#(hopefully i caught all of them)

[fangjuexias]

Inferior By Nature Audio Drama || Theme Song, "Island Knight"

音乐组 - 作词：撬锁老羊LeO@SeaFoodMarketStudio / 夹心Momo 作曲：撬锁老羊LeO@SeaFoodMarketStudio 演唱：撬锁老羊LeO@SeaFoodMarketStudio 编曲：O.J.橙汁/ 土土@SeaFoodMarketStudio 和声编写：O.J.橙汁@SeaFoodMarketStudio 混音：O.J.橙汁@SeaFoodMarketStudio 制作组 - 监制：三个半、鹿陌初@鹿陌初 制片：景景@全力景_无尽mode 统筹：鹬秦@橘鸟是谁 画师：西木@水蒸气西木 设计：普通读者@普通读者TheCommonReader 宣传：翊雩 字幕：@OCIR·字幕组

Walking down the street lost myself nobody helps unexpected appearance oh free my soul I see the twilight oh guide my way

The strings still playing You take me to the light

Dawn is the knight's cloak Already in a whirlpool Dusk is a nameless elegy The spirit never gave in Break though the night Running to you holding you tight telling you that I'm so sorry apologize for the misunderstanding dance in the storms with me like the camellia bloom leave alone the hurts in our bones stinging but worth it

ln this lonely island Heavy rain wash my eyes no tears to cry Everything flows in mind like a bright star in the sky keep on shining to guide my way oh～ sunlight break though the darkness l will keep you here by my side

Break though the night Running to you holding you tight telling you that I'm so sorry apologize for the misunderstanding dance in the storms with me like the camellia bloom leave alone the hurts in our bones stinging but worth it

Break free the chains Accepting the judgment of light The road is covered with thorns I've never been so determined Dance on the cliff Feel the heartbeat when you're with me The clouds is staring up the sun The sun also longs for clouds

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 4 - Nuthin' but Boothill Edition

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 3] [Pt. 5] [Pt. 6]

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[makeriia]

Fantober day 31!! A free day again.

Recently gotten into HADES, and I think about them a normal amount (lie)

[puhpandas]

steel wool has the hugest opportunity in the world for a sb 2 like. vanny cassie plotline of her having been manipulated by mimic to be its new minion by framing Gregory during the elevator scene to cut off her one support system. gregory vanessa and freddy protags fleshing them out with dialogue as characters but also their motivations and what theyve been doing for years. have their long absence in games period but also in universe from helping the glamrocks/setting up mxes be explained by showcasing their fear and trauma by them just wanting to get away and they thought they were safe but they werent. have cassie be the reason they have to jump back into the fray and realize no matter what they do theyll have to kill mimic for good to be truly free even if they're afraid. plot of the game is Gregory trying to convince cassie he didnt do it and that shes being tricked and it takes all campaign to get through to her, probably after an intense dramatic climax. have Roxy be there by Cassies side to show how Freddy abandoning them at the Plex affected her and the 2 sides of the same coin the 2 of them have going on regarding sentience and their relationship with the characters they were designed to be with Freddy who got to be free and roxy who didnt. the actual vanny comes back as a big betrayal towards mimic after killing glitchtrap in hw2, either to become an antihero or to try and take over as mastermind. superstar duo reunite and names cleared. throughout the campaign Gregory finds out about ggy and its revealed in a room with documents about patient 46 and tapes where a final tape is found and Gregory speaks in it or is addressed by name. he grapples with it and not remembering it. btw setting is a modern day fallfest which is like amusement park size instead of small festival. boom peak game

[ssreeder]

Hiii, I'm currently reading your fic 'leaving it all behind' (ik I'm like a few years too late, but hey) and dude, I have to give it to you. It's the best thing I've laid eyes on. This fic has me in a chokehold and wouldn't leave me till I've consumed it whole. AND THE LENGTH OF EACH CHAPTER IS SO FUCKING DELICIOUS AUGHHHHH. I really love Zuko in this fic. He's exactly how I imagined him to be in this type of au. Ur characterisation is top notch and I loooove ur ocs (alongside our beloved Zuko and sokka obv). I honestly feel so bad for Ara, my girl has been through so much psychological trauma. I really hope Cheng is alive, I rly love that dude. I'm on chapter 17 rn btw, and I am absolutely devouring your fic. Sending lots of love and hope u have a nice day <333

THIS WAS SUCH A NICE ASK OMG HI HELLO THANK YOUUUU!! I always forget LIAB is years old haha, but yay you read it & you liked it!! That makes me so happy! damn chapter 17 is a heavy duty one for sure - but I do agree Ara is super complex in a way I didn’t intend but I love OCs that take a life of their own even if they use that life to hurt our main boys lol.

ugh I love writing liab zuko and I know he’s a little unique sometimes but the boy has GONE THROUGH IT haha so he’ll totally be different and I’m so glad you like the characterization! thanks for this awesome ask I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

Could you write a little bit more on Endurance

Hey, thanks for your prompt! Endurance is getting to be quite the old DotU lotura one-shot, but it seemed like a good challenge for writing in past tense again. So, here we go!

Endurance Part 2

Princess Allura stood in the entryway of the large room, holding her sleeping baby tight in her arms, face tense, her golden hair straggling curls down her shoulder. “Are you sure the Garrison is…safe?” she asked quietly.

On the walk through the Galaxy Garrison, various officers eyed Allura with a mix of horror and pity as she carried the bastard child of Crown Prince Lotor of the Drule.

Keith turned back to her, waving his hand. “These are quarters for royalty and ambassadors,” he said. “Fortified against airstrikes, earthquakes, and especially evil Drule princes, alright?” His face softened. “We won’t let anything get to you here.”

Her heart sunk, even as she managed a weak smile. “Of course, but, um. But that’s not what I’m worried about.” She stepped in, daring to pull back the blanket around her sleeping baby, revealing his chubby lavender cheek. “I’m worried someone will take my son from me. Maybe from the Alliance, or—or maybe even King Zarkon will find us.”

Keith sat on a chair beside the large bed, tiredly leaning his jacketed elbows on his knees. “Princess,” he said gently. “No one’s gonna take the kid away. People here are just, you know, concerned about your health.”

“I’m fine,” she retorted shortly, breath hitching. Her wrist still crinkled with a bandage from her IV, her eyes bagged with exhaustion. “The hospital released me, didn’t they?”

“It’s not just your physical health we’re all worried about.”

Allura’s eyes burned with tears as she held his gaze before breaking away to ghost toward the well-built, white-painted crib by the bed. “You don’t think I can do it,” she said. She leaned over to settle the snoozing baby on the crib bed, tucking in his little arms with the blanket before pulling away. “You don’t think I can emotionally handle being a mother and coming back to Team Voltron, after…all that has happened.”

Keith bit his lip. “I don’t know, can you? I mean, this is a lot to work through for anybody.”

She ran a hand absentmindedly over her still-slightly swollen stomach, the empire waist of her dress wrinkling beneath her fingers.

She knew Lotor would want her to play weak. To play the innocent, helpless victim, to save herself instead of speaking the truth—that they had willingly loved, willingly created life together.

(But maybe there was a third way? One that would give her power to help Lotor escape from prison?)

And then her eyes hardened, her fingers clenching into her dress with determination. “Don’t worry, Keith,” Allura said. “My fever made it hard to think for a bit, but Lotor didn’t break me. I’m ready to prove to him and the rest of the Drule empire that Voltron still stands.”

---------

Several days passed in the whirlwind of settling back onto Earth, with Princess Allura more confidently carrying around her sleepy, giggly baby son. He leaned his heavy cheek against her shoulder as she held him tightly to her.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Hunk whispered to her as they walked down the darkened hallway, with a set of guards trailing behind them. “I mean, it’s Lotor, you know?”

“I know who it is, Hunk,” she said, eyes determined. On that day, she wore full royal regalia, the color returning to her pale skin as it flushed with health. Her long, pink skirts slid quietly against the stone floor. “But I need to do this. I need it for me, you understand?”

Hunk glanced over at Keith, who flanked Allura on the other side.

Keith raised his hands helplessly, waving to Allura, as if to say, She has a mind of her own, don’t look at me.

Allura’s heart skipped beats as they passed cells with various Drule warriors crouched in the corners of their cells, yellow eyes trained on her curiously and inspecting the baby in her arms—clearly of Drule heritage.

The closer they approached Lotor’s cell, the greater the security. Hunk called out, carrying a blaster, “Look alive, people. This here is Princess Allura, and ain’t no one allowed to even look at her the wrong way, you got that?”

Garrison soldiers flurried around them, raising additional weapons to circle Princess Allura protectively.

And then they stopped at the final prison cell, cloaked mostly in darkness save for a glimmer of light from a flickering, nearby fluorescent light.

“Okay, princess,” Keith said tensely. “This is his cell. Whatever you wanna say, you can say it, and then we’ll get you back upstairs for dinner, alright?”

“I’m okay, Keith,” she said distantly, readjusting the baby in her arms.

And then she stepped forward, peering into the cell, skin chilling in the damp cold.

Her heart stopped.

Lotor sat on the dirty floor, his powerful limbs heavily shackled and simple tunic streaked with dried mud. His matted white hair streaked against a sweaty, bruised cheek as he glanced up at her. His yellow eyes widened, the cat-like pupils dilating in relief at the sight of her before tightening in fear. “Allura,” he whispered.

Her voice wavered as she stood before him, skin chilling in the damp cold. “That would be Princess Allura of Arus to you,” she said, voice wavering as she raised her chin. “Kneel before the mother of your child.”

Lotor exhaled, a mild horror in him that she would visit his prison cell, and he slipped forward, his bound wrists crunching against the stone to drag himself toward the bars. His voice broke hard as he rasped to her, “I cannot bow to you properly in these chains, for my waist is anchored to the wall. Release me, and I will bow to you then.”

She pressed her lips together tightly before narrowing her eyes. “You are not to be released,” she retorted. She hid her trembling fingers in the thick blankets around their baby, who cooed in his sleep, his white curls ticking her chin. “You are to stand trial for your many crimes, against not only me but also against the Alliance. It is unlikely for you to receive anything less than the death penalty.”

Lotor tilted his head, searching her eyes to understand her ploy. An old mischief rose in him. “Would you mourn for me, princess?”

Yes, her heart cries.

“No,” she said shakily. 

“Then why do you appear to me now?” he demanded.

Allura licked her bottom lip before saying as if in royal decree, “It is so that you know what you do not have, for I remain the Princess of Arus, and this child of mine will be raised in Arusian ways of peace and diplomacy. He will never know that his father was a son of Zarkon, and the legacy of your bloodline will never corrupt his heart.”

As she spoke, her words growing with fervor, she enacted her plan. A key—a single key to a scout ship she’d filched from the flight deck of the Garrison—slipped down the inside band of her skirt, falling onto the floor. For his eyes alone, she darted her gaze to the stone, stepping forward to slide the key just under the bars, where no one but him would see.

In his chains in the corner of the cell, Lotor’s eyes brightened with tears. His fists clenched with anticipation. “So, you have come to deliver news of my impending death, then.”

She swallowed hard before backing away, eyes burning. “In twelve hours, your trial will begin. And I will not be there. Instead, I will sit upon the great balconies of the Garrison, dining on my favorite dishes and reveling in the peace and finery due my station—all the things you denied me while I was your captor. And I will not see your trial or your death. So this is a goodbye, once and for all, Prince Lotor of the Drule.”

Allura turned away, eyes burning in want to turn back around and wrench open the jail cell—unchain Lotor and hold him just as tightly as she held their son—

Lotor’s voice rose with a halted laugh, his chains clinking as he secretly grabbed for the key while wrapping a hand around one of the heavy cell bars. “Oh, you wicked woman!” he called to her in a ragged boom. “Whether in chains or circlets, you still order the very stars of my universe. I will die a happy man, knowing that I am reflected in our child. I will live on, through you.”

His scarred fingers tightened upon the additional key, clamping down as hard as his mind held to the additional information she had given about time and location.  

Keith gently grabbed onto Allura’s shoulders. “Come on, princess, let’s get you out of this terrible place.” He leveled a hard glare at Lotor. “And away from this trash.”

Allura managed a brief glance backward in worry as the guards guided her away, a slight hope rising in her as Lotor leaned his forehead against the bars, staring back with earnestness.

And his old, tell-tale calculation.

[griseldabanks]

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Requested by @bunnyscar

Fandom: Jak and Daxter Characters: Jak and Daxter (though it kind of ended up being more about Samos and Jak ^^') Prompt: "Where are your clothes?"

Samos could see the two boys as they sneaked up the beach to his hut. Well—boy and ottsel. Instead of an awkward boy tripping along at Jak's heels, all arms and legs next to Jak's confident grace, there was just a smudge of tawny orange clinging to Jak's shoulder. “So, it's happened at last,” Samos sighed, stroking his long, white beard. Ten years ago, he'd known as soon as a buck-toothed boy opened his obnoxiously large mouth that this day would come, but now that it had....

Jak clearly thought he was being stealthy, flitting from shadow to shadow as he dodged around various villagers on his way back home. But he didn't seem to have taken into account that Samos' hut was the tallest structure in Sandover Village, nor that Samos had a telescope with which he could watch their every move.

Even from a distance, he could see Daxter's mouth moving a mile a minute, yapping away in Jak's ear as always. Samos snorted. “And to think I actually thought I would have a quiet, peaceful life here....”

Samos set the telescope aside and let his gaze drift upwards and to the north. A sadness settled in his old bones, a sense of finality, of inevitability. This was always going to happen. The boy's path was already set before him, and there was nothing Samos could do to turn him from it. Not if he wanted the world to survive the coming devastation.

So he had to bite his tongue. Let Jak careen down that path, knowing the whole time that it would bring him unimaginable pain. When that unavoidable day found them, Samos could do nothing to protect him. Jak's affinity for eco would wither, his innocence would be ripped away, every friend and every familiar thing would be stolen from him...and Samos would be able to do nothing but languish in a cell for two years while he waited. Waited for the hero to save the world, as was his destiny.

When he'd taken up the task of raising the boy, far away from Metal Heads and Dark Eco, Samos had thought it would be easy to keep his heart out of it. He knew Jak's destiny, he knew what was at stake, so it would be simple to keep any sort of emotional entanglements from getting in the way.

And yet...and yet. Precursors help me.

A creak of floorboards behind him, and suddenly the ache in Samos' heart gave way to an outburst of anger. “What in green tarnation do you two want?” he snapped, whirling around to face them. “And where are your clothes, Daxter?”

The two-foot-tall orange rodent put his hands—paws?—on his hips. His completely bare hips. “Really?” Daxter snapped, his voice as loud and grating as it had been when he was a human boy. “I walk in here lookin' like this, and that's the first thing you say?”

“You're right,” Samos said with sarcastic cheer. “I should have said, 'Welcome home, boys. I'm so glad the two of you went mucking around in the only place that I told you not to go!'” His voice rose with every word.

“Hey!” Daxter protested. “It's not like you told us Misty Island had some kinda purple goop that would turn me into this!”

“So what did you do?” Samos said, stomping closer to them. It was jarring, after all these years, to finally see Daxter the way he was when they'd first met. “Go skinny-dipping in the first pool of Dark Eco you could find?”

“Look, old man,” Daxter shrieked, his voice even more shrill as an ottsel than it had been as a human, “are you gonna keep yappin', or are you gonna help me outta this mess?”

“I'm gonna keep yappin'!” Samos retorted, stomping away again. Jak raised a hand in half-hearted protest, but Samos ignored it. “And don't think I'm letting you off the hook either, Jak! Honestly, I expected much more from you, boy! Daxter's actions don't surprise me in the least, but you....”

His voice trailed off as he turned around again in the middle of his pacing and caught a glimpse of Jak's face. Beneath the embarrassment and chagrin at being caught (unfortunately, a common enough occurrence for these two), there was something desperate in those big blue eyes. Jak looked down at him, silently pleading, and waved his hand in Daxter's direction. Help him, the gesture clearly said. Please.

Samos had seen the same look dozens of times before, when a little boy with tufts of green hair would silently beg Samos to let him go swimming with his best friend, or let him keep some mangy beast as a pet, or fix a bird's hurt wing. Now that boy stood so much taller than him, with strong limbs and hair in a tall crest bleached blond by sun and salt.

But those eyes were the same, filled with distress as he glanced between the man who had raised him and his best friend. One day, those eyes would be filled with rage and pain, but right now...now he was still just a fifteen-year-old boy, out of his depth with forces he didn't understand.

Samos' shoulders slumped and his voice softened a little as he said, “I'm sorry. But even if I wanted to...I can't help you. This is beyond my power to fix.”

“What?” Daxter shrieked, erasing what little sympathy Jak's pleading had garnered him. “You mean I'm gonna be stuck like this forever?”

“Why are you complaining?” Samos sneered. “In my professional opinion, this is an improvement! But if you truly want to fix things,” he said, turning to address Jak before Daxter could do more than splutter indignantly, “you must go see Gol Acheron.”

As he filled Jak in on the quest before him, the sadness burrowed deep into his soul. This was how it all began. In only a short time, the happy, mostly carefree boy he'd raised for the past ten years would be gone. They would eventually be reunited and face the future together...but nothing would ever be the same again.

Thank the Precursors there was one obnoxious little rodent who would never change. They had an odd sense of humor, but for the first time, Samos thought he understood a bit of their reasoning. Jak would desperately need something familiar and stable in the days to come. And if that something had to be Daxter...well, so be it.

[mapofthemazeinthemirror]

The Killa gonna give me a Quarter Life crisis I swear

[b4kuch1n]

been scribblin with the dip pens to prepare for inking the next comic (yuuto⏫’s “origin story” kind of basically) and wow turns out I can do anything I want forever

yuuto’s new friends names of amy and linh >:]c

[bookwyrminspiration]

For prompts “ hey, i know it’s really late, but... i didn’t know who else to call. “ or “how did you even get sick? you look ugly. come here.” as Kenric and Oralie?

Guess who's back at the dialogue prompts! It's me. This ask is rather old, so I don't know if you're still around, but if you are: I hope you enjoy, as they were quite sweet to write <3

ill-advised indulgences <- ao3 link

warnings: mild sickness

word count: 5.1k

Councillor Oralie didn’t enjoy midnight hails under the best of circumstances, and mere hours--if that--away from finishing a project that’d been bothering her for weeks was many things, but it was not the best of circumstances.

“Yes?” she sighed, unable to completely hide her irritation and knowing it was absolutely unprofessional of her; she hadn’t even bothered to look at the screen. The others would have her back in etiquette trainings without hesitation if they caught her like this.

“Hey, I know it’s really late, but... I didn’t know who else to call.”

She straightened in spite of herself, furious at the blush she felt spreading across her cheeks. But even stronger than the heat was the confusion.

“Kenric?”

“Forgotten me already, Ora?”

When she looked to the screen, she couldn’t see a hint of his soft, elegant features--not even an awkward corner angle.

Only stars, twinkling bright across her screen as she held it close in her palm.

“Why are you hailing? Is something wrong?” What was he even doing up in the middle of the night? He should be long asleep by now--just as she should’ve been, but she ignored that.

Something rustled, and his voice followed--low, like a sigh. “No, nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry your pretty head about it. I just…need a hand, and you’re less likely to be upset with me than any of the others for disturbing you so late. Or at least I thought you would be--that was quite a cold greeting.” He tried for light, but something in his voice strained and it fell flat.

“I’m sorry--you caught me in the middle of something; it was rude of me. What do you need help with?” The sleeve of her dress had slipped, and she pushed it back up her arm to have something to do, then tucked a straying ringlet back behind her ear. She couldn’t remember if she’d looked in a mirror that morning, and she wasn’t willing to admit to herself why she suddenly cared.

“Can you come to Siren Rock?” he asked, and she blinked.

“What are you doing at Siren Rock? Your Universe homework? If you’ve forgotten it, I think it’s a little too late to make it up.” She couldn’t help the laugh in her throat and smile on her lips, because it was such a ridiculous place for a councillor to be. People only went to Siren Rock for mediocre stargazing, or to appease their Mentors with proof they could passably bottle starlight.

Her laugh cut off as he answered, “Yes, actually.” He sounded amused.

“You’ve lost me,” she admitted. And yet she found herself trying to remember where she’d set her pathfinder; surely it was somewhere amid all these papers.

Still not showing his face, he explained. “It’s part of a…classified assignment. I was supposed to be working on it myself, bottling quintessence, but the quantity is more than I can manage. I can’t see straight enough to even guess where the right stars are anymore.”

“You’re bottling quintessence?” There it was, on the floor next to her desk; she must’ve bumped it off and hadn’t noticed amid the rest of the mess she’d made.

“From Phosforien and Marquiseire, yes. Can you help? It’s alright if you can’t, I’ll ask one of the others.”

“No!” The word burst out with more force than she intended, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “I’ve already set my pathfinder. Do I need to bring anything, or is it just me you need?”

“Just you, Ora.” Then he added, “Make sure to bring a warm cloak, I don’t want you to get cold.”

“I’ll be right there,” she promised, ending the hail and turning from her project with a small pang of regret. She’d built such momentum, but it’d been doomed the moment she answered the hail. She could never say no to Kenric.

Except when it came to the one topic neither of them dared breath a word about.

~

The chill slipped around the edges of her thick rose cloak as Oralie glittered into the dark of Siren Rock, the uneven earth illuminated by the silvered moonlight creeping across it, the waves pulsing against the cliff’s edge and filling the air with salt.

It didn’t take her long to find Kenric, who lay back against the hard ground with his eyes closed. A stellarscope lay forgotten beside him, alongside a case of quintessence, almost full of bright bottles.

Unnerved, she moved to the other side of him; that much quintessence simply sitting there? Kenric was oh so careful, but the substance was too unpredictable to ever be safe.

And yet here she was.

“Kenric?” she asked, uncertain. He hadn’t moved, even though she certainly hadn’t been quiet.

The hand on his chest twitched, and his bright eyes found hers.

They looked…tired.

“Ora,” he answered, and it was as if a mask descended over him. Gone were the lines and exhaustion, now he smiled gently up as her, pushing to a sitting position. “Don’t worry over me--I see that crease in your brow. I was only resting my head to try and ease the blurriness.”

His smile widened, that crooked one that always made her heart beat twice as fast, but she didn’t believe him. “Did it work?”

He shook his head. “You’re all smudges--which is a shame. You have a lovely face.”

Now that it wasn’t through an imparter, there was definitely something wrong with his voice. Too thick? Too deep? Too worn?

And then she remembered she was supposed to say something back. “How many bottles do you have left?”

Something crossed his face she couldn’t identify, and she wanted to reach out to brush skin and feel exactly what it was. But she didn’t, and Kenric sat up straighter, entirely unaware of how his hair stuck out at the back from his repose as he turned to count.

“Four more--can you handle that?”

In spite of her concern, she scowled as indignation sparked. “Of course I can handle four bottles. I’m not fragile.”

“Of course you can,” Kenric agreed, running a hand through the copper of his hair--he wasn’t wearing his circlet, she realized. And he didn’t have a cape--didn’t he feel the cold? She could even through the thick fabric of her cape.

In the silence that fell, she stepped around him to pick the stellarscope up from where he’d left it; his hand reached toward it a moment later, as though he was going to get it for her, but had moved too slowly, and practically flinched away as he nearly bumped her arm.

Awkwardly retracting his hand, he blinked up at her. They were level, but only as she bent down; he’d stayed on the ground since she’d arrived, and it couldn’t be comfortable. She could see the flecks of green in the blue of his eyes, the lashes framing them as the red of his hair fell over his brow, the creases around his eyes, and the stars reflected in his pupils.

She realized she’d frozen looking at them, and heat bloomed deep in her chest.

“Phosforien and Marquiseire, correct?” She grabbed the accompanying bottling gloves, donning them as she straightened, hoping the slight distance would clear her head, that the chill of the night would wash away the flush she could feel spreading against her will.

It didn’t. If anything, the few feet between them intensified the charge as she stood over him reciting all the reasons she shouldn’t and couldn’t.

Kenric needed a moment as well, and his breath came heavy as he nodded. “Two of each, please.”

Oralie nodded, re-tucking that same stray ringlet back as she searched the sky; she’d called up her memories of the unmapped stars as she’d grabbed her cape, wanting to be prepared--if they could even be called her memories, since they’d been implanted in her head by a mind much sharper than hers when she’d accepted her circlet.

With careful precision she searched through the stellarscope, checking thrice she’d calibrated correctly before flicking the switch and filling the bottle she’d loaded.

The other three went just as smoothly, the only sound her roaring pulse as she worked; Kenric sat behind her--he’d asked if she’d minded, as he didn’t want to stand too soon and undo all the progress he’d made re-orienting himself; of course she hadn’t minded.

She tried her damndest not to squirm, even though she swore she could feel his eyes tearing bits and pieces of her away and draining her very essence.

Blinking away a heady flash of light with the final bottle of quintessence, she carefully placed all four into Kenric’s compartmentalized satchel alongside the other ten. Each divided section was thoroughly padded to keep the bottles from bumping together and increasing the risk of explosion.

As she crouched, resolutely not looking at him, her cape shifted. A cold breeze coiled around her and she shuddered, goosebumps raising on her arms as it washed over her so thoroughly it left her senses entirely blank.

And with it, her focus sharpened.

She’d been trying so hard not to be aware of him, she’d missed the signs--even though she’d known the moment he called something was wrong.

It wasn’t his eyes on her back she’d felt creeping and draining--or at least not entirely.

“You’re unwell,” she said, turning her head to look at him. And suddenly it was obvious--the shadows beneath his eyes and the flat line of his mouth, the heavy breaths and low voice, the fact the most he’d moved was to sit up when she’d arrived.

How he’d needed her to complete his starlight bottling, already entirely unable to see when there’d been hardly a dozen in the bag.

She could see him forming the defense in his mind, and sure enough, “It’s just a headache, Ora. A long day and intense starbottling. I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry your pretty head about it..”

Oralie scowled back. “Don’t patronize me. I can feel it, even from here.” She eyed the space between them.

She was a talented Empath--but she was valuable for her stellar interpreting abilities upon contact, not for being able to take readings without it.

If she could feel the bone deep weariness through the air…

“When will you learn you can’t lie to an empath?” she asked, shaking her head. And a sort of recklessness surged through her. “How did you even get sick? You look ugly. Come here.”

She lowered herself near him, the cold rock startling even through her clothes as she unfastened her cloak.

“Ora, you don’t--”

“You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m going to let you sit there in the cold when you’re sick.” She shrugged off the cloak, and Kenric only mildly protested as she wrapped it tight around his neck--if she’d needed any more proof that he wasn’t himself, that was it.

The thick gradient pink fabric shimmered under the moonlight, embroidered with roses and lilies and entirely at odds with Kenric’s simple color-blocked attire. But he sagged ever so slightly beneath it anyways, reaching up to clasp it tighter around his neck as her warmth seeped into him.

He looked to her then, and raised a brow. “Did you say I looked ugly? Is it really that bad?”

And even though it was the middle of the night and goosebumps had started to erupt on her arm, and his discomforted exhaustion pulled at her very core, she flushed.

“I didn’t--”

He laughed, and it made obvious the thick crackle in his throat. “Relax, Ora. I’m only teasing. I know I’ve looked better.” He sat forward off his hand to rub it over his eyes, grimacing.

She wanted to argue for some reason, but…he wasn’t wrong.

A faint gleam of sweat had broken across his brow, and his fingers trembled where they held the cloak close at his neck.

“I’m taking you home,” she told him, making up her mind right there. He furrowed his brow, so she continued. “You have your quintessence--surely whatever it’s for can wait at least until morning, if not for a day or two for you to recover. I insist--I don’t want you handling anything potentially disastrously explosive when you can hardly see straight!”

Kenric shook his head slowly as she retrieved her pathfinder from her pocket, gloves making her fingers slip before she removed them as she began to adjust it for the coordinates she knew better than any other.

“That’s kind of you, Ora, but it’s unnecessary.” He began to unfasten the cloak, but she stopped him by pushing the satchel of quintessence into his lap alongside the stellarscope and gloves. He tried again. “I’ll manage, and you have better things to do than worry about me.”

“You don’t know that,” she shot back, successfully clicking the pathfinder into place and reaching for him; she made sure to touch only fabric, but even so the feeling of his sickness washed over her. “Concentrate--I don’t want to lose you.”

“Ora--” he began, but shut off and did as she asked as she held the crystal to the light, casting a beam over them to draw them away; she’d done it that way so he wouldn’t have a choice--either concentrate and go with her, or get drawn into the light for eternity.

Not that she would’ve ever let that happen to him; her concentration had been wrapped around him even tighter than around herself.

From the intent way he stared at her, brow furrowed, as they reappeared, for a moment she wondered if he’d been doing the same thing. The fool.

“Thank you for being so cooperative,” she told him, and he laughed again, softer.

Kenric began pushing to his feet, and despite the nausea and headache that’d pounded through her when she was only touching the cloak, she reached to help him in spite of herself.

She flinched when their hands touched, and he must’ve noticed, for he pulled away quick once he was steady as he could be.

He looked around at the castles towering over them, the arranged rocks that made up his front yard; they’d materialized on the path towards his door.

“You’re adorably stubborn,” he remarked as she turned to lead the way; she had no worries about him not following now. What else was he going to do? Walk away from her?

Sure enough, his footsteps followed behind as she opened his door--but they fell heavy and shuffling, and he was attempting to hide a grimace when she turned back to look at him. And then they stopped, and she peered over her shoulder to see him still at the bottom of the steps, staring at them.

It took a moment before she figured out the problem. “Oh, you’re ridiculous.”

She didn’t allow herself time to cringe away or hesitate as she alighted down the steps and linked her arm with his, taking some of his weight.

“Ora, you should go home,” he tried, but she wasn’t hearing it.

“You can hardly stand and you want me to leave you alone?” she hissed, jaw tight against the malaise flooding her. A cacophony of hurts and aches bruising inside her ribs, pressing foul heat against her heart, throbbing in her fingertips. She refused to let it win. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Never, when it comes to you.” The words were like a sigh as he let them slip and leaned against her, giving in.

She decided not to try and decipher what that meant as she led him inside and was faced with where, exactly, to put him.

The stairs would be unwise with his trembling even though his bedroom was up there, so she turned instead towards his greeting room.

The plush cushions were where he’d meet guests and visitors from the population, if he wasn’t always so busy with such random errands--what on earth could he need so much quintessence for?

She deposited him on the cushions, guilty at the relief it was to no longer feel his symptoms as she pulled away to seek out remedies. She was almost entirely out of the room before realizing she’d forgotten an important step

��Have you taken anything already?” she asked, all business as the most ludicrous pang had her wanting to touch him again. To feel his flushed heat, even as dizziness washed through her.

Kenric took a moment to reply, and when she looked back over at him he’d hunched; his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose tight, brow crunched intensely and mouth a thin, pale line.

He started and straightened as he realized she was still there, still watching.

As though he’d been allowing himself a moment of weakness, one she wasn’t meant to see.

“Ah…no,” he admitted, and had the wisdom to look sheepish, so she didn’t say anything as she turned away again to allow him his reprieve.

He thanked her politely upon her return, leaning back against the couch and more composed as he downed the few elixirs she’d brought. Simple things, but hopefully enough to tide him over until she could convince him to see a physician.

But she knew trying now would be fruitless, and she didn’t want to waste his energy when he clearly had so little--he may have been able to fool the others, but he was most assuredly not fooling her.

She’d watched him too closely for too many centuries.

And she realized with a start as he cleared his throat that she was doing it again.

“I’ll make you some tea,” she offered, searching for the first possible thing she could think of to break the silence.

Kenric had taken off her cloak now that they were inside, and shook his head again. “Truly, Ora. I’m fine--you’ve done more than enough tonight. Don’t let me bother you any longer and go home--you need to rest.”

It took her a moment to respond, but only because she almost couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You’re telling me to rest?” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest.

He tried again. “I know you always want to help--”

“Then shut up and let me.”

“I--”

“No!” she cut him off. “When you hail me in the middle of the night for help, you don’t get to suddenly take that back! You should’ve known I’d realize you were sick when you decided to hail me--that one’s on you. Now I’m going to get you a cup of tea, because it’s cold out and your voice sounds horrendous, if you’re done complaining that I’m doing what you asked.”

“That’s not fair, Ora,” he protested, moving as if to get up.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “And don’t even think about moving.”

She fumed silently as she turned on her heel, that damned ringlet falling into her face again as she made for his kitchen. She was never looking for a fight with him, but he always managed to poke and prod and rile her up in the most mundane of ways.

She took a few calming breaths as she set the water to heat, and it was starting to work--until she heard footsteps from the greeting room.

Indignant again, she rounded the corner back to him, ready to scold him.

He beat her to it, pausing in the hall with a hand on the wall. “I’m only going for a shower--unless that’s not allowed?” He raised a brow as he said it, a challenging look of amusement on his pallid face.

It brought her up short, and she blanked for a moment. “Of--of course that’s allowed. I’ll just...I’ll be down here,” she finished inelegantly as those green-flecked eyes teased hers.

“If you insist--I do love your company,” he said, maddeningly, as he continued to the stairs; the elixirs must’ve been taking effect, for he seemed to manage without too much trouble.

And then she flushed as he disappeared from sight, realizing she’d been staring at him again.

The night must’ve been getting to her.

The momentum of her now long-forgotten project had pushed her through, and then the rush of Kenric’s hail and the chill of Siren Rock.

But now, warm and unhurried in Kenric’s home, lethargy began to tug at her.

Water turned on overhead, and she had to fight a tingling feeling along her skin as she realized he was, right that moment, undressed just a flight above her.

Shocked by the direction of her own thoughts, she shoved them away and returned to the kitchen, deciding she could use a cup of her own to reorient herself.

She’d just tentatively taken a first sip, hoping it’d cooled enough not to burn her tongue, when Kenric had walked back in.

Stilling, she watched the water drip from the spikes of freshly washed hair, his skin now soft and dewy instead of damp and sweaty--though his color had only marginally improved. Still too wan, still lined, bags under his eyes even more prominent under the kitchen’s crystal lights than the moon’s soft glow.

His clothes stuck to his skin and bunched slightly, and relief flooded her as she saw the simple house attire; he wasn’t planning on leaving again.

Unless he was going to try and get rid of her before he changed and went out…

“Like what you see?” he teased as he took the other cup of tea still beside her on the counter, the one she’d prepared for him.

Her face heated as she scowled, and she tucked that stray ringlet away again. “You really should lie down--you’re exhausted. I can see it in how you move.”

His smile lessened, and he sighed before he took a sip. “You truly won’t let this go, will you?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

He leaned against the counter beside her, and something flickered through the malaise electric in the air between them--too quick for her to pick it up, but enough to have her on alert.

Turning, he searched her face, and she may as well have been laid bare for how much she was certain he saw. “I mean, Oralie, that you don’t need to stay. You’ve done more than enough for me already--you always do. But it’s late, and you must be exhausted. I can manage myself--I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take the night off. And I’ll even talk to Elwin in the morning. I’ve disturbed you enough for one evening.”

His voice remained low, his eyes still on hers, making it difficult to understand what he was saying.

And then it registered. She straightened, stiff. “I see I’ve overimposed myself. My apologies for not realizing--I won’t keep you from…whatever it is you need to keep from me any longer.”

She set the half-empty mug down that she’d forgotten she’d been holding, and turned away, ignoring the ache in her throat.

“That’s not--” Kenric started, but she cut him off.

“Then what is it, Kenric?” The defeated words burned, dangerously close to everything they weren’t allowed to talk about as she ached. “You say one thing and mean a million other and expect me to be able to parse it out? You say you want my help, and then send me away at the first opportunity. I find you barely able to see on the ground, and you worry if I can handle four bottles. What do you want?”

Silence fell for a heavy moment in the wake of her outburst, swallowing heavily; she was still looking at the door.

“Oralie,” he said, and she knew he was asking her to turn.

She didn’t.

“Oralie,” a plea. “Look at me.”

She wouldn’t.

And then footsteps, and he walked in front of her frozen pose.

Despite herself, she looked to him as he stopped in front of her, his hands reaching.

He hesitated a moment away from her hands, the open skin, but then he moved. Gentle over the fabric, he placed them over her arms, holding his breath as she flinched.

The elixirs had dulled the worst of it, but he wouldn’t be better without time.

“I’m sorry,” he began, quiet, earnest. “I didn’t mean it that way--I never meant to upset you. You can feel I’m telling the truth.” He was. “You’re too good to me, Oralie, you know? You’re so kind, and genuine, and helpful. I don’t want to take advantage of that--I’ll be alright, so I don’t want you wasting your goodness on me when you could be putting it into so many better things.”

“You asked me for help,” she reminded him, voice just as quiet.

“I did.”

“Then why are you trying so hard to push me away?”

She’d fought with him on practically every account since he hailed--even though he’d hailed her. Knowing she was capable and still trying to protect her, knowing he was unwell and unable and yet still trying to do whatever he could alone.

It was enough mixed signals, and it was late enough she could hardly bear their usual dance.

Her next question ached against her tongue. “Do you want me to go? Truly.”

Kenric’s eyes, which had been searching her face this whole time, fell closed. Pained.

He drew a breath, water still dripping from his damp hair, and confessed.

“No.”

The truth of the words rang through her where he still held her. And with it, all her anger drained, leaving only desolate longing she didn’t want to think about.

His fingers tightened around her arms, and he repeated it with a shake in his voice. “No, I quite like it when you stay.”

She knew how close they were pushing to things they shouldn’t talk about, and yet still she reached a hand to rest on his outstretched arm, bracing for the feelings.

She let them wash past her, passing her by without picking them up.

She shouldn’t, couldn’t.

She wanted to.

“No one would blame you for wanting company in your condition.” Her voice felt too light as she created the lifeline, an offer, an impossibility. Something they shouldn’t allow themselves, but that she longed for. Desperately.

And he wanted it too, so much it stole her breath.

“Of course they wouldn’t,” he agreed, slowly, the two of them watching themselves walk over the edge of a cliff they’d never return from. “I might do something unwise, after all.”

She could see it happening, knew this was her last chance to stop this mistake.

And yet she said, “We wouldn’t want that, of course.”

All there was left to do was enjoy the fall, before they hit the ground.

His hands loosened around her, slipping slightly as he exhaled, the weight of what they hadn’t said settling. Permanent.

And as her heart pounded, she damned them further.

She reached a hand out, tracing her fingers along his cheek and furrowing her brow at the heat. “I meant it when I said you should rest.”

And it was as if they both decided to never say a word about what they’d chosen for this night, the indulgence never to be acknowledged again.

“You always know best,” he agreed, leaning into it. His eyes fell closed and his brow softened, and they stood a moment longer.

“Come,” she said, fingertips light as she gently pulled. “Let’s get you settled.”

He followed as she led him up the stairs, past the still-steamy bathroom and to the living quarters she’d only been in a few times before.

They both winced when she snapped the lights on, and she quickly dimmed them.

Kenric’s sheepish embarrassment washed through her as she took in the state of the place; he’d been trying and not quite succeeding for years at keeping his personal space and his work space separate, and scrolls cluttered a significant portion of every surface available.

The bedspread was rumpled and bunched, left from however he’d rolled out of bed that morning--and he quite possibly had rolled, given that even stronger than the embarrassment was the mounting exhaustion.

She had no clue how he’d been able to push himself through the day.

She paid no attention to the mess as she drew them in further--she tried her best not to look at anything, not wanting to know.

Kenric said nothing as she let go of him, moving to the windows and propping them slightly.

Chill air slipped over her skin, a welcome relief from the staleness the walls had captured.

Without her prompting, Kenric had laid down--atop the covers, but laying down nonetheless. The bed seemed to swallow everything but the fevered brightness of his eyes as he watched her, but even as she watched, his eyelids started to flutter.

For some reason, it made her aware of how lopsided and frazzled her quick bun had become, so she reached up to untangle the tie and set it loose.

Kenric made a small noise, almost a hum. He lifted his hand then, an invitation.

Her heart stopped in her chest, and something in her screamed at them to stop, reminded her of just how much they weren’t allowed to want this.

But she took it anyway, and lowered herself to sit on his bed.

He was nearly asleep already, the poor thing. But still he whispered, “Thank you, Ora.”

She didn’t ask what he was referring to.

And as his eyes closed, she could’ve sworn they flickered to her lips, and a wave of…something, pulsed where they still touched. Too abstract and encompassing even for her to translate.

So she didn’t let herself try, dreading when they’d hit the ground.

She just let his hand hold hers, and watched his breathing settle as he stopped fighting himself.

And in that moment, she’d never been further from him.

Sitting on his bed, watching the lines of his face smooth and feeling the peace settling through him where they touched. Alone together with cool night air filling her lungs, everything she could not have prickled in the back of her mind.

The pillow was wet from his hair, and she wanted--oh, how she wanted--to trace the edge of his jaw, the line of his registry pendant over the smooth skin of his neck, to press her hand to his chest and feel his heartbeat. Reminding her over and over with its rhythm that he was alive, alive, alive.

But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t do that to him--or to herself. To the countless people who needed her kindness to challenge the others’ fear and haste.

So she didn’t move, only breathed.

And tried to absorb every moment of this foolish, beautiful indulgence before it was gone.

[darkeneddawningmain]

I live! And I'm writing a fic

Hello, everyone! :) I've re-started the process of moving this blog over to a side blog (@darkeneddawning) when I have time. End goal is to have all my art and stuff from here over there, so my main blog (this one) can be used for everything. The side blog will be where I post new phandom art and stuff.

Hopefully the transfer isn't too confusing for everyone. If you want to follow me to see my phandom art and stuff, you might want to wait until my side blog is all caught up, or you'll be spammed with me reblogging all of my old art over there for the next while. I'll announce on this blog when it's done and wait at least a week so people have time to unfollow this blog if they don't want my reblogs of everything I like to clutter up their dashes.

But I'm too impatient to wait until I'm done with that before I start posting again, so here's a blurb from the DP x DC Circus Gothica crossover fic I'm writing! It's going to be a while before I can post it since I've got a lot going on and I'm a very slow writer so far, but I'm hoping posting about it will keep me motivated to continue working on it :)

It's not a very long blurb, but I'll put it under a read more anyway (along with a synopsis of the fic):

Fic synopsis:

Wait, but if I’m mind controlled, and you’re mind controlled, then who’s catching the evil ringmaster??

Jason wasn’t expecting to join the suspicious circus he was investigating on Dick’s behalf, but a day in found him planning a heist with his new posse of co-slaves. At least getting in on the action gave him the answers he was looking for, as well as some others to questions he’d forgotten he was still asking.

Or: A new circus rolls into Bludhaven, trailing a history of too many pilfered towns to be a coincidence. Dick asks Jason to look into it on account of Dick’s circus related trauma. Jason was expecting to find evidence, not a one-way ticket to minion town, or a mysterious boy who somehow calmed the insatiable waters of the pit. Who is this boy, and what can he teach Jason about himself?

----

Though he felt compelled to come, he didn’t know what was wanted of him now that he was here.

“This area is off limits to guests. Can I help you?”

That reaper kid from the performance, head attached, was looking at Jason with a raised brow. The same Red color that was swirling around Jason’s brain occupied the kid’s irises. Now he was up close, Jason could see how the kid’s stage eyeliner was only a slight enhancement to the genuine dark circles under his eyes. With those in addition to the gaunt hollowness of his cheeks, the kid looked like he hadn’t slept in years.

Jason smiled. It wasn’t a natural smile, but the Red liked it. “I’m here to, uh… cross over to the dark side?” That was all the Red was giving him to work with.

Reaper kid squinted at him, then drew back in surprise. “Woah, I totally thought you were human. Is that a disguise?” he asked, walking up to Jason.

“Disguise?” Jason glanced down at his body like it would clue him in to what reaper kid was talking about. He looked plenty human to himself. “What else would I be?” Was this important to the Red’s mission? Red was starting to feel a little more impatient.

“Uh, you know,” the kid gave a dismissive hand wave, but clarified: “Dead?”

[eastberlin]

If I could get a goddamn break from the universe re: cat health that would be fantastic.

[softquietsteadylove]

For the bodyguard AU:

A crazy Fan attacks Thena with a knife on stage. Luckily Gil is there to protect her👀

The crowd was roaring with enthusiasm for her performance. She was coming off the high of a few straight shows that had gone well. The audience was feeling excited, and it had even spread to Thena, penetrating her pessimistic shell.

Thena waved to them as they applauded her efforts. She swallowed, feeling the fatigue in her vocal cords after the full set she had performed. Nothing like a full concert, but evident none the less. She backed up from the microphone.

"Athena! Athena, you're my goddess!"

Gil looked out from backstage, trying to find where the voice had come from.

Thena also scanned the crowd, but couldn't find anyone who might have been able to be heard so above and beyond everyone else. She tried not to let it show on her face.

"Athena, I love you!"

She looked closer to the front, wondering who possessed that voice. It was male, deep, rough. Everyone close to the barricades seemed to be younger fans jumping and waving.

"Athena, be mine!"

Her chest rose and fell more quickly. This was becoming more of a situation by the second, but she couldn't pinpoint the source. She took a few more steps back, her hand subconsciously reaching behind her for a comforting presence.

Gil emerged from backstage to meet her halfway. Usually his code of conduct - per the label's insistence - was to be present but not seen. But this was an exception, "come on."

"I said you're mine, you bitch!"

Gil pulled Thena behind him, holding out his arms and making his surface area replace Thena's tiny frame behind him. He searched the crowd for himself, with eyes trained to detect problems like this.

Security dove for the man, but he must have had training in something. Because all they did was provide him with a staircase of bodies he could use to launch himself onto the stage.

"Athena!"

Gil's eyes focused in on the knife in his hand. There were worse weapons to face, but the best one to disarm was none. He held out his hand, "put it down!"

The assailant charged at them, fuelled by either delusion or a more powerful, more tangible substance. He came in swinging, "she's mine!"

Thena curled up behind Gil, not able to do much else in the given situation.

Gil moved only as close as needed to grab the assailant's hands by the wrists. So long as he could overpower him, he could keep the threat minimal. "Don't even think about it!"

Gil was stronger than the freak jumping impossible distances up onto the stage. He raised their hands above their heads, not leaving much room to get stabbed in the crosshairs. "Let it go!"

Bodies in yellow and black polo shirts came rushing out; better late than never, at least. The venue security rushed the assailant, enough of them piling on the threat that it didn't matter what was in his system, he went down hard.

The knife clattered away across the stage. The crowd screamed.

Gil didn't wait to see what would become of the animal, or deliver any last words. He turned around, pulling Thena into his arms and rushing her off stage, "come on."

Thena clung to him.

"Move, move, out of the way!" Gil barked at anyone who so much as came near them. This was his job, this was his protectee, his client: this was Thena. "Make some room!"

He led them straight through the backstage and out of the building. He wasn't making any stops in any dressing rooms, Kingo would bring them anything they had left behind. His priority now was getting Thena alone and safe with him.

She followed him silently, clinging to him.

Gil held his jacket up and in front of her face as they made their way to the car waiting for them. As always, no matter how they tried, there were still fans clambering to get a glimpse of the Goddess of War in her human form. "Back up!"

Thena climbed into the SUV, immediately sliding over in the backseat so Gil could slide in after her, no need to go around to the other door. He jumped in, nearly cracking his head on the frame in his haste. He slammed it closed and leaned forward, "drive!"

The ride service didn't ask questions.

Gil put the divider up immediately, looking over at Thena, "hey."

"I'm okay," she exhaled, with only some trembling in it. She pushed her hair out of her face.

"Thena," he repeated, moving until their legs were squished together on the hard and uncomfortable leather seats. "Look at me."

"I'm okay, she repeated before he held her cheeks, guiding her gently to meet his eyes. Her face crumbled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling her into his shoulder as he rubbed her back. No matter how expected or calculated a risk it was, it was still someone threatening her safety and life. He never blamed her for feeling rattled by the actions of those obsessed with her persona.

Thena shook her head against him, still pressing her eyes into his suit jacket. She was dismissing herself.

"Hey, no one would blame you," he said gently, holding the trembling songstress. "He came at you with a knife, Thena. It never should have happened."

She let out a breath, even more shuddery than the last. "You shouldn't have to keep doing this."

Protecting her? "Thena, it's my job to do this. I'm certainly not gonna let you fight these creeps by yourself."

"I mean it!" she lifted her head, pursing her lips in that stubborn way she had.

He brushed away some of her tears, careful of the eye makeup she had on that was admirably still in place. "I do too, Thena. I'm not going to let anyone get away with shit like that."

Thena pulled back, brushing more of her tears off his lapel and clearing her throat, which any vocalist usually did their best to avoid doing. She sniffled, "this seems to keep happening."

Gil let her fuss over him, if it made her feel better about it, "a couple times in a year is a pretty bad streak."

Thena looked at him in the dim light of the back of the limo. "I know you're saying it's not a big deal, but I've watched you had to fight a few too many psychos for my liking. And I still haven't forgotten when that mob of Eros' little fan-children mobbed you."

Gil chuckled, "that was a pretty bizarre fight to have."

"I wouldn't call it a fight," Thena grumbled but sat back again with a sigh. She flicked some hair over her shoulder, "at least the show was good. Although I'm sure Kingo is already bursting a blood vessel over the coverage of that attack."

"It was pretty open to see that the guy was nuts," Gil shrugged, already reaching into his suit jacket for both their phones. "Limo's taking us straight home. Do you want delivery?"

She looked up from her phone as he handed it to her, giving him the saddest, greenest eyes, like a kitten in the rain. She nodded.

How could he ever say no to that? He opened the app, "mood?"

"Surprise me," she sighed, looking down at her phone to check what Kingo was saying.

"Okay," Gil chuckled, already knowing to order her a comforting bowl of ramen with some dumplings on the side. He claimed one of her hands with his, even though it hindered her texting greatly.

She did visibly have trouble texting Kingo back with only her left thumb and a phone wider than her slim hand's width. But she gave him a squeeze back, grateful for the comfort.

[mossflower]

ok i’m gonna set an alarm but it is not the end of the world if i miss the lecture tomorrow

[bandomfandombeyond]

ha. fuckin HA.

one of the bitches who contributed to getting me kicked out of the "queer-oriented" "radical" camp for advocating that people mask and carrying around my CR Box CAUGHT COVID at it.

the Lord rebukes!!!!!!!