#this is kind of old but I finished rendering today..well it’s still a mess but…

[saltedbiscuiit]

#bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd art #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #my art #how do you draw Dazai’s hair? Please help #this is kind of old but I finished rendering today..well it’s still a mess but…

[hheeyyhay]

The Familiarity of New Memories

Pairing: Hitoshi Shinso x Reader (can pass as gender neutral if ya squint)

Summary: Old traditions make way for new ones as reader makes new friends with the help of a certain ball of fur. 

OR Shinso volunteers at a shelter with a grumpy old cat who just so happens to play matchmaker between himself and the newcomer to town.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy my contribution to the Konoha Simps’ latest server collab!! You can check out all the other wonderful pieces in this event right here. This is the first piece of fan fiction that I have written since high school, and the first piece I have ever put out into the world for others to see. I cannot thank the members of the Konoha Simps Server enough for giving me the motivation and courage I needed to FINALLY do this-- I love you guys so much!! 

Warning(s): fluff, mentions of anxiety/depression

quirkless college AU

Word Count: ~3K

There was no doubt about it, summer was officially on the way out. You could tell by the way green leaves were giving way to crisp splotches of red, yellow, and orange. In the way the cool breeze kissed your cheeks as it danced by. Most importantly, you could tell by the way your workload for classes picked up.

You tried to take in your surroundings-- take a moment to process a quick hello to autumn, and with it a farewell to simpler times. Gone would be the times where your biggest worries were what kind of trouble you would have to convince the rest of your friends to stay out of in between shifts at the local cafe. Normally, this goodbye was easier to say as it leaned to the happier side of bittersweet. After all, back home fall was your favorite season. That was all in the past though.

In your hometown, your walks around the neighborhood at the start of fall were comforting. You could stroll the streets with a snack in one hand, and a warm drink in the other as you headed to meet up with your friends under the canopy of changing leaves at the park. With textbooks sprawled across picnic tables and blankets the support of your friends kept you all warm against the slowly dropping temperatures. However, it was no longer the streets of your hometown that you were strolling along with a backpack over your shoulders, and it was no longer your friends at your side, but strangers.

You shivered, pulling your thick cardigan closer around yourself with a heavy sigh. You had been so certain that moving hundreds of miles away from home to finish your college work was a good idea. You had told your anxious family and friends that you would be fine, being alone in a new place for a while was just a sacrifice you had to be willing to make in order to pursue your dreams. Yet you began to doubt the truth in your own claims as the usual cold autumn wind whipped your hair about. It felt foreign rather than welcome as it would back home. The chill sunk into your bones where it mixed with your new found loneliness causing you to wrap your arms around your middle.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you thought to yourself pulling out your phone to see no new messages in response to all the ones you had sent out. You had known your friends for years and were lost without them. You sighed once more, shaking your head as you pocketed your phone. It had been the fifth time in an hour that you checked your phone knowing there were not any notifications you had already seen. You scolded yourself for being foolish and worrying that your friends had moved on without you. 

You had been distracted by the chatter of your own inner demons the entire rest of your walk, and it was not long before you were turning off the sidewalk onto the back walkway leading around to the front of the library.

You were headed inside to study on your own at the tables inside. It had become your new tradition after having found it too hard to study outside at any of the parks, where all the passerby would remind you of just how lonely you were here in this new town. As you rounded the corner and came up alongside the library you paused, noticing a lot more noise and chatter than usual. Balloons and signs amongst the visitors caught your eye. “Adoption day?”

You wandered closer to the tents that were set up in a corner of the parking lot. Upon closer inspection you realized that the people were gathering around various cages, crates, and pens filled with pets from the local shelter. There were as many different people there looking for new four legged family members to bring home as there were animals. Some children were leaning over a crate full of guinea pigs, others were picking out rabbits from one of the other pens, and still others were begging their parents for either a puppy or kitten. There were couples young and old alike speaking with the volunteers about which cat or dog was the best fit for them. You wished you could hang around a little longer, but there were so many people in such a small space that you could not help, but feel anxious. Turning away to finally walk inside you pulled out your phone once more to smile down at your lock screen; a photo of your cat from back home. 

Pocketing your phone you caught a glimpse of something familiar out of the corner of your eye. Following your line of sight as you walked away, you were surprised to recognize a boy from campus. If his wild purple hair and dark under eye bags were not enough to make him stand out from the crowd then his lanky limbs decked out in his unique dark, edgy style definitely was. You paused at the top of the staircase to the library and watched as he spun around to crouch in front of a cage. As he stood there squatting in front of the cage you realized that he was a volunteer from the shelter along with the others.

With one last final look over your shoulder you walked through the door, leaving the boy and all the homeless pets outside. As he disappeared from view at your departure, you caught a last glimpse of him pulling a rather forsaken cat out of the cage he had previously been standing in front of. Heading to your usual secluded table behind some less frequented bookshelves you tried to not think of the cat or the boy who held it in his arms. From what you had observed from your short visit to the Adoption Day Event, no one else had shown the poor old cat any sort of attention. The lump of fur was not only fluffy, but a bit on the large side, and while his coat was far from scraggly you could tell that he had only recently fallen on some sort of good fortune. He was missing a leg and both eyes, rendering him blind. It made you sad to think that the others were more than likely passing over the cat in favor of the other healthier, younger cats who would not have as many problems. As far as the boy, you could not even begin to guess why he seemed to be clouding up your thoughts. It was not like you had ever spoken to him before. 

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess and before you had known it you were throwing your pen down in frustration. “Ughhhh! This is useless! It has been two hours and I have barely put a dent into this chapter,” you dropped your head into your notebook as you slammed your textbook closed. 

“Maybe I would have been better off just studying at home afterall,” you thought to yourself as you packed up the rest of your belongings. 

You stopped at the circulation desk on your way to the exit to check out a book you had reserved on your previous trip in. “At least today wasn’t a total loss,” you thought to yourself as you gripped the book to your chest and headed for the door.

As you threw open the door and made your exit you were once again met with the chill of the outside air. It did not feel as cold as it had that morning though. You looked down at the book clutched to your chest and then back out across the parking lot. With a smile on your face and a new sense of determination that you had not felt since you had moved you found yourself walking across back to the makeshift shelter. The crowds from earlier had long since thinned only serving to further justify your impulsive decision. 

With a deep breath you had brought yourself up to one of the tables where the last few volunteers were congregated around the forlorn cat. Everything else was just about picked up and it was clear he had not been able to find a “furever” home at the event. The volunteers, mostly middle aged women with bright smiles, greeted you and asked if you wanted any information on the shelter they were from or if you were perhaps interested in volunteering yourself.

You explained that you had recently moved to the area to finish your schooling, but that you had been especially missing your cat from back home. You showed them a few pictures as you expressed interest in the cat lounging on the table and using his one good front paw to swat away anyone who tried to pet him.

A deep voice from behind you startled you out of your conversation, “You really want that mangey thing instead of a cute kitten?” 

You turned around and were met with the lanky boy from campus. You had been about to argue with him, stand up for your new feline friend when you noticed the boy was giving you a devilish smirk and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Shinso Hitoshi,” he extended his other hand to you, “I’ve uh--seen you around school a few times.”

You shook the offered hand and introduced yourself as well, “We have two classes together. I’d hope you’ve seen me around at least once or twice.” You tried to play it off cool as a blush crept up the back of your own neck. Your eyes searched each other up and down briefly and it took a lot of self control to not make an attempt to hide your face as you felt the blush grow across your cheeks as you watched Shinso’s own face begin to turn red. 

“Ahh, well, I’m fostering old Charlie here until he recovers more from his surgery,” Shinso made a show of gesturing to his own eyes and then to Charlie’s like it was some secret or he did not want to hurt the cat’s feelings. You could not help, but stifle a laugh. From the impressions you had of Shinso you had not expected him to be so forward, or funny for that matter. “Lucky for you, Charlie is quite picky and has scared away any potential suitors.”

Shinso reached around you and was able to give Charlie a few successful scratches under his chin. You reached forward too and copied Shinso’s movements. While Charlie was a little hesitant at first, he quickly warmed up to you and much to Shinso’s surprise, even let you pick him up and give him forehead kisses.

“Alright, well I guess you passed the test,” he congratulated you as he took Charlie from your arms and gently placed him into a carrier. “He has another week or so, until he’s ready to go to a new home. If you want you can fill out one of the adoption contact cards and then one of us at the shelter can give you a call when it’s time for him to get ready to go home to you?” Shinso turned away as he once again began rubbing the back of his neck as he started turning red again, “Orrrrr, I don’t know. Maybe you could give me your number and I could text you updates or something?”

The other volunteers had slowly begun to disperse during your interaction with Shinso, and the last older woman who was left chuckled a bit to herself as she passed you a clipboard with the adoption paperwork. “Just fill this out for me dear and then Charlie will be all yours pending his final follow up with the vet. Shinso can go ahead and answer any questions you may have.” She gave you a final pat on the shoulder as she wandered off to help the others finish cleaning up.

You quickly filled out the paperwork and handed it back to Shinso, your phone sitting on top of the clipboard unlocked and already opened to the messaging app so he could add his number, “Please don’t tell me you volunteer at the shelter just to use the poor animals as your wingmen.”

Shinso made quick work of adding his number to your contacts and made sure he had yours as well before adding the clipboard to a pile on the table. “Only when they help me get the courage to finally talk to a girl I’ve had my eye on since she first transferred a couple weeks ago.” His face was red and his eyes were downcast. You wondered if maybe your first impressions of him were true and that Charlie had inspired him to do something out of his comfort zone just like the cat had done for you.

You could not put your finger on it, but you once again found your thoughts swimming with the boy from campus. This time though you had a name and even a voice to put to the face. You were not ready to say goodbye and decided to stay to help Shinso and the other volunteers finish cleaning up. The sun was quickly setting at that point and as the darkness rolled in so did another bout of cool autumn wind. However, this time you hardly noticed it. It carried a clean, crisp scent of fall that felt the most familiar than it had since your move. 

You passed the time with idle chit chat, quickly becoming closer and closer to Shinso. You learned a lot about each other and came to realize you had a lot more in common than you would have ever thought. 

Pausing you closed your eyes and tilted your head back taking a few deep breaths. It had been ages since you felt this content. You were not alone, you were not worried about the many different reasons your friends could possibly have for not texting you back, and you were not worried about the fear of never finding somewhere to fit in within this new place. You walked over to where Shinso had Charlie’s carrier resting on the sidewalk leading towards the back of the library. Kneeling down you poked your fingers as far through the bars as you could manage, “Thanks Charlie. Without you, I really wouldn’t have any friends here and I don’t think I would be able to love the fall anymore. With you by my side maybe I’ll be able to remember being stuck in this new place will be worth it all in the end.” 

You had not realized that Shinso had come up behind you, and you bumped into him as you tried standing up. He gripped your elbow tightly as you regained your balance, “So you really are new around here huh? I thought so, but. Well. I don’t know.” Shinso shrugged his shoulders sheepishly as he let go of you and quickly gave you back your space. As he avoided your gaze and looked up at the setting sun you noticed just how dark the circles under his eyes really were. 

“Yeah. Uhm,” you shifted your weight back and forth nervously as you tugged at your own sleeves. “Thanks for helping me with the adoption stuff. I hope Charlie doesn’t give you too much of a hard time before he can come home.”

There was a tension in the air as you were both starting to get cold as the dark approached, but neither of you particularly wanted to be the first to leave. You tucked a strand of loose hair between your ear, using the action to hide your face a bit as you gnawed on your lip. Shinso mirrored your uneasy behavior, staying halfway turned away and pulling his fingers through the mop of purple hair on his head. Luckily, Charlie had woken up and given a pitiful meow that sounded more like a chirp. It was just the encouragement you both needed as you and Shinso were once again able to make eye contact.

“It’s getting pretty dark and looks like it may rain,” Shinso broke away and looked up at the sky momentarily. You could not help, but be mesmerized by the way the sunset played on his pale features, accentuating his jawline. You felt the blush making its presence known on your face once more and simply nodded. Charlie chirpped again as if he were trying to encourage Shinso to continue on before he blew his shot. “My place isn’t too far from here. We could head there and hangout with Charlie for a bit to wait out the rain, and then I could walk you home if you’d like?...”

You could tell Shinso was nervous to hear your answer as he began rubbing at the back of his neck. Grabbing his wrist to gently guide it back down you flashed him a genuine smile as it felt like a weight was being lifted from your shoulders. The moment was interrupted by Charlie who decided that was the perfect opportunity to make it known that it was past his dinner time. “Come on Shinso, we wouldn’t want to make old Charlie think we’re planning on starving him.”

Shinso laughed and bent down to grab the carrier. “Wait until he realizes he’s going on a d-i-e-t after he’s fully healed up,” he spelt out. Charlie made a noise from the back of his carrier like he understood what Shinso was saying and was not pleased about it, which only made you laugh that much harder.

You once again found yourself taking the rear pathway behind the library into town. This time was different though. You were no longer alone. You had two new friends you could confide in. The leaves dancing in the autumn breeze were once again a welcomed sight. The dropping temperatures no longer reached the innermost corners of your bones amplifying your loneliness. The ghosts of the memories of your friends were no longer haunting you everywhere you looked as you walked down the street. There was now someone special you could create new memories and cherish the autumn with.

#hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso #bnha shinsou #mha shinsou #bnha shinso x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #fan fiction #shinso x y/n #bnha imagines #mha imagines

[capricornus-rex]

Hey Hon! I know you’re cramped with requests and the “Old Friend, New Family” story so feel free to do this one whenever you’re ready! No rush! ☺️💖 Cal not knowing the reader has arachnophobia so when they go to Kashyyyk and are attacked by a huge, albino Wyyyschokk, she freaks out? To the point where she’s completely out of her wits, panic mode on FULL, and just scared to death? I have arachnophobia so when I had to play Kashyyyk, it was the worst experience of my life ;////3////;

Honestly, those spiders always give me the creeps and make me shudder ;;A;; Also, so very sorry for not publishing so soon! :( But good thing I just brought home my newly-fixed laptop today!! <3 I hope I can make it up to you and everyone with the fics. I’ll try my best to really keep publishing. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on quitting. Why would I? ;3 I’m having a blast with everyone here!!!

“In the Face of Fear” | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: Kashyyyk has its own charms and surprises, but what if one of those said surprises rear its ugly, unpleasant head right in front of you in the form of a spider that’s the size of a boulder?

Tags: Arachnophobia, Wyyyschokk, Matriarch Wyyyschokk, Kashyyyk, Arachnophobic! Reader

Also in AO3

Next: Part 2 | Masterlist

1 of ?

You and Cal finish off the last wave of Stormtroopers.

The partisan informants were right about the Imps getting into the forest to find Tarfful’s home village—which also doubles as a hideout for the Wookiees and a handful of partisans now led by Mari Kosan after Saw had left them.

“Good thing they haven’t come close to the hideout itself,” Cal commented.

“No,” you scoffed a chuckle. “They have a lot to go through besides us.”

Beneath your snarky, roguish facade, you clench your fist as you fight off the chill travelling down your spine when you catch the cluster of hatched Wyyyschokk eggs glued to a tree trunk. Cal spotted your grimace, you’re not taking your eyes off of those empty, shattered shells.

 “You sure can’t stop looking at them,”

“I want to, but… Oh, I don’t know,” you shrugged.

“Come on, let’s get away from them. Those hatchlings could be close,”

“Heeeey!!” you whined, he laughed in response. You playfully tackled him from behind as he walked ahead of you.

It was a tedious trek to the hideout village—but that’s its advantage—both Jedi had to cross paths with a few more creatures before getting to any of the watchtowers or huts. You’re just secretly thankful that you haven’t run into any Wyyyschokks yet—most especially the albino, which happens to be the rarest of its kind.

You tread the forest with more caution than care, your eyes pan from tree-to-tree—searching for signs of eggs and webs—and Cal was quiet about noticing your anxiety. He knew you hated it when your phobia is being pointed out in some way, though he figured you’d like to talk about it just to vent it out.

For someone who isn’t familiar with the terrain of Kashyyyk, it can either be mesmerizing or downright frightening. It goes both ways for you. It becomes the latter when you and Cal stumbled upon a wrong turn due to the labyrinthine layout of the forest. Cal realizes his mistake and attempts to solve it.

“Hey, Cal, are you sure you saw a marker in a tree hollow?”

“I think so,” he replied, with the doubt evident in his voice. “Okay, I really think we took a wrong turn.”

BD-1 politely cut in and flashed the holomap, both Jedi navigated with their eyes, occasionally pointing at patches of land and tracking their would-be path.

“I think we cut across this upper level of the forest, there should be—”

You could’ve sworn you heard something shuffle behind your backs. Your abrupt turning unintentionally cut off Cal in the middle of his explaining.

“[Y/N], you okay?”

“Did you hear that?”

A pause. He listened in on the silence.

A simple rustle of the flora simply heightened your senses—mostly propelled by fear—and then the thing that neither of you noticed before has caught your attention.

“[Y/N], honestly, are you alright?”

You didn’t answer, you kept scanning the area and knew completely well that something isn’t sitting right with you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you sighed, and stepped forward. “I’m just jumpy, that’s all—”

“[Y/N], BACK AWAY!!!”

Too late! By the time Cal had noticed that you were walking into a literal trap and tried to get you out of it, he was pushed back when the most enormous and most brightly-colored Wyyyschokk both of you have ever seen pounced on you. It had been patiently waiting for either of you to step on its web trap on the ground—and you went right into it. The creature entrapped you with its legs as thick as tree roots, you wriggle helplessly as you couldn’t take your eyes off of its multitude of bulbous, full black eyes, and its mandibles foaming with bile—hungry for flesh—twitch and flick above your bosom.

You let out what ought to be the loudest scream your chords could ever produce; once out of breath, you inhale and exhale rapidly. Your throat goes sore from the shouting that it stings whenever air would enter your windpipe.

The words are dislodged in your throat—you wanted to scream for help but cannot—your voice renders itself absent in your mouth, and only the silence brought upon by the sheer horror of this monster’s overall appearance, and in an uncomfortable closeness with you too.

Cal ran up to it, leapt, and drove his saber into its plump, jiggling hind abdomen. It screeched—a shrill, piercing wail that left a high-pitch noise in the ears—and turned to the offensive against Cal. That was your signal to get up, but the terror had paralyzed you; instead, the entire scuffle with that gigantic Wyyyschokk happened right before your eyes—just like with the eggshells, you cannot look away no matter how much you want to, the longer you look the more materialized your fear becomes. The redhead succeeded in a series of parries to disorient the creature.

“[Y/N], get to the high ground!”

His warning fell on deaf ears. You’re still stuck in staring at the spider, with your back against the wall.

“Bee-beeee, triiiillll!!!”

“I know, BD, I know!”

The little droid warned Cal that you were still frozen stuck in harm’s way, and he needed to think fast to get both of you out of this mess. He cleanly blocked the Wyyyschokk’s incoming wave of attacks, searing its fangs and hairy legs with his lightsaber upon parrying—and while the creature was distracted by its wounds, Cal fished out a flashbomb. He turned his heel to you before the area would be engulfed in bright light in a matter of a split second. He snatched you by the arm, pulled you up, and that woke you from that frozen trance of fear.

“We gotta move!”

The Wyyyschokk thrashed and erratically scampered left and right in search of its prey, you and Cal were making your escape through a pinch in the wall; the enemy tried to catch up but you had already squeezed through the end, its pointed legs jerked as it fitted through the crack, desperately trying to claw either of you just for a scrap of meat.

Life was still flashing before your eyes even after the Wyyyschokk gave up its pursuit. Your heart pounded louder than the Wookiees’ war drums, so much so that your breath cannot keep up with the pulse anymore, and your limbs have returned to its jelly-like state after you crawled your way out of the wall.

He noticed the rapid, sharp breaths that you take. There was also a wetness glossing over the surface of your eyes.

“Are you hurt?”

You couldn’t speak, still shell-shocked by the assault, and slowly shook your head as a response. The tears persist.

“Come on,”

A single touch—gentle and slight—was enough to make you jolt. You were ceaselessly apologetic. For what, exactly? Cal patiently waited for you to calm yourself and eventually helped you. When he thought you were ready, he held out his hand for you.

Slow and steady—Cal took the lead again, and he made sure you were okay along the way. Eventually, you did reach the hideout, but the trauma still hasn’t left your system and you have no idea how to get it out. A partisan was out there to greet you, but the first thing he acknowledges is the horror in your blank stare.

“Is [Y/N] alright?”

“Not really, we just stumbled upon the biggest Wyyyschokk we’ve ever seen,”

“Wait, does this Wyyyschokk happen to have brighter colors than the rest?”

Both Jedi exchanged glances, trying to recall the appearance of the monstrosity, and then the two of you looked at the rebel again; though, it was Cal who did most of the conversing.

“Come to think of it, yeah, it was a bit more vibrant than the others,”

“Oh, well,” the partisan scratched the back of his head, evidently reluctant to break it to you. “I think you guys just met the Matriarch Wyyyschokk.”

Your spine reduced to jelly again, goosebumps pelt your skin as a chill coated your shoulders, your eyes widened so much that they’d almost pop out of your sockets!

“I’m sorry,” you blinked several times, almost comically. “Run that by me again, soldier?”

“The Matriarch Wyyyschokk. Their mother. The mama spider.”

“I know what ‘matriarch’ means! But good gods, those things have a mother?!”

“Well, how do you expect to be so many of them wandering around without one?” the partisan shrugged.

“That’s just spectacular,” you say half-heartedly.

“Just steer clear of its den,”

“Thanks, we’ll remember that!” you whined.

Your hysterics still haven’t died down by the time both of you and Cal waltz through the network of bridges to start a little tour of the village.

#cal kestis #cal kestis fic #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x reader fic #arachnophobia #wyyyschokk #kashyyyk #matriarch wyyyschokk #star wars #star wars jedi fallen order #star wars jedi fallen order fic #swjfo #swjfo fic #jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order fic #jfo #jfo fic #fic request #requested by stellar-trinity #ask box fic #prompt #prompt by stellar-trinity #stellar-trinity requests #arachnophobic! reader

[kshitij1997]

Hi everyone! Hope you liked the previous chapter.

Someone sent me an anonymous message asking me whether every main character may have a story pulled from history to relate to. I would like to say that nearly every character would relate to someone or some event and I hope that you readers find the thematic relations to be resonant with the story.

Note: Of course, even though there was no saint Vida of Avignon in actual history, Pope Innocent the third's persecution of the cathars was a real, horrible, occurrence in 13th century France, not 14th century France, sorry for that error :P.

I'll let you decide how Europe would react to finding evidence of magic in the nineteenth century.

Anyways, onward with the story!

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to disney. All I own is this retelling and the OCs.

Chapter 9 : An attack and the accident

Early December 1827, Northern Arendelle.

It was a chilly winter wind on a chilly winter evening that cut through the night skies and the sparse land just south of the mist like a red-hot knife cutting through butter, accompanied by a noise like nails on a glass pane. A trio were passing through, struck by poor timing and bad luck, leaving a faint trail of blood behind them. They were quite possibly the only survivors of a cruel ambush laid out for them. The trio were of the Iceni tribe, one of the most ancient tribes in Arendelle, tracing back their ancestry to ancient England. With the rise of the Romans, the Iceni mostly petered out, with a few emigrating to Arendelle. With the passage of time, the Iceni combined forces with the tribes across the country and became a force to be reckoned with as the Raiders who ravaged all of Europe, from the Northest part of Greenland right to the borders of the Caliphate in Spain. Sadly, those days were long gone, as the ideological split from the south cost the tribes the security and any prosperity they had. It was hard to believe that those formidable tribes, who once held all of Europe in terror, were now reduced to pockets of settlements across the northern wilderness, being forced to adapt to the new world.

Of all the raiders, only the southern Arendellians and the Northurldra truly retained the seafaring capability. The Iceni stuck to land. To compensate, the Iceni knew the land better than anyone else in the country and found new livelihoods in mapmaking, surveying, transporting goods across the land. The Iceni were also among the few who kept the voice going by anointing heralds regularly to be stationed at different parts of the country. In many ways, the Iceni were the unappreciated lifelines who kept the country afloat, for they were in every strata of society, from the miners to the businessmen, to even the king's staff and courts.

And some of them were ice harvesters and sellers, crucial for preservation in a time before one could refrigerate their supplies. It was to this trade that the trio belonged to. A man, a woman and their eight-year-old boy, in tow.

The man, who went by the name Guthrum, was limping in the three-foot snow that surrounded him. The man stood tall; six foot four on a good day. However, this wasn't a good day, as he had suffered a grievous injury to the gut and had to use the support of his wife, named Freyddjis, herself a six- footer. He had been bleeding through his stomach into his reindeer-wool coat and pants, the browns of the fabric turning first to burgundy, then to crimson from the blood.

They were almost through the shallow bed of snow when the little boy with them winced with pain. His leg had been sprained in the escape, and he had to jump into the water with his parents to escape the attack, so now the cold was getting to him as well.

'Ssh shh Kristoff, hold on, I'm sorry.' Freyddjis whispered as she readjusted her son's grasp on her back and torso and straightened her arm to further support her injured husband.

'Freyda…' Guthrum began to speak, in a voice weak with fatigue and injury.

'Breathe, my love, we're getting close to the settlement. Don't give up please.' Freyddjis pleaded to her husband, making every attempt to keep her husband awake and not fall unconscious.

'I was a fool; I should've known better than to guide them all to that cursed valley.' Guthrum hissed painfully as his wounds had begun troubling him again; the loss of blood had begun to make him delirious.

'Don't blame yourself, the decision lay with the leader and everyone else. We all knew the risks of travelling through the valley of death. We knew what could happen if the Northurldra were disturbed. We gambled, and we lost.' Freyddjis tried desperately to calm her husband down, trying her best to ignore the doom rising in her own belly and throat.

'Now what shall I tell Hardrada's widow? How she b-begged him not to go. She made me a request, not an oath, a plea to protect him, so that he m-may see h-his...i-infant come in the w-world . How shall I face her? How…...how w-will I….find the courage…to f-face her?' Guthrum spoke haltingly as his wakefulness began to falter and his throat went dry, even as tears fell from his disoriented eyes.

'Don't think about that, we'll face her together, I promise. Don't give up now, please.' Freyddjis tried in vain to subdue the lump in her throat that rendered her voice thin with emotion. 'We need to get under cover soon, they're still following us. I know it, I can feel them getting close.' She shifted her gait to prevent Kristoff from falling. The boy had been wide awake all this time, his wounds not so serious, but the cold was still a concern. The boy also felt dread; for he had never seen his parents so feeble before. The boy had known fear before, sure, however this was a new feeling. This horrible feeling, as if he was about to learn what loss was and there was no coming back from this event.

'Freyda, you're...you're one in a million, you k-know that? I-I made the guh..ggnnnn...the greatest decision of m-my life making y-you my wife. You- you did your best with m-me. Now go. L-leave me be, I'm done for.' The man spilled some blood from his mouth as he finished speaking, adding to the delirium and the cold, this was not encouraging at all.

'Shut up, you fool! You're not dying today, do you understand! We're close to the mountains of the stonepeople. It is an hour's trek left at most through the forest, we're halfway through it. I know you can hold on. I know it.' Freyddjis growled at her husband, ever as the mere possibility of the event brought tears to her eyes. In that moment, Kristoff was afraid of everything; what could happen in the next moment, what could happen tomorrow morning, would his father be all right, how would he and his mother get by, everything. It wasn't fair; he was so young, too young to ask such heavy questions. It seemed that he was learning a lot in a very short time. His father's voice broke his chain of thought.

'Freyda, I know you'd n-never leave me. I'll make the choice easier. Just k-know that I...I love you and little Kristoff. Forever.'

With that, Guthrum summoned his remaining strength, pulled out a well-concealed pistol and shot himself through the head, from temple to temple.

BOOM!

A thunderous, deafening noise. Then the man hit the floor, his face blackened and bloody from close impact. It was a terrible mess.

The tree upon which his body fell, became dyed with blood and grey matter. In the dead of night, illuminated only by a pale crescent moon, the tree with red leaves having five edges, and the alabaster bark of the great Snowpillar tree;

The great tree symbolic of death to the Iceni, painted red by fate and by the bravado man may feel in his final moments.

It was all a haze to Kristoff, who couldn't register anything around him in that moment. Somehow his vison became blurry, his ears fell numb, his limbs felt rigid. And yet, his eyes were transfixed on the lifeless body of the man who was until ten minutes ago, his father.

And yet he could say nothing, do nothing. Couldn't shout, couldn't kick, couldn't put his mind at ease at all. A dull voice persisted in his head; the painful screams and cries of his mother whose voice felt present and far away all at the same time.

In the distance towards their left, deep in the forest, a few lights lit up.

Friends? No. Foes. Definitely foes.

Well, Kristoff was the man now. He had to rouse his mother.

'Mum' he slid off his mother's back said, 'I see lights coming.'

Freyddjis came out of her grief with a shock. Foolish, very foolish to scream in the forest at night, especially for a deceased one. Her mind became unnaturally alert and active, thinking a thousand miles in a thousand directions per second. After a moment of quick reasoning, she handed him a knife and spoke softly 'Kristoff, my love, listen carefully. We'll have to part. Run. Run away from here. Away from me, as fast as you can. Your life depends on it. Don't look back, whatever happens. I'll come back for you soon. I love you.' With that, she embraced him fiercely and smothered him with tearful kisses.

A pang troubled his mind. What if...

'What if I get caught?'

Her answer came, chillier than winter's cold. 'Use the knife. Die fighting. They will not be kind to you.'

With that, she was gone, drawing the attention of the lights to her, disappearing into the thick darkness of the forest and the night.

Kristoff had never run so fast in his life, at least how fast his sprain would let him. Running blind through the forest, caring not for the frightful spirits whose myths he could listen to all day from his mother. The moon was being mean-spirited in lighting his way towards the mountains of the stone people, at times being blocked by the clouds, at times by the leaves. How the trees rustled around in unease, in disdain, as if teasing and mocking his attempt at escape. The hissing and growling in a language from the Snowpillars, in an ancient tongue he didn't understand.

Old, primal, mystical, terrifying.

He stopped dead in his tracks as the growling became more prominent, recognizable and severe, a knife drawn out in his trembling hand. Is this it? Will the spirits kill me?

His question was answered almost instantly as a pair of yellowish-green lights lit up at once from up ahead. Lights that were like eyes. Eyes of a beast. A beast looking to kill.

A mountain lion, probably disturbed in its attempt at finding food for himself by these fools making a ruckus. What the great beast may have lost in some wily stag, it could have found in this human kid. It was graceful in its movement as it climbed down from the tree and faced the kid, like a well-seasoned thief stealing a prize through sleight of hand. Every move deliberate, every stride and crawl graceful, every intention murky and dangerous.

Kristoff could only stand frozen in fear, even if the knife stood up in his hand, rudely challenging the predator. Please, please don't kill me.

The mountain lion growled and bared his deadly canines, as if insulted and slighted by the non-verbal cry for mercy. It was almost ready to pounce when-

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A succession of musket fire, followed by a painful scream cut short, sending ripples throughout the jungle. The mountain lion changed its stance completely, faced the direction of the source of the noise.

This abrupt distraction was enough for Kristoff to try and escape. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was at the edge of a steep valley. One false step and that was it.

He fell screaming, headlong into the valley. He tried to stall his descent somehow, but to no avail. With nothing else left to do, he closed his eyes, and braced himself for the impact.

It was by sheer accident that his fall was broken by the river blowing at the base of the valley. The river that shone like silver in the pale moonlight. He may have escaped the possibility of splattering himself from the fall, but the sheer tension from the surface of the water drew out a cry of anguish from him as he landed into the water. To make matters worse, the danger of drowning had multiplied manifold.

He tried grasping for the bank as the pace of the river quickened as it descended from the mountains. Even as water rushed into his lungs, he tried further and did his best to keep his head above the water. Finally, after several minutes, the river decided to relent and slowed down. Kristoff used all his remaining strength to swim and crawl towards the shore. With the solid ground of the riverbank firmly under him, he fell, exhausted.

Before he lost consciousness, the last thing he remembered seeing was a feminine figure, but somehow not a human. More like stone. Stone covered with moss and remarkably, flowers. In the middle of winter.

And then. Darkness.

A fortnight later; the eve of the winter solstice, Arendelle, 1827

'Wow, Elsa! You've outdone yourself!' Both Anna and Olva squealed delightfully in unison.

'Thank you, thank you! I didn't know I had it in me.' Answered Elsa, flush with excitement. The creation which the three sisters were talking about was a massive chandelier she had made of ice in the ball room. Elsa loved designing chandeliers. The geometry, the scope, the intricacies, the elegance, the weight, the beauty. How every piece is perfect in its alignment, how every facet angled to reflect the maximum amount of light possible. She had discovered her passion for it when she was seven; she had gone with her mother and sisters to Russia, to the courts of the Tsar. How his palace was gigantic, how his hall was huge, it could have easily housed a thousand people at a time. And the chandelier! She could observe it forever.

However, the exact replica she had tried to make was no less a marvel. She had worked on it for almost a year, making sketches, obsessing over it in her bed, late at night. To see every turn, twist and bend of the hanging piece of glory. Scribbling a line here and there, a short diagram between comprehension, some more figures in arithmetic. She had even got a scolding from Iduna once when she had absentmindedly written something on the tablecloth while eating supper.

Ah, but now, the whole thing was etched in her memory like carvings on granite. She remembered everything from memory. Building it was no effort surprisingly; she kept the figure with detail in her mind, conjured a glowing ball and shot it towards the ceiling of the ballroom.

It was beautiful, almost otherworldly in its appeal; for no chandelier in the world lit up to a blue of this shade. What made it even better was that the ballroom was not as big as the Tsar's court, which made the chandelier even more gigantic and beautiful.

'This is amazing!' Anna chirped. The five-year-old never grew tired of Elsa's abilities. Be it early morning, late afternoon, or the middle of the night, the redhead was always eager for the platinum blonde's magic.

'It's wonderful. How long did it take you to make it in your head?' Olva asked with the curiosity only she had; the dark-haired girl always took so much interest in her powers, like someone trying to uncover a mystery, completing a puzzle. In such thrilling moments, she always had a far-off glow in her eyes. She loved Elsa's power in her own ways, different from Anna's adoration. Olva had more excitement and respect.

'When did you learn all this, Elsie?' Olva asked with genuine admiration.

'Umm, between you two pulling my leg and getting me involved in all your hare-brained mischief and fun.' Elsa replied with a wink.

'Hardy hardy har. You know you love the trio.' Anna quipped with a grin as Elsa nodded with a smirk. Olva laughed, oh these two.

'I'm not done yet.' Elsa said with a mischievous smile.

'What, there's more?' Anna perked up.

'Yes, but first, the last one to get up from their bed has to bring us hot chocolate.'

'Hmmm, who could that be now?' Anna asked with an impish grin looking towards Olva.

The trio already knew who it was, but Olva begged to differ.

'Hey, it was who got to the ballroom last. I remember very well that I was the first one in, I made sure of that. I sprinted out of bed, got in before you two. Therefore, Anna should be getting the hot chocolate, not me.'

'No, it was who got up the latest, it always has been, why would we change it now?' Anna said.

'Yes, not our fault you were fast asleep.' Elsa added.

'So, I sprinted and nearly slipped on the staircase for nothing?'

'Yes, apparently.' Elsa replied with faux concern and hidden fun-poking in good humour

'Boo, the both of you, how do I win? Anna sleeps on time of an owl, and Elsa's too excited for her birthday. Not fair.'

'Come on, you know it will happen every time. Besides, you make the best cup of hot chocolate ever.' Elsa began.

Olva put on a haughty air 'Hmm, it is true.'

Elsa and Anna smiled to each other. See, it never fails.

'All right, I'll get it. But don't start anything without me!' With that, the dark-haired princess rushed to the kitchens.

A few minutes passed, and Anna began to fidget.

'What is taking her so long? We've been here for daaayyyyyyss' Anna was a natural at exaggeration.

'You know the kitchens are on the other side of the castle, right?' Elsa told her little sister.

'So? Can't she hurry up? I'm getting bored.' Anna replied.

'She'll be here in couple of minutes, don't worry.' Elsa assured her.

'Say, what if we ice the floor?' Anna asked with a grin.

'Oh no, Olva would not like that.' Elsa backed away

'Oh come on, she would just join in the fun, you know her.' Anna said.

'Guess I got talked into it, huh.' Elsa said with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk.

'Yes!' Anna could barely contain her excitement.

Elsa closed her eyes, twirled around and stamped her foot on the floor. On cue, a thin layer of ice blanketed the floors of the Ball room, with the little princesses going giddy over the patterns the ice formed. Anna began to skate along one of the patterns, only to fall flat on her face.

'See Anna, I told you to wait. There are many more ways to fall.' said Olva as she glided in, making a perfect loop, doubly impressive with her carrying a tray and a box as well.

'Here's your hot chocolate, you lunatics. Enjoy.' Olva laughed.

'Gimme gimme gimme!' Anna squealed as she got up.

It was worth the short wait. Olva created magic when she had sugar, milk and chocolate in her hands. It tasted like heaven.

'Mmhmm, when did you learn to make it so well?' Elsa asked with a contented sigh.

'You know, between you two pulling my leg and I being left behind to cover up for you.'

Touché.

'What's in the box, Olva?'

'Well, it is our birthday gift for you. Happy birthday Elsie' Olva and Anna beamed.

Elsa hugged her sisters together in an instant, with tears of joy in her eyes 'Thank you, thank you so much, both of you!'

Anna and Olva hugged her in return, while exchanging glances of victory. We're good at this.

Elsa opened the box and there it was; a wooden carving of an eight headed star, complete with carvings indicating facets and faces of crystals, along with three dolls made of cotton and felt, each signifying one of the sisters.

'Oh you two, you precious little kittens! Thank you so much! Ask me anything, I'll give it to you right now.' Elsa giggled.

'Hmm, we're missing something here. What do you think is missing here?' Olva began.

'Snow!' Anna finished.

'Of course, I'm feeling kind tonight. How much snow, my humble citizen?' Elsa moved with a show of royalty; something that came naturally to her as she was the heir apparent to Arendelle.

'Oh, your majesty, the whole room!' Anna joined in the fun, always up for a caper, a commoner at heart.

'My liege, I must say, we need to be able to leave safely and in one piece once we're done.' Olva joining in as well, ever the voice of reason.

'Well said, noble adviser. Shall three feet of snow be good?' Elsa addressed Olva, clearly enjoying herself.

'Ample, your majesty.' Olva finished. This was a special occasion, after all.

'Very well. Now let's get this bastard up in the air.' Elsa said, dropping the regal flair at once and shooting the glowing ball of snow in her hands towards the ceiling.

'Ooooooh naughty word!' Anna cooed.

'It's my birthday, who's gonna stop me?' Elsa said in mock defiance.

'Yes, tonight we shall cuss like gutterheads!' Olva heartily laughed as she looked upwards to the ceiling only to remark, 'Hey, is it snowing from the chandelier?'

'Damn right it is.' Elsa announced it in pride.

'You magnificent shhhhee wolf.' Olva called out.

'You worked hard to control yourself, didn't you?' Elsa asked.

'Yes, you ice-shitter.' Olva said

'Oooh, there's going to be trouble for that!' Elsa laughed.

'Yes, a fairy tale! To rescue her rowdy friend, the princess must calm the snow queen and survive her quests and save the day. Also, the floor is lava!' Anna yelled in excitement.

With that she began to jump on the snowy bed, already two feet thick. 'Wait, dear friend! What about Olaf?' Olva called.

'Olaf?' Oh yes, how could she forget?

The trio get down to business, building a snowman who always had the same name. they always argued about the design, but hilariously always ended up making the snowman the same crooked way they always did. Olaf, the snowy saint of friendship and family. With a love for warm hugs, of course.

With Olaf's blessing, the trio began their fairy tale, the snow queen giving the adventurer higher platforms of snow to jump from, to save her trapped friend. Anna going higher and higher towards the ceiling.

Wait, what are we doing?! She's gonna fall terribly from that place!

Olva suddenly realized with horror. 'Elsa, stop! Anna's gonna fall!' Olva screamed.

Elsa broke out of her birthday high to see where Anna was. From a pleasant dream to a terrible nightmare. 'Anna, wait, slow down! I can't keep up!' Elsa shouted.

Alas! The little redhead was too excited to listen. 'Catch me, o queen of ice and snow!' she yelled as she leapt from the chandelier.

In her haste to help her, Elsa slipped on her ice. It had never happened before. Even as she fell herself, she tried to save her baby sister 'Anna!'

Smack! Went the ice to Anna's head. She was stunned into unconsciousness as she landed head-first on the snow, three feet deep.

'Oh no!' Olva screamed again as she rushed beside Anna, right beneath the chandelier.

But it wasn't over, for Anna hadn't been the only one, or thing caught in the crossfire. The chandelier of ice cracked dangerously from the top and went into free-fall.

'Olva, get out of there!' Elsa yelled through her tears threatening to fall and crash any second.

Olva used all her might, trying to drag herself and Anna as quickly as she could. While Olva was ultimately successful in pulling Anna away, she herself was not so lucky. While she avoided the worst impact of the chandelier, she was knocked unconscious by the corners of the chandelier and her left side, from head to hand, was pierced by scores of tiny icicles, forming horrible scars and blood flowing from the tiny cuts.

Elsa was dazed in shock; what just happened? A minute ago, we were playing and now this?

She rushed to the side of her sisters. Anna had a streak of white running through her red hair and Olva's cheek and forehead scars had begun to redden. In her fear, the three-foot snow became a solid block of ice. Elsa could do little but hold her unconscious sisters close, scream for her parents and cry. Ultimately, Agnarr and Iduna had to smash the doors with an axe and pickaxe as the ice was too stubborn for them. They quickly seized up the situation, took in the icy carnage and made some tough decisions on the spot. Tough decisions, for which, only Grand Pabbie could help them.

Yes, the plot is in motion, after so long! I'm shit at writing, even though I improve steadily :P

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome.

Until next time 😊.

#frozen #frozen angst #frozen elsa #frozen fanfiction #frozen fandom #frozen fanfic #frozen anna #elsa and anna #OC:Olva[Sister to Elsa and Anna] #snow sisters #arendelle sisters #elsa of arendelle #kristoff #kristoff of arendelle #anna of arendelle

[spotlessvast]

searching for the ends of the earth

   (Content warnings: mentions of suicide, animal death, murder, body horror, and blood. On-screen peaceful death.)

  Lukewarm dry grass scratches my bare feet at every step. I’m alone. The sky is dark, cloudless, and I’m far enough away from any air pollution to see the stars. I don’t need my walking stick, but I drag it along anyway, because no one’s here to see me use it. It puts my hands to good use in the meantime.

   I’m definitely being watched.

   I drag the stick behind me. It’s more like a branch, actually. I forgot what kind of tree it’s from, but from the looks of it, probably oak or cedar. I don’t know that many trees. The grass is still scratchy and my feet are numb. No one is behind me, but I can’t shake that feeling off my back. It’s unnecessary and is getting in the way of enjoying my travels to the fullest.

   If it were just a big cat, I wouldn’t really mind. This wasn’t a big cat, though.

  I remain careful not to wake up any sleeping creatures that surround me. Nearing the edge of this cliff, I look behind me to see the forest’s entrance. I half-expected the source of this looming feeling to reveal itself, but there was nothing. I hold up my walking stick parallel to me.

   At the bottom of the cliff is an abandoned city. Lights from old billboards and storefronts mold together and fade the higher they reach.

   Won’t hurt to climb down.

   I put my walking stick in my belt next to my shovel.

  All the walls I’ve ever let go of have claw marks on them. This wall of crumbling ground was no exception, and it would be a nuisance to try climbing back up. I make my way into the city where light is pollution and I’m alone, like always.

   I mean, if I wasn’t alone, that would mean this is the first time I’d ever seen someone in so long. Intuition pricks at the back of my neck, so I finally turn around, shovel in hand, ready to attack. “W..who g—” I’m hoarse. I don’t remember the last time I actually said something. I try again, spinning the long neck of the shovel and pointing it like a spear. “Who goes there!”

   And I’m facing the cliff, and a shadow cast on the cliff. Amorphous. Probably my own, since I have so much luggage.

   “Who goes there?” a voice echoes. My voice, but I don’t feel myself speak. I pinch my lips to see if they’re still alive or if they’ve been frozen to death back in the winter.

  “Y-yeah. Who!?” I inch closer to the cliff and point my shovel right at the shadow’s center. The shadow mirrors my movements, and I strike. Dust kicks up in my face while clumps of solid ground pummel my shovel and render it stuck and useless. Damn.

   “I’d tell you, but it’s more fun seeing you act like an idiot.” I turn around to face this person. If they’re mirroring my shadow, then they must be behind me!

   City lights. That’s all.

  Am I hallucinating? Was there something bad in the water? Maybe I hit my head too hard. I pull the shovel out of the ground. There could be land I haven’t travelled to yet, or I have travelled everywhere but me and this other person were never in the same place at the same time. Well, if that’s the case, then there are two survivors on this earth.

  “The hell do you got against me, you… you bitch?” If this person was going to keep taunting me using my own voice, I had no problem cursing them out.

   “No… don’t tell me, you’ve FORGOTTEN, have you!?”

Something brushes up against my arm and I feel my life being sucked out of my chest. There’s no soft ground to stick my shovel in, so I can’t lean on it for support. Nevertheless, I stand.

   Then that thing materializes in front of me, and continues to speak. “I feel insulted, that you forgot all of our travels together! Our journeys fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, explorations across frozen tundras and scorching deserts and everything in between. I remember that wolf you were friends with for a while, Chrome, right?”

   “How do you know about Chrome?” I hate how this thing appeared from thin air and the only thing I bother to ask about is my wolf-dog. I named him after one of my old friends, who always looked emo and then died. Achroma made better company than Chrome, but both of them were nice to be around. Then Chrome got old and died too.

   Still an amorphous blob, the thing in front of me responds. “I’ve been with you since forever.” So dramatic.

  “Well, can you at least, like—” I vaguely gesture with one hand. “Make yourself a bit more human so I’m not so put off talking to you?”

  “Oh, is this better?” They expand and contract until they mirror me again. No longer a shadow, but a replication. The same clothes, same equipment. But if that’s me, then… Lord almighty, my face is a mess. A hot mess, at that—

   “I appreciate that you think I’m sexy enough to turn into but I’d rather have you not.” It was already unnerving enough that they could sound like me any time they wanted…

   “Is this any better now?” Tendrils burst out of shape and adorn themselves with dozens of eyes.

   “No! What the shitting hell no!”

  I find myself following in their footsteps, or whatever they’re doing. Shifting between different appearances, it’s only easy to keep up with since they’re the only other vaguely human shaped being in my sight. Nothing worthwhile was in that city, nothing natural enough to sleep in. Sleeping on the floor is only nice when there are friends to wake up to the next day, and I have none, so I sleep in the forest.

   “The woods sucks.” For a record time of around half an hour, they settled themself to look a few inches taller than me, with shoulder length black hair. Their face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t really pinpoint it to any other person. We had the same clothes, but theirs had different colors.

   “You’re so critical of everything I do.” I set down my backpack and spread out a blanket. It’s hot tonight, so I only needed the blanket for the ground. My coats would keep me warm until the morning.

   “It’s only practical that you go back to the city, though,” they say from a tree.

   “What does practicality mean to you?” I lie down with my arms crossed behind my head.

   “Less than what it means to you.” Shut. The fuck up.

  Slow down and sleep, and hope that there won’t be any bugs in my head the next morning. That’s how every night goes. There’s less air pollution in the woods, so the night is lit by the moon and the stars. Tomorrow will be an early dawn. I cover my eyes and ears and ignore the world.

   “Ah… where to next?” I mumble out loud. Just a few minutes ago, I finished packing my stuff. Today is a hunting day, so I’d have to travel somewhere I could make food. That ghost hasn’t bothered me since I woke up, which was nice. I hope it would stay that way just for a day at the very least. I take a deep breath and wander out of the woods back into the city. The neon lights dimmed down to nothing in the pale sunlight. Windows and doors had already been broken into, so I crawl in and scavenge for anything I could take with me. Other than what you’d expect to find in abandoned storefronts, nothing served useful to me. There was a cool rock, but I decided to leave it.

   I pause, about to leave the store.

   Something is wrong.

  “Hey,” says a different voice. It’s lower than mine this time. I look behind me and notice the gaping metaphorical hole in my chest upon meeting eyes with the ghost. I have no privacy anymore, no drive, and this asshole was going to kill it even more. But if they’ve been here for so long, all that privacy and drive must’ve been an illusion in the first place…

   This time, their hair was shorter and messy. Lighter. Some color that was hard to distinguish between blond and gray from the lighting inside. They were wearing pants and a warm coat. “Good to see you finally got some creativity there, huh,” I say.

   They ignored me. “I think you should pick up that rock.” They point to the rock.

  “Damn, you’re right. I’m gonna pick up that fuckin’ rock.” I pick up the rock and put it in my vest pocket. “How’d you know I wanted that thing?”

   They shrugged. “I know you.”

   “Am I hallucinating right now?” I squint. They’re clearly not transparent, and the more I focus, the more familiar they seem. Something is really wrong around here.

   “It wouldn’t make a difference on you if I said ‘no,’ would it?”

  They take the lead out of the store and I follow them to an old rusty highway. I don’t have any objections, but today was supposed to be a hunting day. The sun is high, and it’s around noon now. The sky looks like it could crumble apart at any moment. That’s when I know the weather will be sunny again for the next few days.

   At the middle of the highway, there’s a gap where it got destroyed by a bomb or an earthquake. The way out from the city was familiar, but I obviously hadn’t been there in a long time to have known where this highway leads or how to get across to the other side. I sit down.

   We stay unmoving in a silent world, until that silence is broken by the wind. Then the wind drives me to ask what I should call them. They say I can call them whatever. “Okay, Whatever.”

   They cringe. “I didn’t mean like that.” They sit down too.

   Hack was the name I was looking for. Hack was who they reminded me of earlier in the city ruins. So I would call them Hack, just like he was. It felt disrespectful to reduce them to just a ghost. But this wasn’t Hack. And I had to remind myself that. We fell out, and years later he probably died too. If this was a hallucination, I’m both impressed and disturbed at my own imagination for making me so comforted and disturbed at the same time. “Okay, I’ll call you Hack.”

   Not-Hack has a shit-eating grin on their face, almost like they want me to call them that.

   We sit in silence for another long, drawling moment.

   “How old are you?” Their sudden question makes me flinch.

   “T..Twenty-something. Why?”

  “ERRRHHH. WRONG!” They imitate a game show buzzer and make an X with their hands. “I know it’s been over a hundred years, I was just curious how more than a hundred it was.”

   “It hasn’t been a hundred years!” I stand up and shout down at them. “I swear, I’m thirty at most! Do I really look that old to you? Eat a dick.”

   They’re laughing. “You’re funny.”

  “Well, you’re an asshat!” I jab them in the forehead, but my finger passes right through them. They jab me back, but they don’t pass through me. Unfair advantage, stupid ghost. At least now I know it’s probably not a hallucination. I sit back down with my legs dangling over the highway’s edge. I want to go back to the woods, or at least somewhere the leaves are starting to change color. The sky’s been raining heat on me for the past few months, so it’s due time. I can’t accurately judge the distance from here to the ground, but I want to risk jumping.

  A voice coming from inside of my head asks me if I ever thought of killing myself. I’d be a hypocrite to deny I ever entertained the thought. I hold my head while my elbows rest on my thighs. Only now have I realized that life’s boring after the end of the world. Distractions and the bare minimum only go so far, but what am I supposed to do when something changes?

   I jump.

   I survive.

   Not-Hack is still here.

   In the distance I can see a ferris wheel peeking out from a row of buildings. If a ferris wheel is there, then there’s probably no good food over there. It’s all just city and lights. City, lights, and stores. Trees, for air sustenance. I wonder if there were any fruit trees over there. I take a running start.

   “Hey!” Not-Hack calls out. “Don’t leave me behind!” They rush to catch up with me. Don’t leave them behind? Not like I had a choice.

   “I know this place.”

   “You’ve been here before?” I lodge my knife into a cherry tree and I step on it. My backpack and vest are a yard away on the ground. I grip onto a thick branch and hoist myself up. I didn’t have time to study which cherries were perfect or not, I just ate what I could find. Wandering around the area were cats and rabbits, but I don’t like to eat cats or rabbits.

   “We’ve been here before.” They burst open again and regenerate with a black sweater over a white dress shirt and well worn black jeans. Their face looks half-dead this time, and their hair is a short bob that gets longer in the front with their bangs covering one eye.

   There’s a small hole in their chest with blood darkening their already black sweater and disintegrating when the drops reach the ground.

   Right. This is the same place Achroma died. And I survived.

  “I don’t like it when you tell me things with his face.” I turn my attention back to cherry picking and then jump to the ground. I refuse to look at them.

   “How’s this, then?” They said with a softer, naturally high voice. Bastard tricked me into looking. Now they were wearing a casual dress and boots perfectly fit for a date, and had long purple hair tied up in the back.

   “Not any better. It’s embarrassing now—”

  Seeing those shapeshifting sequences happen in real time was gross. I know logically that ghost forms should need some sort of connection to something in order to change, but seeing that in-between with dozens of tendrils, colors, and eyeballs really unnerved me. Not like their choices were any better. Why are they only turning into people I know?

   Not-Achroma reaches their hand out and gestures for me to follow them. I do.

  The stony path becomes gradually more broken as we walk, until the road turns into gravel. This side of the city had the ferris wheel, and since I wasn’t willing to risk getting stuck on a two-and-something-hundred-year-old machine, I carefully ignored and evaded it. Something is off about me being so passive today. Instead of calm, it feels empty. Done. Satisfied with what I’ve been through, but God please let it be over. Still, I’ll walk as much as I can until I die. Either that high fall didn’t kill me or I woke up from a dream. Dying in heat takes time and is uncomfortable.

   “Why are you doing all…” I make a vague hand gesture to their face. “That.”

   “Why are you being so uptight? You can talk. Use your words and stop beating around the bush.” Another phrase I remember saying. Another phrase I remember rubbing off on the people who spent time with me. The only thing I was good for on this curse of an earth was giving advice that I don’t take. But now with everyone gone, I didn’t really have any range of choices for my next strength. My actions hold no weight to humanity— The only impact I have now is hunting food.

   “Earth to Koya.”

   When I hunt, I breathe, pray, and kill.

   “Koyaaaaaaaaaaa.”

   I have no time to think about the consequences, only time to stick the arrow in and run away.

   “Koya!”

   And I pray so there can be resolve in untimely death.

   “Stop ignoring me.”

   I finally halt my train of thought and turn my head. “What the fuck do you want.”

   “I’m bored,” says Not-Achroma with a deadpan face.

   “There’s plenty to do around here. Why do you have to travel with me if you’re so bored?” I look forward.

   “Admit that you need me.” We both stop.

   “I haven’t been feeling like myself since you showed up. I don’t need anyone like you.” I haven’t been feeling at all since they showed up. Except for when they jabbed me in the face. I was irritated! And then I wasn’t.

  But having someone like Hack around was a little less lonely. It wouldn’t be the same, but I could tell him everything I needed to and then finally die. I just don’t like seeing Achroma like this. Those who are dead are supposed to stay dead, because no matter how much someone misses them, it will never be the same again. I don’t need them, I need my connections back.

   “Akoi Koya…” hearing my full name coming from his voice is something I didn’t know I needed, but I did. No one called to me since the disasters, except for my animals, but they just barked at me. “Akoi as a name doesn’t make any sense, you know that?” They continue walking, and I follow them. “It’s like whoever named you was typing on a keyboard and misspelled ‘Aoki’ as ‘Akoi’ and never changed it back.”

   “But it flows pretty well all together, right? I never really gave it much thought until other people pointed it out.” Like Hack did. Akoi didn’t have a clear origin, but Koya did. Akoi Koya sounded like some fantasy character name, but just Koya on its own was fine. And a real name.

   “It’s pretty.” Not-Achroma turns back into Not-Hack and slows down their pace. I’m in front of them now, and they’re walking close behind. I can feel breezes on the back of my neck and between my fingers. They’re not touching me.

   I stop walking. They bump into me. We don’t move.

   The sun is still high.

   I crash against a wall holding up a bridge. Shade was needed especially now. I’ve been out in the open so much today, I felt like the sun was going to melt my face off. I sink down to the ground and a sigh escapes my throat. Not-Hack is growing accustomed to their role since picking up on my subtle cues. A ghost with no personality and drive except for what they observe sounds like a sad existence. But what could they possibly get out of by acting like old friends? They sit next to me with one leg out and the other leg bent, and their arm around my shoulders. I want to talk to them the same way I used to talk to Hack.

   “What was I thinking?” The short sentence just falls out.

   “Yeah, what were you thinking? I’m gonna kick your ass.” Their tone is playful in the same way a laser pointer is to a cat.

   “Think you can take me?” I make a fist and gently punch Not-Hack in the chest. It doesn’t pass through this time.

   “I know I can! Come at me, coward.”

  “Not until I eat lunch.” Today was supposed to be a hunting day, and I was supposed to be a nameless survivor with a stolen look. Now I’m Akoi Koya again, and Hack is here if we both survived. I still want food, but a meal can wait. I have cherries.

   Tasteless, purple cherries. Tasteless and sour. Somehow they tasted numb with an aftertaste of sweet and sour.

   Not-Hack relaxes and leans in even closer next to me. Their head rests on mine, and I wrap my arm around their back.

   Even if it’s not the same, they’ll persist until they make it that way. So I ask them “Why?”

   They don’t break character. “We were young. And stupid.” They deliberately avoid eye contact and stare into the sun.

   “No, I mean—”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Why am I putting on this charade?” That’s more like it. I still felt weird hearing someone talk like that with Hack’s face.

   “Mhm.”

   “Because you were in love with him.” They really did see right through me. I’ve been living my life followed by a ghost. Finding out today doesn’t make any sense, but it also does. I can’t make sense of it in words, though. And I won’t admit my feelings. ‘Were’ doesn’t mean ‘are.’

   “I wasn’t in love with him.” I toss another cherry into my mouth and spit out the pit.

   “Koyaaaaa. Lying isn’t going to do anything.” They turn back again. Our faces are so close.

   I close my eyes and eat another cherry. This is enough for today.

   “Love is loyalty. Loyalty is power, and power is chaos. And Chaos means I’m not bored anymore.”

   “So you’re doing this for yourself,” I ask, but it’s more like a statement.

   They fall silent. I know they’ll say yes, but I don’t want to hear that. I want to go home. I want my connections back.

  Hack didn’t die in front of me. Achroma did. Ven didn’t die in front of me either. I just stopped talking to her. It hurt the most seeing Achroma’s face again, so why did Not-Hack spare me?

   “Do you ever think about dying?” They break their own silence.

   “More than I’d like to.”

   They stand up and I feel nothing. I stand up and grab their hand and I feel something.

  I let go once pins and needles shoot from their skin while they change. I knew I was getting too used to them. Looking at the ground, I hold their hand again. It’s cold. Let me fall for it. Please. There’s no blood on that sweater this time. No blood fading when it touches the ground. No blood. No half-dead face. We’re together, suspended in time. And he’s not dead, but he is.

   We cool off at an old dock. I take off my vest and hang it on a wood pole, then I take off my shirt. I take off one layer of pants, the layer that has stuff in its pockets, and I lower myself into the water, just low enough to be safe. I have some wounds on my chest that haven’t healed since I got them, and covering them with duct tape only goes such a long way. I’d wrap some more duct tape around once I’m done. My feet are numb now.

   I cross my arms over the dock while the rest of me dangles in the water. “Maybe I could try dying here.”

   “Drowning would suck.” Not-Achroma flicks me in the forehead. “Especially for you.”

   I didn’t realize I just talked about dying out loud.

  It’s officially late afternoon, and the sun will set in an hour or two. I could hunt for fish, but there’s a risk in diving into the ocean. I was never a good swimmer, anyway. “What do you recommend for dying, then?”

   “Gunshots are quick and— Ah—”

   “What.”

   “Forget it.”

  I climb onto the dock and splash some water into my face. It’s still hot, but cold water could help for now. I wouldn’t be so hot in the woods. All this talk about death was really new. Well, all that talk about anything is new, but until now I’ve just been living until I get killed or just stop living. Dying by my own will is difficult. “I want to wait until the sun sets.”

   Memories that never really left me resurfaced every time they opened their mouth. I follow them through the city to a run down building that, according to nothing but my gut, was supposed to be home. Today is the first time since the disasters I go back, and it’s also the last. I took off that itchy duct tape (that might as well be part of my skin at this point) and had my wounds exposed. I tie my shirt around my waist and leave my vest in my backpack. My feet are still numb, so I lean on ‘Achroma’ to make sure I don’t trip and fall.

   The outskirts of the city glow with gold from the sun. It hasn’t set yet, but the shadows are harsh and the scenery is warm. Birds are flying, cats and dogs are wandering, and I’m out of place, walking on two legs. Even more out of place if you look closer to my injuries.

   Injuries of an exposed, worn out machine, who, in desperation, attempted to abandon fate and live like a real survivor.

   We sit down.

  I ask them questions that only Achroma would be able to know, like why he picked out his name, and what he wanted to do in life. Their ad-lib was convincing, and I didn’t want to think about the implications of a ghost using my memories of him against me. I’m dying soon either way. It would suck to have my last hour be miserable.

   I loved Hack, I loved Achroma, and I loved Ven. I spent the least amount of time with Ven out of everyone else, but she was wonderful. I tell ‘Achroma’ about Ven, even though they already knew about my experiences with her. They still go along with it, like we really are old friends who were separated from each other for a long time. It’s selfish of me not to care if ‘Achroma’ doesn’t love me, and it’s selfish of them not to love me back. Their stories of life are vivid and pessimistic, but they make humor out of it.

   The sun sets.

   All these years of searching for the ends of the earth, and I found myself back where I started. I’m ready.

  I close my eyes as two hands invade the wounds on my chest. It’s a cold, strong wind, gripping through my ribs and jamming up everything else. I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I fall sideways.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I remember everything.

   I love you.

   Conscious thought formation ceases.

   Tactile data input ceases.

   Conscious movement ceases.

   Temperature function ceases.

   Visual data input ceases.

   Auditory data input ceases.

   Additional sensory data input ceases.

   Emotional data output ceases.

#writers on tumblr #short story #post apocalypse #science fiction #original characters

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Movie Night (ft. Cas's t-shirt)

THANK YOU for the ask, Dear Anon! I'm very flattered that you enjoyed the last one, and hope this meets your expectations! I WISH I could tag you in this, but you're on anon so.. Anyways, I went for Tuesday movie night idea, and clubbed it with a 'cute t-shirt prompt' I received and it got long AF but please leave a comment if you read and like!

*

"Ahh," Dean let out a perfect sound of exhaustion meeting the plush comfort of his couch. "It's finally Tuesday."

Sam snorted from the side, because his relationship with tuesdays had been kind of a love-hate. Not that Dean ever took him seriously - he doesn't blame his brother, really, because he wouldn't believe Dean either if he told him 'a piano crushed you to death' or any of those other ridiculous ways in which he'd died.

"If you like movie nights that much," Jack added, from the side - he was settled in one of the big chairs, looking more like a kid than he usually did. "Why don't we watch movies on other nights, too?"

Sam leaped to answer, ever ready to squeeze in a lesson for the nephilim. Good values needed to be a part of the upbringing. Children need to be taught by example. "There's an analogy we can use for this, Jack. Say, uh, Dean loves his birthday very much." Dean frowned at his brother. "Because of the pie, and the gifts, and all the beer." Dean shrugged. "So, he wishes on his birthday candles that everyday be his birthday!" Sam paused, and Dean wondered why he spoke as if he was talking to a kid, and not the strongest 2-year-old ever. "But, what happens then, is that he keeps growing a year older on each birthday - that is, everyday!"

Jack looked alarmed. "That's - bad."

"Yeah, because then I'd grow to be 60 in like a month and die." Dean added, in a deadpan.

"It won't take you thirty years to get to sixty." Sam reminded him.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean scowled and turned back to Jack. "Listen, kid, this isn't about all the good movies in the world getting finished too soon, if we watch 'em everyday. It's more about the attitude."

Jack nodded.

"Like, uh," Dean swallowed. "Like our dad always taught me and Sammy, hunters need to live a disciplined life. Can't just start watching a movie whenever, because that'll make your head feel like you're giving it permission to do crap, just like that, without a routine. That's never good for a hunter - even less so, he'd say, for the sons of an ex-Marine. Messes your head up, and takes away your ability to fixate on your decisions." Dean paused. "It's not like I've not watched movies on a Saturday because I wanted to, but the old man made sense - it's just, a routine is better to stick to."

"That sounds like a horrible amount of behavioral psychology to associate to an activity as trivial as watching a movie." Came a new voice, as Cas stood in the doorframe, his head just slightly tilted as his eyes looked straight at Dean.

Dean's exhale was caught in his lungs, and he blinked, staring at Cas with a chest full of air, and still feeling like he'd sink instead of buoyant. Cas was no longer in the trenchcoat and pants - he wore grey pyjamas which fit snug over his thighs, and a t-shirt which had to be new, because holy fucking shit.

He'd have noticed the angel walking around their bunker, wearing a black AC/DC shirt like that - simple, to someone else, perhaps - yet the way it fit over his biceps, widened his shoulders a bit more, and gave an elevated look to his chest because of the smooth descent to a toned abdomen - rendered Dean incapable of looking away. Complete with his hair sticking up at odd angles, hints of a stubble and inspecting eyes focussed on Dean, he looked like the stuff of Dean's (guilty, oh so guilty) dreams.

"H-hey, Cas." Dean cleared his throat, shifting on the larger couch to make space for him. He waved his hand dismissively to disregard all that he'd just said. "Forget about that, it was crap - come sit down." He suggested, breathlessly.

"Look who finally joined us," Sam addressed, in a normal voice and not even bothering to look up again - making Dean wonder why he didn't get all caught up in Cas's t-shirt, like Dean just had. He was unfairly attractive - but not just to Dean, right?

"I'm sorry," Cas replied, as he sat down next to Dean. Not a single part of them touched, since they were on opposite edges of a large couch Dean originally got for Sam and him - but there was still a tingling under Dean's skin, which had to be Cas's fault. "I couldn't find any socks." He turned to Dean, suddenly smiled, and tugged his pyjama up a little to show him the socks he wore. A pair of fucking novelty socks, they were - but Dean found himself grinning mindlessly, as Cas crossed his legs under him, and the visual was taken away from him.

"Of course, you couldn't." Sam inputted. "Dean hasn't been doing the laundry lately."

"Why am I the only one supposed to do it?" Dean threw back, and Sam didn't say anything to it.

"Nevermind." Cas declared. "I found socks, unwashed though they may be. Let us start." He referred to the movie.

Jack had fell silent for a moment, and he spoke up again. "Yeah! What are we watching today?"

At the same time that Sam opened his mouth - probably to drag Dean on how they better not watch something they'd just watched - Dean spoke up. "We're watching The Fellowship of The Ring, today."

"We just watched that on literally the third Tuesday of March -" Sam complained.

"Listen." Dean threw back. "Don't shove your crazy awesome memory with movies and dates, in my face - 'cause my brain forgot the movie already."

"Forgot? You probably can quote it line by line, Dean." Sam frowned. "But I guess you're not satisfied until you flawlessly recite it in your sleep, like Lost Boys."

Dean flashed his best shit-eating grin, and if that's what he was gonna do, he wasn't gonna agree with Sam. "Well, it's what we're watching, Sammy. Deal with it."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What about Jack? Or Cas? Why don't you ask them if they want to watch Lord of the Rings again?"

"I do." Jack announced, brightly. "I like Frodo and Samwise Gamgee." Sam rolled his eyes. "But, I could also watch something else. I trust Sam's recommendations, after Harry Potter." He added, faithfully.

"Careful, buddy, Sammy's raising your son to be a nerd." Dean muttered to Cas, and he nodded, as if it was a line that needed to be answered with a nod.

Sam grinned like it was victory handed to him on a platter. "He said he could watch something else, Dean."

"What about Cas?" Dean turned to him, rotating in his seat. "Whadd'ya wanna watch, buddy?"

Cas pursed his lips, as if in deep thought. The deciding element. The one who'd tip the scales in the favor of one of the Winchesters.

"It's not Sophie's Choice," Sam grumbled sourly, as if he already knew what Cas would choose.

"Let him think!" Dean shushed his brother.

"I have reached a decision." Cas informed everyone, looking solemnly at the TV, instead of their faces. "We shall watch The Fellowship Of The Ring, tonight." He turned to Sam. "And if there's no hunts and we're at the bunker tomorrow too, Sam's choice shall prevail - that is, if Dean agrees to go against John's sayings and watch a movie on a Wednesday."

"That's fair." Jack grinned.

Dean beamed at Cas, with his little smile and his goddamn t-shirt, which was gonna drive Dean crazy in due time, he was sure. "See, Sam?" He ignored the comment on his father, because it was rare stilted humor, and in a perfect deadpan.

Sam muttered something under his breath which sounded a little bit like 'profound bond' for some reason, and rolled his eyes in defeated agreement, as Dean began to look for the movie.

"Whatever," Sam substituted, not looking up from his phone as the opening credits began to play. "The three of you can rewatch the entire LOTR series if you want, I'll just leave you to it." He shrugged.

"Hey!" Dean was annoyed. This was family movie night. Sam was supposed to be a part of it too. "Lord of the Rings is right up your alley, nerd. Why're you bitch-facing so hard tonight?"

"Well," Sam chewed on his lip. "It's very long, and I wanted to get to bed for an early night."

Dean narrowed his eyes, and hit pause on the remote just as the elves began to narrate. "Why?"

"No reason." Sam stalled. There was an almost familiar edge to his voice and -

Suddenly, it all made sense to Dean. The dots connected in his head, and Sam's reluctance to watch a three hours long movie was suddenly reasoned.

"Why, Sam?" Cas repeated, intrigued. "Are you alright? Do you not feel well?"

"He feels fine. I know," Dean cut in. "He's got a date." Sam's eyes widened before he vigorously shook his head in denial. "Some virtual crap, I bet, because you don't like to get laid, and an actual date may've involved that - but whatever is your idea of a fun time, hey, I'm not judging."

"It's not a date!" He declared.

"Then it's something like it." Dean shrugged, getting surer, with Sam's panicked expression. He knew his brother well enough to read through this cover. "Tell me Sammy, is this a video call with some chick you met online on those awful sites?"

"Dude, no." Sam balked. "I'm on no such awful site to meet chicks."

"Sure, you're not." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Then, who? Because clearly I'm right about the rest of it."

"It's," Sam looked like he didn't wanna continue, would like nothing better than to not finish the sentence. But with Cas joining in on the stare, he let out a subdued, "Uh, Rowena."

There was a stillness in the room. Dean and Cas slowly exchanged a look, and Sam flushed. "Who?"

"We know her, Dean!" Jack corrected, promptly.

"Not like Sam does," Dean shot at his brother, who looked flustered as crap, and it was all Dean had ever wanted from this conversation.

"Dean!" Sam looked grossed out, while it should've been them. He was the one dating a three hundred years old witch. "We're gonna discuss -"

"- if you're about to tell me you'll discuss a case, I swear to call you on your bullshit by calling Rowena right away." Dean challenged, definitely.

"I -" Sam pursed his lips. "I don't need to have this conversation with you, jerk."

"What about the rest of us?" Cas asked, and there was a smirk playing on his lips, which made him all the more attractive.

"None of you." Sam declared, standing up, looking offended. "You are literally infants! Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, Dean, or I'll - whatever, just watch your frigging movie, I'm out of here."

"If you're gonna do stuff, use headphones!" Dean waited until Sam was far enough to not hit Dean for it and yelled after him, as the latter marched out of the room, embarrassed. It was his duty as the older brother to make that happen, so no issues there. He turned back to Cas, grinning at him - and Jack, of course.

"The rest of us are here without the intention of leaving halfway to call a chick, right?" Dean asked, though it was a pretty stupid question for Jack - and if the answer were yes for Cas, he'd have a major-ass freak out right there.

"Right." Cas confirmed, for some reason; his voice rich and gravelly, and Dean's attention was once again taken by Cas's t-shirt - now that his kid brother was sufficiently out of the picture. True, Jack was still there, but that's a different issue. Dean had to hold a reputation in front of Sam, that he could control his senses in the presence of Cas, and that he could rein it in, and that he could do a lot of things which he was very far from, in reality.

"Me too." Jack announced, brightly, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Jack, you're two." Cas informed him, and Dean had to stifle a snort at the very notion. Nevertheless, he toned down the weird, made himself comfortable in the couch - maybe shifting a little towards the middle, and let out a small, content sigh, for the second time this evening.

He hit play.

*

“Why do we keep making the same mistake?” Dean groaned, his head falling back on the sofa. Once again, like every tuesday ever - they’d forgotten to get food before they sat to watch the movie. Now, around half an hour in, it was all Dean could think about. But getting up seemed like an awful chore.

Cas nodded his head in agreement, grave and earnest. “It’s because we don’t learn our lesson.”

“Dean, do you want to learn said lesson tonight, by not eating?” Jack asked.

“No.” Dean glared at him. “I may be around Mr. No-Food, and Little-to-no-food, but it isn’t wearing off on me.” They’d not paused the movie to have this discussion, so he kept his eyes on the screen as he spoke. “As a human, I have a few simple needs. Such as beer and something like popcorn to chew as I watch a classic with my - I mean, with you guys.”

“Okay." Cas shuffled in his seat, beginning to stand up. Dean frowned instantly, and pulled him down, gripping his wrist. Cas easily succumbed, and was back on the couch with a surprised little bounce - looking at Dean, confused. "What? I'll get you the beer and popcorn, so that you don't have to get up. I can obviously see you don't want to."

Aww, Dean's brain melted.

"Nope." He said, out loud, popping the 'p'. "You don't need to do that. I'll go."

"I volunteer, Dean. It's not about need," Cas protested. "And you enjoy this movie more than I do."

"Sure, but I've watched it a helluva lot more too." Dean raised his eyebrows, and Cas smiled a little, one of those smiles that he reserved for Dean, and made his insides flutter.

"We could just pause it." Jack suggested, not looking away from the TV yet, for the entirety of the conversation.

"No, you keep watching, there's no need," Dean excused, standing up himself, smiling in spite of himself. Cas looked at him, and not at the screen.

"Dean," And that wonderful voice of his swept over Dean's brain and made the puddle vaporize or some shit.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I could keep telling you what's happening, while you're in the kitchen." Cas proposed, breaking into a wider smile, all crinkly and toothy.

"Aww, Cas," Dean couldn't stop himself in time, staring blindly at Cas's face and short-circuiting in his head. And instantly cleared his throat, and added in a more composed tone. "Okay, you do that. Thanks, I guess."

Dean wondered, as he walked into the kitchen and went looking for the bacon he'd made earlier, what was up with him tonight. He was usually able to hold his tongue in front of Cas - he was usually able to look away from him, even though it took some persuasion. But there was something today, that had taken away his brain-to-mouth-and-eyes filter.

Must be the new shirt.

Dean knocked, obnoxiously loud, at Sam's door before barging in with a plate of bacon and a beer. He saw Sam fast asleep, on his front, and did not know where to go with that, so he left the table at his bedside in case he was going to wake up and resume his midnight call or something.

Then he took the rest of the food and two beers and went back to the movie room.

All through his venture, Cas had kept yelling updates through the door. "Merry and Pippin just hugged Frodo!", "And now, Frodo just met Bilbo again!", "Arwen is speaking with Frodo now!" This had made Dean grin so hard, that he almost dropped the dishes. Damn, Cas was awesome.

As Dean handed him a beer, and put the plate of bacon between them on the couch, Cas whispered to him. "And Arwen just kissed Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

And Dean stared at Cas, his blue, blue eyes and his eyebrows pinched together in concentration, and his crinkled nose - and his goddamn voice, and his way of speaking, and how he just said the words 'Aragorn, son of Arathorn' like an entire fucking dork, and how adorable it was that he'd been doing a live-commentary for Dean, and just - he was almost overpowered by a desire to kiss the perfect little smile tugging at his lips, and palm the stubble-covered cheeks, and maybe, if Jack weren't here, pull that gorgeous fucking t-shirt over his head, because it was distracting.

Dean was instantly taken aback by his own stream of thoughts. He was clearly going crazy.

He could bet it was the fault of the shirt.

*

Okay, but at this moment, Dean needs the remote.

And it's not just because the remote is on the other side, next to Cas, and Dean's brain instantly launches into a scene in his head, when Dean asks for the remote and Cas is too comfortable (he's already holding onto a large cushion like it's a blanket) to move, and he tells Dean to take it himself - and then Dean will have to lean over Cas to get it, and there'll be a moment where he's almost on top of him, and they'll happen to look at each other, and Cas's eyes will flit down to Dean's lips as Dean adjusts himself to reach the remote, on Cas's lap, and maybe Cas says something like -

That's enough.

Dean doesn't need the remote so that something like that plays out in reality. He only needs the remote to lower the volume, because Jack is asleep and he'll wake up otherwise in the war scene and noise that'll follow.

But this way or that, he can see the said scene happening.

Maybe there's a part of him which wants it to happen exactly how it happened in his head.

Maybe it will.

So, with more energy than the sentence needed, he says, "Cas! I need the remote!"

And Cas turns his head to look at Dean, an incomprehensible expression.

But instead of saying a variation of, 'take it yourself' like he was really, really supposed to -

He picks up the remote with his left hand and hands it to Dean simply.

Dean stares at it for a moment, everything forgotten, especially the reason why he needed the remote in the first place. And then he kicks himself for being a goddamn teenage girl about this, and plays off the disappointment with a 'thank you' in the manliest voice he can conjure, and he's pretty sure it makes up for the kind-of-but-not-really pornography he'd been dreaming up. Sam's irritating voice nags in his head, you're confusing reality with porn again.

Of course, Dean is too lost thinking and staring at Cas sideways when he's sure Cas can't see him - to remember to lower the volume, and Jack wakes up with a jolt at the Uruk-Hai screeching at Gimli the dwarf.

*

Jack's going off to his room. The movie isn't finished yet, but he's been dosing off throughout and Dean can't tolerate the insult to the Classic, so he tells him to just go off to sleep. It's been a long day.

"Will you both watch it whole?" Jack asks groggily, before leaving and Dean looks enquiringly at Cas. He only has to turn his head a little, because Cas is much closer to him now. They've both gravitated towards the middle.

"Of course." Cas answers. "Unless Dean needs to sleep." Dean shakes his head confidently, and Jack nods.

"Okay, goodnight dads." He mutters, at least it sounds like it, and Dean would've lost it if Cas's slight weight leaning on his arm weren't grounding him to his current location instead of somewhere panicky in his head.

"Goodnight, Jack." Dean lets out, and he's aware it doesn't sound as constipated as he thought it would, and he's proud of it.

"Dean." Cas speaks up, a moment later. "I think we should turn off the lights."

"What?" Dean blinks, mildly.

"I know neither of us will want to get up later." Cas justifies. "So we might as well do it now."

"Can't you," Dean grumbles. "Can't you use your mojo to push the switch, or..?"

Cas sighs. Then blinks, and the entire room goes dark. Cas's eyes open, and they're gleaming like blue halos of light in the suddenly dark room - and Dean can still make out his face, in the light of it. It's all hard lines and small smiles, from the little he sees. "I need to remember I can do these things, don't I?" He mumbles.

"Yeah, our human incapabilities are wearing off on ya." Dean tells him and they start looking at the screen again.

"You're not incapable if you have to stand up to turn off the lights." Cas replies, and Dean just hums in response.

A little later, Cas speaks again, and he sounds happier almost. "Dean."

"Uh-huh?" Dean looks away from Gandalf on the screen, to look at the angel.

"Did you notice Jack kept falling asleep?"

Dean pauses. "Oh." He smiles too, it coming over him all of a sudden. "Yeah."

"That means," Cas's tone is bright, and Dean can hear his smile. "He's enough human to fall asleep in the middle of a movie, again."

"Human incapabilities strike again," Dean teases, and Cas chuckles audibly and it's a really, really good moment. Although yeah, it's a bit too domestic for Dean to be perfectly at calm - Cas and he are sitting in the dark, watching a movie they've watched so many times before, discussing the progress of the nephilim they've been raising (with Sam, of course) and Dean has his hand around Cas's seat - in what he now feels guilty on realizing is the oldest trick in every guy's playbook. They're both more in the middle of the couch than not, and the beers have been drained to the last drop. One of them doesn't sleep, the other won't - and then there's Cas's perfect t-shirt, which shall drive Dean to madness each time he sees it, and beyond.

*

Slowly, the arm which is on the couch, falls on Cas's shoulder - and it's a rather rapid course from there to it being slung around Cas, with Cas tucked under it and leaning into Dean so that it's comfortable.

It's not that Cas's head is on Dean's chest, or not even that his fingers are playing with the fabric of Cas's shirt - its just that they're so close to doing that, and somehow Dean can't pull back this time.

Like, he suddenly realizes, he's been doing forever.

It's again, a good thing that he pretty much knows LOTR scene by scene, and in spite of almost completely being distracted by everything Cas, he answers all trivial questions Cas mumbles at him in that deep, deep baritone - and there's a heat pooling in Dean's insides, and he can't quite place if its the spot behind his ribs, or further south.

Both sounds most appropriate.

*

Dean is not proud of this, but he fell asleep.

It's not that he didn't finish the movie, because he did - he remembers the last scene (or it could be from a previous watching that he recalls it) but it's just that he fell asleep right there. Next to Cas.

No, not even next to him. Pretty much wrapped around him. And somehow that's - not so wild, after all. It kinda feels awesome. Its not even morning yet, so he has more hours.

He wakes up with his hair tickling his breath and coughs mildly when he realizes that he'd buried his nose in Cas's hair - and his lips on his head, apparently. He straightens, but is sure to not make much movement - because Cas doesn't sleep like they do, he rather drifts off to a sorta-catatonic state but stays very much awake and alert. He doesn't want to wake Cas up, because the angel looks so comfortable, nestled on Dean's chest - that it somehow invokes a feeling of pride in him.

And love.

And that's that. The not-freaking-out segment of this story abruptly comes to an end, and Dean clenches his fist to stop himself from beginning to tremble.

He ends up with a fistful of that goddamn shirt which Dean blames for everything in that night, and Cas stirring awake, and straightening. The weight rested on Dean's abdomen is lost, and it feels weird and colder.

"It's seven minutes to four. Ante Meridiem." Cas announces, in a voice which is roughened by lack of use.

"You should go back to sleep." Dean begs, because Cas doesn't need to see Dean get anxious about the whole pile of feelings he's beginning to feel crushed under.

"Dean." Cas says, in that voice, and straightens some more. He's at Dean's height again, and their noses are inches apart, and Cas looks worried about him. "Dean?" He repeats, and he's concerned, and he's perfect, and his voice is something else, and the way he looks at him is something else like Dean is worthy of all his attention somehow - and the emotions are brimming and he doesn't know what to do with them until he -

He jerks himself ahead, and grabs Cas's shirt for good measures, pressing his lips against Cas's.

It's a moment of bravery, it's a moment of impulse, and it's a moment of utter stupidity because Cas doesn't react -

Until he does, and he kisses back, and he's excited and into it and Dean's taken aback by his vigor and in awe of his own hands which are grappling at Cas's t-shirt for friction as he moans into Cas's mouth.

"I blame the t-shirt," He whines, when they pull away, to look at each other better. And he does.

Of course, he's not an idiot (except for the many times that he is). But what he definitely isn't, is dense enough to not realize that this had been over ten years in the making.

These urges were familiar, and suppressed each time - the sudden feelings were overpowering, except he'd learn to deal with them tactfully, by crushing them with every means possible.

But what had changed today and he'd actually acted on it instead of swallowing it, had to be the tee. It fit like magic, and it perfectly showcased his lean, muscled chest - and gave a peak of his collarbones, and if he stretched, his obliques - and it was as black as his hair in the dark, and ah, it had to be the shirt.

Because otherwise, he didn't know what it could be, that had made tonight - today - this.

Cas still had his hand on Dean's bicep. "This one?" He looks down at himself. "I got it from your closet months ago."

"What -"

"And, you blame it?" He repeats.

"No," Dean shakes his head, anxiously, truthfully as he captures his lips in a kiss again. Slotting in place against each other, and as loving as they were passionate - he had had no idea that kissing Cas would be this amazing. "I love it. I'm gonna need you to keep wearing it. On Thanksgiving, I'm gonna be thankful for it."

Cas laughs against Dean's lips, and says something which is lost in the bliss of the moment.

Nevermind. He has all the moments after this, to listen to him. But he only has this one, at the end of a Tuesday movie night, to enjoy their first kiss (he's pretty sure all the short, little kisses just make up one major kiss). So he does.

*

Edit: Thank you for reading! Would like to tag @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @all-or-nothing-baby @styggtroll @notyoursweetbaboo @moderatelypanickedbisexual @but-for-the-gods-three-days and @emmii4 ! If you don't wanna be tagged, I'll remove you from the list, just ask! Have an awesome day!

#supernatural #season 14 #spn #destiel #ac/dc #supernatural season 14 #not spoilers #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #the end #casdean #destiel fluff #lord of the rings #destiel kiss #destiel crack #samwena #implied destiel #angel cas #domestic destiel #mutual pining #sheya shall deliver #i wrote a thing #writing prompts #john winchester #john winchester's a+ parenting #deancas #dean and sam

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 20 - Bite of a Lion

Hello! How is everyone doing today? Another semester of college has started for me, so I have that to look forward to in my life. Wish me luck! Anyways, I'm back with another chapter of Alex Final Wars! If your having a bad day, hopefully this can brighten it! I would like to sincerely thank JKnight97 for beta reading this chapter & the last one, I could not ask for a better beta reader!

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Alex, Jasiri, and Kion had commandeered a US buggy and were now racing through the city towards Nick and Judy. The fox and bunny were holding their position outside a warehouse on the city outskirts. A ZPD officer had spotted Kion’s dark counterpart, along with a heavy Chinese presence in the area.

Night had fallen, making it difficult for Jasiri to drive, and the debris littering the streets was not helping either.

There were still a lot of Chinese stragglers that needed to be dealt with, but Kion was operating the turret on top of the vehicle, ready to open fire upon any threat.

The hyena at the wheel expertly maneuvered the buggy around a large rubble pile, and continued speeding down the highway.

“Roadblock!” Kion said, spotting an assembled group of Chinese vehicles up ahead. The Chinese forces had their backs away from the team, and were engaging a group of ZPD officers on the opposite side of the roadblock.

“Let’s make this quick! We have somewhere to be.”

Jasiri stopped the buggy and the young heroes silently approached the enemy from the rear.

“Friendlies in the line of fire.” Jasiri signaled in paw language. Captain Boehm put his rifle on his back and drew his sword, its blue glow clearly visible.

“No firearms, hand to paw combat,” he whispered, giving the paw signal to advance and attack.

Jasiri holstered her pistols and drew a combat knife from its sheath.

Kion stabbed an unaware PLA soldier straight through the chest, with his human ally following suit. Jasiri grabbed an enemy, sinking her claws into him, before doing the same with her knife.

A couple hostiles turned around to engage the squad, weapons ready. Kion used his sword to knock an enemy weapon away, before grabbing the soldier's head and slamming it into one of the cars on the highway. Meanwhile, the Heroes captain stood ready as a PLA soldier lined up and fired a few shots. The bullets deflected off Alex’s sword and went right back into the soldier who fired them.

Overwhelmed by the fury of blades and claws, the hostile squad was quickly overpowered.

“Didn’t stand a chance.”

The ZPD officers thanked the trio for their help, as they climbed back into the buggy and continued onwards after pushing through the Chinese roadblock. They reached the warehouse in minutes, and linked up with Nick and Judy, who were hiding behind a concrete barricade at the warehouse gate.

The 2 officers were dressed in their ZPD uniforms, and Judy was armed with her tranquilizer pistol, while Nick used a bow from the Typhoon’s armory.

“Hey, nice to see you guys. How was your drive?” The rabbit jested.

“Well we encountered a couple Chinese stragglers, but that’s about it.” Jasiri said.

“According to Intel,  Kion’s counterpart is in there.” Judy said, pointing to the building. There were no Chinese soldiers outside, probably to avoid too much attention from any prying eyes.

“You ready for this, big guy?” Alex asked, making sure Kion was in a sound state of mind.

The lion took a deep breath and gripped his sword. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The team crept forward and reached the building. Nick picked the lock and the group got inside the structure.

They headed up a stairway and spotted a pair of Chinese soldiers, which Alex and Nick took down. Alex used his suppressed pistol and Nick used his bow, so the group wasn’t detected.

The team found their way to a set of catwalks above the warehouse, and took down a few more PLA soldiers. The team gazed down into the warehouse below them, and saw Kion’s counterpart, along with a lot of hostiles.

Dark Kion paced the floor and muttered under his breath.

“Those ‘Heroes’ kill two of our group, and then they just obliterated our assault?! I will make them feel pain, I will make them suffer.”

“What are they doing?” Jasiri said.

The group spotted a truck that was being filled with explosives, along with a few other Chinese vehicles. From Dark Kion’s dialogue, it was clear that the lion had become unhinged, and the extremist tactics he was about to use in combat also showed his deteriorating mental state.

“That truck can’t be heading anywhere good.” Kion said. He felt kind of guilty for the actions of his counterpart.

“Yeah, let’s get down there and stop them.” Captain Boehm said “It looks like they haven’t rigged the explosives yet, so they shouldn’t be able to detonate them.”

“Please tell me your sure about that.” Judy asked, a nervous expression on her face.

“Eh....  I mean, I wouldn’t recommend standing right next to the truck.”

Heading down another set of stairs, the group reached the ground floor of the warehouse and opened fire, no longer caring about stealth, as there were too many enemies. They quickly downed many hostiles and pushed forward. To the group’s horror, Kion’s counterpart jumped into the truck and accelerated forward.

Jasiri rolled out of the way as the truck crashed through the old warehouse door, and was quickly followed by a pair of light Chinese trucks.

“Shit! Shit!” Kion sword under his breath, blaming himself for not stopping his counterpart.

“We gotta follow that truck! Now!” Alex said, fearing the truck’s destination.

The team jumped into another PLA vehicle and sped off after the truck. This Chinese vehicle also had a turret mounted on top, and once again Kion took control of it as they sped down the zootopian streets.

“Hurry!” Judy said, unable to shake the feeling that many citizens of Zootopia were about to be hurt or worse. The truck full of explosives was being escorted by 2 other vehicles, and it was imperative that it did not reach where it was going.

The team opened fire on one of the Chinese vehicles, with Alex pulling closer so his allies could fire on the driver.

The Chinese truck was riddled with bullets and crashed, as a pair of enemy soldiers on motorcycles and a hostile helicopter joined the pursuit. Kion targeted the helicopter, while everyone except Alex targeted the soldiers on motorcycles.

The captain pulled around and rammed the second escorting truck, causing it to crash, with one of the motorbikes hitting it in the process. Kion managed to damage the helicopter enough to down it, and Nick landed a finishing shot on the second motorcycle soldier.

“We need to get to that truck.” Alex said, plowing through a squad of PLA soldiers that the pursuit passed by.

“Can we get someone to.... I don’t know? Jump to it?” Nick wondered.

“Kion! Get up to the roof and jump onto the truck!”

“What?!” The Lion said “Me?! Why me?!”

“Because I’m driving here!”

The lion muttered that his entire team was crazy, but begrudgingly climbed out of the turret and managed to balance himself on the roof of the vehicle. The lion’s heart pounded as he thought about what he was doing. But knowing that truck could explode in the middle of a densely populated Zootopia neighborhood was all that kept him on track. As Alex pulled closer to the truck, Kion drew his sword in case he needed it. He prepared himself, and jumped onto the roof of the explosive truck. His counterpart must have heard the noise on the roof, and began to swerve to shake him off.

Kion jabbed his sword into the metal roof of the truck, just above the driver’s side, and held on tight. His counterpart lost control of the vehicle while trying to swerve, and with a loud screech the vehicle crashed and skidded across the ground.

“Kion!” Jasiri screamed, but before any of the other heroes could do anything, a Chinese armored transport slammed into the car, making it spin out of control and crash as well.

000

Kion awoke, feeling a warm liquid running down his face, and feeling an ache all over his body. He looked around, and although his vision was blurry, he managed to examine his surroundings. He was in a city square, with rubble all around him, and he could spot the crashed truck of explosives, with his counterpart limping nearby.

Dark Kion messed around with a detonator, before cursing under his breath, and spotting his righteous equivalent laying on the pavement nearby. The evil warrior closed the gap between them, and although he hurt all over, Kion would not let his counterpart win. He jumped up, ignoring the pain and squared off with his opponent. Dark kion blocked the strikes and followed up with his own attacks. Although he was fighting with extreme ferocity, the Heroes operative knew that he was weakened from the crash, but he could only hope his counterpart was in the same predicament as well. However, the dark warrior was taking pleasure in toying with his opponent, and he chuckled to himself as he watched Kion get pummeled into submission. Kion kept attacking with powerful strikes, wanting to deal as much damage as possible to his opponent. However he underestimated the agility of his counterpart, who would easily dodge the strikes and follow up with retaliatory attacks.

The tide of the fight began to turn, with Dark Kion slamming his adversary into the side of a wrecked car, subduing him. The young Priderock then felt the pavement scraping against him as he was dragged along. But this now presented an opportunity. Kion suddenly pulled on one of his counterpart’s legs, making him fall to the ground.

The warrior then grabbed a piece of rubble from the ground, and slammed his counterpart’s face with it. Filled with anger at his counterpart, the lion followed up with multiple strikes, and didn’t stop until he knew Dark Kion had sustained wounds he would not recover from, rendering him no longer a threat.

The victorious lion leaned back against the wrecked truck to rest, but a group of Chinese soldiers neared him, with their guns drawn. Even if they killed him, Kion was content that he had stopped his counterpart. He just hoped Jasiri would be alright. But before the Chinese could do anything they were struck by bullets and fell to the ground. Kion’s allies raced to the scene, with Alex and Jasiri checking their friend out for wounds.

“Hey, what took you guys so long?” The lion joked, prompting Jasiri to give him a kiss, and Alex to proclaim that he would be fine. The captain breathed a sigh of relief, and made sure Dark Kion was indeed subdued, before calling in a bomb squad and a medical team. Another counterpart had been defeated, and with the remaining Chinese cleaned out of the city, the day was won.

0000000000000

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Next time we will get a nice, slower paced chapter like the kind this story really needs. Take care and thank you for reading!

#creative writing #judy hopps #writing #Nick Wilde #My writing #zootopia #zootopia fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #the lion guard #lion guard fanfic #Alex boehm #Kion priderock #Jasiri outlander #JayJay #Laval #Eris #retsuko #Haida #jack savage #skye winter #action #Adventure #zoophobia #legends of chima #legends of Chima fanfic #zoophobia fanfic #Alex final wars #Alex final wars 2 #dark alex

[lombax-lombardi]

Mirror~

Summary: Sometimes you see some things you shouldn’t. And then other times, you see another you.

Genre: Plot.

She didn’t mean to make a mess.

No.

Never intended too.

Now the mess will just become something even bigger.

“Oh stop your whimpering Ruby, just let me-” The sound of a foot hitting skin rendered the Shadow unmovable.

“No! No! You aren’t taking my body! Not today not ever!” The twin tailed mage held out her staff in front of her as if to defend herself from the Shadow, the cold stained glass sent shivers through to her core.

A Station of Awakening isn’t the place for a fight.

The image of her on it was so messed up, tied up, pieces of people important to her were missing.

Sealed.

“You can’t keep me locked out forever girl! I WILL take your body! Then I shall go to all worlds. Not just here...but those of those...clones or whatever of your friends~” The gleaming red eyes of the Shadow cause Ruby’s heart to sink, emerald eyes shaking.

“Direheart? And the others? No! I won’t let you!” She yelled, casting a very large fire spell at the black mass that took her shape.

It vanished, cackling laughter echoed throughout the vastness of her heart.

“No. YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME FOREVER!”

She shot up, sweat trickling down the edges of her face, the sun blaring through the cracks of the curtain covering the window. Carding her fingers through her long purple hair she realised she had to tell someone about this.

Rising up she put on proper clothes, until she stopped by the mirror, looking at the tattoo on her shoulder. The one of the dark flower, it had spread during the night, thorny stems now inked down to the tips of her fingers.

The Shadow was on the move.

The other flower mark on her back had barely moved at all.

Brightness was slowly and slowly being choked out by thorns.

“.....No. Not yet. I have to keep fighting....I have to...I have to find Direheart” Grabbing her staff she headed out the door, almost bumping into passersby.

“S-Sorry!”

She kept running.

She had seen these scenes play out in her dreams but she never had a physical confrontation with the Shadow.

Ruby was running so fast that she bumped into someone.

“Ruby? Ruby what’s wrong....ow...” It was Ventus. She didn’t even see him.

“Ven...Ven...somethings wrong! I-I need to find Direheart!” Her voice was so timid and weak that it caused him to frown.

She was usually vocally loud and cheery.

This was a complete contrast.

“Hey hey don’t worry. I know where she is, she’s in the courtyard ...in a meeting as she called it but I am sure this is important enough to stop that meeting” He said, pulling her up and taking her by the hand to find the local ghost.

Well she is no longer a ghost.

Direheart was standing, tapping a finger to her head as if contemplating. “So you’re telling me that not only is Joey missing but that Yamcha fella?”

She seemed to be conversing with two of her alternates who had physically manifested into this world.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

The brunette with the long ponytail, red top and black shirt nodded. “Yes. Joey was just gone! He never leaves! Never! He would never leave me!”

Direheart raises her hand. “Easy there Graceland, Wheeler couldn’t have gone far.”

A scoff from the brunette with the tail was heard, Direheart narrowed her eyes. “And what do you have to input Kora?”

“Hey! That’s my Saiyan name, I don’t answer to it anymore, old bag!” The tailed female bared her teeth like a wild animal would, hands clenched into fists. “My husband is missing and it’s got something to do with you! You are the only weird entity we know who can jump dimensions and worlds!”

Ven and Ruby watched on with frowns on their faces, the male pulled the girl closer to him. They probably needed to finish this argument.

“Madilyn. Maddi. Please, calm yourselves. I would not hurt the people close to you. You know this!” The spirit pressed a hand to her forehead as if to stop an oncoming migraine.

“Yeah then do YOU know why they are missing?” The tailed brunette hissed, tailed swishing slightly, the other brunette raised her hands in front of her as if to calm the fighter down.

“No I don’t. I am glad you brought this to my attention. I will look into it, please Kora, calm yourself.” Direheart placed her hands on the girls shoulders.

“I will not have you hurting the people here. Your power is great but it can harm the ones here. I will not allow it”

All the spirit got in reply was a scoff.

“Fine.” she brushed her off, taking off into the clouds, leaving the spirit and the alternate behind. Direheart shook her head.

“Aliens....I will never understand....Graceland. I would like you to stay here until I can sort all this out. Don’t worry, I’ll find them” Direheart’s words seemed to calm the female down.

“Thank you Direheart. I will be around so should you need me, do not hesitate to call me” She gave the spirit a wave and headed off further into town, cloudy blues eyes watching slowly until she was out of sight.

“....Sometimes I wish I wasn’t connected to them but if what Master Yen Sid said is true....it is better if they are within my range so I can protect them....” She stopped, turning her head as she sensed movement.

“Ven? Ruby? What’s wrong?” She asked, the duo gave a look at each other and a look back at the spirit.

She needed to know.

------

“I see. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. If the Shadow is stirring she may be the one held accountable for your sleep walking and dreams.” The spirit said, sitting cross legged as she floated.

It is usually what she did when she contemplated.

“If the Shadow has taken those people...” Ruby started only to stop when her arm flared up, causing a seething pain to shoot through her. Gripping against the skin tightly, the mage reached up to clutch her front.

That’s where her heart is.

Direheart landed back on solid ground, motioning Ven to look away. He obliged, turning his head away as Direheart reached over to unbutton a portion of Ruby’s shirt.  

“The damnable creature. Her thorns have located where your heart is, this is not good” The spirit hissed, buttoning Ruby back up.

“How...how long do you think I have until she takes over....?” She asked weakly, Direheart sighed.

“Not long my friend. Do not worry or fret. I will find a way to separate her from you”

Ruby gave her old friend a smile.

“Thank you....”

-----

“.......Sophia” The old wizard spoke to the beast next to him, she raised herself to look up at him.

“It is time. You much travel to Radiant Garden. But before you go, I believe you have something to give to Rii” He motions down at the small flower clip by her paws.

Sophia nods, taking it into her mouth and leaping out of the tower, Yen Sid sighed for a moment.

“The toughest fight awaits. The Shadow has taken others from other worlds and has begun cloning them. To use them against the ones they love. Luckily for some she could not reach Seven’s and the other 3′s worlds...but for those particular two....”

Faint sand like images of the two he spoke of stood before his desk. Only cheap copies for him to learn.

“Madilyn Graceland, a charming girl with a heavy heart. Card Master in her own right. Deeply cherished by her friends, family and the one she loves. How the Wheel of Fate keeps ever spinning for you my dear....Will your cards save him?...” He waved his hand.

“In due time. As for the other one...” He eyes wandered to the one with the tail, a frown etched on her face.

“Alien. Saiyan. Member of a blood hungry conquering warrior race, you were raised on a far planet named Tisane, by the kind and gentle moth like creatures there. They raised you and made you kind. Your true name is Kora, but...they sent you to Earth under a new name...Maddi...Now you have everything you could ever want. Friends, family and children.....” His fingers tapped the side of his desk.

“You are by far the most dangerous alternate Direheart has ever had. Your anger allows you to reach a form, in your own world, that the remaining people of your race have reached. You were just a late bloomer....however I sense your power....is what Direheart will need to combat this threat...”

Outside the tower, Riku and Rii turned their heads to the sound of a soft thump, soft like growling filled their ears.

Sophia.

She was still a wolf.

“....Are you angry with me?” Rii asked, the wolf shook her head, slowly padding over to place something at Rii’s feet.

It was that same flower clip.

It looked like a sunflower.

The purple haired Dream Eater looked up, blinking slightly.

“For me?”

The wolf nodded, leaning down as if to bow before her, then she vanished, earning startled looks from Riku and Rii.

“Where did she go?” Riku asked, standing up to look around.

“I...I don’t know....” The female replied softly, reaching down to pick up the clip.

It looked worn and old.

She turned it over. 

A name was etched into it.

“.....Sapphire.....”

What could this mean?

#Maddi writes #I DID IT #THE TENSION BUILDS #asdfghJKL:" #oh yeah and some Saiyan Maddi lore how about that #dab #oh yeah time for some actual canon DB lore #Saiyan names are puns on VEGTABLES #so Maddi's Saiyan name is a rearrangement of okra #yeah #sadfghk

[chocopalustre]

recovery

hi! im back with another lil bit of writing! i didnt draw anything for the nsfw prompt today but still wanted to do something for it, hence this fic! it is not nsfw tho skdfjsdlkf sssorry

day 3: caught in the act @yoosungweek

honestly its less Caught In The Act-y simply because i wanted to be mindful not to depict any explicitly damaging behaviors! i wanted 2 explore a lil bit of yoosungs depression which i feel like many people largely ignore hhhhh but id probably have to write Another fic to even feel like i did him justice in that respect. anyways! i hope at least someone finds this nice 2 read ;0;

words: 1827

warnings: slight angst, mentions of self harm

---

When Yoosung first found out, he hadn’t been entirely sure what to say. He was also a little confused; whenever you appeared in the chatroom, you always had your bright energy and genuine kindness in tow! He paused for a moment.

Then again, so did he.

But that didn’t dissipate his confusion; why would you would hurt yourself?

---

You had been dating each other for merely a few weeks now, but nobody could deny the truth that you and Yoosung were head over heels in love and devoted to one another. Following the first RFA party since you became the coordinator, you dedicated much of your free time to help with Yoosung’s recovery from his eye injury; you would drop him sweet texts every so often out of the blue and snap him pictures of you blowing kisses, hoping to lift his spirits. He had moped a little bit after being released from the hospital. It was obvious he was trying to stay cheerful, the following days filled with his playful whines lamenting how he wished he could see you with both of his eyes. But you knew behind his adorable pout, Yoosung was a little heartbroken.

He would have gone to Mint Eye and done the same thing a thousand times over, there was no question about that; however, he couldn’t ignore the guilt he felt whenever you looked at him with worry in your eyes, as if afraid he would disappear back to that ominous building, this time not returning. Try as he might to hide this from you, he knew you could see through whenever you shushed him and held him close. He loved you all the more for it, of course.

Yoosung discovered your habit of sleeping without pants one night, about a month after the party. You were finally spending the night with him, excited chatter exchanged between the two of you about what movies you should watch together and whether 11 PM was too late to order takeout.

He didn’t really register what it meant when you sought out the largest t-shirt he owned, making a bigger mess of his already unorganized drawers. Finally, you settled on an old shirt with a poorly rendered image of a dog on it, something he had been given after donating to his local pet adoption center. He debated whether he should find the matching cat one but was snapped out of his thoughts when you reappeared from the bathroom; he had to fight the flush rising to his cheeks at the sight of you tugging absentmindedly at the hem, almost missing your question about where the popcorn was.

He moved over to hug you then, unable to help it, and he sighed happily at your immediate return of his embrace. You quipped at him about the snacks, and he dutifully marched to the kitchen, gathering the appropriate junk foods while you set up your laptop. When he returned, you had settled comfortably into his bed, laptop in place and the beginning credits of the movie paused on the screen. He gave you a fond smile and hopped onto the bed into your open arms, placing the popcorn on the nightstand. He was too nervous to kiss you yet, though. He had to work up to that.

You started the movie and settled into Yoosung’s fluffy comforter, snickering a bit at his complaint that you were cuddling with your boyfriend’s blankets than your actual boyfriend. After a bit, you found yourself dozing off, Yoosung’s soft hands rubbing up and down your arms, soothing you into a near-sleep. You nuzzled into his chest, your legs thrown over his hips. Before you knew it, his movements had travelled downward and the rubbing caused the shirt to lift slightly.

Yoosung noticed the sudden stiffening of your posture, your body tensing up in his arms. What could cause such a shift in reaction?

He soon found his answer. The tips of his fingers were met with raised lines of scar tissue, the ridges a jarring contrast interrupting the otherwise smooth skin of your hips and thighs.

“MC…” Yoosung moved to sit up but found it difficult as you wouldn’t move.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, face still buried in his chest.

Yoosung’s heart ached for you. He didn’t want to press and make you uncomfortable, but he didn’t want you to feel like he didn’t care, either. This was the first time since the bomb at Rika’s apartment that he had felt this worried about your safety. He had made sure to protect you then, and he wanted to be able to do the same now. Even if that meant protecting you from yourself.

He shifted to pause the now-forgotten movie, and you buried further into the blankets, hoping he would drop the subject. You peeked out at Yoosung as he turned around to face you, a small breath released from his throat. You avoided his gaze, and he frowned.

“MC, if you really don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But…” he trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

You feigned preoccupation as you played with the bedsheets, bunching them up just to smooth them down again. “There’s not a lot to say,” you mumbled, palms feeling clammy. After a particularly long stretch of silence, Yoosung tensed up, anxious if he should hold you close or give you distance. “It happened, and it’s done now. And I’m sorry, Yoosung, please don’t worry about it.” you finished quietly, closing your eyes for a few moments.

Yoosung shook his head imperceptibly, sad eyes flicking to your thigh before settling back on your dejected face. “Some of those look fairly recent, MC.” He tried to blink back his tears. How could he not have known? Where was he when you had needed his help?

“It’s not a big deal, I-” You paused and sighed, rolling to look up at the ceiling. Avoiding his gaze, afraid of his judgement, or maybe afraid of seeing disgust on in those normally caring eyes.

However, a sniffle and a hiccup made you turn to Yoosung in alarm, the sight of tears now rolling down his cheeks prompting you to sit up and move closer to him. “Why are you crying, Yoosung?” Your voice lilted higher in panic; you took his hand in yours, distressed.

Yoosung didn’t understand. He couldn’t fathom any reason for you to be hurt, let alone find a reason to hurt yourself. How long had you felt this way? He let out a choked sob, unable to stand the thought of you suffering. Gently, he squeezed your hands and pressed them to his cheeks. He looked at you with wet eyes, a glimmer attributed not to his tears but instead to a familiar spark of determination in them as he spoke his next words.

“MC, you deserve love and kindness. I… The next time you feel this way, I want you to talk to me. Please, MC. Promise me. I can’t stand the thought of-” He broke off with another meek sniffle, looking down at your trembling hands.

“I’ll try, Yoosung.” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder.

“That’s all I ask, MC. I want to be there for you,” he murmured back, trying to slow his breaths. He didn’t want to cry, he wanted to be strong for you. To protect you like he wished he could have. Even if some of the scars had appeared years before you had walked into his life, he wanted to be the one to help them heal and fade a little bit in the future. He couldn’t make them disappear, and he couldn’t change the past, but he promised both himself and you that he would do whatever it took to ensure you didn’t feel like you’d have to do it again.

And suddenly, he realized that meant guiding you in a way that made you believe in your own worth. To surround you with love so genuine you couldn’t help but let it seep into your heart and allow you to feel it for yourself.

“You are so strong, MC. I love you, you are worth so much in this world. So much to me. And you deserve to believe it too, MC.”

“I… I want to try and believe that, Yoosung. I really do,” your voice trailed off with quiet trepidation. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. “I will, I promise. Try, that is. But on one condition-” Yoosung sucked in a breath, wondering what cost would have to be paid for an act he now realized would be extremely difficult for you. You gave him a reassuring smile. “Yoosung, I want you to be honest with me, too. I want you to tell me when you’re hurting, too.”

He blinked, tilting his head to look at you. “What do you mean?”

“Rika.” You paused at the name, gauging his reaction. “Mint Eye. School. I know that LOLOL is good, it’s fun, it brings you together with friends. But Yoosung, don’t you think… sometimes you use it to escape the pain you’re dealing with? Here?” You pressed your palm to his heart.

He looked into your clear eyes. The ache in his chest that he usually ignored and hadn’t felt in a while throbbed, a silent reminder. There you went again. His sweet MC always thinking about his well being before your own.

“I promise, MC.” he said fervently, heart warming at the sight of your smile.

He pulled you into his arms then, and you let out a giggle as he snuggled you into the bed. He fluttered kisses onto your skin, everywhere he could reach. He laced his fingers with yours, slowly bringing your hands to your hip. He was tentative when he kissed the fingers of his other hand before pressing them to the scars, but your soft breath and bittersweet smile let him know that it was okay.

The light of the screen dimmed, long forgotten as you murmured to each other soft I love you’s before slipping into a comfortable silence that led to sleep.

---

Yoosung understand a little better now. Even though it was painful to think about, he could connect with the blame and self-doubt that sometimes threatened to swallow you. It was also different, now, though, as you both tried to open up and be comfortable with the idea of relying on support, on accepting tender hearted words of care and love.

Yoosung looked over at you, typing away in the RFA chatroom, untroubled. You each had your own battles to fight, but you never had to endure the hurt alone, and when a large rush of gratitude washed over him, Yoosung  couldn’t help but wrap his arms tightly around you and pull you into a firm, cozy hug. You laughed and playfully swatted his arm, accepting his kiss nonetheless, eyes shining.

“I love you, MC.”

#fic #yoosungweek #yoosung kim #mystic messenger

[talysalankil]

hyperfixation update #3

i don't know if i'll actually do these daily but whatever

progress on the sociopolitics map!

it's actually starting to become a mess because so far i haven't properly sorted all the layers.

mostly i went back over the [working title: moeder eiland] island chain should work, politically. I realized that at least one area (the southeaternmost part) should be an independent culture, and it just kind of spiraled from there into cutting the continent to pieces. There's still one major nation, and the lore already was that these nations are all united under a spiritual alliance

this reminds me that a lot of these colors are temporary. the idea is to use the colors of each of these places’ sigils/flags, but well, that was a lot to figure out for a bunch of places that didn’t even have names or a set geography until today.

i also started on the last continent, with a bunch of city-states on the northwestern coast. It’s not finished yet, but progress is progress.

i think i’m also seriously testing the limits of what affinity can hold in a single file. i thought it was my ipad at first (i use it primarily since i can draw with the stylus) but even my mac, which isn’t even 2 years old, is struggling lol

(well also i accidentally tried to render the map at 3000x instead of 3000 px which didn’t help)

#talysnovel: fteits #talys makes maps

[pineaberry]

ESC: Life Day

ESC is a series of drabbles and ficlets that were really more like writing exercises created when inspiration struck. They’re labeled ESC because as you can probably tell, they’re choices that I’d like to explore but immediately hit ‘Esc’ in-game before they’re set in stone. These were never meant to see the light of day but seeing how I hit a 150 follower milestone, I’ll share this with you guys. Feel free to reblog and let me know what you think!

Life Day Event

Setting: Sith Warrior Timeline, immediately after recruiting Jaesa, before meeting Pierce on Taris.

Location: Dromund Kaas 

Players: Tremas Cidran (F!Sith Warrior), Malavai Quinn

Relationship: That part in the relationship where Quinn still fools himself into believing the relationship is professional. ‘We’re just friends. Really. Stop laughing.’

It was Life Day, or close enough to it, and the Fury Crew had returned to Dromund Kaas for the holiday. Vette had shuttled off to Nar Shadaa for revelry and partying with her old crew. All the while Jaesa had taken the first taxi available to her parent’s new penthouse in Kaas City. Tremas had been keen to do some last minute shopping downtown though she had stopped to ask if he had any plans. Quinn had managed to provide a vague reply about wanting to relax and catch-up on his reports. While she didn’t press him on details, Tremas left with him the spare key to her- the crew’s stronghold and sternly warned him not to spend all of his free time at the spaceport. He had merely nodded and as he continued calibrating the kolto tank’s filter.

He tried to remain busy to keep himself from thinking. He had accompanied his lord on business in Kaas City plenty of times before, but today was the first time he had stepped onto the planet without a definite schedule since… well since before his court martial. The first night as Captain he had agonized over his datapad before sending a letter to his mother informing him of his promotion. That felt like so long ago. He’d been to Nar Shadaa, Tattooine, Alderaan, and Hutta since then. Each time they arrived at a new spaceport he sent a message to his mother, yet he’d received no reply to his missives.

He was a grown man. The silence should not have stung as much as it did but, he honestly didn’t know what she thought of him and the uncertainty of it was all the more harrowing.

After his messages had failed to gain traction, he tried a different approach. He couldn’t give her the riches and prestige she coveted, but perhaps there was still a way to make amends. Tremas was an unusual Sith in that she divided all the rewards of a mission evenly among the crew members. He often criticized her decision to do so and spent his own exorbitant share on upgrading the ship. However, during their excursion on Alderaan, one of the nobles had rewarded them with a pink shimmersilk scarf. The rare Tyrian textile was valued in the thousands of credits; easily worth several months of his captain’s salary. Yet Tremas didn’t even bat an eye when he asked for it as his ‘cut’. He’d felt so guilty afterwards he’d spent a month’s worth of his Imperial stipend to upgrade the ship’s navigation systems. In spite of his misgivings, he’d packaged the shimmersilk scarf and sent it to his mother as a Life Day present several days ago.

It had felt like sending off a packet of detonite that could very well explode on contact.

Life Day had meant very little to him, even as a child. Even when his father had been alive, his parents were never particularly fond of the holiday calling it ‘Republic propaganda’ and ‘the inane superstitions of primitive species’. It was perhaps a bit hypocritical of them, for although they denied Malavai the thrill of presents, his parents were more than happy to attend every gala and social event associated with the holiday.

By the time he finished the testing the Fury’s internal critical systems, his stomach was in knots. He had timed the delivery and accompanying message to coincide with their arrival at the spaceport but had found no reply when they arrived. He moved on to inspect the cargo hold now filled to the brim with boxes. Tremas had begun receiving gifts the moment they crossed into Imperial space. More than a few were from Imperials that hinted at being willing to provide something more intimate to show their appreciation.

He felt a stab of anger which dissipated some of his nerves and redirected his focus at a gaudy package.

You presume much if you think she would EVER touch anyone as lowly as you.

More than once he had fielded a holo-call from some idiot ensign who developed a crush on the one Sith who didn’t treat him like dirt under her boot. They had all of them deluded themselves into thinking her mercy was a sign she was interested in them. More than once he threatened to report them all for their indiscretion only to have Tremas merely smile in amusement as though their insinuations were anything less than insulting. He never thought serving under a female CO would come with these complications. The sheer audacity and lewd remarks from some of these men made him want to neuter them with his blaster.

Is professionalism dead? What are they teaching in the Military Academy these days?

Quinn secured a taxi and had 2V begin unloading the boxes so they could be delivered to the stronghold. He scowled at a package that contained a bottle of cheap liquor and a private holo-frequency. He made a note to write a strongly worded letter to the Academy Officials. It was obvious there was a dire need for a course on Ethics and Personnel Boundaries.

They’d just about finished clearing out the cargo hold when a courier droid arrived.

“Delivery… Quinn, Malavai,” it blipped as it held an envelope just large enough to fit a datapad in.

Quinn felt the knots return as he approached the droid and signed for the package. His heart was pounding in his chest as he promptly marched into the ship and placed the steel-blue envelope on his desk. There were no visible markings on the outside other than his family’s coat of arms; nothing to betray the message he would find inside. He had been waiting for weeks for this moment, yet now he could only stare at the envelope as though it were a venomous snake about to bite him. Finally, he could stand the suspense no longer and he tore open the envelope…

Bits of pink shimmersilk fell like iridescent flower petals onto the desk. The scarf had been cut into precise squares rendering the fabric worthless. He stared at the destruction as he felt something hot yet cold douse him. A fist slowly closed over the pieces as he grappled with the message received.

Did you really expect anything different? You thought you’d send her a pretty scarf, and then what? She’d ask you over for tea? Stupid, worthless, idiot.

He felt a deep shame wash over him and he immediately stuffed the bits of shimmersilk back into the envelope as though to hide the evidence of his foolishness. All of a sudden the ship was too small, too constrained. He stormed out heading for the Spaceport’s exit, pausing only to shove the proof of his shame into the nearest incinerator.

I’m a fool.

He rushed outside blindly, not caring if it was raining as he took deep ragged breaths. He wanted to run, to punch something, to hide, to cease existing, he wanted…

“Sir? Sir!”

A voice cut into his thoughts and effectively cut off his nervous breakdown. He turned to face a field medic that was hesitantly stepping towards him scanner in hand.

“It’s fine, soldier. I was... ” Quinn’s voice trailed off as he failed to come up with a plausible lie.

“It’s easy to get disoriented during a storm, but if you keep heading this way, you’ll get lost in the jungle,” the medic said offering him a way to save face.

He’d walked off the trail without so much as a blaster.

What a mess...

“Yes, of course, thank you,” Quinn nodded before heading back to the Fury. 2V chirped a greeting when he arrived informing him the taxi was loaded and ready to go. He was soaked from head to toe but he didn’t think he could stay in that hangar for a moment longer. After securing the ship he joined 2V and headed to the stronghold.

Quinn watched the passing scenery with feigned detachment. He wished he could just go numb and forget the day had ever happened. It was moment like these that he understood the spike in suicides around Life Day. Holidays only accented a person’s misery… his misery.

“You’re worthless, Malavai.”

He arrived at the stronghold garage, chilled to the bone and still dripping water everywhere. Quinn left the droid to unload the boxes while he trudged up to his private quarters but even a change in clothing couldn’t shift his mood. He needed to forget, to just drown out his thoughts. It was a familiar a need.

He went to his office and reached out to grab a decanter of brandy when he noticed a black box with a gilded bow had been left atop his workspace. Curiously he approached the box but there was only a single handwritten word on the tag.

Malavai...

Inside was a real tome with the complete translation of the Discovery of Korriban. He sat down in stunned silence as he picked up the book. He couldn’t think of anything he would want more… And then he looked down see a display cube with a fragment of obsidian at the bottom of the box. Ancient Sith language was etched into the surface and next to the cube was a certificate of authenticity.

Location: Korriban, Tomb of Ajunta Pall.

Artifact Name: Malavai’s Tablet

Description: Obsidian stone fragments depicting the oldest known record of the discovery of Korriban.

Unearthed by: Lord Tremas Cidran

Recorded by: Imperial Archeological Society.

Of course it was from her.

Who else would know?

Who else would care?

He hugged the book to his chest unable to form a coherent thought when faced with this level of kindness.

“You know, you’re not supposed to open those until Life Day,” her voice called out from the doorway, “but I’ll give you a pass”

He looked up at her his eyes welling with emotion.

“This… I am… overwhelmed, my lord,” he said before standing up. Quinn tried to hide his gaze from her as he carefully placed the book back in the box.

“Oh, come now Captain, what’s with that face? It should be criminal for you to look so sad,” she frowned as she walked up to him and gave him a hug. The weight of the day seemed to lift of his shoulders with the action.

Ever since Tatooine, he had become comfortable with her touch. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had such a soothing effect on him. He didn’t know if it was a Sith mind trick, or just something uniquely hers, but her presence silenced his doubts and fears. The shame and self loathing that had threatened to overwhelm him vanished like a nightmare under the glare of the sun. He sighed in relief and pressed his forehead against her shoulder effectively hiding his face.

“You know, it shouldn’t be this easy to get into your head, Quinn.”

Ah. Force mind-trick then…

She’d been trying to train him against those.

“I’m sorry, my lord. It’s been… a disappointing day,” he murmured realizing she was easing him into a relaxed daze. She’d done this exactly twice, both times when he’d been on the brink of an anxiety attack. Tremas had also shown him how to shake her off, but he was not currently inclined to do so. Not yet.

You alone make me feel safe...

“I’m sorry you’ve had a bad day. Do you want to talk about it?” she asked as she rubbed him back and he felt himself sink deeper into the daze. The grime of his darker thoughts faded away.

“No. I don’t… I don’t want to think about it.”

Please keep me from thinking about it…

“You know, if you stay under too long, it’ll be harder to come back,” she murmured earning a soft grunt in reply.

I don’t care… 

He wanted to stay lost in her thrall forever. There was something irresistible about her willingness to take care of him. She tempted him by lifting his burden over and over again. And gods, how he just folded submissively every time. He just WANTED to let her do as she pleased. His weakness would mortify him to no end once he regained his senses.

“Well, how about we do this,” she said sensing his reluctance and offering him a middle ground, “we’ll order from the noodle place downtown. We’ll make a pillow fort in the library and I’ll put on that new Historical Holo everyone’s talking about.”

“The storyline is always riddled with inaccuracies,” he mumbled.

“Good. I’ll try to point them out and you can tell me if I’m right or not,” she smiled as she saw him stand up straight and finally push back enough to free himself from her thrall.

“Pillow fort, my lord?” he asked as he processed the entirety of what she’d suggested with a clearer mind.

“Yes. That part is essential,” she grinned impishly as she looped an arm around his and led him towards the second floor.

Now with fanart here: Pt. 1 

And here: Pt. 2

#malavai quinn #sith warrior #life day #swtor #f: esc

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (33/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: Holy crappu! Chapter 33! Only one more chapter left and then this fic will be finished! I literally am in shock right now honestly. I'll save all the gushy stuff for the next chapter, but i'm still in shock lol. The final chapter is more like an epilogue so it may be out before Saturday since I already have half of it written! So keep your eye out for that! Sorry this chapter is late, i had a lot going on these couple of weeks and then like three hours ago I was almost finished with this but my roommate asked if I wanted to watch The Killing of a Sacred Deer (it's a movie i promise) and i was like. Um yeah who do you take me for OF COURSE! So here we are, three hours into sunday, and I'm an ass! Thank you all for reading this and for your lovely comments! The song at the beginning is from Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye

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-

Chapter Thirty-Three

Now and then I think of when we were together. Like when you said you felt so happy you could die. Told myself that you were right for me, but felt so lonely in your company. But that was love and it's an ache I still remember.

-

University starts before Phil is truly ready for it.

One moment, he feels like he’s just minding his own business working and lazing around the house, and the next he’s scrambling to do last minute school shopping (i.e., buy a pack of pencils and that’s it). It hits him hard, but his friends are there for him and he even shares his creative nonfiction class with Charlie, so he can’t be too terribly mad.

The first couple of weeks go by rather slowly. His professors are all nice, and Phil had gotten a doctor’s note from his psychologist saying that he may have to miss school sometimes due to an ‘underlying mental illness’, which really just meant his post-traumatic stress disorder that occasionally flared up here and there. While it had gotten better, he wasn’t completely healed yet. Apparently that shit either took years to go away, or even never went away. But Phil was optimistic and every time he could smell Nico’s old cologne or watch Nico’s favourite show without going into freakout mode was a win for him.

Things got stressful fast though, sadly, which is true for all of university. One moment, he was just minding his own business, scrolling through tumblr at odd hours of the day, eating snacks, and the next he was scrambling to finish a ten page paper about why sex education in school is important while completely forgetting to eat as he rushed to finish. Dan was practically shoving food down his throat during it all, berating him for not starting the paper earlier.

What a hypocrite, honestly. Phil had seen Dan rush to finish a paper multiple times because his depression had gotten in the way of doing it earlier. At the least, he should at least understand when Phil did it too.

But then again, maybe he did understand. Maybe he was shoving food down Phil’s throat and promising him a bubble bath after he finished because he knew exactly what Phil was dealing with emotionally, knew how hard it was to complete things on time when the world was pressing on your chest in a way that made it hard to breathe.

After a while, his brain had had enough of the strain and decided to give up after five pages, spewing out a load of bullshit that didn’t make sense in the slightest. Phil buried his face into his palms, his eyes tearing up, and pressed his fingers against his eyelids to keep the wetness from leaking onto his cheeks. It didn’t really help too much other than to make his eyes hurt with the pressure.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Dan asked softly, draping a soft blanket around Phil’s shoulders. He kissed the side of Phil’s head, nuzzling his nose into his hair. “Email your professor and see if she’ll let you turn it in a day late.”

Phil laughed humourlessly, wetly. He didn’t think it was that easy. Plus, wouldn’t that just make him look bad by asking for special treatment? “And let my professor know that I was slacking on this assignment? I’d rather die.”

Dan hummed and pulled Phil’s laptop off of his lap, ignoring the small protests that came out of Phil’s mouth when he did so. Without asking, he replaced the laptop with himself, plopping on Phil’s lap like he was a dog. He poked Phil’s nose. “Mental health isn’t being lazy or slacking, my dear boy. It’s an actual disorder of the brain that renders you incapable during periods of time where you would otherwise be okay. Sometimes you can be in a bad place for weeks, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Your professors already know that there’s something going on with you. Asking for an extra day to complete the assignment is just you trying to be responsible and practicing self care. If you don’t finish tonight, then you’ll look like you don’t care about it at all and you’ll get points taken off of your assignment. Which would you prefer?”

In the end, Phil emailed his professor. Although he did do it with a lot of whining and grumbling, just to make Dan mad. (It doesn’t matter that Dan doesn’t get mad at him anyways, no matter how hard Phil tried. He was always way too understanding, damn it).

After only five minutes of refreshing his gmail anxiously, Dr. Lucifer replied with a chill, ‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll give you until Wednesday to complete it. Feel better Philip!’ There was even a smiley face at the end, so out of place after Phil had carefully constructed his email, made sure there were no typos, practically typing out a double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman persuasive paper about why he needed an extra day to complete. And then here was his professor, signing off with a fucking smiley face.

“Was that so hard?” Dan asked softly, brushing a hand through Phil’s hair.

Phil pouted and, because he was a jerk, pushed Dan off his lap light enough that Dan wouldn’t get hurt and could catch himself when he fell. “Shut your mouth, Howell, you owe me a bubble bath.”

Phil did end up getting his bubble bath, complete with a robot bubble bar from Lush, candles around the tub, and his favourite anime playing on his laptop that was set on the toilet so he could see. However, he also got an armful of Dan, which was something pure and good.

When Dan joined the bath, it didn’t matter that they were both too giants trying to fit into one tub. It didn’t matter that Phil’s legs started to go numb after a while or that they had to get out quicker because they got too hot too fast. All that mattered was that they were spending time together, with Phil’s arms around Dan’s waist, gently running his nails over Dan’s stomach because he knew that Dan liked it when he did that.

Most of the time, Phil liked to be held by Dan simply because it made him feel safe and warm and loved. But today, Phil wanted to be able to hold somebody. Holding something against his chest made him feel like his heart was full, like there was someone who needed him and who he needed in return. It was so relaxing, in his opinion, especially when that person was Dan, who he could press kisses all over his shoulders and neck. Who’s hair he could mess with, twirling a curls around his finger and pretending like his fingers were curling irons.

It was nice. It got Phil’s schoolwork off of his mind, that’s for sure. And when Dan turned around, capturing Phil’s lips in his, asking if he wanted a ‘good job blowjob’, Phil definitely didn’t have any complaints.

-

Phil had a break in between his Poetry and his Creative Nonfiction class where he liked to go to the different dining halls to grab some food. Depending on the day, Phil would meet up with either Louise, Dan, or both, and they would have a meal together, talking about how their classes were going, or how life in general was going. Phil really liked Louise and he was glad that they were getting to know each other better, thanks to Dan.

Plus, seeing Louise and Dan together reminded Phil of how he and Chandler used to be. They had their own inside jokes and would sometimes just break into laughter as soon as they made eye contact for no apparent reason. Louise made fun of Dan with no shame and Dan laughed so loudly that his voice would go all high pitched and squeaky.

Whereas most people may feel like they were a third wheel after something like this, Phil didn’t feel that way at all. It was nice on days where Phil didn’t feel up to talking too much, and it was nice on the days when Phil wanted to join in and create his own inside jokes with them. Watching the two of them together was a gift in itself, because Phil liked to watch how Dan interacted with people who weren’t, well, him.

When Dan wasn’t talking to Phil, his voice was louder and more brash, more obnoxious. He was more sarcastic, kind of mean, but only in a joking way. He liked to tell people to fuck off, liked to tell them that they were twats. He cussed a lot and was a dramatic piece of shit that was so painfully obviously studying something in theatre.

With Phil, Dan was all smiles and soft voices and warmth. Sometimes he would get all competitive and act like he was the most important drama queen on the planet, but then other times he would be all cuddles and kisses and compliments. Phil would love to tell the whole world about Dan’s big praise kink whenever Dan was in his boasting mood with Louise, but he didn’t. When he smiled at Phil, he made these doe-eyes that really made him look in love, tone quiet when he teased.

In short, Dan was a lot gayer with just Phil around.

Today was just one of those days where Phil didn’t really feel like talking. Dan understood this and didn’t press him for answers, knowing by now that Phil sometimes just needed time to be quiet and think about life. Everyone had those days, and Phil was having a day like that now.

Dan was holding his hand on the table, and Phil was grateful once again that they had opposite dominant hands, that way they could hold hands while still eating. Phil was eating a taco bowl made with spicy shrimp and Dan had gotten a sub sandwich with a taro bubble tea. Despite Dan’s efforts to make Phil try the drink, Phil refused, saying that he was afraid it would taste like a potato.

Louise and Dan were in a dispute about which bubble tea flavour was the best. Louise was stuck on mango while Dan said that the milk tea and taro were definitely the best. Phil just smiled and sat back, sipping on his own earl grey bubble tea. He liked it, but it wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted at all. He just hadn’t been in the mood for anything particularly fruity, so this was the most logical answer.

“How’s your tea, Phil?” Louise asked, drawing Dan’s attention towards Phil as well.

Phil shrugged and sipped at it again. “Spicy. Wait, no that’s not what I-” he was cut off by the sound of Dan trying to hold in a laugh, but failing miserably as it came out with a snort. He made eye contact with Louise, whose eyes were watering from trying not to laugh, and then they all burst into laughter. The table was practically vibrating with their noise, and Phil’s throat hurt from cackling so hard.

When Louise could finally get in a breath, she wheezed out, “Phil, that is the whitest thing I have ever heard you say.”

“I forgot what the word for herbal was!” Phil whined, which only made Dan laugh harder.

“Earl grey isn’t even an herbal tea, Phil!”

Phil pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your mum isn’t even an herbal tea.”

Louise shook her head, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm down. Her makeup was a bit watery and messed up now, but it didn’t look bad. If anything, it was just endearing. “I can’t believe we’re still using your mum jokes.”

“I can’t believe you’re my friend,” Phil shot back, shaking his head in disappointment at himself. In all honesty, he was really grateful for both Louise and Dan, and they both knew that. Without them, Phil would probably just be sat in his apartment with no friends and sad piano music playing in the background.

The epitome of depression.

Just then, Phil glanced around the dining hall that they were in and his eyes came to a stop on someone who looked slightly familiar. It took him a moment to realise why they looked familiar, because this person had curly brown hair with blonde highlights, and Phil didn’t know anybody with blonde highlights.

But apparently he did now, because Nico was standing across the dining hall, in line at the bubble tea shop. As opposed to the other times Phil had seen him, this time he was completely alone and staring right at Phil with a hard frown on his lips.

From where he was sitting, Phil couldn’t see the freckle constellations on his face. He couldn’t see the colour of his eyes or how they shined emerald in the light. He couldn’t see the lines between his eyebrows or each individual strand of hair. He couldn’t smell his cologne or hear his voice.

And yet, Phil could hear his voice. He could smell his cologne. He could see the fucking freckles on his face and the glitter of emerald in his eyes and the lines between his eyebrows and each individual strand of hair. If somebody had asked him if he could draw constellations connecting each freckle together with only a pen and a piece of paper and no map, then Phil would be able to do it perfectly. Because even a year later, the memory of Nico was still burned into his head so intensely that he still couldn’t forget all of the tiny details that made up the man.

Dan squeezed Phil’s hand but Phil was so focused on the matter at hand that he hardly noticed. He could feel panic build up in him, making his skin pale and shaky. He felt nauseous, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been whenever Phil had seen Nico before. This time, it was just a smooth thrumming in his bones, vibrating him, making him feel like his skeleton was trying to shed off his own skin.

He hated that he was doing this in front of Louise, hated that he was showing weakness once again in a public setting. Every time he thought that he was doing well, that maybe for once he was taking his PTSD by the balls and throwing it against the wall for good, it seemed to be thrown back in his face in one way or another.

“Phil.”

Nico didn’t look away and Phil couldn’t bring himself to either. They were frozen, thinking about a time when they were together, when Phil had put Nico first no matter what it did to his own mental health. Back when Nico’s opinion meant more than his own, when he had done everything to keep Nico and had gotten nothing in return but harsh words and a cold shoulder. Now being with Dan, Phil doesn’t know how he’d been with Nico for so long when he had constantly felt like shit. But he also knew that it wasn’t that simple. He’d been trapped by the sick idea that that was what love was supposed to be like, thanks to all of those sick love stories that made him believe that love meant sacrificing parts of yourself for your partner even if it makes you sad.

“Phil. Phil, hey.”

Dan’s hands were on both of Phil’s cheeks then, turning his head to face him. His hands were cold against Phil’s hot cheeks, but his eyes were warm like tea. His eyebrows were crinkled with concern, his thumbs rubbing over Phil’s cheekbones to try to bring him back to the present.

When he finally got Phil’s eyes on him, Dan smiled softly and bumped their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose against Phil’s. “Hey,” he murmured quietly.

Phil tried to smile but he only succeeded in his lips twitching up slightly, eyebrows furrowed like he was worried about something. Face pale like he had seen a ghost. “Hi,” he whispered, voice shaking slightly.

Ignoring Louise’s presence completely, Dan pressed a kiss to Phil’s nose. Feather light but full of feeling. Full of care. A small I’m here for you. Phil glanced out of the corner of his eye, back over towards Nico. He saw the way Nico was gritting his teeth, clenching his fists. Saw the way Nico muttered under his breath and then turned away, getting out of line and walking out of the dining hall.

“Hey,” Dan said again. “Look at me. Are you looking at me?” He pulled away and pressed kisses against Phil’s forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his lips. Phil was looking at him now. He was always looking at Dan. “Good. Keep your eyes on me. I’m here, okay? Everything is going so well, you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, you know? You’ve gotten so far and you’re doing things for yourself and even if you trip and stumble sometimes, you don’t let it stop you. You keep going no matter how hard it is. You’re so strong, Phil. You always have been.”

Phil closed his eyes, let Dan’s words wash over him. With Nico out of the room, he was starting to calm down, but it was hard to completely grasp the present enough to get himself out of the past. It was almost as though he had hands grabbing at his legs, trying to pull him under until he was gasping for breath, completely submerged in memory that he didn’t quite want to remember.

Slowly, Dan started to pull him out, whispering to Phil how he inspired him every day to be a better person, how Phil had gone through hell and yet had gotten out despite not believing in himself. When he ran out of things to say, he started talking about what was going on in their lives at the moment, how Phil had gone back to school and was doing so many things with his life now.

When Phil’s breath audibly stabilized, Dan kissed him lightly on the lips and pulled back slightly, looking at him with that calm smile on his face again. Phil’s eyes fluttered open and he stared into the warm brown, his heartbeat starting to calm. Dan grinned. “Better?”

Phil nodded and managed to smile back, albeit a bit shakily still. “A bit,” he rasped out. “I mostly just feel tired now.”

“Do you need to go back to the flat and skip out on Creative Nonfiction for today?”

This time, Phil shook his head. “No, I should go,” he sighed out, bumping his forehead to Dan’s and putting his hand on his knee, squeezing it lightly. “My writing journal is due today and I don’t want to deal with asking another professor for another extension. Better to just get it over with.”

Dan was beaming at him and he looked so full of sunlight that Phil was afraid he might burst. Phil gave him a quizzical stare, and if Dan was a dog with a tail, he would be wagging it right then. “You didn’t freak out that bad!” Dan exclaimed as reasoning for being so excited. Phil pursed his lips as Dan continued. “You didn’t pass out, you didn’t start crying or have to leave. Fuck, you’re even going to class afterwards. That’s amazing, Phil!”

Phil was absolutely floored. He didn’t really think about it like that. All he had been thinking was that it was ridiculous that he was still dwelling in the past, that he was still panicking. Because he did panic, he did get anxious and upset. But this time, he had actually been able to get a hold of his emotions without something drastically changing. “I…” he started, and then laughed awkwardly, shaking his head in amazement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

While there was still anxiety inside of him, Phil hadn’t had a full blown panic attack. And it was while Nico was in the room. Every time Phil had imagined seeing Nico again, it had never turned out well. He had always thought he would freak out or pass out or all of the above. But this time, he didn’t do any of those things.

“We need to celebrate,” Dan joked, and it was then that he seemed to realise that Louise was still there. Poor Louise, who was just eating her food and scrolling through her phone without paying them any mind. She was so obviously trying to give them space, but her ears perked when Dan started to speak to her. “Louise, do you wanna buy Phil an ice cream?”

Phil laughed in shock, shoving at Dan. He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t just ask people if they’ll buy things for me, Dan!” he scolded his boyfriend, giving him what was supposed to be a harsh look.

Louise jumped at the chance to be a part of the situation though, because she was reaching across the table and grabbing Phil’s hand in both of her own. With the most serious expression on her face that Phil had ever seen, she said, “I will buy you every goddamn ice cream in the world if that’s what you want.”

They stared at each other. Phil with his mouth hanging open and Louise with an unreadable expression. The longer they stared, the more laughter built up inside of Phil at the absurdity of the situation, and then they were both giggling. Louise squeezed his hand. “Seriously, Phil. I’m buying you ice cream whether you like it or not.”

“Fine,” Phil huffed. “Let’s have a full blown party in that case. I expect strippers.”

“Can’t forget the strippers. They’re essential,” Dan said.

Louise nodded and pulled out a mini notebook from her purse, jotting something down inside of it with a pink pen. “Got it. Ice cream and strippers. I’ll throw Phil the best gosh darn anti-panic-attack party there ever was and you better be there. Or else.”

Phil didn’t know what the or else meant, but he knew that he was going to be there for sure, surrounded by people who he loved and cared about, and who felt the same for him. Because this was the kind of thing that people should throw parties for apparently, and he was just going to have to accept that.

Accepting it wasn’t very hard, after all.

Chapter Thirty-Four 

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #botanistfics #botanistlester #phanfictioncatalogue #fanfic #fanficiton #phan fanfic #dan and phil #gay #sweet pea #phan chaptered #phan angst #phan happy ending #writing #sp

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 15 v.2

PSA time: Criticism can be a positive force, especially when it’s constructive, and even more so when it’s given by someone you trust and respect. (Don't be afraid of it!) “But it’s just fan fiction,” the mantra goes, meaning fics don't warrant scrutiny, like "real" writing does. But “It’s just fan fiction,” to me, means I have the ability to go back and reassess, to learn from my mistakes, especially when given sound advice to guide me. I’m writing to learn, as I’m not a writer by trade, so there is no shame in tearing something apart and starting over again. Chapter 15 warranted a serious makeover, so I dove in...the gist is the same but the information imparted differently. I’d forgotten the cardinal rule of "show not tell,” so I’ve gone back and applied that liberally. And here we are, back at Chapter 15, with a (hopefully) more satisfying result. Plus, in the meantime, I’ve plotted out a much better ending (for the story), so it's a win/win situation all around. Edited 6/5.

Previously: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14

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Myka checks her phone and looks toward the door again; no new news, but Helena really should be here by now. The VIP preview started at five, and her public opening at six, but now it's near seven, and Helena’s still missing in action. A mix up with her ticket left her stranded until late afternoon, but after some strong words with the manager, she transferred to another airline. She texted over an hour ago that she'd "be there soon," but Myka's beginning to worry she's run into further trouble.

It's almost laughable, her fretting over Helena’s absence, as she was adamant for weeks Helena not join her. But at the last minute, she changed her mind, unnerved about stepping into uncharted territory alone. Helena convinced her she needed a buffer and that she was the best candidate for the job.

After their initial conversation, Helena called like clockwork every day, but at first, Myka didn't pick up. Ignoring Helena entirely seemed the only way to focus, but her heartfelt messages kept creeping into her head. If she was ever going to move past this, they needed to talk, and sooner rather than later was better than waiting.

Their first few conversations were bitter affairs, little more than Helena listening while Myka listed her “wrongs.” Myka vented a laundry list of frustrations, beginning with Germany and tumbling back through their relationship. But over time, her hostility weakened, allowing Helena to steer their focus towards Myka’s show.

“What do you want,” Myka grumbled, tapping "accept" after three full rings.

“To ask how you're faring today,” Helena replied.

“Stressed out. Super busy. Same as yesterday, and the day before.”

“You have been rather agitated lately.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Myka snapped. It had become a habit to push Helena’s buttons whenever possible, but this schtick was getting old, her heart wasn’t in it as it was a few days ago.

“Were you able to ask for more time off work?”

“Yeah,” Myka answered, a little disappointed Helena didn’t offer her usual apologies. "Leena’s sending stuff I can work on at home, so I only have to go in once or twice a week.”

“Excellent. That relieves much of your burden.”

“True, but there’s still so much to do.”

“Talk me through it. Perhaps I can assist.”

Myka looked across her room at the collection of objects on her desk, the ones she and Abigail rescued from Helena’s apartment. She hadn't told Helena what had happened there yet as she wanted to process her experiences there before inserting Helena's influence. But considering the subject matter, that was kind of counterproductive as she wouldn't be able to keep it from her for long.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were gutting your building?” she asked.

“Are they? I wasn't aware.”

“I think you knew.”

“I’d only heard rumblings. Nothing substantial. Certainly, nothing this soon."

Myka grunted in disapproval. "You couldn't have mentioned it was a possibility?"

"Discussing such destruction seemed cruel after all you’d been through. And I didn't want to alarm Christina.”

When Helena got kicked out, Myka was still a mess, so she could see where Helena was going with that. But Christina was going to find out eventually, whether while walking to the park or from a friend at school. Though she didn't mention it either the last time she saw Christina, probably for the same reasons Helena had kept it from her.

Standing from her stool, she walked across the room towards the group of objects littering the table. She fingered the frayed edge of a worn LP sleeve she dug out from the dumpster, one that once lived on a bottom shelf in Helena's living room with many others. They were visible from the couch while she was lying down, and she'd often wished they had a turntable to play them on. That couch provided so much comfort in those trying times, especially when Dewy would knead in circles and then curl up at her feet.

“I loved that apartment.”

“As did I.”

“Well, it’s gone. Ripped apart. The whole damn thing.”

“How do you—“

“Your couch was in a dumpster. We went inside. Took everything left of you we could carry.”

“We?”

“Me and Abigail."

“Oh. You and Abigail.”

The line quieted.

“Sorry, that was...” Harsh, Myka thought. But no harsher than finding her with Bonnie at the sale.

“A-And what treasures did you gather?” Helena asked, in soft, defeated tones.

“A, um...pen,” Myka said, describing the nearest thing to her. “From that Mexican place on Houston. The one with the soup Christina likes when she’s sick.”

“Pozole.”

“Yeah, that’s it."

“Then it's truly a souvenir worth saving,” Helena replied. Her words were polite but distant as if she was thinking about Christina being sick and her inability to comfort her. Myka wanted her to feel guilt, but over her, not her child. She looked around her collection for something less fraught.

“There’s that pom-pom Christina made at Brownies.” Dust fell to the table as Myka lifted an orange poof of yarn.

“The singular time we attended before she began kempo. It wasn’t for us.”

Myka drops the pom-pom and hones in on another item. “Shells from the beach you said were from Santa Cruz?”

“From our excursion after Claudia’s job interview at Apple. That was…an enlightening day.”

“Tell me more.”

“I shall, one day,” Helena answered. “But it wasn't terribly pleasant.”

“Oh, sorry." Myka searches her collection for something with a cheerier backstory.

“I’m touched you felt compelled to save these trinkets, but I must ask, whatever for?”

“They’re lost memories, like mine, from the fire, and I’m painting them for my show. Or at least trying to, but I’m running out of time.”

“Ah, yes! That makes perfect sense."

“It does? How?"

“Thus far, you’ve been piecing together memories, painstakingly recreating objects you’ve lost. But there’s a distance there as if you're compiling a catalog, much like the registrar you’ve trained to be."

“They’re more than cataloging—"

"But the objects from my flat are extant, and your renderings draw directly from their energy. Mixing our memories with your own adds a richness, describing the limbo we're all experiencing while building our lives again.”

“I, um...” Myka looked toward her easel, at the rendering of the calendar she rescued from the floor displayed there. Various events from that month flashed through her mind, and she realized the amount of baggage she was memorializing. Helena’s interpretation of her motives suddenly made sense, though unpacking them at the moment seemed too intense.

“Can you work on multiple paintings using artificial light?” Helena asked.

“I have been, and it helps. But I need to ship everything at least a week and a half in advance.”

“Ship many as you're able and take the rest with you on the plane.”

“Can I do that?”

“Yes. If you're still using wooden panels, they're not weighty. Pack them securely and pay the excess baggage fee,” Helena explained. “Buy them pre-primed to save time in the studio.”

“I like preparing them myself.”

“You must focus on content. Hire someone to prepare them for you, if that’s critical."

“You’re probably right.” Myka sighed.

“You're allowing too many distractions to get in your way.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Myka said, her bite from earlier gone.

“I’ll refrain from phoning if—“

“No. Call. I might not pick up, but this was...helpful." It was, but everything wasn't sitting right just yet. "We’re still not ok. Ok? You know that."

“I’m acutely aware.”

“As long as you know.”

“My offer still stands, either way.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Myka said, then tapped end her phone. That was all the critique she could handle for the day.

Positive news also eased tensions between them, as early on, Mrs. Frederic's bid won the sale. The sizable commission allowed her to step away from the gallery, though she promised to help out when needed. And the residency in LA got in touch before her trip and informed her she made it through to the semi-finalist round.

But she needs to get through tonight before anything can truly move forward, a big art night in Warsaw all round. The city's museums and galleries have openings concurrently, and tonight's crowd has already has exceeded expectations. The director's been buzzing around all evening, introducing her to new faces left and right. By the time Helena arrives, all the activity's made her head spin, and she's starting to zone out.

She spies Helena weaving towards her mid-sentence, cornered by a woman asking detailed questions about technique.

“Forgive the intrusion, but I must steal the guest of honor,” Helena says and hooks her arm through Myka’s. She leads her back across the room towards the entrance, then steps back and sweeps her eyes over her outfit. “Lovely as ever. More captivating in person. Though I did appreciate the preview over the phone.”

Myka blinks a few times, a little stunned by Helena’s actually here. “Y-you look nice, too. You didn't say you were wearing a dress.”

“I’m hardly well put together, but I did try my best. This event is too important to arrive both late and unkempt."

Myka searches for traces of unkemptness, but Helena's close-fitting dress is wrinkle-free. It compliments her frame so perfectly, she finds it difficult to look away. When she meets Helena's gaze, Helena's eyes fill with apology, and Myka's soften, accepting the gesture without reproach. Her show wouldn’t have come together without Helena's help, and she’s glad she’s finally here to share it with her.

"I thought you'd be here earlier. Was there lots of traffic?” Myka asks.

"I stopped by my hotel to change.”

“It’s not that far.”

“Yours was booked. Mine’s further away.”

“Oh. I didn't—“ A patron squeezing between them cuts Myka short.

Helena turns to face a painting on the wall. “This one’s mesmerizing in person. Nothing like the photo you sent. Its surface seems holographic, but that can’t be right.”

“I added mica powder to the pigment, to create a shine.”

“Myka power?” Helena quips, raising a brow.

“Very funny. You know what I mean. Christina said it should be shiny, like the sticker.”

“She is you’re harshest critic.”

“At times,” Myka says, with a smirk. “It is her sticker.”

“But the rendering is yours. And the sentiment an ode to childhood obsessions."

“It's about the resilience of materials in the harshest conditions,” Myka snaps, repeating the line she’s used all day. "But I guess it is a kid’s sticker, so...” She looks hard at the likeness of a curled and soiled Pegasus she created. Helena's interpretation wasn’t her intention, but she can see what she means.

“Have you repaired all the damage from your shipment?” Helena asks.

“Don’t get me started. I can’t believe the crappy repacking job they did."

“Manhandling must escalate the longer goods fester in Customs .”

“If they’d been held up anywhere but London, I don’t know what I would have done. Thank you again for convincing me to ask for Mrs. Frederic's help.”

“In my opinion, the paperwork error was inconsequential. They should never have been held back in the first place.”

“That’s what happens when I don’t double check things—"

“Myka, come and meet Priska," a woman interrupts. She places a hand on Myka’s shoulder and glances at Helena. “Ah, this must be the long-lost Helena. Welcome!"

“I’m pleased to have finally arrived,” Helena says, holding out a hand to shake. "You must be Eva, the director. Very nice to meet you,”

“Likewise,” Eva says, accepting the gesture. "I've heard much about you.”

“All good I hope.”

Eva smiles and looks across the gallery. “Come, talk with Priska. She’s intrigued by the calendar piece."

“There's a lot to be said, isn’t there?”

As they walk across the room, the mischievous look in Helena's eye leaves Myka wary of what "a lot" entails.

Helena shifts into dealer mode as they meet with Eva’s client, her charm on high as they check in with various guests. Myka chimes in when Helena's interpretations don’t line up with her own, but after their umpteenth conversation, she’s happy to let Helena speak for her. Helena mostly gets things right, plus she’s wiped from repeating herself, and watching Helena work, in her favor, is still a turn on.

There's a dinner after the opening, then drinks after that and Myka's running on steam by the drinks portion. Helena stays ever by her side, chatting with guests, refilling her glass, ensuring she's having a good time. It's comforting having Helena there to care of her, as she'd been mostly holed up alone for weeks.

During a lull in socializing, Helena glances at Myka and smiles a smile she knows is just for her. She slips her arm around Myka's waist, and Myka instinctively leans towards her, smiling back with equal sentiment.

As the hours pass, and the wine takes hold, their touches become more intimate. At some point, Myka tunes out the room entirely, and her eyes hanging on Helena's lips. The way they lift and stretch to match her cadence and inflection makes her wish they were moving over her skin. She aches to kiss her, but not here, somewhere private, somewhere alone. She snaps out of it when she realizes that’s not out of the question.

She asks the time, it's late, an appropriate time to leave. They say their goodbyes, then pile into a car someone called for them. Myka gives the driver directions, and when Helena adds a second stop, her heart sinks; it no longer makes sense to have asked her to book a separate room. It was an easy way out if their evening went unfavorably, but she assumed they'd be in the same hotel.

“I can’t wait to pass out,” she says, slumping back into her seat. She closes her eyes as the car drives away.

“You deserve a rest. And you’ll sleep soundly knowing tonight was a great success.”

“It was, wasn't it?” Myka says. She cracks an eye open to peer at Helena and sees she's sitting stiffly, too far away. She slides a hand across the seat and lays it over Helena’s thigh. “I’m glad you came.”

“Thank you for allowing me,” Helena says. She covers Myka’s hand with her own.

The car turns at a light and Myka settles back, closing her eyes again, resting her head on the top of the seat. The car turns and slows after continuing on for several minutes. When it stops, Helena removes her hand.

“Come up with me,” Myka says and squeezes Helena’s thigh.

Helena looks down at Myka's hand but doesn't answer.

"If you want," Myka adds. Was Helena's doting all an act? She did offer her hotel address rather quickly. Maybe she misread her; maybe she wants to be alone.

“I’d be happy to,” Helena says, laying her hand over Myka’s again and smiling as she meets Myka’s eyes.

They exit the vehicle and walk straight through the lobby, directly into an open elevator. Myka presses a button, and as they move skywards, she steps back and examines Helena’s shimmery ensemble.

“Your dress reminds me of the one from our first ‘official’ date.”

“Do you reckon?” Helena glances down at her garment.

“The cut’s the same, but the color's different. Did you do that on purpose?”

“I may very well have,” Helena replies.

The door opens and they walk down a corridor then stop in front of Myka’s room. Myka slips her keycard into the slot and upon entering, sheds her jacket and bag, throwing both over the arm of a chair. She turns and faces Helena, who is standing a few paces away.

“Take your coat off," Myka says, motioning for Helena to come closer.

“We should talk,” Helena says, her tone weighty, beyond the current mood.

“I know, but...” Myka steps behind Helena and reaches over her shoulders, slipping her fingers underneath her lapels. She leans forward and angles her head, so her lips nearly touch Helena's ear. “Let's keep tonight about me.”

Myka tugs on Helena's lapels and Helena circles her arms back, allowing Myka to slip her coat off entirely. Myka throws the coat on top of her own, then pads in front of Helena and threads a finger under the strap of her dress.

“Maybe we can have a do-over,” Myka says, her eyes following her finger as it slides up towards Helena's collarbone then back down to where the strap meets Helena's generous neckline.

“A what?”

“A do-over. For our 'official' first date.” Myka angles her eyes up, meeting Helena's questioning gaze. "We are in a hotel, and you are wearing a dress.”

"So it seems,” Helena says, her eyes falling to Myka's lips. She leans forward for a kiss, but Myka dodges, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the bed. As they reach the edge, Myka spins Helena around and taps on her shoulders so she falls into sitting position, Helena lays back and Myka crouches down, lifting Helena's foot, slipping off one heel and then another. She removes her own and drops both pairs to the floor while Helena shimmies up the bed until her head rests on a pillow. Myka crawls across the bed until her body is hovering over Helena’s and Helena adjusts so they're in perfect alignment.

“This is where we left off,” Myka says, dipping down for a kiss. Helena lifts her head, but Myka stops an inch short. “No, wait. You sit up and kiss me.” Myka settles back on her haunches and takes hold of Helena’s hands, placing them, palms down, above her knees.

Helena lifts slowly at the waist, palms skimming up Myka’s thighs as Myka cups Helena’s jaw and guides their lips together. Helena's thumbs slide inwards as they reach the hem of Myka's skirt, stretching eagerly towards tender, intimate flesh.

“Hey!” Myka yelps.

Helena freezes. “I thought we were continuing where we left off?”

“It was our first time, remember? You wouldn’t have moved that fast.”

“You haven't a clue what I would or would not have done.”

“Then tell me," Myka says, but kisses Helena her before she can answer, a strategic brush of Helena's thumbs impossible to ignore.

Helena rakes her hands up, over the curve of Myka's hips, and wraps her arms tightly around Myka's middle. Myka presses into Helena as Helena’s tongue parts her lips, the need for closer contact rushing through her like lightning. When they're forced to break for air, Helena places kisses across Myka’s cheek and lets her lips linger near her ear.

“Any flesh I’d longed to touch would have been unclothed immediately.” Helena reaches behind Myka’s shoulders and drags down her zipper. Myka leans back and lifts her arms, allowing Helena to peel her garment off entirely.

"I'd have mapped every arc and every crook; cataloged each utterance of pleasure I'd earned." Helena slides Myka’s bra strap over the slope of her shoulder and places a soft, lingering kiss on the rise of her breast.

“Wait," Myka says as painful memories trickle back. “If you wanted me so badly, why did you leave?”

“We’ve talked about this,” Helena says, laying her forehead on Myka's chest.

“But I still don’t understand,” Myka says, tipping Helena's head up, needing to see Helena's eyes as she answers.

“I thought tonight was to remain about you.”

“It was but…why were you so scared that night?”

“I’d only just learned I’d be deported.”

“That’s not it. Not enough for you to bolt. It was something else, something out of your control.”

“Myka...“

Myka sits back, distancing herself, brow furrowing as she replays the details of that evening. “You asked a lot of questions about Mrs. Frederic. But you already knew who she was, didn’t you?”

“Her reputation precedes her—“

“No, you knew her. You’d met her before. Were you working for her then?”

“I hadn’t met her until the day I was called into her office." Helena's eyes narrow and Myka shrinks back. She hit a nerve, as she did so often over the phone. “I think you're over-tired, and perhaps a bit tipsy,” Helena says, taking hold of Myka’s hands and drawing them towards her.

“I’m going to change,” Myka says, slipping her hands free and sliding off the bed. She walks towards the bathroom and after entering closes the door.

She leans on the counter and stares into the mirror, seeing what Helena saw. Her eyes are red and puffy, her hair fairly frazzled, but it's been a really, really long day, so she's not surprised. But maybe, just maybe, she's overreacting as she is both overworked and overtired.

She begins pulling out pins and thinking over the situation; was Helena spying on Macpherson for Mrs. Frederic all this time? And was Bonnie clued into the situation before now? Helena said Mrs. Frederic knew her, or rather knew Emily before London, but did she mean “knew of” or “knew her personally?” And if so, wouldn’t she have known the "other" Emily first? Unless she only knew "this" Emily, Helena's Emily, the one from the trial.

She yanks the last pin free and runs her fingers through, combing her hair out into rough, curled strands.

If Helena was telling the truth and she wasn’t Emily before their date, then it is possible, at dinner, she hadn't met Mrs. Frederic yet. So maybe she's jumping to conclusions, mixed up between Claudia's research and Helena's murky past. It is easy to fall into old patterns, so she probably should chill out until they can talk for real. They have a whole three days to hash things out, and it's best to do so with a clear head.

She brushes her teeth and gives her face a quick wash before swapping her clothes for a t-shirt and shorts. She hesitates before opening the door, how does she want to handle this? If things hadn’t gone sour so quickly, they’d be otherwise engaged right now. And she'd rather be doing that than confronting Helena. Maybe it's best to pass out and deal with it tomorrow.

When she opens the door, Helena's standing near the entrance, her coat and shoes already on.

“At least you didn’t sneak out this time.”

“I was certain you wouldn't want me to stay.”

“No, I do." Myka walks toward her suitcase and rummages through, pulling out a fresh t-shirt. “Here. Go change.”

Helena removes her coat and shoes then moves toward the bathroom, taking the t-shirt from Myka’s hand as she passes.

Once the door closes, Myka climbs onto the bed and burrows under the covers. She breathes deep breaths and closes her eyes, hoping to calm her nerves before Helena emerges.

Too few moments later, the bed dips down, and Helena sits motionless for what seems like an eternity. Myka doesn't move either, unsure of how to proceed, waiting for Helena to set the tone.

“Are you asleep?”

“No. Not yet."

“May I say something?”

“Sure."

“Our past may be irreparable, and our future...unpredictable. But our present is something we hold agency over.”

Myka rolls onto her side and bends her arm at the elbow, propping her head up with a hand. “How long did it take you to come up with that?"

"Since you first entered to bathroom."

"It's good. And I get it. You mean tonight is what we make it.”

“Yes,” Helena says. “You’d asked this evening be kept about you and I'd hoped you'd allow me to hold fast to that. You deserve a grand finish that only I can deliver. Let's end your successes on a high note."

“Selling yourself, instead of my paintings? Classy.” Myka huffs a short laugh.

“In a manner of speaking. Is that of any interest?"

"Kinda." Myka shrugs.

“Then I clearly misinterpreted your earlier intentions." Helena looks down at her hands.

“No, you didn't,” Myka says. “I'm interested. But it wouldn’t fix anything. And we’d still need to talk. A lot.”

“And we shall. Eminently.”

Myka slides her hand across the duvet and brushes a thumb over Helena's wrist. She may regret this tomorrow, but it is what she wants tonight.

Helena lifts her legs onto the bed and stretches out next to Myka, angling her body so they’re lying face to face. She cups Myka’s jaw and brushes a thumb over her cheek, looking into her eyes as if asking permission. Myka covers Helena’s hand and slides it over her lips, kissing it then laying it on the bed. She then eases Helena onto her back and straddles her hips, planting her hands on either side of her head. She dips down and kisses Helena as Helena's hands skim up her thighs, fingers sliding under Myka's hem with zero protests.

-TBC-

#BERING AND WELLS #w13 #fan fic #if/then #Myka Bering #Helena HG Wells #to the three people still reading this #thank you for your patience! #I haven't had much time to work on it lately #plus tearing it apart #really tearing into it #took time and distance #but I needed to stop dancing around what Myka's art was about #and in the process I learned a few things about some projects #I've had on the backburner for ages #so thank you fan fiction #(and now it's time to make some strawberry agua fresca #and I may just put some vodka in it ;) #and yes of course I'd tear the whole series apart #and write it again if I had time #but we need to work with attainable goals #or we'd go mad!

[desdemonafictional]

You’re Prettier in Pieces

or, Devi the Homicidal Maniac

JTHM : role reversal

part two on Ao3

Warning for pretty explicit and intimate violence

Devi buys groceries. She’s new to the neighborhood, it’s not a good neighborhood but at least it’s a self-absorbed suburban kind of poverty rather than the desperate meanness of the apartments she’s occupied thus far in her adult life. Her new house is the only thing she can afford with her savings, and it’s a rat’s nest to be quite frank. She buys Lysol and bactine and rags and thinks of all its old corners and how tired her elbows are going to be by tomorrow, and ignores the cashier’s advances with gritted teeth. She doesn’t think she is going to make this place a home. She’s too tired for anything that sentimental. She just wants it to be livable.

Devi does not sleep well. She moves her bed from one end of the room to the other, which does nothing. She buys soothing CDs and chamomile tea, both of which she hates. She boards up the bedroom windows. And then, because it’s so satisfying, she boards up the rest of the windows too. She still does not sleep.

Her new house has a basement, which she uses to store her easels and canvases. There are rats in the darkness. She is not afraid of rats, but she doesn’t like them either. She lays out rat traps under the old furniture and sheets and she waits, and she waits, and. The traps gather dust. The cheese goes hard and green. Devi stands in the midst of the mess, tapping her foot on the sagging floor, and hears even now the rustling in the walls. Her traps lie where she left them.

When the thug in the alley backs her up against a corner, Devi does what she learned to do in art school and lashes out, slams the heel of her palm up into his nostrils and crushes his face. She can feel the cartilage crunching against the blow, bone shattering, sinuses collapsing - the whole thing caves like old fruit, and she’s left heaving with the aftermath of adrenaline as he gurgles and twitches on the pavement. She watches his eyes roll back into her head and she thinks - should I be strong enough to do that?

Devi paints, and she paints, and when she runs out of canvas she just tears bookshelves from the walls and starts painting there, desperate to drain the thing in her head into paint. There is a trap door in her basement floor. She descends into the darkness like Hecate carrying her torch into the underworld, flashlight squeezed tight in her hand.

Devi doesn’t know how to be quiet and keep her head down. When the world pushes on her, she pushes back.

Devi covers the walls in grappling monsters and childhood nightmares, working through the night and into the indistinguishable day, closed inside of her boarded windows and buried underneath the earth. She hasn’t taken a job in weeks. Maybe more. She forgets to pay the electricity but the lights stay on, she forgets to pay the water but the water keeps coming. She buys cheap food. She’s never eaten much.

Devi wrenches her sticky fist free of a stranger’s eye socket and stands, wobbling, under the light of the Seven-Eleven fluorescents. Fluid drips down her knuckles. Did she do that?

Tenna runs into her as she’s picking up a new work shirt from the mall, and she’s a whirl of enthusiasm as she leads Devi over to the slushie kiosk and buys her a drink and berates her for never answering her phone, honestly Devi I know you get tunnel vision when you’re working but you couldn’t spare one minute for your old pal Tenna? Devi doesn’t know what to say - she can’t remember the last time she heard the phone ring. It’s been six months, Tenna says, a hint of accusation finally slipping through her forced cheer, I was starting to think you died or something.

Devi watches the man who just cooked her dinner claw at his own neck, eyes bulging. The trachea is collapsed. No matter how hard he sucks there’s no air getting through that ruined pipe. The skin blooms red and purple in the shape of her fingers. He claws madly, tearing himself open, and Devi imagines that she can see the red and purple veins tearing underneath his greedy fingers. He should have kept his hands to himself. She wipes her hand on her thigh and pops another shrimp puff into her mouth.

Devi meets a guy at the art store on her side of town, the new cashier, sharp like a knife in every sense of the metaphor, from his cutting cheekbones to his gloved fingers to his dry, relentless commentary. He says it’s the only job he can get with half an art degree. He throws in a couple texture sponges for free and tells her that when he burns this place to the ground he’ll be sure to grab a box of copics for her.

Devi observes a moving truck through a crack in the slatted window. Neighbors. Nothing good comes of neighbors. Walking around on her lawn, trying to look in her windows. Watching her house. Nothing good.

Devi pushes her hair off her sweat-slicked forehead, smearing tacky blood all over herself. When did her hair get this long? She pauses in the middle of wrenching a man’s teeth out of his jaw and goes to find some scissors, she knows she has some scissors, maybe she left them with the barista in the other room.

The basement only seems to go deeper and deeper. Each time she searches for a trap door  she finds one, stairs and endless stairs, deep enough into the earth that she cannot help but know that she is lost in the stomach of some primeval behemoth, some gravedirt angler fish, navigating its hungry intestines. Devi looks up from her work to find that she no longer knows how she came to live here.

in the afternoon sunshine, Devi offers the husband a glass of lemonade with dust all muddied down at the bottom. His wife sags listless against the moving truck, glassy eyes and withered limbs. Nothing good comes of neighbors. Even now her skin is crawling at the thought of them watching her, monitoring her, with their inscrutable human desires. The husband is bent over the trunk of their car, scrounging in the junk for the CD he says would have made him a rock star if it wasn’t for the little snot, and Devi is reaching out for his neck, for the column of vertebrae that will snap like a wishbone under her hand - when the kid wanders out of the house. Their eyes meet. He has these big watery eyes, these little-red-riding-hood eyes, clutching his teddy bear to his tiny chest. For a half second the two of them freeze in place, watching each other. She can almost hear his heart slamming frantic against his ribs. His huge watery eyes are reflecting her nightmare shape back at her, the monster that will haunt his sleep for weeks after this moment is over, the inhuman inscrutable thing that holds his life in her paint-stained palms. Slowly, she lowers her hand. Not today, she decides. Another day, perhaps.

When the paintings start to talk back to her, Devi only talks over them.

The walls are a rotting fresco of brains and oil paint, and she cannot stop adding to them. She cannot stop. She doesn’t know why, but it’s imperative - it’s dire - that she not stop. It isn’t finished, she tells herself. I’ve just got to finish it.

They sit on his car on the cliff over the city and watch the stars through the smog, a purple and white world rendered clean and lovely in the darkness. It all looks so beautiful from up here, she says, her hands warm against the rust-spotted metal. He frowns up at the sky, dark circled eyes and bitter thin lips. A beautiful lie, he says. A concrete blemish.

Devi waits for him to let her down, like all the others. She waits, and she waits, and she waits.

I’m glad I asked you, she says, and she leans in. She leans in to meet him half way with his parted lips and his wide eyes, and - he pulls away, ducking down into the cage of his skinny arms, breathing hard. I’m sorry, he says, I’m sorry, you’re so - relentlessly magnificent and I’m just - I -

The walls are whispering to her, all the painted white mouths and fresco teeth in a hissing chorus, telling her how sweet he is, how naïve, how precious. Your work, the walls hiss, think of your work. How will you work with this sweet lovely thing distracting you? Dragging you away from the house? Taking you away from your work?

Devi watches her own knuckles bend and crack as if they belong to someone else.

Kill him, the walls whisper, kill him like the others. They’re all prettier in pieces.

The glass in the mirror shatters as his head cracks into it, a fracture that blinks back at her with a menagerie of endless eyes, her own eyes. She can feel his pulse in her hand, the wild rabbit thump. She could break him with a twitch, all his hollow bird bones and razor edges. She never holds them like this, this closely, never long enough to hear their rabbit fast hearts in her palm.

I could keep him, she thinks. I could keep him. Just until he disappoints me.

He licks his lips, nervous tick, and he says, So you - you weren’t joking about the murder stuff I guess. His hand trembles, but it settles over her wrist, just lightly enough that she almost can’t feel it. You should know this isn’t necessarily a deal breaker. For me.

The walls howl. They seem to throb all around her, stretching and writhing, reaching for her. Devi hooks her fingers inside of his mouth to hold it open and silent, watching the thick heave of his throat from the inside as he swallows. She could break him. She could keep him. She could tear him open.

Devi is a screaming manic ragged collection of compulsions, the trigger and the finger itching on the trigger, and the only thing left of her now is her want and her resentment. She hunches her back against the howling of the walls. Let them howl! She knows what she wants! She’ll have what she wants and this thing that suckers at her fingers and screams for her attention can eat its gruesome oily heart out. 

Devi looks down at the hand on her wrist, the bony fingers, fraying gloves. The pale knuckles almost look swollen against the spun-glass thinness of the bones.

They all look prettier in pieces. Bite sized. Manageable. Johnny has been sweet so far, but even he is ugly up close, a collection of blemishes held together with string. The difference is only that his ugly interests her. Endears her. Why can’t people be like paintings? Malleable? Perfectible? There is only the work and there is only the work and so she’ll keep him. She’ll keep him.

The knuckles first, she decides. The knuckles first, and then the eyes. 

#jthm #devi d

[teaandgames]

The Teacup Awards (2017)

So as the wellington boot of inevitability comes crashing down on the innocent snail of time, we must say so long and farewell to 2017. It’s been something a tumultuous year full of disasters and political upheaval but at least we can now boot it out of the door. On the gaming side of things, there have been a fair share of scandals and nuisances but through all of the mess some quite decent games have emerged. So it’s time to do the proper thing and order them into categories before we limp into 2018.

As usual, I’m limiting my awards to games that I’ve either written about or recorded at some point, regardless of release date. Of course ‘written about’ can include the smallest of articles but hey, I make the rules so I can bend them. We’ve got a few new categories emerging this year but let’s start with an old hat, shall we?

The ‘Tea Up My Nose’ Award for Scariest Game

Runner Up - Thumper

I don’t think Thumper has ever been marketed as a horror game. Wikipedia has it as a ‘Rhythm Violence Game’ which sounds silly until you play it. You quickly realise that you’re not so much listening to Thumper’s music as being beaten over the head with it. It’s deep, rumbling and aggressive. Above all, it’s sinister. That’s helped along by the fluid, metallic quality to everything. Clinical yet unsavoury. Things just sort of rise up out of the netherworld, curling and flexing like metal tentacles. If hell doesn’t turn out to be full of fire, then Thumper’s aesthetic would be my second guess.

Winner - Resident Evil 7

There were two big boys of horror this year: Resident Evil 7 and Outlast 2. Both share the same problem, really. They start off very strong but quickly fall apart once you realise they’ve shown you their entire hand. Outlast 2 starts by scaring you with its creepy villagers and making you hide in logs. By the end, you’re still hiding in logs, waiting for the villager of the moment to stop muttering to himself and sod off. That’s when you’re not getting your balls impaled that is. That happens a lot.

Resident Evil 7 stays strong for longer but it keeps chucking its weird goopy enemies at you, as though three of them at once is supposed to make them more interesting. They kill you a lot until you realise you just kind of wave your hands in the air to stop their attacks. The level near the end, set on a ship, just proves how irritating they are. But this award isn’t a measure of how decent a game is, it’s a measure of how scary it is. And the Baker family scared the life out of me. I knew it was going to be that way from the moment Jack Baker punched me in the face and I woke up strapped to a dinner table.

That scene really stuck with me. Just the whole family of nutters, giggling as they force feed you god-knows-what. Then you go through each of the family in turn and have them pop out right when you don’t want them to. The king of it all is Jack Baker. The man who refuses to die. The first quarter or so of the game is spent in his company and he will not leave you alone. When all you’ve got is a pistol and a tiny pocket knife, the knowledge that Jack Baker could be behind any door is terrifying. The best thing a horror game can do is make you scared even when nothing is near and Resident Evil 7 did that. Until Jack turned into a giant slug thing that is but we don’t talk about that.

The ‘Folded Corner’ Award For Best Writing

Runner Up - Night in the Woods

I really like Mae Borowski. She’s a kid that’s had things beyond her control repeatedly dumped on top of her and now she’s kind of drifting. She went to college and it didn't work out. Now she’s returned home and it’s not home anymore. Regardless of the dialogue choices you make for her, she always sounds like a real person. So do her friends. You feel like another member of the gang just hanging out. Dealing with the real world crumbling around them at every turn. It takes a decent storyteller to make characters dealing with personal problems believable. Mae’s just like any of us. Only a cat, I guess.

Winner - Oxenfree

The worst thing about Oxenfree is having to play it. Sounds odd but the best part of Oxenfree is the characters talking to each other. I’d say it would work as a book but that would be an insult to the decent voice actors. Maybe an audiobook? Anyway, the joy of Oxenfree is how you make these characters interact with each other. It’s a branching choice kind of thing, rather like an interactive fiction game. The protagonist, Alex, has her own personality but there’s just enough room to inject some of yourself in there too.

So much so that when I got to the end and found that I hadn’t really made friends with Jonas, I had to stop and think back over everything I’d said to him. Had I been rude to him? Had I ignored him? I told him to calm down once, was that it? Oh God, I’m a monster. In most games of this type, it’s usually obvious what line is going to elicit what response. And that’s why I love Oxenfree because it’s not obvious. It’s natural. Humans generally don’t talk in grand, sweeping words. We hide behind small talk. We talk about the weather, what we did today, what we’re playing. It’s how we say things and how much of ourselves we put into the conversations that matters.

Oxenfree captures that well, putting a group of scared teens together and making them depend on each other. Making them get to know each other. Making them love or hate each other. It’s one part lighthearted drama to two parts B-Movie nightmare. On top of the good chemistry, you’ve got the fact that Edwards Island is slowly breaking down the people on it. Otherwise stable characters begin to shout at each other and you feel drawn into the mess. I haven’t felt so desperate to keep a set of characters alive in a long time. That’s a sign of good writing if anything is.

The ‘Head Nod’ Award For Best Soundtrack

Runner Up - DEADBOLT

You know when a great song comes on the radio and you find yourself mouthing along to the words without even thinking about it? Well by the time I finished DEADBOLT, I was clicking my fingers along to the music. It’s a very smooth soundtrack, which complements the suave feel of the game. The undead are rendered as mobsters, ranging from thuggish zombies to the more stylish vampires and skeletons. So a soundtrack that switches from violent to classy, while keeping the same smooth feel, is undoubtedly a good one.

Winner - Night in the Woods

There weren’t many games this year that had mind blowing soundtracks. There was an odd song here and there that I liked but nothing that really leapt out at me. So I was struggling to find a game to fit into this slot.  But then as I was looking back through the list of games I’ve played this year, I remembered the band practice parts of Night in the Woods. They were fun to play, even though I was terrible at them, but the real joy was in what they represented.

It was the gang back together, united by a burning desire to get out of the deadbeat town they were born in. The first song, Die Anywhere Else, captured that perfectly. All of the songs are great to listen to by themselves, even without reading the lyrics underneath. You often can’t read them actually, as you’re too busy mashing buttons. Which brings me to the real reason this is number one: the covers.

I don’t usually care for covers or remixes. But the excellent covers of Die Anywhere Else and Pumpkin Head Boy out there elevate Night in the Woods to the number one spot.

The ‘Mmm, I Don’t Get It’ Award For Best Art Piece

Runner Up - Little Nightmares

In terms of gameplay, there’s a lot lacking when it comes to Little Nightmares. You run and hide from dense enemies as you move right. The interesting part of Little Nightmares is the world. It’s proof that art doesn’t have to be all sunflowers and grass fields. Sometimes it can be a urinal that someone’s pissed on. Sometimes it can be disgusting. Little Nightmares is. It’s a world of bloodied meat, dirty corners and obese, gluttonous characters. It’s a horror game that lets its world speak for itself. It’s gross, unsettling and while it looks like ours, it feels like a truly other world. Did I mention it’s gross?

Winner - Hyper Light Drifter

Okay, cards on the table, I am biased. I have a love of games that have a pixel-based art style. Hyper Light Drifter is, perhaps, the finest example of that art style. The crowning moment comes near the start when your protagonist walks to the top of a hill and the camera pulls back to show a city behind it. It’s a beautiful moment that’s contrasted well with the darker elements of the game. Like the pixel-based bad acid trip that the game opens with. Full of black monsters that appear to be corroding our hero from the inside out.

The protagonist is deathly ill, a decision that was meant to reflect the developers own health, and his coughs cause the graphics to darken. Outside of those moments, Hyper Light Drifter is an extremely bright and colourful game, that does a lot to differentiate its areas. Granted there aren’t very many of them but each is wonderfully distinct and culminates in its own unique boss. When you’re not slashing up bosses, you can retire to the main town and take in the sights.

Hyper Light Drifter is a short one but it's one full of intricate detail, bright colours and a whole lot of my own blood being spilled.

Special Mention - Prey (for Talos 1)

The ‘Lot Of Paperwork’ Award For Best Action Game

Runner Up - Wolfenstein II: The New Colossus

There’s a lot wrong with Wolfenstein II. It wants you to be badass, but slaps your wrist when you do. It’s built around stealth but the easiest way to do things is just put a couple of thousand of bullets in everyone. So on and so forth. That’s not relevant here. What’s relevant is how fun it is to mow down Space Nazis with a shotgun in each hand. The guns look nice, sound nice and feel nice. Given how hard it is to nail that last one, it makes Wolfenstein II’s gunplay all the more impressive.

Winner - DEADBOLT

DEADBOLT is a kind of understated badass. The Reaper wears a shabby coat and a skull mask. At least, I think it’s a mask. He basically walked off the set an action film and went home. He even spends his evening in a big wingback chair. All in all, he seems like a pretty (possibly undead) regular guy. That is until he goes about his job. He takes a message from the fireplace (don’t ask) and goes out to murder the undead.

That’s where the true fun is. It’s taken a few notes from Hotline Miami but its action is a bit slower paced; a bit more thoughtful. The mad run’n’gun gameplay of Hotline Miami rarely works in DEADBOLT. Usually you’ll clear a few vampires only for the bartender to casually blow your head into tiny fragments with a shotgun. You normally need a plan before you go in. So when you do have one, and it all works, it’s bloody marvelous. Even when it fails, if you can think on your feet then you have a chance of pulling it back. The sheer flow and mania of DEADBOLT’s combat makes it stand out for me.

That and the simplicity of it. For the most part you’re just dealing with a handful of firearms and maybe a hammer or two. You get a few guns out of the trunk of your car but the ammo dwindles quickly. On some levels you’re basically throwing an entire kitchen at the undead. This all culminates in a final level that pours on the baddies. I lost count of the times I’d unload into someone only to be left with a hammer. Burst through a door, bury it in someone’s head, grab their gun and begin the rampage all over again. My God it’s addictive.

The ‘Beep Boop’ Award For Best Retro Game

Runner Up - Punch-Out!!

Rather ironically, Punch-Out!! Kicked my arse. I managed to get all the way up to Super Macho Man then he launched his over-the-top clothesline attack and my head hit the ground. Presumably after it was rapidly detached from my body. But time and time again I tried. I still go back to it, after the internal swelling has gone down. The modernised Punch-Out!! On the Wii is an excellent sequel but it’s worth paying tribute to the game that kicked it all off. It’s the perfect blend of timing and charm that no doubt sucked thousands of coins out of kids in the arcades. Now it just sucks some of my soul.

Winner - King’s Quest VI

I played all of the King’s Quest games this year, including the modern version, and of all the games I think it was King’s Quest VI that stuck with the most. Mostly because it was the game where King’s Quest stopped trying to play its fairy tale inspirations straight. Instead it embraced the silliness and love of puns that was started properly in King’s Quest V. In short, King’s Quest VI is where it found its own goofy identity.

Sure it was still mired in the moon logic that characterise the King’s Quest games, and pretty much any adventure game of the age, meaning you to hunt through the entire world for an easily missed object, but it didn’t matter. That same world was the most important thing. And King’s Quest VI took you from an Arabian town, to a Minotaur’s labyrinth and then to a strange garden full of anthropomorphic fruit and veg. Then you meet some living chess pieces. It’s weird as hell.

And that’s why I love it. I’ve a love of surreal games in all forms and King’s Quest VI pushes it to the extreme. When you’re dealing with a genie that gets drunk on mints, who hides himself around the entire map, you know you’re dealing with a special game. That and it’s pretty damn funny because of it. I mean, you find a rotten tomato that shouts at you only for you to shove the damn thing in your trousers.

The ‘You Wanted Sugar, Right?’ Award For Biggest Disappointment

Runner up - Yooka-Laylee

Truth be told, I’m not a hundred percent sure why I backed Yooka-Laylee. My only real experience with the genre was a brief stint with Banjo and Kazooie back in the day. It was okay but I don’t remember it setting my world on fire. Perhaps I backed Yooka-Laylee because it was bright, colourful and looked like good silly fun. It was that, to a degree, but what they neglected to mention was the awkward camera, fairly by-the-numbers level design and bloody annoying final boss. It’s not a big offender but Yooka-Laylee is clogged with too many little annoyances to keep it off this list.

Winner - Condemned 2: Bloodshot

Maybe it’s not right for me to rag on a game from 2008 but I can’t help it. I hold up Condemned: Criminal Origins as one of the best horror games I’ve played. It has a great combat engine and knows the right environments to stick you in. Even if the Super Taser snaps the difficulty over it’s knee. It was Monolith at its height, as they also had the first F.E.A.R game out, bringing the creepy Japanese little girl to the world of video games. But it seems that Monolith have something of an issue when it comes to sequels.

F.E.A.R 2 was nothing revolutionary and Condemned 2 was far, far worse. The big selling point of Condemned for me is the combat. Knocking out teeth with a bit of pipe and trying not to suffer the same. Condemned 2: Bloodshot somehow ignored all of that and instead focused much of the later half of the game on dull, gun-based combat. With guns that have all the weight and feel of a spud gun. It’s nonsensical to me and made much of the game a tired, boring slog. Shame really, as we’d dropped the relatively bland Ethan Thomas from the first game and replaced him with a more interesting one.

And yet, they also tried to really push the supernatural angle. I’m all for a bit of weird mystical nonsense but you need to make it fit. The rest of Condemned is going for a sort of realistic feel. You use proper forensic skills, you’re in a world full of the homeless and it’s just generally dark and grimy. Then you use your magical throat to shout a guy off a giant tower. That’s the final boss fight. No, I’m not joking. It’s the final decisive blow in an onslaught that begins about halfway through the game. It starts strong, with some good old fashioned pipe to the face action, then descends into supernatural nonsense and tedious gunfights.

Now, for the big one.

The ‘Golden Teapot’ Award For Best Game

Runner Up - Night in the Woods

Night in the Woods has appeared in multiple categories this year for good reason. A somewhat branching adventure game based around a group of friends who want out of their town, Night in the Woods wonderfully transitions from light comedy to creeping horror. Remember how I said supernatural stuff needed to fit in? Night in the Woods manages it. Your main character, Mae, witnesses a kidnapping halfway through the game. It sets you up to find a killer only to realise the true evil seems to be lurking in Mae’s own head.

It pulls it off because its very well written, with each of the main characters being a delight to talk to. I had a definite fondness for Gregg, who wears a sweet leather jacket, because of his excitable nature that he uses to mask his own feelings. There’s a lot in Night in the Woods when you dig under the surface and the charming graphics, solid writing and sinister atmosphere in the later half make you want to do just that.

Winner - Hollow Knight

When I finished Hollow Knight and put the controller down, I thought to myself, ‘That’s my game of the year’. Usually, I have to puzzle over these things but not this year. Hollow Knight has just absolutely won my heart. For one thing, it’s pretty damn beautiful. Visiting Hallownest is like visiting an old castle. It lies in ruins but with remnants of what once was. A great battle has swept through it leaving only fragments behind. Fragments of buildings, fragments of people, fragments of memories. It sets the tone of the game very well. It’s a sort of downtrodden tone yet here and there you find little pockets of hope, which seems at times personified by our little hero bug.

But the world building aside, it also plays remarkably well too. I’ve been banging on about simplicity in gaming for quite a while now and Hollow Knight embraces that concept. There are a lot of skills for moving about, and a few for attacking, but for the most part you’re just going to be bouncing about and slashing things with your nail. I like it because it takes the focus off the game’s mechanics and puts it back on the player. It comes down to timing and precision. Button mashing isn’t really going to cut it when you’re dealing with a small bug stuffed inside a giant suit of armour. It also has some of the smoothest platforming I’ve seen outside of games like Super Meat Boy. Our little knight jumps, slashes and glides perfectly. Platforming deaths nearly always felt like my fault.

What’s more, Hollow Knight introduced me to a genre I’d never really been interested in before: Metroidvania. I’d played a bit of the old Castlevania games and one of the newer ones that went completely out of my head as soon as I’d finished it. Never played Metroid though. I’d never really gotten the idea of exploring and re-exploring areas. Hollow Knight changed that for me. Every time I came to a barrier, I made a mental note, knowing I’d be able to get through it one day. It changed how I looked at things. I’d try, die and save it for later. Every new skill caused new exciting areas of the map to open up.

It was that thrill of discovery that kept me glued to Hollow Knight, along with the great boss fights. I wanted to poke into every corner and Hollow Knight let me try, drip feeding me tools along the way. So even if you discount the great graphics, haunting soundtrack and excellent gameplay, Hollow Knight wins by introducing me to something new and making me love it.

So that’s 2017 over and done with. I hope you’ve all filled yourself with Turkey over the Christmas period and your drink of choice over New Year. With any luck, you won’t be too hungover when you read this. As for me, I’m going to make myself a nice, strong pot of tea and get ready for 2018. See you there.

#Hollow Knight #Night in the Woods #Little Nightmares #Hyper Light Drifter #Outlast 2 #Resident Evil 7 #Thumper #DEADBOLT #King's Quest #King's Quest VI #Punch-Out!! #Yooka-Laylee #Condemned 2 #Wolfenstein 2 #Oxenfree #Gaming #Video Games #Tea And Video games #Awards #Game of the Year #The Teacup Awards

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

I sent this on mobile so sorry if it's a duplicate, but I haven't seen it yet so I think it might not've gone through. Drabble request: TWW, post-series, domesticity preferably with kids, but also some career stuff, ship/character pairing of your choice

Okay, this is so not a drabble :) but it was fun to write! Borrows from these headcanons I accidentally created that one time.

1,500 words of Josh/Donna fluff, with an appearance from Zoey Bartlet and references to several other characters. Also on AO3.

He’d learned long ago to pick his battles, though, with two little girls who had inherited their mother’s fighting spirit. When their favorite bedtime story became “the time Mommy blew up” he knew he was in for trouble.

Fighting with his tie as he came downstairs, Josh found his daughters sprawled on the couch.

“Remember, Zoey’s coming over to babysit today.”

“Yes!” Jo high-fived her little sister, beaming at Josh. “She promised next time she was gonna teach us how to flip a grown man over our shoulder.”

He paused on his way into the kitchen, turning slowly to face them. “Seriously? That’s not just a funny joke you guys are practicing to scare your mom with?”

“Dad.” Charlotte rolled her eyes at his lameness. “It’s totally safe. She learned it from her bodyguards.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He’d learned long ago to pick his battles, though, with two little girls who had inherited their mother’s fighting spirit. When their favorite bedtime story became “the time Mommy blew up” he knew he was in for trouble.

Or maybe he’d already figured that out, the moment Brianna Joan first blinked up at him with her pale eyelashes and deep brown eyes. A world of trouble–realizing that he was a father now, that nothing would ever be the same.

“Mom,” Jo yelled, making him wince at the assault on his eardrums. She had her mother’s lungs. “You want us to be able to kick butt, right?”

Donna stood in the kitchen doorway, half-dressed for her morning meetings but still in her pajama shirt while she cooked. “I feel like that’s a trick question,” she answered, regarding the three of them. “Come eat your waffles, girls.”

“What about me? Don’t I get waffles?”

“That depends,” she replied. “Are you going to be able to make our lunch date today?”

“Come on, it’s not like I make a habit of missing–”

“The last three, Joshua,” she argued, cutting him off. “You had to reschedule the last three.”

He held up his hands in defense. “I know, I know. I’m sorry! I would’ve much rather met you for lunch than gotten stuck with lawyers from K Street.”

“Yeah, well, CJ and I are meeting with senators today and the Belgian ambassador. If I can make lunch, so can you.”

He crossed to the doorway and kissed her. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. Then you get waffles.” She grinned at him when he leaned in for another kiss, and there was a chorus of booing from the kitchen table.

“Some of us are trying to eat,” Charlotte said.

“Anyway,” he told Donna, taking his seat and ignoring the peanut gallery, “I have a light day. Toby’s coming in, so I cleared most of my morning.”

“Well, that’s something, then. He won’t let you stand me up.” Donna brought over the last of the waffles and finally dug into her own breakfast. “What’s he up to?”

“He’s bringing Huck by.”

“Because fifteen-year-olds are really into campaign finance reform these days?”

Josh laughed. “No…apparently he told Andy that he’s aiming to go to Harvard. Toby wants me to talk him out of it.”

“Is Molly coming too?” Jo asked between bites. Toby’s daughter was the softball-playing, video-game-killing hero of their twelve-year old tomboy. While Charlie was artistic, with her mom’s dancer form, their eldest wouldn’t be caught dead in a tutu or at the piano.

“Sorry, kiddo, just her brother.”

No longer interested, Jo dropped her silverware onto her plate with a clatter. “Done. Thanks for breakfast, Mom.”

Donna swallowed and nodded. “Dishes in the sink, Jo.”

She was out and up the stairs before her sister had the chance to finish her own meal. Charlotte habitually moved at her own pace, daydreaming over her butter-drenched waffles as her parents talked around her.

“Which senators are you and CJ talking to today?”

“Texas and Arizona.”

“Fun…and Belgium?”

“Clean energy.”

“Right. How’s that going?”

She dipped the last of her waffle in syrup, keeping one eye on the clock. “About as well as can be expected. Looking at European models has been helpful, but it’s not like that gains us much traction in the South.”

“Well, I’m not sure anything would,” Josh pointed out. “They’ve dug their heels in pretty good against climate change.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Daddy?” Charlotte interjected. “Can I come with you to work?”

Donna raised her eyebrows at Josh, as surprised as he looked.

“Don’t you want to stay here and play with Zoey?”

“Not today…at school, they said Take Your Daughter to Work Day is next week.”

“Oh.” He stared blankly at Donna. Wasn’t that one of those made-up holidays, like the kind the President proclaimed that he used to mock? “Are you sure…I mean, wouldn’t you have more fun going with your mom?”

She beamed at Donna, all careless sweetness and light. “Nope. I wanna go with you. Can I?”

“Sure you can,” her mom answered. “Can’t she?”

Trapped, Josh tried not to panic at the idea of keeping his dreamy-eyed daughter entertained for an entire day full of politics. “Of course. Sounds great, honey.”

“Charlie, you’ve got ten more minutes until Zoey gets here,” Donna pointed out, now that that was settled. “If you don’t get going, Jo will have a head start at learning how to knock people unconscious.”

“Oh!” Rushing through her second waffle, their blue-eyed sprite leapt out of her chair. Charlotte’s pale ringlets bounced behind her as she ran back to the living room, forgetting to soak her dishes or properly be excused.

Donna sighed, and Josh smiled at her. Maybe manners were a work-in-progress, but just look at the beautiful little people they were raising.

“You know what this means, don’t you?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re gonna have to take Jo.”

“Good,” she replied, pointing her fork at him. “She’ll have a lot more fun with me than doing whatever Charlotte gets stuck with at your office.”

“Hey! My office is nonstop fun. Just last week, the President sent balloons to surprise Bram on his birthday.”

“Wow, balloons. I stand corrected.”

“I’m just saying, I can give our budding Warhol a painting app to play with and she’ll sit in a corner all day. Meanwhile, you’ll have a tiny lightning bolt on your hands while you talk to the Attorney General.”

“And I’m sure she’ll enjoy our daughter’s energy.”

“There’s about a fifty percent chance our daughter’s energy will end up setting something on fire.”

Donna took her plate to the sink. “She gets that from you.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know.”

The door buzzed, and Donna went to answer it. Josh cleared the rest of the table while he listed to the clatter of feet racing back downstairs, and the commotion of the girls greeting their favorite sitter.

“You’ll teach us the flip, right, Zoey?”

“I drew you a horse! Come see.”

Donna’s laugh carried to where he stood. “Girls, let her breathe.”

Dishes soaking, he joined them in the living room. “Hey, Zoey. What’s on today’s agenda?”

“Oh, you know. Running with scissors, ice cream for lunch…the usual.”

“Right.” He smirked at President Bartlet’s youngest, now a rising star at the NGO his wife was running with CJ. “Well, just try to keep them in one piece, would you? They’ve got delusions of badass.”

“No delusions here,” she argued, tossing her hair back. “They are badass.”

“That, they get from me,” Donna told him, grinning. “Thanks for this,” she added in Zoey’s direction. “I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow after the conference.”

“No worries. You know I love your baby feminists.” Zoey wrapped an arm around Charlotte when the girl sidled up to her. “We’ll have a blast. Go focus on your world leaders–and tell CJ I’ll be in early tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Will do.” Donna turned toward Josh as the girls led Zoey upstairs. “Josh, your tie is a mess.”

“I wasn’t fully awake yet,” he protested, holding still as she leaned in to fix it.

“Yes, but you’ve been wearing a tie for decades,” she pointed out. “Shouldn’t you have the hang of it by now?”

“Why would I bother?” He asked with a smile. “If I could fix my own tie, you might stop doing it for me.” Josh took her hands in his and kissed the fingers that had successfully tidied it up.

“I’ve gotta head out,” he said reluctantly, catching a look at the clock behind her. “See you at lunch, Donnatella.”

“You better.” Her lips meeting his in farewell lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. Really. After all, I got waffles.”

“Make it on time,” Donna told him with a sly grin, “and you’ll get something even better tonight.”

His eyes widened. “I’ll be early,” Josh promised, kissing her again before he left.

She headed upstairs to finish getting ready, humming happily to herself. There was still only one way to render Josh Lyman speechless, and it was her favorite thing in the world.

When he got a good look at the teddy and garters she’d picked up over the weekend, he was going to forget his own name.

Then he would make her forget hers.

#i know i said i'd post this tomorrow but it's technically tomorrow and when i tried to sleep all i could do was cough so here :) #other characters will get their own OC kids and career details in future #it's super fun to play with future fic i must say #tww #josh x donna #the west wing #tww fic #josh x donna fanfic #josh x donna fic #tww fanfic #tww fanfiction #the west wing fanfic #the west wing fanfiction #my fic