#rev retches

[revretch]

They just discovered a new kind of organism/organelle that is not a virus!

[cordycepsbian]

we had another drea.m that was just about us watching an episode of humans b gone that doesnt exist

[lord-of-the-prompts]

A LIST OF SOUNDS/ONOMATOPEIAS FOR WRITERS:

Action

bam (a sudden loud noise/sudden impact)

bang (a loud noise like an explosion or gunshot)

beep (a short high-pitched electronic sound)

biff (a short, sharp movement)

blip (a short, high-pitched electronic sound)

boing (representing the noise of a compressed spring suddenly released)

boom (a loud, deep, resonant sound)

buzz (a low, continuous humming sound)

ching (the sound of metal on metal)

clang (a loud, resonant metallic sound or series of sounds)

clank (a loud, sharp sound or series of sounds)

clap (the act of striking the palms together/an explosive sound)

clatter (a rattling sounds as objects fall or hit each other)

click (a short, sharp sound/a short electronic sound)

clink (a short ringing sound)

crack (a sudden explosive noise)

crackle (rapid succession of slight cracking noises)

crash (a sudden violent noise)

crunch (a muffled or grinding sound made when something is crushed)

ding (a metallic ringing sound)

ding-dong (the sound of a doorbell, like the chiming of a bell)

drip (the action of liquid falling in drops)

honk (a long and loud beep, such as that from a car horn)

jingle (a catchy rhythmic sound/light metallic clinking)

kerplunk (a loud, dull sound or plunk)

knock (to strike a surface noisily in order to attract attention/ sudden short sound caused by a blow)

patter (a repeated light tapping)

pew-pew (a sound made by a laser gun)

ping (a short high-pitched ringing)

pitter-patter (the sound of a rapid succession of light beats or taps)

pop (a light/soft explosive sound)

pow (expressing the sound of a blow or explosion)

rattle (to make a rapid succession of short/sharp knocking sounds)

screech (give a loud, harsh, piercing cry/a lour, harsh, squealing noise)

sizzle (a hissing sound made when food is frying)

slam (a loud and forceful sound caused by something being shut)

slap (a sharp sound made by a forceful blow)

smash (violent breaking of things)

snap (tp break suddenly and completely, typically with a sharp cracking sound)

splash (a sound made by something striking or falling into liquid)

splat (a sound of something soft and wet or heavy striking a surface)

swoosh (the sound produced by a sudden rush of air or liquid)

thud (a dull, heavy sound)

tick (a regular short, sharp sound, especially that made by a clock)

thump (a dull pounding sound)

thunk (a dull, heavy sound, such as that of an object falling)

varoom (a roaring sound made by an engine at a high speed/revving up)

whack (to strike forcefully with a sharp blow)

whir (a low, continuous, regular sound)

whoosh (a sudden rushing movement and sound)

whump (a dull thudding sound)

wham (a forceful strike/impact)

zap (the sound of a sudden burst of energy)

Animal

arf (canine)

bark (canine, seal)

bah-gawk (chicken)

bellow (alligator, deer)

buzz (bee, hornet, fly, mosquito, wasp...)

caw (blackbird, raven, rook...)

chatter (monkey, mouse

cheep (bird)

chickadee-dee (chickadee)

chirp (bird, cricket, grasshopper)

click (crab, dolphin)

cluck (chicken)

cock-a-doodle-doo (rooster)

coo (pigeon)

croak (frog)

cuckoo (cuckoo)

drum (rabbit)

gobble (turkey)

growl (bear, canine, crocodilian, feline...)

grumble (boar)

hee-haw (donkey)

hiss (goose, snake)

honk (goose)

hoot (owl)

howl (canine)

hum (hummingbird)

maa (goat)

moo (cow, wildebeest)

neigh (horse, pony, zebra)

purr (canine)

quack (duck)

ribbit (frog)

roar (bear, feline, gorilla...)

scream (hyena)

screech (bat, eagle)

sing (songbird)

snarl (feline)

snort (pig)

squeak (hampster, mouse, squirrel...)

tlot-tlot (hooves)

trumpet (elephant, swan)

tweet (bird)

wheek (guinea pig)

whine (mosquito)

whinny (horse, pony, zebra)

whistle (bird, whale)

whoop (monkey)

Vocal

achoo/atishoo (the sound of a sneeze)

ahem (clearing throat to attract attention)

argh (expressing annoyance, dismay, embarrassment or frustration)

blech (to express distaste/gagging or retching)

blurt (to speak out suddenly and abruptly)

chomp (vigorous chewing)

cough (expel air from the lungs with a sudden sharp sound)

eek (used to express alarm, horror, or fright)

giggle (to laugh lightly in a nervous or silly manner)

glug (to drink or pour with a hallow gurgling sound)

groan (to make a deep inarticulate sound in response to pain or despair)

growl (a low rumbling noise that expresses discontent)

grunt (a short, deep sound inarticulated when angry, sullen, or lazy)

gulp (to swallow loudly and quickly)

gurgle (a hallow, bubbling sound)

hiccup (an involuntary cough-like noise)

huh (used to express scorn, anger, disbelief, surprise, amusement, or confusion)

hum (to make a steady continuous sound like a bee)

moan (a low prolonged mournful sound expressive of suffering or pleading)

mumble (speaking incoherently, like a sort of whisper)

murmur (to make sounds that are not fully intelligible)

ow (used to express sudden pain)

phew (an exhale of relief)

oops (an exclamation of surprise or of apology, as when someone drops something or makes a mistake)

ouch (an exclamation of sharp sudden pain)

squeal (to make a shrill cry/a sound of complaint or protest)

ugh (used to indicate the sound of a cough or grunt or to express disgust or horror)

yikes (used to show that you are worried, surprised, or shocked)

whimper (to make a low whining plaintive or broken sound)

whoop (a loud cry of joy or excitement/laughter)

whoops (another term for "oops")

[cogdat]

another sick rev headcanon

tw // mention of vomit, sickness

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after revenant's done with some glitching fits or whatever, he can get really ill to the point where he "throws up." lemme explain: he can't really throw up anything since he's a simulacrum, so he's just making retching noises under the illusion of him being violently sick. he can even get the illusion of a stomachache and ends up with him in a fetal position quietly moaning after

[houseflyy]

The Treasure Trove

Getting a strawberry snack has its obstacles.

1.7k words.

Prev. / Next.

—

Within the cylindrical glass jar atop the kitchen table were the seed-speckled fruits that had a tightened grip on Melody’s eyes: strawberries. Over a dozen of them were smushed tightly inside, marinating in their juices, and they glistened against the evening sun's orange hues.

From the nearby windowsill, the little fly salivated. She would have dashed to the jar if it were open the instant she found it. But instead, she had to wait, huddled beneath her acorn cap, for when a human would appear and give her an opening. She sat unmoving, her gaze unwavering, refusing to glance anywhere else should the strawberries somehow disappear. And she hummed delightedly as her mind moved to imagine herself surrounded by the berries, slurping up their sweet juices until she felt she would burst and then doze off in their embrace with a full tummy.

A human came into the room, and Melody shot back into focus. The girl leaned her arms down on the countertop with a phone in one hand, and with the other, she reached to take the top off the jar and grab a berry, lifting it to herself to take a bite. All the while, her eyes glued to the phone’s screen, wavering up and down slightly as she scrolled with a finger.

Now was Melody’s chance. 

She bounced up and off the windowsill and across the kitchen, staying closer to the floor to keep away from any wandering eyes. Then she popped over the counter’s edge and straight to the open jar, landing on the smooth surface of the highest-most strawberry. She hopped further down about them to set herself right above where the juices collected. Dipping her claws carefully in, she gathered a huge droplet. And, reaching it to her awaiting mouth—

“EW!” 

The girl’s voice erupted around her. Melody tossed the droplet in alarm and shot upward to escape, but she collided with the lid of the jar and scrambled to land safely back on her claws upon a strawberry. She looked up despairingly. The human had shut her in. She was too late!

“Oh, gross,” the girl said, holding the jar close to her face and retching at the sight of the fly. “They’ve all got diseases in ’em. Or eggs! Gross!” Quickly she carried the jar outside, where a large green trashcan stood on the street. The girl flipped open the lid and opened the jar upside down to dump the strawberries out. Melody fell in along with them. She revved up her wings and jumped off the berry she clung to, shooting to the opening of the can, and the force of the lid slamming shut just behind her blasted her away into a nearby patch of grass. Meanwhile, the girl overlooked the escapee and returned to the house, complaining.

Beneath the tall blades of grass, Melody scanned her surroundings to assure herself the human had gone before checking herself over for any wounds—bent wings, torn membranes, and arms or legs signaling pain. Once she knew every part of herself was all right, she returned to the can and settled on the lid, near where the handle was indented for humans to open it. Melody harrumphed. There wasn’t any way she could open the can on her own and return to the strawberries that, contrary to the human’s belief, she had hardly gotten to even touch. She would have to wait again. Maybe until it was time for the garbage-collecting humans to arrive or when other humans from the house would come out to put in more waste...

“I saw what you did!”

The croaking voice and flapping whirl of black wings sent her panicking into the air. A raven landed on the lid, and he chuckled after finding where she went: buzzing in a disjointed pattern to throw him off. But eventually, she calmed to a cautious hover, recognizing that he remained where he was. His interest in her didn’t come from wanting to snatch her up. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered to speak to her.

“I saw what you did,” the giant bird repeated, “and I’m impressed. A whole bundle of berries—you’ve created a treasure trove!” He tapped a foot against the lid. “You did the daring deed,” he continued. “Now I do the rest!” Before Melody could reply, the raven surged back into the air, and she shot downward to avoid being caught in his path. Long after he disappeared to some other part of the neighborhood, his words lingered in her mind to the point of having to land on the can and think them over. A treasure trove for who? And what did he intend to do? The answers, she assumed, would arrive once he returned. She sat and waited.

The raven, accompanied by three others like himself, was obscured by the fast-approaching night sky. Melody knew they were coming not by the sight of them but by their commotion: harsh voices layered over one another in eager conversation. If she stayed put atop the lid, they could trample her, or worse. She crawled down beneath the upper rim of the can that extruded out from the body enough for her to wedge herself into.

The new ravens landed on the ground while the one who had spoken to her perched on the can lid. “Let’s see, let’s see,” he began as he stepped about. Every thud of his footsteps reverberated through her. Then, the entire bin shook, and she yelped as the raven grabbed onto the handle with his beak and tried furiously to pull the lid open. He flapped his wings for momentum but only barely lifted the lid before tumbling to the ground. 

Around him, the other ravens laughed. “All of us must try,” one of them said, then Melody felt the can shake again. Four ravens pulling up the handle was enough to pull the lid up and tilt the can over entirely. It thumped to its side, spilling its contents, and the ravens cawed and scattered in the air in a mix of surprise and triumph. Meanwhile, Melody stayed put, only coming out of hiding once the can was still, and she could smell what made it so valuable: Among the rank scents of discarded foods and garbage bags, the sugary bundle of strawberries lay distinctly at the top.

“I told you,” the first raven said as they all landed among the litter, “the treasure trove I made! Right here!” Melody gaped incredulously at him. The other ravens cheered, “So perceptive!” “So brave!” And they began attacking the berries, taking up chunks at a time with their beaks while chattering away.

Melody could only stand to stare for a short moment before entering the feast, buzzing circles around the first raven. “Hello,” she called. “Excuse me! You said that I made the treasure trove, didn’t you? Can’t I have some too?” The raven only acknowledged her by flapping his wings, brushing her away without a word. 

Melody caught herself in the air a short distance away and whimpered. Trying to get so much as a crumb of strawberry would be too dangerous among the sharp, falling spires that were the ravens’ beaks. It felt like a lost cause; the strawberries belonged to their stomachs now. She stared dejectedly in the direction of the house. There would be other foods in there. And, this time, she would try not to make herself so obvious.

As she flew back toward the windowsill she had sat upon and past the front of the house, something caught her attention: Near the front door, a small light gleamed. It was a camera, capturing the sight and sound of the ravens feasting away. But as far as she could tell, there wasn’t any response from within the house. An idea sparked in her mind, and she changed her trajectory to head to the door.

The cameras at the doors of many homes were also attached to the doorbell. Melody alighted on the button and tried her hardest to push her weight against it and trigger the ringing bells that told humans to open the door, but no such thing came. It reminded her, defeatedly, that she wasn’t big enough to use it. 

She set herself to think. There had to be another way for her to be strong without being a human’s size. She remembered the impact of the closing lid that shot her downward, past the grass, and to the ground. There was no force like that around to push her again, but if she could find it in herself to push her body that hard, would she be able to press it then?

Melody brushed her wings in preparation. She wasn’t entirely sure that her speed would be enough, but she was willing to try. As she flew back several yards away from the doorbell, she envisioned the remnants of strawberries, unattended, waiting for her to dive into them. Then, she made a wide loop, and with her senses fixated on the direction of the button, she flapped her wings at a rapid pace. Faster and faster, she urged herself on, and instantly, her cap and head struck the button. Bells rang from a muffled distance, and she hurtled downward.

The girl who had attempted to snack on the strawberries earlier answered the door and didn’t spot the unconscious fly on the ground. Instead, she caught the ravens in the act of eating from the garbage out of the collapsed can, and she groaned and ran out with her arms waving. Immediately, the ravens took to the air and fled.

A moment later, Melody awakened. Within her cap, she slowly patted her head and examined her body. Her head ached a little, and her mind couldn’t shake the ringing noise, but no part of her was hurt. She shot over to the yard. The ravens were gone, and in their place, the human packed all the trash back into the can and gagged after seeing the strawberries again and shook them to the ground.

Melody flew straightaway to where the strawberries were discarded among the grass and gasped excitedly upon her arrival. Most were eaten up; the remaining pieces and chunks weren’t many for a bird. But the leftovers were more than enough for her feast. She jumped from piece to piece, slurped away at each one, and dropped into her cap when she was done with a contented sigh and a full tummy. Caution left her, failing to tell her of the lone raven who circled high above and then flew elsewhere.

—

[howlingday]

Weiss's rapier clattered along the metal floor as she was knocked away. The White Fang brute stalked closer, revving his chainsaw in no doubt a sick, twisted delight in seeing her cower. She edged further away, but then hit the door. Cornered with Myrtenaster out of reach, she did the one thing she had left she could do.

"DADDY!"

Weiss sobbed, fountains of tears pouring down her face as she wailed. The brute laughed, stopping to catch his breath. He stepped forward, his fanged maw wide with glee.

"Jacques Schnee's blood money can't save you this time." He raised his chainsaw high, ready to deal the killing blow. Suddenly, he doubled over as a horrible screeching sound erupted behind him. Turning, he saw the door to the subway car bend and buckle under great force as a hand tore it open.

Once open wide enough, a young man stepped. He had blonde hair and was wearing a white breastplate over his chest. His blue eyes were wild with fury.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing!" The intruder responded.

"Daddy!" Weiss cheered. The brute turned to her, making her flinch. "Daddy, help me!"

"Is this a joke?" The brute laughed. "Because it's hilarious! To think the Schnee heiress would whore herself to a scrawny twig of a human!"

The young man began stepping forward, his shoes hitting the metal floor with rage. The joke no longer funny, the brute swung at the human. Faster than he seemed, the brute missed and swung again.

The young man got into the brute's guard and slammed his forearm, halfway to his elbow, into the brute's abdomen. Retching, the brute staggered, but was unable to retaliate as his arm was broken, forcing him to drop his chainsaw.

As the brute fell to his knees, screaming, he looked up to see the baneful eyes of the young man, before his fist cracked into his mask.

"Are you okay, pumpkin?" Jaune asked tenderly as he wiped her cheek.

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay, Daddy." She replied with a smile.

"Good. Where are your sisters?"

"They're right behind me. They're trying to stop the train."

Looking outside, Jaune understood the situation. He nodded, then helped her up. "Okay, get Myrtenaster and help your sisters. I'm stopping the train."

"Okay, Daddy. I love you."

Jaune chuckled and tousled her hair. "I love you, too, Pumpkin. Now get going."

Yang groaned as she woke up. The last thing she remembered was seeing her mom walk through a portal. Before that was a hazy blur of pain. She opened her eyes to see a familiar face. "Hey, Pops." She croaked.

"Hey, kiddo." Jaune replied. "You enjoy your nap?"

"No." She grunted trying to stand up.

"Woah, woah, easy." Jaune helped her to her feet, then walked her towards the control panel beyond the door. Inside, he set her down in a chair, then began setting to work following the procedures for engaging the emergency brakes. He spoke into the intercom. "Uh, attention, all hands, uh, emergency brakes are about to be set, so, uh, 'set' yourself on down and buckle up!"

Yang chuckled. "That was horrible." As he sat down, he helped her buckle in, before doing so himself. "How are the girls?"

"Your sisters are fine." He answered without looking at her. "Ruby is with Doctor Oobleck, and Weiss and Blake are fighting that Roman guy."

"Are they winning?"

"They will be." He placed a hand on the emergency brake. "This is gonna hurt, though."

Shouting. Roaring. Gunfire. Real fire. It was all a blur to Roman. He groaned as he pulled himself from the rubble of the wreckage. No sign of the catgirl or her white friend, so that was a plus. With the cacophony of battle outside, he could easily slip away. He just had to climb out this hatch and-

"Hi." A pair of hands grabbed Roman and hoisted him up with ease. "You must be Roman." He was sent careening to the ground as heis vision was briefly blurred by pain and a fist. "I've been wanting to meet you for months now! My girls talk a lot about you."

"Girls- What?" Roman asked as he stood up.

"My daughters. My little angels you keep trying to kill."

"No offense, Gramps, but maybe if you taught those brats better, they-" Roman stopped as he saw the blond teenager standing in front of him with his arms crossed and his chest puffed. "Who the hell are you?"

"Jaune Arc, Huntsman-in-Training at Beacon," he answered, "and proud father of 'those brats.' So let me ask you now; who the hell are you?"

Me? Can't you tell?" Roman gestured to himself. "I'm the world's greatest criminal mastermind, Roman Torchwick!"

"You seem more like a thug who's too full of himself."

"Care to test that, Daddy Dearest?" Roman aimed Melodic Cudgel at him. One shot should do it.

"No," he pointed past Roman with a lazy gesture with his index finger, "I know they can do it better than me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Pops!"

"You're more than a match for him, Daddy!"

"We appreciate you letting us do this, though, Father."

"Dad, how far is too far here?"

"You're the heroes, sweetie!" The boy called back. "Do what you think is best!" He then chuckled. "Good luck, Roman, you're going to need it."

"Good night, Ruby." Jaune kissed her forehead, standing on their dresser to reach her top bunk. "Sweet dreams!"

"Good night, Dad." Ruby yawned.

Jaune stepped down, then knelt down to Weiss's bed. He kissed her forehead, then caressed her face. "Are you going to be okay, sweetie? Today was kind of intense."

"I'll be fine, Daddy." Weiss replied.

"Well, if you need me, I'm across the hall. Okay?"

Weiss yawned. "Okay."

Jaune turned around to Blake and Yang's bunks. He climbed the dresser and found Blake reading one of her books. She quickly shut the book and hid it under her pillow.

"Blake," Jaune chuckled, "you can still read your book. Just don't stay up too late."

Blake blushed. "R-Right. I'm sorry, Father." Jaune leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Father."

"Good night, Blake. Don't stay up too late." He climbed down and found Yang sitting on the edge of her bed. She had a cheeky look on her face. "What did you do now?"

"What? Can't a girl be happy to see her old man?"

"She can, but when you do, there's something suspicious about it."

"No, no, nothing suspicious!" She then climbed in bed and crawled under her covers. "G'night, Pops!"

"Good night, Yang." He leaned forward, but was met with a pie in the face. She laughed uproariously at the display, Jaune scowling through his whipped cream mask. "Jokes on you, kiddo, I still haven't given you your goodnight kiss!"

"No!" Yang laughed as the two wrestled, his whipped cream face peppering her in white smears all over. When they heard the hissing shush of the other three girls, they settled down. "Good night, Daddy."

Jaune chuckled. "Good night, Princess. I'll see you all in the morning." With that, he left their room to across the hall. Once inside, he found his team all tucked in themselves, but still wide awake.

"Where's our good night kiss?" Nora barked.

"Coming right up, Nora. I just need to wash my face first."

[doctoranon]

No Magic In The World.

Written for the Maribat? Get In! Civil war.

This is a direct sequel to I Must Be Dreaming so it would be best to read that. Though it works easily enough by itself.

TW: Mentions of sex, alcohol, driving under the influence and vague suicidal thoughts.

Waking up in another unfamiliar bed, Jason's head was banging with a raging hangover. Rolling over and out the bed he stumbled to the sink in the hotel bathroom to retch. This was becoming a bit of a regular occurrence. But the welcome oblivion of no dreams kept his heart from breaking over and over again every time he woke up and realised Marinette wasn’t going to be laying in the bed next to him. Dreams of her were a sweet torture, and he’d quickly decided no dreams of her were worth the moment of bliss he felt before reality intruded upon his waking mind.

Leaning over the sink he felt rather than saw as two slender arms held him from behind, and for a moment he dreamed of familiar arms and the smell of apple blossoms, before roughly pushing the woman away.

“What the fuck are you still doing here for?” he sneered, looking at her over his shoulder in the mirror. He took the woman in, icy blue eyes and a dark brunette. Looks like his drunken ass couldn’t even get that right. Then again, no one would ever come close to Marinette's fierce beauty.

The woman stuttered in confusion at him. Bless. She thought this was more than a drunken tumble and a subpar substitute. Holding a hand to his banging head he scoffed at ther, pointing at the door. “I don’t give a shit. Fuck. Off.” 

He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he was treating the poor woman awfully. Unfortunately his self disgust at touching another woman but her had him taking it out on her. Flashes of the night before came to mind, and mixed with his already nauseous stomach he threw up what little he had left in his system.

Hearing sobs from the other room and a slam of the door he grimaced. Not his most shining hour but he didn’t give a fuck right now. He’d cheated on Mari, fuck the fact she was- shaking the word from his head he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

He was in a sorry state. Pale skin, dark red rimmed eyes. He’d even lost some muscle mass and weight. He was a shadow of his former self. Splashing some cold water on his face, he moved to the other room, dressing as he found articles of his clothing.

Sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, one which he refused to look at, he took out a cigarette, lit it and took a drag. What the fuck was wrong with him? This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten hammered and fucked his feelings away with a poor substitute and it disgusted him. How could he ever take someone else into his bed, drunk or not? He physically shuddered as another bout of nausea rolled through his stomach. It always left him feeling unclean. Unworthy. 

He groaned when the silence of the hotel room was broken by the ringing of his phone. He took it in his free hand and scoffed at the displayed name.

Incoming call. Dickhead.

Rejecting the call and throwing it back on the bedside table, he finished his cigarette before lighting a second one straight away. Seeing a mostly empty bottle of whiskey on the dresser he staggered over and picked up a packet of painkillers and proceeded to wash a few down with what was left, relishing the burn at the back of his throat. 

Looking around for another bottle he scoffed at the litter of empty ones. Not one had any left in it. Looked like he was making a trip to the liquor store very soon in his future. 

In the background his phone had started ringing again, be he wasn’t up for his sympathetic older brother to offer a shoulder to cry on. He was fucking done sitting on his ass and crying about it. There was nothing he could do to change it.

He had begged Tikki and Plagg. Gotten down on his fucking knees and begged them. He would never force them- no, Marinette would never forgive him if he forced her beloved Kwamii to act against their will. But it had hurt that they weren’t willing to save her.

He had accused them of all sorts, that they didn’t actually care about her. That they had never loved her. At one point he had even pointed his gun at Plagg before he had destroyed it. He had broken down again in that moment, curing fetal on the floor as he wept for his love to come back. The kwamii had joined him, sharing his grief. But still, ultimately, swore off letting him make the wish. The had told him there was no magic in the world that could bring her back. He had replied she was all the magic in his world.

Now he was travelling, looking for someone, for something, that could bring her back. He wouldn’t believe the Kwamii until he had exhausted every option available to him. Except the pits. He refused to use the pits; to owe Talia something. He would never taint Marinette like that anyway. She was all things good and beautiful and pure in his life, he would never make her like him.

Hearing his phone start ringing again for the umpteenth time, he picked it up and answered.

“What the fuck is so important? Huh?” he answered, face twisting in a rage that was aimed at himself for his actions both last night and this morning. “Six missed calls, Dick. Didn’t you get the memo? I didn't want to fucking talk to you when I rejected the first fucking one!”

The silence that greeted him down the line had his stomach twist in guilt. He knew Dick was only worried for him. Heck even the Demon Spawn had shown worry for him and treated him like fucking glass. It was one of the reasons he had to get the fuck out of the manor. But even then, he couldn’t return to his and Maris' apartment. She was everywhere, in the fabric swatches on the table to the post it notes on the fridge. Their bedding smelled like her and her perfume lingered in the air. It repulsed him.

Everything about the place repulsed him. It was a home made for two. One set of his and another set of hers. Other things that were theirs. Except there was no theirs anymore. It had taken one look in her office room, to the zipped up garment bag he knew held her wedding dress for him to grab his bikes keys and get the fuck out of dodge. At the time he’d simply not wanted to be in that apartment. Ten minutes later he was on the road out of Gotham and no plans of returning any time soon.

“Jay-” he could practically hear his brother trying to figure out what to say to him, could easily imagine his shoulders would be hunched and tense as he deliberated. It was something he did when planning his next move in the field. Mentally he snorted. Did that equate him with a battle or an enemy? Either sounded right to him to be fair.

“Are you going to tell me where you are today?”

“I couldn’t tell you even if I felt like it.”

“Jay please.” he could hear the frustration in the acrobats voice, but he couldn’t really give a damn. “Come home.”

“Home, Dick?” he questioned, licking his chapped lips and picking up his bikes keys. He didn’t give a shit if he was over the limit. Death would reunite him with Marinette, and if he made it to his destination the liquor would help with that too. “I have no home anymore. She was home.”

“Then tell me where you are, Little wing! Please!” he closed his eyes shut tightly, gritting his teeth together. He hated that his family was hurting. But he couldn’t give up. He had to find a way to bring her back.

There had to be some magic somewhere that would give her back to him. He’d seen it happen for everyone else, so why couldn’t it happen for him? For them? Why couldn’t they have this one piece of happiness? Just this once?

“I can’t do that, Dick. You’ll try and stop me, bring me back to Gotham.” He paused as he opened his eyes and swung his leg over the bike. “I won't stop looking for a way to bring her back to me until I know I’ve exhausted all possibilities. Because I owe her that much. And if I die trying, well I owe her that too.” he told him, smirking sardonically.

“That’s not true, Jay! Marinette wouldn’t ever want you to do this. Please, Jason, this is killing you.” Dick begged him down the phone. “Come home. We can still search from here, but please, come back, be with your family.”

Putting his keys into the bike and revving the engine he grinned dryly. “Sorry, Dickie bird. Not today.” he hung up then, turning the phone off and pocketing it. Kicking up the bike stand he took off, he was sure he remembered the nearest booze shop was only 5 minutes away, and even that was five minutes too long.

The conversation had flared up the pain in his chest and it needed numbing again. Sweet oblivion here he came. 

[anarchyduck]

Spiders on Alcohol

AO3 Link Here

CW: Underage Drinking, but that’s about it

-----

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Mr. Parker.” 

Tony’s first thought is the kid is hurt. The rational side quickly takes over, reminding him that if the kid was hurt then he would receive a message from his AI Karen. The kid could be - has been - on death's door and wouldn’t call. 

His second thought is how late it is. The time on the stove read 12:30 in glowing blue numerals which is way past the kid’s curfew. 

A third rapid thought is it’s also Peter’s night off. His suit isn’t active; FRIDAY would have told him the second it became active. 

“Patch him through.” Tony says as he rinses off a plate and puts it into the dish drainer. 

“Yes sir.” FRI replies. 

There is a brief pause then Tony says, “You’re lucky I don’t need sleep. What’s up?” 

When he doesn’t immediately receive a response, he frowns and turns off the water. Paranoia tugs at the edges of his mind and Tony shoves back the worst case scenarios that try to pop into his mind. He opens his mouth, the kid’s name on his tongue, when Peter finally speaks. 

“Mis’er Stark?” He sounds confused. “Why… Why do you have Happy’s phone?” 

It’s Tony’s turn to be confused. “Because you didn’t call Happy, you called me.” He grabs a nearby dish towel to dry his hands. He can hear what sounds like a car honk and Peter’s breathing. He’s not at home, clearly.

“Oh… Shit.” Peter mutters something Tony doesn’t quite catch. “S-Sorry, didn’t mean… Meant to call Happy. Not-Not that I don’t like talkin’ to you, Mis’er Stark. You, you’re cool and uh…” 

“Yeah, I am cool. What’s going on, kid?” 

“Uhm…” Tony hears the hesitation and for a split second he thinks Peter may hang up on him. “Can, uh, can you…can you like, come get me?” The request is so small, so quiet, and Tony knows something is wrong.

“Yeah,” Tony says immediately. His heart rate spikes with anxiety. Damn kid is going to be the death of him one day, he knows it. God. “Yeah, I can get you, where are you?” 

Peter sighs with relief. “Huh? Uh I’m uh, what street is this… I don’t, hold on-” 

Tony slips on a pair of loafers (grandpa shoes, as Peter calls them) as the call shifts seamlessly from the overhead AI to his phone. He grabs his wallet and keys on his way out the door, and is in the garage by the time Peter comes back on the line.

“Fifth and, uh, Fifty-Nineth.” 

Tony nods to himself as the car revs to life. “Okay, Fifth and,”-- and he pauses as it dawns on him --“Wait, Fifth and Fifty-Nineth? What are you doing so far out of Queens?” 

“I don’t have to stay in Queens all the time.” Tony can practically hear those brown eyes rolling. “I can like go other places, have gone other places! There’s like, a whole big ol’ world out there Mis’ser Stark and yeah Queens is big too I guess and like-” 

Tony frowns lightly and glances toward the dash as he drives. Peter is still rambling and his words are going together and it sounds awfully familiar in a terrible way. 

“Peter are you drunk?” 

The kid blows a raspberry in response. “Whaaat? No! No, I’m not drink, drunk.” His voice cracks and raises a couple octaves as Parker lying syndrome kicks in. “I’m totally, one hundred percent not drunk!” 

“Oh my God.” Tony breathes out a breath. “FRI, find the quickest route. Kid, you stay put. I don’t want you to move an inch off that sidewalk. Got it? Find a bench and park it.” 

----------

He finds the kid exactly where Peter said he would be. He’s laying on a bus bench, one arm hanging over while the other is crossed over his eyes. For a split second, Tony thinks he’s asleep (passed out) but he sees Peter’s leg bouncing where his foot is planted on the concrete. 

“Hey, underoos.” Tony calls as he climbs out of the vehicle. The kid stirs, arm uncovers his face as he looks at him with a goofy grin. 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter sits up and practically jumps from the bench. He sways a little on his feet, takes a step back, then bounds forward, damn near skipping as he meets Tony at the car. “Hey, man, wow, you’re here. Cool.” 

“What, did you think I wouldn’t come?” Tony circles around the front of the vehicle where the teen is leaning against the passenger door. He doesn’t look hurt. No blood, no bruising. However, the closer Tony gets, the stronger he smells alcohol, particularly on Peter’s breath. “Wow, damn kid you smell like a brewery.” 

Peter’s brows pinch together as his eyes widen. “Really?” He puts a hand up to his face to check his breath. “Wow.” 

“Yeah, wow. Okay, come on let’s go.” The kid doesn’t put up resistance as Tony puts him into the car. Peter leans back into the leather, eyes wide as he stares up, unaware as Tony buckles him in.

He breathes out and giggles. “Feel like I’m floatin’.” 

Tony snorts with amusement and shuts the door. He rounds the car back to his side, gets in and takes off onto the road. At first, he thinks of heading straight for Queens and depositing the kid at home. But the penthouse is closer and the more responsible side of Tony’s mind says he shouldn’t leave a drunken teenager alone. 

“All right,” he starts. “So spill. What are you doing over here.”

“Got invited to a party.” Peter runs his hand against the bit of smooth metal on the door. “And like,” he sighs as he nestles into the seat. “It was so weird, Mr. Stark because I didn’t know no one, anyone, and it wasn’t anythin’ like Liz’s party. Ned wasn’t there and MJ wasn’t there and it was so weird, Mr. Stark.” 

“Yeah?” it’s all Tony can say to that as the kid barrels on forward. 

“Yeah! Liz, Liz didn’t have alcohol because we were all underage anyway and her dad would’ve killed us. He tried to kill me, ya know? Like… a few times. God what if the dude who owns that house back there is like, this… big super villain who I gotta fight later and how weird would that be? Get invited twice to a party where the-the guy tries killin’ me later.”

“I would say that would be very weird.” Tony agrees. “And that you probably shouldn’t put that out there in the universe.” 

Peter groans and Tony glances over to see him fumbling at the side of his seat. It takes him a second to realize what the kid is looking for.. “FRI, lean his seat back.” 

The kid’s eyes go wide as the seat reclines back and he laughs lightly to himself as he lays back. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.” He drags a hand over the side of his face and pokes at his cheek with another laugh. “My face feels weird.” 

Tony chuckles. “Yeah, bet it does. How much did you drink?”

“Uhhh…” Peter trails off as he keeps poking his cheek. “More than one?”

Oh yeah, the kid was going to be feeling it later. “Just promise you won’t throw up in the car.”

----------

To Peter’s credit, he didn’t puke in the car. They make it back to the penthouse and by the time they walk through the door, Tony is almost carrying the kid. Peter rambles the entire way, making comments here and there; talking to Tony; talking to FRIDAY; talking to himself. He’s leaning heavily, stumbling in his steps, and giggling. 

“Okay webs,” Tony sets the kid down on the bed in the guestroom. “Stay here, don’t move, I’ll get you some water.” 

“‘Kay.” Peter says as he flops back onto the bed.

Should he remove his shoes? Tony tries to think back to what others did for him, but comes up with nothing. God what he wouldn’t give for Pepper to be here. She would know what to do. Luckily the kid makes the decision for him and kicks off his shoes as he curls up onto his side. 

“Going to get you some water. Don’t move.” Tony says again, pressing his voice a little firmer to drive his point across. Peter doesn’t do much more than hum in reply and he feels confident enough the kid will be fine for at least a couple minutes. 

Tony runs a hand through his hair as he breathes out a sigh. How did he get stuck babysitting a drunk teenager? That said, it couldn’t be any harder than babysitting a stabbed teenager. Least the kid doesn’t have to worry about needles. May Parker crosses his mind as he fills a glass from the tap and he takes his phone out of his back pocket to send her a message. 

Your kid is staying over at my place for the night. Don’t worry, he’s ok. Working?

Tony receives a reply much quicker than anticipated. 

Double shift 

Trouble?

Well that certainly explains how the kid snuck away from home. He can’t see May letting her sixteen year old nephew go to a party where alcohol would be served. Hell, he’s still wrapping his head around the idea Peter willingly went to a party on his own. He types out a reply:

100% grounded. 

The phone pings with another quick reply.

Totally

Ty tony 

Tony sets the phone down and picks up the glass of water as he rounds the kitchen island to head back into the room. He fully expects to see the kid right where he left him, curled up on his side or maybe on his back again. Humming or singing to himself, complaining about the room spinning. Instead, he finds an empty bed. 

He sets the glass on the bedside table while glancing about the room. “Kid?” he calls, eyes even stealing a look toward the ceiling because who knows at this point.

It’s the sound of gagging and retching that directs him to the bathroom. Door is left open, lights off, and when Tony flips them on, he finds Peter vomiting into the toilet. 

“Yeah, that’s about right.” he sighs.

Peter gags and spits into the bowl. “It went through my nose.” 

Tony grimaces sympathetically. “That’s gross,” he says. The kid heaves again. Tears run down his cheeks as he gasps for breath, no doubt fighting the nausea and contracting muscles. It’s a fight Tony himself knows all too well and lost far too many times. The nights when he was caught in another bender, coming home from some nameless party with or without some nameless face, and always ending up exactly where Peter is now. 

How many times was someone there for him? How many times was he alone?

“I’m so s-sorry.” Peter lets out a strangled sob. “I never… I didn’t mean to be, so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.” Tony says as he wets a washcloth in the sink. “A dumbass, yes. But not stupid.” 

“Never should’ve gone to that party. Bad idea. Dumb idea. Didn’t… I didn’t even know no one there and I jus’ wanted to be cool.” 

Tony scoffs. “By drinking a shit ton of alcohol? Yeah. Real cool.” He frowns to himself at the firm undertone and adds, “But I get it.”

Peter spits another sting of bile and takes the offered washcloth to wipe his face. He manages to flush the toilet and attempts to stand on his feet, only to sway backwards and hit the wall with a thump. 

“Ow…” the kid groans and Tony is sure he’s being tested by some form of higher power. 

“Okay,” he sighs. “Let’s get you up before you decide to pass out in my bathroom.” He grabs the teen by his arms to pull him up, finding himself doing most of the lifting despite Peter’s clumsy and fruitless attempts to stand. 

“‘m not gonna pass out…” Peter sniffles as he leans against Tony. He’s still clutching the washcloth. 

“You know,”--Tony maneuvers them back into the bedroom and sits Peter on the edge of the bed-- “for a scrawny kid, you’re solid as hell.” 

“Not scrawny.” 

“Uh huh.” Tony picks up the glass of water. “Think you can hold down some water? You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t, believe me kiddo.” 

Thankfully the kid manages to take a drink without spilling it on himself. Even manages to put it back on the nightstand without slumping over. “Okay, spider baby, bedtime for you.” Tony eases him down onto the bed on his side, ignoring any and all mumbled protests (“I’m not a baby.”). He draws the blankets over him and leaves just long enough to grab the trash bin from the bathroom. 

Peter hasn’t moved from his curled up spot, but Tony knows the kid isn’t asleep yet. He’s staring at the wall ahead of him, seemingly unaware. Part of him is impressed the teen hasn’t passed out yet. 

“Penny for your thoughts, kid?” 

Peter slowly blinks then frowns. “You’re like… super rich, Mr. Stark. My thoughts are worth way more than a penny.”

“A quarter then.” 

“Cheap.” The kid mutters with a small hint of a smile. It’s gone alarmingly quick as Peter begins to worry the edge of the blanket between his forefinger and thumb. “Jus’ thinking… my Uncle Ben said he’d buy me my first beer. Said it’s like… a dad thing or whatever, but since I don’t have one, he said he’d do it.” 

Ben was a rare subject and one Peter didn’t bring up lightly. It wasn’t fair for the kid. The universe kept throwing more and more shit at him and it wasn’t fair. Anyone else would turn bitter but not Peter. He was good and kind and unlike anyone Tony had met. He’d do anything for this kid.

“Well,” Tony sniffs and clears his throat as he sits on the edge of the bed beside Peter’s legs. “My dad never did that stuff with me either. I was already at MIT when I was your age, going to parties and sneaking into bars. Doubt the man would have done it anyway.” he adds with an undertone of bitterness before charging forward. “Anyway, I’m just saying when you’re older, and I mean when you turn twenty-one, how about I buy you a beer?” The blankets shift and Tony feels eyes on him. “Unless it’s overstepping, which I completely understand and-”

“Yes.” 

The words stop dead on his tongue and Tony finds the courage to look at the kid. There are tears in Peter’s eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yeah?” he presses and the teen nods. A strange weight lifts from Tony’s shoulders to the point he finds himself smiling in return. “It’s a deal then. So no more drinking until then or else I’ll find another intern to dote on.”

“No you won’t.” Peter yawns and settles against the pillow, eyes drooping close. “‘m your favorite.” 

Tony smiles and brushes back some wayward curls from the teen’s face. “Yeah, you are.”

[btsqualityy]

Set It Off / Part Four

Jimin x Reader

Genre: Angst, mafia!AU

Warnings: None

“Go, Go, Go!”

“I’m going as fast as I can here Y/N-ah!” Jimin shot back, immediately hitting a hard left turn around a street corner as the two of you attempted to evade the police. After you all left the organization’s headquarters, the police quickly caught up to you and had been on your tail for the past 10 minutes.

“We gotta think,” you muttered anxiously to yourself. “They’re not gonna just keep chasing us for forever so they’re probably gonna set up a roadblock.”

“There’s no probably on that jagi,” Jimin murmured as he turned another corner and your eyes widened when you saw the police blockade blocking off the end of the street. The blockade was made up of a few police cars that had all parked together to form a half circle with the front of the cars, which was supposed to stop anyone from getting through. 

“Baby,” Jimin spoke softly and you looked over at him. “Put your head down and don’t sit up until I tell you to.” Sensing how serious he was, you just nodded your head before parting your legs and lowering your body so that your head was in between your knees. Having your head down like that made your nausea threaten to flare up but you took deep breathes in through your nose and out through your mouth, which helped tremendously.

Suddenly, the engine of the car revved up and before you knew it, the car was surging forward. You had to press your hands against the dashboard so that your head wouldn’t hit it, and you could feel the moment when Jimin crashed the car through the blockade. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping like hell that the BMW would be able to withstand the damage. After about a minute, you weren’t able to hear the sound of police sirens, which had been ringing in your heard ever since you left the headquarters. 

“Alright baby, you can sit up,” Jimin told you and when you did so, you saw that he was speeding out onto the highway. Turning around to glance over your shoulder, you smiled in victory when you saw that there was not one police car behind the two of you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” You chuckled in disbelief, and Jimin just smiled knowingly. 

“They weren’t expecting us to even try and press the blockade because if they were, they wouldn’t put something a little more sturdy in the way, like spike strips or something” Jimin sighed. “Just when I start to actually feel guilty for living a life of crime, the stupidity of officers and how they literally let us get away makes me feel better about it.”

“I get it,” you laughed, abruptly stopping and slamming your hand over your mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” Jimin wondered but instead of answering him, you hurriedly rolled the window down and stuck your head and the top half of your body out of the window, vomiting onto the street below. Jimin grimaced at the sound of your retching and he wanted to stop to give you time to rest, but the two of you needed to get as far away from police presence as you could while you had a head start. 

“God, I’ve been holding that in all day,” you huffed as you pulled yourself back into the car and slumped down in your seat, making Jimin laugh at your words.

........................................

You’re woken up by the feeling of the car coming to a slow stop. When you open your eyes, you see that it’s now dark outside and when you look to your left, you see Jimin putting the car into park. 

“What’s wrong?” You yawned loudly, reaching out and stretching your arms and legs. “Where are we?”

“Inje,” he told you and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“We’re not too far from Naksan Beach then,” you said. “So why did you stop?”

“There was a police car about 20 kilometres back,” Jimin started. “It was by itself and it didn’t stop me or turn around or anything like that, but I’ve seen two other police cars since then.”

“Oh shit,” you groaned, knowing that the first police car had probably identified your vehicle. “Well, we gotta go then.”

“No, you have to go,” Jimin told you.

“What?”

“Y/N, you have to get out of the car,” he sighed, and you instantly shook your head. “We have to split up.”

“No,” you stated firmly. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Baby, we have to,” Jimin pleaded and you looked over at him, your hardened gaze instantly softening when you saw the emotion on his face. “They’re going to be looking for this car and it’ll be better if you’re not in it in case they catch up to me.”

“What about the safe house in Naksan?” You questioned.

“I’ll catch up to you, I promise,” he swore and you tore your gaze away from his, bouncing your leg anxiously as you thought about what he said. As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. The two of you had better chances of getting away if you split up.

“What about the money?” You asked.

“Take it with you and hold onto it,” he advised you. “We’re not far from Naksan, so you should be able to walk with no problems.”

“And what about you?” You whispered, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked over at him. “Jimin, I can’t leave you.”

“Baby,” he cooed lightly, reaching over and grabbing your face in his hands, smashing his lips onto yours. The two of you kissed for what felt like forever, savoring the taste and feeling of each other’s lips. When he finally pulled away from you, he gently rested his forehead against yours. “I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” you shot back.

“There’s no reason why I won’t-,” 

“Taehyung.” You muttered and that instantly shut Jimin up. “There’s no reason why Taehyung shouldn’t have been fine either, but look what happened.”

“I know but that was also his choice, as much as I hate it,” he grumbled. “I promise you, I’m not gonna leave you or our baby alone. Alright?”

“Alright,” you relented, leaning forward and giving him another kiss before pulling away from him. You then turned around and opened the car door, getting out and shutting it before moving to the backseat, opening the door and grabbing the duffel bag that had been sitting on the floor before shutting the door again. Jimin rolled down the passenger side window, and you leaned inside as you hooked the strap of the duffel bag onto your shoulder. “Call me whenever you think you’re clear.”

“I will jagi,” he promised. “Stay off the main roads if you can and go back in the opposite direction.”

“Ok,” you nodded. “I love you.”

“I love you more Y/N-ah,” he smiled. Taking a deep breath, you stepped back from the car, watching with bated breath as Jimin put the car into drive and sped off down the street. You then turned around, heading towards Naksan as you cried silently to yourself. 

........................................ 

Two hours later, you sighed in relief as the safe house finally came into view. You knew the way up there like the back of your hand, but you had to take some detours as you heard the occasional police siren.

You quickly climbed the steps to the safe house, which was really a beach house that sat right on the shore. Reaching down and moving a large vase that held a plant, you lifted it up and grabbed the key that was taped to the bottom of it. After putting the plant back in its place, you put the key inside of the door and unlocked it, pushing it open and stepping inside afterwards. 

The silent hope that you had been carrying in your head instantly deflated when you saw that the house was pitch black and cold, meaning that none of the others had made it there yet. You didn’t even want to think about what that might mean though, so you didn’t.

Sighing heavily, you toed off your shoes and left them at the front door. Walking towards the middle of the room, you set the duffel full of money on the couch before moving towards the large fireplace that was against the opposite wall. Bending down, you grabbed some old newspaper as tinder and a lighter, setting it on fire before throwing it onto of the two logs that were already sitting in the fireplace. Waiting, you made sure that it actually began to catch fire before you stood up again. Not really knowing what to do with yourself after that, you decided that the first thing to do was to hide the money. 

Picking the duffel bag up again, you walked out of the open plan living room and down one of the hallways, taking a left and walking into one of the spare bedrooms. Recognizing this room from when you and Namjoon had come to scout out a potential safe house, you knew that the floorboards in this room were removable. Getting down onto your knees near the dresser, you reached around for the flap that you knew was there and once you found it, you pulled on it and smiled when it lifted up for you. Setting the piece of floor board to the side, you took the duffel bag and placed it inside, making sure that it was zipped up and concealed before grabbing the floor board and setting it back into place. 

Deciding that there was nothing else that you could do at this point except for wait, you decided to go take a shower. Standing up straight, you reached over to the dresser and opened one of the drawers, smiling when you saw that the clothes that you had left there were still in their same place. Grabbing a t-shirt and some sweats, you shut the drawer before moving over to the en suite bathroom. 

You cut on the light and shut the door behind you, setting your change of clothes on the counter. You then moved over to a cabinet, grabbing a large towel and a smaller face towel before shutting it again and walking back over to the counter to set the towels next to your clothes. You then looked up at the mirror that hung over the counter, and your eyes widened at your reflection as it looked back at you. 

Your hair was a mess from being pulled away from your face all day, you had a few scrapes that you couldn’t even remember getting, and there were small smears of darkened blood on the apples of your cheeks, your chin, and your forehead. Seeing the blood on your face made you look down at your hands and tears instantly began to form once you saw that your hands were still covered in Taehyung’s blood from when you tried to save him.

“God dammit,” you sniffled angrily, reaching down and grabbing your shirt before yanking it up and over your head. You did the same with your bra, pants, and underwear before moving over to the shower, turning it on and not waiting for the water to warm up to get inside. The water was entirely too cold but that was ok, because you wanted something to numb you from the overwhelming emotions that you were feeling.

You wanted to blame it on the baby, hoping that it was just your fluctuating hormones that were making you this upset but deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case. You had lost a member of your family today and for the first time since your parents had passed, you felt that same dagger in your heart as you allowed yourself to sob openly into the small space of the shower.

........................................

After pulling yourself together and getting out of the shower, you ambled back out into the kitchen in search of food, knowing that you needed to at least eat something small. 

You walked over to the refrigerator, opening it and sighing happily when you saw that it was fully stocked. You figured that Namjoon probably had one of the junior members of the organization make sure that all the safe houses were fully stocked just in case things went bad, and you had never been more thankful for his sense of thinking ahead as your stomach rumbled powerfully.

Grabbing the bread, cheese, and the butter out of the fridge, you moved over to the counter and dumped them all down. Deciding to make a grilled cheese since you figured that your stomach wouldn’t really be able to handle anything super heavy, you set about putting the sandwich together. Just as you moved to grab a pan to cook it in, you heard rustling from outside by the front door. 

Abandoning your sandwich, you reached over and grabbed your gun that you had left on the counter. The sudden knock that sounded on the door almost made you jump out of your skin, but you recovered quickly and walked up to the door.

“Who is it?” You asked, loud enough to be heard but only barely. 

“It’s us.” Immediately recognizing the voice, you put the safety on your gun before slipping it into the pocket of the sweats that you had on before you opened the door, Yoongi and Jungkook standing there shivering. 

“Come in, come in,” you instructed them, moving back so that they’d have room to shuffle inside. “Are you guys ok?”

“A little exhausted, but we’re here,” Yoongi shrugged.

“We would’ve gotten here sooner but the car that we were in ran out of gas so we had to hurry and steal another one,” Jungkook said. 

“Damn. What about Namjoon, Jin, and Hobi?” You wondered. “Have you heard from them?”

“Yeah, but they’re not coming here,” Yoongi started. “They ran into some roadblocks so they decided to go to the safe house in Mount Kumgang.”

“The mountains?” You replied and Yoongi nodded.

“Also, Jin hyung went down,” Jungkook revealed and your eyes widened.

“Are you serious?!” You exclaimed and Jungkook nodded. 

“When they ran into the road blocks, they got surrounded so Jin hyung got out of the car to distract the police which gave Hobi hyung and Namjoon hyung time to get away,” Jungkook explained. 

“Damn it,” you sighed as you crossed your arms over your chest. “Have you guys heard from Jimin then?”

“Heard from him?” Jungkook wondered, his eyes wide with surprise at your question.

“He’s not here with you?” Yoongi questioned and you shook your head. A weary look was shared between the three of you then; for Jungkook and Yoongi, it was because of the realization that Jimin had gone off on his own; for you, it was the realization that they hadn’t heard from him, and that was when you felt your heart sink into the pit of your stomach. 

[revretch]

Actually all fossil reconstructions are wrong because flesh only evolved recently. Before that it was bone world

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Cheongpyeong scam pays for a Golf Course for DaeMo-nim / Hyo-nam Kim’s family – comment

Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive

7. DaeMo-nim liberates $182 million golf course – the Pine Ridge Resort

Look at what your hard earned cash (or credit card offering which is by far much worse than cash because you have to figure in the amount of interest your “offering’ will accumulate over the years it takes to pay it off) for Ancestral Liberation bought Mrs. Hyo-nam Kim AKA DaeMo-nim. Wow, look at what that women paid herself to go into hell, find your retched, sinful, evil ancestors and take them to Divine Principle workshops bought her!

▲ A celebration at Pine Ridge Resort with Hyo-nam Kim and her husband behind the cake and Rev Chang-shik Yang (second from the right).

Really? This is how she chose to use indemnity money? I’d be ashamed if I were still a Moonie, but I’m not, so instead I’m sad for the good people I know who can’t find their way out of what they know is a sinking ship. The ship is being weighed down by the misuse of public money that was given for the higher purpose, not to enrich ANYONE! That money was taken by the fraudulent means of spiritual terrorism or spiritual blackmail. The terror being that if you didn’t hand over your money to her to save dead people then your conscience (and your standing among like members) would be overwhelmed with guilt and shame because everyone’s ancestors were being saved but yours. Spiritual shame equals mega cash windfalls for the person who creates the guilt trip.


Oh my gosh, she made you all pay for every single human being you could think of to claim as your ancestors. It really got to me when I learned that she was making sec gens pay for the same ancestors that their parents had already paid to have liberated. I even learned that she made blessed couples pay to liberate the children in the womb. How can it be that those unborn babies needed her help being saved?


▲ The Pine Ridge Resort logo

Each and every ancestor, we were told, could not get out of hell without her help. What really makes me scratch my head and laugh is that she made it seem as though there isn’t a single person who ever lived on the earth and then passed into spirit world who DIDN’T NEED TO BE SAVED BY HER! She is the Unification Church’s best con artist. And so look how she rewarded herself. It’s a crying shame. And there are the pictures of the Moons with Mrs. Kim sharing in the crime.

▲ Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han wearing Pine Ridge Resort caps, with matching jackets

No one can claim that the Moons didn’t know that Mrs. Kim was misappropriating sacred salvation funds to live large and very very much “of the world”. They are there with her, so they know. And it sure doesn’t look like they are upset at how she treated herself with all that sacred offering cash you all paid to have your beloved ancestors saved from hell. Maybe I’m wrong. You look at the faces of the Moons; you tell me if they look unhappy with her for how she chose to use your hard earned cash (or credit). 


Do any of you Moonies genuinely believe that not a single one of your ancestors was already “saved” and living with God in heaven? Really? Not a single one who didn’t need to be saved by Mrs. Kim? MmmMmmMmmMmmMmm. Too sad really.

Fear and Loathing at Cheongpyeong

[putas-in-suffering]

Nuestro Planeta

Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female Reader/You

Summary: You come to terms with the man Angel is and all that he can’t give you. 

Warning: NSFW 18+ only please! Explicit smut, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, angst to last a lifetime

Word Count: 4.1K

A/N: @negansdirtygirl22 & @irrelevantwriter are back to give you a very angsty, very emotional, very moody Angel/Reader fic with a side of smut. Our inspiration and title comes from the song “Nuestro Planeta” by Kali Uchis (its a whole ass mood and bomb ass song). Angel is our precious baby, but we were really in our feelings with this and asked ourselves many times “who hurt you” while writing it. We assure you, we are in fact fine. We promise to bring the fluff next time. Hope you all enjoy and share with your friends! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated 💖💖

You made your way through the crowd of inebriated strangers, savoring the warmth of bonfires lit throughout the scrap yard. Ezekiel had invited you, only saying it was a big night for Angel and the club. And so you found yourself in this place that seemed like another world— another facet of who Angel was away from you.

In private Angel was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, walking that perfect line between a duality of extremes, hot and cold, tender and rough. It was a lethal combination, one that left you yearning for more of something you knew he could never offer you. It was only in serene moments laying awake in bed, caught in a tangle of limbs that you felt like he was solely yours. Moonlit confessions and hollow words, witnessed only by the crickets serenading the night before the cruel morning came, taking the darkness and Angel with it.

The thunderous revving of engines in the distance startled you, thick plumes of dust rising into the air as you approached the steps of the clubhouse. You saw a few familiar faces, smiling at EZ in passing before stopping dead in your tracks when your eyes finally settled on Angel.

He had been promoted to Secretary of the club, the blonde woman perched on his lap sewing on his new patch. You watched, feeling like you were being gutted as his hands slowly wandered up her thighs, tears stinging your eyes as he looked back at you with an icy glare before returning his attention to the blonde. He inched his face closer to hers, their lips meeting in a kiss that twisted your stomach in knots, the bile rising in your throat keeping the tears at bay as you fought back the urge to retch, unsure if you felt more enraged or betrayed.

You wordlessly walked up to EZ, took the bottle of liquor from his hands and brought it up to your lips.

“Hey-, whoa…” EZ attempted to greet you, but was cut off by your abrupt need for intoxication.

The liquor stung your throat and the sudden rush of tears didn’t help. The sour taste only added to your nausea, your whole body feeling warm from both the alcohol and humiliation. You tried hard to keep the sob threatening to spill out inside. The last thing you wanted was for either Reyes brother to see you cry.

“You okay?” EZ asked cautiously, arms already outstretched in case he needed to steady you. The sweet gesture made you hastily wonder what would’ve happened if you had instead fallen for the younger brother rather than the one who currently held your bleeding heart in his careless hands.

“I’m fine.” You assured him, though it was unconvincing. Your voice broke and your eyes naturally found Angel through the crowd. He was talking to Bishop, a look of boyish glee crossing his features as his president congratulated him. Your fingers tightened around the bottle, your anger and hurt running so deep that you felt you could crush the glass with sheer force.

EZ caught your expression and who it was directed at, hearing him release a disappointed sigh. You knew that sound well. The prospect and you shared the same sentiments when dealing with the elder brother. For as much as Angel made you blindly happy, he also ripped you apart savagely, his own insecurities sabotaging any real chance at true joy. It was a fight you’d been fighting for far too long, and yet you continued to do so.  

“You know he cares for you, right?” EZ whispered softly, his hand taking the bottle from your hands. You let him, no fight left in you.

A sad smile crossed your lips as you met EZ’s warm gaze. “But it’s not enough, is it?”

The question clearly caught him off guard, a response not readily available. You took that as an answer and started to dig in your pocket.

“What are you doing?” He sounded panicked as you pulled a ring of keys from your jeans and began walking to the gate to where you’d parked your car on the street.

“Home.” You replied simply. He was following you, but stopped just short of running into your back when you turned to face him. “Tell Angel I’m fine. Tell him I was tired and went home. Do not say anything else. Okay, EZ?” You demanded, unwilling to let EZ be the middle-man. If Angel cared he’d call or follow you. You didn’t need his younger brother to do your bidding.

“Alright.” He finally agreed with a single nod of his head. You could see the worry and what looked like pity in his eyes. The sight made you sick.

“Thanks.”

“Wait, lemme take you home.” He called as you continued on without him, ignoring his request.

“I had one drink. I’m good.”

And with that you were gone, leaving the crushing weight of abandonment and desolation behind. No one came after you.

You’d survived the drive home without breaking down, the weight of the world finally collapsing as you closed the front door behind you, Ezekiel’s words replaying heavy in your mind.

“You know he cares for you, right?”

You scoffed at the sentiment, a part of you still holding onto the notion that Angel had the capacity to care, but deep down you knew. You knew that you didn’t fit into his world, that he kept you at arms length to shield you from the all-consuming darkness, afraid that it would snuff out your light.

In his eyes you were untainted, the only pure thing left in his life that had become so marred in violence. Being with you washed away all the blood and grime, your baptismal warmth absolving him of all his sins. It was only when things felt too perfect that he pulled away, hoping that you would tire of his bullshit and leave, the persistent voice in his head telling him he wasn’t good enough for you to begin with.

His insecurities drove him to hurt you more times than he’d care to admit, each time making him more callous and distant, each time chipping away at your resolve. Still, you remained loyal to Angel and it killed him.

You didn’t bother turning on any lights as you dragged your body into your bedroom, snagging a bottle of tequila from the shelf in passing. Every bitter swig was in vain as the memory of Angels lips on another woman remained vivid, the pain still harrowing and tears overflowing.

As if the thoughts of him weren’t enough, you felt your heart sink at the sound of a rumbling engine coming down the street, silently praying it would drive past. Deep down you knew it was him, having heard his bike enough times to memorize its distinct sound, you body responding to it out of instinct. It came to a rolling stop in your driveway, your heart beating wildly now, anger blending with anticipation as his heavy footsteps reached the door. He knocked harder than he usually did, a hint of aggression behind it that made you roll your eyes indignantly.

You entertained the idea of making him wait outside, maybe not open up at all, but your addiction to Angel was too strong and as much as you hated to admit it, he was the only person you wanted to seek comfort from, so you opened the door.

His dark eyes looked you up and down, taking in the runny mascara staining your cheeks and the bottle of tequila clutched firmly in your hand.

“Look, that shit back at the clubhouse,” he started, hands nervously tucked into his kutte as you let him into the house.

The sound of his voice was grating, your anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface and after every horrible thing he’d done, you still wanted him— badly.  

He looked stunned as you approached him, stopping inches from his face, your eyes devoid of the softness he’d come to love.

“Shut the fuck up, Angel,” you spat full of venom before kissing him roughly.

He grunted, returning your fervor, tasting the salt from your tears and the liquor on your tongue. You dropped the bottle, unconcerned with where it landed. You gripped his hair instead, pulling at the roots. He grunted against your lips, signaling he’d felt the sting of pain. You took pleasure in that.

His ringed hands grasped your hips as you walked each other back to your bedroom, your bodies knowing the path by heart. You collapsed on the bed, your limbs entrapping him against you.

“Wait-, we need to talk…” Angel said between kisses, his facial hair leaving a delicious sensation in its wake. It was one you were used to and one you longed to feel over and over again.

“Nothing to talk about.” You mumbled against his lips. You were done with the talking. Nothing ever came of you and Angel talking....in fact, it only got worse. You just wanted to feel. To feel anything besides the anguish you were consumed by.

Your hands removed his kutte and began unbuttoning the flannel he wore. Your fingers had gone down this route many times before, your body completely and utterly attuned to his. His own hands were tangled in your shirt, wanting to remove the garment completely. You lifted your upper body, allowing the piece of clothing to clear your head and sail across the room. You tore his own shirt from his torso, consumed by desire and fury. Logic no longer resided here. You were fueled by pure want; the yearning too much to ignore.

His mouth trailed down your neck as you arched into him. His tongue tasted your flesh, the heat radiating off him making you feel dizzy. His hips pushed yours into the mattress, feeling the hardened outline of his arousal against you. The notion only made your hunger for him soar. Your hands drifted to his belt buckle, your energy focused on releasing him from his confines. His mouth continued to move across your flesh, marking you, though for what purpose you weren’t sure.  

“Fuck,” He cursed once your frenzied hand met his heated skin. You moved as best you could, wanting him to get lost in you as much as you got lost in him.

His mouth traveled down your body and over your bra-clad breasts. He pulled the cups down, exposing you to his feverish tongue. Your fingers threaded back into his thick locks as he suckled at a nipple, your thighs clutching him. You were both moving carelessly, your excitement fueling the moment, as it often did. You back bowed off the bed as he bit down, the sensation making you see stars behind your eyelids.

“Angel…” You moaned, urging him to consume more of you.

His hands palmed your breasts as he continued his way south, his lips dancing over your stomach and belly button. His dark eyes caught yours, but you refused to keep contact for long. You pushed him down, coaxing him to continue his exploration. He relented, though you could see the displeasure in his face. He knew what you were doing. Knew that you were fighting hard to keep the moment physical. Knew that you were rejecting the thought of something more. And it was all because of him.

Angel’s hands undid the button on your jeans and pulled them down your hips. You helped him to remove the restrictive clothing, pleased to be moving the moment along. You bit your lip as his calloused fingers danced over your lace panties, the throbbing of your lips becoming downright uncomfortable.

“Don’t tease.” You admonished, angling your hips so that his finger caught your clit. A moan escaped you, your body surging forward to repeat the action.

Angel’s mouth landed over your cloth-covered slit, his tongue dancing against your opening. The fabric slipped inside of you, baring yourself to him. His tongue darted out to taste you, pulling more of your slick from the confines of your internal walls. You threw your head back as he moved the panties to the side and feasted on you, his whiskers making you hiss as a result. You gyrated against his mouth, feeling the fuse starting to ignite within you.

“Right there.” You pleaded, forcing his face further into your opening. You widened your legs, wanting him to practically melt into you. His tongue and fingers worked in tandem, knowing the exact motions to make you soar into space.

He was relentless as he continued to fuck you through your first orgasm, letting you pull and scratch at his hair and shoulders. You bit your lip as your hips rolled with each wave against Angel’s mouth, hating and loving that him and only him knew you so well.

Your chest heaved with quick breaths, the beating of your heart thundering against your ribcage. The moment never lost momentum as he ripped your panties down your legs, your bra still haphazardly attached to your body. You readied yourself as he hovered above you, his hand between your bodies as he positioned himself at your primed entrance. You thrust up and into him, signaling what it was you wanted. You dug your nails into his back in case the message was missed.

It wasn’t.

He pushed in, the sensation making you whimper as your body persuaded him in deeper. He groaned lowly in your ear, forehead pressed tightly against your cheek.

“Jesus,” He breathed, his tone indicative of just how much you overwhelmed him.

He didn’t move at first and the longer he sat still, the more reality tried to crash around you. You forced the emotions aside and took charge, clenching your walls around him in a vice grip. The action made him fist the sheets beneath you, an animalistic moan leaving his lips. Only then did he start to move, the passage of him eased by your immense appetite.

It was needy and desperate with a hint of something deeper...something more meaningful. It was always like that. It was what kept the two of you coming back. Angel could satiate his sexual appetite with anyone at any time. You could too, though you rarely indulged in that. The reason you two were pulled together was that specific something no one chose to name. It was that underlying power and longing that was always present, but never acknowledged. You knew what it was and you were sure Angel did too. But neither one of you ever said the words. You guessed it was too painful. He was afraid of feeling that strongly for someone. You were afraid of someone never feeling that strongly for you.

And the cycle continued on, perpetuated by the insecurities of two lost lovers.

He brought his hand up to your throat, holding it with a reverence that broke your heart, vulnerability sneaking up on you so forcefully you had to turn away from him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, afraid of what you would find there if you did, afraid of falling into your old ways when it felt so inevitably over.

“Look at me,” he pled between throes, a sadness breaking through his voice that made you forget just how heartless he could be.

You felt the mood shift as your eyes met the deep brown of his irises, the weight of things left unsaid suddenly feeling unbearable.

“Angel…” you murmured, your eyes speaking volumes when words had failed you.

It was like a punch to the gut, his heart suddenly feeling heavier in his chest. He wished he could be the kind of man you deserved instead of the coward who was afraid to admit how much you meant to him. It was easier that way, it kept you safe and though it pained him, that was enough.

You could feel him begin to pull away, hating that he only gave you so much when you’d always given him everything. It left you pathetically starved, desperate to tear down the impenetrable walls he put up.

You pulled him down in a delirious kiss, no longer interested in anything he’d have to say, good or bad, his hesitation burning like salt on an open wound. He swallowed your anger and tasted your rage, accepting it as penance for every awful thing he’d done to you, every brutal drive of his hips atoning for what he was sure to do in the future.

Angel felt your urgency, your need to feel anything but the pain, both of you chasing the same blissful end. You dug your nails into his back, leaving deep indentations, your teeth baring down on his lip until you tasted the metallic tang of his blood on your tongue. He let you take from him as you pleased, letting your catharsis fuel him to fuck you deeper, kiss you harder until you were both numb.

His pace quickened, two thick fingers finding their way past your swollen pout, his dark eyes swallowing you whole. You rolled your tongue around them, his grip on your jaw firm, girthy rings cool against your skin. He knew how close you were by the way your legs tightened around him, your moans becoming less graceful with every deep stroke.

He pulled his saliva soaked fingers from the warmth of your mouth, moving them down your body to work tight circles around your clit. The added stimulation had you arching off the bed, pussy clenching around him as you gave yourself over to Angel one last time. You brought him down with you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and a curse, hating and loving him all at once.

In that fleeting moment nothing else mattered, it was only you and Angel, broken and battered, flesh and blood. It was the only time the walls ever came down, soft words sounding especially cruel once reality sank in, the indulgence feeling transient and hollow after the fog had cleared.

He laid above you, head nestled in the crook of your neck, hand cradling your face. It was almost too overwhelming, the same force that brought you together now viciously tearing you apart.

A lone tear escaped and made its way down the side of your face, falling back into your hair. You hastily wiped it away, but Angel caught the action. His lips danced over your neck, his hand easing your mouth towards his. It was an attempt to kiss the pain away, to ease the ache. It was a feeble one. Even with him still inside of you, he was never fully with you. He was never fully yours. No matter how much you tried to tether yourself to him, he always found a way to sever the tie.

“Angel,” You sighed against his insistent lips. You gently pushed at his shoulder as you shifted beneath him. You knew his swift exit was coming; you were just trying to beat him to the punch. It always hurt just a little less when you initiated the coldness.

“Fuck.” He cursed loudly, head collapsing against your shoulder. “Don’t do this. Not this time.” He whispered desperately, hands back to cradling your face.

He forced you to look into his eyes, the glossy sheen of them making you pause. He was visibly upset, his face showcasing the inner turmoil that lived inside him. It was enough to make you break...for a second. Then the flames of rage began to burn, reminding you of the kind of man he was, despite his words.

“You should go.” You insisted, slipping from beneath him and adjusting your bra. You found your panties and quickly pulled them up your legs. Angel was already sitting up with his pants fastened, flannel unbuttoned and hanging from his shoulders. His kutte was clutched in his hand, his hair disheveled and out of place from his normal slicked back style. You reached for your robe lying carelessly on a nearby chair and secured it around your waist, feeling far too exposed with Angel’s stare burning into your flesh.

“You really want me to leave?”

It was a loaded question and one you were not prepared to answer, despite your words only moments before. You didn’t want any of this. But it was the only thing he could give you and you’d reached your limit. As much as you cared for Angel, the energy he drained from you was immeasurable. How long could you both really go on like this. How much more rejection could you take, knowing he wanted to give you more but couldn’t. It was a cyclone of toxicity and devotion that kept you both whirling, unable to remain on solid ground. And it had to come to an end.

You didn’t answer, instead choosing to walk towards him. He watched you closely, his defeated expression making you want to turn away. You cursed his abilities to make you second guess yourself, the overwhelming need to please him trying to take hold. You ignored it.

You caressed his face, feeling the way he leaned into your touch. He was desperate for warmth and yet he didn’t know what to do with it when he got it. You tried hard to commit every line and curve of his face, forcing yourself to come to terms with this being the last time. You could feel your heart breaking in your chest, feel it starting to ache for the excruciating goodbye that was coming.

“Querida…” He breathed, hands resting on your hips and bringing you forward. It was a plea for mercy.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, feeling his forehead resting on your stomach. “You know we can’t keep doing this.”

His grip on your hips tightened, as if physically rejecting your words. You heard him sigh heavily before he brought his gaze back up to yours. “Yeah, I know.”

You could see the hint of something else splayed across his features. There was an obvious need to verbalize, something Angel didn’t often do. So you waited, unsure if you were prepared to hear what he had to say.

“You know I care about you, right?”

The words were a punch in the gut. They sucked the air from your lungs and tightened the invisible hold on your heart. You’d been plagued by those words all night, a victim to the romantic idea of Angel caring just enough, but never more. It was pitiful. You knew he cared, in his own way. You didn’t need to be reminded. Because that sentiment didn’t do a damn thing except highlight what he couldn’t give you.

“But it isn’t enough.” You replied dejectedly, mirroring the words you’d spoken to his brother only hours before. You swallowed the tears that threatened to escape. You didn’t expect anything from him once you said those words and you were right. He looked away, unable to face what he’d done. What you’d both done.

Instead, in hopes of saving the moment from complete and utter despair, you held each other. Your bodies always had a way of voicing what neither one of you could. So, you let them. You let his hands graze your curves and his head rest on your stomach, his lips leaving an errant kiss behind. You caressed his hair and face, soaking up the feel of him. There were a plethora of unsaid emotions dancing in the air, but they went ignored. You only focused on the present, continuing to not let reality burst the bubble.

The distant alarming of a car shattered the mood. You broke apart, Angel standing and adjusting his shirt and kutte while you pulled the knot of your robe tighter. He followed you down the hall and towards the front door silently, his heavy footsteps echoing in your ears. You reached for the handle of the door when he stopped you.

“You mean a lot to me. More than I can really say.�� He waited for you to respond, but you didn’t. There wasn’t anything to say. His placations no longer had the same effect they used to.

He leant down and placed a soft kiss to your lips, the longing palpable.

“Bye, Angel.” You whispered once he’d pulled away. The moonlight peered in through the curtains, highlighting his thinly veiled regret. You looked away, taking a page from his book.

He smiled sorrowfully and then kissed you gently on the forehead. “Goodbye, preciosa.”

He was out the door and gone within seconds, the engine of his motorcycle shaking the entire house. You listened as it glided down the street until it was a faint rumble in the noiseless night. Angel was gone, and it was meant to be forever. But you knew there was a high possibility neither of you would heed the hurt. He had a key to your heart and to your house, and he would do with those things what he wanted.

[viskovie]

Vitam Post Mortem

Warnings: language, Nux gets manhandled quite a bit

Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine

______________________________________________________________

heaven:   (noun)

the expanse of space that seems to be over the earth like a dome —usually used in plural often capitalized: the dwelling place of a Deity and the blessed dead

______________________________________________________________

Fire. Grit. A flash of tangled red hair. An unfamiliar gesture. A glint of chrome. More fire. Thunder. Pain. And then… nothing.

Nothing.

~~~

Nux wakes up with a start, the last shreds of adrenaline coursing through him. He isn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. Perhaps he’s dreaming right now? Reality feels hazy and sluggish, sort of like when he takes those pills that Castellan makes – the ones that give you a good, long high but leave you feeling like you’ve been run over by the War Rig. He staggers to his feet as best he can, and rubs his eyes like a Pup just woken from a nap.

His vision is split into two blurry colours: orange below and stark, vibrant blue above. He blinks a few times and the colours sharpen into a horizon. Hot, golden sand stretches away for miles until it reaches up to touch the sky where it hangs. A soft stir in the air carries the thick smell of dust and dirt, but it’s not as stifling as it should be. It’s quiet enough that Nux can hear his own heart beating a steady rhythm in his chest, and the sound is comforting. It means that he’s still alive. He should, by all rights, be dead. Roadkill.

The details are slowly coming back. That’s how he knows the crash wasn’t a dream, and neither is this. In dreams, details slip away like precious drops of Aqua Cola spilled on the ground. He bites his lip, hard, and is rewarded by a stab of pain. It grounds him and helps to clear his head.

Nux brushes himself off and turns in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings. There’s nothing but dunes and endless blue sky, no matter where he looks. There’s not even a footprint in the sand around him, which is strange.

No footprints, no tire tracks, nothing.

Nux reaches for his knife, unable to shake the growing unease in the pit of his stomach. Maybe this is a nightmare? He stands motionless for a moment, but nothing jumps out at him. He sheaths the blade and sinks back down to the ground. He tries to remember exactly what happened in the chase and the resulting crash, but he can’t conjure up much. He knows that he finally got to drive the War Rig, although the experience was rather bittersweet. He was prepared to die. He’d known from the start that he wasn’t going to see the end of the story, and yet-

For the first time since the sandstorm that had dragged his lancer off the back of his – their – car, Nux allows himself to think of Slit. He’d seen him again in the pursuit, perched almost casually on the hood of Max’s old Interceptor, but it had felt like looking through the eyes of someone else. He hadn’t really registered that Slit was not only alive , but as wild and bloodthirsty as ever, until it was too late and his childhood friend was gone forever. Gone in a glorious, fiery explosion – just the way he’d always wanted to go.

Nux’s eyes prickle, and he scrubs at his face. War Boys don’t cry! They certainly don’t cry over the dead, no matter how much you loved them.

Initially, the two had been like brothers but, over the years, his feelings had morphed into something deeper, something far more painful. Losing a brother was gut-wrenching, but to love someone with your whole being and know that person didn’t love you back – that was infinitely worse.

It feels like a knife has been plunged into his chest, and Nux finally gives in. He cries.

~~~

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up again. His head aches, and his eyes feel puffy and tender. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that they’re probably still bloodshot. The sun has long-since disappeared behind the distant horizon, and he’s lying curled up on the rapidly cooling sand. Somehow, he’s not sunburnt. He’s not hungry either, but his mouth is dry. He sits up, with difficulty, and yawns. He must have cried himself to sleep, and the thought sparks shame deep in his belly.

“You better not have been fuckin’ crying, traitor.”

Nux turns around so fast he thinks he’s given himself whiplash. Standing a few paces away, thick arms crossed over a heavily muscled chest, is Slit. He doesn’t look pleased. He adjusts his stance, settling his weight evenly on both feet, and skewers Nux with a poisonous look.

Nux can’t even bring himself to stand and face him. Instead, he looks away ashamedly, praying the darkness hides his eyes. There’s no point denying that he’d been in tears – no one could never lie to Slit. He somehow always knew. He tries to stifle the sob that threatens to spill out of his chest, but it escapes anyway. Behind him, Slit scoffs and makes a sound like he’s spitting on the sand. Nux doesn’t hear the crunch of footsteps, but suddenly Slit has him by the throat, from behind. He hisses, instinctively elbowing him in the ribs. Slit grunts, but his grip only tightens. Nux forces himself to go still. Slit has big hands, and he’s always been one of the strongest Boys; he’s more than capable of killing him right here. Slit will just keep crushing his airway until he suffocates – it won’t be the first time he’s had to kill someone that way.

“Givin’ up?” Slit taunts in his ear. Nux manages to suck in a deep breath, but doesn’t answer. “You’re lucky you’re already dead, y’know that? ‘Cuz if you weren’t, I’d send ya to Hell myself! ” Slit snarls, letting go of him and shoving him onto the ground.

It feels like Slit is revving up for a proper fight, so Nux rolls over to intercept the impending kick. But before he can get out of the way, Slit plants his boot on Nux’s chest. Nux doesn’t resist; he just lies there on the cold ground, the lancer’s words ringing in his ears. Lucky you’re already dead … Dead. He’s dead. He didn’t survive the crash, after all. That explains a lot. Then his brain kicks into gear, and he remembers something.

“You-” he coughs. “You died days ago!”

Slit’s face twitches. He’s seething. “Yes.” He bites out.

“I witnessed you. It was…” Heartbreaking. “Glorious.”

“I know.” Slit is clearly still furious, but he also sounds the tiniest bit smug now.

“Why- why aren’t you in Valhalla?” Nux asks tentatively. He’s going to cry again if he thinks about it too much. Slit growls, taking his foot off his chest and dragging him bodily to his feet.

“You tell me , you fuckin’ smeg.” He spits, and Nux flinches.

He doesn’t understand. He remembers that Slit didn’t Chrome himself, but he had witnesses and he had fire – surely that would have been enough to get him into Valhalla, into the Hall of Heroes? Slit must see his confusion in his face, because he grabs Nux’s chin and forces him to look to the right.

Huge, glittering gates stand where, a minute ago, there had been nothing. A sun, it seems, shines from behind them, lighting up the night and making it hard to look at them. Nux squints. The gates don’t appear to have a true form, as they shift and change every time he blinks. They’re chrome, and gold, and bronze, and more colours that he doesn’t have names for. The bars ripple like Aqua Cola, and appear solid as stone. Nux can’t see what lies beyond.

“Valhalla…” He murmurs, awestruck. Slit nods bitterly.

“I’ve been tryna get in for days now.” He says angrily, and Nux breaks his trance to look back into his face. “Can’t without ya, it seems.” Slit continues, looking like he wants to strangle Nux again. He lifts his hands, gingerly peeling his gloves off. Underneath, his palms are blistered and raw. A few of the blisters have popped, and his skin glistens in the light of the Gates. It looks painful.

“I tried to touch ‘em,” Slit rumbles, carefully putting his gloves back on. “Got burned every time.” He explains through gritted teeth. Nux’s stomach sinks. If Slit can’t get into Valhalla, then he’s got no chance. Slit is the War Boy ideal: he’s tough, he’s skilled, he’s ruthless, and – on top of everything else – he’s unfairly handsome. Nux shakes his head. No going down that road, not today. Or ever.

Slit is eyeing the Gates and drumming his fingers on his bicep. Suddenly, he grabs Nux’s hand and steps toward them. Nux hangs back reluctantly. If Slit’s hands got burnt, he’d probably go up in flames as soon as they got anywhere near.

If Slit notices his hesitation, he pays it no attention. He drags him forward, grimacing every now and then at the pain in his palm. They stop about two feet from the Gates, and Slit turns to look at him. The light emanating from Valhalla frames him like a halo. He looks like a god, and Nux feels his eyes well up again. He rubs at them until the tears are gone, pretending to have sand in his eye. Slit isn’t fooled. He glares menacingly, a muscle in his neck twitching.

“I can’t get into Valhalla by myself, dipshit, an’ if you fuck this up by cryin’ again…” He trails off, the unspoken threat hanging heavily in the air between them. Nux nods mutely, not trusting himself to speak. Slit takes him by the hand again and reaches for the Gates.

There’s a loud sizzle, like guzzoline splashing on searing hot sheet metal, and Slit recoils with a howl.

He drops Nux’s hand and rips his glove off again. It doesn’t come off cleanly. His skin has been burned again and the fabric has partially fused with it. Nux manages to keep from retching when he sees the mess that Slit’s palm has become, but it’s a nasty injury. Blood is running down his arm from where the mutilated skin has been torn away and, for the first time in his life, Slit is shaking. All the colour has drained from his face and he’s a little unsteady on his feet. Shock, Nux knows. Not fear, or even pain. Shock. Slit had been so sure this would work, that he’d finally achieve the eternity he’d given his life for.

He helps him sit down, and gently unties Slit’s scarf. He carefully wraps his mangled hand in it, even though he’s sure it’s not clean enough. But it’s not like they have anything better to use. When he’s finished, Slit lies back on the sand, staring up at the night sky. Nux glances at the Gates, but they’re gone. He lies down next to his lancer, unsure of what to do next.

There’s a few beats of silence. Nux has so much that he wants to say but he has no words to say any of it. He thinks about all the times they’d been together like this - the cool night air on their skin, the stars far above, flinging what he now knew to be “shows” across the universe. Neither of them were soft; they didn’t seek out moments like that, but had never shied away either.

He sighs, wishing away the tension between them. He’s disillusioned with the Immortan’s teachings, knows them to be false and self-serving, but here he is at the Gates of Valhalla. Was his betrayal the reason Slit couldn’t get in? If they could only enter together as Driver and Lancer, had he cost Slit hard-won eternal paradise? The thought worms into his mind and sticks there, taunting him cruelly.

Nux rolls over to face Slit, still unsure of how to voice his feelings. He decides to keep it simple. Slit always liked things to be simple.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. Slit doesn’t react. Nux frowns. Sure, the lancer has hearing problems but there isn’t even a breath of wind to carry the words away. He tries again, managing to be a little louder. Slit turns his head, his iron grey eyes drilling into him.

“I know. I heard you the first time.” He says. “I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

For the third time in less than a full day, Nux feels tears spill over his cheeks. He sits up, trying to hide, but Slit grabs his arm and roughly tugs him back down. He lands almost on top of his lancer, causing Slit to grunt with the impact. Before he can really do anything, Slit has his arms around him. However, it feels more like a restraint than an embrace.

“We gotta figure this out.” Slit mutters, shifting onto his side to hold Nux to his chest. “Not the Valhalla thing - that’s either gonna happen by itself or it’s not. We gotta sort out... this. Us.” He adds. Nux nods, working his hand free to rub at his eyes. He doesn’t want to ask exactly what Slit means by that, doesn’t want to hope. Slit’s jaw works for a moment before he says anything else.

“Why’d you run?” He asks plainly. “Why did you turn your back on everything we knew, and side with Furiosa when she betrayed the Immortan?” He doesn’t sound angry anymore, which is unusual for him. He just sounds tired, and it breaks Nux’s heart a little further. In the silence he can almost hear Slit’s heartbeat.

“I didn’t… not at first….” Nux murmurs, half to himself.

“Hey?”

“I didn’t switch sides immediately. I got into the Rig, and then… I don’t know exactly what happened. Something changed.” Nux says, voice trembling. “Here.” He adds, gesturing to his chest. Slit narrows his eyes. He seems to mull over his next question. Nux sniffles quietly. He’s trying to keep it together, really, but Slit’s making it horribly difficult. His arms have loosened around Nux, so now it’s less like a restraint and more like an embrace.

When Slit finally asks his question, it takes Nux completely by surprise.

“Did you fuck one of ‘em? One of the Wives?”

“Wh- no!” Nux stammers, thrown. Why would Slit be asking that? Why does he sound so strained?

“Did you fuck your Bloodbag?” Slit adds, his expression guarded and his tone even weirder. Nux draws back a tiny bit. Yeah, Max is decent-looking, but he’s not Nux’s type. Besides, they were stuck in the Rig with the five Wives and Furiosa - if he was gonna fuck anybody, it wasn’t going to be Max.

“No! I didn’t do anything like that...” He replies slowly, searching Slit’s face. That seems to satisfy Slit, and he drops the subject. They lie in silence again, but somehow it’s not as tense as it was before. He still has his arms around Nux.

~~~

At some point they must have dozed off, because Nux wakes to the cold, grey light of early dawn. He shivers and curls a little tighter around himself. He’s got his head on something solid and warm and gently moving. It turns out to be Slit’s chest.

Nux closes his eyes again, remembering all that happened last night. He shifts around, getting comfortable, and Slit begins to wake up. He yawns and stretches luxuriously, like a lizard basking in the sun. Nux debates whether or not he can get away with pretending to still be asleep. He decides to give it a shot.

It seems to work because Slit starts absently rubbing Nux’s shoulder. Nux snuggles a little closer. He can hear the gentle thud in Slit’s chest, which does seem a little out of place, all things considered.

He gives himself away when he pets Slit’s bicep without thinking. Slit rumbles and pushes Nux into the sand. He sits up groggily, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and turns to give Nux a beady look. Nux snickers, too lost in the soft familiarity of this moment to worry about Valhalla right now.

“Just how long have you been awake?” Slit grumbles, yawning again. Nux shrugs.

“Not long. Few minutes?”

Slit makes a noise of complaint, and begins cracking his knuckles one by one. Nux shivers as a cool wind begins to pick up. He shuffles closer to Slit and leans against the lancer’s broad, bare back. Briefly, he wonders about why Slit never seems to get too hot or too cold. Maybe his muscles insulate him against changes in temperature? Who knows.

Slit lets out a quiet hiss as he carefully pries the makeshift bandage off his hand. He inspects the wound, but it isn’t getting any better. If anything, it looks worse; the skin has blistered and softened overnight, and it makes Nux want to vomit. He can deal with blood and gore, but he never had the stomach for infection and pus. Slit clenches his jaw and rewraps his palm. Nux nuzzles his shoulder, unsure of what else to do. If they had water, he’d insist on cleaning the injury out but…

Slit tries to headbutt him, but the angle is wrong and it doesn’t really make contact. The staples in his cheek glint in the growing dawn.

“C’mon.” He rumbles, getting to his feet. Nux follows suit, and glances around. There’s nothing but sand, all the way to the horizon.

“May as well start walking.” Slit adds. “Not like we got anythin’ else to do.”

“What if Valhalla comes back?” Nux asks nervously. The Gates do seem a little… temperamental.

“It follows us.” Slit replies, brushing the sand off his pants. “Shows itself ‘bout once a day.” Nux nods, trying to get his head around that. Slit takes a step, then stops. Hesitantly, he offers his less-burned hand. Nux takes it with a small smile. Was Slit always this soft when there was no one else around?

The sun is just clearing the tops of the distant dunes, and has yet to provide any warmth, so they walk closer together than is probably necessary. Nux remembers Max’s worn jacket wistfully, rubbing his arms as they face into the wind.

~~~

They walk until the sky begins to darken again and the first stars appear in the east. Nux is glad to stop; his feet are aching and he’s thirstier than before. Surprisingly, he’s still not hungry yet. Slit doesn’t seem to be, either, but when he speaks again his voice is a little hoarse.

“Help me dig a hole, here.” He says, motioning to a spot on the ground. Nux raises an eyebrow.

“Why?” He asks suspiciously. “What are we looking for?”

“Nothing,” Slit answers brusquely. “You can sleep on top of the sand again, if you want, but I’d rather stay warm for longer.” That makes sense, Nux supposes. He kneels next to Slit, and they start scooping out a hole big enough for both of them. It takes a while, because the sand is too soft and dry to properly dig away.

Eventually, they’ve managed to carve out a ditch that’s... sort of the right size. It’ll be a squeeze, Nux thinks skeptically. He glances upwards. The bright moon is rising steadily, casting long shadows of its own. He shuffles into the hole, next to Slit, and has no choice but to press against him. The sand is still warm, and Nux can feel his eyelids already starting to grow heavy. He wiggles around until he’s more comfortable, tucking his arms in and resting his head against Slit’s throat. He gets an arm around his torso for his efforts.

Slit sits upright unexpectedly, accidentally giving Nux a crick in his neck. Nux follows his gaze to the Gates, which have reappeared as predicted. Before he can react, Slit is scrambling out of the hole, dragging him along by the wrist. The Gates are every bit as glorious as before, but their beauty is somewhat marred by the knowledge of what lay underneath his lancer’s gloves. Nux rubs the sand off of his cheek and stifles a yawn.

Slit walks with purpose to stand a pace away from the Gates, again. He lifts his hand hesitantly, but doesn’t reach for the bars. He’s preparing to be rejected again, Nux realises. It puts a hollow feeling in his stomach.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward. “Lemme try.” Nux smiles, trying to reassure Slit. However, the lancer doesn’t look convinced.

“Slit, you need your hands more’n me.” Nux urges, touching his arm.

“Can’t drive with fucked up palms.” Slit argues.

“Can’t lance, either.” Nux fires back. Slit opens his mouth, but doesn’t have a counter-argument. He frowns deeply, and bites his lip. Nux takes his hand - gently, as it surely still hurts - and reaches for the Gates. He closes his eyes and braces for the pain-

And nothing happens. His fingers connect with the Gates, and the metal is warmer than he expected but nowhere near hot enough to burn him. He opens his eyes slowly, and looks back at Slit. The lancer looks like he’s been punched. Nux grins, gripping his hand a little tighter in excitement. He shoves at the Gates, and they begin to swing open. As they do, the bright light gets harsher and harsher until he’s forced to close his eyes against it.

When he opens them again, the first thing he notices is the green. It’s everywhere, kind of like when he would wander through the Top Gardens back at the Citadel. There’s green stuff on the soft, black ground, and climbing on poles stuck haphazardly here and there, and even one or two huge, leafy stick-things. Trees, that’s what Capable had said they were. The next thing Nux notices is the water. It’s flowing through a shallow groove in the dirt that’s too straight and even to be natural.

He’s reminded of Slit’s presence when the lancer drops to his knees beside the water and splashes some onto his face. Nux laughs, and follows suit. The air is cool and smells sweeter than the arid, dusty air of the Wasteland. He feels better than he has in… he can’t even remember how long. He’s not so sick anymore, can’t feel the bite of the tumors on his neck.

Slit drinks his fill, and sits back on his haunches. There’s a few stray droplets running down his face and neck, having escaped through the gaps in his scars, and Nux is mesmerised. Slit seems to feel his gaze, and wipes the drops away with the back of his hand. He tugs his gloves off and flexes his fingers. His palms are healing, Nux sees. They’re not back to normal, but the pus is gone and the burns no longer look so raw. Slit looks up at him and grins. He launches himself at Nux, knocking him over and sending himself sprawling. He laughs freely, grabbing Nux and dragging him in for a tussle.

They roll around for a bit, wrestling and playing like they did when they were Pups, until they both lie panting in the shade of one of the trees. Eventually, Nux sits up and brushes the dirt off his pants. He gathers up all the little bits and pieces that fell out of his pockets before Slit can swipe anything, but the lancer just grins lazily up at him, still lying flat on his back.

“If I’d known all it would take to get here was your dumb ass, I would come back and killed ya days ago!” He teases, but there’s no malice in it. Nux scoffs.

“Like you coulda killed me .” He says, not bothering to keep the smile off his face.

“Could too!” Slit protests, raising himself up onto his elbows. Nux raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“Nah.” He drawls, making a show of examining his fingernails. “Didn’t I have ya totally pinned just a minute ago?”

“I let you pin me!”

“Oh yeah? Wanna see me do it again?”

“Ah, fuck off, pup.” Slit grumbles, looking away. Nux snickers, before taking mercy and laying down next to him. He traces the scars on Slit’s belly, making him shiver. Slit’s arm finds its way around him again, but it really is an embrace this time. They listen to the sound of everything growing around them, truly at peace for the first time in their lives. They didn’t have to fight for this, didn’t have to win it and don’t have to protect it from anyone; all they have to do is enjoy it.

Angharad was right about almost everything, Nux muses, as he settles in for a nap. Valhalla is real, and the world isn’t quite dead yet.

[asongofmanyfandoms]

“Why are you doing this,” he asked you stopping you from continuing your fast paced sprint that you had been dragging him along with for the past five minutes. You were going to try to steal some imperial weapons but had caught this idiot trying to beat you to it. The problem was was that he had injured his leg and was not going to get far with his wound. A flash of anxiety grabbed at your heart from the cease of your moving.

“We have to keep moving,” you turned to run again but he pulled you back gentle enough that it didn’t hurt you but forceful enough that you understood he wasn’t going to give.

“Why are you helping me,” his brow furrowed just a little to create a crease between the two. You smirked and in the rush of adrenaline that had been running through you over the past few minutes you pecked the corner of his cheek just by his lip. He was stunned enough that you could throw his arm back over your shoulders.

“Just make sure to return the favor hot shot,” this time he let you continue to run again. His heavy footsteps followed very shortly after. You looked and saw him smiling with a glint in his eye as he tried his best to hobble along with you.

After the two of you stole the mayors speeder bike and took off he drove all the way to where his ship had landed near the marshes outside of the city. Luckily for the two of you, the city’s police had not yet found it. You two took no time immediately boarding the small ship and took off before anyone could follow after you. You did your best not to look out the windows as you took off. Heights had never been a thing of yours.

“Here,” a bag of empty air was tossed into your face from the co-pilot seat you were in. Poe looked over to you with a smirk, you took the bag graciously and clutched it close to your body as you considered retching into it at that immediate moment. “Does this count as that favor I owe ya?” You sheepishly smiled turning a little red as you recalled the promiscuous banter you had cast at him earlier.

“Not even clo-,” you caught the bag in front of your mouth just before your lunch escaped your mouth. You could dully hear a laugh coming from your left.

It didn’t take long to warm up to Poe, he pretty much insisted on you staying with him until you had enough funds to purchase a little place of your own. He trained you how to fly and pushed you everyday to make fun of the things that scared you, like heights. After a while the living situation seemed to be forgotten as you two moved into the same bedroom and started to settle in with each other. You two never said what you both thought of each other but knew that the other knew. 

You eventually grew skilled enough as a pilot that you were assigned your first mission. Poe had thrown you a huge party the night before, revving you up with all the other pilots. You had never remembered drinking as much as you had that night. It was some right of passage that all the other pilots had taken before you.

You woke up only to Poe throwing your uniform at you as he himself rushed to get ready, also hungover from the night before. You did your best to look presentable but knew that you still looked like the hot mess that you woke up as. The two of you raced to the landing strip and prepared yourself with the other two pilots that were assigned to your mission with you. Every one of you were lined next to your ship. You could barely pay attention as the commander went over the mission for a third time. You had studied the mission before countless times yet you still felt anxiety at how you were slacking off due to your hangover. The commander waved you off and you all started to board your ships. As you were about to place your first foot inside you noticed a small white bag laying on your seat with a note scribbled on it. “Returned the favor, hot shot,” you smiled and stuffed the bag into your pocket knowing that you were most likely going to vomit shortly.

You all took off without a problem, the mission was short, make some ruckus to distract the empire ship while a spy of yours jumped on board. While you were out it you managed to take out one of their cannons. 

“Nice one, oatmeal,” you heard Poe’s voice over the intercom. You looked out your window and saw him flying next to you on your guard, “fuck off,” you lipped to him. He made sure that the entire base knew you upchucked every time you got into a plane the first few times, resulting in your stunning nickname.

Just as you had said it your fighter came to an abrupt halt. You gasped and thought you had hit something but the bright light outside your ship made you realize you were being towed. “Shit.” You looked around and saw that you were quickly being pulled into the landing bay.

“Get out of there!” Poe yelled at you. You tried to jostle your console but the tow had disabled your ship. You could still hear everything that they were saying to you but you couldn’t even send out a signal.

“Poe, retreat.” Your commander came on ordering Poe. You knew the rest of the squad had to go. You could handle some roughing up. Poe’s ship was approaching you as he spun around.

“you idiot,” you mumbled to yourself.

He got closer, you looked back at the imperial ship and could see Kylo Ren standing at the docking bay. Double shit.

“Go,” you yelled as he got just close enough for both of you to be able to see each other, you were pointing away from the imperial ship at him.

Your ship just pulled into the bay there was more bright light than there was starry space. You could see his determination and thought for a second that he was going to be stupid enough to crash into the shield but he pulled up at the last moment.

Your heart sank despite that you knew he was safe, you were stuck.

You stayed in your seat until they opened up your fighter for you with several storm troopers pointing their guns right at you.

“Keep your hands up and step out slowly.” One of them said through.

You smirked and obliged. You were scared shitless but honestly humor is the only appropriate coping mechanism.

“You gonna handcuff me now,” you winked at them.

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 124: Lion 4: Alternate Ending

“Please tell me my destiny.”

We’ve had Ronaldo as a toxic gatekeeping fan intent on harassing the creator. We’ve had Lars as a disappointed fan whom the creator is desperate to impress. We’ve even had Navy as a false fan who’s only interested in robbing the creator’s spaceship (arguably a rarer breed than the first two). So now it’s time for the obsessive clue-hunter, who parses through the creation so deeply that the original meaning gets lost in the shuffle. And this time, our fan stand-in is Steven.

Lion 4: Alternate Ending is an episode about Steven trying to ruin Lion 3: Straight to Video. All the magic from that first glimpse of Rose Quartz threatens to be extinguished through overanalysis, to the point where his discovery of a new tape is met with dread instead of excitement. For all the Steven Universe fans that get frustrated by Steven not being as invested in the lore as they’d like, well, this is what happens when Steven gets as invested in the lore as you’d like. 

To be clear, I don’t think Steven succeeds in ruining Lion 3, especially because the conclusion of Lion 4 manages to enhance its predecessor. I also don’t think it’s a bad thing that he tries: it fits his post-Storm in the Room state to tear through whatever evidence he's got to figure out why he was born, and it’s properly painful to see him so desensitized to the wonder of Rose’s tape that he’s reduced it to a possible decoded message. What better way to express how Steven feels than tainting a pivotal moment with his mother?

I’m super into stories where a mystery to the characters isn’t a mystery to the viewer: the core example is Cowboy Bebop episode Speak Like a Child, where our 2070s crew is trying to solve the case of a strange antique object that a 1990s audience already knows is a videotape (although a fifth of the way through the twenty-first century, we’re already getting removed from an era where modern audiences would know what a Betamax is, even as a cultural relic). Because the writers don’t have to try to fool us, we can focus more on how the characters tackle a problem instead of trying to beat them to the punch with our own deduction skills. I wouldn’t call Lion 4 the most concrete example of this sort of story, as it’s not impossible that Rose was leaving encrypted messages behind, but to me at least the “twist” that Rose’s tape wasn’t part of some dubious master plan is obvious enough that I can just enjoy the ride.

“Enjoy” is perhaps the wrong word, because while this is an excellent episode, it’s not a fun one. There are comedic moments, because this is still Steven Universe, but watching a kid at the end of his rope struggling to understand his place in the world is bound to be harrowing stuff. Steven’s determination is compounded by his solitude: the Crystal Gems are pointedly absent, as the last time he asked them for answers his dad got abducted to a space zoo and it’s easy to confuse correlation with causation. So it’s just Steven and Lion for most of the episode, and it’s telling that Lion answers Steven’s final cry for help by bringing him to see his dad. Some things can only be fixed by talking, and for all his strengths, Lion isn’t a great conversationalist.

Before we get to Greg, this Steven/Lion solo outing uses constant activity to sidestep the dullness factor that bogged down Steven’s Lion. After a strong first impression of Steven’s mental state as he scours Rose’s tape for clues, going so far as to try to find meanings in anagrams, Lion revs up the plot by retching up a giant key. I love that Steven’s first thought is the same as mine, and likely yours: the chest in Lion’s mane that we first saw in Lion 3, which unlike Bismuth remained a mystery (and it still is, because we never saw what Steven found in there between Change Your Mind and the movie). Even though the key is comically oversized, Steven ignores the obvious and keeps trying to make it fit. So right off the bat, we get two little stories about Steven looking for answers where there clearly aren’t any and doubling down despite the futility out of sheer desperation for the truth.

From here we get a montage of past locations a la Marble Madness and Warp Tour, accompanied by a gorgeous medley of location themes from Aivi and Surasshu; I will never not complain that we don’t get to have an album of their scoring, because this episode’s soundtrack is one of their best. Visiting the Armory harks back to Lion 2 as the tape did for Lion 3, and we also get a glimpse of Rose’s Fountain and Rose’s Room to continue our references to the many known areas tied to Steven’s mom. When nothing works, Steven pleads with Lion for more information, aware by now that the cat has some answers.

While I’m not huge on Steven’s Lion as an episode due to the aforementioned dull pace, it’s awesome to see our heroes return to where Lion was first found. Buddy’s Book already did a great job of reminding us of Lion’s desert home, but now it’s time to finally investigate the area further. 

Jesse Zuke and Raven Molisee paired up for our last episode, leaving their usual respective partners Hilary Florido and Paul Villeco at bat for Lion 4. The ragtag team has so far given us rich visuals, with a particularly expressive Steven and Lion (crucial for the non-talking member of the duo) and a callback to the lovely settings of the past, but every aesthetic choice they make is topped by the desert run. It’s a beautiful shot, evoking the iconic ocean run of Lion 2, but Steven’s exhaustion (aided by Zach Callison’s beleaguered performance as he narrates his thoughts) tinges the scene with melancholy where there was once only magic. Steven’s desperation is no longer the frenzied need from when Greg was kidnapped, or even from the beginning of this very episode, but has been worn down to a weary determination that just breaks your heart. This is Charlie Brown after a yanked football too many; he hasn’t been thrown a single bone in his search for answers, and this might be his last chance.

I try not to include too many images in these reviews, because they can mess with the flow of the text, but screw it this shot is also amazing:

The pyramid-like structures leading to the locked door are the first we see of a new hidden getaway, and retrospect makes Steven’s plight even worse: as we learn in Legs From Here to Homeworld, all he had to do was touch one of them to get a major hint about Rose’s true identity. 

It wouldn’t have solved everything, as Garnet would likely assume they were spoils of war, Amethyst wouldn’t recognize them, and Pearl would keep her mouth shut. And it would’ve ruined the pacing of the mystery for such a strange hint to be presented, so from a storytelling perspective it makes total sense to keep this in the backburner. And it’s not like it’s that weird that Steven doesn’t feel compelled to touch what seems to be a couple of statues when he’s spent the whole episode looking for a lock and it’s right in front of him and he just survived hours of desert travel. But knowing what we know now adds to the drama of how close our hero is to the truth he deserves.

In yet another bummer, Rose’s hidden landfill is worn down to the point where most of the walls had collapsed, meaning Steven didn’t even need the key. Which isn’t to say the key wasn’t important, as it prompts his trip in the first place, but it’s just one more way that the universe seems to be throwing unnecessary hurdles at him. In the same vein, Lion not only could’ve warped him to the destination as he mentions, but he could’ve done so without hacking up the key in the first place. But we’re long past the point where we should expect straight answers from Lion, so I forgive the big lug.

The first thing that came to my mind when Steven saw the dump wasn’t Amethyst’s room, although there are obvious similarities. It was Greg’s storage locker, the place where we first talked about Rose all the way back in Laser Light Cannon, the place where Greg expressed confusion about why a magic woman fell for a regular guy like him. And as frustrated as Steven is, this room is a wonderful unspoken answer to that distant question: among Rose’s many imperfections was that, like Greg, she was kind of a slob. It’s so nice to have a mundane flaw after nearly a full season of focusing on her as a liar and murderer, especially a flaw that reminds us of why she and Greg were so great for each other.

But yeah, Steven isn’t interested in subtext, and his tantrum is both realistic and reasonable. He finds the tape for Nora by accident, right after kicking some garbage in anger, and this is where that Speak Like a Child oomph comes in. It’s crystal clear that the tape was a backup in case Steven was a girl, but he’s so primed for lies and complications that the obvious answer eludes him and he suspects the worst. I honestly can’t blame him. If you learned out of nowhere that your mom killed someone, who’s to say you don’t have secret siblings?

The contrast between harsh desert and soothing sunset is another treat for the eyes, readying is for a cooldown after two distressing acts. Greg’s excitement over seeing the old tape blinds him to Steven’s angst in a way that adds honest tension to the exchange, because he’s trying to give Steven a fun treat but has no idea how much anguish his son has been through to get to this point. To Greg, telling Steven the answers outright would be ruining the moment, but the wait is already killing the kid. In an episode without an external villain it’s such a clever way to present a final “confrontation” to overcome.

When we finally see the tape, it becomes even more apparent that it was a backup for a hypothetical daughter. Still, I love how the strange new version of a video we know and love is only half-seen, as we focus so much on Steven’s reaction at the expense of footage. Where he was once gazing at the marvels of a new glimpse of his mother, his eyes are now furrowed in frustrated concentration. As in Lion 3, he has a viewing partner, and Greg’s welling tears mirror those of Steven and Sadie from the first tape, highlighting that the Steven of the present isn’t feeling an ounce of tenderness.

Tears do come for Steven, but in the form of anxious release. When he’s told that he’s Nora, meaning he’s the person the tape was intended for, Steven still doesn’t get it and exclaims that he’s his mom and his sister; it’s sort of a joke, but boy is it rough to hear him slip that in some way he does see himself as his mom rather than his own person. So thank goodness he’s saying this stuff to Greg, who’s calm at first but leaps to the occasion when Steven frantically asks why he exists.

As is standard by now, Greg's got fatherhood down cold. He adjusts his tone to show he’s taking Steven seriously, but rather than jump in he sits his son down and lets him talk. He addresses Steven’s concerns gently but firmly, leaving no room for doubt that he’s loved and appreciated no matter what. He brings himself into the conversation by saying he changed his name, doing so not to turn the topic to himself but to reassure Steven that it’s okay to not be stuck on one identity. And just look at how perfectly our three main characters exist in the shot during this last talk:

Steven gets those happy post-tape tears after viewing the last part of the video, and our happy ending is earned, but it’s not a full victory. Rose still had issues, but at least Steven has gained some confidence back that she wasn’t all bad. He’ll go back and forth on how much guilt he feels for her actions, but at the very least he knows now that his decisions to try and atone for her mistakes are his to make, and not a mandate from a dead parent looking for an escape route.

Whiiiiiiich means that now he’s able to try and feign a sense of control over helpless situations by assigning blame to himself in new, exciting ways. Hey, it’s not like the show could’ve solved all his problems less than halfway through Act III of the series. Lion 4 thus doesn’t have the conclusive oomph of Lion 3, which closed a trilogy of Lion Episodes as well as the stage of the show where Rose was a well-realized but distant idea more than a full character. For all its strengths, Lion 4 feels much more like Just Another Episode. But that’s okay. It doesn’t owe the past a thing.

Future Vision!

Again, those pyramids return in a major way, because they’re not pyramids.

Greg talks about Garnet’s inability to predict things about Steven, which is an element of their relationship throughout the show but gets major focus soon in Pool Hopping.

Escapism blends the two big Lion Runs by setting it back on the ocean, but making the passenger an exhausted Steven facing one last ordeal before relief in the form of his dad with a guitar.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

It doesn’t make the top twenty, it does make the top twenty-five. Just like Bismuth right before our hundredth episode, this doesn’t mean much now, but it will next time, because I’m expanding again to a Top Twenty-Five when we hit the big One Two Five with Doug Out. 

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

That Will Be All

The New Crystal Gems

Storm in the Room

Room for Ruby

Lion 4: Alternate Ending

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist

The Zoo

Rocknaldo

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

Tiger Philanthropist

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest      3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

(Kind of unbelievable to me that a Lion Sequel doesn’t have official promo art, but luckily we have discount-supervillain’s measured take on what Nora Universe would realistically look like.)

[screensirenfic]

Black Leather - Chapter 39

What happened next was so fast, I barely had time to register it.

Steve was on the floor; Billy throwing punch after punch down on him as he forced him to fall further into unconsciousness.

I was standing shell shocked, shotgun limp in my hand at my side, because after all this time; I still couldn’t do it.

I still couldn’t shoot Billy.

Then out of nowhere, Max sprang to action, snatching up a needle of Will’s sedative from a side table, and plunging it into Billy’s neck without a seconds hesitation.

Billy’s head spun to see what happened; his hand rising to pull the syringe from his neck.

“The hell is this?” He asked; already breathless and slurred, although I couldn’t tell if it was kicking in already, or it was just exhaustion.

He rose unsteadily to his feet; all thoughts of Steve abandoned in favour of confronting Max, only to stumble on the first step.

“Max— what— the— hell’s— ths—“ He slurred, only for him to fall to his knees, before collapsing on his back on the floor.

His eyes began to flutter; his consciousness fading, and I could feel my stomach clenching; guilt and fear and worry bringing nausea bubbling in my throat.

Max had no such reservations, snatching up Steve’s forgotten nailbat and wielding it over Billy’s limp form.

“From here on out; you’re gonna leave me and my friends alone. Do you understand?” She ordered; the same wild look in her eyes that he had just five minutes ago.

“Screw... you.” Billy managed to slur from the floor; the curse sounding weak compared to his usual profanity.

Max swung the bat, embedding the sharp nails in the floor inches away from Billy’s crotch.

“SAY IT!!! SAY IT!!!” She screamed, and it scared me how much she sounded like him.

“O—Kay” Billy mumbled his eyes struggling to focus on the very implement that nearly ended his womanising ways for good.

“I couldn’t hear you...” She continued; wrenching the bat from the floor to wield as a threat again.

“I... I under— understand.” He slurred; his eyes barely staying open.

“What?!”

“I... understand...” He managed to repeat, before falling unconscious completely; his eyes falling closed.

Max dropped the bat to the floor; exhaling with relief as if she didn’t know she had that in her in the first place.

To be honest; no one did, the shared mood of astonishment and perhaps even approval still buzzing in the air.

Not me though.

I was still frozen solid; my hands shaking uncontrollably at my sides as I found myself unable to tear my eyes away from the unconscious blonde on the floor.

Then I heard a groan; my eyes shooting across to a still knocked out Steve laid out flat on the floor.

“Shit!” I cursed, throwing my shotgun to the floor, before rushing over to him, falling to my knees at his side.

“Steve... Steve; wake up—“ I pleaded; my hands reaching up to grab his bloodied cheeks, fingers stroking blood slicked hair away from his face.

“Steve; come on. You can wake up...” I continued to beg; hands shaking as they stained red with his blood, tears starting to fall down my cheeks.

———————————————————

He didn’t wake up.

He didn’t wake up; goddamnit!

But I could still see him breathing through the rise and fall of his chest; the gentle sighs and moans of pain as we attempted to carry him to Billy’s Camaro.

Max had wasted no time in snatching up his keys from his jacket and beckoning us out the front door.

We may be one man down, but my dad and El still needed us, and one close call tonight was already enough.

We’d piled into the car; me having done a slapdash first aid job on Steve’s injuries, which mostly consisted of cleaning away the blood and some micropore tape.

I probably should’ve insisted I drove, but my nerves were honestly too frayed to have to refresh myself with gear shifts, and really; I just wanted to be with Steve.

I knew he was gonna be alright; that he was just pretty beaten up and he’d heal, but I felt guilty.

Maybe if I hadn’t of been there, Billy wouldn’t have taken it so hard on him…

Maybe if I’d just shut my mouth and did what Billy asked; this never would’v—

No; I couldn’t be thinking like that.

Billy was a manipulative, controlling asshole, and he’d hurt Steve, and goddamnit!

Why did the idiot have to be so fucking noble?!

Couldn’t he have just let me take my beating like a man just this once?!

“Mhmmm— Lo—Lola”

I could feel him stirring against my leg; the position probably a little more incriminating than preferable, but it was the only way we could keep him suitably horizontal in the car without risk of further head injuries.

His cheek was pressed to the inside of my thigh; a thin trail of drool spilling out of his mouth and onto my leg, but I didn’t care; I’d just tease him about it later if he got better…

When he got better.

“It’s okay; Steve. I’m right here…” I cooed, gently threading my fingers through his thick hair, and trying to ignore the sticky sensation of the blood that clotted there.

He moved his head, nuzzling further into my thigh as one hand reached up to meet my own, fingering at the deep gash Billy had left there.

“Lo—“ He groaned, shifting to sit up a little more on the Camaro floor.

“Shhh, shhh.” I soothed; my hands reaching down to brace him as he moved to sit more firmly against the cushion go my seat.

“Take it easy, buddy. You took quite the ass kicking back there.” Advised Dustin from the seat next to me; a can of gasoline sloshing in his lap.

“What— What happened?” Steve mumbled, rubbing his hand insistently at the back of his head, only to pull it away and find it bloody.

“It’s okay; Steve. Just keep still.” I comforted him, gently stroking his hair in a bid to get him to relax.

He really didn’t need to see that there was a thirteen year old behind the wheel; let alone that she couldn’t reach the pedals without duck taping books to them.

Steve panicked enough without the added stress of a head injury, and I really needed to keep him calm if we had any hope of seeing this plan through.

“Okay, you're gonna keep straight for half a mile or so, then take a left on Mount Sinai…” Lucas instructed Max from the front passenger seat, and already I knew all hopes of it going unnoticed was lost.

Steve’s eyes shot to the two preteens sat in the front of the car, one of which was driving it with the same sort of tense hesitation that came when you went out on the open road for the first time.

“Don’t worry. She’s driven before—“ Assured Dustin, but to Steve it must’ve seemed anything but reassuring.

“In the parking lot…” Mike unnecessarily added; still not over the fact that despite my apparent panic, I still hadn’t let him drive.

“That counts—“ Lucas countered, taking his eyes off the spread map of Hawkins in his hands.

“Oh my God—“ Steve groaned, reality dawning upon him and panic setting in.

“Steve—“ I warned; really not needing him to freak out right now, when Max was stressed enough as it is.

“They wanted to leave you behind — But me and Lola said you’d be cool—“ Dustin tried to explain, but only succeeded in winding Steve up further.

“Oh my God!” Steve openly panicked on the floor of the backseat; his position and the bumps in the road leaving him unable to do anything but complain.

“Steve—“ I tried to get his attention again, but it really was no use when he was in full blown panic mode

“Stop!!— stop the car; STOP THE CAR!!” Steve yelled, struggling as if to stand, but clearly being unable to in the moving vehicle.

“I told you he’d freak out—!” Whined Mike; his attitude really not helping in the situation.

“Steve; calm down—“ I instructed; more firm this time, because the last thing we needed was Max to crash the car because of his screaming.

“STOP THE CAR!” Steve continued to yell; all thoughts of calm abandoned in the face of sheer panic.

“WOULD EVERYONE SHUT UP I'M TRYING TO FOCUS!!” Yelled Max, taking her eyes off the road for a second to glare back at us.

“That’s Mount Sinai—“ Interrupted Lucas, drawing all our attentions back to the front of the car.

“What—?”

“Turn left — LEFT!!” Yelled Lucas, just as we were about to miss the turning.

Max spun the wheel to a hard left; the tires squealing as the car fishtailed into the turning, whipping wildly from side to side.

My stomach lurched, and I could hear Steve screaming as we drove straight through a mailbox, before swerving back onto the road.

——————————————————

It didn’t take long for us to reach the pumpkin patch; Max’s driving, reckless but fast, much like her brothers.

She revved the car into the near barren field, driving straight over the “Pick Your Own Pumpkin” sign, before emergency braking to a halt mere metres from my dad’s tunnel.

She turned the engine off and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief, pleased to finally be stationary after what had been a hair raising ride.

Well; all of us, except Steve, who currently looked like he was gonna upchuck all over the Camaro’s upholstery.

“Whoa!!” Exclaimed Dustin; an exhilarated smile on his face.

“That was—‘ Began Lucas with that same thrilled grin, only to be interrupted by Steve flinging open the passenger door and racing outside.

BLURGHHH!

Steve puked all over the dirt outside, falling to his knees as he hurled up what must’ve been what’s left of this morning’s breakfast.

I climbed out of the car after him, reaching his side to put a steadying hand on his shoulder as he continued to heave and retch over his pool of vomit.

When I was sure nothing more would come up, I reached into my pocket, pulling what I was thankful was an unsoiled grease rag and handing it to him.

“Thanks…” He mumbled, wiping his face with the rag, before going to hand it back.

“Uhh… you can keep it—“ I declined, and I meant it!

There was no way I was taking Steve’s vomit home with me; no matter how many times he saved my ass.

I offered him a hand and he took it, before pulling him to his feet with a mighty heave.

He smiled at me; one of those grateful closed-lip smiled that made me melt inside.

I was so fucking thankful he was okay.

If something had happened, and it was my fault; I honestly don’t know what I’d—

“We should probably get back to the kids… Make sure they stay out of trouble…” He said, jolting my attention back to the mission at hand.

Gratitude could wait until later. We had rugrats to wrangle.