#[dream - memories we hold close - lore drop]

[funnel-webbed-au]

The Fools/The Family

Syntax dropped his pencil as the robot that carried his claws attached itself to his back. A soft, guttural hiss escaped the half-spider as he bore his fangs, then wiped a bead of sweat off of his cheek. The pain from when the needles slid in never ceased to catch him off guard, no matter how many times he endured it. As the scientist sighed, he couldn't help but remember the first time those needles had slid in and penetrated his spinal column, binding and readjusting part of it so violently that it knocked him out for a few minutes.

The ironic part was that it was his machine. Perhaps he should have seen the signs, her megalomania being the largest red flag. He was too trusting, even now as the cynical, walled-off individual he'd become over the years. Syntax hissed.

He'd been a fool. Her fool.

That thought alone had him pacing in his laboratory before he barked an order at the AI to scramble the passwords of his blast doors. The sigh of relief that came to him afterwards would have been audible to anyone within a car's length of him.

Syntax leaned against one of his walls, then slid down it until he landed in a small heap, legs pulled against his chest ever so gently. He couldn't aggravate the scars there, after all. That sting wasn't something he could forget.

It felt like his mind was full of static. For all he knew, it likely was. The buzz in his ears reminded him of flies that hadn't been caught yet, of ambient voices who said too much for him to parse what they were saying, what they meant.

Why had he trusted her? He should have known she would use him, like they always do. It's always his talent that's important and never him. He was sick of it, but it wasn't like there was anything he could do, or so he thought. His claws curled around himself, ready for a cocoon. He needed a nap anyway, and maybe he could sleep off this dread, sleep off this grief.

He was interrupted by Maratus's monotone voice as the artificial intelligence spoke, penetrating the silence and giving him much needed reprieve from his own demons. Right, yes, he had more important things to worry about than anyone else's opinions. They didn't matter, they shouldn't matter.

"Huntsman has deposited a bowl of pho on the gift table outside." Maratus announced, and the thought of a hot meal brought Syntax to his feet. As he unlocked the blast door that separated his lab from the rest of the nest, and the world at large, the scent of beef hit him like a ton of bricks... and he couldn't help but smile.

[Flashback.] Huntsman knocked on the blast door to Syntax's lab. The spider hadn't come out for dinner, which had the stronger spider antsy. Syntax almost never missed dinner. When the door opened, the larger spider entered slowly, carefully. He didn't want to mess up anything that the scientist had left out; he knew he'd get an earful for that at best.

Huntsman paused. Why was Mac lying there like that? He was curled up and uncomfortable, and those tears looked like they'd recently started. Hunter sighed and went to kneel in front of his sibling, then chose his words carefully. Sure, he did care... but he didn't want the other spider to know that. He'd never believe in his sincerity. Both of them were closed off, and justifiably so.

"What do you want for dinner, Mac?" Hunter spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper in the quiet of Syntax's lab. He'd seen the signs. The other spider had been shivering ever so slightly, goggles over his eyes in case any bright lights came on unannounced. Hunter knew how Mac reacted to too much going on at once.

The younger spider sighed softly, then reached for his tablet so he could pull up an old photo. A dinner long past, but something Hunter could definitely make if he decided to. He likely would, for the other's sake.

"Pho. Got it. You just sit tight here, Mac. I'll return with food in the next hour... it's lucky I saved so much spare broth, eh?" Huntsman chucked gently as he ruffled Mac's hair.

[End of flashback.]

"Send one of the robots to deliver one of the stuffed toys I sewed last week. Make sure to leave a note on it, Maratus." Syntax instructed the AI of his workshop lab, and soon enough, the letter and the plush were sent to Huntsman.

A soft smile distorted the former lumberjack's face as he read the note attached to the small plush. It was a sweet note, truly, but the colors of the plush spider were what really got him: Jade, amethyst, gray, and black. Both of their colors.

"Syntax, you sap." Hunter chuckled as he took the plush to bed with him... one of his most closely guarded secrets. He had several similar plushies in his room, and never went to bed without one of them. The last words he spoke before he fell asleep were almost too quiet for himself to hear... and yet...

"...you're a good kid, Mac."

[vaalthus]

Remthalas Theory/Sort of Analysis: The All-Seeing Idiot God, The Dreaming Chaos, The Path of Omniscience. Oh and like potential Lore Spoilers maybe.

With the conclusion of the Reckoning War, and having bared witnessed to Remthalas’ actions, I believe we have a better idea of what our aquatic Dreamfarer desires and intends not only for themselves but for the inhabitants of Lore as well.

We already know that Remthalas believes that the only way to achieve freedom, to dream, is to not be shackled. To not live out the dreams or whims of others. Unfortunately, this boils down to the lesson Remthalas got out of the idea is that people should not tie themselves down by basic laws or morals people tend to follow. Otherwise, the endless possibilities provided by true freedom are not possible.

This a concept that he has clearly taken to his very core given how angrily or impulsively he’ll react should he feel someone is ordering him around or someone else shirking their freedom in his point of view as demonstrated when he rebuked Notha twice for commanding him and when he killed Mr. Nameless/Twinkles.

So that’s it then, right? Remthalas is just an anarchist drunk on freedom? Wanting all of Lore to break their shackles and live out their own dreams never minding once of those around them, right? Well yes, but there is I think a bit more going on here.

I found a few things concerning about Remthalas in our fight with either Notha or Uaanta. One, is that he found the Avatars more interesting in their reduced orb state. Secondly, he didn’t appear to want to destroy them. Thirdly, is that regardless of who we chose to side with, Rem finds us interesting either way. Fourth, and most concerning is that he only found Uaanta truly fascinating if she merged with the Avatars. Lastly, and most revealing was his desire to see all the events unfold regardless of what the outcome was and then simply bounce when a conclusion was reached.

The reason why I find him being able to see Uaanta as a truly fascinating player in this conflict is to be some cause for concern is that being ‘interesting’ to Remthalas seems to, at first, amount to being someone that can bring about his idea of freedom, freedom from the balance the Avatars imposed. Characters like the Hero and I imagine Notha when he first met her and was introduced to her ideology. However, if this is the case, why find Uaanta interesting? She after all plans to shepherd away the very entities responsible for the very concept that resulted in his abandonment and have shackled so many others and their dreams. Why find someone who still intends to be devoted to the Avatars to be a person of interest then? Are they not still choosing to wear their shackles? To ignore their own dreams in the favor of the dreams of others.

 The answer I think is simple. In the end, it was just less about Remthalas serving his ultimate plan and Remthalas wanting a show. Remthalas has always long been aware of our capacity to come out on top over our opponents, including his own fellow members. Why would he suspect there was any possibility we would lose to our dear friend or even Notha? He didn’t because he knew we would win, but how can he enjoy the play if all the actors aren’t putting in effort for their roles. After all, are you satisfied by the just the ending of a movie or the passionate performances that it took to get there?

You see I believe Remthalas revealed what he plans for us and Lore all the way back when we first met in the Ex Somniis Fabula or The Story of Dreams quest. In his introduction, Remthalas posits the question of whether he’d be able to alter reality if the entities only referred to as “They” dreamed instead of just slumbering. With quite the determined, if not a bit demented, expression on his face I might add. There’s also one other feature to this and it’s the fact that Remthalas points out that we’re in his dream, or perhaps more accurately his dream space, and that it’s basically just a blank white box. (There are also the blue glowing circles on his robes that could symbolize having multiple eyes to see which are only visible when he’s in his dream form, but it could also just represent Kathool’s eyes so who knows) This is ultimately his domain and by the looks of it he can bring anyone into it and determine what is experienced within this tiny space. What the viewer sees could amount to anything but what they ultimately stand is just the box, the blank canvas. Here, Remthalas controls reality, what goes on in the ‘bigger picture’ so to speak. Here, Remthalas is as close to a god as anyone else that can control their own dreams.

 What I’m getting at here is that Remthalas doesn’t just want freedom he wants to see possibilities and the process it takes to getting to an outcome. What he wants is to dream and for everyone else to be the actors in his never-ending play of entertainment. To see the big picture change from one point to the other. These are details that I think were touched on when he mentioned that he enjoyed the dreams of children because of their ability to imagine possibilities to fill in gaps left behind by a world they are still very new to. Or when he appeared genuinely disheartened at the idea that he was not at rest. Or when he finds dreams to be not interesting enough when pointing out that Voyna can only ever dream of dragons due to her trauma with them. Or even when we fought him in the dream to save Sally and he noted that our dream was “Fierce, but one dimensional” Or the rather basic nature, in comparison to whatever else he wanted to show us, of Notha’s backstory and memories.

 What he wants is for Lore to be his dream. To fit all of existence in that little box of his and to watch things go wild. Which is why I called him ‘Idiot God’ because if true then Remthalas is basically trying to become Azathoth, the Blind-Idiot God from the Lovecraftian Mythos who created the entire universe in that series by simply dreaming, and who will kill it if he ever wakes up. A character/concept I still believe was being referenced when Remthalas asked what would happen if “they” woke up and questioned if the world would stop existing if “they” did. However, unlike Azathoth, Remthalas intends to be aware of all that happens when he finally dreams.

Azathoth is not the only eldritch god that Rem appears to share similarities with and to be honest it the one that makes him perhaps the most untrustworthy. The god I’m referring to of course is Nyarlathotep: The Crawling Chaos, The Dweller in Darkness, The Haunter of the Dark. These are just a few titles of Nyarlathotep, but I believe they would fit Remthalas for the similarities they share with the Outer God. For one thing is how both Remthalas and Nyarlathotep communicate through dreams to any of their unaware victims and pass on information that might shatter their world view. Furthermore, much like Nyarlathotep, Remthalas seems take more enjoyment in the dreams of others being messed with in a way that is typically nightmarish in nature. The most important similarity here of course is that both entities are more driven by spreading chaos and madness through people as opposed to their utter annihilation like other eldritch gods such as Cthulu. The reason for this is because in the case of both characters, I believe in Rem’s case anyway, their enemies isn’t so much other people but rather boredom, in addition to their own stagnation.

An interesting contrast I just thought about between them however is how Nyarlathotep and Remthalas spread chaos. As mentioned, Nyarlathotep does so through dreams by revealing, in typical Lovecraftian cosmic horror fashion, how utterly pointless the lives of his victims are in the face of the sheer overwhelming forces at play in the infinite and unknown universe and how they should just succumb to madness and/or become one of his followers, to amuse himself. Remthalas kind of does something similar when he suggests that morals and the lives people are currently living don’t hold much weight in the face of the grander schemes and roles of the Avatars. 

However, unlike Nyarla, Remthalas would do this so that others cast off their rules, still to amuse himself with the chaos that would thrive from that but in his view, they’d be getting something out of it. A sort of “You and everything you’ve known don’t matter so succumb to despair and madness and entertain me” vs “You and everything you’ve known don’t really matter so do what you want and entertain me” Chaos vs Chaos but different philosophies on how to get it.

The connections that can be drawn to other well known eldritch entities does make me wonder if when we see Remthalas next he might be trying to elevate his power on the material plane to that of the Primordials (Kathool, Uthuluc (probably not Uthuluc out of all of them to be honest), The Witness, Sciuridaehotep, the latter of which is just a Nyarlathotep reference) or is somehow going to get them involved in some way when his plans really start to get under way. If he does somehow involve Kathool in what he intends to pull off I imagine we might see Aquella again given that she’s supposed to overwatch his bedtime and I think it would fit to have a water take on another that was devoted to Kathool. I’d suspect she, or potentially another water elf, could reveal more of in-depth info on Remthalas’ servitude to the Avatars and later Kathool.

This brings us to the question of course of how exactly Rem plans to pull this all off. Obviously, we fit into those plans. However, with what just happened with the Avatars now being out of the picture and Myalos also being out of commission, what’s the next step? Where does he take us from there? The answer goes back to those “They” entities being referenced. Remthalas has brought them up, but he wasn’t the only one I believe. Celeritas mentioned them once when Sinnoncence made his move. I believe, I’m certain, that our dear Big Daddy named dropped them for us a long time ago. 

The one and only Aequilibria, the true gods of existence who are said to be slumbering even now. How Remthalas intends on exerting power over these beings is unknowable, but it would appear the best time to do so before they awake once more.

Which brings us to the Hero and the interest Rem has taken in them. It is clear the main reason that Remthalas has taken an interest in us is because of how capable we were in comparison to Uaanta at the time he was scouting us both out. We are an invested tool…and yet. I cannot help but wonder if Remthalas continued engrossment of us isn’t just because he knows we’ll be useful to his plans but also because Remthalas is straight up looking for a plus one when his plan would be theoretically completed. He did offer us to see where the currents of existence could take us.

  After all, why look at and enjoy multiple paintings in a vacuum or go to the movies by yourself when you can have someone watch it all with you. Then again, as I mentioned earlier, he could simply be viewing us as just another tool to pull off his plans and that is join the others later once everything falls in place

All of what I stated is more speculation than anything but if any of it’s true then we are in for a ride.

[farmnap]

Fluff Alphabet- Dream

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Dream likes physicality/clinginess. He acts annoyed sometimes but he loves it when you climb into his lap while he’s streaming or how your always by his side whenever you guys going anywhere. He enjoys knowing where you are at all times and making sure your safe. 

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

He would love to have a family with you. He’s super paternal and kind so he’d totally be a good dad. He would want a family because he seeing how kind and strong you are believes those are good traits for a parent.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

His positions switch up. Sometimes he likes to bed help and comforted and other times he holds you tight. Either way he gets as close to you as possible. dream is 100% a human furnace when sleeping. This makes it difficult to cuddle every night but he wouldn't let you go.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

He’d probably try to be fancy and romantic all the time but is too goofy to. Like he’d take you to a restaurant but the food would be terrible. Or you’d go to an art museum and would just make fun of the “art”. 

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

My humor. You make him laugh and to him he finds that the best feature in an S/O. 

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

 when you met his family and y’all got along great. he remembers Drista’s laugh as you teased her about school, and how nice you were to his parents. he loves his family and to see how respectful you were made his heart swell

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He wouldn’t be gentle at all. I feel like he’d treat you like he would Sapnap, like pushing you around and play fighting (not hard dw) he would never hurt you but he also enjoys joking around with you. 

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

He would hold your hand tight to his, even if they got sweaty and hot. He likes having a hold on you so he could protect you. Sometimes he swing your hands back and fourth in the middle of Walmart, hitting people sometimes on accident.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

His first impression was your smile. How it lit up your face and made the world seem brighter. It makes his heart skip a beat every time he thinks of it

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

He doesn’t really get jealous. He knows you love him and trusts you enough that he doesn’t have to be jealous. He does get angry sometimes when you directly flirt back, even if its a joke, because he believes that that is reserved for him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

He deffo kissed you first, he probably dropped you off at your house or honestly pulled you into a car make out before you get home. He kisses you passionately and deeply every time. He portrays his emotions best that way.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

I feel like he would wait for you to say it first, he’s had his share of heartbreaks and has walls built up I assume. But once you say it to him he’s eager to say it back.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

His favorite memory is on your guys’ first date when he ate like all of your salad in four bites. He was looking at you shocked and you got all embarrassed. He found it hilarious and the laugh you let out when he told you he was just impressed, was beautiful.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

He would so spoil you oml. He will buy you anything you ask. He would buy you an amusement park if you wanted. He jut knows he had money and he likes to help and spoil the people he loves.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

I’d say blue because its an emotional color and you make him feel all the emotions. 

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

baby, babe, cutie, bitch.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?) 

He likes sword fighting. He loves the skill and hoe it’s literally irl pvp

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

He hates rainy days bc he loves to go on walks with you and play football in the backyard. He jut watches tv all day, its boring but if you join him and cuddle into him, its manageable. 

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

He used to cheer himself up by playing minecraft or maybe even working out, I can see that. He cheers you up by making you laugh and making you feel happy for at least a few seconds. 

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

He often talks about his friends and his career. He keeps you updated and also venting to you is a good outlet for him. 

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

He just lays down or watches football. When he’s stressed he often gets angry, so he tries to avoid you as to not make you take on his anger. 

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

He doesn’t show off at all as we know but he is proud of his career and fanbase. 

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He wouldn’t make a spectacle of proposing but he would make a video of it. Weather that video was posted online or just kept in memories would be up to you. 

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

I don't know enough music to accurately give a song sorry:(

Y = Yikes (Do they ever mess up in the relationship?)

Dream doesn’t mess up often but when he does its usually stupid. One time he snapped at you for asking too much about dreamsmp lore. You were just asking so many questions and his patience is only so strong.  He snapped at you, yelling loudly, telling you to just leave him alone. Now that alone wouldn’t be too bad but he got in your face and cornered you. You got scared, naturally, and had a hard time trusting him. I believe that he isn’t “toxic” but just explodes

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

He would get another cat but probably not a dog due to patches.

[centaurianthropology]

Thoughts on Critical Role C3E3

Spoilers below the cut

Well, shit.  That really was a fantastic episode.  Lots happened, the group came together in various ways, and we got a proper gut-punch of an ending.  

- We’re learning a bit more about Imogen.  It seems like she either has memories or at least dreams of a great red tempest that’s tied to her past and likely tied to the way she got her powers.  I also think that it’s likely something happened to her family.  We’ll probably learn more as we go, but yeah, the more I see her the more I think Laura drew some definite inspiration from Caleb from last campaign.  I was also really impressed with her during the fight.  Seeing Laura cut loose was great, and once again reinforces that as she grows in power she’s going to be an absolute beast on the battlefield.

- Less Laudna this episode, which makes sense since last episode was her big lore-drop.  I think we did finally figure out what sorcerous origin she is.  We knew she was an Undead Warlock, but she also seems to have a Shadow origin, which fits her thematically.  If she’s going classic sorclock, she’ll have taken those initial levels in warlock and may now lean heavily into sorcerer, especially if she wants to go a mostly-magic build, so I’m guessing we’ll see what she can do and which of her classes she chooses to level when they bump to 4.

- FCG also didn’t get as much to do, although they got some clutch heals and damage shares in.  We also figured out what their ‘temp hit points’ when they share suffering can do.  They can actually turn them into damage against their enemies, which is a really neat trick to take damage meant for a PC and deflect it.  They’re also clearly very worried about Ashton, and I think with good reason, which brings us to ...

- Of all the new group, Ashton is the most withdrawn, the most held back.  He definitely contributes to battle plans and strategy, but he avoids talking about anything personal with anyone but the people from the crook house.  We found out a little more about him, though.  We now know that he’s got massive debts, huge damage to his reputation, and that ‘she’ comes around and is either a danger or at least a trouble to him, and seems to be tied with the last crew he ran with, which went very south, hard enough that the thought of a new group seems to intrigue them and scare the shit out of them in equal measure.  It seems like he might have been betrayed by a patron, because his reaction to Lord Eshteross is to avoid talking to him at all costs, and he looked genuinely worried when that cake came out.  Something really bad went down with his last patron, some huge betrayal.  I don’t know if ‘she’ is a former colleague or connected to that patron, but I’m guessing we’ll find out at the worst possible time.  They once again demonstrated the coin-flip approach to their life, when deciding whether or not to stay with the group, he let FCG be the one to do it.  But it’s clear they’re doing their best not to get attached, to hold all the others and everyone else at arms’ length.  Their reaction to Danica’s death was cold, mercenary, and shows a sort of bleak outlook that I think reflects as much about them as it does about her.  I think Ashton thinks he’s done something terrible, that he tangled with the wrong life, and now he’s on borrowed time too.  These people could probably save him, but it’ll be a long while until he opens up enough to let them try.  I’ll be interested to see how the events at the end of the episode effect them.  They still aren’t that close with this group, but still.  It’s the first chance on people they’ve taken in a long time.

- We still don’t know much about Fearne, although she remains a guaranteed source of hilarity and chaos.  I’m interested to see how a creature of the Feywild fits into this group long-term, and how living in this plane of existence will effect her.  She right now very much retains her own sense of otherness, but that may fade over time.  I also loved the Bert and Fernie joke, as thier duo was one of my favorites.

-   Orym was mostly support this time, though I really hope he finds a way to up his CON and AC.  He’s way too squishy right now, and the dex does not seem to save him as much as we’d hope.  It was interesting to find out that the person he was looking for is a ‘good thing’, not something dangerous.  We also found out that there is a shadowy someone or something he’s seen before, masked in dark clothing, and the look on his face says that that is a sad and painful story, very possibly tied to why he wants a fresh start in Marquet.

- Dorian was great, and I’m liking Robbie as a part of the group more and more.  My theory about him is that he’s a special guest, but they’re using this as a testing ground to see if he wants to stay, if Matt feels like he can run a table of eight comfortably, and if it fits with the story.  I like Dorian a lot, and I think he adds something to the group.  Him and Imogen made a good team as faces for the group, and I liked the balance between retaliation against Bertrand for being an ass in the darkness, but also forgiving him and playing him music.  Their final scene, and Bertrand’s little confessions about his former group and about not really knowing anything about the city were beautifully bittersweet.  

- And then we get to Bertrand.  I was always half expecting it, given his higher level and the fact that Travis seemed to be deliberately holding back in combat, but it’s a tribute to Travis that over the course of three episodes he really made me love this ridiculous old man, to the point that his death at the end of the episode was a genuine gut-punch.  And I think it was partly because, in the end, after being a coward, and betraying his party, and being a cad time and again, Betrand made a stand.  He refused to collaborate with the dwarf, refused to even entertain the notion.  He stood proud, happy with the fact that he was finally back on top, part of a good group of people.  He was out to see one more sunrise.  As soon as he said that, I suspected things might go wrong.  But Travis sold the shit out of it, and I’ll admit that it ached to hear Matt describe him walking into the tempest in Imogen’s vision as he lay, bleeding out in the alleyway.  I’m sure I’ll like Travis’ new character plenty, but damn, I’m going to miss this adventuring grandpa in amazing clothes.

[allthingskenobi]

Obi-Wan in Exile – Vader

(Originally published on AllThingsKenobi.com December 13, 2020)

Welcome to the first in a series of looks into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s time in exile on Tatooine between Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith and Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. We’ve tried to mine as much Legends and canon material as possible to help guide you through some of the period’s most common and repetitive themes so that when the new Obi-Wan Kenobi series airs, you’ll be ready.

Not everything he ever did in the entire 19 years will be explored here, but as we said, we’ve tried our best to pick out the most prominent and impactful moments to give everyone a better understanding of exactly what one hermit had to endure out there all alone in the sandy deserts of Tatooine.

While Vader himself was not a common reoccurrence throughout Obi-Wan’s exile, the threat of him certainly was…well until now that is. As Vader so often does, he’s recently made his way back to the forefront of the story and will seemingly loom very large over the upcoming series, thus moving us to start with exactly what that might mean for Obi-Wan and how it might work with the canon boundaries we currently have. Yes, we understand that canon can change and probably will, but we do love a challenge.

“Vader,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Vader’s alive.”

DARK LORD: THE RISE OF DARTH VADER BY JAMES LUCENO L

Let’s start at the beginning. We have one instance in Legends where we see Obi-Wan learn that Vader survived Mustafar and it comes mere months after his exile on Tatooine begins. He first hears the name “Vader” mentioned again on the HoloNet during one of his trips into Mos Eisley and nearly faints before panicking to find a way to take Luke and run. (1) This early recognition seems to be reconfirmed in later canon as one of Ben’s greatest fears in the third year of his exile continued to be “sand crunching beneath heavy black boots, a dark cape billowing in the desert squall, the mechanical wheeze of a respirator.” (2) So will we see Obi-Wan only just learning of Vader’s fate in the tenth year of his exile? I’d say that’s highly doubtful unless the show provides a flashback for us—which we will gladly accept.

“Instead, Padmé was dead and Obi-Wan was running for his life, as stripped of everything as Vader was. Without friends, family, purpose…”

DARK LORD: THE RISE OF DARTH VADER BY JAMES LUCENO L

At the same time, Vader was also very convinced that Obi-Wan was still alive and would remain so despite his greatest efforts. Because if there was one thing Vader was good at it, it was holding a grudge like he held a lightsaber, and he would expend quite a bit of energy over the 19 years between episodes III and IV searching for his old Master. (Just ask anyone he comes across in the comics.) Oh, and let’s not forget that it’s also Vader who would later inform a disbelieving Tarkin, in no uncertain terms, that Obi-Wan was still alive and on the Death Star. (3)

“No, I can’t [leave],” Ben said, firmly. “I must be here.”

KENOBI BY JOHN JACKSON MILLER L

“The core of Anakin that resides in Vader grasps that Tatooine is the source of nearly everything that causes him pain. Vader will never set foot on Tatooine, if only out of fear of reawakening Anakin.”

DARK LORD: THE RISE OF DARTH VADER BY JAMES LUCENO L

Now that we’ve established that they both knew of each other’s survival, it begs the question as to why their paths never actually crossed in 19 years. Personally, I think it’s fairly simple: Obi-Wan would never leave Tatooine and Vader would never go anywhere near it. We will discuss Obi-Wan not leaving Tatooine more in-depth at a later time (and yes, we know what Ewan said about having a ‘rollicking time’), but Vader would canonically never visit his home planet until well after Obi-Wan and Luke were both gone. (4)(5) And by then it was much too late.

That brings us to the most recent ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’ news and how that fits in with what Legends and canon have told us so far. We received a lot of exciting and thought-provoking announcements in a short amount of time, and frankly, our minds haven’t stopped spinning since. Could the show undo what we currently assume to be true? Yes. Could the show work within those same parameters? Also, yes. Do I personally have any idea what’s going to happen? No. DO I THINK THE SHOW IS GOING TO BE AMAZING NO MATTER WHAT? Y E S. The goal of this exercise is to simply try and reconcile the new details to the existing Star Wars lore because I think that’s what makes it interesting. So you can take it or leave it. The choice is yours. (Until it isn’t because the show has aired and this is all pointless.)

HERE WE GO.

“[Deborah] Chow confirmed that audiences will “definitely see Obi-Wan and Darth Vader get into it again” as we see the blue blade of a hooded Obi-Wan clash with the fiery red blade of Darth Vader.”

“McGregor knows the battle will be eagerly anticipated, and he’s looking forward to performing it just as much: “Having another swing at each other might be quite satisfying for everybody. We hope that you enjoy it as much as we’re going to enjoy making it.””

DEBORAH CHOW AND EWAN MCGREGOR DURING THE DISNEY INVESTOR’S REEL

Not only was the “Hayden Christensen returning as Darth Vader” bombshell dropped in our laps, but we were also fed the above morsels (not once but thrice) and told to digest them. Our first reaction was a hearty and well-deserved cry of rejoicing until the realization of what this could all mean set in and it turned into a hearty and well-deserved sob.

There’s hardly a way to be disappointed in the fact that we will see Ewan and Hayden not only together again, but “getting into it” as well, but we do have to wonder what this means for the moment where Obi-Wan and Vader face each other again on the Death Star. The moment is not only pivotal to Episode IV, but I would argue, the entire saga. And it’s made even more impactful by the fact that the two men have not physically confronted each other since their fateful battle on Mustafar.

What we do know, and that which should not change, is that Vader never knew where Obi-Wan was hiding nor that he had Luke, his son, with him. That tells me two things: whatever kind of “rematch” happens here does not endanger Luke’s safety in the long run nor is it probably something that would occur more than once. I think what we’re going to see happen is isolated and “unexpected,” occurring only once ten years into Obi-Wan’s exile.

You: But, All Things Kenobi, if they could never physically meet on Tatooine or elsewhere, then what does this all mean??

Us: Do we look like Deborah Chow or Ewan McGregor? Do we have all the answers for you? NO! But can we try to help ease your mind until the show airs and I’m proven all sorts of wrong?? YES! SO PUT ON THAT TINFOIL HAT AND LET’S DO THIS!!

“I sense something. A presence I’ve not felt since…”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

“Obi-Wan once thought as you do.”

STAR WARS EPISODE VI: RETURN OF THE JEDI C

Instantly our minds turned to these two particular comments from Vader in Episodes IV and VI. They’ve always stood out as peculiar, demanding explanation, but even more so now. The first is a vague, open-ended statement that leaves us to assume they hadn’t met again since they parted on the slopes of Mustafar. The second is a seemingly wistful reminiscence of a memory Vader has of his old master.

Luke had just finished making a heartfelt plea for Anakin to remember his “true self” then says, “come with me.” Where did Obi-Wan make the same appeal to only be shunned by Vader as well? Is it possible the series will show us this after all these years and possibly solve the riddle of both enigmatic statements at once? Is it possible that any such conversation might quickly devolve into another lightsaber-fueled clash??

“Count Dooku was Yoda’s apprentice.”

“And Count Dooku has fallen to the dark side.”

“All of us have apprenticed to Master Yoda.”

“He cannot be held accountable for Dooku’s descent.”

“But they are connected. Profoundly.”

THE CLONE WARS 6×11 “VOICES” C

A distinct bond exists between each Padawan and Master and unfortunately that bond does not disappear when one or the other becomes a Sith Lord. Despite the bond between Obi-Wan and Anakin being firmly closed at both ends, there’s no doubt that a presence remains. And even the most sturdy walls might crack from time to time.

Even after 19 years apart, Vader is quick to recognize when Obi-Wan is nearby and goes so far as to know his intent. “Escape is not his plan. I must face him alone.” And he’s right. (3) As for Obi-Wan, the Force has plagued him with dreams and visions, even showing him “a limbless wreck hanging in a bacta tank, necrotic skin pallid and scarred.” (2)

Could their strong connection be the vehicle that allows Obi-Wan and Anakin to confront each other once more? Within the Force they could not only converse, but we could also see them “take another swing” at each other without any physical consequences no matter who “wins.” The mental toll would also make for great drama for both men and bring a new perspective and emotional weight to several scenes in the Original Trilogy.

“If you loved me, Obi-Wan, you would have killed me.”

STAR WARS: DARTH VADER 24 BY KIERON GILLEN C

Finally, it’s quite possible that Obi-Wan might not physically be involved at all in their “rematch” and it might be entirely from Vader’s perspective. One theory could be as simple as the fact that Vader once had a training droid whose deadliest combat setting took the form of his former master. (Oh, Anakin.) (6) Another theory, and a much more likely one, could be that Vader has a Force vision or dream that allows him to recreate and relive various moments between himself and Obi-Wan, including, but not limited to, another lightsaber battle. This would be interesting to witness as every time it occurs, it means that Vader is wrestling with Anakin.

Although the Obi-Wan that continues to exist in Anakin’s psyche doesn’t seem too different from the real thing, just imagine Ewan McGregor getting to play Obi-Wan from Anakin’s point of view…I’ll just drop my mic there.

Star Wars: Darth Vader 24 by Kieron Gillen (2016) C

Star Wars: Darth Vader 5 by Charles Soule (2017) C

Citations:

(1) Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader by James Luceno L

(2) “Time of Death” – From A Certain Point of View by Cavan Scott C

(3) Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope C

(4) Star Wars: Darth Vader 2016 by Kieron Gillen C

(5) Star Wars: Darth Vader 2020 by Greg Pak C

(6) Star Wars: The Force Unleashed (2008) by Haden Blackman L

[lilyofthesword-writes]

Hunter (Kurama Oneshot)

Summary: Kurama reminisces over his early human childhood memories while he waits for you to regain consciousness from your comatose state.

Pairing: Kurama x F!Reader (Can be read as platonic)

Word Count: 1,864

Disclaimers/Warnings: Short depictions of bullying, childhood trauma. Angsty but there is still some fluff to be found.

A/N: Set post-canon. This pulls in bits of Supernatural lore, specifically some of the creatures seen in the series, but is not actually set in the Supernatural universe. This is something I’ve had in my head ever since I started the series over five years ago. Feels awesome to finally have it written out! Hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist

Your breath was slow as it filled your lungs, almost as though it were fueling your comatose slumber. Kurama stood idly against the wall, watching over you in the hospital bed. He didn’t necessarily need to be there, but he felt like he should. For what it’s worth, he hadn’t seen or heard from you since you were children. He wondered if your eyes still held the same fire that coursed through them all those years ago.

In his younger years before puberty, he hadn’t been the most popular amongst the children at the playground. His bright ruby hair and green eyes made him stand out and not in a good way. While the parents found him adorable, most the kids did not. His mother, Shiori, always did her best to keep a close eye on him, but being a single mother presented various challenges for both of them. She was unable to catch every moment when the other children would pick on him, purposely leaving him out of their fun. His first true glimpse into humanity should have left him jaded, and it did, at least until you showed up.

One morning, while his mother was preoccupied, one of the boys shoved him onto the gravel, scuffing Kurama’s hands as he braced himself for the fall. It hurt, just not enough to make him cry. He was still a demon of the Makai after all. It would take more than that for him to show pain. He glared up at the boy, but his view was blocked by the small back of another child.

“Why do you have to be so mean?” Although your voice was quiet, it still managed to express more rage than a yell or scream ever could.

The boy’s retort died on his tongue. He could have said something. Any child would have, however lackluster it could have been. There was just something about that situation that made him turn tail and run back to his friends.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Kurama’s voice was just as soft.

Spinning on your heels, you swung around to face him. Your face was serious with the twinge of a pout on your lips. “But neither did he.”

You watched his confused expression curiously, the brightness in your eyes not dimming for a single moment. He wasn’t sure if he should thank you or just leave, still unsure of this being human situation.

“What’s your name?” You cut through his thoughts.

“Shuuichi.”

Your hand shot out to help him up as you gave him your name. He accepted it reluctantly. The warmth of it seeped through his skin, a warmth he still remembered as he stood by your side in the hospital.

Reaching his feet, he continued to study you. Why didn’t you act like the others? You grinned and squeezed the hand you were still holding for whatever reason. “Wanna play on the swings, Shuu-chan?”

He didn’t really like the nickname. Others kids tried to call him that and were shot down immediately. Yet from you... It sounded right, like you were the only one meant to call him that. He joined you on the swings every day you two met up at the park. When he learned you and your family moved in next door, the days you weren’t at the park were spent at one of your houses.

He wouldn’t be adverse to hearing you say it again. Kurama thought about what it would be like now that you were an adult. Would it still sound just as right? Would you even remember the nickname, or even him for that matter? You had only known each other for a couple of years. Did he make as much of an impression on your life as you did his?

The day you had to leave was one of the most upsetting in his human life, second only to his mother’s terminal illness he and Yusuke had managed to cure with the Forlorn Hope artifact. He had woken from a light sleep, sensing a demonic entity nearby. Then, there came a faint smell of smoke. Fully alert, he dashed to the window to peer outside. The smoke was coming from your home.

By the time he flew down the stairs and out the kitchen side door, the house was already engulfed in flames, no doubt due to the demon. He flung himself over the fence and ran to the large tree that grew beside your window on the second floor. You had your window thrown open when he started climbing, your choked coughs and sobs were engulfing all of his senses. You couldn’t reach the branch that protruded out to you, but he could close the gap. He could get you out of there.

And he did. He grabbed your hand and pulled you onto a sturdier part of the branch before the end broke off and fell into the grass below. The way you sobbed in his arms... He couldn’t bring himself to pull away and have you climb down the tree with him. No. He opted to wait for the fire department to safely bring you both down.

Shiori cradled the two of you in her arms after the firemen brought you to the paramedics for a check-up. Other than smoke inhalation, you were physically fine. Emotionally? That was an entirely different story. Losing your parents and the newborn baby brother you had been so excited for was not something you should have had to experience. You had stopped crying, but it was like you weren’t even there. The light in your eyes had dwindled to nearly nothing.

Over the following few days, you stayed with the Minamino’s. You barely ate and your sleep was plagued with nightmares. Your dreams were filled with the demon that destroyed your life. You had caught a glimpse of it before you were rescued but that was all it took. Kurama desperately wanted to help you sleep, help you live. His abilities had not yet amassed to their full potential, so the plants he knew would work, he could not grow. For the first time in his long life, he felt truly hopeless.

Your aunt and uncle, your only living relatives he quickly learned, were at the Minamino’s doorstep later that week. They had come from overseas for you as soon as they had heard about your family. While they were clearly apprehensive at the thought of staying any longer than necessary, they still allowed you enough time to say your goodbyes. Shiori embraced you as any mother would, full of warmth and love. When you hugged Kurama, you poured every part of you into it. You didn’t want to leave but understood you had no choice.

“Goodbye, Shuu-chan.”

The last words he heard from you echoed in Kurama’s head. He had thought that goodbye was permanent. It never once crossed his mind that you would find your way back into his life.

“Kurama?”

His mind snapped back to the present.

“Botan,” he greeted casually.

The blue-haired reaper was tentative in her response. “How is she doing?”

“Still dreaming. She should wake soon.”

The djinn Koenma sent him after should be dead before dawn if the carnivorous plant he seeded in the creature’s chest had anything to say about it. Then, its spell would be lifted.

“Good...” Botan stared at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Did you find out anything?”

“We... We found a lot on her, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“Will it explain why she was there?”

Botan relented with a sigh. “Yes.”

Kurama stepped forward, gently swiping at the hair that had fluttered onto your face because of the air conditioning vent above you. “Then, tell me.”

She huffed and came around to stand on the other side of your bed. Gripping the railing, she watched your peaceful form. “Kurama... She comes from a line of hunters. At least on her mother’s side, she does.”

He glanced up at Botan before placing a large hand over yours.

“Against her mother’s wishes, her aunt and uncle trained her to continue that line. She excelled at it for quite a few years.”

No... Not you of all people.

“Why past tense? What has changed recently?”

“She started working alone after her caretakers passed away. We’ve found instances of her starting a hunt but not following through. The most recent was a small nest of vampires in the United States. They were breeding cattle to feed off of, never once having a drop of human blood. She... She wound up defending them against other hunters.”

Despite the short couple of years he spent with you, that sounded more like you. Kurama held your fingers so delicately as though they were glass, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “So she was hunting tonight...”

Botan nodded nervously. “I believe so. It wouldn’t be hard for a skilled hunter to put together the pieces from all the news reports of missing women.”

Yes... The missing women found dead a week later after they had been reported, drained of blood with only a tiny needle wound as the culprit. Had you beaten him there only to be captured yourself?

“I wonder what you are dreaming about...” Kurama muttered more to himself than anyone. Most djinns preferred their victims to have pleasant dreams as they fed on their blood. Complacency lowered the chance of the human waking up and escaping.

Silence settled in the tiny room, tense and thick. Botan’s head hung low with her gaze still on you. You certainly did not look like a hunter by any means. Then again, your unassuming looks could aid in how dangerous you really were.

“You know Koenma will want to see her when she wakes up,” Botan’s quiet voice still felt too loud for the room.

“Yes... However, I would like to speak with her first.”

“Of course. I will leave you to it.” Botan left and returned him to the quiet of the room.

About an hour later, sunlight was just barely beginning to peak over the horizon. He had sat himself in the chair next to the bed, waiting for you to open your eyes. He had spent most of the time racking his brain on how he would explain everything.

You had caught Spirit World’s attention with this one. It sounded like you had been trying to atone, but Koenma still needed to do his job. Maybe, if he took a liking to you, then you would be more like Kurama or Yusuke and be assigned random missions to protect the three realms. Although, that may have been wishful thinking on his part.

He heard the sheets rustle ever so slightly. Your eyes flitted under your eyelids. Kurama surged forward, taking your now twitching hand in his. A dry, raspy groan left your throat as you slowly woke. Even in the low light, your eyes had trouble adjusting. Yet, they settled on him regardless. Confusion turned to recognition when you were finally able to focus properly, his original question being answered.

“Shuu-chan?”

[mattzerella-sticks]

Sunrise (Dean/Cas coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, 1.7k)

(ao3 link)

Dean and Sam were free. Finally, unequivocally, free.

But this wasn't the happy ending Dean had expected. Maybe in the past, having Sam in the passenger seat tearing across an open stretch of highway as the sunsets, it'd be what he wanted. But that was years ago. He's not that man anymore. Dean's tired of sunsets, of saying goodbye. He yearns for a different ending. One that's less of an ending, and more of a beginning. A sunrise instead of a sunset.

Sam has his. Dean lost his. Despite this setback, he won't stop. He'll live in memory of his sunrise.

Except, what can he do when he feels those rays on his face again?

           Early morning sunlight streams through half-closed motel window blinds, striking Dean directly on his face. Stir him from unconsciousness, shuffling Dean out of his dreams. Warm blue and familiar stubble replaced with an ugly, orange patterned wallpaper that makes his stomach unhappily flip. Groaning, he turns. Hopes he can reclaim his quickly fading fantasy. It escapes his grasp, Dean left in the loneliness of reality.

           Truly. He checks Sam’s bed, finding it unoccupied. “Figures…”

           They crossed paths with Eileen coincidentally. Not like Sam’s pointed questions and giant thumbs hid his intentions. Even his terrible acting (“Eileen? What are the odds of you being here?”) couldn’t throw him off. Dean played along, however, letting them think he was in the dark. Knew exactly why his brother and his brother’s girlfriend hadn’t told Dean about this. Salt only hurts a wound that’s fresh and open. While badly healed, Dean’s grown numb to that missing chunk of his heart. More pained that his sadness made his loved ones go behind his back, act in guilt.

           Sam and Eileen don’t deserve shadows because of his pain.

           Which is why he’s happy for them. Left the bar so they can chat without his presence. Catch up, let Sam tell her about those kitschy tourist traps they’ve been hopping between since Chuck’s defeat. Show pictures of Dean in an upside-down house, Sam’s head peeking out from corn fields. Hold hands. Sit on the same side of the booth. Kiss, without worrying if Dean is steadily killing his liver at the bar because of them.

           Drinking lost its flavor anyhow.

           Free from Chuck’s influences, Dean decided he might cut a few more strings. Namely beer. He’ll enjoy a bottle every now and then but, reflecting on it, booze never offered comfort he really needed. Only aggravated a different sort of hurt, distracting him for a while. He abandoned those distractions. Instead of asking their bartender from last night, with his tanned skin and wavy, blond hair, for whiskey, neat, until he dropped, Dean stood from their table and paid his tab. Carried his longing out the exit, drove with it, laid down in his bed and held it close. Hugged it, imagining his arms. Praise whispered in his ear, about choosing a different way. A better way. A healthier way.

           Cas would be proud of him. Prouder than he already is. And Dean… felt the same.

           Rising, Dean stretches. Winces as a new disc pops and cracks in his back, “Motels ain’t what they used to be…” He throws his legs over the side, scrunching his toes in the shag carpet. Smiling, “But at least some things’ll never change…”

           It’s going to be a slow morning. Dean doubts Sam will swing by before noon, meaning he has hours to kill. First, he leisurely showers. Scrubs at his scalp with gentle scratches, humming Zeppelin under his breath. Keening ‘A Whole Lotta Love’s chorus, coming into his hand. Lets that melody fade while water makes his come sluice off his hand, into the drain. He switches tracks, dries himself while softly singing ‘Going to California’. Thinks about their next destination. All those beaches he and Sam plan on visiting. Finally making good on their promise.

           Not how he always envisioned it, but…

           Dean drapes the towel around his neck, staring at his reflection. Marks new wrinkles he hadn’t noticed, gray hairs where dirty blond were. Sees how small his eyebags shrank.

           Sleeping was surprisingly easy. Some days Dean wished it weren’t. Others, it’s his only chance at being with him again.

           “Nope,” he says, leaving the bathroom. Jumping out from the mirror. “Not going there… not this early…”

           He bides his time dressing, debating where he should get breakfast. Wonders if a diner they passed entering town might serve pie as he hops into his jeans. Waffles between a t-shirt or purple-and-blue plaid while rubbing deodorant on. Then, tugging his tee’s thin fabric over his head, he decides he isn’t that hungry. Can eat later, Sam driving so he can attack snacks he squirrelled away when they last stopped for gas.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam?” Dean asks, glancing at the door. No one answers. “Sam is that you? You forget your keys or…” He checks his phone. Nothing.

           Knock Knock Knock

           “Sam, if that’s you – this isn’t funny.” He grabs for his socks, sitting on the end of his bed. “Pulling a poor joke on your brother, leaving your girlfriend alone in bed… shame on you.”

           Knock Knock Knock

           Dean squeezes his socks, glaring at the door. His irritation fades, weirdly, the longer he stares. Replaced with a different feeling, comforting. Without needing to, Dean guesses it’s not Sam on that other side. Tossing his socks, Dean stands and slowly inches forward. Drawn by gravity, a name perched atop his tongue. Waiting there, scared of being spoken. Of being wrong. He doesn’t feel wrong.

           Is this still a dream, he asks himself. Did I actually wake up? Dean waits, hovering near the doorknob. Remembers rushing last time, what waited there then. What he almost threw himself onto. Cycles through who might be waiting now. Something worse, a more terrifying monster. Or maybe mundane, like the motel manager. He’ll never know if he drags it out. Whether that’s motivation or warning, Dean can’t decide. What he does choose is flinging open that door and facing whoever was there.

           “Hello, Dean.”

           “Cas -?” Dean gasps, knees buckling. Laughing, he leans his weight on the door. Grins wide enough his cheeks must splinter, twin tracks of tears already spilled over. “Cas, is that…” He coughs, wiping at his mouth. “Is that really you?”

           Like nothing happened, Cas crosses the threshold. Dressed spectacularly… normal. Trench coat, suit jacket, and white button-down paired with his crooked blue tie. Dean’s hand drifts close but can’t touch. Not yet. “It is me,” he tells Dean, “you… probably have a lot of questions. About why I’m here, and – and what was said when the Empty…”

           Of course, there are questions. None were as important as Dean snatching Cas’s tie, dragging him into a heated embrace. “Later,” he promises, closing the door. Guiding Cas onto his bed. Falling, his angel’s body collapsing atop his. Weight proving further and further how real this is.

           He’s back!

           “I can’t believe…” Dean kisses along Cas’s neck, threading his fingers through hairs resting at his angel’s nape. Feeds a fire burning across his body, flames roaring with a desire for more. “Can’t believe I could be this lucky…”

           Cas chuckles, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

           “Never to us.” Pausing, Dean tears his eyes from the dip of Cas’s collarbone and to his face. “I searched, Cas. I did. Back when it was me, and Sam, and Jack, I did everything I could but I… there wasn’t any lore. Nothing about contacting the Empty, breaking through I – how?”

           Shifting, Cas rolls off Dean and onto his side. No sooner than it started, those flames eating at Dean’s insides tempered. Became a more manageable heat, containable. Dean tucked himself against Cas’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. Awed from that simple rhythm it gives. Lulls Dean with a gentle song. “Jack,” Cas explains. Rubs Dean’s shoulder, along where his handprint was. Teased the edges of his tee, part of his memorial tattoo revealed. Cas traces his palm outline. “In fixing Chuck’s mistakes, he… he mounted a rescue mission from Heaven.”

           “For you?”

           “For everyone.” Cas kisses Dean’s crown, continuing his story. Whispers it into his head. “All the angels. Jack rescued us all.”

           “Everyone?” Dean asks, “Meaning… Michael? Gabriel?”

           “Uriel, Balthazar, Anna, Hannah, Metatron – even Lucifer.”

           “What the hell?”

           “He was fixing what Chuck wasted. Saved Heaven,” he says, “Gave everyone a second chance, to do right by humanity. Be its guardians like we were supposed to be. And…” Cas lays his hand where it belongs, Dean shivering from contact. Wraps his arms tighter around his angel’s waist. “Jack offered me all my powers back, and then some. Said I could be his archangel… second-in-command, in all of Heaven.”

           Dean lifts his head, frowning. Studies Cas with a suspicious wrinkle creasing his brow. He deflates somewhat, disappointment rocking into him like heavy waves. Routine. Expected, since Cas was exactly where he wanted. But then, isn’t that answer enough? Dean asks regardless. “Did you take it?”

           “I thanked him for the offer,” Cas says, “however my place was elsewhere, here on Earth… with you.” His hand moves, cupping Dean’s cheek. Thumb brushes his lip. “And when our time comes, I’ll rejoin Heaven at your side.”

           Cas’s heartbeat makes sense, now. It never did that before.

           “We’ve got a long time before we croak, Cas,” Dean jokes, crawling higher up his bed. Enough that he can press their foreheads together. “You think you can handle it?”

           “I waited millennia to meet you, and then years just so I can hold you like this.” Cas closes the distance, capturing Dean’s lips. “I’m hoping our future is excruciatingly slow.”

           “Our future…” He relaxes, allowing a few more kisses before he starts again. “Y’know, I… I thought I’d never get to say that. Figured, after Jack took the reigns from Chuck, this was all we’d get and – and having everyone back was nice. But you weren’t there, and I hurt. When you died, I wanted to sit there and let myself waste away and join you. Except if I did, you’d be so angry and – that’s what’s been keeping me going. You loved me so much – and were pained whenever I was… I couldn’t do that to myself. Punishing myself wouldn’t be fair. So I thought about my future, how I can live it for those I loved. Be there… the person I’ve become, and not who I used to be. But now…”

           “Now you can be a little selfish,” Cas says. “We can be selfish.” He tickles Dean’s chin, hands roving across his body. “What should we do, for the first day of the rest of our lives?”

           Dean doesn’t dawdle. “I want to lay here,” he says, “Lay here the whole day, in your arms, telling you how much I love you.”

           “…I don’t see any problems with that.”

           Neither did Dean, which is why he suggested it. They fix themselves, first. Cas sheds most of his outer layers, leaving himself only in his boxers. Dean hurls his jeans off fast, jumping under the covers. Giddy as Cas joins him, both men facing each other. Hands joined above their sheets, Cas’s palm fitting perfectly.

           “Well?” Cas arches his brow, “How much do you love me?”

           Dean kisses him, ruining it by smiling too hard. “I love you too much, and not enough.”

[myundeadgayson]

“Beachboys” by McCafferty, except it’s C!Karl Jacobs and the Mr. Beast Crew

I’ve had this idea in my brain... for SO LONG. Unfortunately though, I can’t draw well enough to turn this into an animatic... I’ve also never made an animatic, so... BUT I SURE CAN PUT THIS INTO WORDS. So, this is gonna be C!Karl-centric and heavily inspired by my own headcanons that before joining the SMP, Karl used to live with the Beast Crew (that being Jimmy, Chris, Chandler, and himself). I’ll make a post later with all my ideas, but specifically it comes down to the idea that the four of them grew up together in a small village on a peaceful server, but Jimmy eventually got the idea for a bunch of fun events (kinda like the Mr Beast Videos). As the events grew bigger and bigger, the Beast Crew started traveling around to other servers a lot to put on more events. One would end up being the Technoblade vs. Dream battle, which is where Karl meets the Dream Team for the first time and eventually how he gets invited by Sapnap to come live on the server if he wants. This is all takes places before Karl finds out about being a Time Traveler, but this whole thing is the after with Karl’s memories all blurring together! Be aware, there’s LOTS of C!Karlnap in this with a lot of your usual C!Karlnapity Lore with all the normal sadness:) So if you find this interesting at all, please continue to read!! (Note: this isn’t really a songfic. it’s more like I’m giving you all the lyrics and describing the scenes I keep seeing in my head that way you can imagine it along with me. A bit more messy and chaotic, but still fun!!)

[Jimmy VC, but it’s him breaking down laughing while he yells]   “I swear to fucking God, Chris!   I'll turn this fucking car around!   Shut the fuck up!”

  I don't get parties,   Or getting high,   I just get low most of the time… [Insert Karl walking through multiple scenes— a party, an empty field in front of Kinoko, his friends arguing. It soon cuts to Karl’s upside down face pouting. When it pans out, it shows him hanging upside down off a couch cushion in his cozy home in Kinoko.]   And I'll be there for you, baby [Insert Karl Fingerguns]   But I've got to have some room— [Now insert blushing, semi-smiling Sapnap, then it cutting to them in the future with Karl holding a journal and turned away from Sap as if sneaking away while Sapnap’s turned away from him. Sap’s likely on fire, possibly with his glare aimed towards a shadow of Dream in the distance, or the destroyed Community House.]   And you gotta keep your eyes on the new guys in the room. [Close up on Karl’s eyes darting around nervously]   And the way they dance is crazy,   I have never seen this shit. [Faraway shot of Karl in a room while everyone’s dancing, Chris is one of them and going too fucking hard in the center of it all]   And the strobe light's way too hot,   So let's get this over with. [close up cut, close up cut, close up cut until reaching Karl’s face and a sweat drop rolling down]   She says, "Your lips tasted like they did way back in July" [Sapnap coming to hold his hand. Karl smiles, but there’s a flash of the past with Karl seeing James]   Headaches and overdose,   I hope that we never die… [Karl, overcome by thoughts, pulls away from Sapnap and walks away]

  October's always here, [cut to Karl sitting on the swing in the Inbetween]   November's never leaves, [cut to same scene in the Other Side]   December disappears, [same scene, but Karl’s sitting under a tree in the Overworld, clearly in Kinoko Kingdom.] [He suddenly gets pulled up by the hand.]   She says to me, "Well, I dance really fast, so you've gotta dance real fast, [The scene shifts. Chris is the one holding his hand, grinning brightly back at him and speaking the lyrics. The scene has faded into a past memory way before Karl joined the SMP. The view blurs while Chris tugs him over to what appears to be the dance floor dance with him. Jimmy and Chandler can be seen in the background. It’s a party of sorts in some past city or kingdom they lived in. It’s outside. Chandler is back by the food table, stuffing his face while Jimmy calmly drinks from a cup while talking to someone.]   “And my friends are all passed out in the back of my friend's van," [The scene spins along with a laughing Karl, who’s being twirled around by Chris, into the after where they’re all passed out on top of each other in some barn. Karl’s passed out in a pile of hay on the floor with Chris, who’s fallen asleep sitting up beside him.  Karl’s all sprawled out with his hair a mess and his legs are laying over Chris’s own. Jimmy’s sleeping face up on the haystacks with Chandler flopped face first horizontally above his head on his own two stacks. Chandler’s arm is definitely hanging over the haystack. Chris is sitting closest to Jimmy with his arms crossed, almost like a sleeping guard dog.   And she's got this sexy hair braid that goes over her forehead [Cut to a close up of Sapnap’s forehead and bandana]  Lindsey, let me kiss your forehead... [It pulls back to show Karl standing with a smirking Sapnap. It’s unclear of the time, but this is possibly a flash of the future, potentially hinting this Karl is from the future and time travelled back to the past. Or, it hints that this is right after him and Sap met during the event they held where Dream faced off with Techno and Sap and George would have come as guests to watch. Karl developed a crush on him almost instantly.  Karl’s reaching to brush Sapnap’s hair aside. Their eyes are locked and Sapnap’s smirk is growing, waiting for Karl to finally lean in.  The scene abruptly cuts back to Karl’s eyes snapping open with his cheeks burning red. Then, it shows his POV of a laughing Chris and Jimmy over ahead. Karl looks over, only to see Chandler curled up his side and making kissy lips at him, causing Karl to shriek and jump away.  The scene ends with them all laughing at Karl’s expense while Karl screams at them.]   And I know that you think that I don't care   About all the friends I left behind,   The ones who stay up late at night   Screaming out their shattered minds. [Karl smiling fondly up at his friends, laughing and goofing off above him. Chandler is laughing beside him, staring up at Jimmy, who’s chuckling as he shoves Chris, who’s smirking at some joke he’s made.  When Karl blinks, the scene changes and he’s pulled out of the memory]   I know that you think that I don't care   About all the friends that I left behind, [Suddenly, Karl jolts into a new setting.  He’s back in his house in Kinoko, sitting in a chair. As it pans out, it gives the vibe that he’s been sitting there spaced out for a while. Sapnap and George appear to be arguing, but Sapnap’s attention suddenly falls to him. You can see his lips form, “Karl?”  Karl blinks again, looking up now at a concerned Sapnap holding his face.]   The ones who stay up late at night   Screaming out their shattered minds— hey! [Karl smiles softly, putting his hand over Sapnap’s and alleviating some of those worries. Sapnap seems to relax some, offering his own tiny smile. He takes Karl’s hand, yanking Karl up, who only laughs in return.] [As the camera turns to show both of them, they’re shown laughing and grinning as Sapnap pulls Karl to his feet, it follows them as they fall back into a new frame. It’s their bedroom. Karl giggles as he falls on top of Sapnap.]   And she's on top of me, and it is hot, hot, hot!   She says, "Come on, sweetheart, take 'em off" [Sapnap is smirking up at him. He mouths along with the words.]   So I will take 'em off, and then we take 'em off, [Karl grins in return, cheeks pink as removes his sweater, tossing it aside.]   And then her dad walks in —   ...oh shit, her dad walks in. [Just as Karl’s about to lean down for a kiss, Bad bursts through the door, beaming brightly as he seemed to be announcing his visit.  Cut to a full view of the room. Karl and Sapnap are frozen in place, both visibly blushing as they stare wide-eyed at each other. They’ve been caught.  Bad freezes, dropping probably like a casserole or something he made for them before screaming at them.  As the second line plays, it cuts to a close up to Karl nervously sweating with an “I’m gonna die” smile while Bad’s definitely screaming from the side.]   She says to dance really fast, "'Cause I like to dance real fast, [Hard cut to a new scene. It’s Karl dancing with Sapnap. They’re at a party, likely in the past.  It’s obvious as Karl’s passed around, spinning from Sapnap’s arms to a smirking Quackity in his OG outfit, though when Quackity winks at him, his eye flashes to show a pale blue eye and a long scar. It disappears before Karl can even panic and Karl’s being spun forward.]   “And my friends are all passed out in the back of my friend's van" [He passes Dream and George. Dream has a drink in one hand and his other arm is around George’s waist. Dream’s mask is half-tilted to the side, showing him and George smirking back at a stunned, delighted Karl.]   And she's got this sexy hair braid that goes over her forehead.   Lindsey, let me kiss your forehead. [He spins back into Sapnap’s arms, who grins back at him. Karl instantly melts, all concerns forgotten as he reaches to cup Sapnap’s face.  Just as he leans it for a kiss, the scene pans upward into the night sky.]   And I know that you think that I don't care   About all the friends I left behind,   The ones who stay up late at night   Screaming out their shattered minds. [It drops back down, panning down to Karl, standing still and alone with a weapon in hand.  The view spins around to his POV, showing Sapnap, George, and Quackity all yelling at Dream in what appears to be El Rapids.]   I know that you think that I don't care   About the friends that I left behind,   The ones who stay up late at night   Screaming out their shattered minds... [The scene pans around again. This time, it’s him and Sapnap in front of a scarred Quackity.   Quackity has a poker chip in hand. Las Nevadas can be seen looming behind him. Sapnap has an arm around Karl’s waist. He looks furious to the point of almost combusting while Karl looks terrified and worried all at once.  Quackity flashes them a wicked grin, his scar stretching as he flips the chip in hand.]   “It's always a head game with you, Nick!   You've never had a shot at any of this!   So just smash your guitar!   Smash your dreams!   Grow up now is just what I mean!” [Quackity opens his mouth to yell at Sapnap in time with the lyrics. (lmao Sapnap “Nick” moment)  Quackity keeps yelling, causing Sapnap’s temper to flare further and further until he’s shoving Karl away to step forward. He’s surrounded by flames as he approaches Quackity. He steps out a frame, leaving behind a stumbling Karl, who falls down into a sitting position.  He curls up into a tight ball, trying to block out the arguing overhead as the surrounding world fades to darkness.] [Suddenly, the world cuts.] [When Karl looks up, he sees Chris above him. Chris is looking down at him with a disappointed, but also slightly pitying smile. He offers out a hand, which Karl takes, still slightly trembling as he stands.  The surrounding world brightens slowly, coming back to a familiar scene for Karl.  It’s Jimmy’s old living room from their time when they once all stayed together before Jimmy became well-known, Karl moved to the SMP, and long before Karl’s adventures with time began.  Chandler’s sprawled out on a couch in the background. Jimmy’s shown sitting on the far end of the couch with Chandler’s head on his thigh.  Chris and Karl don’t seem to acknowledge them. Chris is too busy looking at Karl and worrying about him while Karl’s forced to meet his eye.]  It's always a head case with you, Nick,  You've never had a shot at any of this.  So just smash your guitar,  Smash your dreams,  Grow up now is just what I mean, oh… [Chris begins to speak with the lyrics, causing Karl to avert his eyes towards the ground in what appears to be shame.  The camera follows his face for a moment before returning to a concerned Chris, who puts his hand on Karl’s shoulder.  Chris isn’t actually reprimanding him. The scene actually mimics a past moment between them where Chris expressed concerns for Karl the first time Karl came home after the SMP, after being gone for months. He’s returned with one less life and his memories fading.  He went home to visit The Boys after a few trips through time to maybe jog some of his early memories, or at least record them before they were lost forever blend together. He can’t remember a lot of his time with them anymore.] [Karl remembers Chris expressing his concerns for him and regretting that moment greatly because when Chris asked what was wrong, he couldn’t be entirely honest.  Now he wishes he was, but it’s too late to change his mind now. He’s forgotten too much to be able to ever safely go back alone.] [As the song fades out with the repeating lyrics, as does the scene itself. It pans out slowly to Karl waking up from what’s now shown to have been a dream.  The camera slowly spins, panning out further as it does to show more of the bedroom.  Karl lays in the center, lying alone in a bed way too large for only him. There’s hints of Sapnap living there too on the nightstand and in the clothes thrown around the floor, but Sapnap’s nowhere to be seen.] Oh fuck… [As the song reaches the last bit, it cuts back to a close up of Karl’s face and him closing his eyes before pulling the blankets over his head.  Even with the light-hearted jokes at the end of the song, Karl remains under the covers and everything cuts to black as the song fades out completely.]

[funnel-webbed-au]

The Sparks of Hope

Nezha cringed after the shards scattered across the floor at his feet. He'd been shaking far too much to be able to hold such a beautiful vase without dropping it, and he should have known better. Now, he could only brace for the strike that would inevitably come.

But there was nothing.

Nezha opened his eyes, confused. Why had he not been struck? Wasn't it... normal to be struck for something like that? Erlang Shen sighed and shook his head, disappointed, but not angry. Why wasn't he... why wasn't he angry? The lotus Deity tilted his head, confused, but when Erlang's eyes met his, the raven stiffened, then bowed hastily.

"I, er, apologize deeply, Your Highness." He spoke quickly and eloquently, desperate to avoid being hurt for such a mistake. He couldn't afford to be anything but perfect, anything but the golden boy, the golden soldier, the most perfect and powerful Marshal that Heaven had to offer.

"It was an accident, my boy. Don't fret. Sure, perhaps there won't be another vase exactly like that, but it is a small tragedy that would pale in comparison to what it would be if the shards had harmed you."

...what?

The younger of the two Deities could hardly wrap his mind around what he had just heard. Erlang... really did care for him, didn't he? It almost brought a smile to the Marshal's face, but not quite. So close, yet so far. Nezha was quick to fetch a broom and dustpan, cleaning up the shards of broken china so that his superior wouldn't have to kneel. Such would be hard on his back, after all, and Nezha hated to see him suffer.

With the shards disposed of, the Storm Deity passed his protege a nod of approval, glad to see that he was as diligent and responsible as his reputation implied. The gesture drew a soft sigh of relief, no, contentment, from the Marshal, who soon reveled in soft scratches around his pointed ears.

"Thank you, my boy. It would be a shame to have had to disturb one of the three housekeepers at such an hour. I am very proud of you that you kept your composure... and I assure you, I will not strike you in anger. May Buddha cast me down should I ever harm you." The gentle, reserved affections that Nezha received while his superior spoke only served to convince him more of the storm Deity's sincerity. He didn't bite anymore, not if he didn't have to.

Maybe, just maybe, Nezha would get used to this.

One can hope.

[orangechickenpillow]

Unus Annus  - A Remembrance

( I am sentimental and mushy, so I will spare you my ramblings under the cut)

I remember when I first saw the trailer for UA. I remember thinking how strange it was that I had found it, as I hadn’t watched a Markiplier or Crankgameplays videos in what felt like forever. I remember watching the trailer and thinking “mmmMmMmM, lore???” and being so excited for the following day. 

I remember when the first video dropped, cooking with sex toys. I remember facepalming, and then thinking “what else did we expect from these two goons?” I also remember laughing my absolute ass off. Laughing till I was crying and had a headache. I remember thinking: “this is going to be the best year ever!” 

I remember when COVID hit. I remember watching the UA video that day and thinking “what’s going to happen to us?” -- that thought pertaining to more things than one. 

I remember how we kept going. I remember the inside jokes, the heartfelt moments, the laugh-till-we-cry and the cry-till-we-laugh, the moments where I think we all thought: “I am so glad I’m here for this.”

I remember the days leading up to the last. I remember re-watching old favorites and thinking “this will be the last time I see this”. I remember laughing and crying along with Mark and Ethan as they made their confessions, as they told each other how proud they were, and how much they loved the other. 

I remember the livestream. I remember being worried that it would be too long for me, as it would be my first ever twelve hour stream (which was a joke, considering the stream felt like it really only lasted thirty minutes). I remember when it started. I remember how, when we lost the first hour, we all played up our nervousness and made a joke of it. 

I remember how, very gradually, everyone grew more somber. As the hours fell away, we began to realize what was coming. We began to grow more aware that this was it. I remember how things started getting more quiet and serious. I remember how our nervousness turned into this otherworldly calm as the final hour was announced. 

I remember those last few moments. I remember when Amy came out, considering the whole house probably heard me scream (I love that woman, and she looked Damn Good in that half-and-half suit). 

I remember watching as Mark, Ethan, and Amy gathered around the coffin as the final countdown began. I remember the smiles on their faces, the warmth radiating from their very beings as ten seconds -- how is  that all we have left? -- turned into nine... eight... five... three... two... 

One. 

I remember when the screen went blank. I remember sitting in silence for a moment before refreshing the page and seeing “video not found”. I remember looking at the empty space where Unus Annus had once existed. 

I remember feeling like I had just woken up from a dream -- a dream that had lasted a whole year. 365 days. I remember feeling like Alice when she emerges from Wonderland -- like, “oh... there’s a world out there that’s been going on while all of this happened? Hm.”

I remember my brother, who had also been watching the stream, texting me. It seemed that we were both crying. I remember thinking how grateful I felt to have been apart of something so amazing. I remember the moment I realized that nothing would ever do the same thing that Unus Annus had done. I remember being so unbelievably glad that I had been there for it, that I had the memories of it stored away in my mind. 

And now, a year after it all ended, I can safely say that I still hold those memories close to my heart. Those inside jokes, those moments full of laughter and smiles, of cracking up with my brother while talking about that day’s video, those online friends that I made because of UA (my beloved camp buddy, hello if you’re reading this lol). Even a year later, I am filled with so much thankfulness and joy surrounding that channel and the experiences it gave me. 

And sure, I’m very sad it’s gone. Would I give a blood sacrifice to resurrect Unus Annus from the dead? Nooooo Yes no, I wouldn't do that Yes I would that would be a little extreme any witches out there hmu

So... here's to a year, and everyone make sure to do a little spiteful dance of italy tonight before you go to bed, just to piss the spirits of Unus and Annus off (and remind them that we won’t ever forget). 

Momento Mori,

Unus Annus

[dickspeightjrs]

What If I Never Love Again? (canon / 1.8k words)

ao3 link

based on ‘All I Ask’ by Adele - I recommend listening to the song first but it’s not essential

I will leave my heart at the door

I won't say a word

They've all been said before you know

So why don't we just play pretend

Like we're not scared of what is coming next

Or scared of having nothing left

Look, don't get me wrong

I know there is no tomorrow

 There’s nothing left to say. They know that the big fight will go down tomorrow. They know there’s a great chance of one of them not surviving tomorrow. 

Sam had finally been able to track down Chuck. He’d been hiding out, causing destruction from afar but he’d finally slipped up. Sam had shared the news with Dean and Castiel and they’d formed a plan for tomorrow.  

Now, Sam is in the library reading as much lore as he possibly can in the slight hope that it will help them. Just like he’d crammed for exams in what feels now like a previous life. The irony that the college life he’d left behind all those years ago was helping him even now is clear as day. 

As he’d left Dean and Castiel alone, he’d given Dean a look, eyes flitting momentarily to Castiel. Dean had known what that look meant but he’d just closed his eyes to it. He is terrified of what tomorrow might bring. Terrified that they might not survive it this time. Looking at Castiel, he imagines the angel is thinking the same. Though, neither one of them wants to express their fears, scared that the other doesn’t feel the same. 

The room has been silent since Sam left. Dean and Castiel remain seated at the table in the kitchen. But the quiet encourages Dean’s thoughts to travel quickly to dark places and endless ‘what-ifs’, so he rises from the table to flick on the radio. Normally, Dean scoffs at the radio, instead finding solace in the familiar sounds of his records. But now, he needs some white noise to shine away the shadows creeping into his head. 

Castiel’s gentle gaze remains on Dean as the hunter moves around the kitchen, setting the music to a low volume. Dean can feel it like a spotlight. A sharp, bright focus, solely on him. He can’t help but feel like he should say something comforting, or let out a sarcastic quip like he usually would to dispel the tension. But he finds he can’t. He doesn’t want to think about the truths of tomorrow but he also can’t bring himself to plaster on his go-to false confidence. Not this time. 

All I ask is

If this is my last night with you

Hold me like I'm more than just a friend

Give me a memory I can use

Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do

It matters how this ends

'Cause what if I never love again?

 One song bleeds into another. Until, the soft but heartfelt tones of a woman filter through. Dean recognises the voice but can’t place the name. As the opening lyrics begin, he can’t help but chuckle internally to himself at the irony of hearing everything he wants to say being sung out instead. 

With a deep, steady breath, and a small burst of confidence, Dean rises to his feet. Castiel follows the movement with his eyes, which become confused when Dean holds out a hand wordlessly. Trusting Dean instinctively, Castiel takes the hand and rises to his feet. 

Avoiding Castiel’s eyes, Dean gently pulls the angel into his chest, continuing to grip his hand like a lifeline and carefully slipping his other hand along Castiel’s back. He’d touched the trench coat Castiel wore many times before but he’d never felt it. The rough but consistent feel of the material under his fingertips is distinctly Castiel in a way that Dean could never properly explain. 

Castiel’s confusion seems to disappear with Dean’s movements. He grips Dean’s hand right back with a fierce certainty, and moves a hand to the small of Dean’s back. Their heads rest against each other in such a way that means they can’t see the other’s face. Even without being able to see it in his expression, Dean is assured that Castiel understands what he’s trying to do, trying to say, by the way he naturally matches the way Dean sways their bodies to the smooth timbre of the singer’s voice. 

At this moment, the only people that exist in the entire universe are Dean and Castiel. The hunter and the angel, who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. 

Anything else outside the room just falls away as Dean lets himself sink into the way Castiel’s embrace feels. He allows himself to pretend that this is real. That he’d finally had the courage to voice his feelings aloud. The feelings he’d had bottled up for years. 

As they continue to step together, Dean lets his head shift down slowly to rest on Castiel’s shoulder, turning his face into the neck of the angel. He takes in the scent from Castiel. An unassuming but strong essence to him that Dean has never experienced before, but now could surely never live without. 

 I don't need your honesty

It's already in your eyes

And I'm sure my eyes, they speak for me

No one knows me like you do

And since you're the only one that matters

Tell me who do I run to?

Look, don't get me wrong

I know there is no tomorrow

 Castiel pulls away ever so slightly from their embrace to unclasp his hand from Dean’s and reposition it against his other at Dean’s back. Dean mirrors the action and allows himself, finally, to look into Castiel’s eyes. 

He feels foolish that he’d been worried about whether Castiel would understand what he was trying to express. 

It was all in the eyes of the angel. Eyes that were once so cold and unmoving towards Dean, and anyone else they set their sights upon. But now, they show nothing but warmth and love. 

Dean would never kid himself into thinking that any of the looks, the gazes that lasted a touch too long, that Castiel gave him were anything more than friendly. But now, with only he and Castiel in the room, Dean could deny it no longer. The look of complete adoration in Castiel’s eyes tells Dean all he needs to know. 

He only hopes that his eyes are shining the same. 

 All I ask is

If this is my last night with you

Hold me like I'm more than just a friend

Give me a memory I can use

Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do

It matters how this ends

'Cause what if I never love again?

 Quickly, Dean becomes overwhelmed and rests his forehead against Castiel’s, breaking the connection. Reality crashes through the door and Dean is left with the realisation that Castiel could be taken from him tomorrow. He could never see those beautiful blue eyes again, smell that increasingly intoxicating scent.  

He wouldn’t let it happen.

From the outside, Dean continues to sway peacefully with Castiel in his arms. But on the inside, his brain is working over time. 

He curses himself for wasting so much time. Being scared of what others would think. Of Castiel being taken away. And here they are on the eve of another showdown, possibly their biggest yet, and he can’t help but regret all the time lost. All the excuses he’d given himself for not confessing his true feelings to Castiel seem so stupid now.  

He’d never felt this connection with another person before. Sure he’d loved Lisa and even Cassie. But even a year spent with Lisa and he could never let himself relax. The stress of constantly being on guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for one of their many enemies to show up, or for Lisa to realise what a mess Dean was and leave him - whichever came first. 

But Castiel, god, he knows it all. The first time he ever saw Dean, he was stripped bare, down to his beaten soul, and Castiel still thought he was worth saving. He’s seen all of Dean’s lowest moments (of which Dean knows there have been far too many for one man’s lifetime) and he still sees Dean’s significance to the world. 

To have found a love that is all-consuming with someone who knows every one of your demons and still reciprocates that love? It certainly makes the life Dean has lived seem worth it. All the sacrifices he’s had to make. All the days he’s wanted to give up and let the monster take him. All of it is worth it because it has led to this moment. 

And now Dean knows what it’s like to be held by the angel, in a way he’d never dare dream to be. He knows that if Castiel were taken from him tomorrow, he wouldn’t ever find this again. 

 Let this be our lesson in love

Let this be the way we remember us

I don't wanna be cruel or vicious

And I ain't asking for forgiveness

 If Dean survives and makes it to an old age, he wants this moment with Castiel to be the one he remembers until his dying breath. Because in this moment nothing else matters, not the times they’ve argued, not the times they’ve betrayed each other. Only this. Only the feel of each other’s breath against their faces. Only the beating of their hearts against each other. 

As the song begins to draw to a close, Dean stops their subtle dancing and looks Castiel in the eyes once more. Moving a hand up to rest on Castiel’s jawline, Dean knows immediately what he needs to do now. If he doesn’t, he might just burst. 

Without a second’s more thought, and with Castiel’s trusting eyes watching Dean’s every minute movement, Dean leans in to capture Castiel’s lips in a deep, eager kiss. Castiel joins Dean and matches his desperation. 

To Dean, it feels like when he finally took a gasp of air after pulling himself out of the grave. He feels like he’s got new life within him. A spark of potential that has just been created. He knows that he’ll never deny himself of this feeling again. 

Little does he know, regardless of what occurs with Chuck tomorrow. He’s just made Castiel happier than he had ever been before. And with his first true and ready expression of love, Dean has already sealed their fate. 

 All I ask is

If this is my last night with you

Hold me like I'm more than just a friend

Give me a memory I can use

Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do

It matters how this ends

'Cause what if I never love again?

-

A/N: I’m not sure how I feel about this. But the idea has been floating around in my head for a few days since I heard the song. My brain hasn’t been functioning properly so I feel like it’s not as good as it could have been but it is what it is. 

I also feel like my fics are too dialogue heavy sometimes so I feel like I wanted to challenge myself to have a fic completely without it. Not sure if I pulled it off. Guess you guys will be the judge of that lmao

-

TAGS: @eccentriccas @starrynightdeancas @credentiast @imbiowaresbitch @starclaire @cockleslovesdestiel @bend-me-shape-me @destielfactory @dea-stiel @wendeano @wingsandimpalas @aggressivedean @flowersforcas @chill-legilimens @pancakesofthelord @saltnhalo @caslikescoffeeandfreckles @assbuttboyfriends @jhoomwrites @breathingdestiel @simplymisha @thekingslover @aelysianmuse @2musiclover2 @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you

(let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list, we don’t have to be mutuals!)

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 6

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 6)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Logan knew, for a long time now, that he had a brother--but now, he remembers who his brother is.

Virgil joined the royal guard to bust Logan out. Logan's a stubborn creature, so instead Virgil tells him about his powers--and accidentally helps Logan realize that someone hasn't been totally honest with him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Plot is happening, way too much exposition--also, who let me have nice things? I DO MEAN THINGS. >.> But the next chapter will be adorable. And come way faster.

No beta, no problem--I'm sorry I'm so hung up on lore and world building and shit, but I'm just having a lot of fun okay? Okay. >.>

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

Logan was running.

Clutching the book against his chest with one arm, clinging to his little brother's hand with the other, he was running for his life as the looming figure pounded down the corridor after them. Everything was dark, too dark...

There. Light. Souls Eternal, what in the Seven Hells was he still doing there?

Stopping dead, Logan faced Virgil. Briefly, he wished he could feel the little hand in his—because if he was here, there was only one way this could end.

Looking around furiously, he realized there was no other choice. Facing Virgil, Logan gripped his shoulder and held his gaze in the dark.

“That open door—go hide behind it.”

“No.”

“The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver—just this once, Stormcloud, I'm begging you, do as I say without arguing!”

He gave Virgil no other opportunity to argue—shoving Virgil towards the sliver of light, Logan watched him stumble forward, then look over his shoulder.

“I'm right behind you.”

The little boy scowled, but his figure swiftly moved, and his footsteps pattered against the stone.

It was the first lie he'd ever told his brother.

Turning away, lest he lose his resolve, Logan frantically tried to remember what he'd been told. The corners, the crevices...the hidden secrets of--

--yes. It was perfect.

Bolting down the corridor, Logan frantically shed his jacket and wrapped the book up as tightly as he could, dropping to his knees with enough force to bruise them. Pulling up the grate, he lowered his precious cargo into it...

Two hands grabbed him at the same time—one from the sewer, the other the back of his collar.

Panicked, Logan blindly grabbed the hand in the sewer, the one he knew, fingers gripping his with a desperate force that was painful...

“Hold on.”

He coughed, gagging as his collar cut his throat. His back hummed with the proximity of the larger body behind him, but the hand in the dark...

He strained to see into the shadows, lookin for that glimpse of light—just one look, just one...

“Loganberry!”

There was no other way.

“Do not let go.”

The moon was slow rising in the sky, a sliver of light moving to illuminate the dark for just an instant—and it was enough.

“I never have. I never will.”

The hand at his collar yanked, and Logan's fingers slid free, throbbing—

“Logan?”

Logan  blinked—and the world had changed. Gone was the dim light of the war room, gone was the dark, muffled nightmare he'd been momentarily caught in. He was in a corridor of polished stone walls and pale marble floors. What little light that numerous windows didn't provide, lamps mounted on the walls did, casting soft white light into the space from the magically created luminary globes set in each one.

“Hey, you back?”

He turned towards the sound of his name, disoriented. His movements felt slow, encumbered...

Looking down at himself, Logan realized he was clinging to a blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. It glimmered with a film of energy he couldn't pinpoint—until he realized it was connected to him. He was the one creating it, could feel his magic woven through the fabric. His awareness was caught in the stitches and the heavy beads of glass within...

Glass? No...not glass. Crystal...just under his fingers, clear quartz beads for calm and comfort, drawing away the fear and the panic...

All at once, the heavy haze started to settle over him again, the half sleep he'd been in before—but he knew what to do now. Some part of him had always known, even without a Name to tell him how it worked.

Shutting his eyes, Logan bowed his head and let the haze take him over, dragging him back into the dark until he could feel it, glossy wood biting his fingers as he held on tight, thick warm spider silk touching his fingertips.

“Logan—wait, here.”

He couldn't feel the hand that slipped into his, but his fingers tingled, and pulled him swiftly back into the dark.

“Loganberry!”

The little boy, his voice in the dark, screaming Logan's name...his little brother...

Virgil. That was the name of the fragment, and suddenly it made all the sense in the world. There was something else, something bothering him, something stopping him from finishing the picture but he could fix this. The shoddy weaving, the places where the thread had torn when he was ripped away from his work too soon.

He labored for hours. For seconds.

Logan let the blanket fall and opened his eyes as the glittering film of energy vanished.

Immediately, his eyes locked with the dark ones from his...dream?...even through the dark, he recognized them. The face was older, the fear less intense, hope now sitting where blind panic had once been...

It wasn't a dream. It was a memory.

“Stormcloud.”

He watched the cadet's face crumble just before Virgil launched himself at Logan. He caught the younger man easily, wrapping him up tight and greedily running his hands over his arms, his back, unable to feel his warmth or his presence but relishing the faint hum of proximity, the resistance that wouldn't let his arms close fully—reassuring himself that Virgil wasn't just safe, but that he was really here.

Four years old and terrified, cuddled up to Logan's side to watch the needle and thread. Seven years old, cloaked in fear as his ceremonial garb, every thought clear and sharp as the razor's edge. Eight years old, spinning silk for Logan's loom, bound to his side as Logan reaches for the Tome...screaming his name in the dark as Logan is dragged away by the man with the sword...

“It worked.” Virgil gasped, drawing back to grin at him with fresh tear tracks on his face. “It worked, it really worked, Souls and holy shit it worked--”

“Not completely, but enough to know that I'm going to kill you myself if you're not executed for engineering a jailbreak.” Logan snapped, clutching Virgil's face between his hands. His own cheeks felt wet, his vision blurry with a stream of tears he couldn't stop, and he had to stop because his powers had to stay in check...

Virgil. Virgil, Virgil, a cadet of the royal guard, a criminal, his baby brother, his Spider.

Logan pulled Virgil close again, pressing his nose to Virgil's temple. His hair still smelled like damp stone from sleeping on the floor all the time. The shoulders Logan had his arms around were lean, but powerful—how old was he now? Nine years old when Logan was imprisoned...

“You're nineteen.” he realized aloud, finally letting Virgil go so he could look into his face again. “I didn't know, I knew I had a brother but I didn't know...I didn't know you...”

“Shut up, you can pretend you aren't all emotional and shit later.” Virgil soothed, stepping back to grab the blanket off the floor. Logan couldn't quite remember making it, but he knew he had. He could see Virgil with his thumb in his mouth, feel the tug on the half finished blanket as Virgil pulled one end to rub the soft fabric against his nose and cheek, feel the sting of the needle as he pricked himself...

“OW!”

“Wha' happen?”

“I stuck my finger with the needle—there's blood on the blanket now.”

“We can wash it.”

“No, we most certainly cannot.”

“Loganberry! Tha's so gross!”

“Falsehood. This is advantageous—we must let the blood dry first. See where it fell? It will soak through and charge the crystal pocket with my personal magic. That way, when you need it? You can wrap up in the blanket, and you'll feel me there with you.”

“...promise?”

“I swear it.”

“Lo...you gotta do it.”

“Souls—how is a few drops of blood more inherently disgusting than a spit handshake? Fine...”

“The crystals that made this a healing charm—my blood charged them with my personal magic.” he realized aloud, staring at Virgil in shock. “You snuck this in here hoping to restore my Name with it.”

“At least some of your power, but looks like I didn't have to go to the trouble.” Virgil shot back.

“You could have been killed! If the nature of the power had been discovered—oh, I am going to murder you myself once I—“

“Souls, Lo, do you have to go full bloodlust all the time?” Virgil laughed, grinning as he grabbed Logan's arm to pull him along while he started walking down the corridor. “Even after ten years, nothing changes.”

“I will take your word for it, as my memory has not been restored.” Logan replied, planting his feet as he gave his surroundings more serious consideration. The opulence of this area, the magical lighting instead of standard torches...

“All I have back is you, Storm—that said, where are we? How did we get here?”

“The residential wing of the castle—you brought us here.” Virgil explained, gesturing to the end of the corridor he was still trying to pull Logan away from. “You were channeling in the war room, but Mori tried to kill you by taking the blanket off...I thought he was gonna strangle you. Then you woke up, but your eyes were...weird. You just...stood up and bolted.”

Logan started to move towards the door, pulling Virgil with him. “Where is the king? And...the others? I was in and out of consciousness...Emile and Remy?”

“The heart-healer and the prison mage, yeah—couple members of the royal council spotted you heading this way, and word's out that Colonel Mori's been arrested. Roman's doing damage control with Prince Remus, I don't know where the others are. Doesn't matter, though, Logan will you stop and let me get you out of here?”

“No.”

“Loganberry, what the actual fuck?!”

“I'm not leaving. I have to resurrect the king.” Logan reminded him, head twisting around to regard Virgil with genuine confusion. Did Virgil really not understand this? He was Logan's Spider, he...

...didn't know where that came from. Didn't know what it meant.

The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.

“Okay, one? You couldn't even if you wanted to, his Barrier is still open—you try to raise him now, the wrong soul could end up in his body. For another? He's the king and you're a necromancer. This is a jailbreak, remember? We're getting you out of here.”

Virgil emphasized his point by tugging on Logan's arm again, but Logan didn't move.

There was something else, something he wasn't seeing. Something about this...it felt off.

“Logan, we don't have time to fight about the life of a royal, okay? You don't remember why they can't be trusted--”

“Yet you trust him.” Logan pointed out. “You call him Roman, not 'His Majesty' or 'King Thomas Roman.' He...said something in the war room...”

Virgil finally let go of Logan's arm to start pacing back and forth in front of him. With a practiced flick, he draped the blanket around his shoulders—a petulant gesture Logan recognized. He recognized it, remembered it...the feeling was so alien to him.

“Yeah, I do—Souls help me, I trust him.” Virgil replied. “He swore on the Spider's Thread.”

“And?...”

“And...you're a Weaver.”

“You realize I do not know what that is.”

Virgil stopped pacing, then sighed and removed the blanket to drape it over his arm.

“Can we get out of here first so I can at least pretend I'm taking you to your quarters?”

Quarters?...their rooms. Patton.

“That is acceptable.” Logan relented, relieving Virgil of the blanket so he could walk unencumbered, as a guard ought to with a prisoner in tow.

“The Necromata aren't necromancers—they're a tribe.” Virgil explained as they walked, keeping his voice low as his gaze darted furtively around. “We're a tribe. Not every necromancer can raise the dead, some can foresee it or forestall it. The seers are the Black Dogs, the healers are the Reapers, and the resurrectionists are the Weavers. That's what you are.”

Logan thought of the magic he'd worked on instinct, the strange trancelike state that brought him the image of the shuttle, wound with spider's silk.

“The shuttle and thread...” he murmured.

Logan's stride faltered as Virgil crowded closer unexpectedly.

“Yes. So it worked, then?” he hissed excitedly. “We're connected?”

“I...believe?” Logan hedged uncertainly, the phrase echoing in his head again. “'The Spider does not question, he spins for his Weaver.' Are you...”

“Your Spider, yeah. I'm your familiar.”

“My what? Familiars--”

“--aren't stupid animals, idiot stick, that's for outsiders. Familiars are Sensitives that are connected to other necromancers, a perfect match to the power they wield. A Sensitive that's bonded to a necromancer as a familiar can actually do a little magic in tandem with their partner. You're pretty powerful on your own, you always have been, but when we realized we were matched? You got scary good.”

“So...Weavers raise the dead. And Spiders help them do it.”

“More or less. We were bonded when you got your True Name—it means you can draw focus and some small amount of magic from me, and I can communicate with ghosts. The souls you restore to life.”

“My...True Name?”

“Yeah—Loganberry. Every one of the Necromata has one.” Virgil replied, his features softening with a strange mixture of grief and gratitude. “Necromancy is rooted in memory, that's why being stripped of your Name wipes it out—makes you powerless. Your True Name, though, is rooted in identity. There are stories that say a True Name has the power to undo the Cleansing...I guess it's kind of true, since you have your powers.”

Logan fell silent, despite lacking certain answers. That feeling that something was off, it was only growing stronger. Something about names...

“So, the Spider's Thread?...”

“The oath Roman swore? Yeah—it's a reference to the Animata. Outsiders say they kept the Necromata in check? It's total bullshit. The Animata weren't life manipulators, they were a tribe of twin spirits—a being born with two souls. The Spider's Thread is the bond that exists between Animata and Necromata...necromancers don't have souls, but one that finds their Animata lays claim to their second soul, and...well, it's basically immortality. For both of them. That's why the familiars of the Weavers are called Spiders, 'cause we provide the thread that lets Weavers return souls to the Living Tapestry.”

Immortality...an immortal necromancer.

...like the Animator, the First of their kind. The necromancer so powerful, he still marked the passage of time.

A.A.--After Animator.

“How does he know about that, anyway?” Virgil asked. “That's not common knowledge outside the tribe—Logan? Logan, talk to me. What's wrong?”

Virgil's voice was fading. The world was going dark around the edges of Logan's vision again.

In the dark, pulled in two directions. Choking at the hands of one, latching onto another for dear life.

Grabbing blindly. Fingers gripping his, fingers he knew...

“Loganberry?...Logan!”

Gripping with a desperate force that was painful.

“...stay here, okay? I'm gonna get someone--”

Logan grabbed Virgil's hand as hard as he could. He looked down at their joined hands, watched Virgil's knuckles turn white with the force he was using to hold on in return.

Logan couldn't feel it. He wouldn't even feel it if Virgil broke his fingers.

The hand in his memory hurt, burned, seared...

He could feel the hand in his memory.

“Hold on.”

Logan strained to see into the shadows of the sewer, prayed for one final look.

The moonlight shifted.

Green eyes glittered in the momentary illumination.

“Loganberry!”

“He knew.” Logan breathed, releasing Virgil's hand. “He didn't come out of kindness, he came because he knew.”

“Knew what? Logan, who are you talking about?”

His voice was strangled, barely audible, but the words echoed in Logan's ears and cut out the heart he wished to the Souls that he did not have.

“Do not let go.” he demanded, begged through clenched teeth.

If he pulled Logan down, the man behind him might follow. Then they would both die.

There was no other way.

“Maybe he thought I'd remember, maybe...maybe he thought I'd escape...”

“Logan, who?”

Logan squeezed Prince Roman's hand as tightly as he could. He burned those green eyes into his brain, hoping he could carry them with him into the Void when he was gone.

“I never have. I never will.”

He never did—he hung on until the grip on his collar finally yanked him out of the fourteen year old prince's grasp.

“Roman—Virgil, I knew him. Before. I...I think he might be the reason I was arrested.”

[not-so-honorable-honor]

Baby Silvally & Family

Just a little lore drop for Silv about their family and stuff :]

Silv giggled happily as they were gently bounced and cooed at. They were still small for a three year old, and they didn’t have much of a good memory to say the least. I mean, they were three to be fair. All they really remember was other bird people, family, they think, and lots of lava. 

And their dad freaking out when they struggled out of his arms. At the time they didn’t know why this was such a big problem and were just happy to be warm. They wanted to be near the warmth, why was this such a problem? Their little head couldn’t understand. 

So when he got them back in his arms and told them to stay put, they pouted but did so. They were starting to fall asleep, hearing the soft comforting jingle of their fathers armor. But they were awoken when they heard more voices, huh? What was that?  A female took them first, and Silvally didn’t know what or who she was, they just remember ginger hair, a higher voice and something soft and shiny that was apparently made for them. 

They were distracted by the shiny thing, trying to grab it and play with it, while the person in front of them gently moved it away. She started to giggle, causing the child to giggle as well. They also heard one very unfamiliar voice speaking along with a familiar one as well. Dad! 

They tried to go to him, but the girl stopped them, and picked them up again, saying things to them and smiling at them. They didn’t really know what it ment at the time, but she was smiling so it must be good. This caused them once again to giggle and smile as well. 

Silvally couldn’t really make out what their dad was saying, even now the memory is fuzzy. They just remember something about height, something about beef, and a lot of annoyed sounds from the person who wasn't their dad. 

“They’re quite large for their age aren’t they?” Mikell said, shaking his head. The much shorter person in front of him sighed.

“Yeah, they are. But so are you. You’re huge and their so-called other father was tall as well.” You could hear the venom in the small mans voice. 

Mikell sighed at this, “One day they’ll be larger than you know? They’ll be taller than you.” The man huffed. 

“No shit sherlock, anyone could’ve told you that one. But I still have a few years until they have to bend down to talk to me.” He huffed once more, getting a laugh out of Mikell. 

But they were once again distracted by a small plush, which they went back to trying to grab. They were completely focused on the thing, trying to grab it. It was a rabbit plush, and it was small, but for some reason they wanted to claw it up, and tear it up. They didn’t know why. 

Eventually, their dad and the new person came back into the room, and they were picked up by their dad. And then introduced to said new person as well. And the person that had been playing with them up until this point. Auntie and Uncle. Huh… Family! They were family! They smiled, clapping their little talons together. 

This got a head shake from their dad, and smiles from the other two in the room. Lots of what they were saying still just didn’t make sense to them. It didn’t help that they were drifting off, it was warm, and they felt safe. 

But before they were out of it completely they looked out the window, over their dads shoulder. There was a man standing there in a suit, with sunglasses and a big scary looking animal. It might be a dog. He turns his head slightly to them and he smiles. They smile back, watching as he leaves. Just as soon as he arrived he was gone… Weird. 

They didn’t pay much mind to it, they were half asleep and probably just seeing things. So they buried their head back into their fathers shoulder and closed their eyes again. They were out like a light. 

Mikell looked down at his child and sighed contently. They were just like him. The woman shook her head, smiling. The shorter man leaned on the wall, looking at his talons. 

“Looks like someone tired themselves out. It's only been an hour, they’re like you Mikey.” She sighed, snickering softly. Mikell huffed at this. 

“I mean, they’re my kid. What do you expect? Them to be awake twenty-four seven like mister smartass over here?” She laughed at that, the other man rolled his eyes.

“Just because I read a book every now and then doesn’t mean I can do rocket science, Mikell.” Mikell scoffed. 

“I do read, shut yer pie hole.” He huffed. 

“Oh yeah, you read kiddie books for your three year old you mean?” The man snickered, causing Mikell to growl slightly. 

“Of fuckin’ course I read to my three year old. They’re three. Why wouldn't I read to ‘em? I want them to be smart, and enjoy readin’.” He sighed, looking down to the small bird in his arms. 

“Both of you! Quit it, you’re going to wake them if you keep this up, and no one wants a cranky hatchling.” She shook her head at her brothers, neither of them have changed a bit in all the years. 

Silvally shifted in Mikells arms, causing everyone to quiet down for a moment. But they went back to sleep just as peacefully as could be. Mikell let out a sigh of relief. 

“Out cold huh? Reminds me of you honestly. Deep sleeper too?” The small man asked. Mikell chuckled at that. Nodding his head and gently petting their hair. 

“So far they sleep like me. Out of it, nothing interrupts it really.” Mikell said, shaking his head. 

“Diners almost ready,” a new voice calls. It was softer than the other two, but still just as firm. The three nodded and the person ducked back into the kitchen to finish dinner. 

“Should I wake them?” Mikell asked, sighing gently. 

“Wait until plates are on the table,” the woman responded, pausing. “Now you two don’t fight, I’ll only be gone a second to grab something so the youngest can sit properly.” And with that she left the room, leaving only Mikell and the other man. 

The man sighed before shaking his head, looking at Mikell. “You better not lose them. Do you understand me? We already lost a nephew, and we don't need them going missing or worse, fuck face.” Mikell froze, processing the words before letting out a low growl. Oh he was about to beat the shit out of the man in front of him. 

“You keep yer goddamn mouth shut! What happened to my fuckin’ son is a tragedy, and I dont plan on it happenin’ again? Ya fuckin’ hear me?” Mikell snapped, raising his voice causing the child in his arms to squirm and whimper. The man in front of him was about to reply when the woman came back in, with a small chair for Silvally. Mikell handed them over to her, and she gently woke them up.

They yawned, reaching up and rubbing their eyes. Wuh… Why awake? It's nap time damn it! She gently patted their head as Mikell took a seat next to them. The other two sat down, the man across from Mikell and the woman next to him. 

The littlest sibling came in with plates for everyone, and an even smaller plate for Silvally, who now realized it was dinner time and was now excited. Dinner went smoothly for the most part, no yelling, no fighting. Just eating. 

And once that was done, the two youngest got up, taking the plates and going to clean them up. Mikell helped Silv down, giving them the plush so they could play by themselves. Mikell and the remaining person got to talking again, surprisingly with no fighting this time. 

They paused to look out the window again, was the person there again? And he in fact was. He was sitting there, that scary thing next to him, and he was writing. Or reading. They didn’t know, but he had a book in one hand and his hand on the three headed thing next to him. They whimpered and looked away, hugging the plush close. Scary. 

Once they calmed down and went back to playing with the plush, they got lost in their own little world. Happy as could be. Unaware of the arguing behind them. If you asked them about it now they would say it was something about stupid family drama. Oh if only they knew. 

But the time rolled around where it was time for Mikell and Silvally to go home, so he scooped them up, let everyone say goodbye, give hugs and final goodbyes, before starting to walk or rather fly home. They held on tightly to their dad, who was holding onto them as well. 

They got back to the shiny purple thing again, and their dad chuckled, kissing their forehead before stepping through, still holding them. And when they got back through the thing, Silvally was a little nauseous, but Mikell took them back to their little room and sat them down on their bed, tucking them in and reading a story to them until they fell asleep. 

Once they were out, he gently shut the book and placed it back onto their bookshelf, and kissed their forehead one last time, before turning off the lights completely. He stood in the doorframe, quietly whispering something to his youngest child, before leaving and shutting the old dark oak door behind him as he left. 

“Goodnight kiddo, sweet dreams.”

[cosmiciaria]

Assassin’s Creed Unity Review/honest thoughts/discussion - SPOILERS (long post)

So I decided to finally settle on a proper review – although this one is going to be more of what here in Argentina we call a "sincericidio": basically I will spit my guts out and cry in one corner, while being completely honest about my feelings. I will try to keep most spoilers at bay, like I always do, but there's just one thing I cannot not talk about which is THE spoiler so – I want you to be considered warned.

Before I start, I should state, since this is my review and reviews are quite personal actually, why this game is so important to me and why I wanted to play it so bad. There's a combination of factors, and obviously this game isn't going to strike the same chords with everyone, so bear in mind that this is strictly subjective and, right now, personal.

First factor and I think the most important one: I like writing. Wait, don't leave the review just yet. I like writing and creating characters. I have many. Lately I've been revisiting a character that had a very sad backstory and added quite long happy ending for him. I made him fall in love again. He's black haired, wears a short pony tail… his new love interest is a redhead with wavy hair… ok, you get me now, don't you? And what's worse, is that their story takes place in a fictional world that resembles quite much Europe of 1800's. So clothes and ballrooms and palaces and big, fluffy dresses are a thing in this story of mine. I think that, if you've ever created a character, to find another fictional, similar character in any medium is going to draw your attention to that product right away. It did happen to me with Cal Kestis from SW Jedi: Fallen Order, I have another redhead baby boy that needs to be protected at all costs. It's a way for us to 'see', let's say, or imagine our characters being brought to life.

Second factor: I love Paris. I visited Versailles and Paris back in late 2018, and I went there with zero expectations, only to fall in love with France. I love the Château de Versailles. I love palaces. I love the Seine. I love the Louvre. I love it. All of it. If I could, I'd live there. Sadly, I'm poor and speak little to no French at all.

Third Factor: I'm learning French! I dream with the day I can speak like five languages as well as I speak English (I studied it for ten years so… it kinda makes sense that I feel comfortable with it). I'm still struggling with French, but I will get there someday. I will. Because I love it. I love the language. Oui.

Fourth factor: I also really really, really like the French Revolution, and I've never, much to my surprise, watched or played any series, videogame, movie or anything that takes place in such a context (if you have recommendations, please drop them right away!). And I say "to my surprise" because I really like that part of History! So, to live in almost first person how the French Revolution unfolded – to hear the chansons and to see people gathered in crowds at every corner, listening to a liberty preacher wielding the French flag – that was glorious.

Fifth and yeah we're done: I love Les Misérables. I know it happens way later than the French Revolution, but since this musical (and the 2012 movie) became my 'home', I can't help but feel a stronger connection with everything I said above. I can watch that movie over and over and I will still sing Empty chairs and empty tables with tears in my eyes, despite its flaws.

I had like every reason to play this game. And it paid off.

Before plunging into it, I did read the novelization. Sadly, it was only to satisfy my soon-to-be-fulfilled obsession with the game, since I don't think the quality of the narration was, uhm, that good – it felt like you needed to have played the game before reading it. And I get it, it's a videogame adaptation, that's fine, but when you look at it as standalone book, it doesn't stand alone that good. What disappointed me, though, wasn't the narration, which was what I totally expected it to be, nor the dialogues or the ending – it was Élise. I was bit weary about this because she came across as completely different character than what I had in mind about her, and I didn't like her. At all. In the book, at least. I didn't like her because she had a few comments and took some decisions that made her look like she was stupid and/or selfish. I can understand the selfish part; I do not want to even believe that she's stupid. So that's why the book was a bit of a letdown for me. I recommend it, though, if you're a fan, because there's a book exclusive character that really gets the plot moving and he's endearing: Mr. Weatherall. Oh, what a man.

Now, regarding the game itself – it shouldn't come as a surprise that I thoroughly enjoyed it. As I've stated in another post, this game is barely an Assassin's Creed, since you delve like zero into the AC lore, and it's just an excuse for your character – Arno – to know parkour. Which in fact he knows before becoming an assassin, so it begs the question, why is this game even in this franchise? I digress. It's an AC game at the end of the day and that won't change.

But do not jump into this game expecting it be your average AC story. I firmly believe that the creators wanted to convey a different story here. For starters, Arno is no hero. Arno doesn't want to save the world. Arno doesn't care about any artifact or magic or creed. Arno only wants to discover who's the man behind De La Serre's death. That's his main driving force. And behind that, there's this undeniable and yet quite destructive feeling that pulls him forward: Élise.

Élise and Arno's relationship goes deeper into this story than it's noticeable at first glance. When you look back upon the plot, you discover that without their love 'subplot', there's no plot at all. If I may be so bold, I would even argue that Arno's story is a tragic love story. All the assassin's lore, all the betrayals, the first few assassinations, it all falls back into the background when Élise returns to the stage almost halfway through the game. And even though they only share like one kiss or two during the 40 hours of gameplay, there's still this latent, persistent motivation behind each of Arno's actions, that he wouldn't be doing what he's doing if it wasn't for Élise.

And it all comes down to that one line: What I wanted was you.

I cannot stress enough how much I loved all of the drunkard memory of Versailles. I think it embodies Arno's perfect character development. The constant rain and the bluish filter on every framerate added to the overall depressing atmosphere. I felt miserable while playing those quests, and the moment he steps out into the entrance of the Château de Versailles and reflects on his past decisions – decisions that have been stolen from him, because he could never defend himself nor change the course of actions on his own accord – that exact moment that he sits down and cries, I cried too.

Because all the game, all the memories, all the dialogues go in a crescendo only to crumble into this abyss. And this, in turn, creates a fleshed-out character, with a believable development, believable feelings, believable motivations. I can feel for Arno, I can understand him, I pity him, and I want to hug him. The whole game reaches its peak in its main character's worst moment: when he realizes that he's screwed everything up.

And not always do we get a story where the main character doesn't win. He just doesn't. Underneath its revolutionary streets, this story reeks of inexorability and fatality. You know it, you know it in the back of your head, but you push that thought apart because you want to enjoy jumping over rooftops and finding the best strategy to kill that man. There's this underlying, looming melancholy in every memory that you play in, and that's why the end doesn't surprise us.

It makes us cry, of course, but it didn't come as a surprise at all. If you're shocked about the end, then you haven't been paying enough attention to Élise's dialogues, to the tone of the story, to her letters, to where this plot was going. Because, like I said, the story is about Arno and Élise's relationship, it isn't about defeating the bad guy. And there was only one way that story could end.

*cries in French*

*Je pleure beaucoup*

I know the game has been panned by players for its performance. And being the 2020 year of our lord, I cannot say I reject those allegations, since it's been 6 years since the game was released. I hope enough patches were implemented to salvage the bugs. I only came across one bug in my entire playthrough which bothered me a little: some NPC's would sometimes pop into cutscenes and phase through the characters like nothing. At first it was funny, but then towards the end it happened two more times, in important cutscenes with our lovely couple, which kinda destroyed all immersion, if you know what I mean. The rest was fine: it never crashed on me, I didn't encounter the infamous, horrendous bug that unleashed memes in internet, never a T-pose or something that rendered the game unplayable – nothing, only that funny bug I mentioned. I did see the drop in framerates, specially in very crowded areas – but to be honest I never saw a game with so many NPC's together in the same place, like, hundreds of them, each with unique animations and varied models. I only come from playing Syndicate, and even there the number of NPC's was lower. Here is jarringly unreal, I didn't know the French Revolution was THIS jam-packed with people!

On a graphical department, this 2014 game still holds up. Very well. I think it even looks better in some scenes than some of its successors. The cutscenes were sometimes very cinematographic, with close ups, zoom outs, certain angles, with quite real lighting and shadows. I know it's not Naughty Dog and it doesn't have the whole Sony battalion behind, but damn if some of the character's expressions were really good. It didn't happen often, so when one of them had this very specific face I was like *insert surprised pikachu meme*.

I also enjoyed the music a lot. I don't know why but the one from the main menu stuck with me for a while. All of the songs have this Versailles, aristocratic tone to it which put me in the mood.

I have only one minor complaint and its entirely optional, let's say – I want to platinum this game. But I don't own PS plus, because it's, uhhh, expensive in my country (do not want to indulge in dollar exchange rates right now). And there are like two trophies only obtainable through multiplayer, which renders my trophy hunt useless. But, alas, I knew this before buying the game. I think that games shouldn't come with multiplayer trophies for the platinum. If you have to pay extra for something, it must be completely optional. And so should be the trophies related to it. It's a bit disappointing, though, because after finishing this game I want so bad to return to it, but if I can't platinum, I don't see myself coming back to it soon. Either way, I could still earn the rest of the trophies, but that would only enrage me more when the last 3% is going to be locked forever *cries again*.

All in all, my major question at the end is: why does this game receive so much hate? I guess if I came from a hardcore fan standpoint I could understand it more. If I had played all its predecessors before this one, I would also feel that the gameplay and the objectives are repetitive. That the challenges are bs. But the stealth aspect has been improved, the parkour has been redesigned and adapted, and as of now, bugs aren't a problem anymore. I want to believe that when a remaster for the PS5 comes out or, I don't know, if someone by divine grace has an epiphany in the near future regarding this game, people will change their mind on this one and will appreciate more what it wanted to be, than what they made it to be. After all, this is Arno's story. Arno's tragic love story.

Also this game is beautiful JUST LOOK AT IT LOOK AT IT!!! 

Sorry couldn’t help myself

[metanoiamorii]

Writingamongthecoloredroses: Kiss #5, for whoever you choose?

I'm so sorry it took forever, @writingamongthecoloredroses. But it's finally here!

♧ Title: Dragonfly, since I'm not creative

♧ Part of which wip: Coming Home

♧ Word Count: 6k

♧ Synopsis: To go to market with Liraz, En and Moro promise to teach Liraz magick.

♧ Warnings: its criminally cute, you get some lore, it's rather long, Liraz does kiss En without consent but it's fine in the end, and the three are just honestly a goal. It's rather light and fluffy. And I mean, En threatens to burn nosey townfolks faces off for making the attempt to flirt with Moro. But that's it.

Coming Home taglist: @unholieds, @zielenbloesem

General taglist: @endlesshourglass, @makeitmonstrous, @writerray, @poore-choice-of-words,

On both: @hazard-writes, @notugalan, @cecilsstorycorner, @little-boats-on-a-lake

If you'd like to be added or removed from any, feel free to send in a message!

Send in a number and I'll most likely just write the cottage witch and her two eldritch idiots!

Liraz moves across the front porch, her footsteps are quiet and light, to not be a disturbance. She takes a seat on the top step, hands at her lap pushing down and evening out her dress. She doesn't speak, not for a while. She sits and she watches. 

En doesn't glance back, doesn't acknowledge her presence. It's almost as if they don't recognize she's there. Which is fine. They sit, a step in front of her, staff slung over their lap. That gnarled staff, of koa wood and fire opals. Or so, she has always assumed. It appears as such to her, so she had assumed. She never asked in the past, it never came up in conversation. She kept assuming, it never hurt to. 

Watchung as En fiddled with their staff, Liraz shifts to lay her elbows to her knees, and soon plops her cheeks between her palms. She's not sure what they're trying to accomplish, and she has learned well to never question En. She watches. She bemuses herself with the possibilities. Is it akin to her spellcrafting? Repairing the staff? Meditation? There were so many possibilities! 

Finally, she caves. Unable to suppress the urge to keep her hands in her lap, her lips pressed tight together. Over their shoulder, from behind, Liraz is leaning forward. A hand raised from her lap, she moves to touch the fire opal gem. Even without her fingers on the gem, when she leans forward she can feel the heat emanated; it's warm, like En... Before her fingers graze against it, her wrist is snatched and the staff is dropped, and it tumbles down the few steps left before it lands on the ground and stays there. 

Wide eyed, Liraz looks between the staff and then to En, who holds her wrist tight. Their eyes are narrowed into their usual scowl, lips pulled thin and a hint of annoyance upon their brow. They aren't happy. They aren't happy she tried to touch their staff. 

"My... Apologies." She has to take in a breath, to push the apology out. She needs to find the nerve to speak, when the entity before her can strike fear deep into the marrow of her bones. "I was... Only curious abou—" 

En softens their hold and lowers her hand back down. They release their grip, as they push themself to sit back, on the step she's sitting on. This time, they pick up her hand and hold it with more care, inspecting it. "You would have melted your fingers." 

Liraz blinks, once, twice. She focuses on how gently En attends her, like she's Moro. It's not... Unpleasant. Simply... New, different. They haven't acted so before with her. "The... fire opal looked so beautiful..." 

"Tis'nt fire opal." En murmurs quietly. Content that she's unharmed, they lift her hand to press a kiss against the wrist, before they lower her hand down to her lap. 

"Oh..." Liraz looks down to where the staff sits in front of the porch. Her brow furrows as she studies it once more. It looks so akin to fire opal... What was it? What is it? 

En slips from the steps, while she's preoccupied in her thoughts. They kick themself to their feet and stride down the steps. To their knees they drop, pick up the staff, dust it off and twirl it within their palm as they rise to their feet. Back, they come; they climb the steps and return to the spot they had sat in for the better part of the morning. The staff is slung back over their lap, they recline back to rest their head against her knee. 

Knowing her curiosity would get the better of her, to prevent acts of idiocy, En sighs. "Fire agate, fire opal, garnet— it is perceived by your kind with the power you harness, your souls incarnate." 

"... Oh."  It. They referred to it as it. What is It? 

Knowing her mind, En continues. "The fire all desire to claim, that in which can set all aflame, it has the capacity to set your own gifts to shame, none before have been able to tame..." As they speak, eyes closed and breathing even, the staff in their lap glows. The gemstone, that still appears as fire opal, turned from a gentle amber to burn with the intensity of the flame of a forest fire. 

The display of power always brings on a... perhaps it is jubilation, the word Liraz seeks. A taste of it and she wants more. Capable of kindling a fire that cannot be stopped until they will it, the being at her side is dangerous and she knows it. And... as humorous as it is, she plays with this fire, despite the warning sides. 

"Does it have a name?" 

"Yes." 

Liraz does not ask her next question. She knows she will have an answer. She shifts, to test if she may rest a hand against En's hand... she may. She feels the scarlet hair they take in this form; it is to her surprise where she expects to be met by bristles to rival a porcupine, it is like velvet or silk and she yearns to run her fingers through the waves. They do not stop her. 

'What do you call it?' 

It lingers in the air as Liraz tests her boundaries and plays with En's hair. They sit contently at her side, with the flare that was instigated to show by the staff dimming. With a breath exhaled, En answers. "By your kind, named the Unyielding Blaze." 

The Eternal Flare. 

The Infinite Spark. 

The Imperishable Inferno. 

Like the names they hold, so did the powers they hold share. 

Liraz eyes the staff, full of disbelief. "That is the Unyielding Blaze?" 

"A piece." A small piece. It could not compare to the true thing. 

"Is it similar with Mor—" 

"Yes. His staff is the Unyielding Rime." 

Lacking the words to express how she felt, Liraz exhales. She shakes her head but wears a bright smile. "... Fascinating." 

"Hm." En opens their eyes as they exhale. A hand raises from their side, they brush their hair behind their ear and kick themself back to their feet. Opposed to dropping the staff once more, as it is pushed into the air by En standing, it disappears into a plume of smoke and embers. They turn, to start into the door of the cottage. "We should begin breakfast." 

"Oh." Liraz looks up, to where the suns have now risen. No longer too early, the moons claiming the sky. The suns burn bright. She was so engrossed in the conversation she hadn't paid attention to the time. She pushes herself to her feet quickly, brushing off her dress. Halfway to her feet, she accepts the hand gestured back to her, in silent invitation. 

"Thank you." 

She murmurs quietly, accepting the hand and twining their fingers together. She knows she will get no answer, she still shows her gratitude. Hand in hand, they walk into the cottage together. En doesn't let go until they're in the kitchen. 

"Go wake Moro." They say, moving to collect the loaf of bread, the carton of eggs, bacon, and fruits. 

Not having to cook, Liraz gladly leaves the task to En and leaves the kitchen. She ventures to the bedroom, where Moro is still in bed, curled up with her familiar. 

"Blodeu~." She cooes gently and the owl stirs. He chirps and ruffles his feathers, he squirms until he's free of the embrace he has been held in and flies to her shoulder. Liraz chuckle, scratches beneath his chin. Without haste, she sends him go the kitchen, to keep En company. 

In time, she rouses Moro. It takes time, to wake him, to get him out of bed, to dress and get ready for the day. Persistent today— Liraz knowing it's futile to argue with the entity— she allows him to wear one of her dresses. He looks amazing in it, so truly there is no harm in it. She helps him, knowing it could be a hassle to figure out the blouse and the skirt. Knowing En would enjoy the privacy of the kitchen while cooking, they both take their time in the bedroom. They find red ribbons to match the skirt together, Liraz braids his silver locks into pigtails and ties them off. He looks cuter than her, she's almost envious... But it's his charm. When they finish, she pecks his cheek and he's already out of the bedroom to go show En his outfit for the day. She follows close behind. 

As they come stumbling into the kitchen, the table is set, plates are full, cups sit ready to sip from. En has already cleaned the mess made with plates and silverware and sits at the table. They only get up to pull out the chairs for the two and push them back in. En never eats, but Moro enjoys the human cooking and eats with Liraz. En sits with them for the company, the show of support. It's appreciated. Over breakfast they talk... well, Moro talks, both En and Liraz listen. Moro goes on to talk about the dream he had, which Liraz always finds fascinating. They don't dream like she did. Their dreams are like memories of the past. 

This particular dream that Moro talks about is the time En and himself got lost in a maze. The Catacombs, he referred to it as. Finally annoyed, not being able to find their way through it, En simply blew a hole in several walls! Moro is giggling like a child as he recalls the events. Liraz snickers with him, she can completely see it all as truth with how intimately she has been able to know these two. En doesn't look amused by the recount, sitting the entire time scowling, but the two of them see the twitch of the corner of their lips and know it's fine. 

When they finish, Moro sits on the countertop, kicking his feet and gladly still rambling. Liraz helps En clean the table, she dries the dishes as En washes them. Moro is able to be distracted from the topic at hand long enough they begin to discuss the plan for the day. It's Liraz that talks, after En instigates with an offhand comment, and Moro keeps it alive with his inquiring questions. Boring errands she has to run. They need more supplies, so that means going into town. She never fancies it, as it's always boring and tiresome. She also talks of the ingredients she needs for her spells: her wards and charms, offerings too. 

Through her own rambling, Moro finally suggests the two join her. To make it more interesting! Funner, he uses and Liraz cringes... She doesn't have the heart to correct him, she chooses instead to live with it. She is hesitant about it at first, until En finally bargains with her. The two go back and forth, in a serious discussion of the pro and cons of the two coming with her: 

She will have company, yes. 

The people already suspect she is a witch, them coming with her will further paint that image. 

If anyone tries anything, they will be there to protect her. 

Yes, but they... Did not understand their own powers. They were... She didn't say unhinged, not with the way En looked at her. 

Finally, what seals the deal is that En gives their word that they would teach her some magick. True magick. Their magick. Liraz simply cannot pass up the opportunity. 

So, she finishes the dishes so En can go get ready. Moro keeps her company, to not drag out the endeavor of leaving the cottage. She's ready enough, with her simple dress and hair loosely braided down her shoulder. Sure, she may throw on an apron and a sun hat, but she has no need to change, nor to 'doll' herself up like the other ladies in town. 

En returns shortly. They're quiet and stand a few feet behind. It's Moro that gives them away, unable to stay quiet for too long. He's all giggly, as En genuinely smiles for once, shaking their head. Liraz turns to greet them, and she drops the plate. It's the rare occasion En smiles, and by the gods she almost didn't recognize them. Not with how neatly their hair was brushed and braided. Dressed in the loose blouse and trousers without a care in the world. It's ruggish, but.... it was fitting. She knows she's staring, but she can't look away. 

"Fool." En calls her, already moving forward. They kneel in front of her, picking up the shards of glass from the broken plate. They dispose of the shards carefully. 

"Let's add a plate to the list!" Moro giggles, eyeing the two with a wide grin across his face. 

Liraz shakes her head. She takes a moment to close her eyes, breathe, collect herself. "Let's leave, yes? It's already nine, I would like to be back before dark." 

"Why do I not—" 

"No magick!" It's her requirement. "We are all human for a day." 

"Humans are weak." En mutters quietly, but relents. 

As Liraz grabs her baskets, En moves back to the bedroom. They snatch up two hats, and when they're all out the front door, they plop a hat respectfully onto Liraz and Moro's heads. Three steps from the cottage, En is walking in between the two, holding their hands. They don't oppose, they don't fight it. They accept that they will walk in the middle, and as the one wearing trousers today, they will hold the hands respectfully. It is a sacred duty, one they take with the utmost seriousness. 

They take their time on the walk into town. They enjoy the nature of the mountain, and the light conversation carried between the three of them. It's early Yj'lento, everything is in bloom, the weather fair, what is there not to appreciate? They don't make it to town till after noon. From there, En and Moro relent and allow Liraz to take the lead. 

Liraz leads the way through town, now walking center. She holds each of their hands and pulls them through the town. Many gawk and stare, they whisper when they believe the three are out of earshot. No, many don't give attention to Liraz, but to the company she is with. The small and pretty porcelain like doll, and the gentleman who could have been hand carved by the deities. Most watched from a distant, lacking the nerve to approach and say something. The few men that approach Moro, En narrows their eyes and gets very affectionate; very few do En have to get vocal and tell to 'piss off if they value their faces'. The few women that try to approach En are easily diverted by Moro getting closer, louder, and acting very childish to hold En's attention. 

Liraz finds it amusing, at how overprotective they are of each other. She never intervenes, she trusts the two to abide her one requirement. They know their limits, and they handle it pretty well. Is she offended that all the townsfolk are drawn to these two? No. Even she was drawn to them. They weren't... normal. They weren't something you saw every day. She wouldn't fault them, not when she did the exact same thing they did. 

When they had enough of the attention, or when she could tell En was more annoyed than usual, she pulls them off into a random direction. They would go to smaller stalls, she would have them help her pick out herbs and gems for her craft. Sometimes she would hand some money to En, or Moro, a few coins and have them go buy something off the list... Or, Moro would find something that caught his attention and he would instead buy that. En could haggle well, almost too well and didn't pay a dime. 

They had, at the very least, kept their word. This trip into town was, in fact, fun. They kept her company, their company always was interesting. It's a hasty decision, but Liraz decides they should have a picnic. Sure it's a late picnic... but she's discovered there's something special about staying up late with these two. Shopping takes longer for the necessary and extra supplies, but it's worth it. With everything bought and errands done, they take their leave back to the mountain. 

They follow the main-road as long as they can, before they divert into the woods. The path is steep, with wildflowers and fallen branches and logs. They make the most of it. En will cross over first, extend a hand and help the other two over; a few times, before they step down, En will snatch them by their waist and pull them forward, spinning on the heels. It leads to laughter and jests. Liraz points at familiar areas and explains the sentiment she holds for them. At one point, when En carries the basket, Moro grabs Liraz by her wrist and drags her to one of the old trees she's pointed out. He pushes her behind the tree, leans in close... they're both too giggly to actually kiss. 

The three soon, through their games and antics, find their way to the lake. It's beautiful, with the wildflowers in full bloom and the vast green trees that mark the perimeter. Liraz leads the way down to the bank, to a spot they can sit. She's unfolding the blanket and throwing it down, as En is knelt over digging the supplies from the basket. The two sit on opposite sides of the basket, as Moro is already down in the water. 

Liraz sits, having conversations with Blodeu, with her grimoire open. Some are notes she makes, others are drawing. En sits reclined, hat tipped over their face, and for a few moments Liraz believes they truly are asleep. Perhaps they are. But whenever a motion is made too close or near, they stir and are wide awake. Moro plays in the river, converses with the locals and tries to get either Liraz or En to join him. They eat when they want to, they're in no hurry to hold home. Nothing waits for them there. They're all here. 

It's peaceful. It's quiet. It's... nice. Liraz enjoys it, she knows she made the right decision. They had been stuck in the cottage all Ial'vyala, due to the snow... it didn't help either Moro would steadily bring on more. It made him happy, however, to play in it and drag the two with him. The snow has passed, it is time for the gentle heat and rebirth of life. 

Time is lost between them, as they sit on the bank of the river. The only things that travel here are the locals: some deers, foxes, bears, fellow owls, and other critters. No people. Nobody travels this deep, not with the rumors of the witch who lives here. Liraz doesn't mind. It means she has all of this to herself. No, she doesn't mind sharing it with Moro and En. Anyone else? Perhaps. 

Brought to peace, the longer they sit together, Liraz closes her grimoire and sets it aside. She goes to lean back, using an arm as a pillow, but instead she reclines back onto the warmth that's En. She turns to look at them, but En refuses to meet her eyes and stays staring at the sky. For a being of heat, it's amusing, she ponders, able to see the light blush that flusters across their cheeks. She doesn't oppose, she doesn't raise a fit. She adjusts herself and curls into their side, head resting on their collarbone. 

The arm goes around her waist and they lay there together, until Moro decides he wants to be part of it too. He, not too quietly, settles on the blanket on the other side of En. He forcibly picks up the arm, wraps it around himself, and cozies into the unoccupied side. He giggles the entire time, like he's getting away with it, like it's the perfect crime. 

En deliberately ignores him, allows him his antics. 

Liraz peers open an eye, after a moment. "Having fun?" She asks, voice soft and a gentle giggle in her own tone. How can she not laugh when Moro is? It's part of his charm. 

"Mn-mhm!" Moro continues to giggle. He shifts, to hide half of his face against En's chest, to hide the shit-eating grin plastered on his cheeks. He looks across only at Liraz, ignoring En as if they didn't exist. 

Liraz giggles more. Where she lays, she shakes her head, or at least she tries. She closes her eyes, a bemused smile on her face. 

Eventually, Moro's giggling ceases. It's quiet enough Liraz dozes off, laying there she's able to take a nap. Moro falls asleep too, she knows it even if she doesn't see it. If Moro is laying down with En, anywhere, he will fall asleep if left alone long enough. If En falls asleep or not, Liraz never knows. They lay there, with Moro and Liraz as they sleep, which is more than enough. 

En stirs them both awake, some time later. A soft jab in the ribs, a pat to the thigh. 'Come on' being huffed with a tone of affection. Liraz grumbles in disappointment, stirs closer. Moro follows suit. 

Knowing the two aren't getting up, En persists. "I cannot teach you magick if you aren't awake." 

Liraz stretches out. A wide yawn is released. When she appears to sit up, she scoots closer. "Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow I will change my mind." It's a lie. 

"Then I'll be disappointed tomorrow." En shakes their head and accepts the fact, the day has ended. These two aren't waking up. Liraz falls back asleep shortly after that. 

She wakes in her bed, curled up with Moro. She knows the hint of ash and embers in the air, En used their magick to bring them home. They're nowhere to be seen, she hears the chittering of Blodeu from the kitchen and the clacking of pans. En is cooking breakfast. She closes her eyes, scoots into bed, and pulls the blanket close. She falls back asleep until En wakes them both and drags them to the table. 

Breakfast today is quiet. Liraz is still groggy from waking up. Moro is still half asleep, dozing off in between bites. En sits, wide awake, encouraging them to eat and chitter. When it's apparent they won't be talking, En snickers and leaves the table. Blodeu sits on their shoulder, and the two have their conversation as En cleans the kitchen and dishes while Liraz and Moro fully wake up. 

It's by noon, when they leave the cottage together. Liraz remembering the promise, she persists and persists and persists, until En huffs and agrees they will do magick together. Liraz dresses simply in a lavender dress and brings a shawl; she ties her hair back, so it's out of the way. She doesn't bother with shoes, she prefers being barefoot, she's closer to the earth. Always, Moro dresses in red with a simple blouse and trousers; it's for easier movement. En dresses similar to Moro, except they wear blue. 

They venture back down to the lake. It's something special. Liraz tries to convince En to use magick, to transport them there to save time, but they refuse. A more subtle grin upon their face as they roll their eyes, insisting they walk. It's not as carefree as yesterday. They aren't running and hiding between the trees, or dancing upon the leaves-covered path, or even making jokes. They're quiet, they enjoy nature, and revel in having one another's company. 

They don't return to the spot they sat yesterday. They're further away from the river, closer to the woods. They find an open space that works for them. 

Before Liraz can speak, En is taking the grimoire from her hands. They resist the urge to burn it in demonstration, knowing how much it meant to her. Calmly, they place it on the ground out of the way. 

When they're walking back, Liraz stands with her brow furrowed. "What was that—?!" 

"Magick will not come from books." En cuts her off before she can finish. "The only thing you must have is yourself, present and accounted for." 

Liraz wears a sullen face. She knows better than to protest or fuss. This isn't witchcraft she's learning. This is raw and uncontrolled magick, pulled directly from the source. She would listen and she would learn. 

Knowing her mind, En rolls their eyes. "You would prefer a demonstration first." 

Although it isn't voiced like it, Liraz knows it's a question. She knows their mind as well. They were asking if she wanted a demonstration. Which, she would. 

Gently, she nods her head. "Please." 

En looks away from her, their attention diverts to Moro. "My Frost—" 

"Of course~!" He chimes with a giggle. He moves from where he stands, bouncing on his heels and skipping. Where his feet touch the grass, even if the weather's fair and everything is in bloom, a soft sleek of frost forms to cover the flowers and the grass. 

It continues, until Moro stands in front of En. His arms folded behind his back, a bright, gleaming smile upon his cheeks. The air around them has cooled, frost covers the field, and the river has begun to freeze over. Liraz tips back her head, amazed by the sudden change in climate, to see the snowflakes that fall from the now cloudy sky. 

This. 

She can feel it, in the air around her: the earth weeps for it is no longer warm, the suns veiled behind the clouds cry in despair that something— someone— can overpower them and negate their own powers, the flowers mourn for their swift beginning and cold end; the snowflakes dance in joy of returning, the cool air that surrounds them sings in delight and joy, the clouds ask if it's fair or if they... No, if she would like the sun back. 

This isn't like the magick she can possess, the things she may do. This doesn't feel like magick. It feels... It's hard to express. It feels old and ancient, and it's... It feels like it belongs. 

She revels in it. Sure, it is cold. It's freezing. But she closes her eyes, inhales her breath and exhales a plume of fog in front of her face. She giggles like a girl. Her attention diverts from the sudden snow and frost brought on, back to where the two stand. 

"My Eternal Frost, My Northern Winds, My Unyielding Rime, My Imperishable Blight, My Infinite Verglas, My Darling Ice," En exhales, leaning forward with bended knees. There's a soft smile on their cheeks, as they press a chaste kiss to Moro's lips. "Thank you." 

"My Eternal Flame, My Southern Winds, My Unyielding Blaze, My Imperishable Inferno, My Infinite Ice, My Most Cherished Fire—" Moro giggles back, as he leans forward on his toes and pecks a kiss back "— You are most certainly welcomed~!"

Liraz watches with a smile full of endearment at the display of affection. It's... Something that cannot be replaced, or replicated. Their feelings are genuine for one another. 

Her thoughts are cut short by the sudden rise in temperature. The clouds dissipate and the suns return. The grass is soft and full of warmth once more. The flowers spring back, in full bloom and the lake runs a beautiful blue. It is as if the sudden blizzard never happened. Yes, the snow now has sings in despair and the snowflakes dance in sadness, but it is the turn of the suns to greet the day and the flowers to dance with the warm breeze. 

Once more, Liraz appreciates this display. The change in climate and how warm she feels in her own skin, that feeling she has to dance through the grass and to run down the hills to dip her feet in the lake. It reminds me of the first day Yj'lento came. 

It is with that, the focus returns to Liraz, and teaching her. 

"How... How did you do THAT?!" Liraz glees, her eyes are sparkling with intrigue and joy. 

"It's easy!" Moro answers with a shrug. "We simply... We just... We..." 

As Moro is scratching his cheek, En shakes his head. "An explanation of words would leave something to be... Desired?" 

Liraz pouts. She understands, but at the same time... She's surprised once more by the hand placed on her shoulder, as another goes to her hip, as En moves around her and stands in the empty space behind her. Gently, she is urged to lower her shoulder and ease her posture. En leans forward with their head resting against her shoulder. 

"Breathe." En commands in a tone that's gentle, far too gentle for them. 

Liraz takes in a deep breath and exhales. She settles back, to lean against them. It's a moment of trust, through the teaching. 

"Close your eyes." 

Liraz closes her eyes upon command. There is no hesitation. There is no need for it. 

"Now—" En's voice is low, it tastes of brimstone and something ancient, it should strike fear into her heart but rather she is soothed by it, she finds comfort in it. "— You are a child of the Sky. The Dame of the Winds breathed their life into your lungs. Even now, when you focus, you can hear them whistling the breeze. Closing your eyes, focusing on your breathing, you can feel their presence with each movement that constricts your lungs...." 

The hand slips from her shoulder to around her throat. The fingers are loose, but there to feel every shift of the breaths she takes. As En speaks, the hand slowly dips, down her collarbone to rest against her chest, to feel the beat of her heart and the movement of her lungs. The touch is sensual, intimate and close. There is nothing sexual about it, only... that intimacy of knowing all the organs that functioned beneath her skin, where they laid and how they worked; how they were influenced by the magick in her veins. 

"Focus on that." 

Channel that energy, is what they mean. It is what Liraz does. She empties her head of all thoughts, she clears her conscious. She focuses on her breathing. She makes her focal point the sky. With her eyes closed, she feels the trees around them, how the winds bristle through the branches. She imagines the flowers beneath her feet, how they sway with each breeze made by the Grey Dame. She breathes in, she exhales. Focused, she doesn't feel the hand pull back, nor does she notice En take a step back. 

Around her she feels the winds pick up. It's not immediate, the more she focuses and relaxes the stronger the winds become, until the winds are heavy and strong enough to make her stumble where she stands. It doesn't occur to her, when she stumbles and is caught. She focuses on the ancient song she can hear being whistled in her ears, a song for her, one that nobody else can hear. She can hear it in her ears, as she can feel the power in her veins. 

It's cut abrupt. 

Her excitement overwhelms her. She loses her focus, for a split second and it ends. Like that. The wind dies down, tranquility once more finds the lake and meadow. 

It's cut short, but... she doesn't feel upset about it. She's excited, she's gleaming with joy! She did it! She did it! She actually did it! She successfully managed to do it! 

Stimming from excitement, Liraz is 'eee'ing as she spins around on her heels to face En. Moro is gleaming and grinning where he stands, stimming from excitement that Liraz is so ecstatic! And En... En is caught off their guard by Liraz jumping forward, her arms are around their shoulders. She knocks them back a step, but the hands are around her waist to balance them. They spin in a circle, as Liraz giggles with laughter the entire time, because En can rebalance and places her back on her own feet. 

A rare opportunity, En releases a soft chuckle. Face gentle, a bemused smile upon their cheeks and brows soften. They run a hand through her hair and down her cheek. "What was that—" 

And they're flushed red, like the hair they wear in this form, like the fire in their veins and eyes. They're taken yet again off their guard when Liraz tightens her arms around their neck and leans forward to kiss them. 

It's not the chaste kisses given here and there, at breakfast and at night. It's not like the little kisses they share with Moro, when they're happy, or want to express their joy to their other half. This is a kiss. Like humans. Like mortals. Unlike them. 

They don't... 

It's not necessarily bad? 

Different. 

New. 

If it were anyone else, by now En would have seized them by their throat and— no. It's Liraz. The little witch they had settled in living with. Moro's happy with her. Moro is happy living here. So... It's not so bad. 

En holds her face close and kisses her back. It's the proper reply, is it not? 

Liraz is grinning, happily. She's flushed pink herself. But she's loving every second of it. Sure, she kissed them out of sheer excitement but... It feels right. It feels right to be like this. 

It's perhaps the only time Moro is quiet, as he approaches from behind. He wraps his own arms around Liraz and hugs her close, burying his face into the back of her shoulder. He's happy. He's content. En is smiling, Liraz is giddy. He's happy. He couldn't ask for more, really. He had it all right now. 

All he ever wanted was for En to… relax. To enjoy life. To not need to burn every waking hour. To finally… feel peace. 

And they do! They now feel it, and with Liraz nonetheless! 

They stay like that, until Liraz finally pulls back. Grinning from her ears, she pulls her arms back, but settles in close, to rest her head against En's chest. She moves an arm and Moro settles in on the other side. Arms go around both of them, and now they stand contently in embrace. 

Quietly, Liraz murmurs. "Thank you." 

En furrows their brow, looking down at the two in their arms. "I haven't the faintest clue why you are thanking me." 

Liraz shakes her head, her smile doesn't fade. "You kept your word. You taught me magick. YOUR magick!" 

"Everyone can have a taste of it if they're only smart enough." En is quick to dismiss it. They don't see the big deal. It's magick. But... It makes her excited. Like it makes Moro excited when he learns his facts. 

En takes a breath in, exhales. They're arms tightened around the two in their embrace. "You're welcome... Dragonfly." 

Liraz giggles hearing the new nickname. She tilts her head back to stare up at them. "Dragonfly?" 

En looks away, as she expects. It makes her giggle more. "You remind me of a dragonfly." 

"Mhm? Why?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"To me it does!" 

"Pity for you!" 

Liraz snorts in laughter as En unwraps their arms and backs up. They fold their arms across their chest, roll their eyes and 'hmph's. 

"Oh, come on!" Liraz laughs, and Moro is quick to join in. "Wait, where are you going?!" 

En is moving on their heels. Head stuck up, still pouting, they're leaving in a hurry. 

"— Home!" 

A beat skips in Liraz's heart. It's the first time they call it that. The first time they actively refer to that little cottage as... Home. As if the day couldn't get better. 

Liraz is scurrying to grab her grimoire, calling Blodeu back, and running after En, as Moro already has run off ahead to stop them. The entire time, she's laughing, with a wide grin on her face. "Wait for us!"

[mychemicalxmen]

Unfinished Business

hey so I find crt’s recent interactions with the tua fandom to be sus as hell and it got me thinking about the most plausible way I could see him comin back in s3 and the conclusion I came to is a way-shorter and way-simpler version of whatever the hell this is so uhhhh here

2.9k, klave/klave-adjacent

... ... ...

“Is this really a good idea?”

Allison’s words are gentle as she stands in the doorway of Klaus’s room. Well, not his room, per se, but the grey-walled, undecorated space that would’ve been his bedroom in a timeline gone by. The Sparrow Academy doesn’t seem to be a huge fan of homey-ness. They’d ever-so-kindly granted the Umbrellas two nights’ stay in these cold cells while they gathered their bearings and prepared to face the new world they’d fantastically screwed up.

Klaus smiles at her question. “That’s hardly stopped me before, right?”

Allison rolls her eyes and drops her hands onto her hips. “I’m worried about you, okay?”

“Don’t be,” Klaus answers with a swatting gesture. “It’s been easy-peasy since I’ve dropped the pills. Parlor tricks. Did this song and dance tons of times for Madame.”

“Also, we need to unpack your relationship to ‘Madame’ at your earliest convenience.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow mischievously. “What happens in Dallas...!”

Allison sighs. “Okay, well, if things start to get, y’know, mega-spooky panic-time, you’ll just yell, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Hey.” Allison’s voice is suddenly calmer. Klaus’s gaze snaps up to meet hers. “You’re sure about this?”

Klaus lets himself breathe for a moment. Tension fights to seize his limbs. He’s really about to do it.

His first six months of sobriety were the absolute nightmare that he knew they would be. They were all the sleepless nights, trembling hands, emotional eruptions, and torturous visions that he’d predicted.

But at some point, his powers became less like a stubborn faucet, run by an on/off switch with not much in between. With time (and Ben’s encouragement), he’d come to better understand his link to the other side. He’d learned how to cut and re-engage the connection at will, how to find faces in the crowd, how to call one forth, and how to sleep peacefully.

Most nights.

“I’m sure,” he says solidly.

He checks himself over, tugging his brightly striped shirt into place, tucking in his dog tag, and running a hand through the hair he’d half-considered chopping off the second he made it home. When he looks back up at Allison, he‘s feeling a bit less brave. “Do I look alright?”

Allison nods with a little grin. “You look great.” God, he wishes they’d reconnected far before this Dallas fiasco. She just cares so much. “Good luck,” she says.

“Love you, sis.” He blows her a lazy kiss as she leaves and closes the door behind her.

He paces around the room, steeling himself for the process. Like he said, it’s no big deal. Easy peasy. Even with that hiccup with alcohol, he’s clean enough to pull it off. He shakes out the last of his nerves with a couple tiny hops before settling in the middle of the room.

He stands firmly, feet apart, and drops his head. He squeezes his fists and lets the energy start to crackle between his fingers.

With all the insanity of this timeline, he needs to know what happened in 1968. He needs to see Dave.

It’s tougher to contact someone not already in the room. He focuses everything he has, and the energy pulses faster and stronger. Come on, come on…

“Klaus?”

He looks up with a start.

There he is, standing four feet in front of him. Those torn-up fatigues. Those searching blue eyes. That curly mess of blonde hair he hasn’t seen for three years.

Dave.

Klaus can’t keep the dumb smile off of his face.

“Hey there, soldier,” he practically whispers.

“Hey yourself,” Dave says - happy, though clearly disoriented. “Guess you weren’t making up all that ‘future’ junk after all.”

Klaus’s affirmative laugh is airy. But when his eyes trail down to the cavity in Dave’s chest, his heart aches in regret.

His jaw aches too. What a week it’s been.

“I have... so much to ask you,” Dave goes on. “It’s been a long time.”

Klaus swallows. Here goes. The million dollar question.

“Uh… How long of a time, exactly?”

He unconsciously holds his breath.

Dave glances to the side. “...Right around when JFK was shot. Must’ve been ‘63?”

Klaus exhales and sits on the bed, face blank.

Dave is wincing at his own memories. “God, I was such a dumb kid, I’m so sorry that you—”

Klaus isn’t hearing him. He’s too caught up on that number. 63.

If the Umbrella Academy doesn’t exist, Klaus Hargreeves doesn’t grow up in the same home as Five Hargreeves. He doesn’t get kidnapped by assassins. He doesn’t get his hands on a briefcase. He doesn’t go to Vietnam.

If the Umbrella Academy doesn’t exist, neither does the Dave that fell in love with him.

His Dave is gone. Really gone. 

This Dave was the timid hardware store employee he’d tried to get through to, striving to save his life and instead locking in his fate a few days early. This Dave is still the same person as the other one was. Same upbringing, same interests, same compassion, same smile, same violent death. But...

“—a strange time for anyone. You know how it is.”

Klaus tunes back in to Dave apologizing for his cringey adolescence. “No, no, yeah, I get it, don’t worry about it.”

In the pause that follows, Klaus feels his throat tighten and hot tears threaten to drop down his face.

Within the same pause, Klaus realizes the obvious. Dave is a ghost.

Kiddos and grandmas, or anyone who’s achieved either nothing or everything that their life had to offer them, they get the window to move on right away. One-way ticket to the Great Beyond, or the next life, or whatever the hell it is. Ultimate FastPass, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200. Klaus has learned that spirits don’t tend to stick around on earth unless they have unfinished business. Sometimes they don’t even know what they need to do to start fresh, and that’s always the worst. Those souls become the bitterest, the loudest, the most tortured. Those were the ones who gave him hell in the mausoleum, with question after question that he couldn’t even begin to answer.

Dave seems to have managed okay. Probably spends a lot of time watching over his friends, his sisters, his neighbor’s cat. Klaus wonders what he could possibly have left to do.

“Major case of unfinished business you got there, huh?” Klaus asks. “Been waiting around, what, fifty years?”

Dave squints. “Well, it’s hard to feel it. Time works a little funny over here.”

“Right, of course it does,” Klaus recalls stupidly. He sniffles and swipes a hand under his eye as nonchalantly as he can. “Ah. Any idea what the little brat is waiting for you to do?”

Dave gives a tentative chuckle. “Brat?”

“Oh, Big G, the almighty, you know,” Klaus clarifies. “The bitch on the bike. I met Her once or twice. We’re not too chummy.”

Dave shows startlement, then shakes his head, acknowledging that this information should hardly faze him at this point. “Um. Yeah. Don’t know what She wants yet. Though She’s actually a cowgirl for me.”

“Of course She is.” 

And that’s the idiotic comment that causes Klaus’s voice to crack.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dave asks. He hazards a few steps closer.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

“No... Nothing,” Klaus stammers. He briefly covers his face and lets out a groan. “Ughhh, it’s going to sound crazy.”

“Really think you can beat ‘Time-Traveling Cult Leader with Prophetic Dog Tags and Tidings of Death’?”

“It wasn’t a cult,” Klaus mumbles in futility. He drops his hands and gives it his best shot. “The first time I met you - first time I met Dave - was in a totally different timeline, in 1968. That’s how I knew all that stuff about you. And you died the same way, except I was there the first time. The other time. The same time?”

“You and ...’Other Dave’.... fought together,” Dave offers.

“Yes!” Klaus confirms, relieved that he’s making sense. “Yeah, exactly. Which is why I tried to stop him - you - from going.” He indicates Dave’s abdomen. “And, obviously, I failed. But because of some stuff my family screwed up along the way, you never fought with me, so I remember a lot more than you do, and it’s all just...” He gestures helplessly. “A real kick in the dick.”

Dave tilts his head in a mix of sympathy and confusion. “That... does sound pretty crap.”

Klaus doesn’t expect it when Dave sits next to him on his bed.

“You want to tell me what I missed?”

“Oh, no, no, no, Dave, you don’t want that. That’s a long story.”

Dave shrugs. “I’ve got some time to kill.”

Klaus manages a smile. Talking will keep him from crying.

He tries his best to tell everything chronologically, but almost every step of the beginning requires some Hargreeves Family Lore that he reluctantly recaps as efficiently as possible. Dave is an exceptional listener. Always has been. He lets Klaus ramble on and on and asks little questions now and again to get a clearer picture. Klaus appreciates Dave’s effort to form a coherent narrative out of the scattered snapshots that time has left him with.

Klaus stumbles with pronouns. He makes a point to refer to His Dave with “him” as opposed to “you”, but he can’t help but slip a few times in the middle. Dave seems to understand.

Klaus tells him about the day they met. He waters down the Time Police part of the tale and focuses on what came after. Dropping into the tent at dawn. The casual conversation on the bus. The strange instinct that he got to stick around for a few days.

He tells him about soldiering. He tells Dave how focused and respected he looked on the battlefield. But he also tells him how kind he was to new recruits.

He tells him about their first R&R together in Saigon. He tells him about the vibrant bar and the strangest music and the secluded back hallway.

He tells him about the nights in the jungle they’d stayed up and dreamed up plans for when they’d go home together. He tells him about the day those plans fell apart. When Klaus runs out of story to tell, he just stops. Dave looks at him thoughtfully. Klaus can only imagine what must be running through his head. He knows it’s not judgement, or embarrassment, or anger, or loathing. Dave is too sweet for any of that.

Dave is too good for the rotten fortune that found him, time and time again.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus says.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t save him,” Klaus answers. He fumbles again. “You. Him? Young Dave?”

“I’m getting a headache keeping track of it myself,” Dave admits.

“You,” Klaus settles on. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Dave looks into him for a breath. Then, he reaches out and touches his arm. Klaus wants to dissolve into dust.

“I think I understand why I loved you,” Dave says.

A bittersweet laugh tumbles ungracefully from Klaus’s mouth. He tries not to draw attention to the new round of tears that spills over with it. “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.” Dave gives him the gentlest smile. “You shouldn’t be sorry. You tried so hard. I could’ve had more courage, fought back, ran away, something, but I just... wasn’t ready.” He glances down. “And I wasn’t going to be.”

Klaus’s hand closes over Dave’s on his arm.

“But I always remembered you,” Dave adds. “I always thought you were brave.”

“Goddamn, I was convinced I’d pushed your Big Awakening back a good two months, at least.”

“Far from,” Dave assures. His eyes crinkle with the flash of a memory. “I’m... not sure if I should tell you this.”

Klaus cocked his head. “Well, shit, Davey, now you have to.”

“I’m assuming Other Me told you something about Bill, right? Met in junior year, moved to Austin after school, always a bit of suspicion there...”

“Yeah?”

Dave’s face reddens slightly. “I mean, it wasn’t anything serious, but there were a few weeks when I was home, before this last tour...”

Klaus’s eyes widen. This was not an event on his timeline. He mocks outrage and pushes Dave’s hand away. “David Joseph Katz—!”

“The point is,” Dave poorly stifles a laugh, “I had hope. That it was gonna be alright, and that after this round, I’d be back in America for good, and I’d find my place.”

Hope.

Klaus supposes hope is nice. It’s just not terribly helpful with the way things panned out. In the world where Dave still didn’t make it home. In the world where he’s stuck here, waiting for a way to move on. In the world where he’s still around to see how little good that hope did him. And frustration starts to churn Klaus’s stomach, even though he knows...

“...This really wasn’t your fault,” Dave says, reading him just as perfectly as he could in ‘68.

Klaus hadn’t noticed how long he’d fallen silent for. “I know,” he mumbles, and logically, he does. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. There had to be a timeline out there where everything ended up alright, where him and Dave lived happily together just like they’d talked about, but he is never going to find it now.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “And I still love him. Christ, he made one of the deadliest shitshows in American history the only place I wanted to be. He made me the happiest that I’ve been in a long, long time. He made me feel so treasured. So... strong.”

When the tears return a third time, he stops trying to hide them. He carelessly wipes the heel of his palm across his cheek.

“I wanted to tell him all that,” he finishes. “He gave me something so special that I don’t think I’ll get again.”

A sob escapes Klaus. Dave patiently waits for him to work it out.

“I know I’m not him,” Dave starts, “But for what it’s worth, I think he’d know you still love him. I think it’d destroy him to be apart from you. But I don’t think he’d want you to destroy yourself.”

Klaus knows the spiel that’s coming, and so badly does he want to dismiss it all as disgusting cliche. But he also knows Dave’s sappy tendencies well enough to know that, in this case, it’s probably accurate. Hell, he’s hearing it from the man himself.

“If you couldn’t get back to him, I think he’d just want to know you were happy,” Dave says. “You know? That you kept moving and kept taking care of yourself. And kept looking for the kind of love you deserve.”

Dave shifts to face him more directly. His eyes are bright with intention. “You have so much life left in you. You deserve a new chapter.”

Klaus feels beaten and weary all over. His mind is finally slowing down to the present.

When Dave subtly opens up his arms, he eagerly takes the offer to wrap him in an embrace.

This is the last he’ll see of him. He can feel it. He tucks his chin over Dave’s shoulder and clings onto the fabric of his vest, eyes shut, trying to commit every sensation to memory.

Dave returns, lightly weaving his hand into Klaus’s hair. Klaus recalls with a weak grin that he knew Dave would be fond of the new length.

It’s safe and sacred and almost everything that he’d planned for on that day he’d desperately wandered the mansion halls, calling out for any help he could get, twisting a bundle of rope in his quaking hands.

He hears a whisper of a wind chime.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Dave mutters.

The blue glow pierces through Klaus’s eyelids. He pulls back to look at Dave.

He’s crumbling apart, piece by piece, and drifting away. Bright light speckles the entire room.

“Klaus?” Dave asks. His voice is soft but threaded with slight fear. “Is this...?”

“Yeah, it is,” he answers. He tightens his grip on Dave’s arms. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me say goodbye.”

A beat passes. Then, understanding washes over Dave’s face. He pulls Klaus close once again, stroking his hair.

He presses a kiss onto Klaus’s forehead.

Klaus doesn’t watch him go. He only opens his eyes when his arms are at last empty.

Specks of glittering blue light still float through the air. Nothing else remains but the wrinkle on the bedspread where he was sitting. Klaus’s face still feels warm where his lips were placed just moments ago.

Klaus buries his head in his hands. “Allison,” He calls out. The sound is pathetic. He clears his throat and tries again. “Allie?”

He hears her heeled boots click down the hall. He can’t bring himself to look up when she opens the door. “You okay?”

“It’s over,” he summarizes.

“What do you need?”

A joint. A fist full of pills. Five shots of tequila. A good sock in the head so he can go back to that pre-Technicolor hellscape and tell that bitch on the bike what he really thinks of Her.

“Can you just sit with me for a minute, please?”

Allison closes the door and obliges.

They talk, slowly and softly, about absolutely nothing at all, while Allison smooths her hand against Klaus’s back. They stare at the cold tile floors together for a long time. Klaus asks if it would kill the Sparrows to hire an interior decorator.