#I still do hide shit but that’s just to soothe my own paranoia and I appreciate that even THAT is understood

[bimboviolence]

I’ve always been so afraid to be super into a character/selfship while in an actual relationship and it’s so nice that my partner is absolutely chill with it and pulls up AMVs to make me laugh and will sit here with me going UH UH UH WHAT TOOK YA SO LONG IDIOT back and forth and laughing for several minutes like yeah. Pretty good.

[cotccotc]

SKZ REACT to...

 ◈ you being followed

part of my eight as fate event !! ( requested by anon​ ♡ )

genre/s: comfort, skz x gn reader

warning/s: description of being followed on the street, descriptions / mentions of panic attacks

wc: 1.8k

a/n: this one took me quite a while but i’m happy with it !!! i decided to write out a longer introduction to this to kinda set up a scene !! i hope y’all enjoy it (esp the comforting parts ofc kdjdjf)

it’s somewhat unlike you to walk alone at night. you figured it would only take you a few minutes, but you got out of work late, setting you back quite a while. to make things worse, while you were working overtime, the sun had set, leaving you to traverse the dimly lit city streets on your own. all you know is that your boyfriend left the door open for you, and a couch date sounds really great right now.

somewhere along your walk, you heard a shuffling noise coming from behind you. you disregarded it, thinking it may have been simple paranoia. you’ve seen too many movies, you think. however, as you keep up your leisurely yet steady pace, you hear another noise. this time you turn around.

a man. in a black hoodie. looking you dead in the eye.

your eyes widen as a small gasp leaves your mouth. needless to say, you begin sprinting to your destination, heart racing at a pace that rivals the speed of your feet. with your focus aimed at getting as far away as you can, you’re honestly not even sure how your legs know where they’re going. nevertheless, your saving grace comes into view. after a quick glance at the now empty street behind you, you sprint even faster than before. and, once you make it to the apartment door, you fling the door open and leap inside with enough force to rattle the hinges.

“y/n? what’s wro-”

“i was being followed,” you interject, a choked sob finally escaping you.

◈ CHAN

his first instinct, no matter what, is to make sure you feel safer now.

he’ll sit you down on the couch, staying close beside you and rubbing your back while reiterating that whoever that man was is gone now.

i’ve always liked to think he’d be good to have around in the event of a panic attack. especially if you’re the type of person who needs physical and verbal reassurance. back rubs, hugging, and breathing reminders galore.

once you’ve calmed down, he would wipe away your tears and hold you close to him as he asks you about the rest of your day.

he’s an amazing listener and he can’t wait to hear about the latest employee or customer gossip lmao

but more importantly, it would take your mind off things, which is all he truly wants.

if you start looking a bit gloomy or drifting off in thought, he’d probably suggest some cuddle time !! he would make sure to remind you of how courageous you were in that moment before promising you one last time that you’re safer now, here with him.

you’d finally fall asleep in his arms, filling him with relief.

◈ MINHO

first reaction: absolutely pissed.

not at you of course, but at the guy who was following you. with you still in his arms, he glances pointedly out the front door and the windows, closing the blinds after giving the entire apartment a once-over.you end up in the bedroom, in which he’ll guide you to sit beside him on the bed.

his expression will have completely changed from anger to loving concern. he’d look deeply into your eyes while holding both your hands in his, assuring you that you’re safe now.while you continue to cry, you explain what had happened in more detail. he strokes your hair as you speak and nods along, blood boiling.

he can’t stand the thought of any person making you feel unsafe. but, he’d maintain a calm exterior in order to make you feel more at ease.

once you describe the whole situation, he’d reassure you once again that the man can’t get to you now.

“he’ll have to get through me.”

you giggle.

“hEY”

◈ CHANGBIN

i think he’d have a similar reaction to minho !!

very visibly pissed that some random guy had the nerve to intimidate you. that dude’s lucky he didn’t follow you the whole way home or else he’d probably be pretty uh. damaged. by now..

he’d sit you down on the couch, do a quick check-in at each of the windows and doors, and come back as soon as he can to console you.

when he does, he’s quick to sit beside you, arm wrapped around you with the other wiping the tears off of your face.

after you explain the situation a bit more clearly, he becomes even more angry (probably mutters some curses under his breath)

but !!!! i think he’d really try his best to focus on cheering you up

asking you what you’d like to do for the rest of the night, if you’d like any food, if you’d like to sleep or stay up for a while.. etc.

plus he’d amp up the silly antics to make you forget about things !!

◈ HYUNJIN

i think his physical reaction would become similar to yours. very quickly.

like once he sees your tears and senses your quickened pulse. his immediate response (whether voluntary or not) would be to emulate you.

so, naturally, he’d hold you in his arms and let you cry it out, while small sobs of his own escape him.

seeing you so scared is a scary feeling.

of course, he’d reassure you that you’re safe !!! he’d look into your eyes, tucking your hair behind your ears, and tell you that it’s all over now and that you’re safe.

you, of course, don’t want him to feel sad or scared, so you’d console him as well.

you two would comfort each other the whole rest of the night. i think the most probable option would be the two of you cuddled up in bed watching a movie or reading webtoons together

distraction !! but make it a drama !! or a romcom because .. vibes !!

and when you decide it’s time for bed (however late that may be due to the stress from earlier) he’d be sure to remind you that he’ll be with you all night & when you wake up

(but he’s also secretly clinging onto you out of fear as well kdjfgj)

◈ JISUNG

“oh sh- oh sHIT-”

wouldn’t know what in the fuck to do

would haphazardly check all the windows like minho did, holding your hand as you continue to cry

after he’s done, he’d cling to you and hold you SO very tight <3

lots of “shh shh baby.. baby shhhh” and all that jazz.. you know the sungie vibes…

he’d stroke your hair and arms, noticing your slight shakiness and suggesting you both cuddle for some extra comfort and warmth

no matter what time of night it is, he’d turn off the lights and cuddle with you as you describe the event in more detail

quiet & calm

even if you end up crying again while you speak, he’s there to brush the tears off your face with his thumb and help you calm down again

◈ FELIX

before you came, he might have cooked a small meal for the two of you to share. even though you worked late, it’d still be waiting for you when you arrive. he’d wait too.

when you do happen to burst through the door, he’d jump and gasp out of fear but he’s quick to run up to you and hold you as you let out everything you’d held in during your walk-turned-chase

also !! will help you get settled in as you describe what went down

helping you take off your coat and shoes, getting water for you, grabbing some blankets; all while listening intently and giving you all of his attention

once you’re seated on the couch, wrapped in the softest blanket he could find and staying hydrated after such a harrowing event, he’d be sure to hold you as close as possible to remind you that everything’s okay

eventually, through his subtle gestures and calming demeanor, you won’t even realize how you got situated !! he just knows what to do to make you as comfortable as possible without even trying all that hard

you may choose to skip dinner, but no matter what, he’ll be holding you close the whole night through to make sure you know he’s there to protect and care for you

◈ SEUNGMIN

he’s very methodical about how to proceed. his first instinct is to do what some of the others would and check the house, but he decides to help you calm down first.

you’re rambling about what happened in between sobs and quick breaths, which sends a pain through his heart as he shuts and locks the door.

if you’re shorter than him, he’d bend a little to make direct eye contact with you. he’ll rub your arms and tell you that you don’t have to be afraid anymore

the most calming and reassuring voice in the whole world omg !!!!!!

he’d wipe your tears away and cup your face with both of his hands, prompting you to look back into his eyes before smiling at you

“you’re safe now, right?”

you smile back at him, nodding.

“now, let’s lock all the doors so no bad guys can get in!”

then, he’d take your hand and let you help him lock the doors and shut the curtains, making it feel like a chore instead of a precaution

and for your “good work”, he’d reward you with some binge watching & cuddle time !!! (as if that wasn’t the original plan skjdfg)

◈ JEONGIN

(under his breath, eyes wide) “oh my god…”

i think he’d start freaking out a bit like hyunjin did, but he’d do his very best to hide it. he knows he has to be strong to help you calm down and feel safe.

like felix, he’d help you take off your coat and shoes, leading you over to the couch as you shakily describe what happened.

(i’m sorry i keep making comparisons to the other members bUT) like minho, he’d hold your hands in his, rubbing them softly with his thumbs to soothe your nerves as you let everything out

he’d try to cheer you up by suggesting alternative motives the man might’ve had instead of wanting to harm you

for instance:

jeongin: “what if he was lost and needed directions but he was too shy to ask because you’re so pretty/handsome?”

you: “babe i don’t think-”

jeongin: “OR what if he thought he knew you !!”

you: “but he-”

jeongin: “WHAT IF IT WAS BATMAN-”

overall, his aim is to distract you (as well as himself), which ends in success. you’ll both be in stitches by the end of the night

and… laughing is super tiring, right?

therefore, as reiterated throughout all of these reactions because we all know it’s true:

CUDDLESSSS

oh also.. right before you fall asleep in his arms, he’d ask if you want to leave the light on during the night :( bc he’s a cutie :((((

tags: @stayndays, @hanniiesuckle17​, @leggomylino, @freckledberries, @kisskissbanggang, @mr-jisung-main, @childofthecosmos, @kpopscape, @skzwriternet, @hyunsins, @sleepylixie, @sunshine-skz, @vera-liscious, @thatrandomoneinthecorner, @cyberskz​, @seungminsaidsta, @somethingrandomworld, @ethan806 ( join my tag list !! )

©️ cotccotc 2021 ~ all rights reserved. do not repost my work on tumblr or other platforms.

[mxvladdy]

heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

[writerofblocks]

*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

[escapethewonderland]

It could have been you

Pairing: JakexFem!MC (Nadia)

Word counts: 1.8k

A/N: Hi darlings, I got the itch for a bit of Jake angst over the last few days so here it is this little OS. Kindly inspired by a song that stuck in my head while writing, Muddy Waters by LP. Hope you like it! SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 7 ENDING, BE AWARE!

TW: swearing, angst, mention of blood

Nadia was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her closet intently like she was trying to find an answer to the incredible mess that her life had become over the last month. The doors were hanging open, patiently waiting for the girl to start gathering the clothes she needed for the trip to Duskwood.

She felt like her head was on the verge of exploding. Rabid thoughts were chasing each others around unbounded, hammering against her temples and begging to set them free.

She squeezed her hands together, quivering nervously while trying to release that ugly tension off her body. Seeing Richy bloody, slowing fading away on that hellish forest’s ground was the last straw for Nadia: someone got severely hurt and, all of a sudden, the game her and Jake were playing got extremely real.

Nadia couldn’t afford anymore to wait on the sidelines, protected by the distance and her hacker because sooner or later, they would come knocking on her doors. Although the strong gut feeling of running far away in the opposite direction, Nadia couldn’t deny the inescapable bond that was calling her to Duskwood. Even more now that both the girl and Jake may had the blood of an innocent guy dripping from their hands.

The young woman closed her eyes against that cruel image, breathing slowly from her nose, flexing her fingers.

Richy was going to make it; he had to.

He might survive. Those were the feeble words of hope that the doctors had said and the whole group hold on to them with ferocity: the idea of losing Richy was unacceptable.

A notification from the phone distracted the young woman, making her wince: she couldn’t recall how long she had been standing still in front of the wardrobe.

  Nadia…I just read your texts. Is it true? Is Richy…?

The girl let an unsteady breath slip out between her lips, fighting back the tears.

Yes Jake, he’s fighting for his life on an operating table.

She got up from her bed, walking aimlessly around the small apartment in an agitated frenzy. Jake’s answer came right away.

I’m so, so sorry. I…I wasn’t expecting that. I…I’m at loss for words.

“No shit” Nadia snorted viciously under her breath, wiping away a traitorous tear that slowly crept down her cheek. Her breath was now ragged, but she still tried to keep her cool and not hyperventilate. Panic wouldn’t get her nowhere, she needed to be sharp right now.

Holding her phone in a tight grip, Nadia walked back to her bedroom; mind settled.

I don’t know what to say too, Jake, but I know what I have to do.

She threw the mobile on her bed with more vehemence than what was necessary. With few, swift strides, she found herself back in her room, standing in front of her closet to retrieve an old backpack from the tallest shelf. She scrutinized the clothes with a clinic eyes, opting for something practical, taking only the bare minimum she needed for a week or so.

Nadia didn’t bother to check her phone when Jake’s first reply came. Nor the next one or the other after that.

She was on autopilot, a ghost wandering around and haunting her own house.

Nadia spared a look at her reflection in the mirror while collecting the stuff she needed from the bathroom: her face was strained with harsh lines, eyes wide with messy makeup and even messier hair.

She brought her things to the other room, dumping them merciless inside the backpack and only then looked at her phone.

There were several messages from Jake but it was the last one that caught the girl’s attention.

Are you packing, Nadia? Please, answer me.

The phone slipped from her fingers after reading that words. A hint of paranoia emerged in her chest and she scanned her bedroom with meticulous care, calming down again only when she had checked twice every possible hiding place. No one seemed to be lurking in her room and the curtains were closed shut, a few sun shines peeking through them. She was still safe, it was still her home, no danger lurking in the shadows.

With trembling hands, Nadia retrieved the phone from the carpet.

She frowned, slightly afraid to look at the camera, before a wave of scolding hot anger filled her bones. Mouth set in a straight, harsh line, she started typing to Jake.

Are you fucking spying on me through my phone, Jake?

No answer. The girl felt like boiling with everything she’d been trying to repress since the first time Thomas texted her.

Are you fucking serious, Jake? Are you fucking with me or have you lost your mind along the way? Do you think that you can just go around spying people through their phone whenever it sooths you, whenever it’s convenient for your agenda?

Jake. I fucking trusted you! YOU…

The girl stopped there, unable to type anymore given the trembling that took control of her hands.

Nadia brought the back of her hand against her lips, suppressing a sob that would inevitably destroy the already fragile dam that was barely holding back all of her destructive emotions.

She fought it with all of her might, eventually falling on her knees because even standing felt crushing in that moment.

Nadia felt like she was going crazy, slowly loosing herself in something that was so much bigger than her.

Her phone started vibrating in her hand, signalling an incoming call from an unknown number.

Nadia stood there for a moment, debating if accepting the call or not. Could it be…?

“Hello?” she answered with a shaky voice.

Nadia heard a sight and a male voice greeted her, no distortion this time.

“Please, don’t go” pleaded who she assumed was Jake on the other side of the line.

Nadia let out a wet sob, almost chocking on the longing and sadness that built up in her chest at hearing Jake’s voice for the first time. His voice sounded so warm and comforting like a soothing balm, but it was all ruined by the ill-timing of the call.

“How much have I longed for this moment… you have no idea, Jake, you have no idea. I can’t believe it, it’s actually you” she mumbled under her breath, almost too quiet to be heard.

Another sight greeted her words, but Jake didn’t say anything.

“I would have loved to hear your voice for the first time under different circumstances” she continued, tears rolling freely down her grieving face.

“But the situation is pretty fucked up, Jake. I can’t afford to wait on the side-lines any longer”

“You can’t go, Nadia, please. You can’t really be thinking of going to Duskwood” replied Jake fast, almost eating up the words like he was in a hurry to get them out, to keep her safely where she was.

“But I am going, Jake. It was all my fault: Jessy’s attack, Cleo’s letters and now Richy… if I didn’t get involved, if I stayed out of it, nothing would have happened to them. It’s only fair I stand by their side to help them, actually help them” Nadia said with deep-rooted sadness in her voice, slowly getting up from the carpet. Her knees felt weak but her mind was strong.

There was a loud thud on the other side of the line, like a fist being slammed against a wooden table.

“No, no, no! Nadia, please! Duskwood is even more dangerous than before right now and you could put yourself into bigger troubles!”

She snorted without humour in her voice, now fully standing, sliding a hand through her hair.

“Well Jake, it’s not like you can stop me, can you? Because you’re not here… You’re not fucking here with me. What would you have me rather do, uh? Don’t you think I’m scared!? I’M TERRIFIED BUT WHY DON’T YOU…”

“IT COULD HAVE BEEN YOU, DAMMIT!” Jake almost screamed into her ear, panting like he had just ran a marathon.

Nadia closed her eyes while more tears carved their path through her reddened cheeks, biting hard on her lower lip. Her heart clenched painfully at his words cause only now she realized how much she’d been craving to feel his barriers coming down.

“It could have been you, bleeding out in that nightmarish forest, for fuck’s sake. And only the thought of you being hurt or worse, of losing you…it’s enough to drive me insane” he confessed softly, his silky voice like sweet honey in the Nadia’s ear, a tempting offer of haven.

“But it wasn’t me” she replied hesitantly, not trusting her voice not to break “it still could have been Lilly. It could have been Hannah”

That was a low blow, Nadia knew that but his sisters were the only family he had left and if he couldn’t be on the front line to save them, she would step up to be in his place and protect them.

“I don’t wanna lose you, not you too” Jake whispered, voice heavy with despair, so close to the mic that for a moment she had the faint illusion of having him right by her side.

“And you won’t, Jake, I promise you. You won’t lose any of us, we will see each other at the end of this. We’ll all be together and make up for all the time we spent apart.”

She almost smiled at that idyllic picture taking shape into her mind.

“But I have to go” Nadia simply stated, softly as to not hurt him, even though she was already doing that.

She closed the call before she lost all of the courage she had mustered up, Jake’s no’s haunting her while she turned off her phone. She exhaled deeply, before hitting her wardrobe’s door with her open palm, muffling a scream against her folded t-shirts.

It took Nadia five whole minutes to regain her composure and fight back fat tears of sorrow, but when she finally looked back up, there were flames in her eyes.

She set her body into motion, retrieving an object from the drawer under her desk: the older phone used to be her main phone, but Nadia was sure she was going to need a backup since everyone in Duskwood already had her info. No one knew her new number though, so she hoped it could turn out to be a secret advantage. Only Lilly was aware of it, she was the one to help her out to settle everything and she was the only soul that knew she was coming to Duskwood and they both preferred that way.

She braced herself, backpack on her shoulder and keys in her hands: even though she was filled with much uncertainty, Nadia knew she was on the right path.

[miss-choco-chips]

From the ground up.

The road to recovery is a bumpy one, but Tim’s (reluctantly) ready for the drive. He just hopes they won’t crash and burn.

-.-.-

Tim recovers after an injury. Mending his bonds with the bats its a plus. 

Or, Tim can’t exactly run away from a conversation, and they all take advantage of it.

( @animemangasoul asked for Tim actually needing his crutches. Of course my dumb ass  brain needed to take that idea and make a whole, emotional thing of it. Threw in some family bonding cause why not. 

Babe I did my best, and if it’s bad I’m blaming exams and life stress of me being unable to properly deliver what you hoped for)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It had been a stupid decision. Self sacrificing, reckless, idiotic. He doesn’t know Bruce’s disappointed eyes, Dick’s worried ones or Damian’s disdainful sneer to know it.

Still, it had been his choice, and he’s going to stand by it. Even if it means having Steph pose as Red Robin for some time. Even if he has to deal with M’gann’s guilty looks at failing to convince him to change places, to allow her to get shot while he took the criminal out, instead of what they actually did. Even if it means getting annoyed, nearly hysterical texts from basically everyone he knows, condemning him for his stupidity. 

The only ones he had explained himself to were Tam -who honestly deserves it after all the shit he was going to put her through, dealing with her recent trauma (courtesy of assassins) and the press going haywire at Tim’s broken engagement and then almost fatal injury-, Steph (who was going to be changing between Batgirl and Red Robin for some time to keep the whole charade up and Vale off their track) and M’gann herself, who had needed some serious explanation before she conceded to Tim getting shot in front of her for appearances sake.

The rest of the world? They could rot in curiosity, for all he cared. Bruce had probably extrapolated enough from his succinct explanation about Vicky to understand the whole plan. Dick was probably dying to know, but with their relationship strained as it was wouldn't dare to ask. Damian… who know how the devil’s mind works. Alfred was already used to the Bat’s collective shit, and would probably just sigh and make chicken soup for him.

What he wasn’t cool about was being forced to have his recovery period in the Manor. He had a perfectly funcional place for himself, thank you very much, and could wobble around in his crutches from bedroom to kitchen to his small, personal cave, no problem. But Bruce had been unmoving in his decision, going as far to physically carry Tim in his arms, like a toddler, from the hospital steps to the car. It had been humiliating, but he couldn't exactly wiggle free in front of all the reporters, could he? How to explain a nerve strike to his dad, and his own ability to withstand the pain of falling back to his feet?

(Because he totally could stand the pain. He had done it in the dessert with a ruptured spleen, he could deal with a slightly damaged spine)

He was going to have his revenge though. As soon as he was able to move freely without clenching his teeth from the pain.

He’s being deposited on the bed, when he notices Damian lingering around the door. He was looking at Bruce, a little unsure, more than a bit of envy at the care which his father bestowed on Tim. Before, those jealous eyes would have made him weary of an attack. Now, with Bruce and Dick having forced a promise of civility from the kid, he was still on guard but not ready to flee at any given second. Perpetually tensing would only dampen his recovery, after all.

It was still something to think of. The lack of fire in his eyes. He… looked like a kid. Not as much a demon as he had been when Tim went away.

Well. Only time would tell if he had truly changed.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bruce had ordered bed rest. No work, detective or CEO. Nothing more straining (for the mind or body) than watching a movie. Eating and sleeping were his only allowed activities. Even reading was to be moderated, because Tim was known to lose himself in any topic that caught his fancy and forget everything else. 

Tim had listened to his reasoning, nodding along and adding his own helpful insight, smiling when his head was patted in response to his obedience. Waved cheerfully as Bruce left, made smalltalk with Dick when he visited hi room before heading out for patrol (theirs was a talk that he wasn’t really looking forward but knew he wouldn't be escaping for long), thanked Alfred for the food and ate half of it under his watchful eye. Even took the medicine with just mild complains.

The perfect picture of innocence and submission. Right until the butler went to the Cave to man the comms.

Then all bets were off.

Moving his bed out of the way to get the laptop hidden below the loose tile under it was impossible in his current condition, but thankfully he had been able to talk Bruce into letting him keep his phone, and his briefcase wasn’t too far to not be able to make the walk without crutches (painful as it was).

Before an hour had passed, he had the wall by his bed covered with post it notes, connected by red sting and pins here and there. A pretty evidence board, even with the lacking resources. Perrrfect for a little Tim-Time, a small bit of detective work.

Bruce would certainly bitch about him moving around so much, taping pieces of information or moving the string around, but, well. What Bruce didn’t knew…

-I thought Father ordered bed rest.

The voice, completely unexpected (he had either been in too deep thought, or the brat was getting better at stealth), made him jump so high and sudden he almost pulled his stitches. The medication, fading with each hour, had weaned enough he felt every bit of tissue, still torn from the shot, straining under the move.

It resulted in the longest, filthiest string of curses his sharp mind could come up with, partnered with gasps and a lot of hair pulling in a instinctual attempt to redirect the pain from his torso to somewhere less dire.

-No one taught you to knock and not to startle convalescent people, brat? -he spats between clenched teeth, squinting through barely-opened eyes to glare at him- And why aren’t you patrolling? 

The kid was on pijamas. Tim can’t remember the last time he saw him unarmed. Though he probably still had at least a dagger on himself that he couldn't see.

Bruce and Dick’s promise echoed in his mind, but just in case, he let one of his arms go around his middle, acting as if trying to soothe his hurt (okay, maybe it wasn’t all an act) while he palmed the three Red Robin pallets he had secured between his bandages earlier.

Damian scoffed and approached him, careful to keep a healthy distance but enough so he could properly appreciate Tim’s wall.

-Apparently, Father knows better than to trust you to behave, and he came up with a schedule to keep an eye on you. For what reason, it escapes me. Your death could only serve as a stress relief for everyone, specially if it was caused by your own stupidity. And you didn’t answer my question.

A large part of him wanted to tell him to fuck off. An even larger reminded him he was barely armed, heavily incapacitated, and that Damian had actually answered him first, so, technically, it was fair to do the same.

He sighs and leans back into the pillows, shoulder on the wall crumpling the photo of his number three suspect.

-Whatever. Bruce clearly bought when I said I’d act the part, otherwise he would have cleaned my room of anything useful. You’re probably here because paranoia is too deeply ingrained in the man, or he thinks you could use a rest too. Or both. 

Probably both, Tim thinks. He’s ready for Damian’s sneer and a declaration that he ‘didn’t need a rest’, most likely paired with an insult. 

Instead, Damian surprises him by tilting his head and looking at him with something akin to curiosity.

-You lied to Father? And he… believed you?

Feeling his petty bitch inside stirring, he smirked- What, like it’s hard?

It actually was, it required a hell of a mental preparation and careful planning. But once you learned how to pull it off and took care to polish it, it was a often used weapon.

Damian wouldn't let any positive emotion towards Tim willingly show on his face, so the amaze was most likely honest. It was… a little humbling, truth be told. 

-Tell you what -he decides, pulling his best negotiator voice, to cut the kid some slack-, you keep this little naughtiness -a nod towards the wall- between us and help me hide all proof before B comes back, and I give you some  pointers in how to lie to Batman. 

Damian seems truly torn. On one hand, Tim can guess, it's the mission his father entrusted him, and his deeply ingrained disdain to anything Tim proposed. On the other, the temptation of such a useful tactic, and the fact that he didn’t really care for Tim’s wellbeing enough to stop him from doing his thing.

-What are you working on?- he asked, likely gaining time while he mulled his options.

-Cold cases -a shrug-. It’s just a pastime of mine. I dig into Bruce’s old files, search for anything he couldn't solve, and work on it until I do. It’s really good for self esteem, and it helps a lot of people who never got closure for whatever it happened to them. 

-Father will know you disobeyed if you solve it.

-I’ll wait until he gives me permission for some light work, and then dump all my worked out cases on him at the same time.

There’s something akin to wonder fighting to make itself known above Damian’s facade of indifference.

-Can you actually solve something Father himself couldn't?

-Done it before, will do it again. What will it be, Damian? Cause if you decide to snitch on me after all, then kindly leave me to this until then. I’m about to crack this, and if its going to be the last one I’m able to work on, I’d hate to leave it halfway.

A few seconds go by, before Damian takes the last step and carefully perches at the end of the bed, eyes solely on the wall.

-I’d prefer to aid in solving this. If it’s true this is something not even the Batman could do… it’d be highly rewarding to work on it. You can teach me the arts of lying another day.

Shocked it actually worked, Tim did his best to swiftly recover. Not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth, he kept his doubts in check to dwell on them later and went back to his wall. 

Having Damian around was surprisingly useful. He could just lay there, in his pillows, and direct the brat through moving the string and adding post it notes here and there, until the whole thing mapped out in front of them, the answer staring at them as clear as the quickly approaching day. 

Satisfaction strong enough to smile despite the ever growing pain in his side, he gave into the urge to give a small pat to Damian’s shoulder before telling him to help take it all down, least Bruce came from patrol and found them on the act. High on the success and more than a little stunned about it, the younger vigilante actually complied, even going as far as to put all their mess back in Tim’s briefcase and bringing him a glass of water to wash down his meds with.

When Batman came to check on his middle son after patro, Nightwing on his shadow, they were regaled with the shocking, unbelievable sight of Damian sleeping, sitting on the ground with the back of his head resting on Tim’s bed, while the bedridden boy himself snored, a hand on top of the smaller kid’s head.

The picture Dick took of them was gonna be his most treasured possession forever.

-.-.-.-.-

-And this will make me a better detective? -questioned Damian, frown  scrunching his nose in a way that Tim couldn't help but think of as adorable. Or as adorable as it could be, in a hell spawn. Fuck, Dick was rubbing off on him.

-It helped me -he shrugs, eyes on his own screen as he makes the proper adjustments-. Long live the queen is a good place to start. You need to consider both the character’s mood when selecting the week’s classes, and the goal you aspire towards. All the while dodging assassinations attempts, commoners uprisings or noble plots depending on the choices you make, and… other stuff. And ruling a country. And getting engaged. It’s a lot of juggling, keeping in mind which skills you need for which event, and it forces you to consider how the character is doing emotionally, something you could seriously use to learn. Want me to give you a run through?

-No need -he scoffed, clicking in the start game option, dubiously reading the introduction-. It seems easy enough.

Tim just smiled, eerie, from his place behind him. 

Damian was sitting in the floor by his bed, back resting against it. The position, if slightly uncomfortable (Drake wasn’t an enemy any longer, if Grayson was to be believed, and after the other night’s joint work he agreed to help train Damian in mind schemes, but he wasn’t a complete ally either… and having such a grey person with such a clear shot at his neck made the assassin in him nervous), was the best way for Drake to watch his progress in this… game, while keeping his wound unbothered. It also kept Damian from ‘sneaking a peek’ at his own screen and ‘cheating at the game’, as he had said. Not that he planned on it, but-- well, all resources, no matter how dirty, were still fair game in the arts of war, as far as he was concerned.

Not that Damian needed the help. This was a silly game. He would probably beat this first try, high score even. Really, the main screen image had a teenager dressed in a frilly, pink, magical girl outfit. How hard could this be?

---

-My cousin just got bitten by a snake. Will she die?

-Wouldn’t you like to know, demon child. You’ll figure it out later in the game. Just keep going.

---

-Why do I keep failing this skill-checks? What am I missing? Is it even relevant? I just passed one that was completely useless about world history, but somehow missed the one that would have helped me keep this stupid girl from getting betrothed. 

-If it was relevant, you’ll know it when, not if, when it kills you.

-...I should save my game here.

-With these shitty skills you’ve built? Sure, if you want to, but at this point you’ll die no matter what.

---

-Is this woman trustworthy? Our father said it was her fault mother died, but she said…

-Hmm. I’m not giving you spoilers. Tell me when you figure it out, one way or the other.

-Well, at least we have our aunt, uncle and cousins. Surely they are on our side, as our family.

-...

-Drake, why are you laughing? 

-...

-Stop it! You are not scaring me!

---

-Look, I said I was not going to help you… but you can’t keep pissing everyone off, baby bat. You’ll never survive until coronation if you do.

-Those people deserved to get executed.

-...some of them, maybe, but you failed a lot of skill checks there, so you don’t have all the facts. Also, if you are gonna fuck with people, at least choose if you are doing it with nobles or peasants. Both of them is taking it a bit too far.

-I am the Queen. Neither would dare oppose me. I will have their heads if they do!

-..okay then. Let the record say I tried.

---

-Is this birthday party important?

-Uhm… Kinda. Your friend just turned of age, which means she gets to inherit control of her lands. There’s also a whole new route if you do go to the party, if you have the necessary abilities for it.

Tim saw the back of Damian’s head bob as he nodded. He gave it a few minutes. Then-

-YOU DIDN’T TELL ME I WOULD DIE ON MY WAY THERE!

-I did say you needed specific skills. Both for the party itself, and to get there.

He was ready for the unholy sound that escaped from Damian’s mouth, finger quickly taping at his phone to record it. That treasure was going to be his new ringtone. It would help with the pain, too. Happiness therapy or something like that, to distract the mind from the hurt. 

---

-Hey, Dami? I’m gonna go get ready for patrol. Are you com/?

-NO -he snapped, neck almost breaking from how quickly he raised his head to look at Dick at the door. Eyes red from staring at the screen for so long, hair a mess after messing it up in incalculable desperation- I’m about to win!  This time, my strategy won’t fail!

Tim, game already finished and now watching a movie (at least until Bruce and Dick left and he could go back to coding a new security system that even Babs wouldn't be able to crack)  tilted his head, examining his brother’s open game.  Week 30, no medicine knowledge, no intrigue, little to no dog training, no composure and not enough divination...yeah, Damian was gonna die again. It was the first time he had lived long enough to reach the tournament, and subsequently, the poisoned chocolates. 

Should he tell Damian? On one hand, the frustration, clear in his face, would tear him apart after yet another failure. But… this was the most fun he had in a long time, and the longest they had gone without either insulting the other. 

-Okay then -mumbled Dick under his breath, smartly retreating out of the room.

Tim waited a few beats- Let me know if you need help. 

-Leave me alone Drake! As if I’d lower myself to such tricks! The victory won’t be truly mine unless I win by my own merits!

Still at the door, feeling both a little ignored and elated at his brothers getting along so nicely, Dick decided to slowly exit the place, least Damian truly snapped and threw a dagger or something at his head.

---

The downside of the pain meds was how drowsy they made him. He didn’t know quite what to do with himself, now that the bags under his eyes were so close to disappearing. He had come so used to them… maybe he’d need to start investing in eyeliner and fake them.

Blinking himself awake, he moved a bit to look at the clock on his bedside table and immediately flinched. He kept forgetting the wound, and then moved and was painfully reminded.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, holding a familiar pill. He took it without prompting, accepting then the glass of water.

-Don’t think too much of this, Drake. I’m merely assisting Pennyworth. Since I’m already here working on my progress, I offered to make sure you don’t forgo your medicine. Again.

The disdainful voice, probably masking the smallest shadow of care, had come familiar enough in the last couple of days that he knew even without opening his eyes who it was. The question of what the hell was he still doing here, after spending the entire day at Tim’s side, remained.

-Damian? Are you still playing?

The kid seemed uncomfortable.

-The idiotic Queen wouldn't stop dying. It’s against my every principle to give up before achieving my goal, so I had to stay here until I passed this… training of yours.

Tim had to bit his check to keep from smiling. Damian was kinda decent at it, but the boy who lied to Batman wasn’t so easily fooled by a half assed attempt. The brat had actually stayed so he could make sure Tim didn’t forget his pain meds and woke the whole manor up with his groans later. 

-Well, as your teacher for this particular test, I’m telling you to call it a day. Go to sleep and come back tomorrow with fresh mind and eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Rehab… sucked. There was no way around it. Sure, he could go the nice, easy way, give himself enough time to heal before starting on the recovery path. But vigilantes didn’t have the luxury of nice, and he needed to be functional again asap. Steph was running herself ragged, working on keeping Tim’s identity on the streets alive and her own territory safe, and there was a limit on how much Tam could take over in WE before collapsing.

Bruce hadn’t been happy about his decision of starting physical therapy while his stitches were still there, but when was he, ever? And the doctors had said he could do it as long as he was careful about it, now that the swelling in his back had disappeared, so he couldn't use them as counterpoints. There was also the nice plus of being emancipated, which made his medical decisions his own, and not even Bruce could just breeze by and ignore them.

Sweet, sweet independence.

Too bad he forgot a tiny detail: how fucking painful it was.

He could move around now, using the crutches, and he had a series of exercises his doc gave him to help regain movement, which he followed like religious doctrine. Two reps before lunch, one before bed. Okay, the physical therapist had said only do one per day, but he couldn't take into account Tim’s vigilante resistance and strength, so he felt safe in his small expansion of the activities.

That was, until the sharp pain on his side made him lose balance during his last rep and trip over his crutches.

A strong arm around his upper chest stopped his fall to the ground, and took the air off his lungs. It didn’t touch his wound, though, which… nice.

-If you're falling jus’ from walking, maybe you're not as ���recovered’ as I heard.

-Ja...son -he coughs, hand (with the crutch secured to him by nice straps, courtesy of WE’s medical division) raising up to hold Jason’s arm for support. The other man shifted, coming closer, shouldering his weight without a word, his other hand going around his waist, under the wound, to help him along- This… but a scratch.

-Quoting “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” at me won’t keep you out of trouble, little shit. C’mon, I’ll take you back to your room. Which way?

Pointing him in the right direction, Tim took advantage of their closeness to examine the other man.

They weren’t on ‘kill on sight’ terms any longer, but Tim wouldn’t exactly call the man when in a pinch. What was he even doing here? He was fairly sure he and Brucer were still at that ‘mindless anger/deeply rooted guilt’ stage of their relationship, and his book club meetings with Alfred were wednesday afternoons, not friday evenings…

-Stop thinking so much, you’ll strain som’ing.

-I’m not Dick -he fires back almost in instinct, earning a deep chuckle in turn. He shifts a little, looking for a position where his trembling arms wouldn't make the crutches shake quiet so much. If Jason saw his struggle, he respected him enough to say shit about it.

-Speaking of, how’s it going with him?

-I have no idea what you’re talking about. We are fine.

-Yeah, right. And he’s sitting out of helping you with rehab because he suddenly lost one of his hundred hearts and it’s just your luck it was the one he had for you?

-Fuck… -a misstep, and his arms automatically shift to compensate, keeping him standing but paying it in pain when the movement tugs at his side. Jason tightens his grip, an unvoiced promise to keep it from happening again- you.

-Really threatening, with all the gasping and whining. 

-Shut up. Why would we be at odds?

There’s a minute of silence as one of Jason’s hands leave him long enough to open the door to his bedroom.

-I’m jus’ saying -he shrugs as he helps Tim inside and towards his bed-, I know a discarded Robin when I see one.

He’s not sure if the pained sound comes from the jostling as he’s carefully lowered into his pillows, or the strike to his most exposed nerve.

-It was… a tough situation. Dick didn’t have much choice. I -it hurts to say- I get it. 

It had also been right, by Damian. Tim can see it, in the remarkably diminished killer intent he could feel from the kid, and his actual willingness at keeping Tim company and even helping him around when needed.

Even if it was the worst for him, at least one of the two fucked up kids under Dick’s watch had benefited from it. It was… it was good enough. It had to be. Tim was fine, after all.

Jason looks at him for a moment, waiting until the pain yields a bit and he can breath again. Then, taking a seat by his feet, he lets his eyes stray to the photographs mounted on the walls, avoiding Tim’s scrutinizing gaze.

-Even if it makes logical sense, it still hurts. I know how it is.

There’s… not really something he can counter. He moves a bit to find position easier on his side, hiding the nervous twitch with the action.

-I never blamed you for it -he feels compelled to add. Jason winces, as if struck. He’s still not looking at him.

-And the brat’ll probably be the same with you, someday. Means shit now, but… small comforts.

-I guess so… I mean, we’re kinda getting along, now that he can’t try to kill me since I’m convalescente and I’m bored enough to contribute to his training.

Jason seems pained again. Tim is annoyed by how confusing this entire situation is.

-Y’er a good predecessor. He’ll/

-What is this all about? -he cuts, unable to stop himself. This attempt at deep conversation is well and good, but it’s coming out of nowhere and Tim never pictured Jason as one to go around randomly offering wisdom- Why are you here, and with me of all people?

There was a shadow of something passing through his face, before it transformed into the physical intonation of the ‘Fair enough’ feeling. 

-I heard what happened from blondie while she was takin’ care of soom goons on y’er part of town. And… well, I have some experience on getting back on your feet after a bad injury, just in the wake of loosing Robin. Figured you’d be over doing it and getting yourself hurt worse.

It… was a fair assessment of what he was doing, actually. And if there was anyone he could speak about this… it’d be Jason.

-There’s so much I have to do -he sighs, sagging into his bed, relaxing for the first time when in a room with his childhood idol-, and Steph can’t keep running all my cases for me. I keep solving them, but I need groundwork done and she has already so much on her plate by patrolling my side of town, I just… I can’t let people die because I couldn't spy on an arms deal and tore it apart before the guns made their way to the streets. 

Jason looked at him again, his emotions in check, and he seemed to think about it for a minute, before humming.

-What about this? You take it slow and easy with the physical therapy, and I help with that stuff. My territory is somewhat in order, or as much as you can have it in this hellhole of a city, so I have plenty of free time, and… I could use the atonement. After, you know, trying to kill you so many times.

It…was unexpected. Jason, helping him? In exchange of Tim’s wellbeing? It seemed absurd beyond belief, but there was no mistaking the earnestness on his face.

And, well, fuck it. Tim was somehow on speaking terms with one of his formers almost-assassins, what was one more?

...it would also be so worth it, once Dick knew. Tim could already picture his jealousy, seeing the two brothers he was at odds or uncomfortable with, speaking at each other and working together.

And having Jason at his side would keep Bruce from checking on him so often. Two birds, one crowbar. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This was shaping up to be the strangest week of his life. Had he entered the twilight zone?

He had gotten kinda used to Damian popping into his room before patrol, or during the nights B forced him to stay at home. He’d work Damian through one of the easiest cold cases, or aid him in his never ending game of Long Live the Queen (he was getting really close to a happy ending, though). In exchange, the kid would keep his work a secret, and help him move around if the pain was too strong, or if he wanted a glass of water and didn’t feel like getting his crutches out for the small trip to the bathroom.

Also, it was somewhat normal to have Jason swing by (morning or mid afternoon, while the vigilantes of the manor slept off their patrol), some case files in hand, informing him about a new development in whatever Tim had asked him to research. Alfred, highly approving of their newfound camaraderie, would insist Jason stayed for tea, and the three of them would dwell into a very satisfying bitch fest, with Bruce as their source material.

What he wasn’t ready for, was having both of them around at the same time.

-Drake, you need to stop lazing around and do your exercises! Father and the doctors said…!

-Chill out, Demon, he did ‘em already. Shouldn't be doin more reps than the doc said, y’know?

Acting like his nurses.

-And how do I know you’re not lying to me, Todd? Hurting Timothy could only benefit you!

-...In literally which way? He’s the ONE brother I like! And like you are any better, Mr slashed zip line.

-Who told you about/? No matter. That was before we became allies. You, on the other hand!

Had he stumbled into a different universe? It wouldn't be the first time. Just in case, he sent Bart, his time/multiverse travel expert, a quick text.

-Hey guys, what’s all this noise abou/ Damian! Drop the knife!

Oh yeah. Just what Tim needed; the awkwardness that seemed to appear whenever he and Dick were in a room together. Maybe it was time to book it back to his room.

-Grayson! Give it back, I need to/!

-Disembowel Jay? I don’t think so.

-Fuck off Dickiebird, I don’t need your protection. 

Decision made, Tim slowly moved his crutches, walking backwards without taking his eyes from the three vigilantes. If he was really, really quiet...

-I know, just/ Wait. Is that a gun?

-Well, it’s not like I’m happy to see yar ugly face.

-Excuse you?!... Here, Dami. You can have it back.

-FUCK!

-DIE!

-TIM!

The last scream came from Dick, who looked in his direction just in time to catch the moment Tim’s crutch slipped in the carpet. As it was, he was the only one who could react fast enough to prevent a painful, possibly very bad for his injury fall.

It also meant Tim was being cradled like a baby. Which- no.

The other two fell silent for  long minute, while their minds caught up to Tim’s almost accident. Then, apparently seeing him safe in Dick’s arms, they turned to fight again. Apparently, blaming the other for Tim’s misfortune. Which… okay maybe he’d been distracted watching them go at it when he tripped, but still!

-I’ll just… take him upstairs -informed them Dick, though it sounded almost like a question. Probably wondering their ability to keep the discussion verbal.

Used to the nagging, both of them raised their hands, showing them empty (which, truly, meant little in the face of two of the most weapon-inclined people he knew), without pausing their rapidly escalating exchange. 

Halfway up the stairs, he stopped wallowing in self pity about his still recovering body to remember that, for the first time in a helluva long time, he’d be alone with Dick. Which translated in Talk Time. Fuck.

By the time they reached his door, he had ready no less than six deflections and twenty conversation topics which avoided mention of all their baggage and could potentially satisfy Dick’s need for socializing with a brother.

-Wipe that look off your face, Baby Bird. You won’t be orchestrating this chat -the older hero informed him, casually as one can be, kicking the door closed behind him and softly lowering Tim on his bed. He was having serious Deja Vu’s from his first encounter with Jason-. We are going to sit in your room. We are going to hear each other out. I’m going to apologize for hurting you and give you insight on the why I acted the way I did. You’ll decide whether or not you’re ready for forgiving me. We’ll bond. Maybe cry. There’ll definetly be hugs involved -that shouldn’t sound like a threat, why did it sound like a threat, Tim felt threatened-, that’s non negotiable, don’t even try to put the ‘tender wounds’ card on me ‘cause I won’t buy it. And…

Dick’s stern voice wavered, arms still around Tim shoulders even when it was clear he didn’t need his support to sit in the bed.

-And we’ll be brothers again.

The tiny, broken sound mid-sentence was what got Tim. 

Hand a little shaky, scared for his own heart but unwilling to let the older boy (his hero and family for so long) keep hurting, he touched Dick’s cheek and smiled. Tentatively, because they were on unstable ground here, but hopeful, because god did he miss his brother.

-We never stopped being that, idiot.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was after dinner, when Bruce approached him in silence. Tim had been making his slow  but steady way to the den, where Dick had roped them all into watching a movie together. He could hear the sounds of Jason and Damian roughosing (okay, Jason was; the brat probably believed the whole affair to be a fight to the death for honor or something like that) and Dick’s chirpy voice as he ranted about The Greatest Showman from the hall.

Bruce had been making the trip by his side, hand hovering close to Tim’s elbow, in case the crutches failed him or he tripped. Tim wanted to tell him it wouldn't happen, but… he’d missed his dad’s attention a little too much to complain about independency now.

-How’s the recovery going, son?

He stopped in the door leading to where his brothers waited, turning to face  Bruce with an arched eyebrow.

-You know that better than me, Mr I’ve broken every bone in my body at some point. Also I’m dead sure you hacked my medical files and know every little detail my physical therapist wrote by heart. You can probably recite them to me verbatim.

-I didn’t mean the physical recovery. The shot in your side is not the only wound you’re carrying right now

Silence, the only noise coming from inside the room and Tim’s heavy breathing. Unable to refrain himself, he risks a glance at the tangle of limbs rolling around in the carpet (Dick’s tactic to stop the fight was to hug them into submission) and lets the tentative, frail smile tug at his lips.

-Honestly, B… That one is healing nicely. There’ll be scars but… That’ proof of what we overcame. Right?

Bruce’s smile looked kinda uncomfortable in that stony face of his, but warm all the same. His hand left Tim’s arm to tussle his hair a bit, careful to not unbalance him.

-When did you became the wisest of my children?

A crash came from inside the room, startling them both.

-TODD YOU…!

-DAMIAN NO! JASON PUT DOWN THE CHAIR! DON’T MAKE ME CALL ALFRED!

-C’ME AT ME, MIDGET!

-ALFIEEEE!!!

-Bruce…

-Yes?

-I’m the only wise child you have.

[screechthemighty]

I can’t think of a title for this, and therefore feel weird posting it to AO3, but I also didn’t write over 1k words of Caustic getting dunked on not to share it, so...here’s a thing I wrote. Maybe I’ll post it to AO3 later if I can think of something for a title. Also, this is the closest to writing something canon-compliant you will ever see me write.

CW: Racism/xenophobia, character hate (Caustic), google translate/Papago Korean and Hindi (open to corrections, alleged translations at the bottom). 

----------

Getting paired with Crypto and Caustic was the worst thing to happen to Elliott all week.

It was bad enough that he wasn’t overly fond of either of them (Caustic less so than Crypto, guy gave him the creeps), but they’d been glaring daggers at each other since the whole Crypto is the traitor! No, Caustic is the traitor! thing that had gone down back on Talon. It threw off the vibe. Elliott found himself nervous-rambling more and more as the match went on, which just got him some daggers of his own, which just made him nervous-ramble more, and at this rate it was going to be a miracle if they actually won.

I can’t work under these conditions, he thought as he crouched behind cover, eyes desperately scanning the new environment. Caustic had already put up traps around the room and Crypto was flying his drone around, trying to figure out how screwed they were. They knew it was going to be a bloodbath—there were way too many teams left and it was a late-game ring, that always ended badly—but if they could just avoid the worst of it…

“Have you found anything yet?” Caustic said, in a tone that could only be described as sneering.

“ 나는 여전히 일하고 있다.,” Crypto responded absentmindedly. Elliott didn’t know what that meant, but if he had to guess based on context, it was probably something like, Hold your horses, I’m trying. This part of the map must’ve been absolute shit for drone flying. Too many buildings. “ 왜 현수막을 못 찾겠어 …”

Caustic scoffed. “Fine. Hide behind your language then, coward.”

Elliott froze. Oh, boy. If the vibes had been bad before, they were worse now. Crypto’s gaze snapped up to meet Caustic’s with a glare that was the reason the phrase if looks could kill existed. “I’m still working,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. “I can’t find a banner. But I haven’t found any evidence of squads nearby.”

“That’s good, right? That’s great news!” Words flew out of Elliott’s mouth before he could stop them. “Not dead yet, right, buddies? Eh?” Crypto had turned his attention back to his drone, leaving Caustic to glare at Elliott. “No? Okay. Shutting up now…”

Once Crypto finally found a banner and confirmed they were in the one tiny portion of the remaining map that didn’t have any squads nearby, and pinged the next ring location, they pushed ahead to set up a possible ambush. Everything was in place, gas traps and drones hidden in little nooks to catch anyone fleeing the ring, and Elliott had even found a triple take, which was pretty great. He was just starting to get into the groove of an ambush when…

“I want to make something clear.”

Uh-oh.

Elliott turned around, bracing himself for an argument. That sounded like an Elliott did something stupid voice from Crypto, and he wasn’t even sure he had done anything yet. Elliott was relieved—then terrified—to see that tone was actually meant for Caustic.

“I’m not hiding behind anything.” Crypto didn’t even sound angry; he just sounded cold. “You might still be hung up on Talon, but I have other things to worry about. I have absolutely nothing to say to you and I’m not going to deny myself my own language to soothe your pointless paranoia. 걱정이 되면 한국어를 배울 수 있다*.” And then, because this situation couldn’t possibly get more intense, Crypto stepped right into Caustic’s personal space. “And if I wanted to call you a small-minded xenophobic viper, you would know my meaning very plainly, Doctor Nox.”

Having four older brothers meant Elliott was pretty good at smelling when a fight was about to break out. And this was definitely, dangerously close to coming to blows. “Hey, uhhh, friendly reminder, all three of us get in trouble if you two start friendly firing,” Elliott said, physically inserting himself between the two of them. That involved getting way closer to either man than he really wanted to, but it was better than the alternative. “So maybe, crazy thought, Caustic can apologize, and we pretend it didn’t happen for another five minutes?”

“I have nothing to apologize for,” Caustic said.

“I don’t want his apology,” Crypto interjected.

“Whatever! I don’t really care! Just don’t kill each other! Okay? Anyone wanna help me actually do this ambush or what?”

They backed down after that. Elliott doubted anything he’d actually said changed their minds. They were probably just sick of the forced physical proximity, but he’d take it as a win. Okay, only a partial win. He was still stuck on a team with the two of them and way too many other people in an increasingly small ring.

“Hey, Crypto, how do you say I’m gonna die in Korean?”

“You’re not going to die,” Crypto sighed. Then, “But it’s 난 죽을 것이다.”

“…y’know what, I’ll work on that pronunciation later.” Or he’d forget the second he was out of the ring. That was more likely.

Shockingly, Crypto was right. He didn’t die, because they somehow won. Crypto and Caustic must’ve turned that latent aggression they were feeling for each other against the last of the competitors. That was fine by Elliott. As long as they weren’t killing each other while he was on the team.

Of course, when it was over, he immediately dished to Ramya about what went down.

“That rubber-coated tosser said what?!”

“Yeah, it’s weird, right? If Crypto had something to say, he’d just say it. Trust me, I know he hates me.” Elliott didn’t think Crypto had ever talked shit in Korean—though it’d probably be pretty obvious from context if he did. Wouldn’t be the first time Elliott had been called a dumbass in a non-English language. “And if I’m understanding what Gibraltar said, Caustic threw him under the bus, so what’s the deal? If you start shit, you don’t get to be pissy if you get shit back. That’s like…the rules.” A brief moment of self-reflection said that was probably hypocritical of him to say, but at least Elliott had some awareness of how shit worked. Again. Four older brothers. He knew the score.

Ramya snorted dismissively. “You really think a guy like Caustic thinks the rules apply to him? Or that it’s just about whatever happened on Talon? Speaking of...” Caustic was lurking nearby, stalking down the hallway as if this were still the arena and he was looking for his next victim. “Hey, Witt, watch this. Doc!” Ramya waited until Caustic was looking at her, then did that thing Brits did that looked like a peace sign but was actually basically the middle finger. “ अपने आप के लिए, गधे हो अपनी राय रखें।.**”

Caustic froze, eyes narrowing as he ran over whatever it was Ramya said. Elliott was genuinely nervous he was going to do something about it, but Caustic kept on walking, scoffing noisily as he went. “गधे!***” Ramya called after him.

“Uh, are you sure that’s a guy who want to be antagonizing?” Elliott asked nervously.

“What’s he going to do about it? Try to hurt my feelings? Call me ignorant? Hah!” She went back to her project. “Joke’s on him, I speak three languages and know how to make a gun from scratch. What does he do? Make fart bombs?”

“Wait, three?!”

“…eh, two and a half. I haven’t spoken Punjabi in a while. I’ve probably forgotten some bits. Point being, he can’t say shite about me.” She grinned mischievously. “And he’s going to have to get used to not knowing what I’m saying about him.”

Oh, no. “I shouldn’t have told you about this,” Elliott groaned. “He’s going to think I’m an accessory. I don’t want any part in this.”

“Too late.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He really didn’t. That was the worst part.

Oh, well, at least Crypto would probably find it funny. Elliott might not have been friendly with him or anything, but he had to admit: after Talon, the guy could probably use something to cheer him up.

.

.

What any not-diagetically-translated lines are supposed to mean even though they probably are wrong because Google Translate (hopefully the copy-paste of the Korean and Hindi are like...readable).

*“If you’re worried, you can learn Korean.”

**“Keep your opinion to yourself, asshole.”

***“Jackass!“

Also, technically Crypto said “Why can’t I find the banner” not “I can’t find a banner” but I don’t think he’d give an exact translation of him talking to himself anyways, just the gist of what he meant.

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Shadows

A commission for my sister that took way too long alskdhg anyway I hope you like it Sissy!!!! Commission info is here!

~

There’s too many shadows in this apartment.

Kim is used to shadows. Has been seeing them all her life. She’s never been formally diagnosed, but she’s pretty sure she has some form of psychosis. She sees what the cat sees. She sees things the cat does not. She hears voices that aren’t there, and has had more than one panic attack thinking that there’s someone in the house but she can’t find them.

So it’s not the shadows themselves that cause a problem. It’s the way they move.

The shadow the tv casts is always the same shapes and lengths throughout the day, unless she has a lamp on. Except sometimes the shadow with be opposite where it’s supposed to be, or it’ll be wider, darkening the edges of the tiny, musty living room.

Taking photos on her cellphone helps sometimes. Sometimes it does not.

The shadows in the kitchen in the morning are becoming as familiar as the shape of her own hands. Except there are shadows roughly the size and shape of mice with too-long limbs scuttling around, silent but startling. Too fast to take pictures of.

The bathroom is safe. There are no shadows in the bathroom that do not lie quiet and still. Too still. She does not shower after the sun sets.

But for all that this place feels unsafe, Kim lives here on her own, away from her transphobic family, away from fair-weather friends—alone, comfortably alone.

Except for the shadows.

~

The whispers start about two months into her living there. She ignores them, shivering. There is absolutely no one in her apartment besides herself, she tells herself fiercely. Even when a voice grumbles about the couch being uncomfortable right in her ear, she just closes her eyes and focuses on her tv show.

Smells begin wafting around, and that terrifies her greatly. This gloomy, airless apartment has always had pockets of mildew-smells and stale air—but now sometimes Kim will shiver at a cold draft, then realize the draft smells like blood. Her neighbor down the hall is Vietnamese and is always cooking something interesting, utterly unlike the American garbage Kim makes, but these smells are not pungent; they are subtle, and make her gag. Blood. Rotting flesh. She hears flies in the bathroom, grabs a flyswatter, goes to the bathroom, and has to run away again, choking from the billow of manure and rot.

It all comes to a head the day the walls bleed.

The neighbors downstairs are screaming at each other again. Kim has been trying to unclog her kitchen sink for three hours, and the shadow mice have been watching her with evil red eyes. The paranoia is digging into her back, and she can barely breathe from the stench of rot. Finally, she puts the plunger down and goes to her room, whimpering, wavering, turning sharply with every step to make sure nothing is following her. She goes to her bed, starts to fall on to it—but her head turns, and she sees blood dripping down the wall across from her wall. The wallpaper has torn, and the board behind it is sweating blood.

Kim screams, and scrambles out of the room, heading for the door—but there are shadows in ever corner of the apartment, staring at her with accusing red eyes, and she screams again, because at least when she’s screaming the whispers aren’t as loud—except they are, they are, and as hard as she tries to shut her eyes, they stay open, looking around wildly, as she falls to the ground sobbing, curling up tightly and cowering from the shadow that looms over her, breathing fetid blood in her face, as she stares up in utter terror and can’t breathe from the fear.

They can’t hurt you, the shadow hisses, and Kim sobs. This is OUR place. They cannot hurt you in our place.

Kim tries to scream again, but the shadow touches her cheek, and the world goes dark.

~

She wakes in bed, fully clothed and tucked in. The stench of blood is gone. The walls are whole.

She cries in relief, and hysterics. But when she is calmer, she decides she might as well finish plunging the drain. Shakily, she stands, and stumbles out of the room and down the hall.

The plunger is right where she left it. But the tap is on full blast, and the pipes apparently aren’t clogged anymore.

~

The hallucinations remain. The mice-things skitter, and the evil hissing whispers remain, and the shadows terrify her: but sometimes, other shadows will appear, and swiftly overtake the hallucinations, and then they’re gone.

Sometimes hands of dark grey translucent fear pass over her eyes, and her paranoia calms.

Sometimes the vile whispers in languages she doesn’t know will overtake the voices, and start crooning in what she suspects is meant to be a soothing tone. It frightens her still, but… at least she knows these whispers are, well, real.

One night, when there is a terrible storm, flooding and a tornado and trees shaken from the ground, she hides in the bathtub, weeping hysterically, and a shadow oozes over the edge of the tub to whisper, It will not hurt you. This place is OURS.

Powerlines are down throughout the city, water is cut off, people are being flooded and trees have fallen on houses. But in the morning, Kim still has electricity, and gas, and water. She does not ask why that is. But she does whisper, shyly, fearfully, “Thank you.”

She goes to dinner with her family, and when she comes home she collapses on the couch and cries and cries, the pain of being misgendered and deadnamed second only to the repeated jabs at her being a failure and a liar.

She is startled to feel warmth flop haphazardly over her. She looks up impulsively, and nearly shrieks—a monster of shadow and death looms over her. But it had covered her with a quilt—a quilt that didn’t belong to her. It’s very old, and very musty, but the thing looming over her hisses, They will regret hurting you.

In the morning, she washes the blanket in the tub with cold water and gentle soap, hangs it in front of the fan and window full of sunshine to dry, and is not sad when her brother calls her in tears to say their father had fallen down the stairs last night and broken his neck.

The shadows are protecting her. They still scare the shit out of her, but they are protecting her.

Finally, a year after she first moved in to the haunted apartment, she goes to the local library, and looks up local history. Apparently her building was built over the site of three houses that had been bulldozed because no one could live in them. Ghosts, demons, creatures older than the stones of the hill; there were a lot of theories, but none of them were proven.

When Kim comes home, she asks the apartment at large, “What are you? You’re not… shadows. You were here before me. What are you?”

...Old, whisper a hundred voices, and she bites her tongue to stop a shriek. We are old. But this place is ours. And so are you. We protect what is ours.

~

Two years later, Kim wakes to the sound of someone screaming.

She scrambles out of bed and runs down the hall, but halts before she can step into the living room.

There is a body on the ground, thrashing, screaming, clawing for the gun just a few feet away. A gun. A person in her house with a gun.

OURSSSSSSS, hiss the voices, the shadows thickening around the person, until it’s a heaving mass of pure dark, and the screams are muffled. Then—silence.

The shadows fade, and there is a tiny stain on the carpet, and nothing more. The shadow that speaks to Kim the most—the one of rot and death—slips up beside her, and whispers, He was going to hurt you. We do not let strangers hurt what is ours.

For the first time, Kim reaches out very carefully, and tries to touch the shadow. Her fingers pass right through. But she still says, in a shaky voice, “Thank you.”

There is a general sigh from the shadows, and suddenly the apartment is very quiet. No whispers. No hissing. No hallucinations. The shadows are quiet and still.

We sleep, sighs the one who talks to her, and fades away.

Kim looks down at the gun on the floor. There’s no other sign of the intruder, and she hears nothing from anyone else in the building. Maybe the shadows muffle this apartment from the others. Carefully, Kim steps forward, picks up the gun, and hides it under a couch cushion. She’ll turn it in to the police tomorrow.

The shadows have eaten, and now they sleep. She should sleep too.

Feeling strangely comforted, Kim goes back to her room, and smiles to see that the old quilt they had given her is spread and waiting. She slips into bed under it, takes a deep breath of the “tropical” scent soap she had cleaned it with (the shadows seem to like fruity scents), and snuggles down, eyelids growing heavy.

The shadows will protect her. No one else ever has, but the shadows will.

[thesummerstorms]

Rev Recaps Hard Contact (Chapter 6)

CW: Series typical sexist description, I guess. 

TL;DR Recap:  Birhan attempts to chase Etain away but is dissuaded by Jinart. Darman is puzzled by nature and also severely sleep deprived. Hokan is sexist and Uthan is introduced.

Starting Kal Count: 7. Ending Kal Count: 10.

We immediately open the chapter with another Kal quote. And not even an interesting one. But that ups the Kal Count to 8.

The scene we start with though is from Etain’s pov. Birhan our vaguely contemptuous farmer, is throwing clods of dirt at Etain and telling her to “GTFO because this is all your fault” essentially. 

(Etain plays the scape goat a lot. It’s a trend. Realistically though, he’s afraid of what Hokan will do if he’s found sheltering her, given the “militia” burned people and their livelihoods last chapter.)

Etain still has no idea who Jinart is, but Jinart tells Birhan he’s being stupid. Etain tries and fails to mind influence him with yet another quote about Etain’s lack of control over the Force when it’s most needed. Jinart shoves Birhan around a bit and tries again to persuade him by basically telling him he can either get murdered by the Republic or keep Etain as a kind of human MiracleGro:

This quote is one of the big reasons that I headcanon that Etain was never really going to be happy as a mercenary farmer’s wife living in rural Mandalore with Kal, or happy in a rural/agricultural setting, period. Her strongest associations with agricultural life are the AgriCorps and Qiilura- failure and trauma. The narrative flat out tells us “agriculture spelled failure”. 

And while that might be resolved eventually with a character arc (that she doesn’t get) ag life flat out doesn’t provide the sense of purpose that Etain is so desperate for. There’s nothing dishonorable about farming, but Etain sees it as “life on a backwater planet, talking to grain” and through out the series she strives for the opportunity to make a real difference to other people. Misguidedly at times, I’ll admit, but I don’t think she could have ever been content with what was being offered.

Anyway, Jinart steers Etain back in the direction of the barn. Etain is getting understandably paranoid, but there’s some narration in this scene I just don’t get?

I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about this scene. Enough that I’ll probably make a separate post later. I’m trying to keep my posts brief, I really am, but I pull so much from these couple of pages for Etain.

My first thought is that it’s really, really fucking weird to put Etain’s digression about Jedi values of anti-attachment here, relative to this barn...as opposed to like, idk, a reflection on her life versus the clones’ later. 

Of fucking course the barn isn’t home. It’s a place she’s been hiding from people who want to kill, torture, or rape her while behind enemy lines on a military mission and the owner of the barn just directly threatened her, if ineffectively. “No loves, no attachments” well, yeah, you’re surrounded by enemies and your teacher was just tortured to death. “At least it wouldn’t be hard to tear herself away from here.” Well, no shit. Was that ever even a realistic option?

Then we immediately get the highlighted exchange with Jinart, and again, I’m repeatedly struck by how differently Omega’s grief versus Etain’s is frame. I’m not saying that Etain’s statement is wrong, or even out of character necessarily. 

But it’s super detached, again. Granted, the clones don’t spend time weeping on screen. But their grief at losing their respective squads is brought up repeatedly. The prologue and most of the first chapter are either Darman realizing he’ll never see his squad again or Niner and Fi’s heartbreaking conversation about it. It plays into Niner’s repeated fears for Darman and his anger with Atin. It plays in to Atin’s seeming callousness towards Darman. Etain has a scene later where she asks Darman if he misses his brothers, and he goes quiet and hurt and the weight of the scene rightly falls on her like a hammer.

While Etain... I’m not saying it doesn’t affect her actions; it very visibly affects her paranoia. But it’s never handled quite like grief, if that makes sense? At least not after the initial death.

Speaking of paranoia... Jinart really has no call to be offended that Etain is suspicious, given what’s happened to Etain over the last several weeks and the fact that Jinart spends much of the rest of the novel insinuating she’s naive and useless. Etain has every right to be paranoid, all things considered. But then we get this contradictory mess of a conversation:

The soothing bit doesn’t make sense to me. But I’m biased because I dislike Jinart based on the whole scope of the series. And again Etain grieving and feeling alone and hating being alone in grief makes sense, but the framing of this quote is super weird. Especially as the farmers haven’t demonstrated and “home”-like behavior or even family loyalties on screen.

But we’re finally moving on from this huge ass rant about this scene as we open onto Darman crawling through an open field with his kit and generally being overwhelmed by the sheer openness of everything+ the physical strain when he’s already wounded and exhausted. During the course of this, it comes up that Dar is still desperately hungry, so he starts thinking about what wildlife might be edible, and then about Kal and uj cake.

Kal Count is increased to 9.

Darman is exhausted and fatigued, and most of the section, while interesting, can just be boiled down to him trying to motivate himself to keep going because he’s terrified he’ll miss the rendezvous with the rest of Omega Squad. The same kind of bird that brought down his ship in the first place eats the remote he was using to scout ahead, so he swears at it. There’s another mention of Kal teaching them to build defensive fortifications which ups the Kal Count to 10.

But there’s also a fair bit of fascination as he’s experiencing nature for the first time. He takes his helmet off to smell the breeze, soaks in the stream, and is captivated by his first view of the daywings, which makes you think he is kind of a small-details guy. 

...Dar....

anyway, he falls asleep eventually without much more of note happening in this section. We move to Ghez Hokan introducing the reader to Separatist scientist and would-be creator of the anti-clone bio weapon, Qail Ovolot Uthan. 

I appreciate Uthan a lot as a character, despite her later handling in Imperial Commando: 501st, but this particular introduction still makes me cringe.

I legitimately can’t tell if this is how Traviss thinks of this character, or if this is deliberate characterization of Hokan via his descriptions of Uthan, but ugh.

Hokan: She knows I can’t be seduced, but she still wants to seduce me!

Ugh. The man is also way caught up his own ass in terms of what he thinks other people think of him. He doesn’t want to sit in Uthan’s brocaded chair because it’s “too decadent” but does it anyway because otherwise he would be addressing her while standing like a servant. Dude, you need some therapy. What’s the Mando expression? All helmet, no head?

Anyway, I really, really like Uthan here actually. She’s super ruthless, and even if she’s not a great person, ruthless and somewhat ammoral female characters are a fun rarity. I wish that KT could have kept it up throughout the series rather than making her into “bitter lonely career woman”, but look how casually she decides her work is threatened and then which of her associates she needs to cooly dispose of to prevent that happening:

The smartest thought Hokan has had so far is the recognition that if she’ll arrange to dispose of Ankkit, she’ll do the same to him, honestly. But when Uthan sees him hesitate, she goes right for the kill and presses just the right button to utterly manipulate him. He even recognizes it, but is unable to not be convinced.

She tells him that the clones are clones of Jango Fett. And of course he goes all Death Watch and Mandalorian Honor about it.

Honestly, Hokan. And then we finish the chapter with the thing that really makes me question his intelligence:

“To make them proper men again?”

this is the third time I’ve said it.... but how the fuck do you think viruses work, Hokan?

Honestly.

[princebugs]

A meeting with Niles.

Quivering digits rub and scratch at the back of his own neck, goosebumps rising as his eyes shift from corner to corner. He swallows, the nervous lump in his throat dissipating for only mere moments before quickly arising once more. His movements remain shaky, and shifty. He feels nervosa creeping up his spine leisurely, causing his hyperactivity to skyrocket. Remaining still is no easy task.

The male can almost discern a feeling of eyes on the back of his brunette tresses, watching him from the shadowed corner of the room. Perhaps a figure is awaiting the perfect time to pounce on the human and rip his throat out, at a pace fast enough that he wouldn't scream--- no one would hear his death. He whips his head in that direction, his heart pounding against his chest.

Cue a sigh of relief.

It's just dust. It's just dust, Gavin. Can't hurt you. Maybe fuck with your allergies a bit, but it won't hurt you. You're probably just crazy, like your uncle Kevin--- he still lives in that shed, right? Still talking about those damned 'creatures of the night', hiding in there with a shotgun with hopes that he'll be the one to kill 'em.

Maybe you'll be like that soon, if these delusions go any farther.

A sound of a doorknob clicking interrupts his thoughts and causes the male to jump in his seat, right forearm raising in a defensive manner before realizing that it was only his new therapist, clad in a black turtleneck and black pants.

When did he get here?

Gavin briefly takes a glance down at himself, and is just a slight bit pissed at himself for not dressing nicer.

If this was anything but a therapy session where Gavin would have to speak openly about his mental problems, he would have dressed better. He didn't see the point of wearing something appealing when it was just therapy, and his therapist was most likely going to be some old man or young female that he didn't need to impress.

Sadly for him, the male was definitely not an old man. He looked, roughly, around Gavin's age--- yet he had the sort of timeless face that could pass for a nineteen-year-old. The turtleneck's sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. Gavin usually considers turtlenecks "phckin' ugly" but this guy has changed the definition for him.

And he was overwhelmingly pale. Did he never go outside?

Lesson learned. Wear cute clothes EVERYWHERE.

“Mr. Reed?“ A voice brings Gavin out of his train of thought, and he notices that the male is no longer standing, and is, in fact, sitting right in the position ahead of him, with his head tilted in slight concern as well as confusion.

Dammit.

“Shit, ah,“ Gavin struggles to push away his thoughts for the time being, his nails scratching at the back of his neck as he awkwardly laughs half-heartedly. “Yeah, yeah. That's me, alright.“

The therapist merely emits a soft chuckle, though his mind seems to be elsewhere. He doesn't know for sure, but he thinks that he's making a mental note of some sort--- probably from his behavior. This feels almost like a job interview, and that makes Gavin straighten out his back and lock eye-contact with the male across from him, his cerulean optics now gazing into steel hues. This, however, prompts another brief snicker from him.

“This isn't a professional setting, Mr. Reed. You can sit however you see fit; it is better that you feel comfortable while we converse with one another.“

Gavin's brows furrow together in exiguous uncertainty--- this man spoke like he was reading from a college art essay. Though he said it wasn't professional, it almost felt like it was; like Gavin was being judged for every single movement he followed through with.

It was almost as if he was being ordered to feel more comfortable, which is the most awkward thing ever. It puts on pressure, and makes the situation even more uncomfortable. Nonetheless, Gavin leans back, slouching a modest amount whilst placing his elbows on the back of the couch he sat upon. He stared ahead with half-lidded eyes, and his therapist was studying his body language the entire time.

Gavin would consider this creepy, but it's alright because it's his therapist.

“I'm Dr. Anderson, but you can just refer to me as Niles,“ His therapist--Niles-- begins, his nimble fingers picking up a set of reading glasses and placing them on his visage for a few moments to seemingly read Gavin's file, then setting both the glasses and the file down on the table in front of him. “How about you tell me why you set this urgent appointment with me, hm?“

His voice was smooth, like velvet draped across pale skin. It brought chills down Gavin's back. Compared to how coarse and rough Gavin's voice was, Niles' voice was soothing.

Calm down, dude. This isn't a therapy session for questioning your sexuality. Reply to his question, fucknut!

“Yeah, sure, sure. Uh, where do I fuckin' start?“ Again, Gavin laughs to release some tension, and when the room is silent, he coughs. And continues. “Hah, erm... well, I've been having these weird delusions and feelings of someone watching me. Paranoia, or whatever. I can't sleep, either.“

The concept of therapy wasn't really Gavin's thing; the idea of sharing all of his thoughts with another person was just plain idiotic, in his opinion. He'd much rather keep his feelings to himself, but since his mother called him out of the blue and informed him that she had scheduled an appointment with an "experienced therapist with good reviews" (which sounded shady as hell) because she was worried.

Truth is, he couldn't blame her for being worried. He had shut himself in his apartment, and wasn't even going to work the majority of the time. And when he did go to work, he only got sent home because he continuously kept falling asleep at his desk. Probably because he doesn't feel the eyes on him as he sleeps at work.

“Interesting,“ Niles bobbed his cranium in confirmation, his weight now leaning back as he crosses his arms over one another. He always seems like he is analyzing Gavin in some way.

Weird as fuck.

“So, perhaps you could be having some sort of stalker, or PTSD from something happening to you in the pa--“

“No, no. It's not like that.“

Niles seems suddenly interested and more inclined to listen, his head once again now tilted to the side in curiosity as his brows raise upwards. “Oh?“

Gavin gulped--- the aura that this guy gave off was intimidating as hell, and it was difficult to trust him. “Yeah, like... if it was something like that, then wouldn't I feel some sort of recognition kind of thing? Stalkers are usually people that the person knows personally or knew personally, and PTSD... don't think that's applicable to this situation. I don't think it's that.“

“Elaborate.“

“If it was PTSD, then it wouldn't feel so... so...“ He struggled to search and find the correct vocabulary, the right words-- it was on the tip of his tongue. His eyebrows knit together in comprehension, irises looking down at the couch as he--

“Real?“

Niles' tone is almost demanding in generality; it causes Gavin to shudder and almost cower in fear. Momentarily, he remembers how stern his father's voice was, how it terrified him to his core. Fear can make anyone curl in on themselves.

Gavin nods his head, his grey-blue hues now gazing out the large-sized window located directly to his left, watching as doves fly away. “Y-- yeah. Real. I've experienced PTSD before, and it's nothing like that, at least not this time. It's inhuman, almost. Like... like someone, some thing is going to pounce on me at any second. I don't feel safe in my apartment by myself. Hah, I even had a little moment in here before you got here--- thought something was in the corner.“

His therapist only stares, bobbing his head every now and then as a way to show that he was listening. Though, it didn't seem like it. It was as if he already knew everything that Gavin was saying. He identifies a sudden feeling of recognition--- one that chills Gavin to his very core.

“I, uh--- have I met you before?“ The detective leans forward now, setting his elbows on his knees. He can feel the shadows under his eyes growing deeper-- is that normal? How long had it been since he had slept? Gavin's calloused phalanges weave through his brunette locks, then gripping them tightly. “God, I must be going crazy. Of course, I haven't seen you anywhere--- what am I thinking? Turnin' into Uncle Kev-- I've been seein' shit that just isn't there. It's probably just sleep deprivation, and this therapy session won't do anything, I'm just wastin' my ti--“

“Here, walk with me outside,“ His incoherent rambling is cut short by Niles' request.

Gavin's pate raises upwards, catching sight of the therapist's outstretched palm, reaching for him. Motioning for Gavin to take his hand. His eyes lock with Niles.

“Wowza! Hand-holding? At least take me out to dinner first, eh?“ Gavin internally slaps himself. Meanwhile, Niles just rolls his eyes. Not in an annoyed way--- in an amused manner. Phew, Gavin didn't scare away his therapist.

“Come on, you said that being in here made you have a little 'fit' as well, right? Perhaps being out instead of holed inside your apartment will make you feel better, in some fashion?“

Gavin ponders about his next move, though it didn't seem much like a request at this point. Niles just seemed like he was politely ordering him to go outside. Reluctantly, he places his tan-colored hand in Niles' pale palm, letting his hand envelop over Gavin's and pull him up to his feet abruptly.

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

They meandered around the perimeter of the building for several moments, neither of them uttering a single word the duration of their walk. Gavin wasn't particularly skilled at breaking the ice when it came to long periods of silence similar to this; he would usually make it worse, actually. Saying something that would be so unexpected that it catches the recipient off-guard, or something that just makes the air between them extremely awkward all of the sudden.

Eventually, Gavin can't stand it anymore. He coughs to clear his throat up, his hand clenching into a fist for him to cough into for a few moments before scratching at the back of his neck again, and again.

“So, like, you have any family around this area, or are you new to Detroit?“

Greaaat question, Gavin. What if he has no family, and you just brought up shitty memories? GOOD GOIN', PRICK.

Niles hums. “I am relatively new here, but my brother lives here with me. You probably saw him whilst walking around the building, yes? Shorter than me, brown eyes?“

Gavin recalls seeing someone who fit that description. “Yeah, that's your brother?“

“Indeed, he is. He's... a little brat sometimes, prefers to do his own thing, but he's still family. We had to move rather abruptly due to some... sudden consequences of our actions, I suppose. Nothing for you to worry about.“

That bewildered Gavin, but he decided not to press further.

Luckily, Niles kept the conversation going. If the silence began once more, Gavin thought he could die.

“You mentioned an uncle earlier?“

Right, during his ramble.

“Yeah, hahah--- Uncle Kevin. He's like, the weird family member, y'know? The one who lives in a shed with a shotgun--- claiming that he'll prevent the apocalypse by killing the bloodsuckers, or something like that,“ Gavin laughs at this, yet Niles is silent.

“How peculiar. Bloodsuckers, you say?“ Niles inclines his head towards Gavin, his arms remaining behind his back as he walked. “What do you think of that?“

Gavin's face scrunches up, emitting a confused noise before sighing softly, remembering that this was a therapy session after all. “I dunno, man. Frankly, I think the idea of vampires existing is stupid as fuck, actually. Like, wasn't it just a myth, or fairytale? Or something like that. Nonetheless, it's hella dumb, and I don't believe in it one bit. If I ever saw a vampire in front of my face, I'd probably call it ugly and scream.“

Niles does laugh at this. “Be careful about what you say, Mr. Reed, you never know who, or what, might be listening.“

The way he said this caused shivers to go down Gavin's back. He sneered at Niles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and emitting a disgruntled huff. “Don't even joke about that shit, man. I mean, I may find it funny, but the way you say that shit just makes me feel hella uneasy.“

“What if I told you that you should be feeling uneasy right now, Gavin?“ Niles' tone is almost playful, like a cat playing with its prey before chomping down on it.

Gavin just emits a confused noise in return. “Huh?“ He should be feeling uneasy? Why is that such a... weird statement to make?

“I'm just messing with you-- a mere jest. Everyone feels uneasy with their new therapist; that's a sign that you're normal, Gavin.“

Exhaling a soft suspire of relief. “See, when you're all serious like that all the time, I can't even tell the difference between the real seriousness and the fake. That's what makes me feel uneasy.“

“That's how life really is, though. No one can distinguish reality from dream, but we believe that we can. How sure are you right now that you are in reality? At this exact moment, do you know if I am real, or a figment of your imagination?“ The taller male stops in his tracks, and Gavin struggles to stammer out his reply.

Gavin turns his head to Niles.

“I-- I'm totally freaked right now, dude. You're gettin' all... weird. How the fuck did we go from talkin' about vampires to--- this??“

“Gavin. Keep your windows unlocked at night, okay? It's extremely difficult for someone to break a window in a quiet manner. And it just becomes a hassle to clean up later on...“

What the fuck?

Gavin has no time to respond, Niles speeds up and just walks away with a mere wink and a smirk with relatively sharp canine teeth for a human. Remarkably, Niles had no shadow. Weird, weird, weird. Everything about Niles was weird and unexplainable.

Gavin is left on the pavement outside the building with no one around him, awkwardly standing there. He didn't know where to go. Should he follow Niles? No, no--- Gavin didn't want to be around him anymore.

He must look pathetic, wanting to run away and cry to his mother about what had just occurred--- but he'll do it nonetheless.

There was only one thing that Gavin knew from his first and last encounter with his therapist.

He's locking the windows.

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

ALSO POSTED ON AO3:

[hexlikesramennoodles]

15 or 27 on the 50 kisses list + harringrove please

15. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick; 27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Author’s note: this takes place in the same universe as my fic This Jelly. I hope that’s okay with you, Anon.

“It’ll be something in the roof,” Billy announced. He ran his finger around the edge of the windowsill, over the places where rainwater had soaked through the plaster, browning the paint and flaking it away. “A loose tile, I’m willing to bet.”

“Huh,” Steve said. He was only loosely paying attention; Billy’s jeans hung low on his hips, and his chest was bare save for the chain from which his AA medallion swung. Steve had missed that medallion. He missed the sight of Billy’s naked chest even more. It had only been about four days since they’d last seen each other, but somehow the time felt much longer.

“I can go up there later, if you’ve got a ladder. Wouldn’t want you to fall and break your neck.” Billy stepped away from the window, trailing stray paint flakes from his fingers. “Sound good?”

“Huh?” Steve startled, blinking and wetting his lips. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, man.”

Billy sidled closer, cocking his head. He had this weird obsession with being clean—meaning clean hair, clean nails, and clean-shaven skin whenever he saw Steve outside of work. He steam ironed his shirts, and wore cologne that made Steve’s eyes water with how strong it was. Steve knew it went deeper than Billy simply wanting to look nice for their dates—he also didn’t want to become his father. Neil Hargrove had let himself go long before he remarried. He smoked, ate badly, and didn’t brush his teeth. His breath had smelled like he was rotting inside. I don’t want that to be me, Billy had told Steve once. I’ll fuckin’ kill myself before I become what he ended up becoming.

Steve didn’t know how to tell him. After a long morning on the construction site, Billy smelled of sunshine and sweat—not dirty sweat, not how Steve’s gym socks used to smell after three nights of basketball practice, rank and in definite need of a good wash—no, this smell was somehow deeper, purer in its base notes. Animalistic. His skin had taken on this lovely, bronze sheen, mixed in with the chalky dust of crushed gravel, and Steve didn’t know what it was—black magic pheromones, body chemistry—whatever the fuck was seeping from Billy’s pores in place of his usual soap and cologne, it smelled downright fucking erotic. God, Steve had missed him.

“Anything else?” Billy said, his head still cocked.

“Uh.” Steve stared around his bedroom, his tongue feeling as large as a golf ball in his throat. He pointed to the wall socket next to the nightstand. “Yeah, uh, I think there’s something wrong with the electricity. My phone—it’s plugged in, but it’s not—”

Billy’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Well, it might help if you turned on the power first, pretty boy. Like this.” His knees creaked as he bent down, flipping the switch above the socket. Steve did not have the grace to feign shame; the new angle gave him a perfect view of Billy’s ass. “I’m still on the clock. Is there anything else you need before I—”

“My pipes,” he blurted wildly. “My pipes aren’t, uh, working.”

Billy’s eyebrows shot up. “Your pipes?”

He rose so quickly from where he was kneeling that Steve took a step back, his thighs hitting the edge of the bed. “Steve,” Billy said slowly. He closed the distance between them with an outstretching of his hand, flicking Steve gently between the eyes with his fingertip. “Did you remove the roof tile on purpose?”

“Wha—” Steve scoffed. “No—"

Billy’s finger flicked him again. “You know, if you wanted to see me that badly, you coulda just called me?”

“Calling isn’t the same as seeing.” He caught Billy’s hand in mid-air before it could chastise him a third time, turning it over and splaying his fingers across his palm. Most of Billy’s tattoos were, by his own admission, dumb—the product of a teenage boy’s poor impulse control and complete lack of regard for the self. Others were more personal. A grayscale portrait of his mother on his chest. His grandmother’s birthdate above his hip. A row of coordinates printed across the underside of his index finger, the skin around it still red and half-healed. Billy’s mom had been born in Central Valley, but she’d died in L.A. Those coordinates were her birthplace, the side of Billy’s family he’d never known.

Steve had wanted to be there for him. He’d assumed he would be there, as Billy’s boyfriend. It hurt, realizing that he hadn’t seen Billy for four days, hadn’t heard shit from him, and in that time frame Billy had gotten the tattoo without saying anything. It had made Steve feel stupid—humiliated.

He didn’t know how to tell Billy that, either. They’d only been together for three months. They hardly knew each other. If Billy had been Nancy, she would call Steve controlling. She would sit him down, and give him a long, sharp lecture about a woman’s right to choose.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. “I feel like I never see you. You don’t visit after work, you don’t come into the bar …”

Billy made a pained noise. “Baby, you know I can’t spend too much time in bars. You know I want to, but—”

“I know.” Steve’s throat was tight with an all too familiar dryness; he knew what it meant. “I’m sorry. I know. I just—”

“You’re just upset,” Billy spoke over him. “Because I work too much. And because I’ve been neglecting you. Haven’t I?”

Steve’s current streak was three months, the same amount of time they’d been exclusive.

It wasn’t without struggle. Instead of the closing shift, Steve was now bartending at the Hideaway during the day. Instead of staying out with Robin until the early hours of a Sunday morning drinking and smoking and talking absolute shit, he spent his Saturday nights at home, doing whatever he could to distract himself from the paranoia that came with going cold turkey, the tightness in his throat that made him want to peel his skin off. In the first month, Billy had been that distraction. He would wait for Steve to come home, they would fuck, and Steve would sleep the whole night through without needing a glass of wine to wash it down. He’d been too smitten to consider the logistics of the arrangement he’d stumbled into. He was still smitten, but as far as he could tell, Billy had gone cold.

He was a workaholic. They both were; idle hands, so to speak. Only now Steve was working three days a week instead of six, which meant he had a lot more time to miss Billy when he wasn’t there. A lot more time alone with the paranoia. Billy worked upwards of twelve hours a day, and more often than not he was too exhausted to do anything at Steve’s apartment aside from pass out on his bed. He didn’t feel like Steve’s boyfriend anymore. He felt like a roommate, sexless and distant. Steve fucking missed him.

Sobriety offered an unpleasant reality. In it, Steve was convenient. Little more than a motel that Billy could crash overnight when he was too tired to drive. Billy had liked the chase initially, the back and forth, but now that he had Steve, he was complacent. Bored. This new reality wasn’t entirely removed from the old one—Billy was pretty. He was surrounded by men all day, most of whom were married—but even the married ones had to have noticed how pretty he was. From a distance, it would be all too easy to mistake him for a girl. Steve hadn’t realized he had a type, until he met Billy. He hadn’t realized how little he knew about himself—his wants and his needs, his likes and his dislikes, his passions and his hates. That was just Billy. He walked into a room and smiled at everyone, looked into their eyes when he spoke to them. He made people feel special, even when he wasn’t trying. Even when he couldn’t care less.

“Steve,” Billy pressed. “Are you upset?”

He had that look in his eye. That look that made Steve feel particularly stupid, airless, like his throat had closed over and he couldn’t remember what he was going to say next. It occurred to him that he might be in love with Billy, and that without his former mechanisms of coping—talking shit with Robin, self-medicating with wine and cigarettes—there to bear the brunt of uncomfortable emotions, he was feeling them all at once, much too strongly. That look coupled with that voice Billy used when they were alone—low and breathy, coaxing Steve to c’mon, sweetheart, that’s it, be good for me—the look that plainly said, resistance is futile.

“What were you gonna do?” he said. He squeezed Steve’s hand, his mouth twisting like he was trying to hide a smile. “Flood your whole goddamn apartment?”

“I mean. It was enough to get your attention.”

“For future reference, I prefer flowers. Less, uh, mess.”

“I like flowers,” Steve said defensively. “Maybe you should think about getting me some, the next time you decide to disappear for, like, a week.” Slow down, he told himself, but the more he thought about it, the less he could hold the words in. “You know, sometimes I feel like we’re—we’re in a long-distance relationship? Even though you work right fucking next door?”

“You are upset,” Billy sighed, rubbing his jaw. His eyes stayed crinkled at the corners as he looked Steve up and down, his expression fondly irritated. “How long has it been since you last had a drink, huh?”

“Three months.”

“Three …” Billy stopped, then licked his lips. “The whole time?”

Steve set his jaw, and nodded. There was a long, loaded pause.

“You should’ve called me,” Billy said finally. “I didn’t know—Steve, why—?”

“Because I had to. You said it didn’t matter, but—but if I can’t see you because you can’t be where there’s alcohol, because you might relapse, then … what’s the point?” Steve flattened his palms over Billy’s chest, quelling the urge to squeeze his nipples until they hardened and turned red. “Haven’t you ever thought about how different our lifestyles are?”

Billy’s hand fell away from his face. He licked his lips, studying Steve’s palms with soft fascination. His voice was noticeably smaller, more unsure when he asked, “Cigarettes, too?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “So if it’s okay with you—yeah, I am upset that you’re working a lot. You’re never here, Billy. You’re not … present. And I didn’t sign up for that.”

“Flowers,” Billy said at once. “That’s what you signed up for. Flowers, and chocolates, and candlelit dinners. Fuck. Fuck.”

“That comes later. Ideally.”

Billy let out a high-pitched, slightly giddy laugh. His hands dropped to Steve’s hips, pulling their bodies flush. He walked Steve backwards, until Steve found himself sitting on the edge of the bed with Billy’s thighs planted on either side of his hips. “Tonight,” he suggested, his necklace tangling in Steve’s hair. “Six o’clock. Enzo’s. I’ll make sure I finish early. And …”

“And?”

“And when we get back, I can take a look a look at your, uh,” Billy paused, his eyes crinkling and his mouth turning into a real smile as he pressed a chaste kiss below Steve’s ear, “pipes.”

He nosed over Steve’s neck, kissing his way back across to his mouth. The effect was shamefully instantaneous; the anxiety that had been plugging Steve’s throat dissipated, and he found himself spreading his legs to allow Billy to settle more comfortably between them. Billy’s mouth was rough when it reached his lips, the way he knew Steve liked it; he pulled on Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth, then soothed the bite with a rasping lick of his tongue that had Steve shuddering and spreading his legs wider, not wide enough.

“Five minutes,” he said breathlessly. “Can you stay for five minutes?”

He’d thought what he had with Nancy was love. Nancy had never kissed him the way Billy was kissing him now, though. He rocked against Steve’s crotch, threaded his hand through his hair so that Steve was forced to lift his chin to look at him, could see the way his cheeks were flushed, his eyes dazed, dark circles. He kissed Steve’s mouth, kissed his eyelids and his nose and his temples, and said, “Make it ten.”

[thetravelerwrites]

To Lose, To Gain (Ebert and Reverence)

Rating: Orange Relationship: Human Male/Fem-Intersex Tiefling Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Intersex, Third Person Perspective, Orange, Hurt/Comfort Content Warnings: Pregnancy, Birth, Children, Anxiety, Bodily Injury, Blood Words: 3574

Another commission for @ocsmutpocalypse. As Reverence prepares to give birth to Ebert's child in the aftermath of an assassination attempt, Ebert questions both the very idea of having a child of his own and the merit of staying in the village with a price on his head.

The Traveler's Masterlist

Ebert exhaled heavily with frustration. “Mrs. Tomlin, you have to take the medicine I gave you. Making tea with daffodils is not going to cure your gastrointestinal problems.”

“What do you know, Mr. Big-City Doctor Man?” The skinny elderly woman snapped. “I’ve had tummy troubles all my life. Me Ma gave me this tea when I was a sprout every time I got a stomach-ache. It’s the only thing that soothes me and I’ve been drinking it for years. Explain that!”

“The tea is why you have gastrointestinal problems!” Ebert snapped back at her. “Daffodils are toxic! You’re lucky to have survived this long, you stupid old skinbag!”

“I’m twice your age, boy!” She squawked, swinging a walking stick at him. “I don’t need your sass!”

“You called me to treat you,” Ebert said, throwing things in to his medical bag. “If you’re not going to listen, then do me a favor and don’t call on me next time you’ve got a problem. Just drop dead and save me the walk.”

He exited her house and slammed the door behind him, huffing, as she was still shouting abuse from the inside. He hobbled as quickly as he could back to his isolated hut in the woods.

As he was shuffling, a neighbor called out, likely for more medical advice that wouldn’t be heeded.

“Is someone dying?” Ebert asked petulantly.

“Well, no,” The villager said.

“Then it can wait,” Ebert replied darkly, and continued on his way.

It had been about three or so months since Rings and Reverence had convinced him to be more active in the village. Most nights he stayed in Reverence’s house, sometimes with Rings and sometimes without. Rings was her own person and liked to do her own thing.

He still maintained his little cottage just outside the village, where he could keep all his medicinal and magecraft supplies safe and away from prying eyes and grasping fingers. He also used it, as pitiful as it sounded, to escape.

When he had first laid with Reverence, she was determined to become pregnant. She’d succeeded. The tiefling gestational period was extremely fast, even for half-breeds, and Reverence was due to give birth in just another week or two. Ebert hated to admit he’d been avoiding her, but his impending fatherhood scared the living daylights out of him.

He was barely into his twenties, but he never had any intention of marrying or fathering children. His own experiences with his family had turned him off to the thought. But Reverence had a way of getting what she wanted, so there was a baby on the way that would share his blood. His foolish, arrogant, misguided, depraved blood. Gods, this was a bad idea.

He got to the hut and opened the door. He half expected to see Buttons, but she was back at Reverence’s house, in her own fluffy bed and happily chasing the mice about. He took down the herbs he’d put up for drying the week before and made annotations in his journal about either making a spearmint and lime zest tea and telling her it was daffodils so she’d actually get better, or just not treating Mrs. Tomlin anymore. He couldn’t decide which would be less work, since he’d likely catch hell from Reverence if the old bat died.

He missed Rings. She would have made Mrs. Tomlin sit down and take her meds. But Rings was away hunting down intruders. As Ebert was a wanted man with quite the bounty on his head, there was no shortage of assassins willing to take up the job with no qualms about endangering the lives of an entire village.

Two such fellows had crashed into the village, demanding that Ebert show himself. One of the would-be killers was cut down almost immediately by the temple guards, and the second ran with Rings on his heels. She’d been gone about a week and had written back that her quarry had holed up in a cave. She was going to wait him out after having a bit of fun with him first. She was a cat, after all, and did like to toy with her victims.

Reverence had tried to put his mind at ease about the assassination attempt, telling him that the village had its protections and they all looked out for each other, but that had only exacerbated his anxiety and paranoia. It wasn’t just himself anymore. It wasn’t just his own well-being that was on the line. There was now an entire town of people, the two women he loved best, and a child of his own flesh and blood that were going to be caught in the crossfire of future attempts on his life.

Shit. Staying out of the village from the start would have been better for everyone.

At that moment, the window exploded inward and something sharp pierced his shoulder. He yelled in surprise and flung a fire spell reflexively out of the window, catching the drapes as it passed through the jagged hole in the glass.

“Fuck!” He shouted, pulling the drapes down and dowsing them in a bucket of rainwater from the leaky roof. He grabbed his short sword and flung open the door, screaming, “Show yourselves, you fucking cowards!” He flung another ball of fire without looking, and heard a group of kids shriek. They shot out of the places they were hiding and high-tailed it down the trail back to the village. You recognized one or two of them as Reverence’s many children.

Damn it, Ebert thought to himself, trying to calm his breath. He was so jumpy that he nearly set a bunch of kids on fire and burned down his hut. Some father I’ll make, he thought to himself. Not only were people out to hurt him, but he was as much a danger to himself and everyone around him as the assassins.

“I can’t do this,” Ebert said, laying his cane against the table, sitting down heavily, and letting his head fall into his hands. “I can’t be a father. I can’t stay here. They’ve found me. More will come. Everyone here is at risk if I stay.”

His heart rate had not slowed. If anything, it was intensifying to the point where he could feel it in every corner of his body. His mind began to dart back and forth between what had happened, what could happen, and what needed to happen. He couldn’t pin down his thoughts, and it increased his anxiety the longer he sat there. He could still feel the sharp thing in his shoulder, but couldn’t reach it to pull it out.

He stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, and began throwing things into a travel bag frenetically.

“Have to go,” Ebert muttered, stumbling around the hut and grabbing things, trying to stuff it all into the bag, growing more and more frustrated as the bag filled and wouldn’t close. The frustration grew to anger and he pounded the table with is fist so hard that he threw himself off-balance and landed in a corner, hitting his head.

Terrified, angry, and paranoid, he wept, hitting the back of his head against the wood of the the ramshackle cottage in a desperate attempt to focus his swirling, shifting, reaching brain, to no avail.

He just sat there and wept.

Reverence had just come out from a inspection of the Temple while the evening was still high. With all the… fluids… that get sprayed around the place, a regular cleaning was necessary. Twice weekly was the minimum, and Reverence always oversaw the maintenance and upkeep herself. It was a temple, after all. Fysy deserved a temple worthy of her splendor and purity, and the best way to insure it was to maintain it properly. That duty, among many, fell squarely on Reverence’s shoulders. Being pregnant was no reason to shirk her duties. This was her fourteenth child, after all, so it wasn’t as if she didn’t have experience in working around her precious cargo.

She touched her belly fondly. Fysy had given her certain special gifts, especially when it came to conception and birth. She always knew who was pregnant, even before they did. She knew which of the women were looking to get pregnant, and often paired them with the man best suited to give them the child they wanted. She knew the best time for a person to get pregnant, including herself, and could pinpoint the day the child would be born, and even the gender of the infant, including if they were agender, intersex, or nonbinary. She knew her own child, a son, would be born in four days time, sometime in the afternoon. Even though she knew when it was coming, the wait was always hard.

As she was inspecting the cut on the topiary, the shine on the statues, and the cleanliness of the guards’ armor, Reverence’s attention was caught by seven children, all similar in age, running from the woods as if the devil were on their heels. She saw two of her sons running among the herd.

“Herit! Kiata!” She called, and both boys slowed. One looked very much like his mother, with no eyes on his face but on the antlers growing above his head. The other boy looked more human, except that his feet were hooves and his eyes were the same shade as Reverence’s skin.

“Mama! Mama!” They called.

“What is it, dear ones?” She asked, holding out her arms to them. “What’s wrong?”

“The grumpy doctor man almost set us on fire!” Kiata exclaimed, showing her the singed fur on his tail.

“I see,” Reverence said, folding her arms. “And what exactly did you to do to make him set you on fire?”

“Nothing!” Kiata said petulantly.

Reverence looked at her other son. “Herit?”

Herit kicked his hoof and didn’t meet his mother’s eye. “Well… we kind of… threw a rock through his window?”

“Why would you do something like that?” She asked him in irritation.

“Because he’s weird!” Kiata said. “He always yells at us when we play, saying we’re making too much noise when he’s working!”

“I’ve told you, he’s very sensitive!” Reverence said, boxing the little boy’s ear. “He’s been through a lot of terrible things, Kiata! He’s afraid and worried! Remember that pet rabbit you had that was always scared and skittish, and you didn’t realize why until the fox got him one night? Our ‘grumpy doctor man’ is just like that little rabbit. There are foxes looking for him, and all you’ve done is made him more scared and skittish.”

Kiata dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“I’m not the one you should apologize to,” she said, releasing him. “I’m going to go up and talk to him and tomorrow you’ll give him a proper apology, you and your friends. Now, Kiata, get home to your mother. Herit, your father has been looking for you. I suggest the both of you tell your parents what you’ve done and stay home the rest of the day. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mama,” They said in unison.

“Good. Go.”

The two took off to their respective homes, and Reverence sighed. She could only imagine the state Ebert was in right now. She stretched, cracking her back, and started up the trail to the cottage.

When the cottage came into view, there were indeed some singed spots on the ground and a broken window. She sighed. This was going to require more than a contrite apology.

She knocked on the door. “Ebert?”

“Go away!” He responded.

“Ebert, let me in,” She said.

“Who is it?!” He asked.

“The mother of your child,” She called back calmly.

“That doesn’t make me feel better!” He shrieked.

She sighed an folded her arms across her chest. “I can let myself in, you know. I knocked out of courtesy.”

“Then let yourself in!”

She uncrossed her arms and flicked the door with her middle finger, which made the bolt move out of place with a clunk! She pushed the door open to find him crouching in a corner, facing the wall, his arms covering his head in a defensive posture.

“Ebert, love,” She said, coming to kneel next to him without touching. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”

“I’m not safe!” He said. “Could you just pull the arrow out?”

She frowned, her many eyes searching him. “Arrow?”

“Something came through the window and pierced me. It’s in my shoulder. It hurts like a son of a bitch. Pull it out, will you?”

Her search of him revealed no arrow, but there was a sizeable shard of glass from the window lodged in his back. She grasped it and pulled it out, after which blood began to pour freely over his muslin shirt.

“Oh dear,” She said, tugging at his shirt. “Remove your shirt, if you please.”

“Reverence, I’m really not in the mood for that right now,” He said, trying to reach the wound himself.

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” She replied patiently, showing him the shard of glass. “You’re bleeding rather badly. I’m afraid you need stitches.”

“What do you know of medical care?” He asked her curiously.

“Who do you think did it all before you came here, sir?” She asked sniffily as she carefully helped him pull the shirt off and directed him to lie face down on the bed, which hadn’t been slept in in some time.

“Are you saying you did?” He asked a little incredulous.

“You think my only duties are love-making and creating children for Fysy’s glory?”

“Isn’t it?”

She popped his behind, making him jump. “Of course not. Priestess is a parent term for all sorts of little jobs we have to do. We’re doctors, counselors, handmaids, mediators, justice of the peace, and so on. ‘Priestess’ is just another word for a person who has far too much to do and not enough hours in the day.”

“Am I a priestess, then?” He joked.

“You don’t have the patience,” She said snidely.

“I’m a doctor,” he protested.

“My point exactly,” she retorted.

He huffed a laugh. “Strange. I used to do my damnedest to stay far away from religious types.”

“Strange indeed,” She said, swabbing the cut with an antibacterial salve. “Since one of the women you love is a religious type.” She paused. “Unless your feelings on that matter has changed?”

He looked back at her, frowning. “No, Reverence, of course not. You know I love you. That’s not changed.”

She chuckled. “Just making sure.”

Stitching him up took no time at all, but there was no way to salvage his shirt, so she threw it in the fire, which caused Ebert to make a choking sound, and pulled another out of the drawer while he sat up, gingerly putting weight on the injured side.

This was the first time he was able to see her belly clearly. His chest tightened with anxiety and his stomach clenched.

Having a dozen eyes had its benefits, so she could see his obvious discomfort at the sight of her heavily pregnant self.

“You’ve been avoiding me since I started showing,” she said simply, turning him to clean his shoulder properly and apply a bandage. “And you’ve delivered over half a dozen children since you’ve been living here. It shouldn’t shock you to see another pregnant woman.”

“The others weren’t carrying my kid,” He said, gulping.

She helped him put the new shirt back on and looked at him shrewdly. “Does the idea of fatherhood scare you that badly?”

He sighed. “I’ve told you, Reverence. A person like me isn’t… designed to be a father. You said it yourself: I don’t have the patience. To be honest, none of my family should have had children. Our line should have ended eons ago. I shouldn’t even exist. The fact that I, as someone who shouldn’t exist, has created a progeny, a further life that shouldn’t exist, is…” He gripped his already disheveled hair in frustration. “It’s distressing.”

“I’ve already told you that your involvement is not required, if that is what’s troubling you,” She said. “I have decided to raise this child alone. Before you came here, whenever I became pregnant, or impregnated another, I chose parents I knew would be willing to do the bulk of the child-rearing themselves so that I may continue my work as a priestess unhindered, but when I conceived with you, I knew the circumstances would be different, and I was content with that. I thought I made that clear to you.”

“That’s not the problem,” He replied, shaking his head.

“Then what is, my dear?” She took his face in her hands. “What has you looking so burdened?”

He stared at her eye-less face with disbelief. “Does it not bother you that hired killers came into this village, looking to kill me and not worried about who they might hurt in order to do so? Do you not think they might also seek to harm anyone I hold precious to me? Anyone with even a small connection to me is in great peril. Every person in this town is in danger if I stay! They’re in danger if I go! Any person who comes into contact with me has reason to fear for their lives!” He jumped off the bed and started pacing. “You are the leader of this community. Doesn’t the fact that I’m an outcast with a bounty on my head bother you at all?”

To his absolute fury, Reverence began to snicker.

“Really, I can’t imagine what’s so funny about this,” He said with agitation.

“Oh, I can,” She said. “You think I don’t have a price on my head? Do you have any idea how many people in this village are wanted persons for one reason or another?”

This shocked him into silence. “Are you… are you serious?”

She nodded, a smirk on her face. “Ebert, you are living in a village of outcasts. The worship of Fysy is illegal in my native country, which is why I fled and came here. The religious leader before me was a thief in his former life. Mrs. Tomlin, the stubborn woman who drinks daffodil tea, used to embezzle money from rich men while posing as a maid. We all have similar stories, all of which you’d know, if you’d bothered to get to know anyone here.”

“So…” Ebert said, trying to understand. “You just let any old criminal into this village with no thought to the consequences?”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Necromancer,” Reverence said, and Ebert blanched. “Oh yes, don’t think I wasn’t aware of that. Having so many eyes allows me to see the truth of a person. I have a standard, of course; I don’t allow abusers or rapists or killers into our midst. We have enough trouble from the outside world to worry about without bringing trouble into the community. No one violent or depraved is allowed within our walls.”

“We don’t have walls,” Ebert said weakly.

“You know what I mean,” Reverence said wryly. “We have all made mistakes, Ebert. We are all misfits. And the best place for misfits is with other misfits.” She kissed him. “That’s why I’m not worried. We all come with danger. We all come with a past. It changes nothing.”

“Doesn’t it?” He asked. For the very first time, he reached out and touched her stomach with his fingertips.

“No,” She said. “Nothing at all. We will live as we always have, looking out for each other. And you are one of us now. And so is your son.”

He looked up at her, wide-eyed. “…son?”

“Yes,” She said with a smile. “By the way, you’ll need to make yourself available four afternoons from now.”

The birth was easy enough. Ebert had been staying with Reverence, and therefore was present when she went into labor. She informed him that her water broke as if commenting on a passing bird. Stuffing down his panic, he helped her to deliver a tiny but healthy baby boy, just as she had said.

Reverence delivered the baby into her own hands while Ebert helped her push the little thing out. Ebert then helped her clean him and wrap him in a small blanket. She offered to let him hold the boy, but Ebert didn’t think he was ready for that just yet. Buttons jumped up, sniffed the baby’s head, and wandered off indifferently.

“What would you have us name him?” Reverence asked.

“Oh gods,” Ebert said. “I hadn’t even given it a thought.”

“Can you think of nothing?” She asked. “I’ve either ‘fathered’ or given birth to twenty-two children before this one, and I’ve named them all. It’s someone else’s turn.”

“Well…” Ebert said thoughtfully. “I did have an uncle named Ethrik. He was the only person in my family that I didn’t have an immense contempt for. In fact, I could even say he was the only decent man in my family I ever knew.”

“Ethrik, then,” Reverence said. “Little Ethrik.”

Rings returned a week after the birth, and showed about as much interest as Buttons had. You were happy to have her back.

“Got him?” You asked her.

“Got him,” She said triumphantly. “Actually, it’s got me thinking: I know you just had a kid and all, but how would you feel about traveling with me for a while?”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[dalekofchaos]

Rachel’s Story, Life Is Strange:The Storm

I think what we need is a game that tells us Rachel’s story. After watching Twin Peaks:Fire Walk With Me, it made me think we need Rachel’s story told. What happened to Rachel was tragic, but it needs to be told. So here are things I want to see in a hypothetical LIS game where we play as Rachel Amber.

The best way to continue the story of Arcadia Bay. It would be the next logical step. Playing as Rachel would give us a new fresh angle, and set the stage for the original where we play once again as Max. It would be a fitting end to this LiS/BtS story and give us closure to Rachel’s character. And honestly, Chloe works better as a supporting character because Deck Nine did not understand Chloe Price.

Rachel’s ability. Where Max has the ability to rewind, Chloe can backtalk. I think Rachel's will be to fit into place and to convince everyone to do what she wants. It’s perfect for her and her personality.

Set Rachel’s character in line to the original game. Rachel Amber has charisma, intelligence, beauty and a lot of attitude, which would make the game full of action and dynamic. Her past is still mysterious, and playing as Rachel would be the right choice.

Make it clear that Rachel has completely severed ties with James and Rose. Telling Rachel the truth is the canon ending. Choosing hide the truth is completely stupid, the fact that hide the truth has a higher percentage with the fandom is laughable. Rachel has no good relationship with her parents by the events of LIS anyway. So what I will do is this. Rachel has completely severed ties with her parents and only chooses to be in contact with Sera. We will find out that Sera chose to go into rehab one final time for Rachel. This is why James and Rose refuse to believe that Rachel is even missing and the DA doesn’t even orders a search looking for his daughter.

Continuing our relationship with Chloe. Have it mentioned that Rachel and Chloe have been in a relationship since 2010. Show them kissing more, show Chloe and Rachel setting up Chloe’s room, show them partying, show them dancing, show them having sex and just showing them declaring their love for each other and showing them in love. Rachel was Chloe’s Santa Monica Dream. They loved each other, and I want their relationship to be shown more.  

Let it finally be about Rachel helping Chloe. Rachel helping lift Chloe through the worse point of her life. If Rachel had stopped Chloe from committing suicide… as was the commonly believed interpretation to what happened between Chloe and Rachel up until BtS, then Chloe’s ”“she was my angel” would have meant it was truly special and real.  Chloe and Rachel together having fun rocking out and Chloe starting to live again and show that Chloe Price loves Rachel Amber and Rachel loves Chloe.

Rachel’s antagonism with David and David’s paranoia for Rachel. Once again I have to make it clear. Chloe and David do not and should not have a good relationship and Joyce normalizing an abusive step-father is not a good thing. David does not understand nor does he care about Chloe’s depression and grief for losing William and Max moving away. Show that David physically, mentally and emotionally abuses her. Joyce normalizes it. So what I would have happen is this will be the first official time David will catch Chloe with weed. David slaps Chloe and Rachel is there to see it. Rachel has had it. Rachel puts her fucking foot down. “IF YOU EVER LAY YOUR FUCKING HAND ON MY GIRLFRIEND EVER AGAIN, I WILL CALL MY DAD, THE DA AND ARREST YOUR ASS FOR CHILD ABUSE. DON’T EVER TOUCH CHLOE AGAIN.” Rachel was so mad, she threatened to pull the James card. This is what enrages David to the point of installing cameras in his own home without Chloe or Joyce’s consent and getting a job as Blackwell’s head of security. He does not trust Chloe and Rachel and thinks because she dared to defend Chloe, that Rachel is “a bad influence” Stop trying to make us feel bad for this abusive piece of shit and make Chloe out to be the villain for not giving this asshole a chance.  He emotionally, mentally and physically abuses her and joyce normalizes it, violates her privacy. David makes Chloe feel like a prisoner in her own home. The safe home that Chloe has lived in all her life is no longer safe  the “safe” home that Chloe should have had was in fact a place where she didn’t feel safe, did not have privacy, and was harassed whenever David was home. She frequently would go to American Rust to sleep (because whatever happened with Rachel, it wasn’t safe to stay with her). She couldn’t even rely on her teachers to report child abuse because the police were sympathetic toward David and refused to act… and then David ended up getting a job as a security guard at Blackwell Academy and that one last safe place, school, was now the domain of her abuser. So Chloe would get herself expelled just to get free from David.  Whenever he is around she does not feel safe. He makes her so afraid that she feels like she’s living with a Nazi. They are not meant to have a good relationship. And it really sent an awful message that “you must be nice to your future abuser just to make your mother happy” What kind of abuse apologetic bullshit was that? The worst part is that Joyce chose her own happiness for the safety and well being of her own daughter.  Joyce enabled an abusive stepfather and ignored her daughter being hit and verbally abused (and there is a word for that: culpability. Joyce is guilty of child abuse. If we do not back up Chloe in episode 1 and we tell Joyce David hit Chloe, Joyce just brushes it off like it’s not a big deal. Joyce betrayed her own daughter by always choosing David over her. She never stopped the abuse. The only time she did anything is when Max was a witness and even then she doesn’t see it as a problem, more of an inconvenience. When she finally does kick David out, it’s not because David abuses her daughter, it’s because David put up cameras without her permission. “I just want us to be a family” if anything show us that Rachel was the only one who was truly there for Chloe.     

Make it clear everything Rachel was doing with Frank and Jefferson is so Rachel could’ve escaped to LA with Chloe. Rachel was looking for a way out of Arcadia Bay. She first thought both her and Chloe can escape to LA together. But over time she did not think that was possible anymore. Chloe dodges her car payments and her family is in debt and Chloe is in debt to Frank. She still wants to leave with Chloe, but Rachel needed an alternative way so she and Chloe can escape. So that’s when  Rachel turns to Frank, she used him for his money and drugs because as  time goes on, Rachel turns to drugs to numb the pain. She parties with The Vortex Club and as Nathan said “Rachel partied like a fiend on her own.” Hell, she was so desperate to leave Arcadia Bay she even asked the trucker to take her to LA. But I believe everything she was doing, she was doing so She and Chloe can get out of Arcadia Bay. The vibe I got from the first game is that Rachel and Chloe have this very important and special bond. But Rachel just wanted to be free of Arcadia Bay by any means necessary. Rachel would go far to get what she wanted. Someone who is willing to lie to the people she cared about to satisfy her own needs and goals. Personally, I see Rachel as being okay with manipulating everybody BUT Chloe, which gives everybody a foothold to try and gaslight Chloe and Max about her, trying to get them to doubt that Rachel genuinely cared about Chloe. And she did. Rachel Amber loved Chloe Price and had genuine feelings for Chloe and wanted to escape together.

Explore Rachel’s connections. Explore Rachel’s connections in Blackwell. Her rivalry and falling out with Victoria. Show that Victoria has respect and adoration for Rachel, but as Jeffershit showed more favor and adoration for Rachel, than her, then Victoria turned on Rachel. Evidence of the graffiti in Blackwell shows that Victoria bullied Rachel Amber and spread rumors about Rachel. So Rachel decided to be bigger than the Vortex Club to spite Victoria.  Rachel and Nathan’s relationship. I think they had a close friendship. Nathan harbored feelings for Rachel, but he knew she loved Chloe. I see Rachel as the one good thing Nathan had in Arcadia Bay, the closest thing he had to a good connection since his sister Kristine. She made him feel good about himself and soothed him without the need of hearing whale sounds. Rachel was Nathan’s safe space. As for how they both got involved with the Dark Room. It started out innocent. They both saw this as a private photo project and Rachel’s chance at being a model. It turned dark. I believe that Nathan tried to help Rachel and in doing this, resulted in Jeffershit overdosing Rachel and dosing Nathan and posing Nathan with Rachel’s dead body as punishment and was planning on pinning Rachel on Nathan. But it turned dark. When Rachel disappeared, Nathan lost it. When he saw Max in Rachel’s clothes, he hoped it really was Rachel, but he knew it wasn’t her. Rachel and Frank. I believe Rachel was just using Frank for money, Frank was obviously attracted to Rachel on their first meeting, but they never interacted and Rachel only wanted to find Sera. I think they first became close because Frank saved Chloe and Sera. Rachel isn’t the manipulative monster some people make her out to be. Rachel only wanted to escape Arcadia Bay with Chloe, she had no intention of leaving her behind, Rachel loved Chloe Price. She only wanted money out of Frank. What Nathan says is more likely. Rachel was only there for the stash and gave him photos in return. “everyone knows Frank is a liar and loser, even Rachel did” and there was a falling out between Frank and Rachel, plus Frank’s blood oath for Rachel must have creeped her out. And in her letter, Rachel ended it. “Frank, That was not cool what you did. And don't blame the drugs. You actually scared me and I thought you'd never chill out. I've never seen you act that way and the next time will be the last. I'm a Leo and we don't look back. I care about you, us, so maybe we need to break our routine.“ Also when the meeting with Frank goes wrong, Chloe will say she loved Rachel and she knows Rachel loved her. Frank will act hostile and possessive of Rachel “Chloe, you don’t know shit. You were part of her problem. Always trying to take her away from me… Always!”  I believe that Frank had an unhealthy attachment to Rachel and Rachel did care for Frank, but Rachel just wanted a way out of Arcadia Bay for her and Chloe Then, Rachel meets Mark Jefferson. Jefferson was Rachel’s teacher. This video explains Rachel and Jefferson perfectly.  Rachel saw him as her way to LA. She wanted to have her pictures modeled by a professional, which he was, but Rachel never saw him for what he was. A sheep in wolf’s clothing, a monster. He saw her as the perfect subject. A human chameleon with many visual possibilities and he felt they had a connection. Manipulating her into believing that he is the father figure that James never was for her. Rachel wrote a letter to Chloe in the shack but discarded it. She feels that he changed her life but the discarded letter shows that she felt ashamed about the whole relationship. "C. You can tell how much I want you to read this letter since I've been dragging my ass to give it to you. Maybe I just want you to find it when I'm not around so we never have to talk about it. And I don't want you to hate me. Where to start?I met somebody recently who's so different from the lame Vortex Club snobs. I know you'll have a meltdown when I tell you and think he's gross, but I swear he's wise and unconventional. Kind of scary, not in a "bad boy" way. He's just experienced some serious shit. Yes, I'm kinda obssessed (sic). I won't blame you for freaking.Maybe I know you're right and this just has to be my secret.I hate not sharing this with you except I know you'd give me that stink eye and grill me for every stupid detail. If I even told you that last night we hooked up near campus (...)" Her shame indicates that she was apart of the Dark Room as a consenting subject. At first she just saw it as a big photography project outside of school, but then Rachel started to look into Jefferson’s past models and figured out something was terribly wrong. In Jefferson’s own words “Not like Rachel, who was always looking in the wrong places. Poor Rachel.” Jefferson of course finds out because The Dark Room is under 24 hours surveillance. So out of fear of Rachel telling everyone, Jefferson kills Rachel, doses Nathan and poses Nathan’s unconscious body with Rachel’s lifeless body.  Stella believes they had sex, but I think it is more than likely that Jeffershit dosed her and raped her. He said “Rachel was in love with me” but how is there any truth to that? All Jefferson has done the entire game is manipulate and gaslight. There was no love, there was just Jefferson’s sick and twisted perverted Dark Room project. Rachel wanted a way out and she thought she had her way out, but in the end she played with fire and got burned. He killed her and blamed it on Nathan. But since Sera was meant to have powers, I believe that Rachel had powers passed down to her. I believe that Rachel’s death is what causes the storm. The storm is what Chloe said, Rachel’s revenge.  And in my opinion somehow her spirit gave Max the powers to save Chloe cause she wanted to destroy the town but she wanted Chloe to be safe so she gave the powers to Max so she could save Chloe from the storm.

Rachel is the storm. The death of Chloe caused Max to get rewind powers. When Rachel gets emotional enough. She has the power to unleash destructive weather controlling power. The thing is though, it turns out that her father wasn't involved with just some random mistress. More importantly though, we know of an event that is emotionally traumatizing enough for Rachel to unleash this kind of power. Because something unfathomably, fridge horror worse, happens to her than simply witnessing her father cheat. She gets kidnapped, sexually humiliated, drugged, and killed. Like the other victims of Jefferson, that is some dark side of reality shit right there. So it's very appropriate. An innocent girl gets violated tremendously and murdered, but this time, it's one with supernatural power. Hence supernatural consequences. This would mean that to whatever extent Chaos Theory was relevant. It had very little to do with anything Max did. In actuality it was more to hint at a string of consequences brought on by Jefferson and the Prescotts. In fact this was already pretty obvious in the first season, except it makes infinitely more sense now. Just with the first season alone, one was left to think this was some sort of Indian voodoo shit and that Chloe was just some sort of sacrifice to appease the Gods. But now we know, it's because of the original victim central to this story. Rachel Amber. The reason Chloe dying seems to appease the storm is because it results in retributive justice against Rachel's abusers. See another thing this ties in, is the Prescott family's impact on the environment. Something so strongly lathered on in the first season, with no inexplicable explanation when we are otherwise led to believe that the storm is caused by Max specifically. If the Prescott family essentially gets banished from Arcadia Bay right from the beginning. They don't influence the environment in exactly the way Rachel needs to harness the kind of power she does. So even though Rachel may still desire revenge against Arcadia. The forces of nature do not afford her such destruction if the Prescotts are busted early on. It's most likely a combination of her powers, and the forces of nature being contorted enough by the Prescotts polluting the environment, that creates the hurricane. Think about it. We are not even remotely told that simply, Chloe dying is what appeases the storm. Rather specifically what we are really told is that Max opens up certain options by the end of the first season. After finding out everything, she can go back and be a witness to Chloe's murder. Allowing her to bust Nathan Prescott, and Jefferson. If it was the other way around, it doesn't make sense. Because why would Nathan or Jefferson get in trouble at all if Max wasn't there? Nobody would know who killed Chloe, there would be no evidence. As well especially, Jefferson would have never got caught in the slightest. So ultimately, Max essentially strips Rachel of her venom so to speak. By time Nathan and Jefferson face consequences in the timeline where you choose to save Chloe. The chain of events have already led up to the Storm forming. So it can't be stopped. The environment has been polluted, etc. In fact there's no reason to believe that Rachel herself can STOP the storm. What we see with her powers is that she can unleash... chaos. Particularly of the weather variety. But she probably couldn't stop that forest fire if she had wanted to. It was most likely set in stone during the moments when she was being violated by Jefferson. That's when she probably experienced enough trauma for something like that to be set in motion. But after having passed away, she probably can't reverse the trajectory of things herself. That's where Max comes in, because she's a living participant. So she can mitigate Rachel's domino effect. Like a "Shield of Time", Max can simultaneously protect Arcadia Bay from Rachel's wrath, while simultaneously appeasing her by bringing justice to those who wronged her.

Rachel is the Doe. In the final moments of the game. After Rachel’s death, we would see a scene similar to the nightmare scene in episode 5. But it’s basically Rachel relooking over her life and finally passing on. Rachel would pass on as the Spirit Doe, to guide Max and Chloe to the truth. The first official time we see the Doe, we see it in Max’s nightmare. In the nightmare whenever we see it, the storm rages on. The first normal time we see the doe, we see the Doe where we find Rachel. Rachel guides Max multiple times. She doesn’t manifest for Chloe… only Max. Max’s rewind power does not work on the Doe, meaning that it is a spirit. Rachel was able to manifest to Max in a form Max would not find threatening. But however or whyever Rachel chose to manifest as the Doe to Max, what we definitely know is that the Doe was guiding and helping Max - both to lead her and Chloe to her grave, and then afterward in the Nightmare to bring Max to a place where she could escape.   And then, we see Chloe finding Rachel’s remains. Chloe grieving for her lover and best friend, and the Doe looks sad and finally disappears and finds peace.

[silenthillmutual]

pride week - day 5 - AU free-for-all so this AU is a crossover because when i first looked at the prompt i was like half-asleep and thought it said crossover. whoops.

--

He’s coming to the conclusion that Kiyotaka’s family is just fucking weird. He’s still not exactly sure what their relationship status is, since they’ve only been on like two and a half dates that might have not even been dates and nothing between them seems to have actually changed - but even speaking as a best friend, it was just really fucking bizarre

The other sections of the bake sale that did not have an entire bottle’s worth of food coloring dumped into the mix did exceedingly well, letting them schedule trips to meet up and hang out with the GSAs from other colelges in the area. It was a neat little idea Makoto and Kiyotaka had come up with on their own time that also kinda made Mondo want to punch himself in the face. 

It mostly just starts with this: he thinks he has competition.

The reason he thinks this is because Leon tells him he does. They’re meeting with MU in a bowling alley that’s somewhere in between both schools and while it’s not the only GSA in the area, it is the only one available or interested in reaching out to them. And the gaggle of students who pick to play against them in a four-on-four match just happens to consist of three rough looking boys and one chick.

Striek one. It’s not exactly a secret that Taka has a type, and that type is punks. (Well, and Makoto; but he’s everybody’s type, so he doesn’t count.) He’s never said out loud that he finds that kinda thing appealing, but Hifumi’s Halloween Theme suggestion, “Book of Eibon” (which earned him the group name moniker Anime Trash) really took. People dressed as whatever they found most attractive - or in Hifumi’s and Chihiro’s cases, the kind of aesthetic they really dug.

Hifumi’s magical girl outfit was absolutely outstanding. They really did have to give him that.

...where was he? Right. Taka had shown up to the party in all secondhand clothes, studded belt and motorcycle boots and fake piercings, pleather jacket over an embroidered white vest covered in safety pins. It sure as shit left an impression.

And it was such a goddamn come-on. he’d thought before then that Taka’s staring was judgmental and had a hard time stringing two words together at the implication that he was staring because he was attracted to Mondo.

Not that Mondo was the only punk in the group. Tanaka flushed and tried to hide beneath his scarf, realizing too late he didn’t have it included in the regal get-up he came dressed in. And Leon said to Mondo, “If I wasn’t straight, I’d so hit that.”

Leon figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t straight, and also that Taka was way off limits. 

Mondo’s been trying to figure out how to take a more direct approach, since Taka’s misconstrued all his flirting as friendliness. Which - okay, yeah. He’s kind of learned along the way that he might also be in love with the guy platonically, too. he is the best friend, in terms of quality, that Mondo’s ever had, and he doesn’t plan on that shit changing just ‘cause he wants to add hand-holding into the mix. 

So strike two is this: Ishimaru seems to actually know the guy in too much purple who practically launches himself at him. They embrace in a tight hug, and that smug asshole has his hairstyle too. Rude. Utterly, unbelievably rude. 

The guy introduces himself as Josuke. He looks like he might be a couple years older than them, with pretty blue eyes. He’s the president of the MU GSA, which he does not hesitate to tell Kiyotaka, “I love what you did with the name, dude. Very kewl.”

Kewl. Like he’s fucking twelve and it’s the nineties.

Taka blushes like he does when he’s embarrassed or flattered and it takes a lot for Mondo not to slug the guy. He’s really only distracted from Kiyotaka’s refusal of the credit by the guy with the little ponytail and two-toned grey hair saying to him “Hey, man, nice mods,” referring to his jacket.

He’s kind of forgotten about it. He doesn’t wear the longer coat he had in high school anymore because yeah, he’s not in high school anymore, thank you very much Daiya. “Uh, thanks,” he says, but the shorter one with the kinda silvery blonde hair is smirking at it, mouthing the words Crazy Diamonds under his breath. Like it’s some kind of joke.

“I’m Okuyasu,” he says, and nudges the blonde so hard the guy almost falls over. “Shit, sorry - this is Koichi.” 

“Right,” he says, not liking the look of private joking between the two of them. “I’m Mondo.”

“I’m Leon,” Leon all but shouts, almost crawling on Mondo’s back to extend his hand to the two boys and - of course, of fucking course - the girl with the knee-length black hair. “And you are?”

“Yukako,” she says, and Mondo’s never before heard someone say their own name with such deep and intense hatred. 

There’s not a single thing about these people he trusts. The guys might seem nice, but he’s always hated the feeling that people are laughing at him. And that girl? She looks like she’s ready to commit murder. 

At least the jackass in the purple-and-yellow shirt is done taking up Kiyotaka’s time, only that Kiyotaka looks kind of embarrassed now. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than his flustered face. But he punches in their names on the board to distract himself, and Josuke comes up to Mondo and sits so close their knees are touching. “So,” he says, “You’re his kyoudai, huh?”

“Kyoudai?” Okuyasu says. “Man, how come we can’t get cool nicknames like that?”

“Yes, please start calling each other bro. That won’t get irritating at all,” Yukako snipes from where she’s sitting. 

“Yukako, come on,” Koichi says, turning to look back at her. “You promised you’d be nice today.”

She looks torn, but sighs, and Mondo thinks he hears her mutter “Only for you.” 

“Dude,” Leon says, “You gotta teach me.” 

--

One thing Mondo can say about the kids from MU is that, except for Yukako, they suck at bowling. And that does make him feel a little better, if only in a shallow way. 

It’s kind of irritating, and that irritation must be obvious to everyone involved, because Kiyotaka has tried his best to keep Mondo and Josuke separated. Leon’s pretty chill, and Makoto can make friends with everyone, but it just seems strange to Mondo that he spent so long trying to get on friendly terms with Taka only for some other guy - a complete stranger from a different school to just undermine that -

Makoto pats his shoulder, like the way you’d pet a dog to soothe it. “Calm down, Mondo,” he says. “He’s just being friendly.”

Maybe he is. Mondo can accept that there exists, somewhere, a possibility that Josuke is just a nice guy, like a punk version of Makoto, but he’s gotten so deep in his own sense of insecurity and paranoia that every time Josuke so much as talks at him or is friendly with Kiyotaka...

Well, it feels like he’s being mocked.

He might be a little jealous.

And when Taka leaves to head out to the bathroom, he might call Josuke’s hair stupid. 

Koichi, for whatever that’s worth, and Okuyasu and he goddamn swear Yukako’s hair all jump in to restrain Josuke from throwing punches. Leon slaps his arm at the same time Makoto smacks his head, both of them shouting some variant of “You have the same hair!” and the end result is the five of them tell the two of them to go resolve their differences by the snack bar, and work something out fast before Taka comes back and panics. 

“I don’t get what your issue with me is,” Josuke says, hands in the air. “We picked this group to go up against because Taka said you were cool. Now you’re just acting like Rohan used to, and I didn’t even burn your house down!”

Confusion mixes with anger as he says, with feeling, “What?!”

“Never mind!” Josuke snaps. “Just - whatever your problem with me is, just say it, man. Quit giving me dirty looks. It’s making Kiyo upset.”

KIYO?! Mondo hits the counter with a little too much force and says “That’s my goddamn problem!” And before Josuke can give him some other ridiculous pet name he says “We’re like - we’re - we’re kind of - !” Jesus. Jesus Christ, why can’t he just get the fuckin’ words out? “I’m inta him!”

“Yeah, and?” Josuke asks.

“And you’re fuckin’ flirting with him! Of course I got a damn issue with you!” Josuke looks blindsided for a couple seconds, and then he bursts into laughter. “And then you go an’ do this shit, shovin’ it in my face!”

“Dude!” Josuke has the audacity to put his hand on Mondo’s shoulder, ignoring every time Mondo tries to throw it off. For someone as thin as Josuke looks, he’s unfairly strong. “Dude. I am not flirting with him. That’s so gross.” 

Two-faced bastard! “You got a fuckin’ problem with my friend?!” 

“Dude. He’s my cousin.”

“Yer - what?” Mondo blinks, all his pent up energy dissipating in the shock. “Then - then what the fuck were you sayin’ ta him to make ‘im blush?”

“I’m teasing him about you, ya dweeb.” He snorts. “God. No. I’m not flirting with my fuckin’ cousin. And even if we weren’t related, I’m not gonna hit on some guy in front of my boyfriends.”

“Oh.” He’s...totally deflated now. And feels like an asshole. “Uh...” Great. “I’m sorry fer bein’ such an asshole,” he grumbles.

Josuke lets it slide rather easily, shrugging it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse interactions.” 

Mondo still rubs the back of his head, anxiously, and he’s still not all that comfortable with Josuke’s smirk. “Gotta say,” he admits, “I never woulda thought the two of you were related. Ya don’t exactly look alike.” 

Josuke shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back against the counter. “Well, it’s not by blood or anything. His dad married my ne- uh, I mean, my uncle -” Was he just going to say nephew? “But we take family very seriously, and we’re...kind of a large family.” 

For a second, he looks almost depressed by his own statement, eyes kind of foggy, lips pulled down and staring at his boyfriends with some kind of intense anxiety. He sighs, and slaps Mondo on the back. “Let’s just get back to the game, ‘kay? I think Taka’ll be happier when we get along.” 

He feels like he missed something, but says “Sure, okay,” following Josuke back to their seats. 

Whatever it is that’s on his mind, it’s either passed or he’s hidden it by the time they’ve reached their friends. Josuke reacts to Kiyotaka’s suspicious glare by ruffling his hair. “So, Kiyo -”

“Don’t call me that,” he groans. 

And Josuke ignores him. “A former delinquent with a bad temper, huh? I bet your stepdad’s gonna love that.” 

Kiyotaka lets out a scream, and drops the bowling ball to the floor. Mondo tries to pretend he doesn’t see something faintly pink and blue grabbing it just before it hits the ground.

[themadlostgirl]

NDY AU (5)

*hey. hey kid. you want some angst? too bad. you’re getting some.*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: language

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hm?” I buried my head further into my pillow, it feels a lot stiffer this morning. I stayed up way too late last night.

“Wake up! You’re not skipping school again today!”

“Shut it…” My pillow grumbled.

Wait. I bolted upright as last night came flooding back. Peter is in my bed! He never left last night! Shit!

“Sweetie? You okay?” Dad’s voice called through the door, “You sound hoarse.”

“Uh…” I looked to Peter who was now wide awake too and just as panicked. I pretended to cough really loudly, “Sorry, morning voice, I need some water.”

“Okay...can you unlock the door? Your mom needs to iron your uniform still.”

“Yep, one sec.” I looked back at Peter and he gave a huge roll of his eyes before sliding underneath the bed once more. I unlocked the door and shoved my uniform into dad’s hands. “Thanks, dad.”

“Thanks...are you sure you feel alright? You’re acting very squirrely today.”

“Yeah. Totally. Perfectly fine. Just a little dazed cause I was up late last night reading.”

“I know you’re young and can somehow function on less sleep than a normal human but that doesn’t mean you should. Go to bed at a decent time.” He took my uniform and went down the hall.

I closed the door and Peter poked his head out from underneath my bed. “I think that went well.”

“What are you still doing here? You were supposed to leave last night!”

“You made it very hard to want to leave, pet.” He winked, “But in all seriousness what are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” I flopped back on the bed, “This is so bad.”

“I can try absconding out the window.”

“Yeah, until one of the neighbors sees and calls my parents.” I wracked my brain for ideas. “Just stay hidden in here until my parents leave for work and then sneak out through the back door. No one will know that way.”

“Or, I could stroll downstairs and we lay out the whole ugly truth to your parents. Hash things out over some breakfast. I’m sure they’ll come around after knowing I was asleep in your bed all night and hiding under it when they were still awake.”

“You are such an asshole. Remind me again why I like you.”

“Cause I’m adorable and a great kisser.” he smirked. “Speaking of,” he pulled me in for soft kiss.

“Morning breath aside that was kinda sweet,” I strolled into the bathroom and started freshening up. I also had to change into my uniform in there because despite Peter’s assurances that he wouldn’t peek I was not going to strip with him in the room.

I made him promise to not go through my stuff and to high tail it to school as soon as he could after he did leave. With a quick goodbye kiss I was on my way to school. True to his word Peter showed up at school, albeit a little late.

In the weeks to follow things between Peter and I found a routine. Since I worked all the time and my parents didn’t want me around him during my little free time we had to hang out almost exclusively at school. Plus side, we did get to see each other and Peter was slowly getting moved to regular classes since he was actually attending school. Downside was that it was school! We did what we could but it was spoiled slightly by the background of teenage stress and boys using excess amounts of deodorant in lieu of a shower. Aside from that it was nice. He walked me to class even if it was out of his way, he switched lunches to eat with me, and after some time his schedule included some classes I was in.

Not that we only hung out at school. I grew a backbone and started saying no to some babysitting gigs so I had more free time. My parents thought it was for a book club I joined. What really happened was hikes through the forest, walking along the beach, watching movies out in the trailer, and study dates at the school library. I only invited him back to the house once and that was to taste test some brownies I had made for a bake sale.

We were snuggled in the trailer on a dreary day having a horror movie marathon. I wanted to punch Peter for talking me into this. It wasn’t even like they were the bad kinda horror movies that were more funny than terrifying. No. This asshole had us watching shit like Nightmare on Elm Street and The Exorcist. I was going to have such paranoia falling asleep tonight.

“Is there a reason you’re making me suffer through this?” I asked Peter. My eyes were shielded behind my hands as more gore and disturbing imagery filled the small screen.

“Because these are classic films that you should see and it makes you cuddle into me anytime anything remotely scary appears on screen.” I could practically feel the smirk he had on his face.

“You, sir, are a conniving little shit.” I pouted.

“And you, my lady, are adorable when you’re scared.”

“So you like seeing me scared?”

“Only when it gets you to bury your face in my chest like I am the biggest, strongest, sexiest stuffed animal that ever lived.” he gave me a quick peck.

“Y’know, if everyone at school knew how big a dork you really are you’d probably get in less fights.” I poked at a bruise he had on his arm. “Or maybe more, I don’t know.”

“He slapped your ass! Was I supposed to just let that shit slide?”

“Okay, maybe not that one, but what about all the other fights?” I asked, “Like that time you came to school with a busted lip? What about that huge bruise on your back I found when I hugged you too hard? The sprained wrist?”

“Incidental occurrences, I assure you.”

“No more fighting? Okay?”

“Okay.” he gave me another kiss on my forehead, “No more fights. Not unless they deserve it.”

“That’s the best I’m gonna get out of you isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take it. Now can we please turn off the scary movies and just make-out or something?”

“Done.” he turned off the movie and pulled me on top of him. My laugh was swallowed by the press of his mouth against mine.

“Peter, wait,” I pulled away. “I gotta ask you something.”

He rolled his eyes and started kissing at my neck, “Continue, but I get to keep kissing you.”

“So you know why you can’t come over to my house but is there a reason you’ve never invited me to your place?”

At this Peter stopped. Not only stopped but pulled away completely. “Peter?”

“My place isn’t great. You wouldn’t want to see it. Drafty, messy, terrible wi-fi.”

“Peter…”

“Can we go back to kissing?”

“Is there something you want to tell me?” I held his face gently, “You can talk to me, Peter. That’s part of what girlfriends do.”

He smiled at me, cupping my chin in his hand. “The only thing I need to tell you is that you are the best thing in my life. You are.”

He wasn’t up for this and I don’t want to pry. He’ll tell me in his own time. If there is something to tell. I could be reading too much into this. So I kissed him and left the situation for the future to sort out.

After a while Peter walked me back into town. He would have walked me to the house if it wasn’t for the fact that my parents were definitely home.

Later that night I was settled in my bed fast asleep. It took me a while to get to that point since the horror movies had gotten me all jittery. Every shadow and creak of the house had me jumping out of my skin. I hoped that I would get some peace after I fell asleep but it was not to be. One horrible nightmare of being chased by some Freddy Krueger/Alien manifestation had me bolting upright with a scream trapped in my throat.

I was shaking horribly and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I reached for my inhaler before my hand wrapped around my phone. I was dialing Peter’s number before I could even get a fraction calmed down.

He picked up after two rings, his voice groggy but it was there. “Hey, pet, what’s up?” He yawned, “Is this some late night booty call or…”

“Peter…” I couldn’t keep the tremble out of my voice.

“Y/N,” he sounded more alert, “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I just--I was--” I took a deep breath, “Nightmare...it was stupid. I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

“No. Not stupid. The nightmare is the stupid one here.” his voice was low and soothing, “Take a deep breath, precious. What do you need? Do you want to talk about it or be distracted from it?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice.” I admitted, “Talk to me, please.”

“If you wish it, pet.” he went on and on talking about dumb small things. Whispering comforting words over the phone until my eyes grew heavy once again.

“Peter?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” I was much calmer now. The nightmare was leagues away, replaced with images of a sleepy Peter with his bedhead. If I closed my eyes I could pretend he was next to me in bed. I wish he was really here. Then I’d know the nightmare could never touch me.

“No need to thank me, pet. I’ll always be here for you. Day or night.”

“I didn’t say it back at the trailer but I should now.” I closed my eyes as the need for sleep became more pressing. “You are the best part of my life. I know we’ve only been dating for a short while but it feels so much longer. Like I’ve known you all my life.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Thanks for staying up with me.”

“Day or night, pet. Day or night.”

“Right.” I yawned, “Goodnight, Peter. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, pet. Sleep tight.”

The call ended and I fell back asleep. I had no dreams but I could feel a warm cocoon surrounding me, protecting me from any that dare try to enter my peaceful sleep. It smelled like forest.

(1) (2) (3) (4) (6)

[okietokiee]

Tokigail / Post-Doomstar

@edgtheow  I always see your Tokigail posts and tbh that’s one of my favorite rare pair ships too!! But their ao3 tag is practically empty ;o; so I wrote a sappy post-dsr fic because this rare pair deserves some love :’)

This is set during Doomstar when the Dethlights happened and then immediately after. And some headcanons I’m using for context: both Toki and Abigail were brutally tortured by Magnus and MMA, but the Dethlights ordeal healed most of Toki’s physical injuries

Rating: T

Abigail’s POV

Abigail was a logical woman. Growing up, she prided herself for her rationality and sensible nature. She’d see something unfamiliar and a majority of the time she was able to analyze the issue or situation and decide what to do next. 

This was not one of those times. 

She could still hardly even believe those selfish, narcissistic assholes actually even showed up. And with such stupidly dramatic timing too, when she had already fully resigned herself to her painful, brutal end in this dungeon at the hands of a man she hardly knew.

And now, looking up at this blindingly bright beam of light levitating those assholes and making them look like some kind of godly celestial beings, she was half convinced this was all just a wild fever dream she was experiencing moments before her death. 

It didn’t help that after the sudden burst of color, everything was a literal blur of empty scenes and lost time. She felt nauseous and lightheaded, a state she’d become accustomed to after months locked up. After an indefinite period of time that could’ve been five minutes or five hours, she was drowned with a litany of random voices she couldn’t distinguish. 

The only distant, grounding voice that broke through the fog was a warm, familiar, “Abigail, we ams safe now…” 

And that familiar sound was enough to convince her that yes, this was real. This was it. The whole world could fall to complete shit, but she’d recognize that voice anywhere. She let out a deep, contented sigh, as she was hoisted up by a taller body. 

She closed her eyes, finally embracing the exhaustion that’s been permeating her whole being for what felt like eternity. 

——————

A few weeks later, Abigail awoke to the faint whirring of machinery and nauseatingly bright hospital lights. She frowned, feeling something weighing down on her left side, and she chanced a small movement of her head to see, to her relief, a sleeping head with long, chestnut brown hair. 

Toki had a firm hold of her hand, their fingers interlaced in a familiar grip. She chanced a small smile, feeling her body relax fully into the hard hospital mattress. 

Seeing Toki somehow alleviated a lot of her sudden fear and anxiety. Not all of it, no, not by a long shot. But they were each other’s only solace down in that hell, and it seemed her brain still recognized him as such. 

She was surprised to see that Toki looked infinitely better than she remembered. Though it was expected since they were finally being treated, she didn’t think it was possible for him to gain back all that weight so fast if what she could see of him was anything to go by. His sallow, sunken cheeks looked full and healthy again, and his previously corpse-like pallor had returned to a state similar to before the kidnapping. 

She had a passing idea that perhaps that blinding beam of light had something to do with this, but just thinking of that ordeal gave her a splitting headache. She sighed weakly, untangling her fingers from the guitarist’s to instead idly stroke his hair in familiar movements. 

She had no idea how much time could have possibly passed, Toki’s soft breathing and her own idle ministrations the only thing she felt rooted her to reality. And Abigail was startled to hear an abrupt cough, and she sat up a bit to see one Swedish guitarist looking more uncomfortable and awkward than she’d ever seen him. 

Skwisgaar nervously shuffled closer to her bed. “Ah… I sees you ams awakes.” He cast an unreadable glance at Toki. “He woulds nots leaves you alone. We ams glads you ams all rights.”

Abigail was not impressed and gave Skwisgaar a look that screamed, ‘Really? That’s all you have to say?’

Skwisgaar physically gulped, his guilt and discomfort apparent. “I… no, de whole bands, we wishes we came earlier. We ams all stupid idiots. Ams all so sorries, ands I know dere is no way to evers really apologizke for dis, buts I just…” He faltered. “He… Toki I means, he so worrierds and keeps saysing he woulds never have mades it wivout yous. I just wants to takk, uh, tanks you for beinks dere for him. We knows it was hells for you too, you didn’ts need to do so much, buts you dids.”

Abigail let a small grin grace her deadpan expression. She chanced a reply, not surprised at how sore her throat felt and her weak, cracked tone of voice. “There’s no need to thank me Skwisgaar. Toki and I… we, well, we needed each other to stay sane down there.” 

Skwisgaar gave her an unidentifiable look in return and seemed as though he were about to say more, when Toki began to stir awake at Abigail’s side. 

“Abbygale?…Yous awakes!” He exclaimed after blinking the sleepiness from his eyes. He shot up from his chair and held Abigail in an excited, surprisingly gentle hug. He was muttering gibberish as he held her, an enthusiastic mixture of Norwegian and English and everything in between. 

Abigail chuckled warmly, returning the hug as best she could with an IV up her arm. 

Satisfied, Toki backed off, but kept his hands on Abigail’s shoulder moving in soothing ministrations. His face was close and expression simultaneously joyous and anxious.

“Abby, Toki ams so happies yous wakes up! De doctors, de says dat if you sleeps for too longs it woulds be real bads, buts I knew you woulds wakes up! Toki knows! How ams you feelings? Anyting hurts? Ah, but de doctors! I go gets dem, dey needs to sees you, but Toki don’ts wants to leaves yous! What we do-”

Abigail gave Toki a fond, exasperated look. She was about to mention that Skwisgaar could alert the doctors, but when she looked to her side she was confused to see the spot empty, the Swede having made a hasty, unnoticed departure. 

Within moments a team of medical professionals rushed in to check up on Abigail’s condition. 

After they left satisfied with their findings and to prepare some further tests, Abigail heaved an anxious sigh. From what the doctor had said so far, it seemed that physically she was doing well considering what her body had been through, but she’d still need quite a bit of physical therapy and further tests. Psychologically though, that was to be determined, and considering the paranoia and anxiety permeating through her body, she did not have high hopes for that.

But, despite whatever trials awaited her, one look at Toki’s eager, hopeful, and absolutely radiant smiling face made her feel like it would be ok.

They made it out of one hell alive, they’d make it out of this too. 

——————

Toki’s POV

Toki saw a blazing, blindingly bright light flash before his eyes and then he felt weightless. He felt it tear through his flesh, simultaneously eviscerating his very being but also creating something new with the ashes. It was disorienting how suddenly it came, and even more so how abruptly it passed. Before he knew it he was back on the floor, fallen to his knees, overcome with exhaustion.

Everything was a blur. His bandmat- no, his brothers breaking into the room and freeing him and Abigail, the sudden lights that seemed to come from the heavens, and the dizzying aftermath of that. If he was to be completely honest, the only constant, grounding thought that helped him regain his bearings was the person who’d been his only comfort for months on end. 

“A-abigail!” He cried, seeing her on the sidelines looking near death. He rushed to stand up, but almost went tumbling down from his shaking legs. Nathan was able to grab hold of him and steady his balance just in time. 

“Abigail! We ams safes now!” Toki yelled. He saw Skwisgaar gently help Abigail up and was immediately distressed to see that it seemed she’d passed out. 

And everything moved so much faster from there.

But regardless, from the warehouse, to the helicopter, and right to the hospital, Toki did not stray far from Abigail’s side. 

——————

Numerous doctors were astounded by the state Toki was in, and not for the reasons everyone was expecting. Though he wasn’t in perfect health, he was exceedingly better than seemed possible for someone stuck in the conditions he was in. 

However, though physically he healed up miraculously fast, he was becoming a nervous wreck. Each day that passed with Abigail still asleep with no signs of waking up made Toki feel like he was slowly but surely suffocating.

And of course, there was the rest of Dethklok too. His brothers. They were as supportive as a group of traumatized, emotionally-stunted man children could possibly be. 

It was strained at first, four members expecting some kind of (well-deserved) anger and resentment from Toki’s side. Being tortured while their bandmates party around the world in a drug-fueled haze would put a bad taste in anyone’s mouth.

But the elation of finally being reunited with his dumb family soothed whatever jagged edges there were and Dethklok had a brutal (read: tearful) homecoming for their rhythm guitarist. 

However, despite their high spirits, Toki couldn’t be content. No, not yet. 

After being cleared by astounded doctors with a clear bill of health after just a few days, he spent his time in Abigail’s room, reading, coloring, sleeping, waiting… always waiting.

It was on one of those quiet days when Skwisgaar and Nathan came to visit, the latter of which threw a surprisingly soft, familiar lump at him. 

“Wowee! Yous guys brought me mines Deddy bear! Takk!” Toki exclaimed with glee, holding his fluffy friend tight. 

“Yeah, we, uh… well, we thought you’d miss him. Since you haven’t been to your room since you got back and everything.” Nathan shrugged, trying to hide a pleased smile. 

“Ja, ands we cames to check ups on yous,” Skwisgaar added.

Toki stiffened. “I ams doins fine.” He said with a rigid tone.

“Yous havent’s left dis rooms in weeks.” Skwisgaar sighed. “We knows you ams worries about hers, but you needs a breaks sometimes.” Toki frowned. “Ams fines. I needs to do dis.”

Nathan coughed, sensing the tension in the air. “Yeah, to be fair Toki, you haven’t even stepped foot in Mordhaus since you got home. And that’s, uh, saying a lot. Since our hospital is attached to Mordhaus and everything.” 

Toki visibly deflated, his expression taking a somber turn. “Abigail… shes was always there for mes, now I needs to bes there for her…” 

Nathan stole a glance at Abigail, his gaze softening. “Yeah, I get it.” 

Skwisgaar, on the other hand, stole a glance at Toki’s downcast face. “Tokis, she wills be alrights…” He tried to say confidently.

Toki gave him a broken look. “Ja, she has to bes…” 

After a few more hushed, somber conversations, Skwisgaar and Nathan were on their way, sensing that Toki wanted to be left alone. 

Though the others visited often, Toki truly didn’t mind some solitude. It wasn’t like he was completely alone anyways. As long as Abigail’s heart was still beating, she was still with him, and he’d stay by her side as long as she needed him to. 

And apparently she only needed him to wait just shy of 4 weeks. 

He was stirred awake by a melodic, albeit weaker voice. He thought he was dreaming for a moment, but was awestruck to see that wasn’t the case. His voice going a mile-a-minute in a mix of every language he vaguely knew. And his emotions were going haywire, his arms both desperate to hold her and scared to death of accidentally hurting her.  

He was infinitely grateful when the doctors rushed in so he wouldn’t have to leave her side. 

After a short check-up and learning that Abigail really was going to be fine, he beamed and was blushing with pure, unadulterated joy. Abigail was awake. She was ok. It was going to be alright. He felt a heavy weight of worry and anxiety lifted off his chest. 

They were both going to be alright.

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

I still plan to add their road to recovery and Dethklok’s POV of their relationship, but I got excited and wanted to share what I had so far so it still has some weird mistakes but aahjkgfure I really like writing Toki smitten with Abigail bc I’m smitten with her too :’)

Also, I left room for possible Skwistokgail because @calliopinot made that one of my all-time favorite OT3 pairings :^) It won’t happen in this fic probably, but the subtle implications !!