so hard to uphold the rules of the club, of this school, and these--these jerks keep sending her horrible, disgusting things for it. And for what?"

A quiet settles over the room, and she's sure Ren expects her to elaborate, but she doesn't. Not even she knows what, and she's sure Ren gets it by the time they speak up next.

"...I ain't gonna go makin' any assumptions, but...I don't even think I know the answer to that, Carmine."

It's soft, when Ren admits it. Sad, even. She can only imagine what their face is doing right now, and it gets Carmine to laugh a bit. Bitterly, wretchedly.

"Neither do--neither do I, Ren. And do you know how much that kills me?"

Carmine's voice pitch rises, and she feels her free hand drawing into her hair, Cardigan's trills of concern becoming more apparent as she tries to hop over and dislodge it--

"I love Kiki! I love Amarys! I love them both more than life itself and I--if I say anything at all, I'm going to hurt one of them. Both of them, even, maybe, whether I intend it or not! And the little Mandibuzzes on here, flying around and trying to hurt everyone in this school, they'll be on it in an instant, they'll--they'll hurt them both, they'll turn them both against each other, and I--if I do anything, they already know it's my fault from the start, that all of this is, that I was stupid and boneheaded and lied to my brother because I was scared it could've gotten hurt--"

"Miss Carmine."

"--and I told Juliana to lie, yes, I got so worried that Kiki would just get so excited and that Ogerpon could've hurt or done something worse to it, but then my grandfather told me to keep my mouth shut about helping Ogerpon and I--I didn't--"

"Miss Carmine."

"--And then it--it stole her mask, and I've never been more angry in my life at it, and it just--it keeps stomping on others feelings, and it won't believe anyone, and I don't know what I can actually do--"

"Miss Carmine, please--!"

"WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

Carmine's shriek practically causes her to lunge at her friend, the firm tone in that moment making her see someone else. Wide yellow eyes fiercely stare at bright blue ones, as Ren startles a bit at the ferocity in her tone. The quiet over the room is tense and uneasy, and Ren already sees a few strands got torn out because of it. They take a gentle breath in as realization hits Carmine, but she's still for a moment. Still as Cardigan trills with concern, as Lulu looks up with even more concern on his dopey little face, though he looks ready to hold Carmine back more than anything.

Ren's surprisingly quick on the uptake, at least, and they speak up again before Carmine can.

"Isn't that somethin' you should be askin' of yourself?"

Ren's words are confusing, and the confusion must be apparent on her face as they reach her ears. Ren gently breathes, and continues, "I mean it. You've been talkin' this entire time about Kiki this, Amarys that, and I ain't gonna disparage you for that. Sure puts any rumors of ya bein' self centered to bed, not that I believed 'em anyway. But..."

"What is it that ya want, at the end of it all? Isn't that a question that's come up even once for ya...?"

Carmine can't even believe what she's hearing.

"Why does that matter? I've taken what I wanted for years, I--"

"Okay, you hold on a second here." Ren's words are still soft, but there's a firmness to them now that cuts through her words like butter. "When did that stop bein' a question you asked yerself?"

"It doesn't matter--"

"It absolutely does matter? Girl, yer gettin' tugged in two different directions and ya sound like yer long past the end of yer rope."

"Why does it matter when I've been nothing but a selfish bitch this entire time?!"

And that startles Ren enough to actually get them to stop for a second, completely taken aback. Carmine's gaze goes downward, and she's shaking, horribly.

"Those anons were right, okay?! I ruined Kiki's one good friendship because I'm a bonehead, I'm a failure of a girlfriend who can't even help the girl I love so much with her anger and problems other than just being there like a useless cardboard cutout, I deserve this, all of it, even all of the hateful words and it would've just been so much easier if I had--"

Something stops Carmine in her tracks from speaking. Multiple of them, really. Cardigan's hands, for starters, wrapped firmly around one of her own hands; two of Lulu's tendrils wrap around the other, and even Carmine has to admit that she's surprised by how little an Orthworm's head seems to weigh as he rests his head on one of her legs with concern.

The final thing, that she didn't even hear, is Ren getting up and putting a firm, supportive hand on her shoulder, tiny as said hand is. When she actually gets a look at their face, they look like they're about to cry, and for a brief moment she wonders if she's just gone and ruined another friendship.

"Don't--don't you dare talk about yerself like that again, you hear me?"

Oh. That's not what she expected at all; Ren's voice practically trembles as they say that, and it hits something in her. Carmine's eyes well up with tears of her own, and she can practically hear herself sniffling.

"...I'm sorry, Ren." Her voice is so soft, so delicate, so fragile in the moment that she wonders if it's her own. "I'm...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm..."

"I know you are." Ren's voice softens from that point on, and their grip becomes a little easier. A little more slack, but still there. "When did ya stop seein' yerself as someone not worth considerin' the feelin's of, girl...?"

"...I don't know. It was...before that. Maybe when Amarys and Kiki fought that one time. I--I don't know." Carmine's voice is shaky as she struggles to keep herself together, and she feels Cardigan shift and pull her arm into a hug, and the tears start pouring down at that. She can't stop them, even if she's not a sobbing wreck with no dignity. Yet, at least. "...I don't want to lose anything else."

That gets a pause from Ren, who does their best to calm themself down. "Anything else...?"

"...My parents are divorced. My dad was...he was awful. Just a screaming, bumbling oaf who went from job to job while my mom stayed home and took care of us. Though she was...she was way more focused on Kiki..."

Ren listens carefully, nodding their head as Carmine continues.

"I haven't seen either of them in...years. We usually live with our grandparents, when we're not here. Last time I saw my mom, we got into an argument. I asked her why she stopped caring for me. Why she just...tried to leave me with him--"

"...She what?"

Carmine spares a quick glance at Ren's face, when they say that--practically seething with an anger they don't usually express. "...Yeah. She--she said she could only handle one of us, and that I was Dad's favorite, so..."

"Girl." Ren's doing their best to keep their tone level, but the anger doesn't leave. Hell, if anything, it mixes with the sheer unholy audacity of what they heard, leaving them flabberghasted-- "What the fuck is wrong with your mom?"

Carmine laughs, and while it sounds bitter, there's almost some mirth to it. "Yeah. Like I said. We got into an argument last time I talked to her. I told her I wanted an apology for her trying to abandon me, before Dad went and ran away. I...haven't spoken to her since."

"Carmine...what the fuck, that's so..."

A silence hangs over the room as Ren trails off, but Carmine breaks the silence after a few moments.

"...Between this, and the rest of the shit I dealt with at school...I...I didn't want Kiki to turn out like me." Carmine sniffles, tears still coming unbidden. "I thought you had to be tough and mean to make it, but I just...I wanted Kiki to grow up happy. I wanted it to have a better life than me. I was this bitter, mean girl, but I thought I could at least make it so my little brother--it'd have a chance at growing up to be a gentle hearted little dork who had something happy in it's life. But all I did...it all just amounted to...to..."

There's a few seconds more of sniffling before the dam finally breaks, and Carmine just starts to sob without an end. She's pretty sure her makeup is running down her face, if it hasn't been already; she finally just breaks, her tears pouring and pouring down as she sobs wretchedly and loudly, her hands finally being relinquished so she can try, in vain, to wipe those tears off. But still they come; the pain of so much more than a simple inciting incident, but still mostly that.

Ren uses their own free hand to wipe away the tears falling from their own eyes, as they just let her for a bit.

"...I want to stop hurting." Carmine speaks up, and Ren starts for a moment as they listen. "I want to stop feeling like the evil person that everyone thinks I am. But what if I'm just born evil, and there's no changing that...?"

"That's--" Ren speaks up, briefly, but Carmine speaks again and they let her get it out of her system.

"I want to make things better. I want to just know if it's all my fault, I want to know if I'm just--if I'm justified, in being unable to forgive Kiki for some of the stuff it did." Carmine sniffles again, wretched sobs still escaping her. "...I want to be able to be happy again, without feeling like I'm walking on eggshells. I want to make my girlfriend's pain go away--I want to make Kiki's pain go away, and fuck, maybe even Atlas' and some of the others. I want the world to just stop for a bit, at least so I can stop aching like this. I...I think I just want, more than anything, for someone to tell me I've suffered enough for this, or at the very least, that I just haven't grown up to become a little clone of Dad."

"...Is that so much to ask?"

The question is soft, full of despair, but it at least feels...somewhat good, to try and dislodge some of the thorns in her. It's painful and it feels dizzying, but Ren's hand remains steady, even if their own tears come down hard.

"...You're a teenager. A teenager shouldn't--you shouldn't ever have to ask that kind of shit of yourself." Ren's words are soft, with an empathy forged in the same shit they went through. Just without a depressive spiral and a shut-in phase. "You deserve to be happy, Carmine. You made a dumb, boneheaded mistake, but that doesn't mean you're evil. And it sure as fuck don't mean that you've gone and become your Dad."

Carmine pauses a bit, her sobs coming slower as she tries to listen.

"None of that shit yer askin' about, none of it's too much. But how's anyone else gonna be happy--how can ya share happiness with others if ya ain't gettin' happiness for yerself, y'know?"

"Because ya do deserve it. Whether ya want to admit it or not. Yer not evil, yer not your dad, you're literally a confused sixteen year old girl who should've never been made to feel like that."

It's shocking to hear, really. All of it is. Ren says it with so much conviction that Carmine almost believes it.

"...I don't want to talk anymore. I...I think I just want to...cry..."

"...Cry as much as you need, girl. I'll be here as long as you need."

"Don't--don't tell anyone about this, Ren. Please. Everyone has enough to worry about, and I...I don't want to put more on them. Please, I already feel bad enough burdening you..."

Ren manages something of a soft, warm chuckle at that. "...No worries, girl. What we talked about is stayin' in here, I swear on my life."

"...Thank you, Ren."

Carmine cries herself out eventually; by the time she's done, the two of them have shifted from the bed to the floor, bringing Carmine's mattress down to floor level so they could distract themselves until Carmine fell asleep. It's no easy fix, listening to a friend, but...if it makes the burden lighter, then Ren has no problem with it.

They were in a similar place many years ago with no one to help them, after all. It's the least they can do.

[the-acid-pear]

thinking about the Kennedy Parents. because Boy do i have headcanons.

so we've got Marshall Neil and Diane Reynolds Kennedy. lovely people.

some fun facts about these lil dudes:

- Marshall is Irish, technically! he's the son of some descendants of Irish immigrants :]

- he also fought in World War 2! only for a short time, though...considering he kinda got shot in the leg and had to have it amputated.

- Diane grew up in a sort of middle-class household. not...the Greatest people, i'll say that.

- neither of their families were the best. but in comparison to Diane's (emotionally and verbally abusive, as well as very misogynistic and sexist. because Housewives. basically they believed heavily in gender roles), Marshall's were Saints (they were very much "suck it up and deal with it" people)

- they both technically lived in/around the same town, but technically really met in Vegas. Diane was going there to get away from her family for a little while, and Marshall was there on a trip with his brothers (to uh. Distract Him From Some Things. such as his recently amputated leg).

- Diane's family never even Remotely approved of the relationship. things are still tense with them to this day.

- you thought either of these two were neurotypical? oh, absolutely not, where do you think Jack and his siblings got the autism from?

- Marshall swears frequently around the kids. which wasn't too much of a problem...until Jack started repeating them back.

- Marshall, having grown up on a farm but not living in a place where he Could farm, would usually garden. he's where Jack’s interest in plants and their biology comes from :]

- visits with Diane's family are always a nightmare, considering that they try to push their views onto her kids. Which She Doesn't Appreciate, By The Way.

- Marshall's family is better, but...they're all still loud and boisterous. doesn't help with sensory issues, but at least they aren't assholes to the children!

- the only extended family member that the Kennedy Siblings had contact with after their parents died was Aunt Jan, Marshall's younger sister and the Official Wine Aunt. absolute sweetheart <3

- both Diane and Marshall were accepting of Jack when he came out as trans <3

- i feel like if Marshall and Henry ever met, it would be...interesting. Henry would probably sit there for ten minutes and then suddenly go "Ah...I see where Jack gets his...personality from 😊" (< barely restrained annoyance) and Marshall just kinda has to deal with the sudden whiplash as he tries to figure out if that was just an observation or an insult (it is an insult).

- these two would have loved Caroline </3

- considering that i Have said before that Healthy Davesport could have happened earlier in the timeline if things hadn't gone to shit, i feel like they would've found Dave...Interesting. but hey, if This is the guy Jack’s into, who are they to get in the way of that? just as long as he doesn't hurt their little Jackie, they don’t mind it.

- they Do agree with Peter, though, that Jack has the weirdest(/worst) taste in men-

anyway! love these little guys <3

- dogboyjackkennedy

I'm gonna scream I fucking love this sm. These are so good I love these people so much and I'm simultaneously ripping my hair off over their passing. They sound like so absolutely lovely REUUAHUAAHH OT2

[folightening]

At the End of the World - Spamano

**still working on the title

Hetalia | Spamano | Rating T | Comfort at the end of the world. Not quite sure what sort of warnings are needed if any.

----

Spain had considered seeing his former colonies. Apologizing. That would have been a waste of his final hours. So he returned home, looked through memories, and went out to his lovely garden one last time. He cared for the plants for comfort's sake; they would all be gone tomorrow. Calls from Portugal, France, and Prussia were the only ones he took. England left a message and if he were a better man he might have responded. Any texts were ignored, the phone silenced. Only one other person truly mattered, and he–

A body collided with his and Spain fell to the ground. He recognized the cries, the cologne, the warm body's fit against his own. Romano, his dear grumpy Romano, was a mess. It was likely that he'd been a mess for the past few hours. Without thought or hesitation he held Romano close in a tight embrace.

"I'm here mi cielo."

Romano clung harder to him and Spain's heart ached. It wasn't unusual for Romano to be in tears or to cling onto Spain, as much as he'd deny the clinging, but the exact nature of his crying was new. Inconsolable, heartbreaking sobs shook his being and Spain hated it. That there was nothing he could do only made it hurt more.

"Not ready," Romano said when his cries finally quieted. Spain continued rubbing circles into his back.

"No one is."

Romano shifted and sat up, and Spain stared in open adoration. Even with evidence of his breakdown all over his face, Romano was beautiful. A few times Romano opened his mouth only to close it without a word.

Spain reached up, threading his fingers into the silky hair and guiding Romano down into a series of gentle, lingering kisses. Slowly Romano relaxed until he eventually pushed back to look down at Spain.

"I love you," Romano declared. "I haven't told you anywhere near half as often as you deserve."

"I heard it."

Romano weakly smiled, the pathetic curve dropping almost instantly.

"I'm so… I'm sorry. For everything. I–"

Spain shushed Romano with another kiss.

"I know, Roma. I know. You have nothing to apologize for."

Romano smiled, his tear streaked face brightening in a way Spain rarely got to see. That he could see it one last time made the entire situation more bearable.

"Now let's put that aside and be happy in our final hours."

"I don't know how you can do it."

Spain smiled and sat up, pecking Romano's lips before standing. He wanted to break down. To cry and scream and run away. But there was no point in any of that. So he drew on his people's cheerful ignorance of their impending end and kept a smile.

Romano was here.

Everything was fine if Romano was with him.

Spain grabbed Romano's hand and spun him around. Romano's surprised yelp changed to laughter and he seamlessly fell in step with Spain.

They didn't follow either's traditional dance, or any technical dance for that matter. They stayed close for the little comfort the closeness brought. Simple and slow, it wasn't about the steps; it was about them and their being together.

At some point Spain started crying. Silent crying that blurred his vision and wet his cheeks but did nothing to lessen his smile. Romano cupped his cheek and rubbed away his tears in a gesture that brought comfort.

Spain pressed their foreheads together and released a breath. This was where he wanted to be. With Romano. No one - nothing - else mattered in these moments.

"You made it all worth it," Spain whispered.

"Damn right I did," Romano said. Then in a murmur; "Don't steal my line Bastard."

Spain chuckled and sighed in content. Everything was more than fine when Romano was with him.

[liminalpebble]

Eddie's Education: Chapter 21

Minors DNI

Masterlist link

Chapter 21

The rain came down in loud gray torrents outside of Leia's warm little apartment while the team huddled together in her living room, thinking out loud and trying to plan, sharing every scrap of information and experience from the last few hours.

The news had spread to the entire town by now that Dr. John Ferguson, dean of Hawkins Community College had died that morning from a heart attack. Although no one in that room (or in most of Hawkins for that matter) would particularly mourn the death of such an unpleasant man, the little team was fairly certain it was no ordinary death.

Dustin was pacing in the middle of the room, thankfully taking the lead since Eddie and Leia were both too exhausted to even think clearly.

“Okay,” Dustin said clapping his hands, cracking his knuckles, and talking through his deductions like a dorky Sherlock. “I pulled a few strings at the coroner's office and saw the postmortem notes and photos...”

“Hold the fucking phone! You What? How?” exclaimed Steve.

Dustin resumed, saying loudly, “It doesn't matter Steve! We needed to know for sure that it's Vecna.” Steve threw up his arms in a resigned huff. Dustin continued in a softer voice, setting his hand gently on Leia's shoulder. “It is Vecna, Leia, I'm sorry.”

She nodded her head, saying with a bland expression, “great...”

“But!” Dustin said, holding up his finger. “I have a theory. The good news is, this time it doesn't seem like he can break through someone's mind enough while they're awake to physically hurt them. I think they have to be asleep for him to have his full power...power to kill. I guess killing him once must have weakened him. Also...”

“Wait! He used to be able to physically harm people when they're awake?” Leia asked, puzzled.

“Yeah..but...but now he could probably only make you hallucinate, scare you at best, when you're awake. He wouldn't be able to kill you...and of course music can pull you out as well,” he explained as if that would make her feel much better.

Eddie screamed at Dustin.“For fuck sake, Henderson!” as he came over to put an arm around his girlfriend, who still looked exhausted and vacant. Leia crossed her arms and simply nodded numbly, thinking sure, this might as well happen. She was rapidly getting to a point where nothing surprised her.

Dustin and Robin grimaced and side-eyed each other. “Sorry,” she whined out. “But we didn't want to talk about that too much and scare you more if it wasn't necessary and, look, wasn't necessary. Yay!” Robin gave a weak, sarcastic little cheer. Leia sat down heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Eddie planted himself protectively next to Leia, and snipped, “is that all, Dustin? Huh? Any other great news for us?”

“Actually yes, butthead, there is better news. I think I know how to defeat him this time. I think that he was able to survive because after he technically died, his body remained and was reanimated by whatever power he sucks up from the upside-down. Whatever power the upside-down has, it's like a defibrillator times a thousand, and must regrow tissue better and faster than stem cells. It's the same reason Eddie survived. He was in the upside-down long enough that it restarted his heart and brain, then helped knit his body back together in a way that would have been impossible in our world.”

Eddie twitched and subconsciously stroked a finger over where his scars laid in ridges beneath the cotton of his shirt; as if even the mention of all of this made them throb and itch again.

Steve piped up. “So we need to kill this fucker again, and this time we have to make sure we drag him outside of the upside-down?” “Correct, dear Stevie. If we pull this bastard out of the weird biological stew that's keeping him on life support he won't stand a chance. I bet once we get him out of the upside-down he won't even be able to invade minds anymore. He needs his anchor-point to do so...has to be plugged into the outlet to charge up, and he can't move his body from that place in the upside-down as long as his mind is invading someone's here.”

“Are there still portals? And how will we know where his new nest is in the upside-down? We'll need to map it out,” Robin added.

“Well, we don't know...we're gonna have to....”

“What about weapons....

“Does anybody know how to get a hold of El again?”

“Why don't we...”

Everyone was on their feet again, debating and talking over each other...everyone except Leia who was still sitting in the same hunched position, eyes glazed over. No one noticed in the fury of their raucous discussion.

As she sat, in a twilight between waking and sleeping, she heard him; his voice like the creaking of an old door that shouldn't be opened.

Look at them.

She felt that gnarled hand under her chin again, as it lifted her head. Her apartment was again bathed in a surreal dark blue luminescence, everything looked hazy and sub-aquatic, but she could make out the shadowy figures and echoing sounds of her friends as they bickered and yelled. They were right there but seemed so far away, untouchable. The air moved languidly, fluidly, carrying sound more slowly, and weighing down upon her skin. Leia tried to stand but was cemented to her seat on the couch, she couldn't even rotate her head to see any more of Venca sitting next to her. Out of the corner of her eye she could barely see that he was slouched easily into the sofa next to her, an arm around her back as if they were a couple on a date. As if it were Eddie and herself, watching a movie.

Eddie! she tried to say. But the words only came out in her mind.

Hmmm...what about him, Leia? You think he could save you? Look at them, squabbling like children. You think any of them could save you?

I'm not sure...but...but maybe I could save them?

His hand was now smooth and cold and human; Henry's hand. He turned her head to face him, to meet his piercing blue eyes. Are you about to propose some kind of deal?

He cracked a lopsided grin, amused by the idea. I'm listening.

What if I came willingly? What if I let you kill me or take me, or whatever horrible thing you want with me, if it means you leave the rest of them alone? Especially Eddie.

He sighed and moved closer, looking more deeply into her eyes, reading the truth in her thoughts.

Oh! You really mean it don't you? It's adorable that you think you have any bargaining power here. You're smarter than that. Listen to me...he said, his voice becoming audible, lips moving as he spoke.

“I will win, no matter what. I will decide who lives and who dies, no matter what. And I will take you, no matter what. It'd be best if you make peace with that. I'll even get rid of the people who have hurt you and teach you to relish the death of your enemies, just as I do. I'm offering you such a lovely gift! Accept it.”

Looking into her mind, he could feel the fear and despair seeping in. He tutted as tears began to travel down her cheeks from the dark pools of her eyes, but he enjoyed seeing her break like this, so vulnerable. “Now now. Don't be sad,” he said breaking into a wide smile that didn't reach his frozen eyes. His long cold fingers wiped away her tears. “and don't be afraid. I have no desire to kill you. I'd rather not harm a single hair on your precious head,” Henry said, combing his bony white fingers through her black locks.

“Why?” she asked in a trembling whisper, her voice now free to leave her mouth.

“Because these days, I hunger for predators a good deal more than their prey. They...taste different. More meaty, more sustaining. And, thanks to your friends, I need heartier meals to regain strength these days.” He pointed over to where the shadows of her friends were still talking, “Of course, I have no trouble devouring some of the prey as well if they inconvenience me too much.”

Leia closed her eyes weeping, terrified of his power, feeling totally helpless to save her friends or herself, or her dear sweet Eddie. “No no...don't close your lovely eyes, darling,” Henry said with an artificially sweet smile, as he psychically forced her lids to open. “I want you to see. You'll be by my side, after all, when it all comes to pass.”

One cold hand wiped her tears away, while the other covered her forehead gently, like a nurse checking for a fever. Vecna was showing her his plan, his ideal of a utopia made in his image. As he did, he licked her tears off of his long fingers and hummed in satisfaction at the taste of her hurt, her sorrow, her gentle but stubborn empathy and kindness and grit which coated his tongue like sugar. It was somehow especially delectable. If the sour rage of the predators was his supper, she was an absolute confection of a dessert, and he would savor her eternally. She fascinated him far too much to kill her, this rare little bird. No. She would make a fine and clever pet for him...forever.

“Leia!” Eddie was screaming at her as she sat on the couch, eyes fogged over. Steve, vaulted over to her CD player and shakily hit the play button, cranking the sound up and blurting out a mantra of “Come on come on come on!” as they all clustered around the sofa.

Whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again...

Robert Smith crooned out as Leia's obscured pupils swirled from dead gray back to her usual warm black-brown. She heard the music and her mind latched onto the opening chords like a rope pulling her to shore. The hand on her face no long felt bony, cold, and otherworldly. It felt warm and familiar. The fluid air in the blue-scale hallucination began to shudder and swirl down, like a deep pool being drained, leaving the warm colors of reality. She felt her head surface into lighter air and took deep heaving breaths. Her physical body awoke with a start, eyes flashing all the way open, lungs heaving for breath, Eddie's terrified face was in front of hers, his warm hands cradling her face as she came back to the waking world.

“Eddie!” she gasped, throwing her arms around him, shaking like a frightened animal. She began to rush her words out. “He...he was in my head...he gets inside of me. I...I tried to make a deal...myself for you and he wouldn't take it, Eddie. He won't...he won't stop. He's going to take me and I can't protect you...or..anyone. If he can get to me he can get to all of you....oh god.”

Eddie held on tight. “Shhhhh. Shhhh. Hey...hey it's okay. We'll make a plan okay...we'll fight together.”

He pulled away to look into her eyes. “Look at me...together...okay? We're all gonna do it together.” The gathered group nodded frantically to her, just as Eddie did. Then he kissed her quickly, desperately.

Leia looked around, still shaking, but entirely back in the room now, breath becoming more regular. She swallowed, gaining composure, come on, roll with the punches. It's what you're good at. Use what you've learned. She reminded herself, then said in a measured tone, “I think whatever plan you come up with. I shouldn't know it. If he can get into my head whenever he wants like this, I can't know your next steps.”

Dustin clapped a hand over his forehead. “Holy shit. Obviously. Why didn't I think of that?”

She gave a wry smile, “To be fair, Dustin, you've very suddenly had a lot to think of.

Robin said, “Right. Well, whatever we plan, we have to plan without you, but can you at least tell us what he's telling you? It might help us. I'm sure he's giving you clues. He likes the game of it.”

Leia took a deep breath. “Give me a second. It's like trying to remember a dream...well...I guess that's exactly what it is. He...he doesn't want to kill me.” Her face twisted in disgust. “He wants to keep me as a pet. He said he is more interested in killing predators than prey because it gives him more strength, but he's not averse to killing prey if it gets in his way.”

“Jesus!” Steve huffed, looking up with his hands on his hips.

Dustin just nodded seriously and said, “Good, Leia, that's valuable information.”

“Oh...and...and he said he won't take me with him yet. He said he has another 'gift' for me and it's not ready yet. He said to tell you all to...” She grimaced, like she was holding back bile, “to let me sleep well for a few nights. He has other work to do and he wants his pet to be healthy when he comes back for her.”

Dustin shrugged, “Well, you do need to sleep. We can't keep you awake forever like this. And if he visits you again, he doesn't intend to hurt you. It might give us more information. Oddly, he might be doing us a few favors here.”

They all looked at him, staring him down in slight disbelief at his blunt bedside manner; all except Leia.

“What?” Leia said, eyeing them all up. “He has a point, guys.”

Eddie flailed his arms stood and saying, “Nooo. No way. No fucking way we're just gonna trust that he means that shit he said and....and...give you to him??” His voice was rising, cracking.

Leia, looked him in the eye standing up and grabbing him by both arms, “Eddie, listen to me. We have to be rational here. Anything we do now has a risk. If he visits me, he can't visit anyone else at the same time, right?”

She looked to Dustin for confirmation. “Right.” he said with a nod.

“Then he can't get to whoever the next 'gift' is to murder. He can't get to any of you. The longer I keep him distracted, the less dangerous he is. Dustin, what...what if all of us make sure music is playing while we sleep, will that block him out from being able to get any of you?”

“Yeah,” Dustin said, eyes flitting around following her train of thought, “Yeah...brilliant. That would work. The only times he's been able to get to you is when the music stopped, and we can't all stay awake all the time.”

Dustin took the lead, deciding which of their team would be room mates for the next few days. Sleeping in shifts and keeping the music playing for the other. Steve and Robin lived together, so they were an obvious choice, and babysitter Steve was quick to offer Dustin a place at their house.

“Eddie? Leia?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, we got it.”

“I...I fell asleep last time and the music stopped and he got to her, man. I don't trust myself,” Eddie said, shaking.

Dustin nodded and said quietly with a hand on his shoulder. “I'll stay with you two here then? I know it's not an ideal...uh...romantic scenario.”

Leia chuckled. “It's okay, Dustin. Our minds aren't exactly on that right now. I mean, the first priority is killing an otherworldly demon wizard, after all. Besides, I'll make you breakfast in the morning.” she said with a smile.

Robin, came closer, her sky blue eyes gazing down to meet Leia's. “How...sorry to ask...but how are you taking all of this so well?”

Leia shrugged, “Vecna's not the first asshole who's tried to ruin my life, intimidate me, and bully me into submission. I guess I know the type.” She paused and smiled to Eddie, “and thanks to people who believe in me, I'm learning how to fight back.”

@sunflowerdaydreamer @veemoon

[desmondkane-of-ao3-fame]

So I know you already technically did something like this but… Willow has a nightmare from when she was the collectors puppet, and she’s not handling it well. Guess whose gonna have to comfort her about it?

If I may, I’d like to use this as a way to showcase how both girls, as adults living together, handle this scenario. Because Skara would have plenty of reason to have nightmares herself.

Skara’s nightmares are sporadic, but they’ll be really bad when they happen. Sometimes it’s her being 15 again, working with Barcus and Matt to find supplies, before getting attacked and collected by drones. Sometimes it’s about ‘Miki,’ and being under Boscha’s thumbs, forced to endure harsh punishments for insubordination. And sometimes it’s about feeling guilty, where she imagines a collected pair of Amelia and Cat blaming her for not being out in the front lines, blaming her for why they spent two months in a horrific internal prison because of a child god. It doesn’t matter that the real Cat and Amelia have assured her none of this is her fault; her brain will think it was anyway and punish her accordingly.

But the worst nightmares are about her as an adult. Where she’s teaching her Baby Class, and in the middle of story time, a Collector drone smashes through the window. Skara tries to stop them, but an EC Scout tackles her to the ground. And all Skara can do is watch in horror as her class is collected, turned into puppets and dragged away to some stupid crown castle and-

Skara wakes up in tears from these nightmares, sometimes sobbing in her sleep and waking her wife Willow, who gently shakes her awake. Skara gets up, but she cant really do anything but continue crying. When this happens, Willow knows exactly what to do: Cuddling her Skary, she summons Clover to bring her the Emergency I-Scream in the freezer. Starberry flavored, Skara’s favorite. When Clover arrives, Skara chuckles and takes a new spoonfuls, calming down, before curling into Willow and addressing her nightmare. Willow simply listens, before taking Skara’s hand, squeezing it, and giving her knuckles a lil’ kiss. She promises Skara that she’s safe, that the Collector’s good now, and wouldn’t hurt her and their friends. She assures her that none of what happened at New Hexside was her fault, that she and the others were scared children, not knowing how to handle the end of the world any other way. Skara lays her head on Willow’s chest, using her wife’s heartbeat to ground her in reality. Willow cuddles her, holding her protectively, arms around her waist as she playfully threatens all the nightmares that may come for her! Skara gets one last smile out of that, before falling into a deep, lovely sleep, complete with a dream about her awesome wife being awesome.

Willow, however, has her own nightmares. Like Skara with Amelia and Cat, Willow imagines her dad, collected, begging to know why she didn’t save him. She imagines herself barely missing the Human World portal, the Collector grabbing her and turning her into a puppet. She imagines the empty void she felt trapped in when the Collector transformed her, and she starts to panic, feeling trapped and too weak to escape.

Worst, she imagines herself seeing Skara, trying to flee a Collector spy, before tripping and being collected. Shes able to stop the drone, but she can’t save her wife. She calls out to help, summons all her magic, but nothing turns her Skary back. Willow just the puppet of the woman she loves in her arms and cries tears of grief, rage, and sorrow.

Skara recognizes these nightmares because they’re the only time she wakes up to her nose being tickled by a vine. When she opens her eyes, she turns to see that a collection of plants from around the house are reaching out for a thrashing, pleasing Willow, muttering about how she can’t do it, she can’t stop this, she can’t save them.

Knowing that her wife is in pain, Skara summons her harp to calm her, to soothe her. She plays lullaby music she’ll play for her Baby Classes nap time, with the occasional flourishes to make the music more Willow’s style. As she plays, the vines retreat, Willow turns and tosses less, and soon enough she opens her eyes, first glowing green, then simply their normal, beautiful emerald color.

She clutches onto Skara, holding onto her whole world. She doesn’t always cry when she does. Sometimes she just needs to be anchored back in reality. But sometimes she needs a good, long cry, and that’s where Skara just holds her sobbing wife, feeling pained and guilty she can’t take this hurt away from her. All she can do is assure her that they’re safe, that Willow is safe, that Skara is safe, that everything is going to be ok.

Eventually Willow is able to calm herself enough that she lets go, pulling away, and thanking Skara for being there for her. Her wife nods, asking if she has any requests for her to play. Willow chooses something silly and simple, like Twinkle Twinkle Wailing Star, which Skara is happy to play for her. Willow falls asleep to Skara’s music. Skara then disappears her harp, before cuddling her wife and gently falling asleep alongside her.

[landosfishbowl]

BUG BITES

I was a child when I fell of my bike – as many children do. You’d think it’d be a funny memory to have, but I’m not as fond of that memory as some may think. That crash killed me. I was only ten years old. I told my mom I’d be back in fifteen minutes, is was “gonna try out my new bike” that I had got for my birthday. It was the nicest bike that I could’ve gotten at that time. It had strong frame, some grippy tires, technically advance shocks, and it was blue! It had all the gimmicks of something could jump across the mountains. I was so excited that I took to the roads without thinking twice. The bike was amazing. I hadn’t been that happy as a kid since I got my first knife from my grandpa. That was a nice day –

I was nine years old, it was a damp summer’s day. I was dropped off at my grandparents house for the day. My mom had jury duty and I wasn’t able to go. I stood on the porch with my grandma as my mom drove away. It was only a few seconds, but I already missed my mom. I think my grandma felt my youthful angst, so she knelt down and said, “Hey Buzz…” Buzz was my nickname from my grandparents who had bees, and a special someone thought they could pet the bees by ‘blending in’ and making a buzz sound – nicknames always come from someplace humiliating. Anyway,

“… how about you go help your grandpa out. He’s cleaning up the garden and could use some help, especially from a big strong boy like you!”

“I am a strong boy!” I said. Now distracted, I ran as fast as I could to my grandpa. I turned the corner of the house, and there was my grandpa by a somewhat messy garden. “Grandpa!” I shouted.

“Buzz, my grandson, how are you?” he said with his slight southern Mexican accent.

I completely ignored his question and when straight to the point: “I’m here to help!”

My grandpa just smiled and understood. “Well, I got a lot of weeds and old plants that need trimming, could you help me with that?”

I nodded yes.

“Perfect! You could start over there by pulling the weeds for me. You’ll need some gloves so you don’t get poked.” grandpa threw me a pair of gloves, then smiled. “Alright, get to work! We got till lunch!”

I laughed – felt important. I ran over to the other side of the garden and got to work. I started pulling some small dandelions, then after some time, onto the bigger ones. I found a huge poky weed, I had my gloves so I knew it would hurt. But right as I was grabbing the big weed, I felt a burning, itching feeling on my arm. Then with a wave of horror, I saw a spider scuddling away from the root of the weed. I began to scream my little lungs out. I ran over to my grandpa and continued to explain to him how I thought I was dying. “I’M GONNA DIE! I WAS BIT BY A SPIDER! MY ARM! I – I’M SCARED!” My grandpa got down to my level and grabbed my arm and took a quick look, looked at me:

“Uh oh… this looks bad.” bad decision, I started screaming so hard it wasn’t even loud. “Hey hey! I’m just kiddin’! Look Buzz…” grandpa pointed at my arm. A couple fire ants were crawling on my arm. “… It wasn’t a spider, only a couple of grumpy ants. You probably didn’t feel them crawling up your arm because of those gloves I bet.” my grandpa was diffidently holding back some well deserved laughs. “You’re going to be just fine.”

My grandma poked her head out from the back porch, “Everything okay?”

“Yup, just some pesky ants. Buzz took it like a champ, he’s a strong boy,” my grandpa said as he patted my head. I guess the wiping of tears told my grandpa that it was time for a distraction. He reached into his back pocket and said, “Hey, Buzz…” I looked up at him, “… I got a surprise for you, put your hand out.” still in shock, but with the taunting of a possible gift, I put my hands out. My grandpa put his folding pocket knife in the palms of my hands. I didn’t know what it was at first, until my grandpa took it, then opened it, “I think you’re old enough for this now. You have to be careful with this, but you’re a big boy, I think you can handle it.” he put the knife back into my hand, and I smiled. I felt just like one of the big boys. “How about you use that to cut down some of those old plants for me? I think that knife will work great in the hands of samurai master.” my grandpa smirked.

Without a moment to think twice, and a sniffle, I cheered up and said, “Okay!” and I imminently went to work. I’m strong, my grandpa said so.

I was pedaling extra fast, just to test all the gears on my new bike. I could feel the chilled wind on my whole body – it felt like I was Lightning McQueen. I was just going around my neighborhood. I past my friend Johnny's house, then I saw the mail-lady, then I pasted my favorite park. The leaves sound like a running river, the car tires on the asphalt roads sound like a warm breeze full, a crow caws. It’s all going too fast. I was hit by a car. Nobody saw it coming. I saw dark before anything I could even feel the pain. Crazy how life can catch up to me when I was at my fastest. I saw my young body lifeless just in front of the car. I was bloody. I honestly don’t feel any way, I was just done, floating away from where I once was. I wont be home tonight, but at least I felt happy. I know I was strong. In someway.

[pseudodeepwords]

october 1, 2023, or The Unmistakable Feeling of a Single Weed Growing Alone in the Wrong Soil

This is not to say I'm much of a botanist. I know little of the technicalities of such things. It is simply to say that I have never been further from myself than I am in this moment.

A sapling. Someone told us the ones in the backyard were wild plum trees. I was going to go out there, when the time was right, see if there were any to be picked and eaten. I wonder if they will still bare fruit. I wonder if they were far enough from the fire.

I wish I had been asleep. I wish that on that fateful night, I had gone to sleep right after cleaning up from dinner. I wish I would have slept so deeply, engrossed in such vivid dreams, that I wouldn't know until it was far too late that I was being cooked alive. I wish the flames wrapped me up in their gently licking tongues and that my fingers would never be so bitterly cold again. I wish that I was the ash they trucked away, that I was the dirt and broken glass left on the ground below where my bed once sat, that my life would finally have burnt out on May 2nd and that I would have finally been carried on the wisps of smoke to see my mother one more time.

None of this happened.

I lived, and I cannot say I am any better off for it.

The people who have benefitted from my survival are very few, and my name is not on the list. I'm glad it didn't destroy the people I love. I'm less glad that it did not destroy me, which in some ways I maintain it has.

How many times can you ask for help? How many times can you scream and sob and threaten yourself, begging anyone to let you in to tell you they're glad you're still here? How many times can the silence you receive choke you? How many, until you give up?

I am trying very hard not to give up. For so long, I have been strong.

There's nothing more in this world I hate than being fucking strong.

I do not want to be strong. Not anymore. I've done it often enough for one lifetime. Just once, let me be weak.

Just once, plant me in this soil where I do not belong and where I am not welcome, where I cannot grow, and leave me there to wilt and rot so that maybe the outside can match the inside.

I know it isn't good for me to think this way. I know I should look forward to the future with hope. My capacity for hope has been cracked and leaking for a very long time.

I have hoped and I have prayed and I have begged for someone, something, anyone, anything to listen, to let me be at peace alive or dead, and no one and nothing has ever answered.

If there is a God, I don't think He likes me very much. If he's even capable of such things.

The air here is wrong. In my own tiny room, which I am due to leave within the month, it almost smells right. Incense and candles and laundry and my very own tears. Then I step outside, and I suffocate on a thousand scents that should not be there. There is no soft, cool, morning air. There is no earth, no grass, no animalian smell wafting in on the breeze. Nothing fresh. Nothing pure. Nothing right,

This is not my soil. This soil is wrong.

The soil I'm to be transplanted to is closer to correct, but too close all the same. It's such a close approximation that it will hurt worse than the wrong soil altogether, because at least I know I am not home here. There it will be just wrong enough to ache. Enough of the same to be familiar in a way that is destined to drive pins through the muscle in the center of my chest, to affix it to a board like a spread butterfly, just as dead and dusty.

Last week, during one of my visits with my dad, I laid in his bed and looked at the clock and the ceiling and the print of two dead women and two living, one the best she can and the other long dead but still registering a pulse, and I thought to myself, "He's going to stare at this until he dies. He is here, alone in a building full of people, waiting for death to knock at his door." Some part of me should maybe have felt peace at that, but none of me did. It was just sorrow.

I wanted to leave home so badly for so long. I was so unhappy there.

But my choice to leave was taken from me, burned behind me while I sobbed into the sky as God left another prayer unanswered - please, don't take this from me, don't uproot me like this, don't smash the pot I grew in to see if I can survive without it.

I'm resilient. That's why I say I'm a weed. They're good at growing where they're not supposed to. I've done a lot of that.

Weeds are not well liked. Their resilience is a flaw. Their strength is what keeps them getting poisoned out of polite society. It feels a bit like that, too.

I am loved. I know that, logically. I don't see it often, and when I do it usually isn't good. I don't like seeing my father cry. Even when it was because of guilt, because he knew he was hurting me and let that cut him in turn, it was bitter. These days it's worse. I hate to hear him cry.

I hate to see him cry. I hate to leave his room, his awful fucking room at the end of the hall and know he is crying in there behind me. It makes me think of mom too much, It's bad enough that I can't remember her before she was sick, that all of that's been taken from me. I don't need the reminder on top of it. It hurts too bad.

It hurts because it feels like a secured unit with ever-changing passcodes and sweet aides who loved her when she didn't know me anymore.

It hurts because it feels like looking into eyes that do not see me anymore.

It hurts because it feels like three straight months of being told I was stupid for doing the only thing that kept me alive.

It hurts because leaving didn't work either.

It hurts. All the time. I visit anyways. I'm the only one who does, and I know he needs me. But that doesn't make it not hurt.

I was supposed to be welcome here. It was supposed to be easier. It has gotten no easier.

I wish I had been asleep. I wish that it would never have woken me up.

I wish the smoke and the carbon dioxide would have sent me wherever comes next.

I curse the stars that it did not.