#buckle up I have so many worms to release

[superherotiger]

Now that I’m free of the curse that is study (for a while) I can’t wait to unleash my unrivalled Dadneto brainrot onto the world again hahaha!

[therealtsk]

Destiny's Lore, and Why It Didn't Need The Witness

So, I know most of you follow me for Worm or DC stuff, so here's an admission of my tragic past: I used to be a big Destiny fan! I know, I know, i'm losing followers by the letter, but in my defense, I dropped out years ago, around Shadowkeep. I briefly checked the game out again during the Witch Queen but never actually finished the campaign since I didn't have any friends to play it with at the time and so I couldn't force myself back into it's goddawful grind. To be clear, I've never played Destiny for the gameplay. I'm one of those weirdos who actually really, really liked the setting's lore and world building. It was one of the most unique things I'd ever seen, this really engaging mix of high fantasy and sci-fi all at once. And you know what? Some of Destiny's lore books are honestly incredible! The writing is emotional, the prose evocative, so many alien perspectives expertly captured. The Books of Sorrow, Thorn, Truth to Power, Book of Unveiling, The Ahamkara gear...goddamn, they're so good. But I got caught up on Destiny lore a little bit ago, and...wow. Bungie did it. They killed the last thing I still loved about Destiny. And they killed it with the Witness.

Let's talk about the Witness for a bit. The Witness has taken the slot of the new Big Bad for the Destiny universe, previously held by The Darkness. Their backstory is that they used to be individuals of a race that was the first to be blessed by The Traveler, Destiny's slated Big Good. This race proceeded to have a golden age that lasted for eons, with them eventually running out of things to do, and thus asked the Traveler to tell them what their purpose is. Obviously, the Traveler didn't answer, and their entire civilization had a collective existential crisis so hard that they decided that if the universe didn't come pre-built with a purpose, they'd just kill everyone and reboot the universe so that it did. To accomplish this, they tracked down the Traveler's never-before mentioned Dark counterpart and all fused into a single being, seen here. And on the topic of the Witness's appearance, I'm sorry, but the visual design here is just...bad. It's just bad. It's almost painfully generic. They have a geometrically rippling long black coat with no defining features, a pale human-ish face, and their brain appears to be leaking other faces in a smokecloud constantly, which i think looked far cooler on paper then it did in a render. Compare this to Savathûn or even Oryx's visual designs and they don't hold a candle. Speaking of comparisons to the Hive Gods, this is where my rant truly begins, so buckle up.

The fact that the Witness has all but replaced the Darkness- newly released lore suggesting every time we thought a character was interacting with the Darkness itself, it was really them talking to this character- that the Darkness is now stated to be completely apathetic and unintelligent, nothing more then a power source to draw upon- not only runs directly counter to some of my favorite lore in the franchise but cheapens every other Darkness-affiliated plot line and character. Not only does the Witness not speak at all like The Darkness has in the past, making the claim of them being one and the same dubious to me, but it also results in all of the Witness' Disciples (their right-hand men) being shoehorned into storylines in ways that feel almost painfully lazy. Case in point: The Lore of the Hive. As mentioned above, The Books of Sorrow is some of my favorite sci-fantasy with fantastic horror elements and incredibly evocative bits of prose. It's a gripping narrative how in the face of utter annihilation, a group of siblings make a desperate bargain with unknowable creatures once kept buried beneath the earth...and how their once noble efforts to save their people from death turns into a bloody conquest across the stars. It's an excellent tale, showing us how the truest test of character is who you are when times are hard- will you let those hard times twist you into a foul shape, or will you endure in spite of them? It establishes the cosmology of Destiny, with the Hive and Worm Gods being established as some of the most powerful and important beings in the story, powerful disciples of The Deep. With the new retcons, Rhulk (a Disciple of the Wintess) shows up, basically tells the Worms to shut up and listen cause he's the real Disciple of the Darkness, not them, and they're going to fall in line now. Because now, instead of the syzygy being a real threat that did devastate the planet the Krill lived on, Bungie's saying that the entire thing was a lie created by the Witness and the Worm Gods. Which takes the aspect of "sometimes bad things just happen but it's up to us to choose how we will let those things change us" that's key to the narrative and completely removes it- which is so backwards from how this all works! Evil lives in all of us, waiting for when we're weak to tempt us into doing what's wrong in the name of survival or pleasure or whatever virtue it disguises itself as- it doesn't stroll up out of nowhere and create a twelve-step-point-plan to ensure that we become evil too! Putting aside that, as I admit it's a subjective criticism based on my own perspective on the nature of morality, I think it greatly cheapens multiple other stories. Now that the Darkness is completely amoral as a force and it's just the Witness who is corruptive, I guess Dredgen Yor, Jana-14 and all of the other guardians we've seen fall were all getting brain blasted by this one dude, instead of their falls being a result of being seduced by power they should have known better then to touch blindly. Now, I can already hear people saying "But what about Stasis!" And yeah, I have Thoughts on Stasis too. I don't entirely dislike it, but I do dislike how it's been executed. Sword Logic works- or worked- by basically asserting yourself above physical reality. "I am the strongest thing alive, and I prove it thus." You defeat a powerful enemy and take their strength for your own. That's something you can work as being doable without inherently corrupting you. After all, it's not considered evil to fight for your own survival or for the protection of others. It just so happens that constantly introducing your brain to the idea that killing other things will make you objectively better then them is bad for you even if those powers weren't sourced from a primordial consciousness that has and will try to influence you for it's own ends.

To use a metaphor, Sword Logic is akin to something like nuclear power- sure, it's got one hell of a kick, but if you let your guard down around it, not only will it fuck you up but it'll contaminate everything around you with the fallout. But now to say that "nope, the darkness is totally fine and not even alive and aware it's just the same thing as the light but different colors and this whole time it's just been this one guy who's been ruining it for everyone else" is so...god, it's so much less interesting. And I think ultimately, that's my problem with the Witness. As a whole, they are just so much less interesting then what we had before! I loved the Books of Sorrow and Unveiling so much because it was such a fascinating display of completely alien thought and genuine nuance. The Darkness doesn't do what it does because of any tired trope of "evil nihilist" or just might makes right, it's a living embodiment of a cosmic philosophy in a war with another, both of them arguing for how all of creation should work. Whether or not the only things in life that matter are the things that live, and that to live is to suffer so ergo only that which cannot break should live, so you must break everything until only the absolute strongest shapes remain- or if it is possible for creativity and diversity and soft things to exist and create a life that is worth living in spite of the inevitable pain we all go through. That is so much more interesting then a bunch of dudes who are ultimately just mad about the fact that there's no easy to find and read manual for our purpose in life! It's such a basic, not to mention human motivation in comparison to what The Darkness had when it was a character in it's own right. And so...yeah.

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

Hi I’m sorry to bug you (pun intended) but do you mind explaining everything you listed in the 2023 tumblr bug poll. I’ve been here all year but I don’t think I understand all of the options. You have been really fun to follow this year I appreciate your presence in our community :)

thank you Anon 1 that is very kind of you to say!!!! :)

All right, buckle up folks:

Get Back day-by-day re-watch (January): In January some people on decided to rewatch the bits of Get Back from that specific date, some also went through the nagra tapes of that day. They'd make cool compilation posts with moments that stuck out to them. I just remembered it was actually called Get Backuary :) I didn't really participate though because January is a busy time for me, in general.

Beatles poll wars (around February-April): once the poll feature reached bug tumblr we started having a LOT of polls and it caused a not insignificant amount of discourse and accusations of "bootlicking" or whatever lol. Interestingly, we discovered that Paul and George have roughly the same amount of fans (taking ~35% each) and John and Ringo also have about the same amount of and only about half as many fans (~15% each).

McLennon Conspiracy Blogger Disappearance Event (April): I explained this here, though I forgot to mention that in mid-April this blogger went scorched earth and dropped off tumblr completely. One time they made a post insinuating that no one's ever bothered wondering why John was depressed in 65/66 (and implied it was because THEY knew McLennon had broken up for a while or something)… Sir, this is the John Lennon Psychoanalysis Website.

Eyes of the Storm (June): Paul published a book and held an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery featuring tons of never before seen pictures from late 1963 to early 1964. Very fun time though people randomly claimed the majority of the pics were John when that wasn't really true lol there was just a general bias in which pictures from the gallery got shared.

Now And Then announcement + initial discourse (June): in a radio interview to promote said gallery, Paul offhand mentioned he had used Peter Jackson's AI technology to isolate John's vocal and "the last Beatles song" would be released later this year. There was a first wave of discourse from people thinking Paul was gonna use an AI-generated John vocal, rather than use AI to isolate an existing vocal (this was so frustrating because it was so clear in context what Paul meant but online news just ran with it). Then, there was a second wave of discourse (which was revived upon the songs release) over the extent of George's involvement and how much he would have wanted this.

Beatles song tournament (July–August): A sideblog was created to do a Beatles song poll battle. It got a bit intense lol. Everyone started hatejerking about Hey Jude beating A Day In The Life in the semi-finals.

Top Worm™ (August): Literally One Of The Greatest Moments On This Site. Also, let no one tell you John wasn't Top Worm. It is law.

Now And Then song + video (November): think this one's self-explanatory but basically Now And Then came out, we all reacted to it, the video came out the next day and was kinda hilariously bad but in the funniest way possible, George Discourse Part 2 and also How Much Is Paul Allowed To Change John's Song Discourse which I found puzzling lol. Someone said him removing a verse was "Paul Rewriting History". fantastic. no notes. what a time to be alive.

[the-kittens-of-vol-tron]

LANCE BEING A BADASS AND USING HIS SWORD FORM IN FRONT OF KEITH FOR THE FIRST TIME !!!!

Hehehe yes!!!!

Little side note; I know Lance's bayard changes in season 5(?) but I can't really remember where Keith was so I'm writing this as Keith is with the blade when it happened (that may be right or may not be idc its fanfiction)

TW: Mentions of death and killing (they're in battle)

Now Enjoy~

-----

It was supposed to be a smooth mission, keyword; smooth. All of them weren't nearly as surprised as they used to be. The Galra were around every corner at this point.

They were getting into the heart of the battle; the heart of the war. Every day they got closer and closer to Haggar; always to have her slip through their fingers at the last second.

It was more tiring than annoying.

The Blade of Marmora was working closely with Voltron. Keith still worked with them most of the time, leaving the rest of them to pilot the lions; but they were in battle together more often than not.

The battle was like most of them. The Galra appeared out of nowhere, they were surrounded, they formed Voltron, they won and they worm holed out of there. It was the same until it wasn't.

They were caught outside of their lions, forced to fight on the ground in unknown terrain. It wasn't the first time it happened but it was the first time there seemed to be no end to the Galra's that ran at them.

When one of them took one out, three more replaced it. It was a swarm of them. Almost as if this was their final attempt to put an end to Voltron.

The team was split up. Some of the blades and Allura ended up on the east side, fighting. Shiro ended up with Hunk on the south, a couple of blades mixed in with them. Pidge was to the North, Kolivan, and Krolia helping her hold her ground. Which left Keith and Lance backed into a corner on the west side.

Both of them had lost track of how long they had been fighting. How many bodies littered the floor around them. They tuned out how their muscles ached and throbbed, the sweat that clung to their skin.

Lance focused on shooting down the soldiers that kept rounding the corner while Keith picked off the ones that slipped by.

Lance took a step back, bumping into the wall. "Shit! Guy's Keith and I are pinned down!"

"We'll try and get to you two as soon as we can!" Allura's voice crackled over their speakers, grunting a bit as she swung her whip.

"Try to keep them at bay you guys! We'll get over to you as soon as we clear our side." Shiro's voice, which usually was solid with confidence, wavered a bit.

"Roger roger," Lance fired his gun a couple more times, switching his coms to private. "How are you holding up mullet?"

"Could be better," he swung his sword forward, placing his foot on the Galra's chest and pushing him off the metal. "What about you sharpshooter?"

Lance released a breath he didn't know he was holding, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. "Just peachy. Still hoping that I'll wake up in my childhood bed and this is all just a weird dream."

Keith chuckled a bit, sidestepping out of the way of a soldier's staff. "I wish this was a dream."

As the battle dragged on Keith's breathing became a bit laborious. All the training in the world still couldn't prepare you for a never-ending supply of an enemy. Lance's fatigue was starting to become apparent and he gripped his gun a bit tighter.

The metal burned under his grip, even his gun could only handle so much before it got too hot to continue firing. He wasn't sure how many more shots he had left before it was unusable.

Seven. He had seven shots left. After his seventh shot, his gun buckled under him, the metal jamming against itself. He nearly dropped it due to the intensity of the heat. "No! No no no no!!" He stared down at the bayard; now back to its resting shape.

"Lance? What's going on?!" Keith swung on a couple more soldiers; clearly about to get overwhelmed.

Lance shook out each hand for a moment; he needed to figure something out. He and Keith were both going to be killed or taken at any moment. He looked back down at his bayard,

It quickly lit up, shaping into his sword; a weapon he had only really practiced with at night when everyone had gone to sleep. He wasn't sure why he never used it more; maybe he was more confident with his rifle.

Whatever the reason he didn't have time to dwell on it and he lunged forward.

"Lance?! What are you-" Keith was cut off as he clashed his sword with another one.

"Fight now, talk later!" Lance swung his sword at two enemies, quickly cutting them down. He still had more energy than Keith so he used it to his advantage.

He was making progress, stepping in front of Keith a bit, picking up where he was slipping. Keith subconsciously stepped back, taking the little moment he could to breathe as Lance began to clear a path. Slowly thinning out the soldiers.

Keith ended up falling on his knees, his lungs aching for a break as Lance stayed fighting. Keith watched him, trying to make his body stand back up and fight but failed each time.

"Just relax mullet! Don't need you passing out on me." He knocked a gun out of a Galrans hand, quickly picking it up. His left arm shot a bit shaky while his right arm continued to slice away.

Eventually, almost a miracle, the Galra stopped coming. Neither of them were sure if it was because they got rid of all of them or if Haggar realized they were losing too many of their own to continue on.

Whatever the case Lance swung down on the last solder, yanking his sword out with a small grunt. He looked around, finally taking in the sheer number of Galrans they just fought.

He turned to look at Keith, who was still trying to get his body to stand. "Come on, we gotta get out of here." He kneeled down, wrapping Keith's arm around his shoulder and hoisting him up. "I don't want to be here for round two."

Keith grumbled something under his breath, letting Lance nearly drag him out of the hallway, towards the red lion.

"What was that?" Lance had put his bayard back on its hoister, holding the gun he took with his free hand; just as a precaution.

"You have a sword?" Keith said between his breaths.

Lance gave him a smirk as they exited a set of doors, Red waiting for them. "It's an Altean Broadsword thank you very much."

"When?"

"A bit ago," he ran up the ramp into Red, letting Keith slump on the small bed in the back. "Guess you're not the only one with a cool blade."

"I still have my mom's blade." His eyes slipped closed, exhaustion finally catching up.

"Yeah," he pushed a lock of Keith's hair back behind his ear. "it's pretty cool." He ran back to the controls, "let's get out of here Red."

-----

I hope you like it :D

Thank you <333333

[electric--blanket]

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

--

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

**

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

**

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

**

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

**

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Grow Old With You - Reykha’s Birth

IF YOU ONCE READ THIS FIC AND WANT SOME CLOSURE HERE IS A LINK FOR YOU/OR IF YOU’RE WONDERING WHERE THE HECK THE REST OF THIS FIC IS IT IS EXPLAINED HERE

Summary: lol this is the last thing I wrote for Grow Old With You/Build a Home With You. I felt y’all deserved to read it cause I do really like how it turned out. Also Ara and Din are space MILF and DILF that deserve the world. 

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x OFC (Ara Obagh) 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: fairly graphic depictions of birth and labor, major fluff, a lot of feels, Ara’s glorious return 

With one hand, Ara gripped a rung of the ladder while the other tried to soothe the underside of her belly as another spasm ripped across her abdomen. It was the worst pain she had ever felt. She had been stabbed, shot, and tortured. But nothing compared to this. Her lower back now throbbed. The weight, and pressure of the baby against her pelvis nearly made her knees buckle. Her mouth opened in a silent groan as the pain peaked, her belly stiffening in her hand, and then it slowly began to fade. 

For a moment, she believed it was over. The doctor had warned against false pains that could be mistaken for real labor. Something similar happened at the beach just a few days earlier. She hoped that was what it was. Ara wanted to have the baby back home on Naboo. In the solace of her own bed. Not on the Razor Crest, a cold ship that left much to be desired when it came to comfort. 

But then she felt a soft pop between her legs. Like a balloon filled with too much air. Then a sudden gush of liquid between her legs. Did I just wet myself? Ara thought. That would be an embarrassing thing to have to explain to Din and Cara when they got back. But when she looked down at the floor to the small puddle she now stood in, her eyes widened at the sight. There was a tiny amount of blood mixed in with the clear fluid. 

“Oh no,” Ara whispered. 

Her water just broke. On the Razor Crest. On Denon of all places. 

The next contraction hit about thirty minutes later. She hadn’t moved from her spot in front of the ladder, afraid that would make the now constant ache even worse. Pain, like an iron belt wrapped around her middle, coursed through her stomach and into her spine. Ara whimpered as she swayed back and forth, her free hand rubbing soothing circles into her abdomen. Hot tears, which she felt betrayed by, built up in the corners of her eyes and threatened to fall. She had felt pain before. She had been through worse. But Maker this kriffing hurt and she had no idea when Din was going to be back. And the more she thought about that, the more her tears blurred her vision and her lip began to quiver. She didn’t want to go through this alone. What if something went wrong? What if the baby was breach or something worse? Ara rested her forehead against the cool metal of the ladder as her tears finally fell. 

“Just a little bit longer, fierce girl,” she whispered, voice trembling, “Please.” 

Ten minutes. Another contraction. They were getting closer together and the pain was getting worse. Both hands on the ladder, Ara breathed through it as Vaisha had told her to do. But she couldn’t stop the choked sob that broke past her lips. Din should be there. Breathing with her and massaging her back to help relieve the pain. He should be whispering encouragements in her ear. But he wasn’t. She prayed that he would be back soon, even as she gathered all her courage and moved her hand between her legs. 

She was about halfway dilated. It was almost time. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“I get that you wanna go in there blaster first — but we need a plan,” Cara argued as they walked back to where the Crest had been parked. 

“Fine,” Din relented, feeling agitated, “Make a plan. Attack his safehouse first thing in the morning.” 

Cara agreed with a slight nod of her head as they approached the Crest. Din pulled the comlink from his belt and held it up to his helmet. “Ara, we’re back. Release the ground security protocols.” 

Nothing. Complete and deafening silence. 

Din felt panic, like a sudden harpoon through his chest. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Maybe she was asleep. Or perhaps the comlink ran out of batteries. He could always just pound on the ramp if all else failed. She was fine. Perfectly fine. 

He repeated, quieter, his voice strained, “Ara?” 

The Crest hissed to life as the ramp popped open and then slowly lowered. Din heaved a sigh of relief as Cara slapped him on the back. She knew everything was fine. Ara was way too capable, even when she was about to have a baby, to let something happen to her. But then they both got a good look at Ara standing at the top of the ramp. She was soaked in sweat. Her cheeks red. She stood hunched over, her knees buckled, one hand against the wall and the other clutching her stomach. Tears had stained her cheeks. Her entire form flinched as her face crumpled in pain. The concave of her back bending even further. 

Then she looked up at them, desperate and in agony before whimpering, “Din…” 

Cara had seen the Mandalorian move quickly. It always impressed her how hard he could haul ass with all that armor on. But in this instance, he truly surprised her with how swiftly he moved. He was up the ramp and inside the Crest within seconds. One arm supporting Ara’s back while the other wrapped around her middle to keep her upright. Cara stared for only a moment longer than either of the Mandalorians liked. 

“Dune!” he shouted, “Get in here!” 

She quickly did as she was told. Scrambling up the ramp and it was immediately closed behind her. 

“What’s happening?” Cara asked, voice edging on panicked. A new emotion for her. Stars, is she dying? 

“Baby…” Ara struggled to answer, grunting in pain and clutching at her stomach, “The baby…” 

Oh shit, Cara thought, eyes gone wide. 

Ara panted, tears of sweet relief now flowing down her face, as Din lowered her slowly to the floor. Back leaned against the now-closed ramp and her knees bent. The pain was nearing on constant now. She felt like she was going to vomit or pass out because of it. Din quickly whipped his cape off his shoulders and threw it down on the floor. Followed by his gloves. Then he started working on getting his vambraces off, and it was only then that he noticed Cara still standing there. Staring at Ara like she was about to explode. 

“Can I…Help?” the ex-shock trooper asked unsurely, eyes still trained on Ara who threw her head back against the wall and groaned loudly in pain. 

“No.” Din grunted as he finally pulled one vambrace away from his arm. His fingers fumbled and shook as he began working on the other one. “Get into the cockpit and set course for Naboo.” 

“Mando, you can’t be serious — ?” 

“Just do it!” he shouted roughly, shocking even Cara with his harsh and frantic tone, “And stay up there till I say.” 

As soon as he heard the hatch up into the cockpit slide shut behind Cara, Din ripped his helmet from his head and took in a massive lungful of air. His entire body seemed to shake as an autumn leaf in the breeze, ready to break free from its father branch and fall to the ground in silence. Did this have to happen now? Right now? When he was so close to getting Gideon and ridding them of their fears for good? Maker, he wasn’t ready. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this. To prepare for helping Ara, for helping the baby, for being the firm foundation that both of them needed right now. He worked, hands trembling, on getting at least the top half of his armor removed. The first time he held his Creed-born child, he would not be covered in the armor he showed the world. He would be just himself. What if he did something wrong? He had gone over the procedure a million times with the doctor and had bothered Vaisha with far too many questions. He wanted to do this right. He wanted to be there for Ara. He wanted her to be comfortable. And Maker he really wished they were not on the Razor Crest, on some foreign planet where a man who wanted them dead was located. This was not like anything he had pictured.  

Fear, as worm in his brain, wiggled and took hold of him. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t do this. He needed more time. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Ara panted from behind him, “But I — mmm — I knew this would happen.” 

The next contraction crescendoed and Ara’s steadily increasing pants for breath turned into a scream. Throat exposed and a vein popping out on her forehead as her sweaty palms scrambled for purchase. Din turned immediately and knelt down before her on his knees, taking her hands in his and letting her squeeze till his own mouth dropped open in pain. Her screams reduced to panted groans and her grip on him relented as the contraction subsided. But the pain never fully went away, only became less intense. 

He looked deep into her face. That beautiful face that still threw him into a state of shock and awe. Covered in a layer of sweat, red-cheeked, pinched in agony, and she still looked like the sun-rise. Constant and devastating in its beauty. It didn’t matter that Din wasn’t ready. It didn’t matter that Ara wasn’t ready. This baby was coming. The circumstances were not going to change. Ara needed him. The baby needed him. And he was always going to be there for them. No matter what. 

 It was on this ship that they were delivered from a burning Mandalore. And it seemed that on that same ship the next generation of a planet burned would be born.

“How far apart are they?” he asked as he let go of her hands and flexed his fingers. 

“Three minutes — I-I think — Maker, I don’t know,” she whimpered. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Din reassured, reaching up and unwinding her scarf from her head. Her hair was drenched in sweat. But she needed to be fully uncovered when the baby was born. “Just take deep breaths. Just like that. You’re doing great.” 

“Did you — Did you find Gideon?” 

Of course, she would still be thinking about that at a time like this. 

He debated, for an instant, if he should lie and tell her that Cara’s information had been wrong. But he always had been a terrible liar. Or Ara had always had a way of seeing right through him to the truth.  

He sighed, his chin dropped to his chest before mumbling, “Yeah.” 

He lifted his head just in time to see guilt take over her face and a fresh wave of tears build up in her eyes. They wouldn’t be able to attack his safe house now. Din wouldn’t stand being parted from her or the baby once she was born. And Cara couldn’t take down that squadron by herself. They could wait a few weeks and come back, but by then Gideon might move to a different safe house. Who knew what kind of rotations he and the other wanted Imperial warlords had going on. And as each of them felt the familiar pull of takeoff, they knew Gideon was slipping through their fingers once more. 

Ara’s lip had begun to bleed with the abuse her teeth had been putting it through. She tasted copper in her mouth as she let go and whispered, “M’sorry.” 

With a shake of his head, Din reached out and pressed his thumb flat into her chin. Nothing to apologize for. 

He then pulled down her underwear and checked how far along into labor she was. “You’re almost completely dilated. I’ll go get the supplies.” 

Ara didn’t want him to leave her. She whimpered slightly as he got up from the floor and made his way into the refresher. He got a few towels and a bowl of hot water. In this moment alone, he paused. Turned to the west on instinct, he began to pray. Ara always had been better at it than he was. But right now, she needed his prayers more than ever. So he tried to remember the words.

Protect my child whose name I’ve yet to know as mine, but so desperately want to. If I must die in order for that to happen, let it be. Protect Ara, who is one with me when together or parted. By the Star, you created all, and by it, you shall destroy. And by the Star, you will give us the strength to deliver this child into the world. Please…Keep them safe. I can’t lose them. 

A peace that he would never be able to bring himself washed over him as he opened his eyes. Another scream echoed through the Razor Crest. And Din, with this newfound peace and confidence, stepped out of the refresher with the needed supplies. A bowl of warm water. A few towels. The sheers from the medpack. 

He quickly kneeled back down between Ara’s bent legs. 

The legends say that when a warrior died honorably in battle, paint across his helmet and blood upon his chest plate, it was the closest anyone could get to holding the Maker’s star in their hands. To holding the greatest power, the greatest glory, and the greatest light in their mortal grasp. But when that baby slipped from Ara and into Din’s steady, awaiting hands — screaming and squirming and covered in fluids — the legends were proven wrong. 

All of time seemed to stop. The entire universe tilting it’s chin to get a better look at the life that had just been born. To hear the joyous, in-awe laugh that bubbled from Din’s throat. 

“Ara,” he whispered, cradling the tiny body in his much larger hands, “It’s a girl.” 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the babe in his hands. In those sinner’s hands that had caused so much destruction. And yet he had made this most precious thing, with Ara, with the breath of his life. This perfect, fragile thing that all at once told him that life was so fleeting and that life was so very beautiful. He didn’t need the warrior. He didn’t need battle paint on his helmet. He didn’t need honorable death to hold a piece of the heavens in his grasp. She was right there. Wiggling and screaming at him for being born. 

Tears, testaments to his absolute joy and rapture, spilled from his eyes without his permission. But he wasn’t going to berate them or curse them. As he had his entire life. He welcomed them with open arms. 

Ara finally broke him from his revere with her panted reply, “A girl?” 

Din looked up into his wife’s face and laughed again. A quiet, breathless thing as he pushed himself up and placed the wailing baby in her arms. She looked exhausted, pale, but happy. Tears fell from her eyes as well. Ara cradled the baby in her arms and laughed softly. She was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

A tuft of dark hair on her head. A small, squished face that was angry red. But her screams turned slowly to whimpers, and then faded out completely in her mother’s arms. Ara reached up a weary finger and brushed a knuckle over her soft cheek. 

The air had suddenly become thick as the baby slowly opened her eyes for the first time. Ara’s ragged breaths seemed far too loud in her uncovered ears. But the air became caught in her throat when the baby looked into her eyes for the first time. Dark and endless, just like her parents. 

So this was what it was like to be seen. To be really seen by someone else. 

“Hello, my fierce girl,” Ara whispered, voice horse even at such a volume, “I know your name as my child — Reykha.” 

Din made quick work of snipping the umbilical cord and cleaning the baby off with the warm water. 

“Mm — Din,” Ara grunted while he cleaned the fussy baby. 

He looked over his shoulder to see her face pinched in pain. Legs tucked back up against her chest with her hands. 

“Afterbirth?” he questioned, laying Reykha down on a towel and drying her off. 

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed back. 

The pain wasn’t as intense, but it still kriffing hurt. And she was tired. So very tired. 

“Shit — okay.” 

Din couldn’t find the blanket they had packed. He could have sworn he had grabbed it from the baby’s room before they left. And he could have sworn he had dropped it down to the floor along with the rest of the birthing supplies. But the blanket Yasima had gifted to Ara, with their signet stitched into the soft fabric, was nowhere in sight. Din cursed under his breath as he looked back over at his wife. Her face pinched in pain and resisting the urge to push again. He really did not want to clean her placenta up off the floor. But Reykha needed to be wrapped up in something to keep her warm. But what? He forgot the damn blanket and Ara was never going to let him hear the end of it — 

There. His cape balled up in the corner. That would do for now. He quickly snatched it from the floor and swaddled the baby up in it. Then, cradling the baby in one arm, he pushed the empty bowl he had grabbed between Ara’s legs just in time. 

“You forgot the blanket didn’t you?” she panted as she let her legs fall back down to the floor. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled lightly, taking the bowl in his free hand and sliding it across the floor towards the refresher. 

Then she got a look at them. Unannounced tears pricked at her eyes. Little Reykha, bundled in her father’s cape and tucked into the crook of his elbow. Safe, fast asleep, not even five minutes old. Din, half of his armor tossed carelessly onto the floor, hair disheveled, and sweat sheening on his brow. Safe, tired, a smile quirking his lips and creating a singular dimple in his cheek. Good Maker, he’s beautiful. Ara’s mind had gone blank of anything else in the universe. Her heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to go at lightspeed or stop altogether. She couldn’t help but take in the little scar across the bridge of his nose, the one on his top lip. Evidence of years of fighting, of resentment, of a life that felt like a deep and distant dream. 

After all this time. After all the waiting. After the heartache of losing Mandalore, the rage of being with Ran and his crew, the monotony and restlessness of their years with the Guild, the fear and running from the remains of the Empire. All of it was leading up to this. Kha’s last command, last request on a dying Mandalore — You must carry us with you always — and you must keep Mandalore alive through the warriors you will raise — she waited thirty years for them to fulfill their vow. And now she could march beside her fellow warriors in peace. And Ara could feel it, feel that eternal peace wash over her as Din sat down beside her and placed Reykha into her arms. 

“I wish the kid was here,” Ara commented as she leaned into Din’s shoulder. 

“Me too,” he whispered back, unable to look away from the little pink face poking out of his cape, “But we’ll be home in a few hours.” 

“Maker, I hope he likes her.” 

“He will. We’ve been talking about it.” 

Ara looked over at him with an incredulous smile. “You have?” 

“Mm,” Din grunted, reaching out and tracing his fingers over Reykha’s hairline, “How he’ll be a big brother. The responsibility — the care. How she’ll need a lot of your attention.” 

Ara stared at him a moment. At the way his kind, warm, brown eyes were transfixed by the babe in her arms. At the soft smile adorning his hard features. At the crook of his nose. At the soft tumble of his hair. At the love and peace and warmth that seemed to radiate off of him. 

In Mando’a there are two words for breath. One of them is kar’am. This word translates into Basic as the literal air inside a being’s lungs. The breath of life. The thing that can get knocked out of someone during a fight or stolen from them in a moment of emotion. The other word for breath is haal. This word has no direct translation. A rough sort of definition is that haal is the thing that gives you a reason to breathe. The thing, beyond air, beyond oxygen, that gives one meaning and gives one a reason to keep going. The life-force, the light, the purpose for drawing air into your lungs. Even to say the word, haal, it sounds like an exhale. A declaration that what one is calling their breath owns it. 

“Kiss me,” Ara whispered softly, too softly, “Ner haal.” 

Din looked up at her with raised brows and wide eyes. But then his every feature softened. He was her reason to keep going. The man who had given her everything she had ever desired. Who had painted the picture of their lives with her at the center of it. Who worked to the point of breaking his back nearly every single day. A man who lost everything and now had all that he had ever desired. The love of his life at his side. A Foundling and a Creed-born child of his own. A house with transparisteel hanging above the door and his armor stowed away in a shed. He was the very breath inside her lungs. Her very reason for living. 

With a tender hand, Din reached out and cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. He marveled in the way she leaned into his touch. Then he kissed her. Slanting his lips against her own and molding his mouth into her own softly, reverently, slowly. He pulled away just enough to whisper back to her, ner haal, letting his breath mingle with her own. Tying them together like the breeze through forest branches. 

A breath of life shared between them.

[rotten-games]

The Wolf | Arke

No thoughts, only werewolf Arke. This is the first of four Halloween shorts I made that came out early on my patreon. The rest will be coming out scattered throughout the day ;)

The woods are silent tonight, the moon scarcely filtering in through the canopy as you traipse through the underbrush. The lantern on your hip just barely lights the way in front of you, the magic flame within undying even in the oppressive dark of the forest. Any sane person wouldn’t be here tonight of all nights—even any idiot would know to stay clear—but you’re on the hunt, you have been for years, trailing a creature intent on destroying everything it touches with claws and teeth and red hot anger.

You’ve been training for this moment for years now, you’re not going to let a little superstition stop you. Not now, not after so long.

The silver blade in your hand weighs heavy, even as stained with blood as it already is. You’ve killed many a beast by the end of your blade, and this one will be no different. This one should be no different.

You feel your entire body seize as a twig snaps somewhere in the darkness behind you, a low, rumbling growl vibrating through your very bones. Fear grips your heart but also… anticipation. He’s here. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, readjusting your grip on the blade and spinning with a practiced ease. The creature is clumsy and loud, but it isn’t blind in the dark like you are, and it’s had your scent for years, ever since it cornered you one night and gave you that scar that mars your stomach. How you survived, you’ve no idea, but that night only cemented your ire.

Jumping into a sprint you let loose a mighty cry, met only with a roar filled with mindless, frothing wrath. Heavy footfalls crush the plant life underneath the creature as it tears through the forest and as you run you can see its golden eyes shining between the trees as you turn to ensure you’re followed. A wild grin tears your face in twain because you know you cannot defeat it with strength or speed alone, no. You need your wits as well.

Trees buckle and bend under the sheer force of your prey bounding after you, a distorted howl echoing out through the woods like a strangled cry for help. The unwary would fall pray to such a call, as is by the creature’s design. Dodging and weaving, jumping felled trees and ducking underneath arching branches, the mindlessness of your pursuer worms its way into your mind until you’re not sure whether you’re running the beast into a trap or running to get away.

Just ahead there’s a clearing, you know this because you were here during the day just to set it up. Maybe you’ll succeed; maybe it’ll work and at the end of the night the creature you’ve been chasing for years will be dead and you can finally return home. But you doubt it.

The creature has eyes only for you, and by now your energy has waned. It’s gaining on you, hot jaws of death snapping at the back of your neck. It’s just a few paces ahead, it’s got to be, just a few long strides and you’ll—something trips you up; maybe your foot catches on a tree root or maybe the beast catches up for good, but either way you flounder as you fall, your mind doing flips as your balance utterly dissipates. Your ankle is wrenched by the motion and then you taste dirt.

Your prey becomes your predator and you become the prey as it lunges at you, the weight of years feasting on cattle baring down upon you mercilessly. Golden eyes meet your own and for the first time in a long, long time, you feel fear shoot through your veins like ice. The Wolf is here.

The acrid stench of rotten flesh and gore infiltrate your nostrils, suffocating you as the hulking brown-furred beast pins you into the dirt and huffs its overheated breath into through its flared nostrils. Slowly its long tongue unfurls from its jagged-toothed maw, thick globs of saliva dribbling down its chin and splashing onto your face as it inches slowly nearer, as if it’s savoring the moment it finally gets taste your flesh once more.

There’s no humanity left in those eyes, nothing mortal, nothing alive but the unending hunger, the bloodlust that drives the beast ever onward. Yet, there’s a flash in those eyes, a stutter in the motions, something you could almost mistake for… hesitation. Not even in that moment you’re given can you move; your body is utterly petrified, your arm, hand, fingers, unable to move to even attempt to scrambling for your blade.

It’s so close; if only you could reach it. If only you could… your own anger flows through you like wine at a soiree; generously and without end, those golden eyes matching yours in the sheer ferocity behind them. Yet the creature does not move, it does not lunge to tear your throat out. You’re not dead. It simply… watches you, golden eyes glowing in the dark, framed by a shaggy, blood-matted pelt. The claws that pin you, however, they sting, and already you feel blood seeping into the earth below you. A low growl rumbles through the beast’s chest, your entire body vibrating  with the sound.

It almost sounds… human. Oh, it’s monstrous in it’s own way, certainly, but there’s a familiarity to it, like a distant memory of an early-morning embrace amid the sheets, tired grumbles as you push a man out of bed, golden eyes pleading for just five more minutes. Your body goes slack under the weight of the beast, blood blurring your vision as claws sink into your tender flesh. It hurts, more than just physically, as if your soul is being torn from your very body with the memory. You’re stuck, and you have little choice but to accept it. And think, think, think.

Yet why hasn’t the beast struck you down? Why aren’t you dead? Is it waiting for something? For you to scream and cry and you both know that’s never how you’ve been? No… this feels different. Slowly, your try to reach for your blade; the hilt is right there at your fingertips and if only you could—the creature growls like it knows what you’re doing and pushes you deeper into the blood-soaked earth.

For fear of your bones cracking under the weight of your captor you freeze, body trying its best to relax into the hold as if you aren’t at the volatile mercy of a bloodthirsty beast. You inhale sharply, and try to reach for a name you haven’t allowed to leave your lips in years. “Arke?” The beast freezes, bulky muscle going rigid, its hold tightening momentarily like a twitch. Your heart jumps, whether it’s for joy or fear you don’t know, but it writhes uncomfortably in your chest and you suddenly want to throw up.

He’s still in there.

“Arke it’s me, you remember me, right?” You try to slap on a smile but your face is loathe to obey, your body shivering as if in fear. But it’s not fear, and your breath isn’t laboured and harsh, and your eyes aren’t starting to sting with water years in the making. You’re choking on your words now because the emotions you’d thought were locked up are mangled in your chest; they’re ugly and mutated beyond belief after being suppressed for so long. You want to scream, you want to cry, you want to love the man. And you want to kill him. Because this is not Arke. It can’t be Arke. The creature huffs a hot breath across your face and you swear you see its body pulse. You manage to find your grip on your blade but you don’t have the strength to stab the creature, you don’t have the strength to stab him.

“Please tell me you’re there.” You find yourself whispering, unable to do anything but tremble and fight back the tears. The creature pulses again, its maw twitching open in a strangled whine. It’s like the world blurs in that moment, as if you can’t quite tell the difference between the wolf pinning you down and the man in your thoughts, your dreams, your past, grimacing in front of your face. Golden eyes flare almost amber, the weight that held you down releases you and suddenly you’re free. You can breathe again, but the creature is cowering up against a splintered tree that shines moonlight down against the bloody being before you. Arke, to be certain.

The wolf whines and scratches at its muzzle as if attempting to tear it off entirely, as if trying to release itself from its monstrous prison. There’s no anger left within the beast, just fear and hurt and loneliness. In the light now, despite how strong it makes Arke’s kind, a ragged scar, an ugly mottled burn, is highlighted down the better part of his side. You drop your lantern, rolling it away, and suddenly you’re cast in your own darkness. “Arke,” You take a step forward only to receive a low growl, a warning not to take another step. Yet you do, murmuring his name in that way that always comforted him. Eventually you’re barely a meter before him, curled up and whining by the felled tree. You kneel. “Come on, let’s go home.” He doesn’t budge, golden eyes squinting dubiously. Indeed, you’re not sure he should go home with you; he’s killed a lot of people. And even if he was forgiven how would he readjust to life outside the hunt?

You can’t help but hiss as your open wounds continue to bleed, and suddenly you can’t climb back to your feet. You’re weak, like there are ropes around your limbs that tie you to the ground. As you press your now shaking hands to your body they come away covered in thick blood. Your vision blurs. All you see is darkness.

A bird chirrups loudly above you as you’re slapped awake by the sunlight, an ache in your bones keeping you exactly where you are. Your skin stings and itches from little bug bites, your hair a disheveled mess matted with blood and saliva and—Arke! You can only curse when your attempt to sit up ends in pain; it lances up your sides and throbs in your head, but at least you’re not dead. Yet. A low grumble radiates out a bundle of cloth beside you, black fabric stretched taut by… broad shoulders? Arke pops his head out from under your coat, his mouth covered in dried blood and golden eyes bleary with sleep. The two of you stare at one another for a long time, perhaps too long. He’s… human. His body is covered in mud and blood, and his hair and beard have grown in too much, but he’s human. Yet despite that, all you can say is, “You took my coat.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Arke’s voice sounds hoarse as he looks down and wraps it around himself even tighter. Underneath there’s nothing but scars and wounds still open, hair where there wasn’t when last you truly saw him. He’s gaunt, you realise, his muscles doubtlessly there but… he doesn’t look healthy. “I… um.” His hand wipes some shaggy brown hair from his face but flinches as a sharp claw nicks his cheek. When he growls his teeth are sharp and there’s something animalistic in the way his body rumbles with the sound. You guess you were wrong, he’s no human.

“The bite,” Is all you can think to say, gesturing to the horrible scar that mars his forearm—the fool thought he was helping some stray dog. “I thought it was meant to make you…”

“I don’t know what happened. First I was me and then I was an animal. Even when I transformed back every morning the wolf was still controlling me,” Arke coughs behind a knuckle shoved into his mouth, angry teeth gnawing the joint raw as he struggles to find the answers you both seek. Eventually his hand falls away and so do his eyes, guilt morphing his brows into something horrible and ugly. The burn you now see extends up his neck and along his jaw, the mark you left on him those years ago just as ugly as the mark he left on you. “It was only anger and… and… You should have killed me. You should kill me.”

“Do you want to die?” This isn’t a normal conversation, your mind protests, but it feels as if you’re talking to the monster that you’ve stalked for years; you can’t remember how you talked to Arke, how you acted with Arke, how you loved Arke. Maybe a part of you should feel proud for bringing him back, but you’ve trailed him for so long it feels like you’ve just lost your prey to another hunter.

He’s silent for too long, as if afraid of the answer, but eventually he shakes his head. “No. But I did. When I was the animal.” He swallows, then tentatively reaches across to check your wounds. He’s clumsy with his claws “You should get to a doctor. There’s one in town, I’m sure and—”

“Come with me.” You blurt out, snatching up Arke’s wrist as he tries to pull away. “Come with me.” You repeat. An ache courses through your body but the heartache would be worse. At least physical pain dies, at least you eventually get better. You’re not sure you could stand another loss. There’s a low growl at the back of Arke’s throat, lips curling over sharp teeth as if to snarl out of reflex. “Arke, please, I can’t do this again.”

It looks as if he’s about to protest but his hard stare turns tender as he sighs in defeat. His arm goes slack in your grip, years of being apart coming back to him all at once. “I missed you.” He admits almost silently.

“I missed you too.”

[sheliesshattered]

To Steal A Kiss

Clara/Twelve Time Heist AU. Technically canon-compliant, because of the episode’s canonical memory loss. Can be read as a stand-alone, but intended as a prequel to The Impossible Soldier, and therefore the new first part of the series For As Long As We Get. 

1800 words, Twelfth Doctor POV, Time Heist missing scene. Romance, snogging, first kiss, and angst. Available on AO3 under the same title and username.

To Steal A Kiss

“Alright, so,” Clara started as she entered the console room, ridiculous stilt-shoes clacking against the metal grating. “All four of the briefcases are in place: The first one with your ‘Architect’ recording, the bank schematic, the decoy DNA for Saibra, and the recordings of us each consenting to the memory wipe. The second case with the dimensional shift bomb, the third one with the teleporters cleverly disguised as shredders, and the fourth one with the info Psi needs to hack the lock codes on the vault door. Psi and Saibra are ready and waiting for us to join them at the jump-off point, just as soon as we can stash the TARDIS and get back down there. What else do we need to do?” she asked.

“Pack up the memory worms for transport. And you still need to change your shoes,” the Doctor replied brusquely, not looking up from the console and the complex navigational route he was pre-programming into it. Using the TARDIS to get them in and out of the main portion of the bank was easy. Remote flying the TARDIS back to the escape ship in orbit just as the solar storm was picking up, less so.

“I like these heels,” she said, shrugging.

“Clara, the chances that we’re going to end up running for our lives at some point before the end of the day are non-zero. I don’t want to spend the next several hours listening to you complain that I didn’t give you a chance to change out of your impractical footwear, because you will have forgotten that I have, in fact, told you several times to go change.”

“Oh, hush. I just grabbed another pair of shoes from the wardrobe room, see?” she said, holding the shoes up for his inspection. “Perfect for running. I’ll change before we touch the gross worm things.” She made a face. “Do I really have to touch them?”

The Doctor sighed loudly. “Yes, for the fifth time, you really have to touch the memory worms. We can’t walk into the bank knowing what we know now, or none of this will work. So either touch the worm or go home, your choice.”

“Do you really think I’d let you rob an impenetrable bank without me?” she scoffed. “I’ll touch the damn worm.”

“Good,” he said shortly. He had no intention of pulling this heist without her, but he also had no intention of letting Clara know that. If she went home now, it would be straight into the arms of date-guy, and that was simply— unacceptable. For reasons he didn’t care to think about.

“You’re sure the worms will work?” Clara asked. “I’d hate to run up against bank security only to find that the memory wipe wasn’t quite as complete as we thought.”

“They’ll work,” he replied, most of his attention still caught up in double-checking the TARDIS’s flight plan. “I’ve used them before.”

“Bit of a catch-22 though, isn’t it? How would you even know that you used the worms to wipe your memory, without a memory of using the worms?”

He shot her a quick glance. “I’ve used them on other people, too.” He’d tried to use a memory worm on one of her echoes, even, not that it was worth bringing up just now.

Clara raised her eyebrows, mouth quirking. “Really, Doctor? Well, that has some... interesting implications.”

Her tone had gone all funny. “Interesting how?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

“If you can make someone forget something that’s happened, I mean. You could get away with all sorts of... interesting things. Besides bank heists, I mean.”

He sputtered at her as her implication sank in. “Clara, I have never— The consent recordings weren’t just for show, I take this very seriously! Memory worms shouldn’t be abused. They aren’t a get-out-of-jail-free card, or an excuse to lose all inhibitions! Memory wipes have to be undertaken with precision and care!”

“Hmm,” she said, her tone still too playful for his taste. She circled around the console and came to stand beside him. Too close beside him. Within what he privately termed as ‘the hugging radius’. She did this when she was preparing to attack him with a hug, infiltrated his personal space and waited to see if he would flinch. “But what if...”

“Clara,” he admonished, not making eye contact but not stepping away from her, either. The trouble, of course, was that he liked having her this close, no matter how many times he tried to convince her otherwise. His last face had treated it too lightly, this sort of casual intimacy with her. But the last thing he felt towards Clara now was casual, and he craved her nearness in a way he knew meant he absolutely, unquestionably could not allow himself to have it. Especially when she so clearly didn’t feel the same way about him.

“What if,” she went on as though he hadn’t spoken, “what if two people were about to have their memories wiped anyway? What if they’d both already consented to having the last several hours stricken from the record? Then it wouldn’t be so much abusing the memory worms as making the most out of the opportunity at hand.”

“The opportunity to do what?” he asked, glancing down at her.

She met his gaze, brown eyes wide and earnest and utterly focused on him, and he realised his mistake with barely a fraction of a second to spare.

“This,” she said, grasping his lapels and pressing her mouth to his.

His brain shorted out.

It was too much — too much stimulus, too much feedback, too many emotions, too many nerve endings firing all at once, and all of it a blur of Clara Clara Clara. That same barmaid-slash-governess Clara-echo had kissed him once, almost a thousand years ago. It had been just as startling and yet nothing, nothing like this, nothing like his Clara pinning him against the TARDIS console and kissing him like she meant it, like she loved him the way he loved her.

Clara moved her lips against his, and some sort of muscle memory or instinct kicked in and his body remembered what to do, and suddenly he was kissing her back. His hands found their way to her jaw, fingers weaving through her hair as he pulled her closer. She hummed a little noise, surprised and happy, and opened her mouth under his. Taking it as encouragement, he tilted his head, deepening the kiss, hyperfocused on the way every inch of Clara seemed to be pressed against him.

Pressed against him because Clara Oswald was kissing him. Not an echo, not a dream, not some never-could-be fantasy he’d spun up to while away the years on Trenzalore. Clara. His Clara. Kissing him.

She pulled back all too soon, and he released her, mind reeling, only to find that she’d barely moved a few inches away — for breath, he realised. Because humans didn’t have respiratory bypass or binary cardiovascular systems. She stared up at him, face flushed and eyes bright, and didn’t relinquish her hold on his lapels.

“You’re better at this than I thought you would be,” she told him, chest brushing his with each intake of breath.

“You’ve thought about this?” the Doctor blurted out. His speech centre was evidently on auto-pilot.

“Frequently,” she confirmed, gaze drifting to his mouth, “for far, far too long now.”

Oh. “You thought about Bowtie, you mean.”

Her eyes darted up to his again. “I thought about you. Think about you. Present tense.”

“What about date-guy?” He really had to get this auto-speech problem under control. Date-guy was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about just now.

“What about him?” Clara demanded. “He’ll never know about this. In a few minutes, you and I will have forgotten it, too. No harm done.” 

“But—”

“I don’t want to talk about date-guy,” she said, interrupting him. “He isn’t here. He isn’t you.” 

And then she was kissing him again, and that seemed to be a suitable off switch for the auto-speech issue. Her hands left his lapels, finding their way up his shoulders and to the short hair over his collar, and his knees quite nearly buckled. He pulled her closer in response, slipping his hands under her suit jacket to the small of her back. She was so warm. Warm and real and here, his Clara. Clara Clara Clara. Kissing him like she wanted to be with him and not date-guy—

Abruptly reality came crashing back down around him, and he pulled away from her so quickly that she stumbled slightly in her silly, sexy stilt-shoes, and had to catch herself on the edge of the console.

“What—?” she started, breathless.

“We can’t do this,” he said, taking another step away from her. “This, you and me, we can’t.”

“Why not? Seemed pretty damn good from my end.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” Clara was staring up at him with wide eyes, confusion bordering on hurt, and his ancient traitorous hearts cracked a bit more. He loved her, he loved her, and for her this was just— 

“It doesn’t mean the same for you as it does for me,” he said, letting the words fall out of him to land heavily in the silence of the console room.

Her expression shuttered and she dropped her gaze, took a moment to compose herself. “But we won’t remember any of this,” she said reasonably, voice level. “In a few minutes, we’ll go join Psi and Saibra, and touch the memory worms, and forget everything that happened after Karabraxos phoned.”

“And that’s the key to all this for you, isn’t it?” he demanded. “You want to forget that we did this. That you did this. You wanted to have this without dealing with any of the consequences.”

“You’re saying you didn’t, Doctor? That you didn’t want this? Because it felt like extremely enthusiastic consent to me!”

“No. The difference, Clara, is that I would keep this memory if I could. But we don’t have that choice. We have a job to do, a near-extinct race to save, and that hinges on forgetting everything that’s happened in the last few hours. Including this.”

She glared at him, momentarily speechless. “You would never have even let this happen if we weren’t about to forget it!” she snapped.

“Neither would you!” he shot back. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head and turning away before she could object again. “You stole your kiss, you had your fun. Now we have work to do.”

“Doctor—” 

“No. We have to go,” he told her firmly, not meeting her gaze. “We have to rob the bank, and save the Teller, and get Psi and Saibra the cures we promised them. No more dilly-dallying. And for god’s sake, change your shoes.”

--

(If the angst is too much to bear, please do consider reading the next part in the series, The Impossible Soldier.)

--

[goodnightallwhites]

A Blacked Valentines by Zenalite

Chapter 1 - A Blessed Day

Valentine’s Day already. Soft rain pattered against the windows of Micaela’s studio apartment as she did her afternoon workout routine and waited for her boyfriend’s arrival. The little cuck was hoping he could see some action after the last few months of dating her without so much as getting a glimpse of her ass. Boy, is he in for a surprise. She came down her for her lunges, and the sight of her own tight little body in the mirror dripping with sweat and the yoga pants stretching over her bubble butt made her giddy. “You’re such a hot fucking bitch,” she told herself with admiration. Jay arrived as the sun went down and came in offering a luxurious bouquet that must’ve cost him a fortune, with another small gift bag dangling from a trembling hand. There was a goofy smile on his pale face, but he was undoubtedly anxious; as wrong as it was to think of him as prey, his pure beta weakness made him irresistible to her spider instincts. Micaela accepted the flowers and quickly offered her cheek for a kiss as he came for her mouth. He left him there, downtrodden and wet, with the string of the gift bag wrapped around his fingers. She found a vase for the flowers and gave them some water, then pulled the yoga pants as tight as they could go and made her way back into the room with a grin. Her beta white boy of a boyfriend held out the gift. “H-Here,” he stammered. “This is for you too.” “Awww, you’re such a darling,” she cooed, keeping it a little condescending. She reached into the bag and made a face as she took up the little jewelry box and opened it. The sight of the diamond on the ring almost floored her, and Micaela wondered what the crazy idiot did to afford it. Sure, he could starve himself off for a month for those flowers, but this?... “Who did you kill for this?” she asked. “K-Kill? Nobody!” His damp face reflected in the ceiling lights as he stepped forwards, wringing his hands in the weakest gesture possible, as if he were apologizing for the act. “It’s my mother’s. It was my mother’s he corrected himself. It’s been passed down for generations in our family, all the way from a hundred years ago or something.” Whether he wanted to propose or not, Micaela put an end to it by placing it on her index finger. “I like it,” she said, trying to suppress her excitement. The ring was so beautiful that she almost considered giving him a blowjob. Almost. But she could never sink so low as to take the clitty dick of some slavish beta boy. “So…” Jay gulped and stood before her. “So,” repeated Micaela. “I guess it’s time for your Valentine’s Day gift, huh?” Jay put his hands in his pocket awkwardly trying to act cool. “I don’t know… Is it?” Micaela grinned. She tugged on her yoga pants suggestively and teased him as she slowly slithered out of them, bending over before him so to give him a good look at her butt, the pale cheeks shimmering as the lights inked out every bit of firm glute muscle. His face went white as he watched her, and she could see his knees buckling. “You like that?” “Yes…” he said weakly. “I do.” Oh, what a stupid little beta boy. But then, weren’t those the most fun to break? Her fingers started bunching the material at her chest, slowly lifting up the shirt, until his eyes widened as he saw the BLACKED branding along the waistband. He stared at it stupidly, confused beyond words, and went on watching as she removed the shirt entirely and stood before him, her gorgeous body wearing only the trademark BLACKED lingerie. Micaela pulled on her bra straps and turned for him. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I know you said you loved those BLACKED vids, so I thought I’d get this just for you.” He struggled to say the words, still shocked by his supposed gift. “It’s lovely.” She stepped forwards and gave his cheek a warm caress. He had been trained well. Over the last few months, Micaela got him to accept all sorts of humiliations. First, by repeatedly telling him about her old black lovers and how amazing they made her feel, then insisting she needed a break from sex. How being around them turned her into a size queen and she needed to forget how big they were inside. She even invited him over to her place and showed him her favorite BLACKED releases and made him watch all of them and then rank his favorites. And he did it all. Just in the hopes that maybe, somehow, he would get to fuck her one day. With all her constant teasing and talk of the their future together, he fell for her and thought that it would happen for real, and that maybe this whole interracial thing was just a part of her he needed to learn to accept… Now, as Micaela placed her hands on his neck and watched the gleam of her new diamond ring, she felt more confident than ever that his days were numbered. “I have one more surprise for you,” she said, tracing a finger down his chest to his desperate little dick. “Do you know what it is?” “No…” “I’m going to be a very, very bad girl for you. You know how you said you loved that BLACKED stuff so much?” He blinked and answered reluctantly. “Sure.” “I’m going to do it for you. I’m going to have a shoot, and you’re coming with me.” “Micaela,” he started, but she covered his lips with her finger. “I’m doing it for you, baby. Because you love it so much. And I want to make you happy.” “It’s not--” “Plus, I’ve already signed the contract. There’s no way to back off from it now. Aren’t you happy?” Micaela pouted and fluttered her eyelashes like a sad little girl. “Baby, I thought you’d be happy…” Panicked, he shook his head and became as small as a cockroach. “I’m happy.” Micaela kept the sad look but smiled inwardly. What a weak little boy. It’s almost sad to kill you. After, she took selfie in the mirror, showing off her new ring and new set of lingerie and uploaded it for her followers on Twitter and Instagram to see. Jay watched the dozens of fire and eggplant emoticons posted with dread. “Honey?” He lifted his head. “Y-Yeah?” “Don’t you like my picture?” “I do… It’s very nice…” Micaela smiled warmly. “Here you go. You can post it yourself too, to show the fam.” He shivered visibly as his phone beeped. “Show… them?” “Of course! You gave me the ring, didn’t you? And I gave you such a nice gift. Don’t you want to celebrate?” “But I have my college friends there… My relatives…” Micaela drew her head back theatrically and made a face. “And? What are you implying?” “N-Nothing. I’ll do it. Whatever you say.” It was a little effortless. Micaela sighed, a little bored, and watched as he was about to announce that he was a cuck to a snowbunny to the whole world. The Californian sun shone above the verdant garden as the crew went about setting up the cameras for filming. Micaela stood next to Jay, waving as every male gaze landed on her, while her boyfriend only kept his head on the ground, petrified by shame and feelings of inferiority. “Micaela…” he said slowly after a while. “God, I can’t wait to get fucked,” she said, disregarding the beginning of his appeal completely. He just swallowed his words like a good little cuck and stayed quiet. It wasn’t long until the director showed up, a ditzy looking blonde that had just gotten out of film school, her hair bunched up in a ponytail while her heart-shaped glasses caught the glare of the sun. “Hey, you guys. You’ll go in for makeup soon, our guy is almost here.” Micaela shook her head. “No worries.” The blonde glanced at her boyfriend and then back to her, then back to him. “You know, I think it’s pretty cool that you’re supporting her like this.” Jay bobbed his head like a eunuch honored just to be noticed. “Thanks…” “Actually, I’m the one doing it for him. My boyfriend is a HUGE fan of BLACKED stuff.” The blonde blushed and giggled. “Me too. I even wrote the script for today.” What a good little snowbunny you are, thought Micaela. Though she doubted the blonde was anything special. This was the kind of girl that slept with black guys because she thought it made her look cool, not because she truly felt the need to fuck hard and get wasted by a sweet BBC. She was the type that would screw around, have a few quaint fucks, and then marry and have babies with the first sap she met. The more Micaela looked at her, the more she felt her irritation rise. Even cucks like Jay were better - at least they had a soul. “That’s nice,” said Micaela. “Though, if you don’t mind, I have my own ideas for the script.” “But it’s--” “Like I said, this has been my boyfriend’s fantasy for a while so I’d be very mad if anyone got in the way of fulfilling it the right way. Don’t worry, though, I’m sure you’ll like it.” The blonde just stared at her and ultimately nodded just as Micaela knew she would. “S-Sure… I guess we can try it…” Spineless worm. Micaela laughed as she walked away. “Do you know what my fantasy is?” Jay suddenly started. “My fantasy is that we could run away right now a--” “This is your fantasy.” She reached and patted his head like one might do with a dog. “Seeing me getting fucked by a black stud and made to come better than ever is what you want for me. After all these months, can you imagine how tight I’ll be for him? I’m going to milk him dry. Oh, honey, I wish it would be you, but I’ve already made this agreement, so… my pussy belongs to a big black cock today.” Defeated, he gave in once more. It took a while until they got around to doing her makeup, but Micaela was happy with the way it turned out. There was a smoky, sleazy element to it despite the fine touch, and the moment she took off the robe and looked at herself in the branded BLACKED lingerie, she got a little wet thinking of how many cucks would be at home jerking themselves off to her once it was all released. Jay was standing at a distance, his eyes unable to look away from her perfectly toned body. All he dreamed of was being able to have a romantic moment with her and a handjob at best, and yet he was denied even as she prepared to take a BBC before the whole world. Micaela brushed back her highlight and let her fingers trace enticingly around her belly button. “Do you think my co-star will like me?” “D-Definitely…” “You know, I hope I don’t accidentally get preggo or something. Since we won’t be using any condoms.” His eyes went wide. “Aren’t you on the pill?...” “Are you joking? That stuff ruins your body. Nah, I’m just going to do it. After all, we talked about having kids, right?” She shrugged in a good-natured manner. “If it’s meant to be… Anyway, I think that will work best for the script I have in mind!” The ditz returned to tell them that the talent was in the building. Micaela took Jay by his clammy hand as they went in search of her scene partner. When the company asked Micaela if she would accept working with older guys, she jumped at the opportunity even before she heard about the increased pay. If there were two things she loved in life, it was the raw power that a black stud offered and the experience, dominance, and assertiveness brought by an older man. Combining them both into one was a dream come true. And the idea of having her cucky watch her barebacking a guy almost three times their age was just… divine. Mr Booker resided in an old folks home before one of the nurses there snapped a pic of his monster dick showing through his trousers and made him go viral. His face was deeply lined, but he looked slim despite the fact that he was about to turn seventy. He was, unfortunately, a little bit senile, and some of the crewmembers were trying to trick him into taking his meds. “Come on, Tony, you need to take these. They’ll make you feel much better,” a girl was telling him. The old black stud shook his head. “Hell no. You people brought me out here, fine. I ain’t taking no goddamn pills.” He snatched the bottle out of her hand with an unexpectedly quick movement and sent it flying across the room. Micaela grinned and approached him. “Mr Booker? My name’s Micaela. We’ll be working together today.” “You mean you’ll be the one I’ll be… you know.” Jay instinctively kept his distance but she squeezed his hand and pulled him in. “That’s right.” “Well, I’ll be damned, girl. I thought they were going to serve me up some old crone. You’re a tight piece of ass, aren’t ya’? Look at you… You got your little thing on and that blue in your hair. You some sort of hippie? Because I’ll fuck the shit out of you if you are. I don’t deal with them no good hippie bitches.” What a delightfully crazed old bastard. “No, sir, not a hippie. But feel free to fuck me as hard as you want. In fact, my boyfriend would love it if you did. Isn’t that right, honey?” Jay gulped and looked down. “Yes, sir…” “He’s your boyfriend and he wants me to fuck you? Damn, son, you must have some useless pecker if he wants me to fuck you.” Jay just went ashen and seemed to become so tiny in spirit that Micaela could barely see him. Oh, you poor thing… Did you ever really think you would not get fucked? It was incredible just how many of these cucks lacked any kind of self-awareness. These pasty motherfuckers with no looks, no experience, and no cash, genuinely thinking that they somehow earned fucking a perfect 10/10 like her. If any of them were decent, they would’ve turned her down out of respect even if she asked them out, let alone asking for a date themselves. But today Jay was going to get the lesson of a lifetime: white beta cucks deserved to die alone and unfucked. The blonde came and looked at everyone. “Are we ready?” The months they did of waiting for the movie to come out were agonizing not just for Jay, but for Micaela as well. He worried over what the final product would look like, while she couldn’t wait to get his reaction and that of the world when they saw her on screen like that. Maybe I’ll become a star, she thought hopefully. The vixen added to Jay’s misery by locking him in a chastity cage with the promise of sex the moment the video got released. “Until then, I just need to know you’ll be a good boy.” Seeing him zip up with the pink and puffy cage around his tiny dicklet was one of the funniest things she had ever seen.   But now it was finally time. Micaela bought drinks and food, and prepped the movie on the screen. She saw that her Twitter got two thousands followers just since morning, and most of them were sending her private messages saying how hot she was and how she deserved to be fucked by BBC. Now these were the sorts of cucks she found endearing and would reward rather than punish if it came down to it. They know their place. Jay came looking oddly excited, thinking that this would be his big night. “You ready?” Micaela teased him. He bobbed his head. “Let’s do this.” They turned off the lights and got comfy as Micaela pressed play. It started with a teaser of her showing off her body in different outfits and posing for the camera. My hubby and I always wanted to have a baby, but I just couldn’t imagine myself making another white kid. White boys were just so weak and spineless compared to black men that just the thought of carrying one in my womb made me want to kill myself. I loved my husband, but I knew that if he loved me as he said he did, then he would give me what I wanted... As the voice over played, Micaela glanced at Jay and the way the movie reflected in his glazed eyes. That’s when I tracked down Tony. He was an older guy, but no less of a man because of it. He could give us the strong black baby we wanted without getting in the way of our future marriage. When my husband said yes, his only condition was that he be able to watch… Jay read in the garden as Micaela approached hand in hand with Tony and introduced him. The camera zoomed in on his legs and the way his immense BBC showed bulged through and dropped past his cotton shorts. The next cut showed Micaela biting her tongue and lusting after it, then switched to Jay’s amazed reaction. “Well, baby, don’t you want to see what he’s packing?” she asked him suggestively. “Take it out.” Jay blinked and reached out tentatively, pulling on the other side of his pants so as not to make contact. The top part of the meaty shaft came into view and sprang out as the shorts dropped entirely. They kept a long and humiliating shot on Jay and the way he stared in shock at the monstrous BBC. Micaela’s nuzzled against Tony’s chest as his dark hand fondled her pale round ass, and then her palm moved all the way down his stomach till she could finally touch it. They focused on the way her slender fingers failed to wrap around his crazy girth. The family ring given to her by Jay gleamed in the sun and further added to his personal dismay as he watched his girlfriend caressing the dark shaft with such awe. Tony smacked her ass hard enough to make her yelp cutely for the camera, then came in to kiss her neck as the old fingers kneaded her young ass. “Damn, you’re a bad little white girl.” Micaela tossed her head back and cooed like a helpless little girl for the camera, making a show of it, tracing the warm tips of her fingers lovingly over the throbbing BBC in front of Jay’s terrified face. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re willing to give us a son.” The old man grinned and brought her sweet lips in for a kiss. “It’s my pleasure.” They edited a split screen of the hot interracial kiss on one side and Jay’s cucked face on the other. The black stud sent his tongue down her throat and sucked on hers, trying to eat her up right in front of her white boyfriend. Micaela stared into his eyes and trembled as it happened, her knees giving in from her proximity to the strong black bull. As Jay gazed away impotently, Tony suddenly glanced down at him. “You got a nice wife, white boy. I’m going to treat her real good.” Drool dripped down the side of Micaela’s mouth and fell to her luscious cleavage. “Honey, I think I’m ready. Let’s have a baby.” Jay nodded stupidly. “Yeah… Okay.” The bull grinned and suddenly jerked his hips forwards and let his dick slap Jay’s face. “Cheer up, boy!” Micaela showed genuine shock when it happened, and she was glad to see it made it into the final footage. Jay just stared helplessly, unaware that such a thing was allowed. His lip twitched and the beginning of tears showed in his eyes, but Micaela reached out and ruffled his hair. “Darling, you’re too shy. Relax. You were the one that wanted a baby, remember? Why don’t you give Daddy’s cock a good luck kiss before we start?” She brought the stiff BBC before Jay’s lips and held it out. “Go on, for good fortune. You don’t want us to have to do this again, do you?” Tony suddenly slapped Jay’s face. “Go on, kid!” The good little beta closed his eyes and leaned forwards until his painfully puckered up lips gave the black shaft a disgusted kiss. Even as they were filming it that day, Micaela knew Jay was truly one of the sleaziest cucks she had ever dealt with. A lot of desperate white guys could be pushed into watching their perfect girlfriend get rammed by BBC for the hopes of sloppy seconds. But to kiss a dick in porn just for the hope of getting some? The slut must’ve wanted Micaela so much that not having her hurt more than anything else. With her “husband’s” blessing now acquired, Micaela dropped to her knees and started worshiping the bull’s incredible BBC, taking it between her palms as she brought it up to her lips. Her kisses covered the entire length of the shaft, then her tongue came out and followed it all the way down to the head, which she proceeded to nuzzle against her lips as if she were making out with his dickhole. Both hands were needed to get a proper grip on his mandingo dick as Micaela took it into her mouth, the head so big that it instantly filled her mouth and stretched her cheeks.   Taking that old black cock in her pretty little white mouth and feeling it stretch her out was an amazing experience even at the time, but seeing it now on film, relishing the contrast between his ebony physique and her porcelain limbs was immensely satisfying. Interspaced with footage of her proudly loving on his BBC were shots of her doing it as Jay watched right beside her, his own hand hesitatingly passing over his crotch and the little white dicklet throbbing underneath. Micaela spit over his dick and licked every inch until it dripped and glistened and Tony brought his hands down to make her deepthroat it properly. “There you go,” he said, forcing the immense shaft down her throat. Micaela was enough of a pro to take it without gagging, but even for her, the powerful throbs combined with the bursting veins on his dick and its general size nearly got her to spit it back out. Almost. In fact, she did so well that it was the bull that finally buckled and laughed, saying that he needed to sit down. The old man probably hadn’t come properly in some twenty years and saved himself for the occasion. Well, Micaela was planning to take every drop for the camera. Tony stretched down on the grass as Micaela ran her fingers over his stomach and buried her face in his balls as his shaft sat across her face. The camera caught the way it pulsated like supernova about to blast, only moments away from splurging his load across her face. “Nuh-uh-uh.” Micaela lifted his dick up with a single fingertip and held it out. “Before you can come over my face, you’re going to need to fill my womb. I want to have your black baby. I need it.” Her eyes found Jay. “Isn’t that right baby?” He watched her worship the BBC so breathlessly and was so horny that he just nodded like she had just said the most natural thing in the world. “Absolutely.” That may have been a weak moment, but now it was recorded for all posterity, for all the viewers to see what white beta males acted like in the presence gifted black gods. Micaela gave the towering and majestic BBC a few more kisses, then rose and took off her bra and panties, revealing her dripping pussy and tender perky breasts to the camera. She steadied herself as she dropped down on his cock, first robbing the engorged head against her pussy before she let it go in and impale her as she dropped down greedily. Her back arched and a guttural moan escaped her mouth. The monster started ripping through her as it passed inside and Tony grabbed her by the waist to get a hold on her white body as he pushed his BBC as deep as it would go into her stretched-out little hole. It looked gorgeous on the TV, her pristine white body undulating in the sun as she rode him senseless, sweat dripping down her tense back as her snatch took in the immensity that was his throbbing BBC. “Fuck, girl, you feel good,” said Tony, smacking her ass again. He marked her as a master might do with a slave, and camera zoomed in on her red ass as it bounced up and down his dick, her juices flowing down his heavy ball sack. “God, it feels good!~” Micaela cried. “Big black cock feels so much better…” Jay bit his tongue as she made the comment, then she reached out to stroke his face and grin. “Sorry, baby, but it’s true.” She took his fingers and held him as she went on smashing down into Tony’s powerful shaft, squeezing her white cuck in her grip as he was forced to watch her getting all her satisfaction from a superior man. To anyone watching, it looked like the most natural thing in the world. A strong young woman choosing to breed with a superior alpha male while her beta partner was forced to comply and assist. But considering the shoot was going to be plastered on every porn site there was, there were zero chances that Jay’s family wouldn’t see it. His parents, his relatives, his friends… Even if it was just acting, he was there, holding a white girl’s hand while an old black guy took her to town. “Shit, baby… You’re so deep!!” Tears of pleasure welled in her eyes; her mouth just stayed open and drooled stupidly, her mind getting sucked in and lost in a sea of pleasure. At the time Micaela wasn’t aware that she looked so dumb, but watching it on the screen made her look like a dumb fucktoy that was one second away from going full ahegao and making peace signs to the camera… which wasn’t entirely untrue. She had done all sorts of drugs, but nothing rivaled the glorious feeling of surrendering her young white pussy to a godly black cock.   The old man was enjoying himself more and more and she knew he was getting close just by how fast and intense the throbbing of his shaft was getting. He suddenly grabbed her and pushed her onto her back, then got on top of her, spreading her legs wide and pinning them against her delicate titties. Micaela told him she wanted a baby, so he put her in a mating press. In truth, going by the crazed look in his eyes, it was doubtful that he ever fully understood that they were filming a scenario rather than acting out a real scene. All he wanted was to impregnate her white womb. “I’m going to give you a fucking baby,” he sputtered excited, his spit spraying all over face. Watching it now, Micaela was a little surprised by just how small and weak her voice became in those moments. Even though she liked to think of herself as a great fuck, on camera she came across just as another whimpering white girl that met her match when she asked to be dominated by black man. At the end of the day, every snowbunny responds to the same way when their insides are torn to shreds by an alpha male. Micaela couldn’t even recall what happened as she came, but now she could see it: her eyes rolled back completely, and a little girl’s desperate coo sounded from her contorted face as her tongue lolled out in the bright sun. The video closed off with Tony pulling out of her and her creampie spilling copiously, then bringing his dick over for her to suck off. Jay just watched as her lower body kept jumping and jerking from the terrible orgasm, as if she were still coming… BLACKED Micaela crossed her arms and bobbed her head. “It could’ve been better, but I think it’s okay.” Jay shivered where he sat, his psyche damaged beyond repair. “T-They showed my face… I thought I was going to get blurred… You said…” “I guess they forgot,” said Micaela with a devilish grin. The dumb cuck was losing his mind at the thought of every person he knew watching this. What would his mother say when her own ring flashed as Micaela stroked that beautiful black dick? Gifs and webms would be spread all over, and no doubt the story would come out too. “Young white guy humiliated by real life girlfriend during shoot.” Oh, the incels on 4chan were going to let him have it until he potentially killed himself. Any chance at a respectful life was over. But to top it all, Micaela noticed a dark spot on his crotch. The little beta must have been overwhelmed by all the stress, and combined with the sight of a real man tearing her apart it made him lose it. Micaela couldn’t suppress hey feyish delight, but tried to hide it. “Oh my god, did you just… Did you just come in your pants? Wow, that’s so pathetic.” Jay quickly tried to cover it up. “N-No…” he stammered. “T-That’s n-not it…” “Holy shit, how much of a cuck do you have to be to come to something like this? I knew you were pathetic, but this is just too much for me. Get out.” His clammy face turned to her. “W-What? No! Micaela! Think about what you’re saying! We’re going to get married.” Micaela slapped him like a bitch and then even kicked him for good measure. It sent him to the ground where he belonged, then her toned leg kept kicking as he crawled and slithered all the way to the door like a maggot. “That video is the closest you’ll ever get to me in your fucking life, you white beta loser. So, enjoy it.” “Micaela, please…” he sobbed, a path of tears staining her floor. “You can’t. I have nothing. Only you.” Another kick sent him flying out the door and she gave him a final glance from the doorway. “No thanks. A beta like you can’t offer me anything.” “M-Micaela… I’m still locked up… And my ring…” “You mean my ring? That shit ain’t yours, buddy. You gave it to me, remember? I earned it.” She winked. “And anyway, why would I unlock you? You can come just fine, it seems. Not like you have any use for that tiny clitty anyway.” Jay looked at her as she stood there in the threshold, her perfect body silhouetted by the light spilling from within as her face remained in total darkness. “God, and I want to fuck so bad tonight. I guess I’ll just call up one of my black friends.” “MICAELA!” With that, she slammed the door shut. She laughed giddily and got herself a drink, though he was still sobbing by the door when her bull arrived. Micaela could hear Jay’s final cries and moans as the shit got beaten out of him, the sounds of him leaving her life forever. As she brought the glass up to her mouth, the shine around her finger reflected in her eyes. It truly is a gorgeous ring, huh?

[sloppy-butcher]

For Fear of Mediocrity

Frank Morrison (The Legion) X Survivor!Reader

Notes: it gets pretty hairy towards the end so watch out. I had a lot of fun writing this, although I fear I didn’t really do Frank’s character justice but whatevs. this is made for a friend (you know who you are ) but I hope everyone can enjoy it. the reader is again made to be gender-neutral but if there's a mistake just hmu and I’ll fix it

You were annoying, confident and extremely ordinary. While there was nothing truly special about you, you managed to catch the eye of a rather aggressive adversary. Though it takes some time eventually you manage to pull back his layers and uncover why he took such an interest in you

word count: 2957

TW: mentions of death 

“Lady problems?” A smug voice called from somewhere to the right of Frank. Without even looking over, he knew it was you. That annoying voice was unmistakable and always made his blood run hot with rage. He scowled and turned to face you. You keenly returned his death-glare with a wide grin, leaning against a rock with your hand under your chin and mischevious delight in your eyes. He never moved. Never gave you the satisfaction of a reaction. So you took charge.

“Oh come now.” Your tone was teasing and it irked him to no end. “You always come here to sulk when you and Julie have a... ‘falling out’.” You raised your hands and curled your fingers at the ‘falling out’ part, a sarcastic way of telling him that you knew he and the old lady were fighting. You knew a lot of things about him and his friends and he despised you for that.

You weren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to be talking to him and, most importantly, he wasn’t supposed to be encouraging your bad behavior. But in off-time the Entity is lazy and Its security systems were lax therefore little rats like you could sneak around and do things you sure as hell are not meant to. It annoyed him. Why would someone like you even want to talk to him? He is a killer after all. A dog meant to hunt you down and hurt you. Worst of all, he actually LIKES his job. He enjoys the power he feels when his knife slices into someone and they crumble pathetically to the ground or the immense feeling of satisfaction when he watches as the Entity comes down from the sky to drag another one of his kills off to Its lair. What he enjoys most, however, is how brutal he can be. When he hunts, a part of him wakes up and boils into a burning hot rage which fuels him and makes him hungry for more. A part of him craves blood and drives him to do his job and he relishes every second of it. His job made him feel in control, like an important cog in a machine much bigger than he could ever know. He felt wanted. He felt significant.

It confused him like crazy when you first tried talking to him. Why, out of all your little survivor friends, would you try and talk to people like him? First, it was his friends, Susie to be precise, who you sunk your hooks into. Then it was Joey. They both flocked to you like nervous sheep, very unlike how Frank made them to be; independent, commanding, terrifying. And eventually, even Julie succumb to your poisonous interactions. And whenever he would ask about why they would talk to you, they’d always say the same thing. You were different and they felt normal when they were with you.

Mediocrity was the one thing he hated the most. The very thing which drove him and his crew to do what they did. They didn’t want to die normal and quiet, forgotten in a small mountain town covered in snow and unimportance. So why, in this place where they all were finally on top, were they all seeking your company? His confusion turned into anger and it was all directed at you. Maybe that's why he finally buckled and went to you. He wanted to release his fury, let that part of him which fed on his anger tear into you and finally put an end to your corruption over his friends. Or maybe, he just wanted to see what all the hype was about.

He made it clear, although he could not stop you from walking around and talking to whoever you wanted too, he never wanted to see you in his territory, ever. He threatened to kill you and all you did was smirk and say “When don’t you?” The closest you could get was the border of Mount Ormond Resort, at a spot where the forest meets snow and where there were large rocks and mounds of stones for you and the others to lazily sit on. And that's where he found you, every day and every night.

You smiled at him, not needing to see what's under the mask in order to know that he was fuming with rage. Usually, seeing him in such a state would scare you but right now, you didn't feel much of anything. You were drained and just wanted someone to hang out with and while you would prefer Susie or Joey all you had was Frank, and maybe that was okay.  You just... needed to pull him out of his shell some more. 

“So,” you offered, passing him a more subtle smile, guessing that maybe he would respond to a milder approach. “What’s up Doc?”

~

Frank could remember the first time he told you about his relationship with Julie. You had wormed your way into his head and dug out what information you wanted. It was manipulative and disgusting; he wasn’t some crazy psych patient who needed to be therapized by the likes of you. Yet somehow, against his better judgment, he told you. 

“Look, it’s not a bad thing.” You were both in your little area, you were sitting at the bottom on a rock with you back against it and Frank was off to the side against a tree, gaze ever so lazily wandering around you. Your eyes were closed as if this conversation was the easiest thing to ever happen to you, all the while it tore Frank up inside. “People fall out of love. You both were kids, still are, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. And it’s okay not trying to rekindle it after it’s died. So many people tie themselves down to one person cause they fear they will never have anything like that with anyone else. It’s torturous and just stupid. It’s good that you can both acknowledge that you aren’t meant for each other and that you should just be friends. You’ll be better than any adult if you do.”

After a moment Frank spoke, “Jules... she’s talked to you about...” He faded off, unsure of how to ask the question. He sounded vulnerable, nothing like the merciless killer he always is. It surprised him and scared him. He didn’t want to give you this kind of power over him, his past experiences of people always using him and toying with him as if he was a helpless doll making him hesitant and resilient to open up. But what surprised him more was how you handled him. You didn’t see his weak side and laugh. You didn’t run away with his confessions. All you did was sit there, drifting off to your own world and you smiled.

“Come now, Frank. We’re not both deaf.” There was silence again before he spoke.

“She was the only one who saw me.” His voice barely above a whisper, speaking as if only to himself. But of course, like the nosey rat you were you heard him.

“I see you, Frank.” He looked over to you and saw that you were looking back. He saw no emotion in your face, no hostile intentions to your comment and no hidden meanings. Only genuine concern. You meant what you said and he felt it. “I really do.”

He realized then what made the others like you so much, what made you special. You were ordinary. Grounded in the reality of your own mortality and limits and baby, you just rode it. It was crazy actually, to see someone so plain and boring be so open and understanding. The blurry faces of the people back home were are 1-dimensional creatures capable of only seeing what lay directly in front of them. They were paranoid and closed-minded. But you, you took your label of mediocrity and you wear it on your sleeve. You weren’t in denial about your physical limitations, instead, you embraced them. You understood what it was like to be pushed aside, forgotten and stuck in a loop of always wanting more but never getting it. It’s not that you pitied the weak, rather you understood them because you were one of them. Frank realized that you truly did see him. That was also the first time he laughed in your presence.

~

Regardless of what you did, he never went easy on you in trials. He had, in fact, told you once that even if you were friends he wouldn’t give you any special exceptions. He had a job to do and sometimes the animalistic part of him could not be controlled once released. And all you had to say to that was “Aww Frank. We’re friends?”  

But he could not lie to himself. Not really. He was giving you special treatment. The others would all die on-hook or by his hand but if he ever encountered you, he’d leave you to bleed out. He found that he could never bring himself to haul you onto any meat hook. If he picked you up, all he’d feel is your weight on his shoulder, your body heat against his neck and on his hands and all he’d hear are your moans as you’d try to escape him. It was just so difficult to kill you. So it was easier to let you die on your own after everyone else was taken care of. The first time he had done it, he stayed away from you and stalked around the trial’s arena until eventually, you bled out. The next time he hung around you and, after countless trials, he finally had the courage to be right beside you when you died. 

Right now he was sitting next to you on the dead grass of AutoHaven. No one spoke, he didn't know what to say and you didn’t have the energy. You fidgeted, bored and pained by the lack of sensation in your arms, and rolled over onto your shoulder.

“Hey.” He commands, reaching out and rolling you back onto your back. “You have to stay like this else you’ll choke on your own blood.” How morbid. But it was true, he had been with you enough times to know that it was best for you to stay facing the sky. Through gargled breath you huff.

“But I want to look at you.” He chuckled. Of course, you’d say something stupid like that during a time like this. He wasn’t all too surprised. You slowly lifted your hands and flexed.

“Come... here.” You made grabby hands like a baby and Frank, amused by your ability to be so childish, shuffled closer to you. You smiled and he saw your cheeks drain from any color. It was getting closer, any moment now. 

“Frank.” Your voice was breathless and it seemed as if you were about to fall asleep. He wanted you to stop talking. He knew it was a difficult task to do in your current state and he just wanted you to fall off peacefully. But you were stubborn. And extremely stupid. “You’ve... done this before, haven’t you? You've left me to die like this... lots of times.” He nodded, unsure how to verbally answer your query. “And... I forgot. All of them.” He nodded again. You never remembered your death, the Entity wipes clean those who die so that they retain hope for survival. If survivors actually remembered all the times they have died they would become hollow and useless to the Entity. 

This wasn’t the first time you had asked him this. Many times you had cracked the code and asked him. And each time he would not know how to respond. But this time was different, he was closer to you now and he could see as your lips quivered as your eyes stared despondently upwards at the sky. He wanted to do something for you, give back what you have given him. But he has no idea how to comfort you in this kind of state. A reoccurring idea hits him, one which he had been fighting off for a while but now in the silence of the fog it slaps him hard and demands he listens. No one was here except him and the one next to him. No one would know. Not even you.

Slowly he gets up and eases himself over you. Your eyes focus on his mask and he has the fleeting idea to take it off and show what he really looks like. But he decides against that, he wants you to remember his face, and instead sticks to his original plan. He lowers his head down to yours until he could hear your soft breathing. A bloodied and bandaged hand moves to your face and, after a moment’s hesitation, gently touches your cheek. You seem to wake up underneath him.

“N-No.” You softy protest. “I don't have the energy to.” He couldn’t help but smirk at your weak attempt to make a joke. 

“I’m not going to do anything bad, I promise.” He’s so soft and gentle, you had never thought he could be so... human. You watch as he reaches up for the base of his mask. He moves it to the side to reveal his mouth. A scar dances across his lips and you wanted nothing more than to trace your fingers along it. But your hands didn’t move and Frank didn’t give you time to try.

He moves closer until you two were a breath apart. You wanted to rise up and meet him halfway but again you had no energy. You had to wait for him to come to you. He hesitated, an instance of disbelief and a flood of unworthiness made him doubt if he was even allowed to do this with you. You were so good. So nice and kind and he... was covered in blood. He was about to pull away when he caught your stare. You wanted this. You wanted him and, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he couldn’t deny you.

He closed the distance and your lips met. He was warmer than you expected but you supposed you were just cold. You worried for a second if he would pull away because of your lack of temperature but he didn’t care. At first, he was slow and reserved, carefully exploring your lips before getting hungrier and deepening the kiss. He wanted more, more of you and more of this feeling. That angry-killing part of him lit up and howled as he felt your tongue trace his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He eagerly obliged. 

The two of you stayed connected for a few minutes, your tongues avidly exploring and tasting each other until there was almost nothing left. In that moment with you, Frank felt nothing he had ever experienced before. He felt small and exposed. This act was one associated with weakness and softness and he only ever felt okay doing it with Julie. But that was because he knew she had nowhere else to turn to. It wasn’t a mutual attraction, it was a hostage situation. But with you, he craved that softness. His mind melted and all he could think of is you and how he wanted more. 

Eventually, he stopped, retreating back breathing hard. You were panting as well, your cheeks flushed and eyelids lowered. You smiled. The wild part of him yearned for more, it clawed at him and screamed but he knew he couldn’t take anymore from you. You were dying and for once in his life, he was gonna do something good: he’d let you die in peace. 

“Was that our first time?” He chuckled.

“Yeah.” You sighed and rolled your eyes closed. Your breathing never returned to normal, you were huffing hard and the blush in your cheeks faded away again. For a moment he had forgotten that you were dying. He scanned your face, watching for any signs of discomfort or regret but instead, all he saw was your eyes well up with tears.

“Don’t cry,” Frank said softly, bringing a hand up and wiping away the water from under your eyes, his thumb leaving behind a smear of blood. You let out an airy sound akin to a laugh.

“I’m not going to remember this.” You weren’t. “I don't want to forget this.”  He couldn’t help you and watching you sink away beneath him was one of the hardest things he had ever seen. It almost scared him, the thought of losing someone like you, and he had to remind himself that he will see you again, alive and well. 

“I would tell you later but you...” He scoffed. 

“I wouldn’t believe you.” He chuckled and smiled and although yours was small and weak, you joined him. The world began to quieten down around you and your ears buzzed with an almost head-splitting hum. It was scary going into that unknown and you sought comfort. Moving your fingers ever so slightly you placed them on his thigh. His heart ached for how small they were, delicate and gentle. 

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered, your eyes closing for the last time tonight. He was relieved you’d get to finally rest now. He leaned down one last time and planted a small kiss to your pale cold cheek. You didn’t feel it but he did. Straightening up he fixed his mask and retrieved his weapon. 

“I never do.” After a quick glance over he sighed and stood up. His job was done. Around him, the world burned with cosmic energy and his boss seemed pleased with the results of the trial. It beckoned him to follow it to his next job and he willingly agreed. As he walked away he offered you one last look before disappearing into the thick fog.

[derl30]

ALTERED STATES REVIEW TIME!

OK, this tumblr is, today, a vehicle for me to review ALTERED STATES. And you (the one person who stumbled on this review two-hundred years from n- oh who am I kidding, when the aliens from A.I. who show up to thaw out Haley Joel Osment and the teddy bear who was the real hero of that movie find this) should be very excited about this. Because this movie is insane. And highly entertaining.

Yes, the movie poster looks like ass. If I told you this was a movie where William Hurt (not the William Hurt from that awful 90's Lost in Space remake, or the one who slept through an entire performance as Duke Leto in the Syfy miniseries of Dune. This is before the body snatchers got him) took ayahuasca and got in a isolation tank and it blew his mind so hard he started devolving into a neanderthal and creating dimensional portals and he couldn't stop because he was addicted to finding the truth of existence... Well you wouldn't get that from this poster, would you? So let's move on. Shall we?

The film opens in 1967 with William Hurt's character, psychopathologist Edward Jessup, already immersed in a sensory deprivation tank, whilst his colleague and “buddy” Bob Balaban (he's just Bob Balaban in everything I'm not giving you his character's name look it up yourself if it's bugging you so much) oversees.

Now, you may notice I put buddy in quotes. The reason for that is that Jessup is a self-obsessed ass who seemingly has no reason to be around other people unless he can expound to them one of his various monologues. Bob Balaban barely gets a word in edgewise throughout the entire film. Bob Balaban.

See, Jessup loves the sensory deprivation tank experience. Unsurprisingly, as it allows him to be completely alone with himself for hours.

Later, at perhaps the lamest party ever, a bunch of faculty are chilling out and listening to the Doors. Everyone we see is talking about Jessup. Why? Well, much as Jessup is obsessed with himself, everyone else seems to follow suit by being obsessed with him. One young woman, Emily, (Blair Brown) is introduced to him in this very shot below as he arrives at the party:

Notice how is framed in holy light? There is a closeup after, of him framed in blinding glowing light followed up with a zoom in on Emily's face, enraptured with this incredible dynamic man. So much so that the moment he tries to make a goddamn sandwich she starts grabbing his celery (get your mind out of the gutter) and flirting with him. Which for these two that means talking science, immediately. Talking more at each other than with each other. This is often the way with Paddy Chayefsky's scripts.

PAUSE

Paddy Chayefsky is doubtless one of the great American writers for the screen. He wrote Marty, The Hospital and Network (which is a fucking incredible piece of work). He got an Oscar for all three. He also wrote this movie (Altered States, remember? Good lord) and disowned it completely three weeks in to production. His scripts tend to have very intelligent, driven characters at the center, who monologue extensively at each other. These scripts are not attempting to sound naturalistic.

Ken Russell, however, directed the film. He, like Chayefsky, is top notch at what he does (Direct. I said he directed the film like a second ago, come on keep up). His films, like Women in Love, The Devils, (which was banned in several major countries upon release and has never been shown publicly in its full, uncut form (by the way it's a masterpiece)) the Who's Tommy, Gothic, and Lair of the White Worm are all fucking gonzo nuts. I mean like, when you gave this guy the reins, you were going to Overthetopsville and there will be no stops on this trip. And god bless! I love directors who GO for it!

You're getting the chance to make a movie. Stop hemming and hawing and hit me over the head with what you want to say! Film is a visual medium, USE IT!

I feel I might have made my feelings clear here. So, moving on...

Ken Russell and Paddy Chayefsky immediately started butting heads, right from the start. Chayefsky was a BIG deal, and he wanted control over the picture in a BIG way. Ken would listen to his suggestions on everything to lighting and set dressing, and politely tell him, “No.”, and continue being the director of the film. Chayefsky hated him pretty quickly.

He had much more control over films like The Hospital. Which, if you watch The Hospital, well, it shows. You've got great actors (George C. Scott, Dame Diana Rigg (Dame may be the greatest official title of all time)) saying great dialogue. But its just two very witty bitter people sort of expounding on topics and speaking at each other and suddenly admitting they are in love and discussing what drapes they will have to buy for their new home. It's utterly preposterous, and it doesn't work in the way Sidney Lumet got it to work in Network, by literally making one of the lead characters realize his life is turning into a ludicrous soap opera.

So of course Ken tried to humanize, naturalize, the dialogue sequences. And it works! The film feels more human than the Hospital or Network. Despite the fact that Jessup is literally becoming more and more inhuman throughout the film. One of the ways he does this is by having the character's eat, drink, and work on other things during the dialogue sequences. This is perfectly normal in film, it's called giving the actor “business” to do, during the scene. Chayefsky HATED this. “They are mumbling my precious dialogue! Chewing through it! Sucking it through a straw!” Sorry, Chayefsky buddy. It works for the picture. Chayefsky also felt the actors were too emotional with his dialogue. Right. See, they call that acting.

UNPAUSE

Which brings us back to the first meeting of Emily and Jessup at the party. They are eating during this important scene! I can just picture Chayefsky seeing this, and running to the studio brass to tattle and get Ken Russell fired (as he got Arthur Penn of Bonnie and Clyde fame fired before Ken Russell came on board).

Emily and Jessup are, true to Chayefsky form, extremely intelligent, driven people and hearing them discuss topics such as anthropology and schizophrenia is quite interesting. It's just that what is to come, film being a visual medium, will eclipse just about any dialogue, no matter how good, from our mind thingys.

The two give up on the science talk and go straight to banging on her couch. After, she asks what he was thinking about. His answer is priceless. “God. Jesus. Crucifixions.”

She smiles.

Bwahahaha! Oh Paddy Chayefsky, you sure know women.

He admits he used to have religious visions. She listens to him from the sweaty couch whilst he sits naked on the floor, and starts going on about his father's horrible death of cancer and his loss of faith. And he admits to her that he's a nut. Her response is to call him a fascinating bastard. I think Lucas may have taken notes for Padme and Anakin.

So naturally, they get married immediately.

But none of that matters because Jessup gets back in the sensory deprivation tank and has his first vision. A nightmare of his dying father and lost faith in christianity. It's pretty great, filled with foreboding hospital rooms, his father's face being covered in a burning Shroud of Turin, everything covered by horrible blood red clouds and then THIS FUCKING THING SHOWS UP AND ITS ALIVE AND WRIGGLING

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

excuse me...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

The many-eyed goat is slaughtered over a gold bible and suddenly Jessups screwing Emily again and we enter a blood vessel looking thing and the vision ends and he never mentions this again. Oh. Okay,

Emily continues on about what a nut Jessup is as they make marriage plans. Her monologue:

“You're an unmitigated madman. You don't have to tell me how weird you are. I know how weird you are. I'm the girl in your bed the past two months. Even sex is a mystical experience for you. You carry on like a flagellant... Which can be very nice, but I sometimes wonder if it's me that's being made love to. I feel like I'm being harpooned by some raging monk in the act of receiving God. (Emphasis mine)

"And you are a Faust-freak Eddie! You'd sell your soul to find the great truth. Well, human life doesn't have great truths. We're born in doubt. We spend our lives persuading ourselves we're alive. And one way we do that is we love each other, like I love you. I can't imagine living without you. So let's get married, and if it turns out to be a disaster, it'll be a disaster.”

It's a disaster.

As in, by the next scene. It starts off happy enough looking, they have kids and people are smiling. And hey, wow it's seven years later! But, well, see, whoops, they are getting a divorce. Well, not they. See, he is divorcing her because he considers the seven years with her a complete waste.

She still loves him, desperately. He doesn't give a shit about her or the kids. He tells Bob Balaban this, straight up. And then starts bugging him about deprivation tanks and Hinchi Indians in South America who have sacred mushrooms that can really fuck you up.

It's at this point you would like for Jessup to be hit by a Mack truck. But the movie continues on. By the way, this is one of the kids he doesn't give a crap about:

That's right. Drew Barrymore's first role is a kid that William Hurt doesn't give a shit about. Something that William Hurt would make a career out of with narcoleptic performances in Lost in Space and Syfy's Dune. So, Emily takes the kids to Africa for her anthropology work while Jessup goes to South America to go deeper into his own creepy mind.

The Hinchi Indians agree to allow him to participate in the drug ritual. They enter their holy cave.

This shot is beautiful. At this point the film becomes increasingly gorgeous. Ken Russell has started to go into overdrive, ladies and gentlemen. Buckle. Your. Seatbelts.

The Indians grab Jessup's hand and cut him, freaking him out. They pour his blood into the drug mixture. They begin to drink. Then he takes a sip. The intensity of the film here has quadrupled. The vision begins, fireworks going off all around him. He sees cave paintings of humans and komodo dragons and this:

The proper life he left behind with Emily. He's convulsing, sweating. The Indians are all around, masked. Snakes. He's laughing in pain. Energy spills from the void. A snake under the parasol strikes and begins to strangle him. He and Emily march toward a nuclear explosion as energy pours from the cut on his hand, becoming a lizard. From within a sandstorm, Emily watches him, naked. Jessup looks at her, entranced, as the soothing sands cover them both, slowly.

It's a beautiful sequence. A perfect film sequence. I can't overstate how strong the vision sequences are from this point forward. Great visual effects work and the madman mind of Ken Russell create something unforgettable, with it's own pace, independent from the rest of the film.

Jessup awakens with a komodo dragon laying before him, ripped to pieces. The Indians and the others all claim he killed it in rage. Jessup remembers nothing, takes samples of the drug to reproduce it, and goes back home.

Back home, Jessup keeps doing as much of the drug as he can and having Bob Balaban record results. They can't up the dosage any more so Jessup hops back in to the self deprivation tank to create a more extreme experience.

In his next session, Jessup states he is having a vision of early man, hunting a deer and killing it. Suddenly he states he is one of them, killing the deer. He begins to grunt like an animal. The two pull him out. He's incredibly pale, blood seeping out of his mouth. He can't speak, and has difficulty breathing. He insists they do an X-ray. It shows that there is a vocalizing lump in the front part of his throat. Jessup claims that his body had begun to revert to a simian state. The medical doctor agrees, stating the throat X-rays looks like that of a gorilla.

Luckily his throat returns to normal. So Jessup finishes up his day by having over a student of his and sleeping with her.

Our hero, people!

At this point we hardly feel sorry for him as his body suddenly begins to twist and bulge in the middle of the night, shifting in and out of neanderthal shapes. It's a horrific sequence, disturbing as hell. You certainly didn't expect the film to shift into body horror.

Jessup feels normal after a while. but sees visions of lava explosions, the birthing of the Earth all around him. Not a good sign.

He goes to pick up Emily from the airport the next day. She asks how he is doing.

“Oh, fine.”

Yeah right.

Emily has been told what Jessup has been doing and is worried, which of course pisses off Jessup even more. The guy is obviously obsessed with reaching the truth and root of existence, much as Emily surmised earlier, and we see he has no fear of even losing his own soul, again true to her word. The only thing that allows us to give a shit about him at this point is that Emily cares for him and she's decent people, okay?

So back Jessup goes into the tank with his ayahuasca or whatever it is. Alone. The tank door opens from the inside.

The hand that pushes it open is covered in thick hair. He's devolved.

Ape-Jessup escapes the tank room and chases a janitor around the building. Again, this scene is fucking freaky as hell. We can't get a good look at this screaming animal that was Jessup.

The janitor gets a guard to help and chases after him into the boiler room, where we finally get a good look at him when he assaults the security guard and escapes.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Ape-Jessup runs through the city at night, making his way to the zoo where he kills a antelope and eats it. The Ape-Jessup sequence goes on way too long, but is nonetheless unforgettable. The makeup is much more convincing than the above picture suggests, and whoever performed Ape-Jessup did an admirable job.

The cops find an unconscious Jessup in the zoo and bring him in. Emily picks him up and questions him. Jessup admits everything that he can remember. He also admits that he probably killed that security guard. And once again doesn't seem to give a shit. Prick. He calls it the most supremely satisfying time of his life.

Even Emily seems disgusted with him. But, she's also fascinated with what he's accomplished. As an anthropologist, his transformation fascinates her. And so, she agrees to help oversee his next session. Big mistake.

Before the big session Emily and Jessup romantically reconnect, and then into the climactic session we go!

Get your popcorn ready!

After a few hours in to the session, the video monitor shows Jessup begin to literally melt apart like goo, reverting to primordial ooze, the very beginning of existence. An attempt to open the isolation tank doors blasts everyone unconscious, as light and energy pour forth. Emily is the only one left. She sees Jessup's life energy pulse from within the tank.

Rain pours down around them. The pipes on the walls twist and turn like jelly. The ground is covered with a pool of swirling fog and energy. Emily advances toward the vortex of the tank.

In the emptiness of the beginning of everything, Emily seizes the energy before her and reconstitutes Jessup.

They take him home. While he sleeps, Emily rages over the fact that she loves such a insane bastard, and can't get over him. And, then, after Bob Balaban leaves, leaving Emily alone, Jessup wakes up.

He sweetly admits that the truth he learned was that there was no learnable truth, just unknowable horror, and all that's real is human experience. And he'll be a good boy from now on. Well too bad!

Because that horrible truth isn't done with him, and it's back to goo-Jessup! Emily tries to help him, grabbing him, but this in turn effects her, turning her into a shimmering lava form of herself. Both of them begin to self-destruct as Jessup, enraged, watching her in pain, struggles to retake his humanity, slamming himself into the wall, reforming himself through sheer will and physicality. He grabs her and brings her back, mirroring what she did for him during the final session. They embrace naked in the hallway. He finally admits, “I love you, Emily.”

Fade to credits.

Awww true love!

What can I say to sum up? Awesome 80's practical effects. Genius wacko go-for-it Ken Russell directing. Out of this world vision sequences. A awake and actually remarkable performance from William Hurt. An occasionally turgid but often fascinating script by the ever ornery Paddy Chayefsky. Whats not to like?

Well, the ending is a little rushed. The ape sequence goes on for a little too long and takes up perhaps too much of the films overall running time. The central love story is, well... a little hard to swallow, but hey, I guess there really is somebody out there for everyone. Even self-absorbed, deadbeat, cheating, sensory deprivation loving, ayahuasca dropping, Harvard teachers with a messiah complex!

And on that note, aliens from A.I. Artifical Intelligence, have a good day, and don't leave poor Teddy alone with no one to keep him company!

Sayonara!

[deanofwhumpuniversity]

Writer’s Month 2: Quarantine

Alright, I was gonna fix this, and then conjugating hadst and wend and cometh was becoming painful so I went back to the original and gave up.

Hey look at me, writing twice as many words as I meant to then giving myself a headache trying to fix it.

Content Warning: animal attack, illness, disorientation, vomiting mention, manhandling, captivity, restraint, chains, muzzle, collar, medical experimentation, poisoning of a sort, choking, religion, self-harm, scratching, head banging, and death. Tell me if I missed anything.

From the diary of FTL Collings I

It has come to light that Elyot had been bitten by the beast we subdued two nights hence. He hid the bite from us, but as it refused to heal, we came upon him cleaning blood from the ragged bite by the riverside this evening. The flesh was rent, and had we not all been present for the slaying of that monster, we might not have been able to tell that the wound was made by its gnashing teeth.

Elyot begs and cries even now, swearing upon his damned soul, that the injury was caused when he was dashed upon the ground, dragged by the ankle in that foul beast’s grip. But the mark is deep, moving inward upon his body, and not drawn across it; though I would not need such examination to expect the lie.

The others of our company wish to exterminate the man before he become something other or, at this rate, pass of exsanguination. I have implored them that this be a perfect opportunity to find a treatment or, failing in that, to study a captive beast.

***

I was woken in the night by much shouting and noise from above. I rushed to the matter in only my nightclothes, to see Grandhem and Metzger corralling Elyot up the attic stair, goading him at the point of long pikes to keep their distance. The dying man had been shackled hand and foot, and wore the same unwashed clothes he has since we had found him out last night. 

He struggled to make progress up the stairwell in his restraints, finally losing his footing and tumbling sidelong back down the wooden steps. He groaned and curled in upon himself there in the dust; the others holding their weapons found themselves retreating, seemingly unwilling to let the falling man simply impale himself, their lances now effectively keeping them at bay. I shouted for them to let me through, but there was no clearance to jostle round them and make my way to Elyot’s crumpled form.

They jeered at him to rise and continue on, but he only managed to drag himself to a seated position and sat dazedly upon the filthy floor. Impatient, Metzger lunged forward and jabbed his spear into Elyot’s ribs, forcing a ragged, breathless cry from the man’s throat. Metzger retreated back when Elyot turned onto his side, away from the weapon, then turned over onto his stomach. He got his knees under him, face still to the floor and panting with fear and exhaustion, then put his hands down to steady himself while he rose to his feet.

They shouted “Up!” and waved their pikes toward the steps again, and Elyot cast a pleading look at me behind them before turning and trudging toward his fate. I imagine the upper floor of this place was once a master room and nursery, as it consists of a loft and tiny anteroom, with a dutch door between. It was through this door, into that tiny chamber that they ushered him, locking both halves of the door behind.

I wanted to tend to Elyot’s new injuries, but the boors made clear their intent to guard the door that evening, and said they would allow me entry once the moon had set and they felt he would be less dangerous. But when I returned in the morning with bread and water, I found the whole company waiting for me outside the door to his prison. 

They did not run me off, instead waving me closer, while flattening themselves against the wall to either side of the door. I thought they meant to draw him out and kill him, and wanted no part in it. I shook my head at them; Metzger leapt forward and wrenched the cup from my hand. He opened the top of the door and swung it open, stepping away and holding the water at arms length toward the square of darkness.

I heard Elyot before I saw him; bare feet on dusty floorboards and clank of chain on cuff. He stepped into the light, looking more bedraggled and unrested than before, to no surprise. As soon as his hands took the bottom of the cup, Metzger released it, and stepped away. Elyot raised the water the bare few inches his restrained arms could manage, then lowered his head to meet it. 

As soon as his face turned down to the cup, the men either side of the door struck, bringing crooks down against his head and neck, slamming the top of his chest into the bottom half of the door. Another man stepped in and began to assault Elyot with some metal device that I soon saw was a muzzle. It was fitted for an animal, not a man, and it did nothing to prevent his cries; though the metal frame would keep his teeth from biting distance, which was surely the men’s intent. Not that Elyot seemed to have energy enough to cry out, lowing whimpers and drawn out moans the only sounds he made as he pushed feebly against the edge of the door. 

Once they had him securely muzzled, they unlatched the bottom door and swept into the room, grasping and restraining him from all sides. To my shame, I was rendered frozen by the sudden barbarism of these men I had known, and made no move to help him, useless as I know this would have been.

I retrieved the cup of water where it had clattered to the floor in the attack, and looked up when I heard a metal hammering from the tiny room. The men had secured a length of chain to a spot above the door, and now Metzger was advancing on Elyot with a wide band of metal in his hands. The prisoner was held all-around, and his teeth well-contained, but as he tossed his head side to side, Metzger’s approach was trepidatious. He sidled forward step by cautious step, finally worming the iron collar under Elyot’s neck and securing it with a heavy padlock.

With the click of the lock, much tension seemed to go out of the men, and they retreated from the room. The last closed the bottom of the door; when all had gone from the attic I approached Elyot with the bread, holding it as far as I could reach toward his kneeling, exhausted form. He made no movement toward it; no movement at all save breathing, and after long minutes my arm grew tired. I spoke quietly to him, imploring him to eat, but received no response. I would have felt callous simply tossing the food upon him, or the dusty floor before him, so I withdrew and set it upon a table to offer it later, when he might be in renewed spirits. 

I spent the rest of the day carting my medical equipment up into the larger upstairs room, finding little help from my compatriots. I wonder what the purpose of their cruelty be, if it not make them feel safer entering the attic. 

Once I was content with the setup of my new workspace, I approached the half-open dutch door with the bread and fresh water. Elyot was standing now, turned toward the small window opposite, but he responded to my voice, and shuffled into the light when I called to him. Upon seeing my offerings, he reached up, toward the back of his head, but the chain between his wrists clanged against the muzzle, and his reach came up short. Taking the cup from me, he turned his head sideways and began messily pouring the water down his face, leaving tracks on his dirty skin as it trickled toward his mouth. 

I cringed inwardly at the thought of him crumbling chunks of bread into the squares of the muzzle, and decided that shackled and collared would be enough to keep our compatriots satisfied. I urged him toward the opening and reached round his head, opening the buckle at the back and letting it fall away. There was no aggression on his face, only a profound sadness that I felt mirrored in my own soul.

I spent the nights in that room on a small mat of furs, feeling the villain for that small comfort. I did go about asking for his bed and things, but the others had laid claim to everything the man had owned, as if they already considered him dead. Even had I found some cure for him, I wonder if he might ever have returned to a good standing among them.

My first attempts at his salvation were with mistletoe and aconitum, called wolfsbane by many and thought of as a keepsafe. I laced his food with pure herbs, which only caused him to violently purge it from his system. I ground them into a powder which I bade him inhale; this drove him into a waxy catatonia, unresponsive and unblinking. He spent a day in this state before he began to stir, as from a troubled sleep, and another day passed before he was more or less himself again. 

I made an elixir of aconitum, tempered with every sort of soothing herb I had at my disposal; even this his body rejected in every way. As the month wore on, his state deteriorated; he became wracked by causeless pains, falling to the floor and screaming, gnashing his teeth. Sometimes he would refuse to eat, and spit curses at me from his dark cell. Never did he lash out at me or cause me injury, despite my assurance to this, the others would daily check me for bites and scratches.

Knowing that could I not cure Elyot before the full moon, he would likely be lost completely, I began to consider administering him Last Rites, while he was still somewhat of sane mind. I kept my portion of meat from dinner, and took it into his cell as a sort of last meal. I took his hands and prayed with him, and having nothing extra to spare, I took the silver cross from around my neck and clasped it upon his. Immediately a light came into his eyes, a clarity, and he smiled for the first time since before the night we had met that fateful beast. He took the medallion in his hands and gasped that he could no longer feel the draw of strange forces on his limbs, or the fog in his mind, that he had called “the pull of the moon.”

I went out among the others and asked to borrow any crosses they might have among them. Metzger told me that if I meant to perform a Papist exorcism he would lock me in that room with Elyot and be done with us both. I assured him that was not the case, and was able to gather a few necklaces from the men, including one of twine and wood with which to test my hypothesis.

Returning to the attic, I draped the wooden cross upon Elyot and took back my silver one. At once his eyes darkened, and he began to shake and strike his head. A low growl began deep in his throat and I quickly pushed my cross back over his head. He returned to a docile, human countenance and I had my answer. It was not the cross that kept the sickness at bay, but silver.

With one of the other crosses I made an ionique argent, an elixir of ground silver in oil, and returned to him with this last hope of a cure. Still wearing both my cross and the wooden one around his neck, he accepted the offered cup and raised it to me with a hopeful smile on his face, before taking it to his lips. With his short chain he had to curl into himself to tilt the cup back and swallow every drop. 

Elyot righted himself and relinquished the cup to me, then turned his gaze to the night outside the small window, smiling all the while. A small cough escaped him, then another, as his brow furrowed. In moments he was coughing in earnest, mouth hanging open as he gasped to draw breath between each wrack of his lungs. His eyes were wide and I could see the whites all around his irises as he searched my face for answers. He began to scrabble toward me on hands and knees, choking all the while. I managed to back out of the doorway and close the bottom door before he clambered into it, and I watched over its edge as he huddled on the floor, alternating between clawing at the door and at his own throat, leaving gouges in both the wood and his flesh.

The tendons stood out in his neck, and I swear I could see all his veins turning darker in the dim light. At the last he gripped his neck with both hands and began to thump his forehead into the door weakly as his coughs turned to whistling rasps. This could have taken hours, for all I know it seemed to, but the night outside was still fully dark when he collapsed onto his side and moved no more. I sat awake with my back to the door all that night, and did not enter until the sun had fully risen the following day. 

He never moved again, though Metzger insisted on keeping watch until the full moon came and passed. Four days, he lay in that room, before we buried him still wearing both crosses. The others speak of him no more.

[chezzkaa]

Beneath Broadway Lights

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Pairing: Zen and Reader Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: None Word Count: 3500 Summary: You efforts to support Zen, paired with a sold out ticket booth, leads to you seeking the company of gutters while he shines worlds away.

Notes: Thanks to @rageyoudamnednerd​ for commissioning this piece!  Ao3 link 

Billboards held the cityscape in static neon fingers. Desperate, and halfway to clawing a way into the sky while night descended on the pavement. Blanketed not by stars, but by those that shone just as brightly on the sidewalk. The ordinary gleaming so extraordinarily as they clustered in constellations across the expanse of bars and narrow laneways. Light and laughter spilling over storefronts and clinging to skin like summer’s heat.

The excitement of the crowd winding around the theatre stole her attention instantly. Taken by the tides of anticipation swelling against the gutters, she was left captivated by the face that peered from the inky prison of production posters. With his handsome features framed by thick lashes and unruly tumbles of white hair, she was so entirely wrapped in his anguish that it took her a moment to remember to breathe. 

Lost like a child before the gates of a fairground; she only realises that she had stopped to scan the ticket booths once a hand tugged at hers. Pulling her from the otherworldly thickness that seemed to engulf the theatre, heavy and sweet, until she resurfaced from the spell with a shudder. The lights just a little brighter. The sounds a little louder. The night just a little more alive. 

And, though drawn from the familiar name rippling through the crowd on the notes of siren songs, she couldn’t quite escape it’s call. It fell from her lips instead, intimate as it met the gaze of the man it belonged to. 

Nothing compared to the way Zen looked at her. Beneath the gaze of his universe, his everything, he glowed. Ruby eyes swimming in the brightness of his own name in lights and smile so dazzling it should come with a warning sign. He oozed certainty. And she had to admit, confidence suited him.

Zen drew her closer, cradling her to his side before continuing on their way. “Jagiya, you’re going to make me jealous.” 

“Jealous? What on Earth could the beautiful Zen have to be jealous about?”

“Hmm, I wonder…” The sonorous hum of his words caught in her hair, his cheek affectionate against the top of her head. “Mmm… Maybe it’s the way you’re staring at the posters rather than me? Hmm?”  

She let out a chuckle before hiding her burning cheeks against his neck. Breathless and bashful. “I’ll always only ever have eyes for you.”

“Really? But you’ve got to only look at me, alright? I’m not sure I could stand it if you didn’t. Huh? Promise me?”

Rounding the final corner, she stops in the shadows to graze a gentle kiss past Zen’s jaw. “I promise, Hyun. It will always be you.”

The clutching of his shirt and the muffled squeal she receives as a result set her heart soaring. Oh, god - how could she ever get enough of this man? She wished she could bask in his flustered expression a little longer. The soft pinks of his cheeks and the way his eyes danced in the starlight were always enough to set her on fire. 

Still, lingering was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. Dipping her hand beneath his hood, she ran her fingers across his smoldering cheek. 

“You head on in, Zen. The show can’t go on without its star. I’ll see you in there, alright?”

---

She had finally managed to peel Zen from her side with a little more convincing, ushering him towards the staff entrance to the theatre. And, though equally reluctant to part, she wasted no time in rushing back around to the ticket booths. It wasn’t that Zen hadn’t saved her the best seat in the house weeks in advance. He had, of course - and it was in the front row right where he could see her. But that wasn’t the point. 

She wanted to support him - in every way she could. Even if it came with a price tag, it was one she was more than willing to pay. But the sign that met her enthusiasm wasn’t entirely on board.

Tickets Sold Out.

---

Dejection followed her back around the theatre. She should have known, of course it would sell out. The musical was gold and Zen even more so. She was so proud and frustrated that she didn’t know exactly where to put her emotions. Scowling, but not defeated, she had no trouble promising that next time - well, next time she’d get a ticket for sure. 

The arm blocking her way came as a surprise. 

“Sorry, Miss. I can’t let you go any further.” 

It took her a moment, but she managed smiled up at the guard who was as stale as the cigarette smoke that clung to him.

“I’m sorry for coming in so late, I’m Zen’s plus one.”

The explanation did little good. He continued to assess her, scanning the lines of her faltering smile.  

“Of course you are,” he eventually grumbled, “can I see your pass?”

“Pass?”

“Pass,” he confirmed with a stiff nod, looking as though he knew full well that she didn’t have one. “They’re given to visitors by the staff.” 

Stumbling over words, panic strikes her expression. Zen hadn’t given her one. She imagined that he had intended to before she’d rushed off, of course, and that the piece of plastic granting her entrance would be resting cold in his coat pocket. Forgotten and completely useless. 

“I’m so sorry,” she started, watching the guard’s willingness to cooperate slowly close off. “It’s still in his pocket. I- um… You’d find it if you asked him! It’s just that I ran off before he could give it to me, it should say that i’m his girlfriend, and-” 

Through half lidded eyes, his disbelief was palpable. “Girlfriend?”

“Yes!” She brightened. “Yes, I was supposed to come through with him, but I wanted to-”

Her relief was short lived. 

“You and every other girl.”

“Pardon?”

The guard sighed and ran a hand across his face. “Look, lady, you’re the 7th girl I’ve had come through here claiming to be Mr. Zen’s partner. It’s getting a little hard to believe, you know?” 

Her cheeks flared. “I’m sorry, but I’m being serious here! If you go and ask him and collect my pass, he’ll tell you! Or I could call Hyun, and that would…” 

She trailed off, looking at the time displayed on the phone she’d just fumbled from her pocket. It would be far too late to expect him to respond. If she knew the play as back to front as Zen, and she’d argue that she did, he’d be on stage soon.

“I apologise, Miss.” The guard softened under her frustration, gentle and soothing. “I can’t go in and talk to the staff. You must have been looking forward to tonight, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. If you have a ticket, you can enter through the front, but without a visitor’s pass I can’t let you through. No matter if you’re one of Zen’s many imaginary girlfriends or not.”

“But-”

“Please,” he urged, “if you keep refusing, I’m not able to continue being so polite.”

---

Zen was made to perform. Stepping onto a stage saw him come alive, every cell in his being buzzing with excitement beneath the spotlight as he took in the breath he needed to begin. 

He molded emotions as though they were built for him to craft.

Attention clung to him. Eyes drawn to the aura he fashioned with his motions, hearts beating in time with every agonising line he tore from his chest. The silences were heavy. Tangling in his hair with every pass of his hand and ringing through the dispassionate, self loathing laugh that shook his shoulders. Taking him over, consuming all he was in a flurry of swarming anxieties that gnawed at his being until he was hollow. The wind whistling through the hole that was once his heart. 

Not a breath was released as he moved across the stage. Every step measured; every stumble a dance that bit his knees when the ground called for him to buckle. 

She wasn’t there - and he’d noticed immediately.

Nothing pressed down on him more so than her absence. Not the weight of the character nor the mass of eyes rapped against his being. Even the stage lights, with their expectations, were nothing in comparison. His insecurities outweighed them all. 

Until he couldn’t tell who’s heartbreak he was wearing.

Could it really be his? It stung along with the tears he was already scheduled to shed, chilling the top of his torso and running icy from his shoulders. Worming its way into the stage floor he stared at, on his knees and head tucked. The strangled sound of his voice, the cracking and the soft agony playing the notes across his tongue, so truly his own. 

All because she wasn’t there. 

Maybe he’d sung his own praises one too many times. Polished his significance until it was so bright that it was blinding. Was it possible that he’d stared at his own image in the mirror with such desperation that he’d somehow managed to miss the sadness her eyes bore into his back from just beyond the entryway? The abandonment and the rejection? Hadn’t he somehow left her feeling inferior? Unable to reach the heights he scrambled for, clinging to the ledge of the impossible pedestal he was frantic to remain on.

Perhaps, while trying to rebuild the crumbling wall that was his own self confidence again and again and again, he had neglected hers. Were her hands, ragged after piecing him back together brick by cobbled brick, now too battered to hold herself - themselves - together?

The violent twist of his gut confirmed it. 

The more Zen thought about it, the more he struggled to believe that he had ever deserved her in the first place. Not just in the front row of the theatre enraptured by his heart, but in his life all together. 

He wasn’t a great man. Hell, he’d argue that he wasn’t really a good one either. There were too many flaws in himself, and yet he’d gone and given all of them to her. Broken and bruised as he was, It was no wonder she stayed.

She pitied him. 

Zen took a deep, uneven breath before forcing the character he wore from the floor. He may not be able to give to her all she needed, but for now there was a theatre full of people who he could please. Who’s affections he could soak up beneath the stage lights - just for a moment. Just while his heart was breaking. 

---

It had already started to rain. Mist would be more appropriate. A sprinkling that caught the light as it swirled much the same way as her thoughts did. Like suffocating sheets that don’t quite exist but clung to her lungs all the same. As though the clouds themselves had lowered to her level, wrapping her in an embrace that was more anxiety inducing than comforting. Damp and cold across her skin, seeping similarly across the asphalt. Dulling the colour of a painted sky until it was nothing but roiling grays.

The streets had emptied in an instant. While she waited with the stagnant sounds of the theatre between her shoulder blades, the buildings dotting the pathways had flooded with bodies. And, as the final colourful umbrella disappeared around the corner and vendors clatter their stores to a close, she found herself alone. 

She may not have been able to see him shine, but she knew he was.

Still, she remained, perched on the curb in the company of gutters and spluttering broadway lights. The mulling of music, it’s tune too faint and garbled through the hearts and walls it passes through, bounced against her back. Trapped between bated breaths and enraptured minds. Souls willingly tangled in the tale.

She could still pick out his voice. The gentle, distant melody just as sweet and familiar as it always had been. And, with her eyes closed, she could see him. See him working across the stage with the same agonised expression he’d donned as he’d paced their living room in practice. The same light in his eyes and confidence she knew full well that he deserved. 

It’s a gentle smile, but it tugged at her lips all the same. And, eventually, it became a little easier to breathe. Lost in the darkness of her own design, she waited with the cold biting her jeans and water collecting around her feet until the sounds drift into nothing. Until all that was left was her heart clinging to the smile she knew he’d be wearing as he took the stage as his own. 

That’s where he found her. 

Once all was said and done and the theatre had become empty enough for Zen to hear his heart throbbing. Light pouring over her shoulders and trickling down her front while his pulse raced in time with every flash of a neon sign. As equally captivated as he was shattered at the sight of her face lifted to the inky sky.

He was terrified to break the silence. The building behind him had long since lost its lively hum, but it was as though the night still remembered. As though she had soaked up all their was, and a single word would be enough to break the barriers and release it all. 

But he was too afraid not to hear her voice again, and selfishly so - he let her name escape. 

As she turned she brought the stars with her. Caught in her eyes as though the galaxies themselves were ablaze at the sight of him. Framed with the curls courtesy of the rain and the only warmth of the moment to be found in her cheeks. 

He’d been upset when he’d left. Desperate to scrub off the make up until his complexion was patchy, the mess of his character’s hair now his own - but with the soft smile she shed for him came a new wave of bitter self pity. Ugly and black. 

"You're here." 

It was a statement more than anything. One that tripped her up as she stood, her words coming in a rush while trying to regain her footing. "Zen! Finally, you're out. I-"

But he cut her off. Tone worn and faded, under eyes smudged with stage makeup and worry. "Did I do something?"

She stopped advancing immediately. Staring at him across the expanse of the sidewalk - him beneath the broadway lights while she lingered by the gutter. There was a beat, and she couldn’t tell if it's from time passing or the throb of her heart. 

"Pardon?"

"You weren't there, Jagiya."

"I know, but I can-"

"Did I maybe do something?" 

He didn’t look angry. Far from it, in fact. He looked resigned. As though it’s been such a long, exhaustive night that it was easier for him to accept every blow than fight back if he ever intended for it to end. 

“If I’ve upset you,” Zen continued, getting more and more desperate the longer he went on, “then please, please tell me so I can fix it.”

“Upset me?” 

“I looked for you, Jagi.” Trapped in his own self doubt and the panic bubbling in his chest, words spilled down his front. “I - god, huh, I waited for you. But you weren’t there. And just… It must have been my fault?”

She could see him spiralling. Clearly able to watch his descent into the darkened depths of a heart she’d unwittingly helped fracture. His own insecurities tangling around him, snaking into his chest and constricting his lungs. Stealing his air. Robbing him of any faith he had left in himself. 

But she tries to stop him. Tries to clasp his hand as he falls, calling out his name in an attempt to root him in the Earth. A few short steps and she was standing in front of him, Zen towering above her but threatening to crumble with every tremble that rocked through him. A tentative touch later and she was holding his hand. Unfurling his fist and smoothing out the crescent moons his nails had carved into the flesh of his palm. 

“Hyun,” she murmured, giving his fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I’m not following you. Please, calm down and try again?”

He nodded. Small and slow before letting out a shaky breath. “I’m not the easiest to love. Mm, I have a nice face, sure. A very nice face - I can’t deny it. But that’s all anyone ever sees. That’s not love. No one loves me like you. You make me feel important. Like everything I do has meaning. Like I’m the moon and stars, when that’s what you are to me, Jagi… What’s with that face, huh? You are, you know. You’re so important and beautiful and wonderful. But… did I not tell you that enough? Have I not been loving you enough for you to want to stay with me?”

“Hyun…”

“When you aren’t there…” Zen shrank into himself, shoulders curling and eyes darting to the floor. His teeth caught his bottom lip, worry working it raw. “I don’t have anyone.”

“Be careful there, baby,” she teased gently, laughing to ease the shaking of his hand in hers. “You’re other girlfriends will be heartbroken to hear you thinking so little of them.”

It only took a moment, but Zen’s eyes blew wide. Face contorting in panic as he processed her words and took her light hearted, remarkably ill-timed joke in the wrong direction. 

“Other girlfriends?” The words felt wrong in his mouth. Tongue bitter and lips unable to touch them for long. “Huh? Jagiya, what are you talking about? Other girlfriends? I could look at hundreds of pretty girls, and you’re the only one who - I don’t understand. Did you not come inside because you think I’m cheating on you?” 

It was her turn to panic. Reeling along with him as she frantically tried to pick up the pieces of his heart that she’d just managed to help him pick up. 

“Oh god no,” she exclaimed, hands latching onto his cheeks before he can recoil any further away. “No, Hyun! That’s not why I didn’t come in at all, I swear. I’m sorry, damn it, I’m so sorry! I’m out here because I tried to buy a ticket, but they were sold out and then security wouldn’t let me in.” 

Though mangled through the cheeks she was squeezing, arguably too hard but not enough for Zen to mind, she vaguely made out his words.  

“Why would you buy a ticket?”

“Because I wanted to support you…”

His eyebrows knitted together, and if she weren’t so concerned with fixing her own blunder, she’d spend hours kissing the adorable pout from his lips. 

“By accusing me of cheating?”

Screaming seemed like the appropriate response, but she controlled herself. “No no, I’m so sorry! That was a terribly timed joke.”

“You think?!”

“I just panicked.” She shifted from foot to foot, incredibly anxious in the hot water she’d put herself in. “I wanted you to laugh, and went with the first joke that popped into my head, I’m sorry.”

With her grip relaxing, Zen held her hands to his face. He almost smiled, the combination of relief and feeling of her so close near overwhelming. “Where did you come up with such a crazy idea, hmm?”

“The guard,” she groaned, hanging her head before snapping it back to attention. “He said other girls played the girlfriend card to get in and I thought it was funny. I just - baby, I don’t want you feeling sad about this. I sat here in the rain waiting for you, you know. Do you have any idea about what that means?”

Zen shook his head, but the light in his eyes began to return. A low, warm smoulder that churned in ruby rivers. 

Dislodging one of her hands from his, she worked her fingers through his dishevelled hair; clearing his face and peering into it with as much adoration as she could muster. “It means I love you, silly. So much so that I can’t breathe without you.”

“You really mean it?”

“I do. There will be plenty of other shows, and I’ll go to each and every one you invite me to. I’ll just have to preorder my ticket from now on. Okay?”

Zen nodded, choking out an ‘I love you’ before burying his face in her neck. Engulfed in the scene of her, swallowed whole by her warmth and adoration, his heart finally settled. And, with every pass of her palm over his back, the patterns she worked into his muscles eased him. Her touch came to rest in his hair, fingers winding through the strands to anchor him to her. 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere without you, I promise. Let's go home.”

[goofygoldengirl]

Ok Everyone I’m On A Roll Today

I’m gonna give you a proper explanation as to why we’ll never get a Led Zeppelin movie.

Buckle up cause this is gonna get long. 

We, as classic rock fans live in an age of reminiscence. We take out our records, cds, mp3s and sit back, relax, and think of the glory days that we’ve never experienced if we’re under the age of 50. Even though we’re decently mainstream, The Queen movie Bohemian Rhapsody took interest in classic rock to new heights. It was critically acclaimed, Rami Malek won an oscar, and fans of other bands of the 60s-80s stirred with anticipation for the day they would get their band in the limelight. A fan, like myself, and many others, knowing that 2019 marks the 50th anniversary of Led Zeppelin’s (also referred here as LZ) creation (although they officially got together in 1968) perhaps are wondering if they are going to get a surprise biopic announcement in the near future.

However, I have come to crush everybody’s dreams. The answer is never as long as the remaining band members are still alive. Now before y’all get out your pitchforks, let’s focus our attention to the most important member of this debate: guitarist James Patrick Page, also known as Jimmy Page, Pagey, and Jimmurs back in the deviantart LZ community in 2010.

Although Led Zeppelin arose from the planning and careful selection of the higher ups at Atlantic Records (mostly manager Peter Grant although Jimmy was the one who went out to find members) Led Zeppelin, is Jimmy Page’s masterpiece, his opus magnum, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought of his band to be like one of his children, perhaps his favorite. Understandably, he was devastated when the band broke up after drummer John Bonham’s death from alcohol poisoning, and everybody knows he wants the band to be back together in some shape or form. This of course sparked a feud with singer Robert Plant, who also understandably was doing well in his solo career and wanted to move on. Depending on who you talk to, it’s never really been officially resolved despite the 2007 concert and Robert’s final declaration that he will never do anything Led Zeppelin related ever again, Jimmy has focused on other matters such as remixing LZ albums and releasing concert dvds. In addition to that, there are several other matters worth pointing out. In the past, and even to this day, it was extremely difficult to get ahold of LZ songs to use in tv and movie soundtracks because Jimmy, unofficially “in charge” of LZ music distribution is overprotective of how his music is used (probably stemming from LZ’s hatred of concert bootleggers but that’s a different story). We also have a long history of lawsuits that accuse LZ of plagiarism and ripoffs stemming from the 70s, that have taken a hit to LZ’s musical reputation. Looking at Jimmy’s defensive stance over the band’s music and public image, we segway to our next question.

Can a Led Zeppelin movie give an authentic and enjoyable experience for audiences?

We know from the nearly ten year saga to create a Queen movie that there was a lot of contention between the remaining band members and directors over portrayal of the members’ personal lives within Queen, and Queen pushing for a more family friendly image. In the end, the movie earned a PG 13 rating, an acceptable negotiation for both parties, and a good rating to draw in an audience. Assuming that using this model will bring in the most amount of money and recognition for future biopic movies, we shall apply it to the band Led Zeppelin.

A PG 13 rated Led Zeppelin movie would be impossible to do. No offense to Queen (they’re my second favorite band behind Zep so I’m allowed to say this) but they are tame compared to the antics that Led Zeppelin got up to back in their heyday. We’re talking about what you imagine when you think of the rock n roll lifestyle. Loud music, jet setting, partying all night, sex, drugs, trashing hotel rooms, groupies, more drugs, more sex, getting trashed at the club, pump it up baby a whole hecka lotta YOW times10! Led Zeppelin were a bunch of party animal freaks (Bassist John Paul Jones is debatable but there was New Orleans)and well you could attempt to focus directly on the music, but a lot of the music in the later years ties into that crazy rock n roll lifestyle (Sick Again from Physical Graffiti and For Your Life from Presence) and Jimmy Page’s descent into heroin addiction and John Bonham’s gradual and tragic deterioration from years of alcohol abuse had a profound affect on how the band members got along during the In Through The Outdoor sessions and is the reason why it still has a very mixed reception and is ranked low on favorite LZ albums.

A rated R movie could work, you may say. I mean look at the Doors movie. Yeah but even though The Doors got trippy and Jim Morrison was a character man, a Led Zeppelin rated R movie would be a very hard rated R. Again, this goes back to all the tour commotion, where especially in the early years, a lot of sordid stuff happened. And I know you’re thinking, I can live watching a couple of sex scenes. Oh sweet summer child who has not gone through the threshold of transitioning from a Led Zeppelin fan who strictly listens to their music to searching out their history, inspiration, stories from the countless biographies out there, we are talking about some fucked up stuff that I am not gonna even talk about in this post for fear of invoking the wrath of the tumblr flag gods, and that the more sensitive leaning people might consider to be NC17 stuff. And there is a difference between detailing this information in a niche book that only diehard fans will pick up, and putting it in a movie intended for everybody and no shit sherlock you will get controversy. 

And you may ask, who are the subjects of such controversial tales? Basically everybody, although as we said JPJ falls into bassists are usually boring category, Robert Plant had a pretty good amount of moments because no shit he was hot back then and who wouldn’t go wild over him. And our main offenders of depravity and strife? John Bonham, Jimmy Page, and special mention to tour manager (and subject of much controversy within the Led Zeppelin fandom itself) Richard Cole. And if based on director’s tendencies to capture the authentic even if it involves shock content, the depictions of these three men will garner a lot of attention. While John Bonham is dead and cannot speak for himself, the other two can. Based on Richard Cole’s tell all contributions to the classic 1980s publication that detailed LZ’s rise and fall, Hammer of The Gods, he’ll probably just pop up out of the woodworks and bask in the next 15 minutes of fame. But Jimmy? James Patrick I will do anything to keep Led Zeppelin’s reputation in a good light Page? Oh he’ll have a field day alright. And it’s not just bracing ourselves for the inevitable telling directors what they can and cannot put in, it’s also opening the huge, sticky, labeled with a giant TRIGGER WARNING can of worms what exactly Jimmy was doing that would be so controversial both then and now. Now, I know that everyone in the Led Zeppelin fandom knows what I’m about to say, probably some in the classic rock fandom in general who knows things here and there, too, but this is for everybody who doesn’t know. Jimmy Page in the 1970s dated teenage girls. And to clarify, I’m not talking about that gray line that people debate about of 18 technically signaling adult years, yet is still a vulnerable age, I’m talking about girls, minors, who were14-16 when he was nearly or in his 30s. And the relationship that is the most documented (Lori Maddox for the LZ fans reading) oh my god, it is just messed up. Like basically stalked and kidnapped her so they could meet, and in the relationship locked her up in hotel rooms while he was in concerts messed up. You might say it was the 70s, they just turned a blind eye well honey it’s 2019, and a topic as dicey as a grown ass man going after children is not gonna be ignored in this day and age where people are starting to pay more attention to issues like these. I know that if a director decides to devote a segment of that movie to that part of Jimmy’s past (and present if you think about him going out with 20 something year old women when he’s in his 70s) it will basically destroy his own reputation. Which is very, very much intertwined with Led Zeppelin’s. So if he takes a hit, LZ does too, and he cannot afford to let that happen. And if this means having to decline an offer for a biopic in order to preserve a sliver of integrity that is just dangling by a thread as old news becomes common knowledge, so be it. 

Oh yeah the christians will probably get wound up again about LZ being satanic or some shit due to Alestier Crowley and the whole playing Stairway to Heaven backwards thing but hey they’re irrelevant to this discussion

So the TLDR: We’re never getting a Led Zeppelin movie. Reputation is everything to Jimmy Page and a movie that goes into some hardcore detail about band “shenanigans” will serve us a whopping discourse for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, that will get the movie, and the band slammed hard. 

[queerhargreeves]

Makes sense

nb Klaus and trans Diego are the only acceptable headcanons

here’s a lil self indulgent fic i wrote :’))

—————————————————————————-

It had been a few months since the Hargreeves had avoided the end of the world. At first they were all sort of shocked. Nothing felt quite real - nothing felt the same. They didn’t feel the same. They’ve been working together to regain some sort of normalcy in their lives. All seven of the siblings had their own unique “quirks”.

Luther was learning how to be an actual person without a mission. He spent 30 years aimlessly following orders and now that he has this newfound freedom, he’s working on trying to find his “thing”. Right now he’s experimenting with painting. He had spent about $1,500 of their fathers money on art supplies and his siblings fully supported that use of his money. Often times he’d end up painting the moon and the sights he saw while up there.

As time progressed Diego’s stutter started to reappear and not just when he was emotional. He would wake up every morning and say the same line to the reflection.

“My name is Diego Hargreeves and I am here.” That line became his new mantra. He affirmed his existence every morning while seeing where his brain and his body lined up that day. Sometimes it wouldn’t come out of his mouth as clean as he’d want. Sometimes it wouldn’t come out at all. During those times he signed for the day. Klaus and Diego had learned the basics as kids. They would sneak in the library and find the ASL books and cram as much information as they could in their heads before they got kicked out of the room. Klaus wanted Diego to know there was more than one way to communicate; he wanted him to know that he could express himself without words. Diego had been busying himself in boxing once more. Him and Luther turned one of the rooms downstairs into their own personal gym. He found it to be a good stress release even if he wasn’t living at the boxing rink anymore. He was still competing and his family came to every event to cheer him on.

Allison may have lost her voice but she didn’t lose her passion for acting. She’s been interpreting for shows and musicals. She even auditioned for Deaf West Sprint Awakening with the encouragement of the other six Hargreeves of course. Vanya was not the most fluent in ASL. She wanted to help her sister with rehearsing and also wanted become more fluent herself. She felt like Allison deserved at least that much. The two sisters spent many nights together rehearsing the lines, making sure she was as good as she could be. She got the role. And Vanya is playing in the pit with her. Allisons siblings made sure she didn’t lose that part of herself.

Klaus, newly sober and doing well, painted his nails weekly and has started experimenting with makeup. He had bought just about every palette he could get his hands on and everyday he would look like a different person. The siblings always made sure to comment on the look of the day. Even Luther was able to tell he was improving. They spent too long not taking Klaus seriously that the least they could do was give him the affirmations he deserves. And every week he’d have a new nail color; this weeks being hot pink. He had his “weekly appointments” with Allison that involved gummy worms, soap operas, and nail polish.

Five made sure to make a marshmallow and peanut butter sandwich every morning for breakfast with a hot cup of coffee. He often read the newspaper and usually Ben was the only one up early enough to join him. The 13 year old body had been touch deprived for 45 years and the 20 year old had been unable to get in contact with anyone for 10 years. Ben and Five always made sure they had company within each other in the mornings.

Ben was able to be physically present for about 12 hours of the day. Klaus and Ben has been training hard so they could have their brother in their life again. All Ben wanted to do was spend time with his family. He helped Luther pick out the brands of paints he should from his research of art. He also made sure to research the best, non problematic makeup brands for Klaus to buy from. He even accompanied Vanya’s students on piano as he was an avid player until the day he died. If he wasn’t physically doing things with his family, he would be reading with them.

Even after all that happened Vanya is still playing violin. She’s not currently in school as she’s already a grad student. She doesn’t have any intentions on getting her masters in violin performance. She’s content teaching kids at home. Her family has made it a big thing: Grace always made sure the children had plenty of “brain food”. Allison helped turn one of the many bedrooms into a studio with creative design rightfully going to Klaus (or more so he insisted).

However one thing that Klaus didn’t expect to happen was the euphoria he started to feel. Not only was his family actually acting like a family, but he was able to actually discover who he is. His brain has finally been given a break. He’s able to have clear, cognitive thoughts that were entirely his own without the cloudiness or influence of any substance. This was the first time he was able to do so in 17 years.

Since he started playing with makeup he realized something. He wasn’t sure if he was really a “he” at all. Klaus knew he wasn’t a girl like Allison or Vanya are. But he knew he wasn’t a man like Diego or Luther.

Klaus learned about the difference between gender and sex after a long talk with Ben. Ben had found his sibling staring at their reflection in front of the, noticing the way they eyed every centimeter of their body with confusion one night. They had on black overalls with a black and white crop top underneath and their buckled booties on. They had a simple makeup look: just winged eyeliner and a red lip. They had grown out their curls long enough to where it touched their shoulders however they had it tied up in a bun.

“I just...i don’t feel like a guy.” Klaus finally let out after he noticed Ben’s gentle presence.

“That’s okay.”

“But I don’t feel like a girl.” They shifted, looking away from their reflection and staring at Ben’s. They weren’t sure what they were saying this out loud for but Ben has been their clarity filter for quite a few years now. He always knew what to say.

Ben came up right behind Klaus and peaked his head over his shoulder. Although they were taller than Ben, Klaus had never felt so small.

“Tell me what you’re thinking. What are you seeing?” Ben asked softly, putting his hand on the small of Klaus’ back for support.

They blinked at the question. They weren’t too sure how to answer that.

“I uh,” they paused and tugged at one of their sleeves and pulled it down, “I see a lanky person who doesn’t look like anything.”

Ben nodded and waved his hand as a sign to make them elaborate.

“I think I’m...I’m not anything? I’m just Klaus.”

“And just Klaus is good enough for me. Good enough for all of us. Have you considered that you may be nonbinary?” Ben spun their sibling around so they were now facing each other.

“Non-binary...?” Klaus’ voice tapered at the end. They had never heard of such a thing.

“From what I’ve read, nonbinary people are individuals who don’t identify as male or female. They don’t fit within either binary. They simply exist as a person regardless of the binary genders assumed of people. Some go by they/them pronouns,” Ben explained, “so like ‘oh that’s Jay’s jacket. They must have left it here when they went home’. It’s completely grammatically correct. Others are comfortable with he/she pronouns. Or all of the above! It all depends on the person. This identity fits under the trans umbrella which a lot of people don’t realize.” Ben found himself rambling which he usually did when educating someone about a subject. Even if he didn’t know the most about a topic he always appreciated when anyone would listen to him.

“You can do that? You can...you can actually live like that?” They were in shock. Everything Ben had just said felt like it came right from their brain as if he had peaked inside their head at their most intimate inner thoughts about themself.

“Absolutely.” Ben put his hand on their shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Klaus’ eyes started to sting as they started to tear up. They immediately wrapped the shorter man into a hug, careful not to get makeup on his hoodie.

“Thank you. I think...I think that’s it. I’m nonbinary.” Klaus took a step back and wiped a tear from their eyes, looking up as they did so to not mess up their eyeliner.

“What pronouns are you comfortable with?” Ben inquired with a grin on his face. He loved seeing his sibling this happy.

“I...want to try they/them.” They stated, “if...if that’s okay.” Their head always made them feel like they were asking too much of people. They didn’t want to add any unnecessary stress to their siblings lives, not anymore.

“Of course it is, Klaus. Should we tell the others?” Ben nodded towards the door. “There’s absolutely no rush though.” He added, not wanting to make them feel like they had to announce their identity to the world.

“No yeah, I’d like to. I want to be 100% me to everyone.” Klaus agreed, a grin forming on their face.

“Alrighty then, family meeting time!” Ben marched to the door like a soldier which caused Klaus to bark out a laugh.

“Yeah okay buddy.” They rolled their eyes and followed suit.

They didn’t think they’d ever have to come out again. To say they weren’t scared would be a lie but they knew the could do this. Ben was on their side after all.

Ben grabbed Klaus’ bell on the way out and rang it through the halls.

“Non emergency family meeting people! Let’s go let’s go let’s goooo~” Ben chanted as each of their respective doors opened.

“Okay c-cool it with the bell, Ben. We heard it the first th-th-thousand rings.” Diego yanked the bell from his hand and ruffled his brothers hair.

“Fair enough. But you know I always need to make an entrance now.” Ben laughed as they seven of them seated themselves in the living room.

Ben walked up to the front with Klaus basically attached at his hip. It wasn’t unusual to find the two of them this close but they way Klaus was closing in on themself worried the family.

“What’s this about? I know you said nonemergency but,” Luther gestured to Klaus, “is this about-“

“Did you relapse, Klaus?” Five interrupted. He didn’t sound mad or accusatory, just concerned. His brows were furrowed and he was twirling his fingers in his lap.

“What, no? God no, don’t worry. I’m okay.” Klaus reassured their family as they waved their hands in front of them.

The rest of them immediately relaxed and all shared glances.

“What is this about then?” Allison signed carefully.

“I wanted to tell you guys I’m. Uh,” Ben gave them a nudge and a nod, reassuring them they can do this.

“I’m nonbinary.” They blurted in one breath. Their eyes were wide and he was frantically looking at each of them awaiting their reaction.

“I’m not familiar? What is this term. Nonbinary?” Five asked and leaned forward, ready to listen.

“It’s um, well, Ben knows more about this then I do but basically I don’t identify as a man. Or woman. I’ve never felt like either so...” Klaus trailed off

“Well I can’t really say that’s a far fetched concept to wrap my head around. You’ve always just been Klaus so this makes sense.” Luther pondered aloud almost like he was talking to himself.

Allison nodded. “I love you no matter what Klaus.” She signed and gave him a big smile.

Klaus signed thank you, feeling themself already getting emotional again.

“I could’ve told you that, K-Klaus. Is that name ok-okay still?” Diego asked and signed.

“Mmhmm! And I don’t think I really like he/him pronouns. They make me all,” they waved their hands in a dramatic motion and made a “ufjsjfjs” sound

“Dysphoric?” Diego finger spelled, knowing all too well what that felt like.

Klaus took a sharp inhale and snapped their fingers.

“Yes! Yes that’s it. It makes me uncomfy.”

“Now there’s two trans people in the family, one ace, five queer, and only one cis straight.” Vanya giggled and pointed at Luther at the last bit which earned the roll of his eyes.

“I’m the minority now.” He retorted in a fake ‘hurt’ voice and pointed at himself.

“It gets better.” Allison signed next to him and pat his shoulder.

The entire family bust out laughing, the quiet house filled being filled with their joy.

“Thank you for trusting us with this, Klaus.” Five stood up and walked over to his sibling and stopped right in front of them and turned around expectantly.

“Family hug time!” Vanya exclaimed and jumped right up. She attacked her sibling with a hug and the rest got up to do the same.

“Who ever would’ve thought it would take the end of the world for the Hargreeves to finally develop communication skills.” Ben’s voice was muffled in the middle of the 7 bodies but everyone heard him clearly.

“Let’s go shopping, yeah? I want to blow more of father dearests money on some new dresses. The ones I have are a bit dated.” Klaus suggested as they tried to wrangle themself out of the hug to go fix their makeup.

Everyone broke apart and watched their sibling dash up the stairs before giving anyone a chance to respond. Guess they were going to the mall.

But they would be going together. Even if that meant spending an hour in and out of the changing rooms as Klaus put on their own fashion show. They all enjoyed their time together nonetheless.

[crisyah]

A Guide to Webnovels

Some of you may have heard of webnovels / webfiction by now. Huge successes like Worm or The Wandering Inn have certainly not gone unnoticed by speculative fiction fans and most of us have heard whispers about that legendary site: Wattpad. Still, webnovels remain a niche product, with its audience being mostly teenagers. People might avoid them because the quality of the novels wildly vary and it takes too long to sift through so many options until you find something decent. But how is that different from looking through self-published books? Another reason is that people might simply not know where to look. Especially with webfiction guide not accepting new users, there's no other sites that list webnovels from various sources for you to look through. Or are there?

Well, buckle up, fellow speculative-ists, I'm about to help you out with finding new, free fiction that releases at a faster rate than that one book if you've waiting for for 5 years!

(Full disclosure: I am a webnovel author. You may find my name / novel pretty quickly on one of the sites I will mention in this guide because I'm on trending and high up on the dark fantasy tag there. I'm not writing all of this for self-promotion purposes, however. It honestly makes me sad to see amazing webnovels doing poorly while average ones do amazingly simply because the audience is severely skewed. This is my attempt to broaden the audience a little bit, while giving other speculative fiction fans the chance to find amazing stories and fellow authors another outlet for their creations.)Let's get into it:The cons of webnovels

Quality does vary greatly and you'll have to sift through tags and read synopsis, reviews and first chapters looking for something you like and that is a bit timeconsuming. I still think it's not much different from looking for books you might enjoy, if you search efficiently.

Novels tend to be dropped. A lot. The golden rule that everyone tends to follow is: if it's less than 20~30 chapters or 200 pages, don't touch it. Filter out everything that is on hiatus. Big yes to novels that have at least one arc / volume / book finished.

The pros of webnovels

They're almost all completely free. Authors will have patreons, paypal and ko-fi if you want to tip them or get extra rewards, but that's it. If you don't like something, you've wasted nothing but a bit of time.

Fast releases. To make their novels competitive, authors tend to release new chapters at the very least weekly, with the most common release schedule being 2~3 times a week. Some even release daily. Some, still, release several chapters a day. You can follow the novel, forget about it during the week or for a month and end up with quite a stash of chapters to binge.

Being part of something that is being created "in real time". Webnovel authors will often ask for input from their readers, have fun polls where they ask them to vote on certain things, active discord servers, etc. You can also come up with and discuss theories and character growth as the story advances. It's a livelier community than getting a book that's finished and then you just talk about a full, finished project.

Where to look for webnovels?

With webfiction guide not accepting new members, it becomes a bit harder to find an impartial list of quality webnovels. You can still look at their top webfiction guide, but you're likely to have heard about some, if not all of the authors there. So, what to do when you've read through this list already (or browsed through it and nothing caught your attention)?

Muse's Success - This is a "sister site" to webfiction guide that serves as a directory. Webnovels have to be added manually either by fans or the authors and there is a rating system, but I can't vouch for how reliable it is.

If you want to forego directories and go right to the source, however, I'd say RoyalRoad is the biggest site for speculative webfiction. Yes, Wattpad exists, but it's largely for romance (some with speculative elements, of course), but it's also a bit of a mess to navigate and it's very unkind to new authors and works more like a SNS than an actual writing site. RoyalRoad offers better options in terms of following webnovels, looking through and filtering tags, getting rid of fictions you don't want to see, etc. It's a very good platform, overall, the best of its kind, I would say. It does lack a mobile app, but that's being worked on at the moment.

The Tops and Lists

Of course, the first place most people will look at is the tops and most viewed lists on any site. Don't be surprised if you find yourself disappointed with some of these. It happens. Make sure you don't stick to the first page only.

Best Rated - As the name indicates, this is a list of the best rated novels in the entire website. Some of them are already finished and have been so for years, some are still ongoing and have been so for years. You can select the complete only and active only best rated depending on whether you're looking for completed or on-going novels, too.

Trending - This is a list of 50 fictions that are doing the best at the moment, on the site. They call them the "rising stars" because they tend to be newer fictions, but you might find some older ones there as well.

Popular This Week - Again, as the name suggests, the novels that have been most viewed and rated the past week.

These lists tend to be somewhat repetitive. If you're on the top 7 on trending, you get a lot of exposure and that makes you rise on Popular This Week and Best Rated. It's kind of a cycle. So, what to do if you're done reading everything that interested you on these?

Search Feature

Maybe you're out of more popular stuff to read and want to dive deeper. Maybe you like finding hidden gems. Maybe you want to scratch an itch for a very specific genre. Don't fear, the search feature is here. And I'm too. I'm going to link you directly to the speculative genre tag searches. All you have to do is further filter the searches for anything else specific you might want or not want, choose whether you want on-going or complete fictions, pick which content warnings you're fine with. Filter as little or as much as you like! Though I'd say to filter a little bit if you want something specific, don't filter too much or you might end up missing on awesome novels just because the author forgot to tick a box or decided to put in a gore warning for that one scene where someone gets an arm cut out.

Fantasy - Historical Fantasy - Horror Fantasy - Horror - Sci-Fi - Horror Sci Fi

Final Notes

Don't filter for completed if you want finished books but are fine with ongoing series. Authors will usually make a listing for a series but not mark it as completed until the entire thing is done.

Some webnovel authors will self-publish. If you become their patron early on, you'll be getting cool stuff, helping them on their journey and getting a free book at the end. You might even get a character named after you!

Rate, review, all that, but please be kind. A lot of webnovel authors are very young and / or just starting out. If you see a story that you absolutely despise and / or can't read, it's best to move on and click the "don't show me this novel again" button than to rate them a 0.5* and ruin their day. Did you enjoy a story, however? Splurge. Make an account (or log in with google) and slap on that 5* advance review on it.

You're gonna see a lot of, hmm, particular tropes. Don't give up. Please. For the sake of all of us that don't write them and need more readers. I'm begging you.

To paraphrase something another user said on the RR discord: "You tend to find good writing and the same boring old ideas in mainstream fiction, while webfiction is filled with original ideas and worldbuilding but the writing is sometimes not the best". I think that sums it up pretty well. If you're looking for innovative ideas while seeing and helping writers grow at the same time, give webnovels a try.

I hope this guide was useful and if you have any questions, feel free to ask!