#it's a still drawing but it feels like it's moving somehow /pos

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Y'all... there is more evidence that L is indeed my soul mate, my person, the only one who truly gets me. Let's see what has transpired.

Piece of Evidence #1: I was complaining about my hip messing up & making me 'useless'. He responded with, "Baby you are so efficient & so good at so many things, the gods had to nerf you for being OP somehow." in the most sincere tone.

Piece of Evidence #2: We were hanging out on the deck & I got up, saying I was off to do dishes (while limping because I tore something picking up Zel when she was hurt). He said, "Ok... WAIT! NO! I'll do them! Sit!" I reminded him that he'd said he'd do them for the past 3 days & hadn't. He said, "[Dr M] I command you to not do dishes!" I laughed & told him he was under leveled for the "Command [Dr M] spell" outside of specific circumstances in which my constitution is considerably lower. He got mildly offended & began going off about how his current Skyrim character can summon a ghost that's way above her level and that a 'debuff character build is valid'. I reminded him that this isn't Skyrim & he isn't a wood elf. A bit later I told him that if he ate in the next 15 mins, I'd relent (because he forgets to eat). Within 2 minutes he was in the kitchen making food while glaring at me & mumbling about blackmail.

Piece of Evidence #3: he knows I like to watch old episodes of Big Fat Quiz when I don't feel well & actually suggested we turn it on one night when I was clearly struggling but was doing an alright job faking it. For the last 4 nights in a row, that's all we've watched because he loves it... especially if Richard & Noel or Noel & Russell are a team.

Piece of Evidence #4: he walked in to me playing bass on my leg while painting cabinets & immediately asked if I was listening to Primus on loop again. He's also figured out how to gauge my pain/mood based on what I'm listening to (because some days I have to get real angry to make my body function, so I listen to shit like Slipknot/Tool/Nine Inch Nails/Manson/Kidney Theives).

Piece of Evidence #5: yesterday i went outside to talk to him & paused the music on my headphones as I sat down. He said, "Aw no more MSI? They do go hard." Apparently he could tell it was them just based on what he heard at a distance through my headphones. Genuinely never been with anyone who knows of them, much less likes or can ID them like that. (Before you come for me, yes I know Jimmy is a POS [anyone with half a brain could easily draw that conclusion] . I like the sound of their stuff and have never paid for any of it. It is called separating the art from the artist. You'd be horrified by my back tattoo. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Grow up.)

So yeah... dude is absolutely the one for me. (This is all on top of how extremely understanding he is when my bod/hormones malfunction & all the things I've always adored about him throughout our friendship.)

He actually asked me the other day when I developed feels for him. I told him that I'd always really liked him but like... he had some deal breaker stuff & was with my (then) friend. But that in early August (before I moved in but was staying over to hang out for a couple days), there was a massive storm that broke a massive part of a tree off in the yard of the house across the creek out back. It was hanging on the electrical wires & without hesitation he ran over to help the homeowners. I sat and watched from the driveway as he helped them cut it down. (Note: til then he hadn't ever interacted with them.) Then as he was walking back across the creek afterwards, the elderly woman who lived there with her husband called across to me "You've got a good man!" & L turned and said "Aw she's my best friend, it's not like that." I found myself feeling really... sad? Then internally I went "Oh fuckstockings. I'm in love with him. Goddamn it. This... might be a fucking problem." Then a couple weeks later it wasn't a problem because I basically lived here. And nearly 5 months later we are still great. No fights because we both speak very frankly and clearly when stuff is going on. There's some communication stuff because he's been programmed to read into things, but we talk about it.

Shit is dope.

[jibarichan]

To Marcos loyalists/apologists

DISCLAIMER: Mahaba 'tong post, 10-15 mins. read more or less (kung di kasama yung mga articles and links sa baba). And this is politically charged (saka may mga corny jokes, sarcasm, at ilang pilit na pop-culture references). Kung di kayo nandito para sa ganon, then that's alright, naiintindihan ko nang lubos. May choice kayo para lampasan 'to. Feel free to scroll away po. O kaya, skip to the TLDR at the end, although you'll miss some of the points I stated, saka yung mga shared online articles. If you do intend to read, then thank you very much. I'll also accept criticisms. Di tayo ipokrito. And I know, and understand, na magkakaiba ang political views natin. Pero we can disagree na po when it comes to the ethics and morals attached to our political views.

Ako, ayoko rin magmukhang keyboard warrior kasi bihira lang ako magpost, pero eto na nga. Nakakapanlumo lang kasi na marami akong kakilala na bilib sa Marcos apologists and loyalists. This post won't sway hearts and minds, I know. Di ko pati to sinulat in an academic or formal manner (this is very informal, rambly, at puro rhetoric hahaha), but if the following arguments and counter-arguments will make you pause and think, pwede na rin yun.

So let's address some of the common arguments, posts, and comments being thrown around:

"DI NYO NA KAMI MAUUTO" o "FAKE NEWS YANG GMA/ABSCBN/OTHER NEWS OUTLETS"

Sure ba kayo na di rin kayo nauuto o nagpapadala sa sabi-sabi ng Marcos loyalists and apologists? Aba, dapat eh napakasipag nyo din mag fact check at research. Aba, dapat reliable din sources nyo. Certified at official. Kung maduda kayo, then pakiusap, double check nyo rin mga sinasabi nila.  Saka nung nag research ka ba, yung mga articles na pabor lang kay Marcos binasa mo? Articles na pinapaganda pangalan nya? Eh baka naman yun lang gusto mong basahin, kasi gusto mo tama ka (confirmation bias po tawag don). Basahin mo rin yung mga masasamang nangyari nun, para patas. Kasi patas po ang totoong research. Both sides, tinitignan. May cross-referencing at pag double-triple check ng sources; at sources ng sources. Yes ganun kalalim dapat. At oo, because of such principles sa research, alam din namin mga magagandang projects nun. Alam namin yung potensyal ng Pilipinas to rise as an economic tiger sa Asya, at the time. But at what cost? Tambak na utang? Makapal na missing persons lists? Mga nakaw na salapi? Mga sipsip at balimbing na cronies? Pano na? Pride na lang labanan, kahit parang tanga na?

"DI KA PA NAMAN BUHAY NON" o "DI MO NAMAN INABUTAN PANAHON NI MARCOS"

Really? Don't let that be your best reasoning hahahaha. Di ka rin naman buhay nung panahon ng mga Kastila, pero alam natin na binaril si Rizal sa Bagumbayan. Ano, ang pilosopo ko ba? Ikaw rin naman, pag ganyan arguments mo. And what's next? Fake news na rin ang Spanish occupation dati?

"SABI NG LOLO/LOLA KO" o "SABI NG MAGULANG KO"

I'm sure na naging mapayapa buhay nila. Kasi yan din sabi ng mga mas matatanda sakin. Surprise! Hindi naman kasi nila binatikos dalawang dekadang pamumuno na hindi na demokratiko eh. Saka baka yung iba sa kanila, wala sa urban centers, wala sa sentro ng gulo. At kung hindi man sa kanila nangyari yung gulo, it doesn't mean it didn't happen somewhere else. Eh pano yung mga murang bilihin kamo? The gov't that time was well-funded, and the economy was booming on the surface. Dahil sa ano? Sa utang. Towards the end (ibig sabihin po DURING Marcos' term pa rin) nagsimula nang mag crash ang ekonomiya. Na-expose na rin mga kinuha nilang pera.

"HISTORY IS WRITTEN BY THE VICTORS"

Okay, easy sa quotes Lt. General Shepherd (MW2 reference wink wink). Tama na pa-astig natin, okay? Half-truth lang yan. More aptly siguro, history is written DESPITE the victors. Marami pong unbiased saka objective na pagaaral sa usaping yan. Kaya nga alam natin na di rin naman malinis ang mga Aquino. Kaya alam natin na involved din pangalan nila sa massacres. Gusto mo ng sources no? Wow look at you, you fact-checking golden child. Keep it up, dapat ganyan lagi. Sana binasa o tinignan mo rin sources ng apologists. Sana dinobol check mo rin mga sinasabi ng may first hand at second hand accounts. And friends, never magiging victors yung mga biktima ng torture, rape, at extra-judicial killings. Oh, hindi sila biktima kasi nanggugulo sila?-- I hear you say. Dear, yung pagbatikos lang sa gobyerno kinoconsider na nilang panggugulo. Maraming inosenteng nabiktima. And if you think na walang inosenteng nabibiktima-- Are you serious? Naive ka ba?

"PAST IS PAST" o "MOVE ON NA"

Don't use these words lightly. Wala sa iisang playing field ang feelings mo saka feelings ng isang collective. Magkaibang pahina yan. Hindi po parehas ang history ng isang taong broken hearted o na friendship over ang history ng mga biktima ng human rights violations saka political injustice (at marami po sila ah). Wag basta basta magbitaw ng past is past kapag may mga taong di na natagpuan ng pamilya nila, mula noong past, hanggang present. Unfair. Unfair sobra. Para bang okay lang na maraming namatay saka natorture, o kaya naman missing, kasi mayaman naman Pilipinas, maraming infrastructure projects, saka mura bilihin. Bad yun.

"HINDI NAMAN YUNG MISMONG PRESIDENTE ANG GUMAWA" 

Oh so ganyan tayo? No accountability for the head of state? Commander-in-chief of the military? Sino ba nag empower sa mga high ranking officials? Officials, who in turn, nag execute ng directives? Suddenly, nakalimutan ba natin ang chain of command? Or naniniwala ba tayo na covert lahat ng yun, at di alam ng presidente? If so, pano naging magaling yun at effective ang pamumuno? Ganon ba ang best president? Nganga tayo sa ganyan mga kapatid.

"HINDI KASALANAN NG ANAK ANG KASALANAN NG TATAY" / "SINS OF THE FATHERS" argument 

Totoo. Totoong totoo. Kaya dapat ina-acknowledge ng anak ang ginawa ng mga magulang nya to establish separation of beliefs, at di sana pinagtatanggol. Oh mga amigo amiga, double-triple check nyo yan ah. Mahusay naman kayo sa ganyan di ba? Smart kayo. Di kayo mahilig magpautot. *uto. Teka pati, running mate nya si Digong. Okay lang sayo yun? Ay baka okay lang sayo yun, kasi okay din si Digong para sayo. Figures. Paalala lang: Unfair sobra, para sa mga casualties ng current regime. At kung sasabihin mo na 'ganun talaga eh mga adik mga yun eh', aba. Okay din pala talaga sayo na may namamatay outside the boundaries of law. Tanggap mo rin talaga nangyari during Martial Law-- which is ironic, dahil hindi lawful kahit kailan ang rape, torture, at suppression. Wala kang pake eh (past is past). At pag wala kang pake, wag kang magpanggap na makatao. Lalong wag magpanggap na maka-Diyos.

"KAYA NGA NAG MARTIAL LAW DAHIL SA MGA TERORISTA EH"

Yes. Except hindi lang yung mga terorista ang naapektuhan. Kahit yung mga critics lang saka nagboses ng opinyon, nadali din. The collateral damage was too much FROM BOTH SIDES. Where to draw the line?-- I hear you ask again. It's one thing po na makita ang realidad ng law enforcement at war on terror/crime/drugs/beliefs etc. It's another to look away from too many casualties. Not fighting or voicing or even THINKING against collateral damage IS too much.

"EH BAKIT DI INALIS ANG MARTIAL LAW SA BATAS?"

Dahil kaya po yang i-implement na hindi naaapakan ang human rights at judicial system. For example, despite the criticisms towards the current admin, yung implementation ng martial law during the attacks in Marawi, was arguably justified. Oh ayan ah patas tayo.

"EH FAKE NEWS NGA KASI MARAMI SA NANGYARI NUNG MARTIAL LAW NI MARCOS" 

Luh eto na naman? Sabi nang dapat sure din kayo na di kayo napepeke ng mga binabasa saka pinapakinggan nyo eh. Dapat double check nyo rin 'real news' nyo.

"EH PANO SABI NG LOLO/LOLA KO?" 

Eh ano bang sabi ko kanina tungkol jan? Sige basahin mo ulit sa taas. Makinig ka pa rin sa ikukuwento nila, kasi we respect our elders. But we shouldn't be beholden to everything they say (luh English na naman). May sarili po tayong isip at kakayanang magaral.

"DILAWAN KA"

Nakakakilabot ah. Ayoko rin sa kanila. Whew pareparehas lang silang may ginawang masama. I'm sure na gustong gusto mo rin na kastiguhin mga Dilawan. Tara sabay tayo. Kaya nga di umunlad bansa eh, lalo pang nalugmok. Involved nga din sila sa killings ng mga magsasaka saka protesters. And duh, as if wala ding namamatay o nawawala na union members and leaders sa current regime. Pero di yan excuse para pagbigyan mo na lang mga Marcos loyalists.

"AKTIBISTA KA" 

My school mates and friends at the time can attest na hindi ako nagparticipate. Naniniwala din marami samin sa diversity ng ETHICAL methods and ETHICAL political views. Still, I must admit that my stance only changed drastically by the time na umupo si Duterte. Nagsisisi ako na tinamad ako so many times, and I wasn't informed or mature enough to make a choice, to make a vote. Di ba nga, you can stay neutral until you're not.

"EH ANONG GAGAWIN KO?"

Pagbanggain po ang mga nabasa o napanood na ebidensya at accounts from both sides (and 3rd party/international sources din), hanapin ang mga overlaps, then form an informed opinion. If somehow napaisip ka at nakaramdam ng konting hesitasyon sa pagboto kay BBM, wag ka munang magpanic at pagdudahan lahat ng bagay. Maghintay ka muna ng iba pang tatakbo. Wag yung bilib na bilib ka rin kaagad kay BBM. Maghihintay ako, at sana, maghintay ka rin. Wow romantic no hahahaha. De, sana may additional confirmed candidates pa.

"DI NA LANG AKO BOBOTO" o "WALA NA KONG PAKE" 

Kasi evil is evil, lesser, greater, middling? Hindi ka si Geralt (wink wink sa mga nakakuha ng reference). Bumoto ka pa rin if you can, please, and if it's safe (taking into account this pandemic). It matters. Evidently, nag matter yung mga boto towards Digong. Nanalo sya nun eh. So by the same token, may halaga yung boto mo, even if it's counted against sa boto ng iba. It will be one less vote laban sa ayaw mong maupo. It may seem like there's only few against many, pero pag mas maraming taong informed, mas dumadami yung.. yung few.. so magiging many sila. And of course, mas maraming may informed votes saka educated na desisyon, more chances of winning.

"NADADAYA ANG BOTOHAN" 

True. Very true. Pero mas mahirap dayain pag mas maraming legit na boto. Pahirapan nyo man lang sila, kahit pano. At pag nahirapan sila, mas madali silang papalpak. Mas madali silang magiging subjects to scrutiny.

I'm sure na meron pang mga arguments na di kasama sa mga nabanggit, pero pwede nyong kunin yung sagot sa ibang points na na-raise ko. If you've ever used any of those arguments above before, and somehow, medyo napaisip kayo after reading the counter-arguments (which is the best I could hope for), then take some time to rethink your decision. 

Hindi kailangang maging matalino para magkaron ng informed opinion. Dapat masipag lang manaliksik. Otherwise, madali ka ring mapaniwala, which is the very thing that you accuse others of. At kung sa tingin mo, napagisipan mo na nang maigi, then sige. Buo na desisyon mo eh. Baka well-informed ka na. Pero kung medyo napatigil o napaisip ka sa mga counter-arguments kanina, then walang masamang magisip pa ng konti. 

-----Additional articles po, past this point-----

For infinitely less rambly, more reliable, data-driven works, eto po mga pwede nyong basahin. Remember, don't judge too hastily na fake yang mga yan. A lot of the articles have been around for years, for people to read. Also, remember that these are from people with experience, expertise, and credibility, more so than a lot of us, including our own lolos and lolas (bless them, still). 

Galing po itong mga to sa internet-- for goodness' sake. Mag search lang tayo with intent to look for proper journalism and academic studies. From Brittanica yung unang dalawa, no less-- which is highly accessible, very digestible, concise, and still manages to present the good and bad (non-biased representation po). Easy to read na po yang mga yan ah:

The Marcos and early post-Marcos era (scroll down po kung gusto nyo magsimula agad sa Marcos era)

Martial law

And hindi mawawala ang mga nagsasabi na golden age ang Marcos regime. They saw those times with rose-colored glasses (idiomatic expression yern). Pero you'll notice something. Very anecdotal. Very similar sa mga nagkukwento sating matatanda. Medyo tricky maghanap ng ganito, sa totoo lang, from an online article na galing sa news outlet.

30 Years After Revolution, Some Filipinos Yearn for ‘Golden Age’ of Marcos

But this. This is easy to find. An apologist fb page. Non-academic and very fanatical, no surprise there, pero isisingit ko so you can check.

WE Love Ferdinand Marcos

Whew there are some interesting videos and posts here, primarily dahil sa mga footage and photos na meron sila. Watch or check those footages and photos ah, then ibangga nyo po sa mga alam natin from history. See how eloquent and compelling Ferdinand Marcos was, and you'll see kung ano ang isa sa mga kinabibiliban ng loyalists and apologists. There's value there, para makita mo kung anong hook nya sa mga tagasunod nya. 

You want more? Okay sige. Search mo sa Google yung Department of National Defense's web page for Ferdinand Marcos' biography, for some more heroic representation. You'll notice na nalimitahan sa iilang sentences yung Martial Law saka change of legislation. 

But it gets more bloody and not so heroic, with the other pages and articles ahead. It's true, mahirap nang maging non-biased when confronted with cruelty and injustice, but KEEP IN MIND, the numbers and statements na mababasa nyo from these links came from the security forces na appointed dati. Official numbers and statements po ang raw data nila. So there. 

Let's start off with a view on the economy. Opposite to the fanatical page earlier, here's an academic fb page post, para po alam nating numbers ang tinitignan nila, at hindi nostalgia at conspiracy lang. You can check the primary source na meron din sila for the compilation.

Econcepts: The Economy under the Marcos Era

For a slightly more detailed breakdown of the declaration of Martial law, with links or hypertexts in each section of the article:

Declaration of Martial Law

For the more sinister side na hindi kailanman bibigyan ng transparency ng mga security forces at the time-- here are some more readings:

‘San Juanico Bridge,’ other tortures detailed

3,257: Fact checking the Marcos killings, 1975-1985

Pano kamo mga massacres during the Aquino admin? Di po makacancel out nyan nangyari nung Martial Law, pero sige, para makita na rin natin na hindi natigil ang gulo. And ohoho, they're just as bad.

The Mendiola Massacre: Decades on, Philippine Land Reform Movement Remains Mired in Blood

Hacienda Luisita Timeline

Ayan online na po yang mga yan ah. No need to download anything as well. Kulang na kulang pa yan though, dahil this post is waaaay too long na po para mag accommodate ng ibang in-depth articles, let alone studies and published PDFs, and books! Physical and digital books! Pero di ba, may internet na pipol. There are loads of historical fiction as well, if you want to look at it from a literary angle, and even music and movies! Meron at meron po pag naghanap. Conspiracy theories nga nahahanap eh. But for my friends or colleagues na marami pong additional articles, readings, downloadables, books and media suggestions-- please po, do share if you're inclined to comment. Malaking tulong po yun. Maraming salamat! 

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

TLDR; Ang bottomline po, wag basta basta susuporta sa political dynasties ah? Yung bagay lang na umuulit sila, nagpapasa-pasa ng posisyon sa angkan, dapat mapaisip na po tayo, oki? Di po dapat family business yan. If you have to make a decision to support someone from said families, make sure lang po na at least, nagresearch po tayo. Lesser evil and all that.

[ave-aria]

Rewind

Ectober Week 2020 Day 3: Rewind Summary: Maddie can't believe what she's seeing on the security tape. In shock, she hits rewind. Tags: Reveal fic, Blood, Angst, Implications of character death, Tragedy, Trauma, Oneshot

-

Rewind.

Maddie keeps her eyes on the tv screen as the figures wind their way backwards to the start of the video. She won't look away. Can't. Doesn't dare.

If she looks away, she'll have to focus on something else. The quiet, dusty lab around her. The uncleaned ecto-weapons by the door. The green blood smattered on the blade.

The hollow, empty house looming over her head…

The video hiccups a bit as she hits the start of the feed. Old VHS tapes are odd like that, buzzing out with static where the film wore thin from too many pauses and restarts. It's a sign she's hit the beginning. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

It was an old security tape, filched from the lab. Onscreen, three teenagers, her son at the lead, slip into the camera's field of view. Maddie leans closer, enraptured by the movement, even though she's seen this moment enough times to have it seared into her brain.

Maybe, if she focuses hard enough, she can learn the secret - how to rewind her own mistakes, go back to a time when none of it has happened, just like in the video.

"Whoa, check it out! This thing's huge! I can't believe your parents built this!" A pause, while the kid adjusts his glasses. "Bummer that it doesn't work though, dude."

"Damn. Was it really supposed to open a portal to the underworld?"

"It's 'The Ghost Zone,' Sam. And yeah. My parents were pretty heartbroken when it didn't work. It kinda just… fizzled out. I hope they're not too upset."

The detached, clinical angle of the shot doesn't do the moment justice. Danny'd always been such a kind boy, thoughtful and empathetic to a fault. Maddie's throat closes up a little, leaving her struggling to breathe. They had been upset. Unbearably so. Their life's work - as Danny put it - fizzled out before their very eyes. It'd been a hard loss to take, one that she and Jack might never have recovered from, had the Portal not miraculously started working on its own, days later.

God. Now she almost wishes it hadn't.

A bright flash draws her from her reverie. Maddie blinks at the screen. A camera flash. In her distraction, she's missed part of the video; Tucker's casual "Lighten up, dude,", Sam's request for a photo op, Danny grabbing a hazmat suit to pose with while she dug the device from her backpack.

"—Got it," Sam waves the printed Polaroid to air out the negative.

"Okay. I showed you the portal. Can we get out of here now? My parents could be back here any minute."

Where had they been that day, anyway? Maddie wonders. Grocery shopping? Visiting the park? Moping, as they tried anything to get their minds off of their most recent failure? If they'd been there —

If they'd been there—

"Come on, Danny," comes Sam's voice, treacherous in its fascination. "A Ghost Zone? Aren't you curious?"

Danny looks into the Portal, clutching the custom white suit made specially for him. Sam smirks, knowing. "You gotta check it out."

Maddie hits pause.

Rewind.

"You gotta check it out."

Pause. Rewind.

"You gotta check it out."

Rewind.

"—gotta check it out."

The remote feels cold and heavy, like ice in her hand. In that moment, a selfishness grips her. She could blame Sam. For all if it. Everything that happened, it all started here, and it started because—

—But she can't blame Sam, because the next moment, Danny turns back, his eyes sparkling with an adventurous spirit. It's a spark of curiosity, brimming at the thought of the unknown; a look she's all too familiar with, one she's seen often on her daughter's face, her husband's - even her own, in the mirror.

"You know what? You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome, super cool things exist on the other side of that Portal?"

That curiosity, it's a Fenton trait, not one that needs to be stoked like a fire. That spark's been burning within him, since the cradle.

"Don't go in," she whispers, as if her advice could change the course of history. Even if he could hear her, though, it would be no use. He can no more resist the call than he can resist breathing.

He pulls on the hazmat suit. Skintight, white with black edging. It's like staring at a photo-negative. Watching her son, Maddie's stomach twists.

How couldn't she see it before?

"Alright. I'm going in." He says. His first footsteps echo, loud, in the hollow of the blacked out Portal…

Maddie's breath shudders in. She grips the remote and, before she can stop herself, hits the button.

Rewind.

She watches as her son walks backwards, double-time, out of the entrance to the Portal. The panic that gripped her fades.

"Mads?" From somewhere up above, echoing down the staircase, comes her husband's voice. Maddie is glued to the video screen, and almost doesn't hear him. Regardless, she definitely can't answer. What would she even say?

"Maddie?" His heavy footsteps echo in the stairwell, trudging closer. "Are you down there?"

A hitch in the tape. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Drawn by the sound, Jack trudges the rest of the way down the narrow staircase. She feels a slight reverberation in the floor when he reaches the landing behind her. She doesn't turn around.

"The police called back. Officer McNally said he'd file a missing persons report, and they promised to keep their eyes open. But—" she hears the way uncertainty causes his voice to die in his throat when she doesn't turn to greet him. After a long moment of silence, he draws up to her side. "What are you watching?" he asks at last.

"It kinda just… fizzled out. I hope they're not too upset."

Question. He'd asked a question. Maddie swallows and struggles to answer. "Security tapes," she chokes out.

Understanding, an incomplete kind, dawns on Jack, and vigor jumps back into his bones. "Mads, that's brilliant!" he booms. "Why didn't I think of it? He comes into the lab all the time! We can use the security tapes to see when he last—"

"I found this tape in Danny's room," she interrupts.

Again, his voice falters in confusion.

"Under the bed," she elaborates, as if that will help. And continues watching, detached.

"Can we get out of here now? My parents could be back any minute."

The flickering light of the tv fills the lab, ominous in its glow. Jack hesitates. Maybe he's picked up on the subtext by now. Maddie can picture his eyes drifting from the staticy screen to the items in front of it, scattered across the table. He reaches out fro the shoebox sitting beside the tv. Taped to its front, written in the cursive, unmistakable scrawl of their son's handwriting, is a note that reads:

'If I Never Come Home'

"Maddie, what is this." Jack's voice is uncharacteristically heavy. Looking to her for guidance. For answers.

For once, she has none to give.

"Watch," Maddie whispers, still trapped by the screen. Automatic, her fingers hit the button.

Rewind.

With no other options to grasp at, he does.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Watches as the kids approach the Portal.

"Aren't you curious?"

Watches as their son zips up the hazmat suit.

"Alright, I'm going in."

Watches as he disappears into the empty cavity of their greatest invention.

Click.

Watches as it thrums to life, with a scream.

"Da—Danny no!" Jack yells in tandem with the two remaining teens. He lurches forward, hand outstretched, to stop the agony onscreen. "He's not - when did he -"

"It's old, Jack," Maddie whispers. "From when the Portal started working."

Jack spins to stare at her. "You mean - Danny's the one who—" he's visibly struggling with the information, the same way she did, on her first viewing. "But—he never said—"

Right, Madie thinks. He never said anything. Jack's confusion is laughable, though. Why Danny never told them—that much is painfully clear.

"Guys?" Over the yelling and the panicking and the electric cackle from the Portal, their son's terrified voice cuts through the din. "G-guys help, what's happening?!"

Tucker and Sam are black silhouettes stumbling backwards from a swirling green glow, but they freeze and scramble to right themselves, lurching forward to catch someone as he stumbles through the gate.

Phantom - Danny - emerges from the portal, falling to his knees.

"…No," Jack says. Disbelief is thick in his voice. "That can't be… no."

Maddie lifts the remote.

Rewind.

A flash of light. A curdling scream. A shock of confusion, panic, scramble.

Danny Phantom stumbles from the portal.

Jack stares for a long time. Then he reaches out, snatching the lid of the shoebox for a second look at the evidence. The note, accusatory, stares back at them.

"This is how he tells us." Jack doesn't often whisper, but it seems like he can't do anything else. Her husband looks at the empty shoebox, the screen, the VCR. "Our son is Danny Phantom, and this is how he tells us. I…" he trails off.

Maddie almost can't believe it, how easily Jack arrives at the conclusion. It took her twelve viewings for her to wrap her mind around it, and it still hasn't really sunk in. But then, that's always been Jack's strong poing - those intuitive leaps of logic. Ones every scientist both loathed and envied.

"Did it kill him?" he moves seamlessly onto the next question that tripped her. Somehow, Jack's voice is even quieter this time.

Maddie shakes her head no. If they watch the video long enough, about ten minutes in, Danny manages to change his way back to human. If their invention did kill him, it wasn't permanent. Not that time, at least.

She's too close to thinking about it.

Rewind.

"But—" she can't stop Jack from thinking, though. He barrels on, heedless of breaking the fragile grasp Maddie has on her sanity. "But if all this time — Phantom—"

A hitch in the tape.

"We've been—"

Press play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

"—Don't tell me we've been trying to waste our own kid—"

If Maddie weren't so detached, she might laugh. Waste. God, he can't even say it.

"Trying?" she asks instead. Bitter, the word sticks to her tongue.

She's not looking at the tape now. She's looking at him. And Jack, oh, Jack, he just stares down at her, a dark horror growing in his eyes.

He whips around to look at the bloodied weapons sitting at the base of the stairs.

Exactly where they left them two days ago, after that nasty ghost fight. When they came home to find a broken house, their daughter crying at the kitchen table, and their son just - gone.

"No." Jack backs up a step. "No no no no no no no—"

A flash of light. A curdling scream—

In an instant, Jack is moving. He snatches up weapons, whatever he can find, and bolts for the staircase, vaulting his way up to ground floor. Distantly, Maddie hears the doors slam. The RV thrumming to life. The screech of tires as Jack peels out of the driveway.

In the cold wake of his departure, Maddie turns back to the tv. She should go after him, she knows. But she's not quite done watching. Jack's always been a man of action, after all, but she's the analytical one, who studies, who marvels, who gathers the facts she sees.

Phantom, onscreen, slumps against his friends while he drips ectoplasm to the floor. He stares down at his white-gloved hands, his glowing green eyes wide in shock. Maddie wonders if he knew, then, what would become of him. What his parents, who raised him, who swore to protect him, would do.

She can't face those questions. Not yet. Not yet. Instead, she lifts the remote.

And rewinds.

A good scientist, a rational scientist, never draws conclusions while she's still gathering evidence. So as long as she's still watching—

A hitch in the tape. She's at the beginning. Maddie presses play.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

As long as she keeps watching, she doesn't have to do anything with this information. All she has to do is watch.

So she watches. She rewinds. And she plays. She can't look away—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here—"

She doesn't dare.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down h—"

All she can do is rewind—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let y—"

And rewind—and rewind—

"Mom and Dad would kill me if—"

Until she finds evidence contrary to her theory…

"Mom and Dad would kill me—"

Or she finds Its inevitable End.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they knew I let you down here."

Rewind.

"Mom and Dad would kill me if they—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

Rewind.

"Mom—"

-

[AO3] [FFN]

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: A Mess

Poly! Sons of Ipswich x Reader

Word Count: 2,497

Warnings: Slightly angsty 

Summary: Reader has been struggling with magic and feels miserable. Caleb and Pogue try their best to be loving and supportive. Requested by / in collaboration with @dhampiravidi​

Caleb trudged inside the apartment, the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes. Taking his gray coat off, he followed the smell of spices into the kitchen. Chili, if Caleb had to guess. 

Pogue must’ve had dinner duty for the night. He made the best chili out of the three of them so they only ever ate it if he was the one making it. Sure enough, he was standing in front of the counter, his hair pulled back into a half ponytail, adjusting a setting on the slower cooker that was plugged into the wall.

“Chili?” Caleb asked, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“Chili,” Pogue confirmed. He turned towards Caleb, frowning when he saw Caleb massaging small circles above his eyes. “Another headache?”

Caleb sighed, lowering his hand. “Just a little one. They assigned me to that new case on Tuesday and I’ve been pouring over old court dockets ever since.”

Pogue didn’t say anything but he didn’t have to—the worry was clear on his face. Caleb was quick to smile and reassure him. “It’s like I said, just a small headache. No need to blow it out of proportion, Po.”

The longhaired boy wasn’t the least bit convinced, but didn’t push the lawyer further. Caleb was great at looking after people, but not so much when it came to himself. And if Pogue called him out on it, he would only draw further into himself. The key was to not bring it up and tread subtlety.  

“Okay, man. Whatever you say.” He sat down at the table, but not before sliding a bottle of aspirin over to Caleb who accepted it with a quiet thanks.

They quickly updated each other on their days. One of firm clerks was inviting everyone out for drinks next week: Caleb had said he’d get back to them after checking with the significant others. A real nice ’68 Chevy Nova had been brought into the garage for restoration: Pogue was excited to pop the hood and get to work. But it wasn’t long until Caleb noticed who was absent from the table.

“Where’s Y/N? She’s never been able to resist the smell of chili.”

“Rough day. She was crying when I got home and she’s been shut in the bedroom since then.”

“Crying? Why was she—” He cut off immediately. He knew, they both knew. You weren’t really a crier. In all of the time the three of you had been together, there was only one thing they had ever known you to cry about. “She tried Using again today.”

Pogue nodded, a severe frown on his face. He looked down the hall at the shut door, no sounds or light coming from the other side of it. “Looked like it to me. The spell book was already put away when I walked in, but she left the candles out.”

Caleb released a long breath and stared unseeing at the ceiling. How could he fix this?

Magic was a touchy subject. All three of you were witches and even if he and Pogue weren’t regularly Using, they didn’t impose their rules on you. After all, your coven had struck a different deal to gain their magic so they didn’t have to worry about you sacrificing pieces of your life whenever you tried to use it. But that didn’t mean they didn’t worry about you.

Using was…hit or miss with you. You had no problem performing large, high-powered magic. You had no problem blowing thing up or putting an entire bar full of people under a spell. But as time went on, it became apparent that you did not have the same ease when it came to more precise magic. And your struggles weren’t from lack of dedication or practice (you gave even Caleb a run for his money when it came to studying.)

The guys were incredibly supportive of your continued magic studies, but recently your mood had shifted and not for the better. After putting in so much time and effort, and still not having much to show for it, Using was starting to bring some emotional baggage to the surface. Seeing as how you’d been upset in the room for hours, they thought you were close to some kind of break.

Caleb tapped the table with his knuckles. “I’m going to check on Y/N and see if I can get them to talk to me.” He scraped his chair back and moved down the hall. He didn’t wait for Pogue’s reaction. He couldn’t. When someone he loved was struggling his immediate response was to talk with them and find a solution to the problem.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door—he knew that you wouldn’t answer anyway and that you had likely locked the door with no intention of opening it. Eyes went black briefly as he Used magic to override the lock. Normally, his rule was to only employ magic in times of emergency, but this definitely qualified as an emergency.

“Hi Y/N,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him. You were on your spot curled in the middle of the bed, body hidden under the comforter. “How was your day?” Your silence didn’t phase him as he joined you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you. “I heard you were practicing today, that’s great. I’ve always loved your drive.”

Still, nothing but silence from you.

He sighed and pulled the covers down so he could at least see your face. Your eyes were red and puffy but the crying was paused for the moment, your whole face lax as you stared through him rather than at him.

“Hey, now,” he whispered pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. “Come on, I want to hear about it.”

You pushed him away and he was relieved to see some reaction from reaction, even if it was annoyance.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Caleb,” you stressed turning away from him. He tried to bring you back into his arms but backed off when he felt you stiffen up.

“It can’t be that bad.” More silence. “Just tell me. Please.”

The strong emotions that you had been trying so hard to hide exploded out of you and you were so upset that it wasn’t until after you finished that you realized how aggressive it sounded. “You want to know? Fine! It was a telekinesis spell. A simple freaking telekinesis spell. All I wanted to do was lift the frame that had our anniversary photo in it and guess what! And I ended up smashing it to pieces instead! There was glass everywhere and the photo is ruined, happy?”

You felt tears swimming in your eyes, whether from anger or sadness you didn’t know, and you ran with a huff to lock yourself in the bathroom. No matter what kind of tears they were, you refused to cry in front of Caleb. That would only make him more overbearing than he was currently.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered as the tears started to flow. “All this time and you still mess up a basic spell. How can you call yourself a girlfriend to two Sons of Ipswich if you can’t even get that right?”

Caleb remained on the bed, looking at the bathroom door in grief. He had meant to help you and it seemed that he only made things worse. Sighing in frustration at himself he put himself back together and went back to Pogue who was still tending to dinner. There had to be something he could do, he just wasn’t sure what that something was.

“Well,” Pogue prompted, “How did it go?”

“Disastrous,” Caleb admitted. “I just ended up making Y/N even more upset and now they’re locked in the bathroom.”

“Hmm, that’s rough man.” A timer on the counter beeped, signaling that the chili was officially done cooking. Pogue took some ceramic bowls from the cabinet. “For both of you. Try not to get worked up about—Y/N will come around when they’re ready.”

“I am not worked up,” Caleb insisted. Pogue merely raised a brow and slid a full bowl to him. “Okay, maybe I’m a little worked up.”

“I knew it,” he smirked, pushing his long hair out of his face. “You can’t help it; it’s just who you are, man. But in this case, I’m telling you that you have to be patient.”

He sat down and took a bite from his own bowl, saw the worried look on the other man’s face. “I’m telling you. I learned this the hard way back in high school. Sometimes space is the best approach,” he said with a mouth full of food.

“If you’re sure…”

The two of them kept good on their unspoken promise and didn’t ask you about the incident again. You all still shared the same bed but even there they made sure to keep their hands to themselves, which you were grateful for. You didn’t feel the need for sex given your mental state. Just knowing that they were on either side of you was enough.

A part of you felt terrible for shutting them out, but an even bigger part of you couldn’t get over the hurt. Rationally, you knew that breaking the frame wasn’t that big of a deal. The guys would definitely fix it for you if you asked. Emotionally, however, you were a wreck. Productivity was at zero for the week. During the day you felt void, your brain numb. The night was worse, racing thoughts you couldn’t control as the continuous rewind of the incident playing on loop, preventing you from getting decent sleep.

Life was a mess. You were a mess. But there wasn’t much you felt like you could do about it; you were just hoping that you’d sort yourself out soon.

It was difficult for them for watching you going through it, especially for Caleb. He kept his word and didn’t question you like he had the first night but he hovering, struggling to master the need to make it better for you. Needless to say, he fed you breakfast in bed everyday that week.

Pogue was just as concerned. He never outright confronted you about it, that just wasn’t his style, but he did the dishes every day without complaint. He fidgeted more, even by Pogue standards. And unbeknownst to you, he was playing his guitar, something that normally happened when he was trying to sort something big out.

Somehow, he managed to hide it from you but he wasn’t so lucky with Caleb.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “How long have you been playing this one? I like it.”

“This week,” Pogue shrugged trying to downplay it. “The cords were easy to throw together.”

Caleb hummed and went to sit in front of the other man. Pogue started playing the tune again and Caleb found himself humming along after a few minutes. He wore a contemplative look. “Does it have lyrics?”

Pogue shook his head side to side, tossing his hair. “Nope. You know I’m not a good poet.”

Caleb nodded again, the same thoughtful expression on his face. “What if I wrote them?”

***

At the end of the week, you were slightly more recovered. The failure and unconference were still there but Pogue had convinced you to shower with him earlier in the day. It was nice to have clean hair and soft skin again. And you even managed to clear out your emails which always felt like an accomplishment.

“Hey, do you guys want to order takeout for dinner?” You walked out to the living room looking for your boyfriends. You were getting hungry and in the mood to socialize a bit more. For a second, you thought they were both out until you saw them out on the small porch. “Hello?”

They turned around with smiles on their faces and bid you to join them. It was a mild spring day and the setting sun left just enough heat to still be comfortable while sitting outside.

“Are you feeling okay?” Caleb asked, excitement just beneath the surface.

“A little better,” you answered eying the acoustic guitar in Pogue’s hands. Takeout cartons were arranged around the small glass table. “So…what’s all this?”

Pogue cleared his throat. “We wrote a song.”

“You…wrote a song?”

“A song for you,” Caleb further explained. “We’ve been working on it for you these past couple of days. Do you want to listen to it?”

“Y-yeah,” you said startled. This had not been what you were expecting when you came outside.

Pogue started strumming immediately, having already tuned beforehand. The pace was slower but purposeful, his fingers moving gracefully over the fretboard. Your heart fluttered, the notes sounding beautiful. Then Caleb started to sing. He was a graceful as ever, his voice blending in perfectly with Pogue’s guitar playing.

You were positively flushing. As romantic as the two of them were, they had never serenaded you before. In fact, no one had ever serenaded you. You were flattered. Giddy. Dazed.

The words touched your heart. The whole thing was so intimate, especially since they wrote it for you. They were pouring out the love they felt for you, the sadness that came with seeing you struggle. Unlaying the song was the assurance that things would get better.  

At some point, you’re not sure when, tears started to blur your vision. The song had barely ended before you threw yourself at them, hugging with all your might. The hugs were returned and you felt a kiss on the top of your head—Pogue. Caleb wiped away a stray tear that had escaped with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to make you cry,” he murmured softly.

“Yeah, sorry baby,” Pogue seconded. Everyone was silent for a moment when he cracked a joke. “You should’ve told me that my playing was bad, I would’ve stopped sooner.”

You slapped his chest with no real force behind it. “Shut up. I loved it. These are tears of happiness.”

“That’s a relief. We’ve been worried about you, you know.”

You relaxed into their grasp, the oranges and pinks in the dusk sky further calming you. “I know. I tried to shake it off and be rational about it but I couldn’t. I’ve been…struggling.”

“We know. It’s alright. We’re here for you through the good times and the bad,” he promised.

“I j-just feel like a failure and I don’t want you to be embarrassed of me because I—”

“Stop it. We could never, never be embarrassed of you. You’re strong and kind and smart; what’s not to love?”

“Face facts, baby, you’re stuck with us for as long as you’ll have us.”

More tears gathered. “I love you two goofs.”

“I love you, too,” they said simultaneously, leaning in on either side to press a kiss to your cheek.

_______________

First poly fic I’ve written/published. Thanks so much for reading! And thanks to Jayn for the idea! 😊 If you want more Caleb content, here’s a recent fic of mine. Check it out! If you want more poly content, let me know that too. 

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Business AU - Working Late, Part 4

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Flirt mode  A C T I V A T E D 👏

As everyone else in the room was getting ready to depart for the day - chatting here and there and gathering their belongings - Vee was mostly occupied by her handbag, making sure everything was there before she would leave the place. She did not hear when someone approached her, but she next felt the poke of an object to her right shoulder.

“I didn’t want to make you feel bad earlier,” started Donatello’s voice. “But I truly do think we’re connected somehow now.”

She looked at him, first noticing that he had been poking her with a cardboard file folder, and then she took a good look at his clothes. Purple. AT LEAST not the same shade. He was wearing a fitting v-neck sweater of a dark purple color, with a white shirt  and a black tie underneath, his looks completed with dark charcoal pants and black shoes.

“... You’ve got to be kidding me,” started Vee with a stifled laugh. “Why are we like this?”

“I’m not superstitious, but maybe it’s destiny. We were meant to work together,” he winked. “Great minds think alike!”

Vee couldn’t hide her smile, next prompting him to get on the move for their dinner. She first expected them to walk out of the building and head to a subway station, but she was surprised to see the turtle head towards the indoor parking lot of the building.

“Wait, you want us to go by car?” she asked, her heels clacking rapidly on the tiled floor as she caught up to him.

“Why not? It’ll be quieter that way! I don’t feel like dealing with crowds in the subway anyway.”

She had to give him that, at least. A car would smell better than a subway train... As they made their way through the lot, she noticed Donnie getting out keys, the woman commenting:

“Huh, I thought you’d have a chauffeur or something like that.”

“Why, because I’m rich?” asked the mutant, amused. “I like driving, so I don’t see why I would leave all that fun to someone else.”

He pressed a button on a small remote attached to a key, which prompted a black SUV nearby to flash its light.

Vee was most certainly impressed by his taste, first observing the vehicle until she noticed the other opening the passenger door for her.

“The lady may take her seat.”

As she took place, her eyes scanned the interior.

The major difference she could notice from any other cars was how the driver seat was rearranged a bit further back, allowing space for the mutant’s shell most probably. As Donnie took place next, Vee couldn’t help her question:

“Is this car completely custom made?”

The other smirked: “If it was, it’d be way cooler. ... Nah for this I only had a Genesis GV80 model slightly modified to accomodate my form. I like the look of it and I don’t need something too extravagant to go around on the streets.”

“ ‘Don’t need something too extravagant’,” quoted the woman. “You do realize that you have an expensive car?”

“Remind me to show you my brother Mikey’s cars,” added Donnie, then starting the car’s ignition. “Then we can talk back about what’s expensive.”

As soon as the vehicle was brought to life, music was heard, being none other than Dio’s “Better In The Dark” track. The turtle rapidly fumbled to turn it down, his eyes widening.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry for that,” he said once silence was back.

“... Are you kidding? You shouldn’t apologize for listening to Dio!” reassured Vee. “That guy frickin’ rocks!”

The terrapin smirked: “Ah, a woman of good taste! You keep on getting better and better.”

Vee couldn’t help her smile in return, the pair then finally getting on the move.

***

Donnie had to park his SUV on a quiet street, the duo next walking towards their destination; New York’s Little Italy. The evening was already laying its shadows in the sky, but the streets were bright and colorful, the warmth in the air of the incoming summer days an absolute delight. A light conversation was held as they were walking, until Vee was abruptly stopped by almost falling due to one of her heels stumbling into a small crack in the sidewalk. She was first surprised by how fast Donnie had been to catching her, a small laugh escaping her. To feel his touch around her, his strength, all she could hear was her heart drumming in her ears. They continued their path, Vee’s arm hooked to Donatello’s. It simply felt like a dream at that point...

They finally arrived to the place; a small rustic looking restaurant that had been hiding from the bigger crowd’s broad sight. There were few patrons inside, the ambiance calm and somehow giving a “feels like home” kind of vibe. Donnie seemed to know the place well, only quickly waving to the staff and already going for a table. It was a nice little corner with a table large enough so they could lay down their paperwork. Being a complete gentleman, the mutant was quick to draw a chair for Vee to sit on, waiting until she was seated properly before settling down across the table. A waiter was already at their disposition, Donnie already asking for a bottle of white wine, interjecting some Italian words in the bunch and ending with a “grazie mille”, to Vee’s surprise.

“You speak Italian?” she asked as the waiter was walking away.

“Non molti, ma un po' sì (Not a lot, but a little bit yes),” he answered. “Still learning, but I’m getting there.”

“Do you know any other languages?”

“I’ve tried to start learning Japanese alongside my brother Leonardo, but I’m not as proficient as him so far. I’ve also started French.”

Vee couldn’t help herself: “Donc, si je parle dans ma langue maternelle, tu devrais comprendre? (So, if I speak in my native tongue, you should understand?)”

Donnie froze for a moment, soon ruminating the words and showing a smile.

“Un peu (a bit),” he said. “But I feel like I need to practice a little more.” He did not skip a beat when adding: “I don’t know why, but I think a French Canadian’s accent sounds way more interesting than metropolitan French. There’s a certain flair to it, I can’t really explain...”

Vee was most certainly amused: “Try going into any rural parts of Québec, then you’ll feel like you’re speaking to aliens or something. Our French is unique, sometimes butchered, but it is nice indeed.” She did a small shrug. “I could help you practice, if you want.”

Their wine arrived, their glasses filled and the bottle left at their table. Donnie took his glass, pensively rolling the drink in his hand.

“You keep on giving, miss Vee, and I’ll soon feel cheap. First you’re helping me for the Lowline, now you’re proposing to help me with my French. ... My oh my, mademoiselle, I’ll have a debt to repay once again.”

“Let’s start by actually getting something for dinner,” added the woman, lifting the menu to her face in order to hide her blush. “It’ll give me time to think about if I need your help with something. What’s good in here?”

It was so hard to act casual...

“Their pastas are the best, but I’ll have to say that their tiramisu is to die for - I’m definitely grabbing one of those at the end.”

As the evening went along, Vee was finally starting to feel more at ease. The food was delicious, the wine delectable, and the company absolutely charming. They took some time to review the folder Donnie had brought along, talking about the project’s restrictions and demands. It was simple enough thus far, some ideas already boiling in the woman’s mind. Maybe the wine was kicking in, but she didn’t even flinch when her hand brushed the turtle’s over some papers. Her body language was screaming interest, lightly hunched over the table, actively listening to him and her smile tender. She couldn’t quite explain this attraction she felt. All she knew was that Donnie had this aura surrounding him; a welcoming and calm presence that made her feel safe and relaxed. His humor was subtle and his additions to a conversation well-placed. He was a man of many words and of a vast knowledge, although gladly giving the spotlight to any soul speaking, always listening with great interest. Vee could only admit that she wanted to learn more about him.

***

The dinner over, the pair headed back to the SUV, Donnie at least insisting that he could drop Vee to her place. How could she say no to a sweet smile such as his, anyway? The address handed, the ride went on smoothly in a comfortable silence, the woman glancing at the many lights outside - not even noticing that the terrapin would sometimes glance her way and feel this lovesick knot in his chest...

As he parked nearby her apartment building, he did not hesitate to get out as well, at least considering it good etiquette to escort her to the entrance.

“I hope I didn’t make it harder for you by cramming all that information in your face?” he said as they were talking, arms hooked again.

Vee shook her head, amused: “Absolutely not. It has given me ideas, in fact.”

“Good, good.”

As they stopped by the main door, they paused, their hooked arms transitioning into a longing, yet subtle touch of their hands. Vee finally moved her hand away, her blush faint as she removed a small strand of hair from her face.

“... This was nice, thank you,” she said. “Not the habitual work meetup I’m used to, but this was good for a change.”

Donnie quickly cleared his throat, retrieving his thoughts.

“Of course! It was quite pleasant, indeed. ... It’s not often that I get such enjoyable company.”

“You’re sweet, thank you.”

There it was, that silence as they both crossed gaze. That moment of unspeakable words and uncertain actions... The mutant sweetly smiled, breaking that moment.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at work. ... Goodnight, Vee.”

“Goodnight, Donnie.” She felt like she could breathe again...

Yet, as she saw the other walk away, she added:

“Donnie!”

He turned back.

“I think I know how you can repay me for the French lessons,” she continued. “... How about another evening together? Not work related this time.”

Joy lightened up the turtle’s features, definitely agreeing: “Absolutely!”

And just like that, the night felt even better.

((Part 5))

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned. 

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,598)

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

Part Three: Wilbur

Wilbur oversleeps.

He doesn’t mean to. He never means to. But he does, and when he wakes up and finds the sun halfway to its peak, definitely mid-morning rather than the predawn he was hoping to find, it serves as a shock to his system, and all he can think is, shit. Because sure, he’s been pretty fucking exhausted lately, but that’s no excuse. He’s supposed to be the leader here, and leaders can’t lead when they’re sleeping.

And gods above know what Tommy’s managed to get into this morning, or what Dream’s done, because Dream’s been suspiciously quiet over the past few days and there could be an attack at any moment now, and shit, shit, shit.

He fumbles his way through dressing, tries to neaten his hair, fails utterly, and gives up and pulls his beanie on over it. Not very professional, but it’s fine. This is fine. He can’t hear any screams, so nobody’s dying. Probably.

He steps outside of the hastily-constructed house he claimed for his own, and it’s less of a house, really, than a single room with walls and a roof liable to cave in at any second, but it serves for now, and he never claimed to possess his father’s building prowess. There will be time for infrastructure development after independence is secured. But he steps outside, squinting against the sunlight, and finds—everything in order. Everything looks fine. Nothing is on fire, except for the ever-burning camarvan. The walls still stand.

That should be his next step. The walls.

He climbs his way up, surveying the area. The surrounding lands appear just as they were left last night. No ominous structures set up. No fucking TNT cannons. All is calm, peaceful, and he has learned not to trust peace, these past few weeks, but if everything is alright for now, he’ll accept it gladly. Even if it doesn’t last.

He sighs, bracing his hands against the battlements. All too often, these days, he’s found his mind wandering down paths they never would have before. He can’t help but wonder what Phil would think if he knew the full extent of what he’s up to. His father tried so hard, when he was younger, to shield him from war, from the legacy that he and his best friend laid out behind them. And Wilbur cannot blame him for that protectiveness; his first experience of war has only been a few weeks long, and he’s finding he doesn’t care for it, even if he’s discovered a knack for tactics.

The thing is, though, he’s always wanted a legacy of his own.

Phil always said that it would be through his music. He never told him that he had his doubts about that, that he loves his songs but that something in him always calls for more, something just out of reach, just beyond the crest of the next hill. He’s not sure his father knows how ambitious he really is, in the end.

He should probably write him. He’ll do it after the war is over. After he has a country to invite him to see. After he’s built something that his dad will be proud of. And if he leaves out the struggle it took to get it, nobody has to know but him, because it’s certainly better that Phil doesn’t.

“Hello, Wilbur,” Dream says, right by his ear, and he jerks, pulling his sword from his inventory in an instinctive motion. How he missed the bastard’s approach, he has no idea, but Dream is standing right there, right on the walls next to him, covered head to toe in netherite armor, smiling mask firmly affixed to his face. He holds no weapons yet, but Wilbur knows all too well how quickly that can change.

“You’re trespassing on L’Manberg property,” he snaps, trying to disguise the frantic racing of his heart. His feet shift into a ready stance, a movement that’s old hat by now, both from this war and from Technoblade’s training when he was a kid, even though the sword will never be his weapon of choice. “With armor on, too. You’re not allowed to wear armor within our borders.”

He doesn’t know why he bothers to try. Dream won’t obey. He never does. That’s why they’re at war in the first place.

But then, to his shock, Dream chuckles, inclining his head. And then, piece by piece, the armor disappears, accompanied by the familiar clink of metal landing in an inventory slot.

“Right, right,” Dream says, as if he hasn’t just blown all of Wilbur’s expectations out of the water. “Of course. I guess I really should be trying to get off on the right foot with you, here. Congratulations, by the way. I’m sure you were happy to hear the news.”

What is he—?

What is this? Is he trying psychological warfare now? Is that what this is? Because Wilbur has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Is he supposed to know what he’s talking about? Dream’s acting like he should know what he’s talking about, and he doesn’t particularly want to give him the upper hand by revealing that he does not, in fact, have any idea what he’s talking about.

“Thank you,” he manages, a beat too late, but Dream doesn’t seem to notice, just continues on blithely.

“I just figured we should set up an official meeting of some kind,” he says. “One country leader to another. Get some peace treaties drawn up, write some trade agreements, draw some official boundaries, all of that stuff. I’ll admit, I’ve never done any of that before, but it can’t be too hard, right?”

“Right, I’m sure,” Wilbur replies, nodding along. Because, what?

“It doesn’t have to be right away,” Dream continues, and he just keeps talking. “I can give you a day or two to settle in, get stuff in order. There’s no real rush, but we should get it done soon. I don’t want to leave anything up in the air. That’s not the kind of thing that promotes stability.”

“Of course,” he says.

Dream goes to say something else, and then stops, tilting his head again. This time, it’s less mocking, more curious. “You do know what I’m talking about, right?” he says, and the game is up. Wilbur feels caught, but he breathes deeply, fights off his rising blush, gathers up all his composure.

“I’ll be entirely honest,” he says. “I’ve got no idea what the shit you’re on about right now.”

He’s not expecting that to make Dream laugh. But he does, tossing his head back and carrying on, loud and long, and then it devolves into a tea kettle wheeze. Genuine amusement, then, though at what, Wilbur isn’t sure. He doesn’t appreciate being laughed at, but he can’t help but feel like there’s something going on here that’s going straight over his head. He doesn’t appreciate that very much, either.

“Oh my god,” Dream manages, as soon as he’s capable of speech, mirth still dancing in his voice, “he didn’t tell you? Still?”

Something icy gets its claws around his heart.

“Who didn’t tell me?” he demands. “Who didn’t tell me what?”

“Tommy,” Dream answers, and those claws squeeze. His heart skips several beats, and suddenly, he’s casting back in his mind to the last time he saw Tommy. It was last night, wasn’t it? Just last night? He sent him to bed, because Tommy often tries to take late watches, claims himself capable, but he’s not even quite sixteen yet. Wilbur may have pulled him into a war, but he’s still a teenager, and Wilbur’s going to do his damnedest to make sure he comes out of this as intact as possible. And that means getting enough sleep.

He looked fine, last night. He was fine. He has to be fine.

He’s moving before he realizes it, his hand fisting in the front of Dream’s hoodie.

“If you’ve done something to Tommy, I’m tossing you off this wall right here and now,” he snarls. “Don’t test me, Dream.”

A year ago, a month ago, he never would have pictured himself making a threat like that. Never would have imagined himself capable of following through. But he is different, now, from the way he started, different already, and there is a part of him, a part of him that whispers to him in crows’ voices, that is scared of what he will be by the time the war is done.

“I haven’t done anything to Tommy!” Dream protests, raising both hands, though he sounds unconcerned. “I swear, I haven’t. He gave us a really good chance to, last night, but we didn’t take it. You should thank us for that. It was pretty stupid, what he did.”

“Explain,” he demands. “Explain right now.”

Tommy’s a resourceful kid. He can picture him getting himself in and out of an altercation easily. But the way Dream says it, it’s like he put himself in the situation in the first place, like he sought it out, and what the hell was Tommy even doing, outside of the walls so late at night? The walls are there for a reason. The walls are there for protection. The walls are there to keep his people safe, because maybe he didn’t exactly set out to start a country, in the very beginning, but he’s going to see it through. By all the gods, he’s going to see it through.

If, that is, this kid doesn’t give him a heart attack first.

Dream shoves at his hand, and he lets him go without an argument. Dream takes a step back, putting a bit more space between them, and then leans against the wall.

“Tommy came to us last night,” he says, “and traded his discs for L’Manberg’s independence.”

It’s a simple sentence. A very simple sentence. But somehow, the words don’t make any sense.

“Congratulations, President Soot,” Dream says, and he knows, he knows the bastard is smiling under that mask. “I look forward to establishing relations between our countries,” and he isn’t, Wilbur knows that he isn’t, but he’s enjoying this because he’s just dropped a bomb on him and he knows it, because—

“Leave,” he rasps. “Get out.”

Dream does a little salute, short and mocking, and then hops over the side of the wall. Wilbur hopes he takes damage, hopes he breaks his fucking legs. The sound of water hitting the ground tells him that he doesn’t. He can’t even be upset about it, because his heart has jumped into his throat, pounding in his ears, and all of the words were fine individually, but all together, they’re too much to process.

Tommy gave up his discs. And now L’Manberg is free. Just like that, the war is over. And Tommy gave up his discs. Tommy walked straight into enemy territory without telling him and handed over his most prized possessions, all for the sake of L’Manberg’s independence. And he succeeded. He got it. He sacrificed something dear to him, something that Wilbur never would have asked him to give up, and he did it for them. For L’Manberg.

Giddiness is the first emotion that fills him, and next is pride. Because this—this is above and beyond. He never would have asked Tommy to trade away something so important to him, but somehow, he found it within himself to do it, and he got what he wanted from it. He got what they all wanted. Somehow, Tommy managed to end their struggles in one fell swoop, and they’re not related, neither by blood nor by adoption or anything like that, but Wilbur thinks that this must be the sort of pride an older brother feels when watching the younger grow up, watching the younger go on and accomplish great things.

They are free, and it is because of Tommy. He feels like he’s on cloud nine. He feels like he could fly.

And then reality crashes back in.

Tommy didn’t tell him that he was planning this. Tommy didn’t tell him, might not have told anyone at all, and that means he strolled straight into the arms of their bitter enemies, people who might have killed him without a second thought. No one has died yet, and he always intended to keep it that way, but the thought of Tommy alone, at night, creeping his way into the belly of the beast, sends a chill down his spine.

Tommy could have died. Tommy could have died, and he wouldn’t have known until he woke up this morning, woke up late, and saw the message on his comm. TommyInnit was slain by Dream.

And then, another thought occurs to him: Tommy hasn’t come to him. Hasn’t come to brag, hasn’t even come to just tell him, to tell him that he’s just single-handedly won their independence. And that is not a Tommy-like thing to do, to let something like that go unremarked upon.

Something is wrong. Dream might have lied. He could have hurt Tommy. Tommy could be injured right now. He doesn’t even know for sure that he made it back.

Tommy gave up his discs for L’Manberg.

It still barely makes any sense to him. But there’s no time to make sense of it. He rushes back down the wall as quickly as he can manage, and then it’s off through their settlement, eyes darting around, hoping for a glimpse of him. He checks Tommy’s house, first, the ramshackle, makeshift thing he’s been sharing with Tubbo until they can get better buildings erected, and he’s not there, and Tubbo isn’t either. The camarvan turns up nothing. He’s considering leaving L’Manberg entirely, going to check by Tommy’s other house, the one built into the hill, when Tubbo comes up beside him.

“Morning, Wilbur,” he says, and then frowns. “You alright, man? You’re kind of pale.”

“Tubbo,” he says, and grabs him by the shoulders. Maybe a bit too emphatically, because he suddenly looks a bit alarmed, but he’ll be concerned with that later. “Tubbo, have you seen Tommy today?”

Tubbo’s frown deepens. “I was coming to see if you knew where he was,” he says. “He was being a bit off last night. Think he had a nightmare or something. But he’s not with you?”

“No, he’s not.” With every word out of Tubbo’s mouth, he feels his own panic grow. It is one thing for Tommy to hatch some sort of plot and not tell him. That is—well, it’s not fine, but Tommy doesn’t tell him everything. But to keep Tubbo out of the loop? To, presumably, visit him before leaving and yet still not tell Tubbo what was going on? It’s unlike him. Very unlike him.

“Okay, well, he’s got to be around here somewhere,” Tubbo reasons, his brows creased. “L’Manberg’s only so big. Should we go look for him together, then?”

“Right,” he says. He breathes, in and out. Tubbo’s a good kid. Very sensible. Very down to earth. And he’s right, of course. Tommy has to be around here somewhere. Any other possibility is out of the question. “Right, of course, let’s go look.”

So they do. They take a systematic approach, first checking all the most likely places and then combing every inch of their land in a grid formation. Tubbo’s suggestion, again. But that turns up nothing, either, and he can feel the panic creeping back in, because what if he actually didn’t make it home? What if he was out there in the dead of night, distraught and alone, and something took advantage of that? What if some mob looked at him and recognized him for an easy kill?

He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. There would have been a notification. But he could be injured somewhere, incapacitated, in pain and all alone, and he can’t let that happen, can’t let Tommy be hurt like that on his watch—

“Oh, wait,” Tubbo says, and pulls on his sleeve. “There he is.”

Wilbur jerks, and stares in the direction he’s pointing. And sure enough, Tommy’s there, right in front of the camarvan, and Eret too, it looks like. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt relief as pure as in this moment.

“Gods,” he breathes, and starts toward them, calling out, “Tommy!” And as he approaches, he gets the sense that something is off.

The first thing he notices is Eret’s expression. Pure, unbridled confusion, mixed with what perhaps might be something like anxiety. And the reason for that is clear enough: Tommy is holding their face very firmly in his hands. Which is bizarre, and Wilbur blinks a few times to make sure he’s seeing this right, because Tommy doesn’t—he doesn’t just do that. That is a gesture reserved only for people he is very, very close to. Tubbo gets that treatment. He’s been on the receiving end a couple of times himself, but not often. And he knows that Tommy and Eret get along just fine, are friends, just like all of them are, but he really didn’t think that the two of them were close enough for this. And judging by the look on Eret’s face, they didn’t think so either.

And Tommy is just standing there. Not speaking, not doing anything else. Just staring Eret in the eyes—or the glasses, rather—with a startling intensity.

“Tommy?” he asks, as soon as he’s close enough that he doesn’t have to shout. “Is everything alright?”

And Tommy startles. Withdraws his hands from Eret’s face as though he’s been burned. Turns to look at him, and Wilbur freezes in place, because just for a second—

There is fear on Tommy’s face.

He doesn’t understand what could have caused it. But it is undoubtedly there, only for a moment before it is smoothed away into something more neutral, if strained. And he hates it, hates it viscerally. He never wants Tommy to look at him with that expression on his face. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.

“Ayup,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds—rough. Like he hasn’t slept at all. “Morning Wil, Tubso.”

It’s casual. Far too casual for what Wilbur has just learned, for the panic he’s felt for the past half hour or so, unable to find this kid, this kid who is basically his brother, for all he pretends to protest against the moniker. Tommy is his family. Tommy is his family, and he risked everything last night, gave up everything for the sake of Wilbur’s everything, his grand ideals, his great vision, and now he’s standing there like nothing at all has changed.

“Ayup, Tommy,” Tubbo says. “You feeling any better this morning?”

At Tommy’s side, Eret shifts uneasily. Their expression is still one of concern, and Wilbur wonders exactly how long Tommy had been standing there like that, or what their interaction even was to get them to that point in the first place. It’s confusing. He’s confused.

“I’m great,” Tommy says, and—no, no, they’re not going to do this.

“Tommy,” he breaks in, and Tommy stiffens. “Tommy, last night, why did you—you just—why wouldn’t you tell me?”

It’s not quite what he should be asking, but it’s what comes out. And his voice is annoyingly desperate, and he hates showing off so many emotions like this, especially in a public space, but he can’t stop himself.

“What about last night?” Tubbo asks.

“Last night?” Eret echoes, and looks to Tommy, who blinks, his gaze darting between the three of them but landing on Wilbur most of all, and it’s like he’s nervous, almost, anxious about how he’s going to react, and—does he think he’s going to be angry about this? Perhaps he is, but only in the sense that he’s angry that Tommy took such a stupid risk. Below that anger, that anger born of fear, his pride burns bright. Surely, Tommy must know that?

“I—look, I knew you’d say no, alright?” he says. “But I knew that I could do it, so I did it. Simple as that.”

Simple as that, he says. As if he didn’t give up his greatest possessions. As if he didn’t win them the war, win them their freedom, win for them the reality of the values that this country was founded upon.

“What’s going on?” Eret asks.

“Yeah, does this have something to do with what you were saying to me the other night?” Tubbo says, and then looks at him. “Wilbur, what are you talking about? What happened last night?”

Tommy sighs, and says nothing. Wilbur swallows, and maintains eye contact with him as he speaks, searching for some kind of reaction.

“Dream came to me this morning,” he says, and does not miss Tommy’s flinch at the name, “not even an hour ago. He said—he said that we were free. That the war was over, that L’Manberg was its own nation, that he wanted to set up a meeting for diplomatic ties and whatnot. He called me the president. And, um, he said that you won it for us, Tommy.” He pauses, just for a moment, trying to get his emotions under control. He mostly fails. “He said that you came to him, last night, and you traded your discs to him for L’Manberg’s freedom.”

“You did what?”

Tubbo’s voice is dismayed and disbelieving all at once. And Tommy flinches, draws into himself a little, and that’s not the reaction Wilbur would have expected, but literally none of this is what he would have expected.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding quiet, a bit defeated. “Yeah, I—I did. I knew he’d take the deal. And I just wanted—I wanted the war to be over, yeah? Before anybody got hurt. And I knew this would work, so I just went and did it.”

“You couldn’t have, though,” he finds himself saying, before he even know what he’s going to say next. “Maybe you could’ve guessed that he’d go for it, but—Tommy, what if they’d killed you? Taken what they wanted and killed you right then and there? I just—” He breaks off running a hand through his hair, remembering too late that he’s got his beanie on. His fingers dislodge it, and he readjusts it with more fervor than is necessary. “I just can’t believe you did that without telling someone. Without telling—” Me, he wants to say, but holds himself back. No matter his feelings regarding Tommy, the deep respect and even deeper love that has grown in him over the course of their friendship, he doesn’t have a monopoly on Tommy’s attention. Perhaps he would have preferred for Tommy to tell him, but he’d have settled for Tommy telling anyone.

“What, are you worried?” Tommy says, and Wilbur only spares a second to wonder why he sounds so disbelieving, because—

“Yes,” he bursts out.  “Gods, Tommy! Dream came to me with this and my first thought was that you’d died! Or that you hadn’t made it back, that you were out there somewhere, alone and needing help, and I didn’t—Tommy. Tommy, please tell me you thought of this. Please tell me, tell me that you were prepared, at least. Tell me that you—” He cuts himself off again, shaking his head hard, and under any other circumstance, he would be kicking himself for the display, for the outburst of emotion, for the lack of eloquence, but he thinks he can be excused for the moment.

Tommy’s mouth works for a second.

“Oh,” he finally says, weakly. “Um, right. Sorry, Wilbur. No, I had it handled, trust me. Sorry, I didn’t, um. Didn’t mean to scare you like that. Sort of just—did it, y’know?”

“It’s okay,” he says, even though it kind of isn’t, because Tommy’s continued to shrink into himself, and he doesn’t want that. “It’s okay, Tommy, I’m just glad you’re okay. And, gods above, what you did—” He steps forward, then, unable to help himself, and takes Tommy by the shoulders. Tommy stares at him with wide eyes. “I never would have asked that of you. I couldn’t believe it when Dream told me. And Tommy, I—I’m so, so sorry. But I am so damn proud of you. You hear me? So damn proud. I know what that must have taken, for you to do that. And I’m so fucking proud of you.” He smiles, then, wide and a bit watery. He’s not going to cry, he’s not, but emotion is rising up in his throat, thick and overpowering. “You did it, Tommy. You won us L’Manberg.”

Tommy returns the smile, if a bit tentatively. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess I did, didn’t I?” And then, the smile widens, and he puffs out his chest, putting his hands on his hips. “I hear that makes me the leader now. You’re speaking to Mister High President King Lord Innit, so show me the respect you owe me, eh?”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” he replies, but he’s laughing. “No, no, enough out of you, go, take Tubbo and go get yourself whatever you want out of our rations, you’ve fucking earned it, Toms.”

Tommy offers him one last grin, and then he ducks out of his grip, grabbing Tubbo’s hand and dragging him in the direction of their storage. He can hear Tubbo’s voice already, high and offended at the fact that Tommy went and did this without telling him, and perhaps all is right with the world after all. Some things do not change, even when everything else does.

He went to sleep last night a rebel, a general. He woke up a president. How about that?

“Do you think he’s alright?” Eret asks, and he starts, almost having forgotten they were there.

“Probably not,” he admits. “Not entirely. Those discs meant a lot to him. But we’ve got time to figure it out.” He turns to them, then, makes eye contact with himself in the reflection of their sunglasses. “What was he doing with you, before we walked up?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” they reply. “He came up to me, sort of yelling a bit? Punched me in the shoulder a few times. Couldn’t figure out what that was about. Then he thanked me for something, and then he hugged me, which was a bit odd, and then he did the, uh, thing, with the holding my face? And then you and Tubbo arrived. I honestly don’t know what any of that was about at all.”

He hums, and looks out after the boys, at their retreating backs. As he watches, Tommy slings an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, his other hand gesticulating wildly.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says softly. “It’s Tommy. He makes it his job to be unpredictable.”

“You’re right about that,” Eret says. “I suppose congratulations are in order, President Soot?”

President Soot. It’s got a nice ring to it. He is the leader of a free country now, and it is thanks to the kid he sees as a younger brother, whether he’ll admit as much out loud or not. He is the leader of a free country, and that means there is much work to be done.

But he gives himself a moment longer, and smiles at the way the midday sun shines in Tommy’s hair.

It’s all for them, after all. Land is just land; as long as he can give his loved ones the freedom they deserve, that’s enough for him.

[callboxkat]

Those Long, Lonely Nights (part 3/6)

Author’s note: This is a retelling of the story These Deep Dark Woods, but from Roman’s perspective. I recommend reading that story first, but this can also stand alone.

Summary: Roman, a knight, insists on accompanying his best friend Logan, a potion maker, when he decides to head into the notoriously dangerous woods bordering their home to find some rare herbs and minerals for his apothecary. They find much more than they bargained for when they encounter Remus, a bloodthirsty giant. Logince. Angst with a happy ending.

Fic Warnings:  food mention, blood, injuries, death mention, killing mention, gun mention, mild body horror (it’s Remus), disturbing imagery (it’s Remus), character death, temporary/believed character death, kidnapping, guilt, attempted self sacrifice, talk of giants, vampires and other monsters. Very unsympathetic villain Remus.

Word Count: 2141

Part 1 : Part 4 

Writing Masterpost!

...

Logan wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t moving.

Roman stood there, his jaw slack with shock, his ears buzzing, feeling like the ground had just dropped out from underneath him and he had gone into free fall.

The giant released Logan’s arm, instead letting his body hand loosely from only a few fingers.

He looked at him for a moment, shrugged, and dropped him. He fell like a stone and did not move again.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he commented, like he’d just broken a cheap toy that he didn’t much care about.

Then, he spun around, and before Roman could recover enough to remember that he was still in danger, the giant had grabbed him up in tight fists. He ripped the sword from Roman’s grip—stronger even than the magic meant to prevent exactly that—and tossed it casually over his shoulder. The weapon disappeared into the dark.

Pulled from his shock, Roman roared in anger and grief, pounding on the giant’s hands and arms with his fists. He kicked out, colliding with the giant’s jaw but not causing much damage.

In response, the giant squeezed him, crushing the breath from his lungs. Roman gasped as he heard something crack.

“Hmm, we can still have some fun together,” the monster said, grinning crooked, stained teeth. His lower canines were almost like tusks. The tip of one of them was broken off. Somehow it only made him look more disturbing.

The grip on him released slightly. Roman gasped and continued to desperately struggle, yelling and screaming and hitting out at the giant. The giant simply looked amused, until Roman bit down on his hand, drawing blood. It tasted like acid.

The giant flinched and his grip tightened again, leaving Roman choking and gasping for air once more.

“Now, that might be a little too feisty,” he heard, the giant sounding annoyed for the first time. The monster transferred Roman to only one hand, lifted up the now free one, and flicked Roman in the head.

Crack.

Roman’s head jerked to the side as his vision doubled, and he felt his body go limp. The giant’s iron grip relented. Nausea rolled in his stomach as he felt the giant move him around, poking and prodding.

“Oh, goody, you’re not dead,” he heard, as if from another room. “Can’t have both of you dying before the fun part!”

The world spun as the giant casually manhandled him. There was a tearing sound; and then the giant was tying something tightly around him, like a spider trussing up its prey, before roughly stuffing the knight into a dark, enclosed space made of coarsely woven fabric—what he would later realize was the giant’s bag. It had a putrid smell, like the giant himself, like it was very well used and hadn’t been cleaned in years.

Something else was bundled in a few seconds later, and upon recognizing the iron tang of blood and the smell of herbs in the air, Roman was hit by the realization that it was Logan’s body now crumpled against him.

Roman attempted to move sluggish limbs to his best friend, desperately hoping against hope to rouse him, but he was tied too tightly to move.

“Lo…gan,” he slurred.

Logan, of course, showed no reaction. He was crumpled awkwardly, his head pressed into Roman’s side, heavy and unmoving. Roman was almost glad that it was too dark for him to see anything. He… did not want to see. He didn’t want to know.

It was beginning to sink in that Logan might really be gone. That he might really be dead.

Roman would never speak to him again. He would never get to tell him how he felt.

His favorite person in the world was just… gone.

Roman was trapped in the bag of a giant, with his best friend’s dead body practically lying on top of him, about to be carried off to be tortured and killed himself.

The giant began to move then, and it took everything Roman had not to pass out or throw up as he was jostled about, Logan’s horribly limp body still lying against him. The time in that bag felt like it lasted forever. Being bounced around carelessly, too restrained to do anything about the situation, feeling his shirt slowly grow damp where Logan’s head was pressed into his side, surrounded by the rotten smell of the giant. Able to hear his captor whistling out-of-tune to himself the whole time, cheery as could be. Even as he began to recover from the blow to his head, it only seemed worse, because he could truly appreciate how much he was suffering.

Finally, they came to a stop. Logan’s body was pulled out first. Roman closed his eyes as he heard it clatter to the ground.

The hand came for him next, and Roman was tugged roughly from the bag. The giant set him down only a little more carefully than he had Logan. It seemed they were in a cave, naturally formed, although with a few clear alterations. The ceiling soared dozens of feet high—plenty tall for the giant—beyond where Roman could see. It was dark, lit only by a pair of poorly made torches bolted to the wall closest to the entrance.

Roman should probably have been afraid. He just kept thinking, This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The giant grinned at him, then roughly tore off the knight’s leather boots. It might have hurt, if he hadn’t felt so numb, since the giant didn’t bother to unlace them first. The giant popped one in his mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully, frowned, then spat it back out into his hand. He dropped the boots onto the cave floor.

Humming to himself, the giant stepped back, and left the cave. With him gone, Roman could just barely see where Logan lay, on what had been the giant’s other side, the vague shape of his body illuminated by the torchlight. He looked away. Logan wouldn’t have wanted to be remembered like that. Not that Roman would be remembering him for long.

The giant returned some time later, still humming, carrying a load firewood in his arms. Some of the logs looked like entire saplings that had been yanked from the earth. The wood was dumped in a pile before the giant, and then he got to work setting it ablaze. Since many of the trees were freshly pulled from the ground, still with the remains of green leaves on their branches, it took him a while to get it to light; but soon enough, a fire was roaring, illuminating the enormous cave.

Roman should have been struggling, looking around, trying to find a means of escape… but he just felt hollow.

The giant didn’t seem content to let Roman wallow in silent misery. “This would be so much more fun with two of you,” he mused in that annoying, nasal voice as he poked at the fire with a branch, “but oh well! Oopsie! Sometimes I don’t know my own strength, you know?” He turned to Roman and shrugged, a grin on his face that showed he really did not care one bit about what he had done.

Roman didn’t respond, just listening almost with disinterest as the giant went on to cackle and talk about all the ways he was going to torture his “new toy”—Roman, of course.

He went on with that for a while, coming up with more and more ghastly ideas, before eventually sighing, “Ah, but it’d be so much more fun with two of you.” Roman finally glanced up from the patch of dusty, stained floor he’d been staring at. “But it’s okay. It’s fine. I bet his bones will make great toothpicks. Sticks just don’t last nearly as long.”

Anger boiled in Roman’s gut.

“Ooh, or maybe I can put him in a jar. Like a pickled specimen! Scientists do that kind of thing, right? I can be a scientist! A mad scientist!”

The giant paused, turning to grin manically at Roman, who just stared at him with a look of disgust.

“You know, I don’t get company that often,” the giant continued, his shoulders suddenly slumping as he pouted. “Nobody stays very long.”

Because you murdered them all, too?

The sad look faded, and the giant perked up again, grinning. “I’m Remus, by the way!” he announced, putting a filthy hand to his chest. Roman’s gaze went to the bone-studded bracelet around his wrist. It still had Logan’s blood on it.

For some reason, the sight filled Roman with a new energy. Rage boiled up within him, filling every vein, every muscle. He truly struggled against his bindings for the first time. “I don’t care about your name,” he said, hatred and grief turning the words into a snarl. He raised his voice, uncaring of the consequences. “You are nothing but a villain—a foul, malodorous, evil villain who serves no purpose to society except providing something to vanquish!”

Remus, though, didn’t seem bothered—if anything, he looked amused. “Aw, don’t be like that,” he said, removing his hand from his chest and using it to swat dismissively at the air. “Who cares about society? Isn’t it much more fun to just do what you want? Whatever you want?”

“Those of us who aren’t monsters don’t find killing fun,” Roman spat.

Remus laughed. “Maybe you just haven’t tried it. There’s all sorts of fun ways to do a little killing.”

Roman told the giant exactly what he thought he should do with himself. Remus, still looking amused, opened his mouth to respond, when…

Plop!

Remus tilted his head, turning to look. Something small, about the size of a baseball, had fallen into the fire. The giant leaned forward to grab a stick, and he poked curiously at whatever it was.

“Maybe the ceiling’s coming down!” he said cheerfully. “We’ll be crushed like bugs!”

“Greeaaat,” Roman drawled. Just what he needed. At least he wouldn’t be made into tooth picks if he was crushed by a cave in.

The fire exploded.

There was a bang, incredibly loud, and a flash of light. Sparks and charred wood flew in all directions, the flames soaring towards the ceiling with a roar of triumph. Remus shrieked and stumbled back from the inferno, stumbling over the filthy rags he sat on. Heat washed over Roman, who could only close his eyes against the sting, but who was thankfully far enough not to get burned.

The heat faded slightly; and he opened his eyes, squinting against the clouds of acrid smoke filling the air.

What the hell was that?

Remus was patting down his clothes, trying to smother the flames that had spread onto him, yelling obscenities all the while. A patch of his hair was on fire. Roman’s ears were ringing.

Then the smoke shifted, and Roman saw an angel.

Silhouetted against the glow of the fire, a dark shape was sprinting for Roman. The movements were incredibly uncoordinated, seemingly about to fall at any second. But it was a very, very familiar shape that dashed towards him. An impossible shape.

Logan.

He dropped down to his knees in front of Roman, panting. Real. Breathing. Alive. His face was swollen and half coated in drying blood, his pupils were two different sizes, and he was streaked with dirt and ash.

He was the most beautiful thing Roman had ever seen. And he was alive.

Roman couldn’t believe it. He could have sobbed. He could have screamed.

As Logan began tugging at the ropes, glancing once over his shoulder in Remus’s direction, Roman found his voice.

“I thought you were dead!” he cried, hardly able to hear himself over the ringing in his ears, the roar of the flames, and the giant’s continued shouts as he tried to keep the fire from spreading.

Logan pulled out his dagger, the blade glinting in the firelight—of course he still had his dagger, the brilliant man—and slashed the ropes holding Roman still. His hands seemed very unsteady, but he made quick work of it, and even managed not to cut Roman. They both rushed to tug away the bindings, and Roman and Logan stumbled to their feet, helping each other up. Logan kept the dagger out—probably a good idea. Roman considered taking it, since he was in better shape, but Logan’s knuckles were white on the handle. He wasn’t going to drop it.

Roman glanced quickly around to find the entrance of the cave, grabbed Logan’s arm, and they ran. Sharp stones and bits of wood cut into Roman’s bare feet as they went, but he couldn’t have cared less. Even as a newfound terror coursed through him, replacing the numbness like ink filling water, Roman felt so light.

Logan was alive.

[98prilla]

Hidden Shapes

Based on This Post by @fangirltothefullest (who is awesome and amazing, go follow). This was supposed to be a simple one shot, but as always, it’s really gotten away from me, so expect three to four chapters, instead. 

...

AO3

Next

The dark sides all have animal traits. But they also have hybrid forms. Something Patton, Logan, and Roman don't realize until Janus isn't able to help it. 

....

He doesn’t feel quite right.

 He brushes it off, at first, ignoring the slight chill that comes over him, every once in a while, the mild achiness to his bones, he ignores them all.

 Then Patton comments on how his scales look pretty on his arms, when he’s doing the dishes, sleeves rolled up, and he nearly drops the plate he’s washing, before he regains his composure, letting Patton think the slip was from the unexpected compliment, as he excuses himself.

 He notices his fangs are longer, sharper, the next day, and his chills are stronger as well, he spends nearly the whole of it working at his desk, wrapped in a blanket, trying to ignore the pain taking up residence behind his temples, pounding dully against his skull, as he examines and rearranges the schedule to make sure everyone has at least a day of self care planned for the week, before sending it back to Logan for assessment. He won’t admit it out loud, but he rather enjoys the back and forth, the bargaining, the trade offs, it’s a bit of a game of wits, finding how it all can fit. But today it just makes him exhausted.

 He makes an excuse, not to come out for supper that night, saying he’s tired and plans to turn in early, which is true, he just leaves out the reason, which would lead to Patton trying to take care of him, and the last thing he wants is to force pity from Patton, so he keeps his mouth shut.

…

He’s shaking. The world is swirling and writhing around him, shadows stretching and shifting around him, forming almost figures, eyes glaring at him accusingly, whispers menacing his ears, telling him how poorly of a job he’s really doing, and he grits his teeth and bears it, even as he feels himself shifting into something different, scales blooming across the entirety of his face, his arms, coiling in on himself, as his tail forms, a ball python’s markings, in deep blacks and hazardous yellows, marking him as the venomous creature he is.

 He doesn’t want to be this monster, but he can’t stop it, can’t stop the change, so he just hisses, cursing the world, burying himself in his tail so he doesn’t have to see anything, feel anything, outside his little bubble, though he can’t seem to stop shaking, no matter how tightly he curls.

…

He sees clawed hands tearing at him, shredding him to ribbons. Dark figures laughing as they rip him limb from limb. Violet eyes and neon green grinning, as they set him aflame, burning him to ash, and somehow, he can feel every second of it, taste the smoke on his tongue, convulsing and writhing as he tries to escape the smoke, but there’s nowhere, nowhere to go. Webs, pinning him down, eight eyes, eyes he knows so well, staring into his as the pincers bite into his neck, tentacles wrapping tight around his throat, lifting him off the ground, constricting him until he can’t breathe, until his own weight suffocates him-

 Then suddenly it’s bright, far too bright, and he can’t see clearly, and he hears gasps, voices around him, hissing and flinching back at a touch to his forehead, slitted eyes flashing as his tail lashes, coiling.

 “Leave me alone!” He growls, baring his fangs, his claws, ready to spring, even as the world spins and colors blend, everything shifting as if he’s looking through a fun house mirror.

 “You’re burning up…”

 “Calm down, Janus, let us help!” He hisses, drawing back further, heart pounding with fear, pulse racing with adrenaline, but everything is too much, too loud, too bright, and he can’t focus, can’t figure out where he is or what’s going on or who is speaking, past the pounding in his ears.

 Then a hand comes into view, trying to reach him, and he snarls, letting the coils do their job, propelling himself forwards, pouncing, but the sudden movement sends a wash of lightheadedness through him, and the world goes dark.

 “Janus! Janus, are you ok?!” He groans, barely managing to register the voice, barely managing to flick open his eyes for long enough to see a flash of deep blue, to realize someone has caught him, stopped him from falling.

 “lo…gan?” He manages weakly, feeling the logical side let out a relieved breath, though he’s no less worried.

 “Yes. You’ve got a severe fever, Janus, how long have you been sick?” His mind seems to be working at half speed, his tongue feels heavy and thick, and he barely manages a shrug.

 “w-week?” He offers, already slipping away.

 “Oh honey. We’re gonna take care of you, alright? You just get some rest, and when you wake up it’ll all be better.” He doesn’t trust that voice, not completely, but he knows in this case, it’s telling the truth, so he nods, shivering at the cold air on his scales, wishing for his heating pad, before he blacks out once more.

…

Logan lets out a low breath as Janus collapses in his arms, cheeks flushed, even through the scales now peppering both sides of his face, his pulse coming in odd unsteady beats, his breathing shallow and uneven. He’s ill, extremely ill, and he doesn’t know how none of them had noticed.

 Then again, even after becoming accepted, Janus has always been the most aloof of all of them. Even now, they don’t really know much about him, he holds everything close to his chest. Which is maybe why Virgil and Remus are the only two who don’t look entirely surprised at the state of him.

 That state being a half human, half snake, commonly known as a Naga, in folklore.

 “We need to break the fever. Help me lift him, onto the couch?” Logan states, more than asks, and instantly, the twins are there, each taking half of his tail while Logan takes his torso, sliding him onto the couch, before wrapping him with blankets, trying to quell his incessant shivering, coiling tight, teeth chattering.

 “Now what?” Roman asks, uncharacteristically quiet.

 “Heated blankets, he has some, yes?” Remus nods.

 “I’ll go get them.”

 “Virgil.” He startles at Logan addressing him, his eyes had been locked on Janus’s form, huddled and so small, despite his large coils. He hadn’t realized his breath was starting speed, his heart starting pound. “Virgil, I need you to answer some questions for me. It could help in my treatment of him.” He nods, though his throat feels dry.

 “He has shifted like this before?” He nods again, forcing himself to take a deep inhale and exhale.

 “yeah. He doesn’t… he usually doesn’t. Doesn’t like to. But when he gets sick or hurt, he loses control, sometimes. Goes… goes into attack mode.” Logan nods.

 “It makes sense, that as self preservation, he would have this kind of protective mechanism. Given his scales, I’m not surprised that he would take Naga form. And Remus has his tentacles, his half animal form being an octopus-“

 “Kraken, dear Logic!” Remus trills, returning and tucking the heated blankets around Janus, making sure they aren’t set too high. They want a toasty snek, after all, not a toasted one. A minor distinction, but an important one, in this case.

 “And Virgie here is-“ Instantly, the room grows ten degrees colder, the shadows lengthening, as it grows darker, all eyes turning back to Virgil, who is shaking his head, maybe just shaking in general.

 “don’t. Remus, please… don’t.” Remus pouts, but instantly nods, coming over and rubbing his arms to dispel the chill, smiling as Virgil’s head thumps against his chest.

 “Sorry, Vee. I forget what I’m not supposed to say and what I am. I didn’t mean to spill the beans.” He feels Virgil nod, knows he understands, he’s just scared and stressed right now, and so is he, it’s why his tongue nearly slipped. He has a bit more control than the others tend to think, at least when it comes to important things, secret things, like this.

 “Virgil? You… you have animal traits too? That’s really cool, kiddo, why didn’t you tell us?” He winces at Patton’s question.

 “you wouldn’t like them. Trust me, Pat, it’s better I just keep them tucked away, where they won’t cause any problems.” He mutters, a bit of fear curdling in his chest, at what he is, fear blooming at what they would do, if they knew.

 If they knew his eyeshadow was to hide the three smaller eyes dotted underneath his normal ones, if they knew about his eight, spindly spiked legs, that could extend from his back, much like Remus’s tentacles, making him much faster and stronger than any of the rest of them, if they knew how quickly he could move, slinging web, how reflexive an action it once was, when he and Remus were young and would tussle, if they knew about his own deadly, venomous fangs, if they knew how when he was stressed, he still vanished into Remus’s imagination, to weave intricate webs, to put his hands to work so his mind would be silent.

 “Virgil. I love you kiddo, no matter what, okay? Just remember that, if you ever do want to share. Whatever it is, it won’t change that.” He looks away, nodding once, though if Janus were in working order he’d call bullshit from a mile away, there were some things that they could grow to accept about him, yes, but his half spider form? Definitely not one of them, when even curtains with cartoony spiders warranted being called “creepy crawly death dealers” and getting attacked by Roman’s sword.

 “So… now what do we do?” Roman asks breaking the silence.

 “wait. He’ll shift back, once he’s feeling better, in control, again. Until then, we should all give him plenty of space, you three especially.” Virgil answers.

 “Why is that?” Logan asks, and Remus grins.

 “Janny’s got quite a nasty bite. Those fangs aren’t just for show!”

 “He might lash out, is what he’s saying. And it’s better if no one is in reach when he does. Me and Re have a certain amount of immunity, to the venom, thanks to our… traits, but it would be really, really bad, for any of you. Plus, he isn’t used to you all being around yet, he’s less likely to lash out if it’s me or Remus, nearby.” Virgil explains, “you, um, you’ll trigger his fight reflex.” He doesn’t have to look up, to see the slightly hurt expression on Patton’s face.

 “He doesn’t trust us yet.” Logan says softly, and Remus nods, though his face is tight, with a frown.

 “That’s… understandable. We haven’t been the best of companions.” Roman murmurs, surprising both Remus and Virgil.

 “He trusts you.” Remus states, looking firmly at Logan, who’s eyes widen in surprise, hand flying to adjust his glasses. “He doesn’t trust you.” Remus states, looking at Roman, who nods minutely, a brief look of regret flashing across his face. “And none of us trust you.” He turns his sharp gaze on Patton, who winces.

 “Remus!” Virgil hisses, grabbing his arm.

 “What? It’s true, otherwise you would have told them what you are, by now! Tell me, the reason you haven’t, isn’t exclusively to do with Patton.” He flinches, drawing back, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t have to see the hurt on Patton’s face, though he hears the sharp inhale of breath. “Tell me you aren’t afraid, of what he will do.” He gasps, the air flooding out of him, feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He opens his mouth, ready to deny it.

 “I can’t.” he whispers instead, blanching at his own words, drawing further back, into himself. “I… I can’t.”

 “that’s ok, kiddo.” Patton’s voice is soft, trembling, and he looks up in surprise, at the words, Patton taking a step closer, though still giving him his space. “It’s ok. I’ve hurt you, a lot, in the past, unintentionally, but I still hurt you. It’s ok, that you don’t feel comfortable telling me everything, telling me anything. I don’t expect you to. I don’t need you to. I’m happy to just be here, that you’ve let me have this much with you, and it’s ok, that you don’t entirely trust me. It’s ok, Virg.” His lip trembles, then he’s in Patton’s arms, head tucked against his shoulder. “we’re ok, kiddo.” Patton hugs him tightly, rubbing circles against his back, pretending not to notice the sniffling.

 “thank you.” Virgil whispers, pulling away, Patton reluctantly letting him go.

 “Of course, Virgil. I’ll go get started on some soup and grilled cheese. Everyone needs to eat something, and hopefully we’ll be able to get some soup in him, too. Thank you, Remus. For being honest with me. It… it hurts, but I need to hear it, sometimes. It keeps me moving forwards. Keeps me getting… better.” Patton flashes him a small, tired smile, before ducking away, into the kitchen.

 “I’ll go help. He gets shaky, when he’s worried, and he’ll nick himself cutting the vegtables, otherwise.” Roman mumbles, looking back at Remus, hesitating as if he wants to say something, before shaking his head and turning away, a rueful smile on his lips, a promise in his eyes, that they’ll talk later, when he knows what he wants to say.

 “He… trusts me?” Remus rolls his eyes, sitting on the arm of the couch.

 “Um, duh? You’re the only one who accepted all of us, right of the bat. Sure, you aren’t buddy buddy with us, but you also didn’t just dismiss us. You also listened to us, took us seriously, debated, not disagreeing just because of who we are. You treat us like… equals. That’s a rare thing, around here, Logan.”

 “…oh. I… I see. Well. I will be keeping an eye on his temperature, checking in every few hours. If anything changes, fetch me immediately. I’ll get some cool water and towels, for his forehead. See if you can’t coax him into drinking something, as well, he’s likely severely dehydrated. I would suggest an IV, but I doubt his reaction to that would be ideal.”

 “Ok. Sounds good, Lo. Thanks.” Logan nods once, before leaving, dropping off a bowl and towels, before vanishing once more. Virgil slumps to the ground, back resting against the couch cushions, hands buried in his face as he lets out a long, shaking breath, trying to stave off the panic creeping up his shoulders.

 Remus frowns, brushing back Janus’s hair, dabbing the rag across his forehead, willing with all his might for the fever to go down, for his eyes to open, for him to smirk and say something bitingly sharp.

 “Come on, DeeDee. Playing coy doesn’t suit you.” He whispers, eyes flicking to Virgil at the small snort from the emo, who shoves his hands up through his hair, leaving it messy and disheveled, his eyeshadow smeared across his face. If he looks hard enough, he can spot his dark little eyes, shiny, pure pitch little things, like reflective black buttons. “you know I’ve always found your little quirks cute, right?” He asks, not mentioning specifics just in case someone came by. Virgil lets out another short laugh, though the small smile stays on his face, as he shakes his head.

 “I think you’re the only one who would describe them that way, Ree, but yeah. I know.” He mumbles, not protesting as Remus slips off the couch and onto the floor beside him, slowly and gently resting an arm around his shoulders. He scoots closer, tucking himself against Remus’s side, letting himself burrow into the warmth, safe and protected. “I’m scared.” Comes the low whisper, and Remus coos, turning to wrap his other arm around him in a warm hug.

 “I know, shadow. I know.”

[cozy-the-overlord]

Crimson Curls

Summary:  A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer’s narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he’s telling.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 3: Solace

Previous Chapter |

Word Count: 4,281

A/N:  Final chapter! Hope you like it :) Thank you so much for reading!

TW: domestic violence

Read it on Ao3

“Oh, did I mention that I finally convinced my mom to buy a smartphone?” Elaine was chuckling. “She just discovered the world of emojis. Every text I get from her is immediately followed by like twenty different happy faces!”

Laughter erupted up around the small table. Kristine found herself giggling too, despite herself. She almost hadn’t come tonight. She didn’t think the others had expected her to come, either: Curt had invited her with a nervous sort of hesitance that gave her plenty of room to back out.  “It’s okay if you don’t want to come. We totally understand.”

The excuses had bubbled to her lips in an instinctual panic—I can’t, I have plans, I’m not feeling well—but she clamped down on her tongue before they spilled out. Her therapist was always telling her that the only way she could take back control of her life was to trust herself to control it. So, Kristine swallowed her insecurities and smiled at her coworker.

“I’d love to. What time?”

It hadn’t been a perfect night. Old habits die hard, and Kristine found herself looking over her shoulder more often than not. Every time, she’d turn back to the table, feeling stupid. What did she expect to see? Michael lurking behind the bar in his orange jumpsuit? Her fellow baristas had to notice—if there was one thing that this whole ordeal had taught her, it was that she was incapable of subtlety—but they were kind enough not to say anything.

It had been fun, though—more fun than she had expected. Kristine hadn’t realized how little she knew the people she worked alongside. She found herself learning all sorts of things. Curt played rugby on the weekends. Kristine hadn’t even known rugby was a thing in America, but apparently he was in an amateur league right in New York, and went straight to practices after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tasha was a self-titled crazy cat lady, with five felines living with her in her small apartment. She passed around her phone with pictures of the newest kitten, a tiny orange fluffball named Tigger. Elaine was locked in a never-ending struggle with her 63-year-old mother to “introduce her to the 21st century.”

At first, Kristine had felt guilty that she didn’t have any captivating stories to contribute to the conversation. Her only hobby was her art, and there wasn’t much to say about that. I draw people when I’m bored. Certainly nothing compared to Curt’s gripping account of how his friend fractured his neck in a game two weeks ago. But there was no pressure for her to add anything, and slowly, Kristine relaxed, content just listening to the chat.

The couple at the table across from them caught her eye towards the end of their meal. They had been whispering to each other ever since they sat down, looking back and forth between Kristine and their phone screen. She stiffened as they gestured towards her. Getting recognized in public… that was a thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around. She didn’t understand why seeing her made people so excited… it wasn’t like she was a singer, or an actress, or some other type of celebrity. She was just… her. Normal. No different than anybody else she passed on the sidewalk.

Kristine tried to ignore the excited couple and turn back to the conversation, but it was hard with the tell-tale clicking of a cell phone camera to her right. She closed her eyes. Just ignore them. Just ignore them.

The camera shutter soon caught the attention of the others, however. Elaine stopped what she was saying and turned to glare at the other table.

“Hey!” she snapped at the couple. Kristine jumped at the sudden shout. “Knock it off! She doesn’t want pictures!”

The two were stricken. Mumbling an apology, they turned back to their dinner.

“Thanks,” Kristine murmured, eyes downcast. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere these days without being interrupted by someone. She couldn’t imagine how annoying that must have been for those she was with. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elaine said. “It’s not your fault that people act like dumbasses around famous people.”

Famous people.

Kristine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be upset that the whole world seemed to know every intimate detail of her broken life, or should she be honored that they cared? Because they did care—that was maybe the most shocking part of it all. Once she woke up in April, after the whirlwind of finding herself in the Loki’s penthouse room and getting examined by the Avengers’ private doctor team and being interviewed by police investigators for hours, she finally looked at the Twitter hashtags that had been trending while she slept. It was… surreal.

Just saw the news about the blood in the apartment and I’m crying. I want her to be alive so badly, but I don’t think she is anymore. Please, @NYPD, don’t let this monster get away with her murder. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

He controlled her, abused her, and tried to blame her for her own disappearance. Do NOT let him get away with it. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

She’s such a beautiful girl. I hope they find her and that the boyfriend gets what he deserves. #JusticeForKristine

There were thousands of them. Thousands, and not a single handle she recognized. Perfect strangers, rushing from across the country to fight for her.

When Loki had returned with tea, he had found her in tears.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked, rushing to her side by the computer.

Kristine shook her head. “There’s just so many,” she whispered. “I never thought there would be so many!”

After the announcement was made that she had been found, alive and well, she thought the support would stop, but the floodgates had only just been opened. She started getting messages addressed directly to her, from tweets that read like letters to actual letters in the mail. Kristine had never gotten a letter in her life, and yet here she was having to open a special PO box because of all the mail coming into Avengers Tower addressed to her.

She got letters from people who followed the case, people who were so relieved to find that she was okay that they had to let her know. There were people she had never met, writing to tell her that she was beautiful and talented and deserved so much better than the likes of Michael. There were people writing to tell her that they hoped she knew that they would always support her, even if they could never understand what she had been through.

And then there were the people who understood exactly what she had been through. Some days, she found herself reading stories from women she didn’t know that read like pages from her own diary. Kristine had always been aware that she wasn’t the only person with a significant other like Michael—she had seen the PSA’s on television, she knew the words “domestic violence”—but somehow, she had always felt like the only one. Who else in real life was foolish enough to get into such a situation, and who else was weak enough to stay? But there were others.

So many others.

Those letters were overwhelming in a completely different way.

Kristine hid them all away, in a cardboard box underneath her bed in her Avengers Tower apartment. She had been staying there ever since she woke up: Mr. Stark had insisted. She had never really liked Tony Stark. He was fun to draw, because his face was so recognizable, but to her, that was where his merits always ended. Maybe it was because he adored Michael so much: every party she went to, he made a point of telling her how lucky she was that she snagged such a talented man. He provoked a deep bitterness in her chest, masked only by her anxiety. Kristine never had any doubts that if it came down to her word against Michael’s, Mr. Stark wouldn’t even bother to hear her out.

She couldn’t believe it when Loki told her Stark had fired Michael. He had done it early on, too: before the blood and the knife had even been discovered.

“The phone calls?” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s all it took?”

Loki looked at her sideways. “Those calls were horrific,” he said. “He’d have to be soulless not to terminate him after hearing them.”

And then, when she realized that she would have to find a new place to live now that Michael was in jail, Mr. Stark insisted that she stay at the Tower, at least until she found a suitable apartment elsewhere. He told her to consider it his way of apologizing.

“But—you don’t have to—to apologize for anything, sir,” she stuttered, unable to look him in the eye.

Mr. Stark was adamant. “This whole shitshow comes back to me. I hired him, I hired you, he met you because of it. Matchmaker, remember?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it all comes back to me.”

Kristine wasn’t so sure of that, but she was touched by his guilt. He had even offered to send his Iron Legion to retrieve her stuff for her, but she elected to do that herself, with Loki. There wasn’t much to retrieve: clothes, art supplies, little bits and baubles she had taken with her when she moved to New York.

She froze in the doorway when they first walked in. The floor was as clean as ever, and yet in her mind she could still see the sticky red trail, the sickly warmth seeping down her shirt. It had taken a minute to process that all that blood had been coming from her.

Loki squeezed her hand gently. “If you’d prefer,” he murmured into her hair, in a voice just barely loud enough for her to hear, “You don’t have to go in. Just tell me what you wish to fetch, and I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. No. I’m—I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Still, the events of that night played out in her head as she made her way through the apartment. How Michael had been ordering that she quit her job at the coffeeshop. He had been wanting her to quit for a while now, convinced that she was constantly flirting with other men while he was at work. If she loved him, he said, she’d prove it by doing this one thing for him.

Kristine refused. Honestly, her resolve surprised herself. At this point, she had learned that the only way to keep the peace was to cave to Michael’s wishes, but this demand stirred something in her. The barista job was the last thing she had left, the only thing he couldn’t touch. She told him he couldn’t make her quit even if he killed her for it.

She had regretted the words immediately. He lunged at her with wild eyes, that vein popping in his neck. When she tried to call Loki, he ripped the phone from her hands and flung her into the coat rack.

Kristine had scrambled into the kitchen area. She had grabbed the knife in a panic, some half baked idea of defending herself, but he was on top of her before she had time to think, shouting at her and wrestling for the handle.

And then it was in her.

She didn’t feel it go in. Even after it went in, it wasn’t that bad—just a dull stinging in her abdomen that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. She looked down slowly, dazedly, reaching out to grip the handle buried in her stomach. Michael looked down too, mouth agape. Kristine remembered thinking that he looked like a fish.

She wasn’t sure how she got back into the hallway floor, but Michael was yelling at her again.

“What the fuck were you thinking, going for the knife? Are you fucking insane?”

She was breathing hard, and it hurt more with every breath, sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Blood was dripping down her front. Her blood, she recognized dimly.

That was the scene Loki had arrived at. She didn’t remember much after that.

That moment ensnared her as she stuffed shirts into her ratty old suitcase. Loki didn’t talk about what he saw much, but it was clear from what he did say that he was certain Michael meant to kill her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him—had she seen what he saw, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. But as it stood, Kristine wasn’t so sure. Maybe he would’ve finished her off, had her Asgardian knight in shining armor not come to rescue her, but she couldn’t forget his shocked fish face recoil when the blade pierced her stomach.

“What were you thinking Kristine?”

Why was she so hung up on this? What did it matter what Michael might’ve done if given the chance? The only important thing was what he did do: he hurt her, he manipulated her, he stabbed her. Wasn’t that enough?

It was enough for him to be arrested. Or… remain arrested, she guessed. Of course, the murder charge was dropped once it was proven that no murder had taken place, but police were quick to smack him with attempted murder and numerous charges of assault and battery. News outlets were constantly reaching out for comment, but Mr. Stark shut them all down for her.

“Ms. Ververs has been through a very traumatic experience,” he said at a press conference. “She has no desire to comment on anything at the moment, and we at Avengers Tower would greatly appreciate it if you all stopped pestering her.”

“Well, Kris, it looks like you’ve made it,” Agent Romanov said to her as they watched coverage from the television in the penthouse. “You’ve got Tony Stark acting as your PR. You can either celebrate or be extremely concerned.”

Kristine forced a laugh. Out of all her new super-powered roommates, the Black Widow was easily the most intimidating. Still, she seemed to like Kristine for some reason. Actually, all of the Avengers seemed to like her. Dr. Banner seemed to enjoy striking up quiet conversation with her, completely unbothered by her inability to get a coherent sentence out when she was nervous. Captain Rodgers was impressed by her artwork, always ready with some new compliment that made her day. Thor never failed to greet her with a smile.

Kristine was pretty sure they were just being nice because they felt bad for her, but she decided not to let it bother her. It made her feel nice too.

They were all outraged on her behalf when Michael took a plea deal. He plead guilty to attempted murder in the second degree in exchange for all other charges being dropped and was sentenced to seven years in prison.

“Seven years,” fumed Loki when the news broke. “He could have killed you, and he only gets seven years. It’s ludicrous.”

Despite popular opinion, Kristine was relieved. If Michael had pled innocent, there would have been a trial. She would have had to sit on the witness stand and face him down as she attempted to tell her story in front of dozens of eyes. Seven years was more than enough for her.

The check was paid, and the group made ready to leave, still laughing and telling stories as they walked through the door. Avengers Tower was only a short walk up the street, so Kristine said her goodbyes and started on her way. She never really went out much after the sun set. It was strange to think that even cloaked in night, the city still was wide awake. The night air sent shivers up her bare arms, but Kristine didn’t mind. She was wearing short sleeves a lot more these days, now that she didn’t have to worry about covering up bruises. It was freeing, in a strange sort of way.

Kristine noticed one of her missing posters taped to the stoplight while she waited to cross the street. The ink had mostly been washed away by recent thunderstorms, but she could still make out the outline of her face, grinning awkwardly at the ground.

It was a really awful picture they decided to plaster across the country. Michael had taken it, the morning after the first night they spent together. Her hair was a complete mess (but then when was it ever not?), and she had that uncomfortable photo smile she wore in every picture ever taken of her. She wasn’t even looking at the camera!—why on Earth had they chosen that one?  

She glanced around for a moment. When she saw that no one was looking, she ripped the poster from the pole and crumpled it into her purse. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She hadn’t been missing for nearly half a year now, no reason to keep them up anymore. Still, Kristine crossed the street with the feeling in her stomach that she had committed a capital offense.

If her mother could have seen her now, she would have been laughing. Diana Ververs never understood her daughter’s desperate need to be seen by no one. It had been a problem her whole life. There was one time, all the way back in second grade, when Kristine had come home begging her mother to let her dye her hair brown so that she wouldn’t be the only redhead in the school.

At the request, her mom had tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Everyone looks at me!” Kristine cried. “It’s ugly and I hate it!”

“Oh, Krissy, that’s not true!” she said. “They look at you because your hair is the prettiest color in the whole world. That’s why I married your dad, you know.”

The girl hadn’t been convinced. “I want brown hair!” she said. “Like Ashley and Erin.”

“But if you had brown hair like Ashley and Erin, I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,” her mother said, pulling her into her arms. “I’d say, ‘where’s my pretty little Krissy with her red hair?’ I’d be sad and lonely. You don’t want me to be sad and lonely, do you?”

Little Kristine had faltered at that. “Nnnooo…”

“Then you’ll keep your red hair for me?” she asked hopefully, kissing the crown of her head.

“Alright,” Kristine agreed reluctantly. “Just for you, Mama.”

Growing up, it had just been the two of them. Kristine’s father had died in a car accident before she was born, and they didn’t really have any extended family nearby. Kristine had been exceptionally close with her mother, closer than she had ever been with any friends or acquaintances she met at school. When the diagnosis came in, the ground just fell out from under her. What had been simple complaints of back pain was suddenly stage IV lung cancer, and Kristine was dropping out of her master’s program to help her mom through chemo.

Everything spiraled so fast. Within months, she was gone.

While she had been asleep, Kristine had dreamed about her mom. Her dad had been there too: Kristine recognized the diabolical red curls that he had so kindly passed down to her. They had swirled around her in a mist-filled limbo, smiling and singing to her in voices too quiet to hear properly. Kristine had wondered if she was dead. It made sense to her healing-stone-drugged brain: dying young was in her blood, after all. Death and her were old friends at this point, might as well embrace it.

Frustratingly though, her parents remained just out of reach. Kristine cried and screamed and begged, grasping at thin air for her mother’s hand, but she couldn’t quite bridge the distance. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes into the elegant chambers of Prince Loki and felt her groan vibrate in her throat that she realized she wasn’t dead after all.

Actually, it seemed her life might have just begun.

Kristine slid her ID card in the door of Avengers Tower, smiling awkwardly at the night watchman, then swiped it again in the elevator.

So much security. Sometimes, she almost forgot that she was living on what was essentially a government base. The elevator chimed as the doors opened at the top floor and she slipped into the common room.

“Did you have a good time?” Kristine jumped. Loki was stretched out on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, not even looking up from his book.

She raised an eyebrow. “Were-were you waiting up for me?”

“Of course not. Not everything’s about you, you know.” Loki turned the page, but there was a glint in his eye that made Kristine smile.

“Um…” she pushed her hair out of her face. “I think I’m going to make some tea. Want some?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Kristine fumbled around the kitchen as she heated the water, feeling his eyes on her all the while. She found herself stealing glances back at him as well—he just looked so regal, lounging there as if he owned the whole place. She wished she could get away with snapping a picture on her phone, just so she could have something to reference for a sketch later. Kristine had been drawing a lot of Loki recently—after all, she had promised—but she had yet to show any of these portraits to him. The floundering, bumbling part of her was convinced that they weren’t good enough, that he’d hate them. Stupid, she knew—he had nothing but praise to shower on the artwork she did decide to show him, but still she was nervous.

She wanted him to like her so badly. Like them. The drawings. But her too. Kind of. And that was stupid as well, because she knew he liked her. He had saved her life, after all. But even excluding that, Loki had always been so nice to her. Kristine had often wondered if he knew how badly she looked forward to his little visits every afternoon at the coffeeshop, the silly little chats they’d share for a few minutes. And he never stopped looking out for her: even now, months after everything had been resolved, he’d still check up on how she was feeling.

Still, sometimes she wondered. Did he actually like her, or were his actions just out of pity? It was a strange thing to consider, especially given his tumultuous past (imagine trying to explain to the average New Yorker that Loki of Asgard might have spent months being nice to some random girl just because he felt bad for her), but she considered it often, nonetheless. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

Kristine brought the teacups over to the couch. Loki sat up, moving his legs so that she could sit next to him, thanking her softly as she handed him the cup. For a while, they just sat there, sipping their tea in silence.

Finally, though, she found the courage to clear her throat. “Hey,” she asked. “Remember when you asked me to dance at the Christmas party?”

He grinned. “How could I forget?”

“Why did you?” she asked bluntly. Her cheeks immediately flushed red. “I mean—did you—could you tell? That he—Michael and I—that we—”

Luckily, Loki seemed to get what she was trying to spit out. “Not exactly,” he said, stirring his tea methodically. “I could tell that you were unhappy, and that he was completely unbothered by the fact that you were unhappy, and I found that to be concerning. But at that point, I never would have guessed the extent of the situation.”

No. It seemed no one could have guessed the extent of the situation. “Oh,” Kristine mumbled. “Is-is that why you asked me to dance? Because you were concerned?”

Loki raised his eyebrows, turning to fix Kristine with an amused gaze. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to dance with you.” When Kristine stared back at him in silence, he laughed. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“N-no.” Now it was her turn to focus on stirring her tea and ignoring her companion. “I just… I’m not sure what happens now.”

“That would depend,” Loki said. “What do you wish to happen now?”

Kristine gulped. He had put the ball in her court. Even months later, she still found herself expecting someone to pop up and tell her exactly what to do. But Loki was waiting patiently. This decision was hers.

“I guess…” she started, speaking far too fast. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you took me out for coffee. Not in the Tower, I mean. There’s-there’s a place down the street. Unless you’d like the Tower better, that is. I don’t really care—”

Loki hushed her gently. “I’d be honored to take you out for coffee,” he said. “Would tomorrow morning suffice?”

It took her a full minute for her to fully process what he was saying, but once she did, Kristine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, that would… suffice.”

“Good.” Loki leaned back against the cushions, and silence lapsed around them once more. Kristine hesitated for a moment before following him, shyly resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at first, and Kristine made to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer.

She sighed contentedly. She was safe here.

Safe with Loki.

[gabbrolet]

He Cries In Front of You For The First Time (Hyung Line)

P.S, This is a pretty long scenario!

WARNING!: Mentions of anxiety attacks!

Kim Seokjin

You had woken up to the other side of the bed being empty. As the usual warmth of your partner was nowhere to be found, the cold temperature of the room had started to get to you, making your shoulders begin to shake. This wasn't normal...

As you looked over to the neon red digits on the night-stand, you furrowed your eyebrows in concern.

2:56 A.M

He didn't mention if he was going to stay late at his studio today, so where was he? Even if he were to be staying in his office, he should have been home by now.

So, with that thought in mind, you quickly kicked the heavy sheets off of you before putting on your slippers and opening the door to the hallway. The first thing you heard was the sound of Treadmill, it seemed as though it was on a high setting.

Why would he be working out at this hour? you thought as you jogged down the stairs and stopped at the front of the fitness room.

There he was, gripping on tightly to the two handlebars with his smooth hands, his breaths fast-paced and strained. His hair was slicked back as it glistened with sweat from the light above you two.

"Jin?"

His breathing froze as he rapidly started lowering the speed on the machine until it stopped. When the Treadmill was finally finished moving, Jin stood there, staring only in front of him.

You were about to call out to him once more but stopped yourself before you could speak. His fast-paced breaths weren't from the workout, but from him crying. He...was really, crying...

You jogged up to him and pulled him off the Treadmill and hugged him tightly, as you move one of your hands on his back in circles in an attempt to comfort him.

"I'm sorry. Its j-just, the man-manager gave me and the others a week to lose a small p-portion of weight. B-but tomorrows the last day and, and, I didn't e-even lose one po-poun-d." He shoved his face into your neck as he began to wail.

His hands bunched up the material of your shirt as your shoulder began to feel wet. His back jolted up in a messy pattern with his loud gasps and hiccups for breath. It surprised you, of course, you had never seen Jin so vulnerable before.

"Hey, hey its okay baby. How about we leave this for tomorrow hm? I can work out with you too if you want." You gently whispered into his ear as you kissed his trembling shoulder.

He lifted his head and looked down at you with puffy red eyes, tears were still rolling down his face as he sniffled.

"Y-yes ple-please."

With that, you lead your boyfriend back to your shared bedroom as you then slept peacefully in each other's arms.

Min Yoongi

The day had started calm and quiet. Nothing, in particular, had caught your interest, resulting in you roaming about the silent and empty house sluggishly. All you had done today was, cook a small breakfast of bacon and eggs, watch Netflix on your couch, take a quick nap, and take a quick shower.

Yoongi had stayed over-night at Namjoon’s place, along with J-hope, leaving you alone in the morning. You weren’t angry though, as your boyfriend had informed you of the other house before he left the next day. You had, of course, tried to convince him to either go another day or have you tag along with him, but he wasn’t one to budge so easily.

So, here you were, sprawled out over your bed, wearing only your underwear and your boyfriend’s shirt. The comforter felt cold against your skin, but you had no other way to keep yourself warm. The sheet itself was extremely messy as half of it was hanging off the bed, collecting dust as it dragged on the floor.

Sighing, you look over your arm towards the window. The sky had started to become a variety of colors, ranging from reds and oranges to blues and dark purples. The colors blended beautifully, causing you to jump up and grab your sketchbook from the nearby night-stand.

You grabbed a nearby blanket and laid it over the surface of some of the lamented wood on the ground. You smacked it with your hand a bit to get it leveled out and comfy before sitting down with a thump. You flipped to a blank page before getting to work. You drew the houses nearby along with a few trees. You roughly shaded the sky to add in detail.

Although when you finished, you looked down at your sketch and began to laugh. It was extremely messy and hard to look at but, you understood it, and you only needed the memory of the scene before you as you were going to complete the drawing later.

Just as you were about to get up and clean up your little setup, you heard the front door open. You jumped, surprised at the sound, before getting back to cleaning, Yoongi would probably come up the stairs looking for you.

And you were correct, with heavy footsteps, you heard him slowly make his way up the stairs. The floorboards creaked as he walked towards your shared bedroom. You could hear him sighing as he continued.

Maybe he's tired...

When he finally made it to the bedroom, he stopped in the door-frame, looking for you with squinted eyes within the dim light. He looked over towards the window, breathing out a puff of air before sluggishly moving towards you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist silently while burying his head in your neck. Yoongi grabbed one of your hands, bringing it up to his face to caress it. His face showed a brief moment of relief before cramping up again.

“Hey Yoonie, how was your nigh-”

You cut yourself off when you felt wet drops rolling onto your hand, accompanying the feeling of your boyfriend’s scrunched up face.

You whipped around, turning to look at your boyfriend but found it difficult, he was trying to avoid your eyes. He turned his head, but you could still see him roughly biting his lip, an indicator that was most likely going to breakdown soon.

You brought your hand up to his face, grabbing his chin and gently turning it towards you. 

“Oh Sugar, what happened?” Your eyes were filled with sympathy as your eyebrows turned slightly upwards.

“I, we, I just-,” he clasped his hand over his mouth as he crouched to the ground, curling into himself. 

He wasn’t loud, no, not at all it was as if he had muted himself somehow, the only things you could hear from him were the spontaneous gasps and hiccups that fell from his mouth.

You tapped his shoulder and pulled on it lightly, encouraging him to get up and lay with you on the bed. He stood up and slowly crawled onto the mattress, proceeding to flop on his side. When you laid down next to him, he moved up closer to you shoving his head into your chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

You weren’t sure what had happened, but you knew that you’d both talk about it tomorrow. As, for the time being, you hugged him back, whispering sweet nothings into his ears until he fell asleep.

Which didn’t take very long...

Jung Hoseok

When you realized that J-hope was late for dinner, you knew something was wrong. He always made sure to come home from the dance studio on time, and even if he came home late, it’d only be the max, about 10 minutes. But it had now been an hour, and you were starting to get worried.

You covered both your dinners with a paper plate before going to the couch and turning on the TV. You grabbed your phone frowning, you had sent him over 15 texts by now. Each one saying a slightly different message like, ‘Sunshine where are you?’ or ‘Are you okay? Why aren’t you responding?.’

You felt a cold sweat run over your body, 

Was he hurt?

Had you done something wrong?

Where is he?

You breathed in deeply in an attempt to calm yourself down, maybe his phone died! Yes, that could be a reasonable possibility, it has happened before.

Still a bit tense, you turned your phone to vibrate before setting it down beside you on the comfy couch. You grabbed the Mang plush from the side of the couch before laying back.

It wasn’t too long before you felt your phone begin to vibrate. You jolted up, cursing under your breath as your phone bounced off the couch, onto the floor.

Snatching it from the ground, you looked at the caller ID. It was Jimin, specifically hosting a face-time as you saw his chin above the phone’s camera before you answered.

 “Hello?,” Jimin’s face snapped down in an instant, his eyes staring at your face through the phone screen.

“Yah! Y/N, I need your help! Hobi hyung told me to call you!” His face contorted into one of concern when he looked away from the phone and focused on something.

Your throat closed up, what could be the emergency? Was Hoseok okay? 

“What happened!? Is he okay?!” You slightly rose your voice at the phone in your hand, you were starting to get scared.

Hoseok only rarely got into trouble, and when he did he would take it face first and deal with the situation with the best of his abilities. So if he was in desperate need of your presence, that means he's struggling.

You asked Jimin to hand the phone over to your boyfriend before widening your eyes,

“Sunshine what happened?” you cooed.

He was wiping at his eyes repetitively, causing them to become red and agitated. His eyes were a colored red as tears streamed down his face. He occasionally sniffled, trying to voice words to finally talk to you. But, his mouth automatically closed whenever he tried to open it. Just then, Jimin’s face popped up next to Hoseok’s.

“What he wants to say is that, well... We were practicing later than the rest of the members for a new performance that’s coming up next month. But, hyung has been training the most out of everybody, and, I think he got too stressed,” Jimin finished. He then patted Hobi’s shoulder before going out of the camera’s view.

You looked back at your boyfriend, his tears had slowed down but were still running down his face. His expression was more relaxed now as he stared at you through the phone, waiting for you to speak.

“How about you come home okay? We can go to sleep and relax when we get here, I even made your favorite!” His eyes lit up when you mentioned the dinner you made earlier. But, you could see that he was about to open his mouth again,

“Yes, there’s sprite as well.”

He flashed his signature heart-shaped smile, chuckling a bit as he forgot all about his stress,

“Th-thanks Jagiya, I’ll be home in a couple of minutes.”

Kim Namjoon

You felt all the air leave your lungs when someone flopped on top of you. The couch cried out as your body was forcefully smashed into it.

“Hey! What was that for!?” 

You struggled to look behind you, as your hand smacked at the leg of the person on top of you.

“Namjoon!,” you scolded while you tried to shake him off of you.

Usually, he would have rolled off of you by now and showed you his smile as he laughed on the floor. So, what made him act so differently now?

You went silent as you realized that he’d tell you what's wrong when he's ready. So, you took this time to contemplate what could have happened.

Well, this morning he seemed fine, as he gave you the usual morning kiss and compliments before leaving to go to Big Hit’s Company building to work on his songs.

He called you at 4:00 P.M like any other day, mostly talking about how he missed you even though he sees you every day. 

He sent you the normal text as well, asking if you were okay in the house by yourself and if you had eaten yet.

Lastly, he had come home at the routinely 7:30, the only thing different this time was his mood.

Suddenly you felt the weight on your back being lifted off of you, followed by the sound of a thud on the floor. 

Looking over your shoulder, you could see Namjoon staring down at the soft rug of your living room floor. His posture was hunched over, his legs crossed in an uncomfortable position. His elbows dug into his lap as his hands covered his face and became tangled within his hair. 

“Joonie? What's wrong baby?” you gently spoke out, but Namjoon didn’t seem to respond.

“Namjoon,” you said in a louder voice in hopes of gaining his attention. He didn’t respond this time either.

You slowly slid off the couch to sit in the spot next to your boyfriend. You slightly cringed at the friction the couch had against your legs as you moved but ignored it and proceeded to plop onto the ground.

You nudged Namjoon’s shoulder in an attempt to get his attention, but it was as if he was in a different universe where he couldn’t see you. 

Growing more and more worried by the moment, you decided to try and pull down his hands from his face for him to notice your presence. So, you gradually caressed his large hands, maneuvering them so that your fingers were weaved in with his. But you gasped when you saw the state he was in.

He was breathing rapidly, his eyes were wide and trained on the floor, his hands shook violently within yours as you tried to steady them. Namjoon looked at you, his mouth wasn’t moving and instead hung open to let the air around him fill in his lungs. Although, his eyes were begging for help.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breath for me all right?” you said as you brought him in for a tight hug.

It wasn’t long before his breathing had slowed down a bit but it didn’t go back to normal. 

From the placement of his head on your shoulder you began to feel him shake and jolt in an irregular pattern. A growing patch of moisture grew on your shoulder while he began to hiccup and gasp. You could tell that he was trying to hold back his tears with every forceful breath he took.  

“Mi-mianhae Y/n, I’ve j-just been str-stressed out late-ly.” He whimpered into your ear.

You immediately shushed him, reassuring him that there was nothing for him to be sorry for. Your speech seemed to have caused his sobbing to go down a couple of notches as he now only shook in your grasp, sniffling every couple of seconds.

It was quiet in the large house as you pondered on what you could do to make your significant other feel better at this time.

And that’s when it hit you.

“Baby?,” He hummed and turned his head towards you on your shoulder,

“Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow? And yes, we can go looking for crabs.”

He was already smiling when you had offered him the adventure to the beach, but after you had mentioned that you’d go searching for crabs with him he let out a chuckle.

Namjoon gave his signature smile to you, showcasing his dimples before speaking,

“Yeah, I’d, love to.”

[stillebesat]

Logan looked at Roman, eyes dark. "I need you to really think about what you're saying, because you're going to hurt Virgil even more if you do not."

To Break A Curse

Warnings: Negative Self Talk 

It was always about thinking wasn’t it? Think it through. Think before you act. Think. Think. Think.

At least the darkness could hide Roman’s flinch as the two of them stopped by the edge of the lake behind his castle. “I have thought about it plenty, Specs.” He said, keeping his tone as even as he could as he glanced down to Virgil lying motionless in his arms, hardly looking human now with how far the curse had progressed. 

A curse that could have been broken far earlier had their Emo Knightmare only chosen to come to him first about this instead of Patton or Logan. After all, Roman was the Prince! The Knight! The one who’d faced the Dragon Witch time and time again and had had plenty of practice in saving her victims from a multitude of varying curses.

Virgil would have been fine instead of–instead of–

Roman bit back a sigh. But he hadn’t. 

It made total sense why he wouldn’t too. Because even though Roman called himself a Prince…when it came to Anxiety–he had been anything but Charming. 

And now Virgil looked more like a shadow of a human–no more like the night sky in human form, his darkened skin sparkling with dozens of mini galaxies that swirled over his body now that they had left the light streaming from the castle windows. 

“Trust me, Lo.” Roman said, giving Logan a smile that he hoped would be seen as confident. “It’s how curses are broken. He just needs a kiss.” 

A Kiss. Such a simple action for the self proclaimed Romantic of their group to make. Yet, Roman found his heart fluttering uneasily at the very thought. He and Virgil were barely crossing the line from Enemies to Frien–well probably Uneasy Acquaintances was a better term for their current status. So to kiss him? Unthinkable. 

Logan crossed his arms, lips pressing together in a thin line. “A kiss.” 

Roman forced himself to not roll his eyes, hoping the darkness was hiding the blood he could feel rushing to his face. He knew how illogical it was, but that’s how breaking curses worked! “Yes, Sherlock. A kiss.” 

“But–” Logan turned abruptly away, shoulders bowing as he stared at the lake. “We already tried that!” He said, voice cracking. “It didn’t work!” 

Roman froze. Wait. Logic. LOGIC had–had—“Y-you already tried–” 

“Both Patton and I.” Logan confirmed, his glasses catching the castle lights as he glanced to Roman. “Patton seemed certain after hearing the terms–and with your feedback on curses in the past, it was only logical–” 

Wait. “Terms? What terms!” Roman demanded, shifting Virgil’s feather-light weight in his arms. Why hadn’t Specs mentioned that earlier when he’d first brought Anxiety to him?! Curses could backfire dramatically if they could only be broken a certain way! He would need to know exactl–

Logan waved a hand impatiently. “Not exactly terms per se. It’s a poem. But it’s the only clue we have to breaking Virgil’s curse. The Dragon Witch would say no more to us when we went to her.

Roman nearly dropped the Shadowling, his vision tunneling. The others had chosen to see the Dragon Witch before considering him? He could–he could have helped far sooner—Roman took a breath, calling upon his acting skills to keep his voice from shaking, from showing the betrayal clawing its way through his chest into his heart. 

Some Prince. What good are you if none of the others trust you to save the day?

Sure, he and Virgil weren’t the best of friends, but that didn’t mean they needed to go to that–that vile creature before coming to him as a last resort! “What did she say?” He managed, grateful that his voice somehow remained steady.

Logan raised a hand to his glasses, adjusting them as he spoke. 

                        “Shadows spreading like a blight,                         Only fixed under full moon’s light.                        Greet him softly with all your love.                        Accepting what you’re deprived of.                          A single need, true form remake.                   Where water pools, the curse shall break.”

He cleared his throat, pulling at his tie as he turned back to Roman. “As you can see–”

He could see, unfortunately. Roman exhaled, absently running his fingers along Virgil’s arm, chasing a white and blue galaxy up to his elbow. “Yah, it’s pretty clear.” 

Logan raised his eyebrows. “It is?” 

Roman could practically feel the skepticism coming off him in waves. “Compared to previous curses I’ve had to break under the Dragon Witch? Yes.” He smirked, though with the leadened weight settling in his stomach, it was difficult to feel triumphant. He’d been hoping that there would be something within the verse to help him prove that the others should have come to Creativity first. 

A fool’s hope. If it had just been Logan he may have had a chance, but Patton was Thomas’s heart. He could be just as romantic as Roman was. Padre would have had no problem piecing the clues together. Especially if it meant helping his Strange Dark Son. 

“Virgil needs to be kissed under the full moon by or perhaps in water.” Simple. Easy. And if both Logan and Patton had failed to understand that–Roman shook his head, moving closer to the water’s edge. “The only confusing part is why it didn’t work for either of you.” 

The curse didn’t sound like it needed to be true love’s kiss. The Dragon Witch always was specific about that. But Virgil shared close if not–dare he say it? Loving bonds with the both Logic and Morality. Far closer than Stormy McCloud ever had, or probably ever would with Roman. “Did you actually try kissing him in the lake or just greet him with a friendly hello, Specs?” 

Logan ducked his head and Roman could swear the nerd had turned red. “I–I–greeting verbally was what I wanted to do…but Pat convinced me that a kiss was needed. We tried doing so both in and by the lake. Patton the first night, me the second.” 

Both. And it didn’t work. It should have though. All the pieces were there. Shadows. Virgil. Full moon’s light. Full Moon. Where water pools? Didn’t sound specific so the lake would work. Greet him softly with all your love? More tricky, but still sounded like Kissing to him. A single need? Make Virgil normal. Kiss to make him normal. Accepting what you’re deprived of? Well the others had been far quicker to accept Virgil as one of them than Roman had, recognizing that they needed him to help Thomas function. 

All the pieces were there to break the curse.

And it hadn’t worked. 

No wonder Logan wanted him to think more carefully. He looked up, watching the full moon rising over head. Three nights of a full moon. Three chances. Pat and Lo had already tried the first two.

Tried and failed. 

Leaving him to save the da–night.

If it could be saved. 

But he and Virgil hardly had a relationship with any sort of love in it. Not after so many years of hatred on both sides. 

You’re going to fail. 

“However, if you are confident that it is a kiss…then, Roman…you only have tonight to free him from it.” Logan said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Once the Moon sets, Virgil will permanently become part of the shadows and stars and we’ll never–” He cut off, shakily inhaling. “We’ll never see him again.”

Never? Never see their Emo Nightmare again? A chill rushed down his spine. Sure, there had been a time when the news would have had Roman singing his joy loud and clear from the top of the tallest mountain. But now? Not so much. 

You’re gonna fail. 

And the others would never forgive him if he did. Roman shrugged off Logan’s hand, giving him another confident smile he didn’t feel. “Not to worry, Specs. Virgil will be right as rain soon enough. You can count on me.”

Can he?

Lo seemed to search his eyes for an eternity before he nodded, clearing his throat. “Then I shall leave you to it, Roman. Patton tells me that this sort of thing is done best…” He looked away, rubbing at his arm. “Without an audience.” 

Roman swallowed back a choked laugh. Yah. Talk about awkward. He could picture far too easily. Logan watching him with notepad in hand, ready to jot down the results of–

Your failure. 

“Sounds good to me, Specs.” He turned away, holding Virgil close. If he needed to kiss their resident Edgelord he would prefer to do it out of sight of the castle windows. “Why don’t you wait inside the Castle?” He suggested over his shoulder as he strode away, searching for a more secluded spot along the shoreline. “I’ll bring Virgil back to you soon enough.”

He could only hope that that wasn’t a lie. Logan hadn’t shouted falsehood at him, so that… had to be something right?

But with every step Roman took, his doubts only increased. 

You don’t love him.

You barely tolerate him.

You two aren’t even friends. 

How can you greet him with ALL your love if there is NONE to begin with?

Roman grimaced. “Not true.” He whispered. He and Virgil had some–he exhaled, drawing a blank on what exactly they could love about each other as he stared down at the former dark side, watching as a red galaxy chased a purple one from Virgil’s shoulder down to his hip before vanishing around the other side. 

Under Full Moon’s Light. 

Where Water Pools. 

Roman glanced to the lake, gauging the distance from the shore to the moon’s reflection crossing the still waters. 

Maybe he would have to Swan Princess this. 

“Sorry Virge.” He whispered, moving into the lake, the splashing of each step sounding like thunder to his ears. 

Though if Logan and Patton had both kissed him in water, then Virgil could hardly complain about getting wet again. 

He probably would though. Sir Pessimist hardly liked much of what Roman did. Ever. 

This isn’t going to work.

Roman gritted his teeth, struggling to keep his footing on the rocky bottom, holding Virgil as tightly as he dared so his shadowy form, barely weighing more than a feather, wouldn’t slip from his grip. “It has to.” He whispered.

Please.

Everyone was counting on him.

He couldn’t fail them.

Not again. 

He reached the moon’s reflection just as the water reached waist high. Not the most comfortable of positions to kiss someone in for sure. On the nearby rocky outcropping nearby would have been better, but that wasn’t in the water nor in the moon’s reflection. So this…this would have to do. 

“Alright, Stormcloud.” Roman said, carefully brushing dark bangs away from Virgil’s shadowy face. “Time to break your curse.” 

But you don’t love him. 

Roman swallowed, closing his eyes. 

No, he didn’t love Virge. Not like…not like the others did. He was still learning…still trying to…to see Anxiety in a better light than as the villain. 

And that’s why you’re gonna fail. 

Because wasn’t it contradictory? How could Roman greet Virgil with all his love…when he didn’t have love for him yet? 

He was barely beginning to–to like the guy, accept that Virgil could help Thomas and now–now—

You’re gonna fail. 

It was just a kiss. 

One kiss.

Roman exhaled, opening his eyes as he trailed fingers down Virgil’s cheek, tracing the angular edges as a rainbow galaxy crossed over the bridge of his nose. “Hey, V–uh…Virge-” No too informal. “Hey, Virgil.” He whispered, leaning in. “This won’t hurt, I promise.” 

Greet him softly with all your love.

Love.

Just one kiss.

“I guess consent isn’t really that important?” 

Roman paused, a hair’s breadth from brushing lips with Edgy McEdgelord, his heart twisting in his chest hard enough to tear in two. 

Virgil had never liked the idea of breaking curses through kissing. He’d said so himself when they’d filmed The Dark Side of Disney with Thomas. It wasn’t—it didn’t feel right to kiss him now when he had no say. 

Not even to lift a curse?

Logan and Patton had both tried it. And it hadn’t worked. Why would it work for Roman when Virgil didn’t even like him! 

You’re gonna fail. 

Roman drew a shaky breath, eyes burning as he fought to keep his composure. “I’m… sorry, Virgil.” He choked out, betraying tears falling onto Stormcloud’s cheeks as he closed his eyes. 

If only he had been nicer to the Emo Nightmare. Been more–more of the sort of Prince that Virgil deserved. The sort of person where Anxiety wouldn’t have hesitated to come to him for help. Would have trusted Roman to save the day as soon as the curse had been placed instead–instead–of–

Some Prince.

Roman held Virgil close, more tears freely falling from his eyes. “I–I want to help you–sa–save you. But–but–I can’t–not like–like this—I’m sorry.”

The others were right to not come straight to you.

You can’t even give a simple kiss. 

Just. One. Kiss. 

But that wasn’t what Virgil would want!

Roman gritted his teeth.

Think. THINK! There HAD to be some other way to return Virgil to his normal pale skinned, raccoon eyed, hoodie wearing self. There had to be something he had missed in the poem. Some clue that would save the day. That would bring–

Virgil stirred in his arms, a soft moan coming from his lips. 

Roman’s eyes flashed open, his breath catching in his throat as blazing light nearly blinded him where he’d expected to only be confronted with Virgil’s shadowed self.

Where water pools, the curse shall break.

Every tear of Roman’s that had fallen onto Virgil’s face was glowing a bright brilliant gold, leaving pale unmarked skin behind where they had streaked as Anxiety again stirred in his arms. 

Raising a shaking hand, not quite believing what he was seeing, Roman carefully brushed one of the golden tears with his thumb, leaving a large swath of pale skin across Virgil’s cheek in the process. 

Tears. Not a body of water. Not the lake. TEARS. That was the answer! 

“Virgil?” Roman whispered.

Another soft moan rewarded him as Virgil’s eyelids fluttered, the galaxies disappearing from his skin as his hands twitched, reaching out to grab onto Roman’s sash. “Ro?” He mumbled.

Ro.

Not Princey.

Ro.

Fresh golden tears fell onto Virgil, washing away more shadows as Roman nodded, a shaky smile spreading across his face. “Yah, Virge. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. I got you.” He said, turning back to the shoreline.

“You—” Virgil gripped his sash tighter, opening pale eyes that glimmered like the stars above them. “Did you–” He licked his lips, splotched red and black as the shadows continued to fade from him.

“Kiss you to break the curse?” Roman looked away, his own heart jumping into his throat. Careful. This was shaky ground for both of them. “No, Eugene Fitzherbert I–” He shrugged, stepping from the water onto the shore. “I remembered your dislike of that particular…method. Your lips are safe from mine. I ended up Rapunzeling your curse away instead of Princeing it.” 

By complete accident, but no one needed to know that.

Virgil relaxed, resting his head against his chest as one hand brushed at the tears on his cheeks. “You actually…cried for me? I thought–”

Roman tightened his grip. “Thought?” Despite himself he looked down, meeting Virge’s star colored eyes. 

Virgil licked his lips again before he shrugged, ducking his head. “I thought you’d be singing, actually.” He mumbled.

Si–Sing? Roman blinked. How would that have broken—

“You know.” He gestured vaguely about. “Flower gleam and glow?” 

Oh. 

Roman chuckled, shaking his head. That would have made sense…golden tears and all. “Well– I can do that too.” It would be something to do beyond walking back to the castle in an awkward silence.

Virgil huffed, his purpling bangs falling into his face. “So long as it’s not done in your romano cheesy fashion.–I–I would like that…Ro.”

Ro. 

For that nickname? Roman would gladly sing to the top of the mountains and back. He nodded, flashing him a brilliant smile. “Then prepared to be serenaded all the way back to the castle, Virgilicious. I shan’t deprive you further of the glorious piece of heaven that is my voice.”

He halfway expected to hear Virgil groan at that, but as he drew breath to sing the first notes, Virge merely relaxed in his arms, fingers once more curling around his sash as Roman walked them back along the water’s edge, the full moon shining brightly above them. 

End.

[lloftvlly]

something i never really talk about but felt like ranting about right now.

hi, i’m may, i stan fictional villains, and i have a shitty autoimmune disease.

i don’t make a big deal of it because i don’t think it’s defining who i am but i won’t pretend it’s not a huge part of my life. 

just a little backstory. my disease started to kick in in my teens. it started very slowly and snuck up on me. the first time i noticed something was off, was when my right knee started hurting. back then i didn’t think of it as much though, just maybe i was getting hurt at the concert i was at a a few days prior (it was good charlotte, my friend is a huge fan and dragged me to their live it wasn’t bad but lol). it started to bother me when the pain in the knee didn’t go away after i kept applying some cooling gels and whatnot and my knee kept swelling up. my cousin, who’s a doctor got me some cortisone cream too and it helped a bit but you can’t use this for long. so as soon as i quit using it the pain was back just as bad, if not worse. 

i started seeing doctors and they were just confused. i got my knee punctured and liquids drained by doctor 5 times. (long-ass needle goes under your kneecap and liquid gets pulled out)  this procedure hurts like shit but it always gave me a little relief for a few days. but after that it still got progressively worse. it started to also affect my left knee and my right wrist and eventually my lower back. and at this point i was taking a lot of pain meds to at least be able to have pain-free days. in the mornings i couldn’t get out of bed, i couldn’t walk. i had to always take pain meds in bed, wait until they kick in, then force myself to get out of bed and try to walk. always stiff, always having to keep my legs moving if i don’t want them to turn stiff like rocks again...  my knees were too weak to keep me on my legs for long so whenever i was in situations i had to stand a lot, i would threaten them cos i would have to find something to lean on and that wasn’t always an option.  shitty fucking situation.

i kept seeing doctors who were not sure what it was. idk how many times i left a doctor office and then had a mental breakdown, crying cos no one could tell me what’s wrong and i just wanted it to be taken care of. like lit felt like i was left so alone with my pain and no one did anything to help me with it. i even felt like i wasn’t taken serious enough. one doctor even made some comments that it might all just be in my brain. because i am also diagnosed with GAD and clinical depression he was like “this could be part of that.” such bullshit. sometimes doctors don’t take you serious for having mental illnesses is what i learned from that. 

anyway, things were looking up a little after that. 

about 7 years into living with pain i was finally getting a diagnosis. all this time it had been psoriasis arthritis, an autoimmune illness that attacks my joints. the reason why it took doctors this long is because this condition rarely ever comes without the skin condition psoriasis. i didn’t show it on my skin, and even my blood tests seemed to not show the results doctors needed to diagnose it. the only reason doctors did find out, was because i had googled my symptoms a lot and i brought up the idea to my doctor that this would be it. plus my grandpa and my aunt have the same disease and it’s something genetic. honestly without me telling the docs i think i have psa i think i wouldn’t have a diagnosis even now. 

idk what changed on the day i got my diagnosis and why it suddenly showed in my blood tests also. but i was relieved to say the least, knowing what was rly going on with my body. but the thing is, i lived 7 years undiagnosed with it and now have to live with the consequences of that time: these being, i was always walking cautiously because of the pain in my knees, it ended up in me now having a crooked walk, i can’t stretch out my legs completely anymore, neither bend them completely. it’s now just something i have to live with, that i won’t prolly never walk normally again. i’ve ruined my posture thru that, and now have chronic back pains caused by it and i get lots of migraines that result from the back (idk how it works i aint a doctor) 

now i am on strong medication called mtx, it’s kind of a med that many ppl are critical of, because of its strong side effects and it not being rly good to the body. i have my blood checked all 6 weeks cos i gotta make sure they don’t slowly kill me lol.  but for me this med is rly saving my life like holy shit. i do physical rehab in a program whenever i can, i stayed there for weeks before and it was kind of nice. the issue with my medication, however, is that i have to pause them whenever i even have as much as a small cold. since they suppress my immune system or whatever, i can’t take them when i am sick or i won’t ever have a immune system to get me back to becoming healthy again or some sciency shit idk lol. 

either way that brings me to now. i had a fever not long ago and had to pause my meds again. mtx stays in the body for like 2 weeks or so, if you pause any longer than that, your body is set back to the state it was before you started therapy on this medication and mtx takes up to ten weeks to even take effect. meaning, when i pause it, i am set back to before i started the medication and have to wait at least 6 weeks for them to kick back in and make the pain slowly go away again. now, currently i am in one of those in between times before the meds work again. i am in quite a lot of pain,  i can barely get out of bed. not only do both my knees rly hurt but so does my back. and i am like /: well that sucks. 

it’s hard to focus when you’re in pain. as i am right now. i try really hard to focus on anything other than that but no matter what i do, my mind’s always going back to the pains in my back and knees, my wrists feel surprisingly fine and thank fuck cos i need them to write lol. point being, my focus is gone. i wanna write, i wanna create, i wanna draw but it’s rly hard man. i feel whiny and like overly dramatic... nothing should keep me from writing, realistically. look, i mean, i just typed out this wholeass essay. i honestly think i am blocking myself. i’m like ‘woe is me.. i have some pain’ and somehow almost use this as an excuse, i guess, to be a lazy pos. 

someone gotta tell me “stop being a bitch and get to work” so if you read this and if you would lol. just don’t pls, for the lov of king shiggy , don’t feel bad for me or say anything to pity me. that’s not what i want /at all/. i’m a badass for living with this pain, lemme feel like one at least lol.  if you can sympathize that’s nice but i didn’t write this to make anyone feel bad for me i promise. i don’t feel bad for myself either, i honestly think i am lucky in many ways that i get to live in a country with free health care, get to work from home, get to be a lazy pos when i am in this type of situation without having to worry about anything rly. 

i’m also writing this rant to kind of push myself. get out of this stupid slump DO SOMETHING. 

anyway, that’s all. 

also: if anyone got stories to share about their own experiences and they want me to hear it, please do. ithink we all have things we struggle with. 

[dailyaudiobible]

01/26/2010 DAB Transcript

Exodus 2:11-3:22, Matthew 17:10-27, Psalms 22:1-18, Proverbs 5:7-14

Today is the 26th day of January, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we begin a brand-new week together. And yesterday we concluded the book of Genesis and began the book of Exodus which is what we’re journeying through now. So, we met this baby and his name was Moses and we’re going to be getting to know Moses for quite a while, but we were able to make his acquaintance yesterday as a baby in the Nile River in a basket being discovered by Pharaoh's daughter and then raising her…raising him as her own. So, we’ll read from the Evangelical Heritage Version this week. Exodus chapter 2 verse 11 through 3 verse 22.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word and as we move into this brand-new week and…and…and look out before us, we take this time as we do most weeks to understand that it's all out in front of us. What this week is going to look like has yet to be written, and it will be written by the choices that we make. So, we invite Your Holy Spirit to come and offer wisdom in the deepest places of our souls and in all of our important decisions that are before us. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website. So, that’s where you find out what’s going on around here. Be sure to stay connected as we continue our journey forward.

You can find the social media links in the Community section of the website and that's where like links to DAB friends on Facebook or the Daily Audio Bible women's group, which is a massive group of women encouraging one another, led by my wife Jill. So, like if you haven't…if you're a woman and you’re not connected there then you may be missing out on a lot of encouragement for you days. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link and it lives on the homepage and I thank you with all my heart for your partnership. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address, if that is your preference, is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, the little red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that is all for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi, DABber Family this is Cara from Denver and I’m just calling because I really need prayer for faith. I’m distraught, I’m helpless, I’m feeling so completely helpless. I…I just found out that my son Nish, he is homeless, and Albuquerque has court cases. He got arrested in November was released got arrested in December. He has been released. He has a warrant and he has just all these little charges. I…he may or may not have a felony charge, but I mean what this means is he’s stuck there in Albuquerque. I mean he needs to take care of these issues. I pray for someone to come into his life that will help him turn around and…and see God’s love. And I…I…it just seems like everywhere…person I turn to for help has no help available. And, you know, the last time I saw him was in September and I could have somehow maybe grabbed him and made him come back with the. But, you know, I didn’t because he’s his own person, he’s 25 years old and even though I kicked him out three years ago because he was using and I was, you know, trying to be clean, you know, and I have been off drugs for 2 ½ years. So, and I’ve been on the right path and I’ve found Jesus and…and I’m saved and…but I want him to know Jesus and God too and I just really…I can’t think straight. I don’t want to do anything that I shouldn’t do. So, I’m just really…I’ve been sick too...

Hi this is Anonymous. I was cheated on by a man who I was…we were planning on spending the rest of our live with each other. He has PTSD and I’ve come to realize a person like that, he barely can love himself and, how could he love me. And I’m hurt and I’ve questioned a lot about God. And I love him still, God and him, this man. And I just…I question a lot lately about myself, about life. But I know he needs our help. So, I pray for him daily, but I’m so confused about life and about what I’m doing. I’m 37 years old and I, you know, I just…I want a family, I want to be happy and it’s just so hard. I have MS and nothing seems to be working out. So, I just…I need help and this man needs help. Just pray for us. Thank you.

Hey Daily Audio Bible family this is Benjamin the Sower. Let’s pray heavenly Father I want to pray for Yvonne today from…from California. I lift up her two children and, yeah, just that she’s expressed that they have walked away from the things they used to know, that she…she has taught them. I pray for her Father that you would give her give her comfort, give her strength just to know that she is your daughter, that you love her, that you…you are still with her, that you love her children. God, I believe that you, yeah, you are drawing people back to you. You are…you are leading people to, yeah, to have second, third, fourth, you know, however many chances Lord. Yeah, to…to realize your goodness and realize that you, that you’re better than all those things, you’re better than tarot cards and the things that her kids are getting into. Yeah, Father I also want to pray for him Carla Jean from LA. Just that she called, her son Noah, yeah, is just in a…in a spiritual battle with anxiety attacks and that they were able to face time but, yeah, just that he’s, yeah, unsure Lord about being able to get help and life insurance or just health insurance and all those questions Lord. Just help him to be able to…to still reach out to, still just trust You with those finances and to, yeah, to get help…to…to open himself up to you and to realize that You are greater than anything that could…could cause him that anxiety. And then just real quick, I want to pray for Trusting with the father in South Carolina, just as you talked about so many things going on with your family, just know that I’m praying for you that we’ve got your back. Thank you so much for calling and I’ll talk to you guys soon. Bye.

Hi family this is Sally from Massachusetts and I am calling to ask for prayer for all of us who are parents of teenagers. Heavenly Father we need Your help with these know it all teenagers. Father God they are giving us such a difficult time. Lord You have said to us, “train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he is…he will not depart from it.” Lord, we need help with those years in between when these kids have jumped off this path without a parachute. Lord, give us wisdom, give us patience, and give us tight lips. And please help us parent these children who just reject anything within hearing distance of us. Lord please guide our teenagers, help them to listen to You somehow and give us the knowledge we need to parents through these difficult years. And we ask this in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Good morning family this is Michelle __ in Central Florida calling to share some prayer requests and praise. First, please pray for my brother. He’s in a legal situation with one of his two children over a child. It’s complicated. Please pray for him. Pray for the whole situation being resolved in a way that brings glory to the Lord. He doesn’t or I shouldn’t say he’s not serving the Lord right now. Also want to pray for ministers and all businesses and also Pelham. I’m wondering how Pelham is doing and out Pelham’s and Anna Rose’s who are struggling to get things where they need to be. So, Father I thank You God for Brian and Jill and thank You for everything You’re doing in our lives. And God help us to show love in places where love is needed. Set our businesses aright Lord God. Let us keep first thing first and do and be led of You, do what pleases You. I pray for the ministry, the ministry of husbands and wives that are in ministry Lord God. Protect their marriages, strengthen them, set their ministries in the right place, in the right order. In the lives of the minister, help them to keep first thing first Lord. God, I thank You for Pelham. I thank You for what You’re doing in his life and the Pelham’s that we know around us Lord God the Anna Rose’s and John, Bob, and Suzie, and Janet, those who are serving You and desire to serve You in a greater way and are putting their lives back together in a way that’s, You know, gonna make them stronger and of better use to You and bring love and joy and fulfillment to their lives and the lives of those around them. I bless Your name oh God. I thank You Father God for everything You’re doing in us, for us, and through us in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Hi, I’ve been listening to Daily Audio Bible for about 10 years and this is the first time I’ll be calling in and I want to ask for prayer for my nephew who is in college. He’s 22. He only has 10 more weeks to graduate with some kind of bachelors and financial. He was recently diagnosed with lupus. He was losing weight, so the doctor put him on Reglan. He was on it for two months and now he’s having uncontrollable muscle movements, or it looks like part of dyskinesia where his neck is doing a full turn to the right and he has the closing of one eye. He has difficulty walking. He had to scale back of course on his driving. He can’t get real early neurology appointment. My sister flew out there to help him and also to probably disenroll him from college. According to things online, if it is the TARDIS dyskinesia it sounds like it’s irreversible. So, I just ask that if we can pray that he has a full healing from this and for him not to get discouraged or depressed because I know he was crying to his family about what he’s going through. Anyway, thank you.

Hi, my name is Vienna. For issues of safety that’s really all that I would like to disclose about myself. I discovered you guys towards the end of last year when I was facing homelessness. That situation has changed but my life circumstances are extremely complicated and involve a lot of issues, none of which I would like to detail here but I’m in major need of prayer, prayer for miracles. I feel like I have…need to take some serious steps of faith and bigger steps ever…than ever in my life after not speaking to God for quite some time. I began to…the end of last year…found you guys. Despite that I’ve already made some mistakes in this new year but the issues that I’m contending are all massive and large and they involve very complex family court issue, custody change. I’ve got a very malignant and toxic individual just blocks from me that has dominated much of the last few decades of my life, which is half of it. Recovering from a brain injury and in very serious need of a neurologist. Other issues that I’ll be contending with are applying for disability, public assistance type things. I’ve already gone through some career changes and will be taking a step of faith in order to focus on my health versus my work issues…boundaries…but it feels like the Psalms where I’m surrounded on every side and, you know, things that shouldn’t be legal or possible have happened and injustice abounds. And I’m struggling very, very much in my health is well…

[occasionalfics]

into you // p. 11

main masterlist | steve masterlist | taglist | ko-fi | playlist | p. 10 | p. 12

Summary: Just as Steve begins to wonder why he’s been sent on a mission well below his pay grade, a mysterious, unscented woman steps in and does his job for him. He’s immediately drawn into her allure, and he needs to know who she is, why she’s on a mission to take out some of the city’s most powerful alphas, and why he can’t get her off his mind.

A/N: Okay. I gotta say. This one is super cute. 

Warnings: Steve is a soft bean. Lots of fluff, mentions of sexual content but like...there’s not much that’s explicit about this part.

Word: 2,144

They figure out on day three that taking baths is the quickest way to deal with most of her symptoms. Especially when she’s sore and raw and tired and hungry, when Steve doesn’t know what else to do but get clean. The water helps with cramps, swelling, bruising, and maybe even a little fatigue (or they just fell asleep with the water just barely meeting their ribs because the bed was too hot, too sticky, and too tempting).

On day four, his rut is all but over. And although he’s willing to get dressed and head out of the room, Steve hesitates. He finally sees why she didn’t want to leave him that first night, not even for a little while. She is desperate for his touch at all times, still completely overtaken by the first heat she’s had in years. Nothing really satisfies her, but she’s able to get to a point every few hours where she can at least control her urges and desires. She depends on him still, so he really can’t do much else but put on athletic shorts and do some laundry, even going so far as to write down instructions on how to care for her clothes that she hasn’t bothered to wear in days.

He’s gotten her to sleep while he cooks dinner, and as he has seasoned chicken frying and some repurposed (a.k.a. Leftover, thrown together for a new flavor palette) potatoes in the oven, he realizes for the first time that he’s content. The light, easy feeling in his chest comforts him, makes him realize how much he likes having (Y/N) in his space. In his bed and bathtub. Even when her nature makes her need him more than she normally would, even when his does the same - he still genuinely enjoys having her here.

Steve’s been thinking about Bucky’s statement a lot since getting back from Wakanda. You met a girl who beats you at taking down bullies. Of course Bucky was right, he just couldn’t possibly have known how right he was.

And what astounds him even more is that she’s both sides of her own coin. She’s the badass Reaper who tears criminal and abusive alphas from this world, and she’s his soft, doting, sexy omega. It’s not that he can’t believe the two can exist in one person; what surprises him is that he’s somehow lucky enough to deserve both by her standards.

He almost burns the chicken as he just stands there, feeling something hot but comfortable race through him. Something he’s genuinely felt very few times throughout his long, exhausting life. Something that draws him to (Y/N) while simultaneously making him terrified that she doesn’t feel it too.

But, he thinks as he turns the chicken over and the heat down on the burner, even if she doesn’t feel it now, maybe she will. Or, and he’s hesitant to let his hopes reach so high, she already does.

He finishes up cooking, lets the food cool without turning cold, then plates everything and breaks out a bottle of vintage wine Sam gave him a few weeks ago with a sly, not subtle at all wink. He makes sure to leave them both glasses of water, too, because he has no idea when her heat will start to subside.

Tony’s already left him seven hundred texts (or what feels like it) asking when he’ll be back to work. Steve knows the world needs him, that he has a mantle he can’t just walk away from because of a stupid mistake he made days ago, but he really doesn’t want to go back yet. Every alpha particle in his body makes him want to stay here, with (Y/N), to help her through everything she told him she wouldn’t bear for him.

Once everything is perfectly placed, he goes into the bedroom, kneels by her side of the bed, wants desperately to kiss a trail up her arm but decides against the temptation. She needs to eat, so he pokes her nose instead, laughing softly when her face scrunches.

“Dinner’s ready, Doll,” he tells her.

She yawns, and Steve ignores her morning breath because he’s sure he doesn’t resemble a fresh load of laundry in any way, either. When she settles again, she nods and says, “Smells good, Baby.”

He doesn’t know how other alphas would react to that name, but on her lips, it’s sweet and intimate and just for him. Steve doesn’t care how other alphas feel - never has, never will, to be honest. He smiles and stands, turning to his dresser to find her a shirt. He ends up pulling out his favorite white v-neck, knowing it’s made out of some kind of cooling fabric.

It’s perfect.

He helps her sit up as she yawns again, then raises her arms and pulls the shirt over her hair and down to her shoulders. “Think you can make it twenty feet to the kitchen?” he asks her.

She smirks, rolls her eyes, and stands without even so much as a crack from her joints. “I’m exhausted, not made of tissue paper,” she quips, already halfway out of the bedroom. Almost as if to make her point, she skips the rest of the way to his island, hops right into one of his high chairs, and brings the glass of wine up for a swig.

Steve joins her, watching closely, just making sure she’s as content as he is. He doesn’t start eating until she has, and after her first bite, she takes three more in quick succession and groans.

“Jesus,” she mumbles, mouth still full. Once she’s chewed and swallowed a mouthful, she shakes her head. “You, Steve Rogers, are too good to be true.”

“I take it you like it,” he says with a small nod.

She nods, too, only hers are more dramatic and require most of her body to bounce. “Either I do, or I’ve just eaten too much of your leftover pizza these last few days.”

They laugh together as he says, “Fair enough,” and then they settle into comfortable quiet. Steve is actually pretty proud of the dinner, especially as she eats the last few potatoes on her plate before it’s completely clear.

“Still hungry?” he asks as she pushes the plate a few inches away.

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. This was really, really good though.” She smiles, sitting back in the seat, stretching her legs out so her feet are flat against the floor. “I just feel like I haven’t eaten in three weeks or something.”

Without finishing his own plate, Steve gets up and goes to his freezer. Normally, he eats pretty healthy - a superhero diet apparently consists of more protein than anything else - but his one vice is his sweet tooth. And he knows he’s not the only one in the tower that’s addicted to Ben & Jerry’s, so he feels absolutely no regret or shame in pulling out two full pints of the stuff in two completely different flavors.

“Got a preference?”

She cocks an eyebrow at him, but nevertheless inspects the pints, reading the descriptions carefully before picking one called Chillin’ the Roast. Steve puts the other pint back in the freezer, grabs two spoons, then sits on his chair again, this time facing her. They dig in at the same time, pulling up scoops of coffee flavored ice cream and cookie-covered truffles. It’s one of the more indulgent flavors he’s picked recently, but it’s so good that he doesn’t even care.

“Holy shit, even your taste in ice cream is impeccable,” she states. “Where the hell did you even find this one?”

Steve chuckles. “I know a guy.”

She pauses. “Is it Ben? Or Jerry?”

Instead of answering, he shoves another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. She gasps, her jaw drops, and she nudges his shoulder playfully.

“Come on! Now you definitely gotta tell me!”

As they fall into another fit of laughter, he can’t help but feel that hot, comfortable, contented feeling he had earlier. It fills him up, probably turns his cheeks a little pink, and makes his palms sweat at the thought of asking if she feels the same. If she even has a name for this feeling.

But he returns to the ice cream conversation, because this other one is not only off topic, but also nerve wracking. “Ben asked me if I wanted to be a flavor a few years ago.”

“And?”

He dips his spoon into the pint and brings a scoop back, smirking as he brings it back to his mouth, but then halts and laughs at the look of betrayal on her face.

“Oh my god, Steven I swear if you don’t tell me whether or not you still have Ben Cohen’s number in your phone, I will tear you apart!” She reaches to grab his spoon, but he pulls it out of her reach too quickly.

“I don’t have Ben Cohen’s phone number in my contacts,” he says, “but I did go out to Vermont to try out a few flavors. Didn’t end up picking one because they’re Ben and Jerry’s - every flavor is amazing!”

She rolls her eyes, though her smile is bigger than Steve thinks he’s ever seen. She is so breathtaking that he can’t remember what they were just talking about, and it doesn’t matter. She dips into the pint and says, “You’re such a dork.” Then she stops like she was going to say more, stares ahead of her with her bottom lip caught beneath her top row of teeth, and loosens her grip on her spoon.

Steve immediately thinks the worst - that she’s hit with another wave of painful cramps, or that her heart sped up too quickly and now it’s just shutting off or something, though he’s not sure that’s really possible. He stands, drops his spoon on the floor, and places his hand on her back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, urgency on each consonant as it tumbles out.

Slowly, she looks up at him. He has trouble putting a word to the expression she gives him - not quite lost, not pained or in shock per se. He thinks it’s an I have to go look she’s giving him, and his stomach sinks heavily.

But she doesn’t move. She studies him like he has all the answers in the universe to any question she could possibly ask. And quietly she tells him, “I’ve seen this night before.”

She doesn’t look particularly worried. Steve can breathe as long as her brows don’t furrow.

“Everything makes sense now,” she says, her eyes darting quickly between each of his. Her pupils dilate, though she shows no other signs of another round of heat taking over. She’s just looking up at him, a smile slowly taking its place across her face again. “I’ve been feeling deja vu all day and-” She stops again, and her eyes widen.

“You’re kinda worrying me, Doll.”

She breathes a heavy sigh, her whole body relaxing. “Well, fate says it’s supposed to happen…” She slides off the chair and stands toe-to-toe with him, and that hot, comfortable feeling fills him up again. She puts her arms over his shoulders, his white shirt lifting up over her hips. “You’re a dork, Steven Rogers. And I love you.”

She gets up on her tiptoes, kisses him quickly, then sets herself back down. Before he can process anything, she goes about the night as if she’s said the most mundane thing. She picks up their dirty plates, bends to get his spoon off the floor, and takes everything to the sink without another word.

For a little too long, he’s stunned. He watches as she rinses the dishes, pops open the dishwasher and loads it, but he can’t think let alone move.

Because she just told him she loves him - that she’d seen the conversation in a vision before, that she knew she was supposed to tell him, that she felt what he felt when he felt that hot, comfortable surge of energy like he does right now.

That’s what it is?

She had just said that everything makes sense. And the longer he sits and stews, the more he agrees. The more he agrees, the faster his heart beats, the hotter his skin feels - not in the painful, sticky way that precedes another round of sex, but in that flushed, thrilling way he wants to always feel.

He finally makes his feet move, walks over to her and wraps his arms around her middle. She stops washing, settles against him with a sigh, and smells so damn good he can’t not kiss her neck, right where her bonding gland is.

“You are a complete surprise, (Y/N),” he says without removing his lips from her. “And I love you.”

Tags!

Global: @wonderlandfandomkingdom @samanthasmileys @sunigyrl @mysweetcookie99 @punkrockhufflefluff @lady-thor-foster @the-resal10 @rogrsnbarnes @xxashy999xx @badassbaker @frenfics @feelmyroarrrr 

Steve: @girlwhoisfearless @mrsdeanwinchester19 @cherrysfandom @captainradicalpassion @patzammit @coffeebooksandfandom 

Series: @whatdoyxumean @part-time-patronus @theunsweetenedtruth 

[runningwolf62]

@wardencommanderrodimiss @pachelbelsheadcanon

The new chapter is here featuring emotional whiplash and allegiances finally.

On AO3

What happens next is a series of incidents so coincidental and yet so perfectly aligned Larry would be tempted to call it fate. He had headed to a book store to chill and he would swear he’d just gone in to look for a book for Nick or Edgey as a Christmas present. Nothing dramatic, he’d just been caught up on his word count for the day and he’d wanted to shop and treat himself and get things out of the way so he didn’t come out of December confused and lacking presents for anyone.

And while he was there he’d remembered his promise to himself to get Tallstar’s Revenge, after WolfDragon had recommended it. So there he was in the children’s section, looking through the Warrior cats section - which he had half a mind to sort because someone respected neither series nor numbers and honestly it was a disaster trying to find anything, was this supposed to be alphabetical, because he was not going to find Tallstar’s Revenge at all like this - when the book caught his eye.

The Magic Bottle.

A simple title really, but the art on the cover was beautiful. Larry abandoned the Warrior Cats books for a moment to pick up this one, whoever the cover artist was they were fantastic at their job because Larry was for sure curious now. He flipped it over to scan the back, and cracked it open.

Well it turned out Elise Deauxnim could both write and draw, and Larry was enthralled. God where had she been when he was a kid, this shit was fantastic. He ended up buying it and after asking a worker, maybe making an excuse of shopping for a niece (listen that was the simplified version of what Pearl was and if he liked the book this much he might tell Nick to get it for her for Christmas so you know, valid) he also got Tallstar’s Revenge.

Now Tallstar’s Revenge was great, especially by Warrior standards, but he kept coming back to The Magic Bottle, the art, the characters, the pacing, it was fantastic. It made him want to write kid’s books.

Why not? You’re a really good writer and it’s not like you’re unfamiliar with kid’s lit

Thanks!

But she’s super good and I wouldn’t even know where to begin!

Stripes stop selling yourself short you’re a fantastic writer

Stripes?

I’ve mentally called you that for years deal with it

I guess it beats Orange.

“Graypaw what have I told you about talking to basketballs”

What?

Okay I’m sending you that parody as soon as I find a link to it but you should go for it! You’re talented currently inspired also unemployed

Thanks

Hey, I meant now more than ever is your chance

So what should I do?

Google this author see what else she’s written and maybe write her some fan mail

“Hi I’m a twenty-something dude, huge fan”

Look Mr. smartass if you don’t want my help

I’m just worried I’ll come off as weird!

Then lie, say it was for a nephew or something and you were really impressed too and it made you want to try writing children’s lit, how did she get started

Think she’ll answer?

She might

Worth a try

Well I did read it so only fair I review it.

Atta boy, go get ‘em

Larry grins to himself and does exactly as Wolf suggested, googling Elise Deauxnim to find that she had a PO Box. With some help and a little more encouragement from Wolf, he sends off the letter. Then he tries to calm down by focusing on his NaNo, which is mostly just him writing oneshots and a chapter or two of the fic. He hasn’t brought in Godot yet because he’s not sure what the absolute hell is going on there and he doesn’t like thinking about that day in court. He keeps sending out his resume but after how he lost his last job he’s thinking it’s a good thing he has as much in savings as he does, and he’s thinking about emergency commissions.

Until the letter arrives. He’s not sure he believes what he’s seeing but a photo sent to Wolf on discord proves that not only did Elise Deauxnim not think he was a creepy loser, she was encouraging him. She wanted to see some of his art and writing so she could tell him where he might find some agents interested in him.

DUDE

RIGHT I’M FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW!

AGGHHHH!

That’s amazing!

AGGGHHH!

I told you you were an amazing author

OH GOD WHAT DO I SEND HER

Not the Warriors Fanfic

OBVIOUSLY

Look, take a deep breath, and like, think of a story

Doesn’t have to be great, just some kids story thing

Do some art with it

Oh god, dude that’s terrifying, every idea I had just vanished.

Alright, listen you don’t have to write the damn thing just the first three pages of something

Uh, what are kids into these days?

Great question

I’m super good at drawing cats, what do I do with that?

Write Warriors but gay

Don’t we call that Wings of Fire?

Shots fired

More seriously, what do I do with that?

Well you’re good with a very open world series with a set of rules that is easily adapted to a setting

And cat anatomy

So I’d take those elements and make it into something

That’s a horrifying Chimera.

…

You know, that could be a plot hook

What?

Well like kids love monsters right?

Write a series with a Chimera as the main character, it’s part lion

Dude, you’re a genius, I owe you my life, and the response of “no thanks I’ve seen it, I don’t want it” is probably valid

Well get to it writer-boy, you’ll do great

What he ends up with is a book series about various mythological monsters on an adventure, and an offer from Elise Deauxnim to be an apprentice under her. He says yes, of course. He moves out of his apartment and to a smaller and cheaper one closer to where she works.

It’s awkward at first, on both ends. He can tell he’s not what she expected but he tries. She helps him with his writing, telling him what his strengths are first and then slowly moving to where he needs some polishing. It’s still strained though.

The breakthrough comes one afternoon, when Larry’s phone alarm goes off. He reaches over, swipes it off, and then flips the sketchbook page he’s on to start drawing something else.

Elise, - she insist he call her Elise which is weird to him but she’s a firm but matronly woman and so he obeys – looks up at the sound.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he offers a quick sheepish grin but she only looks more confused.

“Did you force yourself to get a drawing complete in a certain amount of time? You know that won’t make it turn out well.”

“Oh, no,” Larry flips back to the previous drawing to show her that it’s far from complete, “I got art block so rather than sit here and think about how I had the perfect image if I could only draw it for the next hour I worked on something else for ten minutes.”

“You’re quite talented at drawing cats,” she remarks, and Larry grins.

“I’d hope after how long I’ve been drawing them.”

“So this ten minutes of drawing, does it help?”

“Kind of yeah,” Larry pulls his sketch book back to him, looking at the sketch of Cherrywing and Spiritstar, he should draw Maya and Mia sometime. Maybe- no probably not for Christmas but at some point he should. “It forces me to relax and focus on something else, and get the creative juices flowing while I work on something that’s just for me so there’s no pressure or anything. That’s why I can only do it for ten minutes or I’d never get any actual work done!”

“That’s very clever,” she’s focusing on him now and Larry can only shrug, it’s just something that’s worked for him.

“Are those your cats?”

Oh no.

“Uh no, they’re-” he scrambles for a moment, “they’re just cats.”

Elise looks at him with a look of doubt but doesn’t press, instead she turns her focus on the picture, her eyes softening as she looks at Spiritstar and Cherrywing sitting together, “you have a real talent for capturing the emotion of a scene, there’s something very peaceful and loving about it, even for a sketch.”

Larry blinks in surprise, “thank you!” That was very much what he had been going for and he was pleased that he had succeeded at such.

Elise smiles at him, “you have such a talent for landscapes too, the nature looks natural while still framing them.”

Larry rubs the back of his neck with a grin, “now you’re going to give me an ego,” he jokes but he hopes she understands how grateful he is.

By the way she looks at him she does.

-

Merry Christmas Nick!!

merry xmas

 Hey Maya, Merry Christmas!

Message failed to send.

Figures.

Message failed to send.

-

You okay man?

I

I appreciate your concern Larry but yes, I am fine

If you need to call just let me know

Before you joke yes I’m single this Christmas

That’s a kind offer but I am with my sisters

THERE’S ANOTHER ONE?!?

Her daughter has a dog named Phoenix

Holy shit

Quite

-

Merry Christmas Stripes!

Merry Christmas Wolfman!

-

Larry has to say, having your mentor frame and hang your finished and signed piece because she likes it so much is like having your parents hang art on the fridge but somehow a thousand times better.

They spend the winter working, her on her story and on helping Larry grow as an artist and writer and working on her own story.

Larry helps where he can with that, mostly by trying not to bother her when she looks busy but she does ask him to do some illustrations for her, citing his abilities with landscapes. He accepts and pours his heart and soul into it.

SHE’S GOING TO HATE IT

NO SHE WON’T JUST GIVE IT TO HER

AAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHH

Dude

Fine! Fine!

You’ve got this, you’re a really good artist and you’ve said she’s proud of you

As she should be

So you’ve got this

Thanks man

Go get it writer-boy

You gonna buy my book Wolfman

Of course

Larry can’t help but smile at that.

But you’ve got to publish it first

Rude.

Larry tucks his phone into his pocket and hands the portfolio over to Elise. She accepts them with a smile and begins to flip through them, seeming oblivious to Larry’s nervous shuffling. She pauses at one and studies while Larry does his best to not explode or start nervously babbling.

“These are beautiful,” she remarks and Larry can feel his shoulders sag in relief, “you’ve done fantastic work.”

“Thank you, I went to the park a lot to try and get all the details right.”

“It shows,” she continues to leaf through them, Larry feels more confident so he begins to point to details he feels proud of or wants to make sure she notices.

“These are just the illustrations my book needed if you’ll allow me to use them.”

“I, uh, yes!” Larry stares at her eyes about to jump out of his skull, wait until he tells Nick! He’s successful now, look at him!

Elise laughs fondly and hands them back, “hold on to these and let me talk to my agent but that’s exactly the kind of work I couldn’t find anywhere else, your watercolor style is just what I needed.”

Larry is going to cry and just manages to thank her long enough for him to slip out and tell Wolf everything.

I’m proud of you Stripes

I’m proud of me! I feel like I’m really making myself a new person!

He’s tempted to also tell Nick but he decides to wait. To drop the book on Nick’s desk at his office. That’s how he’ll do it.

Okay so get this

Yeah?

Apparently my last name “can’t be taken seriously by publishers”.

And I thought elementary school kids were hurtful.

Oh my god

So she’s going to have me use her last name.

WHAT

Her publisher loves the idea too.

Makes me look like family.

Which sells or something?

Hey I’ll take it, I’m getting paid.

So what name should I keep an eye out for

Larry pauses, they’ve never told each other their real names, years of being Wolf and Stripes and now occasionally Writer boy and Wolfman on top of having internet safety drilled into them has always stopped them.

Look for Laurice Deauxnim.

As your number one fan I want a signed copy at some point

-

“Larry,” he looks up from his typing craze at the sound of his name, he’s made a lot of progress on this chapter and with Elise’s help he’s hoping to get it done and sent to publishers by May. That’s his new year’s resolution, getting published this year.

Elise pauses her typing and he hears her sigh. He looks up to her, her face is set and determined but when she looks to him he thinks he sees regret.

“Larry, I’m afraid a situation has come up and I know it’s very last minute but unless you want to come to a monastery with me I’m afraid you’re going to have to spend the next week or so without me.”

“What?” Larry feels a surge of panic not unlike the time he discovered he hadn’t saved in an hour, “a monastery? Why are you- where are you going?”

“Hazakura Temple,” she replies with a pause, Larry has never heard of it but he pulls it up on google quick enough. A teaser for an upcoming edition of the “Oh! Cult” Magazine pops up with some lovely images. Looks cold but interesting.

“Sure I’ll come. I’ve had art block for the past week maybe trying to do some temple scenes will help!”

Elise pauses and smiles kindly, “if you really want to…”

“I need some winter scene practice too,” Larry is not looking forward to wandering around the cold but Elise was going there for some reason, maybe he’ll find a muse there as well.

He flicks his finger over the picture hanging on the wall, the one that still made him smile to see there, “and I’ll give you a winter scene to compliment the summer one.”

Whatever hesitation Elise seems to be having vanishes as she laughs softly, “alright. Make sure to dress warm.”

And in honor of @pachelbelsheadcanon‘s fantastic art, here’s a list of the allegiances. 

SpiritClan

Leader

Spiritstar – a cream she-cat with darker paws and face

Deputy

Darkleaf – a dark brown tom

Medicine Cat

Cherrywing – a cream she-cat with darker striped paws and face

Apprentice: Splashpaw

Warriors

Firebirdstorm – a bright orange tabby with spikey fur

Orangestripe – an orange tabby tom with scruffy fur

Beetlelight – a brown tabby tom with a white chin

Apprentices

Splashpaw – a white she-cat with brown paws and face

 Demon’s Group

Demon – a dark gray tom with thick fur, especially on his chest, formerly Sharppaw of SpiritClan

Viper – a gray she-cat with cold blue eyes, formerly a rogue

Timber – a brown tabby tom with messy fur

Bird – a calico she-cat with mostly dark red patches

Wolf – large thick furred gray tom

[kingerblogs]

Today in D&D:

Into the sewers!

The party are immediately assaulted by trashspiders and filth

The party decide that the lovely rats they find are probably just rowdy friends

The rats show they are definitely not friends and form a horrIBLE RAT STORM

How many adventurers does it take to kill a few rats? Lots, apparently, as the party flub their combat against rats for two rounds straight

Oh hey someone left a barrel of volatile fantasy napalm hidden in the sewers I wonder who that could have been

The cleric fearlessly wades into a room filled with magic mushroom spores without any kind of face covering

The cleric starts tripping balls and remarks about how there’s “so mush-room in here”

The rogue saves some magical mushroom for later

The cleric is high as fuuuuuck but still manages to disperse the big healing hugs

The cleric is apparently cursed by the dice gods to never hit anything with his mace

Fighting all the mushroom men is making the cleric hungry

The barbarian leaps into the air and bisects the floating mushroom enemy in an awesome display of physical prowess and recklessness

And then lands right in the sewer water

How many frail elves does it take to pull one large tiefling barbarian out of the water? All of them apparently

The rogue sticks their hand into a suspicious hole in the wall and finds a magical pig

The cleric wrassles it

The clerics finds a little bag of powder

The rogue sniffs it and has a lengthy choking fit as they fail five con saves in a row

The barbarian desperately tries to save them by burping them like a child and holding them upside down by the ankles

Will this teach the rogue a lesson about sniffing strange powders? Probably not.

The rogue’s constitution is...not great and they spend the entirety of the next fight paralysed

The DPS machine ranger draws all the aggro

The ranger accepts her own mortality as the creepy critters try and drag her paralysed body away

The cleric saves the day with a timely heal

The barbarian tries to pop the weird alchemical sewer bubbles

It doesn’t go well

The party find a dead guard

The barbarian “Fuck the po-lice!”

The party find the dead guard’s locket containing pictures of his family and evidence that he was fighting the same cult the party is out to get

The barbarian “Okay maybe not fuck this one particular cop”

The party find the last of the people they were sent to find and also a horrible sewer aberration

The rogue starts rolling higher to hit after they’re blinded

The party find an enormous waterfall drop

The rogue wants to dive

The barbarian walks face first into a gelatinous cube

The large, slow moving cube somehow manages to succeed on a dexterity save against the rogue’s magic

The party were not ready for this jelly and the cleric is engulfed too

The rogue considers eating the remains of the cube

The cleric and the barbarian share a very wet, gloopy, sticky hug

The ranger who would normally feel left out is fine with not being part of the ‘almost consumed by a goo monster and covered in slime club’