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messers-moony · 3 years

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Wish | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Wife!Reader

Summary: Five storms out to time travel after an argument with his wife and comes back to an unexpected surprise.

A/N: Five time travels at the age of 26 instead of 13

He was angry, that wasn’t mistaken, “ You aren’t listening to me! “

“ Are you hearing yourself?! What you’re about to do is dangerous! “ She yelled in response, and he scoffed.

They stood in the main room of their apartment. Y/n was placed in the kitchen leaning on the island while Five was dangerously close to the door. Both of them at the age of twenty-five. They had gotten married only a year before finding each other during one of his trips to Griddy’s with his siblings. He thought she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

Five stalked closer to her, “ You are so stubborn. “

“ I am the strongest one. “ His voice was dangerously low as they stood only a foot apart, “ I will do this. I don’t care what you say. Nothing will change that. “

“ Five, please. “ Y/n begged, “ I’m- I’m just worried about you. “

“ You don’t need to be. “ Five snapped, and he fast-walked to the door.

The male swung open the door, “ Five wait, please- “ But before she could finish, the door slammed, “ I’m pregnant. “

It was new news. She didn’t find out until a week earlier. She didn’t know when to tell him; there never was a suitable time. Now he had just threatened to fulfill a lifetime goal of his– time travel. Since he was a boy, he’s wanted to prove his worth. The only way Five could think to do that is by time-traveling into the future. He didn’t know what the future would entail. He definitely didn’t plan to get stuck in an apocalypse.

So for nine torturous months, Y/n endured a pregnancy. She was carrying a child of her presumed to be dead husband, which she didn’t believe in the slightest. Five Hargreeves was alive, and she knew that regardless of what anyone told her. She had a baby boy who she named Malachi. The same bright, alluring green as his fathers.

Despite his birth father not being around, Diego was a significant help. Diego stepped in where Five couldn’t. He was there for all of Malachi’s firsts and everything in between. But he was always Uncle Diego. A constant reminder that this man wasn’t his father. As far as the little boy knew, he didn’t have a father.

Things got more tricky as he got older. Malachi realized that a father figure was more common than not, which brought raising questions. She answered to the best of her abilities, but nothing was ever valid. None of her answers could be a hundred percent true because she didn’t know either. It was killing her to see her son this way.

He longed for a father. Wanted nothing more for a father-son relationship. Every birthday, every Christmas, he wished for his father to come home. It was killing Y/n because she understood his pain. The amount of dread, guilt, and sadness.

Maybe if she had told Five sooner, he would’ve never left. The guilt ate away at her. It was like an insect slowly crawling its way under her skin into her bones and nibbling them until they were gone. It didn’t help Malachi was an exact replica of his father. The dark, almost raven hair parted to the side, the glittering green eyes and a defined face.

No matter how long Five was gone, Y/n never took off her rings. She was a married woman until proven otherwise. Malachi had never even seen photos of his father. That was normal to him. All he knew was that his Uncles and Aunts told him he looked the exact same. Despite the same appearances, they had clashing personalities.

Malachi was the sweetest guy you could ever meet. Kind no matter who the person was. Wise beyond his years and intelligent like no other. His strong suit was English while he struggled in math. The irony was amusing. His father excelled in math, but he couldn’t do a two-step equation if he tried.

In the grand scheme of things, this didn’t matter. He got all the way up to high school. He was seventeen, to be exact, in his junior year of school. It was the summer before his senior year, and he couldn’t be more excited. As the years went on, the hope of meeting his father diminished to the point where he didn’t even think about it anymore.

He had his mom, and that’s all that mattered. His mom was his rock, his number one supporter, and his best friend. Malachi loved his mom more than anything and would give anything to keep her safe. Diego had grown to be like a father to him, but it was never the same. Malachi was sitting at the island doing homework while Y/n was cooking.

“ Hey, mom? “ He called, “ Yeah? “ Y/n turned to look at her son.

Malachi fidgeted with the pencil in his hand, “ Can I- Can I see your rings? “

“ My rings? Why? “ She asked, “ Well, dad gave them to you, didn’t he? “ Malachi replied.

Y/n nodded, “ Of course he did. We were married, technically we still are married. “

“ I just wanted to see what dad gave you. “ He murmured.

Hesitantly Y/n twisted both her engagement ring and her wedding ring off her left ring finger. She set them down on the granite island before her son so he could look at them. Gently he picked the engagement ring up and looked at it. It was the only time he’s ever seen the ring this close. She never took them off.

“ We got engaged in the snow. “ Y/n informed quietly, “ I really wasn’t expecting it. He never seemed like one to settle down. “

Malachi listened intently, “ Regardless. It was almost Christmas, and he took me to go Christmas shopping at one of the malls which was outside. “ She chuckled, “ Why he did that, I don’t know, but it was amusing. We got hot chocolate despite his love for coffee, and I made him wear a Santa hat. “

“ He was never into festivities before meeting me. Neither were your Aunts and Uncles. I started making holidays become more festive when you were born. Eventually, they got the hang of it. “ Y/n continued, “ Why was dad's name a number? “ He interjected.

“ He never got a name like the rest of his siblings. “ She answered plainly, “ Why? “

Y/n sighed, “ His father, more specifically your grandfather was a cruel man. Still is a very cruel man, which is why you’ve never met him. Reginald made the Umbrella Academy, where he adopted your dad along with his other siblings. “ She explained, “ They endured long days of training without breaks and horrid living environments. They were treated as experiments rather than children. “

“ They all got names, but Five didn’t want one. He rejected it because it didn’t matter. Name or anything. Their numbers would always define them, and Five was the only one who understood that. “ She finished.

“ What really happened to him? I know you’ve given me vague explanations, but I think I’m ready for the real thing. “ Malachi stated, “ I’m seventeen now. “

“ I know. Your father had powers. His others siblings do as well. They all do certain things. Five could travel through space and time. “ Y/n began, “ Growing up, he always felt the need to prove himself, to be better than everyone else. “

“ So, one day, he told me he was going to time travel. It was a big argument that definitely didn’t need to happen. At the time, I was a week pregnant with you, and I didn’t know how to tell him. “ She swallowed the emotions arising after remembering Five’s glare,

“ When I told him, it was too late. He was already out the door and gone. “

Y/n walked forward and took the rings back. She placed them back on her ring finger carefully as her son watched every movement. He knew she was upset. Malachi couldn’t help but be a bit resentful towards his father. All this to make a point? It seemed far-fetched.

“ That solution seems a bit absurd. “ Malachi commented, “ That's what I was trying to tell him, but he was very prideful and stubborn. “ Y/n replied.

A knock echoed through the apartment. The room felt tense. It wasn’t right; something felt off. Malachi felt it immediately cause he stood up and began walking to the door, wanting to protect his mother if a threat was there. Secretly Diego may have given him some defense classes, but that didn’t matter.

The boy opened the door to see almost the exact same face staring back at him, “ Who are you? “ Malachi snapped.

“ More importantly, who are you? “ The man retorted.

Every hair on Y/n’s body stood up. She knew that voice, and she knew that tone. It was him. He was back. It took everything inside her not to scream or cry but seeing Malachi hold his defensive stance against his own father was worrying her.

“ Malachi. “ She called, and he turned to her as she began to walk to the door, “ I need you to go to your room and promise not to eavesdrop. “

He wanted to protest, “ Please, sweet. I’ll be okay. I promise. “

Reluctantly Malachi backed away from the door giving the man a harsh glare that made the man evidently tense. Y/n waited for Malachi to be fully retreated in his bedroom before looking at the man in front of her.

“ Well. It looks like you’ve moved on. “ Five murmured, “ No- please. It isn’t what it looked like. “ She pleaded.

Her hand took his, and he recognized the rings on her finger. The same rings Malachi had just been examining. The same rings he took months to search for to find the perfect fit for his perfect girl. Everything seemed so colorful in his greyscale world now. His wife was still his.

“ Who- Who is he? “ His voice trembled as his lingering suspicion felt more accurate than ever, “ Come in and sit. We need to talk. “ Her voice was gentle and held no malice.

Five entered the now unrecognizable apartment. It wasn’t the same as when he left. In fact, everything seemed moved out of place. Y/n walked to the stove and turned off the burner that she was using. Five had peered at the papers on the island that were math worksheets and took a seat beside them.

“ Where did you go? “ She asked, “ The future. “

“ No shit. What did it look like? “ Y/n retorted playfully, “ It’s not as I hoped. It’s an apocalypse, love. “ His voice held so much pent emotion it was almost radiating off him.

She sighed, “ Okay. We need to talk about that- “

“ I- I want to know who that kid is. “ Five interrupted, and she gave him a knowing look, “ Malachi, can you come out here. “ Y/n called, and instantly he was out of his room.

The boy stood beside his mom, still not comfortable with the unfamiliar man. This time Five got a chance to really look at the teenage boy in front of him. The defined face, the almost raven hair, the same sage green eyes. His posture was protective and territorial, obviously for his mom.

“ Y/n… “ Five began as he swallowed the tears in his throat, “ Is- Is he mine? “

She nodded, “ Five Hargreeves, I’d like you to meet your son, Malachi Hargreeves. Malachi, I’d like you to meet your father, Five. “

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alieninatrenchcoat · 3 years

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Boundaries

( An MSR one shot where Mulder and Scully attend a small get-together to celebrate the pregnancy of one of their colleagues, but Mulder begins to act a bit strange. )

The conference room was oddly dark for the occasion. The light fixtures against the walls shone against the warm wood paneling at what seemed to be half their brilliance, wrapping the atmosphere is a cozy glow. The sun had begun to sink into its own departure with the coming depth of winter, yet the window spanning the far wall of the room was left barren, letting the night sky look down upon the scene. It was as if those inhabiting the room were in denial about the loss of daylight within the specific hour of the day. The blinds were not drawn, and the street lamps added to the luminosity of the confinement as it danced upon the slow-falling clumps of the first snow in D.C. Maybe this celebration called for the onlookers of the night to find themselves witnessing the occasion as well if not for a single passing moment of their drive home from work, or exiting the bus from the street below. The conference room must have looked nothing short of inviting.

Although, Scully wasn’t too sure that a cramped FBI headquarters conference room at 5pm was necessarily a normal space to throw a party. A workplace baby shower. In fact she wasn’t sure it was even a party at all. It was more of a mundane get-together. Agent Kinsley and Agent Stonecypher had kindly asked that she and Mulder be there after their forest-frenzy en route of their “team building seminar “ in Florida. They claimed that Mulder and Scully were somewhat of an eye opener to what “true communication” truly was, and that the initiative to follow in their footsteps had brought them to realize there was more than friendship present within their partnership. The giddy couple was expecting a child.

Mulder, of course, could not have been more agitated about Scully dragging him from the basement office to sit at a small conference table with a band of fellow agents who didn’t particularly care for him. In addition, the agent couple actually respected his work, he found to be most insufferably annoying. Yet, they wanted him there to celebrate Carla Stonecypher’s pregnancy. He sat there slumped back in his chair with his arms crossed in a most unprofessional posture. Only a few others were seated at the table across from him, none of which he knew, and all of which were talking to Scully. In the seat to his right he watched her, searching for a hint of agitation to appear on her pale face. He could extract that flicker of emotion from her to curate a reason for them to exit the scene and get back to work. Heading back downstairs for the few hours left of the day, surrounded by his own company, was currently his only desire. He looked forward to spending his days there in a space he and Scully had carefully cultivated on their own. Their homey home away-from home. His eyes darkened as he swiveled back and forth slightly in his chair, fuming about being forced to sit there. He tightened his arms together, and kept watch on scully. In contrast, her posture was perfect. Her red suit coat illuminated by the street lamps beyond the window, her complexion emotionless as she sat with her hands folded neatly on the table, taking in the conversation being thrown at her.

Scully was well-aware he wasn’t happy about being there, but a pregnancy is a big deal, and a happy one nonetheless. She could feel his eyes boring into her own in hopes that she might turn around with the final signal to retreat, but she ignored him and continued her courteous flow of conversation.

Carla and Micheal were standing by the door talking to Skinner and another AD Mulder and Scully didn’t recognize. There were a few other groups standing in clusters, some by the window watching the snow and nursing glasses of wine.

Mulder felt a little gipped considering Scully was consorting with the group she wasn’t even aquatinted with until their arrival. What was the point to come if they weren’t even talking to the couple that had invited them? He straightened up, broke his Scully-trance, and scooted his chair up to the table to imitate her position. He brought his eyes up to settle upon two men in bright ties, and a tiny older woman. Their suit coats all draped on their chairs behind them. Mulder had decided too keep his on as if to send subliminal messages that he was not intending to stay long. He turned back to scully, unsatisfied with their company’s view. She finally gave him a quick glance when he nudged her calf with the toe of his dress shoe. She ignored it and continued talking about some cell research project, but furrowed her eyebrows.

Mulder couldn’t take it. The redundancy was making him sweat. To the surprise of scully and those she was speaking with, he shoved himself away from the table, gliding on his chair, and abruptly stood, causing the group’s conversation to come to a haunt - all attention on Mulder.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get a drink, would any of you care for one?” He asked with a hint of sarcasm as he sunk his hands into the pockets of his slacks and drew his lips into a fake grin with brows raised. Scully looked up at him perplexed by this outburst, but he stared with anticipation of response at the three across the conference table. The rest of the group in the room didn’t seem to notice his flamboyant gesture of arising from his seat. The man with the yellow tie, which Mulder made a mental note of as ‘giving him a headache,’ raised his hand in request of a said drink being brought to him. Mulder nodded dramatically and gave scully’s shoulder a tap as he turned away and made for the second door to the external sitting room. He closed the door behind him and took a seat in one of the many chairs lining the confined span of wall. He was alone. A table had replaced a few chairs for the small get together in celebration of the upcoming child. Wine and water, to the effect of a baby shower, as well as a finely decorated charcuterie board sat awaiting the guests. The lights were dimmed in this room as well, but the smaller window was masked in blinds. Mulder groaned looking longingly at a glowing exit sign near the glass panes leading to the external hallway. How badly he wanted to ‘exit’ the room and escape, but he didn’t want Scully to become cross with him. He could vaguely make out yet another exit sign’s glowing light above the elevator at the end of the hall. The elevator. The stairway down to his heaven, the office. He considered leaving in that moment, wondering if scully would really actually care all too much. She knew he couldn’t stand the endless fretting of Micheal and Carla, so he thought she’d be understanding and forgiving of his absence. The more he considered taking action upon his plan to ditch her, he thought more of himself eventually being alone within his office space. Meaning no Scully. He enjoyed the peace, but Scully just made it feel like it was less of a waste of time. Working in an office was not the best possible way to investigate x files, and she was way better at doing the research than he was anyway. It would be pointless to be at an office space without her as his right hand man. He sank his head into his hands at the notion that he was at a loss no matter where he was in this building if she wasn’t there. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to leave with him, so he admitted defeat. He’d stay for her. Scully. At this stupid baby shower. But for now he just needed a second alone, away from the noise.

There was a click at the door, waking him from his resentful thought processes. He snapped to attention when he saw it was Scully peaking through. When she recognized the man in the chair across the room to in fact be Mulder, she slipped into the room with him. Mulder looked down at his hands with a bit of shame at having not brought back drinks after 5 minutes, and for leaving her alone out there. Although, she was perfectly capable of handling herself. He waited for a lecture from her. A lecture on how rude he was acting, and how he could at least make an effort to socialize because bringing life into the world was a gift she wasn’t given and he knows how much it means to her. A lecture about how she wouldn’t have dragged him away from the precious paranormal if she didn’t feel like it would benefit him in any way. That he was too much of a recluse within the fbi sometimes that maybe those who didn’t like him only looked down upon his lack of approachability rather than his investment in the extraterrestrial existence of aliens.

But the words never left her mouth.

She took a seat next to him and ran a small hand through his hair.

“You feeling okay Mulder?” He could hear the delicate concern in her voice and felt a pang for guilt for possibly making her worry “you don’t feel hot, but are you sure that you-“

“I’m alright Scully. I just needed some air.” Mulder stood, not looking at her and walked over to peer through the closed blinds covering the glass between the waiting room and the hall, searching for another sign of life.

“I know you don’t feel like being here, but It’s just for a little while. I spoke to Carla and she explained to me the the intricacies of the doctors’... Mulder?”

Mulder now had his hands cupped against the glass and his eyes like binoculars, mumbling inaudibly and giving a “mm” in response to her. He obviously wasn’t listening. Scully frowned and lost the sympathetic outlook as she too crossed the room to the wine and began to open a bottle in order to complete the task Mulder had neglected. The pop of the cork finally caught his attention and he made his way up behind her.

“Scully” his voice was somber. Almost sad. He lost the silly ‘ignorant-binocular-mumbling’ act.

“What is it Mulder?” She acknowledged snappily.

“Do you ever wonder...,” he drones off thoughtfully leaving room for her to question the end of his sentence, but she doesn’t. In hopes to draw her attention further, he finds that his hands come to grip her hips from behind as he towers over her shoulder. He tries to consume the ounce of attention left that she’d be willing to sacrifice to him. much to scully’s disadvantage she couldn’t shove his hands off of herself due to her preoccupation of pouring the wine.

“Mulder! Can you not see that im-“

“- do you ever, ever wonder...”

“Get your hands off of me,” she ordered. Her tone was even as if she had already given up trying to convince him to obey.

“Scully, do you ever wonder what it would be like?” His hands slowly move from her hips to her slower stomach. Slowly. His palms completely flat, pressing against her tiny torso as if straining to to feel every possible fiber of her blouse.

She set the glass and the wine bottle down, swallowing, shivers electrocuting up her spine. She felt a lump in her throat. Mulder was usually handsy and flirtatious by nature, but she wasn’t quite sure this was his norm. He’d never touched her like this. She didn’t try to push it away, but stood rigid, allowing his hands to rest in their place. “Wonder about what, Mulder?” A moment of silence passed as they stood there waiting for the other to say or do something in protest.

Mulder brought his voice to a near whisper.“what having a life inside of you is like?” he finished very seriously. He was seriously asking. He bent his head down slightly to brush his cheek against her within close prolixity of her ear. Scully tried her best to lean her own face away from him to look at his while still allowing him to touch her. His hands felt like magnets to the vulnerable soft feeling of her core beneath his skin, wanting an answer from that place rather than from her own mouth. She allowed it, feeling confused but sympathetic at the feeling of his neediness bleeding through. He wasn’t like this. She was worried something had happened to him, so she allowed herself to be his comfort. She was sure it meant nothing, just like every other caress or touch or closeness they exchanged. Mulder hoped that would be the case, although he wasn’t sure if that’s how he meant it to be. Maybe he wanted it to be something more. He turned his head to return her look. She seemed slightly bewildered and concerned at his question, but she gave him a confused smile. His expression had not changed. His eyes were as dim as the sky peaking through in the busy adjacent room. He was so somber, delicate, almost sad.

“Oh Mulder...of course I have. What makes you curious? The baby shower?”

He nodded, still seemingly troubled. She covered his hands with her own and guided them to a less intimate place back on her hips and shimmied herself to face him. Her back to the table. His hands left her waist to find themselves fingering over the grains of the wood in the table, trapping her between his two arms on either side of her. He couldn’t hold her gaze any longer and focused on her dainty necklace instead, in the shadow of the crook of her neck and the already dim lighting. She placed a hand on his cheek and lifted his face to meet her eyes. He felt the curiosity within them looking back at him, and he leaned into her hand. He knew he couldn’t quench that curiosity in this moment.

“Mulder. You’re acting all strange, you're positive nothings the matter?”

He gave scully a sad smile then used her shoulder to help balance himself as he straightened up. His hands returned to his slack pockets, taking a step back. He shouldn’t have touched her. He didn’t want to break their unspoken boundaries and he was grateful she didn't seem to consider it out of line or uncalled for.

“I shouldn't have- I uh - Scully…” he glanced in the direction of the hallway window and then to the door Scully had closed behind her.

“Mulder?” She cocked her head, folding her arms inquisitively.

Gluing his embarrassed eyes to his shoes, he started again “ I couldn't help but think that-”

The door clicked again and the man with the bile-yellow tie swung the door open, Mulder and Scully whipping around to face him.

“Hey Dana! I see you found him! Everything alright here? Carla and Micheal are wrapping it up, but I was hoping to be leaving with that drink, Agent Mulder!” The self-proclaimed Agent Wayne gave a boisterous laugh. Scully gave him a smile.

“Yes everything is just fine, we'll be back in a minute” Scully replied. Muder nodded in confirmation. The door shut again with a big and over enthusiastic thumbs up from Wayne. Scully’s attention was back on Mulder expectantly.

“Talk to me Mulder,” Scully insisted earnestly. He seemed to have mysteriously perked up, acting as though he wasn’t just all gloomy a moment ago, and guided her by the small of her back to the door in which wayne had retreated.

“C’mon Scully, let’s go wish the happy couple a nice farewell!”

Thoroughly confused by his drastic behavioral changes, Scully tried to let it go for the time being. She’d question him about it later and out of public eye. She was completely and utterly surprised that Mulder was soon talking it up with everyone in the room, especially Carla, asking her all about how she and Micheal ‘found themselves on this new and exciting journey,’ and catching up with them about what they’d been up to since their forest investigation. She didn't bring it up. Not there. But she couldn't help but wonder what came over him or why he would ask her about her thoughts on her own hypothetical pregnancy. About why he had touched her. They could have been walked in on by Agent Wayne seconds earlier, or even seen through the hall window. Neither of them cared for rumors about their relationship being more than platonic, and he should have known that holding her like that would put the rumors through the roof if anyone were to notice. Not to mention the probability of Skinner having been the one to walk in. Mulder left the gathering after most others had left themselves, and happily he told Scully to go home and get some rest. Mulder? Telling her to go home instead of manning the office? She was undeniably perplexed and confused.

The phone rang. It was late. Scully was already in bed, but her lamp kept her out of the dark, and she was reading Moby dick for what she claimed to be the twelfth time. It was a last resort to defeat the thoughts of Mulder that had been keeping her from falling asleep. Thoughts of possible reasonings behind his actions or something she may have missed in his words or body language that would have given him away if she'd notice. Analyzing him. The phone rang again. Leaning over to her bedside table, she picked it up.

“Hello?” She yawned.

“Hey Scully it's me.” She had a feeling.

“Mulder it’s-”

“Wait. wait, Scully. I gotta talk to you for a second” he was very much awake.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to apologize. How I acted tonight… It was...it was inappropriate. Asking you such a question and already knowing the answer. I don't want...I didn't want to hurt you by bringing it up when I knew about the, the um-“

“Mulder. It's alright. I wasn't offended, just… taken aback. I didn’t expect my infertility to be something you would think about.”

“ It wasn't my place Scully. It wasn't my place to ask… or to touch. “ There was a long pause between them for a moment. Scully took a deep breath, but he continued before she could start. “I was sitting in that room itching to be back downstairs. You knew that. I just didn't stop to think that the situation was bigger than me. I mean the whole party situation. That this was a celebration of another life coming into the world as a result of two people who love each other. It wasn’t about me. And when Carla and Micheal invited us and said that they started getting to know each other more because of you and I… I guess I just didn't know what that meant until I took a step back. In that waiting room, I just thought that...I thought of you. I thought of why you'd want to be there for them and it made sense to me” Scully didn't respond. “You still there?”

“Yes” she felt she knew where this was going. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat pulsing in the palm of her hand, knuckles white against the phone.

“Well, I realized why you wanted to be there. And that's why I asked.”

She took another deep breath, contemplating how to respond to his conclusion “I think that most women wonder what it's like to carry life, Mulder, and you don't need to pity me for wanting to try to be happy for those who have what I can't”

“You're exactly right Scully, which is why I'm apologizing. I wanted to go back into that room and feel their joy. I wanted to actually care. I wanted to. For you. I didn't want to wallow in my own self pity. How many times are we going to be at baby showers? It's trivial of me to consider, but I thought that I'd make the most of this one because I know I'm not going to get to have one for you. “

Scully's voice cracked as she breathed his name into the phone, trying to decipher exactly what he was implying, “Mulder thats-”

“Fuck Scully, I didnt mean that we… that you and I are-”

“Mulder stop.” she stood up from the bed and began to pace. “I thought maybe you were dissociating or upset about something, or that your head wasn't in the right place. We don't need to talk about it. I won't force you to come with me to things like this again. I just thought it would be...refreshing since we haven't had a field case in a bit. That maybe getting you out of the basement was a good idea. I was worried it was my fault you were so upset about being there. I’m just glad that I could be the reason you ended up wanting to stay. It's ok. We don't have to discuss...what doesn't need to be discussed.” She held her breath in hopes that she said the right thing. Her lungs were heavy. Her throat dry, heart pounding, hoping he got the message. She didn't want to push their boundaries. Neither did he.

“Thanks for looking out for me, Scully. I don't know what I'd do without you. You did the right thing getting me to go. Really.“

“Are you sure? If there’s anything else you want to talk about, we could meet up and discuss-”

“-Absolutely. Sorry if I woke you. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Mulder, wait-” he hung up. She slumped back into bed, sighing. She set the phone back in its place and picked up her book once more, but she could no longer focus on the words. The answers to her confusion tugged at her brain more than the questions she no longer had.

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( this is the first fanfic i’ve posted, so I’m not expecting it to draw much attention, but if anyone has constructive feedback or thoughts, im open to hearing any! )

#mulder and scully #msr #msr angst #fanfic #msr fanfic #agent mulder #agent scully #the x-files fanfic #txf #x files

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trainthief · 4 years

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hey i'm one of those aforementioned "only-heard-blake-shelton" people - do you have any recs for better country music? i like finding new music but country is hard cause i don't really know where to start

I think the best way to explore any genre is to abandon the feeling that you’re obligated to develop an academic-level base of knowledge in the different foundations and aspects of it. If that’s something that actually interests you then by all means go for it, but despite how pretentious and rude people can get about music, it is at its heart just a form of expression - and while knowing which specific sounds might have influenced others can enhance the listening experience for some people, it’s not like there’s a prerequisite course load you need to take before you can start telling people you like country music at parties.

Anyway, that point aside, here’s some basics: country itself is a really broad concept, and was initially defined more by its ideology and source than any specific structural musical qualities that it tended toward (although its creation was most heavily influenced by Irish, Mexican, and African musical traditions). The common use of instruments like guitars, banjos, and fiddles is more to do with the ease of accessibility and portability for poorer Americans of the late 1800s, who - especially in the West - tended to be at least somewhat nomadic. Thematically speaking, it was most often centered around the experiences of blue-collar workers, including but not limited to cowboys. Subsequently, it has suffered under the combined efforts of corporations and politicians to market a parody of rural America’s own culture right back at them, and that’s why - especially if you’re only in your 20’s or younger - it’s very possible your knowledge of it is defined by commercialized Bro Country (which in my opinion is almost always antithetical to the actual spirit of country music itself, and also from a musical perspective tends to be uninteresting bullshit).

As far as subgenres go, the ideas quickly become so vague that it’s really up to the listener to decide how they want to categorize their music. Region and era can influence sound quite a bit, so that’s one way. Subject matter is another. Actual musical structure is a further one. I’m not going to bother and try to give you a comprehensive idea of all the options, because that’s impossible to do in anything shorter than an essay. Instead I’ll just fill you in on some of my favorites, and some song suggestions to go with them:

Country Music You’ve Been Listening to This Whole Time Without Knowing It: this is an easy one to start with. Lots of folk music is also country music, whether you were aware of it or not. James Taylor, John Prine, John Denver, Bob Dylan…. You’ve been here this whole time.

Outlaw Country: Tends to be either dark or mournful, but regardless it’s dramatic and fun. Usually framed around some fictional crime the singer has committed, which they have either been sentenced for or are on the run from. Good examples are Kate McCannon by Colter Wall, Mama Tried by Merle Haggard, Late July by Shakey Graves, Gallows Pole by Willie Watson, and Hell’s Canyon by Lost Dog Street Band

Spirituals: I’m definitely not going to tell you how to feel about religion itself - but given that music has been such a deeply rooted part of spiritual expression for as long as we’ve recorded history, and has very often evolved in tandem with or in response to religious movements, I think you’re really cutting yourself off from some good tunes if you try to ignore it entirely. Johnny Cash’s later stuff, especially, has the same dark overtones of his earlier Outlaw music but with the addition of gospel stylings and a religious severity that comes together in a way that’s honestly just straight up sexy to listen to. Ain’t No Grave and Redemption Day are probably the best two examples of this. On the other side, there’s the simplistic and heartfelt kind of spiritual country found in stuff like Hank Williams’ I Saw the Light, or I’ll Fly Away as performed by Gillian Welch, which I find really moving.

Honky Tonk: On the subject of Hank Williams, honky tonk is really fun music, and I deeply resent the fact that it’s been incorporated into the classist caricature of rural stupidity. At its heart, honky tonk was just designed to be a good time, and the vocal techniques it employs are actually really difficult to master, so it deserves a lot more respect. Hank Williams, in particular, also tends to use it to get right at the heart of subjects I really enjoy (although don’t confuse him with his son Hank Williams Jr, who writes Bro Country and unfortunately seems to be a terrible person). Anyway, Mind Your Own Business is one of his (and one of my favorite personal anthems), and Wealth Won’t Save Your Soul is a powerful one too. Regarding more modern honky tonk, my favorite up-and-coming musician is named Nick Shoulders, and I’d recommend his songs Rather Low and Snakes and Waterfalls.

Nice Comfortable Country Music Sung By Ladies: this is definitely a genre specific to just me, but it’s a type of music I grew up listening to a lot as a kid and I really love it. Like the title says, it’s just country songs by various very talented women who make you feel like you’re warm and at home. I Have a Need for Solitude by the great Mary Chapin Carpenter, Across the Great Divide by Nanci Griffith, Traveling Alone by Tift Merritt, Angel from Montgomery by Bonnie Raitt, Hammer and a Nail by The Indigo Girls

Poor Boy Blues: again, not a definitive stylistic subgenre so much as it is an opportunity to show off a few different songs of a few different styles that all follow a common and relatable theme, specifically one that is important to the overall genre itself. Dead End Street by Blake Mills, Crop Comes In by Chatham County Line, Thirteen Silver Dollars by Colter Wall, My Rifle My Pony and Me by Dean Martin, Cowpoke by Dave Stamey, Automobile by KALEO

Love And Heartbreak: have you really lived if you haven’t rocked out to Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks? No, you haven’t. You’ll also be happy to hear that I recall a poll that listed Cowboy Take Me Away as being the number one song every cowboy will sing along to on full blast whenever he’s alone. Anyway, there’s also Buddy by Willie Nelson, Crossing Muddy Waters by John Hiatt, Morning by Jim Ed Brown, Every Time I Hear That Song by Brandi Carlile, Gentle on My Mind by Glen Campbell, Kathleen by Townes Van Zandt.

Experimental: if you’d like to get a little weird with it, I’d recommend The Gold is Deep by The Dead Tongues (which uses some really ambient reverb and a small church organ for a more psychedelic sound), or Familiarity by The Punch Brothers (which compositionally borrows a lot from modern classical chamber music with its rhythmic systems and pacing).

There’s lots more we could get into here, like bluegrass, slow dancing music, spaghetti western soundtracks, and the fact that not all country pop-rock is bad, but I’ll stop myself here…. If you’re looking for a more general source for a lot of country all at once, here’s my favorite of my country playlists. Hope that was helpful!

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divineluce · 3 years

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An Impasse || Solomon & Luce

Timing: November 13th

Location: The Outskirts

Tagging: @shroomsbysolomon & @divineluce

Description: Solomon and Luce officially meet for the first time. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

For the third night in a row, Luce laced up her shoes and exited the Vural home. Her homecoming had been… rocky at best. A shitshow at worse. And, what with all of the bullshit she’d found out regarding Nadia, Remmy giving her shit for leaving, and the goddamn menagerie of animals in her room, sleeping was pretty much out of the question. Which left her with two options-- hit up Soul and risk running into frankly Frank again, or go for a run. It was a no-brainer. Jogging into the woods, she made her way through the familiar trails that wound their way behind Bea’s home. She’d run them so often that, even after spending a month out of town, she still remembered every curve and turn in the path. It was easy, it was simple, it was going through the motions. She could do that, right? And then, once she could do that, maybe things would get better. As she ran, Luce noticed a figure off the path, illuminated in the waning moonlight and she slowed to a stop. “You lost there?” She asked, squinting through the darkness.

Solomon had a bad habit of losing himself in whatever he was doing, hyper-focusing to the point that he’d forget the world around him until something demanded his attention. In this case, it was an unexpected voice, jarring him out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into and urging him to whip around, clasping his hands behind his back to hide their wooden appearance as he stammered and stalled. “Oh! No, I, uhh…” His struggle to find the right words seemed to lose importance as he took in the visage of the woman on the trail, and something inside of him got all twisted up. It took a few beats for him to be able to place the sudden rush of emotion, not knowing who she was or why he should suddenly feel… fear? But then it came to him, and all at once, that fear was intermingling with anger. “You,” he grumbled, standing up from his crouch and taking a step toward her. He’d seen what she had done in the forest… and the only reason she still stood was because he had also witnessed her pitiful attempt at making amends. It was enough to stay his hand, but the bitter tang of resentment never left his tongue. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, burning the woods like you did.” His typically soft voice was harsher now, still low in volume, but it carried a distinct edge. “I’m still trying to repair the landscape. What’s your problem?”

As the man stammered for a moment, Luce rested her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish his sentence. It was a bit too dark for her to get a good look at him, but she could tell he wasn’t some lost hiker. For one, no one came hiking around here, not at this time of night. For another, if he wasn’t dressed like one. No backpack, no water bottles, nothing like that. But, then he rose and took a step towards her. Instinctively, Luce’s hands curled at her side, the flames that danced in her blood ready to be called at a moment’s notice. “What the fuck is your problem?” She shot back, startled. Burning the woods? For one thing, how did he know about that? For another, which time was he talking about? One of the many rainy nights when she’d hiked out into the middle of nowhere, to practice her flames? Or when she and Anita had run from the shitty moose creature and she’d lit the brush aflame to escape? Or was it the time she’d razed the ground around her and Adam in the wake of Bea’s death? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luce lied smoothly.

“Ooohhh, yes you do,” Solomon snapped, his dark eyes narrowing. “I saw you… fleeing the scene, leaving the poor forest in such a state…” It made his heart ache as he recalled the pain he’d felt that night, the sorrow that rose from the ground as it mixed with ash and embers. He was so in tune with the familiar landscape, so very much a part of it, that any damage it suffered bled over to him. It’s why most things never escaped his knowledge, and why he’d had to bloody his hands over the centuries, stopping men from cutting deeper and spreading further. What he couldn’t mention was how his fear had held him back for the first time — seeing that the woman was controlling the fire and not merely setting it free had stopped him in his tracks. If he died, who knew what would happen to the woods? It was too risky, and the damage had been done, so he’d decided to let her go and tend to the charred earth. Letting out a shaky sigh, Solomon appeared to be trying to calm himself, eyes closing while he regained his composure. “But… I saw you trying to make amends, too, so… I suppose it’s a start.” Peering at her once again, the disguised Leshy lifted a finger to point it at her. “Got my eye on you, though…”

As the man glared daggers at her, Luce kept her gaze level. She didn’t give a shit who this guy thought he was, she’d make his night real fucking bad if he decided to try and pull something. But, when he started yelling at her about fleeing the scene, she blinked in confusion. Was he talking about when she’d blown up the Ring with Erin months ago? Or when she’d tried to blow up the shitty mime restaurant? Christ. She really needed to narrow down her arson attempts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, even if I did, you’re gonna have to narrow it down.” She said with a shake of her head. The man seemed to be… restraining himself? Like he wanted to move against her? Which would be a bad idea on his part for sure. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you some kind of stalker? Because you picked the wrong girl for that.”

Stalker? Oh. Solomon drew another weary breath, shaking his head as he pushed his anger aside. “The specifics don’t matter, what does matter is your lack of care when it comes to this place.” He gestured vaguely at the trees that surrounded them, letting his gaze slide away from her for the quickest of moments. “Look, I’m just… all I’m asking is for you to please stop burning it down with your fire… hands.” Whatever you’d call that, he wasn’t sure. He’d never really encountered anything like it before, and he didn’t exactly want to make a habit of it, either. “Lot of things live around here, you know, myself included… and we’re not exactly keen on having our home scorched on the regular.” Truth be told, it was something that half the damn town seemed to need to hear, given their track record. It was exhausting work, trying to keep up with every new threat.

“Uh, it sure fucking does if you’ve been following me around like some kind of creep.” Luce said as she continued to stare at the stranger. As he waved around at the forest and then mentioned her firehands, her eyes narrowed. Had he seen her use her magic before? No, he couldn’t have. For one thing, she covered her bases pretty fucking well. And even if he had, why the fuck was he only just now stopping her. “My fire hands? I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, dude.” She said, shaking her head as though he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done or what you think you saw, but you’re mistaken.” She replied. She wasn’t sure what this guy’s deal was, but it was easier to deny this than to deal with the repercussions that came with someone finding out she was magically inclined.

“I’m not following you, I live here,” Solomon grumbled in return. “I see most things that happen, whether folks want me to or not.” Her continued rebuttals only made him growl in frustration, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You make fire. I don’t know how, but you do it in a way that… normal people cannot. Your denial does not change this fact.” He considered for a moment that perhaps she was like him—inclined to keep that aspect of herself secret. “And personally, I’ve nothing to gain from knowing that, I would just like to formally ask you to please stop setting fire to my forest. Take your flames someplace else.” Exasperation radiated off of him, but his gaze was steady. A hundred and fifty years ago, he’d have just slain her on the spot. But… he was trying to be a little kinder about it in this case, especially since she’d come back later to plant seeds. The gesture warranted recognition.

He lived here? In the fucking woods? Because that was any less creepy than the fact he’d watched her here. Luce bristled a little as he continued to speak. He’d seen her conjure the flames. How? She’d had run-ins with people before, but she’d always been careful to make sure there was nothing that could ever tie her to the blazes she started. People could look for the ignition point, search for the match or the lighter that didn’t exist because she was the spark. And yet, this fucker seemed to know exactly what she could do. “Let’s say I can do what you say I can do.” She said before gesturing around to them. “Where else would I do shit? If I could make fire, I’m not exactly going to just light up the Common.” She said, though the corner of her mouth turned at the idea. That would be funny, if only for the irritation it would no doubt cause her mother.

Solomon was, by every account, a very calm and level headed creature. That being said, there was one thing he had almost no patience for, and that was the petulance of a young firestarter. His entire existence revolved around a singular purpose, and he could only bargain for so long with people like her. His anger flared at her casual, careless remark, dark eyes widening slightly in disbelief. “Anywhere else, girl. Have some respect for the natural world — you’d be dead without it.” He’d taken another step toward her by this point, and something in his body language had changed. He moved less like a man, and more like… well, it was hard to say in the dark of night. “Stop killing things and find a way to be useful with your talents, won’t you? You came back to plant seeds, so I know you must feel some amount of remorse. Hold on to that, remember that, and do not light another blaze in these woods ever again. Do you understand me?” He was being rather generous, he thought, but if she pushed him further still, he couldn’t see himself keeping his composure.

At the sound of the word “girl,” Luce’s eyes narrowed. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Folding her arms across her chest, she felt the heat of her body begin to grow and rise with her increasing anger. “Respect for the natural world? You think I don’t have respect for it?” She said with a growl. “Fire is just as natural as anything else here. What happens to a forest that’s overgrown with brush and shrubs? What happens to the trees when they get overcrowded and parasites begin to take over? Overgrowth saps the life right out of the soil just as much as my fire does.” She said before shoving her hand into the soil beneath their feet. Pulling up a handful of loamy soil, she let it sprinkle from her fingers back on the ground. “Ash feeds the forest, makes space for new things to grow. I planted those seeds because it was what should have happened. Death. Rebirth. Life. And death again.” She spat.

“Fire may be natural, but you are not,” Solomon snapped in return. “Forest fires at the hands of humans are anything but natural.” His relationship with humans had been… a bit tumultuous, over the years. While he found them to be an interesting sort, it was true that they had, time and time again, shown him that they cared not for the earth that had so lovingly lifted them from their evolutionary cradle and taught them how to walk. “It is not for you to decide when that cycle will happen, purely because you have no place else to play with your magic. Insolent… insolent, the lot of you!” His voice had raised in volume and boomed unnaturally around them, anger rushing to the forefront as he relived the countless times he’d seen the land ravaged by humans. All across the continent, as he moved from home to home, he’d encountered ones like her. Or at least, the picture of her that was piecing together in his mind’s eye. He’d slaughtered a whole village for poisoning the nearby river, and while that level of unhinged rage was rare for him, it was far from impossible. His glamour flickered, his focus waning as he became more irate with the woman standing before him. “Humans have been nothing but a blight on this world—you’re parasites, feeding off the land while you expand your rotten towns and cities, razing whole forests to the ground without care! That is not the life of someone who has respect for it.”

Unnatural. Yes, because she was unnatural. Who was he to say these things anyways? Obviously not human, but what was he? “You think I play with magic?” Luce said, temper flaring once more. Magic wasn’t a game, it wasn’t some toy to be played with, something casual to be used and forgotten. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong about that.” Magic lived in her, it breathed in her, it was a grounding tether of power that challenged her and demanded her to rise to that challenge. His voice rang through the woods, but Luce held her ground. This man-- no, not exactly man, obviously not. Whatever he was, he yelled at her and she resisted the urge to let her flames ignite. It would be so easy, so, so easy to let the blue flames lick the ground and spread. But. It would only be proving him right. Watching him, Luce caught the shimmer to his appearance, saw it shudder and caught a glimpse of what looked like… mushrooms? She couldn’t be sure, because the image disappeared almost as soon as she saw it. “If I’m a parasite, then what does that make you? If I’m so beneath you, what are you?” She asked, goading him on. What did he think he was, some kind of god?

Upset as he’d become, it didn’t matter to Solomon whether or not he’d accurately judged her entire character; he’d seen what he’d seen, and she seemed to think that setting his wood ablaze was a perfectly acceptable way to kill time, so he had no further words for her. His gaze was fixed steadily on her, eyes narrowed into slits as he stared her down furiously. It wasn’t until she called him out, questioning the authenticity of his appearance, that he faltered. Well, it wasn’t so much that she’d seen something—that was happening increasingly often, as of late—but it was her question that had him tripping over his own tongue. “I don’t—that doesn’t matter,” he growled. He didn’t rightly know, since he’d been forced to live alone as little more than a sapling and had never met another of his kind. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you…. and how you really ought to find a better hobby.”

Quirking her eyebrow, Luce heard the misstep in his voice, the falter in his words. “It doesn’t matter?” She repeated, incredulity mixing with venom in her voice. “Oh, so you can dish it but you can’t take it? You can go around, accusing me of being unnatural, calling me out for ‘playing with magic’ but when it gets turned back around, suddenly it doesn’t matter?” She said, nodding. “Well, now, we’re talking about you. Who made you holier than thou? Who crowned you king of the forest? You don’t know anything about what I am, who I am, or what I’m capable of. Because, if you think that me coming out into the forest and setting fire in the middle of thunderstorms is a hobby, you don’t know me as well as you think. Fucking creepy forest stalker or not, you don’t know me.” She shot back.

Frustration was coming off Solomon in waves, brought to life by both his anger with the individual yelling at him, and his own personal battle of not knowing who—or what—he truly was. He always told himself it didn’t matter, but in situations like these, it certainly seemed to. She was right, he didn’t know anything about her, and he’d never allowed himself the patience to try and change that before judging someone. Perhaps… perhaps he ought to give it a try. New millennium, new Solomon, and all that. Waiting until she was done, his gaze averted for the first time since their heated exchange had begun, Solomon interjected with a wavering voice. “If I had a word for it, I’d tell you,” he muttered, the defeat in his tone barely masked by indignation. “All I do know is that I’ve been alive for almost a thousand years, and I’ve always felt compelled to protect my home and my innocent neighbors from people like you.” On the last, accusatory word, Solomon flicked his dark eyes back toward the woman, brow furrowed. “So tell me… why shouldn’t I see you as a threat to the forest? Why should I give you a pass, when I’ve cut others down for smaller offenses?”

“Sounds to me like you should figure your shit out before you go around throwing words like “unnatural” around.” Luce fired back, not giving up any ground in this verbal sparring match. She really didn’t give a fuck who-- or what-- this guy was. She was tired of being used as someone else’s punching bag. She was tired of being the who had to make amends, who had to apologize, who was wrong. “A thousand years? Well, it seems you’re hardly a judge of character if you’ve been around this fucking long and can’t tell the difference between a pyromaniac and someone who gives a shit about this place. Because, this is probably really fucking surprising to you, but I do. I actually do give a shit about this town and this forest and the people who live here. I know these woods, I know the forest, I know the animals who call it home. Maybe not the way you do, but I know them.” She held up her hands, an innocent gesture. “I owned my shit. You saw me plant those seeds, you said it yourself. I destroyed that part of the forest the night that--” She caught herself. This person, creature, whatever. He didn’t need to know why she’d burnt the forest down. Why it had been grief and fear and sorrow that had turned her flames blue, that kept her flames blue. “It happened. And that wasn’t right. So, I went back to make it better as well as I could.”

She was a persistent one, and Solomon could feel that it was wearing him down. This conversation was exhausting, and not doing much more than running in circles, so he caved. Deflating, the fae brought a hand to his forehead and let himself slump against the tree behind him. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered in annoyance, shaking his head. “While I can’t imagine that something would ever drive me to hurt this place like you did, I suppose I’ll have to just accept that fact and deal with it. Just… try to refrain from doing it again in the future, alright? It really does take a lot out of me, trying to fix messes like that.” Heaving a sigh, Solomon waved his free hand in the direction she’d been running when they first encountered one another without looking up at her. “Get out of here, go finish your run. You’ve given me a headache.”

“Yeah, you can’t. And, honestly? I hope you never do.” Luce said, remembering the grief that had overwhelmed her that night, when she’d thrown herself into the forest and done her best to run away from the reality of her situation. She’d started running that day and she’d never really stopped, not even now, when it was over. But, it wasn’t over, was it? Shaking her head, Luce focused her attention on the man who was waving her away. While she was glad that this guy was at least giving up with the whole “protector of the forest” act, she wasn’t a fan of the fact that he was telling her what she should do. Hands still up in the air, she flipped him off, the triangle tattoos on her knuckles a nice added touch of irony. “I’m not in the business of making promises to people. I do what I want. But,” She lowered her hands, and offered a single nod, “noted.” With that, Luce turned and continued on her run, not caring what he thought of their encounter. As far as she was concerned, all this meant was she’d discovered a new self-righteous neighbor.

#p: ai #p: solomon hawthorne #chatzy #wickedswriting #//does luce piss off a forest god? we just dont know

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crystalninjaphoenix · 4 years

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Lost Night

Switch AU

Everything’s been peaceful for a while. Well, relatively. That’s all about to change here. Something happens, and let’s just say Anti freaks out a bit. And then something else entirely different happens, and he freaks out again. And the story is very long. I dunno, it’s late and I don’t know how to provide accurate summary without spoilers rn. It also gets kind of intense at some points when Anti breaks down. Anyway, hope you guys like it :)

More of this AU found here

“Hey Dad, I think I see their car.”

Anti looked down at Will pulling on the hem of his jacket, then looked back up again, following Will’s pointed finger down the road. It was about four in the afternoon, which meant there weren’t a lot of cars driving in the area, which made the familiar blue car stand out a lot more. “Yep, I think that’s them,” he said, waving.

The car pulled over to the side of the road, and the backdoor opened. “Will!” Michelle burst out, tackling her friend in a hug.

“Ack!” Will stumbled back from the force of it. “Dad, she’s strangling me!”

“No she’s not, Will,” Anti said, smiling a bit.

“I’m so glad to see you!” Michelle was happily oblivious to any trouble she might’ve caused.

“I just saw you yesterday!” Will said, dumbfounded.

The driver’s side window rolled down, and Rama stuck their head out. “Hey kids, why not talk in the car? We still need to drop you off before we head out.” They nodded in Anti’s direction. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Anti said back. “Yeah, c’mon, get inside. We’re already kinda late.”

The two kids climbed into the back, and Anti walked around to get into the passenger side. As they headed out, Michelle piped up. “Why can’t we come too?” she asked, whining a bit.

Rama sighed gently. “We told you, it’s for grown-ups.”

“But it’s a birthday party, isn’t it? I want to go to a birthday party.”

“You just had a birthday party yesterday,” Rama said teasingly. “And you won’t be getting presents at this one.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Michelle suddenly leaned across the middle seat and stuck a stuffed animal in Will’s face. “Look what Ren and Dad got me! After the party ended and you left and everything.”

“Oh!” Will leaned back, getting a better look at the stuffed animal. “Is that...one of those Beanie Baby bears that are kinda hard to get?”

“My teacher has one in her room, and ever since I saw it, I really really liked it,” Michelle chattered. “So I kept asking and asking and Ren and Dad got me one!”

Anti chuckled a bit, glancing over at Rama. “So. How much did that cost?”

“Not that much,” Rama said defensively.

“Alright, Little Mx. Money to Spare,” Anti laughed, settling back in the car seat. “Hey, how’s Jackie doing?”

Rama paused. “Better. Still living with Henrik, we’ll meet the two of them there. But we talk almost every day online, and Michelle seems to understand.”

“Good.” Anti nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure about it, but he thought that maintaining contact was a good way to keep up a romantic relationship. Just like a friendship. Even though he did have a bad habit of suddenly going silent in his own friendships...but he’d been doing much better at it. Case in point, actually going to this ‘party’ even if he wasn’t too much a fan of what they had planned. It would be much better with other people.

After dropping the kids off with the babysitter, it was a short drive over to the restaurant. Surprisingly, it was still fairly crowded at four o’clock, though not nearly as crowded as it would be even an hour later. Though perhaps part of the reason it looked crowded was because of the six people in the small waiting area, most of whom immediately stood up and walked over the moment Anti and Rama walked into the building.

“Anti! You made it!” JJ rushed over, pausing a moment before getting any closer. When Anti nodded, JJ closed the distance, giving him a quick hug. “We were starting to get worried about you two.”

“Yeah, well...you’ll have to talk to Rama about that, ‘cause they were late in the first place to pick me up,” Anti said jokingly.

JJ raised an eyebrow. “I see.” He turned to Rama, but then froze. “Well. Seems like they’re busy,” he chuckled.

Anti looked over as well. And he made a face. It seemed Rama and Jackie were talking...and more than that, actually. “Get a room, you two,” he said.

Jackie glanced over at him and smiled a bit, pulling away from his spouse. “Give us a break, Anti,” he said. Anti rolled his eyes, but secretly he was glad to see that Jackie was indeed doing better. Physically, he hadn’t changed much; he was still wearing the red hoodie that he hadn’t once taken off since his return, with its sleeves pulled far down, and his hair was just as short. But behind his glasses, his eyes were somehow...lighter. Apparently he started to see a therapist, and it must’ve been working really well.

Schneep appeared next to Anti. “You should see the two of them on the video chat,” he muttered. “It is almost insufferable. Too sweet.”

“Aw, Schneep’s just jealous,” Jackie teased. “I know you want a partner, zappy boy.”

“Oh, as if,” Schneep scoffed. “They would have to be able to keep up with me, and I know that is impossible, so unless I find someone who can—ow!” Anti had punched Schneep in the arm. “Ah, always so violent,” he muttered.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me being violent,” Anti promised.

“Hey, there will be none of this,” JJ said sternly. “It’s my birthday.”

“Your birthday was like, four days ago,” Anti pointed out.

“Yes, well, there were no good shows playing on a Wednesday and a holiday,” JJ said, folding his arms in an almost sulky way. “And this place closed early.”

Anti rolled his eyes. “Well. Happy birthday, Jackson. I’d give you your present but the stupid online shipping is taking forever.” Taking a step back, Anti looked around the waiting area. “Where’s Marvin?”

“I’m righ’ here.”

Anti turned back around. Marvin was sitting in a chair right next to the restaurant’s entrance, easy to miss when coming in. He was wearing his nice jacket, and also... “Are you wearing headphones?” Anti asked, surprised.

Marvin grinned. “Yea.” He tapped the side of the heavy black headphones. “Noise cancellin’. T’ese places get very loud an’ bright, y’know. I mean, not t’at they didn’, back...where I’m from, but we didn’ have headphones then, and jesus, they make it all more bearable.”

“I see.” A bit odd, but honestly, Anti didn’t really care. If Marvin wanted to wear headphones in a restaurant, that was fine, not like it was disturbing anyone. And it was then that Anti noticed the other two people sitting nearby. He vaguely recognized one as JJ’s stage manager—what was her name? Started with a D—which made sense, of course JJ would invite her. But the other one...Anti narrowed his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

Stacy Davidson looked away from her conversation, expression immediately dropping once she noticed Anti. Before she could say anything, JJ stepped in between her and Anti. “I invited her,” he said calmly.

“What?! Why?”

“Well, because we’re friendly,” JJ explained.

Anti stared at him. “Since when?!”

“For about a month, now? Of course, she started by talking to Rama and Jackie, but over time she’s met all the rest of us, too, except for you, apparently.” JJ lowered his voice. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this, when from what I’ve heard, you’ve only met her once, and that’s not nearly long enough to build up resentment. Besides, the dinner’s only going to be an hour, and from there we’ll all be quiet in the theatre, so you won’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want. Understand?”

Anti was silent for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Stacy—it was that he didn’t trust her. To be fair, he didn’t trust most people. But there was something about her specifically that felt a little weird. Some American woman, taking a personal vacation for almost two months now? Who has the time and money for that? And why here? Why vacation in this random city that wasn’t even that much of a tourist destination? But Anti sighed. “Fine.”

One of the restaurant hosts came into the waiting area. “Jackson, party of eight?”

“That’s us!” Jameson said, cheerfully waving the host down. “Come on, everyone.”

The whole party followed the host to the table, chatting happily among each other. Except for Anti, who trailed behind, mood suddenly a bit darker.

———————

Hours later, Rama and Anti found themselves back in the car with each other, heading to pick up the kids. Anti looked out the window at the night sky and yawned. It really hadn’t been that bad. Dinner had been spoiled a little bit, with the presence of that Stacy lady. He’d spent a bit too much mental energy trying to forget she was there. But the theatre had been alright. It probably helped that the play they’d seen was a Halloween special, and Anti grudgingly had to admit it was pretty good, even if he didn’t enjoy sitting in a dark, uncomfortable audience seat with a couple constantly whispering to each other behind him.

“Here we are,” Rama said, pulling to the side of the road in front of a regular suburban house. “Let’s go get the kids.”

“You go ahead, I’ll stay here,” Anti said, already pulling out his phone and opening up a game.

Rama sighed gently, then said, “Of course,” and opened the car door to leave.

Anti watched them walk up the path and wait at the door. He made sure the old lady who owned the house (and frequently worked as a babysitter, apparently) had opened the door before going back to his game. A few turns later, he realized that it was taking a while for Rama to return with the kids. Grumbling, Anti glanced back towards the house, expecting to see Rama chatting with the lady. And they were. But something was...off. Sitting up straight, Anti watched Rama’s expression. They seemed...upset. Curious, Anti climbed out of the car and walked up to the door.

“See, he can tell you himself!” The old lady said, gesturing at Anti as he approached.

“Uh, tell them what?” Anti asked.

“Margaret says that you already picked up the kids,” Rama explained.

“What?” Anti looked between the two of them, searching for any hint of amusement, like this might be a joke. “Uh...well, I haven’t. So you can go get them now.”

The old lady, Margaret, paused, as if also waiting for a punchline. When nothing came, she looked confused. “But...”

“See?! That’s what I was trying to say!” Rama said, throwing their hands in the air. Behind the obvious exasperation, their eyes were wide, their voice shaking a bit as they continued, “Margaret, this has been all fun and games, but it’s late, and the kids need to get home.”

Margaret shook her head slowly. “I—I’m sorry, but...they’re not here.”

Anti froze. Then immediately started to laugh. “Alright, real funny. But we really need to get home.” He leaned past Margaret, looking into the house behind her. “Will! Michelle! C’mon, the joke’s up!”

“Anti...” Rama said in a low voice. “I-I think—”

“Oh dear, it’s all my fault!” Margaret suddenly gasped. “I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn it was you. You showed up about half an hour ago, said you were going to take them home. You had a car—”

“All good, except I can’t fucking drive!” Anti suddenly snapped.

“Anti!” Rama snapped right back. “Margaret doesn’t know that! Don’t blame her for this!”

Anti took a few steps back, saying nothing. The ice cold realization was starting to sink in, and he was starting to physically shiver, as though he’d actually been hit with a bucket of water.

“What did this guy look like?” Rama asked, turning back to Margaret. “You said you thought it was Anti, but was there anything different, that stood out?”

Margaret shook her head. “I may be old, but my memory is clear as ever, and I am positive he looked just like Mr. McLoughlin here. And the kids seemed alright with it, too...” She trailed off, suddenly looking puzzled. “Which is a bit odd, innit? I’m sure that Will, at least, would know his dad couldn’t drive.”

Rama swore under their breath. “We have to—Anti?”

Anti was walking back down the path, pulling out his phone and hurriedly dialing a number. He paced along the sidewalk as he listened to it ringing on the other end. It was quickly picked up.

“Hel—”

“Did you pick up the kids?” Anti asked.

There was a slight pause on the other end. “Uh...I’m sorry, I-I don’t understand,” Jackie said.

“The kids. When you and Volt were driving back to your apartment, did you stop by to pick them up?” Anti insisted.

“Um...no,” Jackie said hesitantly. “Why? What’s wr—”

Anti hung up before he was even finished asking that question, already dialing a second number. This one took a while more to connect. “Did you pick up the kids?” he asked again.

“Anit?” JJ said. “What’s this about?”

“It’s about the kids, I thought that’d be clear. Did you and Marvin pick them up when you were heading home?”

“Why would we pick up Michelle and Will?” JJ was clearly confused. “Oh, I suppose that’s not an answer. Well, no, we didn’t. Weren’t you and Rama going to do that?” He paused. “Anti? Are you still there?”

Anti wasn’t hearing anything beyond the sudden rush of panicking white noise in his head. Now very pale, he hung up without another word.

Rama suddenly appeared next to him. “Anti? What’s wrong?”

Suddenly furious, Anti whirled on them. “My fucking son is missing, that’s what’s wrong!” He shouted.

Rama’s eyes flashed. “Yes, well, my fucking daughter is missing! So maybe you should listen to me when I try to tell you that we should call the police, like I’ve been trying to tell you for the past five minutes!”

Anti suddenly laughed. “Oh yes, let’s do that, why don’t we? Cause they did such a good job when Jackie disappeared! Fucking grand, go ahead!”

“Well it’s better than doing nothing!” Rama closed their eyes, pressing a hand to their chest as they took several deep breaths. “Look, how about I drive us to my house first? This could all be some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe they walked home, it’s only a couple blocks.”

“They didn’t walk home,” Anti said bitterly.

Rama blinked. “Well, you sound sure, don’t you?”

“Because sure, a six—sorry, seven year old might think that’s a good idea,” Anti said, folding his arms. “But a ten year old has enough common sense to not go walking out when it’s pitch ass black outside! Or, y’know, at least Will does. And you know he’d stop Michelle if she decided to do that!” Anti balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “You go home and check, I’m going back to my home so I can blast Skillet through my headphones to calm down.” He scowled at Rama as they started to stay something else, then started to leave.

“Anti!” Rama called.

He didn’t look back. He had to get to a bus station and back home. Because right now, he was very conscious of the fact that he had a handgun in a hidden holster under his jacket. And that was something that he didn’t want to think about.

———————

It was almost nine o’clock when Anti arrived back at his apartment, after taking an almost-empty bus halfway across the city. Once inside, he elected to use the stairs instead of the elevator, not wanting to stay still for any longer than absolutely necessary. It took a moment for him to find the key to his apartment. And once he did, he found that unlocking his door was pointless: it was already unlocked.

Alarm bells went off in his head—no, more than that, it was a warning siren, the type of which you’d hear during a state of immediate citywide crisis. He never left his door unlocked, not even when he was inside the apartment. And with Will...with him having disappeared not too long ago...

Anti reached inside his jacket to grab his handgun, but then immediately let go; he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he found someone inside and had a gun in his hand. So instead, he threw open the door, hand feeling the wall for the light switch. “Whoever the fuck is in here—”

The lights flipped on.

Anti froze.

The inside of the apartment was ruined. The cupboards of the kitchenette were thrown open, their contents strewn about the counters, the sofa and chairs had their cushions and pillows pulled off and hurled about, and any available drawers had been yanked out of their places. But that was only a little alarming compared to everything else. The coffee table had been stabbed. Anti recognized all the knives from his collection, as well as plain kitchen knives, all driven point-down into the wooden surface. And the walls...someone had been drawing on the walls. They were covered in rough drawings of smiley faces. Some of the faces had their eyes X’d out, some of them had wide, gaping smiles, but they all were drawn in a red-brown liquid that, judging from the trails, had been dripping for a while and only recently started to congeal.

Anti stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. His eyes slowly trailed across the walls, tracing the drawn-on smiles. He approached the coffee table, bending down to touch the ruined surface. Who would do this?

Immediately, he knew. He was actually amazed he hadn’t realized sooner. Who would possibly have a motive for taking Will and Michelle? Maybe someone who’d taken people before. Who would draw smiles all over the walls? Maybe someone who’d never once stopped smiling as long as Anti and the others had known him.

“Oh my god...” Anti whispered. “You took Will.” His vision started to blur, and his chest rose and fell quickly, overcome with a sudden rise of sharp, burning, painful emotion. He grabbed the nearest knife, wrenching it from the surface of the table. And in one quick motion, he threw it at the wall. The point embedded itself in the eye of one of the smiley faces. “You took my son, you fucking bastard!”

He pulled another knife free, throwing it at the wall as well. He didn’t care that it merely bounced off the surface, he was already grabbing another and throwing it as well. “Fuck you!” He yelled. “Fuck you fuck you!” Words were not enough. He merely screamed as he yanked out another one of the knives. This one didn’t go into the wall. It went back into the table, stabbing it, again and again and again. His throat started to burn from how much he screamed, but he kept going. He grabbed a pillow nearby and slashed at it, feathers flying, again and again and again. He couldn’t clearly see what he was doing as the tears started to fall from his eyes, smearing his sight into mere colors. He turned back to the table, and down the knife went, again and again and again and again and agai—

Anti cried out, pulling back. The knife clattered to the wooden table surface. A bit of crimson stained its edge. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced down at his arm. The knife had sliced through his jacket, near his wrist. Blood was leaking from a cut. Anti’s eyes went wide, and he threw himself backwards, scrambling against the floor until his back hit a wall. His hand flew to his throat, rubbing a line across a specific part, hidden by the choker he usually wore.

“F...fuck...” Anti shook his head. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here right now, or he might do something he’ll regret. Pushing himself to his feet, he reached inside his jacket and pulled his gun out of its holster, throwing it across the room, as far away from him as possible.

There was a small ding! sound from his pocket. Before he even realized what he was doing, Anti grabbed his phone and threw that as well. He winced as it cracked against the opposite wall. Fine. Whatever. He’d deal with that later. He couldn’t be here right now. Spinning around, Anti flung the door to his apartment open and ran outside, slamming the door behind him.

———————

He didn’t know where he was going. It was nine o’clock—no, it was about nine forty now, when had so much time passed?—at night, and he didn’t want to be around people. He’d probably just end up snapping at anyone who saw him.

Actually, there was no ‘probably’ about it. He found himself back on another bus, heading...somewhere. He was sitting on a bench, arms folded around himself, shaking slightly. And there was a woman sitting on the bench across from him. Staring. He flinched, and growled, “Why don’t you just fucking murder me already?!” The woman jumped, and looked away. He got off on the next stop.

After that, he got on the next bus that appeared, not caring where it took him. He stayed there until it pulled into a small station, and the driver looked back at him and said, “Hey. Buses stopping for the night, buddy. If you need to get somewhere, the train station’s right here.” Anti stared at her, then stood up and walked off silently.

The city had a train system, though not a big or extensive one. There were only three major stops, and it appeared as though he’d arrived at the one in the center of the city. This station doubled as a hub for the buses. It should have been fairly busy, even this late at night, but there was no one there. It seemed all the bus drivers had clocked out, and there were no passengers waiting for the train. Anti walked up onto the station platform, looking up at the round lamps giving off an orange-yellow glow. After a moment, he walked over to the nearest bench and sat down.

It was never truly quiet in a city, but this is as close as it got. The small amount of traffic was just a distant noise. And there didn’t seem to be a train coming anytime soon. Anti stared at the tracks. What if he just jumped onto them? And then a train appeared? What would happen? Anti stopped himself before he could go any farther down that path. He knew exactly what would happen, and it wasn’t something he wanted. He didn’t even want to think about it.

Of course, that didn’t stop that thought from coming back into his mind barely a minute later. This time, Anti was already thinking about who would be around to clean up the mess before he managed to catch himself. “F...fuck...” he said, physically flinching. He curled his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms. “Stop it,” he muttered. “You were doing so good with...these.”

Time passed. How much, he wasn’t exactly sure. He was too deep in his own head, trying not to think about the train coming, trying not to think about what might be happening to Will and Michelle, trying not to think about...a lot of things.

Something was flickering in the corner of his vision.

Anti blinked, looking over in that direction. There was a large trashcan in the middle of the train station. And something was glowing inside it. Anti frowned, watching it. Had someone thrown away a glow stick or something? But then, what was the movement, and why was he just noticing it now?

Sighing, Anti stood up and walked over to the trashcan. Maybe it was a discarded toy or something that had just found a second wind in its batteries. Leaning over, he peered inside the can.

It was definitely not a glow stick or a toy.

Puzzled, Anti stared at it a while longer. And then it suddenly moved, and he yelled, stumbling back. “Wh—I’m—fuck—am I—?” He couldn’t even find the right exclamation to use. With wide eyes, he kept staring at the trash can, the glow still coming from inside.

There was a rumbling sound, and Anti looked over to see a train approaching the station. Quickly, he scrambled over to the platform, stopping just behind the yellow line that marked the safest distance to stand at. The train slowed to a halt, and as soon as the doors opened Anti jumped inside the artificial white light of the train car, grabbing the nearest pole for standing room. As the train pulled away, he kept staring at the platform while it faded into the distance.

———————

He was in the north part of the city now, and he had no idea what time it was. But judging by the emptiness of the streets and the fact that most of the businesses were closed, it was pretty closed. Anti walked for a while, taking random turns at crossroads, sometimes walking across the street whenever he felt like it. Eventually, he saw a building that was lit up, a tiny little corner diner with a neon sign outside advertising twenty-four hour service. He ducked inside, and it was only when he was hit with a blast of warm air that he realized how cold he’d been.

Strained pop music was playing in the air. The diner was fairly clean, most of the furniture made of wood—or at least plastic meant to resemble wood. A teenage boy was loitering behind the counter with earbuds in, though he snapped to attention when he saw Anti walk in. “Uh...hi, welcome to the Cup and Platter,” he said.

Anti didn’t even acknowledge him, walking over to the nearest booth and sitting down, immediately burying his head in his folded arms.

After a moment, footsteps approached the booth, and Anti looked up again to see the teenager hovering nearby, holding a pen and a notebook. “Uh, sir, is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah, why don’t you get some fucking better music in here?” Anti snapped.

The teenager blinked. “Um...well I can’t do anything about that. But I can get you a menu? And talk to my manager about the music?”

Anti huffed, and slammed his head into the table hard enough to rattle the salt and pepper shakers.

“Whoa!” The teenager jumped. “I—sir, if it’s really bothering you—”

“Just shut up,” Anti growled. “Just...” He sighed. “A menu, fine. You do that, I’ll...yeah.”

The teenager hesitated, then nodded and backed up. He grabbed a laminated menu from behind the counter and walked back over to drop it off before going back around the counter.

Anti glanced over the menu. Mostly breakfast foods and sandwiches. Sighing again, he dropped it and set his head back down on the table. He didn’t want to eat right now. But maybe they’d kick him out if he didn’t order anything...fine, he’d get something small. In a minute.

Before he could...well, he didn’t know exactly what he was planning to do, other than space out. But before he could properly space out, the teenager once again walked up to the booth. “Are...you ready to order, sir?” he asked.

“Fucking...fine, can I have a black coffee and a plate of chips?” Anti asked. He instinctively looked across the booth to ask Will what he wanted, only to get a hot knife in the chest as he remembered.

“Got it.” The teenager didn’t even bother to write that down. “I’ll be right back, sir.”

It didn’t take long for the coffee and fries to arrive. Anti immediately grabbed the coffee cup and downed it. The bitter liquid was scalding hot, burning his throat, but he finished the whole thing in one go anyway, then slammed his head down on the table again. “Fuck everything,” he muttered. He folded his arms around his head, blocking out all light. Only a few minutes later, despite the caffeine in his system, he managed to fall asleep.

———————

“Oh my god oh my god oh my goooood.” Anti paced the room, folding and unfolding his arms. “Oh my fucking god this is the worst idea! Who let me do this?”

Jackie watched from the chair where he was sitting with some amusement. “You’re really nervous, aren’t you?”

“Oh, fucking understatement of the year!” Anti whirled on him. “I can’t fucking believe I thought this was a good idea! Why didn’t you stop me?!”

“Well, you really want to, don’t you?” Jackie reasoned.

Anti laughed. “Of course I do. But sometimes I also want to go skydiving without a parachute, that doesn’t mean I should. Fuck!” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, I’m gonna fuck up. I’m gonna fucking...I-I’ll have to call CPS on myself, I’m done, I—”

“You’re not gonna have to do that,” Jackie said, standing up and walking over. He placed a hand on Anti’s shoulder, then quickly withdrew it when Anti flinched. “You’re very good with Michelle, why would this be any different?”

“Because Michelle’s three,” Anti explained. “And I’m not her dad. All I have to do is make sure she eats and doesn’t break anything. With a kid of my own I-I have to—to help him with school, make sure he stays out of trouble, make sure he never feels like I’m not listening to him, I gotta set a good example—I am the worst person to look to as a good example! Fuck!”

“Anti. Stop.” Jackie’s voice turned firm. “You are totally capable of all of that, no matter what you think. Clearly, you already know what to do. And you have the skills to pull it off.” He smiled a bit. “Y’know, you’re kinda like a hedgehog.”

That was strange enough to snap Anti out of his spiraling thoughts. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Cause you’re all pointy, but you can also be soft,” Jackie said teasingly.

Anti rolled his eyes. “I’m not soft.”

“But you can be. I’ve seen it,” Jackie said, smile widening. “Look, what matters most is that you love your kid, and you listen to him. And of course, there’s all the material providing for him, but the agency wouldn’t have let you through unless you could do that.” Jackie shook his head. “I’m getting off topic. Love and listening. Those are things you can do, and do well.”

Anti looked at him, saying nothing, but his expression obviously distressed.

“It might be a little...awkward at first,” Jackie said. “But if you’re open with him, and talk to him, then it’ll all turn out okay. Plus, you can always ask me and Rama for advice if you need to.”

“I just...fuck.” Anti pressed a hand to his throat, feeling his breath pass in and out. “What if I don’t do enough? What if he ends up lighting a fire behind the school dumpster? Or breaking a shop window and threatening people with the cut glass? Or messing with a computer until it sends emails to half the adults in town that is just a bunch of insults and swearing? Or—”

Jackie laughed. “Those are some ridiculous, and oddly specific scenarios.”

Anti glared at him. “I am literally naming events from my childhood, Jackie.”

“I...oh.” Jackie seemed momentarily taken aback by that.

“Yeah, I was a little shit and my mom did nothing about it, how am I supposed to know what to do?!”

“Well, I suppose that’s where you can ask for advice,” Jackie said slowly. “Also, if you really care about this kid, and show that you care, and teach and explain everything to him, you’ll never have to worry about him acting out, cause he won’t have reason to.”

Anti closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Fuck.”

“Y’know that’s starting to not sound like a word.”

That caused a bout of laughter. “Yeah,” Anti muttered. He paused, rubbing his upper arms. “I...I guess I have some idea what to do...”

“And you’ll be great at it!” Jackie said encouragingly. “Say it. Tell me you’ll be great at it.”

“I...I’ll be great at it.”

Jackie paused, then put his hand on Anti’s shoulder again. “You can do this, Anti. Just know you can.”

———————

Anti woke up, and the first thing he noticed was that his back hurt. He groaned, and straightened, causing a sudden flare of pain as he shifted position. The second thing he noticed was that his eyes were wet, and he hurriedly wiped them and looked around. The diner looked almost the same, except now the teenage boy was gone, replaced by an older woman, who was currently shaking his shoulder. “Sir, you’ve been here for far too long,” she said.

“How long?” Anti asked.

“A couple hours. We’ve been patient, but you simply must leave now.”

Anti sighed. He looked out the window—

No. There was no way. He must be seeing things.

“Uh, yeah.” Anti dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing the woman a twenty, more than enough to cover what he ordered. “Keep the change, I’ll...go.” And he stood up and left, heading outside. He had to get a closer look at this.

It was across the street. His eyes locked on it. This had to be a trick, right? Maybe it was Distorter, he could cause illusions. “This isn’t funny!” He shouted. “Just come out and tell you what you want!” He barely noticed that the woman inside the diner was giving him several odd looks.

It moved.

Anti immediately jumped, and ran in the opposite direction.

———————

The run eventually slowed to a walk once Anti realized he’d outrun it. Though he kept walking. What the hell was it? Was he just losing his mind? “About time,” he muttered, laughing darkly. But though he joked, the thing was actually kind of scaring him. He didn’t want to start seeing things. He had enough problems as it was.

He walked through the city, heading vaguely south but not really caring how winding the path he took was. After a while, he ended up at the park. Which caused him to pause. He hadn’t walked that far, had he? Come to think of it, the sky was significantly lighter than it had been when he left the diner.

Well, he was here now. He sat down on the nearest bench, and once he did, he realized how much his feet and legs were actually hurting. “It’s always like this,” he mumbled. “Hey, body, why don’t you fucking, uh...let me know when shit’s happening to me? Isn’t that your job?” He fell silent for a moment. Then he shifted, laying down on the bench. He closed his eyes for a moment...

———————

Anti woke up to sunlight, red through his closed eyelids. Immediately, he realized he fell asleep, and he groaned. It had been years since he fell asleep on a park bench.

And there was something on his chest. Something rather light, but heavy enough to be noticeable, and clearly not a leaf or anything. He opened his eyes—

“What the fuck?!” He shouted, flailing and tumbling off the bench. The thing flew into the air, and stayed there. Anti scrambled to his feet and broke into a run again. What was this thing?! Why had he seen it three times so far?! What was he supposed to do about it?!

Well, either he was seeing things, or some magic shit was going on. And though he wasn’t much experienced in either of those matters, he knew people who did. Anti reached for his pocket, but then remembered how he’d thrown his phone, back in his apartment. He sighed. Guess he’ll have to head back.

———————

He ended up walking back to his apartment, because...well why not? Luckily, he hadn’t lost he key while he was out. Standing outside the apartment door, he hesitated, but took a deep breath and headed inside.

Nothing had changed. The room was still a mess, the table was still bristling with knives, and the smiles were still drawn on the walls. Anti tried to not look at any of this, eyes locking onto his phone on the floor as he navigated around the mess. He picked up the phone, examining it for damage. The screen was cracked, but it seemed alright otherwise. Relieved, Anti opened the door to his recording room and walked inside, not closing it behind him.

The phone was on low battery, so he rummaged around for a charger and plugged it in. While he waited, he slowly went about taking the knives out of the table and putting them back on the shelf where they were supposed to be. It seemed their glass case had been opened, but the lock still worked. Once all the knives, even the kitchen ones, were inside the case, Anti picked up his handgun and put it in there as well, closing the case and locking it. Quickly, he put the key all the way into one of the kitchenette cabinets.

Then he turned his head slightly and saw it.

Anti gasped, pressing against the wall, his eyes locked on it. “What the fuck do you want?!” He shouted. It didn’t respond.

Quickly, he rushed back to the recording room, unplugging his phone and turning it on. He glanced up and saw it in the doorway of the room. “No,” he said warily, backing up until he was against the opposite wall. When it didn’t move further, he sank down to sit on the floor, and opened up the group chat he had with the others.

The group chat was a fairly recent development. All of them were still getting used to using it, but it appeared as though there had been a string of new messages since he last used it. Not bothering to read them, Anti typed out, Hey anyone here?

Immediately, there were two responses: JJ sent ANTI??? and Schneep sent Anti?!?!

Oh good you are, Anti typed.

Where the FUCK have you been?! Schneep asked.

Nevermind that, Anti replied.

Anti, I’m sorry, but you’ve been gone for THE WHOLE NIGHT, JJ stressed. What happened? Are you alright?

The whole night? Anti checked the time on his phone and—holy shit, it was a little after noon. Anti sighed. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’d disappeared. Though it had been a while...he couldn’t believe he did it again; he thought he’d fixed that. Long story, more important things, Anti said. How can you tell if youre hallucinating?

Schneep replied immediately. If you look at it in a mirror or cell phone and it’s not there, then it’s a hallucination. Or you can take a picture and ask someone else if it’s there.

Anti looked up at the thing in the doorway. Slowly, he raised his phone and snapped a picture, sending it to the chat. Is there a thing there?

The others took a while to reply, and then Schneep sent: Is this a prank? It is in very poor taste if it is, Anti.

What?? No! Just tell me if its there!

Yes, theres a floating green eyeball in the picture, JJ sent.

Anti looked up again. The eyeball was about the size of a baseball, and it was looking right at him as it hovered. It was also glowing slightly. As Anti stared at it, its iris squished a bit, and the optic nerve coming from it swished a bit. Well then what the fuck is it??? Anti asked. Jackson youre the magic man, what is it?!

I don’t know, JJ replied. I’ve never seen or even heard of anything like that before.

WAIT I THOUGHT THAT WAS PHOTO SHOPPED, YOU ARE SERIOUS?! Schneep asked.

The eyeball moved closer, and Anti let out an embarrassing shriek. It immediately stopped. “What do you want?!” He repeated.

After a quiet moment, the eyeball dropped down to the ground, bouncing a bit where it landed. It waved its optic nerve in the air. Staring, Anti started to take a video, then sent it to the chat as well. DOES THIS LOOK FUCKING FAKE, VOLT?!

I DO NOT KNOW, YOU ARE VERY SKILLED WITH TECHNOLOGY! Schneep replied.

Anti looked over at the eyeball again. “Can...can you say something?” he asked.

The eyeball wiggled side to side, like someone shaking their head.

“Was that a no?”

Another wiggle.

“Can you give me a yes?”

The eyeball bounced up and down.

Anti considered this. Knowing it could at least understand him made him a little less freaked out, though his heart was still pounding with the leftover adrenaline of thinking he was finally losing it. “Are...are you here...” He swallowed nervously. “...cause of what happened with Will? And Michelle?”

The eyeball tilted, then wiggled in another ‘No.’

“Oh...” Anti fell quiet. “What...are you doing here, then?” The eyeball didn’t respond, but instead rose into the air and inched closer. “Uh...not a yes or no, I-I get it. Uh...can you at least tell me if you’re here to hurt me? Are you here to somehow, like...I-I dunno, kill me or fuck with me?”

The eyeball stopped, pupil widening in an almost shocked way. It hurriedly wiggled a ‘No.’

“Okay...” Anti wasn’t sure where to go with this.

His phone started ringing. Anti looked down at the Caller ID, then picked it up.

“Anti?!” Jackie’s voice was breathless, as if he’d just run a marathon. “Anti are you okay?! What happened?! Are you alright?”

“‘M fine, Jackie,” Anti said.

“Are you sure?” Jackie asked.

Well, in actuality, ‘alright’ was subjective. Anti was tired, he had a cut on his arm that wasn’t covered, his body was aching in several places, and his heart was hurting, crying out. But was he in immediate danger? No. “Yeah, I’m sure,” Anti said.

“Jesus fuck!” Jackie shouted. “Y-you can’t just—I-I thought you were—we all thought you were—right after Michelle and Will, they—it was Distorter, I know it, he likes kids, I mean, not in a creepy way, or at least not in a way that’s creepier than he already is—fuck! Anti, we—Anti, I—h-he took—we thought he got you too, and I-I couldn’t—” A short sob interrupted the halting flow of words. “I couldn’t d-deal with...Michelle is gone, a-and you just—you were gone—”

“Hey, hey, Jackie, it’s okay,” Anti said, trying to sound reassuring. It was a bit difficult, but he tried. “I’m okay. And we’re going to get the kids back.”

On the other end, he could hear Jackie crying softly. “Not...give me a moment, Anti, I-I can’t do both these at once. Just...fuck, don’t do that again.”

“I won’t,” Anti said. He almost smiled. It was ironic, wasn’t it? Before he met Jackie and the others, he disappeared all the time. And nobody ever freaked out about him vanishing for a night or a day or even a few of them. If only Jackie knew. “I’m okay, I promise.”

There was another voice on the other end. Even from the distance, he recognized the accent. “Volt, I’m fine,” Jackie said, voice a bit quieter as if he was backing away from the phone. “I’m fi—well, no, but...just not that right now, I-I can’t do it.”

“Are you okay?” Anti asked softly.

“Not as not okay as I was a while ago,” Jackie said, returning to the phone. “You’re sure you’re alright? Volt says you thought you were hallucinating?”

Anti laughed. “I thought, yeah. But turns out it’s just...” He stared at the eyeball. It was closer now, just a meter away from him. “It’s just some weird magic shit. If it sticks around, we should call a meeting about it, but...I have to deal with this right now.”

“Oh. Okay. Sh-should I hang up?”

“If you want to.” Anti paused. “But...thanks for calling.”

“No problem,” Jackie said quietly. And he hung up.

Anti stared at the eyeball more intensely. “Is...is there any way you could tell me what you want?” he asked.

The eyeball swished its nerve. Then suddenly, it leaped forward. Anti jolted, trying to back up before remembering he was against the wall. The eyeball landed on his lap, then jumped up onto his shoulder, and...and stopped. It started to rub against his neck, like a dog or a cat nuzzling against its owner. Anti remained tense for a while, but when nothing happened, he slowly relaxed. “Uh...do you just want...to hang out?”

The eyeball appeared in front of his face. Its tail moved in a motion that could almost be considered a ‘so-so’ gesture.

“Oh...” Anti didn’t know how to respond from there. “Well...uh, feel free to.”

The eyeball bounced, and went back to sitting on his shoulder.

Anti stayed there, staring through the room’s open door to the ruined living room and kitchenette beyond. In just one night...it had all gone downhill. His son was gone, along with his best friend’s daughter. And he’d just...lost it. In a way he hadn’t in a while.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. Tears started to leak from his eyes. And his shoulders started to shake. And with the strange eyeball doing its best to cuddle against him, Anti started to cry.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #antisepticeye #programmer anti #jackieboy man #dr jackie parker #chase brody #distorter #more of the switch boys appear but im only tagging the major ones #tw: extreme distress #(i think at least?)#brigid writes fanfiction #septicswitchau

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kindashysorry · 4 years

Text

Blackout

Daverine Words: 2.4k Warnings: Swearing, and poor information on constellations and Roman mythology @the-games-changing

___

“How long has it been now?” Katherine asked, taking a sip from her watermelon Slurpee as Davey pushed her on the swings. Davey checked his watch, squinting in the dark, the watch hands barely visible. “Uh, almost half an hour, I think.” Kath almost choked on her drink.

“The power’s been down almost how long?” Davey took a sip from his own Slurpee and pushed her again. “Is that an ‘it feels longer than that’, or an ‘it feels shorter than that’ holy shit?”

“A bit of both.”

The two of them had been at home when the power went out, interrupting their nightly routine, and when it didn’t come back on after a few minutes, Kath knew exactly what to do to make the blackout a little more fun. After a little convincing (and one big dose of puppy-dog eyes), Davey and Kath hopped on the back of Davey’s motorbike and drove off to the park with a small hill on it, a few streets away. Stopping by briefly to grab their Slurpees from Elmer, who had taken it as his third job to support himself and his sisters. “Y’know some guy came in here like two hours ago and threw up in the middle of the store then just walked out. Who does that!?” Elmer complained as he used the torch on his phone to light up the Slurpee machine where Kath and Davey were filling up their cups. Kath had slid him a ten-dollar note, clicking her tongue in sympathy. “People are just like that sometimes. Sorry you had to deal with that, bud.” Elmer shrugged,

“Pays the bills, it’s nothing I can’t deal with.” Katherine and Davey had left after exchanging goodbye’s with Elmer and crossed the road to the park, where they were now sat.

Davey had wandered over to a semi-flat piece of ground and lay down on his back as Kath continued to swing, lost in her own thoughts. Davey called out to her, and she looked up to see him waving her over. She jumped off the swing and made her way over to him, getting comfortable on the grass next to him. She rested her head on Davey’s chest as they looked up at the night sky, the stars looked so much brighter without the glow from the streetlamps, the burning pinpoints of light like small diamond dust twinkling down on them. “You like stars, right?” Davey asked, playing with Katherine’s hair. She shrugged with a smile and a small incline of her head. “My father made me take an astronomy class when I was younger, I thought I’d hate it but,” she shrugged. “I guess I was wrong. I‘ve always really liked stars since then.” She sighed, trying to get more comfortable in the grass, looking into the sky “I mean, they’re so big and have so much going on up close, but all we see are pretty lights a million light-years away. We only get to see the tiniest snippet of them, y’know? So many people look up and love the stars, they think of them as warm balls of comfort that could do no wrong. But the stars can be cold and cruel, a side people don’t often see. They can be cold, and cruel, and no matter how much you love them, the stars never love you back.” Kath sighed again and Davey grabbed her hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it with his hand. She looked over and gave him a small smile, though her eyes betrayed her slight embarrassment at her rambling. He squeezed her hand comfortingly and the pair fell into a comfortable silence. They watched the night sky move slowly by them, an occasional wispy cloud drifting in front of their vision, to which Davey would try and find animals or objects, which Kath could never decipher. The two of them stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms for a few more minutes, Katherine tracing small patterns on Davey’s side as Davey braided the small section of her hair he was playing with earlier. Kath took a deep breath in and stretched, heaving herself to her feet and snatching her empty cup off the ground. “Have you finished yours?” Davey nodded and placed his cup in her outstretched hand. She gave him a small smile and motioned to the bin at the bottom of the hill. “I’ll be right back.” She said and began to walk down the hill. Davey watched her leave, smiling to himself. Despite the cold night air, he felt warm. A nice warm, that made him feel nice and cosy, one that started in his chest and spread through his body with each beat of his heart and every moment he spent with her. With Kath, he felt safe, he felt grounded. He felt safe and grounded, and warm. Davey lay back in the grass, closing his eyes, smiling softly as he let the warmth wash over him.

___

“Okay, you’re for sure making these up now!” Katherine laughed into Davey’s shoulder.

“I’m not! That’s a real constellation! Look,” she re-traced the pattern of stars, connecting each glimmering dot to the next with her finger. “That one there is Cygnus, ‘cause it looks like a swan, see?” Davey didn’t see, but nodded along, engaged anyway. “You can find it easier if you look for the really bright star at the end of its tail, called Deneb.” That, Davey could see. “Then follow it up to the head, Albireo, which is actually a double star but the name is used specifically for the brighter one, and then you can see the two wings below it.” He was lost again. Davey squinted into the sky, trying to follow Kath’s finger, but to no avail, he sighed. “I’m fairly certain I know where the Big Dipper is, but that’s it.” He scanned the sky, before reaching up and tracing the shape in the sky. Katherine smiled. “Close,” she said. “But you’re off by one.” She reached up and gently took hold of Davey’s wrist, sticking her tongue out slightly as she drew the constellation, deep in concentration. “You missed Alkaid, the very last one at the end.” She dropped her hand and Davey swore lightly under his breath. “I thought it felt shorter than usual.” He put his hand down as well. “Show me another one?” Katherine smiled giddily, her eyes lighting up.

“Okay!” she bit her lip, pausing for a second to search the sky, more clouds swirled overhead, blocking out patches of stars. She searched for a few more seconds, then put her hand back up and outlined another group of stars. “That’s Draco, the eighth largest constellation in the sky!” a large grin spread across her face. “Draco has a load of deep-sky objects, like the Cat’s Eye Nebula, that’s 3000 light-years away! There’s also a handful of galaxies and galaxy clusters like-” She cut herself off, heat rising in her cheeks as she twisted the hem of her shirt self-consciously between her fingers. “Sorry, I’m rambling again.” She mumbled quietly. Davey grabbed hold of her hand, intertwining their fingers, squeezing her hand lightly. “No, I love hearing you talk about stars! You’re so passionate and I love listening to you talk about your interests.” He moved their hands up and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her palm. “Can you show me another? If you want?” Kath’s cheeks turned redder, a slight smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Thanks.” She said quietly, before mentally dusting herself off, clearing her throat and sweeping the sky for another constellation. More clouds had formed, cutting down the sky by another portion. With a small sound of realisation, she landed on a small batch of stars that were grouped near the others that had previously been pointed out. “Hercules,” the smile grew a little wider. “It’s made up of fifteen stars,” she drew invisible lines connecting each pinprick of light. “But there’s something like three thousand, three hundred and eighty-one, though we can only see a hundred and thirty-five with the naked eye. He’s a pretty cool constellation, but,” Katherine pointed back up to Draco. “He killed Draco to get the apples he was guarding, which I think was pretty rude of him. He could’ve at least tried restraining him or something! Like he didn’t even look at Draco or anything, just threw a spear at him and was like ‘okay, he’s dead now, let’s get those apples!’ like how impolite can you be, y’know?” Davey chuckled quietly and wrapped Kath up tighter in his arms. “He didn’t even say ‘hi’ to Draco?” he asked.

“No!”

“Shame on him!”

“Yeah!” Katherine cheered. “Shame on him!” she giggled and nestled up against his chest, resting her head on his arm. She sighed contentedly and turned her head to face him. “You wanna show me one now?”

“But I don’t know any constellations.” Davey protested. Kath shrugged.

“So make some up.” He hummed as he examined the night sky, only a small patch of stars visible in the cloud-cover. He tilted his head slightly, looking for shapes in the sky. “That,” he said, connecting a vague heart in the stars. “Is Katherine. He pointed at two bright stars sitting next to each other near the top of the heart. “Those two stars are an easy way to find it.” Davey broke off, pausing as he thought of what he was going to say next, hoping it didn’t sound as awkward as he thought. “Katherine was a kind-hearted girl who lived in a small town. But she was exceptionally beautiful.” Kath propped herself up on her elbow, smirking slightly as he continued. “So beautiful in fact, that Venus herself became jealous. She seethed away in her resentment for years, until one day she had enough and flung Katherine into the sky, imprisoning her in the stars so that Venus had no other competition.” Davey finished with one final trace of the heart, though he knew the shape had changed since the first time he drew it, clouds covering half of it. “That,” Katherine said after a pause. “Was probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.” She smiled cheekily.

“Shut up,” Davey replied with a roll of his eyes and a smile of his own, feeling his cheeks begin to burn hot. Kath laughed, grabbing hold of his hand. “I’m sorry Davey,” she shivered slightly and tucked herself further into his warm body. “It was sweet. So sweet in fact, I think I might throw up!” She chuckled again, and Davey buried his face in the top of Katherine’s hair, groaning in embarrassment. “You know I’m not good at the romantic talk stuff.” Kath smiled and pressed her lips against his neck, their heads fitting together like puzzle pieces. “Aww, you know I’m just messing with you, right?” her eyelashes brushed against his jawline as she waited for a response. “Right?” she said again after a few seconds, moving away from his neck, and into a sitting position, as her nerves grew. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt or offend her boyfriend. ”Yeah, yeah, I know.” Davey answered, sounding vaguely sarcastic, and Kath cursed herself internally.

“Because I was! I mean, that was really sweet!” She stammered quickly. “Like not only was it nice, you created that snippet of story in a heartbeat! And it was wonderful!” Davey sat up as well, gently taking hold of her arms. “Kathy, It’s okay!” Katherine pushed her hands up against her cheeks.

“Ah! No, I didn’t mean to sound rude, oh gosh, now I feel bad! I’m so sorry!” Katherine was still talking at a hundred miles an hour, Davey could hardly get a word in edge-wise “Kath, Kath, I swear it’s okay. It was cheesy.”

“No, no it wasn’t! But even if it was, I love cheesy!”

“Kathy, it’s fine! Do-”

“I love cheesy! Cheesy is great! I-” Davey tugged her gently forward into his lap, pressing his lips to hers, silencing her panicking with a kiss. He could still taste the faint watermelon flavour from her Slurpee lingering on her lips as he deepened the kiss. After a few seconds, the two broke apart, both of them big, blushing messes. They rested their foreheads against each other, breathless. Katherine slid her hand into Davey’s, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She lay her head against his shoulder still bathing in the silence. “Blueberry was always my second favourite flavour.” She said, laughing quietly into his shirt. Davey chuckled too, “Yeah? Well, I think I need to try watermelon next time.” They sat there in a warm, comfortable silence, absorbing the marvellous feeling of just being with each other. Thunder rumbled overhead and a cold droplet of water splashed down onto Davey’s forehead, making him yelp in surprise. Katherine laughed, tilting her head back in amusement until another drop landed in her eye, and with another boom of thunder, the sky opened up and the heavens rained down upon them. Each drop that fell looked like a shooting star, and Kath and Davey laughed again, their cheeks beginning to return to their usual colours. Davey helped Kath to her feet, then reached behind him and slid his jacket off of his arms, holding it up over both of their heads to shield them from the rain. The two of them ran down the hill, one hand holding up Davey’s jacket and the other interlaced together, trying not to slip in the wet grass as they made their way back to Davey’s Motorbike. By the time they arrived at the bike, the rain had gotten heavier, and despite their jacket protection, the two of them were drenched. “Do you think the powers back on yet?” Katherine asked through chattering teeth.

“I dunno, guess we’ll see when we get back.” Davey handed her helmet over and tied his soggy jacket around his waist. Katherine looked at her helmet and paused, waiting for Davey to finish with his jacket. “Are you alright to go?” he looked up as Kath grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down into another kiss. They leaned against the bike, bodies pressed together as the rain-soaked through their skin. Kath pulled away, leaving Davey stunned, and jumped on the back of the bike, patting the spot in front of her. “You coming?” a smirk carved its way across Davey’s face as he hopped on, feeling Kath’s arms wrap around his waist. “Hold on.” He said though he knew she didn’t need to be reminded and kicked the stand back before taking off down the road, Kath giggling into his back as they drove home.

___

#asdfghjgf #i hope this is okay #its 3:14 am and my eyes are going all spotty lol #i feel like it lowkey got progressively worse as it went on but #://#i have a part 2 in the works if youre interested in it #dont feel pressured tho lol #aahh my brain broken imma shut up and go to sleep now #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #davey jacobs #daverine #davey x katherine #davey/kath #newsies

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fierytragcdy · 4 years

Text

bill & mike.

for so many years, keeping watch over the town of derry, finding a solution to the problem that had been bought to his attention twenty seven years previously, had been mike’s one and only priority. he’d obsessed over it, lived it, allowed it to consume him; all in an attempt for no other children – or anyone else for that matter – to suffer through the same fate that he and his friends had. of course, he’d hoped and prayed with every ounce of his being that they’d be successful, but that didn’t mean he’d planned for that. that he had any goals or aims put in place for the time after it. truth be told, a part of him is relieved that the six of them are still together now. even if he wished for different circumstances. even if he still wished for stan to walk through the door. he’d concerned himself with the notion that they’d all immediately run back to the lives they’d left behind, but now mike was starting to suspect that they weren’t as rosy or as comfy cosy as he’d allowed himself to envision.

it far from surprises him that richie refused to leave eddie’s side, and it brings him comfort to know that the male – who was sure to find difficulty in adjusting to his predicament – had someone who he really could lean on, even if it was in the shape of an idiot. "let’s hope so. they’d be fools not to but, then again…they’ve always been pretty foolish.” it’s spoken teasingly, through a smirk that he can’t remember wearing in a long time. although he’d stayed put, he’d still forgotten so much; about the good times, far too busy drowning in the bad and the possibility of worse to come. as happy as he was to see ben and bev and eddie and richie reconnecting, he did feel jealous of it, unsure that he’d ever get what he wanted in life…much less who. now the whole world was his oyster, but he didn’t even know where to start. he hadn’t even contemplated the possibility of being with the person who’d always captivated his attention, never giving himself enough time to really process how he felt, never allowing himself to walk down that alleyway inside of his mind, scared of where he might end up.

mike knows he’s the one that bought them all here, he’s sure they must harbour some semblance of resentment, considering he’d kept them in the dark about so many things. his whole life he’d been desperate for something; to fit in, to belong, to find a family and to remove the label that had been so cruelly forced upon him. then he grew desperate to get rid of pennywise for good, to save everyone he could and to save his friends. he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be desperate for now, though he had a pretty good idea. his gaze searches bill’s expression once he’s latched onto his wrist. it causes butterflies to disperse inside of his chest, trying to work out what he wants to say, but certainly not expecting what falls out. surprise captures his expression, before a smile takes over – an effortless fondness taking over his features without him thinking much about it. under the circumstances, it seems so randomly placed, but he’d come to expect that from bill. love it from him, too. “you know, i’ve been asking myself the same question.” he’ll admit, heart racing inside of his chest, cursing that fact as bill’s fingers remain connected to his pulse point. “i’m okay. more okay than i’ve been in a real long time.” mike admits, swallowing his disappointment as bill lets go of his wrist. “what about you? are you doing okay?”

bill would not have been surprised if mike had been resentful towards the losers. hell, bill can only imagine that he would have hated each and every one of them for getting to leave and make their own lives, become successful in ways he could only dream of. and mike could have been beyond successful. bill had always been so fond of mike, proud of him when he completed the smallest task, satisfied when he spoke of his future. and he had never truly been able to have that because of... well, because of them, in a way. they had made a promise when they were children and mike had been the only one to make sure they kept it. it was... fucking terrifying to think of what they would have been if he had not stayed. how many more years the cycle would continue. it never would now, but the idea of it continuing for years was overwhelmingly scary. bill physically shivers as he considers the possibility. but it won’t. not this time. they had held it’s heart in their hands and squashed it. they had watched the house on neibolt collapse in itself. it was over. they had done it. they really had.

mike’s words make bill smile and he finds himself nodding along with them. “yeah, you’re right. they’ve always been fools together.” it’s actually sort of endearing, how much they’ve always loved each other without realising it. bill finds that he’s rather pleased that they managed to capture that still after twenty-seven years and forgetting everything about their lives from before leaving derry. that richie and edde could still be the same two idiots who were in denial about their feelings felt safe. it felt like home. being with all of them felt like being home and bill found, not for the first time, that home was not where you were from. it was where you belong. and he belongs with the people he loves, the people he fought a fucking... whatever the fuck it was with and the people he had lived in this hospital with for close to a week now. the only thing that scared him about that was the realisation that he wanted a little bit more from this home. he wanted more from mike. he wanted to feel that love was not four walls, but two eyes and a heartbeat. specifically belonging to mike hanlon.

ben and bev are taking the coffees now and bill suddenly realises he doesn’t have a lot of time to talk to mike alone. it wasn’t a bad thing, to constantly be around the others. it was a good thing, actually, because bill doesn’t think a single one of them would be able to be alone right now. especially not richie, god. he needed them to be together more than he would admit, but bill could see it in his eyes. even being left alone long enough for them to get coffees was troubling for bill, because he worries so much for richie and eddie. in different but equally important ways. bill swallows down the worry that rises like bile in his throat and stands his ground. he had always been labelled the leader, the strong one. he wasn’t, not really, not by a long shot. he was brave and strong because of what had happened to georgie so many years ago. because he had the other losers to lift him up and let him know he was brave and capable of so much. they had made him into the man he was today, even if he had never remembered them. “i think so. i’m just... thinking a lot. about a lot of different things.” way to keep it vague, bill. “what do you... what do you think you’ll do now? where will you go?” his fingers circle around mike’s wrist again, because he can’t talk to him without touching him, making sure he’s really right there. fingers press firm but delicate against his pulse point and he inhales sharply. mike is there. he’s standing right in front of him and it’s beautiful. “i’m not in a rush to go home, mike. we could go somewhere. together.” eyes search his for something, anything to tell him that what he asks is appropriate, that he won’t get turned down or laughed at. fear eats away at him and it is not a feeling he has missed. mike makes him worry and makes him delicate, fragile, like one strong wind could shatter him into pieces. and bill chases the feeling, because this is what being alive feels like.

#fervour #interactions: bill denbrough.#featuring: bill & mike.

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nightwingshero · 4 years

Text

Claws and Fangs Chapter 3

It had been a couple weeks since the incident in Holland Valley, and I had settled at the station as the newest deputy. I couldn’t exactly complain, I lucked out enough to land Joey Hudson as my partner instead of Pratt. I’ve done more observing than anything as we stayed close to the Henbane and Whitetail region. It made me a bit skittish, wondering what could possibly be in those mountains. Pratt said that when it came to human day-to-day, there was leniency. But that was about it and it didn’t apply to just anyone. I felt there was something just under the surface that I wasn’t aware of, something everyone kept in the shadows.

But we were currently on our way to break up a small dispute. Two conspiracy theorists were causing trouble, and so we were sent out to check up on it. I wasn’t sure exactly where we were going, having only been familiar with the majority of the Henbane region. Climbing up in Hudson’s beat up sheriff’s truck wasn’t something I would’ve ever seen myself doing, and I almost laugh at myself.

“So, where’s this bar again?” I asked as I buckled my seatbelt.

“Holland Valley. Not too far from here. We haven’t really ventured out that way yet, but there’s hardly ever trouble out that way. Less crazies in the valley versus up North.”

“Mmm.” I tap my black-painted fingernails against my leg as I looked out the window. I would beg to defer, but I didn’t say a word, Hudson being unaware of what ran in the darkness of Holland Valley. I was nervous, worried that the second I crossed that damn line, that he would be there, waiting. I knew it was ridiculous, that I was overreacting. But how many wolves would allow a rogue to continue crossing into their territory and show fang without consequences?

It doesn’t take long before we cross the bridge. My wolf stirs, but she stays quiet, understanding that this isn’t the time or place. I do my best to ignore the rush of adrenaline, to fight the urge to just run. It’s exhausting, fighting her more than I ever had before. I felt guilty for it, but I believed it was in our best interest, to keep us both safe.

Hudson turns on the main road, and my eyes widen a bit at the scene as we pull into Fall’s End. Cars are everywhere, as if there’s a celebration going on. People are walking around, the bar looking as if it is overflowing with people. Anxiety begins to set in as I can already tell this is going to be overwhelming. Hudson’s chuckle draws my attention, and I watch as she shakes her head and parks of the side a bit further away from the bar.

“Fucking John Seed.” She muttered with a smirk. “Should have known he’d show his face here.”

“John Seed?” I asked, the name vaguely familiar with me. It felt, and sounded, weird falling from my lips, and Hudson nodded, then motioned ahead of us. I see the back of a dark-haired man standing next to a black mustang. I tisk as I read his personalized license plate reading JSEED. The arrogance behind it was enough to baffle me, my mouth twisting a bit. I almost find it amusing at the trench coat he’s wearing, but I can’t make out much else, other than he’s accompanied by a woman and a male, all laughing together merrily.

“Yeah, him and Adelaide Drubman are good friends. They deal with real estate, him being a lawyer and her being an agent, so they work together often. They’re pretty tight.”

I remembered then that Addie had mentioned something to Rowan and me about him, but I never dug into it. He didn’t really seem relevant or important enough to. “Addie suggested us moving to the Henbane to avoid him.” I replied, throwing her a questioning look.

Hudson laughed. “Yeah, because that’s her territory. She doesn’t let him in easily, she has dibs. She works under the table now and then, for those who need it. We kinda look the other way, because honestly, we know people need it. Now, Holland Valley is different. This is his territory. You gotta go through Johnny for any legal work. He’s by the books. He also does some work with us at the station. Best attorney we have, comes from Atlanta.”

Hudson opens her door as I choke back a scoff. I wondered if this John Seed was aware of who’s territory this really belonged to, and if he would have a change of heart if he were ever to find out. As I open the door, the noise and smells hit me full force. I stumbled, my hand finding the truck as I caught myself. This was why that even though I dreamed of big cities, it would never happen. It was too much for our kind. I hadn’t been used to civilization this loud for a long time, it was almost disorienting.

I gather myself as Hudson began to walk forward, her eyes on the bar. My wolf is pacing, alert and even more curious than she was before. I flinch and fight the impulse to run as far away as I can. Hudson stops in front of the truck and turns back to me with a smile.

“He’s also one hell of an artist. Told that to Rowan when she showed me her wolf tattoo.” I smile at her as she continues. “He does a lot of tattoos for the people here.” She’s talking loudly over the noise at this point, and my ears are suffering for it. It would be hard for some, but any wolf could hear her in that damn bar, and I was standing right next to her. “Rowan also said you guys were like, wolf experts. Well, she is, at least. Being a ranger and all.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I laughed, rolling my eyes at Rowan. She got a kick out of doing little things like that, making references that people didn’t realize had a deeper meaning.

“Anyway,” she motioned to the bar as we began to walk. “Larry Parker is pretty much a rejected science nerd. He believes that aliens are coming for all of us. He’s harmless, and is actually pretty smart, you know, outside of the obsession with things that don’t really exist. Zip Kupka, on the other hand, may be harmless, but he causes more trouble. He has no problem with coming up with conspiracy theories about anyone. He swears that Addie deals ecstasy, Grace Armstrong’s medal is due to some sort of set up, and that John Seed has a fucking sex dungeon.”

I almost choke as I throw her a look. But she just shrugs. “I would believe that about Addie before someone claimed to me that a seemingly high-up attorney was up to that.”

“Rich people pay for crazy stuff. And trust me, John Seed looks like someone who wouldn’t mind.” She threw me a smirk. “But I agree with you. You definitely have a good idea on the kind of person Adelaide Drubman is.”

“She asked me a lot of personal questions when I first met her. It wouldn’t surprise me.” I mumbled and Hudson just shook her head. We draw closer to the bar and I look up, scanning the area, when my eyes catch his.

John Seed was leaning against his car, one hand in a pocket, the other holding a cigarette to his lips as he takes a drag. My breath hitched and I slow slightly as I take him in. He’s gorgeous, that’s obvious. His dark hair is slicked back, his full beard nice and trimmed. I trace the dark lines of his tattoos on his hand as he pulled the cigarette away, a billow of smoke coming out of his nose as his thumb scratches his jawline. I swallow as something stirs in me and I can’t help but feel exposed as his dark blue eyes drill into mine. It’s then he chooses to shoot me a smile, his teeth on display.

I turn away, a blush finding its way to my face as I become flustered. I focus on Hudson as I bite my lip, a shiver running down my spine. Hudson is still talking, talking about Addie, recalling moments she had with her. She turns, shooting me a smirk.

“I told Grace and Addie just the other day that we needed some serious girl power, you know? A lot of women out here have gone soft, it’s nice to have some alpha females around, know what I mean? And I’m telling you, you’re a fucking beast. I remember you mouthing off to Pratt. Little asshole didn’t know what to think.”

I laugh as we step onto the porch throwing her a wolfish grin, my head back in the game. “Girl, you have no idea.”

We step into the bar and I immediately clench my teeth. My wolf is spooked as the crowd laughs and talks, making my eardrums ring. It turns my stomach, and the scent almost forces me to gag. I should’ve eased into this, for the both of us. At the bar, I can see two men in a heated discussion, motioning with their hands. I open my mouth to say something, but my phone goes off. Hudson turns as I pull it out, seeing Rowan’s contact on my screen.

“Looks important. You wanna take that while I deal with Dumb and Dumber?”

I look up at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I got this. Take the call.”

I’m thankful at the excuse to step back outside, but I can feel the slight irritation of Rowan calling me while I was working. I quickly shove my way outside, earning me a glance from the people outside. I take a few steps away from the entrance, still trying to keep distance between me and John Seed’s posse. Once at a safe distance, I answer the call.

“Rowan, what the—”

“Dutch came sniffing around the cabin.” Rowan cut me off, her voice frantic. I freeze, and I can feel my wolf rise fully, her attention undivided and no longer curious of her surroundings. I fight back the growl and scoff.

“Figuratively or literally?”

“I mean, both, I guess?” She sighed on the other side, and I could practically feel the stress from her over the phone. “He came asking questions, saying that he was just checking in to make sure we were settling in okay.”

“He’s checking up on us.”

“Yeah.” She answers, though it wasn’t a question. I huff as I look out at the houses behind the bar, my mind racing. “If it helps, Pratt wasn’t there.”

“Because Pratt is a little bitch.” I clap back immediately. “And I have to work with him, fucking asshole. Way more arrogant than he’s entitled to be, by the way.”

“Yes, and I’m sure he’s very aware of your resentment.”

“Still won’t leave me the fuck alone.” A car starts in the distance and I lean against the building behind me. “Did he say anything specific?”

“Not directly. Just touched a little bit about how he hasn’t seen us in a while. I think it’s clear though. He wants us to join him and commit—”

I don’t hold back the growl this time, something icky crawling under my skin as my gut twists. My wolf is amped up, both of us are, and I had an urge to go for the old man’s throat. “I’m not committing to someone who claims to be something they’re not. He has no claim to us, and he never fucking will. His right hand is that little arrogant errand boy of his—”

“We’ve been here long enough, Wren. There’s an alpha in the east, but I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up without it turning into something else.”

“He can’t force us to join, Rowan. And if worst comes to worst, we can leave. I know you don’t want to,” my wolf whines and I flinch, because I know she doesn’t want to leave either. “But it might have to be an option we consider.” Rowan goes quiet, absorbing everything. “Do you need me to come home?”

“No, he’s already gone.”

I play with the buttons on my deputy shirt and I bite my lip. “Call Adelaide, invite her over for dinner or something. Don’t leave yourself exposed and do something to occupy your time until I get back. We can talk more about it then.”

She agreed easily, both of us failing to find anything else to say in the moment as we hang up. My hand dropped to my side as I lean my head back against the wall. I try to take a calming breath, but I’m antsy. I exhale heavily and shove the phone in my back pocket before I push myself off the wall. I start to make my way back towards the front, when his voice calls out to me.

“You seem oh-so familiar, darling.” My head whipped around, my eyes finding John Seed’s as he smirks at me. He is still leaned against his car as he flicks his cigarette down, grinding it into the gravel and pavement with his black boot, his gaze cast downward. I go to sneer at him, no matter how cute, he isn’t allowed to speak to me that way. I take a step forward, the words on my tongue when it hits me. The blood drains from my face, my fight going right along with it. His smirk is more wolfish as he watches realization hit me like a freight chain, and he shows just the slightest bit of fang as his honey voice rings over the crowded noise in the bar behind me. “We’ve met before, haven’t we, dear? Though, it was under…. less pleasant circumstances, if I recall correctly.”

His scent is heavy and so fucking obvious now, and I kick myself for not noticing it before. It’s his territory, of course his scent is everywhere, but the longer I stand there, the more potent it becomes. I shift, putting weight on my back foot, and he moves with me as if we were tethered together. Anyone passing by would think that he was calm, relaxed, and completely at ease, but I knew better. His muscles were tense and ready, his eyes sharp, nothing escaping him. I could feel it rolling off him in waves, the dominance and authority. My heart raced and I knew he could hear it pound loudly. The absolute power of him is overwhelming, and if I run, I know he won’t let me get away this time. Not until he was ready for me to go.

“You.” I breathed and his smile widened. He pushed away from the car, standing at his full height as his hands tuck themselves in his pockets. It’s fitting for him, the sandalwood scent that has overwhelmed my space and the wolf underneath. It was all just so…him. It was on odd feeling, seeing the connection, something I had never considered before now. My eyes rake down his body, fully taking in the waistcoat and blue dress shirt. The lines of his chest that is on display from the way he left some buttons undone, the swing of a key on a chord around his neck almost hypnotizing. The feeling in my stomach returns, twisting and his eyes dance as I meet his gaze once more.

“Yes, me.” He takes a step forward, his eyes watching me as he stalks me. I fight the urge to cower, my wolf rising to the challenge. “I believe I can recall saving your life.”

“I remember being rudely attacked by your pack member.” My tongue is sharp, faster than my brain at times, and I wait in horror at his reaction, but he just laughs.

“And I remember someone showing blatant disrespect from the safety of the Henbane shortly after.”

“I could show you now, perhaps that would bring you some peace.” I take a bold step forward, the blood in my veins humming and my skin tingling. Rowan was right, perhaps. It was him that was causing such a shift in me, making me more aggressive and bolder. It was going to get me killed if I didn’t watch myself, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know how to.

“Now wouldn’t that be a sight to see?” he replied lowly. “You are…” He tilts his head, breathing in deeply as his eyes close. It’s a couple of seconds before he sighs out heavily, his eyes snapping open to meet my gaze. “Magnificent.”

My wolf is intrigued, and completely swept up in everything this male is and what he embodies. I’m stunned by him, not knowing how to react. I’ve never had a male react this way to me before, and my mind was trying to reevaluate, desperately trying to cling to anything I could use as a defense, to raise my guard even higher, because he was passing them with ease.

“So, I’ve been told.” The lie is smooth off my tongue, my wit and confidence coming to me the best it can with my wolf acting like a lovesick puppy, desperate for the alpha’s attention and affection. She was practically glowing under his praise.

He laughs, a dark mockery there that has the hair on the back of my neck on end. “Yes, well from what I can smell, I’m sure you have. Pratt, right?” He tilts his head, a clicking of his tongue in disapproval a knock on my nerves. “Oh darling, to let that male between your legs…”

“Fuck you.” I snarl, my wolf immediately rising to the surface, immediately offended by his crass implication. But deep down, she’s hurt by his show of disrespect. She wanted to be enough for the only male she had seen as worthy. I’m shell shocked by it as it hits me, and I use my anger to hide it. He flashes his teeth, and I can see what’s just beneath his surface.

“When and where, sweetheart? Because I have no problem with bending you over my car and having you right here.” His snarl is deep and rugged, and it causes a shiver down my spine. I’m shaking with anger and something else I can’t place.

“Dutch warned me about you.” I snapped, desperate to hurt him the way he had hurt us. “I should have listened.”

His brows pull together as he scoffs. “You think you should listen to a washed-up mutt who believes he deserves or has earned the title alpha?” John taunts. “My brothers and I came here, showed his people true leadership.”

I take a step back, shocked. “Brothers?” I breathed out.

“Yes.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have two brothers. One to the North and the other who has graciously allowed two unmated rogue females to live in his territory.” I felt like ground was spinning beneath my feet as he continues. “You think I’m not aware of what he’s doing? What that pup is trying to do? Watch your back—”

“Or what?” I snap. “You’ll do to me what you did to his niece, Jess Black?”

He stops, a look of pure confusion crossing his beautiful features, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You think I…we did that to her? Is that what he said?”

I swallow before I continue. “That’s what…that’s what Pratt implied, he didn’t come out and say it, but he warned me that that was what would happen if I crossed the border.”

“And yet you crossed anyway.” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes before throwing me a look. “Don’t believe everything they tell you. They’re offering you a place in this poor-excuse of a pack they’re getting together. To believe that we’re not aware of the uprising they’re planning is foolish. But no, darling, as savage as I or Jacob can be, we aren’t the ones that marred that poor girl’s face. He did.”

I scoff. “I don’t believe you. Why would he do that to his own niece?”

“Why indeed.” He replied with a mere shrug. “But I think you’re starting to see it. Dutch is…known to sometimes make unexpected house calls. I’m sure that was just out of the concern for your safety. Although, I would personally recommend the good company of my dear friend, Adelaide. Sounds like you two are already well acquainted.”

I inhale sharply and clench my fists. He heard everything, which I can’t say I was surprised. Alphas’ senses were always more heightened than other wolves, but I guess I just wasn’t expecting him to use it against me. “You don’t know anything.”

He takes another step forward, towering over me as his eyes narrowed. “I know more than you think. Heed my warning, dear, because you might not hear it from anyone else. Like I said, watch your back.”

“Is that a threat?” I shot out, my chin jutting out in defiance. He just shook his head.

“Why would I threaten you? Because you’re a rogue? Darling, most of the members in our packs are former rogues banded together looking for a home. That means nothing to me. I have nothing to gain from this.”

“Other than control, right?” My question makes his brows furrow, and suddenly I feel exposed as his eyes drill into me, but I push through it. “That’s what every male wants. Absolute control—”

“Over what? You? Is that what you’re so afraid of?” He asked, his voice so soft its almost a caress against my skin. “It is, isn’t it?” I’m the one that’s confused now, because I don’t know how we got to this, I don’t know if or how he steered the conversation in this direction. I try to backpedal, but he doesn’t give me the opportunity. “Being an unmated female can be dangerous, but I’m not here to force anything on you. I’m not making you choose sides, because when you come to me, I want you to do it on your free will. I want you to choose to say yes.” He brings a finger up to lightly trace my jawline before angling my chin up, our faces inches apart. “You don’t like me, that’s fine. But I’m not here to threaten you or to take your life, I’m here to give it to you. I’m not here to own you, and honestly, I don’t think anyone could if they tried. What I’m telling you is to stay close to your true allies and know them well. That if you’re going to choose a pack, make sure it’s the right one, because there may be no going back. My advice is that you stick close to Adelaide, at least the witch knows what she’s doing over there.”

I make a twisted face at him. “That’s awfully rude, especially considering that you’re supposed to be close friends.”

He laughed with a shake of his head. “You have no idea, do you?”

“What--?”

“Hey, Rookie!” Hudson called and I could hear the door slam. We both pull away, John taking a few steps back and his hands returning to his pockets as he rocks back on his heels at complete ease. I couldn’t say the same. I was scattered, my skin buzzing and my wolf just as confused. It was as if I were watching a ping pong battle, trying to keep up with the moods of John Seed. Hudson walked up with a smirk.

“Deputy Hudson.” John greeted her with a smooth smile, his voice nothing but a soft, honey eloquence, as if we had been talking about nothing but the weather and becoming fast friends. “A pleasure as always.”

“I’m sure it is.” Hudson smirked before eyeing me. “I see you’ve met our new addition, Wren Blake.” I have to fight the urge to flinch as John’s eyes flicker to me one more time before returning his attention to Hudson. I wanted to avoid giving him any information about me, but part of me felt that it wouldn’t have mattered. My last name was on my shirt, and he seemed resourceful enough. If he wanted it, he would get it.

“I did. Lucky for you to have such a pleasant partner.” He throws me a smile and I hate myself for the blush across my cheeks and the stutter of my heart. Damn him. Damn him to hell. “Much better than the utter fool you have running around over there.”

Hudson snorted with a roll of her eyes. “You’re telling me. Pratt is annoying as hell. Good to have some good company for a change.” I’m quiet as they continue, just listening to their conversation. I almost expected her to mouth off to him, just like she did with Pratt because he tried to pull the ‘alpha male’ on her. But she doesn’t, even though I can feel his confidence and authority come off him in waves, almost a superiority that Hudson didn’t seem to react negatively towards. She laughs with a shake of her head, her hand slapping against his arm in a friendly manner, but my wolf doesn’t like it.

I feel it, the rage boiling inside as the jealous starts to spread quickly through my veins. It’s not mine, it’s hers. And I’m fighting to keep myself from showing fang and growling at Hudson in warning. It’s almost suffocating, the need to tell her to back the fuck off and the panic that’s rising in me to stay in control. Hudson turns to answer a call on her radio as John’s eyes pierce me, shock that’s immediately replaced with concern. I don’t know what this is, humans had never forced a reaction out of me like this. So close to shifting, I’m trying to focus.

“Breathe.” It’s a mere whisper, but I hear his voice loud and clear. I cling to it, desperate for anything to anchor me down before I lost it. I’m scared, and I hate him because ever since I’ve met him, ever since I ran into his godforsaken scent, I’ve been out of sorts. I wanted to cry and scream, anything to release what was building up. He moves while Hudson talks, grabbing my wrist and squeezing until he has my attention. “Breathe. Relax. You have to stay in control. You’re okay, focus on me.” My immediate response would be to push him away, to scoff and tell him not to touch me. But my skin is warm where he’s touching it and I’m breathing him in with every breath I take, that I can’t help the pull I feel.

I also feel the pressure, the surge of authority from his wolf to keep me in check, the use of his dominance forcing my wolf back down. It’s a bitter taste in my mouth that’s making my face twist as I realize the power he has. How easy it is for him to make me bend by the sheer will of it. I flinch back, my wrist pulling from his grasp as I look away and take a step back. I throw him a glare as he straightens, his face now a mask I don’t recognize.

“Alright, we gotta head out. Wren, you ready?”

I jump and look at her as she turns to me with a smile. I gave her a hesitant smile in return, forcing everything down. “Yeah, whenever you are.”

“Cool, let’s go.” She turned to John with a wave. “I’ll see you later, Seed. Stay out of trouble.”

He catches my gaze. “No promises.” His voice is low, and contrary to his words, his eyes held a promise that sent a shiver down my spine as we walked away.

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radiantmists · 5 years

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A Playful Diversion

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The demon Aziraphale arrives in the Garden and takes a deep breath, smiling at the full moon above and savoring the taste of rich earth and growing things.

He looks down at his pale new body, admiring the soft rolling curves of it, and stretches just to luxuriate in the pull of the muscles below. Then he spends rather a lot of time brushing off the dirt from his travel through the ground, finding a stream to wash his face in until he’s sure he looks nothing like some of the filthy demons he’d seen down below.

(This thought comes with a prim, petty sort of disgust that feels extraordinarily satisfying, now—Pride is a sin even if it’s passive-aggressive and condescending rather than loud and bragging.)

Aziraphale wanders through the Garden after that, keeping a vague eye out for the two humans. He’s supposed to be causing trouble, and they seem to be a likely target, given Her special interest in them. He doesn’t make too much of an effort, though, not even to stay hidden; it’s not as though he could truly hide from Her anyway, so why bother? She will do what She likes, after all, so he might as well just enjoy himself. There’s no rush.

(Sloth is also a sin, but he’s a demon now; no reason he should try to be diligent.)

And he is enjoying himself. Whatever quibbles he may have had regarding the reasons for the whole thing, the Garden is gorgeous, replete with flowers and butterflies, with charming little streams and hidden nooks where the wildlife sleep peacefully. And the fruit…

Aziraphale tries everything he sees. He delights in the tartness of the raspberries and the crisp crunch of the pears, the sweetness of strawberries and the cool juice of the peach running down his chin. He finds that biting through the rind of the orange is a mistake, but ultimately the bitterness is rewarded with the sweet tang of the flesh within. After that, he starts to peel away thick skin and crack open gourds, scooping out the white meat of coconuts and cherimoya with his fingers. There’s a false start before he realizes that the good part of the pomegranate is the seeds, but once he does… oh.

(Gluttony is also, of course, a sin, when appetites are selfishly carried to excess, and Aziraphale has no thoughts of moderation.)

Pineapples and watermelon are a bit more of a challenge; while plucking gooseberries, he raises pale pink scratches on his arms, and the less said about the ordeal with the prickly pears, the better. And that’s to say nothing of the honey. He has to do some very fast talking to convince the bees that he’d repaired their hive, see, there was no need to sting, and he’d be ever so careful in the future, if they’d just let him have a little more…

Eventually, though, he finds the most well-guarded fruit in the Garden.

It isn’t immediately obvious; the fruit is an inviting dark red, with skin that looks thin and easy to bite through. But as Aziraphale reaches up through the branches, a warning hiss makes him jerk his hand away in surprise.

In the dappled shadow of the leaves, a pair of glittering golden eyes reflect the moonlight. Slowly, he makes out the shape of a great long body wound through the branches of the tree, sleek black scales shifting to a deep crimson at its underbelly.

“Oh, hello, dear,” Aziraphale says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Aziraphale.”

The snake stares at him, and he thinks it would probably blink in bemusement if that were something a snake could do.

“I’m Crawly,” it says finally.

“You certainly are,” Aziraphale replies dryly, and then realizes—that was its name. Creatures do not have names, which means that he isn’t speaking to a snake. He’s speaking to an angel. And he’s just told an insipid joke about his (admittedly rather ridiculous) name.

Before he can panic at all, there’s an odd hissing sound, and he realizes that the angel is laughing.

“I really didn’t mean to disturb you,” Aziraphale says uncomfortably. “Just… the fruit looks rather lovely.”

“It’sssss forbidden,” Crawly hisses, scales whispering over the branches as he readjusts his perch in the tree, freeing up the front of his body to strike.

Aziraphale blinks. “This one? Are you quite sure?” When the angel only stares, unblinking, he adds doubtfully, “only there are others that seem to be rather more… threatening, you know.”

“I moved all the poisonous ones, honeyface,” Crawly says, defensive. Aziraphale resists the urge to self-consciously scrub at his suddenly very hot face, trying to find a retort, and then pauses suddenly.

“There are poisonous ones?” he asks, a sort of retroactive worry curdling his full stomach. Beelzebub will not be impressed if he’s ruined this body already. “Where did you move them to?”

“A cave. It’s got a stream running through and a great hole in the top for light, but you couldn’t have just wandered in there in that shape,” Crawly assures.

“I should like to see that,” Aziraphale replies, relieved now and imagining the picture it must make, light shining down in a column on the lush greenery, the whisper of water trickling along just out of sight.

Crawly eyes him suspiciously. “I’m sure you would, demon,” he accuses. “I put those out of reach for a reason, I’m not showing you where they are so you can go make the humans sick.”

“Are you implying I’m going to poison them?” Aziraphale asks, affronted. Then he tilts his head in thought. “Actually…”

The angel winces.

“They—they know better than to eat those anyway,” he insists, and angels don’t lie but there’s something a little too keen in the warning. “She pointed out all the things that were dangerous.”

“Then why did you have to put them out of reach?” Aziraphale asks mildly, and Crawly hisses in frustration. Which means that poison is still a possibility, assuming he can figure out how much is needed to just make the silly things sick without getting himself in too much trouble. Fortunately, he realizes, there might be a much more interesting opportunity right in front of him. “What’s more, if you moved all the others, why did you leave this one? Did She forget to point it out? Or,” he adds inncocently, “is it too big?”

“I’m an angel,” the angel says, testily. “I can move any tree I like, size isn’t an issue. And She did tell them if they ate it they would surely die and all that. But She placed it specially here—“

“Did she now?”

“Um, yeah…”

“The Lord took special care to place one single poisonous tree in this specific spot? In Her rather enormous Garden?” Looking around, there is a grassy sort of clearing around the tree that Aziraphale might have noticed if he hadn’t been so consumed with excitement over the fruit. What’s more, it seems possible based on where he’d started, and the direction he’d been walking and the amount the moon had moved, that this was the exact center of the Garden. Which means it must be a rather important tree.

“Well, it’s technically not—“

Crawly cuts himself off, but it’s too late—Aziraphale’s mind is in motion, picking the words apart. What was not what? The Garden is certainly enormous, and certainly Hers; the angel had said himself that She placed the tree specifically, and that She told the humans the fruit was—

No. No, that wasn’t quite what Crawly said, was it?

“It’s not technically poisonous, is it? You even said,” Aziraphale realizes, “you moved all the poisonous ones. This fruit isn’t poison at all, it’s just forbidden.”

“They’ll die if they eat it,” the angel insists stubbornly. “She said so.”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale says, because trying to convince a loyal angel that the Lord lied is a fool’s errand. “But if it’s not the fruit that will kill them, what will? Her?”

“Ssssshe wouldn’t do that,” Crawly replies, hissing with outrage. “It’s wrong. They’re her favorite creation, and it’s just a fruit, that wouldn’t be—“

“Right? Fair?” Aziraphale scoffs, fists clenching, and Crawly rears back at his sudden vehemence. “It isn’t right to make us create all this and then ignore us to focus on them, and then cast out anyone who wants to know why. It isn’t fair to pick favorites.”

(Envy is a sin, a horrible ugly little ball of resentment that sits in the stomach like rotten fruit, weighs the soul down like a stone.)

There’s a long, bitter silence. They stare at each other, neither willing to budge, until finally Aziraphale sighs and relaxes his posture, shaking his head.

(Wrath is a sin when anger festers and vents itself at undeserving targets, but it’s one he frankly finds rather distasteful.)

“It’s hardly fair, either, to put such a delicious-looking fruit they can’t eat right in the center of a Garden full of ones they can. It seems… confusing.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Crawly says.

“She put an angel here to remind the humans not to eat a fruit?” Aziraphale had known she was fixated on them, but that seemed excessive.

“Well, all She said was that I’m a guardian, gave me venom and a flaming sword and all,” Crawly replies, mouth wide to show his teeth, and Aziraphale resists the urge to flinch back at flaming sword. “But I mean, it seemed implied. Who else would I be guarding, the trees?”

Probably just this specific tree, Aziraphale doesn’t say, because he’s too busy gaping at this ridiculous, wonderful angel. ‘It seemed implied’—maybe it had, but only from a very specific vantage point. A naïve one, of course, one of blind, unquestioned faith, yes; but it was faith in the idea that She reflected this angel’s simple, perfectly instinctive love, the conviction that nothing was more valuable than life.

Aziraphale doesn’t have that kind of faith anymore, has felt firsthand the imperfections in Her love. But perhaps…

No. Crawly is an angel, he reminds himself, a loyal soldier of the Lord who might be friendly and delightfully witty but who has been armed with a flaming sword that he’ll probably try to drive through Aziraphale’s heart when their conversation ends. His love is no more perfect than Hers.

“Hey, you okay?”

Aziraphale started, blinking up at the branches. It made sense how he’d managed to miss Crawly; weaved between the branches as he was, his black scales blended with the night shadows, while the glimpses of red scales that were visible were a perfect match for the fruit.

He’s not up to date on serpentine body language, but Crawly actually seems concerned.

“Yes, yes, quite alright,” Aziraphale replied, trying to regain the thread of the conversation.

“Do you still want one?”

And now Aziraphale’s completely lost. “What?”

Crawly laughs, the same soft, hissing delight. “The apples, do you still want to try one?”

“I—well,” Aziraphale stutters, thrown. Is this some sort of test? Will he be allowed to go without a fight if he doesn’t seem interested? “I don’t want to ‘surely die’, if that’s what you’re asking—“

“Oh, that’s just for the humans.” At Aziraphale’s surprised look, Crawly explains, “I asked, because the animals kept trying to eat them.”

“I see… but this still feels like a trap,” Aziraphale says worriedly. All the same, he can’t stop himself from glancing at the fruit again, ripe and inviting and new.

Crawly laughs again, sounding almost fond, but this time he starts to move, coils flowing over the branches until he hangs in a single loop, and for a moment Aziraphale thinks the angel’s laughed himself right out of the tree. Then something changes, the loop over the branch melting into strong fingers with black-tipped nails, the head shifting and the red scales flowing back over it into long russet curls, lids forming gently over golden eyes and then blinking open to reveal them glittering in mirth. The black scales have retreated but not disappeared, tracing a path down Crawly’s neck and disappearing over his slim dark shoulder, reappearing at the bony hips and branching over lean thighs to curl around his dark, pointy knees before spilling out to cover his slender calves and ankles.

Crawly drops to the ground on scaled feet with a final chuckle, plucking an apple from the tree as he lets go of the branch.

“Look,” he says, and with glinting white teeth and thin, grinning lips he bites into the apple, ripping away a full mouthful, large enough that when he swallows without chewing Aziraphale can follow the lump down that long, slim throat before it disappears.

Aziraphale jerks his eyes away from sharp collarbones and what lies below them and gulps convulsively.

(Lust is a sin, he tells himself, and you’re a demon, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but maybe it’s a sin he doesn’t understand all that well, because somehow Aziraphale is sure that Him Below would disapprove of the way he wants to stare at this angel just as much as She would.)

“It’s perfectly safe,” the angel tells him, and Aziraphale wants to snort derisively, but then Crawly smiles soft and a little teasing. “Come on, I know how much you want to—it’s delicious, really, and I promise I don’t sting.”

“How do you know—“

“It’s all over your face, honey,” Crawly drawls, eyes shining with amusement, and it takes a moment for Aziraphale to process the jibe, to blush brick red again and scrub viciously at his sticky chin with the heel of his hand. So much for not looking like a grubby demon, he thinks.

“Why,” he asks, and Crawly softens.

“It really is delicious,” he repeats, “and it’s clearly meant to be enjoyed. And somehow, I don’t think anyone will enjoy it more than you.”

And he holds out the apple.

Of course no one is going to enjoy it more—neither demons or angels, or even the Lord, make a habit of eating, and the thing is forbidden to the humans. There’s no one else who’d enjoy it at all, really. But somehow, it’s obvious that that’s not what Crawly means. Aziraphale can’t suppress the feeling that there’s something being offered here beyond a sort-of forbidden apple, something intangible but very, very important.

He reaches out and takes it.

(Greed is a sin: wanting in excess, more than you need, more than you deserve, all for yourself, and it must be excessive the way he wants everything, it must be too much and selfish even if he has the fleeting, mad impression that Crawly is offering.)

The apple is delicious, divinely sweet without being cloying. He savors the first bite, the way his sharp front teeth pierce the delicate skin easily and the satisfying crunch between his molars as he chews, the weight of the fruit on his tongue and the way the juice lets it slide smooth down his throat.

He opens his eyes to find the angel staring at him with eyes wide and shocked and almost plaintive, sort of leaning forward and altogether consumed with something Aziraphale can’t identify.

“Do you want another bite?” he offers.

“No,” Crawly blurts, “no, you can finish it. Like I said, never see anyone enjoy it like you.”

“Alright then,” Aziraphale replies, and does. Crawly leans back against the tree and watches, smiling, and maybe that should make Aziraphale feel self-conscious but something about that golden stare just leaves him feeling warm.

When he’s done, he licks the juice off his fingers, closing his eyes and humming in satisfaction, then startles as a wave of pure lust hits his demonic senses.

He opens his eyes and grins knowingly, and Crawly sucks in a breath, biting his lip with teeth that are a touch too sharp. Aziraphale fancies that there are more scales spreading across that dark skin than before, and for a moment he thinks Crawly will dart back up into the tree to coil up and hide in the branches again. He suppresses a laugh.

“That was wonderful, thank you,” he says, and Crawly shifts a bit before leaning back, deliberately careless.

“Well, I’m glad you found it… diverting,” he says.

Aziraphale chuckles, surprised and a little delighted. “Were you distracting me?”

“Well, it’s been twenty minutes since you walked up, and who knows how much trouble a demon could cause in twenty minutes,” Crawly replies. “Think I did a good job.”

“In that case,” Aziraphale says, “I suppose I should be getting on. I can’t have a sweet little angel like yourself thwarting all my demonic wiles.”

For a moment, it looks like Crawly is going to take issue with that description, but then he tilts his head, challenging.

“You could do that, and see how sweet I really am,” he drawls, “or I could show you some other sweet things in this Garden. Have you tried mangoes?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Aziraphale replies, intrigued, and Crawly grins, standing.

“There’s a tree over this way,” he says, starting out of the clearing.

Aziraphale goes to follow, frowning back at the apple tree. “Shouldn’t you be on guard?”

“I am. I’m guarding them from you,” Crawly insists, turning back. His tongue flickers out from between his teeth, and he shrugs. “They’re asleep miles away, and besides, I’m sure you could get them in far more trouble than any apple tree.”

(Later, of course, he’s proven quite thoroughly wrong, and Aziraphale laughs himself silly. Crawly glances up at the twitching white wing still sheltering him from the pouring rain, and has to remind himself to glower rather than laughing along.)

***

I'm not sure if I'm going to write more for this, but I sure have a lot of thoughts about it, so if you have an opinion, a question, or just want to know a random fact about this au, or just want to yell about good omens, my ask box and chat are open for business :). Also, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens fanfiction #writing #aziraphale/crowley #GO fanfic #my writing

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years

Text

Miscella Vs the Fleet: old wounds

Spinel was something of an outsider to the Fleet, and walking through the rubble that had been a street market only a few hours ago, she felt that she was missing out on a lot of context.

Robots, humanoids, chimeric mash-ups and the periodic holographic manifestation of digitally encoded mind-states sat against the wall, nursing their wounds, wincing as medic-clerics carefully extracted acids specifically designed to counter the most common methods of regeneration against the Fleet. People who had chitinous bodies or alterations had watched their armor melt and then screamed as the acid had bitten at flesh and blone; those with powers centered around manipulating energy had been hit by anti-magic devices that disrupted the delicate flow, causing their bodies to break apart and explode on the spot, surviving only through sheer bloody-mindedness.

Gems weren’t immune. Spinel vaguely recalled agonizing pain before she poofed, and whatever it did had set the delicate balance of mutagenic forces plaguing her into overdrive; even now, the corruption raced through her, her projection slowly warping and turning acidic, spiritual pain sliding inward. And her Gem, mounted between breasts so large they made up a massive chunk of her entire mass, was a mass of jagged mineral, her rosey-red tinting into a dark and horrible shade of purple...

She heard it. The call of, of the thing from beyond the stars. The slow whisper, sliding into the back of her mind, drowned out just barely by the voices of other people.

But there were warm hands, kneading into her projections weak points where she got too rubbery to even move, pumping enough magic to stabilize it. It was a magic like fire, warm and, and kindly.

“Can you move?” Said a deep, rumbling voice that almost all solid baritone.

Spinel nodded, painfully standing up. She looked up into a tall and imposingly massive figure that could have been an ogre, or perhaps a goat, depending on how you looked at it. Perhaps even a nicer variety of demon.

The massive and exceptionally masculine figure sighed in relief; muscles individually larger than Spinel herself shifted beneath shaggy white fur, and a long face crowned by huge horns smiled softly. “That’s good. Please move carefully; I’m not sure how your magic might have been compromised.”

Asgore, she’d heard him called. The King of the Monsters, and a whole lot of other titles that made it sound like he’d seen a lot of extremely nasty things, and it was strangely appealing that he’d taken a bit of a shine to her.

Spinel frowned at the soldiers being led away; they weren’t local. None of them looked particularly modified on a biological or cybernetic level, though their fancy uniforms (very sleek, with a bit of an angular vibe to them) were definitely performance-enhancing exoskeletons. Power armor, she supposed, though not as clanky and ritualistically maintained as the sort you saw in her new group. The soldiers were a mixed group, of all manner of species, but whether it was a primate’s face or an avian turian’s mandibles or a glowy energy monster, they all had the same shut-down look of someone who was just doing a job and considered your presence to be beneath them; small time bullies who used what power they had to humiliate anyone they felt like.

They all had the same logo on them, which looked a bit like an infinity symbol surrounded by a spiral branching off into arrows pointing in multiple directions. “Who ARE those guys?”

“Miscella Incorporated soldiers, I believe,” said Asgore. “They have many private armies, of mercenaries and other such ruffians, but I suspect these are one of the in-house special forces they employ for touchy situations.”

Spinel blinked slowly. It had been a long day, not helped by a war rapidly escalating from a minor argument all at once. As best as she could tell, there HAD been a ship arrivng earlier, apparently to discus some trading rights.

And then there’d been yelling. And some of the Fleet members got way more intense about it than she’s ever seen, and they’d thrown punches after someone called them ‘disgusting mutants’, and then things really got out of hand.

At one point, a two-mile long ship had crashed right onto a city.

“So what the hell happened!?” she asked. “It was just a business thing; why’d they make it personal?”

Asgore sighed, looking very tired. “You should know... I’ve been with this group for a long time. Ever since we were nomads, roaming from world to world and fleeing our many enemies.”

Spinel glanced at him. Now did not seem the time for a history lesson. “Sure. You weren’t really the Fleet yet, right? You and your monsters joined up early on, then I guess Gems started finding you, and lots of other people... but it wasn’t like the way it was today. Things were a lot more fractious, you were always in danger, and the guys who’d form the Cobalt Stinger pirate empire were still with you.”

“Yes. Back then, we hadn’t run into those brutish sorts of the Imperial Commonwealth either. Our main enemy was... well. Miscella Incorporated.”

“...Why?”

“We passed near their worlds, and they took offense to us. You see, we didn’t use any of their currencies, we weren’t interested in buying any of their stuff save supplies or interesting gear, and most of all, we didn’t want to settle down in their lands and submit to their restrictive policies.” Asgore frowned. “Mega corporations, like Miscella, institutes some very harsh restrictions for their people. Depending on how the local branch implements it, they can often be little better than legal slavery. People are legally the property of whatever sub-corporation that has them employed, and they cannot move to other planets, change careers, or gain additional income without approval. Sometimes, they are even forced to have surgery and monitoring devices installed so they cannot think thoughts that Miscella would disapprove of.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yes, that’s what we thought. We told them no. We said, on many ocassions, that our pride wasn’t worth whatever profit they offered. So things got much worse from there; Miscella is a bit of a control freak, as a whole, and since we would not comply, they tried to force us into either compliance, or to wipe us out and indoctrinate us.” He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know if this kind of policy is company-wide, or if we were simply unfortunate enough to be in the crosshairs of a particular branch that hated people who were from social margins... but they killed us, hounded us, chased us across hundreds of worlds. We fought back, and killed lots of them. At times, we were a roaming horde, destroying their towns and claiming the ruins as loot, just to survive. Revenge, and so on. And it wasn’t the Stingers alone that did such a thing, I can tell you.

“So blood for blood, and then both sides wanted revenge for the revenge we’d already taken, and so on. And so forth. It went on for a long time.” He sighed. “And so, now, there is a lot of bad blood.”

“Ain’t you guys ever tried to make peace, or at least force a cease fire?” Spinel asked. “We’re one of the biggest, baddest societies around; a single one of our heroines could clobber a whole army of theirs, I’m thinking.”

“True enough, but force alone is not a terribly attractive notion to all the clans, and given the scale of Miscella’s holdings, such total war would require absolute agreement among all the clans... and you know we argue far too much for that!” Asgore laughed, and then grew serious again. “But, miss Spinel, it’s not just revenge. Even if we didn’t have generations telling us, with bloody stories, not to trust them or give them an inch, our philosophies are wholly incompatible. You know, I think, that we in the Fleet believe that life, absolutely all forms of sapient existence, has the right to be free and become whatever it chooses, and to help all others prosper and live in contentment?”

Spinel nodded. “Yeah. I suppose that’s a reason I’m still here.”

“Indeed. Well, Miscella, I’m sorry to say, largely regards all people as resources. Sometimes... literally. Sometimes simply as markets to tap, or employees to use. But inevitably, they see people as tools and assets, fit only to serve their interests. Almost like a divine right of kings, but based on their own existing wealth and power; they consider themselves to be the rightful rulers of all existence, and all us must fall into line with how they think the world ought to be. They treat deviance from their cosmic agenda - which is an actual thing they have, some sort of flow chart of ultimate heirarchy and organization - as a personal affront. And we are nothing but deviants, you know!”

Spinel laughed. “I know!”

“So, our ideals and views are... too different. We see people and want them to be free. They see resources, and want to bring them to heel. Even if not for our mutual resentment, that would breed other problems. But ultimately, they are our oldest enemies.�� He sighed. “And sooner or later, there will be war.”

“...We’d win that one. Right.”

Asgore looked troubled. “That’s the problem, though. I’m sure we’d win. The question is, how can we decisively win a war against such a powerful group, with our honor intact?”

#my writing #fics #crossthicc AU #twitchy!spinel #twitchy!asgore #twitchy!su #twitchy!undertale

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stedes-black-bonnet · 5 years

Text

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 31

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Ongoing fic, my dudes. Output has slowed but not stopped! No fear! Life is slowing down progress but not stopping it.

Warnings: swearing?

Abstract: Fushimi Inari Taisha

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

Lydia didn’t know what had gotten into her lately. Well, she had an idea, she had a notion, but it seemed entirely unlikely. The color “orange” had gotten into her. And “purple.” A couple of colors of all things. Fuck me, she thought. She never thought she’d see the day when colors would dominate her life. Especially those two in particular.

I mean, worshiping someone from a far was completely different than falling in love with them in person, after meeting them, after fucking them in their red sports car; this color she at least knew and thought of as a friend. It is the little things you find yourself not expecting, Lydia pondered. Especially with sexual encounters; she did as much as she could to experience a variety liaisons with anybody who was willing--male or female--because sex, on the whole, was the same with everybody, but it was the finesse and eccentricities of any particular person that made it special, profound, and captivating. And any artist lived to collect experiences. Love, she thought, was like the spectrum of light she couldn’t see. So, even if her colors were always gendered for her, she never thought of love in such simplistic, binary terms.

She adjusted her raspberry beret, carrying her painting supplies up the five story walk-up she shared with you. It was, in fact, one of the colors she could see. Lydia had tritanopia, which was a fancy-ass way of saying she was colorblind; she couldn’t tell the difference, on the main, between yellow and blue (which also meant green was fucked over by proxy). Everything in her world was a mess of reds, pinks, mauves, light blues, teals, and dark blues; all colors for her were traditional boy/girl gender markers; the irony of such, especially regarding her sexual proclivities, you never let her forget. This made being a visual artist something of a challenge, but Lydia liked challenges--in fact she thrived off of them. And, well, Roger Taylor was quite the unexpected challenge. He was a man full of color and light, and she was a color-blind artist who painted in monotones. They were inherently incompatible from page one. And yet...and yet...she was entirely drawn to him. Maybe even in ways she couldn’t yet express. But she was on her way to doing so: the colors.

She had thought she was up to the task though, or that's what she had committed to until she had started her most recent project. That’s when the confusion had seeped into her life--the colors. She had been working on a harsh landscape--all of her landscapes looked harsh and science-fiction-esque; there was something about bleeding all the color from a setting when the color was supposed to be there that made the setting feel, well, unsettling. Lydia had a perchance for putting people on edge, keeping them on their toes, making them intimidated; it was the best way to test them. Trying to push someone away and seeing if they chase you is the best way to see if they’ll stick around, she thought. It perhaps wasn’t the most upfront, honest, or genuine tactic, but it had merits all its own in other regards. Either way, she was young, hot, and determined to do whatever she wanted, which is more or less exactly what she did. Especially regarding her art. She couldn’t experience most colors like everyone else around her could, indeed, like most artists could. Instead of it being her Achilles heel, she decided to make it her sword. She’d cut color out of her art and do things her own way. She’d empower herself to create what she wanted. But now, unexpectedly, what she wanted was two colors she couldn’t see.

At the door to your apartment, she took out her crown key chain and unlocked the door. She scrambled inside, carrying an odd assortment of shopping bags full of items she usually didn’t buy. Most of them were full of paint, but they weren’t blacks, and whites, and greys: they were full of colors, most of which she couldn’t really correctly see. “Orange,” a thing she understood as a concept only, had been very appealing to her lately. One bag was full of every “shade” “orange” had to offer. It didn’t even matter to her most of the shades looked pink to her; to someone else, they’d be “orange” and they’d be strikingly powerful, a blow to the gut, putting your fist in a vat of hot oil. The rest were shades of “purple.” A literal mess of colors for her. A mess she intended to whip into a frenzy.

This wasn’t typical. This sort of dive into color was abnormal, and when she had attempted it in the past, it was something that had made her feel bitter towards painters who could see color and who used them like it was no big deal, without careful appreciation, or consideration for those who couldn’t. The old grudges were the hardest to overcome. And because she couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive, she would paint those feelings and resentments into her art. It was, after all, the best revenge.

That was, until Roger Taylor, however. Because now, all she could think about was the entire world of color to which she was mostly blind. The entire world of color that was so vital to who Roger was as a person and to understanding who he was as a person. What she had gained from their limited conversations was his absolute obsession with color and art. He had no idea she was colorblind, so he had had no idea he was making her feel an uncomfortable mixture of jealousy and fiery hatred; the overwhelming and, frankly, attractive passion with which he spoke of his home, his clothes, and his vast collections of artworks had diffused and tempered her own indignation into something resembling a very specific form of arousal. She was turned on, for the most part, by passion. As long as someone had passion in something, for something, it made her insatiably aroused. Anger could also be an aphrodisiac, and quite the powerful one at that. When mixed together, well, that created the scene between them that had transpired in his Alfa Romeo. All passion and anger linked together with consent and desire. They were colors mixing, but even when Lydia mixed colors, they weren’t always logical or beautiful.

John Deacon was thinking about Roger’s words. He couldn’t process them, or their power; they kept rocking back, like waves, hitting him again and again. “Replacing Veronica already, mate?” Every time he thought he had found his footing, another wave would hit him, bringing him back perpetually to that moment in time. He’d sink into the ocean that was his Roger’s words, and drown. He couldn’t come up for air. But air was all he wanted. He couldn’t move from his chair. Stuck between a wave and a hard sentence.

He was no stranger to being helplessly stuck in a moment in time. In fact, the past three years had been an elaborate exercise in either denying his present or relying way too much on his past. There were nights, when he’d close his eyes, and snuggle into bed, that he was brought back to her again, against his will. Suddenly, he’d be shoved into Veronica’s funeral, forced to relive every detail in technicolor. He’d be made to hear about her death--being summed to the hospital; these moments returned to him when he least expected it like a long lost friend. In a very real sense, however, she was a long lost friend. It was easier to think of her at times as if she had gone on an extended vacation. This wasn’t helpful, perhaps, in terms of realty and acceptance, but when things had been fresh, and the raw wounds still ripe with red aching, it was easier to think of her hidden away some place he could visit, in some pocket of reality only he could access. A place just for them.

Those words, however, weren’t anything he wanted to revisit; being ceaselessly rocked back into memory wasn’t enjoyable for him, and it may never be again. She was there.

She was always there.

Always in his memory, and distance and time, being what they were, would inevitably switch those glass-hardened memories, specific pinpricks of pain, each targeted just for him, into shimmering translucence only vaguely having to do with the shape of her death. Every memory now was of her death. The day they met--it had been raining, her death was there waiting for them; when they shared their first, hesitant kiss, her death was there waiting for them; the first time they had made love, her death was watching from the corner; on their wedding day, her death was there, too. Every hard fact, every stone-cold truth had been painted diaphanous, rendered useless with a milky opalescence, a thickly painted layer called the certitude of her pending death. This fact followed him around day in and day out. He had almost become used to it. But, then, you had come into his life, and something ineffable had shifted in his heart.

“Replacing Veronica already, mate?” had been the linchpin of some seismic change within John Deacon, however. His hand tightened around yours.

Roger, it seemed, had caused, whether intentionally or not, certain unexpected changes for the people in his life he cared for most.

Lydia had been removing pell-mell paintings from her bedroom walls. Hoisting them under her arms, she’d walk them to her studio near the opposite side of the apartment. All she could think about was the color “orange.” Or, as she liked to think of it, “light red.” She knew the concept wasn’t perfect, she could point out “orange” for you if asked; she could show you the Fushimi Inari Shrine, and go “orange.” Though this wasn’t something she knew with her eyes like everyone else; this was something she knew because she had been told. There was a distinct pedagogical difference here. One was gifted from experience, the other from trusting someone else. Color for her was simultaneously trust and resentment.

That hard-earned talent of color identification had been learned from practice and something that could only be described as being tired of being mocked. She learned your colors to save face, to blend in, to assimilate.

Roger had changed some of this for her, however. “Orange” was a whole new concept now. And something called “Purple.” Roger was obsessed with the color she knew best as an odd teal, or sometimes a sharp pink depending on saturation and light. It was hard to discuss a color that was certain with others and definitely only one color in their minds: purple. When in hers it could dance between two different colors that made no sense to anyone else when she tried to describe them. Purple sauntered between two colors for her. A delicate balance always ready to tip at the flick of a wrist. Could be teal, could be pink. Life for Lydia was a mixed-bag, a guessing game. Good thing she liked games.

John Deacon usually liked games. This one, whatever Roger was playing at, however, he didn’t care for. At all. It made his stomach seize and his heart squirm.

“He didn’t mean it.” You said, squeezing his hand back. Your intuition told you something was wrong with Roger, and you wouldn’t back down from what you did, but you also knew standing up for him and looked like attacking him. He needed reminding, and quick what real sacrifice looked like before he did something, said something he could never take back. So, standing up for Deacy had been oddly also trying to stand up for Roger, and not just standing up to him. You had a sneaky suspicion standing up to Roger would always go hand in hand with something else.

“He did.” Deacy said, quietly, confusedly.

“There’s no way that man, who did for you what he did, meant what he said.” You explained.

“I think Y/N has the right path here, darling.” Freddie said. “People, even people you love, especially people you love, really, can say things they don’t mean. Terrible words that curse you to the spot; it doesn’t excuse it, but--”

“It is hard to reconcile those words with how much Rog cares for you.” Brian said, leaning forward. “It isn’t impossible, though. He loved Veronica so much, Deacy.”

“We all did.” Miami said, passing the waiter a 50 pound note when he returned with a round of martinis. “You know Roger...he’s all hot air and impulse.” He slyly sipped his drink, gazing at Deacy over it. “It is always a coin toss what comes out of his mouth.”

“Unpredictable.” Brain said, nodding in agreement.

“He loves you.” You said, trying to convey with your eyes what you words were failing to do.

“I’ve seen him say a lot of things, do a lot of questionable things, but he was…” Deacy said, trying to find the words again.

“Different?” Brian offered.

“Offensive?” Freddie tossed in.

“A fuckwad?” Miami posited.

“Undeniably all three?” Deacy laughed. The tension in the room slipped a bit with that laugh. You all sipped your drinks, trying to settle in and settle down. “Roger and I will have to deal with that later--in our own way.” He left it at that. “Though, should we make sure he’s okay?”

Deacy’s generosity was unparalleled. He had just been dressed down publicly by his best friend, and yet he still was able to scrape up some concern for the man; it made you love him even more. If the shoe was on the other foot, and if your outburst had been any indication, you weren’t sure you’d be able to locate a modicum of compassion for the man.

“Jim will keep him safe,” Freddie said, raising an eyebrow, “That or murder him; really hard to tell which at this point.”

“I’ve always liked Jim.” Miami remarked. “How about business?”

“Oh, shouldn’t we wait for Rog?” Freddie looked concerned about making such a decision without him.

“I think I can speak for him.” Brian retorted lightly.

“I don’t doubt that.” Miami said. He turned to you, “We weren’t introduced, I think. Before you punched my multi-million dollar-worth drummer.”

“Right.” You said. “Y/N L/N.” You held your hand out to Miami.

“Jim Beach.” He gave you his hand. It was soft, lotion-ed, rich. “Though, they call me Miami.”

“I’ve never met a place before. Charmed!” You simpered.

“Hmm. So, Y/N, what are you doing here tonight?” Never one to mince words, Miami was a go big or go home, come hard or not at all kind of guy. It was the lawyer in him. He knew how to use words to get what he wanted.

“I was invited here...I guess I’m not really sure why…?” You looked suddenly at Deacy then; it was an odd choice for a first date, now that you were thinking about it.

“I want her to play on the album.” Deacy said.

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

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @triggeredpossum @obsessedwithrogertaylor @groupiie-love @partydulce@richiethotzierz@sophierobisonartfoundationblr@psychostarkid@teathymewithben@smittyjaws@just-ladyme@botinstqueen @mydogisthebest@little-welsh-wonder@maxjesty@deakysdiscos@yourealegendroger@marvellouspengwing@molethemollie@deakysgirl@arrowswithwifi@tardisgrump @mikey-sway

#john deacon x reader #john deacon #roger taylor #brian may #freddie mercury #jim hutton #miami beach #bohemian rhapsody #queen x reader #rami malek #joe mazzello #ben hardy #gwilym lee

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viktcria-blog · 5 years

Photo

stellaluna • viktoria “vik” • aaland s u l l i v a n

icy breezes float across naked flesh as melodies coated in melancholia float across stale air. useless factoids trail across their mind, she traces patterns against florals sitting in tepid water. she strokes the neck of an empty champagne bottle, shatters it against marble. they say it’s all too much, the thought beckons bumps to rise against her skin.

d e m o g r a p h i c s

full name: stellaluna viktoria “vik” aaland

age: twenty-one

sexuality: bisexual

gender: demiwoman / she & they

major & minor: psychology ( major ) & anthropology ( minor )

♪ icy — kim petras

family • history • connections • plots under the cut & exhaustive

f a m i l y

father ( adoptive / deceased ) mother ( adoptive ) peter aaland ( sol invictus ) camille aaland ( née bordelais )

grandmother ( adoptive ) vikoria “angelique” bordelais ( née eriksson )

( cancer / death tw for everything below this warning )

• their father was a musician who went by the alias “sol invictus” ( after the roman sun god ), his band, invincible, was extremely successful in the late eighties / early nineties and has some classics ( the most helpful comparison i have for sol is kurt cobain mixed with alex turner and flung back to the 90s. )

he was diagnosed with cancer when vik was a child, and became involved with a faith healer and his cult ( the sun’s chosen children ) before his death. after his death, there was a vicious battle over his estate, as he left everything to the cult and its manipulative leader. this is a dark chapter of vik’s life, and she didn’t entirely understand what was going on due to her young age, just that her father was dead and it ruined her mother. sol’s involvement with the chosen children was the subject of much tabloid gossip, and so was the legal battle.

• her mother was a model and the daughter of a swedish-french film star ( the original viktoria ) who married an “english screenwriter with a french name.” camille is very fond of horses and horse racing and has spent large parts of her life on stud farms ( including her own parents’ stud in england, where her mother retired to ), and currently lives on one in mexico, somewhat close to mexico city.

• viktoria is adopted, she was born in sweden ( which both of her adoptive parents had a connection to ) and placed for adoption by her birth parents shortly after. they don’t particularly care to know anything about their birth parents, and haven’t made any effort to seek them out. they were adopted when they were two years old, so they retain some vague memories of the orphanage, but they can’t speak swedish anymore.

h i s t o r y

places lived

stockholm ( childhood )

tokyo ( childhood )

los angeles / new york city ( childhood )

oxfordshire ( childhood / as a teenager )

mexico city / valley of mexico ( as a teenager )

paris ( to attend the paris opera’s ballet academy, as a teenager )

important / helpful information

being a rockstar’s child had its difficulties and successes. vik was always the coolest child in any given room ( at least, by default ) but she spent most of her childhood in impermanent places: tokyo ( two years while sol & invincible were recording a reunion album ), los angeles and nyc ( whenever her father’s profession demanded it ), oxfordshire with her mother and grandmother, stockholm for a few years post-adoption. they never made many real friends, and cultivated a reputation for being just like silk ( pretty and difficult to hold onto ) over time. they’re used to being alone.

dancing, particularly classical ballet, was their first love. they took their first class in tokyo when they were still very young, and they were good. when she was dancing, vik wasn’t someone else’s child, she was her own person, with her own passions. after their father’s death, their mother became despondent ( especially as the legal battle was lost ) and they needed to get away, so they used some of their talent and a lot of nepotism to audition for the paris opera’s ballet academy ( one of the best in the world. ) not that they’ll admit to the nepotism. from age 12-17 vik lived alone in paris, attending the academy and going by her mother’s maiden name ( bordelais ) in order to deny any connection to their father.

vik stopped dancing when she was 18, after she moved back in with her mother after her grandmother’s death ( without her, her mother would have been completely alone, so it was necessary, and repayment for the five years of freedom she had been afforded. ) but dancing remains their first, and currently only, love, and she still does it. just not under the eyes of any teacher.

their gender expression is hyper feminine ( lots of glitter and neon ) but this doesn’t mean they’re a woman. vik identifies as demigender ( specifically a demiwoman / demigirl ) and came to the realisation that she was not fully comfortable with her identity was a girl for the first time after her father’s death. they don’t particularly care to explain it more than “you can be feminine without being female.” anyone who comes into proximity of her is aware of her pronouns and identification.

they didn’t want to go to providence. when they were applying, they were disgusted by the enormous wealth and privilege that surrounded them ( nevermind how often she uses hers ) and found it repulsive. but providence was the best school and the easiest to bribe, and in the end, the college was very, very far from mexico city.

in their first semester, they mostly kept to themself, keeping their head down so no one would ask questions about who they were or where they came from. but in her second semester, vik started performing again: she had a third story window, a highly fuckable toned body, and she missed ballet. egged on enough times by partygoers struggling through snow or melt, they would take to their window, a silhouette of a person, smooth bare skin and mystery. performing became parties. parties became more parties. being a partygoer became being sol invictus’ child.

they’re in a constant state of reinvention. are they a good student, or just rich and the child of someone famous ? does she like the endless bacchanalia and orgiastic weekdays, or is it all she knows at this school ? what the fuck is vik going to do with themself after graduating with the degree they don’t care about ? don’t ask.

tldr no one understands what she’s doing, let alone her. & they have a reputation as the person to go to for a party.

c o n n e c t i o n s ( q u i c k f i r e )

champagne prince(ss): someone vik parties with, possibly a procurer of illicit substances, they have a soft spot ( possibly romantic ) for them

twisted sibling: horribly toxic relationship that consists mostly of egging each other on and fucking each other up

cheat sheet: vik doesn’t like to study, so they’re her go-to “study partner.” aka, the person she bribes to help her ( aka.... write her papers for her )

invincible ? don’t know them: someone who’s a fan of vik’s father’s band / knows all the gossip and is intrigued by why it was like to grow up as sol’s child

no danes allowed: international kids club ? ( aside: idk what citizenship vik even has lol ? i just realised this ! )

p l o t s

cause of you, now my heart is so icy ( former lover / enemy / angst / pining / fuck it )

vik’s first real relationship, started at providence, probably in second year ? very intense, ended really, really badly ( think public shouting matches. ) occasionally, always, in moments of weakness, they miss this person immensely, and considering going back / taking them back. she doesn’t even remember why it ended in the first place, at this point. ( but some part of vik also knows it will end in the same fiery crash if they try again. )

this could also be platonic because losing friends ? painful.

gave me something to believe in ( member of or close to / fascinated by the sun’s chosen children cult )

for the most part, the cult that their mother is certain played a role in killing their father hasn’t played a role in vik’s life in years ( beside camille aaland’s refusal to say its name of the name of its leader. ) but new york is a big place, and the internet is strange and vast, so this plot involves someone who is a member of, or close to someone who is a member of, or is interested in the sun’s chosen children ( a “self help group” dedicated to spiritual healing and the abandonment of modern medicine, in actuality a cult. ) vik still carries a lot of resentment for what they did to her mother and some small part of them fears the chosen children. so living / partying / studying in close proximity to someone who is involved with them is probably not going to end well.

don’t search me in here, i’m already gone baby ( “perfect match” / counterpart / mystery )

someone vik is highly interested in ( platonically / romantically / sexually / whatever, 22 year olds are dumb ). they feel like every time they try to get close to this person, they slip away, which is something vik has a lot of practice doing herself. she doesn’t like it being turned back on her, and she’s starting to run out of patience for them.

... but not yet.

i ain’t ever gonna settle ( patron / private shows / throwing parties so one person will come / ideal / disaster in the making )

dancing is such a big part of vik’s life, and stopping their dance career may be one of the few things they actually regret. this person is vik’s “dance partner” and “patron”, someone who always encourages her to dance for / with them ( sometimes in private, wink, but as always this could be platonic ) and whose approval she craves for no reason she could name. they’re stumbling towards being dependent on this person, and it’s not going to end well, but for right now, it’s passionate and full of feelings and admiration and divine adoration.

#tag later it's so late #provintro #no proofreading we die like idiots #♡ | about

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unproduciblesmackdown · 5 years

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so being abused the entire first 2 decades of your life: what’s up with that? Night Posts Edition

- classic when finding some “uh oh relatable!” content abt various Disorderres and there’s some thing like “many symptoms overlap with ptsd” and it’s like ooh which one is applying to me?? i mean spoilers the idea that The Grouping Of Non Nt Traits And Experiences Into Distinct Classifications is not actually...an exact science and for all intents and purposes it makes no difference if i am going “oh god #me” at an informative post about adhd if actually its ptsd acting exactly the same anyways so. but yknow it’s wild n zany being like “am i overstepping my bounds b/c this was caused by coping with trauma possibly? what audacity” and etc when it really....that doesnt matter....

- also ugh @ retaining things that downplay abusers’ responsibility for their actions (in specific things you’re personally dealing with, not like, as a general stance) and shift blame onto yourself like........you have to get so used to treating someone’s Abusive Behavior as something inevitable that you can’t ever expect them to stop doing, and thus pretty much considering someone abusive like a force of nature because they’re just gonna do what they’re gonna do whenever they next get Set Off rather than like.......a person who is responsible for their own behavior and in control of their own choices and like. especially zany when you’re a kid and they’re your parent so there’s the Power Imbalance of them being an adult and the other power imbalance of them being in control of your whole existence. but so like even just the other year i was taking the blame for calmly speaking back to a grownass man close to thrice my age raging at me and saying like, not verbatim but the idea of like “ugh i know it was partly my fault for even saying anything back to him because i knew he’d just continue to yell but unfortunately i just refuse to weather that kind of behavior without standing up for myself at all anymore” but like no!!!! that’s shifting all the responsibility for this other person’s behavior onto myself, like i Made him choose to shout at me at like 4am because he sucks and has some kind of superiority power trip issues. cuz i am well within rights to respond to anyone addressing me and it’s Not my fault at all that he chooses to react the way he reacts.

- also that i was ready to excuse my being blamed for this by others because they were closer to that person than they were to me and i was gonna be like “okay i Get wanting to defend someone who’s closer to you” but no!!!! actually!!!! i may get it but i don’t condone excusing anyone’s horrible behavior in the least just cuz you know them or they’re friends or family or something. in fact that’s terrible. i’m just primed to be Used To It because of the weird situation of parental abuse where there’s other people also trapped in this location and daily life with an abuser and if someone “causes” the abuser to start being shitty then they’ll get blamed / resented for that. me and my siblings seem more like friendly acquaintances b/c we had to be pitted against each other in these kinds of ways for eons until we were all in our teens and got some more Space and kind of realized that we weren’t each others enemies and got closer and my dumb little brother was old enough to stop being a whiny binch and Owed me for helping him with math hw over the phone from 2 hrs drive away lol.....jk, sort of.....we did get along great eventually but then i left thanks to said abuse and us talking via twitter isn’t at all the same as us being able to talk in person :/

- also one thing that sometimes Strikes me is that when i’m like blandly recalling incidents of abuse like “oh yeah, that time” it bothers me less to think about stuff that happened to me specifically than to think about times it was Other people who were being treated that way. the latter was always equally or probably more upsetting and it always felt just as bad in the moment anyways, there was no major distinction in the Abuse In Progress experience if it was directed mostly on you than on other people

- all my life i’ve also been super stubborn which never helped and even Abuse MaGee would have to try to get creative with Disciplinary Systems and there was this golden “punishment” which was eat dinner in your room by yourself and i was like oh my god can i really. the horror of Family Dinner was like, this dark comedic farce playing out in that house for all our lives. christ. speaking of being stubborn this one time my sister cut my toe with a knife (half accidentally) because i refused to stop swinging my legs despite her holding the knife under the table lol and i also refused to tell on her b/c we were All In This Together (that is, Us vs The Abuser, which always took precedence over any internal conflict in our faction lol)

- always remembering how my “’”””””””defining”””””””””” trait was always getting good grades except the only reason i ever felt this pressure was the time my sister caught shit for getting a C, and i wasn’t even getting A - F letter grades yet and was already like jfc guess i can’t like....get a single C ever.....the joke is i’ve always been a godawful student who hates school, i just also managed to get great grades fairly easily, b/c of the devil probably. i’m sorry

- love to wonder what interests i might have been able to explore if i didn’t want to hide anything i was genuinely interested in and other True Thoughts And Feelings from my ‘rents. who knows!!! even now i’m not sure what i like and my vague ideas about it are all mostly In Theory and i don’t have any hopes and dreams b/c of never being able to really consider my own interests and desires and also because when every day of your life is basically spent in survival mode about everything else, that’s not really conducive to having dreams and ambitions. see also: like, being really poor

- The Weird Experience when only one of your parents is abusive and the other parent is also experiencing spousal abuse and so like, even though they’re your parent, you know that they don’t really have equal power as the abusive one because they too are being abused? it’s a complicated thing b/c that’s how every individual experience with abuse is (complicated). and so you’ve got this bizarre situation where maybe someone cares about you but they can’t really protect you from this other person. and like, my dad is crap and in some areas even a crappier person than my abusive mom and also i hate him, but i only hate him for certain things lmao not for being abused or some ways he tried to deal with it. i know what’s trash and what’s not

- the zany experience of No One Will Help You Ever.....lucky for me i eventually figured out on my own that what i’d been living with all the time had actually been abuse for real all along! and yet still i knew that like, there wasn’t much i could immediately do with that information because..........yknow, what do you actually do. i was basically already 18, so. and even if i hadnt been. there’s nothing to do for it!! just sucks to be you, basically. but an exception is that when one day i texted my friend to ask if i might be able to leave my house overnight and crash at their family’s place for a little bit, their parents immediately were like Yes Of Course and they let me stay there for a week and were very nice about all of it. between them and the nice trans lady who gave me some more Housing Assistance by letting me stay in her spare room for like, most of december.....my Allies. plus someone who talked to me via online once i bailed on my ‘rents! if they read this they know who they are and they have continued to be so kind and generous ugh love and appreciate you

- god just individual occasions of “THIS bullshit that i went through this one time” of especially ridiculous incidents.....i could go on for eons

- sort of tangentially related and related to the first point but ugh specific memories of Moments In Which It Continued To Be Revealed To Me That I, Individually, Was Prone To Being Kind Of Socially Ostracized.....like my ass started noticing that shit as soon as i was around other kids aka preschool aka 4 yrs old.......like i’m usually somewhat withdrawn and cautious and quiet in social situations especially what with the association that “misbehaving” = trauma exposure so, yknow, that might be a way that you’re pressured into just keeping to yourself and keeping your head down. but talk about “i don’t really relate to other people my age” lmao like i always preferred interacting with adults really while by and large dealing with the other kids felt like a challenge that i was never gonna actually come out on top of and i still remember individual Efforts i’d make to ~fit in~ and Participate that just fell flat or got me actively excluded....Ugh City........and it’s like, i could make a list of Social Traits i think i have that help make it difficult for people to be interested in interacting with me, or “contribute” to those joyous occasions when you get to sit back and take in the thinly veiled contempt directed at you by various shitheads, but like, even that’s not really the right way to explain it. its kind of more a Greater Than The Sum Of Its Weird Parts sorta combined experience where i guess i just have this kind of Negative Je Ne Sais Quoi that gets ya the social brushoff / rejection. c’est ce que c’est. the joke is i actually like people and socializing In Theory, i just usually don’t get to do it. shoutout to the advanced relatability of alana calling everyone Acquaintances b/c i literally did/do that lmao......like are we friends if we don’t talk all that often? it’s part on me cuz i’m crap at being the person to initiate conversation cuz too often i assume i’d be an annoyance and also b/c conversation with me is like, not great lmao but still......ce’st l’a v’ie

anyways (clip from that fuckin song where it’s like WHO CAN RELATE lmao.mp3)

#long post //////#the entire first quarter (at least lol) of my life being Devastated By Abuse means i get to complain about it whenever i feel like it

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echodrops · 6 years

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So, given Dabi's perceived incompetence, you think his scars are self inflicted? I figured that, if Dabi is indeed Touya, he must have tried to impress Endeavor and show him that he is "worth it". So he probably tried to train himself in seclusion. But with a body meant for ice, he was not able to handle the flames and ended up burning himself and running away, traumatized or something along those lines. Admittedly, it could be a stretch, since we have no details on what exactly happened.

Post is NOT spoiler free, watch out anime-only fans~!

Had a bunch of asks about Dabi in my inbox after my Dabi post but I got distracted thinking about ships… I’m back now and gonna answer a few that are all about that Dabi is a Todoroki theory~

Look man, if he’s not Touya, I will officially be the S H O O K E S T. At this point, the real plot twist would be if he wasn’t! I really think there are just so many signs at this point that I can’t make myself believe it won’t happen. I mean the fact that Horikoshi deliberately drew Endeavor’s eyesight being damaged before his confrontation with Dabi so that Endeavor wouldn’t be able to see him clearly??? COME ON.

But man we’re all going to look so stupid if he isn’t Touya…

Rest under the read more to save people’s dashes:

As for how Dabi got his scars… I don’t have any answers, of course, just my own theories and conjectures based on vague statements and panels in the manga…

I guess first I’d point out that while we don’t know really much about Touya at all, we do know a couple things:

1) He physically took after Rei way more than Natsuo or Fuyumi did. Despite being Natsuo’s confirmed older brother, Touya was a tiny kid. Given that he would have to very close to Fuyumi in age or older than her, the fact that he was shorter than his sister just makes this all the more noticeable. This kind of tininess is usually (although of course not always) a deliberate visual indicator that there was something wrong with the child’s health. Looking at the only two panels he appears in definitely gives the impression that he was a pretty fragile-looking kid who I would not be surprised to hear had health problems (bad fevers from an overpowered fire quirk, anyone?).

2) His posture in this frame is also pretty telling. They all look nervous–it’s obvious they’re being looked at by Endeavor and are uncomfortable with it–but while Natsuo looks a little shame-faced and Fuyumi a little confused, Touya is clutching his hands together in a classic “timid child” pose. It seems likely to me that he wasn’t an especially assertive kid.

3) Then there’s the whole hair issue–is his hair red like the anime or white like the manga? The only reason I could see for not coloring his hair dark in the manga is that Horikoshi specifically uses black ink for the red color of the Todoroki family’s hair–coloring Touya’s hair completely black would make it beyond obvious that he’s Dabi. But still, couldn’t he have used tone like he does for Kirishima’s hair? We know that white hair = ice quirk, so I am very interested to find out whether the anime has it right in using red, or whether the white used in the manga is plot relevant, and we’re going to find that Touya really did have a body meant for an ice quirk…

4) We also have Natsuo’s ominous comment:

To me at least, this statement seems somehow… specific? Like there was some Big Deal™ that immediately caused Touya not to be in their lives anymore, and Endeavor was directly involved in it. Natsuo definitely strikes me as the type who would blame Endeavor for a training accident, even if Touya was training of his own free will, but I can’t personally shake the feeling that Endeavor was right there whenever the Bad Thing with Touya happened and that Endeavor, Fuyumi, and Natsuo all know more about Touya’s fate than they’re willing to talk about. I think it’s important that we’ve never seen a scene of Natsuo and Fuyumi getting any close looks at Dabi either.

6) The kids’ ages are important I think. Shouto is about five years old when he sees his siblings playing soccer, and they all looked about the same age there as in this second screen cap, although I wouldn’t put Fuyumi at 12 in the screen cap above, so maybe not… In any case, we know that Shouto was already in training (~5 years old) and Touya had no major visible scars. So Touya made it to at least 12 years old without doing major damage to his body (although of course it could be under the clothes). Based on that, personally I would doubt a bit that he was training and burning himself in secret, at least not for any extended amount of time.

6) The one piece of evidence we have for figuring out what actually happened to cause the scars is the burn pattern itself, especially on Dabi’s face. One thing that people have often pointed out is that Dabi’s facial burns line up fairly well with the places fire also settles on Endeavor’s face:

Also I’m pretty sure Dabi officially qualifies as BNHA’s biggest glow up. If you compare chapter 67 to chapter 190 it’s like looking at two totally different characters lol

But, more importantly than this, I think, is the fact that we never see Dabi’s fire take this shape in the manga. Although in a couple of scenes his flames have covered parts of his face, we’ve never–not even one time–seen fire specifically come from below his eyes or around his mouth like Endeavor. This is not something that normally happens with his quirk–which could mean that he was copying Endeavor when the injuries occurred.

So what did happen?

I don’t know, but if you ask me for a personal headcanon about it:

In a desperate attempt to protect his mother from being taken away and forced into the mental institution, Touya Todoroki challenged his father to a fight he could never win and pushed his own body so far beyond its limits that he nearly died.

I mean, if sweet baby Shouto had a reaction this intense:

Just imagine the reaction of the children who would have been conscious to see their mother ripped away from their home, possibly violently, possibly forever? With Rei having snapped hard enough to attack Shouto, I can’t imagine that she would have taken well to Endeavor physically confronting and restraining her to force her away… It could have been quite a horrific scene in the house after Shouto passed out from the pain, and what better way to cover up damage to one kid then to blame Rei, who had already damaged the other? This would help lend greater credence to Rei still being in the mental institution too: if the doctors have her on the record for causing or at least provoking the injuries of not one son but two…

Obviously such a fragile-looking child as Touya, who we know was never formally trained, would have stood no chance against an absolutely enraged Endeavor, but if we know one thing about the Todoroki family, it’s that they’re stubborn beyond belief. Endeavor probably batted aside his failure of an eldest son like it was nothing… but Touya refused to stay down. I think, overwhelmed by hatred and resentment, he put everything he had into trying to fight back against his father, bursting with flames too hot for his ill-suited body, heedless of his own pain.

That break in Dabi’s bottom lip is from the unprotected skin splitting as he screamed in rage and agony while on fire. Just sayin’!!

And even after going beyond his limits in every way, to still inevitably be crushed beneath his father’s heel… I can’t imagine the degree of loathing such a miserable defeat would make a child feel for heroes and all of hero society who let down the Todoroki siblings so badly…

If Touya ran from the hospital afterward, we could even be looking at a situation in which Dabi has been raising himself all alone since he was 12 or 13. Hell, he might even have caught the tail-end of Stain’s soapbox speeches about the revival of heroics while living out on streets…

BUT, YOU KNOW, that’s just my imagination running wild. XDD

I’m sure that my headcanon is too exaggerated to be true, but I do think the scars are self-inflicted and that Touya did fight with Endeavor at some point before abruptly leaving the Todoroki household.

Or… he’s not even a Todoroki and he totally gave himself those scars just to look cool or something lolol.

It’s SYMBOLICCCCC.

Okay, being a little more serious, I think it’s mostly being used the same way as that one scene of Itachi in the rain in Naruto:

Holy shit I never thought I’d be looking at a page of the Naruto manga again…

It’s basically a scene used to humanize and show a tiny glimpse of a “villain” character’s hidden depths–is Dabi all evil, or is there some softness underneath?

The blood is definitely supposed to symbolically represent tears, which actively tells the reader “Something about the idea of families hurts Dabi.” Coupled with the fact that he’s also smiling in a way that does not suit the moment at all and talking about how thinking about what Snatch said actually drove Dabi crazy, I think we’re also supposed to be getting the feeling that Dabi is not quite as calm and collected as he seems to be on the surface. We all love to call him the “sane man” in the League of Villains’ sea of crazy, but it’s entirely possible that Dabi is experiencing or has, at some point, experienced a psychotic break and that the almost lazy, unaffected behavior we see from him most of the time is little more than a thin veneer on top of a much less stable inner-mind…

What interests me is how many people (even the BNHA wiki) seem to suggest that these symbolic blood tears indicate that Dabi feels remorse for the families of all his victims… But I wonder if that’s really the case at all.

Does he feel remorse regarding his victims’ families… or only his own? While I think it’s tempting to imply that Dabi feels bad about all the families he’s hurt in general (which would be a good redemption arc flag), I’m actually inclined to think that Dabi is a little more self-centered character than that, and it’s his own family that’s on his mind here, not guilt over strangers he’s never met and never will meet.

I lol’d. Even more than that–by saying this to Endeavor, he’s almost certainly ensured another Dabi vs. Endeavor clash in the future, so like… he basically gave his dad impenetrable plot armor for another 50-100 chapters. XDDD

Dabi, my dear heart, why are you such a dumpster fire???

#dabi #dabi is a todoroki #touya todoroki #dabi headcanons #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #boku no hero academia meta #dabi meta #you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands #my hero academia #my hero academia spoilers #I dislike when series are not named the same thing across all languages #it's a pain feeling obligated to tag with two names for the same thing

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neraawritesxx · 6 years

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Garnet

Written for MultiSaku Month - Day 4

pairing: sasori x sakura prompt: soulmate au where you are colorblind to a specific color until you meet your soulmate genre: light angst // unrequited feelings // drama word count: 1,685

summary: “Deep down inside, don’t you want to be like me?” No. No, she did not want to be like him. She would never be like him.

a/n: I have no idea where this came from, but I am all about the angst right now and this pairing seemed perfect for it. This story is unbeta’d so any mistakes are my own. I hope you all enjoy!

Since the day Sakura Haruno was born, she cannot see the color red.

And it’s a pity, really, because despite being able to wear her family crest in any variation of shade, Ino insists that she compliment the Haruno emblem with red because absolutely nothing else would match her bottle green eyes and bubblegum pink hair.

So, Sakura puts all of the trust that her little ten-year-old body could muster into her best friend and they go to the store together, sifting through the clothing racks, pulling out different tunics and blouses that are nothing but boring, dull shades of gray in Sakura’s eyes.

But, it will work out in the end because eventually, she will meet her soulmate and as soon as she looks them in the eye, all the varying shades of crimson, red, and garnet will bleed back into her life, and it’ll be just perfect.

Because that’s what soulmates are: perfect.

And everything will be right in the world, just like in those stories that her mother tells her about.

…Right?

-o-

They learn about the history of soulmates in the academy.

Iruka-sensei shares with them a vague history of it all; too many adages about humanity and hubris. About how mankind was always too selfish for their own good and the greed that had festered over the years could have been the potential cause of it all.

The absurd thing is, not a single one of those proverbs or sayings could accurately describe why it happened or where it began. Did the gods craft this for them? Was this a punishment? A gift?

No one had the correct answers. Whatever is written in scrolls and textbooks over the last century are assumptions and attempts at categorization. They can only learn from the past and what is going on in the present, what happens in the here and now, and write their own version of the events in journals in hopes that it might help others in the future.

There are a few things that they do know for sure:

It is possible for one to never to find their soulmate.

If one soulmate dies, the other is not necessarily subject to the same fate.

And, it is different for everyone; how soulmates are discovered, found, and chosen. More often than not, it depends on the region that one is born into.

In Konoha, they are color blind to a specific hue.

In Iwagakure, they feel their soulmate’s pain, sometimes sharing the same scars of past missions and battles.

In Suna, there is a black spot marring the skin where their soulmate is supposed to touch them for the first time. After the initial contact, it fades back into their bodies as if it were never there in the first place.

When their introductory lessons are over, Sakura can’t help but feel a little relieved.

She doesn’t think that she would particularly like a physical mark maiming her skin or some ambiguous words etched into her arm that may or may not lead her to the person she would spend the rest of her life with.

She may be biased more towards her village for obvious reasons, but overall, she doesn’t mind being blind to shades of red because there will be no doubt when the time comes.

When those new colors dance into her vision, Sakura will know precisely who her soulmate is, and they can be together without any misgivings or uncertainties.

-o-

Over the years, things change. People, places, and settings. They all change.

Long gone were the academy days and her dreaming of the infinitely perfect meet-cute with her soulmate.

It’s not to say that Sakura hates the idea of soulmates. That’s the exact opposite, actually. She cares a little too much, and there are far too many instances throughout her childhood in which she had been so bitterly envious of those around her who found their soulmates easily.

TenTen and Neji have been together for years, even before the academy, and for Naruto, all it took was one quick look at the stuttering Hinata before his screeching of, “I finally know what color the sky is! Dattebayo!” was heard around the village.

She knew that people felt sorry for her – mostly her parents and Ino – and that was because, with the more time that passed, Sakura became increasingly aware that her soulmate was most likely not a member of the Village Hidden in the Leaves.

Though one’s soulmate didn’t necessarily have to be a member of the same village, it’s a commonality that occurs more often than not, and she can’t help but feel horribly cheated by the discovery.

Sakura puts a lot of time into becoming a strong shinobi after that. With Naruto’s departure for further training and Sasuke’s defection, it was time for her to put silly dreams aside and work on becoming stronger.

Though she tells herself she’s putting all of her time into drills, lessons, and hospital work to be able to hold her own – to show Naruto and Kakashi that she deserves to be a member of Team Seven, to bring Sasuke home – there is always that traitorous little voice in the back of her mind which whispers to her late at night.

It tells her that the stronger she becomes, the more missions she can take, and the further she can go.

And, maybe, just maybe, she can find her soulmate along the way.

-o-

She doesn’t sleep much over the course of those two and a half years.

If anyone asked, Sakura blamed it on her rigorous tutelage under Lady Tsunade and not on the gnawing loneliness that ached in her chest.

-o-

When Naruto comes home, things get easier.

Sakura breathes easier.

And though the desire to find her soulmate still weighs heavily on her shoulders, Sakura still has her friends, family, and her team.

Things just feel so overwhelmingly right when they complete that bell test for the second time that, if only just for a moment, Sakura believes even if she were to never meet her soulmate, she’ll turn out just fine.

-o-

It isn’t long after, that Gaara goes missing.

What starts off as a day filled with her reprimanding Naruto because he couldn’t and wouldn’t pick a mission for their team due to his stubbornness and desire for a sense of danger, turns into them running through the dry, arid Suna desert with such desperation that it’s almost painful.

And this…

This.

In a country that is not her own, amongst enemies that are trying to capture and kill a friend, is where she finds her soulmate.

Sakura doesn’t realize it at first, because when she and Lady Chiyo force themselves through walls made of rock and stone, he is hidden inside a puppet.

But after, when she smashes that same puppet down to splinters and slivers of wood, he emerges with nothing but a cold, cruel smirk on his face and contempt in those gray eyes.

Her world shifts on its axis.

Lady Chiyo is taken aback by the fact that he looks as if he hasn’t aged more than a day since she last saw him.

And Sakura…

Sakura is lost in the vivacity of his short, mousy red hair.

-o-

Sasori has no outward reaction to her and Sakura later finds out that is because he no longer has a human body.

“My heart is just like this body,” he tells them.

Emotionless. Cold. Hollow.

If Sakura felt embittered in her younger years, it’s nothing in comparison to the spitefulness she feels now. It is not fair. The chance of having a real relationship with her soulmate is stolen out from underneath her feet without her even realizing it.

Fleetingly, she wonders where his soulmark was on his original body. Just where had the black spot been that announced him as her own?

She doesn’t have time to ask, to divulge further into the madness that is Sasori of the Red Sand.

There is a fight to win and a Kazekage to save, and Sakura is nothing but a conundrum of animosity, resentment, and unhinged loathing.

She fights and defends and bleeds – has blood always been that dark? – and Sakura gives all that she has to give to keep herself and Lady Chiyo alive.

She can’t tell him; she won’t tell him because this was the path he chose. He is no longer human, and though she would like to believe that Sasori is capable of redemption, Sakura knows better than to let herself think that he wants to be redeemed.

“I’ve killed hundreds of people,” he sneers when they have him trapped, his core impaled. “She would be no different from the rest.”

And Sakura believes him, but she isn’t scared of him. Not like this.

“Deep down inside, don’t you want to be like me?”

No.

No, she did not want to be like him. She would never be like him.

-o-

As Sakura watches the last remnants of life drain from his emotionless eyes, a part of her dies along with him.

And silently, she weeps for herself, for Sasori, and for the injustice of it all.

But mostly, she just cries because she was never given the chance to get to know him.

-o-

Over the next few years, there are a few select people that she tells.

Her parents hold her close, worried for what is to become of their daughter.

Naruto and Kakashi both give her pitying glances, but they do not change their attitudes with the knowledge. They will always be her surrogate family and they silently vow to never leave her side.

And Ino...

Sakura and Ino huddle together late one night and just cry. Earth shattering sobs and broken, pain filled wails that leave them feeling empty, but content when they are finished.

Sakura will be alright.

She will pull through.

-o-

In hindsight, Sakura really should thank Ino for forcing her to go shopping all those years ago.

The blonde had been right.

Red became Sakura’s absolute favorite color.

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