#some of these details may be adjusted sometime but in whole he's a silly little excitable guy

[aquacomet]

☀️He's a excitable little sea slug with an enjoyment for fun, sweet treats and going where his curiosity leads him. It's Sea slug Sun!

His AU anniversary/birthday is coming up in August so what better way to celebrate than making him his own character sheet!

⭐Extra character notes below!⭐

☀ His design is based on the orange-peel doris (Acanthodoris lutea) sea slug!

☀ He's small (Bigger than the average sea slug, possibly around the size of your palm.)

☀ LOVES sweet food but is not a fan of anything super sour.

☀ Enthusiastic to make new friends!

☀ Can stick to surfaces if he wishes (You may find him in some of the oddest places!)

☀ Can disappear if you take your eyes off him (How does a little slug guy disappear suddenly? Nobody knows!)

☀ Goes on adventures, often curious about anything new he discovers.

☀ He can travel on the surface (Though has to hydrate often!)

☀ Squishy! (He can squash and stretch a little but gotta be careful with the little guy.)

☀ He's looking for someone familiar... but who?

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: J - Joker Junior (JJ)

Summary: When Dick is joined by his brother’s alter personality he struggles to complete his case work. JJ can be rather distracting especially when Dick has to keep a constant eye on him because he can’t be trusted to be on his own. 

A/N: This story references to torture and self harm, nothing in graphic detail but please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable. This story is based where Tim had been kidnapped by the Joker and turned into Joker Junior. 

Enjoy! :D 

“Don’t. Put it back. Now.”

There’s a few beats of a silence and without looking he could tell his orders haven’t been followed. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Seconds later there’s a clanging of metal which indicates he’s been finally listened too. Dick takes a deep breath in and slowly lets it out before turning his focus back onto the task at hand.

He’s currently re-reading old case files looking for any names, locations, alibies that could possibly be linked into the current case he’s working. It’s a tedious task but it needs to be done. That being said it would be a lot easier if current company wasn’t present. It was rather distracting having to split his focus two ways so he could try and work as well as keep an eye on the kid at the same time.

This time Dick’s read no more than a paragraph when the sound of moving metal could be heard yet again.

Sighing in resignation, he shuts the file and turns around to face the rest of the cave. His eyes instantly drift over to the weapons table where his companion currently is at. The kid is frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at Dick knowing he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. It’s like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, only in this situation the cookie is a dagger rather than an edible treat.

Opposite him the kid silently blinks owlishly, it would actually be an adorable sight if it weren’t for the creepy ass grin stretching across his face. It’s the grin that reminds Dick who he’s dealing with. It isn’t Tim who is standing in front of him but rather his alternate personality, JJ.

JJ first appeared about two years ago after Tim had been captured and tortured by the Joker. The best explanation they could come up with for his appearance is that JJ is Tim’s way of detaching himself from the traumatic experience he had. JJ is the result of the horrendous torture Tim went through.

It’s certainly taken everyone some time to adjust to this development. Even now, years later, everyone is still getting used to it. Tim is here, he’s still present and is the core identity, but JJ occasionally makes an appearance especially when Tim is feeling threatened, extremely stressed or emotionally unstable.

The whole thing has been a learning curve for everyone involved. Even Tim had to learn to deal with it. At first he understandably didn’t accept what was happening but over time he seem to concede with it and even come to some sort of agreement with JJ, apparently the two identities can communicate no matter who’s in control. Tim’s tried to explain it to him in the past but it’s pretty mind boggling so Dick simply believes what Tim is saying and doesn’t ask questions.

He can’t help but feel a little disturbed by JJ’s presence, it’s an unfair feeling because it’s not JJ’s fault – or Tim’s – but being reminded of what his little brother had to endure at the hands of an insane psychotic man is unnerving. It’s like a reminder of how he didn’t protect his little brother and how he failed him by not being good enough.  

He knows the others also share similar feelings. Jason simply stays away from JJ, he doesn’t even enter the same room as him. Damian is constantly on edge when JJ is present, he often carries his katana around with him when they’re near one another. Cass happens to be the one who handles JJ the best, her calm demeanour seems to bizarrely settle JJ a little. Bruce… well Bruce has similar thoughts to him of how he failed to protect Tim, but both as a father and a mentor. He’s sat down with JJ and has had a conversation with him, they seemed to come to some sort of agreement which Dick doesn’t know the details of. Alfred, god bless him, takes it all in stride as he does with everything. Everyone else is weary of him but are civil towards him as much as they can be.

“JJ, I told you to put it down. Why did you pick it back up?” Dick questions after a long drawn out silence.

JJ plays with the dagger in his hands, twisting it this way and that with skilled precision. He blinks again and lets out a giggle. “Timmy needs to be punished.”

Dick frowns at the answer. That’s not what he had been expecting. “Why does Tim need to be punished? What has he done?”

“He failed us.”

JJ says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world but Dick has no idea what he’s on about. How has Tim failed? All Dick knows is that recently Tim’s been busy with the Titan’s and how he’s been working on his Neon Knights programme.

“What happened?”

JJ doesn’t respond and continues to play with the dagger in his hands. Seeing the sharp blade being toyed with makes Dick feel tense, he knows what kind of damage can be done with a weapon like that and he doesn’t want Tim – and by extension JJ – to get hurt.

“Timmy needs to be punished!” JJ repeats agitatedly. He stops playing with the dagger and grips it in both hands, Dick couldn’t help but wince when he sees the blade dig into the skin of his palms. “When someone fails they get punished. When they are bad they get punished! Timmy has to be punished for what he did.” JJ trails off with a high pitched giggle like the idea of punishment is hilarious.

Dick runs a hand over his face, he’s not getting anywhere here. Where’s Cass when you need her? She’s usually better at dealing with this side of JJ than he is.

“You know that physically punishing Tim also means you hurting yourself, don’t you?” Dick suggests evenly, trying a different tactic. “There are other ways than physical pain to deal with these sort of things.”

Dick has an inkling he knows what this is all about but he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet.

JJ lets out an uncontrollable giggle. “Silly Big Bird, I don’t feel pain, Uncle J made sure of that. Timmy on the other hand needs to pay for what he did and physical pain is the best way to teach a lesson so he remembers not to do it again.”

As if to prove a point, that’s when a drop of blood drips from JJ’s hand and lands on the floor. JJ doesn’t even notice. Dick tries to not flinch at the sight it, he hates the idea of his little brother hurting, no matter what it is it’s always hard to witness.

“I understand that you may be frustrated JJ, but why don’t you try talking to Tim instead. Tell him how you feel about whatever it is that he did and explain why you’re upset with the situation.” Dick suggests trying to sound as reasonable as he could.

JJ violently shakes his head, he seems to be getting more riled up as the conversation continues.

“No! Talking doesn’t work! He ignores me and doesn’t listen. The mission failed and he put us in danger for no reason, we could have been killed for nothing. He needs to remember to not do that again. I’ll make sure he remembers not to.”

Dick lets out a hum in acknowledgement. Something they’ve come to notice since JJ’s appearance is how protective, and even possessive, he is of Tim. The key thing is how no one is allowed to hurt Tim in anyway whatsoever, if they do then JJ will go on a vengeful rampage against whoever was responsible for it. That includes Tim himself.

To JJ, Tim putting himself in danger is essentially Tim hurting himself and he really doesn’t like that. It’s happened a couple times in the past, so in response to Tim putting himself in danger (often during missions) JJ feels the need to punish Tim for it.

Taking a deep breath Dick stares at the kid and wonders how he should proceed. He can’t just turn around and say “no” or retaliate because JJ will only get defensive and probably go do something much worse as a result. While Dick ponders, JJ stands there opposite him still gripping the dagger tightly in his hands with a small puddle of blood forming at his feet and grins creepily at Dick. To make the scene worse JJ tilts his head to the side just a little, adding to the creepy affect even more.

Thankfully he’s saved from trying to decide what to do when another body soon joins them in the cave. Dick’s attention turns away from JJ and onto Cass who casually strolls towards them with a light bounce in her step. Dick smiles warmly at her, feeling relieved for her appearance. Then immediate guilt hits him because he really shouldn’t be thinking that, Tim is his brother and what’s happened is by no means his fault and he should try to be supportive where he can, though sometimes it can get difficult.

Cass silently comes up to them and stands next to JJ. Dick watches with amusement as JJ’s grin slowly disappears from his face and is replaced with a scowl, his eyes narrow in what he would say is a challenge as he stares at her unmoving. Cass simply raises an eyebrow, she places a hand on her side and cocks her hip while she holds out the other in silent demand.

The two stare at one another for a long time, clearly testing the other’s patience and if Dick’s being honest he has to give JJ some credit for how long he’s with standing Cass’s pointed look. However it seems like JJ can’t out last Cass because he soon drops his gaze and relaxes his grip on the dagger but doesn’t let go of it yet.

“Timmy and I just want to have some fun. Why is that wrong?” JJ pouts, actually seeming disappointed and confused for why they’re saying no to him.

Dick catches himself from saying anything at the last second. He wants to question the ‘fun’ part of punishing but thinks better of it, it’s best that he stays quiet and lets Cass handle the situation.

Still staring at JJ, Cass keeps her hand out waiting for JJ to give her the dagger. After more staring he slaps the weapon into her hand with an exaggerated huff.

“Fine.” JJ huffs with a stomp of his foot. He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. “I guess I’ll have to find another way to punish – oops! – I mean play with Timmy.” He lets out a hysterical giggle at his own words.

Cass shakes her head and moves towards Dick. They make eyes contact and Cass sends him a soft smile, when she gets close enough with the hand not holding the bloody dagger she reaches up and cups his cheek. “Finish work and rest. I’ve got this.”

Dick places his hand over hers and sends her an appreciative look. “Thank you.”

Standing up Dick grabs the file he had abandoned earlier and makes a move to leave the desk, it’ll probably be best to head to his bedroom in the Manor where he won’t be disturbed, but when he turns around he finds JJ now over by the weapons table yet again.

“JJ!” He snaps harshly. The kid startles and looks up at Dick before a wide grin stretches across his face, he’s not even ashamed that he’s been caught with his hand hovering over another dagger. He soon retracts his hand and places them both behind his back, he sways side to side like he’s an innocent kid.

“What? I’m not doing anything.”

Dick couldn’t help but eyeroll at the blatant lie. He sends JJ a pointed look. “Behave.” JJ’s response to that was to blow him a raspberry. Sending Cass a nod he leaves the desk with his folder tucked under his arm and makes his way to the stairs.

Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple. He should have been expecting something to happen really considering that nothing is ever easy with the kid, it’s only thanks to his reflexes and instincts that he hadn’t been impaled by the dagger JJ had just been eyeing up moments ago.

The weapon is now lodged in the wall in front of him from where Dick had luckily dodged it. The situation takes a moment to process in his mind and once it does he spins back around to witness JJ giggling hysterically and a wide-eyed Cass who had a hand over her mouth in shock. She’s clearly just as caught off guard by JJ’s actions as he was. Dick takes a deep breath and steadies himself, at least it didn’t actually hit him, not that the sentiment really helps with anything.

Deciding it’s really not worth it, he continues his journey to the stairs and proceeds to climb them, but not before grabbing the dagger buried in the wall along the way. JJ is Cass’s responsibility now, one he’ll happily pass over to her.

The last thing Dick hears when he gets to the top of the stairs is JJ calling out to him in between giggles.

“Bye bye Big Bird! See you soooooon!”

[jetaime-jespere]

Prompt #36/129

#36: I don’t know who I am without you / #129. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you.

It isn’t the first time Aaron comes to see her with flowers in hand, and it doesn’t make visiting her grave any easier, or any less painful.

Flowers became a thing early on, starting with their first date several months before. Aaron had been anxious in the hours leading up to it - distracted all day, letting his eyes linger on her a few seconds too long here and there. It’s clear something was up. He assumed Dave must have overheard him confirming with Jessica about picking Jack up from his playdate, and that he’ll pick him up from her place around nine. All day he’d dodged the carefully timed stares, a few subtle winks whenever Emily’s back was turned.

“Got a date?” Dave asked casually on their way out, much later that afternoon, keeping his eyes forward as the elevator doors closed. But he’d smiled, which suggests he definitely overheard, and has all but figured out why Aaron is leaving so uncharacteristically early.

Aaron plays dumb, scrambling for an excuse for his early departure, and manages something out about a friend being in town. Dave had simply laughed. “Emily likes flowers,” he’d said as Aaron held his briefcase with a slightly sweaty hand. “I hope you picked some out.”

The quirk of an eyebrow, and the amusement hidden in the subtle contours of Aaron’s face all but give him away, the exact reason now known. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dave.” It’s an attempt in vain.

“But you do, and before you even ask how, just know I have my ways.”

Aaron had never been happier to see elevator doors open. What he doesn’t tell Dave is that he’s had flowers figured out already, for a few days now.

He remembers that night - their first date - like it was yesterday; it’s never fully dissipated from his mind. She’d been wearing blue - cerulean, to be specific - and she blushed ever so slightly when he handed her the bouquet of Dahlias and told her she looked beautiful.

Their reservation (at a Tapas bar close to the National Mall) had mysteriously gotten deleted, leaving them without a table only after they arrived at the restaurant. Emily had laughed despite Aaron’s visible frustration, taking the whole thing in stride as she tucked her hand in his arm. Instead, they ended up walking around the Monuments and eating street tacos from a food truck wrapped in heavy coats. Despite the cold, it was light, fun, and as he dropped her off in front of her building, he’d kissed her - brief, but full, his lips on hers a promise of a second date sooner rather than later.

There was indeed a second date; this one to an antique bookstore in Alexandria followed by coffee on a chilly Sunday morning. The threat of snow later that afternoon hadn’t deterred them. Aaron brings her flowers again - lilies - and she’d held them to her nose for the briefest of seconds as the blush rose to her cheeks once more. The second date was three weeks after the first, thanks to a barrage of cases that seemed to multiply, one right after the other, at a relentless rate with little time for anything else, let alone any semblance of a personal life.  And yet, they picked up right where they left off, the same easy banter and familiarity that comes with years of knowing someone as well as they do. He kisses her again, this time bringing a hand to her hair and another around her back, pulling her in close. It’s not even a question if there will be a third date when they pull away, breathless.

Their third date was Valentine’s Day, and she’d come to his place for the first time in over a year, since the days after Foyet threatened to rip his family apart. Aaron bought roses - two dozen red ones - as cliché as it was, handing them to her when she’d arrived. She’d beamed as she shook the light dusting of snowflakes off her shoulders, apologizing for her lateness, murmuring that the flowers were beautiful. He’d planned on making her dinner but instead he’d taken her to bed, leaving their clothes scattered across the living room floor. Emily was beautiful beneath him; her long legs wrapped around his waist as he’d learned her, taking his time finding all the places that made her moan. Her fingers tangled in his hair when he’d kissed his way down the flat planes of her stomach and between her legs, her hands gripped his shoulders as he thrusted into her, she’d lowered herself down to press her chest against his, his arms wrapped around her as she rode him to completion with his own finish coming in the seconds after her own.

Aaron also ruined their dinner during their preoccupation - overcooked the steak and burnt the potatoes to a blackened crisp, rendering it all inedible. With a sheet wrapped around her chest, Emily had reached for her phone and ordered pizza, which they ate in bed straight out of the box. “The best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had,” she’d whispered in his ear much later, her lips smoothing down his jaw as she pushed him onto his back, a devious grin on her face. Hours later, he repeated her words right back to her, pressing kisses to her lips.

It all fell apart shortly after that.

Date number four was cruelly ripped right out of their hands as Emily slipped away, literally and figuratively, the threat of Ian Doyle becoming a reality. She’d withdrawn, becoming distant and even secretive, slipping into briefings late and sneaking clandestine glances at her phone throughout the day. Aaron had been oblivious to the truth (she hid that from all of them), but he knew something was direly wrong.

Two weeks after she cancelled their fourth date with a heaviness in her voice that culminated over the last few weeks, he heard the name Lauren Reynolds for the first time. And about ten days after that, he signed the paperwork that essentially rendered Emily Prentiss dead.

So now, Aaron always brings her flowers. It feels wrong not to, because he always has. This time he brings Irises; Emily likes those. She told him that once, back when he hung on every word she said, his brain absorbing every last detail of her to commit to memory. Now those memories come back and haunt him like a curse. The car door slams but he doesn’t hear it, and he adjusts the hood of his jacket and tucks his keys into his pocket. He keeps his head down, grateful for the soft rain that falls in the summer wind like a whisper as he maneuvers through the gate, stepping over the neat landscaping. Every step he takes brings him closer to her yet she’s never been further away from him, and he finally releases the breath he’s been holding when he sits down next to her headstone.

“Hi,” Aaron says softly, fumbling with the stems in his hands as he sets them down beside the ones he’d brought the other day, brushing his fingers over the cold marble headstone. “I miss you, you know. I’m sorry it’s been a few days. It was a hell of a week.” Being here is a familiar ritual, one that brings him an unexplainable bit of comfort and yet a profound sense of grief. It’s been four months since they buried an empty casket into the ground as she convalesced in the hospital. Four months since he explained to Jack with as much patience as he could muster that Emily had to go away for awhile, possibly forever, and calmly answered his son’s questions even as his own heart was shattering into pieces.

Aaron supposes it feels mildly silly, talking to someone who isn’t even there, spiritually or whatever, because what most don’t know is she’s not even dead.

She may as well be. Those were her words, not his. It’s what she said in the days after Boston, still too weak to travel but awake and fully cognizant, the impending reality looming in the distance. Aaron had sat at her side, as close as he could get without physically climbing into the bed with her, his hand a fixture in hers for the better part of the two weeks she’d spent there.

“These nurses are like drill sergeants,” Emily had groaned one afternoon after she’d taken a few laps around the floor, pushing a walker with Aaron hovering at her side, a protective hand on her back. It took nearly all of her energy; her eyelids had fluttered within minutes of returning to her bed.

“They’re supposed to help you get better, you know.” And while he can’t help but feel proud of her for how far she’s come, her returning strength is a reminder that soon enough she’ll vanish from their lives, unceremoniously, as if she never existed at all.

Her grave is the only place he feels close to her, as if she, wherever she is, might be there in some way too. It’s where Aaron talks to her, tells her the mundane things about life - the life that has seemingly paused since she left- anecdotes about Jack’s soccer team, Dave’s new car, every now and then he’ll mention a case. Sometimes it’s a haze of confusion, asking the questions he most likely will never get answers to, his voice breaking at the most simple, yet complicated of them all. Why? How?

Other days, it’s grief that courses through his veins and clouds his heart, like a vice grip around his windpipe that makes every intake of breath more painful than the last. They all feel her absence; a numbness has enveloped them all in the last couple of weeks especially. But he bears the pain of knowing the truth and being responsible for the secret they’ve held to keep her safe. Today is one of those days.

“I wish I could be angry with you,” he says, never taking his eyes off the headstone. “For what you put us through.” He’s tried that. Anger never lasts long, because Aaron sees her face in his mind, full of poorly concealed fear as he and JJ had passed over the dossier of new identities into her hands, signifying the beginning of the end.

“Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you,” Aaron chokes through the mounting thickness in his throat. “It’s not the same without you. Nothing is.” His face is wet, and it’s not because of the rain. Most of his visits end this way, and he takes the long way back home to pull himself together. “We miss you. I miss you.”

It’s getting harder to breathe, harder to conceal the sobs that are coming like the stormcloud in the distance, and he buries his face in his hands to cry because there’s nothing left he can do. “I don’t know who I am without you, Emily.”

There’s a rustling in the trees behind him sometime later. If he closes his eyes he can almost hear her footsteps behind him, sure and steady. Aaron can’t bring himself to turn around because she won’t be there - she’s already gone.

“I love you,” he whispers, knowing he should have said it a long time ago.

[writefinch]

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

[timetraveller29]

Worst of Both Worlds

A Doctor Who fanfiction for #WhouffleWeek2020

Day 2 - Fix you / Nightmares or dreams

Featuring the Eleventh Doctor and Clara

Snap!

That was the sound of the Doctor’s eyes opening in the middle of the night.

Wait... no, that’s not right.

Eyes only metaphorically snap, they don’t actually make – ohh no, the TARDIS’s navigatory cable was knocked out of place!

He scrambled to push a cable thick as his forearm back into a socket right under the glass ceiling... He appeared to have dozed off and, waking, knocked his head on the underside of the TARDIS controls where was supposed to be doing some maintainence...

The warning bells stopped ringing and he held out his arms for balance as the ship roared, rocked and swayed into a safer trajectory – he squinted at a meter – that was not plummeting them right into a massive star...

Phew! Close call.

Too close. He scratched the back of his neck. Why was he so groggy? The ends of his mouth drooped in confusion, mirroring his drooping lock of hair. A head appeared from the room above, chubby, and twice as confused.

“Doctor...” she moaned. “What was all that about? I fell out of bed!”

“Oh.” He attempted to grin, but it only made him look pained. He tried again, then stopped. In this regeneration, he’d learned not to force any body movements that didn’t cooperate. He sighed and covered the confusion by striding around the floor, acting busy. “I... may have made a miscalculation while adjusting the speed of the TARDIS engines, and,” he pulled at a thick ribbed pipe from the muddle of tentaculous arms that ran through to the console above, mindlessly switching hands for another, his voice fading into a mumble, “that may have almost sent us into a violent collision course...”

“Doctor! Honestly...” She came down the stairs, staring up and around her. The TARDIS looked rather gorgeous from the lower floor, if slightly on the wilder side... She smirked at him. “You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

“No!” The Doctor stepped back, the word filling his whole mouth. “No! No, of course not, I would never do that, I would never put your life in danger like that!”

“Sleeping does not put my life in danger, unless you start to fight it and end up dozy driving,” she said, arms crossed. “Admit it! You were so tired from our Running with the Stars, Intergalactic Marathon earlier that you needed a rest!”

“I did not!”

“It’s not a crime you know. I mean, at your age,” she scoffed.

“No, you don’t understand, Clara! I don’t sleep, I don’t need sleep. I only have...” He groaned. “Oh, all right, I have to give in to naps sometimes, when my subconscience nags at me.”

Clara spoke through a derisive laugh. “You have a subconscience?”

“More than you would imagine...” He had a frown on his face. “I think it was trying to give me... a dream.”

“A dream?”

“No... A nightmare.”

He sat down on the floor, letting the images flow through into his waking mind. They weren’t as vivid anymore but he could make out shapes and feelings... He shut his eyes to read them, going deeper...

When he opened them, he found Clara sitting next to him, full of concern. She was wearing a large sweater over her night shirt, and it felt soft when she placed her hand on his.

“What was it about?” she asked.

He didn’t like to worry her, but he could see no way out. Well, short of lying, but she always seemed to know when he was lying.

“I can’t fixate on the details but I know it was...”

He stopped.

“Yes?” She could tell he was reluctant to say, but that was not an option.

“I know I was alone,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I was alone and going grey and I was tired. No one was around. It was just me, on a battlefield, and I knew I was in a war, except I didn’t know...” His irises staggered rapidly, as if he was in the nightmare again.

Clara gripped his hand. She tried to complete the thought for him, phrasing it as kindly as she could: “You didn’t know which direction they would attack from?”

He shook his head.

“No... I didn’t know if the war was beginning or ending. I felt like I had been there before and I had won, but if I moved they would all find me and I would die. Either everyone was dead and I was alone, or everyone was waiting to kill me, and against them, I was alone.. And I... I didn’t know which was true! I just needed to wait there to tire them out. Only it felt like I waited forever. I guess... I didn’t know which direction in time they were attacking me from.”

Clara could hardly comprehend this. “Has... has something like that happened to you before?”

He smiled weakly. “Not too far off from some of our adventures, eh? Hah! Yes, I’ve been in a war that was a bit similar. Most of my mental energy goes into supressing those happy memories, but you know... Obnoxious subconscience,” he enunciated with spite.

“I thought we’d fixed it? We saved Gallifrey didn’t we? It feels like we did that just yesterday, give or take a couple afternoons...”

“We did. This was different though. It wasn’t Gallifrey or the Time War. What’s more... I never exactly felt lonely in the days of the Time War, not the way I do now. I guess it was the worst of both worlds,” he mused.

“What do you mean? You’re not lonely, are you? I mean... I’m here, after all.”

The Doctor melted into a smile and gripped her hand tight. “Of course you are. And I’m glad I found you, Clara Oswald!” He touched his nose to hers and she giggled. He loved watching her laugh.

“It’s just that,” he added after a moment, sobering. “I wonder if it’s a premonition of a sort. It’s like my subcoscious knocked me out while i was distracted and force-fed me a vision! What if... what if this is my mind peeping into the future and trying to warn me? What if, one day, I am left old and grey and alone, lost in time, fighting the same war over and over again?”

He felt like he had heard an echo through the ripples of the time, distorted and faint... An echo of the sounds of an image... And that image, he knew, was his.

He shivered.

“Doctor? Look at me.”

He did.

“You’re not alone. Okay? I’m here, right by your side, and I’m never going to let you get in some weird time travel war. Not on my watch! So your nightmare was just a nightmare. A silly dream. Okay?”

He nodded at her.

“You’re right. It’s just a silly dream.”

He stood up, and bumped his head on a lever, setting off the alarms again, searingly loud this time.

“DOCTOR!”

“On it, on it!”

And by the time he had fixed the engines, and put out all the fires, and finished up the maintenance with as little excitement as possible, the Doctor had safely pushed his dream to the back of his mind once again.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Fluff Alphabet with Loki!

So a long time ago I made an equivalent to the popular NSFW-Alphabet.

Will probably make one for Bucky, too. Hope you enjoy! (:

Feel free to use on your own writing Blogs!

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Even though he might seem a bit ‘extra’ sometimes, Loki is actually a very reserved person.

He isn’t one to visit busy, crowded places - however if it’s for your sake, he’ll probably endure it if you wish (for example: seeing your favourite band live).

Actually, he prefers peace and quiet - so it’s no wonder that he feels the most comfortable in nature of any kind. If you’re searching for him, you’ll be most lucky to catch him reading under a tree. He very much cherishes long walks or even picknicks with you, simply talking for hours to come.

Since he is very well read, you may expect to getting many books from him, as well as recommendations on what to read. It’s a passion he wants to share with his love, and your opinion on his favourite literature is very important to him!

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Since he is able to take on many forms, beauty standarts of our world, as well as outer appearances in general, don’t quite apply to this man.

No matter the looks, the God of Lies would always manage to look behind one’s facade and see their true personality - and yours was what he could describe as epitome of beauty.

He maily endears attributes not directly connected to bodily limits, such as how your embrace would make him feel save and warm, or the way you know how to use your words.

Another thing would be your voice, no matter if spoken or sung. It manages to sooth him, no matter the situation.

He believes that the eyes of a person reveal even the deepest parts of their soul - and when he looks in yours, he can tell that you are truly in love with him. The shining affection he can decipher in them will never fail to amaze him!

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Truth be spoken: If you’re feeling down, Loki is feeling pretty helpless, too.

Well, if you ask him, his skill is rather ruining someone’s mood instead of brighten in up. Anyway, he knows it would be selfish to dwell in his insecurities while you are in need of his help.

Your boyfriend will go to great lenghts just to see you smile again:

No matter if pulling magic tricks to distract you, extravagantly spoiling you the best he knows how or simply cradle you in his arms for as long as you need - he’ll pull the whole program. You’re the boss.

If you wouldn’t see it for yourself, you wouldn’t believe what kind of idiot the usually proud warrior is making out of himself while making such an effort. But it’s kinda cute, actually.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Believe it or not, but Loki is quite the cliché romantic when it comes to relationships.

He’s never been a person to cherish the superficial relations back on Asgards palace, and neither to stand to their social rules. You know how he was raised and what he’s gone through, so he would never want to go back to his old self.

Ever since you made him accept his origin and his past sins, there’s nothing standing in the way of the two of you even starting a family.

You giving birth to his heir will be the best day of his life - he is sure of it. And he is glad to have the chance to make everything better than his own adoptive father.

His top priority is keeping you save, and he’ll enjoy every single second of your time together.

It doesn’t matter where or how you are going to live - to Loki, home is where you are.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Oh, your boyfriend loves to play the game of who has the say.

There’s just no helping to this guy when he’s starting to press your buttons. Of course he respects you as much as no one ever before, but the sight of you to try and oppose him is just too attractive to him. He loves your fire!

In general, Loki believes in equality and talking everything over together. Even if he is basically a god, he’d never even think of being above you.

Actually, he has kind of a thing for being completely at someone’s mercy - at least in certain areas. (;

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Basically, you’d have fights about pity things, just to lay in each others arms a few minutes after.

It’s more of jokingly teasing rather than real conflict, with both of you breaking out in laughter this whole time. It’s really playful, with you making silly comments about the other.

The only real topics to discuss are Loki’s self-hate and some cultural differences, which are most of the time easily resolved. You just have an effect on this man that makes it hard for him to insist on his opinion.

Both of you will find a reasonable compromise, no matter what. That much is sure. Loki just can’t be mad at you for too long anyway.

In the end, before you even calmed down, Loki will simply pull you in his arms for a heavy make-out-session. Or even more - to make up for your fight. ;)

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Not even his Silver Tongue could put in words just how grateful he is for everything you’ve done for him.

Before, he was a God, a Frost Giant and a man with a shameful past. But you’ve helped him become the man he always aspired to be.

But it’s not just the great deeds you’ve done to him - Loki is aware of every little effort you’ve put into the relationship. No detail would escape his wary eye - no admiring glance, soft kiss or thoughtful gift.

And he is sure to give it back to you a thousandfold!

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Even though you managed to accomplish the impossible and have earned his unquestioned trust, some things are still pretty hard for Loki to talk about.

The Asgardian is afraid of negatively affecting you with the remaining darkness in his heart, to trouble you with his thoughts or annoy you with his insecurities. 

He has everything he’s ever wanted, so why should he bother you with making you think that there’s something wrong?

Yet he knows that most of this is only his mind playing games on him - since he’s still not used to being blessed with this much happiness.

Don’t worry, he’ll never let the darkness get the better of him ever again - since he now has you, the light of his life!

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

As you should already know, you’ve made Loki accept and even truly love himself - even in his Jotun form.

He is not ashamed to use it in public, even for simple things as to cool you down on a hot summer day, or to better acclimate himself in cold areas. More than one time you’ve caught him admiring that form in front of the mirror, repeating the complimenting words you told him before.

But it’s also the other way around: Your boyfriend helped you to see your true worth, and to stand up for yourself.

You showed him that humans have more potential to be extraordinary than he ever thought before, after all. And he learned to enjoy many things about Midgard, due to your influence.

In return, he’d show you some magic tricks even a human could perform, as well as self-defense and knowledge humans have yet to learn about.

Together, the two of you make quite the infamous duo.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

It’s no secret that Loki isn’t the most confident one, and always fears of himself not being worthy or good enough - and he’s no different when it comes to the love of his life.

Yet he’s also pretty subtle with his jealousy, rather expressing it through silently suffering rather than just admit that he’s afraid to lose you.

He’d express it through mocking comments on the object he’s jealous of (mainly Thor, to be precize), but also overdoing it with gifts and compliments, showering you with affection.

Yet you know him better than that - you look right through his walls, realizing what all this is about. So there’s no room for misunderstandinds.

You’ll show him that you’re his and his only - and deep in his heart, he knows it the whole time. There’s no real use for him being jealous.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Well, he is  several centuries of experience ahead of you. But that’s no reason to get nervous!

Truth be spoken: He had always been pretty insecure about his comparatively thin lips, so he ‘practiced’ pretty hard to become a skilled kisser and make up for that fact.

It gets addicting, really: Once you felt the contrast of his cold, wet lips against your warm ones, you’ll never want to let go.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Loki would want it to be the most special day just for you - but even though everything would be well-planned, his nervousness will overthrow everything.

He will be so different than usually, completely losing his cool and acting like a huge dork.

That sad man will think he completely fucked up, but to you, it had never been about huge actions or extraordinary gifts.

After his last attempt to impress you had failed, Loki would desperately blabber his heart out about his true feelings about you.

And that was all it took to win your heart - that the God of Lies would be honest with himself.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Loki yearns for you to be his, ever since the two of you finally became a couple.

Actually, he wanted you to be very sure about the relationship, giving it some time to adjust and getting used to each other even after the rose-coloured glasses would fade away.

But after almost losing you during a mission, he realized that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He was determined to make you happy until your dying breath!

You wouldn’t suspect anything, since he would try to make it a big surprise - you could even call it a mischief.

He would probably make something like a paperchase, leading you to the most important places of your shared history, for example the spot of your first kiss.

In the end, he’d wait for you, revealing your new home he’d prepared all by himself.

Instead of a ring, he’d gift you an ancient, powerful relic - the Casket of Ancient Winters, saying it’s like a metaphor for you holding his dark side in check.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He loves to improvise new names. It has become like a sport to him to switch between them. A collection of his favourites:

Dove

Petal

Dwarf (because of your in comparison to his small stature)

Babe (he loves the human slang in case of exception)

My Treasure

My Queen

My Light

My Soul

My Angel

Mistress, on special occasions ;)

In contrast, you’d simply call him things like “snowflake”, “dork” or “asshole”. He knows it’s your way of showing affection.

If you really want to drive him crazy you call him stuff like “master”, “lord” or “my king”.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He’ll probably be way over the top when it comes to helping you, and he’ll make a show out of it. Any wish dropping from your lips is his command.

Your praise makes his pride swell, and after so much time with you, he realized that it shouldn’t matter to him what others might think - the opinion of people he loves is the only thing that counts.

Loki’s strenght is in writing very poemic love letters, which he thoughtfully places on your nightstand for you to read, together with a flower or something else for you to wake up to.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

From the very first day, everyone knew - if they wanted to or not.

He’d brag about your beauty, wits, strenght, personality and talk everyone else down on the other hand. Every person on the tower is annoyed by his long, intense speeches about having found true love. No bad word may ever come over you as long as Loki is there.

Especially when it comes to his brother, he likes to show off like a galoot - sometimes softly slapping your ass or making out with you while staring him down, to “mark his territority”.

The two of you are basically inseperable - with Loki following you like a lost puppy, sometimes watching over you from within the shadows and fighting back to back on every mission.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Only few people lived to know the truth: But Loki is actually a very talented singer.

He even tried to write his own songs, yet he had to do it in secret since his father thought it to be “unworthy for a warrior” and “pityful”.

So he was pretty ashamed when you catched him singing when you came back early and  he stood under the shower, but as soon as you reassured him that you loved it and it sounded beautiful, the house would be filled with Loki humming and singing whenever he felt like it.

Especially his lullabies are to die for.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Of course Loki is very smooth when it comes to flirting or complimenting you, making you feel like a young teenager with their first love.

But his true way of affection is rather through assisting you whever he can, as well as some other small, lovely gestures instead of talking much.

Loki really is someone to indulge his lover in any way possible.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Loki is basically your biggest fan.

Sometimes he’s still feeling like your relationship is holding you back, so he will spare no expenses to assist you in whatever you want to achieve.

He also gives the best motivational speeches, making you feel like you could do anything.

If you finally reach your goal, he’s almost more excited about it than you!

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Your boyfriend can be very random - you could also call it mood swings. But you handle it well.

Even though he enjoys having a relatively normal life up to a certain extend, he is still a God and a Magician - I think that’s enough said about how many thrilling things happen to you on a regular basis.

Almost all of his thoughts revolve aound you and what surprise he could prepare to see your adorable reaction!

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Loki had his own fair share of pain in life, so yes, he’s very empathetic.

Of course he cannot understand what it’s like to be in a fragile, human body or properly understand your ways of living or coping with things, yet he finds your way of coping very admirable.

Your prince is a very good listener, softly stroking your hair or rubbing small circles on your back while he carefully listens to every detail of your pain.

He’s not one to give advice or judge anything, he likes to lead you towards your own resolution through conversation alone.

And you can be sure: He’s always there if you’re in need. No one would dare to hurt you, or they’d feel his wrath if it had to be!

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Well, what should I say? That man gave up a throne just to be with you. I think I don’t need to elaborate that might isn’t a topic in his life anymore.

As said before: You are his top priority, even though you told him that he is now free to live as he pleases.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Loki talks in his sleep.

Whenever you’d try to shuffle away from him or turn around, he’d swiftly scoop you into his arms again, always murmuring sweet words of affection into your ear.

Up until this day, he has no clue about it - it’s your own little secret.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Most certainly! You just got yourself a giant, freezing teddybear, dear! That man has to make up for years of neglection, after all. So ne is pretty needy for affection.

His speciality is trapping you in his hold with his limbs when you’re lying in bed, snuggling onto you from behin and especially plumping onto you and crushing you with is love.

Even in public, Loki just can’t bear not to be close to you. So you’ll always feel his leg pushing against yours when you sit next to each other, his hand on your knee or your pinkies intertwining.

He absolutely loves surprise hugs, burying his face in your neck and hastily placing some kisses against your face.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

If you’re gone, he’s more likely to convert back to causing Mischief - even if only harmless one, like pulling pranks on Thor and the others.

You’ll get at least 20 calls a day by your angry teammates, like Nat complaining about how he changed her hair colour into green or turned into a spider to scare Scott.

And then, there’s Loki’s calls to add to that, mostly at night drunkenly telling you just how much he misses to have you in his arms and that every day without you is a lost one.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

It’s pretty much clear just what this man would do to you.

For you, he keeps his desire to cause mischief to a minimum, no matter how much it opposes his natural instinct.

He also had to promise you to not talk badly about himself, his past crimes or his Jotun form ever again.

Loki Odinson would die - no, live - for you. 

_______

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[someonefantastic]

Do These Tacos Taste Funny to You?

I had so much fun with the details at the beginning of this and I just love the idea of the four of them hanging out. If you want some ambiance while you listen to this, check out the video "You're in the bathroom at a club in 2007" on YouTube. I wrote the whole thing while listening to that on repeat lol. Summary: Juliet, Shawn, Gus, and Lassie are hanging out at a nightclub after a very long week. But sometimes unwinding can go a little too far. Warnings: alcohol, non consensual drug use, some suggestive content also on ao3 ___ The beat thumped low in her chest, music pulsating in her ears. Her and Shawn’s bodies swayed together, enjoying the intimacy that their closeness provided. She secretly suspected that was the whole reason why he had wanted her to come- not that she was complaining.

Usually, she wasn’t a fan of clubs, opting to instead spend her evenings off at a place like Tom Blair’s or at home. But Shawn and Gus had been raving about a new nightclub for weeks now, claiming that it would be the event of the century. Naturally, their persistence (and Shawn’s boyish charm) wore her down. Never wanting to leave her partner out- and knowing he had nothing else going on- she had in turn dragged Carlton along. She knew, deep down, he appreciated being included.

To be honest, she was having a really great time. It had been a long time since she went to a club for reasons other than being undercover or investigating a case and being able to just relax and enjoy herself was amazing.

Shawn’s hands rested low on her hips, chest pressed against her back and her hands were in his hair. It was clear that she was in charge, hips moving to the beat as she led their bodies in precise rhythm. Occasionally he would dip his head, using their position to whisper sweet nothings in her ear or press a kiss to her cheek.

She was loving it. It had been an extremely stressful week and, on top of her increased caseload, she had to deal with way too many disgruntled family members. Most notably was a man who was pissed they had arrested his brother for grand larceny. He had screamed and shouted threats for hours, preventing her from being able to get any actual work done. Way too many nights had been spent pouring over cases or lying awake thinking about all the things she had to do. She and Shawn had barely spent any time together lately so being able to unwind and dance with him was blissful.

She smiled as one hand swooped up her side, fingertips just barely touching the exposed skin below her halter top before gliding up over her arm to grab her hand. Once their fingers were joined, he spun her in one swift motion, bringing them chest to chest. Hooking her arms behind his head, she grinned, continuing to sway to the beat. He returned the look, fingers finding her hips again. Their cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily, whether, from the dancing or their close proximity, she wasn’t sure.

Taking advantage of their new position, she let her hands run down to his shoulders. Toying with the shirt collar, she admired his exposed chest, happy he had undone a few more buttons than usual. He squeezed her sides, causing her to jump and she laughed, catching his knowing look.

Leaning forward, she shivered as his breath ghosted over her ear, “If you keep staring at me like that we may have to find someplace to make out.”

She hummed, hand coming up to cup his cheek, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

“As tempting as that sounds- and believe me Jules it’s very tempting-” His voice had dropped low, and she briefly considered just dragging him out of there. “I think Lassie wouldn’t take well to being abandoned.” He nodded behind her and she turned to look, trying to stifle a laugh when she saw Carlton attempting to dance in his own lanky way.

She turned back and he shrugged, “Plus I think Gus has struck out with pretty much every girl here.”

Tilting her head, she pursed her lips, a small smile pulling at them. “So drink break?”

“Yeah,” He sighed, “But I promise I’ll get you back here before the night is over.” With a wink, he pulled away, making sure to grab her hand before walking off the dance floor.

After some maneuvering, the four of them gathered around a tall table near the bar. Gus and Shawn dubbed themselves “the official drink orderers” much to her amusement and Lassiter’s annoyance. Once they disappeared towards the bar, she adjusted her miniskirt taking a seat across from her partner. Lassiter fidgeted with the cufflinks of his shirt, looking very uncomfortable.

She leaned forward, sending him a soft smile. “Thank you for coming Carlton, I know this isn’t your scene.”

He shrugged, “I don’t mind. This has actually been kind of… enjoyable.”

Her smile burst into a grin as she sat back, absolutely thrilled by his admission. He rolled his eyes, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She laughed as Shawn and Gus approached, the former attempting to hold four drinks without spilling them and the latter carrying plates stacked precariously with food. “I thought you guys were just getting a snack?”

Gus raised an eyebrow, placing the food on the table before taking a seat. “We did.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, snatching his Scotch from Shawn’s hands. He just smirked before placing a glass before her, “A wine and whisky cocktail for my lady.”

“Thanks, Shawn.”

“Do these tacos taste funny to you?” Gus spoke up with a frown, having barely taken a seat before digging into his food.

Shawn grabbed one off his plate and took a bite, eyes squinting as he chewed, “A little. That’s what you get for ordering tacos at a nightclub buddy.”

Gus glared, grabbing the half-eaten taco out of his hands while Shawn immediately started protesting Shaking her head, Juliet took a sip of her drink, watching as the two bickered. What a way to spend a night off.

She wouldn’t have it any other way. ___ Four plates of food and two drinks later, Shawn took a much-needed bathroom break. Exiting, he looked around in search of his best friend, ready to tell him about how cool the restrooms were when he caught sight of his beautiful girlfriend instead.

“Hey, babe!” Juliet greeted, sliding up next to him. She had a full drink in her hand- her third if he was counting- and he guessed she had just gone to the bar.

He grinned, “Hey yourself.”

“Wanna dance?”

“I’d love to but your hands seem full.”

She frowned, staring at her drink before throwing it back in a few quick gulps. He raised an eyebrow, “Wow.”

Grabbing his hand, she led them both out to the dance floor, talking the whole time. “I asked Lassiter to dance but he’s still grumpy because he had to miss seeing Marlowe due to working all day. If you ask me, he just needs to get some.”

Shawn nearly tripped over his own feet, “What!?”

She paused, turning towards him and beginning to dance. “Shawn please, don’t act like you don’t know what ‘get some’ means,” Her lips curved into a smirk, “Especially since you get some quite often.”

Shawn bopped his head, a flirty reply on his tongue but it died as he noticed her pupils were dilated. She had continued to talk, her voice was loud and fast and he found that he was having a hard time following her.

Eyebrows creasing, he grabbed her hand, and she trailed off, “Jules, are you feeling okay?”

She gave him a puzzled look, “Of course silly, never better. I feel like I could dance all night.” As if to emphasize her point, she pulled on his hand, bringing them closer together. This time as they danced, her movements were quick and jerky, practically bouncing up and down.

She talked the entire song, conversation drifting from the lyrics to their friends to her grocery list and then to his looks. Normally he wouldn’t mind the endless stream of compliments but his worry had grown past the point of being able to enjoy anything. She was acting so different, he knew alcohol caused her to let loose a little and become a bit more flirty but this wasn’t like that at all.

Just then a slower song started playing and she frowned, grabbing his hand to pull him off the dancefloor. “Let’s go see what Lassie and Gus are doing.”

Okay, something is definitely wrong. She rarely calls Lassie ‘Lassie,’ He thought as they approached their table where the two men were immersed in conversation.

“Hey, guys! I’m bored, anyone want to go for a run or hit the town or something?” Juliet bounced on her toes as she spoke, curled hair swishing around her shoulders.

Lassiter’s eyes darted from her to Shawn. Clearly, he picked up on the strange behavior too. “Spencer… what did you do?”

He put his hands up, “I swear I did nothing, I don’t know what happened.”

“Guys nothing is wrong,” She rolled her eyes, “I feel great! Actually, I’m going to get another drink.”

“Jules, I don’t know if that’s the best idea-” He tried calling but she had already disappeared into the crowd around the bar.

Lassiter sighed, standing up, “I’ll go get her. You” He shot a pointed look at Shawn, clearly not believing his innocence, “stay here. We should probably leave soon if she’s this drunk.”

“I swear it’s not my fault dude,” Shawn said once Lassiter had gone after her. He flopped into a chair beside Gus, frowning, his eyebrows knitted together.

“I believe you. Maybe she’s just drunk.” Gus shrugged, taking a sip from his own glass.

He shook his head, “No, I thought so too but she acts way different when she’s drunk.”

“She could just be enjoying herself.” His best friend tried again, attempting to ease his worry.

“Maybe...” He was unconvinced though, his friend’s words doing little to ease the growing pit in his stomach. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what though and that made him feel even worse.

He didn’t know what to do without the facts, his abilities were so dependent on figuring out the truth and rolling with it. When he didn’t have that, he was lost. It was even worse when it came to people he cared about, if he couldn’t help them then what was even the point of having his skill set?

Juliet bounded up, snapping him out of his thoughts. A wide grin had taken over her face, another glass in her hand. Behind her Lassiter slowed down, breathing heavily, “She has... so much energy.”

“Oh, crap.”

Shawn’s head whipped towards Gus whose eyes had gone wide. “What?”

“Remember when we solved that case for Mel Hornsby? The baseball one?” Shawn nodded. “And remember when you accidentally drank the dead coach's water?”

“Guster out with it!” Lassiter was tapping his foot, clearly having grown impatient

“Well,” His eyes darted to all three of them, “I think Juliet accidentally ingested speed.”

It was now Shawn’s turn for his eyes to go wide. He looked over at his girlfriend who was back to dancing, her drink sloshing out of her cup. “Oh, crap.”

[blindrapture]

a union-mandated break post

(okay, let’s see if I can type this all over again after losing the post. gotta remember how it all went.)

Hey there, the few mutuals who Like all of my posts, the lurkers who occasionally make their presence known, the lurkers who I also hope are there, and all you folks who come across this post naturally before scrolling on (that’s fine too, please have a nice day! remember to take a deep breath and unclench!). I wanted to make a post giving a casual update.

Things have been going. You know how it is. Time proceeds onwards at a pace that is a crawl to some and fleeting to others, depending on relative perspective. The average of all these observations may be Objective Truth, a hazy mythical and abstract prospect which to this day no living human has ever known (due to the nature of perspective). We still try to know it for some reason, an endeavour which may be “a good thing” or “a condemnation of our species,” but that’s relative too. See above. Still, it is possible to take an approximation of what we figure this average to be and find ourselves (mis)balanced on a knife-edge in between all perspectives. This narrow path, the knife-edge between fast and slow, between good and bad, between ecstasy and despair, seems precarious at times, yet at other times is like a garden, wide and spacious enough to sit awhile. Our perspectives cover this garden from us with the shrubbery of Can’ts and Shouldn’ts, and the way to the garden is fraught with the misty cloud of Look-Like. And yet, ultimately, these shrubs and mists are but prismatic scenery colouring our time on this Earth, a perspective which is easy to see from within the garden. The Earth is brown and grey and immortal, though wearing an impermanent coat of blue and green. One day, we will slip out of our perspectives and return to the Earth, join her mounding’s mass, and that will be death.

So that’s the weather. Sometimes cold, sometimes mild, sometimes wet, sometimes dry, sometimes bothersome and sometimes the only backdrop I could ever want. I’ve been up to the usual, cycling between interests like a bat between haunts.

- The other day I got around to playing Smile For Me, an experience which took me about three hours to more-or-less complete 100%. Really cute game, I fell in love with all the characters, and the budding horror elements made me excited to see where it’d go.

- Currently I’m playing A Monster’s Expedition Through Puzzling Exhibitions, a game often cited in the same breath as Baba Is You and Stephen’s Sausage Roll. I think those two games are puzzle masterpieces, and A Monster’s Expedition is hitting me in the right spot. It frequently fills me with awe, which is impressive considering the game is just a long series of oblong block-pushing puzzles. It has scope, though, and it has the guts to hide that scope from you until you’re able to discover it for yourself. I’ve played for about 10 hours so far, beaten over 200 islands, and yet I feel I’m only getting further away from the end goal. Hard to describe. It’s a good game.

- When I’m done with that game, next I’ll be checking out Spelunky 2. I’ve wanted to try the original for a long time but never got around to it; I picked up the sequel. I know very little about the games (with a rough idea of what gameplay is like), and I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can. I like games that rely on discovery.

- Book-wise, I’m, y’know, reading Finnegans Wake as I fall asleep, occasionally inching through other books too, but my main reading focus at the moment is The Familiar. I went and picked up a new copy of Volume 5, and I found the Volume 3 I had kinda lost for a while, so now I have the full Season 1 again. And it’s been long enough since I read any of them that it’s finally time to reread them. As a unit this time. I am... so happy to be in their headspace. I’m currently in the second act of Volume 1, taking in a lot more details this time (and I do still remember a sense of where the whole plot goes), really cherishing the commitment to physicality and aesthetic. There’s not many authors out there like Danielewski. House of Leaves kickstarted my book obsession, y’know. And The Familiar is about as grand as a project can be. It’s supposed to be 27 volumes, each one 900 pages long, and the design of these books is goddamn sublime. The publisher only let him do the first 5 volumes, which is sad, but luckily those 5 volumes make up a “Season,” so they’re still a whole thing, a complete story arc for each of the nine protagonists, and plenty of secrets and details that give a good sense of the true scope. And did I mention the series is fucking scary? Profoundly so, each new volume weaving you deeper into its conspiratorial web of eldritch coincidences and patterns. The story is full of cats, immortal cats, God-cats. There’s a scientist who keeps a freaky magic orb and is known as Wizard. There’s an Armenian taxi driver who’s one of my favourite characters. And you can probably get all the volumes Used for fairly cheap on Amazon now. ........please, somebody join me in loving this series.

- Creative-wise, I’m working on music as always, putting notes next to each other until I get a result I can do something with. There is one piece that’s definitely done, a collaboration between Lindsay and I, but it’s going into Nine Is God so you won’t hear it just yet. Speaking of, that’s coming along. I haven’t even started making any codes or cool connections yet; I want to finish the... Core of this update first. Let’s be deceptive and call it the Main Blog. I have proven to myself that I definitely can do this; I keep stumbling on new mechanisms I can add, and I have a pretty vivid idea of what the whole thing will look like. It’s gonna be maybe a decent size for a Blog, all told, but it’s the form of the thing that mandates a lot of care. Luckily I have made Viceking’s Graab, so this isn’t the first time I’ve done something this mechanically ambitious. ...look, just. Of course I’m excited to Actually Talk about this thing, but like with the Graab, its nature requires me to keep it secret until players finally discover it for themselves. I like making that kind of thing, I want the sense of discovery, of climbing up a hill only to reach the summit and see an even bigger mountain looming over you that you hadn’t realized was there. Like Frog Fractions, or its sequel, even if you know there will be more than meets the eye you still get surprised and filled with delight. This concept fits neatly into an ARG format.

- Oh, also, I’m super excited for the Braid remake. It’s gonna have a comically thorough amount of developer commentary, and that’s all I want from this world. It’s even coming to Switch!

Media can be used as a tool to assist with the experience of life, and that is the way I want to approach things. I have spent time adapting myself to feel comfortable in these boring aesthetics (of understated puzzle games, thoughtful pretty books, blogs as art) because this means I am less susceptible to getting burned out during contemplation and self-examination. It may seem like a matter of taste, but taste is relative too; it’s not hard-wired, it can be adjusted, it does adjust all the time under the hood. ...I don’t know where to go with this one, other than that I should be careful not to condescend. I am not above anyone, I am confused too. I just.. like confusion and mazes, and I try to speak these aesthetics in an approximation of how I see others talk about theirs.

Right. I think that’s the bulk of it, that’s what I wanted to say today. I hope you are holding on, reader. It’s a wild and lonely world out there, and it’s our world; it’s yours just as much as it’s anyone else’s. You are important to it.

I leave you, mysteriously, with an old Genesis song. It’s called “Can-Utility and the Coastliners,” which is a silly way of saying it’s a song about the myth of King Canute. Sick of flatterers claiming he was equal to God, he went to the sea shore and said “If I truly am equal to God, then let the waves halt at my feet!” They didn’t. An astute demonstration, but it just prompted his flatterers to praise his ingenuity. “But he forced a smile, even though his hopes lay dashed where offerings fell.” I’m not really sure how the story ends. But it’s a wonderful song, starts off very folks-y but quickly takes a left turn down Mystery and Beauty. And it’s freaking Genesis.

See ya.

[andy-the-8th]

Day Of and Day After - Sam (Part 5)

Part 5 of Creatures That Defy Logic

Read on AO3

That feel when you're 14 and your boyfriend turns out to be a merman, but you've still got things to get done this summer.

Sam's perspective at the end of the movie.

A/N: Sam was perhaps the least-developed character in the whole movie, so writing from her perspective was kind of a fun blank slate. I've given her a last name, individual background interests and information, and invented (mostly - Jennifer is Sam's friend who had like 2 lines) a whole supporting group of original characters for the chapters from her perspective - maybe they'll also be connected to other stories?

Sam got home about an hour after leaving the marina and Cody's parents behind. Hot from the long walk and summer air, she went immediately to the kitchen and downed two glasses of water, letting the coolness spread throughout her body as she sat and calmed down at the kitchen table.

It had been a good plan to walk back. Sam was as much an athlete as Cody or Sean or any of the boys they hung out with - her mind and muscles were connected, and one always worked better when the other was engaged.

With the open air and time to walk with purpose, she had managed to calm her emotions about losing Cody. She hung on to the mermaid's silent promise to have him back before school started, somehow communicated to Cody's mom via telepathy. God, telepathy. Another ontological thing to adjust to. Would Cody have telepathy when he returned?

She'd managed to stop crying about halfway through her walk. She knew it would come again that night, and probably the next several nights. She could hear her friend Jennifer laughing at how silly she would look crying over a boy going away for the summer, even a boy as socially desirable as Cody Griffin. Sam and Jen connected on a lot, but in the boys department she sometimes wished Jen could be a little less shallow. As far as Jen was concerned, a boyfriend only needed to be cute and popular - emotional depth, socializing, deepest-darkest secret keeping was for girl friends. Sam agreed on all the latter, but had always thought romance could be about something more.

She hadn't been attracted to Cody for his popularity. If anything, she was drawn to his drive, his energy when he would compete, the charisma he had among his teammates and with his friends. The way being one of the popular guys hadn't turned him into a cocky prick like Sean and some of the other boys on the team.

Sam felt like they were meant for each other, even if they'd only been going out since spring break. She thought Cody felt the same - Cody was like an open book, which was something she'd always loved about him. He was terrible at lying, and you could always see every emotion on his face. She had never doubted his feelings for her.

Which was part of why she was still not over him not telling her about this sooner.

Sam's older sister Jackie had come home from college last summer, talking about all the drama of dating in college with her high school friends once they were all back in town. The new thing she kept talking about was love languages - the way people show each other they care. Sam honestly thought most of her sister's talk was needlessly dramatic, and hoped that the boys she knew would grow up to be a bit less vapid and out of touch than all the boys Jackie seemed to encounter. Regardless, Sam took the little checkmarked quiz in the back of Jackie's magazine, and which said her love language was trust - being able to tell each other anything.

When she'd told Cody on the beach that she wanted him to be able to tell her anything, she could even hear Jackie's or her mom's voices in her head, saying that she was being a bit demanding for a three-month relationship in 8th grade. She didn't care. She knew she loved him, and to Sam that meant complete honestly.

So having to find out after Cody sprouted fins, apparently blew up the scoreboard (?),  and ran away from the meet was justifiably infuriating. To be fair, she didn't really expect this to be what Cody was keeping from her. Part of her was relieved that it wasn't him seeing some other girl. She didn't think he would do that, but this was junior high after all. She only now slightly regretted storming out that day - she may have been sad to lose Cody, but he had hurt her too with his lack of trust and uneven expectations.

The fact that she had to learn about the details from that Josh kid only exacerbated the issue. Apparently they were close friends or something now? Then again, he looked at Cody like a science project - like he was something to study. Still, she could tell that he was important to Cody, and had clearly helped him out when the problems had started - even if she would rather have been the one to do it, the kid's science background probably helped a lot more. Even if Josh insisted they weren't problems, they were steps of Cody's metamorphosis, it sure still turned into a lot of problems for everyone else involved.

Josh's - no, Jess's - weird-ass comment about her "kissing" him after performing mouth-to-mouth was probably the part of the day she least wanted to remember. Like, sorry for trying to save your life. Thank God for junior lifeguard training and boyfriends who can apparently shoot lightning out of their hands.

Still, as she was thinking about school the next day, Sam realized it was going to be weird to not be able to talk about where Cody was with anyone. She was his girlfriend, after all - "the most popular girl in school" as Jen naggingly kept reminding her - and had always been an extrovert, wanting to talk things over with people she cared about to make them all make sense. Jess was now in the weird position of being her only peer she could be fully truthful with about what was going on her life.

That would make for an interesting summer.

God, and Sean would no doubt have a million questions after whatever he might have seen at the swim meet. It was bad enough that he still attempted to flirt with her whenever possible - him getting into a fight with Cody that had to be broken up by Josh Jess of all people surely was going to make him all the more insufferable.

Getting up from her chair, Sam tied her hair back and got up for another glass of water. She was reminded of Cody's weird sudden thirstiness at all times over the last several weeks, and how that finally made sense, and (thankfully, maybe) wasn't diabetes, as she'd repeatedly warned him. He'd  insisted it wasn't, with the excuse that his mom wouldn't want him to go to regular doctors to get tested anyway. That part at least was true, even if only half of the story. Diabetes would have been a bit more normal, but imagining Mrs. Griffin dealing with insulin shots was almost scarier than her dealing with merpeople.

Merpeople of all things. She didn't doubt Cody's promise to her this time, but still: there'd better not be any mer-girls to hear about come the end of the summer.

Putting her glass in the sink, she stretched back and decided to put all the drama of middle school girls and boys - human and otherwise - behind her for the rest of the afternoon. She slid open the glass door next to kitchen table and stepped out onto the small porch in the backyard, lined with shelves of potted plants all sorts of colors and shapes. Sam had always loved her plants - succulents, aloe, bromeliads, spider plants, dracaena trees - things tied to the earth. Her room and the back porch had become her container gardens, where she'd retreat to care for them and decompress. She gathered up her watering cans - large spouts for rainlike streams, small bottles to directly water the soil - and the various pump bottles of plant food for each variety. As it was the beginning of June, it would be time to refresh the fertilizer in all of the soil. She filled the watering cans at the sink and moved smoothly and slowly from plant to plant, dabbing drops of liquid plant food to the soil, carefully parting leaves and stems, watering just the right amount for each species. The work was perfect, slow and relaxing - Sam focused on the diverse needs of each individual plant as well as appreciating its beauty and growth progress.

Sam was actually quite a good biology student herself, though she had always been more inclined to studying plants, both aesthetically and via agriculture, than anything to do with the oceans. Land management and endangered species conservation were at the top of her extracurricular interests - she had been president of the middle school environmental club the last two years, organizing recycling drives, local beach cleanups, and nature walk days for the elementary school.

This summer she had managed to get a part time job at one of the local greenhouses, which served both the florist shop and a few of the garden centers around town. Her job would start two weeks from the end of school. The prospect of spending the summer caring for things of the earth was far more comforting and appealing than tomorrow and dealing with people again.

Sam mentally noted the irony of her caring so much for things of the land, with her boyfriend turning out to be a literal sea creature.

She finished all of the care and cleaning for the plants on the back porch, then carefully went upstairs with the smallest of the watering cans and repeated the process with the small collection of indoor plants in her room.

After finishing up, she laid back on her bed, staring at the musician posters on her ceiling - Backstreet Boys, TLC, and Destiny's Child - trying to let her mind zone out. She reached into the bottom drawer of the dresser next to her bed for her CDs, finding what she had been looking for: TLC's FanMail, new just last winter. She popped the CD into her small player and put her headphones on, closed her eyes, and focused on following the rhythms of the drums and harmonies in the voices. The music worked - she found herself drifting off to sleep, exhausted physically and mentally from the rest of the afternoon.

It was almost dark outside when she woke to her mom coming in the front door downstairs. Sam quickly got up, taking a few seconds to reorient herself in space and time. Quickly trying to pull herself out of the weird fog of falling asleep midday, she made her way downstairs.

"Oh hey! Were you asleep?" Her mom rarely missed anything. Like Sam, she had long red hair, pulled back into a bun over her black dress shirt and blue blazer. Her mom was a lawyer, one of the only ones in their town who worked in environmental protection policy. Most of her days were spent with documents and plans from the various touristy planners, boat charters, and other industrialists looking to exploit the town's oceanside location, circumventing whatever environmental protection laws as they could. Ms. Lindsey Brathwaite was the main champion of the environment standing in their way.

Sam consciously widened her eyes and slightly shook her head to wake herself up. "Only a bit. Had a busy day earlier, lots going on with tomorrow the last day of school."

"Oooh, any plans for tomorrow night? Two weeks still til you start work, anything going on in the meantime with ze boyfriend?" Her mom always had a good sense of humor when discussing Sam's social life, even if it got a little annoying sometimes with not taking things quite as seriously as her daughter would like. If only she knew this one.

"Actually I was just going to maybe hang out with Jen and the girls tomorrow. Cody's, uh, Cody's going to be going away for the summer."

"Oh really? Family vacation? I would have thought they'd stay around, tourist season and all." Lindsey never missed a thing.

"Uh, no, he's going away by himself. Swim training thing, out in Australia." At that Lindsey turned right around from where she was busy taking plates out of the cabinets. "Australia? Really?"

Sam did her best to nod nonchalantly. "I think he has something going on there for like, potential Olympic training maybe? And Mrs. Griffin's sister lives there too." Sam turned away, slightly bit her lip, worrying she might be laying it on too thick. Best to avoid too many details with the story, in case she or Jess or anyone else couldn't remember them all if they had to. That said, a training camp for the Olympics wouldn't be too out of the ordinary to be in Australia - the next actual games were in Sydney next year anyway, and as she said, Mrs. Griffin had a sister who lived somewhere on the north eastern coast.

Lindsey was still no less surprised but at least seemed to buy the story, frowning at her daughter slightly. "Aw, I'm sorry to hear that, I'd imagine you'll miss him, especially with such little notice!"

"You have no idea." Sam's tone accurately indicated to her mom that she was annoyed but also wanted to drop the subject for right now.

"Well we can get on making dinner right now, then if you want to call Jen later tonight you can set up your plans and talk things over? I won't be needing the computer tonight so the phone'll be all yours." Sam really loved her mom, especially how she knew when to give her space to work things out socially. "Jackie will be coming back next week too!"

The thought of her sister showing up again for the summer made Sam even more glad to be out of the house at her greenhouse job. Jackie was alright, but ever since Sam had grown up enough to be dating, her sister was only too interested in being helpful - and prying - in that department. There were only so many details Sam would be able to give about the boyfriend she'd already told Jackie about.

"OK, thanks Mom! I'll call Jen after dinner." Sam walked over to the salad bowl Lindsey had already put out on the table, and began carefully mixing in croutons and putting the dressings out from inside the fridge. After the day she just had, something as simple as making dinner was an appealingly normal event.

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

You ask for prompts and I'm here again to seek new content to read: 3. How often do/can they see each other (due to living on different planets, having stressful jobs, etc) with Gashir (/Garakshir) 🤩🤩

 Eyyyyy. I am just gonna… casually fold into this… a little trans-Bashir as a treat…. because it’s trans day of visibility!!! Also I hc Cardassians as intersex, in the sense of they as a species don’t call themselves intersex, but their genders are far more loosely determined at birth, because there’s not really sexual dimorphism (or rather, there is, but it’s so many different factors that it’s not classified) and then gendering comes later in life depending on what role they’re supposed to play in society ahem – different post to make!

Also Garak has a tail in this, also casually.. also this got longer than intended… oops?

—– Letter Analysis ——

1.

Their lives have a sort of normality that many families in this day and age exist with. Space travel, careers that necessitate being off-planet for long stretches at a time, the struggles of being a representative for entire planets or systems, all of this isn’t out of the ordinary.

Still, it takes them a little while to adjust, if only because they spent so long not getting it together that now that they have, well, they want to savour it. On the flip-side their relationship functions much better than so many who enter into partnerships of some kind without fully considering the difficulties of spending so much time apart and inevitably crumble.

Because of all that time they know, without a doubt, that their lives are entwined for good, regardless of how much of it they spend without one another’s physical company.

They fall into letter-writing naturally. After all, they had been doing the same before, why stop now.  

2.

It has become something of a competition at this point: who can write the longest letter. Thus far, Julian is winning and Elim is still in the process of reading his when they see one another again. He pretends to be blasé about it, but Julian can read him easily these days. He wonders at the time when he couldn’t and can’t really picture it.

While Elim is giving him a back-handed compliment at the way he’s managed to fold three words worth of content into whole paragraphs, Julian realises that he’s never known anyone as well as he knows Elim. And every detail of himself is known in turn. From the scars of his chest surgery that he purposefully kept, to the ridges at the base of Elim’s tail, it feels like everything about them was perfectly made for the other.

It’s strange, how many tiny moments are filled with love, they both learn.

(After Elim sends him a letter of 3000 pages, Julian simply answers: You win).

3.

They consider what it would be like to have a family with the way their lives are run. Elim generally lives on Cardassia unless his diplomatic duties take him elsewhere, while Julian is hopping from emergency to medical find to distress call to conference.

Still, they approach the matter on the premise that it will happen. Their letters during these years follow a trajectory of thought with little variation, as they can’t actually be together for the discussion.

They discuss pregnancy – both of them are capable of bearing a child, but the time needed (nine earth months for humans, even longer for cardassians) makes it a challenging prospect. Moreover Julian and Elim, each for their own reason, have issues with concepts surrounding an uncontrollable force fundamentally changing their bodies.

It doesn’t take them long to agree that adoption was always the only option. Still there’s the matter of their careers being incompatible with children. Neither of them wants to put a child in harm’s way and both of their careers contain elements of danger. I believe, writes Elim drily and with an underlying sadness that Julian wishes he could heal, that this sixth assassination attempt may contain a sign that a child would not be particularly safe in my company.

4.

The way this resolves itself is oddly perfect for what they need and who they are and comes through both of their continued work with mixed-species war-orphans, who more often than not are homeless, ostrasized and suffering from any number of easily treatable diseases. Garak opens a series of institutions in the name of Ziyal and habitually lends a hand in their various gardens where he befriends a number of the kids.

This plan also works to ground a lot of Julian’s focus in the space of mixed-species research, specifically writing papers on the future of the galaxy needing to see species integration for the sake of these kids as an inevitability as cultures mix and to understand the medical and cultural implications thereof.

Kira and Ro get heavily involved on the Bajoran side of things – in general a bunch of adults from DS9 days come together to give kids a better chance than they had.  

Beyond that though, they come to realise that they’re okay on family. With these kids – many of whom they get to know personally over the years – with Molly and Yoshi O'Brien and Rebecca Sisko getting older and the two of them functioning as uncles, there’s more than enough for them to be getting on with on the children front: Elim and I were very happy to see you all again – Don’t worry, I’ll keep Yoshi safe – we’ll be making a stop at Bajor where Nerys is very excited to see him again –

Their circle is actually a sizeable, cross-galaxy household. They come to realise that it doesn’t matter if your family is someone you can’t see often, what matters is they’re all inhabiting the same space.

5.

They don’t argue often. With the lack of time they have together, what would be the point of raising petty squabbles. There are things like the time Julian forgot about a very important dinner that Elim was a guest of honour at, which opened up a box of the kind of loneliness Elim thought he’d overcome, but it wasn’t about anger or arguing, it was about the two of them figuring out that sometimes this not seeing one another was actually damned hard. It was about asking for forgiveness and receiving it even before the asking. It was about making sure that they wouldn’t let things ever be unsaid, because their time together – comparative to their whole lives – was always going to be so short.

The actual worst long-standing consequence is that Elim and Julian are political celebrities, and so whatever tabloid-equivalent exists publishes one thousand pieces on their apparently irreconcilable relationship. Julian finds himself referred to as everything from a “heartthrob who found he needed more,” to “a cheater who habitually has several affairs at once.”

It’s amazing, remarks Elim in his latest letter, how these kinds of spurious articles are written even today, and how they still don’t seem to know the facts. On that note I hope you have a wonderful time with Data, and Parmak sends his love from my lap - it’s making it very hard to write this.

6.

They’re both twenty years older by now, but things aren’t slowing down with their work by the looks of things. Julian’s work centres more and more on the various groups whose medical needs are considered less valid or even non-medical, because of their social status and who often have medical issues of kinds that don’t come up in normative societies – mixed-species, augments, A.I. (for awhile his standing suffers, when he argues that mechanical needs for A.I. ought to be taught in Starfleet Medical), non-bipedal species, Ex-B’s, Jem'Hadar, clones.

Elim keeps his Carrington Award on the wall for everyone to see. Partly to mess with him – To The Prestigious Winner of the CA – many of his letters begin for several years after, but mostly out of pride.

(In return and with as much love, Julian addresses him as Ambassador and Castellan – the joke evolves as they find ever more flowery titles for one another. Julian wins this one: My Dearest, the Ambassador to the United Federation of planets, Castellan of the Cardassian Union, Blusher when Being Whispered Compliments about the Length of Your Tail, Not-So-Secret Reader of Austen and Pratchett, Seducer of Doctors (No Doubt Currently Spluttering in Denial), Possessor of Biteable Ridges (Blushing Again, I Hope) and of My Heart… this opening continues a further four pages. The letter itself reads: I expect to land on Cardassia within the next three days. Surprise.)

7.

At the end of it all, Julian finally comes to Cardassia for good. Along the way it’s become his home more than any planet, station, starship, or system, for the simple fact that he’s been returning to Elim, and Elim is home.

There’s a strangeness to all the time they have. The walks they take, the languid mornings, the discussions of books they’ve read whilst in each other’s company, it’s all far more surreal than the years spent wanting to see one another again and catching whatever moments they could.

They can’t shake the habit of writing one another letters, even as they’re sitting in the same room. They don’t need to be long or well-formed any more, although occasionally silly competitions spring up, just for fun.

The one Julian’s reading right now, as Elim’s tail languidly curls around his waist, simply says: I am glad that you’re finally home – E

–— The End ——

Submissions for drabbles are now closed, thank you for sending me asks!

[cherishtaengs]

I Hate That I... (pt. 4 - Y/N)

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 5 |

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2088

It’s the night of the party and you wish you’d brought gloves or something. You stick your hands into the pockets of your jacket, hiding them from the crisp air outside. If there was one thing you hated, it was having cold hands. 

Sammi tugs you by the arm toward the house, and you notice the few people talking outside rather than inside. One of them catch your eye as you pass by; it’s Sanghyuk, and he’s talking to a girl who had the misfortune of being roped into conversation with him. She looks like she was enjoying the momentary attention, but just the thought of having to talk to any of Taeyang’s friends made you frown. Sanghyuk notices your stare, and returns it with a quizzical lift of his eyebrow. You don’t stop to acknowledge him, and it didn’t look like he was going to pause mid conversation, either, so you break the eye contact. You haven’t even been here for five minutes and you were already thinking of leaving.

“He’s kind of cute,” Sammi ushers you into the house, nudging past a few absent-minded people. “Isn’t he?”

You shake your head, pulling yourself away from Sammi and taking your hands out of your pockets. “You literally think everyone’s cute.”

“You’re right,” Sammi replies matter-of-factly, adjusting the straps on her top. You weren’t sure why she’d only gone for a sweater over her shirt; it was pretty cold for fall tonight, and you’d worn a layered jacket. Your friend wasn’t too happy with the less than stylish choice, but she let it slide, saying something about how you’d make it up to her later. You didn’t mind dressing up on occasion, but if you had to spend a cold night at this party, you’d rather be comfortable and warm than fashion forward.

“So,” you sweep your eyes around the room, taking in the casual setting. “What’s your plan, O wise one?”

“Well, it’s not really a great scheme like you may have thought. It’s very simple, very easy to follow through with.”

You waited, but you had an inkling of what she was suggesting.

“Let’s just say, I know two people who may be waiting for you,” your friend continues, looking over your shoulder as if searching for someone. “And don’t look now, but there’s one right over there. All you have to do is walk past him once, maybe twice, and let him come to you.”

You fight the urge to spin around, but you knew without even having to. It was probably Taeyang, canoodling with some poor unsuspecting person who thought they had all his attention. Not that it bothered you; the demon could do whatever he wanted, it wasn’t your business.

“Why would I do that?” you hiss, not liking the idea of being paraded back and forth. “Why can’t we just stay away and enjoy the party?”

Sammi sighs. “Y/N, you may be dense, but I’m not. Inseong didn’t just give you that invitation for no reason. He also didn’t give you his phone number for you to waste this opportunity. I bet you didn’t even text him once since the other day, did you?”

“Just to tell him we’d be coming.”

“Right, well, obviously Inseong didn’t just want an RSVP,” she sets a hand on your shoulder, giving you an almost pleading stare. “I’m willing to bet that he wanted to actually make conversation with you. Look at it this way- he stands up for you when Taeyang’s being a jerk. He makes sure you’re okay. If nothing else, I’d settle for believing that he wants to be friends. And, he gave you all the right conditions to make a move yourself, but you can’t just let it all go to waste. If you can be friends with Inseong, I don’t think you’d have to worry about Taeyang anymore.”

You weren’t sure why Sammi wanted to set you up with Inseong so badly, but it honestly wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk to him at all. To be fair, you wanted to be around Inseong; his whole aura was just so strangely calming for you, and it made you feel silly to think that since you barely knew the guy, but he somehow managed to make you feel both nervous and comfortable around him. Of course you wanted to get to know him better, you just didn’t know if he wanted the same.

“Okay, tell you what,” you sigh at last, setting a hand atop Sammi’s arm. “I’ll go parade myself around the house for a bit, and whoever comes to me first gets the honor of my company.”

A grin stretches across your friend’s face, replacing the serious expression she wore just a moment ago with excitement for you. “Great! While you do that, I’ll be looking around for some entertainment myself. If you need me, my phone’s on.”

With a final encouraging pat to your shoulder and a wink, Sammi slips past you and seemed to immediately disappear into the growing crowd. Already starting to feel a bit overwhelmed, you took a deep breath and turned, ready to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that she said was waiting for you. To your surprise, however, there was no one familiar anywhere around you; no Taeyang, no Inseong. Not even their friends.

“So much for the easy way out,” you muttered to yourself, pushing past people to head for the kitchen. Hopefully, they had some water or something else you could drink and pretend it was taking the edge off.

As you squeezed your way into the kitchen, you half expected to run into either of the boys. You weren’t sure why, but the anticipation had you on edge; you really wanted Inseong to find you first, but on the other hand, would you really mind if it was Taeyang instead? But right as that thought entered your mind, you kicked it back out. You weren’t going to let Taeyang get any kind of leverage over you, even if he didn’t know about it. Letting your guard down around Taeyang, like you did at the library just two days ago would mean losing. And you weren’t going to lose to Taeyang, of all people.

Inseong, however, you’d be willing to give a chance. Not that you even thought it would work out, since he was older and way out of your league. Embarrassed, you shake those thoughts out of your head, too. You weren’t making a decision on either of them yet.

Somehow in all of your wandering, you found yourself back at the front door. The porch seemed to be vacant for the moment, so you took the opportunity to catch some fresh air. You hadn’t run into anyone tonight, hadn’t even caught a glimpse of Sammi.

It was almost as if the universe was edging you on into chasing after one of the two. Quite frankly, you weren’t a very big fan of any kind of running, so you tried your best to ignore the universe’s persistent tugging. If you were meant to meet Taeyang or Inseong here tonight, then they’d come find you.

“What’s someone like you doing out here all alone?”

Seems like the universe can get impatient, too.

You turn around, expecting the cheesy line to have come from some loser looking for an easy lay. Instead, you see Inseong leaning against the doorframe, slight grin on his face. You feel yourself relax, smiling back before you could stop yourself.

“Someone like me?” you raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Inseong just smiles wider and joins you by the railing, leaning his elbows next to yours. “Got bored inside?”

“I don’t really know anyone else here,” you shrug. “And my friend left me with a quest.”

“Quest?” Inseong looks at you with a quizzical lift of his eyebrows. Your cheeks heat and you realize explaining Sammi’s plan for the night was not a good move unless you wanted to scare Inseong away. Which you definitely did not want to do.

“Nothing important,” you brush it off. “I don’t mind standing out here anyway. There’s something aesthetically pleasing about disconnecting yourself from a raging party and staring at a lawn, I guess.”

At that, Inseong chuckles, a warm sound you felt in your chest. In the dim light, you saw the sharp dimple at the corner of his lip. “It does sound like a nice aesthetic, if also a little lonely.”

You bite back a response quickly, suddenly too embarrassed to start flirting with him. Instead you nod and tip your head up to get a better view of the dark sky.

“You know, Taeyang isn’t such a terrible guy.”

You wished you’d just gone ahead and flirted, because now the conversation had taken a sour turn. Why couldn’t he have said something funny and cute? Why did he want to jump right into talking about Taeyang? You stay silent for a moment, hoping Inseong didn’t press you to reply.

“Well,” he continues. “He can come off like a bit of a jerk, but I promise that’s not all there is to him. You probably don’t know this but, we go way back. I’ve known Taeyang since he was barely a teenager.”

You weren’t sure why Inseong was giving you a history of Taeyang’s life, something you didn’t really care about hearing, but you didn’t think it was polite to interrupt him and say so. So you watch the grey clouds drift past as he talked.

“He’s never been good at expressing his emotions outright. You might not believe me, but Taeyang used to be very shy. He’d just sit so quietly and observe a conversation unless you asked him a question directly. Sometimes, you’d even forget he was there.”

You roll your eyes, something in the pit of your stomach flipping in an odd way that you didn’t quite like. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

It didn’t make sense to you that someone like Taeyang, who basked in attention and popularity like a cat does sunlight, could ever have been the quiet type.

Inseong shook his head.  “He’s changed a lot, trust me. Maybe not for the better, but it’s a long way from where he used to be. But you know about that, too, don’t you?”

He was talking about your high school years with Taeyang, the way he’d managed to completely ruin your senior year. “I don’t know what he was like before high school, but he was the bane of my existence in senior year.”

When you turn your head to face Inseong, you see him focused intently on you. So you sigh and continue your recollection of how exactly Taeyang had turned into your “enemy”.

“I’ll spare you the overly dramatic details. Now you may not believe me, but once upon a time Taeyang and I actually got along.” You pause for dramatic effect, allowing Inseong to react. “We weren’t close or anything, but we also didn’t hate each other. And then he started getting on my nerves. I wish I knew the reason for it, but I don’t. It’s like he was purposely trying to make my life a living hell.”

You stopped to take a breath as the memories of his constant teasing and pointless bickering came back to you. Thinking back on it, both of you were immature and petty; it was childish. But Taeyang had started it, so that automatically made him the bigger child.

“And you think he does it because he hates you?” the older boy tilts his head, resting his chin on a palm.

“He wouldn’t try so hard if he didn’t,” you shrug, casting a sideways glance at the party.

Inseong was silent for a moment, as if considering both sides of a complicated story. “And you think he’d keep kissing you even if he hated you?”

You weren’t surprised that Inseong knew about how Taeyang held the kisses over you like some kind of award, but for some reason hearing it from him directly felt like a slap. “He’s trying to get under my skin. He’s using me, and I’m just letting him.”

You hoped your voice didn’t sound as unsure to Inseong as it did to you. But if he noticed the hesitation, Inseong ignored it and just offered you an understanding smile.

“You know you could stop it anytime you want, right?” Inseong fully turned to you, and you noticed how he was much closer to you than you thought. You shifted your gaze to the floor, staring hard at your feet. “You don’t have to keep playing along.”

You weren’t sure what to say, and a slightly breathless voice broke the heavy silence, saving you from having to answer at all.

“You can’t be thinking to quit so soon,” Taeyang said, the set of his shoulders and raise of his eyebrows reflecting the challenge in his voice.

“Things are just starting to get interesting.”

[sarcastic-sunshines]

Letters for my Love - Chapter 4

A/N: I just wanted to wish everyone a happy school year! I officially start this week as well. I wish all of us nothing but growth in knowledge and 4.0 GPAs

Pairing: T’Challa x Black Reader

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3

My Love,

I do not know where the time has gone, but somehow, our daughter is graduating from kindergarten. It seems like just yesterday I was nervous about her beginning school, now Nono is off to Year 1 in a few months. Sometimes it feels as though she is growing up too fast for me to soak in all the memories. I am blessed to have a child who sees me as her best friend and lets me experience all her happy moments with her, though I am not sure how long that will last. Everyday it seems her friend Fatou gets closer to stealing my spot. Perhaps Nobomi is more independent than I would like to admit. Perhaps admitting my daughter is growing into her own little person will also force me to admit that I am still struggling to formulate my own life outside of her.

I have tried to take baby steps, just like the therapist suggested, but evidently my progress is slow. Having Erik home more has been helpful, his presence always pushes me to explore myself outside of being King and a father. His teasing however, is not always appreciated when it comes to the fact that I have made no actual attempt in befriending Akina. After how things ending with Ayesha, I was sure it wasn’t the right time, but now I am not sure. It is as though Bast is playing a trick on me. I went from never seeing her to suddenly bumping into her almost everywhere I go. I am hoping to get to talk to her more at Nobomi’s graduation.

The little girl has invited almost everyone that she knows for her special day. And it is hard to say no when I see the excitement on her face. You should have seen how big her smile was at the seamstress as she took her measurements for her graduation dress. It reminded me so much of you, I still find myself longing for your presence in these special moments. For you to get to experience how much our daughter holds your spirit. How much it brings me comfort to see you glimmering through her. Though I know my morning glory is always with me, I still long for the love that we once shared. Some days it feels like the void your death brought will never be filled, and I am not sure how I feel about it. It helps no one to dwell too much in what could have been, instead I will focus my energy on planning a ‘super duper fantastic’ graduation party for Wakanda’s graduating princess. I am not sure what exactly counts as ‘super duper’ to a six year old but I am excited to find out.

Yours Forever,

T’Challa

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

T’Challa sat with his cousin on the couch, as they waited for Nobomi to try on her dress for her graduation. He hadn’t thought too much about the whole event, until realizing how excited his daughter was for reaching her first educational milestone. She couldn’t stop talking about the day, making her excitement contagious. So when she asked for a new dress, he had no choice but to say yes. Somewhere along the planning, he had been persuaded into hosting 20 six year olds for a party to celebrate the end of their kindergarten years. Planning had not been easy, considering event planning was not his forte, but again Nobomi’s excitement was worth it.

T’Challa nudged Erik awake once he heard little shuffles coming towards them. They both turned their heads to look at Nono as she strolled in like the princess she was. Her smile went passed her eyes, which held a twinkle that reminded T’Challa so much of her mother, it felt like a constant reminder that she was always there. T’Challa felt himself getting emotional watching his daughter twirl in her dress wishing his wife was here to see the beautiful strong willed child they had brought into the world. He cleared his throat and wiped at his eyes before speaking.

“You look so pretty Nono, and your smile makes your dress even better.” he said opening his arms to allow her to hug him, though she didn’t stay for long, quickly going  back to twirling.

“Yeah baby girl, you sure you're not heading to a runway and not graduation.”

“No uncle Erik! You are so silly” she said still giggling at his comment, her four missing front teeth open to the world to see.

“ I didn’t know serving looks was a requirement to graduate from kindergarten” he replied tickling her while littering her face with kisses.

“Baba said I get to wear Mama’s hair pin so I get to look extra pretty and have my good luck charm” The pin had belonged to his wife’s grandmother. She had always planned on giving it to her child, so T’Challa did just that when he found it again. Nono somehow understood the importance of the gift and only asked to wear  it during special events.

The seamstress came from the back quickly with a needle and thread in hand  “ Nobomi sweetie, I have one more adjustment to do at the sleeve please. You were supposed to go and come back” she bent down to the little girl’s level as she used some pins from her pincushion to have the sleeve fit as perfectly as she wanted.

“Imani, you really outdid yourself this time. She looks amazing”

“Oh I cannot take credit Kumkani, your mother had been working with a local designer named Akina,  she owns a dress shop closer to end of the city. Nobomi had insisted on having one of her dresses.  She entrusted in me in doing the final fitting” Imani stood back up leading Nobomi to the back to carefully take off the dress without the pins hurting Nobomi.

This was all new information to T’Challa. He had left every detail of the dress to his mother who had gone to every fitting prior to this one. He would always ask Nobomi how the fitting went but she insisted she wanted it to be a surprise. He only ever got a ‘good’ or a ‘fine’. He hadn’t even known that Akina was a designer. It just proved how little he hadn’t gotten to know her.

Erik turned to make sure that Nobomi and Imani had gone to the back.

“I didn’t know your lady was a designer”

“I didn’t know either, and she is not my lady” he said with a little nervous stammer

“ That’s shocking, you shoulda seen the way your eyes lit up just by her name” T’Challa frowned as Erik laughed. “ Man, it has been literal months, if you don’t ask her out soon I’m gonna have to.”

T’Challa’s expression became a glare that even Erik felt a cold chill from  “Chill, it was a joke. But seriously, you need to step up , because home girl is definitely crazy about you. Look at the dress she made for  your daughter, she really didn’t have to. And the added bonus is baby girl already likes her so there is no sign of there being an Ayesha situation.  Just use Nono’s party as an excuse to casually talk to her. ”

T’Challa thought about Erik’s words for the rest of the day. For a while he had been sure that his feelings were not reciprocated, if anything,  he was sure he was imagining the connection he felt between them. Every interaction he had with her had been a stuttering mess that was either interrupted by Nono needing his attention or her having to leave. He was convinced Akina was being polite because of how much she liked Nono and the fact he was still the King.

Erik was right though, she didn’t have to make Nono a dress, and it was strange she never mentioned it. Maybe this was actually a gift from Bast, seeing as now he had something to talk to her about at the party. He just hoped he wouldn’t get lost in her eyes as he always did. He prayed her beauty wouldn’t distract his brain from the words that he was supposed to form.

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

T’Challa looked around the auditorium, waving at some of the parents he recognized. There were all smiling faces as the crowd prepared to see their young ones walk across the stage for the first time. Erik looked at his cousin trying to hide his laugh. It may not have been obvious to the passing eye, but Erik could see that T’Challa was waiting for Akina to slip in. Adanna had explained her sister may be running late, but that didn’t stop T’Challa from looking at the door every time he heard it open. The lighting in the auditorium suddenly dimmed, leaving a spotlight on the stage, where the headmistress stood, welcoming friends and family to the joyous moment. Just as the headmistress walked to her seat on the side of the stage, Akina snuck in taking the empty seat next to her sister. Her eyes connected to T’Challa’s as they both smiled at each other, only looking away when the name of the first graduating pupil was called. T’Challa’s smile however, did not fade, he was ashamed to admit, but he was sure Akina gave him butterflies. He hadn’t felt anything close to this since his wife, it scared him a little that another could make his heart so vulnerable.

His mind cleared as he heard Nobomi’s name called, there was his princess with her big smile, walking so her dress could sway as she made her way across the stage. Her hairpin glistened in the light. The pin really did match her outfit, he was just proud that Nono wanted a piece of her mother with her on this special day. Despite the fact the headmistress had asked for applause to be kept until the end, T’Challa and Erik shot up from their chairs clapping loudly, T’Challa let a tear slip as he watched his little girl grow up before his very eyes. Akina watched from the end of the row, completely mesmerized by the dedication the man had towards his child. It made her heart yearn for him, the feeling seemed so foreign, it had  been so long since she truly felt this way. And for the King, it felt so wrong, yet whenever she caught him looking at her, she knew it was right.

Erik’s whistling and yelling of “Okay baby girl! Show them you didn’t come to play!” broke Akina  out her thoughts. She watched as Queen Mother reached over to pinch her nephew harshly, urging him to sit down, while he brought T’Challa down with him. She let out a giggle, much louder than she thought, T’Challa’s head turned to her again, before they both watched as Nobomi joined her class. She was the second last, so not long after, the auditorium rose to applaud the graduating class. T’Challa smiled at Nobomi as they mouthed ‘I love you’ to one another. He caught the kiss she blew at him making sure to hold it to his chest for her to see. What would he do without the gift that was his daughter. He thanked Bast for the moment, hoping to bask in it for a moment longer.

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

Shrieking, that was all T’Challa could hear. The shrieking matched the scene of twenty tiny humans running around the palace garden engaging in a variety of games. He sat by Erik and Shuri, not listening to a word either was saying. His concentration went on Nobomi, making sure the little girl was having fun. And she appeared to be, she had gotten her face painted, just like she wanted. He had watched her jump in the bouncy castle with Fatou, letting their screams and giggles ring through the party. They had just had her favourite chocolate cake, made by her maternal grandmother and she was allowed to eat as much as she wanted. Nobomi was on cloud nine, he could tell, by watching her on the dancefloor with Fatou. They seem to be recreating a dance they had done at their recital. He watched them with a slight smile on his face, her growing personality was always so fun for him to see.

He looked away for a second, surveying the grounds, his eyes landed on Akina talking to one of the parents. Their eyes met for a moment before T’Challa looked away shoving cake into his mouth. Erik noticed and kissed his teeth.

“What happened to talking to her today, or are y’all just gonna keep staring for the rest of your lives”

“Brother is scared” Shuri chimed in steal icing from T’Challa’s cake “I have seen him this nervous since he was proposing to Nono’s mama”

“I am not nervous, or scared. “

“If you not scared go up and talk to her once she’s alone. We all know she is waiting for you” Erik said cocking his head towards Akina before downing his drink. He turned to his cousin and lowered his voice before switching to Spanish so only T’Challa could here.

“Plus I bet your sister 500 dollars you could do it and I don’t plan on losing” T’Challa rolled his eyes before passing the rest of his cake to Shuri.

“That’s not fair Erik! You cheated!” Erik smirked patting T’Challa’s back as he nervously stood, he watched as the mother left Akina to tend to her child. Their eyes connected again, T’Challa took the opportunity to head to the tree Akina was standing under, his eyes never leaving hers. He made it to the tree, but didn’t say anything, it was happening again, he was too mesmerized to speak.

Akina saved him, letting out a breathy “Hi”

“Hello” he said, his voice an octave higher than he would have liked. He cleared his throat before trying to speak again.

“I just wanted to thank you for the dress you made Nobomi. I had no idea you were the one working on it this whole time.” he said with a smile, he pocketed his hands to stop fidgeting.  He watched her own smile grow with every word he said.

“Oh that wasn’t an issue Kumkani, I was honoured Nono wanted me that bad. And she wanted to surprise you so it was our little secret” he nodded

“Well considering she hasn’t stained it yet, I know she really does love it” they shared a laugh “So thank you anyway, I really do appreciate”

“Then you are welcome Kumkani”

“I thought I said we could drop the formality?” He said with his charming smile. Akina could feel her face heating up as she nodded acknowledging his words.

They kept talking, conversation flowing naturally like they had known each other for a long time. T’Challa learned Akina was quite sarcastic, her humour fit so naturally into the conversation, he found himself having to stop to laugh every time. Without even trying, the distance between the two of them began to disappear. Both of them forgetting there was a whole party going on around them  “By the way, what is the name of your shop, I don’t think I know it”

“Do you know every store in Birnin Zana? I didn’t realise that was part of your job” She said with a smirk, T’Challa was surprised by her sarcasm but appreciated it, letting out a chuckle to go with it.

“Funny, well I would love to see it some time, especially considering how much Nono loves it”

“That would be nice, I rarely do men’s clothing but I think I could make an exception for you” her eyes looked at him longingly, they lingered on his lips before going back to his eyes.

“I would love that, a king can never have too many Kaftans”

“Especially if he hasn’t had one of Akina’s yet” He smiled, taking a large breath before saying what he wanted to say. Akina could sense he had something else to say, she waited with her heart beating fast, hoping he would say what she wanted him to.

“Perhaps, after we could- “

“Baba!” instantaneously, the moment was gone, and both of their attention was turned to Nobomi who came running towards him. She slowed down when she noticed Akina was also standing by the tree. “Are you busy Baba?” she asked meekly smiling at the both of them

“ I am never too busy for you Nobomi wam. What can I do for you darling?” he asked, squatting to her eye level. Akina watched admiringly, the father daughter duo always warmed her heart to see.

“I want to jump in the castle with you?” T’Challa put on a shocked expression making Nobomi laugh.

“Me?! Are you sure? Where is Fatou?”

“Fatou is playing, but I don’t want her I want my Baba” she said with a pout to match her big brown eyes. Just like her mother, T’Challa thought to himself. He turned to Akina, apologizing with his eyes and a nod towards Nobomi. She smiled shrugging the moment off.

“We can talk a different time, but bouncy castles are very important issues that should be handled with urgency, right Nono?” Nono nodded her head excitingly at Akina. The simple interaction warmed T’Challa’s heart. He stood up, apologising once more to Akina before running after Nono.

The pair spent the rest of the party running around the bouncy castle. Nobomi’s laughter took away his disappointment of not getting to ask Akina out on a date. It was her day, so saying no to his little girl was not an option. He didn’t mind though, these moments of just the two of them were becoming more rare as time went on. She was not going to be this little forever, so maybe it was okay if he decided to create more of his own life outside of her. As always, he took in every moment of them jumping the castle, both their boisterous laughs ringing through the garden. It might have been his favourite part of the day, things always seemed simpler when it was just them.

Guest had started to leave, but the two of them laid in the castle, taking a break from jumping. Nobomi cuddled into her Baba’s side. He could tell her sugar rush was dying down, and soon she would be ready for bedtime.

“Did you have fun today Nono”

“It was the best day ever” her hands shooting into the sky to emphasize her point. T’Challa felt accomplished. His only goal for the party was for her to be happy.

“I am glad, that was all I wanted to hear” he closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them again when he felt Nobomi’s little hands on his face. She leaned in and gave him a kiss on each of his cheeks. She snuggled back into his side and whispered. “I love you Baba”

He wrapped his arm around her and whispered back “I love you more Nobomi”

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

The streets of Birnin Zana were busy, it was the end of the working day and traffic began to pick up leaving and entering the Golden City. All that could be heard was the sound of hover car engines as people hurried to get back to their families. T’Challa had chosen to walk, not telling anyone other than Erik where he was going. He entered the shop quietly, but was let down by the bell that sat on top of the door.

“We’re closed!” Akina yelled from the back, she was packing up ready to end her own workday. She did not have time to deal with any new customers, and quite frankly she was starving.

“Really? Even for special order kaftans?” T’Challa yelled back. Akina stopped what she was doing to peak to make sure she wasn’t hearing things. She patted down her Afro to even it out, she made sure her dress was smooth before emerging from the back. Her smile gave away the excitement that she was feeling, which was fine seeing as T’Challa’s matched hers. She moved slowly towards him.

“I think we have time for measurements.”

“Great, but that isn’t the only reason I am here. This is a bit overdue, but I think my heart is pointing me to the right place.” he ended reaching for her hand, her fingers closed around his so perfectly. He kissed their entangled hands moving them closer to each other.

Barely above a whisper he asked “ Would you like to come to dinner with me?”

“I was waiting for you ask me.” She let out a giggle which T’Challa found himself falling in love with. “And you came at the right time, I am starving”

They turned towards the door, their hands still entangled. T’Challa led them down a path to his favourite restaurant that hid them from passersbys. It felt instinctive to be this close to her at all times. He never thought he would feel anything close to this again, but now that he was, he was glad it didn’t feel forced, and overall, it was something that he really wanted to work. He was excited to see what the future held for him and Akina.

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

My Love,

What a busy week it has been. I got to see our little girl walk across the stage and she did so with so much swag. It reminded me of you my  love. How I wished you had been there to see the excitement on her face. But as always, I know you were there and Nono does too. Her insisting to wear your pin made it clear to me that she understood the importance that you hold in her life and that is all I can really ask of her. It makes me feel like I am doing a good job.

I must be if our little girl is ready to move on to Year 1 and start ‘big girl school’, as she calls it. I am just focused on keeping her busy through the summer. Speaking of summer, this may be an interesting one for  me as well. Things with Akina have progressed even more than I had hoped. It was hard not to really. I am not sure if it will ever be like the love that we once shared, and I am not even sure if I want to replicate that. But whatever I feel for her now makes me excited for what the future holds. I am ready to give this a try, and what a perfect time. This summer may lead to self growth, not just for Nobomi, but for myself. I am ready to let love back in my life, and knowing it is with someone who gets along with Nobomi calms my heart.  She may be my first thought always, but I am ready to start making decisions that keep me happy as well, just as you would have wanted. As always, I ask that you guide us as we venture into new territory. I know with my morning glory as my guardian angel everything will be fine.

Yours Forever,

T’Challa

_______________________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @writingmarvellousimagines @chaneajoyyy @ghostfacekill-monger @abrunettefangirlnerd @ashanti-notthesinger @mellowjellow6 @fonville-designs @royallyprincesslilly

[crisisevil]

A brief tale of dead languages and resilient teachers - a pynch fic

summary: Latin professor and local idiot Ronan Lynch thinks he's being subtle by leaving romantic poetry in a dead language for science teacher and confused soul Adam Parrish to find. He's not.

notes: I am very much italian, so all of this was written the italian school system in mind, where latin classes are more likely than they have any right to be and every group of students stay in the same class at all hours. I literally wrote this in a madwoman rampage at 3 a.m. after a weird saturday night because of the funny and adorable idea Kayla (lynchniall) shared on the infamous and wonderful screeming discord chat. I hope you enjoy it, it's short and silly but I liked writing it a lot.

    The first time Adam saw Ronan Lynch, he hadn’t really struck him as the romantic, strongly passionate type. But he made for an unusual Latin teacher, for sure, with his buzz cut and loud mouth, lean and tall in a way that made him hard to miss and with deep inquisitive eyes even harder to forget. He mostly saw him talking with Gansey, out of all the other teachers, a pair that looked both absurd and impossibly close, like an invisible line made of history and dead emperors magically tied them together. Or maybe they were just college friends and he was still trying to adjust to the new school, to process the weird impression of being the odd one out that had accompanied him during his own high school years.

  So he just tried not to think about them. About Lynch, in particular, with his sharp smile and impossibly handsome face. It got a little harder, though, after the time he noticed the sharp edge of a tattoo peaking from the collar of his button up shirt and felt the strong need to see how far it went down his back.

It was also impossible not to hear him outside class, Adam found out, his voice deep and maybe slightly overexcited as he analysed verses with older students or even explained basic rules for the younger ones. That was the first actual thing he learned about Ronan Lynch: in a crowd of bored and irritable teachers, he was genuinely passionate about his job, in love with what he taught to the point Adam had often caught himself accidentally listening to his lessons from the hall, drawn in by the sheer enthusiasm the other put in every lecture. He liked that detail more than he was ready to admit and it was all downhill from there, with his mind all over the place every time their eyes met. Something that happened every often, with a scheduled appointment every tuesday and friday, when Lynch’s class ended and his began, one after the other, in the same room.

  Sometimes, as he shamefully marinated into his embarrassing adult crush, Adam seemed to notice something different about their brief exchanges, he other man’s gaze lingering on him a bit too much, his expression slightly changing. He immediately dismissed it as his brain playing tricks on him to help him cope with his feelings, since they barely spoke except some obligated courtesies or a brief and funny comment about this or that situation from time to time. Of course, nothing stopped him from actually trying to get to know him or even ask him out, but something about Lynch seemed just too cool and intimidating to leave space for someone like him, no matter how nice he sounded from outside the classroom door. Or maybe it wasn’t.

  It started a month after the beginning of the year. The first time he didn’t even thought about it, when he saw the words written in chalk over the black board.

  ille mi par esse deo videtur,

ille, si fas est, superare divos,

qui sedens adversus identidem te

spectat et audit

dulce ridentem, misero quod omnes

eripit sensus mihi*

  Poetry and literature were part of the scheduled program, Catullus was one of the first authors in every literature book, he had studied him too, back in school. It was nothing out of the ordinary, he thought he was probably analysing the poem, as the complicated geometry of circled and underline words easily suggested, so he didn’t try to link anything to the sly smile Lynch had showed him when they exchanged a quick greeting outside the classroom door.

Same was for the week after, or the one that followed: he was a passionate teacher, maybe that was his favourite author, it made sense.

It got weird after the fourth one, when he entered the class and Catullus’ words were there again, in the same elegant writing, no mark or translation. The words were simply there without a reason, barely a decoration.

  soles occidere et redire possunt:

nobis cum semel occidit breuis lux,

nox est perpetua una dormienda.

da mi basia mille, deinde centum,

dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,

deinde usque altera mille, deinde centu.**

  His Latin was a bit rusty, after all those years, but that was another obvious one. He couldn’t help letting out a nervous chuckle, before he went on with his lecture, a bit more distant than usual, distracted by the peculiar idea of Ronan Lynch writing about love and kisses on the same board that was sitting behind his back. It didn’t feel like a coincidence anymore, it never did again.

  Week after week, he kept finding quotes every time the other left. Sometimes there was just one verse, sometimes a whole poem, without any sign of analysis, like they had been written just for him. Lynch always smiled a different smile when they crossed path before he found them, like a mischievous child that had just gotten away with something.

Did he think Adam hadn’t notice? He was a science teacher, but that didn’t make him incapable of putting two and two together. Maybe he just thought he didn’t understand, which was actually comprehensible, since it had been a while since the last time he actually sat trough a Latin class. But Adam had a history as an extremely diligent student, he just couldn’t forget certain things.

  Still, he never said anything to his face, never mentioned it, the brief expression he showed him during those moments the only proof Ronan was even aware of what he was doing. Maybe he wasn’t meant to find out, he realized. Maybe the other just liked to dance around the idea of pursuing him, without the proper intention to make a move. But Adam wasn’t one to beg, so he didn’t either: that was a battle he intended to win.

  Then, one day, it was too much. He didn’t always recognized immediately the poem, but that was a different thing. Ronan couldn’t know it was his favourite one.

  huc est mens deducta tua, mea Lesbia, culpa

atque ita se officio perdidit ipsa suo***

  It was just a slap in the face. Too beautiful, too misused. He couldn’t ignore it.

He looked at the students, like the answer to that ridiculous situation had been written into their faces. Of course, they didn’t care, those were barely translation exercises for them.

So he gave up, excused himself for a moment and rushed trough the hall, to catch that mess of a Latin teacher before he could go elsewhere.

  “Lynch.” he called, panting after he’d ran through the entire floor and slightly pissed off.

Ronan didn’t flinch, perfectly sound under what he probably thought to be a linguistic armour.

  “Parrish.” he answered, his demeanor calm in a way that made him want to punch him. What a straight-faced fucker. He wasn’t even nervous anymore, just eager to get one step ahead of him.

Adam caught his breath for a moment, then showed him a cocky smile.

  “ut iam nec bene velle queat tibi, si optima fiās,/ nec dasistere amare, omnia si facias.****” he iterated perfectly. Again, he didn’t know many poems by memory, that was just an unfortunate coincidence. “You know, you could just ask me out for coffee, if what I do destroys you so much.”

  Ronan’s smile dropped, his expression shocked in a way that was pure bliss. He didn’t even try denying it or even undermining it.

It was so satisfying that Adam didn’t even think about the implications, about Ronan Lynch showering him in love poems and actually being interested in him.

Big miscalculation, on his part, because he was caught off guard right back.

Ronan shrugged, letting his lips slightly curl on one corner. One of those charming, mischievous smiles of his.

  “I’ll wait for you after class, then.”

        *He seems to me to be equal to a god,

he, if it is permissible, seems to surpass the gods,

who sitting opposite again and again

watches and hears you

sweetly laughing, which rips out all senses

  **Suns may set and rise again;

for us, when once the brief light has set,

an eternal night must be slept.

Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred,

then another thousand, then a second hundred,

then yet another thousand, then a hundred

  ***At this point [my] mind is so broken down by your doing, my Lesbia,

that it destroys itself by its own devotion

  ****so that it can no longer wish you well, even if you should become the best,

nor can it stop loving you, no matter what you should do.

[asleepinawell]

Things That Go Bang In The Night

Shoot Haunted House fic for halloween, except not really scary at all and mostly silly. Arranged as a series of shorts, or incidents as the case may be.

Based very loosely in my chaos au, but the only thing you need to know is it’s post-samaritan and shoot are a firmly established relationship at this point.

_________________

Nighttime Disturbances

John is cooking an aggressive amount of pancakes when Root comes downstairs. Root looks at the heaping plates full of breakfast food on the counter of the surprisingly modern kitchen and then at the dark circles under John's eyes and manages not to laugh. She does, however, smile ever so slightly and John's eye twitches just a fraction.

Shaw is the next to show up, wearing a shirt Root thinks might actually belong to her, but the mutual clothing-theft has gotten to the point where it's basically irrelevant. Shaw looks at John and John glares at Shaw and Shaw smirks for all she's worth. She takes two overflowing plates of pancakes, tucks a bottle maple syrup in the crook of her arm and secures a seat for herself at the big stone table in the kitchen. She looks at her plates for a few seconds and then shuffles the pancakes around with a fork until all but three are on one plate. The smaller helping gets pushed over in front of Root.

By the time John joins them at the table, Shaw has eaten half her pancakes, but she still eyes the plate of bacon and eggs he has. He puts a protective arm around his plate before he starts in.

Root waits until he’s drinking his orange juice before asking, innocently, “Did you sleep well, John?”

She's disappointed when he doesn't spit out his drink, but he does scowl at her around his glass.

Fusco shows up before John can answer and collapses into a vacant chair.

“Boy, when you said this place was haunted, you weren't joking.”

Root does not smile even a little bit. Shaw stuffs more pancakes in her mouth, a look of intense concentration on her face. On the other side of the table, John is grimacing.

Fusco doesn't seem to notice. “Creaks and bangs all night and ghostly moans. I don't think I got a wink of sleep.”

Root adjusts the collar of her shirt a little and she sees John's eyes narrow when he focuses in on the movement.

“Maybe we should attempt an exorcism tonight,” he says. “Pour some cold holy water all over the ghosts when they start being a nuisance.”

Fusco's forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I thought that was for vampires.” He gets up to investigate the pancake situation. “You really cooked a lot of these, huh?”

“I had trouble sleeping. For some reason.”

Root is done with her breakfast, but Shaw's still going strong. Root watches her stuff her cheeks like a squirrel preparing for winter.

“You two hear anything?” Fusco asks.

Root pretends not be watching John out of the corner of her eye. “Not that I can recall.”

“Funny. It was really loud. I was scared out of my mind. Spent the whole night pointing my gun at the door.”

“Do bullets even work on ghosts?” Shaw asks, her mouth momentarily pancake-free. “Silver bullets maybe?”

“That's werewolves,” Root corrects and Shaw shrugs as if defense against the supernatural is not an extremely important topic.

“I'm sorry we missed the excitement,” Root says. “I rather enjoy things that go bump in the night.” The eyebrow waggle might be a little too much, but she can't help herself.

John stands up, maybe just a little too fast.

“I'm going to go explore the rest of the house.”

_________________

Cleaning out the Attic

“Still don't see why we have to do this,” Shaw grumbles after she recovers from another sneezing fit. Everything here is covered with a thick layer of dust and it feels like her lungs are full of it, and Root has it even worse with the sneezing and itchy eyes. What a dumb mission.

“She thought it would be nice for all of us to get out of the city for a few days,” Root calls from the other side of the room. The boxes here are stacked high enough that Shaw can't see her over them.

“She could have given us an actual vacation then, not digging through moldy paperwork in a drafty old house in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

Root pops her head around the nearest stack of boxes. There's dust in her hair, a grey smudge across one of her cheeks, and she's wearing a shirt with an overly cute little ghost on it that says 'hey boo-tiful’. Shaw shouldn't think she looks hot like that. She blames it on the boredom. And on the glasses which she knows Root doesn't need for this but she's wearing anyway as some sort of attack on Shaw's sanity.

“Am I not entertaining enough for you, sweetie?” Root's practically leering at her now which looks really dorky with her wearing that shirt.

Shaw drops a stack of paper onto the floor and brushes her hands off. “We can do that anywhere. Preferably somewhere warmer with room service.”

“But we'd be missing out on the added bonus of messing with the boys.” Root prods the stack of papers. “Nothing in these?”

“Not unless she's interested in a detailed hand-written accounting of how much it costs to redo the roof like eighty years ago.”

Root taps her lower lip with one finger. “Hmmm.”

“You can't be serious.”

Root shrugs helplessly. “She says you never know what She might need some day.”

Shaw has been basically over the Machine's new data collecting obsession since it started three months ago. She can acknowledge that there is a ton of information and history out in the world that's never been digitized and that some small fraction of it might help the Machine help humanity, but this is ridiculous.

The Machine can hardly rely on just them to dig up every paper document in the city, let alone in the world, and Shaw suspects she has a lot of people working for her without them realizing what their employer is. They get sent on occasional random missions though, most of which are horribly dull and involve a lot of sorting through paper and not a lot of knee-capping.

“If she really is going to want every single piece of paper in this house, she should say that and we can get a bigger van and just cram everything in there and let someone else sort it out.” Shaw has Claire still working on scanning in the thousands of pages from their last little trip, and that had been months ago.

“Afraid that's not the mission, Shaw.” Root prods the half-full box in front of Shaw meaningfully with one long finger. “And how often do you get to stay in one of the most haunted houses on the east coast?”

“I'd think New England would be lousy with the things.” Shaw takes in Root's expression, gauging her options. She knows she can get out of this, but she's got to approach it the right way. “Anyway, it's not like we've seen any ghostly activity here. Scariest thing to happen was that kale disaster Reese made for dinner last night.” Reese is a decent enough cook, but there are sometimes lapses in his judgment.

“Maybe we'll get lucky and see something spooky tonight since John exiled us to the east wing. It's supposed to be where most of the haunting has taken place historically.”

Reese had half-ordered, half-begged them to move to the other wing, and while Shaw doesn't take orders from him, she’s decided to be merciful. Most rooms in the house are huge and empty which lends it some interesting acoustics and, well, Root never was much of one for keeping quiet. Which brings Shaw back to her current mission to get out of sorting papers.

“You know,” Shaw says, shifting her weight to move herself a little closer to Root, “we could get lucky right now.”

The Machine must really want these damn papers because Root actually hesitates, but Shaw knows Root has no defense against a smooth come-on like that. She bites her lower lip (an unfair move) and sees Root's already-weak defenses crumble away in a flash.

“Attics are notoriously haunted,” Root says thoughtfully. “Might as well give this one a reputation.”

There's paper carpeting the attic floor by the time they're both worn out, some of which the Machine is probably going to yell at them for irrevocably damaging, but it's so worth it.

Root rolls over in the nest of scattered papers, looking for her shirt, and picks up a paper instead.

“This is about that kid that died here.” Root hands the paper over to her. “He was found drowned in a bathtub in the east wing. Everyone suspected his older sister, but no one could ever prove it.”

Shaw looks over the paper. It's got a clipping from a newspaper attached to it talking about the death of some kid called Phillip. She vaguely remembers Root talking about the whole thing on the drive up here. Supposedly the kid's ghost haunts the house and grounds and once drowned a gardener in one of the fountains on the lawn.

“Does the Machine care about stuff that's clearly just superstition?”

Root gets up and pulls her shirt back on, much to Shaw's disappointment. “She cares about how humans react to death and grief and fear, so in that sense, yes.”

“What about you? Do you believe in ghosts, Root?” Shaw teases.

“No.” Root smiles, but it's one of those hard, cold smiles, not one of the happy ones. “Ghosts tend to haunt people who wronged them during their life, right?”

“I guess?” She thinks there's something with loved ones getting haunted too, but she's hardly an expert on these things.

“If anyone was going to have been haunted…” Root trails off and shrugs. “So the odds are against them existing.”

Shaw rolls her eyes, because of course Root's ego would dictate that if she hasn't seen a ghost no one could have.

Root offers her a hand up off the floor. “What about you, Sameen?”

“Most things people take to be ghostly activity can be explained by quantifiable, scientific means. People are always blaming things they can't explain on the supernatural. It's lazy.”

Root grins and leans in so her face is right near Shaw's. “So what will you do when the ghost of little Phillip comes wailing down the hall to drown you in the tub?”

Shaw headbutts her gently in the face. “Any ghost shows up, I'll punch its ethereal teeth in, okay?”

Root backs up, clearly amused, and then glances around at the mess they'd made. “I think we should try the library. We can let Lionel finish up with the attic.”

“He'll love that.” Shaw hasn't been looking forwards to cleaning up the mess they made. She looks around the paper-covered floor one last time and then follows Root back down into the main house.

_________________

The Face in the Fountain

It's cold outside and Root wishes she'd brought a jacket, but the house and grounds are so large that going back for one would take at least twenty minutes. It might be worth it, except she's really tired and doesn't want to budge from the edge of the fountain she's perched on. The house has an unfortunate number of steps and she's been lugging boxes up and down them for the last day.

From out here she's got a pretty good view of the entire house. It's a massive thing, built out of grey and brown bricks with dark, empty windows lining every side. There's two distinct wings coming off the main house: the west wing which juts out onto the front lawn at a right angle from the rest of the house, and the east wing which, inexplicably, does the reverse and sticks out into the woods behind the house.

The front lawn has a few pathways across the overgrown grass, all in poor repair, and a handful of crumbling, ornamental fountains full of brackish water, including the one Root's sitting on. The back lawn has what was once a hedge maze but is now an impassable wall of brambles that the forest is hurrying to reclaim.

Shaw is running laps around the front lawn. Root figures she's working out the frustration of being stuck here for a week with no one to shoot. Shaw pauses next to the fountain on her next lap.

“You don't have to wait for me out here if you're cold.”

“I don't mind.” There's no easy way to watch Shaw work out back in the city, but here she can watch the full length of every lap Shaw runs and discreetly take pictures with her phone.

“Probably shouldn't stay by these things too long anyway.” Shaw peers into the murky water in the fountain with distaste. “Who knows what sort of shit's growing in there.”

Root looks in as well, but other than a distorted reflection of herself she can't see much.

“Maybe breathing in spores from whatever's growing in this toxic sludge is where all the ghost stories come from in the first place,” Shaw says. She drops a large rock in and it vanishes below the surface with a sploop noise. Ripples run across the surface of the water further distorting Root's reflection and stirring up the mud from the bottom. Something moves in the murky depths.

Root jerks back from the water and falls off the edge of the fountain to land on the ground.

“Root?”

Shaw looks at her like she's gone nuts and Root takes a second to get her breathing back under control before she answers.

“I didn't want to get splashed.” She gets back to her feet and tries to brush the dirt off, but the lawn was still damp from the rain last night so her pants are pretty much hopeless.

“It didn't even splash.” Shaw peers at the water as if she's expecting to find some other cause.

Root keeps her distance from the fountain. “We should head back inside and get changed before dinner.”

“Guess so.”

Root resolutely doesn't look back as they head up to the house for dinner. She knows it was just her imagination combined with reading stories of this place, but she can't quite shake the image of a corpse-pale face floating under the water, it's glassy eyes opened wide and staring at the sky.

_________________

The Face in the Fountain (continued)

They eat all their meals in the kitchen because the dining room is enormous, dusty, poorly lit, and even Shaw can admit it's a bit creepy. The kitchen is more than large enough and one of the few mostly clean rooms in the house. It should be a nice, friendly team dinner, but Fusco is exhausted and freaked out from the ‘ghost activity’ the previous evening, Reese is still sulking, and Root has been quiet since they came in for dinner. Shaw isn't sure what's up with her, but she figures it's nothing Root's going to open up about with the other two here.

After dinner they have to get their bags from their rooms to move to the east wing. Shaw brings a flashlight along since the electricity here seems to have a mind of its own and the wiring in the east wing is supposedly even worse. She thinks about calling the whole thing off and staying in the west wing, but she knows she'd get shit from Reese about being scared of ghosts if she did.

She briefly reconsiders again though because Root is still acting weird and making sure Root is okay is more important than not being teased by Reese, but Root doesn't seem to have any issue with switching wings. Still, she knows something is still up because Root doesn't hit on her once during the walk over and she's being all jumpy. Maybe she should have brought Bear along after all.

The rooms here are larger and probably had been nicer once upon a time, but now they're mostly dusty and full of covered furniture. The cleaning service the Machine had sent here ahead of time had salvaged a few bedrooms in both wings so there's a few habitable ones the choose from. Root opts for the smallest and Shaw doesn't argue because the rooms here are unreasonably large.

She waits until they climb into bed for the night before she tries to get an explanation out of Root.

“You've been quiet.”

Root murmurs something in response but it's muffled by her pillow. Shaw speaks evasive-Root-tactics well enough by this point that she can figure out by the pitch of Root's voice that she's brushing off the question. Shaw might have pushed further normally, but she's tired from lugging boxes of papers up and down stairs all day so she settles for rolling over closer to Root and dropping her arm over her. Root puts her hand over Shaw's and settles in.

Shaw isn't sure what wakes her up in the middle of the night, but she's suddenly wide awake and Root isn't next to her anymore. An unnecessarily dramatic flash of lightning from outside shows her that the other half of the bed is empty.

She figures Root probably just went to the bathroom, but the whole creepy house situation seems to merit her checking just in case. The bathroom is empty and Shaw stops back in her room to grab a flashlight before looking any further. Root took her slippers with her, she notes, so it wasn't like she ran out in a panic.

There's only a few places in the house they've all spent any amount of time in. She knows Root wouldn't go to the library since the extreme amount of dust there had caused her the sneezing fits that had sent them outside earlier that day. She wouldn't have a reason to go back to the room they'd stayed in previously, and a quick check of the main entrance hall has it full of shadowy corners but empty of Root. So that leaves the kitchen.

Root's sitting on the counter in the dark eating ice cream out of the container. Her hair is back in a messy ponytail and her bunny slippers are on her dangling feet. Shaw admits that she's maybe a tiny bit relieved by the sight even though she hadn't really thought anything bad had happened.

“I couldn't sleep,” Root says by way of explanation.

There's another flash of lightning outside followed by a peal of thunder and then it starts pouring. Raindrops hammer on the windows.

Root's face lights up in glee.

“Thunderstorm in a haunted house. Another item to cross off the bucket list.”

At least she seems to be in a better mood now even if she is working her way through their entire supply of ice cream. Shaw tries to rescue the remains of the pint, but Root loops her stupidly long legs around her and traps her there up against the counter. Root holds a large spoon of ice cream up and pushes it at Shaw’s face and no way is Shaw letting herself be fed like a child even if it is ice cream.

She ends up with ice cream smeared across her face before she escapes from Root's hold. The whole thing is extremely undignified and she's glad Reese isn't here to see it. She might discreetly wipe the remaining ice cream off her face with one hand and then lick it off her fingers, but there's no proof.

“Are you done now?” she asks, still indignant, but somewhat mollified by the delicious chocolate goodness.

Root evaluates her almost empty ice cream carton. “I suppose so.”

The ice cream goes back in the fridge and they walk back together by the light of Shaw's flashlight. Root seems okay now, but Shaw is still curious about earlier. She doesn't like it when she doesn't know why Root's upset, and if she doesn't find out what caused this round how can she prevent it next time?

“Did you see something when we were outside?” she asks as they cross the entrance hall. “In the fountain?” That's when this had started.

Root makes a small hmph noise. “Ghosts aren't real.”

“You saw a ghost out there?”

“Obviously I couldn't have since they're not real.” Root's tone is a bit condescending which Shaw takes as an improvement.

“Sure, but there could have been a dead animal or who knows what else in there. We can go take another look tomorrow if you want.”

“Yes, maybe that's just the thing.”

The way Root says it is maybe a bit ominous, but Shaw is glad enough that Root’s in a better mood that she doesn't read into it too much.

The next morning Root is already up and gone when Shaw wakes up. Shaw heads down to the kitchen and after a few very pointed hints from Reese makes a detour to the front lawn.

There is a huge truck parked on the front lawn. And a bulldozer.

Definitely suspicious.

Shaw goes back inside and gets coffee before investigating further because asking her to deal with Root's shenanigans without caffeine is cruel. When she gets over to the truck she sees some workers have a huge black hose running into the fountain Root had been sitting on yesterday and are draining it. Root stands nearby watching over the proceedings.

“When I said we could take another look…” Shaw trails off.

Root beams at her. “It was a great suggestion, so I figured I'd get right on it.”

“Right.”

The workers at the fountain wave them over. One of them points at something in the bottom of the drained basin. Shaw goes over to look and there, nestled in the wet weeds and filth, is the most repugnant looking baby doll she's ever seen. It's face is ghostly white and cracked and its glossy black eyes are wide and gaping like a fish's. If there'd been hair on it once it’s long gone now and most of the body is crushed.

“This what you saw yesterday?” Shaw can understand why seeing that bob up under the water might be disturbing, especially given the setting and the whole gardener-drowned-in-the-fountain story.

Root has a nasty glint in her eyes. “Unimportant now.”

She steps back from the fountain and waves an arm at the woman driving the bulldozer. Shaw sees where this is going and retreats to a safe distance. She'd ask Root if destroying the fountain is strictly necessary, but she already knows the answer she'd get and anyway Root just looks so pleased with herself and it's kind of endearing.

It's a weird sort of morning, she thinks. She's standing on the lawn of a haunted mansion wearing her boxers and a hoodie and Root's bright pink flip flops and drinking coffee out of a mug with a cartoon penguin on it. Root's next to her watching the bulldozer demolish the fountain with a look of intense satisfaction on her face. Her clothing situation isn't much better, though she at least managed to put on pants. She's got a new shirt Shaw hasn't before yet that says ‘ghouls just wanna have fun’ on it (Shaw is sensing a theme here) and an oversized flannel that Shaw thinks she might have stolen from one of their recent numbers and is barefoot much to Shaw's horror.

“Can I have a sip of that?” Root asks as the bulldozer backs up to make another pass at the ruined fountain.

“No,” Shaw says and hands her the mug.

“Thanks, Sameen.”

_________________

The Monster in the Conservatory

Fusco is red-faced and out of breath when he comes running into the lounge.

“It's...it's in the…” He pauses panting for breath.

Root waits politely for him to finish. Or leave. She's not picky.

“In the conservatory,” Fusco manages to get out.

Root sets down the ornamental dagger she's been considering accidentally acquiring for herself. “What is?”

“M-monster.” Fusco collapses into a mildewed arm chair.

Shaw peeks around the door frame from the next room. “What sort of monster?”

“Big...angry…teeth…”

“Evil dentures in the greenhouse sounds like a John problem,” Root says and ducks down to open the cabinet under the table.

“I want to fight the monster,” Shaw says. Her tone allows for no arguments.

Root can't not watch that so she gives up on robbing the place and follows Shaw. They pick up John from the smoking room along the way and head, not to the main entrance to the conservatory, but upstairs to the walkway entrance.

The conservatory is relatively newer than the rest of the house, a two story greenhouse built out of thick sheets of glass to let the sunlight in. There's a walkway on the second level of it that's accessible via a small staircase in the conservatory or an actual door from the second floor of the main house.

Shaw pauses as they near the door and reaches behind one of the creepy statues that line the hallways to pull out...a sniper rifle.

Root is impressed and slightly turned on. Maybe more than slightly. She wonders how many guns Shaw has hidden all over the house now.

“Let's see what this monster is,” Shaw says and pushes the door open.

The air inside smells awful, like rotten plants and soil and Root wrinkles her nose in disgust. Left untended, everything in the conservatory has either died or spread out to overtake all the other plants. There's vines and small trees below them and it looks a little like a jungle.

Shaw holds a finger up to her lips and then drops down to her hands and knees on the metal walkway to peer down into the forest below. Root looks over the edge of the railing, but nothing catches her eye. Maybe Fusco was imagining things.

Shaw smacks her on the leg and points and sure enough there's some leaves and branches rustling in the far corner. At first Root thinks it must be a squirrel, but it's pretty clearly something much larger. Maybe a deer?

All three of them watch the greenery closely as the shaking foliage gets nearer and nearer to the center of the room. Their quarry bursts out of the leaves and raises its large face to gaze up at them and sniff the air.

“Not a monster after all,” Reese says as they watch their new companion yawn hugely and show off its massive teeth and pink tongue.

“She's beautiful,” Shaw says softly, her voice full of wonder that's usually reserved for dogs.

Root isn't sure ‘beautiful’ is the word she'd use for the massive black bear munching on things in their house, but Shaw's obvious delight is adorable. Root, however, now feels totally justified in her previous caution about bears as those teeth are very large and its paws look impossibly huge. She's glad they're up high.

“There's a broken pane in the back,” Reese says. “She must have wandered in looking for food.”

Shaw frowns. “I hope she didn't step on any of the glass. Maybe we should check…”

Root is about to ask just how she plans to do that, but John seems to be one step ahead of her.

“We are not tranqing the bear, Shaw.”

Shaw actually pouts, lower lip stuck out like a child.

“But she might be hurt.”

They all watch the enormous bear stand up on its hind legs to rip a branch off a little tree. The walkway is high enough that she couldn't ever reach them, but it's still intimidating.

Shaw sighs. “Fine.” She sits down with her legs dangling over the side. Root figures she's staying until the bear gets safely away. She's torn between wanting to stay and watch Shaw watch the bear and going back to investigate the possibility of further fancy weaponry in need of a new owner.

Staying with Shaw wins out easily in the end. They sit side by side with their legs hanging off the walkway watching the bear snort and huff its way around the floor. Shaw's theory is there was some sort of fruit tree or berry bush down there and the bear is searching the ground for leftovers. Shaw takes the scope off her rifle so she can watch it close up.

After about an hour, the bear must run out of food because it lumbers back out the broken pane (Shaw watches with concern) and back into the woods at the edge of the property.

“I hope she's okay.”

“She'll be fine, Sameen.” It's sweet the way Shaw worries about some things so much, often things (people, animals) that no one else seems to care about. “Should we rip your clothes a bit and mess up your hair so we can tell Fusco the tale of your epic battle against the greenhouse monster?”

“No clothes ripping.”

Root could say several somethings about the hypocrisy of that, but she doesn't want to discourage Shaw from future over-enthusiastic clothing removals.

“We should make it look good though,” Shaw says and offers her a hand up. “Guess you'll need to give me a hand with that.”

“My pleasure.”

_________________

The Ghost of the East Wing

Root has to admit that the east wing of the house has a good, spooky atmosphere. There's scorch marks on some of the walls from a fire that partially burned down the wing years ago (the stories have it that you can still smell the smoke in the air, but Root has yet to smell anything other than mildew), and all the furniture is under white sheets. The wind howls through the cracks and rattles the windows enough to be irritating and make the whole place chilly. And then there's the fact the forest has grown in thick around this wing so there's nothing but dark woods outside the windows.

But the heating works well enough to keep the place comfortable and she's got Shaw as an extra heater, so it could be much worse.

Shaw whines in protest when Root sticks her cold feet up against her leg to warm them up. It's a cute enough noise that Root pulls her feet back and pushes them up against Shaw's other leg to see if she can get a repeat.

What she actually gets is socked in the face with a pillow.

It takes a few minutes of shuffling around before they're both comfortable enough to drift off and Root is so worn out from all the excitement of the day that she falls asleep quickly and doesn't wake up again until Shaw shakes her by the shoulder.

“Hhzzmhh?” Root asks. It's pitch black and she's still tired.

Shaw lays a finger across her lips to shush her and tilts her head to one side as if listening. Root goes as quiet as she can, barely breathing, and focuses on every little noise the house is making.

Footsteps. Those are definitely footsteps, and they're coming closer down the creaky floorboards of the hall.

Shaw rolls out of bed and drops to the floor in a crouch. Root knows for a fact that there's no way to move across the floor in this room without the floorboards making a racket, and yet Shaw is completely silent.

The footsteps are getting closer, and even though Root knows that ghosts don't exist and that the house isn't really haunted, she still feels a slight twist of fear in her stomach. She grabs her taser off the nightstand since Shaw has a gun already and if somehow she's been wrong all these years and ghosts really do exist, then maybe an electric current will be more effective against them than a bullet.

The door bursts open and there's a tall, formless white figure in the hallway.

“OoooOOOooooo,” it moans.

Root sighs. He wasn't even trying very hard, was he?

Shaw leaps up from where she was crouched next to the door and socks the ghost squarely in where it's face would be.

“Oww!” the ghost yells.

Shaw kicks it in the leg and slams into it so it falls over, twisted in its own sheet.

Root gingerly climbs out of bed and winces when her feet hit the bare floor. She tests the power on her taser as she moves towards the fallen ghost. Sure, she knows it's John, but he doesn't know that she knows so who could blame her for defending herself?

It's hours before anyone gets back to sleep.

_________________

Reassignment

Shaw wakes up to the news that they've been taken off the mission and are to return to the city immediately. She'd sort of been hoping to see the bear again, but otherwise she's pretty glad to get out of this place.

The list of reasons Root gives for their sudden departure is hard to argue with. The many incidents the Machine took issue with include: destruction of valuable historical documents, destruction of historic architecture, petty larceny, grand larceny, discussion of unsafe animal handling techniques (Shaw rolls her eyes at that one), excessive sneezing on valuable books, using historical stone gargoyles as target practice, attempted assault on an asset with a non-lethal weapon, and successful unarmed assault of an asset leading to a mild injury.

It's an impressive list and Shaw figures it's no wonder she feels so tired.

Reese is loading the car when she gets outside. He still isn't speaking to her and is holding an ice pack to his bruised jaw. Really he should be grateful she'd stopped Root from tasing him. It's not their fault he decided to try and scare them and they're hardly to blame for retaliating.

Root is a little sad they're leaving early and still sulking about missing out on a good tasing, but she seems eager to get back home as well. She steals the passenger’s seat before either of the boys can try to claim it.

Fusco is grumpy despite being the only one to have gotten a full night's sleep. “Next time you three need help, don't call me.”

Reese broods intensely in the back seat.

“Guess it'll just be you and me for the next haunted house,” Root says.

Shaw considers pointing out that basically every single strike against them from the Machine was either her or Root's fault (though Reese had brought that slug in the jaw on himself), and that the chances of either of them ever being sent on a similar mission are slim to none.

“I think we're scarier than a bunch of ghosts,” she says instead.

Root looks quite pleased with that response and begins listing off directions to get them back to the highway and out of this desolate area. Shaw starts the car down the driveway, the slightly-more-decrepit-than-they'd-found-it house in her rearview mirror.

[kotolocke]

Entry #03: Violet City.

Get ready boys, this is where the serious battling starts. And it starts with a big tower dedicated to a living vine. I love Pokemon. We’re gonna cover Lyra’s adventures in Sprout Tower, Route 32 and Violet Gym. But first—

—apparently Falkner gets some guy to stop people who haven’t beaten the monks at Sprout Tower? Violet City seems hella interconnected so expect a world-building post on that soon. Regardless, on with the show!

Sprout Tower.

   Okay, first off, this place is so interesting? I always forget about it but seeing as this is a place Lyra visits early on in her journey it’s pretty significant in shaping her ideas of what being a trainer is all about.

   She’s taking part in an ancient tradition, and she needs to honour it by making sure she trains her Pokemon in such a way that is respectful to them and the Pokemon handlers of the past. She also kicks these monks asses very hard. Who’s the training master now?

   Of course, we’re in a new area so we’ve got a chance to get a new friend, so meet Plum!

I really need to stop forgetting to take snaps of Pokemon in battle smh. I may have cheated a little and waited until night to go into the tower so I had a shot at getting Lyra something other than a Rattata and as you can see it payed off! Back to Plum though, he’s a pretty dower Pokemon. Ghost-types tend to come in two flavours; extremely silly and playful, messing about with other Pokemon and people for their own amusement or serious and weary of others, sometimes even vengeful—people tend to be scared of them and this sometimes leaves them feeling bitter and lonely. Plum’s a mild version of the second variety, he’s sombre and baleful, preferring to wear opponents down with status moves rather than go on a full out offensive. He’s a little weary of Lyra and her party when he’s first captured but he also appreciates the fact he’s finally in company that’s obliged to be nice to him. Small mercies. 

  I’m not gonna cover the rest of the randos in the tower because they and their dialogue belong in a world-building post, so let’s climb on up to the top...

   ...Where Lyra has her second encounter with Silver. Or half encounter? Can it really be considered an encounter if it’s not clear if they saw each-other? They did in blog canon anyway, Lyra insisted he must have cheated because there’s no way a mean, useless trainer like him could have defeated a great sage, Silver told her to shut up because weak trainers and their puny Pokemon have no business judging others. Which causes the Elder to level this choice criticism @ Silver:

Which, ofc, pisses Silv right off.

   So just to reiterate, early-game Silver’s an asshole, but this whole exchange kinda makes me wonder how uncommon Silver’s attitude towards Pokemon is? I’ll probably write a more in-depth world-building post about it later but as much as the games try to emphasise this ‘you should love your Pokemon!’ attitude, I don’t think many trainers really love their Pokemon with the same intensity I see Lyra loving hers? I mean HGSS in particular have a plot-line about how it’s actually not good to make Pokemon evolve before they’re ready but plenty of Gym Leaders and E4 members have Pokemon that are too low of a level to be at the evolutionary stage they are. I think Silver’s a very extreme trainer and very few people are as callous as he is towards his Pokemon, but. The Elder is absolutely in the minority of people who don’t think of Pokemon as “tools of war”—most treat their Pokemon decently, with respect, but they are primarily seen as living weapons that require a firm hand. Pokemon were once seen as enemies of man in feudal times and most people still don’t feel as friendly towards them as they would other humans.

  Anyway, enough world-building, let’s talk about Lyra’s battle with the Elder.

If you couldn’t tell, this Hoothoot was legitimately the first Pokemon that gave me any trouble and I actually got kinda scared Nutmeg was gonna faint but ultimately it didn’t take too long to defeat him. In blog cannon this fight probably makes Lyra realise that she’s gonna have to get a little more serious about battling if she wants to make it as a trainer. She’s good at training Pokemon to unleash cool little tricks and strategies in battle but I think at this point in her journey she sometimes keeps Pokemon out for longer than she should ‘cause she wants to show off a cool trick she came up with. And, well,

 seems to have worked on the Elder; he clearly likes her stuff!

Route 32.

   Before Lyra goes ahead and does battle Falkner, she’s gotta get a little extra training in. Though the message still hasn’t quite sunk in, the battle with the Elder makes her realise she should probably try to toughen her Pokemon up a little should they get stuck in a tight spot again.

   Now behold our potential new teammate from this area, a Bellsprout!

Unfortunately, Cabbage hit her with a crit Razor Leaf and she fainted in game. In blog canon she just ran off into the treeline and Lyra decided it would just be kinda cruel to pursue her. Hopefully she can just synthesise the damage off.

   Now, it’s time for a t-t-t-t-training montage! A couple of cool things happen whilst Lyra’s training in this area. First up and probably most important—

—Pod evolves! At this point Lyra’s been on the road for around a week and a half so his pupation time is up and he’s finally a beautiful Butterfree! He’s very eager to try out some of the techniques Lyra, Cabbage & Nutmeg have practised; he can fly but he’s not got claws like Meg has so he relies on a combination of spores and powders (like Cabb) and special moves. Lyra earns Pod’s eternal love by basically letting him go ham on a bunch of wild Bellsprouts and scaring them off with a Confusion he lets loose while flying around in high-speed circles. Lyra did feel bad about that later but in the moment she was just happy to see her little man so excited.

Best!! Friends!!

   Another member of the team starts to grow closer to Lyra at this point too; the newly caught Plum!

As previously mentioned, he starts off pretty gloomy and he kinda struggles to keep eye-contact with Lyra because he’s a little shy. He’s also not used to being out in sunlight; it doesn’t hurt him or anything but it takes a while for his eyes to adjust to it. But as soon as he realises Lyra’s highkey fascinated by him—Ghost-types are amongst the most poorly understood Pokemon and thus she hasn’t been able to read up on them much—and genuinely wants to work out how to put his weird ghostly powers to best use, he gets attached to her really quickly. He’s just never had anyone be so vocally supportive of him before! And all the rest of her Pokemon are so nice to him too??

Plum loves his new trainer so much!!

Violet Gym.

   It’s time baby.

Hell.

Yeah.

   There’s not too much to say about the trainers leading up to Falkner. They were pretty easy and one of them comments on the fact that Lyra’s mad strong. My headcanon that the protags are prodigies isn’t a headcanon lads, it’s just Facts.

See? Anyway the dojo-esque vibes in this Gym kinda made me wonder; are Gym’s called gyms because the trainers under the leader train their Pokemon there? Are they kinda like advanced Pokemon schools? Obviously the trainers have to be at least decent to be able to act as a leader’s gatekeeper but they’re probably there primarily to train under them. It’s definitely a topic for a worldbuilding post. Anyway that’s not important right now, what’s important right now is—

—Falkner.  

   Lyra had no trouble dealing with his first Pokemon, a level 9 Pidgey didn’t face up well against Lyra’s team of level 11s. Blog-wise, Scritches dealt with it very quickly by using a Quick Attack aimed at the ground to knock it out of the air.

  But the level 13 (under-leveled!) Pidgeotto that followed was an absolute menace. It was absolutely the bulkiest Pokemon Lyra had battled against so far and that combined with it’s Roost move made it incredibly difficult for her Pokemon to get any damage on it. 

He

completely 

rased

her 

team.

   As the fight progressed, Lyra began to cotton on to the fact that there was something not quite right about this Pidgeotto. After a Pokedex scan revealed it’s odd level, she began to suspect that this wasn’t a Pokemon that Falkner trained himself. It took a highly skilled trainer to get a Pokemon to evolve and unorthodox (and sometimes cruel) methods to get a Pokemon to evolve before it’s reached a level of power that it normally would need to do so. And Gym leader Falkner might be, but highly experienced trainer he is not. 

   By the time her last Pokemon went down, Lyra was fuming mad and extremely anxious. She rushed back to the Pokecentre and spent the next six hours flying between panic attacks as she hoped and prayed her Pokemon would pull through and utter rage at the fact that a league official would use a Pokemon that they had not only not trained themselves but also potentially abused. When her Pokemon were finally stabilised and returned to her she was still pacing around the Pokecentre for an hour after, trying to work out how best to tackle Falkner in a rematch.

   Eventually she decided that she had focused too intensely on raw attack power. If she was going to deal with a trainer who made use of some underhanded training techniques then it was only logical that she would have to get him back with some nasty tricks of her own. She and Plum were going to need to spend a little extra time training together, and I’ll be going into the details of it in the next entry.

[multiimuse]

All of those questions! >:) For any/all of your KH muses, but specifically Dilan.

// …I’m a masochist apparently, so I’m going to do all three. RIP me. Readmore because wow long.

Dilan

1: Describe their routine of a normal day/how do they feel when this routine is disrupted?

Dilan’s routine has gone through a number of changes over the years, and is a very different thing lately from what it was either as Xaldin or even before losing his heart. His current routine, however, simply involves waking up (be it from proper sleep or from dozing off over his own tea), getting his day started, and then spending most hours doing one of a few things: working at cleaning and repairing the castle, training, or cooking. 

It’s a calm enough routine, he supposes, if terribly dull. Disruptions are more than welcome, at this point, because they might mean a chance to do something that has a little more importance to it.

2: Greatest strength?

His determination, mostly. The man does not give up in the face of hardship, and has spent long hours perfecting the things that are important to him. Of course, the downside of this is that he’s incredibly stubborn about everything, not just when it’s a good thing, but still - determination and an unwillingness to surrender will get you pretty far. (An honorable mention goes to his honor code, which has effectively made him rein in his temper on more than one occasion, and that is difficult to do.)

3: Greatest weakness?

His temper, by far. As Xaldin this trait was scraped away, leaving only a sort of bitterness and a hollow echo of it, but now that he has his heart again, it’s back in full force, and regaining the control he had over it before losing his heart has been… an adventure. (And his control wasn’t that great then, though he’d made progress from how bad it was in his youth.)

4: What one thing would your muse change about themselves?

…Can he remove his heart again? Life was easier without it. This is only partially serious, but he’s frustrated with himself for how complicated having a heart makes everything, even things that should be simple, like Braig having turned on them. He can’t simply write him off as a traitor and be done with him - he cares too much about the man he’s known for years. The same with Lea, even though he knows in a general sort of way what he got up to at Castle Oblivion: he still remembers the teenager who’d sneak in and (get thrown out) all the time, and his damn heart won’t just let him focus on one set of feelings over the other.

5: Introverted or extroverted & why?

Dilan is actually neither! He’s an ambivert, which means he’s not quite so extreme in either direction. Instead, he’s pretty balanced between needing alone time versus needing company. He’ll lean more toward introversion some days, and more toward extroversion others. However, given the instability he struggled with upon first awakening, he probably comes across as closer to an introvert of late, due to how difficult his returned emotions can be to deal with.

6: Organised or messy & why ?

Organized and clean. He thinks everything should be kept as efficient as possible, and keeping things clean and sanitary is a part of that. He’s less strict about things like paperwork, but clutter is something he’s never been fond of.

7: What three things do they consider themselves to be very good/bad at?

He considers himself to be very good at lancework (and combat in general), very good at cooking … but very, very bad with looking after plants. (He had a bonsai tree once, because he’d heard that keeping one could be good for your mental health … Aeleus had to rescue the poor thing before he pruned it to death.) 

8: Do they like themselves?

… Honestly? No. Not at all. He doesn’t see himself as good company or a good friend. A good ally, perhaps, but he knows he’s irritable, impatient and all-too-often in a poor temper, especially since getting his heart back. And when you know yourself well enough to be aware of how difficult you are, it’s really hard to like you. (Really, he has a hard time seeing any of his good traits, and tends to brush them off as a fluke whenever he can’t outright ignore that they exist.)

9: What are the reasons for their profession? Are the REAL reasons different than what they TELL others?

Dilan’s reasons for being a guard are, in fact, a bit complicated. Early in life he simply wanted to do something that would make his father proud of him, when it seemed like there was only one very specific path he could follow to earn that, and that still holds true - but he also came to genuinely love the structure and the discipline, and he can’t imagine himself in a civilian life now. (As for what he tells others? ‘It was a job that needed doing, and I could do it.’)

10: Where do they see themselves in five years?

He hasn’t actually thought about this, much. Probably doing much the same as he is now: trying to rebuild the Garden and the life he’d lost, while knowing that most of it can never be the same as it was.

11: How do they want to die?

In combat, preferably with honor and dignity.

12: What would they want to be remembered for?

… Not for spending so much time hanging around Beast’s Castle and bullying him, that’s for sure. Honestly, this is another thing he hasn’t thought about too much, considering his initial answer of ‘having served King and Castle with honor’ has already been dashed to pieces.

13: What three words do they use to describe their personality?

‘Done with this.’

14: What three words would YOU (the mun) use to describe their personality?

Cranky, honorable, caring

15: What advice, as the mun, would you give to your muse

Stop being so grumpy about having a heart and accept it already, you silly man. And that breakup was over twenty years ago by this point, let yourself heal properly, because clinging to that bitterness has really left its mark.

Isa

1: Describe their routine of a normal day/how do they feel when this routine is disrupted?

Isa doesn’t really have much of a specific routine at the moment, though he does have a daily ritual he’s taken up: he reminds himself of who and what he is the very moment he wakes up, and spend a few moments deliberately focusing on his stronger, positive memories to help reinforce that. Only then does he start his day properly - not that his daily routine is of any great import at the moment, as he’s mostly just trying to adjust to his state of being and stay off the radar until his other half can be freed from Xehanort’s possession. As he doesn’t have a particularly strict routine, there’s really nothing to disrupt.

2: Greatest strength?

Isa used to think that his greatest strength was his mind, being relatively smart and capable of taking care of the details Lea would often overlook in his bigger plans, but given his inability to work out what had happened to him as Saix and being marked as a vessel, he doesn’t really consider himself that smart any more. Instead, he’s trying to rethink his view of himself, and is in the process of trying to find a new ‘greatest strength’. (Really, that in and of itself may be his true greatest strength: his willingness to change what he needs to without losing the core of who he is.)

3: Greatest weakness?

Isa tries to bottle his more negative emotions, such as jealousy, anger, or even simple hurt feelings, and that’s his greatest weakness because when you bottle something up, it will come out eventually. (Ironically, the state he’s in at the moment makes it much harder to do this than it would be were he whole. However, it does come with a trade-off of a temporary weakness of a different sort: his fragile hold on himself, and the efforts he has to go to in order to cope with it.)

4: What one thing would your muse change about themselves?

Besides getting both his heard and body back together with no hitchhikers? Phyically, he wants a haircut. No ifs ands or buts about it, he wants some kind of a haircut once he’s complete again, so he can celebrate being properly whole. Other than that… he’d like to get rid of the jealous streak he knows he has. He doesn’t want to be selfish and monopolize Lea’s time, not when there are other people who love him and who Lea loves right back - but he can’t quite make it not sting, sometimes.

5: Introverted or extroverted & why ?

Isa’s another one that’s kind of in-between, actually, if leaning more toward introversion - he needs time to recharge and pull himself together, but he’s not actively exhausted by socializing. He is, however, more comfortable letting Lea put himself out there and biding his time until it’s the perfect moment for him to step in. After all, if a person doesn’t like Lea, then they’re simply not worth bothering with in the first place.

6: Organised or messy & why ?

Organized. Very organized, albeit not with military precision - just the sort of organization of someone who has a lot to juggle and refuses to lose track of it. Originally it as pretty mild, just a tendency toward cleanliness and orderliness, but all those years of being Xemnas’ adjutant made what was already a habit nigh-unbreakable, and even now he has an ‘everything in its place’ way about keeping things in order. (And a habit of alphabetizing things that he really can’t shake.)

7: What three things do they consider themselves to be very good/bad at?

He likes to think he as pretty good at astrophotography once upon a time, but he hasn’t had the opportunity to do that in years. He knows he’s good at managing people, and likes to think he’s decent with technology. (However, he will never, ever draw anything for anyone, because he cannot so much as doodle anything beyond kind of wobbly moons and star-shapes.)

8: Do they like themselves?

He… liked himself well enough as a kid, but he doesn’t like who he became as Saix, especially with Xehanort’s influence. Right now, the answer is no. He doesn’t. He doesn’t like who he became and what he did, but he wants to be someone better, now. Someone that he can like, someday.

9: What are the reasons for their profession? Are the REAL reasons different than what they TELL others?

Well, at the moment, he doesn’t really have a profession? Apart from half of him acting as Xehanort’s vessel, if you really want to count that. He’s thinking about trying to see what he can do to find work, though, so nobody has to keep him funded. (Having lost his heart and home as a teenager, however, makes that a little more challenging, even without counting the state he’s in at the moment.) 

10: Where do they see themselves in five years?

He hopes that in five years he’ll be whole at last, still alive, with Lea, and home. As an actual prediction… Well, he’s trying to hang on to Lea’s refusal to give up on him, and he hopes they’ll all survive whatever is coming.

11: How do they want to die?

He would like to die whole, forgiven, and loved. None of the other details matter.

12: What would they want to be remembered for?

He’d mostly just like to be remembered for being Isa, and not a vessel. But he really is afraid that the latter is how the world’s most likely going to remember him.

13: What three words do they use to describe their personality?

‘Rebuilding that, thanks.’

14: What three words would YOU (the mun) use to describe their personality?

Witty, loving, playful

15: What advice, as the mun, would you give to your muse?

Hang in there, and have faith in your friends. They’re pretty good at beating the odds. (And don’t be afraid to lean on them, it’s okay to I swear.)

Riku

1: Describe their routine of a normal day/how do they feel when this routine is disrupted?

Riku’s days start early, with stretching to work out any stiffness from the injuries that never quite healed correctly, then he trains for a while before eating, and after that he finally turns his attention to whatever he needs to be doing that day. Mostly, that’s working with Mickey on how to get to Master Aqua, but occasionally it’s checking in with other groups or places, just to make sure Xehanort hasn’t made his next move yet. He handles disruptions to his routine pretty well, unless it’s his morning stretching - if he can’t do that, then he will pay for it the next day and be cranky as a result, so it’s best not to interrupt him or anything until at least his stretching’s done.

2: Greatest strength?

His devotion to his friends and his willingness to walk through fire for them. It’s been one of his driving forces for a while now, and the amount of things it’s allowed him to accomplish is pretty staggering. A close second, however, is his self-mastery. Seriously, he’s still a teenager and he’s reached a level of understanding himself that some people never manage.

3: Greatest weakness?

He’s not… really that great with people. Once upon a time this was a little less noticeable because his cockiness and pride overshadowed it, and then his guilt and shame did similar, but the truth is Riku’s just a little too shy and awkward and reluctant about opening himself up to others, even when he needs to. He’s working on it, and he’s come a long way, but he’s never going to be quite the natural at connecting with people at large the way Sora is, and he knows it. (He’s also fine with it - not everyone can be like Sora.)

4: What one thing would your muse change about themselves?

Actually, at the moment, there’s not a lot that he would change! He’s finally gotten to a point where he’s mostly comfortable with who he is and what he can do, so there’s no point in stressing too much about changing anything. Sure, he’s still got some rough edges to work out, but he’s proud of who he’s becoming, and has no intention of diverting from the path he’s on now.

5: Introverted or extroverted & why?

Introverted. He can manage dealing with people if he has to, but Riku isn’t really that comfortable around large groups of people. He draws strength and energy from quiet time alone, and tends to do his own thing more often than not when given the chance.

6: Organised or messy & why ?

Somewhere in between. He likes his spaces to feel like someone lives there, so he doesn’t go overboard with cleaning or organizing, but he also doesn’t like his spaces looking like a storm went through them. Overall, he generally knows where he’s left something, and if he’s misplaced it it’s not usually too far off from the place he thought he’d put it.

7: What three things do they consider themselves to be very good/bad at?

Riku considers himself bad at connecting to people, but good at athletics and following difficult, complicated topics.

8: Do they like themselves?

More or less - he has good days and bad days, but more good than bad as time passes. He knows he’s made mistakes, and hurt the people he cares about - hurt a lot of people, really - but he also knows that he’s done a lot of good things too, that he regrets those bad things and will never do them again. So… yeah, he likes himself well enough. Riku’s put a lot of effort into making himself someone he can like, and it’s starting to pay off.

9: What are the reasons for their profession? Are the REAL reasons different than what they TELL others?

Riku’s only profession is that of a Keyblade Master, and his reason for it isn’t a secret at all: to protect the people he cares about.

10: Where do they see themselves in five years?

Hopefully alive and in a world that’s survived Xehanort’s plans, whatever they may be.

11: How do they want to die?

With his loved ones nearby. Specifics don’t really matter - he just doesn’t want to die alone.

12: What would they want to be remembered for?

He’d like to be remembered for being a loyal friend, and for being a person who overcame his mistakes and inner demons to do something good.

13: What three words do they use to describe their personality?

‘The cool one.’

14: What three words would YOU (the mun) use to describe their personality?

Devoted, sappy, brave.

15: What advice, as the mun, would you give to your muse?

You’re just as sappy and over-dramatic as everyone else is, Riku. Embrace it.