#I think my thought process was like. They all crash together after That Ordeal

[hajihiko]

sorry if you explained this already and I didn't see but why in your profile background or whatever it's called, Hajime is so far away from everyone else?? Like, everyone is close and cuddling and he's just away from everyone else 😭

Alluding to the general feeling of not belonging yet and also the Horrors

[cdroloisms]

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao) 

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

[ramzawrites]

IronGolem!Hybrid!Reader - Protector - Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Male

Pairings: none

Characters included: Quackity, Fundy, Tubbo, Punz, Technoblade, Philza, Dream

Warnings: blood, character death, cursing

Series: Part of my Iron Golem request series! 💙

Summary: Y/N helped the Butcher Army to escort Techno towards his trial only for this trial to turn into a surprise execution. An execution that finally gives Y/N the chance to flee that he was so desperately looking for, all along. Even if others had to push him towards this opening.

Words count: 2684

Authors Note: Woops I thought this would be the last part but there will be a part 4 after all o7

As they begun moving Techno followed along quietly. Never pulling on the chains, just dutifully following behind Y/N. His eyes mostly trained on the horse that Quackity was now riding.

They walked back to where they left their horses and got back up on theirs. Y/N got Quackity’s horse and let Techno on it, leading that horse along as he rode his own black steed. Sometimes petting his horse, his rough hands weaving through the long black mane, more as a way to calm himself down rather than the horse.

Riding between Quackity who was at the front while both Fundy and Tubbo stayed at Techno’s side while Ranboo stayed at the end of the group. Ensuring that Techno didn’t try anything too stupid.

Throughout the whole ride Fundy and Quackity began taunting Techno, Tubbo would occasionally chime in as well while both Y/N and Ranboo stayed quiet.

It surprised Y/N a bit that Techno actually responded to some taunts with his own snide remarks that would usually shut the other party up, for a short moment at least. He certainly had his wits about him.

Y/N couldn’t help but look up to Technoblade in a sense. He himself was escorted away in a similar manner but other than Techno, he immediately gave up and just followed along with his captors. Not even saying a word against them and while Techno did follow them along as well, he still talked back, made them feel stupid about their own thoughtless comments.

And Y/N enjoyed the frustrated exclamations of the group whenever Techno made one of his targeted comments. This was not a good situation for the warrior but he kept his dignity and a part of control and power in this situation.

Technoblade was strong and Y/N was not.

No, Y/N was weak willed and naïve. He should have fought more. Tried to escape or tried to send along a message to his home, to his people. Should have asked Ranboo to maybe check up on the town, after all he seemed to be the most reasonable one of the group but he didn’t. He was too scared and just gave up. What kind of protector was he?

Then again, he couldn’t fight, and he had to work with what he can do. Sometimes staying alive was the best and even most rebellious thing someone can do. Maybe if he was just patient enough, he would find a chance to flee! Though whenever this thought crossed his mind he feared that he had missed his one chance already due to his cowardice.

It didn’t take long for them to reach L’Manberg. Getting off the horses to walk back into the town middle. Y/N still holding the chains that were keeping Techno’s wrists bound.

As they walked further into the town, they passed Philza’s home.

The winged man stood on his upper balcony, staring down with a cold expression “You actually got him.”

“Get inside! You are on house arrest!” Tubbo just yelled back as an answer but Techno turned to face his friend, pulling on the chains in the process. Y/N pulled them back again, scared with what could happen next.

“Phil! Phil! What did they do to you!”

Fundy got his axe back out and pushed the flat side against Techno side, urging him to keep on going. This unspoken threat seemed to be enough for him to ignore his old friend and instead continued to follow Y/N who in return followed Quackity and Tubbo.

Though as Y/N pulled his gaze away from Philza, he could see a fond softness in his eyes. Worry mixed with anger. It was the first time he saw genuine emotion on his face, rather than the forced smiles he portrayed usually.

“Lead him up there, keep the chains around his wrists in there and stand close by.” Tubbo ordered the Iron Golem Hybrid, pointing at what looked like a cage right beneath a strange structure that Y/N couldn’t immediately make out what it was for.

But there was a foreboding feeling in the air.

Y/N opened up the door and without a word Techno just walked inside. The gate crashed shut again.

He could finally let go off the chain that he held on to. Dropping it as soon as he could. But the feeling of disgust stayed or maybe it was guilt. Maybe a mix. The less he thought about it the better, so instead Y/N just concentrated on Tubbo who begun a speech.

What kind of trials does L’Manberg have?

This wasn’t really a trial was it?

“Hey, Y/N, right?”

Y/N didn’t respond but stared at Techno from the corners of his eyes. Why was he talking to him? How should he react? Should he even react? Would the others hurt him if he visibly reacted?

“I know of you. You were-“

Though Technoblade didn’t finish his sentence. Smoke appeared in front of the stage and a person covered in armor appeared. They wore a white hoodie with netherite armor on top. Not even waiting a beat as they begun to attack the Butcher Army with their axe and crossbow.

Tubbo pulled his shield in front of his face, barely catching the arrow that came flying directly towards his face “Pull the lever, Big Q!”

Lever? What lever?

Even Techno seemed surprised letting out a quite frankly comical confused noise.

There was no hesitation on Quackity’s side. He immediately sprinted towards the structure and pulled the lever. Y/N could see a redstone pulse running up the build.

What the hell was going on?

Technoblade pushed his hands into his pocket, pulling out a small golden figure. Y/N couldn’t see it very well, but he immediately knew what it was.

A totem of undying.

Surprised Y/N stared at Techno only to see something black falling down.

He completely tuned out the sound of the fighting and screaming, his senses concentrated on Technoblade. His eyes directed at the black anvil that was flying with incredible speed down towards the cage.

Before Y/N could properly process what was happening, or the implications of this whole ordeal, the anvil was already on his eye level.

It connected with Techno’s skull with a sickening wet crack, immediately followed by an explosion of green light. It was so bright Y/N had to shield his eyes with his arms. Surprised by the warmth that came off the magic that engulfed Technoblade and revitalized his body. Pulling him away from the land of the dead and stitching his broken body back together.

As fast as the light appeared, it was just as fast gone. Y/N removed his arms and saw Techno jumping off the anvil and over the iron bars.

The man literally, just died but he didn’t waste any time to flee once he had the chance. Was it jealousy or admiration Y/N felt? He didn’t know, either way he was impressed.

While Y/N seemed to be a bit dazed, still trying to process this, Techno used the chance in between the chaos all around them to take a look around only to spot a masked man leading his horse away.

“He has Carl!”

He then proceeded to grab Y/N’s forearm and pulled him along. Techno’s grip was strong and unrelenting. Pressing down uncomfortably on a few burns that were just beginning to heal properly hence why Y/N’s first reaction was to pull his arm away, but the Pig Hybrid was holding on. Not giving him a chance to protest.

Why did Techno do this? Why did he tug him along? He clearly knew of Y/N but how? What did he know?

So, the best option was to follow him, right into a little opening at the side of a hill. Inside there was a room, lined with chests and another opening that seemed to lead into tunnels.

But what really caught Y/N’s attention was the man that held the reigns of Carl. A white porcelain mask with a smiling face hid away his face. A cloak hiding his physique and probably weapons.

Once inside the room Techno let go off Y/N to snarl “Dream, give me Carl.”

This masked man was the infamous Dream? His green hood was pulled up, the mask looked already unsettling but with the added shadow of the hood? As he stared at Y/N it felt like he was sizing him up. As if to wager something out.

Once again Y/N felt incredibly small under someone else’s gaze.

Dream slowly got closer and gave Techno the reigns of Carl “You brought him with you? I’m surprised, Techno.”

Techno walked up to Carl and pressed his forehead against that of the horses as a greeting “I don’t think we have the time to talk about this Dream, besides weren’t you the one trying to get him out of there?”

“Yes, I suppose you are correct. We don’t have the time to talk about this though. You two better get going. There should also be some armor and potions in one of the chests. And Y/N?” Dream turned towards him now “We’ll meet again, I promise you. You will get your revenge.” With that he ran off through the opening that Techno previously pulled Y/N in.

Techno rummaged through one of the chests. Letting out a disappointed sigh as he spotted some iron armor. With trained movements he slipped surprisingly fast into the clunky armor. Fastening it around himself and hooking the potions to his belt.

Hooves clicked on the stone ground as Techno lead Carl towards the tunnels “Not to put too much pressure on you but if you want to get out of this mess you better come with me.” Techno’s eyes rested calmly on Y/N. He was serious and looked like he was calculating something but there was something genuine and almost friendly mixed in.

“I- uh, understood.”

This honestly felt unreal. Like a dream. Though Y/N hasn’t decided yet if this was just another nightmare. It felt like a trap. Too convenient but what could he do? Run back out towards the city? He can’t fight like Dream or Techno, he wouldn’t get the chance to flee. Besides they would just capture him again and he didn’t want to think about how he might be treated afterwards.

His best bet really was with Technoblade but why he would do this for him after he escorted him to his own execution, he didn’t know.

Hell, how did he even know of him?

“Now, Y/N.”

Techno just begun moving into the tunnels. Y/N made sure to stay close. A spark of hope inside his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in ages. Is it okay if he takes this spark and holds it close? Just in case it breaks out into a fire?

Almost as if to answer this question both Techno and Y/N heard a voice coming from behind them. It wasn’t Dream’s. No, Y/N knew this voice too well. It was Quackity. Quackity has found him and would bring him back.

That spark seemed to dim after all.

“What the fuck is this? What is this Techno? How the fuck did that Anvil not kill you? And now you are stealing my things? Stealing my blacksmith?”

Techno let out a cackling laugh as he made sure to stand in front of Y/N. Grasping the hilt of his netherite pickaxe in one of his hands.

“Listen here Quackity. I tried telling you that the root of the problems here was government! I fought alongside you to show you! And you used me! So, I retaliated with force, to prove my point but you still formed a government! After that I was content with getting away from it! I tried to retire! I swore off violence! You still hunted me down! You-“

He moved his head around a bit, looking at Y/N from the corner of his eyes only to snap back to Quackity “You hurt my friends!”

Quackity didn’t seem to have noticed this but Y/N did. Techno referred to Y/N as his friend? He somehow felt like he was missing some vital piece of information. Never in his life has he even talked with him before this. Maybe he really just meant the horse, it stood off to the other side but surely, he must have only meant Carl. Perhaps Philza as well? Yes, those he must have meant. No way did he group Y/N in there as well.

Not after he was the one who escorted Techno away from his peaceful life with chains around his wrists.

Quackity bit down on his lip in anger before he answered “Techno, I don’t care about that. All that I care about is that you are on my hit list.”

“Hit list? What kind of Hit list?”

“I’m building up a nation and this nation needs direction, organization and I swear no matter what it fucking takes me, I will fucking kill you.”

Once again Techno laughed “Quackity, do you really think you are enough to kill me? Even unarmored and only in iron armor?”

At this point Y/N was straight up jealous at Techno’s confidence and cockiness. He would have just cowered in fear, given up but Techno did not. He stood strong, calm. Like a boulder between turbulent waters.

That spark that seemed to dim inside of him seemed to flare up again. If he just stayed close to Techno and trusted in him, maybe he is allowed to hope. Just this once.

Obviously Quackity tried to stay calm and collected beforehand but this seemed to push him over the edge “So be it! I’ll fucking kill you right here and now!”

He immediately took his axe out and jumped towards Techno who confidently blocked the attack with his pickaxe. With a simple twist of his arm and body, he hooked Quackity weapon with his own and then used his whole body to pull it out of his hands.

The axe flew through the air, landing with a loud clanging on the ground in front of Y/N. He didn’t think much about it as he slowly stretched his hand out and grabbed it. Holding the weapon close to himself. Seeing how he couldn’t fight, this weapon would be useless in his hands but at least he could ensure that Quackity didn’t pick it up again.

It was the first time he rebelled against him. It was the first time he took some sort of control over this situation. He did not give up. He did something.

As he looked up he could see a shocked Quackity.

“I only have this pickaxe, Quackity, but I’ll put it through your teeth!”

There was this bloodlust to his words. A malice that Y/N expected from Techno before he met him. As his only idea of him was that what the butcher army told him.

He realized that their stories relied on a kernel of truth though in this moment he wasn’t scared of this Techno. No, he saw pain, self-preservation and conviction in his actions right now.

Quackity evaded one of Techno’s attacks only for his second to hit. Hitting his open mouth with the pickaxe and dragging it across his face. Resulting in Quackity to fall down motionless. Blood spilling to the ground as his body slowly dissolved into gold dust. He was respawning.

Technoblade just took Quackity’s first life. Just like that. It went over so fast. Like it was nothing.

Without seemingly missing a beat he turned around to look Y/N dead in the eyes, now calm again “We need to go. Now. I’ll explain everything to you once we are safe. I promise.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer and instead begun leading Carl through the tunnel again.

Y/N took a second to stare at the dissolving Quackity only for Techno to pull him back out of his thoughts “Y/N!”

“Why are you helping me. Just- Just tell me this. I’ll follow you, I promise, but I need to know.”

Techno sighed “Because how couldn’t we? How can you see injustice and not do anything?”

____

Tag: @plaguedoctorsnake

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!reader) - Part 5

Summary: y/n and Draco find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every night

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader ft. Theo Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini

Warnings: Excessive smoking, mature language and themes, smut labeled as ⚜️, 18+ content, reader discretion is advised, also Draco is kinda soft in this one. Just sayin.

A/n: Ik this was supposed to be the final part but I wanted to wrap things up properly. The last part will be dedicated to the ball itself.

A massive thank you to everyone that has read WOS. Your feedback makes me so fkn happy. I love you all sm.

Word count: 3700

Link to Part one, two, three, and four if you haven’t read them already.

My other stories are over here. And you can join my tag list here.

As always, Smoking is injurious to health y’all.

24th December

Home was just the way you’d remembered it. 

From the Goldchild Ivy covering the white colored walls and the stepping stones leading all the way to the main entrance to the way your parents kept nagging you about your “future” with Adrian Pucey.

“You still haven’t told me what kind of dress you’d like to wear to the ball.” Your mum reminded you after taking a small sip from her wine glass. 

“I don’t know mother.” You sighed,stabbing repeatedly at the sautéed mushroom on your plate. “Can’t I wear something I already own? Like the blue one I wore last year.”

“Well, what is Adrian wearing? May I suggest some colour coordinating?” 

“I really don’t know mother.” You coughed. 

“Well, why don't you ask him?”

“I can't.” You mumbled dropping your fork on your plate. The loud clanging sound earned you an eyebrow raise from your otherwise quiet father. 

“Why not?”

“We broke—we aren’t seeing each other anymore.” You said quietly before quickly standing up and dismissing yourself from the dining table before your parents could ask you a thousand questions.

As you walked away from the table and towards the balcony, you could still hear your parents calling after you while simultaneously speculating about just what you may have done to scare Adrian away. 

You weren’t going to tell them about Draco because you weren’t even sure what to tell them.

I broke up with Adrian because I’m sleeping with Draco Malfoy.

Yes, the one that is getting engaged soon. 

No we’re not together.

I may or may not have developed feelings for him.

Yes, it is inconvenient because I have no idea how he feels. 

Did I mention he is getting engaged? 

You tugged on the sleeves of your sweater to warm your hands up as you stared up at the surprisingly clear night sky splattered with only a few clouds and shimmering stars. 

You took it upon yourself to start counting the stars to distract yourself from thinking about Draco again.

Unbeknownst to you, Draco was standing on the balcony of his room trying not to think of you too. 

The only difference for him was that the sky was a little less cloudy where he lived and he wasn’t going to bother counting stars. 

“Happy Christmas Draco.” You whispered to yourself,staring at the shiny emerald ring on your finger. 

“Happy Christmas Y/n.” Draco mumbled into the night air as he fidgeted with your amethyst ring. 

~~~~~~~~~~

25th December

It was a surprisingly quiet Christmas Morning at the Y/l/n household. 

Your parents were still fast asleep when you walked towards the kitchen to fix yourself a cup of coffee. 

It was probably because your parents hadn’t quite processed your break up with Adrian and had spent their night discussing it.

Seeing it was Christmas, you decided to put a dash of white chocolate and whipped cream in your cup of caffeinated goodness in order to feel a bit more festive.

You were feeling anything but festive. 

There was a kind of dread crushing your insides when you thought about the ball. 

You’d have to watch him dance with her and kiss her lips at midnight. 

Fuck, you’d have to congratulate him after he slipped a ring onto her perfectly manicured finger. 

Just when you were about to take a sip of your drink, you heard a knock on your door. 

You frowned and walked towards the door because it was way too early on in the morning for anyone to come over. 

When you yanked the door open, you saw him of all people, standing on the other side of the door with his white blond hair messier than usual. 

He was wearing one of his rare genuine smiles that showed his pearly whites making you feel wobbly in the knees. 

“Draco—What are you doing here?”

“Happy Christmas to you too.” He said with the smile still fixed on his lips. “Tell me y/l/n is this how you greet all of your houseguests?”

“How rude of me.” You muttered to yourself still befuddled as you stepped back to let him in. “Come in, sit down. Cup of tea?”

“I’m actually in a bit of a hurry.” He said as he fidgeted with his blazer pocket. “Just came to drop off something—ugh hold this.” 

He placed a pack of cigarettes in the palm of your hand before fumbling with his pocket again. 

“Ahh. There we go.” He retrieved a lilac colored box from his pocket and brought it back to its normal size before handing it to you.

“What’s this?” 

“What does it look like y/n?”

“But—But I haven't even gotten you anythi—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, tenderly pressing lips against yours. 

The softness of his lips made the heaviness you were feeling on your shoulders fade away as you faded into him—only him and the way he held you firmly around the waist as he suckled on your bottom lip.

“Thank you.”  You whispered burying your face into his chest, trying to inhale a scent of his cologne. “Thank you.”  

When Draco left, you ran up to your room and opened the lilac box to find a blush coloured slip dress folded neatly with a note on top of it written in his neat handwriting.

~~~~

Dear Y/n

I really am sorry about what happened to your old silk dress but I just couldn’t help myself. 

I hope you’ll understand.

I also hope I get to see you wear this one someday.  

Yours,

D.L.M

~~~~~~~~~~~

26 December 

The day after Christmas, the boys decided to do a little cleanup. 

Quidditch and house memorabilia, novelty artefacts they no longer cared enough for and items of emotional value. 

The boys wanted a fresh start. 

A clean break.

A clean slate. 

Theo and Blaise were done with their cleaning so they were now at the Manor helping Draco who was surprisingly not very convinced about the whole “fresh start” ordeal. 

“Remember this?” Theo chuckled, clearing out all the books that covered Draco’s desk and using his wand to cast a quick spell that revealed carvings they’d made the summer before their second year.

“Oh?” Blaise gleefully raised his eyebrows walking towards Theo. “I’d forgotten about this.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and followed Blaise and the three boys stood around the table reading out everything they’d managed to carve out. 

There were some very unholy words, tally sticks and unfortunate looking doodles of Harry on the table.

“Theodore Nott was here.” Draco read out loud looking unimpressed.

“Read this one.” Theo chuckled pointing at a carving. “Daphne Greengrass + Blaise Zabini.”

“Hey! We were barely second years.” Blaise protested while his eyes kept scanning the table. 

As Blaise’s vigilant eyes trailed to the farthest corner of the table, a wicked grin started to form across his cheeks making Draco’s face turn pale. 

“Y/n Y/l/n.�� Blaise read out loud smirking at Draco. “Well well Malfoy—From the second year?...Interesting.” 

“It was always obvious even though he expressed himself in questionable ways.” Theo shrugged. 

“What was obvious?” Draco quirked an eyebrow with a scowl on his face. 

“The fact that you were and are absolutely enamoured with y/n.” Theo rolled his eyes. “It has always been obvious to everyone but you. Back me up here Zabini.” 

Draco crossed his arms and looked at Blaise who just gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry but he’s right mate.”

“I am not enamoured with y/n.” 

“If you say so.” Blaise shrugged.

“And what if I were?” Draco spat, clearly irked by the condescending look on Blaise’s face.

“If you are, then I only have one question for you.” Blaise said with carefully selected words.

“And the question is?” 

Blaise went quiet for a brief second before looking at Draco, dead set in the eye.

“What is holding you back, Malfoy?” 

~~~~~~~~~~

27th December

Draco wondered what life decisions he’d taken to find himself seated at a murky little pub with Astoria reclining against his shoulders—sipping on Butterbeer. 

Pansy, Theo and Blaise were taking shots next to him and you were awkwardly seated right across the table next to Adrian fucking Pucey. 

What was he doing here anyway? Who even invited him? 

Even though he’d overheard you telling Pansy that Adrian was there only because of your parents nagging you, seeing you seated together bothered him nonetheless. 

Draco wasn’t even meaning to eavesdrop on your conversation with Adrian but he just couldn’t help but divert all his attention to your sweet voice and the way your lips moved. 

You were telling Adrian about the sweet shop next door and Draco’s lips involuntarily twitched and curved upwards when he noticed just how excited you were about sweets.

It was like you softened him—made him vulnerable. And the whole feeling terrified him.

Between smoking his fifth cigarette, occasionally chatting with Astoria and looking at you from the corner of his eye, one rather simple thought encircled Draco’s mind. 

Why didn’t he knock Pucey off his broom when he had the chance to?

~~~~~~~~~

28th December

Lightning crashed. Thunder clapped.

Fat drops of rain started to fall on the enormous glass window in Draco’s bedroom. 

You placed your finger on the glass as you watched the infinite droplets race all the way to the bottom of the window.

The howling winds brought in the scent of wet grass and sent the dark curtains flying in all different directions.

You took in the smell of fresh rain and sighed sinking blissfully into his embrace.

Lucius and Narcissa were away, preparing for the upcoming ball and Draco had owled you asking to meet. 

And so, both of you were now sitting on the windowsill in his room that was much larger than the one in the abandoned classroom. 

In fact, it was so spacious that it served as his own personal reading nook—complete with a velvety throw blanket and some cushions. 

His hands held open a book and you let yourself get comfortable between his long limbs, still counting raindrops on the window. 

“What are you doing?” He asked looking towards you and away from the worn out pages of his book. 

“I’m watching the raindrops race each other.” You said with your eyes still fixed on the glass. “infinite little droplets.”

“It's just rain.” He shrugged as his eyes went back to his book. “Quite mundane if you ask me.”

Sure rain was mundane. 

But this rain felt different. It sent you into a state of melancholia. 

You couldn’t dare to tell him but those infinite droplets resembled the amount of times you’d wanted to tell him that you loved him. 

Even though you couldn’t find the courage to tell him, it was like the look in your eyes gave it all away.

It made his features soften as he slowly shifted and got up from the nook to fully open the window.

You shielded yourself as cold drops of rain started to hit your face. “What in the actual fuck?” 

“Shut up and follow me.” He said as he climbed out of the window and onto the ledge.

“Are you mental?” 

“Just do as I say.” He said helping you onto the ledge. 

Both of you laughed hysterically as the rain seeped through your clothes as you sat on the ledge with your bare feet dangling in the air. 

One wrong move and both of you could fall to our deaths. But there came an adrenaline rush with the risk of it all. 

He pushed away the hair sticking to your face and brought your face close to his before pressing his rain soaked lips to yours. 

Theo was right. 

He was fucking enamoured.

~~~~~~⚜️~~~~~~~~

After coming back inside, you walked into his ensuite to fix your ruined hair and cast a quick drying charm to your clothes before heading home.

You had barely managed to pick at the tangles in your wet hair when an equally soaked Draco walked up behind you—clothes sticking to his toned body and hair sticking to his face. 

“Draco. Sorry for hogging the mirror. I thought I’d be done sooner but these tangles are—hmmm.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind you and pressed his cold lips against the base of your neck.

Even though your hair was entangled and unruly, you looked bewitching to him.

Especially the way the thin and drenched fabric of your seafoam colored dress draped your body—transparent and accentuating all your curves. 

He just couldn’t help himself from unzipping your dress while he admired the sight of your dress slowly leaving your body in the mirror in front of you both. 

“Draco?” You whispered as you watched his lips move their way from your neck to your shoulders. His hands gently gripping and massaging your breasts. 

“Yes?” He whispered into your hair as he began nipping on your earlobe—his hands never leaving your breasts. 

You wanted to tell him that you were in love with him but the words just refused to leave your lips. 

“I—I missed you so much.” You said instead as you watched the corners of his mouth twitch. 

He didn’t say a word back.

Hips lips were too occupied with sucking love bites against your skin. 

He didn’t need to tell you that he missed you too. The deep reddish purple markings on your body said it all. 

Draco intertwined his fingers around yours and placed your palms flat against the marble basin in front of you. 

Your dainty fingers brought out the verdant tones of the emerald ring and Draco couldn’t help but admire his family heirloom on you. 

He slowly moved his hands up your arms and let them brush against your bare back—trailing lower and lower till he was barely touching your soaking wet cunt.

“You like it when I touch you here?” He murmured pushing one of his fingers inside for a fleeting second. 

“Hmmm.” You moaned gripping tightly onto the basin and pushing your hips backwards to get more. 

Draco brought his hand to your arse and struck once causing you to hiss through your teeth. 

“Words darling—use your words.”

“Yes….” You whimpered, opening your eyes to stare into the reflection again. There was a kind of unrestrained hunger in his eyes that only made you want him more. 

“Good girl...so fucking perfect..so beautiful.” 

He reached out and wrapped his left hand around your throat and brought your face close to him while the pad of his right thumb rubbed steady circles on your throbbing clit. 

He loved that you were always so wet and ready for him. 

“Draco..I want you inside me..Please..” 

He could have spent hours on end just teasing you with his fingers and tongue if he could. There was just something about you that just made him want to take his time to worship you—to ruin you. 

But time was not on his side and the reflection in front of him was making him increasingly impatient so he did not tease you any further. He simply unbuckled his trousers and pushed his cock where it belonged. 

“Fuck...yes Draco..”

A whimper let your lips at the sudden push and your knuckles turned pale as you gripped tightly onto the marble basin. 

“Look at you…” He murmured against your shoulder as he stared ahead into the mirror—his cock pounding in and out of you. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” 

He let go of your throat and used his hands to hold your hips firmly in place as he fucked you mercilessly. 

Every time you two had fucked before this, Draco had constantly reminded himself to be a little gentle with you—but today, he wanted to wreck you.

He wanted you to scream his name in a bittersweet mix of pure pleasure and pain as he fucked you relentlessly.

“More...Draco...oh..fuck…yes.” 

Beads of tears started to slip out of your eyes and you started to squirm—clenching him inside of you as your started to feel your orgasm approach. 

“Don’t.” He growled digging his nails into the flesh at your hips. “Don’t fucking come just yet.” 

You winced when he slipped himself out before carrying you back to his room where he sat down at the edge of the bed—positioning you on his lap with your legs on either side as he slipped back into you. 

Draco let you adjust to the new position for a few seconds as you gripped his shoulders as you moved your hips, slowly riding his cock. 

“My perfect little slut.” He sighed cupping your face in his hands as you continued to move against him. 

After letting you ride him for a little longer, he gripped your hips and started to pound into you making your tits bounce up and down. 

“Feels so good Draco—feels so fucking good. Oh god yes.”

With one hand on your arse and his mouth attached to your nipple Draco kept thrusting into you till the room was filled with the sound of your screams mixed with the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the sound rain splattering against the window glass. 

“Fuck y/n...your cunt is so perfect, you take me so fucking good..god.” 

“Harder…”

“So good when you clench me in like that... fuck y/n..I need to fucking fill you up…”

“Draco please..don’t fucking stop...oh..I’m so close..”

You always submitted to him so easily, he enjoyed the control he had over you.

But your sweet moans, the way your lips moved when you sighed his name was enough to make him weak for you. 

You were completely oblivious to the power you held over him. 

He loved you.

And he wanted to say the words out loud over and over again. 

“I love—I love being inside you..I have missed you so much” He said instead. 

“Draco I’m—I’m fucking cumming.” You whined as he continued to move his hips.

“Let go. Fucking cum y/n. Cum with me.”

You let your head fall against his shoulders and dug your nails into his biceps as you succumbed to your orgasm.

He soon followed, painting your walls with his release as he murmured sweet nothings into your skin. 

You held each other close as you both recovered from your highs and and when he eventually fell asleep you whispered into his ear. 

I’ll be thinking of you too Malfoy.

~~~~~~~~~

29th December 

Once glimpse of the calendar and all the feelings you had shoved into a deep dark part of your mind trickled out in the form of tears.

Silent tears.

The kind of tears you cry when the silence of the night gets unbearable.

The kind where you suppress the sound of your wail and hopelessly try and mute any kind of sniffle by pressing your face hard into the pillow because you don’t want to wake anyone up. 

Silent tears are the most painful of tears when mixed with the sound of the clock ticking. 

For some bizarre reason, every second gets more prolonged than the other.

You had tried to hold it together for days. You tried to pretend like Draco’s engagement didn’t bother you. 

But it did. 

You turned your head on your very damp pillow and eyed the pack of smokes on your night stand. Draco had left when he came to drop off your present. 

On an impulse, You stepped out of your bed as your trembling fingers reached for the 25 pack of expensive looking cigarettes. 

The second you opened the box, the slight scent of nicotine wafted up your nose and you slowly placed a cigarette at the corner of your chapped and dry lips and lit it up. 

Like always, you coughed and wheezed the second you inhaled. 

You hated how it felt. 

But you loved how close you suddenly felt to Draco.

In a twisted kind of way, It felt like you were submerged in his presence again. 

Your lips tasted like they had been kissed by him again.

The more you inhaled the better it felt.

In a fucked up kind of way, The word felt right again.  

And slowly, the night faded into morning as one cigarette turned into another. 

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

30th December 

Pansy had flooed to your hour the minute she received a letter last night in your drunken handwriting talking about how amazing cigarettes were and how pretty Astoria was.

With a mug filled to the brim with tea in between her hands, she rested her back against the armchair in your room, tilting her head to get a better look at you. 

Your face was pressed sideways against the pillow and she could tell you’d been crying by the dried mascara stains on your cheeks. 

A half smoked cigarette was pressed into the makeshift ashtray that you’d made out of your bedside table making Pansy wonder if she’d ever seen you this miserable. 

Your duvet was barely covering your shoulders and just as Pansy was standing up to pull them up, your bedroom door creaked open. 

“I just wanted to drop something off.” Draco  mumbled almost like he was talking to himself as he took a step into the room—hand in his blazer pocket.

Pansy didn't say a word as she watched Draco with her eyes narrowed. She observantly watched him pull out a tiny box from his pocket and mumble a spell to restore it to its original size.

“What are those?” 

“Assorted sweets.” He said softly, with his gaze not leaving your sleeping form once. “She wouldn’t stop talking about exploding bonbons the other night at the pub.” 

Pansy heaved out a sigh as she watched Draco place the box of sweets on your bedside table before reaching to gently push away your hair from your face. 

“Don’t get me wrong Draco, but you really shouldn’t be here right now.” 

His weary eyes flickered as he turned to look questioningly at Pansy—retreating his hand from your face. 

“You are getting engaged tomorrow—look at her, look at the state she is in. She won’t say it out loud but It’s clearly killing her.” 

As much as Draco hated agreeing with Pansy, she was right. 

Even while asleep, you looked worn out and restless with your eyebrows scrunched up indicating tension.

He wasn’t even going to get himself started on the cigarettes and wine bottles on your night stand.

“Will you let her know that I came by?” He looked half expectantly at Pansy who gave him an apologetic smile in return. “Never mind I guess.” 

As Draco reluctantly backed away from you,  Blaise’s words lingered in his mind. 

What is holding you back Malfoy?

(To be continued...)

~~~~~~

Part 6: Final Chapter Preview:

The Malfoy Manor was being decorated and every little detail of the decor screamed nothing but aristocratic, pristine, perfect.

It was like everything was just a futile attempt to conceal the dullness, loneliness and the fucked up pure blood traditions hiding deep within the manor walls.

Much like his so-called arrangement with Astoria that seemed so perfect on paper.

Pure blood families, rich family history, old money.

What could go wrong right?..

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

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[dat-town]

wish you were here

Characters: Mark Lee & you

Setting: wish dragon au (and a bit of aladdin because mark even has a tiger in their garden like jasmine did. don’t ask why, just blame the regular mv), childhood best friends to lovers (at least there’s potential?)

Genre: fluff and humour

Warnings: mentions of a sick animal and a wild animal kept as a pet in a huge garden (just like jasmine’s tiger, it’s very tamed)

Summary: A magical teapot, a dragon that wants everyone to be happy and an old friendship being revived. Oh yeah, have I told you that you have 3 wishes?

Words: 6.4k

For @restlessmaknae​ 💕

When your mother told you you got delivery to your childhood home, you certainly did not expect this: a brown box as big as a small watermelon with your old Canadian address and MARK LEE scrabbled next to your name as another recipient but no sender. Not to mention, the first stamp on the thing was dating back to the early 2010s. Where the hell was this package for 10 years? And what would you and your old neighbour slash best friend have gotten together?

Okay, first things first:

You and this clumsy, kind of cute kid, Mark had been quite tight while growing up. You were born in the same year, only a month apart, and his family lived in the house next to yours in the suburbs of Vancouver, so it was kind of natural. You two might have been against the world kind of comrades, playing hide and seek when you were six and wondering about whether time travelling was possible through black holes at twelve. But no matter how close you used to be, you fell out of touch when Mark's family moved to the other end of the world, back to Korea, their roots when you were fourteen. You slowly forgot about him, and started university in the city, moving away from home, so nothing really reminded you of him ⎼ and your stupid, big fat crush on him that you had no courage to tell him about in middle school ⎼, nothing until this box.

You put the delivered package on your kitchen table while you make some dinner for yourself out of what you have gotten during grocery shopping earlier just before you picked up the mysterious stuff at the post office. You eye it suspiciously over your pasta, really not wrapping your mind about what it could be but instead of annoying yourself with this pointless curiosity, you put your fork down and stand up to open it. It’s a struggle at first, the box being secured with multiple adhesive tapes over the years but when you finally get rid of all that and can look inside of it, an intense feeling rushes through you… immerse disappointment.

“A teapot? For real? What were we thinking?” you furrow your brows taking the small, green and pretty old teapot into your hands. It looks like a piece of a traditional Asian set with its jade colour and dragon pattern. It couldn’t have been in a much better shape 10 years ago either seeing how wayworn it is but still, you expected something more… exciting? Something funny that might or might not give you an excuse to look up Mark Lee on the internet and message him for the sake of old times. But how lame it would be to befriend him on Facebook only to tell him that you got delivered a teapot under both your names. Hah, you would rather not embarrass yourself like that.

You shoot one last glance at the teapot before leaving it on your counter and going back to your food, you successfully forget about the whole ordeal. You carry your life on with only one small difference: Mark Lee back on your mind after long, long years.

It was just a small crush, you tell yourself, sighing as you look into the mirror, absentmindedly wondering how he’s doing. Does he think of you sometimes as well? Did he go to music college like he has always wanted? Is he happy? You wish he was even if he’s half a world away and with that thought you think it’s time to go to sleep despite the upcoming weekend days. You don’t want to mess up your sleep schedule over some boy but as soon as you pull the blanket over your chest and close your eyes, something explodes in your kitchen.

You jump out of bed faster than lightning, in slight panic over the fact that your neighbours will hate you for bothering them late at night and your landlord would kill you if you managed to blow up your microwave. But the sight that welcomes you is like no other that you imagined. The whole room is covered in thick pink glittery smoke. Like your worst Barbie nightmare.

“What the⎼” you cough, waving your hands to clear the air and once it dissolves into nothingness with its weirdly cotton candy smell, there’s a boy in the middle of it all, sitting cross legged on your kitchen counter so casually as if he owned the place. His pink-ish purple hair hangs into his eyes and he seems to find your coffee machine strangely interesting. You grab the first thing you can ⎼ a blender ⎼ and hold it up in defensive before yelling at the boy: “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

The stranger’s mouth pulls up in a charming smile, his eyes sparkle as he turns his attention to you, hopping off the counter. He’s all thin and long limbs, so you hate how you hate to look up at him as he walks towards you before bowing ceremoniously.

“Hello, sorry for the sudden appearance, I just couldn’t wait any longer! I’ve been stuck in that teapot waaay too long. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. My name is Taeyong, I’m a wish dragon and you’re my new owner,” he smiles and what he says makes absolutely no sense.

“A wish dragon?” you mumble in shock, looking around to see if this is just another prank of Johnny. You wouldn’t be surprised to see him jump out from under one of the cupboards. Or maybe you just fell asleep and you’re dreaming. Yeah, that seems like a realistic scenario.

“Ah, yes! I know I don’t look like it but modern times require modern solutions. Most people freak out because of my dragon form, so human it is,” the boy who seems only a few years older than you grins as he’s chatting and you have to give it to him, he takes this role pretty seriously. “You have three wishes as my owner. You can ask for anything as long as it’s not about death or love.”

So you got yourself someone who thinks he’s basically a genie? Oh gosh, is he that drunk?

“Aha, very funny. I’m too tired for this prank, so I would appreciate it if you left the same way you came...” you point towards your window because there’s no way he came through the door. Putting down your blender because the guy looks pretty harmless despite his crazy blabbering, you move to go back to your bedroom.

“No, no, no, I can’t do that,” the boy, Taeyong as he introduced himself, appears in front of you within a second and grabs your shoulder as if he could shake some sense into you. He looks pretty desperate. “I can only get a new owner if I fulfill all wishes of yours. It was super stuffy in that box the last decade, you know.”

At that excuse you let out a laugh.

“You don’t even fit it the⎼”

“You were saying?” Taeyong is suddenly nowhere near ahead of you but instead a small creature, supposedly a dragon, in the size of your palm flies in front of your eye level. “It’s magic!”

Okay, now that sight makes you feel like it’s you who is drunk. Or worse.

“Am I dead?” you have to ask in a small, uncertain voice, trying to think back what could have happened. Maybe that explosion literally blew your apartment up? But it hurts when you pinch your arm and turning back into his human form, Taeyong wants to prove the very same thing. Not the hurting but the not dead part, obviously.

“No, you’re very much alive and a happy owner of a wish dragon. Not permanently, of course, but still,” he tells you as he drags you onto your couch in the living room. As if sitting down could help processing all this.

So you have a wish dragon in your home, a magical creature that can casually switch between its dragon and human form and he says you should wish for three things, so he could leave and you could go back to your old, boring life without magic and things that scare you to death at 11PM.

“Can I ask… why? Why me? I’m not really owner-material,” you whisper because heck yeah, you even managed to kill your cactus before. Taeyong purses his lips as he sits down, a hand at his chin.

“Well, it’s unusual indeed to have a peasant girl, no offence, as my owner but as far as I know, you and your friend asked for a sign that magic was real.”

Oh, you remember that, being so obsessed with shooting stars and other stuff like that, you two used Mark’s brother’s computer to browse the internet, trying to find evidence about all that. You were kids wanting to believe in a world beyond the one you knew. But...

“That was like 10 years ago,” you furrow your eyebrows, not getting the timing.

“Well, sorry, you weren’t put on the top of the Heaven wish list and the shipping from Shanghai to Vancouver isn’t the fastest either,” Taeyong shrugs as if it was supposed to be natural. As if that was the most unbelievable thing. Well, delivery services are sometimes a pain in the ass, that’s true but getting a wish delivered by Heaven was something you would have never thought of and it all drains down on you. Strangest realisation of your life.

“So… it’s all real,” you whisper ahead of yourself: magic, dragons and all that. You could basically see your old best friend’s I told you so smile and let out a soft chuckle. “I wish Mark could meet with you, too.”

At that the guy ahead of you claps his hands and rubs them together, creating the same purple smoke from before. You look at him alarmed.

“Your wish, my command,” Taeyong grins and lifts his hands and before you could make a sound of protest because gosh, you didn’t mean it literally, you feel the ground move under your feet and you’re falling, into the darkness but despite shutting your eyes automatically, fearing the impact of the crash, nothing comes. Only the smell of soy sauce in the air and warm sunshine on your skin… Wait, what?

Your eyelids fly open and you notice in shock that you’re not in your flat anymore, ready to sleep. Instead, you stand in the middle of a goddamn street somewhere in Korea based on the signs still in your PJ shorts and tee. Oh my gosh! You hide in an alley right away and yank the seemingly proud Taeyong with you.

“I didn’t tell you that I meant right now! I can’t meet Mark in my PJs and I need my phone and wallet to function anyways. Not to mention, I don’t speak Korean at all...” you ramble panicking, the realisation that you’re indeed on the other side of the Earth due to some magic is yet to register. But the awkwardness from the stares you have just gotten has already turned you bashful.

Listening to you, the wish dragon seems sheepish and slightly embarrassed as he scratched his nape, his colourful hair falling into his cast down eyes.

“Oh… sorry. I got so excited over the wish that I didn’t think about it! It’s been a while since I did teleport magic but hey, I still have it in me. Anyways, sorry. Phone and wallet, you said? Here you go,” he pulls out something from his pants which magically seems to be indeed your belongings. That definitely makes things earlier.

“Uhm, thanks. Where are we exactly?”

“Ah, well you mentioned your friend Mark Lee, so we’re here. Well, one bell away because I did remember that it’s rude to intrude other’s houses without permission first,” oh now, you know, you snicker internally and gulp because hell, even if you wanted to see Mark, you wouldn’t have thought that the meeting would come so soon. You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself mentally.

“So… you’re telling me that this… is where Mark lives?” you point at the impressive apartment complex on the corner of the street but Taeyong shakes his head.

“Nope, This is where your Mark lives,” he says and before you could object about the ‘your’ part, the dragon points at the other side of the road at a luxurious house with a huge garden, basically a palace. Seeing the beautiful fountain, the modern and yet traditional Korean style building beyond the fences makes your jaw drop.

“Hahaha, alright for a magic dragon you must have made a mistake. There’s no way the Mark Lee I know lives here,” you look back at Taeyong finding it funny that the kid who used to wore his favourite tees until his mother basically threw them out would live at such a place.

“Mark Lee, korean name Minhyung, supposed to be 22 years old internationally soon. Bad eyesight, contagious laugh, clumsy but has surprisingly good reflexes, gets embarrassed easily. Sound familiar?” Taeyong crooks a brow at you as he reads the information off from a parchment he just took out of his pants. Everything he listed is just so Mark that you’re left in disbelief.

“Uuh… that sounds about right.”

“His father hit it big in 2016 with a tech company, their net worth has too many zeros to count,” Taeyong explains, seeing how surprised you were over the fact that he lived a lavish life like this. Not that he doesn’t deserve it! Mark is such a sweetheart, so of course, you would only want the best for him but as if half the world wasn’t enough, now you have another huge gap between you.

“Gosh, I really can’t believe this. How am I supposed to just ring the bell and say hello after so much time?” you sighed with your head in your hands. “Argh, I need to buy some clothes and change.”

Taeyong approves the idea based on how enthusiastically he hollers, you wonder why nobody on the street seems to pay no attention to him. Maybe only you see him, just more reason for you to be crazy.

“Good idea because we’re having dinner with Mark!”

“What?” you look up in shock, not following through. Taeyong grins down at you, flashing a giddy smile and with a twirl he’s changed from his baggy, casual clothes to something more chic but still laidback.

“Your wish was him meeting me, so I arranged everything. I can't meet him without you and the teapot there, you know,” he explains as if it was supposed to be obvious. You aren't ready yet though.

“You just want to eat all the fancy delicious food he has,” you squint at him suspiciously and the dragon stays silent, so you must be right. He laughs nervously.

“Maybe, but can you blame me? I haven’t had a feast since a literal decade!” he hollers and somehow you really cannot find it in yourself to be angry at him. You are in Seoul for god's sake after all and magic is real, you can put up with the inconvenience of buying clothes and making yourself look decent before dumping all this surprise on Mark.

An hour later you stand in front of the gates of the Lee mansion and nervously you wipe your sweating hands into your dress. You can totally do this, you just say hi to an old friend, it's not like you're afraid he wouldn't remember you, hah, of course not–

"Y/N!" 

You whip your head at the call of your name to the source of that all too familiar voice. Sure it's deeper than you remember but there's no mistake in whose it is. Plus, who else would call your name in South Korea of all places.

"Mark, hey!" you wave the boy who just got out of one of the fanciest cars you've ever seen in your life. And yet, despite the Prada suit and expensive shoes, styled hair and Swiss watch on wrist, Mark Lee still has that goofy little smile and the doe eyes that used to make you weak in the knees. Hah, who are you kidding? They still do.

"Oh my god, dude, you… you got pretty," Mark jogs up to you and having no filter like always he blabbers immediately only to stutter as his ears turn red. It was so him talking before thinking, so you didn’t really mean to dwell on his words. Although you felt your cheeks dusted with pink soon enough. "I mean, it's really good to see you! I was so surprised to see your name in my calendar for today's dinner! You should have told me you were coming to Korea, I would have picked you up at the airport."

His calendar? Ah, of course, he must have been busy and all that. You wouldn’t have been surprised to see an assistant run after him at this point, so you wonder how your wish dragon magically put you onto his list of important people to meet. Gosh, it was so weird.

"Ah, I have a funny story about that…" you chuckled to yourself but before you could have get out anything, even a please, can we go to a more private place? Mark’s eyes zero on the guy next to you and his eyes grow comically wide.

"And uhm, who is your friend?" he points at Taeyong who waves him in exchange with a kilowatt smile. He looks back at you with his mouth agapé. "Oh my god, you came to invite me to your wedding?"

He says oh my god way too many times for an eloquent rich kid, he really is the Mark Lee you knew.

"No, never! I mean, of course, I would invite you but Taeyong and I– I literally met him on my way here," you explain hastily cursing yourself for the silly lie. You came to tell him the news not to try to make it believable. 

“I heard there’s food,” the wish dragon pipes in very helpful and you shoot him a disapproving glance he doesn’t notice. Luckily, Mark doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course, dinner! Come on in, let’s get you two settled,” he grins albeit a bit awkwardly as he leads you through the gate after opening it with his card.

On the way through the very, very, very big garden, he’s chattering about how he misses the Vancouver weather, especially on humid, hot days like this and talks about how he thinks the fountain in their yard is a bit too much but his mom loved it and then before you know it, you sit by a huge dining table with fine food in front of you. Suddenly you can’t decide whether you're grateful for Taeyong’s shameless presence – he digs into the jjigae right away – because at least the situation isn’t awkward because of your silence or you’re annoyed by it because you must seem like a weirdo because of him. That’s why you decide to rip off the bandage and tell Mark as soon as the last maid has disappeared too.

“Okay, so actually I came here because I have a surprise,” you speak up, probably too serious because the boy almost chokes on his food due to how fast he turns his head towards you.

“More surprise?” he coughs out and you offer him a glass of water which he takes with a smile.

“You literally won’t believe this one!” you assure him and wait until he gulps down the drink. Only then you point to Taeyong and tell him that your childhood wish has come true. 

Mark almost falls off his chair this time.

Not after you tell him that though. He laughs at that with that wheezing laugh of his as if you told the joke of the century then pats you on the shoulder murmuring That was a good one, bro and turning back to his food. But then you look at the magic dragon pointedly and Taeyong puts down his chopsticks with an exaggerated sign. Then he flexes his magic: turning into his dragon form among additional sparkles and Mark suddenly looks like he’s about to faint. He reaches out to tap on your shoulder while not taking his eyes off the wish dragon.

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers and honestly, you totally get his reaction while Taeyong mumbles something about ‘people these days not believing in dragons’ as he shows off all the things he could do: gift riches, make one stronger than they are, giving skills of whatever one wants. He starts rambling about how this one Chinese emperor became wealthy thanks to this, how that one actor in martial arts and all this before changing back to his human form and he continues eating his pasta like nothing ever happened.

“I can do this all day,” he shrugs as if he didn’t just perform the coolest magic tricks.

“This… this is the best thing ever!” Mark exclaims with those sparkles in his eyes you missed so much. He was always so excited about new things and it automatically makes you smile how he bombards Taeyong with million questions like: ‘So you are the wish dragon that grants wishes?’ or asking him about his scales, his unique color, how it feels to live in such a small teapot, how old he is and the dragon glows under all the attention. Can’t blame him but Mark has always been so curious about the world, it’s endearing.

“So your first wish was to meet me?” he turns to you after long minutes of interrogating Taeyong and suddenly, under the spotlight you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can feel yourself blushing because you didn’t necessarily mean to wish for that but it’s not like you’re regretting it, it’s just… you don’t want him to misunderstand.

“I thought you should meet him, too, after all the package was delivered for the two of us,” you look down, trying to sound nonchalant while picking your food, avoiding Mark’s gaze. No matter how open armed he welcomed you, you still aren’t convinced that it’s okay to be here because the more time you spend with him, the more you would like to stay a part of his life. “It’s just… I wasn’t really sure we could ever meet again. We didn’t keep contact after you left.”

With dropped shoulders, you try not to sound too downhearted because of what happened because you know all too well, it wasn’t his fault, it was a family decision and look at him, it did good for him! He seems happy, they live in a practically mansion but most importantly, he didn’t seem to change with the wealth. He might wear expensive clothes but under it all he’s still the boy with the most loveable smile.

“I… I was thinking about you a lot, I just thought you forgot about me,” Mark admits with a sheepish smile, tucking his hair behind his ear shyly. He really still is the same and it’s playing silly little games with your heart. If this was a cheesy Disney movie, a slow bgm would start to play as you look into each other but your moment is broken when Taeyong accidentally kicks into his chair as he stands up. At first he looks alarmed but then giggles.

“I will just… go. Don’t mind me,” he disappears like smoke with a wink, leaving you two alone at which Mark lets out a woah. You chuckle at his cute reaction, heart doing somersaults in your chest.

You thought it would be awkward, just the two of you alone after long years but Mark has this thing that he makes people feel comfortable around him, so it’s actually quite nice. You catch up on everything and anything that comes to your mind: old neighbours, studies, friends, what are you doing now and what would you like to do, too.

After finishing the delicious dinner, Mark offers a home tour which you would never refuse and you jaw drops at the huge crystal chandelier in their living room as well as their swimming pool but your favourite place in the whole mansion is Mark’s room because it’s just so him. You can’t describe it well but the moment you step inside, it feels like home. It’s cozy to the point it makes you want to cuddle a pillow. It has colours of pastels, a synthesizer here, a guitar there, posters of singers framed on his wall and vinyl records hanging down. His window has a view of sunset and Namsan above their green garden and although you haven’t been in Seoul before, you’re pretty sure it’s your favourite place in the whole damn city, too.

“Wait, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” Mark suddenly exclaims while you’re looking through his pictures and he pulls you out of his room, out of the house, into the garden: You giggle all the way as he’s being so secretive about it but then your steps halt unexpectedly and the hand you have in Mark’s yanks him back.

“Mark… why is there a tiger in your garden in the middle of Seoul?” you ask as quietly and as immobile as you can. You don’t want to attract the sleeping animal’s attention to yourself. But to your biggest surprise, the boy just laughs, his thumb caressing your skin soothingly.

“She’s Jasmine and she won’t hurt you,” he reassures you but needless to say, you’re not too calm and you’re pulled close to the wild animal that lifts its huge head towards you lazily. “She was abandoned by her mother as a cub and she was outcast in the zoo because she’s a bit sick, so she has always been weaker than her siblings. Dad made a donation and we have raised her since she was young.”

You hiss when Mark reaches out without fear but the tiger basically purrs as he strokes down his fur at the neck. You watch in awe as this big wild animal becomes a soft cat under the hands of Mark Lee. When the boy encourages you to pat her too, you hesitate but he promises you that it’s gonna be alright and you take a leap of faith. 

“What’s her sickness?” you wonder aloud as your fingers get lost in the soft fur of the tiger. You hope she’s not in a lot of pain.

“It’s an immune system thing, not sure what exactly but she wouldn’t have survived this long in the wild,” the boy tells you and his mouth curls up in a smile when Jasmine licks your hand. It seems like you’re tiger-approved. You look into its warm brown eyes and your heart churns at the thought of her condition.

Mark tells you stories of Jasmine, about that one time she crashed his birthday cake or how much she likes to swim with him in their pool during summer and gosh, you could listen to him go on and on forever. You’re only reminded of the reality, that all this is just a possible one-time thing, a weekend getaway with magic when Taeyong shows up in swimwear, ready to crash in said pool.

“I guess he might have been bored in that teapot,” Mark laughs, not minding at all. He even offers you to join but you have a better idea.

“Taeyong, I have my second wish!” you call out for the wish dragon who’s suddenly much more excited about that than the water. He’s beside you in a moment, beaming and curious. You glance at Mark with a soft smile before looking at your personal genie confidently.

“I wish Jasmine would be healthy,” you whisper, playing with the tiger’s furry ears which she seems to enjoy. You were a little bit afraid the dragon would say it’s not possible, that he can’t cure sickness but to your relief, he just grins.

“Your wish, my command,” he nods and puts a hand over the animal. Nothing but a smoke of purple signals the magic being done but you believe in it and so does Mark by the looks of it. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes it gently. 

“Thank you,” he smiles and you smile back. He used to be your best friend after all, it’s the least you can do for him.

Mark convinces you to stay the weekend and there’s no way you could tell no to him, not when he clears his schedule just for you. He never complains about how busy he must be working for his father’s business while being a music major at a local university. All he ever talks about is the places he wishes to show you and he takes you around Seoul as if he was your certificated tour guide. It’s lovely how enthusiastic he is about it while what really matters to you is the time you spend together. He makes sure you two take a million photos to remember by, Taeyong posing on half of them since he joins you on your little trips and sometimes it’s just the two of you watching the wish dragon being genuinely in awe by modern technology, 10 years is a long time after all.

On the last day before you have to go back to Vancouver (thanks to Taeyong’s kind offer to take you the same way you came back since he misunderstood you, you don’t have to sit through a 10+ hours flight and you have more time), Mark not only tries to make you breakfast despite having an in-house chef (his eggs are ugly as heck but you appreciate his efforts and can’t help but coo at his dreamy smile under that grey hoodie when you tell him it tastes yummy) but he also introduces you to his friends in Korea. Of course, they tease you (mostly Mark) about where he has been hiding you but it’s all chill and fun you’re not quite ready to say goodbye. But you should go because the more you stay, the more you don’t want to leave. You’re lucky enough for this chance to reunite with Mark but all good things end eventually.

“Let’s not disappear from each other’s life again, okay?” the boy grins at you as you’re ready to go, Taeyong already working on his magic.

“Yeah, let’s not,” you agree easily, looking forward to your video chatting and constant texting even if it’s from the two opposite ends of the Earth with a terrible time zone difference.

You glance at the wish dragon who’s drumming with his fingers while pursing his lips as if he was waiting for something and you let out a huff before working up the courage to actually do something about these feelings inside of you. You might have regretted not confessing in middle school, you have spent years wondering about the what ifs, so you don’t want to make the same mistake twice but still, you want to give Mark a chance to ignore it all if he wants to. So you step forward and wrap your hands around him as you hug him close. It’s obvious that your action takes him aback, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands and his body tenses under you but it all melts as you say those words that have been threatening to fall from your lips all this time:

“I have missed you.” you confess, honest and based on the hitch in his breathing, Mark must be surprised. You can’t blame him though, you just wanted him to know. You step back with a weary smile, his big Bambi eyes on you but before he could say anything you nod at Taeyong and you feel yourself falling, purple fog pulling you in. A few moments later you’re back in Vancouver, in your apartment, without him.

The first few days pass in a blurr, you can still barely believe what just happened. Your weekend with Mark feels like a too good dream but Mark kept his side of promise and texted you almost immediately as you left. He sends you selfies, songs that remind him of you and you talk about your days like you never did before. Still, it feels like you’re dancing around certain topics which are basically the elephant in the room and maybe that’s why Taeyong tries to cheer you up in his own way. Though, he soon realizes that you not being happy isn’t the problem, you are happy, you just… miss Mark more than you ever did.

“Enough of moping, you still have a wish left!” Taeyong exclaims, throwing himself onto your bed. “Come on, close your eyes, imagine what you want the most in the world and make a wish!" he singsongs. However, before you could even just indulge him, your phone pings with a new notification.

fullsun00 tagged you in their post!

You click on it right away, wondering what Mark’s friend Donghyuck is doing online at 1AM. The uploaded post turns out to be a photo of you and Mark when you all hang out near Han river. You were too busy at the time laughing at how the boy almost lost his whole scoop of ice cream before he could have had a single bite to notice his smile while looking at you. Based on his caption Donghyuck apparently wasn’t.

fullsun00: just old friends, they say. friends my ass @buttercupyn @onyourm__ark

You click your tongue wondering what Mark thinks of the callout but you press like on the post anyways. You put your phone aside before you could see how his other friends join the teasing in the comment section.

“Actually, I do have my third wish,” you speak up as you turn to Taeyong before he could make a remark on your tinted cheeks.

You’ve been thinking a lot about it during the past days. You could wish for anything but you’re at a point of your life where no riches or fame would make you happier because you’re happy enough just the way it is. It might not be perfect but you don’t want to be selfish and you want to make decisions you won’t regret: like catching up with Mark, curing his tiger and bringing happiness into the life of somebody who only ever served other people in his life.

“Ooh, what is it?” Taeyong claps, giddy as if he was waiting for this to happen. He probably did.

“I wish you would go on a vacation and enjoy life,” you tell him but unlike his usual reaction, this time the dragon’s smile fades and he blinks at you, confused.

“You could ask for anything in the world and that’s what you want? Are you sure?” he furrows his brows, not quite believing your words but you just smile, knowingly.

“Yes, Taeyong, I’m sure.”

“Your wish, my command,” he bows with his hands put together and with a twirl suddenly he’s in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, looking as ready for a holiday as one can be. You chuckle and tell him to just go, you’ll be fine.

You’re fine, you really are. Life goes on, you study and work, you laugh with your friends, you video call with Mark regularly and his friends are regulars on your social media, too. It’s just sometimes the feeling of missing something hits you harder than other days. Especially when you’re looking through the pictures you have from your Seoul weekend.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper ahead of you at one particularly good photo of Mark and the sunset, smiling at you behind the camera. You miss his smile, the cute wrinkles around his eyes when he crunches his nose, the sound of his laughter, his hand on your wrist… you miss him.

Ding-dong.

You stand up startled at the sound of your flat’s bell, running to the door to open it even though you have no idea who it could be so early on a Saturday morning. Not having a better idea, you expect it to be either a neighbour of your landlord but on the other side of your doorstep stands a boy who you thought was a continent away. He’s dressed semi-casually this time, his shirt tucked in his jeans, hair lightly falling onto his forehead and a nervous smile on his thin lips.

“Mark! But I⎼ I don’t even have more wishes,” you blink, taken aback, looking around to look for Taeyong in case he came back. But your behaviour just manages to confuse Mark instead.

“What?”

“I just wished you were here,” you blurt out without thinking, your words only processing later in your brain and it’s then when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Mark tries to but can’t really hide his growing smile at that.

“Really? I’m glad then. I just took my new private plane on a test drive,” he says bashfully, a silly excuse for real.

“All the way to Vancouver?” you tease, watching Mark fumble with the hem of his shirt. Your heart beats overtime just because of the fact that he’s there. 

“Well, what can I say? I did miss the weather here,” he plays along with a shrug but he’s more serious when he looks deep into your eye and adds: “And you left without letting me answer.”

Oh yes, you did. You were kind of afraid of his reaction but seeing how he was ready to travel across the world just to see you, maybe there’s no reason for you to be so afraid. It feels like deja vu but a reversed one in a way as Mark gently pulls you into a hug, his lips grazing your hair with a whisper that makes your heart skip a beat: “I have missed you too.”

You really wouldn’t wish for anything more.

[attack-on-kiwi]

Jean alphabet ?🥲😌

The crush I have on this man is embarrassing-

Jean Kiirstein:

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Jean is a simple guy. Any time he’s around his s/o, he’s content. Usually, he will let them pick what they want to do. He’s not averse to just spending a day tending to the horses and riding around valleys on them. He finds it freeing. It’s especially enjoyable if they two are sharing the ride and his s/o is hugging him just tight enough from behind and laughing into his back. He doesn’t think that will ever stop bringing butterflies into his stomach.

He looks forward to any sort of domestic activity. Sleeping in and holding his s/o from leaving bed, helping them cut up vegetables for breakfast, surprising them with flowers or sweets when he has the opportunity to- anything classic, sweet, and intimate.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

They bring him back to reality. He’s not idealistic in any sense- instead he tends to get lost in his thoughts and can spiral into negative outbursts. He can also become closed off, so having his s/o, who can snap him back to his sense and remind him that not everything has gone to hell (even though, it’s pretty damn close to being so), means the world to him.

Jean is smitten. Another guy who thinks his s/o is the most gorgeous being to ever grace the earth. He thinks they’re the most beautiful when. they’re concentrating on a task. The way they refuse to let anyone or anything get in the way of their objective, no matter how menial or grand, bubbles pride in him.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Jean would drop everything that can be put off to help his s/o. He absolutely hates when they feel upset, and he’s not that good at comforting people. He’ll just crouch down (or bring them down if they’re taller) to eye level and ask them what they need him to do. His voice is soft, laced with concern. 

Jean damn near might tear up himself if his s/o is upset enough. He’ll stay with them for as long as they need to, and then some more. He’s likely going to hover or keep an eye on them for the next few days to make sure they’re truly all right.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Jean wants to get married and have a family. He doesn’t care if the kids are biological or adopted, but he wants kids. He could settle for a son and daughter, but it doesn’t really matter. He’d like at least two kids to keep him on his toes. He aspires to give them the most peaceful life and wants to be present in their lives for anything and everything.

He’s terrified of the idea of becoming a husband and father, but it’s one of the thoughts that keeps him going. He knows he wants his s/o by his side for the rest of their lives. Considering everything they’ve been through, he’s already planning on how to propose.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Jean doesn’t think of being dominant or passive in a relationship. He can take initiative in most cases, but he’s not going to impose on his s/o. He’s present in the relationship, and will often check in with his s/o. to make sure that they’re okay. It’s important to him that they be transparent and aware of how the other is feeling, though he might bury his own feelings quite often.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Being as confrontational as he is, it’s not uncommon to get into fights. He never gets physical with his s/o. The two are rather prone to heated arguments that can escalate to screaming at each other if the conflict is serious enough. 

Jean absolutely hates that he can’t hold himself back. He’s too forthright with his thoughts.. He does try his best not to hit low blows. No matter what, his arguments are based on fact and he won’t rely on jabbing at his s/o’s insecurities to gain an edge during a fight.

He needs his space. Usually, this just means the two separate and cool down a few hours. The longest he will go without speaking to them is a night. First thing in the morning, he’ll try to calmly confront them and apologize for his behavior, asking if they can try to talk the issue out now that they’ve had some rest.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Jean’s a grateful man, even if his slight pessimistic attitude can point you otherwise. He doesn’t verbally say that he’s grateful, but his actions truly speak louder than his words. He’s always got an eye on his s/o, he stops them when they’re overexerting themselves, he can sense when all they need is to be held for a few moments, and he’s always seeking out ways to make their day brighter. 

One way he might allow himself to be vulnerable is sitting behind them in bed and clasping their hands together, kissing each of their knuckles lightly. Jean likes to speak just above a whisper, listing why he loves them.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

No huge secrets. He does hide how he’s feeling at times, especially if he is stressed and doesn’t want them to feel pressured. Jean does press his s/o to tell him whatever is on their mind, though. The two have an honest relationship. You have to be blunt if you want to work with Jean, after all. He doesn’t mind if his s/o needs to keep secrets, as long as it’s nothing serious, like their loyalty to him shifting.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Jean allows himself to be more sensitive around his s/o. Normally, he would never entertain being overtly emotional or softer yet around his s/o, he’s quite different. There’s a gentleness about him which no one gets to see any other time. Truly, he will keep this persona for behind closed doors, but it does seep into his day to day. He’s kinder to people after he’s spent time with his partner. 

He is fighting for the people he loves-- to guarantee they can live fulfilling lives, grow old, then finally die peacefully. It’s all he wants, and having people to fight for is his heaviest inspiration.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

He’s secure with himself in most senses, but there are times when Jean feels like he could be giving his s/o more attention or time. He may feel a twinge of guilt if his s/o starts to deflate at the idea of asking him if he has free time because it hurts that they worry about getting in the way of his work. During these episodes, it’s easy for Jean to become suspicious of other people, specifically other men, that are hovering around his s/o more than before. If it bothers him enough, he will call it out.

Usually, Jean is to ashamed of feeling insecure to outright explain why he’s jealous. His s/o can gauge if he’s uneasy by how clingy he is afterwards.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Jean’s kisses are either shy or extremely passionate. Depending on how much adrenaline is rushing through his body, he can encapsulate his partner in a fiery lip lock that will leave them short of an accidental asphyxiation (sorry I need to shut up). When he’s sleepy or has been missing his s/o, he’s prone to soft, short pecks. He likes to whisper into their lips, most of the time, he will be saying, “Just one more” as he dozes off.

His s/o is his first kiss, so it’s about as awkward as first kisses can get. His mouth and throat were dry. He wasn’t sure if he should tilt his face. They would get close then Jean would fumble, trying to adjust for better access. Finally, he got frustrated and just crashed their lips together for not even a second before pulling away, face glowing pink. Don’t worry, he’s gotten slightly better.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Jean discovers early on. Within months, he’s positive he’s in love with his s/o. He is terrified of telling his partner due to fear of abandonment and humiliation that stems from a childhood of being bullied. (pry this from my cold dead hands). Regardless of how strong he feels, he won’t outright confess his love until the two have been together for a good amount of time. That can amount to months or even a year or so, depending on just how serious he’s feeling about the relationship.

He’s the type of person that is practicing in the mirror how to confess, and unknowingly, his s/o will hear him. If he’s lucky, they feel the same way and just walk in to tell him they love him too and watch his brain short circuit as it processes what just happened. 

On a serious note, though, Jean would be nervous to confess. He’d make a date out of the entire ordeal-- choosing to take his s/o out for a nice dinner and at night, as they’re stargazing in a remote field, he’d hold their hand and say he needs to tell them something. Even in the evening, it’s easy to see him heat up. He’d whisper it at first. His s/o needs to let him collect his thoughts, and as soon as he’s gathered them, he’d confess full throttle. His voice shakes slightly, but his conviction is apparent.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Jean fantasizes of getting married quite often, and this only increases as he gets closer to his s/o. 

He’s honest with his s/o and the topic of marriage comes up in late night conversations quite often. He’s confessed that once the fighting is over, they’ll get married the next day. There’s no proposal, just a promise that keeps the two fighting to live another day. His mother actually gives him her own wedding ring, telling him to get it resized if need be, but she hopes it can become a family heirloom. Jean’s a romantic, and this gets him flustered yet excited.

Peaceful. Marriage with Jean is as mundane as can be. Sure, there’s going to be times when old friends come wreck havoc, but it’s all taken in stride. He likes waking his s/o up with a kiss to the cheek. If they want to pat his hair dry or brush it after his shower, he’ll try distracting them with sly neck kisses. He wants his kids to see how much he loves his spouse and groan in disgust as they try to get their parents to hurry up so they can all eat. Jean’s content/

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He calls them by their name mostly. Sometimes he’ll shorten it or give them an alternative where it’s the first syllable of their name with -y at the end if possible. 

Jean calls them beautiful and gorgeous when he’s trying to make them laugh.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

The beginning is akin to puppy love. He’s so flustered but curious about everything they do and say. He’s kind to them and chokes up around them when he hasn’t had time to formulate a response. Definitely the type of guy who stares at his s/o wistfully with a dazed grin on his face. He’s been caught doing this to them across the room on multiple occasions. Needless to say-- everyone and their mother knows Jean’s smitten.

He tries to express his feelings by complimenting them. If he can help them out with errands or studying (if they met during the cadet training) he’s more than happy to shave off time to do so. He likes being able to take a load off their shoulders, so he won’t mind doing a little extra work.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Jean acts big, but he gets shy. The only time he’ll ever really kiss his s/o in front of others Is if he’s being teased or egged on and he wants to show he’s not ashamed of his partner. He loves them dearly, but showing affection in public isn’t the biggest priority for him.

 If they’re out in the market, he loves having them hold onto his arm as they lead him wherever the like. If there’s less people around, he won’t argue with locking fingers. His s/o might catch him off guard with some sneaky kisses that are sure to provoke him.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Everything about his hands. They’re not as rough as some other people, though they aren’t insanely soft. He can give amateur massages and knows how to exert just the right amount of pressure to make the experience enjoyable, even for the most fidgety/ticklish s/o. It’s his secret to helping them relax and release pent up tension.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Jean loves romance. He loves being in love and having an excuse to try his hand at sappy love letters and poetry. He’s not the best, but what he writes down makes his s/o’s heart flutter. He just wants them to know how much he cares about them, even if he has a hard time expressing himself accurately. 

He’s the type of guy who picks up pastries because he remembered his s/o liked them a few weeks ago and the bakery finally made them again. He’ll polish their shoes if they haven’t had the energy to do it themselves. He’ll remind them to eat. His idea of making them happy is making sure that they are well taken care of.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He’s their biggest fan and simultaneously their biggest critic. Jean supports their endeavors, but he will not mask his opinions just to make them feel better. He’s tough on them because he wants to see them succeed. He’ll help them if he can, but he won’t hold them back from their potential by lying to them. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Jean loves trying out new things with his s/o, especially once the world opens up to them. He wants to explore everything, while still having some sense of routine in their lives. No dates that could potentially harm him or his s/o. He’s spending time with them, not trying to fight for survival, after all. Dates can be adventures-- he won’t mind going on hikes or exploring nearby terrain, however, he’d much rather try new foods and experience new technology instead. 

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Jean likes to think he knows his partner inside and out, but he’s conflicted about the duality of everyone in his life when push comes to shove, so he finds himself wondering if he truly knows them. This is just his insecurity and hurt surfacing, but he can spiral into pondering whether his s/o care about him as much as he cares for them. He knows he gives them opportunities to tell them about themselves, and he’s picked up on their quirks over the time they’ve been together. In reality, Jean genuinely does know more about them than he thinks he does. It’s hard not to feel comfortable around him, after all. 

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

His relationship is extremely important to him as he’s always had issues with letting people in on his vulnerable side. He has insecurity issues stemming from a variety of sources and knowing how people could use him puts him off from working on most relationships. Finding his s/o and being slapped in the face by the reality that someone genuinely loves him and wants to learn with him is eye opening. Due to this, Jean tries extremely hard to work on himself and the relationship as best he can. There’s no way he’d half ass something so good.

Though Jean’s relationship is on the. top of his priorities, his mission is still going to overshadow his desire to be with his s/o. It’s not that the mission is more important-- it’s that he needs to complete the mission so that his beloved can finally rest. He wants to protect them, and protecting them means he has to put his life on the line, unfortunate as it is.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Jean’s a mother hen to his s/o. He’s always nagging them to eat, sleep, shower and make sure they’re taking care of themselves. He’s always been in tune with the health of other people, and he just naturally wants to make sure that his s/o is in optimal condition. He will literally snap and physically force them to sleep if he needs to. He gets irritated if they’re neglecting themselves due to the fear of them getting hurt or sick.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Yes!! All he wants to do is cuddle. He loves holding his s/o, but he loves being held more. When they run their fingers through his hair and mention a silly hairstyle he could try, he almost considers it. He falls asleep on their chest almost every night. 

If he’s upset, a simple kiss to the cheek or head is enough to bring a small smile back on his face.

His favorite place to be kissed would be his temples. There’s something soothing and homely about soft lips brushing past his hair to linger right above his brow. It’s also a surefire way of inducing drowsiness in him.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Jean just bites the feeling back and swears that he will see his s/o as soon as he can. The idea that they will be waiting for him is enough for him to power on. Occasionally, Jean may doodle them in the margin of a report or in his personal journal. He thinks about what their next date could be and wonders if they ever found that stray cat they mentioned a few conversations ago. He thinks about them and all the things they can do once they’re together, and it’s enough to motivate him.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He’s literally tryna save the world for them lol

~~~

Based off @snk-warriors​ fluff alphabet prompt

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH20

The battle in this chapter has a lot of references. Can you name all of them? ;) You can see our new heroine’s design here!

Previous     First     Next    AO3

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Chapter 20: my tears ricochet

“Is everything okay, Marinette?” Tikki poked her head out of Marinette’s shirt collar.

The subway station was quiet save for a few other waiting passengers, too absorbed in their phones to notice the girl talking to her small magical friend. Marinette took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, “I just can’t believe it’s finally over.”

“Don’t you think it’s wrong to seek revenge? What if Lila gets akumatized again because Ladybug exposed her?” Tikki asked with a worried frown.

“Normally, I’d say yes, but it’s about time someone set the record straight,” Marinette said as the subway car pulled up. “Look, I won’t talk about it ever again as Ladybug or Marinette. It’s over now. We’ll just stay on the lookout for the next few days.”

Tikki sank back into Marinette’s shirt without another word, though her frown persisted. Taking a seat on the train, Marinette leaned her head back with a sigh. It had been nearly a month since Marinette changed schools, and she’d done her best to put the past behind her. From the moment she left, she didn’t want anything to do with Lila, but it was too late to take back the interview now. The truth was finally out there, and it was unlikely that Lila would be able to lie her way out of this one. Everyone was free.

When the train arrived at her stop, Marinette followed the crowd of people and pushed the whole ordeal from her mind. What was done was done, and Lila had no power over her anymore. Marinette had often wondered what this day would feel like. Truthfully, it wasn’t as relieving as she thought it would be. Maybe removing herself from the situation lessened the impact, but Marinette felt nothing but apathy. A small part of her was glad to be done with it, but the majority of her just didn’t care about Lila anymore. She’d made new friends, and she was in the process of making one more.

Gabrielle averted her gaze when Marinette entered the café, just like she always did. Marinette had programmed Gabrielle’s work schedule into her calendar, and she’d been making it a point to stop by when she could. Although Gabrielle tried to hide it, Marinette could tell that she was happy to see her.

“Does this count as harassment?” Gabrielle asked, setting Marinette’s usual order on the table.

“Only if you want me to stop,” Marinette said.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and smiled. “You’re such a dork. No wonder I used to pick on you.”

“That’s not a no,” Marinette said pointedly.

“You’re so annoying,” Gabrielle sighed, stalking back to the counter.

Marinette bit back a smile, retrieving her sketchbook from her bag while Gabrielle tended to other customers. The café was cozy and secluded enough that Marinette could work freely while also keeping an eye on Gabrielle. Her deadline was only a few days away, and she’d already taken time out to help Adrien.

Adrien…

He went behind her back to stop Lila. She’d been so touched in the moment, that she agreed to help without really thinking. But he’d gone against everything he believed in for her. Not Ladybug, not Chloe, not even his best friend. For Marinette. How could she resist? The moment Adrien said he needed Ladybug, she couldn’t help herself. It was selfish, but if he called, she’d always come running. And as it turned out, Adrien was quietly doing the same for her all along. It was kind of romantic in a way.

But what did that make them? Were they dating? Neither one of them had confessed their true feelings, but it was obvious they both really cared for one another. Adrien wouldn’t have teamed up with Chloe if he didn’t feel something for Marinette. Being mean wasn’t in Adrien’s nature—it was one of the many things she loved about him. He had to be in love with her now. There was no other explanation.

Marinette pressed her lips together, tracing hearts along the edges of her sketch. She would tell Adrien how she felt after her presentation with Clara. No chickening out this time. Just her honest feelings and hopefully Adrien’s soft lips and silky golden hair, the intoxicating scent of his cologne, and those strong arms wrapping around her-

“What’s that for?” Gabrielle snapped Marinette from her trance, replacing the cold cup Marinette had long forgotten about with a fresh one.

“Oh, uh, just some designs I’ve been playing with,” Marinette said. “Actually, will you tell me what you think?”

Gabrielle quirked a brow, spinning the sketchbook around to get a better look while Marinette sipped her coffee. She’d narrowed it down to three sketches, and Gabrielle studied them thoughtfully.

“I think the skirt on this one could puff out more, and I think this one would look better if you made it slouch off the shoulder,” Gabrielle said, “but that’s just my opinion.”

“No, that’s really helpful. Thank you.” Marinette smiled.  

Gabrielle shifted her weight and mumbled, “Your designs are really good.”

Marinette beamed, but before she could reply, a loud boom shook the café, knocking over cabinets and cups. Gabrielle and Marinette rushed outside to find the source as several passing people ran away from the scene.

“Lila,” Marinette murmured under her breath.

“What?” Gabrielle turned to her.

“I said it must be an akuma,” she said quickly. “We should probably evacuate.”

“As if my boss will let me leave. This place could burn down, and he’d still expect me to show up and sweep the ashes.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You go.”

Another crash rattled the street, shattering the windows of every parked car along the block. Marinette shielded her face from the debris, Gabrielle taking a defensive stance in front of her. Locking eyes with the villain, Marinette’s blood ran cold.

Lila hadn’t been the one to get akumatized, but the girl staring back at her was all too familiar. Her suit was red and black with spots resembling Ladybug’s on the bodice. Long red hair was tied back into a ponytail, once hazel eyes now scarlet. Her ex-best friend looked at her with utter disdain.

“You…” Her eyes narrowed.

“Alya?” Marinette gasped.

“You two know each other?” Gabrielle quirked a brow.

“She and I used to be…” Marinette lowered her gaze.

“Used to be what, Marinette? Bffs?” The akuma snarled. “Or maybe you’d like to forget that!”

With a swipe of her phone, a purple beam shot toward them. Gabrielle tackled Marinette to the ground, avoiding the blast by an inch. Gabrielle’s manager came out to see what the fuss was about, and the beam engulfed him. He blinked a few times, looking around at the café in confusion.

“Where am I? Better yet, who am I?” he groaned.

Gabrielle pushed Marinette away, eyes wide. “Run!”

“What about yo-”

“Just go!” Gabrielle shouted.

“Oh, she’s not going anywhere.” The akuma swiped her phone screen again, pointing it up to the sky. Storm clouds materialized, and large chunks of hail rained down. “I’m not your bff anymore, Marinette. My name is Ladyblogger, and I can use any power I want! I’m going to expose the truth to everyone once and for all!”

Gabrielle grabbed the coffee pot from her manager and hurled it at Ladyblogger. She took Marinette’s hand, and the two raced up the street.

“This way!” Gabrielle ducked into an alley. She lead Marinette through a private courtyard, down another side street, and across to another alley before stopping. “Take this street, and you should be able to make it home from there.”

“Where will you go?” Marinette asked.

“I should get back to the café. I doubt my manager’s amnesia will last long. You should get somewhere safe.” She shoved Marinette on, heading back in the direction they came.

“Gabrielle?” Marinette called, and she turned over her shoulder. “Thanks. You saved me.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t mention it.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “Now go!”

Marinette bit back a smile as she raced up the alley. Her suit materialized before she made it to the other end, and she tossed her yoyo into the rooftops. Any warmth she’d felt from Gabrielle’s selflessness faded the moment Ladybug touched down on the scene. Chat Noir arrived at the same time she did.

“Looks like the ‘heroes’ decided to show up,” Ladyblogger said with air quotes. “Or should I even call you that anymore? The only people you seem to protect these days are ones with egos the size of monuments!”

“Alya, listen to me! Lila is manipulating you,” Ladybug said.

“You’re one to talk about manipulation. How’s your bff Chloe these days? Or is it actually Marinette?” Ladyblogger shot another beam from her phone, but Chat Noir and Ladybug dodged. The attack hit Gabrielle’s manager again, snapping out of his confusion only to be transformed into a Ladyblogger look alike.

“Wow, for a journalist, you seem to have a hard time swallowing the truth,” Chat Noir said.  

Ladyblogger swiped blasts from her screen, and Ladybug and Chat Noir dodged between them, charging in to strike. Chat Noir’s staff phased through Ladyblogger, and he stumbled several paces before regaining his balance. She smirked at him, lifting her finger from the screen and regaining tangibility just in time for Ladybug to land a hit.

The two grappled, dodging each other’s swipes and jabs. Ladyblogger phased in and out of tangibility, striking Ladybug with purposeful blows. When Ladybug finally landed a hit, Ladyblogger simply smiled. Her aura glowed, and she took Ladybug’s wrist, tossing her effortlessly into her partner across the street.

They rolled across the pavement, limbs tangling around each other. Chat Noir immediately helped her to her feet, dusting himself off. “Okay, is it just me, or are her powers super random?”

“I don’t think they are,” Ladybug said. “She’s using abilities we’ve fought before. I think she’s using powers from old akumas.”

“Not just akumas.” Ladyblogger corrected, tapping her screen. “Cataclysm!”

She charged at them, fist glowing with black energy. Ladybug and Chat Noir jumped out of the way, and Ladyblogger swiped the streetlamp, reducing it to a pile of ash.

“Okay, so you can copy our powers too,” Chat Noir said.

Ladybug’s eyes narrowed on Ladyblogger’s screen, an inverted version of her blog theme with icons for each power available to her. “Her blog!” she gasped. “She can use powers of anyone—hero or villain—that she’s reported about on her blog!”

“You always were a smart one,” Ladyblogger said. “So, how come you can’t see through all of the lies people keep feeding you?”

“She’s not the one that needs to open her eyes.” Chat Noir shot back.

Ladyblogger summoned another Cataclysm, punching the ground and sending a shockwave rippling up the street. Ladybug and Chat Noir jumped up to the roof to avoid it.

“Got a plan?” Chat Noir asked.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug summoned, and a deck of playing cards materialized.

“Up for a riveting game of poker? We can wager our Miraculouses for her akuma,” Chat smarmed.

“No…” Ladybug studied the logo on the box. “I have to go. Maybe you can annoy her to death with your jokes before I get back.”

“Purrhaps she’ll be a better sport than you.” Chat Noir winked. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long. Even this cat will run out of jokes eventually.”

Ladybug flicked his bell before racing off. Ladyblogger could mimic the power of anyone so long as she’d written about them on her blog, so Ladybug needed a power she hadn’t seen before.

“Master!” Marinette burst through the door. “Chat Noir and I are fighting an akuma, and I need to borrow a Miraculous.”

Master Fu set aside his book. “Then let’s not waste any time.”

He retrieved the Miracle Box from its hiding place and presented it to her. Marinette surveyed her options carefully. The mouse could work, but she wasn’t sure it was the one they needed. Then there was the monkey, but that could confuse things even more. She needed something stealthy. Something like…

“Do you have someone in mind?” Master Fu asked as she grabbed the tiger gauntlet.

“I think I just might.”

♪♫♪ Bad Blood ♪♫♪

Ladybug found Gabrielle sweeping broken glass outside the café. The street was quiet and long since evacuated. Chat Noir and Ladyblogger relocated to the Trocadero, but Gabrielle stayed behind, waiting for everything to go back to normal. She quirked a brow when Ladybug approached.

“I’m going to assume since I’m still here sweeping glass that you haven’t defeated the akuma?” she asked.

“Not yet.” Ladybug admitted. “I need a little help. Think you’re up for it?”

“Why do you need my help? Don’t you have a passel of super-freaks on speed dial?” Gabrielle grunted, returning to her sweeping.

“I do, but… how would you like to be one of them?” Ladybug offered, and Gabrielle froze.

“For real?” she asked, eyes glinting with intrigue that extinguished just as quickly as it lit. “Why me?”

“Didn’t you watch my interview earlier?” Ladybug cocked a hip. “I’m always looking for new partners, and I saw how you helped your friend earlier.”

“We’re not really friends,” Gabrielle said, but when Ladybug gave her a disbelieving smirk, she sighed. “Okay, fine. She’s annoying, but whatever, I guess she’s my friend. I just don’t see how that has anything to do with me becoming a superhero. You obviously don’t know me very well, but let’s just say I’m not exactly the hero type.”

“Don’t you want to be?” Ladybug asked, and when Gabrielle averted her gaze, she added, “Look, I didn’t think I was superhero material at first either, but being Ladybug helped me realize I’m more capable than I think. You have an opportunity to do something good. Isn’t that what you want?”

Gabrielle lowered her gaze, tapping her nails against the wooden handle. Pressing her lips together, she squared her shoulders and let the broom fall to the ground.

“Gabrielle Burton, this is the Miraculous of the Tiger, which grants you the power of invisibility. You will use it to fight for the greater good.” Ladybug recited, presenting her with a small box. “Once the battle is over, you will return it to me. Can I trust you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes and took the box, barely flinching when Roarr manifested.

“Hello there! My name is Roarr, and I’m a-”

“We don’t have time for that. My job doesn’t pay me enough to fight supervillains, so let’s just get this over with.” Gabrielle cut him off. “Now, how does this thing work?”

Ladybug flashed him an apologetic grin, and he flicked his tail. “To transform, all you have to do is say ‘Roarr, transform me,’” he said without any fanfare.

“Cool.” Gabrielle slipped on the gauntlet. “Roarr, transform me!”

Gabrielle caught on quick, following behind Ladybug without need for explanation. If Marinette had learned anything about Gabrielle, it was that she was straightforward and to the point. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she was guarded around Ladybug. Marinette was still breaking through some of those walls herself, but she truly believed that Gabrielle could be a good hero if she tried.

When they arrived at the Trocadero, Gabrielle cracked her whip before Ladyblogger could ready another attack. Seeing Ladybug with a new ally must have struck a nerve because Ladyblogger let out a frustrated growl. Chat Noir rushed in but slammed into an invisible wall. Ladyblogger tugged an invisible cell door shut with a smile, but Gabrielle didn’t leave her much time to gloat.

“Who’s the new pet?” Ladyblogger called. She and Gabrielle sparred while Ladybug checked on Chat Noir.

“Obviously, someone she trusts more than you.” Gabrielle retorted. They locked hands, glaring each other down.

“It seems that Ladybug is employing a lot of mean girls, these days. Falling on hard times?” Ladyblogger grunted, hiking a leg to knee Gabrielle in the gut. “You must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel. Looks like your little tigress needs some more training.”

Ladyblogger struck again, but Gabrielle caught her wrist, redirecting her down the stairs. As Ladyblogger stumbled to the bottom, Gabrielle cocked a hip.

“Tigress, I kind of like that. I think I’ll keep it,” she said.

Ladyblogger scrambled to her feet as Ladybug and Chat Noir flanked Tigress. Her attention turned to the news station helicopter hovering over the Trocadero to catch all of the action.

“Let’s see if the rookie is really up to snuff,” Ladyblogger said, tapping her screen again. “Venom!”

“No!” Ladybug shouted.

Ladyblogger jumped, clearing the distance to the helicopter easily. With a light tap, the pilot froze in place, and Ladyblogger hopped out the other side as the plane spiraled into a tailspin.

“Chat Noir, Tigress, get everyone out!” Ladybug ordered.

Her partners sprang into action while Ladybug hooked her yoyo around the streetlamps. Tigress took care of Nadja while Chat Noir carried the pilot and cameraman. They got out just as the helicopter landed in Ladybug’s net. Her feet skidded against the concrete, bearing the weight of the aircraft as she gently lowered it to the ground.

“Hey, Bugheads! Ladyblogger here, and do I have the scoop for you!” A large camera broadcast their efforts to every screen in Paris, and Ladyblogger watched in amusement. “Always playing the hero, but only for those she deems worthy of saving. Hasn’t anyone ever wondered if the girl under the mask is really as nice as we all think?”

“Thanks, Ladybug,” Nadja said as Tigress set her down.

“Get somewhere safe,” Ladybug ordered.

The pilot groaned and rubbed his head, free from Venom’s sting. Ladybug eyed him with a pensive frown as the reporting crew scrambled to safety.

“Any ideas?” Chat Noir asked.

“Forming one,” Ladybug replied. “It looks like she can only use one power at a time, so when she switches to a new one, the effects of the old one wear off—like closing an app on a phone.”

“Okay, so what does that mean for us?” Tigress crossed her arms over her chest.

“It means we have to keep her moving,” Ladybug said, palming her yoyo. “Lucky charm!”

A catcher’s mitt landed in her hands, and Chat Noir quirked a brow.

“Great, so we can invite her to play catch,” he said.

Ladybug glanced around singling in on Tigress, Chat Noir’s staff, and her glove. A smile broke over her lips. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do, but we’re going to do it my way. Chat Noir, you and I are going to keep Ladyblogger busy while Tigress sneaks in.”

Chat Noir nodded without a second thought, but Tigress shot Ladybug a skeptical look. “Are you sure this is gonna work?”

“This isn’t even her most convoluted plan.” Chat Noir shrugged.

“And now the superheroine has summoned her last resort. I think it’s time everyone learned the truth about Paris’s savior. Coming up next, we’re going to take her Miraculous and find out what kind of person is hiding behind the mask! Stay connected, Bugheads.” Ladyblogger ended her broadcast and swiped to a new power. “Let’s see which one of us has more luck, Ladybug. Lucky Charm!”

Ladyblogger caught the rocket launcher with a sinister laugh, taking aim at the band of heroes. When she pulled the trigger, they dispersed, splitting up in three different directions.

“Camouflage!” Tigress whispered.

Ladybug and Chat Noir wasted no time drawing Ladyblogger’s attention, dodging past missiles as they closed in. They took turns taking jabs and kicks, and with closer proximity, Ladyblogger abandoned her weapon in favor of a different power. Light beams shot from her screen with each swipe of her fingers, transforming streetlamps and benches into hard black lumps.

“Coal? But I’ve been so good this year!” Chat Noir taunted.

“I used to think you two were so great, but now I see you for who you really are! You’re not heroes, you’re just two little kids playing dress-up for attention,” Ladyblogger said.

“You know what? You’re right,” Ladybug said. “Just keep all of your attention on us.”

“It shouldn’t be hard. I am pretty good-looking.” Chat Noir flexed his biceps.

Ladyblogger’s eyes narrowed, but before she could make her next move, her arms pinned to her sides. An invisible force wrestled her to the ground, kicking her phone from her grasp in a direct pitch to Chat Noir.

Tigress materialized on top of her, pulling her whip tight. “Looks like Hawkmoth should have trained you a little more,” she said.

“Batter up!” Chat Noir called, swinging his baton.

Ladybug caught the phone in her mitt easily and stomped it under her foot, releasing the black butterfly from inside.

“No more evil-doing for you, little akuma. Looks like she struck out.”

Tigress stood up as Ladybug’s magic healed the city. When Alya came to, Ladybug crouched beside her, presenting her repaired phone.

“I know you’re hurt and confused, but I promise that everything I said earlier is true,” Ladybug said. “You’re a smart girl, Alya. The truth is right in front of you if you look for it.”

Alya searched her expression, lips pressing into a firm line. “Why should I believe you?”

“Seriously? After everything Ladybug has done for this city, you’re going to blow her off just like that? Some journalist you are,” Tigress grunted, flipping her braid over one shoulder.

“Tigress-”

Alya’s jaw clenched. She snatched her phone from Ladybug’s grasp and stood up. “So these are the kind of people you replace real heroes with? I thought one drama queen was a coincidence, but I’m starting to think you just have a type,” she said. “You’re right. I am smart—smart enough to see when someone isn’t who they say they are. So from now on, I’m no longer your fan, Ladybug, and I’m going to expose the truth to everyone!”

Tigress averted her gaze as Alya stormed off. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay,” Ladybug said. Her heart sank watching Alya walk away from her for the second time. “She already made up her mind.”

♪♫♪ Far From Heaven ♪♫♪

“You okay, Al?”

Alya peeked at her boyfriend over the pillow she was hugging to her face, tears streaking her cheeks. Nino sat on the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. Alya nestled into his neck and allowed his warmth to thaw the cold ache in her chest.

“I saw your blog post. Are you really done with Ladybug?” Nino asked.

Alya flicked her gaze to her phone resting on the bed, her latest post on the Ladyblog displayed on the screen. She might have gone too far with it, but she didn’t care. Ladybug wasn’t who Alya thought, and the world needed to know that their beloved heroine wasn’t so loving.

“After everything I’ve done for her, all the time I spent proving to her how trustworthy I was, and she just replaced me without even saying anything. Then she’s out there being best buddies with Chloe?” Alya’s voice cracked. “How could she do that?”

Nino pursed his lips, and Alya leaned her cheek against his chest, breathing him in. She didn’t blame him for not having an answer because neither did she. In only a few weeks, her entire world had been flipped on its head. Losing Marinette had hurt enough, but now she couldn’t even believe in the people she revered most. Were all superheroes just pretending to be nice? Or did they all have a Chloe Bourgeois behind the scenes pulling the strings? And what was Marinette’s role in all of this? Was all of it really her fault? Alya didn’t know what to believe now.

“Maybe you should take some time away from your blog. I think it might be good to put some distance between you for a while.” Nino suggested, kissing her temple. “At least while you’re hurting, I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be around all that. Take some time to clear your head.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” Alya picked up her phone, thumb lingering over the home button, but she couldn’t bring herself to press it.

Nino was right. Her obsession with heroes wasn’t healthy. How many times had she put herself in danger capturing footage for her blog, and for what? Ladybug clearly didn’t care, so why should Alya? A break wasn’t what she needed. If she came back, it would just be more of the same. What Alya truly needed was to walk away. To shut the door and never look back. Maybe then she could find something worth believing in.

“Al?”

Alya bit her lip, thoughts racing. Before she could change her mind, she hit delete, erasing months of hard work in an instant. Countless late nights, dangerous battles collecting footage, all of her hopes and dreams and theories gone at the touch of a button. Ladybug didn’t trust her anymore, and now the feeling was mutual.

[hale-13]

Better Together

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 15 - Sleep Deprived

Peter has always known that he had a platonic soulmate. He grew up sharing feelings and emotions through his bond and waiting eagerly to meet his other half.

Let’s just say - meeting your hero isn’t always all its cracked up to be.

Words: 2500, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Poor Communication, Self Deprication, Canon Typical Violence

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

Peter had always had a soulmate.

Some of his most formative memories as a child were nebulous warm feelings sent in his direction (mostly when he was sad or upset) and other emotions that he wasn’t quite old enough to comprehend. May and Ben had told him that his parents had known that he had a platonic soulmate nearly from the second he was born – Peter was never a loud baby and slept better than most newborns. The only logical explanation was his connection to someone else’s emotions that made him feel safe and loved before he was even old enough to process what those feelings were supposed to mean.

Soulmate bonds always grew stronger with time and the decrease in distance but the link connecting them was always there, growing ever stronger the longer it was in existence. May always told him that there was no better feeling than to be in contact with the other half of your soul, that the feeling was truly indescribable – warm and safe and comforting and loving and so many other things.

Peter wanted that. After losing his parents, after Skip, after the bullying and the Bite and Uncle Ben he wanted that. He wanted to feel warm and safe and protected more than he had ever wanted anything.

Meeting Tony Stark and finding out the man was his other half rocked Peter’s entire universe.

He had read the stories that were published everywhere; how magical it was supposed to be to meet the one person you were destined to be around for the rest of your life. The person who understood you sometimes better than you understood yourself.

His meeting with Tony was the opposite.

The shaking of their hands felt like pure electricity and the bond between them finally finally snapped into place, their minds linked together firmly now allowing for Peter to feel Tony’s shock and concern like they were his own before the man bricked up the link and left Peter reeling and untethered. Having Iron Man, his soulmate, revel that he knew about Peter’s wall crawling extracurriculars just served to unsettle him more and what could Peter say – he was a people pleaser. There was no way he would say no to Mr. Stark’s offer to go to Germany

Talking May into it without reveling he had found his soulmate was a completely different ordeal.

Peter had thought (hoped) that Mr. Stark maybe just needed to get used to the idea. That they would get back from Germany and he’d open the link again and try to get to know Peter. But, if anything, he had clamped down further leaving what once was a bright and vibrant part of Peter’s mind dark and lonely, the once taunt cord connecting them limp and lifeless despite Peter’s attempts to reach out.

And, yeah, maybe some of the stuff with Liz’s dad and the alien weapons had been a big attention grab but who could blame him really? It was painful to be ignored by the one person who had always been completely present through everything. After Tony had taken the suit, after he had made it abundantly clear how he felt about being Peter’s soulmate, how he felt about being in his life at all, Peter bricked his side of the connection as well. It was probably one of the most painful things he had ever done and it left him feeling more alone and empty than ever before.

He was lucky he was able to convince May that all of his moping was just about losing his internship and not about losing his soulmate. She had spent the evening with him on the couch watching crap TV and eating ice cream and had promised that he would get over it, that Stark Industries wasn’t the end all be all, that he was better than that. Peter supposed it was a good thing Tony had rejected him, he had no idea how May would take their connection if he hadn’t.

At least he was able to stop Toomes. At least he was able to save the majority of Mr. Stark’s stuff even if he destroyed the plane.

The fire from the crash was slowly starting to burn out on the beach as emergency services arrived. From his vantage on top of the Cyclone, Peter could see Happy pulling up and making his way across the shifting sand to where Toomes was attached to a pile of crates with webbing before looking around like he was trying to find something.

“Finally,” Peter thought, letting his eyes slip closed and resting his head back against the rough wooden structure behind him in exhaustion. He’d hang out here until it wasn’t so crazy and then he’d need to walk home. He’d used the very last of the webbing in his damaged shooters to restrain Toomes so swinging was out of the question but, with as bad as his shoulder was hurting, he didn’t think he’d be able to accomplish it anyway. He felt fresh tears of frustration and pain well up before he pushed them down – it didn’t matter how bad he felt, he had to do this.

His link to Tony, deadened for the past few months, lit up briefly and Peter scrunched his face as he tightened up the block on his end. It took concentration to cut ties (it was unnatural and mostly unheard of) and he must have slipped some during the fight; he needed to do better so he didn’t make Tony any more disappointed in him. A lone tear beaded up at that thought and he pushed it down. It was fine – Peter didn’t need a soulmate anyway and who was he to think he deserved Tony Stark of all people.

“Kid?” A voice, quiet, traveled up and Peter peaked over the edge of his hiding spot, pushing down the rising feeling of vertigo that made him feel unsteady.

“Hey Happy,” he said. “Sorry about the mess.”

The man looked unusually ruffled and concerned from his place on the ground, head tipped back completely to look at Peter. “Are you okay? Can you come down here?”

“Don’t have my mask,” Peter muttered, clumsily making his way down and nearly falling the last few feet when his vision tilted. Happy, arms half raised and spotting him from the bottom, barely caught him when he dropped the last couple feet.

“Jesus,” Happy said, holding Peter at arms length and surveying him with a critical eye. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Peter said with an eye roll, batting the man’s hands away so he could stand on his own. “I need to get home.”

“Yeah no,” Happy grunted, pulling Peter’s uninjured right arm over his shoulder and dragging him toward the waiting town car. “You have a date with the compound MedBay, don’t want to miss it.”

“I’m fine,” Peter protested, trying unsuccessfully to pull away. “I just need to sleep it off.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Happy said firmly, pulling open the back door and shoving Peter in. “You got a concussion?”

“What?” Peter asked, confused and listing to the side as he blinked away the spots in his vision. “Uh… probably.”

“Stay awake then,” Happy said, shutting the door and climbing into the driver’s seat. “And buckle your seatbelt, we’ve got a long drive.”

“My aunt-,” Peter tried to say before Happy interrupted him.

“Tony will handle it. Just relax for now.” Peter let out a restrained sigh and let his head fall back to rest against the seat, eyes shutting in exhaustion. “What did I just say about falling asleep?” Happy grumbled from the front seat as he pulled the car away from the curb and sped out of the city.

Peter hummed, feeling more dizzy and out of it with the movement of the car. “Not sleeping,” he muttered, “resting my eyes.”

“Yeah well rest with them open,” Happy grumbled back and Peter huffed but let them open into slits, vision unfocused as he watched the streetlights blur together through the window. He must have dozed at some point because, the next thing he knew, Peter’s door was being opened and he nearly fell out of the car – held in only by his seatbelt.

“Yikes,” Tony said, poking his head in to look Peter over with a critical eye. “You weren’t kidding Hap.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, surprised and confused, blinking his eyes against the bright lights of the garage they were parked in as they momentarily blinded him. “What? Why are you here?”

The man rolled his eyes and reached over Peter to unbuckle his seatbelt, pulling him out of the car and supporting most of his weight as Peter’s legs wobbled under him. “It’s my compound,” he pointed out, dragging Peter over to the elevator. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Sorry about your plane,” Peter said, feeling worn down and upset – it felt like physical pain to be in such close contact with his soulmate without being able to feel him through the link. It felt wrong and confusing and his side of the link felt like a live wire.

“Don’t worry about it Spiderling,” Mr. Stark said, brushing him off brusquely, the elevator doors closing on their own and the elevator car starting up without Mr. Stark pressing any buttons. “I suppose I owe you an apology for not listening about Toomes anyway. And a thank you for saving all my shit.”

“It’s fine,” Peter mumbled, feeling uncomfortable. “It’s no problem.” Tony hummed but didn’t say anything as the doors trundled open to the bustling MedBay where a nurse was waiting for them with a wheelchair that Tony gently settled Peter into.

“I’ll call your aunt and smooth everything over,” Tony told him, getting back in the elevator. “You listen to Dr. Cho and get some rest.” And with that, the doors slipped closed again, leaving Peter alone and empty, his bond just as limp and lifeless as always but feeling more lonely and lost than ever.

————————————————

“Having some difficultly sleeping?” Dr. Cho asked when she checked in on Peter. He had arrived at the compound about six hours previously and was now resting semi-comfortably on one of the MedBay beds in borrowed sweats. He had been exhausted when he arrived, was still exhausted, but between the stinging pain from his still-healing injuries and the new, cold space he couldn’t seem to get any rest.

“Just not tired I guess,” Peter said listlessly, picking at a loose thread on the sheets and not making eye contact as she looked over his vitals and adjusted the IV drip. They didn’t really have drugs that affected him as much as they had hoped so it was all a guessing game right now. So far, nothing had been able to eliminate his pain completely. Dr. Cho gave him a look that showed she didn’t believe any of his bullshit but was kind enough not to call him on it.

Truth was, Peter was tired and all he wanted to do was sleep. He hadn’t really slept well since he had lost his ‘internship’, averaging maybe three or four hours a night if he was lucky and he felt like he was going a little crazy from the sleep deprivation. He couldn’t wait to be back in his own comfortable apartment with May. Dr. Cho didn’t try to further engage him in conversation, leaving and turning the lights down a little more as she closed the door.

Peter let his head flop over to stare out the window, his vision hazy and out of focus as he tried to turn off his brain. The outside of the compound was still lit up and, despite the late hour, full of activity. There must be some serious soundproofing and light dampening though since none of it reached into Peter’s room. He sighed in frustration, he wanted to sleep.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to get some rest,” Tony said from the door, surprising Peter and making him flinch.

“Sorry,” Peter said, dropping his gaze to rest only on his sheet-covered legs. Even though their bond was bricked, Peter being awake was probably keeping Tony up. He needed to do better. Mr. Stark wanted him to be better.

“What?” The man asked, stepping further into the room and clearly waffling for a second before dropping into the chair next to Peter’s bed. “There’s nothing to be sorry for kid.”

“The link’s probably keeping you up though right?” Peter asked, eye flicking over for just a second and then back to his knees.

Tony snorted softly. “Hardly. I’m not the best at sleeping which is why I’m awake. You, however, should be recovering and its hard to do that wide awake.”

“I’ll do better,” Peter promised, tone a little sardonic. “I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think its time we talked. I wanted to wait until you had recovered but I really don’t think it can wait that long. Let me just say that I’m not disappointed in you Underoos. I’m actually really proud.”

Peter whipped his head up. “Proud?” He asked, surprised.

“Of course,” Tony told him, leaning forward in his chair. “I made a mistake taking your suit and grounding you. When I told you I wanted you to be better than me its because you’re already the best of us kid, you don’t want to stoop to my level.”

“But the link…” Peter started, his throat feeling dry and his eyes wet.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, roving over Peter’s face intently before standing and kicking off his shoes. “Scoot over.” Peter, surprised and confused (these were becoming his perpetual states of being he thought) did as he was told and stiffened up a little when Tony climbed onto the bed next to him and pulled him into a half hug and throwing open his side of their link completely. Peter gasped at the influx of emotion spilling over, frowning at the deep self-loathing and unworthiness. “I didn’t block you out because I didn’t think you were good enough; quite the opposite in fact.”

“Oh,” Peter said, relaxing his grip on his side of the bond so it opened up and sinking into his soulmates side, feeling more content that he ever had. “That’s stupid. You’re my hero. You’ve always been my hero.”

Tony sniffed and pulled Peter in tighter so his head was resting on Tony’s chest, his stuttering heartbeat steady and comforting. “Get some rest buddy,” he told Peter, running dexterous fingers through Peter’s mattered curls and pulling his head more firmly into his chest. “I think that we’ll have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”

So this was what May meant, Peter thought, his lips tilting up into a smile as his eyes dipped closed and his muscles relaxed. He wasn’t even out yet and he could already tell that this would be the best sleep of his life.

[one-boring-person]

Omg I just reread the hunter fic you wrote for me and I'm still screaming - I so fucking love it!!!! You're totally awesome babe! So, I was wondering - only if it isn't to much - if you would be willing to write a part two?💕

Of course! I hope you like this as much as the first!💛💛💛 thank you for requesting! ❤❤ (I'm so sorry this is so late!)

Goddamn Hunters. (Part Two.)

David (The Lost Boys) x reader

Warnings: blood imagery, graphic violence

Masterlist.

Part One.

The journey back to David's home is mostly silent, the only sound being a brief squeak from me when I realise that we are no longer on the ground, my hands clutching tighter at the comfortable fabric of his overcoat, my face burying into his chest, inhaling his somehow familiar scent. In my ears, the rushing wind is unbelievably loud, though the sensation of it against any exposed skin is not as biting as I thought it would be, possibly due to the frigidity of my body beneath my torn clothes. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at the ground far below us as he continues to move, his arms adjusting themselves securely around my trembling frame, the sensation making me feel safer, despite me not knowing this...person at all.

After what feels like hours, he touches down again, a roaring, crashing sound making itself known to me, as well as a pungent salty reek laced with a woody odour, all of which mix with the confusion already fogging up the inside of my head, my fatigue finally becoming noticeable to me. Yawning, I instinctively cuddle closer to David, my body reacting before my brain does, a deep blush rising to my cheeks as he looks down at me, blue eyes widening a little with surprise before they fill with some other emotion, something akin to pride. I don't quite register as he carries me somewhere dimly lit, whining quietly when he finally places me down somewhere, the noise a reflex I didn't know I had, though I am glad that the surface below me is soft and comfortable. Halting, the platinum blonde seems to think something through, eyeing my limp, tired form on what I can only assume is a bed, his hand absentmindedly reaching up to stroke back my hair, frowning a bit at my bloodied state. He jerks away suddenly when a voice speaks up from behind him, the words incoherent to me as I drift to sleep, aching and painful after my ordeal, only just catching the end of what David responds with.

"...mate."

For the first time in days, I sleep peacefully, none of the harrowing nightmares I've had previously assaulting my conscience, though the biting hunger at the back of my throat remains a constant, the blood on my clothes not helping at all. Thankully, the day passes quickly, my eyes opening just as the last rays of sunlight leave the surroundings, the bed I'm sleeping in blocked off from the outside light by black-out curtains, which is helpful, seeing as I learnt the hard way that the bright light hurts like hell. Hesitantly, I climb off the bed/nest thing and examine the room I'm in, surprised to find myself in a cave of sorts, the spacious expanse littered with debris and random objects, a few of them gathered around a decrepit fountain in the centre, near which there are sofas and a wheelchair, a faint layer of dust collecting on almost every surface. Confused, I step further into the room, moving to the fountain, where I trail a finger over the filthy surface, a greyish film coating the digit as I pull it away, my nose somehow picking up the musky scent emanating from it with ease. In addition to this, I can also smell four distinct odours, one of which I already recognise: David, the unmistakable smell inciting an odd longing feeling within me, my body aching to be with my mysterious saviour again.

In my confusion, I fail to notice that a tall figure has appeared in the hallway behind me, their eyes glowing yellow as they catch sight of me, a low growl escaping them, before I'm pinned to the fountain by them, strong hands holding me to the marble surface in a painful position. I yelp, struggling in their hold, my own strength dwindling due to my hunger, terror and panic flooding me as I fight to get free, only for my assailant to hold me tighter still, snapping their teeth by my ear in warning. Whimpering, I still, hoping that whatever they do to me, it will be quick.

"Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing here? Couldn't you tell this is our territory?" The voice is distinctly male, though the hostility sounds wrong in it, as if he normally uses a lighter tone to address people.

"T-territory? What do you mean?" I manage to get out, just as puzzled as I am afraid, wincing when he presses me tighter against the fountain.

"You know exactly what I mean. We've marked this area and laid claim to it more times than I can count, so you can't seriously tell me you don't know what I mean. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" He punctuates each word clearly, his breath fanning over my ear as he forces me into even more discomfort, my mind scrambling to piece together what in the hell is going on. My mouth opens and closes as I try to figure out what to say, only to snap shut when I hear a thankfully familiar voice somewhere behind us.

"Get the hell away from her, Paul." David snarls, rich voice laced with anger, the platinum blonde audibly stepping over to where I'm pinned to the water feature. The weight on my back is suddenly gone, my body screaming in relief from the painful position as I twist in time to see a lanky blonde being thrown to the floor by the black-clad platinum blonde who saved my life last night, a gasp escaping me as the former crashes into a rickety old table, the ancient structure cracking in two under the force.

"What's your problem, man?" The blonde, Paul, bites out at David as he climbs to his feet, pulling a few splinters of wood out of his jacket and mop of hair, eyes stool flashing yellow.

"You! You're my problem, waltzing in here and attacking my mate as if you own the place..." His voice trails off, eyes fading into their icy blue again almost as if he's realised what he just said.

Silence encompasses the three of us, shock evident on Paul's face, regret lining David's and confusion probably showing on mine, the quiet quickly becoming awkward as the taller blonde tries to process what he's heard, only disrupted when another two people emerge from the tunnel behind David. One of them, a slightly shorter blonde with curly hair, is pulling on a patchwork jacket, angelic features bright with mirth, whilst the other is a tall dark haired guy with no shirt on, his own leather jacket slung over one broad shoulder, nearly black eyes swiftly finding me.

"Ooh, who's this?" The shorter blonde queries when he sees me, doe eyes raking up and down my figure, though he quickly looks over at Paul when he makes a sound of disbelief.

"Your mate? Since when do you believe in that crap?" Paul exclaims loudly, his words stirring yet more confusion into the soup that has become my mind, my eyes flicking uneasily between the four boys.

"Hold up, who's whose mate?" The short blonde questions, frowning at his friends, the dark haired one staring at me with a vague expression of realisation.

David sighs, coming over to me with a gentle look on his handsome features, helping me back up again and keeping one hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles into the skin as he looks at me worryingly, silently asking if I'm alright. I nod, somehow trusting him.

"This is (Y/n). My mate. We only met yesterday, when I found her being attacked by hunters." He informs the others, eyeing them sternly, "And I'd like it if you could all respect that. She needs help transitioning."

"Hang on, before you go on, what are you talking about? Hunters? Transitioning? Mate? What on earth does it all mean?" I butt in, finally speaking up over the others.

David and the dark haired one exchange glances briefly, before the latter ushers the other two outside and out of sight, leaving the platinum blonde and I alone together. Carefully, he eases me onto the edge of the fountain, sitting beside me without making eye contact.

"How long have you been like this?" He finally asks, looking over at me.

"Like...this? You mean messed up, hungry, hysterical, nocturnal and not to mention chased around Santa Carla by two people I thought were my friends? For four days now." I respond, drawing attention to the gnawing hunger in the back of my throat again.

"Four days? How long have you been in Santa Carla?" He sounds confused now, as if he wasn't expecting me to say that.

"For three. I don't know why, I sort of just...needed to come here. It's like i felt this connection between me and what i have now figured out is you...sorry, this is too much information, and I probably sound weird as hell..." I admit to him, fiddling with the hem of my tattered shirt.

"No, that makes sense, it's a mate thing, I guess." He murmurs quietly.

"Can you just tell me what that means please?" I ask again, sighing in exasperation.

"This is probably going to sound pretty crazy, but you, as well as me and the others, are a vampire, and somehow, that has also made the mate bond between us stronger. Mate bond as in some weird, primal urge to be together."

"Wait, what?"

It takes David a full hour to properly explain everything to me, by which point I'm absolutely starving, my fangs itching to make themselves known, as well as slightly disturbed by the knowledge of what I really am, even if it does explain a lot about the events of the past four nights. David seems to notice my discomfort, as he suddenly stands up, offering me a hand with a small smirk on his face.

"Come on, let's get you some food."

"Food? Like blood?" I inquire, gingerly placing my shaking hand in his gloved one, allowing him to pull me up.

"Exactly like blood." He smirks, leading me to the entrance of the cave, where we go put and climb up a rickety old walkway to the top of a cliff. Once at the peak, we stand at the edge, looking out over the roaring sea, the noise of which is still unbearably loud to my ears.

"So we can either take my motorcycle, or we can take the more interesting route." The vampire offers, blue eyes boring into me.

"More interesting route?" I question, lifting an eyebrow.

He doesn't respond, instead just smirking wider, going to the edge of the cliff. With a suggestive wink, he steps backwards, off the edge, disappearing below the cliff line. Gasping, I go to step forwards, as if to stop him, only to freeze in place when he floats back into view, coat swirling around him as the wind rushes past his narrow body.

"What the...how are you doing that?!"

Incredulous, I rush to the edge, looking over it as if to check if he's standing on something, only to look back up at him when I don't see anything.

"Practice. Come on, you can float, too." He grins, coming closer. I smirk at the IT reference, edging forwards, taking his outstretched hands, only to feel confused when he bats them away, his arms wrapping around my waist securely. As he does so, I suddenly feel the ground melt away from under my feet, a squeak of fear escaping me before I look up into his pale face, laughing as a sudden rush of exhilaration course through me, my own hands coming up to rest against the hard planes of his chest. He grins at me happily, slowly releasing his grip on me, whooping out loud when I manage to float on my own, only to grab hold of me again when I waver unsteadily, tipping towards the ground.

"Come on, let's get you some blood." He promises, twisting around and gesturing for me to hold onto his back, before swiftly flying off in the direction of Santa Carla, an exhilarated scream escaping me. In no time, we're circling around the dark alleys and back roads of the small coastal town, swiftly locating a group of three people, who look hopelessly lost.

"Just drop down on them, and let loose." Dvaid encourages me, going nearer to the group.

Taking this into account, I release his back and fall to the floor, dropping right on top of one of them, my instincts taking over as my fangs break past my lower lip, slicing into the soft skin even as I tear into the available skin of my first victim. Blood spurts up into my waiting mouth, a ravenous moan escaping me as I clasp the person closer to me, relishing in the terrified shrieks of their friends, easily drinking my first victim dry. Throwing them aside, I stalk over to the others, who are paralyzed in fear, grabbing one and sinking my teeth into their soft skin, enjoying the sensation of the delicious life force flowing from them to me. Too soon, they die in my arms, allowing me to easily drop them and move on, finishing off the last one in no time.

As I finish, David drops from the sky, eyeing me closely, as if expecting me to attack him, too. When I don't, he comes closer, grinning from ear to ear, lifting a hand up to my face to wipe a trickle of blood away from the corner of my mouth, bringing the digit to his lips, licking the red substance off of it, the action making me feel oddly hot around the collar, despite the fact that the hunger is still rife in my mind, body still yearning for more. Swiping my tongue over my chin, I try to force it down, feeling my features slowly morphing back into their natural state, the fangs protruding from my gums sinking back into normal sized teeth, a groan of both satisfaction and dissatisfaction leaving me at the thought of having to stop now.

"Don't worry, kitten, we'll get you some more-" David goes to reassure me, only to suddenly be cut off as something explodes by his head, a familiar cloud of mist encasing him. Surprised, the vampire growls in pain, hands lifting to his face, rubbing at his now-bloodied skin, eyes flashing yellow in the fog of white moisture, the agonized groans he emits distressing me.

"David?! David, are you ok?!" I move to go and help him, only to flinch back when the vampire pushes me away again, voice strangled.

"I-I'm fine...damn...hunters again...get out of here!" He commands, twisting away from me. Annoyingly, I feel conflicted, part of me wanting to stay and help him, the other wanting to obey his words. It's only when he snarls another "Go!" at me that I turn and leave the area, biting my lip as I run around the corner.

As I do so, I hear an unfamiliar, distinctly female, voice start speaking to David, the words unclear as I start remembering something one of the hunters from the night before said, when they first tried to stake me:

"Wait till the girls find out they missed this."

These must be the girls he was talking about; vengeful girlfriends out to kill their boyfriends' killers. Peeking back around the corner, I nearly gasp as I see David on his knees, a woman pushing him down with a foot on his back, another standing before him with a stake poised over his head. At the moment, they seem caught up in some sort of joint speech, which gives me some time to figure out how to help, an idea swiftly forming in my head.

Looking around, I spot a pipe running up the side of the building near me, which I go over to, testing its stability. Inhaling, I start using it to pull myself up, my new strength allowing me to easily scale the building, ignoring the worrying creaking sounds that it emits as I heave myself onto the roof. Catching my breath, I race over to where I have a view of the alley below, my eyes swiftly finding the three people below. Standing straighter, I relax my muscles and concentrate on feeling light, straining to get myself up into the air, hopelessness starting to flood me as I feel the roof below me remain where it is.

For a minute, nothing happens, my feet staying firmly in place, until I let out an annoyed sigh, at which point i suddenly feel weightless, the slates under my shoes falling away as I open my eyes and look down, smiling briefly as I notice I'm a good few feet off the surface. Determined, I tilt myself forward a little, moving so I'm in line with the prone figure of my so-called mate, lowering myself somehow until I'm just out of sight. David struggles again, hissing as the girl with her foot on his back pours a liquid down the back of his coat, briefly distracting her, giving me the opportunity I need. I drop down, grabbing the stake-wielding hunter around the waist and pulling her upwards, my fangs instantly finding their purchase around her throat, tearing out her oesophagus and trachea with a horrible ease, the blood filling my mouth deliciously as her strangled screams fade into nothing.

Pulling away, I look down to see the other hunter glancing around, a stake now held in one hand as she tries to figure out where I am, pulse audible from here. Grinning sadistically, I allow the body in my arms to fall to the floor below, thudding loudly against the pavement, blood making a paint-like splash on the otherwise unstained tarmac, the sound drawing the hunter's attention away from David, a low gasp of air escaping her, before it breaks off into a pained scream when David suddenly jumps up to tear her heart from her back. As the blood erupts out of the now-limp body, i slowly manage to lower myself to the floor, wiping my chin on my sleeve as he looks at me in shock and gratitude. Noticing this, I make eye contact with him, smiling proudly.

"Goddamn hunters." Is all I say, mimicking him from earlier.

All he does is chuckle thankfully, sweeping me up into his arms, pressing me against his chest. Smiling, I wrap my arms around him, glad to have finally found someone to help me through this.

[cornfields-and-bad-dreams]

For @cyans-stardust

Summary: On a rainy day Geoff remembers a few moments with Michael and Gavin.

Word count: 1,666

Rating: PG-13

Geoff sat by the window sipping at his coffee, it was a quiet day, rainy but calm.  The perfect day to do nothing.  The only other people in the penthouse were Michael and Gavin, the two of them sat in the living room playing Mario Kart.  Geoff watched them out the corner of his eye, laughing to himself when Michael freaks out at another loss.

"You've got to be cheating, did Matt teach you his secrets?"

Geoff peered out at the rain again, his mind wandering to the memory of his first encounter with the two men.

The rain came down in sheets, you could barely see a foot in front of you.  Geoff trudged down the street umbrella in hand.  Hardly anyone was out walking in that weather but Geoff had started out when it was only a drizzle, so now he was stuck in the torrential rain.  All of a sudden Geoff was dragged into an ally and shoved up against a wall.  The barrel of a gun was pointed at his face, Two young men stood in front of him drenched by the rain, one holding the gun the other holding him against the wall.

"Give us your wallet."  The man restraining him ordered.

"Or else." The second man added.

Geoff could tell the two weren't from Los Santos, one spoke with an east coast accent the other an English one.  Even through the rain, Geoff could tell their clothes were old and worn with various holes and patches.  It was obvious that these were desperate men.

"You don't have to do this you know.  There are other options."

The English man seemed confused while the other scoffed, his face scrunching up with anger.

"What do you know?  Just give us your fucking money."

Geoff remained calm, it certainly wasn't the first time he'd been held at gunpoint.

"I know a lot more than you'd think.  I've been where you are, broke and desperate, trying anything I can to stay afloat.  I've done things I regret, hurt people who didn't deserve it, but I was able to find solid ground, to climb my way up from the bottom.  I didn't do it alone, and you don't have to either."

"Shut up." The man holding him let go with one hand and brought it back in a fist, striking Geoff across his face. "You don't know us, you don't know anything."

Through the rain, it was hard to tell but Geoff knew that the man was crying.

"Michael."  His friend spoke softly lowering the gun.

"I can help you.  If you'll let me."

Geoff wasn't a good samaritan, he was far from it, Geoff was the Kingpin, one of the baddest men in the city.  He ran an empire of crime the likes of no one had ever seen, but deep down he was a good person, even if others didn't see it.  And at that moment Geoff felt sorry for the two men before him.

"And what's in it for you?"  Micheal asked.

"You come to work for me.  That's all, I'll provide you a place to live, food, money, and anything else you need."

"What kinda job is it?"  The Englishman asked.

"I'm in the crime business myself, but on a much grander scale.  You work for me and we'll be going after people who deserve it."

Michael's grip loosened, as he took a step back.

"Why are you offering us this?"

"As I said before, I've been where you are now.  I know what it's like.  This city is unforgiving, so someone has to be."

The two men looked at each other then back to Geoff.

"I'm Michael, this is Gavin."  He gestured to the other man

"Geoff."

"What now?" Gavin asked.

"Let's get you, boys, to your new home."

Geoff finished his coffee and made his way into the kitchen.  Pouring himself another cup he listened to the two men in the living room.

"Michael boy, why'd you do that to me?"

"Cause I want to win dumbass."

Gavin made a sad noise as Michael laughed.  Geoff's thought drifted off to a different memory.

It was early Saturday morning, Geoff paced back and forth in the penthouse living room, Jack stood nearby biting at her nails.

"They should be back by now, when was the last time you saw them again?"  Geoff asked the younger man on the couch.

Jeremy jumped at Geoff's sudden words, looking up he stammered a moment before answering.

"We were at the bar.  I called it quits a little before midnight, but they wanted to stick around till the last call.  I got a voice message from them around 2 though.  They sounded alright then."

It was nearly 6 AM, Michael and Gavin hadn't made it back to the penthouse and everyone was getting on edge, especially Geoff.

"Maybe they crashed at one of the safe houses,"  Jack suggested.

"Or maybe they got picked up by the police, or they had some kind of accident.  Anything could have happened to them."  Geoff was officially freaking out.

"I know that, but I'm trying to think positively.  We can't just jump to the worst."  Jack was starting to get defensive.

Geoff picked up his phone again and tried to call Gavin.  The phone just rang and rang as it had been for hours now, finally clicking over to the voicemail.  Geoff threw his phone down cracking the screen.

"Geoff!  You need to calm down, getting worked up like this isn't going to help."  Jack placed their hand on Geoff's shoulder giving it a light squeeze.

Geoff breathed heavily as he stared at his phone.  He knew Jack was right but he couldn't calm down.  Michael and Gavin, his boys, were missing, but there was nothing he could do.  He was scared.

All of a sudden Geoff's phone began to ring, Michael's contact photo popped up on the cracked screen.  Geoff dove for the phone answering the call.

"Michael, where the hell are you guys?  Are you okay?"

A laugh could be heard on the other end, one that was very obviously not Michael or Gavin's.  Geoff's blood ran cold.

"Who is this?"

Jack took a step forward and Jeremy bolted off the couch at those words.

"You can call me Mr. Cunningham.  You've probably figured this out by now, but I have something of yours, two somethings to be exact.  Say hello boys."  The last bit was fainter as he was speaking to someone away from the phone.

Michael and Gavin's voices could be heard calling Geoff's name asking for help, the two sounded tired and broken.  Geoff was frozen for a moment as he processed everything, finally able to move he clenched his fist and growled into the phone.

"I don't know who you think you are but you are going to pay for this.  I'll give you one chance to hand over my boys peacefully, if you refuse there will be trouble."

"Oh Mr. Ramsey, you're not the one with the upper hand here, you don't get to make demands.  If you want your boy's back you're gonna have to do as I tell you, or else."

The sound of a gunshot could be heard in the background followed by a cry of pain from Gavin, Michael's voice could also be heard in protest.

"What do you want."  Geoff gritted his teeth.

Geoff's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of Michael cheering in victory and Gavin's bemoaning of loss.  It was probably for the best anyway, thinking about such things wasn't good for anyone.

Making his way into the living room, Geoff plopped down on the couch in between the two men.

"Mind if I watch?"

"Always great to have an audience," Gavin replied.

"Yeah sure, just don't distract me." Michael joked.

Leaning back Geoff watched as another round was started, and once again Geoff was reminded of another memory.

It had been a week since they got Michael and Gavin back, Geoff was still a bit on edge after the whole ordeal, but he kept reminding himself to stay calm for the guys' sake.

Geoff was sitting on the couch flipping through the channels when Gavin came in.  He was still limping from the bullet he'd taken in the foot.  He made his way over to the couch and stood next to Geoff a moment before speaking.

"Do you mind, if I sit here with you?"  Gavin's voice was soft, far from his usual energetic tone.

"Of course you can sit with me."

Gavin smiled a bit and came to rest beside Geoff.  After a moment Michael entered the room, passing through to the kitchen Geoff watched out the corner of his eye as Michael poked around before coming back to stand behind the couch.

"What are you watching?"  Michael's tone was quiet and tired, far from his typical loud and boisterous tone.

"Just channel surfing at the moment, trying to find something to watch,"  Geoff replied.

"Ah.  Can I, sit with you too?"  Michael was hesitant to ask.

"Of course, the more the merrier." Geoff patted the empty space next to him.

Michel made his way around the couch and sat next to Geoff.  The three men sat together as Geoff continued to scan through the channels.  Slowly the two men beside him began to move in closer until they were fulling resting against him.  Of course, Geoff didn't mind, in fact, he quite enjoyed having his boys so close.  After finding something to watch and staying on one channel for a while Gavin spoke.

"Thanks, Geoff."

"For what?"

"Everything."

"Yeah, we really appreciate you," Michael added.

"I appreciate you guys too."

Geoff wrapped his arms around the two men giving them a tight hug.

Geoff smiled, spending time with his boys was his favorite thing to do.  Whether it be sitting on the couch or causing a bit of chaos.  His crew was his family and he loved his family.

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Thought on the Writing Process

Most people have been taught, usually in an English or creative writing class, that the writing process is roughly as follows:

1.    Brainstorm

2.    Outline

3.    Write your first draft

4.    Edit/Rewrite

5.    Write your second draft

6.    Lather/Rinse/Repeat

7.    Write your final draft

8.    Publish

In theory, yes, this is generally how one gets from idea to finished product. Generally. Unfortunately, newbie writers see this as law rather than guidelines. This leads to questions like, “Is it ok to edit before you finish your first draft?”, because, according to The Writing Process(TM), editing must follow drafting. On the flip side, there are those who reject parts of the processes entirely, not just for themselves, but for everyone, saying things like “Outlines kill creativity”, because, you can't revisit and tweak your outline, because outlines must precede all other parts of writing except brainstorming because that's how it is in The Writing Process.

Of course, if you’ve been writing long enough, particularly if you’ve written drastically different stories, you know why these ideas fall short. Simply put, there is no one writing process; there is only your writing process. And that process is whatever works for you.

I would even say that you can have different processes for different books. In Styx, I jumped from brainstorming to drafting with no outline. Once I had finished my WIP and started editing, I used very sketchy outlines of what I had already written and where I wanted things to go to aid in rewrites. I continued brainstorming, known in professional circles as “daydreaming”, until I finished the whole series. My writing process is not linear; most of the individual parts exist side-by-side as I go.

But the Alternate-History/Fantasy/Mystery WIP has a totally different genre, setting, tone, and target audience from Styx, so it makes sense that it’s not going to come together in the same way. Happily, it is coming together, though.

I've discussed my outlining phase before, so let's look at how I wrote my prologue and chapter one. My hope in sharing my method (and madness) with you is to dispel some “hard and fast” ideas—i.e. myths—about how one "should" begin a book.

To preface this examination, I must reiterate that I have begun three books, and a novella, and yet still find writing the first chapter to be an agonizing ordeal. It’s a whole new voice and set of characters, and it’s hard for me. But I did it. And if I can do, anyone can.

Myth one: You must “just sit down and write”.

I don’t think I need to explain how much I hate this “advice”, which is generally said in a holier-than-though tone, like “I, a hard worker, can just sit down and write; I needn’t wait for inspiration like you lazy plebeians.” Bully for you, mate, but the rest of us find staring at a screen a hopeless and depressing endeavor.

No, I did not “just sit down and write,” though I wanted to. I felt, around mid-July, that I probably knew enough about my story to start. “Any day now,” I thought. “Any day now…” And then, I was in the shower (one of the best places for brainstorming, as I’m sure you know), and it came to me: a prologue, fully-formed like some Greek god springing from the appendage of another Greek god. This was how I would begin my book. “It’s time,” I thought.

And it was.

Myth two: Don’t worry about editing the first chapter until the draft of the whole book is done.

After writing a pretty rad prologue, if I do say so myself (and I do), I began chapter one. And it dragged. I was putting way too much detail and backstory for so early in the book, introducing too many characters, and saying too much about the setting. It was heavy. It was monstrous. It had to change.

I see first chapters as the foundation that the rest of a story stands on, or the trunk of the tree from which the rest of a story grows. It needn’t be perfect, but it needs to also not fail hard out the gate.

So I brainstormed. How could I trim the fat, while still having my character flying into the city the book is set in (because the flying scene was key). Could I also be lazy, I wondered, and avoid researching the type of plane the military might use to transport this character from the battlefield to the city?

Laziness won out. I realized I could change the timing of the scene. The character had already returned from battle, sat at home for a couple weeks pre-story, and is now, in chapter one, on her way to the city on a comfy commercial airline (which also lets me add some details about the time period: did you know that everyone smoked like a chimney even on airplanes in the 60s? Cause they did!). Problem solved.

Myth three: Just throw writing out there; it doesn’t have to make sense

This is related to Myth 2, but I still need to address it, because my problems weren’t quite solved. Though the first chapter flowed much better now, it was flowing straight toward a Grand-Canyon-sized plot hole!

I knew two things:

1.    My two MCs, Constance and Cherry, must become roommates at least by the end of chapter 2 for the rest of the book, nay the series, to work

2.    There is a very good reason for Cherry, knowing what she knows about Constance’s situation, to not want her as a roommate.

Theoretically, and according to popular advice, I should just throw the writing out there or skip this part and worry about it later, but I couldn’t do that. First of all, Constance and Cherry’s growing friendship is a large part of the theme and plot, so it would be weird to not know how it started. I needed to see them decide to move in together. I wanted to know how it all began.

Second, and more importantly, this wouldn’t just be a plot hole, but the mother of all plot holes from which rifts in the story would be berthed! When I say Cherry has a “good reason” for not wanting a roommate in Constance’s situation, I mean a reason that relates to the plot of the entire series, the villain’s motivation, the setting, and, well, everything. If I didn’t fix this hole, the entire story could come crashing down at any point. Again, first chapters are a foundation, and mine was shaky.

What to do… Well, why not return to my outline? I had a rough sketch of how the first book in the series was going to go, the vaguest idea of the plot for the second one, and only the beginning and ending of the third. I had been wanting to outline the arcs of the main characters and villains in each book, and now seemed like a decent time to do this.

I outlined Constance’s arc, with a big, blank, circled area that said “Moves in with Cherry for some reason???”, and left it at that. I then outlined her coming to terms with her backstory, and learning secrets about Cherry, and conflict, and so on. So far, no ideas.

I started outlining Cherry, from her backstory, and what she’s investigating (she is a detective, by the by), and how this leads to an eventual conflict with Constance, which had always kind of bugged me… and then everything fell into place. This thing that she knew—that thing that would make it weird for her to invite Constance into her home?—turns out that there isn’t any reason for her to know it at the beginning of book one. Literally no reason.

So now, she can become roommates freely and easily, then learn this terrible thing by the end of the book, and her and Constance dealing with this fact is a major part of the second book. I even figured out something about the climax of book 1 because I would now have o explain Cherry’s learning of this terrible fact.

So, because I desperately needed things to make sense and did not just throw writing out there, I came up with a more organic conflict for my characters, a plot for Book 2, a key part of the Book1 climax, and fixed the initial plot hole. Not too shabby!

Conclusion

So that’s my process: a continual spiral of drafting and brainstorming and outlining and rewriting and drafting and so on. You probably have a different process, and that’s fine.

I know that this may not actually help anyone start their own books, because it’s not exactly advice, but that’s the point. There is no magic formula that can make you write a good book, or even a good first chapter. You just have to find what works for you, wether that’s daydreaming for three months and then punching out a novel in a few weeks, or forcing yourself to write every day, or writing when inspiration strikes.

Too often, I believe writers focus on the “how” of writing and forget the “why”. You’re not writing to produce a book the “correct” way, nor are you writing to get as many words down as possible. You are writing in order to tell your story. As long as your process lets you do that, then it is the only writing process you need.

[disruptivebychoice]

12/16/2020

My pain sits heavy, one not worth believing. I land on a spectrum where differentiating reality’s darkness and purpose for living gets lost in translation because the heightened emotions of each, come and go but not as I please. When one hits, I want to leave. When the other, I can achieve anything. The problem is, what is the reason for either? Am I after approval, am I after success, am I after death? I think I’m just wanting things to make sense. I don’t just feel I am an outcast; I know I am. Sometimes I like this, it means I’m different, unique and my own. 

But with coping my mind finds another route until my own met the end where there was no bend, just through.

I think I met my breakthrough today because my mind ran out of ways to hide. Hiding the truth that I play two parts, entirely blind. My mind knows when another is around, I blame empathy for that. Maybe a sixth sense, I just know beforehand it’s time to change my face. I can’t let someone see the darkness, that would be intense. So, with pretending I go to my happy place. Cheery, change of voice, but then it stays. My mind thinks this is great, I am capable of so much, my potential is through the roof. I’m motivated let’s change the world. But later this shatters to the ground as my walls come down and I’m left coming up with each and every idea to neglect what’s actually real. I’ve gone through so much creation of fake, take me away that I can’t even face. What’s staring back at me. I battle an ordeal with strategy, analyzing and reasoning but it’s not what you’d think, it’s my own mind protecting me by changing subject matter, sometimes thinking of others. Mostly forgetting about myself because it’s always been easier this way, I never understood why but it’s teasing. My own being knew that this was heartbreaking and when you’ve been broken time and time again it leaves me blank. With everything unspoken because it just can’t. I’ve always been a runner, most people know this about me. Things get hard, people get too close, feelings intense and I’m out. New place, new me, a chance for no one to actually see what I’m blind to, subliminally. I’ve been living a labyrinth while writing it, but not fully grasping the meaning of why that word plays again and again in my mind followed with I don’t belong, no one understands. I can’t even understand so clearly no one else can. A labyrinth is powerful because in the process I get lost a lot, then find hope as I turn the page, or the figurative corner. I think I’ve got this, I'm finding my way out, impossible is bullshit. I’m limitless. I’ve found a new plan, a new way to neglect. This is perfect. Soon enough truth finds me again at a wall where it’s time to strategize and coordinate. I must be articulate. But I ran out. And found myself in a darkened corner, wings tattered and a bond that I didn’t know was apart, the mind from the heart. I grasped what this darkness had meant, it had been pretending and thinking what’s right, from what was Keri g me from reaching new heights. I tried blaming others, I tried blaming me, but blaming me made the hatred stronger and now that I’m here I feel fear. Fear that this understanding is something I can’t stand, that I’ll stay on this ground allowing myself to forget what I just learned, thinking it’s an illness that I can magically say this is and be prescribed more meds. But I don’t want to be a zombie, I also don’t want to neglect what I’m feeling because I see it clearly. I am one but I have darkness but a power to make light when it comes to others seeing, never for myself believing. I make contact with another and it’s game on. Fake face let’s go. This confused my mind all along. I’ve never been truly happy for me, only doing so for what I thought was to protect others, but really it was to hide my own being, the hatred, the disgust, the suppressed. I kept myself safe by making sure others knew I was okay but as I did the dissociation continued and ran. Separating further and further and that’s why blank just fit in perfectly. No feeling because the background was unseeing and I couldn’t hear the mastermind behind the scenes, the one counting everything to perfection because if I can track it, I can manipulate the thoughts pattern and ensure I have no time to actually find what it is that’s been hiding. Maybe this is confusing, maybe this will make understanding. These are words but to me there more because I get it now… yet now I am in Fear but I’m not afraid. I will face this person that is me, the darkest parts the destruction the girl I had allowed myself blind because of the fight, the war in my mind. I will fall, I have been breaking, but the point of a break-through is that even when the world crashes and breaks, and it feels like more than I can take- I power through. I continue and I never give up on me. Entirely. At the end of the day when I’m taking it all in it isn’t to reflect on the day it’s been to deflect from what has always been, and now I know I don’t want it to stay but the only way is to continue, break the mold break the breakthrough because I deserve to. I deserve to. I am enough. This time, I’m calling the part of me that doesn’t think this is worth it, and saying fuck you, we’re in it together and it’s me. All of it. Against the world and I can’t wait to see the other side and the opposite come together as one. A powerhouse. 

But then again, maybe I’ll go back and just pretend.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.22

Channeling his outer age instead of his inner, Lance let his manners go out the window somewhere after his third glass of wine. Each glass was technically two glasses, so now he had a nice pleasant buzz going on as he sat on his kitchen counter with Blue. He’d totally been a “Debby Downer”, and if he wasn’t kind of still having a slightly premature midlife crisis, he would have invited Hunk over to hang with him and Keith... Right. Like he could do that. What was he supposed to tell Hunk if he suddenly like sneezed and turned into a bat? God... What if he couldn’t jerk off anymore and what if he turned into a bat when he tried? Wait... when was the last time he tried to jerk off? Fuck... He couldn’t remember.

“Laaaaance? Are you even fucking listening?”

Keith looked grumpy, glaring at the pizza base before him. Keith wasn’t quite ready for the whole pizza from scratch experience, so Lance had grabbed a few bases much to the disgust of Hunk

“Sorry. I completely zoned out. What’s up?”

“I asked you what the hell I’m supposed to do with this thing?”

Keith had barely spread the sauce across the base. Trying to get the woodfired oven on had been the easiest part of the whole ordeal. Keith really loved setting shit on fire. Shiro was now in even deeper shit over the things he hadn’t taught his brother, and for apparently raising an anger loaf that was also a pyromaniac

“You want to put about twice the amount of sauce on the base. Then you put the cheese on. You gotta put the cheese on the bottom because it’s like the glue that sticks your toppings down”

Keith reached out, plucking the wine glass out of Lance’s hand

“No more until you’ve had dinner”

“But...”

“Nope. If I have to cook, you have to tell me what the fuck I’m doing”

Ugh. Stupid Keith. He was ruining Lance’s budding buzz. Scooching Blue away, Lance slid himself off the counter, to move behind Keith

“Now what are you doing?”

Rolling his eyes at the hunter, Lance grabbed the squeezie bottle of pizza sauce around him

“I told you. You need more sauce. Here, I’ll squeeze and you spread”

“Don’t day that again?”

“What? Squeeze and spread?”

Keith huffed at him in annoyance. This was probably the closest they’d been in their human forms. Keith was between his arms, his heart was racing, as Lance teased him by standing right behind him

“That. You’re supposed to be the mature one here”

“Ah, young grasshopper. I’m slightly, a bit, maybe, tipsy. And I may also sound like a douche right now, but Shiro should have taught you how to make pizza. How do you live in Rome, and not know how to make a damn pizza? I feel like someone in Italy just died”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Yep. But you asked what to do. Spread he sauce across the base, then add the cheese”

Squeezing the bottle too hard, the lid popped off, sauce going pretty much everywhere in the immediate radius

“You did that on purpose?! Can’t you just be normal?!”

Keith saw red, Lance stepping out of his personal space with his hands up in surrender

“I swear that wasn’t on purpose. Take your shirt off, I’ll put it in to soak”

“There’s washing machine...”

That there was. But Lance hadn’t said to strip and chuck his shirt in the wash

“I know that. That’s why I said I’d put it in to soak”

“I know how to soak a shirt. Whatever. This is pointless.. You can’t even take this seriously”

Lance’s mood began to fall. He hadn’t meant to piss Keith off. He’d honestly squeezed too hard by accident... Now he felt like a dick. Drunk Lance was a tad obnoxious

“You’re right. I can’t even control how hard I squeeze a plastic bottle, how am I supposed to teach you anything when I’m like this? Go put your shirt in to soak, I’ll clean this up”

“What... but...”

“You don’t have to pretend Keith. It’s fine. For the foreseeable future it’s your home too. You don’t have to go along with the things I say. I thought it might be fun, but I messed it up. I’ll be in my office for the rest of the night. Make sure you eat. Don’t worry about the mess... I’ll deal with it when I’ve calmed down”

*

Whatever that was, Keith was kind of sure he’d been the one who’d messed up. He’d thought Lance was genuinely mocking him when he stood behind all weirdly, and popped the bottle of pizza sauce everywhere. He’d made pizzas with Shiro before, but those had the sauce and cheese already on the base, and he wasn’t actually that keen on pizzas that seemed to swim in sauce. He wasn’t even really that mad about his shirt, considering it was black. They’d kind of had a moment where he thought things might be okay. He’d noticed Lance frowning at his wine glass, and thought dragging him out of his thoughts was the right thing to do. Now he’s gone and fucked up. Lance had fled from him.

Staring at the sauce, Keith nodded to himself. Lance might think he hated him, and he didn’t want that... not that he liked Lance, but they were stuck together and the man seemed pretty high strung, despite the way he was acting. He could totally make pizza for dinner... Alone. Unsupervised. He wasn’t some kid who knew nothing. The toaster had totally eaten his toast and was to blame went it went up in flames. He could do this. He was going to do this and Lance was going to eat pizza because fuck him and his overdramatic arse.

Scraping the sauce onto another base, Keith left a trail of mess as he figured things out. He didn’t know what herbs went on pizza, yet he didn’t have to when the herb jars came labelled and one conveniently said “Pizza Herbs”. Herbs were spilt, Blue leapt up to eat the cheese and diced ham that went the same way as the herbs. He didn’t know how Lance felt about garlic, but a few cloves wound up on both their pizzas all the same. Yeah. He could totally do this. His skill left much to be desired, but Keith was quietly proud as he slid both pizzas into the oven... both way too loaded, with toppings that’d slid into the middle as he moved them.

Waiting until it looked done, Keith had nothing else to do but play with Blue. She was cute, and she didn’t seem to have the same attitude as her owner. Licking sauce off her paw, her little tongue poked out as Keith interrupted her grooming by wiping his hand over the crumbs on the bench, knocking some onto the floor in his attempt to “clean up”. Maybe he should get a pet? Something to wait for him when he got home... He wouldn’t mind a cat like Blue, secretly feeling black cats were the best despite what people might say with their silly superstitions. Distracted by Blue and the crumbs, Keith swore as he smelt something burning, Blue jumping off the counter and running out the kitchen as if he’d insulted everything she’d held dear by semi-yelling “fuck!”.

The pizzas weren’t cremated. Slightly black around the edges, with the cheese in the middle kind of weirdly unmelted but golden enough to pass as done. He didn’t need Lance to tell him what to do. He’d done it all by himself, like the 26 year old man he was. Now all he had to do was plate up... after he reclaimed his pizzas from the oven. Shiro always did them in a normal oven, pulling the pizza out by the side of the crust, having pushed them further back, Keith didn’t fancy getting burned on the flat metal trays built into the wood oven. His go to were tongs... succeeding in ripping the crust, meaning he had to try pull them out by hand... burning his fingertips as he did. That didn’t matter. He’d proved Lance wrong by creating two edible pizzas and he was pretty damn proud. Keith wanted to try out his new camera to photograph his kitchen triumph, but he also wanted to wait until after dinner when he could crash out on the lounge and explore its features properly...

Keith came to a stop, realising what he’d been thinking. He was... first he called this place “home”, now he was making plans to spend the evening binging horror movies as he played with his camera... He was far too comfortable here... What would Lance think if he made himself at home? Would be happy? Or would he be interrupting Lance’s night by taking over the TV? Lance wasn’t in a great place... Crap. What if he’d turned back into a bat? Would he be mad if Keith ate his pizza? Maybe if he cut them up and served them on two plates in the living room, it wouldn’t be weird for Keith to eat Lance’s share? If he was a bat, he could sit on the coffee table and nibble around the edges... Shit... The hunter’s hand itched to grab his phone out so he could call Shiro for help... Buuuuut... Shiro would be cranky if he called him over the best way to casually rub Lance’s face in the fact he’d made dinner. His brother might not even believe he’d been the one who cooked... Fuck. Okay. He could do this. It was pizza night with Shiro, only Lance was Shiro, and he wasn’t that great of a stand in... but the principle of the night was the same. Beer, pizza, horror movies...

*

Setting up things in the living room, Keith pulled up Netflix, leaving the remote conveniently close. He’d moved Lance’s glass of red wine and blood next to one of the pizzas, and uncapped his beer beside his own. Trying to cut through the slices with the pizza cutter hadn’t worked, just like those stupid wheels never worked the other hundred times he’d tried. Running his fingers through his hair, he felt king of nervous. He wanted to do a nice thing, kind of... Plus he hadn’t destroyed Lance’s kitchen in the process, so that definitely earned him extra brownie points. Now he just had to disturb Lance and hope he wasn’t about to be attacked for doing so.

Knocking on Lance’s office door, the vampire didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Slightly miffed that Lance was being so petty, he threw it open and succeeding in scare the crap out of him. Leaning back in his chair, Lance had some weird green goo covering his face, his ears covered with headphones... or rather, that’d been the way it’d been before he’d scared Lance badly enough he’d fallen out of his chair

“Jesus! What the hell, man?!”

Stifling a laugh, Keith sucked in his lips, Lance collecting himself up as he slid his headphones down. It was time to drop that bomb

“I made dinner”

Lance pursed his lips, brow wrinkled as he paused pushing himself up

“You should come grab something to eat. We’re having dinner in front of the TV”

Lance tilted his head to the left. The position he was in didn’t look comfortable

“You made dinner?”

“You don’t need to sound so shocked”

“But I messed things up”

“Not everything revolves around your actions. Whatever. You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to”

“What? No. Dude. I mean... I didn’t think... You cooked?”

Lance didn’t seem as impressed as Keith had hoped, he seemed more dubious over the quality of the food. Now Keith felt kind of annoyed he’d mentally made a big deal of it

“Pizza, beer, and movies... Shiro and I tried to do it when we could”

“You and Shiro cooked?”

Keith wished he had something he could throw at Lance. He didn’t need to sound so damn shocked. Cross his arms, the hunter’s voice held the strong tone of a pout

“We’re not useless. It’s not that hard to put some stuff on a pizza and bake it. If you’re going to keep making a deal of it, then you can make your own dinner”

“I didn’t say you were useless. I’m surprised seeing I was a total dick”

“You weren’t a dick. I thought you were making fun of me until I remembered that you can’t actually control your strength that well at the moment, not that the wine helped. I’m heading back to the living room, you do whatever you want”

“Dude, I’m totally there. Give me a tick to wash this stuff off, then I’ll be all good to go”

That right there was why he couldn’t keep up with Lance. That sudden change in upward mood wasn’t something he was used to. Most hunters had seen too much shit to be that happy, ever. Now his whole damn face was lit up, like Keith had given him some great gift. Fucked if Keith knew what it was meant to be, and fucked if he was going to waste brain power figuring it out.

Heading back to the living room, Keith flopped down on the sofa with a satisfied groan. Blue watching it his every move judgmentally from her spot on the tv cabinet as Keith forced himself up to retrieve his pizza and his beer, slumping back then noticing the remote laying on the table, the bastard out of reach. Keith rubbed at his face with his right hand, before leaning forward again to snag the remote. There wasn’t anything in particular he had in mind, more after background noise so fill in the gaps when Lance clammed up. Keith could see it now. He’d ask, Lance would say “after dinner”, then the chance to talk would slip away. Sliding out a piece of ham, Blue came flying, straight up into Keith’s lap with both paws on his leg as she craned upwards for the tasty treat

“Don’t tell you father”

“Don’t tell me what? Blue, are you conning food out again?”

Blue was on her third tiny square of ham as Lance shuffled in, he’d changed into his pyjamas, slippers scuffing on the wooden floor

“What was that?”

“I heard you telling her not to tell”

“Oh. She’s allowed ham, isn’t she?”

Keith couldn’t remember if it was cats or dogs who weren’t supposed to have ham

“Just a little bit. Wow, it looks good”

Keith went with the topic change, it was best to let Lance think he had his guard down

“Of course it does, I made it myself”

“You must have had a great teacher. What are we watching?”

“I was thinking something horror. Shiro and I like to point out everything they got wrong”

“Now you sound like Pidge. We only watch the b-grade stuff because Hunk gets scared”

Lance sidestepped his way between Keith and the coffee table, Keith realising he hadn’t put much space between them as he’d given his new camera a whole cushion space to itself

“Does Hunk gets scared often?”

“He has a healthy fear of everything that he needs to. He’s the biggest ball of warm feels in existence”

Lance sat himself down carefully, avoiding dropping down and causing Keith’s pizza to slide

“No one can be that nice”

“Hunk is. He would have come home tonight with me if I’d let him. He’s like chronically stuck in care bear mode. No one can be mad at Hunk, it’s like physically impossible”

Keith didn’t buy it. Everyone had that point they reached when all that was left was anger

“There had to be a time he got mad...”

Lance nodded as he leaned forward to grab his plate of pizza and what was left of his wine

“Yeah. But never without good reason, and he always faces his fears. He’s not too bad with spooky movies, but when you get into in the TV shows, he gets jumpy. Out of respect, we don’t watch a lot of squeamish things, you know, those movies they make filled with bloody scenes purely to have bloody scenes. I have so much respect for him”

Lance truly loved his friends. Keith could hear it in his words as plainly as he could see it on his face

“And Pidge?”

“She’d set the world on fire with a smile if you messed with her or anyone she loved. She’s fierce, but amazing. She’s like a super hacker, and she’s never met a piece of tech she hasn’t been able to make her bitch”

It must be nice to have friends like that. Friends that had your back for no reason other than the fact you were friends. Keith couldn’t say he knew that feeling, always feeling on the outside as everyone else moved on without him. He’d worked with other hunters, and had classes and training with other hunters, yet still felt insignificant. It scared him to think about what they’d say about him.

Lance settled back, elbowing him playfully as he did

“This really does look good. I didn’t mean to get sauce everywhere. I kind of lost it for a bit when I got back to my office. Now, if we’re watching some bad horror movie, please don’t pick anything with vampires. They always get it wrong”

“You’re not bloodsucking monsters that turn to ash in the sun?”

“Nope. Some of us are. I don’t”

Keith raised an eyebrow

“You don’t, what?”

“Turn into ash. I can see my reflection. I think maybe a stake to heart might kill me off, but I’m not 100 percent sure”

“You can walk around in the sun?”

“I can sun bake and everything. Plus, no sparkles bitches”

God’s love was found in the light. Vampires were supposed to be turn to dust because God had turned his back on them. Keith was a little dubious over the whole thing, but exorcists did exist, so there had to be something there

“I thought you’d love to be all sparkly”

“Nah. It’d draw too much attention. Younger me, maybe. Current me, not so much”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m old and cranky. I want to live as normally as possible. I don’t want to turn into a damn disco ball when all I want to do is enjoy a little bit of sun”

This guy had to be an idiot. Keith forcing himself not to gape. He wanted information on vampires, and now Lance had turned off his filter completely

“What else did they get wrong?”

“I firmly believed the whole “bat thing” was wrong until I went and turned into one. Garlic doesn’t really do much. I can eat human foods, but after about half an hour I need to use the bathroom. Blood... bags are good. I mean, I prefer them over anything fresh. As far as I know we don’t survive being burned to death, I know there’s a myth about turning into a bat and grave soil, but I’ve never tried it. Wounds we give ourselves sometimes take much longer to heal than something like being stabbed. Being immortal sucks arse. They got the rage and ego bit right. Silver’s not terrible. I show up on camera... I have super human senses, and can move faster than you’d think... I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know either”

Keith did. He wanted to know everything when it came to a human who’d been turned. He wanted to understand what Adam had been through in his final hours

“I do”

Lance raised his eyebrow at him, Keith wondering he’d been sprung for pushing him to talk

“I think you’d know more about being a vampire than I would. I was never one for clans and covens. I’ve met other vampires and honestly, they scared me. The first time I saw a vampire feed on a human pet, I threw up. The way they treated people... I couldn’t do it. Vampires have egos. Feeding that ego is a dangerous game. I know I’m probably not the only one who’s trying to live as normally as possible, but it makes it hard to reach out to anyone when they’re mostly douches. Werewolves are kind of the same, except it’s all about how strong they are. There’s pack leaders, but that’s only because that’s a human concept. There’s no alpha leader, instead there’s a pack leader. Some dick that always thinks they’re the greatest thing since the invention of the wheel. It’s fucked up and enough to drive you mad if you spend too long in that world”

Krolia had spent years in that world. Keith hadn’t even known what a legacy was when Shiro showed up in his life. He’d been a burden all his life since the death of his father. Shiro had opened a whole new world to him, had given him a home and a purpose to exist. They might not be biological brothers, but being biologically related to someone didn’t necessarily make them family. Family was something you built, sometimes from absolutely nothing at all. He didn’t know how to talk to his mother any more than he knew how to talk to Lance. For Krolia her duty always came first...

“Can I ask you something?”

“I thought we were past that”

“How did you get turned?”

Lance sighed heavily

“That’s not a great topic of conversation”

“I imagine it’s not... but...”

“You want to understand what happened to Adam. What he went through. I can’t tell you that. Only that he’s in a better place”

“He’s dead”

Nothing happened why you died... Keith couldn’t say he was convinced over this heaven and hell stuff...

“I’d rather be dead than risking the lives of those I love. Turning... it brings up a lot of memories that won’t leave me alone. Some humans take the turn willingly and I can’t for the life of me think why. Maybe if they had a kind sire, and you know, they had like absolutely no choice and I don’t know... but... it’s hard to talk about. Ten out of Ten would not recommend. I guess that makes me like that 1 dentist that never recommends shit”

Keith groaned deeply, dropping his head back and staring at Lance

“Why do you always do that? Deflect like that to humour?”

“Because some things are so fucked up thay if you don’t laugh you’re gonna fucking cry. It’s my unhealthy coping mechanism, like some people have smoking”

“It’s annoying. It makes it hard to like you”

Lance beamed at him, Keith had the feeling he was being mocked again

“Aw man, you like me!”

“Go fuck yourself”

“Eh, too much like effort. Who needs sex when you’ve got pizza. Thanks for this. I think I needed it”

“You’re welcome, but you can still go fuck yourself”

Lance had the nerve to wink at him

“Only if you go first”

Keith blushed red, spluttering some kind of loud squeak before promptly shutting up. Lance could suck his metaphorical dick.

[babyspiderling]

The Moonwalker and the Time-Traveler Prologue

California, 2020

 “Ms. L/N, I suggest you wake up for my class if you want to pass this course.” I blink up at my professor, it seems that I fell asleep during history class again. “I’m sorry Professor Berkley, I was up all last night with my roommate tinkering all night.” At that he softens, a grandfatherly look in his eye. “Oh Y/N, I understand, but if you truly want to be a history major, you have to stay awake! I will not simply give you a free pass while trying to adjust, just please, try to stay awake in my class.” Standing, I nod. “Yes sir. I’ll do my best.” After this, I am dismissed and head back to my dorm room to hopefully catch a nap. 

Kicking the door shut, I move to collapse onto my bed, but am blocked by whatever my engineering major roommate has built in the dorm for his latest project. “Seriously dude? Don’t you have a lab for this kind of stuff?” I kick off my shoes and do my best to move around it, finally, truly collapsing onto my bed. I fall asleep quickly, hopefully revisiting the dream I had during class. 

Lord knows how much later, I wake up to my roommate continuing to tinker on his project. Grumbling under my pillow, “Danny, don’t you have a lab for this shit? Why do you have to do it here, I’m sleeping in classes because of this!” He sheepishly lifts his head up to respond. “Uh, well, I uh… It’satimemachine.” Snapping my head up, I question “It’s a what?” Once again he looks shy and guilty. “It’s a, uh, Time Machine. Or at least that’s what I’m wanting it to be. I’m still working on it.” Well, I’m definitely awake now. “So, like, what’s the problem?” Finally putting down his tools, Danny turns to me, “It should work. I ran the simulations and used the one that worked. It’s just… not connecting I guess.” Glancing at the clock, it’s getting late. “Look Danny, I’m going to clean up some of my stuff. Go get some food. I know you haven’t eaten yet.” With a defeated sigh, Danny agrees and leaves the room. I slip into a pair of shorts and an old David Bowie tour shirt I had found at a thrift store. Picking up things here and there, folding abandoned pieces of laundry, I hum and bop around the room, dancing along to “Working Day and Night”, practicing turns and isolations to the beat. Taking a deep breath I prep and spin as fast and as long as I can, but my foot slips out from under me. I tumble to the floor, tripping over some cord. Oh well, it’s probably Danny's “mood lighting”, I plug it in and decide to check out the “Time Machine”. “Ground Control to Major Tom! Prepare for lift-off!” I press random buttons, dicking around and typing 1984, then some other buttons. “Huh, sucks it really doesn’t work. It’d be cool if you really could time travel.” Once again I trip over Danny’s junk on the floor of the project and slam into one last button I had yet to press. On the way down I hit my head, and the world went black as a whirring sound filled my ears. 

Waking up, I find myself in a room about the size of mine, decorated much like my side of the dorm, with a funky retro feeling to it. “Danny, this isn’t funny, I get it, I’m gullible for believing the machine was real. Now how the Hell did you change all this so quick… and get rid of the machine?” I continue searching the room for Danny, and realise that the sun had already risen hours ago. I may have been out for longer than I thought, and come crashing into a body. Awesome! Now I can really teach that boy a lesson for pulling that. “Hey, what are you doing in my dorm? Nice shirt by the way, I was at the Anaheim show a couple months ago. That’s where you got the shirt, right?” I blink at the guy my age, still processing the amount of denim and hair products he has decided to use for the day. “What? Oh, uh, my shirt. Wait, did you say you saw him in Anaheim a couple months ago? What year are you from?” He knits his brows together. “1984. Are you ok? Did you get a bad hit or something? Do I need to call someone for you?” I space myself from him, the stimulation of this whole situation too much. “No, no I’m ok. What’s today’s date?” His eyes are still filled with concern as he replies with January 26th 1984, and that I’m still at University of Redlands, just 36 years before I attend. “Wait, January 26th, why does that sound so familiar? I hear Beat It blare down the hall and I can practically see the light bulb above my head. “Do you know how to get to the Shrine Auditorium?” 

We zip down the highway on Tyler’s motorcycle, making a trip down to L.A. He had me explain my whole ordeal to him before he just drove me to a random concert venue. It took a bit to convince him, but the second I pulled my smartphone out he was on board. He pulls off to a strip mall and helps me dismount. “Wait, why are we at a mall? I need to get to that venue before security secures it.” He just rolls his eyes. “If you want to get in and stay in without too much attention, you need to look a little bit different. Time to fit in.” He drags me into store after store, and I finally piece together a “Bad” inspired outfit. A black crop top slips off one shoulder, leather pants pull tight around my legs and hips, a blood red leather jacket drapes my shoulders, and matching leather boots clutch my feet. “Tyler, this is too much. I can’t even pay you back.” He rolls his eyes and pays for the clothes, letting me keep my own hoops and rings. “Look, just meeting a time traveler is cool, dressing one is even better. When you get back home and you still want to pay me back, we’ll figure it out. Let’s get you to the moonwalker himself.” 

As we pull into the parking lot for the venue, there isn’t another soul in sight. “Hey, here’s my address, if you ever want to mail me, or just let me know that you’re doing ok.” He hands me a slip of paper, and I hug him tightly. “Thank you Tyler, I am forever in your debt. If you’re anywhere near the university in 2020, let me know.” With that, he rides back home into the sunset, and I sneak into the venue before security shows up. 

It’s a good thing I like the song Billie Jean, because I have heard it about 72 times in the last hour. During sound check alone I almost lost my mind, with just the baseline intro playing for 30 minutes. As I hear the cue from the director that it is time to actually film the commercial. I hear “Take One!” in the distance and I ditch my jacket behind a stack of crates, my phone hidden in the pocket. I find the side entrance of the stage as take 3 is anounced. I crouch down in a runners position at take 5, launching myself at take 6. Michael nears the pyrotechnic and I slam my body into his as it goes off, now missing him by inches. There are screams of terror and shock as we fly through the air, now spun so that I land on my back, Michael on top of me. His brothers quickly help him up and off of me as I am seized by security, doing my best to put as little weight on my now injured ankle as possible. I raise my hands in surrender, trying to think my way out of this. “Look! Look, I can explain all of this, including how I knew that this take wasn’t going to go well. Let me explain and I will never try to contact any of you again!” Everyone around me exchanges glances, deciding whether to trust me or not. Tito steps forward, his eyes full of scrutiny. “Alright girl, explain.” I sigh and grimace in pain. “I can’t do it out here. Too many people. And my evidence of my claims are in my jacket backstage.” He glances back at Michael, nodding in response to his younger brother. I am escorted backstage, am allowed to sit down to relieve my ankle, and I start my story. “I’m from the future, 36 years in the future to be a bit more specific. I’m not crazy.” Michael crouches down in front of me, “If you’re really a time traveler I would love to talk about the future with you!” He’s nudged and given a look from his older brothers, and his smile is dimmed a bit. “But if you’re from the future, wouldn’t you know songs I haven’t released yet?” I nod my head, but I get hit with the issue of Thriller already being released and the “Bad” sessions not yet started for at least another 6 months, if not more. I flip through the collection of Michael songs I know by heart, trying to find one he’s recorded but not yet released. “Oh! I know about “Love never felt so good”! The one you recorded with Paul Anka! I can sing it for you!” I start at the chorus, my brain too frazzled to remember it’s entirety. Everyone else who knows about the song exchanges looks, one brother even shouting questions of how I knew it. “It’s on my phone, and I’m from the future. All your music’s been released. Well, almost all of it. There’s still tracks from your upcoming session that I have yet to find. Here, I can show you.” Lifting myself from my seat, I reach to retrieve my jacket from behind the crates. Everyone watches me with baited breath, wanting to see what the time traveler will pull out next. I pull out my phone and search for the Xscape album. I press play on the original track and Michael's voice rings out from the speaker. I switch it up to “Working Day and Night”, what I was listening to before I got here. 

“Look, I can play you anything you’ve already recorded. I just can’t play you anything you haven’t done yet. Those are the rules.” Michael escorts me back to his dressing room to ask me questions about the future since I am no longer seen as crazy. “Are there flying cars ? What about people living in space? Are there aliens?” I giggle at his excitement. “Well, we do have people living in space, it isn’t commercialized yet, so you and I couldn’t go. We don’t have flying cars, but we do have self driving ones. And there are no known aliens yet. Music is accessible though. If I had any service in 1984, I could play you any song any time from anyone. I could listen to “Wanna be Startin Somethin’” for 3 days straight if I wanted to. All I’d have to do is type it in and press play.” His eyes sparkle in awe of the future. He opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Jermaine and another man enters the room before he can get a word out, “Come on Mike, we need to finish the commercial. This is an EMT we had on site, he’s here to fix her ankle.” As Michael leaves his seat, I grab his hand. “Please, don’t let them turn the pyrotechnics back on. Please.” He nods and pats my hand before leaving the room. The EMT removes my new boots and my ankle swells before my eyes, no longer constrained in the tight leather. We make small talk as he works until the commercial is done recording. 

[arahul-abyssia]

Flight

Nintember Story #4! ( @starprincesshlc , @jklantern ). There are many more stories in a world than the grandiose ones we are usually privy to, many of which may not even cross paths with the heroes or villains. Sometimes, viewing a comparatively mundane tale in a fantastical world is a nice change of pace.

(Also, update on the situation with these stories: This one’s going up late because my life has been rather chaotic recently, and I’ve decided that the next story will be the final one, encompassing the last ten prompts, rather than two more with five each, as I’ve been doing.)

~~ Flight, Fear, Jungle, Brotherhood, Song ~~

“So you’re up here again, huh? Still dreading tomorrow?”

“Oh, was it that obvious?”

Of course he was up on the hill. Why wouldn’t he be up on the hill? It’s not like that was where his life was going to end tomorrow, where he’d have to stare the void in the face and somehow not only not break contact, but venture through it. Why shouldn’t he be at that point of no return, attempting to fill himself with as much bravery for the next day as he possibly could?

“Hey… flying can’t be that bad, right? It’s what your body was built for.”

“Yeah, but not my mind.”

“Really? Have none of Master Teba’s lessons helped?”

“If they have, I haven’t noticed. And it’s not like I can practice, because I need to ‘conserve my strength for the big day.’ ...Look, Tevara, I appreciate your attempts to help, honestly, but I think I need to be left alone for now.”

“If you say so, Rynn. Just know that I believe in you; you’re stronger than you know. ...Sav’orq!”

And she walked down the slope, toward the stable where they were staying, her face and gait as bright as ever.

Rynn spent most of the afternoon and evening in a quiet dread, having to force himself to eat something and struggling to fall asleep that night, which was already hard enough with the roughness of whatever they used to make the hammocks. A part of him wished the morning would never come, but come it did, and just after the sun had fully risen above the horizon, he was there on Whistling Hill alongside his friend, their parents, and the so-called trial director that he had met only once before.

“Alright, Rynn. You know the route: once you’re sent into the sky, fly southeast to Faron Jungle, then head directly eastward; just beyond its eastern edge is Tuft Mountain, past which is Lurelin Village, your destination. Land in the designated location to complete your Trial of Flight. When you are prepared, give your word and assume the starting position.”

Rynn took one final look at the three that has come to see him off: his dearest friend smiling with as much confidence as ever, her mother’s face embodying a kindness only time can bring, and his own father’s eyes filled with encouragement, even if the rest of his face didn’t show it. Nothing could ever truly eliminate the fear he was feeling, nor bring him the courage he lacked, but perhaps their expressions, and unending support over the past years, would be enough to get him through the imminent ordeal.

He took a deep breath, then spread his wings out and loosened his talons. “I… am ready.”

The director brought out a small piece of Sheikah technology, shaped something like an angular banana, which Rynn assumed was the device he had been told would be used to launch him into the air. The imposing Rito aimed it at the ground below Rynn for a few seconds, then brought it into the air.

“On my mark. Three… Two… One… Fly.”

On the final word, he activated the device, creating a large pop-like sound and an enormous updraft centered around Rynn. He barely had time to register what was happening before the wind caught his wings and he was sent into the sky. Every instinct in his body screamed to close his eyes and return to the ground, but he fought it, determined to do what he had to do.

Near the top of the updraft, he felt another wind blowing eastward and so adjusted his wings to catch it. In the distance, Rynn could just barely see the lush and unique greenery of the Faron Jungle. He noted its direction, then quickly turned his head to the sky before him. As frightening as the empty open air was, far more so was the distance between him and the ground, and he wished to avoid looking at any part of it as much as possible while in flight.

The wind was powerful but not at all turbulent, so all Rynn had to do to maintain his course was flap his wings occasionally and keep the rest of his body in the ideal flight position, making small corrections as necessary. His stomach was still churning, as though it were full of butterflies that had just drunk nectar from swift violets, but he was making sure progress. Within a short time, he was beginning to pass over the jungle, noting his approach on one of his sporadic and short glances downward. The fear within him slightly alleviated as he thought, Perhaps this won’t be so bad.

And then, as if on ironic cue, the winds suddenly picked up. Rynn had certainly practiced in more unstable air, but he was nowhere close to accustomed to it, and thus what had just been a breeze (in multiple senses of the term) was now much more turbulent. All the fear that had slowly left him was now returning in full force, stronger than ever. His vision began to blur and he started flapping his wings frantically, the directed reason and focus in his mind being rapidly replaced by panic. He felt his lower body being constantly blown out of position by the wind, his feet and tail feathers shifting about wildly in the gale. He had just enough time to notice the sudden grey in the sky and a round object hurtling towards him before a searing pain shot through his left wing, and he was falling, waving his other limb about in a desperate attempt to slow his descent.

He wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness, but he found himself waking up on a muddy shore of a pond, his lower half still submerged. After blinking a few times, he attempted to push himself to his feet, but another bolt of pain struck his left wing when he tried to put weight on it. Instead, in a haphazard manner he rolled himself onto his back, then sat up, trying to gain a sense of where he was as the haze cleared from his vision.

From the look of the vegetation, he had no doubts that he had fallen directly into Faron Jungle, likely having had his fall broken by the tree cover before falling into the pond, then drifting to its shore. There was a large cliff to his right, but in every other direction was only more foliage. The only sounds besides his breathing were the noises of the local wildlife, the occasional crash of thunder, and the fall of rather heavy rain.

In his surveying, Rynn once again put too much weight on his left wing and nearly cried out in pain. Bringing the limb up, he found that most of its feathers were damaged or missing, and the front end of it was twisted and bent at an odd angle. He didn’t know if it was broken, but it was certainly injured enough that he wouldn’t be able to use it.

He took another moment to sit and wait while his head properly cleared, then pulled his legs out of the water and brought himself to his feet. His clothes felt utterly soaked and his feathers felt wholly waterlogged, despite both being designed to wick away water. Though he knew it wouldn’t help much, he tried to shake off some of the wet and wipe away the grime that covered much of one side of his body and clothes.

From what he had been told about the jungle, he knew there was a travel path that ran through it, crossing its main river (“Floria”, I think?) a few times and connecting the rest of Hyrule to the mountain and village on its southeasternmost shore. With the cliff nearby, he figured he would have the best luck in finding the path if he traveled directly away from it, and so, clutching his left arm close to his body to keep it steady, he set off.

As he walked, his mind wandered again to the events that had knocked him from the sky. He had no clue what the round object was, but he did think it odd that the winds had picked up so quickly and a storm had so suddenly appeared. Rynn had been told that they specifically had picked this day for his Trial of Flight because his route would consist of clear skies and relatively agreeable winds. Had they been mistaken? Had an error occurred somewhere in the process? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have the energy or focus to think about it either.

The canopy of leaves above did well to block the brunt of the rain, but many droplets still got through and hit him, doing nothing to fix the problem of how drenched he was. Strangely, though he was certainly unnerved by his current situation, he did not feel much at all of either fear or panic, and he was not sure why.

It’s… probably just because I’m too tired to feel anything…

Eventually, he came upon a thicker patch of vegetation where some mid-sized animals were rooting around for food. Based on their tusks and round furred bodies, Rynn guessed that they were some sort of boar. He changed his path to go around them, hoping that they would not even notice him. However, this was not to be, for one of his talons broke a branch on the ground beneath him only moments after he turned.

Rynn was met with small glittering eyes, each pair staring at him unflinchingly. He didn’t know if they were sizing him up as a threat, nor did he want to know. He began running in his new course, panic welling up within him once more as his vision started blurring once again. He began to feel light in the head, as though he were quickly running out of energy. Bursting from the foliage, he stumbled and fell onto much brighter earth, everything fading to black as two forms approached, one distinctly horse-shaped and the other some large and rotund biped.

His next experiences blurred together as he faded in and out of consciousness. Most of it was dominated by the sounds of hoofbeats, rain, and a rushing river. Besides that, he heard the occasional concerned murmur in a woman’s voice and urgent back-and-forth shouts at least once; he never could make out what they were saying. Eventually, he felt the air change, the humidity of the jungle being replaced by a clearer and saltier breeze, and he faded into a deeper sleep.

The next time consciousness returned to him, everything was far clearer. Rynn found himself in a round room of various brown tones with a curved and sloped roof, the telltale orange light of dusk streaming through the windows. He tilted his head to the side, seeing two Hylians talking quietly. They seemed to notice his shifting and turned to look at him. The darker of the two smiled and said, “Ah, so you’ve woken up. Welcome to Lurelin Village!”

“...What… what happened to me?” Rynn whispered, too tired to make his voice any louder.

The other woman, dressed in adventurer’s clothes and with supplies and weapons to match, answered. “I figured you wouldn’t remember. You stumbled onto the path through Faron Jungle just in front of my friend and I, then collapsed. When we tried to talk to you, you were completely unconscious, so we put you on my horse and rushed to the Lakeside Stable. They didn’t have the proper supplies to give you medical attention, so we were sent here instead.”

“You’re in our Medicine House right now. Your wing was fractured, but I’ve set it and bound it, as you can see, and once you’ve rested enough, I’ll have you drink this”--she held out a vial full of some sort of blood red liquid--“which should expedite the regrowth and repair of the wing, and you’ll be good to go by midday tomorrow.”

Rynn turned his head to face the ceiling again, slowly blinking as his thoughts swirled. “I… I see…”

“Ordinarily, I’d ask you what you were doing wandering around Faron Jungle with no adventuring gear to speak of, but I imagine that’s not what you were originally doing. You’re Rynn, right? The Rito whose flight exam was supposed to end here today?”

He nodded silently.

“Thought so. After we contacted the stable near the starting point (thank the goddesses that Sheikah communication box thing worked), we overheard something about the situation, and not too long after, two other Rito men arrived, insisting that they must see you. Their, uh, ‘attitudes’ and ‘levels of energy’, I guess, were a bit… too high, and you needed to rest in quiet, so Phenea had Gudek block the doorway. Last I checked, at least one of them was pacing back and forth outside.”

There was a noticeable lack of light coming in through the slits in the door, as they were blocked off by the rocky back of a Goron, which Rynn deduced was both this ‘Gudek’ and the rotund figure he had seen back on the jungle path. Phenea, then, must have been on the horse’s back at the time.

“I see… then, let them in, please.”

The doctor seemed to want to protest, but clearly decided not to, as Phenea got up and knocked on the door, telling Gudek that the Rito could now be let in. The Goron shifted out of the way and opened the door, and Rynn’s father and the flight director swiftly walked in. They stared at him for a moment, then the former seemed to try to rush in to hug him before thinking better of it.

“Rynn… I’m so glad you’re safe. When we got word of what happened, I… well, I began to imagine the worst. We flew over as quickly as possible…!”

“Yes, I must say, that experimental flight-enhancing Sheikah-tech worked particularly well, even in spite of all its… little issues. ...Would you happen to know or remember what damaged your wing? Was it the fall?”

Rynn had to push his mind a bit, but he remembered the event clearly enough, to the point that it would likely be etched in his mind for a long while. “Some sort of… large round object came flying at me as the storm was beginning… it might have had those Sheikah-tech markings?”

At this, the doctor spoke up. “I’ve heard of recent experiments with technology that can create weather. I’ll contact the Hateno Tech Lab about it tomorrow, assuming that communication cube thingy still works. I’d do it tonight, but it’s getting a bit late.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” said the flight director. Rynn and his father followed suit.

“Oh, speaking of the time: tonight we’re having a massive bonfire party, it’s part of an old tradition. No one really knows what it’s for anymore, but it’s a lot of fun, so we continue to have it every two months or so. You guys should come and watch! It’s when some of our best dancing and singing is shown off.” Throughout the invitation, the doctor gained a level of excitement and wonder that Rynn did not think doctors were capable of.

The other two Rito thought for a second, then shrugged. “I mean, I suppose since we can’t go home until tomorrow, we might as well have some fun.”

“Hmph. It’s not really my thing, but… well, I wanted to head back, but I think I want to be there for that message to the Lab: if there are going to sudden weather changes from here on, I think I, as a manager of flight, deserve to know what the hell is going on in all of that.” The director’s voice was slowly getting louder; he clearly cared quite a lot about his work, even if he didn’t show it.

“That settles it then! In the meantime, though, I’d like all of you to leave: Rynn still has resting to do, and an overstuffed Medicine House won’t help with that.”

It looked as though everyone else wanted to protest, but they quickly turned and left one-by-one. As their footsteps faded away, Rynn heard something about Phenea and Gudek telling them about the dances and songs, because they had “been to a lot over their travels,” and the flight director rapidly excusing himself to use the communicator to update the stable at Whistling Hill, specifically Tevara and her mother, on the whole ordeal.

“You rest up now, Rynn. When you’re ready, your clothes are on the table right over there--we washed and dried them right after we cleaned you (I hope you don’t mind)--and the rest of the stuff that was on you is just next to it. Take this healing potion right before you go to bed for the night. You got all that?”

Rynn nodded softly; he could already feel sleep trying to take him once more.

“Good.” The doctor set the bottle on the table, then exited the house, as Rynn’s senses faded away, in a manner far more peaceful than the previous two times.

When he next awoke, the sun had fully disappeared, but a bright firelight was illuminating the room. Rynn pushed himself up, careful not to put any weight on his fractured limb, then put on his clothes and exited the house. Down near the shore was the largest fire he had ever seen, with a pile of burning wood at least twice as high as any person. A ring of individuals was engaged in what seemed to be a very intricate dance, while a wider audience sang along joyously. Near the back of the audience circle he could see Phenea and Gudek talking non-stop to his father and flight director, seemingly to their slight annoyance, if their postures were anything to go by.

Rynn smiled and began walking towards the bonfire. For once in quite a long while, he realized, he felt quite content and, amazingly, entirely devoid of fear.

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 2

The Resonance Cascade hurt. Tommy felt the dimensional rift tear open space as if it were a hole punching through his own body. Even with his limited power there was no way he could have stopped something so catastrophic from happening. By the time the convulsions died down, the monsters had already hopped the gap.

Black Mesa was buckled and warped like a Coke can left in a freezer. Tommy wound up somewhere further away from the blast than he anticipated and had to pick his way through the wasted hallways to get back to the explosion site. What a mess. He passed the bodies of humans and extraterrestrials alike, fighting down a growing sense of nausea as he went. Did Benrey do this? It seemed like a stretch, even for him.

Tommy eventually found Gordon, alive and relatively unharmed, and learned that Gordon had picked up three others on his way out of the test chamber. Benrey was unkillable, as was his nature, so that presence didn’t surprise Tommy. Dr. Coomer was always tough, and it stood to reason that he could survive the blast from an interdimensional anomaly. Bubby, well. He wasn’t dead anymore, was all Tommy knew.

Now, they were trucking through the test facility at a steady clip, picking off creatures as they went. Tommy wasn’t armed - he didn’t need to be - but Gordon was making decent headway with a crowbar and Bubby had… located a revolver somehow. Tommy had questions about Bubby. For now, however, he was hanging in the back of the group, keeping one eye on Benrey, because Benrey was always up to something, and one eye on Gordon, because, well, just look at him.

The elevator crash had shoved him off a cliff he was never climbing back up from. That was a hard thing for Tommy to watch; aside from witnessing the death of three strangers, he also had to see something small and fragile snap inside Gordon, like the breaking of a flower stem. He hadn’t killed those people, not really, but he believed that he did, and that was somehow worse. Tommy didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how to tell Gordon that a lot more people would die before this was over.

To make things worse, the company they kept was slowly chipping away at Gordon’s sanity. Bubby was insufferable. Coomer was unhelpful. Benrey was… flirting with him. Indistinguishable from harassment, which Tommy knew from firsthand experience. The new guy needed someone in his corner. It may as well be Tommy.

Gordon was at least adjusting relatively well to the supernatural. He had gotten over the idea of aliens invading pretty quickly, and when Bubby had outright told him he was born in a tube in the lab, Gordon took it in stride. That was right before he had clapped a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder, sending a shiver all the way through his body.

Wow, that was nice. Been a long time since Tommy felt something like that. He almost forgot to be offended when Gordon jokingly said that he was five. “We love our little Tommy,” Bubby had commented sarcastically. “We love Tommy,” Gordon had agreed genuinely.

Tommy didn’t know what to think about that, his brain glitching out in a pleasant sort of way with Gordon’s hand still on his shoulder. Then he let go and they kept moving, leaving Tommy just standing there, pulse on the uptick.

Get it together, man. You have an apocalypse to deal with.

A brief raid of the break room brought back memories of that morning. Was it really just that morning? The past few hours had felt like days. There wasn’t a lot to be found in there except the drinks from the vending machine. Tommy hung back while his colleagues pawed through the drawers and cabinets.

Gordon glanced at the bulletin board and over to Tommy, flashing a smile of acknowledgement. Tommy returned it with a wordless raise of his eyebrows. So he still had a sense of humor in this nightmare. That was a good sign.

The eye contact between them lingered for far longer than was appropriate. Take a picture, baby, it’ll last longer, was what Tommy’s brain said. “Grab a soda, it’ll help you see faster,” was what came out of his stupid mouth. Nice one, genius.

The laugh Gordon barked out seemed to surprise him. It was tight with stress, but his smile was lovely as ever.

“I don’t know what that means,” he chuckled, hefting the crowbar in his hand, “but sure.”

He really didn’t know what the hell Tommy was talking about and he still laughed at the bullshit he blurted when his brain stopped working. Tommy smiled and shook his head. He was definitely keeping this one.

The vending machine was cracked open like a walnut and they continued on their way.

It became an unspoken game between the two of them. Who could break the other out of reality, startle them into joy at the end of the world. Tommy won points the most often - Gordon wore his emotions on his face and he was already so strung out from stress that the barest attempts at levity set him off laughing. Occasionally, though, Gordon caught Tommy off guard with his wit. His jokes were more orchestrated. Grandiose. Special presents just for Tommy.

One such occasion was after they’d broken into the locker room. After addressing the corpse by the benches, Gordon began rifling through his locker for his passport in a vain attempt to placate Benrey. Tommy watched him carefully as he entered such an enclosed space with the entity. Just in case he tried something. Gordon found his passport, but his attention snagged on a solitary picture frame in the corner.

“That’s my baby,” Gordon informed the team.

He had a baby? Tommy studied the photo with interest. He didn’t strike Tommy as a fatherly person, and the fact that he had a child complicated whether or not he was single. Of course, that wasn’t an automatic disqualifier -

“I have a son,” Gordon insisted, with emphasis.

Tommy belatedly realized that Gordon was staring straight at him as he pointed at the photo. He blinked. Okay, man. He got the hint. Gordon wasn’t on the market - wait.

That was a stock photo. He could see the watermark stamped across the image. Gordon’s stare was still locked onto Tommy, a barely contained smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“That’s Joshua,” he said.

Tommy had to duck into the adjacent room to laugh.

Damn, he was good. Tommy leaned one hand on the wall, holding the other against his ribs in a fit of giggles. Why did Gordon have that in there? Just for kicks? He distantly heard an  oblivious compliment Dr. Coomer launched in Gordon’s direction and a caustic insult from Benrey.

“What did you say about my boy?” Gordon demanded in mock outrage. “Did you call him shit?”

Tommy sagged against the wall, catching his breath. It took him a couple seconds to recover from that one. What a knockout.

---

It turns out Gordon Freeman’s sense of humor is difficult to nail when one is enduring an extraterrestrial apocalypse. Shambling forms accosted them on all sides, and while the party was able to more or less hold their own, the tension in the air was palpable. Each member of the team was paranoid for their own reasons, making their words sharper, their actions heavier.

Benrey had disappeared shortly after after the explosion in the bathroom, and Tommy could see him flickering on the edges of his vision every once in a while. Creep. He’d turn up eventually, on his own terms. Tommy had learned by now that there was no making the entity do what he didn’t want to do, but his presence nearby still made his skin crawl.

Dr. Coomer was on edge as he came face to face with his doppelgangers throughout the maze of carnage. Tommy had put together that this man was either a clone or a base for one, and it was becoming increasingly apparent as his speech grew more and more incomprehensible. Gordon thought he was having a stroke once. It was probably more accurate to say that he was having a breakdown on the DNA level.

Gordon and Bubby were the only two who seemed legitimately concerned about the aliens that were steadily pouring into the facility. Bubby was a surprisingly excellent shot with the revolver, and while Gordon wasn’t exactly a deadeye, he could at least swing that crowbar around with a decent amount of wallop. The adrenaline was running hot through all of them as they lay waste to the creatures in the facility. This was dangerous, and everyone was on edge.

As the situation grew bleaker, Tommy found himself cracking jokes reflexively, just as a nervous tic. He was used to having a pretty good grasp on reality - or, at least, on his definition of it - but the Resonance Cascade had dropped him in an inkwell and he could no longer tell which way was up. What parts of the impossible were planned? What parts of it could be stopped?

Most of his jokes were ignored by his nervous teammates. Understandable. When he dramatically bemoaned the loss of his tic tac drawer and the crucial calories they contained, he wasn’t even sure if he was being serious or not. They had seen so many people die in such a short amount of time. Watching the group’s brittle humanity crumbling apart at the loss of life was not making it any easier.

When the four of them witnessed a stranger plummet from a precarious catwalk to the void below, Gordon stood there, staring at the place he had disappeared from, for quite a long time. Tommy hung back as he always did, leaning his shoulder on the doorway. This poor mortal with a too-big heart. He was not going to be the same if he made it out of this ordeal alive.

“How deep is that hole?” he finally asked, either to find a sliver of hope that the man was still alive or some comfort that he had died quickly. “How deep is that hole?”

Beside him, Bubby folded his arms and blew out a breath. “Uh, I believe this hole has to be about five hundred feet deep,” he guessed.

Gordon’s face went worryingly blank as he processed this. Tommy watched him, feeling a twinge of sympathy tug at his stomach. There was no solace to be found in the catastrophe tearing through the facility, especially when the facility itself was grown from such rotten roots. Things were about to get far worse before they got better.

“We’re trying to dig to the center of the earth,” he told him wryly.

Gordon’s responding laugh was heartbreakingly sour.

They moved on, and Tommy was about to follow the group when Benrey materialized beside him. He only came up to Tommy’s shoulder where he stood next to him, but he still managed to pull off an intimidating leer.

“Dude, quit hitting on the new guy,” he said thinly. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Tommy paused. Slanted Benrey a stare that could cut glass. “Maybe you should take your own advice,” he muttered.

“I’m not hitting on him,” the entity shot back. “I can’t stand him.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. Sure.

“It’s not my fault he showed me his dick,” Benrey went on, crossing his arms. His voice was like a razor, and it set Tommy’s teeth on edge.

He drew in a long, slow breath through his nose. “Why,” he asked, “would you tell me that.”

Benrey grinned, sharklike, and shrugged innocently. “Just something to think about.”

He blinked out of existence, leaving Tommy there alone to frown at nothing. He scoffed. Asshole. No tact whatsoever.

The fact that the entity had his eye on Gordon, too, made him uneasy. Not enough that Tommy felt the need to interfere - anyone with half a brain cell would know not to trust Benrey and Tommy was certain that Gordon had at least two. But he could see him slowly chipping away at the new guy’s sanity, piece by teeth-grinding piece.

The being had no appreciation for subtlety; winking in and out of this plane, killing indiscriminately, parading around like an interdimensional peacock. Tommy watched it all with a growing sense of disdain. That kind of power was not something to be fucked around with, and that was all Benrey ever did.

Tommy and Benrey’s relationship was like a careful dance in a room full of knives, each step a decision that could help or hurt both of them. They shared a supernatural origin, but their similarities ended there. Tommy didn’t trust him one iota, and Benrey vacillated rapidly between being obsessed with Tommy and outright despising him.

He had to remind himself that while the entity rarely outright lied, his words were often so ridiculously, insufferably cryptic that he might as well have been dishonest. The piece of information he had just dropped could mean anything, deposited in such a way to needle against Tommy’s skin like sandpaper. This was how Benrey worked, feeding people bullshit just to get them riled. Tommy didn’t need to retaliate. Unlike Benrey, he was raised with some fucking manners.

He had no power over him as long as he didn’t let it get to him.

He wasn’t going to let it get to him.

Oh, who was he kidding? It got to him. Tommy made a mental note to let an industrial door slide shut on Benrey the next chance he got. What was it going to do, kill him?

Chapter 1 <-----> Chapter 3