#also listen i drew two hands i REFUSE to draw eight

[jayzelnut]

I had the sudden and intense urge to draw Very Big Women

I ask them to step on me and Diana just pats me on the head like a little dog :,))

[kataraslove]

katara: “do you hear that?”

aang: “sounds like it’s coming from over there...”

for kataang week day 3: post canon @kataang-week​

newly wedded aang and katara (now sporting a cute little bob) were travelling across the world for their honeymoon. on their way to the kingdom of omashu, the two decided to stop and revisit the cave of two lovers. as aang and katara leaned in for a quick kiss by the entrance of the cave, they heard a blood-curling scream come from inside. immediately pulling away, the couple shared a suspicious look with each other before deciding to investigate.

katara cautiously grabbed her pouch as aang drew out a small flame to lead the way. however, the waterbender stopped her husband to remind him that the tunnels were filled with fluorescent crystals that glowed in the dark. 

“oh yeah,” aang recalled. he looked down at the flame dwindling in his palm. “i’ll put it out when we get further in there. if we hear screaming again, we’ll be able to find out where it came from.” 

“you can also use your earth bending this time around.” 

aang nodded. “that i can.” the gentle lines of his face - reserved especially for his wife - quickly switched up to the avatar look, the signature look that he bore whenever there was danger and people in need of his help. 

“let’s go.”

(continued under the cut, 2.4k words)

the broad sunlight of the summer day was reduced to a small crevice against their backs, as the two lovers made their way into the shadows of the labyrinth. their primary light source came from aang’s flame, which had grown brighter the farther they travelled. the avatar could not help but become a little bit mesmerized with the vivid red and orange hues that danced in his left palm, the warmth that occupied his hand having stretched out to his entire body. the flame synchronized so perfectly well with his heartbeat. fire is life, he recalled the words of the sun warrior chief. not just destruction. 

aang nearly chuckled out loud. firebending came so naturally to him now - almost as natural as his airbending. to think that there was ever a time that he had outright hated the element and vowed to never learn it, even if it had meant jeopardizing his avatarhood.

however, a small voice crept to the back of his mind, uncomfortably reminding of the exact reason as to why he initially refused to learn the element at the age of twelve. it was the same reason that brought shame and guilt inside his gut - even eight years later - whenever the memory unexpectedly crossed his mind. what he had done to katara on that day, how he had refused to listen to jeong jeong’s advice and lost control of his fire, the image of her fresh burns - it was all there, forever smeared across his brain and heart as a painful reminder. no matter how many times katara had insisted that good had come from that day through the discovery of her healing abilities, aang could never wash away the trauma associated with that event.

he inhaled sharply. it won’t happen again. he wasn’t twelve anymore, and he had full control over all the elements now. fire was energy, he had learned, and life.

sparing a glance at katara, who had been awfully quiet since they got into the cave, he noticed that his wife was chewing anxiously on her lower lip. the trouble in her beautiful features was easily detectable by the bright flames within his hand. he moved closer to her, his shoulder gently bumping hers in an attempt to comfort her. “you okay?”

she met his eyes, and he could see the hint of fear reflected in them. “aang, i’m worried.”

“you have nothing to be worried about,” aang reassured her with a small smile. “whatever it is, or whoever it is, we can take ‘em.”

katara shook her head. “i’m not worried about the who. we’ve probably dealt with far worse than whatever is lingering in this cave. but i - aang, what if it’s bad?”

he frowned, confused. “what if what’s bad, then?”

she studied her hands carefully. her hands were the hands of a fighter, of a healer. the same hands who had resurrected an avatar back to life and saved a firelord from near death, while dismantling another firelord from the throne. he felt the sudden urge to draw her hands in his own, to hold her tight enough to ease away her fears.

“what if there’s a bunch of dead bodies stashed away in this tunnel, rotting away for days or even weeks?” she answered in alarm, eyes widening at the dark path ahead of them. “or, what if there’s a bunch of people lying around in pain, on the brink of death, and I don’t have enough water to save them all?”

his eyes turned to the road ahead. he saw nothing, except for earth and more earth. but he knew better than to dismiss those kind of fears. 

“that wouldn’t be your fault.” he responded gently. “we’ll do our best to help, to make sure that whoever is out there is safe and unharmed. but if they do happen to be harmed - or worse, dead - and we’ve tried everything that we could,” he shuttered out a breath at the imagery. “i don’t want you to blame yourself for whoever you can’t save, katara.”

“and i don’t want you to blame yourself, aang.” she placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked on. he tried to ignore the immediate sweep of panic churning in his stomach at her proximity to the fire. if he envisioned a future with both katara and firebending, he would have to get used to accepting that she would be around the times when he required the element. 

“i know you feel a sense of responsibility, as the avatar, to ensure that the world is kept safe,” she continued on. her voice softened, a sad tone. “i know it upsets you when it isn’t.”

“wasn’t i the one consoling you just a second ago?” aang joked, deflecting. 

“we’re consoling each other.” katara insisted with a small smile. the corners of her mouth dropped at her next statement: “i know you don’t like to talk about it, aang, the stress and pressure that you feel. but i also know how it keeps you up at night. why you choose to sometimes spend long periods of time meditating.”

just like that, she had flipped the switch on him in the way that only she knew how. katara was undoubtedly right. of course he had seen and experienced his fair amount of injustice and morbidity; they all had. but the guilt of not being able to do anything about it - to know that people all over the world were counting on him to end their suffering and plight and despair, while there were many days when all he could do was sit in lavish cushions arguing endlessly with politicians who could not relate to the earth kingdom boy who had nothing to eat, or to the water tribe girl who had lost her parents, or to the air nomad who was the sole survivor of an entire culture - ate away at his heart and mind at every minute of every hour. even now, when he was supposed to be enjoying his blissful vacation with his wife.

“aang.” he felt katara lightly pull his chin towards her, forcing him to look at her before his mind could wander down the same dangerous road that it had so many days and nights before. she stopped the two in their tracks, the light from his palm illuminating their darkened features.

the fire reflected back in the indigo of her eyes, embodying the energy and intensity and life that was katara, his best friend, his saviour. suddenly, he was transported back to a time during the war, when he had just been a fidgety twelve year-old boy staring up at his fourteen year-old best friend. his heart thumped furiously against his chest the closer he inched to her face. when their lips met, he felt electricity course through his veins and wondered if the warmth that pooled in his stomach was what love felt like. 

as he caught her lips in his own again, this time at the age of twenty, he could confirm - a memoir to his twelve year old self - that the warmth was indeed love. but love was also so much more, he came to realize over the years. love was the cautious hands of a fourteen year-old girl spending weeks at his side, healing him from his coma, sobbing in despair and frustration when he would not wake up. love was the way that he had thrown his arms around her waist, and she around his neck, relief flooding each other’s veins at the knowledge that they were both alive and safe and together after his defeat of ozai and her defeat of azula. love was the way her hand fit so perfectly in his, palm pressed to palm and fingers intertwined, as the two watched the early formations of republic city from their home, vowing to leave a lasting legacy on a world where benders and non-benders of all types could live together in safety and harmony.

love was also the brief kiss in an abandoned cave that said a million more things than he could ever say in words. 

when the two pulled back, he noted the way that her eyes twinkled up at him under the fluorescent light. the crystals shone overhead, leading them down a familiar path, just as how it had done when he was twelve. aang checked his left palm and realized that he had extinguished his flame during the kiss. 

katara’s smile reached her eyes when she grabbed for his hand, pulling him along. “funny,” she said, bemused. “that thing you said when we were kids. guess it held up all these years, didn’t it?”

“what thing?”

“oh, you know,” she replied with a casual shrug, a mischievous glint forming in her eye. “you choosing to kiss me over dying - ”

he groaned. she was never going to let him live that one, was she?

“did i say that?” aang feigned innocence. “i can’t quite recall. maybe what my awkward twelve-year old self had meant to say, instead, was that the thought of not being able to kiss you is just so unbearable that i would rather have chosen death.”

“mmhmmm. sure you had.” a blush slowly crept up her cheeks, betraying her sarcastic tone. success.

“good thing that hasn’t happened yet, though. the not being able to kiss you anymore part.” he paused, adding as an afterthought: “the death part, too, if we’re being honest.”

“don’t speak so soon. what if there’s a serial killer in here?” she hushed him, looking around conspiratorially. 

“you’d rather a serial killer kiss you instead of your own husband? ouch.” 

she smacked his arm. “aang! i’m serious. with the recent bender supremacy uprisings going on in major cities of the earth kingdom, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. what’s stopping a bender supremacist from kidnapping a bunch of non-benders in omashu and dumping their bodies in this cave right now?”

“well, for starters, we would’ve heard by now if that were the case, wouldn’t we have? there’d be rumours, like with what happened with hama. so far, there hasn’t been any reports of mysterious non-bender disappearances in the cities where the uprisings are taking place. definitely not any in omashu.”

a dark look settled across katara’s face at the mention of the estranged bloodbender. “an earth bender supremacist could be dragging bodies from the city and burying them in the rubble of the tunnels. no one would even think to look because the legend says that the cave is cursed.”

aang scratched his head, suddenly very wary about his surroundings. his eyes scanned everywhere around him, from the plethora of crystals that provided them light on top to the solid stone that held the cave in place, trying to spot any semblance of a decomposing body. just as before, he couldn’t detect anything unusual.

while he knew that katara’s suspicions had merit to them, his mind still hesitated over the idea of a bender supremacist trapping people in caves. he would have heard something by now, if that were the case. besides, they were drawing all of these inferences from a scream that he wasn’t even sure came from a human. the high-pitched sound could have belonged to a species of wolfbats, for all they knew. and even if it were to emerge out of a person, who was to say that it was connected to the victim of a bender supremacist murderer? it could have been from a lost and hungry traveler stuck in the cave for days, unsure of their way out. or perhaps it was from someone whose foot was trapped under rubble, screaming out in sheer pain. maybe it even belonged to a villager being chased by an angry spirit.

he walked over to one of the walls, running his hand over the sharp rocks that pricked at his skin. or perhaps, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth, it was his own refusal to accept that he was failing the world again that led him to dismiss such possibilities. given the political climate, it was entirely possible that bender supremacists were using their bending to hide bodies within the cave. he just wasn’t aware of any of it because it was all taking place underneath his nose, while he remained in blissful ignorance with the women he loved on what was supposed to be his vacation.

aang closed his eyes. he focused on the vibrations emitting from the ground, trying to detect if there was anything that could give him a clue, like a direction to the source of the scream. he was even searching for the large footsteps of badger moles or the fluttering wings of wolfbats. while he was no toph, his earthbending had vastly improved over the years to the point where he had gotten very good at perceiving the world around and underneath him through vibrations. but this time around, he was sensing absolutely nothing. 

well, not entirely nothing. aang noted that some parts of the earth below his hand felt kind of fresh. and quite warm. it didn’t take an earth bender to realize that their texture and temperature were evidently different from the rocks comprising the rest of the cave. this new formation of rock - whatever it was - also felt very familiar to him, almost like he had dealt with this type before. 

his eyes widened in recognition. it was rock that had hardened after the eruption of a volcano. and not just any ordinary eruption; a special kind of eruption that didn’t require any volcano whatsoever.

lavabending.

“hey, katara. would you be able to come over here? i think i found something.”

aang’s words were interrupted by the sudden howl of a blood-curling scream. this time, he had felt the vibrations perfectly through the earth, and spirits did they hurt. he winced in pain, his ears ringing, reflexively removing his hand off the ground.

the screaming did not seem to stop the longer the seconds passed. multiple more emitted from the path ahead in unison, echoing off the chambers of the cave. his heart pounded. there was no denying that the cries had unmistakably belonged to humans. 

katara already had a stream of water out from her pouch. she had sprang into action, pointing in the precise direction that the noise was coming from. 

“this way,” she shouted, running ahead. 

be careful, he couldn’t help think as he trailed after her.

--

this art was adapted from the following comic panel in imbalance part 2:

[kaylans-imagines]

solare

pairing: peter b. parker x fem! cheerleader! reader

solare: an italian word to describe a person who brightens the room, who is warm, good, and cheerful; who also worries about others. 

Synopsis: in which peter benjamin parker finds the personified version of warmth and happiness.

Peter Parker had endured a lot throughout his life. He had lost his uncle, his life for five years, then he came back, and then lost his mentor. It was a wonder to him and everyone else that he found a way to continue pushing through and fighting the fight for good, even if he at times couldn’t exactly figure out just why he was doing an unpaying job. He would push away those thoughts and remind himself that he did it for the little guy, for the underdog, for the people like him before he got bitten. Still, there were days when the darkness would cloud over his mind, and he would spiral into sadness. 

His Aunt May had suggested he go to a counselling group, someplace where he could express himself without fear of judgement or illwishers. Where he could find people he could relate to and for once have people care for him. He had dismissed that idea by claiming he didn’t have the time to do, too occupied in burying himself with his schoolwork, Spider-Man duties, and keeping up his social life. That was the end of that conversation, but he still couldn’t help but yearn for some type of way to release all the negative emotions that weighed heavily on his mind and his heart. 

He had admittedly been distant from his friends and from his Aunt May, but he couldn’t find it in himself to find something to talk about. He was thrust into a world that he didn’t recognise anymore. It had been five years, and in those five years, people had grown up, and things had changed drastically. Much like the person in the mirror, he didn’t recognise his surroundings when he looked around. He could only hope he wouldn’t drown and get stuck in a flood of uncertainties, in this new time without his mentor to guide him. 

He sighed through his nose as he swung around the lit city, back towards the comfort of his own bedsheets. He couldn’t wait to get lost under the sea of blankets and find comfort in the sounds of the bustling city. Spending all of his life in Queens, he grew accustomed to the yelling, the loud honking of horns, and the busy street life that now offered him solace. A haven. A source of relief he wasn’t able to find elsewhere. The confinements of his blankets and the sounds of New York gave him the ease he needed. 

Assuring his aunt that he was back home and alive, he quickly slipped into his bedroom and snuggled under the covers, relieving himself of the tension he carried. His mind fell into a trance of serenity and easiness as it wandered through happy memories he savoured—recollections of his Uncle Ben, Aunt May, and himself at the beach when he was younger. Uncle Ben and him bonding over ice cream while they walked in Central Park—Peter would point out a dog in the distance, Ben would look at it and then his nephew and chuckle, promising that when they get a bigger home, they will get a dog. He reminded himself of when he helped May with the gardening; it wasn’t much gardening, just a few pots on their balcony, but it was peaceful. 

His life was a routine. Every morning, he would wake up at the same time, have a quick breakfast, kiss his aunt goodbye, and the rush towards the train where he would go to school and meet Ned by his locker. The school day would cease, and he would go to decathlon practise until it was over, then make his way towards Delmar’s, which had re-opened in the five years he was blipped, and then complete the leftover homework he needed to do until he had to go on with his Spider-Man duties. It was the same, except for weekends, every day, and he was okay with that. It helped make his life easier—knowing that there were no surprises or changes in his day-to-day life made it easier for him and helped unburden him from the weight he carried with him. 

The day he met Y/N had been a good day. He hadn’t missed his train that morning; Flash wasn’t up to his usual antics, choosing to ignore him and flirt with an uninterested cheerleader, and he had a good feeling about the History exam in his third period. That was until he stepped into his Physics class and was informed of the new seating chart being projected in front of the class. He and Ned had been able to bypass the seating chart for two quarters already, but they both knew their luck would fizzle out and they would have to be separated. Peter hoped he would get seated with someone he knew, so long as it wasn’t Flash. He would take being a stranger's partner over being Flash’s partner any day. Sighing in relief when he didn’t see his name next to Flash’s, he searched for him on the screen. 

Peter Parker and Y/N Y/L/N, table 08.

Peter wasn’t good at making friends. He tried, but he always came off too strong or not strong enough. He was painfully awkward and stumbled over his words. He would also talk about something no one else was interested in and come off as weird and a ‘nerd’. Over time, he was able to be okay with having one friend, and just recently, his newfound group of friends. To force himself to make small talk with a new person made his stomach churn. He wished he could have May’s social skills and welcoming nature. 

Exhaling to relax the nerves building in his stomach, he made his way towards the table with a paper eight taped on it. It might have been the fact that the window was right beside the table or the fact that Peter hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, but he swore he saw a glow bouncing perfectly off the silhouette seated on the hard stool closest to the window. She was looking out the window, perfectly content on looking at the garden Midtown had decided to grow during the five years half the population was gone. It was a beautiful garden. 

Shuffling on his feet, he dragged himself to the seat next to the seemingly glowing girl with intentions of sitting down without making noise, not to pull her from her gaze, but the universe had other plans. His toe met the stool’s hard metal, making the girl snap out of her daze and look at Peter with mild surprise. He was fully expecting her to lash out at him, to ask him why he needed to make so much noise, and he was fully ready to apologise. But the questioning never came, and neither did his need to apologise. Instead, he was met with a warm smile and concerned eyes.

“Are you okay? That sounded like it hurt,” she spoke with a lightness in her tone he had never heard before. New Yorker’s were usually brash and straight to the point; there was no place for airiness or lightness in voices. They didn’t care about anyone else but themselves and their loved ones. To feign importance in the busy city, one had to speak with importance. She was a breath of fresh air to him, like the feeling of the seaspray on his face when he steps into the ocean. Around her, he felt at peace. 

“I-I’m Parker, no,” he stumbled over his words and mentally cursed himself, “I’m Peter.” This was the part where people would smile at him with fake sincerity, shake his hand, and make some excuse to leave. He was waiting for her to look at him with judgement and refuse to shake his hand. He wasn’t expecting her to take his hand into hers and shake it with a giggle. 

“Next to meet you, Parker Peter. I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” she introduced. She drew him in by the way she stared at him, so deeply and with intrigue, and kept him wanting more of her presence in the way she spoke, with confidence but kindness. He was sure this was someone he needed in his life, someone he had to keep around. She was like the sun, and the sky rolled in one, someone he couldn’t help but stare at. 

They shared shy smiles, sneaking glances now and then. Peter couldn’t focus on his teacher’s rambling, too entranced by the body sitting beside him. From the corner of his eye, he could see her scribbling in her notebook, following along with what the teacher was saying. He could see little drawings on the corner of her paper; small hearts, smiley faces, and infinity signs taking up the corner. The sight of the doodles filled his heart with warmth; they were adolescent like and riddled with innocence. They were endearing, just like her. 

The class seemed to drag on, and Peter was barely able to keep up. His mind was in another world; thoughts of protecting the city after homework to what he would have for dinner. A small part was thinking of the pretty girl who doodled on the corners of her papers. She had drawn a small smiley face on his paper at one point and sent him a smile when he looked at her afterwards. She had made a long class, that usually felt like it dragged on, shorter and yearning for more time. If anything, just to sit there and be in her presence. 

The bell signalled the ending of the class, and Peter slowly stood up. He packed his belongings as slowly as he could. He looked to the side; she put her books into her bag - they were all colourful and decorated with glittery and bubble stickers. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She sent him a smile and stood up from her chair, pushing her chair in slowly. 

“Bye, Parker Peter. See you, next class,” she said sweetly with a wave and exited the class, a happy and light bounce to her step. He watched her leave. Her hair bounced and glossed under the school’s fluorescent lights, and her skirt sashayed behind her. He watched as she waved and greeted people before she disappeared from his view. He didn’t stand a chance with the pretty girl in his chemistry class. 

Ned bounded towards him, talking his ear off about what his partner did and how he was so glad he had someone who wouldn’t make him do all the work. Peter, at that moment, felt like a bad friend. He wanted to listen to his best friend, keep a conversation going. But all of him kept him from doing so, instead directing his thoughts towards the popular, bubbly girl who was now surrounded by her loads of friends at her locker. Peter smiled her way, not expecting it to be returned, but to his surprise, she smiled back and raised her hand with a little wave. He took the time to peak into her locker. He could see pictures and magnets lining up the area; permeating the dull grey with life and personality. He also made out the neatly folded cheerleader uniform resting on the top shelf. Of course, he would have to start crushing on an unattainable cheerleader. 

He had no choice but to settle for crushing on her and wanting her from a distance. He figured that simply being an acquaintance to her would be enough. It would be enough. Being in her life would be just fine. It was a sad thought, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t gone through before. The thought made his heart hurt, but that was also coupled with the thoughts he had already harboured—memories of his past, he and his uncle, of Tony. Those kept him up at night and clouded his thinking whenever he swung building to building.

That night was the same; he sat on top of his apartment building, taking in the changing scenery. The lack of stars once brought him comfort, but he found recently that they brought him more pain. Normally, he loved the vastness of the wide space and how little they knew about it. He would let his imagination run wild with possibilities of everything in the unknown. When he was younger, he liked to imagine there were aliens up there, living happily without care. He would divulge in that from time to time, feeding his inner child. He loved the tenacity, the freedom, and the serenity of it all. But the same things made him feel small. It put everything into perspective. It put into perspective how small he was. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but feel as if there was no escape. 

He sat on the edge of the building, taking in all the different personalities the city below him had to offer. Couples cuddled up with one another, walking into their shared homes. Families laughing with one another as they finished their night. Friends walked with one another, whispering in ears and cackling to drown the cars and taxis’ noise. That was the city he loved. The city he grew up in. But that didn’t stop him from wanting an escape. Somewhere far from the city where he could simply sit and think without the distractions. He knew that was wishful thinking, but it didn’t cost a thing to dream.

Choosing to end the night earlier than usual, he stood up from his place and swung forward. Aunt May wouldn’t be home, so dinner wouldn’t be ready until she got there. He considered going to Delmar’s; having one of his sandwiches always made him feel better. Something stopped him, though. Maybe it was the sound of a laugh, one he had heard before, or the familiar satin blue scrunchie that rested on her wrist. He watched her, talking on the phone and laughing and throwing her hands up in the air. He quickly averted his eyes, staring at her for too long was weird even if he was Spider-Man.

That night he slept better than usual. Aunt May had found him asleep on his bed with his arm hanging off the mattress, his body slanted, and his head hanging off to the side with his mouth wide open. While it was an awkward position, she was glad he was sleeping so early in the night. The years had been rough on him, pushing past his limits and stressing him beyond belief. He was overdue for a break, and a long one. But she knew her nephew; he would never take a break. The city of Queens needed him.

While he normally dreaded going to school, not because he had to pay attention, or because it was hard, but because for seven hours, the city of Queens was left defenceless and at mercy. But, this day was different. There was a spring in his step and an easy smile on his face, not even Flash’s taunting got to him. Walking into the chemistry classroom, his eyes roamed the classroom until they landed on his new table. She was already sitting there. Scribbling on her glittery notebook with a blue pen adorned with a fuzzy top. 

Settling down next to her, she sent him a smile, “good morning, Mister Peter,”

He laughed, “Good morning, Miss Y/N,”

Peter was left yearning for more interactions with the gorgeous cheerleader with the fun pens, especially after she gave him a sticker with a golden retriever on it; it was an adorable puppy with its paw out and licking, what he presumed, was glass. She had told him it was because he reminded her of a puppy, most notably a golden retriever puppy. Her words had made him flush and sputter over himself, nearly causing him to injure his hand on the bunsen burner set in front of them. She giggled and gave him another sticker; it was a simple smiley face that he put on his notebook next to the golden retriever. 

She had bitten the bullet one day and invited him to a football game, one against Midtown’s rival school. Peter had been to football games before, having been in marching band, but that was before he was Spider-Man. A high school football game wouldn’t fit in his schedule, but the way she asked him and looked at him with an expectant and hopeful grin had him saying yes. So, he did what any sane person would do, and said yes. She squealed and wrapped her arms around him, taking him but surprise and let go of his neck. She gave him another sticker that day, one with a teddy bear holding a red heart in its centre.

That’s how he found himself sitting in the uncomfortable metal bleachers next to Ned and MJ, who insisted on coming but wasn’t paying attention, rubbing his hands together in an attempt to block out the cold. While Ned was focused on the football game happening before them, and MJ was engrossed in her book, Peter found himself staring at the seemingly glowing cheerleader chanting out cheers and praises. He watched as she threw her pompoms up and waved them around when Midtown presumably made a touchdown and huffed in exasperation when they didn’t.

The final buzzer went off, knocking Peter from his trance. Ned and MJ were getting up from their seats and making their way down the bleachers making Peter scramble to catch up. They waited for him, rather impatiently as Ned was tapping his foot and MJ was patting her book, and he rushed towards them. He stopped when a small body in a blue and gold outfit stood in front of him, a grin on her face and her pompoms resting on her duffle bag. He locked eyes with Ned who gave him a thumbs up and pushed an unimpressed MJ away from the fence. 

“Parker! You came! Did you have fun?” she asked, her words rushed and fast as she could barely contain her excitement. Peter chuckled and nodded his head, wanting nothing more than to hug her. To help her calm down, of course. She took him by surprise, a common theme, by wrapping her arms around him and snuggling into his chest. He was glad she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating, but it was in overdrive. He thought that his senses had dialled up to one hundred when he was bitten, but it was nothing compared to how they were at that moment. She had a control over him that he never thought anyone would have. But he was glad it was her and not anyone else.

“What d’ya say Parky? You wanna go on a stroll?” Peter looked down at her and nodded his head. He hadn’t heard a word of what she said, too distracted by her beauty and the way her arms felt around him. She was the warmth on a cold day; hot cocoa under a blanket of snow, and the sunset after a nice day on the beach. She was someone Peter wanted in his life when things got to be too difficult for him to manage, and when he was at his highest because he knew she would only send him to the moon.

He waved goodbye to Ned and MJ, Y/N did too, promising to listen to Ned’s new LEGO purchase the following Monday, and watched as MJ’s car pulled away from the curb. She took his hand into hers and dragged him towards her car. She unlocked it before motioning for him to get in, throwing her bag into the backseat and starting the engine. He couldn’t help but glance around the car. Stickers decorated the dash in front of him; he was sitting in pink seat cover with the letters ‘TPWK’ stitched on it in white, and her steering wheel was decorated with a big sunflower. It was so unapologetically her, and that made Peter smile. 

In the time Y/N drove, Peter texted May and let her know he would be out late. He was met with a ‘good riddance! Stay safe :)’ in response. Peter watched the streetlights pass by as Y/N drove through the city and past city limits. For once in his life, since he was a child, he let himself be free and enjoy the scenery night brought. He was bummed that the city filled the night sky with smog because he really wanted to appreciate the beauty of the stars and the moon. He wanted to see her under the moonlight because he knew without a doubt that she looked even more gorgeous. He had been so distracted by his thoughts, that for once didn’t make him want to hide under a heap of blankets, that he hadn’t noticed she stopped the car. She hadn’t said anything; she just watched him. He was at peace, and that was all she wanted him to be.

Peter opened his eyes and looked ahead. He could see the city in the distance, the lights on in buildings, and with his super hearing, he could hear the city’s faint sounds. She cleared her throat and pointed up, her moon roof was open and exposed the glittering sky above them. He stared at it in awe. He knew they were far from the city, but he hadn’t realised how far, far was until he saw unfamiliar glistening above him. She watched him with soft eyes, smiling at his bafflement and wonder. It didn’t need to be said, but she knew he needed this moment. 

In the months that followed the switching of seats in chemistry class, she noticed things about him. The bags under his eyes that covered his freckles, the tired and subtle yawns, and the rushing of homework that was due the next period. She didn’t know why he was always tired, but something in her told her it was important. The bigger part of her told her that she needed to do something for him, something to distract him and ease his mind. So, she brought him to her spot outside of the city, to do what she did best. She stared at the moon and let her mind run with what it would be like to live in space and reside on the moon.

“You see that pattern up there; I call it the Huntress,” she pointed towards Orion, “stories of the stars are always about men, and the stories about women are always depicted as helpless. It makes me feel better knowing that a woman is the hunter in the stars, even if it is just in my mind.” Peter nodded along. He wanted to hear more. So, she told him her versions on the stars. He let himself get lost in her words, inching closer towards her over the console. She paused her story and motioned up towards the moon roof. He climbed out first and helped her, the two of them settling on top of her car.

She continued her story on the twins, the two of them leaning on one another. Peter felt all his inhibitions and everything holding him back let go and get lost in the night sky. That night he didn’t think of all he lost, of everything he had endured; that night he thought of the sunshine sitting next to him and how he would be okay in the face of peril, so long as he had her by his side. His personal cheerleader. He thought of the way her lips felt on his and the giggle that erupted from her soft lips; about how they tasted like pomegranate. 

In her, he found himself walking on the sun’s rays and being hugged by warmth. For once, he didn’t stare at the sun with anger; instead, he basked in her warmth because the warmth enveloped him. 

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[curiosi-tea-writes]

Letters from Home (One Survivor pt. 2)

Pairing: Din Djarin  Cobb Vanth

Setting: Survivor AU / Modern AU (My previous fic of this AU can be found here.)

Warning: This is 3036 words of almost pure angst! Also, some cursing.

Summary: Din and Cobb are excited to go to a reward challenge together with Fennec and Boba until it’s reveled that part of the reward are letters from home. Then, Din asks Fennec to help him with a lie to Cobb that would advance one of them in the game while taking the other out of it. 

@i-dnt-know-either helped me a lot with the last bit of this fic and @intricatecakes is very likely to put me in angst jail for this. I refuse to be sorry.

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

“It wasn’t long after the merge. The final eight Survivors were split up into groups of four for a reward challenge, chosen by drawing colored rocks. Fennec, Boba, Din, and Cobb had ended up on the same team - Fennec and Boba rolling their eyes impossibly hard as the two younger men smiled brightly at each other.

“You’ve chosen your teams. Want to know what you’re playing for?” Jeff asked with a grin. When all the contestants nodded excitedly, he clapped his hands together. “By now, I know you would all like a nice break from the game. There are beautiful waterfalls just on the next island over. Winners of today’s challenge will take a boat over to see one of them.” There was ooh-ing and ah-ing amongst the Survivors. “And- because you’re all hungry, and I’m sure missing the states at this point- a BBQ. Hamburgers, hotdogs, chips, the whole deal.”

Din laughed as Cobb excitedly wrapped his arm around his shoulder and gently shook him. 

“And one final thing,” Jeff began again. He pulled a cloth off of the table revealing a stack of brown envelopes. “Letters from home.” 

Cobb stiffened quickly, his smile dropping. Din found it impossible to miss the look of near pity that Jeff threw to Cobb. He watched Cobb give a short nod in return as he pulled his arm off of Din’s shoulders. 

“You okay?” Din whispered, leaning close to him. “Letters from home, that sounds amazing! I’m sure everyone back home misses you a lot.”

Cobb cleared his throat and forced a smile, one that quickly turned genuine when he met Din’s eyes. “Yeah,” he choked out, “I’m sure you’re excited to hear from your son.”

“Kiddin’?” Din scoffed out, looking away. “I miss him like crazy. Meanwhile, I’m sure he’s having the time of his life with his aunt.”

“Nah,” Cobb shook his head. “He misses you. And I’m positive you got a letter in there from him tellin’ you as much. Which is why,” he nudged Din’s shoulder to make him look at him again, “we gotta win this one.”

Din had the brightest smile Cobb had ever seen him give as they lined up to begin the challenge. It filled Cobb with the sort of energy that he felt like he could run a marathon. Which was kind of what they had to do, run a marathon- in an oval- in the water- carrying 20 pounds of sand each.

"For reward:," Jeff called from his tower at the center of the oval, "a taste from home with a BBQ by a waterfall and letters from home. Survivors, ready!"

Din and Cobb shared a smile of good luck as they had during every pause before they started a challenge since the merge. It always gave Cobb a lot of hope.

"Go!"

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

"Cobb, Din, Fennec, and Boba win reward!" Jeff called as Fennec managed to tag a member of the other team.

Cobb cheered loudly in Din's ear as he threw his arms around his neck with a bounce. Din stumbled backwards with a laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around Cobb's waist. He buried his face in Cobb's neck, taking a deep and calming breath.

The promise of good food, a letter from his son, two of the best friends he had ever made, and the man who had somehow managed to win his heart. What could be a better afternoon?

The other half of the tribe was dismissed back to camp. The four friends boarded the small boat, Jeff following in behind them, stack of everyone's letters in hand. It was a quiet trip and Cobb was thankful for it. It gave him a chance to breathe and enjoy the feeling in his chest when Din slowly slid their hands together, interlocking their fingers. Cobb gave a soft squeeze which earned him a smile in return.

They were at the island far too quickly for either of their likings and everyone was leaving the boat.

"Before you go," Jeff said, separating the first few letters from the stack. "Letters from home, you can either share these with each other or keep them to yourselves." Fennec gave a small laugh of joy which made everyone chuckle. She was normally so serious.

"You'll notice, however," he continued, "there's only three letters here." He passed the stack of letters over to Boba who took them questioningly. Jeff turned to Cobb, the same look of pity on his face that he had before the challenge. "Cowboy, I'm sorry to say we didn't get a letter for you. I'm not sure if it just wasn't sent in on time or what happened, but I'm sorry."

Cobb nodded, straightening his shoulders. He tried to focus on Din's hand on his shoulder and not on Fennec and Boba's apologies towards him.

Jeff nodded and clapped his hands together. "You four enjoy your reward. See you at the next challenge!"

And then Jeff was gone and the four friends were left to walk the trail to the waterfall. Because it wasn't wide enough to walk even two across, Cobb let the three of them take the lead, choosing to stay a couple paces behind Din. He tried not to pay mind to the way Din glanced at him over his shoulder. He tried not to care that he had the same look of pity that Jeff had given him and, for the first time ever, Cobb wished he hadn't been voted back into the game. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have made it to this challenge and wouldn't have to be attempting to ignore looks and words of pity.

The sight of the waterfall was a welcomed one indeed. The four Survivors stopped and gazed at it, eyes wide, truly thrilled for the first time in so long.

Once sat around a small picnic bench, food laid out in front of them, Boba jumped right into strategy. The game never really stops. Cobb was the "outsider" of the tribe. All but Boba from the old Marseydotes tribe hated him because he got voted back in, while most of the old Noyapara tribe wasn't thrilled that he pulled Din into a separate alliance. Boba, Fennec, and Din all firmly believed Cobb could win the whole game and had decided right at the merge that they were going to make it happen. It was almost all Boba would talk about at this point.

Once the latest game plan was decided, the four of them fell into silence. Cobb knew that he didn't have it in him to keep them from the part of the reward they truly wanted to take part in. Everyone watched quietly as he stood and gave a small smile. "I'm gonna go up the trail a bit more, look around." He gave a small awkward wave up towards the waterfall. "You guys do your thing," he sighed, now gesturing at the stack of letters on the table.

Without meeting any of their eyes, he quickly walked away from the table and started up the path. He was happy that they all got their letters. But it still hurt.

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

Din found Cobb sitting on a rock at the top of the waterfall, fiddling with his scarf. He took the moment of being hidden from Cobb's sight to appreciate the way the sun hit his skin and the soft breeze pushed his hair to the wrong side.

He sighed softly and walked slowly to join him. He took a seat next to him and the rock and bumped his shoulder, which got him a chuckle.

"You didn't have to leave," Din commented quietly.

Cobb let out a shaky sigh. "I know. But you guys weren't going to open the letters unless I did."

"You know us too well." Din turned and looked up at Cobb who was only giving him a side glance. After a moment of silence, Din finally risked saying what was on his mind, "Jeff said it probably got lost in the mail or-"

"Nobody wrote to me," Cobb interrupted, taking his eyes off Din and putting them back on the scenery. He heard Din sigh beside him and could almost feel the questions that were surely running through his mind. Cobb took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I didn't have anyone to write me anything."

Din watched as Cobb's fingers tightened around his scarf the way he did when he was nervous at tribal council. He slowly raised his hand and brushed his fingers lightly along Cobb's. He smiled when Cobb quickly let go of his scarf in favor of Din's hand.

Cobb knew he could let it go. Din wasn't going to push him for any more answers than he was willing to give. He could leave it at that and they could get on with the game and Din didn't need to know. But it was Din. He was the most understanding person Cobb had ever met. If he couldn't tell Din the full truth, who could he tell?

With another deep breath, Cobb continued, and Din listened carefully, his thumb running along the side of Cobb's hand softly. "My parents aren't around anymore. They died a few years ago. I was an only child so it’s not like I had any siblings to write to me. The only real friends I have are at work and I lied to be able to get time off to come here so I couldn't tell any of them where I was going."

"So nobody knows you're out here?"

"Nobody but the show crew and the 15 other players," Cobb mumbled with a nod. He finally opened his eyes and turned to look at Din, expecting to see the pity. But instead all he saw was love.

Din tilted his head a little. "Why the confused look?"

"You-" Cobb stopped and shifted how he was sitting, facing Din more straight on. "You get it," he stated simply, knowing Din would understand.

And he did. Din nodded with a soft smile. "My parents died when I was a kid. Grogu is the only family I've ever truly known."

Cobb gave Din's hand a small squeeze and smiled, admiring the way Din's eyes always lit up when he talked about his son. "Did he write to you?"

Din grinned and nodded. "Yeah, Peli helped a lot, he's just learning to write. He drew some pictures too which were cute." Din's smile drooped a little and he looked away back over the waterfall as he realized he could have just answered Cobb with a "yes" and it would've been preferable. He couldn't imagine Cobb really wanted to hear Din go on about his son's letter right then.

"Could I see it?" Cobb asked, nudging his shoulder with a smile.

Din snapped his gaze back to Cobb, surprised. When he saw the soft look Cobb was giving him, he breathed a sigh of relief knowing he hadn't said the wrong thing. He nodded and pulled the folded up papers from his back pocket. He unfolded them carefully and passed them over to Cobb who took them and scooted closer to Din.

Their legs were pressed together as Cobb opened the papers. Din wrapped his arms around Cobb's middle and rested his chin on his shoulder, allowing him to look again at the letter.

The letter was written in green crayon which made Cobb chuckle, remembering Din mentioning Grogu's obsession with green. It was shaky handwriting but surprisingly readable. On the second page were small doodles of Grogu and Din and a few of Din on the island.

Cobb smiled and he refolded the papers and handed them back to Din. "He seems like a really sweet kid," he spoke softly. He turned his head just enough to place a small kiss to Din's cheek. His smile widened when Din turned and nuzzled his nose into Cobb's neck.

"He's going to love you," Din replied, voice muffled against Cobb's scarf.

Cobb froze for a moment, wondering if he had heard him right. They had never talked about what would happen after the game was over.

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

That night, Din and Cobb laid together in the shelter. They had spent every night since the merge cuddled close to each other and this night was no different. Cobb had his chest resting on Din's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He was sure that Din was asleep already, as most of the players were, but Cobb was wide awake thinking of Din and the game.

Would they still be together when the game ended? Were they together even now? Pairs can make it to the final two, but lovers can only go so far in this game before they have to decide if a potential relationship is worth a million dollars. But Cobb also knew that neither of them were in it for the money. Cobb just wanted an adventure and Din just wanted to make his son happy. Cobb supposed that was going to be something they would have to talk about sooner or later.

For now, he supposed, he could just be content knowing that he was in Din's arms and cared for in the moment.

But what Cobb didn't know was that Din was also awake, and thinking of Cobb, but not the game.

He was picturing loading Grogu into the car for a road trip to go see Cobb once the game was over. He was sure that Grogu was going to love him and not because Grogu loves everyone. Cobb was funny and smart and Grogu was going to adore that. He knew his son would hear him talk and ask him if he's a cowboy which will likely make Cobb laugh. Cobb would probably say yes just to amuse him.

He knew they hadn't talked about what would happen after the game. But he knew that he cared for Cobb so much that there was no way he was letting this relationship be just during the game, even if it meant not winning. He didn't really care about the money anyways, but he knew Cobb did, even though he wouldn't admit it even to himself. Din saw the way he talked about wanting to open up a photography studio and he knew the money would help him with that.

In the cold air of the night on a nearly deserted island, his arm tightly wrapped around Cobb while the other man traced soft patterns on his shoulder, Din made his decision on two accounts. He wasn't letting Cobb go so easily. And he would take the fall if it meant Cobb had a chance of winning this game.

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

Four tribal councils later, they were down to the final four. Boba had won immunity and, as a group, they had decided they would tie the vote between Cobb and Din. Or, that's what was discussed in the open. Before the day was over, Din pulled Fennec aside and told her what was really going to happen.

"So you're screwing me," Fennec nearly yelled. She was furious. "I don't have a chance in Hell if you quit."

"I'm not quitting, Fennec! Don't you think I've thought this through?" Din ran a hand through his hair and sighed when Fennec didn't answer.

"They're gonna kill me when we get back to camp," she whispered. "I'm the next one to go."

"No, I'm a sympathy vote. Tell them that, it’s the truth. You three have pissed off a lot of people these last few weeks. A teacher who's a single dad with a young kid sounds like a better winner of a million dollars, if you ask me." Fennec stayed silent. "Hey," Din whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder. "If we tie, and we draw rocks, there's a chance it’s you going home tonight too. This way, you have a third of a chance of winning rather than a third of a chance of going home."

She scoffed. "I still have a third of a chance of going home."

"Then win immunity." He sighed deeply. "Look, you’re my friend, and me and Cobb, we’re- well, I’m not exactly sure what we are. If you win, if Cobb wins- I'll be happy. I just want to see people I feel deserve to be up there winning the prize."

“If we make it to the final two, you’d have to choose between me and him,” Fennec pointed out.

Din sighed. “I know, and it will be the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”

She pulled him into a tight hug. “You’re gonna vote for him,” she whispered.

“Fennec let’s just-”

“Din.” She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “If you end up on the jury and he doesn’t. Regardless of who is sitting next to him, you are going to vote for him, do you understand?” 

Din could just nod and give her another hug before they broke apart and headed back for camp. They had to prepare for tribal council. 

That night, Cobb and Boba voted for Din, Din voted for Cobb, like they had planned. And-

"Eleventh person voted out, and the sixth member of our jury: Din. That's three, that's enough, you need to bring me your torch."

Din grabbed his bag and shook Boba's hand. He kissed Fennec on the cheek and finally turned to Cobb who stood. The betrayal was written clear on his face and it broke Din's heart. He was expecting a cold shoulder and was surprised to tears when Cobb threw his arms around him.

"I love you," Din whispered in his ear before pulling away quickly and grabbing his touch before Cobb had the chance to reply or even process what he’d said.

"Din," Jeff said sadly. "The tribe has spoken." Din watched his torch be snuffed and nodded. "Time for you to go."

Din turned and waved. His heart broke impossibly more when he saw Cobb wipe his eyes with his scarf. Din blew him a kiss and his eyes watered as Cobb blew one back.

He turned and walked down the steps. At least he would get to see him in the next evening where, for as much as he liked Boba, he hoped Cobb or Fennec would be the one wearing the immunity necklace.

[bondsmagii]

2, 8, 26, 37, 38, 57, 72, 91, 94, 100

> questions to ask at 4:02am meme 🌕🌃

thank you! 

2: Do you mourn for a place or person you’ve never known?

yes 😩 I can’t even adequately describe what’s going on here, but there’s a lot of people and a lot of places that feel familiar even if I don’t know them, if that makes sense? and there’s also a lot of people I could have become, and a lot of places I could have been, and I do have moments where I kind of mourn them even though I have no proof that they would have even existed in that specific way. I do think this is normal to an extent, but also I do this a lot, lol.

on a slightly less philosophical level, I of course mourn my older brother, who’s quite literally a person I never got the chance to know.

8: Do you think you can put love into categories (family, platonic, romantic, etc.) or is it just one general sensation?

oh man definitely. the love you feel for your friends isn’t the same love you feel for your spouse or your parents, and so on and so forth. there’s lots of different kinds of love, and lots of different levels within those types, and you’re also more than capable of feeling several different types and levels towards the same person, in my opinion. I don’t know if I would try and categorise everything, because something like love doesn’t really suit being shoved into boxes, but there are different types of love and I find it’s constantly shifting and changing along with you and the object of your love, which is cool.

I should add that I don’t find any one type of love more or less important than the others. seriously, destroy the idea that romantic love is the One True Love, and all other forms are somehow lesser. that’s just garbage.

26: What’s the most life-changing choice you’ve made so far?

this is kind of embarrassing but the truth often is: almost eight years ago I decided to make a sideblog on here that has... something to do with writing, let’s say, and something to do with... a certain character... and anyway that decision led to me meeting a certain person and going from awkward messages on Tumblr to awkward messages on Skype, to eighteen hour conversations and constant texting, to living in a car together for three months on a roadtrip and then living in a car together for many more months while homeless (and a million other places in between), to moving in together and then holy shit we got married.

so I guess that one impulsive decision to make a shitpost sideblog at stupid o’clock in the morning when I was bored one summer has been the single most life-changing choice I’ve ever made.

37: Do opposites attract?

eh. I mean, yeah, sometimes? but similarities attract, too. I think for any kind of relationship to be successful you’ve kind of got to have an element of both, and I think that “opposites” usually refers to something very specific. for example, I don’t mind cleaning the bathroom and you hate it. that’s a useful kind of opposite, because it means a compromise neither of us feel cheated by. you’re unshakable when it comes to slogging through bureaucratic minutiae, and I’m a beast in high-stress quick-thinking scenarios. together we make a pretty unstoppable team, for being opposites in that regard. I think that’s kind of what’s meant by this saying, but unfortunately it seems to have been appropriated to mean “yes honey, I know you work 10 hour shifts and come home to find your partner hasn’t cleaned the house or done anything to help, but opposites attract!” or “my partner supports Trump and genuinely believes that vaccines and masks are a government conspiracy to control us all, and I am a normal human being, but opposites attract so I guess I’ll have to put up with it”. like no, kings and queens. that isn’t what it means. dump them.

38: Is your life what you expected it would be five years ago?

lmao no. not in the slightest. five years ago it would have been... just into 2016, and yeah, no. there is not a single thing about me right now that I would have predicted, aside from the general stuff that’s never changed about me. I had different ideas about what I would be doing for work, about what I’d be working towards; I had completely different levels of commitment and discipline to various tasks, and I certainly wasn’t planning an international move. I can at least say that I’m happier with my current plan than the one I used to have (it wasn’t a bad plan, it just no longer suits me) but there’s no way I would have expected this.

and of course, there’s the whole issue with the pandemic. five years ago I had no idea I would be living through a global natural disaster, and if you’d told me, I would have thought it would be something like a supervolcano eruption or a nuclear winter. like, I’m glad it’s not, but also “you have to stay in your house for over a year” still kind of sucks.

57: Do you thinks humans are obsessed with escapism (books, video games, movies, etc.)? Are you looking for an escape? Do you think that’s a bad thing?

I think we are sometimes, when things are tough and there’s a need to wish to escape (see how many books I read over quarantine in March, for example). most of the time, however, I think humans just like stories. I don’t think it’s any deeper than the fact that humans love stories, we’ve always loved stories, we’ve always loved telling and hearing stories, before we had books and archives we passed our stories down orally and we drew them on cave walls with our own fingers, and this love for the story has never changed or altered in the hundreds of thousands of years since. I think that’s the major driving force here.

right now I’m looking for an escape 24/7, because I’m sick to death of the real world. I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all. without books, without the fictional things I love, without reading and writing and music, I would have gone absolutely bonkers in 2020. being able to fall into a book or play around in the worlds I’ve created, both my own and things I’ve co-written with you, has literally saved my ass over the past eight months. escapism is never a bad thing. like anything, it only becomes troubling when it starts creating problems. but I do not think there’s any shame in occasionally saying “fuck it” and going to worry about someone else’s fictional problems for a while. 

72: Should people be prosecuted for crimes that weren’t considered crimes at the time?

this is a tough one. on the one hand I want to say no, because it could easily be abused. some asshole could get into power and make something illegal, and then round up all the people who have committed that now-crime and lock them up, and oh, would you look at that! all the people who have committed the now-crime just so happen to be the dictator’s biggest critics and threats, how convenient. 

at the same time, dictators are going to wipe out their enemies no matter how legal it is, and I also have to consider the fact that before WWII, for example, words like “genocide” and “crimes against humanity” didn’t exist. how could we decide that these things are crimes, but then not try those who literally gave cause for the crime to be acknowledged? we can hardly say “alright, genocide is now a crime against humanity, but because these guys did it before this was law they can’t be tried”. that’s just... not really a great precedent to set, you know?

so I suppose a tentative yes? I think it would probably depend entirely on the severity of the crime. for example, if they found out that... I don’t know, some normal everyday substance was something that people could suddenly get high off, and they declared it a drug, I don’t think everyone who’s ever sold it or used it should be rounded up and jailed. but like, if the act of cannibalism itself became a crime (and not just murder or desecration of a corpse, which is what “cannibalism” usually falls under in terms of legality) we should probably go round up all the people who are stealing human legs to eat, yanno?

91: Is hate as strong as love? Who do you hate?

sick totheark reference bro. anyway yeah, hate is as strong as love, though it appears and reacts in different ways. hate and love are two sides of the same coin, if you ask me. the deeper you love somebody, the harder you hate them if things go wrong. hate is betrayed love. something something, a tree’s branches cannot reach to heaven unless its roots reach to hell, and all that. something so powerful is going to leave a lot of damage if it goes wrong.

I hate a few people. I don’t want to go into detail as to their specific identities, because I’m sure that if you know me well, you’ll know who they are. both of them were people whom I loved very deeply, and who betrayed that love in ferociously cruel ways. both people taught me very difficult lessons about the nature of love, and how sometimes it really cannot conquer everything, but while this would be a nasty lesson to learn it’s compounded by the fact that I learned this not out of any kind of extraneous circumstance, but rather through their cruelty and their refusal to work with me, listen to me, or love me in the way I deserved to be loved. my hatred for these people will never go away, even though it certainly doesn’t dominate my life. it is there, though, and I can easily draw on it whenever I need it. should I get the opportunity, I have no doubt in my mind that I have the capacity to be very cruel to these people in my own right, and I won’t feel bad about it.

94: How would you describe yourself when you love? Do you love forcefully, unconditionally, gently, quietly, desperately?

oh damn. forcefully, conditionally, stubbornly, and probably slightly possessively.

I don’t show love in conventional means. I’m one of those stereotypes, I guess. I don’t like declarations of love, I don’t really go in for physical affection, and I’m not sappy at all. my love language is more subtle, but it’s there. I like to do things for people, I like to create things for/with people, I like to have adventures with people. that’s how I love, and I can be pretty forceful about it. I also want people to improve themselves as much as possible -- I think the greatest thing I can witness someone I love doing is becoming the best version of themselves, and I will support them 100% in this effort -- also very forcefully. I don’t think there are many people who could put up with that level of intensity for so long, if I’m honest. I demand a lot of the ones I love, but I also like to think I give a lot, too.

my love is never unconditional. while I believe unconditional love exists, I have never seen it. my love always comes with conditions -- conditions about how I expect to be treated, about ideology, about worldview. these are all huge deal breakers, of course -- my conditions aren’t vague, or petty, or small in any way. but there is nobody on earth, nor will there ever be, who I will not walk away from if I feel the relationship is harmful in any way. I might not stop loving them, but I sure as hell will not assume that my love for them will protect me from them.

at the same time I’m a very stubborn person when it comes to love. people will do things they think must break one of my conditions, but I’ll see something else in it and I’ll stick around even if we both think it’s useless. I’m never wrong, so I suppose I have that going for me. but I am very, very stubborn when it comes to love. I have a high level of endurance and I know how to nurture love; how to stop pessimism from setting in. I’m also slightly possessive, so I don’t let go of anything easily -- and this includes the people I love. I’ll never stifle a person, but I’ll definitely fight for them, and something something everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.

100: What belief do you have that isn’t logically grounded, but you still firmly believe in?

I suppose something like this could never be logically grounded because there’s no logical proof at all, and “I Just Know” is apparently not a scientific argument (it should be), but I know I’ve had past lives. I just do. I have no solid proof for this, only gut feelings and Just Knowing and weird memories and some crazy shit that I can’t explain -- like being able to find my way around a strange city because I remembered it from a past life, for example -- but I just know I’ve had many different lives before and I will have many more to come. this is just an unshakable belief and it always has been.

[impossible-rat-babies]

quarter past (two am) 

word count ~4891 | angst pre-hb | chargestep | mostly under the cut!

read on a03

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The streets in Los Diablos are rarely deserted at two am, the headlights dazzling as they pass by, bubblegum pink and electric green neon lights in store windows scattering hues across puddles on the concrete. Gasoline and spilled oil refract in electric rainbows, fine leather dress shoes scuffling and stuttering, disturbing the kaleidoscope.

“Y-You are....my bestest friend...! You are my bestest, best friend!”

Pollux rolls his eyes behind the mask, adjusting Ortega’s arm draped over his shoulders, keeping a hold on his wrist. He keeps blabbering on his ear, trying to rock them side to side across the sidewalk, kicking up water with god knows what in it. Pollux struggles to keep them from falling into a heap, cursing under his breath. Ortega would find it down right hilarious if they took a tumble into one of the heaps of trash, or perhaps smacked right into a telephone pole, the drunk bastard. He’d be finding their current struggles hilarious too if he didn’t have his pea sized drunk brain occupied singing to the heavens of his adoration.

“Hey....hey there, Lux?” He cajoles with a poke at his cheek and Pollux jerks away, giving him a grimace even though the mask. “Y-You know you’re my best friend, right?”

“Yes, you’ve been singing about it for the past hour, ass.” Pollux shoots back, sighing out of his nose. 

They’re still a couple blocks away and all he wants to do is dump Ortega on his couch, make sure he won’t throw up all over himself and drag his own ass back to his bed. He blinks quickly to dispel the creeping heaviness across his eyelids, adjusting Ortega once more as he goes into another verse of the same made up jabbering nonsense.

Pollux glances up at Ortega  as he keeps going, his brown eyes staring above and all around, glassy and vacant from the eight or so beers he’s had. Maybe a few other drinks bought for him in between; he’s not paid to watch how much Ortega imbibes. 

But there’s honesty in his eyes, in how despite the awkward looks and snickering laughs from the few people still out as they clumsily pass by, he means every word of his stupid ballad. Drunk Ortega isn’t suave, isn’t the actor, wearing his heart on his sleeve instead of a mask on his face, looking picture perfect, taking it all in stride. It’s honestly slipping out of his mouth unbidden, the facade peeled back, the lies stripped away. The pretense and the formalities all gone and he’s just some drunk guy draped over a friend taking him home.

Pollux likes the pretense, when they don’t say the things they want to say--when he won’t drape himself all over him. Makes it easier to pretend he doesn’t feel like he does--makes it easier to lie to himself.

“I-It’s...it’s true, ya know? You are my, uh, my best friend.” Ortega waves his hand around theatrically, tripping over his own misplaced feet with a giggle. A giggle. God so help him. “An-And I don’t think you hear it enough. From anyone. You’re special, Lux.”

Oh he’s heard plenty of how he’s special--her words purred in his ear, fingernails digging into his shoulders, urging him on--more and more and more. Pollux swallows hard, smothering that voice in the back of his head. 

“Oh I hear plenty from you about how special I am, lover boy.” Pollux huffs because as much as he is an honest drunk, he’s also stupid as shit and mushy as fuck. He doesn’t have the space in his head to think about how differently it sounds when Ortega says he’s special, how his ears are burning and the strange roll of his stomach.

“It’s-It’s because it’s true, Pebbles.” Ortega objects, rather loudly and pointedly. “You really are my best friend an-and I care about you. A lot.”

“You’ll be caring a lot more about the toilet than me in a bit.”

Ortega blows a large raspberry and waves his hand, Pollux dragging him away from yet another hapless pole he’s aiming to smack into.

Going to Hoots on Friday nights is both equal parts exciting and the worst thing he gets talked into doing; the music leaves him with a pounding headache and the flurry of so many minds leaves him damp with cold sweat and shaky hands. Still its Ortega’s favorite place to go on a Friday night, plus Anathema had volunteered to come along and Pollux was feeling indulgent. Fat lot that did when he drew the short straw.

Should’ve told Anathema to do, damn them when they winked and smirked, ducking out the door in a flash, leaving Pollux to wrangle Ortega. 

Pollux sighs and he swallows down the lump, Ortega still mumbling away at his song as his building comes into view. Thank god--it’ll be easy to dump him at home and leave behind the weird feeling that refuses to go away. Going out with Ortega is always dangerous.  It’s far too easy for Pollux to convince himself to give up some of his boundaries and self imposed restrictions—the things that keep him from saying things he shouldn’t. Doing things he shouldn’t. Like walking Ortega home.

He gives an inch and Ortega takes it for a mile, drawing him out bit by bit like thread unraveling from a spool and he uses it to tie them in closer. Convinces him to stay for a little while longer, one more longing look.

One more chaste kiss...or maybe not so chaste kiss.

Ortega nearly falls and Pollux curses, half dragging him up the stairs to his building and he wrangles him through the door to his building. He’s half slumped over him now along with most of his weight on Pollux’s shoulders and he might as well be dragging his feet.

“Can you please stand on your own fucking legs?” Pollux huffs, knees groaning and he’s only twenty two--his body shouldn’t groan like that.

“Gravity is too much, Pebbles.” He mumbles against his shirt near his neck and that is most certainly not helping the situation, his face flushing the under mask.

“I’ll dump your drunk ass on the floor.”

“Please Lux don’t do that.”

Thankfully there’s an elevator or he might have sooner just dumped Ortega in the lobby and left rather than drag his ass up the stairs. The doorman knows Pollux well enough by now that he just waves them on and shakes his head, grinning to himself. Oh the indignity of the Marshal of the Rangers being dragged drunk through his apartment lobby, but the doorman has tight lips. Plus there’s undoubtable amusement in watching Ortega getting wrangled into an elevator when his feet aren’t working correctly.

The door closes before Ortega can spill his guts about how much he likes him to the doorman, or spills his guts all over the tile floor. That would be a mess and Pollux wouldn’t be the one to clean it up. He’s had enough of cleaning up vomit, acid dripping down his chin from his nose, the corners of his mouth..

“Please tell me you have your keys.” Pollux nudges him off and leans Ortega against the elevator wall, patting around his pockets. He finds his wallet—thankfully tucked in his back pocket still—but no keys.

“I got em Lux don’t worry.” Ortega oh so helpfully pats his butt and Pollux rolls his eyes.

“That’s your wallet, you ass.”

Ortega snorts. “You touched my ass.”

Pollux groans loudly, face flushing under his mask and Ortega laughs in self satisfaction. A sharp pinch of his side and he yelps, grumbling under his breath as he rubs the tender spot. His coat pockets next and Pollux finds the jingling ring of keys--thank god.

“At least you have some sense of hindsight...” Pollux grumbles to himself and the elevator dings. He helps him out of the elevator and they drift side to side down the hallway, Ortega mumbling something or another in his ear the whole time, oh so helpfully close like earlier. Pollux tries not to care--his cheeks are most certainly not warm--fumbling with the lock until it clicks open and he pushes Ortega inside. He kicks the door shut and miraculously Ortega is standing on his own two legs and even more miraculous is that he’s looking at him.

“Can’t believe it took this long t’get you to come to my house after Hoots...” Ortega mumbles with a lopsided grin, subtly lost when he’s still got that drunk look to him--the smell of beer and stale french fries still on him. Pollux’s face flushes and his ears burn, quickly squashing down *those* sprinting thoughts. 

“Save the drunk flirting for someone else, lover boy.” He helpfully turns him around to push him towards the living room, putting the keys down. Ortega somehow manages to not bump into too many walls along the hallway, hands outstretched to guide him. Pollux sighs and quickly squashes the little soap bubble thoughts of his goofy sashay down the hall--he was not staring. Not at all, no wandering eyes.

Ortega is reasonably safe in the living room. Not like he can go many places--he could fall down and break his head open on the coffee table his head helpfully tells him--and Pollux heaves a deep, long sigh.

There are pain killers and other meds he’ll need in the cabinet above the bathroom sink; Pollux picks out the ones he’ll need for tomorrow among the menagerie of orange bottles, sifting through what it means to keep a modded body running--thousands of dollars tucked away in that cabinet. They’re the ones he’s watched him take when he won’t stop complaining about the pain in his back and elbows. Others he’s listened to Ortega lament at how bad they taste.

Pollux pulls the throw blanket from off the bed where he’s held frozen peas to the side of Ortega’s head, listening to him talk about how the fight went--the good parts and the bad parts. He’s stitched bleeding wounds there and gathered up stained blankets to clean later, wrapped gauze over washed abrasions, keeping chiding words tucked behind his teeth. 

A cup for water in kitchen and he’s sat on the counter top and watched Ortega cook him all the foods he’s never tasted before. Pies that tia Elena makes, a beautiful cake that his cousin’s aunt makes which reminds him of this tiny hole in the wall place in downtown Los Diablos. He could rant for ages of all Pollux has missed like a fool, how he hasn’t lived until he’s tried this, or tried that. It’s sad just how close is accidentally gets to the truth.

Laughter calls from the living room and Pollux peeks his head out of the kitchen, finding Ortega sprawled out on the couch, one shoe on and the other off, holding a decorative pillow under his chin. Who knows what he’s laughing about now, something stupid inevitably.

“You need to take off both shoes, Ortega.” 

Pollux reminds him, picking around for the biggest bowl and settling on a rather large sauce pan instead. By the time he comes back he’s figured that out along with getting his jacket off, leaving it in a heap on the ground. Pollux knows he’s watching him, setting both the painkillers and the water on the coffee table for when he gets the sense to need them.

“Hey, hey Pollux?” He pauses putting the pan down. “Why do you always got your mask on?” Ortega asks, brows furrowed like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. Pollux mirrors the expression behind his mask, lips slipping into a familiar frown.

“My face is a secret.” Pollux retorts and Ortega grumbles.

“Friends don’t keep secrets...!”

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of secrets you don’t tell me.” Pollux gives him a pointed look and Ortega waves his hand dismissively.

“Nothing like my entire face, Pollux.

“You’ve seen the lower half of my face.”

He’s kissed him too, cupped his face and the back of his head and held him like he was all that mattered in that moment. But Pollux isn’t telling him that at all. He certainly does not want to think about that right now and he scoops up Ortega’s jacket, balling it up in his arms.

“That doesn’t count!” Ortega laments and oh this is just a piss poor attempt to cajole him into showing his face that’s for certain.

“Well tough luck lover boy.” Pollux heaves a sigh and sits down on the floor near Ortega’s head, face resting against couch cushion, jacket still balled up in his hands. He has half the mind to take it with him, as payback for making him drag his ass through the street at 2am. He’d be looking for it up and down his apartment tomorrow and the thought of the frantic text he’d get makes him bite his lip to suppress a smile.

Plus it is a nice jacket--a pretty leather bomber style, well loved and well taken care of.

“You’re so mean to me.” Ortega grumbles, playing with his lip between his teeth, and Pollux ugly snorts, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m just the worst best friend huh?”

“Yes, the absolute worst best friend. You’re so awful and mean to me in the worst ways imaginable, Pollux.” He can’t help but snort and that sets Ortega off with a loud groan.

“I *cannot* believe that you are finding this funny, getting all this amusement out of you being so mean to...”

Pollux zones out watching Ortega rant, the clumsy way he’s speaking and the way he moves his hands like he needs them to speak, snapping for the words he’s struggling with. It’s...interesting watch the facade crumble, how he’s so perfect with words and oozing charm for crowd and cameras, but just the two of them in his apartment and he’s stumbling, stuttering. 

He’s not the Marshal when he’s sprawled across the couch, one foot dangling off the edge, slurring and tripping over his words, little unabashed laughs slipping out. It’s more real seeing him like this, less questions to ask, more straightforward. There’s no guessing here, no games of chess to play where he needs to be five steps ahead, no guessing his thoughts by the tilt of his brow or the quirk of his lips.

It’s just the calm even breaths between them, enough space to breath the same air and yet it’s still like an ocean dividing them.

Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat and he pushes the thoughts out to sea, staying on the shore where he keeps watching Ortega talk, the turn of his lips and the slope of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone. Places where Pollux has put his lips and felt Ortega’s breath hitch--his pulse race. Put his hands and felt him breathe in his chest, the rise and fall of rushing breathing, the scratch of five’o clock shadow on his cheek, under his nose, the gasp of air in the space between wet lips.

If he was the betting kind of person, he’d put money on Ortega not remembering anything tomorrow and it would so easy...could pull the mask off and let him see for a bit. His hands sweat at the thought, giving an inch and losing a mile to a silly drunk man’s smile and how comforting it is--how is so completely and utterly easy to lose himself.

H’s betting on him not remembering and Pollux is running low on chips. Either and neither way he’s screwed and he takes a long breath. Steadying his hands and he reaches under his mask, pulling it up and over his head.

He blinks, adjusting to the soft hazy light of a nearby lamp, the flush of alcohol and cologne in his nose. Cool air on his sweaty face and he resists the urge to sneeze. Ortega keeps talking, eyes even fluttering over to him once, twice, three times and...there he gets it, brown eyes growing big. 

He blinks once, twice, three times and a wide smile breaks across his face, eyes focused on him. With difficulty, Pollux shoves down the urge to yank the mask back on, cover himself back up and hide; he worries the jacket between his thumb and index finger instead, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Happy?” 

Pollux chokes out past the lump, face flushing. Ortega keeps staring, keeps his eyes focused on him and it’s because he’s drunk, Pollux tells himself, and he’s never seen his face before, and he’s staring at him like he’s something far too precious--a twinkle in his eyes, the curl of crows feet. Pollux’s skin itches and he resists the urge to scratch and pick, tear and yank yank yank--

“You have red hair...” Ortega mumbles and instinct makes him take a deep breath to quiet his nerves. Neither here nor there and Ortega’s hand twitches like he wants to reach out, but he can’t quite get there

“Nice observation there captain obvious.” Ortega snorts at his reply and Pollux runs his fingers across the fuzzy curls starting to grow back in.

“Do you know how many freckles you have?” He still has that half stupid grin on his face, eyes darting about his face, taking it all in like he’s piecing together the person he’s always wondered about under the mask. Fitting him into the image he’s made of him, constructed in his head. 

Pollux is too used to that and he fights the roll of his stomach.

“A million.” Pollux grumbles and Ortega whistles dramatically. “You’ve seen them on my hands before, don’t act so surprised.” Tacking that on and he rolls his eyes too.

Ortega found his hands fascinating back then too, his fingers long and slender compared to his palms, compared the whole of him. Piano fingers Ortega had called them as they measured palm to sweaty palm one lonely day in the break room. Ortega’s fingers daring to slip a fraction, to slip his fingers into his, to hold his hand palm to palm, five fingers interlocking. It was enough to set a fire in his gut then, like pressing his hand to a stove and he’d yanked his hand back and shoved his gloves back on too. Too much of a touch--far too real and new with skin pressed to skin.

“You’re very handsome, Pollux.”

He blinks, tossed from his thoughts by the sudden admission, scrambling, eyes shooting up to look at Ortega. 

That wasn’t what he was expecting--not the words like that, for Ortega to blurt that out and there’s that damn honesty again. 

Ortega is staring at him, eyes more focused than he should for how drunk he supposedly is...or was, for that matter. Damn it. There’s the truth wrapped around his tongue, coating his words and fuck Pollux doesn’t like how it makes him feel, not one single bit.

He blushes deep red and his ears burn, tucking his chin against his chest like that will do any good. If pulling the strings on his hoodie tight to hide his face would do any good he would.

“Shut the fuck up, Ortega.” He manages and fuck his voice shakes more than it should—more than he wants it to.

“I’m not lying.” Ortega’s got that stubborn look in his eyes and there’s a frown of his own on Pollux’s face, lip twitching in an almost sneer.

“I...” Pollux snaps his mouth shut and bites his lip hard. “I don’t care if you’re lying or not, just shut up.”

That’s a lie of his own and he pinches hard between his thumb and index finger, worrying his lip.

“Just because you say that doesn’t mean I’m lying. I am being honest, Pebbles.” He presses further and Pollux looks up at him and he shouldn’t have because Ortega is leaning in far too close.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get to call you a bastard.” Pollux replies, breathing harder than he should, less butterflies and more like a beehive in his stomach, waiting to be shaken.

“You would call me a bastard no matter what.”

“That’s because it’s the truth, Ortega.” Pollux doesn’t lean away even though the rational part of his brain is screaming otherwise. Ortega’s breath still smells like booze, but he smells more like cologne this close, the subtle musk that tickles his nose, stale french fries a thing of the past.

“Do you want the truth?” Ortega asks and that is the question.

It’s always been the question, the one he can’t find answers to no matter where he goes looking—what is the truth? What does he need to know the truth about? What happens when the truth is laid before him--or if it’s set in front of too many people, naked and exposed. Far too many questions for the skinny space between them right now, breathing in sync.

“Could I stop you from saying it?” Pollux asks in return, eyes sliding down the slope of Ortega’s neck, fingers itching. He can’t remember if he wore a necktie or not, but the top buttons are undone regardless. Pale pink cotton sharp against deep brown skin and Pollux swallows against the lump in his throat.

“No...” Ortega grins, a soft flush on his cheeks that isn’t from the alcohol. “But I would very much like to kiss you.”

Pollux bites his lip and he’s still, holding himself just so he won’t bolt from the floor, knuckles tense in the jacket. He steals a glance at Ortega’s face and fuck that isn’t any better than staring at other parts of him, his stomach twisting itself in knots of indecision.

“You smell like beer.” Pollux skirts the question, Ortega’s lips just inches from his--breathing in time, breathing in the same air and if it were anywhere but here, anywhere but this moment. If he was anyone--anything--but what he is.

“Is that better than blood?” He asks and Pollux quietly snorts. Bastard.

“I’m used to blood.” 

Pollux unknits his hand from the jacket, reaching and pulling back and he knows he’s touching what he shouldn’t be--feeling what he isn’t mean to feel--but he’s doing it regardless. Reaching again, his fingertips ghost up the side of Ortega’s neck. He smooths his fingers up bronzed skin to the curve of his jaw, jagged thumbnail slipping along the rough line of stubble there, thumb finding his chin. He swears there’s a sharp intake of breath, but Ortega is still, staring, eyes searching his. 

He knows it’s almost three am and he doesn’t know how he’ll drag himself back to his bed with how tired he is now, tired enough to think that kissing Ortega is a good idea, tired enough to loose his inhibitions. He’s seen his whole face and he hasn’t run, trembling fingers still holding his face in a gesture far more intimate than palms pressing together, fingers almost linked.

Pollux supposes he’ll wake up the next morning and if his phone isn’t dead he’ll have a slew of text messages waiting for him; supposes Ortega will remember and ask a dozen questions, or he won’t and still ask a dozen questions like he’s used to. Either way Pollux supposes he’ll lie to him, tell him that nothing happened, that he just dumped him on his couch and got him settled in. He supposes they’ll both know better than that, but neither will say anything. Supposes Ortega won’t even remember his face in the morning, or remembering kissing him.

His thumb is still stroking his chin, eyes staring at his lips.

“But I can make an exception. Just this once.” 

Pollux lies to himself, to both of them. Another one to add to the dozens, a pile like he’s digging his own grave. 

He crosses the gap between them and he pauses just enough to know how bad of idea this is--how screwed he’s going to be. Ortega doesn’t give him time to back out, cradling the back of his neck and he yanks him close, lips pressing against lips.

He tastes of stale beer--better than fresh blood, the taste of metal and electricity on his tongue. Here he feels the shape of his chapped lips against his, the curve of his jaw, hand curling sharp into the nape of Ortega’s neck, fingers slowly bunching in his hair. Ortega’s hand cupping his cheek and jaw, hand warm against his already flushed skin. Nose bumping nose to try and fit lips together and it’s soft, tender, worming into the dark places he’s hidden away, pulling lengths of thread to bind them together. Pollux pulls away, forehead to forehead, biting wet lips.

Oh he’s certainly going to be cursing himself later, Ortega pulling him back in for kisses upon kisses that keep bleeding into each other, one after another, tongue and teeth and he wonders how much Ortega is trying to memorize the shape of him, the flush of his lips against his, fitting puzzle pieces together. Ironic considering he wasn’t meant to be remembered and here Ortega is, slowly, achingly, trying his best to do just that and fuck it *hurts*.

It isn’t fair, kissing Ortega when he’s drunk on his couch, Pollux’s fingers knitted tight in his hair, hand finding it’s way under his collared shirt to press against his chest, needs these needy kisses. Hands holding his own face, the back of his own neck, hands daring--wanting to explore more. Fuck he wants to hold him tight, let him keeping touching him, drink in every single kiss and then maybe he won’t feel so empty. 

Maybe he’ll feel like an actual person, like he’s more than what’s on his skin, what’s buried deep down--the terrible, gut wrenching truth. 

 And that is one of the scariest thoughts he’s ever had.

He pulls away from the kiss, peels his hands from Ortega and Ortega’s hands away from him, hiccuping with each time he tries to breathe, trying to hold the panic steady in his gut. 

“Stop.” His hand is firm on Ortega’s chest, keeping him at bay as he tries to lean back in, to try and kiss him again. “You’re far too drunk, Ricardo.” Pollux whispers, sense crawling back up his spine, a cold weight filling his gut.

“Just drunk on you.” He’s trying for smug and the way he’s looking at him through his eyelashes would almost be charming, but it’s just not fair, not fair at all.

(It’s always the almost, isn’t it?)

“Stop, please...” Pollux presses his hand firm against his chest, enough to push him back a bit and Ortega’s brow scrunches together, confusion slipping into worry and further into scarier emotions.

“Pollux? Are you okay” 

“You’re drunk and I’m going home.” 

Pollux says again, trying to be firm, to hold his ground, despite knowing what he wants to be feeling, his chest tight. He needs to go, needs to leave before those feelings get the better of him, before he decides to do dangerous things--things that come attached with regrets. Things he can’t even fathom, ones that leave his skin like pins and needles.

(Needles under the skin, needles in veins, wrists chafing)

“Pollux, please, I’m sorry...what did I do?” Ortega tries again and Pollux gets to his feet to stay out of reach of scrambling hands, jacket knitted in his hands once more, knuckles squeezed of their blood.

(blood on white tiles, muffled screeching and sobbing)

“You didn’t do anything, I’m sorry.” Pollux chokes out, pursing his lips into a thin white line, looking everywhere but at Ortega.

“No, I-I did something...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you--” He tries to get up, but Pollux puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down, quickly pulling his hand back out of reach.

“No, I’m...I’m going back home. You’re drunk and didn’t do anything wrong.”

That’s right, it’s always him making the bad choices, going against the boundaries he’s set for himself and they’re there for a good reason--to keep him safe. Keep his secrets safe, locked away behind his teeth and his lips still taste like Ortega.

“Pebbles, come on...pl-please...”

“No, I am going home, Ricardo. I’m sorry.”

He takes his mask out and slips it back over his face, adjusting the fabric and he can hide again, pretend like he’s calm and not that his stomach is still twisting itself into knots upon knots, that he doesn’t want to bolt down the stairs and out the door.

“Don’t throw up all over yourself, please. Take your meds. Call Steel in the morning so you don’t cause a panic when you don’t show up at eight am.” 

Pollux speaks quick, sliding the pan closer towards Ortega with his foot and he skirts around the couch, jacket still locked in his hands. He hears Ortega scrambling to extract himself from the couch, still whining for Pollux.

Pollux reaches the door and disregards his pleas, opening the door to the cold hallway bathed in green florescence from the flickering lights overhead. 

“Bye Ortega.”

He slams the door closed behind him, the sound ringing in his ears over and over again, a rhythm as he takes the stairs in sets of threes and he’s out into the night, disappearing into the dark.

[tohermcon]

LINE WITHOUT A HOOK—chapter one

Important: I DO NOT OWN DRACO MALFOY. Draco Malfoy is a character written by J.K Rowling. Also Allison Hale is my OC. I do not agree with JK Rowling on anything yet the characters she wrote and the harry potter books are my favourite. Also this is a crossover between twilight and HP as well so if it isn’t for you; don’t read it. If you did read it HI THANKS FOR READING IT.

Words count: 1477 words

Written from Allison her P.O.V

I didn’t understand what I was doing here. Even when I knew the reason why i was here; the how seemed pretty useless. Given one of the best students was murdered not even two years ago and the thickness of the war coming closer and closer. Everyone had heard it, how the death eaters were recruiting for new members. This had been news; even to my vampire family. Who had no closeness to the wizarding war. Well aside from me then.

I drew my leather bag closer. The letters L.V. Stood in swirly letters on the front of it. It was older than I was. Well I personally guessed it was older than anyone in my school. A sigh left my lips as I checked my bag; hogwarts robes, extra jumper, scarf, chocolate and book. I was loaded. I didn’t bring tea this time, given they’d probably give it to us when we were on the way. As well as pumpkin pasties. I felt a big cold hand on my shoulder. “If you stay taring like this I may take you home. You don’t seem as excited to come back” my grandfather spoke. I let a sigh escape. “That obvious hm?” I asked him as he gave a nod. “Just...tired I guess” luckily Carlisle didn’t have the ability to feel what i felt or he would’ve caught onto my lie. “I will miss you, sunshine” he whispered as I kissed his cheek. “It is Christmas soon enough” i said as he nodded. Wrapping his cold arms around me.

I boarded the train, as i saw the Draco Malfoy slipping into a compartment alone. He looked tired, and lonely. And even when I knew I probably shouldn’t follow him, i did anyway. We had an eight hour drive ahead of us and I could also use a companion. When I notice neither Pansy or Blaise following him I knew it was okay to go into the compartment. Especially given they all filled up quite quickly.

The blonde haired boy looked up. His skin was pale, and the dark purple circles under his eyes became even clearer because of it. He wore a suit—what fucking student wears a suit to school? I looked at him. “Can i sit with you?” He clearly thought about this. Yet he shrugged as he said “fine” and I got onto the couch ahead of him. I never understood why houses were always seated amongst their own houses, when it could be fun to learn the other houses. Or at least get to know them in a way. Yet Draco didn’t truly seem in the mood to socialise. I grabbed the book I had put on top. Placing it on the table. I got myself comfortable in the corner, close to the window.

I opened the book as I started reading a bit, yet wanted to try and socialise at least. And then the most stupid question left my mouth “so do you like quidditch?’ I couldn’t stop the words. “Yes” he said shortly. He had a nice voice. Not that he was in any way nice, but he wasn’t not nice either. He was pretty neutral. But his voice was pleasant to listen to non the less. “Had a good summer?’ Good was an odd word, especially in these times. But he nodded slightly, though it was a clear lie. Even clearer when he said “it was fine”. And then I remembered the headlines; FORMER DEATH EATER LUCIUS MALFOY PUT IN AZAKABAN. And I realised how rude my question had been. I also noticed how he didn’t return the question and that was absolutely fine. I decided to now just return my head to my book. My summer had mainly been a horrible turn, nightmares and a father that couldn’t be close to me because I bled too much. So it hadn’t been exactly good but just like Draco had just said it was ‘fine.’

We drove silently for a bit before the lady stopped with her trolley. “Anything dears?” She asked. Draco declined as I looked at her. “One lavender tea and a pumpkin pasty.” I loved her pasties as I paid her and enjoyed my tea. “Lavender tea? What kind of taste is that?” It sounded genuinely curious, not even mean. I held it towards him so he could smell it. “You can taste it too if you like. They say i helps with calming people down” I explained. He shook his head, making a face at the scent. “Its so floral” he said as I laughed a bit. “Generally, lavender is a flower” I explained. He rolled his eyes. Yet he couldn’t truly argue me. He wasn’t half as bad as everyone made him be. Yet In had only known him from quidditch matches.

The train continued to drive as I took of my scarf i knew the scars in my neck would now be more visible. And they were still fresh, yet I always knew a lie for them. “I got in a bit of a pickle” “it isn’t as bad as it looks” “I fought a lion cool huh.” Even if they were stupid people usually stopped asking. Yet Draco only glanced at them and looked back outside. Pulling down the sleeves of his overly expensive suit coat. “Whats the slytherin common room like?” I asked. Silence sometimes got under my skin and i had never seen the slyterhin common room. “Green” he explained. “The walls are dark green, the curtains. The furniture is a deep dark wood. Most of the books are green” i could imagine it now. And it seemed elegant. Not like people had said it was at all. “There are two big sofa’s” he then said. “And a small space in the windows.” “The hufflepuff common room is mainly white, with yellow accents. It also has loads of plants.” I explained. It was extremely light always in our common room. “Our furniture is a light wood or yellow.” I explained. It was lucky I liked the colour yellow, given I spent most time in it.

The train stopped faster then I had wanted it to stop. I usually spend eight hours being bored and now I had barely even been bored. It felt sad to have to leave Draco here. I didn’t want to just go back to being strangers; though we weren’t much more now.”walk with me to school” I asked. Grabbing my bag as he shrugged. “Why not?” He said as I almost saw a glimpse of a smile.

The air was cold, even for the month september. Though not half as cold as I had anticipated. We first walked to teachers as i got a glare yet still went “Allison Hale”. Draco too said his name. We then were send on our merry way. I looked around as I then focused on him. “Whats your favourite snack?” I asked curiously. I knew if I would find out what he liked that I would probably take it with me on my next hogsmaede trip. He looked at me “does it have to be sweet? Or can it be savoury to?” “It can be savoury too”m “then pretzels. But I also like caramel apples” he explained to me. I then gave a smile. It somehow fit him. “And drinks?” “Water and coffee. I hate pumpkin juice though” he explained as I got that, I too really disliked pumpkin juice. “Pumpkin juice is...gross” I agreed. He chuckled a bit now. And I loved that noise. I didn’t understand why it just seemed so rare.

The woods were drawing closer and i got more uncomfortable. Especially due to the way the war was undoubtedly coming closer. And because of my promise to Dumbledore. The snatchers were the most notorious werewolves that worked amongst the death eaters— not exactly for them. And I had promised to the watch them. Not fight them, but just keep an eye out. I knew this task was big but it didn’t bring me much fear, even when amongst them were my parents murderers. I felt a shiver run down my spine as that snapped me back to reality. Immediately a pair of silver grey eyes focused on my own. “Are you cold?” I saw Draco said the words before he could even realise it. And even think of it.

Before I could refuse the offer he draped his jacket over my shoulders. The smell of sandalwood was almost as overwhelming as the smell of -undoubtedly expensive- cologne. I thought that the jacket too probably cost as much as most of my trunk. It comfort me; which surprised me. The smells were familiar and i couldn’t remember why. As we paced to Hogwarts, the dread of having to say goodbye drew closer.

[incorrect-strq-quotes]

Rosebird Week 2019

Day 7: Pregnancy/Kids

@rose-bird-week Day 7 is a Beacon Teacher AU and more proof that Raven is Soft™️ for Summer and their bbys. Don’t tell their students though.

—

The student body at Beacon Academy was the most diverse collection of individuals in all of Remnant. Being that it was located in between the other three kingdoms, this wasn’t exactly surprising. The students who trained there came from all walks of life, all forms of thought, all styles of combat. For all their differences though, everything that set them apart, every single one of them could at least agree on two things:

One, Professor Branwen was a badass. She never smiled, never went easy on anyone, but every single team who went with her on a mission came back with stories that bordered on laughably unbelievable. Nobody ever failed her class, because they were too scared about what she’d do if they did.

Two, Professor Rose was the kindest person in the world. She wore a smile on her face every day, and always made time to help any student that asked for it. Even if their problem had nothing to do with her class. The fact that she was eight months pregnant at the moment only added to the motherly vibe she carried everywhere she went.

It was entirely understandable then, with all their differences, that each new batch of first year students would start out deeply confused any time they would see the two instructors together. It would quickly become the topic of between-class conversations. Whispered debates at lunch. Late night theories and gossip.

The older students weren’t any help. They had to figure out the puzzle on their own, so why should the new kids get any clues? So there were rumors, and stories, and gossip. Observant eyes taking in everything they saw and whispering it to their friends when they thought everyone else was out of earshot.

Because Professor Branwen barking at students in the hallways wasn’t all that unusual. Professor Branwen barking at students for bumping into Professor Rose however was different enough to raise questions.

And Professor Rose leaving Professor Branwen’s classroom in the morning with a smile and a “I’ll see you at lunch” wouldn’t have been extremely odd, if it wasn't for Professor Branwen’s returning smile and her almost soft reply “sure” that seemed a little bit too out of character.

The upperclassmen were entertained by how the first years always seemed to glazed over the obvious.

“Maybe Rose is trying to teach her to be nicer to us,” a hushed voice said in the back of Professor Branwen’s lecture hall one day. Their words were followed by laughter. “Wouldn’t that be a sight. A Branwen, being nice.”

Any response was drowned out by Professor Branwen herself entering the room. The door slammed shut behind her, and conversation in the classroom abruptly ceased. “If your homework isn’t passed to the front row by the time I get to my desk, you’re all getting F’s.”

The sound of shuffling papers filled the air as everyone quickly passed their essays to the person in front of them. They knew the drill. Everyone’s essays were already out and ready, if only because they were all worried that their instructor would actually go through with her threat.

Raven of course wouldn’t do that, but her students didn’t need to know.

“Open your books to the next chapter,” she instructed, not telling them which chapter that was. If they had been paying attention in class last week, they would know. “Lance, start reading.”

Fumbling and page flipping came from the second to last row as Raven collected the stack of essays from the student who sat closest to her desk. She set the stack down and dropped her bag in her chair before turning to glare at the student she had called on.

“Uh- Ursai are large, bear-like creatures of Grimm…”

Lance trailed off as snickers echoed around the room. “Dude she’s going to murder you,” someone whispered just loud enough for Raven to hear.

“Ash,” Raven called in a saccharine voice. “Thank you for volunteering to help your teammate out.” She turned around to the chalk board and wrote the word “Geist” in large letters before turning around to face the class again. “Please open your book to the correct chapter and start reading.”

Ash, who apparently was already on the right page, cleared his throat. “Geists are creatures of Grimm that resemble ghosts and are capable of "possessing" inanimate objects.”

“Right,” Raven interrupted, gaze traveling around the room. “With that in mind, why are Geists so dangerous?”

A hand shot up, the student it belonged to speaking before she could even be called on. “Because you’re not just fighting the Grimm, professor. You’re also fighting whatever inanimate object its occupying.”

Raven gave her a nod. “Correct, and-”

“That doesn’t sound very scary,” interrupted a bored drawl from the other side of the room.

Raven didn’t even have to look to know who it was. She simply grabbed a book off her desk, turned, and threw it in one motion.

“Hey!” The student ducked out of the way and leapt to her feet. “What the fuck was that for?!”

Raven fixed her with a cold glare. “Why’d you duck?”

The girl sputtered. “Because that would have hurt!”

Raven laughed humorlessly. “It’s an inanimate object, Jett. I thought you weren’t scared of them?” She picked up another book and threw it.

Jett narrowly avoided that one. “Stop it!”

“Is that what you’re going to tell a Geist?” Raven demanded. “Imagine hundreds of books, pulled together by nothing but a crushing blackness with the sole purpose of destroying everyone you love. And you won’t be able to help them, because you have no clue how to fight it, because you were too busy mouthing off in my class.” Raven turned to the rest of her students, letting her voice fall from angry to hard. “This isn’t a game anymore, guys. You aren’t still in combat school. Your training wheels are off and the wooden swords have been put away. If-”

“Raven.”

Her words instantly died on her lips. Raven turned to see Summer standing in the doorway, arms crossed over top her swollen belly, an unusually stern expression on her face. Next to her stood Yang, tear stains and a pout maring the four year old’s face. “What happened?” Raven asked without any of the previous bite in her words, ignoring the whispers that picked up behind her.

Summer looked down at Yang. “Tell Momma why your teacher had to call me today.”

Yang bunched up the hem of her shirt in tight fists, refusing to look at Raven. “I hit a boy,” she mumbled, a fresh tear rolling down her face.

Raven looked at Summer, whose stare turned pleading. The bags under her eyes spoke of exhaustion, and Raven knew that she didn’t sleep well last night. She walked over to them and crouched down in front of Yang. “You know you’re not supposed to hit people, Yang,” she started sternly.

“But Mercury said I was lying!” Yang argued, defensive. She was finally looking at her, small fists balled away from her shirt now.

Raven kept her voice firm, but gentle. “Hey. We’re not here to fight you, Firecracker. But I’m going to need you to take a deep breath and try that again.”

Yang’s face was still scrunched in anger, but she scrubbed at her face and took a deep breath. “He said I was lying,” she mumbled. “He said no one can have two moms.”

Frown on her face, Raven reached forward and wiped the tears off of Yang’s cheek with a thumb. “Were you lying?”

Yang shook her head vigorously. “No!”

“Then what that little punk Mercury thinks doesn’t matter,” Raven told her, failing to hide a smirk as Summer huffed in amusement. Yang smiled a little bit too. “We’ve talked about this before,” Raven continued. “What could you have done instead of hitting him?”

Yang looked down at her shoes as she thought about it. “...practice my numbers,” she eventually answered.

“Can you promise me you’ll do that next time you want to hit someone?” Raven gently poked Yang in the belly, drawing the little girl’s gaze back up to her and the instigative smile she couldn’t take off her face. “Practice your numbers as loud as you can, right in their face.”

Yang matched her smile again. “Yeah!”

Raven stood up to see Summer shaking her head in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?” Summer asked.

Raven flashed her a smirk. “I can think of a few things.”

Summer’s smile turned soft, shining through the exhaustion that smothered everything else. “Do you mind if Yang stays with you for the afternoon?”

Raven’s face clouded with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I need to take a nap,” Summer told her quietly, “I’ve already asked your brother to cover the rest of my classes for the day.”

“Do you want me to-”

Summer cut her off with a gentle hand on her arm. “No, I’m just tired Rae. I promise. Besides,” she added with an apologetic look over Raven’s shoulder, “ your class looks pretty eager to learn, and I’ve taken up enough of their time.”

Raven turned around to look at her students, her prepared glare falling on suspiciously downturned gazes.

“Be nice,” Summer chided. She leaned up to place a kiss on Raven’s cheek, which immediately drew back her attention. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Raven said as Summer opened the door and left. Raven looked down at Yang, who was staring up at her. “You can sit at my desk if you promise to be good.”

Yang nodded her head. “ I promise, Momma.”

Raven walked over to her desk and moved her bag to the floor so her daughter could climb up onto the chair. “Your coloring book is in one of the drawers. Momma needs you to be on your best behavior to show all the big kids how to be quiet and listen, okay?”

Yang giggled, grinning up at Raven. “Okay!”

Raven straightened up and returned her attention to her students, who were all blinking owlishly back at her. “Any more questions, Jett?” she asked in a polite tone that didn’t actually leave any room for questions at all.

“No, Professor,” Jett replied, already back in her chair.

Apparently for others, her tone was too subtle. “Are you and Professor Rose, like, married?” asked one of the guys sitting in the far back row.

Raven crossed her arms and glared at him.

“They’re my mommies!” piped up Yang from behind her.

Raven turned to look at her daughter, glare morphing into a pointed stare. For her part, Yang already had her hands over her mouth. She made a motion like she was locking her mouth and throwing the key away -a smartass move she picked up from Summer.

Raven turned back to the class. “If anybody else opens their mouth to say anything that doesn't have to do with Geists, I’m going to let Yang take your next quiz and give you whatever grade she gets.”

All eyes were on the textbooks in front of them, mouths silent.

“Good. Lance, hopefully you’re on the right chapter this time. Can you read the next paragraph?”

[elmidol]

Monster by Fate (NSFW)

Three Blind Tooke Part One Resistance is Futile

Read on AO3

Warnings: interrogation, mind reading, public sex, window sex, mirror sex, dubcon

Three Blind Tooke Part One: Resistance is Futile

Chapter Nine: Monster by Fate

As a child, you were told of heroes; adulthood came, and you learned they were not extraordinary. They were simply strong enough to make the right choices

The physician awoke you at intermittent intervals. Each time, you asked his name; and each time, you forgot before falling asleep. When you woke up for perhaps the eighth time, you remained conscious for longer than ten minutes. You stared around at your surroundings, asked once more what the physician’s name was. Urvno repeated it again, sounding patient as ever. You had been given another blanket, which was due to the temperature dropping. You smoothed out some of the creases in the material, and looked from the helmet of Vader to the chair. It was empty. You slowly slipped up so that your back was supported by the headboard. Kylo Ren was nowhere in the room. You strained to listen, seeing if you could hear him in the refresher. Nothing.

Urvno offered you more pain medication as well as a small drink. You accepted these gratefully, unable to use your predominate hand due to three of its fingers being broken. You put the pills in your mouth, took the drink, and downed both the fluid and medication. As he accepted the cup back from you, you asked Urvno where your captor was. Your exact words were: Where is he?

He responded with the simple answer of away. He remained away, and Urvno remained with you, for eight days. The physician took breaks here and there, and the door to Kylo Ren’s quarters was locked, trapping you inside. When the door did open, and when you had expected to see Urvno but instead took in the sight of your captor, you felt your heart hiccup. Aside from assuring that you were medically sound, Urvno had refused to partake in any sort of conversation with you. You knew this to be due to his orders, due to Kylo Ren’s wishes to keep you isolated, desperate for interaction—for him.

Kylo Ren was carrying a thermos in his hand, which he handed to you when he arrived at the bed. You reached for it with your good hand, using the heel of your injured hand to help keep it stable after drawing the thermos closer to yourself. You tilted it a little, looking at the brown liquid that could be seen through the parted lip. Some steam erupted, however not enough to indicate it was too hot to drink. You blew on it all the same, set the edge of the lid to your lips, and took a sip. Your favorite flavor of cocoa. It warmed your body with a single sip, which is all you had taken before lowering the cup. You stared at the thermos while enduring Kylo Ren’s gaze. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, as though he were waiting for something. As though he was nervous—his humanity threw you off guard; it truly was your weakness, and you did not wish for him to be able to properly use it against you again, did not want him to be able to pry more information from your mind.

Now that you knew of the anger of which he was capable, you were too afraid to pass him back the thermos, to reject the drink due to the fact that it likely represented what could pass as an apology for his actions. Not that you believed he felt poorly of his decision to break your fingers. It was likely the concussion he regretted if anything; he had, after all, sent for a physician right away. Or perhaps it was not an apology at all. It could have been nothing more than a bribe, to trick you into no longer referring to him as creature.

You lifted the rim of the lid to your lips again, taking another drink of the warm liquid. Kylo Ren straightened the slightest bit; you had not even noticed he had started to slouch until that moment. The actions reminded you of a pet seeking approval after having done something naughty. Perhaps it had bitten its owner. Animals could be unpredictable—why would you think of him as anything other than a creature? Your gaze slid to your broken fingers, which were on the mend. You did not to take medication for the pain as frequently. As for your concussion, you had healed from it though you occasionally experienced minor symptoms. Those, too, were lessening with time. Urvno assured you that you would return to normal health soon. You had stared at him with a deep frown when he had said that. Nothing was normal anymore. Or else it was normal, the new normal, and you wished things would become unusual instead.

In his attempt to placate you with the cocoa, Kylo Ren also behaved…you could not put your finger on the word. Unsure of himself—cautious? Calculating, perhaps. He was still standing at the bedside and watching you.

“Are you waiting until my defenses are down to tell me that you located the other two splinter cells?” you snapped irritably. He stood there without answering. You scrunched up your face and held the thermos out to him. Kylo Ren accepted the item without comment, placed it on the bedside table, and then faced you once more. You drew your knees towards your chest, wrapped your arms around your legs, and glowered at the wall across from you.

Kylo Ren moved at long last, walking around the bed and to the helmet of Darth Vader. This he lifted. You blinked your eyes tiredly, a swear leaving your lips. He had drugged you. Acts of human kindness really were your weakness. You stretched out your legs and awkwardly moved off the bed. Holding the helmet in one hand, Kylo Ren rounded the bed again to still you with his other limb. He placed it atop your head, preventing you from moving in any direction. You would not necessarily lose consciousness with the drug that had been given to you. It kept you docile, sluggish.

“Are you moving me off of Starkiller?” you mumbled, not struggling against either him or the drug.

“Yes,” the man answered you while withdrawing his hand from your person now that he knew you would behave. “Urvno will join us. You seem to listen well to his advice.” He was offering you the only semblance of comfort he could. A somewhat familiar face. “Do you plan on walking, or shall I be forced to carry you?” You blinked three times in rapid succession whilst releasing a hum of thought. As much as you did not want to admit it, you would not be as stable on your feet as you desired. This could lead to you accidentally attempting to use your injured hand for support should you stumble. You clenched your jaw and glanced up at Kylo Ren with a sour expression.

He readjusted his grip on the helmet so that it was once more in his hands. The man then scooped you up into his arms. You turned your face away from him, very perturbed that you were in this situation. As he carried you out of his quarters, you glanced back at the thermos. Despite it carrying a drug, the cocoa had been good; much more flavorful than the plain drinks you had been being given. It had nearly reminded you of when you had trained for colder elements with your comrades.

Kylo Ren carried you through portions of Starkiller you had not yet seen. More stone and metal. Traces of ice here and there as well. You cuddled closer to him, the cold causing your teeth to begin clattering together. You were more than thankful that you were leaving Starkiller, although you were apprehensive as to where, exactly, he was taking you. You had been away from the Resistance for over two months now. Your allies all believed you to be dead. It wasn’t far off from the truth. You sniffled a little as Kylo Ren boarded his Command Shuttle with you. You heard the pilot and copilot referring to it as the Limo.

Urvno was already aboard the Limo. You glanced his way as Kylo Ren set you down in the seat beside his. You did not struggle or protest when he buckled you in. No one said much at all, in fact, during the entire trip. You stared at various components of the shuttle, and eventually dosed off for part of the journey.

When you opened your eyes, the shuttle was approaching—your stomach dropped at the sight of the Star Destroyer. It was not something from which you could escape. You suddenly felt more helpless than you had since you had first been captured. You rested your head against the back of the chair, fighting off the urge to cry as the Command Shuttle arrived in the docking bay of the Star Destroyer.

The door opened, and you glanced towards the entrance. Then did a double-take. That cold feeling that had traveled through your body at the sight of the Star Destroyer returned with more strength. You recognized the man standing there. General Hux. He was notorious amongst the Resistance. A merciless man, whose icy stare landed on you.

“Have you discovered anything further?” General Hux asked, addressing Kylo Ren. The darkly robed man had freed himself from the seatbelt and also removed yours. He did not answer the red haired man immediately, opting instead to pull you to your feet and direct you towards the exit. General Hux stepped to the side to keep you from crashing into him. He stared at you with a sneer. “It is pertinent that we know if hers was the first splinter cell or not.”

“You will have your information in time,” Kylo Ren said, that cold mask of his turning to regard the general.

“In the meantime, Ren, see to it that she is properly restrained.” He turned on his heel and proceeded to walk away.

Kylo Ren did nothing to stop the officer who had been standing near the general from stepping closer to you. The man bound your wrists in restraints, a small gap between your arms due to the thick bar of the cuffs. The officer stepped away and, like General Hux, also left. Urvno stepped off the Command Shuttle and strode away, presumably to medbay.

A stormtrooper approached when motioned by your captor. The ‘trooper was instructed to take you to Kylo Ren’s quarters. The man—perhaps woman, but you did not know for certain either way—nodded, set his blaster to stun, and proceeded to do as he had been told. You did not struggle, a bit too shell shocked to even think of doing so. If you could find a way to blow up this entire ship, you would take out a good chunk of the First Order’s leadership, not to mention assist the Resistance a great deal. You doubted this was a feat you could accomplish. There were too many guards. Not to mention the fact that Kylo Ren himself was keeping you close nearly all the time.

Kylo Ren’s quarters aboard the Star Destroyer were perhaps even more depressing than all the others despite the lack of any canister of ashes. A chair, a bed, a small table on which he could place Darth Vader’s helmet, and a wardrobe that was smaller than his previous ones. Your eyes darted towards the bed. No bedside tables. The stormtrooper was not distracted by such details in the least, ushering you to the bed and setting you there. He punched in a code at the door, shielding the sight of it from you with his body, and then left. Locked in, you sighed and stared at the nothing-to-do-here room.

With your arms bound as they were, it was not as though you were left with much ability to workout as you had in the past. Still, you knew there were at least some exercises left to you. You slid off the bed, lowered yourself to the ground, and started to do them. When you grew sore, you maneuvered yourself back onto the bed and curled up there. Aside from using the refresher—which was an experience in itself with your arms bound and one hand with three broken fingers—you remained there for what you could only assume was the remainder of the waking cycle.

No food was brought to you. Your stomach growled noisily, and you hushed it while cursing your dependence on the First Order for nutrients. It took you quite some time, however you managed to fall asleep despite your growling stomach.

What awoke you in the middle of the night was the light hisses of a whisper. You looked towards the cause of the susurrations, eyeing him quietly from your spot on the bed. Kylo Ren was seated at the very edge of the chair, his body and head pointed towards the helmet of Darth Vader. You could not tell exactly what he was saying. That he was talking to an inanimate object, however, caused your heart to throb. You did not want to have pity for the creature that Ben Solo had become. Yet General Organa’s son had to have been utterly lost for him to be sitting there speaking to the relic of the fallen Lord Vader.

The angle of his body reminded you of youth. It was awkward, unsure. Quite unlike the man who had forced you into his bed, who had killed so many of your comrades.

The whispers died away; Kylo Ren’s chin dipped almost imperceptibly, and you knew he was aware that you had awoken, that you had been watching him. You waited, holding your breath, to see what he would do. He rose from the chair and, without ever fully looking your way, exited his quarters.

You stared at the door. It bothered you that you felt a tug, that you felt lonely and wanted him there in bed with you. Not touching you, simply near you. His presence itself. Your stomach once more made known your hunger. Yet another reason you wanted him to return. Perhaps he would feed you if he realized your current state.

You spent the rest of the sleep cycle alone. Breakfast was brought to you by a ‘trooper. He handed you the food as well as the vitamin you were to take. Given that you were still bound, he waited until you were finished eating—at times assisting you in taking bites—before leaving. Not long thereafter, another stormtrooper came to retrieve you. He escorted you out of Kylo Ren’s quarters. You did not struggle in the least. There were ‘troopers and offices everywhere. Not to mention the fact that you weren’t a pilot, so escape was impossible. And you would need plenty of time to mess with their systems in order to do any real damage; time that you did not have and would not be granted.

The stormtrooper took you to an interrogation room. You recognized the table to which you would be chained from the holoprojection Kylo Ren had watched when he had pinned you down. The restraints from your wrists were removed, only for you to be affixed to the table. The ‘trooper also hooked you up to a device that displayed your vitals. As the stormtrooper was finishing with his tasks, General Hux strode into the room. The heart monitor displayed the alteration, bringing a smirk to the redhead’s lips.

“It appears my reputation precedes me,” he said conversationally. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. You knew what he wanted; he had questioned Kylo Ren about it the previous day. “I am told you’re rather stubborn when it comes to divulging information.” His hands, which were previously crossed behind his back, came towards you. He used one to lift part of the front of your shirt. His other hand traced along the scar from where Kylo Ren had pierced you with his lightsaber. “I have heard of your attempted escapes, of the way you were able to obtain a blaster and fire at Ren. He allowed you far too many liberties.”

“You believe you can do better?” you asked, watching his every move, feeling his gloved fingertips on your flesh. His gaze jerked up to your face, however he said nothing and revealed nothing in his expression. You waited several seconds before saying, “You aren’t here to interrogate me.”

“You’re Ren’s prisoner, that is understood.” His touch at last left you. You swallowed thickly. “It simply occurred to me that I had failed to welcome you aboard the Finalizer.”

“What a gaudy name,” you bit out. His lips quirked up; General Hux gave you a wry grin that had you averting your gaze. The door to the interrogation room opened. Kylo Ren entered, hardly glancing the redhead’s way. He walked directly to you, silently assessing you. You stared at his boots while attempting to throw up your mental walls. He set a hand to your head, and you started screaming as you felt him invading your mind. It felt as though he was digging around, every so often sending sharp tendrils into you that caused your brain to register pain.

“We do have the logs that show which ships the Resistance preferred when sending the cells to train,” General Hux drawled. Your mind flashed to the shuttles despite your want to keep any such information away. Kylo Ren shifted a step closer, seeing whatever you thought. Being deprived of conversation, most cues from a person other than the Knight himself sparked memories that you could not keep out of Ren’s reach. “Such similar models. Ones hardly anyone would question. Were they stolen?”

All at once, Kylo Ren jerked his hand away from you. You screamed in frustration, struggling against your restraints. He turned on his heel, walking out of the room. General Hux followed him without another word to you. Squeezing your eyes closed, you cursed yourself, your treacherous mind for having given away the identification number of your ship. Not the false one that was uploaded for in case anyone tried to contact it. The real one; the one that was on the official logs of the New Republic and Resistance. The one that would allow them to see when you had trained, for them to know if the two sister cells had journeyed to the planets before or after you. It gave them a better starting point to hunt down more of your allies. You sobbed, slamming your head back against the table and screaming out profanities.

It was not long before Urvno intruded in on your fit of rage. You sobered somewhat, your eyes darting directly to what was in his hands. A catheter, which you knew indicated they planned on keeping you strapped to the table for longer. Your face flushed with indignation as Urvno inserted the catheter. You felt yourself crying quietly, shaking your head and cursing the First Order. The physician did not speak much to you, except to explain what he was doing. He had good bedside manner, you had to give him that despite being aligned with the enemy.

Three days before Urvno returned to remove the catheter completely. A stormtrooper entered the room after him, unhooked you from the table, and led you to a secluded place where you were hosed down much as you had been in the past. The clothing you were given this time was gray. It reminded you of the uniforms the technicians you had passed by on the ship wore. You grimaced as you tugged on the clothing, your still-healing hand not much help. Urvno met you in one of the corridors, where he unwrapped your fingers. You winced a bit as he touched them, however the pain was nothing in comparison to how badly it had felt in the past. He hummed, stating that they seemed to be healing well. He left them out of their bindings for the time being, mentioning that he wanted to let your skin breathe. You could see why. It was rather slimy looking. Urvno cautioned you to refrain from doing much with the fingers still, though he would later x-ray the bones to see when he wanted you to begin small exercises.

The physician walked away after a nod in the direction of the ‘trooper that was escorting you to—you really did not know where. You would have assumed back to the interrogation room, your newest cell, however the corridor he turned you down was not one you had walked down before. As you were led forward, something dark caught your attention. It was a familiar shape in the corner of your eye. You paused, turning your head. The stormtrooper hesitated, no doubt also aware of Kylo Ren’s presence. The Knight’s back was to the pair of you. He was gazing out one of the many windows of the Star Destroyer. Star gazing, you realized, a bit startled.

You turned on your feet, yet did not move closer. The ‘trooper tensed, and you could hear his sharp inhale when Kylo Ren turned his head to the side. He did not look over his shoulder completely, yet still the Knight showed that he was aware of your presence. It took another three seconds, however at last the man made a gesture with his hand that the stormtrooper appeared to recognize. He walked around you and away. You remained in the hallway, your gaze on your captor.

Kylo Ren returned his gaze to the stars. You were aware that he could keep track of you with the Force. Likewise, he could stop you in an instant with that same power should you attempt to walk away. You took a step closer in his direction. No reaction.

“How long until I die?” you asked. It seemed as though you had posed this question to him a million times. As always, he never answered it. You released a light growl of frustration before closing the distance between the two of you. You were standing at his side, watching both your reflection and his in the glass. The stars filtered in and out of your vision, however your focus remained predominately on the man. “Do you get bored with me? Is that why you ignore me?” You wondered if he was even listening to you. “Creature?” His hand twitched then slowly clenched into a fist. Kylo Ren did not verbally respond to you.

You grit your teeth and stepped around so that you were facing him straight on. Alas, he was taller than you and simply continued to stare out at the stars. You wanted to hit him more than anything. Yet you knew there would be severe consequences to those actions. So, instead, you turned and stared out the window as well. He took a step closer, your back flush with his body. You relaxed against him, thankful for some semblance of human contact that wasn’t simply another reminder that you were a prisoner. If you closed your eyes right then, you could pretend you were home. You did not close your eyes, though. Your attention was once more on the reflection in the glass.

Kylo Ren soon set his hands on your hips, pushing down your pants. You said and did nothing, still watching the glass. When your panties were removed as well, you felt blood rushing to your face. His hands disappeared for a moment behind you, and you could hear him adjusting his robes and freeing himself from the confines of his pants. Your breath hitched when Kylo Ren used his feet to nudge aside yours, spreading your legs. He placed his hands on your hips again, tilting you back and exposing your cunt. He dropped a hand towards your pussy, spreading your lips so that you could see everything in full detail. Your lips parted and your eyebrows rose. He positioned himself at your entrance and started to push up inside.

Your face was hotter than ever as you watched this all in the reflection. Every minute detail, the way your body opened up for him. You finally had to turn your gaze towards the side. He chuckled, pushing up into you entirely. You were wetter for him than you had ever been, the view having been an erotic sight you had never previously observed. Kylo Ren groaned out his approval. He set his mouth near your ear, the vocoder once more making his voice deeper.

“Look how well you swallow me, tooke,” he moaned out whilst rolling his hips. It was with a wet noise that your body welcomed his, your juices slicking his cock. Your eyes betrayed you, darting for half a second to the glass. That was all that was needed, however. You had seen exactly what he was talking about. “Mm…do you miss this, tooke?” You swallowed thickly, trying to will away your arousal. The fingers that were keeping your outer lips parted for him started to rub you, up and down in time with the thrusts he had started. Two more thrusts then his hips stilled. You whimpered, hating yourself for that pathetic, needy noise.

He’s my enemy, you reminded yourself. Your enemy bucked up into your wet cunt, and your body betrayed you further as it met his thrust halfway. Both of you groaned.

Footsteps entered your ears. Your heart raced, drumming loudly in your ears. Kylo Ren rocked into you, ignoring the stormtrooper that was making his rounds; said man quickly hurried forward, apparently unsure how to react at the sight of Kylo Ren fucking you. Your inner walls clenched around him as the adrenaline of being caught in your current state proved to increase your arousal.

He’s my enemy! you repeated as he hooked his mask against your neck, nuzzling you. You gulped down air at the display of affection. You had known for some time that his interest in you was only increasing—for reasons you did not know, nor did you care to. A part of you wondered if he even knew what he was doing, if he understood his actions.

Your thoughts were distracted when he hooked both of his arms under your legs, holding them apart. You were forced to lean back into him to keep from falling. This only proved to allow for a better sight of his cock disappearing into your body. “Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, tears pricking at your eyes at the intense sensations coursing through your body.

“You still have such a tight pussy for me, tooke,” he moaned against you. Your body tugged at his cock, drawing it in further. You sucked in your bottom lip, your teeth pressing down on it as you threw your head back, hitting it against his shoulder.

He’s my enemy, damn it! He felt so fucking good in you.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” You could not tear your eyes away from the sight presented to you in the glass. Your juices were running down his cock, slicking it and making it shine. Your nipples hardened at the sight. You knew he was watching the reflection as well. When he picked up his pace, your eyelids fluttered repeatedly.

“Nnn…shit…fuck…mmm…” You gulped in air again and tried to silence yourself. But then he was moving even faster, his cock throbbing inside of you, your vaginal walls pulsating around him. “Yes!” Encouraged by your shout, which you mentally cursed yourself for, he moved one of his arms so that your leg was still held up in the crook of his arm while his fingers found your clit. He was stroking something inside of you that had you panting then greedily gulping in air as you tried to regulate your breathing. Blood roared in your ears, and you arched as you came, squirting and cumming around him. He did not stop moving within you, which caused your body to practically convulse as wave after wave of intense pleasure hit you throughout orgasm.

“You like that, tooke?” he asked breathily.

“Nnyeah. Mmm…yeah.” Shut up, shut up, shut up!

“You want me to fuck your throat while you cum again?”

“Oh, stars.” Your mouth was open in a large o as he pulled you off his cock and lowered you onto the ground. Your vaginal walls were clenching around nothing, your open mouth soon filled with his length. He wasted no time in fucking your face, his hands on either side of your head while he used the Force to stimulate your sensitive clit. And then it felt like something was inside of you as well. You whimpered, whining around him. The vibrations caused him to swear and throw his head back, his hot cum filling your mouth so that you were swallowing repeatedly around him. Your second orgasm hit you just as another stormtrooper passed the hallway. You could hear him drop his weapon, scramble to pick it up, and then go running, as though scared he had invoked Kylo Ren’s anger. Said Knight pulled out of your mouth when he had fully softened. “You’re so…oh…gnnn…oh, fuck.” You had to press your thighs tightly together as you shuddered. Then, after taking a deep breath, you tried again. “You’re deplorable.”

He laughed, tucked himself away, and then squatted in front of you. “Do you want those caps off your teeth, tooke?” Your eyelashes fluttered as you stared at him. You were grateful that he did not stoop to accusing you of flirting with him. “Hmm?”

“I won’t…make deals with you,” you said. Your bravado, however, was shattered when he thrust two fingers into your cunt. “Nnn…I hate you.” He paused in his actions then continued them a moment later. “You should hate me too.” Again his hand stilled. “You should hate me.”

“You don’t hate me, tooke.”

“I do.”

“No. You pity me. You miss me. You may want me dead, but that has more to do with what I stand for. With what I support. You hate the First Order. But, tooke, you do not hate me personally.”

“You’ve tortured me—raped me, broken my fingers. I—“

“You’ve repeatedly attempted to kill me.” He raised his head, looking towards the window. “You didn’t push me away just now, tooke. A part of you wanted it.”

“N-no. I was caught off guard. I…” You blushed at the memory of how his cock had disappeared into your wet cunt. Kylo Ren resumed fucking you with his fingers.

“Tell me to stop,” he teased. You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling your body reacting. You were unable to tell him to stop, too busy choking down a sob as tears began to spill. Kylo Ren, all the same, withdrew his fingers from you and sighed. “Would you like those caps removed, tooke?”

“And give up what in return?” you snapped, screaming at him with tears running down your face.

“You may not refer to me as ‘creature’.” You waited for more. But there was none.

You wished he were wrong, that you did hate him on a personal level. You despised the things he did, what he stood for. But he was right; you pitied him too much to hate him. And the fact that he did not hate you only worsened things. It only made you pity him more, because he was so willing to do something to please you for the sake of you viewing him as a human. As himself, not some depraved creature. It forced you to remember that, once upon a time, he had been General Organa’s son. He had belonged to the light only to fall—and no one had caught him.

[And once upon a time, Those monsters were heroes. To sing, to laud—all in their name. But darkness chases after light, And the shadows of our judgment Enshrouded the heroes, drowning them.]

[etlunainmorte]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

IV

***

Once inside, V noticed that not only the lobby got to be lavished with such care and attention when it comes to decoration.

Nico’s unit was surprisingly neat and decorated in such a way that made Nero stare in disbelief and V look with wonder. Several paintings that depicted some popular stories of the Greek Mythology, like the sojourns of Heracles, the forbidden love of Aphrodite and Ares, and the abduction of Persephone, hung on the wall. There were fragile things around, like some painted vases, that would surely make anyone be mindful of their movements. There were even some old collections, like Homer, Alighieri, and even Lovecraft, on the shelves located on the beige - and - black - ensemble living room, small, but impressive, all the same. But, most importantly, there was a classic feel, and distinct scent, about the whole place that simply made V right at home.

“Looks like someone feels comfortable.” Nero said, but he was ignored as V practically strode directly towards the glass top table in the living room where a black violin case was left forgotten.

The markings on V’s skin vanished as Griffon and Shadow made their way out and made themselves comfortable like their master.

Nico came in, bringing in the delivery of pizza that just arrived a few minutes ago.

“Who knew someone like you could own a place like this?” Nero mocked the woman, pointing at the impossibly beautiful and cozy place. “Surely doesn’t sound like you.”

“Shut it, psycho!” Nico shot back, enjoying her banter with Nero and unceremoniously dropping the three boxes of pizza on the table near the violin case, startling V a bit. “And just to inform ya, I don’t own this fancy place.”

“Whoa, then who lives here?” Griffon, who has made himself comfortable on top of the shelves, joined in on the conversation. “Don’t tell me you stole it!”

“No, little chicken! Any questions?” Nico screamed at Griffon’s face, almost making the demonic bird fall off the shelves in fright. “I’m livin’ here for a while, and I will appreciate it if ya don’t make a mess, or else I’ll throw you out,… or cook you in a steel pot!” She collapsed on the comfortable black sofa beside Nero and crossed her legs. “Any more questions, huh, little chickee?”

She reached into her pocket for a cigar and immediately stopped, suddenly looking horrified. She shook her head and cursed under her breath.

“What’s wrong, given up with that nasty habit of yours?” Nero asked, already opening a box and digging in.

“No, it’s just that,…” Nico said, fidgeting with her fingers. “She doesn’t allow it here.”

“Who?” Nero said, mouth already full of the special loaded beef supreme.

Nico pointed at the violin case in V’s gentle hands ( in a space of a few seconds, nobody noticed the tattooed man as he picked it up ). “The one who owned that, and this place.”

The childish smile on V’s face disintegrated as he carefully out the violin case back down on the table. “Then, I guess I shall have to ask her first. Where is she?”

Nico shrugged. “Dunno. Said she’ll be back before sunset.”

“But, it’s already half past six.” Nero retorted, mouth full of his third helping of the beef supreme.

“Yeah, well, she’ll get by.” Nico answered, reaching into her pocket and producing a small piece of black envelope. “What we need to focus on right now is this.”

As Nico put the envelope down on the table, V sat at the sofa across her and Nero, eyeing the suspicious thing with furrowed eyebrows.

“This is an RSVP from a wealthy man who lives just a few blocks away from here.” Nico explained.

Nero chuckled, already picking up his fourth helping of the pizza. “Is that an invitation for a fancy party, or something?”

“See for yourself.”

Nero was about to pick the envelope with his oily, messy hands when V stealthily snatched it away with his gloved hand, immediately tearing it open. And before he could extract the actual invitation inside, he carefully glanced at Nico and Nero’s direction.

“If I may?” He said in a low voice, his smirk truly branding him as the mysterious man that they knew.

“Go ahead.” Nico conceded, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Thank you.” He said, finally extracting the small piece of paper inside and reading its contents aloud. “You who are brave enough to face the wrath of the Gods, come to this place this coming Saturday at exactly eight in the evening. It said nothing else,… except for the address,…” V’s eyes lazily went back to the note, scanning it and making sure that he would not miss even the tiniest bit of detail, then looked at them once more. “… and the dress code.”

“A riddle, huh?” Nero said. “Sure doesn’t sound like Devil May Cry business.”

“You’re wrong right there.” Nico muttered, having her first slice of pizza. “That exact invitation was sent to others within the country. Devil Hunters, to be exact. Hey, V, wanna eat?”

“I’m good, thank you.” V answered, outright politely refusing the offer.

“How did you even know that?” Nero asked.

Nico leaned in closer to Nero like she was going to tell a huge secret. “So, I have contact with the others, like Lady and Trish. It seems that they also received the invitation. They even mentioned some famous and obscure names in the Devil Hunting business who got the invitation.”

V listened in, absorbing every piece of information he could take.

“And, let me mention this - Dante also received one.”

All of a sudden, all three of them heard a yelping sound near the window. Griffom almost fell off the shelves while the two men stood up, drawing sword and cane, ready for battle.

“Someone’s listening!” Nero said, revving his Red Rose.

“Looks like we have an,… unwanted visitor.” V whispered, slamming his cane against his left palm several times, ready to give some beatings. “Best to make it at home - ”

“Guys, guys! Stop!” Nico practically shrieked, standing up between the men and the window where they heard the suspicious sound. “What did I say about making a mess?!”

“Hey, hey! There’s an intruder right - AHH!” Griffon flew off the shelves, almost ripping the cream curtains when the tattooed woman suddenly grabbed him by the beak and forcefully threw him across the room, making both Nero and V dodge the incoming projectile. Shadow, who was actually unfazed all throughout the ordeal, looked up as Griffon flew, involuntarily, from point A to point B, and went back to lounging on the carpeted floor near V, chin resting on sleek, black forelegs.

“To not make any?” Nero muttered, answering Nico’s question but still not willing to put his weapon down.

“Exactly! That’s just the - ah - neighbor’s cat!”

“That,…” V said, pointing at the window using his cane as an extension of his arm. “… does not sound like a feline, at least to my ears.”

“Okay, okay, guys! Trust me and put your weapons down. Thank you!” Nico breathed a sigh of relief as the men calmed down a bit. “Now, as I was saying, we must go to this event and find out what this, wrath of the Gods, is!”

“We cannot go shorthanded.” V mentioned, still looking at the window suspiciously. “If we take the riddle in a very literal sense, then,… we would not have enough strength. We would be dealing with the wrath of the Gods,… after all.”

“That’s where I come in!” Nico crossed her arms and smiled proudly. “Nero, how’s the breaker coming along?”

Nero held up a blue metal arm which V shamefully did not take notice of before. “It’s fine, sure.”

“Oh, yeah? Then, I’ll be making new ones.”

“Isn’t this enough?”

“No!” Nico screamed, then turned towards V, and using the same tone she used on Nero, she spoke to him, making his eyes leave the window. “And, you! You seem interested in all this, yes?”

“As a matter of fact, I'am.” And it was the plain truth.

“Then, go get your own formal wear! I can’t provide you with one. I’m an artisan, not a freaking, fancy tailor!”

“Wait, like, right now?” Nero asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Duh?! Are you, like, gonna wait till Saturday for that? Go, go, GO!” Nico, despite her diminutive size, tried to push both Nero and V towards the door, making the two of them leave.

But, why?

Nero might be easily swayed by the woman, but V remained sharp. His eyes lingered for a second at the direction of the window when Nico snapped her fingers right in front of his eyes.

“Hey, hey, if you’re looking for some chicks, then you’re in the wrong place!” Nico sassed. “Get moving!”

V sighed, getting annoyed by the woman. What was she hiding from them?

He called in Griffon and Shadow, who went to him without question, and followed Nero outside, hearing the woman close the door quickly as soon as they got out.

And as soon as the two were safely out, Nico hustled towards the place V was intently staring at, drew the heavy curtains, and revealed the wide - eyed girl who was just hiding at the balcony right behind the window pane. Nico opened the window and let the girl in.

“Are you crazy?!” She shouted at the girl. “Why would you be hiding there? This is your home, for crying out loud! Are you a thief, or something?!”

You just looked at Nico, (E/C) eyes still wide, chest still heaving.

“It’s him, Nico.” You said.

“I’m sorry, what?”

You grabbed Nico’s shoulders and gave them a mighty shake. “It’s him! The man with the violin in my visions!”

“Who?!”

“The one with the markings on his skin!”

It was Nico’s turn to have widened eyes. She looked behind her at the door the two men just walked out of, then looked back at you. “The mysterious man? Are you sure about that?”

Yes, you were very certain of it. “It. Is. HIM!”

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

[thedyingmoon]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe wherein V, Nero, and Nico get to eat pizza together. 🖤

~ I really wanted to dedicate this to everyone who liked the first four parts. Thank you so much! 🖤

~ And to @acieoj , I hope I'm not ruining your sleep again. 🖤

~ And also to @heaven-on-a-landslide , you're a very nice person. Thank you so much for the likes and reblogs. 🖤

~ Enjoy! 🖤

***

IV

Once inside, V noticed that not only the lobby got to be lavished with such care and attention when it comes to decoration.

Nico's unit was surprisingly neat and decorated in such a way that made Nero stare in disbelief and V look with wonder. Several paintings that depicted some popular stories of the Greek Mythology, like the sojourns of Heracles, the forbidden love of Aphrodite and Ares, and the abduction of Persephone, hung on the wall. There were fragile things around, like some painted vases, that would surely make anyone be mindful of their movements. There were even some old collections, like Homer, Alighieri, and even Lovecraft, on the shelves located on the beige - and - black - ensemble living room, small, but impressive, all the same. But, most importantly, there was a classic feel, and distinct scent, about the whole place that simply made V right at home.

"Looks like someone feels comfortable." Nero said, but he was ignored as V practically strode directly towards the glass top table in the living room where a black violin case was left forgotten.

The markings on V's skin vanished as Griffon and Shadow made their way out and made themselves comfortable like their master.

Nico came in, bringing in the delivery of pizza that just arrived a few minutes ago.

"Who knew someone like you could own a place like this?" Nero mocked the woman, pointing at the impossibly beautiful and cozy place. "Surely doesn't sound like you."

"Shut it, psycho!" Nico shot back, enjoying her banter with Nero and unceremoniously dropping the three boxes of pizza on the table near the violin case, startling V a bit. "And just to inform ya, I don't own this fancy place."

"Whoa, then who lives here?" Griffon, who has made himself comfortable on top of the shelves, joined in on the conversation. "Don't tell me you stole it!"

"No, little chicken! Any questions?" Nico screamed at Griffon's face, almost making the demonic bird fall off the shelves in fright. "I'm livin' here for a while, and I will appreciate it if ya don't make a mess, or else I'll throw you out,... or cook you in a steel pot!" She collapsed on the comfortable black sofa beside Nero and crossed her legs. "Any more questions, huh, little chickee?"

She reached into her pocket for a cigar and immediately stopped, suddenly looking horrified. She shook her head and cursed under her breath.

"What's wrong, given up with that nasty habit of yours?" Nero asked, already opening a box and digging in.

"No, it's just that,..." Nico said, fidgeting with her fingers. "She doesn't allow it here."

"Who?" Nero said, mouth already full of the special loaded beef supreme.

Nico pointed at the violin case in V's gentle hands ( in a space of a few seconds, nobody noticed the tattooed man as he picked it up ). "The one who owned that, and this place."

The childish smile on V's face disintegrated as he carefully out the violin case back down on the table. "Then, I guess I shall have to ask her first. Where is she?"

Nico shrugged. "Dunno. Said she'll be back before sunset."

"But, it's already half past six." Nero retorted, mouth full of his third helping of the beef supreme.

"Yeah, well, she'll get by." Nico answered, reaching into her pocket and producing a small piece of black envelope. "What we need to focus on right now is this."

As Nico put the envelope down on the table, V sat at the sofa across her and Nero, eyeing the suspicious thing with furrowed eyebrows.

"This is an RSVP from a wealthy man who lives just a few blocks away from here." Nico explained.

Nero chuckled, already picking up his fourth helping of the pizza. "Is that an invitation for a fancy party, or something?"

"See for yourself."

Nero was about to pick the envelope with his oily, messy hands when V stealthily snatched it away with his gloved hand, immediately tearing it open. And before he could extract the actual invitation inside, he carefully glanced at Nico and Nero's direction.

"If I may?" He said in a low voice, his smirk truly branding him as the mysterious man that they knew.

"Go ahead." Nico conceded, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Thank you." He said, finally extracting the small piece of paper inside and reading its contents aloud. "You who are brave enough to face the wrath of the Gods, come to this place this coming Saturday at exactly eight in the evening. It said nothing else,... except for the address,..." V's eyes lazily went back to the note, scanning it and making sure that he would not miss even the tiniest bit of detail, then looked at them once more. "... and the dress code."

"A riddle, huh?" Nero said. "Sure doesn't sound like Devil May Cry business."

"You're wrong right there." Nico muttered, having her first slice of pizza. "That exact invitation was sent to others within the country. Devil Hunters, to be exact. Hey, V, wanna eat?"

"I'm good, thank you." V answered, outright politely refusing the offer.

"How did you even know that?" Nero asked.

Nico leaned in closer to Nero like she was going to tell a huge secret. "So, I have contact with the others, like Lady and Trish. It seems that they also received the invitation. They even mentioned some famous and obscure names in the Devil Hunting business who got the invitation."

V listened in, absorbing every piece of information he could take.

"And, let me mention this - Dante also received one."

All of a sudden, all three of them heard a yelping sound near the window. Griffom almost fell off the shelves while the two men stood up, drawing sword and cane, ready for battle.

"Someone's listening!" Nero said, revving his Red Rose.

"Looks like we have an,... unwanted visitor." V whispered, slamming his cane against his left palm several times, ready to give some beatings. "Best to make it at home - "

"Guys, guys! Stop!" Nico practically shrieked, standing up between the men and the window where they heard the suspicious sound. "What did I say about making a mess?!"

"Hey, hey! There's an intruder right - AHH!" Griffon flew off the shelves, almost ripping the cream curtains when the tattooed woman suddenly grabbed him by the beak and forcefully threw him across the room, making both Nero and V dodge the incoming projectile. Shadow, who was actually unfazed all throughout the ordeal, looked up as Griffon flew, involuntarily, from point A to point B, and went back to lounging on the carpeted floor near V, chin resting on sleek, black forelegs.

"To not make any?" Nero muttered, answering Nico's question but still not willing to put his weapon down.

"Exactly! That's just the - ah - neighbor's cat!"

"That,..." V said, pointing at the window using his cane as an extension of his arm. "... does not sound like a feline, at least to my ears."

"Okay, okay, guys! Trust me and put your weapons down. Thank you!" Nico breathed a sigh of relief as the men calmed down a bit. "Now, as I was saying, we must go to this event and find out what this, wrath of the Gods, is!"

"We cannot go shorthanded." V mentioned, still looking at the window suspiciously. "If we take the riddle in a very literal sense, then,... we would not have enough strength. We would be dealing with the wrath of the Gods,... after all."

"That's where I come in!" Nico crossed her arms and smiled proudly. "Nero, how's the breaker coming along?"

Nero held up a blue metal arm which V shamefully did not take notice of before. "It's fine, sure."

"Oh, yeah? Then, I'll be making new ones."

"Isn't this enough?"

"No!" Nico screamed, then turned towards V, and using the same tone she used on Nero, she spoke to him, making his eyes leave the window. "And, you! You seem interested in all this, yes?"

"As a matter of fact, I'am." And it was the plain truth.

"Then, go get your own formal wear! I can't provide you with one. I'm an artisan, not a freaking, fancy tailor!"

"Wait, like, right now?" Nero asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Duh?! Are you, like, gonna wait till Saturday for that? Go, go, GO!" Nico, despite her diminutive size, tried to push both Nero and V towards the door, making the two of them leave.

But, why?

Nero might be easily swayed by the woman, but V remained sharp. His eyes lingered for a second at the direction of the window when Nico snapped her fingers right in front of his eyes.

"Hey, hey, if you're looking for some chicks, then you're in the wrong place!" Nico sassed. "Get moving!"

V sighed, getting annoyed by the woman. What was she hiding from them?

He called in Griffon and Shadow, who went to him without question, and followed Nero outside, hearing the woman close the door quickly as soon as they got out.

And as soon as the two were safely out, Nico hustled towards the place V was intently staring at, drew the heavy curtains, and revealed the wide - eyed girl who was just hiding at the balcony right behind the window pane. Nico opened the window and let the girl in.

"Are you crazy?!" She shouted at the girl. "Why would you be hiding there? This is your home, for crying out loud! Are you a thief, or something?!"

You just looked at Nico, (E/C) eyes still wide, chest still heaving.

"It's him, Nico." You said.

"I'm sorry, what?"

You grabbed Nico's shoulders and gave them a mighty shake. "It's him! The man with the violin in my visions!"

"Who?!"

"The one with the markings on his skin!"

It was Nico's turn to have widened eyes. She looked behind her at the door the two men just walked out of, then looked back at you. "The mysterious man? Are you sure about that?"

Yes, you were very certain of it. "It. Is. HIM!"

***

🖤🖤🖤

[eclecticminded]

Professor Barba part eight

 @ottosuricato asked: More Professor Barba???? Pleaseeeee

Of course!! Hope you like!

Other parts

It’s winter break and you need to get away.

Warnings: Sex. Cursing I think? Food and alcohol mention.

Words:1676

Tags: @southsiderepresent @glimmerglittergirl @madpanda75  @southern-magnolia @katmstanton @esparza-army @sweetsummertime99  @obfuscateyummy @lifeisbetterwithbarba  @lyssa1385  @hux-me-up   @bowieisawizard @sleepylunarwolf @mrsrafaelbarba anyone else ask!

Also I have a Kofi (link in blog description) if anyone wants to donate!

With winter break in full swing, you and Rafael were freer to see each other.  He already had his next semester planned and had all the time in the world for you. You spent most nights at his place because it was further from campus. Right before Christmas you joined him at a party with his old work buddies, finally meeting the rest of the Squad. Noah was on you like white on rice, never wanting to be away from his best friend. When it was time for bed you put him down and spent time with the adults, no one seemed bothered by the age difference. Except maybe Amanda, but she just took time to warm up Sonny assured you.

 Rafael assumed you were going home for Christmas, and you didn’t correct him. He spent the day with his mother and you spent it alone in your apartment trying not to cry. You made him promise to let you know when he was home safely, and when he did you showed up shortly after sobbing.

 “Cariño? I thought you went home,” he welcomed you into his warm arms and led you to the sofa.

 “I couldn’t afford it, not that I’d want to go back there. I’ve told you the horror stories,” you buried your face in his chest and allowed his scent to calm you.

 “Why didn’t you tell me, I would have brought you with me to mami’s,” he kissed your temple and played with your hair.

 “Didn’t wanna be a bother,” you shrugged.

 “You’re not a bother,” he squeezed you tight.

 “Can I stay here tonight, don’t wanna be alone anymore today,” you reached for a tissue and wiped your face.

 “Of course,” he smiled and you retired for the night, as close as could be even in your sleep.

 The next morning you managed to wake up before Rafael, which was rare, but with your insomnia and erratic sleeping pattern it happened sometimes. After starting the coffee, you hopped in the shower. The smell woke him up, and the sound of water drew him to you. He climbed in behind you and scrubbed your back.

 “Good morning guapo,” you turned to rinse your back and stole a kiss.

 “Morning,” he mumbled, not fully awake yet. You ushered him under the steaming water and massaged his scalp, finding just the spot to make him softly moan in appreciation. His body was next and before you knew it, you were kissing again.

 “I like mornings with you,” you beamed and wrapped around his middle.

 “Do you have plans for the rest of break,” he asked out of the blue.

 “Just spending time with the sexiest man I know,” you purred.

 “Oh I have competition, “he teased.

 “Only with yourself,” you winked.

 “Come away with me,” he lifted your chin to look you in the eyes.

 “Where,” you whispered, suddenly aware of how quiet it was.

 “Anywhere you want,” he kissed you under the water stream, the morning only just beginning.

 When Rafael said “anywhere” he was hoping for crystal clear waters in the Caribbean or Europe. But your lack of passport made that a problem. You put in an application and left for two weeks in California. He’d be back just in time for faculty meetings and you’d be back to get your books.

 The very first thing you did was christen the room by fucking on every surface; the bed, sink, shower, chairs, sofa, desk, and even end tables.  That was followed by dinner in a small bistro and a long watch on the beach. Rafael kissed you under the stars and it felt like magic. He refused sex on the beach however, insisting it was illegal and he couldn’t be caught like that. You reluctantly agreed and went back to the room.

 Most nights it was nice enough that after midnight when people were asleep, you made love on the balcony. Sometimes against the railing overlooking the city. Sometimes in a chair. Once or twice on a pile of blankets and pillows. The city was fun to explore; you rented a car and went on wild adventures. You did the tourist thing, but also went to places only locals knew about.

 One night you had dinner at Rafael’s friend Nick’s place. His kids were over, but he insisted the more the merrier. They adored you as much as Noah did, and Rafael started to think about having kids for the first time in his life. You listened to stories about Nick’s new wife and Rafael teased you went heart eyed.

 “I love love Rafi, leave me alone,” you stuck your tongue out. Zara wanted to show you a drawing she did and Gil wanted to show off his new video game. When you came back Rafael and Nick were talking in hushed voices, so you went to help with dishes but his wife waved you away.

 “What are you two talking about? I hope not me,” you grabbed a couple forgotten dishes to take to the kitchen.

 “Maybe we are,” Nick teased.

 “Oh shush you,” you rolled your eyes, he was already becoming a good friend, already asking you to watch his kids if they came to New York to visit since they adored you.

 “It’s a surprise,” Rafael winked and said his good byes. When you were leaving, he insisted on driving, something he didn’t normally do. You figured it was because you had more to drink than him and didn’t fight it. You didn’t pay much attention, singing along to the radio and holding Rafael’s hand was all you cared about. Until you didn’t recognize anything, too much sand and not enough buildings.

 “I think you went the wrong way love,” you looked around and tried to figure out what happened.

 “No I didn’t,” he tapped the gps.

 “Well my phone says are hotel is in the opposite direction,” you held it up for him to see.

 “Not going to the hotel,” he winked.

 “Is this when you finally reveal you’re a serial killer and are going to kill me? Is Nick your murder partner? I knew he liked me too easily,” you chuckled.

 “Nothing like that,” he pulled into a parking spot near a beach and led you out of the car.

 “Which part,” you teased.

 “Nick just likes you because you’re likeable,” he rolled his eyes and led you down the beach, your sandals filling with sand.

 “I knew you were a serial killer,” you gave up on your shoes and took them off, glass be dammed.

 “Then why are you following me,” he checked his phone then dragged you up a path you’d missed.

 “Must like you or something,” you shrugged and came to a halt beside him.

 “Surprise,” Rafael motioned to a small cave just off the beach hidden away from the main stretch.

 “You’re going to murder me in a cave, how romantic,” you pecked his cheek.

 “You wanted sex on the beach, I talked to Nick and he suggested this place,” he beamed and excitedly bounded down the small hill.

 “You asked Nick the best place to bone me,” you bit your lip to keep from laughing.

 “Yup! His lovely wife suggested in the water and not on the sand. Says you don’t want sand getting in places it shouldn’t.”

 “Fair point,” you stripped down and ran into the water.

 “Wait for me,” Rafael struggled with his pants.

 “Oh no it’s cold,” you screeched and he had to drag you further in. Just inside the mouth of the cave, it was warmer. Your feet could touch the bottom, the water coming just to your chest. The night sky was illuminated with a full moon as Rafael hungrily kissed you pressed into the cave wall. You stroked him, enjoying the moans slipping from his lips.

 “I need you,” he growled and lifted you into his arms, your legs locked behind him and he lowered you down onto his length. His mouth attached to your neck as he rocked in and out of you. Rafael was slow at first, taking his time with you. But soon his instincts took over and he was pounding into you. Your arms wrapped around him to keep from falling but still met him with every thrust.

 You came first, screaming his name into the darkness, it echoing around you. Rafael was close behind you with a grunted shout. He sat you back on your feet, and your knees buckled. He caught you and you both laughed. One more lingering kiss and you went back to hotel, thankful there were extra towels in the backseat.

 On your last full day in California, you were pouting on the balcony when Rafael returned with coffee. He knew not to press you, instead you enjoyed the sunrise together in silence. When you finally went inside to get dressed, he decided it was time.

 “What’s wrong,” he pulled you backwards and tight against him.

 “We can be a real couple here,” you hung your head, “I don’t want to return to reality.”

 “Me either,” he spun you around and hugged you.

 “It’s not fair,” you sighed.

 “I uh reviewed the rules,” Rafael leaned back to look down at you, “And there technically isn’t a rule about dating a student.”

 “Really,” your eyes lit up.

 “I’m not saying we should go around making out in class…but like the dean said, we can be discreet and it will be fine.”

 “I love you,” you yanked his head to yours and kissed him passionately, all tongue and teeth.

 “I love you too,” Rafael’s eyes sparkled when you broke apart to breathe, “Going home doesn’t change that.”

 “It better not,” you wagged your finger in his face and stripped to change.

 “Let’s spend the day naked in bed eating room service,” he suggested and threw his clothes to join yours.

 “Put that giant tub to use one more time,” you raised your eyebrows suggestively.

 “Absolutely,” he tackled you onto the bed, sending you into a fit of giggles.

[loverscreation]

2- FIRST DATE-ISH

Here's to V-Day, the start of a beautiful relationship. It took me forever to write this, but it's finally here. Thank you for all your patience!

About a month had passed since I met The Second, and we scheduled a movie for this evening. It was going to be just the two of us this time. No family, no friends. Just us… The intentions weren't set in stone, but that didn't take away from the joy.

This was by no means a formal event, but choosing an outfit was still stressful. I stared blankly at my closet, suddenly hating every choice.

Ping.

My music was interrupted by a message, causing me to check it in a hurry. Great, he was on his way, and I hadn’t even gotten dressed! Why must I be so indecisive?

The thrown-together outfit was something simple but cute. A long sleeve, tucked into high waisted jeans, topped off with casual black vans. You couldn't go wrong with that as a go-to, right? It was put on at record speed before my attention was set on makeup. The basics and a lipstick were enough for the occasion.

Hurrying to the bathroom mirror, I took in my appearance. It wasn’t bad! He’d never be able to tell I threw it all together in half an hour.

The other half hour was torturous. All that rushing was for nothing, now all that was left to do was wait. I should’ve taken longer getting ready.

But soon enough, there was a knock. My dog barked away and crowded the door at the intruder's beckon, but sliding through without her was a success. With my back to the now closed door, I smiled nervously at The Second, who had witnessed the struggle.

Hi,” I greeted with a breathless laugh.

He paused to take in my body language. The uneven breathing and tense muscles indicated I was nervous, however, he didn’t mention it. “Hello. Shall we go?”

Brushing off the awkward start, I straightened my posture. “Yes! We shall!”

He then offered me his elbow, which I happily looped my arm into. We strolled down the porch steps together like a princess being taken away from her prison.

Could you blame me for feeling that way? I was leaving to spend a night with my sharply dressed charming prince, who I was hooked arms with for all to see. This was far beyond the social status of my neighborhood too, the wandering eyes from across the street said as much. It didn't help that the man inhabiting the house across the way and I used to see each other (take that, Anthony). But still.

Upon our arrival at the vehicle, our arms unlinked and the back door was opened for me. A smile of gratitude was flashed his way before hopping in. He rounded the car and sat in the seat next to me.

The air was still as we took off. The radio was muted and no conversation took place for a good couple of minutes. Some higher power was to thank when The Second broke the silent spell.

“Could you turn the radio on?” The chauffeur did as requested, right hand reaching over to mess with the device. “Thank you.” A calm ballad carried through at a comforting volume.

Humming emitted from The Second, swooning my very being. My shoulders took on a less tense form as I not-so-secretly listened to the rich tones coming from him. His eyes looked to the side to see as much.

“You sing, correct? That is a requirement of musical theatre.” Looking me head on now, he lifted a curious eyebrow.

I nodded as I refused the urge to avoid eye contact. “I mean, sort of. I love to, but I've never taken lessons or been in a production before.” A chuckle slipped past my throat. “The most I've ever done was a karaoke contest in middle school.”

With continued interest, he continued his questioning. “Why have you started now instead of earlier in life? It is clearly a passion.”

“I guess I never had the opportunity, I was too busy learning how to dance,” my voice trailed off. That was a topic of shyness for me, though my lowered guard let it slip.

He gave a single nod of his head. “Ah, I see. It all makes sense now.”

“What makes sense?” It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Whatever he was speaking of went right over my head.

A hand gesture up and down my body. “You clearly take excellent care of your body…” My cheeks set fire. “And your posture is very proper. Would I be in the presence of a ballerina?”

I tucked a curl behind my ear. “Not an experienced one, I only started ballet a few years ago. I've been doing hip hop.”

His eyes held a glint of skepticism, which only half surprised me. This reaction wasn't a first time offender. “Intriguing. How long have you been dancing?”

Having to think back, I made a quick count. “I started in sixth grade so almost seven years now.”

The remainder of the car ride went a similar way, poking and prodding at my musical background. He seemed to notice my reminiscent attitude, taking advantage of it to keep me speaking since I was so quiet in our first encounter. Seven years of dancing shifted to eight years in band class, which turned into the fears of what theatre held. He just kept me talking like no other.

The vehicle pulled over to the curb right in front of the mall, idling as the driver waited for us to leave. The two of us climbed out, and like earlier, our arms hooked together.

The mall was overflowing with shoppers and viewers alike. The ticket line for movies was massive, but that was acceptable as we hadn't picked what movie we wished to watch.

Studying the board of options, we chatting lowly about what seemed interesting. Chick flicks weren't an option for either of us and the action movies seemed dull.

The horror movies proved to be of common acceptance.

Though I had agreed to a horror movie, I gave a disclaimer. “I do like horror, don't get me wrong, but I'm also a huge wimp about it. I just wanted to warn you now.” My cheeks heated in embarrassment.

The Second removed his sunglasses and pocketed them.“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow with a teasing quirk of his lips. “Will I have to protect you, dear Alys?”

My eyes rolled before I dramatically leaned against him. “Please, hold me, Emeritus! I don't know what I would do without your protection!” my tone was slightly sharpened with humor.

The first taste of my attitude made him draw a blank for a quick moment. He gave a weak shake of his head and chuckled.

The sweet sound of his enjoyment in the form of a laugh made me uncontrollably smile. “I'm glad you invited me out tonight,” I blurted. “It's just that I'm very thankful you're giving me a chance to get to know you.”

Heart to heart confessions was never his strong suit, though he managed a reply. “If you are anything, it is sweet.”

His tone may have been a bit hard for the subject matter, but I chose to believe he meant it. No coherent reply presented itself to my mind so I opted to give his arm a slight squeeze of endearment.

By the time I tuned back into reality, we were at the head of the line and The Second was ordering our tickets. The young boy running the booth gave us a look that could only resemble shame. It was about our ages no doubt. Yes, I'm an adult, but he is still much older than me. I released my company's arm out of anxiety, and my eyes drew downwards to study the tiled flooring.

Moments later we left for concessions.

I tried to blow off how small I felt from that uncomfortable interaction. My Emeritus of the evening seemed to notice my shifted behavior.

“People fear what they do not understand,” he stated. He was right, though unwanted feelings never make things easy.

I gave him a start of a smile and a nod. “It's hard but true.” He wasn't a spoonful of sugar type, but his logical thinking was comforting. Who cares about some ticket booth boy with a narrow understanding? I didn't need his approval.

The Second put a hand on my back, giving it a small rub before retracting. “What would you like to get? My treat.”

Having someone else pay for my things always made me feel guilty, but I pushed it aside. “Just a small drink and some popcorn sound alright.”

Once it was our turn to order, we stood at the tall counter, big enough to come close to my shoulders. This elicited an upward tug of my date's lips.

“A large popcorn and a medium coke,” The Second stated. The staff got to work, meanwhile, I was too busy being entertained by the idea that we'd be sharing our treats. As small of a deal as that was, it had an oddly romantic feel to it.

We were sent on our way a few moments later, him with the popcorn and me with the coke. The medium size was larger than life, having to occupy both my hands. I sipped from the straw every now and again as we walked down the long hallways to our stop. He held the door open for me, which I thanked him for with a sweet smile.

“Where would you like to sit,” he whispered in my ear with a hand on the small of my back.

Leaning into him, I replied with a sure answer. “The middle right behind the bar. It's perfect viewing level.” Maybe I'd seen too many movies in the cinema when I was younger, but I knew it to be true. Seemingly pleased with my response, we sat exactly where I suggested.

He must have been studying me like an anthropologist that night, always giving an entertained chuckle or quirk of his lips. How I took my seat was no exception. While he sat with a mostly proper posture with both feet on the ground and leaning into the seat slightly, I sat criss-cross in my seat with a straight back. Most people aren't small enough to do so comfortably, but I was.

Just like always, there was the longest wait imaginable for the movie to begin. The screen destroyed our patience with advertisements, though we got by with light conversation and popcorn.

I was overflowing with excitement when the movie began. It was moderately scary, but the movie itself actually wasn't that good. It was all jumpscares and a half assed plot, though most newer horror movies had the same fault.

The best part about it would have to be The Second's arm finding itself resting around my shoulders. During the first scare, I flinched and he pulled me into him. I could've sworn I was dreaming because it was too good to be true. But it was real, and it stayed there until the lights came on at the end.

“They do not make them like they used to,” he commented on the way out as he threw the empty popcorn bin away.

Following his lead, the drained cup was thrown out as well. “I couldn't agree more.”

There was no purpose of stopping at the any of the stores since they would be closing soon so we started to head for the exit.

He looked over at me with calm eyes. “Was tonight's movie a waste?” The wording of his sentence led me to believe that he actually wanted to ask if I enjoyed going out with him, though he didn't wish to say it.

Returning the gaze, I gave him a soft smile. Despite the quality of the movie, I wouldn't take it back for anything. “Not at all.” Judging by his silence, he was pleased with my answer.

Talking my anxiety down, I made the next move. I didn't have the will to look at him, though my small and slightly shaking hand meekly slide into his all the same. He gave my hand a squeeze of endearment to my surprise.

The way back to my house was very much the same. Our hands were locked, my soft humming and his singing lacing the air in the vehicle. I felt besides reality, off in my own world, though it soon came to an end.

The Second walked me to the door. After unlocking it, I turned to him.

“Thank you. Maybe the movie was a little laughable, but I had a really good time.” My eyes glistened with infatuation. “Is there any chance we can see eachother again?”

He nodded. “Yes, of course.” Thinking that was that, I was about ready to turn around and bid him goodnight. His voice stopped me. “Be mine,” he blurted out.

“What?” I blinked a few times in surprise. “Are you sure?” There were at least a million people on this earth that would be better than me, but his expression remained unmoved.

“I am sure.” He took both my hands in his, my heart fluttering about in my chest. “Tonight has opened my eyes. I want you to be mine, nothing less than that. What do you say?”

I tried to push the smile away, I really did, but there was no stopping it from spreading across my lips. Cupping the back of his neck, I got on my tip toes. he was still just out of reach. “Come here,” I said softly.

Leaning down like I requested, he was in my range. The softest of pecks was placed upon his cheek. I pulled away and opened my door. “I hope that answers your question.”

We shared a smile. “Goodnight, Alys.”

[tyrantisterror]

Thoughts on Song For Spider-Man

Remember that Song of Spider-Man book I bought a while back?  The tell-all book by the co-writer of Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark?  The one that I hoped would be what I’ve wanted since news of that play’s disastrous production started - i.e. an in depth explanation and analysis of the production, detailing every creative decision and disastrous misstep?

Well, it’s not quite that, unfortunately.  It’s more of a new piece of the Turn Off the Dark puzzle, rather than completed puzzle that I’ve been looking for.  The world has yet to produce the exhaustive documentary on that musical that I crave.  But as puzzle pieces go, it is a fairly large and enlightening one, albeit one that’s also deeply biased.  It’s the story of a disaster from the perspective of one of the key players in that disaster, and, as you’d expect, is full of “this wasn’t my fault!” explanations and pleas of ignorance.  I don’t know how much you can trust the narrative, even though (and honestly, because) it’s an enthralling and emotionally gripping read.

The biggest disappointment about the book for me is that it doesn’t go very deep into the creative journey of the musical, which is the aspect I’m most interested in.  Instead it focuses more on the managerial aspects of it, which is admittedly where the drama is.  There’s money woes, conflicts of personality, miscommunication, backstabbing, and negligence that leads to a lot of good people getting hurt - the juicy gossipy shit that drew most people in.  As trainwrecks go it’s pretty compelling stuff, and the author uses the benefit of hindsight to foreshadow eventual dooms well in advance.

It’s a fun read and sheds some light on how that infamously troubled production became “a machine that teaches humility,” but it’s not the whole story, and as such my lust for the ultimate Turn off the Dark autopsy remains unsated.

Some scattered notes:

Julie Taymor was really only in this to tell the story of Arachne, and in fact was only sold on the idea when one of the producers showed her a page of a Spider-Man comic that mentioned the myth.  The Arachne character and plotline was what ultimately got Julie fired, because not only did it shift focus from Spider-Man to an obscure Greek mythological character, but it also was built upon the musical’s worst songs AND required the most complicated set piece that no one could figure out how to accomplish, and yet Julie refused to let it go.

Incidentally, I’m nerdy enough to recognize from the brief description given in this book which Spider-Man comic the Arachne reference came from.  It was Ultimate Spider-Man #1, and is made by Norman Osborn, who in the context of that comic is presented as a pretentious ass who uses bullshit philosophy to cover up his delusions of grandeur.  There’s a bit of irony here is what I’m saying.

Another “oh god I AM a nerd” moment the book made me have: the writer claims that Green Goblin has used his goblin glider since his first appearance, but, um, ACTUALLY Green Goblin used a flying broomstick in his first few outings, and didn’t get the goblin glider until later.  I remember this fact because it was in the Complete Guide to Spider-Man book I got when I was thirteen, and because the picture of the Green Goblin riding a mechanical jet-powered broomstick was delightfully stupid.

The above two facts are why I desperately want to know more about the creative process of this play - on the one hand, it has some obscure elements of the Spider-Man comics in it, like Swarm, the nazi-made-out-of-bees supervillain.  On the other, it fucks up key aspects of the story, like having Uncle Ben get killed in a car crash that has nothing to do with Peter Parker whatsoever.

One of the things I gleaned was that most of the people involved - Julie Taymor, Bono, and the Edge specifically - seemed far more familiar withe the Sam Raimi movies than the comics, and also seemed more interested in their vague notion of what a superhero means rather than any actual pre-existing superhero story.  There’s an air of condescension towards the source material, but I’m not sure how much of that is my own biased assumptions at work, the author’s definite bias, or an actually true analysis of the creative team.  Again, I want a deeper look at what they were thinking!

One part of the creative process that was explained in an illuminating way regarded the music.  Apparently, part of Bono’s process in songwriting involves him writing lyrics in “Bonoglese,” where the lyrics are just random words and Seussian things that sound vaguely like words but are actually nonsense, all mixed together in a way that does make a coherent thought at all.  This explains why the lyrics in Turn Off the Dark’s songs are either instantly forgettable (and by that I mean you forget what the words were literally one second after they are sung) or, when memorable, are just... really bad, forced attempts at rhymes.

At one point Julie, Bono, the Edge, and the other writer agreed that they weren’t trying to make a musical so much as a “rock and roll circus experience,” which, y’know, is accurate.

The guy they got to replace Julie as director was actually FROM a circus.  That’s not a joke, he literally directed a bunch of different circus shows, including ones with live animals and shit.  So in some way an aspect of the original artistic vision remained.

As much as I love to make fun of this horrible show, reading the book did inspire some compassion in me.  These people were all passionately dedicated to a very grand artistic vision, and they accomplished a lot of stuff that has never been tried in theater before.  While a lot of horrible failures occurred, the amount of stuff they got right is still pretty notable, and a part of me wished they could find a way to make it work.

I felt especially bad when the book gets to the initial fan-reaction early in the musical’s production process, where I realized that the fan’s initial criticisms of the musical’s concepts did look kind of shallow and petty.  I felt like a bit of a jerk for a moment.

Then another part of me remembered that the one song Julie Taymor refused to cut, comparing the demand for its excision to having a mastectomy, was the song where Arachne tells her minions to go buy her hundreds of shoes so she can seduce Peter Parker, because lol women love shoe shopping and if they had eight legs they’d love it even more AMIRITE?  So, y’know, guilt rescinded, we were right to be skeptical.

That said, I am legitimately pissed that the producers adamantly refused to tape a single recording of the first version of Turn Off the Dark, aka Spider-Man 1.0, aka Julie Taymor’s (approximate) vision.  Julie herself begged them to do so before and after she was fired and they didn’t listen and that sucks.  I mean, it sounds like a trainwreck of a show, but it’s a trainwreck that’s BROADWAY HISTORY.  It should be preserved!  It belongs in a museum!

The tell-all book draws an obvious parallel between the relationship of Arachne (the brilliant and misunderstood but also megalomaniacal and controlling artist) and Spider-Man (the geeky young man who suddenly has great power and responsibility thrust onto him by the aforementioned older female artist, who he also has the hots for) and the relationship of Julie Taymor and himself.  It’s pretty clever but also, like, a huge dick move since it implies Julie Taymor is a tragic villain that the author was forced to destroy just like Spider-Man is forced to destroy Arachne.  Good writing, sure, but fucked up man.

“Spider-Man was not a musical, but rather a machine built to teach humility.”  A fuckin’ excellent description, even if the account of that machine’s creation is pretty heavily biased.

[letmeletmetrashyourlove]

Breaking Things

Summary: Billy finds companionship in his next-door neighbor after she witnesses him being punched by his father.

Author’s Note: The things being broken are hearts. Just so you know. Just short of 4k words

REQUESTS OPEN! FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

A new family had moved in next door nearly a year earlier. The Hargroves. I suspected they were a blended family, judging by how the siblings got along. Max, a girl, couldn’t be older than 14. She rode her skateboard around the block all the time. She came off as polite, but spunky. Her mother was also very proper, quiet and reserved.

Billy was the oldest sibling, my age. He had a hot rod car and a bad attitude. Although, he played it up more than he cared to admit. When the family came over to introduce themselves, he offered me a modest smirk, shaking my hand.

Come to learn that this was how Billy treated everybody. When he was in front of his parents, anyway. Without the oversight of his father, he was a crude, callous boy. Despite his prickly personality, he managed to win over the hearts of every girl in the school. Turns out teenagers really value the important life skill of being able to do the longest keg stand in Hawkins history.

With the Hargrove’s arrival came a few new echoes in the neighborhood. A skateboard on the asphalt, the rumble of a car engine… and screaming.

Every day, at eight o’clock in the evening on the dot, the screaming started. Short, sporadic bursts of hollering came throughout the day and continued into the night. But eight o’clock was invariably the loudest. A male voice, occasionally two, could be heard rattling the walls of the Hargrove’s house. But the second voice always quieted, frequently punctuated with a bang. Occasionally accompanied by Billy staggering out to his car and speeding off down the road.

Tonight, at eight o’clock, the screaming started again. It could be heard from my kitchen window. I could see into the Hargrove’s kitchen from there. Nothing much exciting ever went on, other than the occasional appearance of Mrs. Hargrove doing the dishes.

But this time, I noticed Billy. Neil had him pinned up against the fridge, some of the magnets had bounced to the floor. His father stuck an accusing finger in his face, ultimately forcing his closed fist across Billy’s cheek.

Billy instinctively reached up, cupping his face where he had been struck. This was followed by a terse conversation, leading to Billy picking the magnets up off the floor before heading to the front door.

I  suspected something was going on. A kid like Billy doesn’t develop that temperament without an outside force. And that force was Neil.

Without thinking, I ran out my front door and watched as Billy stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

         “Hargrove!” I called out, watching Billy stagger down his driveway, clutching his face in his palm. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or if the blow had rung his bell. Either way, I didn’t like the prospect of him wandering around town alone after dark. Not after what happened to Barbara Holland.

He ignored my shouting, stumbling down the street in the contrary direction of me.

        “Hargrove!” I called, “Billy!”

         “Fuck off and mind your own goddamn business.” He wailed, not bothering to look at me.

Billy Hargrove was never one to ask for help. Most of what he wanted, he could just get. Flash a smile, bat his lashes, girls bent to his every whim. That tactic not working? Yell and intimidate. Throw fists, break skin. But he wasn’t going to brush me off that easily,

        “Billy!” I worried, tracking him down the sidewalk.

        “What did I just fucking say!?” He spat, still not turning to look at me, even though I was mere steps behind him.

 I mulled over whether or not to catch his arm, recognizing the situation he just went through involved an unpleasant touch. But he wasn’t going to pay attention unless I did, so I reached out for his wrist. I trapped it in a grip firm enough to stop him, but not rough enough for him to see it as unfriendly.

          “What!” He thundered, powerfully enough to force me to jump back. He nevertheless refused to look me in the eye, his cheek still turned aside.

 I didn’t say anything, I just reached for his chin to angle his head towards me. He smacked my hand aside.

          “Would you cut the bullshit?” I requested, reaching up once again.

He rolled his eyes before he allowed me to rest my thumb on his chin, turning his face towards me to display a gash running across his left cheekbone, expanding under his eye.

          “What happened?” I feigned ignorance. I couldn’t straight up tell him I had watched through his window. He would probably do anything to change the subject, call me a stalker and storm off. He wasn’t used to having people care about him.

        “Fight with Tommy, that’s all. That bastard is irritating as hell.” He lied, drawing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He drew in a deep breath, his whole body was trembling. With anger or fear, I couldn’t tell. He let the smoke out through his nose, closing his eyes as he tried to manage his breathing.

        “I… uh… I heard all that… yelling.” I implied that I knew more than I was letting on, more than he was telling me.

        “Yeah, you and the rest of the fucking block.” He derided, glancing up the street to meet several neighbors peering out their windows at us. They hastily drew their curtains when we caught sight of them.

        “Billy… Did… did your dad-” I pressed, playing with my necklace.

        “It was just an argument.” He interrupted, taking another puff from his smoke.

        “Billy-” I began,

        “Stop it! Stop fucking talking to me like that!” He yelled, catching me off guard. smoke exploded from his mouth as he flicked his cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out under his boot.

        “Like what!?” I counteracted.

        “Like… Like you’re smarter than me! Like… Like you know what’s going on!” He hollered, throwing his hands up in frustration. He did what he always did when he went into ‘intimidate mode’ puffed up his chest, raised his voice, broadened his shoulders.

Smarter than him. I knew Billy had his insecurities, but I never doubted his intelligence. The brief glimpses I got at his school assignments told me he was brighter than he let on. He’d quickly shove the homework or test into his backpack or toss it into the trash. It wasn’t cool to be smart or get good grades, and he couldn’t damage his bad boy reputation.

        “I saw your dad hit you through your goddamn window, Billy!” I shouted back,

His angered expression dropped to one of dismay. Abuse is never something anybody wants to talk about, and I just threw it out into the open.

        “And it’s not hard to connect the dots. I’m not a fucking moron like the rest of your friends who believe your bullshit excuses!”

          “So what’re you gonna do, huh? Tell everybody about it? Make me the fucking laughing stock of the town?” He scoffed,

          “No! Because unlike your friends, I’m not a piece of shit!” I hissed, “Now come on.”

I reached for his wrist once more but he yanked away before I could grab him.

        “Why?”

        “You’re walking down the street like a drunk and you’re bleeding.” I told him, “Somebody is gonna call the cops on you or something. Let’s go.”

He followed behind me, his boots clicking on the sidewalk.

        “I don’t need you to be my fucking therapist.” He grumbled.

        “I’m not trying to be your therapist.”

        “Good.” He replied.

        “Fine.”

        “Cause I don’t need one.”

        “Sure.”

        “I’m serious.”

        “I know.”

I led him up the steps of my front porch and inside. I sat him at the dining room table, leaving him while I got the first aid kit. When I returned, he was out of his seat, studying the pictures that hung on the wall,

        “You were a cute baby.” He smirked, pointing to the picture of me grinning at the camera, showing off the wooden block I was playing with. I ignored his attempt to change the subject, 

          “All babies are cute.” I rebutted, “Sit.”

He followed my order, watching my every move as I tore out a hunk of gauze big enough to protect the wound on his cheek. 

        “Does he do this to Max?” I whispered.

        “No… Susan would be gone if he did. And he enjoys fucking her too much.”

        “Jesus, Billy. I didn’t need to know that.” I grimaced.

        “Yeah, well. Neither did I. Thin walls in that house, Y/N.”

Without either of us realizing it, this became a routine. Eight o’clock, screaming, knock on my door, Billy in the dining room. Ice and a bandage on his cheek. Go home. Eight o’clock, screaming, knock on my door, Billy in the dining room. Ice and a bandage on his cheek.

Each time, he revealed a little more about himself. How he grew up, where he’s from, basketball, his car. But topic never touched was what happened to his mother. I knew she was likely still in California, but I didn’t know a damn thing about her. Or about how and why his parents split. I never bothered to bring it up, though.

Each time he stayed a little bit later. The first time he came over, he left right after being patched up. The next time we chatted about school for a while, then he left. The next time stayed for dinner, meeting my family. The next time we ate dinner and watched a movie, both of us becoming increasingly comfortable having the other around.

        “You know you can stay the night if you ever want to.” I offered on more than one occasion.

        "Y/N, are you inviting me to a sleepover?" He smirked.

I crossed my arms over my chest and raised my eyebrows at him.

        "I'm serious."

        “And what?  Have him come break down your door? Not gonna happen. I want him as far away from you as possible.” He reiterated.

This protectiveness from Billy was nothing new either. Whenever I glanced at him at school, he seemed to already have tabs on me. Not in a creepy way, either. Just, keeping an eye out for me. Not that I needed any protection anyway.

I generally sat alone at lunch, by my own choosing. I worked on whatever homework I had, read a book, listened to my walkman. But one day, I hear a tray slam down onto the table next to mine. The waft of cologne and cigarette smoke told me who it was before he even sat down. He gave me a nod before eating quietly beside me. Every eye in the room was turned towards us, the new king of Hawkins was sitting with some nobody at lunch, and that tipped the scales.

But the evenings were no different.

Eight o’clock, screaming, knock on my door, Billy in the dining room. Ice and a bandage on his cheek. Go home.

I began to anticipate his arrival, pulling the first aid kit from the bathroom and setting it on the dining room table. Even the nights that he didn’t need it, he still showed up, the routine burned into his mind.

The stomps that fell on my steps were heavier than normal, causing my heart to race faster with each thud. I was about to make a break for the back door when the familiar mullet headed boy burst through the front door,  

        “Jesus Christ, Billy! You scared the shit out of me!” I exclaimed, placing my hand on my chest as Billy slammed my front door closed.

        “You can’t just come storming in here like that. I’m home alone, I thought you were coming in to kill me or something!”

He avoided me, tramping past me and into the kitchen,

        “Billy!?” I called after him, getting up from the couch and following him. He paced around, letting out short, sharp breaths.

        “Hey!” I hollered, observing as he slapped a full glass of water off the counter and onto the floor.

I now stood barefoot in a puddle, imprisoned in my space by the shattered glass on the floor.

        “What the hell is your problem!?” I screamed, throwing my hands up in grievance.

Yet another glass struck the floor, fracturing and skittering across the linoleum. Billy proceeded to be a bull in a china shop, stomping through the kitchen, making the cabinets rattle.

        “Okay, fine? You wanna break things? Let’s fucking break things, huh!?” I shouted, tiptoeing around the glass the best I could and bringing him over to the display case in the living room that held all of the participation trophies I had received as a child. I wrenched it open, snatching one of the trophies.

        “Hm?” I hummed, lifting my eyebrows at him as I slammed the plastic figurine to the floor. I handed one to him, “Come on!”

He looked me up and down, considering whether or not I was serious before smashing the object to the floor, tearing another one from the case. He yanked them all down, one by one, demolishing them on the floor under his boots. Once he was out of things to break, his chest continued to heave, his jaw clenched.

His hands curled in and out of fists as he tried to slow his breathing.

        “Billy.” I murmured, “Deep breaths.”

He nodded, although he was still powerless to contain himself, each breath more labored than the last. My mind reeled, working to think of what to do to calm him down. Then it dawned on me.

I grabbed him by the face and pulled him in to kiss me. After his initial shock wore off, his hands flew to my cheeks, leaning into my touch.

        “Are you done breaking shit?” I breathed as I pulled away, peering at his reddened face.

        “Yeah.” He exhaled.

        “Good.”

He kept his hold on my cheeks, propping his forehead on mine and staring down at the wreckage on the floor. I followed his gaze, settling on the red splotch that was appearing around my foot.

        “Did you cut it?” He whispered, his face imprinted with worry as he dropped his hands from my face and set them on my upper arms.

        “Must’ve. I didn’t notice.” I remarked, lifting my foot up off the ground and glancing at the bottom of it. A fragment of glass stuck in the ball of my foot, leaving a gouged wound.

Billy wrapped an arm around my middle, helping me hobble into the kitchen. He hoisted me up to sit on the counter.

I didn’t have to tell him where the first aid kit was. He shuffled into the bathroom and plucked it out. He took a chair from the dining room table, sitting down in front of me and arranging my foot in his lap. He tugged out the piece of glass, setting the bloodied shard on the counter beside me.

He did what I had done many times before. Pulled out the gauze, soaked it with alcohol, wiped my foot, and placed a bandage over it. He wrapped the bandage around my foot a few times before securing it.

        “Sorry about the uh…” He muttered, pointing to the shattered glass I had likely stepped on, causing the bleeding from my foot.

        “Don’t worry about it.”

        “No...I… I shouldn’t have come in here and just started breaking things...I.”

        “Billy.” I cut off, “It’s okay. I’d rather you come here and break a few plastic trophies than go beat somebody’s face in, okay?”

He nodded,

        “Broom?” He sought, brushing the fragments of glass off to the side with his foot.

        “Don’t worry about it, I got it,” I reassured.

        “It’s the least I can do.” He replied.

        “Yeah. Uh. Closet, around the corner.” I instructed him, watching as he retrieved the broom. He began to sweep up all of the shards of glass and plastic from the floor. I observed in silence, the peace that fell over the room was cathartic. He had finally let out all of that pent-up hostility in a somewhat healthy manner.

Footsteps on hardwood told me that Billy had arrived. Eight o’clock. One the nose. Once again. The doorknob turned slowly, the click of it shutting behind him barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator.

        “Y/N?” He murmured as he entered the house.

I looked up to see his face beaten the worse I had ever seen. A split on his upper lip was hardly distinguishable from his crooked and bloodied nose. The same purple from his nose crept up under his eye, turning to black.  

My mouth hung open, unsure what to say. He took his usual seat at the dining room table, shrugging off his jacket and letting out a sigh. I returned a moment later with the first aid kit and a damp washcloth.

He sat in silence as I wiped the caked blood from his mouth. The scent of liquor rolled off his tongue. Our breathing and the occasional hiss of pain broke the otherwise stark silence.

Once he was cleared of the blood, I prodded his nose with my fingers. He screwed his eyes shut, his mouth twisting in pain.

        “Doesn’t feel broken,” I informed him, leaving him to go into the kitchen for an ice bag.

He caught my arm as I walked past him, keeping me by his side.

        “Can….Uh-I… Can you just… sit… with me?” He stammered. Billy never tripped over his words. He didn’t open his mouth unless he knew exactly what to say.

        “Of course.” I murmured, placing a kiss on the top of his head and sitting in the chair across from him.

        “I- uh… I’m... I’m drunk.” He admitted with a breathy chuckle.

        “I could smell it when you walked in,” I whispered.

        “Yeah, well. So could dad and Susan.”

        “What happened?”

        “Dad did what he does.” He muttered, pointing to the smaller bruise on his cheek that I hadn’t noticed, having been preoccupied with the blood dripping down his chin, “Susan came in, talking about how worried she was about me.” He scoffed.

I nodded, urging him to keep going.

        “I told her to stay the fuck out of it, she’s not my goddamn mother and she’s the fucking reason we moved all the way out here and the reason he left my mom. Then,” He gestured to his eye and nose.

        “Your mom?” I murmured, “I’ve never heard you talk about her.”

He glanced at his lap, grasping the pendant that he had around his neck,

        “Yeah… Uh… She was… She got really sick… Diagnosed when I was 12.” He told me.

        “I’m so sorry, Billy,” I whispered.

        “Dad… He… As soon as it happened… he just… he just gave up on her… Pretended to care, he wasn’t very good at it, but he pretended.”

        “Next thing I know, he calls me into the living room to meet Susan. She was supposed to be helping him take care of our finances. Mom always did that. She was smart, loved to crunch numbers.” He smirked at the memory, despite the pain in his eyes,

        “I rode the bus to the hospital every day. He couldn’t even bother to pick me up. He couldn’t even bother to go see her. And I come home one day, open the front door, go into the living room,”

He hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching,

        “I caught her, fucking legs spread on my goddamn couch!” He growled, “First time he ever hit me… When I started screaming at him about that. Then he started screaming some bullshit about life insurance and how if they split before she died that he wouldn’t get any money. But I knew damn well that Mama had all of her money left to me.”

        “And what do I do about that, huh? A fucking 12-year-old kid, walking in and seeing that. Hearing him say he’s staying with your mother for fucking life insurance?”

        “Do I tell my mom about it? Break her fucking heart? She’s already sick, can barely even eat on her own.”

        “So what did you do?”

        “I lied to her. I lied and I said ‘oh he’s working late’ or ‘he got a second job’ I lied to her every damn day to fucking spare her.”

        “And every day she looked worse, every day she looked paler and paler. Thinner and thinner. You know how hard that was? Watching her just wither away to nothingness, right in front of me?”

That’s a pain that many people have to endure. The loss of their parents. But no child should ever lose their mother at that age. Under those circumstances, with those kinds of secrets.

        “When she finally died, he wasn’t even there. He came in to sign the paperwork and he left. He didn’t even fucking hug me, didn’t even look at me.”

        “My aunt and I planned the funeral. She didn’t know about Susan either, I didn’t want her to have to keep that secret,”

My heart broke for Billy and I suddenly realized why he is the way he is. He felt he was protecting everybody involved by not telling anyone what was going on. He endured that pain all alone, even the death of his mother was suffered without support from his father.

        “And I’m there in my suit, looking at my mom’s casket. And he gets up to the fucking altar, and he spouts out some bullshit about how she was the love of his life, and how he’s never going to forget her. He had forgotten about her the day she got diagnosed.” He spat.

        “Not even two months later, Susan and Max are living with us. Suddenly we’re moving to California and my mother is barely in the fucking ground.” His voice cracked as he spoke, but he cleared his throat in an attempt to conceal what he was feeling.

        “I would go to school and come home to this woman in my fucking house. Sleeping in my mom’s bed. Wearing her clothes.”

I reached out,  grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze before drawing circles on his skin with my thumb. He looked up at me, lips slightly parted as if he were about to say something. No words came out, only a pathetic squeak from the back of his throat before he broke down.  He exploded into body-wracking sobs, putting his face in his hands.

I sprung up from my chair, rushing over to him wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He threw his arms around my midriff, grasping the back of my shirt in his fists as he wept against my stomach.

I set my hands on the back of his head, scrunching my fingers against his skin reassuringly. I struggled to not let my own tears fall. The previous five years of his life had been a living hell, losing his mom, watching his stepmom replace her, lying to her and her family, seeing his father become physically abusive, and having a new little sister that he couldn’t figure out how to relate to.

        “I just miss her.” He squeaked, his whimpers muffled my top.

        “I know.” I murmured, reaching down to cup his cheeks and make him look up at me.

His face was blotchy, skin flushed and coated with a layer of tears and snot. What do I say to him now? He just spilled out everything about the most difficult time of his life. Things far worse than anything I’ve been through, far worse than most people our age have been through.

        “You’re gonna be okay,” I whispered.

        “I don’t know.”

        “I do. You’re strong, you’re smart,” I punctuated the line by poking him in the center of his forehead. He cracked a slight grin, “You’re loyal. And you’re a pain in my ass, but you’re going to be okay.”

[fantamwriter]

Constant Vigilance

A very headcanon Sanders Sides beginnings tale. Vigilance is the de facto leader of the personifications of the Creator’s personality. The Sides treat each other as brothers and are close, but still distinct and focused on doing their jobs to bring important ideas to the Creator’s attention. Then a new side arrives. Vigilance and his brothers take the newbie in, although questions about this new Side’s true identity abound.

Set in the mind of an eight year old Thomas.

Constant Vigilance

Vigilance, a diligent personification of a young child’s personality, might not have been the first named side but he was the leader. It was hard to to say whether Morality woke first or not. Each named side started out as a blank side, a sleeping, unexpressed portion of the creator’s personality. Blanks came from the subconscious, in a room they had taken to calling the nursery. When a blank woke up, they watched the Creator until they understood what emotion or trait to which they responded.

Vigilance learned his trait quickly. His trait said to be cautious, stay safe, and to do what mother said often, ‘Be careful.’

His lists of things to watch out for grew as he learned. The stove was hot, stay close to mom, walk when the ground was wet. Vigilance did his job well, reminding the Creator of these things and dozens more. the Creator didn’t always listen, but Vigilance tried.

His brother Morality helped out too. Morality reminded the Creator that doing the right thing was good. Following rules was good. Listening to the adults was good. Break the rules and there would be trouble, or worse, hurt. Vigilance didn’t like it when the Creator hurt himself. Morality didn’t like seeing anyone hurt.

They both had their hands full with Creativity. Vigilance wondered whether Creativity had been the first to awaken, given his name. There were two problems with that theory. First, Creativity would definitely be more of a nuisance if he thought he was older. Second, Creativity was very immature.

Creativity wanted to explore. Creativity didn’t like rules. Creativity wanted freedom. And crayons, and paper. And sometimes not paper. Morality and Vigilance took turns trying to teach Creativity and the Creator at the same time. Things got a little easier when the Creator started watching Disney movies. Creativity wanted to be a little prince, which Morality found quite amusing. Vigilance was just glad that Creativity would now do whatever they convinced him a good prince would do.

Logic was one of the youngest blanks to get an emotion. If you could call it that, Logic was rather stoic. Logic was also a brat. If he thought he knew something, he couldn’t be told otherwise without solid proof. But when he got excited about learning things, finding proof, and making new connections, Vigilance sighed in relief.

“Vig, could you remind him that his left shoe goes on his left foot, please?” Morality asked.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Vigilance asked as he took a break from referee-ing the dispute between Creativity and Logic as they decided between cool and real tiger designs.

Morality shrugged. “It felt like you should because that’s what you do. I don’t want to take your job. I have my own and I like it!”

“Fine, you take over with C and L,” Vigilance instructed.

“Okay! Tigers are cool!”

Sighing, Vigilance closed his eyes and concentrated. He appeared in the Creator’s vision, across from him on the floor. “Wrong foot, silly boy. Look at the curve. It doesn’t bend like your foot does.”

“Oh,” The young boy said. “I knew that. This is the wrong shoe.”

Closing his eyes so he couldn’t roll them, Vigilance smiled as the young boy righted himself. Satisfied that he’d fixed things, Vigilance returned to the Creator’s mind and walked back his three brothers.

All three were drawing their own tigers. Logic was using orange, Morality had pink, and creativity was using blue. Picking up a paper of his own, Vigilance grabbed the closest crayon without looking. It was black. Vigilance started drawing stripes, deciding to ask Logic for his orange later so that Logic would feel better.

Before he could start, his eyes lingered on the black crayon in his head. Looking around, he noted Morality’s tan cardigan, Logic’s blue clip on tie, and Roman’s red prince sash. Black was a comfortable color, Vigilance decided. He looked down at his gray shirt and blue jeans. Concentrating, he turned his blue jeans black. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the other sides.

Looking up, he saw a blank Side approaching. Standing, he tapped Morality on the shoulder. This drew Creativity and Logic’s attention as well. This new side wore bright yellow gloves. Almost identical to the ones the Creator’s mom wore when she did dishes. His shirt and pants were still white, just like a blank side would be.

“Hello! I’m Vigilance. This is Morality, Creativity and Logic,” Vigilance said, introducing each side. “Do you know your name?”

The blank side smiled as he got closer. “I’m really happy to meet all of you. So maybe I’m Delight?”

“Well, the rest of your outfit hasn’t come in yet,” Vigilance said. “If you’re not sure, you’re probably something else.”

“What’s the first thing you remember?” Morality asked.

The smile dimmed as the new side thought about it. “The first think I remember is a boy telling himself something that made him feel better. So I must be Comfort!” At that, the white pants the new side was wearing turned black. Vigilance huffed and turned his black pants back to blue. The sides had all agreed to not dress exactly as each other. It was hard enough when they all looked like the same person.

“Comfort? Well, that’s close enough for now.” Morality said.

“But his shirt is still blank!” Logic pointed out.

Comfort pouted, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Vigilance noticed a green spot near the base of Comfort’s neck, but when he looked again, Comfort’s shirt covered it. Before he could ask, Creativity hopped up and gave Comfort a side hug. “Just for now, Logic, so we don’t have to call him something else. Comfort, what do you think of my outfit?”

Comfort smiled again, returning the side hug. “You look like a Prince, Creativity! I think that’s really cool!”

As Creativity preened at the compliment, Vigilance resolved to handle the matter of the green spot privately.

He got a chance later at bedtime. Each side changed into sleepwear for the night. Morality had cat-print pajamas. Creativity had a princely red and white night gown that he insisted on calling a robe. Logic had sensible black and white pajamas, with a unicorn emblazoned on the chest that he staunchly refused to acknowledge. Vigilance wore gray sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt.

Comfort didn’t seem comfortable with changing. None of the other sides had ever been body shy. They all had the same body, after all. “Maybe you’re Decency?” Vigilance mused as Comfort looked at the shared wardrobe. “Which is about time. I keep telling the Creator to not shake his bottom at people, but he doesn’t listen to me. He thinks it’s funny.”

Comfort shrugged, and snapped his fingers. Or tried to, the gloves didn’t really allow for that. His outfit changed to match Vigilance’s sleepwear. “This seems comfortable enough for me!”

Vigilance sighed, changed his pajamas into darker gray ones and held up a hand as Comfort made to pass him. “Comfort, let me look at your neck, please.”

Instantly, Comfort looked at Vigilance with wide eyes. “Why?”

“That’s why. You’re hiding something.”

“You’re going to think something’s wrong with me.” Comfort said, uncomfortably. The poor kid looked on the verge of tears.

“I won’t if you just show me. I promise,” Vigilance said, reassuring as he stepped in close to the new side.

Comfort looked back into Vigilance’s eyes. “Okay.”

Vigilance pulled down the collar on Comfort’s sweatshirt. “What is that?” Vigilance asked himself as he stared.

“It’s a scale,” Comfort replied. “Ouch! Did you yank on it?”

Vigilance took a step back, the scale in his hand. “No, I promise! It just fell off, though.”

Comfort pointed at the scale in his hand. “Liar! That hurt!”

“I promise I’m not lying!” Vigilance said, locking eyes with Comfort.

After a moment, Comfort looked away. “Did it really fall off?”

“See for yourself.” Vigilance held up the scale for inspection. “When did this grow on you?”

“Right after I woke up. Thomas told himself something that made him feel better, then the scale appeared.” Comfort winced, grabbing at his neck. “Ow, it keeps hurting!”

Vigilance looked down the scale in his hand. It was green, shiny, and tough. “That’s…different. I wonder what it has to do with your personification?

“Persowhat?” Comfort asked, bewildered.

“Sorry, Logic remembered that word from something mom said. It means the emotion or trait you stand for. I’m the personification of our creator’s vigilance. So I’m careful, I pay attention to details, and I look out for the Creator and my fellow Sides. My brothers.”

“Even me?” Comfort asked, still rubbing his neck.

Vigilance beckoned him close and wrapped his arms around Comfort. “Even you, little brother. Well, whatever this means, we’ll handle this together. I promise.”

“You promise a lot.” Comfort said into his shoulder.

Vigilance stepped back and looked Comfort in the eyes as he held onto his shoulders. “Only what I think I can handle. I don’t want to be uncomfortable.”

Comfort frowned. “Was that a joke?”

“Was it good?” Vigilance asked.

“Definitely!” As they walked to their own rooms, Comfort reached up and felt a new scale grow back in the old spot. In spite of the promise, he still didn’t feel like telling Vigilance about it. The thought of it made him uncomfortable and so he decided not to tell.

Vigilance waited for Comfort to enter his room. The room and door always appeared whenever a new side appeared. There probably wouldn’t be much in the way of decoration, but Comfort would have the basics. A bed, blanket, and just about everything the Creator had in his room in the world outside the mind. Instead of going to his own room, Vigilance knocked on Logic’s door.

Logic opened, yawning and looking adorably irritated. “Is there a problem with the Creator?”

“I’m afraid the problem is with Comfort.” Vigilance took hold of Logic’s hand and placed the scale in his palm.

Logic took a step back as he examined it. Turning away, Logic remembered himself and waved at Vigilance. “Almost forgot, please come in.”

Vigilance entered, pleased that he wouldn’t have to break one of Morality’s rules. It was rude to enter another Side’s room without permission. “That scale was on Comfort’s neck, just under his shirt. He said he noticed it around the same time he woke up. It fell off as I was looking at it.”

Logic set the scale down on his desk and went to wash his hands. Although he wasn’t one for feelings, the feeling that scale radiated was not one Logic was fond of. “It just fell off?”

Vigilance nodded. “I’m worried, Logic. What if it happens to us? What if Comfort gets covered in scales?”

“We really need to find his actual name. It would give us a clue as to what this scaliness is about,” Logan said, picking up the scale with a pair of tweezers. “I will need to figure out what kind of scale this is.”

“The library then?” Vigilance asked. Logan nodded. The subconscious library kept a record of most everything the Creator ever read. Some things were forgotten or missing parts, but whatever scraps they could find would be useful.

“And you should go to the Nursery. See if any other blanks have scales,” Logic recommended.

Vigilance nodded. “Well, we better get some sleep. I hope the Creator goes to bed soon. There’ll be trouble if he stays up past his bed-time.”

Logic shrugged. “That’s Morality’s job. The Creator doesn’t listen to me very much.”

“He will, sometimes he just needs to learn in his own way first,” Vigilance said reassuringly, as he set his hand on Logic’s shoulder.

There was a brief flicker of something positive on Logic’s face. Gratitude, Vigilance decided. Then Logic pointed at the door. “Go on, to your own room.”

As Vigilance exited, he bumped into Comfort. “Oh! Are you okay? Is something missing in your room?”

Comfort shook his head. “It’s just hard for me to sleep without someone nearby.”

Vigilance sighed. Creativity had been the same way. Even now he would occasionally sneak into Morality’s bed. Which was why Morality put the ask-first rule into place. “My room isn’t exactly comfortable. I have a lot of alarm clocks. And I wake up a couple of times during the night.”

“Maybe you need someone to sleep with too?” Comfort suggested.

Vigilance sighed. “One night. My room isn’t like the Nursery.”

“I don’t care, it’s fine,” Comfort said.

Leading the way to his room, Vigilance noticed how distracted Comfort looked. “So, have you thought about your name? Comfort has to be part of what you are, but I don’t think it’s the main thing.”

Comfort shook his head. “No.”

Vigilance thought for moment as he took out his keys. He was always sure to lock his own door. “Maybe Relief? Or Reassurance?”

Comfort shrugged. “I don’t think it matters what I’m called.”

Vigilance turned around in his doorway. That was never how any of them felt about their names and purpose. “You don’t?”

“Is that bad?” Comfort asked, his eyes wide at Vigilance’s vehemence.

Vigilance took a breath and shrugged. “Sorry, no. This is your first day. I shouldn’t be asking so much of you. Call it an overabundance of caution. Our other brothers and I did care a lot, but it’s okay to be different from us. It’s just how the Creator made you.”

“Why do we call him the Creator? Does Thomas actually create all of us?” Comfort asked.

Vigilance’s eyebrows shot up. “You know his name?”

Comfort shrugged. “It was part of that first thing I remember. He said his own name to himself.”

Vigilance folded his arms. “Well, we don’t use his name unless we’re talking to him. His name is one of our greatest tools to get him to listen to us. So we have to be careful about how much we say it.”

Comfort sniffed. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”

Vigilance tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I think I can tell when someone isn’t telling the truth. Or the whole truth.” Comfort folded his arms. “I could tell you were telling the truth when you said my scale fell off.”

Scratching his head, Vigilance turned to one side. “That’s strange. Truth should be Morality’s job.”

“I don’t think my job is telling the truth,” Comfort admitted, wincing. He looked away for a moment and took a breath.

Vigilance recognized the look on Comfort’s face. “We don’t have to worry about your job right now.”

Comfort’s face bunched up, tears starting to well in the new Side’s eyes. “What if I’m not good at it?”

Vigilance took a step toward the distraught trait. Comfort closed the distance and hugged Vigilance without warning. Vigilance took a step back from the force of it, but kept his balance. Returning the hug, Vigilance felt the Creator’s mind relax. “It’s time for bed, Comfort.”

“Is that what it feels like when he goes to bed?” Comfort asked, his eyes already heavy.

Guiding them both to bed, Vigilance laid his brother down first and the climbed in over him. “Yes. Now it’s our turn.”

The two sides started out separate, but Vigilance woke up in the middle of the night. His back was very warm, and he realized Comfort had cuddled up to him. Vigilance didn’t like his back that warm, so he climbed over Comfort again and cuddled against Comfort’s back. Comfort snuggled in and held onto Vigilance’s arm.