#but dead dove is a topic that is very near and dear to me

[5ummit]

So there's this post with a troubling number of notes going around insisting that "dead dove" is not a genre, it doesn't inherently have anything to do with darkfic, and that the tag could be applied to fics that are "100% fluffy where everyone's having a good time" if they happen to contain some abnormal (though entirely non-problematic) content like an unusual kink. The claim is that "dead dove: do not eat" is simply a "courtesy tag" that means "this is a very specific niche, mind the tags." And that's just... wrong.

I wrote up a whole rebuttal to this post since I can't stand misinformation and frankly OP was being kinda rude and judgey on top of their wrongness. But right after I posted my reply, OP turned off reblogs because, and I quote, “some fuckwad added some dumb shit onto this post and it is no longer educational” (the “fuckwad” being me and the “dumb shit” being proof that they were wrong). A couple people have asked me to make a rebloggable version of my response, which I've decided to do because this isn't the first time I've heard similar claims and I want to help set the record straight. However, I'm not linking the original post on the off chance this gains traction because OP did the right thing by turning off reblogs, preventing it from circulating further, and I don't want them to get hate for being unfortunately misinformed.

For those who don't know the history, "dead dove: do not eat" was originally proposed as a catchall "hydra trash party" alternative label for any fandom to warn that the content of a fic may be considered problematic or potentially upsetting and to read the tags carefully so you know what you're getting into and won't complain later. Specifically, DD:DNE was intended to convey that the Bad Things in the fic would likely be reveled in and not explicitly condemned by the narrative, which some people tend to get up in arms about, hence the need for the extra warning in addition to the tags. Don't believe me? Here's the original proposal (note DD:DNE can be found on a handful of fics dated before 2015 but this is when it really took off and became a Thing).

There are currently around 50,000 fics tagged as "dead dove: do not eat" on AO3 and close to 50% of those also include the rape/noncon warning (which of course is not the only type of "dead dove" but is one of the most popular and most consistently tagged). The normal percentage of noncon fics in any given fandom? Around 1-3%. That's a HUGE disparity. So don't tell me that dead dove is just a general "courtesy tag" and doesn't or shouldn't have dark connotations. Even the context of the original joke on Arrested Development has a dark undertone. Micheal Bluth casually finds an animal carcass in a bag in his refrigerator with the label "do not eat", as if eating it would be any sane person's first thought. The whole situation is kinda fucked up. And this fucked up vibe very much carries over into fandom usage too, as was intended.

The claim that dead dove has nothing to do with the content's genre and could just as easily be used to describe a 100% fluffy fic in which everyone's having a good time is straight up Wrong, or at the very least, severely warping the original meaning. Also, when someone these days says that they like/dislike "dead dove" most people in fandom automatically understand what that means because of the consistency of its usage over the years and the way language evolves. Whether you like it or not, "dead dove" IS a genre now and the term does carry a specific connotation. I do agree that DD:DNE should definitely still be used in conjunction with other tags, when applicable, to be explicit about the exact type of fucked up content you may find, but to say that the term is meaningless on its own is patently false and I'm tired of people who don't know what they're talking about pushing this narrative and causing even more confusion.

You want a generic term that also means "mind the tags" and doesn't have any inherently dark connotations? Just use good ol' "what it says on the tin" instead of trying to force dead dove to be something it's not.

[villainworshiper]

Grabber x artist! Gn! Reader HC?

Would be so lovely to see what you come up with, feel free to ignore also!

/knuckle cracking

this is my jam, dear anon I love you for giving me this topic.

The Grabber x Artist GN!reader

Warnings

you might have diabetes after reading this post, mentions of kidnaping, stockholm syndrome, older reader

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

being trapped sure is disturbing enough but not having your sketchbook nearby was torture.

the boredom when he wasn't around was enough to make you start looking for something, anything you could use to draw.

you ended up finding a small piece of chalk in a corner, that would be enough.

you started drawing on the wall next to the bed, flowers and anything you could think of that you would miss from outside, even your pet.

then you drew a pair of blue eyes hidden in the side of that black phone on the wall, that unmistakable mask and his intense gaze were the only thing that haunted your mind after all, every second you were there was because of him.

it was a bit chaotic but your style was more like that, a bunch of mixed feelings in a rushing mind.

you drew until the chalk disappeared from your fingertips.

you woke up by a presence the next morning, he was staring at the wall crouched down with your tray of food in his hands.

"Did you do that?"

shit, you thought you were already dead, he was mad that you messed with his walls.

you nodded with fear in your eyes and sweat on your palms as he pulled off the bottom of his mask to reveal a smile.

"I didn't know you were so into art."

"well you didn't ask anything before you kidnapped me so..." you thought but nothing came out of your mouth, just a nod.

after that he got easier with you.

one day after your meal he gave you a dusty black covered sketchbook and a red pen. (of course, his trademark colors because he can).

he never asked you about your preferred art supplies so he felt insecure.

but when your eyes lit up like a lighthouse he released the air he had in his lungs.

he literally searched every corner of his house to find something for you to draw on.

he stood there while you opened the sketchbook but you couldn't get started.

i mean he was still there and you could feel his gaze on you making your face burn.

you asked him to leave and surprisingly he agreed on the condition that he would come back two hours later to look at your sketches.

that was a very frequent routine since then, he would come down two or more times per day to see how many pages you filled with various things.

he would even give you extra food if he really liked the drawings you did, and of course he does.

he already liked your style, but seeing it on paper really amazed him.

once you asked him for colors, you liked the red pen but you wanted to be a bit more colorfull.

he went to buy you some but when he came back god, if looks could kill he would have disappeared from existence by now.

"What? You said you wanted colors dove."

he gave you crayons, child size crayons.

that sketchbook became your personal art journal.

until you got guess what, an artblock.

you were very upset when he came over and asked you why you weren't drawing today, you explained.

he told you he wasn't sure he could help you with it.

then you had an idea.

you really liked the magician outfit he was wearing when he forced you into the van so...

still thinking it was a questionable request, you asked him to wear that without the mask, if that was okay.

it didn't take long for him to come back dressed like that.

he stood there, near the bed, while you relayed into the wall and began to draw him.

it was the first time he could see you work and you looked so confident, so calm and full of concentration that he lost himself in you and your expressions for a bit.

your lines were so smooth, so free and you finally finished turning the sketch for him to see.

oh no his smile was doing things to make your heart race, you didn't draw him creepy you were actually picturing him as a person, not a monster and he liked it.

you started drawing him more often, maybe so often that your last pages were just filled with him and occasionally you posing for his attempts to draw you.

because sure, he wanted to learn and you were trying to teach him but you were a horrible teacher and he was a stubborn man when things didn't go as planned.

by the way, he never erased those drawings on the wall.

[paralumanleadmehome]

It’s been quite some time since I’ve last joined a contest and I honestly missed this feeling of trying to figure out what to write, how to write it, and how to deliver it exactly as you need to to impress the judges. It’s been so so long and welp. I’ve grown rusty and this is definitely not proof-read but all the same, thank you to @queenangst and everyone who had made this possible.

You brought me back a feeling I haven’t felt in so long.

This is my entry to queenangst’s BNHA gen contest: Finding Home 

(please see under the cut as this has 3.5k words and could be very long)

Finding Home

o.

It started out as a legend – two souls separated at creation, two souls that make up one whole, two halves of one soul completed upon connection.

Two becoming one.

But legends are legends for a reason – mythical, mysterious, only with a hint of a truth.

Soulmarks began appearing even before the dawn of quirks –little symbols that litter the body, one that you could only call your own. One that only you could share to whom you so ever desire. It varies in shapes and colors, some being a butterfly tinged in red and orange, others an ocean wave the shade of green, and to some more, it covers a palm, a thigh, a foot. Unlike its legendary counterpart, however, a soulmark does not lead you to a soulmate. Instead, it leads you to one where you can feel whole.

A soulmark is a symbol of love and friendship given in trust and good faith – one that cannot be taken, one that only be passed on.

A soulmark is a symbol of warmth and everlasting connection – one that is stronger than flesh and blood.

A soulmark is a symbol of home – one that you choose for yourself.

One person can have as many as the stars in the sky and as few as the petals of a clover.

And Izuku? Izuku only has his own, his mother’s, and the black mark of one Bakugo Katsuki.

After all, no one wants to share the mark of a useless, quirkless, little Deku.

And so, however sacred, Kacchan had cut his own connection with Izuku, both of them bearing the ashen remnants of a once golden sun and a viridian shooting star – the pain of which Izuku found more unbearable than the explosions that kissed his skin.

And Izuku no longer believed in soulmates.

Not when the world was so intent on pushing him down and pushing him away, not when no one would stand up for him and with him, not when the only love and care he had ever known came from the woman who had loved him the most.

So Izuku never shared the mark on his wrist with anyone, never the light of the shooting star that brightens up the dark sky, never the stardust that falls on the earth, never the ray of hope he had held even in the darkest of times, keeping it hidden in long sleeves, wristwatches, and bandages. And at all times he keeps covered the blackened sun that rests on his heart, refusing to see the ashes of a friendship no longer alive, refusing to acknowledge the searing pain that would accompany the sight. Instead, as always, he keeps close the mint green lotus that rests on the base of his right ear, his eyes never not seeing it each morning, afternoon, and night – the one and only reminder that he is loved.

He is loved.

He is loved.

And he lets himself be content with that.

i.

The first of many soulmarks that Izuku will treasure came from the man that he had idolized his whole life.

Yagi Toshinori, for all his time as the Symbol of Peace (and more the time he had spent alive), only carries with him four marks, not counting his own. Izuku doesn’t ask when he sees. He doesn’t think it is polite to, especially when most people aren’t interested in bonding with a quirkless child (and although All Might already knew he was quirkless and didn’t deny him this chance to train, the man’s initial denial of his dream still stings). He doesn’t ask about the faded crescent moon that rests on his collarbone (it isn’t nice to ask about the dead, after all), nor about the black spaded horse on his left ankle (he was shocked at first, upon seeing this lost connection, and his heart ached at the thought that even All Might had to bear the pain of losing someone he had once loved so dearly). He doesn’t ask about the violet sigil of a fish on his shoulder blade nor the diamond glasses near his scar. He doesn’t ask about any of these things.

Instead he asks about experiences – what was it like to be a hero of his caliber? Was he ever afraid of anything? Was there ever a time that he was unable to save someone? What was he like as a student? Did Dagobah Beach mean something special to him? Things that the world weren’t privy to – things that he didn’t know were personal.

Things that would’ve only been known if All Might had chosen him as his soulmate.

And All Might did.

One day, at Dagobah Beach, after the world had finally met the man behind All Might, Toshinori Yagi had offered his ocean blue sunflower tucked on the opposite side of where the faded moon resided and had asked Izuku if he had wanted to carry his soulmark.

And Izuku… flinched.

Because to hold another’s soulmark would mean to be aware of them at all times – to feel their warmth despite the distance, to know with one brush of a hand the feelings that lay in their hearts, to give them comfort even in the presence of an absence.

To bear a soulmark is to be eternally connected.

And Izuku had been burned by the loss of it.

And he is scared, afraid, terrified – because to be All Might’s successor is one thing. To be given his quirk and his legacy is a dream come true but to be his soulmate? To be near him? To know him and be known by him in return? It’s terrifying.

And yet… and yet… Izuku takes this fear and lets it be known.

In quiet whispers, jumbled words, and a steady stream of tears.

Because deep down, Izuku longs to be connected.

And it is in the act of letting someone close does he remember what it feels like to be loved.

ii.

The second one, surprisingly, came in the form of a little girl.

A quiet, frightened, injured little girl who had ran away from a monster of a man.

Eri bumped into him during his first patrol with Lemillion and this mess of child with a stature so small and eyes too scared clung to him for dear life – and Izuku’s soul ached.

Izuku took one look at the man with the bird mask, one look at Lemillion, one look at this little girl, and made up his mind.

“Eri,” he whispered, “do you trust me?”

It was a stupid question, he knew, but a soulmark is something to be given in trust – a treasure to be received in good faith.

“You’re good,” Eri answered just as softly, little hands clinging to his costume. “You’re warm.”

Izuku doesn’t know if Eri feels the same pull, the same fierce protectiveness that forces its way into his heart, and he knows that this is more his own desire to keep her safe than any other force telling him that she was a part of his own soul.

Because Eri mattered regardless.

And Eri was worth keeping safe.

So for the first time in a long time, Izuku removes the bandage that hides his own soulmark and he shows it to Eri.

“This will keep you safe for me,” he tells her, “this will let you know I’m here.”

In the background he hears the tense conversation coming to a halt, sees the way the man’s eyes turn to look at Eri, and he knows he doesn’t have time.

“This is a promise.”

And Eri stares at it for little while, hands reaching to the shooting star. “A promise,” she repeats, and with a little nod and hopeful eyes, Izuku places a finger on her arm, just beneath her sleeves, and let their foreheads touch.

The words come to him unbidden, the way words do when you give someone a piece of your soul – a promise to be fulfilled, a wish to be granted, a part of you that will forever be a part of them.

“I will always come for you.”

And he did.

iii.

Not counting his own nor Kacchan’s, Izuku has two soulmarks on his body.

One from his mother, another from All Might.

He didn’t ask for Eri’s and she hadn’t offered in return.

Eri was as afraid of her soulmark as much as she is afraid of her quirk.

Cursed, she calls the silver dove wreathed in yellow petals on her ankle. Cold, she thinks of it. It will still be a long way to go, Izuku assumes, but as long as Eri can feel his warmth, his presence, that would be enough.

The third one, interestingly enough, was in the image of an aquamarine heart, with its curves jagged and cornered, just as a gem so precious and true.

Kouta gave it to him as gift, as a thank you, as something for Izuku to remember him by.

Kouta didn’t ask for Izuku’s own soulmark, didn’t even breathe a word about it. Instead the little boy ran up to him, little arms wrapping him in a hug, and said,

“I’ll always be cheering you on.”

And when Izuku sees the way Kouta’s soulmark shine, he accepted it without a second thought.

And when Kouta pulled away afterwards, face pulled in a frown, Izuku tried to ignore the fear that stabbed his own heart. He wondered if he would make a world record, an ashen mark as soon as he had received it, but Kouta dispelled his fears just as easily.

“That felt weird,” Kouta said. Izuku blinked at him, his mind taking a minute to process, until he caught up. Then he laughed and laughed because he feels exactly what Kouta feels – the disappointment, the confusion, the curiosity… and the underlying overwhelming emotion of it all.

Unbridled joy.

The elation of having someone know you – of being accepted, treasured, remembered.

He also felt the embarrassment that followed as Kouta turned as red as his shoes.

iv.

The soulmark exchange with Shinsou had been quiet.

It happened on the night of their second year when they both stumbled upon each other in the kitchen at the forsaken 2am hour did Shinsou spring up the topic.

“You don’t have that many soulmarks, do you?” the question was genuine, as far as Izuku can tell, and although the boy was rough around the edges, he knew it was due to the fact that Shinsou had so little support in life and was untrusting of all that Izuku had felt a kindred spirit in that regard.

They have observed the people around them, of course, and have noticed that everyone at least had five. A family member, a best friend from childhood, a classmate they never got lost in contact with.

Izuku stole a glance at the back of his right hand, at the blue heart settled at base of his forefinger and thumb and hummed an agreement. “No, I don’t,” he agreed, letting stiff fingers be warmed by his tea. He doesn’t return the question to Shinsou, knowing that it was a touchy subject for the other boy, but he did wonder, “Why do you ask?”

They don’t talk about it much, these colorful marks on their skin. They don’t talk about how a brush of hand over the little symbols can feel as warm as an embrace, how fear isn’t so scary when someone else sends you courage, how silence isn’t deafening when someone knows to listen.

It is in moments like these that they listen.

Izuku listens to Shinsou’s own quiet humming, the way the gears in his mind seem to move, the way he figures out how to phrase the words he wants to say next. And Izuku has been thinking about it – had been for the past few months.

Will his classmates ever want a piece of his soul?

He could tell that Uraraka does. He could tell that Iida would want one, too, but a soulmark is something that’s rarely asked for due to its sacred nature – it is freely given, after all, and never to be taken lightly. And Izuku had never offered. He had wanted to, of course, but he knows how messy his mind can get. He knows how anxious he can be. It’s why he had given his to Eri in a pace that is both hidden and seen, something she had to reach out for so she could feel. Izuku could not yet know what Eri is thinking or feeling, nor will he ever have inkling to unless she so desired, and Izuku is completely fine with that.

After all, a soulmark is a connection of souls – but it didn’t have to be an exchange. What it did mean though is that for one who bears the soul of another is to be aware of them – to be able to feel their warmth and develop an understanding of their soul. It is not to read their minds nor to know everything about them, but it is about the intimacy of knowing someone and being known.

A commitment.

A promise.

Like an artwork waiting to be completed, like a dance you can take to heart, a soulmark is connection that bridges the gap between someone you know and someone you choose forever.

“I don’t get it,” Shinsou finally said, and Izuku turned his eyes to him, the question lost in his tongue. “You have a strong and flashy quirk, you have so many people who love you and would fight the world for you, heck Uraraka and Iida would probably murder someone for you if you ask them, and yet you don’t have their marks and… they don’t have yours. I know I’m not good at this thing but at the very least, people give their marks away as easy as they’re giving candy. And you guys are pretty close, so I don’t get it.”

And the pain of burning that bridge is the same as losing a piece of your soul. Izuku absentmindedly reaches for his heart, the ashen remains of Kacchan’s soulmark embedded on his skin still, and he tries his best to forget.

Izuku looks instead at the clock in the kitchen, noting that it’s only 2:17am, and asks if Shinsou would like to listen to a story.

And they left the kitchen at 5:00am, only to crash in the couch, heart heavy yet full, mind settled and secured, souls at ease, and both boys sharing a mark they never expected to kiss their skin.

v.

The night Izuku had laid bare his soul for someone else to see, when it was him who had reached out first before someone else had offered, when he had done it so willingly and freely, it felt as if something has shifted within him – and in all the remaining years he had spent in UA, he was able to garner a couple more soulmarks for his own. He finally had the pink milky way that was Uraraka’s, the red lighting storm that was Iida’s, and Todoroki’s fiery white snowflake.

And to think that before all of this, before meeting All Might, before knowing these people and being known in return, Izuku was afraid and alone – afraid of the vulnerability that came along with letting people in.

To think that all he had ever thought about when he thought of soulmates were fireworks kissing his skin, long fingers bruising his arms, and taunts and jeers haunting his every waking moment – but now he is surrounded by love and warmth. Now when he thinks of soulmates, he thinks of mochi in the common kitchen, tea in hand; he thinks of morning jogs and healthy breakfast; he thinks of cold soba and cats; he thinks of unicorns and sprinkles and little kids and coloring books; he thinks of training sessions and laughter and peace.

Now when Izuku thinks of soulmates, he thinks of home.

And speaking of home, he can’t wait to get back to their apartment and give his mom the biggest of hugs. They had always called even when he was away and even when they would consistently send little taps through their soulmark, nothing still beats the warmth of a real embrace – and this is what Izuku fixes his mind on as he cleans out his dorm room, packing away every picture frame, books, notebooks, clothes, and figurines. Graduation is in a few days and after that, their debut to hero society. None of them would have enough time to clear out by then.

Izuku packs away the memories, just as he did each item that reminds him of it, and keeps them close in his heart. He packs away the ten million headband, the plushies from the cultural festival, the cards he had received from Eri and Kouta, and he tries his best not to feel emotional. He didn’t want to flood the dorms one last time, after all, but he did think it would be nice to have Aizawa-sensei scold him for being a problem child through and through but ultimately, it was the knock at his door that helps him succeed.

A knock, quiet and soft, and he opens the door to find Kacchan standing at the other side.  

Their relationship had improved over the years.

Kacchan is… less angry now, more settled. He’s still fiery and explosive but he doesn’t lash out anymore. Kirishima, Kaminari, the Bakusquad had been good to him and for him and Izuku had never been gladder about it. He had long stopped dreaming of the day that their relationship would be fixed – he and Kacchan had grown up, grown apart, and even when they drift back together, he is well aware that it would never be the same way again.

He doesn’t ask for it to.

He loves Kacchan, yes, with all his heart, but Izuku now knows that love does not have to be reciprocated for it to be real – but to still be loved in return is a precious treasure he keeps close.

“Hey, Kacchan, do you need something?”

And Kacchan looks at him, face pensive, mouth opening and closing, thinking and grasping and failing to think of the words he wants to say, and something in Izuku feels warm. After some time, the other boy settles with, “Are you busy?”

And if it was at any other time before, Izuku would’ve dropped everything that he had been doing and say no, he wasn’t busy, of course he had the time – but Izuku’s eyes sway to soulmarks on his arm and he steals a look at the digital clock by his table.

“I have thirty minutes,” was what Izuku told him. “I promised Todoroki we’d drop by the store to get his favorite soba since they’re not available near his house. I have time tomorrow morning thought if that works for you. I can cancel the morning jog with Iida if – “

“Thirty minutes is fine,” Kacchan answered back, cutting his rumbling off. It wasn’t harsh or angry. Just… very Kacchan-ish.

“Okay. Do you waant to step in? it’s a bit messy though, I still haven’t finished packing.”

And when Izuku heard the small tsk as he moved aside for Kacchan to pass through, he knew that the other boy won’t mind his mess. He felt a little grateful at that, to not be judged within the confines of his small room. They were silent for a few more second but it wasn’t the kind of silence that would make him uncomfortable. It was companionable, to say the least, and Izuku began picking up the pieces he had left before Kacchan had knocked and continued his packing. In another minute, Kacchan was helping him.

“Are you bringing the bookshelf home?”

“Nope, Aizawa-sensei said I could leave it here. Are you taking yours?”

“Thinking about it. Mine’s too small and I don’t want to waste money on something I can recycle. Do you have bubble wrap for the merch?”

“In the third drawer by the study table. I have newspapers too if that’s better.”

“Oh, Kacchan, that one goes in the other box.”

“Why? What’s the difference?”

“All my signed books are in one place.”

“Just how many posters do you fucking have?”

“Oh, come on, don’t pretend you don’t have just as many.”

“I’m not a hero-worshipping nerd like you, dumbass.”

“Says the guy who zonks out at 8pm.”

“Fuck you, asshole!”

“Kacchan, that’s limited edition!”

“I’m sorry.”

“…”

“For everything.”

“…”

“It was pretty messed up, the things I did, and I know sorry won’t fix this.”

“Can you pass me the tape, Kacchan?”

“…”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to forgive me.”

“Please put this box by the bed.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“…”

“You’re right, I don’t have to forgive you.”

“…”

“But I already did.”

“Deku…”

“It won’t fix what’s broken and it won’t stop the sting from the soulmark but…”

“…”

“We’re better now, aren’t we?”

“…”

“Kacchan, we’re better now.”

“You missed the night light.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“…”

“…”

“And it’s only going to get better, right?”

“…”

“…”

“Of course.”

“You’re still a sappy piece of shit.”

“Well, I’m not the one who’s crying, am I?”

“Fuck you.”

“Whatever you say, Kacchan.”

[a-corndog-named-schibbs]

Fangs, Fur, and Phantoms - Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Next Chapter

The mystery gang launches their first investigation while Shiro and Allura visit an old friend

Note: Contains discussion of religion.  Coran works as an (admittedly very chill) priest and some of the topics they discuss have theological implications.  Nothing too heavy, just thought I’d give you guys a heads-up

Also, as always, contains minor character death and generally scary shit (it is a supernatural au after all)

Enjoy!

“Just so we’re clear, if we end up getting arrested for tampering with a crime scene, I’m going on record and saying I was against this idea.”

“They can’t arrest you for anything, Hunk,” said Keith as the group hiked through the woods, “You’re dead.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem very fair,” said Lance, “I’m dead and the police have never had any trouble arresting me.”

Pidge was leading the group, holding up a compact mirror like she was trying to get a better signal on her cell phone, “Keith, are we getting close?”

“It’s just over this hill,” said Keith, “I can smell it.”

“Ugh, me too,” said Lance, wrinkling his nose, “You’d think the smell would have dissipated by now.”

They must have been getting close because now even Hunk could smell the stench and, as far as he could tell, his senses had diminished after death.  It smelled a bit like a zoo exhibit, something about it suggesting an animal to him, only it must have been far stronger because whatever was left of Hunk’s fight-or-flight response was kicking in hard.  He had the distinct impression of wanting to be anywhere but here.

Pidge was the first to reach the top of the hill.  She looked over the rise, froze, and immediately dove down so that she was laying in the underbrush.

“Shit!” she whispered, “Cops.”

The boys all ducked down and joined her, looking cautiously over the hill.  Sure enough, the area where Griffin’s body had been found was bordered off by police tape stretched between trees while two bored-looking police officers stood guard.

“How are we gonna get rid of them?” asked Pidge, “I’ve got to be near the place this guy died in order for this to work.”

“I think I have an idea,” said Lance, and he leaned over and whispered something into Keith’s ear.

“Are you kidding?!  No!” said Keith.

“Do you have a better plan?”

“I’m not doing that, it’s humiliating.”

“Come on, Keith, this was your idea.  You’ve gotta work with me here.”

“Ugh, fine.  But you owe me after this.”

“That’s the spirit, babe!” said Lance.  He reached over and flicked Keith on the forehead, “Now, think angry thoughts.”

“Do I even want to know what you’re doing?” asked Hunk.

“You’ll see in a minute,” said Lance, before turning back to Keith, “Think about all those times Romelle stole the last ice cream bar.  Think about the time I forgot date night last month.”

Keith huffed and growled and began to change, expanding into his wolf form.  Hunk looked down, not particularly keen on watching his friend’s bones shift beneath his skin.  Once it sounded like Keith had calmed down a bit, he looked back up and found himself staring at a wolf.

“Keith?  Are you still you?” said Lance cautiously.

The wolf made a nodding motion.

“Great, now I need you to run in…” Lance indicated a path that would take Keith right past the policemen, “that direction.”

Immediately, Keith took off and Lance raced after him, running right past the police.

“Cosmo!” Lance called, “Cosmo, come back here!  Come to daddy!”

“What the…?” Hunk heard one of the officers say.

“Hey!” Lance called to the cops, “Hey, can you help me?  My dog got away from me!  I don’t want him running onto the road!”

“Sir?  Sir, your dog should really be on a leash!” yelled one officer.

“Jesus, it’s big,” the other officer said to himself, “The hell kind of breed is that?”

“Come on, let’s go!”

There was the sound of feet running though the undergrowth and when Hunk looked over the hill again, the two officers were gone.

“Well, that worked,” said Pidge, “Come on, they’ll be back soon.”

As expected, the body had already been taken off the sight, but there was still evidence of the gruesome scene: dried blood making rusty patches on the ground, saplings and tree branches newly snapped, and that horrible scent permeating everything.

“I think it was here,” said Pidge, indicating a patch of ground that had the biggest bloodstain.  She knelt down next to it and pulled out her compact mirror, “Fair warning, I’m about to go into a trance-like state.  If I lose control or it seems like it’s hurting me, I need you to shake me out of it.”

“I will,” said Hunk.

Pidge nodded, satisfied.  She looked down at the mirror and began to mutter incantations.

After a few moments, Hunk was pretty sure he could feel another presence.  Something no longer alive like him, but not as fully formed, something that had once been a living soul but had lost its definition.  Hunk was intensely reminded of his existence before Pidge had moved him to the bakery, a shadow of himself, only full of restlessness at being incomplete.

Pidge stared hard into the mirror, concentrating.  Hunk watched as her focused stare turned into a frown.  Then, her eyes widened.

She must be getting something, Hunk thought.

He watched as Pidge continued to take in whatever the mirror was showing her.  Her eyes flicked back and forth across the surface and her breathing began to get heavier.  There was fear in her expression, more fear than Hunk had ever seen on her before.

“Pidge?”

Pidge did not respond to him.  Her next breath came out as a sob.

“Pidge, you okay?  What do you see?”

Pidge opened her mouth and screamed, a shriek that pierced right through him.  Immediately, he reached out and knocked the mirror from her hand.  She swayed and he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“Hey!  Hey, Pidge, look at me!”

She slumped forward and was only prevented from falling through Hunk because his focus was already on her.  She leaned against him while he whispered, “It’s okay, it’s okay” and smoothed her hair down.

In the distance, the sound of Lance’s voice reached him.

“I just can’t thank you enough, officers…”

“Next time, we expect you to keep your pet on a leash.  A dog that big shouldn’t be running around loose in these woods.”

“Of course, sir, I understand.”

Shit, they couldn’t be found here.  Come on, Hunk, if you can carry five trays of muffins at once, you can carry your girlfriend.  Carefully, cautiously, Hunk picked Pidge up and ducked under the police tape, returning to the spot where the group had previously hidden.

Lance and Keith joined him a moment later, Keith shifting back into his human form.

“Cosmo?” he said, “Really?  That’s the best dog name you can come up with?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly have time to workshop it,” said Lance, before noticing Pidge, “Hey, what happened?  Is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Hunk, “Pidge?  Pidge, can you hear me?”

Pidge stirred and Hunk set her down on the ground so she could sit up.

“What happened?” he asked, “Did you see anything?”

“I did,” Pidge nodded, still swaying from dizziness, “I…I think I saw James Griffin’s death.”

“Well, what happened to him?” asked Keith.

“He was running from some kind of animal.  It was a…a…I don’t even know what it was.  It was dark and he couldn’t see well, but it…it was chasing him and…and it was so big, guys, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen.  At one point, he looked back at it and it looked at him and it…” Pidge shuddered.

“Shh, it’s okay,” said Hunk, “You take it easy.  I’ll carry you back if you want.”

“I don’t know about you guys,” said Lance, “but I’ve got more questions than answers now.”

But Pidge shook her head, “Guys, whatever this thing is…if it’s loose in these woods, then we’re all in danger.”

***

Shiro and Allura found Coran in the sanctuary, setting up for evening Mass.

“Welcome to St. Groggery’s,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m a bit busy at the moment, but if you’re looking for information on the church, there should be a newsletter available in the welcome center.”

“Coran, it’s me,” said Allura.

Coran turned and a smile spread across his face.  He jogged down the aisle and gave Allura a big hug.

“Dear girl, it’s good to see you!  I almost forgot what you look like!  You’re doing well, I hope?”

“As well as can be expected,” said Allura, “I’d like you to meet my partner, Takashi Shirogane.”

“Call me Shiro.  Allura’s told me so much about you.”

Coran gave Shiro a handshake, “Pleasure to meet you.  What brings you two back to New Altea?”

“A case we’re working on,” said Allura, “We just stopped by to say hi.”

“It’s the Griffin boy, isn’t it?  Nasty business, that.”

“Did you know him?” asked Shiro.

“Not personally,” said Coran, “His folks were Presbyterian.  Not that I hold that against them, of course,” he added quickly.

“Let me ask this, then.  You haven’t heard anything about him from…higher sources?”

Coran raised an eyebrow, “Allura told you about my little party trick, did she?”

Shiro shrugged, “It came up once or twice.”

“Then I assume you didn’t just drop by to say hi.”

“We just want to make sure we’ve got as much information going into this case as possible.  Anything you can tell us would be extremely helpful.”

Coran sat down heavily in a nearby pew and motioned for the others to do the same, “What you need to understand about my gift is that it’s not a two-way conversation.  It’s more like television, you know?  The boys upstairs send messages, images really, and I receive them.  I can’t just play twenty questions whenever I want.”

“Well then,” said Allura, “Have they sent you any messages lately?”

Coran thought for a moment.  “They did.  In fact…I think they may have sent a message for you specifically.”

Shiro and Allura leaned forward.

“Mind you, I have no idea whether this has anything to do with the case you’re investigating.  But last night, I had a dream about a beast.”

“What kind of beast?” Shiro sat forward.

“I couldn’t really tell.  That’s the annoying thing about dreams, once you try to remember what happened, it leaks out of your mind like a sieve.  I just remember a big, dark animal of some kind.  And when I say big, I mean big.  This thing was so big, it picked up the entire town in its claws and swallowed it down like a handful of popcorn.”

“Sounds a bit bigger than a werewolf to me,” said Allura, just loud enough for Shiro to hear.

“Needless to say, it rattled me a bit.  Apocalyptic visions of a beast are usually a bad sign in my profession.  There was something else, though.  Four individuals appeared in my dream.  A leader, a protector, a scholar, and a wanderer.  Whoever they are, it seems like they’ll be important to you.”

“That’s it?” said Shiro, “Can you give us anything besides that?  Names?  Physical descriptions?  Anything besides their D&D classes?”

“Listen, I got all this from a dream, not a dating profile.  If you want more information, you can ask the higher-ups themselves.  Who knows, maybe they’ll give you my job and I can finally retire.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Coran, really,” said Allura, patting his hand reassuringly, “Shiro and I should probably go though, we’ve got an interview to conduct.  We’ll get lunch together sometime before I leave.”

Coran nodded, “Excellent idea.  Good luck on your case, by the way.  If you need any help, I’ll be more than happy to lend it.”

As they were about to walk out the door, Shiro turned back, “One last question?”

“Of course.”

“Your visions…how do you know that’s what they are?  How do you know they’re not just weird dreams?”

Coran thought for a moment, “Do you know how I knew that vision was meant for you?”

“How?”

“Because you were in it.  As clearly as I see you now.  The face, the voice, the prosthetic, everything.  Here’s the thing though, I’ve seen pictures of you, but only your face.  I’ve never seen your prosthetic before and Allura’s never mentioned it to me.  Until today, I had no idea it existed.  But you had it in my dream.”

[up-sideand-down]

Here We Go Again Ch. 3

Still cheesy, still makes me happy. 

AO3 Link

Sephiroth tugged absent mindedly at his ponytail as he thought over his decision once again. He had put off making this decision for as long as he could, but now everything else in his life was in order. His stand-in was ready. Everything was filed correctly (and in triplicate). Even his email had an auto-reply stating he was currently unavailable. The only thing that wasn’t done was the little check box on the RSVP site sent by a boy on another continent. The entire form was filled out…but he couldn’t check yes or no.

Behind him a suitcase had been packed and unpacked. Shirts and pants were scattered on the bed. But still he sat, still horribly undecided and tugging at his ponytail staring at his laptop screen.

He jumped when he heard his door open, quickly tossing his hair over his shoulder. Angeal and Genesis walked in. Genesis stopped when he saw the disarray. Sephiroth felt the urge to tidy, but restrained himself.

“Oh dear,” Genesis said. Sephiroth just sighed.

“What in Hel’s name is this all about?” Angeal asked.

“A girl,” Sephiroth said. He didn’t blame them for the concerned look they shared.

It started very simply. Sitting at a campfire in Wutai, with his fellow SOLDIERs licking their wounds after the last failed attack. Most of them were in poor spirits, but most could easily be cheered up with their favorite game (invented by one Genesis Rhapsodos).

The game was coined “What if” and it only had one real player. The SOLDIERs posed a question to their quietest and strangest member…and he would always answer.

Tonight most of the things were about what Sephiroth would eat if provisions ran out; which was almost anything, and had gotten some laughs out of a few of them, as well as some things about where to find protein that they didn’t really want to know.

And then the game switched to their second favorite topic for Sephiroth: romance. The man just didn’t understand it, and it was somewhat amusing to watch him muddle his way through. He wasn’t hopeless just…uneducated.

But tonight the would find out just how romantic he was.

“What if you do find someone who can stand you?” someone asked, “how would you know. What is that fantasy you have that tells you this person is the one?” Most agreed, it was a good question, one they hadn’t thought of too much.

But Sephiroth had.

“You know in those crappy movies ShinRa sometimes brings over to have us watch and raise morale…well…every time there’s romance, before the kissing and bad acting…they hold hands, and they look at each other. I figure, if I can find someone who can hold my hand, weave their fingers with mine, and not pull away…then maybe there’s a chance.”

And their camp was quiet for a long few minutes. Each one of them thinking that Sephiroth really did have the best answer for them.

None of them quite realized that Sephiroth’s romantic answer was because he had no idea what to do after that. He had honestly never thought that far.

But he’d had those thoughts about a lot of people. Most of his SOLDIERs knew he got crushes easily and often. Some were flitting, some haunted him. But he found himself fantasizing about holding hands with so many people, once he was allowed to actually interact with them.

Two weeks later Sephiroth and Genesis were involved with an all out brawl with each other. Most people attested that Genesis went crazy and Sephiroth was mostly defending himself, but rules were rules. Both were demoted until the investigation was completed. Angeal Hewley was the highest ranked SOLDIER now.

Three days later Angeal picked Sephiroth to go to Nibelhiem. Sephiroth was cleared of charges and allowed to go.

Four days after that, he met his newest crush. Thinking about holding Cloud Strife’s hand lasted more than just a few hours. Then more than a few days.

He really wanted to hold that girl’s hand…and it just made him feel inordinately stupid. He couldn’t talk to her…and he kept thinking about what some of the SOLDIERs would say around those campfires.

Girls all wanted heroes, someone to sweep them off their feet. They all fantasized about it: doing some great big heroic deed and then having the “my hero” moment. Always so close, always out of reach.

So while his tongue twisted in his mouth and he never really could approach her, Sephiroth fantasized about saving their dry humored mountain guide and her calling Sephiroth her hero and then…

They’d hold hands.

Sephiroth honestly couldn’t imagine the two of them going any father, no matter how much he wanted it to happen, but holding hands with a girl like Cloud…that would be more than enough for the likes of him.

Sephiroth was fantasizing about that “my hero” fantasy with Cloud all during the truck ride Angeal more or less ordered him to take with Cloud. He would have volunteered…if he hadn’t been so tongue tied after hearing Cloud sing.

She really did have a nice voice. It sounded like voice more people should hear, at least in his opinion.

The fantasy had expanded somewhat. Sephiroth still saved the girl, but now they held hands and she serenaded him a little. He wasn’t sure with what song, but it was definitely pretty.

Not even Cloud turning green had much of an effect on it. Sephiroth had seen plenty of worse things (and eaten them too according to his peers). He often wondered if he had been more alert if the next five minutes would have changed at all.

Even snapping out of his daydream, he had about a second to prepare. He heard it in that one second before it hit. He used it as best he could.

He dove at Cloud and pushed her up against the side of the truck. He used some of the emergency netting to brace himself when it impacted the truck and they rolled. Cloud crashed into him gravity turned around them, but any gear in the truck would hit him and not her…and that’s all he thought about.

The truck landed on its side. Sephiroth pushed himself back up.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Cloud looked shaken, but unharmed. She nodded her head.

“Bumps and bruises,” she confirmed, “the driver…”

“I’m alright!” the voice called from the front.

“Stay here,” Sephiroth said. He got his sword and crawled out. He had to spin almost immediately to avoid being attacked by the Fangs waiting out there.

There were three circling him. He caught one as it lunged, but didn’t see a second did the same and was knocked on his back. His sword clattered to the ground just out of his reach. Jaws snapped near his face, but he pushed it back. The next snap was around his arm. He reached harder, fingertips touching the hilt. Jaws snapped again, now millimeters from his face.

And then there was a gunshot. The Fang was deadweight on top of him. Sephiroth looked back.

Cloud was standing there, barrel of her gun following that last surviving wolf. She fired and it fell as well.

Sephiroth felt a surge of failure. It had been a chance. He could have had that moment, but as always it was out of his reach. He pushed the dead fang off of him. Cloud’s hand was suddenly  in front of him. He blinked at it.

“You okay?” she asked. He took her hand, let her help him pull him up.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“That bite doesn’t look fine,” she said.

“We should right the truck,” Sephiroth said, “I don’t think the wolves knocked us off the road.”

“That would be a dragon,” Cloud said. A roar sounded in the valley to prove her point.

“We really should right the truck,” Sephrioth said, “they’re built to take a tumble…I hope.”

“But once we’re in town I am taking a look at your arm,” she said.

They arrived a little too late. Angeal and Blake had driven the dragon off by then. The only major loss…was most of the rooms at the inn.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Angeal said, “we can rough it if we have to. We have tents and warm clothes.” Cloud snorted over where she was cleaning out Sephiroth’s arm.

“You know we can do that,” Angeal said.

“You know from my file I was one of the medics,” Cloud said, “and I don’t mind. He probably kept me from getting squashed by the truck when we rolled.”

“I’d say I owe you two,” Sephiroth said, “one for this and one for the wolves.” Cloud just shrugged as if she saved people from getting their heads bitten off every day.

“This will sting,” she warned him. He was distracted by a knock. Tifa, their former guide was watching them.

“Dad sent me,” she said, “said he’s sorry about the inn…and that you could stay in our guest room if you wanted Commander Hewley.” Angeal opened his mouth

“Oh go on Angeal,” Blake said, “Sephiroth and I can get cozy for a few nights.”

“Actually…there is one room that’s livable in the inn,” Tifa said, “only one bed though.”

“I could sleep on the floor,” Sephiroth offered. Cloud seemed quiet. She picked up some borrowed material and cast a gentle Cure. It was actually quite precise for someone outside of SOLDIER.

“I can sleep with my mother,” Cloud said at last, “or our sofa. There’s one more bed.”

“This has all kind of worked out,” Angeal said, “alright, I’ll take your dad on his offer. Blake can have the inn all to himself, and Seph…if you don’t mind using more of Cloud’s gentle hospitality.”

“I swear you will hardly notice I’m there,” Sephiroth said. Cloud had started wrapping his arm, just a bit of bandage until the cure had finished.

“You don’t know my mother,” Cloud said, tying it off.

Cloud’s mother, it turned out, was raring to hand out some hospitality. The moment he walked in he found himself seated and with a plate in front of him.

“I can eat at the inn,” he assured her, “ShinRa will pay for my meals.”

“I know their cooking,” Mrs. Strife said, “and mine is better. There’s plenty of stew to go around. ShinRa can just pay Cloud a little more and the inn a little less.” And…she wasn’t really lying. It didn’t help that she made it seem like his bowl was bottomless either. It was hard to get her to stop, especially when she and Cloud began to bicker. Not really a fight, just a gentle argument that neither really expected to win.

“You are not giving me the thick quilt,” Mrs. Strife said to her daughter, “we have a guest.”

“You know what cold does to your joints and there’s a cold front coming in tonight,” Cloud argued back.

“I have spare blankets,” Sephiroth tried to offer.

“Probably some of that thin military crap they sent home with Cloud,” Mrs. Strife said, “Chiquitita, I have you and our radiator. It’s always colder in the downstairs bedroom anyway.” And on they fought. The whole time Sephiroth could only think he had gotten the upper hand getting to stay in the Strife house. He’d never felt so pampered.

He woke up the next morning a bit disoriented, but very comfortable. He realized what had woken him was a voice on the other side of the wall. He heard running water and realized it was a shower and someone singing on the other side.

He got that strange warm feeling when he realized it was Cloud singing to herself in the shower.

“I’m nothing special. In fact, I’m a bit of a bore.” He wasn’t sure how he felt right now.

“If I tell a joke, you’ve probably heard it before.” He had thought he’d always dream about having the my hero moment…but now he had felt it in reverse.

And he really liked it. Really, really liked it. From the moment Cloud helped him back on his feet he had felt completely enamored. He hadn’t known these things could work either way.

“So I say thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing.”

He hadn’t really ever been rescued before. He’d always had to get out of those situations on his own.

“Thanks for all the joy they’re bringing.”

And he had assumed he would have to get other people out of them as well, thus the times when he would have to be the hero.

“Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty? What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we?”

But Cloud hadn’t hesitated. In fact…she wasn’t really the type of girl to sit and wait for her hero. She was more the type to…step up and be the hero. And that was exactly what she had done. So that silly little daydream was different now.

“So I say thank you for the music, for giving it to me.”

And Sephiroth sat quietly in bed, listening to his latest crush sing, and daydreamed about her taking his hand and dragging him off to safety, because he absolutely would follow her.

“Okay this story is taking to long,” Genesis said, “I don’t care about the whole lead up. I don’t need it to solve this problem about the time you fell in love while I went insane.”

“Oh,” Sephiroth said, feeling foolish.

“I just need to know…do you still love her?” Genesis asked.

“Well…she’s probably still angry with me…and I don’t blame her,” Sephiroth started.

“Quit the bullshit,” Genesis said, “Do you still like her?”

“…Yes,” Sephiroth admitted. He still so desperately did, still sometimes thought about her taking his hand and dragging him off.

“There you go,” Genesis said, ignoring Angeal’s disapproving stare.

And Sephiroth clicked yes and hit submit.

Oh gods what had he done.

On another continent a boy double checked the RSVP list for a not-so-surprise birthday party. It would be closing in an hour, but most people had already said yes or no. More yesses than he thought actually.

But he still dutifully refreshed the page and saw one more had been added in.

Sephiroth Crescent — yes, I will attend and require a room.

And Zack Fair nearly screamed.