#oh right and i was spiraling in the abyss earlier which put me in The worst mood but hey 36 stars we take those

[mintjeru]

are you normal or did you note down the puns in the act 1 event quest to compare between localizations

[aspoonofsugar]

Ironwood and Cinder: The Final Word

Cinder: And that’s… checkmate.

The Final Word of the volume is Cinder’s and it is meaningful she says it to Ironwood.

As a matter of fact Ironwood and Cinder are two sides of the same coin on many levels. This is conveyed also structurally.

Volume 7 is mostly about Ironwood’s tragic spiral. We are shown him struggle with his flaw throughout the whole volume, but in the end he loses to it and becomes just as dangerous as Salem:

Oscar: Then you're as dangerous as she is, James.

Not only does volume 8 close with Cinder instead, but it also opens with her:

And it even gives us her backstory:

Why does it happen? And why is Cinder’s final line so important when it comes to her foiling with Ironwood?

GRAVITY

It is not by chance that Watts calls both Ironwood and Cinder out before the climax of respectively volume 7 (Ironwood) and volume 8 (Cinder). This is because, as stated above, volume 7 is Ironwood’s volume, while volume 8 is Cinder’s. So they both are confronted with a truth about themselves and their reaction to it influences their stories in the Atlas arc.

In a sense, even if Watts is the one dangerously hanging over an abyss... it is actually Ironwood and Cinder who are on the brink. They are deciding Watts’s survival, but they are also deciding their own destiny.

They are choosing if to fall because of gravity or if to fly in the sky victorious.

At the same time, the two scenes with Watts show how Cinder and Ironwood are both similar and opposites.

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

Ironwood and Cinder are nothing, but two products of Atlas’s society.

Ironwood was born at the very top:

Watts: You just stood atop it and called yourself a giant!

Cinder existed at the very bottom:

Watts: You think you're entitled to everything just because you've suffered, but suffering isn't enough! You can't just be strong, you have to be smart! You can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been, is a BLOODY MIGRAINE!

Watts is in the middle and he represents the worst traits of both.

He wants everything, just like Cinder:

Ironwood: I gave you everything you could have wanted!

But differently from Cinder it was no true he had nothing. He was successful, had food, clothes and respect. Still, he was never satisfied and ended up disgracing himself in the search of something more.

He also disregards feelings in favor of rationality, just like Ironwood:

Watts: Our tin soldier’s heart has cost him his mind.

And he sees people under him as inherently inferior:

Watts: Yes, yes, please keep your posse in check.

This is why his death is fitting:

Cinder: I merely added more flames to the fires of Atlas.

He burns with Atlas aka the city he wants to destroy, but also a symbol of who he is deep down.

What is more, his death happens specifically because he blindly follows his wishes:

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

And because he is outsmarted and manipulated by Cinder:

Cinder: You deserve this, Arthur. We'll be back.

He is proud of his genius and rationality, but in the end he dies because of his feelings of pettiness.

In short, Watts, Cinder and Ironwood represent three social classes of Atlas and how the system corrupts people at every level. In general, all three want to be at the very top, but disreguard and mistreat the ones below.

-This is why Ironwood seeks control even in situations where he is not in charge, like the Vytal Festival. He also challenges Ozpin’s authority and leadership because he is not used not to be the one deciding. At the same time, he is shown ready to discard Mantle in multiple occasions.

-This is why Watts can call out Ironwood’s arrogance without seeing he is exactly the same as him.

-Finally, this is why Cinder lashes out at people she sees as Atlas elites (the Schnees, Ironwood, Watts), but treats those below her just like she was treated:

Emerald: We don't need him! Everything was going fine! (a slap is heard, and she cries out in pain)

Cinder: Do not mistake your place.

Mercury: Oh yeah? Tell that to--

Cinder: Quiet.

THE ENEMIES OF TRUST

Both Ironwood and Cinder’s left arms are artificial. Ironwood’s is mechanical, while Cinder’s is Grimm.

Their respective arms convey opposite approaches to things.

On a more general level, they are respectively linked to Creation (Ironwood’s mechanical arm) and to Destruction (Cinder’s Grimm arm). As a matter of fact a robotic arm is a human creation, while Grimms are nothing, but the symbol of destruction.

On a personal level, their arms hint at the two characters’ opposite personalities.

Ironwood’s arm can’t feel pain.

Cinder’s is instead linked to pain and feelings in different ways:

Raven: Aura can't protect your arm, it's Grimm.

Salem: You chose to disobey my specific instructions just to fail again.

Cinder: She’s back…

Cinder feels great pain whenever her Shadow Hand is cut because she can’t protect it with aura. At the same time, it is used by Salem to torture her. Finally, it links her to Salem to the point that she knows when her Master is back.

In other words, Cinder’s arm lets her feel more, while Ironwood’s lets him feel less.

This difference is mirrored by both the ways Ironwood and Cinder respectively attack Watts and by their semblances:

Ironwood’s Mettle lets Ironwood suppress his own feelings, so that he can pursue any objective, no matter how cruel or immoral it is. It makes him “superhuman”, but in a very negative sense.

Cinder’s Scorching Caress represents Cinder’s explosive emotions. It is a form of self-expression, which is both destructive and self-destructive.

Ironwood’s semblance is about repression, while Cinder’s is about lashing out.

Similarly, Ironwood goes after Watts at the cost of his arm and he ignores the pain he feels:

Watts: I wouldn't do that if I were you. I mean, unless you're hoping to add more metal to that body of yours.

Cinder instead goes after Watts to vent her anger:

Cinder: What do you mean, she'll destroy herself? How am I supposed to take her power if she's dead?!

Both are extremes and both are wrong, as Winter explains:

Winter: But yes Penny, we must still acknowledge our personal feelings, wrestle with them. It ensures us that we’re on the right path. It’s what makes us human.

Ironwood and Cinder should aknowledge their own feelings not to be consumed by them.  It is also the only way for them to truly be humans, not machines or monsters, but simply people.

Both characters almost succeed just before the climax of their respective volumes.

Ironwood tries to open up to others:

And Cinder shows vulnerability:

However, none of them is able to capitalize on this chance for development. This is ironically because of each other:

Cinder messes with Ironwood’s insecurities, while Ironwood’s ultimatum gives Cinder the perfect chance to ignore hers.

The result is that Ironwood goes back to control, while Cinder goes back to manipulation. Both do so because they are unable to trust.

Interestingly, they take after their respective mentors in this.

Ironwood takes after Ozpin:

Ironwood: Did you really think you were the only one who got to work on a new plan after Beacon? WIth Ozpin gone, I needed my own team of people I could trust.

Oscar: General? Earlier, you asked for my advice.

Ironwood: I wanted Ozpin's advice.

Oscar: And his advice probably would've been to keep your secrets.

Cinder takes after Salem:

Salem: When I chose you as my vessel for the Maidens, I put my trust in you. So, I trust that you wouldn’t possibly return to me empty-handed.

Ironwood’s whole struggle in volume 7 is his search for a “new approach”. He wants to be like Ozpin, but better. This is why he founds his own group, but wants to trust the world with the truth about Salem. However, he confuses trust with control.

Cinder instead wants to become just like Salem and suffers when she sees she is not. This is why she collects assets, just like her master. This is also why she does not trust anyone, but manipulates others.

That said, what is the difference between Ironwood’s control and Cinder’s manipulation? It has once again to do with feelings.

Ironwood’s attempt to manipulate others is about suppressing feelings. He uses Atlas’s military hierarchy and social structures to ask for his subordinates’ blind loyalty.

Cinder’s method to control people lies instead in making use of others’ feelings. She uses both wishes and fears to her advantage.

In short, control and manipulation are nothing, but the same inability to trust declined in opposite ways. They are both “enemies of trust”.

This is why both Ironwood and Cinder find a strong enemy and a foil in the character, who embodies friendship in these volumes:

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder not trusting others is because they fear betrayal:

Cinder: I won’t have to run now.

Rhodes: That’s all you’ll ever do.

Ironwood: I've chased a lot of shadows over the years, always expecting betrayal. But never once did I think it would ever come from you.

However, Penny too is betrayed and mistreated by others:

Penny: I do not like it when friends fight.

Ruby: I know. Yang and I may not agree on how best to save Mantle but-

Penny: No. I mean Winter. The general. They were our friends. But then the Ace Ops attacked you. And the general, he said people were going to die, because of me.

 However, she does not give up on the ideal of a genuine bond:

Attached but not By strings

Still, if Penny is a positive foil to both Ironwood and Cinder, why does she die?

RISK

Weiss: Trust is a risk.  

Yang: Ruby, they’re not called sure things, they’re called risks.

These two lines taken together are why at the end of volume 8 Penny dies, our heroes fall and the manipulative Cinder wins.

It happens to show the main theme of the two Atlas volumes. Trust is not a “sure thing”. It is a risk and it does not always work. Still, it is necessary to trust as it is necessary to take risks:

Yang: You were being optimistic. Look, blind optimism isn’t great, but no optimism means we already lost. We need hope. We need to take risks.

Giving up on trust and risks means giving up on hope. It means to give in to fear.

Still, this does not mean your trust will always be paid back. And it does not mean that the risks you take will always work, even if you come up with a wonderful plan:

Cinder: I knew your plan would be bold, but I never could have predicted all of this...

Sometimes people will betray you:

Sometimes your risk will end up in a fall:

However, it is still worth to trust, even when you have no guarantee it will work:

And sometimes It is even worth to risk the fall because it may lead to people being saved:

This same idea is conveyed also through Penny’s final choice:

Penny: Trust me.

Winter: Thank you for trusting me with this.

Penny dies tragically, but she still manages to pass the Maiden’s power to a person she trusts.

This is especially meaningful because the Winter Maiden power, just like Penny herself, has been subjected to both control and manipulation.

Ironwood does all he can to make sure the power ends up to Winter. At the same time, he is the one most responsible for Penny feeling as nothing, but a robot:

Ironwood: As the official report stated, that footage was doctored. Penny is completely under my control.

Cinder tries to steal the power three times. She also manipulates Penny’s feelings towards her friends:

Cinder: I was hoping your friends would be here. But it looks like they left you to do all the work. You’re just a tool to be used!

In the end, Ironwood treating Penny as a machine (control) and Cinder using Penny’s love for her friends against her (manipulation) are among the psychological factors that lead Penny to be mortally wounded by Cinder.

Still, while dying Penny negates both Ironwood and Cinder and frees the power and herself from both control and manipulation.

The fact she chooses Winter works well to illustrate this.

Winter is the person Ironwood wants as the next Maiden. However, Winter becomes a Maiden not because of Ironwood’s control, but because of Penny’s trust:

Ironwood: So… the destiny I chose for you has arrived.

Winter: You chose nothing. This...was a gift.

Winter is a Schnee, so she represents both what Cinder hates and what she herself wants to be:

Cinder to Winter: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you’ll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier.

Winter is a symbol of Atlas and so she is a reminder to Cinder that Atlas is not really destroyed:

Robyn: What do you think a kingdom is? The people, or just the chunk of land they live on?

Just like Cinder’s past isn’t.

WORTHY

Cinder wants to be worthy. Ironwood wants to be a hero.

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder want the same thing. They want to be above others. They want to be more than humans.

However, they go at it in opposite ways:

Ironwood: I have sacrificed everything!

Cinder: I want it all...

Ironwood thinks that victory lies in sacrificing everything, while Cinder sees it as taking it all.

These opposite viewpoints mirror their respective social stances.

Ironwood can say he wants to sacrifice everything because he has everything.

Cinder thinks happiness lies in everything because she has nothing:

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

In the end, Ironwood and Cinder are each other’s true enemies, but they fail to see it and lash out against the wrong people:

Ironwood and Cinder’s respective fight against Winter and Weiss is exactly this.

Ironwood fights a Maiden he sees as an enemy of Atlas, while another Maiden is attacking the people he swore to protect.

Cinder lashes out at Weiss because of her origins, while Weiss has decided to leave her status and money behind to make the right thing.

Still, Ironwood and Cinder are too hypocritical to see the truth. This is why they attack people, who could have helped them, if they were given the chance.

This is also why they receive a warning:

Winter: No, you have sacrificed everyone else!

Winter: You… are going to pay… for everything you’ve done!

Ironwood claims he is ready to sacrifice everything. However, he never sacrifices himself:

In the end, he is unable to sacrifice his life to fight Salem.

Let’s highlight he has nothing to lose by this point. He is falling with Atlas anyway. In his final moments, he is given the chance to prove true to his words:

I would die Without regret, I’d offer up my life With zero reservations I would fly Into the sun If that would keep our dream alive

Instead, he gives up. He has been shooting his allies until the very end, but freezes in front of his enemy.

Cinder thinks she is closer to her final victory, but in the end she has accomplished nothing of what she truly wants.

She wants to kill RWBY, but they are alive. She wants the Maiden powers, but she fails.

At the same time, Cinder is still far away from what she truly needs:

Cinder: You have everything you need?

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

She is given a perfect mirror of herself in Watts. Still, instead of seeing it, Cinder uses his flaw, which is her same flaw, to kill him. Watts’ wants lead to his death and the same thing might happen to Cinder if she does not stop herself in time.

Finally, there is this:

Salem: This game is not yours to win, Cinder, it’s mine. Just because you’re more valuable to me than a pawn, does not make you a player. Everything is already in motion. All you need concern yourself with is your ability to act when I tell you to.

Ironwood and Cinder share a chess motif.

Ironwood thinks of himself as a player and specifically as Salem’s opponent.

Cinder is instead told she is no player.

However, in the end, Ironwood becomes a mere pawn to the point that all Watts has to do is to open his cell to be sure he is going to unwillingly aid in Cinder’s plan.

What is more, he is so fixated on Salem that he fails to aknowledge the people below him. This is why his true opponent is a slave that Atlas exploited.

Cinder frames herself as a player instead. She is the one who truly makes the first move against Ironwood and ultimately she is the one who defeats both him and our protagonists. Finally, she is the one who calls checkmate.

Still, is she really playing her own game?

In the end, the one who gets what she wants is not Cinder, but Salem:

And all she has to do to obtain it is one small move:

Salem: And I’ve realized, it’s all my fault. You’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want and here I am holding you back instead of lifting you up.

While Cinder is once again letting her talent be exploited by those above her. She is choosing to be Salem’s Queen instead than a player of her own life.

She is the Black Queen defeating the White King, but nothing more.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Escape Part 3:

This is part 3 of the "Escape" post I wrote. @whump-a-la-mode wrote a wonderful part 2. Which is here. Part 1 is here.

Quick fornote, this is not edited. I may look it over eventually, but beaware of mistakes and incorrect grammar. Perhaps a lot of it. Also, my creativity levels right now are like a piece of dynamite going down a waterfall, exploding, and the particles being shipped to a rocket and then discarded into space to be later burnt up by the sun.

Warnings: blood, vomit, collared whumpee, confused whumpee, exhaustion, hospital setting, needles/syringes, restrained whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, soundproof room, torture (head trauma, broken bones, beating), talk of death, referring to one as trash, fake drugs

~

Hero woke with a start, immediately digging her fists in the familiar mattress. She vaguely felt an odd throb right below her ribcage. Hero thought hard. She didn't recently hurt herself. Unless, of course, she cracked a rib when Villain knocked her down in the elevator. That impudent, little-

Something shifted on her lap. Hero tensed before reaching above her to flick a light on.

The sight below her made her heart skip a beat. Villain was huddled against her, clutching onto her gray t-shirt with ferocity- however weak- as if he would die otherwise. Hmph, making the little ignorant chicken did whole-heartedly believe that her attire was the only way to alleviate his suffering.

But something was wrong. Villain's face was a pallette of blood, spit, vomit. He coughed and buried his face deeper into her stomach. Quizzically, Hero looked all over him. His hands looked like he just had a punching match the plaster- the broken plaster on the wall behind him confirmed that assumption.

"Villain," Hero breathed and ran her hand over his quivering back.

A strangled whimper was the only response.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, noting his cut up heel- he wasn't allowed laces, and refused to sleep in the velcro shoes that he was granted- and the blooming flower of a bruise that erupted in the center of his forehead. Not to mention the blood, all the creamy velvet blood...

"N-no," Villain stuttered finally.

"Then get off of me." Hero proceeded to push the villain away from her, but he already did the work, spiraling onto the ground with a thump.

"What the heck is wrong with you?" Hero asked, crouching next to her foe.

"Not wrong with me," Villaim mumured. Hero scoffed. Yeah, no, Villain was perfectly healthy. He wasn't covered in blood and puke, and he definitely wasn't shaking in exhaustion.

"Sure," Hero grinned sloppily and started to take in Villain's figure. He was obviously weakened, but he was still strong. Oh so strong. His biceps were flexed- actually his whole arm was flexed, but Hero knew it was more reflexive than a boyish show-off. Even his back moved around as he breathed, muscles contracting to their maximum strength. Hero knew that he would have abs under the sweaty shirt. A hum of approval, the Villain Containment Practice really did wonders.

Yet amidst the undeniable cords of muscles, the body in front of her was truly exhausted, starved, and dehydrated. Hero doubted he would be to move, especially with the hidden injury.

It hurt Hero to watch his hand tentatively brush the collar around his neck, but it stung when it flopped back down. Maybe taking away his breakfast privileges was too much.

And perhaps snatching away his lunch, but that was all. He still had dinner, and snacks-

No, those were also taken away. Cruelly erased from his schedule and replaced with more reps. More lessons, more lectures...

The villain groaned and tried to shuffle away as spontaneously aware that Hero was in his vicinity.

"Wha' ya gonna do?" Villain slurred. His dull eyes glanced over to the plastic cup. "Gimme," he whispered.

"Manners," Hero began to warn, but stopped. Chastising such a pale prisoner would do more bad than good. She could just imagine a relaspe. Villain was doing... mediocre, but not terrible. Though the only points he received were from the continous physical exercises he performed daily.

So Hero stood up, clenching her teeth as her rib flared up again, and sauntered over to the kitchenette. She grabbed a new cup and filled it up with city water. Hero scowled- she hated this water. Once she lived in the country... the change of taste in the water was one of a kind.

Hero returned with the cup and handed it to Villain, but he immediately dropped it. Water spilled everywhere. Hero could see his skin turn red and tears spike in his eyes.

"Aww come-" Hero began, but stopped when she noticed Villain turned his head into the crook of his elbow. Hero sighed and went back for another cup.

She returned and propped Villain's limp head up. She tilted it back and ran her thumb over his lips, gently prying the shriveled muscles open. Villain, however tired, tried to refuse, glaring daggers at Hero.

"Villain," Hero growled. Villain tensed, so Hero rubbed circles on his neck. Comfort was not her greatest gift, but Villain relaxed regardless.

"You wanted water earlier," she reminded him, putting the cup to his lips. After a brief moment of hesitation, Villain greedily opened his lips and started gulping the water down.

"Slow down," Hero very rudely removed the much wanted cup from Villain. "Time for you to go to the infirmary."

"No!" Villain yelled and tried to push away from his nemesis. They may run into Nosey. What if they tried to kill Hero again? Or worse, Villain?

-

The trek down to the infirmary was beyond slow. Even Villain in his groggy state recognized that. The corriders and dorms all blended together into one gigantic smoothie. They didn't matter, only not running into Nosey mattered.

Hero carried him in a bridal carry. Though lithe and slender, she was strong. Very strong. Villain realized this with a pang of fear. She could easily dominate him and hurt him.

Especially if she found out that Villain saved her.

When she found out. Villain could only physically make it non-lethal and take away the majority of her pain. It still would scar and be painful to an extent, but he saved her.

He saved her.

"Using your powers is never the answer," Villain mumbled to himself. "Call the heros..."

"What's that?" Hero asked.

Villain shut up, right then and there.

"Well, okay. Here we are," Hero pushed open the door to the infirmary with her foot. The smell of disinfectant and medicine hit Villain's nose, making him want to throw up all over again.

"Hero." A deep voice. Not Nosey. He was safe, for now.

"Doctor. I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Why is his collar still on?"

"Safety. I don't know. He was collapsed on top of me and throwing up."

"Maybe food poisoning. Lay him on-"

"He hasn't eaten in days, Doc."

Villain felt knew hands tenderly dabbing around the collar.

"Do you have keys for this, Hero?"

"Yeah, back pocket. Here." Hero sat Villain on the ground, using her foot to keep him upright.

"Hero?" Villain slurred. His tongue was too thick, his brain too tired to completely make sense of the dire situation. He limply rested his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes.

Healing never was this taxing.

Villain felt his head fall back, so he jerked back upwards into a strangers arms.

"Hey, Villain," the same deep voice cooed, like a baritone. Deep and eneveloping.

"Villain." Hero was behind him, but Villain hardly recognized it. He felt like he was falling into a dark abyss.

"Bring him to a bed," the doctor ordered. Villain, whisked away from the comforting promise of sleep, was rushed back into the present. He jerked and cried out, fighting against the arms that held him.

He was going to be punished. Punished for his negligence. Punished for his powers.

"Villain," Hero snarled. Her voice was taut with exasperation. "We are trying to help you."

"No!" Villain cried out, breaking free of the hero and the doctor. Blindly he scrambled away, knocking over tables. Liquids spilled everywhere. Glass cut into his palms, but he didn't care. Not when he was going to be punished.

"Twenty more laps Villain."

"Add more weight, 200 pounds isn't enough."

"I don't care. Another sit-up. With weights."

"Seven minute plank. Let's go."

All Nosey's voices. The seagull that swooped down and took his strength away, leaving him a parched rasion with only enough food to keep his body minimally functioning.

He couldn't. He couldn't be punished. He helped, he helped. Yet, Villain couldn't convince himself that was indeed the truth.

Heros never cared about the truth. That was evident when they never took the time to remove him from this jail when he was innocent. Yes, he landed the homeless man in the hospital, but it was self-defense.

Villain plummeted into a skinny nurse, laying her flat on the ground with a bleeding head. Again, not his fault. She had a horrendous looking needle.

"Villain!" Hero called out and tackled him to the ground, pining him by the wrists and keeping his torso down with a well-placed knee.

Villain threw himself upwards, trying in desperation to remove himself from Hero's grasp.

"We are going to have to sedate you if you keep this up," Hero warned. Villain froze. He couldn't unwillingly go unconscious or he would never recover from the horrors inflicted upon him. Heck, he might never wake up. The creaks in his bones, the dull ache throughout his overexerted muscles, the incessant headache- they all reminded him of his predicament.

"There we go now." Hero removed her knee and scooped Villain up, laying him on a hard hospital bed.

The doctor came around, eyeing the Villain's hands.

"Please restrain him," the doctor said and quickly walked away to grab who knows what.

Hero took the liberty to roughly shove Villain's hands into cuffs. The cuffs surrounded his hand like Elsa's cuffs in the movie Frozen. They blocked any and all chances of escape.

Escape. The once motivating words was now a nightmare.

Hero then worked to place a leather strap around his throat. Villain didn't even notice that the previous collar was removed. Now looking through the mess he made, Villain saw the collar strewn on the ground.

Another strap was placed around his torso. Hero tightened it one notch too tight, pushing his abs in. Villain groaned and glared, but it lacked intent.

Finally his ankles were attached to the bed, each dangling off the side uncomfortably.

"Okay. Good," the doctor chuckled before reappearing at Villain's side. "Let's start the exam."

-

"You intolerable little butthead," Nosey drawled, tossing Villain into the white room like a piece of trash. "First off completely failing tests like a kindergartener; second, being a prat and faking injuries which just led to you being punished; and third? Well, that hospital trampede was really necessary, wasn't it?"

"And what are you gonna do?" Villain retorted. "Wave your little middle finger at me and yell all your stupid insults? Honestly, brainiac, you sound like a dying cat."

Of course, Villain did not say any of this. He just thought it, an undying wish that threatened to bounce off his tongue.

"No answer?" Nosey asked, leaning against an ivory wall. Villain wondered if it was once pure white, but all the blood spillage stained it.

Now that wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Nope," Villain replied, completely compliant.

"You know I love the little stunt you played with healing dear Miss Hero," Nosey stalked over to the villain. "But my employer does not."

Villain vividly remembered the way Nosey's face paled when they laid eyes on Hero. And then he also definitely remembered the way Nosey snarled at him- wild and feral, ready to maim and kill.

"Wanna know how much killing her depended on my livelihood? Heck, I would've made thousands and then be promoted to her position. My employer, Superhero, is now furious at me. Hero, that goody two shoes and her 'redeemed the villains' morals are quite old-schooled. Don't you think? We need a more... let's say modern approach to dealing with you monsters." Nosey's black pointed boot pressed against Villain's cheek before it slashed down with such force that it should've knocked Villain out.

But, stupid enhanced healing powers delegated by the doctor always made the promise of black bliss an impossibility.

But the enhancement was temporary. Just enough to replenish Villain's utter exhaustion.

Nosey's fingers grasped onto Villain next finding a perfect pressure point on his throat. Villain squealed, his neck was still bruised and tender from the collar.

"Do you want to know what it feels like to suffocate? Villain? Hmm?" Nosey spoke quickly, not even giving Villain a chance to shake- or nod, if Villain wanted to go that route- before they started to press right against Villain's trachea.

"Lack of air. Painfully at first, but the moment you black out. The moment that death is almost upon you is precious," Nosey spoke through clenched teeth as excitement and adrenaline overtook him. Villain, on the other hand, was overtaken by fear as he wiggled around like a frying worm.

Almost as suddenly as the hand was placed, it was removed. Villain blinked away the black blotches and took gulping breaths.

"Pathetic," Nosey growled and grabbed the back of Villain's neck, picking him up, and ramming him against the wall. An volcano of stars erupted in Villain's vision as the room tilted.

Nosey smacked him against the wall like that a couple more times before grabbing onto his wrist and stepping down. A crack and a scream echoed throughout the soundproof room like dynamite.

"Think you are done. Do you think that you are done!" Nosey laughed wickedly as they discarded the villain on the ground.

Then the beating took place. Kicks and rabbit chops battered Villain's body until he couldn't even move to defend himself. Unconsciousness loomed at his vision, but each new flare of pain brought him back to the waking world.

His broken arm loosely hung, a bone popping out of the skin, as his body convulsed. But Nosey wasn't done. No, they went over to the wall and grabbed a wooden bat and began to hit Villain until his ribs began to break. One crack after the other, after the other-

Nosey flopped down on the ground next to Villain, carefully cradling their own head with their left hand as their right picked Villain's up.

"Do you see that window Villain?" Nosey asked. "It leads right out into the city. We are even on the first story. An easy escape if you weren't so weak." Nosey wrapped their arm around Villain's heaving shoulders in a brotherly fashion. "But that's okay. You can stay with me," Nosey chuckled and grabbed Villain's chin, prying his mouth open. The villain gurgled and spat in response, but allowed Nosey to keep him in that hold.

Nosey reached into their back pocket and revealed a syringe.

"Power suppressant. Don't worry, I know your weakness. Can't be drugged or you will die. Blah blah blah. Hero's mind reading powers are good for one thing at least. But this-" Nosey stroked the clear syringe and whistled. "-is a masterpiece."

Villain tried to remove his throbbing head, but Nosey's grib was too strong.

"Can't have you dying on me when we are having so much fun," Nosey wrapped Villain into a close hug as they plunged the needle into his neck.

"Enjoy your stay," Nosey chuckled before leaving the room.

Before leaving Villain, alone and in pain, to deal with himself.

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 1

Finally, finally I can show you guys a preview of the horror book I’m publishing in October (:. You can find chapter 1 below, and if you’d prefer, you can read it on ao3 by clicking here!

Chapter 2 is now out and can be found here (:

Enjoy!

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery.

Chapter 1:

Thorn’s Antiques and Restoration, tucked away in the tall trees that encircled the small town of Lunewell, wasn’t the place where one would expect a woman like Zarifa to work. The building was merely a converted two-story brick house, though even then the antique shop itself only operated on half of the ground floor and the basement, and the employees could consider themselves lucky if even so much as a single soul wandered in.

  From an outsider’s perspective, it made no sense. Zarifa did not originate from Lunewell, had little to no interest in antiques, and had a Bachelor’s in English of all things, whose only tie with antiques was the pompous, ivory tower assholes pestering both fields. However, if said outsider were to ask Zarifa herself, or any other of the two working in the building, why she had this job, she would have said that it was the only path she could have ever imagined herself working.

  Though even she had to admit, for as much as she loved her job, it could sometimes be… tedious. 

  Very tedious.

“How many crates of… art did we receive again?” Zarifa asked, white patched ebony fingers holding one of the many, many paintings of eerily realistic human eyes shoved haphazardly in a box. The crates had arrived this morning, heavy and worn, and were sitting in the off-white ‘employees lounge’, that only equated to a singular desk, a sofa, a microwave that never heated all the way through, and two uncomfortable plastic chairs.

 “Only two,” Bruin responded, not bothering to look up from the wooden desk, where he had his nose buried deep in a black title-less book. Zarifa would have asked what he was reading, but stares through dark thin eyes and sighs had long taught her not to. “Bought in by an Anthony Bell earlier this morning.”

  “Thank you,” Zarifa said, giving Bruin a warm smile that didn’t go noticed. She then turned to her other coworker, who had been sitting sheepishly on one of the back-destroying white chairs. “Why do we have two crates of creepy eye-paintings, again?”

  “Okay there’s actually a good reason this time boss,” Grant said hastily, chestnut brown hair messy and glasses half sliding off his face, “I was taking a walk to that cosy little bakery- you know, the one owned by that very sweet elderly couple on the other side of town, which by the way makes cakes straight from the heavens-”

  “So you were walking to the bakery, and then?” Zarifa interrupted.

  “Oh right. I had walked a little ways from the house, when I saw a white van stopped up by the road with a man looking quite pissed off outside. I went up to have a chat with him and found out he was an absolutely fascinating art major named Anthony who had run out of petrol. To make a long story short, I invited him in for a cuppa whilst he waited on the towing truck, found out he was getting rid of these absolute gems, and bought them off him.”

  Zarifa and Bruin, who had finally looked up from the pages, both stared at him. Bruin was the first to break the silence; “you bought antiques from an unverified source, in a van out of petrol, who you also invited inside my home for tea?”

  “Hey! I pay the rent too!” Grant defended, “and besides, I got, you know, the feeling off him. There was already a description of the antiques inside the box, meaning they’ve been passed around a little. If you two don’t want them here, I can take them.”

  “We can keep them,” Zarifa decided, looking at the realistic paintings once more. They were all extremely similar, each one having a blue iris and white pupils. As she moved around the box, it almost felt as though they were all following her movements. She shivered and put the lids back on; “I’ll carry this down. Grant, go open shop, and Bruin, go register these in the system, please.”

  Grant gave her a mock salute, before trudging out of the door and into the shop room, whilst Bruin nodded and turned to the big, archaic box of a computer sitting on the desk. Zarifa stacked and grabbed the two worn crates, surprisingly light in her arms, and made her way to the spiral staircase. They were narrow, seemingly ever looping steps falling into darkness that made walking down them almost impossible. She had once tried to convince Valour to install some lights over the stairs, to reveal the actual length of them and to make sure Grant would stop tumbling down into the abyss, but she had only received a stern no and an icy glare that could kill. 

  So her only options were to walk down carefully, whilst gripping onto the wall for dear life, like she was currently doing. The stairs went on for what seemed like minutes, nothing in her sight as she was swallowed in complete darkness, with no way to judge her surroundings except her shoes hitting the steps. Finally, a flickering light made its way up the stairs, and she saw the start of grey concrete.

  To say the archival basement was lit, was perhaps a bit of an overstatement. There was precisely one dim and occasionally flickering lamp in the room, slightly illuminating cobwebs glued to the walls and dusted shelves of antiquities, but not much else. However, the room was like a scorching desert sun compared to the void Zarifa had previously descended. 

  Making her way between the shelves, past the bag of hand-sewn doll-heads, slightly cracked vases, and mirrors so ladened in dust that one couldn’t see the distorted reflection anymore, she found a small group of paintings. Paintings were one of the rarer antiques for them to receive, so there was plenty of space for the two crates.

  Before slotting them in, she opened them, quickly counting the amount. There were fourteen in total, seven in each box, all in a roughly similar condition and all painted in the same way. Oddly enough, there was no signature nor name, but there was a little slip of paper at the bottom. She picked it out of the crate, and stuffed it in the pocket of her blazer, before closing the lids again.

  Zarifa slid the boxes between a painting of a single red rose titled ‘Chaos’, and a two-hundred-year-old painting titled ‘A Girl in Field’ containing a suspiciously girl-less field. There had been a debate on whether they were all just missing her, whether it was a mislabelled piece, or if it was supposed to be some kind of metaphor, but seeing as it was hardly the weirdest thing in the basement, they had all just grown to accept it. She shivered once again, the basement giving the feeling of being watched, and grabbed the golden butterfly that hung around her neck. She fiddled with the wings, every touch calming her slightly as she began making her way up the stairs. 

  The ascent up the spirals always seemed to take a considerably shorter time, perhaps because the imminent danger of falling had disappeared. Zarifa was up at the top in the blink of an eye, walking into the lounge to see both Bruin and Grant inside. Bruin turned to her from the computer; “‘Antique Eye-Painting x14’ has been written on the document,” he informed. “Did we have any other information?” 

  “I couldn’t find any signature or date on the painting itself,” Zarifa said, reaching into her blue blazer pocket and pulling the paper with a heavy brown tint out, “but there was a note accompanying it. The paper looks old enough to consider it an antique, at least.” 

  “Well, go ahead,” Grant piped up from the couch, “tell us about dear Anthony’s creepy eye pairings.” Zarifa nodded, unfolding the paper as carefully as she could, and began reading.

  ‘The Grey Man’ by Elizabeth B.- 1885

  He is watching from the water. Watching with the trees.

  Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  The Grey Man is knocking 

“Grey Man?” questioned Zarifa, “that’s not a reference to anything, is it?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Grant said, sitting up from where he had flopped on the couch, “help us out Bruiny?” She heard a sigh from the corner, and a slight grumble, but he did eventually speak.

  “The Grey Man isn’t a reference to any historical event, no,” Bruin began, “but it isn’t something we haven’t heard before. I believe it’s referenced somewhere in Valour’s notes”

  A heavy silence fell over them at the mention. “Oh no,” Grant began, “no, no, no. The weirdly detailed cult worshipping cows with inverting eyes was enough, and the murderous glare Valour gave me afterwards almost made me piss myself. I am not going through those notes again, I don’t want to be skinned alive by our own version of Leatherface.”

  “That’s a bit far, isn’t it?” Zarifa said, “We shouldn’t go around accusing her of being a murderer, just because she’s a bit…”

  “Mental?” Bruin quipped from the back.

  “...peculiar,” she settled on, “she’s a bit peculiar.” Zarifa knew, of course, that calling Valour peculiar was a massive understatement- and even calling it a massive understatement was a massive understatement, but she would not be the one to speak ill about her boss with a potential murder streak thank-you-very-much.

  “Need I remind you of that day Valour came covered head to toe in ‘red paint ’ that smelled suspiciously like copper?” Grant said, “she obviously did some serial-killering-“

  “Killering?” Bruin asked with a cocked brow, turning Grant a salmon shade of pink and bringing a bright smile on Zarifa’s face that reached her dark brown eyes. 

  Grant made sounds akin to a drowning man. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally sputtered out, “what matters is that our dear creepy landlord was covered in what was clearly blood, passed it off as paint, and we just acted like it was normal!”

  “I don’t like it either, but I’m not going to be the one to call her out. Besides, maybe it’s a good thing. At least the days here are... interesting.” Zarifa said with a smile. “If we stopped the weirder stuff from happening, these days would pass slower. Especially since we don’t have any custom-“

  The sound of the bell that hung above the door, a loud and horrid thing, rang through the building.  

  “You were saying?” Bruin said, looking as amused as Bruin could be. Meanwhile, Grant shot up like a puppy, sprinting in an unprofessional manner towards the counter. Zarifa joined him, though her walk was much more slow and graceful. 

  She crossed through the shop door, which always stood wide open nowadays, and turned the corner. However, she stopped before she could reach Grant, who was staring at the stranger as much as she was. 

  Now, what needs to be said and understood about Thorn Antiques Shop, and the town of Lunewell in general, was that strangers were one of the rarest sights. Sure, occasionally one could find one of the neighbours’ relatives, or a gang of cyclists and hikers, and even tourists that had gotten hopelessly lost, which was impressive considering landing in Lunewell was a skill within itself, though these were few and far in between.

  The customer, who was scanning through the shop with what Zarifa could almost call interest, didn’t look remotely like a relative, a hiker, a cyclist, or even a lost tourist.

  She was short, with strawberry blonde hair tied into pigtails by two baby pink ribbons, pale but warm skin that made the light freckles on her cheek pop, and a stark black leather jacket which was visibly well-loved. There was something incredibly familiar about her, though Zarifa couldn’t pin down exactly what it was. 

  The customer’s fingers trailed over one of the antique chairs, before she sprawled over the priceless thing like a rag-doll. The violation snapped Zarifa out of her trance; “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t sit in those chairs!” she informed the customer, her voice raising a pitch higher when the blonde started fiddling with a lighter suspiciously close to the fabric.

  The customer’s head snapped up like a predator hearing prey, and for the first time, Zarifa noticed the woman’s eyes. The irises were a bombastic explosion made of hues of bright green, though it was almost impossible to tell from a first glance, as the pupils were blown so wide as to make the colour but a ring around a black hole.

  There was both something incredibly dangerous about the way she stalked over, sizing her up with those void eyes, but simultaneously, something incredibly intriguing- dare she say attractive- about the girl that made Zarifa want to keep her eyes on her forever.

  “Waste of a good chair, really,” the customer began, leaning over the counter, “what the fuck kind of shop doesn’t allow you to test the chair before you get it?”

  “I know!” Grant exclaimed, turning to the dark-skinned woman. “That’s what I keep saying! How can I know if the chair is good if I’ve never tried it!”

  Zarifa shot a disapproving look at him, irritated that he would encourage this girl. “What can we help you with, miss?”

  “Oooh, miss.” the woman drawled, “I’m looking for a collection of very… special papers that I left in the hands of one Valour Thorn a few years back.”

  “Special?” Grant asked, a look of confusion passing over his face. Zarifa was sure she mirrored the same puzzlement, but the woman merely grinned- an expression that yet again invoked that familiar feeling.

  After a few seconds had passed, and it had been made clear that she would not elaborate, Zarifa grabbed the notepad and pen on the counter and asked for her name. Maybe she was registered somewhere in the frankly ancient system. Assuming they even had a sort of registering system. She had never been the one to handle the technical aspects.

  “Lottie. Lottie Rose,” she said, and Zarifa’s hand froze on the paper. She glanced back up at the blonde, eyes wide and mouth dry. Of course, how hadn’t she seen it earlier? The clothes, the eyes, the lighter everything suddenly made more sense as her memory flooded back.

  “Lottie?” she whispered, faint as the whispers of a breeze, and there must have been something in her tone, because the striking green eyes widened comically, before the blonde suddenly burst out into a tension filled laugh.

  “Should’ve guessed it,” Lottie said after calming down, “can’t be that many Southern old-book nerds with vitiligo around. You should get name tags, I would have recognised Zarifa anywhere.”

  Her name was said in a smaller tone, filled with… with something that melted Zarifa’s insides like molten lava. They stood there in silent pressure, eyes on each other but gazes not quite meeting. It was for the better, as Zarifa’s heart was hammering hard enough that she was worried her ribcage might break. Whether it was from fear or something much scarier, she couldn’t quite tell.

  Grant snapped his fingers, both of them practically sighing in relief as the tension lifted; “Oh”, he began, smiling widely, "exes or childhood friends?” And just like that, the tension was back to crushing. 

  While Zarifa wasn’t quite sure of the state of her own face, Lottie had gone a complete shade of tomato red. “We’re neither,” Zarifa squeaked out curtly, Lottie nodding frantically along. “Can you give me a description of the papers?”

  Lottie straightened out at the request. “Can’t miss them. They’re in an ornate wooden and gold box, with a leaf engraved in the front,” she said, “it’s locked, as far as I know. Don’t know where the key is, but that’s hardly a problem.” She made yet another predatory smirk. 

  “I-I’ll go look for the papers, uh, in the back... miss,” she pushed herself from the counter at an almost inhuman speed and paced into the lounge. On her way, she bumped into one of the chairs, toppling both herself and the object. The sound alerted Bruin, who looked at her quizzically.

  “Was she your ex?”

  “No!” Zarifa exclaimed exasperatedly, “Not every woman I know is an ex!”  

  “No need to get defensive,” Bruin said, flipping a page, “I was just wondering if Grant’s observations were correct.” 

  Zarifa took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. I suppose her visit just… surprised me.” she straightened the chair, and looked at Bruin, “You haven’t seen a wooden and gold box engraved with leaves around here, have you? I can’t recall it, but you’re usually the one sorting the items, so I figured you might have seen it.”

  Bruin hummed, putting down his book and looking pensively at her. “I might have,” he said, after a quiet moment, “though if we do- or did, at any point, it’s not anywhere in the basement.” He glanced up at the ceiling, before returning to the book.

  “I suppose it’ll be upstairs, then,” Zarifa said, with a heavy sigh, “I’ll make Grant call Valour, see if she can bother to show up from… wherever she’s gone.” And try to explain to Lottie that those papers might be inaccessible, she thought, but didn’t add. Lottie was a lot of things, but patient and calm, she was not. 

  As she made her way back to the counter, gripping the golden butterfly hung on her neck tightly, she tried to calm her heart and thoughts. A part of her still refused to believe Lottie was here, after all these years, in an antique shop of all places. It almost felt taunting, in an odd way. The life Zarifa had tried so hard to run from and avoid sneaking through the door, looking more dangerous and simultaneously more intriguing than ever.

  What life had Lottie led? What had happened since that last night? How did she know Valour? What did she want with the papers? All the questions buried themselves into Zarifa’s head, burning and begging for answers. And as Lottie, drumming her fingers on the counter as Grant rambled off about something, came into view, she realised what Eve must have felt like looking at the apple.

  Lottie perked up as Zarifa entered the room, though as her eyes drifted to the empty hands, her smile fell. “Thought I asked for a box,” she said, a raised eyebrow and mean glare that would have been intimidating, had Zarifa not had to deal with years of Valour, and not known that for her, Lottie was all growl.

  “We do, most likely, have the box,” Zarifa began in her most soothing voice, placing her hands on the counter, “but, it’s currently upstairs, in Valour Thorn’s flat, to which none of us has the keys.”

  Lottie sighed, in an exasperated and slightly overdramatic way; “‘Course you fucking don’t. Guess she hasn’t changed at all, still closed off, disappearing, and secretive.” 

  Pot meet kettle, thought Zarifa, though kept her cranberry painted lips sealed. “Grant will give her a call in the morning,” Zarifa said, pushing over a blank slip of paper which had Lottie R- half-written on it in quite nice penmanship. “Just write down your number, and we’ll call you when she arrives.”

  Lottie pulled the paper closer to herself, though made no move to write. “Think she’ll even show up?” she asked, turning to Grant, who smiled at that.

  “Valour actually seems to like me,” he said, proudly, “or, tolerate, at least.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know people still practised witchcraft around this part.”

  “It’s all in my muffins, cakes, and pitiable nature,” Grant said, only half-joking, “I’ll give you a taste one time if you decide to stick around.”

  Lottie nodded, before scribbling onto the paper, and sliding it back. It contained no number, but the name had been completed, albeit with a much sloppier if artistic handwriting. “I’ll know when she returns,” Lottie said, bouncing from foot to foot. There was a firmness in her voice, and she said it with such confidence that Zarifa almost believed her. Almost. “How’s the nightlife here? Worth sticking around for?”

  “Horrid, simply dreadful,” Grant butted in, before Zarifa had the chance to give a quick answer and an even quicker goodbye, “but we do have a lot of pretty places to take a midnight stroll. Trees are lovely here, especially now in the autumn.” He paused, a contemplative look over his face, “Come to think of it, I do know quite a lot of dealers around here that can hook you up, if you’re up for it.”

  “Grant!”

  Lottie chuckled, amusement painted in neon on her face. Seeing some of that flame inside her come to light filled Zarifa with a sense of joy, that she pushed down with a strength bodybuilders would be jealous of. 

  “Oh, I like him,” Lottie declared to Zarifs, jabbing a finger in Grant’s general direction. Her green eyes- which Zarifa had to stop looking at, traced down from Zarifa’s own eyes before landing on her neck. Lottie’s posture, previously energetic and bouncy, froze. “You kept the necklace,” she whispered, though the sound felt louder than all the explosions of the universe.

  Zarifa’s hand was instantaneously on the golden butterfly hanging around her neck, shielding it from the world. The metal felt cool against her skin, even if she could feel her racing heart where her hand rested. “Felt it was a shame to let it go to waste,” Zarifa murmured, technically true, “so I just kept it.” She shifted in the silence for a while, doing her best to ignore Lottie’s eyes glued to the necklace, before clearing her throat and putting on her best ‘professional’ tone; “Was there anything else you needed?”

  Lottie shook her head, leaning back from the counter and adjusting her leather jacket. “No, I’ll be back soon,” she said, before speeding towards the door. She knocked into the vases, making them wobble like jelly, before pushing the door open like she was assaulting it, and leaving nothing but the sound of a bell and the distant thrum of a motorbike. 

  “Lottie, huh,” Grant said, his tone dazed as though he was lost in a daydream, “she was certainly interesting. I’m a fan. Think we’ll see her around more?”

  “Hopefully not,” Zarifa said, running fingers over the butterfly, “hopefully not.” 

[writingblock101]

Waffles or Pancakes? (Tim Drake x Reader)

Miss me? More explanation at the bottom. Enjoy this vent fic! 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,600

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish @mayahoelland2013

You pick up a stone, fiddling with it in your hand. You don’t have daddy issues. The complicated relationship with your father doesn’t run that deep, and it definitely isn’t some kink… but there are a lot of unresolved problems threatening to boil over the surface. 

Complicated relationship...More like lack thereof. You suppose that’s what happens when you have divorced parents, and you only see your dad every other weekend. Then other shit happens, he marries the wrong woman, you get older and more involved in your own life, and there’s not much effort on either side. You suppose that’s the origin of most of these problems, but you’re not the adult in this situation, dammit! 

You throw the rock in frustration, watching it disappear off the side of the building, then a puddle of dread pools in your stomach. You’re on top of a building, and pedestrians are walking below, minding their own business. Sure, it may be close to 3 a.m. in Gotham, but still! Your actions have consequences. 

You rush to the side of the building to make sure you didn’t bodily injure some random person, only to look down and see empty streets. Your pebble most likely joined another heap of loose asphalt. Plopping down heavily onto the ledge of the apartment building, you stare into the streets below and idly wonder if Batman and Robin are patrolling. When do they ever sleep? Do they sleep? 

You should be asleep, and you know it. You said good night to the friend you were messaging over an hour ago, but instead of rolling over and passing out, your mind wandered to your family, specifically your father. Probably because you’re going to be seeing him in a few days for the holidays. It’s not exactly dread. Your father is a very loving man who loves you very much, but it never felt like he put effort into your relationship. Of course, it wasn’t until you were older that you realized how little effort he genuinely put in. As a child, you strived for his love, his approval, his interest. That’s what you really wanted. You knew he loved you and was so proud of you, but you also knew he was never truly interested in you or your life. And that stung. 

So now, instead of ever bringing up your dad during therapy, you’re sitting on a roof, throwing rocks into the abyss, and getting teary-eyed over arguments that will never happen. 

“Care for some company?” A voice startles you. 

You turn to see Red Robin of all people, standing a few feet away and looking as non-threatening as possible. You shrug and gesture to the ledge. 

“Plenty of ledge here for the both of us. Besides, I’m sure you could teach me a few things about perching on tall buildings.” 

Red Robin chuckles and moves to the edge of the building. He tosses his legs over the side, sitting a foot away from you, and stares out on the city. You wonder what he sees when he looks on the city. He, Batman, Robin, and Red Hood protect Gotham for whatever reason. You’re not sure this cesspool deserves it, but apparently, they see something in it. 

“I wasn’t going to jump,” You tell him. 

“I didn’t think you were,” He responds simply. 

“I’m not suicidal,” You plow ahead. “I don’t want to die, but I kept spiraling the longer I laid in bed.” 

Red Robin nods along, like he gets it, like he understands. And maybe he does. You suppose despite all the rumors about the Bats, they probably are normal humans under those cowls and masks. Humans with a deathwish, but at this point, who isn’t? 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He offers quietly. 

“With you?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Red Robin pretends to look around the empty rooftop. 

“Well, unless you’re seeing someone that I’m not, then yeah, with me.” 

He chuckles at his own joke, and silence falls between you two again. 

“I know it’s weird,” Red Robin admits. “To talk about something that’s probably really personal with a total stranger, but I’d figure I’d offer. Talking… It helps. So if you don’t talk to me, you should think about talking to someone.” 

You pause, mulling over his words. You don’t know Red Robin. You’re pretty sure Red Robin doesn’t know you. But why would he want to listen to some pity party at 3 am on some random apartment rooftop? Surely, he has better things to do. 

But he sat down. He offered. He’s making an effort. 

That’s more than some people can say. 

You sigh heavily, your shoulders slumping. 

“It’s my dad,” You finally admit. “We’ve always had a… complicated relationship. It’s not that he doesn’t love me-- he very clearly does. He’s always been a very affectionate man, but… it feels like he was never really interested in my life. Not in a malicious way, but in an oblivious way. And when it was happening before my eyes, I was a kid, so I didn’t see it, but now being older… It’s more obvious. It’s so clear that he doesn’t know me… And it stings.” 

Red Robin listens patiently, nodding along with your words. He says nothing, letting you speak. 

“And in my head, I keep bringing up things that happened years ago that still bother me so much, but it was so many years ago. He probably doesn’t remember because he doesn’t think they’re significant moments, you know? It’s things he said in passing that he doesn’t think of as hurtful that left… Much deeper marks than I’m willing to admit.”

You sigh, scrubbing your face in frustration at the burning in your eyes. You don’t want to cry. You don’t like crying. You don’t care if you need to cry-- you cried earlier, and now, you’re not going to cry in front of Red Robin about your damn daddy issues (okay, maybe they are daddy issues, but you’re sure as hell not going to be calling anyone “daddy” in the bedroom). 

“I just… I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to put effort into a relationship that he doesn’t seem to want to put effort into. And the thing is, I doubt he even realizes that he’s doing it! If I talked to him, I’m sure we could figure something out, but… I’m not sure I want to… I love my dad very much, and I know he loves me… But I don’t think I like him.” 

Right as the words pass your lips, you feel instant regret seize your chest. 

“Oh, God, does that make me a bad person?” You bury your face in your hands, fighting back the watering in your eyes. “He’s such a loving man. He’s a damn bleeding heart, and I know if he heard me say that, it would break his heart!” 

The thought alone sends tears spilling over onto your cheeks. You love your dad, you don’t want to see him heartbroken, but it’s getting harder to ignore your own bruises. 

Red Robin scoots closer to you, rubbing your back soothingly. 

“No, it doesn’t make you a bad person,” He tells you softly. “It sounds like you’re really hurt. While we can love our family, it’s hard to like someone who’s brought you so much pain.” 

“But he… He’s so sweet,” You sob, taking a stuttering breath. “He’s one of the most loving people I’ve ever met.” 

“But that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you,” Red Robin tells you gently. 

The tears well up in your eyes again, and you give up trying to make any sense of your thoughts. Instead, you let the tears fall. Red Robin pulls in arm around your shoulders, rubbing your arm as you lean against him and silently cry. 

You two sit there in silence for what must be an hour before you finally sit up and rub your face. 

“Well, that’s certainly not how I expected this to go,” You admit sheepishly, wiping your face. “Sorry for making you listen to my dumb sob story.” 

“I’ve been there,” Red Robin offers a tissue that he produced from somewhere on his suit. “It’s not dumb. Having someone who will listen makes all the difference.” 

“Thanks,” You say softly, offering a watery smile as you blow your nose and finish wiping your face off. 

“Are you hungry?” He offers. 

“Hungry?” 

Red Robin shrugs. 

“Crying takes it out of you. And it sounds like you’ve had a long night. How about some 4 am breakfast?” 

“But I don’t have my wallet,” You dumbly state as if not having a wallet is the only issue with his proposal. 

Red Robin waves you off. 

“It’s my treat.” 

You look down at your clothes: sneakers, mismatching socks, stained sweatpants, an old sleep shirt, and the first jacket you could find in your room, which was a jean jacket. 

“You look fine,” He assures you. “Besides, it’s 4 am. If anything, you fit the vibe more than I do.” 

You giggle at that, grimacing at how tight your face feels from the crying and the snot dripping from your nose. Wiping your nose with your sleeve, you glance around the rooftop. 

“How are we going to get there? I don’t have a car.” 

Red Robin pulls what looks to be a grappling hook from his side. 

“I have an idea. But I have one important question before we proceed.” 

You look at him warily. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks. 

And considering you just cried on his shoulder for the past hour and info dumped a small piece of your tragic backstory, you suppose you kind of do.

“Yeah,” You tell him. 

“Great,” He smiles. “That wasn’t the important question, but that was needed information. Get on my back.” 

You blink at him. 

“Um. What?” 

“Get on my back,” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most simple thing in the world. “I’m going to swing us to a breakfast place,” He waves his grappling hook.

“Um.” 

“You said you trust me,” Red Robin reminds you. 

And you suppose you did say that, didn’t you? He does this just about every night, he can keep you safe… Hopefully. 

Red Robin bends down so you can hop onto his back. Once he’s sure you’re securely situated with your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, Red Robin climbs up on the ledge of the apartment. Your grip tightens as he stands dangerously close to the edge. 

“Wait,” You say before he jumps. 

Red Robin turns his head in acknowledgment. 

“What was the important question?” 

He grins at you. 

“Waffles or pancakes?” 

“What?” 

“Waffles or pancakes?” Red Robin repeats like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“That was your important question?” You shake your head in disbelief. 

“It is an important question,” He insists. 

You pause for a moment, pondering your answer. 

“Pancakes,” You say decisively. 

“Good answer,” Red Robin grins, then steps off the building. 

For a moment, your breath is stuck in your throat as everything tenses, bracing for impact. Then, there’s a tugging—something dragging you away from the ground in a long arch. You tear your eyes away from the ground to see Red Robin almost effortlessly swinging with his grappling hook. Every shot is perfectly timed and calculated. It looks like second nature at this point, and it makes you wonder how long Red Robin has been doing this. Who is Red Robin under the cowl?

Eventually, you land in front of a mom and pop dinner which advertises 24/7 breakfast. 

“It doesn’t look like much, but this place has the best pancakes,” Red Robin promises as you slide off his back. 

You shrug, looking up at the old sign and well-loved booths inside. 

“Like you said, it fits the vibe.” 

Red Robin grins and opens the door for you. He directs you to a booth in the back. An older waitress comes by your table holding two mugs and a pot of coffee.

“Hey, Red,” She greets, looking tired but friendly. “Who’s your friend?” 

Red Robin glances over at you with a small smile. 

“A fellow pancake lover.” 

The waitress chuckles as she pours him a cup of coffee. 

“Coffee?” She offers you. 

“Uh, sure,” You’re doubtful that you’ll drink it since pulling an all-nighter sounds less than ideal but holding something warm sounds nice. 

“So, a stack of pancakes for both of you then?” The waitress asks, not bothering to write down the simple order. 

“That sounds great, Brooke,” Red Robin smiles. 

“Sure thing,” Brooke heads back to the kitchen to place the order, leaving you at the table with Red Robin. 

You blow on your hot coffee and wrap your fingers around the mug, enjoying the heat. 

“Alright, another important question for you,” Red Robin begins as he adds sugar and cream to his coffee. 

You smile, ready for this all-important question with rapt attention. 

“Acceptable toppings on pancakes?” 

Midway through your heated debate about which fruits are acceptable to top pancakes with (“Oh, so pineapple can go on pizza, but it can’t go on pancakes?!”), Brooke drops off two stacks of fluffy, golden brown pancakes. While Red Robin is wrong about pancake toppings, he wasn’t lying about these pancakes being delicious.

“Okay,” You say through a mouthful of heavenly pancake. “These pancakes are delicious, but I cannot fathom the thought of you ruining them with Miracle Whip.” 

“It sounds weird, I know,” Red Robin admits, opting to dunk his pancakes in syrup only, thank God. “But trust me.” 

“Miracle Whip,” You repeat. “Like the substitute for mayonnaise.” 

“It’s sweeter than mayo!” Red Robin argues. “It’s like a sweet cream on pancakes.” 

“I think you’ve had one too many concussions.” 

“Oh, really?” You’re sure that Red Robin is raising his eyebrows at you under his cowl, judging by the look on his face. “So, what’s your excuse for orange juice and chocolate chip cookies?” 

“Okay listen,” You point your fork at him. “I never said it was my idea. A friend made me try it, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world!” 

“How can you question my judgment about Miracle Whip on pancakes when you eat orange juice with your cookies?!” 

“It’s not that different from drinking a glass of orange juice while eating a chocolate chip pancake!” 

“Yes, it absolutely is!” 

By the time you two have your fill of pancakes, coffee, and arguing, it’s close to five am. Red Robin drops you off on your apartment rooftop. 

“Thanks for the pancakes,” You smile, sliding off his back. “You’re right. I did need that.” 

“Helping is what we do,” He shrugs with a small smile. 

“If only someone could help your taste buds.” 

Red Robin laughs then shakes his head. 

“If you think mine are bad, you should see some of the things my siblings eat.” 

“There’s more of you?” You toss your head back dramatically. “What kind of cursed bloodline do you come from?!” 

Red Robin grins. 

“A diverse one,” He answers vaguely. 

“Seriously,” You tell him, sobering up. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime. If you ever need someone to talk to, go to the roof. I’ll be there,” Red Robin promises. 

“Thanks,” You say softly, then you kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you around, Red.” 

He’s frozen for a moment, then a smile stretches across his face. 

“See you around,” He solutes, then disappears into the night like the bat he is. 

You smile to yourself and walk back to your apartment. Some sleep sounds pretty good now…

So, hey guys! It’s been a minute... 4 months to be exact... Sorry about that. I’m not dead! Just in college. I just finished an 18 credit semester so I’ve been busy and tired. Next semester will not be better. It’s suppose to be my hardest semester of nursing school, so that’s great. I am hoping over break to work through some of my requests. I think to help I’m going to try to make them shorter. I also might delete some, so if yours gets deleted, I’m sorry. Eventually request will open again and you’ll be able to request, but as of now, I’m just trying to get content out and some of the things on the upcoming don’t really do it for me. Anyways, I’ve missed y’all and I’m sorry for the wait. Thank you for being patient, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoyed this vent fic! 

[dat-town]

what the hearts wish for

Characters: Seonghwa & You

Setting: pirate au, mostly based on Pirates of the Caribbean

Genre: adventure spiced up with a little romance

Summary: Oh, the two of you had quite a history, a sequence of chance meetings as if the thread of your fates were so deeply tangled, it couldn't have been separated. You have met up before, sparred before, talked before, saved each other’s life before but you never addressed what this unsaid thing was between you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, death, murder

Words: 3.4k

I blame numerous things for this, first and foremost @restlessmaknae​ (yes, I love suffering, thank you), then the wonderful Ateez concepts and cinematography, whoever’s idea it was to display a boat in the set of their Music Bank performance, listening to too much PotC music lately and the current book I’m reading. Also this prompt, kinda:  “just once i wanna put the blade of my sword under a pretty boy’s chin and tilt their head up so i can see both fear and arousal in their eyes is that too much to ask?” (source)

"It's the Royal Navy!"

The watchboy from the crow’s nest hollered and his words made you snap your head towards the back of your beloved ship, Cassiopeia. Behind you, catching up with one of the fastest ships on the Eastern Sea, there were indeed three almighty watercrafts of the infamous Royal Navy. You let out a not too ladylike swear.

"Let the mast down and follow the wind. We need to reach Blackbeard before them," you yelled at your steersmate behind the wheel.

A hand gripping tightly on the handle of your nicely crafted sword and knowing no fear you stared ahead into the storm you were approaching and under it the Black Medusa, that damned pirate ship you had been chasing ever since your father's death. Finally, this was your chance and you weren’t willing to let politics or law mess this up for you.

Women were said to be misfortunes on sea, only angering the goddess of the waters but you earned your title after your father had deceased. Instead of his misogynist men, now you had your own and as he had once been one of the Pirate Kings of the Seven Seas, now you could have been considered a Queen. However, you had no care for titles like that. You didn’t have that luxury. You only wanted the head of the man who oh so cowardly pierced a bullet into your father's chest.

"The water is starting to get wilder, Captain! We are facing an enormous maelstrom," a cabin boy yelled, his panicked voice telling you clearly how crazy he thought your idea was. Chasing a ship down in a spiral trying to make sure you didn't fall into your own end, into that deep abyss? Yeah, it might have been a bit unusual but if one wasn’t ready to die for glory and gold, then he shouldn’t have become a pirate to begin with. You had no time to waste on such weak men.

Not to mention, now that even the Royal Navy joined this chase, there was no way back. Whether they came for you or Blackbeard, only one set of ship could have survived this storm. The Navy needed this blast of fun, you thought to yourself with a slightly amused grin as the wind got stronger. The raindrops started looking like tears on your face and the ship shifted towards the spiral, following the schooner not too much ahead. If you could get beside it, you knew you could have ducked it into the tempestuous sea.

"Prepare the cannons!” you yelled at your crew from the front, nails digging into the wooden material of the foremast pillar as the ship tilted further. Your wet hair got into your face and your hand kept slipping on the surface you grabbed on but you were almost there, ready to avenge your father's death.

However, you were so focused on the distance getting shorter and shorter between the Cassiopeia and the Black Medusa, that you didn’t even care about the compass attached to your belt spinning like crazy. Otherwise maybe you would have noticed the smaller ship from the Navy's Armada getting close. Truly a shame, your father would have been so disappointed to see you being blinded by your rage and vengeance so much that you didn't notice an enemy boarding your ship using the shrouds.

"Are you crazy? Do you wanna die?"

The man yelled into your face, his hands gripping on your shoulders, shaking you as if he could have shaken some sense into you but you just glared back at him. His perfectly styled black hair was now wet from rain and splashing sea water, the now messy strands even got into his dark eyes. The crimson scar on his cheek still hadn't healed completely since your last encounter and his almighty royal uniform was just as soaked as your loose and dirty clothes. You liked meeting him out on the Sea like this because there, almost all your differences seemed to disappear and you liked your chances fair. An odd thing for a pirate, isn’t it?

"It's none of your business!" you shouted back at him, shredding his hands off you but the ship took a sudden turn which made you both lose balance. You would have fallen, body pressed to the wall of the ship, so close to the mouth of the maelstrom if it weren't for him and his quick reflexes to catch on your wrist.

Heavy rain falling down on you, you stared back at him, letting him pull you back, back to his chest and you once again realised that his hands weren’t like a typical prince’s. His were rather calloused just as his skin was a map of scars because he wasn’t the kind of prince one would have expected. Unlike his older brother who mostly dealt with political and economic issues by the side of their father preparing to follow his lead, the second prince had become a general, a soldier, fighting for his country like any loyal subject of his, not expecting more of them than he would have given himself.

"You're running into your death," the man reminded you much softer this time and you knew he was right. You knew you could only get ahead of the other ship to cannon it properly if you went in a smaller circle in the spiral but if you went any closer to the center of it, the maelstrom would have pulled you down, bury you underwater along with your precious ship. It was a suicide mission but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

"If I can take that monster with me, I don't care!" you snickered, pulling away, hands searching for the grip of your weapon while you tried to find your balance on the unstable ship. Knowing you had your sword with you had never failed to put your heart at ease. It was a stable point.

"But I do," the man claimed oh so confidently, voice resonating through your bones, in the blood rushing through your veins and it got to your heart. Your movements halted, your mouth parted as you looked back at him from under your raindrop dotted eyelashes.

In that moment, under the pouring rain, features lit only by lightning, cheek scarred, General Seonghwa looked nothing like the prince you had met at your first encounter. Because oh, the two of you had quite a history, a sequence of chance meetings as if the thread of your fates were so deeply tangled, it couldn't have been separated. You have met before, sparred before, talked before, saved each other’s life before but you never addressed what this unsaid thing was between you.

Not when the pirates invaded the Royal Summer House in Busan and he caught you stealing crystal and gold. He had a sword pointed at your heart and even though he wore a night robe, his eyes, dark like the starless night, were awake. He spoke to you in an authoritative, strict tone, knowing no forgiveness, no tremble in his grip… until you looked up, revealing your youthful, feminine features to him. And oh he was too naive, too soft at heart, the darkness of his eyes melting like caramel over fire. He would have never dared to lay a finger over a woman like this, so just a few bats of eyelashes was enough and he lowered his sword along with his guard. Despite you being a trespasser, a thief, a criminal, he looked sorry and he made it ridiculously easy for you to escape with handful of expensive assets. After selling most of them at a good enough price, you still worn a few of the rings you had stolen from the royal family. A souvenir, you liked to call them, not that you needed any reminder.

Not when the Navy ambushed the den your crew - your father's crew then - had resided at. He seemed utterly confused to find you there but as chaos broke out, you soon found yourselves on two different sides again. He learned that day that even women could be good at swordplay as you sparred through the building, up the attic then the roof. He almost fell as his boots slipped on the slippery timber and you could have let him found his death there, at such an unprince-like place, in the mud down there, among the poor and drunk but you made your choice in a split second. You grabbed his hand before he could have fallen entirely and pulled him back to safety, telling him that he owed you one. Panting, he looked at you with those dark, star-filled eyes of his and you felt his burning gaze on you even when he let you run off.

Not when he paid back the favour. He hid you in his royal carriage when you were running away from guards in another kingdom's coastline city. At first you wanted to hit and kick whoever dared to yank you into the vehicle while you were hiding behind a brick wall watching out for the guards but when you saw him in his shiny, dark blue uniform, his general badges on instead of his crown, you decided against it. He acted stern but you could see the amused crack of smile in the corner of his mouth. You would have liked to call him out on it but indeed there was something funny in always meeting like this. As if it was more than coincidence. Almost life fate, that silly thing. Then, just before he let you go close to the port, he asked for your name and you saw no wrong in telling him. If he had wished to put you on the wanted list, he would have done it earlier and he wouldn’t even needed a way to address you for that. But what you didn’t consider was you not being prepared for him calling your name oh so sweetly.

Not when your father was murdered and his old crew left you on an uninhabited island in the middle of nowhere and he found you. He wasn't even looking for you, his ship just happened to pass by and seeing you on that wrecked boat trying to find your way with that compass of yours, he took you in. He made up some silly story of you being some lady kidnapped and abandoned by pirates. You were grieving too hard to protest or call him out on his lies,  threatening him or acting like a proud pirate. Because at least for a night you let yourself be vulnerable and cared for. Before that, you had never worn such soft silk before and never tasted wine as nice as the ones in his chambers. You two sat by his bed with your backs to it and slightly tipsy you told him about your father, that he had been your only relative left and that you had nothing from him but a stupid compass showing you what you really wanted even when you didn’t know what it was. He also told you about his family, that he could never be a king because he wasn't the legitimate son of His Majesty, that he found his true self out there, on the sea. You two exchanged too many innocent secrets that night and by the morning you were too embarrassed to face him. So like a coward you never wanted to become, you stole one of the extra boats and left before he could have woken up.

Not ever since even though you had met quite a handful of times. Like last time when you gave him that pretty cut under his left eye as a warning.

That time, he was cornered by dozens of mercenaries who pondered over the amount of money his head could have worth and even though he fought well, they overnumbered him. Beaten and chained, he laid awake at night when the Cassiopeia passed by. That was his luck, otherwise you wouldn’t have noticed him and wouldn’t have ordered your men to rob the mercenary ship while most of those men were sound asleep.

“Long time no see, princeling,” you whispered as a greeting when you crouched down in front of the man who looked no less elegant even as a hostage. It wasn’t fair.

“Too long, if you ask me,” he dared to smile at you, hissing when pain shot into his split lip. He deserved it.

“It would better be the last time,” you gritted your teeth as you examined his confines. Damn, he wasn’t even paying you for this, so why did you feel like saving him once again? His men were probably already after him, there was no need for you to be so gallant. He was a prince after all, even if he wasn’t the son of the current king, he wouldn’t have let him get away like this, right?

“Then you should give me a proper parting gift as a goodbye, something to remember you by,” Seonghwa said and his daring words made you raise a brow.

Legs tangled as you kneeled in front of his sitting form and your mouth twitched at his sudden cheekiness. You lifted the dagger in your hand, using it to tap his chin from underneath with the metal blade. Tilting his head up you had a clear view of his blown pupils, his slightly agapé mouth and you couldn’t help but wonder what was in his thoughts. Was he afraid? Or the darkness of his orbs were from a different kind of feeling?

You leaned closer, so close that even a whisper would have been too loud between the two of you and smiled down at him wickedly.

“Beware of what you wish for,” you warned him before you swiftly cut through the ropes around his wrists and then grazed the blade along a part of his cheek on purpose lightly but just enough to draw blood. You freed him, lent him a lantern and a boat, then let him on his way. You were a pirate captain after all, not a charity service.

And now here he was trying to stop you? He had quite a death wish.

"Your father wouldn't want this," Seonghwa added at your silence and you hated that he was most probably right. Your father would have wanted you to take the glorious road instead of a martyr’s.

"Captain, what should we do?" your right-hand yelled at you from behind the wheel and looking around, you quickly realized the three ships moved in sync in concentric lanes by now but at least the Navy ship and the Cassiopeia caged the Black Medusa in. They were done for.

“Fire!” you ordered and all your men behind the cannons followed your word.

The noise and tremors of the shots shook the entire ship, even more so when your ship got hit as well. You stumbled backwards, until you grabbed one of the mast’s ropes to steady yourself. The ship tilted to one side dangerously, everything sliding down there and you knew well that once a watercraft this big buried somebody under, there was no chance of survival.

"You have to leave the ship!" Seonghwa reminded you as he pulled you towards a safer part of the ship. He was crazy staying there with you. He should have left already, not caring about dirty pirates dying among heavy waves. This was your fate after all.

"Not without my men!" You claimed and oh, they said there was no loyalty among pirates.

"Tell them to leave, too. The Medusa is sinking already," the general remarked and he was right.

However, it couldn’t have been all thanks to your crew: the Navy was firing the other pirate ship as well. You knew what Seonghwa meant by leaving though: to escape the doomed ships only to reach theirs but once a bunch of pirates were on a Navy ship who knew what was going to happen? You couldn't let yourself trust them just because of Seonghwa. But you had no time to ponder over such things. You needed all your physical strength already to not fall into Death's welcoming arms.

"Everyone, leave the ship! Take the boats or follow me!" you shouted at anyone who heard you and the pirates who were brave enough not to escape by then, now followed your orders. Your ship was close enough to the Black Medusa to crash into it time and time again which sent your balance off but it also meant that the deck-plank reached the other side, making it convenient to climb over.

"Go!" the man behind you encouraged you and the corners of your mouth twitched.

"The ever so gentleman," you rolled your eyes and willed yourself not to look down at the stormy sea beneath you while nothing but two sinking ship and a piece of wood held you. You naively thought it would get better once you set foot on the black ship's board but it was already so unstable that sparring with one of the pirates there looked as if both of you were drunken bastards. At least you saw most of your crew members jump or swing over to the ship, one step closer to safety.

With a kick in the chest you managed to throw an enemy to the water when you heard a playful voice behind you. You would have recognized his anywhere, you realized.

"Captain," Seonghwa called out for you and you turned towards him confused, a part of you afraid that something had happened, but instead you had to catch something thrown at you. Looking down into your palm, you recognized your compass that somehow had detached from your belt. Your father had gotten this tricky device after many struggles and it was the only thing you had from him, so you treasured it dearly and the general knew about it, too. As well as about the reason why the compass was so special. You stared at it, at the pointer that wasn’t spinning anymore. No, it showed you a clear direction.

“Watch out!” You screamed when you saw Blackbeard striking down at the general and you quickly drew your sword again to fight the old pirate.

It didn’t take long for the scene to become chaos: you and Seonghwa fighting back to back with four pirates. Sparring through rain and beside burning barrels, feet slipping on the sloped board, you felt adrenaline, vengefulness and something else you couldn’t name rushing through your veins.

“Y/N, I...” Seonghwa panted from behind you but you didn’t want to hear it. It already sounded too much like a goodbye.

“Shut up,” you snapped at him while your sword’s blade slid one of the men’s throat. You heard one fell to his knees on the prince’s side as well.

“But in case, we wouldn’t...”

“I told you to shut up,” you sneered between your teeth before turning around and tossing a rope around both of your bodies, you told the man to hold on and with one strike you cut through the rope that was anchored by some counterweight. Without that, the two of you shot up to the foremast’s level as the ballast pulled down on the other side. You needed to jump from there to the top of the Navy ship’s cabins and falling onto your knees on that steady watercraft’s surface had never felt so good.

“You’re unbelievable,” Seonghwa whispered beside you and soldiers rushing to you from all sides it was one kind of a moment, a now or never.

“You have no idea,” you chuckled as you toppled the man over, your light weight over his wide shoulders and there was a mischievous glint in your eyes but a genuine smile on your lips before you pressed against his body, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Beside you laid the gilded compass with engraved runes pointing at him, like it always did, knowing the deepest and most sacred wishes of your heart even when you didn’t.

And Seonghwa kissed you back, sliding a bloody hand behind your neck, into your soaked hair, pulling you closer, smiling against your lips, murmuring his silly confession into the seam of your mouth. No title, revenge, gold or sinking ship mattered then, just his warmth close to you, soft touches burning on your skin and silly promises you wanted to keep. Just like him.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Can't lose you

(Yandere Cloud Strife X Female Reader)

This chapter has a pretty interesting story behind it. It was a chapter for my Wattpad which I was going to scrap, it was left and forgotten for months until I got a request for a yandere Cloud oneshots and I ended up digging it up and having a writing an overdrive.

Times had been tough for the poor man since Aerith's death, he started to feel like everyone that got close to him was cursed to meet their demise. The once preppy young man was spiraling down into an abyss of sadness and pain that he felt that he couldn't recover from. His friend's weren't ignorant to the situation and tried to help but nothing seemed to work until a chance encounter.

🎰🎰🎰

Their was no where to go, now that your brother was missing, you couldn't afford to keep up with the costs to rent an apartment. You were now on the streets with what little you had packed.

You were currently running down the backstreets, being chased by two armed men. You turned a sharp right, dead end.

"Now if you want to stay alive, I suggest giving us your belongings" one of them said while holding out a hand, waiting for you to give him the bag of all the remains of your property. You didn't want to give up your last possessions but what choice did you have.

"Here, take it! just leave me" you said as you handed him your bag.

"Nah, we aren't done with you yet" the other man slurred. You felt a shiver go down your spine, this wasn't going to end well.

"Are you saying... Well she's not half bad, I think she'd be pretty good" the first guy chuckled as he started to mentally undress you.

This was it. You only had two choices. Get raped of your decency and live another day or bleed out on the streets with you decency. You contemplated as they pushed you into a corner. As all hope seemed to be lost, a figure walked into your vision. The lighting made it hard to see most of their features but by the their build you assumed they were male and this assumption was confirmed when he spoke.

"Hey, leave her alone scumbags." The man spoke. The men instantly turned to look behind, as soon as they made eye contact with the mysterious man they dropped everything and ran for their lives.

"Don't worry about them they're only petty thieves. They only target the weak, they won't have back up" he said as he walked up to you. You could now see the figure better. A man about the same age as you. He had messy light blonde hair and icy blue eyes. He was taller then you with medium build and wore what seemed to be a simplified military styled outfit.

"Thank you, if you hadn't of been here, who knows what they would have done to me" you said to him, he just looked at you with those cold eyes of his.

"This is yours, right?" he asked while holding your bag.

"Yes it is, thank you" you said as you grabbed your bag.

"Well... Thank you again, I hope to see you again soon" you said as you began to walk off.

"You don't have a place to go, do you?" He asked, you froze. Was it that obvious.

"If you don't... You could come with me... I know a place where my friends might be able to let you stay" he said, obviously flustered.

"Ah, really you would help a street rat like me?" You said.

"It would be terrible if I just let you stay out here after that, besides I think a storm's rolling in" he said with a concerned look.

"OK then, lead the way" you said as the two of you began to walk thought the large city.

Neither of you had said a word until the rain started to pour down.

"If we run we could possibly make it before the rain gets too heavy" he said as he grabbed your hand and started running. You could feel the cold droplets of rain land on you. You slowed your pace as you looked at the droplets on your skin. They had a slight tint of brown in them.

"It's the pollution, it's getting trapped by the water, OK? We need to hurry up" he said as he pulled on your wrist.

"OK" you said as you followed.

It wasn't long after that you arrived outside of a bar.

"Seventh heaven, is this the place you were talking about?" You asked.

"Yeah..." He said as he gestured you inside.

Inside, the bar was pretty much empty apart from the two of you. You had to admit, it was probably one of the most well kept of the lot.

You were about to say something until a woman appeared from behind the bar.

"Cloud, where have you been? You knew we had a massive meeting on" she scolded him.

"Wait, who's the girl?" She then asked.

"I found her in the backstreets. She was almost attacked by thieves" he said while giving you a nudge.

"I'm (Y/N)..." You mumbled

"Oh, well my name is Tifa, I'm the manager here. Now you must be exhausted. I'll fix you up a bed you can rest in" She said as she ran off.

"(Y/N)... Pretty interesting name" Cloud said as waited for Tifa.

"Well, not as interesting as yours Cloud" you replied as he sat at the bar.

🎰🎰🎰

After a while Tifa came back with pair of clean clothes and a towel.

"The shower is third door on the right" she said while giving them to you.

"However... I can't seem to find the air mattress..." She continued.

"She can sleep in my room" Cloud bluntly stated.

"But what about you?" You asked him.

"I'm probably just going to stay up, it's hard for me to sleep" he explained.

🎰🎰🎰

After your shower you changed into the clothes Tifa had given you earlier and walked into the room that you would be sleeping in, Relatively basic. A bed, bedside table and a set of draws. On the bedside table was small lamp, a alarm clock and a stack of photographs.

Curiosity had gotten the best of you and so you looked through them. One had him, Tifa, a Broad male, a younger black haired girl and a pretty brunette woman who clung onto his arm. Another of him and the brunette from the previous picture in an amusement ride and another of him in a military uniform along with a black haired male. You put down the pile of pictures, believing that you might be dwelling into something too personal. You hopped into the bed but for the whole night you struggled to fall asleep and just ended up watching the clock. 10pm, 11pm, 12pm... Soon you decide that you might walk around to pass the time. You opened the door and you saw Cloud slumped over, leaning on the wall. You felt a little guilty for taking his bed. You knelt down and lightly shook his shoulder. His eyes shot open and within a blink of the eye he had had you slammed up against the wall, he then let go of you and looked in shock as he backed away from you.

"I... I'm so sorry (y/n)" he whispered, you wanted to respond but you were too shocked to speak.

"I didn't mean to... I...I..." He tried to explain to you.

"It... It's ok, I shouldn't have woken you up" you said.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked you.

"Yeah... Can I just talk to you?" You asked as you slid down the wall and sat down.

"About what?" He asked you.

"Anything, I just need to waste some time" you explained.

"So how did you end on the streets?" He asked you as he sat down beside you.

"Well that's a long story and I don't want to bore you" You said while giving him a small smile.

"No, tell me. I want to know" he said while giving you a small smile in return.

"Well my family lived in the country and my older brother decided to move to the big city, all to chase his dreams of becoming an engineer. Things hadn't gone the way he wanted and he was stuck doing some job he didn't like. He never told us about that thou in fear that we would be disappointed..." you explained, Cloud just nodded in acknowledgement.

"So we all thought things were going great for him and I decided I wanted to live with him in this 'great' place that he told us all about... And well turns out that it wasn't all that he said it was..." You sighed.

"Did something happen between you and your brother?" He asked.

"I lived with him for a few weeks and then he just... Disappeared, I was left all alone with no where to live" you continued as you looked down as you began to become teary. He placed an arm around you.

"Heh, I guess we have more in common then I thought" he said as he looked to the celling.

"How's that?" You asked as you looked to him.

"We are the victims of circumstance, those who got caught up in the events that we shouldn't have" he sighed as he looked down at you.

You two just sat there looking at the moon through the window for what seemed like hours.

"Hey (y/n)" Cloud whispered to you, you didn't respond. He looked at you to see your cute sleeping face. He had to admit after having the shower your beauty became very prominent, it was like polishing a diamond.

"I think I'm in love with you... I don't know why but within these few hours... I, You... There's just something special about you..." He mumbled. It was probably for the best that you weren't awake, it would have sounded creepy.

🎰🎰🎰

Months had passed and you had eventually found out the truth about Cloud and his friends being 'terrorists'. you didn't care about that because you knew that they were good people, fighting for a good cause. So you stayed with them, they became your friends and you fought along side them.

You and Cloud had become nearly inseparable. Over the months he had opened up to you and he had become rather friendly to you But soon you noticed that something was off with him, he seemed to become very protective of you and grew rather jealous of you talking to other men.

🎰🎰🎰

"Cloud, what's up? You've been acting weird lately" you said while eating the last bite your lunch.

"It's nothing" he coldly replied as a light blush crept on his face.

"Come on tell me, I'm your best friend!" You said as you shuffled closer to him.

"Well... It's about that..." He mumbled.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" You asked him. He just looked down at you, a slight bit of unease laced over him. He tried to speak but he just felt everything inside him fall to the pit of his stomach. Nervous couldn't cover how he felt, he just wanted to tell you what his feeling were for you but he didn't know how.

"What's wrong?" You asked, feeling a little anxious.

"I'll just show you..." He mumbled before smashing his lips into yours. You went into shock for a few seconds before you melted into the kiss. After what felt like minutes he pulled away.

"Do you understand that..." He mumbled while looking away from you in embarrassment. You looked at him blankly for a while, you did have a crush on the blonde but it's just you never thought that he would feel the same way.

"I'll leave now, sorry" he said as he began to walk away, taking your silence as a form of rejection.

"No, don't leave" you said while running into him and trapping him in your embrace.

"I love you too Cloud" you said before you kissed him on the lips

🎰🎰🎰

At first it was all lovey dovey, all of the blonde's worries disappeared. Until the nightmares of his past began to return. Zack and Aerith being a reminder of what he lost... And what he may lose if he wasn't careful.

🎰🎰🎰

"Cloud!! That creature's innocent, don't kill it!!" You screamed but it was to late. He sliced the creature's head clean off of it's body.

"Are you crazy! it tried to kill you!" He argued back. You slapped him in the face before walking to a patch of tall grass, moving some of the tall grass out of the way to reveal a nest with several eggs in it.

"She was trying to protect her eggs" you said as tears formed in your eyes.

"I'm... So sorry" he said before walking up to you.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to the eggs, I don't want to talk to you" you said as you walked off.

For the rest of the day you refused to talk to him. After the long day you had you entered one of the inn rooms that the gang had paid for. You changed into your PJs and just looked out the window.

watching the clouds cascading around the moon. You heard the door open and footsteps approaching you, you ignored them.You felt pair of arms wrapped around you.

"I'm so so so sorry (y/n)..." A familiar voice whispered in your ear, their voice coated in sadness and anger. You didn't reply.

"Please forgive me... I beg of you" they pleaded. You remained silent. You where then picked up and thrown into the bed and the familiar blonde loomed over you.

"(Y/n) please... I can't take this... You're driving me crazy..." He mumbled between heavy breaths. He tried to kiss you but you pushed his face away.

"I can't take this anymore! Speak to me!" He cried out as he buried his face in your chest.

"I'll talk when I forgive you" you mumbled.

"I didn't mean to kill it, I just didn't want it to hurt you, I can't afford to lose you, you understand that?" He said as he hugged you. Maybe you where being to hard on him, that creature would have killed you if he hadn't been there.

"Ok... I forgive you Cloud" you said as you kissed him on the forehead. He then pulled you into a heated kiss. You melted into it instantly, unaware that fear was pulling all of the strings in his brain.

🎰🎰🎰

You all looked straight ahead of the giant war machine ahead of you.

"Well... We've gotta lot on our hands" Yufie said as she looked you and Barratt.

"So all we've got do is dismantle this machine?" You asked.

"Yep, you and I are here to destroy this junk while Barratt, Tifa and Cloud cover us" she said as she climbed up on the railing

"Shouldn't be too hard" you said as you followed her.

"Cloud's been concerned about you lately" Yufie said as she helped you onto the platform you couldn't reach.

"Yeah... He's been pretty protective lately, it's been hard to convince him to let me come on missions" you sighed as you stood up.

"Umm... You know about his past relationship, right?" She asked.

"No, not really" you replied.

"Well she was... Murdered..." She explained. You were shocked but things started to make sense. The brunette in the photos must have been the girl that Yufie was referring to, that could be the reason why he was being so protective.

"That's-" you got cut off by the sound of sierins.

"Shit! They found us!" You cursed.

"We better get out quick" Yufie said while looking around to see that you were surrounded by soldiers.

"Too late" you said.

"Well we're gonna have to fight them" you said as you grabbed out your sword. You ran to the closest soldier and slashed them before you were hit in the hip by a bullet. You fell off the edge falling onto a lower platform, blood poring out of the wound and falling through the gutter like platform. You tried to stand but you couldn't move your legs.

"(Y/N)" you heard Yufie scream. You closed your eyes and let out a painful scream. You kept your eyes closed as you curled up into a ball, you felt your head become light as you lost more blood.

"(Y/N)!" Clouds voice yelled as you saw him rushing to you, slicing up every soldier in his way, he wasn't going to lose you. He couldn't imagine a life without you at this point...

"I'm not going to lose you!" He screamed.

You're driving me crazy

I'm not going to lose you

I can't live a life without you

🎰🎰🎰

You woke up to a loud explosion, you flinched only to feel the pain coursing through the top of your body. You looked into the distance to see the factory that you were in earlier alight in a firery blaze. You looked to see where you were. In the arm's of the familiar blonde, his eyes shut, his breathing heavy and his body covered in blood.

"It's just us now..."

[krumbine]

Thoughts on 35: Birthdays in the Time of the Pandemic

The pandemic has taken T-Rex Cafe from me on my birthday.

It was a fledgling, two-year-run of a tradition but I honestly don’t give a shit. And not because I was ‘just’ there earlier this year for a much-needed dino/LEGO-themed catch-up with an out-of-town friend.

This would have been the year that the T-Rex Cafe tradition evolved into the Dinosaur World tradition (DID YOU SEE WHAT I JUST DID THERE?!) — Dinosaur World is an extraordinarily out-of-place Florida attraction found in a corner of the Sunshine State that’s closer to Tampa than Orlando. The Plant City (actual city name) location is great, because it might just be far enough outside the bubble of the Plastic City (not the actual city name) that it wouldn’t be suffocated to death by His Holy Mousiness.

Not that any of that matters.Dinosaur World is an open-air attraction with paths that weave through a foliage-dense park. It’s home to a single animatronic set-piece tucked away in a sad-looking museum that’s not winning any awards (the animatronics or the museum).

Please don’t think I’m underselling it. Dinosaur World is glorious.

It’s clear that the animatronics aren’t the star of the attraction — that designation goes to the massive dinosaur sculptures that litter the jurassic park. These dense, solid constructs have been fabricated across decades and it’s a joy going from a modern, somewhat realistic representation of a dinosaur to an older, derpy sculpture that just so happens to be the exact, anantomicaly-incorrect image you conjure when you find yourself thinking the words ‘Dinosaur World’.

Again, I am not bullshitting you even in the slightest: it is glorious.

The best part, by any measure of bestness, is the gift shop — and this is speaking as a dude who lives in Orlando metro, the global epicenter of that other pandemic afflicting the globe: gift shops. It’s so bad here that new strains of gift shops have evolved that no longer require a host attraction. In the Orlando area, you can find gift shops that are located at the exit of other gift shops.

Again, I am not bullshitting you even the slightest: the Dinosaur World gift shop bests all other gift shops with its tiny, useless clappers-not-slappers arms tied behind its back.

Generally speaking, I stand immune to senseless purchases of molded plastic that, generally, serve to only collect dust.

But in the Dinosaur World gift shop? I laugh in the face of budgets.

I’ll take this massive Spinosaurus. And that ill-fitting Dinosaur World cap. And that ridiculously amazing piece of framed lenticular art where the T-Rex foot LITERALLY LEAPS OUT OF THE PICTURE. Oh, and a couple of plush. Okay, sure, a few more plush for the niece and nephew, too.

This gift shop is big, unreasonably so. It has all the staples: dinosaur toys of every stripe, t-shirts, decorations, books, and even jewelry.

It. Is. Glorious.

I’m not going to Dinosaur World or its gift shop for my birthday, but on the other hand, I’m not going anywhere for my birthday. And I honestly don’t give a shit.

I’m personally in Week 4 of The Great American Quarantine but Florida as a whole only officially went into lockdown last Friday. This has created a fascinating dichotomy in the state — people like me who are old hats at this thing (yes, I know others have been in quarantine for long) and those who are just now experiencing life-stuck-at-home.

Here’s the thing: I’ve never felt stuck. I bought my house for a reason and I’m more than happy to work from it and avoid leaving it. Don’t get me wrong, my new-to-quarantiners, there IS an adjustment period. And depending on your life and who you are, maybe you never get out of the adjustment period.

Me, I usually take about two-to-three weeks to adjust to anything.

So as newcomers reach ‘peak quarantine’, I find my emotional self mostly equalized to pre-pandemic levels of dyspeptic misery and abject hopelessness, occasionally sidelined by the pure undiluted joy of creating a cool video or losing myself in a cathartic piece of writing.

I am not a ‘happy person’ and the mere notion abhors me. Not in respect to your own happiness, of course — you should be whatever flavor of happy you want, rock your-goddamn-happy socks off and go nuts. But me? That’s not my baseline and never was in 35 years. 

Life can be a miserable shit show and some people just needed a pandemic to see it.

Those moments of pure bliss I sometimes get to enjoy? Here’s what comes next: I finish project — which is a postpartum shit show in itself — and then I put that moment of bliss online where, generally speaking, no one seems to care.

Okay, look, I know it sounds like I’m sitting here on my 35th birthday complaining that nobody pays any attention to my creative work, but I’m not. I’m sitting here I’m on my 35th birthday complaining that nobody pays any attention to my creative work AND FOR SOME REASON THIS STILL SENDS ME IN A FUCKING SPIRAL DECADES INTO THIS GAME probably because the spiral was immediately preceded — as mentioned — by that fleeting moment of actual bliss, a genuine happy distraction for the professional unhappy person.

Really, I’m not complaining. Just sharing a little bit the depressed psychosis I call home.

It’s just me, myself, and my abyss. That’s the title to an unfinished song I was writing for the ukulele. I’ll get around to it.

But here’s the point: for me (and all those millions like me — you know who you are) the abyss (*cough* MY abyss) is always there. Always has been. Old buddy, old chum. I’m not always in it and most days it’s not even a passing consideration …. but I know it’s ALWAYS there.

Kinda how the abyss works.

So I don’t know whether to laugh at or feel bad for all those happy people in quarantine who are crashing down and just now getting a good glimpse at the dyspeptic misery and abject hopelessness of the world. 

For a lot of us, this gets worse. Maybe emotionally. Maybe physically. Maybe economically. 

For some of us, it’s always been this bad. Maybe emotionally. Maybe physically. Maybe economically. 

The advice from this professional unhappy person: figure out what brings you bliss, that thing you can lose yourself in, even if briefly, and commit. Be unapologetic. For me, it’s dinosaurs, animation, video editing, technology, and LEGO. If I can combine all those things, that’s a pretty happy distraction from the looming abyss. At least for a little while.

On the other hand, if you still have positivity exploding out of your asshole right now …. um, okay? Good for you? I don’t know if you’re stubbornly blind to reality or if we’re just wired that differently, but whatever. You do you, just don’t expect us unhappy people to get on your level. There aren’t enough spoons in the world for that shit.

A few more bits of advice from your future depressed quarantine avatar: fix your personal relationships and be selfish as shit. I’m 35 and twice-divorced, which means I’m lucky enough to be stuck at home right now with someone who understands every single beat of this post. I’m trapped inside with someone who adds to those moments of creative bliss, as opposed to being indifferent to them or — worse still — detracting from them.

Whatever your relationship issues, rip the fucking bandaid and deal with your shit because if you don’t, well, you’ll be quarantined with it. So sayeth the 35-year-old twice-divorced, professional unhappy Krumbine.

Life’s good. Sometimes. Mostly it’s a shit sandwich. But that’s okay, too. Because dinosaurs. And LEGO. And creating cool shit.

And donuts.

Yes, I think today would be a good day for donuts. 

Stay quarantined, my friends.

Love, Krumbine

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

Leave a dollar in the Tip Jar: https://ko-fi.com/krumbine

Short stories: https://bit.ly/2XY5D7I Books on Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.to/3bsqK5Y YouTube: https://bit.ly/2W41nSG Twitter: https://bit.ly/2VH0Vbu Facebook: https://bit.ly/2VpnylZ LinkedIn: https://bit.ly/2xnmk1e

http://www.krumbco.com

[emilightniing]

You Can Fix This (Part 8A)

--------------------------- 

(Ayyyy, I return. Did you guys think I forgot?

I definitely want to apologize for putting this off for months. I've been busy with other projects, college, and mental health stuff. I'm not abandoning this story, I swear! Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this LONG overdue--albeit kinda short -- chapter.

Expect part 8B soon; once I can get a new laptop charger, we'll be good to go! ...Yeah, I'm writing this on my phone.

I'd recommend a re-read of the previous parts as a refresher, haha.)

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

Shit. Shit. What were you thinking?

Why didn't you stop and think before you spilled the entire story-- the entire truth-- to them? You never even considered that it could cause any more damage than has already been done... yet if you're to believe Mark (and you do, at least for now; you can't afford not to), you've now put the one person you need to save in mortal danger.

These thoughts speed through your mind as you rush down the stairs once again.

“Damien?” you call out, hoping he’ll answer from nearby. But you don’t hear anything. You hurry from room to room, your heart racing wildly.

He could have just gone outside, you tell yourself. That’s where you found him earlier, after all; it’s quiet out there. If you were looking to be alone, you’d probably go out there too.

Abe catches you just before you’re about to exit through the back door. “Y/N, what’s going on here?”

“I…” You aren’t sure how to explain yourself without giving anything else away. It's hardly the time to let anyone else in on what's going on.

You get the feeling you don’t have much time, so you give a rushed answer. “I’m looking for Damien. Did you see where he went?”

The dectective shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen him since he went upstairs with you and Celine.”

"Oh, well, I can just --"

His brow creases as he frowns thoughtfully, halting your attempt to dismiss yourself from the conversation. “What happened in there, anyway?" he asks. "I haven’t seen her either, but I’m going to need to talk to her at some point. She was Mark's wife, after all. And for her to just show up like this out of the blue?” He's deep in thought now, you can tell.

You rest your hand on the doorknob, your mind screaming that you don’t have time for this.

“I think she’s still upstairs.” A blatant lie; you in fact have no idea where she went. But you figure Abe will find her eventually. You push the door open, and the sudden gust of cold night air stings your skin. “I’m sorry, but I really have to find Damien now.” Before the detective can say anything else, you let the door swing closed behind you and dash outside.

It’s just getting dark,. Thankfully, the area directly around the house is still well-lit, but you have to squint to see beyond that.

“Damien?” you call loudly. It’s a huge house, after all. He could be anywhere, and you don’t have time to search everywhere. But he wasn't inside; he must be out here. That’s what you keep telling yourself. He has to be.

An odd noise grabs your attention. You start to follow it, hesitantly, knowing it could just be a distraction to throw you off guard. But it sounds like footsteps. Except they're heavier than normal footsteps, and they're echoing, as if someone's stepping on metal.

Which is undoubtedly strange. And you don’t like it. 

You force yourself to move faster, not entirely sure where you’re going. The noise leads you to a section at the far end of the house, a section where you haven't been before. The echo of the footsteps stops just as the source of the sound comes into view: a metal, spiral staircase which you can only assume goes to one place. 

You’re sprinting up it, scrambling as you nearly stumble on the stairs— in daylight, you’d probably be able to tell exactly how rickety and unsafe they are, but right now you don’t care. Even moving at full speed, it seems to take you forever to reach the top.

But you do. Gripping the railing for support as you catch your breath, you open your mouth to say something.

Your words catch in your throat as you take in the sight of Damien, standing to your right, facing away from you. Looking out from the top of the house, the edge of nothing. You don’t know why he doesn’t turn around as you approach, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, nothing at all matters.

“Damien!” You reach out to him and grab his arm, pulling him back towards you, away from the darkness beyond the rooftop. He stumbles backwards, as if your presence is a complete surprise to him.

You don’t let go; you wouldn't dare. Not as long as this house is still standing.

He blinks for a moment, as if trying to remember where he is. “Y/N?” As he looks around at the surroundings, taking in the terrified look on your face, your hand still digging into his arm, it seems to sink in what’s happening. “What—” He slowly sits down, disbelief clouding his face.

You join him. "What are you doing up here?" you force yourself to ask, already knowing the answer.

“I didn’t— I don’t know how I got here…” He just continues to shake his head as you finally release your grip on his arm and pull him close to you, burying your face in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out. "I should never have told you about this house, what it can do. It's too powerful, it's going to try to..."

You're afraid your words just sound like babbling nonsense, but he understands. Both of you are shaking, and it’s still so cold out, especially up here, on the roof of the house. The edge of the abyss.

“It's all right now,” he says, pulling himself together-- though he still looks somewhat shaken from those several minutes where he no longer had control of himself. “We should get back inside.”

Shaking your head vigorously, you plead, “No. God, no. We can’t. Are you crazy?” If the house is exerting this much control even out here, you don’t even want to imagine what it will do to you— or to Damien— inside.

He smooths down your hair, wild from the wind, and speaks in his most calm, rational voice. “Y/N. Listen to me, all right?” You look him directly in the eye and wait for him to continue. “It's safer down in there than it is up here. Everyone else is inside, and we’re all going to figure things out. And then after that’s settled, we’re going to leave. Together. And we’ll never have to think about this again.” The intensity in his eyes makes you want more than anything to accept his words, but you know better.

You give a hollow laugh. “You make it sounds so simple, Damien. As if the house didn’t just try to kill you without you even knowing.” Even saying the words leaves a dry, fearful taste in your mouth.

“And you were here,” he points out, as if that makes everything better.

And in some way, it does. But the fear in your mind doesn't abate. "If I hadn't realized in time..."

He takes your hand, and you intertwine your fingers in his despite yourself. Neither of you look away; your eyes are locked in a silent promise. “We’ll stay together,” he says. "This time around -- if this really is the second time-- then..." He closes his eyes momentarily. There's a pained look on his face. "Then we'll make sure it ends differently. We'll watch out for each other."

“Just like always," you affirm quietly. "Nobody falls, not this time." In the moment, you truly believe what you're saying-- each of you has always kept the other from going over the edge, ever since you met.

Have you, though?

Another bitter, horrid thought that you're certain isn't your own surfaces without warning.

Perhaps in a metaphorical sense. But was anybody there to catch you when you fell?

Maybe not, you admit. But he will this time.

You keep that thought firmly in your mind as you make your way back down, together.

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

[velvet-tread]

Unfiltered sweary mess: 507 edition

I had thoughts so I decided to this again. Let’s hope it doesn’t become a habit.

Let’s start with the Bellarke of it all, and the sheer joy of seeing them hustle up a plan together on the fly. AND LISTEN I am not on the #bellamysucksnow train, or the #bellarkeisdead train either and as such fair warning there is squee incoming. It feels like the core of the show has returned to us after s4’s barren years and IT IS GREAT. And honestly? I don’t care that romance isn’t in the air between them RIGHT NOW. I thought I would mind but I don’t. It feels right. It feels true to Bellamy, and it feels true to Clarke, and it feels exactly like the vibe I’d expect and want between two characters who love and respect each other and their choices, who have been apart for so long and need to reconnect. Let’s do right by Clarke and Bellamy, yeah? We’ve waited for 4 seasons (the last of which gave us sweet fa) we can wait a little longer.

And seriously, even if it turns out they are just beautiful co-leaders with a lot of professional respect for each other (yeah RIGHT) they could never, ever kill that relationship for me as long as they are in scenes together like this. I don’t care if they don’t bang (call me out on my lies someone), but the concurrent Bellarke scenes in the dining hall, and the triffid room, and then on Echo-watch just gave me so many OTP vibes. Bellarke are at their most effective when they’re together, even better when they have the support of their genius friends. And we got a return of the Bellarke dry-as comedy double act WTF @the100writersroom are you trying to be good at your jobs or something.

Top bantz, as we’d say in Essex.

Too bad the Bellarke unity ain’t gonna last, but thankfully, Bellarke are just as awesome when they are just…very angry and exasperated with each other ok, but DON’T HURT YOUR PRECIOUS SELF I MAY BE FURIOUS BUT WHEN DID YOU LAST SLEEP AND DO YOU NEED SOMETHING TO EAT

Great to have Monty back in the frame cutting through everyone’s bullshit. I thought he’d been relegated to a bit part this season. Oh ye of little faith. Does anyone realise that Monty is the biological weapon earth forgot? Put that angry face in a room with Octavia and see how long it takes for her to crack and wither from Monty’s externalised disappointment with everyone and everything.

Bellamy burning Octavia ow ow ow. I’ve already spoken about this at some length but damn that hurt. And it was deserved, but still spoke to the depth of his contempt for Blodreina.

Which brings me to…BELLARKE V BLODREINA: GRUDGE MATCH

And man, was this grudge match some time coming. To make sure the audience was VERY CLEAR on EVERYONE’S MORAL STANDING, the show helpfully prepped us with some little reminders that Bellamy helped commit a massacre, and Clarke did a load of horrible human testing in Becca’s lab last season. Thanks show.

So, all armed and loaded, the mud slinging began, and boy was it awesome.  First of all Bellarke takes Octavia to task about the worms and TURNS OUT OCTAVIA DIDN’T KNOW which get a grip on power here Octavia because it’s slipping from your grasp faster than you can say Wonkru Barbecue (shoutout to @mego42 – your time is coming). But Miller obviously watched the earlier part of the show and recapped for Octavia just in time because she’s ready for that shit and fires everyone’s dark past back at them. Cue: Bellamy’s best frowny face and Eliza Taylor’s saddest, most regretful Clarke eyes.

Bellarke disarmed and cowed (for now) live to fight another war they don’t want to fight.

But Octavia’s grudge match continues in her office when Indra enters with the intention of being reasonable, which is exactly the kind of shit Blodreina has warned her about before so help her god.

Indra is, obviously, the Queen of Everything and My Heart and delivers some bitchass Truths as Indra is wont to do and Octavia rewards her by throwing what my mind remembers as a skull but was probably a paperweight because why would Octavia have a skull in her office *nervous laughter*

Indra leaves, still Queen of Everything and My Heart, but not before delivering a portentous warning about losing yourself in the dark, which obviously Octavia is not going to listen to because DAUGHTERS, MAN.

Talking of daughters, Madi trying to suck at training was the most adorbs thing I’ve seen in a long time, guys and I am subscribed to a LOT of cat blogs. And man I felt for her. Sucking at anything sucks, and sucking on PURPOSE is just the height of unfair. And she’s in a new school! And the other kids are mean! And maybe they eat people!

Serious question though: from whence did Madi learn her swordswomanship? Clarke? Helios? Roan? (too soon?).

But don’t blame Clarke, Madi! Clarke’s Madi feels are pretty much on a par with mine which means she wants to cry every time she looks at her earnest little face AND CLARKE I FEEL THAT SO HARD YOUR BABY IS ADORABADASS. Which also means MAMA MODE ACTIVATED when Vodka Aunt Octavia starts messing up that precious braid she put in Madi’s hair earlier.

Hey Vodka Aunt, you don’t just get to come in here and make executive choices about Madi’s career, especially given your past efforts at parenting *looks at Ethan*

Oh, oh, oh and WE GOT A RETURN OF THE MUSICAL INTERLUDE! It was like Knocking on Heaven’s Door and Early Seasons feels all over again. But I gotta say Jason, fresh from the Sense8 finale my musical interlude expectations are higher these days and I was a bit disappointed there wasn’t a dance off. Perhaps an orgy or an endgame B/C/E triad instead? *Wanheda jaw clench*

But anyway that whole sequence of Clarke sending Madi off to her first day of training sent me in to a spiral of sadness that lasted for a lot of minutes I wasn’t counting. It was very sad and I am sad about it. Poor Clarke.  Just as well Octavia helped her remember she’s motherfucking Wanheda.

MY GIRL ECHO MY GIRLING UP THE HOUSE.

Let’s just take a moment to appreciate what a babe Echo kom Spacekru nee Azgeda is.  First of all: EVIDENCE OF SPACE GIRL SQUAD and I am all here for that. Second of all Echo is officially the first person on the show to get one over of Colonel Charmaine Diyoza SOMEONE GET ME A FUCKING SHOT.

And listen up everyone who bashes at their keyboards dribbling with rage about the things other women like on television: I love ladies with swords and if you want an apology for that you’ll have to prise it out of my cold dead body. But can we just take a (second) moment to appreciate that for all of Echo’s badass sword skills, she is Clarke Griffining up this joint like a motherfucker. Echo is as Slytherin as Clarke and as sneaky as Clarke and as smart as Clarke and that manoeuvre she executed with Zeke and Raven was 100% a Clarke Griffin move, don’t @ me.

It’s almost like….they’re similar….on purpose….

Shout out to all the smart, insecure girls who aren’t sure if they belong. Learn to swordfight, use your brain, and get yourself a girl squad and a soft space dad boyfriend.

Sidebar: Clarke’s faith that Echo would take the eye down and her admiration when she does will keep me in Clecho feels for months.

But friends…I am the most fervent of Echo stans and Becho shippers and I am AFEARED. She is very much circling the abyss here and it gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. I believe Raven will forgive her (FOR WHAT CAN SOMEONE PLS ENLIGHTEN ME AS TO WHAT RAVEN IS SO PISSED ABOUT??) and I believe the rest of Spacekru will 100% understand what she did because it was presented to us as an understandable choice.  But but but… what’s next?  Diyoza ain’t gonna take the turn the other cheek approach to learning that Echo took down her eye in the sky. What if her next move is to make *Echo* her eyes in exchange for safe passage for Spacekru?

*sweats forever*

That seems like a Diyoza move. And like…where would that leave Echo with Bellamy? Her choice would be: tell him and risk the whole mission and/or turn him into a lying liar to his sister too, or not tell him and risk their entire relationship and hurt him very badly. I think I know which one my loyal girl would choose and how that would end.

Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

*ugly crying*

I’m not ready.

Okay it’s time for a Raven rant. What the hell is going on with Raven this season? Raven has had some beautifully executed arcs in the past, and I am high key here for her to finally get some NC-17 action now she’s done all that Work On Herself, but if Raven’s arc in s5 amounts to RAVEN DIDN’T GET BONED FOR 6 YEARS AND NOW SHE’S GETTING BONED then Imma flip a table.

Sidebar#2 obviously Raven got boned on the Ring, it’s not like they would have had a space orgy without her, come ON.

And just… I’m sorry I don’t get the Zaven. When they released the s5 pics I thought WOWZA these two are gonna be gr9 together and LOOK HE’S A SPACE EXPLORER. How could this possibly go wrong?  But somehow, they’ve managed to introduce a character who, on his own, is 10x as compelling as Wick, but has about -100% of the chemistry with Raven. Which is???? Some kind of alchemy??? how has that happened? I love Zeke! I love Raven!!! They’re both MAGNETIC on screen. On paper they should be a perfect fit but it’s like whenever they’re in the same scene together I have the sudden urge to check my emails.

And someone, please, just tell me what work Zaven is doing for either of these characters. What’s Raven’s conflict? How does Zeke resolve it? Is it *literally* Raven being presented with a hot dude with a similar skill set? Sorry I’m out.

And before anyone comes at me with the usual packet of whining about how Echo has stolen all of Raven’s screentime, I’d beg you all to remember that there is no law saying that one woman’s time on tv has to be at the expense of another and this is a GIANT SEXIST TRAP DO NOT FALL FOR IT.

Talking of out, Kabby is also circling the drain and [averts eyes from discourse].

But I’m calling Diyoza’s ship name, and if she bangs Kane I hereby pronounce it TEQUILA [whatever Kane’s ship name is, someone hmu].

OK I need to talk about Gaia now before I get shot down by a thunderbolt. The girl creeps me tf out but I SOMEHOW LOVE HER NOW. This is new and unnerving because feverish religious types are not usually my jam ESPECIALLY if they present Clarke’s daughter with a creepy sacred flash drive that they want to insert in her neck, but somehow Tati Gabrielle nails that line, even if my reaction seeing the Flame was exactly the same as my reaction to seeing the worms.

But I believe Gaia’s intentions, while creepy, are pure. And WHO PICKED UP on how fluid her loyalty is? She will serve Blodreina faithfully as long as she reigns. Huh.

In other news McCreary, and more importantly McCreary’s undercut, were absent from this episode I hope they are both enjoying Memori’s couples counselling retreat. I look forward to seeing his glazed expression next week as I cry my Becho tears.

[mrslittletall]

Title: Keeping it together (Chapter 5) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Dusk of Oolacile Word Count: 1.651 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328084/chapters/38965976 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/179866314029/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-4

Summary: In which there are nightmares and a talk with the princess.

He was surrounded by darkness. No, this couldn't be just called darkness... the area he found himself in was literally pitch black. But why could he still see the shine of his golden armour then? He felt at a loss. Was there even a point walking into a direction if he didn't even knew where he was? Still contemplating his options, Ornstein suddenly noticed a familiar figure, the shine of a silver armour as bright as his own golden armour.

“Artorias.”, he called out and started walking first, then running. “I am so glad to see you, do you know where we are?”

Artorias didn't answer, just stood there, with his back turned to Ornstein. “Artorias?”, Ornstein asked. The run to him felt like it lasted an eternity. “Is everything alright...?” He finally reached Artorias and extended a hand to touch his shoulder, but his hand didn't touch solid armour... it felt like he was touching some kind of goo.

“Artorias, what is wrong with you?”, Ornstein shouted out. “That isn't normal, we have to get out here and get you to a healer, quick.” Artorias still didn't answer, instead, his whole frame started to drip and slowly melt until it was one with the pitch black darkness they were surrounded by. Ornstein only stood here, frozen in horror.

The next thing he knew, was that he awoke in a cold sweat, heart pounding in his chest, wheezing and with a stomach that felt like it tried to turn around. Ornstein regretted for the fraction of a second that he hadn't took the offer on the bucket earlier and found himself in the outhouse moments later, puking out whatever food had been left in him, but it mostly felt like bile. That was when it all came back to him.

The message, that Artorias had fallen in battle, the trip to Oolacile, that Ciaran had told him that Artorias had failed, the image of his corpse.

Yeah, that must have been it, that image had produced the nightmare. Ornstein stayed a while longer at the outhouse, not trusting his stomach. After a while, he left it and realized that it was still in the middle of the night, the moon was high up and it would be a few hours till sunrise. It would be best if he would get some more sleep.

Ornstein returned to the bed, lying on his back. He closed his eyes, trying to not think about anything, but he could still feel the lingering nausea. He grabbed for the jar of water at the night stand and took a few sips, hoping that it would subdue the nausea. While he was lying there, waiting for his stomach to calm down, his thoughts started to spiral.

Had there been anything he could have done to prevent the death of Artorias?

What had been his options? Ornstein had not only stayed in Anor Londo because in its current state it had been better for the silver knights and the citizens to have their captain around, but also because Artorias had explicitly stated that he could take this mission alone. In fact, Artorias was the only one who had made a covenant that enabled him to traverse the darkness and who had a sword which would hurt creature of the darkness immensely. Ornstein could have followed him to this mission, sure, but... what would have been the chances of him not getting corrupted too? He and Artorias both contained parts of the light soul in their body, they were extremely in danger to get swallowed by the dark. Artorias had taken that risk and lost. If Ornstein had followed him, he probably could have suffered the exact same fate. And thinking about not only Artorias but him too in a berserk rage, made him shudder. He doubted that anyone, not even an determined Undead would have been able to stop the force of both of them at once.

Ornstein felt another bout of bile rising and quickly drank a bit of water to suppress it. So, going with Artorias on that mission wouldn't have done any good, but maybe he shouldn't had let Artorias go in the first place? Knowing how dangerous the abyss could be for them, he could have easily ordered him to stay in the cathedral. But he also knew two things. First, that they just couldn't let the people of Oolacile face this crisis alone and second, that Artorias surely wouldn't have accepted an order like this. He would have gone anyway, even if that meant to face Ornstein's wrath.

No, he couldn't have done that. Ornstein took another big gulp from the jar of water, the nausea still was there and he really didn't want to throw up anymore. Was there another option he hadn't thought about yet? What if he had followed Artorias like Ciaran did? But what should he have told him? That he had a bad feeling and Artorias better shouldn't go to the very mission he had assigned to? It probably would have made him look like he had paranoia. And if he had followed Artorias and arrived when he already had been in his corrupted state? He would have been obliged to put Artorias out of his misery, meaning, he would have been obliged to kill his friend. This thought made Ornstein shiver. He turned around to lay on his side and grabbed for his usual extra pillow, only that it wasn't there. Right, he wasn't in his room in Anor Londo, that was a guest room in Princess Dusk's mansion. The shivering got stronger, he felt helpless, he felt guilty, he knew that he had another breakdown. Ornstein curled up and waited, waited for it to pass, close to tears, just wishing that someone would hold him, hating how weak he felt. “Keep it together...”, he murmured.

After a while he managed to calm down. He made a mental note to ask for some extra pillows for the next night. He also contemplated to maybe get some of the medicine Princess Dusk had mentioned, his nausea hadn't subdued at all and he felt like he still could throw up anytime. He didn't want to wake anybody though and it would probably go away soon, so he grabbed the water once again instead and realized that it was almost empty, only a few drops remained. He drank them anyway and noticed two things.

First, that the sun started to get up and second, that he really needed to go. With a sigh, he got up, hoping that his stomach wouldn't turn upside down. It didn't make any sense trying to hold it in, his last break had been too long ago and he had managed to drink a whole jar of water in a pretty short time. Luckily, his stomach decided to keep his contents to itself and Ornstein went to the outhouse to relieve himself.

After he was done, he decided that it wouldn't make any sense for him trying to get some sleep anymore. He went back into the guest room to get dressed. He picked up a brush, brushed his hair until he got stuck at a particular unruly curl and just put his hair in the usual ponytail before putting on his armour minus the helmet, he intended to get some fresh air in the garden until the rest of the mansion would be awake. When he was searching for a nice place to sit down and maybe just watch the sunrise, he stumbled upon Princess Dusk, who was staring up in the sky with a melancholy expression. At the sound of his metal footsteps, she winced and jerked her head in his direction.

“Oh, it's you, Sir Ornstein. You are awake early.”, she said.

“The same could be said about you, milady.”, Ornstein said and added in almost a whisper: “I had trouble sleeping...”

“The same could be said for me.”, Dusk whispered, hugging her legs, staring into a distance. “Ever since this incident...”

It hit Ornstein like a brick. How could he have been so insensitive? He sat down next to Dusk. “I am sorry.”, he said. He wondered if the princess faked her smile to not worry people just like he kept up his composure?

“Please don't worry.”, Dusk said. “I am safe now and we have to thank Sir Artorias for this.” She smiled at him, but Ornstein had great trouble smiling back, remembering the tale from yesterday, he felt like he was more grimacing then smiling.

“Yes, he truly was a great hero...”, Ornstein whispered, staring at the ground. It felt so wrong, lying about this. Even though Ornstein was used about lying or withholding the truth, Artorias had always been honest and thinking about him like that just felt plain wrong. Princess Dusk didn't answer anymore and so the both sat together in silence until the sun was up high enough for the mansion to spark to life. The princess got up.

“Sir Ornstein, would you like to join me and my maiden for breakfast? You haven't eaten anything yesterday evening and surely must be hungry.”, she asked.

The sheer thought of eating made Ornstein's stomach twist and he had to try his best to swallow the rising bile back down. “I am sorry.”, he said. “But I think I can't stomach anything right now.”

“Are you still feeling sick? I can get you some medicine if you like.”, Dusk asked, but Ornstein shook his head.

“No, thank you, I am sure it will go away shortly... I just... can't eat anything right now, sorry to disappoint you.”

“Hm, but would you maybe fine with at least drink a cup of tea with us?”, Dusk asked further.

Ornstein considered this. “I think... that should be possible.”, he answered. (Author's note: Just accept that medicine, dear ^^) Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/180350106064/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-6

[soy-em]

New Wincest Fic: Distraction

Summary: Losing his memories means that Dean loses inhibitions Sam didn't even know he had.Missing scene from s12 e11 Regarding Dean

Rating: PG13

Words: 2224

A03

“Could be a memory spell. Did his hair fall out? His body hair too?”

“What?“

“From the neck down, is he smooth like a ken doll?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not checking, either.”

The problem is, as soon as Sam puts the phone down on Rowena and her barely concealed glee, he knows he’ll be checking. He might mouth off to Rowena about it, but if there’s a chance that Dean’s body hair is a clue to saving his brother and his memory, then he’s not going to pass it up.

He sighs to himself. He’s barely holding back panic by the skin of his teeth, but at the same time, the whole situation is so unbearably frustrating. Having Dean is rapidly descending into having a large, skilled toddler who has license, in the eyes of the public, to go anywhere and do anything that adults do - but without any of the sense of preservation that most adults spend their lives developing (never mind the heightened sense of awareness both Winchester’s have experienced since childhood). He feels like he has to watch Dean every second to make sure he’s not causing mischief or wandering off, putting himself into who knows what danger.

So Sam already knows that he’s going to try anything to fix this. Including checking out Dean’s body hair.

The problem is that Dean, with his dark blonde hair and fair, freckled skin, has always been so lightly haired. Sam himself is covered in dark fur on his chest, arms, legs, hell even his feet - easy enough to check. But Sam has been sharing motel rooms with Dean for almost his entire life and he knows that Dean couldn’t be more different. So he’s going to have to really look.

His plan gets derailed slightly by the fact that Dean has, as Sam feared, just wandered off, but by the time he’s located his errant big brother and gotten them secure in the right hotel room again, he’s determined to bite the bullet.

“Hey Dean,” he stutters, not quite sure how to articulate the next part of the conversation. Dean pauses where he’s investigating the differences between the lamps in the motel room, flicking the switches and exclaiming over the different levels of light.

“Yeah?”

“I need to check something. Come here for a second.” Sam steels himself for this most un-brotherly of moments. “Can you take your jacket off?”

“Sure,” Dean replies, with something like the grin he’d given the waitress earlier that day. “Anything for you.”

Dean looks like he’s seconds away from winking, so Sam scowls at him. It doesn’t stop Dean from sliding the first of his many layers off, and a quick glance at Dean’s wrists, hidden under white Fed shirt-cuffs, tells Sam that this isn’t going to be enough. “Shirt, too,” he says, heart sinking.

Dean does wink this time, the ingrained impulse to flirt apparently impossible to refuse. Despite the severity of the situation, Sam is unable to stop his own eyes from rolling.

“Calm down, cowboy. I just need to check something for a spell.”

“Do we know spells? What about witches?” Dean looks ridiculously excited at this - when he gets better, Sam is definitely going to remind him that at least once in his life he was pleased at the idea of witches.

“Yes, we know witches. Now, shirt off.”

Dean grins again, and slowly pulls his shirt over his head, making a big production of it. As inch after inch of golden, freckled skin is revealed, Sam is reminded (as if he could ever forget) why women flock to Dean. His brother is just as strong and muscular as Sam is, if not more so, but it’s so clearly honestly earned muscle, not a hint of gym-rat definition. Sam always feel self-conscious about his own body, about how hard he works to keep in shape, whereas Dean has always seemed to put on muscle without the slightest effort, and it shows.

Dean finally pulls his shirt over his head with a flourish, and Sam is caught staring. “Like what you see?”

Sam flushes up to his hairline. “I just need to check something,” he forces out. “Only take a second.”

“Shame,” Dean says, low.

Sam can’t remember the last time he paid attention to the detail of Dean’s body, usually more concerned with patching up whatever wound his brother has acquired, so he can’t remember if Dean has always been this smooth. He runs his hand down Dean’s forearm, and can barely feel any hair there either, just fine, soft golden fuzz - certainly nothing compared to his own. His heart is starting to beat double time at the thought that maybe this is the spell kicking in.

“Feels nice,” Dean’s voice breaks him out of his burgeoning panic.

“I’m just checking.” He pulls Dean’s arm above his head and peers at his brother’s underarm.

“Mmm, kinky,” Dean says, helpfully leaning back against the wall and raising his other arm up, crossing them above his head. “Do we normally do this?”

“God Dean, no. We’re brothers.” Sam is starting to feel like the situation is spiralling out of his control.

“Shame,” Dean repeats. “You’re gorgeous. What a waste.” He pulls his wrist out of Sam’s hold and trails his fingers along Sam’s cheekbone, and then under his jaw. Sam shivers, caught for the moment in Dean’s green eyes.

“Brothers, Dean,” he finally manages, shaking his brother’s hand away from his face.

“Is that an issue?” Dean sounds like he’s genuinely asking, and Sam is reminded how quickly Dean is slipping away. He looks determinedly at Dean’s underarms.

“Did you always have this little body hair? Did you not go through puberty?”

His tone is snarky, but Dean doesn’t even seem to register it. “Definitely did. I can show you the proof if you want.” His voice has dropped an octave and it’s a quiet, suggestive whisper.

Sam definitely hasn’t realised that somehow they’ve ended up with Dean pressed against the grimy motel wall, Sam looming over him and Dean’s arms still pinned above his head. Time seems to have slowed, Dean’s heavy-lidded eyes, with his ridiculous, beautiful eyelashes blinking up at him in almost slow motion. Somewhere, very deep down, Sam tries to remember that Dean knows exactly what he's doing, exactly the effect he has on people, and is not afraid to use that knowledge to get exactly what he wants. But with Dean so close, smelling comfortingly of big brother and looking like he’d be up for anything, it's hard to focus on that.

“I bet you’ve got some real proof to show me as well,” Dean continues. “Guy your size. Bet you’re packing.” Dean licks his lips, and Sam can’t look away. It feels like he’s trapped, caught in treacle, his thoughts increasingly stuck on his beautiful brother.

“Dean,” he tries one last time, “we’re brothers.”

“Uh huh, so you keep saying. Don’t see the big deal.” Dean surges up, suddenly, pressing his lips and body against Sam’s. Their hips snug in against each other as if they were made to fit and Dean licks insistently across Sam’s lips. Sam’s heart is pounding in his chest, his vision almost swimming with the many, many emotions swirling through his mind. He opens his lips on reflex, and Dean hums happily.

“God, you’re so pretty,” Dean says, pulling back for a moment. “Would be such a waste if we didn’t do this.” He dives back in and Sam sinks for a moment into the abyss, only able to focus on how goddamn good it feels as Dean nips at his lower lip, soothing it seconds later. Whatever else Dean might have forgotten, he hasn’t lost any of his skills here. His hands tighten impulsively around Dean’s raised wrists and Dean groans.

“Yeah, pin me. Feels good.”  His brother bucks against him. “God, so you’re so big. Just big all over.”

Dean’s dirty mouth is enough to snap some sense into Sam, and he realises to his shame that he’s hard in his pants. He tries to ignore the fact that Dean is, too, and they’ve been rocking lightly against each other, which has no doubt been a major contributor to how cloudy his mind feels. He uses his grip on Dean to put distance between them.

“Dean, no.”

To his credit, Dean clearly hasn’t forgotten about consent, and he stops immediately. He does pout though, and Sam has to look away from those beautiful, plump lips - something he finds unimaginably difficult now that he knows how they taste. He suddenly feels like every creepy guy he’s ever seen checking out his brother, objectifying him.

“Dean, we’re brothers. I know you don’t remember, but that does matter. And you’ll regret this once you feel better again.” Taking another step back is one of the hardest things Sam’s ever had to do.

Dean snorts. “I absolutely cannot imagine that. How often do I ever meet guys as hot as you?”

Sam feels like he’s thirteen again, with the amount he’s blushed since he started this.

“You don’t usually go for guys,” he can’t help saying.

Dean seems honestly confused by this. “I am 100% sure that’s not true.”

“I am 100% sure that it is,” Sam counters.

“Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Or we could test it out…” Dean’s smirk is fully back in place. He’s still up against the wall where Sam had pushed him, still shirtless and of course, still stunning. He licks his lips oh so slowly, eyes sliding down Sam’s body to where Sam is still hard in his pants.

Sam’s breath is still coming short, and he scrambles for a way to stop this while he still can. Dean is like a child, he thinks, frustrated because Dean has always been better with kids than he has. What would he do with a child who wanted to do something they shouldn’t?

His mind tumbles gracelessly about for a few moments, pinging between ‘child’ and ‘so, so hot’ and back to ‘child’ again, before somewhere from the depths of his brain he pulls up Jess’s five year old nephew. He hasn’t thought about the kid in years, had only met him once or twice (god, he must be nearly adult by now, no, don’t think about that) but he vividly remembers the kid wanting a toy gun. Jess hadn’t been willing to buy him one - and had distracted him with lego.

Distraction, he thinks, elated.

Unfortunately, while he’s been trying to think about tactics, Dean’s hand has moved to his fly, and Sam can now tell that Dean definitely doesn’t lack body hair - Sam can see golden-brown curls just under where Dean’s hand is pushed into his own pants.

Dragging his eyes away, he says, “Dean, have I told you about the time we fought zombies?”

Dean’s eyes snap from Sam’s crotch to his face. “Zombies?” he says, eyes bright.

“Yeah, Dean. We fought them a while back. If you put your shirt back on I’ll tell you all about it. And the time we fought this ghost that made you so scared you got chased by a tiny little dog.”

“Yeah right,” Dean says, offended. “That so didn’t happen.”

“Did so.”

“How?” Dean is, thankfully, doing up his fly now and he pulls one of Sam’s t-shirts over his head.

“Well…” Sam begins, relieved.

**

They get through the next couple of days without Dean propositioning him again, or trying to kiss him, or any of the thoughts that Sam just doesn’t really have time to process right now. There’s a slightly tense moment when Dean seems to think that Sam and Rowena are going to enact live Skinemax porn just for his entertainment (Rowena looks so amused that Sam almost strangles her, has to remind himself how badly he needs her help), but otherwise, they manage to get Dean’s memory back without any more compromising moments.

Dean is quite clear with Rowena that he doesn’t remember anything, and even through his own relief, the transformation of her face from barely-concealed worry to a lighthearted smile is enough to pique his interest. She even hands the spellbook over without a fuss, and it’s so out of character that Sam is suspicious. He files it away in his mind to ponder at a later date.

He doesn’t want to dwell on what they’ve experienced the last few days; in fact, he’d be happy to never think again about the panic and despair he’d barely kept at bay. But now that he’s not fixated on that, the other thoughts keep creeping back in - the ones about how his brother had tasted, how he’d felt pressed up against Sam, how sweetly he’d let Sam pin him against the wall. How sure Dean had been that he was into men. Sam just can’t stop thinking about it.

“Anything weird happen while I lost my memory, Sammy?” Dean asks that evening, as he’s undressing, shucking a few of his layers before going for a shower.

“Nope,” Sam says studiously, eyes on his laptop.

“Boring.” His voice slides into the kind of teasing, flirty tone usually reserved for waitresses or cheerleaders, and he winks at Sam. “Don’t forget Dory got her memory back though.”

It’s only after the bathroom door slams shut that Sam realises that Dean had never mentioned Dory before he lost his memories.

Maybe his brother remembers after all. “Shit.”

Sequel?

[ecotone99]

[RF] Deterioration

I don’t know how I ended up like this, lying here still as a lifeless statue, unable to express myself to those around me. I can’t remember what happened, or when, I just know something did. I've lost any concept of time and my mind has become devoid of hope. Why can't they fix me? Why don’t they try? I can only look helplessly at friends as they cry for me, the tears like daggers in my already unhealable wound. I cry with them. They leave.

People come and go on a daily basis like clock work, 2pm every day until 5. And as the gears of the clock turn them away, I look at the hands that push them, they reach for nothing, forever chasing the endless loop. They wish to slow down, they want time to be longer, but nothings stops Father Time. He is a juggernaut of continuous power.

The routine has become monotonous and I long for something more, some change. But I cannot ask, I cannot try. I am my body’s prisoner and there is no escape. I can only observe what they are saying from afar. Talk of recovery comes rarely and it is solely about my communication, or lack thereof. My capability to form a single word seems to have left me and I can’t tell why. It’s a distant memory now.

However, the doctor’s conversation has changed today. She seems to have an unbearable burden on her back, crushing her under its weight.

“Paralysis, from the neck down. He’s not coming back from this.” The black words spilled from her mouth like molasses . My heart sank to the depths of the abyss, no return, no coming back. My life was over.. Those words were all that filled my head, it was all I could think of. I couldn’t do anything for myself, I was a useless,worthless sack of shit, destined to lie in a bed for the rest of my life unable to do ANYTHING! Something nobody wants to realise. But it’s my reality now. My blood boiled at that reality.

Then it came to me; surely she’s wrong. Even doctors can be wrong, medical degrees don’t mean anything when is comes to human error. She has to be wrong, I can feel it, there's still some feeling in my body. I'm not paralysed permanently, this won't last too long. Oh how delusional I was.

Days later, still in that bed unable to move and still confused about what has happened to me or when it happened, I knew I needed a change. I wanted to be fixed and was determined to make it happen but everytime I began to form the words I would choke. Still incapable of communication, I began to deteriorate. I would give all I owned and loved just to be fixed, put right. Even my wife and kids. They still haven’t visited me, they probably can't bear the sight of me like this. I can’t blame them because I can’t either.

My downward spiral continued that night; I started to dream of an accident. It involved a car. Someone was with me. Their blood was on my hands, on my face, on my clothes and in my hair. Blood of someone I had killed. I awoke with a scream which brought a nurse through. She found me in a state of fear and disary, wide-eyed in terror like prey caught by its vicious predator, frozen, immobile as any statue. She wiped the tears from my face as she called for a therapist. But it wouldn't help. I still couldn’t speak.

The rest of that night I spent trying to decipher the riddles of my brain, trying to find the identity of the one I caused to perish with my reckless driving. But my memories were lost in a labyrinth and I was trapped in the centre. Where to look for answers and a way out? The tears continued to flow, pooling on my cheeks, my muscles beginning to waste from the effects of paralysis. There was another pool, the blood of my victim. Oh God! What had I done?

I didn't want to awaken that morning, that afternoon or night. The therapist’s efforts were futile at best. Nothing could fix me, I’m useless and broken. If I could have pulled the plug, the flatline would be miles long by now. I wanted to know more about what happened but I couldn’t bring myself to attempt my speech therapy that day. They can’t help me, no one can. I was so deep into the void that it might as well have swallowed me. I should be with whoever it was who lost their life to me, just to apologise to them, to make sure they have found peace. My life is worthless now anyway.

Weeks passed. In spite of my earlier impressions I began to speak in broken words and then in broken sentences. Once I finally regained my ability to speak coherently I began to muster the courage to ask what had happened. But I was still haunted by the thoughts of my now recurring dream, it drew me like a moth to light, forever present in my thoughts. One afternoon, while a nurse fixed needles into my arm, I managed to croak out my question. She gave me a look of fierce sorrow, and called for my therapist again.

“Tell me Mr Adams, what do you remember of the incident?”The familiar, cautious voice of therapy.

I didn’t know what to say, I knew I had a passenger, I knew they had died, but I struggled to admit my knowledge of the accident. My very bones shook as the words spilled out. “ I- I ca- I can't remember who but, some- there was-” I choked on my own words. “There was someone else in the car when I crashed”.

What came next was worse than a sword to the heart. It was the destruction of my entire world, of my everything. My world began to crumble around me, the walls seemed to shake, the floor fell from under me, I slipped into the depths of the void seemingly never to return. The words dripped from his mouth like blood. It was my family. I had killed them in the crash, they had lost their lives to my mistake. I had killed them all, my beautiful wife and our little babies. I remembered the wine, the whisky, the loud music. I was drunk. The accident, my family asleep in the car after a New Year’s Eve party was down to me. I had decided, in fact I had argued with my wife over the keys, drunk though I was, to drive them home… We went through a barrier at 70 mph and straight off a drop. An 80 metre plummet. I shouldn't be alive. I should not have survived. I can taste the blood on my tongue again, I feel its metallic warmth on my lip, unable to move. I scream as in my peripheral vision are the lifeless bodies of my wife and little ones. I close my eyes. But I see them still.

There is no return now I have fallen so far. Mind and body unwind like string and the knots holding it all together unwravel. And I am left dangling by that last thread, deteriorating and grief- stricken. The thread will soon break. I accept what I did. I accept this deterioration as my fate. It already burns before me, emblazoned on my soul. I deserve it.

Epilogue

“The five stages [of grief], denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance are a part of the framework that makes up our learning to live with the one we lost. They are tools to help us frame and identify what we may be feeling. But they are not stops on some linear timeline in grief. Not everyone goes through all of them or in a prescribed order.”

-Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, author of -On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss-

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[underthemoonlightofficial]

Chapter 7

Summary: Saint is fascinated with the circus. When he receives a VIP circus ticket for Christmas, he couldn’t be happier. This ticket leads to a series of events, some good, some bad. Soon Saint finds his life spiraling out of control. When he gets his heart ripped out, he thinks it’s the end of the line for him. This book is the story of a broken man trying to put the pieces of his life back together. 

Masterlist

I woke up at 6:00 and jumped out of bed. I didn't work on Sundays so I could've slept in if I wanted to. But I wasn't tired, so I didn't. Instead I got into my exercising clothes, grabbed my wallet and water bottle, then left. 

Instead of taking the subway, I decided to just run to the gym. It was only four miles away, so I'd be fine. 35 minutes later I got to the gym, and proceeded to do a series of strength exercises. At 8:00 I decided to stop. Sitting on a bench, I caught my breath. 

A few moments later I hoped up and wandered to the subway. But before I got there a certain shop caught my eye: a donut shop. I walked in to find dozens upon dozens of lavishly decorated donuts. "A dozen, please," I asked the lady at the cash register. 

"OK, what would you like?" I scanned over the flavors. 

"Two Oreos, two butterfingers, two double chocolates, two chocolate cremes, two raspberry sprinkle, and two powdered sugars, please." She gathered them and placed them in a box. 

“That'll be $30." I paid and got on the subway back home. I got home to find everyone was still asleep. I wandered into the kitchen and placed the box of donuts on the counter, and went to shower. 

Once I was ready for the day it was 9:15, and still no one was up. To pass the time I decided to make black chamomile tea for everyone. Moon wandered in while I was in the process of making it. "Good morning, Novak. What're you up to?" 

"Morning. Just making some tea." 

Dallon walked in. "Hey guys." 

"Hey Dall," I replied. "I'm making some tea, it'll be ready in a few minutes. Also I got some donuts, feel free to help yourself." I pointed to the box. 

"Thanks!" Dallon responded. Once the tea was done I poured some into three mugs. I brought two of the mugs into the living room and handed them to Dallon and Moon. "Thanks." 

"Thanks, Saint." I went into the kitchen, grabbed an Oreo and double chocolate donut, then joined my friends on the couch. "Umph. These are so good," I said after tasting each. "What kinds did you guys get?" 

"The Oreo one," Moon said. 

"I got butterfinger and double chocolate." 

Steve walked in, rubbing his eyes. "Hey guys," he mumbled. 

"Hey! There's tea and donuts in the kitchen if you want any.” 

"Thanks." A few minutes later he joined us with a raspberry sprinkle and powdered sugar donut. "So when did you do all this?" Moon asked. I shrugged.  

"Woke up at 6, ran to the gym, got donuts, came back at 8:45, showered, then made some tea." 

"Thanks for doing this!" Dallon said. 

"No problem." 

"Good morning Saint!"

"Morning Katy. Where's Matt?" 

"Running late, I suppose." As if on cue, Matt came in. He put on his apron and joined me at the register. 

 "Hey Matt. How's it going?" 

"Good, good. You?" 

"Same." Later that day I met Moon at Moe's for lunch. Somehow we ended up with the same lunch break, so we often met at places to eat. "Anything exciting happening in Starbucks land?" She asked. 

"Nah. You?" 

"We got a new server's assistant. He's inexperienced so I have to keep showing him how to do things correctly. It's a little frustrating." 

"Wow. That stinks." 

After work I met Dallon at the gym. Moon didn't come, so it was just the two of us We did half an hour of strength work and a half hour of cardio. Once we were done we headed back home. 

Once we were both done showering, Dallon and Steve played a video game and I went into my room to write. Writing was a hobby I picked up many years ago; I was having a mid-life crisis and writing helped me feel better. I would write short stories, often about whatever I was experiencing at that time. 

Back then I usually wrote for about an hour every day. Nowadays I just write something short here and there. Most of my work is personal, and I rarely show people other than Dallon and Laurey. Sometimes I might show Moon or Steve, but never anyone else. 

Today I wrote about a famous female actress who had anxiety and how it affected her. Dallon walked in. "Whatcha up to?" 

"Just writing a short. Oh, also, we're going to the circus tomorrow!" 

"That's right! I'm so excited. What time should I be ready to go? Also, I've already asked my boss for the day off, he's fine with it." 

"The show's at 11 am, we're going to want to be there a little earlier, so let's leave at 10." 

"OK, sounds good." 

 ------------ 

My alarm felt like heavy machinery drilling itself into my brain. I buried myself deeper under the covers; I didn't have the energy to get up. Someone turned off the alarm and gently shook me awake. "Saint, you gotta wake up." I groaned in response. "Saint, come on. We're going to the circus today." 

That's a good point. I managed to sit up and trudge into the bathroom to get ready. I showered in an attempt to wake myself up. It barely worked. I was confused; I got nine hours of sleep, I shouldn't be tired. 

I slowly walked into the kitchen. "Hey Saint! I made coffee, you want any?" Dallon asked. "Sure," I sighed, my eyelids dropping. 

"Are you doing OK?" 

"Yeah. Just super tired," Which was only partially true. Yes, I'm tired, but that’s only part of the problem. It feels like there's a dark, heavy abyss gnawing on my chest. I wasn't sick, though.

Dallon narrowed his eyes. "If you say so." He handed me a mug, and I put sugar in it. Several minutes later when we had eaten we got on the subway. The clock on my phone read 10:20- a little later than I'd like but we'll be fine. 

"You excited?" Dallon asked, beaming. 

"Yeah." We finally reached the circus tent and I pulled out our tickets. Handing them to the security guard, I kept my gaze on the ground and let Dallon reply to her greeting.

I followed behind him through the thick black curtains that lead into the theater area. "Woah!" He exclaimed when he saw the size of I and how many people there were. 

I didn't feel like finding our seats, so I handed our tickets to the usher who pointed us in the right direction. A few minutes later the light turned off: the show was starting. 

The music came on and a group of performers came out and did the same opening act as last time. Next came the couple on the bar as a space hub, followed by the women who balanced on each other in weird shapes. After that, the clown came out. 

Only this time, he came into the crowd- he was going to get someone to get someone to come onstage. My heart rate quickened as he entered our row. I really didn't want to be chosen. He came in front of me- and choose Dallon. 

The clown scientist grabbed his arm and brought him to the stage. The clown picked up another scientist's experiment and handed it to Dallon. Then he picked up ANOTHER scientist's experiment and again handed it to my friend. He did this again and again until Dallon's arms were completely full and his face was covered. He would need to get resourceful if the clown decided to continue. 

The clown snuck behind Dallon and picked up a large cube- and put it at the top of Dallon's pile. This caused everything to fall down, and the crowd laughed. The clown bowed, and then gestured at Dallon to do the same. The crowd clapped. I joined in, and Dallon walked back to his seat. 

"Nice!" I told him when he sat down. 

"Ha. Thanks." The lights came back on: it was the intermission. 

"I'm going to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back," Dallon said as he left. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through social media to pass the time. Before I knew it, Dallon was back and the lights turned back off. 

The extreme trampoline performers came and went. Next, the trapeze acrobats came out and performed. Dallon nudged me. "That's one of the things you do, right?" I nodded. 

The balancing man did his thing, and then Chris and Johnson came out. Chris smiled and nodded at me. I looked at the ground. "Is that Chris?" Dallon whispered. 

"Yeah." Soon their act was over and all of the performers came on stage and took their final bows. I stood as well, clapping slowly. My hands felt like they were in heavy iron shackles. 

"Saint, what's wrong?" Dallon asked. I smiled reassuringly. 

"Nothing. Just a headache." We walked out of the theater and into the lobby area. "Can we go to the gift shop?" Dallon asked. 

"Of course." He looked around, nowhere near as distracted as I was last time. The gnawing feeling in my chest and brain expanded. 

"I'm- I'm going to go get some air. I'll meet you outside, m'kay?" 

"OK, cool." I sped out and took deep breaths of fresh air. A few minutes later Dallon came out and met me, and we went on our way home.