Generally curious how the fuck the Bannerman Road gang are doing during The Giggle from the looks of shit happening in it so far.

BOIS

The aro c!Tommy propoganda is done.

Here:

Friends can be Home, too

Summary:

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

'Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

 He couldn't doubt anymore.

A journey of introspection, self doubt, and realizing you're not alone.

Or read on ao3!

Warnings: swearing, internalized arophobia, which includes self doubt, a bit of self hate, that sort of stuff. Also, this will have like, mentions of attraction and all that stuff, and Tommy gets pretty confused, so if you'd like to avoid that? This isn't the fic for you, ig. Btw, as a reminder, this is all set in the dsmp universe and is not about the irl people in any way.

Now onto the fic!

Welp.

Tommy sure is ready to stab someone right now.

Well, not really. More accurately he wanted to run, or shrivel up into a fucked up raisin, or snap, or just exist in darkness right now. Because there were his two best friends, cuddling on the couch. And he was sat there, next to them, supposed to be enjoying movie night.

It's not like he wasn't happy for them. They can do what they want, he reminded himself, again and again. They're just expressing their love, they're just close, and Tommy has to stop being such a fucking oddball about it. This wasn't weird. It wasn't weird.

And he could even see Ranboo giving him looks, probably about to ask something stupid. But if he made any comment, expressed discomfort, that would just be him being a dick and a weirdo. He's not going to ruin this for them. He just has to… to ignore it. To ignore it. He can do that. Yes.

“You alright, Tommy?”

Tommy's jaw snapped, he could feel his teeth grinding, and the couch was feeling all too small. So with a fast raise to his feet, he stumbled away, throwing a brash “fine" Ranboo's way, something burning deep in the pit that was his chest.

It was fine. It was fine. Why wasn't it fine? What the fuck was wrong with him??

Maybe he was just…

Jealous.

 

***

 

“I think I have a crush on Hannah.”

Tubbo and Ranboo stilled. The silence was… bad.

“oh?”

Tommy gulped, anxiously crinkling the chip bag he got from targay. “Y-yeah.”

Tubbo hummed. “I've never seen you interact with her much. When… did that start?”

Tommy's mind buzzed, and he resisted crushing the food in his hands, reclining heavily against the backrest of the bench. “I-I don't know, uh, recently? I guess? She's just… nice. She uh…. Has pretty hair? And she gave me a flower once! That was just, swe- uh, poggers of her, so. Yeah. I just think… yeah.”

Tubbo nodded, head tilting. “Do you think she likes you back?”

Tommy's eyes widened, and he didn't know why he laughed, but he did, and when he responded, he himself was taken aback by the hiss accompanying the words. “No!! She- why would- no- no, I mean… m-ma- I don't know??”

Ranboo swung his tail. “She better not. I mean, how old is she?”

“What does that matter?”

Ranboo stared. “You’re a child. Technically.”

Tommy bristled. “Fuck you, I am a big man! I'll kill you!”

The conversation moved on after that, and Tommy, somewhere along the way, quickly got lost. Head filled with cotton, electricity running through his veins, feeling horribly, oddly, humiliated and strangely… dissatisfied.

They didn't care. And he just felt more confused than ever.

…Why did he even do that?

 

***

 

Tommy was walking, grass up to his knees, a lead in hand. When he reached the village, he tied it to a fence, patting his borrowed horse before placing feet on the path, comforted by the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the feel of the sun on his neck. He looked around, at the wooden houses and half stacked stalls and idle chatter. He looked around and he thought.

He thought back to older days. This was… strangely nostalgic. Walking alone, in an unfamiliar town, the vastness of the world enveloping him in it's many potentials. He still wasn't sure when he felt better. Running around on the streets, just trying to survive, noone by his side, weak but naïve, hopeful. Or now, with some people to care for and trust, a place to return to, enough food in his pack, but shouldered with the weight of a dozen betrayals, life slipping past him three times too many. In a sense, he was still just trying to survive. Everything was so different now, yet the same.

He supposes, one thing that remained, was the sense of loneliness.

He grasped the front of his shirt, taking in the beating of his heart, looking at the strangers mingling amongst themselves. At the pairs, at the couples, at the families, sharing laughs and smiles, a contrast to the furrowed brows or tired amusement of shopkeepers and the idle folk visiting them.

He had always wanted a family.

…there was one way to get a family.

Someone to share laughs with. Someone who would comfort you. Someone who would take your hand, or hold you through the night, and never even leave. Someone who promises to stay.

It was a nice thought.

So why was it so hard to conceptualize? To imagine, to picture someone actually coherent, to look at a person and go – yes. I want to be your partner.

...eugh. just that sentence made his whole nervous system do a double take.

But why? Why? Was it the betrayals? Was it some fucked up self conscious mind shit? Was that it? Was he just fucked up in the head? Maybe.

Maybe.

But as it is, he knew he liked girls. He did. He liked them. They were… they were nice. Like Niki, who smelled of baked goods, and had a soft smile, and who had once given him a hug when she found him crying during the revolution, and who looked very nice in dresses. Or Puffy, who had made him a pickaxe when he asked for one, and who opposed Jack in stealing his hotel, and who offered him therapy, and she had really cool horn rings. Or Hannah, with her red flowers, and pretty builds, and the way the nature seemed just a bit more lively with her around, and her laugh was bright with mischievous intent that he could empathize with. They… they were nice. Yeah. Most girls were so nice.

So why… why hadn't he found one that he could. Actually picture doing… anything. In his head. No kissing, no dates, none of that… shmuck. It was just… he could see many girls his age running around, just now, in front of his eyes, many running through his mind as he searched his memories. None of them… no. And he tried thinking of boys, but that didn't… no. Not that either. …Enbies?

No… no, nothing… nothing felt. Good. None of it felt good, he just felt sick, he just felt weird, he didn't even feel dirty per se, but more like he was charting into foreign grounds, into something alien, and none of the thoughts he forced to visualize behind his eyelids, fleeting from how quickly he shut them out, felt like him. It didn't feel like him.

His fingers trembled, his chest felt tight, throat choked, and his head, on his shoulders, heavy and woozy and oh so muddled. He felt his heart race. Was… was that it? Maybe that was a sign. People said heart racing was a sign of attraction. Was there anyone in particular who did that? Maybe he was wrong – he was not lacking or messed up or broken, he just had buried the feelings so deep below his ribs, underneath fabricated doubts and trauma and the disconnect he had with reality and relationships in general, and once he got over those barriers, and just found someone, he would experience that joy that everyone spoke about. That closeness. He just had to… allow himself to get closer. To know more people, know them better.

That was… that was probably it.

But no matter. He raised his eyes, his senses coming back to him like the wind blowing his hair out of his eyes, blinking at the noise around him.

After all, he still came here for a reason.

 

***

 

“Yeah, I like these ones the best,” Tubbo said as he handed Tommy the various colored discs. Tommy nodded, smiling as he sorted through them, writing down the names in his notepad, feeling little stones dig into his elbows. Tubbo joined him fully on the ground, laying down next to him. “What do you need these for, anyways?” he blinked, and there was a smirk growing on his face. “Are they for… someone?”

Tommy furrowed his brows, staring at the other. “What?”

Tubbo chuckled nervously, waving his hand around as he stumbled over his words. “You- you know. Like a gift? Are you going to… to try to, get someone?”

Tommy’s stare just became sharper, becoming even more confused. “What??” What the fuck was he talking about?

“You know, like a- a date?” Tommy blanked. “Cause- you know, you've been talking about girls a lot lately, and I just thought-"

“No.” Tommy interrupted, feeling numb. “No, it's not for a fucking girl.”

“Oh.” Tubbo laid on the grass, clearly uncomfortable. He began to tear up the leaf he had picked up. “Sorry, I just thought- I'm not really good at this whole thing… sorry for assuming. W- …what is the reason, then?”

Tommy sighed, thankful for the topic change. “It's for… you know how I’m going to therapy?”

Tubbo hummed in affirmation.

“Puffy suggested that, since I like music, I should like, indulge in that, use it to calm myself or give myself something to do, that junk. So I’ve just been. Collecting, I guess.” He looked over the list again, then closed the notepad and sat up, discs in hand. “I wanna build a place where I just keep all the records, maybe I’ll even sell the ones I don't like. Good business practice, you know?”

Tubbo brightened. “Oh! That sounds really cool! If you need help with the building part, I can help you, by the way!”

Tommy looked at Tubbo's grin, so sweet and infectious, and his heart thawed, thinking of working with Tubbo again, building towards something together. It was a nice thought. “Alright.”

It would be nice to be with Tubbo again.

 

***

 

Tommy felt miserable.

This… this was miserable. He didn't know why. It really shouldn't be – it was just music. He was just sorting through all of his music, picking ones he liked, picking ones to comfort him, he loved music, it was fine, it just…

Why did so many of the songs have to be about love.

It made him feel angry and hurt and alone in a particular way that was so familiar and yet so utterly different. Because when he felt alone before, he fought with himself the same, he sunk into the thoughts of being unlovable or broken or undeserving of company, but at least he could understand it. At least he could look back now and think “Dream was a bitch" and that would be some solace. At least he could have hope that even if he was unlovable, he could still love. Love others. Try to seek others. Even if he never got that back.

But now, hearing all the poetics and sweet confessions that were in such abundance, something that sounded so passionate and revered, so integral, it was like looking into another reality he didn't, couldn't, understand, and suddenly, he felt more alien than ever before.

And most importantly, how fucking stupid that was, that the thing that made him feel that way was love.

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

God….

He laid on the ground, head to the cold floor, the record still spinning. The noise bounced off the dark wooden walls and into his skull, grating and aching. He covered his ears, messed up his hair, breathed in and out. In and out. What was wrong. What was wrong.

The record fell to silence. Then it started back again, as it automatically swapped out. Next.

His fingers felt restless, his whole body did. He tapped his skull, feeling the thumps echo. Breathe in, and breathe out. Breathe-

“-ow will I ever know you enough to love you, if you're hiding who you are?

Don't ask me to explain-"

He startled, his breath catching. This disc was scratchier than the others. It felt different. Something in him drew in the lyrics, head loud. He blinked.

…He's not hiding. Is he? Hiding what? He’s- no. Just- Breathe in-

“-Who are you hiding from, across the table with a penny in each eye?

Don't ask me to explain, don’t ask me to explain-"

His breath escaped, arms trembling as his body froze. He didn't understand. He couldn't explain. He wanted to cry. Something was unravelling.

“I'd like to marry all of my close friends, and live in a big house together by an angry sea,”

He sobbed.

He did, he thought, with surprise, as the tears fell.

“Am I the devil's marbles don't move on without me,

Who will be watching my body when I sleep?

Who will I believe in?”

Something… yeah.

Something happened.

Because suddenly, all that stress, all that confusion, all that loathing, was detangling, and the tears ran deep, ran painful, silent, wheezing screams escaping as the sobs continued. He couldn't breathe. His chest was tight. His head swam, and he felt oh so light headed. Light. He felt light. Happy. He felt alive.

He felt understood.

He- he wanted that! He could- he wanted to live with his friends, with Tubbo with Ranboo. He wanted to stay as friends. He wanted them to protect him, to be able to trust them, to be able to protect them in turn, he wanted to reside with them, he wanted to sleep amongst them, to have them watch over him, safe, he wanted to wake up in the morning and see the sun rise with then, he wanted to have casual dinner with them, he wanted to grow old together with them. As friends. As friends.

Friends.

What a lovely thing…

He could… he could live with his friends…

He could build a family with his friends.

And he didn't even care at that moment that he didn't know how Tubbo and Ranboo would feel about that. He didn't care whether they'd want him at their house, whether they'd want him around at all. He didn't even care, at that moment, if he couldn’t join them.

Because he realized that it was a possibility at all. Just the prospect, just the thought, the realization, that spending your life, being intimate, finding a stable ground, with your friends, not romantic partner, was possible, that it was possible to not be able to feel otherwise, that it was shared by other people, who wrote this song, who sung it, who had thought about it…

It meant he couldn't be that alone after all.

“It's so easy to lie to myself,

And pretend that I could love you, but I can't"

And oh so comforting it was, that he couldn't.

 

***

 

“Ey, Ranboo! Bitchboy!”

Ranboo suppressed a smile, an exasperated sigh hissing through his teeth. Tail swishing, he glanced to the other boy, who was down below, standing in the snow.

“C'mere!! I gotta give you something.” He yelled.

Ranboo raised a brow, but complied, closing the window he had been looking out of. After making a quick detour to check on Michael, he made his way down the stairs and stepped out of the doorway and into the light. Tommy bounded to him, big grin on his face. He seemed jumpier than usual. Ranboo smiled in turn. “what is it?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it, instead going to rummage through his bag. What he took out was a… box? “Here, fuckboy.”

Ranboo winced, taking the container. “Don't call me that.”

“Why, what does it mean?”

Ranboo stared. “Just…. Don't.”

Tommy blinked, laughing nervously. “o-okay.”

Moving on, Ranboo inspected the item in his hands. It was medium sized, and made of simple, but elegant, smooth black wood. On the top, there was a leather sign embedded in it, with the word Beloved stitched into it. His ears flickered. This seemed… awfully nice. “What’s in it?”

Tommy scoffed. “Just open it, you twat.”

Ranboo, with a glance, could see the anxious way Tommy was holding himself, seeming impatient and uncomfortable. So he wasted no more time, and clicked open the surprisingly sturdy iron latch after a moment of struggling, and what awaited him inside was…

“…Discs…?”

Ranboo held his breath, fingers twitching as he held the gift. …was it a gift?

Tommy was staring at the ground. “Yeah. You know, I’ve just been traveling around, collecting, and I wanted to…” He seemed to shake himself lightly, hands wringing. “I wanted to give you some, I guess. That… yeah. These are yours.”

Ranboo was stiff, still perceiving the actual gift in his hands, that looked hand made, that was hand picked, that Tommy had worked to attain, just to give to him. His tail curled, and he carefully, delicately closed it's lid and hugged it close to his chest. “I… Thank you. Thank- O-oh wow…”

Tommy scowled. “You look like a fish. It's not a big deal. Just… take a listen sometime, won't ya?”

“Y-yeah!” Ranboo reverently nodded, cursing the way his eyes felt misty. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll definitely listen, and cherish it. Thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy curtly nodded. “Alright. Pog.” And then, he was turning around, walking away with a quick “Share it with your family, too, some day. Bye.” Thrown or his shoulder.

And then, he was gone.

 

***

Tubbo heard music down the hall.

Ears tilting towards the pleasant sound, he skipped with bare feet over to the source, evening light casting warm glow through the windows as he went. When he arrived, to what was Michael's bedroom, he found Ranboo on the couch, curled gently over their son, head resting on his little head as he seemed to just… listen, wistful. Michael was listening too, letting out a little yawn as he turned his head to snuggle even deeper into his parent's warm embrace. Tubbo smiled softly at the scene.

Quietly, he patted over to them both, Ranboo eventually noticing him and watching him as he did. Tubbo buried a hand in Ranboo's hair, and the other leaned in. “What are you listening to?”

Ranboo didn't rush to explain, letting the comforting silence fill the space. When he spoke, it reminded Tubbo of soft flower petals and honey. “I didn't know Tommy's music taste was so…”

Tubbo blinked, turning to the disc lazily turning on the jukebox near them.

“-But in the end, I don't really care what you think,

Cause the bottom line is you make me happier than I’ve ever been...”

“wholesome.” He chuckled, fondly.

Tubbo hummed, unsurprised. “Tommy gave you these?”

Ranboo leaned more heavily in the couch. “Yeah. I don't know why, but…”

Tubbo's smile only deepened as he thought. Slowly, he replied, “I think he just wanted to show you he cared.”

Ranboo seemed to lose his breath a little, looking up at the other. “You think so…?”

Tubbo carded his fingers through Ranboo's hair, looking past Ranboo's twitching ears. “Tommy doesn't do things like these without reason. If he gave you something, it’s safe to say you mean a lot to him. He doesn't like to show it, usually, but… that I know.”

Ranboo stared at the turning of the discs, breathing softly. His tail curled around Michael. “Oh.”

Tubbo sat down at his feet and joined in.

Hearts warm, they laid there and listened until the sun had cast it's last rays and the jukebox no longer had a melody to spin.

 

***

 

Tommy sat behind the counter, feet on the counter, just trying to eat his discount chips while some people were being dumb children.

“Stop throwing the fucking food! I'll have to clean this up later!” He whined, to which Tubbo and Ranboo just threw him a glance, Tubbo’s apathetic and Ranboo's at least vaguely guilty, before Tubbo went right back and threw another gummy worm Ranboo's way.

Tommy scowled. “Seriously. At least pick them up and eat them.”

Ranboo made a face of disgust. “I'm not gonna eat candy off the floor, Tommy.”

“Yeah, some of us don't eat mud, Tommy.” Tubbo added.

“There’s no fucking mud here! It's a clean floor! You can totally pick them up and eat them, what the fuck!”

Tubbo raised his brows, staring. “Okay, then go and eat them, trash boy.”

“Okay, that's it.” Tommy raised to his feet, left his chip bag on the table and ran to Tubbo. Tubbo squawked, crawling onto the armchair he was reclining in to curl into a ball around his bag, but Tommy just threw himself onto the armchair with him, trying to reach for the candy. Which, considering the position, it was more like he was half-tickling, half hugging the other more than anything. “Give me that.”

Tubbo just burst out laughing, trying to hide deeper into the couch, attempting to kick the other away. “St-Stoppp!”

“C'mon, you disobeyed my shop's rules, I’m just confiscati-"

Something hit his head. Tommy stilled.

Ranboo peeked from behind his own candy bag, before digging into it again.

Tommy laid off of Tubbo slightly, raising like a puffed up cat. “Ranboo, you fuck!”

Tubbo laughed again, and Tommy was about to go on a murder spree, only for all the commotion to halt when they heard a sudden 4th voice.

Michael.

“Oh shit.”

Ranboo sighed. “He's awake. C'mon.”

Tubbo sighed as well, rolling out of the couch and dragging his feet towards the source of the oinks. “For the record, this is not my fault.”

Both of the other boys gave him the stink eye, but in the name of preserving needed ceasefire they held their tongues.

Michael was sitting up in Tommy's bed that resided in the backrooms, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and hiccuping. Tubbo reached for him, lifting him up. “Aww, did we wake you up? I'm sorry, little bossman.”

Michael clutched Tubbo's shirt, muttering something in piglin.

“He's asking what all that noise was.” Tommy quickly translated, before turning his eyes back to the kid and saying something soft in piglin back. Michael listened, seeming to quiet a little.

Ranboo, gathering that it was an affirmation, smiled and took one of Michael's hooves gently. “Yeah, we were just having fun. Do you want to have fun, too, Michael?”

Michael’s big eyes widened, and he wiggled in Tubbo's grip. “Ye! Ye!”

They chuckled, and Tubbo transferred his hold of Michael to Ranboo, who led the way in making it back to the front of the shop, chatting with his son all the while.

Tommy bumped his shoulder with Tubbo's as they walked, but didn't say anything further. Tubbo bit back a grin.

The next hour was spent feeding Michael and letting him listen to some new discs. Tommy even remembered he had some records that were in piglin, some songs, some stories, and put them on, which seemed to enrapture Michael quite a bit, immersed in the new voices and tales and familiarity. The three boys let him sit in Ranboo's lap and get lost in his own world, residing on a couch together and quietly chatting, around them comfortingly dark walls, bookshelves and the smell of wood and candles.

Eventually, the conversation steered.

“You know, Tommy, why don't you join us?”

…huh?

Tommy blinked, willing his breathing to restart and for the words to come. “W-what?”

Tubbo looked at him with warm eyes and a trepidant smile. “Like, how would you feel about coming to Snowchester? Live with us?”

Ranboo waved his hand. “Of course, you don't have to! But we just thought, you know, if you'd like a bit more, uh, company…”

“We want to be with you, is all.” Tubbo added quietly.

Tommy's heart raced, and he only blinked more, hands clutching the fabric of his pants. “B- be with me… are you…” he gulped down the butterflies clogging down his windpipes, still trying to understand that this is real. “are you sure…?”

Ranboo grinned, patting Michael's head idly. The piglin looked up at them. “Yeah! You're family, Tommy, after all.”

Tubbo tilted his head. As Tommy was still struggling to respond, he assured, “You don't have to if you don't want to, big man. No pressure.”

Tommy laughed, weak and breathless, but bright. “No, I-I’d- I'd really want that, but…” he gestured, trying to put his worries to sudden coherent sentences. “wouldn't that be… awkward? Like… you two, just, l-lovebirds," he chuckled clumsily, “and then there's… me, just, there?”

Tubbo shared a look with Ranboo, then turned back and laughed. “You won't be a third wheel, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, it's not like we’re really romantic partners, even, it'll be fine.” Ranboo said.

Tommy stilled.

Blinked.

“Uhw- what?”

The other two tensed, Tubbo quickly glancing at his husband before grimacing, thinking deep on how to explain it. “You know, we… we're not really… romantic? We just decided to marry? But we're… not platonic either, it's…”

“I-It's something inbetween. Queerplatonic is the word? I think?”

“It's hard to explain-"

“There's- there's a word for that? And you were- Like. Friends? Living together, this whole time??” Tommy reeled, head in hand.

“Well, not exactly friends, or at least, with how we decide to label our relationship, but… yes?”

“Oh my-" Tommy slumped forwards, now both of his hands holding his head upright, just. Breathing. “Shit. What the fuck. I…” he laughed, wrecked.

Tubbo and Ranboo stared at him, uncomfortable. Tubbo frowned. “Look, if you… if you're gonna say something, I’d rather-"

“No- nono, it's…” he raised his eyes, slowly, like coming out of a cave and into the light. His words tripped upon his tongue, but he was so eager to know. “So you two don't want… romantic partners?”

They blinked. “Not… particularly, no.” Ranboo replied. “…are you okay?”

Tommy laughed. It sounded stilted even to his ears, senses muddled as he was wrapped up in his own head, his own elated feelings, his heart nearly bursting at the seams. “I-I’m not alone.”

Tubbo stared, but then his eyes softened. He sighed, and his smile was immensely gentle, while looking at his friend. “Oh, Tommy…” Ranboo, beside him, wilted the same.

Michael, inbetween them, looked at all three of them silently.

“…Do you want a hug?” Tubbo quietly offered.

Tommy quickly nodded, slumping into Tubbo's side and burying his face in Tubbo's soft hair, not even caring for the way one of his horns poked into his cheek slightly. He held the other, and Tubbo held him. He felt the end of Ranboo's tail drape over his leg.

With a delicate tone and worn vocal chords, he quietly, and simply, admitted. “I'd love that. I'd really love that. Living with you three.”

Tubbo tightened his hold.

That night, Tommy fell asleep not alone, but with his two other closest people, his family. Safe, warm, with that insistent nagging at the back of his chest cavity, that told him he was alone, that he was wrong about himself, that he never even knew himself at all, finally silenced.

He had never felt more at home.

please read the article 'How White Fandom is Colonizing "Character-Coding"' by Shafira Jordan and quit while you're ahead

Okay, so I read it and see the problem, and I’ll try to address all their points in order because I don’t wholly agree with the article. I know it’s a lot to read so I’ve put tldr; sections at the end of each :)

Misusing the Term Reinforces Negative Stereotypes for Marginalized People 

The article essentially argues that labeling characters which are villainous as POC-coded is bad because they’re not morally pure and doing so "reinforces the idea that people of color are naturally dangerous and not to be trusted.”

Which is fair as you don’t want all the representation to be of ‘bad’ characters, but I also don’t believe all representative characters have to be ‘good’ either as it would be equally racist to divide good/bad in such a way. Not that I would place Loki under ‘bad’ to begin with, but arguing that characters shouldn’t be labelled as POC-coded for reasons unrelated to what’s presented in the narrative or because they did bad things is :/ even if lack of good representation is a prevalent issue in current Western and influenced media. 

Ideally there should be a range of representative characters that fall into ‘good’, ‘bad’, and ‘anywhere in-between’ because variety and complexity in character types should, in theory, be treated as common practice (which can only happen with a multitude of representation!).

And a bit unrelated but... within the fictional context of Thor 1, all the Jotnar (sans Loki) are presented to the audience as ‘bad’ by default. They desperately want to get their Casket back to the point of attempting stealing it (from the ‘good’ characters), they fight the heroes and even when the gang and Thor (’good’ characters) are enjoying or going overboard with taking lives it’s inconsequential, Laufey wants to kill the opposing king (who just happens to be a ‘good’ character) and will resort to low-handed methods to do so, etc. The narrative itself is from the frame of reference of the ‘good’ and we only see warriors of Jotunheim though so we understand why it’s like this, because regardless of their race/experiences the narrative carries, even if it most definitely would be seen as racist from our real-life perspectives if the ‘monstrous’ race were presented by actual people of colour, even if it would make sense for the people on on different realms living in different environments to be different from each other, and realistic even for that to be the root of some conflict. 

tldr; not using a specific label to prevent negative presentations of the characters seems a bit strange to do when the coding would be based off the text, but with limited representation available I see why it would be done, even if I still believe minority-coding is free game to expand/interpret.

Improperly Labeling a Character as “POC-coded” Suggests the Experiences of All People of Color are the Same 

The article argues that labeling Loki as POC-coded “suggests that all people of color have the same experiences, when in reality, people of color come from different places, have different cultures, and have different traditions.” And while it’s true that the term doesn’t go into detail about which particular experiences (and these experiences can vary vastly due to diversity!) the appropriate measure would be to remove the umbrella term POC altogether as people of colour tend to also vary. But that’s also exactly why it’s an all-encompassing general term? It’s a way to denote anyone who isn’t “white” and has the associated cultural privilege that comes with the concept of white supremacy.  

And, obviously, in the fictional setting presented, the concept of white supremacy is not prodded at, but cultural supremacy is definitely one that makes recurring appearances, right next to the parts about Asgard being a realm built on imperialism with ongoing colonial practice. 

My take on this is that Loki’s narrative features a struggle with identity after finding out he’s of a different race and was being treated differently his entire life and being Jotun was presumably a part of the reasoning even if he didn’t know it. He’s basically treated as of less worth for inherently existing differently. I do believe that racism is a common-enough POC experience, but that while Loki was born with blue skin he passes/appears white which is why I don’t say that Loki is a POC, just that he has been coded/can be interpreted this way. 

There’s also the entire thing with Loki trying to fit in and prove he belongs by trying to fit the theory and be The Most Asgardian by committing genocide (which ultimately makes no difference as he’s still not the ‘acceptable’ version of Asgardian), and the denial/rejection of his birth culture in destructively lashing out towards them (which even Thor is confused by because Loki isn’t typically violent), and the fact his self worth plummets and he is passively suicidal upon finding out he’s Jotun (internalized racism? general drop in self-worth after finding out he’s adopted and has been lied to? Bit of both?), but what do I know, I’m sure none of those are, at their base, common experiences or relatable feelings for anyone or decent rep because we see such themes on-screen presented wonderfully in different lights all the time. 

tldr; every set of experiences could be different, some types of discrimination could overlap, if you limit an umbrella term to only very specific circumstances then it’s no longer an umbrella term.

Suggesting that White Characters are Meant to be Seen as People of Color Ignores the Actual Characters of Color that are Present in these Stories

I don’t agree with most of this section, but that may just be the way the arguments are put together, which I don’t blame the author for.

“ Implying that Loki is a person of color completely ignores Heimdall and Hogun, the only Black and Asian Asgardians who appear in the movie. ”

Characters such as Hogun and Heimdall which are played by actual people of colour have smaller roles in the films and any prejudice they could face for being POC in-universe isn’t made apparent, while Loki at the very least comes to the realization that something he couldn’t change (race, parentage,) was having him treated differently his whole life and had to come to terms with it. The Vanir/Aesir are also both treated similarly on-screen, and Heimdall having dark skin isn’t plot relevant, whereas Jotnar are treated as lesser consistently and are relevant through the movie (breaking into the vault, Thor and co. attack Jotunheim, Loki’s deal with Laufey, the attempted regicide (and the successful one XD), destroying jotunheim, Loki saying he’s not Thor’s brother,). 

I also see including characters as POC-coded as... more representation? In all canon-compliant interpretations of the characters Hogun being Vanir is always explicitly mentioned because it’s a fact that just is, up to the appearance and even the world-building of Vanaheim in some fanworks use particularly East Asian culture as inspiration. I have never come across a Marvel fandom Heimdall interpretation where he’s not Black... but because these characters are more minor/side-characters of course they get less attention! 

“ In Loki’s fandom, Heimdall’s name sometimes gets thrown in to suggest that it was he all along who was the real villain due to his “racism” against Loki and the rest of the Jotun. It is, of course, ironic to suggest that somehow the only Black Asgardian to appear in the movie can oppress the privileged white prince. “

I... don’t know where to start with this. But the example of theorizing given in the article wasn’t suggesting Heimdall was bad or trying to explain his actions in Thor 1 by saying he is Black... and just looking at a character’s actions shouldn’t be done less or more critically because of skin tone in my opinion. Heimdall may have been trying to do what was best and protect the realm but if the audience didn’t know that Loki was up to dodgy things then the coding would be switched around because he was trying to spy and committed treason and then tried to kill Loki. People... can hold feelings towards others... regardless of skin... and suspect them... for reasons other than skin... although I do still have questions about whether Heimdall knew Loki was Jotun or not. (Even if I personally don’t think it’d make a difference to how he’d treat Loki?)

Some Loki fans have also suggested that because Jotuns have blue skin that this alone makes him a person of color (even if the audience is only allowed to see Loki in his true Jotun form for mere seconds of screentime). This, again, shows a lack of understanding when it comes to race. It doesn’t matter what skin color the Jotuns have. 

Race can differentiate between physical and/or behavioural characteristics!! Not being blue all the time doesn’t make him any less Jotun!! He’s got internalized stuff to work through and is used to being Aesir!! At least 1 parent is Jotun so even if Loki was passing as Aesir he’s probably Jotun!! (I don’t know how magic space genetics work for sure but Loki being Jotun was an entire very important jump-starting point in Thor 1!!). It’s a fantasy text and typically things like having different coloured skin indicates a different race or is sometimes if a species has multiple then is just considered a skin colour. That’s how coding works!! The Jotnar are very specifically the only race we see in the movie with a skin-tone not within the ‘normal’ human range, which alienates them to the audience from the get-go!! They’re an “other” and on the opposite side to the ‘good’ characters.

Both Loki and his birth father, Laufey (Colm Feore), are played by white men, and it is impossible for a white man to successfully play a character of color. 

The specification of men here bothers me, but yes, you don’t get ‘white’ people to play characters of colour if it can be avoided. (And it can be avoided.)

This also connects with the previous point made that people of color come from various places. There is nothing specifically about the Jotun that could be traced to any specific person of color, and even if there were, there would be no way for white men to portray them without being disrespectful.

This is where arguments about the definition of coding and how specificity/generalizations and do/don’t come in. I know I’m subjective and lean towards the more rep the better, but while I agree ‘white’ people wouldn’t be able to respectfully play a POC I don’t think that rule should have to carry over into fantasy-based fiction. I know texts reflect on reality and reality can reflect within texts, but if contextually there is racial discrimination and there are similar ideas which resonate with the audience’s own experiences I’d say it’s coded well enough to allow that.

tldr; Thor 1′s narrative revolves mainly around Thor and Loki, of which race is kinda kinda a significant theme in Loki’s part of the story. Not so much explored with less-developed side characters such as Heimdall and Hogun, even though their actors are actual people of colour. 

How Much of this is Really Well-Intentioned?

In the fantasy space viking world Heimdall and Hogun don’t face any on-screen prejudice and their appearance is not mentioned (which is nice, for sure! good to have casual rep!) but adding on to the roles they play in the narrative the explicit fantasy-racism in the movie isn't aimed at Asian/Black characters, but towards the Humans -to a lesser extent- and the Jotnar, including Loki, who only just found out he comes under that bracket.

The article mentions how fandom space toxicity often “reaches the actors who portray the characters,“ which is true, and it’s shameful that people have to justify their roles or presences are harassed for the pettiest things like skin tone/cultural background, but I don’t see coding characters as removing the spotlight from interesting characters such as those which are actually POC, rather expressing a demand for more rep, since well-written complex characters which are diverse are often absent/minor enough in the media, and therefore can get easily brushed aside in both canon and fandom spaces.

tldr; It’s obviously not a replacement for actual representation, but, if a character is marginalized and can be interpreted as coded, even if they would only be considered so within the context of the textual landscape, I don’t see why spreading awareness through exploring the coding as a possibility for the character shouldn’t be done, even if the media is being presented by people who are ‘white’ or privileged or may not fall into the categories themselves, as long as it’s done respectfully to those it could explicitly represent.

‘today’s silm vocaloid song: clear sky engine (クリヤスカイ機関) by nyanyannya and hara ft. rin kagamine and zunko tohoku

this one’s about elrond, maglor, and the sudden non-ending of the world. you know that thing where you build an elaborate fandom video in your head for a completely unrelated song, but you don’t have the most basic art skills you’d need to make it a reality? yeah, i square that circle by writing them out. here, have an extremely long songfic/filk/commentary/thing

It was just another day, beneath a black sky

The bustle of camp churned on around me

I wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing

Dreaming of a shining star-lit sky

we open on elrond, living in a world about to die. the fëanorians were forced to abandon amon ereb years ago, and now the last of the host ekes out a precarious nomadic existence, raiding deserted villages for food and losing more people they can’t replace with each battle. they’re still doing better than everyone else on the mainland, though. their blades, at least, remain sharp

(the smoke from the fires of angband has risen to cover the whole continent in dark clouds. some of the sun’s warmth still gets through, and on good nights the star of high hope is still faintly visible, but the light-filled skies of old are little more than memory. all the survivors know that the end is near. it’s only a matter of time)

He’d broken a promise he’d made to us

So I was a little more annoyed at him than usual

He chatted with me while I worked to make up for it

And I made all my usual complaints

elrond and elros are at this point... i’d say very early teens? not that they had much of a childhood; the fëanorians are so short-staffed the twins have been doing odd jobs around camp pretty much since it became clear they weren’t going to run away. today elrond is taking stock of the medical supplies, less because he has any interest in the healing arts than because it’s a job that needs doing and everyone else is busy

maglor is hovering within talking distance, doing elrond-doesn’t-care-what. the twins’ relationship with maglor is extremely complicated to say the least, their mercurial hellbeast protector who scares the shit out of everyone else they’ve ever met and who has stood between them and the darkness for as long as they can remember. recently, he promised to stay with the twins while they did something difficult, but he failed to do so for a whole host of reasons, including getting into a two-hour shrieking match with maedhros at the last possible moment. elros shrugged it off, like elros shrugs everything off, but elrond is a simmering cauldron of adolescent rage at the best of times

which is why maglor’s checking on him, giving him an outlet for his anger before it can turn into despair. because what would be the point, in the end? they’re all going to die anyway. one of the reasons maglor’s resisted sending the kids to balar so hard is that no matter where they are, eventually morgoth will sweep down and destroy them all. there’s nowhere safe left, nothing they can do to protect them. none of this is even new, it’s a shadow that’s hung over them all since the twins grew old enough to understand this

so maglor and elrond chat, or rather elrond grumbles incessantly and maglor snarks as upliftingly as he can remember to. it’s a day like any other, nothing about it to distinguish it from the hundreds that came before or however many will come after. that is, until one of the lesser minions comes over, yelling, ‘boss! boss! you have to see this!’

elrond turns around. for the first time ever, he sees true hope on her face

“Have you finally grown tired of us?” I hissed

But in that moment excitement ran round the campsite

And someone cried out with joy

“The hour we thought would never be, the return of the light, has finally come to pass!”

far, far away, the hosts of the valar are landing on the shores of beleriand. disembarking from their luminous ships, clad in radiant armour and carrying blessed weapons, their brilliance pierces the dark fog that has settled over beleriand for so long. shining like the stars come to earth, the hallowed army of valinor begins its long march towards the gates of angband. far above, ships riding jets of light slice open the smog

this news - this unexpected, unbelievable, impossible miracle bestowed unto doomed beleriand, this chance that their enemy might actually fall - is the greatest thing anyone in camp’s heard all century. maybe in more prosperous times the host would have groused about the valar finally seeing fit to get off their asses, but in this world turned to ash any chance at victory is to be celebrated. the minions throw a massive impromptu party, of the kind they haven’t since before sirion. elros is right there with them, singing off-key and laughing as loud as anyone else. even maedhros cracks a tiny relieved smile

maglor watches the festivities from the outside, more genuinely optimistic than he thought he was still capable of. elrond joins him, brow furrowed as he tries to comprehend it all. they talk

“It feels like a dream I’ll never wake up from”

“What are you blabbering about now?”

elrond is voiced by zunko, maglor by rin. the song’s more of a dialogue than a duet, so i’ll be bolding maglor’s lines

The sheet of paper I held in my hands read

“The hosts of the West have come! Our world is saved!”

the letter’s from gil-galad, or at least his administrative apparatus. it’s not even that hostile; apparently the armies of the gods showing up out of nowhere to save them all from certain doom has him in a magnanimous mood. there’s some drivel about surrendering and eärendil and all wrongs being forgiven, but neither maglor nor elrond is paying attention to it

“Hey, do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Love and justice and valour and hope”

“I remember the sea of blood you drowned everything in for them”

elrond didn’t really have any formal schooling - nobody had the time - but he has managed to pick up a lot of stuff from the stories the people around them tell. that the fëanorians came to middle-earth for high noble ideals, and that it was trying to fulfil those ideals that led them into darkness, is something maglor told him once, when he was in a darkly honest mood

“Haha, that’s just details, everybody makes that kind of mistake when they’re young”

“Why are you like this?”

a mood maglor’s obviously not in at the moment, if he’s laughing off the kinslayings like this; elrond knows this isn’t how he actually feels about them. normally elrond would just roll his eyes and move on with his life, but things are different today

The camp was full of laughter, as if everyone had lost their minds

elrond’s not used to happiness. not full, unironic happiness, untainted by the shadow of their inevitable death, not from the fëanorians. the sheer jubliation suffusing camp is fundamentally alien to him, a child of a world about to end. he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that maybe they won’t all get eaten by dragons. he doesn’t know what to do with the hope in everyone’s eyes

so instead, when maglor wanders away from the party, elrond catches him with a song

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! For certain”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the fears I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine songs I can give to you”

maglor’s been teaching elrond how to do this, how to snatch someone into a world of music and throw your voice at them until one of you can’t take it any more. maglor wins this one, as usual; even if his song is incapable of anything but violence he’s got centuries of experience on elrond, enough to turn the sharp edges of his voice into blades in elrond’s hands. and that is what he’s doing, clumsy and harsh as he is; he’s trying to give elrond a reason to hope

elrond is the one who breaks the spell, dropping the melody, letting the music dissolve into the air. maglor flashes him a grin and walks off, humming merrily. elrond just stands there, still unable to understand

I’ve heard it before, it’s all anyone can talk about, even if I try to avoid it it stabs into my ears

cut past a decade or so, to well into the war of wrath. elrond and elros are in their mid-teens now. they’re still with the fëanorians, but these days the fëanorian warband is effectively an auxiliary unit to the amanyar army, skirting around the edges of that much larger force. for the first time in a long while, elrond and elros have regular-ish contact with people outside the fëanorian sphere of influence, mostly peripheral edain and the sindar who run messages between the camps. it’s different, talking to new people

(the sky is still covered with smog, but it’s gloomy grey, not oppressive black. the sun is faintly visible through it, most of the time. the rain is much less poisonous than it used to be, and on good nights you can almost see the moon. the closer they get to angband, the darker the clouds grow)

“It is as the gods have decreed, soon the darkness will be swept away and the Enemy will be cast down

And after the war in the purified world, we will all live happily together

Building new homes in a land unmarred by evil”

the people outside the host are much more optimistic about the future, for one. the fëanorian minions are happy morgoth is getting trounced but they don’t really talk about what comes after that, like they can’t imagine a world without war. the sindar, and especially the edain, on the other hand, have all these plans about the cities they’ll build, the arts they’ll perfect, the children they’ll raise in a world without danger. elros is super into this; he barely spends time with the fëanorians any more, he’s so busy going between different edain camps, making friends, planning for the future. elrond, though...

Even my twin knows what future to reach out for...

elrond doesn’t know what to do with any of this. the very concept that someday the war will end and the sky will clear and he’ll have a bright future is still something he doesn’t fully understand. even more, he’s defined himself for so long as not-a-fëanorian, now he’s regularly interacting with people who doubtlessly aren’t he’s having trouble figuring out what else he is. he’s stuck between people who are lowkey hoping they’ll die gloriously in battle and people who have been dreaming about what they’d do in a world without darkness all their lives, and he doesn’t know what he even wants, not really, not yet

so he keeps on living, just like he always has. he’s been promoted to sick tent dogsbody and is learning how to heal with song from the last minion who can kind of still do it. he acts as a proxy between the fëanorians and the more timid outsiders they keep running into. when he goes (or elros drags him) exploring in other camps, he keeps track of every new detail he comes across, in case it’s somehow useful later

and he keeps talking to maglor, with anger and spite and sarcasm and whatever other emotion he’s covering his uncertainties with today. maglor always listens, usually offers to help, and sometimes elrond even lets him. the fëanorian camp settles into a rhythm of buildup-fight-recovery-buildup-fight-recovery, so regular it lulls elrond into complacency. he takes the future he still doesn’t quite believe in one day at a time, until suddenly the ground crumbles beneath his feet

You say it’s to ‘fulfill our ideals’ but what you mean by that is ‘to sate our bloodlust’, I know

With their blades and teeth sharpened for battle, the kinslayers broke away from the light and disappeared into the shadows

there’s a whole mountain of reasons why, as they draw near to angband, the dregs of the fëanorian host abruptly peel off from the valinorean army and vanish into the night. they know they're more effective as a stealthy shock ambush unit, they’re somewhat concerned the amanyar will turn on them the second morgoth is no longer a problem, they're making one last desperate rush for the silmarils, all that and more. it’s not the first time they’ve suddenly packed up and left before their enemies can react, probably not even the first time they’ve done it to the hosts of valinor. there’s just one little difference

Leaving us behind? Leaving you behind

they’re not taking the twins. said twins only find out about this, like, the day before they decamp. maedhros’ justification is something about them not being able to support noncombatants on the march, but the twins believe that about as much as they believe that the fëanorians are doing this for any kind of hope. elros, of course, was half-planning on leaving anyway, going off to chase his own ambitions with his new edain posse. he copes with it pretty well, relatively

but elrond’s mind goes blank. once he thought the day they let them go would be the best day of his life, but now it’s come it feels so wrong, and this horrible coldness is seeping into him. in a flash of what feels like foresight, he suddenly knows the people who raised him will never come back. how dare - why - he can’t -

with a sharp desperate burst of sound that’s a surprise to even himself, elrond lashes out a song to catch maglor

“For ten more minutes, one more week, half a year, please, let me stay with you!”

“In a year’s time, ten years’ time, a hundred years’ time, we’ll see the starlit sky together”

“What if one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight times I begged you not to go?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine of your other wishes I’ll hear”

and elrond just stops. he lets the song trail off, staring at maglor. he’s in an incredibly weird mood, with something that could almost be compassion in his eyes

there’s only one way he can find out what’s happening, elrond realises

“In that case - !”

maglor was never really demonstratively affectionate with the twins. it would never have come off as real on his part, and they wouldn’t have believed it in any case. still, he supported them. he let them trail behind them, all but cling to the backs of his legs, in those first horrible weeks when they were terrified of absolutely everything. he taught them to ride and he taught them to read, how to reinforce a blade with nothing but song and close a wound with needle and thread. on the darkest nights, when all the world was filled by the howling beasts of morgoth and the wailing of the unhallowed dead, he held them tight and flared his own fires high, a warm smoky bonfire between them and the void. he answered their questions, and told them stories

and sometimes, he tried to be kind

“Sing me a lullaby like the flat of a blade”

“Which one would you like?”

“I want to see a flower that will still bloom”

“I know just the one”

“I don’t care what kind of monster you are! Just please stay with me, for even one more tomorrow...”

“...I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?”

“You were given your name because your parents wanted you to see the stars someday”

it was easy for maglor to justify keeping the twins when they didn’t have a future. the shadow of death blotted out the sky, so why not hold them close for whatever little time they had left? no matter where they were, the void would soon claim them all

except it didn’t. in the end they were not forsaken. the sacred light came out of the west to burn away the darkness and finish the war he once thought they could never win. the hosts of the valar have gotten farther in decades than the noldor did in centuries, and soon enough they’ll cast the enemy down and release the world from his terrible maw. and then the future the free peoples dreamed of will stretch out before them, full of possibilities beyond measure

and that’s why maglor has to let them go. the magnificent people that elrond and elros are already becoming will only wither among hopeless kinslayers who have nothing left but the sword. to flourish into their full glorious selves, they need to be with people who dream, who can travel towards the future alongside the twins with light hearts and songs on their lips. maglor refuses to let his own darkness drown the last people in the world he does not hate. elrond deserves so, so much better than maglor is capable of giving him. he deserves to see the stars

hearing all that, there’s only one thing elrond can say

“You can’t even keep one miserable promise! Don’t pretend like you’re my father, kinslayer!”

and that’s the last elrond sees of maglor. the fëanorians vanish in the middle of the night, leaving elrond and elros (and about half a dozen minions who are taking their last possible chance to get out) behind. elros takes up with his edain buddies and starts making contacts and forging alliances. elrond winds up in gil-galad’s orbit, surrounded by people who are very understanding about how awful his childhood was, which just pisses him off more. he doesn’t throw tantrums or refuse to work, those aren’t luxuries he was raised with, but he spends a fair bit of time spurning every bit of sympathy and aid he’s offered and trying not to cry himself to sleep

with time, though, he finds a place. it starts with círdan, the first person who believes elrond about what his time with the fëanorians was like. then he befriends erestor, and then gil-galad starts actually respecting the way elrond feels, and then he gets officially taken on as an apprentice healer. he starts learning about his own ancestors and their peoples, and reaching out for stories he never knew could be his. as the final battle of the iron hells begins, elrond is doing... better

and soon, the hope that no one in beleriand once dreamed would be fulfilled becomes a reality

And then, as if it had never held power, the darkness was cast down...

they win the war. the armies of angband are crushed. the peaks of thangorodrim are torn down. the prisoners of the deepest pits of the iron hells are freed. the forces of evil are scattered to the four winds. morgoth, the fallen vala himself, is defeated and captured and bound with great chains, unable to ever hurt anyone again. the precious remnants of the light of the trees, the remaining two silmarils, are recovered. the dark clouds evaporate, and for the first time elrond can remember, the sky is perfectly clear. the war of the jewels is finally over

elrond has grown so much since the day he first heard that the hosts of the west had come. he still can’t quite believe it

They held a great celebration beneath a star-speckled sky I’d never seen before

“The world is saved and we are freed! Evil has been vanquished forevermore”

The triumphant voices of the generals poured out over the victory feast while the stars shone true above the happy ending

the soldiers of valinor and the people of beleriand (what’s left of them) throw a truly massive party. it’s still tinged with their grief over everything they’ve lost, but the atmosphere is primarily one of ecstatic relief. they’re alive, and they’ve come out the other side. dwarvish tailors dance with high maiar, humans who don’t remember the moon get drunk with elves who remember cuiviénen. even after the official festivities die down and people start hashing out what they want to do next, the general mood remains buoyant and cheerful. at long last, they live in a world without danger

none of it feels real to elrond. gil-galad’s talking about building a kingdom on the other side of the blue mountains, elros and his grand edain alliance are trying to bully the maiar into letting them set up on tol eressëa, and elrond feels so disconnected from it all, like he’s watching someone else’s life. he’s happy the enemy has been overcome, of course he is, but he’s not feeling the overwhelming joy everyone else is. he can’t let his guard down yet, something is still wrong -

Except he hasn’t come back, they haven’t come back, where did they go, what have they done?

The word raced around as fast as the wind, giving me an answer I never wanted to hear -

where is maglor? the fëanorians broke off to fight the war their own way, but the war is over now, where are they? they were so happy to hear that the amanyar had arrived, he can’t imagine them not thrilled to see the enemy they hated more than anything else fall. in the warm afterglow of victory, it feels like even their sins might be forgiven, and they could finally go home. they have nothing else left; why wouldn’t they take that outstretched hand?

but nobody’s so much as glimpsed their flag since some time before the final battle. elrond quietly assumes, perhaps even hopes, that they all died fighting, and yet he can’t shake the cold dread crawling up his spine

elrond has mixed feelings about the silmarils, and doesn’t particularly care to be near them. by the time the news of their theft reaches him, maedhros and maglor have already fled into the night

Still driven on by their oath, they turned their blades on their kin one last time

“And stole away the hallowed light”

Yes, that light which sank all of our lands beneath a deep dark layer of corpses and ash

all elrond sees is the aftermath, the blood sinking into the ground. it’s far from the first time he’s seen people killed, but somehow now it’s all hitting him, all at once. he sees the bodies and it knocks the breath out of him. all he can see is the dead, from finwë on down, the rotting carcasses of every last person who was slaughtered for these gems, a whole continent bleached with death. they call the silmarils the most beautiful things in the world, jewels shining with the very light of creation, but elrond can’t see it for the blood they’re dripping with

that’s the immediate thing that has his hands shaking and his breath running cold. by morning it’s had a chance to sink in a little, and -

He lied he lied he lied he lied

maglor regretted the kinslayings! elrond knows he did! it was never even something he actually said, it was obvious from the way he talked about them. every single one was a complete disaster, nothing the fëanorians ever got out of them was worth what they lost in the process, and afterwards things always got worse in ways they never expected. and maglor hated the person the kinslayings had turned him into, elrond spent enough time around him to pick up on that much! surely he’d do anything to not have to commit another one?

apparently not! apparently all that regret, all that loss, the arguments and the nightmares and the coldly determined efforts to stop them following his path, it all meant nothing! he still gave in to despair or maedhros or whatever, killed yet more people, stole from the army whose return he said was like a dream come to life, spat in the face of his last chance to go home, and vanished! gil-galad’s people were right! he really is nothing more than a monster!

the shock of it all makes something snap in elrond, whatever fragile optimism he absorbed from the people around him draining away until he feels completely hollow. hundreds of years of suffering and death, and for what?

Smeared with the blood of untold hundreds, untold thousands, untold millions of people

Did they buy us peace for even half a year, even a week, even ten minutes?

Noooooooo!

Even the very land we lived on crumbled and drowned

What was the point?! What was the point?! What was the point?!

I feel like I’m going insaaaaaaane

morgoth may have fallen, but beleriand is dead! nothing remains, not the lush green lands of the stories, or even the dessicated forests of his childhood, just desolate earth and the devouring sea. almost everywhere he’s ever known, almost everyone who lived and fought and dreamed there, are lost forever. nothing was saved, everything was destroyed, what good is a clear blue sky when there’s nothing beneath it?! how can they call this a happy ending?!

elrond can’t see any light here, all the great battles and heroic deeds seem absolutely pointless in the face of everyone and everything immolated in the endless grasping for these gems. the hosts of valinor leave the continent they shattered, the remnants of gil-galad’s people escape the raging forces of nature, and the survivors bicker and fight over resources just like the fëanorian minions elrond grew up around. the world is never going to get better, he realises. the dream of a paradise will never come true

and then one night, running a message down the craggy still-turbulent coastline, he hears a snatch of a distant, familiar voice

I can hear a voice whittled away to a weapon singing what could almost be a lullaby -

elrond leaps off the ridge and onto the rocky beach, scrambling over the uneven ground. he’s heard the rumours about where maedhros and/or maglor went - all of them, there’s dozens of them, he didn’t pay any particular heed to the ones where maglor wandered the coast, but if they were right, if he’s here -

his own voice has grown strong over the years, solid and forceful and mature. elrond screams his song into the emptiness, hoping against hope it will be heard

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! Isn’t that so?!”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the griefs I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine days for you to live!”

“That must be it...”

the impression of a hand touching his cheek, the ghost of a smile. for a moment someone else’s voice slips into the ebb and flow of his song, a shadow reaches out to wipe the tears off his face. live, it whispers. you who i held dearest last, live

elrond’s breath catches in his throat, and the song, and the shadow, vanish. it’s just him on a forsaken beach, the only sounds the waves crashing and the gulls calling. the sky is completely overcast, the clouds dull and grey. he watches them drift along for a while, as his pulse slows down and his airways clear up. live, the word echoes in his mind

he waits until his breathing is back to normal and the churning emotions inside him have settled into a form he can handle. then he wipes his face and clambers back onto the ridge

(life. it’s not much, but it’s enough. it has to be. his home is destroyed, but he is alive; his family is broken, but he is alive. he is alive, and they want him to live, as much as he can while he still has a chance. the world he lives in will never be perfect, but he knows how to work with that)

(and besides - elros, círdan, gil-galad, erestor, the other healers, the small knot of elves of all stripes who seem determined to follow his banner. he hasn’t lost everything, not yet, and he won’t let the world take away what he has left. he’ll never abandon those he loves)

the clouds are lightening. soon the stars will be out. elrond takes a deep breath, and starts running towards his future and the person he’s going to be -

thousands of years later, a memory resurfaces

“Two million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine days... Ah, yes. I know I forgot to say it earlier, but you did a very good job”

a smattering of notes are lifted by the ocean breeze. they travel inland, across the worn-down mountains, around the weathered hills, above the tangled forests, up the untamed rivers, and finally into the hidden valley

in the gardens of imladris, lord elrond hears a voice he hasn’t for millennia. a watering can slips out of his hands, and suddenly he can’t breathe

It was just another day, beneath a dark sky

The ocean and the wind roared on all around me

I wasn’t paying attention to how my tears were falling

Trying to remember a clear star-lit sky

that youthful dream of a world free from evil never came true. the shadow came back, and it kept coming back, taking his people, his friends, his family, his wife. everything they built after the defeat of morgoth has been reduced to dust by the weight of time, and every year more of it slips through his fingers. elrond doesn’t know how much more of it he can endure. he doesn’t know how much more he can lose

he chases that scrap of music all the way to the seashore

I ran down the path between the rocks and the spray following that voice I never knew why I loved

But in the end I could only stand weeping

elrond searches up and down the coast, scouring the shoreline for clues, asking the locals, listening. sometimes he hears whispers of song, long wailing lamentations that make his heart ache all the more now that he understands how that despair feels. occasionally it’s loud or consistent enough he can track it, trying to pinpoint the singer’s location in the intense storms of bitterness and grief

but he never finds anything

“You fool, he’s already gone. Like he was never there at all...”

all that’s left is a voice on the wind

For many sapient species, space is the ultimate challenge. The final goal, to escape the cradle of your birth and roam amongst the stars. It takes many things to reach the heavens, and all who have achieved it attest to the sacrifices needed to make such a thing reality. Intelligence, technology and time are a few of the many ingredients necessary to make it all possible. One merely needs to look around at the myriad of species that make up the Galactic Council to see what it takes to claim the stars. Ships of alloy, engines of light and minds of hope. When one at last achieves this great feat, they may believe themselves to be masters of this reality, that there is no thing they cannot conquer. If one makes the heavens their domain, and ride upon ships of light and energy, are they not gods? Roam the galaxy enough, though, and one will find an answer to that question. The void of space is a realm that can only be reached by technology and intuition, but those are not the forces that truly rule it. Even in the endless vacuum, chaos and nature still remain, and sometimes they carry a really big rock and a nasty disposition. Any space-farer knows that an asteroid field is a bad place to be. Despite all the shields and reinforced hulls, a big chunk of space rock can cripple any ship. Some have succeeded in finding ways to make these regions safer for travel, while ever-growing technology works to resist nature's minefield. However, there are some of these territories that no one dares to touch, zones that many navigational computers refuse to even skim past. In these places, it is not the asteroids people fear, but the things that live within them. Those who have traveled amongst the stars will tell you of the Oon'Grok, both out of amusement and fear. Massive space-dwelling creatures that call the asteroid fields home, and who make these regions absolutely inhospitable for any ship or station. The one thing you will be told but will never really be able to understand is their size. Only by seeing one with your own eyes will you truly fathom their mass. They are larger than a Cruiser-class vessel, making fighters and traders look like gnats in comparison. Capital ships are indeed larger than then, but this certainly does not make the Oon'Grok any less intimidating. Though smaller, they can easily grab a Capital ship and knock it off course, or perhaps even tear right through it. To go with their extreme size, the Oon'Grok are incredibly powerful. A part of this comes from their composition, as living in a vacuum requires a heavy duty body. They are harder than stone and steel, capable of shrugging off turret fire from a warship. With a hefty mass and specially designed muscles, they can use zero gravity to their advantage to hurl asteroids or even ships. Their limbs are strong and flexible, with their forelimbs able to split or merge depending on the situation. Each one ends in sturdy claws that allow them to grip and tear. To navigate the void, they have special organs that can emit a force to propel them through space. Their traveling speed is not the fastest, but it does allow them to overtake larger ships that are drifting along. Despite what some may claim, they cannot travel at the speed of light or make jumps. They can only swim along at the speed their organs allow, meaning that it takes them years to traverse distances that starships can do in hours. This is not a real issue for them, because Oon'Grok seem to live for centuries or even longer. Sustenance isn't an issue either, as they are a type of filter feeder. The long "hairy" tendrils that take up their head have been compared to baleen of certain species. The nutrients and energy that flows upon solar winds and drift through the void are caught and consumed in their hairy net. Oon'Grok can also add to their diet by crushing up asteroids and other debris, then catching the dust in their "beards." With a long lifespan, simple diet and impenetrable hide, these beasts are leviathans, and they live up to the name.       What has made the Oon'Grok so famous to the galaxy at large is their hostility towards those who invade their territory. Oon'Grok live in asteroid fields, carving out nests and caves in the biggest chunks they can find. This is where their home and food is, and they are quick to defend it. Oon'Grok live in groups, and they create their colonies by gluing all their caves together in a hand-spun web. From orifices on their limbs, they secrete a bluish gel that quickly hardens when exposed to the vacuum of space. With careful movements, they can create strands of this stuff and use it to stick asteroids together. Humans have compared the resulting structures to a spider's web and a bagworm's case. They bring all their desired rocks together to create a huge clump of caves, which the group will live in. The size and shape of these formations may vary by the family group, as each has their own personal preference. This can even change overtime, as they get bored and decide to do some redecorating. Outsider Oon'Grok may invade their territory, which will lead to a dispute. Another of the group will challenge the invader and a nasty fight will break out. If the intruder loses, they will speed off to another patch of the field to tend its wounds. If they win, the family group will begrudgingly let them stay, with the loser often giving up their cave. These duels can be brutal, but their tough hide ensures that the combatants rarely suffer debilitating injury. An interesting thing to note, though, is that these fights can lead to the Oon'Grok using weapons. Grabbing smaller asteroids and using their special gel, they will actually craft crude clubs and hammers from their surroundings, and use them to batter foes. Primitive as they are, they are incredible powerful when wielded by these leviathans, which many space captains can attest to.

 Fellow Oon'Grok are not the intruders that anger these beasts the most. Such an invader comes along once every couple of decades, so it isn't too big of a deal. The real thing that enrages them is the shiny screaming creatures that dare poke around their territory. It turns out that Oon'Grok communicate through special wavelengths emitted through their bodies, and they have sensitive receptors that allow them to pick these messages up. This wavelength is quite similar to the way most spaceships and stations communicate through the vast expanse of space, and this is where issues arise. To the Oon'Grok, an approaching vessel is an extremely noisy and irritating thing. Due to the vast amounts of technology and communication devices aboard any given ship, they are just constantly expelling these "noises." The sensitive receptors of an Oon'Grok are irritated by these alien signals, and it turns them aggressive almost instantly. They will be quick to smash the noisy insect that bothers them, and they have the ability to do so quite efficiently. A resistant hide means that laser fire is useless, and their bulk makes them an extreme threat. Be it a fighter or a capital ship, the Oon'Grok is perfectly capable of reducing it to floating scrap. Their claws can rip through hulls, and their powerful limbs can snap vessels in two. Even if one is to keep them at bay with a torrent of laser fire, they can win in a long-ranged battle as well. Grabbing small asteroids, they will hurl these rocks at annoying ships and smash them to pieces. While warships have the shield technology to survive an onslaught of lasers and missiles, none of them are designed to withstand the blow of a really big rock. Great Capital ships that could destroy an entire fleet have been turned into mere playthings in the hands of an Oon'Grok. The same clubs they use in territory disputes can also be used against a vessel. A single swing is enough to destroy shields and send the broken ship spiraling into the void. Victory against an angry group of Oon'Grok is impossible, the only option is to retreat while you are in one piece. Some have been successful in repelling an assault, but looking at the amount of losses they take to do so shows that retreat is a way better option. While the wavelengths that communication arrays and technology creates bring misery to the Oon'Grok, their calls are also capable of mingling with a ship's receptors. Those who survive an encounter with the Oon'Grok have noted that their signals act like a mass broadcast that can interfere with comms and receptors. Ships that are hit with these signals have said that their speakers and comms are suddenly flooded with "hoots and bellows." This is not believed to be what Oon'Grok actually sound like, as it is the technology trying to interpret a signal beyond its understanding. Regardless, many survivors warn others that "as soon as your comms start hooting and hollering, charge up the engines and RUN!"       Due to the threat they pose to any space-faring vessel, Oon'Grok territory is restricted and avoided by all travel routes. All traders and travelers know where large colonies of these beasts dwell, and they always ensure their journey stays far away from these forbidden zones. Though normal space travel keeps clear of these territories, these areas are not completely abandoned. Smugglers and criminals know quite well that the law does not enter the lair of the Oon'Grok. Those who are pursued by the authorities may choose to jump into Oon'Grok space and force their foes to turn back. Certain smuggling routes cut right through these areas, as it keeps the law away and cuts down travel time. However, it should be remembered that escaping into these territories is not an easy or flawless solution. Pursuers of these criminals will tend to hang by the edge of these territories to ensure they don't turn around and try to sneak past. This means that the only way out is through, which means avoiding the Oon'Grok. No one knows how many of these smugglers have vanished in these regions, reduced to a scorched smear on a floating hunk of rock. This isn't the only use that the seedier side of the galaxy has for these forbidden zones. Some have found the dire flight through these regions to be quite exhilarating, leading to the formation of several illegal races. Though these events are run by shady organizations, none can deny the amount of gambling and interest it draws in. These races involve dozens of ships, who's goal is to reach the other side of an Oon'Grok infested asteroid field. The rules are few and vague, it is encouraged to come up with creative tactics or dirty tricks to get an edge on the opposition. In these events, the racers will find their opponents to be just as dangerous as the titans. No one will bat an eye if someone takes a cheap shot at another racer or if they bash another competing ship right into the claws of an Oon'Grok. The hosts of these events know full well that many viewers tune in to see the crashes and explosions, so this sabotage and rivalry is quite welcomed. In fact, some events may launch comm satellites into the field prior to the start so that the Oon'Grok are good and agitated before the racers enter. Though these illegal events are quite infamous and widely broadcast, the authorities rarely interfere. While bribes ensure the law stays away from these races, many enforcers claim they wouldn't stop them in the first place. Many will joke that these events do a great job at keeping the peace, as a good amount of scumbags wind up exploding during every race.             Not only has their territory found a use for shadier folk, but others have developed an interest in the Oon'Grok themselves. Researchers interested in developing cultures and early stages of sapience find Oon'Grok to be fascinating. Their use of tools and crude settlements suggest an intelligence, and many wish to see how it grows. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of funding for this area of research, as many expeditions have ended in tragedy. Others look to the substance the Oon'Grok secrete, and wonder how it can be used in space-faring technology. A gel that can harden into sturdy armor when exposed to a vacuum could be quite useful for both suits and ships when it comes to breaches. It has even been suggested using these secretions as a basic foundation when it come to construction in space. This quick and sturdy material would be perfect for creating a simple skeleton that could then be easily built around. However, these musings are yet to be fully realized, as no one has found a way to perfectly replicate the substance. With the aggression of an Oon'Grok, gathering these materials naturally is also out of the question. Some may suggest trying to capture or domesticate one of these titans, but the Galactic Council has made it illegal to own or transport these beasts. Since they show a crude form of sapience, they are given the same protection as any other species of society. It is also illegal to own an Oon'Grok due to the fact that they are incredibly dangerous and can cause a whole lot of problems. These laws fully came into power after the Gigra Shipyards Rampage, which showed the universe how stupid it was to try and control these titans. The culprit of this incident was a wealthy collector who had dreamed of capturing an Oon'Grok. Such a feat would bring much fame, and no doubt such a thing could be easily monetized. Using an obscene amount of resources and tranquilizer, a hired fleet was able to locate a lone Oon'Grok and successfully sedate it. With the titan knocked out, the beast was netted and towed to the nearest shipyard. Due to its immense size and space-lifestyle, the creature could not be brought onto a planet or an outpost. Most space stations were ill-suited for such a cargo, so they chose to use a massive shipyard as their base of operation. There, they could easily finish the job and ensure the Oon'Grok was properly contained. Unfortunately, this decision turned out to be disastrous. Though the titan was fast asleep when it was hauled in, the vast amount of docked ships and their irritating technology proved to be enough to wake it. Pained by the ceaseless noise and electronic signals, the beast awoke and instantly broke free of its restraints. From there it went on an unstoppable rampage through the ship yard, causing obscene amounts of property damage and totaling dozens of ships. The factory arms and forges were ripped to shreds and capital ships were bludgeoned with debris and smaller vessels. After hours of terror, security and on-station war ships were able to push the Oon'Grok into open space, where it fled back to its home. The incident caused the Gigra Shipyards to lose over half of its functionality, and repairs took decades for it to return to its former glory. The collector responsible for the disaster survived the incident, as they had fled the second the beast broke free. However, it seemed that the consequences of their actions had been too much for them to bear. So much property damage and so many ships belonging to numerous governments and black market factions were destroyed due to their ignorance, and they couldn't live with the knowledge. Weeks after the rampage, the collector's body was found floating in the void. So wracked with guilt, they had apparently beaten themselves within an inch of their life, shot themselves in the head with a blaster then airlocked their own corpse. Truly a tragic and totally voluntary way to go.   It should be noted that the Gigra Shipyards Rampage has become quite the famous incident on a galactic scale. Not only did it fortify the laws around the Oon'Grok, but it created the perfect reference for many folk and media outlets whenever a rich idiot caused the usual disaster. It is also a notable incident for enthusiasts in warships and space combat. At the time the rampage occurred, two famous ships were docked at the Gigra Shipyards: the EN Vera'Zun and the IA4 Rela'Kan. These two ships were renown for the roles they played in Skree'lad Insurrection. The two ships were on opposite sides, and both were the heavy hitters of their fleet. Despite the numerous conflicts, the two warships never actually fought each other in direct combat, resulting in lots of speculation years later. For the longest time, enthusiasts and historians would argue over which one would win in a duel. When the rampage occurred, the universe got its answer when the two got caught up in the chaos. The Rela'Kan was declared the winner when the Oon'Grok wielded it like a warclub and smashed the Vera'Zun in half. The Rela'Kan now also sits in the number one slot of "Which 10 Warships Are the Best Melee Weapons." Though the territories of the Oon'Grok have been thoroughly mapped and logged, it is important for any traveler to know that unknown individuals or groups can still exist. Navigational computers only know of the prominent populations, as it is impossible to track every single individual drifting out in space. Those who are driven from the family groups may wander the void in search of a new home, while entire groups may migrate when their territory faces an outside threat. A migration like this only occurs when rare anomalies may pass through the area and scare off the Oon'Grok. One case was when the True Pantheon was first observed, which was when they visited the Caldeon asteroid field. This massive region of asteroids was home to several Oon'Grok groups, but they all fled when one of the Pantheon's members flew into a fit of rage. These displaced groups wound up wandering into new regions and taking refuge near popular trade routes. After several trade fleets were destroyed, an effort was made to push the Oon'Grok back into the Caldeon field now that the Pantheon had departed. Another way that Oon'Grok can show up where they are not expected is through their ways of reproduction. It is believed that Oon'Grok can reproduce on their own, though a mingling with partners can be done to insure genetic diversity. What results are hardened eggs that are sealed with cocoons of their gel secretions. Despite their size and long life, Oon'Grok can reproduce quite frequently and create quite a few eggs each time. Due to space and resources, an Oon'Grok group cannot hatch all the eggs they produce. As a result, only a small fraction of these eggs will hatch at a time while the rest stay dormant. It has been found that these dormant eggs can stay this way for centuries, waiting for some type of signal for them to awaken. Oon'Grok groups may keep a portion of these eggs, but a time will come where they have too much. When this happens, they will attach clusters of them to a chunk of asteroid and use their strength to launch it into the void. The fate of these laden rocks is not guaranteed, but it seems a tiny portion of them eventually wind up passing through suitable habitat. If this happens, the eggs will hatch and the young will take over the area. If the rock is destroyed or sent on a empty path that stretches for centuries, that is no issue. All the Oon'Grok do is spread their seeds into the solar winds and destiny will decide where they shall land.                 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CAVEMEN! IN! SPAAAAAACE! At one point I was thinking about sci-fi universes and how many super intelligent aliens there were in each. Space travel and such is no easy feat, so obviously all these races need to be technologically advance and incredibly sapient. That got me thinking, what if there was a dumb one? What if there were space-faring creatures that were essentially cavemen? Obviously they couldn't get into space with just sticks and stones (and Orks already did that, so I don't want to copy), so I kept playing with the notion. Overtime, it evolved into a species that was already in space to begin with, so no progress or technology needed! Which then lead me to my favorite part of this: what if these space cavemen were incredibly OP? You can have all the fancy lasers and energy shields you want, but a big enough rock will beat it every time. Makes me wish I could draw more aliens, but for whatever reason, whenever I decide to make something a sci-fi alien species I lose all ability to draw the dang thing.

Grief

My father died February 11th, 2021. That, in and of itself, is a weird sentence for me to write. To acknowledge. To me, the reality of this situation that I find myself in has not quite sunk in. I feel it in waves, rocking me like a boat beating against a storm. There are times when the boat has a leak and I scramble on deck to patch it together, desperately holding my hands over the holes while water rushes in. There are times where other boats come near to try and salvage my wreckage, but the captain goes down with their own ship and whatnot. I have always been one for bad metaphors. Amidst all of this, there are times of calm and quiet waters as well, where the ocean seems endless and empty. My father is dead. He is gone. He will not come back.

I check my Facebook messenger and look at his icon to see if he is there or not. He is not. He will not be ever again. I feel a lump forming in my throat. I scroll through the messages we have shared for the past several years and question every conversation. Did I contact him enough? Why didn’t I respond to that one message he sent? Was I too short with him? Did he know that I loved him? I look back and analyze every photo he was in. Why did I make that face? Why didn’t I take more photos with him? Did he know that I loved him? Why didn’t I show that I loved him more? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I?

Attempting to live my life normally is a joke, and a bad one at that. Everything reminds me of him and the memories we made while growing up. I had malt o meal for breakfast. I cried. He loved malt o meal, with a large amount of sugar and a small amount of milk. Just enough that it was “liquid but not runny” like he said. I remember just two weeks ago when he had eaten only one bite of malt o meal and turned it away due to being nauseous. I thoughtlessly plopped the spoon in my mouth. We all laughed at the realization that he had just had chemo and we were not supposed to swap bodily fluids due to the poisonous chemicals. It was not funny. It was. God, I hate malt o meal. Why did he like this stuff?

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

When my eyes are closed, I see the same scenes playing out in my head that have resided there for the past several weeks. They plague my sleep and leave me restless. He had always had a cheery and rounded face, but those final weeks his eyes sunk in between mountains of cheekbones and gaunt skin. His mouth hangs open like he cannot get enough oxygen for all the air in the room. Maybe he wants to speak. But he doesn’t. He is silent at the end, except when in pain. His eyes are also open, halfway and drooping. His eyes are open, and he is searching but he is not seeing me. At one point, when he could still speak, he mutters about bugs crawling on the walls and a girl on the ceiling. We joke about how scary that sounds to make it less uncomfortable. Could he see us there, beside him?  

Curly hair was his best feature, he always said. People from all over complimented him on his natural hair all the time. We had a hairdresser once who fawned over it. He acted embarrassed but I think he liked the attention. Those same locks of hair now lay disheveled and unkempt around him like a halo. My mother sprays them with water and tries to keep them clean. I was glad, at least, the one chemo treatment had not stolen that from him. We cut a lock of hair to keep. It is the only thing of his person that will not face or be burned when he is cremated. What would he think of that?

My mother and I are caregiver to him, and we drain fluid from his chest as it builds up to an unbearable amount. At first it is an alien procedure to me, with a series of steps and protocols and cleaning routines. Put on two sets of gloves, touching only the wrist. Clean the cap with an alcohol swab. Make sure the clamp is fastened before you attach the bag below. Don’t drain too much or his blood pressure will drop, and you will kill him even faster than the cancer. After a few times, it is normal and just another thing we do to help him. Towards the end, it is tinged red. So is his urine. So is everything else. He stirs at one point in his confusion and tells me “I’ve leaked, I see red everywhere”.  There was none, he was hallucinating. At least that time. Is he in pain?

Our fingers intertwine periodically when I sit beside him. When he was still conscious, he would occasionally reach out for whoever was closest. This was the smallest of comforts we could offer him. He always liked to sleep with his arms above his head, but the atrophied muscles would not allow this for him. We moved him into position like a broken marionette throughout the day. His hands are placed on his chest after he passed. They were so yellow, cold, and frail. There was no strength left in his ragged fingers. I held one of his hands in mine and I took a photo. The yellow skin glares at me like the sun and I squint, suddenly nauseous. I change the photo to black and white. As I stare at that photo now, it seems morbid to me but at the time gave me something to keep of him. What will it be like to never touch him again?

The sounds amplify the hell I experience. After his first round of chemo, he was awake and aware of us for two days. During that time, we made mostly small talk. He was quiet and introspective. At one point, I sat across from him and worked on readings assigned from my graduate school classes. He broke the silence to say he was proud of me. I told him that I was sad he would not see me graduate. He was the reason, after all, I had pursued this path. This is the only time I saw him cry in front of me. We held each other and I listened to his heartbeat in his chest while he told me that regardless of his death, he would be there for me. I realize now that I never asked him things like what his favorite color was, which tv shows he liked now, what hobbies he wished he had done when he had the time. As he is in and out of sleep, my mother and sister tell him “it’s okay, you don’t have to fight, let go”. I cannot speak these words. I do not want to. On his last day, I had exhausted myself to the point I needed to rest. My head had barely hit the pillow before I hear a sound across the vast distance of the house that raised the hairs on my arm. It’s someone in pain. I rush back to his bedside as his head turns this way and that. His mouth now opens only to say “help” in a strangled, garbled voice. He is soothed with morphine until his whimpering subsides. That was the last thing he spoke to us. I never really said “goodbye” to him. Was there more I should have said?

For weeks I sat beside his bed at night and watched over him while the hum of his breathing machine aligned with the nervous fluttering of my heart. His gasping breaths... In for a few seconds, quickly out, then held for an eternity, then in again. Every pause between his breathing caused me to hold my air in my throat. Every pause could have been the last one, but it wasn’t. Until it was. My mother calls out to us, after he expressed pain, and we gather around his bedside. My sister, my mother, my grandmother, and me. My mother holds his hands and weeps. His breathing is different, not the beat I have grown accustomed to. It is quick, jagged, and quiet. At some point, it stops. There is an eerie silence, followed by the sounds a body releases shortly after death. It startles me, and an undeniable signal of the horrible event that has just unfolded in front of us. I can’t believe it. I reach over to his throat to feel a pulse. There isn’t one. I dry heave into the trash can nearby before I break the silence with a loud scream. As I browse Facebook now, I wonder how I can hear him again. Are there videos of him speaking? Why didn’t I record any videos of him speaking? Is his voicemail still on his phone? I am scared to call it. Why am I scared to call it?

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Reliving these events, the weight now completely crushes my chest. It caves in my ribcage, plows through my heart, and drops me somewhere against the cold of the floor below. I am paralyzed in this position, barely breathing. I am scared. If I am too loud, if I cry, if I talk, I am acknowledging this new reality I am forced to live in. I don’t want to live it. I don’t want to be a part of it. I reject this world, body and soul. I am scared. Frantically, my mind races to those who are still present. I have not spent enough time with them. I have not said all the things I wanted, asked them what their favorite color is, or recorded enough photos and videos. When will I lose someone else? How will I lose them? I am scared. My breath begins to catch in my chest, and I feel the room shrink around me. I will never hear him again. I will never see him again. I will never touch him again. I will never play Fallout (which he loved) with him or watch Alien Covenant (which he hated) with him again. I will never be able to fall into his arms and cry about something stressing me out again. I will never hear him tell me he is proud of me again. I will never see him smile after he tells a bad joke again. My father is dead. How do I grieve this loss?

how fragile we are

Being raised by humans doesn't make Isobel, Max and Michael human. Or maybe it does. Maybe it makes them too human.

[implied canon sexual assault, ptsd, trauma, dissociation]

1.

Michael doesn't start speaking for nearly two years after they come out of the pods. Maybe it's because he doesn't have anyone to talk to.

Isobel and Max used to communicate with him telepathically, but once they're gone he doesn't have anyone else. They have each other, and parents who try to encourage them to come out of their shell, so they both say their first words just weeks after they find a home.

Michael doesn't have a home. He doesn't need to speak, since no one would listen to him anyway.

At the group home, he's labeled a problem child nearly from the first day, and it's the kind of label that sticks to you like a used band-aid, gluing itself to whatever finger you try to use to get rid of it.

So instead of talking, he draws. He draws on any surface adults let him have access to. He draws the shiny lights that are his only memory of wherever he was before, over and over. Circle, line, line, circle. Back to the middle. Line, circle.

One day, one of the ladies, the one who likes him a little and even talks to him sometimes, takes his hand and shows him how to draw something else.

Michael learns to write before he learns to talk, but it's a long time before he has anything to write about.

Iz is so jealous of Max sometimes. On days like today, looking in the mirror, she hates herself. She hates the way her body is changing, the budding breasts she doesn't want, the dresses her mother still makes her wear. Max doesn't have all that. Max even has a good name, a name that doesn't say girl or boy to anyone who hears it. Iz hates her name, she never wants to hear it again. She told Max and he calls her Iz, now, and she likes that a little more. But their parents never do.

Cutting her hair short didn't help, and now everyone looks at her weird. Maybe because she did it in the bathroom mirror, with the kitchen scissors, and why did no one tell her why the hairdresser wets it first? It hurt. Her hair looked all wonky afterwards, and Mom dragged her to the salon to make it better. Iz screamed for two hours straight.

She steals one of Max's baseball caps and puts it on her head. He has at least three of them anyway, and he doesn't mind her stealing his clothes. It's always Mom and Dad who mind it.

The hat makes it a little better. She can look in the mirror without wanting to slash at her body with a knife.

She doesn't remove it for three years.

Max sits on a low wall at the edge of the playground, watching the other boys kick a ball around. It's never been his thing. He likes to read, and write, but none of the other kids enjoy that. So he just sits alone, most of the time.

He can feel Iz watching him. Sometimes he even gets a flash of himself through her eyes. The teachers keep saying that they're too fusional, that they'll never make friends if they stay together, so they switched Iz to another class and now they're not even allowed to sit together.

Max isn't good at making friends. It's like the other kids know he's different. Iz and him tried to figure it out so many times, where they come from, why they don't feel like they're from the same planet, but they don't understand.

Maybe it's because they aren't.

They're eleven and five months when they're reunited. Iz is the one who sees him first, the boy whose name they don't even remember now, the boy with curly hair and a special place inside their minds. He's beautiful, so beautiful, because he's here. They've missed him so much.

Michael hugs them tight like he never wants to let them go, and he refuses to say where he's been. He has scars on his arms and he never wears shorts. He's sad, sadder even than Max, sadder than Iz feels inside.

But together, they can be happy. They can be strong.

They're just one day short of twelve−their birthday has been set at the day they were found in the desert−when they find the pods again. When they find proof that they're not from around here.

It's almost a relief. It explains a lot. And yet nothing. They're a mystery.

They're aliens.

They don't know what it means. Can they live a normal life? Are they all alone? Will someone come for them, someday?

2.

Michael wonders often, if someone will come for him.

He's fourteen, and he's just escaped, barely, from another exorcism, when he figures out that no other aliens will come to bring him home. When someone comes for him, it will be a human, and it will be to torture him, kill him, dissect him. From there on, he lives with that thought at the back of his mind. It will happen, someday. It only takes a single misstep. They almost made one, that night.

Maybe when the humans catch him, he'll find out that he deserved it all along. That his race is really one of monsters. Except by now he's fairly sure there can be no worse monsters than humans.

But at least he's found Max and Isobel again, and they're okay. They're better than okay, they're thriving. At least from Michael's point of view, at least until recently−that night changed things.

He buries the jealousy deep inside him, until it's almost gone. When he can get away with it, he hitches a ride to the desert, out to the turquoise mines, and he lies there. He no longer waits for someone to come get him. He wishes for the world to disappear, until he's the only one left.

He wishes that he could disappear from the world.

Iz hurts, inside. Physically, at first, but that doesn't last anywhere near long enough. It's just bruises, right? The man didn't have time to do anything worse.

She should be fine. She is fine. She has to be.

She carries on like nothing happened, at first. As far as anyone else is concerned, that's the truth. She's worried about Max for a while, but his powers seems to settle again after a few days, and he's sad, but he doesn't feel guilty. So she smiles at her parents and sleeps in Max's bed a little more often, where it feels safe. She refuses to go camping with her family, but that's normal, right? Camping sucks, anyway. All of her friends say so.

She doesn't do sleepovers with her friends, either. She just doesn't feel like it. She's pulling away, she knows she is, but it feels like her friends' discussions and worries are so lame, so removed from her reality. She wants to cut her hair short again, but she doesn't want to attract attention. Her parents can't be worried about that, because then they'll be worried about other things, too. Like how much time she spends in her room. Like the nightmares she wakes up from, and how she holds on tight to her dad's hand the one time they get back from dinner at the restaurant and it's already night outside.

The first time it happens is just after school starts again. One of the boys in her class approaches Iz from behind, and she freezes. She can't move, and for a moment, she can't even feel her body. He looks at her weird and walks away.

The next time, the PE teacher touches her without warning and she flinches back so far that she falls on her ass. She freezes for longer this time, and when she comes back to herself, she's crying. The teacher tries to ask her what happens, but she does her best to deflect it. He can't know.

The third time, she loses time. She's sitting at her desk at the beginning of a lesson, and suddenly the other students are standing up and leaving. She doesn't know where she went.

There's something wrong with her.

She's scared.

People are exhausting, Max decides sometime through high school. He's just tired, all the time. After the strange elation that followed that night, his energy levels took a nose dive. These days he has trouble staying awake through a whole day of school.

His parents haven't noticed. Isobel knows, but she has her own stuff to deal with. She didn't come back the same from the camping trip. Max worries about her, but he doesn't know how to help.

He lies on his bed, at night, after dinner, and often she joins him. They just lie there, not moving, not talking. That's what most of their relationship boils down to, now.

Michael is angry, pulling away from them, and that just makes Max more tired. He doesn't have the energy to take in more anger, more rage. He has the weight that has settled inside him, the shape of a man standing over Isobel, pinning her down. He has the feeling that never leaves, of a life going out under his hand.

How can he concentrate on homework after that?

That year is when he starts writing for real. He writes and writes, blackens pages and notebooks until his hand hurts, and that's good, because that's the hand that killed a man. Maybe it should hurt.

He burns every notebook the moment he's put down the last word.

Chapter 15

“-and he’s lived on Mara since then.” Madison finished, Florès humming and nodding in acknowledgment. The younger girl was currently reading the files about the Titans as the mechanic tinkered away on the new model for the ORCA.

It’s size was between the original prototype and the smaller one he had given Emma. This one was supposed to have a wider range of available sounds than just the options to make a Titan stand down or provoke them to a fight. “Damn, that’s a sucky backstory. And you’re telling me Rodan jumping in a volcano in an effort to be with his wife in death may be related to why he can live in one?”

“Yeah. I mean, Mothra can reincarnate.” Madison said with a shrug. “Magic that allowed someone to survive lava doesn’t seem that far-fetched.”

“Magic doesn’t exist.” Florès said, shaking his head as he got up from his chair, walking to the coffee machine and mini-fridge he kept in his office. “It’s just science no one has figured out yet. You want any snack?”

“Chocolate. And how would you explain reincarnation then, uh? Or Isla de Mara just... vanishing without a trace?”

Florès seemed to think for a moment. “Either Mothra is actually a really long family line of moth Titans who leave notes to each other in order to pull the longest scam in history- catch,” He threw a kit-kat at Madison. “-or the theory of genetic memory is actually right. As for Mara, I dunno. Probably something with physics...”

“What would you do if you learned magic was actually a whole science in itself?” Madison asked as she opened the candy. “Would you be mad?”

“I would be mad, yes. What about the last ones?” He asked as he started the coffee machine.

“Alright, so... Ghidorah...” Madison started. “There’s three of them, but we don’t have records of their actual names. But we do have nicknames: One who is Many, Golden Demise, Death Song of Three Storms... wow, there’s a lot.”

“Just give me facts, like with the others- powers, known relationship with other Titans, current whereabouts, and whatever backstory Dr. Chen scrounged up.”

“Alright, so: last seen near Mara, and disappeared at about the same as the Island. Everyone seems to hate them, and the feeling is mutual.” Madison turned to look at Florès, breaking her kit-kat up.

“What about their powers?” Florès asked, pouring himself a cup and coming closer.

“Uh... bio-electrical, energy draining, meteokinesis, flight of unknown nature, suspected to have a high level of telepathy, independency from oxygen...” Madison listed off.

Florès nodded, taking his seat again. “Is it noted somewhere why he doesn’t need oxygen. Like, are they deep-sea weirdos, or something?”

“... Look in the opposite direction.”

“What do you mean, look in the opposite direc- no.”

“... yeah... it says in the ‘myth’ section that they fell from the stars...”

“No no no no no no no- we’re dealing with fucking aliens!?” Madison nodded. “¡Qué cojones...!” Florès snapped, slamming his cup on his desk. His attention then snapped at the unfinished ORCA. “I need to finish this.”

“Most of the myths they’re in also all portray them as malevolent.” Madison added. “Like, ‘inspiration for the Christian Devil’ malevolent.”

“Mmm. Don’t like that.”

“What, you’re Christian?”

“Raised catholic, yeah.” Madison eyebrows shot up to her forehead. “Comes with the territory when you grow up in Venezuela. But I doubt these guys fell from grace, or anything.”

Madison hummed, going back to looking at the computer screen, even if she wasn’t reading anymore. “I talked to one of them, you know?”

“Did you?” She nodded. “How?”

“I... one of them was able to get outside of his body.” Madison started, Florès nodding and taking a sip from his cup. “And he talked to me. Brought me to mom when she came to get me in Antartica. And... told me he and his brothers just wanted to be free.” She buried her face in her hands. “I should’ve trust my instincts, should’ve known he was lying...”

“Well, you’re twelve.” Florès noted, patting Madison on the shoulder. “You can’t know everything. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Plus, you’re not the one who freed him now.” He then turned back toward the ORCA. “If I had been in your mother’s position, I would’ve done the same. And I can guarantee you that your mother would’ve still saved you if she knew all that stuff. So stop blaming yourself for getting kidnapped, alright Russellita?”

“Alright.”

-

Oh, that rock he was laying on was comfy.

Rodan never wanted to get up, curling up a bit even as he finally opened his eyes. The sun had risen a while ago, indicating he had slept in. Which made sense, seeing as he had stayed up talking and star watching with Ghidorah, who had been... surprisingly nice.  They just talked about places they remembered seeing beyond the world Rodan knew, pointing at locations in the sky when it turned dark.

Now that it was locked away from reality, the night sky had gained it’s stars back. He used to think that Ghidorah were vengeful souls back from the dead, but he supposed that stars being a map of the world beyond their own made just as much sense as them being the imprint left by the departed.

Nevertheless, the scenery this morning was still very pretty. With the sun reflecting in the water with thousand of sparkles and illuminating the golden strands of hair around him, it was as if light was bouncing off of everything.

Wait a minute...

Rodan opened his eyes more fully, looked up, and realized with horror that he was laying in Ichi Ghidorah’s lap, who had his hair undone for once and forming a curtain around him. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Rodan screeched, jumping to stand up and suddenly very awake, only to stumble and land on his ass. “How long have you been watching me!? And why was I sleeping on you!?”

“Since my brothers woke up a while ago. And you fell asleep while we were star watching last night. The ground didn’t look very comfortable, so I moved you.” Ichi answered, still sitting as he leaned toward Rodan, who looked around him with a panicked expression. “You asleep looked like you were agreeing...”

“Okay, don’t manhandle me when I’m unconscious. And where did those two go!?”

“Ni is exploring what’s left of the human settlement. San is looking for rocks.” Ichi answered coolly, hoping the little bird would calm down eventually.

For now, to no avail. “Why are they doing that!?”

“Ni wants to see if there’s any humans left. As for San, he just wants to find rocks.” There was a pause, Ichi debating whether or not he should open up a bit. “He will also inevitably smash one of these rocks on my head as revenge for telling him to do things, but that can’t be helped.”

“... there’s no humans left.” Rodan angrily muttered, finally taking his eyes off Ichi. “They all left some times before you came here, and those that didn’t were probably flung away when I fell for the humans’ bait.”

Ichi raised an eyebrow at that. “Bait?”

“Humans figured out how to create calls.” Rodan explained bitterly. “They used one to bait me into flying into your storm.”

Ichi chuckled. “Oh, we’d have found you either way. The whole reason we came here in the first place is because San wanted to see you.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t have had to fight off the three of you in the middle of a raging storm.” Rodan retorted, bringing his knees up to his chest.

Ichi simply shrugged, going into meditation. {Ni, there’s no humans left. They all left before we came here.}

[Are you sure?]

{The little bird told me they left.}

[You’re really just going to believe him?]

{What?}

[What if it’s a trick?]

{What would he get out of lying about that!?}

(Also, he’s telling the truth.)

[Hello, brother San. How do you know that?]

(Hi Ni! Humans have a really strong emotional presence despite being so small and stupid, so they’re really easy to spot. Along with Rodan, we’re the only ones here.)

{And you didn’t tell us anything for some reason because...?}

(I thought you guys already knew! I mean, I get Ni not noticing because he’s so bad at it- no offense-)

[None taken.]

(-but brother Ichi!? You should’ve noticed ages ago.)

{Okay then-}

[Brother San, we haven’t even been there for a full day yet.]

(You know what I mean.)

{You two-}

[Anyway, I think humans figured out electricity, and how to generate it.]

{What!? Are you su-} Ichi was snapped out of his thoughts as he felt something lean on his leg. He opened his eyes, looking down at Rodan. The smaller being was leaning his head on his thigh, eyes closed. Was he... was he sleeping?... no, just resting. {The both of you come back as fast as you can. Ni, bring back some evidence.}

(But-)

{That’s not negotiable, San.} Ichi ignored his brothers as he put his hands on Rodan. One under his back, and the other one under his knees.

Rodan opened his eyes, confused. “What are you- gah!” Ichi had lifted him, only to promptly set him down on his lap. He chuckled as Rodan’s face started glowing brightly, twirling a lock of red hair around his long fingers. “Wha- telling you not to manhandle me when I’m sleeping wasn’t code for ‘do it when I’m awake’-”

“Don’t move.” Ichi told him, fingers carding through long red hair and separating it. “How do you usually style it?”

“Uh... simple ponytail, and I use another twisted strand to keep it together.” Rodan explained hesitantly. He looked down as Ichi started humming a little tune to himself, taking a strand of hair right above his ear and braiding part of it.

“How high do you keep your hair?” Ichi asked Rodan, who hummed in confusion. “I know it’s not high like San’s, but it doesn’t seem to be at the base of your head either.”

“J- just do it however you want.” There was a pause were there was no movement, Rodan fidgeting. He then brought a hand to the back of his head, claws tapping the middle of the back of his skull. “It doesn’t immediately become a problem if it loosen up, that way.”

“You don’t have to be so shy, you know? Why don’t you tell me what happened to you while we were sleeping.” Rodan shrunk on himself at that. Ichi leaned down as the other started debating it to himself, taking the braid within his teeth before lifting a sleeve up. He tied off one of the short ribbons he usually kept for his hair.

“I... became the Fire Guardian.” Rodan finally admitted.

Ichi hummed, starting to gather hair for the ponytail, letting go of the braid in the process. “What happened to the last one? The bird with the colorful feathers... what was her name again?”

“Quetzalcoatl. And she... died. Out of control volcanic eruption, the smoke is what killed her.” Rodan’s voice had broken on that fourth word.

Ichi raised an eyebrow, tying the ponytail with the ribbon. “You two were close?” He was pretty sure the only people Rodan had been close to was Godzilla.

“We met after you guys got sealed.” Was the only context he offered.

“I see...” Better not push the subject for now less San’s plan gets ruined from trying to dig too deep too fast, but it would be interesting ammunitions for later. He tied the braid around the base the ponytail, passing whatever wasn’t braided under it. “Done~”

Rodan hesitantly pat the braid on the side of his head, before shaking his head a bit. It seemed to be holding better than normal. He was about to thank Ichi, before remembering he was still sitting on his lap and jumping off with a yell. This time, he was able to right himself, and looked at him. Since the Ghidorah was sitting down, the two were at mostly the same eye level. He coughed hesitantly, the flush on his face lessening a bit. “Th- thank you.”

“You’re welcome, firebird.” Rodan’s flush immediately came back, his face almost glowing a golden color.

“Still better than ‘little bird’...” He muttered to himself. Rpdan than turned, facing away from Ichi. “I’m going to go for a short flight, ascertain the damage you and your brothers did. Do not try anything while I’m gone, got it?”

Ichi chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be intimidating. And understood. I’ll be right there when you come back.”

“... Good.” And with that, a strong breeze lifted an extremely flustered Rodan of the ground, leaving Ichi alone and in a good mood.

Said good mood immediately faded away as he felt something collide with his head. He looked to his right, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Ni who had smashed something made out of wood on his head, “Really?”

“I wasn’t finished searching, and you were getting too touchy-feely.”

“Yes Ni, that’s the plan.” Ichi reminded his brother. “Get close to Rodan in order to manipulate him.”

“You were getting touchy-feely- here’s the human tech.” Ni dumped what was left of the pole on Ichi’s lap. The older brother took a look at it, frowning. Certainly what was needed to transport energy from one place to another, but not enough to not lose any in travel, and there was too many pieces.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Ichi grumbled. “This is too primitive compared to the flying machines they had. It should be more in line with it. The other civilizations we saw always had a consistent level of tech on the entirety of their planets, if not always in line with other civilizations.” 

“Not all of them.” Ni reminded him. “You remember the Exif, right?”

“Of course I remember the Exif.” Ichi hissed. The first (and the last) civilization to ‘loan’ Ghidorah from the Xiliens for a period of time that could be counted in years. In this case, for the upper class to intimidate the lower ones into believing their Gods had come to smite anyone who would dare oppose them. And since Gods were supposed to be immortal, they had stayed for several Exif centuries.

But then the Exif ended up believing their own lies, and upon San’s request, found a way to disconnect them from the Conductor. Enveloping their planet in an endless storm and watching it die had given Ghidorah such a rush they just knew that it’s what they had been taken away from their own world for.

“Not sharing everything in an equal manner between all seems like something they would do.” Ni commented. “And humans always lived in small, separated communities with a clear leader. Maybe it became more apparent as time went on? It goes very fast to them, after all.”

Ichi groaned, taking one last, distasteful at the components in front of him. “Still. There’s never that big of a gap in technology on singular planets. If they have figured out space travel, the furthest they would be able to go to is their moon.” A rock landed on the back of Ichi’s head. “Welcome back, San.”

The youngest brother sat down, giggling as Ni gave his own snort. His arms were full of rocks “Sorry, needed to get it out after you interrupted my search for cool rocks.”

“Did you find any cool rocks?”

“Not really...” San whined, handing the rocks to Ichi, who started looking them over. Most of them had the same hard quality as the ground. “You called us back before I could find good ones... oh! But I did find this!” Out of the tissue he usually draped himself with, San got out a glossy black stone that had a powdery, golden sheen to it.

Ni’s eyes widened by a fraction, making a grabby motion for it. When San shook his head, his face soured. “Why?”

“I want to give it to Rodan. Show of goodwill.” San explained. “By the way, where did he go?”

“For a flight. He wants to see how dead his island is.” Ichi answered off-handedly. “Are you sure that plan of yours is going to work? Fire bird has... quite the temper. He might not break if we tell him the humans were the ones who did this.”

“Someone angry at us but more at our target is still easier to use than someone who’s just angry at us.” San replied, before frowning. “Also, I thought he was  ‘little bird’?”

“’Fire bird’ sounds less insulting than ‘little bird’.” Ichi answered, shrugging. “Like you said, show of goodwill. That, and doing his hair.”

“... Brother San, give me that rock.”

“No, Ni!”

“It’s not for me. I want to be the one giving it to the fire bird.” Ni answered. Upon his brothers’ confused faces, he continued. “It’s easy for the both of you to pretend to be nice- oblivion, San is actually nice. It’s not for me. But the plan isn’t going to work well if it doesn’t seem like I’m at least trying to be nice. So?”

After a few seconds, Sa handed the stone to Ni, the message in his eyes obvious. Don’t screw this up.

We cannot screw this up.

Trial & Error | chapter 14

Main Pairing: (jimin): student/idol x (main): foreign student  Side Pairs: main x (nct) jaehyun

PART 13

“Wait, so you mean to tell me you actually believe in spies?”

You nodded your head, positively. “Dude, they’re totally real, I’ve done my research.”

“You’ve done your research.”

“Yes, there’s plenty of articles and documentaries on it.”

“What, on the dark web?” Jaehyun teased you. “There’s no way it’d be that easy to find.”

You rolled your eyes. Yes, it took you some digging to find, but you weren’t lying!

He laughed at your semi serious appearance and tapped you lightly. “Come on, I’m just joking y/n.” He looked at you for a second before deciding to pour you both another glass of wine.

When you had first arrived, he took you to the rooftop of his building and had a whole set up for you two laid out. A few candles and more than enough layers of blankets laid upon the ground, which was quickly dried up from the rain earlier, to your surprise. He didn’t fail to have some snacks and a small meal prepared.

To be quite frank, you weren’t expecting anything more than chilling inside with him, maybe watching some T.V but no, he actually arranged a real date with you. You couldn’t help but get butterflies upon the idea of his thoughtfulness.

You chuckled at the silly conversation as you picked up the glass, thanking him. He picked his up too and looked at you. “Cheers?”

“Cheers.”

After clunking the glasses, you both took a sip of the bitter yet smooth wine. It was pretty strong so you were getting a good buzz from it, allowing you to be more relaxed with him.

“You’re the type to believe in aliens too, I guess,” Jaehyun spoke, taking another sip.

“Sweetie, I believe in those more than I believe in spies.”

He almost choked from laughing too hard and you couldn’t help but to join him.

“Our next date should be at the movies. We should see a sci-fy together.” He laid his back on the ground, the pillows supporting his neck.

You smiled at the idea as you decided to get cozy and lay next to him. “We should,” you agreed. “What’s your favorite genre?”

Looking you in the eyes and smiling brightly, he took an arm and wrapped it over your waist. “You can’t laugh,” he told you.

“I won’t, I promise.” He stared at you and you could tell he didn’t want to say it. “Goodness, don’t tell me it’s romance.”

“What if it was?”

You accidentally chuckled before quickly shutting your mouth and trying to keep a straight face for the sake of his dignity. In response, he lightly gripped your side as he giggled. “You promised!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it just happened. There’s nothing wrong with you liking romance, hun.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.... What about you?”

You sighed, resting your arm across his chest. “Thrillers, horror, action.” His eyes widened upon hearing this. “I like the suspense,” you explained. “And the unrealistic realities of it all. As crazy as it may sound, it’s an escape from the real world.”

He nodded his head in understanding as you continued.

“For me, I’m not the biggest fan of romance because it sets unrealistic standards. It’s a let down, none of that stuff happens in real life. Love is... more complicated than what they show.”

He stared for a while, trying to read you when the wind lightly blew, causing your hair to fly. He took a second to enjoy the view of your messy hair before pushing it out of your face and behind your ear.

“It is,” he whispered.

You bit your lip, feeling that maybe you were looking at it too deep. “Sorry, I—”

“You wanna know why I like it?” he asked. You nodded. “Like you said, it’s unrealistic. It’s also my escape from reality.”

“Yeah except it’s in the guise of what’s supposed to be reality, that’s what annoys me. They’re nothing but a bunch of impractical projections.”

He laughed, his dimples deepening more than usual, causing you to blush. “Something tells me you were on the debate team at your last school.”

You playfully slapped his chest. “Shut up!”

“It’s just.... they give me hope. It’s okay to wish for the best in a relationship, y/n. Maybe with time, you’ll see that.”

He was right, maybe you were looking at it from too much of a negative stance. You couldn’t help it when most of your relationships ended bad. It was safe to say you did hold a grudge against love for a while and it’s okay to admit that.

You let out a breath, feeling defeated. “You’re not wrong, Jaehyun. You’re not wrong at all.”

While he laid, staring at you, you started to realize just why there was a romantic spark in him. You mean, the date alone showed how he viewed dating and to you, it was... adorable?

Before you noticed, you were staring right back at him. “What are you thinking?” he asked you in a hushed voice.

You grinned at him, placing your hand on his soft face. “You’re so pretty,” you said, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

Next thing you knew, he was kissing you. Small pecks at first. Once, twice, then three more before it progressed intensely, yet he still managed to be gentle. You remembered that he was a good kisser but now that you were more sober than before, you were in actual awe with the way his tender lips molded perfectly with yours.

You both went on like this for a good while and didn’t stop, you didn’t think you ever wanted to. But when he groaned softly, he knew it was time to pull away.

You pouted your now puffy lips at him. “I was enjoying that,” you whined.

He grinned from ear to ear, taking his eyes off of you and glaring at the night sky. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

“Ooh, is that a promise?” You mimicked his moves, looking up at the sky too. It was more beautiful than usual that night.

“It is,” he replied. “And unlike you, I know to keep a promise.”

You jokingly nugged his leg with your knee and you both let out a blissful laugh and enjoyed each other’s company until 1’oclock hit and you had no choice but to end the date and go back home.

The bar might have been low for you due to your dating history but you could easily say that was your best first date ever.

~~

You were shocked when you woke up for school and made it to the bus stop on time. What you almost forgot about for a split second was Jinsoul’s existence until you saw her sitting on the bus bench by herself for once.

When her sight landed on you, she froze as you rolled your eyes at her and looked the opposite way. You were so not in the mood to deal with her right now.

Suddenly, you saw Jimin coming from around the corner, putting you in a semi happier mood. When he saw you, he smiled brightly and you waved from afar. As he got closer, you realized he stopped by a 7-11 on his way.

“Hey, sleepy head!” he yelled.

“How’d you know?” you rhetorically asked as you took the plastic bag out of his hands to examine the items he brought.

“The eye bags explain it all.”

“You asshole!” you shoved him as he laughed and then you picked out an item: samgak kimbap. You unwrapped the food and started to eat, enjoying it more than usual since you skipped breakfast that day. “Thank you,” you said with a full mouth as you handed the rest of the food back to him.

He scrunched his nose in disgust but shook it off quickly and threw you a grin. “You’re so cute when you’re hungry.”

You turned up your face, pretending to be disgusted by the compliment. “Anyway, loser. Where’s Tae and Jungkook?”

He laughed, taking out some food for himself to eat. “Those idiots missed the first bus because they were up all night playing video games. They thought Winter Break started today, not tomorrow.”

Sad to say you weren’t surprised by this at all, it definitely sounded like something they would do. But on the other hand, you couldn’t judge. After everything yesterday, you felt like you didn’t have school either.

You shook your head, giggling at the situation. “I still can’t believe you guys have to catch two buses before this one. You all live so far compared to everyone else.”

“This area is too nice for our company to afford, I think.” He forced a smirk as he bit into a beef jerky stick and looked around at the other students waiting.

You knew it wasn’t his intentions but now you felt slightly bad and it was only 7am. But you quickly waved it off and continued to eat when you saw Jimin look behind you.

“I think someone wants to speak to you,” he said.

For a second, you were confused. But when you turned around, you saw Jinsoul walking your way. You sighed and dismissed yourself from him as he said he would just go chat with Minho.

“Y/n,” Jinsoul spoke, now standing in front of you. “Can we talk?”

To be real, you didn’t want to but you knew it wouldn’t be fair to not hear her out. So you nodded, approving of this request.

As she ran her fingers through her blonde hair, she let out a small sigh. “I had no idea about any of the things Heejin said to you yesterday.”

“Yeah, right—”

”You gotta believe me!” she pleaded. “Not to brag or anything but keep in mind that Jimin was my friend first. The only reason you know him is because of me, y/n. Do you really think I would be okay with someone using you and him for some clout?”

You licked your lips, almost at a loss of words. She was proving some points with that one. Now you just felt like a fool.

“I hardly know those girls, I only just started talking to them the other day and that was only because they were with you.” She paused, staring at you for a second, then she grabbed your arm lightly. “I know this might be hard to believe, given our circumstances but... I kicked her out right after you left. Y/n, you’re one of my best friends, I would never be okay with someone doing that to you.”

You tilted your head, looking at her adoringly. “You still consider me a best friend?”

She chuckled, squeezing your hand. “We never stopped. We just went through a small bump because I got so caught up with...” Jinsoul was now looking at the pavement, a somber expression taken over her face and you instantly knew the reason behind that.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about him, are you okay?” You still couldn’t believe that Jacob would cheat on her. She liked him so much and as far as you were concerned, he liked her too. Everyone knew they were the cutest couple, him doing that was a complete shock.

“I wish I could say I was over him but it’s not that easy,” she replied.

“You’re strong and independent, you’ll be okay.”

“Eventually.” She looked back up at you and cracked a small smile. “Fortunately, I’ll be busy with training now so that’ll take my mind off of it.”

Just then, the school bus pulled up and you all hopped on and got ready for the school day. You knew you had some consoling to do so you linked arms with Jinsoul and sat on the bus with her as the two of you caught up on the ride to school.

~

Right before home room, Jimin insisted on walking with you to your locker when you realized you left your Chemistry textbook in there by accident but you assured him you’d only be a minute so he stayed behind.

As you exited the class, you began to put you hair in a ponytail when you were caught by surprise to see Heejin standing in front of your locker, clearly waiting for you.

You immediately rolled you eyes but continued to your destination to open your locker. “What do you want?” you asked, an annoyed tone hinted in your voice.

Heejin didn’t seem nervous. You can see that she looked apologetic but also, she wasted no time to start talking.

“I shouldn’t have told you any of that,” she spoke.

“You guys shouldn’t have done any of that, Heejin.”

She sucked her teeth. “It wasn’t me, y/n. And I’m not excusing anything. It was wrong, no matter what way I try to look at it. I just regret not telling you sooner.”

You shook your head, breaking eye contact from her to look for your book. “I don’t care, Heejin. It is what it is.” Your eyes laid upon your Chemistry 102 and as you grabbed it, you just realized that you were over it. Completely over it.

“Y/n, I was in a really bad mood the other night and I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I was mad at Kayla and was mad at you for defending her—”

“Which was childish,” you spoke, cutting her off as you now closed your locker. “Kayla is your best friend, Heejin. And I love Jinsoul but you can not let other people’s personal opinions about your best friend control you like that. Ever.”

Now she seemed regretful as she bit her bottom lip and clasped her hands together. “And I realize that now. I plan on talking to her. In the meantime, this is my apology, y/n. Please don’t be mad at me?”

You sighed, knowing you were going to have to face Kayla during class today as well. With so many confrontations happening today, you knew you had to persevere your energy and that started with forgiving people.

“I’m not mad at you, Heejin, I’m dissapointed. I just feel I need some space for a few hours... or days.”

With a nod, she agreed. “That’s understandable.”

That being said, you knew what you needed to do next. You walked back to home room and went right to your seat, turning to the woman whom sat directly behind you, still finishing a half eaten bagel.

“You need to talk to Heejin.”

“I know, she’s been acting really funny towards me lately?” She swallowed the bite that she was chewing before sitting up straighter and looking at you curiously. “Wait, is she acting weird with you too?”

You rolled your eyes. “Kayla, I’m not getting between this, just talk to her.”

She shrugged, not seeming too bothered. “I guess. Anyway, you wanna hang out tonight?”

It was very clear that Kayla had no idea about the situation at hand. And yeah, if you were upset at anyone, it was her. So, if anything, this put you in an even more annoyed state.

“Can’t. Ask Jimin, maybe he can spare you some company.”

At first, she looked lost but then she quickly shook it off, asking you if you really thought he would hang out with her.

Guessing that Jimin happened to hear his name being said, he turned back to look at you. Even though he wasn’t sure what you two were talking about, he had a feeling that you said something petty.

“Don’t,” he mouthed to you.

Sighing, you decided to take Jimin’s advice. Now definitely wasn’t the time or place and to top it off, it was just way too early for all of this. So you turned fully around just as your teacher walked in, prepared to start class.

~

By time lunch came around, you noticed you were one of the firsts in the cafeteria. As you stood in line, waiting to be served your tray, you felt an arm cling over your shoulder and you didn’t even need to look to know who it was. The scent of his godsent cologne gave it away, making you immediately blush.

“I think,” the voice to your left began to say, “we should start sitting together.”

You looked at Jaehyun, cocking your eyebrow conceitedly. “Someone moves fast,” you teased.

“Is that a ‘no’?” He grinned at you as you gently took his arm off you.

“Where in that sentence did you hear a ‘no’?”

“Nowhere, so I’m taking it as a yes.”

You giggled at his boldness but deep down inside, you felt flattered. “I take it you’re used to getting what you want.”

“You’d be suprised.”

You shook your head, opposing this statement. “Actually, I would not. And something about that makes me want to play hard to get.”

His jaw dropped in a joking manner as he tried to keep a poker face but couldn’t help but to let out a laugh. “You’re evil y/n.”

“And you’re lucky you’re cute.”

He playfully shoved you with his elbow and you followed by poking his dimple. The both of you smiled at each other sweetly as the line moved up.

“Y/n, we didn’t get to talk about that date.”

“Yeah, we didn’t,” you replied, suddenly getting butterflies as you thought about last night. “I had a good time.”

He smiled, relieved to hear you say that. “I’m glad you had a good time because I would like to take you on another one. A proper one... If that’s okay with you, I mean.”

A proper one. You weren’t sure what exactly he meant by that, as to you, that was a proper date. Especially considering your age and his schedule. Was the timing of the date messed up? Maybe, but he did what he could. And that alone, was the sweetest gesture.

You were about to respond but before you could even get the chance, you saw Jinsoul walking over to join you two in line as she looked at you both skeptically, arms folded in suspicion.

“Oh, hey—”

“What are you guys talking about?” Jinsoul cuts you off.

Jaehyun took a quick glance at you before looking back to Jinsoul. “I was just telling y/n that you guys should sit with us today.”

The line moved up.

“Sit with ‘us’? As in you, Jungkook, Eunah, Mingyu, Kyle,Hyeri and those other freaks?”

Jaehyun took the name calling very lightly as he cocked his head, chuckling at her. “Yes, me and those ‘other freaks’,” he confirmed.

“I’d rather choke on rocks,” she deadpanned before turning to you. “Y/n, if we sit there that means we’ve officially hit rock bottom, people are going to think we belong to a clique. Do you want to succumb to that?”

Jaehyun huffed. “You would know, little miss perfect, not too long ago you were sitting with us. And you know we’re not a clique, we’re friends with everybody. Come on, you say it like we’re not all still friends with you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is Jacob there?”

Jaehyun sighed, seeming to suddenly remember that night. “No, he’s been sorta M.I.A. He’s been telling people he’s sick to get out of things.”

“Once a liar, always a liar,” Jinsoul scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. “Whatever, it’s up to y/n.”

You smiled, shaking your head in approval. “We should!”

“Then I guess we have no choice.”

After taking your trays and paying for your lunches, you all began to walk to Jaehyun’s table where some of his friends already sat, as you noticed Taehyung sitting at your usual table, distracted on his phone as he waited for the others to arrive.

You hadn’t seen Taehyung in a while and knew this was your chance to finally chat with him.

You slowly stopped walking as you got closer and closer to passing him. Jaehyun and Jinsoul looked back at you, curiously. “I’ll be there in a minute, you guys.”

Upon hearing this, Taehyung looked up and the other two shrugged this off and kept it moving. You looked over at Tae, whom was now smiling at you as you approached him completely. “Taehyung,” you greeted.

“Wow, she’s talking to me,” he jokes.

“I know you’re not speaking. I haven’t even gotten so much as a text message from you, this goes both ways!”

He pursed his lips together before blowing out an exhausted breath. “Well, I don’t know if you know but we’ve been preparing for a comeback. I know it’s not an excuse but—”

You chuckled upon hearing the news of this. “Wait, comeback? Oh my god, when?”

He grinned, shrugging a shoulder. “We’re not exactly sure yet, we’ll know officially in a few weeks the comeback date.” He raised an eyebrow. “Jimin hasn’t told you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Taehyung let out a chuckle before looking back at Jaehyun’s table. He paused in thought, momentarily. “Why aren’t you with your friends?”

“I’m not gonna beat around the bush. I thought it’d be nice if you and I have a little chat about what happened. You’re always disappearing, I don’t know when we’ll get this chance again.”

He sighed and by the looks of it, you could tell he saw this coming. “You’re right,” he replied, nodding. “We should talk about it.”

You sat your plate on the table and took a seat next to him.

“Look,” he started. “I’m sorry I kissed you like that. In my head, I was mad at myself for ignoring you for so long that when we finally talked things out, I couldn’t hold back my feelings. But in reality, it shouldn’t have happened.”

“Your feelings?” you questioned, to which he then cocked his head, looking away as you saw him poke his tongue in his cheek.

“You’re really gonna make me say it, huh?” he asked, a grin on his face.

You started smiling, teasingly, as you realized what he meant.

“Yeah, I, uh...” Tae ruffled his black hair, getting slightly nervous before looking back at you. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a small crush on you, yn.”

You froze for a second, trying not to burst out into a fit of laughter but you couldn’t help it. As you laughed, Taehyung joined in, blushing deeply.

You weren’t stupid, you had your suspicions the day he asked you on that “date”, him kissing you just confirmed it. “I kinda knew,” you admitted. “I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t kind of have one on you too.”

He looked you dead in the eyes. “I knew, also. You’re not the only one who sucks at hiding their feelings.”

Now you were the one blushing.

“But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve been actually seeing someone. So you don’t need to worry about our past getting in the way of our friendship.”

He gave you a reassuring smile but all you could do was drop your jaw in response. Seeing someone? “Whhaaattt?”

He chuckled. “She doesn’t go to either of our schools and she’s not an idol or anything of that sort. But I actually like her. I’m gonna give it a little more time as of right now but then I’ll bring her around to meet you and everyone else.”

You pouted in happiness at this news. Taehyung was an amazing person and he deserved to be happy and loved.

“So going forward,” he continued, “I don’t want things to be awkward between us. I don’t feel weird and I hope you don’t either.”

You shook your head eagerly. “Of course I don’t, Taehyung! And I’m happy for you. We’re still gonna be besties. I love you, you know this.” You gently gripped his arm to let him knew you meant what you said.

“I love you, too.” He stifled a small laugh. “It’s good we’re both over each other. Plus, I think Jimin—”

“You think I what?”

You both turned to find Jimin walking up towards you guys, Jacob, surprisingly, following right behind him. You rolled your eyes.

“Aish, nothing,” Tae waves off.

Just then, you heard your name being called. You turned your head to the source of the voice, which was no other than Jinsoul’s, of course. She looked annoyed. Must have been Jacob’s presence being there. You couldn’t blame her.

“What’s the point of being over there when we agreed to sit over here today?”she yelled.

You sighed, standing up to get ready and go back over. As you began to pick up your tray, you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh yeah,” you started. “So my parents are going to Japan next week. My fathers company is having a conference there and my mom decided to tag along, I decided to stay behind. Anyway, I’m gonna have a small sleepover with my close friends, nothing crazy. Think you guys will be able to come?”

Jimin and Tae both looked at each other then looked back at you and simultaneously shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” Jimin spoke.

“We’ll be there,” Tae added. “Hopefully. We have to check our schedule but we’ll most likely be there.”

“Okay.” Then you looked at Jacob, who was shamelessly hiding his face from the side that Jinsoul could see him from. “Oh, and Jacob.” He looked up at you. “Just to clarify, you’re not invited. I’m sure you knew but I just had to make it clear.”

You gave him a smart ass smile as he squirmed in his seat before you turned on your heels to join Jinsoul, Jaehyun and his friends.

PART 15

A/N: bruh i can't believe it took me this long to update sjldjs my bad I've been so busy working everyday. capitalism is sickening! I'm at the point where i really dont think I'm cut out to work like someone pls make me a house wife at this point, i’m begging! skfslkfs anyway lots of small confrontations this chapter, let me know what you guys think, ily!

Morning- Bucky Barnes Fic Part 2

Summary: Bucky reminisces and mourns y/n. The events of Endgame transpire.

Genre: More angst than I intended but a happy ending!

Word Count: 2.5k

Note: Thanks for all the lovely feedback on part 1! Hearing people’s reactions to the things I create motivates me to keep making them. I was too lazy to rewatch Endgame so everything is based off of my memory, by the way. Also, do you guys like having music to go with some scenes or is it distracting? Please let me know your thoughts!

Y/n was a homebody. Of course she loved spending time with her friends and seeing new sights every once in a while, but ever since she met Bucky, the place where she enjoyed the most was home. When they bought their first house together, y/n had visions of what she wanted the place to be.

“We have to get cute chairs for the front porch. Imagine going out there in the morning and having a cup of coffee while getting to watch the sunrise, how nice is that?...Oh! And we have to make sure we have tons of paintings and pictures on the walls, I hate when people leave it bare. I was thinking for the kitchen...”

Bucky was only half listening to her ideas. He knew that whatever she did, he would love, because she was trying to make a house their home. He knew she would make sure that it was apparent that they lived there, as she was a very expressive person. He loved that about her, how her personality was so big she wore it on her sleeve.

Getting everything unpacked only took one week, as y/n spent all day and all night decorating and putting everything where it needed to go, with Bucky’s help of course.

The night y/n deemed they had their “finished project”, they took two wine glasses out to the front porch, along with the crosley Steve gifted Bucky for his past birthday. A record was softly playing.

Y/n and Bucky sat in their “cute” chairs, along with the music floating through the evening air.

“I think it’s funny how our appliances and security system is so hi-tech, yet we probably get the most use out of your record player and my old polaroid.” Y/n commented.

A small smirk was on Bucky’s face. “I guess I never thought about that, but you’re right.”

“You know, I’ve always been an old soul. I know it seems like everyone says that but it’s true for me. I grew up on this technology yet I’ve always relied on pen and paper. I matured so young. History was always my favorite class in school, too. The World Wars fascinated me. I would go home and read all about them, past the stuff they would assign. I always wondered what it was like to live during that time.” She looked Bucky in the eye.

Bucky thought for a moment. He didn’t think about his life before HYDRA all too often anymore. His mind was now occupied with thoughts about other things, or rather on a particular person.

“Well, the air was fresher. It was just as noisy though. People talked on the streets louder, and you could hear the car engines on the road more. People weren’t so afraid of each other either.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, his eyes flickering between his flesh and metal one.

“You would walk in a place and pretty much talk to anyone. If someone came battered and bruised at your door, you would let them in. People had lost so much after the Great War, that any ounce of kindness or normalcy was embraced.”

“I bet the parties were pretty lame, though.” Y/n said lightheartedly, looking up to Bucky to see his reaction.

“You kidding? Yeah, you couldn’t really hear the music all to well but the dancing was just as good, if not better. Drinks were cheaper, too.”

Y/n laughed at that. “Everything was cheaper, Buck.”

“Well no shit.” He chuckled.

“The music was great though, I’ll give you guys that.”

Bucky hummed in agreement.

The record player crackled as it moved to the next track. The clarinet of Benny Goodman filled their ears, and Peggy Lee’s soft voice glittered in the air.

Y/n stood up from her spot, and reached her hand out to Bucky. “Dance with me.”

He smiled up at her and grabbed her hand. She turned the dial up on the crosley, and wrapped her arms around his body. Her head rested in the crook of his neck. He held her hand and placed his other arm around her waist. They swayed to the tune.

The only sound he focused on was the music playing and her light breathing. The only thing he thought about was her. In that moment, he looked at her with stars in his eyes because she was his whole universe. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for this woman.

“I love you so much, Bucky.” She whispered delicately in his ear.

Bucky closed his eyes and inhaled a breath, taking in her lovely scent.

“I love you too, darling. So much.”

“Even when I’m a little wine drunk?” She said pulling back to look at his face, a crooked smile on hers.

He grinned at her. “Even more when you’re wine drunk. You’re more fun that way.” He said cheekily.

“Oh shut it, Barnes.”

He laughed and held her face in his hands, and gently moved forward to kiss her. She responded, wrapping her arms tighter around him, her finger tips softly tugging at the ends of the hair on the nape of his neck.

Bucky could honestly say that that was one of the happiest times of his life.

Now he was left destroyed, absolutely shattered, with the absense of her. He knew his happiness rested in her, no matter how unhealthy it might seem. Half of him went away the day she vanished.

5 years without her. 5 years of misery. He felt like he just watched every day go by, not really there.

His life lacked color without her in it. Bucky thought that after 5 years maybe, just maybe, things would eventually lessen but the pain still ached in his chest. He yearned for her. It didn’t help living in the place where she last was, everything reminding him of her.

He kept her small pile of dirty clothes laying on the floor in their bedroom. He left her art studio untouched, not baring to open the door again. Even a mug that had her chapstick stain on it remained on her bedside table.

The little fragments of her pained him to look at, but at the same time it kept y/n’s memory alive. But Bucky couldn’t ever possibly forget her.

His day started just the same as every day before that, after the infamous snap. He woke up later than he used to, showered a bit less, and moved around hardly. Some days were better than others, though. Bucky counted days where he could drag himself to the grocery store a win.

The time on his phone read 10:35. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, knowing Steve was going to be disappointed in being late yet again for a meeting. He already had 3 missed texts and 2 calls from him.

Hey, where are you?

Answer your phone.

Damnit Bucky. I thought things were getting better.

Bucky huffed at reading the last one. As if he could ever get better. As if his soul, body, and heart didn’t long for her to still be with him.

He texted back a “Sorry, leaving now” before quickly putting on some clothes that didn’t smell like rubbish before hastily leaving the house.

————

Bucky sat across from Steve in the cafe booth, staring at him with pained eyes. He didn’t breathe. He looked down after a moment, trying to process what Steve just revealed to him.

“Every night since the snap I’ve gone to bed wishing I could have done something. That I could do something to reverse it all. I’ve held onto this hope. But as the days turned into years I’ve had to face the reality that she-“ Bucky paused. “She’s not coming back. None of them are. And you just spring this onto me. I don’t know if I can allow myself to build up that hope again just to have it all crash down on me. I couldn’t endure that.” He shook his head, meeting Steve’s blue irises.

“Of course there is no guarantee that this will work. But you owe it to her to try. We owe it to all of them. If there is any chance, any slim chance this could work, why not take it?”

Bucky let his words hang in the air. He really thought about it. Of course he would do anything for her, anything. But the feeling he felt when he found her ashes, realizing that this was all real and that she was gone, tore him apart. Having to rexperience that would be torture. Not even HYDRA could have done damage to him like that. But Steve was right.

He owed it to her, his light. He was so tired of living in the darkness. He would do anything for her.

“Okay. When do we leave?”

———

Banner had done it. When the plant outside the compound window reappeared, and the birds started singing louder, Bucky could feel his chest rise with hope and relief. When Clint received a call from his wife, Bucky cried.

She was back. He couldn’t see her but Bucky could feel the heart strings reattaching and the aching dulled. His world was colorful again.

The blissful moment was short lived when the building started to crumble and they realized they were under attack from Thanos.

The nerve of that fucking guy.

Bucky came out of the rubble seemingly unharmed, running to Steve. The fight had began.

Bucky just wanted to run home to her. He knew she would probably be so confused, stepping out of her studio and seeing the state of the house. It was a wreck. Bucky just couldn’t take care of it or himself anymore.

But he knew this would end in a fight. Thanos needed to be ended.

So he fought. Sending bullets into the skulls of the extra terrestrial beings and punching any creature that got in his way, he kept the image of y/n in mind. The knowledge of her being alive and him not getting to see or hold her killed him, but he was determined as ever to beat the fuck out of Thanos and his army.

In the moment he sent a bullet through another creature’s skull, the being wisped away into ashes instead of falling back on the soil. Bucky looked around, confused, until he saw Stark in the distance wielding the gauntlet. 

His eyes widened as he witnessed the thousands of aliens, Thanos included, being vanished into the air. He cringed at the sight of Peter and Pepper hunched in anguish over Tony’s body.

Steve approached Bucky from behind, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. 

“You alright?” Steve asked, tears in his eyes. It had been one hell of a day.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I can’t believe Stark did it.”

Steve looked down, not wanting to Bucky to see the tear that escaped. He stood there for a few seconds, letting everything settle over him.

“You should go home. You should be able to find a car by the compound, or whatever is left of it.”

Bucky looked at him.

“What about you?”

“I’m going to catch up with Sam. Don’t worry about me. Go see her.”

Bucky instantly grinned at the mention of y/n. He hugged Steve.

“Give my regards to Sam.” He stated.

“Same to y/n.” Steve smiled.

Bucky gave Steve one last look before jogging towards the compound, his feet picking up momentum the more he thought about y/n. 

He was going home, at last.

------

She was sitting on the porch chairs, a distant look in her eyes. She was holding onto a wine glass.

Her eyes widened when the car approached the driveway.

Bucky didn’t even turn it off before he got out, running to her. She gasped.

“Buck-”

“Y/n!” He swiftly pulled her into him, crushing their bodies together. He inhaled her beautiful scent. He cried.

They held each other for a while, the only thing to be heard was the muffled sounds of their breaths and clogged noses, the happiest of tears shedding.

He kissed her temple, his lips lingering. He looked down into her eyes, hers showing both love and relief.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. You have no idea how happy I am to see you. God, it was hell without you.”

Her face contorted in concern. “I can’t imagine what it was like, Buck. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, but pulled her into his embrace again, cradling her head in his arms. He kissed her hair.

That night, they laid in their bed, it now feeling warm and comfortable  and right. He held her in his arms, so tight and close. She nestled into him, her body fitting his like a puzzle piece. Neither of them were sleeping, but neither spoke a word. He could explain everything to her later. She could tell Bucky just needed a break from talking or thinking, all he needed was to just hold her. To know that she was really there with him.

After a few moments, Bucky turned his body to face hers, moving his arm that was underneath her to his side, his other wrapped around her torso. He gazed at her.

“Will you marry me?” He whispered, voice husk, sincere.

She stared at him, and tried to stifle a laugh, but a chuckle escaped her. Bucky’s face held a bit of amusement, at the joy of getting to hear the beautiful sound, but also confusion at her reaction.

“What?” he asked.

She met his eyes. “You know I’m not one for grand romantic gestures or cheesiness, but I’m just imagining how Winifred would have reacted to you asking me that like that.” Her smiled reached the corner of her eyes, a small laugh following.

Bucky looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head and grinning. “She’s rolling in her grave right now, yelling at me about being a gentleman and my rudeness.” 

Y/n giggled, reaching out to rub Bucky’s arm.

“Oh, totally.”

After their laughs cooled down, Y/n stared at Bucky fondly and determined.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Bucky.” She pressed a kiss to his hand that rested on her shoulder.

It was crazy how much a difference a day made. Yesterday, Bucky didn’t have purpose to his life. Without y/n by his side, he didn’t see the point in continuing on. But now, having y/n in the home they shared, their bed they occupied, wrapped up in her, he wished to have all the time in the world to be alive and share it with her. Before, the only solace he gained was in sweet dreams of her, because it was the only time he felt her presence when she was no longer around. Now, Bucky didn’t want to fall asleep, he wanted to stay awake forever and spend every waking moment with her.

He fell asleep that night holding her, hearing her soft snores. In the morning when he woke up around 6, he stared at her lovely face, undisturbed by the peacefulness of sleep. He could hear the sound of four birds chirping furiously. For once, the sound filled him with an overwhelming amount of joy. 

He was whole again.

Becoming Pt. 1

AO3 Becoming Pt. 1

Fantastical adventure, heroes, villains, magic, and more tore through River’s mind as she sat in the family room of the Lake house. This was a life River could only dream of while growing up. She always felt a connection to fantasy novels and movies, opting to read or watch those in favor of any other genre. The book she currently read was one of Arthurian legends, one of River’s top rereads in fact. Just as she began to skim over the section where Arthur pulls Excalibur from the stone, a crash from upstairs sends her reeling back to reality. She carefully marked her page, depositing the book in her bag and Jim came racing down the stairs.

“Morning,” Jim grumbled out, still half asleep.

River laughed and began helping with their daily chores. “You alright there Jimbo? Did the raccoons keep you up again?” She asked as they made sure the house was picked up.

Jim smiled, finally waking up when he began cooking, “Nope, just needed to get in the kitchen. Not everyone can run on coffee alone.” He teased, gesturing to River’s cup, and the half-empty pot of coffee from that morning. “You do realize you’re going to crash one of these days with how little you sleep.”

River shrugged packing the lunches as they were finished, setting one in the fridge with a note on it for their mom. “I drink coffee because I like the taste, I sleep when I’m tired, and I wake up before my alarm. I can’t help it if I don’t need as much sleep.” She poured the rest of the coffee into a thermos and placed it on the tray Jim was working on for their mom.

Jim smiled, finishing up a note. “Alright, alright. But if mom asks, you only made half a pot.” He teased, causing River to roll her eyes. “I’m taking this up, mom has work tonight. Ready to go?” He asked as he walked up the stairs.

River grabbed their bags, following to the foot of the stairs, “I got everything together, I’ll grab the bikes. Meet you in front.” Heading to the garage, River opened the door, wheeling out both bikes. Putting on her helmet she let out a groan seeing the trash cans. “Seriously?”

Jim ran out, grabbing his helmet quickly, pausing seeing the cans as well. “The raccoons! They were out last night!”

Huffing, both teens quickly picked everything up. As they finally got the lids on the cans, a stout teen rolls up on his bike, grinning at the two. “Morning Jimbo! Morning River! Ready to head out?” Toby asked, bouncing from one leg to the other, looking at his watch. River waving a silent greeting in response. “Sure thing Tobes, but first,” Jim smirks, handing Toby one of the packed lunches.

River shook her head, smiling as the two began to argue over Toby’s lunch. “If you two don’t hurry we’ll be late. Again.” She began to ride off ahead of the boys, hearing two distinct yelps as they realized the time.

“It’s already 8!” Toby shouted as he and Jim quickly caught up to River on their bikes. “We’re gonna be late, on account of meatloaf!”

“River lets take the canals! It’ll cut off 5 minutes!” Jim yelled towards River’s back as they quickly turned onto a dirt path, Toby complained behind them as they sped up.

River picked up speed and hit a jump, soaring into the canal easily. Landing near a pile of rocks, she turned to watch for the boys, making sure they made it down safely. As Jim landed in the canal after his own jump, the pile of rocks began to glow. “James… Lake” and ethereal voice calls out, causing both River and Jim to jump, heads snapping to lock at the rocks.

“Did that… just talk?” Jim asked, getting off his bike to investigate the rocks.

River quickly followed, drawn in by the light emanating from the pile. “I think it said your name…” She and Jim began to pull the rocks away as Toby joined them.

“What’s that? A pile of K-Spar?” He asked, picking up some of the rocks they had moved.

Jim and Toby began arguing when the light spoke again. “JAMES LAKE!” It seemed to yell. The light reflecting off River’s eyes as they finally dug out what appeared to be an amulet.

Jim quickly pulled the Amulet from the rubble, holding it to his ear, trying to get it to talk again. A shrill ring causing all three teens to jump back. “The first bell, we have to go!” River yelped as she stepped on a rock Toby had moved, causing her to fall back on to the pile, wincing. “You two go ahead!” She yelled to the boys already on their bikes. Jim and Toby nodded, rushing off to school, knowing River could catch up. She sighed, carefully getting up and heading to her bike when a low voice catches her attention.

“It chose a human!” The voice gasped. River quickly turned her attention to the drain grate, watching the darkness for a moment, waiting to see if the voice would speak again. A second shrill bell sent her into action, jumping on her biking and taking off for the school, deciding to worry about it later.

Once River finally made it to her first class she collapsed in her chair, feeling exhausted for the first time in a while. Her teacher just smiled, knowing River and Jim’s living situation, their mom had to work odd hours as a doctor, she chose not to mention the tardiness.

River pulled out her sketchbook and began drawing the amulet they found that morning, along with some of the more oddly shaped rocks she had sifted through. By the time she registered the bell, she had several pages filled with the amulet and what looked like strange beasts taking shape from the rock sketches.

River met up with Jim and Toby on their way to Senor Uhl’s class, “Has it talked again?” She asked Jim, glancing at the pocket he slipped the Amulet in earlier.

“Nothing yet, though I really hope it doesn’t start talking in class. The last thing I need is detention cause of a talking toy/” Jim sighed, slipping into the classroom and heading for his desk.

“Toy?” River asked, looking to Toby for clarification.

Toby shrugged walking in with River, heading to the back where her desk was set up for grading that day. “I spent most of Strickler’s class looking up what it could be. All we got so far are plush toys. Though most were brightly colored and heart-shaped.” He explained before taking his own seat.

River hummed, thinking over whether or not the Amulet was just another toy… a very person-specific toy, having called out Jim’s name, but a toy none the less. During Senor Uhl’s class, as the teacher’s assistant, River was elbow deep in grading quizzes from the past week when she stopped on Mary’s quiz. Tilting her head slightly and squinting at the words scrawled across the page, River tried to decipher the sentence Mary had constructed. She concluded that what was supposed to be a simple page describing animals, turned into a jumble of Google translate, disregarding all rules for sentence structure and tenses. Not the first fail River gave that day, but definitely the worst.

When the bell rang River waited for Eli and waved after Jim and Toby as they heading in opposite directions. “Morning Eli,” she greeted simply as they headed to Chemistry.

“Morning River! Any new art pieces for the show?” Eli asked, knowing how excited River was for the upcoming art show the school was holding. He loved going through her sketches and seeing all the fantastical creatures she constructed.

River shrugged, a small smile pulling at her lips. They quickly sat at their lab table, waiting for the bell. “Here, they’re just rough sketches, but I haven’t been able to stop drawing them, in fact, your quiz may have a doodle or two when you get it back.” She laughed, pulling out the sketchbook and handing it to Eli.

Eli quickly began going through the sketches, pausing at a couple of alien sketches in the front that he convinced River to draw. Once he got to this morning’s sketches, he almost dropped the book, eye going wide.

River frowned at the reaction. Eli’s never reacted like this to any of her pieces before. “Are they… That bad?” She hesitantly asked, not wanting to put him on the spot.

Eli quickly shook his head, “No! They’re amazing it’s just…” He paused, stopping on a sketch of what looked like a horned beast wearing armor. “This morning, I saw these things.” He pointed to the sketch.

River frowned, staring at the sketching, whispering as class started, “You mean the pile of rocks?”

Eli shook his head, tapping the sketch, “Not the monster, it looked like it was made of rock, there was another one, and I think they were fighting.” He explained, barely able to keep his voice down.

River quickly slipped the sketchbook back into her bag, opting to ask Eli about it later as they had to move on to the lab portion of the class.

During her Medieval History class with Strickler, River zoned out. Sketching more of the beast in armor, wondering if the other one Eli saw looked similar. Strickler paused at her desk, glancing at the sketches. “Miss Wyllt,” he addressed playing with his pen. “Earlier, your cousin was falling asleep in my class, and now you are sleep-drawing through it?” He asked, tapping the sketchbook.

River jolted, quickly putting the book away, “Sorry Mr. Strickler.” She tried to focus on the lectured after that. All she really wrote down was something about a bridge.

Later during trigonometry, Eli began to explain more about the monsters he saw to River. “I saw them in the canal this morning! There was a lot of yelling, lights, and smoke! After that, all I could see was the pile of rocks. I wonder what happened to them.”

A snarl from behind Eli and River drew their attention. Both glanced back to Steve Palchuck, glaring at Eli. “Monsters? Really? Why are you wasting your time with stuff like that?” He sneered.

River rolled her eyes, intent on ignoring Steve, she faces forward again, glancing to Eli as they let the conversation drop. She hoped to get more answers after school.

During gym class, River was with Toby on the ropes, trying to explain how to climb them. Once halfway up, she glanced back down to see Toby struggling but trying to copy how she climbed. River smiled and finished her climb, hitting the bell as Coach Lawrence began yelling at Toby, who was now hanging upside down by his ankle.

River let out a sigh, sliding halfway down before jumping to Toby’s side of the mat, trying to untangle his foot.

“Everyone here should be able to climb this rope and hit that bell!” Coach yelled at Toby.

River huffed, glancing at him, “Coach, at least he’s trying. You can’t say that about half the kids here.” She grumbled.

Coach Lawrence snapped his head to River, nostrils flaring as he yells “I want everyone here made of iron! IRON!”

River leveled him with a deadpan stare, “If we were made of solely iron, none of use could climb the rope. If you account for the same body shape and not weight. I mean, can the teachers even do it?” She snarked, finally getting Toby’s foot free.

When Toby hit the mat, all he could do was stare at River in disbelief. Shocked she could say something like that so easily to a teacher, let alone Coach Lawrence.

“You want another week of detention Wyllt?” Coach asked, crossing his arms.

River’s eyes went wide, her own words finally sinking in. “I just meant… Like Mr. Strickler, I don’t think you could pay him to climb the ropes in here.” She rambled out quickly, mentally apologizing to Strickler.

Coach began to laugh, “Alright, alright! I’ll give you that one! Class! Hit the lockers!” He yelled wrapping up the lesson.

River sighed in relief, helping Toby up quickly. “We will never speak of this again.”

Toby burst into laughter, trying to keep up as they head to the locker rooms.

River glanced around, catching Jim talking to Claire and her friends before running off with Toby. As she finished changing, Claire, Mary, and Darci wondered into the locker room, Mary’s laughter catching her attention immediately.

“River!” She yelled, throwing her arm around River’s shoulders. Gasping between laughs, she finally had enough air to from a sentence. “You should’ve seen it! Your cousin tried talking to Claire in Spanish!” She all but screamed in River’s ear.

River sighed, shrugging off Mary’s arm. “That’s funny because…?” She trailed off, waiting for one of the girls to explain.

Claire sighed at Mary’s behavior, “Mar! It’s not that funny.” She frowned, looking to River.

Mary’s laughter finally subsided, “Not funny? He couldn’t even get a full sentence out! I’m pretty sure he said something about eggs too!” She snickered, trying not to burst out laughing again.

Darci winced, glancing at River, “Mary, seriously. It’s not funny.”

River’s jaw tensed as she ground her teeth. “Eggs?” She asked, her voice on the edge of a snarl. “I wouldn’t comment on other people’s competency regarding the Spanish language Mary. You couldn’t even write huevos properly on your last quiz.”

Mary’s quickly turned, glaring at River before leaning back on her locker with a smirk. “You know, for a model senior, you’re really just a bitch. No wonder you only hang around Jim, Dumbzalski, and Pepperjack.” She sneered back.

River snapped, pulling her fist back quickly, she let go, slamming it into the locker next to Mary’s head, eyes never leaving Mary’s. Mary flinched; eyes locked on River’s arm.

“Mary!” Darci and Claire both yelled, shocked at what their friend said, and worried due to River’s reaction.

River pulled back, rolling her eyes at the girls. “Mary, keep in mind that I’m not a model senior, and I have no problem getting in trouble defending Jim or my friends. Claire,” she paused, turning to gesture at the flyer for the school play. “You asked Jim?”

Claire nodded slowly, snapping her attention from the slight dent of the locker to River, “Um, yeah… we’re having trouble getting guys to audition.” She explained, nervously crumpling the edges of the flyer.

River tilted her head in thought before nodding. “I’ll talk to him, might actually get him to show up.” She stated, grabbing her bag and heading off. Claire shook her head before yelling after River, “Uh, thanks! That would help!”

Smirking as she finds Toby and Jim by the bikes, she shoulders Jim to get to her bike. “Talked to Claire, she’s asking for you to try out for the play.” Jim winced as they began walking towards the school exit. “I seriously doubt that.”

River smirks, eyeing him for a moment, “Told her I’d get you to go, she was very happy about that.” She teased.

Jim snapped his head to her, “Really?” He asked, pausing as they find Steve and his friends talking to a locker.

Steve was leaning on the locker next to Eli’s laughing, “Tell me again! What did the monsters look like?” River’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Eli,” was all she said and she went to move.

Toby’s arm quickly snapped out in front of her, “Are you crazy? If Steve is busy with Eli, he won’t have a reason to attack us!” He squeaked out as River’s glare was shifted to him.

Jim moved instantly as River was held back, “You could let him out now.” He fixed Steve with a wavering glare.

“Or what?” Steve snapped, grabbing Jim by the collar. “You gonna do something about it Lake?” He snarled. Fist pulling back to strike.

River ran past Toby seeing Steve move to Strike. Grabbing onto his arm tightly. “Let go.” She ground out. Steve hesitated as River’s grip tightened.

Jim’s worried glanced shifted to River before he began to ramble, “Okay! Do it!” He yelled at Steve.

Steve and River’s attention snapped back to Jim, “You’re asking for a beating?” Steve asked.

“Hit me, but in 40 years, you’ll be fat and bald, and Eli will have a career in computer software and be a billionaire.” Jim stood to his full height, causing Steve to stumble back.

Toby, finally getting over that Steve will not be leaving his friends alone this year, began yelling for him to let Eli out of the locker. Students that had gathered to see the possible fight began to chant along with Toby.

“Palchuck!” Coach Lawrence’s voice cut through, causing Steve to drop Jim instantly. “What’s going on out here?” He continued to yell from the locker rooms. Steve quickly opened the locker Eli was in. “Nothing sir, Eli here got stuck. Just helping him out.”

“You’re late for practice. On the double!” Coach yelled heading into the locker room again.

Steve turned on Jim, getting into his face with a sneer. “Friday, noon. You, me.” He smirked walking backward to the lockers. “Tick-tock” he waved his finger at Jim, grinning like an idiot before disappearing into the locker rooms.

River rolled her eyes, easily opening Eli’s locker. Having had to memorize the combination due to past instances of Steve or Steve’s friends shoving him into said locker.

Eli toppled out, thanking Jim and River from the ground. River sighed, helping him up before promising to hang out later, needing to head home with Jim and Toby. “Did you see that?!” Toby yelled for the 14th time on their way home. “Let him out! Let him out!” He began his chant all over again as River and Jim laughed, letting him have his moment.

River and Jim paused as their mom’s car pulled up. “Hi mom” River smiled when the window rolled down.

“Hi, sweetie! Hi boys!” Dr. Lake greeted the teens, smiling. “It’s going to be a long night, don’t wait up for me.”

Jim smiled, shoving something into his pocket. “Alright, did you remember your” he began to ask.

Dr. Lake pulled out the bag with the mom note on it. “Dinner, I’ve got in.”

River giggled, seeing Jim’s constant lecturing starting up. “Don’t forget to find an oven mom.”

Jim huffed, pouting a bit at his cousin before turning back to their mom. “Nuking it in the microwave takes out all the nutrients,” He defended.

“Wouldn’t you two rather do anything else than spend time taking care of me?” Dr. Lake asked smiling at them.

“Can’t think of a thing.” Jim grinned.

“Not a single one,” River smiled.

“Love you both, have a good night!” Dr. Lake smiled before heading off to work.

The three teens parted ways. River and Jim heading into the house quickly. Jim pulled out the Amulet, trying to get it to talk. Eventually threatening to put it up for sale on eBay.

“So, we’ve come to threats?” River asked, laughing before a loud crash came from the basement. She and Jim glanced at each other before slowly heading down into the basement, turning the light on. “See anything yet?” River asked, grabbing a baseball bat.

“Not yet. Could be raccoons.” Jim replied. Turning to go further into the basement, the light behind them shattered, causing both teens to yelp and slam into one another, back to back.

Jim glanced to his right and screamed seeing movement, trying to hit what he saw.

River spun around quickly before bursting into laughter as she watches Jim attack a mirror. “Your… Your reflection!” She wheezes out, slowly calming down. Jim blushed, stopping his attack on the mirror.

“Shut up…” He trailed off, eyes staring past River, going wide. After calming down, River tilts her head at Jim’s expression, turning around to see what has him freaking out.

A tall and large creature, consisting of blue stone, six yellow eyes, four arms, and what appeared to be overalls was looming over River. Its face broke into a grin as it all but pounced on them. “Master Jim! Lady River!”

River yelped, putting herself between Jim and the creature. Jim scrambling back into another creature. This one was grey with green fur and towered over the blue creature. It picked Jim up by the ankle as he continued to scream. “It’s Arrrgh. Three Rs.” The creature, now known as Arrrgh, explained to a shaking, upside down Jim.

River turn, pointing the bat at Arrrgh, trying to appear the least bit threatening. “Put him down!”

The blue creature went to Arrrgh’s side, getting him to set Jim on the ground. “Where are my manners? I am known as Blinky. As my friend has stated, he is Arrrgh. “Master Jim, you have been chosen! The Amulet of Daylight challenges you to ascend to the most sacred of offices.”

“Orifices? What orifices?” Arrrgh asks, mishearing Blinky.

“Offices.” Blink repeats, one hand pointing up while explaining to Arrrgh, “It means responsibility.” He quickly looks between Jim and River as he begins to explain again. “Unbeknownst to your kind, there is a secret world, a vast civilization of trolls lurking beneath your very feet, hidden from view.” “Trolls?” River asks, glancing between the trolls and Jim.

“Trolls. Yes, Trolls. And it is now your charge to protect them. For you, Master Jim, are the Trollhunter.” Blinky states happily as Jim chokes hearing this. Arrrgh gestures down towards Jim, smiling “Trollhunter.”

“This honor is yours to accept. So, what say you?” Blinky asks, his four hands grasped in excitement.

Jim choked again, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he collapses. River rushing forward grabs Jim in time to keep him from hitting his head. “Well… it looks like your uh… Trollhunter passed out…” She shifted Jim onto her back, Arrrgh helping her adjust him so she can stand. “I’m just going to take him upstairs.”

Blinky studies her for a moment, “I know you don’t have the overwhelmingly joyous discovery of becoming the Trollhunter like Master Jim, but if this is his reaction, how have you not ‘passed out’?” He asked her, prodding at River’s arms curiously in a studious fashion.

“If Jim wasn’t here, I probably would have passed out on sight, but someone has to look out for him… Look he’s going to be out for the night, maybe you two should come back for his answer later?” River asked, hoping that being polite would get the trolls out of the house quicker, if Jim woke up there’s no telling how freaked he would be.

“Excellent idea Lady River!” Blinky clapped the shoulder Jim wasn’t resting on. “We will be back for Master Jim’s answer soon. Come Arrrgh, we must prepare for Master Jim’s training!” Blinky escorted Aaarrrgghh out of the house quickly.

River carefully brought Jim up to the couch. Settling him down before locking all the doors and windows, making sure no other Trolls would show up. Laying down on the second couch in the sitting room, River glanced at Jim’s sleeping figure. “The things I put up with for you.” She sighed before letting herself fall asleep. During school the day after Blinky and Arrrgh broke into the Lake house, Jim was an anxious mess. At lunch, River dropped her tray in front of him, leveling him with her patented ‘You messed up,’ look.

Jim groaned seeing the look, “What?”

“Maybe you should talk to someone who doesn’t have a drill in their mouth. Someone that said to stop by his office if we ever needed to talk?” River suggested referring to Jim’s yelling waking her up way too early while he was trying to talk to Toby.

“What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Mr. Strickler? Guess who came over last night offering me a job? Trolls!’ Do you want me committed?” Jim asked. River only shrugged in response. He groaned getting up, “Fine, I’ll think of a way to tell him that won’t get me committed. See you there soon if it doesn’t work.” He waved back to her as he headed for Strickler’s office. She shook her head and continued with lunch; the day seemed to drag on after the events of last night.

Once they made it home, River sat outside in the backyard with Jim as he looked over the amulet. “So, thinking about their offer?” She asked. Jim shrugged, reading the etched writing that glowed on the Amulet.

Jim slowly read the words out loud “For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command.” After he spoke the wind picked up around them. Looking around River noticed that gravity seemed to break as heavy rocks began to float, their bags sitting next to her were in the air, and Jim hovered holding the Amulet. She watched as glowing orbs exit the Amulet, flying around the yard before shooting off into Jim’s chest. A bright flash blinding her for a moment before Jim lands with a heavy thud. As the light fades, River bursts into laughter seeing Jim in a suit of armor far too big for him. After a moment the armor began to shifting until it fits Jim perfectly. A second flash of light and a sword appears in his right hand. He swings the sword testing it out a before it gets stuck in a rock. This caused River to burst out laughing again. As he frees the sword from the rock he tilts back slightly too far and the sword tips back out of his hand and gets stuck in a second rock. River was laying back in the grass, laughing so hard that she began to tear up. Once Jim finally frees the sword and holds it up, she calmed down enough to ask him “So, is that a yes?”

A Few Words On Pride Month 2020

So, pride month has come at last. No matter how crazy it sounds right now as we're experiencing first-hand one of those events that will end up in history handbooks one day.

I'll be honest, it's quite difficult for me to talk about it now when everything that is not Mrs Rhona releted seems so well less relevant than it was before. But I want to share a few words that most likely nobody will read but I'll let them flow anyway.

I watch that video every single year during pride month. It's from a series I liked quite a lot back then, it's called Sense8. The character speaking is a trans woman, an lgbtq+ hacktivist, reminiscing her disastrous relationship with her transphobic mother yet finding strength in her own sorrow. There is a passage I love:

Today I'm marching to remember that I'm not just a me

But I'm also a we

And we march with pride

These words resonate with me: they summarise perfectly the deep empathy and acceptance that I feel should make us stick together. Both inside the lgbtqa+ community and as human beings: "I am a human being, and thus nothing human is alien to me". I'm quoting by heart a Latin playwright named Terentius (Terence in English, I guess?) so forgive me if I got something wrong but what I mean is...we should all care about each other because no matter our differences, our sexuality or color of skin or class, we are human. We are brothers and sisters: I'm an only child but I believe that the definition of a healthy family is one where people overcome differences that don't truly matter in the end, they don't define us as worthy or unworthy of love and respect which should always be given to another human being.

Unless there are valid reasons not to.

As the latest happenings in the world have shown, a hard truth we all know has been reinforced: we live in a cruel, unfair world where, as Nomi said, "hating isn't a sin on that list and neither is shame". A world where people get hurt or killed for reasons which can be hardly called a motive for violence: not being white, not being rich enough, being different, holding a hand or kissing a person of the same sex in the street.

We may comfort ourselves saying these fears were past fears, last century or even Victorian age fears but no, they're still out there. And we can't turn a blind eye.

The current pandemic added new ones, making our lives even more miserable. Speaking of the lgbtqa+ community, I think I can say the social distancing is hitting even harder. Does anybody feel lonelier now? I rise my hand, I do. I'm not referring to the fact that pride parades are cancelled (because we all know there is a freaking valid reason atm), but getting in touch with other people is way harder now. In my personal experience, getting in touch with fellow lgbtqa+ folks was rare even before the pandemic, now it's hella tough. In the street we hide our faces behind masks and don't have the same careless attitude we used to display. Shaking hands and even the lightest touch or proximity are not allowed under the new restrictions: a few weeks ago, over here a couple was charged for hugging each other in the street. How sad and dystopic are these times we live in...

Virtual meetings can help but they're not like in person meetings: the warmth of personal interaction is simply not there. We try but it's not there. Couples are separeted by lockdown rules and so are some families. Lgbtqa+ hotlines are a saving grace and I cannot stress enough how important they are and how anyone struggling with their mental health or literally anything concerning themselves, their gender and sexuality should feel free to contact those volunteers who are a blessing restoring a little faith in humanity.

My thoughts are for those of us who got stuck quarantining with homophobic/biphobic/transphobic etc parents or roommates, and those stuck in abusive contexts. Yes, even relationships because - I know I'll be super unpopular saying this but we can't lie especially to the minor or vulnerable ones- lgbtqa+ relationships can be abusive and toxic too. As I said, we're human and I am sick and tired of the honeyed sunshine rhetoric of lgbtqa+ people and love as an ever right and righteous safe haven. It is a safe haven for us to some extent but we must acknowledge there are problematic issues in our community. We have to be honest with each other especially for the sake not only of each other but for the vulnerable ones and the young. Like criticising or reporting abusers, predators, rapists and so on don't make us all filthy creatures who will burn on a stake for our abominable sins. It just makes us responsible and looking out for each other.

We spend so long dreaming of finding someone of the same sex to be with that when someone shows us any sign of affection our feelings for them grow fast, even when red flags or abuse enter our lives. We stay because we're hungry for love and crave what straighties seem to get so easily: love, acceptance, reciprocity. To the young and everyone who needs to hear this I wanna say: it doesn't have to be like that. Don't ever settle for cheap love only because you feel you will lose your only chance to be loved. There are good people out there too and you deserve one of them at your side. You will find them, your paths will cross: just be patient and never ever forget the importance of respect and consent.

To all those experiencing anything like the relationships or toxicity I mentioned, who feel silenced by the sunshine rhetoric, I say: you are not alone, stay strong and you did nothing wrong, others did and I'm sorry you're going through this cause you don't deserve it.

I share a similar shutout to those struggling with mental and/or physical disorders. If you ever felt pretty much invisible, you're not. I see you, many others see you and we're all rooting for you. You're stronger than you think and you're beautiful.

The not-as-unfortunate-as-the abovementioned but still quite forlorn are the star crossed lovers meeting that special someone in a bad time. Quarantine will see the blossoming of some romances but also takes no prisoners, blowing off others. They don't vanish though, in most cases they turn into those impossible loves and what if we love so much in the movies and hate in real life. I wish I could lay a blanket or pull into a tight hug all those going through this. Your pain is not irrelevant even if there are worst things in the world right now, our souls hurt for things like that. I hold your shaking hand wherever you are as you stare blankly at your phone, waiting for a message or a call that will never come, or you reminisce, listening to a romantic playlist you still have saved on your device. Your suffering is my suffering.

On a brighter side, cause I don't wanna be a complete downer, the luckiest ones among us are blessed with love and I can't be any happier for you, whoever you are. I can picture the one day a few years from now when I will be talking to someone and they will share their story saying how they met the love of their life during the pandemic. How it wasn't easy at first because of all the uncertainty and fears but they kept trying and it all started with a social distancing date at a park or via Zoom. You lucky ones, cherish that and never take what you have for granted: the love you feel and that special someone is showing you is a balsam in hard times. Please cherish it dearly and never stop loving: one day you'll warm these old bones and lonely heart if we ever get the chance to cross path.

Actually I don't have any more wisdom to share, granted what I wrote can be called wisdom, nor giveaway. I considered doing a lgbtqa+ one in honor of the pride month but I feel nobody would be interested. Or at least not by me and I fully agree: writing is getting hard and I feel like I risk of ruining everything I dedicate myself to, as I usually do in my life. I'll follow the tips of a few anons (I think?) and devote this month to educate myself over aspects, nuances or realities I am not fully familiar with: so I'll watch Pose and Sex Education. Hopefully I'll learn something new that might make me a better human being.

Feel free to share further advice: books, articles, movies, series, documentaries...you name it! Drop a message or an ask and I'll make what I'm starting now a lasting project!

That is my advice: if you're stuck inside with nothing much to do this month, find something that might enrich you, even a little thing, and go for it.

As well as reminding yourself the usual stuff: you are not wrong nor unlovable, you're not offensive or dirty for being attracted to your same sex or both or none. Not to quote Lady Gaga, but it's truly is that simple: you are born and beautiful this way.

Stay safe and stay strong, my darlings 🏳️‍🌈

Love,

E.

I'm not sure if you've answered this question already, but I'm honestly very curious- why do you write fanfiction? I certainly enjoy it as much as you and have written a few things of my own, but I know it can be quite a personal topic for many writers. If it's too personal for you, don't feel any pressure to answer, but it's always interesting to see the writer's perspective outside of the story they've written :). I hope you understand what I'm trying to say-

Hey!

I actually enjoy the words and the rush your brain gets when they join without effort to create a reality.

Now, let me break that down XD

I've always had a book in my hands as far as my memory goes. My dad used to read to me when I was very little and from the second I could do it on my own, that was the best thing ever (yes, that means when I was punished for doing some shit, my books were taken away and I had to sneak them into my schoolbag and read in class like a heathen).

Not only I enjoyed books but I always found myself wanting to partake in the stories, and my brain was always running with the words and the scenes. (I discovered during my teenage years that brains have different ways to process thoughts and mine did it in words, so writing just sort of came naturally to me at that point in my life).

I discovered ffnet when I was 12, I think, but I had tried my hand at original works (that is, about five or six starts of different novels that never saw the light) and some "fanfiction" (about Nightmare Before Christmas because I had a big ass crush on Jack and I unassumingly created my first xReader ever) without knowing what the hell I was doing.

I just knew I wanted to write stuff and I did as much.

The thing is, I introduced one of my friends, who also loved to read and write, to ffnet, and we started writing together. The first thing we wrote was a Sesshomaru x OC fic, the second one was a Sasori x OC fic, and we dipped out toes into some Kuroshitsuji x OC...... all of them handwritten stories we promised we would type in a computer eventually (we didn't, they were horrible [I still have the notebooks we used for each of them and they are cringey as fuck]).

But we wrote for ourselves and we were happy like that.

So we were rampant and wild and having the best time. Back then I still wrote in Spanish (because I hardly knew any English and I didn't care for it), and I remember mixing Spain's Spanish with the ones from South America because obviously the percentage of writers in ffnet who used a different "dialect" Spanish was huge if you compare a single, tiny country with a whole continent.

At the same time I wrote with my friend, I wrote for myself. Naruto, Kuroshitsuji, Bleach, Hetalia.... And I met so many people, nice people, who loved my works (they were random fics, all of them x OC because I didn't know x Reader ones were a thing -they weren't at that time, and x Reader are harder to write in Spanish because all the words and pronouns are gendered one way or another-) and I got so much enjoyment from sharing them.

The thing about books I love the most is the fact that you can convey so many emotions with a few symbols, and you can create worlds out of ink and you can change views and inspire others. So, if none of my dumbass teenage novels were to roam the word, I still could share, in a free, open and fast way, my words with others.

Again, I was going to write them with or without posting them because I found -and still find- great pleasure when a scene creates itself in your brain and all you have to do to make it real is to write it down. (Sometimes my brain still does this and even when I'm daydreaming, my imagination is "written, described and dialogued" as if someone was reading a novel out loud. It makes writing so much easier).

And then I got hate.

I somehow had managed to miss all of the fandom drama that's so toxic in the internet because I didn't bother to interact with anyone in the fandoms beyond the reviews they left in my fics, and ffnet has a -sort of- specific search engine to help you find whatever you want, so I could never willingly find the "problematic stuff" because I was literally not trying to find it.

The hate comment I got was anonymous and very specific about everything that was wrong in a particular fic I had just updated -from plot and characterization to grammar and continuity-, and later on I discovered it came from a couple of authors who shared an account and who I admired greatly for their works. Turns out they were out for blood and hating on every fic that had updated that week and that had any members of their OTP shipped with some other character. (It was a Hetalia fanfic, I was writing SpUK and they were pro FrUk, if anyone is interested).

I was contacted by some other authors asking about this because they had gone through the very same thing -same specific hate, same hate comment- and I remember not giving a fuck.

I was 16 when I got the hate, writing for fun and trying to find a way to go through my shitty highschool days without falling into the black out of depression that haunted me. I remember not wanting to write anything anymore, leaving a fic I was very invested in writing to gather dust and rot in the forgotten folders of my computer because every time I tried to get on with it and progress, it felt wrong.

That thing I said about words just happening? It stopped. My brain was silent as a grave and trying to get my words out became painful. I remember struggling to even write regular project for my school.

I kept reading, of course -it was my only comfort and I really, really didn't want to give up on it-, but I abandoned the fandoms I enjoyed so much before. My new focus became the sci-fi, and I remember being hooked on Predator. Imagine my joy when I discovered there were thousands of works from that fandom! I was extasic.

Problem? They were written in English.

I didn't know shit about English besides being a language I was supposed to handle in school, memorize the unreasonably spelt words that were pronounced illogically regarding the fucking spelling and the stupid ass irregular verbs.

But I learnt English because I wanted a hot piece of alien ass XD

Back to the topic of fanfics, I still roamed ffnet, keeping 15 tabs open and reading until 5 am... But now there was a world of possiblities in front of me because of course everyone on this goddamn Earth writes in English.

So, for the next years I did that, and my words didn't come. It was fine, tho, because I had so many new things to read.

It wasn't until fall of 2018 that I dabbed into the idea of maybe considering to perhaps give writing a try again????? I was neck deep into Undertale -still am, I'm a shameless skeleton fucker and there's no cure for that shit- and its many AU's and somehow I had managed to avoid fandom wars again, so my brain started toying with words... The same way it worked with novels: I got myself into the fics other people wrote (this is so much easier to do with x Reader fics, and I'm so happy about that and the massive boom they had just when Undertale came out, you can't even understand it).

So I kept doing my shit and daydreaming about skeletons and ribs and ecto-stuff for a very long time. It was kinda reassuring and nice to see other writers projecting on their x Readers so much because that's what I had done before.

And then Good Omens happened.

As I've said before, I actually discovered Gomens back in 2012 and it is, to the date, the worst translation to Spanish I've seen in my entire life to this date. And, despite it, I fell in love with it.

Now, barely in 2019, my dad gets Amazon Prime and the first thing he fucking sees is the font of Gomens on the screen. I had fangirled hard about Gomens in book version, so much and so annoyingly that I wouldn't leave my dad alone until he gave it a chance. It's the only book my father hasn't finished because the translation is that bad. He hates it.

Yet.

The particular font they use for the show is the same from the book's title. My dad of course recognized it immediately and knew I would want in on the news.

I confess I watched Gomens the show at least seven times before giving it a break because I liked it so much and the novel was so fucking good and it's honest to God the best adaptation I've ever seen to the screen. It's so good I'm fucking sure I was crying actual tears after watching it for the first time because my dreams and all the feelings that book had given me over the years and the many re-reads were "true" and so well done and it reached deep into my heart.

And then, for the first time in six years, my words came back.

Another thing Good Omens has given me, I have to say.

I don't know if I can stress this enough, but just imagine spending six years of radio silence, sending longing stares to the void and hoping to see something yours returning back, something you've lost and you're not sure you're getting back, something you think you don't need or want but that would be nice to have again. If only. You can live without that something, and no one but you cares about it, and it's not that big of a deal and-

Then you see a spark in the dark.

My words came back.

They weren't in Spanish, and it was hard to manage them at first, only being able to listen to them in short bursts over long periods of time.

But they were my words and they were back.

Writing is still hard, and I have a lot of work to do to improve my skills, to get them not only back but to refine them because I'm not writing in my native language and all I know is what I've learnt from other authors and their knowledge. I project a lot on my projects -I don't intend to stop because it's such a relief, the biggest scape from reality I get by doing so; it helps me deal with my problems, it gives me a break and a way to take a breath when I can't keep going...

Fanfics are where I can say what I want to say to the world in the most honest way, and that allows me to be me, and to express myself and indulge in the fantasies I dream about without having to force myself to think of them over and over and over. I can just sit back and enjoy content I know I like without being judged for it.

I can fucking make that content, too.

Writing feels like home, even if sometimes I still struggle, if I can't find my words or the expression is not quite like that in English, or if I can't find the words or if I'm suffering a block... because there's nothing scarier and more free than a blank page ready to be written.

Catch Me If You Can (17/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Everyone enjoying all of these post-season games? Even if your team has already lost like mine 🙈 Anyways, we’re back in London for one more chapter here and @resident-of-storybrooke is still the mvp for reading all of these words. 

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @eala-captian @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings

-/-

Emma can feel Killian’s nose nudging between her shoulder blades, his scruff scratching at her skin, and as good as it feels, she can’t help but curl further into her pillow and bring her knees up to her stomach, hoping that he’ll leave her alone so that she can sleep longer. So much longer. Jet-lag is a bitch, and she just wants to sleep forever. They don’t even get a day off when they get home, and just thinking about it has her dying.

Why in the world did she get sent over here when she’s only writing an article and doing social media stuff? Jeff should have come with her, Ruby too, but right now, she can’t really complain.

This bed is really soft.

London is wonderful.

Killian smells really good right now. He shouldn’t smell this good this early in the morning, and he probably got up to brush his teeth and put cologne on or something stupidly wonderful like that.

But she’s tired, and all she really wants is to sleep some more and for the pleasant ache between her thighs to lessen a bit so she won’t be thinking about it all day long. It’s a wonderful memory to have to think about as her day goes on, but still, a girl has got to be able to walk without her mind going to weird places.

The new phase of a relationship is so damn fun.

Sighing, she hugs her pillow more closely and keeps her eyes shut only for Killian to place the softest kiss in existence on the back of her neck that has the shiver multiplying its intensity by ten with each new vertebra that it reaches.

“Did you know that you are a kicker in your sleep?” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and gravely like it always is in the mornings. She really likes that. Like, really. “And that you are also a heat seeker, and I am in no way safe from your assault.”

“That sounds like a hard life,” Emma mumbles, still not bothering to open her eyes.

“The hardest. Do you know that we’ve only ever spent the night together in hotels? You’ve never even seen my bedroom. We somehow have never made it past the living room.”

“You’ve never seen mine.”

“True,” he sighs as his hand inches over her waist so that his nails can run over her stomach, making the muscles flutter. Or maybe those are the damn metaphorical butterflies. It doesn’t matter. “We should remedy that when we get home.” Home.

He means New York. He doesn’t mean his apartment or her apartment. He simply means the city they both happen to live in, but knowing that doesn’t change the way her heart is hammering in her chest, that residual feeling of being terrified that this is all going to blow up in her face still lingering. It’s not there as much as it used to be, some of the fear tampering down the more comfortable she becomes with Killian, but as old ones fade away, new ones emerge like one of those creepy aliens in movies.

Killian isn’t like Walsh or Neal or any of the people who have hurt her. Anyone with half-functioning eyes could see that, and it’s reaffirmed in how he supports her every day. He sends her articles she’s written in the past with little notes attached to them on what he thinks. Sometimes he shares links to YouTube videos of her interviews, asking her how she noticed the strategy they employed to win that day or simply complimenting her on thinking on her feet when she gets put in a tough situation. The only people who could possibly support her more are Ruth and David, but Killian is very much inching up to the top of the Emma Swan fan club.

He’d probably make t-shirts. Several. And wear them under all of his clothes, the dork.

Dark and broody but also dorky. That’s how she’d describe him if she had to in three words or less.

So she’s not worried that he’s going to demean her or belittle her or make her feel unworthy like she has felt in the past, but there are so many other ways for him to hurt her. Their relationship getting out, for one, could destroy her professional credibility, at least for a little while. That’s something she thinks about every time she sneaks out of her hotel room and into his. It’s ridiculous hard to find a time when someone isn’t in the hallway. But what if he’s secretly shitty in some kind of other way? What if he doesn’t continue to be so open and honest with her? What if he realizes that her hang-ups are too complicated? What if he realizes that he doesn’t want to be patient with her when she does have her freak outs? He’s so damn patient with her, always waiting for her to make the move before he does, and there’s no guarantee he won’t get tired of that.

Why is this the morning that she thinks about this?

Probably because the reality of them telling their friends and family is hitting her. It was her idea, the guilt of lying to everyone overwhelming her, but now the actuality is overwhelming her even more.

Last night, she told Killian that she would go to Addy’s birthday party under this insane plan that he has of them fake running into each other in the hallway, and the reality of meeting his family is kind of freaking her out. She’s never met a boyfriend’s family before, which was always such a blessing, and now she’s invading Killian’s niece’s birthday party.

Where his brother, who he absolutely admires in every way, will be, along with his wife and their kids and all of these other people who are important to Killian.

Emma wants to run. She knows that she does. Feelings overwhelm her, the feelings she has for Killian most of all, but she thinks she’d rather be overwhelmed by the happiness that he helps her feel rather than the anxiety.

The new phase of a relationship is fun but also terrifying.

“Are you inviting me over for a sleepover?” she finally asks, hoping that Killian can’t tell that she’s freaking out a little bit.

Killian hums into her neck, and she finally opens her eyes, the brightness of the sun shining through the curtains blurring everything for a moment. “I am. I can get you all kinds of snacks. We’ll wear our best pajamas, watch movies, play truth or dare, maybe have a pillow fight or two.”

“Do you get all of your sleepover knowledge from 2000s rom coms?”

“Possibly.”

Emma chuckles before turning on the mattress, shifting into Killian’s space like he shifted into hers, and when she’s turned in his arms, she blinks at him, taking in the unshaven scruff and unruly hair that most definitely hasn’t been tamed. She likes that too. His hair is always doing different things, and she can’t decide what she likes best.

“You very obviously did,” Emma sighs, running her hands over the muscled curves of his biceps, “but that’s okay. That’s where all of my knowledge came from too. The closest I’ve ever gotten to one that’s not, like, a sexual thing is when Ruby and I room together on road games.”

“I don’t think that counts because then Robin, Will, and I have had a ton of sleepovers, and none of them involve any of the fun things I was talking about before.” He reaches up to cover her hand with his before leaning in and lazily moving his lips against hers. There are a lot of things she’s learning at twenty-seven, and one of them is most definitely how much she likes lazy morning make out sessions. They’re definitely one of the seven wonders of the world. “And who said there was going to be nothing sexual about our sleepover? I was definitely planning at least a little something.”

Her nose scrunches up, and Killian moves to gently bite it, making her laugh. “We can have something sexual happen, but only if it’s during truth or dare. No funny business otherwise, mister.”

His lips part like he’s going to say something, and she runs her hand up and down his arm as she waits. But then he blinks one long, slow blink and shuts his mouth, whatever words he was going to say curling back on his tongue.

“What?” she questions, moving her leg against his.

“Nothing,” Killian smiles, pressing forward to run his lips over hers again, making her toes curl from the way that he knows just what to do in a kiss to make her happy. “I was simply thinking of this sleepover we’re going to have, and how I need to buy some better pajamas for it. I can’t have you seeing me in anything less than decent.”

“You’re not wearing any clothes right now.”

“And I’ve yet to hear a complaint from you about that, so I think this may be decent attire.”

“Well then,” she sighs, slowly running her foot up his calf again and watching his eyes darken, “I think it’ll be perfectly fine attire then too.”

-/-

This is stupid.

This is so, so stupid. She can’t believe she’s doing this. It’s ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing in the entire world. Okay, maybe not in the entire world, but she’s feeling extra dramatic right now.

The most dramatic, and that’s not an exaggeration.

Killian told her to meet him in the hallway where all of the suites in the stadium are located, and she’s been standing her for fifteen minutes pretending to look at her phone instead of actually looking at her phone and answering emails or something. Or checking stats for the game. She should be doing that, but they’re still in the top of the first inning, and she’s pretty sure this is going to be the game that never ends.

Ever.

And she’ll be stuck in this hallway in London for the rest of her life and die in the yellow maxi dress that she spent thirty minutes picking out because she had no idea what to wear to her secret boyfriend’s niece’s tea party birthday. She’d also debated on going out and getting a gift despite their conversation last night, but then she’d reminded herself that she’s not technically planning on coming to this thing. It’s some kind of fake spur of the moment thing, and bringing a gift would ruin that.

She needs to calm down.

This is fine.

A set of doors to her left open, and she sees Killian walk through. She’s so used to seeing him dressed in his uniform or sweatpants and some kind of team-branded t-shirt when they’re in a baseball stadium that it throws her off when she sees him in tight-fighting blue jeans with a light blue button down tucked in, the sleeves rolled up and several buttons at the top undone so that she can see little tufts of black hair and the silver chain that he wears to keep his mom’s ring next to his heart.

Athletes have all kinds of traditions and superstitions for every part of their life, but her favorite is that Killian keeps that ring on him at all times.

“Hello, kind acquaintance,” he teases when he sees her, eyes darting around the hallway while he steps closer, “funny running into you here looking absolutely gorgeous in that dress. I’d say it’s perfect for a tea party.”

“You are ridiculous.” “You have got to stop saying that about me like it’s new information.” Killian steps up to her then, looking around once more before quickly dipping his head to kiss her while grabbing her ass like they didn’t just see each other two hours ago when she finally left his room. “You do look just beautiful, though. Sometimes I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Heat immediately rises to her cheeks, but she tries to shake it and the butterflies in her stomach off. “I ask myself the same thing about you all the time.”

Killian rolls his eyes at her before holding his arm out. “You ready to go?”

Her eyes glance down at his elbow before looking back up at him. “Why are you holding your arm like that?”

“Because it’s proper to escort a lady to an event by giving her your arm when you walk, and I like to do proper by such a lady.”

“Killian,” she protests even as her heart absolutely hammers in his chest, “we can’t do that. There are people.”

“There’s no one. Indulge me for sixty seconds, okay?”

Maybe it’s that she’s feeling overwhelmed and like taking a risk or maybe it’s the way that he smiles, but something about him has her taking his arm and placing her hand in the crook of his elbow as they walk down the hallway until they’re at the double doors of the suite.

“It’s going to be fine, Swan,” Killian promises, squeezing her hand before letting go and pushing the door open so that the sounds of children excitedly talking fill their ears and her eyes take in all of the people in the room.

It’s not many, less than are usually in a big suite, but she can see at least fifteen kids, most of them children of players, and maybe ten other adults. That doesn’t seem like the right ratio, but these kids are old enough to be semi self-sufficient about most things. Everything is fine. She’s just nervous, which only gets worse when Killian’s niece spots them.

“Uncle Killian,” Addison screeches, stopping where she is and running toward the two of them in her blue dress. Killian immediately crouches down to her level, opening his arms to her and taking her into the tightest embrace before lifting her off of the ground while Addison nuzzles into his shoulder.

It may very well be the cutest and most heart-warming thing she has ever seen in her entire life.

“Happy birthday, my little love,” he sighs, swaying her as they stand. “How are you six years old? I’m pretty sure you’re still supposed to be a baby.”

“I’m too big to be a baby. Don’t be silly.”

“Don’t be silly?” he guffaws, pulling back and adjusting his grip on Addison. “Darling, I am always silly, but so are you. You’re basically the silliest goose.”

Addison scrunches up her nose, and Emma can see Killian in her there. It might be the dimples or the blue of her eyes, but Emma can see something even though both of Killian’s nieces look exactly like their mom. She is not weird at all for noticing these things. “We have talked about this. I am not a silly goose. I am a girl.”

“Geese can be girls.”

“Did you bring me a present?”

“A present?” Killian gasps, tickling Addison’s sides so that she giggles. “Am I supposed to bring you a present? No one told me.”

“But it’s my birthday,” she pouts.

“Did you bring me a present on my birthday? I don’t remember.”

“Yes,” Addison groans, holding her head back. “I drew you a picture of us.”

“Oh, that’s right, that’s right,” Killian sighs, glancing to the side and winking at Emma, which definitely doesn’t do something weird to her heart. “You did. I have it framed on my bookshelf because I love it so much. I do have a present for you, but your mom and dad told me that I had to leave it at home so you can’t open it until you get back to America.”

“What is it?” she gasps, not at all deterred by the fact that she can’t open her present yet.

“Addy,” a male voice sighs, and Emma turns her head to the side to see Killian’s brother standing near them, and that definitely does something to her heart, “remember what we talked about? You have to be patient.”

“But I’m excited!” Killian puts her on the ground so that she’s no longer at eye-level with all of them, but her confidence might as well make her six feet tall. “Where’s Lucy? I don’t see her.”

“She’s sitting with Mommy. Why don’t you go find them while I talk to Killian and Ms. Emma here?”

That’s when Addison’s attention turns to her, and suddenly she feels like more eyes are on her than when she’s on television.

Is she terrified of a six-year-old? No, that would be ridiculous.

(Also, Killian’s brother knows her name, and while that’s not weird, she feels like it is. Then again, she knows his entire family.)

“Who are you?” she questions, her hands on her hips and eyes focused.

Emma plasters a smile on her face, one that was already there even if she didn’t realize it, before squatting down so that she’s eye-to-eye with Addison.

“Hi, Addison. My name is Emma. I work with your uncle.”

“Are you a baseball player?”

“No,” Emma laughs, and she looks up at Killian when she hears him chuckle. He simply shrugs his shoulders and waggles his brows across his forehead. “I wish I was, but I work on TV. You know those people who ask Killian all kinds of questions?”

“That’s you?”

“That’s me.”

Addison smiles, the teeth she has missing obvious, before she steps a little closer to Emma and touches her dress, running her fingers over the material. “I like your dress. It kind of looks like a princess dress. Are you going to stay for my party?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I do. Do you want to come and look at my cake with me? It’s shaped like a unicorn.”

“Sure, sweetie,” she answers, smiling at Addison and taking her hand as she’s dragged off to the other side of the room, leaving Killian and Liam behind.

For the next hour, her best friend in the world is Addy Jones, who very much takes Emma under her wings as she shows her around the suite and introduces her to all of her friends. The only real experience Emma has with kids is Leo, and the four-year difference between six and ten is kind of insane, but it’s not hard to adjust and talk about all of the right things. It gets a little more difficult when she meets Lucy, if only because Lucy is one reserved little girl, but Emma notices that she very easily follows in Addy’s footsteps and has her own little personality, even if it’s quieter.

Lucy Jones also very much loves her uncle, and it makes Emma’s heart do that funny stuttering thing every time she looks up and sees Lucy sitting with Killian as he animatedly talks to her and makes her laugh with this little high-pitched squeal. She’s always known how much Killian loves his nieces from how he talks about them and how he has pictures of them in his apartment and on his social media, but seeing it in person is this whole new thing. He’s in his element, even more than he is when he’s on a baseball field like the one just outside, and this smile that’s been with her most of today continues to increase, the corners of her lips constantly ticking up whenever she thinks about him.

Which is a lot.

Probably more than a normal amount, and she just loves him so damn much that…

Holy shit.

She loves him.

She loves him.

Why is she realizing that right now as she sits at a table with people she doesn’t really even know while she watches him very obviously stick his pinky out while drinking tea teaching Lucy to do the same?

How in the world did this happen?

And is she terrified or so incredibly excited that it feels a lot like the fear that’s been weaving in and out of her days lately?

Does he love her too? Can he? She thinks that he can, that he does, but how is she ever supposed to know for sure? It’s been a good while since she actually felt this way, and she’s not sure that she trusts her heart to realize the difference.

“It’s Emma, right?”

Emma looks up from her seat to see Elsa Jones standing above her, blonde hair pulled back into a complicated braid and soft smile painted across her lips.

“Yeah, yes, that’s me,” Emma stutters, holding out her hand to shake Elsa’s. “Elsa?”

“The one and only. Well, kind of,” she laughs before pulling out the empty chair next to Emma and sitting down. “It’s so nice to meet you. I feel like I know you from your job.”

“Funny, I feel like I know you.”

Okay, so that’s probably pretty creepy. Was that creepy?

Before Emma can think about it too much, Elsa laughs, something that sounds genuine, and Emma has to remind herself that this is just another person who she knows is kind. There’s nothing to be afraid of. She talks to people for a living.

“I would bet. Killian talks far too much, so you get a lot of information out of him when you’re likely just looking to talk about the game. I really liked the special you did at the beginning of the season. It felt very much like him as a person, which I’m always so happy to see.”

“He’s a great subject. It’s not easy getting a lot of these guys to be charming and funny about things other than baseball, so I love when I find one that knows how to open up. And he’s so good with your daughters. I hope I’m not intruding on your day, but Killian – ”

“Found you wandering the halls and dragged you along?” Emma arches her brow, but Elsa simply waves her away, shaking her head from side to side as she glances out the windows to the game that Emma is only half paying attention to even though it’s her job. “Liam told me. You’re not intruding at all. Addy has gone on and on about her pretty new friend Emma, and any friend of my girl is a friend of mine. Plus, we Joneses owe you about a million apologizes for my dumbass brother-in-law asking you out.”

She has to cover her mouth with her hand as she laughs, a snort escaping her before she can stop it. “Did you guys give him hell for that? I feel like he does deserve it.”

“Oh, most definitely. Killian is not a super spontaneous guy, especially when it comes to women, not anymore at least, so I’m not entirely convinced someone didn’t spike his water bottle. I actually choked on my own water bottle when I saw it happening, so I gave him hell for that too.”

“Good, but I’ve forgiven him as long as he never does something like that again. Our working relationship is much better now because he can basically never say no when I want an interview.”

“True,” she says, her smile somehow brighter. “You’ve got to use those kinds of things in your favor. I do it with Liam all the time. It works like a charm.”

“What does?” Liam asks as he steps up to them.

“Hi, sweetie,” Elsa greets him, tilting her head back so that Liam can kiss her. “Have you met Emma?”

“I did when she came in, but I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her before Addy dragged her away. So, it’s nice to meet you, Emma.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well. I was telling Elsa that it’s good to put real faces to names I’ve heard so much about.”

“You’ve heard a lot about us?”

“Oh, y-yeah,” she mumbles, internally cursing herself again. “Work and all. I know far too much about the lives of all of the players, which is both a good and bad thing.”

“I would bet. Do you know about – ”

“Yesterday?” she asks. Liam nods his head, his smile tightened. “Yeah, I know. It was shitty, but it happens. And I’m glad Will and Killian and some of the other guys stood up for me like that, even if Killian was an idiot for messing up his hand. But I feel like I’m part of the team sometimes, and it’s nice to know they have my back.”

“Emma,” Addy squeals as she runs toward the three of them, completely ignoring her parents, “Killian said to come and get you to ask if you wanted to join our tea party. He says that you don’t know how to drink tea, and I have to help you.”

Her eyes immediately glance over to Killian, and when he moves his brow across his forehead, laughter bubbles inside of her stomach and her mouth falls into a soft smile. The ridiculous fool.

“You know what, Addy,” she sighs, “I don’t think I know how to drink tea. You and Lucy will have to teach me, okay?”

“I know. Come on.” Addison tugs at her arm until she rises from her chair, excusing herself to Liam and Elsa before she’s dragged across the room and over to the table where all of Addison’s friends and Killian are eat snacks and drinking tea, which looks a lot more like orange juice, and Emma is told to sit down in the chair next to Killian who is holding Lucy’s goldfish snacks while she inspects all of them. “Uncle Killian, I brought Emma over. Emma, do you want orange tea or apple tea?”

“Um, orange tea.”

Addy nods her head before she’s running off to the other side of the table and leaving Emma with Killian and Lucy.

“So, you need to teach me how to drink tea then?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he attempts to flip the hair that’s fallen over his forehead back. “My brother and sister-in-law had cornered you, and I thought you might need a little saving. I knew that you were a little nervous about meeting them.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“You talk in your sleep.”

“I do not, you as – jerk,’” she corrects, stopping herself when Lucy looks up at her. “Hi, sweetheart. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly, sweetly. “It’s yellow. Yours is yellow.”

“I know. We’re basically twins. Are you going to eat your goldfish?”

Lucy softly smiles, little blonde curls falling in her face, before picking up a handful of her snacks from Killian and offering them over to Emma in a sweet gesture that definitely rivals everything romantic that her uncle has ever done.

“Thank you, Lucy.” Emma pops one into her mouth only to look up at Killian and see that his eyes are crinkled, those little lines showing up, and her stomach pleasantly twists at the sight of it. She realized that she loved him less than twenty minutes ago, and there are still a lot of crazy feelings processing in her brain right now. A lot. “Do you want some, twenty-nine?”

Killian blinks, almost like he doesn’t recognize her nickname for him, before reaching over and taking some of the fish that she’s offering him. It’s cheesy and very romance novel-ish, but she swears that she feels sparks when his fingers brush over the palm of her hands.

“Thank you, love.”

“I have your orange team, Emma,” Addy shouts as she comes back to them, balancing a far too full plastic cup of orange juice that spills a little on the carpet until Emma takes it from Addy’s hand.

“Well, thank you, Addy. But it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t I be helping you do something instead of you handing me my tea?”

Addy hums at this, her forefinger tapping against her chin while her foot taps on the ground. “You can help me open my presents later, okay?”

“That sounds like a deal.”

-/-

“Working hard or hardly working?”

Emma pulls the headphones from her ears so that she can hear Killian better, even though she could most definitely hear the cheesy phrase that just came out of his mouth. His family is flying back on the team plane, as are all of the other players’ families, and since she is Addison Jones’s new favorite person as of seven hours ago, she was asked to sit with all of the Jones clan, which has really just been her sitting in a seat by the window with Addy and Lucy switching seats until the both of them were corralled by their parents to go to sleep. And now she’s got Killian sitting next to her, which is what she was hoping for but isn’t the most subtle thing in the world.

They are not subtle people even when they probably think they are.

She’d never make it in federal law enforcement or something like that.

“My deadline is in an hour, and I had to pay twenty-seven dollars for WiFi so that I could send it in.”

“So, working hard?”

“Yep.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no,” she protests, reaching down to take another sip of her coffee. Her jet-lag is going to be even worse of a bitch tomorrow. “You can stay. I just have to check my stat facts, and then I’ll be finished. It’s kind of hard to work when everyone else is asleep and it’s so dark in here, so, you know, I’m drinking all of the caffeine to stay awake. I think I have a food baby made of unicorn cake.”

“Aye, me too,” he laughs as he pats his stomach. “That was too much sugar.”

“No such thing.”

“Oh, but there is, darling.” His hand brushes over her forearm, and she can see the slight scabs and marks from him punching Arthur yesterday. Nothing new has been said, no suspensions mentioned, and she hopes that it stays that way. She also hopes that nothing like that ever happens again.

“How does your hand feel?”

“A little sore, but I’m right as rain. It’s a good thing I have several days off, yeah?”

Emma groans, shutting her eyes just at the thought of getting up to work tomorrow like most people on this plane except for Killian and Robin. “Don’t remind me. I’m going to look like a zombie tomorrow, and feel even worse than that. If I ever go overseas again, it’s going to be for long enough to adjust to the time.”

“You and me both,” he yawns, and she’s totally endeared by the way his face contorts there only for him to smile at her with a tired, boyish grin that she’s endeared by even more. “Finish up your article, my love, and then I say that you at least try to go to sleep.”

“Always looking out for me.”

“You know it.”

Her hand reaches over his scarred one so that she can squeeze it, which is all she can really do right now. But honestly, being right here next to him simply sitting together after all of the craziness of these few days – baseball, meeting her boyfriend’s family, asshole players getting punched, quick tours of London that went by in a blur, and realizing that she loves Killian – is more than enough when it’s already absolutely everything.

Emotions

Ruben didn't leave Dante's room for anything else but dinner and the restroom. It had been two days already and Dante hadn't woken up. Köbi had healed his wounds, but dark scars were still left over his body. They didn't mangle his skin, it was more of a pigment change, like a tattoo. Ruben was assured that he wasn't in too much pain, his body was just taking it's time recovering. A surprising side effect of the ritual was that Dante's hair had grown out incredibly faster than normal. Köbi had said it was part of the healing, bodily processes had been sped up to heal him faster. What was unusual was that while Dante dyed his hair, the new hair was coming in entirely white. When Ruben asked about it, Sydryn said it was likely that the trauma had whitened his hair. He'd also attained two months worth of beard in two days.

“If his body keeps doing this so fast, won't he run out of energy and stuff?” Ruben asked as Sydryn came in to check on Dante's monitors. “The process has already slowed,” Sydryn said. “It's the main reason he's still asleep. He sleeps now to regain that energy.” “Okay…” Ruben he stood beside Dante's bed and put a hand through his hair. “So, it's just sleep, right? Not a coma?” “No… If we really needed to, we could wake him,” Sydryn explained. “He just really needs the rest so it's best to let him wake himself. But when he does wake up, he may not stay awake too long.” Ruben nodded. “Will the scars go away?” Sydryn sighed. “They may not… They could fade perhaps but they're not like your typical scar… They were created by the blood of demon. It's safe to assume they're permanent.” “Oh…” “Do you find it unappealing?” “No, no… If they're not hurting him…” Ruben rubbed the back of his neck. “They're kind of cool… I could get some kind of tattoo maybe. To match.” “Mmhm…” Sydryn looked at Ruben. “Could you do me a favour?” “What?” “Would you mind walking my dogs for me?” “Oh. Um…” Ruben looked down at Dante but it was obvious he wasn't waking any time soon. “Sure…” “You can take them down to the courtyard,” Sydryn explained. “You don’t have to scoop. Their excrements are very good for the flora.” “Good to know.” “They don’t have leads. They know where to go. Once you’re out of the elevator, just follow them until they tire themselves. And do not visit the other floors.” “Right…” Ruben scratched his elbow. “It’s Rozovyy…” “Rozovyy, Arbuz, and Fandango. Just call them. They’ll come. I trust them to you.” Sydryn smiled. “I know you’re a dog lover.” Ruben pulled a face but left and whistled for the alien pets. All three night dogs bounded over and jumped up excitedly around him. “It’s walk time, weirdos. Let’s go.” He called the elevator and when the doors opened, the dogs all barrelled in. He squeezed himself among them and pushed the button for the ground floor as the doors closed. The elevator immediately dropped and they were falling quickly down to the awaiting outdoors. The doors slid open and the dogs bounded outward, each going in separate directions. Rozovyy started sniffing around the flower garden while Fandango and Arbuz decided to chase some hummingbirds. Ruben just kept an eye on them while taking in the fresh air. He looked up to see if he could spot Sydryn's floor, and low and behold it was the pinkest stripe along the inside of the building. Going one up, he still couldn't figure out how such a large space could fit into Azeros's floor when the story seemed no taller. Some kind of magic was definitely about. Matter of fact, it would definitely be late autumn in Europe but the plants were all in bloom and Ruben was comfortable outside in a tank top. Ruben took a look around at the other animals Sydryn kept here. Up close, it was much less a zoo than one big enclosure. All the animals shared the open space and it didn’t seem that anyone was interested in eating each other. They all seemed content just to go about their business and chill, enjoying their pinkness. It still seemed unnatural to keep them all there, but it didn’t look quite as cruel as Ruben expected. At the far end of the enclosure, there was a little tool shed and a bench. On that bench, Dusty sat quietly, reading a book. Ruben hadn't seen much of Dusty for the last couple days, but that was mostly due to Ruben not leaving Dante's room, so he wouldn't have known Dusty had been MIA for some time now. If he had known, he'd figure Sydryn sent Ruben out with the dogs to find Dusty. But he hadn't known so he didn’t figure. Arbuz had found him first and was curled up on the bench beside him, putting their doglike head in his lap. Dusty noticed Ruben approaching and put a bookmark in his page before looking up. “Hello.” “Hey.” Ruben didn’t know yet how to feel about Dusty. He was glad he'd been unbound from Dante, but it still felt like it was his fault Dante even had to go through all this in the first time. “I'm just reading,” Dusty stated. “I can see that. I'm just walking the dogs.” “Yeah…” Dusty closed his book. “Do you read, Ruben?” “Mmm… Not really,” Ruben admitted. “I used to read a lot as a kid. Fell out of it after middle school… Does reading to my kids, count?” “Sure. I don't see why not.” Ruben shrugged. “I don't really have the time for a book for myself.” “Fair enough…” Dusty stroked the spine of his book. “I had a lot of time to read when I lived with Syd. You'd be surprised how many books were published with pink covers.” “I can't imagine… Listen, I'm not really a small talk kind of guy…” Ruben stated. “If you want to talk to me about something, might as well get to the point.” “I'm lost, Ruben,” Dusty said. “I feel really empty. I thought maybe I could read and find something inspiring in it to help me through this, but it's not working. I can't enjoy the things I liked before right now.” “That's a lot…” Ruben shooed Arbuz off the bench and sat down. “But it sounds like depression.” “Azeros said the ritual took my emotions away temporarily. I don't feel like they're back yet,” Dusty said. “I want to want something but I don't know what…” “What about Grey?” Ruben offered. “Grey?” Dusty stared blank for a moment then his head jerked up and tears started falling from his eyes. “Oh god… I forgot about Grey…” “Dude.” Dusty wiped his eyes and turned to Ruben. “I didn’t think I'd forget my son!” “Well… If you lost your emotions, they're back,” Ruben stated. Dusty sobbed and rubbed his knees. “I want to go home…” “Hell, me too. Couldn't you though?” Ruben said. “You're not bound to Dante. You could just leave.” “Sydryn said I need to recover first…” Dusty stated. “And I know they're right… I don't feel right inside. I'm…a little too strong, if that makes any sense.” “Sure, you sucked the life out my boyfriend,” Ruben stated. “Ruben, the ritual—” “I'm messing with you.” Ruben smiled. Dusty looked at him shocked. “Wow…” “What?” “I've just… I've never seen you smile before.” Ruben frowned. “I smile.” “Not around me. Everyone says you don't like me.” “I don't. I didn’t…” Ruben rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I'm a simple guy… I went through shit as a kid and it messed me up so I was pretty happy just to have a decent normal life after that. But then I met Yori, and I love him, but it wasn't until my kids were born did I get a really big reality check. It's like every day, there's another…supernatural thing going on, and yeah, I mean I knew this alien business was happening in the news, but none of it really affected me until Yori. While I wouldn't want to live without him, I am constantly reminded that I'm… I'm literally just a man. A human man. No powers, no special abilities. A normal regular human. But I live in the same house as a hyper intelligent alien. My partner and my children are basically dog gods. I’ve met a mermaid, an angel, a dragon... And then all of a sudden I find out my boyfriend was bonded to a demon. Then…on top of that… They have a child together.” “Ruben…” Dusty bit his lip. “I didn’t realise—” “Of course you didn’t,” Ruben huffed. “No one else seems to know how fucking terrifying all that is. I'm sick and tired of it! I'm literally just a man! And all I want is a fucking drink!” Dusty blinked. “A drink? Just have a drink.” “I…” Ruben licked his teeth. “Ah, fuck… Yeah. Let's have a fucking drink.” “Let's?” Dusty perked up. “Me and you?” “Yeah. Can demons get drunk?” “Yeah, sure.” “Good.” Rusty looked up at the building. “One of these dragons has got to have something good… Maybe one of them has an alcohol hoard.” “You want to raid another dragon's hoard?” Dusty was suddenly both terrified and terribly excited. “Sure. Isn't there one with a basement floor or something?” Ruben said. “There's gotta be a cellar down there.” “We really… We really shouldn't…” Dusty muttered, hating every word. “You're a demon. My parents thought I was too,” Ruben said smirking and standing up. “You were born to indulge yourself. Am I wrong?” “Well, no… But don't you have the dogs?” “When they're done shitting, we'll just drop them back in Syd's and sneak out,” Ruben said. “You…Dante told me you could teleport.” “Oh. Yes, yes I can. Only where I've been or can see though.” “Then just take us back down here after we lose these dogs. Deal?” “I haven’t done something like this in a really long time,” Dusty said. “Me neither. I miss it,” Ruben said. “Are we fucking doing this or not?” Dusty nodded quickly. “Yes! Definitely!” “Alright. Awesome.”