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bubblegumbeech · 3 years

Text

Time Just out of Reach

Prompt fill for @sailor-toni and @ghostlyhabato

Pssst hey, hey you. Ship this with me.

He didn’t have his crown when he awoke. It was the first thing he noticed, and it had confused him as he blinked back flashes of fighting, desperate and vicious as cloaked figures, all too familiar yet made strange and unknown, locked him away. Relying on ancient magics and powerful spells, the traitors had been unable to defeat him properly, as warriors, and Pariah curled his lip at the memory.

But he’d still had his crown then and it took him a moment, having stormed away from the accursed coffin and it’s nauseating sleep, before he remembered the first time he’d awoken. There had been a child, incredibly powerful and with the kind of support Pariah hadn’t had since the peak of his reign’s popularity. He’d been the one to defeat him in the end, alone, in a battle that no ghost could say was anything but fair.

It settled something in him, almost. It was frustrating, naturally, to be defeated by a child. But in the Infinite Realms such things were rarely as they seemed, and it was unlikely that despite everything the one who had defeated him was truly as young as he looked. And he had defeated Pariah, unlike those before, in a proper fight.

The loss of his crown was only a natural progression of such, and while Pariah knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he would have reacted differently had he awoken earlier in his sleep, or even with the crown still atop his head, it was clear there was little to do either way. His ring was gone as well and there would be no commanding of armies this or any day.

Instead, he decided to work on himself. To stretch out half formed and aching muscles from their prolonged and unnatural sleep and to walk once more throughout his own keep.

There was much to be done, frankly, the castle itself had fallen into a horrible state of disrepair, and the grounds had become entirely overrun with all kinds of ghostly and dangerous plants.

Once, just to see what would happen, Pariah had tried calling upon his skeletal army, but no matter how much power he pulled into the spell or how much he strained his core to its limits, the ground slept beneath him. It was almost freeing, knowing there was nothing to be done but to work and ready himself.

He spent the mornings getting reacquainted with his form and its abilities. The ectoplasm of the zone felt cleaner than he remembered it, and it helped energize him. It wasn’t long before he slipped easily back into his previous exercise routines and the strain was pleasant after so long sealed away.

There was so much he missed, in the little things. Taking the time to prune and shape the weeds and vines around his grounds helped him to feel accomplished, like he was finally doing something after so long doing nothing. So much so, that going into his castle, using the energy he had to restructure and rebuild where it had started to decay and fall apart, felt worthwhile.

It was nice, learning how to exist all over again. Without the need for conquest or dominion, there was a focus on the mundane and simple. Pariah had hardly remembered what that was like. If he had ever known at all.

The feelings and moments of quiet, by himself in his own keep brought back memories. Memories of certain people, certain events, things he’d lost long before. But like everything else that caused pain or bitterness to build back up within him, he pushed it aside and got to work, releasing the feelings out into the realms and focusing instead on what was before him, what he could touch with his own two hands.

One day, as he was carving a particularly sturdy vine into a new possible weapon design, he was interrupted. Rather rudely in fact, by someone who thought it somehow acceptable to storm into his keep.

Fortunately for the ghost, Pariah’s isolation had gifted him an unusual amount of patience and he’d let it live, if barely.

That had, naturally, been a mistake.

It turned out that ghost was only the first of many, many, ghosts that thought to challenge the great Pariah Dark for his title and crown. A title and crown, Pariah thought with no small amount of annoyance, that he’d already lost.

The ghosts were rare and few between at first, a momentary interruption in the mundane rebuilding that had become Pariah’s world. As such, he took those moments to remind himself what it was like to spar again, his core humming in his chest at every cross of blades, seeking challenge.

Rarely though, did the ghosts that had the blind courage to attack him, Pariah Dark, the first and only High King of the Infinite Realms, also have the strength to back up their bravado. So he’d held back.

Another mistake.

It led to some of the more foolhardy ghosts returning to challenge him again, barely any stronger than they’d been when they first attacked. It was pathetic truly, to be so constantly accosted by those so clearly weaker than him. Then again, someone strong enough to match his strength would know better than to challenge him, would know better than to want that crown on their head.

Pariah sighed, he was expecting the dragonling to arrive at any minute now. She was excitable and easily riled in a fight and Pariah had been using it against her in an attempt to desensitize her for a true battle. Soon, he’d move on to teaching her how to block more quickly and then how to use her powerful transformation abilities more smoothly in combat. It was a beginner’s mistake to think that the larger you are the greater your advantage at all times.

After he defeated her he’d have enough time, he thought, to start exploring the far tower. He’d been avoiding it so far, the memories present in that place were strong and could be overpowering, but there was only so much more work he could do on the rest of the castle while leaving it untouched as it was. Pariah disliked leaving a job undone, it itched under his skin, grating.

“Behold Pariah Dark! I have come once more in my eternal quest to defeat you!” ah, there she was. He unsheathed his sword, it was time to see how much she had retained from their last bout.

Pariah was cleaning the tower, starting with the bottom and working his way up. Not avoiding anything, just… prolonging the moment where he would reach that room. The one that held enough memories to start a flood, dammed only by Pariah’s firm refusal to open the door just yet.

He should have known that wouldn’t work.

“It seems out of character for you,” said an achingly familiar voice from just behind him. Pariah didn’t turn around, he didn’t know what he’d do if he met those eyes, and he couldn’t risk it. Not against this fragile peace that had formed in the time outside of his coffin, as short in comparison as it was.

“You sent them to me didn’t you?” Pariah realized, pulled a particularly stubborn purple weed that had been growing through the cracks of the elegantly carved stone that made up the inner walls of the room. “This is another one of your schemes.”

It had been some time since they had last spoken and longer still since they had done so with no swords or weapons between them, and Pariah refused to allow it to affect him. He’d felt the burn already that came from trusting that voice. It was better, certainly, to keep the door locked.

“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?” his uninvited guest said. His voice was closer and Pariah flinched, quickly turning around only to see him there at the door, Clockwork.

He was, unfortunately, still achingly beautiful. His features fine and chiseled, though his hair was hidden entirely by his hood, a practice he’d kept up after one too many comments about his unnecessarily alluring appearance. Many times he’d contemplated simply cutting his hair or doing something else equally horrid, but every time Pariah had talked him out of it, mumbling soft compliments as he combed through it in the mornings or tangled his hands into it at night.

Had he cut it then? Since Pariah was locked away?

Since he locked Pariah away?

“It’s always one of your schemes” Pariah hissed. He walked deeper into the tower to get away, but it was useless. Clockwork simply glided along behind him, not acting at all like the bitter enemies they were, “you conniving, backstabbing pawn of those who watch and never act.”

Clockwork rolled his eyes, they were red. When had they become red? They used to be a deep purple, soft and mischievous and full of knowledge that even Pariah would never hope to match. Pariah had thought, once, that they were equals. He wondered now, if Clockwork had ever thought the same.

“I am simply visiting an old friend, surely my leash is long enough for that?”

His leash. So it was true then, Clockwork had been tied to the Observants’ will, just as the rumors suggested. It explained, Pariah supposed, why he had not been there when he had woken up before. “Is that what I am then? An old friend?”

Clockwork took mercy on him and shifted forms into his older self. His eyes were just as sharp, just as keen, but the urge to touch, to take for himself, lessoned as he watched muscles deteriorate and a beard grow long and knotted from the other ghost’s chin. “How would you describe it then, Pariah? Enemies?” Clockwork chuckled, “no, of course that’s how you would describe it.”

Heart of the Realms he needed to get away, there was too much between them and the small moments of interaction he’d had sparring with random ghosts or seeking out current knowledge of the realms were hardly enough practice to deal with someone like Clockwork.

But he didn’t stop following Pariah further into the tower and the familiarity of walking these halls, Clockwork at his side, was enough to force him into a stop. Why was he here? Just to make Pariah miserable? That seemed something he would do, conniving as he was.

“It’s rude, you know, to enter a ghost’s lair uninvited,” he tried.

Clockwork smiled, tilting his head in the way that meant he was being obnoxious on purpose. Pariah had, foolishly, assumed it would not be the kind of thing ever aimed at him. How bitter, to be proven wrong in such a way.

“I was under the impression that I had a standing invitation,” because he had. Because if anyone, Pariah had trusted this bastard the most and had not wanted even a day separated from his side.

“I am not the one who betrayed his King.”

The time around them stilled, the realms silent in their entirety for just a moment. Clockwork’s expression was sheltered when Pariah had turned to look at him and he smiled bitterly, “The realms were never meant to be tamed Pariah. Not even by you.”

A familiar argument, one they’d had countless times, one that Pariah had thought unimportant in the scheme of things. He’d thought at the time, that if he could get the entirety of the realms under his control, infinite and expanding as they were, he could make Clockwork understand. It was his duty, it had been entrusted to Pariah. Just as the time stream had been entrusted to Clockwork.

He should have known better really.

“Then I rescind your invitation, you can leave now.”

Clockwork bowed, deep, formal, and it made Pariah grit his teeth. He’d never bowed to anyone but those pathetic eyeballs and Pariah knew what it truly meant to receive formalities from an Ancient. “Then I shall take my leave.”

Finally. Pariah refused to watch him go, and instead turned back to the walls he’d been so studiously clearing of their overgrowth before he’d been interrupted.

The weeds had returned, covering every single inch of the room, just as they had before Pariah started clearing them away almost a week prior. Damn him.

Pariah had finished the entirety of the tower’s first floor when he had returned, entirely unwelcome. “I don’t recall inviting you in,” he said, focusing on his work. He was restitching a cloth that had once been beautifully embroidered. Pariah’s own hands were hardly any good for delicate details but he made do through endless trial and error. He had all the time in the realms afterall, and it was in his nature to complete a task in its entirety.

“No?” Clockwork said, his voice dry and purposefully pitched to piss him off, “so you don’t have an open door policy? You seem to have so many ghosts that come and go.”

He scowled, “they are fools, young and easily excited. They hope to defeat me and earn the crown for themselves. I am simply teaching them the error of their ways.” This stitch was particularly difficult, and in order to do it properly he’d need to focus. Something unlikely to happen with his current guest.

There was something uncertain in the ambient ectoplasm around them. A gentle wave gliding back and forth between a tentative hope and a deeper, darker mistrust. Pariah ignored it. There was no reason he should be so intune with another ghost’s moods, especially not this ghost.

Unlike Pariah, who wanted this conversation finished and to be left once more to his peace, Clockwork was an instigator, clearly here only to frustrate. He floated closer, just out of reach, “teaching them? It’s been some time since you bothered to take an apprentice.”

Pariah set down his work and stood up properly, Clockwork had shifted into an adult form since showing up and the mischievous tilt of his lips left Pariah frustrated and frazzled. There was no reason for him to be here, except to torture with his presence, precise and devastating.

“They aren’t apprentices, you of all ghosts should know better than to think I would ever be so patient as to take someone under me.” as King, he‘d always been too busy, too easily frustrated, too stressed. Clockwork had been there, the nights where Pariah had wished he could give it all up, had spoken in whispers about what could have been if only he’d refused the crown.

Clockwork smiled, a show of his fangs, and Pariah clenched his fist to stop from reaching out. If he tried, he could close the distance between them quick enough to pull Clockwork towards him entirely. Perhaps he’d end this game if Pariah called his bluff. Pariah wondered how many futures he saw, where Pariah did just that. He wondered how confident he was that those futures would not be his own.

“I just thought to inform you,” his smile only stretched wider and Pariah wondered what had him so delighted, for surely it meant nothing good, “that I have taken on an apprentice myself.”

That had not been what Pariah expected at all. Clockwork was rarely around children or younger ghosts in the time Pariah had known him, and while many of the more powerful inhabitants of the zone spoke often of their desire for children, he had not heard such from Clockwork in the times they had known each other.

Was that simply another truth that had been hidden from him, was the ghost he’d known nothing more than a lie, perfectly catered to Pariah’s own desires in order to trick and to trap him?

He looked over at his unwanted guest, unease threaded through his core. The mischievous smile had yet to fall and as much as Pariah wanted to bite it, he turned away instead, “are you hoping for us to meet? I should think you wouldn’t be so foolish to bring someone you care for anywhere near me.”

“Not at all,” Clockwork answered easily, floating closer once more, “besides, you’ve already met.”

Already met? Surely Clockwork wouldn’t have taken one of the foolish, eager ghosts that thought to challenge him in his time awake as an apprentice. They were hardly suited towards him and his subtle manipulations.

But he hadn’t met anyone else since waking, few ghosts that remembered his reign wished to meet with him, and there was little reason for someone that had caught Clockwork’s discerning eye to seek out a failed king. Unless he had come to spy on him? No, there was little Clockwork did not know, and even less that he could not simply discover for himself using those accursed mirrors.

Clockwork tilted his head, a mischievous smile still in place, “you don’t want to know his name?”

So it was a him, that narrowed it down marginally, “I wouldn’t know it either way.”

“I suppose you wouldn’t have known the name of the ghost that defeated you, too busy getting stuffed into that coffin of yours.”

Pariah reached out, a blast built in his palm, to attack. But Clockwork, as always, had expected it and floated easily out of his reach, dodging the ectoblasts Pariah released after him as he fled the keep.

Good riddance.

The next visit, Pariah had been the first to speak, “where is my crown?” he asked.

Clockwork had shifted into his older form and gently stroked his beard, pretending to think about the question Pariah had asked. As if he didn’t know the answer, as if he didn’t know everything.

“Would you really like to know?” He didn’t. Not truly, but he had wondered, if he asked, what Clockwork would say. He should have known it would be something cryptic and aloof. He’d never once bothered with straight answers before, it was unlikely he’d start now.

Pariah walked over to him, his steps steady and measured. He stopped just out of reach, as Clockwork had been doing to him in their visits and wondered, fleetingly, if it affected him at all. Surely not, as aloof as he’d been. If he felt as tortured by Pariah’s presence as Pariah felt by his, there would be no need for these games. They would simply avoid each other and that would be that.

He grabbed a book from a nearby shelf, they were in his study, private as it once was, and Pariah had been reading with the intention of catching up on the things he missed. Such as Clockwork’s new ward, the Half-ghost child that had been dead hardly a year before defeating Pariah.

“Does your ward have it? Has he been claimed king? If so I’ll be sure to tell the fools that still visit to go after him instead.”

Humming, Clockwork floated over to Pariah’s desk. It was freshly carved, intricate designs by Pariah’s own hand. “There are some that do so already, but no, Daniel doesn’t have your crown Pariah. No one does.”

So there is no king.

“I see,” he said, opening his book to a random page and feigning interest. It was difficult, to be sure, when the most interesting thing in the whole of the infinite realms was here, sitting on Pariah’s desk. “You haven’t gotten any better at answering questions.”

Clockwork laughed.

And Pariah left the room.

The next time Clockwork came to visit, it was just after a spar he’d had with one of his regular guests. It had been an improvement on her part, her control of her natural abilities was getting better and she had actually attempted to use technique instead of her admittedly limited brute strength.

But it had also been one sided, as all these matches were, and Pariah found himself itching for something more exciting. For a fight worth the effort of keeping his core lit.

“Your teaching methods could use some work,” Clockwork had said, his voice smooth with an echoing touch of gravel, as he leaned over Pariah’s shoulder to see the weapon he was sharpening.

Pariah almost knocked him away, but as always, Clockwork was a moment ahead. Somewhere in the future. Never truly there, where Pariah was, always waiting instead where he would be. He growled.

“Then it is for the best I was not teaching.”

Clockwork smiled, “my mistake.”

There was little doubt in Pariah’s mind that Clockwork had never made anything as simple as a mistake. There was too much that he knew, too much he could see. The decisions he made might not always lead to exactly what he wanted, his obsession unwilling to compromise the free will of others, but Pariah had no doubt that each and every one was perfectly calculated to the smallest minute detail. Mistakes were off the table.

He grabbed the weapon he’d been working and felt the weight and balance of it in his hand. His core, fresh from an unsatisfactory fight just moments before, hummed with energy.

It would, Pariah mused, be enjoyable to catch Clockwork in a fight. But it was not something he did lightly, his powers, as grand as they were, were rarely suited for battle, and Pariah found himself wondering if he attacked now, would Clockwork fight back? Or simply stop time and flee, coward that he was.

“The scar suits you,” Pariah said, stepping closer. Clockwork didn’t back away, but his expression twisted into something cruel. Pariah didn’t think about how well suited his features were for it, didn’t think about other expressions Clockwork might make and how Pariah had once made it his mission to see every single one.

“Admiring your handiwork?” he said, his tone brittle and biting.

Pariah was within an arm’s length now, “I had aimed for them both. I suppose it’s fortunate that I failed, seeing that you gave as well as you received.”

There was a tense silence and Pariah felt it almost like a physical barrier built between them. If he lifted his sword now, would it shatter?

“I like to think I gave much better,” he said, nodding at Pariah’s eyepatch, “seeing as out of the two of us, I succeeded.”

He lunged, but by the time the blade struck the ground, Clockwork had long disappeared.

“Sever yourself from the observants,” Pariah demanded once he’d seen Clockwork again.

There was a beat, a moment of time, and then Clockwork sighed, “and what, put myself into your less than merciful hands?”

He was in his youngest form, by all rights he should look vulnerable, weak, but he only looked tired. An expression Pariah had grown all to familiar with in the twilight of their relationship. Pariah scoffed, “better I than those useless snakes, they know not what they have. I’ve heard what they call you now, pet, attack dog. It’s demeaning.”

Clockwork looked up at him, his eyes deep and endless, “you are no longer a king Pariah. You hold no sway over the realms any longer.”

Said as if it were a gift, a token granted to him for his service. Then again, in the eyes of one such as him, it may very well be. Clockwork had always been bound in core and form by the duties required of him.

“What hold do they have over you?” He asks, in need of an answer. Of something. Why would someone so powerful, so immeasurable, bend to the yolk of another? Especially those slimy optical wastes of ectoplasm.

But he wouldn’t get an answer, not from Clockwork, and they both knew it. “The realms exist as chaos, those who seek to find order, or try and force their will upon it seek to destroy chaos. Everything that exists, exists with a sense of its own self preservation.”

Yeah, in no way was that an answer, and judging by the soft smile on Clockwork’s youthful face, he knew it too. “Yet you ally yourself with those things?”

Clockwork hummed, “everything is the way it’s supposed to be.”

Because of course it was.

“If you take a picture it will last longer,” Clockwork said nonsensically.

Frustratingly, he was here, again, in Pariah’s keep, his personal lair, floating just an arm’s length away from him. Out of reach. “Is that supposed to make sense?” Pariah growls.

But Clockwork remained aloof, “you’re staring.”

Of course he was. Clockwork was in his adult form, all well-formed muscle and casual strength, soft skin blemished only by the scar Pariah had given him that fateful night. The claim he had carved.

“I’m admiring my handiwork as you said.”

Clockwork tensed, “are you now? Looking to repeat the performance?”

He had been reading a book. Just, casually there, near Pariah in his own lair, reading a book. As if he owned the place himself, as if it were his. As if he were welcome here, to sit there carefree and out. of. reach.

“Perhaps, if you wish to spend all of your time in my keep, I can leash you here.” he said, taking a page from Clockwork’s own book and ignoring the question. He stepped closer.

Clockwork floated away, casual as ever, infuriating as ever. “I’m afraid I do have duties to attend, outside of babysitting you.”

“Is that what this is then?” Pariah growled, “your new masters sent you here to keep an eye on me? To make sure I am truly beaten, unwilling to rise again?”

“Something like that,” Clockwork drawled, “are you, Pariah?”

He crossed his arms, “Beaten? Am I not?”

Clockwork frowned, Pariah wanted to grab him by the chin, tilt his head up towards him and pull that infuriating hood away so he could no longer use it to avoid Pariah’s gaze. He held himself back, the other ghost was too far out of Pariah‘s grasp for now. Reaching for him too soon would only cause him to float away.

“You exist still,” he said, ignoring Pariah’s scoff, “you exist. Is that not what matters?”

Yes, he existed. He spent his days sparring with ghosts too weak to give him proper challenge, fixing a crumbling castle one single brick at a time, and waiting, with unwanted anticipation, to see if the ghost that had taken it all from him would bother to visit.

“And what a glorious existence indeed,” he spat.

Clockwork was a child again, floating around and above Pariah’s head. He’d asked him once, if the changes were voluntary or natural, and Clockwork, true to himself as he ever was, had given a vague answer that hadn’t actually answered the question at all.

“How is your ward?” Pariah asked, his eyes never leaving Clockwork as he circled above him.

He hummed and gave a noncommittal answer, likely unwilling to speak too much about the young phantom, unwilling to place him in the line of Pariah’s sight. It was an unnecessary caution, Pariah held no interest in the boy outside of his relationship with the Ancient.

The crown held little interest either, with how much Pariah had lost to keep it the first time.

“I’m sure your new masters are thrilled you have taken in such a powerful ward,” he had meant it with mostly dry sarcasm. It was clear, in all the actions of the observants before, that they disliked things that were different, things that didn’t fit neatly in their pathetically limited labels.

He hadn’t expected Clockwork to growl as if it were a threat. It caught him off guard. He'd known Clockwork was hardly loyal. It was, if anything, the most predictable aspect of who he was. A being created in chaos was not going to ally itself to any one doctrine for long, and especially not to the doctrine of another.

It was why, Pariah thought, the observants kept him chained so thoroughly with responsibilities and rules, unable to go against what they demanded and busy with pointless, petty tasks. Had he been wrong?

“He is my responsibility,” Clockwork scowled, aging into an adult, “as he is meant to be.”

So they didn’t know. It was likely, knowing Clockwork and his propensity for twisting language to his advantage, that they had said something threatening or demeaning towards either Clockwork or the boy and he had simply taken it to mean what he’d like.

It also meant that it was something he was keeping hidden from them. An advantage, Pariah thinks, that a better man would refuse to take advantage of. But Pariah was no king anymore, there was no proper way to get what he wanted, no code of honor and chivalry. And what he wanted, was kept tantalizingly out of his reach.

Why shouldn’t he grab what he could, to pull it closer to him?

Pariah had not slept since he awakened the second time from his slumber. The idea, while once a pleasant excuse to ignore his responsibilities for the sake of rest, was no longer appealing to say the least. He would not admit, even to himself, the fear that crept upon him at the thought.

He was not scared to sleep, he did not lie awake, staring at the swirling mist and ectoplasm of the realms around him in fear that if he closed his eyes they may never open again.

“You should sleep Pariah.”

“Clockwork,” he greeted, not bothering to stand, “you of all people do not get to tell me that.”

There was a soft shuffle of fabric and Pariah felt the subtle change in the ambient ectoplasm of the zone as Clockwork sat beside him on the ground of his once grand courtyard. It had taken some time, but Pariah had managed to tame the plants and vines that had claimed the land for their own.

In his impatience he had sheared more than was perhaps necessary, leaving much of the ground barren and lifeless entirely. There was nothing to be done, but to keep the plants tamed and wait for the rest to grow again.

“It was supposed to be the merciful option,” Clockwork lied, “You always liked to sleep in, if I remember correctly.”

Pariah refused to look up at him, he didn’t know what he would do, should he see him, softly glowing and silhouetted against the sky, close enough to touch, and he was unwilling to test his own resolve. “I had a reason to stay in bed then, if I recall correctly myself.”

Clockwork didn’t rise to his bait, “if we had planned instead, to take your core… we would have failed. You would have won and gone forth to take more of the realms as your own.”

Because of course he would have, fresh from Clockwork and the other Ancients’ betrayals. He would have been angry, vindictive, the scar he had now would have been nothing in comparison to what Pariah would have done in retaliation for such betrayal from those he’d trusted so thoroughly.

“You would have lost your resolve. And without it, the others would have fallen to my blade.”

Clockwork didn’t answer, of course. But he didn’t need to. One didn’t need the ability to look into the branching paths of the future in order to know someone else well enough to predict. And Pariah felt the truth in his words hit as Clockwork hesitated.

Without thinking, Pariah reached towards him. His hand had gotten almost close enough to grab the edge of that damned cloak before Clockwork was once more out of his grasp.

The weeds around him had grown back, his work entirely undone. Petty bastard.

“Fright has yet to bother me as you do.”

Clockwork floated towards him, grabbed the book from his hand and floated away. Pariah didn’t resist, any hope of actually reading had fled at the other’s sudden appearance.

He hummed, flipping carefully through the book. It was on gardening, Pariah had read through to the section on encouraging natural growth, methodical as always in any task he undertook. “You can hardly blame him, with the pumpkin and all.”

Pariah scowled, “he can’t still be trapped by that.” It was rare, quite frankly, for his royal knight to be trapped for long at all in that thing.

There was always some foolish ghost or other entity that wanted to test their courage, and it only took one before Fright would be freed to roam the realms under his own power. The sorcerer that bound him in the first place had learned that lesson quickly and was now spending their time trapped in a tailor made dimension of their own.

“He’s not.” Clockwork answered easily, then he paused, mused something over, and said, “he’s been training with Daniel. But he won’t come see you after your last time awake, not after what he and Vladimir did to trick you.”

That was a new name, “Vladimir?” Pariah asked, voice deceptively soft, “am I supposed to know who that is?”

“You are,” Clockwork smiled, never a good sign, “he was the one who woke you up after all.”

Frowning, Pariah walked over to grab his book back, Clockwork let go of it easily, not having read a single passage and for some reason this frustrated Pariah further. Why grab the book at all if he wasn’t going to even pretend to read the damn thing?

“I suppose you were behind that as well then?” He asked.

But Clockwork just shook his head, that infuriating smile still on his face. Pariah could have fixed that once, wiped that damn smirk away with naught but a touch or a well spoken word. He held his ground instead.

He was clearly enjoying this somehow, basking in Pariah’s torment, “not every aspect of your existence is meticulously planned I’ll have you know.”

“I’m sure,” Pariah said dryly, “there’s many decisions I’ve made in my time that have led you in unplanned directions.”

“As was your goal,” Clockwork floated back, away from Pariah. He stepped closer in response, unwilling to allow the distance.

Pariah forced his posture to relax, it wouldn’t do to look the part of predator stalking prey. The goal, after all, was not to scare him away. And Clockwork had always been skittish, in moments like this.

It had taken time, in the beginning, to get as close as he had. It would take time again.

He had all the time in the realms.

“It gave me great pleasure to see you flustered,” he was almost within reach, almost close enough to touch.

Clockwork’s back pressed against the wall, Pariah stepped forward, caging him in. “Surely there were easier ways to seek your joy.”

Humming, Pariah stepped even closer, naught but a moment between them. “When has a challenge been anything but enticing to me?” He reached up to finally pull away the horrid hood that had been obscuring the other’s face, but his hands closed around empty nothing.

Clockwork had once again slipped through his fingers. Damn.

Vlad Plasmius.

A stupid name that reeked of a grandiose sense of self importance and naivety. And, knowing that he was the one to wake Pariah in a foolish, short sighted attempt at his crown, it was likely apt as well.

He’d turned one of Pariah’s most loyal against him. Stolen what was Pariah’s and had yet to see due consequence.

“I’d warn that your face might become stuck if I wasn’t so sure it already had, is a scowl the only expression you can make these days?”

Pariah’s scowl deepened, “what is this Plasmius to you?”

Clockwork blinked, a moment of genuine surprise flickered across his expression before it melted back into his typical neutral expression.

“A nuisance mostly. His exploits tend to disrupt the flow of the realms and he rarely thinks about anything as dull as the consequences of his actions,” he tilted his head, allowing his gaze to wander, “and his determination to steal Daniel as his own has become grating.”

Pariah’s scowl lessened, he’d thought for sure, with the Half-Ghost’s penchant for chaos, that Clockwork would have a more favorable opinion of him. Often, it was the most obnoxious, frustrating, logic defying, gremlins of the infinite realms that caught his eye, and his affections.

Things that existed beyond the simple calculations of his sight, wrenches in the works of otherwise well laid plans. They were Clockwork’s favorite, his desire for mischief surprisingly genuine for one so ancient and omniscient. Though, perhaps that was why. The Ancients may not be chaos themselves, but they had certainly been born from it.

“You haven’t thought to share custody?” Pariah asked, curious. It was uncommon amongst ghosts, as obsessive as they were, but not unheard of. Especially when obsessions were involved, it was difficult after all, for a ghost to let go of something their core had claimed as their own.

Clockwork’s smile was tight, “I don’t think I have it in me to share.”

Pariah looked over at his companion, the ambient soft blue of his glow and its contrast against the shadows of his hooded cloak. He watched as the watches, clocks, and other time keeping devices embedded and decorated throughout his form ticked, discordant from each other; each one a slightly different pace from the others.

He watched as Clockwork’s face, as handsome still as it was the day he locked Pariah away, softened from sardonic and annoyed to something more gentle as the silence stretched on.

“Neither do I,” he said.

“You shouldn’t seek me out, if you have any desire at all to keep what limited freedom you have,” Pariah warned.

He had walked down one of the winding stairs in the far tower only to see Clockwork there, halfway down and leaning out of the window. His legs were fully formed for once and Pariah had to bite back a remark involving just how long it had been since he’d last seen them.

It was novel, to see Clockwork in his entirety.

“I have little choice, my duties as they are,” he lied. It was unlikely the Observants had any desire for him to leave his tower, poised at their beck and call. If they had demanded he keep an eye on Pariah at all as he claimed, it had been with the intention of using his screens. There wasn’t much that could be hidden from them after all.

Pariah stepped close, just enough to look out of the window beside him. It was like standing beside a lightning storm, as static and electric as the space between them had become.

“They do not fear I’ll steal you away from them?” He folded his hands behind his back, held them there, clenched tightly in restraint.

Clockwork’s smile was bitter, as it often was nowadays when he was reminded of his bindings, “there is little you can do.”

“There is little I would not do,” he countered.

He stepped away, his legs fading once more into a familiar tail and Pariah bit back disappointment.

“You assume I would return here? Should I be relieved of my duties?” Clockwork asked, snide.

“You assume I would not chain you here myself?” He would, with no hesitation at all, if he thought it would hold. If something as simple as chains and binders could keep something like Clockwork.

He walked towards him, internally rolling his eyes when Clockwork kept level at his height even as they descended. It was a small, petty thing, him not allowing himself to be vulnerable in any way, and it was very Clockwork.

“You could not hold me.”

“I could try.”

Pariah, finding more and more time to himself as the Castle’s restoration saw its completion, was looking into the observant’s laws. And their prisoners, and their actions after Pariah himself had been locked away.

It was boring, tedious work to shuffle through the information given to him. The countless detailed notes of the Observants countless boring meetings were beginning to blend together in his mind. It would be easier, he knew, if he simply skipped to the parts that were important to him. The ones that involved Clockwork and their claims to him.

But that was against his nature, so he read, and read, and fought down the rising urge to simply fly over to their courts of judgement and raze it to the ground. It would be quicker, and more enjoyable as well. But it wouldn’t give him the answers he needed, and it wouldn’t guarantee Clockwork’s release from his duties.

He continued reading.

“You’re calmer now, without the ring,” Clockwork said, once more stating the obvious.

Pariah put down the papers he was staring at, the words had long blurred together and there were more pleasant things here now to keep his eyes occupied. “I should hope so, with all the trouble you went through to separate me from it.”

His companion nodded, the hood shifting slightly with the movement to cover his face even further and Pariah frowned.

“You would have been more successful in your conquest had it never been gifted to you,” Clockwork said, “it is perhaps for the best, that you fell to its charms and lost your patience.”

Pariah doesn’t know why he brought this up. It could be to agitate or remind him of their animosity. It could be one of those strange roundabout explanations Clockwork used instead of apologies, or it could be his attempt at distancing himself. A reminder of how far Pariah had fallen in the end.

“Carefully planned no doubt,” Pariah said, his voice light. “A gift given to disrupt what goals I had, to speed up my fall and more quickly end my reign.”

“A necessary evil, to lessen the cost.”

Pariah smiled, sharp, “are you saying I’m a larger threat without it?”

Clockwork turned his gaze away, “you're certainly more meticulous. It’s terrifying really.”

“What do you see in those futures of yours?” He asked, not expecting an answer.

He didn’t get one, “many things. Different branches and paths, some brighter than others, some barely there at all…” Clockwork floated to the window and looked outside, “it would be easier, Pariah, if you bothered to be predictable.”

Ha, Pariah smiled, “If you truly struggled to predict my actions, we would not be here now. At least not as we are.”

Clockwork gave a hum of agreement, “it is what you are going to do next, I think, that I struggle to see.”

Pariah had taken the chance, with Clockwork’s back to him, to get closer. To crowd himself near without touching and spoke in his ear, “I disagree. There is no doubt in my mind you see exactly what I am going to do, what I have planned. What you fail to see, my dear timekeeper, is how to stop it.”

He disappeared before Pariah could get his arms around him.

But no matter, Clockwork had been correct when he’d called Pariah meticulous.

“I’d rather you not call me your ‘dear’,” Clockwork said, appearing far enough away that it was a wonder Pariah had heard him at all.

They were outside, the weeds and plants of his courtyard finally, properly tamed and pleasant. He lifted the petals of a particularly pretty purple plant to his lips and kissed it gently before replanting it into the ground.

“I could,” he offered, “call you by the name of a flower instead.”

Clockwork clicked his tongue, “I do think pet names are beneath you. You’ve never used one before.” That was certainly true, but he’d also had an image to uphold before, and many other ways to see Clockwork flustered.

If he had known how well something so simple had worked though, he would have started using them an eon ago. Ah well.

“Perhaps I grew romantic in my forced sleep?,” Pariah said, his expression slipping into a smirk. Clockwork’s careful distance was a set back and a hopeful promise tangled together and he didn’t bother trying to move closer. He knew better than trying to corner a startled animal, trying to corner a skittish Ancient would unlikely end any more in his favor.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, ah, Clockwork had shifted to his younger, child form. Was that a defense mechanism of some kind? Or did he do it out of spite? It would take some time, and likely some subtle experimentation, if Pariah ever wanted to truly solve that particular mystery.

But he was finding he didn’t mind the thought of taking his time, slowly unwrapping all of the things Clockwork had long kept hidden from him. The imperfections and jagged edges. Patience was starting to become second nature, in his dealings with the other ghost.

“Are you saying you dreamed, Pariah?” Clockwork asked, disbelief coloring his tone. Pariah wondered, if he refused to answer, would Clockwork ever know? He could not read minds, would he simply look at a branching path where Pariah was less inclined to be petty and seek his answer there? Would there be one?

Pariah was stubborn afterall.

The silence stretched uncomfortably and Pariah reveled in it. How novel, catching Clockwork off balance like this. He wondered if he could make it worse. If a gentle push would break the tension or heighten it.

“Afraid that you’ll fall for me again, if I should be endearing towards you?”

Clockwork made an incredulous noise, something between a cough and yelp, and Pariah had to bite back a smile. Much of the fun would be lost, should Clockwork realize he was being messed with.

His form aged as he started to rant, his low, deep voice colored with irritation and sang like music to Pariah’s ears. He didn’t even bother listening to the words, content instead, to feel Clockwork’s frustration in the ambient ectoplasm around them. Perhaps this feeling was why Clockwork had started these visits, marveling in Pariah’s own flustered discomfort. His mistake.

“-An obsession with conquest, control-“

“Obsessions change,” Pariah interrupted softly.

He was met with only silence, and when he looked over again towards Clockwork, the ancient had frozen entirely. His gaze was locked on Pariah himself, before he broke it away, looking instead at the keep around them. The rebuilt castle, the carefully manicured courtyard, the area set aside for his spars with the younger ghosts that returned so often, so ready to prove themselves. His posture softened.

“Yes, I suppose they do… if you allow it.”

This time, when Clockwork left his presence he didn’t bother to stop time and sneak away. There was no need likely, Pariah had not bothered to get close enough to stop him from simply flying away.

He leaned back into the grass, his core humming in satisfaction and anticipation.

It had been some time since Clockwork’s last visit. Too much time.

The visits had become regular, expected disruptions to Pariah’s rather dull afterlife, and their absence soured on his tongue. He tried not to let the frustration show in his lessons with his students, hitting one harder than necessary would hardly teach a ghost how to better dodge, and attacking faster than they could keep up with would hardly help them plan their next move.

So he put all of his frustration towards renovation once more. Sure, the castle had been properly rebuilt and looked as grand now as it ever had, but Pariah had learned of more modern comforts in his studies, as detailed and meticulous as they were, and desired to have some for himself.

He just needed to figure out how to implement the overly complicated designs to something that had long been simple. First he would start with an aqueduct of some sort. It would be nice to have regular access to more purified ectoplasm with which to bathe or shower himself, and the well in the center of the courtyard that dug deep enough to access the steady supply at the heart of his lair only allowed for him to pull up so much before it would be depleted.

If instead, he built some kind of purifier, something that could take ambient ectoplasm or even throwaway energy from the realms around him, he could imitate the water systems mortals had invented for their own homes. Perhaps he could create something similar to this ‘sauna’ he’d read about. A room packed full of purified ectoplasm for the sole gain of sitting inside to relax.

There was nothing more rewarding, Pariah thought, than working towards a goal and seeing that work bear fruit. Patience and perseverance were all a ghost needed to succeed.

Pariah worked as he waited for Clockwork to return.

“You seem to be in a bad mood, your majesty,” the dragonling said. She had long learned to use the most advantageous aspects of her abilities without fully shifting her form, but her speed at doing so needed work and Pariah had started leading her into Katas specific to each trick she had developed.

He glared at her, “I don’t have moods,” he lied. “But if I did, it only makes sense that I would be irritated to find my day interrupted by your foolish challenges.”

There was another young ghost there as well, a small dokkaebi that looked like it had once been a broom or something similar. He had attacked Pariah alone multiple times himself and had apparently convinced the dragonling to team up with him in their next attempt at Pariah’s nonexistent crown.

It had been nice, the extra bit of challenge it took to defeat them both without causing serious damage to either of them.

The dokkaebi scoffed, “if you really didn’t want us here you wouldn’t have this time in your day set aside.”

Pariah frowned and threw a gentle ectoblast towards him. It grazed his shoulder and he yelped in response. That should teach him not to sass his elders. “It is a foolish decision for a ghost to make plans when those around him seek to ignore them so entirely.”

The dragonling chuckled at the dokkaebi’s misfortune and Pariah snapped at her to concentrate on her own training. It was a poor showing of his self control, that even ghosts as young as they had noticed something off.

He was building a blueprint for the aqueduct’s filter when a feeling not unlike that of being covered entirely in slime settled around him. He scowled, “I don’t remember inviting you into my keep, watchers.”

“We are the Observants,” Pariah rolled his eyes, “we have come to judge you for your deeds.”

Entitled bastards.

They likely thought themselves more powerful than they were, Clockwork having lowered himself as he did for whatever nefarious, long term plan he was no doubt biding his time to implement. But Pariah was not bound by contracts or schemes, and even without his crown a handful of inactive ectoplasmic waste such as these were hardly a threat.

An annoyance though, considering what would happen should he actually shatter their cores. The last thing he wanted was for them to send Clockwork in their stead, even if it would break the impasse he’d caused with his prolonged absence.

“I have done nothing worth being judged,” Pariah said, his knowledge of what was and was not mentioned in each of the Observants’ ridiculous laws was encompassing and complete. There was somehow, despite their likely efforts, no laws against rebuilding one’s own lair or meeting challenges set against oneself.

Even in the rules of their contract with Clockwork, there was nothing that confined him permanently to his tower. It was stated, quite plainly, that he could leave in the performance of his duties as given by the Observants themselves.

Clockwork had stated many times that one of those duties had been to watch over Pariah.

The Observants, predictably, disagreed, “you have left the realms in terror and abandoned your duties as King.”

“What I did as king is not under your jurisdiction, and you know well that I was dethroned. You wouldn’t be here now, attempting to threaten me otherwise.” He stood to his full height, towering over his uninvite guests.

They wavered, giant, bulbous eyes that never blinked, Pariah held back his revulsion in favor of allowing his fury to take stage instead. “The clause of the King, as I remember it, was right by conquest. The fate of the realms to be given to the hands of whomever defeated me under their own power. The crown is no longer mine, it does not heed my call. I have no duties to be found in remis of.”

“Your reign of terror-”

His remaining eye twitched, “I did as King. To whom such laws do not apply.”

It was tedious, dealing with their repetitive denials, their attempts at enforcing laws that did not exist to their standards. But Pariah calmly shot down every accusation, every mentioned offense, citing written laws and countless examples of other ghosts and their versions of compliance. He had done nothing since he awakened, and it was this nothing that both infuriated them and protected him now.

“How does it feel, I wonder, to have been so thoroughly outsmarted by a child? Less than a year dead at the time, as I’ve been informed. Did your council throw a fit, when he absconded, erasing the position of High King from the realms until someone else should attempt to take up the mantle from the start as I had? Did it affect your plans? Were you hoping, when I awoke a second time, that I would start once more on my trail of conquest, crown or not?”

One of the Observants glared daggers at him, a nerve clearly struck, “we had hoped you’d stay true to what we believed you were. You left the task incomplete.”

Pariah grinned, “I don’t know what you mean, are the lands of the realms not united now?”

It squawked, “in what way?!”

“Why, against me, of course.”

The conversation with the Observants had been long, tedious, and mostly fruitless for both sides. They could not make anything stick against Pariah, not without breaking their own vows as they stood and making themselves powerless entirely. Yet all the same, it would not stop them from attempting to pass new laws and regulations, with the sole intent of catching Pariah out on it.

They would fail, of course, he had painstakingly sorted through every record and law, every court decision ever made since the foundation of the Observants’ Order. There would be no ghost, Observant or no, as thoroughly knowledgeable as he, in what could and could not be done. He was meticulous like that.

It had been a flaw, in their eyes. Made him slow to action. And the reason, he suspected, he had been gifted that ring. They had thought to use his rage, to falsify impatience, to more quickly advance their plans.

Their mistake.

Taking a moment to relax and stretch his limbs, Pariah stood to leave.

“Pariah!”

He had opened the door to see a flustered looking Clockwork on the other side, easily within reach. His hood had been mussed, likely caused by him rushing over to Pariah’s keep after so long purposefully ignoring him, and Pariah could see wisps of long white hair peeking through, no longer completely hidden. He’d kept it long.

“Where- I- I couldn’t see-,” Clockwork’s eyes darted around the room, looking for something that had long left, before settling on Pariah, an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks.

Realization dawned quickly as Clockwork noticed just how close they were to each other and attempted to create space between them. Not quick enough though, as Pariah curled his hand around a gloved wrist.

He stepped close, Clockwork moved back, almost like a dance, until the stone wall of the corridor blocked his retreat and he had nowhere left to go but Pariah’s arms.

Marveling in the feeling of finally, finally having Clockwork exactly where he wanted him, Pariah purred. When he looked down to admire his prize, Clockwork had ducked his head further beneath that damned hood, avoiding his gaze still. Annoyed, Pariah lifted his free hand and tugged it forcefully away.

It was a view easily worth the wait, Clockwork’s flustered expression, framed beautifully by soft white hair, even longer than Pariah last remembered and tangled in a mess by the constant presence of his hood. Pariah longed to card his fingers through it, to gently brush away the knots and feel the silky strands beneath his fingers. So he did, drinking in Clockwork’s gentle shiver like fine wine as he leaned closer, trapping him against the wall.

Once he was done, he allowed his arms to lower, circling around a tapered waist and pulling the other ghost closer to him. Even stopping time, it would be impossible now, for Clockwork to disentangle himself and escape. Pariah’s grip was as gentle as it could be, but it was unyielding.

“You did not tell me they could block your sight,” he muttered gently into Clockwork’s hair.

“It is not my job to tell you things you already know.”

Pariah hummed, trailing his hand along Clockwork’s back, documenting in his mind every soft hitch of unneeded breath, reacquainting himself with the more sensitive places now available to him. “Once I destroy that useless council of theirs, I will have to find a way to cage you for myself,” he mused.

Clockwork bit him, fangs sinking into Pariah’s unarmored shoulder.

Well, he would at the very least attempt it.

Final comments

#Danny Phantom #Clockwork dp #Pariah Dark #Pariah/Clockwork #Phic Phight #Bee's writing #yooooooo I'm not kidding my goal is to drag as many of you fuckers down with me as I can #@floralflowerpower #That includes You

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amwritesitall · 4 years

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Sarah’s AHS Characters (+Alice and a Ship) as Songs I’m Vibing With

Masterlist

Instead of a collection of songs from one artist these are songs I’m currently vibing with? Here’s the playlist if you wanna listen (warning it fluctuates a lot because it’s just songs a vibe with at the moment). I skipped the songs I used in artist posts.

Billie Dean Howard

“24 / 7/ 365″ by Surfaces

Met, this girl down by the vine Had long tan legs and big brown eyes Seemed the type I would wanna make mine

She said nine to five, I'm killing time But twenty-four-seven, three-six-five I have to be where I feel your sunshine

One to two-step, three-step, four She's everywhere out on the dance floor She's everything you could ever want and more

Picture it. Billie Dean is at some event. She spies a girl who’s mesmerizing, killing it on the dance floor. Realizing this girl is absolutely the person she wants to be with. The line “I have to be where I feel your sunshine”!! Big Billie Dean vibes right there. In the darkness that her job sometimes entails, she’s drawn to the light of her lover. A ray of sunshine if you will.

“Heaven Falls / Fall on Me” by Surfaces

Woke up early in the mornin' Just to feel the light of day Had to open up my window Get the shadows out my way Banana pancakes for my problems Find me jamming old Jack Johnson Swear I heard them angel calls Lay outside

As Heaven falls Heaven falls

If you can’t tell, Surfaces really makes me think of Billie Dean. This goes with my explanation for the other song. Billie’s job gets pretty dark and intense. Although she never completely gets a break from her job (because she can’t just turn off being a medium) she tries to use her time away from filming and darker locations to focus on the lighter aspects of life, savoring all around her and her lover. I have no idea if what I said makes sense though.

Lana Winters

“Let’s Fall in Love for the Night” by FINNEAS

Let's fall in love for the night And forget in the mornin' Play me a song that you like You can bet I'll know every line I'm the boy that your boy hoped that you would avoid Don't waste your eyes on jealous guys, fuck that noise I know better than to call you mine

This song gives me Lana vibes in the sense that she doesn’t really want to get too attached to people. This also makes me think of how Lana is the type of lover that someone’s conservative/strict family wouldn’t want them with (because of the gay). When you go this route, it’s hard for me not to picture teenage Lana when listening to this.

Fun fact: I have a vague idea for writing a Billie Dean Howard x Reader imagine over this song.

“me & ur ghost” by blackbear

I'm not alone It's just me and your ghost And this cripplin' depression I thought I learned my lesson But, I threw out my phone And I burned all your clothes And now I'm not alone It's just me and your ghost

Now hear me out. Post break up Lana dealing with all of her memories of her ex and then burning all of their shit because Lana is lowkey that bitch. It’s a bit of a stretch, but that’s just my humble opinion on the matter.

Cordelia Goode

“If We Were Vampires” by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

It's not the long, flowing dress that you're in Or the light coming off of your skin The fragile heart you protected for so long Or the mercy in your sense of right and wrong It's not your hands searching slow in the dark Or your nails leaving love's watermark It's not the way you talk me off the roof Your questions like directions to the truth

It's knowing that this can't go on forever Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone Maybe we'll get forty years together But one day I'll be gone Or one day you'll be gone

Cordelia knows that one day she will die. There will be another Supreme after her and she can’t live forever. This is her coming to terms with the fact that maybe it’s for the best that she won’t stay around forever. Not being immortal allows her to live in the moment and savor all the time she has.

“PlantedInMyMind.Memo” by Charlie Burg

Saying things I don't believe And your love casts it's shadow on the things I do And I can hear so clearly all the words I'd wish I'd said You're stuck in my head But I only think of you Will we be together soon? I'm thrown on the wayside You're planted in my mind But I don't wanna be ok without you

This makes me think of an angsty Cordelia relationship like post “In Another Lifetime”?!?! Cordelia being stuck on her lover from the past

Also makes me think of Cordelia x Misty after the events of season 3

Bette and Dot Tattler

“prom dress” by mxmtoon

I can't help the fact I like to be alone It might sound kinda sad, but that's just what I seem to know I tend to handle things usually by myself And I can't ever seem to try and ask for help

I'm sitting here, crying in my prom dress I'd be the prom queen if crying was a contest Makeup is running down, feelings are all around How did I get here? I need to know

I guess I maybe had a couple expectations Thought I'd get to them, but no I didn't

I’m not going to lie, this is a bit of a stretch.

I’m kind of getting Bette and Dot wishing they could be like everyone else. They just want that normal teen experience?

Sally McKenna

“Teeth” by 5 Seconds of Summer

Call me in the morning to apologize Every little lie gives me butterflies Something in the way you're looking through my eyes Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth Late night devil, put your hands on me And never, never, never ever let go

The angst! The tension! The passion! SPICY TIMES WITH SALLY

“fuck, i’m lonely” by Lauv, Anne-Marie

I call you one time, two time, three time I can't wait no more Your fingers through my hair, that's on my mind I know it's been a minute since you walked right through that door But I still think about you all the time

Sally just wants love. She’s sick of being lonely and wants to be with the person she loves. Being a ghost sucks and she wants out of that damn hotel.

Dealing with her ex that is still alive while she’s not.

Audrey Tindall

“Prom Queen” by Beach Bunny

Shut up, count your calories I never looked good in mom jeans Wish I, was like you, blue-eyed blondie, perfect body Maybe I should try harder You should lower your expectations I'm no quick-curl barbie I was never cut out for Prom Queen If I get more pretty, do you think he will like me?

Teen Audrey. I will stand by this.

Now I’m thinking about teen Audrey and my heart :(

Ally Mayfair Richards

“I Needed You” by blackbear

When I needed you the most, I needed you I fucking needed you the most, I needed you, the most Now I won't be there to give you what you need Now I won't be there, no

You know this was never really about us And everything was always 'bout you You never knew a thing about trust And I knew everything about you, what's happening Three whole years, they can go by In a blink of an eye, and you won't know it, but What a damn waste of time

You can’t sit there and tell me this doesn’t sound like Ally dealing with Ivy’s betrayal. No. There is no way this song doesn’t give off those vibes. Like sis was dealing with a ton of shit and where was her wife??? Off gallivanting and murdering with a cult because she voted for Jill Stein.

Wilhemina Venable

“Lovesong (The Way) [feat. Bluets]” by Charlie Burg

Now you're away with nothing to say My heart aches like never before Filled with desire, you've inspired me to write another verse

I think we're alone now You can tell me it was all just a game Yes, we're alone now But the feeling's slightly changed

But you take your time, my love Don't ever tell me that it just takes time to love As long as I'm writing this song about my love for you Is it too much to ask For a reply? Or a text? Or a way to tell you love me like before

I don’t knooowww. This just makes me think of Mina trying to deal with her feelings and possibly her significant other kind of giving up because they feel like Mina will never reciprocate their feelings. Mina does love them but it’s hard for her to express it.

“Someday” by Peach Tree Rascals

I hate the fact that you Run on mind, all damn day There she goes

Girl won't you wait for me

I settled down, I'm better now I never knew what this life was about Days got too plain, colors got dull All of the roses fell on to the floor I'll pick them up, wipe the dust Need a chance for your love For your love, for your love, ooooh I've been floating between oceans And the darkness in the sky I've been lonesome in this old shed And it's burnin through my mind

Similar to the song above, Mina hates the fact that she’s stuck on this person, but she eventually realizes that she needs this person in her life. This love really out here making her appreciate life and all the good things in it.

Basically Mina is turning into a softie.

Alice Macray

“Mariposa” by Peach Tree Rascals

I can't wait for you To come my way I've been far away But I'll keep runnin' Just to find a way to you til' then

I been running from it Tired of running from it Scared of feeling something now I'm stuck and tryna get up out of this hole

Surface level this song has some good vibes like our baby Alice. Over analyzing level is not as good vibes. This song is kind of like our baby Alice running from her feelings for someone because the thought of such strong feelings is scary for her.

Billie Dean Howard x Audrey Tindall

“Channel Orange in Your Living Room” by Charlie Burg

We met when I was drunk That party didn't actually suck You made fun of how slow I drank

But now I can't stop thinking about you Each moment passes and my thoughts return to you And the memory of us too As we listen to Channel Orange in your living room

Even when you're away That album makes me feel like you stayed To listen now would make me a fool again for you

Without a doubt, I always think of these two when I listen to the song and that’s one of the reasons why I love it so much. I’m just picturing the two of them meeting a party together and Billie taking Audrey back to her place. Then they end up thinking of each other long after the night is over.

You might like: Sarah Paulson AHS Characters as Hozier Songs or Sarah Paulson AHS Characters as Rex Orange County Songs

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quietlypondering · 5 years

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Timeless | Chapter 4

Read on A03 Ship: Prinxiety Summary: In a society where superpowers are the new era on the horizon - Virgil is happy flying under the radar, as much as he can, with government issued blockers. Life was… Normal - Or, at least, as normal as he could be. Until one day, as cheesy as it sounds, a simple train ride would change his life forever. Word Count: 1642 Chapter Warnings: Suicide Mention, Nightmares (including burning/boiling alive imagery, suicidal imagery/ drowning imagery. All of this will be in Italics if you wish to skip.) Tags: Superpower AU, Angst w/ a happy ending, unreliable narrator A/N: Thanks again to my wonderful beta reader @kolurize <3

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Burning. Boiling. The sounds of water bubbling away brings him to his senses. Virgil blinks awake - a feeling of vertigo sends him reeling forward, and when he looks up, the smell of chlorine hits him like a truck. He keels over, eyes blurry, head stuffy, and realises he’s standing on the edge of a swimming pool. And it writhes beneath his feet, forceful and unrelenting. He feels the heat rise, almost catching his breath in his throat.

Without any warning, he feels his feet slip. His heart pounds in his chest as he begins to fall, grasping for dear life for some sort of edge. He does - barely - his fingers numb against the rough side of the swimming pool. Smoke licks at his feet as he holds on for dear life. He tries to yell, to scream, to make any sort of sound come out of his mouth, but it doesn’t. After all, it’s hard to scream when you’re dreaming--

--Virgil awoke with a start - his head pounding, unremitting, like it was the worst hangover he’d ever experienced. Even the dull light filtering through the window was causing his eyes to ache and burn and pulse at the back of his skull. His chest tight, his arms heavy - Virgil could barely gather up the courage to move a finger, let alone an arm, much less his whole body.

He rolled over in an attempt to shield his eyes from the light, but all it did was force him into a bout of dizziness. He gritted his teeth, pulling himself out of bed with all the strength in the world. Virgil let out a groan, pushing his palms into his eyes in an attempt to get the pulsing to just stop.

He trudged over to the bathroom - startled, momentarily, by the way his face looked in the mirror. Pale and ashen, and a thin line of dried blood ran from his nose all the way to his chin. He grimaced, splashing some water in his face and thoroughly scrubbing the blood away, hoping he would at least look a bit presentable.

Quietly, Virgil shrugged on his hoodie and slipped discreetly out the door. His hands shoved deep inside his pockets. The feeling of cool wind at his neck made him shiver, yet was oddly comforting against his clammy skin.

He found himself wincing at every other step as he trudged down the street, garnering several odd looks from passersby. One little old lady even stopped and asked him if he was alright. She commented on how ghostly pale he looked - but when Virgil didn’t bother to answer (out of awkwardness, or his feverish stupor), she quickly left him be.

By the time Virgil made the audition, he could barely even remember why he was there.

His movements were weak and lethargic, so much so that as he stumbled through the door, he evidently made such a scene that those sitting in the waiting area had their faces contort into a look of startled concern.

Truthfully, he could barely see. He made quick work of tripping over his own feet, and as if on cue, another pair of feet appeared just inches away from his own. A pair of arms caught him and when Virgil finally looked up, he saw a familiar face. Curly hair. Blue eyes. A look of quiet unease set firmly on his face.

“Are you alright?” It was Roman. Roman, looking a mix between confused and concerned, tilted his head slightly. “...Do we know each other?”

Virgil could barely even think straight (or ever, really, for that matter,). But, he managed to squint at him in his semi-conscious state and mumble, “No. Not this time” before his entire world went completely black.

Hot. Hot hot hot, burning against his skin. He’s yanked away from the edge of the pool by an unknown force, and thrust deep into the vat of boiling water. He opens his mouth to scream, but hot, scalding water just enters his lungs. He struggles to breathe, writhing, trying to scramble his way to the surface - but he just sinks. Sinks all the way to the bottom of the pool and - and then he’s falling.

Falling hard and fast through the air. His stomach drops, but as he looks around he sees nothing - nowhere to hold onto - he’s just falling. The wind catches his breath. He closes his eyes, squeezes them shut as tight as they will go - and then… nothing. He opens his eyes. He’s inside a kitchen - or, rather, just outside one. He recognises it, it’s the kitchen from his old house.

There are voices that he can’t quite make out. Angry and bitter. He tiptoes closer, fingers just barely touching the door handle as he pulls and peeks into the room.

A kettle boils on the stove. Two people much, much taller than him argue. He hears no words, but he feels them, crushing and debilitating. There’s a pause. The two figures in the kitchen turn, two pairs of eyes stare at him - glower in his direction. There should be words, but there are none. His breath catches, and he shuts the door. The arguing continues, as it always had, and as the kettle begins whistling, he rushes out of the house.

He turns back. The whistling of the kettle still in his ears as he begins to run. He looks up at the sky, grey-black clouds tumble across it with purpose. With a gasp, he turns to find himself in a field. Beyond it is a sprawling dark forest - he watches as the trees begin to close in. The field becomes smaller, until it’s just a clearing, as if he’d changed the size of a camera lens. The space between the trees grows smaller, and he can no longer breathe, no longer see anything but writhing vines and rotting wood.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up - he feels eyes - eyes on him, like something is coming, like a sense of impending doom. The ground beneath him shakes, and when he turns - the sky is dark. Dark and clouded over, the only thing in the distance is a pair of too-bright headlights. As much as he tries, he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

He looks down - feet glued to sodden wood train tracks. As he lifts his gaze up, he sees it coming, a large, black train. He opens his mouth to scream - Wait - No - but it continues forward in its unyielding course. He screws his eyes shut - arms moving to cover his head, bracing for the impact. But it never comes.

Virgil awoke shaken and confused - and hot, an unbroken fever bubbling beneath his skin. Distant hushed voices, something cool on his forehead, a touch on his arm. It occurred to him, briefly, that he in fact had no idea where he was. He bolted upright, immediately regretting it for the woozy, light-headed feeling that came across him.

“Oh- You’re awake. Are you alright?”

Virgil was not, in fact, alright.

He turned to the unrecognisable voice, squinting so he could attempt in vain to see through his hazy eyes.

“...You fainted. I’m sorry, I should’ve called an ambulance, but, well, I live really close and-”

It wasn’t until then that slowly, his memory began to filter back in, along with an inexplicable sense of dread. He frowned, trying to assess the unfamiliar location. Red bed sheets. Plush carpet. Desk. A bedroom? He turned, and it quite quickly dawned on him that he knew exactly who this was.

“What’s your name?” The person - now identified as Definitely Roman asked - and Virgil sat a moment with his mouth entirely agape.

“I’m… Virgil.”

“Roman. Roman Prince!”

Virgil felt a slow feeling of alarm creep into his chest. “Wait, the audition--?”

Roman shook his head. “..Sorry. We missed it.”

Virgil sat in shock for a moment. He felt his stomach drop. His chest tightened as he managed to say, “you missed it, too?”

“Well, yeah! You’ve been asleep for a few hours. I guess I wanted to make sure you're alright.”

While Virgil appreciated the sentiment - he couldn’t help but feel an incredible sense of disappointment. He’d made someone miss a likely important audition, all because he couldn’t keep it together for a few minutes. Shit.

Virgil panicked - screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to kickstart what little of his power he had left. Instead, as he was half way through working himself up, Roman placed a hand on his arm and gave him a pointed look. “It’s fine, you don’t have to do anything,” Roman said.

Virgil froze. “Wait, how do you…” Roman simply pointed to Virgil’s very obvious wrist, metal blocker wrapped around it, and grinned sheepishly. “...Oh.” He grimaced. Of course. “I’m still the one who caused you to miss it…”

“Look- Virgil, right?” Virgil nodded briefly. “Virgil, it was just a low budget show. There’s always the next one!”

There was a pause - Virgil could almost feel Roman studying his demeanor.

“...How do you feel, anyway?” Roman inquired.

Virgil barked out a laugh. “Like I got hit by a truck.” It rang hollow and bitter - and Virgil felt a pit growing in his stomach from the comment. He didn’t look in time to see Roman’s reaction, but...

“I know some people get weird about answering this but… What ability do you have?”

Instinctively, Virgil made to cover the blocker on his wrist with his large hoodie - but quickly decided against it. Roman already knew, anyway.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it-”

He pondered for a moment, mulling it over in his head before, without really giving himself much of a chance to decide, he said, “I can control time.” Another pause. “Well. Control is a loose way of putting it. It’s more like I can ride the waves and sometimes I get yanked underwater and can’t breathe.”

Roman frowned - and Virgil wondered if that’s all anyone ever felt. Damn Pity. “That does sound dangerous. No wonder you need that.” Roman pulled backwards on his chair. “My question is-- What’ve you been doing? You look like hell - uh, no offense.” Virgil swore he saw a twinkle in Roman’s eye. “How have you been using it this much? Are you on some sort of quest? Finding a long lost love?”

Virgil turned away, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up. “S-Something like that. I suppose.”

Roman leaned back in surprise. “That’s pretty admirable, dude. If someone did that for me, I’d marry them on the spot.” He laughed, “Not that I can- well, nevermind.”

Virgil flopped back onto the pillow, an arm hiding his flushed face. Slowly, he moved his arm a little so he could peek at Roman out of the corner of his eye. “...What’s your power, anyway? You have one right?”

He watched as Roman mirrored the same movement he’d done earlier - pulled his sleeve over his blocker, almost instinctively - and he shrugged.

“It’s kinda hard to explain.”

Virgil quirked an eyebrow. He could feel his mouth as it began to run completely dry. “Hard to explain?”

“Well I- I haven’t had it for long, as far as I know. It just kinda came in a few months ago.” He bit his bottom lip with what Virgil could only assume was embarrassment. “I haven’t told anyone about it before, really…” He trailed off meekly before adding, “apart from registering myself, of course.” He lifted his half-hidden blocker and flashed it to Virgil with a toothy grin.

“..So what can you do?”

Roman paused a moment to take in a deep, contemplative breath. An unmistakable look of discomfort passed on his face, before finally replying with--

“...I’ll show you.”

TAG LIST // @royallyanxious @kolurize @softanxiouspatton @purp-man @hexatrash

#timeless au #prinxiety #sanders sides #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #my fic #my fics #nightmares #suicide tw

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siverwrites · 6 years

Text

Fictober Day 14 FFVI AU

@laughingmango @azurefishnets I said I might and now I have. A rough attempt at a waking in the World of Ruin parallel.

FFVI Ghost Trick au. Some context kinda provided here and here. Except this all got even bigger.

I’ve never cared much for VI Cid really, but writing Pigeon Man in his place I think has somehow made me care for him even less...

It was the scientist in him, the professor supposed. Make notes, study, record everything. All fine and well when there was something to make note of. For a time progress was recorded and then he reached completion and that was that.

He could copy his previous entry and be entirely accurate. He wrote it anyway. It was something to do even if it relied on having had things to do. Another day, another foraging session for food, another bout of avoiding the monsters, another session of worrying over their limited stocks, and more fruitless checks on his unchanging charge—condition: stable. It was all he could say, stable and alive, which was at least better than stable and dead.

He turned in his chair to look at the bed. Cabanela hadn’t moved since that fateful, terrible day. Only his breath told him he was alive, if such a state could be called living.

“Any day now, you old crazy character.” He shook his head. “Hmph, never could convince you to get your head down. Ever the one for extremes, aren’t you?”

He stiffened. He had to have imagined that. Was that a twitch in his hand? Back to stillness. Maybe he was starting to crack. He rose and cautiously approached the bed, eyes fixed on him.

Darkness. Noise.

He made it in time. The last minute. There was still time.

Memry cursing the wheel. Kamila screaming that something sounded wrong with the engine. And all around them death rained. Shuddering. A terrible grinding crack as if the whole airship was in agony.

The towering statues. The air thick with magic.

He caught and flung Kamila back as if it mattered. In or out of either ship’s half they were falling fast. Fast and away from the rest. She was with them at least. They could be together…

Emperor Sith.

He scrabbled at the wood. Air rushed around him. He tried to reach for the professor’s outstretched hand.

Him. He was faced with himself. It was true. Too many pieces fell into place too rapidly. Not enough time right now.

Falling.

The statues…

Him. What had he created? What had been created from him?

Falling, falling…

Cabanela’s eyes felt too heavy, but with effort he managed to drag them open and a blank expanse swam into his vision. It took several seconds to recognise it as a ceiling.

“Finally awake, are you?”

He turned his head, even harder to do than opening his eyes--how was that fair—and the professor’s face came into view.

“Professor!”

He tried to bolt up and made it as far as sitting before the room tried to careen away. The professor gripped his shoulder.

“Easy now. You’ve been out for a long time.”

Cabanela stared at him. What did he mean? It couldn’t have been for long. He felt as if he could still feel the crackle of magic on his skin. The sight of his own eyes, as if looking into a fractured mirror. Their panic in his ears, the airship cracking…

He shook himself. One thing at a time.

“How long?”

“A year,” the professor flatly. “By my count.”

A count to be trusted. That was… something to be addressed later after more urgent matters were answered.

“The others?”

The professor’s mouth thinned. “I don’t know. We were the only two to wind up here.”

Cabanela looked around the room. Small, serviceable. Devoid of any useful information.

“And wheeere is here? Didn’t you try to search for them?”

“’Here’ is a small island. And that ought to answer your other question.”

Cabanela’s hand clenched around the blanket. “We have to find them. They’re out there. I know it.” Nothing else was conceivable. Nothing else was possible.

“Yeah, I knew you’d say that. Luckily for you I didn’t have much to do with all this time but make preparations.”

Cabanela brightened. “Then what’re we waitin’ fooor, prof?”

“I have no idea what’s out there or if there is much of anything out there anymore.”

“I won’t waste more time—.”

“We will go,” the professor cut in, “when you’ve had time to recuperate and we’ve had time to prepare. Frankly, we’re putting our trust in the best pieces of wood I was able to find, lashed together with vines in the barest of rafts. It won’t be a kind journey and I didn’t spend all this time looking after you for you to get yourself killed through impatience. Now wait here. I’ll get some food.”

Cabanela did wait until the professor left. Then he swung his legs over the edge and after a couple false starts managed to regain his feet. A cautious pace carried him across the short distance from wall to wall.

A year… if anyone else had told him it’d be unbelievable. What happened to them all? Where were they?

The professor re-entered with a plate of fish. He passed a critical eye over Cabanela, set the plate down on the desk and nodded toward it.

“Hope you don’t mind fish, ‘cause that’s what we’ve got. I’ve tried some plants around here. Can’t say much for their flavour, but they’re safe if you want some variety.”

“Think I’ll stick with the fiiish for now.”

Not that it looked entirely appealing either, but food was food.

Appealing or not it didn’t matter as he hardly noticed the taste. His thoughts sped back to that day. Would it have made any difference if he’d arrived sooner? Was there anything that could have been done? What of him?

He stared at the professor.

“Did you know?”

“What are you on about?”

“You saw him. Did you know?”

The professor’s expression darkened. “No. There were whispers of a top secret project. There were a lot of those, usually rubbish. I suppose something had to be true eventually.” He gave Cabanela a shrewd look. “Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

“That it doooes,” Cabanela said distantly. Alma… no wonder. And Jowd…

“Hmph, with any luck he got himself killed in that mess,” the professor said.

If only that could be true. But he knew as he knew himself. If he survived this there was no doubt in his mind that his… that that… that he survived as well. A sickening thought, but all the more reason to push forward.

“My gut says no,” Cabanela said simply. “He won, prof, but not for much looonger.”

“Three days,” the professor replied. “If I think we’re ready we’ll go.”

Cabanela smiled. “Got yourself a deeeal.”

“It was never a negotiation.”

It wasn’t until later into the evening that Cabanela found it in himself to be able to ask. But the absence was too strange. He wasn’t supposed to be a solo act.

“What happened to Lovey-Dove?”

The professor grimaced. “I don’t know. She’s a tough old girl and unlike us, has wings. Nothing we can do but hope.”

“Hope’s not such a baaad thing, prof.”

The next morning Cabanela woke to the professor coming in and felt more relief than he ever expected at the mere passing glance he was granted. It was a piece of normality. And only a single night passed.

They moved around each other quietly and the professor only spoke up when Cabanela announced his intentions to take a look around outside.

“Don’t stray. We share this island with monsters and they’ve grown nastier in this new world of ours. Nothing like anything we’ve seen before.”

Cabanela stepped out and stared. Daylight wasn’t doing their surroundings any favours. He didn’t know what he expected; it wasn’t this. It was as if the ground itself withered and the world grown dull. Only the sound of the ocean reached his ears.

The professor had said they were near a beach. It seemed as good a place as any, so he went.

The sand was welcome, unaffected by the sickly tones the rest of the world had taken on. He stared at the horizon as the waves licked at the shore.

How far out were they? Raft or not they had to make it. They’d reunite soon. This wasn’t the end by far.

Cabanela drifted back to the cottage and ignored the professor’s attempts at telling him he didn’t need help. Go rest. Theoretically a good idea, but Cabanela felt too ill at ease to sit still. Their day passed in a quiet productivity that didn’t feel very productive to Cabanela at all.

The second day found him again at the beach. He paced across the sands and froze at the sight of a flash of blue behind a rock. The bright colour felt strange and dreamlike in this drab environment. He stepped cautiously toward it then sped up when he realized what he was looking at.

“Lovey-Dove!”

The pigeon lifted her head and gave him a weary coo as he knelt next to her.

“You’re aliiive. It’s goood to see you ladybird.”

She stuck out her leg and Cabanela reached out automatically. She had a piece of cloth, a large piece, by all rights too large for her. The rest of the world faded from Cabanela’s awareness as he took in the sight.

He saw it so briefly, but he’d know this pink and these paint splatters anywhere.

He’d barely made it to the dungeon and had only just caught hold of the cell door with a brief sight of Jowd before his other, unknown to him then, got the drop on him. The resultant time passed in a blur of exhaustion, pain and magic induced sleep. A mask and his own haze prevented him from recognising that voice but he remembered his words, gently spoken to him before he lost everything to another sleep.

“You will diiie in the very domain of your loved ones. Isn’t that poetic?”

But through that, through everything Jowd’s face remained clear. Jowd alone in that deep cell. Jowd who’d looked so confused in a garment that had made no sense.

The look made sense now, the garment less so. And yet it was a piece of that very garment that Cabanela now held.

“Youuu are a gift,” Cabanela breathed. “Where did you get this?”

“Coo.”

“Come on.” He gathered her gently into his arms. “Someone else here will be thrilled to see you too!”

As he passed over the beach, his gaze went back to the ocean and his step grew lighter.

“Wherever you are, you keep holdin’ on. We’re coming.”

#ghost trick #gt au #ffvi au #cabanela #pigeon man #jowd referencing always #ghost trick fic #crud I guess I should make another tag for this au too dammit #FF AUs falling out of my pockets #GTxFFVI fic

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kuroandtheguys · 6 years

Text

QUOTES (as in things i’ve said, not necessarily original things but things ive said.) FROM MUN HIKARY,HER DAD AND CLASSMATES AS RP STARTERS:

"get your fuck boy out of my house"

"Listen here you fuck nugget"

"don't touch me you bafoon"

"leave the soul alone"

"WHERE IS SPACE DAD"

"i got some shoes from my drug dealer, i dont know what he laced them with but i've been tripping all day...."

"Sure thing Chew-Brocka"

"the beatings will continue until morale improves."

"looking to protect yourself or deal some damage?"

"The egg-salts?"

"much cheese cake"

"FIGHT ME"

"DO YOU FOLKS LIKE COFFEE!"

"baby,princess, dear,dearest. Do me a favorite and get your head out of my ass"

"Whats up gays!"

"Its 1 get the fuck up you lil shit"

"its a porch...not a deck....."

"when one plays the earth game twister one finds out more about the other's than they wanted"

"pain is your reward for being near me."

"oh it's the nasty crime boi"

"follow the yellow-dick road"

"these jokes arent the only thing that suck"

"stupid controls! I said walk to the side not jump off the cliff"

"_GET YOUR DICK OUT OF MY GODDESS!"

"Zarkon unhand my space father"

"sadness is merely a part of life."

"BON BON YOU WANT SUM FUC"

"they're gonna play Mario cart"

"that's how friendship dies"

"ID BE THE TINY ANGRY GUY, I CANT REMEMBER HIS NAME"

"Space Dad jokes are out of this world"

"space dad part of a balanced breakfast"

" i wonder whats over here, oh its plot"

"not all wood resists magic damage"

"destroy us all!"

"i could pee in a bucket and tell him it's beer."

"i would fuck lance because who wouldn't"

"ITS BECAUSE IM A DEMON ISINT IT? THATS RACIST!"

" IF YOU LOVED ME YOUD KILL THE SPIDERS"

"Fite me!"

"fuck Shiro because, just look at him. Who wouldn’t?"

"I am tumblr senpai"

"Why is he grinding?!"

"They bonded by beating the shit out of eachother."

"ah ah put those grabby hands away." (wow without context that sounds really dirty)

"if I have social anxiety and YOU have social anxiety then who's going to order the food?"

"now if they made space dad shaped mac and cheese i wouldnt mind so much"

"it could be 1 of 2 things metal leg or morning wood"

"i like chicks not dicks"

"why cant you just say vagina?"

"Ok so if you ever need a break from your mech with a watersport kink let me know."

"I love you" "dude thats gay..." "we are litterly having sex"

"watch your mouth you little shit"

"yes daddy dearest"

"COME HERE MY SPACE CHILD"

"Let me hug you space child"

"i must adopt this lost space child"

"soft and warm space dad"

"omg your so extra"

"hgn those claws he could just rip me apart"

"we can go inside"

"i wouldn't want to expose you"

"he's see more of your girlfriend than you have"

"we had a bonding moment i punched you in the face!"

"I ate my school"

"this limp noodle"

"PRAISE MUNWAY"

"You wanna ride my huge dragon"

"and i don't know....somethin' bout friendship..."

"Tid be a pitty if i killed him off"

"you've been shanked" "..with a ruler..."

"did you just giggle your boobs at me?"

"It was an earth shattering shit"

"I am the pumpkin gardian"

"Hold my beer and watch this mother fucker

"Careful nuts make you swell, just ask your sister"

"My dad the crack dealer"

"balls deep in an au"

"Don't fuck on my expensive leather couch you cunts"

"He's a perceptive hoe"

"blubbering balls of teenage awkwardness"

"What can I say except~ FUCK OFF"

"I am the alpha dad"

"thats a kick in the danger clam"

"your gonna get your weiner stuck in the baby gate"

"I'm taking you back to the pound"

"I'm so sorry the princess had his feelings hurt"

“Hey demons, it’s ya boi, Satan. Give me the homie back”

"my name is stan, im satan"

"I Came Here For A Good Time And All I Got Was Porn"

"it went from warm to freezing because snow miser is shitting on us"

"Near death can be fixed with ducktap"

"I don't remember what I did with my pants"

"It smells" "You smell" "Your face smells" "You almost got punched I'm the face"

"Bueno bear"

"MAKE THAT ANGST YOUR BITCH"

“Gently bullied him into submission”

*Holds up fishing pole and bubbles* hookers and blow.

"To hard, to thick. I'd get hair stuck in my teeth" "...don't ever say that in public."

"Even lesbians like babies"

"My dad is like a fun vampire"

You are a steampunk blood warrior with a plan"

"You are a steampunk blood warrior with a flan"

"You've been hit by you've been struck by a smooth lesbian"

"You just made the inquisitior gay" "Yes" 5 minutes later "So what else us on the table" "The inquisitior"

"Did...did you just call the Cat a butt plug?"

"not like that you kinky fuck"

"kinky princess Matthew holt and his fluffy sidekick Mr whiskers."

"DONT MAKE ME KINKSHAME YOU AGAIN" "MAYBE YOU'LL KINKSHAME ME HARD THIS TIME"

"I'm gay and I'm ready to party"

"You founded a country on cocaine and prostitution?"

"You know what looks delicious" "What" "Your tight ass" "Your a hoe, like ben" "_ lemme smash"

"Human Sacrifice is always an option if you aren't a weak little bitch."

"Last time you had an imaginary friend I'm pretty sure it was a demon"

" I don't want to be propositioned by you in private!"

"Don't vore the dogs"

"Surely not everyone was kung-fu fighting" "They were" "..we're they fast as lightning?" "No they were slow, Tai Chi mother fucker"

"There’s a train of thought but it’s been de railed and Billy the kid robbed it."

"Shes just where burgers go to die"

"Im a priest to our lady of sin and this is my seeing eye dragon"

"Hello nightmares my old freind"

"they took some scaly lizard dick"

"I would go to Satan jazz club"

"Gandalf the off white"

"Stop kicking my puppy"

"You sleep darted that man in the dick"

"i didn't hit puberty...i just kinda shook it's hand"

"Tall, dark, warm and edgy. The perfect dad"

"Cerberus thinks he's a lap dog"

"thank god for incredible upper body strength"

"No ship wars. I multi ship like an adult" "Am I an adult I poly ship?" "Yes"

" my flaccid dagger"

"He's running around like a squirrel on crack"

"Could you please acidenly flex somewhere else your distracting me"

"It is the first day of Christmas fucker"

"Don't make me beat ypu with egg nog"

"Why did it suddenly become British?"

"You've been BLUNDERSTRUCK"

"Slav tellaported from another dimension to punch you in the arm"

"Floating kingdom of dabalon"

"I like my nightshade pomegranate flavored"

"dont dab on my boobs"

"The first vampire ran into the sun"

"I need a pocket sendak"

"Four score and 7 years ago our founding pirates"

"Been fueling up on....."

"Life is a highway?"

"the lyrics are coke and whiskey dumb ass"

"all i want for Christmas is the dreamiest daddy."

"HAIL KURO"

"patience yields fucking"

"Gray haired man on a house coming through" "I tottally thought you said gay haired man"

"Oh... mood"

"You wrap presents like a blind t rex"

"i take a look at me enormous-"

"white privilege."

"I swear to all of the gods I'm going to climb you like a fucking vine"

"The pellar, he uh.... loves his goat"

"whispers goat fuckerrrr"

"sleeping with slytherins" "dont you mean sirens?" "same fucking thing"

"No one told you life was gonna be this-" "Gay?"

"I am truly the hobo on top of the polar express" "No your the homo ontop of the polar express" "Can't she be a homo hobo?"

"Kinkshame me harder"

“Kinkshame me harder spicy papa”

"Male griffin returns and is like what the fuck did you do to my wife"

"WITH YOUR SHAG CARPET ID BE GETTING HAIR BALLS"

"Drug cloud please disperse"

"Just cause I'm gay dosent mean the cake needs to be"

"BITCH I OUTRANK YOU"

"Just cause I'm gay dosent mean the cake needs to be"

"Right in the paw patroler"

"Stuffed em up Mr patato head's butt"

"feed me"

"i swear if you start singing-"

"must be blood"

"here she gose again"

"must be fresh"

"i dont wanna hear this"

"FEED ME, FEED ME SEYMORE~"

"Get on the fucking dragon or I will leave you in this tower"

"Vivia le roi" "LONG LIVE THE REVALUATION" "No.... long live the king"

"I'm a senior my vote counts more"

"I am gentle snek"

"The boner wizzard is a girl" "That's a dragon" "Girl dragon"

"my father the actual 5 year old" "thats right 5 times a whole bunch"

"why..... is your icon a crotch buldge?"

"Layers" "Like an oinion" "Yes and their all gonna make you cry"

"You blushing" "I'm pasty and I burn in the sun anytime I go out." "So your burned..?" "Yes fucker"

"You should be careful dancing around with those daggers when I'm throwing fire" "It won't hurt me. It's friendly fire"

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motivationaljudgement · 7 years

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The Seoul Trip : Han River and Hyochang Park

Day 3

Waking up on day 3 brought my attention to the wonders my futon-style bed in the loft space of our officetel was working on my back. I’d honestly highly recommend it to anyone! The previous evening we’d come up with the small plan of “hit up Yongsan park and the National Museum (which lies within)”, and so with that idea in mind, we dragged our butts out of the door after a small bout of morning television (seeing your favourite shows LIVE is so much better than having to go through the stress of streaming or downloading through the internet!) and began to head down the road on foot in the hopes of reaching our intended destination.

Every single time we step out the front door of our building i’m hit by just how warm, calm, and, simply beautiful, this city is. Despite the cars that speed by on the roads beside us, the bartering ahjummas and ahjusshis trying to sell the wares at their stalls, and the office workers all clambering into the same restaurant/cafe as they animatedly talk away to one another, you can’t help but appreciate the sense of community spirit that emanates from every crevice of the place. Even when we accidentally ended up stumbling across one of the main army camps which sits across from the Military Museum, rather than a sense of intimidation from the barb wire fences, the high steel walls disguised by lush green vines and the vast number of Military personnel and vehicles, you gain more of a sense of determination and hard-work from the people that walk by in neatly ironed khaki uniforms. However, moving on, first impressions of the sheer architectural beauty and well-kept grounds of the military museum definitely distracted us from the fact that we may have taken a different path to the one we’d originally planned. The ‘dome of the two brothers’ which stands upon the central path to the main building initiates the tone of the site as it explains (in both Hangul and English) the story behind the statue: a re-enactment of the moment a south Korean and north Korean soldier embraced on the battlefield. Its very much a sense of hope for the future that clings to the museum and its grounds, one that is reinstated with each monument, statue, and display, you pass, each providing more information on the Korean war and its tragedies, as well as its contributors; a large plazza which stands as the base before the entrance to the museum building itself, houses a display of flags that line the outside of the space, each flag having a plaque at its base providing information on the contribution of each UN country it represents. Around the outside of the museum is also a huge exhibition of war ships and planes which are accessible to the public, allowing the ability to become more involved with the history that each display was a part of, and to the rear of the main museum is a children’s museum, where there is the chance for young children to dress up and role play as each of the different roles which the war accommodated for. Despite some people’s initial reaction to topics of war and such, i honestly think the museum is a really wonderful place to go and experience the true Korean perspective of such an important part of their history.

Moving on from the museum, we decided to continue heading up the road we’d originally been on, still with the vain hope of catching sight of a large expanse of green which could potentially be a park- although the second we catch sight of the large archway above the road which read ‘Itaewon’, you can probably guess we made the realization that we’d gone too far. (We were overdue to make a wrong turn somewhere.) xD However, rather than calling it a ‘mistake’, the wrong turn actually ended up being a rather fortunate turn of events, as, after a brief pit stop at a convenience store for a top up on banana milk (it really never gets old!), we ended up stumbling upon the Banpo bridge that crossed the Han River. Of course, we ended up making a huge tourist mistake by deciding to actually walk Banpo bridge (which in itself took about 15-20), about 5 minutes in observing that no-one else was walking the road, and realizing we should have taken the metro or caught a bus xD However, it was all worth it once we were on the opposite side of the bridge and were able to sit down to eat lunch and enjoy the scenic views of such an iconic river. For myself, the Han river was a huge part of visiting Seoul; being one of the main symbols of the city, the River had been part of my mental image of Seoul for so long (particularly with my love for Tablo, and his lyrics in the song ‘Hood ft Joey Badass’), and so to see it in person was an almost overwhelming experience, one which also allowed me to cross one of my dreams off my bucket list ^^

Following this, was the (I estimate) 13km treck to Mapo Bridge. I will put it out there, this walk was definitely all by choice, and allowed us to enjoy the Han river in its full beauty, as well as experience the various sights to see along its banks. However, after testing out the multiple collections of exercise equipment along the way (with which we provided all the watching ahjummas/ahjusshis with much amusement), and passing many a group of passionate cyclists and fishermen, we were very relieved to finally stumble upon ‘Yeouido Hangang park’, one of the most popular places to picnic by the river that a lot of people will recognize from dramas and television shows. Living up to its reputation, we arrived just as the influx of after-work/school people were filling into the area, and so as we rested on one of the benches scattered around the walkways, we couldn’t help but enjoy the sheer amount of fried chicken, pizza’s and various takeouts that were being delivered to each picnic blanket, as well as the small ahjumma that was selling some sort of snack from a large plastic tub- who was all laughs and smiles when she came to sit beside us. As much as we wanted to stay there for the evening and enjoy the atmosphere of relaxation, with how much our legs were hurting from our hike, we decided to leave the fun and games for another day, and slowly made our way back home. If you couldn’t already tell...we never did make it to Yongsan park or the National Museum xD

(Top Tip No.3: Take a moment to absorb everything! I know I, for one, am guilty of trying to rush things when i get excited; wanting to see and do everything all at once! But i urge anyone who travels to this country (or anywhere as beautiful as it) to pause and allow yourself a few seconds to just take it all in. As much as there may be time later, you should always try to live in the moment, and appreciate the NOW!) :)

Day 4

Today was a...slow day. Given that we’d been in Seoul for at least 3 days by this point, it still hadn’t really sunk in that we were in the city of our dreams, and so with jet lag still very much trying to weigh our brains down, we decided to take a day off from exploring (given that we still have plenty more time to see everything) and we spent the majority of the morning and afternoon in bed to rejuvenate, and to appreciate the lifestyle of an officetel. With only a brief jaunt to the store downstairs to grab more essentials and some lunch, it was almost 4pm by the time we made it outside once more, and were hit with the heat from the day- 28′C for a British person is pretty much peak summer! Given that we wanted to take the day slow, we simply headed for our nearest park (Hyochang), allowing us to explore our local area a little more. Now, one thing is for sure; Seoul parks are 100% superior to English parks. Immediately at the entrance we were greeted by a beautiful traditional archway, the structure, once we’d walked through, appearing to enclose the ‘warm’ wonderland delights that hid behind it; exotic plant gardens being tended by the local community group of Ahjumma’s in green visors and brightly printed leggings, memorials for deceased local soldiers that fought for their country interspersed with monuments commemorating hardships that had been overcome, beautiful flower gardens with traditional-wooden benches, which in themselves are intermingled with pathways down which highschool students sprint as they complete their daily miles, and an abundance of outdoor exercise gyms where all the ahjusshi’s (as well as a few younger folk) are maintaining their physiques. Its only as you begin to explore the area a little more that you become aware of the couples and the families interspersed on the tables throughout the area, the children’s play equipment, and the majesty of the authentic gazebos which stand beside aesthetic book swap cases that announce the spirit of ease, and friendliness of the area, eliminating any lingering feelings of potential danger that a foreign place holds to many new travelers (me). Its one of those places that you could sit in all day without growing weary or bored, the sense of calm and tranquility simply allowing you to enjoy a lifestyle and a culture that professes love, friendship, and community, from its every aspect. I honestly could have watched the people wandering through the gardens all day from our love-heart shaped swing seat. However, after a gentle jaunt through the remainder of the gardens we slowly made our way home once more, deciding to spend the remainder of our lazy day in the comfort of our pajamas, delicious food, and series 2 of Versailles xD With the knowledge of our activities for the next few days, we thought it better to rest up as much as we could...;)

(P.S. I have fallen so head over heels in love with this city that this update is a little late! However, with a little time to spare right now, i will quickly write out the next post, and catch you all up on our adventures!) ;)

- Mo admin x -

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itstheendofthegoddamnworld · 7 years

Text

Infinity of Stars (Reader x Rocket Raccoon) CHAPTER 9

When taken from her home planet, Terra from a young age, Y/N L/N, also known as Iris, is taught to survive and becomes one of the galaxies' well-known bounty hunters.

But what happens when rumor spreads that she knows the locations of the rare and dangerous infinity gauntlet; a highly powerful weapon that could destroy all?

She is the only human to know of its whereabouts, something which the Guardians of the Galaxy need to find, before its too late.

But... Who will get to the weapon of mass destruction first?

Chapter 9

"What the hell do they want?" Peter shouted, steering and dodging the Milano from the incoming bombs and grenades coming their way. "What do you think? Of course they want her!" Rocket shouted from where he sat, "We need to get rid of them, either through destroying their or outrunning them." Gamora suggested.

"They're much bigger than us, we'll be blown up in a matter of seconds if we fight them." Y/N said. "Where do we go then?" Peter asked, Gamora was the first to action, pulling up a panel and scrolling and swiping along the metal screen, "We're coming up to an asteroid belt, 2 minutes!"

"That'll do." Peter swerved as the Milano jolted and spun quickly though the galaxy, avoiding asteroids. Y/N stood to her feet, running/staggering to the back of the Milano as she tried to keep her balance, "They can't get through!" She beamed, grinning as she looked backwards to them, "Wait, WATCH OU-!"

A loud and bright light erupted, glowing Y/N's skin as it reflected from the window. Y/N squinted, looking as her eyes widened, a small grenade flying through the gaps of the belt and flying straight towards them.

Peter jeered upwards, instead of the window being hit, the Milano jolted to the right, and the grenade hit the wing on the right hand side. The Milano screeched, before spinning and spiraling for a moment of utter chaos.

Warning sounds blared throughout the inside, Y/N was thrown to the floor, rolling and trying to stay upright and not hit anything that was flying around in the air. "Get back to your seat Y/N!" Peter shouted, as Y/N groaned, crawling towards a button on the wall. She smashed it with brute force, a yellow force field enveloping around, just so if there was an air breach, no air from the inside would be lost.

Y/N crawled quickly to her seat, before running back to her seat, "WE'RE GOING DOWN!" Gamora shouted, the ship crashing into other asteroids as the ship got more and more destroyed. "Peter, you're sh*t at controlling this thing!" Rocket shouted, "I've been driving this thing since I was 10 years old, I know what I'm doing!"

"I was genetically enhanced to controlling this scrap of metal! If there's one person who knows how to drive it, it’ll be me!" Rocket shouted back. "Guys! Can we leave the bickering to one side and survive this giant space battle?" Gamora interrupted. She's right, we need to calm down, this is the last thing we need to argue about. Y/N thought.

"What does the rat known about driving?" Drax asked, as Rocket shot him a glare, "Shut up!" He shouted, being stopped from a large crash, as everyone nearly fell out of their seats, "Peter! What's the nearest planet to crash land on?" Y/N asked.

"Over there!" Gamora pointed to the left, a bright blue coloured vortex shone just at the end of the asteroid belt. Peter looked around at each other, the looks they gave him told him that they agreed with the decision of going through, "Groot, put you seatbelt on!"

Groot jumped and scrambled around, before climbing quickly up into Y/N lap, clutching to her jacket close to him.

The Milano was steered abruptly, spinning into the blue vortex, the brightness of the light made everyone cover their eyes. Once the Milano had breached the atmosphere of the unknown planet, the ship was still falling and falling, not making effort to stop or break speed.

"Take cover!" Peter shouted, as everyone braced and covered their faces. The landing was harsh and all of a sudden, as everyone groaned, the Milano had crashed and was scraping along the ground, the paint-job was ruining as it made an abrupt stop in the middle.

"Is everyone okay?" Peter called, as everyone mumbled answers, "We need to get out of here, get your weapons and hurry!" Rocket rushed out, grabbing his gun and swinging it around to hold, the others grabbing their weapons and hurrying out of the ship.

The ship had crashed landed in a large clearing, close by to a unknown city and filled with civilians. "They're here!" Y/N shouted, the six watching the ship crashing closely to where they stood, "Y/N, GET OUT THE WAY!" Y/N was suddenly shoved just at the last second away from the ship crashing in their way.

Y/N looked her way, once again seeing Rocket had knocked her away from being hit and crushed underneath the metal ship. Rocket sensed her staring at him, the two looking at each other for what felt like forever, Y/N could feel her cheeks burning, "T-Thanks." She murmured. Rocket got off, kneeling beside her as they took cover, "Just stay... just stay safe."

Y/N nodded, putting her mask on as the two jumped out, firing their weapons at the large group of enemies their way.

The fight had taken a while to finish, as there were some men that still remained. Y/N was bruised and beaten, "Where's Rocket?" She shouted to no-one in particular, spotting the flash of fur fighting someone, punching them before he was knocked back.

Y/N noticed how battered and bruised his fur looked, as she came running his way, "Rocket!" Once she was near him, she grabbed the gun that he had in his holster, pulling it to clutch it in his paws, "What... you doing?" Rocket growled through gritted teeth, meeting her serious gaze as his own eyes trailed down to the specific gun that she had improved. "U-Use it."

Rocket's eyes widened for a brief moment, and Y/N could see the look of utter pure excitement, his scowl being replaced with a sudden growing smirk, as he wasted no time, turning the safety off as he pointed towards a group of remaining men, firing towards them.

A small bomb hit the ground, as it grew and grew, until a large Plant grew out from the dirt, its vines swarming and grabbing nearby guys and swallowing them whole.

"FOR GOD SAKE ROCKET!! Y/N, WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT MAKING BOMBS WITH HIM!" Peter shouted as he ran back towards the broken down Milano, along with everyone else, "JUST ROLL WITH IT!" Y/N shouted back, picking up a injured Rocket into her arms, as she ran back with them. With a final thunderous roar, the giant plant grew smaller and fit back perfectly into the bomb once again, as if nothing had happened.

It was dead silent outside, the only noises coming from inside once the six had made their way back into the Milano, their breathing shallow and hoarse, as they all stood around, no-one speaking. "Well, that happened." Peter spoke, as him, Gamora and Drax went to the cockpit once again.

"I am Groot?" Y/N didn't notice that Groot was watching, as Y/N still had Rocket in her arms, "H-He said... you were injured." Rocket pointed to her bruised arm, "Should get it checked out." His breathing was much deeper as she realised it sounded like he was struggling to breathe.

"That can wait, some people are more injured than myself." She moved to walk down to his bedroom, with him saying that he was fine, but Y/N ignored his protests, as she managed to find his room.

His room was large, larger than hers, and a complete mess: papers and blueprints were everywhere on the floor, desks and bed, alongside with some empty bottles and crushed beer cans further implied that he would get drunk often in his room.

She cleared a spot on the bed, moving everything to the floor, "Lie down." She demanded, as the small raccoon grumbled and groaned, before lying down on the bed on his back. Y/N searched around his room, nimbly looking blindly until she found a firstaid kit.

She moved back to him, sitting on the bed as Rocket noticed the bed softly dip on his left side, “You’re an idiot for going head on at those guys.” She said, “Look at you now.” She dabbed some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad, as she softly pressed it into his wounds. Rocket winced quietly, his eyes shut tight as he breathed out, “At least we got to see what that gun could do huh?” He quietly laughed to himself, “The look on Quill’s face.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, “Well, besides that, you got the most injured out of all of us.” She sighed, Rocket had noticed that her mask was removed as he could see that he face was just as bruised and scraped. “This carelessness will get you killed one day.”

“Look, I don’t need you worrying ‘bout me!” He barked, sitting up abruptly, and wincing as he grasped his side, “No-one cares ‘bout me, so why should you?” He asked, “Your team cares for you, Groot cares for you. I think everyone wouldn’t be the same without your presence.”

“Well, nice words of comfort sweetheart, but I ain’t buyin’ it!” Y/N smiled, as she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “Trust me, they would care.” She stood to her feet, “Groot, stay with him and make sure he doesn’t move, okay?”

“I am Groot!” Groot beamed quietly, before climbing onto the desk and sitting in one of the nearest plant pots. Y/N moved to walk to the door, “Y/N?” This made her stop in her tracks, That’s the first time he’s called me by my first name. It felt like her heart was now in her throat, “Thanks... for saving my ass.” Rocket was ashamed in some ways, he didn’t like to be proven something and knowing he was on the wrong side. Y/N smile softly, “Don’t mention it.” Rocket didn’t notice his heartbeat faster when he saw her smile. When she finally left, Rocket breathed out heavily, Groot watching him carefully, “I am-”

“Don’t say that!” Rocket exclaimed in embarrassment, “I don’t like her like that!” Rocket tried to hide those thoughts in his head, ignoring how he smiled at her, how she got his humour and sarcasm the most, “I am Groot...” Groot knew he was lying, a smile on his face, “Y-Yeah... whatever... just don’t say it to the others.”

#rocketxreader #fanfiction #gotg

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mer-birdman · 7 years

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*whispers you said ask away* Soulmate AU, Irina # 20 or 21 ;)

*whispers back* I did didn’t I oh boy let’s go I’m just gonna do a short drabble for both of them. And since I will never ship Irina with anyone but Jasper… well, here we go.

20. the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you hear them say your name.

He knows. Knows it even before she opens her mouth, which is absurd as there’s no real way to know without at least hearing it. There’s just something about the lady standing before him, dark hair covering one eye and white bandages peeking out from under her sleeves like mocking laughter, that makes the back of his neck prickle and a sort of quiet hesitation coil in the pit of his stomach.

There are protocols, of course. Servants do not address those they serve by proper name, but always with a title — the title somehow negates it, which seems rather ironic when one considers how much stock nobles put in them. Such importance, placed on an arbitration honorific that has already been deemed by whatever higher force links soulmates together to be irrelevant and obstructive. And yet those with blue blood cling to their titles as though they’re prizes and jewels, cleaning them like trophies and displaying them for the world to see.

Ah, well, it’s little wonder royals rarely married for love. And it would be inconvenient for them to go around finding their soulmates in commoners and servants, wouldn’t it?

Effortlessly concealing the bitter grimace that his thoughts try to invoke, Jasper runs through the usual litany of questions with this summit’s lady — Irina of Hise, more commonly known by her moniker ‘Lady Fire’ or her pirate title ‘Bloodthorn’ — and observes her carefully as she responds, noting the stiffness of her posture and the practiced blankness of her expression as she speaks. He can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

True, she hasn’t said his name yet — he doesn’t know — but he has a feeling, and his feelings are rarely wrong. And for them to be triggered by someone like this — proper, prim, just another noble to serve — it’s not particularly encouraging.

He’s just starting to resign himself to it, asking tiredly about how she would make use of power should she gain it, when her voice perks up and her eyes brighten, and he’s abruptly trapped by the sudden sunlight in her gaze.

“Well, any good captain knows that the secret to success is a well-supported and well-guided crew. If the captain only cares about bettering their life and skills without mind for those who support them, they’ll find themselves with either a mutiny or an empty ship in no time. I’d hardly say that’s an ambition to pursue — no, it’s for the good of my mates or none at all.”

That certainly gives him a little more reason to school his expression, else he might give in and return the almost-shy smile starting to tug at her lips. “You see the Summit as analogous to captaining a ship?”

She laughs — laughs — and though it’s hesitant, reluctant, as though she hadn’t realized she could make such a sound, Jasper has to take a moment to remind himself that he has a duty to uphold and should not allow his lips to smile and his eyes to crinkle in surprised delight at the noise. “Stormy seas, holding my ground against tight-laced folks who want something from me, the occasional spar or shoot-off, and a loyal crew?” One of her hands — the one mottled with burn scars — gestures airily towards him and then the door, and he barely manages to not blink in surprise. “But of course! The only difference is that here I’m fighting with words instead of a cutlass and boathooks.”

The lady — his lady — smiles charmingly (clearly, what she said earlier about not being charming was biased, since he finds it hard to see how she could not charm people if she spoke like this to them— and derail that train of thought, he has a job to do), and only the slightest flicker of apprehension crosses her gaze as he calls Ria and Sayra in and conducts the proper introductions.

Once it is her turn, she dips into a graceful, if somewhat stiff (body accustomed to other movements, he supposes, since she was— is— a pirate) curtsy and smiles somewhat hesitantly at them. “Irina of Hise, daughter of Captain Catherine Blackthorn and Lord Piotr of Ravenskeep, at your service.”

Jasper is still musing to himself at the significance of her placing her mother first in the lineage, clearly indicative of just how important the pirate Blackthorn is to her daughter, when she continues with a friendly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please take care of me in the coming weeks, Ria,” The red-haired maid flushes beneath her freckles and smiles, “Sayra,” the taller maid allows herself a softer expression and respectful nod, “Jasper.”

And there it is.

He’s only read about it, observed it, discussed it with the others… but to feel it? The way his name curls off her lips and outlines her silhouette in with a golden glow that only his eyes can see, the way the sound of it enters his ears and sends creeping vines of warmth coiling under his skin like an artist’s calligraphy dipped in metallic ink. It feels as though there are motes of pure light prickling along his nerves and at the tips of his fingers, and he has to freeze his sharp inhale before it enters his lungs.

To feel it is beautiful, and he absolutely cannot tell anyone.

He returns her words with a carefully controlled bow, one hand crossing his chest and expression painfully neutral, and thinks as he watches her new maids bustle around her to prepare for the Welcome Feast that if he has to be tied to someone by this strange force, he has a niggling feeling that he will not regret that person being her.

21. the one where you can talk to your soulmate in dreams.

Irina used to dream.

When she was young, she would dream of a large old tree. The same tree every time, and she memorized the knots and burls of its bark the same way she memorized how to tie the knots required for the rigging of the Amor Almar. Even in the autumn and winter, the tree’s leaves would be full and green, providing shade from the sunlight just shy of blinding that always glowed overhead.

She had a friend at the tree, too. A boy, older than her — old enough to be a young man, perhaps? Irina didn’t really care, since such things rarely bothered her and she didn’t get on well with children her age anyways. But the boy at the tree was kind, and quiet, and smart. He taught her letters and read aloud to her from the books he would always bring, and though his voice was tranquil his eyes would always smile at her.

They didn’t always read, especially as she grew older. Sometimes they would talk — he would tell her about books he had found, or things his friend had told him that day (Irina found that she wasn’t sure what to think of this friend, who seemed all together too much like a storm for her taste). She would regale him with tales of the ship, stories of Peggy’s newest attempt to get Callum in her bed or a new song her mother had taught her. Sometimes, she could even make him laugh, and those moments were ones she treasured long after she awoke.

One thing they never told each other were their names. Irina knew what the dreams really were — soulmate dreams — as her mother had been sure to explain when Irina (five years old at the time) told her joyfully about the new friend she met under a tree in her sleep. And she was sure the boy — her soulmate — knew too. But they both had reasons not to tell, and he always seemed unhappy to be asked, so she let it be.

They had to call each other something, though, so she proposed code names with all of the childish delight that such a concept entailed. That was one of the moments that earned a bout of startled laughter from her friend, and he quickly agreed to the concept. The next time they met — she didn’t dream every night, though many — they made formal bows and barely concealed smiles as they introduced themselves as ‘Agate’ and ‘Paz’. (Irina knew her name meant peace in a long-ago language, so she just took the same meaning from the language of the sea).

She and ‘Agate’ shared dreams for many years, through winter and summer, stormy season after stormy season. He would braid her hair while she told him about dancing the tango to Peggy’s increasingly bawdy lyrics, and she would massage the stiff muscles in his back while he read aloud from whatever book he had brought with him that night. She was ten, and thought she couldn’t possibly be happier.

Then, there was the fire.

Irina would never, ever regret running into that building, even with the ugly scars covering her skin and her left eye sightless and cloudy, because every one of those thirteen children she had carried out of the flames would have a life and dreams and people like ‘Agate’ to make laugh and smile, and because of her that hadn’t been stolen away. She would never regret making one more trip for the young man who had been trapped inside with them, because the sight of his soulmate running from the bucket brigade to wrap his arms around him and weep into his hair had almost distracted her from the agony of her burns before she passed out.

She fell in and out of fever dreams for nine days, never sure if she was awake or asleep. Callum had taken over the captainship temporarily so her mother could sit at her bedside and change the dressing on her wounds, draping cold cloths over her forehead to cool her temperature. In the dreams, she was no more coherent, but there were still cool hands carding through her hair as she whimpered in pain and there was still a gentle voice speaking to her as she shivered and trembled.

Always behind her eyes, though, there were flames. And when her fever finally broke and she began to recover, she stopped dreaming.

Her mother reassured her that it didn’t mean ‘Agate’ had died, that it may have just been her mind trying to protect her from the effects of what she had been through. That the lack of dreams was her mind’s way of locking up the memory of flames and burning and screams.

Irina wished she would see flames behind her eyes and feel them licking at her calves, if only it meant she would be able to see her friend — her soulmate — again. If it meant she would be able to talk to him when she needed someone to talk to — when her mother disappeared, when she sailed the world and returned home, when she woke up in a strange room with blood crusted on her legs and only a sickening haze of memories to explain what had happened the night before. She would spend every day on fire, if only she could retreat into her dreams and talk to ‘Agate’ about everything instead of it coiling up and poisoning her from the inside out.

When she slit her wrists in the quiet of her upstairs bedroom and fell into darkness, only poisons and paints to keep her company, she thought she could hear an almost-familiar voice speaking to her. Telling her to hold on. To wait.

“Come to the Summit, Paz.”

She wasn’t dreaming, everything was dark, but a part of her knew he was there. “Why?”

“Please. I can’t—” His voice broke off, though she didn’t know why. Emotion? Restraint? He had always been composed, and she’d appreciated that about him. Smart, too, so if he wanted her to go to the Summit…

“Alright.” Stuffy nobles and more empty talk, maneuvering and posturing and false masks everywhere, but he had asked and Irina found that after eight years of silence, she wasn’t particularly willing to refuse.

“I’ll go.”

As something began to tug her back to consciousness, his voice grew faint but still just as clear. “I’ll be waiting.”

She woke up with bandaged wrists and a weeping father, and silently made a promise to herself. She no longer dreamed, she hadn’t seen the tree at night since she was ten years old, but she didn’t need the dreams to come to her any longer.

She was going to take hold of her life and find them.

Thanks for requesting these! They were really fun to write :3 I always really enjoy writing different types of soulmate AUs for Irina and Jasper, because each different one changes their relationship dynamic a bit, and it’s so fun to see the slightly different versions as I write them. ^^

#7kpp #fanfiction #My writing #hise mc #jasper

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