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books-letstalkaboutem · 3 years

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The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue Quotes that I Loved

This is just a list of quotes or excerpts that I highlighted while reading the book- literally all of them and there are a lot. I’m going to go ahead and say spoilers below just because there are so many quotes and while I don’t think the quotes actually spoil anything, I don’t want to accidentally spoil something for someone.

Some of the quotes might seem a little weird out of context but these are quotes that hit close to home, made me say “Hell, yeah, Addie!!!", quotes that made me laugh, and then basically all of the other quotes that I loved while reading.

I know that I didn't completely fall in love with this book like so many other people did, but it was still so beautifully written and there were so many amazing quotes in this book.

And just a heads up, I read this on my kindle, just in case the page numbers I list don’t match with your copy of the book.

Spoilers Below:

Quotes that Hit Close to Home

“Three and twenty, a third of a life already buried.” Page 39

“The day passes like a sentence. The sun falls like a scythe.” Page 41

“[...] and when she dies it will be as though she never lived.” Page 42

“I am so tired of not having choices, so scared of the years rushing past beneath my feet. I do not want to die as I’ve lived, which is no life at all. I—” Page 46

“[...] she swears sometimes her memory runs forward as well as back, unspooling to show the roads she’ll never get to travel. But that way lies madness, and she has learned not to follow.” Page 61

“His parents meant well, of course, but they always told him things like Cheer up, or It will get better, or worse, It’s not that bad, which is easy to say when you’ve never had a day of rain.” Page 97

“But then a night would go long, and a day would start late, and now he feels like there’s no time at all. Like he is always late for something.” Page 119

““I see someone who cares,” she says slowly. “Perhaps too much. Who feels too much. I see someone lost, and hungry. The kind of person who feels like they’re wasting away in a world full of food, because they can’t decide what they want.”” Page 140

““Life is so brief, and every night in Rennes I’d go to bed, and lie awake, and think, there is another day behind me, and who knows how few ahead.”” Page 167

““I mean feeling like it’s surging by so fast, and you try to reach out and grab it, you try to hold on, but it just keeps rushing away. And every second, there’s a little less time, and a little less air, and sometimes when I’m sitting still, I start to think about it, and when I think about it, I can’t breathe. I have to get up. I have to move.”” Page 177

““Small places make for small lives. And some people are fine with that. They like knowing where to put their feet. But if you only walk in other people’s steps, you cannot make your own way. You cannot leave a mark.”” Page 179

“It was such a lovely jar she had kept them in. But the glass is cracking now. The water leaking through.” Page 215

“Moments of joy register as brief, but ecstatic. Moments of pain stretch long and unbearably loud.” Page 225

“[...] you’ve never felt called to any one thing. There is no violent push in one direction, but a softer nudge a hundred different ways, and now all of them feel out of reach. Page 226

“[...] in wanting to live, to learn, to find yourself, you’ve gotten lost.” Page 226

“He lets it ring, holds his breath until it stops. He tells himself that if they call again, he’ll answer. If they call again, he’ll tell them he is not okay. But the phone doesn’t ring a second time.” Page 229

“He misses the structure, misses the path, misses the purpose. And maybe it wasn’t a perfect fit, but nothing is.” Page 257

“That he’d blinked and somehow years had gone by, and everyone else had carved their trenches, paved their paths, and he was still standing in a field, uncertain where to dig.” Page 283

“And those first two years, he was happy. He had Bea, and Robbie, and all he had to do was learn. Build a foundation. It was the house, the one that he was supposed to build on top of that smooth surface, that was the problem. It was just so … permanent.” 283

“Choosing a class became choosing a discipline, and choosing a discipline became choosing a career, and choosing a career became choosing a life, and how was anyone supposed to do that, when you only had one?” Page 283

““The vexing thing about time,” he says, “is that it’s never enough. Perhaps a decade too short, perhaps a moment. But a life always ends too soon.”” Page 333

“He is all restless energy, and urgent need, and there isn’t enough time, and he knows of course that there will never be. That time always ends a second before you’re ready. That life is the minutes you want minus one.” Page 421

“The world is wide, and he’s seen so little of it with his own eyes. He wants to travel, to take photos, listen to other people’s stories, maybe make some of his own. After all, life seems very long sometimes, but he knows it will go so fast, and he doesn’t want to miss a moment.” Page 438

Quotes that Made Me Laugh

“Henry loves his sister, he does. But Muriel’s always been like strong perfume. Better in small doses. And at a distance.” Page 120

““Sorry, Book,” she mutters, lifting the cat gingerly onto the back of the old chair, where he does his best impression of an inconvenienced bread loaf.” Page 248

““It’s Halloween!” defends Robbie. “It’s the twenty-third,” says Henry, but Robbie treats holidays the way he treats birthdays, stretching them from days into weeks, and sometimes into seasons.” Page 274

Quotes that made me say “Hell, yeah, Addie!!!”

“If she must grow roots, she would rather be left to flourish wild instead of pruned, would rather stand alone, allowed to grow beneath the open sky. Better that than firewood, cut down just to burn in someone else’s hearth.” Page 31

“[...]from this moment forward, her life will be her own.” Page 48

“There is a defiance in being a dreamer.” Page 117

““It has only been two years,” she says. “Think of all the time I have, and all the things I’ll see.”” Page 132

“It will take time, but time is the one thing Addie has plenty of. So she opens her eyes, and starts again.” Page 192

“But then Addie straightens, lifts her chin, smiles with an almost defiant kind of joy. “But isn’t it wonderful,” she says, “to be an idea?”” Page 261

Quotes that I Love

“[...] never pray to the gods that answer after dark.” Page 7

“What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind?” Page 15

“The things that last, even when memories don’t.” Page 16

“As if you couldn’t like one place and want to see another.” Page 23

“Books, she has found, are a way to live a thousand lives—or to find strength in a very long one.” Page 35

“The kind of place where time slips and blurs, where a month, a year, a life can go missing.” Page 39

“[...] attraction can look an awful lot like recognition in the wrong light.” Page 56

“The rise isn’t worth the fall.” Page 56

“Being trapped, buried alive, these are the things that scare you when you cannot die.” Page 57

“Funny, how some people take an age to warm, and others simply walk into every room as if it’s home.” Page 58

“Déjà vu. Déjà su. Déjà vécu. Already seen. Already known. Already lived.” Page 66

“[...]a lifetime of knowing brushed away like a tear.” Page 73

“[...] and it is sad, of course, to forget. But it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten. To remember when no one else does.” Page 77

“[...] ideas are so much wilder than memories, that they long and look for ways of taking root.” Page 77

““These days, everyone’s looking down,” muses Sam. “It’s nice to see someone looking up.”” Page 101

“Being forgotten, she thinks, is a bit like going mad. You begin to wonder what is real, if you are real. After all, how can a thing be real if it cannot be remembered?” Page 103

“If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?” Page 103

“Dreamer is too soft a word. It conjures thoughts of silken sleep, of lazy days in fields of tall grass, of charcoal smudges on soft parchment.” Page 11

“She considers the cut of their clothes, the absence of bone stays or bustled skirts, and thinks, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, how much simpler it would be to be a man, how easily they move through the world, and at such little cost.” Page 129

““I remember you.”” Page 135

“The darkness claimed he’d given her freedom, but really, there is no such thing for a woman, not in a world where they are bound up inside their clothes, and sealed inside their homes, a world where only men are given leave to roam.” Page 163

“She watches these men and wonders anew at how open the world is to them, how easy the thresholds.” Page 165

““I think there are many ways to matter.”” Page 179

“But ideas are so much wilder than memories, so much faster to take root.”” Page 210

“He is full of roots, while she has only branches.” Page 212

“Easy to stay on the path when the road is straight and the steps are numbered.” Page 229

“Outside the window, the day just carries on as if nothing’s changed, but it feels like everything has, because Addie LaRue is immortal, and Henry Strauss is damned.” Page 235

“[...]I didn’t want to live forever. I just wanted to live.”” Page 236

““There’s this family photo,” he says, “not the one in the hall, this other one, from back when I was six or seven. That day was awful. Muriel put gum in David’s book and I had a cold, and my parents were fighting right up until the flash went off. And in the photo, we all look so … happy. I remember seeing that picture and realizing that photographs weren’t real. There’s no context, just the illusion that you’re showing a snapshot of a life, but life isn’t snapshots, it’s fluid. So photos are like fictions. I loved that about them. Everyone thinks photography is truth, but it’s just a very convincing lie.”” Page 239

“God, it feels good to be wanted.” Page 256

“[...] And ideas are wilder than memories. They’re like weeds, always finding their way up.”” Page 261

“Homesick—Henry knows that one is supposed to mean sick for home, not from it, but it still feels right.” Page 262

“Dressing up, he thinks, is just like watching cartoons, something you enjoyed as a kid, before it passes through the no man’s land of teen angst, the ironic age of early twenties. And then somehow, miraculously, it crosses back into the realm of the genuine, the nostalgic. A place reserved for wonder.” Page 274

“Bea always says returning to campus is like coming home. But it doesn’t feel that way to Henry. Then again, he never felt at home at home, only a vague sense of dread, the eggshell-laden walk of someone constantly in danger of disappointing.” 282

“He doesn’t know what he believes, hasn’t for a long time, but it’s hard to entirely discount the presence of a higher power when he recently sold his soul to a lower one.” Page 284

““You can’t make people love you, Hen. If it’s not a choice, it isn’t real.”” Page 290

“He has asked the wrong god for the wrong thing, and now he is enough because he is nothing. He is perfect, because he isn’t there.” Page 290

“A life reduced to a block of stone, a patch of grass.” Page 299

“The present folding on top of the past instead of erasing it, replacing it.” Page 306

“She knows the paint will fade, rinsed off by a puddle, or simply wiped away by time, but that’s how memories are supposed to work. There—and then, little by little, gone.” Page 307

“Without the bells, the organ, the bodies crowding in for services, the church feels abandoned. Less a house of worship and more a tomb.” Page 311

“God is so large, why build walls to hold Him in?” Page 311

“Once you know about a thing, you start to see it everywhere. Someone says the words purple elephant, and all of a sudden, you catch sight of them in shop windows and on T-shirts, stuffed animals and billboards, and you wonder how you never noticed.” Page 314

“There is a freedom, after all, in being forgotten.” 325

“Memories are stiff, but thoughts are freer things. They throw out roots, they spread and tangle, and come untethered from their source. They are clever, and stubborn, and perhaps—perhaps—they are in reach.” Page 327

“They’ve been lucky, so lucky, but the trouble with luck is that it always ends.” 329

““You said it yourself, Luc. Ideas are wilder than memories. And I can be wild. I can be stubborn as the weeds, and you will not root me out. And I think you are glad of it. I think that’s why you’ve come, because you are lonely, too.”” Page 332

“She closes her eyes, reminds herself there are many ways to leave a mark, reminds herself that pictures lie.” Page 337

“She may not feel the years weakening her bones, her body going brittle with age, but the weariness is a physical thing, like rot, inside her soul. There are days when she mourns the prospect of another year, another decade, another century. There are nights when she cannot sleep, moments when she lies awake and dreams of dying. But then she wakes, and sees the pink and orange dawn against the clouds, or hears the lament of a lone fiddle, the music and the melody, and remembers there is such beauty in the world. And she does not want to miss it— any of it.” Page 342

“Luc’s smile darkens. “Because time is cruel to all, and crueler still to artists. Because vision weakens, and voices wither, and talent fades.” He leans close, twists a lock of her hair around one finger. “Because happiness is brief, and history is lasting, and in the end,” he says, “everyone wants to be remembered.”” Page 351

“It is a sign, when even gods and devils dread a fight.” Page 367

“And this, he decides, is what a good-bye should be. Not a period, but an ellipsis, a statement trailing off, until someone is there to pick it up. It is a door left open. It is drifting off to sleep.” Page 419

#the invisible life of addie larue quotes #the invisible life of addie larue #the invisible life of addie larue by ve schwab #ve schwab #quotes #my favorite quotes #addie larue #henry strauss #luc #bookish quotes

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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Fire

Harringrove April day 21, Fire. Robin decides to move on with her life by burning her memories in a summer bonfire, but it turns out the one that moves on is Steve.

Robin lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, and Steve waited. She groaned, grabbing the pillow, and smushing it over her face. “...she smelled like summer,” she groaned.

“Kinda like lawn clippings,” Steve agreed, wrinkling his nose, and then ducking the pillow she threw.

“I’m over her,” Robin sighed. “I am! I’m over her, jesus.”

“Is that her scrunchy?” Steve asked, pointing at the suspiciously shrine-like setup with the photo of the girl in question, a gold star sticker Steve remembered her sticking on Robin’s cheek, and a stick of gum she’d passed across the ice cream counter, saying ‘look, it’s a new flavor!’.

She’d blown a bubble in Robin’s face. Steve’s best friend had staggered watching full, bright pink lips pursed around the bubble, and then clutched the counter at the dazzling smile after.

“I think she might be dating Tommy Hagen,” Steve muttered, both wanting Robin to know, and not wanting to be the one to tell her.

“Auuuugh,” Robin moaned, kicking her feet. “Why do the hot ones have such bad taste?!”

“No idea,” Steve said, huffing a sigh of his own.

“This isn’t about you,” she hissed at him. “Hot girls like you, so shut it.”

“I thought she liked you too,” Steve told her, holding up a ratty old Curious George toy, and making it clutch its paws over its mouth. “She kept trying to put makeup on you.”

“Oh, is that what girls do when they’re hitting on you?” Robin muttered at him, hugging her pillow.

“No,” Steve said, having Curious George pat reassuringly at her toe. She yelped, and snickered. “But, I mean, she doesn’t...maybe she didn’t know what to do. She tried to get you to come over, I mean—”

“To look at magazines about boys, probably,” Robin mumbled into her pillow. “God, why wasn’t I born on Themyscira?!”

“Where?” Steve asked, cocking Curious George’s head.

“Where Wonder Woman lived. Full of lesbians,” Robin sighed, and Steve nodded slowly. “Anyway. I’m over her. Done. What do I want with some party girl, anyway.”

Steve, who’d watched Vicki Carmichael fixing her makeup and scrunching her hair before coming in to ask for Robin, bit his lips.

“The mall burned, and so did my fantasies,” Robin sighed. “Let’s have a bonfire. I’ll burn my creepy shrine,” she said, and Steve winced. “I saw you thinkin’ it,” Robin told him, glaring. “You can burn your lock of Nancy’s hair or whatever—”

“I don’t have a lock of her hair,” Steve said, his cheeks burning, as he remembered the notes he did have, when she’d returned a few replies to the the hundreds he’d slipped in her locker.

“Bring Henderson,” she said. “He can burn whatever weird shit of Max Mayfield’s he’s got ferreted away.”

Steve snorted a laugh, shaking his head.

When he saw Vicki Carmichael lingering around his car the next day, her brightly lipsticked mouth sucking a Tootsie Pop, he narrowed his eyes.

“Where’s Buckley?” she asked, eyeing him up and down, the way she had.

“At home, I guess,” he told her, and she ran a bangled hand through her hair.

Her lashes were sticking together, a little, and he wondered if she’d applied fresh mascara while she waited. “Thought you two were stapled together at the hip,” she said, and then spun the Tootsie pop in her mouth. “Never see one without the other.”

“We’re not dating,” Steve told her, trying to think of what a good friend would do. “Uh. We’re...not like that.”

“What are you like?” she asked, laughing, and Steve had no idea what that meant, so he just frowned at her. She smiled down at her nails, shifting her heels on the concrete.

“...she’s throwing a party,” Steve told her. “I mean, kinda, us and a couple of friends, is all, but you should—you should come.”

Vicki went still, searching his face.

“Not—” Steve waved his hands, stepping back, and trying to figure out how to politely say ‘Don’t worry, I’m not into you!’. “Um, you can hang with Robin, I’ll have other, uh, other friends there.”

It was the first time he’d ever seen Vicki Carmichael blush. Her makeup hid most of it, but her ears went red, and down her neck, and Steve jerked his head to look away before he stared at her chest like a creep to see whether she was blushing there too.

“...maybe I shouldn’t go,” she said, laughing a little unsteadily, and he realized he’d scared her. “Just—say hello. Or don’t,” she said, biting down on the tootsie-pop, and then muttering what sounded like a stream of fuck, fuck, fuck with her mouth full of candy shards.

“No, she, um,” Steve flailed, trying to reassure Vicki without saying anything Robin wouldn’t want shared. “She’s been waiting for you to come in the video store. We uh, we get movies in, and she says you’d maybe like something—” It was sarcastic, usually, because while Robin obviously wanted to tear the buttons off Vicki’s shirt and suffocate herself in Vicki’s cleavage, she didn’t have a very high opinion of her movie taste.

It was pretty much the same movies Steve liked, so he was used to Robin rolling her eyes and saying “Figures.”

Vicki still hadn’t said anything, her eyes wide as she stared at his face again. “I think she’d be happy to see you,” Steve told her, holding back a little smirk. “And this is dangerous for me to say,” he said, lowering his voice, and grinning at her, “—because she’s gonna be embarrassed as hell that I told you.”

It was hot, in the parking lot of Bradley’s Big Buy, in the last lingering days of summer, watching Vicki shift, hugging herself, and Steve thought it didn’t say much good about him as a person, how scared she was of a trap.

“Or look up her number in the student handbook,” he said, holding his hands up. “Bring her some ice cream. She’s been bitching about not getting it free.” Vicki’s eyes widened at the idea, and she shook her head rapidly, her hair flouncing over her shoulders.

Steve put his hands on his hips, thinking. “Halloween’s coming up,” he remembered, brightening. “Wonder Woman costume. She’d probably forget how to breathe.”

Vicki snorted a laugh, staring at him. “...you think she’d really want me there,” she whispered, a little mumbly, because she was still trying to chew through half a Tootsie-pop.

“It’s the day after tomorrow,” Steve said, tasting victory. “Friday night. Just, like, me and her and some kids we know, you remember Dustin, he was always hanging around at Scoops. He’ll bring a friend or two, maybe.”

“...if this is—if this is some kind of—” Vicki hissed, waving the half-chewed Tootsie-pop at him. “If this is—” she stopped again, sniffling, and Steve waved his hands.

“No! No, it’s—it’s nothing weird, I promise, she just...she’d be happy,” Steve told her, grimacing. “If you were there.”

Vicki nodded, chewing her lip, and Steve rattled around in his glove compartment for a pen and paper. He found a pen, and wrote Robin’s address on Vicki’s hand.

The night of the bonfire, Dustin showed up with Erica Sinclair, Will Byers, and Eleven. They all looked solemn, and Steve wondered what kind of weird hijinks he’d let poor Vicki in for. Everyone brightened up as they piled brush on the pile and lit it, though, and Steve got the hose—just in case—as Will got the others dancing around the fire to music, and some kinda chant.

“Out with the old, and in with the new,” they sang, giggling, and holding hands.

Robin looked kind of depressed, watching them, and Steve stopped her from just tossing a whole box of things in the flames. “Come on, wait until it gets going,” he said, “—you’ll put the fire out.”

She groaned, and nodded, then narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as he leapt up at the sound of a car in the drive.

It was the Camaro, with Max in the driver’s seat, and Billy, newly out of the hospital, pale and shaking in the passenger’s side. “Shut up,” Max hissed, before Steve had even said anything. “He needs to get out of the house sometime. He was desperate enough to let me drive.”

“He looks like he needs to lie down,” Steve whispered back, as Billy sat in the car, staring forward.

“He said he’d be fine,” she shot back, shrugging, but looking just as doubtful as Steve did, and crossing her arms.

Billy leaned his head against the window, watching them, and Steve finally walked around to knock on the glass. “You need help?”

“...no,” Billy snarled, looking away. “I’m just peachy, Harrington.”

“Ugh,” Steve sighed. “Look, I’ll go find you a chair. Take your time.”

Billy glowered at him, and Steve wondered whether he was supposed to insist on helping, or ignore him, or what, and rolled his eyes, walking off.

“...I think he might be stuck in there,” Max said conversationally, as they walked back over to the bonfire. It was burning high now—taller than Steve twice over, with the fuel of a hot summer’s worth of dry branches and old paper. Erica stuck a cedar branch in there, and the fire ran down the oily fronds like a sparkler. The heat was too much even six feet away, and Steve soaked the ground around it again.

“Let’s do this thing,” Robin sighed, clutching her box, and Steve grimaced.

“Uh, wait a minute, Max brought Billy, and he can’t get his weak ass out of the car,” he told her, as she raised an eyebrow at him like he was being ridiculous. Steve wandered back out to watch for Vicki, his arms crossed.

Billy had his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, and Steve knocked on the window again. “You alive?” he asked, wondering whether Max’s night was about to be ruined by her brother dead in the driveway. Maybe inheriting the Camaro would be worth it.

“...’m alive,” Billy said, after taking a slow breath. “What’s it to you, Harrington?”

“Nothing,” Steve told him, and Billy smirked. “...Max is all right, is all, and she’ll be pissed if I let you die in the driveway—” He cut off as another car pulled in, an aged Plymouth Roadrunner, and Vicki clambered out, struggling with three bags of groceries.

Steve ran over and took one. “You came!” he whispered excitedly, and she shot him a wary glare. The bag he’d snatched had two gallons of ice cream under a six-pack of beer, and he snorted a laugh. “You know how to make an entrance,” he told her, and she smirked faintly.

“Gotta use everything I have, right,” she said, taking a deep breath, and Billy started laughing in the car, startling her so she nearly dropped the other two bags of ice cream.

“I’m so sorry, I have no idea why he’s here,” Steve whispered to her, and sidled around between Billy’s car and the hedge to open his door. Billy’d been leaning against it, and he nearly fell out, his shoulder thudding into Steve’s thigh. “Come on, asshole,” Steve told him, crouching. “Put an arm around me, I’ll get you in there.”

Billy glared back at him, but slowly wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, and swung a leg out. Steve grabbed his belt—prompting a strangled noise from Billy—and hauled him along to the gate to the backyard, while Vicki stared.

“Thought it was gonna just be you and the kids,” Billy panted, his voice strained. “You...planning to get lucky on your...best friend’s bed...Harrington?”

“Gross,” Steve muttered. “How are you this heavy, jesus.”

“Why are you yanking my jeans into my colon,” Billy shot back, growling, but all three of them made it inside, and Robin dropped her box as she shot to her feet, staring at Vicki Carmichael.

“You said she’d be glad to see me,” Vicki said, slurred through her frozen smile as Robin stalked up and tried to yank Steve away somewhere, but Steve was anchored by Billy’s weight.

“Lemme put this shithead down,” Steve told her, as poor Vicki waved a bag of ice cream, her whole body stiff.

“I brought ice cream,” she said thickly. “S-Steve told me there was a party.”

“Steve told you,” Robin said flatly, her fingers digging bruises into Steve’s arm.

“What’s happening,” Billy said under his breath, looking between them, and finally Robin stopped staring Steve down, and clapped her hands.

“All right!” she shouted. “Let’s start!”

The kids started chanting again, like the freaks of nature they were, and Steve caught Billy smiling bemusedly at Max, as they pranced around the fire, the flickering light making them look like witches, or something. Vicki’s eyes were huge.

Steve kicked Dustin’s leg to make him get out of one of the three lawn chairs, and eased Billy into it. His grip was nearly as tight as Robin’s, but it wasn’t hard to put his cold, shaking fingers together with his pallor, and guess that he was just trying not to fall.

“I’ll go first!” Max said, waving a handful of paper. “I’m gonna burn my report card so I can stop hiding it from Neil,” she said, and Billy winced, “—and these letters from my fucking dad where he says I’ll learn to like it here, and—” she swallowed hard, and then just threw the handful into the fire, and Eleven gave her a side-hug.

Will threw a crumpled ball in, without a word, and then Eleven shoved a whole box into the middle of the flames.

Dustin had gotten spoons, and Vicki was getting a lot of soft “Thank you!”s as the kids gathered around her grocery bags, and even Robin grabbed one of the beers, eyeing her and then Steve suspiciously.

“Those are the files on the scientists that...did this,” El said. “To me and my mom. I decided not to look for them.”

“Holy shit,” Dustin muttered.

“Me next,” said Erica Sinclair. She held up a polaroid. “Heather at the pool gave me this of the hot new lifeguard, this summer,” she said, staring directly at Billy, “—but then I found out he was possessed and drank bleach. I can do better.”

Max stared at her, open-mouthed, but Billy cracked up, holding his chest as he wiped his eyes. The photo melted, releasing black smoke, and Dustin and Eleven coughed.

“And then there was you two,” Erica said, putting her hands on her hips to survey Steve, and then Robin, and ripping another photo of them—in Scoops uniforms—exactly in half. “No free ice cream? Neither of you are my true loves.”

“Oh my god,” Billy whispered, laughing harder, and looking pained.

“None of you deserve me,” Erica said, sighing, and she sat down again.

Steve yanked the folded notes he’d kept from Nancy, folded them tighter, and tossed them on the fire.

“What was that?” Billy asked, frowning up at him. “Harrington.”

“None of your damn business,” Steve sighed, hoping his blush wasn’t visible in the firelight. He was watching poor Vicki, ignored while her ice cream offering got consumed. Billy sighed.

“I didn’t bring anything to burn,” Vicki admitted, glaring over at Steve. “I didn’t know it was a...fire party.”

“Yeah, how dare you bring ice cream, and not s’mores,” Robin said, around a mouth full of ice cream. She glanced at Vicki, and then stared down into the carton, taking another huge bite.

“You should put some of this in the freezer,” Steve prompted. “Robin, you should show her where the freezer is.”

Robin stared at him, her cheeks full of ice cream, her expression epically betrayed. He glanced at Vicki to see her giving him nearly the same glare, but they did finally go inside, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief watching them through the kitchen window, edging around each other, bumping elbows, and blushing. Robin caught Vicki’s arm, saying something, and Vicki turned back, so close Robin was pinned against the counter, staring at Vicki’s face, and then her lips.

“Shit,” Billy whispered, under his breath. “Those bitches are gonna kiss.”

“Sssht,” Steve hissed at him, watching with a whiteknuckled hand on Billy’s shoulder. After a pause that went on forever, as they half-listened to Dustin explaining something about his girlfriend Susie and becoming astronauts, Vicki leaned in, licking her lips. Steve heard Billy take a shaky breath along with him as Vicki turned her head, kissing Robin firmly enough it pushed her head back, and Robin waved her hands in the air, her eyes huge. Vicki’s eyes were closed, and her shoulders hunched, a little, when Robin just stared into space, instead of kissing her back.

Vicki jerked away, and they could hear her heels clacking on the linoleum towards them, so Steve ran over and banged on the window. “Robin!” he yelled against the glass. “Wake up! She’s leaving!”

Robin jerked, shaking her head, and then glowered out, slapping a hand over to turn off the kitchen light, so they couldn’t see what was happening anymore—but she didn’t catch Vicki, apparently, because the heel-noises clattered across the threshold and she came barrelling out, wiping her eyes. She glared at Steve, and then stomped towards her car, and Robin came flying out after her.

“Stop, wait,” she hissed, and the kids finally looked over.

“Put more wood on the fire,” Steve told them, spraying the ground around them, as the fire dried the sparse grass. They yelled and scrambled out of the way, giggling, and out of the corner of his eye, he watched Robin catch Vicki’s hands, whispering to her.

The kids started building the fire up higher—Steve took the precaution of really soaking the yard down, not wanting to burn the whole neighborhood down even in exchange for getting his best friend laid—and Robin pulled Vicki back over to where she’d been sitting, and slowly, showed her what was in the box. Vicki covered her face, crying over her own scrunchie, her hair and jewelry glinting in the firelight. Robin stared over at Steve, rolling her eyes with a bewildered grin.

“...you were playing wingman for a goddamn lesbian,” Billy whispered, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Shut up,” Steve hissed at him. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve still got the hose.”

“You set that up,” Billy said again, and Steve squirted the hose at his lap. Billy swore, clutching the arms of the chair, but wouldn’t stop staring at him, like he was a zoo animal, and Steve avoided him as much as he could, the rest of the night.

When the kids started to get tired—leaning on each other, their faces orange and sleepy in the firelight—Billy was squirming around, his teeth clenched, a trail of cold sweat running down his cheek.

Steve sighed. “You want me to get you home?” he asked, and Billy stared up at him, the same weird, blank look he’d been giving Steve ever since they’d watched Vicki and RObin kiss. “Look, man, I can tell you’re hurting,” Steve told him, and Billy bit his lips together, swallowing.

“...I’m fine,” he said, glancing over towards the driveway and wincing, and Steve sighed.

“...you pushed yourself too damn far, and now it’s gonna hurt getting home,” he sighed. “Am I right?”

Billy licked his lips, and looked up again, watching Steve’s face like it was riveting, like the best new music video on MTV.

“...look,” Steve said, tiredly. “Robin’s parents are out of town. Lemme get you to the couch, you can lie down, okay? I’ll take you home later.” He said the last part loud, looking over at Robin, and she waved him on, staring into the fire, with Vicki curled up against her shoulder. Robin shook her head slowly, and squeezed her close.

Billy watched them, then staggered as Steve grabbed his arm and hauled him up.

It wasn’t far, to get into Robin’s living room—and thank god it wasn’t, Steve thought, hobbling under Billy’s nearly-limp weight. He tossed the pillows and things off the couch, lowered Billy as gently as he could onto the couch, and yanked Billy’s boots off. Billy eased himself back with a soft groan, letting his eyes close.

“You need a blanket?” Steve asked, and Billy started laughing again, softly, but enough so he grunted with pain, baring his teeth as a tear rolled out of his eye and around to his ear.

“...jesus,” he whispered. “You wanna give me a blanket? I kicked your ass, Harrington—”

“Just don’t do it again, asshole. Would a blanket help?” Steve asked, waving his hands in frustration. “Is there anything I can do? Do you have, like, something for pain? Jesus, Hargrove.”

“...only one thing you can do,” Billy laughed. “Come here, Harrington.”

Steve sighed, and knelt on the floor next to him, letting Billy Hargrove grab his shirt, and pull him in close. He wondered what the hell Billy couldn’t just say aloud, and then Billy whispered “Don’t get too pissed, Harrington,” and kissed him.

Steve sat back on his heels, his lips tingling from the warm, dry pressure of Billy Hargrove’s lips. He understood how Robin had felt, suddenly, staring like a moron as her lady ran out the door. “...what,” he whispered.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” Billy said, laughing again, his breath catching as he squeezed his eyes shut. “S’nothing.”

Steve remembered touches on the basketball court, and lingering glowers in the showers at the gym. He remembered Billy choosing to save Eleven and die, throwing his whole life in the bonfire, and Max missing him, like there’d been somebody inside Billy Hargrove worth missing. Maybe there was, Steve thought. “Seemed like something,” he whispered back.

Billy started laughing again, tears trickling out of his eyes as he gritted his teeth, curling tighter on the couch, and Steve panicked and kissed him again, deeper this time, until Billy went soft and loose against him, his eyes wide in the flickering light from the fire.

“Ssssh,” Steve whispered, again, stroking Billy’s side, trying to avoid the bandages under his clothes.

Billy licked his lips, his eyes shiny. “...what’d you burn, Harrington,” he whispered, and Steve bit his lips, thinking.

“...I needed to move on,” he whispered back. “Find...something new, maybe.” He watched Billy’s hands clench in the fabric of his shirt. “...somebody new, maybe,” Steve breathed, and leaned in again. Billy tasted like woodsmoke, and new beginnings.

Other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Smooches for Robin Buckley #SMooches for Steve #Ice cream for everyone else

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fanfoolishness · 4 years

Text

Primary Directives (The Mandalorian)

(IG-11 discovers similarities between itself and the Mandalorian. Mainly based on the episodes The Mandalorian, The Reckoning and the Redemption. IG-11, Din Djarin, and Kuiil. 2020 words, canon-typical violence, Din!whump.)

***

It was a droid. It had always known this, as surely as it had always known the ways of battle and weaponry, as it had known the ways to terminate over six hundred and forty-three organic species. IG-11 knew what it had been manufactured for, and that knowledge was as certain as code and metal and electricity.

Still, though, there were surprises. Such as the Mandalorian —

[Mandalorians: most commonly human but may hail of any race. Exceptional warriors operating within a strict honor-based code, plated in beskar armor protecting vulnerable body systems: cardiovascular system, cranium, spine. Beskar armor repels blaster fire, adjust angle of bolts fired to avoid secondary damage due to ricochet. Weapons may include wrist-fired whipcords, small ballistics, flamethrowers, or missiles in addition to standard issue blaster pistols and rifles. Kill points include jugular vein, brachial arteries, lungs —]

Despite this knowledge, IG-11 was not invulnerable. The Mandalorian fired a blaster into IG-11’s central processing unit and all awareness ceased.

***

Systems rewired, reprogrammed, new knowledge, new directives. Protect and nurse. Defending became the new priority instead of attacking. The work of the Ugnaught’s hands laid new tracts within its circuitry, paths that were worn deeper with the passage of time and every subsequent use.

The old knowledge of vulnerabilities and weaknesses of organics melded with information on how to ease the suffering of these creatures. There was also new information regarding the understanding of what suffering meant. This knowledge was assimilated, and IG-11’s study of protection and nurturing began.

It took time, as did all things worth knowing. Fragments of prior memory were still accessible: it could still visualize clearly the manufacturer’s killing fields littered with the droids whose programming had not fully taken hold. IG-11 had navigated those killing fields successfully, a ready and willing deliverer of death, and had emerged a formidable and fatal machine. It did not mourn the units that did not succeed. It knew only what it had been made for, and it knew that it would be successful.

Until it failed.

The Mandalorian ended its previous existence and claimed the bounty for his own, and IG-11 was left for scrap.

Now IG-11 trained with the Ugnaught Kuiil on the muddy world of Arvala-7, and it found success in movements made for building, in carrying tea that nourished the Ugnaught, in protecting the small forms of life that skittered and scurried through the mudflats of their shared housing unit. The old programming made a scaffold for the new, a web that built its way throughout IG-11’s surface awareness and sublevel routines, and it strove to fulfill its purpose as ever it had.

***

IG-11 stood over the fallen Kuiil. It regarded the Ugnaught’s prone form, analyzing the absence of breath, the pallor of flesh, the stillness of form. Kuiil and IG-11 had been united in their purpose to protect the Child, to defend, to nurse. Now IG-11 stood alone, its sensors identifying molecules of smoke and burnt organic flesh carried on the harsh Nevarran wind.

It would fulfill its master’s work. The death would not be without use. IG-11’s purpose did not waver, and it broke into a run over the dried lava fields, leaving its master behind.

The Ugnaught’s hands had been steady and true.

***

IG-11 succeeded, as its programming had assured it that it would. The Child nestled against IG-11’s metallic form, letting out squeals the droid analyzed as filled with delight. They traveled on a stolen 74-Z Imperial speeder bike as IG-11’s targeting software focused on stormtrooper after stormtrooper.

IG-11’s aim was steady and true.

***

IG-11 and the Child rejoined the Mandalorian and the humans, though the Mandalorian appeared to have been injured. They hid from overwhelming numbers of Imperial troops as IG-11 monitored the situation for ways to protect the Child.

It did as the humans requested. The male human requested assistance with ascertaining a route of escape as he imbibed alcohol to dull his senses. IG-11 worked as instructed, even when the environment was temporarily compromised by the attack of a Flametrooper.

[Imperial enemy. Flamethrower does not project temperatures higher than 300 degrees, a level of heat that is tolerated by all IG units but is fatal to multiple organic species. Standard stormtrooper weaknesses apply.]

Strangely, the threat was removed by the Child, a sentient creature IG-11 lacked all data for. The Child weakened after mounting its defense. It would still require protection.

The threat neutralized, the female human requested IG-11 bring the body of the dying Mandalorian to them. IG-11 gave its assurance to the woman, then gave the Child to her. She had no levels of inebriation, and protocol dictated that the Child be placed with a guardian most likely to assure its survival. The man and woman fled the smoke-filled shelter with the weakened Child, descending into the sewer system.

IG-11 then turned its attention to the Mandalorian.

It watched the Mandalorian’s breathing. His chest rose and fell, the breath strained, labored, then absent. Breath, breath, apnea. The cycle repeated. This abnormal pattern of respiration suggested a severe head injury. Perhaps that was why the Mandalorian had so resisted the female human’s offers to render aid.

Instructions of kill points and nursing directives, which intertwined at countless points, were accessed. [Brain trauma: results in altered consciousness, delirium, obtundation. May be fatal.]

“Do it,” rasped the Mandalorian.

“Do what?” IG-11 asked. It could not comply with the Mandalorian’s orders if the directive was unknown.

“Just get it over with,” the Mandalorian said.

Analysis was performed. [Fluctuating timbre of the voice. Abnormal breathing pattern persists. Severe pain is present.]

“I’d rather you kill me than some Imp,” the Mandalorian continued. IG-11 noted trembling in the body, particularly the hands. Ah. Perhaps the Mandalorian expected revenge for the previous shot fired into IG-11’s central processing unit, and the obliteration of its old directives. Such a thought was foolish, but then again, the Mandalorian had been injured and could be trapped in aberrant thinking patterns.

“I told you, I am no longer a hunter,” stated IG-11. It attempted to modulate its voice to be perceived as more friendly and less threatening. “I am a nurse droid.”

“IGs are all hunters,” said the Mandalorian stubbornly.

“Not this one,” IG-11 corrected. “I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.” The injury could not be successfully evaluated or repaired without doing so.

IG-11 reached to remove the Mandalorian’s helmet, and instinctively the Mandalorian raised a blaster in his shaking hand.

“Try it and I’ll kill you,” the Mandalorian threatened, his chest heaving.

IG-11 regarded the Mandalorian in puzzlement. All prior programming had suggested that an injured creature would do anything to accept aid. It paused.

“It is… forbidden,” the Mandalorian gasped, desperation tingeing his voice. “No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I… I swore the Creed.”

IG-11 understood the issue, then. It was a problem of programming. The Mandalorian could not deny his prime directive any more readily than IG-11 could. Perhaps there was a logical means of resolution.

“I am not a living thing,” said IG-11 gently. It extended its arm to touch the helmet. The blaster shook in the Mandalorian’s hand, but did not fire. IG-11 lifted the helmet, breaking its seal, and removed it from the head of the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian was human, as IG-11 had expected from the sound of his voice and the patterns of movement displayed by his body in battle. The droid experienced no emotion at the sight of the man’s face, but it studied it so as to better understand the extent of the injuries.

Blood trickled from the left nostril into the man’s patchy facial hair. A laceration arced across the bridge of the nose. Anisocoria was visible in the man’s brown eyes, a negative prognostic indicator. One that, in his previous programming, would have been a sign of impending success, especially when combined with the quantity of blood and sweat matting the man’s hair. Yet IG-11 felt no sense of completion at the man’s injured state. Death was no longer its objective.

Yet death threatened all the same. The threat was underscored by the frantic hyperventilation that had begun with the removal of the helmet, though the droid was uncertain if this was due to physical stimuli or due to emotional agitation. It ran a standard analysis on the Mandalorian’s expressions to determine the answer.

[Fear is detected in the shifts of the eyebrows and widening of the palpebral fissures. Distress and anxiety are exhibited in the frozen gaze and half-open mouth, a common response to threat in this species. Pain is seen in persistent shivering and recoiling.]

IG-11 activated the bacta unit the Ugnaught had installed on its arm, propelling a standard dose of 2.8mg/m2 onto the injured region. The Mandalorian stared at the droid, gaze still frozen, either confused or obtunded. The blaster wavered in his hand, then slowly lowered.

“This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours,” said IG-11. It attempted a joke; the jokes had always worked on the Ugnaught. “You have damaged your central processing unit.” Surely the Mandalorian would see the humor in the reversal of their situations.

The Mandalorian stared dazedly, eyes struggling to focus as the bacta spray took hold. The lines that creased his face, indicating pain, began to ease slightly. He raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping further open. “You mean my brain?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“That was a joke,” said IG-11 warmly. “It is meant to put you at ease.”

The Mandalorian attempted a noise that with further analysis IG-11 determined to be a laugh.

“You are beginning to feel a reduction in pain and impairment,” said IG-11. “You are recognizing humor.”

The Mandalorian grimaced. “If you say so,” he said, closing his eyes. His mouth made a thin, hard line, but his breathing eased, beginning to settle into a pattern more consistent with normal health. He breathed deeply, but then coughed, a loud rattling sound caused by the smoke. Perhaps the Mandalorian’s helmet contained filters that would reduce the effects of smoke inhalation.

As IG-11 identified the problem, it felt the Mandalorian’s hand brush against its arm. “Please,” the man muttered. “My helmet -- You did what you needed, right? I -- I need it -- the Imps are still out there --”

“Of course,” said IG-11. Swiftly it raised its arm, carefully lowering the helmet back over the man’s head and face. The Mandalorian reached up clumsily with both hands, fingertips slipping and scrabbling on the smooth beskar as he tried to pull the helmet down. IG-11 aided him, guiding the helmet over his face until it felt the click of the seal reconnecting.

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian exhaled, his breathing pattern finally reverting to normal.

“Can you stand?” IG-11 queried. “The Imperial forces will likely investigate this area soon. The bacta should continue to work as more time elapses.”

The man gave a weak nod. “I think I can stand.” He gripped IG-11’s hand and was pulled to his feet, where he wavered. IG-11 draped the Mandalorian’s arm over its shoulders.

“I will assist you,” said IG-11.

“Why?” the Mandalorian asked, leaning heavily against it as they carefully descended into the sewer after the others. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you are a protector, as I am,” said IG-11, leading the injured man through the darkened tunnels. “Kuiil taught me to nurse and protect those that cannot defend themselves. You have done the same for the Child, though you faced far superior forces and the threat of death. Working together, we have a greater chance to fulfill our directive. To protect the Child. Do you understand?”

The man was quiet, and for a moment, IG-11 only heard the man’s breaths, sharp and full of effort as they made their way forward into the depths. At last the Mandalorian spoke, and when he did, the voice was heavy, shaded with many human emotions.

[Relief, surprise, gratitude. Understanding.]

“This is the Way,” he said softly, and the words echoed, ringing, in the dark.

#the mandalorian #ig11 #din djarin #kuiil #mandalorian #my mando fic #noromo mando

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witchcraft-in-wonderland · 3 years

Text

Virgil Angst Sh** (1)

Description: Alternative of the Strangers au where the necklaces are never uncovered and Virgil is stuck with Romulus

Warnings: Physical and Emotional Abuse, Toxic Relationship, Memory Wiping, Willingly Remaining in an Abusive Situation, Blood, Weaponry, Food Denial, Extreme Weight Loss, Starvation, Pregnancy (trans man)

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

Virgil hadnt the slightest clue how he'd managed to end up in this situation, only that he desperately wanted out.

His only shot had been destroyed in a carnival fire, the book that had revealed the truth was useless to him now.

But, at least Romulus seemed to be revelling in Virgil's discoveries.

And, of course, his true body.

Roman had long since fled, Virgil had managed to erase any and all memories of himself from the prince, and his own friends.

It was better this way, better if no one came looking for him.

Better if he remained trapped in the fortress he'd helped Romulus raise above the ground.

Better if he played a perfect little princess, faked his way out.

Embraced the destiny he'd once fought desperately to avoid.

He wondered, occasionally, if Viviana was watching him now.

He wondered how disappointed she was that he'd succumbed to the fate she worked so hard to avoid.

But something in his gut always told him, she hadnt ever really avoided it either.

"Princess, are you going to come in for dinner or not?" Virgil shuddered as Romulus' voice reached his ears.

"I'm not hungry," Virgil said, lying through his teeth.

He was, of course, starving.

But he wouldnt give Romulus the satisfaction of his company.

"Shame, well then go to your bed chambers and remain there until I have need of you again," Romulus continued.

Virgil complied, every step he took feeling like a drag.

He'd gone from one hundred and sixty two pounds to a mere eight seven in under a month.

He survived on sneaked snacks and water collected from a rain jar.

He knew it was no life to live, but he also knew that this wasnt life, this was hell. After all, what life didnt include Roman?

Roman

The name hung in his head on a daily basis.

The memory of those emerald eyes and that dashing smile and those soft curves and gentle touches that Virgil missed ever so dearly.

He always cried when he thought of Roman, which was to say, he never stopped crying.

"You never learn, do you?" Often, to Romulus' dismay and scorn.

"Your highness I-" but Virgil was to late, with a wince he felt his hair jerked back, his head along with it, exposing his neck.

A neck covered in bruises and bite marks and stains of blood.

Virgil had liked vampires, before he'd known that just about any undead regardless of its origins tended to have a taste for blood related sustenance.

"Did I ask you to talk?." Virgil whined, averting his eyes as he felt Romulus' breath down his neck.

"You'll look at me when I'm talking, princess." Romulus snarled, Virgil let out a yelp as yet another bite that well would have killed him at the size he was was brought down on his neck.

He fell to the floor like a rag doll when Romulus had released him, staring wide-eyed at his captor.

"Dont look at me like that." Virgil tried to calm his expression, but to no avail.

Romulus didnt like acting.

Weeks

No no no. . .

Years

Had gone by.

He'd had a daughter.

A daughter named Victoria, whom he would kill and die for.

Whom Romulus would not be permitted to touch, ever.

Life was better now, with the little one, her prescience gave Virgil meaning, gave him a routine of normalcy.

Who knew a simple knock on the door could shatter it in its entirety.

He knew the eyes almost as soon as he opened the door.

Emerald green, yes, but absolutely seething with a flame of fury and passion.

His knight had come for the captured princess.

But of course, Virgil had to play dumb, for all he knew, this was a trick.

"I assume you're here for Romulus yes?" Virgil asked, Victoria resting on his hip, chewing on a tiny clenched fist.

"Oh I'm here for Romulus alright. WHERE'S THE BASTARD THAT TORTURED AND DEFILED MY HUSBAND." It seemed, as Virgil quickly noted, that Roman had not realized there was a small child present.

"Princess could you quiet down? I'm trying to read and all your whining is frankly m-" Romulus froze as he reached the top of the stairs.

Roman had a sword drawn within seconds.

As, Virgil had suddenly realized, did each and every one of the people he believed he'd brainwashed.

He supposed they'd rediscovered a few things.

"How dare you call him royalty as he stands dressed in filth and blood. How dare you stand here and berate him as though he is a lowly gnat to brush away with little note. How dare you treat the father of the children that should have been mine as though he is barely worth your time." Virgil had never seen his husband speak with such anger in his voice, such protectiveness.

"A king doesnt concern himself with the matters of a consort,"

That had been the wrong move.

Virgil didnt see the rest, he was pulled back by Patton and Janus almost as soon as an opening was made available.

The necklaces were destroyed, and along with them any trace of Romulus, save, of course, for little Victoria.

"Virgil? Virgil oh my precious orchid what has he done to you? You look so frail my poor baby, if only I'd fought him off sooner I could have saved you," now Virgil was at home, buried under sheets with his head resting on Roman's chest, face tilted up towards his husband as he assessed Virgil's injuries. Victoria safely tucked between his arms.

"Ten years. . . Ten years I'd hoped you would remain forgetful, ignorant of my mere existence. . ." Virgil murmured, voice raspy and aching.

"I could never do such a thing my love, I'll never forget you, nor will I ever let you get away from me again, nor let harm come to you from now on," Roman whispered.

"You know that's impossible. . ." Virgil replied softly.

"Not if I have anything to say about it,"

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boydidthatgowell · 3 years

Text

the two times ethan yelled at mark and the one time mark yelled back

requested: no

pairings: amyiplier, platonic crankiplier

summary: ethan begins to over think and doubt his abilities to meet mark's expectations after he notices how quickly tyler learned to edit. he expressed his emotions in an unhealthy way, in the end, mark is there to reassure ethan that he is good enough.

this takes place in february of 2017

shit shit shit

ethan was on the brink of a meltdown.

the editing program had crashed before he could save the file. and when he opened the project after restarting the monitor, the gameplay timeline had removed all of the splits and zooms. this meaning: nothing was lined up. the gameplay was longer than the actual facecam video.

ethan could feel his heart begin to sink. out of everything that could have happened, this was the worst.

after tyler's first edit, ethan thought that if he perfected the video that mark assigned him, he could prove to mark that he was worth keeping around, that he didn't deserve to be replaced.

something that ethan learned that day, is that apparently the type of monitor he used didn't work well when rushed. evidence being that the second he started rushing to check if there were any old copies in the auto save folder, everything froze.

everything.

the mouse, the keyboard, the entire system just ... stopped.

and of course, there was no use in worrying about it. to his knowledge, there was nothing he could do to fix it. the situation should have been fairly easy to explain to mark, amy and kathryn.

... should have been.

it was about the time that ethan was going under the desk to unplug the mouse and keyboard when mark and tyler walked up the stairs, coming from the main room.

tyler stopped mid - sentence when he saw ethan. yet, he wasn't the first one to speak.

"hey man? did something happen?" mark questioned, walking towards the desk and crouching down.

ethan was startled, he whipped his head around to see a confused mark and tyler's legs. he couldn't quite see all of tyler since he was still under the desk.

ethan crawled out from under the desk, unable to explain himself. mark stood with him, face to face.

"what happened?" mark repeated, crossing his arms nonchalantly.

" ... uhm, okay, so everything was fine!! i was close to rendering it and the video was perfect, you would have absolutely loved it, but, but it uhm, it crashed!! everything went down and when i went back into post, i tried to see if there were ... if there were any auto saved copies because all of the splits had been removed for whatever reason but when i went to check for copies, it all froze!! everything!! i'm honestly so sorry i don't know what to do and it's just so ... i'm so sorry, mark. this is one hundred percent on me and i promise i’ll fix it somehow."

mark smiled in a bewildered manner and cocked his head, "ethan, it's fine man. it wasn't your fault, no need for stress. how can i help?” he offered, uncrossing his arms and shooting an empathetic expression at ethan.

“i don’t ... i don’t need help, mark,” ethan plopped himself back into the white chair, pressing restart on the computer for the third time, “i have it under control, it’s ... everything’s fine!!”

the harsh tone caught the other two off guard, given, this was ethan ... ethan never raised his voice unless he was kidding around or excited about something. mark shared a similar concerned look with tyler, and opened his mouth to say something before he was interrupted by ethan’s trail/mumble of nonsense that sounded something like:

“it’s okay, it’s okay. the video should be done within the next couple of hours if i can get this damn thing working again.”

ethan sighed briefly as he was finally able to type his password in again and the system began to gradually come back to life. he soon became fixated on replacing the cuts that had been mysteriously trashed.

“ ... alright, man. if you need anything, tyler will be at my desk. i have to run up to best buy for another memory card ... for the uh ... the live stream on friday.” there was no point in mark wasting his breath, as ethan wasn’t paying an ounce of attention to what was being said.

tyler mouthed something to mark, and mark gave a reassuring nod towards him, gesturing at the youngest of the three.

------

thursday, eight fourty seven in the morning.

amy, mark and kathryn were all in the parking lot, chatting about preparation of the upstairs office, booting up the power strips and marking things off the checklist for the charity live that would be happening the next day.

“wait, why ... why is ethan’s car here? he usually comes in at nine fifteen.” kathryn pointed and chuckled at the dark blue four door sitting at the end of the lot.

mark approached the front door and pulled his keys out of his pocket, “it seems it’s unlocked, too.” mark ignored kathryn’s observation and huffed. “the door?” amy felt the need to clarify.

no one clarified though.

the girls dropped their bags at the front of the bottom floor, making their way to the right of the building to gather camera equipment to move it to the computer room.

mark didn’t follow, though. he calmly walked up the stairs, and to no one’s surprise, ethan sat at his work space, clicking away at some video timeline. the lights were off, so the only thing illuminating ethan’s face was his screen. mark didn’t even bother circling around the railing. he stood on the second to top step and rested his elbows on the white rail, holding three to - go cups in one of those cup carrier thingies.

“morning.” mark stated, more to get ethan’s attention than anything. “oh, good morning!! weird, i uh ... i didn’t even ... come in ... hear you - hear you come in.” ethan smiled half - heartedly. he pulled sweater paws over his hands and tiredly rubbed his glassy eyes, adjusting to the morning light spilling through the windows. mark sighed and furrowed his eyebrows, finishing that last step and walking over to where ethan was seated. the older male reached over the younger one’s shoulder and dangled one of the cups to the left of ethan’s face.

“here, coffee, bud.”

ethan blinked through the sleepiness, “hey!! thanks mark.” he yawned mid - sentence.

mark set the cup reserved for tyler on the table in the center of the room, taking a cautious sip of his own coffee. he, at last, dropped his bag at the foot of his desk and leaned against it, practically sitting on it. he observed the obviously exhausted boy as he hurried to render a section of the project he was working on. ethan shook his head dramatically and spun his chair towards the one standing, “so!! did you get the chance to check your business email this morning? i sent you the finalized video that i exported yesterday evening. i was gonna have you review it and give me some feedback? i was just curious if you’d gotten it yet because i worried it would’ve had some trouble getting to you because of the computer problems yesterday that did get worked out, by the way - “

“and by yesterday evening you mean a quarter past four o’clock this morning, right?”

ethan shut his mouth quickly, turning his attentiveness near his screen once more, “ ... mhm.” he bit his tongue, shifting it around his mouth a bit.

mark really didn’t have the energy to watch a stressed ethan ramble, it was a pain for both of them. he liked to think he’d known ethan long enough to pick up on the fact that if ethan was hiding something, no matter what it may be, he’d purposely talk a lot to cover it up.

mark sipped at his beverage again, twisting the cup in his hand, “did you sleep at all last night?”

ethan pepped up his attitude slightly, “no, but you can get so much done if you don’t sleep. it’s fine, it’s not like i’ve been up for three days straight.” he chuckled lightly, scanning his eyes over the fourth bar in the timeline, double checking subtitle checkpoints.

mark stopped his meaningless hand motions and squinted. he clicked his tongue, “but you have.”

ethan frustratingly lifted his hands from the keyboard and folded them under his chin, turning his neck to look up at mark, “i’m sorry?”

mark placed his half empty coffee cup on the edge of his desk and placed his hands back on the surface, using it for balance, “almost every file, email, whatever, that i’ve received from you in the past ... not only three days, but almost week, i’m pretty sure, has come in at anywhere from one to five a.m. i’m not saying you haven’t slept in a week, but if you’re sending me messages in the dead hours of night, and then spending ... what? eleven? twelve hours a day here at the office ... when do you have time to sleep?”

ethan couldn’t speak. he’d been called out. there was nothing else to it.

“no, really ethan, tell me. i want to know. tell me when you have time to sleep.” mark pushed, raising his eyebrows, watching as ethan’s eyelids drooped.

“like ... seven to nine. usually. sometimes less.” he muttered, not bothering to make eye contact.

“two hours?”

ethan huffed angrily, “yes!! jesus fuck, mark, yes. yes. i have a horrible sleep routine. but look, man!! i’m here, right? i’m alive ... right? great!! no reason to fucking worry.”

i will make mark proud of me. i will complete more projects than tyler will ever even be able to comprehend. he won’t replace me. i’m a great editor.

ethan’s hands were practically shaking, and he hadn’t even had any of his coffee yet. however, he removed his hands from his face and hovered them over his keyboard again, thinking about what he was going to do before clicking the tab button a few times.

mark groaned in a fed - up manner and reached out to use his foot to drag ethan’s chair towards him.

“mark, what’re you - “

mark placed both of his hands on either arms of the seat, trapping the younger one and looking down at him, “first of all, do not raise your voice with me in my office. secondly, i need you to go home.”

ethan gritted his teeth, “you what?”

“i need you to go home and sleep or i need you to sleep on the couch. you will not work today.”

“you’re being ridiculous, just let me - “ ethan attempted to push himself back towards his work space. the attempt failed terribly, though, as mark just gripped the seat tighter, “you will not work today, ethan. that is an order. as your boss, i am telling you that you will take a nap today, and you will not work again until i see that you’re well rested. do you understand?”

“i don’t need a nap, i can push through it.” ethan protested, choosing to fixate his stare at mark’s torso rather than his face.

“do you understand me, ethan?” mark repeated, uplifting his eyebrows and making his voice quieter, yet clear somehow.

ethan thought for multiple seconds and gave up. he wasn’t going to win this argument, no matter how badly he wanted to. mark was his boss, and he couldn’t risk losing his job when that was the last thing he needed. he shut his eyes momentarily and nodded, “yeah. okay.”

mark grinned approvingly, “thank you,” he let go of his grasp on ethan’s chair and stood up straight, “there should be a blanket on the couch ... the yellow one.” he watched as ethan pushed himself from his spot and weakly trudged to the couch, where he collapsed. within minutes, he was out like a light.

------

ethan fluttered his eyelashes, chatter awakening him.

“hi tyler!!” was all he could hear faintly. at first, he was sort of confused and his mind was cloudy with exhaustion. a few seconds after becoming aware of where he was and what had happened, he rubbed his forehead and sat up on one elbow. he glanced around the room, no one was on the second floor other than him.

what time is it ...

he glanced over to the wall clock.

two p.m.

it was two p.m.

he had wasted five hours of precious work time, all because mark had ordered him to.

i should have argued more.

he shot up off the couch swiftly, barely making it to his computer in two steps. he desperately slid his mouse around the mouse pad, remembering he hadn’t actually shut his computer off, and just let it fall into sleep mode. the first page to pop up was the file folder for all of the projects he was in charge of. he sped through all of them until he found the one he’d been working on that morning. he needed to finish it before lunch so he could start working on a markiplier makes around four p.m.

just his luck, lunch was an hour and a half prior to when he’d woken up.

great, i’m behind.

“oh, you’re awake.” amy’s voice lingered.

ethan whipped around to the top of the stairs to see amy, mark and tyler close behind, “y ... yep!! i feel great, and, uhm ... i’m working on getting this sketch rendered and finalized by four, and then the markiplier makes should be finished by around - tonight. tonight, it’ll be done.” ethan smiled, unknowingly why he did. all of his actions at that moment were kind of involuntary anyways, given, he had just come from a semi - deep slumber.

“right, that’s fine. take your time with it, bud. tyler just got here to help us set up and sort cords and power strips into sections so we’re prepared for tomorrow morning. kathryn just went to the dollar store to grab us snacks for the stream. and, yes i made sure to ask for nerds, because i knew you’d want them.” amy explained to ethan. “yeah!! thanks dude. i promise that i’ll help you guys out once i’m finished with this.”

mark held his tongue whilst he and tyler started taking the camera and tripod out of their respective cases.

“of course, just, like i said,” amy made her way closer to ethan, “take your time. no one is rushing you.” ethan grinned in response, to which amy ruffled his hair and walked to the other two boys.

------

thursday, eleven fifty two at night.

all five of them were in the office, discussing their plans for the live stream.

while ethan would usually be laying face - up on the floor during these types of meetings, he was now seated in front of his computer.

the only one on their computer, to specify.

normally this would be fine, but, they were trying to talk, and ethan was clicking away like it was no one’s problem.

“and we’ll definitely play that spongebob movie game, that’s why i bought - “

click ... click click clack

“ ... hey bud, you can save and exit now, we’re done working today, alright?” mark kept civil, creasing one leg to rest on top of the other and looking over at ethan from the rest of the group. he beamed pleasantly, that was to no avail, though, as ethan paused for a couple seconds before tapping against the keys again.

mark had an endeavor to wrap up the meeting without being cut in on. that didn’t work out for him, regardless.

“we’ll definitely have to get the xbox out of the storage room sometime tonight though, or we’ll forget about - “

clack clack ... click ... click click click clack

“ethan, it’s okay man, you can put everything away now. you can pick up where you left off on monday. don’t worry about it.” mark didn’t show any signs of smiling that go - around. he only examined the boy once more.

“mm, yeah. okay, okay.” ethan mumbled, continuing his speedy pace of editing.

mark locked eyes with amy, expressing mild anger. amy showed sympathy towards her boyfriend, “it’s okay, pay no mind.” she mouthed inaudibly. mark suspired noticeably, “i may have to dust an old flash drive, so please stay patient with me as i - “

click

“ethan - “

“mark!! what?”

“ethan.”

“i’m trying to work - “

“ethan!!”

the yelling match was expected.

mark’s fist against the desk was not.

ethan, along with everyone else, jumped slightly at mark’s quick course of action.

the youngest of the group stood, astonishingly, tranquilly.

and just ... walked out.

he didn’t bother to grab his phone, keys, or glasses. he simply just, walked down the stairs and pushed open the front door to walk out.

mark pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply and choosing to follow after his distressed friend. he refused to look at the others as he practically sprung out of his desk chair and sprinted through the office, trying to get outside.

ethan was faced away from the building, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket and his entire body quivering.

“hey,” mark started, “i’m sorry for getting mad, i shouldn’t have done that ... but, please, what’s going on with you?”

the blue haired male turned around, laughing in disbelief, “what’s going on with me? really? so, tyler just ... walks in here one day and you guys decide to make a video where he edits some ... some shit gameplay and ... and he ... he sits at my desk and ... and uses my desktop to edit your video and then you have the audacity to say that he did better than you thought he’d do? really? without even ... and then you don’t even have the courtesy to reassure me - ... anyone that he won’t be replacing someone on the team? you can’t even take the time to say that he’s not better than me ... or amy? or ... or kathryn? seriously, mark? you are unbelievable sometimes, fucking ... “

mark had barely made it three paces out the door before his jaw hung open ever so slightly, thick eyebrows furrowed, “is ... that really what all of this is about? is this seriously a jealousy thing? if it’s a jealously thing ethan, just know that you don’t have a reason to feel,” mark stopped to take a deep breath, “ ... to feel envious of tyler. i can swear to you, you have nothing to worry about, ethan. falling under editing and film skills, he is nothing compared to you. i don’t want you to feel like you have to prove yourself to me.” he softened his voice a little, not wanting to frighten the smaller boy anymore than he already had, “you don’t have anything to prove to me.”

ethan clenched his jaw and began to shake harshly, slow, chilly wind blowing through his colored hair and putting a subtle blush on the tip of his nose. he fought the urge to cry. out of everything that could be happening right now, he definitely didn’t need his boss to see him act like a little bitch.

despite his wishes, two tears fell from his right eye as he blinked, “ ... i,” ethan looked down and gave a miserable smile at his grey sneakers as he did his best not to break out into a full sob, “i just wanted you to be proud of me, man. i wanted to show you that i could ... exceed past tyler’s abilities so you wouldn’t fire me and replace me with him because ... i don’t know, i really like this job, mark, i really do!! ... i just don’t wanna lose it because there’s someone better than me.”

mark muddled his face and shifted his stance, “i am proud of you, i am so proud of you ... what do you mean? did you see what you did in a date with markiplier? that shit was insane. i don’t understand.” he felt comfortable enough to take a couple steps closer to the other.

a twenty pound lump formed at the base of ethan’s throat, haziness overtook his vision and his knees began to feel as if they were as weak as mechanical pencil led. “i don’t deserve this job. i’m not good enough. i don’t meet your expectations, mark. i don’t work hard enough. there’s someone better out there.”

the eldest felt his chest crumble, “you’re joking.”

ethan cocked his head, and then completely understood what his boss had stated.

he shook his head disapprovingly.

“you work incredibly hard, man. are you serious? you’re so motivated and driven to create all the time. which is awesome. i’ve, honestly, i’ve never met someone as self - prompted as you. your work ethic is, most of the time, flawless. other than when you sleep for less than two hours and work for sixteen, yeah man, you’re a fucking legend in post. editing, filming, directing, audio work, all of it, you’re amazing. you are good enough, ethan. for me, for amy, for kathryn, for tyler. there’s no one i’d rather have in your place than you ... i am so glad i hired you. we’d be no where without you.”

ethan sniffed inward and took a deep breath, “can i hug you?”

“absolutely, bud.”

#markiplier #mark fischbach #crankgameplays #ethan nestor #peebles #amy nelson #a date with markiplier

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anon-e-miss · 4 years

Note

I wonder if Prowl will shun Jazz for taking the little seedling or go willingly in the hopes jazz will take him to his baby ❤💙💎

As the light-cycle passed slowly by, the bitlet never really settle. He took the shortest of naps as exhaustion overtook him, but he spent the majority of the long joors wailing or sobbing. Jazz had prepared to bribe his creations with energon goodies to keep their peace but they surprised him with their empathy. They tried to draw smiles from the bitlet, using the puppets their grand-ori had made them for their emergence-cycle. Separation from his originator, and almost certainly hunger made the newling miserable but from time to time he calmed enough to watched them for a bream here or there, before he fell back into his misery. Throughout the mega-cycle Jazz and his ori tried to convince the newling to take some fuel, but he refused the bottle each time. It might have been Jazz’s imagination but he thought the bitlet’s colour had dulled a little, though that could have been the dim light of their habsuite. All of the windows were boarded shut, like every other habsuite in the Dead End. It protected them from stray bullets.

Punch left Jazz to mind the inconsolable newling and his own bemused creations. At least the Twins had decided to see some humour in the situation, instead of sulking about the cacophony. They had never seen Jazz unnerved. It had been important to him to keep the anxieties of their situation, and his business from them. Too soon they would be too old to hide the realities of the Dead End, and the family business from. Jazz would guard their innocence as long as he could.

“Good news, Jazz,” Punch declared after the door had latched behind him. “The Death’s Head took off the light-cycle and the Constructicons are on his tail. Bruticus actually tried to knock Lockdown out of the sky.”

“So Swindle’s personally on the hunt... That’s good. There might be nobody home to guard the dryad.”

“Y’re gonna go this dark-cycle.”

“I gotta. Newlings don’t last long without fuel.”

“How do ya plan on convincin’m to come along quietyl?”

“Hopefully he’s reasonable... or desperate. If I have to use the bitlet to lure’m out, I will. But I’d rather not bring’m out. If anyone’s at home, his wailin’ll draw’m out.”

“Ya’d be right, I suspect. I’ll listen for yer call. If ya can’t gettin’m this dark-cycle, will try again tomorrow. Don’t be stupid.”

“I won’t get caught.”

Swindle had not delayed his hunt by servicing his security grid. Jazz found it still disabled, though he triggered a second EMP grenade just to be safe. The garden was utterly silent, despair hung heavy in the air. It seemed to Jazz as if every crystal shrub and tree was grieving with the dryad. He rubbed the back of his neck. Jazz knew he should have spoken to the mech, reassured him that he would return for him, but Jazz had been impulsive. His progenitor protocols had screamed in his helm as Vortex’s glyphs repeated over and over in his memory banks. It did not matter to his core programming that the newling was not his. He as innocent. Jazz saw Gripper’s brutalized creations in his helm and took a long intake. His programming had never settled back down after he had stumbled upon that scene.

Jazz set off another two grenades as he found Swindle’s boobytraps. It was more than there had been the dark-cycle before but it was far too little and far too late. Swindle had trusted his high walls and his flashy security grid to keep out thieves, but any thief with a couple vorns experience would have been to find a way around the grid. It was all show, and no real substance. Fear of the fate that lay in wait for thieves and debtors had kept Swindle’s loot save. Too bad for him Jazz was not sensible enough to be afraid.

The crystal brush was dry and brittle, Jazz realized as he slipped passed. The flowers that had been in bloom all over the grotto were limp and dead. A visualization of the dryad’s mourning. Jazz looked out towards the sprawling garden and saw the whole of it was dark and dead. With his grief the dryad had killed every crystal planted in the garden. Swindle must have been furious. What would he do to the dryad if it remained like this. Some of these crystals were rare imports, and Jazz knew what they had cost. He had stolen more than a hundred of them for Swindle from all over the globe over the course of the vorns. They would not be easily replaced.

He found the dryad where he had left him. The tree he was bound to was as dead as those surrounding the grotto. Without the lush foliage disguising it, the cuff around the dryad’s wrist could not be mistaken for anything but a vicious restraint. Ugly chains wrapped around the crystalline dryad from the base of his crystal form, all the way his frame. It was horrid, and ugly. Might it be punishment for the death of Swindle’s garden? Or had the dryad tried to escape somehow? Jazz stepped into the clearing and inched towards the dryad, searching the ground for more traps. It worried him that the dryad remained crystalized. Might the perceived loss of his creation have caused him irreparable harm?

Suddenly a vine, or perhaps a root reared up and slashed at Jazz from just metres to his left. Jazz dodged neatly. Another erupted from the soil and Jazz jumped again. They lashed at him from all sides and Jazz twisted, jumped and flipped about, only barely avoiding the dryads attack. Jazz leapt over the mass of angry vines and scaled the faux waterfall even as the vines slashed up at him. He found himself clinging to the dead tree, chassis to chassis with the dryad. Before Jazz’s optics, the dryad transformed from a roughly mech shaped crystal, into a striking, and enraged Praxian.

“Thief!” The dryad snarled in his face.

There was contempt in the glyph and unbridled hate in his field. Jazz could not exactly fault him. He stared at the dryad for a moment. It was still difficult to wrap his processor around the idea that dryads were real, that this garden ornament was a living and ventilating mechanism, but he was pulled from his stupor as the dryad tried to thrash against his chains. Fresh energon flowed down his arm from his cuffed wrist. Jazz could hear the chains around the mech’s plating grinding against his plating.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Jazz entreated, though he could not imagine how he could actually force the dryad to obey. The bound mechanism’s pale optics glowered at him with contempt.

“Why? Because my value will be diminished?”

“No. I don’t care ‘bout yer value. I don’t want to see ya hurt.”

“Lies. You are a thief.”

“I am a thief. Y’re right about that.”

“Lockdown hired you to steal my creation.”

“How’d ya know Lockdown hired me.”

“He has been persistent in his efforts to get Swindle to sell me. But Swindle wishes to fill the grotto with living statues. I was not, I am not, for sale.”

“So why not steal ya?”

“He knew well I would not go with him.”

“Ya wanna stay here?”

“Lockdown lusts for me. Swindle lusts for wealth and beauty. Both are intolerable, but one more so.”

“Scrap,” Jazz’s fuel tank rolled as he asked: “Is the bitlet his?”

“No. My creation is no ones but my own,” the dryad replied, and his optics flashed with white heat. “Swindle has not found another dryad despite paying a great fortune on the services of bounty hunters. I would not tell him where my kin reside, thus he settled on propagating me.”

“Propagating...”

“Lockdown paid a dear some to help stimulate me so that I would bud.”

“‘M sorry.”

“Do you think I care if you are sorry?”

“Probably not. Look. Swindle’s off chasin’ Lockdown ‘cause he figures Lockdown took the bitty himself. There’s no tellin’ when he’s gonna come back. We don’t got a lot of time to get away.”

“You think I will go with you?”

“If ya want yer bitty back, ya,” Jazz replied. The suspicion the dryad was all but seething with was not a surprise. He would have been worried if the mech was too cooperative. “Even if ya could get out o’ these chains on yer own, ya got an entire city to search. Come wit me, ‘n ya get yer bitty back ‘n ya won’t be Swindle’s ornament, or Lockdown’s berthslave.”

“And what would you have me do for you?”

“I don’t fraggin’ know. I took the job from Lockdown ‘cause he was willin’ to pay the crystal’s weight in shanix. I didn’t know he was a dryad. I didn’t think ya existed in anythin’ but my ori’s stories.”

“My kind do best when we are nothing but fairytales.”

“Y’re probably right.”

“I am worth more than my weight in shanix. It has been millenia since my kind were commonly found in manicured gardens.”

“I don’t deal in mechanisms.”

“A thief with a conscience.”

“Everyone has their limits.”

“What did you need that payout for?” The dryad asked. “Drink? Whores?”

“My brother.”

“Why?”

“He fragged off his patron ‘n Kaon. ‘M tryin’ to put together ‘nough credits to pay his fine ‘n get’m home.”

“It appears we have something in common.”

“What’s that?” Jazz asked.

“We both do stupid things for our brothers.”

#anon-e-miss writes #maccadam #dryad prowl #thief jazz #tf jazz #tf prowl #lockdown is a creep

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monaisme · 3 years

Text

One Week Later - Chapter Four

This is the sequel to my one-shot, “The Battle”

Going through a magical portal was definitely one way to distract from the nerves borne of having to step back into one’s life five years later and all the chaos that came with it.

The portal didn’t seem like a big deal after the fact, especially after spending the last days watching the successful use of them as those remaining in Wakanda were reunited with family and friends. It didn’t stop Peter’s brain from wondering for a quick second how Wong’s magic worked—if he was really just stepping through or if there was more to it?—Like the transporters in Star Trek. Maybe that ring he’d been wearing contained technology that manipulated the particulate in the atmosphere and—

His train of thought derailed as Mr. Stark finally came through the portal and the circle shrunk and fizzled away into nothing.

“Well,” he announced as he glanced back at the vanished means of entry, “That wasn’t my flashiest entrance, but it’ll do.”

Mrs. Stark rolled her eyes and stepped up to give him a kiss. “Yes, dear, whatever you say.” She teased as she caressed his cheek. “That exit, though...” She gave her husband a playful wink and then patted his face. “The Divine Miss M would be proud.”

Mr. Stark smirked, “Yeah, Wong will definitely pay for that later.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer then planted a soft kiss on her lips. He mumbled, “I’m so glad we’re home.”

Peter had watched as they did their flirting thing, but mention of home had him looking away pretty quick. He fought to tamp down his discomfort.

Five years ago, Mr. Stark had been freshly engaged and behaving exactly how Mr. Stark was expected to behave, all snark and sarcasm with the occasional emotional outburst.

And Mrs. Stark was, well—she was Pepper Potts, but not just Pepper Potts. She was Ms. Potts; CEO to Stark Industries, #1 on the Forbes list of “100 Most Powerful Women” in 2017, and MJ had just told him—he sighed as he mentally corrected himself, MJ had told him five years ago that she was creeping up on Oprah and Beyonce in terms of net worth. He’d met her a few times when she’d stop by the lab to make sure Mr. Stark was drinking more than just coffee and consuming actual food—not just the mystery smoothies Dum-E would make for him on occasion. She’d been intimidating, but always polite and kind and left the lab with a smile for Peter and a peck on the cheek for Mr. Stark.

And while he’d been stuck in that stone? Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts had gotten married, built a home... moved on, and here he was— Peter was getting tired again just thinking of it.

Five years later was weird.

Peter scuffed his toe against the floor, unintentionally drawing attention to himself.

Mr. Stark straightened the two of them up and turned to him immediately, making sure to grab his wife’s hand. “Yeah.” It was Mr. Stark’s turn to blush. “Sorry about that. I guess we’re all a little relieved to be back, right? We can finally get back to normal?”

Peter chuckled quietly and shrugged as he refused to look up at the pair. “I guess?” He replied, but in his head, he knew better.

“Well,” The pair moved closer to him and Mr. Stark put a supportive arm around his shoulder. “I’m not even going to ask what you want to do, kid.” Mr. Stark stated as he turned Peter around and started walking him through the living room of the penthouse, “but before we figure out when you can see May, I need to know if an in person visit is even in the cards for today. I’ll just pop down to the med bay and have a quick chat with the doctor and—“

Peter didn’t think before he stopped moving and the words fell out of his mouth, all desperate and pleading. “Can’t I just come with you?” Mr. Stark was opening his mouth to say no, Peter was sure of it, so he kept going, “I don’t even need to talk to her! I’ll stay back and out of the way and everything. Please? I just want to see her.”

Mr. Stark couldn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. “Pete, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But Peter was determined. “But it’s May, Mr. Stark!” He begged. “And you can’t tell me she hasn’t missed me, I mean, it’s been five years for her and I know she’d want to see me—“

“Kid, that has nothing to do with it. I promise. You know what your aunt is like.” Mr. Stark seemed to hunt for his next words, “She’s a beast in the best possible way—but now? She’s not, and the last thing she’d want is for you to see her... less than one hundred percent because then she’ll get upset that you’re worrying about her and then you’ll end up getting upset and none of us want that either, do we?”

Peter tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “No. I get it, that’s cool. Just...” He trailed off before he said something stupid. He understood. He’d heard the doctor only a couple of hours earlier and he knew he couldn’t just go running into the med bay to throw himself at Aunt May. Stuff was going on and he wasn’t going to get in the way of it.

“Let’s give her chance to put on her game face, okay?”

“Okay.” Peter couldn’t have sounded more glum if he’d tried. He hated this.

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark pulled him into an awkward side hug as they all started walking again. “I promise you, we’ll get this sorted, but here’s what we’re gonna do. First, we’re gonna get you set up in your room,” they turned down into a hallway beyond the living room, “so you can take a nice, long shower—wash off all of those teenager cooties you’ve been sporting.” Mr Stark ruffled Peter’s hair as he attempted to lighten the mood. “Then, by the time you’re done, I’ll be back with all the information we need so we can make a plan, alright?”

Peter nodded even though he wanted nothing more than to disagree with everything Mr. Stark was suggesting and make a break for the med bay. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Five years ago, he was supposed to help get the gauntlet and then come home and train with the Avengers after May grounded him forever... and now, even his freaking homecoming was wrong. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to deal with all of this.

Mr. Stark steered him through a doorway and stopped. “So, kid. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Peter blinked, confused. “Um, what—?“

“You’re room, buddy, what do you think?” Mr. Stark gestured into the room they were now standing in. “We tried to make it exactly like your old one... got FRIDAY to...”

Peter tuned Mr. Stark out as he stepped further into what was definitely a space meant for him. Now that he was paying attention, it took a second to know that he was in the exact same room Mr. Stark had put aside for his use before half of the universe disa—

It was like a needle scratching across a record in his brain. NO.

He needed to change the thoughts in his brain—wished it was as easy to do for himself as it was for the schematics laying about the lab... a swipe of the hand and BOOM, a fresh start—the lab he hadn’t been in for five years because he was trapped in a stone.

NO. He scolded himself again and clenched his fists tight; thrust them into the pockets of his sweatpants as he tried to reframe it. He needed to make it something else before Mr. Stark ended up looking at him that pitying way again.

Okay.

It was the same room Mr. Stark had put aside for his use on those nights when they’d goof around with Mr. Stark’s tech until stupid late and then the two of them would fight over whether 80s horror movies were the superior movie genre when anyone with real taste knew that Star Wars and all things sci-fi was where it was at.

Yeah, that was better. He could do this.

He tried to relax his shoulders as he took in some of the details.

Peter was grateful that the room itself smelled as fresh and clean as the last time he’d been in it. The laundry detergent used to wash his bedding was even the same. His posters were on the walls and his books were back on the tiny bookshelf by the desk set up next to the wide expanse of window. The pens, papers, books, and even an unfinished lego project he’d left upon it during his last weekend were sitting in a box, waiting to be unpacked.

It was almost exactly where it was all supposed to be.

Almost.

And then—

Peter remembered an April Fool’s Day when he and Ned had been little. It had fallen on a Saturday, which of course meant a sleepover for the two new friends and, while May and Ben slept on, the boys had decided to be as diabolical as six year olds could be. It had taken all of three minutes, for all of the giggles and impromptu pillow fight, but they’d switched all of the red throw cushions from the couch with the brown throw cushions from the two armchairs in the living room. The cutlery tray in the kitchen was given the same treatment before Peter and Ned were satisfied with their first ever attempt at foolery.

It was insanity, and May and Ben were absolutely baffled at how something so strange could have happened while they slept!

Peter smiled sadly at the memory as he realized this was that moment, except it wasn’t a goofy prank by two silly kids. It was like everything in the room was six inches to the left and Peter was supposed to be confused that something wasn’t quite right—

Nothing was right.

He wondered if this would be the thing that pushed him over the edge.

“Pete?” Mr. Stark asked again, softer this time and laced with an undertone of concern.

He closed his eyes for a moment then pasted a smile on his face. “It’s great, Mr. Stark.” He turned to face him, hoped he’d buy the ruse. “You wouldn’t know that anything was different except that my desk is finally tidy.”

Mr. Stark chuckled, “Look, kid, I know it’s not quite ri—“

“No! It’s absolutely fine!” Peter couldn’t allow him to acknowledge the imperfection of it or he’d lose it. “I hadn’t even thought about... this. It’s just like I left it,” he lied.

Mr. Stark wasn’t convinced. Peter could see it on his face. “Peter? Tell me what’s going on in your head. I can see that something is—“

“No.” Yup. He really needed to not be talking about it, “Everything’s great... this is great, Mr. Stark, thanks so much for doing this for me.” Peter then looked behind him to Mrs. Stark still standing in the hallway. “And you, too, Mrs. Stark. I’ll try really hard to not be irritating while I’m here.” He kept that same fake grin going, hoped for the best.

And then Peter put an arm around Mr. Stark and ushered him toward the door.

Mr. Stark pushed back a little, making his desire to stay obvious. “Pete? What are you doing?”

“Just what you asked, Mr. Stark. I’m gonna jump in a shower now and get ready for the day.” He’d gotten Mr. Stark one step into the hallway when the man pulled free of Peter’s unintentional restraint, turned around and braced himself in the door frame.

“Peter, stop.” He tried to catch Peter’s eye. “What’s going on?”

The question stopped Peter cold in his tracks. He was absolutely not prepared to answer the question. “What do you mean? I just said—“ He glanced over his shoulder back into the room. “Everything’s great.”

“Yeah, Pete, I hear you. You keep saying it. It’s great, but that’s not what I’m picking up here.” His voice held nothing but concern and he stepped closer to Peter. “Do you want to try again?”

And his plan had failed in all of one minute.

Dammit.

An unexpected anger flared, “No, I really don’t.” He hadn’t yelled, but he was a near thing. “Can I please just take a shower now?” He tugged at the sweatshirt that wasn’t his, stalked toward the dresser he’d yet to inspect and pulled open the drawer that thankfully held his t-shirts. He’d hoped it would be enough of a cue that Mr. Stark needed to leave, but that was apparently too much to ask.

“Peter, c’mon. I need to know what’s going on in that genius brain of yours. Do you want to talk? Do we need to change something about the room?”

“NO! It’s already changed enough!” Peter snapped. He grabbed his favourite shirt and slammed the drawer shut with enough force that the dresser hit the wall behind it with a crash.

Mrs. Stark gasped at the outburst, bringing Peter back to himself.

He froze where he stood, his ears flushed with embarrassment at the loss of control-- being caught out. “Shit. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Mr. Stark stood silent as he waited for Peter to settle down, Mrs. Stark coming to stand beside her husband as the tension hung thick in the air.

And never before had he wanted Mr. Stark to leave him alone so badly.

“I think I need... can I just have a minute, please?” He whispered and fidgeted with the shirt in his hands.

“Peter, I don’t think we should--” his words cut off.

Mrs. Stark put a hand on Mr. Stark’s arm, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “Tony, wait a minute.” She gave Mr. Stark a ‘look,’ “It’s been a long week, and an especially difficult day for Peter. You go check in at the med bay while I check in with the others and give him a chance to catch his breath.” She addressed Peter next. “Does that sound like a good idea?”

Mr. Stark opened his mouth to protest, “But—”

Mrs. Stark didn’t bother to hide her glare. “I’m sorry. Did I pose that as a question?”

Even Peter knew from that tone that CEO Ms. Potts—um, Mrs. Stark was coming out to play, so he wasn’t surprised when Mr. Stark grumbled out a petulant ‘no.’

“Good.” She turned to Peter next, spoke kindly. “You take all the time you need, honey. I can’t imagine we’ll be longer than a half hour, but if you need more time than that, then you take it. We’ll meet up in the living room when we all finish. Does that sound good to you?”

Peter nodded a ‘yes,’ though he still refused to look at either of them.

She smiled, like the last minutes of Peter’s tantrum hadn’t happened, then continued. “Perfect. We’ll get out of your hair.”

She made to steer Mr. Stark out of the room, but he again stopped and turned to address his mentee. “Hey—“

But Peter refused to look at the man.

Mr. Stark tried again, “Hey, buddy. Listen to me. No one is mad. Okay?” He seemed to grapple with finding the right words for a second and then went on. “We all know this is messed up and no is going to blame you for not knowing how to react—but you have to talk to us okay?”

Peter couldn’t bring himself to respond.

Mr. Stark sighed, seemingly giving up on the moment. Peter glanced up, thinking he’d watch them walking out the door, but blinked in surprise at Mr. Stark waiting patiently for him to look up.

“If you need anything... if you need me, you let FRIDAY know and she’ll get me. Understood?”

Peter did nod at that, but kept quiet.

Mr. Stark sniffed and then cleared his throat. “Good. Go take your shower, sweetheart. We’ll see you in the living room when you’re done.” Peter thought he’d reach out to hug him, but he held himself back and Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Instead, Mr. Stark grasped Mrs. Stark’s hand, gave Peter a wink and a nod, and the two of them left.

He waited a few seconds, listened for the concerned voices talking about giving him time to die away in the hall and then sighed in relief.

Finally.

Peter was alone for the first time since, well, he guessed five years ago.

He stopped the thoughts again. It was too much, and he had thirty minutes to pull himself together, so that’s what he was going to do.

* * * * * *

Peter took a couple of minutes to be still and hoped it would be enough to get through whatever came next.

It wasn’t.

He did the breathing exercises MJ had taught the decathlon team before that huge meet against Bronx School of Science.

Maybe that took the edge of a little?

Finally, Peter gave up, realizing that it wasn’t going to matter what he did, at least for now. He just needed to get up and move.

And so he did.

He grabbed the rest of his clothes from the dresser, consciously ignoring the drywall dust on the floor behind it, and stepped into the ensuite.

FRIDAY had already started the shower knowing that Peter’s preferences wouldn’t have changed, so he stripped and stepped under the hot spray. He closed his eyes and counted his breathing again, but now that he’d moved from the quiet of his room, the urgency to get done and get to the living room started pressing on him.

He could do this. Whatever the world had in store for him, he’d manage. He’d done the whole starting over thing before, after all and hiding from it wasn’t going to change anything.

He wiped the water away from his face and grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the shelf, smiling to himself as he recognized the brand and scent on the label. He wanted to be quick, but he sound of the water beating against the ceramic tile and the soothing fragranced steam relaxed him more than he’d anticipated.

Maybe he’d be alright?

After a few more minutes of luxuriating in the heat, Peter finished washing up and stepped out to dry himself off, not bothering to do anything special with his curls. He slipped on his boxers then his jeans, keeping the towel around his neck so his hair wouldn’t drip everywhere. He finished off with one last vigorous scrub and tossed the towel into the hamper behind the door. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, took a deep breath to center himself and caught a whiff of it...

He wondered how quickly Happy had been able to pull his stuff out of storage and how many times his clothing had been washed and washed and washed... all to try and get rid of that musty, unused smell that clings to old, discarded clothing. Except that the clothes hadn’t been outgrown or discarded—and below the layers of wash after wash he could still tell with his stupid enhanced senses that all that Peter was before was that stink of age and neglect.

An unnatural calm settled upon him as he pulled the shirt down from his face and left the bathroom.

He grabbed forgotten socks from another dresser drawer and sat himself on the bed to get them on.

He realized he’d get no reprieve from all of the reminders, and wondered why he wasn’t more upset.

It didn’t matter, though.

He looked at the clock on his bedside table. He’d already taken forty minutes and needed to get out to the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Stark were waiting—

And Peter figured that after five years, they’d waited long enough.

#fanfiction #Irondad and Spiderson #Avengers: Endgame #non-compliant #ao3fic #AO3 fanfic #OBlossom

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crystxlclear · 3 years

Text

hell above

o. prologue ( the spark to light a match ... )

part one of hell above

synopsis: prologue.

word count: ???

warnings: mentions of death

paring: din djarin x original female character

author’s note: official prologue of hell above! din won’t show up for a couple of chapters but he’ll be there soon enough!

It’s the faltering stars overhead that first let Rhia Vytuia know that something is wrong.

She's learnt to trust them and the wisdom they utter; over the years, they've been a constant, a long-standing and persistent reminder of a world beyond her home. The only friend who never leaves her side. The stars recount stories of the universe - they whisper sonnets of far-off worlds, their anguish speaks of pain and their delicacy speaks of innocent. The stars sing to her while she sleeps.

Clear and bright and insistent. They are never-ending. The stars have existed before her. And the stars will exist in the sky long after she is dead, merely a memory lost to the world. They've regarded destruction and creation, birth and death, and all the horrors of the world. They are eternal and everlasting.

And, so, she yearns for them to tell her everything.

All the secrets from beyond.

Tonight, they dim and blink and falter, scattered aimlessly to the wind. Bright arcs and constellations, colours usually so vibrant and vivid they cast the shadow-filled horizon in pastel and gold, fading away into the distant blackness. The darkness creeps in and pulls everything apart, destruction raining down in the form of brutal chaos, in the form of shadows that pull across the skyline. The moment the darkness creeps in, she knows something is wrong.

In all her twenty-five years, they've never lied to her.

And that night is no different.

Rhia is sat overlooking the city. It's a familiar spot, a position she takes up every night when nightfall descends and the shrill, screaming bustle of life lulls itself into a fitful sleep. Her feet have an intimate relationship with the wood of her windowsill; she's committed each curve and groove to memory, that nightly spot she takes up when night steals away the sunshine.

The alarm is raised as the moon rises to its highest point, the tip of the city's crystal towers, standing tall and terrifyingly imposing in the west, pointing straight to it. The mark of midnight.

It's two minutes later when her room is filled with guards. Some familiar - the young man with the blond buzzcut who stands guard outside her door each night, and the woman with the plaited red hair that follows her whenever she wanders her gardens - some she barely recognises as the guards that trail her brother, and faces she's never seen before. They rush for her, where she sits overlooking the city. There are hands gripping her arms, pressing against her back; they yank at her shoulders and her wrists - everywhere, everywhere, everywhere - and they steal her from the solace of her room and out into the hallway. Their bodies shield her from the outside.

They don't speak and they don't answer her questions and, as much as she tries not to be terrified of what the hell is going to happen to her and her family - to her brother and her mother and father - and everyone else she holds dear or to significance, she has to hold her breathing steady, lest she start to sob and gasp and bubble up with pathetic sobs. There's no clarity within her fear as an alarm sounds and the stars aren't there to answer her pleas; it's loud and intrusive and horrifyingly shrill, and she's never heard it in all her years. It spikes terror through her. Her long nails dig deep into her palms.

Rhia is rushed blindly through familiar hallways, rendered unfamiliar when she can no longer see her ancestors' sketches that make the walls so vibrant. Without them, the palace is merely a labyrinth of repeating archways and awnings, a starless night sky of high ceilings above the heads of strangers. It seems to be closing in on her as they descend step-after-step; no noise comes but the rhythmic rush of footsteps and the alarm blaring loud, and Rhia wants to scream out proclamations and demands as fear swells up deep inside her chest.

She could be marching towards her death, for all she knew. An overthrow of the monarchy, the end of her days; the end of her families days; the end of the Vytuias and their reign over Ondorra.

Fear, more fear than she's ever felt in her entire life, crashes over her. It's brutal.

She's not afraid to die. She's only afraid of how death will come.

At risk of sounding like a petulant child, like the spoilt, rich little Princess she's sure most of them think she is, she yells out demands, practically screams at them for answers. But they just glare at her out of the corner of their eyes, like she's merely more than a gnat whipping around their atmosphere. Their lips form lines and there's a cursory regulation to their steps; they're rehearsed and deliberate and they never once falter, though Rhia still senses the weight in each footfall and the urgency that presses into the marble floor.

They rush down staircase after staircase, more than she'd ever thought could possibly be crammed into the palace she's lived in her whole life, stopping only to unlock imposing oak doors and relight torches in the darkness. They must be miles underground, hidden within a twisting labyrinth of identical hallways, each growing darker and darker, white marble walls turned amber with each flickering pass of candlelight. They're most certainly in the darker depths of the palace now; there are doors locked by rusty keys and large ornamental padlocks, and they're the only doors in the palace she has not breached.

They've always intimidated her with their stature - unnatural and heavy and always so steeped in danger that it never seemed worth it. She's always assumed that they hide her father's secrets; his mistress' quarters, old courtiers allegedly exiled for their crimes. The things he didn't want others to see.

She hadn't expected empty, hollow hallways buried deep below the earth and the lilac sky.

The guards halt at the end of the longest hallway; the abruptness of it startles her and she almost tumbles into the back of the guard in front of her. She's been complaining the entire way, long minutes stretching on and on and on as they circled down into oblivion, but the fear is burning her nerves, turning them to liquid fire and it bleeds out in the form of petulant demands for information.

The hallway opens out into a dimly lit room. The roof arches up imposing and deliberate, cut and carved from gleaming firestone. Light fractures in from somewhere high above; it throws patterns across the stone floor and the walls look as if they're painted in blood. She's sure this is the end the moment she sees it looming.

The perfect place for sinister intentions. A room stowed away so far below, hidden and unknown even to those inside. A red room, built of danger, so far from the stars that they cease to exist.

"Rhia," her mother's voice calls. The guards part from before and Rhia rushes to her, into the familiarity of her pinewood perfume.

"Are we going to die?" Rhia questions, into the empty space. Her voice echoes through the void; the room is a cavity, all plain and endless walls of thick, polished marble. There's a lip that stretches the entire expanse, like a bench, made for a hundred people, it seems. But there's no furniture; no beds or ornate dining tables, no armchairs or even carvings like the rest of the palace's rooms. The space is but a barren, never-ending chasm, swallowed whole by the abyss and she's sure that the darkness will drown her, if given half the chance.

There's an echo, here, and it's palpable, and Rhia swears that she can hear her heart thundering brutal against her ribcage.

As she glances around, she notices.

They're the kind of walls that are easy to clean.

"My darling, we are safe here."

"Where's Coren?" She inquires. Everyone is there, everyone but him. Her mother, her father, they're holding her close like they used to do in the dead of winter, when the eastern storms would roll in and douse the city in silt and fog and thunderstorms. The air is electric, just as it was back then. The static pulses through her. Her heart hammers within her chest, heavy and persistent. It rushes through her head, renders her dizzy. The end is near. She can feel it in her bones. "What is happening? Where are we?"

"My great-grandfather intended for this to be a training centre, back when Ondorra had the largest army in the Galaxy. Given the recent tensions, I intended on turning it into a safe room for us. I did not think it would be needed so soon," her father explains, hand gripping her shoulder tighter.

"A safe room?" Rhia scowls at each of her parents. The door she'd been rushed through opens, rusty hinges creaking and protesting. Her cousins and aunt are ushered into the room; they aren't nearly as heavily guarded as Rhia had been, by lineage not as important as the King's daughter. The guards lock and bolt the door after they enter and the light from the candles in the hallway is snuffed out. There are ten bolts, that she can count. They're trapped inside this lightless room, with an echo that bounces from each wall. "Where is Coren?"

She knows her brother is on Ondorra. Or should be, at least. She'd seen him that morning at breakfast, sat opposite her at the table, telling their father about his plans for the day; to visit the library, to visit the woman he's been courting. He'd smiled at her when she'd sat down and smoothed out her heavy skirts, and asked her how she'd slept that night, that kindhearted man always has time for his younger sister. She'd been restless the past couple of weeks. Too warm, too cold, too loud, too quiet, always something stopping her from falling asleep. There aren't many their age within the Court and they're close as a consequence. They look out for each other. She's pretty sure that they're best friends.

The King and Queen glance at each other, then back at their daughter. "Where is my brother?" She demands, her foot stamping against the marble floor. Her heel rings out like a bell throughout the room and the stoic silence that consumes it. She means to sound strong when she implores them for an answer, determined, persistent and persuasive, but her voice falters and breaks the moment she thinks of Coren's absence.

As if she's a fragile little bird, her mother brushes a finger over her cheek. "Starlight, he's gone," she whispers, "I'm so sorry." Her eyes sparkle with tears. Rhia is sure that hers do, too. She can feel the sobs burning the back of her throat as she tries to hold them in. "He's gone."

#hell above #din djarin #din djarin x original character #din djarin x female character #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #the mandolarian

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awakened-harmony · 3 years

Text

Realized i should probably make a other Universes chart for how vita is in the off chance people are interested in her non-main UT verse (Underfell) so i’m not just scrambling! SO here is the other variations of vita.

Undertale tag: In the world below (Undertale verse ~ Vita) - Used to be her UF tag but i changed it

I don’t actually have much to add about Undertale since all her elements remain about the same, Perhaps the only true difference is that she’s while still disliking of living underground, She’s content with how asgore has done to keep monsterkind happy despite their circumstances and happily. Openly shows affection to anyone who requests. it

Under the read more is Horrortale and Underswap because they BOTH got longer then i intended them to. I may explore other AU’s if asked but these three will be the main ones :D

----

Horrortale tag: Pray for your time and i’ll bring it so (Horrortale verse ~ Vita)

She like most of the monsters had grieved for the death of the king at the hands of a human who despite her own fear at the death of their ruler knew had only been scared, She like most of the monsters had Panicked when the news of the core’s failure came to light, But she had hoped that they’d get it fixed. That even as the food became scarcer, The air in the dark caverns grew musty and the lights soon turned off completely. She could only hope that it would be fixed, It was only when the first monsters started to die that her hope begun to crumble, Slowly and carefully being chipped away, It was a sensation that helped her ignore the rumble of pain in her belly because all of her rations went to her son. She had to keep him safe, Fed as best she could, She had to be there for him. Help him even if she could help no other soul then her child, He. Her last true piece of her mate, A symbol of their love.

....She failed.

In the end, Maybe it was because of how young he was still, Maybe something in the air had become poisonous that he couldn’t withstand while she could due to her age. To this day, What ifs and maybe’s run through her head about what she could have done differently, like a mantra of pain and grieve. The only thing clear in her head was the resolution in her soul as she put her son out of his misery, The looping memory as she took the light of her life, The joy of her world’s soul out of his chest and could only whisper a prayer of safe travels and a ‘i love you’ before she crushed that beautiful soul in her hands. Forcing it to shatter into hundreds of little pieces as his body turned to dust, She knows she had to do it, but she still can’t forgive herself for it and she’s certain hell awaits her when she dies. If she dies.

Because even as her son had faded, Vita maybe not have thrived, But she survived. Even as she starved and once strong limbs atrophied, She still took it upon herself each day to stand, To get up, To find food if she could...and give it to others. She’s not sure why she doesn’t die, But her best running theory is that her healing magic has turned inward on itself and heals her soul even as her body withers around it. It heals and heals and heals, She is sure that if not for her starved body, She would have been dead of a hundred different cancers by now.

Instead her house, What was her house has essentially become a church. Waterfall had always been the last monsters they thought about because what did they have to offer to the rest of the underground? Snowdin held the way all humans entered the underground, Hotland held the core, The capital held the largest of the undergrounds population and it held the queen. But waterfall? They’d been seen as obsolete and though not sealed off from the rest of the population, They weren’t welcome anymore. So just as snowdin eventually got sans, As corrupt as he was as a protector, Waterfall got Vita. Her continued survival despite starving, Her hope that things will improve one day, Her gracious giving of all but the clothes off her back. She protects the monsters of waterfall and many of the remaining population, the weak, the sick, even the dying come to her. Some if only to spend their last moments to feel as if someone still cared about them, To have their final fate given to them in kindness and not suffering, She who would deliver their souls to Asgore.

Things to take note of in her Horrortale verse: - Vita’s son is dead and she killed him, Killed him to end his suffering as he’d started to decline like some of the other monsters.

- She’s rail thin and looks as though even the lightest wind could blow her over and while she can no longer defend herself, Her followers who praise and follow her lead will kill for her lest they lose their chosen spot of hope in the hell that had become of their home. So while waterfall IS a safe passage, it’s only if you respect she who guards it.

- Vita has leaned heavily into her old beliefs, She’s become incredibly soft spoken and seems to murmur her prayers in a haunting whisper alongside her followers, Asking for help, For hope, For forgiveness for the sins she has committed, To allow her to bear the sins of her followers because they only do as she asks and while she does talk to monsters sometimes without this inflection, It is rare and often only resurfaces with monsters she knew personally whether it be before or after the war.

- Her LV is higher because she mercy kills monsters who are dying of starvation, Of lack of magic, In the words of her followers. She’s sending them to asgore. She brings them comfort in a painless death, She is viewed as a Messiah and in some messed up way, She has more family then she’s ever known in this verse.

----

Underswap tag: Oh maiden with your soul of stone (Underswap verse ~ Vita)

In underswap, Vita despite her soul of Pacifism and her once gentle demeanor turns a full 180 upon the learned death of her mate drusil while protecting the queen in an assasination attempt in the exploits of the war decides to take up the mantle that her mate had left vacant, Abandoning her duties as a healer, Her soul corrupts and becomes one of a Warmonger. She once known for her overwhelming amount of kindness becomes a symbol to fear, Nicknamed by the humans as ‘the siren’ and takes the place of her previous mate by the queen’s side as one of her guards, She personally ensures that the humans lost some ground in the war and for a time. Gave hope in her own way that monster kind would once more be able to thrive as they once did.

But even with her furiosity, That doesn’t happen, They still get sent underground. Not that it truly stops vita, Urging the queen that retreat isn’t an option, That while monsters might be trapped, There would one day be a time they return and they had to be ready. Despite that, the queen initially refuses and while vita still served as her guard, Anger does brew under the surface at her refusal. Another blow is struck when a human does fall underground and instead of rightfully being slaughtered. She and her Meek husband adopt the pitiful creature.

She’s not sure whether she felt vindicated or distraught when the news broke out that both the human AND the young prince were dead, That they’d tried to cross the barrier, that if only they’d come back with a few more souls. They’d have already been free, But instead the dust of both of them was scattered on a small plush toy of the prince’s. It was in this moment even as her coward of a husband flee’s with the humans true body, the queen finally saw the right path to take, At the cost of her entire family and she declared that any further humans to fall into the underground were to die, Harvested for their souls so she may become a goddess among monsters and break the barrier.

And she carries on this duty for her queen with what some see as a sense of pride, She is well known for collecting three of the human souls currently in the queen’s possession, She does eventually step down as the captain of the royal guard and allows Alphys to take the position. But she still co-leads and her advice is taken very seriously, She trains new recruits, following the old army ways of breaking their recruits, they either walk or become something worth her while.

Things to take note of in her Underswap verse: - She’s not downright cruel to monsters but compared to other monsters in US, She comes off as harsh and rough, hard to get close to though she has a fondness for monster children, Recruits she see’s potential in and her fellow comrades whether they be retired from the guard or not because they served well.

- She doesn’t have a son, She was pregnant at one point after they were sealed in the underground but...she doesn’t talk about what happened and nobody has dared to ask.

- Her soul is corrupted and has been since her mate’s death, Maybe with the right people and enough work, it could be restored but there’s no saying she’d be the same after all she did under her corrupted soul’s influence.

- She still lives in waterfall but her house is smaller and only has the bare minimum on the inside, It doesn’t feel very homely so to speak.

- US vita is fucking buff as hell and could snap your spine like a kit kat bar

#Oh maiden with your soul of stone (Underswap verse ~ Vita)#Pray for your time and i’ll bring it so (Horrortale verse ~ Vita)#In the world below (Undertale verse ~ Vita)#//SO yeah #//One of them's basically a religious cult #//and the other one comes off like a bitch #//vita's havin' a...time

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hela-avenger · 4 years

Text

poison & wine- part 10

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1810

Summary: Prince Loki of Asgard is in need of a date to take back home. That’s where you come in with a task of your own to make the whole trip with an insufferable prince worth it. Too bad that things don’t always go as planned and you end up giving more than you can take. Fake-Dating AU.

A/N: A little backstory for ya which ends with a pleasant surprise! Shoot me a message if you’ll like to be tagged!

Hela-Avenger Masterlist

Loki takes you on a tour of the royal garden. You knew he wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of his princely heart. He wanted more than you already gave him and you wondered what it could possibly be. Loki knew that you knew something was up and so he decided to just get ahead of it.

“I have questions,” Loki states. “Questions pertaining to you and your half-immortal life.”

“Oh, so now you want to get to know me,” you sneer at him. “Funny how things change.”

“Now that I know you’re not completely mortal, I find you interesting enough to actually want to,” Loki remarks sensing your annoyance immediately. “So let’s start shall we? How old are you?”

“I’m sure that question is rude to ask a woman in every realm in this universe,” you point out, earning a scoff from him. “But fine, I’m… I’m about 198 years old.”

“And in Midgardian standards?”

“24ish.”

“Hmm,” Loki hums. You were young as he previously suspected you to be. “Does anyone else know about your true lineage?”

“Only Tony and Steve,” you answer. “Tony because he was told by Fury after his death and Steve because… because I knew him from before.”

“From the war? You were there with him?” he asks surprised. You nod and he tries to make sense of it. “You were there when they first found the tesseract.”

“Contrary to popular belief I never encountered the nuisance of an object,” you tell him. “It wasn’t until later that I found out that it even existed.”

Loki couldn’t help but stare at you wondering what else you’ve lived through. You were aware of his intense focus on you and you tried very hard to ignore it.

“My story is a long one,” you tell him as you let yourself get distracted by the flowers that seem to reach out for your touch. “It’s best if I start from the beginning and work my way till the end.”

Loki nods in agreement and prompts for you to begin.

“I was born in 1822,” you answer. “Grew up fairly normal and comfortable to my mother’s content, managing to hide her secret for the first twenty years of my life before it all came to a stop.”

“You stopped aging,” Loki comments.

“I did,” you sigh out. “After turning 19, aging seemed to have grown to a stop. I remained that way for another fifty years. I watched my mother age and die alone because she was afraid of what people might think if they saw me.”

You take a deep breath trying to relinquish the pain that had taken hold of your chest.

“I found her journals soon after her death,” you answer. “And I couldn’t… It took awhile for me to actually read them. Found some oddities in the entrances before my birth and that was just the first hint of many that I wasn’t normal.”

“I was on my own after that,” you tell him. “I left her estate to be taken care of by distant relatives and had to keep moving in order to avoid getting caught on this ageless lie. I managed to avoid all of the wars in my travels. Lying became second nature wherever I went and I avoided getting close to people because of it.”

You shake your head out of the thought knowing you were giving more than was necessary. You hope Loki didn’t notice but he did. He caught the emotion on your voice.

“Anyways, I avoided the first world war,” you mention. “I was helping out where I could and everything was in such a disarray that no one questioned my agelessness or my not having a husband or kids. Once the war was over, I was on the move again. Time was slipping by quicker by then that I didn’t even notice the change.”

You pause as you recall the horrors you’ve seen.

“Another war started up,” you continue. “It was more awful than the last that I couldn’t stand idle on the side anymore, I had to help. I managed to get my hands on some false documentation that allowed me to sign up to be a nurse.”

You couldn’t help but snort at your cluelessness then.

“I worked my way up the ranks so easily,” you tell him. “I didn’t know why I was so immune to the many diseases going around at the time, nor my inability to get gravely injured or healing as quickly if I did end up hurt. I felt invincible… I hadn’t realized then that I technically was. And because of this mentality, I volunteered to go to the most dangerous locations which then led me to…”

“The Howling Commandos,” Loki interrupts knowing this story from Thor. “The good old brave Captain.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “He was… He was amazing to work with. Not as much fun as…”

You stop yourself at the thought of him but he’s already invaded your mind. The sound of his laugh echoes in your mind. You feel the brush of his lips against your ear as he quietly sings the word of the song you’re closely dancing to.

Loki notices your pause and from the look on your face he recognizes where your mind has gone off too.

“You had a lover?”

“No, I mean… I…” you quickly stammer out a response. “We didn’t have a label on it but we were close. Bucky and I…”

“Wait,” Loki interrupts. “This Bucky isn’t the one they call the Winter Soldier, is it?”

You sigh at the label even though it was true.

“Yes, he is,” you answer.

“So he knows about your lineage too?”

“He’s aware there’s someone besides Steve from his past,” you correct him. “He doesn’t know it’s me.”

Loki glares down at you and you don’t comprehend as to why.

“Carry on with your story.”

“Well, from there it’s kind of all textbook,” you answer. “We were turning the tides of the war, releasing so many of our trapped troops, and regaining enemy territory but of course, nothing good ever lasts.”

“The Man of Winter plummets to his death and soon after the Captain crashes the plane to bury the tesseract.”

“Against all the rules I had set for myself, I managed to break them,” you sigh out. “I got too close to the squadron and I suffered the consequences of loss. I promptly resigned which in a way didn’t matter as the war had already come to an end.”

Amidst your walk, Loki had led you to a beautiful marble fountain. A bench was nearby and Loki prompted you to take a seat.

“I disappeared because I had to and I was on my own again,” you tell him. “And I returned to my family estate in need of some change. I repaired what was damaged in my home, updated it, and opened it up as a home for orphan children. I helped run it for as long as I could but had to leave it once the kids started to grow older. I left it with my trusted staff and checked in when necessary.”

You pause as you notice the figurines in the fountain shift into a different position before freezing up once more. You marveled at it in distraction amazed at the action.

“What happened next?” Loki asks snapping your focus back to him.

“Nothing really,” you answer as you turn to him. “I travelled the world like I always do until I was caught by SHIELD, most specifically Director Fury.”

You chuckle at the memory.

You had been in the middle of the frozen section at some grocery store trying to decide which pint of ice cream to take home. Nick had just plucked one and thrown into your basket making the decision for you. That was the only time you let him do as he pleased when it came to you.

“Apparently, Thor’s arrival on Earth prompted them to do some research which then made them aware of an incident two hundred years prior,” you explain. “And that’s when Fury found me, realized who I originally was, and made me aware of my true lineage. He tried to convince me into working with him but I refused. Threatened to lock me up and I laughed.”

Loki can’t help but join you in your amusement. Fury was not a man he was fond of and it seems you hadn’t liked him either.

“In the end, he let me go. Said he would keep an eye on me in case I tried something,” you tell him as your laughter died down. “But then he calls me up again, hoping that I would be able to help him with a private matter.”

“Steve Rogers…”

“Yes,” you answer. “And that’s how I got reunited with an old friend. I tried to help him acclimate to the modern world but it became disrupted upon your arrival. Fury tried to have me stay back and help but I feared for the aftermath of war and knew that my help was needed there. So I aided New York in recovering from the attack and that’s how I became acquainted with the rest of the Avengers. They all think I was a very brave civilian but Steve, and later on, Tony knew better.”

Loki nods happy that you skipped his role in your story. He did not enjoy being reminded of his failures.

“Things kind of blur together from there,” you tell him. “There was that mishap in London, Fury’s death, Hydra, Bucky being alive, Ultron… and a few bumps and bruises later here we are now. The end.”

Loki rolls his eyes at your conclusion knowing you failed to mention one very major detail.

“You wasted a lot of time on information that I could frankly care less about.”

“Alright, your majesty,” you mutter in annoyance. You had hoped your tale of woe would satisfy him but it hadn’t. “What is it that you want to know?”

Before Loki could ask the remaining burning question in his mind, he hears a chorus of laughter nearby. He seeks out the source noting the familiar dresses of his mother’s ladies in waiting from across the fountain. Loki didn’t enjoy their new audience and curious gazes on them. They were most likely gossiping already which after slight consideration could work for him if he played it right.

The opportunity for Loki to ask you about your father is gone but he was still able to gain something out of you.

“Loki?” you ask, gaining his attention once more. “What did you want to ask me?”

Loki’s grin makes an appearance again and you grow weary of it.

Your suspicions are confirmed right as he takes a gentle hold of your chin and sets his lips onto yours.

poison & wine tag: @damalseer @just-the-hiddles @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @smollest-soybean @assassinoftheworld @readerbandit @doyoufeelikeayounggod @strangemcuvlogs @ha-tep @i-dont-know-eiither @gene-king @day-dreaming-fox @bn-studies @is-it-madness @sigyn-njorddottir @devilbat

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow @oddly-drawn-muse @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak

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b000mbayah · 3 years

Text

Without

Warnings: I wrote this last year when I was dumb so ignore how putrid it is :)

Word count: 2k

Snow gliding through the sky as it piles up on the concrete streets. The sky is cloudy as a mist fogs up our surroundings. Streets of Seoul full of people looking for gifts for relatives. The festive holiday is coming up and people are able to spend the day with loved ones. I used to be one of those people.

I lost my true love a month ago. It was a stupid argument over the most irrelevant thing imaginable, I was just so fuming at the time that I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. It was a trap, either way I was screwed. If I had continued the argument it would have worsened and if I had stopped earlier she still would have left me.

I could see in her eyes that she was broken due to the amount of times I've done this to her. I broke her again... I've broken her for the last time, and now she's gone.

If I had said sorry she would have left, if I begged she would have left, if I had just stopped myself from shouting in the first place. She's scared of me now, her eyes so full of fear as she trembled on the spot. I'll never forget the way she looked at me every time.

The following mornings were full of me proving to her that I loved her whether she wanted it or not. I would have done anything to make her forgive my foolish actions, couldn't do that last month though. It all seems pointless, love. I mean there are positive and negative outlooks on love.

Love can fill you with pure joy and excitement to the point that you forget the numbness that you'll feel after it's over with.

It leaves you broken as if you're a ship with treasure that crashes onto land, losing all its precious moments and times as everything inside spills out, never to be found again.

There are more negatives to love than positives and I swear that I'll never forget her, she was the one I loved most and I let go of her hand, I let her slip and now she's gone.

watching her on stage made me cry every time, hearing the news JYP sent out made me depressed... hearing that she had to have a break from her schedules made me feel guilty.

I look around my room as I retreat away from the window, empty takeaway boxes and cans all around my room. My eyes droop down to my phone on the floor.

Cautiously, I crouch down and pick the electronic up off of the ground. I bite my lip as all my notifications pop up. Multiple miss calls and text messages from all my contacts.

I tap on my messages to see hundreds upon hundreds of messages from my contacts, all of my contacts had text me, all but one. The one that had deleted my number, I refuse to delete hers though, it contains too many memories for me to simply release into a void.

I gulp as I click onto Jihyo's contacts as our last conversation over the phone comes up. All of this was just before the final argument. I was questioning where she was and when she'd get home. She was only practicing with her other members in their dance studio, I let my jealousy get the best of me, again..

I throw the phone at the wall as I got dressed and headed out, I can't say in my apartment forever. I forced myself out the door for the building and into the chilly winter breeze. I inhaled and exhaled the fresh air before taking steps towards the supermarket.

Layers of trampled snow surround the street. As I pass shops I take a simple look inside.

"Y/N!" I turn on my heel to be greeted with my best friend running up to me, a member of twice. I let out a broken smile as sana springs up to me with a massive grin and arms open.

Within seconds she gives me a bone crushing hug. ''y/n, please tell me you're okay?" sana rushes in a speed faster than chaeyoungs rapping skills.

"yeah, I'm just.... Upset about the situation" I frown as she gives me a look of sadness. She nods her head and opens her mouth, "I'm upset as well, I really liked you two together" sana smiles at her words as I gulp, she really liked us together?

"I've been trying to contact you for weeks and weeks but nothing, please may I take you to dinner? You look like you haven't been eating the correct amount of food, I need to stuff you up I time for Christmas" sana says with a worried tone

"s-sure" I stutter out as she grabs my hand and takes me through crowds of people that surround the streets and up to a fancy restaurant where richer people would dine. "w-we cat eat here, it's to expensive, I don't want to cost you that much money"

"no y/n, it's okay, it's nothing really only a few hundred. My clothes are worth more than this'' sana giggles out as she gets us a table with a view of a frozen pond. It took us what? Twenty minutes to get here for a view I'd a pond with what's most likely to be frozen fish inside. I'm not complaining but like those poor fish...

"Take your time, when you're ready to order please ring this bell" a waiter explains as she hands us the menus. We thank her before she walks away.

"what do you fancy getting?" sama asks as I scan the menu's dishes. "urm, the... Mmmm"

"steak?" sana asks me as u nod and go along with the choice. Sana hums as she also decides on what she's getting. I ring the bell as the waiter from before comes back with a pen and notepad.

"what can I get for you ladies?" they ask as sana gives him the order. He bows and leaves us. I turn my head to sana who's wearing a permanent smile right now.

"please come round to our dorm, the girls miss you" I tilt my head before nodding.

"sure but I may have to avoid jihyo" sana frowns at my words but nods her head.

Soon after the meal I ended up at the dorm. Still have no idea how I'm going to deal with this but I'm just going to have to hope for the best I guess. Sana pushes the door open silently, we take our shoes off before continuing on. As we creeped up on tzuyu, even though there was no point, I managed to make eye contact with momo who was eating the packet of cookies I had sent her months ago. She must be really far behind in her food gifts if she's only eating them now.

I place a finger to my own lips as she nods and watches with curiosity filling her eyes.

As we were practically behind Tzuyu we both leap at the same time, causing tzuyu to let out a yelp as we all tumble to the floor. I let out a giggle as tzuyu groans due to the impact. "Get off of me you pathe- y/n?" tzuyu changes the subject half way through as notices me. I smile and give her a small wave. "what are you doing here?" she questions looking at me like she's trying to read me.

oh so I'm a book now????

"I invited her-" I cut sana off, "she dragged me here, oh it was awful, she demanded it and she explained how she would burn down my house and throw me in a ditch if I didn't come" I dramatically say as sana huffs out a gush of air.

"alright then... If you say so but please get off of me, you're both killing me" tzuyu states as we stand back up, dusting ourselfs off.

We enter the living room to see everyone here, including Jihyo...

"Y/N!" everyone in the room exclaims but Sana, Tzuyu and Jihyo. I somehow become covered with six different females as they squeeze me like a teddy bear. Once they all release me, I give them a wide smile and bow as they copy my action.

"y/n, how have you been? We've been busy with-" and I couldn't hear anything dahyun was saying, I am way more focused on Jihyo. Her expression is unreadable as she gulps from time to time. her eyes dart around to find an excuse to leave but nothing comes to her mind.

As soon as she looks up we lock eye contact. I forgot how much I loved those eyes, her eyes show dedication, passion, strength, love... All the things I wish I had. I probably sound whipped for her and the truth is, I am. I would do anything for us to get back together but that wont happen.

"right y/n?" I break eye contact as I respond with a simple nod since my throat is sore from all the crying and screaming I've been doing. I really have been beating myself up over this break up.

"I said that her hair looked like a donkey on steroi-" and blank out again as I make eye contact once again with Jihyo. Only this time we break it for a few seconds before reuniting our eyes.

Without me or Jihyo noticing, Tzuyu manages to take the other members away to give us alone time. Once we realise they're gone an awkward situation is placed between us...

"how have you been?" she begins as she examines the pictures hung on the walls. "pretty bad, you?" I respond as she gulps down on air. "same, what's your reason?"

I freeze, thinking on if should I tell her the truth or not? There's nothing wrong with the truth. "if I'm honest... I've been beating myself up about the breakup, I'm deeply sorry for how I treated you Jihyo. That month I had spent alone had given me time to reflect on my behaviour and what I have done" Jihyo looks at me with an interested look but there's also something else there. "continue..."

"the way I treated you during that relationship was completely irresponsible, I had spent that entire month locked up in my apartment crying about what I had done, I was so frustrated with myself that I couldn't bring myself to forget about it and I'm sorry if I'm invading your personal space by being here but I really hope that one day you can forgive me" my voice goes shaky towards the end as tears form in the corner of my eyes. Jihyo looks me up and down, about to say something when the door opens up.

I watch as a male walks up to Jihyo, I could only see the back of his head as he's asking her questions before turning around to face me. RM? "she doesn't want to see you, please leave her alone she has me now."

My eyes widen in shock but I bow and apologise once again before rushing out crying again. I rush past the other members who share a look of concern before chase after me calling my name. I ignore them though and continue to rush my way out of that place, not wanting to be there anymore due to the once sweet but now awful memories I have there.

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ticklish-touch · 4 years

Text

I’m With You in the Dark

Last year, I made a poll seeing who would be interested in reading a story about my tickle monster Rags meeting my favorite character in Deltarune, Jevil. Even though I got a very positive response overall, I... chickened out. :’D I've always felt very self-conscious about writing fanfics, especially ones involving my OCs with canon characters. I grew up with other weeb friends who thought fanfic in general was very cringey and taboo. But at the end of the day, as long as people aren't writing about shipping real-life people or kink shit with minors, they have the freedom to write what they want if it helps them express themselves. Ever since last year, Jevil has become a very important character to me. There are hundreds of wonderful creative interpretations of him and his possible backstory; and, as someone who has depersonalization spells, existential thoughts about reality & the universe, enjoys making other people laugh even at my own expense, and a chaotic inner voice that constantly tells me "AREN'T YOU TIRED OF BEING NICE, DON'T YOU JUST WANNA GO APESHIT??" this little gremlin has become a comfort character; one that I also highly enjoy cosplaying. And, frankly, what better year to post a story about nihilism than 2020? 👍 So, this is just a "what-if" scenario, if someone else besides Gaster with some degree of omniscience was able to show the poor jester that there's more to life than just waiting for the Void to take over. And if anyone takes anything away from this, I just want it to be the hope that things will get better. You are allowed to be hopeful, and happy, and make positive connections with people even if you've had harmful experiences with people over past mistakes from either side. We're in this together; you aren't always going to be alone, your suffering won't be in vain. This, too, shall pass. So please, stay determined. Happy Halloween, everyone!! 🎃 🦇 👻 🤡 Story below the cut!

The mischievous Nightmare felt a peculiar pull at his mind as he lurked through the foggy darkness in search of another playmate: A chaotic soul resonating with nearly as much feral playfulness and craving for laughter as his own. But there was something...Off. This mind, this essence, was splintered and broken, re-mended into something different... A shadow of its former self. Joy and mischief and enthusiasm for the world, replaced by existential dread and loneliness...

The silent cry for help brought Ragaeli to a reality he'd never been in: One of the many infinite parallel dimensions to Earth that existed in the endless void of spacetime. At a brief glance, he could see there was a race called Darkners. They seemed to be the joy of childlike imagination brought to life; living, breathing checker and chess pieces, puzzle pieces, stuffed toys and squeaky mallets and lego blocks.

And, within a card castle not unlike the story of Alice in Wonderland, deep within a huge cell locked by powerful magic, a rotund little jester with a black and purple wardrobe was bouncing about, creating myriads of dazzling diamonds, spades, hearts and clovers. He appeared to be an imp with a J-shaped tail, a round noseless face, pointy ears, deep black pits for eyes and serrated, lemon-yellow teeth stretched into a smile as he laughed gleefully to himself.

The Nightmare split open a doorway of crackling energy, leaping through, landing on the indigo striped ground with a THUD. The floor was very plush and unsteady, like the inflated floor of a bouncy castle. "Weellll now, it sure seems like a party in here~ But what kind of party only has one guest, hmm?"

Immediately, the small jester jumped, his head launching out on a spring coil like a Jack-in-the-box. "AIYEEE-!! What, what?! Who are you? Did...Did you escape too??" He glided over to the tall figure, eyeing him over. At first, his lips twitched and seemed as if they were going to form into a frown. But instead he responded with a forced grin. "Uee-hee hee, I see, I see... It seems they've finally replaced little old me~!" He bounced up on his tail to flick playfully at Ragaeli's chest bells, spiraling around him to tug at his flaps, hair and spandex. "Hmmm, not bad~ And you can't go wrong with being a stripey lad; I guess the Kings have some taste after all! But where is your hat?? A jester with no hat is like a witch without their cat!" He glided around behind Ragaeli and his eyes widened. "A hand on your tail?? Now that's just excessive!!" "I must say your rhyme scheme is really quite impressive~" Ragaeli giggled, his head turned 180 degrees to look down at the jester. Jevil couldn't help but giggle too. "Uee hee hee, why thank you, thank you~!" He hovered upside-down in front of the larger monster, summoning a deck of cards, shuffling them up. "The tales must be true, that each suit has two. A black and a red...I always assumed the other must just be dead!!" He snickered, making the cards disappear up his sleeve, then turned back upright, folding his arms, his purple tail lashing about behind him like an agitated cat, his tone twinged with jealousy. "Well since they've decided that red suits their court more, you'd better not be a bore! To replace me is to replace the wittiest of all the players in this castle full of nay-sayers!"

"Hehehe, now, don't get your tail in a twist, I'm no replacement," Ragaeli playfully flicked one of Jevil's bells. "Name's Ragaeli, but you can call me Rags, Ragdoll, Ragtime, Rag-Tag, just don't call me boring, heheh~ I'm not even from this world, you see. Would you believe me when I say there are other worlds out there? Other dimensions?" Jevil giggled at all the nicknames, then his face lit up, his annoyance quickly shifting to curiosity. "Oh yes, yes, I know it to be true!! He chuckled. "Your world, it is a game too? Or is it more "real" than what we can perceive?" Ragaeli raised an eyebrow. "A game, hmm? I suppose you can say that," He smirked. "My world is, in a sense, "Not real" as well. Not to the people of Earth anyways. It's thanks to their thoughts and emotions, their hopeful desires in the depths of their darkest thoughts, that I exist at all. And because of that," His grin turned devilish and he rapped his fingers together in a comically villainous fashion. "I can appear to any of them that I want. I can play all kinds of games with them~ I have no limits to what I can do in my realm, and Earth itself is my playground, a game that will never end~"

The jester listened with fascination, then cackled again, seeming elated as he bounced around in midair. "Oh I'm SO happy!! Someone else finally sees!! There is another who's been set free!!" Then his giddy tone turned to a snarl. "THEY didn't believe me!! THEY were all blind, blind!!" Magic energy crackled around him. "I ONLY wanted to HELP them!! I only wanted them to be privy to the danger, danger they would face if they didn't try to free themselves of this pointless rat race!!" Ragaeli's brow furrowed. "Who's them? Who put you in here? A jolly little hellion like you shouldn't be locked away like this, 'specially if you think your castle's in danger." Jevil quickly shook his head, puffing his chest out indignantly. "It is not I that has been locked away! They chose their own prison, they dug their own graves! The court wouldn't listen, they didn't want to play, and now for their bullheadedness THEY'RE the ones having to pay!!"

The Nightmare latched onto the images flashing through Jevil's mind, learning bits and pieces about the royal court that ruled the dark castle. It definitely appeared that things were in disarray, and the court jester's loneliness bubbled into a well of resentment... The continued rush of memories manifested into the image of a strange entity that came to the jester before his imprisonment: A ghostly creature, cloaked in inky blackness, with large round holes in his skeletal hands and a twisted grin frozen on his skull-like head, a single white pupil glowing out from the cracked eyesockets with a sickly light. Even the Nightmare, who had seen every hellish iteration of fear and hatred, knew that this...thing, was bad news. He existed, yet was nonexistant. He was fractured across all of time and space, yet remained trapped unmoving inside the Void. He was filled with hopelessness, bitterness, egoism, an unyielding ambition to drag anything and everything down into the same all-consuming darkness. An unfortunate victim of his own hubris, now a sociopath with cold disregard for individual worth except the desire to dissect everything and everyone he could latch onto. And it happened that Jevil, who craved mischief and adventure and purpose in his seemingly small role in the kingdom, was the latest test subject. Ragaeli's hair stood up on end and a low, near demonic growl rumbled in his throat. "And what, exactly, did this thing show you?" The growl made Jevil gasp, stopping him in his tracks, looking up at the large entity with trepidation. "H-He showed me everything, everything!! He showed me the beginning, the end of all things, he showed me the truth of this world and all worlds in the cosmos, that nothing is as it seems, nothing means anything, but because anything can be nothing, nothing can be everything--" "Alright, enough, I'm stopping you right there, Lovecraft," In a swift movement, he tugged the rim of Jevil's hat over his face. "YEEE- H-HEY!!" The frazzled jester fixed his hat, puffing his cheeks out at Ragaeli, his tail whipping about even more wildly. "Whoever this Wing-dinged handy-man is sure isn't very handy if all he can do is fill your head with nihilistic nonsense," Ragaeli stuck out his tongue. "Sounds like someone who had a rotten time of it is now trying to ruin everyone else's fun." "No, no, not at all!!" Jevil leapt on top of Ragaeli's head and perched like a cat. "Because of him, I can have more fun than I ever thought possible!! You'll see, you'll see!! They're bringing back the key!!" He giggled madly. "Three visitors, all questing in vain to bring an end to a game that doesn't matter, and once I am back inside their world of lies I will spread my truth everywhere and everyone will thank me!!" He cackled. "But first I should thank you for keeping me company~" He leapt off and glided in front of the Nightmare. From the center of his dark eyes, yellow irises began to glow brightly. "It's been so long since someone has lent an ear, so I'll show you my favorite game~" In a flash, he launched a glowing diamond, sharp as a sword, at the speed of a flying bullet into Ragaeli's stomach.

But the diamond disappeared on contact. Instead of yelping in pain, Ragaeli shrieked and doubled over as the energy shot a ticklish burst through him. "GYEEEE-HEEHEE!!" Jevil looked baffled. "...What, what?? Laughter?" He tilted his head, summoning a spinning barrage of clubs that shot at Ragaeli's legs, chest and sides like machine gun ammunition. And again, the Nightmare was bombarded with a barrage of ticklish electricity, causing him to crumple on the plush floor with cackling laughter. "AIYEEE-HAHAHAHA!!" After the sensation wore off, he continued to let out giddy laughter as he saw Jevil's incredulous expression. "WHOOO-WEE, now that was a good one!!" Jevil couldn't help but snort back his own laughter at the Nightmare's comical reactions, but he seemed even more puzzled. "Is someone ticklish, ticklish? That isn't how I'm trying to play, but it makes things interesting, needless to say~" He giggled a bit. "But then...How am I supposed to play my game if you've got no numbers to claim??" Ragaeli shook his head, jumping up into the air to recline as if laying back on a sofa. "You silly little imp, do you really think that's the only way to play with others? Taking this "HP" until they're gone for good? What would you do then when there's no-one left to have fun with?" He gave a pout. Jevil shook his head quickly. "No no, they're not really gone!! Weren't you listening, listening?? It's all a game!! They can come back!! Losing is just a minor setback~!"

The Nightmare raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?" "Because the Stranger showed me!! He can mess with the code, he can change--" "How do YOU know that?" Ragaeli barked. "Forget about him, can YOU bring them back??" Jevil shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not, but if they lose then that's just how it goes~ Such is the way of this game we all play!" The Nightmare rolled his eyes. "So... you wanna play by the game's rules, huh? How boring."

The jester's malicious snickering immediately stopped, and he stiffened up. Ragaeli narrowed his gaze, prying at the jester's mind a bit more. "What is it you've said? You can do anything? So why not shake it up and take this game into your own hands? If you're really free, then PROVE it!"

For once, the manic jester took pause.

"Think about what it is YOU want in this game we all call life!"

Jevil lifted a gloved finger, unable to answer at first. Then his bright yellow irises faded again. "What I want...?" He lowered his head. "What I want..." A quiet giggle bubbled up from inside him. "I just want them to be free, free with me..." He hovered higher, seeming to vibrate with an intense magical aura, and raised his arms. The room began to spin around the central pole, as if it were revolving around the world's axis. "To break their cage and create a NEW stage, where everyone can play, play to their heart's content!! Free from this kingdom of rules and lies!!" He snarled. "I want them to PAY for making me play in my freedom all alone, every night and every day!!" He bellowed. Carnival music began to emanate from all around them, starting quiet then gaining in tempo. "I want them to say, "To HELL with rules, I will break these chains and embrace the chaos, CHAOS!!" He laughed maniacally, and from every curve of the rounded ceiling, more of his symbols appeared; Hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs, all aimed at Ragaeli, launching toward him like speeding bullets. The Nightmare answered with his own giddy laugh. "Ohhh, how interesting! Well then, let's play for a while and I might just help you make your wish come true~!" He nonchalantly bounded away from the trajectory of the magic, dodging, swooping, teleporting and even dancing and pirouetting away. Occasionally they would hit, and once again he would shriek in surprise and burst into laughter. "GYAAAH-HAHAHAHA!!" Jevil giggled, no longer bothered that his attacks weren't causing any 'HP' damage. "I wonder; How long will it take before you finally break~?" The Nightmare smirked dangerously. "I could ask you the same thing!" His hair suddenly jumped to life, tendrils leaping forward and bombarding the jester's chubby belly, sending electric pulses of ticklishness through him.

"UEEEE-HEE-HEEEE!!" Jevil shrieked with laughter and flailed for a moment before poofing himself to the other side of the room. A bright purple blush filled his cheeks and he clutched his belly, gawking at Ragaeli. "N...NO FAIR, NO FAIR!! IT WASN'T YOUR TURN YET!!" Ragaeli giggled. "You really think a tickle monster is gonna play fair? Now what's the fun in that~?" Jevil huffed and his pout shifted to a malicious grin. "Uee hee hee; Fine, fine, I also won't play fair!! Let's see you laugh about THIS!" With a flash, he summoned a large ornate striped sickle, teleporting close and taking a swift swing at Ragaeli, catching him in the middle of the striped pattern on his leotard. The Nightmare's torso came clean off his legs, not with any blood or guts but with a cartoonish POP. "WHOA!! Caught me off guard with that one, took my top clean off ya did!!" His tone went cockney, and he grabbed his legs and re-attached them as if he'd been de-pantsed.

Jevil balked, then doubled over backwards with laughter. "HYEE-HEEHEE HAHAHAH Oh my stahahars, you're a fun one, you are!!" His scythe disappeared with a flash, a new wave of glee bubbling up in him. "You really are like me!! Your body cannot be killed!! That means you can stay here and play as long as we want!! I'm so THRILLED!!" He laughed with jubilation and raised his arms, and from the walls emerged a bizarre set of carousel horses, with the bodies of rubber ducks, all of which began to circle rapidly around the room. "Go ahead, hop on~! But better watch out, these horsies have a mean bite~"

The Nightmare snickered and dove into a cartwheel, throwing himself onto the back of one of the figures, which tried to toss him off like a bucking bronco. "Piece of cake, I've wrangled a few horsies in my d-AAGH!!" He was swiftly knocked off by a flying duck ramming him at full force, sending him careening into the spinning walls of the room. He bounced off of the squishy surface and lay crumpled in a heap, cracking up with hyena-like hysterics. Jevil, too, giggled hysterically at his opponent's prat-fall. It felt so grand to finally have someone to play with again!!

And so, their antics continued. Jevil came at Ragaeli with everything he had, and the Nightmare almost effortlessly parried it away with his meaty hands or flexible limbs. As Jevil revealed more and more tricks up his sleeve, from his ability to shapeshift into his own scythe, to a downright unfair barrage of clover-shaped bullets, Ragaeli revealed that his tail could multiply into three, which crackled with red sparks; They lunged forward and managed to ensnare the manic jester, slithering against his round belly and backs of his knees, even slipping one of his shoes off to entwine their prongs between his clawed toes. "AIYEEE-HEEHEEEE UEE-HEEHEE NOOOHOHOHOOO-HEEHEE!!" The ticklish shock to his system surprised the jester enough that his head launched out on its spring coil, before retreating back for him to grab the ends of his hat and hide his flushed face and goofy smile.

The Nightmare snickered fiendishly at his reactions. "What's wrong~? Surely the court-appointed master of laughter can handle a little tickling?" The playful taunting just flabbergasted the thrashing imp all the more. Not because he hated it; but because he, the clever jester with an unholy amount of magic energy had never been so easily bested by something that wasn't a physical fight... And on some level, it was thrilling. It felt so good to laugh with such passion; Real, true laughter, instead of a hollow imitation of happiness. Being unable to focus on anything but their game, on the consequences of each other's "attacks", took his mind off the dreadful, existential thoughts that plagued him, and made him think that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his and this world's existence after all...

But in the meantime, it was his turn, and he was ready for revenge. He poofed himself out of the nightmare's tendrils and re-appeared underneath him, turning his scythe into a rubber mallet to send Ragaeli flying up near the ceiling. He smiled wickedly, summoning a barrage of attacks that started to morph into vaguely hand and feather-like shapes. With a clap of his hands, they rocketed up to the Nightmare, burying into his belly, ribs and armpits, slithering down the wide collar of his leotard, trapping his ankles into cuffs so that they could saw between his toes and whirl against his soles like fuzzy sawblades. The onslaught caused the monster to howl and screech with hysteria, thrashing and swatting at the symbols in vain. "GYEEEE-HEHEHEHEHEH WHY Y-YOHOHOHOUUU-HAHAHAHA~!!" Jevil giggled devilishly. "Uee-heeheee, what's wrong, what's wrong~? You're the Tickle Monster, are you not? Or were you lying all along? Can't handle being at the wrong end of your own fiendish plot~?" Ragaeli snarled in his laughter, attempting to swat at the jester with his tails. "GRAAHH-HAHAHAH SH-SHUHUHUHUT UHUHUP YOU L-LIHIHITTLE-!!" And yet, despite his protests at the unbearable attack, the Nightmare's laughter, too, resonated with excitement and elation. It echoed through the vast cell, emanating with such unbridled joy and wild abandon that it stirred something inside of Jevil. Something...Warm, and oddly reassuring. And finally, from the depths of the jester's scrambled mind, memories started to return to him...

He once knew laughter as well, and more than that, making others laugh. The four Kings, laughing at his antics in the court; young Rudinns and Jigsawrys and a baby Clover, all laughing gleefully at his dazzling displays of card symbols, dancing ribbons and fireworks. The dancers in the halls laughing as the court jester pulled prank after prank on the uptight dolt Rouxls Kaard. The Spade King, telling him how eager he was for his son to be born, so that Jevil could teach him how to spread joy through the kingdom. And Seam, his dear friend, letting out a rare gem of laughter whenever he said a silly joke or snuck up on the wooly cat and tickled his sides...

Before long, Jevil's magic was no longer set to kill mode; a fact that wouldn't have affected the reality-bending Nightmare made of laughter either way, but others caught in the crossfire would no longer be in danger of a "game over". His will began to shift, and now his projectiles were imbued with the overwhelming urge to make their target crumble into a heap of elated laughter. Perfect. Ragaeli grinned gleefully, snapping his fingers and poofing himself out of the hold of the magic symbols, standing to face Jevil, folding his arms behind his head. "Well now, seems like something's getting through to that polyvinyl noggin of yours--" That brief moment was all Jevil needed to re-appear behind him, lunging to rapidly scribble his fingers and prod his tail along Ragaeli's belly, snickering to himself. "You so easily let your guard down!! I thought I was the clown!!" "GYAA-HAHAHAHA!! TH-THAT WAS ON PURPOHOHOSE!!" Ragaeli slithered his pronged tail up to scribble against Jevil's 'neck' and pointy ears, sending him flying back on his spring-coil with a yowl.

Jevil wasn't sure how long their game went on. Minutes, hours, days? Time never meant much of anything in his personal freedom; But now, he never wanted it to end. If those three adventurers did ever come back with the key, this would be quite the sight to walk in on... Before long, though, the jester's 'attacks' were weakening, and his large tongue hung out with panting breaths; it became harder for him to levitate, or to tap out from the tickle monster's ruthless attacks; Ragaeli could sense his growing fatigue and eventually stopped, letting Jevil collapse to the bouncy floor.

"H-Hee-hehehe...That was fun, fun!! But enough is enough, you tired me up!" He giggled, but his grin turned to a pout. "But I don't want to sleep yet, I still want to play with everyone, everyone..." "Ohh, I think that can be arranged~" Ragaeli's hand sparked and crackled with magic, making Jevil instinctively squeak and flinch. But he shook his head. "Hehe, don't be worried~ This will give your energy back." But he closed his fist and extinguished the magic. "But hear me out first. If you play to take away everyone's HP, they won't want to play with you. They'll just put you down here again." Jevil snorted and folded his arms. "Well at least I wouldn't be caged in their prison again, again..." Ragaeli could still sense negative thoughts plaguing his mind.

Not real. Meaningless. Trapped. Just a game. Not wanted, not needed. Afraid of me. They'll leave me again, again. Seam will leave me again.

At the very least, these thoughts weren't as loud as before, and were being dulled by the hope that perhaps he could be welcomed back by everyone... Ragaeli narrowed his gaze and snuck his hair tendrils over to prod along his round belly and sides again. "UEEE-HEEEHEEE!!" He rolled over to the other side, hiding his flushed face again. "Heheh, come on now, no need to hide that face every time I get a laugh outta you~" He managed to tug the jester's hat off, revealing short, dark curly hair and a small pair of horns. Jevil gasped, his eyes going wide and he reached over frantically trying to grab his hat back. "HEYY!! Just because you forgot yours doesn't mean mine's up for grabs!!" Ragaeli chuckled. "Relax, you'll get it back, if you listen to me first. There's no use letting those thoughts get in the way of your fun, now is there? Even if you live your life 'confined' with the others, at least you'd still have playmates, right? You still have the chance to make amends and show your friends you're not going to let your story end. ...See, now I've been hangin' around you too long. You're turning me into a natural poet~" The sulky jester couldn't help but snicker. "Even if I did, even if they want to be my friend, I can never see this world the same way again, again..." He trembled. "The vision, the prophecy... The skies will darken, the world will crack, the calamity will sweep away all in it's path...No matter how many broken bonds we try to mend; Whether we play or flee, everything will end!!" He choked back a wail, hiding his face in his palms, his pointy ears drooping back.

Ragaeli rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, scratching his head thoughtfully for a moment. "Look; Of course things aren't gonna be the same. Of course things end someday. That's the point of LIVING!" The Nightmare barked and jumped up, causing another loud THUD as he stooped over on his haunches like an agitated mountain lion. "You change and you grow and you LIVE, despite how tiny or messed up you think your existence is. You CHALLENGE anything or anyone who tries to tell you that you can't find your way outta that dark tunnel. Fake? Real? Who CARES?? You're HERE! Your life is only meaningless if YOU choose to live it without meaning!!" Jevil peeked out from under his hands as the deity ranted. He then scoffed, taking his tail and fiddling with it as he avoided Ragaeli's eye contact. "That's easy enough for you to say. Your existence, your world, isn't made to be a game for OTHERS to play."

Ragaeli calmed down a little, patting his hair sympathetically and tweaking one of his horns. "Listen, Jev-In-The-Box. You're right about one thing. You can't change the circumstances that brought you into being. And sometimes, that really sucks." He frowned. "It sucks for those little mortals who have such little control over the society that keeps 'em prisoner. And even for someone like me...I can't change the fact that I come from a world that wouldn't exist without mortals. Any Nightmare can disappear in the blink of an eye if they aren't remembered by enough people." "Really..??" Ragaeli nodded. "That's why some of 'em try so hard to be remembered, even if it means playing with humans like cats torturing mice before they eat 'em. And I can't make them value life. But I also can't let them freely roam the world that imagined us up, or reality as we know it would fall apart. I can't even stay in other timelines or realities too long or I risk fading away for good." Jevil listened curiously, a hint of a concerned frown crossing his face. The deity shrugged. "So I just make the best of it, y'know? I have fun showing other people that their world isn't as small and hopeless as they think." The thoughtful expression left the entity's face as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a devilish grin. "So YOU had better not let me catch you moping about in those gloomy thoughts of yours again," he poked Jevil's plush belly, making the jester squeal and bat his hand away. The Nightmare snickered. "And if I see you trying to end other people's game instead of finding ways to make laughter and excitement a part of your reality... Then I WILL be back, and I'll show you what it really means to be ticklish~" He narrowed his gaze and cracked his knuckles loudly, his body emanating with an aura of electric energy, his hair tendrils raising into the air like cobras poised to strike, wriggling their fingers and forming into bristles.

Jevil shrieked and quickly scrambled back. "YEEEP-!! ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALREADY, I GET IT I GET IT!!" The jester first pouted at being told what to do. But something about the strange monster's words...Felt to be true.

Ragaeli chuckled, his hair calming back down. "Of course, that doesn't mean there's no fun to be had in a bit of harmless chase," he flashed a devious grin. "You can make them pay, without making them go away, so that way you can all play again and again~ The eventual catch can be the best pay-off of all~" The implication of the tickle monster's words started to sink in. A Grinch-like smile started to spread across the imp's face as terrible schemes came to his mind. He could play a game of 'Surrender' with anyone, anytime, and they wouldn't have to lose their HP over it. It could be one big game of hide-and-tickle, or tickle tag, or a test of endurance, or another way for the King to interrogate outsiders about Lightners... Sensing that his thoughts had changed their tune, Nightmare gave him back his hat...And transferred a surplus of magic energy fueled by laughter, adrenaline and mischief to replenish his strength.

Jevil gasped as if surfacing for a breath of fresh air, then giggled and sprung to his feet. "Fine, you've won me over, I hope you're happy! But I think we'll have to wait until the Lightners return with that key. Once they do, I'll wreak havoc in that boring little prison of theirs and this Joker will be the one to have the last laugh~!" He giggled fiendishly and rubbed his hands together, bouncing impatiently in place.

Ragaeli smirked. "Hehe, no need to wait for a key. Prisoners break themselves out all the time, so why not just break in~?" He hopped over to the door, grasped his large hand around the bars, his hand emanating with crackling magic again... And the lock popped open with a click. Jevil went slack-jawed. "Wowee!! You really are strong! I can't even best Seam's magic enchantments at full strength!" he then cleared his throat. "That isn't to say I couldn't have broken in all along. I just didn't want to is all," he shrugged and stuck his tongue out. "So now it's time to say...SO LONG!!" He cackled maniacally and shot like a bullet out of the door.

When he flung himself from inside the cell, he saw the three travellers from earlier, now gawking up at him incredulously. "W-What the-?!" Susie and Ralsei's eyes went wide. Jevil instantly pounced them, rapidly bombarding them with scribbling fingers, rapid pokes and his tail slithering between their limbs. Shrieks of startled laughter answered him, even from the quiet, stoic one. They were too preoccupied with trying to flail away to notice the jester snatch the key out from under their noses. As soon as he had it, he stopped and hovered above them. Susie panted for a minute. "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT!!" she snarled, brandishing her axe. "H-How did you get out?!" Ralsei questioned. "I thought you needed the key??" Jevil merely answered with a wild grin, focusing his power in his hands until the key sparkled and crackled with his magic...And shattered into hundreds of tiny shards. Without another word, he rocketed up the winding stone steps, laughing incomprehensibly. "WH...WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Susie shouted. "I don't...think that was supposed to happen..." Ralsei scratched his head through his hat. Kris just shrugged, and Susie grumbled. "We went through all that shit just to get the key and he didn't even NEED it!! I'm getting real damn sick of this stupid castle!!" She pounded the handle of her ax into the ground, huffing loudly. Ralsei frowned. "Well, don't worry about him. I think it's time we go find Lancer, yeah?" At this, Susie calmed down a little, sighing. "Yeah, you're right. We've kept him waiting long enough. Some mystery prisoner isn't any of our damn business."

It was already too late, regardless of whether the heroes tried to go after him. The jester's second reign of chaos was swift and sudden. He ricocheted through the castle, his manical laughter echoing through every hallway, his bursts of magic visible like fireworks in the distance, his devilsknife and his magic attacks shapeshifting into other "weapons" like giant featherdusters, scrubbing brushes and makeshift hands. At first the guards were horrified that the infamous prisoner had escaped. But once they were reduced to shrieks of laughter and pleading and apologies, and Jevil declared victory before bee-lining to his next target and eventually leaving the castle, the denizens of the Darkner world were left flabbergasted, nervous, and perhaps even amused and curious to see if this "dangerous criminal" would return for more...

Ragaeli watched the commotion smugly as he started to fade back to his realm. "Oh dear, it appears I've created a monster~"

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

You make your way back down the elevator and stairs. You double-check your items, use the save point, and.... What the hell? The dungeon door is gone! Is this an easter egg of some kind? Did the game glitch out? You check your items again... The key is gone too. Okay, something must be wrong. Before you make the decision to replay the whole game just for the hidden boss, you head back to Seam. Maybe talking to him again will re-trigger the events needed for fixing the key?

But when you go inside the "Seap", it isn't just Seam anymore. The secret boss, Jevil, now has a full sprite, grinning gleefully at the player.

[ * UEE HEE HEE, WELCOME, WELCOME LIGHTNERS! SO SORRY WE DIDN'T GET TO PLAY, PLAY. MAYBE ANOTHER DAY! ]

You talk to Seam first, triggering his usual dialogue about how Jevil ended up in the dungeon, and how the heroes would eventually have to face the Knight. And, interestingly, an additional bit of dialogue explaining how the heroes just missed Jevil's "escape", and how his reunion with his old friend was filled with a great deal of laughs... Talking to Jevil afterwards brings up more dialogue. You ask him how he got out of the dungeon.

[ *YES, YES, I SUPPOSE I SHOULD EXPLAIN THAT KEY. I HAD ANOTHER STRANGER COME TO ME! ]

[ *BUT THIS ONE DID NOT MAKE ME FEEL SO AIMLESS. IN FACT, HE SHOWED ME THAT I WOULD HAVE MADE QUITE A MESS! ]

[ * THIS MAY ALL JUST BE A GAME, AND YOU... YES, YOU OUT THERE...]

His sprite momentarily came closer, his yellow irises seeming to bore right into you through your screen...

[ * -MAY HAVE MORE SAY IN WHAT RIGHTS WE CAN OR CANNOT FLAUNT. BUT I THINK, EVEN IN THIS PRISON, WE CAN STILL BE HAPPY, HAPPY, AND PLAY AS MUCH AS WE WANT! ]

[ * WHO IS REAL, AND WHO IS NOT? I DON'T THINK THAT MATTERS ANYMORE, ANYMORE. ]

[ * THAT SILLY RED MONSTER, WHO LAUGHS AND LAUGHS AND REMINDED ME THAT THIS WORLD DOES NOT HAVE TO BE A BORE...]

[ * THE STRANGE WORDS HE SAID HAVE STUCK INSIDE MY SPRINGS. NOW MY VIEW ON THIS WORLD HAS BECOME JUST A LITTLE LIGHTER... ]

[ * AND I'M CURIOUSER, AND CURIOUSER, TO SEE WHAT THE FUTURE BRINGS~! ]

#tickle fic #jevil #fanfic #tickle monster #monster boy #jester #clown #tickle fanfic #tickling #male tickling #tickle story

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lonestarbabe · 4 years

Text

Saving The Child Inside

Chapter 1: Unsettled New Normal

[AO3]

Growing up as Sam Avery's son wasn't easy for TK. His abusive upbringing left him with a wealth of trauma that he couldn't bring himself to face, even as an adult, but for all the bad, TK's life in Austin brought him a lot of good. He married his high school sweetheart, Carlos, and he became a firefighter like he had always dreamt he would be. But for all he had managed to make something of his life, there's still a hurt, lost child inside TK, a child who wants to found, and mostly, that child wants to be loved.

(I have rewritten the first several chapters, which have been condensed into one chapter, and then, I will be adding new content starting in chapter 2).

Chapter 1: Unsettled New Normal

It had been three months since T.K. had any drugs or alcohol, and he was long past the withdrawal phase of getting better, but it still made him sick to think that he could never touch a drug again. It’s going to stick this time, he promised himself. It never sticks, the critical voice in his head added. You always mess up, so you might as well just give up now. Despite the nagging thought that he was doomed for failure, T.K. didn’t have plans to go back to his old ways, and in that moment, he didn’t want to do drugs ever again. But the thought that he could never have substances again without the risk of a complete spiral made T.K.’s hands shake with apprehension. He thought of all the wedding toasts he’d have to miss, all the nights getting wasted in clubs in a way that was called fun instead of abuse, and all late nights with a date and a bottle of wine. Oxy was easier to escape in normal social functions, but he’d always be a little too fond at the mere thought of it.

There was an itchiness that prickled his core, pulling at his middle with a sloppy mix of feelings he couldn’t distinguish beyond being uncomfortable. The itch made him restless, and without the time-warp of being high, T.K. didn’t know how to keep himself busy. But he still stayed away from substances. All of them. He hadn’t even had coffee; though, he knew his resolve wouldn’t last on that front because there was only so much abstinence that he could he handle and only so much hollowness that he could take. He would need something eventually, even if that thing was a weak, watery stand-in for what he wanted. He’d knew that he’d always be an addict.

He didn’t mind being clean—sober, he reminded himself because the substances had never been what made his skin feel grimy and his insides feel like dust was perpetually compacted in all the hollow spaces—but sobriety would always bore him, like driving through a flat stretch of middle-America in a silent car on an overcast day, but it was better than the alternative. T.K. couldn’t put Carlos through more than he already had, so he suffered through the restlessness and tried to remind himself why he didn’t want to die.

The boredom had worsened since T.K. wasn’t working. T.K. yearned to return to the 126, even though he knew it was going to bring up thoughts that he’d tried to chase away with substances and an ill-fated overdose/suicide attempt. Working would give him something to do. His mind still whirled with the memory of that day, but sitting at home made him feel useless. Guilt ate at him as he thought about Carlos at work while T.K. sat on his ass. He wasn’t fulfilling his role in their household. I’m going to change that. I’ll go back to work, and some of the colors will come back into my life. It won’t always be this gray.

Bouncing his leg up and down to rid his body of some its excess energy, T.K. was not-so-patiently waiting for his husband to come home. He hated how trapped in his thoughts he became when no one else was around to keep his head away from everything else. He could have called Carlos’ mother. She’d decided to work less when she turned fifty-five, but it drove her crazy to have nothing to do, so Andrea Reyes would have gladly come over to keep T.K. company if he had asked. She’d been doing that a lot lately, probably at Carlos’ behest, but T.K. didn’t want to burden anyone with his issues more than he had to. I’ve been doing that enough lately.

T.K. couldn’t stop checking his phone. Carlos was late, and T.K. couldn’t stop himself from thinking the worst. He imagined Carlos blown up or shot down, and he couldn’t get the idea out of his head that something bad had happened. Carlos was the kind of guy to be on time, and while being a social worker meant that Carlos had some late nights, he usually told T.K. if he got caught up in something at work, and ever since the explosion, Carlos had been cutting those late nights short. T.K. knew it was because Carlos worried what would happen if T.K. was alone too long. Selfishly, T.K. was relieved when Carlos came home early, even if he insisted it wasn’t necessary.

He thought it would be good to get dinner started, but T.K. knew his limits, and he knew he wasn’t the best cook. He could throw together a meal if things had returned to normal, but he still had trouble motivating his body to do the things that he asked of it, so he sat with his worry. Every separation sends a fresh surge of anxiety through each of them, but they were trying to be better.

Still, there was only so much that T.K. could take, so he exhaled when Carlos came through the door, carrying a couple bags of groceries on the floor when T.K. got up and threw his arms around Carlos in record time. T.K. smiled. “Babe, hi.”

Carlos returned the smile and kissed T.K. on the forehead. “Sorry, I’m late. I had to stop at the store and get some stuff for dinner.”

“I wasn’t worried,” T.K. said too quickly.

“Your hands are shaking.”

“Just fidgety,” T.K. said, hoping there was no waver in his voice.

“You can’t lie to your husband.”

“You weren’t home, and I just thought—” T.K. shook his head. “It’s been hard.”

“I’m okay. You’re okay. Right?”

T.K. rubbed Carlos’ shoulders, trying to ease the knots. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m glad you’re home. I’m bored here all alone.” After giving T.K. another kiss, Carlos moved to the kitchen to put away the groceries and start dinner. He pulled out a pot, filling it with water and putting it on the burner.

T.K. followed Carlos to the kitchen. “What are you making?”

“Macaroni and cheese.”

T.K. felt warmth radiate in his chest, and he wanted to pull his husband to bed and never leave. “That’s the second time this week.”

“Are you getting sick of it?” Carlos said and then yawned.

“You know it’s my favorite.” One of T.K.’s earliest memories was being around three years old, and his mom made him macaroni and cheese. He remembered little about his mother. She was gone shortly after that memory, but macaroni and cheese always made him think of her. He remembered her smiling at him as she put the food in the bowl in front of him. “I ate it every day for two months after I left home. I didn’t get sick of it then, and I won’t get sick of it now either.”

Carlos ignited the burner, and as the fire fanned out before settling to its normal intensity, T.K. felt his heartbeat trot, and he couldn’t take his eyes from the flame.

“About leaving home. There’s something you should know.” Carlos’ tone was dark in a way that it hadn’t been since T.K.’s dad had turned up to their wedding uninvited two years prior. A shiver ran through his spine. “I saw your dad today. He’s back in town.” T.K.’s eyes snapped up.

T.K. fell back onto a stool next to the counter. “Oh?” he said, voice pulled like a rubber band just before it snapped. “I haven’t seen him since the wedding.”

“I heard he went to Florida.”

“He’s here now,” Carlos replied somberly. “I don’t know for how long or why, but he’s here.”

“Did you talk to him?” T.K. prayed the answer was no. He didn’t want Carlos to get too close. T.K. didn’t think Carlos was in danger, but Sam Avery was toxic.

Carlos shook his head. “I wouldn’t have been able to say anything good, so it’s probably best that I didn’t, but no, I just saw him at the market. He didn’t even acknowledge me.”

“I’m not even sure he knows your name. He only acknowledges me when he wants to make my life hell.” T.K. wasn’t bitter. He really wasn’t. He was tired of the bullshit that his dad brought into his life. “I wish that bastard would get out of Austin.”

“He should be in jail.” Carlos set a second pot for the cheese sauce down on the stovetop with a thud. T.K. startled. “Sorry,” Carlos said, looking guilty. The water on the stove was boiling, bubbles becoming more aggressive.

“I don’t want him in jail, but I want him away from me,” T.K. replied. “I can’t let him back into my life.” I can’t deal with him and staying sober. I’ll lose my mind if he tries to pry his way back into my life.

“I won’t let him get near you,” Carlos promised, and T.K. knew that for all Carlos meant his words that his dad wasn’t the type of guy who respected boundaries. If his dad wanted to get to T.K., he probably would. T.K. didn’t think the old drunkard cared enough to go out of his way, though. He was hoping desperately that that’s the case. Sam had told T.K. that he wasn’t worth the time hundreds of times, and T.K. didn’t want to be worth the time.

Carlos poured the macaroni into the pot, and the water foamed before settling.

“I’m not a helpless little kid anymore,” T.K.’s voice trembled. He was not one, but the helpless little kid lived inside him, scared and hoping that someone would care enough to let him out of the dark room he’d been shoved into. “I don’t know why he still gets to me.”

“It’s normal to hold onto things. I’m still mad at Willie Johnson for throwing a rock at my head in first grade.”

“Willie Johnson is has always been a jerk. I’d be mad too.”

“Yeah, but if I can hold on to that memory, it’s normal that you’d still feel hurt over the things your dad did, which were a hell of a lot worse than a rock to the head in first grade.”

“Dad wasn’t that bad.” You’ve always been sensitive. He only hurt you because you were too sensitive.

“I won’t spare any kind words for that man.”

“He’s still my dad.”

Carlos bit his lip as he put the milk, salt, pepper, cornstarch, and ground mustard into the roux pot and brought that mix to a boil. He got out the block of sharp white cheddar and shred it, taking his frustrations out on the cheese.

“What are you not telling me?”

Carlos put the cheese down. “I think you should get a restraining order.”

“That’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“What if he finds us here?” Carlos asked. “I don’t trust that he won’t track us down.”

“What’s he going to do? He’s got a lot of bark but not a lot of bite.” T.K. shook his head. “A restraining order won’t keep him away. If he wants to find us, he will, regardless of what the law says. He might break the order just to spite the law.”

“He’s dangerous,” Carlos said, voice going shrill. “We nearly had to cancel our wedding because you were so terrified to see him when he showed up unannounced.”

“He doesn’t scare me,” T.K. insisted. “He’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle him, and I don’t want to handle him if I don’t have to.”

“He wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about me.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

“It’s my thing to worry. You know that.”

“Let’s talk about how you are,” T.K. diverted the conversation. “How was work? I hope it wasn’t too bad.” Carlos had had a hard week the week before. A child in one family he worked with had died tragically, and it had been no one’s fault, but it had left Carlos feeling guilty that he hadn’t done more.

“It was okay,” Carlos replied with a sigh. “Better than last week.”

“That’s good.” T.K. pressed his lips against Carlos’ neck. He caught a whiff of Carlos’ cologne, and it reminded him of a smell he used to know, but he hadn’t been able to figure out what it was. He just knew it made him feel calm.

“As much as I love having you kiss me. I’m trying to make dinner,” Carlos said with a laugh, swatting T.K. away with a dish towel.

“Fine. Have it your way,” T.K. pulled away slowly, already missing the closeness. “That’s the last time I try to make you feel better after a hard day.”

“Being with you always makes me feel better,” Carlos replied in a tone that was so earnest that T.K. could hardly believe that Carlos was his husband. “I’m feeling less stressed already.”

“You should have asked me to go to the store. It’s not like I had anything to do.”

Carlos shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, but you’re so busy, and I’m just sitting around being useless.”

“You’re not useless.” They’d had a fight about this several times since the explosion. You do nothing to help this household. It makes no sense that Carlos has been so patient and sticks around.

“You have to say that. You married me, but what do I do? I’m not making any money. I can’t cook. I can barely even leave the house. The only thing I do is my job.”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit, T.K. You’ll be back in action soon. You’re recovering. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Work will probably be bad too. Did you hear that they’re bringing in some guy from New York to run the new 126? That’s what Judd told me.”

“Oh? How’s Judd doing.”

“Pissed that they’re bringing some stranger in to be our captain.”

“Are you pissed?”

“Obviously. It’s a slap in the face. That’s what it is. That man is going to ruin everything. He doesn’t get how it is here in Texas. Austin is progressive, but we’re still in Texas. I give it three weeks before he realizes that he’s not cut out to work here.” T.K. hadn’t been born in Texas, but it is the only home he could remember, and he didn’t like the idea of an outsider coming in and flipping everything on its head. They’d had enough changes.

Carlos shrugged. “Maybe he’ll be nice.”

T.K. shot him an “Are you serious?” look. “He’s probably going to think he’s the best thing since sliced bread, and I don’t want to work for a guy who has attitude.”

“You have attitude,” Carlos replied with a laugh, bumping T.K. playfully with his hip. He poured the macaroni and cheese mix into a casserole dish before adding bread crumbs and putting it all in the oven.

T.K. crossed his arms, looking petulant. “Well, I’m not in charge, am I? My attitude won’t get anyone killed. That job should go to Judd. He’s an actual leader. Not some city guy who got his position by charming the pants off his superiors. Like, come on, New York? Why would a New Yorker want to come here? Judd knows what it’s like here.” T.K. didn’t see any reasons why Judd shouldn’t get the promotion that he was next in line for.

“Do you think Judd would even want it? Grace tells me he’s been having a tough time with everything. Being captain is a lot of pressure.”

“Our team died. Of course, he’s having a hard time, but he’s fine now. He told me so. He’s ready to get back to work, and I’m going to be right beside him. I’m just glad we’ll have each other.”

“He’s struggling more than he lets on. Grace doesn’t think he’s ready to go back”

T.K. raised his eyebrows. “Grace said that?”

“He won’t do his required therapy.”

“They won’t let him back until he does. It sucks, but all you have to do is tell ‘em what they want to hear and then you’re done.”

“That better not be the attitude you use when you go to therapy.”

Carlos was careful with what he said next. “Do you think you’re ready to go back?”

T.K. felt a sudden rush of guilt. “Babe, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” Carlos looked nervous.

“I’m going back tomorrow,” T.K. confessed.

“What the hell, T.K.?” Carlos asked. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” T.K. had been trying to tell Carlos for a week, but he knew Carlos would think that it was too soon, so he’d delayed it until he could delay it no more. He’d never meant for it to become such a big secret, but like any secret, it had a life of its own.

“It was short notice, but I’ve been doing my therapy, so the captain agreed we could try to see what happens.”

“You nearly died twice.”

“The overdose was a lapse in judgement and the explosion was a freak accident. Neither will happen again.” You know it’s only a matter of time before you fall off the wagon. I wouldn’t do that to Carlos. You can’t help yourself.

“Judd won’t be your boss. The new guy is, so you’ll have to listen to him. Are you ready for that?”

“He saved my life, so I’m going to be loyal to him above all others, and the new captain better learn to deal with that.” Judd had shielded T.K. with his own body, protecting him from the worst of the explosion. T.K. owed Judd his life, and he was going to be bitter on his friend’s behalf about this new guy rolling in and stealing what was rightfully Judd’s.

“If you need more time off, we can make it work. You don’t have to go back right now.”

“We can’t make it work. You don’t exactly get paid a lot, and I can’t just sit at home all day.”

“Whatever you need, we can make it work.”

“I need to get back to work, Carlos.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to go back before you’re ready.” T.K. could hear the anxiety in Carlos’ voice, and he knew that Carlos had nightmares about T.K. dying in the explosion.

“I need to get back to living a real life, not just my sad, pathetic existence.”

“If you say you’re ready, I’ll support you.” Carlos swallowed. “But I won’t deny that I’m nervous about you going back.”

T.K. took Carlos’ hand, pulling Carlos closer. “I’m ready. I promise. I was born to do this, and I won’t let shit that’s happened in the past stand in my way. I feel purposeless, and I need to get that purpose back.”

“Will you keep going to therapy?”

“If that makes you feel better.”

“I want it to make you feel better.”

T.K. leaned up to kiss Carlos. “That’s why I married you. You always want me to be better. You make me better”

“I thought it was because I could cook?”

T.K. kissed him again. “That was just a perk.”

“Are you nervous?” Carlos asked.

“You know me. I jump into things and don’t look back.” T.K. shook his head. “No, I’m not nervous.”

Walking into the firehouse the next morning felt strange after months away. T.K. hadn’t been there since the memorial service for the lost members. T.K. felt like Dorothy walking into Oz as he stared at the firehouse’s facelift, but instead of awe, dread was the only emotion that T.K. could make out.

The fire station felt like a hotel that he was passing through more than a second home where he’d be spending huge chunks of his time. He couldn’t deny that the arrangement was impressive, but the transformation only made him bitter. Lives couldn’t be covered up with a fresh coat of paint.

Before he could even get his bearings, the Owen Strand pulled him into his office, offering a hand and a too chipper grin. Reluctantly, T.K. shook his new captain’s hand. He hadn’t been raised with many manners, but he wasn’t an idiot either. He knew to play nice with his boss. “Owen Strand,” Owen introduced himself. “Please, have a seat.”

T.K. sat in a chair that looked too nice to be comfortable. He didn’t want to have whatever conversation Owen wanted to have. It wasn’t like T.K. has done anything yet. He hadn’t had the chance to let his impulses get him in trouble with this stupid New Yorker who was probably going to be the downfall of the entire station. Because based on the aesthetic of the firehouse, T.K. had to wonder if Owen was a leader who probably cared more about appearances and firehouse statistics more than he cared about the work itself.

They wouldn’t even start taking calls for another week because Owen thought it was important that they had team bonding and the kind of crap that T.K. thought was a waste of energy. They’d be doing training sessions, which were better than the getting to know each other games that were also on the agenda. Endurance exercises would keep his mind off everything else, but the trust exercises made him want to scream.

The captain was looking at him with an unreadable expression, and it was too early for a stare-off, so the way the captain was looking at him only made T.K. angrier because he’s too tired for games. T.K. hated men like that who looked at you like they could break you down by looking at you long enough. “Good morning, T.K.” Owen’s voice was bubbly, as if the firehouse wasn’t still haunted by all the people it has lost. T.K.’s was not sure that he’d ever be able to smile like that without guilt. It’s not like his life gave him a lot to smile about, anyway.

T.K. crossed his arms and uncrossed them because he didn’t want to look like a petulant kid. “What am I here for?” T.K. asked, not wanting to extend any pleasantries. He wasn’t there to make nice. He was there to do his job, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. I’ll show him I’m okay, but I don’t have to pretend I like him. He didn’t want to make friends or talk to his boss about things that didn’t matter. Owen Strand wanted to be Mr. Popular, and T.K. would not let him have that title easily. T.K. couldn’t be bribed with gourmet coffee makers and a variety of milks.

Owen has the gall to crack another smile. T.K. doesn’t return one. He can’t. He won’t. “I thought I should inform you that Judd won’t be coming back yet.” He hadn’t talked to Judd, but he’d figured that part out based on the conversation he’d had with Carlos the night before.

“Yeah, I know.” T.K. kept his voice stoic. “And I probably would’ve noticed that when I didn’t see him here.”

“I thought you should know that my decision not to bring Judd back right now doesn’t mean he’ll never be back.”

“Great, thanks for letting me know. Can I go now?”

“But that’s not why I called you in here. It’s not the only reason, at least.”

“Then what is? I’m not in the mood for small talk.”

“I want Judd to take care of his mental health. That was the major reason I would not let him back. He wasn’t taking his trauma seriously.” T.K. wanted to tell Owen off.

“It’s hard not to take trauma seriously. It’s always serious. That’s what makes it trauma.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. All I mean is that he needs more time to get his head back to where it needs to be.”

“You think I’m better than he is?” T.K. wasn’t sure he was much better than Judd. Maybe he was better at hiding the haunted look in his eyes. He’d been doing it his whole life. I know how to seem okay. It’s one of my greatest talents.

“You’ve been doing what the department requires, and that’s why I let you come back.” Owen kept his tone cool. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here, T.K.”

“Yeah? And?” He still doesn’t know why Owen is wasting his time with this. “I still don’t get why you called me in here.”

“Being here doesn’t mean that I’m going to ignore well-being. I need you to take your mental health seriously too. You’ve done your required therapy, but I need you to keep taking care of that. If you have issues, you need to be upfront about them or else this won’t work. I need to know that I can trust you.” What about me trusting you? How am I supposed to do that?

T.K. rolled his eyes. “What my personal life is like isn’t your business. Everyone’s got baggage, and it’s not your business how I deal with it.”

“It is if it impedes what we’re doing here. I believe we all need to be on the same page. Are you willing to be a team player?”

“I would never let my issues get in the way with my job.”

“I know you wouldn’t intentionally, but—"

“But nothing. I’m fine, and this isn’t something I want to talk about with someone I’ve just met. What happened was awful, but I’m ready to move on because it doesn’t help anyone to live in the past.”

“T.K., you’re young and you’re resilient, but trauma is still trauma. I’ve been through it myself. I know what it’s like to lose your whole crew.” He pauses, looking choked up. “I know what it’s like to lose everything important to you.”

“Then, you know that sometimes you don’t want to be coddled. You just want to move on.”

“I also know that sometimes no matter how hard you try, you can’t move. I don’t want you to be stuck.”

“I’m nothing like you,” T.K. spat. “And the problems that you think I have are just you problems.”

Owen didn’t let T.K.’s comment rile him up. “Maybe you’re right, but I’m here if you need to talk. I’m here for anyone on my team.”

“I won’t, and if I do, it won’t be to you because I don’t trust you. You just rolled into Austin like you owned the place. It doesn’t make sense that you’d want to come to Austin, of all places. This would be a downgrade to a New Yorker, so unless you were on the verge of being fired, I can’t see why you’d take this job other than having a hero complex.” T.K. absolutely shouldn’t talk to his new boss that way, but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“I appreciate your honesty, so I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not here because I want to be a hero. I’m here because I needed a fresh start. New York has a lot of hard memories for me. I was holding onto a lot of things that I needed to let go of, so when the opportunity arose, I made the most drastic change that I’ve ever faced. This new station can be a fresh start for you too. And Judd.”

T.K. remained testy. “I didn’t ask for your sob story.” He was being an asshole because that how he gets whenever he has any negative feelings. Like father like son, I guess.

Owen gave T.K. a sympathetic smile. “Trust me. I didn’t give it,” and T.K. knew that there was something to unpack there, but someone else’s trauma wasn’t something he has any business digging into. Besides, he really didn’t care to know anything more about Owen Strand than he already did.

By the end of the shift, all T.K. could think about was how big of an asshole Owen Strand was. Owen was the type of guy who everyone thought was so amazing. He grinned, and he cracked jokes with the crew. He wasn’t afraid to dive into a dangerous situation, and he had all the makings of a ruggedly handsome fifty-something hero. For all the things that outwardly seemed cool about Owen Strand, he was grandiose, and T.K. recognized the carefully practiced smile of someone who had a dark history that hadn’t yet found its way to a light present.

Trying not to think of his captain, T.K. got in his car, and he could hardly believe how much he wanted to go home after being so insistent about needing to get out of the house. He went ten miles per hour over the speed limit and rushed in through the door with fresh rage he could never seem to shake. Carlos looked up as he threw his keys onto their hook and missed the hook, letting the keys hit the floor. He groaned and didn’t pick them up.

“Hey,” Carlos said, voice cautious. “How was today?” T.K. didn’t want to talk about it, but he also had no ability to keep his mouth shut.

T.K. throws his hands up, gesticulating wildly. “He wants to change the entire station with his espresso machine and new age crap like that would make things any better. He thinks Judd isn’t ready to come back. How crazy is that? Judd lives to be a firefighter.”

“What about you?” Carlos asked.

“What about me?” T.K. blared. He clenched his fists, already losing it when the conversation has barely started.

“Does he think you’re ready to come back?”

“He looked skeptical, but he didn’t say I wasn’t. He let me stay for the shift, but all we did was fucking bonding exercises. But it helped that I’d actually gone to my therapy. I didn’t tell him that my social worker boyfriend pushed me into it.” T.K. crossed his arms. “What does he know anyway? This guy thinks that he’s an expert on mental health. Like, you can’t tell just by looking at a person how well they are is doing. He told me that he still had concerns about me, but with Judd, he just flat out said that he wasn’t ready. How unfair is that? Judd’s been there since he got out of high school. It’s not like he’s forgotten how to fight fires. Most of the time we’re just doing medical calls and crowd control.”

“Maybe he’s right.” T.K. looked at Carlos like he was a traitor.

“Whose side are you on?” T.K. felt like a raw nerve. He’d felt like one since he was a child, and now, he kept blowing up at the people he loved the most, and ever since the explosion, he’d been worse. He dreaded opening his mouth because he didn’t know when something red hot would spew out before he could stop it.

“Yours. I’m always on yours, but what you went through was traumatic, and—”

“And nothing! You don’t get to define my trauma by telling me how I should feel or that I’m not ready to go back to work. I’m ready! I’m tired of sitting at home like an invalid. You don’t get how crazy I’ve been going here.” The comfort of being home was short-lived, apparently.

“I know that it’s been hard.”

“It’s been the worst time of my life, and you know what my childhood was like.”

“Maybe the captain won’t be as bad as you think.”

“Maybe he’ll be worse. What does a city slicker know about running a fire department in Texas? He’s going to ruin everything we built. The station looks like it’s from an architecture catalog, but that won’t do much when he lets the station go to hell with poor management.”

“One man can’t destroy the whole firehouse all on his own.”

“He’s hired outsiders. He searched across the country. What’s the matter with people we have here?”

“You don’t like your coworkers.”

“They’re fine, but that’s not the point. They don’t get what it’s like here either. These people don’t feel like family.”

“It takes time to get to know people. Isn’t it better that he’s looking for completely fresh faces instead of trying to replace the old ones?”

“No. Owen Strand has only just started, and he’s already making a mess of things.”

“He’ll adapt, and he’ll have you to help him.” At least T.K. still had a job to show up to. Judd’s prospects were a lot less settled. Owen Strand didn’t seem to change his mind easily.

“I have a policy about not doing favors for bastards.” T.K. said, plopping his body on the couch next to Carlos.

“You wouldn’t be doing a favor for a bastard. You’d be doing a favor for the people of this city. Even if this new guy doesn’t need it, they need your help.” T.K. wasn’t going to let people down no matter how awful he felt about the whole situation. He was the best person for the job, which was why he was going to have to play nice and vent his frustrations when he came home from work at night.

“I know, but it’s still going to suck. I’m too hot-blooded for this. God, I’m just like my dad.” Carlos pulls T.K.’s body away from his so that they can look at each other eye to eye.

“You’re nothing like him. You can get passionate, but you don’t hurt innocent people when you get mad, and you care about people other than yourself. I wouldn’t have married you if you were like him.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure my mom didn’t intend on getting stuck with an abusive deadbeat either. It’s no wonder she... left me.” T.K. wondered how much he was like his mother. If he married to a man like Sam Avery, he figured he would have given up on life as well.

Carlos kissed T.K.’s temple. “You’re the best husband. I’m lucky to have you.”

T.K. leaned his head against Carlos’ chest. “I’m even luckier to have you. You put up with my craziness.”

Carlos smiled. “For now, and forever.”

“Life’s never going to be the same, is it?” T.K. couldn’t help but ask.

Carlos holds T.K. closer. “No, I don’t think that it is, but it could be good in its own way.”

“We’ll see about that, but I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s going to go up in flame.” In T.K.’s experience, never good lasted when the bad was so insistent on taking the joy.

One Monday later, Judd was finally allowed back after Grace had convinced the captain to let Judd came back, meaning that T.K. would have at least one ally at work. That knowledge did little to sweeten T.K.’s sour mood. T.K. had just had the weekend off, so going back to work for another week with Captain Thinks He’s Cool But Is Actually an Asshole was not T.K.’s idea of a good time.

Usually, he liked his job. He enjoyed helping people, and every time he saved someone else, T.K. felt like he was rescuing himself from parts of himself that he didn’t like to consider—his impulsiveness, his addictiveness, his restlessness. But with all the changes, T.K. felt little when he worked. There was a hollowness in his core that T.K. couldn’t fill as effortlessly as he once could. Work didn’t make him feel in control anymore. It made him worry that he was seconds away from a spiral because firefighting was once solid ground, but it had become a collapsed building, full of accidents waiting to happen.

The day was off to a bad start. A house fire left T.K. in a bad mood, but he didn’t think about that. Reminding himself of the details would only cause his brain to spiral, and he had a shift to finish. You need to stop being so crazy and get your act together. If you don’t get it together, you’re going to make a fatal mistake. T.K. wasn’t sure his job would ever be the same. What if I can never do my job normally again. What if I’m broken?

I should be dead, was the mantra repeating in his mind. It had been there for longer than he would have admitted. There was no reason why he had lived while his family had died in that catastrophic explosion. Every single person in that crew had been better than T.K. a million times over. T.K. was lucky to have known them all, and their acceptance of him had proven that life is happier when the best part of it was the people who surround you. They brought out the best in him, and then, they were gone. Now, T.K. was left with Carlos, Judd, and a mountain of issues that he had to battle. He couldn’t talk about those issues, though. Not if he wanted to keep himself marginally levelheaded.

“You’re spacey today,” T.K. heard, and he felt himself jolt at the interruption. Paul was right next to him with that look on his face. The one that T.K. was being analyzed in ways that made him want to dig a hole and hide for a few months until things had steadied and he didn’t feel dizzy all the time. T.K. tried to keep his distance from Paul because it was hard to hide from someone who was hyper-observant. T.K. knew a thing or two about hiding. He’d hidden his sexuality, he’d hidden all the shit that happened with his father, and he’d hidden how untethered he always was, even before the accident. He took comfort in all the things he never showed anyone. Even Carlos only knew a sanitized version of what went on in T.K.’s head, and life was less chaotic that way. It kept things compartmentalized.

“I’m just here to do my job.” But he wasn’t even good at that anymore. All the calls that could have gone wrong did, but blocked those thoughts from his mind. He’d been on the verge of a mental breakdown for a while, and he tiptoed the edge between being okay and not being okay carefully. As long as he could act okay externally, he could deal with the messy internal thoughts. No one could know that he was struggling. If they did, they’d think it was too early for him to be back at work, and that wasn’t the case at all. Work wasn’t the problem. It was everything else in his life that was falling apart. Work was the glue that was keeping him together. But it’s getting harder to pretend I’m okay. I’m tired, too tired for the façade.

T.K. wasn’t sure why Paul had come to bother him at all. Maybe he’d drawn the short straw. The new team should’ve known better than to approach T.K. when he was in a mood. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t going to be social with anyone at the 126 other than Judd. T.K. wasn’t planning on making friends, and he certainly didn’t want any concern from people he saw as nothing more than interlopers.

“I’m here to talk if you need it, man.” The consideration almost made T.K. soften. Because I’m weak. Damn Paul for being a good guy. T.K. had to remind himself not to let his guard down just because someone was nice to him. Maybe several years ago, he would have been pathetic enough to try to be friends with anyone who paid attention to him, but he was past being desperate for love. Love always seemed to turn up tragic, anyway, so he’d clutch onto the love he already had without making any more. Whoever said the more, the merrier didn’t know the joy of being alone.

“I have a husband for talking to,” And I haven’t felt like talking to him either. Or my therapist.

Paul’s face remained neutral. “A husband, huh? I think that’s the first personal thing you’ve said. What’s his name?”

T.K. resisted rolling his eyes. He couldn’t help the clipped tone that came out, “Don’t get used to information. His name is Carlos. That’s all you’re going to get.” I’m such an asshole. He hated how he couldn’t seem to stop himself from being a jerk. He’d been an asshole to Carlos when they first met as well. He’d said, “Go look somewhere else if you’re looking to use your hero complex,” when Carlos had bandaged T.K. after T.K. fought with his dad. T.K. still wasn’t sure how Carlos had gotten past that moment, that broken and pathetic moment.

Paul shrugged, saying, “Okay. That’s fine. I’m not trying to push anything,” and the response made T.K.’s blood boil with something he couldn’t identify—anger, anxiety, maybe fear. He expected more of a reaction when he was an asshole, and it made butterflies flutter in his stomach when people’s reactions were different than he anticipated. No, it was more like bulls stampeding in his stomach, running with heaviness and power. “But that was a bad call with the little girl, so if you need to talk to someone who gets it, any of us are willing. It doesn’t have to be me.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me off for being an asshole.” Childish defiance was brewing in T.K., and the more he wanted to make Paul’s expression change. “You obviously aren’t as observant as you claim to be because you haven’t noticed that I don’t plan to play nice with any of you. You’re only here because good men died. You’ve got awfully big shoes to fill, and you’re never going to fill them.”

Paul’s voice still didn’t raise. He pointed to his boots, “Luckily, I came with my own shoes, and I’ve filled them for a long time.” He stood from the bench and gave T.K. a pitiful look. “I get that you lost a lot, and no one is going to replace your old crew, but like it or not, you’ve gained a motley crew of people who don’t want the world to hurt other people like it hurt us. You don’t have to talk to us. You don’t even have to like us, but we’re here, so you might as well make the best of us.”

The anger dissipated from T.K.’s body. “I think I just need a few moments alone.”

Paul gave a small smile, “Take as many or as few as you need,” and with a nod, he was gone.

For all he wanted it to, the day didn’t end there. T.K. just wanted to go home, bury himself under his covers, and sleep, but he had thirteen hours left on his shift, and he’d have to suck up his bad feelings and try to get through.

Just two hours later, Marjan was the second member of the crew to corner T.K. When he saw her come up to him with an expression that screamed, “We’re having a serious talk,” he pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed a groan. He liked Marjan. She was a badass with a quick wit and a heart of gold. What wasn’t to like? But while she didn’t have Paul’s extreme observational skills, she had a way of cajoling information out of people that almost made talking to her more dangerous.

“We’re going out to a honkytonk tomorrow night. You should come.”

T.K. brushed her off, “I’m kind of busy.”

“You’re busy a lot.”

T.K. tried to make a joke, “I get booked up months in advance.”

“Well, maybe you could squeeze us in some time.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” T.K. said, but he wasn’t going to make any promises. The exchange was short, and for the most part painless.”

It wasn’t even one hour later when T.K. was bombarded yet again. He looked at Mateo with an exasperated expression, “What is this? A let’s talk to T.K. revolving door?”

Mateo looked confused, “What?”

“Never mind,” T.K. shook his head.

Mateo was the member of the 126 who people too often underestimated. They looked at him and assumed that he was stupid or naïve and wouldn’t know anything. He was quiet, and there was a lot that he didn’t understand, but his ignorance had nothing to do with his intelligence or will. He just didn’t have the experience level that the rest of the crew had, but he was good with the details. He left nothing to chance, and he was the least likely of all them to cut corners. He was thorough with his relationships too, and he was so naturally caring that it was hard to turn him away and not give him something. His trustworthiness and his genuine concern made it hard for T.K.’s barriers not to melt just a little bit, but I have to be strong.

Mateo was brief with his speech, “We’re all just here to help each other out, and we need each other now more than ever.”

“I need my old crew more than ever,” T.K. said, meaning to sound stubborn, but it came off as desperate and too honest.

“We’re more than replacements. We can be friends.”

“You’ll be waiting a while if you want friendship.”

Mateo shrugged. “I’m good at waiting. Do you know how long it took me just to be a probie?” T.K. hadn’t paid attention enough to know the answer, but he did remember a lot of fretting about Mateo’s firefighter’s test a while back. “I don’t care about having to do so much grunt work, either. I’m just glad to be here.” The question is, Am I glad to be here too?

T.K. felt a rush of relief fill him when Mateo didn’t make him say anything more, but T.K.’s mind wouldn’t leave him alone.

The final few hours of his shift dragged. They ate dinner together, but T.K. wasn’t hungry. He pushed his food around as he thought of the little girl, and couldn’t shake the sickness in his stomach. He wanted to escape. He wanted a drug. He wanted a hug from Carlos. He couldn’t take it anymore. His mind was reeling with the defeat of the day. Excusing himself, he snuck to the bathroom just to escape being near other people.

He splashed water on his face, trying to wash the bad of the day from his face, but it didn’t budge. He heard a voice and spun around, feeling his heart beat faster. It was just Owen. T.K. felt the fear diminish but the residual panic was still in his body.

“Sorry about that,” Owen said. Turning the tap on and waving his toothbrush. “I need a quick refresh.”

“It’s fine,” T.K. replied half-heartedly, not wanting to look as distraught as he felt while also not wanting to invite a conversation. T.K. dried his face off and tried to make himself presentable before he’d have to go back and face the rest of his shift.

Before he could slip away, Owen stopped him. “T.K., hold on,” Owen said as he spat the toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

Owen Strand was the member of the 126 that T.K. knew better than he wanted to know him. He talked a lot, and he pretty quickly revealed heaps of information, but T.K. knew that for as open as he appeared to be, he had secrets that he was guarding. He was choosy about what he revealed, but because he revealed a significant amount of stuff that didn’t really matter, he seemed open. T.K. recognized that in him because T.K. was exactly the same way. He made people feel like he was giving information away to distract from the secrets he kept. Though, he hadn’t even been doing that lately. He didn’t have the energy to spin a narrative just to keep people off his trail. There was so much else he had to handle, and the new 126 didn’t seem worth the effort of either divulging information or actively hiding information.

Owen picked up a comb and started fixing his hair. Of course, Owen of all people would have a post-meal beauty routine. “It’s been a hard day. Self-care is most important on hard days.” He handed T.K. some lotion. “Try this. It has chamomile. It’s supposed to be soothing.”

“No thanks,” T.K. said.

“Suit yourself,” Owen said, putting the comb down and using the lotion for himself. “Our job certainly doesn’t promote good skincare.”

T.K. didn’t even know what to say to that. “I guess not. Can I go or did you want to say something?” “I wanted to check-in.”

For all he tried to be civil, T.K. couldn’t stifle his groan. “You don’t have to keep asking me how I am.”

“It’s not just you that I worry about. I check in with the others too. You’re just more elusive than them.”

“You can’t tell me I’m more elusive than Judd.”

Owen grinned. “Hard to believe, I know.”

T.K. eyed Owen as he picked up cologne and dabbed it on his wrists and onto his neck. “It’s the little things that get you through the day. I know it seems silly, but I like smelling like myself,” Owen explained. He was one of those people who liked to hear his own voice. “A good scent can remind you that there’s something beyond the smoke.”

T.K. knew the smell right away. “That’s Black Valley by Oscar Simmons, isn’t it?” Even assholes can have good taste in cologne.

Owen raised his eyebrows. “You know it?”

“My husband wears it.”

“He must be a dapper man.” Owen looked impressed. “It’s an old scent for someone so young to wear.”

“Carlos says it’s a classic. I think he likes it because his dad passed it down to him. He’s always thought his dad was super cool.”

A flash of something dark flickered through Owen’s eyes. “That’s nice. Tradition is important. I’ve been wearing this scent for nearly thirty years. It’s been through a lot with me.”

“It’s been around that long?”

“I still have trouble believing that I’ve been around that long,” Owen said with a chuckle.

“I’m getting pretty close to thirty-years myself.” He still had four years before then, but he was closer to thirty than twenty. He felt ancient. The past few months had felt like years.

“Enjoy the time before your body starts getting creaky.”

T.K. cracked his knuckles. “It’s already there.” He sighed. “But at least I get to grow older. That little girl—” he caught himself before he said more.

“It’s hard to see kids die,” Owen commented somberly. “How are you doing with that?”

T.K. forced a smile, the normal almost friendly moment dissipating as tenseness settled between them. “I’m doing okay.” Owen was the captain, so if there was anyone that T.K. had to fool, it was him.

“It’s been a long shift. A child died, and that’s always hard. No amount of experience makes that easier.”

“No, but I’m not cracking up over it.” He sighed. “It’s just hard.”

“I know, but you don’t have to shut down your emotions. I don’t want robots as employees, so I won’t penalize you for having them. It’s good to process those things.”

“We still have time on the clock, so I’ve got to keep my focus.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Owen insisted.

“I didn’t say it was,” T.K. bit out. But it is, isn’t it?

“There was nothing you could have done.”

“Yeah, I know that,” T.K.’s voice was firmer now, but he couldn’t help the way it wavered at the end. “But I saved the villain.”

“You did your job.” Owen opened his mouth to say something else, but the alarm lit up, and a siren wailed through the firehouse.

“We’ll have to talk later,” T.K. told the captain, hurrying out of the captain’s office to get ready. He had no intention of talking. It’s best that way. Talking never leads to anything good coming out of my mouth.

It was nearly time to go home, and there was only one person who hadn’t yet had a heart to heart with T.K. As the only member of the crew to have a genuine relationship with T.K., Judd’s concern meant the most, but they’d never been the type of friends to have emotional conversations. They were brothers and would do anything for one another—Judd’s family often hosted T.K. for holidays, which they’d split with Carlos’ family—but they didn’t need heart to hearts to be close.

T.K. thought he was going to escape without a conversation with Judd until he saw Judd waiting by T.K.’s car.

“You have to let them in eventually,” Judd told him. T.K. had to admit that Judd was a changed person since he had started to go to therapy. Maybe that’s why he seemed so into having real conversations now instead of just talking about sports and married life.

“I don’t have to do anything,” T.K. insisted, and he sounded so much like a little brother.

“Kid,” Judd always called him kid when he was going into big brother mode, “They want to know you, and crews always work better when they trust one another.”

“I’ve given them no reason not to trust me. Just because I don’t share—”

“T.K., you’re not trusting them.”

“I trust them to do the job.”

“You won’t even tell them your favorite color.”

“I don’t have a favorite color.”

Judd sighed. “I’m not asking you to tell them every little detail about yourself, but if you want this to work, you have to give ‘em something.”

“Judd, I have to go.” T.K. looked at his watch, “Carlos is waiting for me, and I don’t want to be here longer than I have to.”

“Talk to him about what happened today. With everything with your dad—”

“He’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Are you sure about that? Carlos told me he was back in town.” Judd shook his head. “Which you should have told me.”

“I should have known Carlos wouldn’t keep that a secret.”

“He’s worried. I am too.”

“Please, Judd. I want to go home.”

“Fine.” Judd sighed. “Just don’t be a stranger. Dad misses you at family dinners.”

“I’m doing my best, Judd. You of all people know it’s a lot to deal with it all.”

“I know. I’m still strugglin’. trust me the nightmares keep on coming, but I’m taking little steps forward, and I’m learning not to let bad days get me down so much. Our new crew is a good bunch of people, so I don’t want your fears to get in the way of you adding some new people to your life.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Judd patted him on the shoulder, “Well, whatever you are ain’t making you happy,” and wasn’t that the truth. I’m not sure happiness is in the cards for me.

When T.K. finally got home, the last thing he wanted to do was talk more, so he slid into his house and went directly to bed without saying more than a few words to Carlos. He tried not to let thoughts about the dead little girl infiltrate his mind, but he had nightmares of her burning in the fire. When T.K. woke up, Carlos was already at work, and T.K. knew he’d have to endure the day alone. He didn’t mind moping on his own, but he knew it was a bad day to have excess time. If things were normal, he would have bothered one of the crew to hang out with him, but his crew was dead, and it wasn’t a good time to burden Judd. Grace would understand, but like Judd, she already had enough to deal with.

He could have always called Carlos, who would’ve dropped everything to talk to T.K., but Carlos had already missed enough work, and he deserved some time away from the chaos that T.K. had dragged him into.

With Carlos gone for most of the day, T.K. tried and let himself recover, by the third hour of watching a soap opera that he didn’t understand, T.K. was at the end of his rope.

When Carlos did come home, T.K. wasn’t in a talking mood, but silence didn’t pair well with dinner. He knew it would help, but he didn’t want another night of trauma talk. For once, he just wanted to pretend that they were a normal couple who worried about normal things like what they were having for dinner or whether to paint the living room tea leaf or sea glass. T.K. tried to find something to say, but he couldn’t think of anything normal, so he just stayed quiet and asked Carlos what he had done at work.

Carlos talked about his day, but after T.K. asked him about what he did during his day for the fourth time, Carlos had enough. “You have to talk about it eventually.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Something’s bothering you.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Conversations are always pulling teeth with you.”

“Could you stop? I’ve had a long day.” He wanted to eat their meal without the rattling in his brain. For a while, he wanted to ignore all that was wrong with his life.

“You were off today.” And agonized by all my free time.

“The days blur together, I guess,” which was true. With odd shift schedules, T.K. sometimes lost track of what day it was or when the old day had turned over to a new one.

“You haven’t been talking to me since you got back to work.”

“I talk to you every day, Carlos.” T.K. wouldn’t be able to stop talking to Carlos, even if he tried. He’d lose his mind after the third day of silence. For as closed off as he was, T.K. couldn’t stand silence with anyone for long, and he’d lose his head when he thought people were giving him the silent treatment. If no one was talking, T.K. usually babbled just to fill the space. He didn’t have to do that as much with Carlos, though, or anyone he trusted. T.K. knew that Carlos would never use the silence as a weapon.

“Not about how you’re doing.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m fine. I’m back at work and feeling better than ever.”

“You don’t just go from wanting to kill yourself to being fine.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself. It was just a normal ‘I’m a fuck up who accidentally overdosed on a shit ton of oxy that didn’t even make me feel better.’” You’re a liar.

Carlos didn’t look convinced. “It doesn’t really matter what exactly happened that night. Whatever happened, you weren’t okay, and all that matters now is that it happened, and you need to address it. I want to know that you’ve been dealing with whatever you’re feeling in the right ways because going backward isn’t a choice.”

“I’m dealing as well as I can be.” He wasn’t telling the truth. He could have committed to his therapeutic process. He could have admitted that he had wanted to die when he took those pills. He could have told Carlos that despite all his bravado that he wasn’t sure if he was ready to be back at work and that he wasn’t even sure that firefighting was what he wanted anymore. He could have admitted that more than just work was getting to him. But he wasn’t going to do any of that because it was easier for everyone if he dealt with his shit alone.

“Keeping to yourself isn’t dealing. It’s ignoring the problem.”

“I’m trying to spare you the angst.”

“No, you’re trying to spare yourself from dealing with your problems.”

“Why does everyone want to talk? Why can’t any of you let things go back to normal? We pretended I was fine before. Can’t we do that again?”

“That’s kind of the problem. The normal you want to go back to doesn’t exist, and the sooner you realize that the more stable your life will become.”

“I’m not going to do anything crazy.”

“Maybe not, but you’ve been more on edge lately, and I’m not sure if it’s because you’re back at work or because I told you that your dad was back.”

“I don’t care about my dad,” T.K. refuted too quickly.

“Fine, then this is about something else.”

Carlos wasn’t going to drop this, and T.K. couldn’t help the anxiety that blossomed in his chest or the rage that it turned into. “Why are you always such a busy body? You can’t leave me to have peace for five goddamn seconds?” He regretted yelling immediately, but with all the shame he felt for yelling, he became angrier, and he needed to be louder, or else he’d be consumed by whatever happened next. He needed to keep fighting or he’d go down. “You’re supposed to support me, not try to leech information from me just to be entertained by the fucking drama in my life.” He sounded paranoid and insecure, but when he was in a mood, he always spoke to keep control of the situation and make sure his voice didn’t fade.

“I know what you’re doing.”

The anxiety was bubbling more, and he wasn’t sure what to do to stop it. He didn’t even know why it was there but yelling temporarily dulled it. “I’m yelling at you like an asshole, that’s what I’m doing, but you can’t drop your sincere, loving husband act for two seconds.”

“You want me to lash out, but I’m not going to take the bait.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m just a fucking asshole, Carlos. It’s not that deep. You’re so naïve that you think there’s something redeemable in every person. How crazy is that? Grow up and see that some people are just wasted. They’re going to break your heart, and they’re not going to care that they’re doing it.”

“You always do this when you’re upset.”

“I’m not doing anything. It’s not a master plan or a scheme! I’m just an asshole. That’s all. You should know by now that that’s all I am. You married me, and if you don’t know what I am by now, that’s pretty pathetic. You must’ve been desperate if you married me. Aaron must have really broken you. He—”

T.K. could see the heat burning in Carlos’ eyes, and he got a guilty surge of satisfaction of finally getting a hint of the response he wanted. “Shut up, T.K, and don’t give me that crap. Aaron devastated me, but I was fifteen and in the closet. He’s in the past, but you’re not. You know what you do? You try to control people’s reactions. You provoke them so they’ll get angry with you because you’ve learned that a predictable bad response is more secure than gambling on what you might get.”

T.K. rolled his eyes, “Keep your social worker talk out of this.” He wasn’t looking to be psychoanalyzed.

Carlos swallowed a lump in his throat. “No, you’re all about bringing up hard truths tonight, so I’m not holding back either. You’ve learned that being hit hurts a lot less when you’ve convinced yourself that you had it coming, so when you feel vulnerable, you try to make people mad so that they get angry when you see it coming.”

“Stop it,” T.K. warned.

Carlos didn’t stop, “If you make people angry, you don’t have to risk them feeling something you don’t know how to handle. You don’t have to worry that they’ll hurt you for no reason because when you get too close to someone, you always give them a reason to be angry.”

T.K. felt his eyes get glossy, but he’d learned long ago that crying made things worse, so he closed his eyes and willed the drops to retreat into his eyes. He felt Carlos’ weight settle beside him and felt a warm hand slip into his. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but you don’t get to dictate when I feel what. I want you to feel safe, but you’re never going to feel safe if you don’t learn to accept that you aren’t responsible for how other people feel, and you can’t control their emotions.”

“I can’t even control my own emotions. I feel like they’re always going crazy.” He couldn’t get a grip on what he was feeling. It had always been hard for him to process his emotions or even identify which one he was feeling at any given moment.

“That would be hard.”

“It was just an awful day.”

“I don’t know what happened, but you’re trying to punish yourself. There’s a part of you that thinks it’s what you deserve.” Because punishment stops the spinning in my head.

“Yeah, well, I really fucked up, Carlos.” Maybe he did deserve bad things. All of the bad things. I messed things up so badly, and I don’t there’s a way to make it okay.

“What happened?” Carlos’ voice was gentle but prodding.

“There was a little girl who died in a fire we were called to.”

“Did something happen to her?”

T.K. nodded. “Someone happened to her.”

“Arson?”

“No. Her dad had beat her and her mom up, and then, he set the house on fire to cover it up.” The amount of senseless violence T.K. saw never ceased to make him sick.

“Fuck, that’s bad.”

“Yeah, and it was all my fault what happened to her.”

“No, T.K. her death wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you did everything you could to save her. I know you.”

“She was dead when we got there.”

“What do you feel guilty over, then? You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I know that there was nothing I could have done. I didn’t even know what had happened at the time, but I saved the wrong person.”

“What do you mean?” Carlos’ brows were furrowed as he struggled to understand what was bothering T.K. so much. Carlos’ face became animated with grim understanding. “You saved her dad.”

T.K. swallowed a lump in his throat. “I had to leave her body there while I carried her abuser out.” Logically, T.K. knew that he was doing his job, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he left a living person behind out of spite, but he hated how unfair it was when the scum of the Earth could continue living while people who did nothing wrong didn’t get that same chance. He hated that he had no control over it. He was powerless to the whims of the universe. He was powerless to his future. He was powerless to old scars that still sometimes ached as if they’d just happened. I’ve always been so powerless. “The thing I really hate,” he confessed, “is that I would have saved my dad even if he had tried to do the same to me.”

“That shows that you’re the better man.”

T.K. wanted to sob, but he let out a choked, “I’m sorry, Carlos,” instead.

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. T.K. had been an awful husband, and he couldn’t stand himself for it.

“It’s not. I’m an asshole.”

“No, he’s the asshole..”

“It’s an inherited trait,” T.K. concluded, feeling like the worst person alive. Carlos is too nice to see the truth. He doesn’t realize that he can do so much better. “And I don’t think I’ll ever escape it.”

#text #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #My writing #Elise Writes #My Fics #wip #7500 - 12500 words #saving the child inside

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