#I am bracing myself with posting things that I am new to so uh just take it

[shinmiyovvi]

Something something uh... TNMN ocs?

[seventh-district]

not even gonna tag this properly bc i don't wanna get Involved but i do have some Thoughts i need to get out into the void so here we go

(aaa quick edit: CW for mention/discussion of Boothill leaks)

[dreamersparacosm]

austin butler - clumsy

warnings ; none

prompt ; in which your celebrity crush causes you to become a flustered, blubbering mess.

a/n ; a little something fun i wrote during the fall but never published! it’s basically anxious!reader and honestly how I imagine myself reacting to meeting aus so enjoy xoxo

Okay, don’t panic.

Do not panic.

It’s just a man. A man with blonde, curly locks, blue eyes, over 6 feet tall… but still, a man. Nothing special. You could probably find ten of him walking down Rodeo Drive.

Except that’s probably not true either.

It is Austin Butler, after all.

You hike the tail of your dress higher as you descend up the stairs to the red carpet, inhaling as much oxygen as possible to tame your nerves. It does nothing for you beside provide a placebo effect of calmness. Your publicist, Jane, stands next to you with her eyebrows furrowed in permanent worry, a crinkle she’s had since the day she took you on. “[Y/N], did you get a chance to look at your seating arrangement?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” You respond slowly, wincing slightly as you brace yourself for her reaction. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning towards you.

“You know what, that’s fine, sweets. Just go stand on the carpet so we can take these pictures,” She goes back to her clipboard full of tedious things like timing and interviewers and stupid seating arrangements, and you’re trying to stay focused, but how can you do that when Austin Butler is standing 8 feet away from you, posing on the red carpet?

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling.

Whoever keeps leaving his shirts unbuttoned is a menace to society and needs to be locked away for endangerment to the general public.

This whole idiotic schoolgirl crush began relatively long ago, when he was still deeply in love with Vanessa Hudgens and playing a teen heartthrob on The Carrie Diaries. You weren’t even famous at that point, just a mediocre commercial actress trying to get her big break. Once you finally booked your first big role, the crush faded away (only the tiniest amount) but that all came crashing down like an avalanche when you saw Elvis with your best friend.

They probably could’ve posted the entire movie on a porn website and made the same amount of money. And, thus, your crush ensued, full throttle and invading your every thought at the worst moments. Including this one.

Jane kicks the back of your leg, cursing under her breath as you tear your eyes away from him. You’re not new to this scene, you’ve been in major leading roles and you’ve been nominated for Oscars. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that at your core, you are a complete and utter mess. A klutz. A loser with some money in the bank.

So, you take the pictures, with not too many mistakes as you expected, just a few shots of you blinking while smiling. You’re sure they’ll end up on Twitter where your fans will laugh about it while saying how much they love you.

This part always goes by fast. It’s camera flashes, smiles that are strained under the bright lights, talks with interviewers that always go far longer than expected, and then before you know it, you’re being ushered into a tight room with celebrities you had only dreamed of seeing in real life. Jane is glued to your side as you wait for your turn to enter the theater.

Despite the cool temperature of Los Angeles, you’re somehow drenched in sweat. You’ve done this before, you know that. But that doesn’t stop your entire body from going into fight or flight mode, teetering towards flight.

“What’s the hold up?” You hear a female’s voice yell out, and you almost think it’s Jane before you hear her chuckle beside you.

“Speak that truth. I am so sick of these fucking Oscars dimwits wasting my time,” Jane says loudly enough for the girl to hear it, and before you know it, they’re enthralled in a full-blown conversation. If you weren’t trying to fan your armpit sweat, you might’ve joined.

Maybe it’s a good idea to find out where you’re sitting. Probably will need to know that before you enter. You can only assume they’ll sit you next to your last co-star, Timothee Chalamet. What a delight that would be (and that’s not sarcasm, he always smells like cashmere and some type of forest.)

You turn your body slightly, eyeing Jane and the girl she’s talking to. She’s a redhead, also wearing a suit and clearly another publicist that has been in the position for far too long to enjoy it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a male figure standing next to the redhead. Hm. A black suit. Your eyes trail over his body, a soft black lace shirt that is half-unbuttoned peeking over the hem. How nice. You love that look on men.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Your body freezes. Mouth runs dry. Sweat shrivels back up into your body only to start forming at impossible speeds. Heart palpates so quickly you think you might be going into cardiac arrest.

In front of you, is Austin Butler. And he completely, totally, entirely, caught you checking out his entire body, head to toe.

There’s a smirk on his face that is undeniably directed towards you, eyes glimmering with amusement. You can’t even believe that you’re looking directly at him. He can’t be real, he has to be a figment of your imagination.

“Come here often?”

You did not just speak.

No, you didn’t. That couldn’t have been real. That couldn’t have been what you just said. After years of dreaming about this moment, that can’t have been what your brain and tongue agreed on.

He chuckles, a deep one that rumbles through his chest, and says, “I try not to make it a habit. You?”

You entangle your fingers with each other, hoping the sweat that has gathered on them just slides right off. “Me either. Trying to cut down on my presence and all that.”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, that soft smile that curves upon his lips widening a little, “Well, can’t say the Oscars is the best place to do that.”

“Yes, well…” You trail off. Thoughts empty. Brain just a shallow void with nothing but dirty, filthy fantasies about him floating around. Oh god, get a grip.

And he should end the conversation right there, then back around and not acknowledge the weird girl who clearly hasn’t had enough media training. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and says, “I’m Austin. Austin Butler.”

“I know,” You say almost immediately. His facial expression contorts into something unreadable, and your lips flap again to try and salvage the rest of your dignity. “I’m [Y/N].”

You shake his hand, praying to some otherworldly creature above that he won’t feel the sweat on your hands. It’s a little weird, when you touch his hand. Feels like you’re envisioning yourself with him, like you’re some kind of wizard that can tell it won’t be the last time you see him. It feels a little like something out of a rom-com, with the electricity zap and the sounds of your hearts beating erratically.

You both pull your hands away, smiling to the ground. You really, really, really hope he’ll keep talking to you.

“Nervous?” He asks, taking note of the way your thumbs twiddle and the sidestep you keep doing with your heels.

“A little. Kinda. Maybe,” You let out a sigh of relief. “I’m not really the most organized.”

“Hm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be great,” His grin widens just enough to show off his pearly white teeth that glimmer under the remaining sunlight that California has to offer.

“Thanks,” You smile back. “How about you? Nervous?”

“Always,” He responds, almost taken aback by the transparency he’s having with another celebrity. He’s never had a conversation about nerves, never felt validated enough by someone to open up about the fear that comes along with being at this level of fame. “It’s my first Oscars.”

“Right,” You say, “Well, I’ve been to a few, and honestly, I’ll let you in on a secret. Even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself a little when the nominees are announced.”

He lets out a laugh, a real one, one that sounds like all good things in the world and you would be more than happy to capture it in a jar and keep it on your bedside forever. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” He switches gears, shifting his body around a little. “What afterparty are you going to?”

It’s a simple question, one you’ve been asked numerous times by other people in the industry. It usually offers a sense of dominance over who got the better invite. “Er, yes, that would be a question for my lovely publicist, Jane, because I don’t have a rat’s ass idea of where I’m supposed to go.”

He laughs. Again. Part of you is enthralled, part of you is confused as to why he thinks you’re a comedy show. Maybe he thinks you’re a joke. Yes, that makes good sense. “That honestly makes me feel better because I don’t really know where I’m going either,” He admits.

“Are you kidding?” You ask incredulously. “You look like that and you don’t know where you’re going? I think the President of the Academy Awards has a personal invite waiting for you.”

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have said that. But really, it has to be blamed on the fact that there are a swarm of murderous bees flying around in your stomach that are making you feel woozy.

His cheeks turn a crimson glow, “Like that?”

“Oh, you know…” You trail, slowly laughing to brush off the fact that you basically just admitted your undying love to him. “Just…. That’s a great black shirt. I’m gonna buy one for my brother.”

His lips curve upwards a little more, blue eyes sparkling like little oceans. “Thanks. And, you know, you don’t look bad yourself.”

You blink twice. Did he just say that?

Before you even whip up a flirty comment, or even a funny one that’ll have him doubling over in laughter and proposing to you by tonight, you feel Jane gripping your forearm tightly. “Stop dicking around, [Y/N]. We need to go in.”

“Right, yes, totally,” You smile awkwardly over to Austin, and he returns it. You feel soft and warm and glowy inside, like you might levitate off the floor.

And then you really are levitating off the floor, because your feet miss the step and you’re falling before you even have a chance to stop yourself. Your arm extends to try and delay your inevitable fall, but it doesn’t work and you’re really sprawled out. Immediately, Jane rushes down to try and drag you up, hurriedly asking if you’re okay.

You nod slightly, balancing yourself on your knees. Thankfully, you think the vast majority of people have entered the theater and missed out on your embarrassment of epic proportions.

Well, maybe not everyone.

Suddenly, like a light peeking from beyond the clouds, you see an outstretched hand to your right. It’s tan, a male’s hand for sure. You look up to see who could possibly be nice enough to help you up. Maybe it’s God telling you it’s time to pass away.

It’s Austin. And he has a really worried look on his face that you’re shocked by, but his expression falters once he sees the look on your face. You’re smiling, a real big goofy one, because it’s so ridiculous and he’s so ridiculous and you’re pretty sure one of your heels is broken.

You place your hand in his, and his other hand wraps around your waist to help you up and steady yourself against him. Once you’re finally standing, he grins, leaning into your ear, “Remember, even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself at the table.”

You don’t even realize his arm is still wrapped around your waist until you notice the absence of it. You giggle lightly, biting your lip. “Of course. And I think I saw Brad Pitt throw up in the bathroom last year.”

“Austin, we gotta go,” His publicist grabs his hand, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You almost think he does too, his blue eyes turning grayish as he looks back at her.

“Right,” He clears his throat. “Well, good luck tonight, [Y/N]. I hope you win.”

“You too,” The smile on your face is probably permanently tattooed on. You feel Jane’s hand on your back, slowly moving you away from him although your feet beg to stay.

“Oh, and [Y/N]?” You turn back around to face him, “Big fan of your work.”

With that, he turns away with his publicist to go and find his seat amongst the crowd. You watch him disappear, an indescribable feeling washing over your entire body. You’re also being whisked away to your table, greeted by familiar faces and friends. But it’s pretty clear that’s not the reason why you’re smiling.

Some part of your brain decides on one thing: this won’t be the last time you see him.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

You decide that you like California. Not a whole lot, but enough to make you sign a contract for a new film. Normally, you believe that Los Angeles and all its surrounding cities are a dreadful structure that encapsulates all the worst features of privileged Southern California lifestyle. But the food is undeniably tasty, and your new apartment is decorated with high ceilings and well-lit rooms, so you’ll make do. You’ll be filming in sunny Calabasas, where the houses are painted a perfect shade of white, where time stills a little and every cloud is just the right amount of fluffy.

The Oscar’s had came and went, and you won, to no one’s surprise but your own. With that accomplishment came offers. People really, truly wanted to work with you, and although it baffled you, Jane was having the time of her life coordinating auditions and interviews.

Everything was truly perfect.

You flip through the pages of your fresh script, your manicured nails turning through the warm pages, the black ink bleeding onto the sheets. Jane sits across from you, feverishly scribbling something, negotiating your pay for your new film. She’ll deliver. In the end, she always does.

She hangs up her call, sighing from relief. You’re about to ask her how it went, if you got the price you wanted, before her phone blares again with that god awful ringtone she refuses to change. She answers it, a cheerful tone in her voice, “Kate? So good to hear from you! What’s going on?”

You tune out of her conversation, focusing your eyes back on the mass of paper in front of you. A new story to be told. A new character to embody. A new chapter of your life. It’s all very emotional and sappy and you almost want to cry tears of happiness, but you’ll save that for later, once you get home and crack open a bottle of wine.

You hear Jane place her phone down, and your eyes flicker back up to her. There’s an expression on her face that’s unreadable, and you’re unsure of how to process it. Oh, no. If you didn’t get the price you wanted, that would suck. Or, maybe you did and she’s just unsure on how to process emotion. You always thought she was a robot.

“I just had the weirdest phone call,” She finally speaks, scratching her forehead quizzically.

“What’s up?” You ask mindlessly, certain she’s going to tell you something personal like her cousin getting married to a farmer.

“That was Austin Butler’s publicist. She said he’s been asking about you since the Oscars.”

There’s no fucking way. She’s pranking you. Any second now, Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out behind the doorframe and say “You’ve been Punk’d!” and then maybe he’ll also bring out Austin to further your embarrassment.

“Excuse me?” You blink.

“Yeah,” She seems just as baffled as you are. “She said he’s been trying to find a way to get in contact with you, but turns out, you guys don’t have a lot of mutual friends.”

Well, that makes sense.

She continues on, “Anyway, she gave me his number and then said he wants to ask you on a date. So, do with that what you will.”

She unlocks her phone, slides it across the table to you, and you see a phone number typed into her notes. Your hand trembles as you pick up the iPhone, copying the number into your own contacts. You feel woozy, just like you did on that red carpet, just like you did the moment you locked eyes with him.

“Right, well,” You clear your throat. “I’ll just step outside and call him real quick.”

She nods, raising one eyebrow. There’s a small grin that appears on her lips, a knowing one, and you slide out the door into the hallway.

You don’t know what comes over you, or what demon compels you, but you click the number. You hear the ring. There’s a pause. Your heart drops as you think that he might not answer.

And then you hear him. His voice.

“Hello?”

“Uh, h-hi. Hi. This is, um, [Y/N]. Your publicist gave me your number.”

It almost sounds ridiculous.

“[Y/N]. You know, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you but turns out you’re not an easy person to reach,” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, you know me and my presence. All time low,” You say sarcastically, and he chuckles.

“Right. Well, congratulations on your win. Very well-deserved,” His voice is deeper than you remember. There’s a slight desire that pools between your legs for a moment before you snap yourself back into reality.

“You too. Some would call it the performance of the year,” And you can’t even believe it’s happening. You’re really flirting with him.

“Thank you,” He says so softly, so charming. He’s always grateful and humble, and it makes you even more attracted to him. If that’s even possible at this point. “So, do you think there’s a chance you would allow me to take you out to dinner? Somewhere lowkey, you know, for your presence and all?”

The question is so unbelievable that you can’t even take it in. You make a few sounds, splutter over your words and trip over them like you did your own two feet at the Oscars. Your heartbeat travels up to your eardrum, pounding with every ounce of blood that travels through you. “U-uh, umm… well, you know, let me go ahead and check my schedule.” There’s a pause. You cover the reciever and scream a silent yell into the void, jumping a few feet high.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Hm. Seems like I’m free tomorrow.”

“You can’t do tonight?”

The question takes you aback. Surely, he can’t be asking that because he wants to see you. “Oh, why? Are you leaving California tomorrow?”

“Not at all,” You hear him shuffle. “I just really want to take you out.”

“Right, yes, of course.” You let his question hang in the air. You know your answer, but you like letting him think there’s a possibility you might reject him.

“I am free tonight.”

“Great,” His voice is upbeat, a newfound excitement peeking through. “Well, text me your address. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

“Yup, totally. Super duper cool. Looking really forward to it,” You babble on, pacing the hallway you’ve trapped yourself in.

He lets out a low laugh, “Me too. I’ll see you tonight. Bye, [Y/N].”

You say your goodbyes, leaning against the wall for stability before you collapse into a puddle. Later, a janitor might come to find your lifeless body glued to the wall. Cause of death? Man built like a Greek god asks woman on date.

But, everything is fine. You’ll somehow make it.

There’s a ridiculous feeling in your heart, a warmth that spreads to your toes and fingers. Now, everything is perfect.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[inkandpaintleopard]

Look at that, an Introduction Post!

Good morning! And in case you’re staying up like I am, good afternoon, good evening, and good night.

I am ████████, I draw so much I have a wrist brace now.

As anyone could tell from one quick look at my blog, I love Spooky Month. It being my main fandom on here was not the plan, but I’d be surprised to see something change that now. However, any piece of media, be it shows, movies, games, books, or anything else, that I even so much as mention, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ASK ME ABOUT IT. If I bring it up at all that indicates that I am willing to talk about it, bordering on desperate to, please I’ve been alone for so long-

Old Things

Anything I have ever done, anything I have ever drawn, any idea I have ever had is totally up for grabs as long as I’m credited. You can go into my old archives, please go into my archives, please reblog my age old posts, PLEASE build on my ancient ideas. I give my thoughts specifically to be built upon, to spark new concepts, to one day be turned into drawings, and if you can do any of that, DO IT. It’s not like once it’s old it’s gone, that’s what an archive is for. It’s still there, use it.

Also,

I’m gonna say that you can use my stuff for anything. Again, as long as I’m credited; but even if I’m not, what’s mostly important to me is that something I made is out there being enjoyed by someone. Also, please put my posts on Pinterest if you want because I didn’t even know it was its own social media until like a few months ago and I sure as hell won’t be doing it myself.

DNI

As for a DNI list, I don’t really have one. If you do identify with anything on a standard list (proshippers, looking at you mostly), let’s just agree to exist around each other as Minecraft wolves, ok? As long as neither of us attack each other for no reason, everything should be fine. This is a blog run by a child and is mostly about children and children’s media, keep that in mind. Honestly even if you are problematic, I likely won’t care unless you do something bad to me personally.

Don’t betray me or you’ll be integrated into all my stories through allegory characters and when you die I’ll search your grave for cool stuff.

I try to remain as neutral as I can on most touchy subjects and am generally pretty sympathetic, which may or may not be my downfall one day, but for now you can rely on me to just be your funny little art poster and AU flesher-outer.

Asks N’ Stuff

I look at every single notification/ask I get and I love receiving them. If you send an ask and I don’t answer it, chances are:

I just can’t think of a response (may be answered when I do, could be insanely old by then but eh)

It sprouted an idea in my mind that made me go “Ooo, I should draw that!” and then I never did

I am specifically keeping it in my inbox for quick access

I did have a response and I just. Forgot. I think about it constantly but only when I can’t actually post anything

I may have legitimately just missed it. Trust that I’ll eventually look in my inbox, go “Oh BRUH I NEVER SAW THAT ONE,” and then one of the above will occur

Sometimes I also just look at ‘em and smile cause they’re nice

So Uh, Yeah

Interested in characters, interested in people, interested in the future, and interested in the past. Too much is on my mind at any given time. You need fandom stuff? I got it. Something drawn? I got it. Someone to talk to? Sure, I’ll try. But for now, I’m going to bed man.

[thesunmeltedthegrayaway]

We Wanted It All: Sodapop Curtis x Male!Reader

Warning: I just wanted to put a warning out there just incase this might upset anyone lol It has some heavy moments in my opinion so... you have been warned.

This is a request! If you would like to make a request take a look at (this post) for all of the characters I am currently writing for.

My Multi-fandom Masterlist

This request is for @mack-thedork​

~~~

POV: Yours

We both knew that what we were could be considered wrong, immoral, and unnatural to most people. Yet, the moments we shared together eclipsed any worries we had... or at least we’d like to think so. It wasn’t until we separated from each other and the dizzying bliss we made each other feel fade away did reality creep back out at us. In those moments of isolation, I’d lay awake at night with fictitious scenarios presenting themselves behind my eyelids as I desperately tried to sleep. I imagined the angered and confused faces of those closest to us; the words of bile they spoke in disgust. As much as we didn’t want to care if someone else disapproved of us. It would always sting more when it’s someone as important as your family.  

So, we hid our relationship from the people closest to us. Well, expect from Pony, he was a pretty smart and observant kid. He knew his brother all too well; he knew how he acted when he was completely enthralled with someone. The day he told me he knew about us was a day I could never forget. Mostly because he gave me a reaction that I wasn’t expecting at all.

~~~

Flashback

Pony had been acting weird all afternoon; he didn’t seem nervous or uncomfortable. But rather, a lot more observative than normal. His observations weren’t even on the schoolwork I was helping him out with. His observations were mostly on Soda and I. His questions made my head feel like it was spinning. Worry and panic began to fill my blood; my hands began to feel the urge to tremble.  

“So, Y/N?” Ponyboy asks casually. For some reason, the start of this question in particular made my blood run cold.   “Yeah?” I replied, trying to maintain the composure that was chipping away with each passing second. “Were you and Soda ever going to tell me that the two of you are together?” He asks, his casual and calm tone hadn’t faltered in the slightest. I didn’t really know how to react; I could feel the blood rush to my face. I felt the urge to both laugh and cry at the same time. I felt terrified, yet relieved too, finally someone new. And I wasn’t met with everything that I had imagined I would receive.  

“Uh... I” I gasped in a breath trying to calm myself down. “How did you know?” I asked after my breathing had returned to a slightly more consistent pace. “Y/N, Soda's my brother. I know what he’s like when he falls in love with somebody. The second you came around I could just tell he was completely enamored by you.” Ponyboy explained.   He sounded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.   “Oh,” Is all I could say in reply.   I was bracing myself; I was waiting for him to yell and shout in outrage and disapproval. But all he really did was look at me like he always did, kindly.

“Y-you’re okay with all of this?” I question skeptically. “As long as you’re both happy, I’m fine with your relationship.” Pony replied honestly, I finally like out a sigh of relief. It felt as though I could finally relax. “Thanks Pone.” I say appreciatively. “Just don’t get pregnant and run off to Florida, okay?” Pony joked. I laughed at his joked, shaking my head at the randomness of it. “I can assure you that will not happen.”   “It better not...”

And just like that, we got back to how we normally acted. The fact that I was dating his brother didn’t hinder him in any way. There was no tension or passive aggressive comments. It was just normal, blissfully normal... End of Flashback

As nice as Pony’s reaction was, I knew not everyone was going to act that way. Those worries and doubts I had only subsided slightly. So, for a while, Ponyboy was the only one who really knew what was going on.

But there was a downfall about secrets, they could only stay hidden for so long...

~~~

It felt like any other afternoon, school had just gotten out. Ponyboy and I were walking back to his house. I had the full intention of helping him out with his history report. But, something, or should I say someone threw a wrench in them almost immediately.

“No, it would be-” My sentence was interrupted by the sound of the screen door creaking open before slamming shut. I wondered who it could have been, but my theories were shut down a few seconds later. Soda walked into the kitchen, a lazy yet attractive grin resting on his lips.            

“Hey,” I greeted brightly, I walked over to him wrapping my arms around the back of his neck before pecking his lips. “I thought you weren’t supposed to get off till 7 tonight.”

I felt a pair of arms snake themselves around my hips before I was pulled closer to Soda. “I got off early, I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“You haven’t seen me in weeks.” I reply.

Soda and I could never really go on dates due to the gang always being around town. And being alone was an impossibility for us most of the time.

“You’ll just have to wait for me to help Pone finish his report, then we could spend some time together.” I add with a shy smile.

“I should be fine now Y/N, you two can go ahead and spend some time together.” Ponyboy spoke up, making Soda and I take our attention off of one another.

“You sure because I really don’t mind-”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Ponyboy reassured.  

I gave him a grateful smile before uttering a “Thanks.”

~~~

We ended up hanging out in Soda and Pony’s room. I was, in all honesty fighting sleep; my head rested in his lap. One of his hands had interwoven itself into my hair.

“You trying to put me to asleep Curtis?” I asked tiredly.  

He let out a smooth laugh before replying. “No, but I do have to admit you look absolutely adorable half-asleep.”  

His free hand moved to cup my face; his thumb lightly brushed itself back and forth against my cheek. “I know I don’t get a chance to tell it too you often Darlin’ but I love you.”

I smiled fondly at him before replying. “I love you too.” Soda began to lean down. I leaned up, meeting him half way. Our lips gently interlocked together, before I knew it, that all too familiar dizzying bliss consumed me again.  

But before I knew it, our moment of serenity would come crashing down in a matter of seconds. We didn’t react fast enough to pull apart when his bedroom door slammed against the wall abruptly. We did however, move as quickly as we could once we heard an all too angry and familiar voice.

“The hell is goin’ on here!?” The gentle grips we had on one another tightened immensely at the sound of Darry’s angered question. “Get off of him!” Darry shouted at me. I pretty much jumped out of Soda’s hold the second I was ordered to.

“Darry-” Soda started but he was cutoff almost immediately.  

“Don’t even try to come up with an excuse for this... this-” Darry looked as though he wanted to puke. His face was so red with rage I thought steam would come out of his ears. “Disgrace!” He hissed out.

“W-we didn’t want you to find out about us this way.” You strained out; your pulse felt as though it was going to beat right out of your skin.

“It should even be something at all!” He yelled, it almost sounded like a roar.

“Darry knock it off!” Ponyboy spoke up bravely, I was surprised he was stepping in.  

Darry’s head turned around as soon as he heard Pony’s voice. “What’s goin' on here Pony?” His voice wavered as he spoke, his breath was now coming out in small huffs.

“It’s not my place to tell you!" Pony replied.

Darry turned back around to face us; his jaw was now clenched. “One of you better start explainin’ yourselves before I flip out.” He warned in a deadly tone.

I could hear a slight sniffle coming from Soda. I was tempted to try and comfort him. But I thought if I did Darry would end up dragging me out of the house by the collar of my shirt.  

“Look, you know what you saw-” Soda forced out. He huffed in a stuttering breath trying to calm himself down. “I-I’m g-”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Darry sounded mortified; his expression filled with disappointment.

“I love him Darry,” Soda admitted in a pained whisper. “And I don’t want you to hate me for it.” He began to full on sob, and before I knew it, tears fell down my eyes too.

Darry just looked down at us, his arms crossed tensely. “Y/N, just go.” He spoke, his tone now a lot calmer than before. But that didn’t make me feel any better; in all honesty, it terrified me more.      

I listened to him, slowly rising up from Soda’s bed. As I walked past Darry, I took one last look at Soda. His face was red; tears stained his cheeks. I brushed past Pony as I made my way toward the front door. My nausea and worry began to be the only thing I could focus on. I pushed open the screen door. Despite the cool and refreshing air, I felt more flustered than ever.

“Y/N! Y/N, wait!” I heard Pony shout from the porch, my hand still gripped the gates handle as I watched him run over. “Y/N, I swear I tried to stop him from comin’ in. But he saw Soda’s DX shirt and-” He ranted shakily.

“It’s fine I’m sure you did everything you could.”

“I didn’t think he would act like that.” Pony said meekly.

I gave Pony a sad smile before replying. ”I did,” I could feel my face begin to burn, tears welled up in my eyes. “I’ll see you around.” I added brokenly.  

“See you...” He muttered quietly.

~~~ POV Change: Pony’s

I could feel my stomach twist when Y/N left my line of vision. I didn’t want to walk back into the house. My mind filled with the possibilities of the things Darry could do. Maybe he’d yell and rant, spit words of hatred out at Soda. Or worse, throw Soda out entirely. My nails dug into the palms of my hands as I walked back to the house. I reluctantly pushed open the screen door and walked into the kitchen. Darry stood there, leaning tensely on the countertop. He turned around to face me as soon as he heard the sound of my footsteps.

“How long have they been together? Soda won’t tell me.”  

I went to answer but he interrupted me.  

“And don’t give me that “it’s not my place to tell you.” Crap either, I want answers.”

“I only found out about it a few months back. They never told me when they got together.” I answer honestly.

“So, you’ve known about this for months and didn’t care to tell me?” His tone was beginning to get tense again.

I nodded, “They didn’t want me to tell anyone, and I respect that.”

“H-how can you be so okay with this?” Darry asked incredulously, he rubbed his face as if he was trying to wake himself up. “There is no way you could handle that mess this well.”

I scoffed at Darry’s question and fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Darry it’s a relationship not a mess. And I can handle it just fine because there’s nothing wrong with it. You’re the one who can’t handle it for some reason.”

Darry went to say something but stopped himself. He stomped off to his room slamming the door shut. I waited a few seconds before walking toward Soda and I’s room. He sat numbly on the bed, his tears finally ceasing themselves.  

“Did he say anything to you?” I asked reluctantly not wanting to upset him again.

“No,” He whispered. “He just asked me how long we were together and then left.”

I sat down next to him on the bed and pulled him in for a hug.

“He hates me Pone, I know he does.” His voice sounded so hurt as he spoke.

“He doesn’t hate you, he just... doesn’t understand.” I tried to say my words carefully.  

He didn’t reply to me, we just sat there with an overwhelming anxiety. All we could do was hope Darry didn’t do anything irrational...

~~~ POV Change: Soda’s

The next morning had rolled around and Darry hadn’t said a word to me all day. The gang hadn’t even been around. I guess they had a feeling that something wasn’t right with the three of us. I had just finished getting dressed after getting out of the shower. The bathroom door knocked abruptly, making me jump slightly.

“Get movin’ Soda you don’t want to be late for work.” Darry called out from the other side of the door.

I didn’t respond to him; I didn’t even really know what to say. I heard him sigh through the other side of the door. “I’ll give you a ride, just hurry up.“ He walked away before I could reply.

I felt a bit of relief that he was talking to me again. But I also felt dread at the thought of being in the truck with Darry. I didn’t know all the things he wanted to say or do. But I would have to face him at some point; the sooner I did it, the better I would feel. So, after taking a moment calm down, I walked out of the bathroom and out the front door.  

The drive was silence, I just stared out the window not wanting to look at Darry. I went to get out as soon as the DX came into view.

He suddenly cleared his throat before he began to speak. “Soda, first off, I just want to say that I could never hate you.” He spoke earnestly. “I love you to death little brother.”

“I love you too...” I replied in relief.

“But-” He paused, contemplating what to say next. “I don’t want you to see Y/N anymore.”

My heart sunk rapidly and the panic I felt yesterday returned in a matter of seconds. “Darry, I- I can’t do that.”

“Soda,” He voice began to sound frustrated again. “Do you know what could happen if word gets out that your together with Y/N? It could ruin your life!” He hissed out.

“I don’t care Darry! Y/N brings me a happiness I hadn’t felt in a while!”

“Well, I do care and I am not going to watch you throw your life down the toilet. You’re breaking up with him!”

“No Darry! You don’t under-” I protested.

Darry’s hand slammed against the wheel of the truck, making my sentence stop in its tracks. “Damn it Soda! Now you listen to me, you and Y/N are done! Am I making myself clear?”    

I didn’t reply to him off the bat, my teeth harshly bit my lip.  

“Hello?” Darry spoke up wanting a reply.

“Fine.” I answered reluctantly.

I didn’t want this... I didn’t want to break up with Y/N at all.

“Good, now get into work before you’re late.”

~~~

POV: Yours

I thought I had a death wish, or that I was going insane. I didn’t know what I was thinking when I began to walk down to the Curtis’s house after what had just happened the day before. But I was worried. I wanted to know how Soda was doing. I wanted to know if Darry was treating him any differently now. My curiosity and worry seemed to be more than any wrath Darry would give me.

When I approached the house, I saw Pony sitting on the porch. He seemed happy to see me, he greeted me with a smile.  

“Hey Y/N,”

“Hey, is... Soda doing alright?”  

“He’s-” Pony’s sentence was cut off by the sound of the screen door opening. My nerves were set ablaze once I saw Darry lean outside. His icy green/blue eyes pierced right through me.  

“What do you want?” He spoke with slight hostility.

“I uh, I was just wanting to see if everything was alright here after the other day.”

“Everything’s fine and if you were wanting to see him, he’s not here.” Darry replied.

“Where is he?” I asked feeling slightly skeptical for some reason.

“He’s out with Sandy.” He answered without a second of hesitation.  

I felt my heart sink, I could feel a pressure in my chest at even the mention of her name. “Oh... I should go then.”

I could see Ponyboy was beginning to feel worried. He sat up straight and scrambled to speak.  

“I’ll walk you back.” Ponyboy said as he unceremoniously got up off the porch.  

“I think they’ll be fine Pony.” Darry replied with a forced smile.

“C’mon Dar it’s late, he might get jumped.” Ponyboy argued making Darry’s jaw tense.

Darry gave Pony a glare before replying. “Fine, but get your butt back here as soon as you can.”

“I will Dar don’t worry.” Pony reassured, he walked off the porch pretty much dragging me with him.

“You don’t have to walk me back Pone, I would’ve been fine.” I mutter as we began to walk up the street.

“He isn’t out with her,” Pony spoke completely ignoring my previous sentence. “He hasn’t talked to her in a while.”

I sighed not really wanting to talk about Sandy. “How do you even know?” I asked with a broken laugh.

Pony didn’t answer my question, we just walked in silence. “Just follow me.” He said vaguely.  

He then began to walk in the opposite direction of my house. It looked like we were heading toward the field near here. As we grew closer to the usual unkept field, I began to notice a small light in the distance.

“Wh-what is that?” I asked squinting my eyes at the light.

“You’ll see.” Pony replied, I could tell he had begun to smile.

My question would be answered a minute later. Pony and I approached a small little picnic that rested on a hastily laid down blanket. But that wasn’t what was fully pulling my attention. Soda was sitting nervously in front of it; his back was turned to us.

“Soda.” Is the only thing I could think to say.  

He turned himself around to face me, a smile crept onto his lips. He stood up walking over to me slowly, we just stared at each other at first.  

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Ponyboy spoke up before walking back up the field.  

I was pulled into a warm hug. I melted in Soda’s embrace almost immediately. My face burrowed, my face burrowed in the crook of his neck, and held him as tightly as I could.

“You okay Y/N?” I could feel Soda’s heart beating rapidly against my chest. His pulse fluttering against my cheek.

“I’m as okay as I can be after yesterday.” I reply with a weak laugh.  

We pulled back slightly from our embrace; our noses now lightly pressed against one another. Soda leaned in, his soft lips entrapping themselves in mine passionately yet methodically, too. His hands were cold as they cupped my face, but I didn’t mind. He pulled apart from the kiss, giving me a quick peck on the cheek after we caught our breath. He carefully pulled me to sit down on the ground with him; his charming smile returned to his lips.

But, as happy as he may have looked to other people, I could tell something was eating away at him still. I didn’t want to interrogate him right away; however, I wanted to bask in the enamor that filled the air. We ate and drank in a comfortable silence before lying down to look up at the sky.

“Y/N?” Soda spoke up, I could tell his voice had a trace of reluctance in it.

“Yeah?”  

“You know I love you darlin’, right?”

Despite the sweetness of his sentence, I couldn’t help but feel dread.  

“Of course, and I love you too.” I turned my head to look over at him, our eyes locked onto each other.  

“I know you do... but,”

Here it comes. I only had a few seconds to prepared myself for the punch I was about to feel on the middle of my chest.

“Darry doesn’t want us to see each other anymore.” Soda admitted sadly, his eyes now swimming in remorse.

“Wh-what?” My phrased cracked, my nerves began to skyrocket again. My hands had begun to feel numb. “Are... are you-”

“I don’t want to,” Soda interjected in a panic. He sat up; his hands now clenched in a fist. “But I don’t know what to do.” He added hopelessly.

I sat up myself, looking over at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry.” I comforted now leaning my head on his shoulder.

“I feel so confused. I love you so much and I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know why Darry can’t be happy about that. Darry is headstrong on the idea of us not being together. I- I...”  

I knew what I had to do, even if it pained the both of us immensely. Losing someone as important as Darry would be even worse for him, I feel. I sat up straight again making Soda look over at me.

“You should listen to your brother.” I spoke tearfully. “You can’t lose him Soda; I know you love him to death.” I added with a tremble.

He looked over at me heartbroken, it was a look I never wanted to see from him. “But we could date in secret like before he doesn’t have to know.” His said quickly.

“That’s what we tried before; it didn’t work out too well.” I explain.

“Y/N...”  

“Your family is important to you and I don’t want to see you lose it.”

“You’re important to me too!” He exclaimed.

I gave him a tearful smile before replying. “I’m not as important as them.” I gave him one last kiss, savoring the blissful high it made me feel.  

“I’m sorry... I love you.” I then got up, walking away with no intention of looking back. I knew if I did, I wouldn’t get the strength again to walk away.

I guess it was foolish to want it all.

To be continued...

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse

Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.

Today on BnHA: 

Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn. 

please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol

(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)

around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh

I love that they just randomly set the place on fire

was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah

wow it’s a pervert!!

that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people

oh my god??!

SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess

so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference

Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that

“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there

oh shit

I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge

??

ahh, was it the security footage??

fdsdfk he’s still alive??

and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying

very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call

what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,

okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise

anyway, so Stain is all,

PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”

(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)

DWLFDKSLDK MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE

(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)

if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol

blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT

NAOMASA HOLY SHIT. THE APOCALYPSE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU, BOY

“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol

“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you

“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man

for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still

anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside

huh

okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue

ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though

boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here

my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair

no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here

like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people

that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here

(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.

Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.

speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.

just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)

-- wait, what

THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild

AND THEY USED THAT POWER TO DETERMINE WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW, HUZZAH. GOOD SHOW

-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um

yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times

oh, pardon me. three fucking days

r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap

(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)

damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations

-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?

wait holy SHIT

based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff

“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it

wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?

soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??

omg international heroes

these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets

(ETA: and it worked too lol.)

WHO??? WHAT???

don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit

noooooooooooooooooooo

god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]

on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This

I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys

is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it

this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you

tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol

so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao

(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)

anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol

anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed

[cycwrites]

WIP Things aka Unofficial Fic Tease

In order to remind myself that I’ve left all of you hanging for the rest of my trilogy rewrite, I thought I would post my unbeta’d, unedited, good with the bad chapter 1 for the second movie. I also have hope that it will make me feel guilty for taking so damn long and get back to it. Especially since I’ve basically closed myself off from writing (and the muses) and I’m trying to pry the doors back open because I really do miss sharing my stories with you guys.

I wrote this well over a year ago, along with a 2nd chapter that deals with the Dean’s office, and really just hope you like it. 

--------

About Damn Time 

Chapter One: So That Happened

Word Count: 2600 -------- ~B~

At the end of Beca’s junior year, two things of note happened.

First: Chloe, once again, made the decision to stay with Beca and the Bellas and failed Russian Lit for the third time.  Beca had tried to talk her out of it, torn between wanting Chloe to move forward in her life beyond Barden and guilt that she was relieved they wouldn’t have to figure out how to work a long distance relationship. She wasn’t ready to try that and couldn’t imagine leading the group without her.  But Chloe had insisted this was where she’d wanted to be and she didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything.

Second: The Bellas were asked to perform at President Obama’s 50th birthday celebration at the Kennedy Center on August 8th.

Beca had laughed when the call had come through the never used landline at the Bella house.

“Good afternoon, this is Mack Johnson and I’m calling on behalf of the White House…”

“Yeah right. Nice try, Jesse.” She hung up and pulled out her cell phone as she walked into the kitchen. Pausing by the counter she typed out a quick message to him.

Beca: I’ve gotta give you points for originality though. You almost sounded like an actual adult.

She poured herself a glass of lemonade before he answered.

Jesse: I’m going to take that as a compliment and ignore the wound to my manly pride, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Beca: Whatever you say, ‘Mack.’ If you’d said you were calling from anywhere but the White House I might’ve let you keep talking.

Instead of answering via text, Jesse called her.

“Are you day drinking, Mitchell?” Jesse clucked his tongue. “Without your lesbro? I’m hurt, Becaw.”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Beca lifted her glass and took a sip. “What inspired your call today?”

“Uh, your cryptic and confusing texts to me, of course.” Jesse chuckled. “Want to clue me in?”

Beca sighed. “Man you’re committed to this.”

“To what?”

Beca set her glass on the counter. “Fine – you just called me and –” She jumped as the phone in the living room rang for only the second time in her years at Barden. “Pretended… to be… from the White House.”

“I thought you said you weren’t drinking?” Jesse laughed but it sounded distant as Beca watched Chloe answer the phone.

Her girlfriend’s blue eyes went wide and locked on Beca’s as she said, “I’m sorry, did you say you’re calling from the White House?”

“Jesse?” Beca said absently.

“Yes, Beca?” His voice took on an echo as all the blood drained from her face.

“I gotta go pass out now.” She swallowed dryly. “I’ll call you later.”

“Beca wa-”

Beca had remained frozen in the kitchen while Chloe became more and more animated, frantically scribbling down notes on the notepad sitting beside the phone, though her voice was carefully calm and collected. Then she’d run into the kitchen, screaming and jumping in excitement and talking faster than Beca’s shocked mind could process. Drawn by the commotion like a frat boy to a kegger, the rest of the girls soon joined the chaos while Beca still stood frozen by the counter as they swirled around her.

The school had allowed them to stay on campus through the summer so they could discuss songs and choreography. The time had been a whirlwind of security checks and practice and everything they planned needed to be vetted by the performance organizers. Of course, since they’d come to the Bellas after their third ICCA win in a row, there weren’t any real problems.

Until the night of the performance when one set of tangled silks and a desire for no panty lines wrecked everything.

No pun intended.

~B~ Sunday, August 24th, 2014

Beca lay on their bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to Chloe pace beside her.

“I’ve ruined everything.” Pace to the head of the bed. “Destroyed our reputation.” Pace back to the foot. “Made the Bellas a joke.”

Beca sighed and pushed herself up on her elbows. “Chloe. It’s a capella. It’s already a jo-” She stopped as Chloe spun to face her, outraged. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Beca tried a smile. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.” She let it slip when Chloe just stared at her and Beca dropped back down to gaze at the ceiling. “Won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m the one who gave Amy the green-light to do ‘Wrecking Ball.’” Chloe resumed pacing.

“Because, despite most of her claims, she actually had done some training on the silks before coming to the states.” Beca countered, as she had for the past three weeks. “She was good on them and never once in our rehearsals did she get tangled up.”

“But-”

“No.” Beca cut her off and sat up, pulling her legs up to sit cross legged and face her. “We all agreed to let her do it. It was a group vote.” She softened her voice and held out her hand. “This isn’t all on you, Chlo.”

With a sigh, Chloe took her hand and let herself be tugged onto the bed. Beca stretched back out and Chloe settled against her side. “It feels like it.”

“That’s because you’re the one who looks out for us.” Beca gently rubbed her back. “No one could’ve predicted this, love.”

“No…” Chloe said grudgingly. “But…”

Beca cut her off again. “There’s no buts.”

“Except Amy’s.” Chloe huffed, tension that had begun to fade making her stiffen up again in Beca’s arms. “All over the news.” She groaned. “Why didn’t I just use the cloth I was freaking holding to cover her up?”

“Same reason I didn’t,” Beca said reasonably, having heard a version of this several times before. “My mind went blank and I couldn’t move. I just… kept waiting to wake up.”

“Same.” Chloe pressed her nose to Beca’s shoulder. “I still am. This is such a nightmare.”

“She feels bad.” Beca offered. “It was her idea to do that press conference.” She winced as Chloe snorted.

“Yeah, where she then tried to show her ‘silk burn’ to the entire world.” Chloe sat up and pushed herself off the bed. “Again.” She resumed pacing and Beca’s mind hunted around for anything she could say to defuse things.

“At least we saved Aubrey’s college legacy from Pukegate?” Even as the words were out of her mouth Beca knew they were stupid and wrong.

“And ruined ours with Muffgate.” Chloe snarled.

“I wish I could find the asshole that came up with that. Bet it was those podcast people and of course everyone else jumped on it.” Beca made a face. “It was an accident and eventually there will be another crisis for them to focus on.” She slid over to the edge of the bed and swung her legs over. “It won’t be forever, Chlo.”

Pace, turn. “But tomorrow we go see the Dean.” Pace, turn. “With those podcast people who are apparently actually part of the Collegiate A Cappella Association.”

“They’re still weird and he’s an ass.” Beca stood up and stretched as she heard the door open at the bottom of the stairs. “Think you’ll be able to enjoy yourself at dinner tonight?”

Chloe stopped by the small table they inherited from Aubrey and took a deep breath. “Of course. It’s Amy’s birthday. I’m not going to ruin it for her.” She flashed Beca a small grin, the first in an hour. “Why do you think I’m up here instead of downstairs?”

“Speaking of,” a new voice said from the stairs. “There’s maybe… A situation.” Jessica smiled apologetically when they both looked at her as she reached the top.

Beca sighed. “Of course there is.”

“Do I even want to know?” Chloe pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Probably not, but Stacie sent me to get you.”

“Coward,” Beca muttered. “She knows I can’t hit you because you’re too nice.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, quick like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Amy’s sitting on the couch. With a towel on her lap.” Jessica hesitated.

“That’s… Why is that a big deal?” Chloe asked, confused.

“She’s… commando. Because of her silk burn.” The blonde’s shoulders bounced once but she didn’t say anything else.

“I swear to fucking god I’m going to glue underwear on her,” Chloe muttered under her breath.

Beca was struck by a horrible thought. “Is she sitting on another towel?”

“We were afraid she’d show us if we asked.” Jessica looked at Beca. “That’s when Stacie sent me to get you.”

“Why do I have to do it?” Beca knew she was whining but couldn’t help it.

“Because you’re the captain.” Jessica shrugged again. “You can threaten her with cardio if she tries to flash us again.”

“Yeah but Amy doesn’t always listen to me and I don’t want to have flashbacks.” Beca reluctantly headed for the stairs as Jessica started back down.

“Birthday or not…” Chloe muttered as she followed.

“I’m sure Lilly has a hot glue gun you can use,” Beca mused, not surprised to find Ashley hanging out in the hallway when they left the attic.

“Don’t tempt me.” Chloe didn’t say anything else the entire trip down the stairs.

Beca rounded the corner, passing Jessica and Ashley who had stopped in the entry and came to a halt herself, Chloe running into her back.

All she could see was the back of Amy’s head but she appeared to be looking straight at Lilly who sat cross-legged on the ottoman and staring back.

“Do I even want to know?” Beca turned her head toward Jessica but didn’t take her eyes off the scene.

“I didn’t ask that either,” came the whispered reply.

Beca took a bracing breath then walked into the living room. Despite the reassurance that the covering towel existed, Beca didn’t relax until she saw it for herself. It was nothing personal against Amy, but Beca just didn’t want to see any of the Bellas naked, Chloe being the obvious exception. You never knew when the visual would pop back in your head and Amy had already shown up enough in the past few weeks to last a lifetime.

“Amy.” Beca looked up at a sound from the kitchen and saw Stacie leaning in the doorway with Cynthia Rose and Flo sitting at the center island.

“Captain.” Amy didn’t turn her head or avert her gaze.

“Are you guys in a staring contest?” Beca frowned, looking between the two women. “And if so why?”

“I don’t know,” Amy lifted one shoulder. “All I know is she hasn’t blinked since she sat down and why take the risk of losing.”

Beca felt her eyes twitch at the thought. “Jesus, please cut it out before my eyes start watering.” She stepped between them and Amy closed her eyes in relief.

“Thanks, Shawshank. That was starting to burn.” She started to lift one corner of the towel to wipe her eyes and Beca threw out her hand.

“Nope. That stays there.” Chloe said it before Beca could.

“Please tell me you’re sitting on another towel.” Beca sighed and ran her hand through her hair.

“Of course I am!” Amy actually looked indignant. “I’m not a heathen, Beca.” She rolled her eyes. “The pants I want to wear to dinner are tight, so I’m giving my bits time to breathe first.”

“Now that’s in my head.” Cynthia Rose muttered from the kitchen.

“That’s in all our heads,” Ashley said from the doorway behind them.

“You could always wear that blue skirt,” Chloe offered diplomatically. “That way you’re not uncomfortable for your birthday dinner.”

“I do look hot in that.” Amy thought about it while the rest of them made sounds of agreement. “Alright, you’ve swayed me. And as it’s almost that time, guess I’ll go upstairs and change.” She started to stand as Beca moved back then paused. “If you’d all turn around and give me some privacy while I wrap?”

Beca rolled her eyes as she turned to face the front window that, thankfully, had the curtains drawn. “That’s what you get for being half naked in the public areas of the house.”

“I got bored in my room.” Beca heard Amy stand up and the rustle of fabric. “Alright, I’m decent.”

“Hey!”

Beca jumped at the unexpected shout and looked over her shoulder. Stacie had come out of the kitchen and was pointing at the couch.

“That’s my favorite towel!” Outage filled her face. “I was looking for that for over a week!”

“It’s also the softest towel in the house.” Amy said as she picked it up, tucking the other firmly around her waist. “It’s the only thing that doesn’t hurt when I’m sitting.”

A choked sound from behind her brought Beca’s eyes back around to Chloe, who was biting the inside of her cheek and trying not to giggle. “I’m sure she’ll wash it before she gives it back.”

Beca tried to choke back her laugh and ended up sounding like a pug with a cold as she snickered into her hand.

“I think…” Stacie sighed. “Happy Birthday, Amy. It’s all yours.”

“You sure, Stretch?” Amy threw the towel in question over her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll need it for much longer.”

“Yup.” Stacie nodded emphatically. “I’ll go get another one this weekend.”

“Thanks, Stacie.” Amy smiled at her before her lips twisted slightly. “Sorry I didn’t ask first.”

“’S okay.” Stacie shrugged. “Now go get changed so we can celebrate your day.”

“Are you allowed to give me orders on my birthday?” Amy mused as she headed for the stairs.

“Probably not,” Beca said. “But I’ll probably do it anyway.”

“Bossy.” Chloe whispered behind her and Beca flashed her a grin.

“Alright.” Beca clapped her hands once. “Show’s over, let’s go get our party outfits on and get some grub. We’ve got a Bella to celebrate.”

Stacie walked past her, shaking her head. “Bossy.”

Beca let her head fall back as she stared at the ceiling. “I can’t with you two.”

“What?” Stacie paused in the door to the entry. “Did we do the thing again?”

“Yup.” Chloe pushed Beca toward the stairs. “I called her that thirty seconds ago.” She high fived Stacie over Beca’s shoulder when the tall woman grinned and held out her hand.

“Score one for us.” Stacie laughed and started up the stairs.

“I hate you guys.” Beca said weakly as she followed.

“Liar,” Chloe laughed and ran her hand down Beca’s back.

“Maybe.” Beca let Chloe go before her.

“Definitely.”

“Yeah yeah,” Beca waved her up the stairs, unable to help admiring the way Chloe’s muscles flexed as she moved. “But seriously, my stomach just woke up and if I don’t feed it soon it’s going to take over the world.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” Stacie saluted as she stepped into her room.

“Smartass,” Beca threw back.

“And you love it.” Stacie closed the door with a laugh.

“Stop flirting with Stacie and let’s go change before you get hangry.” Chloe took her hand and tugged on it.

“She wishes,” Beca muttered but followed Chloe up to their room, ignoring the ‘Often’ that came from Stacie’s room behind them.

‘She’s got bat hearing, I swear.’ Beca thought to herself as she went to the closet to get her outfit for the night.

Tomorrow was still looming over them, but Beca pushed it all away, determined to think about Amy and the Bellas for the rest of the night.

It was one mistake and they’d just won three years in a row. Surely they weren’t in that much trouble.

Right?

[prepare4trouble]

Idk if you ship Heahmund/Ivar but if you do, wanna write something with Hvitserk dealing with the fact that his brother is falling hard for a christian menace?

I don't ship them, but I thought I'd give this a go anyway. Unfortunately, it didn't go according to plan, and I ended up writing and re-writing it for over a week until I ended up with one single scene that... isn’t exactly what I intended to write. Still, I have to post it or I'll keep chipping away at it forever

Sorry if it's not what you were hoping for...

(Prompts are still open, by the way)

Seated on a bench in the hall of King Harold’s home, Hvitserk watched out of the corner of his eye as Ivar made his way slowly across the room. His brother leaned more heavily than usual on his crutch, his steps shorter and slower than they had been earlier in the day, and it was clear that he had spent too long on his feet.

Hvitserk knew why. He had been visiting the prisoner again, the Saxon priest that they had, for reasons known only to Ivar, brought back with them from England.

Ivar reached the table and carefully lowered himself onto the bench next to Hvitserk, but leaving some distance between them. He sat with his back to the table, then turned to meet Hvitserk’s eyes as though daring him to say something. Hvitserk declined the offer, and turned his attention instead to the cup of ale that sat on the table in front of him.

Hvitserk didn’t trust the prisoner. The priest had betrayed him once before, when he had left he and Ubbe bruised and bloodied before sending them back to Ivar as a message that there would be no peace between their peoples. It was a move that had precipitated the rift in their family, and even if he chose to believe that it had been fate, Hvitserk couldn’t help but hold the priest responsible.

Holding onto the table for leverage, Ivar leaned forward, grabbed one leg with his free hand, and hoisted it up onto the bench with his foot pointing toward Hvitserk. He began to unfasten the buckles on the leather straps that held the brace in place. “Problem, Hvitserk?” he asked.

“Uh…” Hvitserk picked up his cup of ale and downed it in a single gulp. “What?”

“You looked as though you had something to say,” Ivar told him. His voice was calm and measured. He looked Hvitserk in the eye as practised fingers continued to work on the straps. “Why don’t you just say it instead of grinding your teeth and glaring at me?”

Hvitserk tapped the back of a fingernail on the side of his empty cup, and considered the request. “Okay,” he said. “I will. He’s dangerous, and you shouldn’t trust him.”

Ivar’s fingers stilled on the final buckle of his brace, and his brows knotted into an exaggerated parody of a frown. A hint of an amused smile played on his lips. “Who are you talking about?”

Hvitserk scowled, not in the mood to play games. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“No…” Ivar shook his head thoughtfully as his frown deepened. “No, I do not believe that I do. After all, I know a great many dangerous people.” He paused, then smiled somewhat pointedly. “I am a dangerous person myself.”

“I was talking about the Christian, Ivar.” Hvitserk told him. “As you well know.”

Ivar gave him a dismissive shake of the head and turned his attention back to his leg. He unfastened the final strap, then winced noticeably as he removed the brace. He placed it on the floor next to the bench, near to where he had rested his crutch, for some slave to collect and return to his room later.

“Heahmund?” he asked.

Hvitserk scowled at the sound of the man’s name. “Are there any other Christians around here?”

“How would I know?” Ivar asked with a dismissive shrug. “Probably not, but we are in a new place. King Harold’s kingdom could be rife with Christians for all I know. Anyway, Heahmund is a sly one. He tried to convert me to his faith. Perhaps he has succeeded with somebody more weak minded than myself.”

“He…” Hvitserk found himself smiling at the idea of the Christian attempting to convert Ivar of all people. “Really?”

“Really. It did not exactly go as he had hoped.”

No, he imagined not. Hvitserk shook his head. “But that’s exactly what I mean. He’s dangerous, and not just because he will try to poison our minds against the gods. He would kill you without a moment’s thought if he believed that his god wanted it.”

“I know,” Ivar told him, apparently unconcerned by the idea.

“But still you carry on visiting him like he’s an old friend, talking to him for hours at a time. It’s almost as though you are infatuated with him. Almost like you’re...” he stopped as a realisation hit him.

“Almost like I…?” Ivar said, waving a hand in the air as he prompted him to continue.

Suddenly Hvitserk understood. He knew what was happening between his brother and the Christian. He shook his head, as though he could shake loose the thought, but it was stuck fast. Ivar really was infatuated by the Christian. Perhaps he even loved him.

“Hvitserk?” Ivar said. He waved a hand before his eyes mockingly.

Hvitserk blinked. He couldn’t say that, not with everything that it might imply. Not yet, not when he had no idea how his brother might react.

“You… like him,” Hvitserk said instead.

Ivar chuckled quietly under his breath, then turned his attention back to his legs. He moved his other leg onto the bench and began the slow task of removing the slightly more complicated brace. As he did, he shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I? Why else would you have brought him here? And why else would you spend so much time talking with him?”

“I brought you back, didn’t I? Ivar said. He winced in pain again as he released one part of the brace and got to work on the next. “He’s a great warrior, he has insight I can use. I find him interesting, that is all.”

“He’s a Christian priest.”

Ivar shook his head. “A bishop, actually.”

Hvitserk frowned. “And what is the difference?”

“I don’t know, but perhaps I could ask him for you, and then we will know. And that is why he is useful; it is important to know as much as we can about our enemies, wouldn’t you agree, brother?”

Hvitserk rubbed a hand wearily across his face and reached for a jug of ale. “He would happily kill you, given half a chance.”

“I know he would,” Ivar told him, “and that is one of the interesting things about him. But don’t worry, brother. He’ll never get that chance, and even if he did, he wouldn’t take it.”

That was not a promise that Ivar could make. Hvitserk frowned, unconvinced.

“It is true,” Ivar assured him. “I haven’t simply been talking to him, I have been slowly winning him over, convincing him that I’m not the monster he thought I was. I think he’s starting to like me, too. Anyway, he knows that I am the only person keeping him alive. If he did manage to kill me, you would have him put to death immediately, and he doesn’t want to die. If he were so eager to join his god, he would have tried to do so already.

There was an undeniable logic to Ivar’s argument, as usual. Hvitserk forced down a stab of irritation. “One of these days, Ivar, you’re going to make an assumption like that and be wrong.”

Ivar shrugged. “Maybe. But not today.”

“You should still be careful. Take somebody in with you when you see him.”

“Having an armed bodyguard present is no way to build trust. I am hoping that he will fight for us, remember? Do you think he would do that if he thought I was afraid of him?

“You told him you would crucify him if he didn’t. Don’t you think that is incentive enough to fight for us?”

“Perhaps,” Ivar shrugged, “But I would prefer it if he wanted to do it. That way he is less likely to betray me to my enemies. Besides,” he reached to his belt and removed a short but dangerous looking knife, I am not so stupid as to go in there unarmed. After all, as you say, he would happily murder me if his god asked him to, and I am just a helpless cripple.”

Hvitserk reached for the jug of ale and refilled his cup, then poured one for Ivar too, and pushed it across the table toward his brother. “You are anything but helpless, Ivar, and you know that wasn’t what I meant.”

Ivar finished removing the second brace and placed it carefully next to the first, then accepted the drink with a nod. He smiled knowingly. “Oh, but that is exactly what you meant, brother.”

And once again, he was right. In a way, that was what he had meant. Ivar would be terrifying to face across the battlefield, coated in in the blood of his enemies, screaming a battle cry from his chariot, but in close, one-on-one combat, especially if he caught him off-guard, Heahmund would have the advantage. Even Ivar would have to admit that, surely.

“And you are right,” Ivar told him.

Hvitserk blinked in surprise. “What?”

Ivar slipped his knife back into its holster, produced a length of strong cloth from a pocket and tied it around his legs below the knees. “I said, you are right. Heahmund is a great warrior. I have no doubt that he would be able to overpower me if he chose to do so. In fact, I have no doubt he could overpower you too. But yet I am safe with him, as I have already explained to you.”

“It’s not only that he could hurt you,” Hvitserk told him. “You might find him…” he hesitated, “You might find him interesting, but I don’t think he feels the same way.”

Ivar laughed quietly. “Are you worried about me, brother?”

Hvitserk set his lips in a thin line. There were only so many ways that it could end, and there was no room for the possibility of happiness. He decided to change the direction of the argument. “Father had a Christian that he found interesting once,” he said. “Do you remember?”

“Athelstan.” Ivar shook his head. “Not really. I was too young when he died to really remember.”

“Well, I remember,” Hvitserk told him. He had been a child too, but he had been old enough to understand what had happened, and to follow what the adults around him were saying. “I just don’t want the same thing to happen to you as happened to father.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “Ragnar was dropped into a pit of snakes by a king that we have since killed.” Ivar shook his head, then took a long gulp of his drink. “It is unlikely to happen again.”

He was playing dumb, of course. Or, perhaps he wasn’t, not completely. Ivar had been little more than an infant when Floki had killed the priest; a coddled and protected child who had had very little contact with his father. By the time he would have been old enough to understand, the people had stopped speaking of Ragnar and his pet Christian. There was a chance that Ivar didn’t know how deep their father’s feelings for the other man had been, or that after his death, Ragnar had never been the same.

Hvitserk sighed. “Yes, Ivar.” he said, returning to the question his brother had asked him a moment earlier. “I am worried about you. No matter what happens, Heahmund will eventually turn against you, and when he does, I think that it will break your heart.”

Ivar shook his head. “It would not be the first break I have had to endure.”

Hvitserk shook his head. “It’s not the same thing, Ivar. It’s not the same thing at all.”

“I disagree,” Ivar told him. “You think my heart didn’t break when Father died? Or Mother? When Floki climbed into a boat and disappeared into the open ocean? I know heartbreak, Hvitserk. I know it every bit as well as you do. Perhaps even more.”

Once again, his little brother was right. Hvitserk sighed and nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry, Ivar.”

“Anyway,” Ivar added, dismissing the moment with a wave of his hand. “If Heahmund betrays me, I will simply kill him, or have him killed.

“And you think you could just kill somebody that you love?”

Ivar frowned. “Whoever said anything about love?”

Hvitserk closed his eyes briefly. He hadn’t meant to say that, it had simply slipped out.

“Anyway,” Ivar added. “I am sure that if I could bury an ax in my own brother’s chest, I would have no trouble doing the same to a Christian priest. Whether I 'love' him, or not.”

Uninvited, the image of Sigurd staggering toward Ivar before dropping lifeless to the ground, forced its way into Hvitserk’s mind, and he took another swig of his drink as though he could wash it away. “He’s a bishop,” he reminded him, repeating Ivar’s words back to him.

Ivar smiled, apparently unaffected by the memory of their brother. “So he is.”

“And whatever you feel for him, Ivar, he doesn’t feel the same way about you.” Hvitserk was still thinking of Sigurd; he had already lost one brother, and after everything that had happened, he doubted that he could ever repair things between himself and Ubbe, or Björn either for that matter; they were trying to kill his mother after all. That left Ivar as the only family that he had left. He sighed deeply, trying not to think of everything that he had lost, but suddenly unable to think of anything else. “I don’t want to lose you as well.”

Apparently unmoved by the plea, Ivar finished his drink in a single gulp, put the cup down heavily on the table, pressed his palms into the bench to lift himself, then slid down to the ground. “You won’t,” he said. “I think we are stuck with each other, I am beginning to think the gods want us to stay together.”

With that, using his hands to move across the ground, he made his way to the door far more quickly than he had arrived on his feet.

For a moment, Hvitserk watched him go. “You might not love him yet, Ivar, but you’re halfway there,” he called after him. “Don’t deny it.”

Ivar paused briefly. He turned back to look at his brother with a smirk on his face, then continued on his way. As he reached the door, he turned again. “I deny it,” he said, then quickly pulled himself out of the door and disappeared out of Hvitserk’s sight, leaving behind nothing but his crutch and braces, and the sound of a quiet chuckle floating back into the room.

Hvitserk glared after his brother helplessly, left, as Ivar had no doubt intended, with two equally unappealing options; chasing after him and attempting to finish a conversation that Ivar clearly didn’t want to continue with, or shouting a response after him through the wall, with no idea whether Ivar had heard him.

Instead, Hvitserk finished his drink and poured himself another. For all that he still thought of Ivar as his little brother, he was a grown man, and he was capable of making his own mistakes. Hvitserk just hoped it wouldn’t be as costly a mistake as he feared…

[the-star-knight]

The Star Knight

The Star Knight

Summary: Post Series AU with my OCs.

Star is has found herself entangled with the magic of the legendary Sundrop and Moonstone through her own magical relic, the Star gem, a stone giving her a sword and armor, sworn to protect the Kingdom of Corona. However, just because they’re gone doesn’t mean that her job is done. Meeting along new characters and rencountering old ones, Star, Varian, and Jake, searched for answers and find themselves digging a hole a bit too far where they might just not get out of.

Chapter 4 - The Tomb

Chapter Summary: Jake tags along with Star and Varian's return to Demanitus' Tomb to find more information about the Star Knight. They find that there is much more that they missed in their first visit. They find themselves in an unexpected visit with someone familiar. Especially to Star.

Word Count: 4,580

◀︎ ︎︎︎Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ▶︎

Early that morning Star met up with Varian. To her disappointment, she saw Jake next to him, talking to him, all happy with a huge smile on his face. Star was too far away to overhear their conversation. Jake said something and Varian laughed. They were becoming pals, more than Star would have liked.

Varian spotted her and waved at her. “Hey, Star! Jake came here super early. He’s pretty excited about the trip.”

“I sure am!” Jake jumped. “I even bought a lot of stuff for our adventure!” Jake pointed to his backpack.

Continue reading on AO3 or continue under the cut ⬇︎

Varian pulled out a map and showed it to his companions, "Here's where we're going." He pointed to an area where there was a red circle.

"So…" Jake said, "how are we getting there?"

"Balloon, of course." Varian replied.

Jake gasped, "A balloon?! You guys have a balloon? That's so awesome! Where is it?"

"Just you wait and see." 

They stood in front of the balloon that is currently being filled with air. 

"Woah!" Jake gasped. "That is epic!" He pointed to the balloon.

"Yeah, well, not to brag but I designed it myself," Varian boasted. 

"You did?!" Jake exclaimed. "I wish I could make something as epic as this. Oh, what does that do?” Jake pointed a lever.

“Uh, don’t touch that!” Varian warned. “If you pull that you might shoot up into the sky.”

Jake smiled nervously and slowly backed away from the lever. 

“Okay, the balloon is ready to go,” Varian said as he climbed into the basket. 

“Alright, balloon time!” Jake followed.

Star wasn’t afraid of balloons, but they do make her uneasy. The idea of floating so high in the sky made her anxiety shoot up. She likes to avoid anything that causes her anxiety. She knew that this was really the only—not to mention the fastest—way to get there. She sucked it up anyways and climbed into the basket. 

Her stomach quickly turned into a knot. Star clenched her stomach.

Star braced herself as the balloon rose off the ground.

"Wee!" Jake screamed. "This is the best thing that has ever happened to me!"

Star sat down in the basket and tried not to think about looking down or how they're high above the ground, for it would probably make her more anxious than she already was. Varian sat beside her and patted her on the back.

"Hey, you're doing great," he said. 

"Yeah…" Star said weakly. Varian stood out and helped her up.

Jacob noticed that Star wasn’t comfortable with balloons. “You're not a fan of balloons, aren’t ya?”

“I am, it’s just that I’m not a fan of the ones in particular where I am in a floating basket high in the sky.” she said as she gripped one of the ropes of the balloon. “Uh, Varian, how long til we get there?” 

“We could get there in less time if we just used the thrusters…” he suggested. Star knew it would be worse if they used the thrusters but they’d get in a shorter amount of time.

“Fine, use the thrusters,” she gulped.

“Okay, hold on tight you guys!" Varian pulled on the controllers and the balloon suddenly began to pick up speed. Star could feel herself trying to pull herself away from rope. Star took a peek at the others 

Jake was leaning against the basket yelling with delight, "Yeah! This is so fun!"

Varian gripping the controller, while continuing to navigate the balloon. His hair blew away from his face. He kept his focus on where they were heading.  

After enduring a couple of minutes, Varian pulled a lever and they stopped at a slower pace. 

Star felt the temperature drop around her. Snowflakes were lightly falling from the sky. 

"We're here," Varian pointed towards the entrance of the tomb.

"Woah! It's way bigger than I thought it would be."

They slowly lowered  and then they halted to a stop once they reached the ground.

They all got out of the balloon. 

"Uh, so what now?" Jake asked as he crossed his arm from the cold. 

"There," Varian pointed to the massive wall with carvings.

They stood there in front of the entrance. Star has forgotten how big it was. 

"Hey, there's something written on here.” Jake pointed to the writing on the wall. “It says, I grow but do not live. I need air but I do not breathe. ” 

"Oh this is easy!" Jake said. "It's fire!” 

“Hm,” Jake stopped for a moment. ”Thought this would be harder."

"I thought the same." Star remarked. 

"Hey,  Demanitus was a busy guy, he probably didn’t have time to make a harder riddle.” Varian defended his idol as he dug through his backpack.

“Well, if he can solve the riddle then I think it should be harder. It’s a miracle this place hasn’t been broken into, in all this time.”

“Hmph,” Varian pulled a device and proceeded to light up the entrance to the device that made fire. The fire began to slowly crawl out, falling the carvings of the entrance. It began to dance faster. The gears of the walls pushed and then the entrance rumbled and opened.

Star looked over, both Varian and Jake were in awe. Jake had his jaw dropped in amazement. Varian smiled widely and his eyes were bright. 

"That will never cease to amaze me!" Varian pointed at the entrance.

"Awesome!" Jake squealed in a high pitch. 

"Yeah, I guess so…" Star remarked. "Come on, let's see what we can find." 

Jake took a look into the corridor. “Oh look! A long dark creepy hall! That’s a good sign for adventure!”

Star looked at Varian, “Is he joking?” She whispered. 

“Uh, I don’t think so. I think we should have that kind of spirit, hehe.” Varian laughed. 

They walked through the corridor and into the area where they found his book. It was filled with green tropical vegetation. 

"Woah!" Jake stopped.

Something hurled at them but it was too fast. Fortunately no one was hit. 

They looked over and saw the monkeys laughing at them.

"Hey, that better be a banana you threw at us!" Star yelled. 

"Monkeys, eh? Looks like Demanitus was a monkey fan." Jake said. 

"Yeah, Rapunzel said that Demanitus was actually a monkey."

"A what?" Jake stepped back.

"Demanitus used a device to switch minds with a monkey," Star explained. "That's how Rapunzel was able to meet him."

"With this device right here," Varian patted at a broken machine proudly.

"Uh, but it's broken." Jake said.

"It wasn't always like that!" A part of the device fell off. "Hehe," Varian laughed nervously as he kicked the part hidden from view. 

"Okay, fine. This thing is broken beyond repair." Varian admitted. 

"Good thing too, I don't want to mind-swap with a monkey." 

"Hey guys, I think I found something here!" Jake called them over.

Star and Varian walked over. Jake was standing next to a lever while holding up a branch to reveal it. 

"We didn't find this last time. Guess we were too busy chasing monkeys and mind swapping with them last time, hehe." Varian said.

"Yeah, don't pull the lever just yet." Star said. "We don't know if it's a trap."

"Oh, um, too late…" Jake nervously smiled. When Star looked down the lever was positioned to the other side. 

Star wanted to scold him for pulling the lever. How would they know if that lever wasn't a trap? Demanitus isn't a stranger to putting traps to prevent trespassers from stealing. Especially with what Rapunzel and Eugene have told her from the Maze.

Star could feel the ground underneath starting to shake. She looked behind her and the far wall was beginning to open, split right through the middle.

"Woah," Jake said as they walked towards the entrance. "Another creepy corridor. Cool." 

"Since you pulled the lever, I think you should go first," Star gestured to him to enter.

Jake looked into the corridor and gulped, "Uh…yeah, sure! No problem!" Star sensed that he actually tried to be confident for once. Up until now, Jake has been pretty confident effortlessly. Sometimes Star doubted his bright personality. No one can be that bright, but knowing Rapunzel, she knew that Jake could potentially equal Rapunzel’s personality. 

Jake fiddled a bit before entering the corridor. Star and Varian closely followed him. As they walked further into the corridor, the light from the outside faded. Jake stopped. 

"What's wrong?" Star asked.

Jake looked at her and looked at Varian. 

Suddenly, he grabbed her hand. Star out of panic, pulled away. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry, I'm just a bit afraid. It would make me feel better if we all held hands before entering into darkness." Jake looked at them worriedly. 

"Actually, that's not a bad idea." Varian said. "We wouldn't be separated from each other." Jake offered his hand and Varian took it without a second thought.

Jake held his hand out to Star. 

She hesitated.

Both Varian and Jake glanced at Star. 

Star sighed and she grabbed Jake's hand.

Varian pulled out his lighting device. He gulped and said "Okay, here we go."

Star took a deep breath and began cautiously walking forward. 

Looking at the walls, Star noticed it was covered in spiderwebs and small cracks. Green moss covered in between the cracks. 

They walked for about twenty minutes till they reached a wall with nothing on it other than a small hole in an odd shape. 

"Oh great there's nothing here! We just wasted hours of our lives." Star said in a perturb tone, Star turned around and began walking back to the exit. 

“Wait a second, Star!” Varian stopped her. 

Star sighed and turned back. 

Varian studied the door closely. 

“There has to be something here.” Varian said while moving his fingers across the door looking for a clue, “Perhaps, there’s a code hidden in here.”

“Or maybe a riddle we have to solve.” Star added. They began quickly to search the area for anything that resembled a clue. Jake looked but he stopped at the strange hole in the wall. He looked at it curiously. 

"You know…" Jake began, "Maybe this hole here is like some sort of keyhole?" 

"A keyhole?" Star walked over to the keyhole. 

"Yeah, it could be but what kind of key would it have that shape?” Varian asked.

Jake thought for a moment, “Hey, Star, your necklace?”

Star was immediately defensive, “My necklace? Why?”

“I think it might be the key,” he said. 

“Pfft, no way,” Star scoffed. “It's probably another riddle, right Varian?”

“Huh? Oh, um...” Varian was clearly not prepared to be in the discussion. “I’m not sure. It could be, but...”

Star knew Jake could be right, but she didn’t want to admit that or risk losing her necklace. 

Star inhaled sharply, “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Jake and Varian took a step back. Star looked into the keyhole. Star did admit that it was in an odd shape, the same pointy shape as her necklace. She took off her necklace and placed it carefully in the keyhole. It fit perfectly, Star waited for a second but nothing happened.

“See?” Star said confidently. “Nothing–!“

The ground around them began to shake.

They looked behind them and the necklace was glowing brightly. A stream of light came out and began to dance on the wall, forming strange shapes…almost like constellations in the night sky. Star took a step back as she saw the wall opened up.

"Woah," Varian gasped.

"You two overthink a lot," Jake smirked.

Star didn’t want to admit it but he wasn’t wrong. She did get into her head a lot of times. Often with scenarios that most likely never will happen. Or the worst scenarios with this worst possible outcome…

Star put on her necklace. 

“Come on, you two!” Jake yelled as he ran off towards the darkness.

Star and Varian, once again exchanged looks and went after him. 

“You shouldn’t do that!” Star said catching up to Jake. “You know, running into dark rooms.”

“It’s really dark in here,” Varian as squinted, 

“Starlight!” Star yelled and with a flash her armor appeared and her sword came into her hand. Star has gotten pretty good with summoning her armor. She didn’t have to say the entire incantation to summon it. Sometimes she does it only for the coolness factor. 

“Wow!” Jake looked at her sword glowing in the darkness.

“Take a step back from Starlight!” Star warned. 

Jake blinked, “Is it that sharp?”

Star paused, She never thought about it. She never actually attacked a person with the intention to hurt them with Starlight. She really only used it to defend herself—or more probable—to threaten someone. She never actually used Starlight to harm anyone, except for Zhan Tiri, who kept using the healing incantation to heal and grew tentacles back faster than Star could weaken her.

Star shuddered remembering that. 

“Not sure, but I don’t think you want to find out,” she said. “Can’t see anything. I’m not sure if there’s something even in here.” 

Then out of the darkness small lights began to appear one by one like stars in a night sky. Then, in the distance, Star could see a bright light begin to glow brighter and brighter.

"You guys seeing that?" Star pointed.

"Yeah…" they both said.

They all cautiously walked towards the bright light. The light seemed to get closer to them.

Star's heart began to pound rapidly. 

"You guys two, stay behind me." Star gestured to them to get behind her. 

Jake and Varian didn't hesitate and got behind her. 

The light looked like an orb. It came swooping towards them. Star, instinctively, swung at the orb. 

The orb went right through her sword and floated upward and dived down again. Another orb came flying. Star saw the swarm of them, attacking them. Star kept swinging at them, 

One of them went right through her. 

“Ah!” she screamed not because it hurt, but because it was shockingly cold. 

Then they all just stopped…

Star observed a bright orb in the distance.

The light came closer and closer. 

“STAR!”

Star yelped and swung her sword towards the light. She was already on high alert.

To her surprise, Starlight hit something, 

Star opened her eyes to the light that had formed into a human shape. She squinted closer and recognized the face. 

“S-Stella?” Star said.

Stella slowly lowered her sword, “Yes, it is I. Sorry for scaring you like that but you did swing at me first.” 

Stella was like a ghost. A sparkly ghost. 

“Ah, sorry.” Star lowered Starlight. “It’s okay guys, She’s not going to hurt us.” Star looked behind her to find Jake and Varian hugging each other tightly.

“A-are you sure?” Jake was clearly shaken up, and hesitant to let go of Varian. 

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Star said. 

They let each other go. Jake slowly approached Stella.

He quickly poked Stella. "Huh, went right through," Jake said. Then he kept on poking her. "Haha!"

"Stop that!" Stella snapped. 

"Oops, sorry, I just got carried away."

“Is this your team you’ve decided to assemble for yourself?” Stella asked Star. 

“Huh? Uh, no...still working on that," Star said. “It’s still a work in progress,” 

Star remembered the nightmares. The ones where Stella warned her about something coming. 

“Stella,” Star’s voice changed into a more serious tone. “You remember that the last time we talked, that there’s something coming, but you never said what.” 

Stella, her face stern as ever. She inhaled deeply, “In all honesty, I’m not sure what it is. But I feel it…”

“So wait, you’re not even sure what’s coming? So, what’s the point of all this? I’ve not had a good night's sleep in months! After Zhan Tiri, I just want to rest.” Star said exasperated and sat down on the floor.

“Trust me, I understand, better than anyone.” Stella's voice softened. "The burden we carry is great but I want you to be prepared for it. I asked Daminitus to have this place built for us, the welders of the gem, and only for us ." Stella glared at Jake and Varian.

In response, they acted as if they weren't listening. 

She looked back at Star, “I hope you understand.”

“I do...” Star said softly. “I just hoped it was all over…" 

Varian and Jake approached her and sat right next to her.

Burying her face, she mumbled, "I don't how I can do this again."

"You will, I know you can," Stella put her hand gently on her face. Although she felt her hand right through her face, she sensed her warmth. "If it wasn’t the case, the necklace you haven’t chosen you."

Star wasn’t exactly convinced, but she gave a weak smile in response.

"She's right," Varian said.

Jake nodded in agreement. "Uh, I haven't met you very long, but from what I've heard and seen, you can take on anything!" 

Star never knew how to take compliments, so her cheeks flushed red. She tried to make it not so obvious.

"Hey, Stella, how did you get in here?" Star asked.

Stella sighed, "To be frank, I'm not quite sure. I remember everything up to a certain point. I remember discussing with Demanitus about constructing a building only accessible to the person wielding the gem to ensure our secrets do not fall into the wrong hands. The more I try to remember the further my memories feel. I know something happened but I can't remember."

Star could hear her frustration. "It's fine, soon you'll regain your memories." 

Star looked around, she hadn’t realized that the place had lit up.

"Woah," she said as she looked in amazement. 

It was still relatively dark, but it was still light enough that she didn't have to squint her eyes to see. Star looked up and saw a high ceiling filled with a cloudy night sky. Stars and constellations as far as the eye can see. She couldn't tell how big this place was. There was fog that prevented Star from taking a guess of the size of this place. Pillars stretched to the ceiling. Taking a closer look, the stars and constellations were also on the pillars, as if the material that was used to build was already decorated into it. 

The night sky didn't look like it was painted on, rather, more likely, it was infused into the pillars and ceiling. It looked like it was...alive.

"This place...is so magical…" Star said. "I've never seen anything like this before. And that's saying a lot with the places I've been to." 

She has been to a lot of strange places: Matthews' House of Yesterday’s Tomorrow, the Lost Realm, and other strange magical places, but never like this. 

"Impressive, isn't it?" Stella said. "You and I are gonna spend quite a bit of time here for your training."

"Training?" Star blinked. 

"Yes, training."

"What? Why training now? You know it could’ve been useful three years ago!" Star made sure Stella heard that she was perturbed. 

"Yes, it would. But you did quite well without my help."

"Yeah, only because Cassandra and Eugene helped me out. I've never even held a sword before I came across the gem."

"Alright, enough excuses." Stella held out her hand and Starlight appeared in her hand. Star looked over at her own hand, thinking Stella might’ve taken it out of her hand, but it was still in her grasp. Getting a closer look, she saw that Starlight was just as transparent and glittery as Stella was. "Let's see what you've got."

"Oh, uh, okay," Star said without confidence. She knew that Stella had been the Star Knight longer than her. She was also legendary from the few tales she heard. Soon she’ll find out to what degree all of that was true. 

Star’s sweaty hands gripped the hilt of Starlight tightly. Stella immediately went into the starting position. Clearly, she knew what she was doing. 

Star wasn't sure to attack or defend. She went with her gut and charge at Stella. 

Without hesitating, Stella blocked her attack. Quickly, Stella retaliated. Star managed to block it by summoning her light shield. But Stella attacked again; barely giving Star a second to react. 

Star had no idea she was this fast.

Another attack. Block. Another one. Block.

Star fell into a pattern she knew all too well. Just defend and make sure you don't get hurt. 

Star started to feel her body ache. She slipped for one second but it was enough for her to lose her balance and trip to the ground.

"Ah!" Star yelled as she hit the floor. 

Star met the end of Stella's sword. "Okay, you win. You've made your point clearly…and very sharply…" referring to the swords' pointy end. 

Star laid on the floor, trying to catch her breath. 

Stella lowered Starlight and extended her hand and pulled Star to her feet. "In all honesty, you did far better than I thought you would." 

Star doubted that. "Yeah, sure."

"I know you haven't seen it yet, but soon you will." Stella said. "Alright then, training will be twice a week here.”

“Training? Twice…a week?” Star said between breaths. “But, I already have training with Eugene. Daily.”

“No excuses, Star. I’ve been quite generous with training.”

“Ugh, fine! Didn’t know there was homework with being the Star Knight…” Star grumbled. 

“Of course, there is much to learn. I’ll teach you everything I know. I’ll be here whenever you need advice.”

“Oh, um…” Star was surprised with how eager Stella wanted to help her out. For the first two years—for the most part—she had to figure it out all by herself, so someone having actual first hand knowledge of what she was supposed to do was a first. And something that she won’t pass by. “That’s really nice of you. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Star,” Stella smiled softly. Star smiled in return. She connected with Stella in a way she hadn’t had with anyone. “Well, then…I’ll see you at our—”

Rumble!

Star felt the ground shake around her. Judging by the look on the others, they felt it too. 

“What?” Stella mumbled under her breath.

“Uh, do you happen to know what’s going on, ghost lady?” Jake asked.

“No, and please do not call me that ever again,” Stella said sternly.

“Sorry.”

Star could sense that she was worried. 

Seemingly, Stella read her mind. “Not sure what it could be. I asked Demanitus not to put any extravagant traps or security. I specially asked him to make entry accessible as simple: either you have the Star gem or you don’t.”

“Well, not entirely sure if you know this but…this place is under the tomb of Demanitus,” Star said.

“And from what we’ve seen it also served as his lair for his last several years before he…” Varian knew that Demanitus ‘died’ per se, 

“Died?” Stella tried to finish the sentence. 

“No…he did, however, switch brains with a monkey,” Varian said awkwardly.

“Ah, of course,” she said, as if it were commonly done by everyone, “Not surprising. He’s always been quite fond of primates.”

Star, Varian and Jake ran towards the entrance in which they entered. 

Peering through the darkness, Star could see two red dots resembling eyes.

“Um, are you guys seeing what I’m seeing?” Star asked frantically. 

“Uh-huh,” they both nodded, confirming what Star was seeing.

They felt footsteps as it came closer, the ground shook with every step.  

Soon Star could make out its shape through the shadows. It was massive, human shaped. As it got closer, Star could see it was a warrior statue with red eyes. It was made out of stone. It was worn, with cracks and moss covering it. It reminded Star of the statue that Rapunzel had told her when she and Eugene went into Demanitus’ Maze to find the final piece of the scroll. 

“Uh, I think we should running for our lives now,” Jake began to back up, Varian followed. 

"Ugh," Stella rolled her eyes, to Star's surprise. "Absolutely hated how Demanitus gives life to those things." She said it in such a way that it was simply an annoying habit he had. 

“Oh he tends to do this?” Star asked. 

“Yes, quite too often. This should be no problem for you, Star.”

“Wait, what? There is no way I’m fighting that thing!”

“It would be nice if someone just get rid of it anytime now,” Varian said. 

“I’ll show you how easy it is.” Stella said.

Stella closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened her eyes and they were glowing white.

She charged to the statue with the sword and with one swing, she slashed the statue into two. Half of the statue slid off right of its body. 

“Holy horse turds,” Star said in awe. 

Stella turned around. The glare she gave them sent a chill through their spine. Star now knew how she looked when was in that form. It frightened her how that was how everyone else viewed her. She can’t control herself well in the form yet. 

Stella closed her eyes again. Her eyes returned to normal upon opening her eyes. 

“Wow, that’s amazing!” Jake yelled. 

“I-I…” Star was still in shock.

“Don’t fret, soon you will be able to control it, with training.” Stella patted Star. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you in training.” Star said. “I think it’s time for us to go.”

“Be well, everyone.” Stella departed. 

Jake and Varian waved goodbye. Star weakly waved goodbye. She wasn’t as excited as she thought she would be. It was a lot to take in. Watching Stella jump into action like that made Star realize that she wasn’t working hard enough to be that good. Stella had no one. She was the first. She had to figure it out all by herself, and she controlled the second form effortlessly. Star was always afraid of the second form. The time she used it against Cassandra when she took over the kingdom, she was lucky that it went smoothly as it did. 

They walked backed towards the entrance to the tomb, with Star still lost in thought, she didn’t realize that Jake was calling her, 

“Star!” Star heard Jake her. 

“Hey you okay. Star?” Jake asked.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” Star realized that they were climbing back into the balloon. 

“I was asking you guys something.”

“Oh, what is it?”

"I wanna invite you guys to my birthday party!"

"Birthday party?" Star blinked.

"Yeah, since we're friends now—bonded by our near death experience—I want you to come! I'm gonna turn eighteen! I will become a fully fledged adult."

"Uh, sure,” Varian said.

Star nudged him, “Ow, what? It’s a party! Oh, don’t tell me you don’t like parties either.”

“You need to stop accepting invites on my behalf. And I do like parties, just not particularly large and fancy ones, but yes I’ll go.”

“Great! I’ll mark you down…but it is going to be big and fancy. My dad is planning it so…”

“It’s okay, we’re still going,” Star assured. 

“And…there’s a dress code too,” Jake added nervously.

But before Star could say anything, the balloon lifted off the ground and threw them off balance.

Star sighed, she was already committed to it. There’s no turning back now. She knew that it was going to be a long way back home.

[friendofthecrows]

Posting a way more in-depth description of my alters than any of you want or need because why not

Keiko: friendliest, nicest, cutest, acts the youngest. Used to front a lot when we were hanging out with friends. Still essentially like the rest of us in that she has the same personality disorders (pointing this out because you wouldn’t guess she has ASPD but we all do. No, none of us are “more of a psychopath” or evil vs good or whatever compared to one another). She just seems more able to feel/express the positive spectrum of emotions, she hasn’t repressed it or detached herself from it as much. She/her pronouns. Aroace. Current fave thing: either MLP or stimboards

Miyuki: calm, collected, responsible, acts like a gatekeeper of the system a lot as in she’s the only one we can actually trust to moderate the rules objectively. Also has pulled people out or put people in control before. Less “control panel” access than say Jokul or I though, but probably only due to lack of practice. THE most sane one (idk how that works either) and the one with the least emotional turmoil. Used to wonder if 1. She was capable of caring about people and 2. If she actually felt any emotions at all. The answer is yes she does, she just Bottles Them Up Completely. We are taking it in faith that she feels stuff because the body cried once while she was in control. Pronouns: she/her. Sexuality: ???? when it comes to romance, but definitely ace. Current fave thing: tea, specifically a nice warming oolong like Da Hong Pao.

Yahto: (me!) people are suggesting ways to describe me and it is mean. For most of my knowledge of my own existence as a separate alter, I’ve kind of assigned myself the role of protector. I was very functional as well! Confident (bordering on insufferably arrogant), and with the level of detachment from my emotions I had at the time as well as my complete lack of fear, perfectly suited to deal with a wide variety of situations. Only if we were okay with other people thinking we’re weird because I used to have a worse filter than I have now. I experienced fear for the first time 3.5 years ago right alongside the strongest emotions I’ve ever felt and my mental health has been spiraling downwards ever since :) Also I am literally the most stubborn person you will ever meet. He/him pronouns. Anything having to do with orientation is a big question mark right now, I just know I’m probably not interested in men. I HAVE dated women but tbh I’m no longer sure if I’m even interested in them. Current fave thing: yahto.exe stopped working 38 hours of being awake ago. Uh,,,,idk sorry How about reading fzanfic to pass the time fnafic fanfic

Jezebeth (Jez): (headspace bestie! Great at writing horror poems!) Does Not Care About People but also surprisingly extremely chill. When she’s enthusiastic about something, she’s REALLY ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT IT but otherwise mostly just stays quiet and has a nice time Observing. People either find her really fun to be around or creepy. No in between. She went through a phase where she thought it was funny to creep people out by saying really messed up things so that probably didn’t help. Actually, DURING said phase, she single-handedly made and maintained the best in-school friendship we ever had for 4 years. Literally none of us talked to her except for Jez. She just had endless “creepy” conversation topics and Robin thought it was *amazing. * She/her pronouns, I have no idea sexuality wise simply because she does not talk about that kind of thing. Current fave thing: inking pens :)

Jokul: (sworn enemy, tried to kill myself once to take him down with us) Perfectly reasonable person realistically. Nothing particularly wrong with him. I just Do Not Like Him. Especially since for as long as I can remember, we’ve made it a game to torment each other. You see, we both hate boredom more than anything else, or at least we did when we were even younger and more naive and we’re not actually malicious, and yet foolishly prided ourselves on not being nice and also our ability to manipulate people. No, little kid me was probably not actually an expert on manipulation, we just thought we were at the time. This all resulted in us taking our boredom, pent up malice, and desire to prove we were better than one another on each other. Such a great idea (sarcastic). We did in fact get better at emotionally wounding people after years of practice, and predictably (if we had any foresight on this matter at all) it backfired! I did in fact turn this skill against the one person I cared about in an effort to push them away during one of my breakdowns and it resulted in 6 suicide attempts, not including my own. Jokul has been trying to manipulate me positively since (both of us have been ordered to be nice to each other by Miyuki because we were causing too many problems) and it has Not Worked. If he was a separate person, I would skin him. The only person I’ve hated so much. We’ve been on relatively good terms lately. Been capable of having casual conversations. Things are okay, I guess. His personality is entirely fake, so I don’t know how to describe it except for how he acts when we’re trying to hurt each other, which might be him dropping his mask or it might be a whole different act just for that. Pronouns: He/him. Sexuality: He can change it at will? I think default is aroace though? Current fave thing: *Jokul imitation* “My purple silk dress I wear when I’m meeting people and am desperate for them to worship my beauty. I look so irresistibly elegant in it, it makes everyone like me automatically.” His actual answer is Death Note (cringe) (I’ve been yelled at for calling Death Note cringe)

Gracelynn: (headspace ex-bestie) Everyone thinks she’s the nicest person ever and super loyal and so on. She is to other people but apparently not to me anymore. Still finds it difficult to empathize with people and care about them, but apparently decided to be nice anyways. Like she doesn’t get the fuss about friends but she’s here for them anyways. Spends as much time daydreaming as possible these days, used to front A TON a few years ago. Extremely shy and full of social anxiety and anxiety in general. Goes nonverbal in a plethora of social situations. Freakishly good memory. Has way less memory gaps than I do and I have no idea why. She/her pronouns, probably aroace Current fave thing: brace yourself for no surprises, a tie between horseback riding and the Chronicles of Amber.

Ryo: (the alter of many names: Ryo, Rachel, Ry, Rei, R) The newest. Noticed a new voice and behavior that did not match any of ours a while after the events of 3.5 years ago. Might be coincidence, might not be, I don’t care. Kind of down to earth and practical and normal compared to the rest of us. Despite him being here for years now I don’t know that much about him partially because I don’t care and haven’t been paying attention, and partially because system communication hasn’t been that great (I’ve also been getting way more memory gaps! Whole days lost! Isn’t that great? (sarcastic)). Pronouns: varies, any are fine. (Despite us, in general, identifying as gender fluid so we don’t have to explain, Ryo is the only ACTUALLY gender fluid alter in our system) Aroace. Current fave thing: He said sleep, he wants us to go to sleep. (refuses to answer the fun question genuinely) Well Ryo, you have just failed my vibe check. Your reward is uh,,,AT LEAST 13 more hours of being awake. Yayyy

(I did colors here but the all green theme will stay in other posts <3 Really if I had to describe our auras it would be different shades of blue anyways.)

[monomonomagines]

DR2 Boys as Monsters with a Human S/o Part 2

Hello everyone, I’m sorry for my inactivity as of late. My bed broke recently so I’ve had to try to get a new one during Quarantine. However, I finally am able to get one and I come back bearing some good news! Mod Kokichi and I have been fleshing out our monster Au to the point that we have some extra content for the lore of the world and details with the characters and whatever we couldn’t fit into these imagines. Coincidentally, we do plan to also open an AO3 account in order to publish fully fleshed out content for the monsters and lore of the world we’ve made for them once we’re all set up. If anyone is interested in any art or lore that we have ready though, feel free to ask us and we’ll gladly share it with you. Speaking of, we have a place already to post art on our discord so you’re free to join us with this link if you’d like. https://discord.gg/M6TGwd

One more thing I’d like to add though is a warning for Nagito’s part in this. We couldn’t include much romance because of some lore we included with how his disease would work in this universe and with the limited space I couldn’t convey much development with him yet (where he isn’t quite as unhealthy or obsessive) so consider this just your first interaction with him. I promise though on AO3 or in further works he won’t be nearly as twisted as he might com across here. Besides that though, I hope that you all enjoy these. I had a lot of fun with them and will be getting back to other requests and matchups as soon as possible.

Part 2 (Part 1 here) (Part 3 here)

Gundham (Vampire)

By the time you got of work, it was late enough to see the last vestiges of the setting sun disappearing over the horizon, leaving behind nothing more than the chill of twilight.

However, there was nothing to do but to walk home as typical of you when it's still brighter.

As you passed by the familiar buildings, the park, and even a few side streets you began to only think of getting home and into your nice warm bed.

Perhaps it was those thoughts that caused you not to notice the man behind you but by the time he put a hand over your mouth and pulled you into an alley with him, you knew you had made a terrible mistake.

There were no words said as he pushed you up against a wall and buried his face into your neck, penetrating you with his fangs.

So that was it, he was a vampire. It'd be over soon you thought trying to reassure yourself as his inhuman strength overpowered you.

You tried with all your might to hold onto consciousness but alas it was too much. Maybe he was going to drink you dry after all, maybe this was the end for you?

When you awoke with a start those thoughts were still lingering in your mind. You felt so weak and this place, this definitely wasn't your room.

"Ah, you've awoken at last!" Announced that same vampire as he appeared by the side of the plush bed you were laid upon.

At least you assumed as you hadn't gotten to hear his voice. You didn't know what to say to him and at the very same time, plenty of accusations and questions flew from your mouth in his direction causing him to lose that gusto he seemed to have from a moment ago.

It appeared as though he hadn't considered for this to happen and unlike how he had last night he silenced you with his own statement.

"Silence, mortal! You should consider yourself lucky! It is not every day that you are a vampire as well known and feared as the legendary Gundham Tanaka's first victim!"

Proudly laughing he rambles on and on about his supposed grandeur before he finally settles down.

"Now what great power you are speaking to I shall inform you of what is to come as you had begged me earlier. You, mortals, tend to misconstrue what it is we full-blood vampires do with our first victim. We do not kill them, no rather we keep them by our side."

Oh brother. You knew for certain you did not want to stay with this guy and yet you still felt so weak. There was no way you could do much else than rely on him so you had to relent.

However, even though you started as an unwanted guess Gundham seemed to know how to take care of you, always making sure to be so careful.

He didn't seem like other vampires and as you began to talk to him you seemed to realize what had happened to you in actuality. Even if he hadn't realized it himself he slipped up by calling you his first victim.

He wasn't some long-lived legendary Vampire, he was a recently turned one that normally didn't drink from a human directly. You noticed with the way that he'd return with blood bags and never a scratch on him that he wasn't as evil as he seemed.

However, even when you questioned him he insisted on his obviously made up "Old Vampire Ritual" that you two were bound together and that he must take care of you as you two are now in a "symbiotic relationship".

A relationship in which he never actually drank from you instead mostly taking care of you because of that one time he could've killed you. Perhaps that's why you had fallen so hard for this creature of the night?

He was gentle and kind in his own right and every day that passed by ended up making you glad to be here. That's when you knew you had to tell him finally.

One night as he was bringing you dinner you had asked for him to stay and as usual, he listened to your desires sitting by you rather obediently as you two conversed.

"It is not like you to ask of my presence during your meals, mortal. Is there something you wished to say?"

What didn't you want to say? As soon as you could open your mouth all of it began to spill out again, like those questions you asked when you first arrived here.

You knew he wasn't a full-blood, you knew he just felt bad that he almost drained you, and you knew he didn't like drinking directly from someone if they were unwilling! You knew it all but most of all you liked him the way he was. You loved him even and before you could finish your ramble of a confession he had already pressed himself against your lips.

"Oh, how is it that a mortal like you can love a beast such as myself?"

Nagito (Zombie)

Though it was quite impulsive, you had felt implored to walk take a walk in the dead of night.

It was a humid summer night and with your clothes sticking to you and the hum of the ceiling fan relentlessly filling your ears you clearly needed to get a small break.

Grabbing a bag with a few small things such as a flashlight, keys, and whatever else you could possibly need during a night stroll you soon departed, forgetting just why it was so risky to leave your home.

As you continued on your stroll to the next block you happened upon the local graveyard which was always stirring with life, at least that's what you had heard.

Perhaps it was the humidity or the lack of sleep making you feel so careless but rather than heading back home you decided to approach the gates of the cemetery when a gloved hand came to press itself over your mouth.

"Don't scream, I just want to talk." A raspy voice whispers lowly into your ear causing panic to shoot through your body.

With your bag still in hand, you easily shake the offender off, swinging your bag at him as your eyes shut in fear. However, instead of any pained sound, all you hear is a sigh and multiple things hitting the ground.

Despite your head screaming at you to disregard that and run though you instead put on a brave face and open your eyes, noticing that he was now missing his arm and head.

"Ah man, this is so embarrassing," he starts only awkwardly scratching the back of his head with his free hand, "you wouldn't be able to uh, hand me my head would you?"

Wait, he's a zombie, isn't he!? He'll just try to bite you!

Even with your protests though he doesn't bat an eye only negotiating with you instead. "I know it sounds like I just want to bite you but I swear I won't. If it makes you feel better you can even grab me by my hair. There's no way I can bite you that way, right?"

Despite the position he was in, he still seemed fully capable of quipping at you so you relented. What harm will come from this guy if you can knock most of his limbs off with one swing?

Dropping your bag to the ground you tentatively grab his head by the hair watching as his expression doesn't change despite the tug on his scalp as you hand it over to his body.

To your surprise, he grabs himself the same way and somehow easily reattaches the head with his one arm intact. This must happen quite a lot for him to be so unfazed even with only one arm.

"Thanks again! You wouldn't mind tossing my hand over here too would you?"

He asks with a relaxed smile on his face. He didn't move towards you at all, seeming to wait for you to answer as you looked over and saw that gloved hand now laying by your bag.

He didn't seem dangerous but before you could find it in yourself to give him back all of his limbs you needed to know why he grabbed you earlier.

"Oh, that? Well, to be honest, I was trying to warn you about the graveyard. Tonights a full moon and it's when a lot of the more violent zombies and other monsters come out. That's why I didn't want you to scream either if you had well, you'd be found and eaten immediately."

But then why wasn't he attacking you or trying to eat you? You wanted to question him more but for the most part, his answer was vague.

"Well, I don't want to eat you. How about instead you toss me my hand and I'll walk you home? That's fair isn't it?"

You couldn't disagree, it did seem fair but you certainly hadn't expected this development in the slightest. It might not have been too uncommon for someone to escort you home but a zombie was surprising.

You braced yourself, grabbing ahold of the purely skeletal hand and glove as you tossed them over to him. Now with another question to ask. Was the glove to cover this?

"That actually has to do with how I got to be a zombie. It's a funny story since I'm pretty lucky but I was born with a disease that causes your brain to deteriorate. I wasn't supposed to live long and no matter what doctor I went to, none of them could do anything."

So why was his hand like this then? Did he already start decaying? Despite just meeting, he seemed intent on sharing his story with you as he gave you an awkward smile and continued.

"No one could cure me so I decided to take a risk. As a human still I sought out a Witch Doctor and ironically the only way to save me so that I could accomplish my goals was to kill me."

Popping his hand on with a satisfied look on his face he smiled at you.

"It's ironic but even with the ritual, I got lucky! She needed something as a sort of sacrifice I guess so she needed my hand or at least the flesh from it. I'll admit it was pretty painful since I was still alive but even then it seemed that it was destined to happen. A rare occurrence happened in which my hand was still intact and strong enough not to snap either! It was a miracle that the witch said must have been because the demons or dark gods had chosen me! Amazing isn't it?"

He puts his glove back on, looking at the hand fondly as you went silent. That was supposed to be amazing? Didn't he still die? What about his family and friends?

Despite your questions, his expression didn't falter as he calmly explained he had none. No friends and no family to come to his funeral. He died alone and seemed unfazed.

"That's enough about me though, we should be getting you home now."

Sure enough, he was right, however, something seemed off. How was it that he knew the way to your house? Even when you questioned him though he seemed so nonchalant.

"I know because you fill me with hope," he says expression growing dark, "I know from the way you walk to the way you talk, to the way you even eat your meals that you are what I need. It was such great luck for you to walk by tonight where I could talk to you where I can finally tell you how I feel."

Pinning you to a nearby wall he smiles as he asks you too frozen by fear to scream, "Did you think that any zombie would be so harmless? My goal is to bring hope to the world and in order to do so, I need you. You awaken the purest hope sleeping inside of me and for that, I can never let you go."

Before you can respond to his delusions he presses his lips to your own and that was the last of what you could remember when you woke up in your bed.

It was just a dream, it had to be you thought, but when you opened that bag and found a note in it you knew immediately that it was all true. You were being stalked by a Zombie of all things.

Kazuichi (Gorgon)

You were going on a jog through the nearby park in the evening when you chanced upon a figure in the distance.

Although you only saw their back, they were dressed in the brightest jumpsuit you'd ever seen. They definitely couldn't be up to anything shady in such an ostentatious outfit, you thought, so you called out to them as you drew closer.

As soon as your words pierced their ears they perked up immediately running over to grab onto you sobbing about how he got "left behind," when suddenly he froze.

"Wa-wait you're not a..." letting go and backing up from you like you had the plague you noticed why he was freaking out. You definitely weren't a monster and he definitely was.

The two of you ended up screaming from the shock as the monster clumsily ran in the opposite direction, tripping over the roots of an overgrown tree and falling with a sickening snap.

You couldn't leave him like this. Even as you approached he seemed scared out of his wits, wincing away as you tried to help lift him up.

"Please don't hurt me! Please don't kill me I...I beg of you! I'll do whatever you say!" He cries out between sobs, not realizing that you are just trying to help him out.

However, he was struggling far too much to help him either so you had no choice but to sit yourself down and reassure him.

"But how can I even know you're telling the truth!? What if you're just going to kill me later?" Despite his sobbing finally melting into mere shaky breathes he looks at you with nothing more than distrust as he tosses accusations around.

He might not believe you but at least he isn't thrashing about like a caged animal. This time promising, not to hurt him, you help him up allowing him to lean on you as he winces in pain.

"Shit, I think...I think I really hurt my ankle. It hurts just to stand!"

Though he had acted so high and mighty a moment ago, he instantly melts into your touch, letting you do most of the work as you walk to your house.

There was no way to transport him anywhere else without some basic medical attention at least. An idea that he wouldn't have taken kindly to if not from being so exhausted from your interactions in the forest.

Struggling to get your key out of your pocket with him leaning on you, you manage to open the door and lead him to your couch so that he could rest.

Turning so that you close the door behind you two, you hear him speak up once again.

"Hey uh...about before and all, I don't normally act so, so lame. I'm normally a lot cooler than that and-" You held back a sigh, cutting off his lame excuses by telling him that you understand.

A heavy silence fell over the two of you, thicker than the uneasy tension in the air as you began to tend to his ankle.

Occasionally shooting an uneasy glance in your direction, he once again opens his mouth trying to say something only to close it again.

You really hadn't expected to encounter such a cowardly and awkward monster and yet here you were with one sat on your couch as you ended to his ankle with an air of uncertainty around the two of you.

This time, you spoke up, trying to get anything to rid you of the heavy feeling in the air as you spoke. Besides, you did have your own questions that you wanted to be answered.

For example, what exactly is he? You knew he wasn't human but with his beanie on all you could tell was that he had greenish skin and snakelike eyes.

"Oh, that? I'm...a Gorgon," he responds, rather awkwardly as he reluctantly pulls off his beanie to reveal bright pink snakes that contrast his green skin.

Cringing as you let out a gasp he prepares for you to laugh but instead is met with the exact opposite. Did you call him cool looking? He, he was cool to you?

Feeling pride swell within him he smiles at you, the awkward air finally for a moment. A moment that certainly did not last long as one of his own snakes bit him.

"Shit! The hat where's my hat!?" He exclaims, patting the arm of the couch for it when you notice how it fell out of his reach as more snakes readied to sink their teeth into his face.

Running over to grab the beanie you hand it to him as he quickly contains his snakes that let out an audible hiss of disapproval. "Argh, they always do this but uh thanks. I must seem pretty lame right now though huh?"  

Seeming down already from the altercation with his snakes you assure him that he's not lame although you do wonder why they dislike him so much.

"Well, they've never got along with me since animals don't really like me at all but they started getting really violent after I learned magic to dye them pink."

He learned magic to make them pink? That was incredible, you mentioned, praising him and causing a small blush to coat his cheeks.

"Yeah, I learned from a friend of mine. She's a lich actually so it isn't really an impressive spell for her but I guess it is kinda cool that I could learn it, huh?"

Agreeing with him that it is indeed pretty cool that he could learn magic, you soon finished with his ankle.

However, even as you finished you both continued to talk throughout the night. Talking about his weird Turned Vampire Rival, and his Alien soul bro, and other fun topics.

You didn't realize it but it must have been so much fun that you eventually fell asleep beside him because you woke up still situated on the couch. However, when you looked over Kazuichi was gone.

It was if it all was a dream or so you thought until that same awkward Gorgon appeared on your doorstep in the middle of the night days later.

Seeming nervous as usual he gave you a small smile. "Hey, S/o, yah mind if I come in?"

Despite your sleepy daze, you nodded as you led him to the same couch that you had fallen asleep on after talking to him for the whole night and took your own place next to him.

Per usual he was fidgety and nervous but you did notice one thing different about him. Unlike the last time, you saw him he had a one snake peeking out from his hat that was happily swaying as you sat next to him.

Following your gaze on the little guy, he began to blush again as he stammered an apology. "Sorry, I guess Lugnut is just really happy to see you again. I don't always tuck him in because he's the only one that can stand me, at least most days. When we met last time he hissed at me in the morning so I kinda just tucked him with the rest."

Scratching his head he waits for a response as you just stare at him in disbelief. Did he just call his snake Lugnut? Did he really name them all like that?

"D-don't look at me like that! I have to call them something to tell the difference between them!" He whines as you let out a laugh now that your initial shock wore off.

"It's not funny! I told ya I needed to be able to tell the difference!" He protests again, only forgiving you once you apologize for all the laughter.

"Great, now that you're done laughing and all I did actually have something I wanted to say." He states as his hat begins to visibly move.

"I...I wanted to thank you for last time. I know I acted like I didn't trust you the whole time and that I disappeared even though I was hurt but I really like you."

He stops to take a deep breath as Lugnut begins to move around excitedly. "I know this is really fast but it's just that no one has ever called me cool the way you do, or listen to me really, or let me go on about what I like and, and I want to keep being able to!" he announces, never faltering as he looked you in the eyes.

"Even if you say no, I want to keep coming over and talking to you like we did the other night so will you let me come over again?"

[evilmortys]

“Well, it’s great to have you back here in our chambers again. And by that, we of course mean that it’s literally the worst to have you back here in our chambers, C-136.” There’s a definite familiarity in the way Riq IV utters his indicative numerals that rings almost personal, but understandably, there’s little fondness behind his severe greeting. Jesus Christ, he thinks to himself sourly, this fucking Morty again. “You know how this goes, so let’s get right to it. State your name and dimension number for the record, turd.”

“Yeah, well, here’s somethin’ for the record: I’m not- I’m actually not too jazzed about it myself, y’know? Every time I get hauled here, I gotta- I gotta look you guys in the faces for like, an hour. And they’re really ugly ones.” Morty rebukes, arms folded over his chest defensively. His insides quiver like jelly. Deep down, he’s actually really not so good with this confrontation stuff, believe it or not. What Morty is? Still, he can’t half pretend to be unflinching when a situation calls for it. Nerves sufficiently steeled and outward appearance nothing short of done with this shit, he obliges the demand. “Mortimer Smith, Earth Dimension C-136. No additional numerals applicable.”

“Watch it.” Another council member snaps suddenly, already infuriated by the blatant lack of respect, and Morty’s gaze drifts to the secondary speaker. Hazel eyes rest upon the decrepit figure boredly, and he inwardly debates whether it’d be worth it to point out he doesn’t even know the name of any of these other assholes- that’s- that’s about how relevant their input is to him right now. Probably shouldn’t, he concedes grudgingly. Don’t bite the bullet when it comes to spitting snark, y’know? Employing restraint now leaves wiggle room to get away with saying more once this discussion inevitably goes to shit. He looks back to their spokesperson wordlessly, gaze expectant.

“Yes, Rick Prime, you’re absolutely right. He says what we’re all thinking! Now... let me see what you’ve gotten up to this time, C-136. While I’m reading the report over, why don’t you go ahead and tell me: who the fuck do you think you are? And why do you think you can get away with this shit? We’d all love to hear it.” Riq IV gathers up the loose-leaf before him and taps the papers against the imperial desk he sits behind, neatening the stack before beginning to look them over.

“I don’t think I’m anyone- anyone... look, I didn’t do anything wrong,” Morty protests defensively. “There’s nothing I’d even be getting away with! That’s- whatever’s written there, it won’t- it’ll all be a bunch of bullshit!”

“Really? Because let me tell you, this is all lining up very well with what we’ve come to expect of your character.” Riq IV heaves a world weary sigh, bracing himself for what’s to come (this particular turd, and the circumstance of his Rick being such a generous contributor, always makes everything so difficult), and passes the report along for the other council members to peruse. Can’t effectively threaten this one, really. But like hell he won’t try. “Here’s our working theory, turd. You believe that you’re special, and brave, or some shit, and- and you think that because your Rick happens to donate to us often that we have to tolerate this kind of shit from you and take it on the chin. That your actions here don’t have consequence. Am I in the ballpark, C-136?”

“Not even close!”

“Then do you want to tell us what the fuck happened?! Do you want to, oh, I don’t know--- clue the council in on why you saw fit to push a Rick to the ground, stamp repeatedly on his ballsack, and punch him in the face until... he- cried---? Jesus Christ, in- in hindsight- this geezer’s not reflecting on us well. How does this even happen? He got fucked up by a Morty? I mean, at that point, you pretty much deserve whatever happens, right? What the fuck was I even reading there, y’know?” 

Riq IV isn’t quite addressing C-136 come the end of that impassioned order for an explanation, and is instead glancing at the other members incredulously, brow knitted indignantly. The other four Ricks murmur heatedly in irritable agreement, though they’re keen to point out Mortys should never possess the balls to lash out at a Rick violently regardless. With a nod of his head, the spokesman looks down upon the yellow-shirted bastard beneath him, and snaps, “Whenever you’re ready, C-136. Take your time! I know you think this Citadel bows to your goddamn whims either way. Go ahead and phone a fucking friend- why not? You’re- you’re a little monster.”

“Oh, I’m ready, you stupid haircut having- you’re a- dumb ass motherfucker,” Morty spits vehemently, gritting his teeth, before catching himself. His gaze briefly averts, as if in wordless apology for his blunt outburst. He draws himself up slightly, gesticulating with his hands as he attempts to get across his reasoning. “Look, I know it sounds bad. It was bad! It was! I know. But that Rick, he- he was, he was pushing this Morty around, being such a dick, making fun of him, and- there was... he didn’t even have a reason! That Morty was mute, y’know? He’d- he’d had his tongue cut out, or- or maybe ripped out by some sorta alien... I don’t know. He was making this awful gurgling noise, he was frightened, and- what, was I just supposed t- to walk on by? Pretend I couldn’t see that happening?!”

“That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.” Riq IV says pointedly, as if affronted he has to clarify the obvious at all. “We can only assume that Morty was behaving in a way to make him deserve that, just as you should have assumed, turd. Besides, I’ll have you know that tongueless Mortys are in, uh- pretty high demand, for the more morally ambiguous Ricks. In fact, I’m pretty sure we offer services for a humane snip of the tongue. We do that, guys, right? ... Maybe it’s more of a black market thing? Yes. It’s- it’s just an adjustment that can be made to you little bastards, for a price, much like implanting chips into your spines and weaponizing you for efficiency. And let me tell you something: it’s one that I plan to recommend to your grandfather if you continue to push your luck. Our tolerance only goes so far, no matter how much of an asset Rick C-136 is to the development of our Citadel. We won’t exactly crumble without him.”

“Fuck you! Wh- what the fuck is WRONG with you?! Y- you wanna know something?! You wanna know what I think?! Don’t answer: I- I know you don’t, but fuck you, and listen up anyway! Every single one of you BASTARDS are DEFINITELY gonna die with each other’s dicks in your throat from how much you suck each other off! How can you sit up there, and say shit like that, and- and not hear how fucking awful you all sound?!” 

His gesturing hands have long since returned to his sides, and his arms are tensed where they rest- C-136 is acutely aware of the fact that he’s trembling, shaking with anger that has never felt more well founded. Despite himself, he curls his fingers and balls them into fists, as if- as if he could swing for those smug motherfuckers up there from all the way down here. Morty has to jut his chin just to regard them with all this fury, and there’s nothing to goddamn do with it- his breathing quivers from his lungs tensely, and there’s a challenging look crystal clear in his blazing eyes. Can’t do anything about it, the reminder bangs in his brain. The Guard Ricks posted all around don’t even motion to grip their guns tighter, because they fucking know it, and the council fucking knows it, and they know he’s painfully aware of it, too. 

Their broad, shit-eating grins say it all--- at least, they do, until Ricktiminus Sancheziminius sees fit to glance upward briefly by chance, and winds up visibly starting, and fixing his gaze on something else entirely. Somebody else. Somebody other than the spectacle of that notoriously difficult Morty having an outburst. Ricktiminus Sancheziminius nudges Riq IV sharply in the side, and upon gaining the other’s attention and irritable acknowledgement, indicates the new arrival to the spokesman. He soon sobers, flashing the figure at the entrance to their chambers a bemused look- and the others are quick to follow his lead. Morty’s brows knit, and he glances over his shoulder- heart sinking---no, outright dropping---deeply into his stomach the very instant he’s processed it. 

Fuck.

“Ah, your keeper’s here, C-136. Rick Sanchez, earth dimension C-136! We presume our message reached you in a timely manner... and yet, enough time has passed for your grandson to spit vulgarities at us for quite a while. I certainly hope we didn’t pull you away from anything important...” Riq IV smiles strangely, almost as if simpering. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and there is something deeply false to the curve of his mouth. Belching, he waves a careless hand, as if to dismiss his own backhanded, apologetic sentiment before the other can even respond to it. “... Though it begs the question of what could be more important than the Citadel. We both have this society’s best interests at heart, after all.”

“Yeah, y-eeeuurgh-eah, what-the-fuck-ever.” Rick replies, sweeping into the chambers and standing at Morty’s side, flashing him a deeply vexed look. He probably heard that whole last part, and out of context, it doesn’t really reflect well on the flicker of patience he's been trying to maintain all the while. “I was balls deep in the concept of time when you motherfuckers called me, so ex-cuse me if I’m not particularly chirpy about being called over this time around. He- he better have at least killed someone, is what I’m saying. I was getting action. Literally fucking with time. I- I don’t wanna fucking be here for anything less.”

Morty’s mouth falls open as he hastens to try and explain himself, ready to trip over his own spluttering words until Rick comes to understand that he was just trying to help- before he realizes, dully, that it won’t even matter. Huffing, the teenager simply looks askance, knowing full well Rick won’t take his side on this. Almost can’t take his side on this. Though it’s not like the other ever strives to have his back anyway. 

This train of thought is a bitter one, and it rattles through his head so loudly, all the biting reminders that he’s in a room full of people who don’t give a shit what he has to say in the slightest, that he briefly tunes out from the exchange between the council and his disapproving grandfather. Their words are little more than buzzing in his ears, but he doesn’t miss much. They’re just filling his companion in on what shit trick he’s pulled this visit. A sharp flick against the side of his head soon bumps him back to reality, and a deep scowl curls the sixteen year old’s lip as he rubs it, fighting the innate urge to bitch. Rick scoffs at him, before turning his attention back to the six alternates perched up there.

“See that? Not even listening. Look, this time last year, Morty was all over the Citadel, just like I am. Nobody’s saying anything about taking issue with this place. Nothing but support in the C-136 household. He’s just going through a little phase, in case you can’t tell. You ever had a sixteen year old Morty? Nightmare. Rebellion, he’s all- all stick it to the Ricks, y’know? He’s just being a c-eeeuurgh-ontrary little shit. Christ, the whole reason he’s here is to pick some crap up that I ordered- did you even fucking get around to grabbing that, Morty? Before you started swinging for Ricks?”

“Yeah. I got it.” Morty says shortly. “Laruxion ore.” 

He finds himself physically biting down on his tongue, as if to chastise it prematurely as it twitches to run away with him about what a nightmare even just grabbing Rick’s shit was, too. The shopkeeper glared down at him, and asked a few dozen hostile questions about what a Morty was doing picking up something so volatile, so potentially dangerous, for his Rick. If it were up to me, he’d declared, unwillingly bagging the package up all the same, you wouldn’t be running around with something like this. Taking it to your Rick or otherwise. Guy can’t pick up his own shit?

“Aw, jeez. Well,” Morty had shot back, unable to help himself, “don’t you all think we’re too stupid to do anything smart anyway? Either you think Mortys are capable of falling the entire Citadel with this ore, and you won’t fork that shit over to me because of that, or you think we’re dumbass, i- incapable, um, y’know- sidekicks. In which case, there’s- there’s no harm in handing it over to me. Right? Just saying, y’know. Y- you guys should pick a lane. Aw, jeez.”

Suffice to say, Shopkeeper Rick was not impressed with his take on the matter, and all but threw the bag across the counter into Morty’s fumbling hands, before angrily shooing him off.

“Might as well have done it myself. Can’t even run an errand without getting stirred up in shit. Look, council,” Rick grouses, pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of utter annoyance, “Let’s just call this square. We all fucking paid for his shit trick today, right? I got blue balls, you had to, uh... rightfully bitch at him, waste your... precious time on a dumbass Morty. And he’s gonna get a fucking earful. I’d- I’d say it won’t happen again, but, Christ- is- was he even entirely in the wrong? If a Rick can get taken out by a Morty, he’s not exactly a valuable member of this society. The society I funnel a lot of fucking cash into on a monthly basis, might I add. G- g-eeeUURGH-etting pretty sick of the same old bitchfest about every toe my moron puts over the line when he’s here. Do you guys do this for every Morty that acts out? I’m just sp-eeEUURGH-itballing over here, but- I kind of thought I was donating to people that had slightly better shit to do than pull my Morty up for being a little- a little angsty, or whatever the fuck, right now.”

“... We do this for Mortys that repeatedly cause issues within our citadel. Which yours does to the point of notoriety, C-136. If you’d only rein in your Morty, this wouldn’t be an issue to begin with---”

“Oh, my God- shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck UP---”

“Morty, YOU shut the fuck up. Sorry for him, as usual. Are we done here?”

“... Of course. We, uh, we’d like to reiterate our gratitude for your contributions to maintaining the-”

“Yeah, yeah, leave me another f-eeEUrrrgh-ucking voicemail about it. Come on, Morty. Y- you’re gonna- I’m gonna fucking kill you when we’re outta here,” Rick chastises, and reaches out to grip his forearm and pull him along as he paces away from his six alternates, muttering darkly under his breath all the while. Visibly nettled by the threat, the sixteen year old bitches top note and makes several efforts to wrench his arm free- and easily manages it once they’re back in the sea of alternates that is the main hub of this hellhole as Rick reluctantly eases his hold.

“Don’t grab me! And- and y’know what, don’t bust my balls about this, either. Would it kill you to be on my side? Like, ever? Wh- why would I beat on anyone for no goddamn reason, Rick?!” Morty explodes, and his grandfather rakes a hand through his tufts of blue hair and glares.

“You know exactly why, Morty. Besides. I’m not exactly in the business of backing you up- not sure if you’ve noticed. Because you’re never actually in the right. You’re just taking everything to heart and poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, as usual. Got that?” 

There’s a certain bitterness behind his words. How the hell do you think it’s going to reflect on me if they know I’ve never been able to put a lid on your shit, Morty? Rick sets off walking, and for a moment, Morty hangs back- hesitating to follow, eyes narrowed fiercely at the other’s retreating back... before he groans, and hastens to scramble through the thick crowds and catch up, demanding an explanation all the while.

“Why do you even put up with their crap, Rick? I- I don’t get it. You’re throwing money at a bunch of dicks, t- to support something you don’t even- to support the fucking Shitadel?” Morty gesticulates wildly, hazel eyes narrowed and gaze intent as he regards his older relative, forearms raised and fingers splayed out in a demonstration of utter bewilderment. “I’m just trying to understand why- why the fuck you would do that! Y’know? Y- you don’t even like this fucking hellhole! The people who live here don’t even like it! I just, I- I don’t---”

Rick’s shoulders slump under this bout of badgering, and, if only to quieten the idiot down, he caves. Lowers his voice and mutters quietly, so as not to be listened in on by anyone around them. 

“You don’t g-eeURRGH-et it? Yeah, I heard you the first time. Look, M-Bomb, if I know those assholes---and I am those assholes---being, y’know, blatant about hating their fucking guts isn’t the way to go. If I say what I think, tell ‘em to suck my balls and shove their society up their ass, how- how exactly do you see that playing out for me?” 

Rick pauses, as if awaiting an answer. Bewildered, the teenager beside him blinks a tad owlishly, and at long last, opens his mouth in preparation to fumble for some sort of answer. The very moment he begins to speak out uncertainly, his grandfather purposefully presses on with his point, much to the boy’s visible aggravation.

“I’ll tell you how it’s gonna play out for me. I- I know it’s a little beyond your, uh, limited understanding, Morty. They’re gonna scout for a new paypig, come in the night, haul us outta home, take my portal gun, and make me a fucking janitor, Morty. Meanwhile your dumb ass is gonna- you’ll end up in that shitty Morty School, taking classes on how to bark great idea, grandpa, like- like some mindless little moron who can’t think for himself. They’d parade you around as an example of how well they break you little bastards down into yes-man sidekicks, since you’re such a stubborn piece of shit. And that’d be if y-eeEUrgh-ou’re lucky, by the way.”

“... Ha. Yeah, well, don’t- don’t talk like you wouldn’t like that. The last part, I mean.” He snorts, and a brief flicker of amusement brightens his companion’s resigned expression. Rolling his eyes, Rick rolls his shoulders into a shrug as they walk, moving through the sea of yellow-shirted teenagers and lab-coated fossils.

“Only if you don’t talk like you wouldn’t get a fucking kick out of seeing me scrub a toilet,” he snipes, and they exchange a glance. 

There’s a brief, strange moment wherein something shifts between them- all the unspoken anger, the seething temper, the typical wariness that clings to the air that hangs between them seems to all but ebb away. 

Morty cracks first. The corners of his mouth twitch upward slightly, a fit of snickers rises in his throat... and the second Rick clocks that he’s going to burst out laughing, he cracks up, too. They laugh, and they laugh, and just when it seems that they’re going to calm back down, they catch each other’s eye and lose it all over again. The other Ricks and Mortys waiting in line for a return portal to their dimension cast them strange looks as they all but giggle feebly beside each other, adamantly refusing to meet each other’s gaze in a fervent effort to recover, now; letting things lapse back into their norm. 

All good things eventually draw to a close, and sure enough, this temporary, shared moment of reciprocal sentiment is one of them. The teenager can’t help but push it, however. Let it last just a minute longer. I won’t hate you again, just for a fraction more time. Don’t hate me again, just for a bit longer. While Rick moves to procure his silvery flask from his pocket, amused grin easing in the corners as his expression becomes idly impatient once more, Morty inhales, picking at a loose thread on his sweater if only to busy himself with something, too.

“Hey, Rick?” His tentative broach at conversation is met with a grunt while the old man slugs back his potent alcohol supply. Casting his grandfather a tentative smile, he fidgets with his fingers. “... Thanks. And- sorry. I- I know you hate, y’know, this whole- paying off this shithole, so we don’t wind up here, and stuff. And seeing those motherfuckers, and their stupid haircuts, more than you have to.”

... The sentiment doesn’t quite have the effect he wanted. Rick doesn’t smile back, once he’s finished downing the last drops from his flask. His brow narrows as he shoves it back into the pocket of his lab coat, and he shakes his head dismissively, refusing to take the attempt to uphold their good mood at face value. Disdain creeps right back into his tone- that distaste and disapproval over Morty’s every choice today rearing it’s ugly head with a vengeance, it seems.

“Yeah. I do. So I guess you owe me b-eeUURGH-ig time, Morty.” 

He returns simply, and Morty’s heart sinks upon registering the snippy edge to Rick’s tone... before he soon finds himself frowning deeply, annoyed with himself for even trying; consumed with that aching anger once again. There’s a certain, undeniable comfort to be found in how familiar the feeling is. Losing the moment of enjoying one another’s companionship, of things being how they were some two years ago again, stings. Undoubtedly. But it’s better not to dwell on them. 

Part of him always wonders if it’s his fault they are the way they are. Keeping each other at arm’s length. Essentially communicating through picking fights over nothing, and bickering over absolute bullshit, with terribly occasional, painfully rare warm moments interspersed amidst all of their resentment. If he were only more wide-eyed and naive, Rick wouldn’t be like this with him. Right? Rick thinks that Morty doesn’t know precisely what his fucking problem is, but it doesn’t exactly take a genius to decipher why he’s so harsh with him most days. Read between the lines of his grandfather’s unspoken resentment. 

No. It takes a smart, capable Morty, unafraid to call him or anyone, really, on bullshit, and injustice. And he never wanted that. What sort of Rick fucking does? The entire point of a Morty is to stand beside you, go along with whatever you say despite their own rightful apprehensions, to freak out and struggle and be impressed, awed, and horrified by the shit you pull. They’re sidekicks, but they’re never supposed to be all that competent. That’s the role of the Rick, after all. C-136 was fearful and clueless when they adventured in his youth, sure. There was a time. But he outgrew it far too fast, picked up on things far too quickly, keen for approval he didn’t want to give purely because of how actually deserved it was. Jesus, even as a kid, he was perceptive. Intrusively so. Full of cutting observations--- with alarmingly poignant outbursts over how Rick conducted himself, dripping with disdain for his behaviour, being plentiful from the tender age of eight.

Rick speaks.

“... Quit pulling this shit.”

Morty snaps.

“Quit being shit, Rick.”

They fix one another with a long, lingering look. It feels like a game of chicken- daring the figure across from them to be the one to break the prolonged staredown they’re locked into... and in turn, out himself as the coward ultimately too afraid to face up to the other. It ends in a perfect draw; grandfather and grandson tear their gazes away at the same moment, scoffing over how stupid it was at all, deliberately shuffling to sit a few more inches apart from one another. 

Distance from it, the duo both decide sullenly. Never as different from one another as they like to insist, unbeknown to the two of them. All you can do. He can’t be told.

Rick and Morty, Earth Dimension C-136, await their assigned portal back home in silence; the balance restored in their uncaring world, and dynamic decidedly chilly once more.

[bigskydreaming]

Hey friendly reminder that I honestly do not want anyone to follow me unless they actually WANT to which means they are free to unfollow, refollow, leave and come back and leave again or WHATEVER as many times as they want, for any reason whatsoever. Including if my posting styles of the moment get to be too much for them or are not to their liking, etc?

BUT I have been seeing a surge in comments in notes and stuff on various posts of mine about the length of my posts or the rambling of my posts and like....I know? This is not new information to me? But I post the way I post at any given time based on the resources I have at any given time and the fact that its often a matter of I can post a long rambling post or I can make no post at all.

Like, I really truly do not like going into specifics about my situation more than necessary or when not necessary, because like, my situation is boring to me, I don’t particularly care to dwell on it any more than I have to. But the fact of the matter is its still a thing that exists so here goes: yes I have physical issues like near constant migraines and pain and also vertigo, and yes I have neurodivergencies like C-PTSD and ADHD and yes I have circumstances that include near constant stress from eternally being in the negatives, financially, as well as being almost constantly hungry from a lack of money and limited options for eating due to the physical constraints of my jaw as well as being consistently sleep deprived because there’s only so much sleep you can get when there’s no such thing as a physically comfortable sleeping arrangement for you currently, all while existing in a constant limbo of I literally have NO idea when any of this will change for me because haha fun fact WE LIVE IN A PANDEMIC.

My point is like......all of these are things I’m not shy about, but they don’t exist as bullet points in a checklist of identity or circumstantial traits, they all exist at all times as points of fact that influence and inform and interact with each other.

So my financial situation and limbo of not being able to move forward with my surgery because of the chaos of the health care industry during a pandemic directly informs both the way stress impacts my mental health issues, but also my ability to treat my mental health issues by way of medication, nutrition, rest.....ie, almost every cent I make via work, etc, goes right back out the door to keeping up my insurance premiums of $850 a month, because even though my surgery is paid for, there’s still elements like hospital stay fees, anesthesia, etc, that won’t be paid until the day of surgery itself, and which I will not be able to pay without my insurance remaining current and active. Which means that I had to prioritize an insurance package that would net me THOSE benefits, which means I had to sacrifice parts of insurance that are no longer in that package, but which previously made things like my medications, refill appointments and therapy more affordable for me. 

Which means that I have to prioritize my medication and therapy etc and maintain my therapy and PTSD, depression and anxiety meds as the most important to upkeep, while my ADHD meds are pretty much priced out of accessibility for me at the moment. Like, the specifics of my metabolism and various trial and error with different meds over the years and the way my body rapidly adapts to various meds and plateaus to a point where they cease to have any real impact on me means the only ADHD medication that’s consistently effective for me is Vyvanse, which there isn’t a viable generic form of that I can take, meaning a monthly refill of it is $350 without insurance, which I flat out can not ever afford anymore, which means its been roughly two months since I last popped an ADHD pill.

So yeah, that directly impacts things like my ability to self-edit, make a point briefly, or refrain from circling back to the same point several times over and over because I literally forget that I made it.

Now of course ADHD medication is not the be-all and end-all and its not like there aren’t various other life-hacks and coping strategies for working around ADHD even without it, after all, I didn’t even get diagnosed until I was 26. But these various other adaptations rely on things like good nutrition (which I can not regularly afford, or even consume....most leafy green vegetables for example, or fruits other than berries, are literally nonstarters for me because I don’t have enough leverage with my one-sided jaw to CHEW them in the first place, and the ingredients for making smoothies regularly are again, expensive). So nutrition as a hack for ADHD management is pretty much out - I’m too busy prioritizing eating anything I can, whenever I can afford to. Other adaptations involve getting lots of rest: something that again, physically isn’t all that viable for me these days, even leaving aside the effects of constant stress on attempts at getting meaningful rest, along with the constant stress and constraints of trying to work as much as humanly possible in my circumstances, in order to keep bringing in income to go to insurance, rent, and food and meds. Then there’s also the stabilizing effects exercise and physical activity can have on the brain and various neurodivergencies like mine, but the migraines and vertigo make most forms of exercise a nonstarter for me, with most of the rest invalidated by the fact that I’m pretty much always hungry, tired, and in chronic pain.

Now let’s examine work and the viability of obtaining more sources of income to help with all this. Well, my options are limited there too due to the ecosystem of factors in play. I’ve been trying for awhile to find even a part time job in my area I can do, but the problems are even though I can make myself mobile and active through my pain issues and migraines, and am even good at gritting and bearing it and acting like I’m smiling and laughing and happy even while in excruciating pain (yay, perks of childhood abuse making a career in retail viable even while practically dead on my feet, lololol)......there’s the simple physiological limitation that I just can’t stay upright RELIABLY for more than a couple hours at a time. Eventually, dizziness knocks me on my ass. Downside of a jaw that’s constantly hanging with all its weight from one side of your face, fucking with your ability to even stand up straight, not to mention causing inner ear and equilibrium problems at random whenever you open or close your mouth in the wrong way (or mere approximation of ANY kind of way).

So, standing upright at any kind of customer service or retail job is one issue. Stocking stuff, that sort of thing.....not really an option when you’re likely to drop all of it at any given moment. But then there’s bracing myself at cash registers, something like a job at Starbucks or hell there’s a Jamba Juice nearby, that’d also get me an employee discount for smoothies I can drink regularly. Course, there’s the whirring of blenders and such, which pair great with constant migraines. Etc. Etc.

BUT. I’m a well-rounded person with lots of skills....which lead to things like my freelance graphic design business as a book cover designer, as well as various writing endeavors, etc. And all of these are things that I DO do, currently. They’re how I make my income as is. There’s absolutely more jobs out there, but the fact is as a freelancer, FINDING additional jobs is a time consuming and spoon consuming process, that is additionally impacted by factors like ADHD, so not only does looking for work require time that’s not already being spent working, it also requires the management and expenditure of mental resources that I have to prioritize FIRST towards applying them to what work I already DO have, given the absence of ADHD medication and minimal coping or regulatory habits allowing for me to be all that productive WITHOUT said meds.

Not to mention the strain sitting in front of a computer all day for work in venues like graphic design, etc, puts on migraines, so there’s only so many hours I can devote daily or in one sitting to doing things like cover work. Much of my writing time is spent not actually writing, but me just dictating into notes on my phone and then copying and pasting all that into the appropriate formats for fiction, nonfiction and just random posts. Of course here then I have to prioritize applying my mental resources to first making sure the stuff I write to make money gets edited or properly pared down to size and isn’t repeating the same shit over and over and over, then doing the same to stuff I write fic wise as one of my few escapes from Real Life BS so I can at least point to having SOME kind of life (as this has been my daily existence for years, and uh.....people having things they like or like to do, as much as is humanly feasible, only becomes MORE of a necessity the more stress involved in their day to day life, not less). 

Meaning by the time I even get to posting, like.....as much as it may look like I do a lot of it, the speed at which I write when I have any kinds of spoons to apply to posting or composing thoughts at ALL means I actually pour out a lot in a little span of time.....BUT that’s not like, a Skill so much as its a Fact. Its just the way I am and it comes with its downsides as well as its upsides....Im good at banging out a lot in a short amount of time, but ONLY when I just....let it go, versus try and regulate it all or squeeze it out bit by bit. I’m a sprint poster these days rather than a marathoner, even if the length of my thoughts makes it LOOK like the latter.....the reality is for me it tends to be all or nothing, its whatever I can get on the page BEFORE I lose my breath or train of thought. So that’s why it looks the way it does, because that was the only form it was coming out at the specific time and space when I had the energy and brainpower TO get it out, and going back in hindsight and editing it for clarity or brevity AFTER I gasp it all out requires energy and breath I do not have PAST that point, so it becomes a simple equation of well do I want a post to exist here at all or not at all.....and I err on the side of posting. This isn’t a defense because there’s nothing to defend, mind you, I’m simply explaining my way through my thought process, approach to things, and realities of my day to day existence for you to do with whatever you want. Its just a perspective you may not have had before. Whatever. 

Of course, even this doesn’t exist in a void. Something that’s always a factor in my awareness when posting is like......I’m lucky enough to have a large enough following that cares enough about what I have to say for whatever reasons or puts enough value in what I have to say or the things I write and create, that I’ve been able to supplement my financial needs when absolutely necessary at times, by way of donation posts. I try not to lean on them more than necessary because I am keenly aware that they are a gift from people, many of whom I do not know and will likely never meet, and as such, not something I have any form of expectation for. I make donation posts when and where I do not in the anticipation of getting them met, but simply for a lack of any other options whatsoever. I’m limited in the work I can do, and the time and energy I can devote to finding more of that same work. There’s not a ton of other career paths I can pursue even from behind a computer due to my lack of a college degree, and the fact that even when I’m qualified skill or knowledge wise, I lack the specific credentials for verifying that I possess those skills or knowledge in a way employers are inclined to recognize and/or validate. Going BACK to school to get said credentials is an expenditure of time, finances, and other resources I do not have to spare at the moment or any time soon, especially not in the name of shoring up a lack of all that in the present term. 

I dropped out of college freshman year after my gaybashing and rape. I never went back to it for a variety of reasons that were only half about resources and half about intent. My family is not a presence in my life and hasn’t really been in any significant way since I was eighteen, so college in the first place was something I had to be entirely self-sufficient about....I was only able to afford to go the year that I did go by way of academic scholarships that were dependent on grades I couldn’t keep up in the wake of what happened to me, and that I couldn’t exactly ever get back without a foundation to build upon, like high school and my initial academic career. Then in the half that was about intent, I eventually moved into pursuing my actual interests like writing, graphic design and acting. One of the things I’ve always loved about those is that output and portfolio nets you more than credentials most of the time....they ARE your credentials. I was actually pretty damn successful as an actor for years, not in the way that leads to being someone that people would recognize, but in the way that leads to being able to support yourself doing what you love. All the skillsets that I have but could not back up with things like a diploma were still useful to me as an actor in a way that they’re not in terms of getting things like tutoring or teaching jobs.....I speak multiple languages but I’m self taught, I have a black belt in karate, I’m a classically trained pianist, I know a whole lot of shit about random shit that I just learned because I wanted to, and all of that got me the kind of work that I was looking for and meant I COULD work and make a living off those things for years throughout my twenty....work that I would not have been able to get if I had been back sitting in a classroom instead. The primary currency of my years as an actor were life experiences and I had those in spades, and I was very good at what I did, if I do say so myself, and the reasons I never advanced further career wise tended to have less to do with whether or not I booked the roles I auditioned for and whether I got the auditions at all......

I’m getting a bit off topic here but I’m just saying there’s definitely a convo to be had at some point, about the roles and opportunities I turned down because I wasn’t willing to sleep with someone or put up with their advancements in order to do so. Something that’s a dime a dozen in Hollywood and the thing is.....I was a sex worker, for years, before I moved to Hollywood and started working as an actor. But there’s a distinct difference between the way people talk about, interact with and perceive someone who’s gotten roles because of sex, advanced up a corporate ladder because of sex...versus, gotten paid because of sex. I didn’t turn down offers of roles for sex because of my hang-ups about sex but rather other peoples’......I had a problem with various parts of the industry that would have thought nothing about me getting a role because a producer wanted to sleep with me, but would have turned up their nose at me because I slept with someone to get money for groceries before. Basically I’m just saying the specific bullshit Hollywood has not just about sex but predatory behavior got in the way of my career advancement because there were some games I just wasn’t willing to play....which hails from the very life experiences that oftentimes made me so good as an actor in the first place.

Which brings me back again to my main point......none of this exists in a vaccuum. Being the sum of our life experiences and variables means being the SUM of that, at ALL times, both in large and small ways. We are never just a LIST of identity traits or experiences. They all constantly loop back around and feed into each other and inform where we are at every second of every day and where we GO in each second, what we DO with our days and the choices we make.

Which is where so much of my discontent with fandoms, on social media in general, with PEOPLE in my day to day life comes from: this desire people have to compartmentalize, to ZERO IN on specific factors or variables or instances and act like it even CAN be divorced from all other influences. Its not that you can’t FOCUS on one thing at a time, its just even when you do that, that doesn’t like....snap all existing connections that thing has to everything outside of your area of focus.

As an example, my attitudes on being a survivor and various kinds of fiction get me a ton of pushback from various corners, and its all geared around the same premise: don’t like, don’t read. Put a wall up between you and it. Focus on just what you’re doing and forget what everyone else is doing.

But it doesn’t work like that. It CAN’T work like that. And this commitment people have to pretending it does just because that pretense has been working for them, THAT, I’d argue, is the true wedge in fandom spaces.

Everything about me is connected to something else. I’m a childhood abuse and incest csa survivor. When my therapist asks me to picture a moment from my childhood when I felt safe or protected, I got nothing. I don’t have that resource. I don’t know what that feeling is meant to feel like, because I never felt it. And that connects directly into the fact that when I was gaybashed in college, after they dumped me in a fucking park, bleeding and covered in writing, I didn’t even think about going to the hospital, the police, let alone calling anyone like my parents, I just picked myself up and walked back to my dorm, cleaned myself off as best I could, and went to class next Monday morning. That’s fucked up, I shouldn’t have had to, but its what I did, and there’s no divorcing that from any of the contexts of WHY that’s what I did, and why I didn’t think there was any other logical recourse or option for me then. Just like all of that also links back to growing up in the closet and entering high school the same month Matthew Shepherd was attacked, and then when he ultimately died two months later, and watching everybody’s reactions to that informed the fact that I did not remotely feel safe in the aftermath of my attack, disclosing what happened to people around me, or just like I didn’t take it on face value that even if they said appropriately sensitive things to me to my face didn’t mean that like when I was a freshman in high school and everyone was reacting to that, they wouldn’t revert to callous jokes about fags the second they felt a little less out of the spotlight or in the right company for those jokes. 

And all of that directly links into my feelings not just when people write rape and gaybashing scenes that make no attempt at any kind of catharsis but rather only appear to exist for the fetishization, the glamorization, the VALIDATION of the idea that in the right context, those kinds of scenes can be hot to the right audience rather than demoralizing to the figure who’s pain and humaniliation is required for everyone else’s entertainment....but it also additionally plays into the reactions and attitudes I have when people look at me going “wow, really don’t like the lens you’re using here or the environment you’re creating around an experience that is never anything BUT painful and traumatic for someone who lived it, like I did” and choose to respond to that by saying things that amount to “well you’re basically just like conservative southern assholes who hate free speech when you say stuff like this,” cuz y’know.....that’s describing my literal oppressors. That’s lumping me in with the actual literal kind of people who are the SOURCE of my trauma there, all because you felt butthurt and defensive about how I said I wasn’t comfortable with the kinds of jokes and output you were making about scenes that aren’t that far divorced from my own personal reality, and that I shouldn’t HAVE to divorce from my own experiences just to exist within certain fandom spaces.

And just like the fact that being an incest survivor is directly relevant to the fact that my stepmother always made an effort to keep me at a distance because not wanting to admit to what happened to me and how it played into our family entanglements was directly linked back to the fact that she and my aunt were both incest survivors who never got the opportunities to deal with what happened to them, which in turn directly plays into the fact that ultimately my aunt ended up taking her own life a few years ago, which also very much informs my attitude towards people interacting with incest ships as something cutesy and uwu, as my aunt was literally the only person in my family I ever WAS close to or comfortable with. And there’s no divorcing any of that into nice neat little compartments that make it easier for anyone on the outside looking in to just peek through ONE window to see what they might see, and try and act like it doesn’t matter what’s in any of those other boxes because it has nothing to do with the only one they want to concern themselves with.

And my lack of resources and emotional state post gay-bashing led directly into my sex work for various reasons, which led in various ways to better things for me in some respects, while compounding certain traumas of mine in other respects, and there’s no divorcing any of that from the rest either. There’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was good’ even though some of it was and there’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was bad’ even though some of it really was. And a lot of the attitudes of some of the rich assholes who paid me for sex and viewed me as a plaything they could do anything to directly informs my resistance to letting powerful assholes in Hollywood hold roles over my head in exchange for sex, even though the latter could have advanced my career in huge ways and led to me being a lot more financially stable and self-sufficient by the time my physical issues emerged due to the jaw joint on one side of my head eroding through and snapping completely just like that in turn was a long-building repercussion of not just my gaybashing, but my decision to never go to the hospital and get checked out after it.

None of this can be cut away from the rest and trimmed into neat little pieces that don’t color outside the lines or impact anything else. Just like my gaybashing itself can’t be divorced from my white privilege, and the fact that it played into the fact that I survived that night in the first place. Something I say not in some weird white guilt kinda way like people try and project onto others for even acknowledging white privilege, like no its not like I fucking wish I died to prove some kind of weird point, what I’m talking about is just the simple basic AWARENESS that multiple and even contradictory factors exist in even the most extreme of situations. And its never anything BUT self-serving to pretend that you can frame it as otherwise.

And so when I talk about being a survivor, just like with all the rest of this, I’m not talking about some arbitrary status of survivorhood that exists in a specific point in time and is only relevant to some singular event I survived, its applicable to everything about my life big and small. I’m a survivor every single day I’ve survived, every day I wake up and keep moving forward despite the pain and stress and lingering trauma of what was done to me one night sixteen years ago, I’m surviving what they did every bit as much as I survived it that night and in the morning after as I dragged myself back to my room. Just like my status as an abuse survivor stemming from childhood directly informs everything about not just my coping mechanisms but my entire freaking worldview as someone who grew up throughout childhood learning to view the world through a lens in which he was simultaneously not safe due to the presence of victimizers in his own home, while at the same time still having certain protections that others don’t have in life in general due to not just again my white privilege but my male privilege, my cis privilege.

And that’s what makes it so laughable and so offensive when people act like I’m defining myself by being a survivor as some kind of singular identity trait whenever I raise it as something of relevance in fandom discussions that have EVERYTHING to do with stances of abuse apologism and homophobic ideas that directly play into why I was so unsafe in certain parts and times of my life, because who the fuck is anyone else to tell me how my experiences as a survivor and how they shaped me are or are not relevant to ideas pertaining to those very things, when brought front and center and face to face with me in various fandoms due to the insistence of fandoms at large on KEEPING these things front and center in almost ALL fandom discussions? Like, the hilarious irony of people who have so wholly centered certain types of ship and content in terms of their own personal fandom identities that they can’t help but feel personally attacked when someone so much as says “I don’t like the ideas you’re broadcasting alongside your choice to amplify and signal boost this kind of content because you’re not JUST signalboosting the content itself, but these specific perceptions of it and ideas in support of and in apology for it.”....like, turning around and saying IM too defined by my views stemming from my existence as a survivor. The call is coming from inside the house, lolol.

Again, none of this can be divorced from the rest. It can be focused on one piece at a time, but its connections to everything else that informs it in various RELEVANT ways, can not be made IRRELEVANT just because you don’t like the picture that forms when you’re forced to look at the WHOLE picture instead of just willfully condensing the frame to just the part you like or want to talk about.

And to bring it all home, looping back up to what I opened with:

Do you know how often I hear people say shit about the length of my posts or the rambling nature or in various ways act INCONVENIENCED by various things about how they have to interact with my posts when that interaction itself is still completely voluntary?

Taking in everything I said in this post, the way it all interconnects and informs other things, I’d like to ask anyone who has ever objected to some post somewhere or derided one because of something as ultimately nonconsequential as the length of it, something where its literally just like....scroll a few more seconds......do you apply the same energy and scrutiny to posts that cross your dash that are filled with various things like racism, transphobia, rape or pedophilia fetishization or abuse apologism, or do you let that slide by without acknowledgment before looking at a post that makes you sigh because of how fucking LONG it was and think...this, THIS is what I’m gonna choose to speak up about?

Because that’s ultimately what this is all about. Here’s the kicker with everything I said....my life could be better, I want it to be better, from the biggest aspects of it and pain issues to stuff just like.....the fandom communities I immerse myself in for my own attempts at having something to counterbalance real life stress. But at the end of the day, there’s no my life sucks or my life rocks....its still just...my life. And it has its good as well as its bad, and that ultimately hails from my choices, and the fact that like....even while there are choices I literally CAN’T make, I can be comfortable with the ones I DO make.

And so like......would my life be easier in some respects now if I’d gone back to school and gotten a diploma and had more job opportunities available to me? Yeah, for sure. But that awareness doesn’t mean I regret my choice NOT to go back to school when I DID have more opportunities for that, because the acting career I had at those times instead was the choice I made, with intent, and its one I’m still glad for making. Those experiences still matter, still meant something and still mean something to me. 

And do I wish that I’d coped with what happened to me in college in different, healthier ways that would have given me more tools for how I interact with my trauma and who I became after that, rather than how I did? Yeah, sometimes, for sure. But not without losing my awareness that the choices I did make at the time were not made in a vacuum, and can not be edited in hindsight....there were reasons I made them, reasons that were informed by everything that had happened to me previously and stemmed from a lot of things I still didn’t have control over and as such always placed a cap on the range of choices that were available to me back then, because there’s a difference between choices that exist in theory versus choices that exist as something that might viably be chosen at a particular place and time.

The world is big and complicated. Life is big and complicated. WE are big and complicated. And nothing about understanding any of that is IMO benefited by putting most of our effort into SHRINKING our worldviews, constructing artificial frames that don’t just focus us in on specific aspects of it for finite periods but attempt to then treat that as its own individual thing utterly disconnected from anything else that might be going on OUTSIDE that picture frame.

So if you’ve read this far and you’ve taken anything away from this big long rambling post that could be a lot shorter, could be a lot less rambling, but could also just not have been posted at all and I’d rather have it exist in this form than let everything in it go unsaid.....

My request would be that your takeaway be this: to look at your choices in regards to some specific finite interaction in even just one of your fandoms, and see what happens when you open the frame back up. If you widen the scope. If you let other things into the picture. Are you still comfortable with the choices you make or don’t make in light of THAT image, are they any different from the ones you made or would have made when keeping things as small and contained in your awareness as possible, just because that was easier for you to conceptualize, easier to navigate around, just....less COMPLICATED?

Because things aren’t made less complicated just by the mere fact of WANTING them to be.

And if your choices are more born of what you’d say or do IF the world were as finite or as limited as its sometimes easier to pretend it is......is that really the approach you want to go with and the reasoning you want to stand by?

And similarly, if there are choices you make and that in ORDER for you to feel comfortable making them, you feel a need to tighten your focus or shrink your worldview around one specific element or area and leave out all the rest and only then are you truly comfortable with doing or saying something, like......

Its important to remember that this isn’t the only option you have for making yourself more comfortable with things you say or do or think, or even just have in the past.

The other perfectly viable option exists: you can simply....make different choices.

[pertinax--loculos]

Update

Gonna try a new thing. I've seen these weekly updates from other writeblrs and it appeals to me because I can blather about writing or lack of writing (if it's been one of Those weeks), I can also include anything else I want, and it's a manageable goal to have for a start.

Tentatively breaking it up into writing, reading OR watching, real life (if applicable), and possibly excerpt (again, if applicable).

So! (Warning: This is long. I seriously babble like nothing else.)

Currently Writing Absent That Night (tagged: WIP: ATN)

wordcount: no clue, it's all on my phone and I've been writing scenes I'd previously written snippets for, so it's a mash-up. (Which reminds me I need to back it all up at least onto my computer.)

Proud of the short summary I did for my pinned post, so repeating it here:

Agent Latrell has been chasing the thief known as Nox for more than three years; but when bodies start turning up at his crime scenes, he’s the only one who believes Nox isn’t responsible. Unfortunately, he’s also the only other suspect. In order to clear his name, he’s going to have to find the real killer; and the only way to do that is to team up with a criminal who, it turns out, he knows absolutely nothing about.

still love love LOVING this WIP. I've got pages and pages of notes, and it is probably getting a wee bit too complex with subplots and suspects etc, but I'm an overwriter anyway so if I end up with a 200k word draft then shrug. More to work with

dunno if I mentioned or just thought it was obvious because I know it so well, but it has an enemies/rivals-to-allies(lovers?) (sub?)plot. So I've been pulling out a lot of threads there

technically I'm up to about halfway between the catalyst and break into two. Definitely not hardcore plotting but I do have an idea of the beats I wanna follow in the back of my head

Nox is still a fucking mess. I should probably stop piling trauma onto him, poor guy

my favourite creation this week is Mark Gault, who is a secondary/minor character who is amazing in every way. He is both essentially a ruthless mercenary and the "I LOVE MY WIFE" guy. (I also keep calling him Grant, instead of Mark, because he's actually the father of a character who first appears in Phase Two of CASCADE. (!!!))

basically happy with how it's all going this week. Regular writing is getting the juices flowing and it's easier to come up with ideas even when I've only got a vague notion of what is supposed to happen in the scene.

guys i am such an overwriter this is ridiculous please send help this scene was supposed to be like 2.5k total and it's turned into 4-5 scenes and is like 10k long dear god--

Currently Reading Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater, book three of the Raven Cycle

I have not just jumped in at book three of a series, I have read the previous two.

in the last week.

I've read eleven books in the last five weeks, so that's... something.

they have all been thrillers except for this series. (And also Girl One, which despite being marketed as a thriller was definitively NOT a thriller. Which, yes, I should've guessed from the tag line, but I'm still mad about it.)

I am in love with the prose. It feels similar to mine, but Better, and I have been unconsciously mimicking it.

(which may be a problem when I finish it and am still writing ATN, but that is an issue for Future Pockets)

ngl I was not a fan of the way the first book ended. Not only did I have to reread the final line multiple times in order to even begin to grasp it, but I kinda think it's a dick move to end on a cliffhanger, even for an established author and clear indications this was gonna be a series

(but you bought the next book, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU??)

very very much enjoying the series, to be concise (ha!). Love the characters and it's all pretty tightly paced. The overarching series arc kiiinda maybe feels a bit slow/irrelevant, and some of the motivations annoy me, but I keep reminding myself it's YA in which the motivations are in character, so

not far into this one yet but so far so good

I wrote this earlier this week and since have begun thinking the series arc is becoming more relevant, but am reserving judgement. Reading slower with work and reading but still enjoying it all

Real Life

continues to be mostly a pain in the ass. Apps in for a second job, research on next year ongoing

update: may have the dream second job, basically waiting for confirmation (fingers crossed!)

one of my housemates is the literal devil, although even that is being quite kind to her. The nice one is moving out because of it. People keep asking how I've lived in this house for three years. I have no answer.

enjoying writing time in evenings and feeling mentally pretty good thanks to exercise

Excerpt Long, nearly 900 words, but a favourite of recent pieces and also something I coincidentally wrote today. Nox and Latrell's third meeting, when Latrell is still, uh... resistant to the idea of working with him:

"Why me?" Not at all the way Latrell had intended to phrase it, but he couldn't take it back. He continued, quickly, instead, jumbled thoughts pouring out of his mouth. "Surely that's the least you can give me. You come to me and ask me to fucking help you after you've made the last three months of my life living hell, you can at least fucking tell me why the fuck that is. You owe me that much. I'm not letting you fucking walk away until you fucking answer me that."

Nox was silent for a long moment. He ran a calculating gaze up and down Latrell, as if searching for something; it wasn't apparent whether or not he'd found it when he said, softly, "And if I don't?"

Latrell was abruptly very aware of the weight of the handcuffs in his back pocket. He would have to move quickly. There was every possibility Nox would see this coming, especially if he'd been arrested before. But Latrell was quietly confident. He inched his hand back, keeping it subtle, eyes on Nox's face.

"In that case," he said, as evenly as he could. His fingertips brushed warm metal. "Perhaps we should try something--"

Everything went white.

For a moment Latrell thought he'd somehow lost consciousness; that he'd underestimated Nox's affinity for violence, that the man had punched him or otherwise managed to incapacitate him without otherwise moving. Then it occurred to him that he was still thinking, which essentially took unconsciousness off the table, and he realised, vaguely, that it was an illusion.

It was very, very convincing.

The entire world was an endless expanse of emptiness. Utterly, absolutely white, a whiteness that could not and should not exist. Latrell was overcome by a sensation of falling, of plummeting into nothingness; he had to concentrate to feel his feet still on the ground, to know he was still upright. He had nothing to orient himself. There was no up, no down, no left or right. Just that endless expanse of a lack of colour. He was hanging in nothingness, or everything.

"You forget who you are dealing with, Agent."

Latrell swallowed down nausea. Nox's voice came from startlingly close, the sound of it somehow wrong, which objectively he knew came from the fact that his brain was convinced it should sound small and insubstantial in this endless void but it sounded normal because he was actually still standing in the alley. It was academic knowledge only. He still felt like he was tipping or falling or rising, weightless and disoriented. He had no voice, no ability to open his mouth.

Experimentally he tried to take a step. He couldn't lift his foot off the ground. Physically, he was sure he could -- he could still twitch his fingers, if he thought about it -- but his mind was convinced that there was nothing to step away from, nothing to step onto. Just nothing, nothing, nothing. A brightness that wasn't a light, a void constructed of the pieces between atoms.

Nox's voice came from his other side this time. "I have attempted to do this civilly, but there are other options."

It was a struggle to concentrate on his words, close as they were. Latrell tried to narrow his focus to only sound, tried to ignore the nothingness he was suspended in, tried to tell himself it was all an illusion. Just something Nox wanted him to see. The Orn, threaded through his eyes or brain or soul, acting upon Nox's orders.

It didn't help. He was still in freefall.

"Do not," Nox's voice came, a bare whisper in his ear, breath brushing Latrell's neck, "Presume to test me."

Abruptly the white disappeared. Latrell was back in the alley, trying to adjust to the change of light, trying to find where Nox had gone. Turning his head made the ground roil beneath him and he staggered, utterly disoriented.

Fingers closed around his forearm, steadying him, and Latrell looked up to find Nox inches away.

"Easy, Agent," he purred. His smile was more a baring of his teeth.

Latrell wrenched away from him, staggering until his back connected with a comfortingly solid wall. He was dizzy, brain still adjusting to reality, but he managed to straighten his spine and set his shoulders. He kept his hands in front of him. In Nox's view.

"Do we have an understanding?" Nox said, still silky and low.

"Screw you," Latrell said, voice faint and alien.

Nox's smirk sharpened. "I thought so. Lovely chat, Agent Latrell." He sauntered past where Latrell stayed pressed against the wall, hesitated at the corner of the alley. "Keep up the good work."

He stepped forward and disappeared from view.

Latrell's breath left him in a rush and he doubled over, bracing himself on his knees. His head still spun, the unpleasant sensation he'd come to expect from vertigo. The backs of his eyelids were painted with a stark blank white. Every time he blinked he was engulfed.

It was far beyond any illusion he'd ever experienced. It was approaching the type he'd only ever read about in scientific articles.

You forget who you are dealing with, Agent.

Perhaps he had. But this assault supplied more than a reminder.

It also provided a piece of the puzzle.

[a-lonely-tatertot]

Finding Home

A/n: Hey this will be a multi chapter fic with a bunch of different ships and characters in it (expect them to all be gay in some way) this is based off of a set of hcs from @linhamon-roll  as always this was betaed by the lovely @bookwyrminspiration and I am extremely grateful for faer help! (Also if you guys like this enough tell me if you want a tag list for it, @everyonehasthoughts whoops posted this one instead)

Tw: talk of nightmares (if there’s more please tell me)

word count: 2760

Chapter 1: Back to the Beginning

Breathe.

“I’m not going to the upper levels,” the words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Wide eyes stared at her from all around the room. She managed to count three breaths before the inevitable outburst.

“What?!” Grady shouted. He’s not angry at you, she reminded herself, just surprised.

“Are you kidding?” Fitz whispered in confusion.

“You have to go to the upper levels. How else do you think you’ll become a part of society?” Alden said in his perfect no-need-to-worry voice that just made her want to smack him more.

“Sweetie I know it’ll be new and it’s normal to be scared-” Edaline started before she cut her off.

“I’m not scared okay? I don’t give a damn about being a part of society, and no I’m not kidding. This is my decision,” Sophie snapped. She was so done with this, with the stares, the names, being “Sophie Foster” and “human-raised”, a “war-hero;” she just wanted to be no one again. Maybe that made her a coward, but that’s who she was.

“Sophie, you’re not making sense,” Alden said, shaking his head, smiling that horrible venom-filled smile that barely contained the storm. Ever since she’d learned what Alden had done to his family she’d hated him almost as much as the Neverseen. Because he and Cassius were the same, but only one paid for it.

“Did I not speak clearly enough for you?” she asked, letting the hatred seep through her words and relished in the surprise on his face. “I am not going to the upper levels. I am not staying here either. Here I’m always going to be Sophie: the Moonlark, the leader of Team Valiant, the war hero. That’ll always be me. Here I’ll be stuck picking up the council’s mess for my entire life and I wanna be a kid still.”

“So what do you plan on doing?” Biana spoke up after a silence.

Breathe. “I’m going to go back to the Forbidden Cities, I’m gonna go back home.”

The uproar came back twice as loud as before. She was hit with hundreds of “no”s and “you can’t”s and the occasional “that’s illegal” but in between it all she locked eyes with Fitz. They didn’t need to be Cognates to understand what the other was thinking. She held his gaze and didn’t back down, this was her decision. Fitz smiled a bit at her stubbornness and nodded slightly. There wasn’t any danger from him, no “You can’t do this!” Nothing that the boy she used to know would do.

He’s different now, Sophie realized, how had she missed it?

Her eyes drifted to Biana who was staring at the middle of the room with a blank expression. It was like she wasn’t there, lost somewhere in an ocean of thought. Finally, she looked up, “It’s your decision Fos-boss.”

A hundred times before those words had been directed at her. When deciding the fate of the world she was always plagued by uncertainty. But for once, it felt right; she was going home. Alden and her parents would say no as many times as they could to make her stay, and Fitz and Biana would try at some point, but one way or another she was leaving. She’d be back eventually, but for a while, she wouldn’t have to be Sophie Foster.

The next night they had gathered everyone. Well, not everyone, just the people she cared about. Della and Livvy stood off to the side and Sophie smiled at their intertwined fingers. Maybe, just maybe they would be fine without her. Keefe stood quietly, his face blank, and it made her rethink everything. But Linh placed a steady hand on her shoulder and she was back. Stay focused, don’t lose it, Sophie told herself sternly.

Grady and Edaline watched her, and she wondered how the house would feel without her. She took a breath and turned to Dex. He, out of all of them, wasn’t quite ready for her to leave.

“I can’t make you stay, can I?” Dex asked. His voice wavered slightly and there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in all their eyes.

Sophie shook her head slowly, “Not this time.” Everything was in place, all she had to do was just leave. That was the hardest part. To make it real.

“C’mon Soph, we did it; it’s over,” his eyes pleaded with her. “Let me come with you.”

They had all tried this. In different manors, in different ways, except for Linh. All she did was wrap her arms tightly around her and squeeze like she would never let go. Some part of her, buried under many many layers of protection, knew that if Linh tried she could make her stay. “That’s the problem Dex,” she had said this so many times before, “We are always going to be fixing things and we’re always going to be fighting, and I am always going to be Sophie Foster the human. I just want to be normal, for a few decades that’s all. I’ll be back soon, just make sure to keep these idiots in check while I’m gone alright? I gotta do this alone.” Her voice caught on the last word as it dawned on her that it might be the last thing she would say to them for a long time.

Dex wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, picking her up slightly. “I’ll miss you dumbass.”

She nodded mutely into his shoulder, “Likewise asshole.” It’s time now. She stepped away, flash drive in hand, because if Dex couldn’t join her he would always help her. And she loved him for that.

She turned away from them. She dug her heels into the dirt and braced herself.

Three. Linh’s hand left her shoulder and she could feel all their eyes on her.

Two. It wasn’t the first time she had done this. It was teleporting. It was in her bones, literally.

One. Dex sucked in a breath in sync with her. The feeling of the tension running through her, becoming her, was intoxicating.

Zero. There’s no looking back now. And she ran. Her feet pounded the ground, her heart seemed to get faster with every stride. Dirt bounced with every thud of her shoes and she was free. And she jumped.

Falling. Floating. Landing.

The stale, polluted, stiff air greeted Sophie on the other side and she had never been more relieved to step into a broken world. Her broken home. From now on, she’d be Amilia Ruewen and that was okay.

“The hell you doing here kid?” an old woman stared her down from behind the counter. She had wrinkles; on her face, on her apron, on her surprisingly steady hands that held an outrageous stack of plates.

“Uh,” Amilia said nervously, “I need a job.”

The woman’s dark eyes narrowed further, “And you came here.” It wasn’t a question.

“That I did,” she muttered, it took every bit of her not to yank out her eyelashes.

With a huff, the woman set down the plates and walked out from behind the counter to march up to her. Amilia swallowed hard as the woman grabbed her hands from her sides. Her stark white hands seemed too pale and clean in the older woman’s dark hands. Amilia felt like she was under a microscope, like this woman could see every bit about her life as she stared at her hands.

“You’ve worked, you’ve fought,” she said quietly, and dragged her eyes up to hers. “If you can clean you’ve got a job.”

Something exploded inside her and couldn’t’ve been happier. But wait, “No cooking?” Amilia called out as the woman went behind the counter again.

She chuckled lightly, “Clean first, then we’ll see. Chop chop, it’s almost time for the rush and these tables still haven’t been washed.”

“I don’t even know your name ma’am!” Amilia realized suddenly.

“You want a name, new girl?” she said. fixing her with another hard stare, “It’s Mari, you’ve got a real name?”

Amilia closed her mouth tightly, “It depends on your definition of real.”

Mari let out a harsh laugh, “Less philosophy more cleaning.”

A smile tugged at her mouth as she caught the wet rag the woman tossed her.

By the end of the day, she had been introduced to the regulars as nothing more than “the new girl”. She had scrubbed the counters over and over and Mari still managed to look unimpressed. Her sweeping skills got corrected and she became more familiar with the crappy sink than she would’ve liked. If you turned the old fashion handle too far right, then the water was basically boiling. If it was too far to the left, you got ice. There was one temperature that was decent and it was not moved from that spot. Amilia had found that out the hard way.

When Mari flipped the paper and probably homemade sign from “open” to “closed”, she flopped down on one of the booths. She was tired and wiped, but it was good because she was happy. She couldn’t have done this in the Lost Cities. And she wouldn’t have done this in San Francisco. Because this was normal, and no one knew her name, and that was the opposite of everything she once was.

“You going home yet kid?” Mari asked from the lightswitch. She hadn’t thought about that, where she’d stay for the night. The booths weren’t optimal but they would work.

“Can I stay here for the night?”

“In these shitty booths? Not happening,” Mari responded, shaking her head lightly. Amilia’s heart fell to her stomach and Mari sighed at her probably pitiful expression, “You really don’t have a place to stay?”

Amilia shook her head. “Fine, come on. You can borrow my couch for the night.”

The night turned into two, to a week, to a month and eventually Mari stopped asking about her family.

“We’ve all got secrets,” she’d say, and Sophie wondered what her secrets were. Mari stopped asking about where she was going too.

“This is a pit stop town,” she said one night while they put away dishes.

“It wasn’t for you.”

“It’s where you find yourself when you’re young and get pulled back into when you’re old and broke.”

“Maybe I’m finding myself,” Amilia said only to get a hum in response.

The words that Mari had said when she first met her came to Amilia often. Could she really tell what she had gone through? Or was it some weird old lady thing she did to freak her out?

There was one night where the nightmares came back worse than ever. She woke with sweat soaking her shirt and barely breathing. There was soft clinking in the kitchen that sounded too much like throwing stars. She remembered how they felt in her hands, drawing her own blood as she cleaned them. The sweet release as they left her hand to make a soft thunk in her target. How the rush it gave Sophie was always followed by a thick sense of dread. Because if it made her excited, how far away was she from the monsters she fought?

“I thought it’d be a rough night,” Mari said leaning on the doorway.

“How did you know?”

“You’ve fought wars, those don’t go away easy. Come, I brought sugar, thought you would need it.”

So she stumbled her way into the kitchen, tired and trying as hard as she could to keep her tears in. Mari had pancakes and shakes and had brought them out to the front porch. The best thing about this place was you could see every star in the sky.

“How could you tell I’ve fought?” Sophie asked. The shake was shockingly cold against her hands and she tried to stop the shiver that ran through her. Mari rocked back quietly like they had all the time in the world to watch the stars move.

“You have the look in your eyes.”

“But you looked at my hands, why?” Somehow, the shake tasted like mallowmelt. The kind that Edaline would make on bad nights before tucking her into bed.

“Because your hands have been everywhere, they can tell stories if you let them.”

She decided not to ask any more questions, every answer would just be more confusing than the last. “And because they look like mine,” Mari finally said quietly.

“Oh.”

Mari didn’t look at her while she talked, “I saw a kid, who looked lost as hell with no immediate future, who had the hands of a fighter and eyes that held secrets. I thought I could do right by her.”

“I think you did,” Sophie said. For real this time, she wasn’t Amilia, she wasn’t trying to be her sister, for this night under the stars, she could be Sophie.

Over the year Amilia sometimes forgot about the demons that haunted her. Her past life- lives. They were not her anymore. Days and hours where nothing other than the simple act of flipping pancakes and washing tables were her only thoughts. The town was small and out of the way. No glittery castles and fancy houses. Only small farms, sketchy strip malls, and home. There was only one hint that she wasn’t human, the small leaping crystal around her neck.

“For emergencies,” Biana had said placing it gently around her neck.

“And when you’re ready to come back home,” Fitz had whispered against the top of Sophie’s head.

So it stayed around Amilia’s neck, night and day; a reminder that she never had and never would belong. But she wanted to; she craved it. And Mari made her feel somewhat normal.

She wanted something human. Something reckless and young, that was the human she wanted. Sitting at her computer at the table in Mari’s old yellow motorhome that had housed her, she found herself looking at colleges. When she was younger “college” was an expectation, perfect grades, perfect words, perfect scores. Sophie didn’t get to decide her future. To put it simply, it was never an option, her years were already filled with other’s ideas. But as Amilia clicked the tab for courses she realized that for once she controlled her next small forever. And in her next small forever she could just maybe belong.

Tables had been washed, the sun had gone down, and she had flipped the frayed sign. She had thought about it all day, the college she chose was far away and she didn’t know how to tell Mari this. The woman had become much closer to her than she thought she would. So as she grabbed her small packed duffle bag and held the door handle she tried to ignore the sharp pain that hit her chest. It only got worse as a soft voice came down the hall.

“Amilia?” Angie, Mari’s “friend”, whispered down the hall.

“Go back to bed, I’m just grabbing some things,” she said, wincing at how well she lied.

“That duffle says otherwise young lady,” Mari appeared seemingly out of thin air. Sophie knew this wasn’t going to end well, the feeling cemented itself as anger flared white hot in her stomach.

“‘Young lady’? Sorry did ‘kid’ just get thrown out the window? What are you now, my mom?” she snapped.

Mari gapped at her for a second, “Oh I’m sorry, right now I guess I’m more of your mom than whoever had you and left you on your own!”

“You don’t know nothing about them!” Sophie shouted. She didn’t mean too and she hated the way Mari flinched. But Sophie had pushed them away and that wasn’t their fault.

“The hell is this all about Amilia? You wanna go, go. Just don’t be a coward and leave without a goodbye.”

The tears fell fast down her face, because it was all too familiar. And she had never wanted to leave Mari like that. But she was angry, and that never ended well. “Fine, you want a goodbye? Goodbye.”

The door slammed hard behind her, and the rain soaked Sophie’s jacket mixing with her tears. It felt like a crappy hallmark movie from the early 2000s, but she was too angry to care; About the rain, about how muddy her shoes were, or how she didn’t really know where she was going.

The next morning she regretted everything. But by then that bridge was ashes in a stormy ocean; there was no going back. She moved forward because she had to.

[daily-jaspvid]

Your Ex-Lover Is Dead - Jaspvid fluff

This is the first chapter of my prequel series. This takes place the winter before the show takes place, in which Jasper happens upon David at a party. 

This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it is quickly turning into at least 3 chapters. I can’t post the second chapter here, but chapters 1 and 3 will be here! No plot happens in chapter 2, just NSFT content heh.

also the title song! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5Or6-HOveg

Here's part 1! Merry Christmas!

Gem insisted this party would be good; that she had seen this band perform before and how great they were live. With nothing better to do, I decided to tag along. After all, finals were over and we were due to celebrate before we headed home for winter break. 

When we arrived Gem was immediately distracted by the punch bowl conversation. From how many people stopped to greet her, I was reminded of how gregarious my friend was compared to me. Not wanting to harsh her style too much, I took my cup of punch towards the dance floor.  From the looks of it, the band was starting to set up, so the waiting stereo pumped out indie tunes. 

I idly bopped along to a familiar song when a firm force bumps me from behind. I stagger, holding out my drink to steady it. In the next beat, I feel hands brace my waist to steady me. The hands are warm, firm, but didn’t feel of ill intent. 

“Oh, sorry about that!” Chirped an equally as warm voice. I turn and the hands pop off me like old stickers peeling away. I see an auburn-haired man who offered a genuinely sorry smile. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied abruptly as anxiety swelled in me. Sure, I was expecting to meet a few new people today, but a cute ginger boy right off the bat? I guess Christmas was coming early. 

He wore a red button down and a pair of blue jeans. He appeared to be wearing a band tee, but I can’t figure out who in particular. His face shown with simply the brightest smile I have seen in years. It felt familiar. 

“So, uh… you ever see this band before?” I ask after a few awkward seconds of standing together. 

“I haven’t. Honestly, this is the first party I’ve been to this semester. I’ve been pretty busy between classes and student teaching. You?”

“Pretty much the same. I’m studying to be a writer. Not as exciting, I’m sure, but it’s an excuse to spend all my free time reading at home.” I admit with a quick and strained smile. Before he could respond, Gem came upon us with one of her friends. 

“Hey, you two! See, Cathy? I told you they would get along! We didn’t even have to enact the master plan!” Gem exclaimed, causing Cathy to stifle a laugh. 

“David, you’ve met Gem from my psych class,” she motioned to the mutual friend. “So you must be her friend from therapy, was it?”

I shoot Gem a look, which she just shrugged to. Damn psych majors and their gossip. “Yes, Jasper,” I confirm, offering my hand to her. She gives it a firm and professional shake. 

“Isn’t he just the cutest, Cathy? Hes such a little crab! It took me weeks to convince him to come!” Gem lamented. She moved in front of me to adjust my clothing, tugging at my popped collar to lay it down. I grimace, hand twitching with a desire to hide my exposed neck. I see David’s eyes flicker down to my neck before looking away, tension filling into his eyes. That was most people’s reaction when they see the scars there. The polite ones, anyway.

The conversation was cut short by the music lowering and a mic switching on. The band introduced themselves as Florist and began playing their easy, folky tunes to the milling crowd. Gem scurried off through the crowd to get closer while Gem hung back to tap away at her phone. Just as quickly as they came, I was once again left alone with the lithe ginger. I spent most of the set watching him from my peripherals. He swayed gently to the music, expression fixated intently on the band. He seemed to pour all of his focus into them and I could feel the aura force field around him, seeming to block everything else out. 

Before I could fully process his energy the set was already over. The band thanked us for listening and the previous playlist switched back on. By this point, people were beginning to collect their friends and head out. David seemed to be remembering his place among the crowd and looked around. Our eyes catch each other’s and I find my voice springing out before really even considering my words. 

“Hey. You wanna get some coffee?” The words tumble out, and by the time I get to the end of the statement, I can feel myself quivering with unease. If David picked up on this he didn’t show it. 

“Yeah, sure! I’d love to!” He chimed. David caught Cathy’s attention to let her know the plan. I felt a little bad about ditching Gem, but it wasn’t like she seemed very keen on hanging around me. It’s what she would want.

When we stepped outside it was, unfortunately, pouring rain. Freezing rain. I unrolled my sleeves to save myself from the cold a little bit.

“Damn, so much for getting anywhere in this. I’ll call us a Lyft.” We hung out on the porch while I set up the ride. 

Despite the weather, it arrived within minutes. We ducked in, only made mildly damn. Though the café was only a few blocks away, it felt longer in the silence. Once again I found myself watching him from the corner of my eye. As we turned the block the side of the road through his window showed the dark abyss of dense forest. His reflection in the window became water-warped, and the familiarity finally clicked. I let out a quick huff of my breath, catching his attention.

“Davey?” I asked tentatively. His head snapped up from his phone, eyes wide. He looked like he had seen a ghost. 

“Nobody calls me that. Not since I was a kid - except for Mr. Campbell, but-” He paused, his confused expression shifting to concern as I recoil at the name “Campbell”. Memories of my 11th summer come crashing back to me and I suddenly feel ill. As if on cue, our driver stops to drop us off. I have never been more thankful to stand in the pouring rain.

“Come on, you’ll get soaked to the bone!” David exclaimed, grabbing my hand to pull me into the café. 

Thankfully this place had good heating. The cozy café had few patrons. Most people were either at parties or already homeward bound to family. We stepped up to order and it wasn’t until the barista gave us a knowing smile that we realized we were still holding hands. Flustered, we take turns ordering our drinks. 

“So… You’re the Jasper I knew all those years ago? From summer camp? It’s been, what, 13 years? Man, it must really be a small world, huh?” He sighed nostalgically. 

“Honestly, I’m surprised I recognized you,” I admit with a shrug. “I guess I remember more about that last summer than I thought. For a long time it was such a blur, to be honest.”

We collected our drinks and headed to a space heater in the back of the café. It had a couple of chairs surrounding it that we settled in to. David flopped into his with a heavy, content sigh. I sat more forwardly in mine, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning towards the warmth. I felt numb, like neither the aching cold nor the radiating heat could break through to me. 

“You seem sad.” David’s voice broke through the silence once again. It was low and tender as he leaned over to me.

“I’m fine, really, just… a lot is coming back to me, is all,” I chew on my lip and spoke through grit. “A lot of not great thing happened that last summer we knew each other. Not great things that lead to worse things. It isn’t your fault, of course, It's just… forget it.”

David reached out a hand and placed it on my leg, giving it a squeeze. his eyes scanned as if searching for the right words to say but ultimately decided to remain quiet. We sat like this for a few minutes before I pulled out my phone.

“Hey, can I have your number? I’d like to keep in touch again if that's ok?”

“Of course! I would love to catch up!” Davey perked up as he received my phone and punched in his number. “So, what do you like to write?”

Hours soon had drifted by as we conversed. I soaked in every smile and laugh. Craved every new emotion I could draw out of his expressive being. Anything he had to give, really. Davey radiated with life. It poured out of his being, passion radiating like a star.

Oh, God.

I can’t be falling in love.

I feel my breath hitch as I suck in air. Davey notices and pauses his story to ask if I was alright, only for the clock to ding for 4 am. Shit. 

“You can crash at my place if you’d like.” he offers as we stand. I feel like I am going to faint back into the chair. Clearing my voice and adjusting my flannel, I nod.

“I’d like that more than anything right now.” I reply, taking up his offer and hoping I don’t sound too desperate. Just like that, we set back off into the rain and caught a ride across town to his apartment.