#very peaceful and high as a kite

[thatpunnyperson]

.

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

The words of the drunks are the thoughts of the sobers

"Dick... Dick..."

"Yeah, Big Blue?" Nightwing asked, not correcting him even for using his real name and not his alias. After all,  he wasn't paranoid like Bruce, they were friends.

Besides, Clark was high as fuck, and he wouldn't even understand what Nightwing was saying to him. 

It was just them in that section of the infirmary, everyone else had already gone home or to their rooms at the Watchover.

Clark was still there: it took him longer to recover, the fight against the Mimirs had been hard, and no one could imagine that their leader had a sword of kryptonite. 

He almost died, and if it hadn't been for Hal Jordan (sorry Bruce, but you have to give credit when you had to) and the arrival of other Green Lanterns, they would have risked losing. 

The invasion had been stopped, the Mimirs chased away, and the Green Lantern Corps would take care of whatever political mess there was on their planet that had prompted them to seek greener pastures on Earth, allowing the Titans and Justice League to lick their wounds in peace without having to deal with alien politics as well.  

Superman widened his eyes, pursing his lips in a thin line, "I don't have hands."

"What?"

"You see... they disappeared..." and he showed both arms, with hands still attached there. He was moving his arms as if he were a child learning to swim. 

Nightwing smiled, "Don't worry. Soon they will be back."

"But I need hands! I'm a journalist!" he exclaimed, still moving his arms, anxious for the absence of his hands.

Nightwing shouldn't be laughing, but it was better than when Jason had had his wisdom teeth removed and started crying because he found out he couldn't marry Jane Austen. 

 

(Although, given the nonsense thet were their life, he didn't rule out that time travel might sooner or later make his little brother's dream come true.)

 

"Gee, they really gave you some cool stuff," Nightwing commented, looking at the innocent bottle at the side of the bed. No terrestrial painkillers had any effect on Clark's alien metabolism, and J'ohn had tried Martian medicine.

It had been very effective. The only side effect was that Clark was now completely wasted and high as a kite.   

Too bad he didn't have anything to record it. Jason would have loved to see Uncle Clark like that! Also, it would be useful blackmail material (or good material for that blog that he swore to Bruce that it wasn't his and where embarrassing videos of Batman, Superman and other heroes appeared.)

"Hey, Dick... when I get my hands back, I'll use them..."

"I'm sure you will," he was about to say, but the words died in his throat when he heard the continuation of the phrase, "To touch your father's ass."

"What the fuck?!" 

[trashmouth-richie]

this promot was sent in by my lovely @joejoequinnquinn here.

prompt words were: chair, belt, “good girl” and smut 🧐

18+ no minors, talk of bdsm, two idiots in love, drug use, steve is mentioned in this off handedly, (i love adding him in at random) eddie, once again, talks about his dick, fluffy smut, Journey slander 😩, high activities, smut! be aware that the dialogue probably doesn’t make sense because they’re jenelle evans from teen mom 2 high

<1.3k eddie x fem reader

a trip to skull rock with a shared joint and a random piece of furniture, what could go wrong?

“Is this your idea of bdsm?” 

Eddie tightens the belt around your wrists, a joint hanging slack from his lips, his eyes squinted with concentration, “FM?—the radio station?” 

Looking back, it probably wasn’t the best idea to get higher than a kite on Easter with your boyfriend and then try to seduce one another. But alas, here you were. 

The drive to skull rock was interesting to say the very least. Eddie claimed he knew how to get there only to have you traveling fifteen miles in the wrong direction— the ‘come back soon!’ sign should have been a giveaway. 

“It’s an acro—af-ro—” your tongue felt like a piece of rubber in your mouth, you’d already mistaken it for gum once tonight, “Dan Aykroyd?” 

“That guy from Ghost?”

The giggles took you over making you lose balance and tipping over the chair you were supposed to be sitting in, hitting the dirt with a soft little thud, hands still tied behind your back. 

Eddie sat in the chair, looking down at you and shaking his head, knowing full well you both shouldn’t have smoked that last blunt. But you were so cute when you begged, he could never deny you. 

“BDSM,” you continue, managing to sit up right, “it’s an acronym… but I dunno what for.” 

“Oh, yeah—” Eddie scratched his head, eyes red and hazy, “I mean Harrington said it was pretty easy, and chicks went nuts over it, calling him ‘daddy’ and shit, begging to be choked.” 

“‘Sir’ suits you better.” 

“How about ‘Master’?” 

“Now you’re pushin’ it.”  

You’re intrigued. interests officially peaked as your scraped dirt under your nails, attempting a castle behind your back. 

“Would I get a title? Is the peasant whore royal enough for such luxuries?” 

Eddie frowns and puts the joint to your lips, “don’t call yourself that. I could punish you y’know.” 

Your eyes widen as they follow the circle of smoke into the air, Eddie’s finger dancing around the center of it as if it were a ring. 

He sighs audibly, loud like a bored child. Suddenly fixated on the chair he was sitting in. 

“Did we bring this?” 

You both burst into laughter, scaring away birds and monsters alike. Disrupting any bit of peace the forest animals had before two stoned idiots stumbled into the wilderness with a plan they had zero idea on how to execute. 

BDSM in the woods, only Eddie Munson would think that was sexy. 

He hoists you up, loosening the belt that was barely held on, holding your dirty hands in his, pulling you onto his lap so you’re straddling his narrow slutty boy hips. 

Onyx would be jealous by your eyes alone, and Eddie’s looked downright demonic. Demon eyes in a cherubs face, that was your Eddie. 

One of your favorite parts of being with him is how his weirdness meshed with yours. Whenever you got this high you could spend hours staring at his porcelain skin, wondering how in the hell he was crafted, molded, carved from the rarest of granite and marble stones and that he was yours— all yours. 

Your hands walked across his face, counting his eyelashes to ten and starting again. 

“Your lips are squishy,” you announce after a while of staring and not blinking,, “like gum— spongy, pink, could be almost made of cake.” 

Eddie adored you, the way your eyebrows quirked like a cartoon when you were deep in thought or admiring his face. 

“Definitely not cake, but you could taste them if you’d like?” 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, removing your fingers from his mouth and squishing his cheeks. 

“The boner you’re sitting on? Yeah, a bit.” 

Your eyes widened in honest horror, “swear to God— I thought it was a flashlight.” 

“Nope,” Eddie attempts a wink but ends up shutting both eyes for a collective six seconds, “that's all me baby.” 

Hands lacing around his neck you grin stupidly into him, pressing your lips to the pretty plush that makes up his mouth. Pecking them with soft chicken like kisses. 

His hands work the globe of your ass, squeezing, rubbing, spanking, as you bite along his collar bone, keeping your teeth marks printed into his skin— your own method of claiming him. 

Buttons scatter along the dirt floor as you rip his shirt open, desperate to see the black widow that had been teasing you, the grotesque demonic zombie head that called the left side of his chest home. He promised someday the right side would be all yours. 

Tracing your name into the blank space with your finger nail, Eddie lets out a low groan. Hooded eyes stare at you and his mouth is on yours before you can finish taking a breath. 

It’s hot, uncoordinated in every way as the two of you claw at each other's pants in the mile high condition you were both in. 

“Why…” you grunt struggling against his zipper, leaning backwards towards his knees, “..is this so difficult.” 

Eddie looks down and grins lazily. 

“Here, lemme help.” He unfastens the button on his jeans, wiggling his hips to shove hia jeans down enough so his cock stood like a tent in his checkered boxers. 

“A picnic?” You gleam with red stark stars in your eyes, “for me?” 

He pulls you forward, “oh baby, take all that you want.” 

It’s quick, dirty, every bit of clumsy filled with shared laughs that were laced with whimpering moans as your bodies rock together, coming together so hard you nearly break the chair. 

You buckle into him, fingers digging into his shoulders to hold yourself up. His spend on the belly of your shirt and the top of the waistband of your ‘easy access’ cotton shorts. 

Nestling into him further you inhale the scent from the sweet burn of weed and sex clinging to his skin and the toothpaste that dribbled down his neck that wasn’t wiped off well enough. 

His hands stroke your back lazily, lips pressed to your shoulder, cock softening on your thigh. 

“What time is it?” 

“Sweetheart, I couldn’t read my watch right now if I tried—everything is spinning.” 

His face is pale, neck clammy with sweat. 

“Gonna puke?”

“Tryin’ not—” 

Holding tight to your waist and moving you over, he throws up the breakfast you had made at two in the afternoon. Eddie hurled and hurled until he shook from the ache of dry heaving.

Leaning back in the chair that you both couldn’t remember the exact whereabouts of how it appeared— he yawned with exhaustion.

“Let’s go home, take a hot shower, have a little nap?” 

He nods and you help him up, pulling his hands until he’s flat footed, and you’re stumbling your way ahead of him. 

“Jesus, I fucking came and barfed on your shirt.” 

You shrug, slurring, “it’s okay— it’s yours anyway.” 

He scoffs in bratty metal fashion, offended by your music knowledge or lack thereof, “I don’t own a ‘Journey’ shirt.”

Eddie pulls you back by the waist and examines the shirt, flipping the collar to see a sharpied ‘WM’ on the tag. 

He geeks out a smile, the color of his irises bleaching back to dark brown, “better get that ‘good girl’ act ready— because Wayne is going to lose his fucking mind.”

[missisjoker]

Modern!AU, where Jacaerys Velaryon is the Head Boy of a faculty in some very posh university for rich people, very prim and proper. His primary objective is to uphold the family image and protect his brothers from their nasty cousins, Greens, who always try to bully them. Cregan is a last-year student who owns a bar and just wants to graduate in peace. Both their plans go to shit when two overcooked gingers in their care (Jace's brother Lucerys and Cregan's cousin Oscar Tully) start having a beef with each other.

It's really just a prank war—it never even comes to blows—until one day Lucerys steals Oscar's sports gear and as a payback, Oscar puts weed into Jace and Lucery's dorm vents.

Cregan drives Oscar to the Blacks' dorm to apologize and ends up evacuating everyone to his bar because they are all high as a kite. His evening goes from bad to worse because high!Jace is very clingy and has absolutely zero control over his pretty mouth. He keeps ogling Cregan with those big brown eyes and whispering things like "I want to choke on your cock" or "I wanna suck you so hard your balls go dry and your toes curl," which drives Cregan feral. Then Jace gets his hands on Cregan, grabs his hair, and kisses him. This is when something clicks in Jace's mind and he promptly runs away and throws himself under an ice-cold shower.

This, in return, only makes matters worse because now he looks absolutely guilty, his cheeks burn red, he can't look Cregan in the eye, and, worst of all, has to dress up in Cregan's clothes head to toe- and that fills Cregan with hunger.

While both Jace and Cregan are having a crisis, Oscar is looking through the videos he took in the Blacks' dorm (as a blackmail) and notices something. There is a hidden camera in Lucerys's shower.

Jace and Luke sober up immediately, and all four drive back to the dorm. Oscar's suspicion is proven right- there is a camera in the shower, and one in the bedroom, and a whole bunch more scattered around the dorm. Brothers are horrified, because their family security sweeps the house regularly- which can only mean, they have spies on their payroll. (And they immediately suspect the Greens because nobody else would be pervert enough to spy on Luke in his shower).

Naturally, Cregan offers both to crash at his house until they can figure it out (since finals are coming and they can't trust anyone else).

Domestic shenanigans and sexual tension galore.

(Ok, I admit- I'm just tired of all the angst and pain and suffering, and just want some crack and romantic comedy).

[featherandferns]

prompt 25 with fluff?

25. I love your smile.

Content warning: drug use (weed) :)

not the navy! - prompt 25

“Hello, operator? Get me the navy.”

“Hello! You’ve reached the navy’s automated phone service.”

“Squidward! The robots are running the navy!”

“Not the navy!”

Tears are close to streaming down your face as you guffaw at the television. The uncontrollable snorts and wheezes that come from you can’t be attractive. It probably wasn’t even that funny, but high as a kite, you think it’s the best damn thing you’ve ever heard. JJ’s equally as tickled, cackling away beside you. You hold the blunt out for him to take. He takes a drag through his laughter as the episode of Spongebob plays on. When he chuckles at another joke, a shaky cloud of smoke fills the air before you. Everything smells strong from the herb; it douses your clothes and consumes your senses.  

“Damn this shit is good,” JJ says, voice light with humour and weed. 

“Absolute classic,” you agree.

You hold out your fingers for JJ to pass the blunt back to you. When he doesn’t, you turn to find him fixated on the television screen. Rolling your eyes, you crawl up and close the small gap on the sofa. You pinch the joint from him, catching his attention, and take a satisfying drag. Resting your head against his upper body, you cuddle against him. JJ lazily runs a finger up and down your thigh as the episode plays on. Everytime he laughs, you feel his whole body shake and can hear the deep rumble down your ear. When the episode ends, JJ sighs and gets to his feet. You whine jokingly in complaint as he disturbs your peace. 

“You wanna a beer?”

“Sure,” you sigh, flopping back to lay on the pull-out. 

The television whirs as the DVD works on starting the next episode. It’s a junker. You found the TV when dumpster diving and got an old friend to help fix up the wiring. It’s a fuzzy picture and the sound is questionable, but it’s good enough considering the whole thing cost you ten bucks. The DVD is the ‘Best Episodes of Spongebob’ that you found at GoodWill. It was released in 2009 so it has all the classics. JJ had pulled out a blunt (made from his cousin’s ‘deadly weed’) when you got home and the two of you had been floating away, taking advantage of the empty Chateau on a Thursday night. 

Laid on your back, you take another drag and close your eyes. There's the clink of two glass bottles being carelessly placed on the window ledge that you vaguely register. The pull-out sofa jolts as JJ flops back down next to you. You don’t bother opening your eyes, too serene to bother. He takes the blunt from your fingers to have a hit. Then, his fingers gently latch around your jaw. He guides his lips to yours, coaxing your mouth apart, and exhales the smoke into your mouth. Your body bristles with the action. Your eyes slowly open, meeting JJ’s dreamy gaze. He’s fucking gone. Pupils blown wide (as are yours, most likely) and whites all bloodshot. You grin and lean up, kissing him with newfound fervour. JJ’s fingers slip up into your hair, the other holding the joint safe and sound to the side. As you sloppily make out with your boyfriend, the DVD continues to play in the background, providing the most absurd mood-music. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ll have you know that I’m very busy.”

“Well, I’m sure you are.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“I’m sure you are!”

You snap out of the erotic haze with that joke, breaking apart from JJ to laugh in his face. JJ sniggers as you do, staring down at you. He guides the blunt to your lips when you catch your breath, helping you take a drag, eyes unwavering in their stare. You blow it into his face with a cheeky smile. His finger traces your jawline like he’s in a trance. 

“I love your smile,” he says. 

You feel it turn mushy with that. Pushing his face away jokingly, you mutter, “simp.”

“Awww did I get you all flustered?” JJ teases. 

“Fuck off!” you laugh, tossing your head back. JJ laughs like a maniac. Your head falls forward onto his shoulder and you hide yourself into his neck with a giggle. Makes JJ laugh harder. 

He gradually coaxes your face back up to meet his, reconnecting your lips, insatiable. Once again the two of you are lost to the world of one another, chasing the other's lips, nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck and just under his ear, fuelled by the sounds and sighs it evokes. That is until Spongebob delivers another corker -

“Hey pal, you just blow in from stupid town?”

- that has you giggling all over again. As if contagious, JJ can’t help but crack up as well. And as the two of you continue that dance of sniggering and smooching, you can’t think of any better way to spend a summer night. 

[kaihuntrr]

part twenty-three: caged birds

Grian follows the blood trail.

Drip.

Grian looked up as he felt a drop of liquid slide down his skin. It could be his sweat– it probably was. Hopefully it wasn’t some open wound he had yet to tend to. He looked around him and bit his lip. So many people were injured. How was it that Pearl and her allies were able to take them down so easily? It had to be the work of the sea princes’ magic, right?

How easily he had started believing in all this sea prince stuff was surprising. What normal person would have thought that these legendary beasts were real?

Though, maybe Grian was simply in denial about believing them. He was raised with those stories the same way Martyn was, but Grian wasn’t as invested as his friend. 

Grian sighed. Martyn. 

How long would it take them to find him? How many more injuries could they take if Pearl were to stalk them throughout the rest of their search? What then?

Drip.

The sound of water droplets falling from the sky irked Grian. 

Grian moved his hand to wipe his face. Nothing. Nothing but a drop of water. It was probably nothing. 

Grian was sitting next to a tree, leaning against the rough and uncomfortable bark as he looked at the rest of camp. It’d do no good to continue the search in their roughed state, so those who could still move easily went to fetch some firewood, gathering as much as they could so both crews could settle down for the next hour or two. Some of the Kites were warming up next to the fire, others rested as a chill air brushed through the makeshift camp. He could see Bdubs and Mumbo resting on a makeshift bed, their chests slowly rising and falling.

Grian held back a sharp sigh. Bdubs and Mumbo… I hope you get up soon.

Grian gazed at the fire, his mind wandering in thought. If he and Cleo were able to track that bloodied trail, they might be able to find Martyn. They just needed to find that path again. But with all the confusion from the fight, Grian was unsure where the path actually was. Everything looked the same.

“Grian?” 

Grian blinked as he heard his name, looking up to see Scar standing in front of. Scar was looking at him with his head slightly tilted, so he was probably the one who’d called him.

Grian felt his face heat up as he saw Scar’s smile. A wonderful, bright smile that was such a welcome change from such an eerie, weird forest. He didn’t know how Scar could just brush off the battle with Pearl like it was nothing, but he was glad someone was in relatively high spirits.

He was glad it was Scar. 

“Scar,” Grian forced a tired smile. While he did need his time to rest, he wanted to ensure that the others were fine first. “Did you need something?”

Scar shook his head, “No, not at all!” He sat next to Grian and looked at him with a warm smile. “I wanted to give you some company.”

Oh.

Grian let out a huff and glanced at the ground. “That’s very sweet of you,” he mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Of course!” Scar put his arm around Grian, pulling the blonde closer as he laughed. “Can’t have one of our captains being all mopey and sad, especially now.”

If it weren’t for the current predicament everyone was in, Grian would’ve savored this moment even more. 

Grian sighed, leaning his head against Scar’s shoulder as the two sat in silence. Grian shut his eyes, listening to the sounds of distant fire crackling and conversations from the others. Bandages were getting applied, some hissed in pain with their bruises, and others had been focusing on their breathing and grounding themselves. The fight with Pearl took a lot out of everyone.

He cracked an eye open to gaze at the fire, then looked up at Scar. Scar’s gaze looked outward, seemingly deep in thought as the comfortable silence lingered between them. A moment of peace despite all the chaos that wrapped around them. A brief respite of silence after all the shouting and bullets.

A moment to breathe, but it could be their last.

Grian broke the silence between them, but his voice was a whisper. “...Do you think we’ll be able to find Martyn soon?”

Before Scar could answer, Grian opened his mouth again, his expression darkened as he curled into himself. “Do you think we’ll find him alive…?”

Scar turned his face to Grian, but his eyes flickered to where Bdubs and Mumbo were for a brief moment. “Yeah,” he nodded, “I’m sure we will. It won’t be too long until sweet Martyn comes back to the ship with us!”

I wish I could share the same sentiment, Grian thought. 

They had never faced this kind of problem before. Martyn was missing, Cleo had gotten hurt, Bdubs and Mumbo were unconscious…. This whole island was cursed. 

“I’m glad you have some optimism,” Grian chuckled. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his hands, “I’m not sure if we–”

“If we can do it?” Scar raised an eyebrow. Grian bit his lip in response, still not looking at Scar. Scar pulled Grian a little closer to him. “Trust yourself a bit more, Grian! We’ve made it this far, we can’t give up hope now.”

Hope? How could he have hope? What was there to hope for?

He hoped Martyn was safe, he hoped everyone would make it out alive, and he had hoped for the hunting trip to go by without a hitch– everything had been just fine until they’d gotten to Crescent Bay! If anything, it was hope that got them stuck there in the first place. 

…Though, that was his fault too, wasn’t it?

It’d been his decision where to go. He’d made the call that’d put them here. He was the one responsible. He hadn’t insisted they all be more careful, even when he’d been told that the island was dangerous. And look where that had gotten them.

Stuck in the middle of a forest on an island that was ready to kill them.

So he couldn’t trust himself to have hope.

How could he?

Martyn was missing- maybe… maybe dea-.... Cleo was hurt, Bdubs and Mumbo were probably sporting twin concussions, and Scar had gotten his leg popped off and had to go crawling after it! Grian had led his crew into danger. Then he’d dragged an entirely different, unrelated crew into their mess- the mess he’d made. And now they were all but lost in this forest with nothing more than rations and very little light, with a witch running around with their blood on her blades!

And to top it all off, something was clearly wrong with Martyn, even before he’d disappeared! The strange way he acted, the strange eyes in his notebook, and Grian had just left him alone on the cursed island! Grian should have insisted Martyn stay on the ship when he wasn’t feeling well, but he hadn’t. He’d practically been begging for the witch to grab Martyn!

So yeah, Grian was just about hopeless and he just couldn’t trust himself after all of that. He just- couldn’t….

Grian pulled his legs closer to him and wrapped his arms around them. “I’m not sure I have any hope left….”

“Even a tiny little bit is enough,” Scar smiled sympathetically. “We’re all in this together, after all!” 

Grian couldn’t hold his sigh back. How was Scar so… hopeful? After all of this…?

Scar bumped Grian’s shoulder, knocking him out of his thoughts. “Come on now, Captain!” He laughed heartily. “We’ve faced monsters, fought the ocean itself, and brought it to heel, and we’re still here. We can do this.”

He had a point. 

Grian could see the look on some of his friends’ faces. They looked tired and weary, but there was still a spark in them. Something that drove them forward. Something pushing them to continue on. 

Loyalty.

Scar continued, “We’ll get Martyn out, and then we’ll kick some sea prince butt– tail? Maybe tail works better.” He laughed at his own bad joke, but Grian joined in his laughter. Scar seemed to smile wider when Grian laughed.

Grian had to pull himself together. He was a captain of the Canaries. He had a capable crew, and no one was badly hurt. They had to make their move and do it as fast as they could, the earlier the better.

He couldn’t imagine life without Scar’s boundless optimism.

“You are such an idiot,” Grian playfully pushed Scar away, but he leaned back against the man’s shoulder, “but a lovable one.” He looked at the fire once more, wanting to light his mind with the burning embers. “Thank you.”

Scar smiled back, a content sigh escaping him as he leaned back against the trunk and closer to Grian. “Anytime.”

The two eased back into the comfortable silence, gentle breaths, the warm touch of the other, and the soft beating of hearts. It felt selfish to lean into Scar’s touch a little more, to close his eyes and relish in the moment as if this was just a dream. Yet here he was, inside of a creepy forest recovering from being beaten by a witch who’d taken his first mate and wasting time resting his head against his crush’s shoulder.

Was crush even the right word? Grian wanted someone he could rely on, another half, something to compliment him. Joel had that with Lizzie. It wasn’t like Grian was jealous or anything… but he deeply yearned for some strong connection, and Scar made him… feel things. Scar was his opposite in many ways, and his foolishness could easily be the end of him, but something about him was warm, inviting. 

Grian closed his eyes. 

He wasn’t sure how to deal with these emotions, but he decided it wasn’t too important. He had to focus, prioritize the main goal of rescuing Martyn and getting out of Crescent Bay. His mind lingered on sleep, though. He was tired. He’d spent the whole day marinating in stress and anxiety and it was finally catching up to him. He could hear Scar’s breathing and the steady beat of his heart. Grian’s heart probably matched with his by now.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Bliss.

Drip.

Grian cracked one of his eyes open. “That’s not funny.”

“What’s not funny?”

“The water dripping.”

Scar raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “That’s not me…,” he opened his hand and raised it up, looking at the sky above. His eyes widened as he looked back at Grian. “It’s about to rain!” 

Of course it was about to rain. Grian sighed and shook his head, moving away from Scar as he groaned.

“Great, just great,” Grian mumbled to himself. He stood up to clear his throat to get everyone’s attention. Sure, the legends chalked up rain to be scary, but if they were going to escape a sea prince, there shouldn’t be that much harm to being a little wet, right? Grian could see some heads turn to him. “Everyone! Prepare for rain!”

The camp had become frantic, some scrambling under the bigger branches of trees while others pulled tarps out of their bags. But they shouldn’t feel afraid. They were hunters. Be it rain or shine, they would kill beasts on their ships. 

One drop.

Then two.

Then three.

Rain was about to crack.

He had to act fast.

Grian grabbed Scar’s arm and marched forward, trying to not flinch at all the droplets of water hitting him as he approached Joel. Joel was talking to Lizzie while Bdubs and Mumbo lay next to them beside a tree.

“Joel! Lizzie!” Grian nodded in greeting, looking at the two as they were addressed. “Quick! I need your help!”

Joel and Lizzie hurriedly rushed to Grian, high on alert. Joel looked back to Grian. “What do you want us to do?”

“You two, and whoever else you can get, try and head back,” Grian motioned away, raising his voice as to catch the attention of the others nearby. “Get the ship ready to sail.” 

Lizzie nodded. “Got it. What will you be doing?” She looked at Grian and Scar and tilted her head. 

Grian wasn’t sure if he wanted Scar to go with him or them, but the reassurance would be nice. Scar gave Grian a smile, seemingly eager to join Grian in whatever he was doing. He was so–....

“I’ll go with Cleo,” Grian put a hand on his chest as he motioned over to Cleo, who glanced at him while they were having a conversation with a couple of Kites. “She and I saw  a blood trail that could lead us to Martyn, and the storm will wash it away.”

Lizzie nodded. “You should get going now,” she looked at the cloudy sky above and shivered. She should be getting herself inside. She looked at Scar, who had been quiet for the whole conversation. “Scar, are you going with him?”

“Of course I am!” Scar nodded enthusiastically. He looked at Grian, “Let’s go round up the others, and fast.”

Joel gave them a small wave. “Good luck,” he smiled, “We’ll see you soon.”

Grian nodded, a determined smile on his face as he turned and followed Scar to where Cleo was standing, the man already calling for her attention. 

Cleo was with Katherine, Tubbo, and Puffy while Bek and Krow sat nearby. They all looked fairly fine from their fight with Pearl, and hopefully they were strong enough to get Martyn out of… wherever he was. 

“Cleo! We need your help,” Scar grabbed their arm impatiently then turned to the Kites nearby. “The rest of you guys are more than welcome to join.”

“What’s the problem?”

“We’re splitting up the groups,” Grian stopped in front of Cleo. He motioned to Joel and Lizzie, who had been gathering up the others in preparation to leave. He was sure this plan would work. “The more injured people should head back, some should help them get back to the ship while the rest of us find Martyn.”

“Shouldn’t you be heading back too, Grian?” Katherine asked with concern in her voice. “Pearl roughed you up pretty badly….”

Grian shook his head, “I’ll be fine.” He still had a couple of bruises from the fight, but he could take a couple of more. He could still walk, so his injuries shouldn’t hold him back. “Only Cleo and I know about the blood trail. The sooner we find it, the sooner we find Martyn. Are you in?”

Katherine looked at the Kites, each of them nodding and grinning in agreement. It looked like they were adamant for a chance at a rematch. “I think we’re all good to fight with you,” she turned to Grian and smiled. “Let’s get going!”

Don’t worry Martyn, Grian nodded as he walked in the opposite direction from Joel’s group. We’ll be there as soon as we can.

Just don’t die.

—————

Despite the rain clouds blocking the moon, the soft light made it easier to navigate. With a few lanterns to spare, Grian and the rest of his small band of hunters trekked into the forest under the light of only a pair of lanterns, trying to retrace his and Cleo’s steps despite all the trees and foliage looking the same. The forest felt like it could stretch on for miles– any landmarks were too few and far between, blending into the backdrop of the forest and shadows…. Grian could assume that people had been able to navigate it at one point, given the path he and Cleo had found leading to and from the cave.

That cave still felt really odd. It had clearly been well used, judging by the footpaths. It almost seemed like it had been carved, but then what purpose did it serve?

It had a large pool of water that didn’t even look like water. The unnatural glow of the water, the great beast that had risen from it…. If Grian had to guess, it could have something to do with Pearl and whatever she did as a witch. He didn’t know much about witches, though. All the stories he could recollect from his parents were more about dangerous sea monsters than the monsters on land….

Martyn had seen the cave too, at least. If that was his blood, then he must have seen it. Now Grian just needed to find it again.

The hunters broke through the tree line into a small area, following Katherine as she made an abrupt stop. Raising his lantern, Grian could see the familiar entrance to the cave, still covered in vines and moss. 

“That’s where the cave is,” Grian muttered as he moved his lantern away from the entrance, raising it higher, “So the path should be….”

“Here,” Cleo called from a short distance. She stood at the entrance of a path that led into the forest. She flinched and scowled as a drop of rain hit their face, but they shook their head and beckoned the rest forward. “Let’s hurry.”

And off they went, following the faint trail before it disappeared. 

The woods kept going and going, and during their walk the light drizzle had subsided. Grian could feel his boots dig deeper into the slightly wet dirt as they walked. It seemed most of the rain had gone into the leaves, but that didn’t stop everything else from getting wet. Most of the trail was fortunately intact, despite the morbidity of being thankful for it. Grian tried not to shudder whenever he glanced down to look at the blood. Just how much did Martyn bleed?

The group moved together in focused silence, following the blood trail as they ventured forward. As they continued walking, the path became clearer and clearer. They trudged through less tall weeds and stepped on fewer twigs. They could even hear the sounds of cicadas and owls. There was finally some life in this haunting forest.

It felt oddly invigorating.

Grian led the group with Scar and Cleo to his sides, Puffy, Katherine, and Krow followed behind with Bek and Tubbo surveying the back. They were fewer in number than they were before, but if Martyn was being monitored, a smaller group could be much more manageable to strategize with, as opposed to a search party trying to cover as much ground as quickly as possible.

“What happens after we get Martyn?” Krow walked up to Grian, its hands in its pocket as the rest of the group trudged on in silence. Cleo stepped further away to adjust, walking ahead a bit more with a focused look.

“We leave,” Grian glanced at Krow. He sighed, “I’m sorry we couldn’t get your crew a new boat.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Puffy called out from behind. “We can get our own ship as soon as we leave this place.”

“What were you doing near the world border anyway?” Cleo glanced at each of the Kites, their gaze finally landing on Puffy. “Most sailors avoid that place.”

“They do, which is exactly why we wanted to go there,” Bek walked closer to the group, a slight edge to his voice. “But when we arrived, there weren’t any decent monsters around.”

That’s what happened to us too. Grian bit his lip and hummed. The only thing that they encountered was the pack of scuttlers. Even then, there weren’t very many of them, way less than their normal pack size, even if these had been way more aggressive than usual. There were so many warnings telling people to never visit the world border. He remembered getting that advice from some of the crews that hung around the Crown Isle’s port. It was practically common knowledge that the place was absolutely infested. So, what had changed?

Cleo furrowed their eyebrows. “You mean… it was empty?”

“Yeah!” Tubbo walked closer, walking next to Katherine as he spoke. “Sure, a boneback took down our ship, but it got swarmed by a bunch of scuttlers!” He crossed his arms and tilted his head, “Then those scuttlers swam away from us without even taking any of our crew with them! I’m not sure why.”

A scuttler had swam away from the Canaries too, hadn’t it? 

Grian could remember that scuttler– it looked like it was on the brink of death, and usually those things would have fought until they died. To see one running away….

“It was quiet after that,” Krow shook its head. “So many ships are reported to have been destroyed before they were close to the border, but this one…,” its voice trailed off as it raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

So the world border was empty. Then why were there so many warnings about death there? Did the monsters just start to get hungry and eat each other instead of waiting for new ships? Grian wouldn’t be surprised. If their main source of food avoided the area, those beasts would have to feed on each other.

Grian shuddered at the thought.

Katherine sighed loudly. “I’m just glad we’re all alive, honestly,” she smiled. “I don’t know how, but hey! No one died!”

“We’re glad too! It’s dangerous territory here,” Scar glanced at Katherine and grinned. “Who knows, there could have been a sea prince lurking around.”

“How are you going to take one down?” Katherine crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, but she had a friendly smile on her face. She sounded like she was challenging them. “You said you were going to capture one, right?”

Grian hummed. “We haven’t gotten to the capturing part, but I’d assume it’ll be some kind of drug,” he tilted his head. “We’ll need a lot of the stuff, and get it potent enough to take one down.”

“What are you going to do with the prince once you have it?”

Huh. Grian had never really thought about it.

“I’m…,” Grian trailed off. He didn’t know what the king wanted with it. He couldn’t just say that. Actually, he probably shouldn’t have entertained this conversation at all. “I’m not supposed to say anything about it.”

He felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. None of Kites were likely to tell a soul, but he knew he would’ve lectured any of his crew if they had let anything like that slip. Gods, he'd told Martyn off for how easy he let things like that slip out of his mouth barely a month ago!

He flinched as he felt Scar nudge his shoulder. Scar gave Grian a warm smile. All that embarrassment slipped away as he nudged Scar back and rolled his eyes.

“That’s so cool though,” Tubbo grinned in awe. He let out a huff and put his hands in his pocket, trying to look cool. “Guess you guys aren’t spoiled brats after all.”

“The king recruits the best of the best,” Grian shrugged. He could see the flicker of upset across the Kites’ faces, but he shook his head as he continued, “So keep doing your best. I’m sure we’ll see you receiving orders from the king one day.”

The Canaries weren’t always the king’s hunters. They’d had to work for it! Grian always felt pride in his chest as he recalled the day that he, Joel, and Jimmy had received the letter from the king accepting their crew as his hunters. Anyone could be the best, they just needed the work and the dedication.

And perhaps toning down the risk taking. Sailing into the world border under the assumption that there were multiple sea monsters waiting to strike was not smart.

“I look forward to being rivals with you,” Bek grinned. “Maybe we could even catch a sea prince first!”

Katherine shook her head with a laugh. “Temper your aspirations, Bek.” She nudged the Kite’s shoulder with a chuckle. “Let’s focus on getting out of here first, then we can think about that.”

“Keep this conversation between yourselves, though,” Grian looked behind him. “We don’t want the public to hear about it yet.”

Each of the Kites nodded in agreement. Good. 

The walk had been silent for a short period of time until Krow’s eyes widened. “Look! Over there!” it ran forward, brushing past a few bushes and stopping at the ledge. “A lake!”

Grian walked forward following Krow, moving away from the path. Krow was right. 

There was a giant lake in front of them, lit with an eerie glow from the moon. The clouds had parted just enough for things to be a bit more visible, especially as the light had returned to a brilliant white instead of a bloody red. The water glittered under the light, the area surrounding the lake felt like walls hiding it away from the rest of the forest. Grian looked to the side and gasped– there was a cabin, nestled within a crop of a few sparse trees, overlooking the lake. A tower rose from behind it, looking out of place like a tacked on addition by a different designer.

Grian pulled out his spyglass, examining the buildings before him. He could see them clearly, but he gasped as he took a closer look at the discolored front steps from the distance, trailing towards the door with an odd shine. Blood.

“It looks like the trail leads there. Put the lanterns out, quick,” Grian whispered. He crouched down, looking over the bushes as he stared at the cabin. “Just stay low, and wait for my signal.” The group was quick to follow his orders, settling into the shadows of the foliage.

Grian continued to watch the cabin, waiting for any movement. Pearl could be lurking around anywhere, so it was best to keep low and keep those lanterns off. He leaned in closer from the ledge, trying to spot anything—

Something was glowing in the window of the tower. Very faintly. Something blue and orange was moving around. Grian squinted, trying to see, but it was too small and too far away. Eventually, it disappeared, and not long after Grian could hear the distant sound of water splashing. Whatever it was, it was gone now.

“What’s the plan?” Scar whispered, looking at Grian expectantly.

Grian hummed as gears turned in his head. He needed a plan, and he needed a good one. “Here’s what I think….” 

As he explained his plan, he couldn’t shake off the thought about those weird lights. Maybe they were the eyes from the person who’d crashed into Pearl, the person who’d saved him. 

Why were they sticking around? And at Pearl’s place? Did they have something to do with what happened to Martyn? They had saved him, but had they hurt Martyn? 

He shook his head. That wasn’t important right now.

Focus, Grian.

He took in a breath.

It’s time to find our missing Canary.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Burn Bright White - Chapter Twelve.

The final chapter is here. Thanks to those who offered support and feedback, I appreciate it.

Previous Chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

Tag list - In the comments. DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,373

Warnings - 18+ content, minors DNI! Also, while I have tried to remain as true to how Niklas is in reality as I can, I have to have a little creative freedom of my own with him in this. If you don’t like it, simply scroll on by. Bitching isn’t tolerated here. At all. Remember, it’s fiction, not a documentary ;) It’s also worth mentioning that while Taissa has qualities of being quite charming at times, she is not, by any means, a good person.

Irritation gnawed at the very fibres of him, Niklas feeling it tearing, sharp and raw, a pain he so often sought to seek in order to create rising within him. Here it was, what he needed, the wilful destruction of his own happiness once again coming back to take hold.  

He had met her while trying to negotiate his way to being a better person, a healthier one, but like so many times in the past, his old self reared its ugly head once more and demanded the contrary from him. He could be happy – or at least his own version of that – with Taissa, and he knew he could. She was, at her core, perfect for him.  

Letting her be just that was a different matter entirely, though. 

He had nine hours until she would return to him, and it made him feel as if his bones were attempting to flee his skin. He’d told her he loved her, and it was true. He wanted it to be just as much as he didn’t, flexing his fist within the grip of his other hand, his knuckles bouncing against his fingers as he growled with annoyance.  

Who even was he anymore?  

He’d begun this with the opposite intent to what he’d now arrived at, blown off course entirely, adrift from himself, powerless. Reclaiming control of the situation, he realised, would satiate the feeling of irritability, but at a price.  

The price was his peace. The price was how he’d felt that afternoon, buried inside her, loving her, stroking her, never wanting to part from that feeling.  

The price was Taissa herself.  

“Just fucking grow up and don’t fuck it all up again.” 

“Nah, fuck that. Don’t be weak. See it through.” 

“But you love her, and she loves you. Even the darkness. She loves it all.” 

“You aren’t built for it. It’s too normal for you. This was never who you were.” 

It always happened, when too much positivity came his way. He didn’t know how to handle it, so thus succumbed to the compulsion to fuck it all up. It was always the same with him. He had just under nine hours until she’d return to him, Niklas deciding to call upon a few friends he hadn’t seen in a while. It all began there.  

Meeting his friends at a bar led to another, somewhat of a crawl between establishments, ending up at the Roadhouse just before midnight. He was definitely worse for wear, high as a kite on coke and just drunk enough to know that sexually, he could go all night, should he choose to. Seeing a pretty girl with long curls and great tits checking him out, it was in that moment he chose to.  

Leaving with her at 1am, they were in his apartment just over a half hour later, Niklas carrying her to the bedroom while spanking her ass with every step he took. Twenty-five minutes and Taissa would be there, letting herself in as always. When he expected her, he never locked the door.  

He felt so much conflicting within him as he lay back and enjoyed having his cock sucked, though, the thrill of being caught and restoring the dark conflict he craved crashing hard like a tsunami against the shore of his genuine happiness with Taissa. Closing his eyes, all he could see there in his mind was her smiling at him, lying against his chest, lavishing affection upon him. 

“I hate you.” 

“I hate you, too.”  

Yet a blind man could have seen how much the pair were honestly besotted with one another, and here he was, welcoming the dark clouds, engineering it so that the sunshine within his heart became shaded once more. 2am rolled around, saw him with his face buried between the girl’s legs. 2:15am and he was fucking her assiduously from behind. 2:30am and she was riding him into the bed. 2:39am and he was blowing his load all over her face, and Taissa was nowhere to be seen.  

By 3:30am, he knew it was a wasted opportunity, reasoning she might have had a busy night and decided to go straight home after all. She’d done it in the past. After kicking the girl out at 11am the following morning, he attempted to call her, her phone simply ringing out. She’d get back to him, though. She always did. 

Twenty-nine hours passed without a peep from her, though, Niklas calling her again, sending a message, too. Nothing. When he called on her third day of being MIA, he received the recorded message that the number he was dialling was no longer in service, experiencing a chilling freeze prickle through his chest.  

All of his thoughts began to swirl, his focus on pulling her back to him polarised, taking over completely. Medication schedules fell by the wayside as he drank too much, decimated his supply of coke, and paced his apartment. Why was she doing this? Where the fuck was she?  

Day four arrived, Niklas opening his eyes to see the two shadows who haunted his unmedicated brain lingering at the foot of his bed, cackling laughter filling his ears as he flung himself from beneath the covers, dressing speedily. She’d be home, it was only 10am. Working nights meant that she didn’t tend to go anywhere until the early afternoon, so he’d catch her there and could demand why he was receiving the silent treatment.  

Truly, how dare she treat him like this? 

He felt disjointed and rattled in the back of the Uber that took him to her apartment, the shadows right there with him, taunting him with their presence.  

After exiting the car, he ran for the main door to the apartment block as someone exited, catching it before it closed. All the way up in the elevator, his vision blurred, voices chattering within his head, Niklas looking to the mirrored back wall at the haunted desperation of his own reflection, his fist meeting his own visage and cracking the glass. Little spots of blood dripped onto the floor, marking the hallway as he strode to her apartment. 

His knuckles smeared crimson across her front door as he hammered upon it with his fist, his chest heaving as he ground his teeth, mouth tightening.  

“Hello, can I help?”  

He didn’t have a clue who the woman answering on the other side was at all. “Where is she?” 

She was perplexed, seeing a wild-eyed man with a bloodied hand, her heart beginning to pound with nerves. “Who is she, I don’t...hey, wait! You can’t just barge in here!”  

He’d shoved his way past her before she could say anything else, though, feeling scared, glad she wasn’t alone. Her girlfriend gasped in surprise to see him appear, his hand dripping onto the carpet as he stared at her chillingly. 

“Where is she?” 

She shook her head, backing away from him. “I-I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she began, seeing her girlfriend appear behind him. “We, we rented this place on Airbnb.” 

His eyes swivelled left to right, looking for any trace of Taissa. It almost looked like a different apartment, none of her belongings, the walls bare, the bed... the bed where he’d fucked her so many times, held her, slept curled around her... 

Loved her... 

Not even that looked the same as when he’d last been within it. With her.  

“You have to leave, or I’m calling the police.”  

The way he stared at her chilled her blood to freeze, Niklas feeling his heart hammering so violently that extreme nausea began to pulse. He at least made it out of the apartment before throwing up in the hallway, following his own dripped blood path back to the elevator.  

She couldn’t do this to him.  

It took him two hours of aimlessly wandering the streets in a daze before he arrived back home. Once there, he fed Katze, scratching her head, washing blood from his hand before bandaging it. It had been a while since he’d had to do such, look after self-inflicted wounds, noting that the skin over his knuckle should probably be stitched, but having little to no desire to help himself further than binding the gashes.  

Picking up a bottle of bourbon, he staggered to his bed, shedding his clothes and lying naked upon the covers. Turning his head, he could still smell her perfume on the pillow, his heart ripping itself open. She was gone. His own game had been played back at him, and as that realisation began to settle, it felt as if he’d swallowed a jagged cog, one which carved his insides to shreds as it gored at where he’d become soft. 

Soft for her. And it sickened him.  

Time lost itself to the torrent of emotions swirling around his mind, his psychosis now returned full-blown. He only moved to feed Katze and sort her litter tray, picking up a fresh bottle of alcohol and returning to his pit of anguish. Unmade, messy sheets still bore her scent, Niklas burying his face in them, his hand moving to his cock as he stroked himself hard, eyes swimming in tears.  

He did that until he physically couldn’t, until he was sore, cum sodden and lonely, crying into the pillows that barely bore her scent any longer. How long had he been there for, sleepless, the two black shadows his only constant, whispered voices playing like a haunted theme of darkness through the tattered echoes of his mind. 

And he’d bought it all on himself.  

This was what he’d asked for.  

He hadn’t, however, asked to be abandoned.  

If his mental condition was a stormy sea, then Taissa was the leviathan in the centre of it, grasping him by the heart and dragging him under her surging waves, drowning him in his own misery. He had no true concept of time, whether it was night or day as he lay in his darkened bedroom, eventually drifting into fitful slumber. His dreams couldn’t even give him the peace of complete nothingness that he craved. 

He found himself wandering a long path, eyes picking out a line of small houses at the end, a feeling of warmth flooding him as his eyes centred in on the one at the far left.  

It felt like home, although he had never seen it before in his entire life.  

Opening the door, he was greeted by the overwhelming scent of her, of candles and spices, home cooked food and the crackling warmth of a fire. It was cozy and beautiful, slipping his coat off and removing his shoes as he looked down the hall, watching as she came to greet him. She wasn’t alone.  

“Look, come on. Here’s here now, you have to show him!” she spoke with enthusiastic warmth, holding onto the hands of a small child, a cherubic looking little boy who took big, uncertain steps. His eyes found Niklas, eyes that matched his, the baby beaming as he released the grip on his mother’s hands and walked on unsteady feet towards him.  

Niklas crouched, catching the child when he staggered on little legs, his heart bursting with pride. “My boy walks now!” he spoke, kissing his blonde curls. “We are all in trouble now you are mobile, my son.” Lifting him into his arms, he stood, welcoming Taissa into his embrace with a kiss. “When?” 

“Earlier this morning, he pulled up on the sofa as usual and then suddenly, he was off! He almost landed on Katze, she was far from impressed,” she revealed, her face so warm and alight as she stroked their baby on his chubby cheek with her fingertips. Had she always been so serenely beautiful? She looked angelic to him. “Here, give him to me. I have just run a bath for him in the sink.”  

Niklas chuckled, kissing the baby and handing him to his mother. “More Leevi Aho parenting implemented, my darling.” 

“He always said baby baths were bullshit when we had a perfectly good sink. He was right,” she spoke, walking down the hallway, Niklas following her to a large, beautiful kitchen. Katze sat in front of the glowing hearth, the air laden with homely scents, feeling something settle within him that he hadn’t known was broken. It was like a yearning he never knew he wished to be fulfilled. “So, you had the interview this morning, how did it go?”  

He was just about to reply, watching the way she so adoringly carried their child in her arms, a wedding band and engagement ring sparkling upon her dainty finger when he found his path into the kitchen blocked. There they appeared, the two shadows, one shaking its head as it began to cackle. 

“This is not for you. This was never for you.” 

Of course, it wasn’t. He knew that instinctually, but the reality of it. Oh, the sweet, torturous reality of his little-known heart’s desire. 

“It isn’t real. They’re just shadows, they aren’t here.” 

“What are shadows, my love?” She turned, pausing with their son’s tiny sweater in her hand. “Niklas, what is wrong?”  

Maybe if he could fight past the shadows, he could stay there with her, remain in this beautiful dream, safe and warm. “Niklas?” 

“It isn’t real,” he spoke, shaking his head rapidly, attempting to wake himself. “This isn’t real.” 

Taissa acted quickly, placing the baby in his high chair and clipping him in, moving speedily across the kitchen. As soon as she reached him, the shadows dissipated into black smoke, fluttering away to nothing, her hands smoothing his cheeks. 

“Niklas, you’re having an episode,” she spoke gently, making him look at her. “Look at me, deep breaths. Those motherfucking meds. We need to get you back to a doctor again.” 

His entire chest felt like it was caving in on him, his breathing panicked, everything around him so real, so palpable. “It isn’t real! I am not here, and neither are you! You abandoned me, you left me behind, Tai.” 

“Shhh, love,” she soothed, stroking him, centring him again. “This is how it goes, remember? Remember when you had your breakdown two years ago? You thought I had gone, but I was there with you the whole time. Well, between throwing up with morning sickness. Remember? You went back to the hospital, and you came out just before Rasmus was born. Remember?” 

He didn’t, but was it real? Had his mind been playing tricks on him so severely that he’d hallucinated her leaving, and in the process, lost two years?  

Was this truly his life?  

“You should remember,” she continued, wrapping her arms around him. “I called you every type of bastard under the sun while I gave birth. Swore I’d never let you between my legs again, even though that was a lie.” Winking she stroked his chest. “Last night very much speaks of the lie. I’m still sore!” 

Wincing, he couldn’t take it in. “What year is it?” 

“Twenty-twenty six,” she confirmed. “You are forty-two, I am thirty, god fucking forbid, and Rasmus is thirteen months.” 

“And we are married?” 

She kissed his chest. Nodding. “Yes. We married five months ago. I wore black to mourn the old Taissa Aho being no more. You laughed yourself stupid when I told you I would do that. Remember? You told me even though I would be Taissa Kvarforth going forward, there was no way in hell your little beast wouldn’t be exactly that any longer.” 

Shaking his head, he scrunched his eyes shut tightly, slapping his face. She was still there when he opened them again. “And I proposed to you?” 

Humming a laugh, she looked out from under her lashes at him. “No, I asked you. Remember? We always go through this when you forget, love. I asked you, but you said you were going to buy me an engagement ring all the same. One that befitted my cock sucking skills.” Holding her hand up, a very decently sized diamond sparkled upon her finger. “You almost sent yourself broke, buying me this.” 

“I can’t...” He shook his head, grasping her face in his hands, kissing her. “You were gone, my darling. I was alone.” 

“I know. It always goes like that when you forget to take your medication, but you have been on top of it, so I think you need to see your doctor again.” Her face was warm and loving as she smiled up at him, her thumb skimming her cheek. “Come and sit down, it’s all okay.”  

But it wasn’t. That first step he took into the kitchen woke him, finding himself in the darkened bedroom of his apartment, his mouth furry, his head pounding.  

Reaching for his phone, he located the number he needed, the call answered quickly. 

“The usual?” Miika spoke.  

“Yeah,” he replied, swallowing hard. “Where is your sister, Miika?” 

He knew Niklas would probably reach out to him at some point, knowing his sister of old. Of course she would have left him broken. It was her style, and it always would be, too. “She went back to Helsinki two weeks ago.” 

Two weeks had passed? 

“Oh.” 

Miika sighed uncomfortably. “I’ll be round within the hour.”  

While Niklas lay there waiting for a delivery of something he hoped might make him feel more human, Taissa lay in an equally empty bed over two hours away, in the same sheets she had taken with her from Tampere.  

She could just about smell him on them, still. Her hand smoothed the vast space, sighing. He wasn’t there. 

He never would be again. She had seen to that.  

“It was just a game,” she told herself, closing her glassy eyes to the morning light, seeing him there in her mind. “One you won.” 

Every breath burned as she curled into herself, retreating beneath the covers, imagining him there with her, inside her, hands gripping her, mouth scattering kisses. The blue of his eyes had been the most perfect hue, sharp and cold, but when they’d gentled towards her, it was like looking into a cloudless sky.  

It all could have been cloudless, if she’d let it.  

“You won.” 

It was perhaps the hollowest victory she could ever remember.  

Days and nights bled into one another, Taissa eventually carrying on as normal, while Niklas sank like a stone, unable to move. His psychosis became worse, seeing, hearing things that were no more real than any other figment conjured by his illness, his anguish. One morning, though, he finally saw all he desired lying right there next to him, the sunlight catching her features, bathing her in a heavenly glow.  

“You came back.” 

Turning, she smiled, shaking her head. “I didn’t. And I never will.” 

Her imaginary presence wove healing bandages around the fractures of his shattered heart, but her words brought him no peace. He was too far gone for that now.  

“Look at what you have done to me.” 

Her hand reached to cup his face, shaking her head. “You did this to yourself. I warned you what I’d do. Remember?” 

He did.  

“Not before I ruin you, Niklas. Because I will, don’t say you weren’t warned.” 

“Don’t be her,” he whispered, his hand covering hers, clenching around her fingers. “Be who you showed me. One more time. Just once, Tai.” 

Wordlessly, she shuffled nearer, curling against his chest. He snaked his arms around her, turning onto his back, her dainty weight pressed against him as he stroked her arm and kissed her hair. It was so real, so palpable, but he knew. He understood in the depths of his anguished delirium that it was only a memory, and that was all she ever would be. 

“I love you, Niklas.”  

But she didn’t, and it ripped him to pieces, empty winds scraping across the dark pit of sorrow he’d fallen into. His mouth twitched in a half smile, because what an incredible album this would birth, the masochism achieved. She was gone, and he was once again absconded to the cold void he’d welcomed with open arms. 

It engulfed him entirely, and the pain... oh, the haunting, all-encompassing pain of it. 

It burned bright white.  

The End. 

[solvskrift]

“Watch it there, mate,” Sirius chuckled. “You nearly managed to get some on the cake.”

His godson’s little face was smudged ear to ear with frosting, a bit more added to it each time he swiped his sticky hands across his cheeks.

Harry held the tip of his tongue between his teeth, concentration unbroken, and rose up on his knees as he added the finishing touches to what Sirius reckoned was supposed to be the wing of a golden snitch.

Molly passed by on her way to the cooker. “Ooh very good, dear! A fantastic job, isn’t it, Sirius?”

“I’ve never seen better in my life,” he agreed, exchanging amused smiles over the top of Harry’s head. “Can you say ‘thank you’ to Mrs. Weasley for letting you decorate your own birthday cake?”

“Thank youuuu!” Harry crowed, high as a kite on sugar. He plopped back into his seat and beamed at her.

“It’s no problem at all, sweetheart,” she said fondly, wiping his cheeks clean with the corner of her apron. “In fact, I might get the other children to start doing that - you’ve begun a tradition, I think!”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Harry nodded solemnly. “That’s me.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Oh, you’re gonna be a handful tonight, aren’t you? Moony is most definitely handling bath time.”

“Nooo! No bath time!” Harry protested, launching himself out of the kitchen chair. Sirius scooped him up as the boy prepared to race headlong around the table.

“Yup, bath time and brussels sprouts and cleaning your room! Happy birthday!” Sirius told him, hanging him upside down.

Harry struggled and tried to hold back his giggles. “No!”

“Yup.” Sirius blew a raspberry on Harry’s belly and revelled in the ensuing shriek of laughter.

He set Harry back on his feet just as a breathless George appeared in the kitchen doorway. “C’mon, Harry, we’re ready for Quidditch!”

The boys sped out of the house without a backwards glance.

“Not too high!” Molly called after them at the same moment Sirius yelled to his godson, “Kick everyone’s arse!”

“Sirius,” Molly groaned at him.

Sirius just grinned into his beer. “You love me,” he shrugged.

Molly huffed and swatted his arm with an oven mitt, biting back a smile.

“Are you leaving me for Sirius?” Arthur asked casually as he came in from the sitting room.

“Thank God,” said Remus right behind him. “I’ll have a moment’s peace.”

Sirius ignored this. “Harry’s just gone to play Quidditch,” he said conspiratorially. “Should we give it to him?”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Now?”

“Why not?” Sirius took the parcel out of his pocket and enlarged it.

“You didn’t,” Molly despaired. “He’s six!”

“I know,” said Remus, nodding his head at the broom-shaped package wrapped in gold paper. “It’s a bit late, we should have got him one last year.”

Arthur’s cough sounded suspiciously like a snigger.

“He’ll break his neck,” warned Molly.

“And he’ll look great doing it!” Sirius agreed.

He ducked out the door after Remus, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll take pictures!”

Arthur’s laughter followed them all the way to the orchard.

[john-bitchester]

Bubbles watches Supernatural season 5, episode 22: swan song.

This is a 42 minute episode. It took me 2 hours and a half to get through becase I had so many feelings and thoughts. Enjoy

CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SOOOON, THERE'LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DOOONEEE. LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD TO REEEST, DON’T YOU CRY NO MOOOOORREEEEE

Ah gabe how I miss you

Not you zacharia I hate you

I never cared about a car as much as I have about a 1967 chevrolet impala

I love that Dean canonically picks out his dads car, because it is the same as his dads car, who chose it because is son recommended it to hem because it reminded the son of his dads car who...

IM SORRY

Sammy sitting on the hood like that does things to me

No no no dean youre being stupid

Wdym youre on board

AAAH DEAN LOOK AT YOU GROWING UP SEEING SAMMY AS A BIG BOY

Its still a stupid plan tho

Not normal about them

Nomnom blood

This gives a whole new meaning to milking

No poor sam look at his face he is stressed

'Angels don't sleep'

Didnt we already establish that he is humaned

WE TALKED ABOUT STAGE 2 SUICIDE IDIATION

'You go to lisa and pray to god shes dumb enough to take you in' HAHAHHAHA spoken like a true sibling

You're so silly sam you know dean would start a second apocalypse for you

SEE YA IN HELL

NO

The way I screamed

'When he gets in, keep fighting, don't give an inch'

'Yes sir'

NO SAM THATS BOBBY DONT YOU DARE YES SIR HIM

I cant tell if it's because this was how dickchester always talked to him so it's reflex, or if it’s Sam's way of saying 'youre like a father to me'

Imma go with both for my sanity

My friend bunbun: that john issues run deep with these boys

Me: The mariana trench would be impressed

'Oh I'm supposed to lie'

'Suuure... they'll be.. fiiiiine'

Cass I love you so, you are so real for this

That cannot be tasty

Or good for the stoomy

Oh my god Sam is high as a kite

Nooo not chuck going over the impala memoriessss

Noooooo

I need you to know that I'm watching this, hand clasped over my mouth, going NoOoOoOoOo

I have a feeling that the memories of the car will make sam able to grasp control again or smt

Also, dean is such a sentimental washcloth, rebuilding the car with the legos and the soldier man

Oh sam that was sexy of you (Zapping the demons by just closing his eyes)

'I live, he lives, we get our parents back'

Heres the thing, from videos and fic I know that at some point sam lives for a year or so without dean

So now im like, uh oh

I feel like this is an act

Its all an act

Ofcourse they knew the devil would know about the horsemen

Theyre his main henchmen, it would be stupid to think that the devil wouldnt know about the rings

Finally, the boy has memorised something (The spell for the cage)

aaaaaaaaahgg

COME ON SAMMY

aaaahshfhm fukb fgbukgxfubkrgxukb

NO NO NO NO NO

SAAAAM BE STRONG

......

Wtf Lucy that is so not funny

Pretend that Sam had won the fight with lucy in his brain

Only to then be like "jk"

Dean you shouldve just kicked him in the hole while his back was at you

Fidget spinner of power hihi

Why would he let dean live

Michael's vessel

NAH THE DEVIL JUST MADE A VERY FUNNY STAR WARS REFERNCE'

I suggest we become drunk' -cass

Oph my god these dumbasses really did think lucy wouldn't know of the rings

NoOoOoOo Bobby mourning his sooon

I am not well

I know what you can do, dean

You can have some gay sex with the angel

Knowing this was meant to be the end end makes it so much worse

I cant do this in my own oh my gosh

Im literally going like 'crying noise, noohoo Bunbuuun'

Them gazing th stars togehter on clear nights🥺🥺🥺🥺

Driving 2 days for a game, and a week for a concert

Heart goes auch

Nooooooo

Not okay about this

Its the Good Omens finale all over again

Chuck has grown on me

WELL THEN I AINT GONNA LET HIM DIE ALONE

Winchester pt3 you fool

I cant say i trust lucy, but hes making some good points

God is giving abusive father for sure

'You made me do this' he tells his kids

Another thougth, actually

Sam and dean where the perfect vessels because of ther lineage, cain and abel, i believe

But also bc they were representative of michael and lucy themselves

But hear me out. What if john and god are also reminiscent of each other

After all, the brothers couldn't be who they became without their father, have it be winchester or the angels

Both brothers (lucy & michael vs winchester) didnt have a mother

Had a father who was demanding

And both pairs of brothers, as established by the shwo, are the same. The loyal warrior who never doubted the father, and the fallen, who did

They could never become these people without the father, ergo, without god and john

We know john was a horrible father

So even ingoring what lucy is proposing here (god made me as I am) and my own opinions on God, the train of logic still assumes that God had to be, is, equally as abusive towards the brothers as z

John was towards the winchester brothers

Please tell me that cassete is 'Carry on wayward son' by kansas

Or no, even better, the one song by asia hahahha

WTF DEAN HAHAHAH THAT WAS NOT THE MUSIC I EXPECTED

SORRY AM I INTERUPTING SOMETHING

You know, whenever I'm annotating the episodes lke I'm doing now, it always takes me an hour to watch an episode instead of the forty minutes that it actually last

but at the speed I am annotating and thinking right now , it will genuinely take me twice as long.

like it will take me an hour and a half at least I think. (Ha! Bubbles. You fool. It nearly took you 2 hours and a half)

Youre next on my list buttercup

CASS WHERE THOSE YOUR FIRST BIG BOY WORDS! (Hey, assbutt!)

Not the molotov cocktail fhrnifhhf

WHAT THE FUCJ

CASTI3L WHAT THE DU JDUCK

Holy fuck

I need a moment

No

Sammy it's okay I'm here

Bunbun I am so unwell about this

Unwell

I KNEW IT

OH MY GOD I FUCKING CALLED IT

Im not crying youcrying

I love that they do this flasback bit with jus wind, and the 'tok' sound every now and then

Makes it a very strong scene

SCREAMING

ENDING ON THE HUG SCREAMING

The fact that the actual hug removes the white noise

Unwell

oh

Oh my god

Sam is going to pull michael with him

I can feel it

Okay I think this is one of the few times the bad cgi actually kinda ruined it for me

No

Hes all alone

He cant be

No one who could possibly begin to understand left

Have I mentioned Im not okay

Cass

The relief in my voice when I whispered this out loud just now is ludicrous

And now, kiss

'Cass are you god?' Oh sweetie

BOBBY

this is making me think of john milton

'And as they walk hand in hand, slowly their way through eden"

Along those lines

Chuck quit yer bitchin

Dean really went, 'okay god, its personal now'

Peace, or freedom?

Holy fuck

Because he made a promise

My stomach is genuinly physically aching

The fact that even deans voice sounds broken

Actually crying rn

What if chuck is god

WHAT THE FUCK CHUCK WHERE DID YOU GO

NAH DONT TELL ME IM FUCKING RIGHT

SAM WTF

Sam? Lucy?

Sam

Oh im sorry it cant stop here wtf

How where they ever plannning on stopping like this that is unholy

1h 30 later:

I know i started spn on my own accord, but I hope you know what you did

I was eating with my parent just now, and during the entired meal (now still) carry on was playing on repeat in my head. Coming from someone who typically lives a soundtrack-free life

Another hour later:

Still recovering

Have been having imaginative co-star interviews with jared padalecki for about 2 hours now. It's a coping mechanisnm

Literally my whole day was spn

I woke up with fic. Ate lunch with an episode. Watched the finale, read more fic

I am unwell

[peapodbond]

we’ve all forgotten one very important thing in all the madney wedding speculation. buck and eddie are fucked. up. in the promos. and the night before maddie’s wedding? feels wrong for buck tbh.

what if someone gave them something a little stronger than booze at that party? and chimney is just having a really, really, really terrible high and he’s freaking out and nothing is actually happening to him??

yes i want chim and maddie to get married without drama. yes i like the idea of chim acting out die hard in albert’s room while they’re both high as kites much better than anything else!!

let chimney hallucinate being kidnapped rather than actually being kidnapped. …i guess?? let that man have peace!!

[taysdorothea13]

Does Wren do drugs like vaping or cigarettes? Or idk classic drugs like coke

no, not really. i could see her being a social vaper, i.e., hitting her friends vape every once in a while when they’re out, but honestly she doesn’t even really drink that often. at any given time, if someone were to ask wren where she is/what she’s doing, there’s a fifty fifty chance she’s still at the office sorting fabric/sketching new designs/answering emails or she’s at home in her pajamas just watching movies and still answering emails. she’s a very laid back adult, and despite the fact that she has overcome the trauma associated with alcohol and drugs, she’s seen enough to know that’s not something she wants in her life either by her own doing or somebody else’s doing. she will end friendships over drug use. if you come up to her and say “omg i did a like of coke at a party it was totally insane” which happens way more often than you’d expect in new york (speaking from personal experience omfg it’s insane how often random people will ask you if you want a line on a random tuesday) she will end the friendship. she’s been hurt far too many times by people recklessly getting high, and the friends that are quick to try different drugs at a party aren’t people she wants to associate with because it never ends up good for anyone involved. obviously there are exceptions. like i’m sure taylor’s done her fare share of different drugs at least once, but there’s a fine line between people that will experiment with things in safe settings with people they trust, then people who will throw caution to the wind and do a random like on dirty ass bathroom sinks.

the only reason wren get into weed was because her therapist suggested that if the prescribed medications weren’t enough, edibles would take the edge off. she does smoke for pleasure sometimes, but for the most part, she’s high as a kite because the weight of her trauma and subsequent anxieties is crushing. funny high wren story though! the first time she got high, she called taylor freaking out that she took an edible an hour ago and she still can’t feel it, but she’s starving and when she bends down the room starts spinning, and taylor has to break the news to her baby that she’s beyond high if the room is spinning. she has to talk wren through the process of making a sandwich because wren’s convinced she can’t feel her arms and she’s asking taylor the most random questions and just… really going through the stereotypical first time high experience. she starts crying at one point that taylor’s not there and taylor has to remind her that their apartments are literally fifteen minutes away from each other and if she needs her to come she can be there in ten minutes, but then wren starts crying harder going “no you can’t see me high”…. they’re literally on face time and taylor can see her clear as day. taylor does end up going over because wren, sweet sweet angle, took a ten mg gummy thinking that wasn’t a lot and she keeps zoning out and it’s scaring the fuck out of taylor that she’s alone 😭 swear even as an adult wren gives taylor heart attacks daily. but eventually taylor gets there and wrens like on the cusp of passing out, but taylor’s keeping her awake to drink water and at one point wren looks up at her like, “mama, my head is so quiet. i can’t even think about what he sounds like.” and taylor’s heart breaks knowing that for years her daughter has carried around the memories and trauma of her past and nothing has been able to completely get rid of it. she can only smile and say “i’m so glad you have some quiet, bug” and then she cries when wren goes to sleep because it took fifteen years for her kid to finally have peace and quiet in her own mind. safe to say that the next time wren experiments with edibles… she does not take the full thing

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #101

I have decided that today is for chilling. And if you've learned anything about me from reading these letters, I'm sure you'll understand (and probably be very unsurprised) that as a result of that, I have, so far, done anything but chill.

On the bright side, I did get around to sanding the smaller epoxy sphere today. Check it out:

It's cloudy right now, I know. That's because the finest grit sandpaper that is available to me right now is only 3000-grit. I found between 7000 and 15000 grit online though, and ordered some of that! So hopefully for future orbs, I'll be able to get a clear shine without needing to use UV gloss spray.

UV gloss spray fills in the tiny scratches left behind by the fine sandpaper, which restores its clarity. But the stuff stinks to high heaven, and it's really bad to breathe in, so… I'd rather not have to use a whole lot of it. The UV spray should protect the epoxy from yellowing in response to UV light, but I'm not sure it's worth it…

In any case, the orb has since been sprayed with the UV spray, and I'm waiting for it to dry. I'll check on it tomorrow. I should have a better picture for you by then!

I did go on a short walk, though. And I had a tasty lunch. I don't have pictures of either for you, because nothing about these was particularly noteworthy. But today, the sun is warm and the breeze is strong and cold. Today would be good kite-flying weather, if I had one. But I don't have one. Maybe that's something I oughta fix…

I wonder if you'd fly a kite with me, if it were possible. Well, probably not; most likely you'd just think I'm too weird to be hanging around, hahaha! But still, the thought is nice. I think you might enjoy a kite, especially if it was something colorful. Maybe something like this…

…Or this…

…Or even this?

...Hm. 🙂

We have all kinds of different ones here, and they come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some of them are elegant, and some of them are silly, and some of them are plain, but they're all very fun to look at:

...I hope someday that this might be something you get to try. Wouldn't that be a marvelous thing?

Hey, Sephiroth? I'm still reeling a bit from yesterday. So I think I'm gonna try to actually chill. I'm probably gonna Salt some Sanctuaries in my usual spot for a while, if you wanna come chill with me:

...Maybe if I get impossibly lucky someday, I'll see you there.

I love you and I'll write again tomorrow.

Your friend, Lumine

[dollarbin]

Shakey Sundays #35:

Hitchhiker (plus A Snapshot in Time)

Six months is a century in Shakeytown.

These days Neil will summon the Stop Shopping Choir for a whistle stop tour, release 4-5 new Archive records, reroute 6 barns worth of toy trains, publish a Greenville zine or two, respond to 4,672 fan emails on his forever Beta-version website, each in 7 words or less and each response featuring the words "peace," "love" and "Al Gore", write 36 new songs, all of them with the working title Love Earth (Or Else), and publish yet another memoir, this one dedicated to his penchant for hip hop, all in a six month window.

Case in point: Archives 3 is about ten minutes old and he's already promoting a forthcoming and utterly unrelated live record from his first tour with Cranky, Silly, and Gnash. Apparently Joni was at the show, gnashing her own teeth in anguish while Graham "Honey Baked" Hash debuted Our House; by the end of the show Mitchell surely instructed Grahamcracker to retitle his song My House (Cuz Joni Just Slipped Out The Back, Jack). Nash, apparently, refused to make the change.

All of Neil's productivity is cool; it's a great time to be a Shakey fan. But these days he lives beside a Colorado lake with Daryl, her dogs, 64 of his cars and the grinning ghosts of David Briggs and Ben Keith; 48 years ago he lived utterly alone in a psychedelic tepee of his very own design.

After all, just try and get your mind around all he accomplished between August 76 and March 77:

He got high as a kite and recorded the primary subject of this week's post in a single night.

He wrote an entirely different record (this week's secondary subject) and taught it to Nicolette Larson and Linda Ronstadt in one sitting.

He recorded 1/2 of that second album with a full band, eventually releasing it as the Side A of American Stars and Bars.

He wrote the highlight of that album - Will To Love, which is arguably the single greatest song of his entire career - and then spent another single night in the studio layering up instruments for it in front of his signature crackling fire - and he has not played the track again a single time since in any setting of any kind, ever. Guess he's had too much else to do.

He released a mixed-at-best record he'd made in the previous six months with Stephen Stills and Joe Freakin' Lala.

He began a full tour with those dopes, playing a month's worth of shows before making new plans Stan and telling them in writing to eat a peach and finish up without him.

He played a full US tour with Crazy Horse instead.

He performed at The Last Waltz.

He found the time to do a lot of cocaine, which is apparently obvious in Scorsese's footage. I've never been able to see the rock in question, however. My working knowledge of Belushidust is clearly negligible.

He continued to write songs about his recent breakup with Carrie Snodgress while starting to romance both the aforementioned Larson and his future beleaguered wife, Pegi. (Plus he surely probably slept with countless other women in this period; Neil was quoted at the time as "really enjoying the bachelor life," which sounds even sleazier than the reality television show of that moniker, which, by the way, should totally feature Neil in its next Golden iteration; after all, he's already demonstrated that he is perfectly willing to ditch his current wife so as to play the field.) Okay, that was just mean. Sorry Neil!

And, right around the moment those six months were up, Young joined yet another band - The Ducks - which was entirely unrelated to all the other bands listed above, and began the process of learning 20+ of their songs.

Plus he chewed a whole lot of Bubblicous and guzzled a whole lot of Natty Light throughout it all.

Yeah, he did all that - except #12: fooled you there! Both delectable items were introduced in the following six months, during which time Young, you guessed it, recorded yet another album of unrelated songs with entirely new musicians.

So, I gotta ask: what the hell did you accomplish between the late summer of 76 and the Spring of 77? I'll bet you can't compete with me or Neil. After all, I crapped my diaper, repeatedly. My mother reports that I "looked just like a frog." I'll bet your lazy ass wasn't even born yet.

Anyway, I stand before you on this very Shakey Sunday prepared to argue that the greatest thing Neil did in that incredibly crammed six months, except for Will To Love, is Hitchiker, the done-in-a-single-altered-night acoustic record which he waited a mere 40 years to release rather than waiting the full 48 so as to include it on Archives 3.

Let's drop the needle already and talk about Hitchhiker's shimmering greatness.

First of all, the whole thing is a poetic work of art. I'm serious. Pocahontas and Powderfinger set the table: both are dreamscape anthems, chock full of heartbreak, guns and waterfowl. And Campaigner may well be Neil's lyrical high-water mark. When roads stretch out like healthy veins and wild gift horses strain the rains I kinda freak out.

Note the previously edited out second verse featured on Hitchhiker: you know a song is lyrically exceptional when a line like "traffic cops are all color blind and people steal from their own kind" submits to the editor's ax.

Plus, beauty has rarely been draped in such stark and hopeless wonder. Indeed, the only record I can think of with a tone to match Hitchhiker is Pink Moon - and what higher praise can you think of than comparing anything to Nick Drake's unadorned-by-anything-or-anyone-else Pink Moon? Neil and Nick had both had it, at least for the moment, with arranging records. So instead they just took the Plastic Ono Band approach and upped Lennon's ante by laying all the songs down in a single take, every last bit of their armor set aside so as to reveal their very souls.

Just compare Give Me Strength and Which Will. Hear two men who could not have been more fundamentally different both asking the kind of fundamental and elemental questions which males are still instructed to avoid out of false courage and idiocy.

Yeah, I know: Neil's song coulda' used one more take as he loses track of the chord structure and melody altogether for parts of the closing. But I still say my comparison is apt even if Shakey and Drake couldn't be further apart on the sobriety and perfectionist spectrums.

Hitchhiker's tone could not be more different than its newly surfaced companion, the here, let-me-show-you-how-our-record-is-gonna-sound session Neil concocted for Linda and Nicolette six months later and which Neil has titled A Snapshot In Time for Archives 3. Snapshot replaces the earlier record's stark and trembling poetics with a big dose of what Ronstadt instantly recognizes on tape as "obnoxiousness."

On the one hand you have the songs Linda was directly referring to: check out, if you can get your hands on it (Neil seems to be clutching many of the tracks from Archives 3 in his self-appointed greedy hands rather than posting them for free on the internet) Young posing as a randy, grinning and stumbling creeper in Saddle Up the Palomino.

Here's the eventual band track.

Neil's mood had clearly shifted a great deal in the intervening six months. Lines like, "it's a cold bowl of chili when life lets you down but to it's the neighbor's wife I'm after" would have had no place whatsoever on Hitchhiker. Nor would the song's attempt at an arena rock riff.

On the other hand, even Snapshot's non-boneheaded songs are a bit obnoxious. Imagine inviting Linda Ronstadt over and then asking her to sing along with lyrics like "hey babe, say your mine all mine" over and over again. She'll do it - if you're Neil Young. But don't fool yourself; she'd rather have been taught Give Me Stength.

Look: I love every moment of A Snapshot in Time, not to mention the first half of the classic record it spawned. But it sure ain't high art.

Hitchhiker though? It'd take me a solid six months just to shout all its transcendent praises.

[arcventi]

Ha hm. This is gonna get heavy I'm going to work through some shit

Jaytim, not necessarily romantic, not sexual Something queerplatonic, I'd say but open to interpretation

TW Death, discussion of Death, Past Major Character death (Jason's), Suicidal thoughts....

I'm actually writing this "live" and I think you can pinpoint the moment I stopped being crushed by existential dread lol

I think I'll throw it up on ao3 too, I'll link it here when I'm done.

"What's it like?"

"Hm?"

Soft autumn light falls through the window and onto the bed where Tim's head is pillowed on Jason's chest.

One of Jason's hands is lazily combing through Tim's hair, the other one is behind his own head.

They've been lying here for a while, ever since Jason came home from working at the library.

He'd found Tim still in bed, staring at the ceiling and wordlessly stripped down to his underwear and slid under the covers next to him. It took a while but eventually Tim moved, settling down on Jason's chest, accepting the comfort but still not talking.

Jason would never press him. He's not Tim's therapist, he's his... Well, they've never really defined it. Does it really matter? As long as they're... Anyway.

He keeps playing with Tim's hair even as the younger man is clearly searching for the right words.

"Dying. Being dead. What's it like?"

Jason's hand freezes for a moment and Tim tenses, opening his mouth again, probably to take his question back. But Jason quickly continues his movement and Tim settles again.

Jason is quiet for a long while. Maybe long enough that Tim thinks he's ignoring the question. But eventually he finds the right words.

"Dying and being dead are two very different things," he finally settles on.

"Right before you die your brain pours out an insane amount of chemicals. That's how you get all those stories about near death experiences. People getting high as a kite because the brain is cooking itself in its own juice. And since you are basically just a bunch of-" he waves the hand that had previously been under his head to indicate general brain stuff- "piloting a meat suit... Well. It lasts for a bit. Maybe even longer than actual brain activity can be recorded but I'm not a scientist and I wouldn't know how to prove that.

But it ends, eventually. You're not dying anymore, you're dead."

He falls silent again.

Tim doesn't make a noise.

"As long as we're alive our brains are always doing something. I don't have... I can't speak for NT people, obviously." He can feel Tim's mouth quirk into a tiny smile. "I'm always thinking about something and the only way to stop it is like... Switching to thinking about prime numbers very intensively."

Tim turns his face to hide his grin in Jason's skin. It brings a smile to Jason's own face to see that he's able to help Tim like this.

He sobers up to answer all of Tim's question, though.

"It's. There is just no way for me even now to conceptualise it. I think that's why humans made up heaven, hell and whatever, because the brain just can't grasp the concept of not being anymore. It's not like falling asleep because even when you sleep you work through stuff. You dream and sometimes after waking up you even remember those dreams. Being dead is. It's really the opposite of being. You don't exist anymore, but there's no you left to know that. It's. There is absolutely no way to accurately describe it. The only way I can define it is through my waking up. One moment I was dying, the next I was alive. There was no in between those moments, because I wasn't. It's not peaceful, it's not a well deserved rest after whatever shit life throws at you, no matter how much you deserve it. It's scary and overwhelming and absolutely indescribable due to the absence of anything to describe."

He falls silent, hand now just resting on Tim's hair. He can feel tears falling from Tim's face onto his chest, sees Tim swallow heavily.

"Okay," he finally says. "Okay."

They keep lying there, together, the sun is slowly setting, and maybe things really will be okay.

[einsteinsugly]

2006. A Dead Father, a Living Son.

Mistakes, mistakes.

That's all he sees, etched in red pen. It's a mindless blur, a kaleidoscope of colors, as he lowers his joint.

Oh, crumpled bits of paper

Filled with imperfect thought

Stilted conversations

I'm afraid that's all we've got

Some remnant of a teacher joke remains at the tip of his tongue, but he sputters. "Maybe I should start using a green pen."

"Dad, you aren't editing the eulogy with red pen, are you?" A beam of light firmly breaks his hellish reverie, eying a printed page littered with red marks. Little red flags, dancing on the page. "Come on."

"I don't think I'm ready." Eric mindlessly gazes at the antsy redhead, the youngest of the bunch, with his jaded green eyes. "Do I have to wear a tie?"

Leah shrugs, her eyes a sharp kaleidoscope of green and blue. "Whatever makes you more comfortable."

"Okay." He unravels his tie, flinging it into a seemingly dark abyss. Only for Leah to swoop in and catch it, with a sassy smirk. "I feel a little bit better."

Leah playfully drapes the tie around her neck, like she's Avril Lavigne. An awkward, feeble attempt to lighten the mood, but she sadly sighs. "Only a little bit?"

"...Yeah." He twirls a red pen with one hand, and attempts to twirl a green pen with the other. Only for the green pen to fall to the floor. "I think your mom would be way better at this."

Leah rolls her blue-green eyes, nearly to the back of her head. As a voice of reason, she picks up the pieces, and sets the green pen back on his desk. "You'd be way better at this, if you weren't as high as a kite."

"Hey, I'm only high enough to keep myself from going crazy." Like mother, like daughter. "You should get your mom to yell at me, too."

So say it loud, say it clear (oh say it clear)

You can listen as well as you hear

Because it's too late, it's too late (it's too late)

When we die (oh, when we die)

To admit we don't see eye to eye

"You should turn that damn song off," She amply suggests, "It's kind of a Debbie downer."

"This song speaks to me," He dramatically defends, "It always reminds me of me and Dad. Kind of like how that Robert Munsch book reminds me of me and Mom. But that's way more pleasant."

Leah nods, the story firmly etched into her memory. "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be?"

"See, but she's still living." A new reality is rearing its ugly head, and he tentatively pushes past a sea of denial. While balling his tepid fists. "I tried to talk to Dad during his living years, but...it always got complicated. We didn't really see eye to eye on anything."

"How about a sense of honor and duty?" Leah offers an awkward olive branch, patting her bewildered father on the shoulder. "Even though it was honor and duty for different things."

"He never liked the different things." An angry, nervous haze refuses to clear, as he speaks his heartfelt truth. "I was never enough of a man, even when I stood up for myself, because he didn't like what I stood for. Not for war, but for peace and love. Hippie things."

Bullets and books are very, very different entities. They're both tools, but one ends a life, and the other? Is a stepping stone, to many, many promising things.

"You just chose to fight different battles, and that's totally okay."

A kaleidoscope of memories flood his mind, a sea of valiant attempts and numerous failures, and he's firmly jaded. As the world keeps on churning, with or without him.

I couldn't make a difference, and Dad couldn't, either. "I think I lost them, just like he lost his."

[mylordshesacactus]

For your hyena cowgirl: 1, 7, 15

THE NEW DYKE!!!!

Everybody, this is Kite:

I just perfected her today! Her actual name is Haliastur Proteles, Hali to acquaintances, Kite to her friends.

She's a Cavalier, mechanically. She became a stockhand, in classic cowboy fashion, to find some peace and quiet and honest work away from the constant noise and chaos of her high-paced city upbringing. And in classic heroic gnoll fashion, she left her clan because she was tired of her family's bloodthirsty amoral ways.

By which I mean of course that they are investment managers at a major hedge fund.

Kite didn't want to live the life of a filthy scavenger stained in the blood of slaughtered innocents, so she became an adventurer! ...Eh. Still better than a business major.

What does your OC feel most ashamed of and/or guilty about? Why?

Remember the housing market collapse in [major city] about eight years ago? That was like, 90% her baby sister. Made millions off it.

That was long after Kite walked out, but...well. She's not actually completely estranged from her family. I mean, her older sister Elanine did try to kill and eat her when she dropped her economics minor, but like, that was one time, you can't carry the past with you like that, if she held a grudge every time a member of her family tried to kill and eat her she'd be too busy to do anything else--

Anyway. She talks to her family, still. Not very close, bit of a rocky relationship, but she visits for holidays and when she's in town and such. They're not abusive, aside from the attempted cannibalism, just.....alien. So she shows up and keeps the peace, because a part of her still loves them even if she can't justify their actions.

She doesn't know how to justify that. Speaking with them, still. Knowing what they are.

What is one thing your OC desperately wants, but can’t have?

Freedom.

Kite would....love, to have no obligations beyond her horse and her family of choice. To go wherever the wind takes her. But that's a tie she.....can't sever. Even if she went no-contact, and she can't bring herself to really want that, she would always be tied to them in her mind. Her heart even.

What does ‘home’ mean to your OC?

When she finds it, she'll let you know.