#(though I may have to turn it back on to allow the current crop of chicks to grow up)

[victorluvsalice]

Welcome back to the Chill Valicer Save, where as of this update it is Winter Saturday -- aka New Year's Eve! Now I had something a bit special planned for my trio for the holiday, but -- well, they live on a farm, so you always gotta take care of the various farm chores first:

-->Well, FIRST first, you gotta stop your werewolves from rampaging and make sure your wind farm is in good condition! To that end, Alice started off her day by letting out a somber howl before heading off for a healthy "zoomies" jog in her werewolf form to get the Fury down, and Victor started his by hitting a bunch of busted wind turbines with the old Repairio before Transportalating himself into the barn to make some eco upgrade parts. Feels like a perfect blending of magic and technology there, to be honest. XD

-->Poor Smiler, in the meantime, had gone upstairs to play some video games, and was coming downstairs to check on the cats -- when they happened to slip in a slime creature that had formed right in front of the stairs. As you can see, they were not pleased. :p They mopped the little bastard up, then noticed the downstairs toilet was also busted and leaking and fixed that as well, serenaded by the dulcet tones of Surprise. I suppose there are worse ways to start your day? :p

-->Anyway, with that all sorted and puddles all cleaned up, it was time to actually start the farm chores! Smiler got put on chicken-tending duty, giving all the chickens a bit of feed and some attention. Though, to my confusion, there were no eggs to collect at the start of the day...and no sign of Cockadoodle the rooster. And when I checked the tooltip, I discovered my previously-full coop is now down to seven out of eight chickens. Given this place does have the “Wild Foxes” lot trait, I suspect that Cockadoodle might have gotten ate off-screen at some point. D: Oh dear – I really gotta do some more errands and get some livestock upgrade parts for the coop!

-->Meanwhile, Victor -- who I had forced to put on actual clothes instead of doing everything in his pajamas (I mean, mood, but still) -- headed into the greenhouse to check on the plants – surprisingly enough, none needed tending! So instead I had him try giving an illustrative painting he’d recently made on his sketchpad to the specter in there to clear them out. Fortunately, this specter liked art, and gave Victor a nice blob of Wraith Wax to use in making more sacred candles. :D He then went to check on Moory and clean out her shed, so the cow can never again accuse the family of ignoring her. We take perfectly good care of you, you darn bovine!

-->And Alice returned from her zoomies just in time to smash up some creepy hands that had appeared in front of the house -- I feel like that should be good for reducing Fury as well! :p She then sorted through the trash and did some recycling...

[akatsukirites]

She looks out the window beyond the tower's gaze. On towards the water– Caladan's never-ending seas. Violent and rippling. Soaking in the hour's rain only to funnel it back up into dark clouds. At least here, in the old quarters, the meta-glass sky canopy only allows the most suitable amount of rain. A superficial amount. Just enough so that the crops and plant-life may not drown. 

"You look lost in thought, my lady."

Konan scoffs under her breath, amber eyes searching below the depths for an answer to her worries.

"Please do not call me by such titles. I've long been a traitor of the Bene Gesserit."

Kisame runs a sharpening stone across his blade in rhythm with his own heart-beat. He finds that it's the only meditative practice that stuck with him after betraying the Sardaukar. He runs and runs and yet cannot find home no matter how long he suffers through this ocean planet. He seems content to call her as he will, though she's told him to quit calling her by her title for years.

"Do you worry for the young Atreides?"

"So you've heard the news?"

"Not much intel escapes these ears."

"You still keep old channels?"

"The servants are bored without their masters. Gossip is their only pastime." He flips the blade over. "You must give them tasks."

"I'll do no such thing."

Kisame shrugs, his thick neck preventing his shoulders from coming up too high. His expression says as much. 

"Why do you keep him in your thoughts?"

The sea churns with mystery. A planet with a billion-year history, and this one not always wet. What carcusses and broken steel towers lie beneath the waves? What nearly-forgotten conspiracies and sunken histories? There are answers in the caverns below the surface; yet guarded fiercely by strong currents. She could chart a boat– but then the secrets would go to the cursed Spacing Guild. She knows she cannot swim that strong.

Konan finally turns away from the window. Afternoon shadows fall across the room, leaving most of Kisame's form in obscurity. It is only with her training that she recognizes the tension of worry. "Do you know of the Kwizatch Haderach?"

"The Bene Gesserit prophet?" 

"The Order fears his coming."

"They think the young Atredies this prophet?"

"One cannot know what the Order thinks. But if the Reverend Mother judges him to be so, I can only imagine what horror she'll whisper to the Emperor."

"What better place for revenge than the– what did you call him?" he pauses, looking into Konan's sharp, expectant eyes. "The Kwizatch Haderach's home world?"

Konan turns back towards the ocean as Kisame gives her a report on what remains of their battalions and warcraft after the Harkonnens whipped Caladan with their hatred for the Atreides. Were it not for Kisame's timely orders, they'd all be slaves to those pigs. Though, they lost almost half their reserves in the process. It is a bittersweet victory. 

"And so you find the source of my true worries, my lord."

"It is foolish to rise against the Sardukar with what men we have left."

"There must be another way," she murmurs.

But what way is left for a household with no name?

[nickgerlich]

ROYGBIV

We’re already halfway through our blogs for the summer term, and rapidly approaching the halfway point of the term itself. Time flies when you’re having fun, right? As it turns out, since I normally teach this course each June, I have unwittingly found myself with a plethora of discussion topics thanks to Pride Month. After all, it has become the basis of the MBA Group Project this term. Come back next year—not you, mind you, but other students—and I suspect it will be same song, different verse.



I easily could have made every blog focus on some aspect of the controversial topic, but have chosen to limit myself. I don’t want to beat a dead horse. Besides, there are other things going on, not just yet another boycott.

But this one begs to be discussed if only because it involves one of America’s most prominent sit-down restaurant chains. Cracker Barrel—can you believe it?—is now under the gun. It was one thing last August when they innocently added Impossible sausage patties to the menu and an uproar ensued, but when they announced on 8th June this year via their Facebook and Instagram feeds that they welcomed the LGBTQ+ community to dine there, heads started exploding and threats gushed forth.

Heck, even Congressman Ronny Jackson, a local Texas Panhandle politician, chimed in. Good grief, Bro. Must have been a slow day in DC.

Vocal opponents screamed that “you have been welcome all along, so why do they need to announce this?” Or something to that effect. The rainbow rocker, though, is what really pushed some folks off the cliff.

To Cracker Barrel’s great credit (as well as Target, they too feeling the wrath of consumer bullies), they have continued to use their social media accounts since then. Bud Light? Crickets since April. Their continued use speaks volumes, because life and business go on. Furthermore, by not allowing themselves to be pushed into silence, they are effectively uttering a barnyard epithet initialized by FTS.

As for the ultra-conservatives loudly orating their farewell speeches, I’m pretty sure they’re running out of places to shop and dine. Except for maybe Chick-fil-A and Hobby Lobby. Heck, even Walmart observed Pride Month, although significantly more muted than others. I guess whispered is the word.

To be fair, the Left has excoriated some through the years too, most notably Chick-fil-A and Hobby Lobby. In an effort to remain an equal opportunity critic here, I’ll just say that anyone boycotting a place they otherwise once loved—until they saw something they did not like—is kind of like biting off your nose to spite your face. You are only hurting yourself by eliminating someone or some thing from your choice set.

But as for the current crop of naysayers, they are wrong for trying to bully companies to do their bidding. This is not a battle on Christianity or your values. It’s a battle on having not done such a good job through the years in granting everyone the same rights and privileges.

I have had to suffer through the usual litany of twisted logic from more than one person. “Why don’t we have heterosexual pride month?” How about because it is heterosexual pride month all 12 of the months? I have even heard the same question asked of Black History Month. Really? You’re not good with it being White History Month every single month of the year?

While we’re at it, maybe we should bring Native Americans into the conversation too, because we’ve done an even worse job disenfranchising them. Christopher Columbus wasn’t the shining exemplar of European heritage and seafaring adventure he has been made out to be, nor would President Andrew Jackson and the Trail of Tears that happened in the wake of his actions.

Before you say I’m just feeling the effects of white guilt, I’ll say that I don’t see treating people fairly as a Left or Right issue. It is a humanitarian issue. I doff my hat to Cracker Barrel for at least voicing their support and rolling out a welcoming rocker, even if others may argue they are just band-wagoning.

And maybe it is appropriate that we have this discussion on the day in which we observe the nation’s newest holiday, Juneteenth. Put that on your biscuits and think about it.

Dr “It’s Time To Move On” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[rebrandedbard]

3 for Jaskier×Geralt please

3. “Please, don’t leave.”

tw: heat stroke

wc: 1706

Rain Rain Go Away

Geralt takes on a contract to resolve tensions between an angry nymph and the farmers who insulted her. Jaskier doesn’t do well in the heatwave she sends in retribution. Light angst ensues as Geralt learns why Jaskier hid his struggle.

-

Above them, the sun blistered. Geralt had walked astride Jaskier, the sleeves of his shirt rolled above his elbows. Though he ran hotter than humans, his body adjusted well to heat, and a bit of sweat went a long way to keeping him cool. As usual, Jaskier had elected to accompany him. He carried with him only his notebook, tucked in the hem of his trousers. This contract required no fighting and Geralt had been happy enough to leave his armour behind at the inn. Despite his initial reservations, he knew it would have been more uncomfortable to wear it in this weather, and if things took a wrong turn, his signs would be enough for such a simple confrontation. The humans hadn’t angered anything particularly powerful.

“Can this heatwave really be the work of a nymph?” Jaskier quietly complained. He tugged at the front of his shirt, fanning air inside. The hair stuck to his forehead was almost black, being so saturated with sweat. The bottom of his shirt had long come untucked and hung loose around him. He was talking to himself, the words breathy. Even now he was beginning to lag behind.

“They complained of the rain,” Geralt replied. “She sent it as a blessing for their crops. Until I can make their apology formally known, this is how things will be.”

Jaskier grunted and said no more. His feet dragged on the dirt path. Now and then he took a deeper breath and paused, braced on his knees. He would then compensate by jogging up to Geralt, though in a matter of minutes he would fall behind again.

The third time, Geralt turned back and said, “You’re slowing me down.”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier said, perking up performatively. He straightened his back and fluttered a careless hand in the air. “You just keep pace and I’ll catch up when I catch up. In the past you’ve made your position perfectly clear on the subject—you don’t have to wait for me. Besides, it can’t be much farther. Then again, ah, how far is it to this nymph’s hideout exactly?”

“It’s there,” Geralt said. He pointed to a small grove beyond the last farmer’s field.

Jaskier slumped, following his finger. “That’s … not so very far. Except that it is. Quite far. I thought you said that was the last hill just now and here we are, about to climb another. I may walk everywhere we go but—phew!” He paused to pant. Talking only seemed to make his face redder with effort. He sighed and sat in the dirt, head lolling forward. “Fuck, Geralt. It’s bloody hot. I’ll get blisters in this heat.”

“Go back and wait it out.”

“It’ll be twice as long going back as going forward. Besides, I doubt the nymph is keeping her grove as hot as the village. My blood would boil in the deepest basement there, but the grove … it’s probably … very cool.” He groaned and lay back on the ground, one arm over his eyes. “Damn heat. Can barely—well, you know. The thing I do.”

He flapped a hand above his head like a little mouth, opening and closing.

“Talk?” Geralt surmised.

Jaskier pointed a finger at him. “That, yes, thank you.”

Geralt sighed and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on. We’ll be there in ten minutes if you keep walking.”

“Right. I’m up. I’m—oh.” He wobbled on his feet, pitching forward. Geralt caught him with one arm, but found he needed two to keep Jaskier upright, taking the full weight of him. Jaskier groped at his shoulder, his eyes unfocused. “Stood too quickly,” he said. “Just give me a moment, I’ll … I’m alright.”

He pulled out of Geralt’s arms and marched deliberately forward, following the path downhill. He made it two steps before swaying once more and stumbling to his knees. The momentum carried him and he rolled sideways, sliding on his back in the dust.

“Jaskier!” Geralt rushed down the hill and held him upright. He could hear his heart racing unnaturally. “Jaskier, how long have you been pushing yourself?”

Jaskier looked at him, confused. He patted his ear, brow furrowed as he focused. “I can’t hear you,” he whispered. He looked at Geralt in alarm, patting his ear still. “I—I can’t … can’t hear … what … ” His eyes lost focus once more, then his eyes rolled back and he went slack.

“Jas—Jaskier? Hey!” Geralt snapped in front of his face, but Jaskier made no response. “Fuck,” he hissed. He ought to have been more concerned when Jaskier stopped talking before. He scooped Jaskier up, draped over his shoulders, and hurried along the road. They needed to get somewhere cool fast. He only hoped Jaskier would be right about the grove.

“Idiot complains about a pebble between his toes but never thinks to take off his boot,” Geralt grumbled. Jaskier wasn’t the most pragmatic when it came to problem solving, preferring vocalization to action. “Now he keeps his mouth shut. Still doesn’t take off the boot.”

It was a struggle to jog without jostling Jaskier. He made for an awkward bulk, tipping Geralt’s balance on a few steps. Geralt had carried him before, but it was always a surprise to him how much more Jaskier weighed than expected. He was no easy burden.

It troubled Geralt that Jaskier had not taken steps to keep himself cool, or even to give any hint of his condition. He’d never been one to suffer in silence. Surely he would have noticed that something was wrong; he could not be so blind to his own circumstances.

When he reached the grove, he was relieved to find it was cool. He carried Jaskier into the center and set him under the dark shadow of a tree to keep him out of the sun. Carefully, he stripped him of his shirt and trousers. To help him cool off, Geralt wet the hem of Jaskier’s shirt with his water-skin and dabbed it on his face and chest, letting the air do the rest. Tilting Jaskier’s head back, he poured water down his throat, then left the remainder with him, just beside his hand.

The nymph found Geralt not long after he started his search. It was just as well that Jaskier had fainted, for he likely would have fainted had he been awake to learn that the nymph recognized him. She had heard his songs from the men who passed through her grove, humming and singing on their way to work, and from the children who sat in its shade. It happened that she was quite the fan of his music, and she was horrified that he’d become a consequential victim of her ire.

As the hot winds died down, the clouds were once more permitted to gather. The sun was hidden away and a light drizzle rained down over them. She wove Jaskier a fan of grass and twig, tending to him until his skin returned to its usual color. Geralt sat with her and made the apology as promised, though she’d long forgotten her anger in her distress over the famed bard. She lingered until he had sufficiently cooled, then went to inspect the villagers’ fields.

By the end of the hour, Jaskier began to stir. Geralt helped him sit up against the tree and would not allow him to try his feet. He passed him the water-skin, made him drink, and folded the shirt behind his head to keep him off the bark. When he was sure Jaskier had recovered enough, it was time for his scolding.

“What did you think you were doing?” Geralt quietly demanded. He saw the way Jaskier started and adjusted his voice. He sighed and took to folding Jaskier’s trousers more neatly, keeping his eyes lowered, giving him space. “If you were struggling, you should have said.”

Jaskier twisted the cork of the water-skin nervously. “I … didn’t want to be left behind,” he replied. His voice was weak, no more than a huff of air with each word. “I thought if I just kept going, I would learn to adjust. I would just get used to it. And I did, up to a point.”

“Why would you think—” but Geralt stopped himself. Jaskier had every right to believe it. Geralt had threatened to leave him behind if he ever lagged behind when they first met. Jaskier had been slow at the start, and over the years he had adjusted well to life on the road. Until now, he’d kept up. But Geralt had never slowed down.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Jaskier concluded.

Geralt placed the trousers in Jaskier’s lap. The movement startled Jaskier and he seemed to notice for the first time where he was, and under what circumstances. While he struggled with mixed feelings toward his current state of modesty, Geralt switched the empty water-skin with a second. He picked up the fan and waved it between them.

“You’ll always be a burden,” Geralt said. He handed Jaskier the fan and leaned over to adjust the shirt behind his head before it could slip down. “You’re a burden,” he explained, “but I don’t mind carrying you. You’re not so heavy. And even if you were, I’d … if you were, I’d adjust.” Though it was not as eloquent as the feeling he meant, it was the best Geralt could do to say it.

Jaskier stared at him in astonishment, the water-skin limp in his hands. Geralt opened it for him, helped him to drink it, then made him lie down once more. The contract was complete, but Jaskier needed rest still.

Geralt retrieved the empty water-skin and turned. A river ran nearby, and Jaskier would need more water when he rose. But as he turned to stand, Jaskier caught his arm. He looked up at Geralt with uncertainty in his eyes.

“Please, don’t leave,” he whispered.

And Geralt sat down once more. He put a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll stay, Jaskier.” He would always stay, as long as Jaskier asked it of him.

-

Send me drabble prompts!

[aiiwa]

PRETTY IN PINK — IWAIZUMI HAJIME.

✗ REQUEST: may i request a lil text fic of yn having the most juiciest 🍑 and taking pics in her lingerie to send to her female friends so they can help pic out which one is the prettiest but she accidently sends them to her best friend and crush iwa and how that would go?????

— iwaizumi hajime.

⤷ genre: college au - fluff (?) / crack (?)

⤷ warnings: suggestive / mature themes, cursing, and a photo thirst trap photo (?), also iwa talking about masturbating over your photo

⤷ word count: 2.8k

— a/n: for my big booty anon i would sell my soul for 🍑💖

this is set in the same universe as freshman year, so feel free to give it a read if you’d like!!

life after meeting your boys had changed your daily routine in the best way. not a minute went by that wasn’t filled with the familiar craziness you had grown on.

free time was spent humouring mattsun by shifting the couches in their apartment around and engaging in a wrestling match, originally stemming from a fight the two of you had over the last slice of cake a month ago; the current score was an even tie of 14-14 though you had plans to take the lead. when it came to makki, he was more than happy to indulge on your self-care days; he’d even take part in your skincare routine, let you paint his nails, and liked it when you made smoothies to sip on while the two of you waited for your clay masks to dry. every other week was dedicated to retouching his roots with pink hair dye.

other days, you were set up on your bed; under the soft covers, stash of snacks next to you, while your laptop rested on your lap. and at exactly three a.m. you would receive an incoming call from, oikawa. since it would be three p.m. in argentina, he’d take to sitting out on his balcony, basking in the sun and interrogating you on the relationship, or lack thereof, you had with his dear iwa-chan.

speaking of sweet, gorgeous iwa - in your biased and majorly crushing opinion, hanging out with him was your favourite. though you’d never be heard saying that around anyone. just last week he’d all but solidified your love for him even more, when the two of you were up late, binge watching a new sci-fi show that caught iwa’s attention, and he got up to make you some coffee when you started to feel sleepy.

“here we go, coffee with two sugars for the pretty lady.” the warmth you felt run over your body settled before you grabbed at the steaming cup. taking a sip you realised you’d never told iwa how many sugars you preferred, and after asking him, you watched his faint blush bloom under the harsh light of the t.v. screen. “heh, i don’t know...just noticed it, i guess.”

but as much as you loved the guys, there were just some things you couldn’t do with them. things that required a strictly girls-only day out.

“what do you mean we’re not allowed to come? i wanna go to the mall too!” mattsun whines, tugging at the sleeve of your cropped, button-up sweater, while you were bent over tying your laces.

“it’s a girl’s day out, emphasis on girl.” smacking his hand away, you straighten up; sending him the look your mother gives you when you’re being difficult. “so unless your little pee-pee grew into a powerful vagina, you’ll be staying home.”

“but makki’s practically a girl too!” the couch cushion that flew into his face was true to its aim, the swift whack shutting mattsun up.

“fuck off, little dick.” makki grumbled, lanky figure draped over the couch; sans aforementioned couch cushion that was covering his face before. mattsun tried to throw the pillow back at the pink-haired boy, but it was caught with ease. “we agreed to never bring that up again.”

“yeah well, y/n’s talking about some girl-time shit, like we didn’t take her to a strip club, filled with male strippers.” mattsun sasses back, crossing his arms with a smirk. “like makki didn’t get a lap dance from that guy-”

from the corner of your eye, the bulky figure entering the room catches your attention instantly. you could never get tired of eyeing up the way his shirt stretched around his fit body, how his sleeves cut a bit into his arms and knowing he could rip them up with a flex of his biceps. watching him walk up to you, the tightening of his navy blue gym shorts around his shaped thighs, had you mesmerised; dragging your gaze across the outline of his bulge, you swore it twitched just before he stopped near you.

“ready to go, y/n?” he offered a small smile, twirling his keys around his finger. at the sound of his voice, the other two boys halted their bickering over the strip club incident.

“oi iwa, no fair, are you going with y/n?!” mattsun interrogates, thick brows arched in question.

“i’m dropping her off.”

“oh.” makki chimes in. “out of everyone i thought you would be the one with the most complaints, iwa. just the other day when the two of you were together, i wanted to ask y/n for help with my project but you-”

“yeah, yeah that was the other day.” iwa cuts him off, and you couldn’t help but furrow your brows, wanting to know what makki was going to say. oh well, you’ll just get it out of him after. “c’mon y/n, you’ll be late meeting the girls.”

iwa was on his way to the front door when makki asked you what was so different about this trip to the mall that you didn’t want any of the boys to come along.

“i’m going to buy new lingerie, and i need their opinions.” you shrugged, grabbing your hand bag so you could follow iwa out.

busy with shoving your phone into your purse, and checking you had all of your essentials, you failed to notice the scheming look shared between mattsun and makki. or how iwa stood frozen by the door, hand tightly gripping the handle, until you bumped into his warm back.

“lingerie...hm, i wonder for who?”

at makki’s words you felt heat rise up in your face, as you rubbed at your nose.

“y/n~! you could’ve just asked me to come along! i would love to give my opinion!”

you’d never seen keys flying so fast through the air, finding their mark on mattsun’s forehead.

after spending twenty minutes pressing an ice pack to the growing bump on mattsun’s forehead, and listening to him trying to explain to an irritated iwa that he was just playing around; you’d finally left the apartment, and was nearing the bustling shopping district. iwa had been quiet, though not awkward, with only the mellow songs of his playlist, named after you, playing during the short drive. he flicked his indicator on, spotting the two girls waving at you from the sidewalk, and pulled over to the side.

“thanks for the ride, iwa.” you mumbled distractedly, admiring the veins in his tanned arm as he shifted the gear into park.

“anything for my pretty lady.” iwa lifts the corner of his mouth up into a sweet grin, olive green eyes flitting over you next to him. he doesn’t even realise he’d called you his pretty lady, and you press a hand to your heated cheek; ignoring your friends cooing and pointing at the two of you. “do you need some money? are you gonna be warm?” he leans closer to you, putting his arm behind your seat as he searches through his gym back in the back. the intoxicating smell of his cinnamon cologne invades your senses. “i’ll give you my jacket, just let me find it.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his antics, grabbing his bicep to stop him, giving it a firm, very self-indulgent squeeze. “iwa.” you called out to him. he turned to look at you, wide eyed and so fucking adorable. “you’re acting like my mom.” 

his handsome features relaxed as he released an airy laugh. “well i love your mom, so i’m fine with that.” he pulled his arm from behind you, jacket in his grip, though not in a way to make you let go of his arm.

“i still can’t believe she messages you to make sure i’m eating right.” you groaned, still squeezing his arm playfully. “and stop trying to give me money, it’s like you want to be my sugar daddy or something.”

iwa’s arm tenses under your touch as he processes your words. “alright, time for you to go.” you manage to catch the bright blush dusting his cheeks; your hand reaching out to pinch them yet all you feel is the material of his jacket as he shoves it into your arms. “get out, your friends are waiting for you.”

you pout at his dismissal; but with the way he was so flustered, scratching the back of his neck and hiding his pretty eyes, you decide to let him off easy 

“‘kay, fine~” you drawled in a sing-song voice.

making a show of collecting your things together, you dramatically tugged your seat belt loose; reaching for the door but halting in your actions when the weight of his large hand, dropped on top of your head. allowing him to angle your head to face him, he gifted you with a soft smile that had you ready to melt into the passenger seat. 

“be safe, alright?” your eyes blinked with each gentle pat on your head - once, twice, thrice - most likely ruffling your hair you’d spent a good amount of time on. “now go, text me and i’ll pick you up later.”

puffing your cheeks, you nodded as he squeezed your scalp affectionately. unlocking the door, you stepped outside into the cool air, wrapping iwa’s big jacket over your shoulders as goosebumps rose underneath the thin material of your sweater. bumping the door closed with your hip, you bent at the waist and stuck your head through the open window 

“bye, iwa.” your lips pressed together in a shy smile.

he mirrored your smile. “see you later, pretty lady.”

walking away, tugging the collar of his jacket closer, you could feel his eyes following after you. only half-listening as the girls teased you, hooking their arms through yours to walk through the entrance of the mall; you glanced back once more to see iwa stick a hand out and wave, before driving off once you disappeared from his view.

steam whirled up and around iwa, as a contented sigh escaped his parted lips. stood underneath the spray of warm water, he felt the tension begin to evaporate from his taut muscles 

iwa’s gym sessions, as of late, had been rather extreme. well, it had been this way for a couple of months now, ever since he had met you. he had to overwork his body, send it into overdrive and power through the fatigue - it was the only way to release some of his pent up frustration. the frustration that came with crushing on you, and not acting on it.

you were so fucking gorgeous to him, and you were so damn sweet. every part of his being was steadily entangling itself around your presence, and he had no idea how to stop it. not that he would even want to try. when you were nearby, his ears would begin to twitch at the sound of your voice, searching for you; and when you touched him, wrapping your delicate fingers around his arm to steady yourself, or poking your fingers at his back absentmindedly while teasing his roommates, he could feel his skin tingle all over. but it was when you would look up at him, sparkles in your beautiful eyes, that iwa knew he was a goner.

you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger, and he just wanted to make you his. have you in his arms…and bury himself so deep inside you-

“fuck.”

he shut off the shower with a bit more force than necessary. this was exactly the reason why he’d been visiting the gym more, working out for longer, because his mind was plagued with thoughts of you under him.

especially after seeing you in your cute outfit today. he feared that you’d catch his eyes lingering too long on the exposed skin of your tummy, or trying to memorise the curve of your lush thighs in those jeans. hell, he could barely say anything to you on the drive to the mall, tongue running dry with you so close to him.

with a huff, he carefully stepped out of the shower; wrapping his fully white towel around his hips, and moving into his room. kicking the door closed behind him, he made his way towards his side table just in time for his phone to go off.

grabbing the device and waiting a second for the facial recognition to process; he was surprised to see it was an instagram notification from you. expecting another food porn post, he was dead wrong; with absolutely nothing that could’ve prepared him for what greeted his eyes.

“holy,” he collapsed onto his bed, holding his phone to his face. “fuck.”

you...you-

“fuck!” he growled out.

you’d sent him a photo in your new lingerie, albeit it was most likely by accident, but there you were modelling your new all-pink set. the one he had 'chosen’.

with your arms raised above your head, brushing your hair over your shoulders, the stretched out pose accentuated the curve of your breasts, almost spilling out from the strapped confines of your bra. could he even call it that? it was all studded belt straps and buckles, that matched the thick choker-collar around your lithe neck, and it was not helping his current situation. grazing his eyes lower, a thin belt was clipped around your waist, before a sliver of skin lead downwards to the skinny, almost sheer, material of your panties. it was high waisted, dipping behind your wide hips and the teasing curve of your ass. and then your thighs, fuck how he wanted his face to be squeezed between them. thigh-high stockings dug into your plush thighs, squished out from the way you were sitting on your rug.

leaning back onto his bed, iwa was tempted to check if his heart was still beating, if he was even breathing at this point. but he did check, and he was alive; and the blood circulating his body was currently flowing straight to his groin.

the sight of you, so fucking pretty in pink, was burned into his mind forever.

under his palms the prickling sensation spread across his fingers, itching to relieve himself. one hand trailed across the panes of his abdomen, while the other grabbed at his phone; though it almost went flying out of his hand when it started vibrating and your contact photo flashed on his screen.

“shit.” he cursed, clearing his throat and trying to even out his breathing. he accepted the call after a moment. “hello?”

“iwa?!” at the sound of your voice he could feel his dick twitch, and he clenched his teeth together; annoyed at himself. he needed to get a grip. “oh my god, iwa, i am so sorry!”

‘no, i’m sorry that i want to fuck you so bad right now.’ is what he wants to say. “it’s...fine, y/n.” is what he manages to get out.

he hears you chuckle a bit awkwardly on the other end of the line. “shit, i’m so embarrassed right now.” you confess. “i meant to send that to the girls…”

“you don’t have to be embarrassed.” if anyone was to embarrassed it was him. he’d spent months pining after you, and now here he was lying on his bed aching to touch himself to you, towel fisted in his free hand. “you’re beautiful, y/n.” at least that managed to come out right.

“thank you, iwa...i only realised what happened when i was about to send another showing the back!” you laughing at your antics fell deaf on his ears, when the thought of your ass seized control of his mind.

how often had he admired the shape of you the past few months. daydreaming of the way you’d feel in his big hands, silky skin dug into by his long fingers, cheeks jutting out between them. he wanted to hold your ass in the palms of his hands, squeeze and tease you...his hips buck up, grinding against the cotton of the towel and a loud groan escapes his mouth.

“oh- iwa? are you okay?” you asked him, so innocently. he couldn’t take it anymore.

“i’m good...i just- something’s come up,” he hissed out, glancing down at the red tip of his cock peeping up at him. “i’ll call you later.”

“oh, of course! sorry again iwa, hehe, i’ll delete the photo. talk soon!”

his eyes shut at the sound of your giggle, free hand already rubbing himself. “bye.”

ending the call and moving the phone away from his face, he stared at the photo again, thumb hovering over the ‘save’ option, before pressing yes. he’d keep it locked away just for him, a treasured piece of you in his gallery. starting to stroke himself to your perfect body, he waited for the notification that you had deleted the photo from the conversation.

but it never came, though he did, and the photo remained buried under new food posts sent from you.

yet it wasn’t til a few weeks after that iwa began to think that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as much of an accident as you made it out to be.

© 2020 AIIWA. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

[neesieiumz]

No one else F. Vermillion

Summary: You and your love struggled through a lot, haven't you?

A/N: God this is so late! This is for a collab with the ever so lovely, @vs-redemption. It was for her 1k Captains collab and I got so busy with packing and moving in for college that this completely slipped my mind. So please, just enjoy this! I worked as much as I could!

Word count: 1.8k

The sun was out and about, the heat beating down against your body. Although the wind blew around you, there was no coolness to it, only throwing around hot air. You raised your hands in the air, taking in a deep breath as you crossed your right hand behind your left. Purple light surrounded your grimoire as the same color lightning sparked and surrounded you. Slowly you opened your eyes, eyes locked on the target before you. Cupping your hands together, the purple lighting surrounded you became attracted to the growing force within your hands, raging and buzzing around it.

“Lightning Magic: Glimmer Spada.”

Holding out the ball of concentrated lightning out, a bright purple beam blasted out of it. It took up the shape of a sword, and made a clean vertical cut clean through the target, through the trees, and even the rest of the forest. It left a thick black smoke behind, and the bark of the target and tree were charred. You let a breath of contentment, a smile curling up on your face. You released your hands, stretching them out as you went to the pile of things you brought. Behind down to pick up your towel, along with your bottle of water, you heard a rustle of leaves near you. Eye perked up, your body was alert as a body pushed itself through the leaves and the trees.

Wild, red hair, and a long red cape to match. You relax as Meroleona found herself in your little training area. You placed your water down as she eyed her, her familiar wild smirk landing on you.

“Lady L/n, I’ve been looking for you!” Her haughty gruff voice rang out through the forest.

You smiled, wiping your face with the towel, “Mero, how long has it been?”

The last time you saw Mero was when she took the Crimson Lions to Ultime-Volcano Mountain Trail. You didn’t go, unfortunately, wanting to stay back with your fiance during his coma. So, it was nice seeing your future-in-law after so long. You knew she came back when Fuegoleon woke up and the two of them went back to Ultime but you were busy training your younger cousins. Despite the sweat dripping down your body, she came up towards you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and pulling you close.

“It’s been too long, how about we catch up? What say we spar?”

You froze mid-sip, your eyes slowly moving to look at the smiling woman beside you. Despite all your training, you knew that you didn’t hold a candle to her power and abilities. She was a different breed. Knowing this, she just snickered and began to guide you out of the forest.

“Nevermind, let’s do lunch.”

---

After you took a shower, you changed into an all-red outfit, the color similar to the Crimson of the Vermillion Family. You wore a cropped coaster top with thick straps, a matching blazer, and dress pants. You wore dark boots before moving your ring from its chain to your finger. You pulled your hair from a messy bun to a low ponytail.

You followed behind the older woman into the private restaurant, leading up to the hostess who immediately greeted the two o you.

“Lady Vermillion, Lady L/n! Oh es, your table is this way!”

Mereoleona said nothing while you thanked her as she took your menus to a booth. She placed them down and immediately left the two of you alone, closing the door behind her as she walked off. You sighed taking the scenery as you took a seat. The stone walls and wooden floors were rustic, reminding you of your grandmother’s old cabin back when you were younger. You smiled, taking a breath before grabbing the menu before you.

“So, how has my bone-headed brother been treating you?”

You glanced up at Mereo, eyes looking away from a meat special they were having. You smiled at the thought of Fuegoleon, the love of your life. Currently, he was doing another training expedition with some of the Crimson Lions. So you were by yourself in the Vermillion Residence for the most part, save when Mimosa would come to visit. Although you were still a member of the Crimson Lions, you mostly stayed behind for home defense just in case something happened. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Fuegoleon to be gone for hours or days at a time. Although he wasn’t home for a lot of the time, when he was, everything was such perfection.

“He’s treating me just fine, don’t worry Mereo.” You smiled down at your menu, before choosing one of the things on the menu.

“How’s the wedding planning?”

“We’ve been taking our tome, he’s been busy with everything that’s going on. Things with the Spade Kingdom and what-not.”

She hummed, before looking down at her menu. The waitress came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses, placing each of them down before you two. Mereroleona took the bottle, uncorking it with her bare hands before pouring the two of you a glass. You smiled, thanking her before taking yours and taking a sip. The smooth fruity taste of the win hit your tastebuds in the right way as you gave another smile towards Mereo.

“I see…”

From there, the two of you talked, about anything really. The new spell you were training, her own training, (which is basically all she does), and little quips about her brother/your fiance tat made you both giggle and snicker.

--

You sighed, leaning against the window, staring out at the group of Crimson Lions training in the field. Although your eyes stared at them, your mind was far away.

“Fuegoleon!”

Eye teared up, burning with pain, you rushed up to your finance. He was currently laying across the bed, blankets pulled over him. You let out a shaky breath as you slowly reached out to him, the only sign of him being alive was his shallow breathing. That’s when you glanced over to his right, before eyes widening at the lack of his right arm. You must have been rocking back and forth, because you felt a hand rest at the small of your back, staying you. Your hands crumpled at your dress as you pulled the skirt up, allowing you to sit comfortably by his side. Your hands raked through his red hair, still dirty from the fight he just partook in.

Lips trembling, you shuffled your body to lay next to him, “my Fuegoleon.”

“.../n…. Y/n… Y/n!”

You gasped, jumping up slightly as you heard your name. Turning around, you found Fuegoleon standing not too far from you, eyes shining with concern. Oh, he was back already? You must have not seen him return, despite your eyes staying near the entrance once you came back from lunch with Mereo. The light from his arm caught your eye once more, the makeshift arm moving up and down as your soon-to-be husband walked towards you. Using his regular arm, he reached out towards you, cupping your face.

“Dear, what’s wrong?”

You just shook your head, turning away from him. He, however, didn’t take that, grabbing you by the arm before turning your around once again.

“Speak to me, please?” You could hear a soft pleading in his voice.

You sighed in resignation, before opening your eyes to look at him. His arm went from your own to your waist, pulling you closer. You felt a sudden heat, a force softly grabbing at you by the chin, before making you look at him.

“I just, I guess I’m just… I’m just remembering, back when you were in a coma.”

His grip around both your waist and ace loosened, and the slight drop in pressure allowed for you to escape his hold. You turned back towards the window, leaning against the windowsill. You could hear Feugoleon sigh, before walking up behind you. His two arms came up and rested themselves upon your shoulders, pulling you back towards him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and bent down, resting his head on top of your shoulder.

“I knew that must have been so difficult for you.”

You chuckled, all though there was no humor behind it, “you were the one in the coma.”

“It still must have been difficult for you, seeing me passed out with no way to talk to me. No idea if I’d ever wake up.”

“What do you mean?”

The doctor sighed, staring at you and the rest of the family, “Captian Vermillion was gravely injured, with the loss of his arm. There’s no way to say if he’ll ever wake up.”

You could felt your ears pop, and then you were on the floor. Right before you could hit it, Leopold caught you, holland you up by the shoulders. The rest of your family only gasped, whispering amongst themselves about the recovery of the current head of the Vermillion family. You ignored them all, you couldn’t even hear Leo’s calls for you. Your head buzzed around, you couldn’t think, you couldn’t speak. Fuegoleon.. your fiance? The love of your life? He could... Never recover? You may never see him again?

“We’ll monitor him, but the more time he takes, the less of a recovery chance he has.”

You only sighed, snuggling into his hold even more.

“We dealt with it though, and look, you recovered well. You even got one of the four elemental spirits,” you mumbled.

“That doesn’t mean the journey wasn’t difficult.”

“Y/n, you have to eat something. You’ll lose your strength.”

You could only shake your head, the friction of the bed rubbing against your head. It had been a week and some days since the doctor told you about Fuegoleon’s condition, a whole three weeks since he had been in a coma. You hadn’t left his side, hadn’t changed your clothes or anything, keeping yourself right by his side. Hoping to be there when he wakes up.

“Y/n please, you know he wouldn’t like to hear you are not eating, not taking care of yourself.”

You shook your head again. If your love couldn’t eat, you wouldn’t either.

“But, you’re right, I did recover, and I gained power even more than I could imagine.”

You smiled at that, sighing at the small kiss and nips he left on your cheek and neck.

“And now look at us, preparing for both a war and a wedding. Who other than you, could ever become part of the Vermillion family?”

You couldn’t hold back the giggle that came out of your mouth, squealing as he scooped you up into his arms. He carried you out of the room, mumbling something about having a walk in the family gardens.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Day One | Persephone

Hey lovelies— so as per my usual shenanigans I've decided this will have no schedule and that I will play god to my own creation because what is life without some chaos? The pros are you might not have to wait a week between updates, the cons are you might have to wait a week between updates. In all seriousness, please enjoy my lovelies!

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut

Word count: 3.1k

Previous | Next

Master List

She can’t hear what the man in the truck says to him— the walls of this house are surprisingly thick. She supposes that’s a good thing. It means she will be able to go about her days normally while cooped up here. Well, as normal as possible. She doubts she’ll be able to get away with her three am rom-com marathons and ice-cream binges. She doubts she’ll get away with screaming in her sleep— and in the shower and at the breakfast table and when doing any, little thing that makes her remember that her life is one, constant nightmare.

It’s only three days— all she has to do is stay awake for three days.

While his head— her body guard’s head— is turned she leans against the kitchen sink, inching back the white lace curtain for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s like a little game at this point. She peeks at him, his eyes snap to hers, and she squeals and drops the curtain. Thank god the walls are thick. It’s almost unnerving how tuned he is to every little movement— not almost, it is unnerving but she supposes that is what makes him a good fit for this job. A good fit for keeping her alive. Like she has been doing for months now, she ignores the way her chest squeezes painfully.

Through the little strip of window that she allows for herself, she traces over his features one last time. Cropped black hair, a square jaw, at least two days worth of stubble. He looks like a bodyguard— rough, dangerous, manly— and that’s before taking into account the sheer size of the man. She is on her tiptoes, one hand pushing against the stainless steel below her for dear life, and she still has to crane her neck to properly see his face. She refuses to let her eyes wander any further than that— she had already glimpsed at the rest of him when he had made the short walk from the truck to the house. She already knows he’s massive.

His eyebrow twitches and she drops the curtain— she may not be as fast as he is but she’s a quick learner. Had she held the curtain open longer she is sure his eyes would have flicked to hers again. Those are the rules of the game, after all. She hears a muted thumping and the door handle jiggle from across the room, spinning towards the faded farmhouse door. She watches as the door handle turns, her throat tight, wondering where all the air in the room went— it was there a second ago.

The door pushes open and she jumps away from the sink, only just realizing what it’ll look like if he comes inside to her still hunched over the window. Of course, he’s already seen her but that’s beside the point. Part of the game is not talking about the game. A boot comes into view— the black, military grade kind— and it hits her like a punch to the gut that this is real— there really is someone out there trying to kill her. Now she really can’t breath. She can only force her lungs to expand to draw in some oxygen before her bodyguard finds her sprawled in an unconscious heap on the ground.

The boot is quickly followed by a leg, which is then, by default, followed by a torso and a head. A head that turns and watches her freeze, red handed like a bandit, in the middle of the kitchen. Gods, she should have just kept leaning against the sink— this is worse! Her hands are up and everything, shot out in front of her like she’s about to jump him or something. Yes, her— the girl currently in a hoodie that pools around her legs, displaying her knobby knees and bad posture— about to jump him— the man who had to practically duck to get through the doorway. She could laugh. In fact, she almost wishes he would laugh at her. She wishes he would do anything but look at her with that blank expression and those ice blue eyes.

“Uhm—” she blinks, trying to think of something to say other than holy shit you’re a giant— which, for the record, is what she wants to say— “hi?”

Are you serious, y/n?

He tilts his head at her and she almost cries. Not the same fear ridden, heartbroken, panicky cries of late. More so the awkward, why the fuck would you say that to the man charged with keeping you alive brand of cries. The normal kind. She drops her hands to her sides, slipping them into the pouch of her hoodie and tangling her fingers together. She can only allow herself to display one embarrassing thing at a time.

The man stays silent for a moment, each second of which makes her cheeks flame hotter and hotter, before finally opening his mouth. “Hi.”

Her chest deflates— some of the heat subsiding. He copied her. Whether purposefully or mockingly it alleviates some of the stupidity she’s feeling. She takes a few steps backwards, her bare feet pittering rather loudly over the worn hardwood. Well, that didn’t last long— there’s that embarrassment again.

“I’m y/n,” she squeaks out— gods, is Mickey Mouse in the building? “I guess you already know that though, huh?”

It was a stroke of genius putting her hands in her pocket— at least now he can’t see the way they shake furiously. She has to resist smashing her head against the sink. Nothing about this situation is optimal, to say the very least. Here she is making small talk with a man who could tear her in half. Her eyes drift to where his red henley pulls taut around his biceps— are they bigger than her head?

“James—” her eyes flick back up, face hotter than the sun, both from her blatant staring and the deep gravel of his voice— “but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t know why, probably because she’s an idiot or because she isn’t expecting him to say more than three words. He seems like the strong, silent type. Maybe that is just the rom-coms though. Maybe her brain is just mush now.

“Okay,” she all but whispers, backing further into the sink. His piercing eyes have yet to leave her— something which makes her knees knock together and fingers clench. “Which should I call you?”

He tenses, his dark eyebrows pulling together, and she has to swallow the bile that rises in her throat. It’s day one and she’s already offending him. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting down until the tangy, metallic taste that she has grown too familiar with these past months floods her mouth. She tells herself that she does it to keep from cursing. Lying to herself is another game she likes to play.

The longer he remains quiet, the more she regrets asking the question. His blue eyes are still latched on her, drifting over the space between her eyes and her busted lip, but somehow they also seem miles away. She can’t tell if he’s looking at her— seeing her— or if he’s seeing something else entirely. It isn’t until she pushes off the counter, taking a hesitant step forward, her foot slapping against the wood like it’s trying to embarrass her again, that he blinks. She pulls one of her hands from the puddle that is her hoodie, sliding it over her hair. Can he see the way it shakes?

Probably.

“Nevermind, forget I asked. It was a dumb ques—”

“Bucky,” the word is rushed out, falling over her own stuttered babbling. He slows after that, his face remaining stoic but his cheeks dusting with the slightest hint of pink. “Call me Bucky.”

She doesn’t point it out— she doesn’t have a death wish. Her being here right now, standing across from a literal giant, barefoot and shaking, is proof enough of that. Instead she nods gently, lowering her hand slowly. He’s not going to attack her— he isn’t a wolf— but still she takes the precaution. Better safe than sorry.

“Bucky it is then.”

He nods stiffly and she pretends like it doesn’t make her hands shake harder. She waits for him to speak, eyes drifting over the blue cupboards and the breakfast nook, taking in the applications of the home and trying not to scream. She feels so out of place, not used to the warmth in the room— the lingering smell of yeast and the flowers in the vase on the table. She used to bake all the time. Now she can barely bring herself to microwave frozen dinners. The sun that filters through the crack in the curtains and lands against her cheek feels like pure fire. She spends her days in the dark— she wouldn’t be surprised if she was allergic to the sun itself now. Allergic to all the things she used to enjoy.

The silence is too much— she has to speak to keep her throat from closing. If she doesn’t then it may not open again.

“So—” she draws the word out, her eyes flopping to the floor where her toe scuffs against a particularly worn board— “we just kinda follow each other around then?”

His face doesn’t change, his lips remaining in the same, expressionless line— a master of one trade. “Pretty much. I follow you.”

“And make sure I don’t die.” She fills the rest in— there’s no point not to. He’s definitely seen the pictures.

Finally his expression shifts, his lips pressing together tersely. It’s an answer in it’s own right— he pities her. He shifts his weight between his feet, the floorboards creaking below him. It could just be her but the sound slices through the room— loud and unforgiving— and she can’t stop the way she flinches. He freezes, obviously noticing her reaction. She almost slaps herself. Leave it to her to make an already tense situation worse. Is it going to be this awkward the entire time?

“You’re not going to die.” His voice is softer than his boots, barely reaching her ears as it cuts through the rigid atmosphere.

She doesn’t know what to say— how do she tell her bodyguard that she doesn’t believe him? He’s supposed to be the one saving her life. It feels risky to suggest that he wouldn’t be able to do that. Like telling the universe that she wants to die. She doesn’t want to die. It’s just hard not to think about death when it follows her everywhere she goes. For twenty-four years she was just y/n. Now look at her.

The queen of death.

She doesn’t know what to say so instead she changes the subject.

“Are you hungry?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She makes grilled cheese for lunch. It is nothing special but the smell of the butter alone makes the energy she has to scrape together to make them worth it. She can’t remember the last time she cooked like this— the last time she tasted anything but freezer burnt macaroni and lumpy gravy. A couple times she almost drops the spatula, her fingers not used to having to be so coordinated, but the promise of melted cheddar has her fighting through the tremors. That and the audience of one, standing next to her with his arms crossed like he’s judging her culinary skills rather than looking for snipers.

It’s all in her head. That’s what she tells herself at least.

“You want extra cheese?”

She can feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face— is there something on her cheek? “Sure.”

It’s all in her head.

She flips the sandwiches, watching as the fluffy white bread is replaced with a perfect, golden brown toast. Her stomach growls, the sound somehow louder than the sizzling pan in her hand. The scream bubbles in her throat again— fuck. Why must everything she does be so humiliating? Why can’t she just keep it together for three days!

“Bacon?” Cue the voice crack.

“Bacon?” He repeats the word back like he hasn’t the faintest clue what a pig is— like somehow he’s a giant of a man but has never touched a piece of meat in his entire life.

Like it’s the dumbest question he has ever been asked. She swallows— hard— her cheeks pooling with heat again. She’s starting to wonder if it ever even left. If he asks she’ll blame it on the steam rising off the pan or her hoodie or both. But he won’t ask— he won’t speak until he has to. It did not take her long to gather that fact.

“You’ve never had bacon on grilled cheese?” It feels like he’s glaring at her.

It’s all in her damn head.

The floorboards groan underneath Bucky again and instead of flinching this time she tries to imagine what they might be saying. Save me, he’s crushing me! She flicks her eyes down, glancing at those military grade boots and then at her own toes, tiny and feeble compared to the size of his gear. One wrong step and her foot would likely be broken. She isn’t too worried about that though— he seems careful. His movements thus far have been slow and calculated, skirting around her and leaving at least a few feet between them at all times. Maybe that isn’t to keep from stepping on her though— maybe he just doesn’t like her. She wouldn’t blame him.

“You say it like that’s unheard of.” He doesn’t say it angrily but there’s no exuberance in his voice either— just the monotone she’s come to expect. It’s been one hour and she can already see how the next seventy-one are going to play out.

“Where I’m from it is.”

There’s a pause— the sound of butter crackling against the pan and of the steady picking up of rain against the kitchen window as it eats away at the sunshine— and she’s expecting the conversation to drop there. He isn’t there to entertain her, after all. That’s what the TV is for— what Leonardo DiCaprio is for.

But then there’s an answer. “Where are you from?”

The corner of her mouth lifts— an action so foreign she can practically see the dust shedding from her rusty smile— and she turns from the frypan long enough to meet his icy eyes and to throw out an arm, putting the front of her hoodie on display for the stoic man.

“SoCal.”

Her mouth lifts higher when Bucky raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly. He could be mocking her but she chooses to believe he’s interested. She chooses to believe that they are making progress and that she won’t have to spend three days talking to the walls. She turns back to the sandwiches, flipping them for the last time before laying down a few strips of bacon next to them.

She isn’t expecting him to keep going but she also isn’t complaining when his voice tickles her ears again. “Caltech, huh? S’that Pasadena?”

She tries to keep her smile from morphing into a full blown grin— she isn’t sure if her poor lips would be able to handle it. It’s been too long since she last used her mouth this much; both for smiling and talking. “Yes sir— born and raised.”

He hums and she watches from the corner of her eye as he leans to the window, peering out of it for a moment. There’s no one out there— at least she strongly doubts there is. This place is in the middle of nowhere. She hasn’t even heard a car since the truck that dropped Bucky off drove away. It’s supposed to be peaceful. She doesn’t see it. All she sees is the dreadful but necessary silence— at least hopefully that way they’ll hear someone coming.

“How about you? Where are you from—” she flips the bacon, pushing it around the pan, her mouth watering at the thought of the greasy, gooey goodness she’s about to consume— “You mind finding some plates?”

She hears him rummage through the cupboard above his head— well, above her head, in front of his— before two mismatched pieces of dishware appear before her nose. Grabbing them, she lets the corners of her lips tick up just the tiniest bit further.

“Indiana— but spent most of my time in Brooklyn.”

“It shows.” She muses, not turning to see whether or not he appreciates the comment.

It’s true regardless— she can hear some of the mannerisms of New York in his voice. Not many. He hasn’t said enough for her to truly gauge just how strong his accent is. Still it’s there, in the gruffness of his tone, just like she’s sure the SoCal shines through in her. At least it normally does— lately she hasn’t exactly been the picture of sunshine.

She removes the sandwiches from the pan, layering them carefully onto the plates. After staring at them for a moment she settles on the one that she wants, handing Bucky the bigger of the two. It’s only fair— he could probably eat at least four. She watches as the giant gives it a glance, rolling her eyes when he hesitantly lifts it to his lips, taking the smallest of bites. Is he afraid of a sandwich?

“I promise I’m not trying to poison you— I need you to stay alive, remember?”

He only grunts.

She has to turn away when he takes a bigger bite, her eyes refusing to detach themselves from his lips. Unprofessional and inappropriate. The orphan and the bodyguard. She takes a bite of her own sandwich, shoving the thought to the back of her mind and replacing it with the heavenly taste of gooey cheese, melted butter, and greasy bacon. She doesn’t have to dissect the thoughts of her delicious food like she would have to the other ones. Cheese doesn’t require a checklist about whether or not her grief quota is up to code. Clearly it’s not— clearly she’s just sick in the head. She takes another bite.

The two eat in silence for a couple minutes, the tension in the room melting for the first time since she introduced herself. Thank gods for cheese.

After a few more moments Bucky sets his plate down, turning back to the window. At first she thinks she is hearing things— like her mind is now also playing tricks on her as well as making her feel like a terrible person— but then it registers and she has to fight back another inappropriate smile.

“You were right about the bacon.”

Maybe three days won’t be so bad.

____________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license​

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

13 Going on 30 pt. 3

A Peter Maximoff x reader fanfic based off the movie 13 going on 30

Summary:  You are so excited when the most popular girl in your school agrees to come to your 13th birthday party. But after a cruel prank you find yourself wishing that you were popular and older. By some miracle your wish is granted but isn’t as wonderful as it seems. You turn out to be a major jerk and you don't even talk to your best friend Peter anymore. Can you fix everything and get back to normal or are you stuck living like this forever

Warnings: Angst, Some suggestive content, But it’s mostly pure fluff. (Also Peter has no powers in this fic, and some scenes will be changed to fit Peter and his personality and so I can be creative with it!)

Word Count: 2103

Peter thought it was safe to say that adult life sucked. And it wasn't just because he had run out of lucky charms this morning and had to settle for something called shredded wheat that was hidden away in the back of the panty. They were gross and tasted like cardboard, but Peter was all out of groceries so this would have to do.

 No nothing had seemed to go right for him after high school, he went to college, (even though he spent most of the time partying and goofing off), got the degree and yet he was barely scraping by. But he couldn't complain, all that much at least. He enjoyed his job and even if at times it was hard to earn money he wouldn't trade it for the world. He had fallen in love with photography in freshman year and decided to major in it. He had a minor in business too, something you had always told him would be useful as a backup. You were always practical like that, making sure he never completely fell over the edge. But he was hesitant to use it, because in using that minor it kinda meant he was giving up his dream. Giving in to the regular, soul crossing 9 to 5 job that everyone seemed to have. Peter was a dreamer at heart, in a way it would kill him to do anything other than photography.

He ate a spoonful of his cereal, making a face at the dull taste. Chewing, he glanced over at the stack of bills littering the counter. A lot of them were piling up, sooner or later he may have to give into the normalcy of a business job. Work had been slow lately and very boring. More often than not people hired him to take photos for their weddings or graduation, simple stuff. Stuff that had him bored out of his mind. But there were no clients currently so until he got one he had all the time in the world to himself. Which he loved at first but now it seems he was falling into a bit of a routine.

Peter aimlessly wandered around the kitchen lost in thought, his eyes drifted toward the collection of pictures pinned to his fridge. There was a picture of you on there, from before you had cut him out of your life. Peter set the bowl down on the counter and gently lifted the magnet to pull the picture off. It was a polaroid of you two, You had your arms wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, hugging him from behind. His hands were resting on yours, you both were smiling, teeth missing.

This picture was from the first day of first grade. Even back then Peter had had some feelings for you. And the way his eyes looked at you and not the camera was proof of this. Peter ran his thumb gently over the faded picture, for a moment he let himself wonder about how you were doing, before he snapped himself out of it. He put the picture back in its place and picked his bowl back up. It was too early to be having thoughts like that. 

Peter yawned and lazily plopped down on his worn out sofa, flipping through the channels on the tv. There was nothing on, signing he threw out the rest of his cereal, it had gotten soggy while he was busy reminiscing. He dropped the empty bowl into the sink, only adding to the collection of unwashed dishes. He glanced over at the phone and the soft blinking of the red light, indicating he had voicemails he hadn't listened to yet. He knew he was going to have to take her calls sooner or later but right now he didn't want to deal with her. 

He headed to the park and decided to do some laps on the path, running always helped him to relax and clear his head. He always got stares and shy smiles from the women that were jogging, he found out that apparently the silver hair that everyone made fun of him for was very attractive to women now. Something he used to use to his advantage to pick up the occasional hook up.

After that he went to go get groceries and then played on his pacman machine until lunchtime. He totally knew how to spend his time. He made his way over to the kitchen and looked at all the new groceries he had bought. Twinkies, instant ramen, mac and cheese, he picked up the box of lucky charms, weighing the option of eating it for lunch. He thought better of it and put it back on the shelf, he really needed to eat healthier, god knows sooner or later his metabolism was going to give out.

He picked up the phone and placed an order form the Chinese place a couple blocks away, ordering way more food than he needed. That way he wouldn't have to cook for the next few meals. Peter was inherently lazy and cooking was not something he was very good at. So when he would he just ordered takeout and leftovers so he could eat them later. He hung up the phone and walked over to the fridge and took out the milk, drinking it straight for the carton, while he was doing that he heard a loud knock on the door. “That was quick.” The knocking continued non stop over and over, “I’m coming hold on!” He yelled out as he shuffled to the door and opened it peering through the opening that the chain allowed. “You know it’s rude to-'' The words died in his throat. There was a woman standing at his door, wearing a coat over her night dress. 

*******************************************************

You hadn't been able to pay attention to the briefing your boss gave, your assistant came in about half way through and handed you a small slip of paper. She said that she had found Peter’s address like you had asked. You had pulled her into a hug, creating an awkward tension in the room. The meeting had seemed to go on forever, and for the life of you you couldn't even remember what it was about. As soon as the meeting ended you had bolted out the door, ignoring the calls of your boss and colleagues telling you that work wasn't over yet. 

You had found his apartment after randomly asking strangers in the street which way it was. You were at his door, the number on it hanging lopsided. You began to rapidly knock until the door was pulled open. “You know it’s rude to-” 

He paused as he saw you staring at him. He furrowed his brows in confusion. “You’re not the chinese delivery guy.” 

You felt your eyes widen as you took him in. “Peter?” You asked in a small voice. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you. “Yeah?”

 You let out a sigh of relief, smiling. “You’re tall.” You looked him up and down. “And you’re so handsome.”

His face turned red at your words. He didn't even know who this random woman was that was standing here, telling him he was handsome. He leaned against the doorframe, taking another drink out of the carton. “I’m sorry do- do I know you?” 

He watched your face fall. “You don’t know me?” 

“No?” He said, wiping the dribbling milk off his chin. Even after all these years his mannerisms were the same. 

“Wait! “ You said rushing forward. He jumped slightly at the sudden action. “It’s me, I saw you yesterday. Well I was thirteen yesterday so I guess it wasn't yesterday. Because now i'm old and I don't know where I am-” Peter watched you ramble on and slowly began to close the door. You continued on. “But you were there at my party-”

Peter paused, squinting his eyes and looking at you closely.. “(Y/n)?” He asked hesitantly, reopening the door as much as the chain would allow. “(y/n) (y/l/n)?” You smiled wide at him. 

“Yes! Yes it’s me!” 

Peter slammed the door shut in your face. You heard him unlock all the locks on his side of the door, when he was down he swung the door open. “Hey.” he gave you a small smile. You lunged at him and tackled him in a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. He just stood there frozen, slowly moving his free hand up to awkwardly pat you on the back. “Come in I guess.” He muttered. 

You pulled back smiling at him. Even after all this time your sweet smile could make his heart skip a beat. You looked around his small apartment taking it all in. Peter did his best to kick discarded clothes into the closet, and keep you from seeing what a mess it was. You looked along his walls to see framed pictures of portraits and beautiful landscapes. “Are you still taking pictures?” You asked,

“Uh yeah, they pay the bills.” He quickly grabbed the pile of unpaid bills, stuffing them behind the couch cushion. “Usually.” He muttered under his breath. You were pacing around his apartment, in confused circles. He nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “Hey, (y/n) I don't wanna be rude but why are you here?” 

“Petey I told you.” You said moving closer to him, he let out a little laugh. 

“Petey wow, no one has called me that in ages.” 

“Petey listen I came here cause something really weird is happening. Yesterday was my 13th birthday and then today I woke up and I’m this!” You said gesturing to your body. Peter tried his best not to look you up and down, he couldn't deny that you had grown up well. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. “And you’re that!” You said gesturing towards him. 

Peter looked down at himself self consciously. “Gee thanks. Do I really look that bad?” 

“No!” You quickly said. You felt yourself blush as you looked him over. His hair was tousled and messy, he was wearing an oversized  pink floyd crop top and from the looks of the hem it seemed he had made it himself. You watched the veins in his hands ripple and his arms slightly flex. “Uh you,” You let out an embarrassed laugh. “You actually look really good, like really good.” 

Peter flushed at your words and turned away so you couldn't see his blushing face. “Wow.” He whispered under his breath, he lifted a hand up to his face, doing his best to hide the smile that was forming. He turned back to and regained a serious composure. “Are you sure you're okay (y/n).” He took in your mismatched outfit and broken heel. “Are you high? Have you been smoking pot? Doing drugs, cause if you are I’m not judging as long as it’s just weed or something. Cause I mean I get it, I get stressed to and every now and then need-”

“No, no.” You said shaking your head rapidly. “Wait do you do-,” You lowered your voice to a whisper. “Do you do drugs Peter?” 

“No! No.” Peter shrugged. “Ehhh well not drugs, just weed.” He defended. But looking at your judgmental eyes he quickly continued on. “And I don’t, well I don’t that much any more. It was in college you know how it was.” 

“Actually I don’t.” You moved even closer to him. “Look, I was sitting in my closet, and I- I skipped everything. I can’t- I can’t remember my life.” Your eyes were watery as you started back at him. His heart ached seeing you like this. You continued on. ‘You need to help me remember my life.” 

At this he scoffed, and pretended to look around as if you were referring to someone else. “Me?” he said pointing to himself, letting out an airy laugh. “That’s rich.”

“What why?” He let out another laugh at your response, this one was dry. He looked at your face and saw that you weren’t kidding, you were serious about asking for his help.

“(Y/n) I can’t.” He was in disbelief, did you seriously have no idea what you had done to him. “I don’t know anything about you. I haven't seen you since high school.” Your face morphed into one of confusion. 

“What?” 

What he said next pained him, and he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. “(Y/n). We’re not friends anymore.”

You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. “What?”

Taglist:

@lets-imagine-fanfics @steamboat-local @weasly-twin-simp

Let me know if you want to be added!!

[evolutionsvoid]

Logger Sharks are, well, sharks but not the kind you may think of! When most people hear "shark," they think of the toothy saltwater variety, the swimming meat grinders that devour all! Of course this is all hyperbole, sharks are not the crazy bloodthirsty creatures that story likes to make them out to be. They eat meat just like everything else, so lets just all calm down about it. Back to my point, Logger Sharks are not found in the ocean but, rather, inland where fresher waters lie! That's right, Logger Sharks are a freshwater shark that is also amphibious. Their gills are capable of dealing with air, which means these little guys can march their way right onto dry land! This also is allowed because these sharks have grown a set of legs! Their fins have morphed into appendages that can work well on both water and land, which is perfect for their amphibious lifestyle. I am sure this sounds utterly terrifying for the ignorant, but do not fear! First of all, they aren't that big. They grow to about four feet in length. and their dorsal fin reaches about two feet. Second, they have better things to do then gnaw your leg off. You see, Logger Sharks get their name for a good reason, and they work hard for it! If you get past the fact that they are land sharks with legs, you will notice that they tend to go after non-meaty things. The thing they really like to sink their teeth into are trees and other woody vegetation! It turns out that super sharp teeth can do more than slice through flesh! Logger Sharks possess the same fast-growing, replaceable teeth as their ocean brethren, though theirs has a longer journey. The teeth grow in the back of the jaw, then slowly move forward as more erupt. They slowly travel towards the snout, until they exit the mouth entirely! The lower jaw of a Logger shark has a special, spiraled root that allows the teeth to move out of the mouth and down their chin. This creates a toothy circle saw, which is quite good for carving through bark and woody materials! When Logger Sharks find the perfect tree, they clasp on with their forelimbs and use their spiraled teeth to rasp away! Obviously their size and equipment aren't suited for slicing clean through the tree, instead they slowly wear away at it from all sides, counting on the height and weight of the tree to finally topple it. I now realize I kind of made it sound like these guys are chewing down redwoods, but really they are going after smaller thinner trees, because they have to be able to carry them home! After chopping down a good sized piece of lumber, the Logger Shark will use their jaws to chew it into workable pieces. Too big, and they won't be able to carry it. Too long, and they will hit every rock, tree and bump on their way back home. So careful cutting is needed, and once it is done they grab it in their jaws and march! They adorably plod their way back to some pond or lake where they live, as these sharks still prefer to live in water! They like non-moving water bodies, as they don't like to fight the current when they are building! You see, Logger Sharks use this chewed up lumber to build lodges for themselves, where they may eat, rest and groom away from the bothersome outside! They use wood and mud to slap together these little huts, and slowly form an inside chamber to live in. These lodges are furnished with grass and dead leafy vegetation, adding extra comfort to their home! They also sport multiple entrances and exits for speedy getaways and easy access. They don't just build houses, as sometimes extra construction is needed if the water refuses to stop running. Dams and blockages are constructed to bring up the water level and create a personal pond for them to live in! Quite the clever little fellas, though the folks downstream may not appreciate the craftsmanship. 

The other interesting thing to note about Logger Sharks is the fact that they are quite social. This species lives in family groups and work together to build their perfect home! They tend to interact a lot with their own kind, be it felling trees together or staking their claim. To tell others that this territory is theirs, they will use extra rough patches on their body to rub against vegetation. This acts like sandpaper and wears away at the outermost layer of plants. It also is infused with their special marker, which other Logger Sharks can detect. If you ever notice multiple trees having strange worn patterns near the base of the trunk, it is a good sign that Logger Sharks are about! The other tell is the short barks they let out to call to one another, either warning of danger or calling for extra help carrying their haul! Living in temperate climates means that winter is bound to appear, so how do these little guys make it through the cold? Why, they stockpile food and make their lodges nice and cozy! They build special entrances and exits so that they can get through the ice when need be, but most of the time they sleep in their homes. They are able to go into torpor for long periods of time, occasionally waking to snack on some food before going back under. When spring arrives and the ice begins to melt, they are back at it again, making repairs and moving thing around so that the fading ice doesn't cause any damage. Cripes, I just realized I haven't even mentioned what these creatures eat, I have been so caught up in their antics! Logger Sharks are omnivorous, though a hefty portion of their diet leans towards greens. They eat leafy materials and aquatic vegetation, as well as the bark and chunks that come off of fallen trees. For meat, they target smaller prey, like worms, bugs, grubs, frogs and other critters. Their sharp teeth make short work of anything they go after (this includes fingers of fools who can't keep their hands to themselves)! Logger Sharks have been seen feeding on carrion, but honestly pretty much everything does that. Show me an animal that willingly passes up a free meal! This scavenging is what gives people the wrong impression of these guys. Someone will walk through the woods and see a group of them tearing into a deer carcass, then stupidly assume that they killed it. Logger Sharks do not go on feeding frenzies and they do not tear apart large prey! They just don't! Enough with this nonsense! Logger Sharks are a species of shark that give birth to live pups. They do so in the safety of their lodges, where the mothers can look after them and the family can bring them food. They will grow under their watchful care, until they may be strong enough to strike off on their own and build their own future!   With their love for chewing down plants, I am sure many are wondering what us dryads think of them. They eat trees, surely they must be despised! First of all, they don't go after old trees, those are way too big. They prefer younger growths and tree saplings, something they can actually carry. Fallen limbs and branches also work too, as they are fine with scooping up pre-cut supplies! Second, they do not like busy areas and places with lots of people in it. Of course these little guys aren't going to come plodding into town to eat our homes. Honestly, dryads are fine with Logger Sharks because most communities know how to deal with them. This species likes to chew and work, but they won't pass up free meals! What dryad communities do near Logger Shark territory is plant fast-growing tree species that provide Logger Sharks with the materials they want. They may also discard unusable pieces of lumber and wood near these territories, so the sharks may use them instead. When they are provided with plenty of resources, they have no reason to come after our own crops! Do be warned, though, if you live on the outskirts of these territories and collect firewood. If you keep your logs and kindling outside, the Logger Sharks might scurry in to nab a few! Keep them contained somewhere safe, or store them high up! It isn't just our views on trees people wonder about, they also ask if Logger Sharks attack dryads. We are made of wood, after all! Do dryads have to fear bodily harm from Logger Sharks? No. This species is used to working on stationary trees that don't scream or fight back. They get spooked pretty easily, so I can't see any dryad letting one of these things chew through their leg unchallenged. Maybe an incident happens every decade or so, but most of the time it is just a bite or scratch from a scared animal. To have one chew all the way through a leg and then carry it off? Cripes, they must have guzzled a bottle of Napellin Cobalt to let that happen! If that did indeed occur, I would not use that against this species. I mean, how many drunk people have died to horses, and people are still fine working with those? Since I am talking about interactions with these critters, I would like to take a moment to inform folk of a few things. The first, is telling people not to go knocking down Logger Shark dams without proper precautions. I understand some communities get impacted when their river is blocked up by these guys. I would implore you to take a moment to think through the situation and find a solution that won't cause unnecessary harm. I know some folk just run in there and smash the whole thing apart without a second thought, and those people are absolute idiots. If the dam is broke that fast, the rush of water released will sweep away the lodge and any poor pups trapped inside! Also, that wall of water is headed straight towards your stinking town, genius! Hope no one is near the river when that battering ram of water and debris comes hurtling by! So instead of being stupid, why don't you relocate the Logger Sharks elsewhere, or at least drive them away and then slowly dismantle the dam. Bring it down little by little so that the water is slowly released. The other thing I wanted to mention is that Logger Sharks are absolutely adorable, wonderful and are certainly not pets. These animals are very social and need the company of their kind to properly function. I admit myself that I wish I could keep one, but it isn't healthy for them and they don't do well with it. Not to mention what will happen if you somehow own furniture! Logger Sharks should stay wild and stay with their families. The best option, if you want their company, is to be neighbors. Happy, but safely distant, neighbors. I have spent quite a few evenings after a long day's work sitting by the shore and watching them work. It is quite soothing and entertaining! Enjoy them from a distance, and I guarantee you will love every second of it!     Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------------- I realized my world didn't have any sharks in it yet, so I figured I would fix that. Also been reading and seeing how sharks always get the violent evil image, so I wanted my first species to at least be something different than the cliché crazed meat shredder. Took some thinking on how to make a unique shark, but than the epiphany struck! Beaver sharks! I had to draw them up the second it hit me! This is one of the designs I am super proud of, despite the fact I probably say that about every other creature I make. Sharks! Formation! Sticks in jaw, snout in line! Colonel Bogey bring that tune to the 1,2,3 and MARCH!

[cinaja]

Before the Wall Epilogue

Masterlist

----

Ten years after the Wall

 The crops have been coming along well this year, just the right balance of sun and rain and wind promising a rich harvest. It leads to a good mood throughout the human parts of the Continent. In the aftermath of the war, they have all made their experiences with food shortages, and so everyone is relieved that they seem to have moved past these times. All the bigger is the shock when, only a week before the grain was meant to be brough in, heavy thunderstorms with rain and hail ruin most of the harvest in one of Angolere’s northern provinces.

Andromache spends two mildly exhausting days visiting the region, travelling from city to city and offering reassurances that everything is under control, there are no risks of food shortages. Her presence has no practical purpose, the local authorities are more than capable of handling the situation, but everyone is nervous enough that they need someone to reassure them that all will be well.

By the time she reaches the last village, she is drained, although she is too well-trained to show it. As patiently as in the first village she visited yesterday, she listens to the town spokeswoman describe their situation, allows her to show her the village and the mostly-ruined regions.

“We will send grain from other regions,” she promises, as she did in every place she visited so far. The south of Angolere had rich harvests these years, and the other queens have already promised to send food as well should we not get by after all.”

She accepts an invitation for dinner and spends a few hours sitting in the townhall together with most of the village, making pleasant conversation, before she excuses herself. When she steps outside, she expected to be greeted by one of her guards. Instead, Yanis is waiting for her, leaning against a fence.

When he sees Andromache, he offers an exaggerated bow, grinning broadly as he straightens. “Good evening Your Majesty. May I be your escort for the evening?”

Andromache grins back. “I don’t know. You see, I have a husband who is waiting for me at home with our children.”

“I hear those children are sleeping already, and your husband missed you terribly these last few days and thought he’d pick you up.”

Andromache laughs and leans over to kiss him.

“How did it go?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her middle.

“All good,” Andromache says. “I barely needed to do anything, just reassure people a bit.”

These days, all problems she has to deal with seem easy. There is still a lot of work – drafting laws, dealing with arising problems, day-to-day governing work – but it only ever seems pleasant. What is a disagreement over a new law compared to the horror of war? Or to the initial years afterwards, when there were millions of displaced, traumatized people to deal with and they came close to starvation almost every year. Six years ago, a loss of harvest like this would have meant famine and deaths. Now, all she has to do is organize for food to be sent over from different provinces.

Things are good.

“I’m sure you were brilliant,” Yanis says with a broad smile. “Meanwhile, I have won a significant victory in the never-ending battle of convincing Leli that when her teachers tell her something, it is not a suggestion but an order, and I managed to keep Tano from breaking any priceless artifacts while running through the palace.”

Andromache laughs. “You’re my hero,” she says, half-teasing and half-sincere.

Yanis quit his work in the palace guard when Andromache got pregnant with Leli six years ago and has been staying at home to raise her and – three years later – Tano ever since. He could have kept his job had they hired someone to look after their children, but for Yanis, there was never even a question in that regard: He wanted to be there for their children as they grew up. It makes it easier for Andromache to know that even when she is busy at work, sometimes for days at a time, he is home with their children.

“My first meeting tomorrow is at eleven,” she says. “That ought to leave plenty of time for a nice family breakfast.”

----

Mor spends her days travelling the Continent, dealing with anyone her uncle currently wishes to improve relationships with. She has yet to decide whether she loves or hates her new position. Both, perhaps. She loves that it allows her to travel far and wide, to leave the Night Court and its restrictions behind, if only for a few weeks at a time. She loves the protection it gives her.

She hates the memories it brings up, though. For her, the Continent is full of memories of happier times. (No, that is not right. She shouldn’t think back to the years of war and wish herself back into that time. But then, to go back would mean getting Andromache back, and for that, she would accept a hundred years of war. But Andromache is on the other side of the Wall, married now and forever lost to her.)

Sometimes, Mor also hates the people she has to deal with. Today, it is Shey, who has been loosely allied with the Night Court ever since the war ended. Mor doesn’t know exactly how that came about, but her uncle exports iron for weapons and armour to Shey and he sends Mor to visit the emperor at least once a year.

Today is the first day of that annual visit and Shey is holding a welcome-celebration for her. It is a huge honour – Shey is easily the most important person on the Continent now, and him holding a celebration in honour of the emissary from a tiny Prythianian court is very unusual.

If Mor had been stupid enough to think it is for her sake, she might have actually felt honoured. But this celebration isn’t because of her, none of this is because of her at all. It’s all about Miryam and the fact that everyone knows that Mor was friends with her. That is why there are no doors locked to her on the Continent, why everyone so readily meets with her. Because Miryam and Drakon were her friends, and so to host her is to flaunt some sort of connection to them.

No, Mor does not enjoy the party at all, even if the music is brilliant, as is the food. She just makes conversation because it is what is expected of her and downs glass after glass of the clear, sparkling wine favoured here in the north to make it bearable.

She wonders what they would all say if they knew how things ended between Miryam and her, that she abandoned her before the end and left her to die. If they knew that she was so terrible that Andromache could no longer bear to so much as be around her anymore. If they knew about the charmed necklace that still lies unused at the bottom of some drawer in her rooms in Velaris.

No one knows about any of that, though. And no one ever will. Maybe one day, Mor will even be able to fool herself into believing that the sole reason her and Andromache split up was the Wall, that she never argued with Miryam and the only reason she isn’t visiting her is out of worry for her safety. It is not today, though, and so she downs another glass of wine and smiles at the nearest dignitary and allows him to pull her to the dance floor.

----

No one is coming for him.

Jurian fought against that truth for years, but he has given up on denying it for a while now. What use is it to lie to himself? No one is coming to save him. His allies, his friends, seem to have forgotten entirely about him. They moved on with their lives and likely never thought of him again, didn’t care enough to bother freeing him from that terrible nightmare his life turned into.

Jurian hates all of them. Andromache and Nakia and all the others for leaving him behind. Drakon for pretending to be his friend and then betraying him and making Miryam turn away from him. Miryam for turning against him. For not saving him. For dying. Her, he hates most of all.

----

Drakon puts down his quill and scans the contents of the text he just finished once more before putting the paper on the stack with the other usable results. That stack is the only tidy part of the table he was working on, the rest is a mess of books, most of them lying open on the relevant pages, and crumbled papers filled with ideas he dismissed as useless already. A few of those even ended up on the floor.

Well, that ought to be enough for now. He’s done with his edits on the draft for the new tax law they will be discussing later today. He still wants to show his edits to Miryam before then, but he still has plenty of time left for that.

Rising to his feet, he sets about cleaning up his mess. The papers he doesn’t need anymore go into the fire, he closes the books he used for reference and puts them on a second stack next to the one with the finished edits. He will be taking them with him, just to be sure.

Carrying the eight books as well as the stack of papers is a difficult task, given that he still doesn’t have proper use of his right arm. He has to carry the books with his left hand, the papers stuck between his useless right arm and his body. That movement alone hurts, but he is used to it by now. (There are magical prosthetics that function almost as well as an actual limb. But… well, Drakon hasn’t decided yet.)

A look at the clock reveals that it is almost seven. Drakon was in the library for the last four hours, and by now, Miryam should probably be awake. (Their sleeping schedules do not align very well lately. They usually go to bed together, but Miryam rarely manages to sleep more than half an hour before waking up again and then spends most of the night working, going to bed only in the early hour of the morning, while Drakon generally manages to sleep for a few hours but then cannot go back to sleeping when he wakes up. Miryam sometimes jokes that at least their inability to ever sleep through the night makes them both very productive rulers.)

Books balancing on his left hand, he walks through the halls of the library and out into the city. They founded their new capital nine years ago, and everything about the city still screams new. Many houses are only half-finished, as are all government buildings. Right now, their government meets in an improvised city hall and most of the high-ranking government members (including Miryam and Drakon) live in nearby houses. The council insisted that they start building a palace sometime, but that hasn’t been a priority yet.

The city Drakon is walking through now is nothing like Sajeo or any of the other cities in Erithia, all of whom were old, each building full of history. Drakon does miss Erithia, but he doesn’t think that difference is necessarily a bad thing, at least for their purposes. Not all history is good, after all, and in their situation, it certainly isn’t helpful. As it is, they all get a fresh start. There are human houses being build next to faerie ones, and all of them are equally new. They are all starting over together, and in a few centuries when this city has matured a bit, that will be the history the people living here will be able to look back upon. It will be one of unity, Drakon hopes.

----

Miryam frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Hair mussed from sleep and still wearing her long nightdress, she doesn’t look particularly dignified, but that is not what she has a problem with right now. No, the problem is that she looks young. It’s like she hasn’t aged at all in the last ten years. If she is being honest, the years of peace actually make her look far younger than she did at the end of the War. Then, at twenty-five, she looked more like thirty-five than she does now.

“Would you say,” she asks, turning to look over at Daín who is floating over her bed, “that I look my age?”

Daín is silent for a moment, cocking his head to the side to study her. “Now?” He asks. “You want to talk about that now?”

Miryam shrugs.

“Mortal ages are terribly hard to tell just by looks, really. There is no telling how old anyone truly is, as evidenced by you now looking younger than you did when we first met,” Daín says. When Miryam gives him a flat look, he quickly adds, “But in your case, I would say that you look twenty-five, for the simply reason that you haven’t aged a day since you were resurrected. Which is what you were getting at, isn’t it?”

Miryam glares at him, trying to ignore the sting of the words. “You knew the entire time,” she says, more statement than question. “And you never thought to tell us? Even when we spent the last five years trying to figure out if I was aging or not?”

“And yet, through all that time, you never thought to ask me,” Daín says with a sharp smile. He has been getting better at mimicking precise expressions lately. “You ask about everything – history, human culture, magic, the other worlds. Yet this one thing, you never brought up, not once in the four years since you decided to talk to me again. Neither did Drakon.” He shrugs. “I figured you didn’t want to know.”

Like it or not, he might have a point. Miryam didn’t want to know. If she is entirely honest, she still doesn’t. She never wanted to be immortal, not even in the not-actually-immortal way the Fae are. She always thought that having a limited number of years made those years more precious.

“Resurrections are a tricky matter,” Daín offers. He actually manages to sound comforting. “There is no telling what side-effects there might be. Even I still cannot tell exactly how it works.”

“Well.” Miryam wraps her arms around herself. “I suppose the alternative was to be dead.”

She doesn’t like the idea of being immortal. Not at all. But if there is one thing she knows for sure, it’s that she prefers it to having died and stayed dead at the end of the war. These last ten years certainly weren’t easy, but they were good. The best ones of Miryam’s life, probably. She wouldn’t have wanted to trade them for the world.

“So you’re alright with it?” Daín asks.

“I guess I’ll have to be,” Miryam says with a shrug. At least it doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it might. It isn’t ideal, but she would rather have a too-long life than a too-short one. She smiles at Daín in a way that is hopefully reassuring. “And now, I need to get dressed. So, you know.”

“I’m already gone,” Daín says, winks at her and vanishes.

Miryam glances at her reflection once more before turning to her wardrobe. She sincerely hopes that she is at least only “immortal” in the way the Fae are, which isn’t so immortal at all. But well, that is a question for later. For now, she has other things to worry about, and for those, she needs to dress.

Drakon barges into the room just as she buttons up her jacket. He doesn’t look at Miryam – cannot, because he is balancing a stack of books on his left hand, it swaying dangerously with each step.

Miryam picks up the four books at the top and stands up on her toes to kiss him over the now-smaller stack of books he is still holding. “Busy morning?” She asks, smiling softly.

Drakon smiles back and manages to place the rest of his books as well as the stack of papers he was holding under his right arm on the nightstand without any incidents.

“Yes,” he says, turning back to Miryam and wrapping an arm around her. “Very productive, though. I reviewed the new tax law we were drafting, and I think it should probably work out. Maybe you could read over it once more before the meeting later, though. And I brough along the books I used for reference, just to be sure.”

Miryam’s smile deepens. Of course be brought the books, as if there will be anyone but him at the meeting who read all of them.

“Sure,” she says, although she doesn’t think her reading over it will accomplish anything but making Drakon feel more secure about it. “I’ll read them right after breakfast.”

That way, they will still have time for small changes before the meeting, even if Miryam doubts she will find anything of note. She learned a lot about law-making in the last years and she would say that she is decent, but especially when it comes to the small details (which is what they are dealing with at this stage), she’s nowhere near as good as Drakon.

They go have breakfast on the small balcony belonging to the set of rooms they share. It is Miryam’s favourite place in the entire city, high enough that she can overlook the square below as well as some of the nearby streets. As her and Drakon eat and discuss the things they both worked on during the night (the tax laws for Drakon and a logistic issue with distributing food for Miryam), Miryam looks out over the city.

By now, the city has awoken and the square is full with people rushing about, going about their daily activities. Humans and faeries, all living together in peace. A woman is hurrying along, trailing two small children behind her. A young Seraphim girl and a human boy are playing together by the fountain. Next to them, a group of adults sits and eats a quick lunch, likely before going to work.

Miryam could spend hours watching them. On bad days, when her nightmares are worse than usual and the shadows of what happened chase her, she sometimes does. Watching the people down there go about their lives, happy and free and at peace, always makes the guilt and pain easier to bear. These people will have good lives, they and their children will be free, and that alone makes all that it took to get them here worth it. It makes everything worth it.

----

A/N: So, this is the final chapter. After over a year and 370k words written, I can't quite belive that this story is actually over. Writing this story has been lots of fun (and I might revisit it for a few oneshots sometime), and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

At this point, I'd also like to thank everyone who read this story and left comments or likes - all of you have really made my day every time. A special thanks goes (once again) to @croissantcitysucks for all the wonderful conversations we had about this story, for all the great feedback and help when I had problems, and, of course, for all of the backstory surrounding Daín and the Mother (also, I'm looking forward to you acotar rewrite so much and I can only recomment everyone read it when it comes out!) It's really been so much fun!

Tags: @femtopulsed @aileywrites

[what-the--curtains]

In a Week

Part 2/4 - The Importance of Being Idle

(Frankie Morales x f!reader)

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Summary: Things get easier between you and Frankie as the storm outside rages on.

Authors notes: Hello! Sorry this took so long (I forgot I had a lab report due this week so I was busy panic writing 6000 words the patient few days!) anyways this is soft makes my heart happy 🥺 thank u for all the support in the story💕💕

Tw: Swearing, dead sibling mentioned (I think that’s all)

Work count: 4.9k

Tagged: @agingerindenial @icanbeyourjedi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 2

You don’t know when,or how it happened, but sometime during the night you had found your way over to the heat being emitted from human furnace Frankie Morales. Your limbs were wrapped lazily around him, with your leg over his and your arm resting idly on his chest. You blink into the light emitting a dissatisfied grumble realizing you had woken up. You hear a sigh from above and with one eye still closed, you tilt your head up to see Frankie currently hyper focused on winning whatever game he was playing on his phone.

"You could have woken me up you know.” You say, detaching from him and rolling over onto your back rubbing your eyes. “How long have you been awake?" you ask, yawning.

"Few hours, you’re quite the sleeper, slept through all 4 alarms that went off." He responds, still fixated on his phone.

"Shit, sorry about that. My mother used to say I could sleep for England" you state, earning a soft chuckle from the man beside you. Even after years of working on hospital hours, waking up was always a struggle for you, no matter the time of day. After a few moments of contemplating whether you really had to move, you rip off the covers and scoot out of bed. Tearing open the curtains you let out a dissatisfied groan when you see a snowscape where the parking lot once was. You turn around arms crossed, eyes glazed over inadvertently boring into him. You hear him say something but it doesn't register.

“What?” you ask, shaking yourself from the trance and moving towards your over packed bag to retrieve clean clothes.

“Nothing.” he says, eyes back on his phone. You raise your eyebrows and head into the bathroom to get changed, emerging in sweats and a vintage band shirt that you’d tied at the waist.

"The clash? Nice." Frankie says, as he passes by you into the bathroom, closing the door.

"Ya London Calling" you respond sitting down on the bed and pulling on some socks, not fully listening to what he had said. "I’m going to ask the front desk if we can renew the room, doesn't look like we're going anywhere anytime soon. I can see if there's another one available if you don’t wanna share" You say, when you hear the doors lock click open, knowing he may still be mad at you for not pulling over sooner.

"I mean I don't mind sharing, unless you’d be more comfortable..." he starts, mouth hanging open downturned slightly, as he rinses his hands.

“I’m fine sharing, nice to have some company plus it's cheaper this way.” you say, grabbing the room key off the nightstand.

"Let me know how much it is, I'll pay half" he says, stretching out his back, cursing the mattress for being too soft.

"I feel like you should be paying more since you get the good half of the bed.” you offer, pointing your finger at him.

“I think they call that extortion,” he says, grinning “Oh, see if they have any food while you're down there I’m starving” he calls as you exit into the hallway and make your way downstairs.

“Hey, I was looking to re-book the room from last night” you say to the receptionist who you recognized from last night. Suppose she got stuck here as well, you wonder if she’d gotten any sleep.

“For how many more nights?” she asks.

“How long do you think this storm is going to last?” You ask.

“At least a few more days, but then the roads will have to be cleared, so maybe a week? We can book you in for two more nights then go from there though, no one else will be coming in”

“That’d be great,” you say, taking out your credit card. “What about food, is there any way we can get some stuff to make sandwiches or something?” you ask

“Well the culinary staff was trapped here by the storm, another reason why so many rooms were booked, so they’ll be able to have food sent up.” You nod, the hotel was upscale and you hated to think how expensive the food was going to be, but what choice did you have?

“It's past breakfast, but we may have some spare sandwiches leftover, let me just go check.” she offers, returning a few minutes later with a couple of boxes.

“Thank you so much!” you say taking the boxed up food from her.

“Anything else I can help you with?”

“Oh yes” you say, “booze, can I buy that here?”

“That, we have plenty of!” she smiles.

~~~~~

You re-enter the room with the boxed up breakfasts, a case of beer and two bottles of wine

“Here food” you say, sliding the boxes off the beer and onto the counter next to the fridge.“We missed breakfast, so it’s probably cold, and I booked the room for another two nights, but we can go from there” you say, reiterating the receptionist's words as you place the drinks in the fridge.

“Planning on sharing that or?” he laughs watching you strategically maneuver the booze into the fridge

“Hey, I get a week off work, I'm going to be drinking. Do I wish it was on a beach in sunny south Carolina? Yes, but this will have to do, and I hate drinking alone so congratulations you’ve just been conscripted” You say, as he empties out one of the breakfasts onto a plate placing it in the microwave for a few minutes.

“Here. Do you want this? You say peeling the sliced ham off your sandwich” waving it infront of his face.

“Not a fan of ham?” he asks, taking it and adding it into his own.

“Not a fan of meat in general, I’m a vegetarian”

“Course you are.” he laughs.

“Bold words coming from a guy wearing a baseball hat inside, in the middle of winter” you say, throwing a balled up napkin at his head.

“So what exactly do you do? Santi never said.” he asks, leaving you to question what Santiago had said about you.

“I’m a doctor, well almost a doctor one more year of residency, hopefully” you say, crossing your fingers.

“Shit, aren’t you kinda young to be a doctor?” he asks, looking you up and down with raised eyebrows.

“Older than I look, but thank you. How about you?”

“I was a pilot, me and Pope served together for a while, but I’m mainly just teaching now. How’d you two meet by the way? I’ve never seen you round base before, I’m sure I’d remember you hanging around” he says.

“He basically lived at my house growing up, well until he went into the military when I was in middle school. ”

“I thought you said you weren’t young” he laughs “So you didn't serve?”

“No, my brother did though, he was a few years older than Santi but they were inseparable.” you state, preparing yourself for the imminent conversation.

“Who?” Frankie asks, slightly offended that Pope had a secret best friend he never introduced to him.

“His name was Parker '' you say, hoping the past tense clues Frankie in.

“Ya I’ve met Parker! Good guy what branch is he in these days?” he says, not picking up on your word selection or how your mouth hangs slightly ajar or how your eyes have gone vacant.

“Was in” is all you say, you avert your gaze staring down at the floor “he passed five years ago in active duty”

“Shit, I’m sorry I…” he stumbles over his words trying to form a coherent sentence.

“Not your fault how were you supposed to know, besides I'm sure you’ve lost your fair share of people.” you say offering him a not very convincing, but reassuring smile. You let the awkwardness hang in the air, not wanting to speak first.

“What... kind of doctor are you?” he says, hoping to cut the tension he’d caused.

“Medical, diagnostics.” you say, exhaling as the easiness you felt around Franki came back.

“So like House?” He asks.

“Ya cane and all.” you laugh, his lopsided grin having returned to his face, as he leans in to grab your plate.

“Hey, I uh.. I need to make a phone call.” He says, washing the dishes in the sink.

“I'll make myself scarce, give you some privacy. Is it fine if I'm in the shower or did you want me to fully vacate the premise? I can go down to the gym for a bit.” you offer.

“Showers perfect.” He says, mentally questioning his word choice there. He waits to hear the water run before pulling out his phone and dialing his mother who was currently watching his daughter for what was only supposed to be a few days.

You let the water wash over you turning on some music to drown out the conversation Frankie was having, not wanting to pry on his personal life. You did find yourself wondering who he was calling just simple curiosity, nothing else. You had decided you liked Frankie despite the rocky start, the more time you spent with him the more you felt like you'd known him for years. You could see why he and Santiago got along so well they were two sides of the same coin, his calm nicely balancing out Santiago's rashness. Or should you call him Pope? What kind of nickname was that, and Santiago was anything but a saint. You made a mental note to ask Frankie for the origin stories later he may be more forthcoming about it than Santiago. Lathering your hair you close your eyes, allowing Frankie’s image to come to the forefront of your mind. He had an old beauty, a kind of beauty that was suited to a ruler of a long forgotten empire. You begin to feel the water run cold, had you really been in the shower that long? You turn off the tap and dry yourself off redonning your sweats and tying the Clash shirt into a crop. As you exit the bedroom you’re met at the door by Frankie who hands you a cup of coffee.

“Thanks” you say smiling up at him.

“Take it as an apology for being an ass yesterday, I was tired and shouldn’t have thrown a tantrum about it, you don’t control the weather”

“Well I guess I should apologize as well for not listening to you, especially considering you’re the one with training in navigating radars.”

The rest of the day is spent in relative silence breaking into conversation every once in a while about nothing in particular. You sit on the couch reading while he sits in the chair across from you book in hand as the news plays faintly in the background. The storm had been dubbed “snowmageddon” by the anchors, not particularly innovative but it got the point across, 20cm had fallen and another 30 was being predicted you groaned internally thinking about how long it was gonna take you to clear off your car. At least you'd have military help. Dinner comes and goes and he doesn't ask you many questions, unsurprising considering how the last conversion had turned out. Instead you tell him about the weirdest cases you’d ever seen come through the hospital and he tells you about the incidents that got him and Santi sent to the hospital.

“Alright I'm going to turn in” he says, as you look up from the rabbit hole you'd currently found yourself stuck in.

“Shit ya good call” you say closing your phone and rubbing your eyes. Once again he beats you to the bed, giving him a prime position to watch in amusement as you dig through your bag.

“Lost something? Seriously, how deep is that bag? What are you looking for?” he inquires.

“Normal pyjamas” you mutter, all concentration currently being used to find something appropriate to sleep in.

“What pray tell are normal pyjamas?” he asks, a confused look plastered across his face.

“Let's just say a certain king of sleepwear was packed for someone who was suppose to be at the wedding”

“Who?” he asks.

“Ah ha!” you cry victoriously, pulling out your day-to-day sleepwear. You exit the bathroom in the silk sleep set you’d gotten a few years back. Frankie’s eyes widen slightly when he sees you emerge, the pyjamas leaving little to the imagination. If those were your normal pyjamas he didn't want to think about what the other ones were. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable by coming off as a creep. Which he was already feeling like by ogling you as you bent over the sink spitting out your toothpaste. His eyes dart down to look at his hands as you walk around the bed to bed, only looking up once the covers are pulled up over you. He turns off the lamp and settles into the mattress, placing his hands on his chest and closing his eyes.

“Please for the love of god, stop moving” he mumbles after 15 minutes of patiently waiting for you to stop wriggling. Your eyes open as you shift again, completely aware of how annoying you must be to him.

“I know I'm sorry, I‘m just..” you move one more time, balling your fists up and slamming them into the mattress in frustration.

“Not comfy” he finishes for you, eyes opening staring up at the ceiling.

“Ya especially since someone took my side of the bed” you bemoan.

“Look, you’ve already slept wrapped around me once, so you can... do it again. If it’s the easiest way for you to sleep.” he says hoping the offer comes off as sincere, and not weird. You chew your lower lip for a second before accepting the fact that it was the only way you’d be able to sleep. He lifts his arms above his head allowing you to position yourself comfortably on top of him, before lowering them down. One hand on his stomach and the other wrapped around your shoulder.

“Don’t even think about trying...” you start, eyes batting sleepily up at him.

“I know you don’t know me well, but i'm not like that. It's not good or fun unless everyones fully and consensually on board.” With that you ease into him, trusting his words. Breathing deeply you drift off to sleep to the smell of clean laundry that you’d come to associate with Frankie.

Day 3

“Hey I'm going to the gym if you need to make a call or whatever” you say, pulling on your sneakers, feeling refreshed from the good sleeps you’d had the past two nights.

“Thanks,” he says, watching you leave before calling to check in on his daughter.

“Hey mom how is she? Good good ya, put her on would ya? Hey darling how are you! Yes I'm going to be home soon. Were just stuck in a big snow storm, did you see it? I wish you were here then we could build a snowman together! Yes just like Elsa and Anna. Yes we can watch them when I get home and absolutely I will try and save you a snowball. Alright, okay, I love you.” He says, a few minutes was more than he’d expected from the kid, toddlers aren’t known for their keen telecommunication skills after all.

“Hey mom, thanks again for watching her. This storm came outta nowhere. We're going to miss the wedding, I know they’re gonna be pissed. That’s not a swear Mom! No, I'm not alone. One of Santis friends she's a doctor. Yes, I mean I don’t know! Why does it matter? Look, I'm hanging up now. I am. No I won't be doing that I love you, I'll call later.” he hangs up shaking his head. Despite what everyone around him thought, the last thing on his mind was dating, his kid was his number one, scratch that, his only priority especially since her mother disappeared in the night. Leaving nothing but a note about having other reasons to live. Whatever the hell that meant. He hears the key unlock the door and watches as you re-enter, not stopping to make conversation, bee-lining straight for the shower. Knowing he’d have a good half hour to kill he dials his phone again.

“Hey Pope” he says, taking the opportunity to call his friend and deliver the bad news.

“Hey ‘Fish where the hell are you guys?” he shouts from the other end, evidently in a crowded room.

“Trapped by the storm, we're not gonna make it.”

“Shit Gen’s gonna lose it, and Stella if it wasn’t for her four sisters Y/N would be in the wedding party they were roommates for years.” He stresses.

“Damn, ya man i'm really sorry, she's in the shower, but I can pass the phone to her when she's out?” Frankie offers.

“No man, don't bother her. I'll text her in a bit. Hey you guys sharing a room?” he questions, the agenda behind it obvious.

“Wasn’t much of a choice, rooms were all booked up.”

“You're sleeping on the floor I hope” A protective tone taking over.

“You know my back’s bad Pope.” he explains calmly, hoping to de-escalate the situation.

“Catfish you better keep those hands to yourself, she's not one of your nightly conquests”

“Man I haven’t been like that since my kid came along” He chuckles, knowing full well that those days were long behind him.

“I'm a serious ‘Fish, she's too good for you, and she's in no place to be fucked over by another guy alright?”

“Look I know she'd never go for me Pope and I'm flattered you think she would. Glad i'm still handsome in your eyes.I’ll call you later” he laughs, ending the conversation on a lighter note.

“Hey” you say, pulling your Boston University sweater over your head, drying out your hair with a towel.

“Pope says hi” Frankie says, hanging up the phone

“What's the nickname mean?” you question, ready to get to the bottom of it.

“That's top secret information” he taunts, shaking the phone at you.

“Oh I'm sure I could figure out a way to get it out of you.” you smirk, raising your eyebrows

“Hey! I have military training!” he exclaims, offended at the insinuation.

“Militarys got nothing on me.” you retort, slapping him on the shoulder as you pass by.

“Well, if the plan is to ply me with alcohol, it may just work” he confesses.

“Perfect” you say, heading to the fridge opening up the wine bottle “let the games begin” you say tossing him a beer bottle watching as he uses a lighter to open it before bringing it to his lips.

“So tell me what does Pope mean?” you ask after a few hours of meaningless conversations and playing a drinking game that went along with the forensic files repeats you were watching. “Is it a dick thing” you whisper yell, causing Frankie to burst out laughing.

“Why? You wanna know what it looks like?” He asks forehead creased the trace of laughter still etched on his face.

“Ew No! but I am asking if it looks like a Pope?” you say trying to hide your amusement with a stern look.

“Which Pope?” Frankie asks in an equally serious tone, curious as to where you were going with this.

“Francis?” you ask.

“Nope” He answers after pausing for a moment.

“Fred?” You ask, now entrapped in a bizarre game of guess who, but in reference to what holy figure most resembled your friends penis.

“Was there a Pope named Fred?” He asks unsuccessfully, stifling a laugh.

“Probably? There were like three Popes at once at one point in time.”

“No his dick doesn't look like the Pope, now can we please stop talking about my best friend's penis!” he exclaims.

“Fine, but this isn’t over.” you say chewing your lip trying to think of other possible explanations when a phone ringing interrupts you thought.

“Shit, Sorry I have to take this,'' he says, pulling out his phone and walking to the next room, forgetting to close the door, leaving you to inadvertently eavesdrop on his conversation.

“Good night sweety I love you to the moon and back I'll be home soon.”

Your eyes go wide as you feel your stomach sink, of course he was married, he was too nice, too easy, something had to have been off. A ick comes over you at the thought of being unknowingly draped over a married man, and you suddenly begin questioning Frankies motives.

“Sorry about that. It's my daughter she uh, I didn’t say goodnight to her last night and she missed it” he says with a slight chuckle, pride evident on his face.

“How old is she?” you ask smiling at how he lit up at being asked about his kid.

“Three” he says, grabbing another beer and grunting slightly as he sits back on the floor next to you.

“Good age” You offer, shaking off the feeling of betrayal and disappointment that had come over you for a brief moment.

“Ya she's perfect” he beams.

“I bet, I mean I don’t know what your wife looks like, but if she's got your eyes watch out world.” You offer turning to face him only to see that his smile had faded, replaced instead by a somber hurt.

“Her mothers not in the picture” He says, clearing his throat and taking a long drink.

“Shit Frankie I'm sorry” you say quickly, feeling like a prize idiot for making assumptions about his character.

“Hey I brought up your dead brother, only seems fair you bring up my ex who abandoned us.” He says with a shrug. “Don’t, don’t look at me like that” He says, shaking his head and knitting his brows together tired of being looked at like he was broken. It was horrible when it happened. It was fucking shitty that she had left her daughter without a care, but now? Hell, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Watching his daughter grow up was worth it.

“Fuck” you say, scrunching up your face “I hate when people do that to me.”

“You need another drink?” he offers, hoping to ease the sudden awkwardness into the room, one he was accustomed to after telling his dates about his kid, not that this was a date.

“Ya I need it to wash the taste of foot out of my mouth” you laugh, feeling worse than when your brother was inadvertently brought up.

“Seriously don't worry about it. Speaking of a palette cleanser you wanna watch a movie or something?” he says pouring the rest of the wine into your glass, before grabbing another drink out the fridge for himself.

“Ya but it's gotta be horror, the only thing i'm in the mood for.”

“Didn’t think bringing up my ex was that scary.” he laughs, handing you the glass.

“No, but talking about Santiago's penis was.” You deadpan, causing Frankie to snort out his drink. “What? Do all the girls say that about it? A real nightmare?” you continue, giggling as he coughs through a laugh. “Was it the inspiration for the creature from the black lagoon?” for some reason the stupid bit your doing causes Frankie to double over subsequently encouraging your own laughing fit. After the ache in your side subsides Frankie sits down on the couch next to you. Using his sleeve to wipe any spillage from his beard.

“Any preference?” you ask, leaning your head back against the couch. He shakes his head. “Alright, the Conjuring it is! I gotta pee first though, need anything before we start?” you ask, walking towards the washroom.

“Just you.” he calls out, as the door closes behind you. Fuck, why the hell did he say that. He shakes his head at how desperate it sounded. Jesus christ, he was embarrassing.

You were just tipsy enough that the bathroom's bright lights made you feel wobbly. You cross your arms as you pee, thinking about the words you’d just heard, about how he needed you. Well maybe that was a reach, but it was okay to pretend just for a night? In all honesty, even though this wasn't a date, it was definitely the best time you'd had with a guy… ever, something about him was just so easy. You flush the toilet and open the door washing your hands, hotels were so weird, why wasn't the sink in with the toilet? You felt like you needed to wipe the handle down after every use.

You flop back onto the couch next to him, closer than you’d been when you left, but leaving enough space between you. After a few jump scares that catch even the pilot off guard the two of you found yourself snuggled into each other. You knew the movie was getting to him, because the arm wrapped around your shoulder pulled you closer into his side whenever the ominous music began to play. He wouldn't say the movie was getting to him per say, it was just in his nature to protect others. Even if it was just a stpid movie he wanted to make sure you felt safe. After the movie ends you quickly separate from each other and clear up the glasses, leaving them to ‘soak’ overnight. Frankie gets to the bathroom first, again. Thirsty, you wander back out to the kitchen grabbing a glass and filling it with water jumping when you think you see a shadow move out the corner of your eye. It was strange, how you loved horror so much while watching it but the second it turned off, any sounds, or hat rack or shadow scared the living daylights out of you. At least this time there would be another person with you. After getting ready for bed you switch off the lights and make your way to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Frankie asks, watching you lift up the bedskirt peering under the bed. “Are you seriously checking under the bed right now?” He laughs, unable to get over how you, a medical professional was afraid of ghosts.

“Better safe than sorry!” you exclaim eyes wide as your head pops up.

“You can't believe in this shit can you?”

“Hey man you get sleep paralysis then tell me that shit isn’t plausible” you respond pointing a finger at him, before pushing yourself off your knees and up onto the bed.

You crawl under the covers and sit up parting your hair to braid it before going to bed.

“Can I ask you a weird favour” he asks, you panic slightly, fuck he was too good to be true, no way a guy was that sweet without an alterior motive.

“Yes, but proceed with extreme caution” you say.

“Can you teach me how to braid hair? I want to be able to do my daughter's hair but I’m pretty terrible at it. Her teacher once asked if she'd gotten caught in a bush on the way in.” Your heart jumps slightly, at the sincere revelation. How, how could one guy be this sweet, and thoughtful and not creepy?

“Of course I can show you.” you say and you proceed to give him a step by step tutorial, followed by a demonstration prior to actually letting him have at your hair so he can try and replicate the motions. Once he got the motion down you’d mistakenly tried to show him how to french-braid it down from the top.

“Be honest doc, how bad is it.” He says.

“Well, maybe we shouldn't have tried a french braid quite yet.” you say laughing feeling the matted mess currently on your head. You turn upon hearing him groan, watching as he leans back into the pillow bringing his hands up to hide his face.

“For someone who's a pilot i'm shocked you can't do this.” you say, hand reaching up to salvage your hair.

“Are you judging me?” he says, sitting back up when he sees you struggling to untangle the mess he’d made.

“Maybe a little.” Your breath hitches when you feel his hand grazed against yours. You drop it to the side upon contact allowing his fingers to work gently at removing the knots.

“Are pilots supposed to be good at braiding?” he asks.

“I just assumed if you could weave in and out of the sky you'd be good with your hands.” you laugh as he frees the last of your hair from the prison he'd made. He watches as you effortlessly put your hair back up into tidy braids.

“You make it look so easy,” he says.

“Well practice makes perfect, but look on the brightside, now you have a sure fire pick up line that'll work on all the MILFs youll be dating!” you exclaim turning back to smile at him.

“Malo '' he mutters, pushing your shoulder slightly as you giggle, dramatically falling back onto the bed and pulling the covers up over you. It doesn't take a moment before you're back around him, breathing silently, and fast asleep. He wasn’t far behind you, he never used to sleep well in hotels, or at all really, not after the mission, but something about this place made it easy. He's sure it's nothing to do with the idle hand on his chest or the rhythmic beating of the heart belonging to the person draped over him.

[gingermintpepper]

After thinking it over for a bit, I've decided that I might as well do a proper underrated 3DS game rec list. I'm a bit of an ATLUS junkie and that's gonna be pretty disgustingly apparent in this list, but it's not my fault that they released hit after hit and all of them were duly ignored.

Due to tumblr's 10 image limit (and my struggle to keep motivated to do one thing for more than three hours) I'm definitely gonna have to break this up into parts and I'm fairly certain one of these lists is just gonna be MegaTen games lmao but I'd like to let people know about these excellent titles and see if I can't at least get people interested in them so they can get more traction.

So, without further ado:

Some 3DS Games that were criminally slept on (part 1)

Monster Hunter Stories

God, where do I begin with this game. Well, the basics: It's a JRPG spinoff title of the now widely successful and popular Monster Hunter series featuring a different take on interacting with the varied and intricate monsters populating the world: Riders.

Yep, instead of hunting the beasties, you play as a young rider who's completed their intiation ritual and can now bond with 'Monsties' as they've cutely labelled the usually ferocious monsters of the wilds. The great thing is that you still fight Monsters--tons of them in fact but this isn't a paid review and in my humble opinion, the most impressive thing about this game is the visual style. The landscapes, the armour, the way they redesigned and 3DS-ified the classically hyper realistic and monstrous beasts to not only be absolutely adorable but still capable of being intimidating when the time calls for it, the stellar animation of special moves and combination attacks--it's delicious, nutritious, stupendous, I can and will consume it like it's part of my recommended caloric intake.

It's very akin to Pokemon in the way its basic gameplay premise is set up, however, instead of catching--or even indeed befriending--the Monsties in the game, you rummage through their nests and steal their eggs, later hatching them and getting yourself a brand new lightly kidnapped monster pal!

Other general things about the game:

Pros:

The armour and weapon sets for both male and female characters slap along with the general character customisation options. They're incredibly diverse (though limited in body type) and you can switch around traits and features whenever you want from your house.

The POGS--these porkers are everywhere and they serve as tiny little achievements for exploring every odd and end of the world. Also they have little outfits. They're so cute. 🥺🥺

You can actually ride the Monsties. All of em. Or, at least the ones that you have available to be your buddies. They all have exploration skills and traits that not only make exploring much more interesting but encourage you to swap out your active Monstie and play around with your options a bit.

Y'all breeding Monsties is complicated and I live for just how intense and ridiculous you can get with optimal builds for these things.

The story is really competently put together! The characters, character designs and even the internal conflict with your starting trio of characters is really compelling along with the mystery of the blight that's infecting Monsters across the world. It's not anything worth awards but it's compelling and it makes you care about the characters if that's what you're in the market for.

Amazing sound design, expansive world, everything about the presentation of this game oozes that Monster Hunter charm even if the art is cutesier than usual. You'll never get bored of its stellar visual presentation!

Available for around twenty quid on the Google Play store, so if you want, you could actually get the full game on your smartphone or tablet. Note though that it would be a battery nuker.

Cons:

If you're on a regular 3DS, frame rate drops are a given. This game kinda pushes the visual capabilities of the 3DS to its absolute limit--a lot like Okamiden did back on the DS.

One save file :( It's pretty much for the same reason as above but still.

If you're playing as the girl, you can't get male armour and vice versa. Since there's only one save file, you'll never be able to have all of the armour sets in a single playthrough and that's criminal because both of the sets for the genders are absolutely breath-taking, thank you.

I 👏can't 👏make👏my👏 own 👏Palico👏

Multi-player for this game is pretty dead seeing as it's almost five years old by now and never got much press or traction. Usually this wouldn't be an issue - this game is 99% singleplayer and you don't really need to fuss about with multi-player to have fun, but if you want to collect all the Monsties, you'll need it since the only way to get Glavenus is through pvp achievements. :/

Final thoughts: Play it if you find yourself getting tired or disappointed with 3DS Pokemon games but still want something that feels as fantastical as Pokemon. It outshines the 3DS Pokemon games at every turn and I will never be over just how thoughtfully put together and fully realised these games are. Of course, if you've ever played Monster Hunter, then you know just how intensive these games are with the lore, biology, cultures and world of their Monsters but seeing that translated into JRPG format was just very sobering and it's a game that, to this day, continues to awe me with just how much love and attention went into it.

Last note: If you're still unsure about it, there's a demo available on the e-shop of the 3DS that allows you to play through the entire initial area of the game. Your data does carry through to the full release and to give you an idea of how much I've been able to squeeze out of it - my playtime for that demo is currently sitting at 22 hours. Make sure to get a hold of that Cyan-Kut-Ku!

7th Dragon III Code: VFD

The title may sound intimidating but the premise is not! A mysterious disease called Dragon Sickness spread by the Dragonsbane flowers that have cropped up all around the world. You and your team are recruited by the Nodens game company after you display extraordinary prowess in their hit virtual reality game 7th Encount. As you go through the adventure, you are tasked with finding out the truth behind the Dragon Sickness and asked to stop both it and the Dragons that are destroying the world.

This game is fun. It's another turn-based JRPG however, in this game you create all of your characters yourself from the myriad of classes available to you from the jump. Different classes of course have very different specialisations - Samurai focus on high powered cutting damage with their swords, Duelists are summoners who can influence the element of the battlefield as well as summon monsters from each element, Agents can hack into your enemies and inflict a barrage of nasty ailments, just to name a few - and you are given three teams of three characters each to experiment with different team comps and find the balance that works for you. There's also a wide variety of Dragons to hunt and kill in the game, which directly affects how infected your world is with the Dragon Sickness causing Dragonsbane. Along the way you will also come into contact with many interesting characters, concepts and confrontations that will make the task of saving the world all the more imperative.

Pros

1. The character creator and differing classes give way for tons of experimenting and playing around with your own unique approach to combat and carrying out your missions. Granted, 'character creation' is generous, it's little more than palatte swaps but the classes are really where VFD shines. Eight main classes may not sound like a lot, but the expaniveness of the character skills, their synergy with their fellow classes and the uniqueness of some of the classes in and of itself allows for so much flexibility and creativity in approaches to even tougher bosses. It also encourages the switching about of your party members to really finagle with the options available to you.

2. God this game is pretty. The locations, the character art, the creature design - all of it is gorgeous and this game capitalises on every bit of the 3DS's presentation limitations as it can.

3. You can romance anything and everyone - yes, you can even be gay/lesbian/poly in this game. In fact, one of the main characters - Julietta - is gnc and he's a constant source of joy as well one of my personal favourite characters, right behind Yuma.

4. Exploration is very very forgiving as the game has healing spots and teleport nodes all over the world to allow for quick, seamless travel between quest points without feeling like anything is too much of a hassle. There are also special enemies that allow for quick grinding as well as quick farming of money. In general, the game does a really good job of making sure that the grind is never unbearable or inconsiderate of your time.

Cons:

1. This is the fourth game in a series the West has never seen any other title for, and from the looks of it, will probably never see any other titles for. Because of that, there are some elements that may seem confusing or revelations in the plot that may seem to come out of nowhere.

2. While the visuals are great, the OST of this one is pretty short making for a lot of reused soundtracks that can get really annoying if you're like me and need your audio to be interesting or consistent so it doesn't distract you too much.

3. This one isn't really a con but it is divisive: This game gets pretty difficult at times. A few of the main dragon enemies including and especially the final boss can give you a serious run for your money in the annoy-o-meter in terms of the kind of absolute JRPG fuckery they can pull out of their magic bag of bullshit movesets and while I generally enjoy that kind of thing, I know it's not for everyone. Most regular combat shouldn't be too tricky once you have a team comp that works well together but you also need to pay attention since the same team that carries you to victory one time might be worth beans against another dragon.

Final thoughts: This is... a really good game. Interesting story, really interesting characters, pretty world and a battle system that really makes you sit down and think. There's also a demo for this available in the e-shop and while your data doesn't carry over - you do receive multiple perks for carrying over your demo data including some exclusive items that, while not game breaking, do help a ton in the early stages of the game.

This isn't a final list by any stretch of the word; I only have the energy to do these two right now, but the next games up for coverage are Ever Oasis and Stella Glow! If you're interested in my full plan of games I want to cover here then my current lineup includes: Theatrhythm: Curtain Call, Project Mirai: Deluxe, Culdecept Revolt, Alliance Alive, Radiant Historia: Perfect Chronology, Etrian Odyssey V, Devil Survivor 2: Record Breaker and Shin Megami Tensei IV: Apocalypse.

Finally, if anyone has played any of the games I mention, cover or plan to cover PLEASE REACH OUT TO ME, I AM SO LONELY IN MY FORTRESS OF SAND. On a serious note, I'd love to hear what other people who've played these games think!

Thanks for reading,

-Ginger

PS: @feralpeacock Because a million years ago, on my first underrated games post, you asked that I remember you. :D

[softscummymammon]

$Humanity's Shackles$

Assisted by:: @bigfan-fanfic

»»——⍟——««

Clark was having a very, strange day. It started out when he finally got to lay down on his plush bed at the Kent Farm. If only he could have enjoyed it.

His communicator beeped continuously at an ungodly hour. Picking up the device and answering it, he was instantly getting a mission report from an amused Bruce about a call from some locals close to his location about a disturbance. Recent scans have shown a large object was stationery nearby.

Having no other choice but to go to the location since he was the closest and no one else was available, Clark got off his bed and got dressed in his uniform. On his way out of the house, he gave his Ma a kiss on the head goodnight.

Flying down to the location, he was met with thick growth all around him. Though usually farm lands were flat for their crops, there would be forest growths between acres. Clark found himself in front of one of the largest ones he's seen in his time living in Kansas.

With careful footsteps, he proceeded forward. The trees shunned out any and all light coming from the moon hanging over his head. Since his normal vision wouldn't be helping him anytime soon, he switched to his x-ray vision.

In the blink of an eye, everything became clearer. It also seemed to be just the thing he needed to find what had caused the disturbance. A giant hole had been ripped through the tree tops and at the bottom of the destruction was a deep crater. Flying over to the crater, he landed in the middle of the dented earth and started looking around now with enough light to see with normal vision.

A flash of light caught his attention, so he knelt down and dusted off what looked to be a reflective gem. Clark caressed the flat piece of jewel with his hand. Acknowledging that what he was holding wasn't actually jewel, he turned it over to see what was on the other side.

Gasping, he dropped the object and held his hand close to his chest. He knew what that was, what all the other little but similar objects scattered around him were.

They were scales. Not any Earth reptilian scales, but scales from a beast not of this world. Or at least, with his current knowledge of Earth's wildlife. Those scales were the size of his hand, and oddly enough, sharp enough to knick his finger. A red rivulet of blood streamed down his finger and into his palm.

Now knowing whatever they were dealing with was definitely a problem, he quickly called the Watchtower for assistance. All he got was static, no wait, static didn't sound like that...

Clark froze, feeling the rumbling all around him, and not just at his ear. Slowly turning around, all Clark was able to see was shadow. The shadows didn't calm his nerves, not one bit if he was sure about what he was dealing with. The shadows moved just slightly, and Clark watched as it moved, not daring to take his eyes off the darkness.

A low groan shook the ground under his feet, and Clark's eyes snapped to the sound of a twig snapping. Easing his nerves, he tried to remember exactly what he was dealing with, and where he remembers those scales. If he was correct, this was a beast that had hunted his kind when Krypton was still alive.

The flash of scales and talons he's only read in the scripts he was provided at the Fortress. How they could cut through anything and all Kryptonian weaponry and deffensives. The powerful wings he can now see in the corners of the shadows slowly circling around him. He's seen recorded videos the hologram of his father was able to save with himself of only a blur, then destruction. The sharp canines that left ever lasting scars his father showed him on his computerized body.

All that was face to face with him now. Clark swallowed dryly as the beast before him growled and scented the air, as if it was smelling for something. It's glowing white eyes found the stream of red running down Clark's hand. Clark quickly hid his hand behind his back and watched as the beast's eyes tracked his movements.

The same staticy whine he now recognized was coming from the beast quivered the air. It was stifling to Clark, as he was now facing probably the only survivor of his ancestor's predator in the face as the beast was facing the only survivor of it's once prey. Oh how Clark hated irony.

Oddly enough, the beast wasn't attacking him. He's sure he read somewhere that the beasts were ruthless and would waste no time in attacking. But now, almost weak sounds were coming from the dragon before him.

Clark needed a better view, so he quickly blinked into x-ray vision. If he were a lesser man, he probably would have paled and fainted at was he saw. The beast was large enough to curl around the crater it left in the ground, easily longer than three school buses, possibly the length of a subway train.

He watched as the chest cavity of the beast rose and fell almost slightly faster and shallower than the average breathing of a human. Though he knows he shouldn't compare humans to the dragon. Though it was alarming at how docile the thing was, and how weak it seemed.

It must have been the crash to earth, Clark denounced. The scattered scales and damp patches in the soil added to the theory it was injured. An injured beast like this was never good, but if, and he knew it was, it was starving as well. It must have followed the smell of his Kryptonian scent and crashed here.

With careful movements, Clark took slow steps in the direction of the beast's head. No movement was made in retaliation, so he proceeded. He got as close as he could, and warm breath wafted over his front as he looked into the glowing eyes of the dragon.

He could kill it now, Clark supposed, as it had done the same to his kind all those years centuries ago. Slaughtering his people like live stock. But seeing it now, like this, it pulled at his heart. Bruce always said he was too kind, too weak in the heart for the unfortunate. Besides, even if he had wanted to, he couldn't. It took a special type of Kryptonian stone to kill one of these things.

Clark knew he would look stupid to anyone else if he tried to talk to it. But since no one else was hear, he might as well try. He took a deep breath and braved some words out his mouth.

"You are on Earth, and you are injured. I am willing to help you. Do you understand? "

He held his breath, and it seems, the dragon did too. After a minute of silence, Clark was about to try again, when suddenly a smooth surface was pushed into his stomach. He grunted and tensed as warm breath was once again wafted over him. He shivered as felt the hot air push over his skin.

A slight dip in the skin was his answer. So the dragon wasn't mindless, so it seems. Careful movement allowed Clark to set his hand on the scales covering the dragon's snout. He marveled at how he really felt the scales under his hands, like humans could when they touch a lizard. They felt the sharpness while he couldn't because of his indestructibility. But now, he didn't have that with this beast. So he proceeded with caution.

"So you understand what I'm saying. Can you talk as well? " He tried again.

The scales under his hand shook, so that was a no. Clark sighed, "Alright, I understand. Is the injury manageable to where you can stand? "

His answer the given to him as the dragon shifted. It's powerful limbs moving under it's body to slowly push itself off of the ground. Soil and dust fell from it's scales as it did so, and a soft whine came from it's jaw.

Clark took a step back and watched as the dragon followed him with a limp. Slowly backing up into the moonlight, his breath was sucked from his lungs as the dragon followed him and he saw the beast for what it was.

It's scales were almost obsidian black with freckles of white and silver. It's underbelly was pale but dirty. It's head ended in horns and spikes, and while they may be sharp, the beast itself almost seemed...soft.

With a regrettable sigh, Clark looked up at the injured beast and spotted where it was hurt. He winced unconsciously as he eyes met with mangled flesh and blood. One of its wings was covering the carnage of it's side the best it could. Clark sighed, and looked back up to the white eyes of the beast as it watched him like a hawk.

He knew he was gonna regret this, but this beast couldn't stay here where it could do more damage, either to itself or wondering humans. He knew one place that it would be safe and could get the right treatment. But it was gonna be difficult.

He turned to the beast and raised a hand. The dragon considered it before slowly leaning down and pressing it's snout to his hand. Clark let out a breath of awe and slowly pet the beast. Rao his father was gonna kill him for this.

"I know a place that can keep you safe and heal. But that means I have to trust you, and you have to trust me. " It was watching him with rapped attention as he talked. Taking in everything he was saying, "Will you trust me to take you to there? And, can I trust you to not hurt anyone there? "

The dragon looked him over once, then twice before a slow rumble echoed from it's chest cavity. As if it was purring like one of his nephew's cats. Clark nodded in understanding as the dragon's eyes slowly closed and more weight was put into his hand.

Clark raised his other hand to his communicator and called into the Watchtower, "Batman, I'm gonna need a zeta-tube to the Fortress of Solitude. "

»»——⍟——««

[behindheremeraldeyes]

damirae week 2021 friday, may 7th: nightmares & mythology

title: unholy balance

summary: "He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.” - Greek AU-ish Ao3

Years of coming and going through those silent woods, and yet, his eyes have never once seen the sun kiss her skin. Every day and every night— every winter and every summer— she’s trapped inside that dome, caged and exposed like the living statue they need her to be. He knows the stories about her. The prophecies that carry her fate are no stranger to his troubled heart, to the point where he can recite them word by word, threat by threat.

Decades before either of them were even born, the oracles foresaw that a girl born during the blood moon would be the balance between doom and salvation. She alone would withhold the power to keep evil under control and protect the world from eminent destruction. A genuine gift sent by the gods so that men would be able to prosper without ever knowing things such as hatred, anger, poverty or sickness.

When the said girl was finally born, then, all the people gathered to celebrate the beginning of a new era, and before she even had the chance to become a child, she was already turned into a blessing. They named her Raven as to symbolize wisdom and longevity. She was a lovely girl and even if their days of playing around in the streets didn’t last long; he has always cherished them with all of his heart.

Everyone who had the chance to meet her could see how pure her heart was, and if anything, they believed she could use that heart of hers to save the world. She had enough goodness in her for that, and as long as she kept on smiling, they knew things would eventually work out. However, even if most people believed she was meant only to bestow grace upon them, the oracles knew better than to ignore the most crucial part of the prophecy. The old texts describe her as a balance, after all, and the slightest mistake can make it hang the wrong way.

As ordered by the village’s council, then, she was to be kept away from everything and everyone who could distract her from her celestial mission, and since no one objected— no one with the power to, at least— they were quick to build her a place where she could focus on her prayers. With her childish features and her amethyst eyes; she was thrown into her own private sanctuary, where she could be adored, but never disturbed.

Seen, but never loved. Not truly.

Ever since she was imprisoned, her voice was never heard, her skin never touched. People can approach her dome in order to steal a glance and leave her some offerings for the sake of their crops, but that’s as far as they will go. Eventually, they all walk away with smiles on their faces, and they don’t come back until the season changes or they need her for something else. Some of them never really return.

That has been her life for at least 16 years now. Their life, actually, for he has been observing her never-changing routine ever since he was selected to be one of her guardians. And though the Wayne heir has always prided himself in the way he keeps his emotions at bay, something about this— about her— makes his blood boil in pure annoyance.

Perhaps it’s because they used to play together or even it’s just his way to express his discontentment with the place he was raised in, but Damian hates seeing her like that. Trapped in her own blessing, she was deprived of every choice in her life, simply because she was born on that stupid night. They’ve filled the folks’ heads with a curse that would befall upon them if she were to stray from her path, and the worst part—

The worst part is that she believes those words. She really believes she has a duty to fulfill, a life to sacrifice in the name of a greater good.

Bullshit, he thinks.

That girl was meant to be special. Meant for greater things and wider horizons, however, they’ve given her the responsibility to hold the world’s weight in her tiny hands. No one dares to move a muscle to help her, and if anything, they count on her not to drop it because, if she does—well— may the gods have mercy on their pathetic souls.

It’s not fair. She deserves so much more than just this, but apparently, he’s the only one who thinks like that and who has actually tried to do something to help her.

One night, years before he was even assigned to his current position, Damian snuck into her pristine garden. As the skillful warrior he was trained to be, it was quite easy for him to pass through the guards and reach her dome. He knocked on the glassed wall, and after a few seconds, she came into view. She had grown considerably since the last time they had met, her face thinner and more delicate. Her beauty was breathtaking and her amethyst eyes mesmerizing. Until today, he doesn’t believe he has ever seen a girl as graceful as her.

The ivory skin contrasted with her dark hair, and there was a fleeting essence in her features that made his chest grow tighter. A sad and ephemeral beauty, hidden from the rest of the world. He couldn’t find it in himself to look away, and for a moment, Damian understood why people would come to see her.

Looking at her brought him peace. However, her sadness broke his heart.

‘Come with me. I can get you out of here and you can be free’, he remembers telling her, promising to keep her safe. He had meant every single word he told her that day. Every promise regarding a better future— every new sky he wanted to show her— but it was all meaningless. Raven gave him no answer, instead choosing to offer him an apologetical smile that spoke volumes.

She couldn’t go with him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t be that selfish. Not when the world depended on her.

And so, he left as if he had never been there to begin with. Although he hated that village, Damian forced himself to stay, and when he was old enough, he took upon himself the job to keep her safe. He became her guardian, vowing to stay by her side, waiting for the day when she would grow tired of all that hypocrisy.

Waiting for the day when the balance would finally hang to the wrong side.

He has kept on visiting her at least twice a week, their eyes exchanging silent promises that might never be fulfilled. They don’t talk, no, but he can’t bring himself not to go. It’s stronger than him. Seeing her makes him feel at ease, and deep inside, he hopes one day she will make up her mind and ask him to take her out of there. He wants to be there when she makes that decision. And until that day comes, silently, he shall wait.

Today, though, he stands on his spot like every other day, clad in his green and gold armor. His emerald eyes are set on her small prison, and there isn’t one day when he doesn’t wish for it to fall apart. For it’s spring, the garden looks exceptionally beautiful, with the prettiest flowers of the land blooming just for her. He likes to think nature does that on purpose, provoking her with its true colors and teasing her to leave the comfort of her imprisonment.

The other guards are far from him and even further from her shrine. Soon, their shift will end and others will come so they can continue their full-time surveillance. It’s another day like so many others, with a sky just as blue.

However… something feels different.

Perhaps it’s the chilly breeze of the upcoming autumn, or even the unusual silence enveloping the area— Damian can’t quite pinpoint. Something is uncharacteristically unnatural, and he knows it’s got something to do with her. His eyes drift towards her dome, his lips pressed in a thin line. He can feel the weight of his sword hanging from his waist, and all of his senses are oddly alarmed.

The world beneath his feet is alive, he can feel it in his core. The change is coming, and perhaps the balance is tilting.

His eyes blink, and suddenly, nothing is what it was. The ground is shaking, birds are flying away from their nests, and dark clouds are gathering above their heads. Damian sees the other guards looking around, confused, and once everything seems to settle, a horrified scream tears reality apart. It’s her, he knows. She’s the one who’s screaming and before he can even think through, his feet are desperately taking him towards her dome.

His heart is beating faster now, and he knows it’s not because of the run. Something’s wrong with her and he needs to do something before it’s too late. The clouds are growing darker, lightnings roaring inside, but his feet can’t move any faster— god knows they’re trying to. However, all of his efforts prove themselves useless when an energy burst sends him and all the other guards flying backwards. His back hit the ground with a loud thud, all the air from his lungs escaping through his lips.

What on earth did just happen?

His green eyes are wide now as everything he has judged to be a lie is happening right in front of him. The wind is blowing violently, his soul shaking in sudden fear, and a crimson vortex emerges from the celling of her dome, ripping it all apart. This isn’t good. This isn’t normal. It’s too powerful and too maleficent to be fought back with his bare hands. Right now, he knows his priority is to take her and run towards a safer place. Damian needs to find her. He needs to save her.

While all the other guards are running away from the epicenter of the chaos, he’s the only one running towards it. He doesn’t allow his own heart time to be scared as he’s already rushing inside, his eyes scanning the place in search of her. Broken glass is scattered across the floor, and for her cage is quite small, it doesn’t take him long to find her.

Raven is kneeled down on the floor, her purple robe covering her small body and shards threatening to pierce through the skin of her legs. Her hands are covering her ears and a painful expression is taking over her demeanor. “Stop! Make it stop!” She mumbles, shaking her head and causing her hood to fall back. Her dark locks are falling forward now, brushing her tear-stained cheeks.

She’s completely different from the girl he first met all of those years ago. She’s scared— powerless, even— and all of that celestial composure of hers is nowhere to be found. Raven has lost control over whatever it was she has been keeping inside for all of these years, and even if he knows they’re due to suffer the consequences of her outburst, he couldn’t care less about that.

Right now, he only cares about her.

“Raven!” Her name rushes out of his tongue in an exasperated tone, and soon, he’s kneeling down in front of her. His hands are quick to touch her trembling shoulders, making her head shoot up in pure shock. Amethyst eyes are now locked with his emerald ones, and even if they’re still filled with horror, now he can see traces of relief in her irises. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Damian, I-I…” She starts, stumbling upon her own words. Her voice is a bit hoarse from the lack of practice, but when she says his name, it’s still as melodic as he remembered it to be. “I’ve set it free, Damian. I couldn’t control it and now it’s free!”

“What!? What is free, Raven? Tell me.” He asks, his eyes frantically scanning her body as he searches for any bruise or anything that might suggest she’s hurt. At first glance, thankfully, he finds nothing.

She looks straight at him, and Damian can tell she’s debating whether or not to tell him the whole thing. Eventually, then, she closes her eyes, more tears streaming down her face and her knuckles turning white as she tightens her grip around herself. Her slender fingers reach for her head, tracing the opaque red crystal that decorates her forehead.

“My father. He’s been trapped inside this crystal ever since I was born, and I had the job to make sure he never escaped. But now…” The girl bites her trembling lips, and she takes one last breath before continuing. “But now he’s free and he will use all of his demonic powers to spread evil and misfortune all over the land. It’s just like the prophecy said, and now I’ve ruined everything.”

“Hey, don’t say that! You were trying your best.“

“It was never about trying, Damian! I had a duty to fulfill, and I failed! All of those years trapped inside that stupid dome for nothing! People are going to die and it’s all my fault!”

His heart is breaking as she speaks, despair lacing every word that leaves her mouth. His brows furrow in condolence, as he can only watch as she cries like a small child in front of him. She feels responsible for all of this, of course she does. After so many years of being told she was the person who had to keep all the evil inside, it’s only natural that she would eventually believe all of those things. Guilt is now getting the best of her, and he’s not doing anything about it. She’s hurt and lost, and all he can do is watch.

Great fucking job, he thinks, anger running through his veins. Now that the balance has finally weighted to the wrong side— now that she’s finally free like he wanted to— he can’t find it in himself to help her. What’s he supposed to do? Damian knows better than to lie to her. He knows she won’t be convinced by his words if he simply says it was not her fault. He cannot tell her everything is going to work out, no. For all he knows, things might never get back to the way they used to be.

Life might never be simple again. He won’t go back to his job as her guard, and she won’t ever go back to that dome of hers as their protector.

Things are going to change.

And perhaps that’s not something that bad, is it?

Now that she has released the evil that was trapped inside of her crystal, she’s finally free to roam the world and do as she pleases. Raven is free to touch the trees and smell the flowers as much as she wants. No more dome to keep her trapped, and finally, she will be able to feel the warmth of the sun touching her skin.

Maybe he’s not taking things as seriously as he should be, but this new life doesn’t seem so bad. Any life where there’s a slight chance for her to be happy is a life worth fighting for.

And that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He will fight for her. For her freedom and for her chance to make her own choices. He will fight because, deep inside, he knows there’s still—

“Hope.” He murmurs, almost as a whisper, but it’s loud enough for her to hear. Once more, she’s looking at him with hopeful eyes, and his heart is beating faster than before.

“What?” She asks, confused, the tears stopping for a moment.

“Hope, Raven.” He starts, his calloused hands now reaching for hers. He caresses her skin with his thumb, a tender expression now spread across his face. “As long as you’re still alive, there’s still hope. Your father might have escaped, sure, but you’re the one who has kept him sealed for all of this time. You’ve done it once, I’m sure you can do it again.”

Her ribcage is moving up and down, her eyes looking at their connected hands. His toned skin against her ivory one makes his chest feel slightly warmer, and he’s glad to see that her shoulders are no longer trembling. “How do you know it? How can you be so sure of that, Damian?”

“I’m not.” He starts, his grip on her hand growing a little stronger. “But I have hope, Raven. As long as you’re here, with me, I have hope.”

Her eyes are looking at him with enough intensity to make his heart skip a beat. He knows she’s looking for a breach in his confidence, but when she finds none, he can feel her hand relaxing under his touch. Her eyes are now brimming with new tears, and in an impulse, Raven throws herself over him, her small hands tugging on his armor. She presses her face against his chest and his arms are fast to welcome her in a warm embrace.

She must have missed this, he thinks. Human contact, that is.

A person to hold her and who believes her, even if she doesn’t. A person to bring hope into her despairing world.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, bringing her closer while she cries her heart out. “You’ll be okay.”

Raven has been deprived of so many things for so long, and he wonders if she even remembers when it was the last time she has felt another person’s touch. He’s hugging her so tightly right now, as if she might disappear if he’s not careful enough. Her tears are soaking his cloth, and perhaps that’s the proof he needs to be sure that she’s not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He holds her like that until her exhausted body gives up and she falls asleep. Her breathing pattern is slower now, and he doesn’t dare move in fear of waking her up. Tomorrow, when she’s awake, they can think about what to do next and how to solve their problems. Tomorrow, things will be different.

After so long, at last, a new dawn awaits for both of them.

fin.

-----

a/n: So, for this prompt, I’ve tried to play around a little with Pandora’s myth and I’m happy with how it’s turned out (maybe I could’ve done something different, but more than anything, I wanted to keep it “short”). There are a lot of nice things involving greek mythology, and the stories have always fascinated me. I hope you guys have enjoyed this one, and please, tell me your opinion! It means a lot.

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

Part 33 of Jimercury Kid series

Jim couldn’t understand it. He was completely and utterly baffled.

He had spent the last few weeks watching what he ate, cutting back on higher calorie foods, restricting his sweets, sometimes skipping meals altogether and substituting them for tea or coffee. And yet, as he stood there in his bedroom in front of the mirror, hands struggling with the buttons of his trousers, it all seemed to be for naught.

He could barely fit into any of his clothes. His trousers wouldn’t button, his shirts strained against his chest and even his pyjamas seemed ready to tear at the seams the moment he put them on. He couldn’t understand it; he had tried, he really tried. Yet it seemed he had put on weight rather than lost it.

Freddie had got rid of the scales during his illness, as it depressed him too much to be reminded of how thin and frail he was becoming, so Jim was forced to rely on his own estimation. Given how nothing fit him anymore, it was clear that his current approach to losing weight wasn’t working.

He gave up fighting with the button and pulled the trousers off in frustration, tossing them across the room. He wrapped himself back up in his dressing gown, which seemed to be the only thing that he could breathe in and sat down on the bed in defeat. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander to darker thoughts; what if it kept getting worse? What if Freddie looked at him one day and was disgusted by what he saw? Someone as beautiful as Freddie deserved better. He would tell Jim to pack his bags and leave.

He knew he shouldn’t think of such things, but he couldn’t help himself. He had always been made to feel that he wasn’t good enough for Freddie and this only cemented the idea into his head.

And the worst part? His poor mood was making him crave a biscuit.

He groaned and flopped down onto the mattress.

--

‘I’m in big trouble.’

Phoebe couldn’t help but snigger with laughter as Freddie held up one of Jim’s shirts, which was now noticeably smaller than it had been before it went in the wash.

Recently, Freddie had become insistent on being more independent and enlisted Phoebe to show him how to use various items around the house, including the washing machine. In hindsight, Phoebe should have known that this impulsive venture was destined for disaster; of course, Freddie would insist on doing Jim’s washing to surprise him, and then whack the machine up to 60 degrees despite Phoebe’s warnings. And now Jim’s loosest T-shirt was more of a crop top if anything.

Freddie sighed and set the shirt down, folding it pointlessly. ‘On a scale on one to ten, how angry do you think Jim will be?’

‘For shrinking his entire wardrobe?’ Phoebe pretended to consider the question. ‘At least an eleven.’

This clearly wasn’t the right thing to say, as Freddie groaned and faceplanted onto the kitchen table.

‘Cheer up, you old tart.’ Phoebe grinned and gave the singer a nudge. ‘Jim can never stay cross with you for long. Just explain yourself and he’ll forgive you.’

‘I know he’ll forgive me – it’s the half an hour lecture I’m not looking forward to.’ The Persian grumbled and pushed his chair back. ‘Maybe I should take Khaleel up with me. He can’t shout at me if the baby is there.’

‘Using your child as a shield? That’s low even for you.’

‘Give over, Phoebe. You and Joe were happy enough to use Jim as a scapegoat when you were smuggling cats into the house, so don’t you lecture me about morals.’

Five minutes later, Freddie was warily ascending the staircase towards the master bedroom, a packet of custard creams in one hand and Khaleel scampering at his heels. He was mentally preparing himself for the severe scolding he would inevitably receive, but hopefully a few biscuits would sweeten Jim’s mood. Lord knows, the Irishman could use them; he had been eating so little recently, he was practically wasting away into nothing. (1/2)

‘Darling?’ Freddie called out softly as he pushed open the door, scanning the room until he located Jim lying flat out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. ‘Darling, we brought you something.’

‘Don’t come in.’ Jim replied groggily, not even looking up from where he was laying. ‘I’m hideous.’

Freddie chuckled, not picking up the sincerity in Jim’s tone as he stepped into the room, Khaleel immediately making a beeline for the bed. ‘Hey, that’s my line!’

‘We brought biscuits, Daddy.’ Khaleel said excitedly, bouncing onto the bed and sprawling on top of Jim, resting his chin on the man’s chest. ‘I’ve already had three, so Baba says the rest are for you.’

The mere mention of confectionary made Jim groan. ‘Please take them away. I’ll probably put on ten pounds just looking at them.’

‘What do you mean?’ Freddie asked, sitting himself down beside his husband and son. ‘I thought you liked custard creams.’

Jim gave a loud, heavy sigh, lifting a hand to gently pet Khaleel’s hair. ‘I’m fat.’

There was a brief pause as everyone took a moment to process those two words. Then Freddie chuckled loudly, only stopping when he realised Jim was serious.

‘You’re not fat, you silly fool!’ Freddie exclaimed, looking scandalised. ‘If anything, you could stand to eat more. There’s nothing of you these days!’

‘Oh, come on Freddie.’ Jim couldn’t help but snap, though he quickly lowered his voice when he realised that he had startled Khaleel. Their son hated it when they argued, and he quickly pressed a kiss against the little boy’s nose to reassure him. ‘I know for a fact that I’ve put on weight. I don’t fit into any of my clothes anymore. If that’s not proof, I don’t know what is.’

Freddie felt his cheeks begin to burn and he carefully placed the packet of custard creams out of Jim’s reach, in case the Irishman decided to use them as a weapon. ‘Ah…that might be my fault.’

Jim sat up, sitting Khaleel on his lap as he stared at Freddie in confusion. ‘How is it your fault?’

‘Well, I asked Phoebe to show me how to use some of the appliances around the house.’ Replied Freddie, playing with his fingers awkwardly. ‘And I wanted to surprise you by doing your laundry. But I might have turned the temperature up a little too high.’

Jim’s eyes went wide. ‘You shrunk my clothes?!’

‘In my defence, Phoebe is partially at fault for listening to me when I told him I knew what I was doing.’ Freddie dropped his gaze to his lap, peering up at Jim through his eyelashes. ‘I’m really sorry, darling.’

But Jim just started to laugh, though it sounded like he was on the verge of crying as well. ‘Jesus Christ, Freddie. You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that. I thought I was going to end up needing a forklift to get downstairs.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing wrong with your weight.’ Freddie said gently, leaning over and brushing a kiss against the man’s bearded cheek. ‘You’re perfect just the way you are, isn’t he, Kenny?’

‘I love Daddy’s tummy.’ Khaleel replied, giving Jim’s stomach a pat. ‘He’s like a big cuddly teddy bear!’

‘Exactly. He’s our teddy bear.’ Freddie kissed his husband again, rubbing his cheek against the man’s stubble. ‘So…are you cross with me?’

‘Of course I’m cross with you!’ Jim exclaimed, though he was cracking up as he spoke. ‘I have to invest in a whole new wardrobe now, thanks to your terrible laundry skills!’

‘I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, I promise.’ Freddie pouted and thrust the packet of biscuits under Jim’s nose. ‘Now, stop telling me off and eat my peace offering.’ (2/2)

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

Awwww haha I loved this!

Firstly, I love how you've explored any body image issues that Jim may have had, and how that tied to his insecurities of not being good enough for Freddie.

And oof, baby Jimbo was adorable.

And the worst part? His poor mood was making him crave a biscuit.

Awwww I love my Irish teddy bear so much😂💙

Also, lmao Freddie being absolute shit at using a washing machine, Phoebe's amusement at his friend's antics, and Freddie eventually blaming Phoebe for putting too much faith into him made me crack up😂😂😂 He's such a character, our Freddie.

(More drabbles by writer anon)

(All the parts of this series can also be found under the tag #freddie and jim and their baby on this blog)

[miserablesme]

The Les Miserables Changelog Part 7: 1987-1997 American variations

Hello, everyone! This is the latest edition in my attempt to chronicle all of the musical and lyrical changes which the show Les Miserables has undergone over the years. This time, we're going through the production-specific differences between the official 1987-1997 libretto and the US tour and Broadway productions of the era.

Compared to the West End production, American ones took far fewer liberties relative to what was in the libretto. For the most part, they stuck with what they were told to do. This makes the variations that did crop up all the more fascinating, and I think they are absolutely worthy of a post. Without further ado, let's get started!

Second National Tour

1988-1991

To the best of my knowledge, this is the first US production to feature any variation from the 1987 libretto. The only one I'm aware of: the original "Got a number on his chest" becomes "Got a brand upon his chest" prior to "The Attack of Rue Plumet". This would later be applied to other productions after the costumes were slightly tweaked so that Valjean now has a generic bar on his chest instead of the number "24601". Similarly, it seems as though this production may not have had the normal number for some reason?

Broadway and Third National Tour

Everything from this point downwards refers to these two productions, which seem to have been very much connected as they tended to make the same changes around the same times.

Circa 1988-1989 version

During the "On Parole" segment of the prologue, as Valjean takes his flight a voice can be heard shouting "Stop that man!" I suppose it makes sense that someone would send an alert about his presence, though it sort of distracts from Valjean's high note.

Much like the West End production at the time, these production changed the order of lines in "At the End of the Day". Usually the lines go as follows:

What is this fighting all about?

Will someone tear these two apart?

These productions instead put them in the following order during this timeframe:

Will someone tear these two apart?

What is this fighting all about?

I honestly have no clue what exactly is the purpose of swapping those two lines; nothing seems changed at all in spirit or meaning.

After "Red and Black", Gavroche now whistles prior to announcing General Lamarque's death.

That's literally it... everything else sticks to the libretto.

Circa 1989-1991 version

This is almost identical to the preceding version. One difference: a little joke has been added to the "Waltz of Treachery". Instead of just singing "Let's not haggle for darling Cosette", Thenardier pauses for quite some time, singing: "Let's not haggle for darling... Cosette".

Circa 1991-1994 version

"At the End of the Day" is now in its official format. However, the "Stop that man" line, Gavroche's whistle, and Thenardier's forgetfulness are all still present.

Circa 1993-1994

This variant was only used on Broadway, seemingly not the US tour. It is very close to the 1991-1994 version, with a few differences.

The first difference, which draws on the 1992 UK tour and then-current West End variations, can be heard in "The Runaway Cart". Officially these were the lyrics spoken by townspeople:

Look at that

Look at that

It's Monsieur Fauchelevent

Don't approach

Don't go near

At the risk of your life

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

Stay away

Turn away

There is nothing to do

There is nothing to do

This was the UK tour variant:

Look at that

Stay away

You'll be crushed by the cart

Don't approach

Don't go near

It'll fall on you too

Oh my god, who is that?

It's Monsieur Fauchelevent

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

There is nothing to do

The US productions at this point almost used those lyrics:

Look at that

Stay away

You'll be crushed by the cart

Don't approach

Don't go near

At the risk of your life

Oh my god, who is that?

It's Monsieur Fauchelevent

He is caught by the wheel

Oh the pitiful man

There is nothing to do

Interestingly, the lyrics are identical to their revised form except that the original "At the risk of your life" is maintained instead of "It'll fall on you too". Perhaps the producers thought the scene was more suspenseful without a rhyme scheme?

Regardless, the remainder of the number plays out as was in the libretto, not using the UK tour and West End variants.

Now, prior to "Red and Black" the little sting introduced in the UK tour (and soon added to foreign language productions) is also audible in the Broadway show. To quote myself from Part 5 of this blog:

"If I’m not mistaken, this musical addition was placed in to account for a change in staging. Originally the number began with the barricade set sliding off-stage, revealing the ABC cafe set behind it. However, around the time of this tour the blocking was adjusted. Now, the turntable instead revolved at the beginning of this number, revealing the ABC cafe set on the other end of the turntable and allowing the barricade set to double as the walls of the cafe. I believe the opening sting was added to allow time for this slightly more elaborate staging."

Gavroche no longer whistles before announcing General Lamarque's death.

Circa 1994-1997 version

Used in both the tour and on Broadway, this version is the first time the US tour production actually diverges from the libretto to a significant extent. It uses the changes added in Broadway in 1993, along with some others.

The "Stop that man" line is still present in the prologue.

The 1993-1994 version of "The Runaway Cart" is still used.

Thenardier continues to forget Cosette's name during the "Waltz of Treachery".

The sting before "Red and Black" continues to play.

Calling on the UK tour and West End production, after "Night of Anguish" the instrumental "Drink with Me" tune has been removed. In its place, instrumentals of "A Little Fall of Rain" have been put in, as they already had been in the UK tour and the West End production.

Everything goes as expected right up until the epilogue. The official "And lead me to salvation" was replaced with "I'll lead you to salvation", which had already been used in the Australian and UK tours.

Circa 1997 version

This version (which was seemingly only used for a few months, if even that long) is almost identical to the previous one, with one significant difference. Drawing on the UK tour and the West End production, a sequence in "Lovely Ladies" was totally redone. Instead of the official libretto scene between sailors and prostitutes:

(SAILORS - simultaneously with prostitutes' lines)

Lovely lady, fastest on the street

Wasn't there three minutes

She was back up on her feet

Lovely lady, what you waiting for

Doesn't take a lot of savvy just to be a whore

Come on lady, what's a lady for?

(PROSTITUTES - simultaneously with sailors' lines)

Lovely ladies, lovely little girls

Lovely ladies, lovely little ladies

Lovely girlies, lovely little girls

We are lovely, lovely girls

Lovely ladies, what's a lady for?

There's this exchange between a prostitute and a pimp:

(PROSTITUTE)

God I'm weary, sick enough to drop

Belly burns like fire

Will the bleeding ever stop?

(PIMP)

Cheer up dearie, show a happy face

Plenty more like you here

If you can't keep up the pace

(PROSTITUTE)

Only joking, dearie knows her place

Side note: I only have evidence of this variant being used on the Broadway show, from January 1997. I have no idea if it was ever used in the US tour; the latest audio of the tour pre-official libretto change that I have is from December 1996, and it still uses the original lyrics.

And... that's it. See what I mean when I say the American productions didn't diverge that much from the libretto?

That just about sums this part up! If I missed anything feel free to let me know, as my goal is to create a changelog as thorough and complete as possible. I plan on making more parts in the near future covering all the changes that have been made in the show up until this day (discounting concerts). Any feedback and constructive criticism is very much appreciated.

As a side note, both for this project and my own enjoyment, I want as complete a collection of Les Miserables audios as possible. I already have most of what’s commonly circulated, but if you have any audios or videos you know are rare, I’d love it if you DMed me!

Until the turntable puts me at the forefront again, good-bye…