#and maybe a little disjointed please excuse

[saltpepperbeard]

so, hastiness of the sex and the literal and figurative distance that follows aside, something was really bugging me about the morning after. i couldn’t put my finger on it for a while, but now that i’ve sat with things, i think it’s finally clicked in my head:

stede’s reactions to ed’s sweetness. or lack thereof, really.

because goodness, they just slept together. they just bared body and soul to each other. they just survived a dangerous situation and made it to see the sun rise once again. they’ve been through so much, and faced so much adversity.

and despite all they’ve been through, ed is kind. ed is thoughtful, and soft, and sweet. he brings stede breakfast in bed. he tries to make it as pretty as he can. and then weaves beautiful gratitude and admiration in the form of his goldfish tale.

something that should make anyone sigh with fondness, really. something that make eyes flutter with hearts to match.

…and yet.

and yet stede reacts almost…casually to it all. not glittery how he was at the end of episode 5, for example—so warm and so bright and so very clearly in love. it all felt a bit more…stunted? reserved? unnecessarily curt?

and upon sitting with it as i said, i have two lines of thought, two theories.

one, it’s a sort of look into the heightening poison in his system, the good ol’ villain that is toxic masculinity. he feels the need to perform around ed, to be a man worthy of his love. he feels the need to be more than just “adequate,” more than just an “amateur.” and so he feels the need to be more masculine as a result. he’s not quite at his peak of course, not quite in the absolute thick of it—he still has moments closer to himself throughout the day. but the more poisonous seeds have been planted.

and what does that sort of masculinity often lead to? reserved emotions. stunted reactions. you’re not allowed to show vulnerability, or softness, or anything of the sort; you’re expected to be just a wall of strength and flat composure.

which, also, would align with the show: ed actively tries to combat that mentality in the morning. he straight up tells stede that the man who saved him was a fantastic, orange, sparkly mermaid. not some swashbuckling hero. not some colder, mysterious, more reserved man. but a beautiful, soft, dazzling goldfish.

and stede sort of just shrugs it off—turns it into a “well i hope we’ll both get through the violence” as opposed to realizing that ed is complimenting his true character.

but that brings me to my second theory: maybe stede reacts the way he does simply because…he’s never been loved like that before. he doesn’t know what to do with it. he’s never been brought breakfast in bed before, and now there ed goes doing so for him.

he seems to be fine when he's the one in the driver's seat. like, he's very romantic when he's dealing out the romance. but the second it's turned back on him, he can't seem to conceptualize it, even when it's coming from a man he knows he's in love with. like, ed complimenting his shirt led to a more incredulous reaction. ed saying that stede wears fine things well also led to a more incredulous reaction. and like...

"then you shaved your beard off...for me?"

he just can't grasp it. he can't grasp something so new and foreign to him quite yet. and it's of course also wrapped up in a lot of self-worth issues, because how can anyone love him when he really doesn't love himself (which i think is also the same for ed. help them. HELP THEM)

you just...can't catch a fish unless the fish wants to be caught.

[unhappytimeleaper]

Hello, may I request Q, T, and Y with Kuro x reader? Thank you and have a wonderful day. 💟

requested by anonymous

Word Count: 3,150+

I love Kuro. It was a while ago on a chat, but I realized I kinda have a type for delinquents. Oops. This mainly doesn’t go too much into the actions that make him a yan, I do touch on it occasionally or try to slip some of it in there, but I didn’t want to get too off-topic from the letters which meant I had to leave a lot of it out. Also, I wrote half of this 7 months ago and the rest today, so I’m sorry if it’s a little disjointed.

Also, I finally gave in and watched up to part 5 of Jojo, and I have… feelings. My poor friends are being subjected to all of them,, and someone should come to save them. TLDR for those curious, but I did not care for part 3, parts 1 & 2 were decent, I love part 4, from the art style to the characters, and part 5 I adore the characters, but I’m weak to character deaths :(. Maybe with time, I’ll possibly add them to my list but no hopes. Anyway, Kuro.

Kuro Kiryu; Unedited. Gender Neutral Reader.

Warnings; yandere content, mentions of potential threats, alludes to minor manipulation, self-isolating, and simple fights. Nothing is in detail nor is there truly anything bad but as always it is yandere. 

This blog is 17+ please have your age in your bio or tagged; any ageless blog and below the age asked for will be blocked at the end of the week.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

This would vary on if you leave or die rather than escape as he is also one where a lot of the relationship borders on unhealthy. It mainly is because Kiryu has some self-awareness to where things run too far but gets lost in the minor details. His delinquent past might affect some of his actions, but it's not as of he's one to ever use physical harm against you to get you to obey. He tends to focus more on voicing opinions. While he rarely might force you to not interact with others [generally completely strangers rather than friends or family unless he has proof they are bad news], there is a self-imposed guilt you feel when doing so, causing you to avoid others. Unlike others who force rules, and force isolation, Kiryu doesn't make it, so there ever is something you need to escape from. This would be unlike Eichi or Shu, for example. Even being yandere, it’s likely that with Kuro, the relationship develops naturally– or at least appears that way to an extreme extent that there never was some sort of reason to fear Kiryu in the form of genuine escape.

Leaving might be the most common reason or situation the two of you might face. Various reasons; thinking you need to experience life outside of a relationship, becoming tired of the relationship, dating an idol being too stressful, realizing you and Kiryu just don't connect past a honeymoon phase, etc. There are many reasons why you might want to break up, not wholly reliant on his yandere behaviors, but regardless of what it is related to, he often will have the same reaction.

No. Okay, maybe it comes off scarier than he intends when said like that, but Kiryu means, no, we can work this out. You know he's not attempting to come off as scary. He has never been in the relationship, and more so, his fear factor comes from how he traditionally is himself. Kiryu rarely even goes out of his way to threaten others to avoid you; the way he talks and carries himself does that for him unless he can find some valid excuse that even you can’t deny being a good option. Kuro also has never had a past of lying to you when he says he didn't threaten them or did something— it really was the others who picked to act that way post their conversation– although it’s hard to say for sure if there truly was never any violence or threats under his actions. However, no reason to doubt him is still no reason to use it in a breakup. It's not to say that he isn’t aware of his fear factor and thinks of it as a benefit in these situations, but honestly, he tries extremely hard not to do anything bad. He's changed from the delinquent days anyway when he would have quickly jumped to use violence to get them to stay away from you. Really, he doesn't want to do anything to tarnish his new reputation to you, nor have his actions come back and likely affect his sister or career. Leaving him becomes a lot more difficult because while he isn't necessarily the smartest at problem-solving or convincing you to stay as others might be, he tries. He tries so hard that it's impossible to stand your ground firmly. He works to make it so you can compromise [in his favor] to stay with him. Or a break up isn't really a break up— yeah, you've agreed to label it as a break, but this only if it's clear you don't want to date anyone else. Kiryu, even in this situation, hovers around more; not quite a relationship way that you feel you need to tell him to back off, but enough that it feels you're always on the brink of appearing still together. You can blame it on ES, for such a large building; it seems everyone is always wrapped up with each other in some way, although all of it is still profoundly intentional in Kiryu’s actions to stay near. If it is the route of still dating with compromises, these can vary but rarely will it alter or break aspects of his yandere traits as most of these result from his stoic, straightforward, and scary appearance. It's more working on adding things into the relationship to keep you more excited or understanding while a honeymoon phase is over; there are still think you can do together/have in common. Just cause one stage ends doesn't mean to give up; it means working to enjoy the next phase too. So ever really leaving is quite tricky because Kiryu's directness just results in a rebuff of finding reasons to stay, even if it gets to the point staying is just easier than leaving. There even is sometimes a sinking fear that you’d be throwing away the best partner you might ever get because of his personality over this. What if there really never would be anything better? Would you have to come crawling back to him begging for another chance– it’s entirely self-inflicted, but a tiny part of your mind would have to eat away at the possibility.

If you do manage to break up unless you are leaving the country as a whole, where it is hard to avoid Kiryu even if it's clear the relationship is over. Most of his actions feel like he's trying to win you back, such as cooking your meals or asking to spend time with you while he works on a sewing project. It's often weird, but his ability to be direct can make him easily be able to pass it off as being over you. These are just him, well, being him. Even in ways other idols can verify this is just his personality, even if he is being that awkwardly kind self. Under the surface, you know it's more than that… but there is no proof, the uneasiness no one else can understand. Though it's not misplaced, Kiryu's kindness might appear as just his standard attempt to make amends for his past as a delinquent, but everything he does is his goal of making you regret ending the relationship. That maybe you'll fall back in love with him, or you'll come crawling back, calling it a mistake. It’s undeniable that even with his jealousy and misplace tendencies he’s a wonderful partner, brother, and teammate. Kiryu deep down is still a good person fighting against his past and urges– and it’s hard to find someone who would likely treat you as good. Post breakup you’d likely fall back into seeing only happy couples too, it all sinking in just like you feared that even though you have so much life left to live you just tossed aside the best person you could have been with. Perhaps all that anxiety and weird feelings you were getting was from something else– your mind making all sorts of excuses to convince you to just text him those simple words. “Let’s get back together.”

Also all of this is his way of hovering to ensure no one else can pursue or harm you. Kiryu is well aware that even if he's changed from his past, others might hold grudges, and much like how he feared that might impact his sister, he knows that if it got out you were his ex, there is always a chance they might you use against him. Or there might be jealous fans— both upset you hurt him by breaking up or upset that you had the opportunity to date him. There is no telling what might happen, and he might not directly admit these reasons to you as it could become a bigger fight, thus harming the chance of ever getting back together.

Would he move on? If you're around, no. There is always a lingering chance, and if he is around just the same, you’ll unlikely be able to meet someone new. Okay, well, if you were gone completely… maybe. Just like how Kiryu has changed from his former delinquent lifestyle, he also knows there is a point in growing and changing in other ways. Not to say his yandere tendencies heal from this, but he knows it's unfair for him to forever pine after you when you are entirely gone living away from him. It doesn't happen quickly, he locked his heart away for years after this loss, and it's easy to tell even to others he becomes even more reserved [something most won't think was possible, but you proved them wrong]. He might become more snappy with subjects and reject many other forms of care, such as friendships. But in five years… ten years… things might change, and some of that ice might melt again, allowing him to try again. However, the second you show up once again he would be ready to start anew.

Furthermore, if you were to pass away either while dating or post-break-up, where you are still around, the answer is no. Kiryu will have believed that he was lucky enough to have met his soulmate so young, and unfair it might be he doesn't deserve a third chance. His personality is the same as if you were to move away forever; colder, and that stoic nature becomes bitter and quick to tell others off. He doesn't need anyone else, not friends, not someone to love. His sister really would be the only one who would have close contact with his personal life and understand on a deeper level his feelings, usually being the voice of reason to others as to why he became the way he is now [assuming this is in the future and she is also growing up]. He'd care for a grave site weekly, and overall, it feels like a piece of him died along with you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

There are more what feels like two layers, and it depends on the reason and reason you might be having a moment of out-lash at him.

Take, for example, isolating yourself because you’re upset with him or an action he took or an argument. In this sense, Kuro would probably think you’re being childish. This is the behavior his little sister would have if upset or pouting, not an adult in a relationship. He would likely become more closed off and stoic at the moment and find himself annoyed at the action you are taking rather than settling to deal with the problem at hand. Ironically, it’s just as contradictory that he closes himself off too and doesn’t work to resolve the problem, but if you want to act like a childish brat, why should he have to fix the case you started? Kuro isn’t really the type to make it so you’re fully locked away, unable to have any form of life, and thus resort to isolating yourself in disdain for him. If in a fight, you do resort to isolation to calm down or whatever, then it’s expected you should be able to talk for a short moment before coming to Kiryu to resolve the issue. The longer you wait to talk over the ‘tantrum’, the more frustrated Kuro will get and likely leave him in a grumpy, cold mood to you for longer, unable to express his emotions as he doesn’t want to take them out on you either. Like this, his fear factor only increases, and his hovering nature seems to double for the amount of time you hid progressively. Even if it wasn’t forced isolation or him actively trying to scare other people off, they are now wanting to avoid him and you, by extension, even more. In the end, it only seems to backfire creating a cycle of loneliness problems.

As for something like screaming or crying in a fight, Kuro gets quiet for a reason of self-reprimanding. Not that he feels too guilty over his actions but that his actions once again come back around to hurt someone he loves. Kuro is well aware that his jealousy isn’t normal, and that his actions have never been the healthy solution, but he’s trying. He so desperately wants to amend his past, to melt and burn and tear up the negative and harsh feelings of jealousy boiling in his mind and heart. That this could all be normal, you could love each other and not have to feel this way if he just had done something different. And while he’s quiet, appearing perhaps slightly disinterested or the scowl on his face making you only fear more, he does nothing. He doesn’t take a step; he doesn’t flinch his hands, it almost looks like he’s not breathing with how steady he goes, telling himself not to lash out like the delinquent side of him wants to. He’ll simply wait, running scenarios and words over and over in his head while you exhaust yourself. Honestly, he’s probably not even processing the majority of your comments, so fixated on his thoughts. And as your screams turn into whimpers and tears begin to dry along your cheeks— too exhausted to keep going, Kuro will finally make his move coming over to comfort you. He’ll wipe away the crusting tears with a personal handkerchief and wrap you in his arms slowly as you hiccup those feelings away. In the end, you don’t remember what you were even screaming and crying about; Kuro too distracted to fully reflect the cause either. The fights are usually too far and few in between, but they are draining, with nothing ever being resolved waiting for the next time it comes around.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Kuro takes a long time, at least compared to the majority of the other idols. And it stems from keeping his guard up— both because of his past haunting him and his natural exterior from being a delinquent, his personality, and his wish to change.

To start, Kuro knows his personality is… rough at least from an outsider’s perspective. He’s aware he’s intimidating, his a wall of a person, and his face doesn’t always convey the intentions in his heart. It’s no secret to anyone that even the softness he has is not easily exposed in his demeanor, nor that his ability to pick and throw grown men isn’t terrifying in itself. Even if you don’t come off as frightened by his rough exterior and bluntness to topics that come off as harsh or off-putting at times pre-relationship, there is a lingering doubt in his mind to rush into things. And this leads to the other point; Kuro wants to change. As mentioned, he’s deeply aware not only of his feeling of being over-driven to a not-so-standard degree but being a delinquent doesn’t come with an easy change. It’s not even the fights that are hard to shake off; it’s all of the mentality, the lessons, and skills that come from that life. He doesn’t want, you know, to see that person he once was. He might still be underneath everything because change is more complicated than people expect. Kuro wants the soul mate relationship he feels; he wants to be the knight, not the villain. He wants the fairy tale love from the stories and movies he watches with his little sister— more than giving in to his jealousy and unsavory thoughts. So he waits. Hoping that things can change, not progress.

And the other reason I touched on a little before. His guard has to be still and shaking when getting into a relationship is not easy. Kuro wants to relax, give in, and just let things happen. But being a delinquent means always being on guard, and his softness, while a strength can only be shown in small amounts, tries to keep himself safe. It falters around you more than others, even more as time goes on, but it takes a long time to chip away that shield. And the other guard is, like I said— Kuro knows delinquents make enemies. He has plenty, and while being a famous idol can protect him more so now others might seek revenge on his sister or you. It’s one of the key factors that both hinder and progresses his yandere tendencies because if his guard is up, you can’t love him back, and you won’t be a target. But you’re around him anyway… and it’s unlikely that delinquents care to verify a relationship’s true nature as long as it’s exploitable.

Between these contradicting factors, it takes months. This is beneficial for Kuro means everything can play out, and fall into a relationship like an average couple. One void is his tendencies fogging up the back of his mind, eating away at his heart. It genuinely starts off simple… progressing into seeing him while he sews— one of the few times he lets down his guard— and hanging out with him more and more. It turns into bringing you lunch and hands brushing over each other. It’s hard to suspect him of doing anything wrong, or thinking anything wrong. His rough exterior becomes a flustering teasing point that makes his ears burn, chin buried in his hand. And the bluntness is useful. Asking you out is direct. It’s effortless and more of a command, so you can only blush and agree when the time finally comes. Kuro doesn’t need to snap or to lure you into something. He’s one of the few that isn’t genuinely trapping you, but that doesn’t change the manipulation and fear dripping down his heart; one day, you’ll see past his facade to the delinquent locked away but never truly gone.

[tofufei]

Little Mushroom Audio Drama Trailer [ENG SUB]

Synposis from 猫耳FM:

Do not go gentle into that good night, do not peacefully surrender to extermination. Earth's magnetic field disappeared, mutated organisms invaded, the end of the world is near. A little mushroom from the Abyss makes its way into a human base on the search for the spore it has lost, and runs into The Arbiter Lu Feng. One human, one not, they meet at the end of the world and get to know each other, and together they walk into a future in which the only thing certain is uncertainty…

Ask anyone who has listened to Little Mushroom's audio drama and it is almost certain that they will tell you that it was one of the best produced audio dramas they have ever had the pleasure to experience.

You can find the whole thing - with English subs even - on 猫耳FM/missevan, so if this piece of media has ever been on your radar (and even if it hasn't!), let this be the sign that you should join this pit.

I haven't seen any translation of the trailer, so I took a stab at it. Excuse the violation of the maximum recommended CPS count, but there wasn’t much I could do about it... you might need to pause the video at times :P

Some notes on this translation under the cut.

.

.

Because I am both lazy and hate articulating my thoughts, this will not so much be me providing much actual insight on translation choices than just some disjointed notes on the back-translation process of Dylan Thomas' poem "Do not go gentle into that good night".

An overly literal back-translation of the Chinese poem:

不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night, 我们应在日暮之时燃烧。// We should burn in the hour the sun sets, 怒斥、怒斥光阴的消逝。// Rage, rage at the vanishing of time and light. 尽管智者深知黑暗终将到来。// Even if the wise are fully aware that darkness will inevitably come. 尽管他们的话语无法再迸发出闪电。// Even if their words are unable to make lightning burst forth again. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night. 在这悲哀的山巅。// Here, on the sorrowful mountaintop. 请用你的眼泪诅咒我、祝福我。// Please curse me, bless me with your tears. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night.

Notes on the Chinese translation of the poem:

The refrains (“Do not go gentle into that good night” and “Rage, rage against the dying of the light”) basically map one to one to the English original, which makes it easily recognizable as Dylan Thomas’ poem

This makes the other changes feel very much like deliberate choices on the author's part, even if they do leave me puzzled

No references to the gendered figures (wise men, my father)

In the second verse, 尽管 is repeated for emphasis where it wasn’t in English

Why is the line 在这悲哀的山巅 so much shorter than all others? The original English poem has 10 syllables per line, but the Chinese one is…just whatever. No discernible structure here, only vibes

山巅 (mountaintop) where in the English it’s an unspecified “height” and can be read metaphorically, while here it is very much a physical location. (I mean, of course it could be read metaphorically as well in Chinese but there are many other words you could have chosen that do not have "mountain" in them.) Might or might not have been a deliberate choice referencing [spoiler] Base

I thought it prudent to back-translate the poem since there are some changes and they aren’t that minor.

Back-Translation process:

Pretended the original didn’t exist and translated it off the Chinese alone

Compared it to the original and modified it so that it still stayed 95% faithful to the Chinese while calling back to the original

Tried to keep the ABA rhyme scheme and felt powerful af when I managed to make the 2nd line in all the tercets rhyme

Squished or stretched the lines into 10 syllables, while still keeping as close to both Chinese and English as possible

Despair. Because at this point I should maybe just have used the original poem or gone for a freer translation, what am I even trying so hard for when this comes nowhere close at all to the original

What I ended up using in the subs of the AD Trailer, ABA ryhme scheme, 10 syllables per line if you squint*

不要温和地走入那个良夜。 // Do not go gentle into that good night. 我们应在日暮之时燃烧。 // We ought to burn the hour nightfall nears. 怒斥、怒斥光阴的消逝。// Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 尽管智者深知黑暗终将到来。 // Though the wise know darkness will bring its blight. 尽管他们的话语无法再迸发出闪电。 // Though their words no longer fork lightning fierce. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。 // Do not go gentle into that good night. 在这悲哀的山巅。// Here, on top of sorrowful mountain's height. 请用你的眼泪诅咒我、祝福我。 // Please, I ask, curse me, bless me with your tears. 不要温和地走入那个良夜。// Do not go gentle into that good night.

*and pronounce hour with 2 syllables

Some thoughts on translation choices, apparently:

Actually, the back-translating went quite smoothly and it really is just one line that unexpectedly turned out harder than expected. Or maybe I made it harder than it should have been, who knows. I might be prone to overthinking. It's 尽管智者深知黑暗终将到来 which I ultimately rendered as "Though the wise know darkness will bring its blight." Here, I ended up straying quite far from both Chinese and the original. This is also where I have to thank both @hardwareabstractionlayer and @fwoopersongs for talking translation choices with me.

Some other options here would have been "Though the wise know at last dark will alight" / "Though the wise know dark will come as it might" / "Though the wise know in the end dark is right", but none of them felt fitting. Either the line was not quite proper english, or it failed to convey the the inevitability of 终将到来, or it felt too much like a pale imitation of the original etc etc.

Usually, I am the kind of person who translates rather literally and doesn't take too many liberties. Here though, "blight" simply works absolutely amazing in the context of Little Mushroom. Credit for that suggestion goes to hal, who nailed two major story settings with it, despite not knowing much about the book except for whatever 2am thoughts I fling at her. You see, after the Earth's magnetic field disappeared, humans had to build an artificial magnetic field to protect themselves from deadly cosmic radiation and infected organisms. Due to the magnetic field, an aurora dances all over the globe. The moment that light vanishes, it means the magnetic field did too, which signifies the end of mankind. Dark *does* literally bring its blight. It's brilliant, really.

[im-gettingby]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you to @aristocratic-otter and @bookish-bogwitch who tagged me this week and also lots of other weeks even though I have not participated in a WHILE.

Adding a bunch of snippets because…I have a lot to finish and motivation would be 💯

From Ch 3 of If I Could Turn Back Time:

“Absolutely useless without your fists,” a haughty voice crows. “Tell me, are you going to take out the Insidious Humdrum with a well-placed punch? I doubt he’s corporeal.”

As for young Baz…I could stake him right now. I meet my Baz’s panicked eyes and try to communicate, cast something! This is not the kind of thing we were trained for. Our students are respectful! They don’t try to off one another because of an assignment about, ironically, conflict resolution.

“Give peace a chance!” Baz casts, and I recall it from the times Ebb had to spell us apart. Both Baz and Simon fall backwards, repelling each other like magnets.

From Ch 4 of Summer Haze:

Manju doesn’t reply for a few seconds. “Ah. Well, Simon…” She pauses for a moment, then clears her throat. “I hope you and your friend used prophylactics. I mean, protection. Condoms,” she adds, awkwardly.

I cough. My face is burning. Kidnapped by vampires, engaging in casual sex—Manju isn’t too far off the mark, honestly.

“I’m not sure if anyone has spoken to you about that,” she adds. “If you want to talk to someone, I mean...I can find someone. Or a book. I’ll go to the library and find a book,” she says, with slightly more resolve.

“That’s okay!” I cringe. “I’ve gotten that talk. Don’t worry.” From Dr. Wellbelove, in fact. There’s nothing more awful than getting the Talk from your girlfriend’s dad. Well, I can do you one better—nothing more awful than getting the Talk right after he’s examined your bollocks and made you cough twice.

From a stoner au inspired by @mostlymaudlin and starwarned that will probably end up being my Erotic Grope Fest submission unless I come up with something I like more:

That’s how, around ten, I’m already dozing off. I excuse myself before I can do something truly mortifying like falling asleep on Simon’s shoulder. (I’d probably drool; I have an embarrassing overbite. And this is not the way I want to introduce Simon’s body to my saliva.) (I’m disturbed, I know.)

From a deleted draft of my Anon Fest fic, which I think I’ll probably publish on its own eventually:

I shove my whole weight onto my hands, expecting him to resist, but he doesn’t. Instead he lifts his neck so that our faces are close together. “Do it, Snow. What you came here to do.”

Kill him, he means.

He’s mocking me. He knows that I can’t. Somehow, he knows it’s not part of the plan…

“Not. Yet,” I spit back.

“Really? Wouldn’t have expected you of all people to play with your food,” he growls. “Golden boy enjoys a bit of torture, then?”

A snippet from a very disjointed post-AWTWB situation that is basically five fics, none of which are long enough to post alone, smacked together:

“I already told you! You know, Snow, maybe you’d feel better if you revealed some of your secrets.”

“You know my secrets,” I say, earnestly, desperately, because I want him to. I want him to cut me open and map out my insides. I want him to hold my beating heart in his hand, to run his tongue along the veins, and to memorize me by touch and taste.

He smirks, and then he says the magic word (not literally, but as good as). “Please.”

And lastly, a WIP I started TODAY bc @skeedelvee is a genius and their fics live in my brain always but especially Sextuplets:

“There you are!”

I groan against Simon 4’s lips and sigh. I turn around, and Simon 2 is standing in the doorway. At least he has the sense to look a little embarrassed.

“What?” I ask. I glance at Simon 4, who is vibrating with the effort of not blowing up at Simon 2. (They all agreed to a truce after fifteen minutes of screaming, which has been tenuous at best. Simon Snow is jealous—who would have guessed?) (I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.)

“I was thinking we could go get ice cream while it’s still light out?” Simon 2 says. They all have slightly different personalities. Simon 2 goes stir-crazy, and Simon 4 goes me crazy, although he’s polite about it. (Simon 6 is not polite about it, which is its own brand of alluring.)

[reveniemus]

8 or 21 or 31 for the hug prompts. love your new look 😉💖

thank you!! i am obsessed with this photoshoot 😭😭 also i hope you enjoy some angst i guess?? bc i write that now???

geraskier in angst major, no. 1

pairing: gen with lite!geraskier rating: teen warnings: implied torture, mild descriptions of injuries jaskier is not having a good time

on ao3

Never say never, his mother had always said, and yet, Jaskier had foolishly done just that. He thought he was never going to feel anything worse than the heartache of what happened on the mountain, and yet, this moment was a very strong contender. It was such an obvious thing too, and Jaskier knew if Geralt had been there, he would’ve tutted at him for being so oblivious to the fact that the men giving him the eye were not, in fact, looking for a one night tumble.

Then again, if Geralt had been there, Jaskier wouldn’t have been flouncing about in a crowded tavern in plain view of some Nilfgaardian soldiers out of uniform. He would’ve been curled up in a bedroll on the forest floor, eating rabbit or deer and scribbling in his notebook while Geralt sharpened his swords.

“Bard’s tougher than he looks, huh?” he hears one of the guards say after he’s taken yet another beating. “That’s the third one today and he’s still conscious, somehow.”

“Barely. I bet if he got another one today, he’d tell us everything,” his companion says, and Jaskier’s body involuntarily winces at the thought of another beating so soon to his last one.

“Think the captain will let us? It’s not like we’re getting anywhere with the other prisoners,” the first one says, and he must lean against the bars because the scraping sound of metal against metal rings in Jaskier’s ears.

“Most likely. We haven’t tried branding yet,” the second voice answers, the gleeful tone to his voice making Jaskier’s stomach curl. Thankfully, it sounds like they’re finally, finally walking away and Jaskier lets himself relax when the sounds of their conversation dissipate.

He takes a deep breath and even that small, miniscule amount of movement makes his body ache. Jaskier tries to remember the things Geralt used to say about managing pain. The first step was to take inventory of his body to figure out what was wrong. It’s hard to do on his side, so Jaskier shifts, his face scrunching up as he lays on his back. It isn’t comfortable and the movement makes his bones feel like they’re on fire. How is it possible to feel this much pain and survive?

Okay, he can do this. He can take inventory of his body, just like Geralt used to.

Deep breath.

Something aches on his calf, near his ankle. Twisting it shoots pain up his leg, and Jasker bites down on his bottom lip to stop from making a noise. He can’t let the soldiers know he’s conscious enough to make noise.

Deep breath.

There’s a cut on his right upper thigh. He doesn’t know when he acquired it. This last beating? The one before? It’s not actively bleeding anymore, which is good. He thinks it means they didn’t hit anything major.

Deep breath.

A stabbing pain shoots up his left arm. Fuck. He hopes it’s not a break, because the implications of it makes his heart ache. Then again, he doesn’t know when he’ll see his lute again, so maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Deep breath.

His abdomen feels heavy. Is this what internal bleeding feels like? He should’ve asked Geralt how to know if you’re bleeding internally. Jaskier thinks he’d be colder if he were bleeding internally, or number.

Deep breath.

Jaskier’s head is pounding — not enough to distract from the rest of his pain, but just enough that his thoughts are verging on disjointed. Geralt would yell at him for not being able to focus.

Deep breath.

That definitely means there’s a head injury though. Jaskier remembers when Geralt had fought two fiends and they’d knocked him around. He had insisted that Jaskier not let him sleep, that it would make a head injury worse. Jaskier isn’t sure what worse means when the main part of your body that keeps things running is already hurt, but he thinks it means he shouldn’t sleep.

Deep breath.

If he’s asleep, though, he won’t feel the pain of his injuries. Jaskier closes his eyes, knowing Geralt would hit him for genuinely contemplating falling asleep while he’s got a definitive head injury.

Deep — Jaskier is jolted out of his breathing routine by a loud clanging noise, followed by thumps and screams and the sound of running. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, grimacing with the motion, to peer past the bars of his cell.

He should move back, maybe hide in the shadows and hope that whoever is attacking the prison will leave him alone. If he can have time to heal, he can get out of here and find … who? Geralt made it very clear he didn’t want Jaskier around, and it wasn’t like Jaskier could go around and find his old acquaintances. Anyone who was associated with him could be in danger because of his association with the White Wolf.

Maybe he could turn this prison into his home after whoever is out there finishes off the Nilfgaardians. Jaskier lays back down, closing his eyes and taking deep, slow breaths as the noises of fighting seem to get closer. If he lies here, maybe they’ll think this cell is empty of viable prisoners and they’ll keep going.

“Fuck,” he hears a voice grunt before the door to his cell opens. The voice seems familiar, but Jaskier can feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness and his already-vaguely-disjointed thoughts connect even less and less. “Please don’t be dead,” the voice says, and Jaskier vaguely feels a warm body next to him. The immediacy of the movement makes him flinch, and he hears another curse from the voice.

Familiarity blooms inside him, and he winces. His mind is playing tricks on him, it seems, maybe the Nilfgaardians decided an illusion would be more useful than a branding. Jaskier tries to curl into himself, but the pain that courses through him makes him scream.

“Jaskier, please, don’t move,” the voice whispers, gruff and gentle, and Jaskier whimpers as a hand brushes back his hair.

“Please, I don’t know anything, I swear,” he pleads, fighting back tears.

“It’s okay, Jask, you’re safe,” the voice murmurs, and Jaskier whines. The illusion feels so real it makes his heart ache, reminds him of the moments he clung to when Geralt’s fingers would barely brush over his skin when they were making camp, or when Jaskier made a stupid decision that got him hurt.

Suddenly, Jaskier is being tugged up, and he’s shocked into looking up. His eyes widen when he sees a shock of long white hair and amber eyes, a soft whisper escaping his lips.

“Yes, it’s me. We have to keep moving,” Geralt says, and Jaskier feels arms on his waist as he somehow gets on his feet. “Can you stand?” he asks, his eyes glittering with concern in a way that makes Jaskier’s head spin.

“You’re here,” he whispers, leaning back a little as Geralt’s hand moves from his waist. It’s not far, he can feel the heat of it against the ragged remains of his chemise, and Jaskier feels more light headed than he has in weeks.

“Careful,” the witcher murmurs, catching Jaskier’s arm as he sways on the spot. “I’ve got you, Julek.” His arm wraps around Jaskier’s waist and he brings him closer.

Jaskier inhales Geralt’s scent, a mix of leather and horse that’s difficult to duplicate, much less recreate in an illusion, and ignoring the sharp ache in his lungs at the movement. He’s probably got a broken rib, he realizes, as he involuntarily leans into Geralt more. “You’re here,” he repeats, his eyes fluttering.

“I am, but don’t fall asleep on me yet. You’ve got a nasty head wound,” Geralt says, his voice gruff and stern and the familiar tendrils of it makes Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Y’know, even if this was a dream, it’s a nice dream. I hoped this would be my last,” Jaskier whispers, like it’s a secret, as he leans into Geralt, wrapping an arm around the witcher’s waist. He has no balance, so he feels the sway of his body as he tries to recalibrate his center of gravity.

“It’s not a dream, and it sure as hell won’t be your last one.” Geralt’s response is angry, almost aggressive, and Jaskier thinks maybe he’s far too out of it to be affected by that. “Yen’s outside with a portal waiting for me to get you out of here,” he continues, tightening his grip around Jaskier’s waist and moving out of the cell.

Jaskier makes a soft noise, burying his face in Geralt’s neck as the witcher half-carries him out of the keep. “You came for me,” he mumbles, voice slurring as darkness starts to take a hold of his consciousness.

“I always will,” Geralt whispers. Or maybe it’s just a part of Jaskier’s dream. “You’re not dreaming, Jaskier, and I need you to stay awake.”

Did he say that aloud? Oh. Did that mean he was definitely dreaming or definitely not? Jaskier is about to say something else, he thinks, but putting words together has become very difficult. What a useless wordsmith he is, isn’t he? Not able to put words together! What a sorry excuse of a bard.

“What’s he babbling about?” a sultry feminine voice asks, and Jaskier’s body jerks, the pain shooting from his possibly-twisted ankle as he tries to run off. “Bard, what are you doing? Has he been doing this the whole time?”

“Hm,” Geralt grunts, shifting to hoist Jaskier towards the shimmering portal that’s just outside of his fuzzy eyeline.

“Why didn’t you Axii him like one of your horses?” Yennefer asks, her voice coming closer as Jaskier’s arm lifts and loops over someone’s neck. A lilac and gooseberries someone.

Geralt lets out a grunt that, if he were in the right state of mind, Jaskier would be able to translate, but for now, he knows there’s an underlying layer of softness to it that he wants to hold close to his heart.

“Oh, you stupid witcher,” Yennefer mumbles before Jaskier feels chaos surrounding him. It’s the last thing he consciously notes for himself before his vision goes black and his mind goes empty.

[lesamis]

Please tell us about the books you've been reading!

😭​ that's what i'd love to be doing 24/7 actually, thank you for giving me an excuse to, anon!

i recently finished dead collections by isaac fellman, a short-ish novel about an undead archivist, the widow he falls in love with, a very haunted bequest, navigating work life as a vampire, and Adventures In Gender. it took me a while to make friends with this narrative voice, but i ended up feeling very fond of it; when it's not being acerbic and self-deprecating, it's sweet and hysterically funny. 9/10, recommend.

my current full-time read is mayhem & death by helen mcclory, a short story collection (? there's a framing narrative in there somewhere) about gloom and folklore and grief and horror and maybe the sea. i've rarely read anything like it. the stories are disjointed but largely share the same tone, the prose is familiar but unsettling - if i had to find a point of reference, i'd probably say some of them remind me a little bit of the way statements are written on tma. i've been finding it difficult to finish precisely because it is so atmospheric, and i feel like i should be in a cabin on the seashore during a storm reading it.

and then the post from earlier is actually already outdated because i'm an impatient fool & started reading the bone people the moment i got my hands on it today, and i love every word so far. its style is surprising and keeps you on your toes, sort of like poetry would, and i love books that are so rooted in specific places that they allow you to really feel the writer's affection for them. that's why i wanted to read this novel in the first place: a while ago, a friend of my mum's who spent a lot of time in new zealand as a girl gave us her book collection to rifle through, and i picked up two of hulme's poetry books. i devoured strands. here's one of my favourite passages:

"You would not know just by looking but under that corner of my lawn is the corpse of a shining cuckoo which, in ecstatic prospect of the Bismarck archipelago, failed to notice my window - and there lies nextdoor's cat after mauling once too long once too often/my home fantails one May morning, and under here I buried the remains of my heart - o, the potatoes? Like the sunchokes they are self-sown - well, at least I never planted them - yes it is a green well-nourished lawn."

and then, finally, i'm slowly making my way through another poetry collection, the new testament by jericho brown. this one i received for my birthday, and it's the type of book to take your time with, even though the poems are quite short; it would feel like an injustice to them not to try your best to pick apart the intertextuality in each one. i think i was given this book because of how much i enjoyed something that may shock and discredit you. both are very moving explorations of religion, selfhood, and gender.

[ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole]

Heather

A one shot based on Conan Gray's Heather song.

First attempt at writing since an early teenager so apologies if it's a little disjointed. And thank you @boldlyanxious for your encouragement to take the plunge and actually get this idea out my head!

Also to @zambie-trashart @loveswifi for being amazing and connecting people ❤️

Masterlist

..................................................................................

Damian and Jon were a dynamic duo. Best friends. Super sons since they were “forced together” Damian taking the lead with Jon following shortly behind. Damian’s brothers liked to tease him, that Jon was like a puppy dog, with his “adoring eyes” only for Damian. ‘Tt’ thought Damian. Jon was his acquaintance and team mate of course he would follow him. They were a Super Son duo team; it was them against the world.

Jon and Damian were in the training room when Batman and Wonder Woman wandered with an unknown person. 

“Robin, Superboy, this is Ladybug, Wonder Woman’s apprentice.” Batman said when Damian and Jon had paused from training. “She will be joining you on your next recon mission. She has just rejoined the world from being in Themyscira for a while. Working with you two will help her readjust to working with the Justice League.”

Jon, rushing up to the newly introduced Ladybug “Hi there, I’m Superboy! WOw you’ve been to Themyscira? What is it like?? Do you have super powers! We have a briefing on the mission in an hour, have you been shown around the base yet?”

Damian turned to Batman and hissed “Can we trust her? We don’t know her at all. She will be a liability” not impressed by the surprise new element and glaring at her when he got the chance. 

“Robin” growled Batman, “She can be trusted, you will work with her nicely”.

Wonder Woman observed the situation with mirth while Ladybug just looked overwhelmed with the conflicting energy pulsing between everyone.

Diana’s apprentice, “Ladybug” was a similar age to them and after that initial mission she ended up joining them on other missions. 

Damian wasn’t happy with this initially, but he slowly started to warm to her. Ladybug held secret identities in high regard and never tried to “uncover” his or Jon’s, she took missions seriously, far more than Jon, and was apt at strategizing and working with the bare minimum. She didn’t demand their attention, monopolise Jon or try to be best friends with them. She needed work on her fighting technique outside the suit and had trust issues too, but eventually she grew on Damian. It helped she listened to his critique and responded accordingly as well as took any opportunity to train especially with him and Jon. Compared to others Damian and Jon could have been paired with, she was adequate.

Jon welcomed her too quickly from Damian’s point of view, but he followed Damian’s lead for the most part when socialising with her, though always friendly didn’t reveal too many secrets unintentionally. On the positive, Jon had ‘finally learnt’ some etiquette with others. Jon didn’t drape his arm over her shoulder or continually try to initiate his tactile friendship with her like he had with him. Damian would rather not scare Ladybug off with Jon’s annoying need to hang off people. After the last mission when paired with a Green Lantern, he’d rather work with her than be paired with someone else, she was tolerable at least.  

….....................................................................

Damian had been noticing a shift occurring in his best friend over the last year or so. At first, he was finally learning how to tone down his tactility with their friendship. Damian was pleased with the result as Jon was finally growing up, though he did miss the warmth of Jon’s arm over him occasionally or the enthusiastic hugs when they met up, especially when it was just the pair of them. He would never admit it out loud, but the hugs were something he never thought he would miss. He missed Jon lean his head on his shoulder when they watched films together. The sleepovers had subtly reduced too. That Damian really did miss. At least Jon’s social etiquette had improved though.  

Well, that was Damians originally though, more recently he had noticed Jon was slowly losing his newly gained etiquette with Ladybug. His tactility was starting to return around her, and it was very unbecoming. Damian had sworn Jon had finally been trained out of that, what was worse though, was Ladybug started to respond in subtle tactility too. Not as extreme as Jon’s and was, a hand on his shoulder, a 'la bise’ when greeting, all within socially acceptable etiquette, but it should be frowned on. They were professionals. She was encouraging Jon’s behaviour to return. Damian did note that it seemed only with her though, he couldn’t make that out. Part of him wanted it to return with him too or only him maybe. 

….........................................................................

Damian was sulking down in the Batcave when his “idiotic” brothers found him.

Upon seeing Damian growling at the computer searching through a case “What’s up little D? I thought you usually patrol with Jon tonight” echod around the cave. Damian glared at Dick “He cancelled. Jon said he is training Ladybug this evening”.

Jason whistled “So he finally got over his crush on you and moved on to Ladybug huh!”

Tim replied “Kon says he doesn’t shut up about her at home.” putting on a ‘high pitched voice Tim continued “‘Oh, what blue eyes she has’ ‘Oh, how strong she is’ ‘how pretty her smile is’”

Damian turned his glare to his other brothers. “Tt, Drake stop with that infuriating voice. Todd, Jon does not have a crush on me! That is ridiculous! He is training with Ladybug to improve her fighting skills and strength. She is overly cautious when in her suit with those without super strength therefore Jon is the perfect candidate. And Drake you are being ridiculous. If Jon and I mean IF he likes her it should be for her hero professionalism not for her looks! Tt'' rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

“Oh please! Jon has been flirting with you for years and not got anywhere. Ladybug turns up and responds to his flirting of course he’ll move on and want to spend time with her. He is using the training as an excuse to be close with her ALONE. If he really wanted to train, he’d have invited you too for feedback.” Jason snarked back. 

That got Damian to pause for a second, though still scowling at his siblings. ‘Why hadn’t he invited him along to help train. He was always up for training and was happy that Ladybug had started to get Jon to consider training more seriously… wait, what if Todd was right and that wasn’t what Jon was after…. And Jon flirting with him... when did he do that???’

“Please tell me, you knew Jon was flirting with you right! That you were ignoring his advances due to being uninterested and didn’t want to hurt his feelings more than you were. Don’t say that you are pulling a Bruce and being dense on the emotion spectrum” supplied Tim. 

“Jon has never flirted with me Todd! Drake! He is my best friend that is all and being a good partner to Ladybug” spat out Damian and looked as if he would reach for his katana any moment now. 

Dick taking pity on Damian, stepped in before any maiming occurred and the conversation got any more heated. “Little D, you do realise that there are other methods of flirting other than the ones we typically witness at Gala’s where people ‘thrusting’ themselves on to us. That there are different languages of love? Jon’s most obvious ones are spending time, touch… I’d agree with Jay and Timmy. Jon did have a crush on you with him following you around all the time, even at his own inconvenience. His constant touch and being near you. The puppy dog eyes which he only gave you. You must have noticed this. And this had started to decrease before Ladybug’s arrival. I’m betting he got fed up with waiting for you to notice him and started noticing others. Ladybug has just kick jumped his next crush, and I’m guessing, and I do mean I’m guessing, but based on the facts and observations she returns his feelings.” Dick then turned and grabbed Tim and Jason and started drag them to change for patrol, “We’ll leave you to process”, frowning at Tim and putting a hand over Jason’s mouth when they looked like they wanted to say something more.

 

Post patrol Damian went to do research in his room on his ‘secret laptop’, he did not trust Tim not to try and hack into his known tech. Damian looked up “flirting techniques”, language of “love”, then “how to tell if someone is flirting with you” “how to tell if you like or love someone” and “how to interpret your own feelings”. Dread built in his stomach. 

When Damian did fall asleep it was not fitful slumber at all. 

 

 

I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

You said it looked better on me than it did you

Only if you knew how much I liked you

But I watch your eyes as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

 

It was at the Justice Leagues winter party; Jon was wrestling Damian into an old Christmas jumper of his. “There! See. It looks fab on you. Actually Dames, I’m pretty sure you wear it better than I did'' Jon stated with a cheeky grin. Damian “Tt, the jumper is hideous” fighting a subtle blush by looking away with Jon being so close. “C’mon Dames. It’s Christmas. The jumpers aren’t meant to be ‘tasteful’ and whatever. It's meant to be....” Jon tailed off. Damian looked back at Jon to follow his line of sight. Ladybug had entered the room with Diana. Damian finally got what his brothers meant with “puppy dog eyes” Jon’s whole face softened as he smiled and waved her over. Damian’s stomach clenched. 

 

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather

 

Jon greeted Ladybug with a kiss on her cheek, “M you made it! But where’s your jumper?!”. Ladybug replied with a smile “I said I would be here Jon.” then uncharacteristically nervously stated “I wasn’t sure about the jumpers though. It was so open ended” before going into a ranting “Did you mean thick ones, or thin ones, sparkley, tasteful, ugly! Urgh! AND you didn’t respond to my messages to help!”

Damian felt the girl was a whiplash of emotions at times. Jon laughed kindly while semi leaning on Damian though put his hand on Ladybug’s shoulder “Calm down M, here take mine. I brought lots with me as I knew Dames would potentially kick up a fuss. His is the fifth one he tried on”

Jon took his jumper off and handed it to Ladybug. As soon as she had it on Jon fussed over her “We need to have you looking perfect! You pull this jumper off amazingly” causing Ladybug to sport a faint blush.  

Damian felt sick. It hit him. Jon liked Ladybug. Jon knew Ladybug’s identity. Jon had liked him, but he only was realising now that he liked him back, but it was too late. Jon was moving on. And Damian couldn’t even blame him. Ladybug was objectively pretty, but she was more. She was a good hero, not just a vigilante but a hero. He’d seen her on missions, and she cared about others, civilians, her team and even criminals and villains she took done with force but strange care. It made sense that Jon would move on with her.

 

Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand

Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

But how could I hate her, she's such an angel

But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she

Walks by

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

She's got you mesmerised while I die

 

From there Damian witnessed Ladybug holding Jon’s hand as he dragged her around introducing her to other members of the league she’d yet to meet. Jon draping his arm over her shoulder, while they held conversations. ‘Just like he used to do with me’ Damian’s brain supplied. 

“Hey Brat, how you holding up? You’re looking pretty glum here without Jon and the others keeping you company” Tim surprisingly snuck up on Damian. “Tt, I’m fine Drake. Jon is introducing Ladybug to everyone and ensuring her first party isn’t unpleasant.” 

“That doesn’t explain why you aren’t there with them” 

Damian looked at Drake with narrow eyes trying to figure out what he was digging for. 

“Look Damian. I’m probably not the best here” 

“Tt, I’d agree to that” snapped Damian rolling his eyes

“Oi Brat! I meant comfort, support and what not. That’s Dick’s department really” Tim sighed “Damian! Look I’m offering a listening ear, as unfortunately for the pair of us you are my brother, and you look like you need to talk to someone.”

Damian looked at Drake for a moment and contemplated what he wanted to do, other than grab his katana and maim someone. Preferably Drake or... maybe Ladybug, which was a surprising thought. 

“I want to hate her, but I can’t as she is a literal angel, and she makes Jon happy.” Damian quietly disclosed to Tim before wandering off to avoid the bombardment of questions that potentially could follow. ‘At least Drake is better than Grayson or Todd to admit that too, his form of torment is less overt’.  

 

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

I wish I were Heather

Oh, I wish I were Heather

Oh, oh, wish I were Heather

 

Damian now wasn’t sure whether wondering off from Drake was a good idea after all. He had sneaked out of the main hall where the party was to try and find somewhere quiet to untangle his increasingly chaotic thoughts. Unluckily for him though, he’d stumbled upon Jon showing Ladybug the stars from the gallery room. Before Damian could react by letting them know of his existence or get away, Damain witnessed something he really wished he could unsee. Jon gently lifted Ladybug’s chin and slowly kissed her. He had given her every chance to move away if she had wanted too but she hadn’t.

The nausea and pain returned by the time Damian slipped away from them. 

Jon liked Ladybug; Ladybug liked Jon. They were kissing. 

‘I wish it was me instead’ ‘I like Jon’ ‘Jon likes Ladybug’ ‘I missed my chance’ whizzed around Damians head. 

Damian thoughts spiralled from there. He reviewed his interactions with Jon. He could bash his head against the wall with his obliviousness. Damian took a deep breath and schooled his icy façade back into place. He re-joined the party like he hadn’t witnessed Jon kissing Ladybug and his heart was finally admitting to hurting. 

 

When Jon joined him later, Damian kept his hurt locked up with Jon bounced with happiness in front of him. 

“I asked M, I mean Ladybug to be my girlfriend. I was so worried she’d reject me, but she didn’t! She said Yes Dames! M said yes. To me Dames, she actually likes me! Oh gods I didn’t imagine it did I”

Pushing down the hurt, Damian replied “Tt, tonight is real Jon, and she would be an idiot to reject you” ‘like me’ left unspoken.

 

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester

But you like her better

Wish I were

[crazyloststar]

vanoe drabble - part 2

I have bits and pieces of this AU, but unsure how to share on ao3 since everything is so disjointed. So posting it here now so it doesn’t remain hidden in my google docs, and maybe sharing it will help me sort out how to share it on Ao3 as well. 

This is a continuation of this au. Overall the concept was inspired by the novel Red, White, and Royal Blue. Highly recommend! I’ve been having fun playing around with the concept of that story with Vanitas and Noe. 

As with the previous drabble, this is just a quick rough work, please excuse any typos I may have missed. 

***

Seeing Vanitas again, after weeks of not talking and not seeing each other, feels like he just lost all the blood in his body.

When Vanitas storms up to him when he’s in the middle of discussing opera with Domi, he does his best to keep his expression neutral and unbothered. He tries to roll his eyes as much as he can when Vanitas grabs him by the cravat and pulls him away, ignoring the way Domi raises an eyebrow curiously. 

Vanitas is probably going to finally kill him, like he would have back under the tree if Noe had stuck around. He lets himself get pulled, not asking any questions, until Vanitas has led them to a small room, some kind of conference room with a table in the middle. He is released long enough for Vanitas to push him in and close the door, locking it. 

Noe leans his back against the table and waits while Vanitas pulls his jacket off. Noe doesn’t think about how good he looks, his form hidden under the heavy bowling jacket he prefers. 

Vanitas tosses it to the table, eyes like fire on Noe. 

“You have some nerve,” Vanitas hisses, “ignoring me all this time,” 

Noe doesn't move an inch. Vanitas slams forward, hands on either side of Noe’s hips, dangerously close. 

Somehow Noe manages to speak despite the way he feels like he can’t move. This close he can feel the heat radiating off Vanitas like he could that night. He can hear his heartbeat as it pulses loudly throughout his body. “I thought it would be best, all things considered.” 

With a loud inhale, Vanitas puffs up more. “All things considered is a dumb fucking phrase,” 

“It's the truth,” Noe licks his lips, unable to stop himself; Vanitas smells so good when he’s all hyped up like this, his blood boiling under the skin. Noe hadn't noticed it before, but now it's all he can think of. 

Vanitas catches the movement and looks down at Noe’s lips, before closing the gap between them and kissing, hard. Noe braces his hands on the table for leverage, barely preventing them both from tumbling back onto the surface. Though he thinks about how that would feel, to have Vanitas hovering over him.

Okay, maybe he wouldn’t mind that at all actually.  

His legs are kicked apart and Vanitas fills the space between them, lining up their hips, causing them both to moan against each other at the friction. 

This time Vanitas has an agenda, clearly. He kisses deep, sucks on his tongue, and Noe has to keep a small fraction of himself alert because the way his body vibrates with need is something he’s never experienced before. He's never wanted to drink blood from the source before Vanitas, not ever craved the taste against his tongue like he does now. 

He settles for sucking on Vanitas' bottom lip, letting it pop back before returning to kiss him. Buttons have come undone, ties and cravats loosened, and Noe doesn't care anymore as he hikes both legs up to wrap around Vanitas’s waist. 

He’s given a brief moment to breathe when Vanitas pulls back just enough to press against his jawbone. “You -” Vanitas gasps out and then Noe’s world slides around, so he’s looking up at the ceiling, and Vanitas is on his neck in an instant sucking on the skin just under his ear. 

While on one hand Noe is exactly where he thought he might want to be, and it feels so, so good, it’s suddenly too close, too personal, too - “wait,” Noe chokes out, clarity winning out over the fog of everything else, “we…” he takes a breath when Vanitas lifts his head just enough to hover over him, eyes wide and dark blue, “not here. There’s people just on the other side.” 

“And?” 

He curses his reverence for rules and propriety and wishes he could be just as chaotic and uncaring.  “Not here, Vanitas.” 

Arms cage Noe’s head. Vanitas pulls away but stays above Noe, studying him like he is prey. “My room. 1667. Midnight.” 

Noe could say no. He could say this is a bad idea. He could say they should stop this, whatever it is, now. 

But Noe is a fool. He nods once, and Vanitas slides out of sight. He slowly sits up, feeling a little dizzy, and tries to adjust himself, while Vanitas, now back towards the door with his coat in hand, watches. 

Vanitas opens his mouth, shuts it again. Then gives a frustrated grunt as he gets his coat back on.  

“I’m not used to seeing you rendered speechless,” Noe smirks. 

Vanitas’s face goes a little red. “We’ll see who's speechless when I wreck you, later.” 

Noe uses a bit of the extra heat in his veins in that moment to actually wink. “Not if I get you first.” 

It has the desired effect. Vanitas blinks, adjusting the sleeves of his coat by tugging on them probably much harder than he needs to, and then turns his back to Noe. He brushes off dust that Noe can't imagine was there, and then opens the door a crack. 

“Midnight,” Vanitas says over his shoulder, “don't make me come get you.” 

And then he vanishes, leaving Noe to get himself sorted before anyone decides they want to use the room.

[namgee]

implications | knj

❥pairing: Namjoon x Reader (f)   ❥genre: fluff, slice of life (pg) ❥word count: 2.3k ❥summary: The adventurer life isn’t for you. You like your routines and you stick to them, but a small mess-up finally forces you beyond your desired level of social interaction as you rely on a stranger. A stranger whose actions and words imply things you wish to explore. ❥warnings: none  ❥a/n: this was just a quick little thing I wrote a few days ago before I got started on another smut fic which should come out in about a week 😋 ^^ I did a quick proofread so sorry for any mistakes 😣

A silence that sounds with turning pages, graphite scraping against thick paper and the ever present hums that arise from thought. Your ears anticipate it even before you're there. It’s, for the most part, the same soundscape you’ve grown accustomed to since you started visiting the art atelier. Well, the building technically has multiple ateliers, whatever your artistic interest, for a reasonable fee each month, you can visit the space and use their resources. Each floor focuses on certain subject areas, people are allowed to move around and work wherever they want. Like a Google workspace except for the arts.

You usually stick to the 4th floor, where most of the graphics tools are. The elevator dings, you step away from the metallic box and towards the senior part-time receptionist, Diane, who gives unsolicited artistic advice under the guise that old age equates to prowess in art criticism. The advice isn’t half as bad as you expected still, you rarely take it. You place your folder on the desk giving her a smile, teeth barely visible, it’s the best iteration of ‘a lady should always smile when talking to others’ smile you can muster with your lips chapped from the borderline glacial air you had to walk through this afternoon.

“Well, hello young lady! You haven’t visited the establishment in a while. Mateo has been asking about you actually.”

Mateo is the head of the graphic art department who you might or might not like, there’s still a few weeks left for you to decide. Your roommate, Jovian, had given you the ultimatum, “You have until you finish whatever creature you’re trying to collage together this time around,” she had said waving her half painted stiletto nail around before diverting her attention to another girl who also seemed to be having a hard time choosing as her family and in laws attempted to decide for her. On one thing you were sure, you would have said no to the dress she had on.

“There we have it! That’s a much better smile that one you gave before. It’s always best to show some teeth,” Diane says, her two row of teeth (some of which look awfully fake) in full display.

“I’ll sure think about it next time Diane. I’m just here to check in right now,” you sigh, removing your decaying gloves which have lost their purpose, your fingers are about as stale as Diane’s as you fish around for your membership card in your wallet.

“The time please darling.”

“3pm to 8pm,” you say blowing warm air into your palms.

It takes a few minutes for her to find your name in the system. “Oh sweetheart, it seems someone else already took your spot.”

“Exactly how did they take my spot?”

“Hmmm,” Diane’s eyes lift upwards as she tries to find an answer in the air, “to be quite frank with you I do not know.” She sounds shocked that she doesn’t know something.

“Uh, excuse me?” Someone questions from behind you. You both turn towards the voice coming from a golden haired man sporting what is most likely the best variant of the fully toothed lady smile Diane advocates for. To make matters even better it’s shaped like a heart. “I believe that I was the one who took the spot.” he giggles nervously as if caught red-handed before sliding his own card onto the desk.

You assume he’s here to work with graphics for some sort of fashion related purpose, in fact he sort of looks like the graphics plastered around the building: colourful, bold, warm but still a bit overwhelming.

“You’re indeed the one who booked the slot first, young man.”

“I believe that this is what the trainer for my position was referring to as a glitch in the system.” Diane says with an air of pride.

“Hm, sorry about that,” The human embodiment of a colour wheel says with an apologetic pout.

“Oh, don’t worry I’m sure I can find another place, it isn’t your fault,” you wave your hand around giving him your second or third genuine smile of the day. He mumbles a shy ‘okay’ before heading right, away from you.

“Can you see if there’s any place on the other floors?” You reluctantly ask, after all you had never gone to other floors unless it was to buy snacks because the queues on the 4th floor were too long or to find unoccupied bathrooms.

Diane finds you an opening for the floor above. You thank her and move back to catch the elevator doors right before they close, swiftly slipping in towards a surprised figure, a big figure. You mumble a quick apology after bumping into him. When you turn your head to look at him he gives you what you assume to be his own equivalent of the barely noticeable smile you gave Diane a few minutes ago.

The ride takes a few seconds. You rush out the second the opening of the doors is big enough for you slip past if you just take a deep breath in. Another second goes by where you feel disoriented. The floor layout is not that different from the one beneath but the place looks far more cramped than what you expected. Don’t writers like to be alone? In their own space?

You watch as Mr. Big gives yet another one of his glances, you haven’t figured out how to describe them yet, you don’t know if you’re being judged or just being perceived or whatever it is that writers do.

He goes to the right, so you take the other way. You peruse the space for a place you could sit down to work on your project. Somehow, the writers with their notebooks and laptops seem stingy about letting you settle down despite how packed the floor already is.

For every glance you take at a potential working spot you receive three glances and these ones you know to be of the judgy kind. You walk and walk only to end up on square one. Just to make sure, you do another round and another one as if you were in a full parking lot waiting for one of the cars to magically pull out for you to get a place. By your third tentative walk, the one where you put the most effort to seem approachable and nice, someone takes pity on you.

It seems it’s not only his stature that is big but so is his heart.

“Oh god, thank you!” You sigh, sliding into Mr. Big’s little corner which faces backwards from the café.

“It was starting to look... sad.” He gives you a brief look before focusing back on his laptop screen.

“It wouldn’t have been, if you writers were more welcoming,” you scoff, shrugging off your jacket, the rustling brings your actions to his focus.

A delicate slender hand pushes against his glasses as he leans back, “You’re quite the daredevil, huh?”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, slipping past closing elevator doors and sitting down to probably do something noisy with a lot of... “ He takes a look at your stash of materials, “things while surrounded by silence seeking writers. Those things make me say that.”

“That’s a very boring view on action. Also the concept of this building is literally to allow anyone to work anywhere.”

“Sure, you’re right but just because that’s their goal doesn’t mean it turns out that way. This place is no different from high school, certain spaces have been sort of ‘claimed’.”

“And you expect me to act like a good teenage girl and not start trouble?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Aren’t you a writer? You should know certain words can imply certain things,” you say matter of factly and receive a disjointed but delightful laugh as his hand fists to cover his wide smile.

“Anything else you know about writers that you would like to share?”

“You might end up making a character out of me, or a scene out of my situation.” You’re playing on stereotypes but for all you know they could be true. You lay out your material on the table forcing him to scoot a bit. He doesn’t protest and you appreciate that, so you give me a genuine tight lipped ‘thank you’ smile.

“So what are you doing?” He asks, lowering his computer screen a bit.

“A collage.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t really know yet. I’m just figuring it out as I go.” You stare at the big pile of magazines, newspapers and flyers you managed to collect over the past month. Something has to come out of it. “What about you?”

“Pretty similar actually, I just came here to write, figuring it out as I go you know.” He picks up a piece of paper nearest to him, a green flyer. “Do you even know what it says?” He holds it up to you. The text is in Arabic.

“No, I don’t.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know? I mean the work will be tied to you.” He questions.

“It doesn't matter, it’s not like anyone will see this,” you mumble, snatching the flyer from him.

“Someone should, I don’t know much about collages, actually I know nothing, but I like what I see so far.”

“What exactly do you see?” You probe.

“Ummm… uhhhh… it’s– there’s branches and,” he leans over to get a better look and hesitates “tentacles? Okay, so maybe I don’t know what it is, but I still stand by it. It’s nice to look at.”

“Would you give it as a gift to someone?” You probe even further.

“You know what, I’m just trying to tell you I like it. Like I would totally buy it! So yes, I would give it to someone, myself!” He has an overly cheery voice that encourages more glances your way. The more you look, the more you start thinking they’re watching you and not judging.

“How much?”

He gives you an incredulous expression, he seems both intrigued and confused with behaviour.

You snort a short laugh, “I’m just messing with you. But don’t get me wrong if you do want to buy it then I’m definitely taking offers.”

At that he retreats back into himself and his silence to focus on the blank document page. You shrug it away, you knew his words were too good to be true.

The two of you work in relative silence, your ripping and cutting does add a bit of a soundtrack for the period of time. After an hour or so of working, you move to buy a cinnamon bun, and while you’re at it you buy a second one. You did feel a bit apologetic for disturbing his workspace, you of all people should know.

You place his plate beside him but he’s too engrossed into his writing to provide any response. He does finally whisper a shy ‘thanks’ once he lifts his gaze from the screen. You answer with a nonchalant but truthful ‘no biggie’.

The hours bleed into themselves and soon enough your allocated time is about to run out. You’re quite used to that routine,packing up your material well in time to leave. However, the man in front of you doesn’t seem to have a good grasp of time. Last minute, he hurries to assemble his belongings, swiftly turning around to check that he hasn’t left anything behind, almost knocking down the plate that you manage to catch.

Your elevator ride to the bottom floor is as silent as the one you had earlier. You walk with synchronised strides somehow following the same way after you leave the building. You’re sure one of you is following the other, but as long as you’re concerned you’re taking the way back home. You walk in silence for a few more minutes before you think of asking him where he lives, just to make sure but he beats you to speaking.

“So uhhh, would–” he starts off in a high pitched voice which he masks with a cough, “I meant, would you like to grab a coffee?”

“At 8pm?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Or a drink?” He suggests.

“What does coffee or a drink mean?”

“I thought you were good at getting the implications of certain words.” He smirks, which seems out of character, but then again you don’t know him. You’re just curious about something first.

“What did you end up writing?”

“A short story about an avid museum visitor that discovers a collage at an exhibition that has him intrigued.” He chuckles knowing very well it just proves your point. And you smile satisfied to have finally figured out what that particular glance of his meant. He was just taking you in.

“It’s Y/N by the way,” you would have reached out your hand towards him but they’re cold so you compensate with a warm smile Diane would approve of. “And I wouldn’t mind a drink right now.”

“I’m Namjoon and I’m very happy you said that” He punctuates his excitement with a dimple. The same one you would come to grow enamoured with, so much you would make a collage piece out of all the pictures you’ve taken where it is present. In return, he would, just as he did today, unconsciously and deliberately write your works into his stories, and welcome you into his space.

“By the way, when you let me sit with you in your space, were you claiming me then?” You ask out of curiosity and urge to mess with him.

“I– I don’t know what you’re implying. But if you mean me taking pity on you then yes.” You scoff a bit too loud at his response. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to whatever it is you have in mind,” He says, looking down at your quizzical expression with warm eyes and a restrained laugh as he walks closer to you. It seems you’re not the only one who’s good with implications.

thank you for reading my fic, i hope you enjoyed it 🥺 any feedback or comment is welcomed !!

all rights reserved namgee

[bitchloveskcbaseball]

You Left My Heart on the Floor

Pairing: Bryce x MC

Warnings: A bit of language. Character Death. I don’t think I put anything that outright mentions the attack, but this is taking place when M/C is quarantined in the room during the aftermath.

A/N #1: Sooooo... This is a follow up to Bar Trouble that is set during the book 2 attack with an unfortunate alternate ending. And it is not a happy one. Also this isn’t heavily edited, so please excuse any mistakes.

A/N #2: Name for this comes from Carly Pearce's Every Little Thing

A/N #3: I didn’t want to forcibly subject anyone to this, so I’m not tagging anyone on this.

Bryce barely took the time required to scrub out of surgery before rushing off through the corridors. He never even really saw any of the staff he passed or heard any of the comments that were floating about as he ran past. The only thing he could focus on was getting to Casey before it was too late. He had to get there before it was too late.

He didn’t even remember flying over the flights of stairs that took him to the cordoned-off floor. Barely registered brushing past all of the various personnel that were trying to keep him from entering. His first cognizant thought after handing Kyra’s surgery over to Tanaka didn’t come until he was standing in front of the window, staring into a room that looked like it had come straight out of some psycho-horror film. The entire room was covered in plastic, an extra cot was set up but had yet to be touched, all while countless figures were milling about just outside of a decontamination chamber in hazmat suits. But, despite all the commotion, the only thing that Bryce saw was her. Her face was paler than he’d ever seen before, a marked contrast to the deep, dark circles under her eyes. Her lips were almost ashen and even from across the room, he could see the way her body was trembling. Her normally bright, green eyes were so dull they were almost completely devoid of color. Yet through it all, he could tell, without even hearing her words, that she was doing everything she could to make sure that Rafael was comfortable. Every single thing about the scene chiseled pieces of his heart away.

Then, suddenly, Casey was looking up directly into his eyes. For the first time in months. And it literally stole his breath away. But there was no relief for either of them. Her expression had quickly morphed into disbelief and Bryce was hit with the full force of everything that had happened between them.

“What are you doing here?” Even through the hostility in her tone, he could hear the weakness of her voice.

“You… I heard you were in trouble.”

“So?”

Bryce stumbled back with the force of the word as if he’s been physically struck. “I needed to see you. To check on you.”

“Shouldn’t you still be in surgery?”

“Inez called Tanaka and he took over for me. Kyra’s in the next best possible hands.”

Casey let out a harsh scoff. “Seriously, Bryce? I’ve asked you for only one goddamn thing in the past six fucking months. To get Kyra through this surgery. And you couldn’t even do that?”

“Casey – “

“Forget it. You’ve seen me. Now you can go. I’m sure your girlfriend is probably worried about you by now. You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Bryce sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d come running, but this sure wasn’t it. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed the way her eyes followed him whenever they were in the same room. The glares she’d shoot in his direction when Amber was with him.

He liked Amber well enough, but, as terrible as it sounds, he only kept her around to make Casey jealous. To help distract him until Casey finally figured out what the hell it was that she wanted. Until Casey figured out that she was meant to be with him. But here they were months later and nothing had changed.

Except everything had changed. Because she could very well be dying. And he’d wasted so much time trying to play head games with her. Trying to get back at her for how she’d made him feel when she’d pushed him away.

Now, he realized, as he saw the flash of emotions through her eyes, he had done too good of a job at convincing her that he had moved on. Casey was never going to believe anything that he had to say, anything he desperately needed to say. Not that he could blame her. Why would she believe that he still loved her when he’d done everything possible to make sure she’d seen him all wrapped up with Amber any chance he got?

Dropping his head to stare at his shoes, he muttered, “I, uh… I won’t be far. Just in case you, uh, you need something. Okay?”

“Whatever.”

Without looking up, he turned on his heel and found his way into one of the evacuated rooms down the hall. Settling himself into corner of the room that butted up against the hallway so that he wouldn’t be seen through the crack in the door, he sank down until his face was buried against his knees. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life. The one person who meant anything to him in this entire world was stuck in a room with some mystery substance threatening to take her away for good. He wanted nothing more than to be there for her, supporting her in every way possible, but she didn’t want that from him.

He couldn’t stand to be any further away from her than he currently was, though, so he hid out in the room throughout the night. He gradually inched closer to the door, in order to pick up on the pieces of conversation taking place in the hallway. Knowing that Ramsey and the diagnostics team were on the case had helped to ease some of his fears. That was, until he heard them telling her what had been in the can. Until he heard the words he’d been dreading for hours. “There is no cure.”

His entire world stopped. He couldn’t drag air into his lungs. He couldn’t see the light shining through the door opening. He couldn’t even smell the thick odor of disinfectant that permeated the air.

I’m going to lose her. No. Stop that, Bryce. They are going to figure this out. The brightest medical minds in the world are working on her case. They will fix this.

Still, he couldn’t shake the iron grip of fear around his heart. It took far longer than it should have for him to push himself to his feet. Even longer to actually figure out how to move them towards her room. This time, he was painfully aware of all the gazes falling on him as he trekked towards his destination. He couldn’t miss the pitiful, knowing looks he was receiving.

When he was once again standing in front of her window, he realized that she was now all alone in the room and his heart squeezed even harder. She was wobbling precariously as she seemed to be attempting to pace across the room. It took every ounce of self-control he’d ever possessed to not run into the room and haul her into his arms.

“Casey?”

Her movements were incredibly disjointed as she swiveled around to face him and her face was knotted up in confusion.

“Bryce?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“What ar – “ a violent coughing fit overtook her and very nearly brought her to her knees.

“Hey. Why, uh, why don’t you go sit on the bed for a minute, Case?”

“Can’t. Have to keep moving. Can’t solve this if I fall asleep.”

“You don’t have to solve this at all. You’ve got the best team of doctors ever working on this. Your only job is to preserve your strength.”

“Don’t… don’t tell me what to do, Bryce.”

“I’m just – “

“Well don’t. I’ve been doing just – “ Casey blanched, stumbling over to a waste bin next to her cot just before the retching started.

Bryce’s fingers itched to hold her, to pull her hair back out of her way, to hold a cool washcloth to her face. Anything to bring her some semblance of comfort. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an extra hazmat suit, and a glimmer of hope bloomed within his chest.

“Hey, Case. There’s an extra suit out here. If you want, I can put it on and come keep you company.”

“No.” The strength behind the word was reassuring even as it cut straight to his heart.

“What?”

“You moved on. You have your … girlfriend and I’m sure she wouldn’t be pleased to find out you’d entered a contamination zone for your ex. And I … I don’t want you here. I’m just fine on my own.”

“But – “

“I said no. Now just… go home, Bryce. Just go home.”

Shocked and heartbroken, he stared at her back for several long moments before he finally was able to tear himself away from the window. He retreated back to his hiding place, unable to argue with her wishes but also unable to leave her completely. He needed to be near in case she needed something. In case she needed him.

What could have been an hour later or maybe five, he honestly didn’t know, Bryce was broken out of his contemplative misery by a commotion in the hall. He listened intently for any sort of hope or happiness amongst the chaos, but instead only heard words that had his blood running cold.

“She’s coding!”

He didn’t even remember moving, but suddenly found himself standing outside her window yet again. His face was pressed up to it as tightly as was possible, fingernails scratching at the glass. Please save her. Please don’t let her die. Whether it was a plea or a prayer, he honestly didn’t know, but he kept repeating it in his mind over and over as he watched the team of doctors trying to restore her heart rhythm as time ceased to exist.

Seemingly without warning, everyone stopped and a silence punctuated only by the harsh, flat tone of the heart monitor settled over the room.

[demonicheadcanons]

Scenario: The (G/N) MC is playing a game where the brothers have to try to figure out the word they’re mouthing. They are mouthing the word ‘elephant’, which tends to look quite similar to ‘I love you’.

A/N: I haven’t been writing properly for years, too preoccupied with other responsibilities, so if things seem disjointed it’s because I’m rusty. Please give me time to warm up to this all again <3 Thank you. Also, I completely randomly had this idea last night and decided to write it as my first post because it was fresh in my mind. Sorry if it seems a little strange ^^”

The MC reactions are based on my MC’s whom I have paired up with the brothers. If you find them inaccurate just replace them with whatever you want ^^

Lucifer

Doesn’t understand the point of this game but he decides to humour them.

Internally wonders if he can fluster the MC. Decides against it. He has work to get back to after this distraction is out of his way.

It doesn’t take him long to guess “I love you,” with one eyebrow raised, staring at the MC.

If they respond with something like “I know, but I’m mouthing ‘elephant’,” he’s going to clench his jaw and turn back to his work.

He’s a little pissed off, because he feels like they were trying to make a fool of him. If they tell him they love him too he’ll sigh as if fed up, but will relax.

If you explain it, he’ll hum and say “If you want me to tell you that I love you so badly, you need only ask.”

Mammon

Gets flustered by the premise of the game. Oh, he just has to sit there and watch their mouth as they speak? That’s a bit weird, MC. Don’t leave though, he’ll play. He knows how much they want to spend time with The Great Mammon.

Catches on quickly enough to what they’re mouthing, mirroring the movements - he looks a bit daft, please don’t laugh, he’s trying his best.

Triumphantly, but somewhat nervously, declares “I love you!” He’s blushing slightly. Ignore it.

If they say “I love you too, but you haven’t guessed yet,” and pretend to be sad or pout at him, he’s going to look like a tomato.

Can’t play after that. Suddenly thinks the game is really stupid and a waste of time. His brain isn’t functioning once he hears ‘I love you too.’

They have to explain the point of the game to get him to calm down. Will try to get them back in the same way at a later date. He’s not incredibly successful but his only goal is to hear those 3 words again, so he doesn’t really care that much, but it would be best to play along.

Leviathan

He has one hand covering his mouth as per usual when he’s flustered. Watches intently to try to figure out what they’re mouthing so he can get it over and done with - he doesn’t have time for this ‘normie’ game, he was about to watch a new episode of some show or other.

Gets it pretty quickly - it’s obvious by the way his face starts to turn red as he asks them to repeat it once more so he can confirm it.

Stutters as he guesses ‘I love you?’ He has to fight the urge to look away, and instead watches them to see their reaction.

MC: “I love you too, but its ‘elephant’. Sorry Levi!”

He’ll pout and whine about how it’s not fair, and then invite them to watch whatever show with them - they owe him now. The corners of his mouth twitch up when they’re sitting beside him, because MC said they love him!!!

Probably posts about it on his social media, caught somewhere between being excited and embarrassed.

Satan

Assumes that MC has proposed the game because they need a break from studying. Sits up and stretches - he’d been laying on the floor, reading and occasionally answering their questions - and then focuses intently on what they’re telling him.

Both amused and confused by the game. However, they only have to mouth it once before he guesses “I love you.”

MC: “Mm. I hope so. Try again.”

Watches for maybe a minute before giving in - he can’t see anything else. Asks them to explain, and when they do he just laughs it off.

Vaguely entertained by the entire ordeal. Asks if there are any other similar human games. Will calmly listen to anything they want to tell him; it satiates his curiosity, and provides a nice, calm activity after a lot of studying.

Asmodeus

Watches the MC mouth it once before whining about how this is all just a tease. I mean, really, do they expect him to just sit there and watch their mouth?

Asks for kisses to indicate if his guess is close, and then guesses literally everything.

Gets fed up with the game quickly and pouts until the MC gives in and explains it.

He thinks the idea is funny, and a bit cute, but there are too many other activities that they could be doing that would be far more enjoyable. Willing to try the game again if MC agrees to try to do it with a face mask on whilst he does their nails, or something similar.

The only one who makes it a common pass-time when the two are doing self care together. He’s not great at it, but its relaxing and gives him an excuse to stare at them.

Beelzebub

Confused. What’s the point of this? You could be eating or cuddling instead.

Guesses “I love you” quickly enough. If the MC responds that they love him too, but that he should keep guessing, he seems a bit upset - he’d been sure that he was right.

Might end up dropping the game because he actually really likes having them tell him they love him. Repeats that he loves them over and over until he’s too hungry and takes them to go eat something.

Never really understands the game. He might ask the MC to explain whilst preparing food, or might just drop it altogether.

Belphegor

He’s... trying his best. It doesn’t help that he just woke up, but it really does take him A While before he even starts making guesses, and they’re really far off at first.

He gets frustrated and insists that MC lay down beside him to continue playing. Don’t agree to this - he will absolutely doze off again and forget all about it.

After like 5-10 minutes he guesses “I love you?” He doesn’t sound sure of himself at all, and yawns right after.

MC: “I love you too. I was mouthing ‘elephant’.”

Too tired to react much. Pulls them in for a hug and buries his face in their shoulder/neck. If he has to feel mildly flustered then he’ll be damned if they don’t too.

Like Lucifer, ends up teasing them over it. “If you want me to say I love you, just ask. Or say it first, coward.”

 A/N: Thanks for reading!!

[anistarrose]

Summary: Stan finds a recording from a fateful puppet show, a few disjointed memories fall into place, and the Pines family has some tense conversations.

Relationships: Ford Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Characters: Stan Pines, Ford Pines, Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher (posthumously)

Set in early September, probably a little less than a week after Dipper and Mabel went home.

(It felt good to write some Stangst again! Title is from Monster Town by Go! Child because when I can't think of titles on my own, I go to my GF playlist for inspo, and that song jumped out at me today)

***

“We should probably bring a backup camera on the boat,” Ford mused, in a tone that made it impossible to tell whether he was talking to Stan or just to himself. “Maybe even multiple backup cameras. There’s no telling what the Arctic climate could do to their circuitry, and people hardly take cryptid reports seriously even with photographic evidence, never mind with just an eyewitness account and an excuse about a broken camera —”

“Easy, Sixer.” Stan set down his fully-packed suitcase at Ford’s feet, satisfied with its contents. “I’ve got a camcorder up in my room, or maybe in — actually, I can’t remember where I decided to keep it, but it’s probably still in the house somewhere. If I can find it, you can add it to your camera horde.”

Ford zipped open Stan’s suitcase, revealing hand-knitted sweaters and Hawaiian shirts in approximately equal numbers, and sighed. “Some brave wardrobe choices you’re making here. Or have you forgotten that the first beach we’re stopping at is in Alaska?”

“Well, someone’s gotta lead the fashion revolution in the Arctic Circle, and it sure ain’t gonna be you,” Stan called as he headed upstairs, provoking a resigned “hrmph” from Ford.

Stan decided to look for the camcorder in his bedroom first — because while his memory still had some scattered gaps, his gut instincts rarely lead him astray, and checking his room had been his first impulse. Sure enough, he found it sitting on a shelf and covered in slightly less dust than the adjacent stack of magazines, just as he ever-so-vaguely remembered it.

“Better make sure this thing works, before Ford declares it too unreliable for yeti hunts or whatever,” he muttered to himself, leaning back onto his bed and fumbling for the power button. The camcorder blinked to life, presenting an interface that was probably hopelessly outdated — but Stan didn’t care, while Ford would have no way of knowing what modern Earth technology looked like.

What’d I even record on this thing anyway? He selected a random video from June, was greeted with his own voice singing the first line of the Stan Wrong Song, and immediately deleted the recording. With a sigh and silent vow to never let Ford learn of the song’s existence, he moved on to a video from July.

Once again, it was Mabel’s handiwork — heh, no wonder I couldn’t remember what I used this thing for, since the kids were always borrowing it from me — but this time, Stan himself wasn’t in frame, though the craft supplies strewn about the living room were enough to stir dormant memories.

“Dipper! Puppet Dipper! Smile for the camera!”

Dipper yawned, then somewhat half-heartedly mimicked the motion using the sock puppet on his hand. “Puppet Dipper’s not really feeling up to it this morning.”

“Did Puppet Dipper stay up too late trying to solve a mystery? Bwap!” The footage blurred as Mabel nudged Dipper with a sock puppet of her own. “Do I need to make him a little puppet-sized pillow?”

“How about… some puppet-sized sunglasses, for a puppet detective?” Dipper suggested.

“Good idea!” Mabel agreed. “Then no one will notice when Puppet Dipper falls asleep standing up!”

Stan shook his head and smiled.

Man, I wish I’d found this back when my memories were still a mess — Mabel kinda skimmed over the whole puppet saga in her scrapbook. Wonder what else got recorded from that week…

He selected the next video chronologically, noticing that it was also the final recording on the device, and the smile vanished from his face.

“You can’t stop me!” It was Dipper’s voice, yet not Dipper’s voice — all fury and arrogance, and the camcorder’s cheap speaker crackled with static, like the voice was too much, too wrong, too alien to properly record and then replicate. “I’m a being of pure energy with NO weaknesses!”

Without a doubt, Dipper’s body was onscreen, but he was staggering towards Mabel with arms twisted at impossible angles. He lunged for the journal in her hands, eyes glinting the same gold color as the emblem of the six-fingered hand —

Stan hit the power button, rolled over on the bed, and buried his face in his pillow as the wave of memories crashed into him.

Brushing off Dipper’s sorry state as sleep deprivation, until the kid collapsed on the way out of the theater. Seeing the cuts and bruises all over Dipper’s hands as Stan helped him to his feet, and grilling the kids on what happened the whole drive to the hospital. Not getting an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Not being able to give the doctor an answer beyond “sleep deprivation.”

Telling the twins’ parents it was just “sleep deprivation.”

A tense phone call, assuring Mr. and Mrs. Pines that Dipper’s recovery would be swift and tha Gravity Falls was still safe for their children. Stan’s hands shaking as he holds the phone, having no idea if that’s the truth, if he’s doing the right thing.

Mabel crying over a crumpled-up scrap of paper — a note? — she’d found in the car, and refusing to show it to Stan. Half-overheard secrets, whispered between the younger twins when they think Stan isn’t paying attention — apologies, worries, and murmurs too soft to be in any way decipherable.

Dipper, still with bags under his eyes, spending the next few days doing almost nothing but looking over his shoulder and burying his head in the journal. Stan pretending not to notice, but secretly finding it far too familiar for comfort.

Later memories, too — memories of demons, and handshakes, and feeling his body go numb. Memories of a voice, a furiously shrieking voice — both terrified and terrifying, but more than anything, alien.

Now, far too late, Stan recognized it.

***

“We’re calling the kids,” Stan barked, barging back downstairs, and Ford jumped.

“What’s wrong? Are your memories —”

“Better than they’ve ever been, actually.” Stan stormed directly to the living room table, flipping open the laptop on loan from Soos and clicking the video chat app. “Good enough to figure out something that apparently no one thought it might be important to tell me!”

“Are you sure?” Ford put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “We can still call them, but let’s talk this through first, make sure you’re not missing any gaps —”

Stan paused, cursor an inch away from the call button beneath Dipper and Mabel’s profile picture. “Did Dipper tell you about the time Bill possessed him?”

Ford started to say something, stopped, and tried again. “I… I assumed you knew. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know I ended up taking him to the goddamn hospital afterwards?”

“No,” Ford whispered, and Stan felt Ford’s fingers dig into his shoulder. “Call the kids, Stan.”

Mabel must’ve been online, because she picked up almost immediately. The video opened with her sitting in her kitchen in Piedmont, Waddles in her lap. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford! Guess what I —”

The joy drained out of her smile when she noticed her grunkles’ grave expressions. “What’s going on?”

“Mabel, pumpkin,” Stan murmured, trying to tune out the sound of his heart thumping in his chest, “could you go get your brother?”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Dipper slid into view, almost falling off his chair, and Mabel scooted out of the way so they could both comfortably face the laptop. “Is something wrong?”

“Not anymore,” Ford explained, “but Stan and I wanted to talk about… communication, among other things — Stan? Are you sure you’re alright?”

Stan wiped the sweat from his forehead and shuddered, forcing himself to take a deep breath as he stared at the computer.

Dipper’s back home. Dipper’s safe. They’re both safe, and they’ll never have to worry about Bill again.

“Stanley?” Ford echoed, increasingly distressed. “Please, if —”

“I’ll be alright,” Stan managed, because even he wasn’t a good enough liar to convince anyone he was alright at this exact moment. “Promise. But kids, why didn’t you tell me when Bill hijacked your puppet show?”

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a guilty look.

“Was it because you thought I’d take away the journal?” Stan regretted his ‘only self-defense’ stipulation for the third journal more than almost anything else he’d said that summer, because he’d always known deep down that it wouldn’t stop the kids — and in hindsight, he would’ve much rather known what trouble the kids were getting into, not have them hide it from him with their late nights out in the woods and nonspecific excuses.

“At first,” Dipper replied. “But we ended up worrying a whole lot more about you sending us home early —”

“Your parents almost made that decision for me,” Stan admitted. “They were ready to drive up here and come get you when they heard what happened. I dunno how I convinced them to let you stay —”

He sighed. “And maybe knowing the truth wouldn’t have actually helped me that time — but it would’ve been nice to know how big a lie I was telling when I told them this town was safe for you kids, y’know?”

He regretted voicing that thought immediately, but regretted it even moreso when Dipper looked away from the camera, mumbling: “I’m sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

“Stan’s not trying to guilt you,” Ford spoke up, “but we want you to know you can talk about these things honestly with us — and that goes for both of you, Dipper and Mabel. We’d never want to punish you for something that was obviously… someone else’s fault.”

Thank god one of us has finally learned to think through what we say before we say it, Stan figured.

“I’m sorry too, kids,” he added out loud. “For getting angry at you a minute ago — ‘cause I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at Bill for what he got away with right behind my back, and I… I just…”

He brushed a finger across their digital faces, a gesture that no doubt failed to translate to the video feed Dipper and Mabel were viewing, and smiled. “Thanks for picking up so fast, ‘cause I really needed a reminder that the two of you are safe and sound and all.”

The kids smiled back, visible for just a second before Mabel leaned forward to hug her laptop and the screen went dark.

“Anytime, Grunkle Stan.”

***

“Coffee?” asked Ford, ever the early riser, as Stan trudged into the kitchen the next morning. “You look like you need it.”

“Gee, thanks, Sixer,” Stan groaned, slumping into the seat across from Ford at the kitchen table. “I’ve heard of backhand compliments, but now I’ve gotta live with your backhanded coffee offers too?”

“Sorry. I’m sympathizing, not mocking — I promise, when I woke up today, my eyes were just as bloodshot as yours are now,” Ford replied, sliding Stan a mug of steaming coffee. “How are your memories?”

It was a routine question as of late, but Stan still managed to botch it completely.

“Too good,” he muttered under his breath, and earned a quizzical look from Ford.

“Pardon?”

“…Good enough that I can remember all kinda things to feel shitty about,” Stan reluctantly admitted. “Like not even noticing when Dipper was possessed, for one thing. I spent the whole summer worrying about him, except for when he was actually in danger —”

“Oh, Stanley,” Ford sighed, “that’s not your fault. You know Bill was an expert liar; he scammed too many people to count —”

“Yeah, but I shoulda seen through it!” Stan brought his fist down on the table, and the contents of his mug sloshed precariously close to the top. “Of all people, I should’ve known better —”

“Right.” Ford grimaced. “Right. Because no one else who should’ve known better was ever tricked by a dream demon for a whole lot longer than a few hours —”

“Shit. Ford, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like —”

With a controlled glowering expression and deliberate motions, Ford stood, marching across the kitchen with all the fury and hesitation of a slow-moving thunderstorm.

“I didn’t mean it was your fault! I’d never — ”

“…I know.” Ford came to a halt at the door, bracing one hand against the frame. “But if you can say as much about me, then… then why can’t you just say that about yourself?”

“What?!”

“You would’ve caught on soon enough, if Mabel hadn’t defeated Bill when she did — I wasn’t there, but I’m sure of that because I know you, and I know how well you know Dipper.” Ford shook his head. “I didn’t catch on to Bill’s lies for years. I gave him free reign to hurt people for so much longer than one evening —”

He crossed his arms, and his imposing silhouette in the doorway seemed to shrink.

“So if you’re not blaming me for anything to happen this summer, then you’d better not blame yourself, you — you knucklehead.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stan leapt out of his seat. “It’s no wonder you didn’t see through Bill’s lies, when your whole life, you had me watching your back — and then I wasn’t there for you, when you needed me more than ever —”

“Because I pushed you away!” Ford shouted, whirling back around to face him. “Do you know what I realized while I was trying to fall asleep last night? That if I’d just stood up to Dad when he kicked you out, if I’d just done the right thing for once in my formative years, then the end of the world as we knew it would’ve been averted altogether! No falling for Bill’s flattery, no arguing over the zodiac, no Weirdmageddon! We could’ve had it all, but we just couldn’t live in that better world, all because I convinced myself you were suffocating me —”

“But it sounds like maybe I still am, huh?” Stan growled. “If all I do is just make you furious like this —”

“No,” Ford gasped, all the hostility in his voice and his glare immediately melting away. “No, no, absolutely not! I’m not furious at you, Stan, I’m…”

“Furious at yourself,” Stan accused, “for being even worse than me?!”

“No! Don’t even say that!”

Before Stan could process what was happening, much less protest it, Ford was hugging him, burying his face in Stan’s shoulder.

“Maybe — maybe I am angry at you, after all,” Ford admitted, “but you’re my hero, Stanley. My inspiration. If am angry with you, it’s — it’s just because you’re too damn stubborn to forgive yourself…”

Stan gingerly placed a hand on Ford’s shoulder. “…Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“I won’t deny that,” Ford mumbled. He went quiet for a few seconds, and when he spoke up again, his voice was quieter, yet slightly more composed. “Maybe we need to just… call a truce. Find something positive to agree on. We’re both too stubborn for this argument to end with either of us admitting we were wrong —”

“At least for give-or-take the next forty years,” Stan interrupted, punctuating his words with a bitter laugh.

Ford barked out a laugh of his own, loud and cathartic, and withdrew from the hug, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. “If Dipper and Mabel were here, they would have told us to stop being stubborn old men a while ago. I wish they were here.”

“They’d probably also tell us it’s more Bill’s fault than either of ours,” Stan added. “And… I guess they’d have a point.”

“I can see the logic in that.” Ford smiled faintly. “I’m sorry for making this about me, by the way. You opened up to talk about your own issues, and I —”

“Hey, I made it about you just as much as you did, Brainiac,” Stan reminded him. “…But damn. You think we’ll ever be able to talk about our feelings without shouting our lungs out at each other?”

“We’re still no good at thinking through anything before we say it,” Ford replied, “though I guess we must be getting a little better, since we didn’t even stop speaking to each other this time.”

“Thank god. I’m tired of not talking to you.”

The two of them settled back into their seats at the table, and Stan reached for the morning paper, but Ford spoke up once more.

“I know forgiveness, especially self-forgiveness, can be… complicated,” he told Stan in a low voice, “so maybe I’m biased, speaking as someone who’d rather not grapple with my own personal guilt — but even more important than whether you forgive or blame yourself, I think, is acknowledging that you made mistakes, yet still deserve good things from the universe. And that goes for you and me both.”

Stan took a sip from his mug, pleased to find its contents were still warm. “Good things like coffee, and adventures sailing around the world?”

Ford chuckled. “My priorities exactly.”

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part Two of ??)

Hello again! I'm back with the second installment of my new series, Finding You, which was previously Untitled.  If you want to be tagged when I update this series, just comment below :)

 Part One Link

In this part, we finally get to Satan and what he's been doing during all this. It's not really a happy chapter. You have been warned.

I think it's important to note that I am American. In this part, there is a funeral. Since I don't know much about other cultures or religions way of holding funerals, I just wrote what I know (and that's very little actually. I've only been to two full funerals. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have). Feel free to change the story up in your head to match your own funerary customs.

As always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated and help me endure the torture that is typing up this story from my notebook 😒 I also tried to make sure the editing on here was good. Any DM's for typos or things that didn't make sense are appreciated so I can fix them (please be kind though 🙂 ). I did write some of the funeral disjointed on purpose, trying to recreate how I was feeling when I attended the funerals I did.

Tags (for you lovely people <3 ): @obey-me-trashshshshsh, @naimena

F! MC/ Satan

Word count: 3,195

Warnings/triggers: ANGST!, description of funeral, loosing someone dear to you, some violence at the end though nothing too graphic (he is the avatar of wrath after all)

Satan had felt when Mc died. His pact mark had begun to glow and heat up. A terrible rending feeling in his chest, then… Nothing. He couldn’t move, fear completely paralyzing him. No, it couldn’t be…

Then he heard Mammon scream. Then Asmo. Then Levi. Soon, the whole House of Lamentation was filled with wailing. Satan scrambled for his D.D.D, hurriedly dialing Mc. No, no, no, no, no. He had just talked to her. She’d been fine.

“Hi! This is Mc. I can’t get to the phone-”

“No… No, no, no, NO!” Satan screamed, throwing his phone at the wall. Satan sunk to his knees in a sobbing heap.

The brothers never got an answer to what exactly had happened to Mc. Diavolo had confirmed she had passed, but he couldn’t get any details since she hadn’t been sent to the Devildom. He had managed to find out when and where the funeral would be, if they wanted to go. They would only be able to attend the graveside service though, since the viewing was being held in a church. 

Each brother attended the graveside service. Satan stood stoically as the casket was brought out of the hearse. He was wondering if he would be able to get Asmo to charm everyone in attendance so he’d be able to see her face one last time, when he felt his brothers all shifting around uncomfortably. He realized the religious figure he’d tuned out was quoting scripture at the congregation, promises that Mc was now in the hands of God. He decided to tune him out again. Then the casket was being lowered. He had to be physically restrained from going out and pulling her out as the first fistfuls of dirt were being thrown on the casket. How could they do that to her? A voice murmured a reminder that she was gone, and they were just saying goodbye. Well, he needed to say goodbye too. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

Next thing Satan knew, he was at the corner of the grave, a flower he’d had a death grip on since they had started out from the Devildom in his hand. Her favorite. A shiny wood box met his eyes from 6 feet below. Was she really there? He couldn’t feel her presence from his pact mark. Where was she? When was he going to wake up?

The other demon lords watched their brother loose the fight with his emotions. He sobbed, falling on his haunches. Six hands found a part of Satan to touch, tears in their eyes as well.

“It’s time ta let ‘er go,” Mammon’s stuffy voice came from next to him. Satan looked over to find Mammon had removed his sunglasses. His eyes and face were wet.

“I… I don’t think I can,” Satan stated, tears falling freely.

“I know. I know,” Mammon said, pulling his brother in for a hug. Each of the rest of the brothers joined in the hug, pulling the fourth and second born up with them. After a bit, they all let go, moving forward to give Mc their own token and say their last words. When Belphie had finished, Lucifer put his hand on Satan’s shoulder.

“Mc’s waiting for her flower,” Lucifer said, gesturing towards the grave. Satan nodded, and walked forward. He fiddled with the stem for a second, trying to find the words to say, “Mc… Huh, I don’t actually know what to say… I guess, I… I thought I’d find some way to be with you forever. I never thought… I’ve never felt anything like you before Mc, and I don’t think I ever will again… Please… Please, if it’s possible, come back to me. Please,” he uttered as he dropped the flower onto the casket, and walked back to his brothers. He knew everyone was looking at him, confused and curious through their sorrow. They all stayed until the end of the funeral, when Satan turned to Lucifer, “I think it might be time to go.”

“If you’re sure, that would probably be the smartest course of action,” Lucifer nodded, the humans looking questioningly at the demons. The religious man from earlier was actually making his way towards them.

“I’ll visit her later when there aren’t so many people around,” Satan stated as he started walking. The brothers exchanged looks before following him.

The next couple months were quiet at the House of Lamentation. The brothers did the bare minimum required to keep the household going. They were all absent from RAD and Lucifer even took some time off from the endless amount of paperwork he usually did, to grieve. Mc may have been dating Satan, but the rest of the brothers loved her too, and missed her greatly. The only time the brother’s saw Satan was when he was raiding the fridge, finally giving into his stomach pleading for food. He still managed to look somewhat put together, though his eyes were dead and haunted. He had retreated so far into his mind if one of them managed to get him to acknowledge their presence they counted it as a win. He was a shell of himself, and everyone was worried.

Time marches on though, and life slowly returned to normal. One day, Lucifer had gone to RAD and come home with some random paperwork that needed to be done. Another, Asmo was going out to update his wardrobe because his was terribly behind the trends. Each brother found their own way of coping. Beel eventually asked if they could all have family dinner again. They all actually made an appearance, though Satan left once he was done eating.

Though he wasn’t doing well, Satan had been visiting Mc’s grave at least once a week if not more. Lucifer had granted him access to the portal indefinitely, a gesture of kindness that did not go unnoticed. At first he just cried quietly at her grave, not able to produce a coherent sentence. It slowly evolved into him reading her her favorite books or some snatch of poetry that reminded him of her. Eventually he was able to talk freely as he once had. Sometimes it was a mixture of the three. His brothers never saw him cry though. Since Mc had been the only one that seemed to truly understand his feelings, she was the only one allowed to see him cry. Through this self therapy, Satan started to heal. He started sitting in the common room with his brothers in the evening, or snorting at some joke that had been thrown around the table at dinner.

As the years passed, Satan would still visit Mc’s grave, though the frequency dropped. He slowly learned to deal with his sorrow, just like he had with love when he’d first fallen for Mc. It was much harder, his wrath often informing his depression. She became his support again, even if she wasn’t able to respond to help him through his feelings. He always visited on her birthday, bringing her a bouquet of flowers and some small piece of literature, art or playing her some music.

One year, while reading her some Shakespeare, someone came up behind him, “She appreciates it. I know she does.”

Satan stopped reading instantly, whipping around to see a woman who looked quite a lot like Mc, “Excuse me?”

“Coming to see her every year. You have great taste in art by the way,” the woman said, sitting down besides Satan, looking fondly but sadly at the headstone.

“Um, thank you. May I ask who you are?”

“Only if I can ask you the same thing,” the woman responded, smiling at him wryly. The look was so similar to one Mc would give him, he found himself instantly trusting this woman, “I’m S… Stan,” he answered, giving the nickname Mc come up with, when he had asked if he’d ever be able to meet her family. She’d laughed when she'd thought of it, saying she could never introduce him as Satan.

“Stan? I was wondering. She met you when she took that trip out of the country right?”

“Yeah… Did she tell you about me?”

“Oh, you want me to remember that far back? Hmm… I seem to remember her talking about how smart you are, “She chuckled, her eyes far away, “I remember one time, I went in to talk to her and she was furiously reading some book. When I asked what she was reading she told me she couldn’t talk to me right then, needing to catch up to where you were in the story. It was a silly little moment, but she looked so determined… I do know she was in love with you. Though she only really told me about you shortly before she died, I remember the look in her eyes when she talked about you. Telling me about how drawn she was the moment she laid eyes on you. You know what a romantic she was. As her Mother, you can guess how excited I was to meet you, especially after watching her get her heart broken before... You’re exactly her type, you know. Tall, blonde, smart. She was even thinking of introducing you to us. Then it happened.”

Satan didn’t realize the tears were flowing until she looked over and wiped a tear away. She continued, “I was disappointed when I didn’t see anyone that matched your description during the viewing. I don't know what kept you, but I am glad you made it for the casket lowering. I was surprised to see your brothers though, if that's who they were. You all look so different… Anyways, I’m sure she would've loved the intrigue you brought to her service. A handsome stranger, distraught at the thought of life without her. She always did love big, dramatic displays of affection.”

“You remember me from the funeral?”

“Who could forget? It became a topic of conversation in our family once we could all talk about her without crying. Who was that blonde guy? Why wasn’t he at the viewing? Who were the other men he was with? Did she secretly get married while she was out of the country? So many theories, each one more ludicrous then the last. It seems her best friend and I were the only ones to connect the dots as to your identity.”

“Ah. I’m a little embarrassed now,” Satan admitted sheepishly.

“Don’t be. I was extremely bitter after the funeral for a long time. How could my beautiful daughter be taken away from me? Parents were never meant to outlive their kids. I’ve never understood the reason people take photographs at funerals. Most of the time, there’s so much makeup caked onto the body they’re almost unrecognizable. There’s a photo of you from the funeral I actually saved though. You’re looking at the casket with such a look of longing and loss, just waiting for her to come back to you. That photo actually brought me a lot of peace after she was gone. Your look perfectly encapsulated how I felt at the time. It also helped me to know she was able to know that much love before she left. I never want you to feel embarrassed for showing that kind of love to my daughter.”

" She is and always will be the only one for me.”

Mc’s mother laughed, “Oh, you’re still young and quite handsome. You’ll find someone else. In fact, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day from the first time I saw you. You must’ve made some kind of deal with the devil,” she joked.

“Ah. Very funny. Yes. A deal with the devil. Haha.”

Mc's mother looked at him, slightly concerned, "Well, it seems I've made things awkward. I’ll leave you two alone now.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to leave on my behalf,” Satan protested.

“It’s alright. I live close by, and I come and visit fairly often. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. Good night, Stan”

“Good night, and… thank you.”

Mc’s mother smiled at him and walked away.

“Well, Mc, I guess I have your mother’s approval now,” Satan joked, turning back to his Shakespeare.

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

“Remind me why we’re here again,” Satan said, only slightly interested in the antics Mammon was trying to drag him into.

“Tryin’ to get some sucker… er, customer ta part with their Grimm, obviously,” Mammon explained, leaning back in his chair and turning to face Satan and Belphie.

“What does that have to do with us?” Belphie mumbled, eyes more closed than open.

“Well, everythin’! You two are super smart, so I need ya ta…” As Mammon continued talking, Satan wondered, not for the first time, if Mammon actually ever intended to make money with his schemes, or if he had simply found a way to work through his sin without causing too many problems. He had to understand how likely his plans were to fail… Right?

A bump on his shoulder announced Belphie had fallen asleep. Since Mc had helped him work through some of the trauma he had held onto since Lilith’s death, Belphie had gotten comfortable with his brothers again, growing especially close with Satan, their mutual dislike of Lucifer giving them something to bond over. When Mc had died, Satan had found Belphie to be the most supportive of his brothers. Though they'll lost had lost Lilith, Satan had found Belphie the most sympathetic to what he was going through.

“Oi! Listen when I’m talkin’ ta ya! Ya both younger than me, so you shouldn't really show me more respect.”

Belphie lifted his head, and rolled his eyes, “Mammon, do you really want me to do you a favor? How about this? Maybe, don’t explain how you’re going to con people in front of those you want to con.”

Mammon looked around worriedly, finally noticing the glares he was getting, before rounding on Belphie, “I was just explainin’ the plan ta ya and Satan cuz ya both asked again! If ya didn’ wan’ an explanation, ya shouldn’ have asked!”

Belphie was about to retort, when he got a self satisfying smirk, “Oh, dearest big brother, looks like you’ve got your first customer.”

Mammon went pale, turning around slowly to find a demon about as tall as Lucifer staring Mammon down, obviously angry.

Very interested in how Mammon was going to worm his way out of this one, Satan turned to say something to Belphie when he caught sight of a familiar hat. 

“Belphie, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn’t that Luke?”

“Hmm? You mean the chihuahua?... Oh, I think it is. Why do you suppose he’s here? I never heard we were getting any visitor."

"It's a little terrifying just how much you know. You're like Asmo that way."

"It's not my fault everyone just assumes I'm sleeping while they're talking."

"Belphie, you know enough, I think you store information while you're asleep."

"Huh… I'd never thought of that before… Who’s that other angel with him?”

“I don’t know… She kinda looks familiar though, don’t you think?”

Belphie looked over at him, arching an eyebrow, “Do you know any angels younger than Luke?”

“Well, no, but… She just looks so familiar.”

“I guess… Hey, you’re missing Mammon squirm.”

“You watch and enjoy. I’m going to go talk to them,” Satan said, clearly distracted, as he got up out of his seat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a large body planted itself in front of Satan. The demon was tall, but so was Satan. He was able to look him right in the eyes.

“What’s it to you?”

“You’re with the guy that was going to scam us right?”

“You were actually going to fall for his scheme? Really? Well, the first step to getting the help you need is admitting you have a problem. Now, move. I’ve got places to be.”

“Not so fast Princess. You’re not getting away that easy,” the demon put out his hand and grabbed Satan’s shirt.

Satan looked down at the offending hand, and then at the demon, his horns already starting to sprout, “I’d suggest you unhand me if you want to keep your kneecaps.”

The demon laughed, a cocky smile on his face, “Ya think just cuz you’re an elite ya can take me? What makes you so special huh? Ya just think ya so great, just because ya pretty. Am I right?”

The rest of Satan’s demon form appeared, his eyes glowing, a menacing aura surrounding him, “No. I know I can take you because I’m the Avatar of Wrath. Maybe, if you weren’t such a dunce you’d have noticed that,” and with that Satan grabbed his hand in a bone crushing grip. The demon started yowling, trying to twist out of his grasp. It only made Satan increase the pressure. He leaned in right next to the demon’s ear, “Next time you pick a fight, understand who you’re dealing with first.”

He swept the demon’s legs out from under him, and put him in a wrist lock submission hold. The demon was now yelling for mercy, desperately trying to break Satan’s hold. Satan looked around to see if he could still see Luke, but realized quickly that wasn’t going to be possible. Both of his brother’s were currently dismantling whatever demon had decided to pick a fight with them. The rest of the area had erupted into chaos, most demon’s running away. No one wanted to be around when one of the Avatar’s were fighting, much less three! A couple idiots were trying to get in on their fight though.

Sighing, Satan leaned down again, “Well, well, well. Looks like you’re losing your kneecaps today.”

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

Satan muttered to himself, picking up bits of trash that had been left by the fleeing demons. Because of his involvement in the fight, he had to clean up the entire park. Trying to explain to Lucifer he'd been trying to walk away apparently didn't help when you'd put five demons in the hospital before he'd shown up to stop you.

“Well, Lucifer, if you could’ve just kept your cool, you’d still be prancing around with Simeon and Michael up in the Celestial Realm, making friendship bracelets, painting each other little rocks and braiding each other’s hair as you giggle about how… Huh?” Satan crouched down, noticing a small foot peeking out from a pile of leaves. Moving around to the other side of the pile, he saw it was the small angel that had been with Luke.

Up close, the feeling he'd met her before was even stronger. She looked so familiar, but he knew he’d never seen her before. The youngest angel he’d ever met was Luke. Maybe she was from the foggy memories of Lucifer’s he still had? That was forever ago though. She should've grown up quite a bit by now...

His musings were interrupted as the small angel moving. She winced as she sat up, holding her head, “Wha… What happened? Luke? Where are you?, then noticing Satan, “Oh, hello there. I’m sorry, but could you help me find my big brother?”

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

Part Three Link

[the-littlefangirl]

TFATWS episode 2 rewatch commentary

We should've guessed John Walker was going to be an asshole the moment it was revealed he played football in high school

That remix of star spangled man is my villain origin story JEEEEEEESUS i want to punch something

They literally mass produced a Walker action figure in two weeks what the fuck

"Your new Captain America" GAAAAAAAAAAh * angry noises *

"For those who aren't familiar with John's resume" thank you GMA lady

My face during that whole speech: wtf and indignation intensify

Bucky's face: yep same.

Imagine being Sam and everywhere you go you're seeing your one (1) mistake spit in your face overandoverandover again that's g r e a t

Tbh that sambucky reunion was anticlimatic as fuck but i actually liked that, it was like WELL HERE WE GO AGAIN they can’t look at each other for 5 seconds before they need to start bickering

"You think it didn't break my heart" SAM SWEETIE

YeAH TELL HIM SAM

The way I know this clip by heart help me. It's still hilarious but it's even better now that I know that they literally just met and they're already bickering can you PLEASE stop you children

T H E  B I G  T H R E E

Spoiler it was a thing

Love how nonchalant Joaquín is about this entire situation lmao

"You sure about that"

*Fakes smiles* yeah, * screams *

Congrats at least you didn't rip your arm off this time that's what I call progress

is he… is he wearing high wasted skinny (jeans) combat pants?

Redwing i'm sorry for what's about to happen :(

"Look at you all stealthy" PLEASE

"it's white wolf, actually" n e r d

SAM MATERIALIZING OUT OF THIN AIR SAFHAJSFHA this is the second time that happened it’s so funny

H E LLO H O W A R E Y O U?

GOOD! WHAT DID I MISS! NOTHING

They're literally 5 CHILDREN CHILDREN PLEASE STOP

AND I CAN FLY WHO GIVES A SHIT fsdjhfadjkfh

L e t  m  e   s e e

Four

Yeah

Five!

YeaH

“So they're strong. W h a t e v e r”

SFHJDASKFA we're superheroes ma'am vibes

3 supersoldiers what could possibly go wrong

REDWING MY BELOVED FAREWELL

"I always wanted to do that" *gets punched in the face* you deserved that

YEAH BABEE look at those wings

Why do the knockoff duo have a special handshake jesus fucking christ i hate them

“SAM JOHN WALKER CAPTAIN AMERICA” Sam: *Glares harder*

Sam is having a very shitty day

So are we going to ignore that Bucky did t h e  t h i n g with the shield? Ok? Ok.

You can't tell me he wasn't thinking of just grabbing it like a toy and not returning it in the middle of the fight sfj

LOOK AT THOSE W I N G S

*whispers* t h e e arm thing

*Stares at the wall* I CAN'T WITH THAT SEQUENCE WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MEJSFHJASFAH PLEASE they didn't have to go that far with the grunting noises PLEASE

John Walker getting his ass served is something that can be so personal<3

Also, I like that they've now established that he CAN lose a fight, which makes me wonder if he's also going to use his political influence as leverage against sam and bucky once he goes berserk

"It's one of the big three" "Aliens, androids or wizards" "pretty sure" lmao yeah I don't think that's the vindication Sam was looking for

"Look, I've done the work, okay" SHUT THE FUUUUUUCK UP

"You ever jump on top of a grenade" bucky finding out about it in the middle of a briefing during the war fic trope intensifies

"It's a reinforced helmet" well you're fucking losing the point there then you naive clown

Captain "Kind of the government" America??? NOPE NOPE GOODBYE N O P E NOOOOOOOOOOOPE

"Usually said by the people with the resources" daaamn

“I'm Battlestar. John's partner" A clown that’s what you are

Bucky: YES I'VE REACHED MY LIMIT STOP THE FUCKING CAR

"It'd be a whole lot easier if I had Cap's wingmen on my side" FUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUU

"It's always that last line" yeP

Erin Kellyman is??? So pretty???

"The GRC care more about the people who came back than the ones who never left" love how they keep putting those random bits since otherwise their position sounds??? Extremely reasonable?? BUT THEY ARE V I O L E N T  R E V O L U T I O N E R S fuck off

"Let's take the shield, Sam" oh you BET he's been spiraling thinking about 3224 strategies on how to steal the shield during that flight

Sharon name drop:)

YES I KNOW YOU WERE ON THE RUN FOR TWO YEARS I'D REALLY HAVE WANTED TO SEE MORE OF IT JFC @marvel i hate you so much

The whole Baltimore sequence * chef's kiss *

ELI SWEETIE

Friendly reminder that Isaiah Bradley won a fight against the Winter Soldier. Proceed.

"I'm not a killer anymore" bucky sweetie

"You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be" OOOOF

Carl Lumbly's acting f u c k

"How could nobody bring him up" SAM SWEETIE

I'm going to go ballistic now excuse me:))

This whole scene is so well written jesus fucking christ

Have you praised Anthony Mackie's performance today?

Twitter is this clear enough for you?????

Tbh i'm actually surprised marvel allow them to go there even if the situation didn't escalate.

They put the tiiiiniest handcuffs on bucky lmfao

How many more "bucky"s from Walker's mouth until someone punches him?

"He's too valuable of an asset to have tied up" YEAH BEEP BEEP ALARMS GOING OFF RIGHT THE FUCK NOW UHM THOSE WERE SOME… WORD CHOICES… THAT WERE USED… fuck you Walker

"It's something I use with couples" oh coME ON

SFHAJSDFH this is ridiculous i love it

Malcolm Spellman: * agressively takes notes on Stackie's interviews *

SOUL-GAZING EXERCISE LMFAO

THEY'RE SO STUPID I HATE THEM

Sambucky: *chaotic leg positioning*

Dr Raynor: WOW ALL RIGHT

I love that the staring contest thing is the conclusion of the bucky staring joke lmao

AND DON'T SAY SOMETHING CHILDISH

this is literally not about you bucky

"Maybe this is something you or Steve will never understand. But can you accept that I did what I thought was right?" YEAH!!!! 

Why is everyone, on the show and outside of it too, acting as if Sam made that decision of out the blue and didn't think about it for six months straight, and look what happened! He got fucking played! He's feeling enough remorse as it is jfc

"Thanks Doc for making it weird I feel much better" LMFAO

Oh you KNOW that the shoulder clap is going to come back unironically and it's going to be soft as fuck

"I feel better" "I feel awful" props for the honesty boys!

"It wouldn't make sense to work with you" more like you're the fucking government's lap dog and we wouldn't touch that with a twelve feet long pole. Let's fucking go Sam let's fucking go

10/10 building of Walker actually being a fucking asSHOLE

The Power Broker name drop!

Yes Bucky SHOULD beat the SHIT out of Zemo. As a treat.

"We're going to go see Zemo" *CLASSICAL MUSIC STARTS BLASTING IN THE BACKGROUND*

Oh I love that last bird eye's shot at the end of the scene

Overall thoughts: This episode was MUCH MUCH better on second viewing. I do think it’s a little bit too fast paced so a lot of things keep happening and there’s not enough time to process them in between?? Again the best moments are the quiet ones like the flight back and the Baltimore scene, but mad props to everyone from jumping between comedy and drama so fucking well. Even though there are, in tone, some very opposite atmospheres in the episode it never feels chaotic, and the situations that happen are very well connected and don’t feel disjointed at all.

The highlight of the episode was definitely the two different ways Sam and Bucky are (avoiding) grieving over Steve, and how his legacy hangs between them at all times. It makes so much sense for Bucky to take the entire situation so personally because Steve was the One thing he knew he could trust, while Sam is trying to see the bigger picture and not just what Steve demanded of him.

Hope that makes sense!

[mowulf]

Misplaced

HEY GUESS WHO’S BACK Okay, here’s the deal. Half the reason I have a hard time posting stories on this site is that I’m no good at keeping up with the previous/next buttons. I hate it, it takes a lot of time, and I just don’t want to. SO I’m gonna get around this by just reblogging the original post with the next chapter every time I update this story on AO3. I am currently in the process of rewriting and only the first 1.5 chapters will remain the same. That said, here’s chapter 1!

He clawed his way to consciousness. His whole body ached and a dull, pounding pressure had built up behind his eyes. An unnatural energy hummed around him, but he ignored it in favor of trying to figure out where he was. Pushing himself to his knees, he immediately took note of the scorch marks surrounding him. They formed an intricate array that encircled him and he immediately recognized the markings as forming a part of a spell. He didn’t know what spell, or where the information had come from, but it made him nervous.

He scooted back and gently eased himself off the pedestal. The floor wasn’t too far and he landed with a hollow thump. Blinking, he scanned the room he found himself. It was dark, making it impossible to determine the exact size, but he could tell the room was massive. The pedestal he’d woken up on was one of four that decorated the center of the room and a nearby carpet led the way further into the gloom.

With nothing better to do, he followed it. Deeper and deeper into the darkness he moved. With time, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Shadows danced in the corners of his vision, but when he turned to look closer, he found nothing there. Voices whispered at his feet, begging for release or someone to share in their torment. He carefully ignored them and kept moving. As long as he didn’t stop, he’d be fine.

Just keep going. Don’t stop, don’t ask, and don’t try to ask who was there.

Turning a corner, he paused at the slice of light that filtered through the crumbled section of wall. The light wasn’t blinding and he assumed it was dark out, but it was still enough to hurt his eyes as he approached and stepped through. He blinked rapidly to adjust to the abrupt change in lighting.

The hum of energy increased and a shudder ran down his spine. Invisible hands grabbed at him, trying to pull him back within the darkness, unwilling to let him leave. Without looking back, he marched onward, hands wrapped protectively around his chest.

Something followed him, he could feel it. The unnatural energy crackled and hummed and a memory of green fog danced across his mind. Shaking his head, he kept moving. As long as he didn’t look back, he’d be fine. Don’t stop. Keep moving. Don’t look back. Just a little bit further.

Abruptly, the energy seemed to go away and the unnatural hum died down to something annoying but tolerable. He didn’t stop to question the sudden change, but took the opportunity to charge ahead until he stumbled onto a road. He was still no closer to figuring out where he was, but where there was a road, there was bound to be a town. Picking a direction at random, he hugged the orange vest closer and began walking.

—

Morning found him curled up in the back of a pickup truck. The driver had found him walking and offered to give him a lift to the nearest town. He’d hopped into the truck bed and settled down. With the lack of movement, exhaustion had crept up and washed over him. He’d only meant to lay down for a moment.

He pushed himself up, blinked the sleep out of his eyes and grabbed blindly for the edge of the truck bed. There was a loud clank of metal hitting metal and he recoiled. It took him a moment of searching before his gaze finally fell on the metal fingers clinging to the truck.

Metal?

He pulled his hand up and wiggled his fingers. They responded as he expected, but the metal glint showed that they weren’t real. Just to make sure, he grabbed a finger and tugged gently. His brain registered the tug and the pressure of his flesh hand, but otherwise there was no sensation. How odd.

Where had it come from? Why was his arm missing? He sat down and wiggled his fingers again, trying to dig through and pull up the relevant memories. Nothing came at first and he started to give up when the impressions of sleepless nights, helplessness, and pain bubbled forth. The memories were disjointed and out of order and, as he sifted through them, he found gaps in the available knowledge.

There wasn’t time to deal with this. He had things to do. He had to figure out where he was, for one. Maybe find someone to help. The missing arm was a problem for tomorrow. Standing up again, he grabbed the edge of the truck bed and slipped out. Glancing at the truck one last time, he rubbed his shoulder where flesh met metal and began to walk away.

Keep going forward. Don’t look back.

He walked until he found a gas station and entered. He scanned the room and finally found the maps in a back corner. Meandering over, he pulled a map out and looked it over. Everything looked familiar in the sense that he had seen it before, but he couldn’t seem to draw on the information locked away in his brain.

Trauma? Concussion? Magic? There was something. He could feel it just out of reach. Every time he started to get close, a mental block would pop up and he’d shy away. Fine. He would worry about it later.

Making his way to the front, he eyed the inhabitants of the little store nervously. The map was spread on the counter as he looked up at the cashier. “Excuse me,” he asked, trying to ignore the way his voice shook and the hoarse quality from disuse (or had he screamed until his voice broke? He couldn’t be sure). “Can you tell me where I am?”

The cashier looked him over before leaning forward and tapping a small city on the map. “Right here. You alright kid?”

“’M fine.” It was a lie but it slipped out before he could come up with anything else to say. “Just lost.” He scanned the map until his gaze landed on a familiar city name. Shouting, engines, and gasoline fill his senses. Familiarity and safety. Home. He needed to go there.

He dug around in his pockets until he found a leather wallet. There was just enough cash for the map and a cup of coffee. He didn’t bother trying to use the card. A niggling feeling told him that it wouldn’t work and he couldn’t remember the PIN for it, anyways. As he left the gas station, map in one hand and coffee in the other, the hum of energy increased and he felt out of place, like he’d been badly photoshopped into an image.

He returned to the gas station once more, just long enough to get a sense of direction, and started walking. Midday rolled around and with it came the beginning of a headache. By the time the sun set, his head was pounding and his left shoulder throbbed in time with his pulse. A barely tolerable pain was coming. Something far worse than anything he would ever be capable of dealing with. But there was nothing he could do except grit his teeth and bear it.

Cars drove past and, for the most part, he ignored them. He was too tired and panicked to risk hitchhiking. It wasn’t until a car pulled off to the side a little ways ahead and someone stepped out that he finally stopped to consider.

“Are you okay?” a woman asked as she hurried over to him. He blinked back at her for a moment before he took a shuddery breath and shook his head. The woman reached out to him and said, “You poor dear. Where are you trying to go? Would you like a ride to the next city, at least? You’ll never make it on foot.”

He didn’t want to impose. The truck ride from earlier had been an ordeal, but she had a point. He couldn’t possibly walk everywhere, and maybe they could cut the travel time drastically. He clumsily pulled the map out of his pocket and held it out to here. “Um. I uh… Here.” He tapped a city that he had circled back when he’d first gotten the map and was again gifted with a sensation of comfort and promised familiarity.

“Oh, perfect!” The woman said as she grabbed his wrist and began to guide him to the car. “We’re actually planning to pass through there. We can give you a lift there. Here we go.”

They were a family of four: mom, dad, and two boys. He found himself in the back seat between the two brothers. The conversation was kept light and loose. For the most part he let the family drive the conversation, answering questions as needed and chiming in here and there.

All good things had to end eventually, however, and the family came to a hotel when the night was finally too dark and too late to keep going. For a moment, he considered staying. He had no money, and they were well aware that he had nothing to his name, but he couldn’t impose. Besides, as he waited by the car, the hissing energy prickled and nipped at his ankles and he knew he couldn’t stop even for rest.

He started to walk away when a hand grabbed his shoulder and he turned to see the mom. “Where are you going?” she asked. “It’s late. Come on, we’ll get you a room.”

He shook his head. “I-I-I’m sorry. I can’t. I- I just…” He rubbed at his eyes as the mom deflated.

“I understand. But please wait for just a minute, okay? I’ll be right back. Just a minute.” he didn’t even look up, too ashamed to risk seeing the disappointment. He waited until he felt her grab his flesh hand and press something papery into it. “It’s not much,” she said sadly. “We don’t carry a lot of cash and we don’t have a lot to spare, but it should be enough for food and a ticket to wherever you’re going.” He looked up and she gave him a sad smile. “Be careful, okay?” He nodded and she finally retreated back to her car.

How odd. He hadn’t realized just how starved for company he was until he’d been surrounded by conversation. But now he was alone. So very, very alone. He bit his lip and rubbed the port on his shoulder before finally turning away to continue his journey to wherever.

He didn’t sleep that night. He did, however, find a bus station that would take him straight to his destination. The pounding behind his eyes had steadily increased to a constant thrum and he found himself absently rubbing his temples while trying to avoid any and all sources of light.

Morning brought an entirely new level of hell. The intense migraine had brought along light sensitivity and nausea. What little money wasn’t spent on the bus ticket went to various over the counter pain killers and the strongest coffee he could find. As he resettled into his seat for the umpteenth time, he leaned against the cool window and closed his eyes. Perhaps if he could sneak a nap in, he would feel better.

He woke up to the bus about to leave his stop and only barely managed to get off in time.

It wasn’t hard for he to orient himself once he took the time to look around. One street sign and he knew what direction to take. The layout of the city came to him gradually as he walked, like a map in a video game that had to be filled in through exploration. With it came vague almost-impressions of a happy childhood spent running and playing and generally getting into trouble. He took his time walking until the familiar shop finally came into view. Hope bloomed and he dashed the final yards to the main office.

“Hello?” he called, looking around and trying to ignore the desperation in his voice. There was no answer, yet somehow he knew not to expect one. The shop had obviously been closed for the evening, which meant the work area would be deserted.

But the garage was built into a house. If he could just find the main entrance…

A quick search revealed a side entrance painted in such a way so as to not stand out. Hidden near the door, roughly hip height, was a doorbell which he pressed a couple times. It wasn’t long before heavy footsteps stomped over and the door flung open.

“What’d’ya want?” a rough voice snarled and he was hit with the impression of oil stains and endless patience. The word ‘lance’ danced around in his head but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why the man reminded him of an ancient weapon.

The man’s gaze landed on him and his eyes widened in shock before narrowing. “If this is some kind of sick joke,” the man snarled and he recoiled, apologies spilling forth before the thought could be finished.

“I’m sorry! I’m sor- I-I-I, Hhhh- I didn’t know wher-where else to go!” He cowered, every instinct screaming to run away. He took a step back, still babbling in a slowly ramping panic. “I’m lost. Didn’t know where else to go. I thought you’d help me. I can leave. I’m sorry.” He turned and managed all of three steps before a rough hand grabbed his right arm and held him. With a frightened yelp, he dropped and twisted, metal arm bent to protect his head and face in preparation for the blows to come.

Instead, a familiar voice soothed, “Woah there, son! Not gonna hurt you. Just…” he glanced over, still hiding behind his arm, as the older man sighed. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”

It took some prodding and quite a bit of effort to get him inside. He was determined to leave, the previous impressions of warmth and safety long since replaced by fear and uncertainty, while the man seemed determined to get him inside. In the end, he found himself slung over the shorter mechanic’s shoulder and hauled inside, where he was quickly deposited on the couch.

“First things first, what’s yer name, kid?”

He dithered about, flesh fingers playing with the metal port attached to his shoulder as he weighed the pros and cons of giving an answer. Finally, he ducked his head and replied, “Arthur, sir. I think...” He missed the man flinch, expression twisting as though he’d expected the answer though it still hurt.

“Drop that ‘sir’ business. It’s Lance. And hold your head up! God, yer a sorry sight.” Lance looked Arthur over before holding up a hand. “You can sleep on the couch. We’ll deal with… this,” Lance gestured at Arthur, “in the morning.”

Arthur nodded and moved to sprawl on the leather couch as Lance left the room. He’d just gotten comfortable when the man reappeared with a blanket and a pillow. The pillow was handed over and Arthur quickly readjusted himself before the blanket was unfolded and draped over him. Nothing else was said as the light was turned off and Lance retreated for the night.

Left alone, Arthur tried to settle down to sleep. It wasn’t long before the unnatural hum of energy returned in full force. His skin crawled with it and he quickly gave up on sleep. Throwing the blanket aside, he jumped up and began to pace. Keep moving. Don’t stop. As long as he kept moving, the energy couldn’t find him and he’d be safe.

Safe from what, he didn’t know, nor did he want to find out. He just knew that stopping was bad. Needless to say, he didn’t get much rest that night.

Please reblog and comment. It fuels my desire to write and I love interacting with the fandom!