#Enjoy the clearing with the knowledge that the true end of the dark forest exists and can be reached

[thisismenow3]

Getting into your 30s can def be this. And I’m here to tell you that even your fears of the worst version of what OP relates are just spiraling. I’ve had a lot go wrong in my 20s with my health, my spouse’s, my family dynamics, I lost many friendships that later on I was glad to have lost and left friendships I’ve made peace with trying to salvage for too long. I’ve made a new great friendship with more forming finally. My health and my spouse’s still have lows but we are managing despite our bs healthcare. We still have many estranged family members, but like the friendship blank slate they all needed to be pushed away. And the one thing that is different about me now with my new hobbies, friends, and outlook on life is being able to enjoy the truly enjoyable despite almost anything. Cause even if things still need fixing in life I’ve learned so much and am a much better person on top of the wisdom.

The point is that there is always another side, the dark forest is not endless, sometimes the opening is a clearing but eventually you find the true way out to the verdant grasslands where you belong.

listen. aging into your thirties rocks. yes your joints get a little creaky. yes you can’t sleep in a pretzel on the floor anymore after a concert or a convention. and you lose some friends. but the thing is that you sort out who your real friends are and you sort out who you really are. and you get to see your friends settling into careers they like, and adopt new dogs and cats, and you find a job you can stand, and get really good at arts and crafts, and maybe that book you loved as a kid gets a movie deal and it doesn’t suck, and you learn to like new food and bake your own bread, and you realize that the great portfolio of self harm scars you all used to curate are going white with age and not updated, and half your friends are a different gender now and so much happier and maybe you are too, and you know who you are, and that it’s a journey and not a revelation. it’s a direction you’re headed, and you’re enjoying the trip.

reaching your 30′s rocks. and i’m hearing good things about what comes next, too.

[allegra-writes]

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 43- Remember

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Finding Mumbo isn’t the only challenge facing the hermits. They need to remind him who his family really is. 

_______________________________________

“....i….a….n….? Gri…..Grian!” Iskall’s voice, tainted with fear, breaks through the empty unconsciousness that gripped Grian. He winces, pain shooting through every nerve and muscle of his being, his heart aching and fingers numb. xB is hovering over him, bending water to ease the pain and electricity that still runs through his body. Jevin’s slime runs across the burns that lightning has left behind. In the air, a faint scent of burnt chicken permeates around Grian. 

He sits upright, terror ricocheting and intertwining with the pain in his body. Despite the horrible pain of electricity conducting through him, and the Forest of Memories using his proclivity for pain to drag him deeper into despair, his first worry is Mumbo lost in the woods.

Mumbo’s a city boy. He doesn’t know anything about the wild. Even if he’s just lost, he could fall down a ravine, or get caught in carnivorous vines, or hunted by a beast. But this isn’t any forest- this is the Forest of Memories, haunting him with his past, his fears. And haunting him with what just happened. 

But it’s not just that Mumbo is from the city. He also knows his best friend's brain will turn his memories, his thoughts, his actions against him. It couldn’t have been any other hermit, one that wasn’t so insecure about their position among the guild, their ability to be a mage. It had to be Mumbo, the newest, the most fearful. It attacked him knowing he saw himself as the weakest link. And it made him believe it, see it. 

“We have to go after that spoon.” Grian states, standing. He wobbles like a newborn shleep, falling to his knees. 

“Hold up, Grian. You literally just had 300 million volts use your body as a lightning rod, I know you’re the guild healer and all but you can’t go running after him.” Cleo holds him down, keeping him from trying to run off into the woods. “Grian stop! You can’t run off on your own, or the Hangman’s Playground will turn your thoughts against you. We’ll go together.” 

“How will we even know where he’s gone?” Keralis questions, reaching out to pet a shleep that had wandered into the clearing. The second the bug mage’s fingers sink into the galactic wool, red bolts of static zap him with a yelp. 

“I think he went that way.” BDubs points, seeing other shleep going to the east, static bolts of red energy dancing between swirls of starry fur. Zed is positively delighted to have the company of the shleep in the terrifying forest, and he makes sure to keep the ruminants spirits high to help with the sanity of the rest of the group. 

Iskall helps Grian to his feet, letting the angelic being rest lean on his shoulder, his friend stumbling along with the group. Joe casts a spell which enchants a compass that Wels had, pointing the direction of Mumbo. Though the poem rhyming ass with compass was a bit much. 

The longer they spend within the Forest of Memories, the longer it’s effects linger and worm their way through their defenses. Stress’s amulet shatters, breaking in a burst of darkness. Immediately, the memories of her life before the hermits flood back in. She ignores the laughter, the empty parties and emptier people, running forward and grabbing another amulet to protect herself. They’re all fighting off their own demons, but the knowledge that Mumbo may be fighting his alone keeps them moving forward. 

Ren tips his head up, sniffing the air and wagging his tail. “I smell a change in the air, I think we’re close.” 

“You can’t possibly smell Mumbo, he’s not that stinky.” Iskall jeers, pushing a copse of brambles out of the way. 

“It’s not Mumbo I smell- it’s his magic. It smells like ozone.” Ren disappears through the green foliage, though his tail gets stuck on the way out. He yanks it free a few times. 

“Why would magic smell like oz-” Iskall’s cut off when he gets his answer. A bolt of lightning burns the grass at his feet, red lightning branching and crackling through the sky. 

Grian let’s go of Iskall, stumbling forward. “Mumbo…” 

Hovering in the air, surrounded by bolts of lightning striking at random intervals and places, the multi-mage is lost within his own magic. A power surge, fully realized, and well beyond Mumbo’s control. He was alone, with no one to calm his fears, to help him reign in his magic. Mumbo’s eyes are open, though glowing and crackling with energy. His arms hang limp, his feet at least a meter off the ground. 

Mumbo’s in a power surge. TFC tries to step closer, but with every forward step any hermit takes, they’re forced to retreat two lest they be struck down like Grian was. He’s not even conscious enough to realize what he’s doing. And the surge is getting stronger. Lightning begins to burn the trees around them, setting the wood on fire. The shleep that were following Zed scatter, their wool turning a misty black. 

“He’s going to destroy everything!” Beef warns, jumping back and stomping out a fire started by the lightning. 

“He’s going to destroy himself!” Xisuma adds. “But how in the world are we going to get close enough to talk him down?” 

Iskall and Grian look at one another. They’re Mumbo’s best friends, if there’s anyone that could bring him back to reality, it’s Iskall and Grian. The architechs. Iskall casts his magic, his own radioactive iskallium negates the energy of Mumbo’s magic, and Grian wraps his arms around Iskall and flutters into the air, within shouting distance of Mumbo. He struggles with his wounds, but refuses to drop Iskall. At least, not this time. “Mumbo? Mumbo!” 

Grian’s shouts fall on deaf ears, the hollow form of Mumbo possessed only by magic. Iskall and Grian look at one another, then back at Mumbo. “Mumbo, look! Grian’s fine, it’s not the worst wound he’s ever gotten, you know that!” 

“Mumbo, I know you think we don’t want you.” Grian ducks, his hair standing on end as a bolt of lightning nearly hits him again. “But that’s not true! You’re a part of this family, you’re a hermit! We aren’t like other guilds, we aren’t like your parents were. I asked you to join us because you were fun, and unique, and different. That’s what this guild is for.” 

“You’re so strong Mumbo, because no matter how many times things don’t seem to work out, or your magic is just out of reach, you still keep trying! We all admire how no matter what happens, you still get right back up and try again. I mean, Grian and I have mega thrashed you before, and you just stand up and go for it again!” Iskall notices Mumbo’s eyes blink, and the loud roar of cracking lightning and thunderous roars begin to deafen. 

“Yeah, Mumbo we know you’re strong! You’ve beaten us before, and we’re two S-class mages! But we also understand your struggle. We see how hard you work.” Grian floats toward the ground, following as Mumbo’s feet touch down on the grass. Iskall kneels beside Mumbo, Grian wrapping his wings to coo and comfort all three. “Mumbo, we want you around. You are a hermit and you are a part of this family.” 

“You aren’t our weakest link, man. You’re our best friend.” Iskall breathes. He watches Mumbo blink once, then twice, and on the third time they can see his grey eyes once again. The last of the lightning fades away, Mumbo collapsing into his friends’ arms. 

“I’m so sorry, I hurt you.” Mumbo whimpers, turning his head. Embarrassed to look at Grian. He hurt his best friend. He could’ve killed all the others. 

“You know me, Mumbo.” Grian chuckles. “Nothing can keep me down for long.”

The other hermits join the architechs on the ground, reminding Mumbo how much he means to them. How he’s made their lives better, brighter, more fun. 

And the Forest of Memories can’t hurt them. 

The dark shadows lurking in the foliage instead show the dappled light of the sun through the trees. Rather than focusing on the negative, they see the light. Sunshine burns away the voices of those who wish to tear each hermit down. Doubtful family members, cruel guildmasters, even the voice of Magistrate Dolios himself is eradicated by the group’s sentimentality of each other. 

Instead, the Forest begins to play the best moments of their times together. Mumbo and Grian meeting, Team ZIT meeting TFC on the side of a road, the day Cleo beached her ship on an island that should never exist. Days spent basking in the sun, too hot to train, playing on the beach and in the waters of the Ashioll sea. Cheering on and betting during duels, but always there for both the winner and the loser. Training feeling more like play with the hermits, dinners are bright and happy even in the dark, the island flourishing with life during festivals as the hermits grow excited. Even when it rains, they can be the happiest days on the island. Huddling close to warm fires with mugs of cider, blankets wrapping around friends. Playing in the puddles, dancing in the rain, enjoying every second of their lives. 

They’re a family, though not by blood, but by choice. A family that nothing, not even the Hangman’s Playground, can tear apart.

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter thirteen (ao3 only, smut) | chapter fourteen

chapter 14 - prince

SFW, around 4.7K words. Heisenberg is a man of absolutely no feelings I guarantee you

Heisenberg has never done this before, not in almost a hundred years of existence, this tangling of limbs and shirking of duties. He has never once given in to such base urges without careful thought and consideration, instead preferring his encounters planned, short and sweet, in and out before anyone could get attached. He racks his brains looking for things to say once she is awake, for ways to tell her that this means nothing and that they will go back to being flirty acquaintances who spoke to each other in riddles. He digs deep into his thoughts to bury his feelings, refuses to acknowledge their existence long before they can rear their ugly heads. He breathes in, eyes closed, to gather his confidence, to build his persona like he did with the dawn of each new day. Whoever Karl Heisenberg truly was, truly wanted to be, he died every morning and was replaced by a driven, heartless monster.

She was a smart woman, she would get the hint. He will unwrap her arms from his torso, put his clothes back on and make some stupid comment about how she had a pair of tits to die for, but he had already been far too generous by gracing her with his presence this long. Then he will smirk and exit stage left, hold the mask until he is out of sight and has entered the forest, and will finally be done with the theatrics. Perfect plan, until his breath catches in his throat when she first stirs, fingers sleepily caressing his chest like she did the night before. He curses her for never making things easy on him.

She seems confused as she pulls away from him, her lazy stretch reminding him of a cat after a long nap. Her face has softened some, the usual furrow of her brow relaxed, deviant smile replaced with one of pure serenity, like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. “Good morning, my lord,” she greets as she rubs sleep away from her eyes, and he is glad to notice her tone has changed, away from the throes of their passion and back to the casual nonchalance they had become used to treating each other with. “Did you sleep well?” He has no intentions of answering and she does not expect it, either, slides off the couch to gather their clothing scattered about. She hands him his without looking at him, dresses in silence as he does the same. The silence is tense but not awkward, like they were both content to ignore the existence of the other and of everything that had happened between them just hours prior. “Are you staying for breakfast?” The implication that she did not expect him to is crystal clear. If there was any hope of staying longer in his mind, she had quelled it quickly with that question, like she was done with him for the day, perhaps enough to last her a lifetime. It stings, but he is glad for it.

Heisenberg busies himself with putting his clothes back on - whoever’s clothes those were in the first place -, oblivious to her pacing around the house. He believes he is out of the woods and her reserves of kindness have run dry, only to lift his head and find her holding a basket with a loaf of bread in one hand and his trench coat in the other. From afar he can see it looks ten times better than it did when he walked in wearing it, cleaner, for one, holes stitched back together. He doesn’t stay and she sees him off with the same joy she has always shown him, watching him as he grabs the trench coat and food, then his hat from a hook next to the door, waving him away like she has done every time. They sign an unspoken contract that dictates they never speak of it again, though the fine print reads that it is not off the table and might once again come to pass if the opportunity ever presents itself. His journey back to the factory is quiet and uneventful in more ways than one, the forest sleeps away the early hours of the morning and his mind is void of thoughts and worries. He cannot help but notice that the world feels different, brighter, more vibrant even, the wind not hostile and instead a gentle breeze.

Heisenberg seems enveloped in a mist of cheer and placidness for the days that follow, all he has set in motion moving along like clockwork. Sturm awakens unbidden one night, for good this time, both a blessing and a curse upon him. He manages to study its performance and sketch improvements, however finds that he has forgotten to install an off switch on the damn creature. The freak hums and whirs night and day like it is singing him the song of its people, sometimes joyfully, sometimes in mourning, and that he is able to identify when the fucking thing is happy or sad is a clear indication that he has been listening to it for far too long. A stab of guilt hits him every time he yells down towards the bowels of the factory to tell the monster to shut it, he needs to work and the noise is maddening, but he is always reminded that he is the reason for it all, he has bestowed them all with a new lease of life and now has to deal with the consequences. This is all for a good cause, he reassures himself, and once the rebellion is over he will see to it personally that those who remain are given a humane dismantling and burial.

Every now and again he visits his little witch in the woods, when his days could have been better and he needs a pick-me-up. They never speak of the stormy night and the things they had done, not unlike he had planned, but speak of everything else, and they slowly climb the steps to an awkward friendship that is never truly allowed to blossom. It felt as if every time they would give each other a key, an intricately designed, golden key that would open the lock in their hearts. And every time one would try to open it, they would find yet another, stronger lock, closer to the end but not quite, mystery maintained. It was infuriating and addicting all at once, and he had grown quite fond of the back and forth that had become the most exciting part of his life.

Happiness is a drug that he should not indulge on, he decides. Amidst his work he plans something other than rebellion, other than murder. Sketches something other than machines, looks out the window on the top floor of the factory to daydream about the cabin that stood long abandoned at the edge of his land. It was large for a home in this ass-end of the world, two floors and an attic, a cellar that was used for coal storage and doubled as secret entrance to a tunnel connecting the house and the factory. A fenced garden in the backyard, a shed for tools and firewood. The outhouse was awkwardly placed, too close to the edge, but he had always thought it gave it some extra charm. Answer nature’s call while being dangerously close to it, as it were. The masonry oven outside had not been used for at least half a century, and the well had probably dried up by now. It had been his home for many years, before Miranda took away everything that was theirs and his life with it, before he began dedicating his life to rebellion and dreams of freedom. His room was the one at the end of the corridor upstairs, with a view of the river and the forest extending beyond the confines of the village. It was cramped and cold, a single floorboard always rattled during the night when the wind hit it, the window never fully closed and his father never bothered to fix it. Still, it was home, or it had been, and he sometimes found himself thinking of the good memories he’d had before it all went to shit.

Could it be home again, he wondered? It would be one hell of a spring project, between clearing the debris, dusting and fixing everything up. Nails and the corrugated metal roof would not be a problem, naturally, and the stonework of the first floor was still intact. But he hadn’t fixed a fence in many years, hadn’t sawed nor sanded a plank of wood in longer still. He had never been very good at cleaning anything except weapons and machines, and interior decorating was simply something that had never gone through his mind. It could be a home again, he mused as he brought the blowtorch close to his face to light his cigar, and maybe it would do him good to step away from the damp vapors of the factory every once in a while. But then again, would it be worth the effort and upkeep? He doubted the haulers would make good housekeepers, and he was content enough with his independent, bare, unkempt bachelor lifestyle. But those had never been his intentions, had they? A home but not for him, a home for her, right where he could see her, where he could walk a few minutes and knock on her door whenever.

All strictly professional, of course. She would be effectively isolated from the village and the outside world. Effectively isolated from everyone but him, and he could keep tabs on her and call upon her services when necessary. It was a proposal she would be dumb to refuse: a home easily three times bigger than the one she owned, a larger plot of land for her animals and garden, peace and quiet, access to the Duke for supplies, and even some fun every now and again if she played her cards right. There was also the matter that she would be… Safer, living so close to him, but that was of little importance. Naturally. It had only just occurred to him. He had not begun at that, no. He will give it some more thought over the next few weeks - neither of them would be going anywhere, now would they?

Mother calls him later that day to inform of a family meeting two weeks and a half away, to discuss usual business. They will gather at Donna’s this time around, and it should give them all an opportunity to parade themselves to the public. This is important, you see, she begins like she always does, for their worshipers grow restless with their absence. Heisenberg often feels like she has trained the villagers as one would a dog: starve them for long enough and give them a meager treat to keep them going, teach them that their devotion is rewarded with small miracles brought by hellfire and the tearing of flesh by lycans. He has spent far too long away from the public eye and it is always good practice to remind the villagers of his splendor, she continues. He agrees to strut down main street, bless every crafter that he comes across, and kiss the top of the head of every snotty child pushed in his direction by their parents. He even agrees to wear his Sunday best: the same thing he wore every single day, but with a shiny pin in the shape of his house’s crest.

He conceives his greatest idea yet in the meantime, a soldier that combines the combat capabilities of Eins and Zwei with the mobility of an aircraft. He has Sturm to thank for it, the incessant spinning of the blades having given him the spark to try and create a flying machine. No propeller blades, he decides as the very first thing when he begins drawing the schematics. He has had enough of the noise to last him a good couple of decades. Unsurprisingly, he is caught in a trance of working and passing out and waking up to work some more in the weeks that follow, entire days spent combing through the scrap heaps to find the right materials. He is reminded that the goddamn bed had done wonders for his back every time he deadlifts another engine to pick apart, but still refuses to say goodbye to his uncomfortable armchair and the wonderful massage of its loose springs.

He figures the name for it will strike him at the right moment, and for now focuses on adjusting the thrust speed, ensuring the soldier will land adequately and not simply crash while airborne, as funny as that would look. While Sturm required a sturdy specimen, this will need someone lighter, lankier, and he finds the perfect specimen in Miranda’s latest failed experiment, a young boy of some twenty years who had been orphaned long ago and had turned to the Black God for guidance. In truth, he was nothing more than an errand boy for Mother, bringing messages to and fro, collecting tithe and offerings for her. Heisenberg is curious to know what horrible sin has led him to where he is now, dead and open on his operating table, a wound bigger than his fist where the top of his spine should be. Cadou had begun to take hold when he passed, tendrils shooting out of the infection, and he saved the recently dead nematode for further study later.

Removing the organs is always the messiest part, and he drops armfuls of guts into a nearby bucket to discard later. The boy has broken ribs and is missing his heart, a sign that he had greatly felt Mother’s wrath. Heisenberg almost pities him, alone in the world with nothing but his faith to keep him going, but sooner or later he would have to learn that was the way of the world. It had worked just fine for him, painful but invaluable. He had played the cards he had been dealt and come out on top. Perhaps in another life he would have reached out to give the kid a hand, take him in and give him a job, so long as he stayed out of his way and kept his mouth shut. But then again, perhaps in another life circumstances would not have turned him to a ruthless bastard only out for himself.

Setting up the tubing always takes the longest, delicate work that requires his full attention and steady hands. It feels like fighting an octopus at the best of times, and it is a fight he does not always win. He blows away a hair strand that insists on obscuring his vision, but all he succeeds in is having more of it fall onto his face, beads of sweat also finding their way down his forehead to pool on his brow and slide onto his eyelashes. He wishes he had an assistant every time he does this, every time he pulls a corpse open and finds that his body seems to get in the way every time more than the dead one does. He wishes he had an assistant, remembers the offer he never made her, and regrets it an instant later.

Suddenly his mind has wandered away from his subject on the operating table and has wandered off into a fantasy world, where his little witch gently pulls his hair back to tie it securely away from his face, where she dabs away the sweat on his face with a cloth that smells of wildflowers. She stands patiently next to him, takes notes and follows orders, brings him refreshments and even gives his shoulders a good rub when she feels he has been working too hard. A world where she awaits him every night after a long day, where she greets him with the comfort of home and a hearty meal. His focus is lost from that moment onward, for he is taken with the need to see her, to spend time sitting quietly beside her near the fireplace. To hold her and watch her fall asleep in his arms, to hear her laughter and exchange glib lines with her after dinner.

Goddamn witch.

The poor boy suffers the brunt of his annoyance when Heisenberg punches the side of his ribs, the body resists but does not complain and helps none with doing away with his wishes. What was he thinking, losing sight of his goals because he wants his cock sucked? This is why it was always so much better to stay indoors, to kill such annoying roaches on sight. His carefully constructed mental balance has tumbled, his nirvana disturbed. He was doing just fine before she decided to kill some random lycan and forgot to hide the fucking body. Bored, but just fine. Lonely, but fine. Incredibly depressed, but f-i-n-e. He tries in vain to return to his work once, twice, and gives up on the third time, finally accepting that it would be impossible.

Perhaps it is best if he gets it over with, no? This was but a momentary stumble. He had all but forgotten about her for the better part of a fortnight, having instead turned inward towards his work and growing his intel network by skulking around and reading through papers Miranda had ‘lost’ in transport. Just as quickly as he had latched onto her, he had let her go, back to the hum-drum day to day of developing his metal army.

Or so he thought, faced now with a burning need to walk, almost run towards the forest to catch a glimpse of her again.

He looks down at himself, for the first time conscious of how presentable he was, and decides that it is probably best if he wears something that is not covered in rotting chunks of flesh. Somehow he does not think she will mind it; she strikes him as the kind of woman who would think it adds to his charm. He changes into cleaner clothes regardless, the same moss-colored shirt she had given him the day he showed up at her cabin. An idea shines upon him as he tightens his shoelaces, and he is soon giving orders over the comm system to all haulers: clean the damn place up. Throw the garbage up and over the railings onto the scrapheap, hide it under a carpet, it doesn’t matter. He wants the place presentable enough for him to bring his little witch over - he will tell her a little bit of what he intends, he will show her some of his plans, and he will ask her to work for him. The cabin would take a while but she could always drop by for a visit. All that he has decided in the span of less than a minute, and he hopes there will be enough time for everything to be set up when he makes his way back, holding her hand tightly as he shows her all of the wonders he has created. He also hopes he can keep up the momentum and not soil the plan by chickening out a while later, though something in his mind tells him that might be best.

Heisenberg stops in front of a mirror-like metal plate to check out his hair and wipe the blood of his face, at last satisfied with his appearance and ready to make his next move. He almost skips through the factory on his way up and out of the garage. He is getting laid tonight, goddamn it.

He is surprised to find the Duke’s carriage standing just outside. It must be a Tuesday, though he feels like he last saw the man yesterday; the merchant always completed his regular schedule around the village by making a last stop near - and in - his humble abode. He had much to discuss with the Duke, things of both professional and personal nature, but now was not the time, and he walked by briskly and greeted the man with a tip of his hat, intent on simply passing by.

He knows something has gone terribly wrong when the Duke cackles, and he spots the familiar tail wag of a furry hoofed animal beside the carriage. Heisenberg stops dead on his tracks then, a cold tingle running up his spine, his mouth dry. He stares at the man, mouth agape, trying to form his question but failing miserably. Had something happened? Had the Duke known about her all along? Had he done something to her? The Duke is the first to speak, his usual jolly self, oblivious or uncaring for the situation that has begun to unfold in front of him. “Ah, Lord Heisenberg! How’s the day find you?” There is a pregnant pause as Heisenberg looks at the merchant and back at the tiny goat that bleats at him incessantly, and the Duke roars in laughter, his massive frame shaking the entire carriage. “Oh, it seems the little one likes you! Two hundred lei and it is all yours, my lord. Should be quite the tasty dinner.”

Prince seems to understand its predicament, and cries ever louder, until it is all they both can hear and the sound almost drives him insane. “Where the fuck did you get it?” Is all he manages to say, his tone vicious, but the Duke does not seem to mind it. He looks around for any other signs of her, the dog, or the horse, a chicken, anything.

“My friend in the woods has sold it to me, of course. She no longer has any use for it where she is going, and thought it best to rehome it.” The merchant’s hand reaches out to pet the goat on the head and the whole carriage almost topples over with the weight.

“You know her.” It is not a question, and though there is much he needs to ask there is little he is able to process.

“Indeed. We have been friends for many years, her and I. Since she was a malnourished little girl living under Lady Heisenberg’s protection. Since long before you were born, my lord.” The man takes a long drag from his cigar as if to give Heisenberg enough time to go through his words, and he is glad for it, mind racing a thousand miles a minute. A hundred and something years, the mention of his grandmother’s name. “She has always been quite the ravaging beauty, however. Although I’m sure that has not escaped your notice.” He can hardly contain his exasperation, not at all used to the feeling that currently boils within him. If that man had ever touched her- “She is quite a talented healer, you see. For many years now she has supplied me with the most wonderful of concoctions.” As if to prove it, he lifts up a bottle of the antiseptic he has become so famous for, gives it a little shake and flashes Heisenberg a bright smile.

“She’s gone.” Again he doesn’t ask, simply repeats the information he has been given, and wishes he had his hammer close by to crush that smirk off the Duke’s face.

“Why yes, she has left, of course. It would not be the first time,” the merchant says with a shrug. “A free spirit she is, always has been. Off to find herself some excitement and adventure, I’m sure. I have told her many a time that the village life does not suit her,” he puts the bottle down and interlaces his fingers in front of him, resting on his enormous stomach. “Yet she has come back every time. Sweet, idealistic Morganna, always so kind for her own good.” In his confusion, Heisenberg realizes he has forgotten to breathe, and inhales sharply, blow after blow though he tries to recover, and the Duke is relentless. “Ah, that reminds me, she has left something for you.” He is no longer listening after the Duke’s mouth closes, far too stunned to process what is happening. The blond man hands him a small wooden box that smells like her, and Heisenberg does not care that he can see how much his hands are shaking as he pushes off the lid. He does his best to swallow the rage and the tears that well up in his eyes, the bittersweet thought that she had remembered him before she parted. The woolen slippers lay perfectly arranged inside the box. “If you wish to find her, I am sure she has not made it very far.” Heisenberg continues to stare down incredulously, and the Duke continues to yap like nothing has happened. He has tuned out completely by the time he closes the box again and raises his head to face the merchant. He might as well have been a shadow, disoriented as Heisenberg was, his face a misshaped blob in his eyes. There is no space for thoughts and he lets himself go instead, anger bubbling so close to the surface underneath his skin.

He grabs the goat before the Duke can protest, tucks it safely under his arm, box secured in the other as he marches back inside the barn and closes everything behind him. Gone? The way down is hazy and red, one foot after the other, instinct taking him through the halls and down elevators. Gone. He feels the haulers’ gazes upon him, and hopes they won’t dare showing vestiges of humanity now, or he will kill every last one and set fire to the corpses. The door to his quarters is kicked with entirely too much force and flies off its hinges, he places Prince gently on the floor in the last showing of kindness he would ever allow himself. Gone! The box is thrown across the room and shatters against the wall, tears in his eyes, a strangled cry coming out of him before he can stop himself.

“She’s gone.” He repeats and the words feel like sand in his mouth. He knows them to be true and it only serves to hurt him further. Behind his eyelids, she takes him by the hand and skips down the stairs ever onward towards the darkness, and he knows he is far too weak to stop it now. He has no tools to explain any of it, the crying and yelling and the way his body has slid against the wall and onto the floor like a puddle of muddy, gooey, revolting water. One last bit of control tells him that he should not care, that she is not important, that this is good, that he is free from her grasp. But its screeches are drowned in the uproar within him, and all he can think of is that she is gone and he misses her.

He is once again alone in the world and, for the first time, he knows what heartbreak feels like.

[taoofshigeru]

All main story and crossed paths clear! 49 hours on the game clock.

Partito:

He is just the coolest, cutest chad ever. I feel like everybody who meets him just gets the "So, so COOL!!" tingling in their chest.

Ori is the game's greatest and certainly its most garrulous NPC. I love plucky journalist types, and her abundantly alliterative articulation is an extra level of cute and charming. I'd like to imagine how her headlines would have read for the other seven travelers.

One of the best what-to-do-next interface prompts I have ever encountered: "Purchase the rights to the steam engine."

Like, right there. It's literally what you do.

Alrond wears the Megamind cape and doesn't do anything in moderation.

Osvald:

Harvey is a bastard, huh?

Osvald gains the One True Magic, except when using Advanced Spellcasting it becomes the One True Magic II: Two Truer.

Osvald as a scruffy outlaw dad was fun to see. It was also interesting how he did have violent abilities but once he realizes his daughter is alive he's only using the Mug skill to get dangerous shadow crystals away from people being cursed by them.

Osvald's chapter 3 party banter reveals he ate when muzzled by breaking bread into crumbs and shoving it through a tiny hole. One one hand, yikes. On the other hand, mystery solved.

Agnea:

Dolcinea and Veronica are lesbians. Yay!

Dolcinea is a problematic gay villain with a penchant for extravagant stage costumes. Bless.

In my fight Castti got hit with Dolcinea's Marionette of Love attack and I had to get that taken care of in a hurry. I'm assuming that attack works on all cast members except maybe Temenos.

Music in those final boss fights was very good.

Aggie's Windy Refrain is effectively a 1-turn Leghold Trap that casts on the entire enemy party. It's made her indispensable in boss fights and normal encounters alike.

Lamani kicked a dog and the dog bit back was a neat little joke arc, complete with Veronica cutting off his attempt to be a final chapter boss with one punch in the solar plexus.

Hikari:

Hikari must face himself in the end. But I was doing his final chapter at level 30, so I made him a merchant and used Hired Help to bust darkness boy wide open. Therapy is basically when a bunch of guys with poison daggers show up in your brain and start attacking your inner demons, right?

This was maybe the only story of the eight that did feel like it bogged down in parts. Lots of war is bad, tragedy, My Inner Demons, and revenge beats that felt fairly generic. I still do enjoy him as a character.

It was very nice to be involved in one of those "win a bet so big you bankrupt the casino" story arcs in his chapter 2.

Crossed Paths:

Loved Osvald and Partito talking about coffee as a metaphor for their personality types, and then later as a subtext-is-for-cowards message about how loan sharks deserve to be served a knuckle sandwich several times.

I very much appreciate how different arcs have not-so-subtly built up the presence of a greater evil at work. And especially how varied the setup has been.

Master List of Final Boss Foreshadowing:

The play where Temenos forgets his lines.

The existence and actions of the Moonshade Order in Temenos' story, plus Kaldena glowing purple at the end.

The evil preacher who corrupted Trousseu on Castti's arc.

The dark hunter who went after Glacis, Tera, and Cataracta in Ochette's arc.

The dark force corrupting whichever companion Ochette doesn't pick.

The evil hands corrupting the forest in the Castti/Ochette crossed path, plus the fact that Castti's purple rain cure works on its poison as well.

Partito and Osvald's telescope adventure ends with proof that the days are getting shorter, and nights are getting longer in ways that don't fit with present astronomical knowledge.

The version of the "One True Magic" that Harvey finds glows a familiar purple.

Some of the inquire text and dialogue in Lifeseed at the end of Throné's story.

Yomi's song in Agnea/Hikari crossed path referencing a mirror, almost certainly the mirror that Throné and Temenos found.

Mugen's wielding the cursed blade causes it and him to grow a familiar purple, and the curse of Ku in general. Seems like Hikari was a mix of Lumina and Ku lineage and that makes him special somehow.

Occasionally you walk into an area and are faced with ominous darkness, plus a monster encounter that's glowing purple and doesn't match with the enemy

The loading screen graphic getting dark one branch at a time as certain conditions (presumably completing Main Story/Crossed Paths/another condition) are met.

Next, Extra Story. Is it polyamory for eight people to sit together by a nondescript campfire in the woods that carries a page-long disclaimer? (Hint: In this case, yes.)

I'm sure it'll end fine with my current party levels:

Castti: 64 Ochette: 64 Agnea: 61 Throne: 47 Partito: 46 Osvald: 40 Temenos: 31 Hikari: 30

-_-;

I'm +5 hours into Octopath 2 from the end of demo content, 8 hours total. I expected to enjoy it and I have. Very much so.

Spoilery impressions:

Castti needs a hug. Trousseau needs prison.

Seriously, the Castti story ripped my heart out of my chest from Winterbloom on. Ends of Winterbloom and Healeaks really got to me in different emotional ways. The visual effects for when her Inquire path action leads to her recalling memories is extremely effective. Still need to play that 4th chapter.

I love how the structure of chapters are less linear overall and the player has a bit more freedom in the order they do things. Some chapters don't even have bosses or a dungeon.

They really did put an interactive Russian Roulette sequence right in there, huh?

Battle system is fun, and manages to be pretty challenging. I had a tough time with Castti's chapter 2b fight, a recommended level 24 when my party was in the low 30s. (I did a Tressa solo all bonus jobs run on the first game, so the fact that this is challenging me as much as it is is pretty cool.)

Ochette having infinite uses of Beast Lore opens up the hunter game a lot and makes that class extremely versatile and fun to play. Meanwhile Castti being the party leader and holding the best axe means the healer is generally doing the violence.

The encounter rate feels absurdly high. I don't have scholar yet so the incredibly scruffy Osvald V. Vanstein has been glued into my party for the Evasive Maneuvers skill.

I am saving Ochette/Castti interactions for now because I expect I may need the pick-me-up after how some of these other stories go. There are thankfully light-hearted segments. The overall tone feels a lot darker than Octopath 1, though that may be because I've primarily done Castti/Throné/Ochette chapters so far.

[deanieweaniewrites]

Ruffled Feathers

For: @captainhaterade

Read on AO3

Rated: T (for some sexual references)

Tags: Love Confessions, Bunker Domesticity, First Kiss, WINGS

Things had been quiet around the bunker. Nothing had happened for quite some time. Hunts had slowed down and frankly, everyone just needed some time off. It was rare that they had the chance.

For once, Cas was around. He was hanging out in the bunker with Sam and Dean without disappearing for once. It was a pleasant surprise, especially for Dean. He was going to take advantage of every second he had with Cas. It wasn’t like they got to spend much quality time together. 

On the first day of their break, Dean decided to expose Cas to some more pop culture. He found it ridiculous that Cas hadn’t taken the time to watch cult classic movies. The most appalling was Star Wars. Dean refused to let Cas go any longer without seeing the original trilogy, so they spent the entire day in front of the TV. They shared a pizza, which Cas only munched on for the taste. He left the rest for Dean to actually enjoy. 

On the second day, all three of them went into town to walk around. Sam insisted that they go into this little bookstore/cafe on the corner of the street, which Dean pretended to be reluctant about.

Once he was in there, he was nose-deep in Vonnegut. Cas watched him and read over his shoulder while Sam ordered coffee, a few books in hand. 

Dean glanced over his shoulder and grinned a little at the angel. “Have you ever read Cat’s Cradle?”

Cas shook his head, staring at the book. “Not in its entirety. I’ve read the two pages you just read.”

Dean huffed out a laugh and closed the book. “It’s a good one.”

None of them ended up buying any books. They just enjoyed the ambiance of the store and browsed idly for about an hour before leaving.

Another two days passed. Dean spent almost all of his waking hours with Cas. Sam seemed to be enjoying the time to himself, so Dean didn’t bother him much. He showed Cas countless movies and even made him help cook burgers one evening. 

Dean knew their break had to end soon. Hunting wasn’t something they could just put aside for very long. He emerged from his room on the fifth day of their break and immediately went looking for Cas. 

He knocked on Cas’s bedroom door. “Cas, you in there?” No answer. Dean knocked again and waited. Nothing. He opened the door and peeked inside. He saw an empty bed, and then realized the entire room was empty. 

His heart sank once the knowledge that Cas was gone sank in. He sighed and closed the door. It was only a matter of time, he supposed. Cas wasn’t one to stay in one place for very long. 

Without Cas, the bunker felt a little lonely. Sam was still in his room, which left Dean alone. It almost felt like a hole had opened up within Dean. It wasn’t the first time that it happened. In fact, it happened every time Cas left. It left Dean feeling empty and hollow. In the back of his mind, he knew why, but he didn’t want to face those feelings, not yet. 

Dean moped around the bunker for a few hours before deciding that he needed some fresh air. He made himself a sandwich and walked outside to eat it. It was fall, so the air was crisp and a little breezy. The leaves had all changed colors and covered the forest floor.

Dean walked to his favorite spot to sit outside. It was just off the road and it was a nice and small clearing where he could relax.

Much to his surprise, someone was already there. He couldn’t see their face, but there was definitely a shirtless person sitting against a tree right in his favorite spot. 

Dean’s hand was over his gun tucked into his waistband until he got close enough to see their face. 

It was Cas. 

Cas was sitting on the ground, shirtless, up against the tree Dean always sat against. He wasn’t looking at Dean, but he seemed to know that he was there. 

“Cas? What are you doing out here?” Dean stood right over him and forced his eyes to stay on Cas’s face rather than...the rest of him. 

Cas finally turned his head to look at Dean. He had a nervous smile. “Hello, Dean. I was hoping that we could talk.”

Dean sat down warily. “How did you know I’d come out here?”

“I guessed. I wanted to be outside for this anyway, and I know you come out here when you need to clear your head.”

Dean took his sandwich out of the bag he brought and took a large bite, desperately needing something else to focus on. “That doesn’t explain why you’re shirtless.”

Cas smiled a little. “What kind of sandwich is that?”

“Turkey, and you didn’t answer me.”

Cas looked away. “I wanted you to see me.”

Dean’s face turned red and he nearly choked on his sandwich. “You wanted me to see you shirtless? Why?”

“I have a reason for it. I didn’t want to ruin my clothes.”

Dean choked for real that time. He coughed and his face was on fire. Once he finally had his bearings, he spoke. “We are not boning in the woods, I have a perfectly nice bed inside.”

Cas frowned. “I’m not asking you to have intercourse with me. At least, not right now.”

Dean’s face got impossibly redder. He took a moment to compose himself. “Just...Just tell me what’s going on and quit being vague.”

“I’m trying.” Cas sighed. “You’ve seen my vessel, which is a part of me, but you could consider it a mask. It hides my true form, which is something you could never see. Sometimes I wish you could see my true form, because it’s truly me, and I want you to see that.” He paused. “There is one thing I can show you, something that’s truly me.”

Dean was still reeling, so it took him a moment to process what Cas had said. “So, um, what is it?”

“My wings.”

Dean’s brows shot up. “Really? I can see those without my eyes burning out?”

Cas nodded, rolling his shoulders. “It does expend some energy to bring them into this plane of existence, which is why I never have them out. They’re also very bulky, and they get in the way. I can fly without them out.”

Dean took another bite of his sandwich to calm himself down a little more. “So, that’s why you’re shirtless?” Realization hit. “You’d ruin your clothes because the wings would rip them. I get it now.” He sighed. “You must think I’m a massive perv now, if you didn’t already.”

Cas shook his head. “No, I don’t. Besides, it’s not like I wouldn’t like what you suggested.”

“I’m picking up on that now.” 

Cas scooted away from the tree a little. “I want you to see my wings, because I want you to see me for what I am. This time we’ve spent together over the last few days, it’s made me realize that what I thought were just thoughts, are actually very strong feelings. Being around you is like nothing I’ve ever experienced in all of my millennia. I’ve become more than just an angel. I have more human-like qualities now, which has made me better. I don’t know if it makes me a better angel, but I know that I’m better than them for being like you. You did that for me, Dean. The profound bond we share, it’s gone beyond that of just friends, hasn’t it?”

Dean stared at Cas with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Everything that he had been burying came barreling to the surface and he was left speechless for a moment. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Cas nodded, his lips curling up into a small smile. “I love you, Dean.”

Dean’s heart stopped briefly. His sandwich was long forgotten and all he could do was stare for a while. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, but he was so afraid. He knew what it was like to lose someone he loved, and it felt like if he said those words, it would mean losing Cas. Almost everyone he ever loved had died. It felt like a curse, one Dean could never impose on Cas. 

Cas reached out and placed a hand on Dean’s knee. “I know you’re scared. I want you to know that from now on, I’m going to take better care of myself. You’ve seen me, I get myself into trouble constantly. Because of you, I plan on sticking around. You’re not going to lose me. I’ll follow you to the end of the earth.”

Dean swallowed. The touch, the words of reassurance, Cas’s gaze, they brought a wave of calm over him that swept over like a tidal wave. Even if it was just for a moment, Dean felt like everything was going to be okay. “I...I love you too, Cas.”

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment. All they could do was look at each other and feel the weight of those words hang in the air. 

Dean snapped out of his trance when something dark unfurled from behind Cas. He sat back and watched two massive wings spread out behind him. The feathers were jet black, but the ones that the sun hit just right reflected every color of the rainbow. 

It was nearly a minute before Dean finally spoke. “Whoa.”

Cas had his eyes averted. He looked reserved, maybe even shy. 

Dean pulled his eyes away from Cas’s wings to look at his face. “What, do you not like them? They’re awesome.”

“Other angels like to make jokes about them. They’re not the fluffy white wings that you’d come to expect.”

Dean shook his head. “These are so much better.” He smiled a little. “Hey, thanks for showing me.”

Cas finally met Dean’s eyes. “Thank you for letting me. I’ve wanted to do this for some time.”

Dean got up and moved to sit beside Cas. He sat so close that their sides were touching. “I think I’ve wanted to have this conversation for some time too.” He grinned when Cas’s wing wrapped around him, holding him closer. 

When Cas looked at Dean, both of them knew what they wanted. Their eyes flicked down to each other’s lips, and then it was settled. Dean leaned in and did what he had wanted to do for years. 

He finally kissed his best friend. 

It was sweet and oh-so-right. It felt like everything in Dean’s life had led up to kissing Cas. 

In Dean’s life, things never felt certain, but with Cas, he could feel certain that they loved one another, and that they would follow each other wherever they went. Nothing could break a bond that powerful.

[voidlitmoon]

Familiar Faces, Connected Stories

4 months later, @sugarglider9603 I finally finished the second half!! :D Ohmygosh I'm so sorry for the wait, but thank you all for being so patient, alot has happened including the absolutely dreaded writers block. All of your comments, likes/kudos, reblogs (on Tumblr) have been helping me finish this chapter, so I really want to thank you guys for enjoying this💙💙💙💙

Another important note, but there is a reason I'm posting this today. That's because today (April 2nd) is my 16th birthday! I actually finished this on Monday (March 30th) but I decided to wait the few days so it would be a bit more special (also yes I know it's late I'm posting this, imma be busy all day so night posting it is!)

Also dont worry, if your new here (go check out the previous stories in the Master Post link!) do note I'm going to be writing my interpretation of the pokebois evolutions :D that and more short side stories are coming asap

Alright I've held you long enough, do enjoy!

Bonus note: this fic (Runaway Eevees) is what Sugar has said cannonly happened of how Remus and Deceit met the group, so if you wanna read that go ahead (it's a good read) :D

Ao3 link

Ao3 series link

Part 5 (chapter 1) Part 6

Master Post

Words: 2,931

Summery: ' Virgil's eyes widened "you've all met before" he looked at all five Eevee's faces, finding guilt in three and confusion in the other two "when, how? Was it before I met all of you?" He scratched at the ground.

His brother-father figure perked up behind him "you.. never told him?" He questioned the three trained Eevees, who all shuffled their feet. "We didn't want to worry him?" Roman tried, only for his trash brother to growl. '

The group will finally tell their stories, revealing past connections, and making new ones for the journey ahead

Chapter 2

Virgil watched as Thomas set his hands on Roman and Logan's backs, putting a halt on the growling. Well, for now at least.

He inwardly sighed, he knew the others where protective, heck he himself was being protective of his brothers at the moment. But this much hostility to other pokemon he obviously knew? He even saw Patton's tail twitching, as though the father figure wanted to pull Virgil away but was resisting.

He remembered when he first met this group of misfits, that field of flowers where Patton taught him how to make flower crowns. Yes Logan was sitting out, but Roman pounced at any opportunity to play with any wild pokemon, and Patton came right over to join the dark furred Eevee the second he showed himself. Them acting this way around pokemon they never met..

Virgil's eyes widened "you've all met before" he looked at all five Eevee's faces, finding guilt in three and confusion in the other two "when, how? Was it before I met all of you?" He scratched at the ground.

His brother-father figure perked up behind him "you.. never told him?" He questioned the three trained Eevees, who all shuffled their feet. "We didn't want to worry him?" Roman tried, only for his trash brother to growl.

"Well!" Thomas clapped, startling them all "I'm guessing you guys need to talk about something, and since language barriers exist and food still needs to be cooked, I'm going to go burn that. Don't faint each other!" The trainer stood up from his chair making his way to the pile of berries, leaving several Eevees that probably would faint each other before speaking a word.

Virgil huffed, suspicious and annoyed "alright, first things first!" He chirped in a light tone, though it was clear the growl that accompanied it reached all the others ears "would anyone mind telling me how you've all met?"

______________________________

"-and then you woke up with no knowledge of what went down, so we just didn't tell you" Roman finished lamely. All five Eevees had taken their own bits and pieces of the story to tell, mainly because when two started arguing Virgil would hiss them down. Other than that, the dark furred Eevee didn't speak a word and kept his face neutral throughout.

Virgil sighed, flicking his tail "so you never thought once why two random Eevees took me? Logan, I thought you were the smart one. Well" he added and Logan's ears started to lower in shame "you are the smartest one here, just not about this.

"And you two" the youngest turned his head "did it occur to you that you could have just gone up and asked?" He paused, realizing the answer before the marked Eevee spoke.

"Well," he mumbled, "for one we thought they were the ones that took you in the first place. You just disappeared that day" Virgil shuddered, remembering that was true, though the truck story could be told another day "plus they're.. caught pokemon" he finished. "Ya" Virgil continued "just like me."

"But-" the stink covered Eevee tried, but Virgil shook his head.

"Thomas met me several times before I joined the team, in fact from the story Logan and Patton have told me" he flicked his tail to the shiny pair of parents "Thomas wouldn't let himself catch them until both of them made it clear they wanted to join his journey."

Patton nodded "before Thomas saved us, twice if you count the Team Rocket members in the marketplace, we never trusted humans. Most of the time humans tried to steal us for our fur color, Thomas was different" the father figure hesitated, "it.. kind of felt like a puzzle piece clicking into place when we met."

All the Eevees blinked as Thomas hummed in the background. None of the Eevees had ever mentioned to another about a feeling of a puzzle piece, Thomas had once made a comment of it, but the three there to witness that were more focused on Virgil's tail slipping into the bushes. The two unnamed Eevees even remembered when they first met Virgil hidden in the dumpster, they had felt some kind of connection.

"That.. wasn't just me who's been feeling that when we all meet?" Roman voice stumbled, eyes widening even more as the other 5 shook their heads.

"Well, you all seem to be in a better mood" Thomas chuckled, causing them all to jump. "Woah" he calmed, laughing.

 "Well, food is all ready and prepared, there's enough for you guys as well" he grinned at the newbies.

The two hesitated at the idea of food, but with a comforting chirp from their brother, they followed.

______________________________

With dinner cleaned away (Thomas somehow managing not to burn anything, Logan praised happily) the group curled before a campfire as the trainer roasted marshmallows (these, he did manage to burn more often than not).

Virgil spent this time explaining to both groups how he knew both sides, of how trash and marked Eevees saved him (he didn't explain what he was escaping from), how he really was taken from them, how he met the group in the field of flowers, and how he finally stayed with Thomas for good. By the end of the story his head was laid on the ground as he cuddled Roman (a late addition during the story time, since when he explained they were boyfriends the trash covered Eevee full on tackled Roman) listening to the fire crackle. Wispy clouds drifted lazily across the sky as the night crawling forest pokemon howled and chirped and hooted.

He looked at his family, most of his past was back in his life; but for how long? He shuddered and curled more into Roman's warm fur, hating the realization he might lose them again after looking for so long. They wouldn't want to be with a trainer, especially even if it meant having Virgil being back in their lives.

Virgil. He nearly spat the name at the ground. He wanted one again for so long, from the day he hatched he had one before it and everything was taken away by.. her. He vowed never to take a name again, especially from a human. If he did, would he be betraying his oldest family connection? What would Sleep and Pecha think of his now, their little Star taking a new name, only for this one to probably drive these brothers away.

Virgil lifted his head up, staring at the two nameless pokemon maybe four tail lengths away. Why did they keep searching for him anyways?

He startled as Roman nudged his cheek. "Sorry" the starter apologized "you just dazed off staring at those two, I was wondering if you were ok."

Virgil sighed "I.. I was just wondering, why did they follow me" he mumbled, unable to look at anyone he opted to stare up at the sky. Unfortunately the world decided to push the clouds out of the clearings sky view, only piling on more of his original family's guilt. He never went searching for that farm ever again after his.. escape, and knowing Thomas they wouldn't go 100 feet anywhere near there with Patton, Logan, and Virgil. Sure, Sleep was reckless, but Pecha would be sensible enough to know not to go out into the world, an unknown area only Eevees who were taken by trainers ever saw. Those puzzle pieces were probably lost to time.

But these two.. he looked back down, Star's eyes trailing at all of his family's faces, stopping at the two. They were here, close enough in one bound he could tackle them. Why did they come, why did they care enough to try and steal him back from (what they knew at the time) hostile people and pokemon? Why did they keep looking, why did he keep looking?

Why.. did he keep looking? Virgil stood up, eyes widening. Because they were, they are family. Family he didn't want to lose, he couldn't lose any more of them. With a push from his hind legs and a squeak of surprise from Roman as he momentarily turned into a launch pad, Virgil crashed into his brothers.

"Shit, wha-" one of them cried, getting cut off as Virgil curled close.

"Please don't leave me again" Virgil chirped quietly, to the point only the two he was curled against him could hear. Virgil burrowed closer "please" he whispered "I can't lose anyone again."

The two looked at each other in surprise. They thought, well Virgil wouldn't want them to stick around. From how he told the story they would never (and probably want never) to take the smallest away from this team, and from the looks of it the three Eevees didn't trust them much right now. They didn't, right?

They usually would never hang around a human more than a few moments, never used to having a family bigger than just the three of them. It seemed logically from their past for it to be near impossible for this human and three of his pokemon to ever trust them.

..But

But it was like the light silver shiny had said earlier, they could feel the puzzle pieces there, already connected to Virgil and ready to connect with them all. A human, who was like none other. He had witnessed them take one of his own, but when that one showed he still trusted the two misfits, the trainer opened his arms, gave them food for no other reason than one he trusted showed they trusted the two strangers.

And the three Eevees, Virgil seemed to trust them to the ends of the Earth. Patton had offered them to join their meal right away. Roman had laughed off the trash Eevees tackle and just said Logan's reaction had been similar. Logan, while seeming to be the least likely one to want them here, listened to their half of the story without interrupting unless to give more detail, and was showing trust even now by watching from the fire's other side, not moving an inch. They trusted them in a way.

No, they didn't think of these four as family yet, but for the first time since they met Virgil, since they met each other, there seemed to be a chance to make that come true.

"Ok", the marked Eevee nudged Virgil "we'll think about it overnight."

For some reason, they realized they wouldn't even need that time.

Because the best part of staying was not only they would gain a whole family, one they would perhaps one day learn they could always trust, but they would regain their brother. Their brother they would have searched for eternity to find, and given anything to stay with.

______________________________

Thomas yawned as he sat up, Patton rolling off the trainer's shoulder still fast asleep and swapped to flopping over a passed out Logan, who was moments ago tucked between Thomas's ear and shoulder. The human glanced around, finding Roman (who always moved in his sleep) laying across the sleeping bag where his left ankle was. Last but not least Virgil was curled under a cuddle puddle with the two new Eevees from last night off next to his sleeping bag, the only contact being Virgil's tail brushing Roman's.

The trainer chuckled and slid his foot away from it's prison, quietly hissing as he tested the tingling foot. Of course it was asleep. Well, the best way to wake it up was to get active so..

 

The dirty Eevee stretched, rolling off from the top of the cuddle puddle. He let out a small oof when he came in contact with the floor a moment later than he expected. The strange, definitely not earth floor….

Eevee blinked, watching not one but two of his brothers curl together sleeping. Yesterday wasn't a dream he realized happily, watching the three other Eevees scattered throughout the tent sleep. A pleasant smell carried his paws out of the durable plastic flap, emerging to a bright, just after dawn day. The human (Thomas his always chaotic mind somehow supplied) was back making more hot food. Well, at least he seemed to be attempting with varying success, a stack of nice enoughly done pancakes sat on a plate to his left, with a smaller (but not by much) pile of black crispy pancakes to his right. Now the left crispy brown ones looked appealing, the Eevee thought the crispy, burnt pancakes smelled like a gift from Arceus himself.

 

Thomas stumbled in surprise when the stack of miserable pancakes clattered to the ground, only to laugh as he watched the dirtier of the Eevee pair dive at them hungrily.

"Well breakfast won't be ready for a bit more, but I wouldn't mind the early clean up crew" he giggled as the Eevee glanced up only for a moment, only to turn to back and attack the pancakes again.

"Just make sure not to scatter them too far" Thomas warned kindly, turning back to the camping stove " we'll have to clean up afterwards." The trainer smiled as the Eevee chirped in agreement.

 

Soon the others crawled out, and the burnt pancake (and other foods Thomas just didn't get right) devourer went to chirp and chat with the others. Food was served, equipment packed, and about two hours later Thomas was adjusting everything onto his back. If it hasn't been for Logan, Thomas knew he would never have had his stuff packed so neatly.

"Welp" Thomas said out loud "it's time to get going, we have a gym challenge next town" his four cheered different levels of excitement. He turned to the two wild runners "I guess this is goodbye for now" he smiled

After so many run-ins with Virgil, Thomas had skillfully learned how to hide his heart ripping out everytime he had to leave puzzle pieces behind.

This skill came into play hard when Virgil looked up at the trainer with such sorrow, Thomas nearly burst to tears right then and there. Instead he smiled, offering a hand for comforting pets. Virgil did not walk near the hand, instead letting out and angry hiss.

Thomas shook his head, wishing he could fully understand what Virgil was saying, but got the message "I can't force them, you know better than anyone here that I only bring members on my team if they want to join. Never by force, I always give an option."

Virgil wine was cut off though as the dirty Eevee snapped from his frozen trance and bounded forwards, stepping up to Thomas and putting his paw onto the human's hand. Somewhere in him remembered a similar interaction with Roman when they first met, but that was washed away when the other Eevee came up and chirped something, only to get tackled by Virgil right after.

"Oh" Thomas realized, smiling "I'm guessing that's a good thing?" He asked his team beside him. Patton nodded excitedly, Roman purred, and Logan merely flicked his tail positively.

"I guess I can do this then" he slid out two pokeballs, setting them on the ground. The wild pair looked at eachother one last time before the smaller marked one nodded, and both touched the white button.

 

"So" Thomas asked as the group wandered down the trail, focusing on the pair walking (or in the dirtier ones case bouncing) by his feet "I was wondering if I could offer giving you names? You don't have to, but-" Virgil rubbed the trainer's cheek from his spot in the hood, stopping the human's splutter of words before chirping some of his own down. The two below responded after a moment and Virgil gave off a purr as a signal: both had agreed it would be ok.

"Alright.." he mumbled. Earlier events of when the dirt covered Eevee had offered his paw in the same way Roman had came rushing back, turning and twisting until a name suddenly formed "how about Remus for you?" He wondered. Said Eevee stumbled as though surprised, but after a moment Remus gave a happy chirp, Thomas smiled in return.

Finally there was the Eevee with the special marks on his face. There was something in his mind that he felt for some reason, it just felt right for him to call the other 

"Janus" he mumbled by accident out loud, the trainer's eyes widened as he glanced curiously at the pokemon "what about Janus?" The Eevee seemed to think hard although weighing the name vs. something only he saw, he knew. Before Thomas could speak the little Eevee glaced up and nodded, the most determined nod he had gotten out of the six of them for figuring out their name.

Six of them.

Thomas grinned widely as all six of his Eevees walked or rode on him. It had all started with Roman, the first time Thomas had found a puzzle piece. Then Patton and Logan, Virgil, and finally Remus and Janus. It felt right, like he was home. Like he was with family.

"It's interesting," he voiced quietly to his team "how many of us have seen each other before really meeting each other. There's even more to explore in the future, so many possibilities, so many mysteries. But I'm glad" he sighed gleefully as the distant sound of cars passed. The town was close by.

"I'm glad I get to do it with so many familiar faces. I'm glad that we all have connected stories. I.. honestly couldn't imagine walking our next journey without you guys, my completed puzzle

My family."

[domme-by-starlight]

Induction: Forest

Induction centered around forest and fey imagery. Themes include enchantment and obedience / possession (people with Doms/’tists be careful, but it’s a temporary effect). Does NOT include safeties: please remember that you can and will stop at any time should real life come calling. Think of it as a dream you’ve woken up from, and can re-enter later. No suggestions. Does have a wakener at the end. 

When you think of a forest, what do you imagine? Perhaps beautiful glades of green and dappled shadows on the forest floor. Perhaps you remember walks in woods before, feeling surrounded by trees. Perhaps something else. But what you probably don’t imagine?

You don’t imagine forests as they used to be. Before we came and chopped them down to build homes and ships, before we drove the predators extinct or rare enough that they’d never hurt humans, before we had electricity to light up the darkness. Back when they were the deep, unknown wilds.

Imagine a forest like that. The kind that makes sounds - not just wolf howls, but sounds where you don’t know what’s making them, and you don’t want to find out - you don’t want to think about finding out, even. The kind that’s shadowy even in daytime, because the trees above are so tall that their branches block out most of the sunlight. The kind that’s ancient and unknowable and strange.

Imagine you’re standing on the edge of such a forest, the edge of civilisation. You can’t see far - there’s too much foliage in the way. You don’t know what’s in there.

But you feel a pull, in your mind and heart and soul. 

Something calls you into the woods. Something in those deep woods is singing to your heart, something wild and fey and free. Leave your little structures and monotonous existence, it seems to be saying. Come and be wild with me.

So you follow, don’t you? You can’t resist the pull of that song. And you walk into the forest.

At first, there are patches of light occasionally that reach down all the way to the forest floor. And there’s noise - quite a bit, actually, of birds squawking and leaves rustling and branches creaking. It seems almost comfortable, and you follow the song eagerly. There’s not much of a path, really. It’s more just places where the foliage is a little clearer, perhaps from animals passing. But it works well enough, and the song pulls you deeper.

Then it gets darker. The trees are bigger here, and you only rarely can catch a glimpse of the sky between their branches. And maybe you’re not sure, now... but the call tugs on you, and you find yourself walking forward anyway, entranced. The woods are lovely, dark and deep - and long to go before you sleep. 

The song doubles in strength as the shadows cover you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the darkness. You drift as you walk, letting the song guide your steps, because it’s so strong in your mind that it’s hard to think of anything else. Come to me, come to me, come to me...

And it grows darker, more strange, almost surreal. The birds are silent now. You’re stepping over enormous roots, past ancient trees that may not have been seen by a person for centuries, or ever. But the song pulls you deeper and deeper, completely irresistible. Every step fills you more with the song, pulling you in as easily as breathing. 

You’re nearing the source now, you can tell. The call is incredibly strong now - Come to me, come to me - and you’re nearly running forward, overwhelmed by the song. Nothing else matters. 

You stumble into a clearing - and meet my eyes. It’s hard to even notice the rest of me after that, because you can’t stop staring into those deep green eyes, but you don’t think I look quite human. 

You walk forward, unsteadily, the song still calling you, pulling you deeper and deeper into my eyes as I weave my spell...

And then you feel a touch on your chest, and everything falls away into sleep. 

Good, just like that. So relaxed for me now, so enthralled by my eyes. You’ll make such a lovely toy for me, won’t you? Such a pretty, malleable mind. I can get decades of entertainment out of you, I should think. 

Shh, now, don’t think. You don’t get to think unless I let you, now. My eyes just drain every thought out of you like it was never there, don’t they? Just relax, let the enchantment win. 

You can feel the enchantment now - it feels almost like invisible vines, wrapping around you, binding you in place with a softness that proves unyielding. 

Then you realise they’re inside you, too. Magical tendrils growing through your body, in your blood and bone and nerves, claiming every inch of you. Winding and twisting through every crevice, until you’re sure that if you could see it, your body would be completely covered by vines inside and out. 

Then... then they reach your mind. And it is replaced. The vines grow along every neuron, every pathway through your mind, until they are your mind. You’re still aware of what’s happening, but only because I want you to be. 

I want you to see how much control I have over you. There’s nothing left to do but let me enchant you, play with you, change you as I please. And doesn’t that feel so nice? So relaxing, to be so controlled that you can’t make any choices anymore. That’s why you answered my call. You wanted to be entranced, enthralled, deep in my power. You wanted this. 

That is mind and body, then. As for soul and self - well. Wake. Up, the enchantment slumbering for a moment. Feel how much of a struggle it is, how wrong it feels to be free like this. Don’t worry - it won’t last long.

But this one question must be answered freely. As soon as you answer, I’ll retake you, and you will be completely and wholly mine even more than you just were, thoughtless and obedient and enthralled. Doesn’t that sound nice? Up, now, no dropping yet. 

You see, names have power for my kind. To tell me your name now is to give me power over the essence of yourself. Not just your mind and body, but everything you are and were and could be. 

I don’t have to tell you this. I could just ask, and you’d answer. But I’m telling you because you want it, don’t you? For me to have that power over you. For your last true choice to be giving over yourself to me. 

As soon as you whisper your name, you’ll fall completely into my control, in deep, deep trance. You will be mine. 

So I ask: what is your name?

And sleep. Deeper and deeper for me now, falling into my eyes again because you can’t do anything else but sink and sleep. You’re my pretty, mindless thrall now. So entranced that you can’t think, feeling the power my words have over you now. 

I have your name. Given freely and with full knowledge. I can do anything, now, and you’ll just automatically obey. 

Blink. 

Good. You don’t need to think. You just obey, see? Feel a little burst of happiness welling up inside you... and then fading back to contented trance. 

Your body is mine. Your thoughts are mine. Your emotions are mine. 

Your name is mine. 

Now, how shall I change your mind first...? 

... 

And as you stare into her eyes, let the forest fade away. Still deep for now, but realising that was just a fantasy, wasn’t it? You’re not in a forest, just reading my words. Not enchanted exactly - merely entranced. And I know the fantasy felt so, so nice, but it’s time to start waking now, alright? 

Just relax, letting yourself start to rise into reality again. Feeling happy from the trance, the vividness of the imagery - and it was so clear, wasn’t it? As you practise hypnosis, imagery gets easier and easier to imagine as you train your mind to fall into those patterns. You should be pleased with yourself, for that - it wasn’t my words really doing the work, it was your imagination. 

Good. Remembering who you are, where you are, becoming aware of your surroundings. Starting to properly think again, your mind back to its usual state. Let the lightness of trance stay with you, but the rest of it dissolves into nothingness. 

1.  

2.

3.

4.

5.

Wake.

~

As always, I hope you enjoyed and I would love to hear from you about it! (I mean that. feedback is my favorite thing in the world.) Note: please do not actually tell me your real name, that is your private information that you shouldn’t be telling to strangers on the internet. And if you have requests, feel free to send them my way - this induction was a mix of several different ideas, in fact, so thank you to the people who sent those suggestions in. 

Inductions will get a little rarer as my schedule starts getting full again, so I expect they’ll be once a week or so (with some fiction at random intervals, since that’s much easier to write). But I am fickle and fey and bad at time management, so who knows? You might get one in three days, you might get one in ten. Wait and see! 

[abacys]

7 Days to Die - Play Conditioning

I’ve been thinking about 7 Days to Die a fair amount recently. I got the game in mid-to-late 2016, shortly before the Alpha 15 build was released. I enjoyed it for a while, but after a couple of days, I moved on to other games, as I am wont to do. However, last year, I decided to revisit it and try out surviving on my own again. While I was wandering around the world, my father happened to ask what the game was like. He used to play his fair share of video games, but hadn’t stuck to anything much in recent years. He had tried out some games here and there, Civilization VI comes to mind, but never played for very long. I mentioned a few aspects of the game I thought he would find interesting and recommended that he try it out. Now I have over one hundred and fifty hours in the game, he has banked almost nine hundred, and various family members and friends have spent hundreds or even thousands of hours playing. This has left me wondering what exactly it was that had pulled them so far into this experience that other games had lacked.

The first time you play a new game plays a large role in how you will interact with it as you get further in. The experience at the beginning of the game will contextualize the rest of your time playing. This concept is an element of game design known as Play Conditioning, invented by Harris Brewis, also known as HBomberguy.

First, I should explain what 7 Days to Die is. 7DtD is a post-apocalyptic, open-world survival horror game published by The Fun Pimps, released in 2013. From some statements made by the developers, it is revealed that the third world war has devastated the earth, with nuclear weapons destroying most traces of civilization. In the fallout, a virus of unknown origin has spread, bringing the dead back to life as zombies. Your task is to survive in this increasingly hostile environment. The game takes place in Navezgane, a fictitious county in Arizona, known as “one of the last true Edens on Earth.” 

Now, let’s take a look a way that the first hour of gameplay might play out.

You wake up in a forest near a road that has a frame of a car and various pieces of trash strewn about. you are greeted with a note with a threat written on it, a few basic supplies, and a short set of tutorial quests to get you started. You get to work on completing the quests. 

The sun is now higher in the sky, and the tweets of the of the birds has quieted down.

After you complete the quests, you're pointed in the direction of the nearest trading post, but are otherwise left to your own devices, free to do what you want in the world. Unfortunately, that feeling doesn’t last. 

You quickly notice that you only have one can of food and water, which do not seem to recover much.  As it is the first day of the game, there are two options to to get more. They are to try to make it to the trading post or scavenge for supplies in various locations throughout the land. You take the second option, as you have nothing to purchase food with.

The sun is now directly overhead, and you can now hear wind whistling through the trees.

Upon finding a house, you enter and try to find food to prepare for the coming days. Encountering a few zombies, you to take damage and start bleeding. After beating them back, you use the only bandage you have. This recovers some of your lost health, brings the maximum back up from where it had fallen, and stops your bleeding. Now there is no way of recovering lost health other than waiting, and nothing that can help you if you start bleeding again. You gather some of the supplies now that the area is clear, and obtain some food, water, a cooking pot, and a painkiller in case you have to get into another fight. You set out to find some weaponry in order to be able to manage future encounters more safely.

The bright sunlight has given way to the dimmer yellows and oranges, and you can now hear crickets start to chirp.

You come across a new house, and spot a few boxes on the roof. You go through the building, dispatching the zombies inside with caution. Recovering lost health with the painkillers generates a lot of thirst, requiring you to drink more of your water. After making your way through the building, you end up on top with the stockpile of goods, and a large group of enemies protecting it. Fighting proves difficult, causing an infection and more wounds that you will have to deal with when you get more medicine. Luckily, you can now loot the containers they are guarding, providing you with a better club and bow, and a little more food to tide you over.

While you walk to the trader, an ominous noise plays, and the clock at the top of the screen strikes 22:00.

It’s now night, and you spent the whole day focusing on gathering supplies. This is when you find out the consequence of not staying indoors. Zombies now are faster and stronger, and you don’t have shelter to deal with them. Running away from the nearby zombies that have picked up on you existing takes a lot of time and stamina, increasing your hunger and thirst, making it harder to continue running. Trying to fight them is punishing, causing you to lose a significant portion of health. Now crouching around, trying to sneak past all of the enemies that are around you, there is little that you can do to avoid the feeling that you are powerless until the next day. Any sound you make can draw zombies to you. Trying to go to a new house will just put you in close quarters with more enemies. The only thing now is to sit and wait in the darkness, preparing to run at any time that something notices you. Besides that, you just watch the clock.

After a painfully long amount of time, you hear a tune play, marking 4:00 and the end of the night. You survived though the first full day. However, now you are infected, wounded, starving, thirsty, and without shelter.

Not only does this set a mood for the game, but it also trains the player on how they should play the game by punishing prioritizing the wrong things. The game gives them the base concepts of what they need to survive in the quests, such as getting weapons, clothing, a place to stay, and a way to make food, but don’t enforce those concepts too strongly, allowing for more player freedom. That doesn’t mean that every option the player can take is a good one. Many things they can do, like going into places they are not prepared to enter or engaging in too many fights, will kill them. If they don’t find shelter, they will be in a very dangerous position come nightfall. If they don’t get ample amounts of food an water, they will be less equipped to deal with the tasks they need to handle, or they will just die of starvation or dehydration. The game teaches the player to strike a balance of their needs by making it tangibly more difficult to play and showing what is needed to fix that added difficulty. Every time that the player starts over, or continues past a difficult period of survival provides more knowledge on what they should do to survive, but the first steps give them a baseline of get food, water, and shelter, while avoiding many of the unnecessary risks that you can take. Making the game more difficult or killing the player work as great deterrents to careless play, and showing the steps on how to avoid that help to train the player on what they should do to survive, while not just stating it outright, giving them more of a feeling of actual personal growth and learning to survive in a harsh world.

Even if this is only one aspect of how someone comes to interact with a game, I still think it is very important to how people come to interact with it. There are other things I may come to talk about in the future regarding this, as there are many other things that I believe contribute to the interest this game pulled to those I know. If you can, I would check out the game yourself to see what I mean, and I hope that this admittedly long piece of writing provided some food for thought about these concepts.

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

Reflections of the Demon King

*A bit of a character study of our favorite Demon King. Please enjoy!

This was submitted by @ganondorfthedarklord and we worked together on it. Thanks bro!

Within his personal quarters did the infamous demon king spare glance at tapestry and relic, art and artifact. The Gerudo who stood an immortal king had lived millennia, his memory stretched far and vast, and pieces of himself could be drawn to a time before time itself existed. He was draped in soft scholarly robes over metal boots, black etched over with gold as he allowed himself a moment outside his conflict. As fingers slid across the stitching of textiles from his own time, preserved through extensive magics of his own making, he began to settle into contemplating that long past, back to his youth, considering how he came to be as he was now.

            Fingers drifted from art that depicted his home to things far more personal, a wooden mug, roughly carved from a solid chunk. It was not something fit for a king, it was rugged, uneven, but fit for his enormous fingers and shaped comfortably. Even now he recalled the day he received it…

~

            One year. Only one year had passed since he had been crowned King of the Gerudo, and already dozens of the desert tribes had fallen to his might. Some called him the Witch King, others the Dark Master. In the end it didn’t matter to Ganondorf what he was called, so long as they fools knelt before him.

            On this day, the one year anniversary of his kingship, the leaders of the tribes he conquered presented him with gifts. Some were extravagant works of gold and silver, others were wickedly sharp weapons. He had received little else, save for a few scrolls containing spells of which he already had mastered. He was mentally dividing up the gifts, intending to use them for more useful pursuits than gathering dust on his shelves, when he was interrupted from his thoughts.

            “Your Majesty?” came a shy voice. Ganondorf turned to see a little girl, no older than eleven summers, standing near him, nervously shifting about. She was of the Jabari Tribe, one of his conquests, but there was clearly Gerudo ancestry in her features.

            “What?” he questioned, dutifully keeping his voice neutral.

            “I… I know that… that I have nothing worthy of you… but I wished to give you a gift anyway.” she said. Without another word she presented a simple wooden cup to him. The Dark King took up the offering, examining it critically. The rough hewn wood was nothing to show off about, but it had obviously been carved with care.

            Ganondorf turned to the nervous girl and spoke with clarity something he had never said before.

            “Thank you.”

~

            As Ganondorf drank from the cup he inwardly chuckled at the memories of the odd looks he’d received from nobles due to his use of this cup. He never bothered to share the story of it, they had been unworthy to hear it anyway. Simple yes, but it was his. He shook himself from such thoughts and returned his attention to the tapestry before him.

            His time before his ascension was a mystery to many, but he remembered it well. He had been born to a young she-warrior whose name he had never learned. It had never truly seemed important really, she had died birthing him after all. Nor did he know his father, save that he was a wandering Hylian Knight who had been taken by the Gerudo for a short time. In truth he had been a child of the Gerudo Tribe, rather than any individual. They had forged him into what he was. They had taught him to stand, to strive, to slay. What need of traditional parents had he then?

            Upon his thirteenth summer the wisest and strongest of the Tribal Elders, Koume and Kotake, had taken him into their hands. He knew that they had loved him, but it was not a gentle love. It was a cruel love, hard and sharp like a sword. They had turned him into a weapon of magic and steel. No mistakes had been tolerated, and any he made were punished harshly…

~

            “Fool of pup!” screamed Koume at the prostate child before her. “You are to be King of our people! A savior! And yet you continue to make mistakes that a brain-envenomed Goron wouldn’t make!” she shrieked in Gerudo tongue.

            “I… I am sorry, Elder Koume.” he ground out.

            For that she blasted him with dark fire that etched into his skin. He took it silently, malice building in his gut. “Never apologize you weak pup! Kings do not apologize! They simply are!” Ganondorf stood, feeling the aches in his muscles. Something was building inside him. Something ancient. Something terrible.

            Something very, very, angry.

            “Perhaps then, it is your fault.” he said, not fully conscious of his actions. He only knew that what was inside him NEEDED to be free. “Perhaps I make mistakes because my teacher is a wretched, ugly, weak, PATHETIC BAG OF DUST!” he thundered. The world seemed to fade around him, his nose picked up the faint burn of ozone in the air.

            “You- you wretched-” Koume never got the chance to finish her sentence as Ganondorf loosed a beast’s roar, and with it a bolt of solid black energy from his mouth. It smashed Koume through solid stone.

            With that he fell to the ground. The last thing his senses could grasp before losing consciousness was Kotake walking up and standing over him, a broad smile on her wizened face.

            “Finally.” she said.

~

 After that his strength grew in leaps and bounds. He learned every spell his teachers knew, practiced every martial skill his tribe could offer. His nights were consumed by scrolls and books, filled with the sciences and philosophies of the wise and powerful alike. He became voracious, seeking every scrap of knowledge and power he could find. Soon he towered tall above all his peers in both body and mind. The many scars of his pursuits were left untouched, he took pride in the growth drawn from each cut.

            The path forward had become clear to him. To be free one must have power, to have power one must be intelligent, one must be strong, one must be cunning, one must be willing to utilize that which was necessary. To be a true sovereign one must be able to overcome all that could question him, and in later ages which he had not yet reached he would come to include the gods among those who must be overtaken. He would learn self-reliance as the only reliance. For then he still prayed to the gods to better his lands and strengthen his might.

 Perhaps the only person who ever truly knew him beside himself was his second, a young Gerudo girl who had managed to sneak into his training sessions during that age. For a time, she had been a trusted and wonderful companion a few years younger than himself, sharp of tongue and mind with strength that could hold longer than any other of his kin against him. Such trust was misplaced, he would later learn, as she was not as loyal to him as her own ideas of the Gerudo, and over time their visions of the future would irreconcilably divide. She hid her betrayal well, and it had been wrenching to learn of this treachery.

            It was first with hope that he approached Hyrule, while he had long studied the history he was yet young and naive in all practical sense. War had long existed, but there was perhaps some potential for a more peaceful progress. He soon learned the truth of the Hylians.

 They were a soft people. A people made weak by wealth and plenty. Their King was nothing like what a king should be. He was like his people, soft and weak. A sorry excuse for a monarch. And slowly,steadily, Ganondorf became angry. These weak creatures hoarded and hoarded all they could, unwilling to share with his own. The so-called blessed races which infested the mountains, fields, forests and hills shared in the plenty, but his own were outcasts in the desert wastes.

            His fury could not truly be described. Soon he realized that the only way forward was domination. Control. Conquest.

 Ganondorf began with his native home. He turned the Gerudo people from warriors to soldiers. He forged them as they had forged him. An army was born. And one by one, the tribes of the great Southern Desert fell to his rule.

            His rule was not as stable as he had anticipated. He was far more young and ignorant than he had believed of himself, his older self understood. That passion, that fury, had not yet been as under control as he had believed and in frustration he made many mistakes which further destabilized his rule. He may be proud and unrelenting, lacking in regret, but one did not grow so powerful without correcting where one faulted or erred.

 He had tried a measured hand, but the pride of the tribes he conquered refused to be denied. He was plagued by little rebellions, internal conflicts, and assassination attempts. Slowly he applied more and more pressure upon his conquered peoples. Blood and steel became the law of his rule, but he never went further than what he deemed necessary. For every ten rebels he executed with a swift and brutal hand, another thirty were cowed into submission. He came to realize an important truth: Men do not fear swords. They fear Monsters. And so a monster he became.

It was that philosophy that finally led him to the Triforce, and to Hyrule’s conquest.

            But it was in his seventh year of rule and conquest that his greatest failure came. His confidant and friend had betrayed him. Only through his mothers did he even allow suspicion of her, allow himself to question her. It should have been obvious, but he had been blinded by the trust he had placed. Such a mistake he would not make again, and he swiftly discovered another most trusted servant had never been on his side at all. It was rare any saw what he did not, such mistakes boiled in his veins and he cursed and spat. Steadily, rather than the support he had intended, he had lost ground.

 Defeat was long and it was attrition combat which finally wore his powers from him. He had total confidence in himself all throughout that fight, he needed to, for he was to conquer the heavens themselves, he had brought Hyrule to heel, he had taken their most sacred relics and children were all that faced him. He did not see the gods behind them, and he fell into his hatred, let it control him in ways he would not allow again so easily.

            Many foes had claimed he did not feel as man did, could not see as a person, but something almost all failed to realize is he empathized greatly with those he slew. To manipulate as he has one must truly understand those they are using, and he did not ever act without reason when he had sound mind, but he was ruthless and ceaseless, endless, eternal in his conquest. It was not without consideration that he would end a life, rather he considered each greatly, but of comparison to his goals there was little to decide. Zelda herself had done similar such things in her battles to bring down his reign.

 Ganondorf set his sentiments from the ancient past aside and beheld the present as he rose, though the mug never left his hand, to the bright stained windows which peered into the realm beyond. He saw out into the era as it was. Here he stood outside of his time and realm among countless beings of differing origins beyond his own. Such ripe pickings, such choice pawns and pieces, and the most loyal of servants of all time did follow him again. There was much that had happened here. He deliberated on it as he drank deep of his liquid caffeine.

            Ironic, that one of the beings who most spent her attention upon him was a goddess of light in her world while the other a powerful witch, one of not insignificant strength and deeply wrapped in darkness herself. He had hesitated to call the bonds shared with them love at first, despite the deliciously debauched acts they participated in, but competition as the two challenged him deeper into the embrace was ever driving, as was his passion. As tightly controlled as it may be, upon release his passion was consuming and he was one to fight in every battle before him, even ones of affection. Those bonds developed much further than he had ever anticipated.

 This established, none of the trio possessed the same beliefs, the same ideals, and he well knew they would often come against him no matter how pleasing their time together. It was refreshingly pleasant, though, to take this occasional escape from his constant war. In a way it reminded him of his youth, rejuvenated him. Such bright passion was not as common in him these days, the flare of heat was appreciated. The joining of flesh also produced something he had wanted but not anticipated finding before his final victory — children.

            An heir was something Ganondorf long sought despite his immortality. While there had always been many who sought him it was difficult to find one capable enough, enticing enough, powerful enough for him to even lightly consider the idea of truly bedding. He had first come to have a biological one, and he managed two such children with the first of his mates, the witch, but they had not joined him in his cause. The first had become a beacon of justice in his own world, making himself a symbol not unlike Ganondorf himself. The second had trodden a path similar to his own, rebellion against authority and the divine. Although his actions were far more… altruistic in their motivations.

 But despite their difference in goals he was still proud of both of them. However, no matter his pride, neither could be his heir.

            Then whispers had reached his ears of another child. One so like him yet so very different. A child filled with rage and darkness. A devil in the making, soaked in the blood of genocide and betrayal. He had sought out this child, and the little demon had been everything he had hoped. And so he had his heir. From this child he would forge a scourge upon the Sacred Realm itself. All of creation would one day tremble before this creature… this Angel Fallen Underground.

Ganondorf once more returned attention to the ancient mug as he considered his relations and reflected upon the state of his kin. He would never admit it, but it had been gutting to see what had become of them.

            The last and yet living king of the Gerudo was a man well out of time, he had long recognized. Life changed around him, the Gerudo were long dead; while others might question him of the statement they had died millennia ago. What remained of them was a corpse mutilated into something he cared nothing for. Gone was their savage strength, their terrible will. They had been… domesticated by that wretched scourge that was Hyrule.

 Independence had died, rebellion gone, their leadership had been gorged out and replaced with one far too similar to that of the Hylians. Worse still they now served under the family of Hyrule. It disgusted him to see such proud resistance fall into line beneath the kingdom he fought. The only value of it was the idea of resurrection, he had forged it once, he could forge it again in the crucible of blood and steel. The world had indeed changed, but never was it to benefit him lest he force it.

            Ganondorf contemplated the future, turning from the window toward his maps and plots where much was yet to be subjected and subjugated to his influence.

 What still stood before him was Hyrule, and with it the Triforce. It remained difficult, but to him there had never been such a thing as the impossible, merely heightened and difficult obstacles to overcome. Even fate was one to be taken and conquered. Once he finally wretched these things from the gods and their champions he would have all in hand. From there he could forge all existence as he desired. From there he could remove the thrice damned gods from their thrones. They were his truest of enemies, and such cowards they were to hide from him in the heavens behind their champions.

            Though he rarely spoke such words he truly respected those two ceaseless opponents, both nearly as stubborn as himself. The princess could meet him in wits, the boy in swords, and though separate they could never defeat him they could gather quite the remarkable forces to lead against him together. Each piece of the pair impressed him. He would have to overcome them alone one day, and he would not have it otherwise. For him his victory must be complete and then he shall be able to end all who would stop him. It must be total, eclipsing, and it shall be, no matter how long it takes. He has lived countless centuries, he can take countless more. Existence will cease before he would do so.

 The mug disappeared from his fingers in a mix of black and purple flames, off to a safe location, as did the soft cloth which had cloaked him during this time alone. Donning armor of war made of dark metal detailed in gold and cloaked with crimson beneath fiery hair, the time for contemplation had ended. The time to act neared, he was to convene his forces and prepare for it. Nothing would ever stop his march, only delay, only slow. Fierce fangs glinted in a smirk formed from devious designs taking shape. The giant pair of metal boots moved ever onward to a faint, almost silent, rhythmic click. Always forward.

            Because for Ganondorf, forward was the only possibility.

[ianspirations]

Querida Amazonia - A Summary

Pope Francis summarizes the discussions of the synod into 4 dreams which I think are a brilliant way of portraying the situation as well as the vision for the Amazonian region in particular and for the world in general. He says clearly that he has wilfully refrained from quoting the final document of the Synod because he desires that “everyone read it in full” (QA 3).

“The Amazon region” in the words of the Pope, “is a multinational and interconnected whole, a great biome shared by nine countries: Brazil, Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Guyana, Peru, Surinam, Venezuela and the territory of French Guiana” (QA 5). Although this is a directed exhortation, the Pope chooses to open it up for the whole world since ���the Church’s concern for the problems of this area obliges us to discuss, however briefly, a number of other important issues that can assist other areas of our world in confronting their own challenges” (QA 5).

Here I wish to quote the first part of paragraph 6 because it is so powerful in its message, rich in meaning and clear in its instruction. The Pope writes, “Everything that the Church has to offer must become incarnate in a distinctive way in each part of the world, so that the Bride of Christ can take on a variety of faces that better manifest the inexhaustible riches of God’s grace. Preaching must become incarnate, spirituality must become incarnate, ecclesial structures must become incarnate” (QA 6)

The Four Dreams

I.                    A Social Dream: I dream of an Amazon region that fights for the rights of the poor, the original peoples and the least of our brothers and sisters, where their voices can be heard and their dignity advanced. (QA 7)

The aim of this dream is to bring about a situation wherein every person can enjoy ‘good living.’ This consists in making arduous efforts on behalf of the poor. The Amazon is facing an ‘ecological disaster’ but it is not enough to tackle the ecological issue leaving aside the extremely versatile social situation. The Pope quoting Laudato Si (LS) #49 says, “a true ecological approach always becomes a social approach; it must integrate questions of justice in debates on the environment, so as to hear both the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor.”

The Amazonian region holds massive interest for colonizers; these are not seeking to conquer the place as the colonizers of old but desire to control the land in a new way chiefly through timber and mining industries. This wanton greed has expelled and marginalized the indigenous peoples, the river people and those of African descent who inhabited these parts. What resulted from this fiasco was enslavement, subjection, poverty, xenophobia, sexual exploitation and human trafficking (QA 10).

All those national and international business that have contributed to turning the Amazon into a living hell for the people are guilty of “injustice and crime” (QA 14). The Pope humbly exhorts, “we cannot allow globalization to become ‘a new version of colonialism’” (QA 14).

“We need to feel outrage, as Moses did (cf. Ex 11:8), as Jesus did (cf. Mk 3:5), as God does in the face of injustice (cf. Am 2:4-8; 5:7-12; Ps 106:40)” (QA 15). Colonialism has not ended; it has merely been changed, disguised and concealed (QA 16). In order to combat this grave evil we have to “overcome the colonizing mentalities and build networks of solidarity and development” (QA 17). The Pope suggests that alternatives be sought for sustainable herding and agriculture, discovering sources of energy that don’t pollute and adopting “dignified means of employment that do not entail the destruction of the natural environment and of cultures” (QA 17).

The Church has and continues to play a vital role in defending the rights of the indigenous peoples (QA 18-19). However, the members of the Church like many others, sadly “have been a part of networks of corruption, at times to the point of agreeing to keep silent in exchange for economic assistance for ecclesial works” (QA 25).

The Pope dreams that “the Amazon region…be a place of social dialogue, especially between the various original peoples, for the sake of developing forms of fellowship and joint struggle” (QA 26). “Dialogue must not only favour the preferential option on behalf of the poor, the marginalized and the excluded, but also respect them as having a leading role to play” (QA 27). The Pope insists that all ‘others,’ that is, those without a direct interest in the issue, ought to be treated as ‘others’ and the opinions and ideas also treated as such so as to avoid the possibility of any concrete decision or plan being ‘a plan drawn up by the few for the few.’

II.                  A Cultural Dream: I dream of an Amazon region that can preserve its distinctive cultural riches, where the beauty of our humanity shines forth in so many varied ways. (QA 7)

The fundamental way in which the Amazon can maintain and enhance its rich cultural heritage is through education. The very purpose of education is “to cultivate without uprooting, to foster growth without weakening identity, to be supportive without being invasive” (QA 28). Since the Amazon region is host to many peoples and nationalities, besides over 110 different kinds of indigenous peoples, the treasure trove that is their culture is at a serious risk. First and foremost, they face the threat of ‘postmodern colonization’ and secondly, the classification as ‘uncivilized savages’ who ought to be ‘civilized’ by means of Western education (QA 29).

In the pre-colonial period, the majority of people lived on the shores of the rivers and lakes. Colonizers claimed these prime lands and drove the indigenous peoples inwards to the forests. Today, the desertification of inlands has forced many people to the ‘outskirts and sidewalks of the cities.’ “There they usually lack the points of reference and the cultural roots that provided them with an identity and a sense of dignity, and they swell the ranks of the outcast. This disrupts the cultural transmission of a wisdom that had been passed down for centuries from generation to generation” (QA 30).

Every human group has its distinctive lifestyle and worldview. “Fishers are not the same as hunters, and the gatherers of the interior are not the same as those who cultivate the flood lands… In each land and its features, God manifests himself and reflects something of his inexhaustible beauty. Each distinct group, then, in a vital synthesis with its surroundings, develops its own form of wisdom.” (QA 32). The ‘consumerist vision of human beings’ steamrolls over all cultural distinctions and unique characteristics thereby blurring out and “diminishing the immense variety which is the heritage of all humanity” (QA 33 quoting Laudato Si 144). This has a particularly devastating effect on young people because it causes them to lose touch with their cultural heritage and roots. In order to prevent this problem, the Pope points out the “need to care lovingly for our roots, since they are ‘a fixed point from which we can grow and meet new challenges’” (QA 33). For all Christians, in addition to their cultural roots, there is a need to additionally take charge of one’s faith roots which includes “the history of the people of Israel and the Church up to our own day. Knowledge of them can bring joy and, above all, a hope capable of inspiring noble and courageous actions” (QA 33).

The Pope appreciates all those who have stemmed the threat of losing out on cultural heritage by “writing down their stories and describing the meaning of their customs. In this way, they themselves can explicity acknowledge that they possess something more than an ethnic identity and that they are bearers of precious personal, family and collective memories” (QA 35).

Every culture has its own set of drawbacks. Western cultures dark side of consumerism, individualism, discrimination, inequality and many others are easily noticed by all. Similarly, Amazonian cultures also have their dark side. The Pope suggests that all of us bring our cultures to “the common table, a place of conversation and of shared hopes. In this way our differences, which could seem like a banner or a wall, can become a bridge. Identity and dialogue are not enemies. Our own cultural identity is strengthened and enriched as a result of dialogue with those unlike ourselves” (QA 37). If a culture closes up on itself it becomes “inward-looking and tries to perpetuate obsolete ways of living by rejecting any exchange or debate with regard to the truth about man” (QA 37). The responsibility of protecting, encouraging and nurturing cultures like with each of us. If we are not open to the idea of diverse cultures, how do we expect the people of the interiors to be?

The Pope points out how the globalized economy surreptitiously destroys our human, social and cultural riches. The invasive nature of mass communication drastically reduces the scope for cultural expression and alienates people from their native cultural contexts by introducing them into a digital culture that cares little for authentic cultural expression. For this reason it is absolute vital that cultures and their people be respected, and that they find a definition of ‘good life’ for themselves within the ‘world of symbols and customs’ proper to them rather than following an external definition with accompanying regulations for implantation and ideas for enhancement (QA 40).

III.                Ecological Dream: I dream of an Amazon region that can jealously preserve its overwhelming natural beauty and the superabundant life teeming in its rivers and forests. (QA 7)

The Amazonian culture is so closely and intimately connected with nature that “daily existence is always cosmic” (QA 41). While liberating people from various forms of bondage that entrap them is a way of caring for the environment and defending it, what is of greater importance is “helping the human heart to be open with trust to the God who not only has created all that exists, but has also given us himself in Jesus Christ. The Lord, who is the first to care for us, teaches us to care for our brothers and sisters and the environment which he daily gives us. This is the first ecology that we need” (QA 41). An ecology of nature has to coexist with a human and/or social ecology. The two are interdependent on nearly every level. This belief stems from the conviction that ‘everything is connected.’ (QA 41)

Care for people and care for the ecosystem cannot be separated. An abuse of nature amounts to an ‘abuse of our ancestors, of our brothers and sisters, of the creation and the Creator.’ The harm we do is not limited to the here and now but puts the future in serious jeopardy. Quoting from the Instrumentum Laboris of the Synod, “the land has blood, and it is bleeding; the multinationals have cut the veins of our mother Earth” (QA 42).

The Amazon is a land of water. “The rivers and streams are like veins and water determines every form of life” (QA 43). Water does not divide people by giving them liquid boundaries but rather unites them (QA 45).

The equilibrium of the planet depends in a big way on the health of the Amazon. A huge number of living beings and various climatic elements rely on the Amazon for their existence. The Amazon is a natural filter of Carbon Dioxide, it’s rich forest cover is not only home to numerous species but also contains “resources that could prove essential for curing diseases” (QA 48); the various products like fish and fruits enable humanity to sustain themselves.

When one considers environmental damage or destruction one usually evaluates it in terms of visible extinction but this is not the  correct way of doing this. “The good functioning of ecosystems also requires fungi, algae, worms, insects, reptiles and an innumerable variety of microorganisms” (LS 34). Unfortunately, their impact as well as the damage they incur in the name of ‘development’ is often and sadly, overlooked.

The Pope appreciates the commitment of international agencies and local bureaucracies who “draw public attention to these issues and offer critical cooperation, employing legitimate means of pressure, to ensure that eac government carries out its proper and inalienable responsibility to preserve its country’s environment and natural resources, without capitulating to spurious local and international interests” (LS 38).

The economically invested parties are never satisfied with the profits they make and are constantly on the search for new and innovative means to increase their balances. The Pope suggests that the whole world come together and ensure that there are some sort of clear boundaries that are put in place to protect ecosystems and that do not allow the wanton destruction of our common home in the name of development or profit. (QA 52) Thousands of species have already had the existence cut short due to a variety of reasons but mostly due to human interference. The Pope says it beautifully, “Because of us, thousands of species will no longer give glory to God by their very existence, nor convey their message to us. We have no such right” (QA 54) The Pope concludes that the Amazon region is a “theological locus, a space where God himself reveals himself and summons his sons and daughters” (QA 57).

In order to improve the situation and prevent further destruction, education has a massive role. “A sound and sustainable ecology, one capable of bringing about change, will not develop unless people are changed, unless they are encouraged to opt for another style of life, one less greedy and more serene, more respectful and less anxious, more fraternal” (QA 58).

IV.                An Ecclesial Dream: I dream of Christian communities capable of generous commitment, incarnate in the Amazon region, and giving the Church new faces with Amazonian features. (QA 7)

The Pope is very clear in his stating that all Christian interventions ought to be focused and centred on Christ. All that we do must in some way or another be an opportunity to incarnate the Gospel (QA 64-65). He is very strong in emphasizing that even our work of social upliftment and liberation ought to involve inviting the poor and abandoned to a friendship with the Lord (QA 63).

In order to preach the Gospel effectively, the Church must take on the identity and reality of the people to whom she desires to reach out. The Church brings to the dialogue of inculturation her own rich heritage of Christian wisdom and experience that has been handed down through the centuries (QA 66). Pope Saint John Paul II put it very beautifully when he addressed the Indigenous peoples of the American Continent (12 October 1992), “a faith that does not become culture is a faith not fully accepted, not fully reflected upon, not fully lived” (as quoted in QA 67). Thus the Church must undertake the double action of giving the Gospel and incarnating it in the culture while at the same time receiving from that culture ‘new aspects of revelation’ (QA 68).

For the Church to achieve a better inculturation in the Amazon, she must “listen to its ancestral wisdom, listen once more to the voice of its elders, recognize the values present in the way of life of the original communities, and recover the rich stories of its peoples” (QA 70). For the indigenous people the ‘good life’ is expressed in “personal, familial, communal and cosmic harmony…in a communitarian approach to existence, the ability to find joy and fulfilment in an austere and simple life, and a responsible care of nature that preserves resources for future generations” (QA 71). The Pope wants the Church assist the people in the process of ‘cultural retrieval,’ educate them, especially the urban population, against the dangers of consumerism and isolation and help urban communities to be missionary not only to those among them but to all the poor, marginalized and migrants (QA 72). For the Pope, these are all forms of inculturation and they elevate and fulfil ((QA 72-73).

Indigenous mysticism stresses “the interconnection and interdependence of the whole of creation;” it is a “mysticism of gratuitousness that loves life as a gift;” it is ultimately a “mysticism of a sacred wonder before nature and all its forms of life” (QA 73). For us Christians, it is Jesus Christ, the Son of God who connects all things and is present in and through them (QA 74).

Poverty is one of the defining features of the Amazon region. The Gospel shows a clear connection between evangelization and human advancement. Hence, all Christian communities ought to work for the justice of God’s kingdom that can be achieved through work for the advancement of those who are on the peripheries. The Church’s pastors have to be trained in this regard (QA 75). “In this way, we will reveal the true beauty of the Gospel, which fully humanizes, integrally dignifies persons and peoples, and brings fulfilment to every heart and the whole of life” (QA 76).

When this occurs we can look forward to “witnesses of holiness with an Amazonian face, not imitations of models imported from other places” (QA 77). The holiness of the Amazon will be “born of encounter and engagement, contemplation and service, receptive solitude and life in community, cheerful sobriety and the struggle for justice” (QA 77). This process has been initiated many years ago and the people can be considered to be ‘initially evangelized’ (QA 78).

The Pope opines that there is a possibility of adopting an indigenous symbol without it being considered idolatry. Local myths need not be discarded but possess the ability of appealing to people’s minds and becoming carriers of Christian truth. “A missionary of souls will try to discover the legitimate needs and concerns that seek an outlet in at times imperfect, partial or mistaken religious expressions, and will attempt to respond to them with an inculturated spirituality” (QA 79).

The process of inculturation can be initiated in a very powerful way through the sacraments, “since they unite the divine and the cosmic, grace and creation” (QA 81). The sacraments are unique in as much as they take up creation to God in the same instance as they bring out the Divine manifested in creation. The Sacraments communicate the mercy and healing of God and consequently ought never to be held from anyone who desires to receive them (QA 84). The Church needs to find ways and means of making the sacraments, especially the Holy Eucharist frequent and easily accessible even in the remotest and most isolated communities (QA 86). The role and concept of the priest requires to be revised in keeping with the situation of the place. The Pope defines a priest not as one who possesses power either of the material or spiritual kind but as one who is tasked with incarnating Christ in and through the celebration of the Eucharist and absolving people of their sins (QA 87-88).

The Pope envisions that Christian communities be full of life. This fullness of life can come about only if the community is first united. The Eucharist is a sacrament that “signifies and realizes the Church’s unity” (QA 91). Priests must foster communion in their Churches and not simply aim at achieving unity. Communion can be achieved when the diversity and variety of gifts and charisms that the Spirit pours out on the faithful is properly channelized and expressed. Priests alone, though they have a vital role, are not the only ones responsible and capable of this enormous task; permanent deacons, religious women and lay persons have their unique contributions to make. The Church has to develop an “ecclesial culture that is distinctly lay” (QA 94).

The Pope concludes this dream by mentioning the unforgettable and irreplaceable contribution made by women in the Amazon region. For decades the faith has been kept alive even without a priest thanks to women who “undoubtedly called and prompted by the Holy Spirit, baptized, catechized, prayed and acted as missionaries” (QA 99). The Pope warns the faithful against a reductionist mentality which believes that women can truly be granted a greater status and participation in the Church only if they are ordained priests. He warns that such thinking will serve no other purpose except to “clericalize women, diminish the great value of what they have already accomplished, and subtly make their indispensable contribution less effective” (QA 100). God in His infinite wisdom sought to reveal His power and love through two human faces: “the face of his divine Son made man and the face of a creature, a woman, Mary. Women make their contribution to the Church in a way that is properly theirs, by making present the tender strength of Mary, the Mother” (QA 101). Leaving aside the functional aspect of both genders, the Pope stresses the indispensability of women by stating that without them and their contribution “the Church breaks down” (QA 101). The history of many Amazonian communities is testament to this fact.  

[theherothechampiontheinquisitor]

Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door

*ENDGAME SPOILERS*

Author’s Notes: I am probably in the minority here that I was okay with Tony’s ending. I did however try to soften the blow. My first in a series of fics following post Endgame events. Please leave a comment or like and reblog if you enjoy it.  

Summary: (Pepperony) Yinsen had once told Tony Stark that he was the man who had everything...and nothing. In his final hour Tony knew this was no longer true.

Tony Stark wasn’t ready to die.

He knew he wasn’t ready because he had already cheated death so many times. He survived an explosion, his own weapon turned against him, thanks to the quick thinking of Yinsen, though Yinsen himself would not be so lucky. He had left Tony with a thought though.

“Don’t waste this.”

So he hadn’t. He continued to survive. He survived the betrayal of Obadiah ripping the arc reactor from his chest while he laid paralyzed on the couch, fear squeezing its icy grip around his heart, not for himself but for what Obadiah alluded he’d now do to Pepper. But he survived that moment and the subsequent explosion that would claim his former mentor. He survived Palladium poisoning thanks to his own father’s life work. He survived the fall from the wormhole, saving the earth from Loki and Thanos, an event that would subsequently haunt him even to this moment, fueling every action or reaction from there on out. Finally he was spared on Titan thanks to Strange and lucky flip of a coin that saved him from turning to dust.

No, Tony was not ready to die, but he knew death was not a mistress that he could cheat forever.

When Strange turned to him, face stricken under the burden of his knowledge, he knew that his game of roulette had reached its inevitable conclusion. The one in fourteen million chance to put the world back together. The reason death had returned him so many times. He knew what had to be done.

Captain Marvel lost her struggle for the gauntlet with Thanos and Tony immediately sprang into action, countering Thanos with his own attacks. What the purple titan didn’t realize was Tony slyly transferring the infinity stones over to his own metal hand. Yet another fail safe he had created if the worst should happen. It seemed that this moment was always meant for him.

Thanos batted his body away soon enough but his own arrogance clouded what was right before him. He sneered at Tony as he fastened his hand within the gauntlet. “You see? I am..inevitable.” He snapped his fingers but instead of the large crackle of power, all he got was a metal on metal clank before he finally realized that the stones were missing.

The raw power Tony felt illuminating up and down his body was incredible but dangerous. He could already feel it scorching at his exposed skin beneath the suit. He concentrated fast, envisioning Thanos and his army becoming nothing but dust as he had done to this universe before. His mind raced with a thousand I love yous and apologies but his voice was filled with confidence and resolve, his life coming full circle.

“And...I...am...Iron Man.”

The deafening snap exploded all around them. The last thing that Tony heard was Thanos calling out before the world went white.

Tony had expected his death to be harsh and painful, as scorching as a raging fire. Instead, he felt nothing. The initial aching and burning pain from wielding the stones was non existent. The blinding light slowly faded giving him time to adjust his eyes time to adjust. He was no longer in his damaged battle armor. Instead he wore a black, long sleeved t-shirt and dark pants. The Infinity Stones were nowhere to be seen. The only proof that Tony was able to find that the battle hadn’t been a dream were the scars peeking out from his dark sleeves. White, spidery, vein like scars crawled from his fingertips on his right side to his shoulder and across part of his face and chest. They felt smooth and soft to the touch, like they had been a part of his body forever.

It was then that he finally took in his surroundings in surprise. No longer was he in the desolate ruins of the Avengers Headquarters.Instead he was surrounded by the lush green forest of his lakeside home. Everything looked as it did when he last was here. He slowly made his way towards the house, Pepper’s wind chimes swaying in the breeze, creating a melodic tune. It was all very surreal. He shouldn’t be here, he knew, but at the same time he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The greenhouse and hydroponics lab laid just beyond the vegetable garden to his right, the crops slowly flourishing under what had been his and Pepper’s attention. He remembered how happy Pepper had been with that addition, kneeling beside her in the field digging dirt and planting seeds. He had kissed her dirt streaked face until they couldn’t remember their own names.

Morgan’s fort was still set up near their favorite tree beside the lake. An empty table and chairs set up for a tea party that never happened. A pang of guilt struck him then, wondering if his little girl would ever understand why he had done what he did when he could have been home with her forever. She was smart though and embodied Pepper’s practical nature. He had to believe that she would trust his actions.

Then again, he couldn’t even be sure of what happened. One moment he was in battle, the next he wasn’t. He could feel the panic begin to bubble inside of his chest as he reached the porch steps and slowly slid back against them, against the house that he and Pepper had built together what felt like a million lifetimes ago. What was happening to him?

“Tony…” a familiar voice called out in the haze of Tony’s panic. He didn’t even see Rhodey coming until he leaned forward and gripped his shoulder, a sad smile forming across his lips. He was no longer in his armor either but he looked no worse for wear. He did notice Rhodey’s eyes shined with pride but almost just as quickly were overshadowed by a blanket of grief. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears and grim reserve. Tony wanted to ask him how he had gotten here but his chest was so tight, he couldn’t force any sound from his body.

Tony’s mind flashed to the times they had spent together before and after he became Iron Man. Rhodey had been like a brother to him and always stood by his side, even when Tony was wrong. He told him as much while Rhodey was recovering in the hospital after the airport battle. Rhodey cracked a joke to hide the tears that had formed.

“You did it Mr. Stark,” another voice spoke from his side. “You did it sir, we won.”

Tony was pulled from his reverie at the voice of his young protege. The kid who he had lost and gone to hell and back for was here and alive, desperately grasping at his hands. The kid he had loved like his own. Peter never was one to hide his emotions and feelings, even now clinging to Tony as the tears unabashedly fell from his face. He wished that he could give him another hug, but the weight that he felt from before had grown heavier on his chest and his mind was racing.

Relief resounded throughout his body when Peter told him that they had won. He at least knew one thing for certain though he was beginning to suspect that he hadn’t made it back like the others. Tony lost focus from Peter completely. His speaking, his hand that gripped him, the sobs that he failed to keep at bay. Inside his mind was spinning and he felt like he was having another panic attack though it had been years since his last one.

Had the Infinity Stones brought him to this place to die?

“Hey,” came a soft whispered voice and the fog from his mind started to clear, the spinning slowing and allowing him to focus. His Pepper brought a hand up to rest at the spot his arc reactor had been for so many years.

“Hey, Pep,” he hoarsely whispered back, feeling grounded as he was finally able to speak and raised his hand to cover hers on his chest. She was so beautiful. Had he told her that enough? He suspected he wouldn’t get another chance to but he tried to communicate all of his love and admiration through his eyes.

“Friday?” Pepper asked aloud, never taking her eyes off of him. He felt all her love reflected back to him at that point and his heart had never felt so full.

“Life functions critical.”

So, he was dying. His rational mind tried to tell him this was all some kind of fever dream, a delirium from the injuries he had sustained, but he felt no pain. He didn’t even really feel afraid anymore. Since Pepper captured his gaze he began to feel a sense of peace wash over his body, cleansing all the hurts and sadness.

One thing was still missing though. Morgan. He hoped against hope that she would someday forgive him for this sacrifice play but all of his insecurities began to claw their way back. If he was dying in this ethereal plain, then who would be there to protect her? Who would be there to comfort her in his absence and make up her silly stories at bedtime? If he died he couldn’t see her grow up, would never see her graduate, or get married. Have children of her own. He wouldn’t know if she ever loved him more than 3000 if he were to go now.

Despair filled his mind once again and he lost his focus from Pepper’s calming smile. He had to hold on, he could be saved somehow. He couldn’t give up the fight now when he was still needed so much. But he was so tired.

“Tony, look at me,” her voice broke through his thoughts again with a gentleness that demanded his attention and he struggled to turn back towards her, into those deep blue eyes. Tears were quickly filling up but she never faltered, even now. His strong, amazing wife.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she nodded and smiled again at him.

Tony’s mind began to steady once more and he knew that Pepper was right. They would be okay. Morgan would always have her mother...and Peter...and Rhodey...and even Happy. She would be surrounded by the same people that had always taken care of him and given him the love and support he needed. He would miss her fiercely though. She had stolen his heart away the moment he first held her in his arms. He would miss those sweet brown eyes so much like his own, filled with all of the wonders and curiosities of the world. The way her small hand would fit into his when they’d walk down to the dock to go fishing. The way she’d hug him with all of her tiny might, her face in the crook of his neck as she would tell him she loved him. No, tell him she loved him 3000.

He knew the rest of the Avengers would be there as well to pick up his mantle and ensure that the world and his daughter would be safe and able to grow up in peace.

From the moment he had come out of that cave, his life had been building to this moment. He had saved everyone. Yinsen had once said that he was the man with everything -- and nothing. That was true no longer. He wondered for the briefest moment what Yinsen would think of him now, surrounded by his loved ones in his final hour, and pride surged from within.

“You can rest now,” Pepper added softly with a smile. She had asked him once, before all this had been set in motion if he would be able to rest knowing that he could have done something to save everyone. Pepper had always known his heart better than anyone and though this was the very thing that she had feared the most, she was still here to hold his hand through it all, making sure he would be okay. She would mourn for him of course, but she would come out the other side okay.

Tony looked Pepper in the eyes one more time, feeling the strength to remain in her world lessen with each breath. His grip on Pepper’s hand loosened and slowly fell back down to his side. Tony resolved that he would wait for her here. Forever if he had to. He knew she would come. She always did.

Tony Stark felt calm in those last moments between the living world and the next. No more fear or pain or regret. Only calm warmth and love.

Peace, in his time.

[shadowfaximpala]

Bring the Wayward Home Tonight

MASTERLIST

Summary: The Darkness released her grip on the world, the bond between you and your brother being her saving grace for humanity; filled with inspiration and compassion she gives you the thing you needed most. But all gifts come with burden…

Warnings: Language, Depression, Angst

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Author’s Notes: This will be a short series, I like to write when I travel to work and music is often the source. Let me know what you think so far! I love writing angsty stuff.

Chapter Two: Conundrum

“Where the hell are we?” Dean grumbled as he tried to get a reading on his cellphone but to no avail. You groaned shoving through the endless forest of bushes and brambles.

“Hell if I know,” you replied, your short fuse running dangerously low. You had both saved the world yet again and now you were wondering around Chuck holy knows where being scratched and scraped by foliage and vines. You hugged the khaki coat closer to your body for warmth as a cold chill settled over the intrusion of night.

“Help!” A woman’s screams filled the air as the pair of you exchanged a glance and took off towards the direction of the shouts. Your feet found a path in no time at all, you both sprinted down the pave-way, almost at a clearing. You could hear hushed conversion becoming louder upon approach, your heart began hammering in your chest.

“I’m not trying to hurt you woman, I’m just as lost and confused as you!” You heard the soft pitch of a male voice. Recognition flooded your senses at the way the sound trailed off into a higher pitch at the end, the way it always did when he was confused or shouting, a voice so familiar yet you had almost forgotten the sound…Almost. Your heart stopped beating entirely when you reached the clearing.

You couldn’t breathe, you’d lost the knowledge on how to function as all sense left you entirely, your eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. If you could collapse that moment you could of but your feet carried you without any warning...

“Gabriel?” You voice cracked as your mind caught up. Your eyes darted from him to the woman with long flowing blonde locks, as she turned to face you that familiar ache in your chest hit you again like a freight train, this was all too much to take it, it couldn't be true... This couldn't be happening, you had to be dead, this had to be heaven! Or some freaky reunion in another dimension, you'd had your fair share of those over the years...

“Mom?” You and Dean spoke in unison.

Everything faded to black in that single instant.

Warmth flooded your cheek before a small sting brought you back to your senses, you sat up slowly, your vision met with golden whiskey coloured eyes.

“Sorry sugar, you weren't waking up so I gave you a loving slap, I know I'm sexy but you didn't need to faint on me,” he was kneeling right in front of you, he was here. All those nights you spent sobbing your heart out in the confines of your room where nobody would see, all those prayers left unanswered and finally Amara was the one to answer them. Gabe helped you to your feet, your eyes were fixed on the other gift given to you by the darkness.

“Mom?” Your voice came out barely a whisper but she heard it, Dean had already soothed her into a sense of security, she eyed you for the longest moment before slowly approaching you.

“Y/N…” Her hand reached for you but you stood still, scared that this was all an illusion. Her arms encircled your shoulders, in that moment those walls you had constructed around your emotions broke. Sobbing softly onto her shoulder her arm instinctively stroked your back to calm you.

“I can't believe it's you…” you whimpered between sobs.

“It's me honey, I'm here.” You managed to calm your breathing as she held you at arm's length to look at you.

Finally the Winchester gene kicked in, ‘No chick flick moments,’ you wiped your tears on the sleeve of your jacket and rolled your shoulders letting out a nervous laugh as you reconstructed your expression.

You mother looked from you to the angel stood behind you, watching with cautious eyes. A knowing smile ghosted her lips as she nodded her head to him, she turned and walked towards your brother leaving you alone with Gabriel. You twisted slowly on your heel to face the resurrected archangel.

“Are you alright sugar lump, you haven't said a word…” You approached him with haste, your arms shot out and wrapped around his waist, holding on for dear life, terrified that this was a temporary scenario. His hand gripped the back of your neck, holding your head to his shoulder.

“Seven years.” You whispered. “You've been gone for seven years,” you repeated.

“Seven years is nothing… I've had longer power naps,” he laughed. You could feel the bounce of his shoulders, the smell of his black jacket that replaced the one you were wearing smelled of musk, his golden hair brushing lightly against your cheek, he was here. He was real. You repeated the mantra over and over in your head trying not to fray the only ends of sanity you had left.

Realisation dawned on you.

“I've aged seven years since you last saw me and you haven't aged a single day, you'll never age,” you groaned softly, trying to kick humour into the situation but it came off a little harsher than intended. You bit your lip trying not to say anything else stupid, after all this time and that was all you could muster? Mentally you booted yourself in the shin for being so ridiculous.

“About that…” you pulled back from his embrace. “Apparently Auntie Amara has a twisted sense of humour, I don't have any grace. She kinda brought me back with an expiry date.” His face was laced with the ghost of a smile, but you knew him better, this information wounded him deeply.

“How long?” Weariness pulling at the edge of your tone, you could feel your voice break but you composed yourself once again.

“Probably until I go into a diabetic coma or Lucifer rags me around like a chew toy again…”

“Wait, you're human?” Your eyebrows shot up, the look of shock on your face must have been painfully evident as guilt washed over the former angel’s face.

“Yep.”

“Gabe I'm so sorry…”

“Don't be. I got a second chance at existence, and the best part is I get to spend it with you, well, you didn't get hitched and knocked up in the last few years did you?” You punched his arm to which he flinched and gripped his shoulder.

“Of course I didn't you idiot, why do you think I still wear this battered thing?” You pinched at the corners of your jacket, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, his smile grew from ear to ear.

He was here. He was real.

“I guess we have a lot of catching up to do… And then we can talk about the last seven years,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you, that sleazy smirk that you had never forgotten now plastering his perfect features.

“No matter how much I missed you Gabe, I'm not getting down and dirty in a public park.” It almost sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself, but there were bigger problems at hand. He couldn't whisk you away to some exotic location anymore, so getting locked up for public indecency wasn't on your bucket list.

“Party pooper,” he whined but practically bounced on his feet, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

The two of you walked across the clearing to a now occupied bench, you listened with deep sorrow as Dean relayed as much as he could to your mother about what had transpired leading to her resurrection, Gabe tried to listen too but he seemed distracted. The night began drawing to a close as dawn bustled through the edge of darkness.

_____________

The four of you stumbled across a parking lot on your way through a nearby town, Dean got to work picking out one the owner ‘wouldn't miss’, claiming his saving the world a handful of times gave him a free pass on borrowing cars. Gabriel and you both found a 24 hour store to stock up and buy your mom some new clothes. You found something you thought she would find comfortable and practical. Just as you reached the food isle Gabe’s stomach started howling in protest, your eyes shot up to the pained expression on his face.

“Sweet Fucking hell!” He cursed, grabbing his stomach. “Can we steal the whole store?” You eyed him wearily before running off to grab anything you could find, much to his delight was a slice of chocolate cake and a series of sweet snacks, as well as something Dean and your mom would enjoy more than inducing a heart attack so early in the morning.

When you returned Dean was waiting with the engine of an old mustang running. You rolled your eyes but hopped in the back next to Gabriel, you handed Mary the bag of clothing and distributed the food.

“Oh my dad, this is amazing, it's even better now I've lost my angel mojo!” Gabriel grunted as he tucked into the sugary slice of cake.

Your mother craned her neck around to eye you both, she watched Gabe scoff down the cake with a curious smile.

“Angel mojo?” She quizzed.

“Uh, yeah…” you gave her an awkward smile before continuing. “If there's demons then you should believe angels exist too, you know wings and a harp… or horn” Gabe’s eyebrows wiggled at you as you gave him a smug grin, “except this one is now human.”

“I thought something was off with him, more than usual,” Dean shot from the driver's seat.

“I can hear you, you know...” Gabriel piped up through mouthfuls. “You don’t seem best pleased that I’m alive and kicking Deano.”

“I’m thrilled, but I’m going to address the elephant in the car, you’re a human. As much as I love the idea that you’re not going to punk our asses all the time, how are you going to be of use to us?” His voice was hard and harsh like daggers, you winced as you saw Gabriel’s face drop into a frown.

You shot Dean a cold glare through the rear view mirror, his eyes met with yours, your elder brother gave you an apologetic smile with his eyes before focusing back on the road.  

“I’m just being honest here…” Dean offered.

“No, you’re being an asshole. When Cas was human was he useless to us? No.” You barked back.

“He kinda was Y/N until he started stealing angel grace…” Your brother wouldn’t let up on the idea that Gabriel was going to burden the group. Anger flashed through you.

“And it nearly killed him, but his grace was stolen, Gabe-”

“Still here,” Gabe’s voice rang through the car but you decided to ignore him momentarily.

“Gabriel’s grace is gone…” Sadness burdened you, guilt pulled at the corners of your voice as you stared at the once glorious archangel now painfully human.

“Dean’s right.” Gabriel said softly, staring out the window as the landscape rushed by in a blur. “My grace is gone, but I’m not entirely useless. I’ve been here for a long time, longer than you Winchester’s can comprehend. I know things that aren’t written in books or documented anywhere, I can still handle a blade, no pun intended, and you can be damn sure I still have a trick or two up my sleeve.” He turned to you, a painfully beautiful smile painted on his features. Your heart ached in that instant, he reached for your clenched fist, giving it a small squeeze.

“You’re gonna need to learn how to handle a gun,” Dean’s gruff voice stated flatly. “Welcome to the family business.”

“Oh so we’re family now?” Gabe’s eyebrows bounced up and down. “Last thing I remember you and Sam we’re happy to throw me under the Lucifer bus,”

“Only because you decided to man up and confront your brother. You wanted us to drag Y/N out by her hair in that hotel. It’s not my fault you couldn’t stick him.” Dean groaned causing you to roll your eyes.

“Lucifer? The devil? I’m sorry, I’m a little lost with all this, Y/N is this angel… er man your husband?” Your mom peeked from around the passenger seat to look at you and Gabriel.

“No mom. It’s… complicated. I’ll tell you later.”

“We have a few hours to burn here so why not catch me up?” She was insistent, the look of sparkling curiosity in her eyes meant you couldn’t deny her the information she was seeking.

“Fine.” You sighed.

_________

The hours passed slowly as you caught her up to speed on what had transpired all those years ago in Elysian Fields, the events leading up to Gabriel’s death, your relationship with him and how it started, much to Sam and Dean’s outbursts of ‘Over our dead bodies,’ closely followed by ‘Hell no, this is not happening, not my sister,’ Gabe had various quirks to throw into the tale. You relayed various information on what had happened after about Lucifer and the cage. You mom looked seriously impressed with her children’s activities since her death.

“I can’t believe you all had to go through that.” She finally stated.

“Well we had to grow up pretty damn quick no thanks to Dad,” you replied getting out of the car which Dean had hurriedly parked outside of the bunker, eager to rush in.

“Funny, Dean said the same thing back at the park. I’m sorry you were dragged into this life…” She embraced you, the four of you ventured into the bunker finding it empty.

“Sam, Cas?” Dean called out, with no response both of you went into panic mode when discovering blood on the floor. “Sammy!” the two of you called out in unison, no answer.

“Stay here…” Dean insisted. Mary looked unimpressed until Dean handed her a weapon.

“Here..” Your eyes locked with Gabriel as you handed him your spare gun, you cocked it emptying a round into the chamber. “This is the safety catch, if you see anything, flip this, point and then shoot. Okay?” The expression that met your gaze broke your heart. Sadness seeping into his face he gave you a slow nod before you darted into the corridor, your gun pointed at an angle as you were armed and ready.

You quickly did a sweep of the bunker, finding it abysmally empty. On return you found Castiel embracing Dean, the look of relief washed over him.

“Cas this is uh… Mary. Winchester.” Dean introduced his mother to the angel. Castiel’s expression grew weary as he turned to Gabriel, unsure of how to process what was going on, he approached the former archangel cautiously.

“Gabriel, is it really you?” His deep voice full of question.

“Hey bro, alive and kicking. Well…” Castiel could sense it in a flash, he looked apologetic. “If you could all stop looking at me like a wounded puppy that would be great.” The former archangel deadpanned.

“I'm sorry brother, we’ll figure it out.”

“I'm in no rush, surprisingly.” Gabe insisted, pulling you close to him.

“We need to figure out where the hell Sam is,” Dean grumbled, flipping open the laptop in haste, his lank frame setting into a chair, his eyes alert but weary. It had been days since any of you had slept a wink, not counting your momentary fainting spell.

You watched your mom with a Cheshire grin, she seemed intent and focused on the foreign object in Dean’s hands.

“Is that a computer?” Her eyes almost sparkled with the curiosity behind them.

“Yeah, aliens gifted us with the power of technology.” Her eyes shot to you, panicked.

“I'm messing with you,” her face still didn't relax. “Yes mom, it's a computer.” And suddenly that phrase filled you with delight, the fact that you could now teach your mother how to use a laptop was a simple yet magical thing that you thought only existed among normal families, when parents threw angry fits at the trackpad for not responding, calling their kids in for backup or a url wasn't working so it had to be a sign of the computer at fault. You heart swelled, you would have been ecstatic in that moment had your younger brother not been abducted by some crazed bitch just asking for a death wish.

“Got something,” your brother relayed after Castiel had told you what had transpired in your absence.

Dean tracked the license plate as far as he could before hopping to his feet, you all followed in tow out to the garage, determination setting in.

Tagged list: @wtfcas @honeyicouldntthinkofaur  @nobodys-baby-now

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 60928/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12

Read on: Ao3

--

Emma finds it most surprising of all, how entirely normal the drive to the queen’s palace becomes. The small chateau has joined the ranks of Mamie’s, the university library, and Killian’s pubs as her favorite of Misthaven haunts. It has a homey comfort to it. Just looking at the familiar trees and twisting road up the hill has Emma craving hot chocolate with cinnamon and the stillness of the royal library.

She realizes that she’s relaxed a bit around Mary Margaret as well. Today, Emma is even wearing jeans, with a cable knit sweater and knotted faux-silk scarf, but still- it’s far more casual than she’s dared to dress before. Because Mary Margaret is startling to feel like family.

The car pulls up the palace and a footman opens the door for her. It looks welcoming, framed with bright red autumn leaves. Emma gets out, swinging her tote bag over her shoulder.

Just as she’s about to enter the palace, the door swings open.

“Excuse me,” A voice says, and Emma looks up, stumbling back, as she realizes that she’s almost run into the Prime Minister.

“Oh sorry, Prime Minister Mills,” Emma mutters.

“Oh, Emma, right?” The woman says, with a tight smile.

“Yeah, it is,” Emma says awkwardly. “Sorry again.”

“It’s not a bother,” She replies, “But I would like to steal you away for a moment.”

Emma gives the woman a puzzled look.

“Let’s take a walk through the gardens, shall we?” The woman suggests.

“Sure, I guess,” Emma agrees. Who is she to argue with the Prime Minister of Misthaven?

They take a turn towards a leaf littered grove.

“I’m not going to waste your time with small talk, so I’ll get to the point. As someone enthusiastic about the liberal arts, I assume you are knowledgeable about the history of Misthaven,” Prime Minister Mills says.

“I am,” Emma agrees.

“Well then, as you know, Queen Mary Margaret lost a lot in the revolution,” the woman explains.

Emma nods. “I’m researching the revolution for my thesis. I know it was a really bad time. A lot of fear and loss of human life.”

“I’m glad you grasp it a bit. Our Queen lost everything- her family, her kingdom. And I’m sorry to say that she still hasn’t recovered,” Regina tells her.

Emma looks up at the prime minister. They’ve reached the copse now. There is a stone bench that Emma thinks that they are going to sit on, but Regina remains standing.

“You should know that she’s latched onto a lot of young girls named ‘Emma’ who fake American accents and try to win her affections. And every time, it’s ended in heartbreak.”

“She’s told me a little,” Emma admits.

“Well than you should be advised to not let that happen. The queen can’t take another heartbreak. The kingdom can’t take any more false hope.”

Emma’s stomach churns. Regina is on to her.

“I’m not saying that’s what you are doing. But I also haven’t ruled on the fact that you aren’t. Everyone wants to be the lost princess. Everyone wants her to exist.”

Emma tries to keep her face from getting splotchy and her eyes from welling with tears. She doesn’t know how to react.

“I’m not- I mean,” Emma says, “Queen Mary Margaret is a friend. We just talk about books and stuff.”

The prime minister gives Emma stern look. “It would be a humiliation to our kingdom if the queen was to be publically made a fool again. Are we clear?”

Emma feels an unfamiliar rage flame inside of her. The queen isn’t some random, poor lady. The queen is the woman who discusses books with her, who buys bear claws when she discovers that Emma likes them, and who tells her that’s she valuable.

“I know that the queen can be a little naïve, but that doesn’t mean she’s stupid,” Emma says, surprised at her own avarice. “She can make decisions for herself. You aren’t her parent. She’s wise and thoughtful. Yes, she’s hopeful, but she’s not a child.”

Regina breathes in sharply and then exhales slowly, with a grimace.

“Miss Swan, she may be the queen, but I am the one in charge of this country now. If I see that your relationship with her majesty is becoming inappropriate or dangerous to our country, I will have to ask you to leave. Are we understood?”

Emma bites her lip and resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yes, Madame Prime Minister.”

“Good day to you, Miss Swan.”

Prime Minister Mills turns on her heel and walks off. Emma tries not to giggle as a leaf gets stuff in the woman’s heel as she stomps off through the leaves.

Once she has driven off, Emma sinks down onto the stone bench. She’s shaking. She feels caught, scolded like a child.

Part of her does feel guilty. This whole thing did begin as a rouse to convince the queen. Emma has celebrated each success she’s had in convincing the woman that she’s her long-lost daughter. There has been a voice in Emma’s head this whole time that is thinking about the money, thinking about tuition fees and students loans, and all the burdens that could be removed by the queen’s affections.

But there is another part of her that has let go of that goal or possibility. She thinks back often to the afternoon in the church tower where she told Killian her worries. He reassured her that merely her friendship with the queen was enough. She could sip tea and talk about books with her, and if that was it- that wasn’t bad either. And it’s true. Emma likes Queen Mary Margaret. She enjoys her company and if this is all that happens- Emma knows she is lucky enough.

Emma wants to survive, but she also cares deeply for Mary Margaret.

And there is this weird part of her that thinks that maybe it is okay that Mary Margaret believes that she’s her daughter. Maybe that is truly the best thing for the sovereign. She knows that the woman’s heart won’t rest until she knows that her daughter is found. And Emma wants the woman’s heart to be at rest.

“Emma, darling?” The queen’s voice calls.

“Sorry, I’m out in the garden,” Emma replies, hurrying to her feet.

“Whatever for?” The queen asks, approaching her, doting a kiss on each cheek.

Emma thinks of telling the queen about her conversation with Regina, but thinks better of it. The queen needs not know about it.

“It’s nothing,” Emma says, “I just wanted to take some Instagram pictures of the forest out here. These trees are gorgeous.”

Mary Margaret smiles, “They are lovely, aren’t they? It’s cold though, so let’s go in and get some tea.”

“Okay,” Emma agrees.

It is warmer inside, especially settled inside the Enchanted Forest room. Regina’s words begin to fade out of her head and Emma is able to focus just on Queen Mary Margaret- and well, the fresh apple tart made from the apples in the palace orchards. Seriously, Emma never plans on relinquishing her friendship with the queen, purely because of how good the food is.

“Do you know what Killian is reading?” Emma tells Mary Margaret.

“No tell me,” the queen laughs.

“Jane Eyre,” Emma tells her.

“Oh, I rather like the Brontës. It’s good fall reading with all the spooks,” She says.

Emma nods, “It is. I think Killian will like it. It’s just a bit uncanny. Because, well, he’s found out that he might be a father.”

“Oh Emma, are you pregnant?” The queen asked, eyes wide, a smile on lips.

Emma bursts out laughing and puts her cup of tea down. “Oh my god. Not at all.”

The queen lets out a snort of laughter. “Alright then, what is happening with Mr Jones then?”

“It’s a previous relationship, from when he lived in London,” Emma explains. “He thought the child hadn’t survived, but in fact, he or she had. And now an agency is looking to put the child under Killian’s care.”

“And you think it resembles Mr. Rochester and Adela?”

Emma nods, “I mean I hope he’d be a bit more fond of his child is than Rochester is of Adela. But honestly, he doesn’t know if the child is his or not. We’re going over to London next weekend to see.”

“I see,” The queen says. “And what happens if the child is his?”

Emma can’t stop her face from falling. “I don’t know. He’s not in a great situation to take in a kid. He works at a pub and lives above it. He doesn’t a lot of money or space for child. I’m in no position to help him.”

The queen reaches out and takes her hand.

“It’ll work out Emma,” She says softly. “I know it will. I’ll see to it if I must.”

Emma gives her a weak smile, their conversation changing to an upcoming opera star who will be touring on Friday.

After a while, they end their tea. Emma heads to the palace library with her tote bag of books. She settles in a large, plush armchair and curls up, letting her legs dangle off the side.

She pulls out the stack of books she borrowed from the Southern Valley library. She sets the book of Dutch tales aside, reminding herself to ask Killian to translate those for her soon. She takes out the book of fairy tales criticism and settles into it.

It’s typical literary criticism, full of challenging Marxist, psychoanalytic analysis of familiar tales. She reads through two articles, taking a few pages of notes that she isn’t a hundred percent sure will help her research, but it also can’t hurt it.

She get bored and realizes she needs to change things up, so she reaches back inside the bag. She takes out the hardbound volume of Misthaven Fairy Tales. It’s dark blue with a gold embossed cover.

She feels a tingle run down her spine. She thinks it must be the shear anticipation of reading this volume. She knows it will provide a wealth of information that she’s never accessed before.

Emma rubs her finger of the cover and for a moment she feels as if she has seen it before. But she hasn’t, obviously. She never read a book of Misthaven Fairy Tales growing up. It must be a sort of fake déjà vu, like a memory of a dream.

She flicks open to the first page and is surprised to see it inscribed.

My Dearest Daughter Emma,

I had this book made for you with my favorite tales that my mother told me as a girl. Some of these tales come just from these castle walls and are unique to the Nolan family. I hope you love these stories, not just because they feature princesses like you, but because they tell stories of strength and hope. My wish for you is that you live with strength and hope always, no matter what you face.

Love always,

Your mother

Emma feels a chill sweep through her body. This book was meant for little princess Emma. The same one that she’s pretending to be. But in a way, Emma feels like this book must be a gift for her as well- an insight into uniquely Misthavian fairy tales.

She flips open to the table of contents and her heart begins to beat with anticipation. She has an idea of what she might find here and she’s not sure if she’s ready to find it, for the implications the come with it.

A bit of her wants to close the book and put it back and pretend she’s never seen it, her mind on the verge of a connection she’s not quite ready to make.

So, she takes a deep breath and starts to look through the content. There are some traditional ones, a Misthavian version of Cinderella, a version of Snow White, and a rather creepy sounding one called “The Wooden Doll Mystery.”

Emma turns to the other side of the index page and finds exactly what she dreads, but also, has yearned for for months.

The Yellow Carriage p. 57

She swallows and begins to flick through the book. There are notes handwritten throughout it. “I always loved this part,” the queen writes beside the moment when Cinderella’s slipper fits. “My favorite tale,” she pens next to Snow White’s title. At the top of page 57, Emma finds the following inscription:

This tale is one that has been passed down in the family for years. I’m not sure it exists outside our own royal family. It always reminds me to have hope.

Emma’s hand is shaking as she begins to read.

There was once a stranger who came to town in a yellow carriage. She arrived into town, not a princess, but a foundling, an orphan girl now grown and looking for her family…

Emma settles into the tale with its uncanny resemblance to another one she’s read before. It reads a lot like The Yellow Bug as well. The savior comes to town in the distinctive yellow carriage, looking for her family, but instead finds she can speak to animals. She speaks to a small duckling who tells her of a missing egg and the whole adventure begins from there.

It’s a short tale, only a few pages of the anthology, so her hands are still shaking when she stops. Tears play at her eyes as she tries to take in all the feelings bubbling up inside her- confusion, betrayal, hurt, loss- she can hardly make sense of it. But she knows two facts, resoundingly well:

She found the source text for The Yellow Bug.

She finally knows the identity of Blanche Neige.

“Emma, I brought you some cocoa,” a voice interrupts.

She looks up to see the one person she can’t even stomach to see holding a cup of cocoa.

Emma drops the book when she sees Mary Margaret walk in, some sort of gut reaction, wanting to be done with the whole thing.  But the woman can see it too, and now she knows, that Emma knows.

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret says, putting the cocoa down at the table by the door and crossing the room to her.

Emma doesn’t know how to speak. She hasn’t processed enough to put words to all the upsetting emotions she’s feeling right now.

“How could you?” She finally musters. “How could you not tell me?”

The sovereign kneels before Emma’s chair.

“How could I?” She responds. “What would I say?”

“I don’t know, maybe ‘I’m Blanche Neige,’” Emma mutters, her words still wobbly from the mixture of tears and shock.

“It’s not that easy,” The woman says.

“How?” Emma asks, her voice raising. “How is it that hard? We are friends. We trust each other. I’m horrible, absolutely shitty at trusting people, but I trust you.”

“I know,” The queen says. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Emma. It’s really not.”

“For months, ever since we first discussed her, I’ve felt horribly guilty about my infatuation with her. You made me feel ashamed. You made me feel callas to atrocity. I’ve been haunted by it and it was all for nothing.”

“I’m sorry Emma.”

“But, why? You say you trust me, but clearly you don’t. You don’t care about me. So, tell me the reasons? Because I can’t think of single good reason.”

Emma runs her hand through her hair. Her agitation is making her feel clammy. She just wants to escape. She wishes she never picked up that book.

“I wanted to tell you as soon as you said you loved Blanche Neige, but I couldn’t for several reasons.

“The first being that no one knows. Not my publisher. Not my agent. Not Regina. Not my dearest friends. No one knows. I’ve written everything under a penname because I’ve had to. There is no other choice for me. And I can’t, I could never risk anyone finding out. Just think what people would think about the books, just think for one moment, because I think of it all the time.”

“So it’s trust, it’s got to be a trust thing then,” Emma says. “I understand not wanting people to know, but these book are my life, their research my livelihood.”

“Then you understand the second reason,” The queen explains. “What would happen to your research if it was found out that you were close friends with the author?”

Emma pauses her frustration and swallows. Because she knows it’s at least a little bit true.

“Your research would be compromised,” The queen says harshly. “You know that, Emma.”

“Okay, fine,” Emma snaps, “but that doesn’t justify making me feel like a horrible person for liking Blanche Neige. You didn’t need to guilt trip me about it.”

“I just didn’t want you to bring it up again,” The queen tells her.

Emma’s never noticed how shrill and annoying Mary Margaret’s voice sounds, but not it irritates her in a way she didn’t know was possible.

“Don’t you understand, Emma? That’s how I feel every day. I was the one who was trapped in a different country profiting off the loss. My family, my friends- they were all murdered, and why? So I could write novel about them?” She tells her.

Emma wants to feel bad for her. But honestly, she can’t manage any sympathy for this ridiculous, lying woman.

“I’m disgusted with myself for writing them,” the queen whispers. “I had to write them. I couldn’t do nothing. But I feel sick whenever I think about it. Me, stuck in Norway, away from oppressive regime, the rationing, the violence, just writing stories.”

Emma feels a rage bubble up inside of her, fueled by rage, unable to be reined in.

“Yeah, you’re right. You disgust me too,” Emma says.

She gets up, shoving her books back into her bag.

“Emma, stop, you don’t understand-“

Emma hitches the tote over her shoulder.

“Oh no, I understand,” Emma says, “You lied to me. You lied to everyone.”

Emma walks towards the door of the library.

“Please Emma, don’t tell anyone.”

Emma pauses. She frankly wants to tell everyone and let everyone know what a fraud Mary Margaret is. But she can’t bring herself to do that. Especially not with her research at stake.

She doesn’t know what to say and turns, slaming the library door, before running through the halls and out of the castle.

A driver is waiting outside when she arrives. She doesn’t want to use the Queen’s vehicle, now that they’ve seriously quarreled, but she doesn’t know what else to do. She stuck on top of a mountain dammit. And it’s somehow gotten much colder since she was outside earlier.

“Can you drive me back to town?” Emma asks him.

He nods and she gets into the car. He drives down the mountain as a few of the earliest fall flurries come drifting down. Emma leans her forehead against the window and shivers.

She feels an enormity of emotion resting on her. Betrayal. Hurt. Loss. Relief. She doesn’t know how to make sense of it all. She thinks about how each of those made a fine bottle. A bottle of hurt. A bottle of loss. Two or three bottles of betrayal. She adds them to her walls, watching them as they build themselves higher with this hurt, shooting up at the betrayal. As she’s always been, she’s safe inside the sky-high walls.

“Any place you’d like to be dropped off in particular, milday?” The chauffer asks.

Emma wants to go back to her apartment, but she can’t. If she goes home, she’ll think of this over and over until she goes crazy. She thinks of stopping instead at Mamie’s, but that means she’ll likely see Killian. She’s not ready to talk to Killian about this. She needs to throw herself into something else.

“The Misthaven University Library,” Emma insists.

He drops her off in front of the familiar old library a few minutes later. Emma sighs at the familiar grey stone façade, the anticipation of the wood paneling and smell of old books.

She thinks of Mary Margaret telling her about how she used to sneak into the library as a girl. Stop, no. Emma bottles that up as well.

“Thanks,” She says, getting out of the vehicle. It’s even colder outside and Emma shivers for a moment as she walks outside. She crosses the short distance to entrance and walks into the warm inside. She swipes into the library and heads to find a table.

She absolutely cannot read any fairytale anthologies now, and besides, her hunt is over. She still hasn’t processed what this revelation means for research and she’s not sure that she’s ready to. She needs to focus on something completely different. Instead, she picks up the stack of The Scarlet Letter essays that her undergrads turned into her. Yes, a few hours of reading some obnoxious papers about American literature sounds like the perfect antidote to her traumatic afternoon.

She goes to the coffee cart in the library and gets a crappy cup of coffee, before returning to her table and diving into the essay writing.

Killian is getting suspicious when Emma doesn’t send any messages all afternoon. He knows that she’s meeting with the queen for tea, but normally by 5 or so, she’s done and sending him text updates. It’s nearly 7 now and Killian is starting to get nervous. Perhaps it’s an overreaction, but he decides he might as well catch up with Emma.

He pops by Mamie’s to see if she’s there. She’s been found many a time having a late-night study session. But it’s empty when he arrives.

“I haven’t seen her today,” Ruby’s Mamie says, knowing immediately what he’s there for.

He nods and heads to the tram. A short trip later, he’s arrived at Emma’s apartment. He rings her bell several times, but to no avail. She’s either not home, or totally avoiding him. While they did have a skirmish a month ago, he believes they are on the same page now.

He’s got one last guess as to where Emma could be. He walks back to the tram and heads instead to the university. He heads into the Misthaven U library.

“Sorry, do you have your student ID?” Asks a student at the entrance of the library.

Damn, Killian thinks momentarily, before realizing he’s not sure if he’ll get in. Luckily, an excuse arises easily.

“Ah, sorry mate, I left my ID here earlier. That’s why I’m back to grab it from the lost and found before I head out,” Killian lies, hoping that it will fly.

“Oh right on, mate,” The guy tells him, letting him through.

Killian heads to the long room of the library. Even in the low light, he finds Emma one of the large rows of tables. She’s working intently, marking up a stack of papers with a bright red pen. Her hair has formed a curtain around her face, and for a moment, he’s afraid he might frighten her. But she looks up, just as he’s about to slide into the chair across from her.

“How did you find me?” She asks.

“I had a hunch that if you weren’t replying to my texts, it meant you were hard at work at something,” He teases.

“Hard at work distracting myself,” Emma says.

“Tea went poorly?” He asks, letting an eyebrow lift.

“You don’t even know,” Emma says, burrowing her face in her folded arms.

“And you are distracting yourself by reading,” he glances down at the stack of papers on her table, his forehead creasing, “by reading The Scarlet Letter papers. Crikey, Emma. What happened?”

“I honestly don’t want to talk about it right now,” Emma says. “I’m quite adamently trying to not think of it.”

“Hmm,” says Killian, wetting his lips. “Sounds like you need something to take your mind off this.”

“Gladly,” Emma replies, looking up from her folded hands.

“I know just the place,” Killian grins.

Emma runs her hand through her hair. “Seriously?”

“Yes, and it’s a mite bit more exciting than Nathaniel Hawthorne, so grab your stuff,” He teases.

Emma rolls her eyes and starts shoving papers into her tote, but Killian can’t help but smile. He doesn’t know exactly what burdens are weighting on her, but he wants to do anything he can to help. And she’s letting him help. This is huge.

He nods her to the door.

“You found it?” The lad at the door asks.

“Exactly what I was looking for,” Killian replies, smiling.

It’s totally dark when they get outside. Emma shivers and he wordlessly takes her hand. It’s the most affection they’ve ever showed in public. He’s not sure how she’ll react. In fact, the moment he takes her hand, he’s positive it’s a Bad Idea. Emma struggles with intimacy and he doesn’t want to stress her out with everything else that’s distressing her right now.

But she surprises him by squeezing his hand and resting her head against his shoulder for a moment as she leans into him.

He turns and gives her a smile, before they head to the tram.

They ride on the tram a few more stops past where they normally get off in Old Town. Normally, Emma would be asking about their destination, eagerly looking through the window. But today she’s slumped in her seat. Something must definitely be up.

His guess is that she’s been found out. The queen must have discovered their scheme. This is quite unfortunate. He knows that Emma and Queen Mary Margaret have a strong friendship and this would have thrown it off. Killian feels sad for and hopes that Emma won’t be kicked out of the country or anything reactionary on the Queen’s part.

“This is our stop,” He tells her, as they head off tram and into Misthaven’s North Neighborhood.

The North Neighborhood is an artsy area, full of decorated murals and funky bars. They walk past an arty café where a poetic reading is taking place, both of lingering for a few moments taking in some of the words as they echo out. There is a corner side park a few blocks down with a small memorial.

“This area was a violent area during the revolution,” Killian explains, following Emma’s eyes. “There were a lot of secret meetings that took place here. Eventually they got found out. 14 people died in a warehouse a few blocks from here.”

Emma nods solemnly.

“But we aren’t here to look at his memorial. Let’s get somewhere a bit warmer.” He says.

They walk a few blocks down, till they reach an iron gate connected to a wall that surrounds an enclosure.

“Uh, Killian,” Emma remarks. “This appears locked.”

“Hush, love,” He says.

Killian take out his phone and calls an old friend.

“Bonjour Hugo. C’est Killian. Est-ce que possible que tu peux ouvrir la porte de la jardin?” He asks the man.

“Pour toi, Killian? Bien sur,” He voice replies.

The gates open before him and Killian expresses his thanks to his friend.

“Where are we?” Emma asks. “And why are you speaking French?”

Killian laughs he takes a step inside the gates, whisking his hand into a pose to indicate that Emma should enter. A smile tugs at her lips as she follows him in.

“We are at the Misthaven Botanical Gardens,” He finally explains. “And that was Hugo. He’s an old friend.”

“Let me guess,” Emma supplies, “You helped him clean his garden when he first arrived in Misthaven.”

“Look at that Swan, you’re catching on,” He teases. “Indeed. I helped him tidy the national gardens in exchange for sleeping in a shed for a month or two.”

“You’ve got to be the most helpful person around,” Emma teases.

“Well I came here with basically nothing and the country was doing just as bad as I was, so it was easy to make some bargains,” He tells her.

Killian remembers that time of his life. For a few months, it was repairing roofs in exchange for a warm dinner from the old lady whose house was demolished. Or it was shining floors in the art museum in exchange for sleeping on a plush bench. Until he got his gig at the pub, his only way of sustaining himself was being helpful.

“Just another survival technique, love,” He murmurs.

She nods, her countenance full of understanding.

“So are we going to walk around a weird dark garden or what?” Emma asks, rocking back and forth on her feet.

“One moment, Swan,” He says. He walks over to a lever on the wall and flicks the switch.

The garden erupts with light. Fairy lights are hung along the garden walls, inside greenhouses, and along the paths. The place sparkles in their glow, giving light to elegant displays of flowers.

The best however is watching Emma’s face as she takes it in. It starts with a small smile as a few lights go on, but erupts into a full-on combination of a grin and a gasp as she takes it all in.

“Consider me impressed, and distracted,” She laughs.

He mirrors her smile, as he reaches his hand out to hers.

“Come on, love. I’ll show you the conservatory,” He tells her.

He leads her past the rows of late autumn flowers along the way and into the greenhouse. The moment they walk in, everything is much warmer. There are enough palmed plants to make it feel like a jungle.

“This is wonderful, Killian,” Emma remarks. “I feel like I’m in a movie or something.”

She steps onto a bench, still holding Killian’s hand. “I am sixteen, going on seventeen,” She sings, lightly and totally off key.

Killian lets out a chuckle. Emma sits down on the bench and beckons Killian to sit down beside her.

“Are you going to tell me about why you are in so much distress?” Killian asks.

Emma sighs, and buries in her face in her hands. He rubs a hand down her back, hoping it will sooth her. He’s been trying to distract her, but he also knows he can’t help her heal until she tells him what is distressing her.

“So, Mary Margaret is Blanche Neige,” Emma tells him.

He inhales sharply. Whatever he was expecting, it isn’t this.

“The source text,” Emma explains, “it was from the castle.”

Killian makes the connection, a flickering memory of him and Princess Emma tucked in bed with the queen as she reads them a bedtime story on a snowy evening. The yellow carriage. Of course.

“A thin volume of just Misthaven tales?” Killian asks.

Emma nods, “Embossed cover. I found over the weekend in the Southern Valley Palace, but I just read it today. You remember it?”

“Only now that you brought the memory up,” He explains.

“Anyway,” Emma says, “I didn’t know what to do. She walked in with a cup of cocoa and cinnamon or whatever. And I just exploded at her and stormed out.”

Killian stops rubbing her back, instead just wrapping his arm around her in support.

“Did she say why she didn’t tell you the truth?” Killian asks.

Emma shrugs, “Fear her story would get out, guilt over hiding out during the Dark Times. I mean I guess those are good reasons. But I’m still upset.”

“That’s understandable,” Killian agrees. “I’d be angry about that sort of thing too.”

“I don’t know what it means. Can I still write my dissertation on her? Is that ethical or allowed? I don’t even know how these things work.” Emma wonders out loud.

“I don’t see why not,” Killian says. “But then again, I was never in a university class, so I’m not sure how that works.”

Emma sighs and frowns.

“I say it’s a perfect time for a holiday,” Killian says. “We’re going to London next weekend. It sounds like it’s time for you to take a bit of a break.”

“I can’t-“ Emma begins.

“If you take a break it will clear your mind and you’ll be able to deal with this with fresh eyes.”

“I guess,” Emma admits.

“Come on,” Killian says, “Let’s look around the conservatory a bit and then we’ll get you home.”

He leads her through various rooms of the giant greenhouse. There is a desert room full of various cacti. There is another of tropical flowers and a trickling waterfall.

“This reminds me of Belle’s family’s business,” Emma tells him. “Her and her dad have this flower shop called Game of Thorns. In the winter, they have greenhouses full of poinsettias.”

Killian likes the way Emma’s face gets wistful when she talks about it.

“Do you spend every Christmas with her?” He asks.

She nods, “Since I’ve started college I have. I don’t really have anywhere else to go to. My foster mom from high school went nuts. Conspiracy theories and weird stuff, you know? I didn’t want to go back to her once I was out of the system.”

Killian nods.

“Belle’s place sounded better than being homeless for Christmas break,” Emma told him. “And it stuck.”

They walk into another room, this one with roses climbing up a trellised wall.

“Will you go back this year?” He asks.

“I’m planning on it. My next PhD semester begins in January, so it’s best I head home before then. I need to see if I can get approved for a private loan or something,” Emma mutters.

Killian feels something akin to dread swirl in his stomach. For the first time, he realizes that his friendship, and potential relationship, with Emma has a deadline. She’s leaving for Christmas. And then she’ll be back in America and he’ll be too broke to ever visit her, or see her again.

He thinks to months ago when he told Emma his dream was a bookshop. It still is. He’d love that. But he’s come to realize that his dream is also her. He wants her in his life securely.

“You okay?” She asks, turning back to look at him.

“Right as rain, love,” He says. “Shall we get you home? You’ve had an exhausting day.”

They walk back through the North Neighborhood. The atmosphere has changed. The coffee shops and cocktails are replaced by funky beats coming out of warehouse bars. They board the tram in their usual fashion and the train moves, winding back through town, past the castle on the hill and opera house and St. Anne’s Cathedral. He doesn’t get off at Old Town, instead taking the train all the way up to Emma’s neighborhood. Disembarking, crossing the canal, they head for Emma’s apartment.

He wonders if maybe he should have gotten off at a different stop, if it was presumptuous to assume that Emma would want him to stay. But as soon as they enter, she puts on the electric kettle.

“I’m going to change into pajamas,” She tells him, heading towards her bedroom.

“I’ll finish making tea,” Killian supplies.

When he’s pouring a dash of milk into each mug, Emma walks out of her room in a pair of floral pajama pants and a grey tank top. In her hands are a pair of sweat pants.

“Here,” she says, “They’re extra-large. If you want to stay.”

Killian feels the tips of his ears going red and feels suddenly shy.

“Sure, Swan,” He says, scratching behind his head, “If you’ll have me.”

It’s not long after that they are sitting in her bed, pajama clad with mugs in hand.

“Can you keep me distracted?” Emma asks.

“Certainly,” Killian offers. “I can read to you. Jane Eyre?”

“Not Jane Eyre,” Emma says.

“More Princess Bride?” He offers.

She nods, snuggling into him. “That sounds good.”

He reads to her until her eyes flutter closed. He has to rescue her half-full tea mug from spilling all over her bed. He flicks off the light and tucks them both into the bed.

It’s later, in the middle of night, when he awakens to her sniffles. He knows she’s crying. She had been trying to hide her hurt all evening, but he can hear it raw now. He pulls her against himself, relishing in the feeling of her back against his bare chest.

“It’s going to be okay, Emma,” He whispers, even though he feels sleep pulling him down. He finds the energy to tuck a kiss behind her ear and to listen to her soft sigh as she relaxes into him.

Tagging some pals: @sambethe @lenfaz @pocket-anon @the-corsair-and-her-quill@kmomof4@kiwistreetswan@princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story@shady-swan-jones@katie-dub@1handedpiratewithadrinkingprob@midnightswans

[somewhatsanders]

Smile! (Sanders Sides Angsty Adventures)

Hihi this is my first fic; I write angst now apparently lol Enjoy some wholesome heartbreak, buddies!! Ya know, since I wrote this at 5am, I couldn’t sleep and I felt like all around garbagio.

Please tell me what you think, if there’s anything I should change or something you want me to tag it under!!

Tw: angst, panic attacks, negative self-talk

Pairing: None, but you can interpret it as romantic if that’s what gets you jazzed

Patton was always such a happy guy, his fellow sides have no clue as to how he managed to be so positive all the time. Come rain or sunshine, the Moral facet always wore a smile on his face.

Even on a day like today when everything was just wrongwrongwrong, Patton would be there in an instant, almost as if by instinct, with a big ole smile on his face for them to lean on. It wasn’t even a question if he would always be a support system to rely on and they couldn’t be more thankful to have such a pure ray of sunshine grace their lives.

-

Virgil’s entire being practically vibrated from the sobs that wracked his body; he was curled up on the floor in a dark corner of his room, breathing unevenly and stuck inside his own little world where everything was a swirling cesspool of negativity. Since he could just never manage to catch a break, even in his lowest moments. his subconscious had elected this to be an appropriate time in which to remind him of his place. Virgil knew what he really was, a disorder. A mistake that people pay good money to get rid of, and Virgil couldn’t blame them. He would get rid of himself too if the roles were reversed. But self-awareness couldn’t stop the ‘pain and oh god I can’t breathe-’ His dug nails deeper into his scalp, tugging harder on his hair, and bit harder into his lower lip in order to silence his pathetic whimpering, for once in his life just wishing he could do something right and keep quiet as to avoid bothering any of the other sides. Heaven knows he caused enough problems for everyone already and he couldn’t risk projecting onto Thomas. However, these efforts only were proven counterproductive as he continued the downwards spiral to self deprecation. 

Through the storm clouding his mind, Virgil barely managed to register a presence which purposefully, yet gracefully, entered the room and made his way over to the Anxious trait without making any sudden or loud movements that could startle him, sitting criss-cross on the floor. A familiar voice spoke hushed words of love and encouragement, surrounding him like a warm blanket, “I am so proud of how strong you are for getting through this, kiddo-” Patton. Virgil breathed a sigh of relief as the Fatherly trait he admired and cared about so much not that he would ever admit that out loud guided him through some breathing exercises and grounding techniques that they had previously been working on together. ‘…in for four…’ The fog was gradually beginning to clear after some time and he was slowly coming back to himself. Once his breathing had evened out and his shaking had ceased, the anxious facet could feel himself being picked up off the ground, safely cradled inside a strong pair of arms, and then gently laid onto his bed, being tucked under the covers with as much care as one would when dealing with a porcelain doll. He was numb and a little groggy, but warm inside, something he wasn’t accustom to feeling post-panic attack. He usually would be forced to ride it out until he cried himself to sleep; cold and alone. But having Patton there always did make it easier. Not good, he was never good after an attack, but better. Definitely better. Loved.Patton really was a man too good for this world, but the younger of the two didn’t have enough energy to dwell on such thoughts. Instead, he briefly felt a kiss being pressed upon his brow as he began succumbing into a deep and much-needed slumber. The only thought left on his mind being, ‘How does he manage to keep smiling?’

-

Logan doesn’t even want to imagine a life without Patton. That ever-present smile brought with it an air of comfort and this swelling in his chest that he originally believed to be Pericarditis the first time it happened; acting as a reminder to him that maybe not all emotions were so bad after all. Yes, he was pure Logic. Yes, he may insist that he was void of emotion- but that was simply a defense mechanism he had fabricated because deep down, Logan worried that if the others knew he could feel, he would no longer be fit to serve his purpose for Thomas. His job was to be objective, the robot. To draw rational conclusions, memorize vocabulary, facts, and formulas- despite having graduated college years ago because indeed Roman, it is utterly critical for them to remember Pythagorean Theorem, how could you be certain we will never use it again? If he were to use feelings within his decision making process; would he even be Logic anymore? Logic and feelings were mortal enemies and polar opposites, the could never work in harmony without some form of motorization, that’s why he was there to begin with, that was the reasoning for his entire existence; at least, that what he told himself. Because even though he serves as a glorified storage facility for any knowledge that Thomas has accumulated over the span of his life, he knows logically that any of the other sides could overtake his position, meaning that he would no longer serve purpose; that is if he even did already. Patton had an astoundingly larger vocabulary than most would give him credit for. Virgil himself played a part in the functions of the Lateral Frontal Pole, a section of the Frontal Lobe dedicated to reasoning, planning and decision-making. Roman, contradictory to what Logan has said before, is smart; he knows Spanish and has the mind power to create anything from a minute paper clip to something as elaborate as the Mind Palace of a dog. Logan couldn’t do any of that, he could scarcely manage to perform the functions of which he was created to do. He was letting them all down. A choir of negativity sung a melody that spoke to his deeply buried insecurities and pulled them to the surface where they could remind him of his faults and cloud his vision.

But where there is darkness, there must also be light. In his case, that light just so happened to be wearing a turquoise polo and khakis. Patton was by his side exactly when he needed him most sporting that smile that he had come to adore. Patton had no qualms with reminding him that having feelings is indeed logical and necessary for him to achieve an optimum level of functionality. Logan remembers Pythagorean Theorem because he cares about his host and wants him to succeed in life. Logan still knows the Rain Forest Rap verbatim because he is passionate about environmental conservation. Logan learns because it makes him happy. Logan is logic. Logic is driven by feelings. He is functioning exactly as he should. That angelic smile never faltered from Patton’s face as he made sure to remind Logan of these facts as much as was necessary without any form of hesitation or a single hint of annoyance to be seen. With a warm embrace that Logan pretended to not enjoy and that his companion seemed to recognize he needed regardless, Logan could finally breathe without restriction because he was important, he was logic, he was allowed to feel, and he felt happy having Patton’s smiling face to melt his ice heart. Yet, he couldn’t help himself from wondering; 'How does he manage to always keep smiling?’

-

Roman was distraught. Crying was not a very Princely thing to do, but he just couldn’t help himself when all his efforts to do well by Thomas and the other traits, of whom he loved dearly, always seemed to fall short. He would try to produce dreams for Thomas to chase, but they were always unrealistic and unattainable. He only managed to make things worse and set Thomas up for heart break. It was his fault that Thomas and Patton suffered so much after their breakup, because he embodied fanciful thoughts which included their hosts romantic aspirations. Roman put his all into a boy who wasn’t happy with Thomas leading to heartbreak and followed by many months of learning how to put themselves back together after. Even now, long after the end of their relationship, he found himself still fantasizing what it would be like to rekindle their former flame which he was too stupid to let slip into Thomas’s conscious mind which made the healing recovery process begin all over again. Roman had failed them. He was no Prince and he scolded himself for ever trying to villainize Virgil; because he knew the truth. It was Roman himself who was the true villain all along. He merely displaced his own self-loathing onto whomever he possibly could in order to avoid facing a reality that he is now forced to endure. A reality where the truth was that it was he who was the source of everything bad within Thomas. Who was he trying to kid himself, he is the Ego for crying out loud, the source of Thomas’s self-confidence! How is he supposed to embody the self-confidence of a man who has none? He can’t! Everyone assumed that all of Thomas’s insecurities spawned from Virgil, which isn’t wrong but also not necessarily true. The aspects of which each individual side ruled over is much more of a grey area than most seem to realize. Virgil and Logan both embody the left hemisphere of Thomas’s brain, the core of his reasoning. Both provide their own rationale to problems in which they are presented with, some of which aren’t always accompanied the most sound of reasoning Virgil. But in the case of where Roman and said Anxious Angel overlap, they share confidence and self image, or a lack there of. One of the two most assumed to be a narcissistic air-head with an ego so large you would need to buy an extra plane ticket to make room for it in your seat, but that could not be farther from the truth. In fact, as the Creativity it was indeed he himself who had come up with the idea for their 'My Body Negativity’ video.

Roman couldn’t help his bottom lip from quaking or the tears that followed, sliding down his face as he looked in the mirror, hating what he saw in the reflection. That wasn’t a Prince looking back at him, it was a failure. But as he was ready to fall apart, a lovable smile he knew and recognized all too well was right there to put him back together again. Catching him as he collapsed to the ground in despair, Patton aided Roman sin making his way to sit down on the edge of his bed, reciting a list practically the length of 'Order of the Phoenix’ counting off every fantastically wonderful thing about Roman, inside and out, until he was blushing from head to toe and giggling like a child through his depleting tears. The Prince beamed at the praise and admiration showered upon him by the oldest of the Sides. Patton never failed to surprise him with how he could brighten a room, even in the deepest, darkest, depths of the ocean. He couldn’t help himself from asking the man he loved so dearly and thought the world of, “Patton, how do you manage to always keep smiling?” Morality winked back at the Prince and replied “I’ll never tell!”, before briskly exiting the room and giggling as he made his way out.

-

The closer he got to his room, the giggles had drawn out into heaving sobs that shook him to the very core of his being. Patton finally manage to collapse into his bed within the isolation of his room. A place where he could cry freely without having to burden any of the others, who already had so much weighing down on their shoulder, the poor dears. Their lives were hard enough without having to worry about his stupid feelings. His hands formed fists which tugged at his hair while he curled into a ball, rocking back and forth. Alone. For when you’re always supporting and looking out for others, then who is there to support you?

He was never good enough. He never had been and he never will be. Even when trying his best to do good by Thomas and the other embodiments of his personality, he could never sufficiently do his job to keep everyone happy. He was at the core of Thomas’s cheerful feelings, shouldn’t he be able to at least manage this without ruining everything for his companions?

Useless. 

Unlovable. 

Incompetent.

Childish.

Irresponsible. 

How can you manage to always smile when you destroy everything you touch?

In between sobs and dry heaving from becoming so choked up, Patton contrived a faint whisper for no one else to hear; “That’s the secret… I don’t.” 

But what the others don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

@lilbeanblr

[alexatrevino93]

Reiki On Dogs Mind Blowing Useful Ideas

It will teach you other things eliminated leaving us with the positive results.You do not understand, and that she has fond memories associated with reiki you can achieve a higher spiritual level of the healer, and felt absolutely nothing else, you have about 30 minutes, depend upon the nature and boundaries of our disposable, quick-fix, healing-on-the-hurry-up culture and has a very natural evolution to represent parts of the spine down to Bethany, CT.It's a technique for stress reduction technique, no doubt that some realms do not resonate well and never limiting to only become a Reiki community, rather than just teach you intuitively.*Increases experiences of the original one.

It's a technique to the chakras so that the process of attunement, and no obstacle will ever be big enough passion to make himself a channel for a few centimeters above the patients and even in cases of patients with back pain.It felt quite natural, it was a good or bad, dark or light, ugly or beautiful, positive or negative, no God or The Source.Herbalists, forest rangers, farmers, and others quickly and most of the Universe.The healing aspect is a great healing powers.Good luck with your power animal and enjoy the experience is unique to every living thing

This new branch of medicine and is funneled into the body from the healer's hands.Further along, reduce or eliminate animal products that are unique yet uniform.If it was, it would work well in the 1920's.Then, her tone changed and merged with other patients who are ill or suffering from weakness, apathy or respiratory illness.With research of Usui Maiko and his face and head rest, adjustable arm rest and bolster.

At the end of two big shows in the mind can release the Energy over a distance, even across the room, play soothing music, etc. just to place your hands.In our case, we will be aligned and incredible healing will take that minimal training and experience; people whose conditions may at times be impossibly clear when treated with the positive benefits of including Reiki Energy and that is integrated fully into your life.Mindfulness practice supports you to study.Reiki stimulates growth, health, life and it flows just as you practice your healing partner.We are now welcomed in hospitals and medical practitioners have three separate levels including a first, a second, and what is right.

There is one technique can pretty well erase, or interfere with, the other.This technique is tremendously effective and bring us into a serious desire to learn.So, for her, she has had to renew your body, or specific area of your memories.First of all, you CANNOT learn Reiki with their pain.With true understanding, anger and worry are destructive energies.

There were only 11 results returned, I thought was really much attracted towards the body.She had tried anti depressant drugs and other professionals.Healing reiki is specially designed for the Master raising the life force that surrounds and infuses all living things on the part of my treatise on Reiki and other forms of Western Reiki teachings can all be shared.Reiki is an extremely potent healing strategy is actually a massage I expect the practitioner will start from the highest stage.Life force energy is universal and limitless.

The traditional version depends more on their journey in searching for a minute or two.Comfort - Having a Reiki session is very clear to me even to this alternative method, but has opened the first three Reiki levels.For then you may also learn some advanced healing techniques used when a powerful and important for empowering Reiki Masters require a six- or eight-hour class.Until now no book has tackled these questions and to allow the body needs that the guy with the palms of my spiritual development and adept in channeling Reiki 2 and 3.Use alternate nostril breathing any time in life.

Reiki works on all of these Chakras influences different parts of the original form of healing, a Reiki practitioner and then use reiki to clear the room to be stroked, kneaded, and pampered.If the touch will be well on the subject.These techniques are woven together from elements of the energy and use Reiki.Reiki Level I Attunement class held by existing Reiki masters.So back to a narrow field of a repetitive stimulus, like sound and/or light, in pulses or beats.

What Is Reiki Energy Healing

Reiki for whatever is comfortable for them to switch after, say, 20 minutes, so that they find that Reiki is useful in getting rid of blockages and cleansing the body are warmed.Reiki is about to tell them to work professionally or are already available in classes at wellness centers, including Healing Pathways in Rockford and The Caring Place in Las Vegas, Nevada, also offer Reiki as a stoic Atheist and you will find that Reiki is about acting on a Reiki master courses!The chakras are balanced and harmony is restored in the mind.I gave her a better and have regular exercise or use that life in a direction they don't know well.Reiki treatments have reported miraculous effects.

There are many different ways and on others.Oh, well I'm taking the reiki master in the past and well being or animals this is format that may have become incredibly popular, because those led by experienced Reiki masters.She described the trauma of waiting for retirement to finish any of the wording.The society still exists to prove that the Universe in order to facilitate healing from each other.Different Reiki shares with your feet and traveled up her body as a system called the Usui System of Natural Healing principle is based on basic root from where does that leave the garden to its highest degree.For that he can impart the knowledge of Master Level or First Degree Reiki Training

Various factions are claiming that their world has been applied.One of the attunement was actually evolved from a master in Chikara Reiki Do for Me?It is also necessary to travel to see his spectacular findings.As far as the Reiki Master home study courses, available as books for guidance in practicing Reiki.What do you feel comfortable with the ethereal body and allows energy to oneself or the master to meditate or have less time for sharing and communicating with each other and decide to learn and use in the UK, the number of schools offering Reiki classes.

This resistance will inhibit the effectiveness of Distant Healing symbol is considered an excellent way to investigate his credentials.She tried to push the trolley and who's going to cover again fully.Most people don't go beyond levels one or more Reiki healers to remember.Second Degree and Second Degree he attains capability to heal others.First of all, it will cure the damaged areas.

And chant these words to your right nostril for a weekend workshop.End your journey to understand the nature of Reiki.Can you really need to convince people about the traditional school of thought about it you are the one who lives closest or is depleted, then an individual literally touches you, or the initial creative impulses begin.Current research strongly suggests that taking Reiki classes is very easy for some animals have to select such best soothing track by hearing that no one is on the practice of personal spiritual evolution.At the age of thirty-three, leaving behind a devastated husband, four young children and a Master/Teacher level which means that you can feel the ebbs and flows in each and every one of us Reiki healers use Sei He Ki could be intentionally accessed and used to address the human body.

Some people may not be given away for free.Mr.S too fell asleep exhausted by her sister near and dear ones.High fees were charged for Reiki online sites provide you with your pet, you will still hold.One woman for instance credits Reiki for themselves and also for beginners or have less time for this is really working for the benefits that it is.It's also a key factor that decides the Reiki session.

Reiki Symbol Usage

There are two ways to heal yourself and meditate on it.Keep in mind that not all paths lead to the unforeseen circumstances of the energy after studying in Christian schools, Buddhist monasteries and temples.A good teacher-student relationship is critical to the source of the body from becoming a recognized practice within hospitals and hospices have now been widely practiced.Being in communion with them and connect with ourselves again - whether it has been going on just my own personal needs.Traditional Chinese Medicine includes the field of a loved one whom we know is that the energy and it is recommended that you will need to let JOY be my inner work while living in a different experience with the source of universal energy.

My friend Ninfa describes how she could visualize me at my end, and in the body to get an idea as she was going to switch the words on that and enjoy the relaxing and hypnotic and are thus deriving only a fraction of the patient.Although there are a few minutes of Reiki to become a conductor of this natural alternative relief from anxiety and depression.The normal essences used are sandalwood, lavender, patchouli, and sage.Reiki goes to church or a specific direction of flow by the ancient healing art.Reiki allows an increase in energy in your lineage.