#BANDIT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE EDITING AND POSTING THAT WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE

[thatdeadaquarius]

Genshin Impact Sagau/Isekai:

You still have acces to characters! ...by possessing them. 👻

PART 2 (you're here!) / Part 1

All art by me! :] leave me a iced coffee?? :0

HEY!! REALLY QUICK PLEASE READ!

STOP tagging my posts as "Yandere Sagau", "Sagau Cult AU", "Sagau Imposter AU" or other related dark content tags.

I'm sick of seeing reblogs that tag my work as dark content, when I'm specifically trying to LIGHTEN UP THE SAGAU TAG 😭😭??

Please be more respectful of this. Actually read the work before you just tag it incorrectly. Tags do matter.

/nm /gen

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Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them)

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: Headcanons, Scenarios

Stars: Tighnari ft. Cyno, Alhaitham, Collei

Comets & Meteors:

Content Warnings: Mild violence (bandit attacks/non-graphic), Reader/you possess people non-consent (mild/consent given eventually)

& Trigger Warnings: Reader/"you" possess people non-consenually for short times, but given consent eventually.

(pls comment if any more!)

Edit 9/7/23: 1,000+ NOTES?? WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY- THANK YOU???

Edit 12/24/23 + 4/5/24:

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My goofy ass forgot to put this here .-.

Anyway this is a full length fanfic now ;)

…mistakes were made.

bad decisions were had, and okay, mayyybbbeee you could’ve taken more precautions against people finding out you were “real”.

afterall, you did see the Eremites reaction, even if it was only two guys (one from each camp) that you possessed :/

word spreads quickly amongst the Eremites groups, you guess, bc next thing you knew, after you’d moved closer to floating around Gandharva Ville,

they’d called that entire bit of forest haunted.

BUT IN YOUR DEFENSE-!! how were you supposed to know they’d blab to the whole camp they didn’t remember the past 20 minutes after you unpossessed them?? and immediately be on guard and jump to possession?? (Irminsul works hard but eremites/sumeru people work harder u guess)

And by the time you were happily patrolling with Collei, the forest rangers were just so chill you didn’t really expect anybody would think a ghost was possessing them (or whatever you were now… maybe,, just code?? it’s unclear)

so when u start to see Tighnari squint at people who’ve technically just “woken up” after you possessed them, mumbling under his breath more and more as a file he carries around gets thicker and thicker-

you start to think,,, maybe.

okay, mayyybbbeee,

you’ve fucked up.

◇

You really can’t help it, first it was making sure Collei got back safely from patrols (she’s ur skrunkly okay, you can’t help it, you’re still aware she’s capable but- the urge to skrunkle overpowers you- )

but then-!! You managed to spot Cyno! :D its ur boy!! ur little meow meow, who can throw people over his shoulder!! He really doesn’t need you, hovering around, but eh ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

what could it hurt! …it’s not like he can see, hear, or feel you anyway…

(unless u possess some animal/machine he thinks is friendly, which. sumeru is not exactly known for cuddly creatures. you don’t feel like experiencing death when possessing stuff just yet-)

imagine ur panic and shock as the General Mahamatra takes on a camp of criminals on the run, only for one of the old ruin machines (the ones that are just LEG and DEATH)

to hear the ruckus and come stomping around a thick patch of trees, it launched missiles!! You can’t warn Cyno, he can’t hear you!! No one can!!! The criminals are unconscious, there’s no other wildlife nearby they all ran off!!! FUCK-

You look at him and try to imagine his perspective as vividly as you can, he’s looking over the criminals, but now he’s turning, so people passed out and the tree-line got it-

Congratulations! You’ve possessed Cyno. 💀

It completely disorients you for a second, but then the panic of dodging the missiles comes back in time for you to make his body dive and roll off to the side, for as long as you can manage a roll too since you remember that’s the best way to dodge missiles in the game

…which works really well! bc he’s so fit and agile tbh

It was weird to finally run again after so long (two months now in teyvat?? wow)

with your feet suddenly in sandals, and feeling the breeze chilling your bare chest (Cyno’s chest??)

yeah its a shock considering most of the ppl you’ve possessed lately have been fully clothed rangers lol

you quickly imagine your ghostly form again, and just like that you’re drifting out of Cyno in ur “ghosty” form, having floated out and away from his back

Poor guy looks so fucking confused, and immediately is wielding his spear again, and is about to get out the crouch you put him in behind the dilapidated stone wall (dammit he better not waste ur efforts to keep him alive-)

until missiles slam and explode against it, he ducks back down (thank fuck) and Cyno just looks around one last time before hopping the wall and running to fight the thing

you notice that when the electro user goes to use his powers, they seem stronger than they were in his fight with the goons??

Maybe he was just going easier on them, since they are only human?

…so why does even Cyno look surprised when he goes to make a simple swipe with his charged spear and a bolt of lightning cracks out from his spear instead…?

…weird.

◇

Tighnari knows you’re here.

You figure he must have collected the reports of people “blacking out” or “sleep-walking” or whatever else and begun to suspect the worst.

…to be honest, you’re not sure what to do.

on one hand, it would be great to have someone know you actually exist, as yourself,

but on the other…

What would Tighnari think?

Of you possessing his rangers?? Temporarily taking ownership of someone without permission??? You’re afraid he’d think the worst of you…

tho u didn’t do so often, as u realized how messed up this could be, and u never did more than make them walk or talk normally for a few minutes before leaving them alone!

… afterall, you missed interacting with people. You were honestly a little worried abt going crazy, which is the only reason u were desperate enough to possess human people in the first place and continue doing so, just to talk to someone and have them look you in the face again like you really did exist as a person here-

(u thought u remember reading somewhere back on Earth that someone can only last 3 days of no other human contact until they start to lose it? but even if that’s not true, at the very least, u dont think talking one-sidedly to yourself all the time is healthy…)

so when Tighnari seems to get that file you’ve seen him adding onto, and gather up supplies, mentioning a day trip to Collei and the others to Sumeru City for some

“further research into these ‘blackouts’, and also contacting some of my colleagues who might know something…”

there’s no way you’re not going with him.

you feel increasingly anxious all day, and at one point when you were sure Tighnari was walled-in by books at the House of Daena, decide to go blow off the anxious energy by possessing an animal to get some food!

…you’re not really feeling comfortable enough to possess a living being into eating yet, that seems hella nonconsensual, and u kinda would be taking the joy of the meal from them tbh-

so u possess a cat!

a ginger cat, bc u like to think if u do anything weird, that ppl in Teyvat have the same type of cats back on Earth and excuse it as just:

“unhinged ginger cats being unhinged ginger cats yep makes sense” lol

you’d managed to be really cute (and wasn’t that weird, having to mimic animal behaviors like rubbing ur side against a person’s legs..)

and convince one of the cooks of Lambad’s Tavern to give u some leftovers, and been about to go off to try out sunbathing before the chore boy, little shit he is, tried to chase you off with a broom!! >:( the audacity!! you clearly have a little plate and everything!!

luckily, you’d finished eating, but still! Ouch!! those bristles fucking hurt-!!!

…you look and see a Sumeru-ified version of a skateboard, and u just know ur little cat face is just ✨v✨

and u steal the little shit’s skateboard as revenge! HAHA thats what you get animal abuser!!!

The kid’s yelling at you as you speedily skate away with ur little cat paws (LMAOO), but the cooks are calling him back in so he can’t pursue, (oh good u hear them get onto him for chasing u off)

and as u slow down to coast along the Sumeru streets,

you feel someone’s eyes staring you down.

You assume it’s just people being amused at a cat skateboarding, obv

but when you look just ahead of you to see a smiling Sumeru citizen or eremite-

Oh. It’s Alhaitham.

and he’s just… watching you.

he’s stopped reading whatever he’s got in his hand, and is slowlyyyy turning his head as you pass by…

You decide to just keep skating away. LMAO

◇

it’s already sunset by the you’re accompanying Tighnari back from Sumeru City, floating along behind him

and you’d been expecting a calm walk back, tbh you’d been feeling a little better bc the ranger hadn’t found much to identify you, yet, luckily-

but bc u can never catch a break:

Tighnari didn’t see the bandits dropping from the goddamn trees BEHIND HIM- and they had like claymores out- those were definitely gonna be killing blows-!!

so yeah.

You possessed Tighnari.

turns out ur pretty good at dodging bc this is second time now you’ve helped dive away for someone in an ambush, ur kinda proud of urself tbh💀

and as you make him take a few leaps back, ur ears twitch in the wind as you duck behind a tree, then float away and out of his body

The poor hybrid ranger visibly sways, then shakes his head out of it, and he flicks his ears in different directions, squinting into the woods, he’s pulled out his bow, so you’re at least reassured he’s aware there are enemies

Like Cyno last week, he too gives up and rolls for the next tree for cover and begins to shoot and take down the bandits

the rest of the week is kinda a blur after that, bc it’s mostly filled with Tighnari running in circles around the camp checking for blackouts, writing letters to Alhaitham and Cyno apparently, and you not possessing anybody out of paranoia :/

Most notably however,

you’ve unfortunately discovered one of the few drawbacks of ur possessions

(y’know, besides not existing essentially, what with no one being able to sense u outside of possessions)

apparently, if someone walks thru you, they accidentally force you to possess them 💀??

while it’d already happened once with a random ranger that you didnt notice was walking up behind you,

you didn’t want to test it again just yet bc it kinda made YOU nauseous and incredibly dizzy when this happened

(as in, u stumbled like a drunk after this poor ranger woman ran thru u, until you were so dizzy and the world spun sm u had to make her sit on the literal ground, luckily she just thought she was just really dehydrated when she came back into herself 😭)

so obviously, you’ve avoided crowds to keep this forced possession thingy from happening all the time

like at the Forest Rangers meetings or something, ur watching off to the side, instead of standing with them or beside them

so needless to say, after about a week and half since possessing Tighnari,

you definitely did not mean to possess Collei.

She’d been in her wheelchair today, the Eleazar flaring up and tiring her body out

so her wheels had been entirely silent when she rolled up to where you and Tighnari were leaning over some strange experiments of his- you were just trying to figure out what all these mirrors were for, didn’t he do plants more-?

you didn’t even know what the hell happened, you just felt that familiar dropping sensation, like a small drop on a rollarcoaster, blinked, and then suddenly you were sitting instead of standing/floating???

Oh god-

before you could even begin to process that Tighnari was in front of you instead of beside you, the world was shorter,

The fox-eared ranger yelled in triumph, grinning with sharp fangs and spinning around to look at you (Collei)-

“Ah-ha! It worked! Finally, I saw you! I saw you, I-?? Oh gods, Collei, NO-!”

And with quick reflexes, Tighnari’s summoned his bow, but he’s clearly confused on what to do about this situation, taking aim, but also holding the air glowing with dendro not as taunt as you’d seen him in the battle with the bandits

You scramble to raise your hands up, brown poofy sleeves rise to your command, light green hair you can feel on your shoulders, everything is familiar, but not-

“WAIT! I’m sorry!! This was an accident, I promise! I don’t intend to hurt Collei, or you!! Please, just, don’t shoot me, I think you’ll just hurt Collei instead…”

You talk him down and decide, that if he’s put this much effort into finding out about your existence, is an incredible leader and friend to everyone around him, and was able to accept the traveler and many other strange things that’ve (probably? maybe?) already happened in Sumeru (god fuck u dont even know where in the timeline you are)

that you can probably trust Tighnari with your existence, and your powers.

…He nearly passes out.

◇

Life has gotten a lot funnier, and happier, since you told Tighnari (and some of the more trustworthy rangers and Collei by proxy) about ur existence (or really, confirmed it)

He’d been wary at first, appropiately cautious and demanding answers, of which you were happy to give and explain yourself

luckily, after a whole lot of “hmm, I see, no, I think I’m understanding-��� , finger on his chin and everything

he’s said it’s okay to hang around the rangers, so long as you don’t possess anyone anymore without them knowing about you/with permission (outside of emergency situations that is)

tho he did seem surprisingly understanding and accepting of you doing it before after you explained how u were just unbelievably lonely and were lowkey paranoid of going crazy-

The rangers seem to believe you’re some kind of god/spirit thing, as you had no explanation yourself as to what you were ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

Tighnari’s also given you the rule to help out around here if you’re going to “ghost-laze around”, as he puts it lol

you’ve redirected ruin machines/feral animals away from rangers many times by now, to the many thanks and gratefulness of the rangers

you’ve even managed to even figure out how to push Collei’s wheelchair around when she uses it!

mostly by possessing tree after tree and using vines, or occasionally a fungi that can fly so you can nudge her along

she has insisted that you possess a ruin guard and carry her just to try it… however, Tighnari overheard her talking to the forest rangers’ dog (you) and immediately knew shit was up and banned you from doing it (at least not yet)

While most rangers are okay with you possessing them for a few minutes (and they’ve developed this bandana wrapped around their upper arms policy of “red = no possess, green = go ahead”)

Collei is the most okay with it and for longer, so you “won’t be that lonely ever again!” :’)

Tighnari is busy with stuff, so you can’t possess him as often, but the ranger has developed a theory that the more you possess someone, the more they can sense your feelings during possession/while floating around in ghost form too,

so he’ll occasionally feel you in the room with him, and start talking out loud in some one-sided convo to make you feel more included to make up for not being able to interact with him sometimes :)

(after taking you off his list of worries he’s still pretty swamped, not that he’ll tell you that, as he’s still not quite sure why he’s so, warm and safe feeling when you’re around, so willing to trust you so naturally, that it makes him want to at leats pretend to be worried abt a possessing ghost god/thing hanging out with the rangers now)

◇

basically everything is great!

the rangers are okay with you, they got a system to interact with you consensually, Tighnari and Collei are fond of you, you get to finally have something to do instead of floating around all the time (joining ranger missions)

and look!! they’ve even been kind enough to build you a little shrine or altar of sorts! Notes about Sumeru life, recipes for you to try, occasionally some books for you to read, and even some snacks/desserts for you to try out the next time someone possesses you and gives consent! (you leave them a little note stuck on their hand with your question for specific actions like that, if there isn’t another ranger there to ask for you when you unpossess them)

and everything is so cool, and everyone is so sweet and accepting

…Until Alhaitham shows up in Gandharva Ville, knocking on Tighnari’s door.

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AHHHH idk if this is any good! sorry it took so long, it was mostly the art 😭😭

anyway its not the best (the writing or the art) but i hope it’s at least some content to look at and be entertained for a minute!

also figured it was a good day to post what with the attack on our beloved Ao3 (tho i think it’s back up now?)

anyway, feel free to leave critiques on this one! (which I’ll probably turn this into a real fic one day soon, but not sure what to do with the plot/do a diff setup than this or what)

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sorry abt the radio silence! I just needed to close my mailbox bc i had a lot of stuff to answer, ur welcome to send submissions to chat/non-requests!

and also this took time to make (once again, mostly the art, bc thats how it always is with art isnt it 😭)

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Safe Travels Stranger,

💀♒

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♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @justlostintheinternet   / @assassinsnake101 /@sun-wokung

If ur tag is here and didnt work, idk why!

Maybe see if your listed as a "searchable blog"?

[dangermousie]

2023 End of Year Post - kdrama edition

Yes, we have a some of December left, and I want to check out Death's Game but whatever. I got time for this now and not sure if I will have later so here goes.

This is only going to cover kdramas that aired in 2023; if I watched it but it was made in a different year, it’s not on the list. This was an excellent kdrama year, the likes of which we hadn't had in a long time.

DRAMAS WATCHED

In order of liking from least to most as opposed to pure quality so pls don't come for me, fans of some popular dramas that are on my nope list. Also, I am including if I’ve seen enough to make up my mind; yes I realize that’s inaccurate, but that’s my list.

33. The Escape of the Seven - this is so aggressively stupid and mean that it feels like the makers are playing a practical joke seeing how much their audience will take. This has a season 2 coming, so the answer is a lot.

32. Behind Your Touch - the FL gets superpowers by touching people's and animals' butts. Yes, you read this right. Do I really need to add anything?

31. King the Land - yes, it was a hit. Yes, it stars popular actors. I HATED IT LIKE IT TOUCHED MY BUTT TO GET SUPERPOWERS!!! Plastic people in paint by the numbers story, with about as much genuineness or retability as a barbie aisle in walmart. I never expect much from Yoona so whatever, but to have LJH go from The Red Sleeve to this boggles the mind.

30. Mrs Durian - this is so dumb that I think I lost a few IQ points watching this, but its insanity becomes entertaining - I mean what kdrama can you name where a daughter in law declares her love and lust for her mother in law at a family dinner?

29. The Matchmakers - there is nothing offensive about this drama at all. But there is nothing in the least interesting either. If elevator music took drama shape, it would be this show.

28. Destined with You - sorry, Rowoon, I am still fond of you, but you are two for two in drama duds department this year. This is a drama where I loved ep 1, liked ep 2, was indifferent to 3 and...you get the point. Each ep was worse than the one before, and I bailed before I was dragged into a cosmic singularity.

27. Oasis - great first two episodes. Unfortunately it was not a two ep show. The performances are solid but the story is just not there - the effect is like a fancy chef making an amazing sauce to put on pig slop.

26. Boyhood - it's not you, it's me in action. I can see why people would like it but a 34-year old playing a high schooler in a Weak Hero Class 1 Slapstick Edition is no go for me.

25. Castaway Diva - it's so precious and kooky in the most annoying ways, with the most well-adjusted abused castaway in history. I like magic realism when done by Jorge Amado, but this ain't Amado.

24. Island - it had a good concept, good cast and fun visuals but the execution deserved one of ML's swords through the neck.

23. The Worst of Evil - if I wanted an American show, I'd watch one. Very solid performances though.

22. Song of the Bandits - period edition of what I said about The Worst of Evil.

21. Welcome to Samdalri - and goodbye to any hope of emotional involvement.

20. Joseon Attorney - I have yet to like a single sageuk centered around a profession and this was not an exception. I guess it could be worse but it also could have been so much better.

19. Twinkling Watermelon - everyone loved this drama. Everyone except for me. It's the kind of precious that sets my teeth on edge and I couldn't stand half the main characters we were supposed to root for. I guess I like my fruits to shine steadily.

18. Our Blooming Youth - probably the biggest disappointment on this list. This is not a bad drama by any means, but with that cast and that story (I loved the novel), I was hoping for a memorable sageuk not merely all right.

17. Vigilante - it has the emotional complexity and nuance of a punch to the throat but it gives us quasi-gay openly-murderous dudes going after psychos and Yoo Ji Tae holding feral Nam Joo Hyuk by his hoodie at his feet.

16. The Forbidden Marriage - expected nothing but it was a surprisingly enjoyable trifle of a costume drama that was also quite pretty.

15. Arthdal Chronicles: Sword of Aramun - a hot mess but such an entertaining epic one. And it gave us TWO Lee Jun Kis in period gear and who am I to cavil at the bounty of God?

14. The Story of Park's Marriage - it's a trifle, a souffle, so light it might blow away, but it keeps my attention and is so fun and sweet.

13. My Lovely Liar - a huge surprise, that manages to mix a murder mystery and a romcom, and shocked me by showing Hwang Minhyun can act.

12. Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938 - the original ToNT was my fave drama of its year and I did not think it needed a sequel. But this is not a sequel but more of a side-quel and is such a total delight with brotherly love, adventures, romance and hijinks. It's a joy.

11. Perfect Marriage Revenge - it's actually very hard to do a soap right but this slim 12 ep drama managed. So fun, so crazy, such a good ship!

10. My Lovely Boxer - not really about sports, but about two broken people finding salvation because of and in each other. Also, if you like age gap romances, this is delicious. Sort of loses steam by the end but c’est la vie.

9. The Secret Romantic Guesthouse - this was a sageuk that was not on my radar with a bunch of actors I was not familiar with but it took my heart away. A good plot that was perfectly paced, characters and ships I adored, a logical ending. This is one of the biggest positive surprises of the year for me.

8. Tell Me That You Love Me - a slice of life remake (sort of, it's more "inspired by") of my favorite jdrama of all time. It's not as good as the jdrama because nothing could be, but it's an aching lovely story with some incredible performances.

7. See You In My 19th Life - funny and romantic and haunting and hopeful and odd. This was one of my favorites of the year.

6. Alchemy of Souls: Light and Shadow - it's rare for me to like a (1) sequel (2) with FL actress change (3) that is a Hong Sisters drama. But this was such a gorgeous, surprisingly achy story of love and loss and love regained with some cool monster fighting in the middle. Between the two seasons, this is the first Hong Sisters' drama I enjoyed from beginning to end in well over a decade.

5. My Demon - so tropey (chaebols, supernaturals) but it proves that these tropes are popular for a reason. The chemistry is fire, the story is unpredictable and the whole thing is an addictive delight. A rare drama where I like each new ep more than the last one.

4. Goryeo Khitan War - an old school sageuk in every meaning of the term (no romance, no eye candy, lots of bearded men, battles and politics), this feels like watching an epic movie more than a drama. The vast cast all earns their place and the performances (mainly from character actors given a chance to shine) are incredible.

3. Call It Love - two very very damaged people finding love and healing with each other. This is a narrative very hard to do to my satisfaction but when it's done well, as here, there are few things that can hold a candle to it.

2. My Dearest - a masterpiece of cinematography, narrative, performances. This is an old-school epic romance in the best sense of the term. If it doesn't make you swoon or break your heart, there is something wrong with you. A story of two untraditional, strong-willed, flawed people who fall in love in the middle of the horrifying Qing invasion of Korea and have to deal with all that the world throws at them, this is a bona fide masterpiece.

1 - Moon in the Day - who knew my favorite kdrama of the year will star a store brand Domyoji from Extraordinary You and an actress I was never familiar with. But this part period/part modern fantasy tale of doomed cursed lovers is everything I knew I wanted and everything I didn't know I wanted but did. Two lovers where their love did not save them and in modern day it might not again, has got me obsessed the way I haven't been in years.

FAVORITE DRAMA

Moon in the Day - if there is such a thing as a drama made perfectly for me, this gorgeous, emotionally haunting, utterly romantic, twisty tale is it.

WORST DRAMA

The Escape of the Seven. This drama is proof that demons exist and not sexy ones like Song Kang but horrible nasty ones who delight in the torment this hot mess inflicted on its viewers.

FAVORITE MALE CHARACTER

Do Ha, Moon in the Day - a Silla general and a consummate killer who committed atrocities on the orders of his monster father and yearned to die for them, who found the meaning in life in loving his enemy but it did not make him better, a man so obsessed he literally was around for 1500 years of horrifying ghostly existence and still went "worth it" for a woman who killed him as long as he knew she loved him while she did it. He's intense and competent and beyond fucked up and has never had a normal day and I love him so so so very much from a safe distance.

FAVORITE FEMALE CHARACTER

Gil Chae, My Dearest - she starts out as vain and spoiled but the horrors that break so many others bring out all her fierce survivor potential and she becomes such a force of nature - capable of incredible love but also sacrifice and strength and compassion.

Runner Up: Shin Hye Sun's reincarnator in See You In My 19th Life - quirky, damaged, strong, so odd and so vulnerable at once.

NEEDS TO BE MURDERED

There are a lot of characters who fit that category (King Injo in My Dearest? My God) but the crown belongs to So Ri Bu from Moon in the Day. You think you've seen abusive parents but until you've seen a man abuse his son his whole life and then continue for 1500 years after his death, you ain't seen nothing!

FAVORITE SHIP

The doomed by the narrative OTP of Moon in The Day. Only thing that's better than enemies to lovers is enemies while lovers and their impossible relationship where her killing him is a supreme act of love and his refusing to let go is so strong that he stays around for 1500 years watching her, helpless as she dies over and over again, is everything you ever want.

Runner up: Jang Hyun/Gil Chae, My Dearest. They are so strong and so damaged and it takes them so long to figure out what they feel and what the other person feels but their love and sacrifice and complexities are perfect.

FAVORITE SECONDARY OTP

Kim Shi Yeol/Hong Joo, The Secret Romantic Guesthouse - an assassin bodyguard pretending to be a carefree scholar and a widow of the man he killed to protect his king (and whose life was destroyed as a result.) I enjoyed the main OTP of this drama but I was utterly and completely unhinged for the secondary couple.

I'd have probably picked Rang and his mermaid from TotNT 1938 even over them, but they really were the main OTP of that drama.

NOTP

King the Land couple seems like an easy target but honestly, they are both so terribly bland and antiseptic and marketing by committee, they kinda deserve each other. So I am gonna go with Destined with You, one half of which thinks supernaturally roofying someone into loving them is cute and the other half thinks dating one woman while wooing another is totally a-ok. Ugh.

FAVORITE SCENE

There is no competition for the scene in the slave market in My Dearest, where Jang Hyun finds Gil Chae - the way he screams and tries to clutch the hem of her skirt will live in my head forever.

And the scene where he 'wins' that horrifying bet, or the scene where she finds him in a pile of bodies - they are as good also. Or when he fights off a squad to protect her even though he's sick. That whole drama is perfect.

Runner up: the scene of Do Ha executing Ri Ta's family, covered in blood, as she looks at him from the crowd in Moon in the Day.

Or the scene where he talks about how he cannot live as a person but at least maybe she will kill him and he will die as one. Or when her confession in the past intercuts with his walking in the present, or when he comes home in his bloodied armor and she finds he has a fever and it's the first tender touch he's probably ever known. Her murdering So Ri Bu saying she knows she's going against filial piety in loving her parents' murderer, the way they hug, both bloody, as he says "let's live." The way she says she can't go on as she's hit rock bottom and he replies she cannot quit because she must accompany him to his rock bottom now. Honestly, the drama is a font of amazingness.

Also, the opening scene of Goryeo Khitan War or the scene of Yang Gyu ordering to shoot the captives and having to do so himself.

The OTP meeting again at the intersection at the end of ep 1 of Tell Me That You Love Me. SHS comforting ABH as he's having a traumatic breakdown in 19th Life. The love-making scene in Call It Love. There were a lot of great scenes this year.

BIGGEST CRUSH

Lee Jang Hyun, My Dearest - is that even a competition? He's flawed - vain, often emotionally closed off, not great at processing emotions, lashing out when hurt. He is also incredibly heroic in a real, knows the cost but bears it, kind of way. Whatever he does, he commits utterly but it's never without understanding the cost. He felt both larger than life and utterly real. He went through hell and maintained his soul and the way he loved Gil Chae was breath-taking to behold.

Runner Up: Yang Gyu, Goryeo Khitan War - an experienced military commander who wins an impossible victory even as it ravages his soul. Competence is sexy as fuck.

BEST SCENE STEALER CHARACTER

Rang, Tale of the Nine Tailed 1938 - 1938 really was Rang's chance to shine and he took it. For a character I started out disliking in the original, he really stole my entire heart in this drama. I am so glad he got his happy ending with his brother and his girl.

Runner Up: Crown Prince, My Dearest. He started out as a sheltered, spoiled aristocrat, convinced the world owed him for existing. He grew up slowly and painfully into an amazing man. And then was murdered for it and I cried.

NEEDS A SEQUEL

Arthdal - it leaves the story at a good stopping point but it's very much a "world in flux, adventures and conflicts continue" ending and I would love to see more of these characters. I know we won't but it would have been nice.

NEEDS SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

Behind Your Touch - should have been snipped at birth.

TOO MANY SCISSORS TAKEN TO IT

Vigilante - I don't mean it had scissors taken to it because it's not cdrama and there is no NRTA, but this drama would have benefitted from being longer. I mean, I love fights and gay polycules as much as the next tumblr person but a bit more character development would not have come amiss. (ahaha - I said come. Leave me alone.)

TROPE THAT NEEDS TO DIE

I don't care about cops/doctors/trash collectors/whoever - workplace drama centering on their "cases" needs to die. I hate procedurals from any country and Korea is no exception.

FAVORITE TROPE WE’VE SEEN A LOT OF

Supernatural critter devoted to their OTP with all the power of their long life.

BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT

Our Blooming Youth - it was far from terrible but it was a giant meh. I was so excited to see Park Hyung Sik in a sageuk (that wasn't the hot mess that was Hwarang) and I adored the source novel. It actually started well and then...it's like Revenge of the Beige!

BIGGEST GOOD SURPRISE

I want to say Moon in the Day but to be honest, I was excited by posters and trailers so it wasn't wholly a surprise despite not having much of an opinion on the actors before I saw them. So I am going to say My Demon. I was bored by the trailers, I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a Kim Yoo Jung drama and before this year I would have said Song Kang was an incredibly limited actor in everything I've seen him in and not appealing to me at all. And here I am rabidly rabiding for this drama!

If I am not limiting myself to dramas but can use this for actors - Hwang Minhyun in My Lovely Liar. I genuinely did not think the man could act and then he gave such a pitch-perfect, nuanced performance out of nowhere!

2023 DRAMAS I HAVEN’T SEEN THAT I MOST WANT TO WATCH

I have actually watched all the kdramas that aired this year that I wanted to check out except for Evilive. I am saving this for when I have time.

BEST NON-2023 DRAMA I’VE WATCHED IN 2023

I don't know if I'd say it's the best but Say You Love Me (2004) with Kim Rae Won as a quasi monk seduced away from his true love by an evil older woman was a hell of a ride.

MOST ANTICIPATED

Love Song for Illusion (Lady assassin falls for her royal target who has two personalities), Captivating the King (lady spy falls for her royal target who is tormented) - notice a theme? Also Flower that Blooms at Night because Honey Lee in a sageuk, The Life of Mrs Ock (Lim Ji Yeon in a sageuk), The Love Story of Chun Hwa (an "erotic" sageuk, hmmmm, what?!), Hong Rang (Lee Jae Wook in a super angst sageuk), Queen Woo (that cast and set in Goguryeo!), Wong Kyung (about Lee Bang Won's wife and I love the cast.) Basically, if it's period, I am there with bells on.

[oneatlatime]

I’m curious as to how your blog works. In my mind it goes like this: you watch an episode, write down notes as you’re watching, go back to the episode to make screenshots, write down the episode summary/commentary, post it on tumblr, watch the next episode and repeat. But I wonder, do you actually only watch an episode once or do you go through multiple watches (full or partial)? And do you actually not watch the next episode until you’re completely done with the previous one? Regardless of your methods, it’s so much work and I really respect your self-control (I probably would have ended up binging the show.)

I watch, for the first time, with split screen between the show and where I type notes. With my hand hovering over the pause button like a coked out Jeopardy contestant, I pounce on places I want to make a comment, take a screenshot, and note down the time stamp and a vaguely point form, typo-riddled summary of what I want to say. Then it's back to watching. This doesn't quite work in particularly enthralling scenes, where I inevitably end up too involved in the show to remember to pause, in which case I rewind to my last timestamp and rewatch. Same applies if I can't catch a piece of dialogue. For example, in the scene in The Blind Bandit where Toph explains her earthbending, I watched that three or four times through before progressing on to the next scene because I was having difficulty understanding Toph's lines. Then after I've finished watching, I go through and translate my word vomit into something legible, clean up the screenshots if needed, throw in a 'keep reading' break and some tags, and then it's good to go. I watch, take notes, edit, and post all in one session, based on only one watch through (albeit with some scenes repeated if necessary).

This is what I've done for all episodes so far, except The Storm. I lost count of how many times during The Storm I forgot that I was supposed to be taking notes. I was far too sucked in. And then the post autosave function malfunctioned and I hit the wrong button and the whole thing disappeared. Luckily I had an archived version of the text on my hard drive, but I did have to go through and retake the screenshots, so I watched that episode twice through while blogging about it. I've also watched it once since, just for entertainment.

I figure the choppiness this approach inevitably introduces into the viewing experience mimics what it actually would have been like to view these episodes the first time they aired, since (to my knowledge) Nickelodeon had and still has commercial breaks.

And yes! I am resisting the urge to watch ahead. I watch one at a time, usually devoting my evening to it. Sometimes between posts I'll rewatch episodes I've already seen and blogged about. I've seen Bato of the Water Tribe an embarrassing number of times, and episode 1 at least 4 times. But I'm not watching ahead, and I'm doing the closest thing to liveblogging that the medium allows.

I used to do freelance transcription (and may go back), so I'm very used to making a direct line between the content on the screen and my keyboard. It's a useful skill!

It is a lot of work, and I'm sure there's a more efficient way to do it, but I enjoy it. I can spend two hours typing up a post and it will feel like 20 minutes.

[offical-ouroboros]

~introduction~

Late to the party. Here's my intro! I guess.

I'm Uro! I go by it/its.

I do kinda whatever here. I post art, clips and edits from games, and more recently am getting into writing fanfiction.

That's. About it. This was mostly for the fanfiction thing.

--what to expect from any fan fiction blurbs and HCs I write--

Trans reader (FtNB/M) unless specified in request.

You instead of Y/N or _____ lol

Lots of dumb fluffy stuff, projecting myself onto reader character at times. Sorry! I'm used to it :p

Mostly x male characters, but I can write for any gender.

Personal HCs for characters getting put in

I like monsters. A lot. Ask me for x monsters. :)

How to request: Just send me an ask.

What do I write for: Check out what I've recently been talking about! Anything to do with horror has a chance.

Ex: DBD, Borderlands, Poppy Playtime, IDV, Overwatch, Slasher Horror, Monster Hunter Monsters (PLATONIC), D&D (general x monster/race things), HLVRAI, TF2

DOs

Only really x reader or general HCs, but I can also write for poly :)

Fluff, Angst, Suggestive Content

Romantic, Platonic, Familial

Yandere(??) I suppose

DONTs

The obvious ones. I don't have much to say here.

I won't make incest.

Explicit abuse.

Proper NSFW/Smut, just not my thing

Characters off the top of my head I'll write for:

DBD: Literally any killer but Krueger I hate DBD Krueger. Survs (esp Nea and Sable...) also the Entity!

Borderlands: Vault Hunters + Co., Bandits, Colonel Hector, Tina (plat/fam only for bdl2 version.), Basically any enemy actually, platonic with any creatures

Poppy: Any monsters lol. In my versions, they're all inhabited by ADULT workers. Toon/Normal versions included.

IDV: Anyone, hunter preference

Overwatch: Junkers (NOT HAMMOND), Sigma, Lifeweaver, Moira, Illari, Luna (Paris Omnic <3), Omnics in general

Slasher Horror: Like literally anyone, just make sure you specify what they're from/which version you'd like

Monster Hunter: I love almost all the monsters (bugs included) so feel free to ask for anything plat/fam with them

D&D: Mimics for sure. Maybe some Baldur's Gate/Dragon Age characters!

HLVRAI: All characters, especially Benry.

TF2: Literally anyone, pref for mercs at least

Scopophobia: John Doe, Maison, Heim

[babyblueetbaemonster]

Top 10 Skyrim Characters

tagged by @ark-sided, thank you for tagging me.

Minor characters edition. Not in a particular order. Long post.

Fultheim He's just some guy stay at the Nightgate Inn, who happened to carried a Blades sword. Totally not suspicious at all, haha. When you asked him about the the Gourmet, he'd tell you "He just wants to be left alone. But no… that's not really it. It's like… he wants to talk. Likes people and all. But he stays separate, because he's supposed to. Kind of sad, really." and I was like NO U! You're lonely and sad. You want to hang but you're trying to hide from the Thalmor! You're talking about yourself!

Einarth He's one of the Greybeards. They all took a vow of silence. When Arngeir refused to help us, he yelled at him, just because I'm the Dragonborn. Thank you, master Einarth.

Sondas Drenim He's a miner in Darkwater Crossing. He noticed his colleagues have bad coughs. He saw this before and knew what to do. He immediately wrote a letter to White Phial for medicines. He's so nice and caring.

Orgnar He works in the Sleeping Giant Inn. Tired of Delphine bossing around. Same as us.

Legate Fasendil He is a High Elf and the Imperial Legion officer in the Rift Imperial Camp. Most officers in camps don't talk much, but he has a lot of stories to share. We can talk about war, his home, his opinion, some history, and the battle at Hammerfell.

Alethius He is dead. His body can be found at the entrance to Nchuand-Zel. He's probably killed by Nimhe, the Poisoned One. According to his death scene, and my mediocre detective skill. The researchers were under attacked by frost spiders. He escorted all of them through the door safely (for now, or then) and closed it from the outside, battled the spiders and died like a hero. Rest in peace, soldier.

Talsgar the Wanderer He brings the music out of cities to everyone across the world. One time I request a song at Darkwater Crossing, everyone lives here gather to listen his music. I really appreciate that. He's strong, too. He can defend himself effortlessly. He's good with sword. He can cast Stoneflesh, Lesser Ward and Healing spells. He's just so cool.

Fjola She is a Nord warrior and the bandit leader of Mistwatch. She kinda just dump her old husband but left without a word. She found some bandits, beat them to submission and become their leader.

Aventus Aretino "Aren't you a little young to do the Black Sacrament?" "Yes. Yes I am."

Runil He's a priest of Arkay in Falkreath. He's an old kind elf respected and loved by all. From Falkreath to Skaal, people put him in their mind. He try his best to hide his history of being a leader of Aldmeri battlemages. He regrets and ashamed of what he did back in the Great War. Strangely, Runil seems to had a prophetic dream of dragons and the Dovahkiin. Like what? Who you really are and what does it all means?

[aparticularbandit]

in which bandit starts a peggy/dottie/angie soulmate timer au and none of you should be surprised i miss writing soulmate timer stuff just let me have this

[randomnameless]

I write and write and make comparisons between a swimsuit and themes like tolerance and freedom,

But in this fandom, some people draw more dubious comparisons, especially ones regarding a certain game - and I warned (who?) at the beginning of the FE16 trend that while it wanted to have a Jugdral flair, it obviously failed. You have a sprinkle of Jugdral in FE16, but it’s only a surface image, or even a mirage.

“CrEsT SyStEM”? Holy Blood? No, those comparisons at least were made in good faith and had some merits.

One of the worst comparisons was noted by several friends, a certain someone, wanting to push a certain ship involving a certain character, managed to write :

“Every route makes one villain from Genealogy of the Holy War the hero, Edelgard being Arvis, Dimitri being Eldigan, Claude being Travant and Rhea being Manfroy”

:(

This will not be a post about Manfroy’s hips, you are warned

Who is Eldigan (Eldie)?

A man who is the carrier of Hezul’s holy blood, Hezul being the founder of Augstria, a sovereign state. Everyone loves Eldie, he is good-looking, strong, kind, chivalrous and has the magic blood that makes him able to use his magic sword.

Is he the King of Agustria? No.

The King is a man named Chagall, who has an ugly sprite, doesn’t have Hezul’s magic blood and cannot use the magic sword. He also killed his father, and is really jealous of Eldie.

However, Eldie’s line (House Nodion) has sworn to support the royal line of Augustria (Chagall’s), so even if everyone wants Eldie to ascend to the throne, he will never accept it. Even if Chagall pisses on him, or imprisons him because he felt like it, Eldie will not rebel against his King. Eldie is seen as a Camus, because he will fight and die for Chagall, and his country, when Sigurd is... more or less attacking Chagall (because Sigurd’s forces are occupying Augstria and Sigurd’s orders are to bring peace to the land, Chagall doesn’t want peace and wants to fight to retake his throne). If everything ends well, Eldie will promise Sigurd he will try to talk one last time his king, try to convince him to accept a ceasefire and peace with Granvalle - but Chagall is an ass and beheads Eldie.

Dimitri... isn’t like Eldigan, at all. First of all, Dimitri is supposed to be the crown Prince, instead of being a mere knight sworn to serve the royal family. Secondly, Dimitri doesn’t die because his liege beheads him - Edelgard will never be his liege - he dies either by defending his borders against someone who is bringing war to his lands and wants his head, or he dies because he pursues Edelgard in a three way battle in Gronder.

We do not know what Rufus is like to his nephew, but I am pretty sure he is no Chagall.

The only common points Eldie and Dimitri have is their blond hair, and sometimes, their manner of death. there is also something about bonds with their sisters but we’re not here for that

Who is Travant?

Travant is the King of the Thracian Kingdom, a proto Nohr-like place, where farming is difficult, and the people living there are starving and often turn to banditry or become mercenaries to be able to earn some money.

Thracia’s neighbour, the Manster District (Manster) could export food to Thracia... but they do not, because, well, the people in charge of the Manster District do not like Thracians a lot (and use slurs to talk about them, but Quan is a special character). So Thracians raid the border, with hopes to reunite the peninsula, with the dream that, one day, they will seize the arable lands in the North.

Travant has an infamous line, which more or less went like “I will unite the peninsula for the sake of my people, and if that process dooms me to hell then so be it”.

And to hell he will go, because by Jugdral standards, ambushing Quan and his family in a desert (horses cannot move in sand, another example of gameplay and story integration!) with horseslayers, is despicable, especially since he leaves no one alive, even, apparently, killing Quan’s young daughter Altena.

(Travant ranks pretty high in the douchebag ladder).

With time, Altena grows, unaware that Travant, who adopted her, isn’t her real Father, Quan was. Things happen, Altena discovers the truth, and Travant finally achieves his dream by making a suicidal charge against Seliph’s forces (he doesn’t even bring his magic lance to the fight!), with him dead, finally, the peninsula can be united under one leader.

Claude? Also has a wyvern. And comes from another land than our hero (but which one?). And... that’s all.

If Almyra raids every sunday, it is not because they are starving, but because they are doing it, per Cyril, for funsies. Claude pretends to be a schemer and underhanded, but he never does something on the scale of the Yied Ambush (the moment where Travant pulled out the horseslayers against Quan). Claude never takes a child hostage, and never orders his daughter to punish civilians.

If Claude wants to unite the two countries, it is not because he wants his people to finally leave their life as mercenaries and bandits behind, but because he wants people to understand each other.

Edit because I’m sleeping : Travant will die for his dream. Claude... always survive. Always. I am not saying he doesn’t believe in it, but he is not as desperate as Travant is.

Comparing Claude to Travant is like comparing... Virion to Iago. They are both male with long hair, and pretend to scheme. Bar that? Well... they both have hands...? I guess?

Who is Manfroy?

Manfroy is... both a mastermind and a plothole.

Manfroy was the one in the shadows engineering a war in Jugdral, not because he likes wars, nope, but because he wanted political instability to recreate the Loptyr Empire.

He will help a douchebag to conquer the world, and use him to sire Julius, the only person in Jugdral who can become a host for the dark dragon Loptyr. The last time Loptyr was there... well, apparently it wasn’t roses and sunshines, slavery was rampant and citizens were pitted against each other to make sure the strongest ones would become citizens of the Empire.

Why Manfroy does this? It depends on the sources, but it is heavily implied Manfroy is part of a sect (sect as in group of people practicing a religion, here the Loptyr religion/cult) persecuted by a lot of people in Jugdral - to the point where Agustrians were having witches hunts to chase them. Manfroy and his followers escaped the the Yied desert, touted to be an inhospitable land. His people had no where and no one to turn to, so they prayed to their God Loptyr (who doesn’t give 3 figs about them).

Manfroy is thus the Archbishop of the Loptyr Church. He also killed his son in law, for some reason, and planned to turn his granddaughter in a zombie. Manfroy also supports (and conducts?) the child hunts, basically the plot in the second part of FE4 and FE5 where the Granvalle Empire and the members of the Loptyr Church round up children, take them from their families (sometimes by killing said families) to send them to Granvalle, with the highly suggested goal of sacrificing them one way or another to Loptyr.

On the not-so bright side, Manfroy doesn’t kill Julia - when Loptyr/Julius expressly asking him to do so, because Julia is the only person, story-wise, able to kill him.

What a guy! 

Now, Rhea?

There are some comparisons to be made, unlike Claude and Dimitri, but again, it reinforces how they could be seen as foils.

Rhea? Yes, also engineers the birth of a vessel.

However, unlike Manfroy who “forced” Arvis and Deirdre to marry and have a baby, Byleth’s birth, born from the union of Jeralt and Sitri, was completely unexpected. There is no trace in canon of Rhea arranging Jeralt and Sitri’s meeting, and future wedding.

Rhea? Also wants her granddaughter to “die”?

Well, not this one, since Rhea thinks Billy is actually an amnesiac Sothis. Billy would just recover their memories.

Rhea? Doesn’t start a war to build her Sothis vessel. Hell, the DLC is about her previous experiment to resurrect her mother - it was a failure, but someone supposes she fails because she did not want to bleed dry the Four Apostles. Rhea wishes to resurrect a benevolent Goddess (when Manfroy knows Loptyr is... far from benevolent) but will not kill to do so.

Sitri? Asked her to save Billy, by offering her own life.

The most interesting foil though is... how Rhea and Manfroy both belong to a community that was persecuted by others, the people they are supposed to live with.

Manfroy? Went the “if the world hates me, then I will hate it and burn it down” route.

Rhea? Doesn’t want to kill humans, hell, she and her brother disagreed because she didn’t want to kill children of the people who wronged her! She opens a monastery and offers guidance to anyone who needs it, a shelter for the needy and tries her best to protect peace and the humans living under her care.

They could have followed the same path, but didn’t. Manfroy rounds children to kill them, Rhea offers a new home to children who lost theirs.

They can also be compared with their “welp” points, Rhea gave CF!Billy the means to destroy her, just like Manfroy “forgot” to kill Julia - and yet, again, it is different. Rhea trusted Billy and never wanted to use them as a tool, in the other routes, it is because she trusted Billy with “those means” that Billy is able to save the world. Manfroy? Berserks Julia, wishes to use her as a tool and suffers when she regains some agency and beats her brother. But even without Manfroy, Julia would have recovered the Book of Naga to end Loptyr.

Rhea and Manfroy are definitely not parallels, but foils.

And the best for the end...

Who is Arvis?

Well... to summarise Arvis in a few words...

it’s impossible.

So, Arvis is the descendant of one Jugdral’s God-Crusader, Fjalar. Arvis is very proud of his heritage, but he also bears Loptyr blood, through his Mother. And yet, since the Loptry blood exists thanks to Saint Maira - the brother of the Loptry Host of that time, Emperor Galle, who rebelled and helped the Crusaders - he is also very proud of this heritage and his two brands.

Arvis’s familial history is a mess, his father was a womanizer and his mother abandoned him (which might have fueled his Freudian complex?). When his Father died, he exiled all of his bastard siblings, bar Azelle (his bastard half-brother, sired to his mother’s favorite maid). Arvis apparently wasn’t interested in women before he met Deirdre and fell in love with her...

But he had time to sire a bastard (on his best friend and confidante).

Arvis wants to build a world free of prejudice and oppression, and wants to build it by... associating with Manfroy, who blackmails him about his Loptyr blood (if Arvis is proud of his Loptry blood, sadly the Agustrian witch hunts are still a thing, and it will not be well seen in Granvalle’s nobility); however, he made it clear, to Manfroy himself, that he will never allow another Loptry Empire to be reborn. Arvis thus uses hiw fellow Dukes Reptor and Langobalt to set up a coup against Prince Kurth (the Prince of Granvalle) to kill him. Arvis grows close to Kurth’s father, Azmur and more or lesses takes care of everything in Granvalle, since Kurth has no heir left.

And, by chance, Deirdre, Kurth’s bastard daughter, thus rightful Princess of Granvalle, appears at his door. She bears the mark of Naga (the special blood of the Crusader Heim), so they marry, and if they have a son, their son will rule over Granvalle, Arvis acts as a regent until then.

(women can’t rule shit in Jugdral)

Then what? His plan is set into motion, all Granvalle Dukes die, he and Sigurd (plus his pals) are the only ones left, Sigurd dies after being lured to a welcoming party, and Arvis becomes the last man standing able to rule Granvalle, who became, through his plans and treacheries through the 1st gen, an Empire.

(and then his son becomes a Loptyr host, vaporises his mom and makes his sister disappear, wrestles power from him and he is reduced to a sad state (oldvis). He makes a last stand against Seliph, after delivering him Sigurd’s magic sword, and dies.)

Okay.

So, now, Edel.

Arvis managed to become the ruling... person in Granvalle by eliminating all of his rivals, and securing a nice marriage. Edel becomes Emperor... because Ionius gave her his crown, as her father.

So they do not rise to power the same way.

Edel never talks about her brands, but Arvis is proud to bear them and proud of his ancestors. Judging by how Edel speaks of Wilhelm I as a traitor who sold humanity to creatures, I am not sure she is proud to bear his blood.

Also, while Edelgard is extremely prejudiced against Nabateans, Arvis wishes to create a world... free of prejudice (his actions though...). He does not mind Manfroy preaching his stuff, when Edelgard will not allow anyone to follow the Seiros faith (friends put it better, but in several routes, the people who were followers of the Church of Seiros are missing in Adrestia...).

While both Edel and Arvis think they are making “sacrifices” for the greater good, as pointed out earlier, this greater good is different. They both ally with a death cult, but Arvis is naive enough to think Manfroy will not backstab him - he even wishes for him to preach his nonsense freely. Edelgard has been hell bent since day 1 on getting rid of Thales and friends.

By the time Arvis learns of the child hunts and Julius’s nonsense... he wants to stop it. He is however powerless to do so (or so we think! Apparently he and Ishtar managed to hide every children captured in a castle!) but, at least, he tried to do something.

Crest Beasts... are still used, no matter the path, and even after Edelgard became Emperor.

Now, if Manfroy had to capture children and round them up for execution to make sure Arvis would become Emperor, would Arvis have supported him? I... don’t think so. If children were captured during Arvis’s conquest of the world and it was a “necessary evil”, would Arvis have accepted it? We don’t know. Prideful as he is, I don’t think he would have agreed.

(which is all kinds of wrong, the man can start wars and backstab friends, allies and turn his own brother to ashes, but hunting children is too much? Meh. And yet, Manfroy mentions something about his ways and his pride being an obstacle to the realisation of his dream).

Arvis is... a complicated character. A douchebag through and through, who tries to redeem himself at the end, but ultimately fails. He is rewarded for his actions in the 1st gen by the 2nd gen, where Julius becomes Loptyr and destroys his Empire. He had it coming? Yes. Is it painful to watch? Yes.

Edelgard... does not face any retribution for her actions.

Yes, she can also kill her (step) brother. But either she didn’t remember it, or only cries after it, and ultimately puts the blame on him - so it is not a sacrifice ?

People doubt her words? Well, it doesn’t matter, Linhardt, Yuri and Lysithea are still alive after their... interrogations. Reptor doubted Arvis’s words? Aida was sent as back-up (and... backstabbed him).

Ultimately, Arvis loses Deirdre (whose ghost chills with Sigurd’s), Julia and Julius, whom he loved dearly. Edel loses... Billy, and some randoms.

So, in a way, Edel feels like a discount Arvis, because she misses his ascension to power and his downfall. Arvis doesn’t mow down enemies on the front lines like she is doing, Arvis maneuvers to ensure victory.

Both fight for ideals, but Arvis seems to believe in them when I cannot believe a world for “humanity” involves continuous making of Crest Beasts.

Both betray the main character, but Edelgard is hit with the uwu hammer, thus cannot kill Billy - Thales does it in the non CF-routes.

So... short story, long story, Eldie is not Dimitri, Claude is not Travant, Rhea is a foil to Manfroy and Edelgard is a discount Arvis.

Also, I don’t know what kind of weed the person who wrote this take had, but labeling Eldie as one of FE4′s villain is as dumb as labeling FE7 Karla a villain because she appears as a red unit you have to fight.

where is edel’s bastard son

[belphegor1982]

@stripedsinker replied to your post:

What's Kaamelot if you don't me asking? :)

(edit: sorry this got so long 😅 I swear I tried to be concise!)

Kaamelott originally a French sitcom about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table! I say “originally” both because the first few seasons (or “books”, as they’re called) are made up of lots of very short episodes - like, 2 or 3 minutes short - and also because it was very much “humour with sometimes a darker undertone/some gallows humour”. It’s consistently well-written, with very sharp dialogue that unfortunately is very hard to translate into English because it mixes elegant turns of phrases with slang and colloquialisms, and those dialogues are really a staple of the show. Many lines have become memes.

The creator, Alexandre Astier (who also plays Arthur, writes the show, composes the music - does a lot of things, really) always intended Kaamelott (written like this to underscore the final “t”, which we French might be tempted to leave silent otherwise, and also because AA are his initials) to be a little more than a sitcom about a tired king who tries to manage a bunch of more or less eager and more or less idiotic knights like some overworked goatherd might try to manage a bunch of goats.

At the end of the 5th “Book” (the book before last), Lancelot has turned completely from King Arthur’s egalitarian ideals and has been tempted into a darker side while Arthur, increasingly despondent at not only failing at his task of finding the Holy Grail, but also not finding a single child he might have fathered (plus depression), tries to commit suicide by slicing his wrist in the bath. Only Lancelot - who has come to kill him - finds him inches from death, and saves him.

The 6th Book is mostly an extensive flashback to Arthur’s youth as a young Roman soldier who was essentially placed at the head of Britain (a Roman colony at the time) so he could be a political puppet, only for him to reveal that he can get Excalibur from its stone and wield it - and turns things around until he becomes the king of a united Britain. In the last episode, still very weak and recovering, he places the kingdom in the hands of Lancelot, asking him to do what Arthur’s always tried to do: only fight for the dignity of the weak. Except... Lancelot takes this as a blank cheque to reorganise the kingdom the way he wants it, and sends men to hunt down the knights closest to Arthur - and Arthur himself, who is only saved by the intervention of a thief/bandit/purveyor of illegal things who remained loyal to him and smuggles him to Rome.

The show stopped there in 2009, with Arthur slowly regaining his strength and his purpose, with the sentence “Soon, Arthur will be a hero again.” Because Astier always intended to make a trilogy of films on the big screen to show us what happens next. But the first film got stuck in development hell for almost a decade! It was supposed to come out in the summer of 2020, only to be pushed back (because plaguetimes) to October 2020, and then to 21st July 2021. And today, posters dropped!!

Basically a major part of Francophone Tumblr is getting content for something we’ve been waiting literally twelve years for and WE ARE HAPPY 🥳

[kiruuuuu]

Protection Mountain: The Finale⛰️

Yes. It is here.

Montagne/Bandit conquered my heart so quickly with what was meant to be a oneshot, then turned into a small series of oneshots, and ended up as my longest series in Siege. And now their main story is coming to an end. I would like to thank absolutely everyone who participated in this journey, be it through direct messages, magnificent art, shared ideas, comments, reblogs, likes, the simple act of reading and enjoying - you helped make this happen, you motivated and encouraged me. Thank you for falling into this bottomless hole with me 💖

A special thank you goes out to @ekhap, who commissioned this piece in the first place - without you, it’s likely I never would’ve written it. I’m so happy you enjoyed it, and I hope all of you who stuck around long enough to read this will too.

I have actually managed to post the entire series on AO3 as well, so you can comfortably read (or re-read) it here!! And without further ado, here is the final chapter of Protection Mountain. (Rating T/M, hurt/comfort + a ridiculous amount of fluff, ~8.5k words)

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“I’m leaving tomorrow”, says Madeleine, voice soft and always a reprieve from the harsh reality of the hospital room around them. “I don’t think coming back will be necessary this time.”

Montagne squeezes her hand, making her smile.

She’s been juggling family and career for her entire life and right now is no different: on slower or off days, she hops on the train to visit, taking the opportunity to report on some local stories on the way, utilising her travel time to write up or edit her pieces. A busy bee, always worried about being overshadowed by her older brother. They haven’t seen each other this much for years and though the occasion could be merrier, Montagne is fiercely grateful for her presence. He’s unloaded some of his worries onto her and she onto him, and somehow they ended up lighter than before. Tourés tend to stick together, given the opportunity.

“Why do you say that?”

“You might not realise, but you’re looking much better, Gilles. You’ll be let loose on the world again soon.”

They exchange a quick grin over her choice of words. She’s certainly more of a menace to society than he is, and they both know it.

Next to her, Lion is sitting in a second chair, rigid. He’s confessed to Montagne in private that Madeleine reminds him of his mother – whatever that might entail – and so he’s unfailingly awkward around her, probably ruing the fact that they happened to drop by at the same time today. Dealing with strangers isn’t usually a problem for him; dealing with family of friends, however, is.

Apparently, Bandit won Madeleine over immediately, surprisingly enough. She says it’s his horrific German accent whenever he attempts to speak French and his deadpan humour, but Montagne is relatively sure she senses a bit of how much Bandit cares for him. Tourés are also protective of each other, siblings even more so. She wouldn’t have told him a thing about Montagne’s current condition if she hadn’t thought his worry genuine.

And then, out of the blue: “Cathérine called me.” She still sounds conversational, but her gaze becomes a tad more attentive.

Montagne stills.

Lion’s gaze is jumping back and forth between them, the man even more uncomfortable now.

It’s the last person he expected Madeleine to mention, so he needs a second to compose himself. “What about?” He tries to search for emotions, for any kind of reaction to encountering his wife’s – ex-wife’s name, but comes up empty. It’s like hearing about an old, lost friend of his: someone who once used to be important enough to be mentioned in his will, now someone who barely counts as a remnant in his thoughts.

“You, of course. Maman tattled and, eventually, it reached her. She wanted to know how you are and whether contacting you directly is a good idea.”

“And your reply?”

“I said I’d ask you.”

He nods, thankful. During their divorce, too many people presumed what would be best for either side instead of addressing them directly. It didn’t feel like their own private business anymore, somehow it affected everyone and so everyone was entitled to an opinion and a listening ear. He appreciates Madeleine allowing him this kind of control. “I don’t think she has my current number. Please give it to her and let her know I’d be happy to talk.”

And that’s that. They kiss cheeks and do a half-hug, exchange verbal pleasantries which are nonetheless heartfelt, and then she and her mild perfume are gone, leaving behind a slightly relieved-looking Lion.

“You do look a lot better, you know”, he confirms Madeleine’s earlier assessment, and though he seems intent on changing the topic – for him, family is still a sore topic most days –, Montagne’s mind lingers. Vague memories form a blurry whole, the image so distant it may well originate in a film he once saw or a book he once read.

Catou used to be his entire world and there were days he was convinced he couldn’t go on if she were to leave him. Yet time, the wound-healer, sometimes corrodes instead – and in their case, it must’ve mistaken their passion and devotion for sickness, for it cured them. They noticed before comfort turned into indifference, but only barely. By the time they decided on breaking up, another man was involved as well, though Montagne assigns him no blame whatsoever. Until their divorce was finalised, Catou kept her friend at arm’s length and he never even attempted to get any closer; but while she didn’t allow herself to fall in love again until Montagne openly gave his blessing, he could see the seeds growing already.

Neither of them cheated, he knows this for a fact. They’d never. He noticed how she became aware of the possibility of being with another man after a few of their long talks which denoted the beginning of the end, and while it hurt, he vowed not to stand in her way. If he couldn’t support her, he at least didn’t want to hinder her.

What hurt the most wasn’t any misguided feeling of betrayal or even jealousy, no. It was the realisation that he simply didn’t suffice. He gave her his everything and it turned out it wasn’t enough.

Maybe this is why he won’t accept Bandit’s proposal: the creeping fear of committing fully and finding it to have been in vain.

“You never spoke about her.” His friend has indubitably noticed his mood by now, or maybe the lack of response gave it away.

He supposes he hasn’t. Neither to Bandit nor to Lion, actually, not even when the topic had strayed to Claire and Alexis. “There isn’t much to say”, he summarises well over a decade of companionship, eroded and erased slowly by the very thing which tainted it in the first place: time apart. “We fell in and then out of love. She was a remarkable woman. She deserves someone who can keep up with her.”

Lion fidgets a little, avoids eye contact. Montagne’s words might’ve struck a chord but he’s too exhausted, too restless to talk it out. Madeleine’s statement has given him hope that he can leave soon, leave Bandit’s birthplace behind, hopefully to return and make happier memories in the future.

His friend’s next question catches him off guard. “Why did you marry her?”

It’s so much out of character for him to ask that Montagne needs a few seconds to come up with a reply. “I loved her, with all my heart. I expected to spend the rest of my life with her. Why do you -”

“Then why are you saying no to him?”

Montagne stares, shocked. The slight petulant undertone, the hint of defiance, the blunt accusation – Bandit himself could’ve posed the question, and it’s not for the first time Montagne realises how alike the two of them really are. But what leaves him utterly dumbstruck isn’t the implication of Lion approving of a marriage between them, no, it’s the fact that he can’t come up with a reasonable answer.

At least not one which doesn’t sound like an excuse.

He must’ve realised the impact his words have left behind, so Lion swiftly changes topics yet again, allowing for Montagne to recover and respond to a few simple inquiries, but nothing really manages to soften the blow.

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~*~

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There’s a reason he chose le Roc over more modern, flashier, possibly more efficient alternatives.

When he was younger, he used to hide his height by slouching, felt embarrassed by the fact that he’d stick out due to something he neither chose nor controlled – as a tall, muscular man, he’s perceived as intimidating or, worse, a challenge. He reacted to mentions of his physique with sheepish smiles and laughed it off when people referred to his ability to beat up whomever he liked, portraying it as enviable.

It took him a while until he began seeing his build as an advantage. It took friends confessing they felt safe with him around. Acquaintances appreciating his company during the dark. His soon-to-be wife admiring his drive to put his stature to good use. Ultimately, it influenced first impressions only, a quick glance upwards, but as soon as people heard him speak gently, noticed his aversion to unnecessary violence, be it verbal or otherwise, they forgot about his impressive physique immediately.

Like le Roc, it’s a shield. He utilises his own body to protect others and has subconsciously done so his entire life, be it to separate his little sister from her bullies, friends from aggressors, or even two agitated strangers: he absorbs the blows which to him are no more than light punches whereas they could cause more harm on their intended victims. He’s been likened to a mastiff and their instinctual drive to break up fights by simply standing in the way.

Like le Roc, it’s an asset. And like le Roc, it can get damaged.

What he hadn’t realised is just how much he relies on his body to function exactly the way he needs it to.

His life is his job, they’re irredeemably intertwined, and imagining one without the other is … nigh impossible. His mind struggles to come up with alternatives – helping others is in his essence, but picturing himself working in a nursing home maybe or a school, a community centre, is madness to him. Catou had been very involved in these kinds of projects, volunteered wherever there was a need, and while he saw the good she did, the joy she spread, she had a certain soft touch he simply lacks.

He’s a mountain. He can kill and besiege and protect and recover and rescue, but the thought of being responsible for children not his own, or the well-being of elderly people, terrifies him. A small mistake, a brief distraction could prove fatal. He’s trained for combat.

.

He needs to recover.

.

Sometimes, he wakes up and can’t feel his limbs. He hasn’t stood on his own two legs for who knows how long. Movement hurts, lying down hurts, existence hurts. But what hurts most is the prospect of never returning to the work he’s destined for.

No one is allowed to catch a glimpse of his frustration as he feels it’s ungrateful, possibly even malicious. Not only should he be elated over having survived at all, it would also imply he regrets having taken the actions he did, and nothing could be further from the truth. Saving Lion was inevitable; he just wishes he could’ve gotten away with less serious injuries. He wishes so fiercely. Bottling up his anger is destructive and being fully aware of how irrational his behaviour is merely continues the spiral of negativity, yet he’s powerless to change it. The people closest to him are still processing the shock of almost losing him and don’t need the added burden of his dread for his own future.

He wonders whether Bandit is repulsed by him. Aside from his atrophied muscles, he’s lost weight, there are the burns which will likely mark his body for the rest of his life, another ugly scar on one thigh where he’s been stitched up. His skin is discoloured in multiple places and he vividly remembers the way Madeleine winced when she visited him the first time. He already doesn’t consider himself overly attractive, so he must seem frightening. It doesn’t help that Bandit distanced himself the way he did at first – though it was likely the shock affecting him still.

Recently though, his lover has been doing much better. He’s been doing amazing, actually: when Bandit isn’t visiting him, he’s out and about, meeting with friends from the GSG9, eating at exotic restaurants, working out, keeping himself entertained. He keeps messaging Montagne, sending photos of dogs he meets or particularly tasty dishes they need to cook together (or rather attempt to), and every line of text lightens his heart. Bandit even keeps Six and Blitz up to date, informing Doc of Montagne’s condition unprompted, and converses with Madeleine as best he can. Of course, there are bad days sprinkled in now and then, days on which his gaze is endless and unfocused, days on which Bandit is either taciturn or won’t stop talking about unrelated things so Montagne can’t ask him how he’s doing. Recovery isn’t fast or linear, Montagne knows this.

He’s so goddamn proud nonetheless.

And even though seeing Bandit flourish, having watched him pick himself back up and carry on where he left off, witnessing the man he loves with all his heart succeed over this void in his chest once again causes Montagne’s chest to swell in pride and adoration, there’s a bitter note to it. An out-of-tune note, a scratchy, unpleasant one. Because Montagne believes he knows the reason for Bandit’s sudden motivation to improve his existence. And it’s not for its own sake, not for Bandit’s own benefit alone.

Montagne remembers stewing in his own thoughts, fighting the urge to call himself useless, agonising over what might become of him, and there’s no way Bandit didn’t catch him wiping his face when he burst into the room that one day a while back. He must’ve noticed how red Montagne’s eyes were, unusually red. He must’ve realised how fucking weak Montagne is. And probably decided it was his turn to take care of his love.

The next day, Bandit announced having joined a local gym for the time being, as well as his intention to watch a film by himself later. It can’t be a coincidence.

.

There’s nothing worse for Montagne than being a burden.

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~*~

.

Bandit’s energy is enviable. It seems he’s attempted to prepare for every scenario imaginable: he’s washed all of Montagne’s clothes, bought a variety of snacks and pastries, piled magazines on the bedside table, purchased all kinds of toiletries and remedies including a remarkably well-stocked first aid kit, arranged lush-looking fruits on the small desk of their hotel room, and even produces ear plugs and a sleeping mask the moment Montagne mentions feeling vaguely tired.

It’s hard not to get swept up in the atmosphere his lover creates, especially when his own chest seems unusually light compared to the weeks prior – he’s elated to be discharged from the hospital, even if all kinds of other worries creep up on him during moments of quiet. Being able to return home is a wish he harboured without realising: he thought all he needed was distance from the very place that so consciously reminds him of his own frailty, but it turns out privacy and a new environment don’t suffice, not even close. Sharing a space with Bandit and Bandit only is an immense improvement, yet he longs to sleep in his own bed, feel like he belongs instead of being a perpetual guest. Still, he’s grateful for the spacious hotel room, some peace and quiet, and the assurance that no one is going to randomly check up on him anymore.

Except for Bandit, of course.

Maybe it was Madeleine’s comment which inspired him, or maybe he hadn’t realised how much he’d recuperated already, but once his sister had bidden farewell, his condition improved fast. It culminated two days ago, when Bandit entered his room to find him awkwardly holding on to the bed frame but standing, fully upright with no outside help, due to his own strength. He half expected to be scolded, though his weakness must’ve taken its toll on Bandit as well because all he did was burst into tears from happiness.

Montagne very nearly joined in.

Six arranged a flight directly once she received the message, paid for a wheelchair without batting an eye and ordered him to take it easy nonetheless. His leg will take a while to heal and the broken ribs forbid the use of crutches, so Montagne dutifully agreed and thought he could hear her smiling over the phone. He missed her curt, professional yet caring attitude, and it seemed she’d be glad to see him again as well.

All of which is why he’s allowed to spend his last night in Germany’s capital in the very same hotel room he occupied before it all fell apart. The life before tastes like honey, sweet and much too rich, thick in his throat and welding his mouth shut: how much he took his health for granted baffles him. How careless he was. How ungrateful. He longs to get back to lazy evenings with an oversized cat purring on his chest, to the chaos of messing up yet another recipe, their light-hearted bickering, not a care in the world. He’s desperate to return to it, without that creeping feeling of guilt over turning Bandit down for a mixture of sentimental, inadequate reasons he can’t even explain to himself. He lacks the words to express why the image of swapping rings or – heaven forbid – inviting his entire family to a big ceremony fills him with nothing but dread when instead he should be exuberant. Flattered, maybe.

“Do you want to shower?”

Bandit reminds him of a puppy, easily distractible and well-meaning, radiating pent-up energy. Montagne regrets having to refuse him anything. “No, I’d rather just read a bit and sleep. I can shower at home tomorrow.”

His lover very nearly pouts. “Are you saying I have to find another excuse to touch you all over?”

Montagne’s chuckle almost gets stuck in his throat. He’s not ready yet and has been racking his brain for reasons why they can’t sleep in the same bed, or why he won’t be able to undress at any point. He’ll have to deal with this eventually, but his foolish mind has convinced him he’ll be able to postpone it indefinitely if only he manages to use his injuries as a pretext.

If he wasn’t so fucking terrified, he’d call himself childish.

There’s no doubt Bandit has made an effort to tidy up the room, yet there are unmistakeable traces of his prolonged stay everywhere – the overflowing suitcase, tissues poking out from under furniture, too many cables for too many electronic devices carelessly strewn about. Housekeeping probably gave up after two weeks and resigned to only vacuum wherever possible and change the bedsheets, and the thought of exasperated staff dealing with the stubborn git he missed like hell makes him smile. He’s heard stories from various nurses and highly enjoyed Bandit’s redemption arc of starting out as a nightmare and turning into the highlight of their days. If he saw correctly, Bandit even bought them flowers. He must be very proud of his newly discovered move to weaken grudges.

“Wanna get on the bed?”, Bandit interrupts his thoughts a little too casually, so Montagne eyes him with suspicion.

“Do you want me to get on the bed?”

His better half purses his lips, probably considering whether it’s worth pretending like he has no idea what Montagne means (and oh, he hasn’t even considered this prospect, they’ll be finally alone and undisturbed, and despite his aversion to show any part of his skin, his body expresses some interest in the scenario) – but Bandit still manages to surprise him by muttering, almost embarrassed: “I just really want to cuddle right now.”

It’s disarmingly adorable, and Montagne’s heart melts. “Let’s do it, then”, he agrees. There’s some awkwardness in manoeuvring him out of the wheelchair and onto the much-too-soft mattress, but Bandit is stronger than he looks and able to provide enough support. As soon as Montagne sinks into the plushy pillows and Bandit presses himself against his side, all tension suddenly vanishes: his muscles relax, his thoughts calm down, his skin stops prickling. He hadn’t been aware how much he missed simple contact like this, the heat of another body against his own, the blissful feeling of being safe, being home, being loved.

This tiny bubble of everyday life suffices to soothe his cracked soul. He wishes he could wrap around Bandit fully, envelop him whole, drag him onto his chest, pull him into his arms – even offering his shoulder for Bandit’s head to rest on would help with his burning desire to be as close to him as possible, but for the moment he can’t. Not without considerable pain. Still, Bandit’s hand has slid into his, their fingers interlaced, and a gentle, regular breath caresses his cheek. Now and then, Bandit nuzzles him, presses a kiss to his cheek, sighs in contentment. They could stay like this for eternity.

And yet, Montagne’s guilt prohibits him from letting go completely. He has rejected this man. Refused to accept him into his life fully.

“If you wanna watch something, I pirated eleven films we haven’t seen”, Bandit murmurs against his jaw and makes him chuckle.

“I remember the hotel’s internet being unreliable. Don’t tell me you used public Wi-Fi? Mark would be horrified.”

“Yeah sure, I just sat down in the nearest McDonald’s and downloaded a hundred gigs of illegal stuff.” Bandit’s grin is boyish and attractive and so cute Montagne just wants to burn the image into his brain. “Better, actually – I asked one of the boys to do it. So we conspired together.”

“Are you going to miss them?”

Bandit thinks about it and eventually shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. It was nice seeing them again. But I think I miss everyone at Rainbow more. I haven’t been apart from everyone this long… ever, I think. Since I joined.” There’s more on his mind, Montagne can tell, so he waits and peeks down at the dirty blonde hair, the wild beard. Apparently Bandit decided shaving was too much of a hassle, so he gave up on it completely for the time being – and Montagne wholeheartedly understands. If he could grow one, he definitely wouldn’t be running around with naked cheeks.

After a while, Bandit adds, quietly: “I did visit Cedrick.”

Montagne wants to smack himself. How could he forget that Bandit’s twin still lives in Berlin? And while he’s proud of Bandit for taking the initiative and seeing him of his own accord, Montagne feels that he himself could’ve raised the possibility sooner. He knows they’re close, as close as any family member could ever hope to be with someone as fickle as Bandit, and he probably would’ve done wonders for Bandit’s psyche. “How is he? How is his family?”

“Good. They’re good. Gave me too much food, as usual. His wife got a promotion recently and the boys are doing great in school. They want to go to university later, imagine that. The first Brunsmeiers to go to uni.” Bandit glances up at him. “I also told them about you.”

There it is. He must’ve been dying to tell Montagne, judging by his pink cheeks and nervous fidgeting, and his demeanour as much as his words conjure up a bright smile on Montagne’s face. They had an unspoken agreement, an implied promise that they wouldn’t tell their families until they’re ready, which meant until Bandit was ready – coming out to friends was a big step, coming out to Rainbow a massive hurdle, and coming out to his family must’ve been a mountain to climb. His comfort zone has been steadily expanding, yet actions like these still turn Bandit into a skittish cat sometimes.

For someone with commitment issues like this, it’s incredible that Bandit decided for them to get married.

“Dom, mon amour, I am so proud of you.” He kisses Bandit’s temple and smiles even wider at his desperately dismissive mumbled reply of ‘’s nothing’. “That is wonderful news. How did they react?”

“Well, they wanted to meet you immediately.”

Yet they didn’t. Montagne’s smile fades a little. Did Bandit not want anyone to see him like this? Best case scenario, he figured that Montagne’s current state simply wouldn’t do him justice, and worst case… Would he be ashamed of him?

“But obviously, that didn’t work out, so I told them -”

“Why didn’t it?”

He must’ve noticed something, maybe an odd expression, because he reassures him instantly: “My love, I saw them yesterday evening. You’ll meet them soon enough, trust me. They were very supportive, in any case. I think Ced is just glad to know there’s at least one person out there who can tame me.” Bandit’s hand brushes over Montagne’s belly, toying with the hem of his shirt, and he puts his own over it.

Maybe he’s being dramatic. Thinking about it, his recent thought spirals followed a similar pattern to the dangerous ones Bandit entertains much too often, the ones Montagne has been trying to interrupt whenever he notices them. Except that Bandit can’t read minds as of yet and probably has no idea what’s going on with him, and how should he. Montagne hasn’t said a word. They haven’t mentioned their brief engagement, or whatever the fuck was going on for a bit, at all.

Maybe when Montagne said that he was worried about losing Bandit, he didn’t just mean Bandit’s own withdrawal from their relationship.

“I don’t like that you see me like this.”

Bandit reacts not, doesn’t glance upwards, but there’s a tightening of his half-embrace. He’s listening.

“I can’t stand it, in fact. I feel useless and powerless and I can tell it weighs you down as well.” Once he’s started speaking, the words nearly tumble out of his mouth by themselves, one by one does the truth finally spill over. “I’m sorry. You’re trying so hard, mon cœur, I know you’re trying so hard to be strong for me, and I love you for it, but… I don’t want this. I don’t want to be like this. I should be the one there for you.” His heart is heavy, his mind darkened and his eyes burning, threatening tears as evidence of his own fragility. Rarely do his emotions get the better of him yet his self-control is raw and worn out from too much use without a chance to replenish. “I know I should be grateful I survived, but I feel like an annoyance. I don’t even know if I can go back to Rainbow, I don’t know whether I’ll fully heal and I hate it.”

Before he can feel guilty for loading even more onto Bandit’s shoulders, his love cradles his head in surprisingly warm hands, whispers his name and puts their foreheads together. “It’s okay”, Bandit mutters, even though both of them know it isn’t, “Gilles, stop. It’s okay. Listen to me.”

Montagne expects platitudes and white lies, misplaced optimism, a few phrases people throw out and pat themselves on the back for consoling someone, but instead, Bandit says: “Look. All of this fucking sucks.”

Well. It sure does. Montagne frowns.

“I’ve been in the hospital before, I was injured pretty badly and felt less worthy than a sack of potatoes, believe me. I was hardly myself, I couldn’t sleep, the constant pain was horrendous and on top of that, all the pretty nurses were talking smack -”

This startles a small huff of amusement out of him and effectively interrupts his intrusive thoughts. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better?”

“- I’m getting to that part. But you probably know how degrading it is when you can’t even piss by yourself, right? That’s the fucking worst. You’re like a baby, and you definitely feel just as stupid. It was one of the worst months of my entire life. But you know what? I got better.”

Ah. There we go. Montagne’s mouth goes thin.

“No, I know what you’re thinking: empty promises. You don’t understand how true it is, though. I’ve been rock bottom a few times, but it gets better. You’ve been there for it, so you know what I mean. And don’t even think for a second that each rock bottom was the same level, no, there were times when everything seemed hopeless, but honestly? Each time, it got a little easier to get back out. To get out and get to a better level than before. My parents…” He catches himself and shakes his head a little. “I don’t wanna keep talking about me right now.”

Montagne nudges him. “Please do. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A deep breath later, Bandit continues: “My parents valued independence highly, so Ced and I were encouraged to help ourselves, which I suppose is a good thing. But it also taught us to not rely on anybody else. To not expect any safety nets: you fall, that’s it. Convincing yourself it’s worthwhile to go on after you’ve fallen was hard. I felt like I failed at life, and for a bit, giving up was the better alternative. But I did have a safety net after all: Ced did his part, a few friends did, my boss, too. So it worked out.”

“But you got worse again”, Montagne mutters.

“Yes. I got worse. Still, by then I knew not only that it was possible to get back out, but also that others would help. Miles away from asking for help, mind you, but with more hope. I kept learning. And…” Despite his reluctance to go on, Montagne remains quiet and waits. Some part of him realises it’s something Bandit has to say. “And… as horrible as that sounds, as much as I don’t even want to imagine it… I think I’m at the point where I could go on without you. If you didn’t – didn’t make it, for example, I could… I think I could. The beginning would be the absolute fucking worst, no doubt, but I’d find something to – to make it worth it. To continue.”

Wordlessly, Montagne drags him into a bear hug. Presses their bodies even tighter together, ignoring the stabs of pain in his side, ignoring all his muscles protesting, ignoring the uncomfortable weight against his injured ribcage. He just needs this man like air all of a sudden, and it seems impossible to him how he could’ve ever rejected him in anything.

He knows exactly what Bandit means. It might be put in a morbid way, but he’s trying to express just how much Montagne has helped him. Comparing this version of him with the fragile creature he once warmed in his arms is unthinkable; this Bandit isn’t vulnerable anymore. And though he was hit hard by Montagne’s near-death, he ended up recovering, largely due to his own strength. A few years ago, he would’ve reacted very differently to nearly losing a loved one, that much is certain.

Bandit is clinging to him as well, taking measured breaths against his jaw and hiding his face. “You’re the strongest fucking person I know”, he whispers, voice cracking. “And even if you lost all your limbs or your eyesight or what the fuck ever, you’d still be you. You’d still be as great as you were before. That’s a fact, you dumbass. And if you can’t do Rainbow anymore, you’ll open a stupid dog café in Marseilles or sell Fairtrade products in a corner shop, I don’t bloody know. All I know is that you shouldn’t listen to that irritating voice in your head because it has absolutely no fucking idea what it’s talking about.”

By now, Montagne is chuckling and crying at the same time, overcome by too many emotions to be able to process any of them. It feels like he was allowed a deeper look in Bandit’s workings, like he’s able to understand him a little better. More importantly, he does feel significantly less stupid now that he knows Bandit is familiar with thoughts like these and already opened himself up about them.

“I’m also worried you’d be put off by all my injuries”, he admits after a while of comforting physical contact, feeling much more confident in himself and assured they can actually talk things out.

His better half lifts his head to squint at him in confusion. “Put off…? Like, grossed out? This is nothing, I once had someone in my arms whose guts were – wait, you don’t mean that I’d find you unattractive, do you?”

Montagne eyes his love for a moment, the man whose knees get weak whenever Montagne whispers a single filthy word in his ear, the man who has admitted to having more wet dreams about him than he’d like, the very man who so valiantly held himself back until Montagne allowed him to let loose, and who has never held back since. The man Montagne missed every lonely second he spent without him over the past weeks. “Well, I’d hope not”, he mutters.

Bandit looks at him like he grew two heads. “Are you serious?”

“The bruises still look quite bad, and all the -”

“Okay, listen. You stop talking. I’m going to kiss every one of your bruises until you’re not sure whether it hurts anymore, and then I’ll make you come so hard you’ll pass out. To hell with waiting, I won’t take this for another second.”

He’s not sure whether he should take it as a threat or a promise, but when Bandit starts pulling Montagne’s clothes off his body, he finds that he has no intention to argue whatsoever. And it’s good to know this part of him still works. “Be careful, mon cœur.”

Dark eyes flick up and are accompanied by a growl: “Can’t promise that.”

And though this one was definitely a threat, all Montagne does is smile. He didn’t even realise how much he missed this.

.

~*~

.

Bandit continues to do all the work for them the next morning: he orders room service and serves Montagne breakfast in bed while also shoving everything he finds into their suitcases. No need to separate their clothes or belongings; they’re going to the same destination anyway. They should travel more, take some time off and explore the world together – a notion Montagne hadn’t entertained until now as he was never really tempted to leave France or just Europe in general without good reason, and their missions abroad together with the other operators’ supplemental information used to be sufficient for him. But now, the thought of spending a week in a hotel with no one familiar around him but Bandit, the image of them going on walks while holding hands, pointing out quaint aspects of the place around them… it’s enticing. He vows to bring it up sometime.

Muscles still sore from the previous night, his mind is the opposite: he feels refreshed, optimistic, motivated. Part of the reason is undoubtedly the sex, he can’t deny it – falling asleep with Bandit in his arms, the faint feeling of satisfaction still coursing through his body, it’s as invigorating as the act itself, the knowing, challenging stare as Bandit swallowed -

Well. He shouldn’t dwell on it. They don’t have a lot of time planned between leaving the hotel and the departure of their flight.

But anyway, it’s not just that, it’s also the conversations before and after. The way Bandit made him realise what exactly is important, that he can rely on his lover without a guilty conscience. He kept repeating how beautiful Montagne was, even during, and though it caused him to blush in considerable embarrassment, he certainly feels less self-conscious now. There wasn’t a single second in which Bandit’s assurance wavered, no moment where he showed doubt. He meant what he said.

And, thinking about it, it would be the same for Montagne. He wouldn’t care about Bandit’s physical state. He’d still love him unconditionally.

Then why are you saying no to him?

It’s different, Montagne wants to argue in his head. But is it? He’s known Bandit for longer than he did Catou when he proposed to her. They were at a different point in life then, not entirely sure about their careers (well, she wasn’t), uncertain about their future (and children is still a sore spot he refuses to entertain), really too young to make such a momentous decision. He’s been living together with Bandit for long enough to assess how well they work together. How well they fit.

No. It’s not any different in his heart. Where it’s different is his head: he’s twice shy, irrationally worried about getting hurt. And consequently hurts Bandit instead. Bandit has openly declared his wish to make their undying love and loyalty official, whereas Montagne punishes him for a crime he didn’t commit. A crime which was nobody’s fault, in the end.

Watching Bandit tear through the room and toss most of what they own into the nearest suitcase, Montagne notices how there’s one object Bandit hasn’t touched. Montagne’s passport. And he probably never will again, without explicit approval. He made a mistake, apologised and learnt from it.

Now it’s Montagne’s time to do so.

“Dominic”, he says, and instantly all activity halts. Bandit is comically frozen mid-throw, like a deer in headlights. Montagne never calls him by his full first name. “Mon amour.”

“… yes?” He seems unaware of the severity of the situation as of now.

“I would like to change my mind. If it’s still possible.” Montagne extends his hand and, instinctively, Bandit glides over to take it and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I do want to marry you.”

Bandit blinks at him. “Oh”, he says. And then: “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it, and I realise I’ve been unfair. We don’t have to rehash how… questionable your proposal was, but it made me overlook the most obvious truth: that I do love you above all and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I do want to make it official that way.”

Bandit still looks dumbstruck, probably overwhelmed from the suddenness of the announcement. “Uh -”

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to have rings, too, so I can carry something on me at all times that marks me as yours and the other way round. So yes, mon cœur. My love. I hope your proposal still stands, because I would like to accept it.”

By now, his lover has turned crimson. He’s fidgeting with Montagne’s hand, bending his fingers and generally not knowing what to do with his own, and his embarrassment is terribly endearing – up to the point where he mumbles something Montagne would swear he misheard. “… for the benefits”, Bandit ends, apparently addressing his own feet.

Now it’s Montagne’s turn to blink, uncomprehending. “What was that?”

“I wanted to marry for the benefits”, Bandit repeats, louder, and Montagne’s mind screeches to a halt.

He stares at Bandit, Bandit stares at the ground. “You… what now?”

“Not just – well I mean, also, but definitely not only… you know, financial, because I think there is…” Bandit’s tongue seems to be disobeying him. “But, mostly because…”

“What on earth are you saying, Dom?”

“I wasn’t allowed to visit you.”

The shoe drops.

Boy, does the shoe drop. This explains so much. Montagne blanks for a second before his brain retroactively feeds him bits and pieces of information which now neatly fall into place, now that he’s been handed the solution on a silver platter. In his delirium, he never questioned why Madeleine was the only one coming to visit him – hell, even his parents did – instead of Bandit as well; he did hear about a fight between Bandit and Lion and probably, in his feverish mind, figured that Bandit was banned because of this and couldn’t visit him as a result. But never, not for a moment, did he consider the option that they simply turned Bandit away because he was no more than a stranger to them, no official connection between them.

No wonder Bandit went stir-crazy, no wonder his mind snapped and convinced him faking official documents was a reasonable long-term solution, no wonder he announced their wedding so casually without ever officially proposing. It was never meant to be a step forward for them as a couple, was never meant as any kind of declaration – it was meant as a preventative method in case they ever find themselves in a similar situation.

No wonder Bandit is thoroughly embarrassed by Montagne’s acceptance speech.

If there even was any left, all of his residual anger vanishes upon this revelation. He’s not even dismayed about Bandit’s motives: had he, at any point really, explained himself, Montagne might’ve actually agreed with him – because while a marriage means something much more sentimental and symbolic to Montagne, he understands Bandit’s viewpoint as well, especially under the circumstances.

Bandit is still avoiding his gaze, so he lifts his lover’s hand and kisses its palm until he has his full attention. “We’ve become victims of a grave misunderstanding”, Montagne states, a smile playing on his lips. “I understand now. Still, my point stands: I would like to be married to you, for the reasons I stated, and also for the reasons you had in mind. But I’d like you to think about it, because we obviously have different approaches and I want to be sure our expectations match.”

And this is the moment burning eyes meet his, framed in an expression so open and vulnerable that Montagne has no doubt about the authenticity of Bandit’s next words: “I don’t need to think about it.”

Montagne’s heart doubles in size. His composure, his tension, all of it melts instantly, replaced by a heady rush of pure serotonin as he realises just how right this decision feels. Inevitable, almost, like this has been their destination all along without either of them being aware, but now they’re here; exactly where they belong. All their time together has led up to this, the difficult conversations they had, the obstacles they overcame, all the beautiful little moments which were wholly theirs. It’s incredible to him how far they’ve progressed, from near-strangers who barely exchanged a word to lovers so intimate they’ll spend the rest of their lives together.

It’s not about the proposal itself, not about the wedding or even the marriage after – Montagne himself knows best that a marriage is no guarantee for happiness; instead, it’s something deeper, significant only to them. A promise to each other, a promise to take care of each other, to stay loyal and supportive, to listen and talk to each other. Ultimately, it’s extremely private, yet they might decide to share it with the world regardless.

“Come here”, he pleads and kisses Bandit, half drags him onto himself and pushes his hands under Bandit’s shirt – no, his own shirt, he notices, the one Bandit slept in. A shirt he brought Montagne to wear in hospital and a shirt he took back to wash it, but it seems he didn’t get around to doing so. Instead he just wore it. “I love you so much”, Montagne whispers against scratchy beard hair, and of course that moment someone knocks on their door.

They look at each other and simultaneously roll their eyes. Lion has terrible timing.

“We don’t have much time left!”, the other Frenchman announces from the other side of the door. “So whatever it is you’re doing, you better -” He stops once Bandit yanks open the door with an annoyed scowl.

“We were actually getting ready”, Montagne lies smoothly and can’t help his beaming expression. The same glowing, fluttery feeling which has settled in his stomach is tugging on the corners of his lips, forcing him to grin.

Lion raises a sceptical brow. “Seems like you kissed and made up then.”

“And out”, Bandit provides helpfully. “Don’t stand around, get this luggage downstairs, I’ll take care of Gilles.”

“That better not be a euphemism”, Lion scoffs, but Montagne catches him fighting a smile himself.

Maybe the two of them are contagious. It would certainly make for a more pleasant flight.

.

~*~

.

By the time they’re back in England, Lion is thoroughly done with their shit.

The entire jouney, Bandit fawned over Montagne and tended to his every wish – uttered or not –, all of this done on top of all the accommodations he’d booked in advance. They spent a relaxed hour in the airport lounge, sipping on overpriced drinks and listening to the bustling around them, and even flew first class despite the shortness of the flight. Not even the screaming baby that performed the entire duration as if it was having its debut on the big stage was able to put a damper on Montagne’s or Bandit’s mood, and part of him understands Lion’s irritated response to their admittedly disgusting lovey-dovey aura.

His friend started out being cordial and visibly swallowing various remarks, progressed to thin-lipped, high-browed and disapproving, and ended with eye rolls and audible sighs. Every affectionate nickname worsened his mood, every public display like kisses or interlacing their fingers prompted a judging glance, and every soft-spoken sentence had him check his phone for the time.

Montagne has no space in his fully-occupied heart to feel any sort of guilt, especially because he suspects Lion is largely doing it for Bandit’s benefit as the German seems to relish the reactions he provokes. He is very smug.

His suspicions are apparently confirmed when he’s alone with Lion for a minute while Bandit bodychecks his way through an unmoving and uncaring crowd blocking the baggage claim. “Seems like you came to an agreement after all”, Lion states neutrally.

“We did. And if I’m honest, something you said helped with my decision.” Lion only nods, like he expected it. Curious. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like him? If so, I won’t need a wedding present from you because that’s all I could wish for.”

“Let’s not go that far”, comes the hasty response and Montagne chuckles.

“Then why?”

A one-sided shrug. “I think everyone deserves a second chance.”

They share no more than a significant look before Bandit returns, masking his annoyance with overdone cheeriness, and so his statement remains unexplained. Whether he finally noticed the mirrored qualities he and Bandit share, whether he’s referring to Montagne’s first marriage, or whether he’s implying that he might meet Bandit with a different attitude in the future, Montagne doesn’t know. Still, the assertion resonates with him.

.

Seeing the oh so familiar landscape rush past the window on the last leg back to Hereford evokes an odd kind of nostalgia in Montagne. The view is one he’s always enjoyed, it marked the end of a difficult mission, the return to normalcy in a way – because his life at Rainbow has become the new normal for him, his everyday life, the foundation for his daily routine. The company of his colleagues is dear to him, as is the work itself, and as gruelling their training schedule is, he sleeps better when his muscles are sore and his head heavy.

Knowing he won’t be able to go back to this life for the foreseeable future causes a bittersweet feeling in his stomach. He will still participate, no doubt, will be included in briefings and kept up to date, will confer with teammates, offer advice. So it’s not like he’ll be isolated or exiled. But the knowledge of being incapable of doing what he’s used to stings a little.

Even so, his mind is focused on another matter. There are many more obstacles to overcome in the future concerning their engagement, starting with their respective families (though he’s under the suspicion Madeleine has realised something is up, even if she might not be aware of the severity of the situation) and ending with important decisions on how to hold their wedding party – but the most valuable aspect is that they’ll be doing it together.

Although he’s not so sure whether Bandit is ready for some of it.

“Take it to your grave or I’ll haunt your son when I’m dead.”

Lion seems largely amused by the threat, patiently waiting in front of the main entrance to Rainbow’s headquarters for Bandit to open the door. “One of his friends is a flat-earther, so he’s faced worse.”

Montagne snorts and Bandit nearly slams into the doors from scowling back at the other Frenchman. “Seriously though. This is just between us for now, alright? Even I haven’t told anyone, and neither has Gilles. Right, my love?”

“I’d like to point out that you were the one who told Olivier about your ‘proposal’ in the first place, mon cœur. Drunkenly, if I remember correctly.”

“Does that mean I can’t even tell Gustave?” Lion seems intent on making Bandit faceplant after all – he’s got the easy job of pushing Montagne around whereas Bandit is tasked with the much more difficult assignment of holding doors open for them on the way to their canteen. “I would love to see his face.”

“No. Nobody. Especially not in Rainbow.”

“What about Père Bertrand?”

“Absolutely not. Who knows whether he’s a snitch.”

“Who would he snitch to? God?”

“Look. I don’t know why this is so hard for you.” Bandit’s voice is rising in agitation as he shoulders open the last door, back turned to the room behind him, eyes fixed on Lion. “Just don’t. Tell. Anyone. Okay? No one needs to know. No one! This is just between us.”

Montagne’s composure is crumbling. Wordlessly, he indicates the entirety of the canteen with a vague gesture, trying his best to hold back a hearty laugh.

In response, Bandit whirls around with a wild expression, only to be faced with an entire room decked out with the gaudiest decorations in pink and white, plus literally all of the other operators arranged along the wall, holding confetti cannons or glasses of champagne, wearing party hats and utterly aghast expressions, and above them, floating below the ceiling, are gold balloons spelling out  E N G A G E D.

The awkward silence is palpable.

The champagne bottle in Blitz’ hand pops with a startlingly loud noise, making everyone jump and almost taking out Twitch’s eye in the process, and Lion just starts roaring with laughter, holding on to the wheelchair as to not lose his balance.

“Welcome back, Gilles”, Doc offers and lifts his glass for a toast, and that finally breaks the spell. Everyone rushes at them, congratulating them and greeting Montagne after his long absence, Rook with tears in his eyes and Jackal with an encouraging smile, there are too many faces and too many well-wishes to identify them all. Their gesture is heartwarming, and though Bandit stands in the middle of the crowd, hiding his bright red face with one hand (and repeating that no, he is not taking questions right now), he’s far from fighting the many hugs he receives. When Sledge takes him into his arms, there’s audible bone cracking and joint popping, and Montagne is suddenly glad to be confined to the wheelchair.

Maybe their reveal didn’t go quite as planned, but the support they’re receiving is invigorating. Montagne might’ve preferred a small wedding prior to this, yet being confronted with hard evidence of how much all these people care for them is beginning to change his mind.

He will talk about it with Bandit, later. For now he has a party to attend.

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

LinkedUniverse Fanfiction Ch. 17: Swords, Shields, Arrows

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 19: Please, Don't Scare the Customers

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

In this continuation of my @linkeduniverse fan narrative, Wild and Four go on their own errand to find weapons to replace the resident amnesiac's busted sword and unwieldy Stalfos shield.

Word Count: 1482

Twilight and Wind had already left Madame Viliafore’s shop by the time Four and Wild had located an armorer. The town of Selggog was even busier in the late morning than it had been the previous evening. The sights and smells bombarded the two young heroes. Wild glanced down at his companion. The Hero of the Four Sword had to walk more briskly to keep pace with him, on account of him being a good deal shorter.

Four had planned to help Wild pick out new weapons once they had found an armorer. That was the main reason Warriors sent the two together. The moment they’d entered the store, however, Wild gravitated toward the higher-end swords. He picked a sword, tossed it between his hands, twirled it, shook his head, and chose a different one.

Four looked at the shopkeeper as Wild repeated this routine. The burly man behind the counter eyed the young knight warily. Four guessed his customers didn’t often test his weapons inside the store, if at all. Wild slowed his motions. He grasped the hilt of the sword he had been swinging with both hands, lowering it from above his head. When his hands were at waist-height, he stood still a moment. He took a deep breath.

The shorter of the Links watched in anticipation. The taller released his left hand’s grip and picked up the sword’s scabbard, then fit the blade easily into its place. He looked at Four and nodded. He strode to the shields, grasped an iron heater shield about half his height, fitted it on his left arm, and shook it a few times. He shook his head and tried a few more.

Wild stared at one shield for a moment before tilting his head to one side. He suddenly took off at a jog toward the opposite wall. He jumped, threw the shield to the ground, landed on it, and skidded a meter before he hopped off again. The shopkeeper had had enough. “Hey!” he growled, crossing his arms. “This isn’t a soldier’s barracks, kid. You’re scaring my customers!”

The young hero picked up the shield and checked the face of it for scratches. Content to find none, he faced Four and nodded again. Then he cast a glance around the shop. The Links were the only customers to be seen. The two of them exchanged a quizzical look. Wild turned to the shopkeeper. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I’ve found what I want.”

The Links strode to the counter. Four passed a shelf with bundles of ten arrows each. He grabbed all fifteen of them. They placed their selection before the shopkeeper. The man scrutinized them. “What are two kids like you going to do with a knight’s weapons and my entire stock of arrows?” he asked.

Four looked up and stared the man in the eyes. He knew he was only fifteen but still didn’t like being called a kid. “There are actually nine of us,” he explained with a very slight edge to his voice. “We’re travelling a long way. Between monsters and bandits, the roads are dangerous.”

A few seconds passed before the shopkeeper cracked a grin and let out a bout of hearty laughter. Before either Link could recover from his confusion, the man planted his palms on the counter and continued. “Hell, whatever you say. So long as you’ve got the rupees, you’ve got the weapons. Let’s see… two hundred for the sword, three hundred for the shield, and three-sixty for the arrows… that comes out to eight hundred sixty.”

The Links winced at the number. Four shot a glare at Wild. Wild shrugged. He didn’t want to show how embarrassed he was that they were dropping five hundred rupees just because he needed new weapons. Thinking back to his conversation with Sky and Hyrule the previous night, he decided to try haggling. The young knight imitated Hyrule and put a forearm on the counter. He looked the man in the eyes. “Four hundred,” he declared boldly. Four saw the mistake immediately and shook his head.

The shopkeeper laughed even harder than before. Wild’s half-baked cocky expression faded. “Oh, boy,” the man said when he calmed down, “I know what you’re trying here, kid. Word of advice, huh? Never insult someone by offering less than half the starting price.”

Wild gulped. “I… um…”

“Save your breath, I can tell you have no clue what you’re doing. Let’s say seven hundred and call it even.”

Eager to avoid any more awkwardness, Wild just nodded. Four opened his wallet and withdrew three silver rupees, four purple, seven red, nine blue, and fifteen green. After placing them on the counter, he looked back in his wallet to find it almost empty. He sighed then stuffed the arrows in his pouch. Wild grabbed his weapons and the young adventurers went to leave the store. Four shot off a quick “thank you” before the door closed behind them.

Wild quickly fastened his new sword and shield to his baldric. “Right,” he started, “now to the café.”

Four sighed again. “You’re lucky that guy’s well-humored. That could have gone really badly.”

“How was I supposed to know what to offer?”

They started walking. “I dunno, but definitely not less than half.”

Wild’s shoulders slumped. "The Captain is gonna be on my hide for weeks.”

Four gently nudged his partner’s hip. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll probably appreciate that you picked such quality weapons. I saw the way you tested each sword. Where’d you learn that?”

“Part of knighthood is being able to choose the equipment that will keep you and your wards safe.” Wild went silent a moment. He remembered how the Master Sword had nearly fallen apart from the abuse of the Calamity. “When I’m out in the wilds, I take what I can get. Give me a choice and I’ll take the best I can find.”

“You didn’t pick the most expensive ones, though,” Four pointed out.

“I didn’t like the most expensive ones. This one,” he tapped the pommel above his right shoulder, “was weighted and sized the best for me. I know my abilities and my limitations. I can kill with virtually anything you give me, Four. Still, my own skill only carries me so far. My gear needs to pick up the slack. As the knight sworn to protect the princess of Hyrule, I’m most valuable when I’m at my most lethal.”

Four had to give it to him, that was solid reasoning. When he himself had forged the Four Sword, he put care into every strike on red-hot metal. In a way, he viewed the sword more as a piece of art than an instrument of violence. Wild had a point, though: Before everything else, a sword is meant to kill. Still, something bothered Four about his partner’s phrasing.

“Wild, your value isn’t just in your ability to slay evil,” Four said, careful to avoid the word kill. Wild looked down to his companion. Four couldn’t identify his expression, so he continued: “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’re kind, caring, and humble to a fault. You had the weight of the world thrust on your shoulders, and nearly died protecting the princess. You lost your memory, but you still soldiered on and saved Hyrule. And you were able to wield the Master Sword, which is a testament to the purity of your soul.”

The shortest Link looked skyward and smiled. “Just look at all of us Links. We share a love for life and a sense of justice that drives us to protect the light. That’s what binds us, what summons us whenever Hyrule needs us most. I’d bet all four of my lives that we aren’t the only Links there have been or ever will be.”

A few seconds passed. Four glanced at Wild. The Hylian Champion seemed lost in thought, as if he were walking on autopilot. The young smithy had had to make sense of four fragmented personalities to achieve his full potential. He still couldn’t make sense of Wild sometimes. He figured, as the other Links had, that Wild came out of his adventure the most psychologically damaged of all of them—even more than Time.

Wild was shocked out of his reverie by a little girl shoving past him trying to chase her friends. The sights and sounds of Selggog rushed back to him. He stopped walking and shook his head to clear it. Four waited a few paces ahead. “Sorry, were you saying something?” Wild asked, still a little dazed.

Four walked back, reached up to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and smiled. “Not really, no. Let’s head back to the café and meet up with the others. They probably picked out some good food.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m down for a second breakfast.”

“Hah, you always are.”

[rays-animorphs]

Animorphs 7.5 part 3/3, Wreck-It Rachel

(This should be at least two posts, but it's not. Have fun.)

Aww Cassie is looking for Rachel in her natural habitat. (The mall.)

Feeling mildly annoyed that Cassie’s last in the one-POV-per-book cycle and so far has gotten the least attention within this book as well. Although the POV book we got with Cassie was pretty high quality. Dolphins.

(Edit: yeah, she gets to be the big hero at the climax though, so it works out. Also, from reading a few books ahead, maybe Cassie's late in the cycle because Applegate uses her books to do the philosophical heavy lifting.)

(Cassie feeling self conscious at the idea that Jake might be giving her safer assignments.) Mm. Maybe. But it does make sense to look for other places where Rachel might be, and Cassie is the best person to send to her usual haunts. And it’s not like going to the mall is reliably safe. The Radio Shack mission ended abysmally. (Well, I mean, no one died or anything? But still.)

Although, honestly, even if Rachel was in the mall would Cassie be able to find her there?

I wonder how differently this story would go after cell phones became normal.

Somehow the morphing descriptions get grosser every time.

(Cassie dismissing the idea that she's better at morphing than the others.) Oh, Cassie. It’s ok to be proud of doing something well.

Tell me who told you that you couldn’t be proud of things you’re good at, so that I can sick Rachel on whoever it is. OK?

(I know, that’s not really how it works. Still.)

OK, maybe I overthink these things. But there’s only a crack under the bathroom door, it’s not one of those multi stall bathrooms with a foot and a half between the floor and the bottom of the door. And she locked the door. So if for some reason she can’t come back in fly morph she’s not getting back in there at all.

Eh. Whatever. It's only clothes.

How does a species with blades everywhere end up peaceful? Is this some sort of “carry a big stick” if everyone’s prepared for a fight no one starts one kind of thing?

Also, “two or three would have been plenty”? They’ve got disintegration rays. Surely one would be sufficient? In theory? What are you going to do against a Hork Bajir with a disintegration ray when you can’t even stand up, Ax?

It’s the end of the world as the Hork-Bajir know it, and I doubt they feel fine.

Probably Visser Three realizes Ax would see it as a compliment. Is that on purpose? Am I overthinking this?

Maybe it’s just an abundance of caution. The “Andalite bandits” have been giving him a tremendous amount of trouble.

(Oh come on, we're still getting exposition review this late in the book? At this point that's just bad writing.)

Alien life within our own solar system? All right. When did science fiction stop inventing life within our solar system? Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.

Wait, it’s not a nanobot swarm?

“my uncles will destroy you” — implication that female Andalites don’t fight maybe? Or just coincidence? Ax hasn’t commented on Rachel and Cassie fighting though, and he knows he’s a boy so it’s likely Andalites have a similar concept of gender to humans.

Oh, Ax is implying that he’s the only kid fighting. Good for him.

how is that… you know, I’m going to roll with it. It’s a, uh, what’s it called, like coral. A life form made up of a bunch of smaller organisms but functioning as a single unit. Sure. OK.

If it’s a life form how do you “program” it though? Wouldn’t you “train” it instead?

Ax suddenly remembers he’d decided to not talk to Visser Three. These kids.

Why is he not just… yeah, right, “long slow death”, fine then, sigh. Villains, just can’t go for the fast kill.

Well, at least it’s supposed to be dumb, that’s something.

Kandrona ray rationing! OK, last book's mission did have some effect.

Hmm. So, in practice we’ve got to rescue Ax. Which probably means everyone’s going to end up captured, inadvertently or on purpose. But what then?

Yeah! If you get lost in the woods following a stream is a pretty sensible thing to do! Good plan Rachel.

“I reached civilization. Or at least, I reached a suburban development.” Bah-dum tish.

Rachel. You’re 13. Anyone would take you in. They’e let you use their shower and sleep in the guest bedroom and would call in the calvary to find out who you are and how to get you home.

Unfortunately, that would get enough attention that the yeerks might figure something out.

Maybe. Visser Three is pretty convinced the morphers are Andalites and nobody wants to tell him otherwise. And y’all have morphed into or from human in front of Controllers multiple times. So maybe it would be fine.

Rachel begins a fine career in breaking and entering.

…maybe Rachel doesn’t realize she’s 13.

There’s this thing where some people assume that it’s not possible to respond to trauma by both repressing memories and getting intrusive memories, but … these are not incompatible concepts.

Rachel, not…not in the house, you have cockroaches and flies and stuff…you have an eagle and an owl and you’re doing that?

I hope whoever’s selling the house has good insurance. I wonder if being trashed by an elephant is considered an act of God, for insurance purposes?

Marco worried about getting home late is a really good sign. Means his dad’s got his act back together. I mean, I think we were supposed to infer that from the job and the new apartment. But still.

You can probably see more stars out on the farm than in the suburbs, but the full moon is still going to keep you from seeing quite as many as you would with no moon. Best star viewing conditions are: far from cities/lights, dry desert air, no moon. When you get all that, it’s … beyond words.

Back to elephant-Rachel. “Then the wall around the door frame bulged out and popped open like a pimple” Was that really necessary?

I guess wrecking stuff is supposed to be cool or whatever, but it’s not really doing it for me right now.

I do kinda appreciate how sometimes Rachel’s bravery is powerful and effective and times like this it’s … emphatically not.

Hah. Rachel’s too heavy for the veer thing to lift.

Veneer? What are they called?

OK, I definitely remember the scene with Marco driving, but I’m pretty sure it’s from someone’s post, not from reading the book about two decades ago.

OK, Marco driving is hilarious. “I can’t drive with you screaming in my ear.” “You can’t drive at all!”

TBF your first time driving is really hard! It’s hard to figure out how to turn the right amount. Even if you’re calm and driving slowly. Let alone if you’re in a rush to save your friend’s life.

Ah, Veleek.

I’m going to keep calling it other things. Vermeer. Velveeta.

The highway? And it’s only about 9 pm? They’re going to die.

One time I rode my bike on the highway. But it was on accident and about 4 am on a Sunday morning. There was no traffic. I got off at the next exit with no incident.

It was badly signed.

…OK, I really should have realized I was on an on-ramp.

Marco is weaving? At 70 mph on the highway? He’s passing cars? They’re dead. They are just dead.

Uh, Jake, Rachel already tried charging at the thing. She lost both her front paws.

Oh, ok, going under it was kinda smart. Ish. Less completely dumb than charging into the blade windmill anyways.

Yeah, tigers don’t usually have to run for their lives.

Mmm. Cassie’s going to talk to Rachel soon. Maybe help her remember herself?

Imagine your first real memory of yourself being told to eat lima beans. Blech.

Heh, she definitely doesn’t remember who Cassie is. Nobody has ever told Cassie “tell me what to do” in her life.

Ax is so young.

I’ve got an inexplicable desire to listen in on a discussion about honor and being dishonored between Ax and Zuko.

Ramonite can what now?

Yeah, Visser Three should totally get a tiger. Tigers are cool.

I mean, he’s the villain and he should die. But maybe he should acquire a tiger first.

The vegetable. The velour. The veneer. The vervain.

I’m trying to reconcile Marco’s usual aversion to death with his … driving style, and nonchalance about same. I think it probably can be reconciled, maybe something about being in control. It’s ok if you’re the one who’s driving abysmally. Or maybe he’s just much less afraid of everything now that his dad seems to have his act together again. IDK.

“what was left of the pickup truck” they are going to be in so much trouble.

You know that thing in Lord of the Rings where Gimli and Legolas are having a competition over who can kill more orcs? Rachel and Marco are doing that for destroying stuff.

OK, I do want to see a gorilla driving a pickup truck. I really do.

<This isn’t much of a plan,> I said. <Are you Animorphs always this hopeless?>

Apparently losing her identity gave Rachel some common sense, who knew?

<A hopeless fight? Isn’t that the best kind?>

Or not.

The venture. The venereal. The vesuvian.

Ewwww fleas blech ugh.


“We had very few animals that small on my own world.” Uh. why not? there’s animals smaller than fleas. Do they not have bugs on the Andalite world?

“Perhaps the same was true of the Yeerks.” Ax really doesn’t know that much, does he?

“Why a flea should have a taste for Andalite blood is a mystery.” Kind of surprising, given the whole not evolved together thing. But whatevs. It’s not nearly as implausible as taking two minutes to fall 700 feet.

Smart Ax.

Do we ever get an explanation for how it’s possible to think properly with a brain that small? No? Ah well. Hard sci fi is overrated.

Wait. Hearts? Please let us get more information on Andalite anatomy at some point, please please please.

“it.” Rude.

“And even as he fell, I could sense that he no longer smelled like life.” Wow. Wow wow wow.

Ax is on Visser Three? Excellent.

Bite the fuck out of him.

Oh come on, I want Ax to explain the scientific principle. No matter how little sense it makes.

Hey, Ax made a pretty decent plan. I like it. Brave warrior.

Water? Do they control the vermacht by hosing it down or something?

Ax is going to morph into the …the vespa, the valet, the veneek, whatever it is. Oh Ax that’s brilliant.

Unless it’s like morphing into an ant…could be bad? we’ll see.

(edit: I am disappointed. But at least there was a visual description of the individual vestibule animals. That's something.)

Yes! Physics is different on a smaller scale! Huge water droplets! Yes yes yes!

Well, if they can morph enough to fly from 700 feet, two miles should be a walk in the park. Even if they do have to double morph, not just morph once.

Shattered an elephant’s bone? Yiiiiiikes.

Ah, sure, hitting her head again should reverse the memory loss from the first head injury. Why the fuck not.

OK, gravity is officially different in the Animorphs world. Because Marco said “a minute later”. And they hadn’t hit ground yet.

This book is about dishonor. Ax and Cassie.

About dishonor and restoring honor.

Cassie called herself the best morpher! Yes! Go girl! (OK granted she’s doing it in the context of putting herself in extreme danger because she’s holding herself to excessively high standards — but still, it’s like progress.)

With Cassie getting the climax, the Animorph who’s really being short shafted in this book is Tobias.

More Whale Morphs!

Marco. Dude.

Honestly, I do not think I would be able to jump off a hawk, in any form, no matter how important the cause, a mile above the ocean. Heights are terrifying.

This is near a crowded beach, yeah? Is it reasonable that nobody saw a frikking whale falling through the air? and get caught by a … tornado thing?

OK, but… why does having the swarm hit the ocean do anything? I mean, the Yeerks hosed it down and presumably it was functional afterwards. So it’s not like water destroys it. Is the difference that with the hose they hit ground soon and that was able to knock them out of the water, but hitting the ocean means no air? What’s the deal? I’m so confused. Also, why can’t Visser Three just get a new one?

Well. I guess that was a pretty fun one, overall. It wasn’t actually hard to keep track of the shifting first-person after all. There was a lot going on. There was a lot of humor. Cassie got to be a whale, so that’s a big plus. Ax got a badass moment, also a big plus.

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

how about.. “i love you” number 16 and/or 6, with caspar? (with the reader being not byleth)

Pairing: Caspar x reader

Prompt: The way you say I love you “On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair”

Description: Though the war in Fodlan was over, it’s people were still suffering the consequences of fighting. With Caspar, you could give them the help they needed to get started again. Traveling with him through out all of Fodlan was simply a bonus.

Rating: sfw

Content Warning: post black eagle ending, I doubt I have to tag 3h spoilers but I will, general cuteness

Word Count: 871

Notes: went with 6 bc 16 felt… hm, a little too much? This was a lot of fun to write! For some reason I was all nervous and fluttery when I wrote it but it came out super cute!! I like it!

Edited: 6/4/21; finally, a recent fic. This won’t take much at all hehe

_____________________________________________________

You never thought you would get to experience serenity like this ever again. When Edelgard and the Professor finally brought to end a war that was pushing nearly 6 years, you felt like it was the first real breath you had taken since your monastery days. But with the war coming to an end… you found you didn’t know what to do with yourself. 6 years of fighting and its over, just like that…? If you weren’t a solider, what were you then?

Right now, you supposed you were much anything at all.

“Hey, _____, you’re spacing off again!” Caspar waved a hand in front of your face, smiling widely as you blinked and were brought back to the present.

“Sorry Caspar.” You laughed a little as you shook your head. He helped you remember that it wasn’t important who you were. You didn’t need to be anybody in this life, so long as you were true to yourself and your values. “Was just… lost in the past, is all.” You said absentmindedly, looking ahead to the rugged path before the two of you, eyes far away once more.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that any more,” His voice was soft, pulling you once more from thoughts of bloody battlefields and fallen friends. “That fights, its over. Edelgard and the Professor are going to make sure of it, and make sure Fodlan stays peaceful as a whole! It’s our job to look out for the little people, though.” You smiled at his enthusiasm. In the months since the war, you and Caspar had simply been wondering around Fodlan, helping those who needed it; sometimes that meant fighting off bandits who threatened those who were trying to rebuild their lives, other times it meant healing those people, rebuilding their homes and making sure they could stand on their own two feet. Today, though, it was just the two of you.

“You’re right Caspar. I guess I’m just a little melancholy today.” You laughed softly as he frowned, trying his best not to pout. “Don’t let it get to you, I’ll be okay!” You assured, making sure to smile for him.

“N-No its not that…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I know you’ll be okay, you always are.” He looked up, seeing the sun hanging lowly in the sky. The two of you were in southern Fodlan, in what use to be the Empire, so it would still be a while yet before the sun set.

“Hmm… we should probably hurry and find a nice place to camp, huh?” You hummed, giving a brief look around the area. It was all rather flat and sparsely, wooded. You were getting closer and closer to the coast, after all.

“_____?” Caspar called out your name once more. You turned to him with shining eyes, the sun catching your hair and eyes in such a perfect way, his words caught in his throat a moment.

“Caspar?” You responded. His name had never sounded more sweet coming from your lips. He was frozen a second, over come with emotion as he looked at you.

“I love you…” It was more admitting to himself than you but your eyes still widened at his whispered words.

“Excuse me?” You blinked, watching as Caspar went from mild shock to full on glee.

“I love you!” He exclaimed, scooping you up in his arms and spinning you around in the late summer sun. “I’m in love with you _____!” He cried out, laughing as he replaced you on the ground. He was all grins, as if you had already returned the gesture to him.

“Caspar…” You laughed as well, too caught up in his happiness to even begin expressing your surprise. “You’re awfully silly, you know that? I haven’t even told you how I feel and you’re already celebrating.” You teased. Caspar remained unfazed, smile never faltering from his face.

“Oh well… yeah.” He merely laughed sheepishly. “I just got so excited I kinda forgot.” He admitted, now looking into your eyes with great interest. “So… do you?” He said softly, blush dusting his cheeks as his hands still rested on your hips.

“Of course I do!” You exclaimed in return, your arms finding way around his neck to hold him tightly. “I’ve loved you for so long, I’m so happy you feel the same!” You laughed into the crook of his neck, nearly shaking in your excitement as Caspar joined in your laughter and rocked with you in his arms.

“This is great! I’m so happy!” Caspar couldn’t help his yelling and you couldn’t help your grin. “I’m so happy that you were the one to travel with me, _____.” He calmed a bit, smiling as he spoke to you seriously for a moment.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’ve always just wanted to be by your side.” You laughed watching his features light up.

“I wanna stay by yours, too!” Once again, the two of you held each other close, merely soaking in the others touch for a long moment. With Caspar by your side, and you at his, all you had all you needed to be happy and content; no purpose, nor identity needed.

[adventuresloane]

The Wanted (Revised Hurloane Fic) -- Chapter 2

Summary:

“They had nearly as many names as they had stories told about them. Ram. Raven. Red. Devil. Deputy. Outlaw. Short ‘n Long. Ghosts of the Rapids.”

Hurley’s a bounty hunter, the Raven is an outlaw, and the desert is a lonely place.

(The 50k+ Old West Hurloane AU Where Hurley Becomes A Thief Too that no one asked for. Updates every Friday. Edited and reposted from an old version of the story–more significant changes to come in later chapters. T for non-graphic violence and discussions of death/injury/trauma.)

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They woke up that night to a hand shaking their shoulder.

They sat straight up and tried to pick out shapes around them. The sky was still dark as fertile soil, and it bore plentiful stars.

In front of them was Bane, crouched on the ground with a lantern only bright enough to light both of their faces. Glancing over, Hurley saw the two black lumps on the ground that were the still-sleeping forms of Barbra and Jerry.

Bane looked at them pointedly for awhile, then stood. Nothing further was needed for Hurley to know that he wanted them to follow.

He led them to where Hurley had been hoping, maybe against hope, he wouldn't. He came to a stop a few meters in front of the door to the wagon. They looked at the ground.

"Just because you went against my orders once and had it work out," he said quietly, "doesn't mean I expect you to make a habit of it."

They bit the inside of their cheek. It was the only way of holding their tongue at the moment.

"You suppose we were too rough, then? That's why you insisted on undoing the ropes?"

They sighed. "Sir, I just don't believe in kicking people when they're already down. She's not a threat now."

"That doesn't surprise me." He paused, then gestured toward the wagon a little with the hand holding the lantern, causing it to swing on its creaky metal handle. "Let me tell you something about that one. And it's not one of those bullshit tall tales about the Raven that people like to pass around. This is true."

They looked away from the locked door and back to him.

"She's been caught only once before, as far as anyone can confirm. Another posse from another town did what we're doing now, only they didn't do it nearly as well as they should have. Most of the accounts say that they just bound her wrists, left her tied to some tree or post near their camp, and then went to sleep. Well, you can imagine what happened. Someone like that, unguarded, you can bet she got away in the night." He let out a sigh through his nose. "That was nearly five years ago. Compared to now, the Raven had only had a handful of robberies under her belt, smaller ones. And it was well before she killed anyone."

"Sheriff..." they said, but they took too long thinking of where to begin, so he went on.

"I'm saying this because I like you, Hurley. I think you're like me. Both of us feel the need to protect the innocent as much as we need to protect ourselves, and you'll do what you have to do to protect. And when you get more experienced and maybe become my deputy--" They looked back at him with a jolt at that. "--since I get the feeling that would suit you, you can start making more judgment calls yourself. But keep this in mind when you do. Had that first posse handled her capture properly, Abernathy would still be here today, not to mention everyone else she's thought to have killed in other towns, and I think about that. And do you know what else? Maybe if she'd gone to prison at that time five years ago, she would've eventually gotten out and lived the rest of her life, instead of facing the gallows. I think about that with these people, too."

Their mouth felt dry as they took in the night air through it. They had been ready to defend their decision before, but Bane was maybe the one person who knew how to shut them up.

He sighed again. "Anyway, that's it. I don't mean to berate you. Listen. Tomorrow morning, I'm going out to scout for signs of other bandits reported to be in the area. I'm leaving you to stay behind and keep guard." He spoke emphatically as he brought out his rope. "The Raven is to stay tied before then. I'll undo the ropes tomorrow, but not until she's worn out enough. I don't want you or anyone else here put at a disadvantage around her."

Hurley mulled over whether to push back. Maybe they should've been honored to have such a responsibility, but on the other hand, it seemed pointed and deliberate that he would choose not to take them along when they'd been the one to catch the Raven. But they thought better of it anyway. "I won't be, sir."

"Good." He then went over to the wagon and took the lock off the door. Then, with the hand that was not holding the rope, he pulled out his gun. He looked back at Hurley, and while they did not follow him this time, they only met his eyes for a few seconds before glancing away.

Just because they didn't see didn't mean they couldn't imagine. They heard a thud, then a louder one followed by a grunt. Bane said something that they couldn't make out. Then, quickly, he was outside again.

"I think we ought to get some sleep," he said before walking past them. They paused before heading back with him toward the fire.

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

Just after first light, as promised, Bane left with the other men. As Hurley had realized while lying awake last night, he was also leaving them with an opportunity.

They opened up the wagon almost as soon as the others were out of sight. "Me again!"

"Outstanding," muttered the Raven, glancing heavenward as though locked in place half-way through an eye-roll. To Hurley's relief, but not to their surprise, Bane had made good. She was back to only having the chains around her ankles.

They knelt in front of her and reached out. "Hands, please."

"You think I'm going to just let you cuff me some more?"

"I'm going to shackle your wrists, but then I'll undo the ones on your feet so you can walk around better," they answered patiently. "It's not good for you to have your ankles shackled too long. It'll start to get painful."

"Take off the ones around my feet first, then."

"I'm not stupid, uh, Devil, was it?"

"Then I'm not letting you do shit to me."

Hurley thought, then shrugged. "I can't make you do anything. All I know is it's not good for you to be chained the way you are for too long, and I thought you'd want to change that sooner rather than later. So you don’t get hurt.”

She didn't respond, which, they hoped against hope, meant she could be thinking it over. Without warning, she thrust out her hands toward them. She had what could nearly be described as a pout on her face, like Hurley used to see on their younger siblings, and it was difficult not to snort out a laugh at it. Those were simple and fun memories, so Hurley tried to enjoy them without thinking too hard about them.

After they had finished fastening and unfastening chains, they turned to her and waited for her to make eye contact. When, after what must have been half a minute, she finally did, they nodded their head in the direction of the open wagon door and then stood. Bane's warning rang through their head, and they quickly countered it by reasoning, again, that Bane had never actually told them not to let the Raven out of the wagon. It wasn't as though Hurley were leaving her unguarded, as those others had. When Bane came back, he would see how well they had the situation under control, in their own way.

They turned when they reached the threshold to find that she was still sitting on the floor, examining them with one cocked eyebrow. "Don't you want to go outside? You can if you want." She only kept looking at them, so they went on. "I think it'd be a good idea for you to walk around more, for one. So you're not just sitting and getting stiff."

There was another beat. Then, gradually, she started to stand. Just by looking at her, they'd been able to tell right away that she hadn't slept well, but now they saw the full extent of the toll the night had taken on her. Her movements were slow, and she tried not to move her arms more than she had to. She paused and winced more than once when she moved the wrong way. Bane was right. Hurley was definitely at more of an advantage since she had been left tied overnight.

"Can I ask you something?" They didn't wait for a response before going on, "Why didn't you try to shoot me when I caught you? You could've. I saw the gun they took off you."

They waited some time for an answer. For awhile, it seemed that she would not give it at all. Then: "I wasn't quick enough. What else would you expect?"

But it wasn't just a matter of not being quick on the draw. She hadn't even thought to reach for it while her hands were free. They considered it as a new, welcome wind blew. The air had been largely still and hot for the many days that they had been in the desert, and they liked how the gusts came on with the sounds of ocean waves in their ears. They realized that they missed rain.

When they looked back at her, she was looking out at the horizon with her face to the wind. "Here's another question, then."

"Is this an interrogation?" she quipped without turning their way.

"It's curiosity. I was wondering...I heard you got caught once and got away."

"I did." The Raven's smile was sudden, startling, and bitter.

"How?"

"What do you think, Red?"

"I think I should've known by now I wouldn't be getting a straight answer."

"Well, it's not that it's a story I don't like telling," she said. "Just not to you. Not keen on letting you know how I got away."

The wind sent the loose sand skittering across the ground like sideways rain. As they watched it, Hurley said, "That's not what I meant. I mean, you just ran off into the desert alone and survived?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "I don't have a problem out here. That's just other people."

"Alright, but--" They stopped as they saw a near-empty canteen start to roll away and jogged to retrieve it. It was nearly lifted off the ground before they caught up to it.

The Raven watched them while, around her, loose sheets used for bedding began to flap. Concern was on her face now, they saw.

After a while, her focus went back to Hurley. "Storm's coming."

They looked at the vast, featureless sky and then back to her.

She just rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid. Grab some wet bandanas so we can put them over our faces," she said before she went back into the wagon, shutting the door behind her.

They had to pause to ponder what that meant. Slowly, they looked back at the sky, and initially, there was nothing. But as they squinted against the brightness they saw, where the cornflower sky met the near-orange earth, there was a thick and muddy smudge. It stretched almost as far as they could see to the left and right. A thin line on the horizon, until, too soon, it wasn’t, and it grew and bloomed before their eyes into clouds, the towering clouds of a storm, except that these were billows of dust. Too big to go around, too quick to outrun. Even if they had had any option other than staying put at the camp.

They watched it until they couldn't anymore. They turned toward the wagon as the wind buffeted hard. After a few steps, they stopped, then grabbed a few pieces of cloth and soaked them with water from the canteens. It wasn't until they came back into the small space that they remembered that the wagon didn’t lock from the inside.

They couldn’t even cough. That’s what they found when the dust storm finally came, after the wind shook down the wood of the wagon and made it creak, after the sun no longer shone. They couldn’t cough, no matter how desperately they wanted to, because immediately after a coughing fit, they would automatically gasp and inhale, and what they would inhale was the air that was now more dust than air. They had hoped that the lack of openings in the wagon would prevent the worst of it, but even so, the fine, fine dust came in through the single tiny window and through the gaps between the slats and through the crack in the door. They felt that every time they breathed, their lungs were filling and turning to a pair of hourglasses. All of this came to them in darkness. They didn’t open their eyes once as the storm enveloped them, though they felt the dust collecting along their squeezed eyelids. It stuck to the corners of their eyes where the tears gathered as they struggled not to let out a cough.

The chill, though, was what surprised them. As soon as the light was blocked out, the heat, once stifling inside the enclosed space, rapidly drained away. In its place came a cold that soaked into their bones. They had always known that the desert could be as cold as it was hot, but it was always the cold that came as a shock to their bones.

It was only when, after gods-know-how-long, the wind stopped that they looked. The haze of unsettled particles in the air gave the world a sepia tone. But they made out the small piles of dust along the edges of the floor.

The Raven was still beside them. As they turned to look at her, they found her with her eyes closed and her head slumped against her shoulder. She breathed, faintly.

It took them several tries before they could get out a sound, with the way their throat had become coated in a layer of dirt. “Hey,” they finally managed to croak as they moved in front of her, “are you--?”

In an instant, a pair of hands slammed against their sternum and knocked them back. They caught themself on their elbows before their back could slam into the ground, but by that time, the Raven had gotten to her feet, suddenly not dazed in the slightest. Before they could do anything, she reached into their pocket and pulled out the key to the cuffs.

Hurley rolled over to look at her upright. She had started to move away, fumbling with the key as she struggled to unlock the shackles despite the small amount of slack the chain afforded her. That bought the time they needed. They grabbed her and dragged her to the ground with one pull. She growled, but before she could push back, they shoved her chest back to the ground with one hand and then pinned her hands above her head with the other. She flexed against them for a moment before going still and wild-eyed, with a heaving chest.

They stared down at her. “You know, you’re not as strong as you look,” they said hoarsely, still panting.

She just huffed.

Once they got the key back, they got up to push the door open, slowly. They tried not to gasp when they saw. Beyond the camp, the nearby desert looked nearly unchanged--the sand was still just sand. But where the sandstorm had come up against the features of the camp, it had done damage to them. Dust and grit piled like snow. They thought about all it must have gotten into, the food and the tools. Where they saw things that had been there before missing, they wondered whether the objects had been buried or blown away.

It took a moment for them to breath again, but they did. It still hurt a little to do so.

They stepped into the reformed outside in order to do what they always did, which was to deal with what was in front of them--with the fire pit full of dust, with the water full of dust, with the dust that had formed drifts against the wagon and buried the wheels hopelessly. "It's okay," they said, maybe to the Raven behind them and maybe just to themself. "We're okay."

When the posse was not back by midday, Hurley began to wonder.

When the hottest part of the day arrived, when the whole party would normally stop and rest, they thought that perhaps the others were doing that now, wherever they were.

When the sun began to sink, they waited for far too long to build a fire. They weren’t especially good at doing that, anyway--with how long it took them most of the time, they might as well wait around for the others to return rather than struggling themself. Anyway, Bane normally built the fires, letting one strike of flint against flint ignite the tinder. They had even seen him do it with sticks, faster than anyone else. When the color had left the sky, they finally went at it, and the effort they exerted was almost enough to get them to stop shivering as the evening chill overtook them.

It wasn’t until quite late in the evening, when the wail of the coyotes had been ongoing for hours and they had nothing to do but sit and listen to it, that they could no longer prevent themselves from considering it. The storm had been moving in the same direction that the posse had been traveling, far faster than they had been traveling. This part of the desert was flat, far more open and barren than the areas full of sheltered canyons or stone formations. Was there anything out there to act as a shield from the wind? Was there anything there, even, that stood taller than Bane? How much worse would it have been without the wagon as shelter?

They struggled, more and more, to keep their feet on the ground. To keep from feeling that they were floating detached from the rest of the world in the night. Like a boat whose moorings had silently come loose and had begun to drift out to sea unnoticed in the dark. They tried not to believe that they were alone. It didn’t work. They were.

They stared and stared out to the east. There was no way that they could have slept, even if they had felt like it. Eyes were on them, always. Even when the Raven seemed to sleep--which she didn’t much--they didn’t allow themself to be convinced. They had learned their lesson. They knew they were being scrutinized. Of course she would try anything if they so much as managed to doze, and while they had dropped the key into their boot so that she didn’t have a prayer of sneaking off with it without their noticing, her quickness still posed too much of a risk. They kept on looking as yellow leaked into the sky with the approach of morning. Everything up to their eyeballs ached. They had not even blinked enough overnight.

They almost surprised themself when, as the sun began to shine at full strength, they uttered quietly, "They're not coming back."

"Oh, your posse?" came the response from behind them, from the woman lying on her back and lackadaisically tossing a coin into the air, though they had been speaking mostly to themself. "Yeah, I doubt it. Not if they got caught out in that shit."

They physically flinched. Having someone else voice it was somehow even worse. But they had to refocus. Not think about what had happened and not think about the likelihood of Bane’s return in the future. There was only what was in front of them. They took a breath and turned to her, saying, "Since we might be out here together for a bit, I figured I'd ask again. What's your name?"

With a degree of petulance that would have been impressive if it weren't infuriating, she replied, "The Raven."

"Right. What's your actual name that you use when you're not hiding behind a criminal alias?"

"Devil."

"Okay, listen up. I know you're giving me a hard time because you're upset and need to take it out."

"Oh, please don't misunderstand me. I'm giving you a hard time because it's funny." She rolled over onto her belly. "And what do you mean we're gonna be out here for awhile?”

“I mean I’m getting you back to Goldcliff.”

She hissed a laugh. “Right. Of course. By yourself, with your broken, horseless wagon.”

“I didn’t say I’d try to do it by myself.” They came closer to where she sat, next to one of the half-buried wagon wheels. “All I need to do is keep us alive until someone passes by who can go and get help.”

Her expression changed back to ire now. “You’re out of your fucking mind! There isn’t nearly enough traffic this far out here to just wait around for some rescue. We’ll die sitting around here first.”

“No, we won’t,” they said simply. They had made a promise to Bane. They committed, then and there.

She only glowered at them. Then, quick as anything, she went to knock them off their feet, but they were expecting it this time, and they weren’t slow either. They pushed her back down and, before she could recover, clapped a chain around her foot. They attached it to the unmoving wheel and then backed away from her.

They shouldn’t have looked back. They wouldn’t have, had they not heard the chains jingling. She pulled back on them for a bit, as though to test the strength of them, and then stopped. Something shifted. She quit resisting, suddenly. The fight fled her in a way that was more obvious to them than when she had first been caught two days ago. (Had it really only been two days?) She stared at the line of metal links that swung lightly between her ankle and the wagon. Then, she hunched her shoulders and pressed her mouth and nose into the collar of her duster. Her thick hair kept most of her face concealed.

It was just for now, they reminded themself. Just until they knew what they were doing.

[monstersandmaw]

Male selkie x reader (light nsfw) - Mermay story #5

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Shsshhhhhhh, it’s still Mermay ok. Good? Ok. Let’s continue.

I hope you like this new boy. Something a little different this time, back to High Fantasy setting, rather than Starfall, and we find ourselves taken on as a guard at a castle by the sea which has one or two more secrets than most castles do…

Content: very light nsfw and a gender neutral reader.

___

You’d stumbled up to the colossal old castle gate little more than a month ago, bedraggled, with a notched blade and not much else to your name, wounded, and utterly exhausted. Mercifully, instead of shooting you on sight from the parapets, the guards had taken you to the little infirmary and you’d been taken care of there.

In order to repay them, you’d offered your services on the watch, or as part of the guard. After surprising the Captain of the Guard by proving yourself more than capable of wielding a blade - you could take care of yourself alright when you weren’t outnumbered six to one by bandits, which was how you’d got into that mess in the first place - you were given a bunk in the barracks and told to report to the castle’s armourer and smith for a mail shirt.

The smith was… colossal. With shoulders practically as broad as the castle gates, he towered over you, but as you entered, he glanced up from his work, and from one look at his handsome, dark-bearded, fire-stained face, you saw a gentle, kindly man beneath the grime and the muscles. He had a bit of a paunch too, which made him seem jovial and friendly, softening him at the edges where the muscles of his arms might have made him seem aggressive or dangerous.

“Alright?” he asked in a gruff, deep bass voice.

You nodded. “Been sent for a mail shirt. I’m joining the guard.”

“Ah, welcome,” he said. “I’m Dennek. I’ll be seeing more of you then, I suppose,” he added with a wonky grin as he extended his dirty hand to you and clasped your own in a bone-creakingly strong grip. “So, you managed to get lost yet?” he asked, his grin only broadening when you rolled your eyes.

“Yup,” you said. “Only about, four times… This place is a labyrinth!”

His friendly expression flickered suddenly and you watched his shoulders drop just a little. “Don’t go poking around this place, alright? Stick to your guard patrols, and the upper castle.”

“The ‘upper’ castle?”

He licked his lips. “Yeah. There’s been a castle on this outcrop for, well, thousands of years. As long as you stay up here, and don’t go exploring down into the cliff itself, you should be fine.”

“What’s down there?”

“Nothing but empty tunnels for miles and miles, or so I’m told,” he said. “Most folk who go wandering around down there either don’t come back at all, or come back stark raving mad.” He clearly saw the look on your face and added with an empty chuckle, “But you’ll be fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. Come on, let’s get you fitted out with some new gear.”

The blacksmith’s words stayed with you, and in fact you found them echoed by the Captain of the Guard, who told you in no uncertain terms that you were not to go ‘poking around’.

Between your new duties and the training regime, you barely had a moment to yourself anyway, and all you wanted to do at the end of your rotation was crash into a bath or a bed. Preferably the former then the latter.

You formed a few close friendships in the first months of being at the castle, but perhaps your closest was with Dennek. He always seemed pleased to see you, and recently had taken to offering you a cup of tea whenever you dropped by the castle’s impressive forge.

“What’s on the anvil this time, Den?” you asked, leaning against the wooden door frame of the separate smithy and making him look up at you from his work with a fond smile. The forge-fire reflected in his huge, dark eyes, and his lashes you suddenly realised were very long indeed. Something fluttered and turned over in your stomach at the discovery.

“Oh, just horse shoes today,” he said. “I seem to make more nails and more horse shoes than anything else. Can’t make a new sword everyday after all…” he grinned. “Even for His Highness up in the tower,” Den added, jutting his chin up in the direction of the highest tower of the castle.

“I’ve been here six months, and I’ve never once seen the prince,” you said, stepping inside. The heat and the smoke and smell of the forge had become a comfort to you in your time there, and you came to associate the smell of hot metal and leather with the strong arms and dark eyes of the smith.

Dennek chuckled and rubbed at his close-trimmed black beard. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. He’s the shy and retiring type.”

“I heard he was sick,” you said. “But I’ve also heard that he’s mad and that the adviser is the one with all the power…”

The smith’s heavy brows darkened and he shook his head. “Where’d you hear that rubbish from?”

You shrugged, unnerved by the hint of outrage in his tone. “Same place I hear stories about a skeleton that wanders the castle, glowing green in the dead of night, and of folk that transform into wolves or seals at night and steal away young virgins from the safety of the castle walls… The guards and the servants like to talk…”

Dennek’s usual ruddy complexion paled instantly, but he recovered himself and turned away. That was hardly the reaction you’d been expecting. “Codswallop, the lot of it,” he muttered, sticking the blank, glowing horseshoe into a trough of water to cool it and tossing it into a pile of similar ones nearby.

“Den?” you asked, taking an uncertain step towards him.

He huffed an awkward laugh and turned back to you. “Fairytale stuff from superstitious folks, that’s all. Magic and all that has been dead for a thousand years.”

You nodded slowly and let your gaze drift towards the fire, and your thoughts went with it. Now that he’d lessened the air intake, the coals were glowing more softly and you sighed as you stared at it.

Dennek murmured your name and you jumped, not realising that the huge smith had crossed back over to you to stand so close. “What is it?” he asked in a gentle murmur. It seemed strange that someone so large could still manage to be so quiet.

“I wish… I wish it hadn’t all died out, you know? I wish there hadn’t been the trials and the burnings… I wish we still had magical creatures. It sounds foolish, I know, but my father used to tell me stories about the fair folk and healers who were also witches, about goblins who lived in the mountains and selkies who lived in the sea.” You let out another sigh. Beside you, Dennek had gone very still. You smiled sadly and exhaled. “I always ached for it to be true. I think part of me still does.”

You shot him an embarrassed look, expecting him to laugh, but his face was oddly unreadable. “Maybe it is still true, somewhere,” he muttered under his breath.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” you smiled.

To your surprise, he shook his head, his curly black hair bouncing with the movement, and he moved away from you. “It’d be miserable for them, living in hiding, always in fear…”

“I guess…” you said, unnerved by the sombre quality his deep voice had taken on. You hopped up lightly onto his anvil and perched there like a crow on the castle parapets, and said, “Well, that turned gloomy… What are you doing tonight? You want to come to the tavern with me?”

He turned from where he’d been stowing his tongs and hammers back in the neat rack at the side of the forge, and you took the opportunity to admire his incredible body yet again. His pale shirt was scruffy and dirty beneath the leather apron he wore, his softer stomach very much evident beneath it, and since he’d cuffed the sleeves up to his elbows, you could clearly see the iron muscles of his forearms and the smudged and scarred, darkly tanned skin. His brown trousers were simple and baggy, tucked into clunky boots which were falling to pieces at the soles.

Those big dark eyes gleamed in the low light of his forge, and he looked at you with an intensity you’d never really noticed before. Den was always quiet, thoughtful, but something else seemed to have leached into him that day.

“Den?”

“Love to,” he said a heartbeat later, and his smile was back. “Meet you at the Wingspan Inn at seven?”

You nodded. “Perfect. My shift finishes at six.”

Dennek was already there when you pushed the dockside tavern door open.

It was one of the pubs frequented by the employees of the castle, but this one also had a mix of folk who lived in the town which had grown up at the base of the outcrop on which the castle had been built. The smell of iodine and salt followed you inside as you stepped over the threshold, but it was quickly swept away by the smell of food, gathered people, and spilled ale.

The smith was deep in conversation with a beautiful young man, lithe and slim, with long dark hair and pale, freckled skin, and he was openly flirting with Dennek.

The man’s slender hand slid up Dennek’s muscular arm, and you watched as the smith laughed and leaned more heavily on the bar, chin resting on his balled fist. When he glanced away and saw you, his eyes lit up and he excused himself from the young man and patting him rather patronisingly on the upper arm as he passed him by in favour of you.

“You’re popular,” you couldn’t help snipping as he joined you, and he shrugged, blushing a little.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “The man might have had sweet words, but he’s not you that’s for sure. What are you drinking?”

He got you something to drink and you followed him to a quieter corner of the bar.

“How was the rest of your day?” he asked as he leaned back and stretched out his long, thick legs beneath the table with a grunt. One caught your calf as he crossed them at the ankle, but he didn’t apologise. He only smiled and left his leg where it was, a warm weight against your own.

You told him about your day, but you couldn’t really focus. His eyes were so bright, his smile so warm, and his presence just so… big. You’d been drawn to him since the moment you'd first met him, but now you felt something new, something deeper binding you to this huge, gentle man.

“You know what?” he asked as he finished his beer and set the heavy glass tankard back down on the table with a clunk. “You want to get out of here?”

You nodded, and he held out his hand to you, helping you to your feet. He almost didn’t let go of it, but then he let you walk ahead of him through the closely-spaced tables of the traditional old pub.

A large, older man caught his attention by yelling his name and laughing, and Dennek chuckled ruefully. “Excuse me just a moment, will you?” he asked you, and turned to speak to the grizzled man. You thought you saw a familial similarity in the two as they clasped forearms and clapped each other on the back.

“Uncle Jordan,” he said.

“Laddie, when are you coming to visit again! It’s been too long. But life in the castle is clearly doing you good - look at you lad!” he chortled, slapping Dennek’s slightly round belly with the back of his hand.

“I’ll visit tomorrow, I promise. But tonight, I’m a little busy.”

Jordan dug him in the ribs with an elbow and laughed. “Ach, get on with ye,” he said with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Have your fun, but remember…”

“I’ll be careful. I remember.”

A frown tugged at your brows at that, but it was erased when Dennek turned his own eyes on you and smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered as he joined you and ushered you out of the pub. “Overbearing family who lives locally…”

“They care about you. It’s nice,” you said. “I wish I had family who lived nearby and looked out for me like that.”

“You never told me about your family,” he asked carefully as you stepped out into the chilly evening and headed along the empty cobbled street towards the shore.

With a snort, you said, “There’s nothing to tell. Yours seem nice enough though?”

Dennek fell into step beside you, his footsteps oddly quiet for a man so big. He towered over you, but you somehow felt protected instead of dwarfed, which was ridiculous because you knew you needed no one to protect you. Still, it was nice to have the luxury.

He bowed his head in mixed apology and acceptance. “You want to walk towards the beach? The tide is out.”

You and Dennek made your way along the road, and in that strange, empty space, something seemed different now between you. There was a tension that had not existed in the months you’d been friends, and you realised that although you’d been out together before, it had always been in the company of others from the castle. This was your first time alone with each other.

Cool night breezes wafted in from the sea, and it carried with it the scents of the ocean and the call of gulls. Dennek lifted his head, his thick, curly hair lifting in the sea air as he inhaled deeply, dark eyes fluttering shut. He had the longest lashes you’d ever seen on a man.

He caught you looking at him and his lips quirked behind his beard. “What?”

When you told him your thoughts on his eyelashes, he tipped his head back and barked a booming, deep laugh that came from his belly and made his throat bob. “Aye, I’ve heard that before,” he said.

“I bet you have,” you shot darkly, and his laughter cut off immediately.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked in a very soft and gentle voice.

You sighed. “Nothing.” You shivered. “I’m cold. I want to head back to the castle.”

Dennek nodded, unaffected by the chill air, and the pair of you wove through the streets in silence. That shivering tension had tightened and you sighed.

You said goodnight to him in the castle courtyard, simply raising your hand and thanking him for the evening as you walked away.

Dennek watched you go until you were at the very door of the barracks and only then did he turn around and enter the little door of the smithy.

The next morning you woke well before dawn feeling unrested and twitchy. Your watch was not due to start until midday, and you had free training before that, but you didn’t feel like swinging a sword around the training ring that morning. Instead, you dressed in light clothes and set off at a jog out of the castle.

As you crossed the courtyard, you glanced up at the highest tower, which had affectionately come to be known as the Prince’s Tower, and you glimpsed a hooded figure, shrouded in darkness, standing on the balcony way above you. You blinked, and a moment later there was nothing there. Feeling odd, you shivered and turned your back on the place.

Your feet took you through the town below the castle. Mist clung to the rooftops and hung between the houses, and as you reached the beach, the sand of the shore still dark in the wake of the retreating tide, you saw a group of seals on the rocks at the far end of the curving bay. You smiled and thought fondly of the stories of the selkies your father had told you as a child.

You jogged along the hard sand towards them, enjoying the way your muscles had to work to balance you, to work a little harder to propel you forwards, and welcoming the burn in your lungs with every inhale.

Out of the waves, another seal emerged much closer to you.

This one was huge and really rather chubby, and the moment it breached the surface, nostrils flaring, and saw you, it went utterly still.

Water washed over its stone-grey back, swirling around its flippers and caressing it gently as your own feet faltered and you watched it in wonder.

“Hello,” you said, crouching down. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.”

One of the seals on the rocks barked a warning and the one before you jumped as though startled out of a trance by the sound.

“It’s alright,” you said again. “Here,” and you stretched out your hand, fingertips trailing in the cold foam at the edge of the lapping waves.

To your surprise, the seal lumbered forwards and pressed his - something made you think it was male - nose into your palm.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest?” you chuckled, and the seal snorted indignantly, spraying your hand with salty water.

You laughed, and then sighed as you stared into its inky eyes. The seal blinked slowly and made its awkward way a few inches closer to you, cocking its head to one side in a manner that, oddly enough, reminded you of Dennek.

“You know,” you said, “My father used to tell me stories about shape shifters. I always dreamed they were true.” You scratched the seal under the chin and stood up, turning to go. “Maybe you’re one,” you said with a rueful smile. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be so patronising.”

The seal lowered his chin to the sand and lay flat as he watched you leave, the same way a hound watches a beloved friend go, knowing he must remain behind.

When you finally jogged back up to the castle, you paused outside the smithy. Curious, wanting to satisfy your strange whim, you knocked on the door, but it was all shut up, cold and quiet. “Dennek?” you called, trying to peek in at one of the windows.

You heard your name called across the yard, and you turned around to see Dennek come running in through the gate, out of breath, hair curling and wet, dripping into his face, and his damp shirt open at the neck to reveal a little of his skin. His chest heaved from the effort of running, and you frowned, turning to go back to him. Over the crook of one arm, he carried something silvery and shiny. At first you thought it was a finely woven mail coat, but, looking at it more carefully, you could see it was an animal pelt.

“Den?” you asked as you got closer. “You ok?”

“It’s true,” he whispered, still trying to catch his breath.

You drew level with him and halted. “What’s true?”

He leaned in close and you smelled salt water and sweat on him. “What you just said to me… on the beach… it’s true.”

Your world tilted. “You mean…”

He nodded and your knees went weak.

“Come inside,” he said, jutting his chin towards the smithy behind you.

His knuckly, scarred hands shook as he slid the key into the lock, and it took him a couple of goes. The pelt across his arm was a seal pelt.

It was all true.

Selkie.

He turned around to face you as you came inside and shut the wooden door behind you. Swallowing, you looked up at him and smiled. “Promise me this isn't some kind of sick prank…” you said. “Tell me what I told the seal on the beach, and I’ll believe you.”

Dennek smiled gently, fear still obvious in his dark eyes. He licked his lips and said, “You said that your father used to tell you stories about shifters, and that you dreamed it was true. And that you shouldn't be so patronising.”

You sank down onto a wonky, three-legged stool as your knees gave way.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. A moment later, you added, “That was really you?”

He nodded.

“How…? I mean… Are there many of you?”

He shook his head, dark curls bouncing. “Few enough of us survived the troubled times. I’ll tell you about it one day. Do you want something to drink? Are you alright?”

With a weak little laugh, you nodded. “Yeah, a drink would be good.”

The smith smiled and dipped a copper ladle into a bucket of clear water from the well and filled a pewter tankard for you. He handed it to you with a steady hand and knelt before you. He looked up into your face and you were suddenly, viscerally reminded of the seal on the beach.

With a laugh, you said, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

“You weren’t looking. No one is, these days, thank the gods. The prince has done a lot to protect our kind and to make the people forget, to make them think that it’s all just foolish superstition.”

“The prince…” you thought about the shadowy figure on the balcony. “Is he… different too?”

With a shy, private smile, Dennek gave a tiny nod. “Yes, but that’s not my secret to tell. He’s not a selkie though.”

“Right. But you are.”

“Yes.”

Dennek looked at you with steady, dark eyes. “Den…?”

“Yes?”

Your fingers twitched. “May…?” you bowed your head and looked at your lap instead, your courage draining away.

“May what?” he asked gently, still kneeling before you.

You swallowed thickly and let out another awkward chuckle. “I was going to ask if I could kiss you.”

“If you were to ask,” he said, “I would say yes. Does that make it easier?”

And at that, the tension snapped, and you began to laugh. In fact, you couldn’t stop laughing.

Suddenly his rough hands, callused from years of forge work, were on your cheeks, his thumbs tracing a soft arc over your cheekbones. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes drew you in, and he was still laughing softly as he kissed you. His beard was scratchy and rough, but his lips were soft, and his kiss was so tender it stole your breath.

All you could hear was your heart hammering as he kissed you. He stood, drawing you to your feet and pulling you close, back into the kiss.

You pulled back, breathless with amazement. “Dennek…”

“Yes?” he rasped.

He’d been pushing you, guiding you gently towards the single bed in the corner of the humble room, but he suddenly froze, as if he’d just realised what he was doing.

You smiled and bit your lip. “I… I didn't know you were interested… I mean… in me…”

His hands skated down your sides to your hips and he pulled you tight against his body. You felt the hard line of his cock tenting his loose trousers, and as you looked up into his large, warm, dark eyes, you had your answer.

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

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[fire-the-headcanons]

The door had barely closed behind them when Raven hissed, "Why did you have to tell him bandits killed our parents? If you had just kept your mouth shut he'd fail us on the assignment and be done with it."

"He could tell we were upset," he mumbled.

"I don’t want to tell some Huntsman how to kill our family," she spat, almost throwing the door open ahead of her. The light outside was just beginning to dim, the days getting shorter as it got colder. "I need a drink."

"We don't have much left," Qrow murmured. "...Now I wish I'd saved Tai's beer."

"I think it's about time we got some more."

"How?"

"Easily," she said with a smile. "I go into a convenience store, walk past the liquor, and a couple bottles disappear off the back of the shelf. Don't even have to touch them."

Oh. Right. "...Do we have to steal?"

She didn't respond, and he glanced up at her face—twisted with rage. "Well, there's somewhere else we can get it."

Follow the Beacon Qrow—Mother Knows Best

[Link to Masterpost]

[This chapter contains angst. And the world is melting down, right? Who needs more of that right now? But the next chapter is fluff! And comfort! I dunno, I just couldn't bring myself to edit this. It's still not polished.

So far my family and I are ok, and I'm still employed. It's just a lot. Of all the time periods in history we could visit I would not have picked 1918.

I'm going to post the angst chapter today and the comfort chapter tomorrow. If this nonsense is stressing you out, read them both tomorrow because it will end on a high note.

Or go play some Stardew Crossing Moon. Preferably with a friend or two—isolate, but don't be isolated.

Warnings: abuse, self-harm, mortal terror. TLDR at the bottom.]

"That will be all for today. Make sure you turn in the write-up by Saturday afternoon," Professor Lionheart called over the racket of students packing away their things. "Mister and Miss Taupe, please wait for just a moment."

Qrow's heart sank. A full week after the bandit essays were due, he'd hoped Lionheart wasn't going to bring it up. Of course his luck couldn't be that good.

At least the Professor waited for all the other students to file out of the room, pretending to shuffle though papers on his desk, before beckoning the two of them down. Qrow stiffly grabbed his bag and forced himself down the steps to the floor.

"I suppose you know why I called you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Raven said, voice completely flat.

He nodded with a look of sad understanding. "I understand the topic may be… difficult for you, after what happened to your family. But it is important, as Huntsmen, that you have at least a rudimentary understanding of bandit tactics. Do you understand?"

Qrow nodded once. "Yes, sir."

"It doesn't have to be an essay, it doesn't have to be well organized. Just give me at least a page that tells me you understand how dangerous these people can be. If it's easier, you can explain face-to-face."

He couldn't think of anything harder.

Lionheart sighed. "It's true that the old tribes are in decline, but they will still be around for decades more. And bandit activity has been increasing in Sanus as new technology makes homesteading easier. I won't set a specific due date on the assignment, but I will check back with you in a couple of weeks."

Qrow forced himself to nod again.

"I'd also like to give you this," he said, drawing a small piece of paper from a drawer. "I know firsthand how difficult it can be to find mental health services in Anima, especially so far from Mistral… If you've never had the chance to speak to a professional about your experiences, I'd highly recommend going to the school facility at least once."

Qrow took the pamphlet against his better judgement, tucking it into his bag with the rest of his books. "Thank you."

"If there's anything I can do, please let me know," he said, smiling warmly.

The door had barely closed behind them when Raven hissed, "Why did you have to tell him bandits killed our parents? If you had just kept your mouth shut he'd fail us on the assignment and be done with it."

"He could tell we were upset," he mumbled.

"I don’t want to tell some Huntsman how to kill our family," she spat, almost throwing the door open ahead of her. The light outside was just beginning to dim, the days getting shorter as it got colder. "I need a drink."

"We don't have much left," Qrow murmured. "...Now I wish I'd saved Tai's beer."

"I think it's about time we got some more."

"How?"

"Easily," she said with a smile. "I go into a convenience store, walk past the liquor, and a couple bottles disappear off the back of the shelf. Don't even have to touch them."

Oh. Right. "...Do we have to steal?"

She didn't respond, and he glanced up at her face—twisted with rage. "Well, there's somewhere else we can get it."

"What—" His stomach turned over. "Wait. Raven, you're not—"

"I'll meet you back in the dorm," she said, shoving her bag into his hands.

"Raven, don’t—"

She stepped backwards into a bush and vanished. Qrow forced himself to turn and walk, his shoes thudding on the path blending in with his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Plenty of students walked around him, but no one paid him any mind.

Their dorm room was dark. Summer and Tai were probably with Dan again. He set Raven's bag on the foot of her bed, dropping his own on his desk along with his jacket, vest and tie.

Stomach churning, he sat on his bed to wait. It didn't take long.

The shadow of the tree outside swam, growing and stretching  until it was large enough for his sister to step through. "Vanta wants to talk to you."

Heart pounding in his ears, he frantically shook his head—Vanta would be able to hear if he spoke. Raven scowled, gesturing at the portal.

"I'm waiting!"

Qrow winced—he'd hoped he'd never hear that voice again—and Raven leapt forward, grabbing a fistful of his hair and dragging him from his seat.

Crying out, he grabbed at her hand—she let go and slammed into him, sending him sprawling through the portal and into the dirt floor of Vanta's tent. He scrambled to his feet, painfully aware of his sword's missing weight. They weren't supposed to bring their weapons to history and it was waiting patiently in a weapons locker a continent away.

"Didn't want to come, little bird?" He would have yelped if Vanta's hand hadn't clamped over his mouth, her sharpened nails digging at the skin of his cheek and sparking his aura under the sustained pressure. "Your sister's always been the good one. I know she didn't take that moonshine, whatever she says."

Her hand turned the color of tar as she activated her Semblance, draining his aura like water from a leaking bag and disrupting his defenses enough for her nails to draw blood.

"Do I need to remind you what will happen if those self-righteous crusaders find out what you are?" Vanta spat, kicking his right knee and throwing him to the ground. His head slammed into the dirt with a muted thud. By the time he'd regained enough sense to even twitch she'd already pinned him, nails digging into his neck, working faster. "What were you going to say if you got caught?"

"I—" Qrow could barely breathe, let alone speak.

"Your sister would be far better suited to do this assignment alone," Vanta hissed. Qrow swallowed a dry sob as her other hand dug into his bad shoulder, tearing through his shirt as he struggled under her weight, aura petering out like a candle in a closed jar. "If they catch you, they'll make you tell them everything you know about us before they kill you. The blood of the entire tribe will be on your hands." He twitched again as her hand tightened on his throat, pinching off his breath.

"But you've never cared about the tribe, have you, traitor?"

No— He jerked, lungs already burning, each motion twisting her nails in his skin. Not again—please—

"You've only ever brought us misfortune."

Please, gods, let me die quickly.

His aura trickled away in a sea of red sparks.

And Vanta let him go.

Qrow sucked in a horrible, croaking breath and clutched his bleeding throat as she stood. "If you do anything to threaten this family, I will make sure you pay if it is my last act on Remnant. Am I understood?"

All he could manage was a painful rasp. He kept his eyes on her boots and nodded.

"Then get back to your school," she snapped, turning away. "And find a use for yourself. You can start with getting your damn Semblance under control."

She swept from the tent into the dark. Qrow released his neck and bit down hard on his hand, holding back a sob as he dragged himself through the portal onto the floor of STRQ's room at Beacon.

"Qrow?" Raven's voice barely made it through his own breathless gasps. He ignored it, pushing himself up painfully and collapsing back to the floor as his injured knee refused with searing pain to hold his weight.

Her hand brushed his bad shoulder and he slapped it away with a curse.

"Let me patch you up."

"Go away," he rasped, pushing himself into a sitting position against the nightstand between their beds.

"D-don't be stupid." At least she had the decency to look ashamed. He tried to stand again, using the little table for support and ready for the pain this time. The leg wobbled but held.

Raven reached for him again and he swatted at her arm, staggering past toward the door and the bathroom. "I said go away." Thankfully the hallway was empty, aside from Raven quietly following behind him. The bathroom too. Apparently everyone else had gone to dinner.

She didn't follow him in, at first. He stared at his reflection in dismay for a moment—he looked even worse than he felt. The uniform was ripped at the shoulder and bloody on the collar, caked with dust from his fruitless struggle to escape. Bruises were already forming on his neck. He could hide them, and the cuts, if he wore his collar like a jackass for a couple days while his aura recharged. But how did Vanta expect him to hide the damn claw marks on his cheek?

Well. She didn't, obviously. She'd already pretty much told him to die here—she was probably just annoyed that Raven hadn't come home without him yet.

The door creaked, opening only a crack. "Qrow?"

"Fuck off, Raven." He pressed a paper towel against the marks on his cheek, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Qrow?" The door creaked open and then closed, her shoes clicking on the tile. He stared into the sink

"She's going to kill me."

"She's just trying to make you stro—"

"She. Wants. To. Kill. Me," he snapped, pain shooting through his arm as he turned to face her directly. "And the only reason she hasn't is that it would piss you off. Or have you forgotten she already tried?"

Raven's gaze fell to the tiles.

"Give me your knife," he snapped, tossing the bloodied paper into the trash, and she pressed it into his hand. Letting the water get as hot as it could, he washed it twice with soap before drying it on a new towel.

He forced his muscles to relax—tensing would only make the pain worse—and carefully cut over his injuries, turning each set of separate marks into a single, jagged line. It looked kind of like he'd tried to shave with a large rock. Perfect. His aura would take care of it in the next couple days and if past experience was anything to go by, it wouldn't scar.

He handed the knife back to her still covered in his blood and went to get the first aid kit.

Next Chapter: Summer—Care Package

[TLDR: Lionheart noticed that the Taupe twins didn't turn in their bandit essays and tries to work with them on a version of the assignment that will be easier for them to manage, what with the trauma of losing their parents to the Branwen tribe. He also recommends that they take advantage of Beacon's mental health services. Immediately after leaving the room, Raven decides to get drunk and tells Qrow her plan to steal alcohol. Qrow is reluctant, which makes her angry, so she portals to Vanta to ask for some instead. Vanta uses the opportunity to violently remind Qrow she doesn't want him to come back. Qrow won't let Raven patch him up. Raven clearly feels terrible (but "sorry doesn't change anything" so she doesn't say it).]

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Deadly

My second story for @drawlight‘s advent challenge.

My current plan is to do as many stories as possible, each essentially a different AU. My first story was a Roman-era love confession. This one is...idk...a wander through history that got a little jumpy? Anyway, these are all first- or second-draft stories, so feel free to make any suggestions. I’ll probably edit, expand, and post the collection on AO3 in January.

02 - Snow (1683 words)

The first time Aziraphale saw snow, it was one hundred and thirty-four years after the humans left Eden. He had been sent to guard a small group of explorers traveling to the far north.

Heaven had warned him about the cold, but he hadn’t really understood the way it would sink below the flesh, settle into the bones. How could he? Angels didn’t feel such things.

Two of the mortals froze to death; another lost an arm to that creeping black death of tissue.

The second time Aziraphale saw snow, it was one thousand, three hundred and eighteen years after the humans left Eden, and shortly after the reign of Gilgamesh of Uruk. Trade with the tribes of the northern steppes was well-established. He simply had to ensure three merchants and their cargo didn’t fall afoul of any bandits.

There weren’t any bandits. There was, however, an avalanche. Aziraphale would not have believed the way so much snow could move so fast.

On and on, every time he traveled north.

Three thousand, seven hundred and six years after the humans left Eden, he sat with Crawley in the newly constructed city of Antioch, sharing a bowl of figs and fava beans. The demon looked at him incredulously.

“How can you hate snow? You’re an angel, I thought you were supposed to love, well, everything.”

“I love all of the Almighty’s creatures and plants, and I acknowledge the beauty in every aspect of Her Creation,” Aziraphale said, with enough fervent piousness that Crawley would hopefully forget what he had said about hornets just three days before. “Snow, however, is surely an invention of your side.”

“Nope,” Crawley said, popping the p and giving an infuriating grin. “I am more than happy to take credit for whatever your lot want to blame on me, but I know for a fact snow was your side, not ours.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“Sure I can.” Crawley tossed another fig in his mouth and began counting on his fingers. “First, no one on my side has that kind of power. We didn’t do volcanoes. We didn’t do monsoons. We certainly didn’t do snow. Second, I went north right after Eden. Snow was already there. None of us had a chance to put it in. Third… nah, never mind.”

“What? You can’t just leave it at that.”

Crawley scratched at his hair, red curls spilling from the central part, and slumped further in his seat. Finally, he grumbled, “Well, it’s Her style, isn’t it? Little ice crystals, each a unique shape with infinite variety, too small, too…ephemeral for any human to appreciate. The mounds sort of softening the edges of the world, the quiet that falls over everything. The way sunlight glints off icicles. It’s, you know. Pretty.”

“Crawley,” Aziraphale felt a teasing smile grow across his face. “That was very nearly poetic!”

“Shut up.” Crawley folded his arms and glared at an unfortunate human that happened to be standing nearby. “But my lot certainly wouldn’t create something pretty. Enticing and deadly, maybe, but not pretty. Don’t have the imagination for it.”

“Well. It’s certainly deadly enough.”

“So’s the Nile flood. So’s fire. So are lions and crocodiles. And hornets,” he added in a tone that clearly said he had forgotten nothing of their previous conversation.

Aziraphale worked on a handful of fava beans for a few minutes before conceding, “Fine, perhaps snow is one of the Almighty’s gifts to the world, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Actually, according to what you just said, you do.” And that smug grin, as Crawley scored another point.

Four thousand, two hundred and fifty-four years after Eden, the Thames River froze.

It had been a difficult year. The emperor in Rome had declared that all people in the empire must make public sacrifices to the Roman gods. The still-forming communities of churches had been devastated – some followers had publicly refused the sacrifice, and then been killed or imprisoned; some had chosen to make the sacrifices and were shunned by the other faithful.

Already it seemed the people would never be reconciled, the fragile alliances of believers shattered forever.

And then one dawn, Aziraphale looked out the window to find the streets of Londinium filled with deadly white, and ever more falling from the sky.

In a panic, he dressed in his warmest furs of white and pale grey and pushed out into the almost waist-high snow. 300 souls he had been instructed to care for, shepherd in their new beliefs, mostly from the poorest sections of the city. Tenement buildings; no kitchens, some of them barely had a hearth worth speaking of. Foolish hubris of the Romans, trying to build a tropical city on this frozen island.

Aziraphale had crossed the Walbrook and was approaching the tight cluster of insulae behind the Forum when he saw someone approaching – tall, swaggering, dressed in layers of impossibly black fur. Even with his head covered, there was no question.

“Craw-Crowley,” Aziraphale greeted as evenly as he could. “I thought you were up north at the Wall.”

“Well, there wasn’t much going on there, thought I’d take a wander.” He pulled down a few layers of wrapping to flash a grin. “Glad to see you finally enjoying the snow.”

“I’m not – how can you even say that? These are dangerous conditions. People could – people probably will die, Crowley.”

“And are you worried about all of them, or just the few hundred your side have earmarked?”

“How do you know, I mean,” Aziraphale clenched his teeth, not sure what Crowley knew, not sure what was safe to reveal. “I am worried about all thirty thousand inhabitants, of course.” It wasn’t a lie, either. He would have to visit the ones he’d been instructed to look over first, but he would make sure everyone was safe. He could miracle each home warmer, produce thousands of loaves of fresh bread…

Couldn’t he?

Already the angel trembled at the thought of how it would sap his strength, leave him vulnerable to the cold. And how much time it would take to visit every one of those homes…

“Angel,” Crowley stepped closer, not grinning now. “It’s too many people. You can’t do it.”

He dropped his eyes to glare at the mounding snow, slowly burying him, trapping him in place. “I can try.”

“And if they’re meant to die? If this is the… Ineffable Plan?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, a thousand arguments coming back to him. This was an awful time for Crowley to try and score a point against him.

“I don’t know,” he started slowly. “But…there must be something I can do.”

“No, there isn’t.” But before the weight of the words could crush him, Crowley’s hand rested on his shoulder, pressure hardly noticeable through the layers of furs.

Aziraphale lifted his eyes and saw where the demon was pointing.

A group of men and women – priests, deaconesses, elders of the church – were pushing their way down the street through the thick snow, pulling a sled behind them. They stopped to knock at a door. The next moment, a woman opened it. Aziraphale recognized her; her husband had performed the sacrifices for the emperor, and the whole family had been exiled from the church.

Now a deaconess rushed forward to embrace the woman, talking with her gently. A few moments later, loaves of bread had been produced, and piles of furs for the children, who were settled into the sled. The woman and her husband emerged, pointing at the home next to theirs.

The church elders knocked, and another couple answered – these were pagans, worshippers of Mithras. It didn’t matter; they were fed, their children placed in the sled, and soon the whole group was walking together towards the baths, where clouds of steam showed the furnaces and hypocaust were already running.

Now that he knew what to look for, Aziraphale could see more groups out in the streets – some from the church, some not, all checking on their neighbors, feeding those without food, bringing those without heat to a place of safety. Caring for each other.

There wasn’t anything he could do. The humans were already doing it.

“You know,” Crowley said, “you once told me that the poorest people have the most opportunities to choose good.* I still think that’s bullshit, but today, at least, I’ll concede the point.”

“And…you aren’t here to interfere?”

“Nah. I already did enough Tempting for today.” He waved his arm. “First, I convinced quite a few city guards to huddle down someplace warm and spend the day drinking and gambling. So they won’t be out harassing your people. Then, I saw to it that a rather large number of libelli wound up in the home of some of your elders. Now, that’s a real moral quandary. Do they hand out forged documents saying their people performed sacrifices for the emperor? Or do they let them martyr themselves to prove their piety? Real crisis of faith stuff right there. Can’t wait to see how it turns out.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I suppose…it’s good that they have the choice.”

He turned back to Crowley, seeing how the tiny flakes of snow – individually so harmless – settled on the furs, on his hair, his eyelashes. It was beautiful, in a way.

Deadly. Pretty. Ineffable.

“Now that’s settled…can I tempt you to a drink?” Crawley gestured to the wineskin at his belt. “Spiced cider. Snow is nice and all, but I much prefer to watch it from inside, with a hot drink and a fire.”

“I…think I’d like that.”

It would be another one thousand, seven hundred and sixty-nine years until Aziraphale could truly enjoy watching the snow fall.

There wouldn’t be a fire – no open flames in the book shop – but there would be mugs of cocoa, a warm tartan blanket, and his demon sitting beside him on the sofa as they watched tiny white flakes drift down from the sky to cover a world that hadn’t been destroyed.

*Yes, in the book this conversation happened later. Call it an AU.