#also sorry for dunking on the buddie moms it will happen again

[poughkeepsies]

Buck&Eddie | No one's ever loved me like that

#this is a short one #as in it took approximately 1/1000th of every single other edit I've ever made to make #and the quality reflects it. so im throwing it into the ether #also sorry for dunking on the buddie moms it will happen again #911 abc #weewoo brainrot #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #911 edits

[medicinemane]

Saw a post saying how anyone who doesn't have any friends, it's just cause they're mean

Good to know my isolation is just cause I'm a mean person

It's got nothing to do with stuff like how my mom wouldn't let me go anywhere with anyone after school because she was so certain something terrible would happen (one of the few times I did that, she was constantly making me call to check in)

It's got nothing to do with the fact that after I admitted to the school that I was suicidal, one of the people I was closer to ended up breaking all ties with me because she just didn't know what to do to help. She never like... asked me, I could have said... I don't know, actually ever hanging out might help. It wouldn't fix me, but the company would be nice

In high school, basically everyone liked me pretty well, but I just wasn't close with any of them. They were all like "hey, good to see you" when they'd see me at school, but there was a zero percent chance of ever doing stuff outside school

Also... it's not like people mean different things with the word friends, it's not like it's on of those words that's stretched out to mean anything from friendly acquaintance and drinking buddy, all the way to a real best friend who you're super close with

It couldn't be that people saying how they didn't have friends aren't saying they've never been close to anyone in their life, it's that they've been extremely isolated and never been more than superficially close to someone

You know, right after I graduated, (and here's that exact problem, I call her my friend cause we got along, but we obviously weren't that close) my friend and I had agreed to just go get some coffee together, but then her long distance boyfriend got jealous

So I said to her "Listen, I literally haven't seen anyone all summer, I'm real nervous about college and this is really the only chance I'm going to have to actually talk with anyone, I'd really appreciate if we could just hang out"

She said not to make her choose, and obviously I'm not going to pressure someone (she later broke up with her boyfriend, who'd have guess he was a prick?). We never spoke again, not cause I was mad, she just never talked to me again... not really sure what I should have done differently that would have kept us friends (and once again, I call us friends, but I also 100% would say we were never friends, and it's all down to what kind of friend I'm talking)

You know, another thing this post said is how no one likes you if you're always trauma dumping, and perhaps that's the catch 22 here. This very post shows why I'm alone. For the record though, I'm not saying this stuff so anyone feels sorry for me, I kind of don't care

I'm saying this stuff to give examples, I'm saying this stuff to give perspective, I'm saying this stuff because this isn't the first time I've heard someone say this on here. A while back I saw people dunking on someone on reddit for basically being super depressed and saying roughly "no friends at 16, my life is over", and the whole thread on here was people saying how clearly he was a creep and a horrible person and a whiny loser and that's why

I give these details to give context, to give specifics

I've been friendless most of my life because I'm mean (the only people I've ever been close to are a few people I've met here)... well you're probably right

I'm not so sure you're that kind yourself though

You mock people for feeling isolated, you diagnose them as awful people. Why should I value your opinion

You want to know what I think? I think that this is that classic situation where it's no longer so nice to make fun of people for being mentally ill or developmentally disabled or things like that, so people push to make it that no, they just don't like people who are weird

You'd never hate someone for being autistic or something like that, but having no friends is just so creepy, and totally not something that people who have trouble with social cues might deal with

Like do you see what I'm saying?

I'm not every trying to be like "oh, everyone who says this hate all mentally ill people", I'm saying so often people who firmly believe their compassionate forget things like that maybe the people around them have depth and don't broadcast things like mental illness, and then they end up making fun of people for their mental illness without even intending to

You have no idea how much it feels like if I'm too depressed, for too long, too openly, everyone will just get tired of dealing with me like that one friend of mine did

I often get uncomfortable if I start opening up at all about how I'm doing, so I'll just redirect to a new subject (if it's directly with anyone, obviously I spew whatever garbage onto my blog, sometimes I need to scream and that's the only mouth I have)

Anyway, I didn't want to reblog the original post because... well a couple of reasons

One, I don't really like arguing, especially with people I don't think there's any chance of changing their minds

Two, I kind of prefer to talk about ideas rather than getting bogged down in a specific post. Like I said, this isn't the first time I've seen this thinking on here, it won't be the last I'm sure

Also it's not a full on reason, but I didn't want to put the person who put that post on my dash on blast. I was thinking of queuing it to create some temporal distance to make it less likely anyone thought I was pointing a finger specifically at them, but... I find myself just wanting to say this now

So there it is, I just find it cruel to blame people for their own isolation based on literally nothing but the phrase "I have no friends", which literally is the full evidence being used here

You've got no idea of their background, or their family, or any abuse, of anything going on for them like mental illness or physical disability. I mean, even if they have literally nothing up with them, perfect happy kid, maybe they just didn't find anyone they connected with, maybe their family moved a lot

You're making an awful lot of pretty damning assumptions about someone based on one phrase

Also I saw in some screenshoted tags someone had shared one person saying roughly "if you're a pleasant person, then people will be there for you in the dark times"... but you don't know that, you don't. People get tired of dealing with you, or maybe someone just doesn't have very nice people around them. Like that would be great, but be realistic, you can't say that, you don't know

Maybe try putting yourself in other people's shoes or even... learning a single detail, before you start insulting them... just a general suggestion

Anyway... there you have it, a long rambling, stream of consciousness post. I didn't intend to write that much, but I kept coming to things I thought were relevant

So there you are, you want to say "if you don't have friends it's because you're mean", well then I'm your villain. I had no friends growing up, I'm the exact person you're describing, so there it is

#mm tag so i can find things later

[bssaz97]

Fun Times #2

*Atlas, Red Queen Theatre*

If someone were to tell Whitley right now that he was acting very anxious, he would tell them that would be the understatement of the year. Whitley was waiting outside the entrance to the Red Queen, one of the most high class theatre in Atlas. How did he get reservations for a movie picture for ‘Hunter’s Cabin part 2’ on the night of its premiere one might ask? Well the easy answer was he received a monthly allowance of about 2.5 thousand lien and had a large number of connections to high class places due to his family’s name. The harder explanation was how he had to literally open a new bank account, one without his father’s knowledge and under his name rather so that Father wouldn’t be able to track it. Was it backhanded? Yes. Did he have regrets? Not particularly. Would he do it again? If it was the only way to meet Sun_Dragon without his family’s notice, then yes he would.

Which brings him here tonight, he’ll be meeting Sun_Dragon in person for the first time so yes he felt had good reason to be anxious. Why? Well while he knows his family is very influential in Atlas there comes a drawback to such influence. That would be social media. If he were to come dressed as Whitley Schnee, then the paparazzi would come in as a snowstorm and most likely scare her off. He wanted this night to happen as natural as possible. So that’s why he came prepared in his disguise; a dark blue herringbone newboy cap, a gray tweed knee length trench coat, a blue/silver/gray scarf, leather gloves for hands, and a pair of nonprescription glasses. This way he will stand out but not too much to get recognized as a heir to multi-billion lien company. He just hopes that she will be here soon, but at the same time does not wish to rush her arrival as he tries to formulate a greeting to her when she does come.

Yang: White Knight?

Whitley quickly turns toward the source of his voice and turned to see the person he was waiting for and....she was much more beautiful in person than a picture could ever hope to convey. Sun_Dragon was adorned tonight with her huntress outfit that she wore in most pictures he saw her in. He supposed when one made a career in fighting literal monsters of darkness, one always had to be ready. It honestly didn’t bother him at all though, she looked great in it.

Whitley:(Smiles) Sun_Dragon, I’m glad to finally meet you face to face.

Yang: Could say the same, like the hat!

Whitley: Oh thank you! You look good yourself....

Yang: ....Well I guess we should get going to see the movie right?

Whitley: Oh! Yes, you’re right. We should do that! Shall we. (Offers right arm)

Yang: Pfff, sure whatever you say Knight.

With that both of the online friends make their way inside. Both haven’t not stopped smiling yet.

*Mantle, Blum Cinema*

The group consisting of RNJRP having made their way to the local theatre, wait in line to buy tickets for the premiere of “Kill Softly part 4” featuring Spruce Fillis. Both Ruby and Jaune were fans of the first trilogy and had been anticipating the release of the fourth installment of the movie. Ren and Nora have also have seen the first three movies and while Ren thought they were ok, Nora absolutely loved the action of the films. So while they all waited they helped fill in the gaps to Oscar who had not seen any of the movies at this point.

Oscar: So pretty much all the movies starring Spruce Willis are about his character stopping terrorist plots in multiple places.

Ren: That would be the quick summary, yes.

Nora: And he blows stuff up! Don’t forget that part!

Once getting to the head of the line, all five friends walk up to the ticketing booth to pay for their entry. Once there they met a familiar face..... to one of them at least.

Jaune: Mrs. Lars?!

Mrs. Lars/Casserole Mom: Jaune? Oh my gods what are you doing here?!

Jaune: Well we were gonna see a movie here, I didn’t know you worked here.

Ruby:(Mentally) ‘ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!!!’

Mrs. Lars: Actually I work here as a part time manager over the weekend. But it’s so funny seeing you outside of Ginger’s school. What movie are you all watching tonight?

Jaune: Well we are coming to see ‘Kill Softly part 4’, four adults and one minor.

Ren: Um Jaune. (Gestures towards Ruby and points at a sign on the glass panel)

G: All children are welcome.

PG: Children may need to bring a parent.

PG-13: No children under the age of 13 without a Parent/Guardian.

R: No children under the age of 18 without Parent/Guardian.

NC-18: No children under the age of 18. Adults only.

Jaune:(Sheepish) Uuuhhhh. Actually can you switch those tickets for three adults and two minors please.

Ruby: Huh?! (Looks at sign, smushing her face on glass) Oh come on! They have this stupid thing here too! I’m a licensed huntress and still can’t do anything! (Puffs her cheeks irritably)

Oscar: It’s not all that bad being a minor, tickets cost less. (Smiles)

Ruby: But it’s so humiliating! I worked hard to build my mature image, and I still can’t be considered a adult. (Crosses arms and pouts)

Jaune:(Pats her head while giving Mrs. Lars the lien for tickets) If it’s any consolation, I still think you’re a adult.

Ruby:(Eyes go wide and blushes lightly) Helps a little...

Mrs. Lars: Alright, here are your tickets Jaune.

Jaune: Thanks.......Wait, these are premium seats. I didn’t pay for these.

Mrs. Lars: You didn’t need to. Consider this another gift of mine that isn’t just another casserole.~ (Giggles while winking)

Ruby:(Mentally) ‘OK NOW YOU’RE NOT EVEN TRYING TO HIDE THE FLIRTING!’

Jaune: Oh! Well thanks I really appreciate it then, hope the rest of your shift goes good.

Mrs. Lars: Anytime.~

Ruby:(Grumbles)

With that all five of them move to the door and enter the cinema. Once inside they show the tickets to the a man on the podium and he promptly points the way to their marked screen room.

Jaune: So does anyone want to get any refreshments or snacks before the movie starts.

Nora: Ooo~ Movie food! I’ll have a extra large popcorn, a blue Freezi, a salted pretzel with honey mustard-

Jaune: Ok so one ‘Nora special’, got it!

Nora: Thank you fearless leader!~

Jaune: Anything you want Ren?

Ren: I’ll have some iced tea if they have.

Jaune: Got it! Anything for you Oscar.

Oscar: Mmm, I think I’ll have some Red Whips and a Dunk a Cola.

Jaune: Sure thing buddy. What about you Rubes, anything you want?

Ruby:(Whispers) A cane to beat the hussies.

Jaune: What’s that Rubes, couldn’t hear you.

Ruby:(Smilies) Oh nothing just thinking! Mmmmm. I’ll have hotdog with ketchup, a medium popcorn, and a red Freezi.

Jaune: Gotcha, well if you guys want to grab the seats I’ll get the snacks!

Oscar: Isn’t that a lot stuff to carry on your own?

Jaune: It’s alright, I’m kinda used to carrying a lot of stuff with me growing up with-

Ruby/Ren/Nora: ‘Growing up with seven sisters.’

Jaune: See now you’re getting it!

Oscar: Still, one of us should stay to help.

Ruby: I can stay! Yang usually gets me to grab the goods back when we were little so I don’t mind.

Jaune: If you want to, Ruby. I won’t stop you.

Once the group go separate ways the two leaders make their way to the concession stand. After waiting five minutes in line they finally make it to the cashier..... Who they already met before.

Jaune: MRS.LARS!

Mrs. Lars: Hey! Just got out of the registry seat so now I’m helping with concessions!

Ruby:(Mentally) ‘SERIOUSLY!’

Jaune: But you...we just saw....ok. Anyway I kinda got a long list of things hope you don’t mind.

Mrs. Lars: Oh don’t worry about that honey. It’s my pleasure!

Ruby:(Mentally) ‘I’m about to slap a bitch.’

Jaune: Ooookay. Well I will need a extra large popcorn, one blue Freezi, one pretzel with honey mustard, a churro, a box of Sour Kids, a medium unsweetened iced tea if you have, a box of Red Whips, one small sized Duke a Cola, one red Freezi, a hotdog with ketchup, a medium popcorn, and for me I’ll have a medium Spurts with a medium popcorn as well with layered butter. Did I get everything Rubes?

Ruby:(Staring blankly at Mrs. Lars) Yep that’s everything.

Mrs. Lars: Great! Just give me once sec, and I’ll be right back. (Walk to the side to start getting everything set)

Ruby stares plainly at the young mother as she works tracking her every move as a hunter stalks a deer. She looked like a fast worker, so she already looks to have half the order almost done. A mature woman with good work ethic and younghful energy, a easy guise to fool young men to fall prey to the claws of the cougar. Not while this silver eyed eagle was around.

Jaune:(Looks at her with concern) Everything ok Ruby?

Ruby:(Smiles brightly at him) Oh yeah I’m good, no need to worry about me!

Jaune: You sure? If it’s about the whole ‘minor’ thing you can talk to me you know. I’m sorry if it came across as offensive.

Ruby: Huh? Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! You don’t need to worry about that it’s not a whole big thing, I know you guys didn’t mean it so it cool!

Jaune: Mmmm. Ok, if you say so.

Mrs. Lars: Here we are!

With the short time both Ruby and Jaune talked, it seemed Mrs. Lars spent getting there order done. With exceptional timing as well.

Jaune: Wow! That was probably the quickest service I ever had.

Mrs. Lars: I do my best for all my costumers!

Ruby:(Growls silently)

Jaune: Alright so what’s my balance looking like?

Mrs. Lars: Well with all the items here it should come up to 41 Lien.

Jaune: Wait that’s it? I don’t mean to seem unappreciative, but that seems way too low a price for the things we’re getting.

Mrs. Lars:(Smiling) Oh that’s because I gave you the 30% Huntsman discount. So you saved 9 lien with your purchase. Very good deal right.

Jaune: WOW! That’s....great. Thanks Mrs. Lars.

Mrs. Lars: Oh please, enough with the Mrs. Lars, makes me feel like a old woman. Call me Daisy.

Ruby:(Mentally) ‘Great! Now I have a full name to put on your tombstone!’

Jaune: Ok, well we should probably get going, thanks for the help Mrs.- I mean, Daisy.

Daisy: My pleasure Jaune.~ Enjoy the movie.

With this, both leaders make their way towards the cinema room for the movie and once inside they find Nora, Ren and Oscar sitting in the marked premium seating. Slowly walking up the stairs Jaune moves past the other guests to reach his team. Once making it to them he gives out the snacks and beverages they asked for. Meanwhile Ruby sits down in her assign seat with a neutral face and doesn’t seem to acknowledge anybody around her. Probably because while she is calm on the outside, her mind was brewing a storm.

Ruby:(Mentally) ‘Daisy. DAISY!!! Since when did they get on a first name basis now! It must have been at some point because I never heard Jaune call Casserole Witch by her first name. And what’s with all the ‘My Pleasure’ nonsense! It’s like she’s dropping land mines to catch him in her web of lust and perversion! Well not on her watch! No thank you Casserole Mom, but Jaune Arc is off limits!.....Even if technically he is free territory at the moment.’

Ruby looks to see Jaune almost blissfully unaware of what the temptress tried to do to him. His poor innocent, dense as a brick mind couldn’t probably detect that the single mother was trying to flirt with him.

Ruby:(Mentally) ‘Don’t worry Jaune I’m not letting that temptress get her ugly claws on you. It’s my territory she’s crossed and this reaper doesn’t share! .....Even if you’re not technically mine yet. It still stands!’

The War has begun!

#rwby lancaster #ruby rose #jaune arc #rwby frozen dragon #yang xiao long #whitley schnee #lie ren #nora valkyrie #oscar pine #casserole mom #comedy #ruby getting territorial #fun times

[curiosity-killed]

backstage

pure self-indulgent ballet AU fluff

Warnings: none Pairing: Shallura Word count: 3367

After the accident, he stayed away for so long because he thought it would hurt too much to see how much he’d lost. The moment he steps back into the studio, though, Shiro knows his fear was for nothing. It’s been years, and he is out of practice. His developpés aren’t as high, his leaps as long. When he gets done with class, his whole body is sore. But the joy that bubbles up in his chest like champagne – that is still exactly the same. Life is a little more vivid when he’s dancing, like everything is a little more real, a little more felt. His very soul sings. So when Allura asks him to help with the soloists, he’s happy to agree. He’s grown to like teaching, and it’s nice to give back to the academy. It’s also a good excuse to spend more time in the studio – and with Allura.

Lance and Pidge have grown so much since he danced with them that it’s a little disorienting to work with them. They’ve both become beautiful dancers, skilled beyond what he could have guessed when they were in middle school. Some things, though, haven’t changed.

“Shiro! Look!” He turns from his phone and blanches. Both Pidge and Lance wear blinding grins – it’s just that the former is upside down. Pidge hangs from Lance’s flexed arm by her knee, beaming. Shiro’s heart jolts. One wrong move and their Sugarplum Fairy is going to be in the hospital with a concussion. It’s his job to tell them to knock it off. On the other hand, though, it’s an impressive lift. Part of Shiro wants to try it out himself, and the other part is already thinking of how it could be incorporated into choreography. He’s seen something similar before on Instagram but never considered it an option in their studio. He settles on a compromise. “Lance, set her down – carefully!” he says. “We’re working on Nutcracker right now, not contemporary.” They give matching pouts but do as told, just in time for Allura to walk in. She catches the moment Pidge’s feet touch the ground and shoots Shiro a questioning look. He shakes his head slightly and mouths ‘later.’ She’s smiling as she turns to set her notebook down on the bench and start rehearsal. After one of the evening rehearsals, they wind up sitting on the floor together, sharing scars. Shiro’s is the more obvious, of course, but he can’t help wincing in shared pain as Allura tells him about her hip.

“It’s okay,” she says when she catches his expression. She stops herself and shakes her head slightly. “I mean, it’s not – it was awful when it happened. It felt like my whole body had betrayed me. But now, I don’t mind as much. I still get to dance, even if it’s not the way I once did. And I’ve grown stronger in ways I didn’t know I was weak. I don’t mind it so much anymore.” She says it with a gentle smile, as if she knows what Shiro was thinking. They’ve known each other for so long, she probably does. He can’t imagine her without dance. For years, she’d been the shining star of their studio, and she’d had such plans beyond their little city. Just thinking of the agony she had to feel at having her dreams brought down around her by some ice and an unlucky fall is nearly unbearable. It had to have been so much worse for her. “And now I get to dance with you again,” she adds. “It could have been much worse, in all.” It’s hard to believe he could ever make up for her loss, but the softness in her eyes when she looks at him almost makes Shiro believe it. Tech week comes before he’s ready, and the week itself is chaos. After it’s over, tech week always seem to be glazed in a golden highlight, and he’s surprised by how insane the week is. Neither Lance nor Pidge is the fussy type, and Shiro finds himself pleasantly surprised by how well they behave. He knows they’re more mature than they act when they’re allowed to let loose, but it’s still heartwarming to see them take on roles as leaders within the studio. More than once, he finds Pidge helping out with costumes backstage, and he even catches Keith and Lance working together to corral some of the younger kids. Keith spots him and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he turns back to their task. If Allura rests, it’s only in blinks. After receiving a text from her at two A.M. about the show, Shiro resolves to talk to her, but it’s hard to get a word in edgewise during rehearsal. There’s a lot of pressure on her, he knows; it’s the first winter since she took over the studio from Alfor, and the Nutcracker is a holiday tradition. Expectations are high, and if it doesn’t live up to them, the studio will suffer. Unlike a new show, people have a set image when it comes to this one. As Shiro’s mom used to say, people are a lot quicker to pick up on mistakes when it’s something they’ve seen a hundred times before. For Allura’s sake, the show needs to go perfectly. He picks up extra hours to help relieve some of Allura’s workload. He can’t do it all, he knows, but he can take care of things like paperwork and expense reports so she can focus on the show itself. If he winds up getting less sleep than he did in college – well, it’s only one week. He’ll manage. It works until Allura catches him on the Friday of tech, dark shadows under his eyes and double-shot in hand. She cocks an eyebrow, glancing between him and the coffee. “I’m fine,” he protests preemptively. “You need to sleep, Shiro,” she scolds. “If you run yourself down like this, you’ll get sick.” It’s a pretty obvious pot and kettle situation, and when he looks pointedly at the thermos in her hand, she flushes. “Fine!” she relents. “But only this time.” He grins and salutes with his travel mug, as if either of them actually believe that. Allura suppresses her smile only poorly. On the morning of the Saturday shows, Shiro finds himself crouched in the crossover reassuring Hunk. Their Snow King, it appears, has gotten cold feet. “What if I mistime it? What if I go too late and Shay gets hurt or go too early and she’s not ready,” he says. “Or if my grip isn’t right and she falls or – or –“ “Hunk.” He meets Shiro’s eyes with a startled look, as if he had forgotten Shiro was even there. Given how quickly Hunk’s mind works even when it isn’t fueled by anxious energy, Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs. “And listen. You’ve practiced this for months. You and Shay have done every step in this pas a hundred times over. Today, tonight – it’s no different. Your body knows the steps, knows how to do all the lifts and turns. You could do this in your sleep.” Hunk’s expression doesn’t look totally convinced; he side-eyes Shiro a little worriedly. Still, he exhales and gives a shaky little nod. With a sniff, he wipes at the tears under his eyes and gives another nod. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. Sorry, I – I just–” Shiro wraps his arm around Hunk’s shoulders and pulls him in for a partial hug. “Don’t worry about it, Hunk,” he soothes. “Everybody gets nervous. The fact that you keep going even when you’re scared just makes you brave.” There’s another sniff, and Hunk dunks his head. Shiro shifts his arm to gently rub circles into Hunk’s back. He’s always been the most anxious of the students, but he’s always pushed through, too. Shiro really does admire that about him. “Thanks Shiro,” he mumbles. “Of course, buddy,” he says. He gives Hunk’s shoulder one more squeeze. “Now come on, don’t want frozen toes out there.” Hunk laughs at that, a startled bubble of noise, and Shiro smiles in triumph. He helps Hunk up and leaves him to finish warming up. Backstage, it’s a madhouse of snowflakes and dolls in the middle of warming up. The matching tutus are interspersed with bright colored shrugs and striped legwarmers, and Keith stands out like a scarlet stoplight. From what Shiro can see, he appears to be in the middle of some sort of contest with one of the students that Shiro doesn’t know very well – James, by the name emblazoned on the back of his jacket. For a moment, Shiro debates breaking them up. They really don’t need any raised tensions on show day, and they definitely don’t need someone pulling a hamstring because they were forcing a heel-in-hand stretch. “You know, if we planned ahead, we could have quite a pas de deux with those two next semester.” He hadn’t heard Allura step up beside him, but he’d felt the warmth of her proximity. He looks over with a raised eyebrow, trying to see if she’s serious. She meets his gaze and gives a little shrug. “Think Violente but less peppy,” she offers. Her hair’s pulled up in a bun, the kind of sleek look that she’d do in two minutes flat before class back when they danced together. There’s no hairspray this time, though, and little wisps curl like frost against her cheeks. With the house lights backlighting her, she is luminous. “Or War, from Coppelia,” Shiro muses, turning back to the teenagers. In the time he was looking away, some conclusion must have come between the two; their legs have both returned to the ground, and James turns away from Keith with a dismissive hand gesture. Behind him, Keith looks a little smug. When he catches Shiro watching, though, a flush turns his cheeks pink and he quickly looks away. “I’ll go check on James,” Allura says. “Why don’t you check on Keith?” He gives a little salute, already headed over. Keith sees him coming and wrinkles his nose, as if expecting a lecture. Instead, Shiro reaches over to ruffle Keith’s hair; he has the entire first act to hairspray it back into place. “Shiro,” Keith whines, knocking his hand away. “You ready?” Shiro asks. Keith shrugs, nonchalant. He’s always been small, and that doesn’t seem likely to change, but he’s grown a lot in the last three years. It’s like all that anger and fear had somehow condensed him, pulled into something tightly wound and ready to spring. Now, though, it’s relaxed to let him settle and fill out into a confident young man and leader. “Sure,” he says. “Romelle and I’ve done it a hundred times.” The contrast with Hunk makes Shiro smile a little. He ignores that in favor of giving his best friend a little grief. “You two do make a good couple,” he remarks. “Lot of chemistry there.” “The height helps,” Keith says, oblivious. “Couple years ago, I would’ve been too short for her.” “But now you’re a perfect match,” Shiro continues. He can see the moment Keith catches on; he straightens slightly and his eyes narrow just-so. Grinning, Shiro presses a little further. “You know Arabian has a history of getting couples together,” he points out. “Zethrid and Ezor, Colleen and Sam, even Zarkon and Haggar…” “You and Allura,” Keith chimes in. Shiro stammers, caught off-guard. He should’ve known better, but he wasn’t prepared for Keith to retaliate. Now, his fumbling just makes it more embarrassing; he can feel his cheeks heating up scarlet. “Well, it doesn’t always work that way,” he finishes lamely. “Mhm,” Keith says, a little smug. “Sounds like it’s not the role after all.” In lieu of a better response, Shiro knocks their shoulders together and lets it go. Keith grins. They’re quiet together for a few moments, watching the little kids file up from the dressing rooms in their satin dresses and little suits. The adults are already up in the wings, coupled up, and Shiro catches sight of Sam and Colleen Holt across the way. He lifts his hand in a wave, and they both beam as they wave back. “You know, you could’ve done it this year,” Keith says. Shiro looks over, a little startled by the non sequitor. Keith isn’t looking at him; he’s shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and popped one foot forward in a half-hearted calf stretch. “Even if you didn’t want to do Cavalier or whatever, you could’ve done Snow or Arabian still,” Keith continues. “Russian, even.” Shiro cants his head, considering. Keith’s not wrong; though Shiro’s out of practice, he could have pushed himself enough to do one of the variations at least. He’s done all of them enough times that he can still mark the choreography in his dreams. “Maybe,” he agrees. “But I’d rather ease back in than stress myself out trying to get up to that level so soon. Anyway, you guys deserve the roles you got. I wouldn’t want to take one of them away from you out of some weird seniority.” There’s also a part of him that would feel wrong about dancing any of the duets while Allura was forced to watch from the wings. He’s danced with others before, and he loves ballet for more than his partners. But Allura is special. If he were to come back to his home studio to perform now, after everything, he would want to share it with her. He opts not to tell Keith that. “I should go check in with Ro,” Keith says, straightening up. “She wanted to go over opening again.” Beyond them, past the bright lights of the stage, Shiro can hear the overture start. The audience is hushed and the wings filled only with whispers. Excitement prickles across his nerves like little drops of light. “If I don’t see you before, I know you’ll do great,” he says. “Just remember to breathe and not rush.” “Yeah, yeah, patience,” Keith interjects, teasing. He’s smiling, though, and Shiro knows he isn’t actually annoyed. Reaching out, he gives Keith’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Merde,” he says. Keith replies with his hand on Shiro’s arm and a smile, and then they separate. Now that it’s showtime, Shiro doesn’t have an official station. The volunteers and parents have commandeered the quick change area, and the wings are cleared of everyone but crew and dancers. He helps where he’s needed backstage and watches Arabian from the wings, cheering when Keith and Romelle finish the grueling dance. Keith grins as he enters the wing, and Shiro tugs him into a big hug, sweat and all. For the rest of the show, though, he finds himself watching the TV in the crossover. It’s quiet and still, and he’s out of the way of the people who are actually working here. They’re in the middle of Waltz of the Flowers when Allura finds him. “Are you hiding?” she asks. He turns to her with a laugh, a little startled. He hadn’t heard her enter. "Just trying to stay out of the way," he admits. "I'm not used to not having a job." Allura breathes out a laugh and walks over to join him. She bumps her shoulder into his arm gently and smiles. "It does leave you at a bit of a loss for what to do," she agrees. On the TV screen, Dewdrop twirls across stage in a series of pique turns that culminates in a back-breaking arabesque as the corps re-enters. "She's grown so much this last year," Allura remarks. "They all have, really. I'm so proud of how they've stepped up this year." "They've had a great role model to lead them," Shiro says, resting his hand on her shoulder. She looks up at him with a smile that's soft and intimate and sets something warm unfurling in his chest. If he leans a little more into where their arms touch, there's no one here to tell. Onscreen, the waltz comes to an end in a flurry of swirling pink tutus and the crowd erupts in applause as they dance offstage. It grows quiet, then, anticipation hushing the audience both in the seats and in the wings. Pidge and Lance step from the shadows in graceful unison, as if they were formed of the very same essence. The smiles they wear aren't the giddy grins of the younger dancers but something a little subtler, almost regal. Beside him, Allura lets out a little sigh. It’s half contentment and half something like wist. Looking up at the TV, there’s no envy in her expression but perhaps something like nostalgia. Remembering the last time she danced it, perhaps, or maybe the last time she walked across that stage as something other than a teacher. On a whim, Shiro offers out his hand. Allura looks up, surprised. He smiles. “C’mon,” he offers. “It’s been ages,” Allura protests. “I probably can’t even do most of it.” Shiro shrugs but doesn’t drop his hand. “So it’ll just be for us,” he says. “There’s no audience here.” For a moment longer, it seems she really will say no. Then, she relents with a little smile as she sets her hand delicately over his and steps into a sous-sus to match Pidge’s on the TV. Her leg unfolds to ninety degrees instead of the high developpé onscreen, and her tennis shoes squeak against the floor as he turns her in a promenade. When she goes to pirouette, the sole sticks against the marleyed floor, and they both have to stifle laughter. It’s no performance for the history books or even for the stage. It was never meant to be. It’s only for the two of them. The old familiar steps look a little different now than they did six years ago when they last performed them. The way their bodies move through them has changed, but they meet each other in the middle and gently reacquaint themselves. They’ve each grown while apart, but it seems they grew in the same directions; moving together comes as easily as if they were born to it. The last lift turns into more of a hug than any real step, and Allura is laughing softly as Shiro spins her around with her arms extended and face tilted toward the light. Her delight sets a smile over his lips, enchanted. As the music softens to a close, he lets her slip carefully down through his arms till her feet touch the ground. Her arms follow, settling around his shoulders. One hand just barely brushes through the short hair at the nape of his neck. There’s a flush warming her cheeks, and her eyes are lit with the blue of the crossover lights. Curls have escaped her bun and fall gently against her cheeks. Neither one of them makes a move to separate. Allura’s hand slides forward to cup his jaw, her head tilting slightly. She glances up at him just once, as if to ask permission. He gives it freely. It’s a gentle kiss, nearly chaste. Her lips are soft and he can feel the bite of her chapstick on his own – mint and beeswax, the kind she’s always worn. His hand spreads against the low of her back, pulling her closer to him, and hers curls in his hair. Her thumbtip brushes against the edge of his scar, sending a little shiver through his skin. They separate just briefly and only so far as to let them both catch their breath. “Thank you, Takashi,” she murmurs. “You never have to thank me for anything,” he answers, leaning back in. The music of Lance’s solo starts, and Shiro knows they should watch. He’s been working hard for this, and they should be there to cheer both him and Pidge on in their moment in the spotlight. They will – in a moment. For right now, Shiro lets himself ignore the TV and the stage and the audience far beyond. The only star he needs is right here in his arms.

#shallura #shiro #allura #voltron #voltron ficlet #ballet au #my writing #:) #this was just sappy nonsense #also highkey missing Nut rn :< #going from ALL THE DANCE to no dance at all is r o u g h

[themadlostgirl]

Not Dead Yet (Part 73)

*I will be uploading Not Dead Yet to AO3 after I finish it on tumblr. It is going to go through a bunch of editing, trimming and the reader is getting an OC name. Other than that same old story. Alright let’s do this!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: Language

I was sitting in the kitchen going over some homework. It was numbing my brain. When am I going to need algebra in life? This is ridiculous. Why won’t senior year end?

My phone rang and I jumped at the chance for a distraction from the quadratic formula. It was Ms. Mills.

“Hello? Henry? No, I haven’t seen or heard from him all day. Has something happened? Missing? Oh well I know some boltholds of his I could check out. Yes, of course, I’ll call you if I hear anything. Bye.”

“Something wrong, Marigold?”

“Henry Mills is missing. I’m going to head out and see if I can find him. I promise I’ll be back by curfew.” I closed my textbook and started to tug on my shoes.

“You’ll be back by dinner.” mom corrected me, “Stay safe.”

“Always am.” I was already pulling on my jacket, “Bye.”

I stopped by his castle first. It was a little rusted playhouse on the beach that he always loved playing on. I knew that if he ever needed time away he would go there first. Unfortunately he didn’t seem to be there this time. This was a small town but there were a lot of hiding places. Dangerous hiding places. The woods alone could take days to search. I hope he hadn’t gone far.

The next couple of hours I spent wandering around town but Henry was AWOL. He’s ten, how far can a ten year old get in a couple hours? It was getting late and I headed home for dinner. Mom and dad asked whether Henry had been found but I was sad to say that no such progress had been made.

The next day before school I stopped by Ms.Mills office and asked if Henry had been found. She was glad to inform me that he had been safely returned late the night before. She also wanted to pay me to walk Henry from school. I could tell she was just worried about him since he had up and disappeared so I took the request in stride. Five extra bucks to walk him down main street? Done.

I waited outside the school for Henry’s class to exit. I watched the short heads stream out the doors but Henry’s was not among them. Where was he? Behind the kids Ms. Mills strutted out looking peeved. “Ms. Mills?”

“Marigold,” Ms. Mills stopped, “Have you seen Henry?”

“No. I was waiting to take him home like you asked. Is he missing again.”

“It would appear so.”

“I can go look for him again. It wouldn’t be a bother.”

“Don’t worry yourself. He couldn’t have gotten far. Go enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you if I see him.”

“Thank you, Marigold. I’ll be sure to inform you when he’s been found.” She walked off again. A moment later another woman walked out of the school that I had never remembered seeing before. These past couple days are strange. I got a call an hour later telling me that Henry had been found...again. Keeping an eye on this boy may just be worth more than five dollars an hour.

As I was sat around the dinner table with mom and dad we had the same old small talk about work and school. The only real thing of interest was the woman that had come to Storybrooke, Henry’s birth mother. That was just lovely. No wonder things were all mucked up. Ms. Mills was an intimidating woman and a very protective mother. Throw in your adopted son’s birth mother and things just got even more complicated. At least there was something going on in this town for once.

Apparently I was right about things changing. Ever since Henry’s bio mom came to town things had started happening from the clocktower finally moving to the John Doe in the hospital coming out of his coma.

From then on things just kept getting stranger. Sheriff Graham died, Ms. Blanchard became the town harlot and was framed for murder just to be proven innocent. My schedule with Henry had gotten thrown all out of whack what with all the chaos. When I did get to watch him he was always antsy to get away. So to keep him in place I asked him about the one thing he could never shut up about, fairy tales. His fairy tales.

“So let’s go over the list shall we?” I pulled out my notebook. One of the things that kept him interested was figuring out who all the townspeople were in relation to his storybook. Ms. Blanchard was Snow White, the John Doe aka David was Prince Charming, Doctor Hopper was Jiminy Cricket. “Any new discoveries since we last met?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” he said with a smile, “Can I have the pencil?”

“Here ya go buddy.” I handed it to him. “Hey Henry, you never told me something.”

“What?”

“If everyone in this town is a storybook character which one do you think I am?” I asked. This was something I had been curious to but never questioned.

“I don’t know.” he shrugged, “Who do you think you are?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you had an idea.” I sighed.

“Don’t worry. Soon the curse will be broken and you’ll remember who you are again.” Henry assured me.

“Well that is a relief.” I peeked over his shoulder to see his new notes. “How are things going? I know things with your two moms have been hectic to say the least.”

“It’s all in plan with Operation Cobra.” Again with Operation Cobra. He never told me anything about that. I didn’t mind so much.

After he was done I packed everything back up. Ms. Mills came home later after I tucked Henry into bed. She paid me and I left. She didn’t look so good but I felt that it wasn’t my place to ask if anything was wrong. Ms. Mills has gotten a lot more sensitive since the arrival of Emma and I didn’t want to test my luck with her, even if it was well intentioned.

I was upstairs in my room doing even more homework when I got the sense that something was wrong. There was a certain uncomfortable tension that buzzed in the air and made it hard to focus.

“Marigold!” mom shouted up to my room, “Get down here!”

“What? What’s happened?” I rushed downstairs.

“That one boy you babysit, Henry, he’s in the hospital.” she said.

“The hospital?” I gasped, “What happened? Is he alright?”

“I was in the middle of a call with Francene from the hospital when Henry got rushed in. Apparently he was knocked out or poisoned or something and he’s not doing too well.”

“Oh my god,” I mumbled, “I need to get to the hospital. I need to check on him.”

“I’ll drive you.” mom and I rushed out to the car and we were at the hospital in minutes. I ran down to where the most commotion was and saw Henry being hooked up to all these machines and the doctors and nurses flying about looking for answers. Oh god…

“Nurse,” I stopped one of the nurses, “Is he alright? What happened to him?”

“We don’t know yet but we’re doing our best. Now please go to the waiting room, this area is overcrowded as it it.” she said and pushed past me.

Please let Henry be alright.

I sat in the waiting room along with some others as we waited for any news about Henry. The day grew longer and I felt like my brain had been dunked in one of Granny’s deep fryers. Please oh please just let Henry come out of this alive. He needed to live. Just let that little heart of his keep beating!

One of the nurses walked out to the waiting room and called Henry’s name. Everyone waiting in the vicinity stood. “Is he okay?” my throat clogged up.

She shook her head. “We did what we could but he didn’t make it. Whatever was afflicting him we were unable to find it before it was too late. He’s gone.”

“No…” I choked, “H-He can’t be. He has to live! There is so much more that he needs to do! He can’t be dead.”

“I’m so sorry. Would you like to come say goodbye?”

“No. No, I’m just going to go home. I need some time to process all this.” she gave me a nod and I walked out of the waiting room. Poor Henry. So young. So full of life. He didn’t deserve this.

“Mari, are you okay?” mom asked.

“I need a moment.” I walked out of the hospital tears streaming down my face.

This can’t be happening. Henry can’t be dead. If he’s dead then everything was ruined! Years of planning down the drain!

What? Years of planning what? A memory tickled in the back of my head but just like my dreams I couldn’t reach it. I felt like yelling at the sky and cursing everyone and everything for this horrid day.

A gust of wind pushed through me out of nowhere. What was…

“Y/N.” I breathed out as all my memories came flooding back, “My name is Y/N.”

Everything. I remember everything! My father, being a grave digger, Neverland, my brothers, Wendy, Tinkerbell, Tigerlily, Hook.

“Peter.” Peter Pan. My Peter Pan!

I ran back to my house--not my house--the house I had been trapped in and overturned the room I had called mine. How did I stand all this? Pastels and dresses and fluffy little cardigans? Where were my old bloody boots when I needed them? I ransacked the room for clothes that were sturdy and not entirely embarrassing as well as the best pair of tennis shoes I could find.

Twenty eight years. Twenty eight years of being stuck as a babysitter away from Neverland and Peter and all my friends. I was not going to go back dressed as some fairy princess.

I went to the window and threw it open. I don’t know if this will work during the day but hell I was gonna try. “I believe.”

Then I waited. A moment went by but nothing happened. I waited another minute and still there was no Shadow to fetch me. From out in the forest a dark purple smoke was cascading towards the town. I knew that. It was magic. “Of, fucking, course.”

I slammed the window shut again as the smoke reached the house and filtered in. I was blinded for a moment but just a moment before the smoke was gone. Magic is here. I don’t know how it happened but if Rumplestiltskin was here then I was positive it was him that did it.

Maybe with magic here now, I might be heard. I opened the window again and stared up at the cloudy sky. “I believe.” I stressed once more but like the first time nothing happened.

Okay. This...this is fine. It probably doesn’t work during the day since I can’t see the star. Not a problem, I can wait till tonight. I’ve been gone for a couple decades, what more was a few more hours? In the meantime I had some things I could sort out.

“Marigold--” my fake mom caught me leaving.

“Shut it, I have places to be old lady.” I rushed out of the house.

I was walking down mainstreet when an alarming thought popped into my head. My club. It had disappeared during the curse.

Rumplestiltskin. If anyone had it it was him. And I know exactly where he would keep it. I stomped towards the pawnshop and threw open the door. He wasn’t here. Probably for the best, if I saw that slimy little imp before I left I was going to slit his neck.

I saw my club resting along the wall next to some walking sticks. I was about to leave when something else caught my eye. Resting with some other antique looking knives in a glass case was my dagger. The one Rumplestiltskin had taken from me. I opened it and wrapped my hand around the worn leather grip. Was there anything else of mine in here? I scavenged around and found the cuff Peter had given me with the decorative amber. My dagger on my hip, club in hand and cuff on my wrist I was feeling more like my old self.

Now I was truly ready to go home. I left the shop and meandered down the street. I was going to go hang out in the woods until nightfall and try calling for the shadow again. As I was leaving the shop I saw a group heading down the street followed by an angry mob. I was content to let them go and do their thing when I noticed Henry among the group. A memory came back, a picture of a boy drawn on a piece of old parchment. The Truest Believer. It was Henry!

Looks like I’m going to be taking someone else with me to Neverland. First I had to get him away from the group.

I followed after the mob. The little party of heroes stopped Regina from getting herself killed and took her into custody. After they left the jail they started to talk about what they were gonna do with Henry. Now was my chance.

“Hey,” I approached the group, “I don’t think you guys really know me.”

“Hi Marigold,” Henry waved at me, “Do you remember who you are?”

“Yes I do. Looks like you were right, Henry.” I faked an overly sweet smile.

I liked Henry well enough and after being his babysitter for the past eleven years I had grown kinda fond of him. It would be hard handing him over to Peter after getting to know him but in the end he was just another means to an end and what can save Peter’s life. If he’s still alive.

“Who are you?” David, Prince Charming, whatever, asked me.

“Y/N. I was Henry’s babysitter, am still, I don’t know anymore.” I shrugged.

“Right,” Emma pointed at me, “You uh...you wanna make a couple more bucks and watch him while we figure out what we’re gonna do with Regina?”

“I can, no problem. Also you don’t need to pay me. This little dork was right and now I remember who I am and can be with my family again.” I ruffled Henry’s hair, “That’s all the payment I need.”

“Okay. Just to be safe we’re gonna send Ruby with you.” Snow White/Mary Margaret gestured to Ruby.

I knew it couldn’t be that easy. “Alright. Sounds like a plan.” Henry and I got into the car with Ruby.

We drove in leisure until a tremor shook the ground and the sky went dark. Something was out there. Something bad. I rolled down the window and saw a black mass streaking across the sky. For a moment I smiled thinking it was Peter’s shadow but it was quickly dashed. It was too big and it sent an unpleasant chill down my spine. A wraith.

“Where are we going?” I asked Ruby.

“Edge of town. No one out that way.”

“Is that really the safest option right now? Out in the open?”

“What do you suggest then?”

“Somewhere inside. That thing that went across the sky was a wraith. Probably sent to kill Regina.”

“What?!” Henry looked rightfully alarmed.

“How do you--”

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” Living with Peter you learned a lot about dark magical artifacts and beasts.

“We have to go back!” Henry pleaded, “We have to help my mom!”

“No! I need to keep you safe!” Ruby snapped.

“We should really turn back. I know how to get rid of the wraith.”

“Where did you learn to get rid of a wraith?”

“Long story.” Also incredibly fictional but if it could get us inside I didn’t care. I didn’t know much about wraiths outside of what they looked like and what they did but I did know it would only attack the one it marked. That most likely being Regina.

With a little more arguing and pleading Ruby turned us around. We hustled into city hall. There was some loud commotion coming from the main hall. As quickly as it started though it ended followed by stark silence. Carefully we walked toward the hall. There was some muffled shouting and then we came upon the scene.

Regina was alive and currently had David restrained against the wall. Certainly not what I had imagined. “Mom!” Henry rushed in.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” Regina left David alone and he dropped to the ground. Ruby went to check on him while I stayed with Henry.

Apparently Emma and Mary Margaret fell through a portal to someplace unknown. Henry started to tear up as he told Regina to get them back and to stay away from him until they were safe.

“Where will you go?” Regina knelt closer to her son.

“With me,” David had recovered and stood up. Henry, Ruby and him left while I stayed behind.

“Regina…” I turned to her after they were gone.

“What do you want?”

“I’ll keep an eye on him. I promise.”

“Who are you?” she scoffed, “Why aren’t you scared of me? I’m the Evil Queen.”

I felt like laughing. “Regina, I’m not from the Enchanted Forest. I was visiting it when I got sucked into your curse. I don’t know you, I don’t care about what your motivations are or who you want to kill. But I do know Henry. I’ll keep him safe.”

“How are you going to protect my son?”

I spun my club in hand, “Let’s just say, I’ve had to get myself out a worse scrapes than deadly wraiths and angry crowds. If you want someone to talk to my number is still on the fridge.”

I left. This was going to take more time than I thought. I need to play my cards right. If I can then I’ll have Henry and be on my way to Neverland in no time.

Outside I stared up at the sky. Second star to the right… “I’ll be home soon, Peter.”

(First) (Previous) (Next)

#slowburn #peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader

[lachlantrash]

“Did you seriously just wipe your popcorn fingers on me?”

"Yes, Lachlan?" You sigh, answering the phone from your car as you drive to the supermarket.

"Don't answer me in that tone, missy." Lachlan scoffs, making you let out a laugh. "Alright, I know you just left, but Emmett won't stop pestering me. How long until you're home?" He asks.

"Tell Em that I'm not sure, me and Gray haven't even arrived at the supermarket yet." You laugh, checking on your three year old as soon as you mention him through the mirror. With Grayson just turning three, your daughter Briella is approaching her sixth birthday. Emmett, your middle son is eight years old, and your oldest son Sawyer has just turned eleven. You only brought Grayson with you on your errand run, being assured by Lachlan he could handle your three older children.

"Shit, I mean shoot, alright I'll tell him. Bye, babe." Lachlan says, another laugh escaping you as he hangs up the phone.

"Daddy said bad words." Grayson informs you as you pull into the parking lot of the grocery store.

"I know he did, Gray. We'll have to yell at him when we get home, yeah?" You ask, grabbing your purse before getting out of your car, walking to the backseat to grab Grayson from his car seat.

"Be nice to daddy. Daddy buys toys." He laughs, a dimpled smile falling onto his face.

"Alright, we can be nice to daddy." You sigh dramatically, walking to the stores entrance. "Wanna ride in the cart, or walk all by yourself?" You ask, knowing Grayson loves exploring but you're hoping he'll choose the cart.

"Ride in the cart, mumma." He says, reaching for the first cart he sees from your arms.

"Good choice, little dude." You hum, placing him in the sitting part of the shopping cart. You give Grayson your phone to watch an episode of Paw Patrol while you grab groceries, getting through the first few aisles before Grayson's handing you your phone because of a FaceTime request.

"What's going on, Lachlan?" You ask, handing the phone to Gray so he can look at his daddy while you continue moving through the aisles.

"Listen, (Y/N). Don't get overwhelmed or anything, but Briella just fell down the stairs. I think she's gonna be fine, she was just rough housing with Em, but where's the band-aids? I swear it's just a little scrape." Lachlan promises, preparing himself for the earful he's going to get from you.

"In the bathroom by the kitchen, Lachlan." You sigh, deciding not even to bother scolding him for letting the kids be rough with each other. "Here, Sawyer talk to your mom. I'm gonna grab some band-aids..." Lachlan trails off, handing the phone over to your oldest.

"Hi, mum. Hey, Grayson!" Sawyer laughs, looking at his brothers face upside down.

"It's Soy, mumma look!" Grayson squeals, almost dropping your phone to show you his undoubtedly favorite sibling.

"What the heck is happening in my house right now, Sawyer?" You say, grabbing your phone from Grayson to look at Sawyer.

"I don't really know, mum. I was playing pokemon and then Bri started crying and daddy was calling you because she has a cut." He explains.

"Bring the phone to Bri, please." You sigh, grabbing a few things from the aisle you're in before heading to self-checkout.

"Mumma, Emmett pushed me!" Briella cries as soon as Sawyer hands her the phone.

"I did not! We were playing, and she fell down the stairs, Mumma. I didn't push her." You hear Emmett huff from somewhere off screen.

"Listen, both of you. Daddy's grabbing you a band aid, Bri. He's gonna clean up your booboo and then after that, I don't want you two playing rough anymore unless it's in the basement, in your playroom. I don't think he pushed you Bri, I doubt he meant it. And Emmett, you know better than to play rough by the staircase." You sigh. "I'm in checkout at the grocery store now, I only have a few more stops. Be good to Daddy please, all of you. I love you, I gotta go though, okay?" You tell them, listening for a few mumbled 'I love you's' from your two grumpy kids, Sawyer taking his dad's phone back to tell you he loves you before hanging up.

"What happened?" Gray asks, little brows furrowed as he sees your mood drop from what it was in the car.

"Briella just got a booboo, buddy. Daddy's gonna fix it right up though, he's the best at that." You tell him, giving him a smile before you start scanning items and bagging them. As you place bags back into your cart and pay, your phone goes off again. You groan, letting it ring as you go back to your car. You get Grayson buckled in and put groceries around him, pushing the cart to cart return before getting into your car.

"Should I just go home at this point?" You sigh as you call Lachlan through your car, exiting the grocery store.

"No! Don't do that. I just, I have a quick question, okay?" He says, and something about his tone of voice eases you.

"Alright, what's the question?" You ask, driving down the street towards the Kohls for a quick stop.

"So we wanted to make popcorn, but none of us know how long to cook it. Do you happen to know?" He asks hopefully, making you groan.

"It says on the box that you cook it for three minutes, Lachlan." You sigh, pulling into the Kohls parking lot. "I'm at Kohls now, Gray and I are just gonna run in and get some new bathing suits for the kids, because it's almost summer break. After that we're running to Dunkies, and then we'll be headed home after I quickly stop at your mother's. It should be within like, an hour, we'll go quick. Can you handle that?" You ask, already unplugging your phone and getting out of the car, quickly unbuckling Grayson to carry him.

"Yeah, we'll be fine babe. I promise, thank you. We're just gonna watch a movie and have smooth sailing from here." He promises, though you don't believe it for a second. After exchanging 'I love you's' you hang up, speedwalking into the Kohls and grabbing a basket as opposed to a cart, knowing if you do you'll shop more than you need to. "You need to hold my hand, okay Grayson? We need to be quick." You say to the toddler, who eagerly nods at your words.

You find your way to the bathing suit section, letting Grayson pick himself a green dinosaur swim shirt and bathing suit bottoms. You go to the little girl options, grabbing Briella a black and white striped two-piece. Though you want to grab Sawyer a set, you know he's at the age where he prefers just swimming trunks, so you grab Nike swim trunks and decide to do the same for Emmett. Though you know you're on a time crunch, you quickly grab Lachlan a new set of trunks, along with grabbing yourself a one piece before forcing yourself to go into line.

"My legs are tired, Mumma." Grayson whines, reaching up for you to hold him. You struggle but successfully lift him, holding him to your hip as you empty the basket onto a conveyor.

"Seems like you've got a full house, huh?" The cashier laughs, making small talk as she scans your items.

"Oh, do you know it. Four kids and a husband that's just as bad as a kid." You laugh, taking your credit card out to be ready to pay.

"Gosh, it is a full house. I'm guessing he's home with the other children?" She asks, noting just you and one child.

"Yeah, he offered to watch the other three while we went on an errand run. It would've been easier for me to take all four with all the calls I've been getting." You confide as she bags your items, handing her your credit card after she finishes.

"That always seems to be the case. They always mean well, but they're a lost cause without the wife home." She smiles, handing you back your card before giving you bags.

"Here he is calling me again." You sigh, making her laugh before you excuse yourself, walking out of the store.

"I know I promised we'd be fine and -Hey! Did you seriously just wipe your popcorn fingers on me?" Lachlan yells, letting you watch his face form to one of disgust through facetime.

"I'm gonna guess it was Emmett." You laugh, putting Grayson in the car and the two bags go in passenger seat beside you.

"It was actually Briella." He sighs. "Anyways, my mom just called me and told me she'd meet you here, so don't stop at her house. Are you already out of Kohls?" He asks.

"Yeah, you called while we were finishing checking out. We're gonna stop for coffee and then head home, huh Grayson?" You say, including Grayson in the conversation.

"Can I get a coffee?" He asks, making Lachlan laugh.

"No, but since you're being so so good for Mumma, I'll get you a coolata." You say, making his eyes light up. "What do you want from dunks, Lachlan?" You ask, pulling into the line for the drive-thru.

"Just get me a medium iced, cream and sugar please." He says, and immediately your kids are all shouting at him. "Jeez, alright I got it. The kiddos here all want a donut, and are demanding they also get coolatas."

"Tell them it's a no go on the coolatas, Gray's only getting one because he came with me. I'll get them donuts though, I suppose." You sigh dramatically, making Lachlan groan.

"You're really gonna leave me here with kids who aren't getting there way?" Lachlan gasps, making you laugh.

"Sorry babe, it had to be done. I love you, and I'll be home soon!" You say, exaggerating a "Muah!" before ending the call. You move through the drivethru, ordering half a dozen donuts and your coffee, Lachlan's, and a small coolata for Grayson.

Once you pull up to collect your order you thank the staff, pulling away and handing Grayson his drink. "Drink that before we get home, or your brothers and sister might try to steal it from you." You tell him, pulling out of the Dunkies and driving off to your house.

"We're home!" Grayson cheers, almost done with his coolata by the time you get home. We sure are, bubs. Let's go get everyone to come help with bags." You tell him, taking your key out of the car and grabbing him from the backseat, leaving the doors open while you walk into the house.

"Honey, I'm home!" You sing, placing Grayson down in the kitchen as soon as you here a stampede running towards you.

"Mumma, you're home!" Briella says, jumping with excitement.

"I am home! Can you three go get the bags from my car? I could only carry the little guy and the coffees." You say to the three older children. "You can each have a donut after." You add, which immediately gets them all running to the yard.

"Thank god you're home." Lachlan sighs in relief as soon as he enters the kitchen, immediately pulling you into his chest to hug you.

"Couldn't hold down the fort for a few hours?" You tease, pulling away slightly to look up at him.

"Not at all, next time I'm gonna go shopping, or have you bring at least two of our gremlins." He sighs. "I don't know how you do that all week, even with school, that was a shit show." He complains, making you laugh.

"You did great, Lachlan. Only one scrape, it happens. Everyone survived, so I'd call that a win." You praise him, planting a kiss on his lips.

"I'd call you a win." He mumbles, pulling you in for another kiss, only pulling away when Sawyer walks in and gives an audible 'ew' at your current position.

#lachlan #lachlanxreader #lachlan x reader #lachlanimagine #lachlanyt #lachlan power #lachlanpower #lachlan imagine

[spiderswithtits]

Let Us Be Bold

14 year old Archer Folley has discovered a terrible secret in his town. After committing himself to rebelling against CHORUS, he spends his time in the clubhouse with his friend Sophie and tries to plot out a way to do - well, anything.

Unfortunately, there's only so much they can do and desperation has them looking for help in unlikely places. Words: 5100 Chapter: 1/1 Language: English

Fandom: The Blackout Club

Rating: Teen and Up

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Characters: Archer Folley (Original TBC Character), Sophie (Original TBC Character), eh there's mentions of the gods but no one else actually shows up so, the-measure-cuts, Because why not - Character

[Please see my reblog/the notes of this post for the link to the AO3 link if you’d like to review it or kudos it there! Also, Sophie doesn’t belong to me but rather a friend.]

Sometimes, the boxcar didn't seem too bad to live in.

It's daytime right now and surprisingly warm out, so Archer had to take advantage of it. The boxcar doors were pulled open as wide as they could to shake out the dust and musty air. Who knew a gaggle of teenagers could track in that much dust? The rest of the kids never stayed during the day though, so he was the one who spent most of the mornings cleaning up. There was a lot of trash - like, a lot. Soda cans, chip bags, forgotten bits of pencil shavings and mysterious strings from bandages littered the floor. It was like, pretty gross, especially since Archer was pretty sure one of them was all crusty from blood.

Now, all the trash was all collected in a pile outside and he was sweeping away at the wooden floors. Cleaning a box car was easier than any other chores he had and sweeping? Sweeping was nice. It was nice and repetitive and he could just stand there and enjoy the feeling of the sun on his face and the trees in the wind.

Sometimes, when the mornings were as calm as this, Archer could almost forget that this wasn't his real home. He… didn’t exactly like to remember his old house. It was painful to think about - too depressing! It's been what? Almost a month now since he's ran away? Yeah, if he sat down and thought about it, it was probably close to a month. It was scary back then when he lived with his real family. They were so sweet during the day, but during the night… It wasn’t his family anymore. Once he realized that, he spent all of his time lying awake at night. Fear kept him awake with the sound of - of the Song playing in the background and the padding of his family's feet around the house. His dad - so upbeat during the day - walked around and whispered about death and voices and old men in hospices. His own mom was thankfully awake, but not human anymore, he guessed. The first night he cracked his eyes open to watch her check on him, her face moved and crawled across her head like leaves on water.

Archer couldn't take it, not after that. Not after he joined the club and delved deeper under the town than he’s ever gone before and he learned that at night, he didn’t have parents anymore. What he had were two vessels that  looked like his parents but would toss him off a cliff without hesitation. Oh, Archer lost so much sleep when he realized that and his parents acted like they couldn't remember anything; his nerves were cut shorter and shorter until -

"Hey, nerd, are you okay?"

Archer jolted out of his thoughts and looked up, the broom in his hands clutched against his chest.

it was just Sophie, thank god. They stood there outside the boxcar, jacket thrown over one shoulder and their long hair pulled dripping wet over a shoulder. Their hair was redder than before they left for their makeshift shower and he's sure if he went out to the back, he'd smell the acidic tang of hair dye in the water buckets. They stared at him a bit suspiciously, but he just nodded and dropped his head. "I'm fine," Archer said, giving the floor one last good brooming towards the door. "Just... thinking."

Sophie huffed at his words and they pulled themselves up into the boxcar. "You're always thinking. What's it about this time? The coyote spies? Or like, do you have something new about the government and satellites? Like CHORUS has people in NASA?"

"Hey, it was a good theory oka - wait. Do you think Chorus actually has people in NASA?" That actually gets a laugh out of Sophie as Archer's eyes bugged out of his head and they flopped down onto the beanbag across from him.

"No, of course not! I mean, the song can't reach out that far, right? They have to stay like, here! In the RQZ."

Right. Right right. Sophie's right and Archer hung his head as he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He does a few more good sweeps to get the last of the dust outside and he watches as it billows out into the air. With the cleaning done, he set the broom up against the wall and stepped over to the bench next to Sophie and sat down. "No, it's not theories," he says as he rubs at the back of his neck. "Just..."

Sophie doesn't say anything. Not yet, anyway, but he can feel them watching him as he tried to find the words. It’s hard to say it! They’re not like him after all. They were a lot tougher than he was - braver too - and they weren’t afraid of losing family. Hell, how many times have the two of them sat down in their sleeping bags next to each other and argued over whether or not to just leave Redacre? Sophes wanted to go, but Archer wanted to stay. Where could they even go? Their family was here.

They wouldn’t understand, but the emotions were swelling up inside of him. It was like a cold rock in his stomach and not even the sun on his face could warm it up. Archer rubbed at his face and he sighed before he just let it spill out. "Just.. my family. I miss them, Soph. I keep thinking about my room, and my mom, and my dad, and how much I miss microwaves, and it sucks. It's nice here and I'm glad we're somewhere safe and I have you as my buddy but it's not the same, you know? I just..." He tapers off and then the boxcar goes quiet again. There’s nothing for a second, and Archer’s half afraid he needed to say something else. He opened his mouth, his throat worked, yet no sound came out. But, he didn’t need to say anything else. Sophie’s hand was already on his arm by the time his mouth fell closed again. Archer turned to look at them as they leaned on him, their arm wrapping around his. "I know," they say, quiet. "I'm sorry. I don't know - I can't help, and I know we can't go back. I'm sorry Archer."

The touch is comforting. It’s not the usual sort of comfort Sophie gives, but it didn’t matter. Right here, right now, it’s what he needed, and he couldn’t help but melt up against them. It's nice for him to feel them actually comforting him like this. It made him feel a little less… alone.

They're both quiet for a long moment. It's nice, just the two of them sitting there in the back of the boxcar with the sun shining in.

For a moment, Archer could sit and pretend that everything was normal. No Chorus, no voices, no dead children found in mazes, no families that tossed the bodies off cliffs after eating dinner together that night. Just... normal.

All he needed was normal.

------LATER THAT NIGHT------

"I talked to one!"

"What?"

"I talked to one of the voices, Archer!"

Sophie was a mess. Whatever cleaning he did during the day was completely ruined now as they clambered into the boxcar with dripping wet clothes and dirty boots smearing mud across the floor. They tossed their crossbow onto the equipment table and immediately slammed a boot against it to start untying their shoes.

Archer, on the other hand, was still sitting there on the floor in shock. His laptop sat next to him, glowing with the soft white of the downloaded wikipedia articles and pages and pages of his notes scattered around him with diagrams of music, maps of the town, and scribblings. "Hold on," He spluttered, staring at them.. "Hold on. Did you just say you talked to one of the voices? The ones that's trying to - to control us? Kill us?!"

"This one doesn't want to hurt us! He wants to help!" A dirty boot dropped on the floor and Sophie hopped to untie the other.

Archer scrambled up from where he sat, papers forgotten as he hurried over and grabbed at the edge of the table to look them directly in the face. "Are you possessed?" He whispered, horrified. Then he rethought and the blood drained out of his face. "Did you lead them here? You were out alone, you didn't have a buddy - oh god, I'm your buddy and I let you go out alone." Panic licked down his spine like ice water down a drain and he reached forward to grab at their jacket and pulled them close. The last thing they expected was for him to do that, and they froze as he inspected their eyes. "Did they see where the club is?! Sophie! Did they?!"

"Calm down!" They squawked and batted his hands off of their jacket. Bright red hair was falling out of the bun they kept it in and as he stepped back, it was only then he realized how dirty and beat up they looked. Sophie looked like they were dragged halfway across town and dunked into a lake and then dusted dry with dirt - if this was a ploy and they were a spy now, they wouldn't look like they just got done doing a military obstacle course, right? The voices weren't that smart, right? Or what if they were -

A hand came up to his face and he started as he realized how much closer Sophie came. Their hand was gentle at first - then they pulled it back to give him a smart smack across the cheek. "Calm down! I'm fine! I'm not possessed, if you'd give me a second to actually talk before you manhandled me, I could tell you everything that happened!"

Right. Yeah. Debriefing, that was... probably important. His cheek stung, but it was what he needed to knock the panic right out of his head. They needed to debrief without any of the panic, and Archer nodded at Sophie before pulling away. "Right," He echoed, sitting heavily on the boxcar bench. The door was still cracked open and the noise of crickets and the light of the moon lit up the forest almost like it was day and he closed his eyes to listen to the night. It was quiet, blissful silence while he tried to calm himself and Sophie sighed as they continued to take their shoes off.

"Are you feeling better now?" They asked as they thunked something heavy next to him. Cracking his eyes open, Archer could see that they were putting the dirt covered shoes away and dragging out a new pair from the closet. They dug through the boxes too, searching for a new pair of pants in their size. His hands and his lips still shook from his panic, but he thought he was calm enough to listen so he nodded.

Sophie eyed him up, not quite believing him as well as he wanted but that's fine. They'll still tell them and that's all that he cared about.

"Well," They started as they dug out another shirt and jacket. "While I was out there, I found something - something new! Or, well, I found it like, weeks ago.” Clothes in hand, they started stomping their way to the sleeping bag car, voice rising so he could hear as they shut the door. It was simple privacy while they changed. “Remember when I told you about those like, impressions of people pressed up against the walls? The ones you couldn't see when I dragged you out on the missions? I kept telling you to look for the blue mist but you could never see it."

He remembered that. He remembered how he stood there at the edge of the bed and flailed about trying to find this person they told him about. He saw nothing but the backs of his eyelids and after a few minutes - the tell tale sign of the shape walking into the house. Definitely not the figure Sophie was talking about, but he yelled back a loud “Uh-huh!”

"Okay, well, I found out what they were!" There's the sound of jacket zipping up now and the door slid back open. Sophie was in new clothes now - a neat little hoodie zipped up to the neck and track pants. They're cleaner than the other clothes they had on and they crouched as they started digging up some new shoes out of the closet. Sophie didn’t waste any time to start pulling them on and suddenly it dawned on him what they were doing. Were... were they planning on going back out there?! Archer can't help but gape at them as they laced up their shoes.

"They're name fragments!"

...What?

His mouth took a minute to catch up with his thoughts, but once it did and he vocalized it, Sophie beamed. "Name fragments!" She repeated! "There's like - there's all those voices we've been hearing, right? In our dreams and that the sleepers and lucids talk about? There's one they haven't been talking about! There's a secret voice, because he's supposed to be dead! Or, like, imprisoned. I don't know! Either way, the other voices don't like him!" They gave the laces one last tug to tighten them up and they scrambled across the floor to him, bouncing eagerly on their feet.

"Archer," they gushed. "Archer, I think he can help us get out of here."

Out... of there? Out of Redacre?

Sophie's talked about it a lot. Archer can't even say they haven’t, but that seemed as much of a pipe dream as his dreams were about following the trails of coyotes to where they were clearly gathering as spies for CHORUS. But this? There was a spark in their eyes, a fire that burned in their pupils and a determination in their shoulders that actually made him hesitate.

"S-Sophie," He stammered out. "I don't know. It's a voice, can we even - are we even able to trust it?"

There's a pause, and their eyebrows creased together as they studied him. "Yes," They said softly. "I think we can."

Archer didn’t buy it, but he didn’t say it. He's sure Sophie could read the hesitation on his face, but they didn’t say a word before they stood up and tugged him up with them.

"Hey, just come with me, okay? For one mission, before the sun comes up. I think he'll still be around to talk if you want to speak to him yourself." He stood as they talked and Sophie pulled him on over to the shoes. "Grab something you can run with and just - just try it with me okay? You like proof, let's go get you some proof."

Archer nudged one of the shoes out of the closet and he paused as he slipped his toes in. "And you promise this isn't a possession thing, right?" He asked. His voice is so much quieter than he'd ever like to admit but he's nervous! How could he not be!

Sophie just beamed again and nodded. "Trust me. I'm your buddy, we have each other's backs. Now let's go and kick some CHORUS ass."

---

The mission was a bust. Like, an absolute bust.

By the time they limped back on over to the boxcar, they were exhausted and scraped up and Archer was sure there was a splinter shoved an inch deep into his hand. God damn lucids, he thought as he pushed the door to the boxcar open. The two of you had spent your time wandering the neighbourhood and collecting evidence before the club reached out to the two of you, pleading for help to rescue a kid that was kidnapped. It went pretty well - until they got to the maze where it looks like Archer stepped right into the middle of a lucid meeting. They cornered him up in the rafters in the observation room and he cowered in the corner for five whole minutes as he waited for Sophie to save him.

Honestly? Thank god for his Blackout Buddy. If it wasn't for them, he's sure he'd be wandering the maze with the song vibrating in his head and the shape at his back and whispers in his head of where to go, who to talk to and what to do. They already did it once with the girl they went down there to save and he nearly got dragged away trying to save her from the song.

"That was too tough," Sophie groaned as they turned and hopped up onto the boxcar. Their legs dangled as they flopped backwards and stretched their arms out above their head. "I almost thought we were done for!"

"Yeah," Archer murmured as he clambered up next to them. "Me too. That was uh, pretty bad. Do you think the kid we saved is gonna make it back to us? I know they said to go ahead and they'll catch up but there were so many lucids and the shape was there and all..."

Sophie's quiet for a minute. Then, they cursed and pulled themselves back up. "Dumb kid, I know Rosalyn. She's probably the kind of person who'd get caught again so we should probably go get her." They slid off the boxcar and straightened up to eye up Archer.

He... didn't look so good. If he was honest, he was sort of hoping that they wouldn't ask him to come with because he's had enough of all this sneaking and this fighting tonight. Brawling wasn’t what he was built for - not like how Sophie was.

Luckily for him, it looks like they could see it. "... You should stay,” They said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind an ear.  “You look beat up and you know what? I know the maze better. I'll go look for her and you clean up and get the club ready if we need to patch up, okay?" Archer breathed a sigh of relief and he couldn't help but nod enthusiastically.

"Course! I'll keep things nailed down here. You go get her and come right back, okay?" He lifted up his fist to Sophie and they grinned and bumped knuckles.

"See you in a bit, nerdface!"

And with that, Sophie whirled around and darted off and Archer was alone in the boxcar. Again.

He took a moment to just sit there, legs swinging. Crickets chirped around him and if he listened, oh so faintly there was the soft hoots of owls. No coyote howls, but that he's been trying to catch for awhile. It was just... silence. Blissful silence and if Archer closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was safe and sound in his bed at home with his family.

His... family. The ones he's already ditched to live in a grimy little box car out in the woods, pouring over his notes and the reports kids brought back to him and only spotting on occasion when he wandered the neighbourhood. He's seen his dad a few times wandering around in his pajamas and it just made the ache in his heart hurt more. Today was just a day to think on them, wasn’t it? Maybe all the camping out was getting to him.

Archer wasn't Sophie. He wasn't some badass who could ditch their family at the drop of his hat. He loved his mother! He loved his father! You're not supposed to just - just ditch them!

But how was he going to save his family? Everything he's had so far has been useless to try to break the song. He's tried playing music (that was an awful evening bolting from sleepers), he's tried breaking into the shape doors (Sophie nearly smacked his head off when she found him dazed on the ground, blood coming from his nose from trying to pry one open), he's tried - well, he's tried everything!

There was something Archer was missing. There was information that he couldn't just - just steal or figure out.

He needed answers.

A lot of the other Blackout Club kids told him about their weird dreams. Voices, they said, in their heads that answered questions they had. If they focused, they could try to aim it towards one of them and sometimes - the voices talked back. The most successful responses were always done in front of a source of flame though, like a candle or... a lighter.

Archer sighed as he cracked his eyes back open and he pushed his way up. There was a weight in his pocket, one he barely noticed since he swiped it from a bed stand on his way back to the boxcar, but now... Now he reached into his jacket to touch it. It’s cold against his touch, but he gripped it hard enough to hurt as his mind whirled with his thoughts.

Archer spent a lot of time studying these voices. He recorded the questions the other kids told him they answered and kept a tally of their names and their words. There were seven, so far. All of them seemed to be some flavor of frightening or manipulative and he avoided ever trying to think out a question to one of them. He wasn’t interested in hearing what a bunch of lying and cheating ‘gods’ had to say after all. Or, well, usually. Most of them weren’t exactly the question answering type.

Shoving open the boxcar door to the sleeping bags, Archer stopped to stare at the altar mirror across the cab. No one could remember when that was put up there. Even the oldest members of the club said it's always been there and no one has yet tried to move it. He's been tempted to, but in the end, well, he never did.

But that... was where the kids went if they wanted to ask questions of the voices. It was dangerous, you're pretty sure, but they hadn't found the hideout yet so maybe it wasn't as bad as feared. It was just... a mirror, right? This couldn't have any sort of significance, it was just - Apophenia. Yeah, that's the term.

"Apophenia," Archer whispered as he approached the mirror, the lighter in his pocket getting heavier with every step he took. "The phenomena where people mistakenly perceive connections and meanings between unrelated things. That's... that's what's happening." Hell, maybe he didn't need a lighter here to make this prayer! Maybe all of these 'voices' that the other kids heard was just a mass hallucination where they all wanted to hear the answers they wanted to hear, all packaged up in the common enemy of Speaks-As-One.

Yeah, that had to be it, he thought as he stopped in front of the mirror. What other explanation could there be? That’s what he told himself, but there was still the slightest sliver of doubt planted deep in his mind, whispering that CHORUS didn’t just make itself out of nowhere. If he really believed that it was a hallucination, then what was he doing now in front of the mirror? Was it wistful thinking or desperation that had him staring at himself through the altar mirror. Archer hadn’t looked at himself in awhile now. He was thin - thinner than when he left home - and twiggy, all hidden under baggy sweaters and pants. His hair was getting a bit too long than his own mom would have liked, with the strands curling up lazily near his chin and hooking around his big, thick glasses. They weren’t big enough to hide the tiredness on his face though, or the bags under his eyes, or the hesitation and fear that drew his face long.

Archer pulled the lighter out of his pocket and he turned it over in his hand. It was plain polished metal and nearly gone if the slosh of liquid inside was any indicator. He'd have just enough fuel for a prayer or two if he was lucky. He just had to.. he just had to get the spine to do it now.

Inhaling, he flipped the lid open. The lighter was the same as any other lighter he's seen and he pressed his thumb up against the wheel to click it on. The flame was small and it flickered in the gust of his breath as he stared at it and Archer briefly wondered if there was a correlation between the flames of these prayers and the fact that the symbol Sophie described for Thee-I-Dare was flame shaped. Maybe? Maybe there was a correlation with the rebellious attitude the voice had and how quickly it was snuffed out? Or how he could ignite rebellion? Or, no - didn't he just berate himself for falling down the apophenia trap? It's not important, so he doesn't try to mull on it for long. If it turns out this is one big farce, there’s no need to get himself swept up in his theories again.

...But he wonders how he's supposed to keep this lit while he prays. It's such an incredibly simple problem that it snapped Archer out of his melancholy as he took his thumb off the switch and the flame flickered out. What the hell? The other kids said you needed an active flame to pray properly but he couldn't even get the lighter to stay on! Archer placed the lighter down onto the altar for a second and he turned as he tried to scan his sleeping back for something - anything - he could use to wedge the switch down. Maybe, if he just took a paperclip from his binder and snipped it to a point -

Click.

If Archer wasn't scared before, he certainly was now. The sound was so soft, so delicate from behind him and when he turned to face the altar -

The lighter was on. The flame flickered in the mirror and he stared at it. There was nothing pressing the lighter button down now and yet it sat there, burning away and jumping and dancing like he was the one who ignited it, who just casually left it there to burn and burn and burn.

Suddenly, the boxcar didn't feel as empty as it did before. His heart beat deep and fast in his throat and the blood rushing in his ears was loud enough to drown out the crickets outside. Right now, it was just him and that lighter and whatever it was that kept it lit. Archer's skin prickled as he realized that he was alone against the big wide world out there. There's no Sophie to save his ass if something happened now - he'd have to save himself and hope for the best. If someone happened on the boxcar now...

Well. Archer would be dead. Probably. Or shaped permanently or dragged off like Bells was.

But he was brave! He had to be. His hands shook but he wiped them against his jeans to smear off the sweat and he inhaled, nice and deep as he considered his next move. Archer swallowed to try to ease the dryness in his mouth and he slowly knelt in front of the altar, eyes fixed on the flame before him. This was some true supernatural shit he never expected to actually work - but at the very least, he came prepared? Thank god for his overplanning.

Archer knew the names of all the voices that have cropped up so far. Laughs-Last, In-Her-Teeth, Dance-For-Us, Thee-I-Dare, Speaks-As-One, Die-For-You and The-Measure-Cuts. He spent a while thinking about the seven voices and which he would talk to because only a few of them would be any help to him. Laughs-Last and Dance-For-Us were too much crazy for them to be any help. They seemed more keen to mock and demand entertainment than answer any questions so they were off the list. Speaks-As-One was definitely off the list. He wasn't that brave to try to get his attention. Die-For-You almost seemed like a good voice to try, but after scrutinizing dream after dream that was told to him, Archer felt like they'd be more eager to further their own agenda of cultish fanaticism than help him.

Which left... The-Measure-Cuts.

Archer didn't have much on him yet, except that he was precise, skeptical, and had an appreciation for mathematics. He seemed new, but eager to talk if you could bring something worthy of his attention to the table - but if you didn't show you could bring him something to scrutinize, he'd toss you aside like a spent pen. There was something with him with butterflies and slicing and cutting though and that’s a concern, but he had a theory that he did that only when he knew he squeezed every bit of information out of someone he could. If someone was careful, maybe Archer could lead him on and squeeze something out of him.

The-Measure-Cuts was the only one that Archer felt like would answer a question - or at least give them hints. Men of knowledge were always eager to share and debate, weren't they?

Archer inhaled, slow and shaky, as he dipped his head to his chest. The flame flickered in front of his face as he sat there and tried to go over the words he prepared just the other night. There was just... there was so much fear clogging up his insides and for a moment, he was tempted to simply stand up and slap the light off the table and forget about it all.

But then he thought of his family. He thought of his parents wandering under the lull of a song that wanted to kill him and his friends. He thought of Sophie and how they wanted to run rather than save their families. He thought of the only home he's ever known and how he's abandoned it now just to hide like a coward. He's always been a coward when it came to fighting. Archer was a thinker - a planner! - and he had to do something with this big brain of his, right?

So Archer exhaled and calmed his mind. Something almost seemed to charge in the air while he collected himself, almost like something was turning its head to listen - like there’s something that’s noticing him for the first time.

And then…. he spoke.

"Hi um, This is Archer. I'm 14 years old and like, my friend Sophie said that they've been talking to some of you quote unquote 'gods' or whatever you're called, so I guess I'm trying this out because I want answers."

#the blackout club #tbc #archer folley #calopry writes

[radiojamming]

Cody/Jacob - soulmates au

ohhh buddy u have no idea how much i’ve mused on this exact thing

(this got so fucking long i am so sorry and yet i am not)

- - -

For the few months that Jacob Seed actually remembers his family owning a TV, he notices a few things. 

He’s about six years old, leaning up against his mother’s legs while she patches the elbow on one of his father’s work jackets (she’s always, always patching things; they never buy anything new). Joseph is sitting on the floor beside the TV set, playing with a worn down wooden horse toy that they bought at a garage sale, and he babbles to it in his own language that is half English and half two-going-on-three year old chatter. Their father is out working late again, which means they have a few hours to watch whatever they want, rather than the loud televangelists that he likes.

On the screen, in shivering monochrome, a greaser bobs his way into a diner, smirking at a young lady in a poodle skirt leaning up against a jukebox. He says, “Hey, sweetcheeks. You got a name to go with that pretty face?” 

The girl rolls her eyes and the audience laughs. Jacob doesn’t get it.

“Martha,” the girl finally drawls.

“What a coinky-dink!” says the greaser. He shoulders off his leather jacket and rolls up a shirt sleeve, revealing an entire list of names on his right arm. Soulmarks, Jacob knows. He knows them from TV and from what Pastor Jim talks about at church sometimes. He doesn’t really know what they are, except some way to find out who you’re going to marry. But he does know that they show up different on everyone. Names are common. His mother has a name on her ankle, and it isn’t his father’s.

On the screen, the greaser runs a finger over his arm before he settles on a name. “Gee, Martha! Guess you n’ me are just meant to be together!” he exclaims, all but shoving his arm in her face.

Martha looks at him with thinly-veiled disgust before reaching over and dumping a glass bottle of Coke on his arm. Then, she reaches up while the greaser is stunned and the audience is howling in laughter, and she uses her shirt sleeve to wipe the names off his arm until they’re just an inky mess. 

“Nice try,” she says levelly before turning on heel and walking out the door to the audience whooping and laughing. 

Jacob sits in slack-jawed awe while Joseph chirps out something that sounds like, “Pecan!” which Jacob thinks is the name of the horse. Then, Jacob leans back against his mother’s legs, tilting his head up so she looks upside-down in his vision. “Mama, can you wipe soulmarks off?” he asks.

His mother gives him an upside-down smile and shakes her head. “No, baby. They don’t come off. He was just bein’ silly.”

“Oh.” Jacob tilts his head back down as a commercial comes on for Oscar Mayer bologna. He looks to his right, seeing the last few letters of his mother’s soulmate’s name peeking up above her sock. All he sees is -EY in weird writing. He looks down at himself, at his shorts and bare knees and tube socks with two neat red lines near the top. Then, he looks down at his hands, his wrists, and even his elbows. “How come I don’t have one?” he finally asks.

His mother laughs, and Jacob’s too young to realize that it’s one of the rarest sounds in the world. She reaches down and runs a hand over his hair, red like his dad’s. “You will soon, baby. Sometimes it takes a little while.”

He’s also too young to realize that some people never get them.

- - -

They switch churches when Jacob’s just shy of ten years old. His skin is still bare of anything like a soulmark, although he has enough freckles, scars, and bruises to last him a lifetime. 

His dad doesn’t like Pastor Jim’s preaching anymore, and Jacob’s aware that they had some kind of argument about the way his dad treats his mom. His dad swears that it’s because God isn’t in Pastor Jim’s preaching, so they end up going to a Baptist church that’s built so close to the Coosa River that it looks like it’s going to fall right in. It’s the kind of church that has something called a revival every few weekends, where they set up a big white tent near the river and dunk people in the water while yelling about Jesus for a few hours. Jacob was baptized awhile ago, but he still watches in stunned silence when their new pastor, Pastor Richard, hollers and waves his arm like a ghost in a madhouse before dunking old ladies and young guys and a whole gaggle of little kids.

And Pastor Richard has a lot to say about soulmarks.

He smacks the Bible a lot when he talks, and goes on for ages about how only a man and a woman can marry over soulmarks, or how soulmarks were made on Adam’s skin from the dirt he slept in while God took his rib to make Eve. During one sermon, someone says something about having multiple marks, and Pastor Richard goes on such a screaming tangent that Joseph starts to whimper in his mother’s arms. There’s no such thing as multiple, he snarls. That’s not how God’s love works.

Jacob looks down at his own skin again, peeking out under the sweat-soaked white button-up shirt his dad makes him wear every Sunday. He sees freckles on his wrists and not much else.

He almost wants to ask about people who don’t have marks, but he’s afraid of Pastor Richard shouting at him, too. 

- - -

The next few years make it hard to think about soulmarks or much of anything except how to keep himself and his brothers alive. Lots of things happen in a blur; his dad getting taken away in a patrol car, his mom taken in the other direction in an ambulance while she stares at nothing, and then the ugly black Cadillac that comes to take them away in a third direction. There are stark white offices, bunk beds in rooms that smell like fresh paint and sawdust, stacks of papers that Jacob has to sign sometimes, and what feels like hundreds of people with faces that Jacob is never going to remember, all pretending to be sad on his behalf.

He holds John through most of it, trying not to think too hard about his parents or the life they left behind. Sometimes he thinks about the name on his mom’s ankle, or the tattoo-like splotch on the back of his dad’s left wrist, or how the two of them were never meant to be together. 

Sometimes, he thinks if he doesn’t have a mark, then–

He stops himself there, because otherwise, he just gets himself upset. He can’t do that in front of his brothers when they need him the most.

Then, they get adopted by the farmer couple in Rome, and before Jacob knows it, he doesn’t have time to think about soulmates and marks at all. 

- - - 

He’s in juvie when he gets something like a mark. Maybe. 

It’s one of the younger kids, Toby or Tony or something, with the long Italian last name who was born with two fingers on his right hand fused together. He follows Jacob around like a lost puppy, along with a few other kids who quickly learn that Jacob Seed punches like a fucking boxer when one of the older kids picks on one of the younger. Toby-or-Tony was one of those kids, after one of the older guys (colloquially known as Forevers, since everyone knows that once they’re out of juvie, they’ll just boomerang right back into prison) gets a few of his buddies started on calling him Lobster Boy. He shoves Toby-or-Tony up against the chain-link fence at the courtyard and makes a big show of seemingly trying to peel his fingers apart, when Jacob (known for his soft voice, massive height, and the fact that he stares people down like a goddamn wolf on the prowl) hauls up behind him and socks the shit out of the guy. Once the guy’s on the ground, bleeding out of the mouth and mewling like a kitten, Jacob saunters away without a word and Toby-or-Tony follows him like he’s magnetized.

And he notices the weird mark on Jacob’s hand first. It’s a splotch of blue-black in near the tip of his left middle finger, and he points at out at lunch one afternoon while Jacob prods at a Salisbury steak which would probably be better suited as a hockey puck then an edible item. Toby-or-Tony watches his hand move before he clears his throat.

“Uh. Jake. You got a little somethin’ on yer…” He makes a throwaway motion towards his hand.

Jacob curls his hand inward enough to see, and furrows his brow at the weird little mark, not quite a quarter of an inch long. It looks like an ink stain, but the last time he touched a pen was in the social worker’s office almost five weeks ago. They only let the kids have pencils in school.

“Huh,” is all he says. He takes the moist towelette they give out with the lunches and tries to wipe it off. It stays in place, not blurred or faded in the least. He blinks at it, then down at the towelette which is as clean as it was when he took it out of the package.

Toby-or-Tony gives him a lopsided grin. “You get a tattoo from Kev or what?” he asks, referring to Kevin-in-the-bathroom, who gives kids tattoos using ink from a broken pen and a fork he stole from lunch ages ago. 

“Fuck no,” Jacob replies gruffly, shoving the towelette aside. “I’m not that stupid.” And it’s forgotten in the course of him trying to saw the steak in half, failing, and then flipping it onto Toby-or-Tony’s plate, who retches a little at the sight of the alarmingly gray gravy trail it leaves behind.

It’s forgotten, for a little while, until Jacob stands in the showers and looks down at it again. It might be a trick of the waxy light in the bathroom, but he swears it’s gotten bigger. 

- - -

When he starts BCT at Fort Benning, Jacob sees the marks on his knees. They’re the size of half dollars, plastered in blue-black on his skin like he just slid through a puddle of ink. They’re nearly identical, too, and he stares at them in confusion and something like awe in that split second of time he has before he has to get back in uniform. 

It’s on his mind for only an hour or so before the drill sergeant is screaming in his ear through drills.

Jacob usually only ever has two things on his mind at that point. He still thinks about his brothers, about how the last time he saw them, Joseph was a wiry-looking preteen with owlish eyes and a healing broken nose, and John was crying, clinging onto Joseph’s hand with his big blue eyes so full of tears that he had to blink a dozen times just to see Jacob clearly as the police pulled them apart. He remembers how John kept one of his shirts like a security blanket, keeping the black fabric draped over one arm or clasped against his chest while he slept. Then, Jacob realizes that the more he thinks about that, the more it hurts. But it hurts more to try to forget them at all.

The other thing he thinks about is his future, which rocks back and forth precariously between promising and doomed. Linda, his social worker back in Macon, bluntly told him that his outlook was either prison or the army, but cited his fantastic test scores as a potential for college. He remembers her manicured nails, painfully pink against the black desk, and how she clicked them, one-two-three-four against the surface.

“You get into the army, then college is pretty well paid for,” she had said with a shrug, glancing at the paper with his GPA from the center. He knew it without having to see it, staring with a three and ending with a high number that nearly tips the scale into 4.0. “You ever think about getting a degree?”

He hadn’t. He said as much, followed by, “If I did, could I get custody of my brothers?”

She had shrugged, and it made his heart sink. “Maybe. Maybe not. Most likely not,” she said. “They might be adopted out by now, and even if you did get a degree, there are a lot of other factors that the state would consider.”

And that’s what kicked off his second dwelling point, where he wavered between optimistically thinking about his years of service, a college degree, and the potential of not only seeing his brothers again, but having custody, and then ending up in a gutter somewhere, or possibly prison.

But a third point hardly occurred to him until the stains appeared on his knees, as stark as tattoos. 

He sees them again when he goes in to shower after drills, and all he can think of is that TV show and the names on the greaser’s arms, followed by his mother saying sometimes it takes a little while.

And sometimes not to people like him, with no future and no prospects, he had thought.

His mind keeps playing the show and his mother’s words, but the rational part of him, the one that speaks in a voice an awful lot like Linda, says that they’re just bruises. 

It’s harder to forget this time, though.

- - -

Once again, things are a blur. A big one, kicked off mercifully by huge doses of pain medication given through syringes in hep-locks and intravenous tubes. 

Jacob’s only vaguely aware of what’s going on, trying to piece it all together as he rolls in and out of consciousness like a ship on the waves. He remembers a black expanse of desert in the darkness, then shouting, then a high whistle of something airborne and travelling at high speeds, and then– 

Pain. 

White-hot and cracking and oozing. 

All over his body.

He sees flashes of white, and people behind masks. He sees someone he knows is a surgeon, and then they’re gone. He feels things touching him, more poking and prodding, the smell of something so antiseptic that it stings to breathe it in, and the endless drone of voices in multiple languages, mixing together so it sounds like Joseph’s made-up language from childhood.

Shit, he hasn’t thought about Joseph in awhile. 

He doesn’t have time to think much of anything else before he dips under again, and his head is full of strange dreams of little kids sleeping on bales of hay, but then the bales turn to sawdust-smelling bunk beds, and then they’re shoved up against chain-link fences. He dreams of blue-black bruises on his knees, and as he comes back up for a second, smelling sickly-sweet medicine and hearing the distinct beep of an EKG, he has one rogue thought that breaks rank and hauls ass in another direction.

Sorry, he thinks, directing at someone far away. Someone he’s never seen, but in this twilight-phase of sleep and waking, he knows is there. You don’t need this on you. You don’t need to see this.

It doesn’t make sense, and, hell, he isn’t even sure what it means. All he knows is that at some point, his entire body feels like it’s bandaged, and he’s sure he looks like an old Hollywood mummy plastered to a stretcher. 

At some point, he thinks he hears someone say, “Second and third degree burns over sixty percent–”, but he might also dream that.

And yet, all he can think still is, Sorry, sorry, sorry.

- - -

He tastes something charred in his mouth as he walks, and his head feels unscrewed from his body, like the bulb of a flashlight not quite screwed in all the way. Here and there, it flickers– He flickers, not quite here, not quite gone. He staggers through the desert on a leg that’s not right, with a ghost trailing behind him, and his head is just–

He’s laughing. He’s fucking laughing, and the sound carries loud and clear over the mountains and the sand and the thin ground cover that promises water that isn’t there. He’s choking on the sound, and when he looks down at his left arm, sleeve torn away to make a bandage for 

(for Miller, but God knows he doesn’t need it now)

someone, he sees a long lance of ink-blue trailing down his arm in a dark stripe. he about loses it then, the laughter breaking like glass in his throat.

“God, I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” his voice cracks, riddled here and there with splits and crevasses. He grins in a rictus smile, muscles yanked back so that it feels like he has no control over his face. He smiles like

(like that corpse you left behind, you sick fuck)

a skeleton, and he shivers so hard that it’s a wonder his bones are holding together at all. 

He runs his hand down that mark, and up, and down. Over and over until his calloused hand feels as abrasive as sandpaper on his skin. He’s trying to wipe the mark away–

(“No, baby. They don’t come off. He was just bein’ silly.”)

It doesn’t come off. He rubs and rubs until his skin turns red around the blue. He laughs. He screams. He screams and screams and screams.

(Until the Humvee comes after a report from a lookout at a mountain outpost, drawing full alert to the fact that there’s a man in US Army fatigues staggering like a drunk across the desert. And then they pick him up, delirious to the point that he’s laughing in dry heaves of sound, clearly malnourished, vomiting the second they give him water, and chattering madly about ghosts and brothers and someone that he can’t stop apologizing to.)

- - -

Whoever said, ‘All roads lead to Rome,’ needs a solid kick in the jewels, no matter how long they’ve been dead. (He knows it’s from the Golden Milestone. He’s read it, among five hundred other things to occupy his time in the dingy little apartment the Army saw fit to gift him with after an honorable discharge. Fuck them.)

The road’s led him from Hartsfield-Jackson Airport to a miserable walk-up on Beecher Street to hitchhiking across half of Georgia to avoid Rome, and finally from I-16 to I-75 to 411 and straight back into that goddamn hornet’s nest of memory that Rome is.

In the end, the road back to Rome has taken him to the optimistically-named Hope Rebuilding shelter where he sleeps on an Army cot (God, he can’t even get away from that) while listening to the droning buzz of fluorescent lights above his head and the insistent cough of a woman dying of emphysema on the other side of the room. There are plenty of other wayward veterans here, all with glassy eyes and too-long beards (at least his is still red and not ash-gray or bone-white) and the occasional pension check that floats in to provide for cigarettes or the contraband bottle of Wild Turkey. 

Jacob resigns himself to his cot, to the olive drab duffel bag that he lives out of with the handful of books he kept from the Beecher Street apartment and a few essentials. The rest, he doesn’t care about. He’s sure he’s going to die here, the same way people do all the time. One day, one of the sweet old ladies of Hope Rebuilding will come over to wake him and find him stone-cold and grinning like he did in the desert, and then maybe they’ll weep a little before calling the ambulance company and funeral home that they have on speed dial. He’s oddly content with that now.

The only other thing keeping him afloat is the person on the other side of those blue marks that ripple onto his skin sometimes. He knows that they’re soulmarks, but he also knows that he’s never going to meet that person, and that it’s for the better that he doesn’t. He’s left them scarred, he’s sure, if the marks are what he imagines. Every time one of them gets hurt, the mark appears on the other person. It’s somehow suitable, in the way that the marks are supposed to be. He knows his soulmate is accident prone but not in any real danger. They get scrapes or bruises all the time, and when he allows himself to let his mind wander, he imagines that they might play some kind of high contact sport, especially when he gets a blue mark on his right shin in the shape of a leg guard.

Sometimes, when his head is unscrewed again and he’s seeing corpses smiling at him when he closes his eyes, he brings his left forearm up to his face and presses his lips against the skin. There’s a thin sky-blue line there, a scar left over from the day when it was a cobalt-colored stripe. After he kisses it, he apologizes again.

He’s sorry that he did this to them, probably making them look like they’ve been drenched in ink.

He’s sorry that they had to watch that happen, and it’s only a little comforting to think that someone out there worried about him.

He’s sorry that they’ll never meet, and he’s sorry that he’s alright with that.

“I wish you could wipe them off,” he says to the scar one night when Sharon-with-emphysema hacks and wheezes and one of the old Vietnam guys groans and yells in his sleep. “I wish you didn’t get stuck with me. I’m sorry.”

His isn’t one of the soulbonds where he feels the things his soulmate feels. But for a moment, he thinks he feels them respond.

It’s okay. We’re okay.

- - -

Joseph is still owl-eyed, but his wide eyes are now hidden behind gold aviators which he only takes off to wipe at his face when he tears up too much. Everything else about him is different. He’s taller now, more muscular, with long dark hair like their mother’s pulled back into a ponytail tied low on his head. He smiles at Jacob like he can’t believe he’s real.

John is… different. Jacob doesn’t blame John for being wary, because they’re practically meeting as strangers. John’s full grown now, which is mind-boggling. He’s a good-looking twenty-something, with slicked back hair and a finely trimmed beard and clothes more expensive than anything Jacob’s ever owned. He’s a lawyer, Joseph explains, and he’s the one responsible for scenting Jacob’s trail. 

That’s not hard to do, Jacob says. He hasn’t showered in days.

Joseph doesn’t think that’s very funny, but when John smiles, Jacob knows for sure that it’s his little brother in there, rich boy bedamned. 

They catch up slowly, first in the shelter, then at a greasy diner downtown, then at a hotel room that John gets for Jacob so that he can reassemble himself into something almost human.

He learns that Joseph had a soulmate, but she’s dead now. John has a mark, but no one on the other end yet. They find out he has one, but no interest in meeting them.

He almost has to smile as Joseph frowns at this. The Seeds, just as discontent and dysfunctional as they’ve always been.

Then Joseph tells him about the Voice, about his mission, about all this godly crap and being led to convert people whether they want to be converted or not. Joseph says he understands that Jacob will be hesitant, after everything he’s been through.

No shit, says Jacob, and Joseph almost admonishes him for language. John laughs again. He laughs a lot, but it’s not always happy.

Oh, but it’s all true. How else would Joseph find his brothers again? And doesn’t Jacob remember when Joseph told him about the Voice when they were kids? 

Jacob stares at him, at his massive eyes that look like they’re pleading for him to believe his brother. Then, he looks at John, who shrugs.

John believes him. He’s even helped rent a space in an old meat-packing plant for this new church Joseph has started. They already have a congregation, and they have space for one more Herald, this thing Joseph says is necessary for them to save the world or whatever.

It’s not like Jacob’s life can get any weirder, honestly.

He looks down at that pale blue line on his left arm, and down at the torn knees of his jeans, where below the feathered white threads, he knows there are two identical silver dollar scars on his knees from what he now believes are a few saved up childhood falls. He almost mentally asks his soulmate if this is alright, if they’d be fine with him running off with one brother who might be just barely clinging to reality, and another who is rich, damaged, and happy to go along for the ride.

He doesn’t ask, because this feels like something they don’t need to know about.

“Sure,” he says. When Joseph looks at him, almost puzzled that he didn’t have to push his point harder, Jacob just shakes his head and shrugs. “Anything for you. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again.”

Joseph hugs him again, so tight that it almost hurts. He thanks Jacob repeatedly, saying he won’t regret it. He’ll never regret it. Eden’s Gate is going to succeed, because they’re all together like God planned.

Jacob never tells him that he doesn’t really believe him, but it feels like the right decision all the same.

- - -

So the Lord God called out to Adam, “Where are you?”

“I heard Your voice in the garden,” he replied, “and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid myself.”

Jacob pretends he’s not hiding this. Not hiding the split in his mind and the things that he’s doing, when the Montana soil on his hands gets darker and damper until it runs dark red off his fingers. He pretends he’s not somehow ashamed of this, of the things they do. It’s for Joseph, after all. It’s what Joseph wants, what he says God commands, because God commands that all must convert, be it their decision or not. And God’s commanded Jacob to build Him an army, an army that carries Joseph’s word like a banner.

He pretends this is what he’s wanted all along, and he turns a blind eye to the silver and blue lines and splotches on his skin. They’ll never meet, he knows. They’ll never see this, this empire he builds on the bones of those that have failed. This is not Rome, not Babylon. This is designed to go on forever, beyond the end.

He’d like for them to be there when the world burns away like the impurities in a crucible. But that’s just not meant to be.

- - -

Over the radio, John sounds like he’s about to laugh himself into a fucking aneurysm. Jacob can hear him practically wheezing as he tells Jacob that the Deputy, this Oakley girl that he remembers from the arrest in the church is headed towards the Whitetails in a fury. At first, he thinks John’s laughing because Deputy Oakley thinks she can do something to stop Eden’s Gate, but it quickly becomes clear that it’s not the case.

“I baptized her. Or, tried to,” John attempts to explain, but he dissolves into laughter again until Jacob just turns off the radio out of frustration.

He knows he’ll recognize her. There’s only a handful of people out there who match her description. He’s got it all written down in his office, prepared for wanted posters and broadcasted alerts and commands. Deputy Oakley (Pratt won’t give up her first name), late 20s or early 30s, height between 5′6″ and 5′9″, auburn hair, hazel eyes, dark tan skin. In the church, she had been pretty steadfast and serious, full of nervous energy. Now Jacob knows better, learning that she’s been blazing trails up one mountain and down another. She’s done action movie leaps out of moving helicopters, run around with a pet cougar, and by his security footage, has done stupid shit like hand stands on a cliff edge and stunt rides on a rickety ATV that’s probably as old as she is.

And her stupid laugh is on loop in his head, for all the times he’s eavesdropped on her radio calls with his brother and sister. She has this low, dry laugh that comes close to a witch cackle, but the more honest it is, the richer it is, even though a veil of static.

Of course, she hits the Whitetails like a torpedo. Eli takes to her, as predicted, which jump starts Jacob’s idea. Once she takes the lumber mill and rescues Jess Black (damnit, she would have been a choice recruit, but oh well), he decides to put the plan into action. 

And when he captures her and gets her in the chair, he finds out exactly why John was laughing.

In the darkness and shuttered light of the projector, he can’t make out many details about her. He knows Pratt’s put her in the chair while Jacob was preparing, so he hasn’t seen her up close himself. And in the dim light, with casts of gray and green and red, there’s not much to see other than an expression of masked horror and awe. Then, the picture on the projector changes to one of his favorites; one of the white wolves gnawing off a deer leg. The light’s bright enough that he sees–

He sees something impossible.

For the first time in years, he fumbles in his presentation. He freezes, staring, watching her with wide eyes. He sees the light of the projector illuminating patches and spatters of blue that go from her forehead down her temples and cheeks, spilling onto her neck and disappearing under the hem of her black parka before reappearing on the backs of her hands.

And she’s looking at him with the same expression of frozen wonder. Maybe the horror isn’t directed towards what he’s doing so much as what he looks like.

And he thinks. He really thinks.

He doesn’t remember any of those marks in the church, but the waters of the baptism might have washed a layer of make-up away. 

“Oh, fuck,” says the Deputy in a whisper.

He echoes her sentiment, and for the first time in ages, he has no idea what to do.

His soulmate is strapped into one of his chairs, ready for a round of conditioning. His soulmate, the one he’s spoken to through scars, apologized to, begged forgiveness from when things got bad, and mentally hid things from, is sitting in front of him as his biggest potential enemy.

Sometimes it takes a little while, his mother had said. Give or take two decades or so.

They don’t wash off, she said. No, but you can hide them with make-up or scar them over so bad that they disappear.

Sorry, sorry, sorry, he had said. And suddenly, he wants to say it again.

Instead, he clears his throat as the projector clicks and shows a deer skull against a snowy background. “Pratt,” he says, and he hears the man grunt behind him. “Take Deputy Oakley to 3-A. We need to have a talk.”

He knows Pratt hesitates, and all it takes is one heavy step toward him to send the man scurrying over to his coworker, quickly undoing the straps. He helps her stand, and she does so on legs that don’t quite hold her up right. When she takes one step and nearly falls, Jacob feels himself lurch forward on the instinct to catch her. He only just stops himself when Pratt catches her and assures her that she’s going to be fine. 

Jacob should be the one doing that. He should be–

He stiffens. “Get moving,” he barks, and Pratt almost drags her out of the room.

The other two Whitetails in the room stare at him as the deer skull is projected over him. He breathes heavy, thinking. Always thinking.

And suddenly, he catches that crest of thought that he only felt in juvie, when he was young and still had some optimistic bone that hadn’t been shattered yet. He sees potential there, a future that doesn’t end with either of them dead, or Joseph’s vision ruined. He sees something like promise, like the possibility of having a right hand that can strike as quick and hard as he needs. Someone beside him, someone strong and as of yet unable to really be defeated. He sees his soulmate there, where soulmates should be, this balance on the other end of his scale that’s always been tilted and askew.

She’s seen his pain on her skin, and he’s seen hers. He can use this. He can bring them together and make a partnership and cull the weak in their pack with one of the strongest by his side.

And as he continues his presentation to the hapless Whitetails, who will eventually become the Deputy’s first test, he thinks about the girl in the other room with the ink-blue marks of his scars on her skin. He thinks of the future they can make.

He has no idea that she’s going to fight him every step of the way.

#far cry 5 #prompt fill #jacob seed #junior deputy #jacob/deputy #oc: cody oakley #otp: the fox and the hound #CONGRATS U RECEIVED THE LONGEST PROMPT I'VE EVER WRITTEN #i'm so tired since it's like 2:30 am and i'm dying #so i'll edit this in the morning i guess??? #IDK MAN ENJOY

[fatesinthenight]

Can you write where the warfstache twins get into a fight against each other?

Bliss blows into her bubble wand. She giggles watching the bubbles flow in the air. Asher tries to catch the bubbles and jumps around. He catches one in his mouth and then spits up. Bliss laughs out loud and falls over on her back in the grass. He looks at her and pouts.

“Ok I get to blow the bubbles.” He holds his hand out for the bubble wand.

“You have your own go get it.” Bliss dunks her wand in the bottle.

“But it is in my room and it’s so far.” He whines.

“Just poof there silly.” Bliss blows more bubbles.

“You know I can’t do that yet…” He kicks the grass.

They are 8 years old now. Bliss is able to poof about with ease. She makes her portals and likes to used it to pop up on others. Asher is having some problems with it still. He can make a portal but he still hasn’t been able to make another one to come back. If anything he is able to conjure a water gun easily. Still he wants to transport himself.

“Well that your problem.” Bliss huffs.

“Just let me borrow yours.” Asher grumbles.

“No. Your going to use it all up like the last time.” Bliss make a face at her twin.

“Come on.” He presses.

“No.” She blows more bubbles. “Go learn how to poof. Your the big brother. You should know it already.”

Asher blushes embarrassed. He already got that from Hugo enough, now his sister was saying it he was fuming. “Shut up!”

“Hey that’s mean.” She looks upset.

“Well you started it. So shut up.” He crosses his arms and looks away.

“Make me!” She spits back.

He goes up to her and shoves her. She plops on the grass on her back. Her eyes get all big and she lip quivers. She gets mad and poofs away. She appears behind her brother and pushes him down. He turns to look at her and she gets on him.

“Meanie!” She snaps at him.

“Your the meanie!” He kicks her off of him.

She tackles him and they start wrestling each other. Rolling around the grass they keep relief each other they are mean or stupid. Asher pulls his sisters hair making her cry out. She pulls his hair in response. Asher then pulls off on of her pigtails and she gets really mad. Their eyes go pink and swirls form within them. They start to forget what is around them and keep fighting each other. It was then they are pulled apart and are held at a distance by their overalls.

“Ok you scamps settle down.” Wilford holds them apart and they still try to reach out to fight.

“She stated it!” Asher starts.

“He pushed me first!” Bliss goes on.

“Both of you will stop now.” Wilford scoops both of them up in his arms, one in each. He heads back into the house and plops them down on the couch. He kneels in front of them. “Ok now one by one tell me what happened. A goes first then B.”

“She keeps telling me I can’t poof right. And she won’t let me use her bubble wand.” Asher looks away from his sister.

“He pushed me down and told me to shut up.” Bliss looks away too.

Wilford sighs. “Both of you are being silly beans.” The twins look at him. “Asher don’t push your sister and say mean things like that to her. Bliss be nice to your brother and don’t tease him. Both of you will act nice. Bliss you could have let him borrow the wand I would have gotten you more soap for you. Asher I know your having a hard time buddy. It’s ok to be late bloomer. No harm in that.”

The twins look at each other. They slowly settle down and their eyes go brown again. “I’m sorry.” They say at the same time.

“Now shake hands.” Wilford tells them.

The twins shake hands.

“Hug.” He adds.

They hug.

“Now rub your tummy and pat your head at the same time.” Wilford wiggles his mustache.

“Daddy!” The twins laugh. They jump on him making him fall over.

He laughs and ruffles both of their hair. “You two need to stick together. Always look out for each other you hear.”

“Yes daddy.” The twins say.

Wilford gets back up with the twins. “You two want to see a big bubble?”

When Star gets home they scold Wilford and the kids for using up all the soap in the house. Also their backyard was covered in so many bubbles. The twins laugh as their dad gets on his knees for forgiveness holding their (mom/dad) leg as they shake their head. Even if the twins have a fight they always make up fast. They always look after each other, following what their dad said.

#wilford warfstache #Asher Warfstache #Bliss Warfstache #ego children #prompt