#and then I make a purposefully shallow statement about it

[purecommemasolitude]

Linguicide is like kinda fucked up when you think about it

[whyyougottadothatbro]

what a drag to love you like I do...

L. Minho

Genre: angst without comfort. Lee Minho x reader.

Warnings: heavy angst, abandonment, neglect,underlying theme of family issues, vague mentions of self harm in the beginning(just once), reader experiencing long term emotional detachment with themselves and their surroundings. Let me know if I have missed any ♡

Word count: 2.9k~ words.

A/n: the world's biggest shout out to @operation-steal-chans-laptop for being the nicest bubby and reassuring me about this fic, they're the bestttt ♡♡♡♡

The usual comfort of Minho’s arms wrapped around yours felt suffocating in the few moments that followed after you’d step in your house. It was routine for you by then to come back to an empty house, so Minho’s sudden appearance almost felt foreign and out of place as he had practically stuffed his head in the crook of your neck. Minho’s kisses had been your favorite thing on the face of the planet, but you weren’t as sure of that statement anymore. His hold felt like a memory your brain purposefully erased without even ever telling you. Your body gravitated to it as it would have because that’s what you had started to identify and remember as home, but your brain saw it as the supermarket where your family had abandoned their 6 year-old daughter once, and hadn’t comeback till hours had passed and you were done bawling your eyes out and nothing but sniffles escaped your trembling lips. It was where you were abandoned and would be forgotten at again, and it was dangerous. Danger would usually send young little you into overdrive, making you fight for survival, but it made you feel numb now. The sirens would still blare, the headlights would still flash you in the eyes till they became unbearable and you had to close them inevitably, but now your hands didn’t raise up to protect your head from the damage anymore. Neither did you move, you just waited for it to come, run you over, and to render you lifeless again, but well the bleeding was never strong enough, the scars littered all over your body gave testimony for that. They bled, they bled often, reopening every now and then, but the bleeding was never strong enough, the cut wasn’t deep enough. Shallow cuts, shallow breathing, dizzy spells, and multiple pills, it didn’t bother you anymore.  

The art of numbing yourself to a majority portion of your life came with practice and well, consequences. While the consequences on the surface looked like zoning out in the middle of a conversation and a constant need for some sort of stimulation, they spread their ends deeper into your being and grasped their roots strongly into your entire existence. Chunks from your earlier years just literally gone like they never happened, emotions never lasting longer than a few fleeting moments, and most of it was fine. Sure, you didn’t feel as crazed and as deeply in love with your boyfriend as he was, you knew you loved him with everything that you could, but your everything felt so small against Minho’s smallest gestures of affection. It had never felt out of place for you to feel like the smaller person in all your personal relationship dynamics, of course you were made to believe and brought up that way. Breaking out of that habit with academics and your work had been easy, but personal relationships? That’s what the norm was. Everything the other person did was completely fine and you? Well, you weren’t even human enough so how dare you make a mistake?

But this time, it wasn’t.

You realized how you’d been up in your head for the past 5 minutes and Minho was still attached to your form while your hands laid limp by your side, body unmoving but your boyfriend of 3 years was yet to take a hint. Your hands reach up to wrap around his shoulders to give him a light pat on the back to acknowledge his presence, but his presence in itself had shaken you enough that your ability to process things had already boiled down to a quarter and maybe your brain was back at what it did best, numbing you so you couldn’t feel. 

“I didn’t expect you to be home, I’m sorry you had to clean up after me. Why didn’t you tell me earlier you were coming?” the silence had been too loud for the past 25 minutes. The same silence earlier would have been comfortable. Hums and nods with no words spoken till you both eased into the night was the norm, and probably one of the most possibly liberating experiences of your life but this, this what you were stuck in right now felt like ropes served to you on a silver platter that didn’t take your consent before wrapping itself around your throat and chest, constricting your airflow just enough to let you barely breathe. Your question brought Minho’s attention to yours again, his steps slow and calculated across the living room. Minho felt his heart feel as constricted as yours did when he realized you hadn’t picked a shirt of his to wear to bed how you usually did. He didn’t blame it on you, they probably didn’t smell like him anymore anyways.

Lee Know from Stray Kids was a busy busy man and that was the first obstacle one had to deal with when it came to dating him. Weeks spent with no physical trace of him other than being on your phones to keep up with each other. Texts unanswered for hours, calls going straight to the answering machine much more often than the average person’s ability to handle, a partner that was mostly exhausted and often not as emotionally available as the regular person would be but of course that was fine. You weren’t much of a texter anyway, and would rather deal with your problems on your own, and going out? Pfffft who wants to do that, when you could just stay in and order food to your doorstep, right...?

Things were great with Minho; sure it was also your first time seriously dating anyone after high school and maybe you didn’t really have much personal experience to compare your relationship with Minho to, but nothing had ever felt particularly wrong in your time with him. Minho steps up to you finally, hands restless against his sides so he just chooses to ruffle his hair instead, though he wishes he could just hold yours into his instead. He answers your questions when you prompt him to it with a raise of your eyebrows.

“yeah, I took a few days off, it’d been a while since I stayed home”

Home. You almost chuckled when he said that, but chose to acknowledge it with a light nod another hum in response. Your steps make way to the kitchen to search through for what you could whip up for your usual excuse of a dinner. Dinner with Minho was different though. Dinner with Minho when you both worked in the kitchen after a long week to make something hearty for the both of you, when you acted like his own sous-chef, finally sitting down to eat meals that spoke the most amount of love you could have possibly experienced. Maybe you didn’t experience love like Minho did, where he’d take fragments of memories and store them away as small trinkets of joy into his showcase of love that had your face all over it and he would just have to pick one memory from it to put a smile on his face on a bad or gloomy day. But you were sure you experienced love because he tried to give you his love and you would try your absolute hardest to not let go of his smile after he’d been pleasantly surprised with something new that he tried to make. You hoped your brain won’t let go of the memory of Minho’s smiles, so you’d made sure you smiled like him when you wore his earrings, the gentle weight feeling like his nose that would nudge your cheek on days he had off and you sadly didn’t . Even if your brain was loopy with things every now and then, your muscle memory would definitely do its job, Minho’s smiles weren’t just things you’d let your squeaky machine of a brain let go of so easily, they were your trinkets. 

Taking out leftovers of the previous night from the refrigerator, you pull out the saucepans to heat them up, of course for one. Minho hadn’t eaten at home in a while, well Minho hadn’t been home in a while. But even before that, Minho had almost stopped eating at home altogether for a good bunch of weeks to make you realise there wasn’t a point to cooking for 2 anymore. Dance practice would stretch late into the night, he had to work for the comeback, he was out with the boys so he ate with them, he was too exhausted so he crashed onto the bed the moment he was home, he was spending the weekend at the dorms because Music Core had been exhausting and Monday schedules looked too dreadful, Minho hadn’t simply eaten at home for almost 2 months till it was time and he left for tour again. Presuming he already ate wasn’t a bad presumption and Minho understood where all of that came from. He sighs as he notices the barely put together dinner you were now serving in your plate, movements sluggish and automated as you looked like you didn’t have a single thought in mind. 

Minho would be lying if he said he didn’t saw it coming and it definitely wasn’t his first time witnessing this. Every time the two of you ended up in a rough patch, you’d usually just say its fine, apologise to him for your mistakes, even if there weren’t any, and just grow distant for a few days till you eventually came back. And you did, you always did. But he couldn’t deny the creepy feeling that had his insides feel like they were all jumbled up and placed wrong. Like the elevator he was standing in had suddenly stopped and nobody had been answering the help bell. He knew the elevator would be back up and running in no time but he couldn’t avoid the ‘what if’s that had started to slowly creep up his body like vine. You play around with the food in your plate as the elephant in the room stares judgingly at the both of you, wondering when you’ll finally address it. 

“Baby I’m really sorry for what I did, I know it was really horrible on my end to do that, love…..” Minho reaches for your free hand, which lays limp in his hand for a few seconds, and then grabs his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. Your hand leaves his to busy itself with your plate of food again, head slowly nodding in response to his words. Minho was quick to realize that talking to you about what had happened would be the best approach rather than beating around the bush. Minho waits, and waits some more till you finished your meal and pushed your chair back to get up, the loud noise disrupting the eery silence that had settled over your house. Minho gets up as well, following behind you as you start on the dishes, because the thought of him doing the dishes like he once used to felt so strange and foreign, your brain had pushed you to finish them before he could even get to it. 

“y/n can you at least say something, get mad at me, shout just give me something hm?” he pleaded as he stood to your side. You were unresponsive again for a few seconds, and before Minho could say anything again, you finally address him,

“What am I even supposed to say Minho? What do you expect me to say to you?” you’re calm, surprisingly calm, too calm for his liking even. Minho’s face falls again, dejected as he looks at you eyes pleading as he’s at a loss of words again.

“y/n…”

“Minho can I ask you something?” you dry your hands on the kitchen towel as you face him again. His head hangs low again as he nods silently.

“this was probably one of the very few times I really needed you to be there for me Min. You’ve cancelled on dates, heck even forgotten and stood me up so many times, you’ve forgotten anniversaries, I never got mad or objected. This was the one time I needed you to be there for me.”

“y/n I know I fucked up-“ Minho looked up at you to see you teary-eyed again.

“Let me finish please, okay?” you’re still calm, your voice was watery as it was, breaking a bit too, but you were still, eerily calm.

“My parents were in the country for 4 days. I’ve dated you for 3 years, and all I asked for was maybe 3 hours at max for you to have dinner with them. What did you do? Ghost me completely? Avoid me after reassuring me that you were going to be there? Barely 2 hours in the span of 4 days, that’s all I asked for ... unbelievable”

“I know… I’m so so sorry what I did, I have no idea of even how to make it up to you” his tears had started to gather at the corner of his eyes while he blinked furiously to keep them at bay. He wasn’t the one who had been hurt in this entire situation and knew he needed to hear you first. His strong-willed composure almost breaks down when he hears your breath being caught in your throat as you heaved a bit.

“You know- “you sniffle again as your voice betrays you, breaking and causing you to cough, but you continue nevertheless. “You know what the worst part is? You’re one of the few parts of my life that I’m most proud of. I was so proud of you, of us, of what we have, I wanted to show you off to the people that have doubted me the most my whole fucking life. And you know what you did?” your composure starts cracking like a layer of ice frozen on top of a lake, the water underneath beginning to escape on to the surface, your index finger pointing at the centre of his chest,

“You. Fucking. Abandoned. Me.” Each word punctuated with a poke of your finger to his chest and Minho probably wanted to touch his chest to check for any bleeding because it as much as daggers to his chest would have. His uneasiness from earlier that had started at his gut, started to now feel like a cinder block that had been hung off of his heart with a rope and was dragging it down into a bottomless pit of nothingness. To hear and realise he’d done the same thing you’d been subjected to continuously over the years, especially by the ones you’d mentioned earlier, he was sure he couldn’t actually be able to process how big of a problem it had really been. To imagine you sitting in a restaurant, waiting for him to show up while having to deal with your parents and to defend your relationship all alone with zero trace of him, which he was sure, was probably the best case scenario, hurt him in ways he didn’t realise he could have felt hurt. 

“I don’t think either of us has anything else to say anymore.” You say with a sense of finality to your tone after a few minutes, you couldn’t take more of you both sobbing with a few feet between you, each too proudful to go hug the other and let go of everything. In your course of being with him, this was probably the most sure about anything that you’d been, it wasn’t your fault. It had been a week since he’d been back from tour, accompanied with him showing zero signs or intentions to stop by your shared place for more than a few hours. Even though this plan had been discussed over multiple times and he’d promised you he’d be there, he chickened out. No contact, no response, just complete silence till he just randomly decided to show up at your house again and you’d been too close to your breaking point. You knew you’d let go of this overtime too like you’d always done, but the ‘maybe’ and ‘what if’ questions had been too loud in your brain for you to just ignore them how you’d always do. 

Minho probably sensed that, his fear escalating exponentially. His steps are hesitant as he tries to follow you to your bedroom, your shared bedroom though it hadn’t been shared off late. All you could really think of was to just slip under the covers and cry yourself to sleep, even though you didn’t have coherent memory of when was the last time you’d actually had a good cry. The sound of his footsteps following up right behind yours on the hardwood floor, couldn’t sound louder than the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You turn around in your steps to face him again,

“I need some time. Can you not sleep next to me today please?” you ask him with your hardly regained composure, the last thing Minho wanted was to let you fall asleep that upset,

“its our bed, please just let me try and fix this kitten, hm?” his hands grab onto your forearms with a light hold, form bending down to look into your eyes again, but what you say next, leaves Minho speechless and absolutely heartbroken from how fucking stupid he’d been,

“you haven’t slept in our bed in ages. The last time I checked, it was just on your side of the mattress.”

A/n pt.2 : i am extremely thankful for you to have reached the end, and i hope you enjoyed reading through this. While it was very self-indulgent, i hope it was enjoyable nonetheless. Your comments, reblogs, feedbacks, likes, mean a lot!!!

[finniestoncrane]

Your One True Nemesis

Chapter 30: also on AO3 Masterlist Here Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 2.4k yay!! finally some more smut!! 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: oral sex, there's still awkward pining though

“I need your help.”

The statement was so abrupt, completely against Eddie’s usual dialogue when it came to asking for your assistance. He would be indirect, suggesting that he required your input by making it sound like he was doing you a favour. Never so outright obvious, never hinting at any weakness, that you might be of use to him. So you stared at him blankly until he continued.

“You’re here. To assist me. Well, I need your help.”

Nodding slowly, you turned your body on the sofa, swallowing the mouth of sandwich you had quickly as Eddie sat down beside you, facing away, looking into the middle distance as he spoke his thoughts as they came to him.

“You asked me, before… what I wanted. And I wasn’t sure. And I’m still unsure. But. I wonder if… if you know…?”

“If I know what you want?”

“Yes.”

He was so aware of how ridiculous the question was. How could you possibly know what he wanted? How would you ever be able to understand his brain better than he could? But all of his hopes for some joy rested on your ability to do so.

“I think… Ok, well… For starters, I think it’s ok that you don’t know what you want.”

“Of course.”

“Of course.”

You smiled softly towards him as you continued, sensing how vulnerable he was, how tense his body had become at displaying this particular lack of knowledge to you.

“Here’s the thing. It wasn’t so bad before, huh? When we… were physical? Maybe not intimate, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, you know what I mean? Or yes, it wasn’t so bad?”

“Both.”

“Ok so… a big thing for you was kissing. Because kissing means feelings, and for want of a better way to phrase this, fucking is just a release. Gets rid of the tension. Helps you remove those horribly human urges so your big brain can get back to more important things, right?”

Eddie nodded silently, either in understanding or agreement, or both. You couldn’t tell, but you were just grateful he wasn’t scoffing and interrupting you. This was the closest you had gotten to expressing your feelings to him. Of course, you weren’t ready to give him all of your feelings, all of your truths. But the most urgent one, the thing you craved most, was his touch, the physical element of your relationship. If you could scrape that back then maybe you could add feelings and emotions later. It felt fairly obvious that Eddie might, deep down, even hidden from himself, feel something towards you more than just acceptance of your existence. And on a more easily accessible level, he was attracted to you physically.

Even if that was all you ever got, it was better than nothing. You thought about it so frequently, his hands on you, his breath close to your skin, the way he felt. Just a little taste of that, even a one-off, would satiate you while you tried to figure out what you wanted. Because as readily available as you were to help Eddie work out his own wants, you weren’t even certain of your own.

“Well, what if we… tentatively, of course… tried that out again. No kissing, no emotions. This is transactional. The same as me making you a coffee. A physical release that benefits both of us with no inherent feelings or emotional ties associated with it.”

A lie. A complete lie. But one Eddie seemed willing to follow.

“Surprisingly, despite your shallow efforts and weak attempts to understand me psychologically, I agree.”

“What an off-putting way to say that. You know for it to be appealing even transactionally, I still need to be vaguely interested in you.”

You could make out a slight smile curling up at the corner of Eddie’s mouth as he nodded slowly, purposefully.

“Of course.”

“Of course.”

He stood up, standing awkwardly as he looked in your general direction before he turned on his heel and spoke as he walked.

“I’m going to do some work now. Important things. Please do not bother me until it is time for dinner. That’s your only task today.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help yourself from smiling excitedly. One task, but even at that, you weren’t sure you could have even thought about doing anything else. It was hard to focus on anything, actually, and it was for the rest of the day. Eddie was always on your mind, so there was nothing new there. But this felt different, it felt more focused. It felt concrete. Certain. And you knew it was delusional, to think that this time might be any different, but you could allow yourself that little optimism, surely.

Eddie did seem different, in fairness to your hopeful thoughts. You remembered something he had told you, how Batman had described him once.

“A fanatic narcissist, troubled by egocentrism and megalomania crossed with severe obsessive compulsion.”

It was an astute observation, clinical and almost polite. It didn’t describe the Eddie you knew though. Not completely. Of course, those aspects were there, you’d have to be ignorant to miss them. But for you, they weren’t negatives. They added to him. And surrounded them were Eddie’s positive traits, of which admittedly he had less of, or they were less obvious, but they were there all the same. Determination, a willingness to achieve, ambition. And a tender vulnerability you planned on nursing, coaxing from him slowly.

It was a good thing Eddie had told you not to do anything except for stay out of his way. Your mind was too filled with worries and excited hope to be able to focus on anything. And it was lucky that you had remained stuck on the beaten-up sofa in the living area, because otherwise you might not have heard Eddie’s yelling echoing through the halls. Looking up at the clock on the wall, you realised you had been lazing around daydreaming for three hours, doing nothing but thinking of the possibilities between you and Eddie like a schoolgirl.

He had told you not to bother him. But you couldn’t ignore the wails that followed the sharp crash of something being carelessly tossed around the work room. Quick on your feet, you made your way to Eddie to see what support you could offer, and you found him, face down on his work bench, the shattered torso of one of his prototypes on the ground around him. When you cleared your throat to make him aware of your presence, he looked up, his face red and flushed with what you presumed was anger.

“I know you told me not to bother you but-”

“It’s ok.”

He was letting you in. Accepting whatever you were there to offer him. Some help, reassurance. Anything. You’d give him anything.

“I’m… this is very stressful work.”

“Well, let’s start by clearing up a bit.”

You moved to the work bench, getting on your hands and knees beneath it to start collecting the shards.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Eddie… I’m here to help. That’s literally the only reason I’m here.”

“It’s not.”

Your chest tightened, lips trembling as you considered what he might mean by that. What was behind those two words. But you knew better. Instead opting to offer him the kind of borderline flirtation that irritated him, knowing he’d be happy if he was able to be annoyed at you instead of himself.

“Well, it’s what I’m mostly here for. To serve you.”

He cleared his throat, a nervous reaction to the words, or how you said them, sultry and suggestive.

“To… yes, I suppose.”

“Anything you want, Eddie.”

Taking a brief glance away from the floor, from the mechanical shrapnel you were scouring through, you could see him shuffling his feet uncomfortably, his legs crossed. At the top of them, where you let your gaze drift, you could see a slight tenting at the front of his pants.

Desperation, clearly. One suggestive comment and he was yours, weak to the power of suggestion it seemed. That, and the tension, the build up of aggression and frustration, the conversation from earlier. It was clear that his own thoughts had drifted to you, under the table, on your knees, there to serve him.

Crawling quietly towards him, you let your hand rest on his knee, staying with him even as he shifted back, uncertain if your touch was intentional or accidental and not wanting to make a fool of himself. Above you, he rested his hands on the table and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. In Eddie’s mind, things were going too well. Perfectly, as though they were scripted. He wanted to ask you, if you would service him, if you would touch him. He couldn’t find the words though, the courage. It seemed though that he just had to wait for you to take the lead, which he was more than happy to let you take.

“Tension release?”

Your voice was soft as you asked him, scared almost that he might say no.

“Y-yes… yes…”

Moving quickly, not wanting him to change his mind, you fumbled over his belts and the fly of his pants, desperately pulling and tugging at the layers of fabric between you and him before you finally caught glimpse of the soft mound of wild pubic hair, pulling further and releasing his cock, which bounced free, laying stiff against his thigh. It twitched as you rested your palms on his thighs, stroking up and down against them, reaching to his abdomen, cruising over his thick and ample body hair, curving around the base of his cock where you pressed into him, watching his length bounce before you leaned in.

You took in as much of him as you could, letting your lips sink down over his shaft as you lowered your head. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked at his cock, your tongue pressed flat against him as you began to move your mouth up and down. As you reached his head, you let your tongue flit over it, gripping him in your fist as you wrapped your lips around the tip, sucking at it, lapping up the precum which spilled free as Eddie moaned above you.

Stroking his cock as you lapped at the head, you listened carefully, attentively, to the sweet sounds Eddie made in reckless abandon. He let loose, completely. You weren’t sure if it was a change in him, in his trust in you, or whether he felt safer admitting his enjoyment when you couldn’t see his face, but you could cope with only hearing him. His whimpering, the way his breath was inhaled sharply and exhaled slowly as you greedily sucked on his cock, it’s tang on your tongue, in your throat.

Taking it free from your lips with a sloppy pop, you held it still, stroking slowly, watching his abdomen and thighs tense as he tried to reach your mouth again. Clearly irritated by your teasing, when he felt your lips grazing over his tip once more, he reached his arms under the table. You could feel his gloved hands placed at the back of your head as he pushed you down onto him. You released your law, willingly accepting him into your mouth again, heart thumping, body trembling at the assertion of his dominance. You moved with him, letting him control the speed, feeling him testing your boundaries as he tapped at the back of your throat with his head, grunting and shivering at the soft choking sound you made. It only served to spur him on further, as he grasped at you, forcing you further as you moaned and let your fingers trail delicately up and down his chest.

With a whine and sharp groan, Eddie bucked his hips up into you, and you felt him hitting the back of your throat hard, gag reflex in check you still coughed and spluttered at the surprise of the swift movement. You focused yourself, breathing through your nose, wrapping your lips around him tighter as he bucked his hips once more. This time, you swallowed quickly as you felt the warm of his release on your tongue, coating your throat as you gulped it down, relishing the taste, sucking still, pulling more from him with his body shuddering and groaning at your focused effort to finish him completely.

Between the moans, as smaller ropes of his cum hit your tongue, you could hear him whispering, able to make out your name amongst the silenced words of praise. You wondered if he knew you could hear you? If he would care if he did?

Eddie released the hold he had on your head, letting you swirl your tongue around his softening cock as you removed him from your mouth.

Leaning back on the ground, you waited quietly. You didn’t know what to say. Neither did Eddie. Saying something, it felt, might ruin the moment. It might make it too emotional, it might make it too clinical. You had to keep the perfect balance, not scare him off.

Eddie was the first to break the awkward silence though.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll go… I’ll let you finish up in here.”

Shuffling out from under the work bench, you offered him a quick smile before you left hurriedly. Cringing as you walked through the hall, you still felt like you had left that as best as you could. And even if that was all you would get for another month, or ever again, you were content with it. Hearing his moaning, feeling his desperate bid to get you closer to him, the way he whispered your name, his gratitude. You weren’t foolish enough to think that you had successfully got him, but it was enough to feel like things were different this time around.

At his work bench, Eddie braced himself, his fingers clinging to the surface as his body twitched, muscles relaxing that had never been relaxed before. Tension relief indeed. But it was more than that. His heart felt light, and there was an unmoveable smile on his face. Thank you wasn’t enough, but it was all he could manage. If he let himself say anything else, he might have said too much. There was plenty of time to get to that though.

[jackelopeofthelake]

I find it ironic how there are people complain about making dumb jokes about “stigmatized groups” then turn around and are overjoyed when southerners, Midwesterners and rural people get poisoned by trains or get hit with hurricanes. They’re just making a new stigmatized group that’s allowed to be hated.

Labels have truly made people insensitive and cruel. You can just slap on a label on someone no questions asked and that allows people to be abusive and cruel to some people and heap worship and glory on others. I see people spew out vitriol, threats about people just because they go to church or vote for people they don’t like as though it’s some unwritten spiritual crime yet think the people they like are brave for stroking unrest and harming others because it’s in the name of their idols. It’s gotten to the point where rich pampered artists talk down to and rub their shallow humanitarianism in the public’s faces, and purposefully push them out by attacking them through their work or statements. Yet people gush over pop stars mocking the values of poor people and call them stupid and subhuman, and have the nerve to say they’re the good people for justice.

[istanbul-was-constantinopolis]

It’s rare for those so old to be so restless in their sleep. And once Valeria opens her eyes she is fully aware of why; there is a rumbling in the sky. Distant, but audible to her ears, even in the shallow underground she has made for herself.

By the time Chez wakes up she’s standing outside, high up on the still stable parts of this small ruin she has claimed for herself. Just staring, listening, waiting. Staring up at the sky. Until it cracks open to lightning, far in the distance.

Then she is gone. Walking purposefully hours into the wilderness, carefully threading between forest unmarred by man, until she comes to rest by seemingly non important patch of grass, just by a stone. Having crouched to touch it and pull off some of the moss to confirm her suspicion. There she sits down, it wouldn’t be long.

It starts subtle, her keen ears picking up on the rushed movement in the distance. There is no howling, only the panting of hurried beasts. It’s first once she hears them enter the circle that she stands up and turns to face them. “Wyrm spawn.” One of them growls, transforming in front of her into their ferocious battle shape. “How dare you come here.” 

“Grandfather warns you.” Valeria says plainly, after stepping into a speaking distance, now forced to stare up at the lupine. 

“We know that he warns us you think you can tell us-” “-But you know not why.”

 It’s a brash interruption, least she risks letting the youth fall to the fury bubbling in his soul at the sight of her in their sacred meeting grounds. Oh how he growls, hair rising up his spine. “But I don’t need a damn’ leech to tell me, either.” 

“It is of our matters, that’s why I am here.” It makes the creature snort, bordering on amused at the claim. “We don’t give two damn about your matters.” “But you should.” 

“I know how much you suffered when the Inquisition raced across the world, more than we did.” The statement alone makes the creature in front of her do a double take, if by confusion alone. “Ambers are lit anew, now. He warns you of a creature that trough its selfishness wants to bring this fire here here. It is our matters, but fire sees no difference in blood or claw.” 

“The false beast seeks to bring destruction to the peace this land has, and the fire will follow when the mortals that hold it fall to its cold claw.” She takes a second to think over her own thoughts, the werewolf trying to puzzle together what she had just said, and the significance of it. “You must watch it, I beg that you do. I had not thought this to be so dire, but his warning rings clear.” She is not above the pleading tone in her quiet voice. 

“Now.. tell me, do you know of the Dream ?”

[starculler]

Lead Me Down Another Road (preview)

Word Count: 2975

I fell into a minor rabbit hole and stand before you now with a scrap from the Crèchemaster Anakin AU I'm working on. The full fic is a few thousand words longer than this (and will go up on ao3 within the week), but this is technically the original bit I'd planned on writing (and is thus self-contained enough that I'm comfortable posting it alone here. As a treat). Hope y'all enjoy it and the glimpse of at least one of several Jedi OCs I've been having to come up with for this lol Note: I'm using crèche-minder in place of crèchemaster because it fits a little better with how I've set up the role in the au -- the particulars of which will be explored in the full fic.

Anakin stood from where he’d sat among the younglings in Targon Clan when he caught sight of his master standing just inside the room, all ten pairs of eyes straying from their painting to watch him stretch. He grimaced briefly at the splotches of bright paint he could already see on his tunic and pants, but made it a point to smile at a scowling nautolan making a grab at his ankle. He shuffled back, just out of reach, and had to dodge another two pairs of eager, sticky fingers with a put-upon sigh that failed to fully mask his amusement. It was the same song and dance every time he was sent to Knight D’nali for crèche-duty, and he’d long gotten wise to the initiates’ tricks.

What made today’s game of Catch-the-Padawan novel was Obi-Wan’s presence hovering at the edges of Anakin’s focus. His master hadn’t come to collect him like this since his first few weeks, confident that Anakin would neither get lost on his way to and from the crèche, nor try to dodge his punishment after that awful first and final attempt. He shuddered at the memory even as he leaped nimbly over a pair of near-humans who’d thought to tackle him from behind. He laughed when they turned, eyes wide and betrayed for a moment before trying for a frontal attack.

He dodged, weaving between ten tiny, determined younglings — baiting them with the promise of his capture before stepping just out of reach once more — until he hit something solid from behind. He blinked, stunned for a second and sure that he’d had enough space still to maneuver around, only to yelp when an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him off his feet with an ease that spoke of more than a little help from the Force.

“Master!” He groaned, his protest drowned out by mixed cheering and jeering from Targon Clan and their minder’s own loud laughter. Anakin shot Knight D’nali as much of a betrayed look as he could while caught, but the traitor only laughed harder. He huffed.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, grinning and smug and just as much of a traitor as the kiffar knight, “it seems I’ve won a prize to take back with me. A whole padawan all for myself.” A chorus of “No’s” and groaning followed the statement, and Anakin, face warmer than it had been a minute ago, suddenly found the floor much more interesting than a gaggle of disappointed initiates. Obi-Wan, still being a traitor, only laughed.

“Alright, alright. Settle down now,” Knight D’nali interrupted, wading into the chaos so she stood between them and the younglings. “Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker have other duties to attend to, and you little Jedi have a latemeal to prepare for.”

With only a mild amount of protest, the little ones acquiesced. In true, and still vaguely eerie to Anakin, Jedi fashion, they bowed in sync, calling out a discordant mix of goodbyes and thank yous. Anakin nodded in return, starting to wriggle in his master’s grip in a futile attempt to free himself. Obi-Wan held fast even after two of the younglings, a zabrak and the same nautolan who’d first tried to grab onto him, crept around Knight D’nali to hand him four sheets of flimsi splattered with a variety of bright, clashing paint.

He sighed, resigned to the embarrassment of being gifted their paintings under the too-amused gazes of both knights, and murmured a quiet “Thanks” that made the pair smile so wide he thought their faces might split. Their obvious happiness made something warm bubble up in his chest and his hand tingle where flimsi met skin. It was hardly the first time one of the younglings in any of the clans he frequented had given him something small like this to take back with him — he had a wall in his room dedicated to doodles and paintings and a corner set aside, free of his usual clutter, for knickknacks and crafts — but the shock and awe and tingling warmth it left in him never wore off.

Anakin’s gifts had never lied with children. His temper ran too hot and he never quite knew what to say to anyone his age, much less younger than him. It had, in fact, taken months of constant supervision, patience, and teaching from the crèche-minders who’d agreed to take on his crèche-duty punishments for him to build up any sort of rapport with the little ones under their care. It had been hard and frustrating, but ultimately rewarding, work even if it had been borne out of his master’s own frustrated desperation.

The arm around his waist squeezed briefly, and Anakin had to fight down yet another burning flush when he realized Obi-Wan had most likely noticed where his thoughts had wandered. He floundered for something to say or do, but settled for a heavy sigh that drew a brief chuckle from his master.

“I apologize again for stealing Anakin back so early, Knight D’nali,” Obi-Wan said and Anakin could picture the apologetic smile on his face as he spoke.

“No need,” said Knight D’nali, smiling just enough that the wrinkles in her eyes and the upward pull of her cheeks distorted the two, bright red tattoos — one line the width of her thumb and the other no more than half a centimeter — cutting vertically down from hairline to jaw over her right eye. “I may be getting older, but I remember well enough how busy a padawan’s life can be.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin groused and earned himself a huff from his master and a bark of laughter from Knight D’nali.

“That’s sweet of you padawan, but the gray in my hair tells another story. And not another word about it,” she said the second Anakin opened his mouth. “There’ll be no buttering up this old knight. I told you, if you’re back here in less than a week I will sit this clan down for a four-hour meditation at least. Force knows your master certainly won’t object.”

“Yes Knight D’nali,” he said in the dull tone every chastised padawan seemed to affect, much to Targon Clan’s delight if their stifled giggling was any indication. Knight D’nali simply nodded, satisfied. Obi-Wan, again, laughed.

“And on that note, we’ll be taking our leave now. Knight D’nali.” Obi-Wan bowed as well as he could with an armful of padawan still pinned against him. “Targon Clan.” He offered the still-giggling younglings a much shallower bow. “May the Force be with you,” he said, echoed only a moment after by Anakin, before turning on his heel and striding out into the hall.

Anakin wriggled again and said: “Master, you can put me down now.” Obi-Wan hummed but didn’t so much as slow down until Anakin huffed, rolled his eyes, and added an only somewhat petulant “Please.”

It took him a moment to find his balance when Obi-Wan suddenly let go, but soon enough he was keeping pace with his master, just shy of being at the knight’s side. They walked in silence, past the doors to other clans of exuberant younglings and down the almost confusing pattern of turns that made up the Temple’s Crèche. It was, he knew, meant to be confusing so that intruders would have a harder time reaching the Jedi’s most vulnerable members on the off chance they made it through the Temple, guards, and every Jedi in between. He also knew that Obi-Wan was purposefully leading him through the longest route rather than the faster shortcuts one of the other crèche-minders, a young pantoran knight he’d only met with a few times so far, had taught him.

They nodded at the pair of guards stationed at the Crèche’s primary entrance once they’d finally made it through, and again to any Jedi they passed along the main corridor. Anakin glanced curiously at his master when he led them not towards the dormitory or refectory, but instead toward the salles and meditation rooms. He pursed his lips, unsure if it was a good or bad sign.

The salles meant lightsaber practice — Anakin’s favorite — but he doubted they’d stop there. He had, after all, been in the crèche because he’d let his temper get the best of him again, and Obi-Wan had made a point of steering Anakin away from as many potentially aggressive outlets as he could until he was sure Anakin was cool-headed. That didn’t stop him, however, from reaching for the lightsaber on his belt, shiny and still new considering he’d only just built it less than half a year ago. The trip to Ilum had been terrifying and exciting in equal measure, just the two of them instead of waiting for the next crèche clan’s planned gathering. It still awed him sometimes, to brush the warm, steel cylinder and find it there or to sit and listen to his crystal’s song virtually anytime he wanted.

It was a scrap of undeniable proof that he was a Jedi. That, late-comer or not, he belonged here just as much as any other padawan or knight.

Obi-Wan slowed, looking back at Anakin with the kind of unbearably soft, caring smile that told him his master had probably felt where his thoughts had gone. He held an arm out and Anakin hesitated a moment at the familiar invitation, torn between embarrassed frustration and elation at being invited close in a fairly public space, before stepping up so he was beside rather than behind Obi-Wan. He stiffened when Obi-Wan put an arm around his shoulder, but relaxed before his master could even think about pulling away. Anakin pressed into his side, deciding that, right now, eleven-nearly-twelve wasn’t too old for the show of affection, and just about melted when Obi-Wan’s arm shifted to briefly squeeze his shoulder.

His vain hope for the salles was, of course, dashed as they walked passed to duck into one of the smaller, unoccupied meditation rooms. Despite not wanting to complain, Anakin couldn’t completely stifle a sigh as he took in the room: bland, small, and box-shaped, with a few colorful cushions laid out and more stacked against the walls with a few other types of seating for those who might need it. Obi-Wan flashed him a quick smile, squeezing his shoulder once more before letting go and settling on an older-looking, dark blue cushion. Anakin breathed in, held it for a count of four, and breathed out in an effort to brace himself for the ensuing lecture or meditation he was sure to suffer. He picked up a red cushion from the far wall, calling it to his hands with the Force, and sat himself down in front of his master, close enough that their knees almost touched. Then, he waited.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started after they’d sat in silence for a few tranquil-bordering-on-nerve-wracking minutes, their slow, even breathing the only sound in the room. Anakin met his master’s gaze, shifting slightly as a small kernel of icy unease sprang to life in the pit of his stomach. “You’re not in trouble, Padawan.” Obi-Wan smiled, still soft. Still caring. Anakin frowned.

“You don’t usually bring me here unless I am.”

“I suppose I do, don’t I?” He seemed to speak mostly to himself, brow furrowed and a wry twist to his lips, like he’d found something funny. Anakin cocked his head to one side, watching as Obi-Wan breathed deeply a few times like he was trying to center himself. Or, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, bracing himself. Anakin squirmed in place, hardly daring to breathe himself as the unease in his stomach grew a fraction larger. “I’ve been talking to a few of the crèche-minders you’ve been working with.” Anakin swallowed, thoughts flitting towards the many mistakes he’d made the last few months and especially at first. “They’ve given you rather glowing reviews if I do say so myself,” he said, a small but pleased curl in his lips. And Anakin—

Anakin blinked.

“Really?” he asked, and wished the question hadn’t come out quite so bewildered. His master grinned and Anakin swore there was pride gleaming somewhere in his eyes.

“Really. They’ve enjoyed having you there. Knight D’nali says you have an uncanny ability for distraction,” Obi-Wan teased. Anakin stuck his tongue out and earned himself a bark of laughter. “Master Benni,” he continued, sobering once more, “made an interesting suggestion when I spoke to him last week. I—” Obi-Wan stopped. Inhaled.

“Master?”

A fine tremor had started in Anakin’s hands at some point. Excitement at first, quickly drowned out by a fresh wave of nerves. He’d once thought, at first, that Tatooine would drown in rain the day Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t have a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. A nearly three-year partnership with the knight had broken the facade a bit by now, but the sight of Obi-Wan struggling to put his thoughts together unnerved Anakin even after his master smiled reassuringly, reaching forward to clasp one of Anakin’s hands between both of his.

“There are many paths to becoming a Jedi, as I’m sure you’ve learned by now. Guardians, Council members, diplomats, teachers … crèche-minders,” he said, emphasizing the last. Anakin’s breath caught, eyes wide as the implication sunk slowly in.

“Did— Did Master Benni,” Anakin started, strangled and halting. Obi-Wan nodded. “But—But I’m horrible with younglings! I’ve made so many mistakes. I—”

“You are learning, Anakin. No one expects you to be perfect at anything. Much less in dealing with younglings.” Anakin opened his mouth. Closed it. Floundered in his incomprehension until—

“Are you … Are you getting rid of me?” he asked, voice suddenly small and hurt. He turned his hand in Obi-Wan’s grip, wrapping his smaller fingers around his master’s wrist as if he would disappear from Anakin’s sight at any moment.

“No,” Obi-Wan said firmly, one of his thumbs stroking the back of Anakin’s hand. “You are my padawan, Anakin, and I will never abandon you.” Obi-Wan paused there, earnest and scorching in his focus until Anakin nodded, more numb than anything else at the moment. Satisfied, his master continued: “But I do think that this is a good opportunity for you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked down to their hands and then back up, meeting Anakin’s once more, steady and confident and calm. “You’ve changed a little since you’ve been around the crèches. I can see a confidence in you that wasn’t there before, and better control. Not just with the Force, though I’ve no doubt entertaining younglings for hours has done wonders.” Anakin flushed, fuzzy warmth buzzing in his chest at the praise.

“You feel things — everything — so strongly, Anakin, and I fear I’ve not been able to help you much in that regard.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when Obi-Wan held a hand up for silence and settled for a quiet pout instead, much to his master’s amusement.

“I appreciate your faith in me,” he said with a nod, “and I do not doubt that you would learn a lot at my side alone. But I’m coming to realize where you might need more than I am able to give, not because I don’t want to. Force knows I’d do whatever I could to help you, Anakin, but there are simply things I won’t be able to understand. Haven’t been able to understand,” he added and Anakin frowned at the brief, bitter note he could pick out in his master’s tone. “Master Benni’s offer has as much to do with your potential as it does with your connection to both the initiates and their minders. I— We think it’s something you should consider, despite how it’s likely not the path you first envisioned for yourself.

“You will still be my padawan, always,” he said and squeezed Anakin’s hand to reinforce the sentiment, “but you would split your time between myself and a rotating number of the crèche’s minders under Master Benni’s supervision. You’ll be busy, and kept in the Temple more often than not even if I’m sent out on missions. It may cut into your classes or lightsaber training, in which case you’ll have to work harder to keep up, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that you could do it.”

Anakin nodded, mind whirling and thoughts spinning. There was more Obi-Wan wanted to say, he could tell, but Anakin was grateful for the lull granted to him to gather his thoughts.

“I—” Anakin swallowed, his throat and mouth suddenly dry. He held his master’s wrist a fraction tighter. “Can I think about it?” He winced at how his voice cracked, but Obi-Wan only nodded, smile still firmly in place.

“Of course. You don’t have to decide on anything until you’re ready. Master Benni made it quite clear to me that the offer is open to you whenever you wish to take it, whether that time is now or after you’ve been knighted.”

Anakin blinked, balking at the magnitude of not only the offer, but the old Master’s apparent faith in him, even as the buzzing warmth from earlier threatened to consume him fully now. He felt a fresh flush rise on his cheeks and a sheen of stinging tears prick at his eyes, held back by sheer force of will because he refused to waste the water just yet. Slowly, carefully, Obi-Wan squeezed his hand before leaning forward, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Anakin’s outer tunic. When he pulled, Anakin went as easily as he used to into his mother’s arms, overwhelmingly grateful for the contact just then.

“I’ll think about it, Master,” he mumbled into Obi-Wan’s robes, his face pressed into his master’s chest. “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan only hummed in response, tucking Anakin close and rubbing soothing circles into his back while Anakin clutched at him in return.

[mystic-poet]

ROGUE PATHS

I wake up to find myself handcuffed to the hospital bed. The drug they injected me with to tame me seems to be wearing off. Ugh! This again. Better to get it over with, I guess. I drag my free hand into my bun and retrieve a small blade. As usual the dumb police never bothered to check in there thinking a man’s bun would just be a fashion statement. I twist to my side and turn the blade in the keyhole clockwise. My hand comes free. I learnt to pick locks when I was young, one of my many talents. I shake my hand hard to get rid of the stiffness and get up from the bed.

I stride confidently straight towards the door, not in the sneaky kind like a criminal would. As expected, a police officer stands at guard. His lips are on the verge of screaming when I silence him by waving a hundred bucks in front of his eyes. He raises his eyebrows at me and I throw in another four hundred to satisfy his thirst. That ought to shut him up. Money! The most deadly weapon and beautiful thing anyone can ever have.

□□□

Outside the hospital waits Beth. She teaches German in Crawford High. Well, it would be safe to say she taught me the art of viciousness. If angels can house demons, there isn’t any harm in a teacher being an evil mastermind.

“They shot you pretty bad in that leg, huh?” she says as I limp on one good leg. She gives me a look that was overflowing with pity. How I hate that!

“Enough with the puppy eyes already!” I snap. My right leg was hurting real bad and I would have stayed in the hospital until they mended it and made my grand escape later but I won’t want to deprive the world of its foul folks. Besides, I have business to finish.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be in the hospital,” Beth says unlocking her car and we sit in.

“They shot my leg in the encounter at the bank and I was losing blood by the second. Couldn’t get much out of me while I was thrashing in pain,” I explain.

“Did you find anything at the bank?” Beth asks raising an eyebrow at me as she drives the car out of the parking lot.

“I was close to. The property papers were in my hands before the cops caught up with me. Couldn’t read a word.”

“So, what are going to do? Got anything up your sleeves?”

“Well, I do. I am going to father’s house this Wednesday,” I say coolly.

“You do know that’s two days away, don’t you?”

“I have thought it through. You’ll see,” I say grinning.

Beth shakes her head. “Just remember I need my share of the money, Carl.”

“We talked about this a million times, Beth. You’ll get your forty percent,” I say casually leaning into the passenger’s seat.

□□□

My dad abandoned me when I was a teen. He is the owner of a multinational electronic company my late grandpa founded. Beth was the assistant manager. She was a frequent visitor in thehouse and shared a fine bond with dad until one day, she was fired when my dad accused her of a theft she never committed or so she told me.

When I was old enough, I tracked her down and discovered that she craved revenge with dad for all the wrongs done to her. She wanted to blow the lid off and reveal all the dark secrets behind dad’s firm. In a way, our common want of vengeance united us.

My dad is stinking rich whereas I was left in some community home and survived off donations. This is why I despise pity; I have lived with it all my life. I have my rightful place in the company and the fortune my grandpa left behind. But I need theofficial documents and my one chance of getting them from the bank slipped away. That’s where the part of infiltrating his house comes in. Ah! It’s been such long while since I did something of this kind. Infiltrating seems such a gorgeous word now.

□□□

“So, how are we doing it?” asks Beth pouring two glasses of red wine for the both of us. She drove us to her house for it’s probably the safest place to be.

“He is hosting some success party on Wednesday and there’s bound to be security. My idea is to go through as delivery persons. The rest will follow. You will tip toe to the computer room while I put up some distraction. I will catch up with you soon enough. Till then, find the papers,” I instruct taking a swig from my glass.

“It won’t be that simple, you know,” she says with a smirk.

“I was thinking you need that forty percent,” I say with mock seriousness.

“Fine!” she says exasperated. How I love when I am obeyed.

□□□

We are wheeling the cart that supposedly holds the cake but instead I just stuffed it with a wad of cotton. I ring the bell of the grand house with Beth beside me. The housekeeper, a woman in maybe in her thirties, opens the door. She gestures to where the cake should be kept. I look around at the magnificence of the place and its each and every adornment and decoration, from the mahogany coffee table to the velvet curtains and even the intricate designs on the glass vases, conveyed royalty. I feel a rush of hatred inside me. My father enjoyed all the money at his disposal and lived in comfort with rugs beneath his feet whereas I tossed and turned with unease in my bed every night wondering if my parents would ever make their way back to me. At least my mother passed away before she witnessed the return of her abandoned son.

“You know what to do,” I whisper in Beth’s ear. She nodded. I take my blade out and make a shallow cut in the back of my hand oozing out blood. That blade is indeed a good partner. I pocket it as swiftly as I took it out.

“Oh, I am bleeding. I am bleeding,” I say dramatically and hold my hand out purposefully for everyone to see the scarlet covering it.

“Oh dear, God. I will fetch you some ice from the kitchens,” the housekeeper says and disappears into a corridor. That’s the thing about kind people; they are easy prey.

I signal to Beth and she sets off in a half-walk and half-run up the stairs. She knows the way to the computer room from all those years of coming to dinners and teas in the house. As she turns into the corner, I rush behind her too wiping the blood on my pants.

I catch up with her soon enough as she looks straight ahead navigating through the rich corridor filled with a few guests. I walk behind her maintaining a safe distance; we can’t afford to attract any attention.

We walk into a long deserted hallway. I am sure the computer room is here and so does Beth, I suppose, as she carefully notices each door. She comes to an abrupt stop in front of the door at the far end of the hallway and opens it without a glance at me. In the middle of the room sits a computer that would be the cause of my dad’s doom. Beth turns it on and gets to work as I stand at the door occasionally peaking in. I was afraid it might have a password but it didn’t. Arrogance! Father must be sure no one could evade his computer. Well, I guess history is being made today.

“Do it quick!” I hiss at her.

“Does it look like I am not trying?” she says making an irritated face at me.

We are silent for five minutes or so when Beth says, “Carl, I found them!”

A smirk creeps across my face. “Transfer it to me. All of it,” I say in an excited whisper.

Beth turns back to the computer and presses send. The next few moments go by as quickly as the blink of an eye. I lock Beth in the computer room and somewhere a safety alarm triggers deafening my ears. I hear her muffled screams calling out to meechoing in the hallway but without looking back I descend the two flights of stairs.

I bump into the security on a landing and adopting my best worried voice I say, “A woman in the computer room. Upstairs.” The words barely escape my mouth and they run upstairs to find the trespasser while I walk out of the mansion with satisfaction.

Indeed, Beth taught me too much than she should have. Call me selfish but that’s what the world made me. I couldn’t have let Beth have forty per cent. After all, what would she do with it in jail? As for my father this episode would definitely motivate him to set a computer password. I whistle walking on the road thinking of the colour my bungalow would be.

Tagging:

@ruins-of-heart @witchpossessinghozier @some-broken-words @sinless-mind @luck1998 @ze-thoughts-are-stupid @random-lit @saamiya @colinisalright @thunder19sstuff @yalocal-deadpoet @asthetically-bookish @literature-is-my-religion @mrun-v @songfromstars @donapreachesart @i-snort-chocolates @duskobserver @apprielle24 @halfagonyhalfhop3 @klainebrittana @ray-of-darkness7 @balladofableedingpoet2112 @morticiapretz @vantaerayleigh1997 @sillylilbakaaa @church-of-burnt-romances @burn-like-starss @mjsespaces-blog @theleechwhodrinksbleach

Thank you so much for giving this a read dears!

Comments, criticism and suggestions are always welcome <3!!!

[janekfan]

Too Much

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972698

When Jon stalked back into the archives the fierce conviction in his face belied his ragged appearance. Tim wasn’t stupid. He’d known there was something shady happening in this place probably before Jon did, considering. It didn’t stop him from purposefully hardening his heart against his pallid skin and bloody throat, his poorly bandaged hand, his filthy, mud-covered clothes.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice was soft and it set off a trembling in him that Tim could see from across the room. “Hey--” Without warning, Jon bent double over the nearest wastebasket, going down hard on his knees as he emptied his stomach painfully, shaking so hard the bin rattled. “Oh, oh, Jon.” Hands fluttering over his back, Martin hovered close, unsure of what to do, before settling next to him on the floor to hold his hair back, plaiting it loosely to keep it out of the way.

“Nngh...s’sorry.” Jon collapsed the rest of the way, resting his weight over the bin, his forehead on the arm slung across the top. “I, I...clean. Clean it up.” Shuddering, voice thick and wavering on a heavy breath. “God, I. I’m so, so sorry.” Another bout of dry heaving cleaved through him, Martin’s hushed reassurances making the ire in Tim rise to vitriolic levels and if he stayed any longer in this room he knew he’d do something to upset Martin. Physical violence had never been the way he preferred to resolve disputes but the confirmation of being trapped here. Trapped by Jon made him desperately want to lash out. Scream. Kick. Throw a tantrum and that wouldn’t do, even if the anger and dissolution flooding into every empty space left behind by the deaths of Danny and Sasha and his freedom begged him to take it out on the one thing left that represented it all.

“Tim, where are you going?” Martin’s attention was still focused primarily on the man panting under his palms, but he spared him a glance.

“Can’t be here for a while.” He flashed a bitter smile. “Guess I’ll be back, won’t I?” He was suffocating and if he stayed here one second longer he’d explode and Martin didn’t deserve that.

Martin had his hands full of a sick and shivering Jon so had no choice but to let Tim go. It was probably best at the moment. He’d been sniping at Jon even before he’d disappeared and the fury flashing behind his eyes wouldn’t help anyone right now. And besides, Jon was going to pass out any minute by the look of it.

“Jon?” His head jerked up and he swayed where he kneeled.

“Sorry, s’sorry…” the slurred apologies certainly weren’t a good sign. “‘L’get this cleaned up.” When he moved clumsily to do so, Martin stopped him with a hand on his cheek, ignoring his temperature for now in favor of attempting to catch his unfocused gaze.

“Let me worry about that later.” And Jon looked stricken, but when Martin pulled him to his unsteady feet he was more concerned with staying upright, embarrassment shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. “Can you stand?” Whole, long seconds passed and Martin almost asked again, but Jon took a wobbly step only to topple into the taller man who caught him up and held him close.

“S’sorry.” Martin hitched him a little higher. “Dizzy. Jus’...ah.”

“It’s alright, Jon.” Who knew having a cot in the archives would prove to be so useful and Martin was grateful for it now, lowering him as gently as he could. “Nothing to be sorry for.” The hiss of pain sucked through his clenched teeth didn’t bode well. “I’ll be back.” With the first aid kit, warm water, maybe a change of clothes--he was pretty sure he had a few things. They’d be big on him but certainly cleaner than what he was in now. When he returned with his supplies, Jon had tipped onto his side, apparently asleep, and Martin was careful to wake him slow, worried when he didn’t seem to remember where he was or what was happening. With him so sluggish and lethargic, Martin wasn’t sure where to start (maybe a 999 call), deciding top to bottom was as good a plan as anything. Forcing cheer into his tone, he talked about what had been happening while he'd been away, dipping a cloth, wringing it out, and wiping the muck off his skin, noting the pallor in his face underneath all of the dirt. He had the start of a pretty intense fever and looking at him it wasn’t hard to puzzle out why but the only thing for it right now was water and rest.

Jon pushed him away when he began on his neck and it took Martin several minutes to talk him back down, convince him that he was safe before he was allowed to hold a warm compress over the gash across his throat to loosen the blood. It was deeper than it looked and longer than he’d have liked; another brutal scar to add to his growing collection and how was any of it fair? Butterfly stitches applied and covered over with clean bandages, Martin gave Jon a break and kept urging him to drink. He was so silent, focused on pulling in short and shallow breaths, and Martin kept his questions to himself, trying to ease the ruined jumper over his shoulders when it became clear that he was too sore to do it on his own. Each centimeter bared developing bruises just beginning to black and Jon’s breath hitched the higher he was forced to raise his arms, exposing more over his stomach, his ribs and Martin couldn’t help himself.

“What happened?”

“Mm?”

“These bruises?” He ran a delicate thumb over the edge of one, watched him shiver in response.

“Oh…” Martin got the impression Jon was answering from somewhere far away and didn’t blame him. “Asked questions.” He didn’t elaborate and Martin moved on to his hands, draping the blanket over him while he unwrapped old dressings and examined the burn spanning his entire palm and fingers. He didn’t want to think about the shape of it, like he’d shaken hands with the wrong sort, and instead examined the broken blisters lining the long, ruined fingers of both hands, cleaning them gently and applying salves and more bandages before slipping a worn jumper over his head and joggers onto narrow hips, tying the cords to keep them secure. Jon was too pliant, too submissive, more than spent after whatever he’d been through and he sighed in heavy relief when he was finally allowed to lay down.

“Better?” Martin brushed some stray curls out of his face after tucking him in and he nodded.

“Tired.”

“You can sleep, it’s alright.” Jon forced heavy lashes apart, closed them again when Martin swept light fingertips over them. “I’ll keep watch. You’re safe.”

Late into the next day, Martin saw Jon back to Georgie’s flat where he immediately curled up in bed with the Admiral, clutching his borrowed clothes, so baggy they dwarfed his small frame and made the vulnerability in him that much more. He shared a cup of tea, spoke with Georgie in a hushed voice and urged her to keep an eye on him if he’d let her. She nodded resolutely and wished him luck when he left to return to the institute.

“Well?” Basira accosted him immediately as soon as he stepped through the door.

“Christ, Basira!” Hand over his heart, Martin calmed his racing heart, suddenly surrounded by the lot of them.

“Well?”

“He’s exhausted.”

“Aren’t we all?” Martin ignored Tim’s comment. It wasn’t a competition, just a bad situation all around, and after treating and cataloging all of Jon’s myriad injuries, he didn’t feel like continuing along that track. It wouldn’t help anybody. It wouldn’t convince them that Jon was as much a victim in all this as they were. That he didn’t want this. Instead.

“He’ll be back in a few days. Or probably tomorrow, knowing him.”

“Wonderful.”

“Tim!” Martin pinched the bridge of his nose, already exasperated. “Tim, just. Go easy, alright?”

“Oh, I’ll go easy.” Full of grief and anger and heartbreak with nowhere for all of it to go, it had sharpened into a blade Tim wielded with deadly precision. Jon had been at the other end of it for a long time and despite his own frustrations with him, Martin wanted to shield him from the worst of it even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to. If Tim wanted to hurt Jon, he would, and it made him want to weep.

Sure enough and right on time, Jon dragged himself into the archives, mumbling a breathy ‘thank you’ to Martin as he passed by him to his office on new fawn’s legs. It didn’t escape his notice that he was still wearing the jumper, bundled up in it with his bandaged fingers tangled in the sleeves.

And work began again as though they’d never stopped.

Jon could have spent the next eternity wrapped up in bed, bundled in the comfort of Martin’s clothes and hiding from his very new and very real responsibilities. He ached, deeply, profoundly, in a million different ways, crushed by the weight of it all and barely able to breathe. Georgie was disappointed by his decision to go back to the institute but he had to do whatever he could to protect the rest of them, even if that meant playing into Elias’ hands until they came up with a solution together.

If they would have him back.

Reading the statements was going slow, too slow, the pounding in his head increasing whenever he tried to focus. Jon kept the lights low, avoiding the hallways with their cold fluorescent bulbs beaming down at him from above, bowing his back, trying to push him into the floor, keep him there like an insect pressed between pages and he would gladly succumb if it meant he could rest.

“Oi!” He jumped at the sharp voice, groaning when the stabbing hurt all over his body intensified.

“T’Tim?”

“‘Y’yeah.’” He mocked, tossing a stack of folders onto the already overflowing surface of the desk.

“What, what’re these?” Though his hands were shaking and sore, Jon picked up the pile, paging through distractedly.

“How the hell should I know. Martin said you asked for them.” He had?

“I don’t. I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“Tch. Of course. Busy work to keep us preoccupied so we don’t have time to plot?”

“Wha--no, no!” It seemed his paranoia continued to have lasting consequences and he supposed it was only fair. “No, I wouldn’t. I. I’m sure I asked for them.” Reasonably sure, though for the life of him he couldn’t remember when. He couldn’t remember asking Martin but there was no reason for Tim to lie. Fingers snapping in front of his face jerked him back to the present.

“What’s wrong with you?” His eyes were narrowed and he was standing so close, too close, and suddenly Jon was on his feet, swaying into the wall and pushing past Tim in a desperate bid for the loo, head pounding enough to make him ill and only just making it in time to rid himself of the tea he didn’t remember drinking. Shaky, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back against the wall and willing the spinning to stop or slow or do anything that might make it less overwhelming. He washed his hands, his face, letting the cool water drip from his chin and closed his eyes against his reflection in the mirror. When he returned Tim was gone and Jon was thankful, tears prickling, threatening, as he sat back in his chair and rested his forehead on his folded arms for only a moment.

It was better in the stacks, dark and still, silent save for the rustling of statements and that didn’t make any sense at all even though something in the back of his mind insisted it did, encouraged him to pick one up and devour it. But the letters swam on the pages and his legs refused to hold him up any longer and he slid to the floor, hugging the folder to his chest and breathing in the stale scent of old, yellowing paper and ink. He felt so poorly, so tired, and he didn’t remember curling up on the floor but he must have, because he was, the statement still crushed in his arms like a safety blanket. How long had he been asleep? Getting up seemed too monumental a task and he let his eyes slip shut with a sigh, breathing through all the pain of his injuries.

Too much. This was all too much.

But it was quiet here among the boxes and envelopes, tucked with his back against the shelf grounding him, taking away some of that awful wooziness, the feeling of vertigo he hadn’t quite gotten rid of after his encounter with Mike Crew. He was safe here underground; underground was the opposite of up, the opposite of falling endlessly and he breathed in, out, slow, measured. Until his physical self seemed to drop away with everything else.

Plucked like a weed, Jon was lifted into the air, hauled up by his collar and set clumsily on his feet, pressed forcefully into the shelving. If it wasn’t for the hand at his throat (his throat, she was going to slice him open, bleed him like a game animal) he would have fallen and he was so scared of falling, no air in his lungs, just the deafening rush of it in his ears, so he scrabbled desperately, the statement fluttering away somewhere in favor of holding onto wrists attached to arms attached to shoulders attached to Tim. The world tilted on its axis, rolling like a ship at sea and he was desperately afraid of being released into that endless void.

“--Hiding down here?” How long had he been speaking? His face, features so twisted in revulsion of him he almost didn’t look like Tim, was close enough that he could feel his breath on his face. “Martin’s been worried sick looking for you!” Why was he yelling at him? He’d, he’d been here, not hiding, not doing anything. Just trying to, to, stay on the ground. Everything blacked out when Tim shook him roughly, shouting something else, and Jon didn’t know what he wanted, what would make him leave him alone, stop being so angry with him. He was going to be ill, too dizzy even when mercifully held still again and he was torn between letting go and taking his chances with Crew and sticking to Tim like a burr. But Tim made the decision for him, shaking him off, dropping him to his feet and shoving him forward and Jon knew he shrieked, shameful, loud, but he was falling, falling, falling and he hurt where he’d been pushed, like his bones were trying to make room by doing their level best to yank themselves free.

But he was plunging down, straight down, unmoored, unanchored, too much space, infinite space and nothing to grab to slow himself and he was going to fall forever and ever and ever and--

“Jon!”

No. He’d. How.

“Martin…” Whimpering, voice choked with tears, more of them streaming, pouring down his face, and he clung to Martin, solid, strong, holding him.

“Tim, what did you do?”

“M’falling...m’falling, Martin.” Clutching, clawing, he was going to hurt him if he wasn’t careful but he was too frightened, he had to be hurting him. Sobbing, selfish, stupid, and he couldn’t stop.

“You’re not, I’ve got you, Jon, I won’t let you fall.” Murmuring gently, embracing him tightly and it hurt, but he’d rather hurt than fall forever. “You’ve got to take a breath, Jon.” But all the air was rushing past him, too quickly to drink up even a sip, let alone breathe any into his seizing chest. “I’ve got you, try for me.” And he did, he would swear it, he’d try anything for Martin but he’d always failed in the most important tasks. He’d always failed the most important people.

At least he wasn’t falling anymore.

“Tim, what did you do?” Martin shifted Jon, passed out over his shoulder with bandaged fingers still tangled in his jumper and he was surprised he hadn’t torn it in his panic. Gently he pulled him into his lap, boiling with heat beneath his hands and heaving hard-won, gasping breaths.

“I--” He swallowed, shock naked in his expression. “I found him here, on the floor. Uh, pulled him up?” Tim raked his hair back. “I was rough, but. I didn’t mean.” Martin could only hope he looked as angry as he felt and Tim stopped speaking, following him to document storage like a lost puppy.

“Mm…” he held Jon tight, secure, relieved that he’d come around as quickly as he did even if he was groggy, setting him firmly on the cot, exerting pressure on his shoulders, an unspoken ‘I’m here, you’re here, no one is falling.’ He ducked his head, hiding from the light and groaning low.

“Jon, look at me.” He hadn’t noticed before, the black of his dilated pupils swallowed up by deep brown irises, but with the light, and his sensitivity to it, Martin suspected a head injury. “Jon?” Gently he tilted his face up with the tips of his fingers under his chin, trying to catch his dazed stare as it slipped over him like water over a stone.

“Hey! Stop ignoring him!” Jon flinched, hands clapping over his ears and curling even farther into himself while Martin glared. “Sorry.” Tim mumbled, arms crossed, leaning against the wall to give them some space.

“S’okay, Jon.” He inched closer. “Did you hit your head? Does your head hurt? Can I check?”

“Check?” Before Tim could do much more than scoff, Martin shushed him. If he wasn’t going to help, then it would be better for him to leave.

“Yep.” He didn’t wait for much more confirmation, just carefully reached forward under Jon’s wary gaze and buried his fingers in thick, unkempt curls, smiling softly when he leaned into the touch. Bolder, he cupped his face with his other hand, stroking along his cheek and watching his eyes drift closed with a hum. “Ah, oh, Jon.” Right at the back of his skull there was a large swelling, painful to the touch if Jon’s reaction was anything to go on. “Were you hit?”

“Hit?” Jon’s wrapped, burned fingers brushed against his own when he went to check for himself. “Daisy hit me.” Just a stated fact that chilled Martin to the bone and he watched his other hand come up to touch the column of his bandaged neck. “Daisy cut me.” He glanced back at Tim, trying to gauge his reaction, relieved to see horror blossoming in his expression and when he turned to Jon again, it was as if he was seeing Martin for the first time. “Martin?” He let his weight fall into his palm, and when his dark, damp eyes slipped shut, tears ran down his face. “Don’, don’think m’well.”

“Okay, it’s okay. I’ve--” his eyes flicked towards Tim. “We’ve got you.” Jon swallowed and Martin could feel it against his palm, literally holding his cut throat in his hands. "Can you tell us what's wrong?"

“Hur’s. Spin...falling, m’falling.” He paled, clutched at the linens, his breath shallow and fast and even Tim came forward in concern.

“I’ve got you, won’t let you go anywhere, Jon.” To Tim, “Don’t think he can tell which way is up. Vertigo? Concussion? We’ve got ice packs in the freezer yeah?”

“Anything else?”

“Ginger tea? If we have it.”

“M’tin…” He brushed stray curls back away from his forehead. “Stay? Please?”

“Of course I will.” Gentle and soft and Tim returned with tea and cold compresses quickly, passing off the mug to Martin, going so far as to sit beside Jon. “I’ve got to let go of you now.” And the look of panic and sorrow and resignation told him more about his state of mind than anything else.

Martin promised he would stay.

Martin was letting him go.

Jon was not surprised.

Just sad, so, so sad.

Prepared to be tossed aside.

“‘Course...s’sorry.” Another swallow, another and another, swallowing it down, how frightened he was, how lonely. Tears slipped over Jon’s skin, over Martin’s. “M’sorry, sorry.”

Too many.

Too much.

He watched Jon pull away, swaying, woozy, grip tightening on the sheets such that his knuckles were bone white. Alone again. Alone always. How dare he think or hope or dream otherwise.

“Got’chu, boss.” Martin waited until Tim had him ‘round the shoulders, pressing him into his sturdy side, before removing his hand and holding the mug to his lips.

“Drink this down and then some sleep, I think.” Together, they tipped him carefully sideways, grabbing his hands when they flew out to the side in an attempt to break a nonexistent fall, and Tim pressed a cold pack to the back of his neck, a shadow of a smile crossing his face when Jon relaxed into the pillow.

“You’re alright, boss. Won’t let you fall.”

[fryesmoviereview]

Cannibal Ferox- 1981

Giovanni Lombardo Radice, Lorraine De Selle, Danilo Mattei, Zora Kerova, Walter Lucchini, Robert Kerman, John Bartha, Venantino Venantini

Review: This movie was not well written, well acted, and it's not scary. The real horror is in the morals of the people that made the movie. When I want to watch a horror movie, I want to watch people fake die, and be entertained. I don't want to watch real animals, be actually tortured and killed.

This is one of those movies that's not trying to tell a good story, or make a statement about something, it's made with the pure intention of trying to gross out, and be the goriest thing you've ever seen.

Their is no substance to this movie. The story is dumb, the characters are shallow, and purposefully written to make the audience hate them so we cheer along as they get killed.

It was made with the sole intention to drive people into the theater from pure curiosity to see how gross it could get. The tag line for the movie was even "The Most Violent Film Ever Made".

The whole movie was built around how gory it could get, and then the effects of the gore were cheap and obviously fake. They didn't even color the blood of one of the people right in one of the more graphic scenes. It was lazy.

Don't waste your time watching this movie, I'm judging myself for finishing it.

3.5/10

[elizabethemerald]

The Beach

AO3

The Gaang take a much needed break on the banks of a secluded pond. Katara enjoys the water but is curious why Azula is so hesitant to doff her armor and swim.

Katara took a running dive into the water. As she dove she bent the water up to meet her so she could dive from shallow shore. She enjoyed the feeling of the water rushing over her body. She carefully bent the water around her, pulling her down and down until she settled on the silty bottom of the small pond. 

She sat there for a moment, allowing herself to relax as the water eddied around her body. The Gaang had been on the run again the past couple of weeks. It was nice to able to slow down a little and actually spend time enjoying her element. She stayed at the bottom until her lungs started to burn. 

Katara pushed off the murky bottom and propelled herself to the surface. She bent the water of the pond around herself drawing it in and up. She rocketed out of the water, suspending herself twenty feet above the pond’s surface for a moment. She felt like the statue in a fountain, as the water flowed around her, trickling off her fingers and running down her hair. 

From her vantage point she looked around at the grove they had found themselves in. Toph was laying down on the shore, wiggling her toes in the mud of the bank. Sokka was sitting on a rock, his feet dangling in the water as he closely studied a map in his hands. Azula was further up the beach, still fully dressed, a sour expression on her face. 

As she emerged from the water, Sokka looked up his eyebrows shooting to his hair line at her display. He clapped his hands then help up all his fingers, the classic way of saying he rated her waterbending at a ten. Toph didn’t react, only tilting her head towards the sound of rushing water, then towards Sokka’s location. When neither seemed to indicate a threat she leaned back down in the mud. 

Katara couldn’t help herself but watch Azula’s reaction from the corner of her eye. The other girl’s jaw had dropped. Her carefully neutral expression, that was her usual facade, so often twisted by the scar on her face, had dropped completely in that moment. She carefully schooled her face again when Katara turned and made eye contact with her. 

With a rush of water Katara allowed the pond to return to its previously calm state. Sokka preemptively lifted his maps away from the flow of water, while Toph used the opportunity to sink in the mud a little deeper a contented smile on her face. Katara flowed down with water, bending it so she stepped out of the water far up the beach, just a few steps from Azula. 

Azula’s face, otherwise schooled showed her mood by a hint of color rising in her cheek. Katara smiled at her, before kneeling down so she could see her clearly. 

“Azula, do you want to go swimming with me?” Katara asked. 

Katara carefully watched the journey Azula’s face went on, even though she tried to hide it. The one emotion she saw that she wasn’t expecting was fear. Azula’s emphatic shaking of her head confirmed that she was afraid of something. Katara leaned forward carefully, concern clear on her face. She knew the lightning bender was afraid of fire after what happened to her, but why would she be afraid of going swimming?

“‘Zula. Is there reason you don’t want to swim?” 

Katara could see that Azula was hot in her armor, and had definitely been eyeing the water since they arrived in a way that made it seem like she wanted to take a dip. Azula looked around nervously. 

“Is Zuzu back?” Azula signed, seeming to ignore the question for a moment. 

“No. He and Aang probably won’t be back until tomorrow morning.” Katara said. Then she saw Azula look at something over her shoulder. Katara looked back and saw her brother side eyeing the two of them. Azula’s eyes widened and her breath came a little faster. 

Katara stood and immediately bent a wall of water around the two of them. She froze the wall in an arc, cutting them off from the other two. Though she was careful to leave an opening at Azula’s back so she could leave if she wanted to. She sat down next to the other girl, safe from prying eyes. 

“Azula?” Katara hesitated. She knew Azula could respond angrily, and didn’t want to pressure her. “If you want I won’t ask about it, or ask you to swim again, but is there a reason you don’t want to swim?”

Azula closed her eyes tightly. Then she slowly nodded her head. Katara put out a hand to touch her shoulder but hesitated again. However, before she could withdraw her hand, Azula leaned into the comfort. She slowly undid the cuffs of the fire nation garb she still wore. Katara watched in confusion for a moment until Azula pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. 

Katara quickly bit off the gasp that cut its way past her lips. Azula’s wrists bore horrific burn scars. Each wrist had a burn that completely circled it, the mottled skin still discolored, despite how long ago they had been done. 

“Close your eyes.” Azula signed without looking at her. 

Katara pressed her eyes closed, trying to hold back tears. To her confusion she heard the shuffling of fabric then felt a tap on her arm. She opened her eyes and the tears she had tried to hide broke free. 

Azula was turned away from her, her heavy black jacket undone to the waist and folded down so her back and her breastband were visible. And across her back...a spiderwebbing scar that could only be done by getting hit by lightning bending. Katara had seen similar scars many times, from elders in her village who had fought the Fire nation soldiers to citizens in the Earth Kingdom who had been scared into compliance. 

The lightning scar originated from the center of her back and covered almost all of the skin there. Jagged lines also wrapped around her shoulders and ribs from where the electricity had traveled through her body. 

“Does it still hurt?” Katara asked softly. She hovered her hand over Azula’s back, not daring to touch her. Azula shook her head, still facing away. 

“Nerve damage.” She signed to the side. 

Katara had heard about that. The lightning bending of the Fire Nation, it struck so deep that it destroyed the body’s ability to process the pain. 

“These still do.” Azula signed again before showing the burns on her wrists. Her signs stuttered out, like she couldn’t form what she wanted to say, or like she had a sentence that she wanted to leave hanging. Then she turned around. 

Katara couldn’t cut off the gasp this time. Logically she had known that the burn on Azula’s face had extended further down, but that did nothing to prepare for it to be revealed completely. While the burns on her wrists were deeper, two solid rings of scarred tissue, the scar on her throat looked so much worse. 

From her experience with dealing with burns, both those of her friends and strangers they’ve met on the road, plus Aang learning firebending from Zuko, Katara could get a good gage on the two injuries. The ones on her wrists were a controlled punishment. Like the burn on Zuko’s face. The firebender had purposefully burned her in a way that hurt and would hamper her movement, without crippling her. 

The burn on her throat was different. There was no control in the pattern of this scarring. And worst of all, Katara could clearly make out the handprint on her throat, an adult’s hand. The bender had allowed their flames to burn wildly while they choked her, burning her throat and up her face. 

Katara didn’t hesitate to throw her arms around Azula’s shoulders. Azula stiffened, but didn’t pull away. After a moment she relaxed into Katara’s hug. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, ‘Zula.” 

Azula kept the tears at bay for as long as she could, but soon she was crying right alongside Katara. They held each other tightly as soft sobs shook their bodies. Katara kept holding her until Azula pulled back. 

“You said these still hurt?” Katara asked looking at the scars on her wrists.

Azula nodded. “My wrists and my throat hurt the most. I can’t feel my back at all.”

Katara broke a chunk of ice off the surrounding wall, and allowed it to melt till the cool water was flowing gently around her fingers. She looked up to Azula’s face. 

“May I?”

When Azula nodded Katara brought the healing energy out of the water. Azula’s face glowed softly in the light of water. Katara watched a pinched look at the corners of her eyes fade. She hadn’t even realized that pained expression had been there so often that Katara had assumed that was how Azula’s face looked. 

“No one has ever seen these before.” Azula signed, her hands moving slower so they stayed in healing stream of water that Katara was weaving. “Other than Zuzu and Iroh. Now you have.”

There was an unasked question in that statement Katara felt. She immediately pulled Azula into another tight hug. She kept her chin on Azula’s shoulder while she spoke. 

“I would never judge you for your scars.” Katara whispered. 

Azula relaxed into her grip again. Then Katara could feel her trying to sign against her belly and leaned back to see what she was saying. 

“Scars like this are shameful in the Fire Nation.” Azula signed. “A sign that you were beaten by another Fire Bender. Shamed by them. That’s why the Fire Lord gave them to me.”

“There is nothing shameful about having scars!” Katara said, cold fury in her voice. “The only shame belongs on your father’s head for hurting you.” 

Katara thought for a moment, allowing the healing water to flow gently over Azula’s wrists. She reached towards her face, but Azula pulled back away from her. Katara returned her attention to her wrists. 

“No one here is going to shame you for your scars. We’ve all been marked by this war.”

She turned over hands showing the soft scars on her own hands, from when Aang had first been learning fire bending, when she had first discovered she could use water to heal. Her scars weren’t nearly as bad, considering they had been healed almost immediately after and often sense. 

“But if you don’t want to swim, I won’t ask you again, and I’ll make sure the others leave you alone.”

Azula looked away for a moment, then nodded her head. Katara helped her out of her armor until both girls were in clothes that would be more comfortable to swim in. Once they were ready she changed the water from ice to water, but kept the wall around the two of them as they walked toward the pond. 

“Toph! Do you think you could make the pond more muddy?” Katara called to their friend. 

“Sure thing, Sugar Queen.” Toph pushed her feet deeper into the mud, then thrust her fists forward, then extended her fingers. The water of the pond suddenly became a murky brown that none of them could see through. 

Katara easily bent the muddy water up around Azula as the two of them walked into the pond. Once she was in the water Azula immediately lowered herself down so only her head was above the water. 

“Hey Sokka! Do you want to come swim with us?” Katara called to her brother. 

“Nah. I’m still working on this map.” He said dismissively. Though she could tell he had been waiting nervously for her and Azula to finish talking. Katara subtly bent the water at his feet to freeze into a block of ice, grabbing him. He looked up surprised, then met her eyes, and saw her subtle glance to where Azula was. “Actually you know what? I think you’re right time for a break.”

The ice block released him and he stood to place the maps far away from the water. He took off his shirt revealing two identical half moon scars on either side of his chest. He strode into the water up to his waist. 

“Hey Toph! How about joining us as well?” He said. 

“Nope!” Toph said dismissively. 

Sokka walked back out of the water until his feet were on solid ground. 

“Hey Toph! How about joining us as well?” He asked again. 

Toph sat up, throwing mud off her. 

“Yeah sounds great.”

She tossed her mud filled clothes to the bank then paddled slowly into the pond. Sokka caught up to her and she grabbed his arm while they waded back and forth. Katara could see her scars as well. From training with the badgermoles, or fighting in the arena with the other earthbenders. 

Katara didn’t have to point out their scars to Azula. She knew she saw them in the way her eyes would flick to a scar then away and in how she slowly allowed herself to stand in the water or swim around. Katara smiled at her and swam alongside her, laughing as she would bend a little water at her or one of their other friends. Sokka walked in the pond, the water up to his ribs, just making slow circles in the muddy water. Toph clung to him like a koalamonkey, kicking her legs as he walked them in circles. He would splash Katara any time she came near, and kept a running monologue of what was happening around him for Toph’s benefit. 

Just when Katara thought her mood couldn’t get any higher a shadow passed over them and she could hear Appa’s growl. Aang saw them all in the pond from the air and immediately jumped off the skybison towards the pond. He shed his clothes as he fell and threw them to the beach. He landed with an incredible splash then began swimming and playing with the others. His own scars were on display, frost burn from his time in the ice, and various other burns and scars from surviving this long as the Avatar. 

Zuko landed Appa and unloaded him quickly before shedding his shirt and joining them all in the pond. His scar on his face was the most obvious but he also had scars from training and combat on his arms and across his chest. He seemed surprised to see Azula swimming with the rest of them, but his surprise turned to joy and delight to see how happy she was. 

Both Sokka and Aang saw Azula’s scars. They didn’t need Katara’s harsh glare not to say anything, but she had to make sure. Sokka’s face twisted in horror and rage, before he put his careful mask on of a goofy idiot, making poor jokes. Aang’s face fell, as his grief overwhelmed him, but he quickly air scootered away until he was composed again. 

Even Toph felt them when she latched onto Azula’s arm during one of the games they played. She didn’t say anything, but when she next grabbed onto Katara’s arm, she held on both a little tighter and a little gentler. 

The war had marked them all. Maybe together they could start to heal the marks, and move forward.

[dumbest-creature-on-earth]

The Big Bang-Bakugo Katsuki

2.1k

*for the full experience, play the song The Big Bang by Rock Mafia. You’ll know when to start it :)*

     On the floor in the common area of your dorm, Class 1-A sits in a circle. Each of you holding a red solo cup filled with whatever concoction Kaminari came up with. Tonight, you’re celebrating your graduation from UA. In the past few years, all of you have grown and matured as heroes. Now prepared to defend humanity from all sorts of evil. Tomorrow, you will be adults. Tonight, however, you’re a group of tipsy teens playing truth, dare, or drink. “l/n truth or dare?” asks Midoriya. “I chose dare last time,” you say, “so I choose truth.” Deku nods, obviously thinking of a question, “what is something you did to help yourself become a better hero, or to help control your quirk, that you have never told anyone about?” you take a second to ponder your answer. You have a quirk called ‘Snake Charmer’, you can hypnotize any living thing when you whistle certain tunes. Each tune causes a different reaction. Although you had a cool quirk, you had terrible body awareness and at one point had been terribly clumsy. If you couldn’t charm your opponent quick enough, your lack of bodily control always made you lose in hand to hand combat. “Well, you guys remember how unaware of my body I used to be, and how clumsy?” Everyone nods in response, Bakugo saying something about how you used to look like an idiot baby deer first learning to walk. “To combat that, and teach myself bodily awareness, I learned how to pole dance.” 

     No one said a word for several moments, the boy's mouth dropping open. “That’s so cool!” Momo exclaims, “I’ve always wanted to take a class but I never got around to it!” “it was a lot harder than I had originally expected but I absolutely loved it,” you responded. You scan the room and it’s obvious that the boys were incredibly interested in this new information, so you were quick to shift the attention to someone else. “It’s my turn to ask! Uraraka, truth or dare?” and so the game continued.

    Eventually it was Kirishima’s turn to ask, “l/n, truth or dare?” “Dare!” kirishima smirks, “so you told us you know how to pole dance?” “.....yes?” his face breaks into a full on grin, making you regret ever having chosen dare. “So you know how to dance?” “I hate where this is going, but yes” you groan out. “I dare you to give Bakugo a lap dance, if one of you yields before the song is over you will have to prank aizawa.” you roll your eyes, “knowing how to pole dance does not mean that I know how to strip, but fine I’ll do it.” Everyone starts giggling, Bakugo exclaims “WHY DID YOU CHOOSE ME SHITTY HAIR.” Laughing, you stand, brushing off your legs “you can just yield now Bakugo, there’s no shame in admitting defeat.” “tsch, as if I’m going to lose to you,” he rolls his eyes. “Okay then,” Kirishima says, clapping his hands together “let’s get this party started”

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

     Bakugo, now sitting in a chair, is obviously nervous. He rubs his hands over his pants several times in the few moments you were watching him. “Okay l/n, what song have you chosen?” Mina asks from where she’s sitting with the rest of the group against the wall across from the chair. “I choose The Big Bang by Rock Mafia.” you say, smirking. 

   You hear the first couple notes of the song and you roll your head, then lock eyes with Bakugo, slowly approaching him and thread your hands through your hair. 

I don't wanna lie, I’m gonna take what you’re givin’

    You drag your hand across his back as you walk around his chair, hearing him sharply inhale. “Nervous already?” you ask, running your hands down his chest and then back up again. “You wish.” he replies, even though he visibly stiffens from your touch and shifts in his seat.

You’ve got me right here, combustible, and I can’t wait to finally explode

     You walk around to the front of him, place your hands on his knees and spread his legs apart. Slowly you sink down onto your knees, leaning back to sit on your calves in front of him while maintaining eye contact. When the chorus hits you roll your head back and run your fingers through your hair. You then move your body up off of your calves in a rolling motion, removing your hands from your hair and sliding them up his legs towards his crotch. You sit back again, kick your right leg up in a circular motion and stand from the floor.

Some people like to talk, but I’m into doing what I feel like doing

    Bakugo is now visibly rigid, barely breathing as he watches your movements like a hawk. You stand in front of him once again, leaning over him and spreading your legs. You bend your legs and crouch right in front of his crotch, then run your body up his, barely touching him. A tease of a touch. He inhales sharply as your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders. You twist and sit on his thigh, pulling your shirt off leaving you with only a bra covering your upper half.

When all the stars collide, in this universe inside

    His hand moves to your back and tries to slide down to your ass but you slap him away. “No touching” you scold, standing and walking behind him, dragging your fingers across his shoulders lightly. He shudders, gulping hard enough that you can hear it. You once again sit on his thigh, only this time your legs are on the outside of his. You bring the leg closest to him up and over his body, making it so that your legs are on either side of his chair and your chests are nearly touching. Bakugo holds the sides of the chair with a death grip, attempting to ground himself. His neck and ears are red and his breaths are shuddering and shallow. You lean forward and whisper in his ear “just give in baby, you know you want to.” As you pull back you pull his earlobe with your teeth and he gasps.

The big big bang, the reason I’m alive

     You sit back, holding his shoulders and rolling your head. As the beat drops for the final time you grind your hips down in his lap, holding eye contact while you do so. You smirk at him, because now you’ve felt just how aroused he really is from your actions. 

Whoa, babe

      Bakugo grabs you by the hips and nearly throws you off of him, exclaiming “I YIELD STUPID I YIELD.” You look at him smirking, he avoids eye contact with you and stands from the chair walking towards the group. The back of his neck is red and his whole body is shaking. He sits down next to Kaminari, grumbling, and runs a hand over his blushing face. You look at the group and everyone’s eyes are blown wide. All of the boys are readjusting themselves and can’t look you in the eyes. You look at the girls, their facial expressions are a mix of pride and awe. You sit down, pull your shirt back over your body and say, “so, whose turn is it to ask?”

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

    The next day, Bakugo can’t take his eyes off of you. Last night he couldn't stop picturing, remembering the drag of your hips against his, and how he would do anything to feel it again. You can feel him burning holes in the back of your head during your graduation ceremony, and when you walk in front of him to accept your diploma, you purposefully put a little bit more swing in your hips. Bakugo growls, his upper lip curling, watching your ass as you walk away. He knew that there was one man to blame for all of his troubles. Kirishima. 

    That night, the last night you were living in the dorms, you made your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Instead you overheard an interesting conversation. Before you even entered the door frame, you heard the distinct voice of Bakugo snarling “Why did you choose me, shitty hair? Did you find submitting me to torture funny?” you heard Kirishima reply saying “bro you should be THANKING me, not threatening me!” “and why the hell would I THANK you for this?”

Kirishima sighs, then says “You’ve had a thing for l/n since year one, this is the furthest you’ve EVER gotten with her and it’s because of MY dare.” 

    You gasp, both of the boys whipping around to look at you. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop on someone else's conversation, idiot.” Bakugo growls out lowly. You roll your eyes, sauntering over to him “didn’t anyone teach YOU that it’s rude to talk about someone behind their back Kacchan?” “tsch” he looks away from you. “Now, now,” you say, “is that any way to react to the woman you’re apparently in love with?” His eyes snap to yours, “as if I could ever love an extra like you.” You smirk knowingly. You have known him long enough to know when he is lying to you, and that statement was a big fat lie. “That’s too bad,” you whisper, “because maybe the extra loves you too.” you smile at him, and walk back out of the kitchen to your room. If you were right about this, which you will be, Bakugo will follow behind you.

    After entering your room, you sit on the edge of the bed and start to count the seconds passing. You barely get to 32 before you hear a knock on your door. You open it to see Bakugo, just as expected. You step back and gesture his welcome. He steps in the door and you shut it behind him. “I lied.” “I know” “I don’t want to ruin my chance with-” he pauses and blinks. “What the fuck do you mean, YOU KNOW.” you giggled, “I knew you were lying, you aren’t very good at it.” 

    Bakugo Katsuki was confused. First of all, he has no emotional intelligence whatsoever so he has no idea how you’re feeling. Second of all, he was just told he is a horrible liar, making him rethink all of the lies he has ever told and how many of them he actually got away with. Third of all, the girl he is in love with KNOWS that he loves her now. Oh God she knows she knows she knows-

      His train of thought is cut off when a pair of soft lips meet his own. For a beat, he doesn’t react. His brain moving into hyperdrive. Then he reacts, one hand coming up to cup your cheek softly, the other settling on your hip pulling you closer to him. Your hands wind around his neck pulling him into you. After several long moments, you both pull away. Your eyes bore into his, as if you were searching for an answer to a question your soul had asked. “I love you.” you state, as simply as if you were saying that grass is green or the sky is blue. Bakugo inhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat. “I love you Bakugo.” you say again, this time more forceful, tugging on his neck. “Katsuki,” he breathes, “call me Katsuki.” he clears his throat, then grins down at you “and for the record, I love you too y/n.”

      You squeal, giggling and tugging him into a tight hug. He barks out a loud laugh and winds his arms around you. You stand there wound together for a breath, and then you’re kissing again. This time more desperate, there was no question of your feelings. No more barriers. His lips press forcefully to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You move together in perfect sync. Katsuki pats you on your hip, signalling you to jump up so he can hold you. You jump and wrap your legs around his waist, his hands moving to rest under your ass. You can feel him walking somewhere. The backs of his knees hit your bed and he falls back, pulling you down on top of him. You start giggling and he grins up at you. He moves up to kiss you once more. You pull away, but stay close enough that he can feel your lips moving on his as you speak, and you whisper “I love you ‘suki” he looks at you, and grins wider than you had ever seen him grin. “I love you y/n” he whispers, pressing your lips back together. 

[turquoisemagpie]

Important reminders:

You don’t HAVE to defend yourself - when someone comes to you looking for an argument and you’re not comfortable with it, or deep down you know an argument is only going to anger you or depress you, just silently leave it at that. You can say “I’m not interested in discussing the issue.” and just leave it at that. Even if the person comes back at you claiming your silence is shallow-minded or ‘your silence means I won this argument!’, don’t answer it. You don’t have to. For your own mental health it’s best to know when an issue is going to hurt you and to move away from it, or distance yourself from it. The only thing you’ll naturally feel is guilt, and that guilt is inflicted on you by others. In reality, you have done nothing wrong, and since you ignored the argument, you said nothing wrong either. 

I feel like saying this because I’ve noticed a growth in the need to defend yourself when it comes to opinions online. It’s a very toxic cycle of people blindly trusting their opinion and defending it to the high hills and back. And don’t get me wrong, I’m all for people have unique and interesting opinions, but sometimes I see some arguments that make me think “...... was there any need for that?”. It’s the aggressive nature of defending your opinion and never moving from it that starts the growing groups of people who make  ‘controversial points’ just to cause a scene, to get people angry, to make noise for the sake of making noise. And I see people fall into the pit of getting angry and upset over something that had NO real reason to ever be brought up ever. Then there’s those who purposefully search for something to shout at, metaphorically throwing themself into a fire just to blame someone else for getting burnt. They attack people who fail to mention something ‘crucial’ to an argument, calling them arrogant or close minded or one sided, never considering the fact that that person didn’t mention it because they genuinely didn’t know about it. 

There’s only so much one person can know before going insane. You can only obtain so much. So why try to obtain everything and burn yourself out, and why try obtaining only purely negative things so that anything positive is completely clouded over and forgotten? 

There is no need for it. And this is not a demand or a statement, in my mind it just makes sense that eventually you’ll tire yourself out from shouting so much. 

So in future, when you can clearly see someone winding you up, practically begging for an argument, just remember: you don’t have to take the offer. It’s the same as in films when there’s a fight, one person refuses to fight, and is then peer pressured or insulted into accepting the fight because ‘refusing to fight is cowardly’, and then they get the hell beaten out of them. A verbal argument on social media is not that film. You CAN refuse the fight and move on. Save getting yourself mentally beaten up. And so what if ‘walking away is cowardly’; I’d rather be a coward than a fool. I’d rather have more brains than balls - “I know where I stand, and it’s my stand alone, so I won’t inflict it on you, just as you shouldn’t inflict it on others.”

The highest ground is the one that’s silent; it hasn’t crumbled under its own earthquakes.

[thorsstorms]

Abroad Pt. 17

(Chris Hemsworth x Reader)

Summary: Being the Hemsworth Kids’ Nanny, you were vowed to keep it strictly professional for their sake, but do the stolen glances go unnoticed between you both?

Word count: 7.5k, uhhhhh sorry

Warnings: none. 

A/N: if you want to be tagged, PLEASE SEND AS AN ASK, or it will get lost in my notifications and I may not see it. 

Masterlist

“Ok, who do we call next?” You asked Chris. “Both parents, my brother is good. Let’s call Luke. Wait, you FaceTime Luke and I’ll FaceTime Liam and we can do it at the same time!”

“At the same time? Liam will get jealous if he knows I called Luke first.” It was late, you figured Liam ought to be awake by now. You and Ty FaceTimed your parents for almost an hour this morning, both of you waking early to do so. Chris just called his mom and spoke her excitement for another grandbaby.

“Yea it’ll be fine.” You both clicked their names and they started to ring. You took a deep breath and looked over at him, pecking his lips. He mimicked you, sprawled across the bed, propped on your elbows. You weren’t nervous, but there was something about actually saying it, and telling someone that you are pregnant. It makes it more real for you. Chris leaned his head to the side and slightly knocked his with yours before turning back to the phone, watching Luke pop up. His face was illuminated only by the light from the screen.

“Guess what?” Chris sang to him. You leaned over into his camera view and waved.

“Oh Jesus, is she knocked up?” A loud throaty laugh came from you, you threw your head back before leaning forward and putting your face in the blankets trying to hide the growing red. You felt Chris’s arm come over your back while he pulled a ‘my bad’ as a reply.

Just then Liam answered obnoxiously seeing both your faces on screen.  Chris repeated his ‘Guess what?’ and Liam cocked his head to the side at his brothers weird tone before he looked sceptical.

“Wait wait! Is the Mrs. home?” You asked quickly.

“Surprisingly, yes she is. MILEY!!” His voice echoed through his house so strong that it trailed through the speakers on your end. You heard her scream back a ‘WHAT’ just as loud.

“(Y/n) and Chris are on the phone.” His normal voice returned when she got closer, saying hi.

“Okay Chris, one more time.”

“Guess what?” You giggled at him this time. He was so excited he couldn’t keep himself from displaying it.

“Oh my. God,” Miley chanted, “You are getting married!”

“No! No, oh my goodness,” you couldn’t hold back your laugh, leaning into Chris’s side, one hand of yours going to hold the side of your head. Too much excitement.

Chris felt his breath get stuck in his throat, there is only one other person on this planet that should know about the ring. Good thing the sounds of his heart beating through his chest were one hundred percent masked by your laugh, the music to his ears.

“Then what else are you both so crazy for? You both make me sick with the lovey dovey stuff. Honestly!” Miley’s words were lighthearted, but you couldn’t help the look that comes across when he’s with you. Especially for so little jumps at a time.

You looked at Chris and whispered, “You tell them.” All while communicating a wince that tells him you were too loud for your own good. He placed a gentle kiss to the side of your head and turned his attention to the other two who were not so patiently waiting.

“We are having a baby!”

Chris loved watching you speak, your reactions to their reaction. He felt his face grow hot at his sister-in-law’s accusation, gauging your own reaction. Your laugh had died down quick and you bowed your head in your hand, he knew what that meant. It had only been three days. The bruising had turned new colors, and the headache was still going strong but you were talking and engaging more than the past few days, granted, he hadn’t heard you laugh like this in awhile. He watched you still get dizzy if you stood up to fast, watched you balance yourself as you walked through the house by grabbing various objects to keep you straight. It was all the small things that you probably didn’t even notice yourself doing, but he did. He watched you constantly, not just to make sure you were okay, but to admire.

You were so strong willed about not being lazy with your injury. You carried on as much as you could and spent time with your guests every second of the day. It was admirable, stubborn. The doctor told you to take it easy for a few weeks so you and the baby stay stable as head injuries can be fatal to young pregnancies. There were things you asked him to do, like if it required going up and down the stairs, reaching for things low and high, carrying things around. And he did them happily, a victorious smile plastered to show off.

The bashfulness was slowly coming back, it had been only days since he saw it, but it was so undeniably you. You blushed more and more often and he loved to make you purposefully. It never got old. The rose in your cheeks when you smiled away from him, diverting your eyes, a weak hit on his arm. The tease in his smile to make sure you realize he does it on purpose. He can’t help but admire it, want to kiss the rose from your cheeks, or lift your head so you’d meet his eyes while you blushed because it was only once in a blue moon.

This afternoon while you were leaning against the counter in the bathroom trying to pull up your hair. He came in the doorway and your silhouette made him smirk. He figured to distract you from the colorful bruises, he’d make you smile. He kissed your neck and called you beautiful in passing to his closet where he was grabbing shoes. His hands to in sync with his words, feeling your pregnant tummy every chance he got. That was all it took for you to not be able to look him in the eye. He was touchy, but made it so innocent that it drove you wild. It wasn’t meant to make your heart flutter, but it does and sends your mind into the dark depths, not meant for pure daylight hours.

You both ended your calls and sighed. Those two are so different. Luke was hanging up pretty fast saying he was already sleeping. Something you should be doing at this hour as well. You laid face first on the bed, your arms holding you up so you could breath but all the talk was catching up to you. As much as you tried and would never admit, it did feel like a weird ache, deeper than just a headache. It made your eyes tired, remind yourself to focus back on the screen where they talked back and forth.

Heavy hands rubbed across your back as the silence from the ended calls took over. Teasing fingertips under the hem until they lay against your bare skin. Nothing more than him knowing why you hiding your eyes in the blanket, resting your head, but it was comforting at the same time. You could drift… fall right asleep with his hands sliding down your spine… rubbing lightly up your neck and smoothing back down. Enough for your focus to go fuzzy with the weight of the beating rhythm in your skull.

“I want you to come back to the states with me, just for awhile.” His voice rumbled in your ear when you try to calm your heart rate, dropping into a shallow almost-there haze of sleep.

“What?” You can’t leave.

“Just for a week, maybe a week and a half. Come spend time with me.” Why does he have to talk? Just rub your warm hands across my skin and let me sleep, please.  It would be too selfish of you. The kids can’t leave, neither can you. India has school, it was non-negotiable.

“You know we can’t do that…” confused as to why he’d ask such a thing.

“Princess, you can’t drive. You can’t look at your phone for more than 30 seconds without rubbing your eyes. You can’t walk down the hallway without leaning on the wall.” You were more than capable of taking care of yourself, if that was what he was getting after. “You can barely shower (y/n).”

“Yea I get it,” you mumbled, trying to sit up in place. You scrunch your nose at how dependent his statements made you feel. There were times you liked to be taken care of. Like when he shampoos your hair, or when he cooks, but you were not unable.

“I know you can take care of yourself that is not what I’m saying.” He noticed the shallow frustrated look that was bound to grow on your face. “But with all three by yourself? I don’t want you to push yourself. For you, and for- for our little bean.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, laying over your crossed legs. He was watching you from his spot on the bed, laying on his back while he spoke, making sure to try and figure out what you were thinking. He does not desire to upset you, and you know it.

You didn’t say anything. And it would be lying to say you didn’t have a little thought about how you were going to handle it after your full house suddenly lost five adults and it was back to just you and the kids.

“Think about it. Relax for a week. Come visit the set, hangout. You can spend time with Miley, you just heard her. She’s been in the studio for the whole week, I bet you could tag along one day.” It did start to sound appetizing to your ears. To see him in his element, shining like the bright light he always was. A week, just the two of you. Free to do what you want. Fall to bed next to him for 7 more nights. 7 more nights where you can soak in the sound of his voice and the feel of his presence.

“I don’t know, what about India?”

“I called Elsa already, she can be here Wednesday, flight is the next morning. Plus, if you come, I have a major surprise. And I wouldn’t say no if I were you.” He wasn’t going to let you say no anyway, there was no way he could leave you with the kids regardless. It was more for humoring.  

“Two days! She’s going to be here in two days?” Why must he always feel the need to do surprises. You were a planner. Your planner, itself, was across the house on the office desk where you had left it the day everyone arrived and hadn’t looked at it since, hadn’t needed to. Before you could think anything else, your feet were on their way out the bedroom door to get to it.

You would need to give her the school schedule, the boys school plan that wasn’t even made. Oh dear god. Both boys have soccer practice on Thursday night. India has a small school play coming up, when was that again?

Your fingers found it and flipped through till you found this month, grazing it before turning to the detailed week. You are met with more of your scribbled handwriting for three dentist appointments on Monday and a little note off to the side reminding you should try to find some time to get a haircut, it’s not like you can cut it yourself like you do for the kids and Bri.

Ty leaves Wednesday morning, and then the room would need to be cleaned after they left and before she got here. How much time would-

“Would you stop a second? And look at me?” He turned you around at your arms with a look only you could not decipher.

“What? Do you know when she’ll be getting here?” You looked back down at the open planner folded in your hand and then reached back for a pen. You were going to have to write this down for her on the kitchen calendar. At least you thought you were before he slipped the pen out of your grasp and held it away as if you couldn’t just grab another.

“No, no just stop. The whole point of this is so you can relax. I don’t need you going 500 kilometers an hour trying to do things. Especially right now, you can’t injure yourself more.” You were calm, always were for the most part, why is he speaking as if you are not?

“I’ll handle it.” Now THAT made you laugh.

It bubbled past your lips. Chris looked confused at your sudden mood change, watching you try to keep it in. The laughter mixed in with a side of pain causing a weird wince in between.

“You’ll handle it?” You stopped laughing, biting your bottom lip to keep it at bay. He was going to clean the house? The loft? Make sure she had everything she needed? Pack his bag?

“Yes, I’ll handle it.” You were unconvinced, sceptical even.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your head. You gave him the planner and stepped away from him, away from the desk. “I’ll allow it, but I’m not doing anything.” You raised your brows while you watched him flip through a couple pages from the past in the planner. Filled with scribble sand mark through the scribbles that let you know you accomplished something.  

“Okay, good. Thank you,” he looked up and was greeted with a wicked grin.

“Uh huh. I’m not goin’ to do anything.” You did not look away, making sure he understood what he was asking, what you were implying. You started to take a few steps backwards out of the room. You were going to go back to bed and not worry about doing anything. Not going to worry about the clothes in the washer that will get stinky if they do not get switched over. Nope, no laundry. Or the trash from delivery for dinner all over the counters. The kids. Okay, maybe you are allowed to worry about the kids but he was not going to know that.

“The kids too. When I step out of this office, and I go to bed, they are no longer MY kids. You get what I’m sayin’?” You were squinting at him. He was good at making himself look calm. There was no way he could be calm inside at this moment, it was a lot of responsibility whether he remembered it being or not.

“Love, go to bed.”

“Okay,” the octave in your voice was way too high. But you just couldn’t help but be sceptical. “Don’t be afraid to tell me when you need my help. My pregnant, bruised, and concussed helpless self.” His shoulders dropped when he realized how you were interpreting his plea for you to just let yourself take a break. You smiled a taunting smile.

He shall ask and he shall receive.

With only two steps you turned around and walked back to the bedroom, leaving him in there. If he knows what is good for him, he will take a good walk around the house and see what needs to happen first, and for that you wished him a goodluck.

You tucked yourself in, curling the heavy blanket around your shoulders.

It was not maybe 10 minutes later that he came in, shutting the door behind him. Or so it felt like 10 minutes, very well could have been longer but you were never going to be able to sleep without the fan on. You looked at it across the room. So close yet so far, and you were too lazy to get up so you tried to wait until he came in.

He looked at you and saw you staring up at him, “The fan,” was all you had to say before he huffed a chuckle and walked towards it.

You didnt turn towards him when he pulled the blanket over himself. It was a treat to him, and automatic doing so on your part was when he was home, he always got your attention one hundred percent. You huffed at him when he pulled up right behind you and slipped his arm under your pillow. He thrust his leg between your own and slug his arm around, his hand resting atop your belly.

“You made me lose my comfy spot!”

“Well then, be ‘comfy’ with me.” You shifted lower and tried to find a good spot again.

No such luck.

You turned in his grasp and faced him. Pushing him on his back before lifting your leg over his thigh and settling in the crook of his arm. You rested your head gently, finally finding a spot, but you knew if he started moving his arm it would hurt.

“Now don’t move! … Please.” They silenced coated the air like a blanket and you began to quiet your mind. Until he started to speak again.

“When was the last time you had a hair cut?” Just a whisper.

“What?”

“Has it been a long time?” He asked again. He saw the little note to yourself on the paper that was also tainted with scribbles all pertaining to anyone but you. He about burned a hole through the paper with his eyes when he glared at it.

It may be a simple thing that people could forget, but it is something that cleans you up, gives a little pep in your step when you walk out of a salon and it had been so long since you’ve felt ‘new’.

You had been thinking about it for a while, but were never able to find a time. You didn’t want to take the boys with you, from experience of having past clients being their kids in, it can get tedious. You almost just tried to do it yourself, dusting off the box with your seemingly ancient shears in them that was resting in the upstairs closet, but you knew there wouldn’t be a time for getting it fixed if it was botched.

Chris felt mad when he saw it. Not at you. Not really at himself. But at the clock that agonizingly ticked time away and never allowed you an hour to treat yourself. His hair was cut every three weeks like clock work, he didn’t even think about it but here you were making a note to yourself to remember and try to get one.

“I don’t, I don’t know how long it’s been.” He closed his eyes blocking out the dim moonlight from outside. This hurt him, just a sliver. What else had you not been able to do?

It took everything in him to not start making a mental list of how many times he had failed you. No matter how hard he tried to make sure you are taken care of, the material and shelter didn’t compare to the time it took to ask if you were taking care of you.

“I’m sorry,” He held on to more than he should of over a haircut. But it symbolized more and he knew it.

“For what?”

“I just- we’ll get a haircut this week. I promise.”

You didn’t have the heart to question how much it may hurt your head. If it was going to happen you were going to let it. “Ok.”

~

It was your last full day with Ty being here and you took them down to the shops, going in and out through every one. You didn’t buy anything, nothing in these looked very appealing anymore. You figured once you had seen them once, they were all repetitive.

The afternoon felt like it was forever long. Chris stayed at home with Tristan while Sasha wanted to come along. He was not a bother, what was bothersome was the heat and the bright sun. Not even your sunglasses could keep your eyeballs from squinting in the bright light, and you refused to try and cool off by pulling your hair up because for one, it would hurt, and two, you were not feeling like baring the nasty bruises to the world.

You and Sasha sat down in the restaurant while the other four would be there soon. You needed the cool air and to get away from the sunlight. Maybe you should have taken it easy and not have done this. Through you refused to admit it to the others and hinder them while they had a good time.

You ordered waters for you and the mini before taking the glasses off and resting your head in your hands, noting to yourself to never get a concussion ever, ever again.

“Sash, baby, make my headache go away.” He looked at you with worried eyes but you were sly and caught his hand before he went petting your hair. The thought that counts, he came to know that was your favorite thing, not unlike his father. Although it hurt you to say, you asked him not to play with your hair for a while.

The lunch seemed to drag on forever. You closed your eyes and leaned against the wall of the booth. Two tacos sitting untouched on your plate, very unlike normal obviously. They took note, but didn’t say anything in fear of upsetting you.

You had it boxed and slumped the entire way back to the car. They still didn’t say anything because they know how it made you feel at this point, unable, and you weren’t so shy about telling Ty and Bri to back off, and that you can handle yourself.

Though by the time you made it back to the house you were ready to just agree with them if they were to say anything. Every bump or turn on the ride was dizzying and uncomfortable. Even though you woke this morning feeling great, being active throughout the day seemed to worsen the symptoms if you weren’t careful.

When you pulled into the driveway, you noticed the two small ATV’s were missing from their usual spot. You could hear them before you saw them, coming across the yard. You dismiss yourself from everyone and went inside. It was quiet and just what you needed for a moment before frustrated tears got the best of you. You almost made it the whole morning and afternoon. So much progress, but it grows in your mind as a step back when it catches up eventually, inevitably.

The couch was inviting you to lounge and you did, laying your head back with your hands crossed over your eyes. There wasn’t much you could do to stop the uncomfortable throbbing other than try to calm your heart rate down. Useless.

The back door opened and shut but you didnt move. The position your neck was in was a bad idea all around and you chose to deal with that later than sooner, if possible. The cushion dipped and a cold hand met your thigh, giving you a squeeze. He pressed a small kiss to your chin, working as a hello, careful not to target the fading blue-green marks.

“Why don’t you go lay down?” His voice was gentle but filled with hate from noticing you in pain. He knows you don’t want to hide away, especially on their last day but were you any better to be sitting in their company in this state?

Your voice came as a whisper, “I don’t wanna move.” A knowing thought came through to him when you were whispering your words instead of speaking them normally. This wasn’t a good day on your end. “Will you take me?” Your voice cracked against the silent wind coming out of your mouth.

You hated it when he tried to carry you, playful or not. His brows furrowed, nodding his head until he realized you couldn’t see him with your eyes covered. The back door opened and he moved into action so the boys would leave you alone. It was Chaz who told him that you were having a hard time already and he should go check on you. He looked back towards them nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to you.

He was careful sliding his arm under your shoulders until your arms came down and he saw the tears you were trying to keep in. You were just so sick of crying all the damn time. Whether it be from pain physically or emotionally, it was so unwelcome at this point. You were not weak, but it’s just been a weird month or two. Nothing is as normal as it was.

Ty watched him carry you out of the room and disappear into the hallway that led to the bedroom without looking back. It sparked a weird notion in him, seeing you being cared for. It was a stark difference from your usual, and he just wasn’t used to seeing you need to be cared after. Of course there were times that he felt the need to check on you, see how you were doing but that was only because he felt it was his duty as a brother to make sure you were good. You were independent in his eyes, but far too kind for your own good. ‘No,’ he was pretty sure didn’t exist in your vocabulary until recently, and he watched you do life alone for so long, watched you be successful at it, even. This was just something different. He appreciated it, but it was different. Like he didn’t need to worry about you as he once did.

“(Y/n).” Chris’s hands moved away and pulled the throw to lay across you.

“Hmm,” you opened your eyes and wiped away the water surrounding them.

“Sleep, it seems to help.” He is not wrong. “I’ll wake you for dinner if you are not up yet.” You nodded, surprisingly not one to be stubborn at the moment. When your eyes closed he had to withdraw his hand that was making its way to your head. A habit that was showing hard to break for the time being. He kissed you gently and left you to sleep, shutting the door quietly behind him after turning the fan on. Ready to attempt to mask the shallow ping he got when he saw you in pain. It was bound to show in his features that he longed to be comforting you, but you would not want him in there when there were visitors. He knew that much. He has other responsibilities, like the two rugrats that follow Chaz and Ty’s every move, and the other due to be picked up from school soon.

~

“I’m really glad you came Ty. I’m sorry this week didn’t go as planned.” You have had your arms wrapped around his waist for almost a minute now. He just kept one hand on your back after acknowledging that you were not going to let go.

“Would you stop apologizing,” you heard him tell you, “I had a good week, we all did.”

He rolled his eyes at you, shrugging a shoulder when Chaz laughed at him for being stuck. “Besides, I won’t be gone for long. I’m goin’ to have a little guy to meet.”

“How do you know it’s going to be a boy?” You finally pushed off of him, rolling your eyes.

“He wouldn’t do me dirty like that? Would you?” He looked down as if he was talking to the baby. “No girls allowed!” He whispered for everyone to hear.

“If India were here I think she would dead leg you right about now.” You giggled, looking back at Chris who agreed with you.

Ty stood straight, adjusting his backpack, “Yea, that little girl still kind of scares me.”

“She’s not scary!” Tristan screamed from the breakfast table. “I can take her!”

You all stifled a laugh at him, high fives from the boys was the validation the little one was looking for. Bri broke the happiness with, “Let’s go already!”

It was a sad goodbye, but you didn’t cry. You excused yourself to double check everything upstairs to make sure they didn’t forget anything. It was slightly a test to see if Chris would stop you and offer to go himself but you and he both know your eyes are better at finding things than his, and he needed to talk to Ty before they all left.  

Emily and Bri both followed you up there and Chris waved Ty over, away from the door while Chaz eavesdropped from the breakfast table with the boys.

“I was going to do it, while you were here.” Chris’s worried eyes felt bad for not being able to share the moment with the most important person in your life. He was supposed to catch you sometime when you were in your element, laughing at one of Chaz’s stupid jokes, enjoying your brother’s company, sharing time with your best friend. Moments where you weren’t aware of anyone else was watching you, those were the moments that he felt his heart tug the hardest, but it just was not right this week.

You were not very stable physically, and though he would not say anything, probably emotionally too - trying to balance and contain your hormones the were not the same as they were 13 weeks prior. It just wasn’t right.

“I would have punched you if you did it this week. Sorry man, but good call. I have eyes, you should wait.” Chris laughed at Ty’s comment, relief flushing around his shoulders and body to his feet now that he had gotten that off his chest. “I am the first to know, sound good?”

“I’m sure she will call you first without my suggestion anyway.” Ty pat his shoulder and started walking back towards Chaz when he could hear the footsteps pounding down the stairs. Before he knew it, you were almost on top of him again, walking with his feet to the garage door, following Bri who held the keys.

The goodbyes were thick with something other than sadness. Your time was as good as it could have been, given the circumstances but the best of it was made. You have new silly pictures and videos of Ty with you. Ty with Chris. Chris with both Ty and Chaz. Surfing videos… it was good.

~

“I just thought I would say that you look really sexy manning the laundry room.” He was still staying true to his word. You weren’t much help, but got up to appreciate the view of him folding clothes out of the dryer and switch the loads. “It does things to me…” you said walking away. He heard you, no escaping now.

“Oh yea, what kind of things?” His tease was recognized as you smiled at the ground, walking back to the bedroom to corral stray clothing items to pack.

You both were pushing almost five weeks since you had been intimate, and it was completely, one hundred percent on you. There was no way the pulsing heart rate would be bearable inside your skull if you were to get things going at the moment. Strenuous activities were not on your to do list today. That doesn’t mean you never thought about it, but it was dangerous territory, pain for pleasure, for you at least.

For you. For you.

Not for him.

A lightbulb would be displaying its brightness to the world if it could, showing off your brilliant plan that had come to light. There was at least a will to try and feed a slow burning want that was a embering light in your core. If you couldn’t let it explode into flames, surely his own would suffice.

You decided to trail back to the laundry room, mischief was flooding through your chest. Ready to surprise him, to take him, and to love him.

You walked through the threshold and wrapped your arms around his waist. You were not paying attention to what he was doing, he could have been here piddling around for all you know, but you can’t focus your attention on that.

“Hi there,” he said. Twisting in your arms to look at you but you didnt move.

“Hi,” you squeaked, muffled by his shirt. His arms stopped moving, he relaxed and patted your hands that were across his midsection, almost as he was coming to terms with your position, and then he continued separating and folding.

Much to your dismay, he continued seemingly without another thought to your leach like tendencies on his backside. Palms planted flat against his abdomen. He was so big, so broad, and so hard - comfy when it mattered. He paid no mind to you, or so you thought, and it was slightly frustrating. You were not one to just come out and shout, “I’m horny!” to the world, but you got the feeling he was going to wait until you did so.

Actions did better. They always have. Slowly, your fingertips made there way under his shirt. They may or may not have skimmed necessarily low before rising again to brush across his waistband, back to their home. Flush against his skin and your ear to his back you could feel a slight shudder in his breathing. If only he could see the devilish smile that you were sporting. A girl on a mission.

“Have you got something to tell me?”

“Hmm, maybe later. I’m pretty content right now.” Yea that did not go over. Although he thought your shyness was endearing, and he loved to fluster you, you were asking for it this time.

In a flash he twisted himself in your arms to face you. You yelped in surprise but kept your head down, forehead pressed to his chest. He had a sort of eagerness every time you showed signs of wanting him. It sparked his heart rate and made his brain a bit fuzzy, a feeling he craved when you were together.

His hand hovered over your head, before gently sitting on top of your shoulder, squeezing it.

The black shirt has ridden up over your arms from your hold on him, and his skin was so warm under your touch it made you just want to melt and have him cuddle you naked for the rest of the day, but it was merely 12pm.

Though he knows what has filled the air around you both in such a short time, he can’t bring himself to act on it. He could hold off if it meant he didn’t have to see you uncomfortably clutching your hair, trying to hold it in and together later. Trying to hold together your tears and the furrowed eyebrows, at a loss of how to make it stop, how to make it go away.

“(Y/n).” That was his one and only sound off warning. It was to gauge your mood and tell you of his. You groaned, he wasn’t going to touch you even if you wanted him too, but that was not what you wanted.

You lifted your head and looked at him furrowing your brows. “Kiss me,” you demanded.

He lowered his head and met you in the middle. His lips were soft and gentle, pressing a wussy kiss to your lips, keen to pull away when you started to lean into him. It made your face hot, you could feel it trail down your spine, flood over your shoulders, a spark of nerves. You wanted more, to feel him want to touch you. Want to kiss you.

Your fingertips pressed harder into his skin, but no matter how much you wanted to kiss him more, if he didn’t meet you in the middle it wasn’t happening, they were too far away.

“Kiss me,” you said again, fighting back the urge to huff like a child not getting her way. The contemplated look in his eyes were all you needed. Who was he to decide what you could and couldn’t handle? You pulled your hands away from him and tore your gaze away, walking out of the room.

He didn’t get to act like that. The pity in his eyes was not something you wanted to stick around and view. Maybe he wasn’t trying, but he sure knows how to eliminate any mood and replace it with inadequacy.  

You needed to finish packing anyway.

He wasn’t refusing you. He was afraid to hurt you. His eyes closed, rubbing his forehead though it wasn’t going to get the look on your face out of his head.

Who were you kidding you had nothing left to pack. You resisted the urge to ask if he needed help. You climbed the stairs to the kids rooms slowly, longing to shake away the dizziness once you reached the top. They had been quiet for way too long.

They were not in the playroom, but after roaming you found them both past out on Sasha’s floor with… chocolate covering their faces. Where they got it was beyond you. You scanned over the room, counting the wrappers on the ground and the half eaten bite of a fun size Snickers’ in Tristan’s hand. Is this what happens when you are not in charge of them?

It wasn’t easy, but you got Tristan up without waking him and laid him on his bed in the other room. He stirred, but fell limp again almost immediately. Sugar coma, definitely.

Sasha was pulling his blanket off the bed and over himself on the floor when you walked back in.

“Hey baby, crawl in bed.” He listened and climbed in, closing his eyes as if he was never fully awake in the first place. You had nothing else to do, no laundry, no cooking, no cleaning, no school stuff, so... what the hell. You lifted Sasha over and climbed in with him, pulling the bigger blanket off the end of the bed to cover you both. You fit your arm under his head and shoulders, automatically tucking his head under your chin. The small unconscious action made you smile, sure your heart just swelled about 10 times it size. He was so good at comforting you and he didn’t even know it. It was his unspoken superpower.

You didn’t sleep, not with your mind sticking around with disappointment. Merely closing your eyes and letting your thoughts trample each other internally while you lie still, still enough to fake the sleep.

How were you to spend a week with him? The close cuddles and gentle caress of his hands over your shoulders in the dead of the night were routine, they had to be in light of the rare evenings spent with him. The hand laid to rest on the swollen curve of you belly was just that, laid to rest. How were you to spend a week with him when all you wanted was to jump his bones but he was afraid to kiss you, even when asked directly. You couldn't even think about sharing a bed in an empty apartment, with his large warm hands splayed across your skin, his breathe hot on your neck, pressed close, close enough to bask in his warmth and not jump his bones. It was going to be impossible, slightly tortuous.

That was you trying to reach out to him, to tell him you were not a fragile has he seems to have built in his mind. You wanted it, you could handle him kissing you more than a peck in passing. If you weren’t able to, you would be the one to know and manage, not him.

Actions were always better to get across, it saved you from the red faced verbal admissions that you wanted him. A flutter of your eyes and a smirk to match your sinking hands had done the trick before!?

The wince from his hands on your chin in the days past was burned into his mind and it flash like a neon sign everytime he urged to brush across your hair or hold you in his hand while he kisses you. He was flooded with a sort of shock that sank in his chest at the fear of it happening again. Almost as bad as the rejected look you happened to sport only minutes ago.

He would make it up to you. In the right moment that is. The right moment would have to consist of your carefree smile and brightness in your eyes, unsuspecting as he bowed to one knee with a small velvet box warmed from his hands.  

He would tell you that he could never resist you, and it was true. He could never purposely induced a feeling of inadequacy upon your life, and love for him. It was from the beginning, impossible to resist your eyes that were always drawn to care for others, and never yourself. He takes note of all the small things you do for him that you do not have to, probably without even realizing it. The smile you have when you walk into a room he was occupying, seeing him. When you scoot over slightly so he can always sit next to you, or scoot closer after he has sat down. A random kiss to his chest as you lay under his arm at night or run soapy fingers across his shoulders in the shower in stark contentment. You don’t notice you do it, but he looks forward to it and when it happens he falls in love just a little more every time. The glazed look in your eyes, he studied it, enough for him to look forward to seeing the mental picture when he lays his eyes to rest at the end of the day.

He was lost in the trance you bring over him, he had no idea how to ask you to marry him. How could he? You deserved more than any lame, small or large set up he could come up with.

His arms were loaded with laundry, his and the boys. He stopped in his room first, depositing over half the weight, and dropping the others briefly to find the ring of inspiration. He pulled the box from his suitcase and admired it, the gleam it set off.

No time would ever feel right, good enough for what you deserved.

The ring was discarded into his pocket before picking up the clothes and continuing on his treck to deliver them to the right rooms. It only took till now to realize how quiet the house was. Answers were brought unto him with the sight of a sleeping Tristan, and a few more steps to view a sleeping Sasha with you curled into him.

This was one of the moments that he felt a sliver of longing add to a box of admiration for you. Lying still with his own, treating them as your own. So close, but so far from the circle of jewelry enclosed in his pocket, a mere four feet from where you lay.

The clothes were placed on his dresser, opting to not put them away and disturb you. His footsteps came to a halt in the doorway on the way out. An idea coming to mind. He turned and pulled the small box from his pocket and phone from the other. He held the ring outstretched in his hand and took a picture of it while you lay with Sasha in the background. At peace and unknowing.

He put it back and turned to walk out when he heard the bed move. He flipped around fast, heart almost stopped from being caught while you sat up in the bed slowly to not wake Sasha. You didn’t see it did you? Had he missed you opening your eyes?

He stood frozen while you balanced on the balls of your feet and walked towards the doorway with him in it, sporting a neutral expression. Your lips smudged a smile quickly, gone just as it came. Fingertips brushing down his arm as you passed him to leave while he stood trying to debunk if you saw him or not. Surely not.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 31/10/2020 (Ariana Grande, KSI, Little Mix)

I haven’t heard that Ariana Grande album yet as of writing this but the lead single – and title track – “positions” has just debuted at #1 on the UK Singles Chart, her seventh song to hit the top and second this year after “Rain on Me” with Lady Gaga. Hence, that’s today’s #1 and we have a busy and pretty chaotic week of new arrivals. Welcome to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Dropouts & Returning Entries

A lot of their debuts from last week were completely wiped out on this week’s chart which surprises me, especially for songs I thought would hit it big like “One More Time” by Not3s and AJ Tracey. Our notable dropouts here range from bonafide smash hits like “Roses” by SAINt JHN and remixed by Imanbek, which hit #1, although I always preferred “Swoosh” from the same album, to pretty easy and quick fall outs from songs I’ve reviewed in the past few weeks. We’ve got songs that peaked in the top 10 like “Rover” by S1mba and DTG and “I Dunno” by Dutchavelli, Tion Wayne and Stormzy but otherwise that’s mostly it as a lot of these drop-outs are just songs that didn’t really reach their charting potential or have mostly had their day in streaming, like the surprisingly quick drop for “my ex’s best friend” by Machine Gun Kelly and blackbear, as well as “Destiny” by D-Block Europe, “Tap In” by Saweetie, “FRANCHISE” by Travis Scott, Young Thug and M.I.A., “OK Not to Be OK” by Marshmello and Demi Lovato, “Airplane Mode” by Nines and NSG and even “Outta Time” by Bryson Tiller and Drake. If you’re worried about the loss of MGK’s song being too soon for whatever reason, don’t fret as “forget me too” with Halsey, a much better song, is here at #72, our only returning entry for the week. I might as well run through the biggest gains and falls, those both being last week’s debuts. “Train Wreck” by James Arthur absolutely surged up to #24 whilst “Hold” by Chunkz and Young Filly absolutely purged down to #59. To be fair to the general public, I think I’d rather listen to something from four years ago than that song as well. Anyway, let’s start our new arrivals with a couple really interesting choices...

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 – “Sofia” – Clairo

Produced by Rostam

Clairo is one of those artists where I feel completely out of the loop on, especially with all the recent buzz from TikTok, and I was not checking for that album last year, and whilst I didn’t mind her feature on Wallows’ “Are You Bored Yet”, I’d never been intrigued enough to check out the solo work until I guess here we see it on the chart, which is big for the genre of bedroom pop, which again I know next to nothing about. Now, I like lo-fi indie rock fine, but I’ve never really tried to look into the bedroom pop micro-genre – if anyone has any recommendations, that would be appreciated – so this will pretty much be a first gaze into not just Clairo but the entire scene surrounding her. I’m not a Vampire Weekend fan by any means but Rostam on production just give me hope, even if the mix here is a bit too drowned in reverb and echo to give the guitars any more impact when they really should have, at least I think so, they’re pushed back in a way that makes an already pretty calm, fleeting indie single even more lacking sonically. Clairo sounds great on this instrumentation, admittedly, albeit kind of uninterested, but it really is about that fuzzy distortion in the drop that feels... oddly anti-climactic and seemingly pointless considering how little progression is made before or after it. Maybe this genre just isn’t for me, but I feel myself turned off from how Clairo’s pretty beautiful vocal harmonies are not reflected by the production here, whether it be the stiff percussion, abrupt ending or overall lack of substance. This is kind of disappointing as I really wanted to like this. The song is a pretty vague but longing ballad mostly revolving around her crushes on people she saw in the mind, particularly Sofia Vergara and Sofia Coppola, hence the name, and I think it’s actually really well-written. I especially love how the chorus seems to acknowledge that not only are these crushes clearly out of her reach as a teenage girl just discovering her sexuality but also mentioning how afraid she is to really develop on any of these feelings because of how it’s prejudiced against and in some countries outlawed, but the song easily works as just a confession of love without really realising the statement, so it doesn’t feel forced or unnecessary. Sadly, I guess Rostam had to put his prints on this one, but the song itself isn’t bad at all. Hey, I’m not going to complain about a song where I can look at pictures of Sofia Coppola for “research”.

#74 – “All Girls are the Same” – Juice WRLD

Produced by Nick Mira

It’s so odd and kind of heartbreaking to see the Genius comments for this track where they say Juice is “up next for 2018”. It’s also pretty amusing to see some of these annotations...

God, I love Genius.com. This is a 2017 Juice WRLD track from the late rapper that was released as a single from his debut album, Goodbye & Good Riddance. I don’t really understand why this had a resurgence – again, I’m going to assume TikTok or some kind of remix – but it is funny to see a bitter, immature and sloppily-written song about heartbreak and how “all girls are the same” next to a lesbian love ballad on the chart... and above said ballad because we clearly live in a society. I’m not going to mince words here: this is a pretty bad song, at least in my opinion. All respect to Juice but he’s clearly not on top form here, with an uninterested and badly-mixed vocal delivery over a really dull, jingly trap beat with awful bass mastering. In fact, the whole song is mixed awfully and sounds really muddy which may have been the point but it doesn’t complement Juice at all. The lyrics here are purposefully immature and at times stupid, especially when he compares himself to John Lennon and is so desperate for a rhyme the dude says this unnamed girl is from Colorado. I’m not going to deny some of the lyrics here are kind of haunting now due to tragic circumstances but I still get a chuckle out of the vocoder on his voice after massive empty spaces in both the beat and vocal track that makes the song sound clearly amateurish (to be fair to Juice, he clearly didn’t have access to the best studio equipment but it doesn’t excuse the major-label streaming release sounding this sloppy), as well as that opening line.

Broke my heart, oh, no, you didn’t!

Yeah, I’ll take “Robbery” over this any day, or even “Righteous”. Sorry.

#73 – “Martin & Gina” – Polo G

Produced by Hagan, Lilkdubb and Tahj Money

It seems we have two melancholy trap-rappers from Chicago appear consecutively on the chart. I love those types of oddities. If you don’t know Polo G, you probably should, at least from his hit “Pop Out” with Lil Tjay last year, and this is his most recent hit. I typically find his brand of mournful Auto-Tuned crooning about life on the streets remarkably genuine in comparison to most rappers but also admittedly really boring, at least for now. I can see this guy becoming a lot bigger and better but as of now he releases so much music and the quality and effort seems to fall by the wayside more often than not. In typical 2000s bling-rap fashion, this hardcore street rapper’s biggest hit from the album The GOAT (perhaps a bit early to call there, Mr. G) is a guitar-based R&B love jam for the ladies, except it’s not a sex jam...

Girl, I can’t wait ‘til I get home to f*** the s*** out of you

Okay, well, that’s one line.

Man, I’m tryin’ to get to know you sexually

Okay, but at least he’s trying to get to know her. The song’s lyrics do have a genuine heartfelt sense of love and companionship with his unnamed woman, and some of these lyrics are pretty funny and pleasant, albeit shallow. I love how in the first verse he says that even on her worst days she still looks “kind of cute”, in a way that makes this song more down to Earth than other thugs-need-love-too songs, especially when he acknowledges the troubles in their relationship, which may be undermined by the unfortunate implications that come with that “Martin & Gina” comparison but that’s really not the focus of the song, even if it is the title. He may talk about the shopping sprees now but there is evidence here that Polo G genuinely wants to live his life with this woman, especially when he says he wants them to move out to California and live in a mansion. There’s flexing there for sure but it’s less out of a desire to sound “cooler” than the other rappers or the audience, and more out of a desire to make the most out of this relationship in case, as he knows he might have to, he should “pull the stick out and shoot” to protect her. It helps that this is a damn good song with Polo’s catchy flow in both the verses and that infectious chorus, as well as a really slick guitar lick behind that trap knock. Yeah, this is pretty great. Check it out.

#71 – “Spicy” – Ty Dolla $ign featuring Post Malone

Produced by Ty Dolla $ign, Westen Weiss and damn james!

It seems that Ty Dolla $ign has finally clocked that people like him for his features and not his solo work as he has released his most recent album fittingly named Featuring Ty Dolla $ign, following a trend of recent massive collaborative albums in pop music. This particular album features the likes of Kid Cudi, Kanye West (twice), Anderson .Paak, Nicki Minaj, Big Sean, Future, Young Thug, FKA twigs because, well, sure, and obviously, Post Malone. I haven’t listened to the album yet, I mean it sounds exhausting but I don’t necessarily like what I’ve heard. “Expensive” with Nicki Minaj is soulless, “Ego Death” with Skrillex, Kanye and FKA twigs is chaotically misguided and a massive disappointment, “Track 6” with Kanye, .Paak and Thundercat is way too boring for these four artists, and that’s all I’ve heard, except that “Dr. Sebi” interlude with Young Thug that I thought was actually pretty damn good for a one minute snippet. I did brief through some songs on the album right now as I was writing this and I wasn’t really a fan of any of it, not even the songs with Future and Young Thug, artists I actually really like. The song with Kid Cudi was pretty amazing though, which I pretty much expected, I mean it is Cudi after all and he’s really felt revived this year, even if he feels out of place on a sex song. The serpentwithfeet interlude definitely adds to that song though, and it actually leads into this track with Post Malone. This is their second collaboration after their #1 hit “Psycho”, but it’s a lot less interesting, replacing the serenity and smooth flows with more fast-paced trap skitters, hit-and-miss flows that only make Ty$ sound all that great in the tail-end of his verse. Post’s verse is out of place and feels like a regression for him, with the verse sounding like it was taken straight out of the Stoney sessions. The guys have no chemistry and Post doesn’t even contribute to a final chorus, which feels particularly odd as there’s not a bridge to round any of this out properly as it just transitions awkwardly to the sixth track, titled “Track 6”. At least Ty$ isn’t facing 15 years in jail for cocaine possession now, which is something I brought up a disproportionate amount of times in older episodes of this show, because, well, sure.

#69 – “Whoopty” – CJ

Produced by Pxcoyo

CJ is an “up-and-coming” rapper with only one song that pretty quickly went viral. There’s something fishy about this. The only other song by CJ on Spotify and I assume other streaming services is this CashmoneyAP-produced trap song called “On Me” that is completely garbage. It does sound pretty odd that while he doesn’t sound dissimilar in “Whoopty”, this uninterested Auto-Tuned mumbler took three years to get another song on streaming and now he’s an energetic New York rapper using a beat that was literally uploaded to the producer’s website as a “Pop Smoke type beat” weeks before “Whoopty” was released, which, by the way, was an immediate viral hit on YouTube. Very strange, very unusual but not very worth talking about as the one thing “On Me” and “Whoopty” have in common is lack of quality. Sure, I like the Indian sample but it’s quickly drowned out by the booming 808s and pretty rote drill beat. Somehow, CJ sounds too energetic and excited to the point where he’s out of place on a beat this menacing. He sounds like a joke made by a record label to create some kind of popular generic drill track and it does not help that there’s a single verse, with part of it repeated as a bridge, and two repetitions of the same over-long chorus. When Pop Smoke rapped over beats, he was aggressive, sure, but had a smoky voice and a lot more charisma than this flat tonal sandpaper CJ brings to the table. It’s almost offensive to Pop Smoke’s legacy that this was rapped over his “type beat”.

#57 – “SO DONE” – The Kid LAROI

Produced by Omar Fedi and Khaled Rohaim

I figured I’d have to talk about this guy at some point, well, what better time than in the midst of a lot of mediocre American hip hop, although this isn’t American, rather it’s actually an Aussie at it this time, with this 17-year-old kid propped up by Internet Money and Lyrical Lemonade and mentored by the late Juice WRLD. This kid really likes capital letters, and naturally I listened to his last hit “GO!” with his mentor Juice... and, yeah, it’s not good. That hook is stupidly infectious – and the pre-chorus is actually more so – but his delivery is obnoxious and unconvincing, especially in comparison to Juice on the same song. Man, I wish that entire song was as good as its pre-chorus. Anyway, this is a new song, not taken from his debut mixtape aptly and rather politely titled F*** LOVE. It uses an unorthodox ukulele loop as its main sample but once again I’m not a fan of this guy’s immature delivery. Maybe in a few years this Kid LAROI will sound less like a Kid LAROI and more like a genuine rapper but right now he is just barely keeping on beat with a jangly pop beat that would sound really interested if accentuated by the right rapper but here it doesn’t work at all. I do actually appreciate some of the lyrics here, even if they are repetitive and vague. Hey, at least they’re family-friendly PG clean for the most part so he’ll get that radio push, but it’s not like it’s matters here in the UK. I’m sure this lad is the hottest thing to come from Australia this year... okay, well, maybe the second hottest – but I’m not a fan, even if some of these melodies are promising. In fact, I really like some of his ideas, especially in the chorus, I just think that tragically, Juice could have done them more justice than this Kid LAROI ever could. Sorry.

#47 – “Bad Guy” – Morrisson and Loski

Produced by BKay and Harry James

Duh. Okay, so these are both UK drill rappers who I’m not very familiar with although I’ve heard of Loski before. Morrisson is a complete unknown to me. They’re both from London, as one would expect. Is the song any good? Well, I do like that chopped violin sample but Morrisson is only vaguely convincing when he claims to know Vinnie Jones and to be Stone Cold Steve Austin, and when he mentions getting “white-boy wasted” with a woman sniffing coke, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but that’s actually the point. I mean, the chorus says this:

You need people like me so you can point your f***ing fingers and say, “That’s the bad guy”

The issue here is I’m not convinced. Morrisson’s double-tracked vocals aren’t intimidating or menacing and are mostly overshadowed by a pretty great beat. His delivery is also something I’m not a fan of and while I can’t say he’s uninterested or not putting his all into it, it just sounds weak, especially when pitted against this beat. Loski is here too, but he doesn’t add much to the “bad guy” idea, especially when he starts talking about The Simpsons and Family Guy. Not Mr. Burns or even that angry chicken that fights Peter, just Stewie, Brian, Bart and Homer. Admittedly, “shell out the whip like Mario Kart” is a pretty fun line and I appreciate his flow more than Morrisson’s... but, yeah, I’m not really a fan. I like the concept but it misses the mark on execution.

#44 – “Golden” – Harry Styles

Produced by Kid Harpoon and Tyler Johnson

So this is the opening track to Styles’ sophomore effort, Fine Line, an album I thought was mildly entertaining pop rock at best and lazy, absolutely worthless trite at worst. I don’t mind Styles’ take on classic 70’s pop and glam rock but I’ve also never found it interesting, and the songs are at times disjointed and at most times just plain boring. I understand I’m probably alone in this but I really disliked this album and I’m not excited that he’s pushing yet another single. The beeping keys that start the song are immediately met with the crash of a drum beat that sounds as flat as Harry’s singing in that obnoxious, sloppy intro refrain. The verse is equally as awkward, with the song lacking in any kind of substance other than that one line of “You’re so golden” which has been overly annotated by fans on Genius to mean a lot more than it does and should. It’s a confession of love but unlike “Sofia”, there’s very little to grab onto in terms of compassion for the singer and I quickly lose interest in what little story there is to the track. The bridge with the high-pitched guitar squealing and squeaky pitch-shifted murmuring is over and done with as slowly as possible and that refrain of nonsense vocalisations just continues without fear or even self-awareness of how annoying it is. This is probably ultimately harmless but it annoys the hell out of me and whilst I predict success for the track, I really hope against it as I absolutely do not like this at all.

#39 – “Teadrops” – Bring Me the Horizon

Produced by Jordan Fish and Oliver Sykes

Yes, that Bring Me that Horizon. Yes, the metalcore band. At least they used to be metalcore and definitely on that heavier side of Kerrang!-core, but what I’m more amazed by is how they continue to ditch the sound and continue to get bigger as they do so. After 14 years, you’d think these guys would stop getting Top 40 hits – hell, the only other hit they had before 2020 was “Drown” – but this is their third this year! I’ll admit I’m not really up to speed on Bring Me the Horizon – I listened to their last record (which was just fine but honestly probably worth listening to for “wonderful life” alone) but not this EP that the singles have been from, and definitely not their older stuff. For the sake of REVIEWING THE CHARTS, however, I did listen to their earlier singles – you can’t say I don’t do much for this show – and I’m overall not really sure on how to feel about this stuff. I still like “Drown” – and always have – but I’ve never been too big on metalcore so I’m actually surprised how much I really enjoyed the Linkin Park rip on “Sleepwalking” (which I’m impressed I remembered the chorus for). I remember liking the practically nightcore track “ouch” and, yeah, it still slaps. Some tracks are very heavy on the electronic, and “Can You Feel My Heart” is reliant on that vocaloid drop, about two years before that became the norm in pop. Just from a skim of their biggest singles, I’m honestly kind of a fan, especially “Throne”, even if I feel like the EDM influences just kind of go nowhere. Also, none of this screams “metalcore” to me but I don’t know, these guys seem to change their style a lot with the only thing staying consistent being Oliver Sykes, and his tone that shifts between nasal pop-punk-style crooning and chopped-up Auto-Tune growling. I talked to a friend about them and they like their earlier stuff mostly, although he “wouldn’t recommend” their debut album to anybody at all. Another friend said he refuses to listen to their music based on the pretentious title of their third record and honestly I think that’s a pretty fair decision. This song sounds like pretty standard BMTH, or at least from what I can gather from the singles and the formula they follow. It starts with a funky and cute, chirpy electronic groove before it’s drowned out by heavier drums and heavy metal guitar riffs, but this time said electronic groove is less integral to the instrumental and the shift to a funkier bassline in the verse might honestly be for the best, although I do love the way the instrumental is chopped up a bit at the end of each repetition of the chorus. It makes the song sound a lot more unique and even if it sounds just as 2012 as their 2012 stuff, I honestly think that’s fine, especially with that abrupt sharp contrast of his raspy yelling over breakbeats quickly followed by some crooning with light piano backing, which may make the song feel messy or structurally disjointed but honestly it works for the chaotic tone of the track and the angst that is presented in the lyrics. Also, although I haven’t evaluated this band since I watched a couple videos on Kerrang!, this feels oddly nostalgic. Huh. Some additional musings: That falsetto Sykes hits in the chorus is great. My friend said that he couldn’t finish the last album they put out which isn’t a good sign but to be fair to them it was an hour-long IDM record, because, well, sure. I’ve written way too much about Bring Me the bloody Horizon at this point so I’ll just move on but I’ll make sure to check out some of their stuff after this.

#37 – “Loading” – Central Cee

Produced by HARGO

Now back to normality, at least I think so. This is another UK drill artist I’ve never heard of. I like this beat, especially that sample of the horns that I’m surprised wasn’t found by crate-digging but it works pretty well under the drill beat; it sounds like a menacing “gangster” song, especially because of how that sample reminds me of 1930s Chicago. I’m not good on my American (or gang) history so that might be nonsense but you know what I mean, right? Black-and-white footage of men in suits gambling whilst women surround them and they all got their money from drug trafficking and they send out hits. Something like that, I don’t know. The song is kind of boring though, this Cee guy has zero charisma and the references to COVID make this immediately dated (not that this song is lyrically all that interesting anyway), and by two minutes the beat has run its course and just starts getting annoying. Yeah, not much to say about this one at all, but it could have been better.

#8 – “Sweet Melody” – Little Mix

Produced by Peoples, MNEK, Morten “Rissi” Ristorp, Oliver Frid and Tayla Parx

I wonder if now that I listened to Bring Me the Horizon for half an hour straight that the last four songs all sound worse, or at least less interesting, in comparison. Well, I doubt that really, I think these songs will just end up being less interesting. I mean, five separate producers on a simple three-minute pop track? This’ll be as market-tested and manufactured as possible, as one would expect from Little Mix. I didn’t mind their last couple promo singles but this song seems to have some actual traction and even a high-budget video behind it and hence it debuted as high as #8. Well, is it any good? Well, it’s no 2013 Bring Me the Horizon, that’s for sure. Jokes aside, the nonsense vocal refrain is kind of awkward and the R&B production here is kind of minimal and just... off, particularly in the first verse and refrain, where the singing and hard 808 is met with only accompaniment from one stray snare that is just... there? The drop doesn’t feel like it has a proper build-up either, and doesn’t even feel like it lives up to that non-existent tension. I do love the harmonies towards the end of the track and the “he would lie, he would cheat over syncopated beats” line is kind of a bar, I suppose, but yeah, this production is awkward and I’m not sure if it really does the girls’ talent justice. I would have preferred something more dramatic and with more of a climax than the skittering hi-hats and vaguely dancehall-inspired bass grooves, but alas, here we are with a pretty mediocre, uninteresting track, which wasn’t exactly unexpected.

#3 – “Really Love” – KSI featuring Craig David and Digital Farm Animals

Produced by Digital Farm Animals and Mojam

Ah, the trio we all didn’t know we wanted but definitely deserved(?): YouTuber KSI, legendary R&B singer Craig David and a couple virtual elephants. KSI is more than a YouTuber or prankster now to be fair to the guy, with songs like “Lighter” he has cemented himself as a genuine pop star and not in the way that songs used to get viral or even back in 2017 with Jake Paul. KSI is taking this stuff seriously and having fun with it, and, hey, he beat up Logan Paul once or twice so I guess I respect the man to some extent. I’m honestly surprised he got Craig David to be on the song with him. I mean KSI may be popular but I never put much thought into his music or even think it’s any good although the song has clearly debuted this high for a reason. Craig David has a janky hook that just plopped onto the track for a chorus and bridge, with pretty generic lyrics about love, which KSI develops on in some oddly specific ways. He’ll buy this woman Amazon Prime – I hope you enjoy the Borat sequel, guys – and she’ll “wreck his balls like Miley”. Classy. Honestly, the song is mostly fine – KSI’s flow is kind of awkward and stiff still but it’s a lot smoother than it usually is and he does deliver a pretty convincing performance here, as does Craig David, who sounds as great as he did 20 years ago over this groovy house instrumental, with a great bassline that really does fit Craig David more than it does KSI. The trap breakdown is pretty well done as well, which surprised me as I assumed the song would lose all momentum afterwards but, no, it keeps on chugging. This is listenable and far from bad but it’s mostly just a serviceable pop tune. I have no issue with this sticking around as it probably will. Now for the big one:

#1 – “positions” – Ariana Grande

Produced by TBHits, Mr. Frank and London on da Track

Man, I’ve just reviewed 12 songs, I do not feel like talking about the biggest and most important one now. Well, maybe it’s not that and instead the fact that I have this conflict with Grande’s music where someone so unbelievably and obviously talented sounds so incredibly disinterested in the songwriting and production, to the point where her performance is irrelevant. Sure, sweetener and thank u, next had their highs but the former is a complete mess and the latter feels so dull and oddly characterless. Again, these albums aren’t all bad but I feel like they’re still so rushed and infuriatingly so, with Grande having very little involvement, or at least it sounds like that in these albums. Regardless of how much she contributes to each record, it always comes out the other end sounding impersonal, so I’m actually glad she dropped the pretence and is now just doing purely sexy R&B stuff. I haven’t listened to the full album yet but with song titles like “34+35”, I can kind of expect what I’m going into here. That said, I’m not really a big fan of the title track and lead single here, although I can understand why it debuted at #1. Firstly, the video where she becomes the President of the United States for practically no reason is great. Secondly, the beat is pretty good and produced by London on da Track, who I’m kind of disappointed didn’t put his producer tag here. It would have at least been kind of funny hearing it transition into Grande’s sweet whispery vocal tone. I like the slick trap percussion, cricket sound effects and that chirpy guitar pluck, and especially those strings in the second pre-chorus which sound genuinely awesome. Ariana’s a great performer but the chorus is kind of weak, especially lyrically – I don’t mind the opening and main line about switching positions, hell, it’s kind of clever, but “I’m in the Olympics the way I’m jumping through hoops”? Really? The bridge is also pretty short and lazy; I feel like it could have actually been done away with or put as an intro and would have worked just as well replacing the second chorus with that final chorus, background whistle notes and all. That said, the song is a solid lead single and I am kind of excited to hear the rest of the album, even if this is at least somewhat of a retread.

Conclusion

What a mixed bag. I’m generally pleased with what we have here though and I am going to give Best of the Week to “Teadrops” by Bring Me the Horizon with an Honourable Mention to Polo G for “Martin & Gina”, although Clairo would have gotten close without Rostam on the boards. There’s nothing all that bad here except “Golden” by Harry Styles which does get an easy Worst of the Week, with a Dishonourable Mention to CJ’s “Whoopty” for just being lazy. Here’s this week’s “spooky” top 10 – it is Halloween after all:

You can follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for political ramblings if you so wish but I wouldn’t recommend it, especially if you like Keir Starmer, but all politics aside, thank you for reading this far and I’ll see you next week.

[citronlump]

I mean don’t get me started because I do not care about warren and at this point all dems are irrelevant. but just to make a point about how policy language is purposefully vague and useless and then passed off as progressive............ people were drooling all over warrens “progressive” immigration plan where she only wanted to halt “some” deportations...... To only halt “some” deportations is a weak stance. warren is smart enough to know that even under the strong language of “halt deportations,” situational deportations are still possible. Obviously I’m against all deportations but this is the truth of the matter. So allowing “some” deportations is really an allowance for mass deportations and ice’s continued existence (which warren has supported in past statements). People really think she means like “well, I might deport someone once in awhile, maybe 5 or 10 people reluctantly” when she actually means thousands of deportations and family separations will still be supported by her and the state. It is a USELESS stance that says NOTHING and it was the second most progressive immigration platform in the race. Anyways Biden’s plans aren’t good they’re even more backwards and shallow lmfao he essentially wrote a sticky note. ice should be fully abolished, what is not clicking for people who care about immigrants rights.......

[1-1snailxd-art]

The Shield to your Sword

Masterlist ---------- Chapter 1 

Warnings: injury, blood, physical abuse, emotional abuse (please message me if more need to be added)

word count: 5412 

Tag Support Team - Thank you for your support 💜

@small-reptile-cake @daflangstlairde @quoth-the-sparrow @it-me-the-phi @soul-of-a-vixen @the-real-wholesome-bitch @phe-purple-parade-ts

______________________________

Chapter 2: Shielding my Prince

��Hello, Haefen!”

Roman entered the physician’s quarters without pausing to knock, startling the plump old man working by shelving full of glass bottles. A small tube of liquid tipped as the man accidentally shook the shelving, staining his white robes with an orange hue.

“Cheese and ever greens, your highness! You should know better than to startle a man of my age.”

“I wasn’t that loud,” Roman protested, “and you’re only 47, Haefen. You have years ahead of you.”

“I stand by my initial statement,” Haefen stepped away from the shelf, fruitlessly wiping at his stained clothes. “How may I be of service, sire?”

“I got cut during training.” Roman pointed to the fine cut and went to sit at Haefen’s table.

“For an injury that minor, I don’t understand why you didn’t go and visit the general infirmary. A cut so fine will heal without a scar, no need for special treatment.” Regardless, Haefen collected a white paste and rune cloth to tend to the Prince.

“I would have let it be, but Father requested I seek out healing.”

The paste was cool against Roman’s skin as Haefen traced the scar up his cheek, adding an extra dollop to the nick on his ear.

“Why was the King observing your practice?” Roman tilted his head to the side as the rune cloth was laid over his face.

“Father requested that Virgil and I complete a Furnder duel. I suppose he was curious to see how far we had come.”

Logan stepped through the back door and deposited a basket of grains and soured fruits on a bench; eyes catching the slight tremble in their Father’s hand as he activated the rune cloth covering his patients face.

“Virgil was the cause of this?”

“Yes. I may have caused the deepest and most obvious wound, but I didn’t feel Virgil’s arrow cut me at all. I guess we will never be sure who truly drew the first blood in the duel.”

Haefen turned and gave Logan a worried look before they quickly slipped back out into the yard; black clouds beginning to encroach on the formally clear sky. Pulling the cloth away, Roman’s cheek was completely unscathed and Haefen managed to remain composed despite his worry.

“Wonderful work as usual,” Roman remarked as he assessed his cheek in the mirror.

“Thank you, sire.” Steady hands carefully started clearing benches as Haefen began mentally planning for the worst. “You are free to go now, Prince Roman.”

“I think I will wait for Virgil.” Roman was wondering around the room, peering into various jars and containers. “I’m sure he will seek your healing as well after he finishes talking with my Father.”

“That may be so, but I must insist that you continue your day. I would hate for you to miss your studies.” Roman was about to argue when Haefen cut him off, “Your scholars will be expecting you both, and it would be unfair to leave them waiting aimlessly in the library. I will send word for you after Virgil has recovered.”

“I suppose you are right,” Roman headed towards the door, pausing to look back at the physician with a worried expression. “You promise to send for me when he is healed?”

“You have my word, sire.”

With that confirmation, Roman headed off to the library to partake in his overdue lessons and Haefen could openly set to work preparing for Virgil. All he knew was that Virgil would have a sword wound from Roman, and there was no way of knowing what the King would do to him for purposefully causing the Prince harm. During Roman’s first melee tournament, Virgil received a broken jaw by the King’s hand when he failed to ensure his son’s advancement to the final round.

It saddened Haefen to see the young man being helplessly beaten, and the severity only seemed to increase the longer the Queen was ill. He dared not imagine what would befall him should the Queen ever pass.

******************************

Rain began to fall as Logan made their way back home; though they were thankful for their hooded shoulder cover, they wished they had their cloak to properly protect themself from the damp soaking their clothes. After hearing of Virgil’s injury, Logan had gone to the spell crafters to ensure they had plenty of runes for the unknown task ahead. Since becoming their Father’s apprentice, Logan had seen many illnesses and injuries from citizens, guards and knights; but Virgil was their most frequent patient. From simple bruises and cuts, to broken bones, they had stood by and held his hand as Haefen pieced his broken body back together. Despite all this, Logan’s breath still caught in their throat when they spotted Virgil’s crumpled form beside the stables.

“Virgil! Virgil, open your eyes for me.”

Blood stuck to Logan’s hands as they tried to rouse the beaten young man; taking in the gash to his arm and forehead, along with shallowed breathing.

“Come on, Virgil! Can you hear me? Open your eyes!”

“-m n-t deaf,” his voice was strained, but audible enough for Logan to be satisfied that Virgil was conscious.

Figuring it was pointless trying to stop the bleeding, Logan glanced around in search of a way to quickly get the other to their home. Before they could suggest anything, Virgil coughed and groaned in pain as he moved to stand.

“What are doing? You shouldn’t be moving.” Despite their protests, Logan pulled Virgil’s good arm over their shoulder to help him stand.

“-oman?”

“He would have left by now,” They assured; stumbling slightly under the others weight. “Haefen was just sealing his cut when I left to collect more runes. I’m sure he will -“

“Logan?”

Logan had never been more pleased to hear their Father’s voice as the physician jogged down the dampened path. Haefen was on Virgil’s other side soon enough, injured arm over his shoulder; Virgil let out a gasp as the pair scooped up his legs to carry him back to their chambers.

“What is your evaluation so far, Logan?”

“Blood loss from deep gash on left arm,” Their voice was strained from carrying Virgil’s weight, but Logan was never one to pass up an opportunity to perfect their craft. “Possible concussion. Multiple rib fractures or breaks that have caused pneumothorax on his left side.”

“-ngl-sh, Lo,” Virgil’s head lolled back as his consciousness slipped again.

“Stay awake for us, Virgil.” Haefen insisted as they reached the back door; Logan taking the injured man’s weight again while their father opened the door.

Gaining only a mumbled reply, Logan simplified their explanation while they settled Virgil onto an adjustable bed.

“To put it simply, you are tired from blood loss and that knock to the head,” Virgil winced as Logan adjusted the beds angle and started removing his shirt. “Your lung has collapsed, making breathing difficult as well.”

“Well done, Logan.” Haefen smiled at his child, passing them a tray of supplies for suturing. “You can handle his arm and forehead; I’ll handle everything else.”

The numbing potion that ran through his veins dulled the pain, but Virgil could feel every pull of thread through his arm, and the confusing sensation of an air rune pulling excess air from his chest to reinflate his lung. He did his best to stay conscious while the healers worked; focusing his soul magic to speed up the healing process. Using magic for healing was a difficult and complex craft that required just as much precision as spell crafting and weapons magic. Using a mix of potion-based remedies and natural runes, healers could piece a body back together and halve the natural recovery time of serious injuries. Despite a healer’s abilities though, if the patient didn’t have the soul magic to support the healing the efforts would be futile. To his advantage, Virgil had soul magic to spare and his ability to focus it where Haefen and Logan needed it was making their work faster. Regardless of how much magic he was willing to give, Haefen was against using too much healing magic in one session and potentially disrupting the bodies instinct to heal.

“That will do,” Haefen concluded, securing bandages soaked in a cooling gel around Virgil’s torso. “We’ll control bruising and pain for now and see how you fair tomorrow. Though knowing you, your body will take over the healing on its own.”

“Glad I’m built to take a beating.”

Logan rolled their eyes as they helped Virgil take a drink from a clay mug; limbs still heavy and untrustworthy from the numbing.

“You shouldn’t have to be taking abuse like this though, Virgil.” A sullen look was in Haefen’s eyes as he took a seat with his own mug. “You, of all people, have the opportunity to sto-“

“I’m not telling, Roman.” Eyes closing as he leaned back now his drink was done. “More bad than good will come from it.”

“What is the worst thing that could happen?” Logan grumbled, turning from his position at the sink. “The King is already abusing anyone who missteps in his path. Personal runes are becoming more expensive to craft. Those labelled Gifted are under increasing scrutiny and restricted in their practice, and any magic experimentation is considered an act of Dark Sorcery. How many citizens have you seen dragged to the cells under suspicion of sorcery, in the last season alone?”

Virgil didn’t need to open his eyes, Logan’s tone alone told him they were fuming. He had seen enough from his times on late night guard duty, but the healers would have seen the aftermath daily. Not all were as beaten as him, but it was still more than the seemingly peaceful city should have to endure. Especially the hunting and speculation of sorcerers. It was completely illogical for so many citizens to be accused of dark sorcery. Dark sorcerers were unnaturally born from greedy individuals attempting to mix natural and soul magic within the body without runes. Not only was the action deadly and painful, but those who succeeded were scarred by nature. Light sorcerers, on the other hand, were naturally born, extremely rare individuals with natural and soul magic in their bodies. Generations before, they were considered royalty in their own right and served as equals in royal courts; though they had been banned from the kingdom of Azmar following a previous King’s death during a sorcerer assassination attempt.

“Not. Happening.” Virgil tested his ability to sit up, but his chest screamed in pain as he engaged his core muscles, and he let out a hiss in pain.

“Take it slow,” warned the physician, “anyone else would be immobilised for hours.”

“I think we’ve already established that I’m not normal,” sliding his legs to the floor, Virgil sat and allowed himself time to get used to his aching chest.

“Give me a reason,” Virgil turned to look at Logan. They stood perfectly still, eyes staring intently through their small working glasses. “I will keep your secret no longer, unless you give me a real reason why you won’t use your connection with Roman, or the Queen, to help us.”

“Logan-“ Virgil raised his hand to silence Haefen.

He knew Logan had a point and they deserved an answer. They had been freely treating Virgil for years and helping come up with all manner of excuses to cover up his absences from Roman. Despite their history, he didn’t doubt that Logan would indeed speak to the Prince if they were given reason to. Keeping his head and voice low, Virgil spoke freely.

“I was 14 when Roman went with his mother  to visit his cousins. I thought it was an honour when the King asked me to stay behind, but it was just an excuse for him to speak his truths.”

Logan lowered their head as they recalled discovering Virgil in the stables, sobbing uncontrollably with a bloodied lip.

“He made it perfectly clear then that I was an unwelcome guest to his family. A filthy outcast living on borrowed time. I witnessed what the King was truly like behind the mask he wore for his family; his love for Queen Alexandra. I lost my light after that. But Roman…”

Blighting his lip to stop the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, Virgil took a breath and looked over to Logan.

“Roman thinks the world of his Father, and the city. I see the light in his eyes every day. That is the only thing that keeps me going. If I … if I tell him the truth, I would be taking away his light too, and potentially make things worse for everyone. I won’t do that to him, Logan.”

Logan met Virgil’s eyes as pained tears slipped from them.

“I can’t do that to, Roman. It would kill me in more ways than one.”

“Okay,” swiping tears from beneath their glasses, Logan nodded apologetically. “I will stay true to my word for you, Virgil.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

“All right you two. If matters are settled, I promised  to send word to the prince.”

“Thank you for your services again, Haefen.”

Virgil went to stand but his legs gave out, causing him to lean heavily against the physician; thankfully on his good side, but his chest still screamed in protest. He allowed himself to be seated back on the beds edge, arching his back in an attempt to relieve his discomfort.

“I tell you every time to take it slow. You’ll undo my work if you act so rashly.”

“If you send word for Roman,” grunted Virgil, “and he finds me here still, questions will be asked.”

“And if he catches you stumbling through the halls, even more questions will be asked.”

“I’ll help return Virgil to his chambers,” Logan offered, grabbing a vile from the shelf and tucking it into their pant pocket. “I’ll give him a dose of sleeping draught,  watch over him until Roman’s eventual arrival and we claim exhaustion from the healing.”

“Why the sleeping draught?” Virgil questioned, accepting a cloak Haefen offered him.

“To ensure you don’t do anything stupid for at least a couple of hours.”

Logan was glad to see a smile spread across their friend’s face; they rarely got to see it aimed at them and it was validating to achieve one. While Haefen went out the castles inner door to send word to Roman, the others went out the back to make their way around to the staff chambers where Virgil lived.

******************************

The library was Roman’s least favourite place to be. It was closed in, smelt musty and was generally just too quiet for his liking ; even with the scholars droning on. Unfortunately, studying was still expected of the nineteen-year-old as he was behind his general age group in academics. Give him a sword to swing, ask him to fight in hand to hand combat, or command him to run laps of the inner walls and Roman was a happy man. But ask him for the formula for a simple poison, demand he writes a rune alone or question his knowledge of history and he was lost. More so today without Virgil.

Though they had graduated at seventeen with the others, they chose to continue to attend lessons with Roman. He appreciated the gesture. It was less humiliating to sit with a friend, than it was to sit at the wooden table alone; eyes of those younger and smarter than him boring into the back of his skull. He was thankful when a messenger whispered in his ear that Virgil had returned to their chambers.

“Might I ask where you think you are going, sire?” The scholar watching over the group stood before Roman’s table as he quickly began to pack up his things. “Your lesson is not yet complete, and you have already missed two this week.”

“And this will make it two and a half.” Quipped the Prince, passing the text he had been reading to them. “I will see you next week, Master Klein.”

Roman strode out of the library before anyone else questioned him; not that they would stand in his way regardless.

When Roman finally reached the staff chambers, Logan was mending the blood-soaked fabric of Virgil’s torn shirt, the other resting soundly.

“Good afternoon, sire.” Logan glanced up over their glasses, fingers still guiding the needle in their hand. “I heard that you were partaking in your studies for at least a little while longer.”

“Pleasure to see you too, Logan.” Taking a seat on the beds edge, Roman looked at Virgil in confusion and concern. “What’s wrong with him? I didn’t think I wounded him that badly.”

“You are not entirely at fault, sire.”

“Roman.” Logan paused and looked up at the prince in confusion, but Roman’s eyes were still on his friend. “…you can call me Roman here. I get enough of that formal stuff outside.”

“Very well. As I was saying…Roman… Virgil is merely suffering from exhaustion. He should wake before his evening duties.”

Relief flooded the prince’s features as he smiled up at Logan; in that moment, they swore they saw a glimpse of the light Virgil had mentioned. It wasn’t hard to understand why they wanted to protect it.

Finishing their mending, Logan rose to their feet; clearing their throat to gain Roman’s attention.

“I’ll take these out to be cleaned.” Roman nodded but didn’t move. “I assure you; he will be perfectly fine, Roman. You needn’t stay.”

“Thanks, Specs, but I’d prefer to be here than in the library.”

Logan scrunched up their nose at the nickname but made no attempt to voice their distaste. It was better than any gendered term people had used for them before.

“I will admit, I don’t share your avoidance of the library, but I understand your decision. However, should you tire of waiting in silence I know Virgil keeps some books in his side drawer.”

“Thank you, for everything, Logan.”

“You are most welcome, Roman,” and with that, they left them alone.

******************************

Roman lasted an hour, at most; tiring quickly of reading or sitting in silence. He decided to while away the afternoon by tending to the horses in the stables, happy to relieve the usual stable hands of their duties. The animals had always been a source of comfort for him, and he didn’t mind the unclean nature of their care. It was something he did whenever Virgil was busy with duties that he couldn’t assist with; which was becoming increasingly common. Roman barely noticed the sun was setting until the stables darkened and quickly bid the beasts goodnight before rushing to change for dinner.

Freshly showered, Roman entered the royal dining room to find his father already seated and waiting; Virgil and his mother’s chairs left vacant.

“You are late, Roman.” King Rupert looked up from paperwork set before him and gestured his hand at the waiting servants.

“Apologies, Father, I got distracted while training by the fields edge; completely lost track of time. How is Mother and where is Virgil?”

“Your mother is resting and received food in her chambers.” Roman took his seat and a servant lay a napkin across his lap and filled his drinking glass. “I am pleased to see your face has healed well.”

“I told you the scratch was nothing, but what of Virgil? Surely, he would have woken by now. Have you called for him? I can go fetch him if required.”

“There is no need for that, Roman. It is just you and I this evening.”

“Is Virgil alright?”

He didn’t bother hiding the worry from his voice. Virgil missed dinners on the odd occasion but considering how Roman had seen him earlier, he was worried for his wellbeing.

“You needn’t concern yourself, Roman. Word is that he was resting in his chambers and didn’t want to be disturbed.”

The discussion was put to rest as servants entered with plates of food. Roman recognised Val, a performer and pastry maker, as she placed a tray in front of him. Leaning close, he quickly whispered into her ear.

“Ensure Virgil receives his dinner for me.” Keeping her eyes straight, Val nodded and continued her duties.

Though Roman didn’t fully understand the reasons behind it, he could tell his Father was lying that night. He kept his thoughts to himself; continuing his usual evening habit of retelling his day to his father. Though he avoided the truth of the afternoon, pretending instead that he had gone to the gardens to complete his learning in peace before returning to the training fields to practice.

******************************

“Are you decent, Virgil?”

Val peaked around the door to Virgil’s chambers; seeing the young man laying still on the bed, she entered the room and set her tray of food on the side table. The sound of metal on wood was enough to stir the sleeping man and she was glad to see his eyes flutter open groggily.

“How are you feeling, sleepy head?”

“Val?” His throat was dry, causing him to cough painfully and he stiffly sat up to seek water.

“Hold on,” moving swiftly, Val assisted Virgil in sitting up fully and offered a cup of water. “Word is that the Prince sliced your arm during a duel, but that doesn’t explain this.”

“It’s a cough, Val. My throat was dry.”

“Just a cough is it,” she neither believed, nor was impressed with his lies. “Then I should be able to do this-“

She reached her hand forward and Virgil flinched away from Val’s touch, concealing another hiss of pain but unable to hide the grimace on his face.

“Lie to the Prince all you want, Virge, but don’t lie to me. What happened?”

“If dinner comes with an interrogation, I’d rather starve.” Folding his arms carefully across his chest, Virgil looked away in the hopes that Val would simply leave.

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Standing, she headed towards the door; leaving the tray of food behind. “I know we don’t know each other well, but I thought you saw me as a friend at least.”

“I do see you as a friend.” Val paused in the doorway, not looking back. “I have enough friends carrying my burden. I do not wish to add you to that list.”

“That is a shame. Do you want me to call Logan for you? Your arm is bleeding.”

Looking down, Virgil saw the crimson stain appearing on his bandaged arm. “I would appreciate that very much, Val.”

It wasn’t more than 5 minutes before Logan arrived, a leather satchel of supplies over their shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t going to do anything stupid,” Logan grumbled as they walked over to sit by Virgil’s injured side.

“Does it help if I say I tried?”

“Hardly.”

Virgil continued to pick his dinner, while Logan undid the bandages on his arm. The skin beneath was more bruised then earlier, half the sutures were pulled from their positions while the other half remained in place in the partially healed wound.

“Care to explain how this occurred?” Logan asked while removing their suture kit and numbing potion from the satchel.

“Not really,” he shrugged in reply.

Logan didn’t push the topic; they could draw basic conclusions on their own. Placing a few drops of potion in the wound, they set to work restitching it together. Wrapping a healing cloth around his arm, Logan activated the rune long enough to reduce the wounds depth again.

“That will do for now. I’m not suturing or healing you again today.”

“If all goes well, you won’t have to, Logan.”

“I should hope so.” After rebandaging his arm, Logan packed up their supplies before handing a small vial to Virgil. “Take that for the pain when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Logan. Again.”

“Seeing you twice in one day is enjoyable; though I would prefer for it to be under different circumstances, if you would be so kind.”

“I’ll do my best to change that.” Virgil gave a pained laugh, though it was honest all the same. “Can I ask one more thing of you today?”

“Technically you just did, but proceed all the same.”

“Escort me to the tower for my duty? You can take the rest of my dinner as payment.”

Logan smiled, helping Virgil to stand and wrapping their hand cautiously around his waist. “I don’t wish to have your scraps, Virgil. The only repayment I seek is for you to answer one of my questions truthfully.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Lo, but I accept.”

“Good. I look forward to trading in that truth.”

******************************

The castle was quiet as Roman snuck out of his chambers; ducking in and out of corridors to avoid the regular guard patrols. He and Virgil use to play hide and seek well into the night as children and the skills they had developed then stuck with him now. Keeping his cloak hood low to block out the winds, Roman crossed the yards to reach the guard tower he knew Virgil would be working in.

“Somebody request a royal meeting?” Roman whispered behind Virgil, causing the other to jump and wince in pain.

“Really, Roman? Warn a dude next time.” He rubbed his arm to feign that his pain was from that injury alone.

“Sorry, but aren’t you meant to be the vigilant guard?” Standing next to his friend, Roman looked out over the sleeping city with a smile before returning his concern to Virgil. “I missed you at dinner. Did Val deliver the food I requested?”

“Sorry, I had sleep to catch up on,” Virgil replied, eyes never shifting from their watch. “ but yeah, I got the food. Thanks.”

“I feel like I’m saying this a lot today but… I’m sorry for your arm I-“

“Chill out, Princey. It was a duel. Blood had to be shed.”

“Well yes, but-“

“Let it go, Roman. I’m fine.” Glancing to the side he saw that the Prince was not convinced. “Logan and Haefen did a fine job, just like they did with your ugly mug.”

“So, then why were you asleep for so long? I know it was a deep gash, but you shouldn’t have been that exhausted.”

“Well I did have someone wake me quite early,” raising his eyebrow Virgil feigned seriousness until they both broke out into smiles.

“I promise to spare you of that tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to it. You should get going. We can chat tomorrow because I am sure this is eating into your beauty rest.”

“And I don’t want to end up looking like you.” He placed his hand on Virgil’s good shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Will you seek me out when you wake?”

“I always do.”

Roman headed back to his room, feeling more at ease now he had seen Virgil awake and standing. He didn’t realise how heavy the weight of his friend’s injury was on his heart until it was lifted. Things still didn’t quite add up in his mind though; mainly Virgil’s exhaustion. However. without evidence he wouldn’t broach the subject; knowing that would get them nowhere but an argument. For now, he would continue as normal and hope Virgil spoke to him when they were ready.

******************************

  The vision came hard and fast. Room spinning and body hitting the floor before friendly arms could catch them.

Plunged into darkness; senses dulled until the silhouette of a boy is highlighted in a white light. Turning, the boy shows a featureless face; purple appearing to bleed from where eyes should have been. A flash of light and the view is of the kingdom; black clouds encroaching on the blue sky. Another flash, and a stream of green water runs before their disembodied feet. A crow caws, drawing their attention, and drinks from the water before morphing into a horse that bolts forward. A flash and he is riding the horse through long grass, a wolf appears to run along the left side and a deer with a snake around its neck on the right. The animals halt at the cliff edge as they look out over the burning castle remains; a dragon’s roar echoing in their ears. He blinks and returns to the darkness, only the silhouette had been replaced with a sword coated in blood. Reaching out a shaking hand to touch the blade, he freezes as the sound of his own screaming overloads his senses.

“Hey! Hey! You back with me?”

“…yes.”

“What did you see?”

“I need your help to do something.”

******************************

  “Hello, Little Prince.”

Roman jolted up in his bed, hand automatically searching for the blade that should have been under his pillow as his groggy mind struggled to focus his magic.

“Looking for this?” The voice questioned, holding the blade out of the shadows that were concealing them.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” The Prince demanded, eyes scanning for other possible weapons and cursing the servants for keeping his room so clean.

Though he felt awake, Roman still couldn’t focus enough to summon his sword and he despised the feeling of helplessness that crept into his gut.

“My pleasure,” the figure stepped forward, moonlight refracting off yellow scales that covered half their face. “I am-“

The stranger had begun to bow when Roman exclaimed, “a dark sorcerer! What business do you have here?”

“Humph, rude.” The man straightened and adjusted the capelet on his shoulders. “Were you taught no manners?”

“I asked you a question, you fiend.” Roman slid out from his covers, taking a fighting stance before his intruder, while the other sighed in annoyance.

“Clearly, you have no sense of etiquette so I will cut to the chase.” The man threw Roman’s knife onto the bed and held his arms up; allowing his sleeves to fall back from gloved hands. “I am not here to cause you any harm.”

Roman eyed his knife but made no move to retrieve it. “Why are you here then?”

“I was sent with a warning.” Keeping his hands clearly in view, he took slow steps towards the open window; which was allowing a gentle breeze to cool the room. He gestured out as he spoke, “The fates have presented a prophecy of sorts.”

“I don’t believe in the fates. They hold no influence over me.” Roman growled, knowing the negative effects trusting the fates offered.

“Oh, sweetie, just because you don’t believe in them, doesn’t mean they don’t believe in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Roman stepped to the side and positioned himself closer to the knife.

“Believe or disbelieve, you decide, but heed these words,” Roman felt the room chill as the man’s left eye glowed yellow. “Your arrogance is soon to cause you great pain. Follow the path of pride, and you shall die. Adjust your behaviour or you’ll meet the same fate as your brother.”

“I have no brother,” Roman spat; “your prophecy is fraught with lies.”

“Whether I speak truth or lies is for you to decide, but my words are mine. Do with them as you will.”

“How about I do away with you!”

Roman grabbed his knife and threw it at the intruder’s head. The blade struck true, though the snake eyed man barely flinched as the blade embedded into his skull.

“My job here is done, Little Prince, though I shan’t forget your treatment of me.”

He raised a suddenly ungloved hand and snapped his fingers. Roman felt a rush of wind before he jolted up in his bed again. Only this time the sun was on the horizon and his knife was exactly where is should have been.

******************************

In the West Forest, the man opened their own eyes and let out an exhausted breath; sagging into their chair.

“Is it done?” asked a small voice.

“I passed your precious message on as best I could, though I doubt he will heed or understand the warning.” Massaging his temples, the snake eyed man leaned forward and stared down at the warm brew that was resting before him. “I still don’t understand why you are so insistent on this?”

“Do you not want your name and freedom returned, Snake?”

‘Snake’ raised his head and looked into the haunting eyes of the ‘man’ before him. “You know that is all that I seek in this world.”

“Then we must save my brother.”

______________________________

End Note

Thank you for reading and I do hope you are enjoying the world I am creating. In my initial planning, this was all meant to be in the first chapter, but I thought that was a little too much information for a first chapter. 

Next Chapter

 Patton? Where are you? Roman’s weakness and Virgil’s nightmares

A new character appeared!

Logan Rae Lason: they|them pronouns; apprentice physician to their Father Haefen Lason; their Mother, Clara Lason, is the Queen's personal physician; wears large squared glasses or smaller rounded glasses depending on how they are feeling; prefers colours with darker hues (unlike their father), mainly navy blue; has always known of Virgil and Roman but only started interacting with Virgil when the abuse started; avoids Roman so they don't accidentally say or do anything that would cause trouble.

Author admission: I love Logan but writing this Logan and my ‘Libraries are for meetings’ Logan at the same time is tough. I used the wrong pronouns so many times in my initial drafts and kept on kicking myself for it. If I ever do use the wrong pronouns for them, please please please let me know. It upsets me every time I find the error, but I don’t want them misgendered (no one deserves that).

______________________________

What else has Snail done?

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death) 

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.) 

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles​ . Always happy to interact and chat on that blog too 💜🐌