#this is why i talk so crunchy AUGH

[yellowheartz]

The absolute anger I feel is unreal whenever someone says I sound like an anime character.

#yellow talks #this is why i talk so crunchy AUGH #my parents hate my crunchy accent bc thats not how i usually speak but sometimes u just gotta what u gotta do #to not beat a bitch up #yellow rants

[marcygoo]

okazyyyy here we go. parts from murder drones eps 6-7 that really tickle my brain that i never see people mention like ever (if you come into the reblogs or comments of this post being like "why didnt you include (x part that everyone talks about)!!!" then that is why. and also i am going. to Eat You.) this isnt really going to be organized or anything. basically just me being abnormal about sounds and movements and other minuscule details that im really fond of for however many words

okay, first thing is gonna be a sound thing. i absolutely LOVE the beeping sound uzi's visor makes in this part. i really like sounds.

cant get a good screenshot of the movement cus.. yknow. duh. movement. but the way alice moves from there to the ground to where v is so. idk. fluid. its so fun to look at i really like it

the finger snap here. i love this finger snap. the noise. the movement. its so good. its so crisp. i love it

the lighting on uzi's face. forgive me for using the word crisp twice in a row but its crisp. its really good. okay

and the lighting on n's face here??? the colors are so harsh. i really like looking at it. okay. i feel like im not writing enough to just describe how much i like the lighting here. i really like it. its cool. okay i think its cool. i dunno

i really like this hallway. thats it. thats the section. the way the camera slowly tilts just a little bit while it zooms in? the way the slowed down music in the background almost sounds like alarm sirens? like okay

another thing i cant capture properly because, duh, movement! but the way the red sentinel kind of dips down here? i dont know why it did that but it slayed. and id like you all to ignore the fact that my nyan cat youtube bar got caught in the screenshot

the sound effect that plays here when "tessa" cuts herself with the sword. i dunno. its just a really satisfying sound to me thats all

another thing about sound effects really close to the last one but. the sorta crunching noises that uzis hand being contorted here make. im normal about sounds i promise. ok on to episode 7

the lighting here. on nori. insane. im not normal. as mentioned before with n i love this kind of harsh lighting especially with the drones it just looks so visually appealing

okay ANOTHER part i cant properly capture. this bit where it zooms in on the screen and shows the elevator. im. not normal about it. i really really like it alright.

UGHHHH THE WAY UZIS HAND MOVES HERE. THE MOVEMENT. THE FLUIDITY OF IT. IM ACTUALLY OBSESSED. AAUUGHHHHHHHHHHGGGGHHHHHH

LETS EAT!!!! DUDE. UGHHHH. AUGH. i LOVE this part SO MUCH you guys have no idea. im obsessed with it. the line delivery. the pose. the shot. the implications. the way that its just such a simple and commonly used phrase. do you get it. do you understand. genuinely one of my favorite little parts in the whole series im not kidding. let's eat

o-o-o-o-ow! ! !!! i always love the glitched voice effects alright. and that combined with the movement of nori's body being forced back by the crucifix. idk. i dunno man. i just like it

and UGH. LITERALLY right after that. the lighting flash just as she pulls it out of her face????? i hate this show so much guys. aughhhhhUGHHHHHHHHH AUGHJJ

grrrr this part. i literally NEVER see people mention it but. the way uzi.. the solver.... uh. whagever. the way their eyes sorta wobble when they turn to look up at n and nori. its a really cool movement to me i dunno

THE CRUNCHING NOISE WITH THE MOUTH GETTING PULLED SO FAST FROM A TINY FROWN TO A HUGE SMILE LIKE THAT??? EWWW????? INSANE. CRAZY. I LOVVE ITTT AUGH

no comment needed. the 😁

ok im kinda putting a lot of stuff from this fight on here. forgive me. its got a lot of really cool stuff. this part like. like. the way all the sound gets kinda muffled and crunchy.. aughh.... i love it. hurts me in my bones. 10/10

ok bit of an unusual thing to point out here but. the solvers flapping here. its so strange. it looks so weird and mechanical to me. in a good way i love it

the hand twitch. no further comment.

eugh. this part. the way the coagulated blood (???) almost jiggles like jelly. eughhh ewwwwwww. why are you like thattttt. (positive! i love blood.)

drone sound: much, crunch (i REALLY like the sound effect that plays when uh... flesha. bends down and Crunches dolls core. the sorta glass breaking sound. sorry doll.)

the fucking frog blink. why are you like that. i hate this thing so much.

the music that starts up right as j lands.. eughjghgjhhhh. augh. dies. also side note that i wasnt able to fit really anywhere. but i love the sound that the ship makes. dont know how to describe it but yknow what im talking about right

the fucking. sound effect. of uzi stabbing her own hand with the protruding bone. crunch. i really really love crunchy crunching sounds. theyre so good. one of my favorites honestly

uh. okay. well thats it thats the post. thanks for coming to my Autism. walks away

#soup says stuff #murder drones #FUCK IT WE BALL!!! MAIN TAGS IDGAF. look at my fucking poast

[corviisquire]

Hello~ I just wanted to let you know that this is what my doodling-while-i-work sketches look like these days... 👀 I am obsessed with my beautiful blue lady 💙🥺

(ignore the colours, this was done with blue and pink highlighters lmao. they just were in hand at the time)

Not showing you my pinterest board for because it's embarrassingly full lmao. I'll make a nice moodboard for her and post it here though! Also I have been looking at couture dresses and pearls and gems to figure out her dress (because i am OBSESSED with all the layers and details you put, there's so much leeway for beautiful fabrics and ruffles and ways to connect the hood!!!), so thank you for rekindling my fashion designer side 😌✌️

I have been toying with the idea of making the moon into actual horns since we talked about it (like Maleficent?) - you mentioned opals and shell linings, and I think it would look sick if the moon-antlers/horns had that opalescence sheen to them? Maybe it could mirror the mask?

Idk, I haven't quite fleshed her out yet so that may change. She still doesn't have a name; Miss Missy is being very secretive about her life (no surprise there 🙄).

I do wanna show you this! There's this gemstone called Azurite, that has this beautiful shade of deep blue, with purples, and some greens and gold speckles and spots (seriously - look it up, it's fantastic). I like the idea of her being connected to gems and stuff, and I think this one in particular fits her vibe SO well?? So yeah.

Sorry if this is kind of a long, weird ramble, but I just wanted to let you know that our Blue Lady (that's her temporary name) is being well taken care of and cherished 🌙💙✨ Hope you're doing well!!!! 🫂💙🥺

AAAAA sorry for the late(r) response I was about to go to bed and saw this. I just- OMGOMGOMGOMG my face is heating up. Jinefvijneifjvneijfcn 💜🩵💙🩵💙🩷🩷💙🩵💜🩵💖💕💓❣️💘💞💗💕💗💖💕💞💗🐟🔥💕💖🩵💞🩵💞🩵🔥💓💗💙💗❣️💗❣️🐟❣️🐟💙💓💓🔥😱❣️🔥😱💗💓💕💕❣️💕💜🔥❣️🔥🦑🔥

Me staring at my phone rn.

And why she urple?? There’s so many thoughts going on in my head rn.

1. YOU DID THAT WITH HIGHLIGHTERS WHAT??? excuse me??? what In the Bob Ross???? I love the way you blended the pink and blue and the sketchiness of the lines AUGH. It’s so crunchy… good food…….. you captured her whimsical aura perfectly. The fabric for her sleeves is so nice. You drew her so pretty omg omg

2. I love malificent so much :(((( I love sleeping beauty, I love the live action malificent… OPAL MASK AND HORNS HELLO. Blue Lady is killing it over here, my god. She’s got the bling. She’s got the swag. What more could she have.

3. My grandparents are jewelers and they used to keep random geodes and gems around their house and azurite was one of them! I remember because they would try to teach me about rocks and gems and different gem cuts and I just sat there “no thoughts, head empty, I only want to look at pictures of agate and peridot”. their azurite was very very small and I’m not sure where it is anymore. My favorite gem has to be zircon though, love that stuff. I will for sure be reading more on azurite though!

4. (Psst I have a character who’s like a pomegranate goddess and I think her and Blue Lady would get along wonderfully. Her name is Punicae and you can find her og design here.)

them with not accurate coloring cause i be speed drawing. They slay. Together.

I’m going to go to bed. Stay safe, take care of yourself, LOVE yourself. Tysm for this I’m crying. Love you very much and giving you all the azurite your heart could desire 💙🩵💖

#sobbing #crying #art #friend art #creature #oc art #oc #digital art #ranne my beloved #ask #ask box

[crownlessliestheking]

⭐star⭐  to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

The horrors of Choice! But I thought about it and settled on this one, which is Elwing centric and set just before the War of Wrath, when she and Earendil are asking the Valar to intercede. I'd been thinking about Elwing then (and given my current project, I'm thinking a lot about her now), and I think this passage is my Elwing Thesis Statement, a bit:

Elwing does not understand the point of gods if they won’t lift a single finger to help, but maybe it’s less about them and more about having something to believe in.

Something good, anyway. Elwing’s believed in many things over the years: Herself, then Eärendil; her parents, then Eärendil’ s; the Silmaril and its awful light, clutched close to her chest, this terrible thing that brought ruin on her family but still preserved something good, something that made her feel like she’d never deserve to touch it. Oh, and the Fëanorians, she’d believed in them plenty; there were no monsters under her bed, because she had known that is not how they came. They came with letters, with threats, with sword and flame and blood, and it was a long time before she could open any correspondence without shaking.

Elwing, more than anyone, really understands the power of belief (in the same way that Earendil understands hope enough to become a representation of it; they balance each other really well this way). And she's absolutely haunted by it. The Silmaril is important to her because it has to be; maybe she thinks of it some days as a talisman that will keep her people safe even as it invokes Doom, maybe she believes on other days that it is her last and only connection to her family, maybe she believes that it's her right more than anyone else's. But more than that, she believes that there's no...fairness. No real escape, in some ways, no matter how much she might hope? There's just something so crunchy about her relationship with it to me, the way she holds this precious light and does not love it for what it represents, for its history, but for the sort of...bitter, angry survival that it represents. She won't be destroyed so easily. And I think there's some spite in there too! Why should the Valar get it; they never bled for it, they never felt it like an albatross around their neck as they left their home to burn, as they flung themselves into the sea.

Okay I lied there's one bit central to my Elwing Understanding:

Elwing survives. It’s what she does. Kicking and screaming, sometimes not even by her own will. But she does.

To me, she's not in Valinor because she's pious or because she Believes in the Valar. She's there because she's alive, and it's their fault in some ways, and she has had enough. And, of course, because if she goes with them back to Beleriand, maybe she'll see her sons again. Augh. I love her so much but apparently only the version that exists in my head. To me she's real.

#elwing #ask game #my fic

[veliseraptor]

Hi, lise...If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your favorite yunmeng shuangjie scenes/moments? And why? Sorry if you've answered this question before....

hoo boy okay I hope you’re ready for long because I’m constitutionally incapable of answering these kinds of questions without going hard. which is why it takes me so long and that’s why I have a backlog of 5 million inbox messages but what e v e r

I limited myself to five here because if I didn’t I’d just start listing every scene they interact in, and nobody wants that. or, well, I don’t want that, I’d lose a lot of time that way.

putting this under a cut because...yeah. long.

1. the original Yunmeng Shuangjie conversation in episode 14.

like! augh.  I’m not sure that this was the place where I was officially painfully ridiculously sold on their relationship as my favorite part of the show so far but it was a major contributing factor. There’s just so much going on here! In the way that it speaks to their history together, and in their family, and the roles they play.

I love, too, that Wei Wuxian specifically goes “twin jades? pfff. we’ve got our own thing going on that’s just as cool” because it’s doing double duty of making them a special thing in their own right and also, maybe even more importantly, reaffirming their bond as primary where Jiang Cheng at this point has been...well, a little uneasy about the space Lan Wangji has started to occupy in Wei Wuxian’s life. To say the least.

But maybe even most of all why this is such a gut punch for me personally: the promise Wei Wuxian is making to Jiang Cheng is one that you, the viewer, know isn’t going to work out. Thanks to the opening of episode one, and their interaction in episode two, it’s abundantly clear that something is going to go horribly wrong, and this close relationship is going to break, catastrophically.

And me being me I love the piquant taste of dramatic irony in the morning.

2. the argument in episode 27-28.

This is one of those moments where I never fail to get extremely emotional about it every time I watch this scene because it is so very ouch. The way that Jiang Cheng approaches Wei Wuxian with this guarded wariness, this prickliness and doubt, and how that breaks by the end into his desperate plea: “if you continue to protect them, then I can’t protect you!”

(different subtitles, so sue me.)

and I cry.

I’ve written before about how there’s...so much going on here. To break it down a little bit how about a bulleted list:

Jiang Cheng has been personal witness to - and personal target off - the current political winds, in a way that Wei Wuxian is not. He’s seeing and hearing how the cultivation world is talking about Wei Wuxian. He can see the way the wind is blowing very, very clearly, and what he sees is that Wei Wuxian is doomed if he stays the course - something Wei Wuxian either doesn’t or doesn’t want to see.

Jiang Cheng desperately wants Wei Wuxian to come home. Wei Wuxian can’t without abandoning the people relying on him, which would be both an ethical and emotional violation for him. His conflicting loyalties are coming to a head here but he still wants to have it both ways.

What Wei Wuxian sees as a mercy or releasing of obligation, a way of keeping Yunmeng Jiang and specifically Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli safe, Jiang Cheng sees as an abandonment/rejection - an affirmation that he, once again, just doesn’t matter enough.

It’s just...I cannot get over how clear-eyed Jiang Cheng’s assessment is. Whether or not you agree with his choices, he’s right, on a factual level. And I think Wei Wuxian knows that. But he’s on this road and he’s going to see it through, and he refuses to accept that he might not be able to. 

and I just. I cry.

3. the conversation post resurrection.

Jiang Cheng cornering Wei Wuxian with the very animal he swore to always protect him from! party foul, yes, but also oh boy psychologically crunchy in every way. This confrontation, their first after Wei Wuxian’s resurrection where they both know and know they know the truth of who Wei Wuxian is, is so full of pain and hurt and anger.

it’s just! so much. Jiang Cheng’s see-sawing back and forth between “why didn’t you come back home!!!” (the question he’s always had) and “why aren’t you still dead!!!” Wei Wuxian murmuring about wanting to go back to Lotus Pier, calling for Jiang Yanli (Jiang Yanli, the biggest wound between them, her absence so very palpable in that moment).

There’s so much both of them want here, and so much that’s not being said, and can’t be said. The overwhelming pressure of their history - Jiang Cheng’s sixteen years of grief and anger raw all over again, and Wei Wuxian's exhaustion and misery.

it’s excruciatingly painful and I love it.

4. the conversation in Guanyin Temple.

so I spent, like, most of the latter half of the show waiting for a moment between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng where things would break and I’d get the emotional sibling catharsis feelings that I needed and boy did this deliver. like! other people have written far more coherent meta about this scene than I probably ever could because when I think about it I’m just sort of reduced to dragging my hands down my face and making distressed noises punctuated with wild gestures and cries of “THEM!!!”

the crying! the ugly crying, the ugly emotions, the big secret between them that set off the beginning of the rift in their relationship laid bare. it’s this moment of naked emotional vulnerability for both of them, and while it doesn’t resolve things, while it leaves them both in a place, I think, where they’re prone to go ‘well, he’s done with me now’ - it also opens a door where that doesn’t have to be the case. Wei Wuxian’s tenderness. The gesture he makes here, too, touching Jiang Cheng’s face, echoes the gesture Jiang Yanli makes touching Wei Wuxian’s just before she dies.

(echoes what jiang fengmian does before he goes off to die. how’s that for pain?)

it’s just. wild gestures. them. oh, boys. so much hurt, so much pain, and at the root of it so much goddamn love.

I’m going to go on and slide in here additionally the moment where Jiang Cheng tosses Wei Wuxian Chenqing because boy does that say a lot in a relatively simple gesture.

5. meeting in Yiling with Jiang Yanli.

This scene is...I described it from Jiang Cheng’s POV remembering in a fic as "like looking at children in the path of a rockslide, unaware of what was bearing down on them, such a short time away. Oblivious.” and that’s how I feel watching it. It’s so cute, and sweet, and Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian love Jiang Yanli so much, and Jiang Cheng has suggested Jiang Yanli ask Wei Wuxian to give his unborn nephew his courtesy name and then gets embarrassed when she outs him about it, he and Wei Wuxian tease each other.

I love it. There’s just this sweetness and happiness that they’re having, in this moment, in this tiny courtyard,  because this little separate hidden place is the only place, now, where they can be together, where they can be family as they once were.

And it’s not going to last. And the viewer, once again, can feel the gathering storm bearing down on them, and know it’s only going to end in tragedy.

This is the last time they see each other before it all goes wrong.

BONUS:

#thanad zid #conversating #but also like. so many others alkjsdlkfjsdf #long post for ts #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #yunmeng shuangjie #like...seriously though. the golden core reveal? the confrontation in the shrine? #their fight after lotus pier falls where jiang cheng makes a go of strangling him? #jiang cheng giving himself up? #EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING #the sad queer cultivators show #lise does meta #...i guess

[platypanthewriter]

The Devil Looks After His Own (Ch.1)

Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV--but luckily, it doesn't work, and a buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later.  Years later, they're best friends, and Steve still doesn't know the truth.  For @magniloquent-raven​!

When his dad finally locked him out of the office, Steve spent the morning sitting in the hallway playing with his Legos.  When his stomach growled, he knocked quietly, and his dad’s voice on the phone continued, so he went in the kitchen to forage.  He found Cheez-its, and olives, and a tightly wrapped triangle of gooey cheese that tasted good in the middle, but had gross, chalky skin, so he licked the middle out and stuffed the rest down the side of the garbage. 

He walked back into the front room and flipped the TV on, just to make some noise.  “In the future,” came the syrupy voice of the man on the screen, “—we’ll have robots to be our helper-friends!”  He chuckled to himself, leaning back in his leather chair, and folding his arms on his huge wooden desk.  “But that doesn’t work for us now, I hear you say.”  

The camera zoomed out, and he waved to a woman with curly hair and long fangs, sitting on the edge of his desk.  She was wearing way less clothes than the man was, and Steve frowned, wondering whether she was cold.  “Our summoning spells are assembled by real lawyers, and airtight!” the man said, and the woman nodded, smiling, and holding up a picture with a lot of numbers and lines.  Steve squinted at it guiltily—he’d seen the man’s ads before, and he mostly remembered the picture, probably.  

The helper-friend lady looked nice, he thought.  

“Too good to be true?  We even include offerings!  Bat eyes, tears of the innocent—” he said, smiling and holding up jars, as ‘ethically sourced from internment facilities’ scrolled across the screen.

Steve frowned around, and then grabbed his LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, the most complex set he owned.

“Honey,” the man told the woman on screen, and she opened a can of soda, and poured it over her own head, still smiling.  “Perfectly compliant,” he said.  “And just wait, there’s more!  Any purchase comes with a matching, complimentary summoning sigil for a protective home guardian!  Just drip a drop of fluid—” he winked at the camera, and it showed something red splashing across the page, as his voice suddenly screamed “Augh-no!  Don’t—”

Steve had already grabbed the remote and hit the fifteen-second replay, and began drawing out the picture.  He hit it again and again, coloring in different colors, and wishing people in commercials didn’t always yell.  He drew the circle carefully with a piece of thread from the long fringe on a throw-blanket he wasn’t allowed to mess up, then folded it carefully again, grimacing.  He colored in the crosses with a different color so it looked nicer, and drew the little castle wall-looking-bit.  He added a horse.  

When it came time to drip fluid on it, he clicked the TV off, and got a juice box from the fridge, figuring apple juice was way less gross than blood, and it wouldn’t ruin his picture.  

Steve stared at the picture, holding the juice box, and thinking.  He imagined not eating alone.  He imagined the nice lady smiling at his Legos—maybe she’d like the castle set, he thought, like in her picture.  He’d just summon her for a little, he thought—just a few minutes, enough to make them both a PB&J.    

His stomach growled—again—and he frowned at his dad’s office door, sighed, plonked the Camaro in the middle of the picture, and squeezed the juice box to spray over it all.  

Nothing happened.  Steve stared at the picture for a long moment, his eyes welling up with tears, and then kicked the couch.  It felt like his foot broke from the impact, and he spun around in a circle, muttering a lot of words he wasn’t allowed to say in the house.  He hopped into the kitchen, sniffling, and got out the peanut butter, jam, and a spoon—but instead of getting the bread, he sat on the floor in front of the sink.  

He felt a sinking sensation of guilt as he stuck the spoon right into first the jam, and then the peanut butter, sticking the whole spoonful straight in his mouth and licking it off.  Once he’d licked the spoon, he stuck it back in the jar, his heart pounding.  The peanut butter was crunchy and salty, and the strawberry jam was stickily sweet.  He wondered whether his mom would check the bread and know, and cried harder as he chewed, hugging his knees.

The floor in the front room creaked, and he startled so hard the spoon jabbed hard between his upper molars.  He scrambled to his feet, fumbling the lids back on the jam and the peanut butter and shoving them under the sink, his heart thudding in his chest, but nobody came in.  

The couch squeaked softly, and Steve edged to the doorway, the big spoon hanging forgotten from his mouth, to see a tall man with horns and no clothes at all lying across the couch, right up against the forbidden throw blanket.  He raised his eyebrows—they had shiny jewelry in them—and breathed out smoke, indoors, as he looked up at Steve.

He then yelped and scrambled to fall with a thud over the back of the couch.  “The fff—what are you doing here, kid,” came his voice, from behind the couch.  “Where the—where on earth are your parents?!”

“Unhm,” said Steve, who hadn’t ever seen a man wear so much jewelry before, and wondered how much it hurt to have jewelry in your dick.  He took the spoon out of his mouth.  “Uh.  Dad—dad is—in there,” he pointed vaguely toward his dad’s office, his eyes still fixed on the horns sticking up past the back of the couch.  “Do...do you want me to...get him?”  

The naked man popped up behind the couch again, looking kind of mad, and Steve stepped further back, watching the golden chains and jewels glint in the light from the window.  “...you look very pretty,” Steve said politely, and the man groaned, grabbing the blanket as he stood, and wrapping it around his waist like a towel.

“Why the—why are you here,” he hissed, and Steve swallowed.

“I’ll go in my room,” he tried to say, but it came out kind of a weird whisper, and he realized he was starting to cry again, so he turned away, and the man scrambled from behind the couch.

“Wait!  Kid,” he said, and Steve stopped to see him step and spin kind of gracefully around the glass coffee table without catching the blanket on it.  All his nails were pointed, and painted black.  “I’m sorry—” he cut off, staring down at Steve’s picture, and the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.  

“...what’s this,” he asked, like maybe he was mad again, and Steve wondered, suddenly, whether his mom had forgotten to lock the door, and the man was a naked burglar, looking for clothes to steal.  

“I wanted to meet the TV lady,” Steve admitted, trying to take it, but the man snatched it up.  “Um, are you—are you a burglar?”

“Am I—” the man glared at him—his eyes looked like fire, weirdly, the blue fire on the stove—but he didn’t look mad at Steve, yet, so Steve just bit his lips together.  “...you drew this?” the horny man asked, more quietly, and Steve nodded.  “Why?” he asked, and Steve knew he was in trouble—even if the man wasn’t supposed to be there, grownups always told each other when Steve did something dumb, like steal the TV man’s picture, which was the point Steve realized he was a stealer, a thief, like on TV.  America’s Most Wanted, he thought, his heart pounding.  

“Why draw this?” the man asked softly, crouching down, and Steve sniffled again, wiping his eyes.  

“He said a friend would come,” he admitted, wondering whether kids had their own jail, or whether he’d be in the one with all the guys from movies, who chased teenagers with chainsaws and knives.  

“You wanted a friend?” the man asked, but even softer, and Steve nodded, clenching his fingers in the sides of his pants.

“I didn’t mean to steal it,” he whispered.  “I won’t do it again.”

“...okay,” the man said.  “Don’t—don’t cry, it’s okay, are—are you okay?” he held his hands up like he was gonna touch Steve’s shoulders, then crossed his arms, frowning.

“I’m okay,” Steve nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  “...are, um,” he asked, cautiously, “—are you supposed to be...in here?”

“Uhhh,” said the man.  “Definitely not naked, right?” he laughed, kinda nervously, Steve thought, and he snapped his fingers.  The throw blanket turned into shiny fringed pants.  

“Ohhh,” Steve whispered, impressed.  “How’d you do that?”

“Oh,” the man said, grimacing.  “Um, let’s talk about you summoning demons, okay?”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, sighing, but then a thought occurred to him.  “Uh, do you want a PB&J?”

 As they ate, the man spread Steve’s picture on the table, with the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.

“So this is a circle to summon the demon Belial,” he said, low but kind of intense, like Steve was in trouble, but mostly he looked sort of worried.  

Steve swallowed his bite of sandwich.  “...it’s not exactly the same,” he pointed out, a little sulkily.  “I added a horse.”

“...so you did,” said the man, turning it to look.  “...look, summoning demons is very dangerous—”

“My dad says there aren’t bad demon summoners,” Steve told him.  “He says there are bad plumbers, and bad strippers, but if you’re talking to somebody, and they summoned a demon, they must be good at it, because you’re talking to them, and—and he was on TV—”

“Strippers,” said the man weakly, and Steve realized he was being rude to his guest.  

“I’m Steve,” he said.  “What’s your name?”

“...Bel,” said the man, then, hurriedly, “Bill?”

“My mom likes Billy Idol.  And Billy Joel,” Steve suggested, and the man nodded.

“That’s a normal name that I definitely have,” he nodded, grimacing, “—Billy, I’m Billy.”

Steve considered this.  

“Are you listening, though?  About demon-summoning?  Even a lot of adults have a hard time with it—” Billy started again, holding Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 to his chest like it was a present for him.

“The guy on TV said it was for a helper friend,” Steve told him, feeling a little guilty, but really not too much, since it hadn’t even worked.

“Steve,” Billy said, pressing his hands together over his mouth.  The chain hooking his earring to the ring in his lip swayed and made a bell sound, and Steve stared at it, then remembered to nod.  “Okay,” Billy said.  “Could you promise me you won’t try to summon any more demons?”

“My dad says—” Steve started, again, but he cut off guiltily as Billy slumped back in his chair, groaning.

“Look,” Billy tried again, rubbing his face.  “Summoning demons isn’t like inviting somebody over, okay?  They have to come.  Now imagine if someone called you up to—” he frowned down at himself, biting his lips with pointed teeth, and cleared his throat.  “Uh,” he said, swallowing, and snapped his fingers with both hands—and all the jewelry vanished.  Even his cool horns were gone, Steve realized, and he had clothes on, a little tiny black shirt that showed his belly button, and shiny plastic-y silver pants.  

It was disappointing, but Steve looked into Billy’s flameless eyes and blunt-toothed smile and politely said “...you still look nice...I guess.”  Billy snorted a laugh.  “...I’ve never seen pants like that,” Steve offered, and Billy frowned down.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, then shook his head.  “No, wait.  Okay.  What if you don’t want to go somewhere—”

“People make me go places all the time,” Steve said darkly, remembering the week before, when his mom had drug him in for a haircut that made him look like G.I. Joe.  He rubbed his still-fuzzy head, glowering.

“Uh,” Billy said, trying not to smile, but spinning the tires on the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve was a little proud that he liked it so much.  “Okay, a stranger.  What if a stranger makes you go somewhere you don’t want to go?”

“That’s kidnapping,” Steve said, breathlessly, his eyes huge, and Billy pointed the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 at him.  

“Yes.  When you summon a demon, you’re kidnapping them, okay?  And they can’t leave unless you let them go.”

“But the man on the TV said—” Steve whispered, then stopped, remembering how he’d made the almost-naked woman pour soda on her own head.  Steve covered his mouth, suddenly realizing she might not have wanted to be almost-naked, maybe the man had taken her clothes off, like Steve with a doll.  “Oh no,” he whispered.  “I’m so glad it didn’t work!”

“Ah, yeeeah,” Billy said, grimacing.  

“Um,” said Steve, reaching a hand over to retrieve his prize LEGO kit, and Billy snatched it back.  Steve narrowed his eyes.  “You were looking for my parents, but my dad didn’t say you were coming over, are you my mom’s friend?”

Billy winced, grimacing.  “Where is she?”

“She’s at work,” Steve told him.  “Daycare is too expensive, so over the summer I have to be good.”

“Wait, are there any grownups here?!” Billy asked, looking horrified, and Steve nodded, pointing down the hall again.

“My dad.  He locks the door.”

“...What if you drown in the bathtub, or try to eat your own fingers, or something,” Billy breathed, and Steve glared at him.

“I’m not little,” he hissed, sliding forward in his chair a little, so his toes reached the floor.  “I’m not a baby.”

“You don’t need a friend, you need a nanny,” said the recently smoking, horned, pierced and tattooed man before him.  “And that’s, uh, that’s why your mom sent me.”

“...did she really send you?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes, and Billy crossed his arms on the table, hugging Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 against his chest.  

“Yeah.  Yeah, she did,” he said defiantly, and Steve relaxed a little, because Billy sounded like a teenager, just a bigger kid, really.  “She said to put less peanut butter and jelly in your sandwiches,” he pointed to Steve’s overflowing PB&J-bread-burrito, looking smug, “—and just make another sandwich.”

Steve gasped, staring at him, and feeling absolutely betrayed.  “You tricked me!  Why’d you let me make it!”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell,” Billy said, and Steve’s heart was won.

 Billy won it further when he scooted his plate aside to admire the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve drug him back to his room to show him the kits he had.  “Come on,” he said, excited and rude, and Billy slowed way down, grimacing, and flickering back to his pretty bejeweled self, with horns.  

“How about you ask if I wanna do things,” he said stiffly, slowing almost to a stop, and smoking more around the eyes.  

“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded.  “Sorry.  Can I show you my room?”

“Or maybe, ‘Hey, Billy, want to see my room,’” Billy suggested, taking a deep breath.  

“Okay,” Steve nodded.  “Want to see my room?”

“Sure,” Billy nodded, relaxing like it was some big relief.  

It occurred to Steve maybe it was.  “Sorry,” he said quickly.  “I’ll be polite, I won’t get you fired.”

“Um, yeah,” Billy laughed, shaking his head.  “Maybe don’t, uh, order me around.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, thinking hard about it, so he’d remember.  “I won’t say ‘Billy, pick me upOOF—” he wheezed, as Billy yanked him into the air with one arm around his waist.  “Sorry,” Steve wheezed, his feet kicking.  “I-I’ll say Billy would you, sorry—”

“Shit!  Damn it, I mean, uh, sorry,” Billy said, grimacing, and sat Steve back on his feet, straightening his clothes.  

“I’ll remember,” Steve told him, wide-eyed, and then, because Billy looked guilty, “It’s okay.”

 He tried hard to remember, and he usually did, because Billy got all tense and weird if Steve forgot, like he was trying to move underwater, and Steve had to yell “If you want!  If you want!” as Billy grimly bit into the crunchy, burned eggs Steve had made.  

“That was disgusting,” Billy told him, that time, and Steve couldn’t stop laughing, waving his hands.

“Okay, okay, can I—can I just tell you you can ignore me?  I won’t tell, you can just—just do things if you want to—”

“...you sure about that?” Billy asked, snorting softly, like Steve might be kidding, and Steve nodded frantically.  

“Yeah!  Yes!  Don’t, um, don’t eat any more eggshells, I’m sorry!”

“...okay,” Billy said, smiling down at him.  “When am I not supposed to listen?”

“Uh,” said Steve, blinking at him.  “I mean.  You should—you should always listen—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“No, you should!” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s hand and tugging it.  “What if something’s gonna hit you in the head?  You should listen,” he nodded, thinking about it.  “But once you listen, you should decide what you want to do.”

“What if I wanted to...eat you?” Billy asked him, reaching down to tickle Steve’s stomach, and Steve yelped, giggling.

“You won’t eat me,” Steve told him, leaning into Billy, to give him a hug.  “You’re nice.”

Billy sighed, and hugged him back, tightly.

 Billy was better at some things than other people, like clothes, Steve thought, because Billy was always pointing people’s outfits out, and explaining how they weren’t as good at picking them.  He wasn’t as good at other things, though.  Steve sat down one night to heated-up pasta sauce over Cheerios, and he didn’t want to say anything, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right.  Billy gave Steve’s mom a glass of water that was completely frozen because she said she wanted it iced, and when Steve’s dad told Billy to make burgers, Billy didn’t buy buns, or tomatoes, or anything, and he threw the meat in the pan until it caught fire.  

Steve was pretty sure none of it was a joke, because Billy frowned between the glass and Steve’s mom, and grimaced over the burgers after Steve’s dad stomped away, and Steve caught him whispering into the phone to the neighbor, hiding half in the fridge like nobody was gonna notice it was open.  

“Billy,” he whispered, and Billy jumped, as Steve crouched down next to him.  The breeze from the inside of the fridge was nice, but it hardened all Steve’s suspicions, because no grown-up had ever left the fridge open, he was pretty sure.  

“Yeah,” Billy muttered back, guiltily.

“...how old’re you,” Steve asked, and Billy flinched.  

“Older than you,” he shot back, and that Steve was willing to give him, because Billy wasn’t human, and some things lived different amounts of time, like trees.  

“Are you a kid too?” Steve asked, and Billy glared at him.

“No,” he said defiantly, and Steve nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows, until Billy groaned, deflating, sitting against the edge of the fridge and letting his legs sprawl out across the floor.  “Look, I’m trying—”

“I won’t tell,” Steve said, reaching out and squeezing Billy’s hand.  “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“...teenager...maybe,” Billy admitted, grimacing.  

“Okay,” Steve said, nodding.  “Billy,” he said, trying to sound like a parent, or a teacher, and Billy’s shoulders hunched.  “You need to tell me you need help,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips.  “I can help with things like human food.”

“You are human food,” Billy said, fondly, yanking Steve into a hug.

 Most of the people that did magic like Billy ate kids occasionally, Steve found out, as he was reading his Dictionary of the Magic Realms that night under the covers, by flashlight.  Maybe they were mean kids, Steve thought, or maybe Billy was just way nicer.  “Are you a fairy?” he asked the next morning, and Billy laughed.  

“Depends on what you mean,” he said, grinning over.  “Is that slang for—”

“Can you fly,” Steve interrupted, because that seemed the most important, and Billy cocked his head.  

“...actually, I probably could,” he said, considering.  “Not like you mean, though.  I don’t have secret butterfly wings, or anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said, because he'd been privately imagining Billy as they’d first met, with the jewelry and the horns and wings, and it seemed to fit.

“...do you want me to have wings?” Billy asked, sitting aside the dish he was drying, and bending down sideways to try and meet Steve’s eyes.  “I can change form—”

“No!” Steve told him, waving his hands.  “No, I know you like looking like...that.”

“...that,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at himself.  “You saying I need to do better?”

“You’re just—normal,” Steve said quickly.  “Instead of pretty.”

“Instead of,” Billy growled.

“I mean,” Steve yelped, waving his hands.  “Pretty with all the jewelry!  And the horns.”

“I was gonna say,” Billy said, reddening.  “If you’re saying I’m not pretty—”

“Of course you’re pretty,” Steve said, rolling his eyes and sighing, but grinning, too.  He patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Well,” Billy said, clearing his throat, and turning back to the dishes.  “All right, then.”

 A few days later, Billy was moving the kettle off the flame for hot chocolate, and a big gout of steam belched up over his arm, which shimmered into all over scales.  Steve yelped and grabbed him, yanking him over to the sink, and ran water over it, all the while panicking.

“Billy, are you a mermaid?!” he asked, spraying Billy’s arm, and trying not to cry.  “Are you a mermaid, are you okay, are hot things bad for mermaids—”

“I’m okay,” Billy told him, turning off the water, and hugging him close.  “I’m not a mermaid, Stevie, I’m not hurt.”

“O-okay,” Steve gasped, grabbing Billy’s arm to run his fingers over it.  “You—you’re okay,” he whispered, leaning into Billy’s hugs.  “...are you a...lizard?  Or a snake?”

“Nope, not exactly,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve groaned.

The rest of my Harringrove works

#Harringrove #Demon!Billy #Summoner!Steve #Unintentionally?? #Kind of?! #BFFs #Kid!fic #Comedy

[goblinswamps]

“Howdy sir, can I top you up?”

Abigail wraps her hands around her mug and smiles thinly, the chapstick on her lips feeling suddenly too slick. “No, thanks,” she says, even though her mug is barely half-full at this point, all the warmth leaching out and into her palms. “I’m good.”

“Me too,” Max pipes up before they can be asked. “Can we get some fries, though?”

“Sure thing!” the waitress says brightly – her nametag says Lauren, but Abigail isn’t feeling particularly generous. She focuses on the smoothness of the mug under her fingers, the chip in the rim where the diner doesn’t have enough spare cash to buy new ceramics, and tries to filter out the click-click-click of the waitress’ heels as she walks towards the kitchen. Max leans over and takes her hand.

“The fries are better than the service,” Max promises, smiling apologetically. Abigail swallows the heavy feeling in her stomach and musters up a smile in return.

“It’s okay,” she says. It sounds hollow.

“It’s not,” Max says, expression suddenly serious. “Here, finish off my coffee. I can feel myself getting all jittery with caffeine; I’ll probably have a heart attack or something if I drink much more.” They pour the rest of their coffee into Abigail’s mug, slopping a little over the side and grimacing as they grab a handful of napkins to mop it up. “Shit, sorry. Did I get you?”

Abigail smiles again, more genuinely this time. “No, you’re good. Incurably clumsy, though.”

“Clumsiest bitch alive,” Max proclaims proudly, tossing their dark hair over their shoulder and then making a face. “You got a tie?”

Abigail hands over one of the hair ties clinging to her wrist, watching Max’s clumsy fingers tie their hair into a neat ponytail with uncharacteristic deftness. It’s one of the things they never seem to fumble, for some reason. Abigail pretends she doesn’t find it as endearing as she does.

“Cheers,” Max says, letting the hairband snap into place and pulling out a couple of strands near the front to frame their round face.

“No problem,” Abigail says, and tries not to think about how soft she knows Max’s hair is, the smell of the coconut shampoo they use because it keeps their hair moisturised better than expensive brands even though it’s one of the cheapest out there. “What did you wanna talk about?”

“Oh, I- let’s have our fries first, yeah? I’m starving.”

“…Sure,” Abigail says, even though their fries are probably a good ten minutes away and she’s been dying to know what Max is thinking ever since she got their text to meet here. “How’s your day gone so far?”

Max, looking perceptibly grateful, seizes on the topic immediately. “I didn’t wake up until like 2pm, honestly,” they admit, grinning. Abigail hides a laugh behind her mug, taking a gulp of lukewarm coffee. “Dad was yelling about something so I snuck out the window and spent a few hours in the woods. Hey, you wanna see the bones I found?”

“No! Gross, you haven’t even cleaned them yet!” Abigail says, wrinkling her nose, laughing as she dodges what looks like a dirty bird skull as Max thrusts it towards her. “Is that just in your pocket? You got pockets full of bones in the middle of this respectable diner?”

The waitress, who was bringing their fries over with a smile, pauses as she reaches the table and hears that sentence, her hesitant look morphing to horror when she sees the skull in Max’s hand. Abigail thinks there might still be some flesh on this one, if she looks closely, which she decides not to do.

“Fries,” the waitress says quickly, almost throwing them onto the table and fast-walking away.

“Thanks!” Max shouts after her, and abruptly they and Abigail are both laughing too hard to breathe, Max’s hand almost crushing the bird skull before they shove it back in the plastic bag in their pocket so they can press their knuckles against their eyes. “Did you see her fucking face? Oh my god…”

“Max! Don’t touch your face with your dead bird hand, come here-” Abigail gets out the hand sanitiser she’s been carrying around pretty much ever since they met, because Max has a habit of getting themself into improbable and unhygienic situations on the regular. Max holds out the hand and lets Abigail squirt some sanitiser into their palm, smacking their hands together a couple of times before rubbing it into their skin.

“Thanks, Abi,” they say fondly. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, well,” Abigail says, flustered as always by the affectionate tone. “Can’t have you getting necrogerms all over these apparently delicious fries, can I?” She takes one and bites into it and jeez, Max wasn’t kidding – they’re crunchy on the outside, fluffy and soft on the inside, perfectly salted and maybe even lightly dusted with paprika? Abigail finishes the fry in one bite and immediately takes another, dipping it in the provided paper cup of ketchup. “These are so good!”

“Told you,” Max says smugly, taking a fry of their own and biting decisively into it, a flash of sharp teeth. Their tongue darts out to lick up a smear of grease on their broad lips; Abigail averts her eyes. “Okay, so. What I wanted to talk about.”

“Yeah?” Abigail says encouragingly. She watches Max squash a few fries together into one gross, salty, oily lump and shove the whole thing in their mouth. They must be nervous; their eating habits get grosser when they’re anxious.

“Okay, so,” Max says again, “What I wanted to talk about. Okay, so,” and then blurts out in a rush, “I have a crush on you,” through a mouthful of potato. Abigail chokes on her food.

“What?”

“I have a crush on you!” Max says again, their eyebrows pushed together, their eyes screwing shut as though they can’t bear to see Abigail’s response. “I’ve had a crush on you for months and I super don’t want to make this weird and shit but whenever we hang out I just want to kiss you and hold your hand and I can’t stop thinking about what if you were my girlfriend, y’know? It’s okay if you don’t like me that way, honestly, I can deal and I’d rather be friends than not be anything, but I just wanted to tell you in case you, y’know, also maybe like me, but if not then-”

“Oh my god,” Abigail interrupts. “You like me? Like, romantically?”

Max makes a noise like something on the verge of a really painful death. “Augh, yes!”

“Like…” Abigail lowers her voice. “Sexually?”

Max makes a noise like something that is currently experiencing that really painful death. “Do you have t- yes! Romantically, sexually, all of that. God. I want to kiss you and-” There’s a blush rising in the olive skin of their cheeks. “- I want to, ugh, make out with you, and fucking… take you out on dates, and buy you gifts, and do all of that gross shit with you. I want to feed you strawberries on a picnic blanket on a hill, and play your weird porn games-“

“They’re dating sims, not porn!” Abigail defends automatically, a well-worn argument. Max’s eyes open and they flash an unusually shy smile, the familiarity of the protest seeming to soothe their nerves.

“Whatever they are, I wanna play them with you. I want to watch horror movies with you even though they scare my ass clean off; I want to do anything and everything you want together. I know we’ve only known each other for like, a year, but I really, really like you, and I just… thought I should tell you. I think I’m kind of in love with you?”

“Oh,” Abigail says, stunned.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Did I ruin everything? Fuck, I did, didn’t I, let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything and we can-“

“It’s been a year and three months,” Abigail interrupts. “That’s how long we’ve known each other. I put it into my phone a while back so I’d know our friendiversary.”

“Aw,” Max says. “Gay.”

“Yeah, actually,” Abigail says, aiming for casual and missing it completely. “For about 8 months, now.”

“Wait. Wait a fucking s- you like me? Like, girlfriend-like?”

“Yeah,” Abigail says, grinning. “Why do you think I keep stealing your clothes?”

“Oh my god… I thought that was just because your parents wouldn’t buy you feminine clothes and mine won’t buy me anything else!”

“I like wearing your clothes! I steal your plaid all the time, too, not just the feminine stuff. Not that I don’t appreciate you letting me keep the fem stuff,” she adds. “But I’d totally have stolen half your wardrobe even if your parents let you have all the butch stuff you want.”

“You bitch!” Max exclaims, laughing. “I can’t believe you’ve been using your shitty parents as an excuse to steal all my stuff!”

“I didn’t know you felt the same!” Abigail says defensively. “I just like smelling like your cologne, but I couldn’t exactly just say that!”

“Oh my- we are the epitome of useless lesbians,” Max groans, dropping their head to smack against the table. “I could’ve kissed you 8 whole months ago?”

“I mean, you still haven’t kissed me now, let alone 8 months ago,” Abigail says, hoping that Max will take it as the challenge it is. They do, of course, smiling in a way that’s somehow both sharp and soft, standing up to come round to Abigail’s side of the booth. Abigail shuffles towards the window to give them room to sit down; they do, kneeling on the soft padding of the bench and reaching out to take Abigail’s sweaty hands in theirs. Their almost-black eyes are mesmerising this close, the dark freckles clustered across their nose individually visible in a way that they aren’t from across a table.

“Hey,” they say softly, pressing their thumbs against Abigail’s palms, both of them just taking a moment to appreciate skin against skin, the intimacy of the movement spellbinding.

“Hey,” Abigail says, voice hoarse and stuttering. She’s been thinking about kissing Max for so long, been daydreaming about it looking at their lips, but now that the moment is here she thinks she might pass out with nerves before Max can even kiss her.

“You okay?” Max says, tone still so gentle. Abigail is suddenly glad the diner is so quiet, so empty; she doesn’t want anyone else seeing this.  

“I’m just… nervous,” Abigail confesses. “I’ve only ever kissed one person before. What if I-”

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months,” Max interrupts. “You could probably sprout fucking tentacles at this point and I wouldn’t care.”

“Oh, well, in that case I should probably tell you,” Abigail starts, trying and failing to keep a serious expression; Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners, their lips curving upwards, and then there’s soft, warm pressure against Abigail’s mouth. Max kisses her gently, their hands reaching up to cup Abigail’s jaw, not seeming to care about the roughness of her skin, the bump of a nearly-healed scab against their fingertips where Abigail cut herself shaving a few days ago. Their lips taste of coconut, just like their hair smells of it, and for a second Abigail forgets to even kiss back, so caught up in how good they feel that her brain goes completely offline. Max pulls back ever so slightly and whispers, “This is usually a two-person thing, Abi,” against her lips, and they both laugh quietly for a second.

“But you were doing so great by yourself,” Abigail murmurs. Max laughs a little louder, tucking their face against her neck and snaking a hand down to hold one of Abigail’s again, both their palms kinda sweaty now. Abigail doesn’t even care; it’s perfect.

“Dork,” they say, and now the fondness in it takes a different meaning, one that makes Abigail’s chest feel a little too big and too small all at once.

“You love it,” she says, daring to press a kiss to the top of Max’s head.

Max lifts their head to press another kiss to Abigail’s cheek. “Damn right I do.”

#original #ocs #lesbiansafe #lgbt #lgbt fiction #pthbt.. i dont know if theres any tags for lesbian writers on here :pensive:

[garden-ghoul]

gurguliare replied to your post: gurguliare: garden-ghoul replied to your post …

but yes no one’s pov on grand in this is meant to be uh. completely representative. also i want to see the inverse of this it sounds much better

currently quite badly written bc I wrote this at like 11:30 last night. LET’S SEE WHAT I CAN DO.

“Can you chill out?” mumbles Grand from the corner where he’s slumped under his jacket in an uncomfortable plastic chair. “You’re making it hard to sleep.”

“Grand, I love you, but shut up. My brother is dying.”

“He’ll be fine. He walked in here.”

Yeah, okay, but counterpoint: ever since they left the Tides of Harmony one thing or another is constantly getting in between Echo and their brother.  Independence, Volition, his own stupidity, fucking Advent! And now the door to the medical office.

A hand lands on their elbow and they throw their weight into an attack that kind of blurs and then ends with them blinking dazedly at the floor. Grand is holding them up around their middle. His hands are sweaty, or possibly tar-y. “Okay, I kind of walked into that one. But seriously, I’ve never met anyone who can have this little chill on the kind of painkillers you’re on.”

“Why am I looking at the floor?”

Grand sighs. “I was going to make you sit down and you tried to break my nose. You’re frighteningly good at that even when you’re high on codeine.” He sets them upright again (augh it is tar) and steers them over to the row of chairs, which Echo briefly thinks are people. The transition from sitting on top of a plasticky white person to sitting in a chair is awkward, but after that it’s not too hard to pick insistently at the cuff of their jacket while staring intently at the door.

Grand nudges them in the arm and the cuff of the jacket falls out of their mouth. “What?”

“Look, something incredibly distracting.”

It is. It’s Overture, sketched in light and in miniature on the floor in front of them. It dances in a way that’s half-familiar, like one of them isn’t remembering correctly how the Reverie forms are supposed to go--and right now it’s not necessarily Grand. Then it pulls out three swords, one from its back and one from each hip. It’s not very good with them. If Echo had three arms they would own at sword dancing, but Grand doesn’t know shit about it. “You don’t know shit about sword dancing. If I had three arms...”

Overture fades away as Grand constructs a light-Echo and kind of... explodes them. In the sense of an exploded model. Human bodies aren’t supposed to do that? Grand seems to be trying to design an anchor platform for an extra arm. How does he know what shape all of Echo’s bones are? What the fuck?

Grand is talking but Echo doesn’t care even more than usual because there’s a noise behind the door. Echo sits up way too fast and then jumps to their feet. Then they double over, and then they regret doubling over because that actually makes it hurt worse. When the door opens they’re kind of slumped back against the wall above the chair trying to clutch their side without touching it.

“Echo,” says Ballad. “Did you do something stupid in the twenty minutes I wasn’t watching you?”

“G-d! You’re one to talk. Get over here. How are you feeling?”

“Hhhhehhh,” says Ballad, a kind of noncommittal sigh. He unsteadily offers his own shoulder for Echo to lean on so they can stand up again. “You didn’t do that much damage.”

“Stop trying to be cool about it. You’re the worst. But you’ve still got some dirty tricks, huh?” They gesture to their injured side where they probably just popped two stitches and started bleeding into their bandages again. Bandages are supposed to go under clothes but Echo will die before they wear a full-length shirt so their jacket keeps flapping out and startling them with the white gauze creeping down their abdomen.

But Ballad just looks at them tiredly, and they think, shit I messed up. Shit, I’m such an idiot when I’m high on painkillers, almost as much of an idiot as when I’m not high on painkillers.

“Ballad, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m sorry for but you look like I should be sorry. Wait, I’m more fucking contrary than that. I’m sorry you suck so much.”

Ballad laughs and tips his head back and runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, me too, kind of. Don’t be sorry. Just be here.” He holds out his arm and after a minute Echo gets that they’re supposed to take it and walk with him. They don’t know where he’s leading them but whatever. That’s his arm, solid and warm and kind of scratchy because of the gauze. “I wish you’d never left the Tides, Echo.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“I know. I keep thinking about how it could have gone. If…”

“What, if you’d gotten to me first? You imagining us in matching–in fucking white coats stealing shit from the Qui Err together? I’d never have joined Advent.”

He gives them a Look. “Don’t be an idiot. You weren’t there. All of this and you still don’t understand why I did it. You think I do things for no reason? You think I do shit just to make you mad? I did that when I was twelve. I thought it was funny when you got angry and cried because I hid your practice sword or some stupid shit. I’m not twelve any more. We all just make the best decision we can see.”

“The thing about staying with Advent is that’s a decision you kept making.”

“Can we not do this, Echo?” Their mouth snaps shut on a retort, and they bite their cheek angrily. “We’re on the same side now. If you want to talk shit about Advent, let’s plan to get everyone else out, all right? But don’t kick up dust and then yell at me for making you cough.”

Echo kind of hates him in that moment for being two years older and for making that so much time. For making them feel like a dumb little kid again who has to have it explained why Dad is angry they broke the rules.

“Let’s find something to eat, okay? We’re both assholes when our blood sugar is low and the last thing I want to do right now is argue with you.”

Echo doesn’t take his peace offering, but neither do they push it away. They glare down the corridor at a couple of Qui Err who are talking a ways away.

“Do you have your own place? Maybe we can make chili.” Echo shrugs. Weirdly they’re not feeling the pretend-it-never-happened thing. He tries again. “Or we could go have lunch with Grand. Dinner. Whatever time of day it is. It’d be a nice way to thank him.”

“For what, exactly?” Someone behind them starts talking so they raise their voice. “Pulling a dumb stunt that coincidentally resulted in us duelling almost to the death? I mean,” they add when he starts giving him The Look again, “I’m fine having lunch with him. I don’t care. But he didn’t really do anything.”

“Echo…”

“I know I’m pissy right now, okay? I’m just having kind of a hard time figuring everything out. G-d, five hours ago I thought I was gonna have to kill you. And now you’re trying to set up a lunch date with Grand Magnificent. I have no fucking clue what’s going on.”

“No, I mean Grand has been walking with us this whole time. Sorry, Grand, I just noticed you. Hey.”

“Hey, Ballad. Lunch sounds great.”

Echo throws their hands into the air. Now Grand Magnificent can be invisible! Maybe he has that power whenever Echo’s brain is messed up. “Okay, I’m probably starving, I guess. Let’s go to fucking... what’s that place called? Applebees?”

“You’re the local,” says Grand.

It’s called The Wasp in the Fig, but whatever. There’s beer, which Grand forbids both of them from having and they get to combine their glares against him. There’s crunchy greasy food. There’s meat. Echo finally stops feeling cold, which is good because half an hour in someone recognizes Grand and Echo has to do their best to explain why this isn’t a security breach and it’s okay that he’s here and you really, really don’t need to call anyone. They leave a 100% tip and drag Grand out, and end up getting dragged out by Grand because ow.

And then they have to see like five people about finding Grand a place to sleep and then they have to show him where it is and by the time they and Ballad get back to Echo’s place Echo is really excited to crack open the bottle of painkillers Doctor Pelagic gave them. 

They lie on the couch with one arm over their eyes, and Ballad sits with his back leaned against the frame, tipping his head to rest on Echo’s ribs. “You did good, tiger,” he says.

“Don’t call me that,” Echo mumbles at the ceiling.

“Big brother privilege.”

“W’ll make chili t’morrow,” Echo sighs. Their free hand falls to Ballad’s shoulder and he squeezes it, and he doesn’t let go.

#disclaimer: I have only been on nontopical painkillers like once in my life and I don't know what it's like #second disclaimer: I know they won't have codeine 100 000 years in the future but having grand say 'space codeine' would sound really stupid #bros before art hoes #mirage blog #fiction