#which is a problem because evening is usually forbidden to draw at in an attempt to preserve my wrist

[cadcreates]

Day 5 - The Ocean Queen!! This day was the total opposite for yesterday, despite the fact that I briefly glanced at like 2-3 references and other than that did the design from memory. It went so beautifully smoothly and I'm sooo happy with the result!! 10/10 would draw again. Would've added more details if I had more time tho

[mypoisonedvine]

The Summer Before College | Marcus Moreno x reader

summary: just because you got some good scholarships doesn't mean you couldn’t use some extra cash.  luckily, babysitting for a family friend has been a steady side gig for you.  rule number one of babysitting: don't let your wandering eye rest for too long on the hot single dad.  

word count: 4.7k

warnings: smut (dub con elements? but she’s into it lol don’t worry), age gap (he’s 40-something, reader’s 18/19), loss of virginity, pussy spanking (like, once), lots of petnames and ‘good girl’s, not a dark fic but kinda pushing it, not explicitly dad's best friend trope but it has that energy and I've decided that he is in fact friends with the reader's dad

a/n: this has basically nothing to do with the movie.  he’s just a hot dad.  don’t overthink it.

You knew the walk to the Moreno's by now: down two blocks from your house, take a right at San Vicente, a left on Birch, a few houses down and you're there.  With your full backpack weighing on your shoulders it felt longer than usual, but you made it anyways and knocked on the front door. 

"It's open!" a voice called from inside, and you turned the knob and swung the door open.

You almost regretted wearing your tiniest jean shorts, from the way Mr. Moreno did a double take when you walked in.  But hey, it was the middle of summer and he would never look at you like that— you were just his daughter's babysitter, ever since you were sixteen; he was probably just surprised to see that you were wearing something other than your school uniform.  Maybe some part of you wished he would look at you like that… 

Missy called your name, tearing you from your thoughts, jumping up when she saw you and beaming as she rushed to give you a hug.  "Hey!" you greeted in return.  

“Thanks again for doing this,” Mr. Moreno nodded in your general direction, apparently already dressed for whatever it was he had to do, slipping on his jacket from where it hung on a hook by the door.  "She's already had dinner, so just homework and bedtime," he explained to you as you nodded dutifully.

"Bedtime?  Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore," Missy rolled her eyes.

"Okay, you're a big kid and you need to be asleep by 10.  It's a school night."

She huffed but didn't protest, and you joined her on the couch because she wanted to show you some drawings she’d done earlier that day.  "Bye, Dad!" Missy waved when he left, and he turned back quickly to blow a kiss in her direction.

Once you helped her finish her homework (frankly, you didn't have to do that much— she's a smart kid), the two of you enjoyed some video games before you finally got her to start getting ready for bed.

It was cute how confident Missy was that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, only for her to be snoring within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow.  You were envious of how easily she could sleep; you could kill an hour just tossing and turning and readjusting your blanket.  But that wasn’t going to be your problem tonight: you weren’t going to sleep yet, until the man of the house returned, meaning all you had to do was wait.

Even in summer, having already graduated, you had plenty of work to do while you waited for Mr. Moreno.  Knowing what classes you had in the fall, you bought your textbooks a bit early and planned on reading them all before the semester began.  You’d already gotten through Philosophy Through the Ages and now you continued from where you left off in the middle of Introductory Physics.  

What surprised you was that you had time to finish that one, too.  You had anticipated that Mr. Moreno would be back before you made it to the module on fluid dynamics, but you reached the index at a quarter past midnight and he was still gone.  You shrugged and picked up the next one— A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry— hoping he was alright and that he’d be back soon.

You had to make yourself some coffee when 1 a.m. rolled around; tired, anxious, and distracted, you realized this was probably not the best state to be attempting to study in, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice.  You didn’t want to fall asleep here, you’d promised to watch Missy and you couldn’t exactly do that while asleep… plus, he would probably be back any minute now.  Sure, you’d been saying that to yourself for nearly an hour and a half now, but it was more true than ever.

It was another hour and a half, though, until his car pulled into the driveway and he pushed through the front door, prompting you to set aside your textbook.

“Good evening,” you greeted, standing up.  He looked a little disheveled— but it worked for him, with that curly hair all messed up in just the right way.  Maybe it was just that it was late or that it was the rare time you saw him without Missy around, but there was a darkness about him now, not sinister so much as just purely intimidating.  It was like you hadn’t really taken him seriously before, and now you were appreciating that you should have.

“She’s asleep?” he assumed, glancing over to the hallway which his daughter’s bedroom was positioned at the end of before slipping his jacket off and hanging it by the door.

“It’s half past two, so… I really hope so,” you chuckled.

“Shit, is it that late already?” he groaned, glancing at his watch.

“Did you not notice?”

“I.. got carried away.”

You didn’t want to know what he’d been out so late for.  It was none of your business, and you figured you were better off without any secrets to keep— you’d never been so good at keeping secrets, even your own.

“Been studying this whole time?” he noticed as he glanced at the textbooks on the couch, grinning a little.  It sort of felt like he was mocking you, and it made your cheeks warm as you nodded.  ��What a good girl.”

That made a cold tingle crawl up your spine.  Sure, other students had called you that before, and plenty of your teachers, but when he said it, like that… it felt entirely new.  “I try,” you managed to respond eventually.

“You’ll do well in college, I bet.”

“You think so?” you beamed.

“Yeah,” he nodded confidently.  There was something comforting about the way he smiled at you; yet, there was something predatory about the way his eyes glanced down your body and back up slowly.

As you turned and bent over to pick up your textbooks off the couch, you could tell that he had stepped closer; you could just barely hear the soft noise of his footsteps on his carpet, just barely feel the warmth of him behind you, just barely pick up on the slow, thoughtful breath he took in and out through his nose.

Standing back up slowly, you felt him do it again, right against your neck.

“M-Mr. Moreno,” you stammered, shivering when his hands gripped you on either arm.  Not a tight grip, per se, but one that made his strength obvious.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he breathed.  “Not when we’re alone.”

Not that you really had any plan on how to respond to that, but if you had, it would've been forgotten as his lips brushed over your neck, leaving teasing kisses in a trail over your pulse.

"Wait—" you blurted out instinctively when his hands moved to your waist, cut off by your own shaky sigh and suppressed moan.  “What if she wakes up?” you questioned anxiously, glancing down the hallway and hoping you wouldn’t find Missy there, watching her dad feeling you up— and you letting him, not just that but enjoying it.  Of course, the hallway was deserted, but you couldn’t feel certain it would stay that way.

“She won’t,” he assured.  “Not if you can be a good girl and stay quiet.”

You made a little whimpering noise as you wondered if you could.  You didn’t know how, really; you were good at being quiet when you were alone, but being alone had never felt like this.  Forbidden, sexy, terrifyingly wonderful… nothing had ever felt like this.

“Do you want me to stop?” he purred, sounding like he already knew the answer.

“No,” you answered a little too quickly, “please… please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” he grinned.  “Tell me what you do want.”

“I want…” you sighed and started over again, willing yourself to speak your thoughts aloud even though they made a pit of guilt sink in your stomach.  "I want you to make me feel good."

You knew it was a sort of childish way of putting it, even before he laughed at your statement, but you weren't sure what else to say.  "Yeah?  I can do that," he decided.  "But I can make you feel good in so many ways…" he trailed off as his right hand slipped lower and lower, finally landing between your legs as you gasped.  Two fingers slid over the crotch of your shorts, and somehow he managed to bump against something that made electricity shoot up your spine and your hips buck into his touch of their own accord.  You felt his smile widen as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin of your neck.  "You'll have to be more specific," he finally finished.  "How do you want me to make you feel good?"

"Inside me," you whined, "I want you inside me."

There was a sudden shift as it seemed like the control he had over you suddenly did not extend to himself; he growled a bit and pulled you into him, and you could feel the hard shape of his cock, through his trousers and your shorts.  You could feel it pressed just above your ass and it made you squirm against his embrace.  "Feel what you do to me?" he grunted, and you nodded quickly.  "Good."

He spun you around quickly, pulling you close to him and burning right through you with those brown eyes darker than ever, but just as you thought he might kiss you, he spoke instead.

“My bedroom’s upstairs,” he informed you quietly.

You just nodded, following him as he pulled you along through the house, up the stairs and past the door to the master bedroom of the house.

Now that you hadn’t seen it coming, of course, was when he chose to grab you and kiss you suddenly.  It was rough and passionate and nothing like you could've imagined; you were certain you'd never been kissed like this, like he needed to kiss you more than he needed anything.  

Your arms slipped around his neck as he pushed you back against the wall, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he kicked the door shut behind the two of you.  Little moans were muffled by the kiss— and it took you a minute to realize they were yours.  You didn’t even sound like yourself; probably because you’d never felt like this before, and therefore had never had any reason to sound like this.

You could feel his cock between your legs, though unfortunately not in the way you wanted.  Still, it drove you wild to have him so close like this, to try to imagine how the thick shape you were feeling would ever fit inside you.

His hands were so strong and thick that you worried they’d stretch out your tank top just by reaching under it— well, that is you would have worried about that if you could think about anything else but his hands reaching under your tank top.  He didn’t even waste his time touching you over your bra, instead making quick work of the clasps with one hand before coming back to grope one breast in his palm, then the other.  Just that was enough to make you run your fingers into his hair, but a little pinch to your raised nipple made your fists tighten and pull— you didn’t mean to, and you were just about to feel bad about it until he growled a little.  It seemed like a growl of approval, considering he pinched your nipples harder to make you do it again.  

“Feels good?” he asked with annoying (yet arousing) confidence.

“S-so good,” you slurred, stumbling over your words as you tried to think as clearly as possible through the thick haze of pleasure clouding your mind. 

As he guided you to set your legs down and unhook your arms from around his neck, you felt a bit like a doll being posed; when he pulled your top over your head and your bra from your arms, you felt like a doll being undressed.  You sort of didn’t mind it; you were happy to let him take the lead, confident he knew at least 100% more about this than you did. 

He knelt down before you as he roughly pulled at your tight jean shorts, his knuckles nearly bruising your hips as he stripped you.  Your underwear were not the pair you would’ve worn if you had known somebody was going to see them, just a plain dark blue color that made you feel so drab as he came face-to-face with them.  He didn’t seem to mind much, grinning up at you as he slipped his fingers under them and pulled them down, too.  Your face was so hot and yet your legs were breaking out into goosebumps simultaneously, and a shiver rolled up your body when he growled at the sight of your body laid bare for him.  Before you could even process it, he stood up and grabbed you, tossing you back onto the bed and spreading your legs.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praised with a smile that made you feel a little light-headed, swirling a few fingers over your swollen button until pulling them back to spank you there— it wasn’t even that hard, but you yelped and jolted and he laughed darkly.  “So sensitive,” he purred, his words walking a fine line between a compliment and a taunt, “so wet.”

Another finger slipping down to your entrance proved him right, your arousal plentiful as his touch glided through your folds.  

Suddenly overcome with a moment of bravery, you sat up and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, making him smile down at you.  “Let me help you,” he offered as he worked the buttons instead, freeing you to try to open his belt.  “Look at you, acting so desperate…”

At this point, you weren’t even offended by that; you wanted him so bad that you didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by it anymore.  

He slipped the shirt off of his shoulders just as you finished opening the belt.  He pushed your hands away, and now you could see the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you down by your wrists.  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, señorita,” he purred.

Why did feeling powerless to him turn you on so much?  There was no real fear to it— you knew and trusted him, you would never have developed your misguided crush on him if you didn’t— and yet there was a strong edge of uncertainty as he kissed your neck and moved down your chest, between your breasts before he stopped to kiss those, too.

“Oh god,” you breathed, and he smiled against your skin before sitting up and staring down at you.  It wasn’t apparent if it was distant streetlights or the moonlight shining in through the window, but either way it cast a cold blue light into the room that reflected as a glimmer in his eyes. 

“Not gonna make you wait any longer,” he promised in a low voice, reaching down to push his unbuttoned belt and trousers to his thighs— those thick, muscular thighs that made your lip catch between your teeth.

Your breath caught, too, but in your lungs this time as his cock was exposed: thick, swollen, veiny… it looked picturesque, if thoroughly intimidating.  You couldn’t figure out if you wanted to move towards it or sheepishly crawl away.

"Why do you look scared?" he asked, his voice so much deeper than you remembered it from before, even if there was genuine concern somewhere in his tone.

"Is it gonna hurt?" you asked instead of answering.

"Baby…" he sighed huskily, "are you a virgin?"

You bit your lip and looked away, irritated that you hadn't managed to hide your fear enough to keep your secret.  

He sighed, your silence apparently answer enough.  

"Do you not want to, anymore?" you asked anxiously, afraid you had completely killed the mood.  Part of the reason it'd taken you this long to lose it was specifically because people seemed intimidated by the idea of being your first.

"No, no, I— no," he asserted sternly.  "I just need to… change my approach, slightly.”

He leaned down a bit, hovering over you as he trailed his hand up your leg, rubbing the inside of your thigh before finally drawing circles over your aching clit with his thumb, causing you to shiver and moan quietly.

“And, to answer your question, it won’t hurt.  Not if I get you good and ready for me,” he explained, pushing just one finger into you— and even that small of a stimulation made your eyes flutter shut, with his fingers being so much thicker and stronger than yours.

The second made your fists clench around the satin-y sheets beneath you.  You didn’t dare open your eyes, knowing you’d find him staring down at you and you weren’t ready for that, weren’t ready to see his reaction to your body in such a vulnerable state.  You could hear his reaction, though, with the rough groans and satisfied sighs he let out as he pumped his fingers into you.

When three fingers filled you, your eyes shot open.  “Fuck!” you yelped.

He smiled but slowed down, apparently taking some pity on you— but not enough to stop him from pressing down harder on your clit.

Just when you figured he’d warmed you up enough and he’d fuck you like he promised, he slid lower and the bed and bent down, adding his tongue into the mix with his fingers.  It was… overwhelming, and hot, not just psychologically but literally: it was physically hot, as in temperature.  How was his mouth so warm against you, and his fingers so warm inside you?

When he latched his lips around your clit and sucked on it, you saw stars.  Energy gathered in your gut and burned so bright that you thought you might explode.  Really, it was more like an implosion as the coil inside you snapped and your thighs accidentally clamped down on his hand.  It didn’t faze him though, it didn’t even slow him down as he moaned a little against you and curled his fingers even harder.  You didn’t remember reaching down to grab his head, you just felt his hair between your fingers as you pulled it roughly, gasping his name.

When he did stop, sitting up and wiping his face with the back of his hand, you just looked back up at him as you caught your breath.  He laughed, and you realized you were gawking unintentionally.

“I’m guessing you’ve never come like that before?” he ventured.  You didn’t know if ‘like that’ meant from oral or just so suddenly and intensely, but it was true either way so you nodded.

When he reached down to grip his cock with the same hand still wet with your slick, you held your breath without realizing it.  “Please put it in me,” you whimpered.

“I will,” he assured as he guided the head of it through your slick folds, stopping to tease your clit as you jolted from the contact on the sensitive nerves.  Something surreal and indescribable tingled under your skin— you could hardly believe that this was happening, let alone with him, with Mr. Moreno.  Or, Marcus.  You were on a first-name basis by now, surely.

He pushed forward in one smooth, slow stroke until he was all the way inside you, his body filling yours to the brim as you quivered from the sensation of being stretched so wide.  

“Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.

“...almost,” you answered hesitantly, unsure how to describe the sensations you were feeling; not exactly pain, but not not pain.  The favorite pain you’d ever felt in your life, easily.

He chuckled as he gripped your hips a little tighter.  "I'm gonna move now," he announced.  You nodded your approval, sighing shakily as he pulled his hips back and you felt the intoxicating friction of his cock against your walls.  

"Ffffuck," you whimpered, gasping when he slammed his hips forward again.  Your eyes rolled back in your head when he pushed as deep into you as he could with each thrust, still measured but not exactly gentle as he set a pace faster than you’d prepared for.  But it was good, god it was so fucking good you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.  "Marcus," you sighed, barely recognizing your own voice when it was heavy with need and arousal like this.

He grinned when he heard his name cross your lips, grinding his hips against yours for emphasis until you were forced to arch your back.  "You like it rough, don't ya, honey?"

You nodded, confident that you liked it however he was doing it.

"Fuck, I knew it.  Knew as soon as I saw you."

Before you could wonder what he meant by that, he was already moving fast enough to make your head spin.  You had never had anything so deep inside you before, and when he pushed your legs up and back against your chest, you had no choice but to scream with pleasure.

Just before you reached the peak of it though, his hand clamped down over your mouth to muffle the sound.  "Gotta be quiet," he reminded you through his teeth before relaxing his hand a bit so you could still be heard somewhat

"I can't," you whined, "Marcus, please, I can't stay quiet—"

"You have to."

"Feels too good," you whimpered your excuse.  "F-fuck, slow down, I won't be able to stop it—"

He cut you off with a kiss, slow yet dominating, and your moans were muffled by his lips.  You still sounded so loud in your own head, but at least your cries weren't echoing against the walls of his room anymore.

What was echoing were the sounds of skin slapping on skin as he pounded into you, roughly finding every delicate spot within you and making the backs of your thighs sore as his hips slammed into them.  It forced your hands to grip at his muscular shoulders and your nails to dig into the skin there.  You hoped there would be little half-moon shaped marks there tomorrow, maybe one would even scar so he'd have your mark on his body forever; after all, he'd carved a permanent space in your body by taking your virginity.  Even if you couldn't dream of being as special to him as he was to you, you liked the idea of giving him something that he couldn't give back.

That energy was building again, different from before but no less powerful and persistent.  "I'm gonna— fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm so close," you whispered.

“Yeah?  Go ahead," he encouraged.  "I wanna see you fall apart just for me, wanna feel you come around my cock."

You hadn't realized he'd be able to feel it, and the idea of that was so filthily beautiful that it pushed you over the edge, your whole body tensing up in sudden waves of pleasure so intense that it made your eyes water.

Through the static filling your ears, you heard his low, husky voice encouraging you: "Good girl, just like that, don't fucking stop."

You'd always been powerless to his voice, but this was another level.  It was as if your body understood and met his demands, continuing to ride the peak of your sensation so long as he growled in your ear just right.  

It was much too tender, the way he brushed the stray hair away from your face, the way he kissed your slack mouth again, the way he held you tighter and mumbled more praises to you.  It was more romantic than it had any right to be, and you had to bite back the words of affection threatening to spill out of your mouth.

I love you, you wanted to tell him, I've loved you for years, but it was beyond inappropriate.  You didn't want to play the role of the innocent virgin who thinks sex means being in love and lets herself catch feelings for the older man who is just taking what he wants and, at best, doing her a favor so she doesn't have to go off to college and get her cherry popped there.  Maybe that was accurate, but that wasn't who you wanted to be.  

You wanted to be sexy, and mature, and in control.  You wanted to play a new rule, one that still felt foreign and yet closer than ever.  So you wrapped your legs around his hips and held him deeper in you, smiling with a little growl of your own.

"I want you to come inside me," you informed him with a purr, loving the little moment of shock that passed over his face before he groaned, fucking you a little faster and more erratically.

"Fuck, really?" he rasped.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and nodded.

"You're on the pill?"

Another nod, this one finished off with a shiver as you wondered how much more of this your body could take.

He grinned and picked up the pace again, his moans getting a little louder with each movement.  "Fuck, I'm gonna come— gonna fill up your tight little pussy, is that what you want?"

You nodded feverishly, already close to the edge again as you imagined what it would be like to have his come in you for the rest of the night.  Was he going to make you walk home with it leaking out from between your legs?  Why did that idea make your inner muscles involuntarily tighten around him?

With a string of curses and a grip on your thigh tight enough to bruise, he reached his own peak and you felt his cock flex and pulse inside you, a new warmth filling your gut from the inside out.  

It's hard to say how long the two of you stayed like that, since you were busy basking in the afterglow (and, less enjoyably, worrying about the consequences that tomorrow morning would bring).

When he pulled out and collapsed beside you, you wondered if you should get up and get dressed.

"Stay here tonight," he instructed you, as if somehow a response to your internal thought.  "Your folks won't freak out if you're out all night, right?"

"I'll just tell them I slept over at your place," you shrugged.  With a confused look from him, you clarified: "on the couch."

"Right," he nodded as he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you closer, letting you rest your head in the crook of his neck.  In this way and in so many others, it was how you expected (and hoped) losing your virginity would go: someone you trust and who cares about you, with enough attention on you that you didn't feel much pain, plus cuddling afterwards.  But, in even more ways, it was unlike what you'd ever thought possible: it felt incredible and you came so hard that your ears were still kind of ringing, you didn't use a condom or even think to mention it, and finally— and most absurdly— it was with Marcus fucking Moreno.

Frankly, considering his performance earlier, "fucking" very well could be his middle name.

"You should sit for me again next week," he suggested quietly.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

"No," he grinned, "but I'll be sure to come back real late, after she's gone to bed, so I can show you all the other ways I can make you feel good."

"H-how many ways are there?!"

He just laughed, pulling you closer and placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.  “Oh, sweetheart… so smart, but so innocent.  We can fix that.”

You weren’t sure entirely which of those two things he intended on fixing.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 127: Out of the Fire

At first James thought the concussive, ear-splitting shrieking noise was coming from him. He knew he wanted to scream, but the air felt lodged in his throat now, because he couldn't see Sirius! Had he been vanished into an unknown abyss for dying in this future!?

They were in a very dark room and something massive was moving about, a sunset was forcing painful light into their eyes from cracks around the edges of heavy curtains only illuminating movement but no distinct shape. The rank smell of several unidentifiable things left him gasping and wheezing and he just kept flailing madly around, he wouldn't stop until he found him!

Something painfully tight latched onto his neck and forced him to bend over double, he shrieked in fury, trying to pull away and blindly going for his wand, but he couldn't find it! He must have dropped it when he landed-

"Prongs, stop, moving," Remus hissed in his ear with more stress than he ever would have believed him capable of, hand probably white-knuckled on his neck, he was holding so tight and suffocating him a bit, but it was obvious Moony didn't dare let up.

Heart still thudding, the maddening scene of Voldemort murdering his brother slowly ebbed from his eyes to really take in their surroundings.

Buckbeak finally began to calm now that all racket had deceased, but he was still clicking his beak in fury even as all of them edged as far away as they could bent double. He was standing much taller than usual, and James's eyes finally adjusted to see him perched on a bed. There was fresh hay and sawdust all around, plus a bag of dead rats sitting where the pillows should, leaning against a wooden frame like a mock bag of feed. There were deep scratches in the posts, ruining whatever design had once been inlaid, like Buckbeak often rubbed his sharp beak against it. The real problem of why he didn't go back to his meal came apparent when they saw all the blood around him wasn't from his food, but a deep cut in his front leg.

Sirius finally came into view, and James breathed in relief and tried to move towards him, but Remus kept him in the forced bow with bruising force as Padfoot began gently, "hey there buddy, wow that looks like a problem. I bet it hurts, how'd you manage that huh? Come here Buckbeak, come on, I promise I'll summon up whatever your favorite is if you let me have a look."

Maybe it was the gentle tone, maybe it was the familiarity of the person even if he was several years younger, in Remus's opinion it was just Sirius's innate ability to soothe anyone if he wanted to with that natural charisma when he unleashed it and nobody could resist. Regardless, Buckbeak finally folded his wings and made a pitiful cooing noise as he nudged his head against his shoulder and shuffled forward on three legs while Sirius kept up his inane chatter and carefully climbed up beside him, never moving to fast.

There were already some bandages and cotton balls waiting open and ready at the foot of the king sized bed, Sirius ruddy hoped someone was up here helping the poor thing out. He could now only wish it was himself though, it would be the most useful thing he'd ever done in his life at this point instead of- nope! He was doing it now, taking every care to keep chatting with the hippogriff as he cleaned the wound and wrapped it up tight. He didn't dare draw his wand to try anything else, these beasts were notoriously shy about magic in their presence.

The others began cautiously rising back to normal, and Buckbeak allowed it as Sirius began hand-feeding him from the bag of rats. His tail was still thrashing, binocular vision able to track everything on both sides of his head, but he remained at Sirius's side standing on the bed rather than trying to chase them off, which would do no good, he'd already seen Evans try the door out of the corner of his eye.

James tried edging forward, but Buckbeak spat a dead rat in his face, tearing up his bedding with his good claw as he heavily pawed the ground. Sirius reached up and pat his beak while catching James's eye with the most comforting smile he could offer. "Relax Prongs," his tone was still more honeyed than it had ever been speaking to his best mate, he usually reserved such a thing for teachers he was trying to flatter out of detention. It never worked on anyone but this hippogriff before. "I'm, I'm fine-"

He couldn't keep lying, his voice shook and his fingers began to tremble and the restless animal easily sensed his distress and began ruffling his feathers in unease. Sirius quieted himself and began running his hand along the gray feathers now, stopping to scratch in between the shoulder blades and the back of the neck, those hard-to-reach places that had him almost cooing with content and finally relaxing into him.

No, he was not fine. Of all the trouble he'd ever caused his friends, this was by far the most grievous one yet, now with Harry added to the mix! His godson, his poor godson forced to see this, live Voldemort's pleasure of murdering him! All because he couldn't do one stupid thing right and suck it up in this house. Perhaps he should take a page out of Wormtail's book and start distancing himself from them, give them all a break from his never ending catastrophes!

They watched in distress as Sirius worked himself up to a silent storm, he was clearly making the animal ill at ease as well no matter the affection given, so when Smith grabbed the book up off the ground and began reading, both startled badly yet again. Buckbeak threw his wings to their full extent and shrieked at her while Sirius flinched and had no time to duck, earning the retaliation of being thrown into the heavy curtains and sent them all on top of him, throwing the rest of the room into sharp relief.

Out of the Fire, into the frying pan, Remus finished in his head as he and James rushed forward to help untangle him while the powerful horse legs kicked wildly at the wall, sending a splintering noise in the very foundation while the bellowing shrieks began again.

Alice dropped the book and immediately bowed in apology, mildly appeasing the hippogriff enough he didn't lunge off the bed to attack her at least. He still didn't seem able to settle though, making a keening noise of longing and clicking his beak as he began pacing restlessly on the bed.

It was the most splendid thing in here. The midnight walls had silvery threads in the design up to the ceiling like veins that seemed to seep right down to the canopy that was torn to shreds, but the grandeur ended there. Regulus had only been in here once to even know such a thing was in his parents' room, otherwise it was unrecognizable as all of their things had vanished. They were forbidden from entering, but obviously that hadn't stopped Sirius's purge of the house, which of course made perfect sense why Sirius had put his ruddy pet up here.

His brother smiled, just a bit when his mates got him back on his feet and he realized the same of his own destruction. Regulus longed to throw at him it was doing shit like this why he brought so much of his own troubles on himself, he'd never really tried to make peace with mum and dad. Instead he seemed to go out of his way to do things they dislike just to complain that they hated him.

Regulus cringed at the idea of going back and attempting the same. He'd never be so blatant and in their face at it as his brother, but he didn't much like the idea of them shouting at him the way they did Sirius if he told them he had other plans for his life. He still longed for some kind of peaceful balance.

Potter and Lupin both seemed reluctant to let him back out of arm's length, but the creature refused to settle until Sirius got back on the bed with him and snapped dangerously at anyone who tried to join him. Sirius offered him another rodent carcass and waited until he'd gnashed away at it before nodding back at Smith with that calm aloof air once more he was so familiar with, it was impossible to tell what he was really thinking when he shut down like that, just how they were raised. Mother may actually be proud of him at that moment.

Now his idiot brother was going to die because he'd been in this house too long and refused to listen to anyone, but at least he'd have someone around to notice like Harry and Lupin. The shock of it all felt like an insulting blow to his world view. Sirius was going to be murdered for doing the opposite of what he'd done, was there really no right answer?

She began again in an attempt at a soothing tone like his, and though the bird head was tossed in agitation, he didn't throw his companion aside again but allowed the noise as it did him no harm and her voice was very soft, with fear. She read with dread of poor Harry's panic as he tore off for the Hospital Wing for McGonagall, who wasn't there. She'd been transferred to St. Mungo's.

Harry only had Snape to turn to for help, and that idea didn't seem to be occurring to him as his friends caught up and he had to explain the whole maddening concept to them.

Regulus listened with pity for Harry having to live through this, but something else was ebbing to the surface as he watched the Potter in here. Envy. Sirius kept looking to him, offering him that carefree smile as he kept patting at the beast and even winking at Lupin like this was some joke, making silly faces and even starting to hum a tune under his breath as he continued scratching at the animal, and when he wasn't doing that he was just the haughty Black heir. For all anyone could tell his godson was out having a picnic with him. It was a very good farce a lesser person would have fallen for.

Sirius didn't even look at him. Not to gloat this was the proper way to go against the Dark Lord, not to sneer and mock him for being up in this room he shouldn't be or even to have a laugh about it. He'd known for a very long time now James Potter was his brother's equal in a way he never could be, but this hadn't felt quite so insulting until this very moment where he clearly wasn't even going to be a passing blip as his brother was probably over there pondering what his last thoughts would be.

Frank had his hands on Alice's waist as she read, holding her close as her voice trembled for Harry's pain. They didn't even know Sirius, not really, they felt they had a better understanding of the man he'd become through Harry than the teenager who seemed so determined to ignore the proceedings.

Their aching sympathy though didn't dim their downright confusion at the circumstances. He caught Lily's eyes and saw the same confused expression as she watched him, Hermione's pertinent questions that had no effect on Harry had the three of them very worried something about this wasn't feeling right.

Sirius shouldn't have been leaving this home for this plan to be possible, but this was the same man who'd broken out of Azkaban, that part wasn't so unbelievable no matter who told him what. Why would You-Know-Who need him to get this weapon though? That was a very stumping question, and one they hoped they weren't privy to. If Harry dipped back into the other's mind and heard, the answer would give no relief to these transgressions.

Ron's answer was, plausible, but one look at Regulus didn't make it hold much weight. He'd been killed very soon after his entrance, it seemed laughable he'd even been in You-Know-Who's presence, let alone had some key of knowledge.

Ginny and Luna arriving stopped the impending argument, Harry was so desperate with anger by now that it was a miracle a plan was agreed by all to use Umbridge's fireplace to check this out.

The only one he spoke to for his troubles was Kreacher, laughing about the entire painful situation. Sirius really wasn't there, and now they may get a live version of hearing the great and mighty Black turn out like them if he was tortured while Harry was forced to watch. Neville now being in the very room with them nearly made reality splinter before their eyes.

Lily finally dragged her eyes off of James Potter's white face and buried her own away in her hands so she didn't have to see his reaction when Harry finally remembered Severus Snape was a member of the Order. She didn't even believe anymore he would have helped Harry, she didn't believe much of anything anymore. Here she was, nearly crying in sorrow for these two and only able to imagine her poor son losing someone again, and hating her best friend, what on Earth was this future? How could it be possible something like this could exist?

Something in her sparked traitorously as she looked back up when she heard him lying to Umbridge. Veritaserum was far from the only truth serum, and for him to pretend he wouldn't have any others was laughable. She turned mechanically back to Potter to see his silent screaming was still in full blast, but his wand was in Lupin's hand and he didn't even seem to care. Even the simple fact that he hadn't a reaction for Severus and only had eyes for his best friend felt right to her. If he'd gone about insulting him now, at a time like this, she'd know he was heartless. Instead she was now reasonably confident, almost hopeful again that Severus really was still in the Order for Dumbledore's secret reason rather than any plot of You-Know-Who's. Sev had no reason to lie to Umbridge and help Sirius anymore than he would Harry, but that's exactly what he was doing.

Harry seemed to miss this revelation, he watched his potions teacher go with the purest loathing once more, and she couldn't blame him, after everything Snape had done to her boy. She wrapped her arms around herself as if torn in two. Was this just another false wish then? She still wanted to see in him that childhood friend? It didn't excuse what he'd called her, but maybe if he really saved Sirius Black's life it would show he wanted to change...

Alice nearly shrieked and wanted to throw the book away from herself when Umbridge's next solution was to use the torture curse on Harry. Buckbeak was still no calmer in the heavy environment and glowered at her, but Sirius was quick to keep his attention, a murmuring promise of more spoils for him as soon as he could. He was starting to lose his composure though, they could all see the cracks now. He wasn't even looking at his best mate anymore, his fingers were trembling in the soft texture and his hair was covering most of his face.

The two had once been each other's salvation in escaping Hogwarts, Sirius fought the mad desire to try so now. Throw open that window and ride off into the sunset on the back of the hippogriff, maybe animals could come and go from this nightmare.

He knew he couldn't though, he felt like a coward for even thinking it. His friends might be better off without him, but damn it all, even Hermione was coming up with quite the story to Umbridge's face and got Harry out of that situation, the three of them heading off to the Forbidden Forest! If that girl, who hadn't even wanted to help him moments ago, thinking Harry was having some nightmare, could manage that, he'd suck it up and be there for them any way they wanted him.

[valdarian]

Invader Zim-Infinite Pink ch.8

Summary: Selfish Arc, part 1

Past, present and future. A look into Zim and Theron's past. Someone doesn't have the best intentions for Zim. WARNING: This arc will deal with potentially triggering/uncomfortable topics. Please read with caution!

Notes:

DISCLAIMER AND WARNING: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION! ============================1.) There will be things that will be covered, that could be highly uncomfortable or triggering to some. This fic is intended for a mature audience and will be covering some traumatic topics. The events in this story are entirely fictional and merely done for dramatic effect. However, they are not intended to poke fun or downplay the real-life seriousness of these issues. 2.) It will contain references and implied teacher/student relations and references and implied sexual and physical abuse/assault. Dubious consent. Abuse of power/coercion. Murder/attempted murder. If you or anyone you know is suffering from any kind of abuse or struggling with recovery, please do not be afraid to get help. There is more options than you may think. Contact your local authority or nearest shelter. Here are a few sites that may help you to Identify and Report Abuse or discover resources for recovery: thehotline.org, childhelp.org or victimconnect.org National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255 ================================

Author notes:

I apologize for the late update and want to again thank everyone who has read this story. You guys are great.

I had wanted this arc to be condensed into one chapter, so as to be easily skippable. However I felt that there was a lot more I wanted to add to the story, that unfortunately tied closely around this time period/event. As this does play a large role in the story in regards to the Tallest past and a certain character. Initially it resulted in me wanting to have this arc written out in its entirety before i uploaded as a result. Which is why it's taken me a bit longer to upload then usual. I have quite a bit of the rest of the work finished, but I know i'm bound to add more to it. However since it has been so long already, i said screw it and went ahead and posted this part now.

Because of that, I put warnings on Bid's sections instead. Incase anyone wishes to skip these parts. Bid was intentionally made to be the slimiest creep.

Please be advised.

Most of all, stay safe.

==(WARNING ON!)==

(Bid's office: Undetermined time. Bid's POV)

Bid rested his chin on one hand, tapping the desk with the other.

It turns out that Zim had only been cleaning the archive of his own volition. Bid had investigated nearly every nook and cranny with a feverish mania after Zim had left. There hadn't been anything out of the ordinary. Not a single camera or recording device.

It still left him on edge.

What if he had missed one?

He'd been so paranoid, he hadn't even got to finish the rest of his favorite sweet.

Someone had entered his secret domain. Bid frowned, he still wasn't too pleased that he might have to abandon his favorite spot.

It wasn't as if he cared if Zim came to the archive, now that he'd set his sights on the younger Irken. It would definitely make everything a lot easier...but, that other Irken could be trouble.

Perhaps he should plan around that.

It wasn't like it was that unheard of for students to have...accidents.

Oh, well! He let out a small laugh. It's not like it was his fault, maybe they just needed to be more careful.

He tapped the desk again. A sigh of longing left him.

What a pretty little Irken.

Even in the dark of the archive. Those large magenta eyes had shown brightly, drawing him right in. He'd barely been able to contain himself, still lingering with unspent arousal.

That ridiculous cleaning gear coming off, revealing such an Irken! It had been like a present being unwrapped. Just for him! Zim must have known, maybe that's the real reason the smaller Irken had been down there. Zim had purposely been teasing him, trying to entice him! Bid was sure of it now.

He had been so consumed by thoughts of the other since then.

What else lay hidden beneath the rest of those clothes?

His pants suddenly felt too tight for comfort. He'd been holding back from his sweets since then.

He'd been too careful to slip up now.

Even the control brains hadn't caught onto him. So much time spent subtlety disconnecting the information charge pods(1) on his level. Keeping a careful eye on his selective sweets. Getting rid of any hiccups.

Days passed, then weeks. No one came for him.

He was being ridiculous! Bid had nothing to fear, but of course, why should he? The laws were stupid anyhow. They were all pent up. How was keeping them strict and stiff helping anyone? Obviously, anyone in his position would do the same. Why should he force himself to hold back? They all wanted this too. Bid was sure of it. They just didn't have the backbone to take it.

His hand traveled down to help alleviate his 'problem'. A moan left him.

How sweetly would those magenta eyes look drowned in ecstasy? A few strokes.

How would Zim's skin feel? Would it be as soft as it looked under his touch? His hand moved faster.

How would Zim's voice sound, begging him for more? He was so close!

If it hadn't been for that other Irken...

His eyes narrowed. Mood suddenly ruined.

He could feel himself deflate, after a moment he tucked himself back into his pants with an angry sigh.

Just another thing that other Irken ruined for him!

Zim still hadn't returned to the archive yet.

Bid was becoming impatient.

What of that other Irken? What was their relationship with Zim? What if they already had a taste of what was his? What if they were doing it right now!

One of his hands turned into a fist. He was wasting precious time!

How Zim had flown under his rader was beyond the instructor. It didn't even matter if Zim was apart of another class. He wasn't going to let the smaller Irken out of his sight now.

All it did, was make Zim into a far sweeter, forbidden fruit!

Bid couldn't wait any longer.

A knock to his office door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly made himself presentable.

"Enter."

A young, pretty eyed Irken came into view.

Just his type.

"What did you find out?"

The smaller Irken shifted in nervousness as they approached him, handing over a tablet. Bid couldn't help but grin.

"He has a very small group of friends. Although they seem to only interact during class or lunch periods. An Irken named Skoodge is the only one he seems to regularly hang out with. Which makes sense since their partners and al-" Bid's unimpressed looked had them quickly continuing their report. "Skoodge is a fairly popular Irken and in the top twenty combatants in the academy."

Skoodge? That name sounded familiar. Voot had probably boasted about the Irken at some point. A frown tugged at his lips. Was this that other Irken in the archive? He was popular? That could pose a problem. He'd think about that later though.

Bid swiped through the tablet as pictures of the robust irken appeared. An unimpressed scoff left him.

Top twenty combatants? When had the Academies standards gotten so low?

However, this wasn't the other Irken in the archive. Bid hadn't gotten a good look at them as he watched behind a bookshelf. He only knew that they were a good head or two taller than Zim. This...Skoodge was far too short, only a inch or two taller than Zim.

He made a motion for the younger Irken to continue.

"Recently however, he had been spending more time with one of his other classmates..."

Bid supposed an Irken as pretty as Zim would be the center of attention.

However, that just wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all.

He needed to cut any unnecessary ties that stood between them. Zim would understand. He would make him understand.

"Who else?"

They hesitated for a moment. This didn't go unnoticed by the older Irken.

"Who?" His patience was thin.

"V-Voel, He is the current highes-"

His fist slammed onto the desk.

Voel! He knew that name. Just another Voot in the making! Voot made it well known his class had the best talents, rubbing it in Bid's face any time he could.

Where did that old qrooza even get off!

Even though he, Bid had been the top of his own year when he had graduated. He nearly made it into the elites for Irk's sake! Before he was so wrongfully snubbed a better position. Forced to waste away teaching ungrateful smeets. He was too good for this!

'You need to learn some humility.' 'You're too reckless.' His old commander had said. 'It'll do you some good.' 'You should be honored." His commander had said.

What a load of Srull shit!

If he ever saw them again!

Why did he need to learn such things? Enemies didn't care about humility! So what if he was a little reckless! He always ended up the victor regardless.

All that mattered in life, was how much stronger you were than those beneath you. Power was everything and he deserved it all.

That's why he had contested Voot at one point in the past. Voot was always mocking him. He was sure of it. He'd never been good enough for the older Irken. Not as a cadet and not as a fellow instructor.

He'd show him! The need to wipe that smug grin off the older Irken's face was all too much. There's no reason for him to lose. Bid was younger and obviously a far better fighter than that that decrepit Irken!

Yet, he'd been humiliated.

Now the old coot had recently been asking him for another rematch. Voot really took him for a fool!

It not like it was even his fault! His students were just terrible. While the control brains gave him plenty of sweets. The rest were all duds. They weren't worth their weight in snacks!

Why did he have to suffer such mistreatment?

"Anyone else" He growled.

The smaller Irken stuttered. "N-No. Z-Zim is not a very social Irken. In Fact, I haven't seen him with Vo-" Bid's eyes narrowed. "...Uh, um with that Irken for a while now."

Bid let out a small hum. That was good then. His sweet was doing their job well. Maybe he was just worrying over nothing.

"What does he do when not interacting with his...friends?" Bid said, an edge still to his voice.

"He often spends most of his time studying. Zim is among the top three in educational academics in the entire academy." They continued.

Putting the issue of Voot's prized student aside, Bid focused in on that.

So, Zim was highly intelligent? It definitely put more legitimacy to the young Irken's story. Yet, it also posed its own problem. It might not be as easy as he thought to engage the younger Irken. Zim might be too smart for his own good.

However, what game was fun without a little challenge?

"He likes to study? Where does he spend most of this time?" Zim hadn't stepped foot back into the archive as far as he knew. There had to be someplace else the smaller Irken went then.

"His room, I think." They wrung their hands.

"You think..."

Void! Voot's dorms were both on the other side and on another level of the academy. It would be difficult to explain why he was wandering another instructor's dormitories and if Voot caught him...

Bid sighed. He needed to find another way to get to Zim.

"Where does he place on combat abilities?"

He needed to at least know how to handle the younger Irken. Just incase Zim decided to be...difficult.

"I-I don't know." They stuttered.

"You don't know." Bid's eyes narrowed.

They wrung their hands together again. Oh, Irk! They were upsetting him. What if he punished them?

"No one I asked seemed to really know. Zim usually avoids fighting. He was in the infirmary recently. For a long time too, I heard." They rushed out.

Bid tapped his fingers. He'd heard about some student's PAK going haywire a few months back. Had that been Zim?

How could he use this?

"...and Instructor Voot has not allowed him to participate in any fights recently as well." They added nervously.

Bid made noise. That didn't seem like Voot. The older Irken had always been an unmoving hardass. Who's entire philosophy seemed to revolve around a sink or swim mentality. Did the older Irken have a soft spot?

Oh, this could be fun!

An idea suddenly comes to him.

As it stood, Zim was out of his reach. Yet, Voot himself had given Bid an opportunity.

What was a tiny loss if he was able to gain something greater?

"Good work my sweet."

They smiled timidly.

Ah, his sweets were so cute!

...and soon he'd have the sweetest.

"Come here, I think you deserve a reward." Bid smirked.

He wasn't going to deny himself any longer.

==(WARNING OFF!)==

============================

(Planet Irk: First timeline. Capital city: Emperor's palace, Tallest chambers)

Theron hunched over a tablet on the edge of a bed. Purple eyes narrowed as they scrolled through it.

"What do you even hope to find?" Voel asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against a column.

"Something, anything! Ugh!" Theron threw the tablet onto the bed out of frustration. Before throwing himself backwards onto it too, arms stretched out. He let out a huff.

Voel walked over to pick it up.

"There is still so much I don't remember!

"I Know." Voel agreed, scrolling through the device. There was patchs he could recall, then blank spaces in between, far too many, it felt like.

He could understand Theron's frustration.

"The control Brains don't know anything either!"

"You actually asked the control Brains!?" Voel pauses his search in shock.

Was Theron insane! What if the control brains thought they were defective?

Yet, they were still here...then maybe...

"Did they say anything?"

"No!" Theron scowled. "They said they had no record of ever tampering with any of our memories."

Red eyes narrowed.

Theron made a mocking mechanical voice. "It would be highly illogical, for us to reset the rulers of Irk."

"Reset?" Voel's brow scrunched.

"Yeah. I guess..uh..previous memories could be moved to a 'storage', allowing new memories to be made. While the old ones could be kept safe and sound within the core(2)."

Voel nodded, he knew about the importance of their cores. If their organic bodies were merely transportation for a PAK, then the PAK was equally the same for their cores.

Many believed it to be the center of their software. As a PAK's hardware could be replaced, as long as the core remained intact. Others thought it was the true cardiac-spooch of the Irken, the entirety of everything they were. Their soul as some liked to say.

"It's supposed to prevent this exact kind of thing from happening. Vengeful Irken's and corruption and all that, ya know. Unless the core was destroyed, everything would always remain. Apparently it had been some sort of fail safe by the creator."

"Wait, what? Creator?" Voel shook his head in disbelief. "The PAK had a creator? Like, an Irken creator? An actual fleshy Irken? I just thought the control brains had made our PAKs."

Theron waved a hand lazily, he didn't know anything more. The control brains hadn't elaborated. Quickly moving on to a new topic. He'd been too preoccupied with his quest for memories to pay attention to it at the time.

Voel rubbed his chin in thought, other arm crossed below it, still holding the tablet. "Did they say anything else?"

"They just said it would be illegal for anyone other than them to do so." Theron frowned.

Voel frowned as well.

"But, they did say, that our memories had been tampered with....heh" The purple eyed Irken let out an un-amused laugh. "However, since we know that the perpetrator is already dead..." Theron spit out the last part.

"I see..." Voel sighed, tossing the tablet back down. "...so does that mean they knew this entire time?"

"Maybe. I don't know." Theron said softly. "They seemed just as confused as I was about our memory loss. Well, as much as a machine can sound confused." Theron's brow scrunch together.

The Brains had scanned his PAK, searching for these missing memories. A jolt of electric shock had ran through him.

It had hurt.

It had been terrifying.

It had felt...violating.

Had they really put Zim through something like this?

Those bulbous lights of the machines had seemed to glow brighter with each passing second.

One minute had passed, then another.

What were they seeing?

Suddenly he was hoisted higher in the air. A part of him had thought, that this was it! He was going to go out the same way as Zim had.

He'd messed up! He shouldn't have asked them!

"EXPLAIN."

Eventually, they had let him go. Thank the old gods for his silver tongue!

"Isn't there a way to have them just...get our memories back? Like, they still exist, they're just buried, right?"

"I asked that." Theron threw a arm over his eyes.

A minute of silence stretched between them.

"Well?" Voel asked after a moment, a note of annoyance in his tone.

Theron moved to sit up, leaning back on his elbows. "They said..." Another huff. "They said if they reprogrammed us, it might be too much for our PAK's to handle. There was a chance it could work. However, the sudden influx could also just overload the PAK. At best, drive us insane or worse, just kill us. It's happened before. It sounded graphic." Theron shivered from the brains retelling.

"Void." Voel plopped down next to the purple eyed Irken.

Theron nodded, an ever deepening frown taking over his face. "We either have to let the memories return naturally...or we could-"

Theron went silent.

"Could what?" Voel asked confused.

"A solution." Theron got up, ignoring Voel's questioning stare.

"A solution? Theron, what's the solution?" Voel watched his fellow Tallest rummage through a wardrobe. Eventually pulling out a ball of purple fabric.

Voel's head tilting to the side uin confusion. He'd seen Theron bring that back onto the massive after a trip to Judgementia, robes oddly torned. He'd still been too upset to ask about it at the time.

Theron walked back over, slowly unraveling the cloth. A small tremor in his hand as he did so.

Red eyes widened in realization.

"Theron...What in the void. Where did you get that!?" Voel jumped from the bed, attempting to snatch the PAK from the other. Theron quickly moved it out of the other's reach.

"Theron." Voel's voice was hard.

"We had spent the most time with him, if what our memories suggest is true. It might jog the rest of them. His data was removed from the collective, but the memory core remains."

"Are you insane? 40 Schmillion errors Theron! Even the control Brains had barely been able to handle it! Why would they even let you have it in the first place?" Voel questioned.

Purple refused to meet red. Theron scratched his cheek.

"They didn't, did they."

"It was just sitting there! They weren't doing anything with it. It was probably just going to be tossed into the trash anyhow."

"You stole it! Theron have you lost your mind!" Voel yelled, taking a step towards his partner who backed away.

"I-I didn't steal it, I just...borrowed it! Besides, we don't have to hook it up to us! We can hook it up to the screen." Theron pointed to a television on the far wall. "It's not like we're trying to reprogram it or anything. We're just looking. It should be fine."

Voel's antenna pressed down in aprehension. Red eyes flicked between the screen, PAK, and Theron's own nervous face. "This is a bad idea."

"If anything goes wrong, we can just disconnect it. The palace is on it's own grid. It'll be fine!" Theron nervously reassured.

A few minutes passed.

There was so much he didn't know. This could be the answer to everything, but was the risk worth taking?

"Fine." Voel finally said, letting out a breath of uneasiness. This was a REALLY bad idea.

Theron's antenna perked and quickly got to setting it up.

"No more secrets."

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

(Academy Grounds: A few days later from the confrontation in the terrace.)

Magenta eyes peaked around a corner.

It appeared the coast was clear.

He had so much on his mind lately, that newest memory kept replaying.

What did he even do with this information?

Would anyone even believe him? Even, if they did. The control brains probably wouldn't want it to be spread.

It would throw the Empire into chaos. Everything they knew would be turned upside down.

He, Zim had created the control brains! ...Well, one of them anyway.

Perhaps it had been a prototype? He wondered if it still existed somewhere.

Why had he created a control brain in the first place?

Zim recalls how weak his body had felt in that memory. Even the action of lifting his arms, had seemed far too much at times. The neverending itch in his lungs and burning of his throat. As yet another bodily cough had shaken his frame.

It had felt just like his trial all over. He had been dying. Yet, he hadn't stopped, he had kept moving forward regardless of how much it wore on him. Zim can still taste blood on his tongue.

Why had he gone to such lengths?

The quiet whirl of fans reaches him. He peaked over his shoulder at his PAK. Were they related? It couldn't be...could it?

A dark cloud suddenly overtakes him.

What had been the purpose he had given to that brain? Had he made them to control the Empire? Then why not make himself it's ruler? Had he been betrayed?

Again.

Did all the control brains know that he was their creator? Their parental-unit?

Did they know that, when they had killed him?

What had he done to them to deserve that! Was it revenge for the overload days or maybe something in a prior life? All those PAK errors. Were those the control Brains doing? Had they knowing let him suffer all those cycles?

Too many questions and not enough answers!

Maybe his silent suffering had been their retaliation or maybe, they just didn't care at all. He supposed they were nothing but machines at the end of the day.

He grips the corner of the wall tightly.

That couldn't be true though! Even his base's computer had seemed to have it's own personality. It couldn't have been just wires and circuits! And Gir! His poor, sweet, slightly insane Gir. His pseudo-smeet was far more than just nuts and bolts!

There had to be more to it...there just had to be.

A sad noise leaves him.

Should he really be surprised though? How many of inventions and creations had turned against him in the past?

Perhaps that was just his fate.

Maybe...He thinks. It would be better if he just kept this to himself. He was sure the control brains must know, but probably assumed his memories were still dormant and thus, wasn't a threat to their authority. He feels, that it would be best to keep it that way then. No need to be called crazy by his fellow Irkens or for his oldest creations, to label him defective in order to silence him.

Even if it made his cardiac-spooch hurt.

If he created the brains, then wasn't it also his fault they were forced to live in such a strict society. To be labeled a deviant was a high offense. Sometimes, even resulting in a death sentence.

Why, oh why did he create such machines!

It was a miracle he had managed to hide such a thing in the past.

Voel had been piloting a ship on another mission at the time.

Their recon team had been exploring uncharted space for potential expansion, when they had been surprised by pirates. Their small crew had ultimately won, but suffered heavily under the sudden onslaught. Their spacecraft had barely been able to hold together after entering the atmosphere. Resulting in a crash landing on some deserted, primal planet. They could only hope their distress beacon had survived somewhere.

Bruised and battered but alive. Theron and him had wound up as the only survivors of their crew. A third, Pim he thinks her name was, had survived the crash as well. However she was an Irken with low healing capabilities(3) and had succumbed to her wounds not long after. Despite Theron's desperate attempts to keep her alive.

He remembers the look of failure in purple eyes. They had both been eternally grateful for having such high regeneration abilities.

They had made a base out of the remains of their ship. Burying Pim and keeping her PAK tucked safe within it, as they waiting for rescue.

One cycle had passed, the another and another. No help was coming. They had been abandoned, left to waste away.

Alone with just the two of them. It had been an especially cold night, the planet was in the midst of its winter. They had sat as close as they dared, around a small fire. A mixture of desperation and curiosity had taken hold.

No superiors.

No control Brains.

No rules.

Who would even punish them? What consequences did they need to fear? They wouldn't be connecting to any information station anytime soon. There was no one but them. No one to label them deviants or defective.

All of this had been their silent thoughts.

To one another, it had merely been an excuse for survival. They couldn't have let one another freeze to death.

There had been nothing said, no sweet words or confessions.

Only raw, passionate urges.

The heat of the other against his own, had been enough for him.

To their surprise...and horror. A nearby ship had gotten their distress call not long after.

A promise of mutual destruction had sealed their lips, not even Voel had known.

Theron and Voel had been selected for Tallest candacy not even half a cycle later. 'Don't worry! We'll be back before you know it. Promise.' The taller Irkens had never looked at him with the same eyes after that.

He'd been abandoned. The well of shame and paranoia within him had grown even deeper. Always wondering; Would this be the day he was found out? Everytime he connected to the collective, would the control brains discover his indignity at last?

The fear he had felt on the day of the trial. Horror at his crimes being played out for everyone to see. Terror at the idea that all of Irk would witness his crime. It had been a secret he was forever grateful, he had taken to the grave.

He'd made a mistake.

Let his desperation turn him into a fool.

That was the reason he was hiding behind every corner he could. Ever since Theron had found Voel and him in the terrace.

A part of him knew he was being foolish. They hadn't been doing anything illegal! It had just been friends doing perfectly, normal, totally platonic hand holding!

It wasn't nearly as shameless as Theron and he had once done.

Yet, he hadn't talked to Theron. Too terrified of the prospect.

What if the taller Irken held this against him? Used it to blackmailed him?

No. No. He shook his head.

Theron wasn't that type of Irken.

Thoughts about his 'mission' to Urth sprung to the forefront of his mind. Tallest Purple had been vindictive or cruel to him nearly every time they interactive.

...or maybe he was.

They weren't bound by the same secretive promise anymore.

Theron wasn't his. Theron didn't know him, he wasn't sure he even knew the taller Irken anymore. If he ever did in the first place.

Who knows what this...stranger would do.

What if the purple eyed Irken let it slip?

Even if he managed to talk some sense into the taller Irken. What would happen if someone overheard them?

Rumors spread fast.

Zim had been avoiding Voel as well. If rumors did get out, it'd be easier to dispel them if they weren't seen together.

Voel would understand...he hoped.

He thumped his head against the wall. Zim tried to reason to himself. Maybe he was just being foolish for nothing!

Voel must've already talked to Theron. They were the best of friends, smeetmates! They would one day rule the Empire together, like they had done in the past.

Surely whatever tension he had seen, had been his ima-

"You're so annoying!"

"So are you!"

Zim ducked further around the corner in order to avoid the spectacle that had appeared down an adjacent corridor.

They had been like this the last few days. It had been getting progressively worse as time went on.

He had tried to ignore it. Surely it was just his mind playing tricks! Overthinking things as usual. This was just a little spat. Friends could have arguments.

Magenta eyes flinched at a crash and the shouts of encouragement from gathering bystanders.

This was his fault wasn't it? He had gotten in the way of their friendship. Theron probably hated him and was taking it out on Voel.

Irk! What should he do?

"That's enough! Break it up! Break it up!" Instructor Voot's voice boomed. "Voel! Theron! You're both on cleaning duty for the next month!"

Zim stayed rooted to his spot, clenching the edge of his tunic tightly. He chanced a peak around the corner. Catching glimpse of matching bruised faces. A grimace appeared, he ducked back before he could be seen.

Voel was a vicious fighter, yet Theron didn't hold his punches either.

Eventually, the commotion grew distant.

His squeedlyspooch twisted uncomfortably.

He didn't like seeing them fight. Not now, not then, not ever. It just wasn't right.

"Are you Zim?"

He was grateful he managed to hide his shock.

Magenta eyes turned to a meek looking Irken about his height with bright ruby eyes. How long had they been there?

Zim had memorized all the names of his classmates. He had thought they deserved that much respect from him at the very least. However, he can't recall this Irken's name. Were they from another class? What could they want with him?

His fingers twisted his tunic tighter in terror.

Was it about Voel and him? Had Theron told!

He lets go his tunic, smoothing it out before putting his hands behind him to hide his tremor.

"I am." He says with as much confidence as he can muster. Face not portraying the storm of emotions underneath.

If they brought up his supposed relationship, he would just play dumb. They couldn't prove anything! Just a bunch of hearsay!

"Hi! I'm Rig! Umm...I was wondering..."

His eyes narrowed.

Here it was!

Deny! Deny! Deny!

Rig must have seen his scepticism. The red eyed Irken immediately rushed out his request.

"I-It's just that I heard you're the best in the academy! I am not very good with tests. I was...just hoping you would be willing to teach me. But...if you don't want to...I understand." A sad sigh left Rig.

The other Irken looked pitiful. Voice growing softer with each word. It tugged at Zim's cardiac-spooch strings.

So that's what this was about. Rig just needed help...

A weight started to lift from his shoulders.

...and he had came to Zim!

He'd be lying if he said it didn't stroke his dead ego a little.

"You need a mentor?" He asked.

It was like a lightswitch. "Oh! You'll do it! That's fantastic!" Rig said excitedly. Getting a little too close for his personal comfort.

Zim was in too much of shock to properly rebuff the happy Irken.

Although he supposed it did give him a proper excuse to avoid those two now.

======================= (Planet Irk: First timeline. Capital city: Emperor's palace, Tallest chambers)

Theron ducked behind a sofa. "You're overreacting!"

"I'll show you overreacting you little blasnit! Smeet of a glazzo! Qrooza!"

Theron poked up. "Wow, that's harsh Voel, even for you. I'm hurt." He said with a nervous smile, trying to diffuse the situation. "What if the servants here you? What kind of example are you sho-Argh!" The purple tallest quickly ducked back down to avoid a laser shot.

======================= (Academy dormatries: Voel and Theron's Dorm, Theron's POV)

He poked at a particularly nasty bruise. "Stupid Voel!" Theron hissed over the sound of water. At Least it was already starting to heal.

"That idiot just won't listen to reason." He whispered to himself, shutting the sink off. Theron huffed as he stepped out of the cleansing room. Purple eyes scanned their dorm.

Voel hadn't returned yet. Probably at one of the training room, blowing off steam.

Another huff left him. They were on cleaning duty for the next month. He hated cleaning!

He didn't want to deal with this. If Voel would just listen to him for one second! "Ugh!" His hands turned to claws.

Constant fighting day in, day out. He knew Voel was stubborn, but this younger one made him want to rip his antenna out.

Why couldn't Voel just understand! Theron wanted to move forward too, but they had to be careful. One wrong move and they'd just wind up back on the same track as before. He refused to let that happen again.

This chance was worth too much to get ruined by recklessness.

They were getting closer to danger with every cycle. Graduation was so close. It wouldn't be long after that...they would meet them for the first time. Theron couldn't let any of them go through that again. He might even need to do the unthinkable...

His partner was becoming far too transparent with his feelings.

What if the control brains noticed?

What if someone else had been the ones to catch Voel and Zim that day?

If they figured it out again- No! He didn't even want to think of that.

Both of them had been so careful in the past to keep it hidden. He had thought they had been anyway. Until Theron had slipped up, letting his selfish desires take over.

At Least Zim was doing a good job at keeping his distance. Although he wasn't sure if he should be greatful or not.

It made his squeedlyspooch twist.

Theron had glimpsed the smaller Irken peeking around corners. Always being the first to rush out of whatever room they walked into. Magenta eyes once again filling with panic when they met. Whatever trust Voel had built up was now ruined for both of them.

They were right back to square one.

Zim was afraid of him, that much was obvious.

It hurt.

Voel wasn't pleased about it either. Furthering the divide between them. The red eyed Irken's resolve only seemed to grow stronger.

A small part of him was jealous. Voel could always hold his head up so high, unlike him. Theron could never say what was lay within his cardiac-spooch.

Just like he couldn't in the past.

Voel on the other hand was so unafraid. Quick to rush into whatever danger lay ahead without hesitation.

Maybe that's why Zim liked Voel more than him. But, Theron had always been selfish. Waiting until the time was right, for him to make a move.

He'd been among the cosmos once.

If only he had said something then. Would it have made a difference? What would Voel have done?

If hadn't been for them...if they could've stayed right where they were at...maybe Zim could have been...

He sighed.

It doesn't matter anymore. He has a goal, he intends to see through. Even they won't be able to stand above him.

Voel and him had been the tallest rulers in nearly 10,000 cycles. He would change the rules this time.

He could've changed the rules.

If they hadn't messed with-

Theron took a deep breath to calm himself.

His body suddenly felt heavy.

The weight of exhaustion was finally catching up to him. Constant paranoia and fighting was doing a number on him.

He hadn't been eating like normal either. It was taking a toll. A nap sounded good right about now.

He scrubbed at one eye.

Why couldn't things just go back to normal?

He just wanted to be friends with Voel again...and Zim too.

A yawn threatened to leave him.

Sure it was a bit early, but class was over and most were enjoying leisure activities right now. It would be the perfect time to enjoy the peace. Before Voel came back and they invetably got into another fight.

He flopped onto his bed without care. Hissing in pain as something poked him sharply in the side side.

Theron shifted enough to pull it out. "Oh right." He flipped the book over.

He hadn't yet returned Zim's book.

A finger ran over the lettering of the book.

He'd read it cover to back. It was pretty boring, but it interested Zim. He had thought he had known everything about the magenta eyed Irken.

Maybe he didn't know anything about Zim at all.

The differences had been jarring when he had come to. It still felt unbelievable. Anyday here, he would wake up. Back on the massive. Back before he'd been...

He rubbed at his eye from phantom pain. ---------

As a future medic, he had been able to go to the med-ward for training. Only patients were allowed to enter. All other access had been limited or outright denied. It was like it was on lock-down. Not that it was his business. He was still learning the ropes. Maybe this was just normal procedure.

There was only one thing he wanted to really know anyway.

Theron didn't know why he cared so much. Sure Zim was probably the prettiest Irken he'd ever seen, with deep magenta eyes that looked light pink when the light hit them just right and an infectious laugh and-

He leaned over an Irken trying to focus on the task at hand.

It was just the nature of Zim's injury. That's why he was worried. It was normal for a future medic to care. It's not that he was worried if Zim had di-

Don't think about it Theron. Focus!

"Now Theron, to perform a dressing, clean the wound with the Ns-3400 and gauze, apply the med-gel 9000 and secu- Yes, just like that. You're getting the hang of it already!” Mill congratulated.

"Does this mean I can leave now?" A smaller irken asked. Inspecting their new bandages on their forearm.

"Make sure to check out with Kit at the front desk."

The smaller Irken nodded as they jumped down from the examination chair and skipped away.

Theron watched them go before he turned to the head medic. "Medic Mill-"

"Just Mill is fine." Theron bit his tongue, there was no way he could call a superior by just their name!

He needed to know.

"Umm...Zim...is he okay?" Nobody had heard anything since that day.

Mill's smile twitched.

His antenna flattened. "So it's true-"

"No! No." A heavy sigh left her as a pained expression appeared. "Zim is...alive."

"He is! Then can I see him! We're..uh...classmates." He quickly added.

Mill held up her hands. "It would be best if you didn't. Zim is in a...delicate condition right now. For his recovery its best if he isn't overwhelmed."

"Delicate? His PAK, how bad was it?" Irken's that had been disconnected with their PAK for more then ten minutes would die. Zim's had not only come off, but had severely injured him as well.

"You needn't worry! The control Brains themselves have called a PAK technician from the Capital." Mill tried to comfort.

He blinked at the explanation. The control Brains were helping! "Then Zim will be fine. Do you know wh-"

"MILL! Were going to need your help here!" Gig ran into the training room. A few distant screams could be heard.

"What happened?"

"Smeets and mines." Was Gig's only explanation.

Theron followed after the two veteran medics towards the entrance of the reception room. A group of smallers awaited them. All in various states of disaster.

Kit was already dressing the wounds of some. Gig quickly joining in.

"Is there anything i can do to help?" Theron asked, standing awkwardly to the side. He grimaced as Sig, another of Mill's medics reattached an arm of one of the worst off smeets.

"I appreciate it, but we should have it handled. Go back to the training room for now dear. We'll continue in a moment." Mill replied, attention already turning to her newest patients.

It was going to be a long day.

Theron headed back into the med-ward towards the training room. When an idea hit him.

He looked back in the direction of the reception room. The sounds were distant. Mill and the others would be occupied for awhile.

It wouldn't hurt to take a peak. Just enough to calm his aching cardiac-spooch.

Finding the room had been a bit difficult. It had been all the way in the back of the ward. One last look around to make sure he was alone. He slipped into the room without a second thought.

A single patient room. It was far too dark and quiet. Only the small blinking and dull whirl of machinery filled the room. A pink glow, brightened and dull slowly behind a curtain.

He stepped carefully into the room further. Catching what sounded like breathing. A low and slow, slight raspy noise. As if they were struggling to breath. It made his antenna stand straight up.

A bed lay against the center of one wall. Wires and small tubes coming out from underneath a curtain that surrounded it.

He gulped. Why are you hesitating? Just go for it, Theron!

He'd been unprepared for what lay behind the curtain.

Wires and tubing everywhere. He could just barely make out Zim's form underneath it all. Once bright green skin was almost completely grey. Dark circles and slightly gaunt face. Zim's breath was ragged, as if he'd stop any second.

He looked like when Voel and him had sentenced him to death.

Wait, what? When had he sent-

"Ah!" He clutched his head in pain, dropping to his knees.

The influx of memories from his past life had quickly overwhelmed him.

Wide eyed and gasping for breath. He rested his forehead against the cool tile of the floor as everything eventually returned to focus.

Theron got to his feet with a blank look, walking up to Zim's bedside.

A surge of anger overtaking him briefly. He grabbed at the cord to life support.

Zim! Greatest defective of the Empire. Murder! Killer of tallest! One of his best friends. His first lo ...Stop!

what are you doing!

Theron covered his face with his hands in horror. What was he doing? What in the void was he doing!?

He stepped back from the bed, his legs starting to feel weak.

Zim, the one he'd fallen for twice. The one he had been forced to forget. Zim wasn't at fault. No, no! It had been...

Chaos vs order, loud vs quiet, willful vs docile. This wasn't even the same Zim as his past. Zim hadn't done anything wrong.

What was wrong with him? Theron felt sick with himself.

The curtain was pulled back into place. Mill's kind face appeared before him. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him from the room.

"This is what I didn't want you to see..." -------

He'd thought Zim was holding back at first. That the other had known about their shared past as well.

However, with each passing day. He wasn't so sure. They were strangers and it seemed Zim wanted to keep it that way.

Perhaps, this was just how Zim was always meant to be. It was odd to think about.

He missed Zim's energy.

Theron wanted to bring it up. A part of him had to know. To know that he wasn't the only one. That he wasn't crazy.

Most of all, that he had a chance to make amends.

What if the spell was broken though? He didn't want Zim to hurt anyone.

What if everything just went back to before? He didn't want to hurt Zim either.

The way those magenta eyes looked at him with fear.

Did Zim really hate him so much in this time? Maybe Zim really did remember their past and still held a grudge?

If he was someone else would Zim like him better?

Sometimes he didn't even feel like himself. He wasn't sure if he even knew who he was anymore.

Theron, the medical elite? The one so deeply in love.

Theron, the Almighty Tallest Purple? The one so numb to the world.

Theron, the smeet starting out in life? The one so new and wide eyed to the possibilities.

Who was even in control anymore?

It was like a never ending tug of war. Sometimes he felt a thousand different ways about something or someone. His reaction that day after the influx, still haunted him. Tallest Purple had never been known for his kindness. It sent shivers up his spine. While a different part of him felt he had been justified. How cruel of an Irken he had been turned into.

Maybe, an entirely new Theron had been born that day. A combination of all that that he had ever been. He's knows his paranoia for one had been amplified

A sigh left him. He rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he let himself sink further into the bedding.

Stop thinking about it, Theron! This won't solve any of your problems!

The past is the past.

The arm over his eyes drops to his side.

Purple eyes look with determination up at the ceiling as a thought comes to him.

He wanted to move forward. By the gods in all of the cosmos did he want it.

Purple eyes flicker back to the book by his side.

If Zim wasn't going to come to him. He'd go to Zim.

------------------------------- (Academy- Science classroom: Undetermined time)

Zim leaned back in his chair. Letting out a small sigh as he moved away from the microscope. He scrubbed at his eyes. Thankful, that no one else was able to see his frustration.

Instructor Piek had been all too happy to let him use the room after hours.

'I'm so glad you're thinking of being a scientist Zim! We need more bright minds like you.' Zim still blushes at the compliment.

Despite his determines not to go down this road again, that didn't mean he'd given up on finding a way to deal with his PAK. It just so happened that his best solution at the moment involved science.

There was only so much coding fixes he could do, being so limited on time.

It still wasn't nearly enough. 40 schmillion errors was not smeets play.

Although, he'd be lying if he said a part of him wasn't overjoyed to be behind a microscope again. Just a teeny tiny part though, he tried to convince himself.

Don't let yourself slip up now, Zim!

His oldest memories had shown a time before Irken's had needed a PAK.

That sickness, whatever it was, did it play a role? If he could find a way to combat it, maybe he wouldn't need to worry about fixing his PAK at all.

Sure being PAK-less would be difficult to adjust to, but he thinks he can manage.

He looked over a tablet he'd been putting his findings. Some observation and records of previous medics or scientist. Who had tried their own hands at discovering a cure. However, those records were often brief and lacked the information he wanted. Often consisting of theories more than actual research.

Perhaps the archive may hold what he was looking for. However, he hadn't had the time to go down. Between classes, coding fixes and his new prodigy. He hadn't had much time to himself.

Although he had a mighty need to go down there again! It was calling him!

A small beep from a nearby machine. A few more of his samples were ready.

Later then, he supposed.

There was still so much he had to do.

He was close, he could smell it!

----------------- (Planet Irk: First timeline. Docking station for The Massive)

Theron looked over the crew of The Massive from their private deck. He pulled at the collar of his robes, it was so uncomfortable! Who decided to make the official robes so constrictive anyway? He could barely move, let alone breath in them. If it wasn't for their hover-belts, he'd never be able to move.

He looked over to Voel, who has his arms folded behind his back. Red eyes observing the loading of The Massive for its next voyage with sharp eyes. He could see the tension in the other's jaw.

"You still mad?" He whisper asks.

"Don't talk to me."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Red eyes snap over to him. Voel's antenna folded flat in anger. "You-"

"My Tallest?" Rarl Kove interrupts from the doorway. "The Massive is ready to board at your leisure."

"Oh right! Of course, we'll be down there shortly. Thank you Rarl." Theron says quickly. They needed to maintain a united front.

Rarl's antenna perked. The adviser wasn't sure what had gotten into his Tallest, especially Tallest Purple. Who was...how should Rarl say this...not very nice. Perhaps it was treason to think, but Rarl much preferred his liege like this.

The advisor leaves the room with a small bounce in his step. A purple eye twitched. Their workers had been acting so weird lately.

"We'll talk about this later." Voel hisses as he passes his partner. ----------------- (Academy dormitories: hallway outside Zim's dorm. Weeks later, evening)

Purple eyes peaked around a corner. They narrowed at that unfamiliar Irken from another class.

They had been glued to Zim's side for weeks now. Supposedly they were taking extra lesson from Zim.

Rig, he had learned their name was.

Why did it have to be Zim? Couldn't Rig have chosen someone else. Yeah, Zim was in the top for academics. But, Theron definitely felt that there was more to it.

Rig's behavior was odd. No one save Voel and himself seemed to notice it. As soon as Zim left his dorm in the morning, there was Rig. As soon as Zim left a class, there was Rig. Even as Zim returned to his dorm in the evening, there was Rig. Just like now.

He frowned.

Where did the Irken even find the time? Were they skipping class? It was probably the reason they had such poor test scores. Should he report it?

It's not that he was jealous or anything.

They were just mentor and student. Friends most likely. It's not as if Rig had feelings for Zim, right? Ah! Who was he kidding? It was so obvious.

His frown deepened. Go away!

Rig continued talking to Zim. Asking him the most useless or oddest questions.

How did Zim do this? How did Zim do that? What kind of sweets did Zim like?

What did Zim think of instructor Bid?

huh?

DING!

The first bell signaling curfew cut Rig off.

They would have about thirty minutes until they needed to be back in their dorms.

Between classes, then punishment, arguments with Voel and Zim's own avoidance. He hadn't had a chance to talk to the smaller Irken. He was grateful his punishment was nearing an end at least.

He was glad Voel was occupied right now. He might try to interfere with Theron's plans otherwise. He needed to talk to Zim alone.

The red eyed Irken was in the self training rooms, blowing off steam again. Despite the bad blood between them right now. Voel hadn't hesitated to rant about Rig to Theron for hours. He hadn't minded. It was nice to have Voel talking to him again. Getting his opinion, even if it was just about how to get the other Irken away from Zim.

It was better than them fighting. He missed having his friend. Progress was progress. Smeet steps, he told himself.

Theron figured it would be easiest to catch Zim right before curfew would go into effect. Even if they could only talk for a few minutes.

Still, Theron didn't have much time. Skoodge would surely be back soon. He didn't feel like explaining himself to the more robust Irken. It would still be a few minutes for Skoodge to get back here. He needed to be quick. Then he'd need to rush back to his room before Voot caught him. The last thing he wanted wanted was to draw more of instructor's ire.

No more running. He tucked the book further into his side.

Once Rig is out of sight, he makes his move.

He slipped in the dorm without issue. His eyes scanned the dark of room for Zim. A light tucked into a corner draws his attention. He makes his way over to it. Various shades of pinks, purples and reds sat within a glass box. Plants? They looked like some of the ones in the book.

Where had Zim found those?

His brow scrunched.

The low sound of a sink running, finally reaches him.

Nervousness started to set in.

Maybe he should leave the book here. It was getting late. He can always talk to Zim another day.

The whoosh of the cleansing room door opens.

Zim's startled eyes meet his. He can see fear build in those magenta eyes.

Void!!

Alone in the dark of someone else's room. He probably looked like a creep!

"Wait!" He says as Zim back away from him as he moves forward.

He quickly held out the book. "I..ah...I meant to return this earlier. It's yours, isn't it?"

Zim hesitantly nodded, but did not reach out to take it. Hands gripped tightly in their owner's clothes.

A sign he knew of Zim's own stress.

His antenna flattened. Zim really did hate him.

Setting the book with slow movements onto what he thought was Zim's desk. He couldn't hide his disgust at the uncleanly state of the other one, Skoodge's without a doubt.

Magenta eyes watching him intently all the while.

"I should leave."

-----------

(Zim's pov)

He thought for a moment. "No." Zim needed to know what the other planned. "Why are you here?"

"I just thought I would return your book." Theron rubbed at the back of his neck. Eyes looking anywhere but at Zim.

Magenta eyes narrowed. His hands clenched his sleeping gown tighter. Those were signs of Theron lying.

"That's all?" Zim questioned. He straightened his back.

Be confident Zim! This had gone on long enough.

He wasn't entirely pleased Theron was in his room. Yet, maybe this was for the best.

No one would hear them here.

Skoodge was in the study hall with his friends, they usually waited until last minute to return back to the dorms.

Zim had time.

"Uh...well actually-"

"Whatever you saw in the terrace wasn't what you think!" Zim quickly explained. He didn't want a misunderstanding. Neither was he going to let himself be blackmailed.

"What? That not..."

"I know what you saw was very concerning. What with us holding hands and all...and being alone and...you..you see w-what was actually happening was..." Zim trailed off.

Oh Irk, how did he explain this! He was just digging a deeper hole for himself at this point.

"You think i'm going to report you?" Theron's face was blank, his voice low.

Zim gulped but otherwise didn't respond.

A small disbelieving laugh left the taller Irken. "You both really think of me so little."

Theron took a step forward. His back hit the wall.

Purple eyes widen before a hurt expression quickly took over the taller Irken's face.

"I don't want to hurt you." Theron whispered. Taking a few steps back.

"Why are you here then?" He asked again.

"I..." Purple eyes looked conflicted. "Voel likes you..."

Both are shocked by the statement.

"Wh- I mean...it's just." Theron tried to explain. "I like you too."

"W-What?" This was some kind of trick right? Anger starts to boil within him.

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

(Theron Pov)

What in the void was he saying!

Magenta eyes are wide as they look at him.

"I just want what you two have." He can't stop! He's sure his face must be entirely blue from blushing so hard.

Theron! You're making a fool of yourself. Stop!

"You're lying." Zim's low voice says.

"I'm not! It's true, for the longest time I ha-"

"You're lying!" Zim says louder. A look of anger taking over the smaller Irken's face.

Theron comes to the sudden realization.

He's messed up.

What did he do now?

"Zim..."

"Do you think this is a game! Is that what you're doing? Both of you...You're both in on it aren't you! You're trying to make a fool out of ZIM!" The magenta Irken had taken a more aggressive stance. Hands balled into tight fists. Eyes blazing a bright pink with fury.

"No! That not how it is!" His defense falls on deaf ears.

"You're lying! Liar!" The other's rage was too much, he had to defend himself as Zim rushed at him.

Theron knew despite the other's small stature, how much damage he could inflict. Zim was a deadly fighter.

Yet, Theron held the smaller Irken's sharp claws away from his face with little effort as they struggled.

The shorter Irken's wrists felt so small. Had Zim always been this frail? Or maybe his training was actually paying off! He thinks happily on that last bit.

His smile is misinterpreted by the smaller Irken. Magenta eyes flashing.

"I won't let you use me again!"

He grunted at a harsh kick to his shin, letting go of the other as he faltered from it. Before he could regain his balance, Zim had tackled him.

Thankfully his back had found the softness of a bed.

They wrestled further on it. Zim wouldn't listen to reason. Only calling Theron a liar and a host of other things that made him blush from the root of his antenna.

Finally he was able to flipped them for the last time, managing to pin the other down. At least Zim hadn't started using his PAK, he's not sure he'd survive that.

Zim continued to buckle beneath him.

"Let me go!"

"Just, just let me explain!" He said desperately. A bead of sweat running down his face.

Why won't anyone just listen to him!

Magenta eyes narrowed.

"Ugh!" He grunted as the other's only loose leg, kneed him in the side. Luckily the odd angle didn't loosen his grip, but void!

Zim may have not been as strong as he remembered, but the other wasn't as frail as he looked either.

That still hurt!

"By the gods, Zim! Would you just listen to me for one second!" He throws his other leg over Zim's, pinning all of the smaller Irken.

Eventually Zim stopped struggling. Sounds of both their heavy breathing filled the room.

"L-Let me go." Magenta eyes were wet.

Purple eyes suddenly widened as they realized their position.

Theron immediately released the other's hands, moving off of the smaller Irken to give him some space.

Zim moved up to the head of the bed, curling into himself. Magenta eyes never moving from his form. Zim rubbed at his wrists.

Void, didn't that make him feel like a blisnit

"I'm sorry." Was the quiet apology. Zim twitched.

Void! He really...really messed up now.

"I'm not lying." Zim opened his mouth, most likely to call him a foul name yet again. "I'm not, really!"

Was it such a hard thing for Zim to believe? Yes, their society looked down on relationships. Yes, it was risky, but Theron was willing to take that chance. Wanted to take the chance, that he had denied himself, so long ago. Would things have turned out differently?

Afterall, Zim and him had once...

Consequences to the void! Soon he'd be the one in charge, he could make the rules!

If he could just take out that Irken first...

Yet, the smaller Irken seemed to respond to Voel's advances well. It was just Theron then, that Zim just didn't like. That seemed to be the ever growing case. They didn't know each other here. Zim wasn't his. They were strangers. He'd thought they had something in the past. Maybe the only reason why, was because Zim had been broken.

That was the only way he'd ever give Theron a chance.

The thought makes his cardiac-spooch clench painfully.

A deep breath left the magenta eyed Irken. Drawing Theron's attention back to the other.

"How do I know what you're saying is true? How do i know you're not just trying to get me labeled a deviant, or even a defective!" Zim hissed.

"You're not defective! I wouldn't do anything to get you sentenced a-!"

Theron quickly bit his tongue.

Wide magenta eyes met his. "Ther-"

The whoosh of a door. Both heads snapped to it.

"Uhhh?" Skoodge said as he entered the room. They could hear the ding of the curfew bell behind him.

Theron wasted no time in tactifully retreating.

Notes:

Information dock/charging station: The control Brains do not actually know what happens 24/7 for every Irken.

-Thus they use these pods, under the guise of software updates/charging station for PAKs to tell them of any important information. They mostly rely on Irken's themselves to keep one another in line.

Core/Memory Core: The heart/soul of an Irken, buried deep within a PAK. No one is entirely sure what it is, beyond that it is essential for Irken's to live and PAKs to function.

-Paks after death are often collected and reset/reprogrammed for the next iteration. Destroying the core is considered the ultimate death sentence. -Tampering with another's core is the highest offense, resulting in death of both biological Irken and their core and complete wipe of their legacy from the collective. -Damage to the core may result in insanity.

Healing/regeneration: An Irken's ability to bounce back from dire wounds varies between each Irken.

-(Uncommon/Rare)

They heal incredibly fast from bruises and minor wounds. Sometimes within a day. Some are capable of attaching or regrowing limbs and organs (Not including brain or heart). So long as it wasn't a lethal kill or extreme damage. They may regain complete control of these limbs/organs without any scaring. However they may sometimes suffer nerve damage if the wound was extensive enough. Removing their Pak, or destroying their heart or brain is usually the best way to take them out. They can often be found in combatant roles to make the best use of their abilities.

-(Bulk of the species) Other Irken may likewise do all of the above, to various lesser extents. They are a bit more susceptible to damage. The same wound may kill them, but the above may walk away from it. For bruises or minor wounds, it may take only a few (1-3) day(s) to heal. They scar, but typically only when they receive extensive damage. It is rare for them to lose a limb completely, but not entirely unheard of.

-(Uncommon/Rare) The ones with the least amount of this ability, are most similar to humans. For bruises and minor wounds it can take anywhere between days to weeks to heal. If they lose a limb or organ, that's about it. They scar way easier than the rest of their species. They are typically delegated to non-combatant roles due to this fragility.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER:  https://valdarian.tumblr.com/post/643864749327745024/invader-zim-infinite-ch7

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[windywooshes]

Mike x Reader

It was a busy day. The night was fuming with the chatter and buzzing of the guests of the manor. All hurrying and preparing themselves. Acting, repeating, summarising...

As an annual tradition of the Oletus Manor, hunters and survivors joined sides to prepare a play for one another. Maybe it was a rabbit hole to Neverland, escaping the devouring gloominess of the house they inhabited for so long now. A way to cope and bond with one another. A solution to forget the fear and stress from matches and to just concentrate on things which are more pleasing and fun.

It all started with the first celebration from the veterans of the manor and evolved into a yearly event. Thanks to the growing amount of inhabitants, more roles could be given out this time as well. Those who weren't picked, had the joy of helping which seasoned the theatre piece with live and spirit in the first place.

Here you come in, as you were an important part of the beehive. Alongside Violetta, who was a very skilled hobbyist tailor, you produced the costumes and accessoires for the actors, cooperating with Miss Nightingale to design the most fitting and charming pieces you laid your eyes upon.

As you were more experienced with tiny knacks and decorations for the grande piece, you were in charge of the details and small additions to each piece of design, which brings us to the current nerve wrecking problem which snacked on your patience and energy like a patroller.

As it was laid out on the drafts, one of the costumes belonged to a certain someone. And this certain someone had a certain something on a very certain spot which you had the honor to do.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried your best to focus on the swing of the brush to make the desired artwork look as stunning as possible to fit the equally beautiful outfit (and man) in front of you. Yet whenever you tried to set your ink-coated tool down you heard a chuckle of the blonde and once you realised, the color was all smeared over the leg once again, squeezing out a sigh in frustration from your throat. Quickly grabbing the now golden tainted napkin for another time, you started to wipe off the glittering paint from Mike's leg.

It made you happy to see that the manor owner finally saw the potential in the young Acrobat, gifting him more skins and Emotes with each new season. Yet this one especially threw you into the cold water.

Mike patiently sat on the chair while you tried your best not to die from the weird situation you were thrown at. Brush in your dominant hand, shaking, you attempted once again to draw an elegant pattern of a rose on to the outside of his left tight which goes all the way down to his knee. One would tell you off for being too flustered by the nugget legs of the Acrobat as he usually wears skin tight outfits which showed just as much shape and form as his current choice. Yet you never got to see so much leg from this man. It was as if his bare skin was a forbidden apple, not allowed to be seen by the mere peasants of this world and you being one of them, committing a crime of disrespect against the gods.

It was a weird reaction as other survivors and equally hunters, showed off even more than this, yet you were fazed more by a leg than a victorian aristocrat from a bare knuckle could ever be. To underline the obvious, it could have a link to your slight adoration for the blonde. When your eyes landed on the energetic lad, your mind couldn't stop taking every bit of his presence in. Matches were the worst as you'd end up as a flustered mess, shaking and nervous, letting calibrations slip or reducing your kiting time drastically to barely 15 seconds incase you knew that he was watching you from a cipher. So many matches were lost, so many Blackjack games thrown into the dust. All because of one little distraction which was Mike Morton himself.

While you were suffering, Mike was clearly enjoying himself too much. As your head never dared to look up towards him, you couldn't spot the cheeky grin which grew on his lips since you were given your task. Too focused on it. Yet here he was, enjoying every little bit of this fiasco. Playing with your hair, wiggling his legs while you set down for a stroke, standing up to get a drink...it didn't matter, as long as he could cause a bit of a trouble and have you there with him on the spot, he would sparkle like a little firecracker. Chuckling whenever he saw your adorable pouting face next to him while you tried not to make your head explode from all the frustration. His cheeky attitude found a stop when you put the brush down and rushed off to the side to finally get something to drink and snack on.

„Don't overdo it, Morton.“

A hand on his shoulder, broke him out of his trance watching how you were talking to Vera at the tables. Turning around he found old Burke himself, nudging his head before leaving him again. But not with Mike. Quickly jumping from his seat, he followed the inventor, throwing two of his juggle balls in one hand just to keep himself a bit busy.

„I think, I didn't quiet catch that, sir ?“ he said, smiling up at the frowning elder as he came to a stop.

„You shouldn't stress the poor kid out for too longer. Otherwise they'll end up like Guard 10. Not a pretty sight.“ he sighed and rubbed his chin, looking off to the side at the target themselves.

„They are very fond of you, so don't play around with that.“

And like an old wise man, he disappeared all of a sudden- to the food table.

Spotting how you finished your small break and waving a goodbye to the others who joined you, the blonde rushed back to his seat. But with a thought bugging his mind like a mosquito in summer.

„Well then...shall we try again ? This time no knee-head-bumps though.“, you chuckled as you bend your wrists a bit to get them warmed up again before taking up the seemingly impossible task once again. But when you looked up with a small smile grazing your lips, you found Mike looking a bit more uncomfortable than he was before.

„Are you okay ?“

He shook his head and put his hands up, his little sunny side up smile back on the spot where it belonged.

„All good~ don't worry about it, (Y/N).“

Yet once your head ducked down, Mike's ears tinted pinkish due to the high blood flow and heart rate. What if Burke was right ? How would he know about your feelings for him though ? He wasn't even sure about them himself. His head started to fume and before he knew it, he felt a bonk and a head on his lap. A groan of frustration emitting from the bush of hair.

It seemed that Morton started to wiggle his left leg without noticing while lost in thoughts. Much to the dismay of the poor part-time artist who just tried their best to get the job done. Regaining your mind, you noticed that the male stopped his shenanigans and your rather awkward position. Firstly you didn't want to look, yet you were rather nosy to know what Mike's face looks like. If it would hold any reaction in it besides his smily facade. And you were not disappointed. Now not only his ears but nearly his entire face became a reddish hue, especially after he felt your tight grip on his leg which you just tried to put in place for half a minute before.

Seeing THE Mike Morton blush like this, trying to hide his face behind his knuckles, it was satisfying. Not in a mean way but rather in a ‚hah, that's for all that teasing from before‘ way. But you didn't want to blow your facade for now. Clearing your throat you apologised for the small outburst, receiving a choked up ‚hm‘ as a response. Usually you'd end up a flustered mess but oh how the turns have tabled. It was difficult to hold in the laughter. The acrobat tried his best to avoid any eye contact for now but you didn't mind as you still had a small comeback in mind which you want to squeeze into his arms before leaving for your other duties. Now that the man stood still, you also finally managed to finish the golden rose on his leg.

But before he could even take some time to thank you after he cooled himself off, he felt a soft sensation on his tight. Pulling your lips away from his exposed skin you couldn't hold back the grin which krept up your cheeks like predators to their prey.

With one last poke on the nose, you left the man on the chair. A carousel of emotions twirling around his heart as he stumbled through the lobby, on his way to rehearsal.

[saeyoungs-sunflower]

To Weather a Storm (Saeyoung x MC)

Oh, Saeyoung. How I have missed you.

Summary: It’s easier to hide from the storm, but do you really want to waste away under your shelter, having never danced in the rain?

Warnings:

Some violence, blood and brief mention of torture.

General angst (with a happy ending)

Songs:

I Dreamed a Dream - Les Miserables

Already Gone - Sleeping at Last

After the Storm - Mumford and Sons

Come What May - Moulin Rouge

Fic and notes under the cut.

A/N: Okay, I know I tend to ramble at the beginning of a fic but I feel like these need to be said, for my sake. You’re more than welcome to ignore this, but I gotta get these off my chest. This fic includes and was based on a poem I wrote a little while ago, which I know sounds horribly pretentious and pompous, but I had the idea for this fic weeks after I wrote it and it didn’t seem complete unless I included it. In addition, because it was written before the fic, it is personal and I feel very vulnerable posting it here, but once again I felt like it made the fic whole. I’m also anonymous on here so really, how vulnerable can I be? I am no poet, I am aware of that, but I am someone with a lot of emotions and a desire to express them. The poem essentially comes in two parts, the second part being written when I was having a better day. It may not seem that deep, and it probably isn’t, but it holds weight for me. That being said, here is some Saeyoung x MC, and I suppose, a little bit about myself. I hope you enjoy :)

~

“Why do you resist the calm?” they had asked.

Because calm comes with the promise of a

storm,

And the sting is much less felt from a fall

Out of an angel’s grip

Than a fall from their grace.

“Then why do you resist the storm?”

Because now, I have all the more to lose.

——

��But then answer me this,” they persevered,

“Would you not favour risking the fierce strike,

To feel the heavens kiss your skin

And witness the electric sky,

Than to waste away within your borders,

Having never learnt to dance in the rain?”

~

He was killing himself.

Eighteen years old. At this rate he wouldn’t live to see nineteen, inching closer to death’s cold embrace with every sleepless night and every meal skipped. Even off hours he was working, his fingers trembling as they danced across the keys for hours, days on end. He just needed to prove he was the best. He needed them to trust him.

Saeyoung was still technically in training, despite the fact that he was likely the most skilled hacker in the agency, let alone amongst the recruits. The agency were thrilled by his skills and work ethic, which was exactly what he needed.

He needed them to trust him to the point where they were dependent on him. If they needed him, then he would remain in the agency for as long as he lived, and therefore his other half was safe for that same length of time.

Whilst the agency didn’t care for their agents’ wellbeing in the slightest, they cared about losing something valuable to them. And, in this case, it was 707.

“They sent me to tell you to go the hell to bed,” came a voice from behind him.

He kept his eyes glued to the screen, “Then tell them to fuck off.”

“So you have a death wish?”

“You don’t?”

With a weary sigh, you sat at the computer next to him and he finally looked at you, his eyes bloodshot and his face devoid of any colour. Or life, for that matter. You looked him dead in the eye, “I get what you’re doing, but you’re not going to be any help if you’re a corpse.”

“I don’t care. That’s the boss’ problem, not mine.”

“I’m not talking about him, I’m talking about the person you’re protecting.”

His eyes shot to yours in panic, and you laughed despite yourself, “People don’t come here for a holiday, you idiot. Everyone who’s here is here for a reason, and we all know it’s the same reason.” You were the exception to that rule, but that wasn’t necessary for him to know.

He reclined in his chair and shut his eyes for what felt like the first time in days. Maybe it was.

You placed your hand on top of his, the action startling him a little, making you chuckle, “Listen, you don’t have to do all this. You’re better at this than all of us combined, the boss adores you. You have nothing to worry about, okay?” the soft smile that graced your features was enough to make Saeyoung feel more at ease. You were too kind. You didn’t belong there.

Your eyes flickered towards his computer screen and you sighed again, “I’m going to get you some water and some food whilst you finish up, but then you are getting some sleep.”

Saeyoung watched you as you left, and wondered how such a warm soul had found themselves in such an icy place. You were taking a huge risk by caring for him, and yet you did it without hesitation nor complaint. He couldn’t tell if that was down to altruism or naivety. He suspected it was both.

After you returned, he ate and drank as you took over his work, finishing the last bit of coding before shutting down the computer. He was surprised by your effortless ability to continue from where he left off, but was even more surprised by your willingness to do so. You stood up once you both finished and held out your hand for him, which he took, letting you hoist him to his feet as he discovered he was too weak stand on his own. With one arm around you for support, you led him back to the room.

Every recruit slept on the floor in the same damp room, and with your designated space being directly next to Saeyoung’s, you got to know one another. Not much, not at all, but a little goes a long way in such wretched circumstances. 

You learnt that his mouth twitched when he had a nightmare, so you always woke up when it did so. He learnt that you subconsciously twiddled your thumbs when you couldn’t sleep, so he’d watch over you until you went still and your breath evened. Little by little, you learnt to look out for each other. You were in it together and, at least for a while, that was enough.

Usually, forming relationships of any kind within the agency was forbidden, but since he was the boss’ golden boy, he could get away with anything he damn well pleased. Not you, though. And whilst you were kind, you were no doormat.

The next morning, during working hours, you kicked up a fuss (rightfully so, Saeyoung thought) about a guard whose hands were wondering in a place they had no business being. The agency were not impressed by your reaction. They didn’t like your stubbornness or your strong will. They didn’t like your self-awareness.

You were taken away, and Saeyoung didn’t see you again until you came to bed long after the sun had set. You were practically chucked into the room, your crumpled form a heap on the hard floor, the cold biting at your bare skin.

Saeyoung struggled to see you in the darkness, but he could just about identify your silhouette as you heaved yourself up, dragging your weight towards your space. As you got closer, he could start to see the glisten from the tears that coated your face, trickling over bruised and slashed flesh. When you laid down, he carefully moved his hand to envelope yours, stroking the back of it with his thumb - a silent message carrying all that your feeble heart needed to hear. I’m sorry you went through that. I’m here. It’s not happening anymore. I’m not going anywhere.

You’re not alone.

His warm breath tickled your face, and you knew that if you edged forward, your forehead would meet his. With a moment’s hesitation, you did so, and that was where you remained until morning, desperately clutching on to the only sign of humanity that could be seen for miles, and the only man to touch you without teeth bared.

From then, you slept every night like that, inching closer and closer until finally his lips hesitantly grazed against your own. Tentative fingertips roamed over pebbled skin, and with a hand cradling your neck and a stroke of his tongue against your bottom lip, you welcomed him to take you completely with his illicit kiss. A reckless attempt to feel something, anything other than pure agony.

You were only children. Naive, daring, broken children who had never known love of any kind, but were somehow able to offer it.

You wished it could still be enough, that your quiet entanglement could be your one reason to hold on. But the tightrope you walked on became more turbulent everyday.

It was an enormous risk, but a risk you would take.

The guards became more hostile towards you after your incident, and their tolerance had reached an all time low. You were reported more often and your punishments became more brutal. You realised then that Hell wasn’t a place, it was a snap of a belt and a knick of a knife, a knee to the gut. You needed to escape.

A month after this began, you sent him a message. He was a good enough hacker that he was able to set up a chatroom that only you two could access, and that wouldn’t be detected by those higher up. It was your only safe haven, a trench on a battlefield. But burying yourself away from the action didn’t mean the war had ended.

606: I’m getting out of here.

707: there’s only one way out, and you what that is

606: That’s only if I don’t run fast enough.

707: they’ll kill you

606: Then so be it.

707: i’m not going to let that happen

606: It’s not your problem.

707: it is if it’s you.

606: You don’t even know me.

707: i know enough

606: I’m sorry

That night, you didn’t come back to your bed, and there was no sign of you other than the chilling echo of a gunshot that resonated through the building. Saeyoung crushed his eyelids shut, yet the tears still flowed as his teeth dug into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, the bitter mix of salt and iron consuming his taste buds.

A rumour got around that you had tried to run and were shot on sight. You were used as a cautionary tale for new recruits. Apparently they had the CCTV footage. Apparently they showed them the pictures. Saeyoung wouldn’t know, he stopped listening.

From that day forward, he put his headphones on and worked. He worked until his fingers bled and blistered, reminding himself everyday of why he couldn't rock the boat unless he could see the shore, especially in such turbulent waters. You took that chance, and you couldn’t even swim.

Saeyoung found your name two days after you disappeared.

MC.

A picture of you from your life before also came up in his search, and he threw up in the bathroom as the image of you smiling slowly morphed into that of your limp and bloodied body, eyes wide open as they pierced into his own, haunting him. One day he would avenge you, and one day, in another life, he would see your smile again.

But today, he had to work.

“Why do you resist the calm?” they would ask.

Because calm comes with the promise of the

storm,

And the sting is much less felt from a fall

out of an angel’s grip

Than a fall from their grace.

***

“707! On your right!”

Swivelling around, Saeyoung deftly aimed his gun at the guard approaching, landing a perfect shot between the eyes. His aim was so accurate, in fact, that he landed it with his own eyes closed. He never looked, he could never stomach it. “Vanderwood, you keep a look out. I’m going to scope out the place.”

“Roger that.”

Missions were the most onerous part of the job for Saeyoung. With every bullet and every crimson stain on another body, he felt a piece of whatever innocence he had disappear. Scar tissue was harder than skin, and at that point, he felt he had no softness left.

This mission, however, was particularly demanding. The opposing side outnumbered Vanderwood and himself by a long shot, but they somehow managed to hold their own. They were both convinced they had taken down everyone in the building, so he was caught off guard when he entered what he thought was an empty room, only to find himself face-to-face, or gun-to-gun with someone who should have been dead hours ago.

Or, upon inspection, years ago.

“...MC?”

He lowered his gun but you kept your hold strong, eyes never wavering from his. His mouth was agape as he took in the sight before him. Your hair had grown, you were thinner, and he could have sworn your eyes had lost their colour.

But God, there was still something so ineffably beautiful about you. That much hadn’t changed.

Saeyoung had dropped the gun completely, the clash of metal against metal pervading the room, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Yeah? Well I believed you to be dead for years now so I think my question is a tad fucking more valid.”

For a split second, he swore he saw your lips quiver before you pressed them into a thin line, “You were always a better hacker, 707, but I was a better frontliner. I got away with merely a bullet to the arm. But as they say, birds of a feather flock together, and it wasn’t long until I was found and recruited by someone else. Fate never favoured me, clearly.”

You held your aim, but he noticed your eyes go glassy and your knees almost buckle under your weight, and only then did he register the wound on your thigh and the ominous maroon pool on the floor next to you. His heart rate shot up, “MC…I need you to lower the gun.”

“How the fuck do you know my name?”

“That’s not important, what matters is that you’re gonna bleed out if we don’t do something about that wound right now.”

“Then I guess we’ll bleed out together,” you said, your voice strangled but your aim never faltering.

“You don’t really want that though, do you?” Saeyoung said quietly, his arms up as he creeped towards you until there was no empty space between you and him, only the barrel of your gun. Carefully, he took hold of it and tugged it out of you grasp, an arm around your waist as he lowered your collapsing form onto the floor.

The colour left your face as beads of sweat started to trickle across your features. Saeyoung took out a bandage from his utility belt and started to wrap up the wound. It would need to be treated properly, but it was enough to get you out of there.

You watched him intently as he attended to you, the same crease forming between his eyebrows from when he worked. It was strange the things you remember about another person. Only then did you realise just how much you had longed for him in the years gone by, and hot tears spilled from your eyes before you had time to register them.

His attention immediately averted to your face, cradling it with both hands as he brushed away your tears with the pad of his thumb, “Hey hey hey, you’re okay. We’re gonna get you out of here, I’m not leaving you.”

“What’s the point? I won’t last a month out there on my own.”

“You’re not going to be on your own. Like I said, I’m not leaving you. You don’t belong in a place like this, and soon you won’t have to,” he rested his forehead on yours, just like you used to, “I need you to trust me.”

“I’d be a burden.”

“You would never. Not to me.”

You eyed him carefully, trying to find any mark of dishonesty on his face, but all you saw was heartache. “Your name,” you croaked, your bones growing heavier with every passing second, “I need to know your name.”

“Saeyoung,” he answered coolly, “Saeyoung Choi.”

He tucked one arm under your knees and the other under your middle as he stood up, effortlessly manoeuvring through the building as he carried you. Vanderwood was waiting outside, exasperation etched on his face as he took in the sight of you both, “Seriously? What the hell is this?”

“No questions, Vanderwood. Just drive,” he ordered as he glided into the backseat with you still in his arms. Setting you down carefully, he checked your injury before taking out his phone and calling the top name on his short list of contacts, “Jumin, it’s me. I need a favour.”

The drive was quiet, but it wasn’t long until your leg was being treated privately in the penthouse of none other than the director of C&R International, Jumin Han. You recognised him from the news, and his association with Saeyoung only raised more questions about his life after you left.

Once the doctor and Jumin Han left, Saeyoung moved to perch on the edge of your bed, gently rubbing your knee, “How’re you feeling?”

“Better…thank you. But, I still don’t know what you expect me to do now. I can’t stay here forever.”

“I have made some arrangements,” he explained, inching closer to you, “You can now go by your real name, and you will become a part of a charity organisation called the RFA, taking the role of ‘party coordinator’. Myself and Jumin are also members and we, as well as the others, will protect you. We have an apartment for you, and you will be safe there. You can start afresh.”

Your eyes widened, sceptical that fate had had such a quick change of heart, “What about the agency? And everyone else who wants me dead?”

“I’m dealing with it.”

“I can’t let you to do that.”

“It’s not your choice.”

You both sat in a heavy silence for what felt like an eternity. Eventually you moved over, inviting him to take the space next to you. He did so, sliding up until you were lying face-to-face with the man that you thought had slipped out of your grasp. Surely it was all too good to be true.

“There’s one catch though.”

And there it was. Too good indeed.

You cocked an eyebrow, and he continued, “If this is to work, we need to keep our distance. You can’t be close to me when I’m still an agent, it’s too risky. After tonight, I’m your colleague at the RFA and nothing more,” you opened your mouth to object, but he cut you off before you had the opportunity, “No, this is non-negotiable. It’s too dangerous and I’m not taking any chances,” he paused, his next words almost a whisper, “I’m not losing you twice.”

Something in your chest ached, but you understood. You had to. As long as he was an agent and was working to erase your soiled past, getting close to him would be too dangerous for the both of you. He was essentially betraying his agency, and if they found out, even he couldn’t get away with it. This was the only way.

So for one last time you grabbed his hand, holding it close to your chest as you closed your eyes. He pressed a kiss against your forehead before placing his own there, in same position as when you were young, but now your minds a little wiser and your hearts a little more bruised. You prayed that you could stay like that forever, that the sun would never rise and you would never have to let go.

But morning was inevitable, and with the first rays of sunshine that filtered through the curtains, Saeyoung untangled himself from you and drove himself back to his bunker, refusing to grant himself the luxury of looking back.

Headphones back over his ears and a soda in hand, he began to work, taking himself back to the quiet agony he resided in, his hiding place from the devil that knocked on his door.

“Then why do you resist the storm?”

Because now, I have all the more to lose.

***

Your legs were dangling over the clifftop as you overlooked the city in the distance. You observed as more building lights flickered off the longer you sat. You wondered whether all the lights would disappear if you waited there long enough, leaving you completely alone on the outskirts of the city you built your new life on.

But either way, you would never truly be alone, would you?

“You know, for a trained agent, you’re not very stealthy,” you said smoothly.

“Like you said, you were far better on the frontline than I was,” Saeyoung replied, “Besides, it was intentional. I thought I shouldn’t startle you when you’re so close to the edge.”

You smirked and gave a hollow laugh, “Literally or figuratively?”

“I don’t know, MC,” he said softly, sitting down next to you, “You tell me.”

It had been a little over a year since you started your new life, and you found it crazy how much had gone down in such a short amount of time. After everything that happened with the Mint Eye, you couldn’t believe that everyone returned alive. And better yet, Saeyoung returned with his brother, meaning he no longer relied on the agency, so he managed to worm his way out of their fierce grip. He became boundless, and so did you. Things were looking up, things we’re finally changing.

But still, nothing had changed between you two.

You rested your head on his shoulder, both of you looking out onto the city until he finally broke the dense silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You took a deep breath, “I don’t think I was meant to live this long,” you began, “I should have been shot that night I ran, or bled to death the day our base was infiltrated. Hell, I should have died in that alleyway before they took me away.” That last part was new information to Saeyoung. He never knew that’s how you were recruited, and he suddenly felt his blood begin to boil. He tensed, trying to conceal his anger. “Yet, somehow, the universe kept me living and as well as that, kept bringing you to me. Like a guardian angel, I suppose. But life’s never really that generous is it? Because every time you came back, I could only get so close. You were just a trick of light,” your voice cracked at the same time his heart did, and he laid his head upon yours, “You’re free now, Saeyoung. When are you going to stop shutting me out?”

He sighed, “There are people out there who hate me, MC, and want more than just me dead. Escaping the agency hasn’t changed that, it has left us in the same place as before. The closer you are to me, the less safe you are.”

“I don’t want safety, Saeyoung. I want you,” you turned to face him, but he was already standing up and walking away, hands shoved in his pockets. “So now I can’t even talk to you?” you yelled after him, getting up from your own seat on the ground.

“I already know what you are going to say. I’ve told you so many times before-“

“Yes, and I listened, now it’s your turn. I’m sick of both of us taking away the other’s right to choose. We’re going to decide our future together, right now, and in order to do that we need to listen to each other.”

He watched you silently for a moment, but you continued, attempting to swallow down the lump in your throat, “I used to dream of a life that was simple, plain sailing. A life where pain was a myth and everything was nothing short of a fairy tale. Every night I dreamed of that life, and every night I prayed for morning to never come so I could stay in that dream forever, because it was easier to hide there than to scrape through a day in the hell that was my reality. And then there was you, and you were kind and you cared for me when I thought I deserved nothing, that I was nothing. I realised then that I didn’t want to live in that dream anymore, you know why? Because you weren’t in it. Because I knew that being in love with you wouldn’t be easy-“

“Don’t throw that word around so carelessly.”

“Carelessly? When I ran away and heard that gunshot, the first image that came to my mind was you. Does that mean nothing to you? I’m about to die and I don’t feel fear, just a stabbing regret that I left behind the one thing that finally made me grateful for every sunrise,” you sobbed, tears now streaming down your face, “Saeyoung, if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. If you don’t feel the same way, I will leave you alone. But if you tell me that you want me too, then how can you expect me to just walk away from you?”

“You could die.”

“I could not.”

“I’m not willing to take that risk.”

“But what if I am?” you cried, your body trembling, “What if I want to die having loved you rather than die having never known what it was like to do so?”

“It would be like loving a monster, because that’s what I am.”

“Not to me. Not ever.”

Saeyoung couldn’t take his eyes off you, his clenched fists shaking by his side and his mind reeling. His heart was screaming at him to go to you, to hold you in his arms and tell you that he fell in love with you in a place where love didn’t even exist. That he has loved you since you were young and broken, and loved you more with every day that you grew older together. But his brain ordered him to hold back, and so he did. His head would always have power over his heart, that was his rule.

The soft peal of thunder could be heard in the distance as rain started to shower, quickly soaking your hair and clothes. Saeyoung looked at you with pleading eyes, “Get in the car, MC, I’m taking you home. You’ll get sick if we stay out here.”

“You said before that you wouldn’t lose me twice,” you continued, ignoring his request, “but you lost me for the second time when you told me to keep my distance. I know you said it to protect me and I appreciate that, I really do, but you no longer get to decide that kind of thing on my behalf,” you stepped towards him until your faces were a breath away from each other, “I want you in my life, Saeyoung, and everything that comes with you. Please, you’ve been through enough tragedy and heartache, stop depriving yourself of what your heart yearns for. It’s a fleeting little life, take a risk and live it.”

Saeyoung’s heart was pounding so hard against his ribcage that he thought it would crack. He studied how your eyelashes glistened from the raindrops, before they slid down your cheek and rested at the point of your chin. He no longer knew where the raindrops ended and the tears began, but he did know that he couldn't hold back anymore. For once, he would let his heart take the wheel.

He tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear before he held your face in the calloused palm of his hand, tilting it up until your lips met. He revelled in the way your lips moved against his, the same way they did when you were kids. He knew your kiss better than the back of his hand, and he wanted to kick himself for keeping you at arms length when you belonged in their embrace. Saeyoung could finally understand what you meant, because he would happily drown in your kiss if it meant he could feel the way he did in that moment for the rest of his life.

Every nerve in his body lit up as he deepened the kiss, fire dancing through his veins as you wrapped your arms around his neck, hands running through his hair. With a moment of boldness, he moved his hands to sit on your waist as he pulled your closer to him, your bodies flush against each other.

When you both broke away to breathe, he tucked his face into your neck, his eyelashes tickling against your skin as his eyes fluttered shut. He didn’t particularly believe in destiny, but having you in his arms made him entertain the idea. He would no longer deprive you of the love you deserved, nor would he deprive himself of the love he desired.

There was a lot of healing to do, and it would take time, you both knew that. Trust doesn’t come naturally to those born in a storm. But you can’t soothe the storm, nor can you live in the calm before it, you can only weather it. And if you were by his side, then what was a little bit of thunder?

You both stood there in each other’s embrace, completely sodden but passed the point of caring. You wanted to savour that moment, because that was the first time in both your lives where you felt completely at ease in your bliss; and when it rains, it pours.

“But then answer me this,” they persevered,

“Would you not favour risking the fierce strike,

To feel the heavens kiss your skin

And witness the electric sky,

Than to waste away within your borders

Having never learnt to dance in the rain?”

***

[analyticaldragons]

How to Train Your Dragon: A Paradox Title

A title can have a massive or little effect on it's potential audience.  If any at all. None the less in this day and age where said audiences will dissect just about anything from the entertainment industry down to it's very core.  Whether or not it should be done is a discussion for another day.  How to Train Your Dragon was no exception to the rule.  Though not necerssarily for positive reasons.  Goodness knows how we in the fandom have heard the jokes one too many times.  If some state the title was just begging to be laughed at. (The most direct one I have come across was why didn't they just go for the alternative-"Training dragons for Dummies reference) As if a roast was just waiting in the wings. Clearly Cressida Cowell, Dean DeBlois and Chris Sanders should have known what they were walking into right?  Or was it an intricate puzzle of themes they hoped their audience would be willing to examine beyond surface level?   Perhaps all of those naysayers and their so called "dissecting" underestimated the creators behind this franchise.   For in truth HTTYD covers some very heavy material. 

How to Train Your Dragon has many examples in dark/heavy themes to explore on it's paradoxical title. Arugably though the famous "Forbidden Friendship" sequence is the most significant.   Hiccup had been observing Toothless from a distance and drawing key features about this unique if not notorious dragon's physicality.   Then returning home to compare and contrast what the book of dragons has to say about night furies.  Even a casual veiwer will remember the potent line "The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself."   After his daily dragon training lesson. He sneaks off back into the forest to resume his observations of this intriguing dangerous animal. This day however will be marked on the calendar as revolutionary.   This won't be the usual observe from a distance.   It's time to get up close and personal.  Bringing a fish to help improve the odds of having a more positive experience.   Hiccup searches the cove for this elusive creature.  Coming off a rock ledge the dragon approaches with weary.   Things go as well as one can hope.  Despite a half regurgitated fish carcass moment.   As two different speices smile at one another.   Hiccup does something that he believes to be a form of extending a positive interaction. He reaches his hand out to touch the dragon.  

Only a tiny hitch in his plans.   The dragon has no desire to be touched!  And this is where HTTYD gets deep. Even with bits of humor playing off in the scene.  It in fact holds a dark undertone.   As Hiccup continues to scooch closer to him as Toothless makes more attempts to get further away.  Hiccup initially does not see the issue of him sitting close by and sneaking his hand in to touch him briefly. When Toothless curls into a ball at the far side of the cove in hopes of getting some rest. Hiccup appears once again at his side.  Toothless is aggrivated but tolerates Hiccup's proximity.  Putting his tail fin over his face. He tries to ignore this human. However Hiccup nearly crosses the line. As he sccots in to gently touch the tail.  Toothless whips his tail faster then Hiccup can blink and sending him to walk away at a quick pace.   The facial expression of Toothless and his rigid body language don't leave any room for arguement. If Hiccup puts his hand any closer there will be consquences!   The tension in this fraction of second moment is worthy of any suspenseful thriller. This could be a harrowing moment if he doesn't act quickly and make the right choice. Hiccup finally grasps the serverity of the situation.   Realizing his attempts to touch the dragon are no longer an option if he wants to continue observing him in a  peaceful atmosphere. He finally gives the dragon full fledge space. He doesn't leave the territory but understands that the dragon needs to be the one to seek out interaction. Especially a physical one. 

After what is presumed to be several hours as displayed by a setting of dusk with the colors in the sky. Toothless wakes up from his nap.   Hanging on a tree branch well of out range where he can not be touched in any manner by this nosy human.  The tables turn on who runs the narrative in this sequence. The point of vew switches over to Toothless.  Never breaking a fourth wall to the audience by suddenly being able to talk.  The scene now revolves around the dragon to keep his perspective at the center of attention.   Approaching Hiccup to see what this strange creature is up to.  He observes him now.  Garning courage to get close. He comes up behind him. (Not next to him) This scrawny two-legged creature creating lines in the sand with a stick fascinate Toothless. He's never encountered this before.  He wants to try. As he tries to replicate this alien behavior (afterall drawing is not how dragons spend their leisure time) only on a larger scale.  After the adorable interlude of Hiccup learning not to step on the lines this dragon has done as he unknowingly is being made to follow a path right up to him.  

We of this fandom know this scene by heart now.  The narrative now switches to Hiccup as the focal point in which he attempts to reach his hand out only for Toothless to growl at him.  He takes a deep breath then looks away while closing his eyes. His hand continuing to extend out in the air.   Until it stops. Vulnerable as the dragons' breath is on his skin.  Then it happens. They touch. He looks on in shock as he sees the dragon with his nose on his hand with his eyes closed.  

Only here is the catch about this scene. It's an illusion that Hiccup takes back the center narrative. Despite all appearences. It's not Hiccup who is the one who is truly vulnerable.  It is Toothless.   His hesitation to be willing to break the barrier is the key to everything.  It has defined the franchise.  And at it's core.  The themes don't have anything to do with training.  It's abour consent.   Of course it is about trust as well.  But long before the audience ever gets to that stage between these two characters.  The stepping stones to reach that pivital moment all began with this scene. Anchored around consent.   Hiccup assumed early on in this scene touching Toothless was not even considered for questioning. His inadvertent arrogant assumption that's it's perfectly okay to touch was nearly met with violence.  Only from Toothless's point of view. It is self-defense. A basic right to protect himself as he never gave permission to be touched.   

In a world where many societies have created the unspoken rule where certain people can have the right as well of privilege of touching (no matter how harmless) at will. This is a story that reminds us that it is a universal right across every specturm to have the consent of another before touching.   Nature included!   To do so on your own accord under the assupmtion it's okay because you see no problem with it is to burn the bridge of trust well before crossing it.   The creators of HTTYD may have chosen the word "train" in their title but it's not what truly occurs in these stories.    And they wanted their audiences to see who was actually paying attention and who made the wrong assumption.   

[botanyshitposts]

pls explain the news in laymans terms 😭

okay lads buckle up, this is gonna be a long one. the paper is “A phylogenomic analysis of Nepenthes (Nepenthaceae)” from Murphy et al. i’m gonna link it here, and i encourage anyone interested to read it for themselves and draw their own conclusions, but otherwise i’m gonna give an overview as i understand it.

if you do not want to see 394023 words of in-depth carnivorous plant genetics content you should start scrolling now. 

so. Nepenthes is a carnivorous plant family colloquially known as ‘asian pitcher plants’ or ‘monkey cups’. it’s one of the largest carnivorous plant families in the world, and without a doubt one of the most diverse, but we’ll get to that in a minute. these plants have pitchers that fill with fluid and digest bugs alive (important note in terms of nep anatomy 101: unlike venus fly traps or sundews, Nepenthes are passive traps and don’t move or curl up or anything, just sit and watch it all unfold). their range has china and korea on the northern edge, the tip of australia on the southern edge, and most of indonesia, the philippines, and most associated landmasses encompassed between. there are a couple outliers, but for the most part these are jungle plants with a vining growth form that weaves through trees and just….eats. 

now, putting aside the fact that they’re carnivorous, one of the biggest points of Nepenthes is their diversity as a family. if anyone out there remembers the term ‘adaptive radiation’ from an intro bio class, Nepenthes is THE family of adaptive radiation. in addition to common species that grow everywhere in their range, these lads can be so specialized that there are species you can only find on single specific ridges on single specific mountains on single specific islands; as you can imagine, this makes them especially vulnerable to climate change, habitat destruction, and poachers. 

the most obvious point of diversity here is the pitcher traps themselves: there are hundreds of different pitcher morphologies, ranging from special peristome adaptations to bizzare patterns and colorations to the addition of fang-like structures and symbiosis with bats, ants, and rodents. the list goes on. these lads are so specialized it’s unbelievable. one might think that, in terms of figuring out how these different species are related to each other, that it would be pretty obvious, since everything is so distinctive. 

but there is a problem. 

they fuck. 

Nepenthes as a family is established to be one of the oldest carnivorous plant families, but the 200+ species identified over the years are suspected to be the result of very recent (in evolutionary time) modern radiation. one of the most common definitions of what a ‘species’ is that i see circulated is the idea that something is a species when it can no longer breed with another species, but it’s important to realize that this is one definition of what a ‘species’ is. in the case of Nepenthes, the knowledge that a bunch of scientists have decided they are different does not stop them. 

it was hoped, with the advent of DNA testing, that maybe we would be able to assemble a semi-full map of how all these species relate to one another and how they came to be (a phylogenetic tree), but as it turns out the lads fuck so much between themselves and other Nepenthes species that figuring out how they became the species they became, even with DNA, is extremely difficult. ‘breeding complexes’ not too different than what i wrote about in the fern sex triangle post a while back are a very nepenthes-esque thing to have happen.

a quote from the paper: 

“These uncertainties are not unique to Nepenthes but various factors make them important in this group: the frequency of natural hybrids and apparent lack of intrinsic reproductive barriers between taxa, the extent of intraspecific morphological variation and the reliance by taxonomists on the pitchers.”

in short, these plants have no control. they are not practicing safe sex. they are living lavishly in their own tropical jungle paradise with as much hedonism as a plant can muster as botanists try to connect how one pitcher might be the evolutionary origin of another while somehow all the pitchers are either functionally the same or radically different. 

which brings us to this study. when people compare DNA, they’re rarely comparing the entire genome (although that can be done), but rather they identify a set of consistently mutable genes that are present across an entire subsection of life, and look at just those genes at just their locations on various chromosomes. instead of trying to find a couple genes fit to compare plants across the Nepenthes genus, as past studies did, this study took and applied a set of DNA probes developed previously to compare 353 genes present across the entire subkingdom of flowering plants. 

as you can imagine, this provides a significantly larger set of data to work with. sure, it’s not perfect and this take will need more research to confirm (basing the entire Nepenthes phylogenetic tree off of a single study is a dangerous game, especially when things are so saucy in the forest), but it’s significantly better than the results past Nepenthes phylogenetic analyses generated, where researchers were able to see some general outlines and attempted to sort the genus into a few groups, but were ultimately unable to see where species themselves split and what their relations to each other were (you know, because of all the sex). 

so. this paper: 

-obtained samples from 151 different Nepenthes species from different collectors, herbariums, and conservatories. for those familiar with Nepenthes as a hobby, Andreas Wistuba might ring a bell; he contributed some samples from his plants to this study. otherwise, the KEW botanical gardens is more ubiquitously recognized donor.

-for more common species, more samples were taken from different places to account for different populations.

-another quote from the paper that i think is interesting on multiple levels: “We also include two unpublished species, N. sp. Anipahan and N. sp. taminii. The former, from Palawan, is discussed by McPherson (2011) and may be a synonym of N. leonardoi. The latter is an undescribed species from Sumatra that has been circulating amongst Nepenthes growers and resembles N. rhombicaulis but is perhaps distinguished by its leaves. Also sampled here are N. echinostoma Hook. f., a commonly collected plant usually considered a variant of N. mirabilis, and a sample we liken to N. angustifolia Mast., a species usually considered synonymous with N. gracilis.”

i mentioned earlier that previous molecular analyses done by other people were able to see a general outline but weren’t able to see anything more distinct; the results of this paper for the most part confirm these general outlines, which means that if nothing else we have strong support for the relationship the entire Nepenthes family has to other, more closely related plant families, which the paper resolves in this tree: 

note that the above tree describes the family’s relation to various other families, followed by ‘Nepenthes clade 1′ and ‘Nepenthes clade 2′. these two clades contain most of the Nepenthes genus sampled; the six species shown in red, according to the results, are considered sister species to the entire rest of the genus, separate from those two clades.

now, what personally gets me the most excited here is the plant they confirmed as being the sister species to that subsection of sister species, effectively making it the outgroup to like, literally everything else: Nepenthes pervillei, from the republic of seychelles.

yeah. you know back at the beginning of this response when i said there were some exceptions to the Nepenthes habitat range? this would be one of those exceptions. the republic of seychelles is off the coast of africa, closer to madagascar than indonesia. to be fair, there are also Nepenthes along the eastern coast of madagascar, but because Nepenthes is so strongly geographically coordinated (this paper goes on to describe clades literally just named after the countries they’re in) this is pretty goddamn cool. this species got cut off in the middle of the ocean and now looks…….like a Nepenthes, but just off enough to be kind of weird (the biggest thing i realized just…staring at pictures of it is that it doesn’t seem to have wings down the front, which to be fair isn’t required of neps but makes it look super naked as a result). forbidden uncanny valley Nepenthes cast from the fuck zone. i love it.

the other main outgroup species (the sister species to all the ‘typical’ asian species, specifically, aka clades 1 and 2) they identified was Nepenthes danseri, which is native to waigeo island in indonesia (that’s in the fuck zone, for those keeping score at home) and, i would argue, has the same kind of thin-peristomed, simple-ribbed kind of look to it that pervillei has, but it definitely looks more traditionally Nepenthes-like.

now, with that, we really get into the meat of their results here. this is the full phylogenetic tree with all tested species laid out according to their results: 

i….have no idea if tumblr will let you zoom in on this pic so im just gonna write down some notes.

the color-coded names on the tree to the right match their respective habitats down in the map on the bottom left, which is neat, but it’s also interesting to see how some of these species have apparently been fucking between islands. i know this is gonna be low-res but look at this swath at the top, some of what they’ve identified as being ‘clade 1′ (mostly common, widespread lowland species):

- man………. i mean, first of all i wanna point out the lone bicalcarata branches at the top #representing, having somehow maintained their chastity despite being the sexiest of the Nepenthes. 

- hookeriana being the outgroup for ampullaria seems to fit well by adorable chubbiness factor alone. 

- one thing that seems weird but not totally out of character is that halfway down in yellow we see mirabilis in multiple populations in yellow, then down from there a little ways we see different mirabilis populations in green and purple and red, all but N. echinostoma and N. orbiculate, which are both outgroups. i knew it was a common species, but for some reason i wasn’t expecting it to be like………that (there’s an entire second section of them in red just below where this screenshot cuts off). like, good for them.

going down the main tree, we get into clade 2, the more specialized highland species, which are always very exciting. 

there’s my personal favorite, N. villosa: 

not surprised at N. edwardsiana’s relation, because how else would you be able to achieve such absolutely enormous teeth, but N. macrophylla surprises me. it’s got good teeth, but both edwardsiana and villosa are like, TEETH, you know? i guess it makes sense that it split from villosa, though. 

moving from that, VERY glad that the littlest known lad, N. argentii, made it on here. i know i’ve talked about argentii on this blog before, as the Nepenthes species that was so tiny the paper describing it’s discovery warned that population counts could be skewed by the plants ‘hiding under bushes’. their tinyness, which kills me every time i look at an image of them, is somehow weird in terms of being related to N. graciliflora, which is…..pretty normal sized. same with N. armin. makes me wonder how the hell they got so tiny. 

of course we can’t leave out the group with the largest currently known species, N. attenboroughii. the hilarity of the smallest and largest Nepenthes species being a single clade apart, if not very distantly diversified down their respective evolutionary lines, is not lost on me. 

N. palawanensis is a chonker, but i gotta say i wasn’t expecting it to be the sister species to the one and only megachonker, the plant literally famous for its sheer chonk. imagine being that overshadowed by your sibling. 

on a more general note– the paper noted this, too –it’s interesting to see how the lowland species seem to be happier about jumping islands and being promiscuous than the highland species, which seem to clump together by location. i guess it’s not surprising, knowing how specialized some of these highland species can be; villosa, for example, is native to a single side of a single mountain, and is positioned so that the populations are hit by cool wind coming up from the sea. still, lowland species need hot and humid environments, and can be just as picky. it’s gotta be a matter of isolation. 

anyway, there’s probably more i could talk about here but…man there’s a lot of data. the paper goes in-depth with how they constructed the more problematic branches, and trouble they had with some over others, confirming that we shouldn’t take this phylogenetic tree as 100% correct; things will almost certainly change or become clearer as more research is done, and phylogenetic trees in particular are known for being constructed and reconstructed time and time again. 

still though, it’s like…to see these relationships at this resolution for the first time is just really fucking cool, man. this isn’t even all the species. i remember i went to a carnivorous plant conference two years ago now, and there was a lecture by researchers attempting to untangle the phylogeny of Nepenthes and coming up short aside from a low-resolution tree of some of the more major species and the relation of Nepenthes to other families, their science blocked by the sheer feral chadness on display in the tropical jungles encompassing the land between china and australia. like, i really just want to take a moment, as an end note, to appreciate that these plants fucked so much in the past couple million years that it took multiple major advancements in technology and the examination of hundreds of genes just to get an approximate look at the phylogeny. like, that’s an Isoetes level power move and im not over it

[twilightofthe]

So...about that Obitine Anidala rant. Also, you said something about how Sidious and Obi-Wan are foils. I would love it if you elaborate. (Also, I love your blog.)

Awwwww thank you anon!  I just be yelling on here!

*wheezes* okie doke!  Tho I stress that this won’t exactly be a rant because I adore Obitine and Anidala and rant kinda implies aggression towards them, this is more of just a long-ass ramble because while I love them, I don’t always love the way canon portrays them in the narrative, particularly in relationship to each other, because I often do not feel that what the show is trying to push us to think about them is accurate to how they actually act and come across.  Notably, the show attempts to draw comparisons to the two relationships that really don’t exist below surface level similarities.  Again, these are my own personal opinions, and in fact, I welcome discussion!  I truly do!  Please politely debate me on this if you disagree!

(god dammit it got long again, so long I’ll actually put ur Sidious and Obi Wan as foils part in a separate post)

I’ll get to why exactly the show compares the relationships very strangely in a moment, but first we gotta explore the reason why it does this in the first place, which is that the Clone Wars show has decided to make Obi Wan and Anakin narrative foils to one another.  Narrative foils, by the literary definition, are two characters that contrast one another.  They don’t have to be the protagonist and the antagonist, these characters can be on the same side, basically the thing is that they have “opposite” personalities where if one character is hot, the other is cold, if one character chooses to go right, the other will go left.  It’s usually used to show one character’s qualities as more favorable for the situation as opposed to anyone else’s.

TCW does this whenever they possibly can with Anakin and Obi Wan.  I get its reasoning behind it.  I do.  The reasoning is that while Anakin is supposed to be a main character, he makes questionable decisions quite often and for the kiddies watching, those decisions must be seen as Bad even if the hero does it, so they have Obi Wan, the unquestionable good guy, encounter the exact same scenarios Anakin makes his questionable decisions in, and then has Obi Wan make the Right(TM) decision to teach the kids a valuable lesson.  They turn Obi Wan into the voice of reason for the entire show, which turns basically almost everything Obi Wan and Anakin do into a constant competition in the narrative in a way the movies do not do (and I’ll get to the movies later).  I’m not saying it’s necessarily a bad thing, making them foils, but it’s definitely more of a show-only thing and it does it quite, quite often.

So yeah, TCW likes to compare Obi Wan and Anakin to the point that sometimes they try and use Obi Wan to diminish Anakin’s genuine trauma and struggles by going “well why didn’t you do it like THIS?” and I think that writing parallel plotlines for the purpose of shaming/criticism is kinda ://////, but that’s another rant for another day that again, if y’all wanna hear about, lmk

Anyway, the need to compare them absolutely made its way into their romantic relationships as well, as they acknowledge the similarities in the show, and Filoni and the crew explicitly compare the two relationships in interviews.

Basically my problem with how they try and draw said parallels can be boiled down to one quote by Filoni that a cursory Google search could not find but I know exists so y’all can take my word or not, that went along the lines of “Obi Wan and Satine are like Anakin and Padmé but better because they know how to stay unattached and let each other go.  They’re a success story.”  I disagreed with this quote so much it inspired me to write a whole-ass fic about it (Mutuals update: yes, it is coming soon, Darth Maul is just himself and therefore an utter pain in the ass to do a POV on and is fighting me like the bitchass he is)

My thesis that I will be arguing today is that while TCW tried to create Obitine as an Anidala parallel, they’re really not similar in the way the writers think they are.  Obitine is not a success story to Anidala, they’re a goddamn tragedy too; the real parallel to Anidala is that Obitine also ended in death and tears despite making all the “right” decisions instead of all the “wrong” ones, and that is what is sad about them.

Like, on the surface level?  Yeah, the crew-intended parallels are there.  A fancy politician and a Jedi get together after the Jedi is assigned as the politician’s bodyguard.  The first time they see each other in over a decade the guy’s first words are basically “damn girl you’re still hot”, there is Conflict(TM) and the choice to try and be together or stay yearningly apart because they are Forbidden(TM) to be together, and ultimately a Sith Lord fucks them both over because he’s obsessed with the Jedi and uses Politician Lady to his advantage, finds and exploits a vulnerability of hers, destroys her life’s work, and then lets her die to make Jedi Man sad.  The difference is all that one pair said “yeah we aren’t gonna break the rules to be together” and the other said “fuck it yeah we are, let’s do this”

But beneath all of that, they real similarities are different and not at all focused on by the narrative.  Obi Wan and Anakin are extremely different people, as are Padmé and Satine, so their relationship dynamics together will not be the same.  You want to try and compare Obi Wan and Anakin and then compare Satine and Padmé like the crew attempts to, and you can’t, they have the same job but not nearly the same life.  Namely, the funny coincidence is that Obi Wan and Padmé are much more similar in personality, while Anakin and Satine are also much more similar in personality, so the first time they meet again, it’s both Anakin and Satine as the one who’s been pining for over a decade and the one more actively pursuing the relationship, while Obi Wan and Padmé who are more like “uh, hi, wow, you’re hot and this is a Problem because I have a job to do pls don’t look at me like that but also I will Cause Problems On Purpose and flirt with you anyway because I can’t help it”.  I get the Corruption TCW ep with Sati and Pads was mostly intended just to help Satine pass the Bechdel test and also show how similar the two leading lady love interests are, but it was a genuinely creative episode that actually ended up showing how much Satine and Padmé compliment each other instead of mirroring each other, much like Obi Wan and Anakin do.

And, onto my next point, despite the character parallels being wrong, the parallels in the relationship are different too.  Like I said, the parallel isn’t that Obi Wan and Satine aren’t attached like Anakin and Padmé are.  The parallel is that Obitine is actively running from what that attachment means instead of embracing it like Anidala is.  The show would argue that since they try to avoid it, that they are able to live without one another, means they aren’t attached like the Jedi define it, but I argue that they definitely still are attached to a degree because they cannot give each other up.  They held torches for each other from a timerange of 15 YEARS.  Yes I know they spent an entire year together at a young and emotionally volatile point in their lives, but I stand that NO ONE is that hung up on their ex for that long unless there is some serious emotions involved.  Anakin was hung up on Padmé for ten years, and that was because Palpatine was constantly bolstering those affections and reminding him of Padmé.  Obes and Sati both-- or at least Satine, the show always makes Obi Wan’s feelings for Satine in return much more vague --held on to their feelings for five years longer without the influence of a Sith Lord.

And the thing is, they know it.  Obi Wan and Satine are both fully aware that they haven’t been able to shake each other off like they should and that that is a Problem, that’s why they’re both a mite venomous with each other beneath the flirting at first, they’re both extremely frustrated with themselves for not being able to get over this thing they have, and frustrated with the other for being there as an active temptation.

And yet, they still are attached to each other.  They try to avoid it, they definitely try, and that’s what makes them different from Anidala, but they are definitely still attached.  You can see it in Obi Wan’s actions in Voyage of Temptation when Merrik is threatening to blow the ship, the way he hesitates in attacking him because that would be “striking an unarmed man”.  Obi Wan Kenobi does not prefer violence, no, but he has never hesitated to cut a bitch before if it’s for the good of the many.  This is the man who stabbed someone with a fork and threatened to eat him just to maintain his cover as a dangerous criminal.  This is the guy who had no problem killing Zam Wessel for information to protect Padmé.  This is a pragmatist who prefers peaceful solutions, but he does not hesitate if he feels it is a justified offense.  But this time, when an entire shipful of people is at risk, Obi Wan hesitates.  Because he doesn’t want to upset Satine.  Because he’s probably thinking on how she told him that if he had killed the last terrorist they encountered, she wouldn’t speak to him, how she had criticized every time he used violence to escape Death Watch before.  He hesitates because he’s putting her happiness, just for a second, over the sake of duty.  Do I think that if Anakin hadn’t shown up to save their moral compasses, Obi Wan would have eventually taken out Merrik?  Absolutely; hell, I honestly think Satine might have done it.

But the matter was, Merrik could have pressed the kill switch any second of Obi Wan’s hesitation, and Obi Wan knew that, and was hesitating anyway.

I am calling this attachment solely because if the situation was reversed, if this was Anakin and Padmé in this situation, with Anakin not taking out a dangerous criminal because he doesn’t want to upset Padmé (lol ignoring the fact that Pads 1000% would have shot that bitch, and even if she didn’t, Anakin would because he is perfectly fine with hurting his loved ones’ feelings if he feels it’ll keep them safe), god, the narrative would have eaten Anakin alive.  

No, I won’t take criticism.  I know how the show handles the Anidala dynamic.  It would have shown Obi Wan popping up to take out the baddie as him doing the right thing and saving the day, and then Anakin would have been shamed for letting his feelings for his wife get in the way of protecting a shipful of people.  THAT would be the Vader foreshadowing, none of this “only a cold-blooded killer” shit, no way would they ever stick that label on Obi Wan.

So yeah, I’m going off of the fact that if that would have been classified as attachment for Anidala-- which, it would, then. it counts for Obitine.

And then Obi Wan and Satine continue to be hung up on each other for the rest of the eps they’re in, Satine saying in words multiple times how much she loves and cares about him and wishes things could be different, and Obi Wan performing it in actions, risking his own neck and political standing to help her even when she’s a fugitive, probably personally putting in to send his own grandpadawan to help her later.  Right up to the time when Satine decides that she is going to call Obi Wan when she is deposed.  Not the Senate.  Not any powerful politician friends.  Not even the Jedi Order or the Council as a whole.  She calls and addresses her distress call to Obi Wan alone.  And Obi Wan, as now revealed to us by TCW S7, defies Council orders and breaks a century old neutrality treaty to try and bust her, a convicted murderer in the eyes of the Republic and Mandalore, out.  He didn’t even know Maul had her.  Just knew she was in danger and came running to her aid.  He risks starting a potential war to come save her.  They acted so in love that Vizsla was able to guess from being around them for like five seconds, and was able to tell Maul exactly who he would need to bait Obi Wan.

That is where the attachment comes from.  It’s the fact that Obi Wan and Satine tried so, so hard to give each other up and do the right thing, but when it came down to it, they couldn’t lose the other one so they put them first when logically they shouldn’t.  And thus, Satine ended up dead.

Now I know most people will argue with me that actually Filoni means that since they didn’t stay together after the year on the run, THAT is what makes them able to give each other up, and also the fact that Obi Wan didn’t go dark side and murder everyone when Satine died.

But I still think that at least the murder front is a fairly low bar to cross, and anyway, that just because they could live without each other didn’t mean they weren’t still attached.  Anakin and Padmé were apart for 10 years and then even after that, they were apart almost constantly during the war.  Just because they could live apart or even past the other’s death didn’t mean they weren’t attached, as they both still had not let the other go mentally and also broke rules to try and ensure the other would not die, even if the rules said they should let it happen.

So yeah, that’s my big theory.  We can’t compare Obitine with Anidala by saying Obitine was a success story, we compare them by acknowledging that both struggled with attachments and letting the other go, but Obitine at least tried to the bitter end to do the right thing while Anidala didn’t really bother, and both ended up with dead women and broken men regardless, and that is the true sad parallel to me.

[arden-in-the-garden]

Racism on PokeFarm Q

So! This is gonna be a long post, so i’ll be putting all of the content below a read more cut. The gist is that the staff of PokeFarm Q are racist and do not give a single fuck about the Indigenous communities, and explicitly stated they will not even attempt to do anything about cultural appropriation. In the past staff members have also voiced their lack of support for the BLM movement. I’ve gathered transcripts and screenshots from the conversation between myself and the member that started this and between myself and staff.

tw for below the cut: ment. of r*pe, ment. of cannibalism, the word wendig*ag repeatedly uncensored, racism ment., cultural appropriation ment.

This morning I came across a user by the name of  TrüêWêndïgø, and they were messaged in regards to their username

ArdenInTheGarden 09/Jun/2020 08:13:03 (1 hour ago) Hey, are you Alqonquin/Anishinaabe? TrüêWêndïgø 09/Jun/2020 08:17:17 (1 hour ago) I am an Algonquian Wendigo if that is what you are asking. Why? ArdenInTheGarden 09/Jun/2020 08:20:10 (1 hour ago) Figured I'd ask. There a lot of non-Natives that use the term for Wendig*ag trivially, and I promised nA friends that if I saw it I'd check on it, and to help try and deter its usage TrüêWêndïgø 09/Jun/2020 08:23:39 (1 hour ago) I am kinda obsessed with the Wendigo, so I read about them a lot. I am Australian, so if I have gotten this wrong in any way, I would like to correct myself. I hope I am using it correctly ArdenInTheGarden 09/Jun/2020 08:26:59 (1 hour ago) Ahh, let me help you out then! They're, like, NOT something to mess with. They're feared, through and through, to the point where speaking or even writing the name is forbidden (which is why it's usually censored). They're not able to be befriended or tamed or worked with; they are the pure form of evil distilled into a physical being, often from greed or due to cannibalism! They're definitely not the kind of thing to be revered or messed with, they're just evil, straight up. I don't think you can change your username, but I'd discourage you from using it in the future, especially as a non-Native TrüêWêndïgø 09/Jun/2020 08:30:46 (1 hour ago) I have already accepted death because I got a wendigo oc. I only discovered the creature becuase my oc was made before I learnt about them. My unusual deerman with the taut skin and a thirst for blood. I apologise if I upset anyone with my username. ArdenInTheGarden 09/Jun/2020 08:34:52 (56 minutes ago) Fwiw the, like, "fanon" (not the right term but you know what I mean?) depiction of them has no root in any of the beliefs? No one really knows where that came from (except, like, white people trying to steal things that aren't theirs and mainstream religious figures for their own gain) So your OC can very well just be an angry bloodthirsty deer man that isn't infringing on First Nations beliefs and appropriating from a closed belief system not open to outsiders. I doubt you meant any harm, but I'd STRONGLY encourage you to not use the term or name in the future TrüêWêndïgø 09/Jun/2020 08:43:15 (47 minutes ago) I mean, I didn't try to steal anything, I just think the creature is awesome, kinda like the Sirenhead thing. I love to learn about mythology and legends. I think the only problem is that I've used the term Wendigo too much, and once again, I am sorry for that. I respect wishes and all that, but me learning about the creature and having my oc being a Wendigo kinda helped me through bad times. I like to create art [stories or drawings] keeps me happy. Again, sorry, but I would like to continue using the term. Only because of an oc. I understand how disresptectful I am, and I understand if you don't like this, but I'm not trying to upset anyone. ArdenInTheGarden 09/Jun/2020 08:50:10 (40 minutes ago) "but please sir, that's my comfort cultural appropriation and misuse of First Nations beliefs". Like,,,yeah, it is really disrespectful. You're using it wrong, and it's not open to you, and you can't use it. Comparing it to Sirenhead is also REALLY disrespectful? Like, you're taking a sacred piece of a belief system and equating it to a shitty Internet monster :/ I obviously can't force you but you're wrong and you're well aware that you are, and you're being selfish and unkind :// you need to stop, and I've been really nice about this and handling it because I know Natives are tired of having to do it, but please do not mistake my kindness and composure as a sign you can continue because you cannot.

Unfortunately I was unable to get screenshots of this conversation before my account was locked. Screenshots of the rest are available.

I filed a support ticket with the staff regarding it, which received no response

About an hour later I was greeted with this error, stating my account had been locked indefinitely for harassment and violation of the PG rule

I filed a second support ticket in order to appeal my account being locked and give an explanation to the staff. The following is the conversation between myself and Eltafez

It's 4:30 in the morning so forgive my ineloquence.

My language might have been slightly harsh in PMs with TrueWend*go, but they were violating the rules and have an inappropriate username and are flagrantly disregarding the racist roots their actions have. The Native community in every part of the world has faced consistent harassment and dealt with their culture being slandered, torn apart, erased, and what was left being stolen by people to use as a fun culture symbol or as a "sPoOkY mYtH". They are glorifying a being that is rooted entirely in evil and is the embodiment of the worst a person is capable of. They have created an identity around a creature of cannibalism, of r*pe, of greed, and of violence. They disregarded the polite explanations of the ramifications of their actions and the benefit of the doubt that they did not know what they were doing. By locking my account for this, you are sending the clear message that you care more for not rocking the boat than defending Native belief systems. As a US resident, I am already witnessing the brutal effects of silencing those speaking out against racism. You are aligning yourselves with oppressors. I will agree that my defense was perhaps overzealous. Moderators on many other sites I have been on have failed entirely in the past to defend the Native community and I was frightened this case would be the same and reacted strongly. I am still afraid this is the case as I am the one punished and they are, at last checked, still free to continue. Please unlock my account. If I am unavailable on the PMs, I can be reached at [REDACTED] for further discussion.

Eltafez — 09/Jun/2020 12:21 The staff of PFQ do not condone or support any form of racism. In fact, the team is comprised of people living all over the world. Quite a few among us (myself included) are from a different culture and/or race. You're offended by a name - I'd like to counter that by saying you're offending the staff team by accusing us of something we're not. Cultural appropriation is something we cannot (and will not) enforce due to the sheer magnitude of it. You see books, movies, games - everywhere really, that handle mythical creatures and even real gods (take Egypt, Greece, Rome, ... to name a few). Like human beings, they develop and change over time. We can't lock someone for having the name Anubis or Iuno because there once existed a civilization that coined these names or terms. There's a public beach called "Wendigo Beach Resort" - if the term is so inappropriate, then why is it called that? The user you reported has done nothing wrong - our rules, as they're written, have not been broken. The site is British and it follows British laws. You, however, have broken them by harassing the user and mentioning words that are actually inappropriate in the English language. We are fine with people spreading awareness, but it stops when they try to force their own beliefs unto others.

The name of W"ndigo Beach is actively being fought by the Native community. It's not the "gotcha!" you think it is. The term is used (inappropriately) by garbage human beings who have gotten away with it and will continue to do so because of people like you who will never uphold any kind of justice for anyone but themselves. You have failed. You have failed, and you have defended your failure by attempting to deflect it. This is not the same as having the name of Old Gods. This is having a name equivalent to celebrating the lynching of the African American community. This is a name equivalent to saying "I support Nazis". This is a name that is, at its core, supporting pure evil. Your staff may be "diverse" but it is obviously still filled with narrow minded individuals who will step on the nA community to try and boost themselves. I am saddened. I am disgusted. I hope none of you are in any real position of authority around children because you are teaching them to do that which the British have always done: destroy, disregard, deflect. You have failed, and will continue to do so until you are capable of looking past your own biases to realize that you are wrong and you are disgusting in your defense of the status quo instead of justice. 

Eltafez — 09/Jun/2020 18:06 Since it doesn’t look like your mind is going to change, I’ll do us both a favor and bid you a good day.

Gargle my dick and balls

And thus ended all communication with staff

Don’t let them get away with this, and don’t let them get away with thinking that they can do whatever they like (or nothing) without any consequence. Idleness is complicity, and they are sending the dangerous message that racism is tolerated. “We don’t support racism in any form” and “we’re not gonna do anything about cultural appropriation tho” cannot co-exist. 

[spookymultimedia]

ITS MY BLOG AND I GET TO INFODUMP ABOUT MY CHARACTERS >:D

Disability and gender experience

CW for ptsd, panic attacks, su*c*de [I will talk about at the end if you still want to read this and will add another warning] , gender dysphoria, mild transpobia and abelism both internal and external

Disability

Lyla has osteoarthritis that is due to Burns' pretty fucky genes. She found this out when one evening they literally couldn't get out of bed for anything due to intense pain in the knees. Waylon had to come and get them and when he got there Lyla was pretty much on the brink of tears. Lyla then got a diagnosis. At first she was frustrated because it changed everything about his daily life. He was prescribed pain medication that dulls the pain to a manageable degree and was recommended to use a cane to get around during mild flare ups. It initially upset her. He thought she was too young to be going through something like that and hated having to limit how much they work. They later realized that stigma was ableist and bullshit and eventually sucked it up and decided to just embrace his new way of life and let her Grandfather help him learn how to cope due to experience with chronic pain [which means its lifelong] . On some days they get around just fine with pain meds but on bad flare up days they have to use a cane or chair to get around. She eventually mastered working with the aids and can even pop a sick wheelie on his chair. The pain still gets to them and it really sucks but he does swallow his pride and allow themselves to rest and be supported by others.

Sometimes with her partner Ashley he'll get snuggled and taken care of by her. Lyla is pretty dang light like his grandfather and Ashley has no problem carrying him around. Lyla secretly loves being carried. He's pretty fucking privileged to have Mr.Burns allow her disability support. Lyla is very privileged. Sometimes they like to make his cane/chair look cool with spray paint and whatnot. Very cripplepunk. Lyla probably found a disabled community of people his age to help her feel less alone.

Abbey has undiagnosed innatentive type adhd and ptsd that she gets full on panic attacks from. Neurodiversity was something taboo and not talked about in her childhood and didn't even realize she was struggling more than she should be. As a child she struggled paying attention to long boring sermons/lectures and was shamed alot for it. She didn't understand how she occasionally made people uncomfortable with very weird and unconventional topics she talks about. Loud sudden stimuli and intense buzzing overwhelms her and can make her cry. She didn't do very well in school and barely graduated high school. She prefered watching her favorite movies and playing dolls with her sister over studying. She's extremely sensitive to fabric and only has certain types of blankets and clothes that she can stand. She absolutely hates the feeling of fabric draping against her legs too much so sometimes she either wears tight-ish pants and avoids skirts/dresses. She hates sitting and walking in dresses. She never wanted to wear them lol they feel bad to her. She refuses to sit up straight and will cross her legs. Abbey hyperfixates on animation, cinema, and dollhouses. She likes binging movies and making doll projects. She tends to bond with people through movies and model making. She struggled to make friends outside of her circle and just stayed friends with people she grew up with at her church. They all escaped that mormon hell. Abbey struggles with her emotions and usually gets overwhelmed too much which can often leave her drained and tired. She has an intense oral fixation and uses stim necklaces to chew on, before she would chew on her sleeves, pen caps, pens, her hair, her shirt, her sleeves, bottle caps, ect. She was a very curious kid and tried to eat playdough, dirt and grass lol. None of them where good. She is decent at working at the video store and feels happy with her job being related to her interests. Because hrt therapy is so expensive she doesn't feel she can afford any kind of therapy or medication and it's very overwhelming for her to have to prioritize one aspect of her health over another. But with financial support from close friends and her boyfriend Tim she gets by ok.

Gender

Lyla assumed that it was completely normal to have a fuzzy fluid gender due to believing gender is a lose concept for most people. He didn't realize most people have static genders that don't change at all. It wasn't something they never questioned. Later in Lyla's 20s they started to learn more on gender and realized she wasn't as cis as he thought they where. The term genderfluid fit his experiences perfectly. They never felt still in their gender. Even if they felt more towards one gender over another it wasn't a firm feeling. It felt fluid and lose. As a teen they dressed in goth fashion and was a self proclaimed tomboy. But they realized tomboys or most gnc women didn't dress up very feminine on somedays or even wear dresses. She loves wearing dresses and she loves wearing lose jeans and a lose men's tee.

Lyla's gender tends to shift weekly but it may present or change depending on who they're with or what media/environment they're exposed too. For example he might feel more feminine with certain friends and more masculine with strangers. Sometimes they feel more comfortable being agender or a nonbinary genders with certain people such as their partner. Sometimes they only use certain pronouns with certain people. He/she/they at work, she/he with parents, she/he/they/it with siblings, she/he with some friends, and she/he/moths/rots, rats, its with their partner. Lyla will either tell people upfront on pronouns for the week or use a pin.

Most of the time clothes don't dictate their gender that week but there are some key differences. Lyla will not wear dresses on more masculine days and may draw on facial hair with a mascara brush. On more feminine days they dress more like a nature witch and loves floral stuff. They are more likely to have fun with makeup on those days.

Lyla doesn't want to undergo any kind of surgery or hormone therapy. Lyla may bind a bit with a sports bra but doesn't really feel uncomfortable with his chest and mostly doesn't mind having visibile tits on masc days.

Abbey always felt different from her birth sex and felt very frustrated learning she wouldn't just naturally grow into the chest and genitals she wants growing up. It was an extremely taboo and forbidden subject but despite that something inside her soul knew she was a girl. Her parents pushed very strict gender roles on her growing up and causes her to struggle with her femininity as an infertile woman who could not stand dresses. It made her feel a bit lost but she later felt better knowing other women cis and trans who don't conform to gender roles.

Abbey gets intense physical dysphoria from her crotch and for a long time she had to just deal with it until surgery was an option. Some days she could tolerate it but some days [especially when she got on estrogen and felt very hormonal] it was unbearable and a wet dream or boner would trigger a depressive episode that consists of cacooning a cover, watching her favorite movies and long naps. It was a toll on her mental health that was already pretty bad. But emotional support, understanding and patience from her friends and boyfriend helped her carry on though it. She eventually does get bottom surgery and it's a HUGE weight off her chest.

Abbey usually dresses in sweatshirts, graphic tees and cute jeans. Whatever's comfortable on the skin. She wore tank tops more when her tits grew in. And they grew in pretty dang fast and big and ah it hurt. She's a c cup which she loves but God they where tender for awhile. Double puberty isn't fun. Her transition was a bit rough and long being low middle class but she pulled through.

TW for su*cide. Leave the post now if this triggers you.

Abbey is a suicide attempt survivor. She suffers ptsd from her own husband taking his life leaving her a widow. She felt trapped and tired in her unbalanced emotions and uncertainty of ever feeling okay or getting the medical attention she needed and attempted to OD. Fortunately she was with Timothy who immediately called an ambulance. She was very tired and at first a bit disappointed she was still alive but also a bit relieved. She then had to cope with feeling suicidal.

[silverlysilence]

Hidden at Hogwarts

So @fabllama02 recently reblogged a post about how the RotBTD Hogwarts AUs got their Houses all wrong (though it does mention how Hiccup was sorted correctly in Ravenclaw and I was like, WTF?!  Most of the art I see is with Hiccup as Hufflepuff, which is believable, but Ravenclaw is obviously the right choice there, but I’m digressing).

Anyways, it points out how Jack Frost should be in Hufflepuff and that got me thinking...

Jackson Overland was by no means the best student to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  He probably would have been sorted into Ravenclaw House if that were the case but neither had he received a Troll or Dreadful on his any of his O.W.L.s.  The worst he got was a Poor in History of Magic but he blamed having a ghost for a professor for that one.  The rest of his O.W.L. were Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations with an Outstanding in Transfiguration that surprised even himself.

Still, despite it being only a few weeks into his sixth year, Jackson was already counting down the days until the end of the term.  Most students would balk at wanting to leave Hogwarts—well, at least when it wasn’t exam time—because it was the best school in all of Europe. However, the majority of the school had something he didn’t. 

Friends.

Oh, don’t get him wrong, Jackson did have friends.  A lot of them if he was being honest but none of them went to Hogwarts.  They either attended regular school or went to one of the other two prestigious European schools of magic.  He was fine with that, in the beginning, since he received acceptance letters from both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons as well and could have followed his friends if he desired to.

But Jackson Overland was stubborn and he wanted to attend the alma mater he read about from his mother’s schoolgirl diary. The young ten-year-old him believed he would make new lifelong friends at Hogwarts and then he’d wouldn’t be sad his other friends weren’t there with him.  The train ride had been a great start, he’d bounced around from compartment to compartment, talking with anyone willing and learning a fair share of Hogwarts outside of what he’d learned from books and secondhand accounts.

Then his Sorting took place.

Ravenclaw was the first to be discarded for the simple reason that he didn’t seek knowledge for the joy of knowing as many of the House so often did and he wasn’t one to believe intelligence was everything.  Knowing didn’t matter when one didn’t have the courage or drive to do something with it.  He was sad, though. Sad that Ravenclaw was immediately taken off the table when air was their element, that stung since he did so love being up in the air, surrounded by the winds.

He wasn’t surprised that Gryffindor was the next House to be rejected.  Jackson could be brave and daring when he needed too, but only when it involved others. Not only that, but fire wasn’t his thing and with it being Gryfindor’s corresponding element, he could live without being a member of the House.

That left two options that the Hat painstakingly struggled with: Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

Hufflepuffs were hard-working, dedicate, patience, and loyalty.  All of which could describe Jackson to the letter, when he felt like it.  He could be dedicated and hard-working if that meant more time for fun.  He had patience—how else could he survive year from year at Hogwarts without being patient?—and was fiercely loyal.  Even better, earth was the element for Hufflepuff.

Before he could get too excited over that fact, the Hat began considering the last option.  

Slytherin House.

Jackson actually knew more about the House than any of the others.  His mother’s diary described many of late nights sitting under one of the silver lamps hanging from the ceiling in the Slytherin’s cold common room. Cold because the common room lies beneath the element of their House, water from the Black Lake, but the warmth of her words spoke of fondness for her House. He might not have the same ambition to become the world’s youngest Potion Mistress as his mother, but his determination and need to toe the line in regards to the rules—he was testing their elasticity—was something they both had in common. Add in his cunningness and resourcefulness nature when pulling off a prank that even impressed the sole portrait—hidden in an antechamber of one of the countless secret passageways Jackson passed his time searching—of a younger Salazar Slytherin and he could very well fit in with people of similiar values.

In the end, the Hat had allowed him to choose and he’d chosen loyalty.  Loyalty to a mother he had vague memories of and a diary full of stories he often dreamed about.

Jackson Overland was draped in the silver and greens of the Slytherin House that night sealing his fate.

The next morning, as he giddily bounced through the halls, cheerfully greeting anyone he passed, he noticed the change.  Where the same students had been happy to help and answer his exuberant questions on the train, they took one look at the colors of his tie and turned up their noses, ignoring him. It soon became apparent by choosing Slytherin, he had effectively alienated the other three-fourths of Hogwarts.  It was disheartening and had him dragging his feet as he tried again and again with other members of the various Houses only to be met with the same result.

At least he had his own House.  The House his mother loved so dearly.  There was just one problem.  A small difference between his mother and him.

Phoebe Black was as Pure-blood as they came and from The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black before she’d been struck off the tapestry.

Jackson Overland was a Half-blood.

Nothing more than a Mudblood in the eyes of his Housemates.  

He quickly learned none of them would approach him outside the confines of the dormitories in fear of another student of a different House or teacher seeing them and tarnishing the reputation of Slytherin, inside was another matter.  His homework would always disappear, ink bottles shattered and quills snapped. None of his school robes were destroyed as that would reflect badly on the House and possibly lose them points, his muggle clothes, on the other hand, were mere rags.  Worse was their constant taunts and name-calling.

It was no wonder Jackson had taken to hiding away in Hogwarts as much as possible.  When he wasn’t in class or sleeping behind heavily warded curtains, he was invisible.  Practically a ghost.  For Merlin’s sake, Profession Binns routinely forgot he was a student and would give him Ghost Letters as reading material.  

Thankfully, The Grey Lady caught him attempting to decipher the ghostly writing to no avail one day and kindly read the translucent notes out loud for him to copy down on a sheet of parchment.  He thanked her by placing a single lily flower in the small niche window seat she so often haunted.  Since then, it had become a tradition, when Jackson received Ghost Letters, the Grey Lady would read them aloud for him, and a lily would be put in place the next day.

A process he was repeating once more, gently tucking the Moonbeam Lily that in no way shape or form came from the Forbidden Forest next to the blue and silver pillow. Making sure flower was visible and would be easily spotted, he quickly retreated to one of the hidden passages Salazar informed him of and waited. He didn’t have to wait too long for the Grey Lady to float down the hallway, passing his hiding spot, where she came to a halt next to the window.  

Amber eyes gleamed in happiness when he saw lips forever in a grim expression tilt upwards. Jackson didn’t know if she knew he always stuck around long enough—sometimes hours—just to see her reaction.  To him, it was the best part, because if it made the usual solemn ghost happy for a small moment and that made him happy.

He was just about to take a step back and head down the path at his back when a polite nasally voice drifted down the hall, rooting the brunet to the spot. He couldn’t see the person but the distinguishable clinking of metal against stone every other step was a dead giveaway.  Amber eyes immediately caught sight as tall auburn-haired wearing the same blue and bronze ties as the bulky blond at his side as they made their way pasted his hiding place, animatedly discussing the Triwizard Tournament announcement.  Undoubtedly on their way to their common room to get quills and ink to submit their names into the Goblet of Fire.

It was only after they were long gone, voices but a distant memory that Jackson let out his breath.

“Why do you not talk to him?”

Jackson didn’t jump, but it was a near thing.  Instead, he leaned up against the wall and allowed himself to slide down, sitting in the darkness with only the silvery-grey light cast from the Grey Lady for light.  Drawing his knees to himself, he rested his arms on top and buried his head as if that would further hide him from the world.

“I’d rather not,” the brunet shrugged languidly.

“I do not understand. You often stare at him, and speak fondly of his deeds, but you never approach him,” the Grey Lady glided over towards the teenager.  “Why is that?”

“Because Hiccup bloody Haddock doesn’t know I existed despite having the biggest crush on him?” Jackson mumbled into his arms.

“Yet I have heard you fondly speak of the first time you saw him on multiple occasions.”

“Again, he didn’t know I was there,” Jackson hummed, the memory of his fourth year unbiddenly rise to the surface.

He had just fled Charms class, slipping into the nearest hidden passageway leading to the kitchens for some lunch away from the Great Hall when he heard the deep nasally voice doing a poor imitation of a Scottish accent.  Normally, he would have kept on walking, the prospect of learning a few new recipes from the eager House Elves more of a lure, but the laughter of children had his curiosity peeked.  

Following the laughter led him to a brick wall, but a tap from his wand on an indented stone had the brick sliding back, giving him a glimpse inside the usually unused classroom currently filled with a group first and second years—ties of all colors sans the stark greens and silver of his own—sitting in a circle as a teenager—lacking the telltale tie and all important crest emblazoned robes—read from a book in one hand while waving his wand about in the other hand as he paced inside the circle.

The floating veils above the auburn hair swirled before one floated down, passing by another heading upwards to rejoin the group.  The teenager began reading again as the veil floated around the circle for all the children to get a good look at and when he was finished describing the properties, he asked the group for the name of the plant.  One of the Hufflepuff offered up a name but the teen’s voice took on the horrible Scottish accent once more as he listed how her answer was wrong in a humorous, fun way as to not embarrass her.  

It was in that moment, watching the unknown teen spend his lunch hour teaching the younger students about the various potion ingredients and their properties their Potions Master should have taught them—the bastard hadn’t, Jackson knew that from his experience dealing with the man in his capacity as both a professor and Head of House Slytherin—in preparation for the upcoming exams that his interest in the teen grew.

From then on, Jackson kept an eye out for the auburn-haired teen and observed.  The next time amber eyes caught a glimpse of him it was with him fumbling with his blue and bronze tie as he hurried into the fifth year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class a few seconds before the bell rang.  Jackson was a bit surprised that the unknown teen was a year ahead of him, instead of behind as he initially thought, but he wasn’t surprised to find out he was a Ravenclaw.  A week later, the Slytherin learn his name from his hefty blonde Housemate shouting it from across the courtyard as he pulled the notorious Thorston twins from House Hufflepuff after.

Amber eyes had dimmed upon seeing the Ravenclaw walking towards the trio of blondes with a Gryffindor on either side of him.  The small fledgling of hope worming its way into his heart quickly shattered.  There was no way he could become friends with the kind-hearted auburn-haired teen.  Not with two Gryffindors as friends—best of friends from the looks of how they hung off of each other and a little more on the blonde’s part if he had to guess—because while members of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff could be friendly and open with their childhood Slytherins friends and family, Gryffindor and Slytherins did not mix.

At all.

The two Houses always thought the worst of each other, blaming them for everything and since Jackson was lumped together with the other Slytherins, he received more than his fair share of accusations by the House. Another reason he tried so hard to be invisible inside the wall of Hogwarts and stay invisible he would continue to do.  Jackson let the hope die and kept his distance. He could not, keep himself from watching over Hiccup though, and with each new thing he learned about the loyal, intelligent, brave Ravenclaw, the larger his crush grew.

“I could speak to him for you; if you so wish?” the Grey Lady offered.

“Milady, I appreciate you’re offer, but Hiccup Haddock is better off not knowing Jackson Overland.”

[mybiasisexo]

A Little Taste 🍰

@baekberrie​ asks: 36,40 and 56! I am literally so sorry to make you do this although it's closed😖😖 but I'll take this chance to congratulate you on reaching another goal! I believe you deserve it so much because you're the sweetest and so talented! I'm so happy to be a mutual with you! 💖💖💖❤️❤️🍓🍓🍓

a/n: I usually dont take 3 numbers but I made an exception bc I too am happy to be your mutual!!! thank you thank you thank you!!! I hope you like this!!! 🌷

DRABBLE GAME | MASTERLIST

It was odd.

This time last year, you couldn’t stand the sight of Byun Baekhyun.

Now? You didn’t know what to think.

Honored, for one. He was the best baker in the country, and the fact he decided to team up with you of all people, you couldn’t be more flattered. It was a privilege to own a shop with someone as prestigious as him.

Being the best meant he was cocky as all hell. His personality rubbed you the wrong way, coming from more humble beginnings. But there was no denying that the two of you working together was like magic. With your minds combined, you created cakes and other sugary treats that went beyond anything your customers could ever dream.

Working alongside him for so long, you grew into a rhythm, grew rather close. Soon his arrogant words became funny, and his harsh criticisms more like tough love. Your disdain for him slowly turned into respect, that soon turned into friendship that was currently blooming into something altogether.

It was obvious what it was to others. The way your touches lingered whenever you worked. The way you seemed to gravitate towards each other, drawing closer and closer throughout your projects. Not to mention how in sync you had become, as if you could read each other’s minds.

Even though you were suspicious of your feelings, you never spoke on them, believing Baekhyun could never feel the same. He was friendly to everyone, and was just warming up to you.

You practically lived in your shop, so it was no surprise that’s where you were currently, wearing your arm out as you whisked batter in a giant bowl. Sweat built on your hairline as you loosened the thick base.

A body was pressed behind you and before you could register, a finger sunk into the sweet concoction, pulling out a sample for the person to taste.

“Baekhyun!” You barked, not needing to turn around to know who was attempting to sabotage your hard work. It wasn’t a hard guess, he was the only other person allowed in the back.

He hummed in pleasure. “I like it when you say my name. Also, that cake is going to taste amazing!”

Your cheeks flushed, from which statement you weren’t sure. Maybe a bit of both. Lately, Baekhyun had been saying things like that. Little flirtatious statements that made your heart beat erratically and your mind go to places that were forbidden with your business partner.

“Sh—shut up,” you stuttered a bit too late. “and thank you.”

He was practically draped over you, hard to ignore as he watched you finish up the whisking, bringing the batter into a soft, lump less, texture. You were fighting between the urge to ask him to give you some space or sinking into the delicious heat his body brought.

“Alright,” you began, sitting down the whisk. “The cake is ready for the oven!”

“It’s going to be delicious, I can already tell.”

“Thanks, Baek.” Praise from him was the highest form of accomplishment. He had the gift for baking, understood the science of what made something otherworldly.

“No problem, love.” He spun you around, pressing your back against the cold counter and closed in, resting his hands on either side of your hips, thumbs brushing the tough material of your pants. “Why don’t you give your work a little taste?”

Before you could answer, he was scooping another gunk onto his index finger, rubbing it across your bottom lip and then pressing it against the seal of your lips, beckoning you to open. You followed directions well, tentatively opening your mouth, allowing him to slither into the wet cavern. You sucked the appendage clean, letting the sweet goodness coat your tongue.

The whole transaction was super sensual. Your eyes never left his as his mouth fell open from the feeling, only imagining what else that pouty mouth of yours could do.

As soon as his finger left your mouth, his lips were on yours.

It was a slow sultry kiss. His lips were softer than you expected, slotting between yours perfectly and tasting more divine than anything you’ve ever created.

“What was that for?” You asked breathlessly once you separated. Your head was foggy, as if you were just waking up, or had one too many shots of him. By the way his eyelashes fluttered, you could tell he was feeling the same.

He shrugged. “I always want to kiss you,” he confessed with a voice that crawled deep from within his chest.

“You do?” You questioned, surprised by his answer.

“You couldn’t tell?” He asked. You shook your head. “Well, I do. I have for some time now.”

You wanted him to elaborate more, but he was tasting you again. This time allowing you both to fully get lost within each other.

“Baek,” you called between kisses. “The cake…. It needs…. To go into…. The oven.”

“One more,” he bartered. “I promise I’ll stop after one more.”

One more became a few more. You both were finding it difficult to stop.

So, you decided the cake could wait, lifting your arms to knot your fingers securely into Baekhyun’s hair, finally giving into the feelings you had been denying for so long.

[rigb0ner]

Okay, you guys asked for it! I hope you enjoy reading! :)

***

In order for Lance and Shiro to make it out alive from the Blade of Marmora trials, they have only two choices:

1. to fuck

or

2. to fight

However, Lance doesn't want to fight, and Shiro doesn't want to fuck.

***

a.k.a. an AU where Lance accompanies Shiro to the Blade of Marmora instead of Keith, and there is no "Knowledge or death" but a choice to "Fuck or fight".

***

Shiro's behavior has been rather... aggressive, especially towards Lance in the last few days. Neither of the two could conclude the reason why though. However, Lance had a few ideas. He knew he was annoying at times. The groans he often earned from his teammates where more than enough proof, but he was harmless. Lance was the Blue Paladin, the heart of Voltron. He was a huge asset to the team, not because he had the ability to easily lift their spirits with his silliness and contagious smile, but because he cared. He valued his teammates' concerns over his own. Yes, he was arrogant, but he was also, and mostly, considerate.

But, for some reason, he wasn't able to lift everyone's spirits. He liked to think that he had a specific bond with each of his teammates, even Keith. Aside from all the daily bickering over very ridiculous topics, there was mutual fondness and respect between them both. However, it was Shiro who gave him the darkest of glares and the most disgusted of sighs. It hurt, to think that someone whom he deeply admired since he first enlisted in the Garrison, would treat him so condescendingly. He was his hero, and it killed Lance to be scorned so often by him, for reasons unknown. But Lance wasn't an idiot. He knew when to stop himself from escalating situations from bad to worse.

And now, with no one else to be by Shiro's side, due to having their own tasks that were specifically correlated with their lions, Lance would stand by his leader. And he would be there for him, no matter how difficult the situation, to help him, and maybe, to prove himself to Shiro that he wasn't careless, and that he actually gave a shit. But he could tell by the look on Shiro's face that he was not at all excited to have him as his only choice. The Blue Paladin did well to resist the urge to scoff and cross his arms in irritation, and stood tall, prepared to begin for their mission.

***

Lance and Shiro had learned that the Blade of Marmora were a secretive rebel group fighting against the Galra Empire, and the only way they could form an alliance was to attempt several trials to become members to fight along side each other when it was time for battle. The two Paladins would endure intense battles in each of the several rooms, together. They would be stripped from their Paladin uniforms, and any bayard would be confiscated.

Lance knew bringing their personal weapons was forbidden, but he thought he'd bring his bayard just in case. However, like Shiro, he was given a new suit, as well as a new weapon. Lance's hand now tightened around the tang of his blade—an item that felt so foreign in his hand—feeling his palms sweating as his legs trembled. This was definitely not his usual weapon of choice. It didn't feel right. But the Blue Paladin watched Shiro in awe, standing in place as his leader suddenly let out a battle cry, then clashed his blade with their opponent's. He moved swiftly, dodged quickly, and stabbed mercilessly, leading them to the next chamber. Lance couldn't feel more useless. To his amazement, however, Shiro clearly knew what he was doing, taking down each opponent with the intention to succeed, with or without Lance. The Blue Paladin felt pathetic to say the least.

But as they continued to press onward from each room prior to the next, Lance had noticed that their opponents grew more numerous. Shiro, now bruised and bloody, slowly losing his strength and breath, was struggling to fight, as their opponents came at them in full force. Lance had to do something. He needed to help. But what could he, an inexperienced fighter, do to help his leader? It was obvious that he couldn't just stand there and watch. So, with a firm grip around his weapon, Lance breathed in shakily, suddenly bracing himself, then ran fast, and lunged forward—although clumsily—at their opponent with his blade, hearing Shiro immediately shout his name. Lance ignored him, or perhaps, he didn't hear. However, his weapon clashed with his opponent's, steel scraping against each other as their blades collided.

Despite Shiro's strength receding, he continued to slice and kick with all the might he had left, watching Lance from his peripheral vision as his opponent's limp body fell to the floor. His heart was racing with adrenaline as he heaved a heavy breath. But then the sound of a painful hiss caught Shiro's attention as his face turned completely towards Lance's direction. The sight of blood oozing from his partner's shoulder made him run fast, stabbing the opponents’ abdomens without hesitation. When he withdrew his blade he stared at Lance with the slightest bit of concern before scowling. "Why did you interfere?" he questioned breathlessly, although raising his voice. 

Lance held his painful shoulder upright, not appreciating Shiro's tone and glare whatsoever. He inhaled a sharp breath and pumped up his chest defiantly, brows narrowing in irritation. "Stop treating me like I'm your bitch," he hissed, slightly surprising himself from the sudden outburst. "What kind of question is that? Did you just expect me to stand there and watch you get hurt? Whether you want me here or not, I want to help you! Why is that such a problem? You can't die on us!"

"Watch your tone," Shiro retorted, scowling at Lance's disobedience. "I can take care of myself!" he added. Lance scoffed, "Yeah. Of course you can." He dared to give Shiro the most annoyed look before breaking eye contact, walking towards the next chamber as the doors slid open.

So stubborn, they thought.

***

This next chamber they entered, Lance noticed, was smaller, unlike the previous ones. There was another thing his eyes caught sight of; a bed, in the middle of the empty room. It was the strangest thing he’d seen since they entered the Blade’s headquarters. The uneasiness in his stomach only grew when the sudden flash of a hologram appeared in front of them, revealing the face of Kolivan, the leader of the Blade of Marmora. He then spoke, "You have made it to the final trial, upon which you have succeeded on the previous challenges. But, for this last trial, however, you have two choices to make."

"What are they?" Lance questioned anxiously, not quite understanding the small curve forming on Kolivan's lips as he spoke. 

"You two must choose to fight, or to bond," Kolivan explained. 

"Wait," said the Blue Paladin, "what do you mean 'to bond'?"

Shiro's expression looked just as perplexed, and then there was a slight pause, before Kolivan elaborated. "You must join together to breed. If not, you must fight each other. There is no other option."

Lance gawked at Shiro in horror, beyond bewildered.

No.

No way.

No freaking way is this happening!

I don't want to fight, but I...

"Make a choice," Kolivan said, before the hologram subsequently disappeared. Lance couldn't help but quiver in fear, feeling unbelievably gawky as he stood subconsciously close next to Shiro, hearing the doors close from behind them. How ridiculous he'd felt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

What do we do?

"Lance," Shiro spoke suddenly in a deep tone, earning the Blue Paladin's attention, who’d hesitated before responding nervously.

"Yeah, Shiro?"

Oh my god! Does he actually want to do this with me? 

"Are you ready?"

Holy shit!

"U-um... actually, I... I've never done this before," Lance admitted bashfully, watching Shiro narrow his brows in response.

"What do you mean? Of course you have. Did you forget about all the battles we've been through? Or, perhaps, our training?" Shiro questioned.

The Blue Paladin's eyes widened, realizing they were clearly not on the same page. "Wait. Shiro... do you actually want to fight me?" he asked in an obviously frightened tone.

Shiro laughed. "Well, I'm certainly not going to fuck you."

Lance couldn't ignore the unsettling feeling in his chest as his leader said those anxiety-inducing words. "But, I... I don't want to fight!" he exclaimed, watching Shiro draw out his blade. 

"What are you suggesting?" his leader questioned in a warning tone, watching him squirm in place. The Blue Paladin was clearly contemplating on what to say, but he couldn't form any words. 

Don't say it, you idiot!

He doesn't want to hear it! 

Shiro cocked a brow, feeling impatient as his weapon was now pointing directly towards the Blue Paladin. "Well?"

"Please, Shiro," Lance begged, arms surrendering over his chest as the tip of the blade brushed against his palm. "Don't. I don't want to fight."

Backing away slowly from his leader, his hand tightening around the tang of his own blade, completely unwilling to use it against Shiro. He couldn't. Not when he was aware of his leader's capability to take him down so easily. He could certainly try, though, but he thought it was pointless. Shiro scoffed, but oddly wore a small smirk on his face. His unusual behavior was all too concerning for the Blue Paladin. "Come on, Lance," he began. "Let's put your training to the test."

But Lance looked troubled, pedaling back once again as Shiro slowly stepped forward. "I'm not going to fight you, Shiro," he stated. "I won't!"

The smirk on his leader's face suddenly faltered, staring at the boy's frightened but immune expression, which was pleading him to reconsider. Lance clearly wasn't going to quit, and it only pissed Shiro off. But Lance stayed still, watching the older Paladin come closer, slowly lowering his outstretched hand in front of him. However, the young Paladin couldn't exactly pinpoint the intention behind his leader's fervent stare. Whatever it was, though, Lance couldn't help but feel excited, and cautious, as Shiro walked into his personal space, hand tightening around the weapon next to his thigh. Then, Lance felt a hand cup his chin — Shiro's dark gray eyes never leaving his blue ones. "You're not a cadet anymore, Lance. You're a Paladin of Voltron, a defender of the universe. And as such, it is your job to protect the innocent," his leader explained, leaning in close to the boy's face. "Isn't that right? Don't you want to protect the ones you love?"

Lance simply nodded, feeling desperate and confused, although entranced by Shiro's thumb caressing his lips, which trembled slightly from the contact. "For someone with so much potential, your carelessness overwhelms it all. I just can't seem to get any peace and quiet with you around." The Black Paladin sighed subsequently, but in an eerily relieved kind of way that Lance didn't understand.

"You don't mean that," the younger Paladin retorted, voice shaking. "I know that I can be irritating at times, but Shiro, I'm more than that! You know that it's..."

"That's enough already!" Shiro interrupted, suddenly shoving Lance away, causing him to trip on his feet and fall on his back.

***

WIP #2: Sharpshooter

Lance experiences his very first blowjob with the Captain of the IGF-Atlas—Takashi Shirogane—also known as his longtime hero and crush ever since he enlisted in the Galaxy Garrison.

***

“Good morning, Cadet.”

Lance furrowed his brows in confusion, turning his head to see—Commander Iverson, and, oh, some things just never change.

“Good morning, Sir,” he cleared his throat, “but, with all due respect, it’s Lieutenant, now.”

Commander Iverson chuckled. “Indeed. How you’ve grown.”

Lance nodded. “Yes. I’d say so.”

A sudden tension filled the air.

”Sir?”

“I... um, I believe I owe you an apology.”

Lance pretended not to understand. After all, he’d hoped this moment would come. He knew that he’d prove himself eventually.

“What for, Sir?”

”For not seeing your greatness within.”

Now, that—that wasn’t what Lance was expecting to hear. Those exact words... he’d heard them before, but not like this. It was strange, to say the least. But nevertheless, it flattered him. And yet, he didn’t care. Commander Iverson never cared, and Lance was sure those words were meaningless.

But... it’s all in the past, now. Lance knew that he couldn’t please everybody. Although, having other people’s respect, especially from those who doubted him, was, admittedly, very satisfying. That was all he ever wanted—besides flying.

Lance broke the silence. “It’s fine, Sir. I know that my behavior in the past wasn’t the best, but, as you can see, I am pretty great now.“

Commander Iverson cleared his throat. “You are. Thank you for your service, Lance.”

The Lieutenant offered a smiled in response. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

Despite your lack of faith.

“Anyway, what are my duties for today, Commander?”

”Oh, well, perhaps you can start by checking inventory.”

”Okay.”

“Actually, before you do that, Lieutenant McClain...”

“Yes?”

“Captain Shirogane wants to see you.”

***

He was stalling himself...

Lance wasn’t really sure why, but all he knew was that he was actually nervous to see his Captain. In fact, he was taking all the precious time in the world, with the intent of distracting himself by whatever means necessary.

And, truth be told, he felt absolutely ridiculous.

The Lieutenant hadn’t realized how tight his grip around the clipboard was. He was clutching it for dear life, but why?

Lance wandered around the building, uncertain of where he was going, passing by instructors and other commanding officers—until, he reached an empty corridor. It was slightly dim, and quiet. Good. He needed a moment to himself.

The Lieutenant sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. His mind was suddenly flooding with dreadful thoughts:

Why am I hiding? We’ve been dating for a few weeks now! But...

“God,” he muttered under his breath, resting his head back against the wall, “I’m so pathetic.”

And that’s when he realized, it had been a while since they’ve communicated, which was understandable, considering the fact that they’ve both been very busy with their own individual assignments. Lance missed him, of course. Lance rarely got to see the Captain during the day.

They didn’t always get to see each other everyday, but sometimes they were given the chance to share a few minutes of conversation with each other—mostly during lunch, and meetings, however.

But now, Shiro had asked to see Lance personally. And, despite what people may think of him, Lance wasn’t such a fool as certain people claimed. He’d noticed the expression on Shiro’s face the last few times they’ve interacted, and it sent shivers down his spine. Although, his Captain was very clever at covering it up with that polite and handsome smile. It was the look of lust. That was definitely the look Shiro giving him. Lance knew it because he’d been staring at him the same way.

Granted, again, they’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and their busy schedules gave them less time to communicate and spend time together, even when they were both free. But make no mistake, there was clearly tension between the two of them whenever they were in the same room, and Lance liked it, but he also feared it because of how powerful Shiro’s presence was whenever he entered the room. Everybody would stand immediately in respect, whether Shiro expected it or not. And Lance wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t know what to think. He loved his Captain’s intimating side, but at the same time, he feared it.

***

And... that’s all I’ve got, if it weren’t for my damn writer’s block!!! :’(

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed reading the progress of these fics because I honestly enjoyed writing them. I would have loved to finish them but I just can’t anymore... it sucks, I know, but that’s how it is! I love you all <333

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Hush, Little Lamb

TW: Self hatred, vomiting

——————

Joan has gotten used to being alone. She’s gotten used to everyone going out or just going home to sleep after a show, while she was left behind to work even longer at the theater. She’s gotten used to everyone making plans and excluding her because they already knew she was going to be busy. She’s gotten used to being forgotten.

That’s just how it was. She’s accepted it.

Besides, she had other things to worry about. Like the show! The show is what she worried about the most, actually. It’s become her whole world, whether she liked it or not.

(She didn’t like it she didn’t like it at all she wanted this damn shitshow to end already she so badly wants to be free she wants to be free she wants to be free why won’t they let her go free-)

That being said, Joan’s had her fair share of sleepless nights. Usually they’re three days of work straight and then a few days of rest. Right now, however, it’s five days and the only thing keeping her going is caffeine pills. She still drinks several cups of coffee, but the pills are what really give her the kick she needed.

Naturally, this wasn’t that good for her body.

Joan started to feel sick the moment she arrived at the theater early that morning to set up. Her entire body felt like it was vibrating, rattling around her rib cage and making her heart beat way too fast. Her breath comes out in quick gasps and gulps, and her hands are jittering in an unnatural way.

Being herself, however, she shrugged it off. Like usual, her work was more important than her health.

That’s how it always was. It wasn’t only her who thought that, anyway.

Joan rubbed her itchy eyes, but it didn't help a bit. Her vision was still hazy and it certainly didn't help her growing headache. She rested her head in her hands, staring at the many unfinished papers sprawled on the table in her dressing room/office space. She didn't have time to wallow in fatigue. She picked one of the papers and plucked up her pen with fumbling fingers.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Joan dropped her pen in shock, sending black ink droplets onto the paper. She growled and stood up abruptly, immediately regretting this rash action when her head spun. She had no choice but to wait a moment and press her palms against her eyes. While she did so, she wondered about who the hell was knocking so damn loud. And why didn’t they just come in? Well, at least whoever-it-was had some respect.

“He-e-ey, Joanie!”

Nevermind.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Joan growled.

Anne gave her a weird look as she invited herself into the dressing room. She shook her head, still wearing her beaming grin that was really starting to annoy Joan.

“Came here to tell you that Maud needed you.” Anne said. Then, she studies Joan’s grey face. “You look horrible.”

“Why thank you. It took me a week or so to look like this, but I think it was worth it.”

“You've been like this for a week?” Anne asked, “Why don't you take a break or something?”

“Did you come here to criticize my way of living?”

“No,” Said Anne. She’s seen her fair share of agitated, sleep deprived women (mainly Parr), so she knew better than to prod. “Got any food? I'm famished. Ara and Jane are bringing something, but I don’t really wanna wait.”

“I have coffee.” Joan said shortly.

Anne made a face. “That bitter gross stuff? That’s not even food! What do you want to do, poison me?”

“Alas, my schemes have been foiled.” Joan sighed, “Back to the drawing board, then.”

Anne’s eyebrows furrowed a little, but she didn’t get to stay any longer, as Joan was already herding her back into the hallway. She watched the girl grab a mug of coffee and then exit the room to go find Maud.

“Uhh, Joan?”

“What?”

“Wrong direction.”

“...Oh.”

—————

Joan’s stomach was a pit of angry snakes. It hurt so badly, but all she could really do was hold it when she wasn’t playing her keyboard.

She always thought the flashing lights in the show were too much, but now she really believed that. Even when she shut her eyes, she could still see the colors flickering and blinding her. They were making her even more nauseous and, right about now, she was at risk of vomiting all over her keyboard.

And that was something she would never be able to live down.

Joan clenched a fist over her abdomen as it cramps again. She blinks back tears of pain, trying to keep herself together because she knows if she breaks she won’t be able to piece herself back together. Without a support system, she would remain shattered.

(She used to have one. Jane, Bessie, Maria, and Maggie. But now she’s pushed them away, and they’ve given up on her. They have realized that she cares more about work than she cares about them, so they don’t try anymore.

Nobody tries anymore.)

A tiny whimper bubbles forth. Joan’s doubled over on her keyboard, head angled down, so she doesn’t notice how Maggie turns around to look up at her. There’s worry glinting in the guitarist’s eyes, but she misses that, too.

—————

Joan barely makes it back to her dressing room. She collapses into the chair at the table, curling her entire body around her cramped stomach. Her forehead burns, as does every organ inside of her, but she can’t dwell on it right now. Once she uncoils herself, she has to start working.

It’s always time to work.

—————

“Has anyone seen Joan?” Bessie asked, peeking in Jane’s dressing room. She notices Anne in there, chatting with Katherine, and the green queen gets a slight concerned look in her eyes.

“I thought she went back to her dressing room,” Parr said.

“Right.” Bessie nodded. She went to slip out, but another comment halted her.

“She was acting really weird this morning,” Anne said.

“How so?” Jane titled her head. Her maternal instincts have been activated.

“Like,” Anne’s hands flutter as she searches for the right words, “She was really hostile and looked tired. Not herself, I mean.”

Bessie and Jane exchange worried looks. Since they were both mother figures to the girl, this was concerning to hear.

“Yeah,” Katherine piped up, “I noticed her all hunched over a lot during the show. Is she okay?”

“We’re going to find that out.” Jane said before exiting the room, Bessie following right behind her.

As Parr had suggested, Joan was in her dressing room. She was also still in her costume, which was strange because who would want to be in that thing any longer than they had to?

Jane circled around to one side of Joan, noting the sweat glistening on her face and how her eyes were half open but she wasn’t really awake.

“Joan?”

The girl didn’t answer, just kept staring down at the mess of papers strewn across her table. Jane rubbed up and down her back, trying to rouse her a little more.

“Joan? Joan, sweetheart, you need to wake up for me. You can’t sleep here.”

“Mmmmm....” Joan groaned. Her eyes blink open and she looked at Jane, then glanced over to Bessie, who has appeared on the other side of her. The bassist wasn’t looking at her, however, but the papers on her table. She even had a few in her hands. That was enough to snap Joan to wakefulness.

“Don’t touch that!” Joan yelped, snatching the papers away and startling both Jane and Bessie. The two women exchange looks of motherly worry.

“What happened here?” Bessie asked, nodding at the desk, “It’s a mess.”

“I don't know!” Joan cried. She felt a lump in his throat. "Too much happened! Everyone expects me to do everything they throw at me! If it’s not writing remixes or mashups, then it’s dealing with music issues, and if it’s not music issues, it’s problems with tech even though I’m not the tech director and-” She felt tears of frustration well up in her eyes and became even more upset with herself. God, what was wrong with her? Couldn't she keep her cool for one second? She buried her face in her hands and let out a muted shout of indignation. If she didn't feel so horrible she would punch out all her glass windows by now.

“Hey, sweetie, calm down," Bessie said, “Things happen all the time to everyone.”

“But this is bad,” Joan mumbled. “I can’t even do what’s asked of me...”

Bessie glanced over at the great stack of papers on Joan’s desk. She reached over to grab one. Joan gasped in panic.

“Wait!” Joan shouted. She tugged on Bessie’s sleeve to keep her from reaching the desk. “Don't read them— it's fine. Whatever. Nothing important.”

Bessie raised an eyebrow. “I'll have to find out sooner or later, won't I?”

“Yeah but—some of it's uh, different things,” Joan stammered. She casts a distressed glance at the forbidden papers on her desk, worrying about the possibilities if Bessie or Jane read through the words of self hatred written on them. “Private. Shouldn't you guys go home?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Jane crossed her arms. “Wait... When have you last slept?”

“I’m fine. Just a couple more hours. I’ve gone longer without sleep.” Joan said, attempting to dodge the question.

“Joan Morgan Seymour-Blount.” Jane said in warning, “WHEN did you last sleep?”

At the use of her middle and last name, Joan flinched. She hated when Jane used that sharp tone with her.

“That isn’t my last name,” She mumbled instead of answering again.

“You-”

Joan saw Jane’s fists ball up and watched as the queen closed her eyes and took deep, calming breaths.

“You know what? Fine! Let’s go, Elizabeth. She clearly doesn’t need our help.”

Jane turned away and strode out of the room like a dark grey lightning storm. Bessie followed, but not without a quick glower over her shoulder. Once they’re gone, Joan swiveled back around in her chair and continued to work, this time with tears dotting the papers.

(Jane and Bessie would never treat Katherine or Maggie like that.)

—————

Joan didn’t even take off all of her clothes when she trudged into the theater shower. She was crying, maybe. Crying under an ice cold rain in her itchy costume.

—————

Anna had found Joan in the showers and alerted Jane and Bessie, who, despite their annoyance earlier on, went to go watch over the girl. They loitered around out by the sinks after checking to make sure Joan was okay or alive at the very least. Saying they were worried would be an understatement.

The girl who stepped out of the stall was almost unrecognizable. Her hair was a tangled blonde mop upon her head, matted from the water. Mascara and makeup were running down her face, gliding over some picked off portions of her cheek, courtesy of Joan’s dermatillomania. Her entire costume was soaked and didn’t look comfortable while wet. She was trembling like a leaf in the wind, teeth chattering, staring up at nothing in particular.

Joan looked more like a corpse than a living, breathing person.

It was Bessie who offered her coat and got a towel while Jane guided Joan over to the sink. Bessie, as gently as possible, wiped Joan off, murmuring comforting things to her while she did so.

Joan couldn’t speak. She tried to, but no words came out of her mouth. Her jaw just hung half open as she stared at the wall with a dazed expression. She was almost completely unresponsive, almost like her body was shutting down. Jane and Bessie could have done anything they wanted to her at that moment and she would have let them.

“Oh, Jane, she’s burning up.” Bessie said after feeling the girl’s forehead.

“Joan,” Jane murmured, keeping her voice soft, “When did you last sleep?”

“Five...” Joan mumbled, “Five...days..”

Jane gasped softly and Bessie sighed. Joan could feel the disappointment wavering off of them and that made fresh tears roll down her cheeks.

“How have you been staying awake?” Bessie asked.

“Caffeine pills.” Joan answered, seeing no reason to lie anymore. “Coffee didn’t work anymore... Well it did, but not well enough. I just needed a few more hours...” She noticed Jane and Bessie exchange looks and shrunk backwards, whimpering as the flow of tears grew faster. The older pair turned back to her.

“Shh, shh,” Jane murmured, wiping away her tears, “We aren’t angry, sweetheart. I promise. We aren’t mad.”

“You’re disappointed,” Joan choked out, “Of course you’re disappointed. I’m a mess and a failure and-” Warm arms encircled her freezing, shaking body and she found her face smothered in Bessie’s shoulder. That made her cry even harder, especially when Jane joined the embrace.

Joan’s heart was beating too fast. Sobbing like this makes it even harder to breathe and that makes her feel worse. The pain in her stomach becomes more extremes. She needed to sit down right now.

The girl slipped from Jane and Bessie’s arms, sinking down to her knees on the cold, dirty floor, but she could hardly care about sanitation because she was definitely about to vomit on herself.

“Hey, honey, you can’t rest here.” Bessie said, “Come on, we’ll take you home, yeah?”

“No,” Joan protested, “No, no, please...please just...just lemme...rest for a few....” Her stomach cramps again and she whimpered softly.

“I think she has a caffeine overdose.” Jane said to Bessie, who nodded grimly. “Poor thing...”

Joan feels like she’s vibrating. Her entire body is rocking to a rhythm that’s being conducted by the caffeine pumping through her entire body. She was starting to see spots and everything was spinning and-

She was definitely going to be sick.

“Joan!” Jane cried when she saw the music director leap up and sprint at an alarming speed for someone who was sick. She took a step to go after her, but stopped when she saw the girl careen into one of the bathroom stalls and start retching. She winced and looked to Bessie, who had the same saddened expression.

“Joan?” Bessie called out.

“Go a-way,” Joan replied.

“Joan, we’re not-”

“Go away!” Joan cried, which was followed by horrid coughing and gagging, “Please...please go away... Please...”

Jane and Bessie exchange looks. In fairness, Joan was retching pretty loudly and violently- they certainly wouldn’t want someone hearing them throwing up like that.

“We’ll be outside.” Jane said before she and Bessie left.

True to their word, they stayed outside the bathroom, waiting. Although they couldn’t hear Joan being sick, they could finally hear her agonized wailing and crying. The poor thing just couldn’t seem to take the stress anymore.

Joan finally broke.

Five minutes pass.

Then ten.

Then fifteen.

Then twenty.

Still no sign of Joan and if she was even okay.

Jane and Bessie wanted to respect the girl’s wishes and privacy, but they were starting to get worried. So, being the natural mother hens they were, they both peeked back in.

“Joan?” Jane called out.

Nothing. Not even a whimper or a gag.

“Joan? Are you okay, honey?” Bessie tried.

Still nothing.

The two of them exchange looks, then Jane stepped forward. She walks to the stall Joan had been in, pushed open the door, and gasped.

“Bessie.” Jane said, not taking her eyes off Joan laying unconscious in a pool of her own vomit, “Go get my keys. We need to get her to the hospital, NOW.”

—————

Gastric lavage sucked. The doctors said there was way too much caffeine in Joan’s system. A dangerous amount, especially with the pills she had taken. Even if she threw up a lot, pumping out her stomach would be the best choice.

Joan was a whimpering mess throughout most of it. The tube down her throat and in her stomach was already incredibly uncomfortable, but the suctioning sensation it was causing made it even worse. She just wanted to be in her mother’s arms. Bessie or Jane. She didn’t care who.

She wished she hadn’t pushed them away.

—————

Tears drip down Joan’s cheeks as she sobs into her pillow. The feeling of that damn tube down her throat has yet to go away and all she wishes right now is for Jane or Bessie or both to hold her.

But they wouldn’t. Why would they? She’s a mess.

Joan knew they both cared, Joan knew they both saw her like a daughter, but that didn’t mean they had the patience to put up with everything. She saw the exhaustion in their eyes, she saw the agitation and the irritation at how bad she’s gotten. They’re reaching their wits end. Joan needed to learn that people had limits real fast.

But maybe not right now.

She just looks so pathetic, sweat sticking her hair in every direction, beads of sweat glued to her face.

She tries to stand once she got out of bed (as in: rolling out and slamming into the floor), taking one step before collapsing to the ground. She then resorted to crawling, hoping no one sees her as she guided herself in the darkness, up the stairs, and to the nearest door.

In front of her was Bessie, laying on her side with her head resting on one arm and her black hair sprawled wildly in her face, which looked peaceful. She was having a nice, dreamless sleep as Joan crept up to her bedside.

“Bessie,” Joan whined, tugging at Bessie’s pajamas before pushing her side to side to wake her up.

“What’s the matter?” Bessie mumbled, eyes still closed as she made no signs of moving.

“I need you.” Joan doesn’t even care about her dignity at this point.

“Okay. It’s like two the morning, can it wait?”

It was actually three in the morning, but pretty close.

“I really don’t feel good.”

Joan waited for Bessie to bolt up, to ask what was wrong, to care for her, but she doesn’t.

“What’s hurts?” Bessie asked in a sigh. A sigh of annoyance, Joan knows.

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick.” Joan whispered, her confidence draining when Bessie doesn’t seem to care, “I feel really nauseous, but my body doesn’t want me to throw up. I feel horrible.”

“Joan, listen,” Bessie finally sat up, rubbing her eyes, “I really don’t know what to tell you. You did this to yourself. Just- make yourself throw up. Maybe that’ll help? Try it. Please just- let me sleep.”

Other people needed sleep. Of course they did. Just because Joan couldn’t doesn’t mean she needs to make others suffer the same way.

Weakly, she nodded and staggered out of the room, somehow managing the strength to stand. Right before she exits, she hears Bessie mutter, “Finally” before collapsing back into her blankets.

Joan calls Jane. In fact, she calls three times, but hangs up instantly when the first thing she hears Jane say is, “What?” in a sharp, annoyed voice.

Nobody cares.

Joan collapses into the chair at her desk. She downs two caffeine pills and gets to work. Not on music director business, no. She was going to work on the papers she doesn’t like people seeing. The ones filled with scrawled, poetic words of self deprecation and hatred.

Her stress relievers, if you will.

The shaking of her hands and the tears bleeding into the parchment makes it hard to write, though. Her body is begging her to sleep, but she just can’t listen. She glances at the clock. Almost four in the morning. That makes this the sixth day she’s been awake.

She laughs at that. Six days of no sleep...the show is called Six...

Technically, there’s ten of them, though.

But it might be nine, soon. If she can’t rest and let her body heal.

For some reason, nine sounds better than ten...

Joan doesn’t sleep. Not really, she dozes in a half awake state but doesn’t sleep.

When morning comes, nobody checks on her. Her bandmates don’t do that anymore. It’s a waste of time, since she’s usually out of town or at the theater already, anyway.

Nobody cares about her.

Joan knows she’s not going to work that day. She gets a disappointed text from her director and a few annoyed ones from other crew members, but she doesn’t bother reading them. What does it matter in the long run? She’s already been slacking from lack of sleep. It won’t be long until she’s fired.

Once Maggie, Maria, and Bessie have left (without even saying goodbye or texting her at the very least), Joan staggers her way upstairs and crawls into Bessie’s bed. She hugs one of the pillows close to her chest and inhales the bassist’s comforting scent.

(Jasmine. Bessie always smells like jasmine.)

Joan smiled weakly as tears rolled down her cheeks. She snuggled up in the soft grey blankets and started playing a fantasy in her head. Jane and Bessie were there with her, caring for her, telling her how much they loved her. If she thought hard enough, she could almost feel their fingers stroking through her tangled, oily hair.

(It’s been two weeks since she’s showered.)

Smiling a broken smile and knowing she’s ruined her relationship with everyone she’s ever loved, Joan blacks out while crying.

[ships-for-you]

For @llama-anonymous

I apologize fore the delay however I hope that you will enjoy this matchup regardless. I also apologize if my writing hasn’t been as good as it was since I’ve completely abandoned writing and just starting to pick up again.

For Black Butler, I ship you with Finny!

I personally believe that our sweet and strong Finnian would best suit you.

Although you may be straightforward and blunt with how you deal with your ideas and whatever goes through your mind, he gets used to it as Sebastian shares a similar personality trait.

You would’ve been the young master’s music teacher by aiding him with the violin, he was one of your best students as of late.

You’d also occasionally fill in as a dance instructor although, that did not happen regularly.

Sebastian would have been a substitute however as much as he wouldn’t like to admit it, the young master needs to learn that even demons need time to organize events and execute orders that need maximum focus.

In short, he can get everything done however, he would very much enjoy his time privately in the rare occasions he has.

Due to frequenting the Pahntomhive manor, you had grown close with the servants as they would always greet you and brighten up your mood during your stay there.

A particular blonde seemed to have intrigued you as he made almost no attempt to start a conversation with you, unlike the rest of the servants.

Perhaps you came off as too strong-willed? Or were you too reckless at times?

He didn’t mean to, he was merely a bit shy. You were such a magnificent creature in his eyes. Like a beautiful flower.

Your long ebony locks was what caught his attention initially. Something about the dark color seemed so natural and unnatural at the same time. Unnatural in a sense wherein the percentage of the people he had seen with hair as dark as yours made up the diminutive minority.

Your glowing golden skin also caught his attention.

Your skill with the violin is undeniable. Truly a sight to behold and an even better experience to listen. From perfect octaves, chords, up bow staccato, left hand pizzicato, and so forth.

Of course, Ciel is nowhere near your level although he demanded to see if you truly qualified for the position. He was not disappointed.

Eh may have thought your teaching style wasn’t as logical as Sebastian’s however, music isn’t always about logic. He found that your emotions tend to shine through your decision making whenever you thought of which piece to teach him but you can’t help it. You make decisions more with your heart.

Nevertheless, your duties did not end there. You were a mediocre painter, still studying the arts.

You loved to paint figures that may seem simple at first glance but are much more complex than what meets the eye. The themes usually revolve around problems that you thought hindered society from changing for the better like slavery, unequal rights and so on.

But what you loved to paint the most were flowers. Flowers, so simple to paint yet hold so much symbolism. You painted a group of lily of the valleys in the outline of a young man.

Unconsciously, it resembled the profile of a certain gardener. All purely coincidental, I assure you.

Once it had dried, you encased it and planned to show your teacher although decided to do so after you taught the young master and so, you brought it with you to the manor to save time and money from traveling back to your own abode to your teacher.

Ciel questioned what it was and you merely said it was a mediocre painting he wasn’t permitted to see which only fueled his childish curiosity. Unbeknownst to you, the servants were curious as well as they had been eavesdropping.

“Miss (Y/N) can paint?” “Seen her drawings before, the lady does have quite the talent.” “She’s really talented, yes she is!” “You lot, get back to work!”

Sebastian had offered to store it in a safe place for a while whilst you instructed the young master and you, albeit hesitantly, agreed.

...And of course the servants found it and examined it... and they were astonished. It was beautiful.

“Kinda looks likeds Finny, don’t it?” “A coincidence?” “I know that flower, it’s the lily of the valley! It represents the purity of a heart. Perhaps Lady (Y/N) likes someone?”

They quickly closed it back up and returned to their duties, trying not to seem suspicious.

Once you were dismissed, you asked Sebastian to return it to you, and made your way to leave before you were stopped by hearing thumping foot steps.

“I like your painting!” A voice said and you turned around to face them and were greeted by the gardener.

You only smiled and thanked him as you were in a hurry and left.

He looked forward to see your paintings once more however, seeing your long black hair flowing as you hurried was picturesque enough for him to enjoy. He would be waiting for your return.

For Ouran Highschool, I ship you with Kyoya Ōtori

The idea of you being in a relationship with the third Otori son is quite entertaining to many, especially to the Host Club.

You were the fiancée of the merciless host club vice president although either of you acknowledged the other as such. You were engaged as a part of a long term business deal involving the partnering of his family to your own. Purely business, is what the ravenette would say.

That statement isn’t always true.

You, being you, tended to get into trouble from time to time. Whether it be accidentally violating one of the academy’s regulations, or being somewhere you weren’t supposed.

You can’t help it, Ouran can get quite dull as time passes on and so you’re merely trying to discover things that could quench your thirst for adventure.

...which usually results in trouble.

You find the most adventure, or interesting events, either follow the Hitachin twins or the Host a Club that Kyoya directs. Either way, they both give you a good laugh and serve as entertainment and so you visit them often.

You may or may not stay in music room 3 for the entirety of their club period.

“Have you not gotten bored nor feel the need to stop visiting me?” “No, and I don’t visit just for you, Kyoya. Besides, it’s not like I’m freeloading.”

He finds your company simultaneously entertaining and aggravating. He simply cannot determine which emotion overrides the other.

You do keep him company intermittently after club hours for the sake of accompanying him while he calculates the Host Club’s profit for the day.

Although he doesn’t admit it, he does hold affections for you. He can’t seem to explain it as he himself cannot understand it however, he feels at ease when you are with him. He ironically feels at peace despite your talkative nature.

You are one of the few people whose presence he’d rather be with.

But when you get into arguments, it truly doesn’t just die down. Of course, your arguments revolve more around your own opinions and are not necessarily serious. Fairly childish but we all have our individualistic passions.

Visiting each other’s home is natural and happens frequently but not too frequently. Mostly you visiting his as he feels more comfortable in his own private space as he usually works anyway.

The rest of the club are entertained by the chemistry you have with the bespectacled Vice President as your personalities usually clash. You being the more social and quite reckless half and him being the more calm and collected half.

You occasionally practice with Tamaki as your accompanist may or may not happen. Of course, that doesn’t happen without a littl playful flirting which you return with a few flowery words of your own.

If that takes place during club hours, the guests won’t be amused...neither would Kyoya.

But some of them love the “forbidden love” act? A little bit of sin sprinkled in the club never hurt anyone. A woman being unable to choose between the cool type or the prince.

Whenever they hold extravagant balls, they would recruit you, should you like to, to play along with the orchestra of students as they found your talent with the violin truly magnificent.

Of course, it’s all because you practice 40 hours a day *ahem*

Being Kyoya’s fiancée, you know he does not necessarily have the best relationship with his father and you admire his persistence to prove himself to him howver, you know that he needs to relax from time to time.

It is highly likely that you would spend the night with him in order to ensure he sleeps earlier.

Once he does retire, he lowers himself onto his bed beside you and turns to face you. You near yourself to him and snuggle him hesitantly, you’re used to hugging your pillow when you sleep and this was the safest you could do to him. Your boundaries were never discussed.

You felt him wrap his arms around your body as you calmed yourself, ridding yourself of your worries to prepare for sleep.

“This is highly inappropriate, you know? A man and a woman to sleep in the same bed.” “You’re not one to do anything without an ulterior motive and as of now, you do not have that.”

He’d probably near his face to yours in order invoke a sense of fear or uncertainty to prove a point.

“...You don’t know that, don’t let your guard down just because you think you know them. All men have...impulses.”

“But you’d ask me first, right? Now go to sleep, you need it.”

For Kamisama Hajimemashita, I ship you with Mizuki!

You would’ve been a regular student turned Benzaiten type of Godess, a Godess who embodied eloquence, and the Godess of music.

Balancing school responsibilities, planning for your future, all the while attempting to fulfill the role of a God, you honestly felt as if you wanted to give up altogether. You should not be given that title.

Either way, you pull through. Sort of.

You would’ve met Nanami at a meeting with the local Gods. It would’ve happened when your own familiar seemed to be picking a fight with hers.

Chiyosuke, your familiar, would explain that he only acted on impulse as he saw one of her familiars eyeing you with, “salacious manner.”

Was he wrong? We may never know as they kept denying it flustered.

You would’ve been confused but trusted your familiar’s statement as he is your own and is considerably loyal to you and to the shrine.

You would’ve forgiven the perpetrator, regardless if he denied it or not, as the other familiar bonked his head from behind as he and their Mistress apologized for his stead.

You let it go and become closer to Nanami as she faces the same trials and tribulations as yourself through your journey to becoming a God.

She confides in you and travels to your own shrine to hang out and vice versa.

She explained that she had become a God upon coming in contact with a man she “saved” from a puppy as he was found scared and cornered to a tree. The mystery man had been a God and transferred his mark of God to her.

You wished your story was as comedic as hers, you would comment as you recall how you came to possess the god mark in the first place. It wasn’t as light nor comedic as your companion’s story, far from it, actually.

Tomoe wouldn’t despise nor adore your presence. There were times wherein you seemed like a bad influence to Nanami as your recklessness seemed to worsen her own however, found that you also taught her what you had learned and so she would become less troublesome and naive to the situation she was in.

Chiyosuke isn’t very fond of Tomoe although he does enjoy Mizuki’s presence muck more despite their negative first impressions.

The three are mostly found together somewhere near the porch.

Mizuki would admire the relationship you share with those close to him. His mistress, Tomoe, and your own familiar, you cared for them selflessly.

He almost envied your selflessness. Caring for them unconditionally. Not expecting anything in return. He wished he felt similarly that with Nanami.

One day when you and the Land God planned a small outing to an amusement park, Mizuki took this as an opportunity to learn how to be as selfless as you. Naturally being selfless is not a personality trait one can learn through merely observing however he thought that if he were to stay close to you, you would influence him.

Once you had all arrived, you had suggested to ride a monstrous rollercoaster as you had everyone in one place and decided to take advantage of that.

You and Nanami boarded on the ride excitedly as your familiars begrudgingly followed, not understanding the thrill of said ride.

You’d sit next to Mizuki. (Not like you had a choice as Chiyosuke had to sit with a stranger as the ride could not fit three people in one cart. Why he decided to let you sit with Mizuki, you do not know.)

As the ride started to twist and turn, you only laughed heartily and screamed to your delight as doing so made you feel more hyped.

While Nanami and Mizuki was screaming in horror, Tomoe seemed apathetic about the whole ordeal, and Chiyosuke was feeling a bit faint as if he would vomit on the person he sat beside if the ride were to continue like this.

Mizuki clutched your arm close to his as he was not accustomed to zipping through places at high speeds along with the fact that he had no control over the situation of the ride.

You only laughed and told him that he could on hold on tight but hold on tighter to the restraints that were built in to the ride.

After the terrifyingly dizzzy experience, all of you decided to take a breather and explore on your own.

Mizuki stuck around you and your familiar as you ride more rides.

By the time you all were ready to leave, you all met one last time at the agreed spot for a final ride.

Of course, it was the Ferris Wheel.

The only Ferris Wheel available seemed to have been made specifically for couples as it would allow only two people at a time in each compartment.

Chiyosuke had opted to sit this one out, and you liked the idea of watching Tomoe with Nanami, so you rode it with the snake.

It was rather slow and served as a perfect contrast to the thrilling ride you all had rode initially thus, formally concluding your outing.

As Mizuki and you were alone in the compartment, you decided to make small talk and throw in a few jokes. You told each other stories as the pair of you unconsciously moved closer together, indicating comfort in one another’s presence.

Before the vessel the both of you were in docked, he pulled you to his embrace as he thanked you for the opportunity to do something fun and for spending it with him.

“I hope to see you soon, Lady (L/N). I’d like to see more of your passionate side again,”

For Diabolik Lovers, I ship you with Shū Sakamaki!

You would’ve met at school, specifically in the music room.

It was your free time and you wanted to practice as much as possible as you had an upcoming recital in a few weeks that could change your musical career forever.

Of course, one of the third years had to be sleeping there and, as much as you didn’t want to wake him up, you needed to practice, thus you brought out your violin and tuned it.

They didn’t seem to stir in the slightest and so you continued to tune your instrument before playing.

You knew playing this piece was practically suicide as you deemed it the most difficult one you had learned so far, especially since it was designed to have 4 different voices and was only compressed into a string only piece.

Der Erlkönig. It’s not a Paganini caprice but it’s as hard as—

Anyway,

Halfway into the piece, you played a sharp instead of a natural which caused you to get frustrated and come to a hault as your bow made contact with the strings.... which resulted in a very unpleasant horse-like noise to emit from your instrument.

You cringed.

You’re incredibly nit picky when it comes to playing the violin and so if you commit an error, you tend to redo it from the start instead of picking from the measure you failed to execute properly. Not a good practice, you know, but you’d die before admitting that to anyone.

Once you were about to start once more, the senior from before rose from his sleeping position to stare at you with a blank expression.

”You slipped.” ”Oh, really? Huh, I didn't even notice.” the sarcasm is real.

And it all started there, he helped you a bit by suggesting you change your fingering to allow your fingers to shift from one note to the other with less stress.

You tried it, and looked back to thank him only to find him gone.

You frequented the music room to practice until your recital ang continued to do so as you enjoyed his presence.

You tend to bicker with him however he lets you win an argument to get you to shut up. Most of the time.

You also come to learn that he is a closet pervert with weird interests in girls, or so as you observed.

It’s most likely you’d entertain him by playfully flirting with him, which did not seem to faze him in the slightest and so, you try to step up your game every once in a while in the attempts to fluster him. Or to evoke any emotion aside from apathy.

It’s very likely you find out he was a vampire when you accidentally caught him drinking from a blonde student who carpools with them. He knows you caught him and you knew he knew as well.

You never brought it up, but you are no coward. That may or may not be both your strength and weakness.

That especially showed one day when you visited his home and were in his room, considerably less talkative than usual as you sat on his bed which was a good distance from the couch he preferred to sleep in.

You weren’t scared, that little bit of knowledge about his true nature shouldn’t change how you truly feel about him. That’s what you thought and yet your body language showed otherwise.

The blonde vampire wouldn’t admit it however, he enjoyed listening to you as you rambled or complained to him. Your voice strangely calmed him and was much more sleep inducing than his “music” and so he did what he had to in order to prompt you to speak with him.

“Do you think I’ll try to drink your blood?” He opened his eyes to direct his sapphire orbs to yours. Your eyes widened slightly although you kept your ground to which he chuckled at your pride to put up a brave facade. “I’m not really into girls who are as tense as you, it’s too troublesome when they resist.” “I’m not scared, you hear?” You remarked and glared only for it to falter when you saw such intensity yet mischief in his eyes as he pushed you onto his bed.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I drank from you.” He stated as he neared his face to yours to closely examine the red that started to bloom across your cheeks. Your long, beautiful, dark hair sprawled across his light colored sheets, your glowy skin complimented by the golden patterns that covered his bed. As tempting as it was to take you right then and there, he had a point to get across. “Do whatever you want, I don’t care.” You stubbornly retorted, hoping for him to stop teasing you, should it have been a joke.

He turned your head to the side to gain access to your neck. His breath fanned across it as you shut your eyes tight as you could. He stared at you to observe and drink in your almost weakened state and leaned down to lick your neck. He was certain he was the only one who could render you this defenseless. You shivered as you stiffled a moan that was threatening to be let out. He chuckled once more and let out a comment. “Ahaha. You’re a sensitive one, aren’t you? How lewd.” ‘I’m screwed’, you kept repeating in your mind until you realized he didn’t continue. “You’re an idiot. You insist on being stubborn even in a situation like this?” He asked with a straight face. “Why does that matter?!” You shot back as you felt embarrassed to have actually enjoyed the sensation of his tongue running across your neck. “Because it’s in situations like these where my brothers might try to take advantage of you.” He smirked, his body still hunched over yours. “Then again, I doubt anyone would get turned on by you in the first place.”

The hell was that supposed to mean???

“Well then why don’t you leave me alone then?!” You attempted to hit him which failed as he caught your hand in his and pinned it above you along with the other one as you tried to hit him once more. “I have bad taste in women, remember?”

“Just close your eyes and feel my fangs as they enter you.”

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

I probably got carried away however this was quite difficult as this is a lot of fandoms to request. Nevertheless, I like the challenge.