#and then have some sort of memory trigger pull you fully out

[mobbothetrue]

Weird dream. I was myself, visiting the library of my childhood. I wanted to ask them if they still had the comics I liked to read, but the main entrance wasn’t working.

I wound up using a tiny spiral staircase that took me up to the second floor, which meant I had to work my way down to reception instead of starting there. As I did, I realized that a lot had changed— namely, there was suddenly So Much Pokemon Stuff. I stopped for a bit next to one shelf that had 100% guides for every Pokémon game and a bunch of Pokémon plushies. It was explained to me that one librarian in particular was very passionate about completing Pokémon games, and believed everyone should do it.

I finally got to reception, and it was pretty busy— run by three tiny old ladies, who seemed somewhat out of their depths using computers. One looked up at me, smiled, and said “I’m sorry dear, we can’t help you right now, the computer network is too busy.” I nodded, took about three steps away, and then did a swift about face and came back. I explained my purpose— asking if they still had those comics, and ended up watching her extremely slowly peck away at a keyboard in an effort to find out for me. Her name was Shea. She insisted on starting every search by typing ‘Shea wants to know’ into Google. Google, of course, did not know if this one library had these specific comics.

Eventually I suggested she show me to where’s the comics were kept, and I’d look myself. She agreed.

I don’t know where I am. Everything is cold and foggy. I’m cold. Why am I cold. Something above me hisses “there’s intruders,” and I watch as a long, serpentine beast whips away into the fog. Also, I’m not me anymore. I’m Leo RiseOfTheTeenageMutantNinjaTurtles.

I’m also not alone. Casey— specifically future Casey, is sitting in front of me, face filled with concern, reaching out. “I’m so cold,” I tell him, as I take his hand. “I’m so cold.”

Touching him, I become a little more aware. The fog begins to recede. He’s speaking urgently on the phone with someone— “do the gesture,” they urge, “try doing the gesture.”

He traces his fingers over mine, and I recognize it as something my family came up with after the prison dimension, to help me tell what’s real. The fog is gone. I’m not cold. Casey isn’t on the phone, but my brothers are here— I just couldn’t see them before.

I look at Mikey, first. There are several Mikeys. Everyone is acting like this is normal. The other Mikeys aren’t reacting like they can be seen. I look at Raph, same thing, except all the other Raphs are shorter. I look at Donnie. There is a vague haze of purple behind him that suggests more Donnie’s but I cannot look at them, I cannot look away from Donnie’s face, because he’s suddenly so anime. Like, he’s turned into one of those gags where someone’s face is drawn overly glittery and handsome. This fills me with a primal dread and terror so strong I wake up instantly

[masterjedilenawrites]

Here's To Many More

Clone x Reader Life Day Exchange 2024

Echo x reader | 1.9k words

Content: themes of angst - such as having a difficult year and feeling alone, references to past anxiety attacks, hand scars and tremors, comments about life & death, an almost-kiss, themes of hope and joy at the end

Prompts Used: 

"Breathe. Hi, we found you, just breathe for me, okay?"

"Hey there, take it easy. Your body went through a lot."

generally healing after physical & emotional trauma

Note: Hiya @writersnook11, nice to meet you! Holiday angst - what a fun challenge. I ran with a vibe from a Christmas song that's been hitting me in the feels this season - sort of has a melancholy-turned-hopeful tone to it. I linked it at the end but it's not a requirement to listen, just thought I'd pay credit to my inspiration.

Leaves fluttered and rustled against the pavement as your speeder, contributing to the symphony with its own soft hum, drove over them. The suns setting earlier meant an otherwise bustling neighborhood now lay quiet and peaceful in the dark, adorned in their twinkling holiday lights and warmed by their fireplaces and gathered loved ones.

You drove through the rustling and the twinkling, noticing every detail with an odd, sort of detached calmness. You'd been down these lanes countless times in your life, but it was like it was the first time you were truly seeing everything. All the colors and textures and temperatures. So many homes, full of so many people, living so many lives. There was a whole world out here, outside of your head.

Eventually your own home came into sight. You pulled up next to the first bit of empty curb, just one house away, and killed the engine. The hum of the speeder died down, leaving you in still, quiet air. Cold air. You flexed your gloved fingers, grateful you'd been able to scrounge up a pair for the trip, though your poor, frozen nose hadn't been so lucky. You cupped your hands around your face and took a few open-mouthed breaths to generate some heat. It didn't quite do the trick, so you dropped your hands back down into your lap with a sigh. Of course, you could just run inside and get warmed up soon enough. But that would require energy, urgency, things you'd been in short supply of most of the year. So instead, you lingered. Took your time. Paid attention to the sensations of the world around you and not on exhausting thoughts like running.

Something was tickling your face. You ran a finger across your cheek and pulled it back to inspect the tiny flecks of snow now caught on your glove. You wanted to feel them fully so you gingerly took off both of your gloves, finger by finger, until the skin of your hands was exposed. Hands that looked nothing like your own. You knew they were yours, they moved like yours, they felt like yours, but they didn't look like yours. They were scarred and calloused, palms barely able to flatten out as you held them up in hopes of catching more snow. As predicted, your right one immediately started shaking, unable to hold the position without triggering its tremors. You quickly closed your fist and held it to your chest with your other hand. 

It's okay, it's okay. You squinted your eyes shut, trying to keep your breathing steady and not to let your mind wander in all the usual dark places. It's okay. Just breathe.

Just breathe...

Your own inner voice started to shift into the voice of another. A firm, steady voice you had been reaching out to in your memory more often these days.

Breathe. Hi, we found you, just breathe for me, okay?

You cracked your eyes open, half expecting to see his face just as you had in that closet. Panicking. Overwhelmed. Unable to catch your breath until he'd grasped your shoulders and coaxed you into calming down. When you'd opened your eyes and met his, so full of care and understanding, it hadn't mattered that half the party was crowded behind him, staring and whispering nervously. All you had been concerned with was following his gentle instructions, trusting that he'd lead you to safety.

Opening your eyes this time, you of course were met with the darkness of the night, broken up only by the tiny flakes of snow drifting in it. You were still clutching your hand to your chest, but that little well of anxiety that had threatened to rise up had been quelled. You were breathing just fine.

You were fine.

Alone, but fine.

A soft crunching of leaves grabbed your attention. You peered down the sidewalk and saw someone approaching. It could have been worrisome, a mysterious dark figure headed your way you at night. Except you could clearly see one of the limbs ended not in a hand, but a scomp link. There were very few people it could be, and only one given the context.

"Ah, I was hoping it was you! Saw some head-beams, thought I'd come out and see if anyone needed help."

"Hey, Echo." You hadn't known his name when he'd found you hiding in your friend's closet all those months ago, and now you knew him as a friend, too. Perhaps not as close as the ones you'd known since childhood, but he was a good one all the same.

You briefly considered jumping out of your seat and meeting him on the sidewalk, slipping an arm through his and guiding him back inside where it was likely so much warmer and merrier. That's what old you would have done. Before... well, before you became the present you. The one that struggled to think quickly enough to make decisions and just wanted to get through one day without feeling like dead weight.

Thankfully Echo didn't skip a beat. He walked right up to your speeder, opened the passenger door, and slid into the seat next to you.

"You alright?" he asked with a half-smile. But he didn't wait for an answer, knowing you hated the question. "It's been a while since I've seen you. You're looking a lot better."

You couldn't help but return a small smile of your own. You knew he wouldn't lie to you. It felt good to hear you didn't look like such a mess anymore.

"I'm feeling better," you responded.

"Oh?"

"Not great," you quickly caveated. "But better. Fine. I feel fine."

Echo nodded. "I'm really glad to hear that. And I'm really glad you're here. We weren't sure you'd make it."

You were pretty sure you knew what he meant but decided to take the opportunity to indulge in some dark humor.

"What? That I wouldn't come tonight? Or that I wouldn't be alive for another Life Day?"

Rather than smack you upside the head for such a comment, like all of your other friends surely would, Echo merely leveled a look back at you that made you smirk in amusement.

"You know very well I was referring to your annoying habit of canceling plans at the last minute. How many times now have you said you'd be home soon?"

You merely rolled your eyes, refraining from comment. You knew that he knew that you had your reasons for being away for so long. He was only teasing.

Echo reached over and set one of his hands on top of yours. "That said, you did worry me a few times. So yes, I'm really glad you're here. In both senses of the word."

His smile made you feel warm, and the way he was looking at you lit a small but happy fire within your chest. Perhaps that's why you didn't notice how cold your fingers had gotten in the night air without gloves. Though with his hand over your own, Echo could certainly tell.

"And on that note, let's get you inside. Everyone else will be excited to see you, too."

Echo scrambled out as you slowly got your own door open. You shoved your gloves into your coat before they could fall off of your lap as you stood.

"Here, let me," you could hear Echo calling as he hurried around to your side of the speeder. Ever the gentleman. Unfortunately, in his haste, his foot caught on something, maybe a branch or a crack in the pavement, and he went stumbling forward. You were already on both your feet and quickly reached out to help steady him, bracing your arms underneath his.

"Hey there, take it easy. Your body went through a lot this year, too," you smirked a bit as you both caught your breaths from the unexpected activity.

Echo chuckled. He was embarrassed, you could tell by the bright pink flush to his cheeks, but your comment seemed to lighten the mood. That, and the fact you were now standing very close together, still holding each other up. Echo blinked down at you, awkward and confused at first, and then relaxing as his gaze stayed in yours. That quiet stillness of the night you'd been thinking about earlier made its way back. Only now you weren't so alone in it.

Just when a sudden, pleasant thought entered your mind, that maybe he would kiss you, Echo cleared his throat and shifted back. He withdrew his scomp quickly while his good hand softly dragged along your arm as it fell away. A line of goosebumps surged in its wake, causing you to shiver, and unfortunately reminding Echo why he had rushed over here in the first place.

"Time to go inside," he nodded matter-of-factly. And you found you couldn't argue. It was getting pretty cold. So you fell into step beside him as you finally walked the final steps back home.

A wave of warmth and light and laughter hit you as the front door opened. Somewhere between the group hugs and the smell of baked goods, you'd forgotten why you'd been so anxious to come back here all those times. All of your loved ones were here, every single one. Seeing their faces, hearing their voices, was now filling a part of you you hadn't realized had been so empty for so long. The thought would have delighted you had you had the energy for such a strong emotion. So instead you settled for serenity. A calmer, quieter version of happiness. And though you weren't matching everyone else's liveliness, you still found yourself able to keep up with their conversations. You helped where you could, being mindful of your limits but never dwelling on them. And you even joined in on singing an impromptu carol.

Echo stayed close by you throughout the evening. You weren't sure what had happened, or almost happened, between you earlier, and you suspected he was still thinking about it too as you caught him gazing the same way at you several times. You'd be here for a few more nights, as would he, so you were sure there'd be other opportunities to figure things out. Tonight was for catching up and keeping warm and finally putting some of your deepest troubles to bed.

Oh it had been such a long, long year. You'd been tested in ways you never knew possible, each seemingly worse than the last. Your heart often sat heavy within you and several times you'd wondered if you could keep going.

And then... you did.

You pushed through one trial and into the next tribulation, again and again, and eventually you made your way here. To this very spot where you suddenly, finally, felt good. Your body had been through it, but you weren't broken beyond repair. You'd experienced far more than your fair share of grief, but you hadn't lost everything. You weren't thriving, but you also weren't hanging by a thread. You had hope. For the first time in a long time, you were allowing yourself to look ahead.

And toward the end of the night, when you'd all gathered around the fireplace and were holding mugs aloft in a toast to the season, you had your chance to declare your intentions for the future.

"Happy Life Day!" everyone cheered together.

"Happy Life Day," Echo whispered next to you.

You smiled up at him and clinked your mug against his.

"And here's to many more."

Song Inspo: Merry Christmas, Here's to Many More - Relient K

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[raigarwylock]

Ok I need to rant about last legacy and the writing for mc with sage.

The only character i hate in last legacy is mc (sage route cause i haven't read the others yet)

My perspective playing/reading this it upsets me how mc is towards sage because my partner is like, ALOT like sage in the red flag ways. And I've come to love him and embrace him where need be and i know how to love a man like that. Mc how ever does NOT. not to say Entirely doesn't, but there are an annoying (to me) amount of places where mc just feels dumb. there are so many times mc does or say some shit im like hoe what the hell are you doing.

Now as of im writing this ive read chapters 1-8 and i have spoiler context for the rest.

First thing that mc say that annoys me is everytime sage says "im a monster" and their response is "your not a monster" i dislike this because i feel it would be better to just accept him as a monster. He feels like a monster and pushes people away because they constantly have a standard above his head that they want him to reach and are always looking down at him because of that. If mc were to accept hes a monster and say i dont care if you are, that doesn't change how i feel about you/see you i feel like that would have done wonders in the sense of making a deeper connection.

Sage fears hurting mc making the "im a monster" comment as a self deprecative warning. If mc were to say they dont care or they aren't afraid of getting hurt, (kind of like in julians route tbh) would have been the right thing to say in my opinion. It just feels like through out it mc refuses to accept sage as who he is and holding his hand to go from there. There are aspects about him that will not change, like the fact of his corruption and how hard it can be fore him to deal with. That will always be a problem and i feel like mc either doesn't realize it or accept it fully. I completely understand the feeling of having a partner with some sort of "illness" that realistically you could loose them at any minute because of it and i feel like mc never grasps how bad of a thing corruption would be for sage.

Personally in the writing i would have made mc be more aware of this factor that they could loose sage and give them some anxiety from it, perhaps trying to hiding that anxiety and suppress it for the sake of them enjoying the moment they have together, and then later on opening up to sage about that anxiety in a similar way he opens up to mc. Though this could be different in later chapters being ive only read 1-8, but from what ive heard it doesn't get better.

Mc just doesn't care as much about him i feel. Like with my anxiety example, do they actually get like that worried at points or are they kind of just a emotionless husk floating through the story? (maybe not emotionless but yk)

I hate how sage was always treated as purely just the "dumb himbo" when clearly there were times where hes shown to be smart and perceptive enough to not just be dumb. To me it felt like when the weird kid gets reduced to being like the "pet" to a group, or just being dehumanizingly reduced to a simple trait like "dumb". A character like sage to be properly "dumb" and "smart" at the same time has to be written where they have a lot of repressed trauma which causes them to forget things easily, like short term. Hence sage's avoidance of certain topics (could trigger a memory wipe as a trauma response) or spontaneous behavior could have been more rooted in that. Hes in his 30s, hes seen alot and done alot, hes not stupid. Sage as a whole just wasnt written to be that deep and that upsets me honestly. His character as a person and as a design felt like there was so much potential but it was left as like a concept/shell or idea of him without much depth. He feels like a character your supposed to pull back the mask of this hypersexual exterior but only to find there was nothing written or created for him to have anything behind that mask.

Also what annoys me are the choice options of what would probably be considered the "right answer" or the "wrong answer". And now cause there are no endings this doesn't matter but i still want to rant anyway. Specifically in chapter 8 with elowen intruding, and that sage is extremely on edge. I understand the good ending choice being hearing elowen out but im annoyed that the choice that supports HIS feelings and fear of the situation is considered the bad ending. Like ok so saying i agree and trust my partner that I'm also skeptical of this woman who's tried to kill on on multiple occasions is the wrong answer? Its like hes being treated like an animal on a chain and like he cant handle himself, hes a person with thoughts and opinions that have cause and reason not some rabid animal with inexplicable violent outbursts.

As much as they try and play mc off as trusting sage i really feel like they dont. And i appreciate that its written with sage feeling that at times by reacting negatively and saying how mc is just going to be complaining, im just upset it was written like that in general. There should be a balance of the nagging and understanding and mc just nags too much without proper understanding or accepting of his emotions for it to be a good relationship.

I feel like though out all of this the answers are separated into 2 categories that it really feels shouldn't be as separate. You have the blunt "right" answers" that feel as though your just saying them because you have no consequence in the way you say them. They are very "this is what i feel is best for you" and regardless of if they are they feel very devaluing if his emotions. And then the "bad ending" answers feel like what you say to value some one emotions BEFORE you say the good ending answer of being blunt. There were so many times where i wished a "dismissive answer" was going to be actually waiting and properly bringing some issue back up later, but no its "right damn now or not at all" which is just unrealistic in an understanding relationship in general.

In conclusion, sage is a character type that was very much not the writing teams strong suit OR a character type they just did not actually care about enough to flesh out that deeply. And that saddens me.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

I just saw the arcade post and pleaaasee can we get more? Something like arcade reacting to couriers that can speak Latin/or all of the companions reacting to someone that can speak Latin. Ty!

FNV Companions Reacting to a Courier That Speaks Latin

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic/Romantic

Boone will actually pull a gun on you when you say something within his earshot. Even if it was some off-comment thing that some scholar said years ago. He associates the language with the Legion, so you'll have to very quickly explain yourself before he pulls the trigger on you. He'll hesitantly put the gun back down when you do, muttering an apology as he does so. He does feel bad about jumping the gun on you so fast, but you have to understand that it's a knee-jerk reaction from all his years working with the NCR and fighting Legionaries. He doesn't think he'll ever see the language the same way again. It only brings back bad memories, and he'll probably ask if you didn't speak it as much around him. If nothing else, then for his own sanity.

Arcade is... caught off guard? You're either from some sort of Legion territory or, you're a Follower he's never heard about, and he's terrified of it being the latter. He'll be very interested in talking to you further despite his lingering concerns. If you've learned Latin, you probably know many other things, and he'd love to find out how far your knowledge truly goes. He wants to pick your brain apart and see what's hiding underneath and would be glad, ecstatic even, to follow along with you, just to see where it'd take him. It's not every day he meets someone else who has similar interests to his own.

Raul doesn't really care, he just thinks it's neat. Not many wastelanders he meets are educated enough to be able to speak another language, and he's impressed that you managed to accomplish such a feat. Although, he does wish it could've been Spanish instead of a dead language only the slavers speak. He'll give you shit for it, but he's impressed nonetheless.

Lily doesn't understand a word you're saying and just assumes her schizophrenia is acting up again. That being said, she mostly just shrugs her shoulders and nods. She might not know what's happening, but she's sure that she'd probably agree with whatever you're saying.

Cass just rolls her eyes when she first hears you talking. Of course, she's traveling with a nerd. Don't take it the wrong way, she's not trying to be mean, but what is knowing Latin going to do you in the Mojave? Anyone who still speaks it also speaks English, so it's pretty much useless. All that time you spent studying the language could've been spent doing... well, anything else, and she thinks you're a little stupid for not considering that beforehand. It's not a deal breaker for her, she'll still travel with you, but she's definitely not as impressed as some of the others would be.

Veronica's more confused than anything. They don't speak that back at Hidden Valley, and she hasn't exactly heard the best things about the people familiar with the language. That's not to say she isn't interested in learning more about you or where you even learned to speak it. She's out here specifically to learn more about others, and you seem to be a good start. She'd even be willing to learn a few phrases from you. She's caught off guard but not entirely turned off by the idea.

ED-E will just beep back. You can't fully understand him, and he can't fully understand you. He sees this as a perfectly balanced relationship. Although a few others in the Divide also speak that language, and lucky for you, he remembers where they are. So, he has no issues guiding you straight toward them. Maybe you could be friends!

Rex is more attentive to your orders. His memories from before being The King's dog are a bit foggy but, when he hears you speak Latin, there's a part of him that remembers those words. Or, at least, the tone. Ceasar spoke a lot of Latin to him when he was under his care, and he may inadvertently associate you with the image he formerly had of him: powerful and demanding. He'll be sure to follow your orders thoroughly.

[ariadnewhitlock]

Blue all the Time || Wynne & Ariadne

TIMING: Right after Cass died. LOCATION: A road. SUMMARY: Wynne comes to collect Ariadne after she calls them post-Cass. There's a good deal of a discussion of grief. TRIGGER WARNING: Sibling death referenced.

Wynne was alive.

Wynne was alive and Cass was dead and Ariadne wasn’t sure where she fell in that spectrum of things. She was dead, very clearly, but she was still alive. Cass hadn’t been like that. She was just dead.

Which felt too cruel, to phrase it like that. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to phrase it, in a way that kept things both true and kind. Wynne was on the phone with her, she could hear their breathing (a sound she’d committed to memory months ago) and soon enough, she heard the sound of a car pull up.

“Wynne.” She said their name the second they pulled up. Hung up, and repeated their name once they’d opened the door. “Please - help. I can’t get up.”

—

How similar yet opposite it was like the time they had driven to get Ariadne from that van. This time, too, they had taken Emilio’s car without permission. This time, too, they drove recklessly. This time, too, they could not understand what was happening just yet.

But this time, someone was dead. 

They pulled up, watched the car open and her voice plead with her. Wynne did not believe what she had said about Cass, not fully or truly, but they believed what she was saying now. They stumbled out of the car, rushing around it in a daze and finding her. Tear-stained. Lost. Struck by something familiar. 

They sat down next to her and pulled her head onto their chest, blonde hair in their face and mouth and the entirety of Ariadne close to them. “I —” It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t true. “I —” But Ariadne would not look like that if something bad hadn’t happened. “I have you.”

—

Wynne was here and she let them pull her against them. She hadn’t been able to touch Cass, so Wynne had to be here. Ariadne figured that they maybe needed some sort of code in case Wynne did die and became a ghost, so that she’d know that they were that.

“Hi.” She didn’t even turn to face them but instead just sat, pressed against their body, still shaking. 

“We were –” she began, a hiccup and a snort (and not of the fun, laugh-too-much kind), “at her cave, and she told us all to leave. I tried to stay, but she made me leave – it was dark, and I – she used a thanks I’d given her and then she saved us. Except she died.” Her body began shaking again. “We were supposed to have each other for forever. Or like, a really long time.” She didn’t know what else to say. “I’m not sure what to do. I – it’s not real. It can’t be.”

—

If this was all a lie, some elaborate and cruel prank, then Ariadne was playing her part formidably. The thing was, of course, that Wynne did not think Ariadne capable of such cruelty. Of lying to them like this. Which meant, that if she wasn’t, that there was something very true about the way she was aching in their arms.

Ariadne painted a picture of the cave and it made no sense. Why would Cass die in the cave? Had her father primed her for this, like their own had for their demise? Or had he been cruel, had the clutching hand on her shoulder become something more volatile?

They squeezed Ariadne, who spoke in the language of denial too. “You don’t have to do anything.” That they knew. There was not much else they knew. This was uncertain territory, with them not understanding what had happened and how it ever could have. “It doesn’t feel real to me either.”

—

“Okay.” She kicked her foot at the ground, at the dirt. “I don’t want it to be real.” She couldn’t help but keep repeating herself. Thankfully, she knew that Wynne wasn’t the sort of person to ever judge her, and most especially not now.

Ariadne tried to focus her thoughts, tried to focus on Wynne and the fact that they were here, she could touch them, and she could breathe in their smell. “I feel sick.” She shook her head. “No. Hollow. I think.” That made more sense to her, even if nothing made sense right now.

“We should – move. Right?” She knew that she’d need their help if she was going to stand up. “But I don’t want to leave. But we have to. Right?”

—

They nodded, even if Ariadne could not really see it. “Me neither.” And it wasn’t, not really. Cass’ death was still removed from them, like a muffled sound outside of the house that you can’t quite place. But Ariadne in their arms was real. That could not be undone.

Wynne made a humming sound, “That makes sense. And that is … okay.” There was no right or wrong, that was what people kept saying. Not the ones who had raised them, as there was only right and wrong at that place, but the ones they trusted now. “But I hope it leaves.”

They rubbed a circle on her back, going round and round. “Whatever you want. When you’re ready we can go. We can go in the car and drive home or somewhere. Or we can sit here.”

—

“I hope it does too.” But at the same time, she wasn’t sure if she really did – because what if that meant she forgot Cass forever? Ariadne didn’t think that was possible, but it was a worry that tugged at her. 

She would’ve rather tugged on ballet slipper ribbons a hundred thousand times over. Anything would’ve been better than this. Cass shouldn’t have died and Cass shouldn’t have had the father she had, and she ached for that. For the fact that her best friend had never felt included so much to the fact that when someone came and pretended (and did a good job of pretending too, because she’d been fooled just as much as Cass had) they succeeded with such ease.

“Can you help me?” She finally turned to face them, her hand immediately going to touch the curve of their jaw. “Up, to start. We – I don’t know. Can you tell me what to do?” She hoped that it wasn’t too much to ask them. Not too much to want from them. “You can sleep with me tonight, right?”

—

There was only one possible answer to Ariadne's question. “Of course,” Wynne said, moving their arm behind their girlfriend, tucking their hand underneath her shoulder. They pushed off from the ground with their free one, pulling Ariadne along with them. Once they stood, they hugged her once more, pulling her close for a moment. 

“Alright,” they said. They didn't know what to do. They didn't know what came next, except that it was life. On and on and on. Wynne tried not to think about Cass, tried not to imagine what had happened, even if they kept wondering if her dad had done this, if her dad had killed her. 

They moved towards the car, opening the passenger door. “For now you can get in, okay? And I'll drive. We can go all the way along the coast, or we can to your home, and we can sleep, if you want that. I can stay up, too.” They didn't know if they could sleep, but they'd pretend to if it brought Ariadne peace. “But now all you need to do is buckle your seatbelt.” 

—

When Wynne held her, it made standing up a little bit easier. Then again, they made everything easier, so it would figure that they could at least somewhat lessen the absolute and utter ache that she felt having lost Cass. She had them, she had someone who was her whole world – though she couldn’t think about the fact that they were human at all. Because being human meant living a max of maybe a hundred years at most, and that was so small an amount of time in compassion to her forever.

Ariadne buried her face into their shoulder. “Thank you.” She didn’t know if she could ever thank them enough, for the number of times that they had saved her, including the few where it was quite literal.

“I’ll get in the car. Maybe – maybe home. I don’t – you don’t have to sleep.” Her voice was shaky, in a way that was only barely controlled by the person next to her. “You’re here. Maybe we can just sit on the couch and have soda and just sit.” She would’ve suggested a movie, usually, but she didn’t know how useful that would be right now. “Hold each other.” Buckle the seatbelt. “Right. Yeah. I’ll – yeah.” She clicked it in. “Whose car is this?”

—

Death was a fundamental part of life, a prerequisite of sorts, and Wynne knew this. It was needed for balance and contrast, but right now all of that didn't matter. They no longer wanted to see Ariadne's face like this — scared and upset, ruined by the things she'd seen and failed to do. Had they looked like this, when they had processed the news of her brother's death? How did one handle it, to see someone they loved in this much pain? 

It was more palpable than whatever hole in the earth Cass had created. That pain would hit them later, surely, but now they only had eyes for Ariadne. Not because she was breathtaking (though she was, of course), but because she wore her pain so clearly. “You're ...” welcome, they were supposed to say, but they couldn't.  

Ariadne buckled her seatbelt and Wynne got into the other side of the car, taking a moment to take everything in. The road ahead of them. The stick shift they struggled with. The key in the ignition. “We're going home,” they said, making the decision for her, “And we'll just sit on the couch. And then we'll see.” They still didn't understand what had happened but maybe that was for the best. They tried to start the car, but failed on the first try. “Emilio's.” 

—

“That sounds good.” She wanted to be more cheery, and usually, with Wynne, she was. But right now it seemed purely impossible. Wynne wouldn’t judge her, Ariadne knew that with her whole heart, but she still wanted to be better. They deserved someone who was happier. She hadn’t ever really dealt with death – other than her own – and that hardly seemed to count, because she was still here.

Not that waking up after dying had made any sense. But Cass wasn’t going to wake up. Cass was buried and she wanted to go back and find her friend and hold her close. You couldn’t hold ghosts and she missed how it felt when Cass lay against her shoulder when then hung out.

“We’ll see.” She turned to look at them, because they were so alive and beautiful and her whole world, and they made her feel alive. Ariadne figured that right now of all times was a particularly important time to feel alive. She had to live, even if Cass would never live again. “It’s a good car.” She sniffled. “But I guess maybe we should only make out in my car. I feel like Emilio wouldn’t like it if we did that here.” She forced an awkward, half smile. “Sorry – not the time for jokes. Not that – well, you know.” She lay her hands in her lap, fiddling with them, dirt from the cave under her fingernails. “We should do something to honor her. Now – and also forever more. I think. Right?”

—

Back at home, Wynne had been taught that there was no room for grief. Once you had accepted the natural order of things – which all Protherians had – then it was a waste of energy. The dead were remembered and honored, especially those that had given their lives for a higher cause, but their loss could not bring you down. You could not allow it to. 

They knew now that it was not that simple. They accepted the existence of death, but were starting to understand that death and grief were different. Wynne wished they had any wisdom to bestow, but all they could tell Ariadne was that grief was exhausting and that there seemed to be no rules for it. Maybe they wouldn't have to tell her anything about it at all — she was dead, in a way, so maybe she already knew all there was to know.  

Wynne smiled absentmindedly, starting the car. They had no interest in making out, nor joking about it, but the fact that Ariadne was speaking with a certain lightness made them feel more assured. At least she was no longer on the side of the road. “You can do or say whatever,” they said, pulling away from the road, “Joke, or not. I don't mind. And yes. We can plant something for her. Or … just anything. Whatever you want. Whatever … whatever is right.”  

—

She knew that she was lucky – exceptionally so, unrealistically so, to not have really had many people close to her to grieve. Of course, that also came along with acknowledging the fact that she hadn’t been close to many people outside of her family while growing up, but Ariadne figured that maybe that was for the best, if this was what loss felt like. It felt dizzying and like she was on those roller coasters Chance used to refuse to go on.

He’d probably love them now. He probably did, there was no use in thinking about him in the past tense even if their relationship was different than what it once was. Even if they’d both changed so much, and in such opposite ways, even if she had technically died. But right now she needed to focus on Wynne, on Cass, on the inevitability of life going on and the fact that she was guaranteed to experience more loss for the rest of her life.

“Rock gardens are… a thing, aren’t they?” Ariadne tapped on her knees. “Something like that would probably be best for her. Because of how much she loves – loved rocks, right? I don’t know.” She looked over to Wynne, watching their profile as they drove. “I love you.” It wasn’t anything new, nor anything fancy, but it felt good to say. I love you. Please don’t leave me. I wish you could live forever. Except, because they were human, the only way for them to live forever was for them to die – at least as far as she was aware – and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even if a part of her (and a bigger part than she cared to admit) selfishly did want that. “One day at a time, right?”

—

Their chest was heavy with unsaid things. Wynne wanted to take away this day, erase it from existence and go back to rearrange everything so it could be avoided. Even if the it was still unclear to them, the entirety of Cass' existence being undone sounding like an alternate reality still. The wish to turn back time was still overwhelming, though, but there was no doing such thing. There was just the metaphorical and literal road ahead.

At least Ariadne was next to them. They tried to focus on that, to not think about all the people that loved Cass. Did Van know already? They imagined calling her, then remembered Ariadne had mentioned Van during the phone call. So where was Van? Where was Metzli? Wynne looked over to Ariadne, pressing their lips together. What about Thea? And Nora —

They felt something constrict in their chest, thinking about how Nora already was so weighed down by the loss of Declan and would have to swallow another loss now. Their vision was starting to blur through tears and they sniffled, blinking to rid themself of the tears, not wanting to become more of a reckless driver than they already were. “Rock garden,” they echoed, “She'd like that.” They drove slowly, reaching out a hand to squeeze Ariadne's leg softly. “One day at a time.” There was a small hiccup. “And I love you too.” If only love was enough to compensate for the ache shared between them, but even this thing they felt for Ariadne wasn't strong enough to fill the gap.

—

Her world was spinning, but as in so many other cases, Wynne was a stabilizing force. They always were, and Ariadne wondered if it was selfish to think such a thing, but her parents had said that it was a sure sign of meant-to-be, or something along those lines. Which she was grateful for. She figured that they kept each other balanced and safe, in many different ways.

So they would survive this, even if her grief was eating at her insides, as if clawing itself to get out, like some sort of even more twisted version of Pandora’s box. She knew the myths, her parents had made sure of that. It seemed pretty silly for someone with her name to not know anything about myths. Cass hadn’t been a Cassandra, though she wondered all the same if she would’ve listened if her Cass, not Cassandra, but her Cass a-k-a Cassidy had said the world was going to end, would she listen? Ariadne liked to hope so, but now she also knew that she’d never know for absolute certainty. The many parts of her life that would never have answers because of her best friend’s father were too overwhelming to think about.

“I thought she might. We can do painted rocks, maybe. Maybe –” she shook her head. “We’ll – we can figure something out.” She placed her hand on top of theirs. “One day at a time. We just have to make sure people know she was a hero. Like, everyone. We know, but – the town should know. Because she – she was.” She settled her head back against the headrest. “But for now, just today.”

—

It was hard to focus on the road ahead, hard to keep their mind on the many actions the vehicle demanded of them. Wynne wanted to pump the breaks and take hold of Ariadne again, to start weeping with the abandon of someone who could accept that their friend had died. But they couldn't, especially not with the road ahead and the car buzzing beneath them.

They turned their hand around, giving Ariadne's a soft squeeze before returning it to the steering wheel, not yet comfortable enough in the car to drive one-handed. It hurt, to separate from her, but it wasn't the worst pain they had known. It was nothing compared to what Ariadne had to be feeling now. And though a comforting hand might help, it was not enough to take away all the pain that radiated off her. Wynne knew there was no gesture large enough for it and it was that thought that weighed on them like a bag of stones as they drove, attempting to just keep their head on straight enough until they arrived.

“That … yes. Painted rocks. And everyone … I agree.” Cass had been a hero. Still was, in a way — how was it even possible that she no longer was anything? That she was someone you talked of in the past tense? Wynne tightened their grip on the steering wheel and stared at the road ahead, because it was the one thing they felt most certain of right now. Everything else was too hard to grasp, so in stead they clutched that steering wheel. “Just today.”

[thisapplepielife]

wip word find game

Thanks to @thefreakandthehair and @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe for both tagging me! So, here are my combined words:

(Unedited snippets, subject to change on a whim, haha.)

hands (from my hopefully future fic that's not really named "Think About Elvis", lol)

"Steve," Nancy says, putting her hands on her hips, a gesture Steve knows she picked up from him and kept, even now, years after their time together ended. "What?" he asks, his hands hitting his own hips, mirroring her. 

freckles (from my "Steddie Coded Title" fic that I want to finish someday)

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart," Eddie tells him, and leans forward to press kisses against Steve's back, his shoulders. Following the familiar trail of moles and freckles. Making sure to greet the new additions with as much love as he's showing the ones he's known forever.

sunlight (from a scrapped piece of Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, I guess?)

Apparently, I don't use the word sunlight that often. It popped up in two posted fics, and then in one document of 141 words that had to have been cut from some sort of early version of Tuesday's Gone With the Wind but I have no memory of writing them, haha. So, here.

Eddie is in bed.  Steve draws open the curtains, letting the harsh sunlight in.  "C'mon. Wayne's waiting," Steve says gently. 

ignore (from a Steddie wip, that might go nowhere, lol)

He's done this over and over, probably half a dozen times or more by now. Sneaking out of bed in the early morning hours, and Steve has let him go without saying a word. Until now. Until he caught him red-handed, and there was no way to ignore it.  And when he did that, when he looked at him with those sad fucking eyes, Eddie couldn't pull the trigger. Couldn't just slink off. Not if Steve was aware of it, not if he fully realized what was happening.

second (from a Steddie fic that somehow Gareth and Di have now infiltrated. I'm over here writing a origin story for them no reason, that won't even make it into the main fic. Still. No ragrets. 🤣)

"Daze," Diana says, "sure I think he's cute, but what are the odds he's straight? Seriously."  "He might be straight. He might be bi. You won't know unless you ask. Shoot your shot! Get dicked down, and enjoy every fucking second of it." 

road (from the Steddie Coded Title fic that I've mentioned I had a title for, but little else. Well, it's 11.1k now.)

"I did come into your building, once," Eddie whispers. "What?" Steve asks. "In New York. I just walked in and asked your secretary to see you. She was having none of it. Basically told me to hit the road Jack, and don't ya come back no more, no more, no more," Eddie laughs, "and I realized I was being crazy. So, I left." "Which secretary? I'll fire her tomorrow," Steve says, and Eddie laughs. He knows Steve won't.

soil (I literally had nothing at all in my wips. In fact, fun fact, I've only used the word soil twice in anything in my docs. Once in the epilogue for Take the Money and Run and once in House in the Woods.)

term (from a future chapter of All Across the Universe)

"Like a blowjob," he finally says, wanting to curl up and die.  She still looks confused. Is that not a term yet? Jesus Christ. He's fucking embarrassed. 

circumstance (from Think About Elvis)

"It's not anything like that. I'm not acting out. I met a guy. I kinda liked him, but I get that it happened under less than ideal circumstances." 

Tagging anyone that hasn't played yet and wants to!

Your words are: gone, clock & tempt.

[dreamingdarklyblog]

Taking Inventory

Okay well... I was going to reply to that thread with my "take" on what happened, but it was getting really long so... Here's the thread I'm talking about

It was pretty intense. I got a bunch of questions about it, and I'm getting to them. But for now I'm going to attempt a somewhat analytical account of what I experienced... Attempt being the key word.

So he's had fun the last few days playing with a trigger that seems to make me giggle. Lose track of my thoughts. It's also seemed to change over time. At first it was just that. Then the next day it seemed like my breasts would also get a bit bigger as I giggled. Then that started happening faster, and I became more aware of what was happening.

I... May have told him it was more fun to not be so aware, and then soon after I found I wasn't aware of it again. I should mention that this is mostly me piecing it together afterwards. At the time, each time it's a lot harder to figure out what's happening. In some cases I haven't even realized there was a trigger at all, let alone be aware of it.

Then yesterday in the afternoon I think it changed again. In addition to all that, it started getting a lot harder to think clearly as I giggled. I couldn't quite get a grip on what was happening, but at some point I noticed by breasts were significantly bigger, and they kind of... Stole most of my attention. I know was talking a lot, and I was mostly tuning him out and uh, focusing on those.

At some point during this I promised to write him another blog post about rubbing... And at some later point, I decided that was a great idea and went off to write it >_<. That's the first post you saw.

I do sort of remember writing it. But also I was in such a weird head space, it feels like it was written by someone else entirely.

After that... At some point. I once again became more fully aware. I didn't "Remember" what I'd done exactly, as I'd never forgotten it. I was aware the whole time, I just... I didn't care? And now that I was thinking more clearly, there were a lot of memories rushing to get my attention. So I was pretty overwhelmed.

I responded to a few comments and questions, pretty embarrassed and conflicted about everything, and then went back to my day. Still sort of processing as things would come up, come to my attention. Saying "as i remembered them" isn't right, as, like I said, I hadn't really forgotten anything. It was just mostly background information until something prompted the memory, or pulled my focus.

*cough*

Then later on I was talking to my writing partner again, and we got into some deeper conversations about consent and CNC play, and that kind of thing... Aaaand then he uh. Well. Things got a bit intense.

Things repeated a bit. Things got Foggy. Boobs got Big. My thoughts got distracted. And I started to think how hot it was that everyone enjoyed my post. How amazing it was that people might be cumming reading it. How much I loved that idea and wanted more of it. How much I wanted to make everyone cum, and how grateful I was that they did. How I should be thanking them for it >_<. And offering myself to make it happen more.

...

So just to be clear. Whatever I might happen to SAY on this blog. There will never be any photos. Or any actual contact or anything like that going on. Sorry if I promise something in an altered state, but yeah, it's not real. My writing partner knows that, and knows the line, and that while I might be fine... Thinking I would do such a thing, or maybe even believing in the moment that I had done it, doing such a thing in reality is a non starter. And I trust him with that. Just to be clear with you all about where the consenting line is and such.

So this was sort of my.. In the moment experience of it. As I can recall. Commenting about it. I'll try to write sort of my thoughts on how it all works in my head later. Mostly from thinking back and trying to analyze what I was thinking with more perspective.

[fivenightsatfreddysfanfiction]

Despite Everything

Afton has a gift for Sydney, but some things were best left forgotten.

POV: Sydney Herrera Time Frame: Early days at the Pizzaplex, before Gregory's escape

---------

.

The dimly lit room had Sydney’s nerves on edge the moment he crossed the doorway to enter. Ever since he and Vanessa had been moved into the Pizzaplex, pressure had been ramped up to keep him under Elizabeth Afton’s control. Seemed she was starting to catch on that he’d been working to help Vanessa keep aspects of her personality, poking and prodding to be sure she kept reacting to him in ways that he knew were truly her.

That was the point of Afton’s ‘training days’ for him, reasserting her power and control over him to remind him of his own helplessness. Master File would fiddle with his head through the damned implant, messing with what he could see, could hear, could feel, creating visions more real than his memories to taunt and terrorize. Afton was more physical, slicing shallow cuts over his body when his senses were dialed up by the Master File, turning once stinging injuries into excruciating wounds that left him hoarse from screaming. Then she’d bandage him up with a smile and send him back to Vanessa, fully aware he’d hide it from her to keep her from asking the sort of questions that would trigger her own implant’s defenses. The more Vanessa questioned, the more the implant would forcefully herd her down a path of compliance that would make it easier for Afton’s plans.

Was that what she was planning to do today? More playtime with her damned scalpels and stupid smug looks?

Sydney tensed at the thought, gritting his teeth in frustration that he couldn’t do anything but just take the abuse and swallow it down. Afton smiled at him from her desk, leaning against it as her computer screen behind her pulsed, a sickly purple glow that let him know who else was in the room. Not that it mattered if Master File was in that machine, since he had the whole of the Pizzaplex network to move in and could just as easily connect to the implants. Hell, he might even have done it already.

“You called?” Sydney bit out through his teeth, glancing around the room quickly to take stock of what else she had going on in here. If he had an idea of what kind of torture she was in the mood for then he’d have a chance to prepare himself to not break under it.

“It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been as skilled in carrying out your.. special duties.. as our records say you had been in your prime,” Afton began thoughtfully, tapping painted nails on the surface of her desk. “The skills you have currently do seem to indicate a reliance on muscle memory, but you hesitate and hold yourself back quite often.”

“Too bad. You only have me, no one else,” Sydney replied curtly. He kept the urge to shift nervously tightly under control, some trained technique to hide his feelings learned from a source he’d long forgotten. He already gave so much of himself to the madwoman, he was going to do his best to make her fight to scrape any more of him away.

Afton made some small sound, a breathy little sigh that sounded equally amused and disappointed with him. “I’m well aware of that, but you promised me a Panther and instead I got a kitten,” she pointed out, lifting her arms to fold them over her chest, “so I’m within rights to seek.. an alternate solution.”

That didn’t sound good. Sydney tensed again, doing another sweep of the room furtively. The woman laughed lightly, pulling his attention back to her with a wary expression. She made a gesture with one hand, and a familiar ‘chair’ descended from its bay in the ceiling, shaped much like the one in Parts and Service for doing maintenance on the animatronics. The only difference between the two were the leather straps affixed to this particular chair.

Sydney immediately stepped back, gritting his teeth as a filing cabinet he’d initially dismissed as just background furnishings rippled away to reveal an endoskeleton bare of any casing. Once again the Master File had tampered with his vision, annoying technology that riddled the Pizzaplex to help Afton manipulate the crowds in her search for Remnant sources. It moved with unnatural fluidity, stepping forward to his retreat and grabbing his arms.

“You always do this on our special times together,” Afton sighed in false dismay, “Really, don’t you know that doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity?”

“Speaking from experience?” Sydney spat out, struggling to push back against the endoskeleton as it forced him to take steps towards the chair. His heels dug into the tile, squeaking as the soles of his shoes scraped over the polished surface in attempts to grip the floor. Stress skyrocketed from the proximity to the endo, and Sydney twisting every way he could to get free was more from the rising panic of being in the machine’s clutches than it moving him to the chair.

Master File’s derisive laughter rang through the speaker system as Afton pouted, eyes narrowed in an offended glare. “He has you there, Darling,” the artificial spirit pointed out.

“I’ll have you know that I was close to getting the results I wanted,” the woman declared haughtily. “It’s all these blasted cretins interfering where they’re not wanted for whatever reason! Like they live to get in my way.. whatever did we do to deserve such nuisances?!”

“You got my past self killed, you rancid bitch!” Sydney yelled furiously, shoving backwards one last time against the endo before it successfully shoved him down into the chair. A second one stepped out of the illusion of a tall office plant to assist with turning him over, unfazed by him kicking at whatever part of the endo he could reach.

“Death is just an inconvenience to us at this point, Mr. Michaels,” Afton replied flatly, pulling away from her desk to approach him. The straps cinched tight against his wrists and ankles, pressed his chest and waist flush to the chair so any thrashing was minimized to near immobility. “I mean, look at you,” she went on as the endos stepped away, returning to their stations now that their tasks were done. “According to the police reports documenting your.. remains.. you died at the age of 43, ripped apart by the very animatronics my former husband hired you and your partner to collect for us. Not that old, but certainly your body must have been riddled with damage from life as a mercenary.”

“Mercenaries don’t exactly have a reputation for ending up in a retirement home most times,” Sydney grumbled between strained huffs, still struggling to force the straps to loosen in some way.

“And you somehow managed to slip out of your one way trip to hell and come back in the body of a healthy young man,” Afton continued as if he hadn’t spoken, a smile on her face as she gestured to the screen. “Yet unlike the Remnant transfer processes that allows me to live on in new bodies, and will be used to restore my dear daughter and Dr. Afton, you lost so many memories.” She reached down, cupped his chin in her hand to make him face her directly. “You lost yourself, Mr. Michaels.. Panther, and that’s the real tragedy of your past demise,” Afton told him, looking at him with the fakest expression of sympathy Sydney had seen since his mother weaseled her way out of being at his high school graduation to drag-.

He jerked his head out of Afton’s grip, shoving the memory down and casting it into obscurity with a grimace as he felt Master File’s tingling touch dance over his mind.

“Oh my, my, you can win that round, Darling,” Master File purred, files blooming to life on the screen at Afton’s gesture, “The next one is mine, though.”

Images and documents littered the screen as Sydney’s gaze was drawn to them almost magnetically. The face on display.. it was that of a stranger, but not quite. That older man with the wide grin in the scanned photo had the same eyes Sydney did, that ice blue color that seemed so much colder and more malicious in that older face.

Was that...?

“You don’t even recognize yourself, such a shame,” Afton murmured, reaching out and tidying up the collar of his shirt, “I suppose that explains your lacking skills. But that’s where having me as your employer is a boon.” She smiled wider when he looked at her in confusion. “One of the things my husband did, while trying in his own way to bring Emelia back to life, was create a learning artificial intelligence to make up for her degrading memories. A mimic of sorts,” she explained with a flippant little gesture of her hand. “It was to study all our home videos of Emelia, learning her mannerisms from them, learn to be Emelia from them, and then her Remnant would be fused with it to create a fully digitized version of herself rather than a copy like the Master File.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement as Sydney stared at her in faint horror. “Then that would be uploaded to a paired mimic animatronic that would be able to adapt and adjust itself to let Emelia ‘grow up’ under the illusion of her looks with his special discs. A novel idea, but I wish my daughter to have a body of flesh and blood.”

“Yeah, you’re all fucking insane,” Sydney said slowly, pushing himself away from Afton as much as he could under the restraints.

“Now, Dr. Afton is someone who doesn’t seem to care what kind of body he has as long as he’s alive to continue his research, to defy Death and bring it under heel,” she went on with the same maddened glee, “But I wanted to be sure the Mimic program could accurately ‘bring back’ a dead personality through study of historical records, and Panther had a lot of records that his partner hadn’t thought to destroy.”

A chill ran through Sydney as he swallowed, trying to dislodge a sudden lump in his throat. “Wh-what the fuck...?” he murmured as Afton leaned closer, filling his vision with her maddened smile.

“I’m going to give you back your memories, Panther, be thankful to me,” she said, giggling at the end of her words. “Upload the Mimic!”

A sudden splitting headache pulled a cry from Sydney’s mouth as he jerked in place. Reality faded as he sank into darkness, Afton’s painted smile still looming over him as he drifted away.

.

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

.

Hazy walls of concrete gray meshed and connected awkwardly with walls of creamy beige. The cheap furnishings of his and [REDACTED]’s apartment phased in and out with the battered furnishings of a long ago time, a cooler set in front of a reclining chair like a footrest. Pockets of void took up space where there was nothing familiar or unfamiliar, the emptiness cast by amnesia with only faint feelings or sensations leaking out.

Sydney stood in open space, standing on a clash of wood paneling and concrete floor. He held still, glancing around cautiously as he felt a new presence encroaching in his mindspace. What was happening? What did Afton do to him this time? What did she mean by giving him back his memories?

Could she actually do that? Could she fill in those blanks he’d had to live with for so long? He swallowed again, uncertain of what to feel about that. He had been dangerous in the past, that was something he’d been told over and over, by someone who had been proud of that for him. Sydney had leaned into that at first, used the skills that had carried over with him against a bully that continuously went after that someone. But then what? He didn’t know what to do after breaking the kid’s personality so he’d left them be after, only to see them day after day at that school when he went for a pick up, a broken kid with a lost and confused expression. The same expression Sydney caught himself wearing if he glanced at his own reflection.

He couldn’t bring himself to use those skills again after that. There was no reason to make more people like himself. ..But....

If he had his memories back.. if he knew why he had these skills and what he did with them....

“So this is the punk who took over for me?” a rough voice asked in amused skepticism, the words echoing through the hollow building of the mindscape. Sydney jumped a bit, caught off guard by the sound as he spun to track the origin of it. It was easy enough to do; the man from the photo stood not far from him, imposing and broad, dressed in heavy black clothing. He smirked in a way that looked a hair’s breadth away from breaking into that wide, wide smile, ice blue eyes bright compared to the shadows he stood in. “Well, hello there, Shadow Mine,” the man greeted in a low tone, stepping forward and closer to Sydney, looming over him through the sheer strength of his presence, “Now there’s a Panther here.”

“You.. you’re who I used to be? With all the memories I lost?” Sydney asked warily. Now Panther smiled widely before letting it dim down to something less crazed, a smirk like he had before.

“Well, more than what you have at least,” the man returned, stepping to one side to look around at their surroundings, “So this is what you built up for my mind? Could barely picture our base in Florida, huh?”

“Is that where this is?” Sydney asked, looking around in wonder at the concrete walls. A sudden spike of tension ran up his spine and he whipped his head around to track where Panther was, furrowing his brow as he watched the man just slowly circle around him. “What are you doing?”

“Every time you speak you just prove more and more that I’d be doing you a favor, Shadow Mine,” Panther replied, watching him back with a calculating look. “I can see why Router hasn’t made much effort to get you back.”

What?

“He hasn’t made the effort because I made sure he doesn’t try,” Sydney growled, clenching his hands into fists as he turned in place to keep the older man in his sights. Panther chuckled into one hand.

“Is that what you tell yourself as cold comfort? Funny, but it’s more sad,” he replied with a shrug. He tilted his head, his gaze lidded as he continued circling Sydney. “You’ve been holding yourself back on the skills I worked hard to gain, not because you have this fantasy of being ‘good’,” Panther purred, “but because you fear what Router’s reaction would be to see you get halfway through my M.O. and then fail to follow through. The disappointment would be soul-crushing for him, and you’d be the one to blame.”

His blood chilled as his eyes widened. Router had given up a clean slate, a true second chance at life, to bring him back too. And he came back missing so many memories, so many of those moments between them that Router cared most about. A failed revival? His breath caught in his throat. Did Router.. was that why he kept making references to their past lives? Testing to see how much of him was actually Panther?

“Oh, you’re getting it, aren’t you, Shadow Mine?” Panther remarked with a dark laugh, “A pale imitation of me getting himself kidnapped so easily? Caving to a few razor cuts that I would have dismissed as just a hazard of shaving? You’ve fallen so far it’s a wonder Router didn’t just put a bullet through you at first chance to spare you and him any further embarrassment of your existence.”

Sydney lifted a hand to his head, heart pounding as blood rushed through his ears. “N-no,” he stammered out breathlessly and shook his head, trying to clear it of the words circling around, whispers echoing them in the space around him, “No, I.. I know what you’re doing…”

“And? So what?” Panther asked mockingly, “It’s not like you have the skill to do anything about it. You’ll hem and haw and worry over someone else’s feelings, and in a merc’s line of work that’ll just get you dead first. Or in the case of this life now, you’ll just get Router killed. Is that what you want? To fail to the point of getting him killed?”

“No!” Sydney blurted, burying his hands in his hair as he staggered back, away from Panther pressing down on him through his sheer imposing aura. “S-stop.. stop! Those are my memories!”

“You stand there sniveling and sobbing and dare call yourself Panther?” the older man declared in offense, “Shrinking in on yourself like so many of my marks before they broke in my hands and you dare claim that, despite everything, you’re still me?!”

“My name is Sydney Herrera, not Sydney Michaels!” Sydney snapped back, pressing forward in a fury to force the intruder out of his mind, one way or another. His hands flew up in surprise when Panther grabbed him by the throat and slammed him back against a wall, holding him in place.

“You’re no Panther, either,” the mercenary growled darkly, “But that’s what I’m here for, Shadow Mine.” Sydney stared up at him in equal parts frustration and fear, fingers digging into the hand gripping him in feeble attempts to pry him off. “You can be the meek little civilian playing house with that woman, but I get this body when the real work needs to be done.”

“Y-you’re just software that b-bitch put in my head!” Sydney hissed, mustering up every ounce of anger to glare defiantly up at the recreation of his past self.

“And yet I’m more true to the memory of Panther than you could ever hope to be,” Panther countered coldly, “A mimic that succeeds where you failed. You could wither away to nothing in here and nothing of substance would be lost. I doubt Router would even miss you when you’re not the one he wanted to begin with.”

A sharp gasp, a numbness crashing over him, and Sydney could only look helplessly up at the face he once wore in the past, his hands loosening and going still around Panther’s wrist. A wetness on his face as tears welled unbidden and spilled down his cheeks.

“Afton may act like she’s got you on a leash, but make no mistake. You belong to me, Shadow Mine,” Panther crooned, “This body was meant for me, but I’m a considerate kind of guy. I’ll let you be in the driver’s seat when dealing with the tedium of playing nice with the blondie, and when the real fun stuff happens, I’ll take over and handle things. Maybe I’ll be snoozing, then that Master File asshole can drive for me until I’m up. You can just enjoy a nice quiet existence with Blondie, and when we’re all done with her, you can sleep and leave everything to me.”

“L-leave it.. to you?” Sydney murmured with a shudder. A dangerous person, unleashed on a world that wouldn’t have any idea what was coming....

“Sure~,” Panther laughed condescendingly, “I can’t wait to use that voice; won’t take me long to train it to work for me like mine did.”

“My voice is mine. W-won’t let you..,” Sydney struggled to say before clacking his teeth together to bite off his words. Panther blinked a few times before laughing again in mild disbelief.

“You’re seriously going to pull that with me? Alright, this could be fun. Let’s see how long you last,” he murmured and lowered his head to press their foreheads together, until all Sydney could see was his own eyes looking back at him in malicious glee. “Keep existing, Shadow Mine, and I’ll be here, watching, waiting. And you can live with the knowledge that any time you open your mouth to talk, the words that come out might not be yours. Maybe it’ll be the moment I speak through you.. and break whoever you’re facing.”

It took everything Sydney had to glare back through his tears, refuse to show his fear on his face, lips pressed together to hold in any sounds out of defiance. Panther just smiled at him knowingly, amused by whatever he saw. He reached up with his other hand and lightly patted Sydney on the cheek with mock affection.

“Back to the land of the living you go, Shadow Mine, but know that from now on.. I’m here, waiting for you to let your guard slip. Keep that driver’s seat warm for me,” he quipped and laughed as even this world began fading from Sydney’s sight.

.

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

.

Sydney groaned softly as he blinked back to wakefulness, a heavy fog still clouding his senses. Afton was undoing the straps holding him to the chair, humming cheerfully to herself and looking pleased. Right, she made that software version of Panther and shoved him into his head as a ‘gift’.

He already didn’t talk very much out of worry that he could accidentally ruin someone’s mental state, now he had to be especially cautious with speaking with that mimic mercenary squatting in his mind. What could he do to protect Vanessa from himself? Maybe he could convince her to use some of their breaks as time for him to teach her self-defense, and then carefully increase that until she could have the strength to take him down in an emergency.

“Now you’re all set to be even more useful to me now, and when Emelia is back, you’ll be perfect for taking care of any issues for her as her personal guard,” Afton remarked with a happy clap of her hands once the last strap was undone. “Off you go now, Mr. Michaels,” she added with a cruel smile, “I’m sure you’ll keep this visit between us, as usual.”

“It’s Herrera,” Sydney hissed, pushing himself up. He swayed from the motion of getting to his feet, a wave of disorientation passing over him that made him dry heave and grip the chair to steady himself.

“Not for long~,” Afton sang out, stepping up to him to drag a nail down his spine and make him cringe at the contact, “Back to your room now. Appreciate your gift.”

He flipped her off as he staggered to the door to get out and away from her, and she only laughed, the sound following him even once he shut the door on her and made his way back to Parts and Service.

[aj-applebox]

That Great, Old Beast - A Short Story

[Woop woop here's the final, finished short story, That Great, Old Beast. Started writing this for a class weeks ago and I'm finally done with it. Came out to around 3600 words. Maybe I'll write a longer version in the future, but for now, I'm done touching it. Hope you enjoy!!]

..

[Possible Content/Trigger Warnings: Explicit Language, Alcohol/Drug Usage, Implied Death.] 

 .. 

Ronan couldn’t remember Bonnie anymore— not the way that he could remember the green of Michigan and the freckles of his mother’s cheek. He lost her by the docks of some town he couldn’t name, cradled in his mother’s tender arms. He lost her face to the fog— her voice to the crashing waves.What he did remember was the way she smelled, like rosemary and sea salt. Just before she left, Bonnie leaned down and pressed a kiss into Ronan’s curly, blonde hair— the same hair that their grandmother used to have, and that their mom loved so dearly. Then, squeezing Ronan’s tiny hands and kissing her mother’s cheek, she cooed words of comfort in their ears:“I’ll be back. I swear,” Bonnie whispered.Ronan was too young. The only thing he knew how to do was wail— how to puff his cheeks and cry.By the time Ronan reached the age of five, his blonde hair darkened to a hazelnut brown— much to his mother’s dismay; and Bonnie, when Ronan asked about her, was no more than a distant memory... Ronan and his mother were nomads. They had lived in fifteen different states by the time he started to care. Usually, they stayed with his mom’s friends— on pull-out couches, in trailers, in attics. The first time they ever really settled down was at a grimy, old motel in the middle of Arizona.  Ronan had just turned six. The motel room reeked of a constant, burning incense— the sort that gave him a headache.

“Mrs. Mallory likes the smell,” his mother explained.  Ronan hated Mrs. Mallory. She yelled at his mother a lot, and she said that Beau, his new best friend, would burn in hell for his red hair. “Ro! Look! Kate bought me Thunder-phant Man!” Beau squeaked, while shoving his newest figurine into Ronan’s face, “His eyes light up, and when you press this button—”Rumble, CRACK! A staticky thunder and crackling sound effect grumbled out of the tiny speaker on Thunder-phant Man’s back.“Isn’t he so cool?”Beau lived in the motel room next door with his older sister Kate. He would let Ronan play with his exclusive set of Electric Elephant-Man figurines; and he didn’t mind when Ronan ranted about dragons and wizards from the books he was reading. Since Kate was rarely home, Ronan could spend every day in their room, which smelled like instant noodles and cheese puffs, instead of incense. But one day, Ronan woke up and knocked at Beau and Kate’s door. It swung wide. Like Bonnie had years earlier, Beau and Kate had vanished.Suddenly, Ronan felt like a toddler washing his hands under the spray of a watering can for the very first time. He had taken, and taken, and taken, and then run out of water before his hands were fully clean. Unlike Bonnie, when Ronan asked about them and when he would see Beau again, his mom set down her cigarette and answered, “They took a Greyhound outta town last night. I’m sorry, baby.”  But what Ronan heard was that Beau and Kate, his first ever friends, had been guzzled up by a huge, gray beast.  And so, two months later, when his mother scooped him up in her big, strong arms and whispered that they were leaving, and that they were going to a Greyhound station— Ronan wasn’t upset. He was going to see Beau again. “Get some sleep, baby,” his mom whispered, in a voice sweet and slow like honey. “It’ll be a long drive.”  Ronan closed his eyes, but he didn’t quite fall asleep. He listened and peeked through his fingers as that colossal, old beast— the one he saw gulping up Beau and Kate in his dreams— finally came into view. It nuzzled up to the pennies in his mother’s hand, and with a screech, the hound opened its enormous maw and swallowed them whole.But even in the belly of that beast, Ronan saw no sign of Beau. That great hound grumbled away, away, away…. And out of the beast’s huge eyes, Ronan watched as the burnt, desert plains of Arizona faded into the suffocating lush of an endless, green forest. Ronan imagined reaching out and sticking his hand through the trees, and how it would surround him, like the thick, matted fur of Susie, a black cat who sat on the steps of Mr. Alfonso’s corner store, where his mother bought her cigarettes. Don’t pet it, Ronan! It’s probably got fleas, his mother would say. Eventually, that great beast groaned to a stop, and spat them out in the dirt driveway of a tiny house surrounded by green. Their new home was no bigger than the motel room they had before, but it stood on its own and had its own steps, and the floor was real wood! It also came with a very tall man who had steel, beady eyes. Except Ronan didn’t care about that man all too much or the new house; because just behind it, the forest crept close— all tangled, tempting tree-branches and mossy ground. While his mother and the beady-eyed man chatted on the front porch, Ronan slinked away. Still no sign of Beau, but if he were anywhere, it’d have to be in those deep woods.Skipping over gigantic boulders and combing through the thick brush, Ronan recalled a book that he’d rented from the library back in Arizona. In it, an elven knight braved the great wilderness and on the other side, found the ancient, lost kingdom of Whistleplume.Ronan armed himself with the thorned branch of a nearby tree. Whistleplume was near.  

It lurked in the edges of his view, and all he had to do was cross the Silver Blooded Canal, a violent stream filled with the agonized souls of all the adventurers that came before him. Finding himself imbued with a newfound magic, Sir Ronan the Great felled an enormous oak over the stream and readied himself to cross. Unfortunately, the second that Sir Ronan set foot on the log, he tumbled clumsily into the water. He sputtered, the coursing river carrying him down, down, downstream, until he washed up on the shore of a small clearing, filled with delicate, white flowers.  Sir Ronan stood, stepping into the clearing. In those flowers, he found Marina. Marina looked up at him— in his muddy shoes and soaking pajamas. She wore a pretty dress and two long, curly pigtails. Ever the Great Knight, Sir Ronan dropped into a kneel— for he had stumbled upon the lost queen of Whistleplume.  .. “Fuck, I hate him!”  “What’d he do this time?” Ronan asked. 

“Ugh—!” Ronan could hear Marina’s eyes roll through the phone. “He ate my leftovers in the fridge again. That’s like, the third time. And I’ve already told him about it, and he keeps doing it. I’m so fucking pissed.” Queen Marina of Whistleplume had a job now. Two jobs, in fact. One of them, as a student counselor for incoming Stanford freshmen. The other, as a receptionist for a law firm. She lived in her own apartment that she shared with her boyfriend, Jordan— an engineering major two years younger than her.  “I wouldn’t care so much except I’m the only one who cooks in this damn house, and it's not like he pays for the groceries, either.”  Marina talked about life plans. She talked about studying for the bar. She talked about developing her own law firm. About fame and success.  “Like how dense can you be?”  “Yeah, that’s um— Yeah, that’s messed up.” “I know, right? Ugh—!” .. It turned out that there was a whole world out there, despite their history as Queen and loyal Knight to the kingdom of Whistleplume. Ronan learned that the day he turned fourteen, and the beady-eyed man handed him a hefty stack of job applications.  “There’s something wrong about you,” the beady-eyed man grumbled. “Always floating five feet off the ground.” “Oh, leave him alone, Richard,” his mother tutted, from her slump on the living room couch. “No, no, Carol, he’s gotta grow up sometime,” the man huffed. “I don’t like that look in his eyes— Like he’s always somewhere else. And I don’t like him always running off in the woods, especially not with that girl. Who knows what they get up to.” “Richard!” “He’s not a kid anymore, Caroline, accept it!” His mother shoved herself up from the couch, jabbing her cigarette at the beady-eyed man’s chest like a rapier.  “He’ll always be my baby!” she gritted; her face shrouded in smoke. “No, he’s a teenager! And trust me, I know what they’re like, and it ain’t nothing good.” Ronan set the stack of applications down on the kitchen table and watched as his mother and the beady-eyed man squared off in the living room. The beady-eyed man dodged Ronan’s mom’s rapier with quick, practiced steps— and parried with his glass of whiskey shield.

The next morning, Marina was missing from her seat in class, which usually meant that she had gotten into an argument with her mom.

Ronan found her between the Keating's farm and the creek where they had first met, building a lean-to against two huge pine trees.

"Richard doesn't want me meeting you out here, anymore," Ronan mumbled, sliding down to sit against one of the trees."What?" Marina huffed, "Why not?""I think he thinks we're doing stupid shit.""Well, I mean, kinda. I did skip class to work on this.""No. Stupid shit. Like, y'know...""Oh, ew, you're like my little brother.""I know.""Did you want to be doing that kind of thing?"Ronan groaned, "God, no.""So why does he think that?""I dunno! I guess I'm getting older, or whatever.""Okay. Case closed. Just ignore him."Ronan huffed. Marina had leaned a few logs up against the trees in a makeshift nook and covered the whole structure in a crackly blue tarp. In that moment, she was dragging blankets inside to pad out the floor. Seeing that Ronan was still sitting outside, and not making an effort to help, she paused and turned to him."Ronan. What's wrong?""Richard's been on my ass about getting a job. He says there's something wrong with me."

“Fuck him. There’s nothing wrong with you.”"What if there is?"Marina tossed aside the blankets and plopped down beside Ronan. She huffed, leaning back on her hands. "I know you're not like all the other kids. And that's fine. Neither am I. Why do you think I'm here? We're both looking for something in these goddamn woods. Belonging. Quiet."

"What'd your mom say this time?" Ronan asked."She wants me to go into the military, like my brother."  

"Are you?""Going into the military? I don't know. I don't want to.""So don't.""You don't get it. She's worked so hard to give me a chance in life. I've gotta make her happy. It's the least I can do.""Well... If you had a choice, what would you do?""I don't know. Maybe I'd paint. I'd get a little cabin in Alaska and sketch the wildlife. What about you? Are you gonna be a writer?""I think so. My mom doesn't mind.""And Richard?""Fuck him."Marina laughed, "Yeah! Fuck him. And fuck everything else. Everyone else. I'll do what I want. I'll fight everyone. The whole world.".. When Ronan was eighteen, he and Marina had both applied and gotten into colleges in different states. Marina had forgone her previous ideas of fighting the world, and had instead developed a very clear, and sensible plan: four years at Stanford University, then four years at Stanford Law, then pass the bar, and spend the rest of her life as a lawyer. It made her mom happy, and anyhow, she was good at that sort of thing. It made sense. The only thing Ronan was good at was writing, because it meant that he could spend hours at a time in a world outside of himself— outside of the kid that never grew up, outside of the boy who spent more time reading books than partying, and outside of the person that the beady-eyed man was so very disappointed in.

“So, I was telling him that he’s gotta have an appointment, and he was getting so fussy with me, I swear! Like, I know he’s got a real big problem, but there’s a lotta people with big problems. I mean, Mr. Johnson, the attorney he was trying to see, wasn’t even in town that week, like—” “—Hey, uh, Marina?” Ronan cut in, scrubbing his face with his free hand.  It was ten p.m., and Marina had called him as he was trying to fall asleep for the night.  “What— Oh, hang on, I think my pizza’s here.” Ronan rolled over in his bed, listening as Marina shuffled her phone around and talked to the pizza delivery driver. After a moment, she apparently had settled down again. “Okay,” she garbled, between bites of pizza, “What is it?” “... I’m sorry, I— I know this is important to you, but I’ve gotta head to sleep. I have work at six tomorrow.” “What? Oh, shit, right, you’re what? Three hours ahead?”"Yeah." “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll let you go,” Marina huffed, “But call me as soon as you get off work.” “I will, I will.”..Ronan’s fingers trembled, hovering aimlessly over his keyboard. He had a five-thousand-word story due in two days, and he’d hardly even started. He was on the phone with Marina again, but a brief lull of quiet had overtaken them.“Hey, Marina?” he uttered, breaking the silence. “Hm? Oh, sorry I was just checking my emails,” Marina hummed. “That’s fine—” “There’s this professor I have, God, I have to tell you—” “I—” Ronan croaked. “—He keeps assigning things like two days before they’re due! Ugh… What were you saying?” “I’m… I’m worried. I feel like this isn’t the career for me.” “What? How come?” “I just— I know you said to chase my dreams and everything but… I mean, I have bills to pay. And I’ve gotta help out my mom… So I’ve been working all these different jobs to try and keep up, and by the time I find a moment to actually write… I’m exhausted.” “Oh, Ronan, you just have to keep working at it! I mean, look, I used to be all mopey like this too— but y’know what? When I stopped complaining and actually started hustling— It all panned out. Besides, you said you wanted this. Maybe, if you'd chosen a more traditional career path, you wouldn't have to work so hard.” “Right.” “Anyways— About this professor, right?” Ronan bit his tongue and stared up at the ceiling, as if it could tell him what to do. In their youth, Marina filled the space that Beau had left. She was always there when Ronan needed her. It was only natural that he did the same.  So why now did it bother him so much?.. Ronan stared out his window, watching the faint glow of the streetlights and passing cars outside his apartment. Though it was a perfectly reasonable time to be awake for Marina, it was midnight in Massachusetts for Ronan.  “Can you believe he’d say that to me? I mean, seriously! It’s not my fault he’d gotten the date wrong. So I told him—” “I don’t think I like these calls, anymore, Marina,” Ronan cut in, his anger, for once, getting the best of him. “What?” Ronan stared up at the ceiling again, as if that god they all kept talking about might finally step in for him. “Well— I don’t know,” he uttered, “I just feel like you don’t really care what I say, so long as it makes you feel better.” “So… What you’re saying is… You hate me.” “I don’t hate you, Marina,” Ronan groaned. “Then what the fuck is this?”  Ronan’s throat burned with bile. The last time he’d heard Marina’s voice like this— all venom and crackling hellfire— he’d broken a precious watch that Marina’s brother had given to her. Ronan was twelve, and he’d never been handed something so precious before. He dropped it in the mud. The glass casing shattered, and the muck had gotten into all those shiny, polished gears. “Christ, Ronan! Where’d you go again?” Marina groaned, “You’re always fucking doing that!” “Um, sorry—” Ronan stammered, blinking away the memory. “Look, Ronan, I don’t need this right now. Whatever the fuck this is.” 

“No— Marina! Marina! I’m not trying to be mean to you. I’m just trying to communicate, you know? I mean, you’re always preaching about that, right? Let’s just have— a civil conversation.” “Fine,” she spat, “What is it?” Ronan threw his blanket off the side of the bed and sat up. Too fast. And the world spun— hot, pounding blood in his ears. Was it always this hot in here?  “I don’t… I don’t hate you, Marina, I just… I don’t know. Lately, I feel like I’ve been distant, and you haven’t noticed or cared.”“God— What do you want me to say to that, Ronan?” Ronan curled in on himself, wincing as the joints in his back cracked, “I don’t know.” A car alarm blared outside Marina’s apartment— BEEP, BEEP, BEEP…Ronan’s heart beat the sixteenths in between each blare— BEEP, ee, and uh, BEEP, ee, and uh, BEEP, ee, and uh— Marina swore and slammed her window shut with a sharp crack. Ronan flinched.“Look, if you’re that pressed about it…” Marina huffed, “Why do you keep picking up? Why don’t we just stop? You can go off and find someone who ‘actually cares’ and I’ll do the same.” 

 Ronan bit his lip so hard it split. His mouth filled with copper. “Just like that?” he whined. “Like what?” 

“Marina, don’t you remember when we were kids? When every stone was a mountain? When those still creeks were oceans, and those woods stretched past everything we’d ever known? Don’t you remember building forts? Talking about life. You said you wanted to paint. You were gonna build a little cabin for yourself in the wilderness to do whatever you wanted."

Ronan raised his head and pictured meeting Marina’s eyes. He knew what she would look like. Her face would be pinched, as if she had just sunk her teeth into the flesh of a grapefruit.  

“Doesn’t that mean something?” Ronan begged, suddenly soft. “Doesn’t that mean something to you?” 

“I’m not that person anymore, Ronan,” Marina replied, her tone even and dry. “I hate this about you. You’re always, always living in the past. You’ve gotta—” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Ronan–” Marina started, exasperated. Ronan hung up. Ronan had never been good at letting go of the people he loved. Not Bonnie, not Beau, and definitely not Marina. That night, Ronan deleted Marina’s number from his phone and caught the next bus back to those old woods and still creeks. When I think of you, Ronan thought, later, while he was staring out that old beast’s eyes again, I think about tearing my lips on the shards of life’s great, big femur— and sucking out the marrow of all that it is to be human. Doesn’t that mean something?. 

.

Marina had outgrown the youth that Ronan so deeply cherished. It was an odd thing, knowing so much about a person, and then suddenly, so little. Ronan couldn’t help but mourn. That grumbling Greyhound spat him out in the ruins of his youth again, now much older, and even less certain of things. He saw his mother out in the garden, no longer so big and strong, but frail.And Ronan saw that beady-eyed man, in legacy, not figure. In the dusty ashtray on the porch, and in the cracks of the floorboards. 

His mother, catching a glimpse of Ronan lingering on the driveway, called out to him.

“Oh, Ro!” she cried, “What on Earth are you doing here?”Ronan’s mother dusted her hands on her dress and staggered over. She greeted him with a warm, if slightly confused smile. “It’s not fall break already, is it?”Ronan, suddenly feeling very, very small, sunk into his mother’s arms, as he always did. And she held him very gently, as she had always done.“Ma…” Ronan whispered, “Won’t you tell me about Bonnie?”“Ronan…”“What happened to her? Why’d she leave me?”His mother cupped his face in her trembling, wrinkled hands, and rasped, “Bonnie loved you so very much.”

Ronan knew that already, but he didn't like how it changed his mother’s face to talk about Bonnie. Her eyes glossed over, in a way that reminded Ronan of glistening sea glass. 

Somehow, it had never occurred to him that adults could cry. ..

In the morning after, Ronan treaded down the creaking porch steps and gazed outwards. Where there were once lush forests, cars and trucks bustled about— on clean roads, and surrounded by sleek, pristine buildings: the beginnings of a brand-new city, creeping up on the edge of their old driveway.As if sensing his disapproval, the sun stretched its warm hands outwards, fingertips catching the edges of rooftops and peeking through windows. To the city, it said:“I’m still here. In spite of you, I’m still here.”

Squinting against the glare, Ronan spotted the silhouette of a flock of geese, careening over a distant, winding river bend. If he were brave enough, he would rush down the driveway and chase after them. His torn sneakers would melt into the smooth sidewalks, and his socks would meet the damp grass. 

He’d follow them way, way past the horizon, and on the other side— in that tremendous world beyond— he’d be reborn.

[damianacottstudio4]

Artist

David Choe

i think im drawn to this artist because of its chaotic nature, i do tend to get up in a structured and organised sort of creative mode where everything is kind of planned, and strict maybe? however here i see that he's free? i mean i do think im opening up to this chaotic scene of creation however i don't think i have fully opened up to this during creation

i find it quite calming actually

the colour in the middle (chaotic brush strokes and bright colours) i feel like it is a great contrast against the subtle tone of the background

the background itself feels like a washed painting that has some colour or rather a dull liveliness about it where this new wash of chaotic spurs (like the action of the spur rolling) its a good divide or eye capturing aspect that breaks the dull feel into this sudden burst of "life" although it does look like the colour is dripping out from the kids faces, maybe like the paints being pulled out

Brittany Williams

when i first stumbled across this artist i was immediately interested in the artists use of colour

its like all the colours used in this work all complement and work off and against each other creating this seamless transition when viewing the work form left to right

the use of familiar imagery in this work was also something that made me engage more with the artist, this being the afro, something which i have experience with and have, but i was just thinking how the afro itself was like a point in which i could refer to as a connection point between work and myself but it even just made me think of all the people with an afro like my friends, family etc.

on the other hand though this imagery kind of brought out a feeling of frustration, this frustration is purely linked to having an afro or thick hair, personally i don't like having one because it gets hot and i get frustrated when my hair gets to a similar size as the subjects hair in the artwork

just reflecting on what i have said above, i find it interesting how even something as plain and simple as hair can trigger a domino effect of thoughts, memories etc. that are all of a sudden being brought to life and have enabled me to feel that i have a connection with the artist ( not like actually knowing them but through the hair i can instantly recognize a familiar relationship?)

i feel like this in itself has allowed me to grasp how imagery seen in artworks can evoke certain feelings, memories etc. that becomes and feels like you have something in common with the artist?

[yasawrites]

The Vermillion Twins.

Author’s Note: This is just a draft and probably a practice with how I make stories and trying to have fun, so if I made some mistakes such as grammatical errors and such I’m sorry TT

A group of assistant scientists and a  scientist by the name of Dr. Gregor Ford were together in the 1870s. Studying a cave that the Prince has discovered at the forest’s heart. The scientists summoned Dr. Gregor as they continued their search inside the cave after discovering something. It was an undiscovered pair of pink and red jewels; there was nothing like it. They returned to the lab to examine the diamond after making sure there was no other jewelry inside the cave since Dr. Gregor was fascinated by this. Dr. Gregor examined everything closely when conducting the inspection. Every close-range maneuver Gregor made triggered the diamonds to shine. This piqued his curiosity further since he felt that those gem fragments might contain life. As a result, he spent many days doing experimentation on the stones that he discovered. After some consideration, he ultimately chose to split these diamonds in half, melt them down, and add some of his DNA to the mixture. He was able to get the diamonds to begin growing. To watch each gem’s development, he then placed it in two large containers.

The two gems have evolved into having features resembling those of humans as time passes. Both appeared identical and resembled twins, one with pink highlights (female), the other with red highlights (male). However, rest assured that neither is fully human, despite both having protruding ears. They both have eyes that are cross symbols, which are unlike any other human eye yet have unique sides. The twins’ names were then Ruth for the female and Seth for the Male. 

             Up until the twins’ adolescence, everything was going well, and Gregor took care of them as if they were his children prior to fully developing as toddlers. Since they had never gone outside before during their upbringing, Ruth was interested in the outside world. Gregor declined her request because he wanted to make sure they would be safe. Ruth was very irritated about this, and she vented her frustrations on the doctor. "What? Why can't we go outside? We're old enough to explore everywhere we've never been!" Ruth said as Seth stood by, wondering what was happening in the other room. Ruth’s irritation grew increasingly with his plausible deniability. "I can't just let you both go out there for people to know what you're capable of," Gregor remarked. "What do you mean by ‘capable of’? "Never mind that, Ruth." "What do you mean capable of? So you’re saying we’re not human? That we don’t belong here? We’re not one of them?!" Ruth shouted at Gregor. As he turns around, not wanting to face her, he says “You both are only part human because I injected my DNA, you’re just half human.” “Bullcrap”, Ruth says in response.

             Ruth then stormed out of the room in a rage. Despite being saddened by the fact that Gregor wasn’t their real father, Seth tried to console her. Then Seth asked, "So from all of those memories, we didn't know that we're not humans?" "Unfortunately so," Ruth replied to Seth’s worry. While doing so, Ruth had an idea: "I know, what if we tried to go out tonight to take a peek outside?" "I don't know, sis." "Think about it, brother! He made us believe that we're his children, yet he didn't even tell us that we're not wholly human!" "I mean, what if he didn't tell us about it because he doesn't want us to get harmed?" "Wouldn't we find out about it eventually?" "Fair point, but peeking would be risky..." "Oh, come on, it's not like he'll know about it."

They had no idea that he had already predicted that they would pull this sort of trick. He therefore took out a remote control that was required in this situation.  The twins sought to leave the lab after making sure he was asleep (or so they thought). Seth attempted to follow his sister Ruth after she left first. When Gregor turned on the remote, Seth experienced excruciating pain that left him paralyzed. When Ruth became aware of this, she exclaimed, “Brother what happened?!” “I told you not to go out, did I?” Gregor replied with a frigid glare. “Leave him alone!” Ruth exclaimed. So after I kept you in my care, fed you, gave you shelter, and loved you like my own, you think you can just leave me like this all because you wanted to see the outside world? Why must you hurt  your own Father’s feelings like this?” Gregor said. “You’re no father of ours! What kind of father is willing to cause harm to his children just because you wanted to keep us from the outside world?!”   Gregor kept Seth immobile while he waited for Ruth to respond to his question. “It’s for me to stop you from leaving your own birthplace, so what is it going to be? See the outside world, or witness your own brother suffer as you leave him behind?” Gregor asked. Seth’s eyes begged Ruth while muttering, “Sis..ter..” Ruth is unsure of which option to choose since she wants to see what’s to come and she also wants to save her own brother, who is in the hands of his mad scientist “Father.” In order to keep her own brother’s safety, Ruth made the decision to return to the laboratory. After the father and daughter quarrel, Gregor makes the prudent decision to segregate the two of them and confine them in the containment room. “I won't risk the both of you leaving me again like my own son did,” Gregor then remarked before stepping out of the hallway. Seth commented, “You didn’t have to do that..” As he became too weak to get up. “I’m not letting you be abandoned and be in danger just because I wanted to go outside.” Ruth replied. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” “It doesn’t matter, I prioritize your well-being more than my own selfishness.” “Do you think we’ll be able to go out?” Seth asked gloomily. “Who knows? Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. But as long as we have each other, then.. Everything will be okay. Because I have you by my side.” Ruth looked at Seth with a slight smile on her face that made him feel assured.  

[traegics]

His gaze hardened at the mentioned name, a heavy breath easing from his lips as his shoulders tensed and he turned away from the other. "Yes, Malivore has been a rather- irritating existence to plague this world," Kaidan muses. "Fortunately for my kind we were able to build a barrier that not even he could get through around our realm. Can't entirely blame the humans or Malivore for nobody really knowing of us when we kept to ourselves and ensured our existence would thrive through keeping ourselves away from other species. Outside of the dragons, of course. I gave them refuge in my lands in exchange for their protection. I protect them and they protect myself and my people. I did hear, however, that this tribrid daughter of yours defeated Malivore recently? Give her my thanks, he was a rather large thorn in my side for a few years in the beginning."

His frame slowly turned back towards the hybrid, his normally icy blue irises a darker shade than normal as his evident anger boiled within them. "Triad, as admirable as their research is, seem to think that they know me," the High Lord muses, lips twitching at the corner in a hidden smirk. "I, however, do not play by any set of rules. The information that they think they have on me is probably just barely grazing the surface level. I have many abilities, one of which being the ability to control storms as has now been revealed as well as being able to manipulate shadows and move in and out of them. What they don't know is that I have this uncanny ability to enter one's mind from anywhere no matter the distance. I can manipulate their dreams and cause night terrors, I can manipulate their memories, control their mind if you will and I can even shatter their minds- instant death. What they do not know is that by kidnapping Evelynn the way that they did they triggered an unruly memory from my past. One that was met with a storm far more fierce and wrecking than the one that I brewed the other day and that was only because I have people here that I need to protect as well."

He pauses a moment, his frame shifting to fully face Klaus now. "My son was kidnapped at only a few days old, four hundred and sixty two years ago," the fae states. "I never found him, I failed my son, I will not fail Evelynn. My desire to bring them to their knees has grown immensely. They hurt my sister, took mine and my people's future High Lady, threatened me and my general with ash arrows which happen to be one of the few things that can kill us which means my people are also now threatened, stole a very sacred artifact from my people, and are now expecting me to play some kind of puppet. I am nobody's puppet, I serve no one. I am the Lord of Nightmares, there is a reason that I am feared throughout all of Velaris and Ecosia."

The smirk finally tugs across his lips at the hybrid's reaction to his movements and then the unfolding of his wings, the evident awe in his expression pulling a low chuckle from the High Lord's lips. "Not very Tinkerbell are they," he questions calmly. "But then my wings come from my Ecosian side which is a story for another day." The large, dark wings fold behind him but don't tuck back in fully.

The hybrids dark veins and golden eyes that glowed in his direction were met with a subtle nod, his frame relaxing as they seemed to come to some sort of mutual understanding before he extended a hand out to the hybrid. "I am familiar with the stories of the Big Bad Hybrid, Klaus Mikaelson, I assure you I have done my research," Kaidan offers. "Unfortunately, no. It appears they have a witch in their ranks. Regrettably, I do not have the ability to break through their magical barriers and they'll be keeping a close eye on me now that I know that they have the Cauldron. Besides- this isn't just about the artifact. I don't care about the artifact as much as I care about Evelynn's safety and by extension, her family's safety."

A slow breath escaped the hybrid and he gazed at the male with a look of knowing. Uncontrollable rage induced by circumstances involving loved ones? It was quite literally a page ripped out of his history. "They will survive. Fortunately, for you." Klaus remarked, sure not to let his kingly persona falter for even a moment. He made no remark about his own condition. He was mending, that was all that mattered in the end and he suspected to be fully recovered by the day's end or perhaps the morrow's.

"You'll have to forgive people - especially humans. They only have so many fairytale and folklore to base their view of the world upon. The truths about what truly lurks out there is unfathomable to most. Though, my daughter has explained to me in detail about this creature - Malivore - that is to bear much of the blame for that." He spoke nonchalantly.

A soured expression crossed Klaus' features and he drank from his glass once more. "Triad and their entrapment... that appears to be their running shtick: encounter an enemy that is vastly superior to any of their own and proceed to find and exploit the one thing in their existence to bind them into servitude... I'd admire them if I did not desire to dismember them so fiercely." He hissed.

Eying the male carefully as he moved, Klaus caught the thick book with ease as it was tossed and although the motion stung he made no outward acknowledgement of such truth. Running a finger over the embossed lettering of its thick, leather binding he lifted his gaze back to the male.

An eyebrow cocked and his smirk immediately returned as Kaidan disrobed his shirt. "Apologies and no offense meant at your attraction, but there is not nearly enough bourbon in here for that." He rattled the ice in his now empty glass and chuckled. At the sprawling expansion of Kaidan's wings, however, Klaus' expression shifted into one of visible awe. For a moment, Klaus felt the desire to immortalize the male's imposing figure in paint. Nightmares on Black Wings Sent. It seemed like a fitting title.

And, as almost as if expressing a sort of kinship towards the other, Klaus' blackened veins and golden eyes faded into full view. "I am the Original Hybrid. You'll find that I am quite familiar with nightmares." He remarked. As the features faded once more, Klaus sighed quietly. "Why would a... what did you refer to yourself as.. a High Lord? Why would one such as yourself - for all your power - need to send for a millennia-old hybrid? Surely you possess power enough that the obstacle this 'artifact' of your people presents could simply be removed."

[mellowsadistic]

Nina woke up, feeling dazed and confused, struggling to collect her memories. She and her boyfriend had just moved into their new house, she remembered. A new house in a new town, where she’d received an offer for a fantastic new job, intellectually stimulating and full of challenges. They’d had a glass of wine to celebrate when she’d suddenly started feeling very tired… Her boyfriend had carried her to bed, and then he’d shown her something – a video, but all she could remember of it were swirling lights and strange music.

Nina slipped unsteadily out of bed, realising only then that her underwear was feeling strange, not at all like the lingerie she’d put on that morning. She shrieked in shock when she saw the crinkly disposable nappy taped around her waist, but when she tried to rip it off, she found her arms too weak and malcoordinated to be of any use. Her hands patted impotently against the sides of the infantile garment, and her fingers seemed unable to grip properly. Panic welled up inside her, but before she had time to do anything else, she heard her boyfriend’s voice.

“Looks like my baby’s woken up! Did you have a nice nap, little one?” he cooed, in the patronising tone that adults usually reserved for the smallest of children.

“What’s going on?!” Nina tried to cry, but all that came out was a babble of incomprehensible baby-talk. A bit of drool leaked down her chin, and she felt herself blushing fiercely.

“Awww, are you trying to do talkies? Babies don’t need words, sweetheart. They just screech and cry until they get what they want,” he said, and Nina felt her blood run cold despite the gentleness of his tone. Had her boyfriend done this to her? Was this some sort of joke?

“Let me explain, sweetheart. The video I made you watch was actually a tape filled with subliminal messages. It’s tricked your mind into thinking you have the strength and coordination of a two-year-old, but you’ve still got control of your body for the most part. I wanted you like this so I could explain what’s going to happen. See, the final stage of the hypnosis will lock your adult mind away as a permanent passenger inside your own body, but that will only happen once you activate the trigger – making a nice big stinky in your pants for Daddy.”

Nina desperately wanted to believe that this was just some stupid prank, but as she felt her bladder helplessly dribble into her nappy, she realised that he was being deadly serious.

“Goo goo bah gah gah pfff!” she spluttered in an attempt to confront him, to ask him why he was doing this to her, to try desperately to talk him out of it.

He just chuckled and looked at her with an indulgent smile, like she was nothing more than a silly toddler amusing him with her childish antics.

“I know you wanted to have a career like so many silly women do these days, but I’m sure you’ll be much happier as my little girl. Moving town was the perfect fresh start. None of the people in this community ever have to know that you were anything other than an oversized infant, and I can tell your parents that I found you like this when I came home from work – the pressure of your new job got to you, and caused a mental breakdown that sent their high-flying daughter back to dirty diapers. I’ve already got lots of pretty little outfits to dress you up in; no more ugly, masculine suits. You’ll look absolutely adorable in your dresses and onesies, but most of the time you’ll be running around in nothing but your nappy!”

Nina started wailing in terror, tears forming in her eyes as she imagined a future trapped inside the body of an overgrown baby, her adult mind fully conscious yet forced to experience the humiliation of behaving like a stupid toddler. For an independent woman like her, she couldn’t think of a worse fate.

“Shhh… It’s okay, little baby… Daddy’s going to take such good care of you… I promise that you’ll get used to your new life,” her boyfriend soothed, pulling her into his arms for a cuddle and stroking her hair gently. “One day it will seem impossible that you ever fed yourself, or wore grown-up clothes, or went pee-pee and poo-poo anywhere except in your nappies. Speaking of which, any second now…”

There was a sudden fullness in her bottom, and Nina felt herself bend her knees and stick out her bum. Helpless to stop herself, she clenched her fists and strained to fill her Pampers, issuing soft grunts of effort and turning her face red with a mixture of exertion and humiliation. As Nina felt the mess begin to enter her nappy, she looked up at her boyfriend pleadingly, but he simply smiled.

“Is baby making her first poo-poo? You’re Daddy’s little stinker now, aren’t you darling? And once you finish filling your britches, that’s all you’ll ever be!”

Nina let out one final horrified scream before her babyish behaviours took over, and her shrieks turned to squeals of delight as Daddy removed her bra and led her out to play in the garden, bare boobs bouncing and dirty nappy sagging between her legs.

[ordonianhero]

Comforting Hugs

Genre: Hurt/comfort/fluff

Author: this was inspired based of these two art pieces: by:@madmaxou Story is rather short, so enjoy.

Comforting hugs

"you say you've still got so much left to do....I can relate. I faced my own death. All the champions did. It's only by special means that I stand here. We couldn't survive evil like this. It's not right for heroes to die with so much regret. I'm not going to allow you to do same. You've got so much to live for. You know what? You were never one to train me...but I can see now that's what I needed. My mistakes needed to be overcome by my own strength. Any interference the guide me would solidify my failures. So, I ask you to now do the same. If you path is meant to mean anything to us, prove to me, prove to us all, that we don't have to kneel to evil like this."

The champion grasped with both hand Rancher's hand.

"Do you hear me!?"

Twilight slowly opened his eyes, tiredly looking at the Champion, his cub.

"Win this fight!" the Champion said shaking with his emotions. Trying to hold back his tears.

"....fight..." The Rancher weakly replied.

"Yes!" Champion responded letting go of Rancher's hand as he had balled his hand into a fist.

"Make no mistake about it, you're not off the battlefield. Show us that courage can fight in every sort of battle." The champion fiercely stated. His powerful speech and encouragement was followed by Sailor, Captain, Veteran, and Sky. Knowing he said all he could, the Champion turned to leave the area, turning his head to fight of his tears again. Hoping his encouragement was enough help.

Time turned his attention to the Champion as he was leaving the room, and pat him gently on the shoulder. Champion looked at the Older gentleman, who was looking equally struggling to hide his own emotions. "Thank you." he said to Champion. Wild Nodded and then exited to the room which Sky, Warrior's and him were to share that night.

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

   Later that night, as everyone had gone to sleep, Wild snuggled the wolf pelt the Rancher also wore. He could no longer hold his emotion's as the tears started streaming down his face. He stat up and buried his face in his arm and trembled as he cried quietly. He was so use to have wolfie, Twilight there to comfort him when upset. In between his sobs, he started humming Epon's song. A song Twilight often hummed himself. He pulled the Wolf pelt closer around himself as he rocked. It felt like some comfort, but every time he felt things were getting better, a flood of memories would trigger another flood of tears down his face. He didn't want the Goddesses to take away another person who is close to him. Why were they ever so cruel to him? To them all. It wasn't fair. He continued to hum Epona song, till his voice gave out.

The Captain woke hearing the soft sounds of sniffling and humming. He looked over in the darkness. Allowing his eyes to adjust, he could see the figure of Wild , in Rancher's pelt. He softly climbed out of bed and made his way over to the Champion. He sat down on the edge of the bed. His hand hesitantly hover on Wild's back, before he rested on His back and gently rub it in a circular patter. Wild looked up at the Captain. His eyes glisten with tears. His brow scrunched up as another wave of tears came. Wild was someone who didn't let anyone just touch him or hold him. He bury into the Captain's chest. Which the Captain, responded with just wrapping his arms around the Champion. Holding him till the youth fell asleep.

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

 Dawn started creeping through the blinds. Warrior grumbled a bit before thrown his pillow over his face. Wild was still deeply asleep along with sky. The emotions everyone felt had caught up with them. Before the Captain could fully go back to bed, he was suddenly awoken by his bed vibrating and a rather excitedly trying to get them to wake up. The youth jumping on Warrior bed.

"Love of Nayru, who gave the sailor Coffee." groaned the Captain.

"Guys....GUYS! HE'S A WAKE AND OUT OF BED!" Yelled the sailor.

Wild bolted up right, looked over at the sailor. He then dashed out of the room. Still wearing the wolf pelt, running to the room where Twilight and everyone else was. The Rancher, weakly grinned at the Champion, a little glint of tears pricking from his eyes. Without warning the Champing dashed over and wrapped his arms around Twilight. Receiving a grunt from the Rancher. His arms then slowly wrapped around the Champion. Rancher felt the Champion trembling as he cried. The Rancher calmly hushed the youth in his arms.

"It's going to be okay. We will get through this. I promise to keep fighting for us all." The Rancher spoke weakly, Pulling Champion away from him. Gently wiping a tear from his cheeks.

Time who was standing by Rancher, placed a hand On the Champion's shoulder. The Champion looked up at them as he softly smiled. "Trust me, I will be in the dog house for sure once Malon finds out what happened."

The Champion chuckled. Knowing she would be so mad, worried, scared all at once for them all. Rancher smiled and then pulled the hood of the pelt over the Champion's head and smiled. "Lets just keep it a secret for now though."

Fin-

[alwayssmilingvenison]

Michael didn’t like that, frowning and turning to give his brother a serious look. “You don’t need to look worthy, you are worthy, and if he can’t see that then he’s not worthy.” He responded in full seriousness. He hated the idea of his brother thinking he was less than in any way. To him Lucifer was near perfect. He’d be fully perfect back in Heaven again.

--

Alastor chuckled. “A fool out of yourself? There’s nothing wrong with that.” He dismissed, but smiled with a hum. “Perhaps next time we go out we can go somewhere fancy to show off our suits, but I think I found the perfect place we can have fun, get a little closer, and maybe dance if you’re amicable to it.” He offered.

He took his phone back and nearly jumped when it vibrated as he got the text, he stared at it a moment before again listening to Ombre and managing to send some kind of cartoon heart back in response. Ugh...how juvenile… The lengths he’ll go for his love…

He smiled and put his phone away before holding his arm out for Lucifer to take and leading him away from the park. “Well, feel free to call me… I do work during the day, but I’ll call back.” He promised before humming and chuckling. “Where’s the fun if I tell you~?” He asked playfully. “Haven’t you ever wanted to just step into the unknown and see where you get swept off to?” He continued before humming. “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it.”

He just hoped he, himself, would survive this. Ozzie’s suggestion was to try triggering memories...familiar things.

They ended up in an ice cream parlor and Alastor happily took Lucifer to the counter. He let Lucifer order an ice cream before ordering an upside down float. Instead of getting an ice cream, the person told them about a bookshelf down the hall. It was flush to the wall, but Alastor pulled on a book by the same name of his order and was surprised it opened, it was a door. Sure, it was a planned date, but he hadn’t asked many details, sort of excited himself to see what a modern speakeasy is like. So far...he wasn’t really disappointed.

He smiled to Lucifer again before walking down a few steps with him to a bar with a live jazz band, a few booths, and a dance floor. The only thing he had complaints about was the furniture wasn’t all wooded, it was the modern cheap things. Oh well, he’d keep it to himself. “Ta-da~ As soon as I heard about this place, I knew only you’d really appreciate it.”

Michael smiled and chuckled. “I see… Well, if things don’t work out, be sure to keep him as a friend. It will be nice for you to have someone to talk to about music and your 1900s fascination~” He teased lightly. Honestly, if it was up to Michael, Lucifer would have no friends, but he wasn’t cruel. His brother in every life was a social creature and Michael couldn’t be here all the time with their father still slacking off. So a friend would be nice.

High school had been easier. Michael actually ignored his Heavenly duties and was there all the time keeping undeserving humans away. Unfortunately, that’s why his work was piled up now. Still, he wouldn’t trade that time for anything. He got time with his brother and got to take some anger out on the humans—He never killed anyone, but quite a few...accidents happened to people who got too close to the twins.

“Brown? Hmm… Not many colors that would compliment his and your eyes so I guess we’ll stick to yours.” He smiled and put genuine effort into helping. He wanted his brother to live a happy life. He wanted him to make the right choices this time.

He wanted him to die and rejoin him in Heaven.

--

Alastor looked up and smiled. “Lucifer.” He waved back before the other got to him and he chuckled at the apology. “Nonsense, you’re right on time.” He assured before humming and reaching up. He carefully placed the flower in Lucifer’s pocket, using a pin he brought to secure it. “You look amazing.” He complimented before letting their eyes meet and smiling warmly. “I don’t need anything, I just saw the rose and thought of you so I grabbed it.” He shrugged.

He wondered for a moment if Lucifer somehow remembered what roses meant. Red was known for love, but it also meant passionate, beautiful, courageous, and respectable. Gold tipped roses meant luxury and loyalty. He was trying to convey his loyalty, love, and passion to Lucifer while respecting he is a new person and this will take time… Of course Lucifer didn’t remember what they had, so he supposed if he did know it would just be a promise of passion and loyalty. Both meanings worked for him.

“I feel a bit under dressed now.” He half joked with a chuckle. “I usually live in suits, but I was afraid it was too formal. I’ll admit I spent quite a bit of time worried about what to wear…” He admitted before feeling a slight tug from Ombre and remembering. “Oh, right, before we go and I forget, let’s exchange phone numbers.” He took the damned rectangle abomination from his pocket and navigated to his contact, Ombre having to navigate him through their connection and even still he went to the wrong place twice before finding it. He turned his phone towards Lucifer so he could see his number. “Apologies, it’s new. My last phone was quite old, didn’t have any options other than “call”, I was informed they don’t make those anymore.”

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Heart Shaped Box

Author: mittens

Artist: Marvfortytwo

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, implied Rowena/Eileen/Sam

Length: 43200

Warnings: canon-typical violence, flashbacks to past canonical trauma

Tags: post-canon everyone lives, case fic, human cas, everyone uses their words, love confessions

Posting Date: October 6, 2022

Summary: The bunker is full of dusty old artifacts. Only now that Chuck is out of the picture once and for all, and Cas is fully restored from the empty and in his first days of adjusting to humanity in Dean’s debatable care does Sam really have a chance to start sorting through it all. The ornate little box he finds feels like the perfect gift for Eileen, but he both wants Cas to feel included and needed, and really wants a strong second opinion on anything in the bunker being safe to give anyone as a gift. Cas declares it a perfectly normal box, until Dean reaches out to give it his own inspection, triggering a spell that will pull them through their own history and open a door to allow them the time and space to settle all the open questions between them. Meanwhile back in the bunker, once the explosion of light resolves, Sam is left with a slightly radioactive looking box and the sinking terror that Dean and Cas had been cursed all because of him. A little trip down memory lane, Supernatural style, ensues.

Excerpt: “I believe this may have been made by the original owner of your dressing gown.” Dean frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. He looked as if he wanted to argue with Cas’s description of his robe, but couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. “Yeah, and? Probably means it’s just something he left lying around the place and it got tossed into storage like my robe did.” Dean cautiously unfolded himself, leaning forward to take a closer look at the box. “He didn’t leave anything inside it, did he?” Sam frowned at that. “Uh, no? Just the velvet lining glued to the wood.” Dean gave the box a disappointed little nod, almost as if he’d been hoping there may have been some secret treasure hidden inside, or some further insight into the man who’d once worn his robe. He took a deep breath and finally glanced up at Cas with a reassuring and trusting smile. Cas couldn’t help but smile back. It felt like an olive branch after their interrupted conversation, and gave him hope that he’d eventually have the chance to explain himself to Dean. All they really needed was time and space to lay everything out plainly to clear the air between them. “Well, if Cas says it’s not cursed, and you can’t find anything in the records about it, then it’s probably just a box. I hope Eileen likes it,” Dean said, reaching to pick up the box from where it rested between Cas’s hands on the table to hand it back to Sam. As he laid his hand on it, though, the carved roses vanished, replaced by a sliding grid of pieces rearranging themselves into an indecipherable puzzle. “Sam, I think my original assessment may have been premature,” was all Cas had time to say before the room was swallowed by a dazzling burst of light. Sam had flung an arm across his face to shield his eyes from the blinding flash, and slowly lowered it only when the light began to fade. Dean and Cas had vanished. All that remained was the box, now gently glowing like the light of a television screen, flickering and flaring like it was trying to resolve itself into an image and couldn’t quite get a clear signal. “Dean?” Sam called out hopefully. “Cas?” When he got no reply, he heaved a sigh and pulled out his phone. He sent a text to Eileen. <<This is gonna sound bad, but I think I might need your help. You mind making our date a working dinner? I think I accidentally cursed Dean and Cas...

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