#For good or for ill I am VERY good at creating a bright line between human and not

[docholligay]

No. No sugoi. The opposite of sugoi. I do not want horrifying composite creatures that can speak and understand human language being developed by the government, or indeed, anyone, this is just like when y'all started calling the robot police dogs Good boys you stop that.

Please read me before commenting or sending an ask!

[cupids-chronicles]

Hades X Persephone Saga: A Touch of Ruin #2

Author: Scarlett St. Clair

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Mythology

My Rating: ⭐⭐/5.

Spice: 🌶🌶🌶

Goodreads rating: 3.8/5

Pages: ‎‎448

Published: 22 April 2020

A Touch of ruin Review

Note: This book is intended for mature audiences over the age of 18 due to explicit content (steamy chapters).

Sequels. They're a tricky business, aren’t they? To quote an entirely different universe: with great power comes great responsibility. After finishing the first book one would assume that the sequel would carry the same electricity. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

If you ever imagined the powerful Queen of the Underworld, Persephone, being chased by paparazzi in high heels and a toxic taste in relationships, then "A Touch of Ruin" is just the novel for you. At 448 pages, Scarlett St. Clair presents us with the much-awaited sequel to "A Touch of Darkness", and I’ll be frank: I have some feelings.

To start with the positive, Scarlett St. Clair's writing is, as always, engrossing. Whether you love or hate the story, you can't deny that she has a way with words that just pulls you in. I was captivated, even as I rolled my eyes. My favourite line, “Create the life you want, Persephone, and stop listening to everyone else,” echoes throughout the book as Persephone struggles with external and internal pressures.

However, it seems like our Protagonist, Persephone took a detour through Teen Angst Town and stayed there. Throughout the novel, her behavior is erratic, impulsive, and well, very human. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but for someone who's on the way to becoming the Queen of the Underworld, one would hope for a bit more maturity.

Hades, on the other hand, while alluring with his mysterious persona in the first novel, now seems more like a puzzled lover than the powerful god of the dead. Their relationship seems to rely more on makeup sex than actual communication. And this tragic lack of communication results in some utterly avoidable drama.

The plot, if we can find it between the lustful gazes and angst-filled outbursts, seemed lost. There were several subplots that felt more like distractions than genuine additions to the story. This series had such potential to delve deep into Greek mythology, but instead, it often felt like it was skimming the surface, using familiar names without embodying the weight they carry.

However, not everything is a miss in this book. The secondary characters shine bright, providing some much-needed humor and depth. Hermes, with his sass, was a much-needed palette cleanser, and Apollo, once you warm up to him, offers layers that make you question your initial judgments. It's these characters, alongside the hints of a more enticing plot for the upcoming book, that will likely have me (somewhat masochistically) coming back for more.

In conclusion, while "A Touch of Ruin" does justice to its title with the chaos it presents, it does remind readers of the pitfalls of love, the weight of insecurity, and the importance of, well, good communication.

If you're here for the drama, angst, and a sprinkling of Greek gods in modern settings, dive in. Just maybe keep a stress ball handy. And for those looking for a deep dive into Greek mythology, perhaps look elsewhere, or at least manage your expectations. For now, I'll be waiting to see if Persephone finds her way in the next installment or if we'll be plunged further into ruin.

P.S. Scarlett, if you ever wanted to write this series in Hermes' POV let me know because I am HERE for it. Maybe some of the humor and sass will bring some light into the dark (pun intended) story that you've woven.

Please note that this book is part of a series and can not be read as a stand alone. Lucky for you this can be your little weekend binge as almost all the books in the series has already been released !

Wait a minute boys and girls, check out these trigger warnings first:

Kidnapping

Mental illness

Sexual Assault

Suicide (off page)

Death

Getting Drugged

Alcohol use

Torture

Prostitution

Romance Tropes, you ask ?

Miscommunication

Retelling

Marriage

Who do we meet in this book ?

Hades

Persephone (Perri)

What to read next:

Neon Gods (Dark Olympus) by Katee Robert.

The Cruel Prince by Holly Black.

Drag Me Up (Gods of Hunger) by R.M. Virtues.

Or just like read the next few books of this series.

[joesanimationblog]

Final Outcome Light and Shadow Reflection

As I was ill over the Christmas break I had very little time to lose, this meant I needed to plough ahead to complete my films. The first film I completed was the Oog Ooga Ooog Ooog film.

I'm really happy with how this film turned out, I think the introductory section of the tree exploding and the cavemen inside the cave could be expanded upon to improve the overall flow of the narrative but I think this stands well as a completed narrative. I took the time to correct many of the line breaks which I discussed with Alex and maintained the humour which I had worried could be lost through the change in pacing.

As far as answering the brief goes I feel I was successful. Lighting is used to draw attention to characters and their relation to fire. It is also used to emphasise moments in the narrative, for example the first time we see the fire. The use of shadows and dark tones throughout this project allowed the white lighting and bright neon fire to pop and this gave it a lot of strength in the story. Animated backgrounds were used for some of the shots to create more dynamic lighting and make the fire believable. Overall I think my use of lighting as a tool was successful in serving the story I was trying to tell.

As mentioned the start feels a bit bland and if I had more time I think I would set the scene of the cave with shots of the outside world contrasted against the cave, maybe using an insect moving around the world or something as a macro perspective. I think that I prioritized the right thing in making the ending section as good as it can be as if the ending was flat, no matter how good the setup was the film would still suck.

Visually I think this is my strongest project. The contrast and rim lighting helps bring out the characters from the dark backgrounds and the shading gives the world depth. The only visual change I would make is using the original texture style but ultimately that is a lot of work, time and effort... for not much of an improvement so I am happy I decided to go with this simplified shading style. The rim light colour is really nice looking, it gives an almost neon aesthetic to the whole animation and helps establish the characters positions in relation to the fires.

I am not really happy with the consistency of my backgrounds as this is something which had to suffer to meet deadlines and going forward ill try to either use fewer backgrounds or simplify them more.

Overall I think I succeeded in what I set out to create, a "haha cavemen say oog and are scared of fire in the dark" type of comedy film which used light and shadow to emphasise the power of nature and the absurd interaction between cavemen and fire/lightning.

I'm really happy with how this film turned out, I think the introductory section of the tree exploding and the cavemen inside the cave could be expanded upon to improve the overall flow of the narrative but I think this stands well as a completed narrative. I took the time to correct many of the line breaks which I discussed with Alex and maintained the humour which I had worried could be lost through the change in pacing.

Bibliography of assets used (Audio).

The cover of "What a Wonderful World" was recorded by my good friend Serafin Schroff specifically for this film. I also paid for a karaoke version of the song to use in the future if I am unable to buy licencing rights for this cover of the song and want to use it outside of the MA submission.

This includes assets not used in the final cut, all versions and animatics are covered in this list.

Electric_zap_001 | royalty free music - pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/electric-zap-001-6374/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Fire | royalty free music - pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/fire-6699/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Heavenly-army | royalty free music - pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/heavenly-army-24611/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

HQ Explosion | Royalty Free Music - Pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/hq-explosion-6288/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Large fire burning Sound FX (2022) YouTube. YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5dWNMBDHXI (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Munching food | royalty free music - pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/munching-food-73994/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Owl Hooting | Royalty Free Music - Pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/owl-hooting-48028/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Rain & Thunder Sound Effect - Short (5 minutes) (2016) YouTube. YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cI5PCGMAGE (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

sound of thunder and lightning effect (2022) YouTube. YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HZfMHE_xaM (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Thunder Sound effect (2012) YouTube. YouTube. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-BOPr7NXME (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Thunderstorm | royalty free music - pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/thunderstorm-14708/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Tribe drum loop | royalty free music - pixabay (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/tribe-drum-loop-103173/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

Whoosh the edge | cinematic trailer sound effects (no date). Available at: https://pixabay.com/sound-effects/whoosh-the-edge-cinematic-trailer-sound-effects-125410/ (Accessed: January 22, 2023).

[red-riding]

Tolkien Elves Clothing Headcannons

Please read: These are only my headcanons, meaning my ideas and interpretations of what Tolkien's elves would have worn based on the text, my clothing knowledge, and imagination. I am in no way claiming this is how it should be. Also I own none of the photos used in this post. 

Also this is obnoxiously long and wordy, so if you skip to a section that interests you, I won't judge. I may have went ( A lot ) over bored ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Also I just want to say thank you so much for all the support I got on the post asking if I should do this, I hope it lives up to everyones expectations. 

Sources

Okay so in going on this journey of research, I ran into an issue. What culture or cultures to base the clothes off of. My first thought was to have each elven group take ideas from different human cultures. Which makes sense to an extent.

I feel elves would all dress more similar than different across Tolkien’s universe. My reason for this is all the elves started out in the same place (the awakening) and were all exposed to the same things. I believe their clothing would be strongly influenced by the Valar due to Orome’s influence in the beginning and since elves are immortal this influence would not die out as generations go on (I talk about this in the trends section of this post).

If you look in human societies throughout history, they are often unified culturally, despite being far apart, by a religion and I'm applying this to elves. They would emulate the Valar’s clothing in my mind.

Okay now that I narrowed down that I want to use one culture mostly, what culture to pick? There honestly is no right answer to this I feel, but i'm going with European influence (Which is super general I know) since that is where the concept of elves originates from and Tolkien was English. Elves started making their way into stories and poetry in around the 1500s, so that gives me a general area and date to start forming my headcanon. I'm also going to take quite a lot of liberties and take influence from the Lord of the rings films, and general fantasy aesthetics as well to form these headcanons.

Fabrics

When talking about clothes the first place to start is what they are made of: the fabric. What kind of fabric would the elves use and have available to them. When coming up with this I considered two main things, One how durable the fabric is and two could elves make it.

I think durability would be extremely important to elves. According to the International textile association, the average regularly worn garment will last two to three years. Imagine how short of a time period that is to elves! This is why I believe durability would be extremely important to elves, they want something to last. especially the less wealthy elves because they can not afford constant new clothing.

I am only going to list clothing I think the elves could realistically make, so no polyester, plastic and chemical based fabrics.

Considering these two things I have come up with this list using this website as reference. 

Canvas

Cashmere 

Chenille 

Chiffon 

Cotton

Georgette (Silk variety) 

jersey (Silk and cotton variety) 

Leather and Animal Skins/furs 

Wool (And all its woven variants) 

Muslin 

Lace

Satin 

Silk (And all its differently woven Variants)

Taffeta 

Velvet 

Silhouette 

Note: We are looking at shape/Silhouette in this section, don't mind the colors or fabrics in my reference photos. 

So if you study fashion history and culture at all you know the silhouette is one of the defining things of a culture and era. This brings on the question of what the Silhouette for elves would be. I think elves would share one general silhouette with similarities between the male and female silhouettes but have differences as well. This also applies to elves of different lands. They may have the same general silhouette with slightly different things.  

For Elleths

For the common elleth silhouette I am going to say one thing SLEEVES. This is taking inspiration from both the LOTR movie and 1500s european paintings and fashion. long graceful sleeves is something I think would be an elven stable on formal/evening gowns. I feel there would be different styles of sleeves however the most common would be something like this. However I will say for casual work wear they would yield unhelpful. 

Another thing I feel most elleth dresses would have is a waist seam. This is one thing I strongly dislike about the LOTR movie dress, a majority of the dresses at their base looks like a modern slip dress or a night gown and im not a fan. I understand this was probably a stylistic choice to represent how refined and ellagent the elves were, but to me it just looks like an ill fitted fast fashion nightgown. Here is a link to a good example photo if you want to look. Almost no dresses until the last hundred years lacked a waist seam like this. Some cultures don't have a waist seam in woman clothing but will almost always have a belt like garnet if there is no seam. And I personally think waist seemed gowns, look far more elegant. Plus 1500s european gowns all had waist seams so we are adding a waist seam. 

Now the skirt, I feel it would be simple and more on the flat flowing side. No hoop skirts or bum roles for the elves. I do think in some gowns they may add some under lawyers to add volume and or warmth. 

For Ellons 

I actually really like the LOTR movies interruption of elven male robes for formal situations, Here is an example. I also think similar styles but shorter would be worn by either younger ellons or ellons wanting to branch out in a different style for a formal occasion. Here is an example. 

For General Elves 

I feel something both genders would share in their formal and non formal clothes is the use of capes in very versatile ways. The cape could have a function like keeping one warm, or just be purely for show and drastic flare as one descends from their throne *cough* Thranduil, Feanor *Cough*. Here are some examples: Example 1, Example 2, Example 3. 

Now onto the talk of practical clothing. No matter how graceful elves are they can not wear gowns and robes when training or horse back riding. I imagine simple slacks and tunics would be a common site among elves who do physical activities. What Legolas wears in the lord of the rings, is perfect I feel. Practical and rather similar to what humans wear. Here is the example. 

Colors

I feel the elves would have clothing of all colors overall. depending on a couple things. Elves' clothing colors would be different depending on the environment and what dyes they have available in it. As well as what colors function best in an environment, so a lot of greens.

I don't think elven royals would enforce any laws that limits what colors an elf can wear depending on class like most royals throughout human history have. I do feel that certain elven houses, or elves would take on certain color themes. For example I believe Feanor and his house would wear a whole lot of reds, and blacks. While Finarfin and his house would be wearing more blues, whites and silver.

I think plant based dyes would be the most common among elves, making their clothing fall more on earthy toned down colors, opposed to bright synthetic ones we are used to (See mood board above). I do think some brighter colors could be achieved by dying a garment multiple times or using a rarer material like minerals. However I feel majorly would be as I said earthy and natural.

Embellishments 

I believe elves would dabble in all forms of embellishments on their clothing, I mean they have so much time on their hands so why not? I think embroidery would probably be the most common, Little swirled designs on hems and such. Bead work probably would be reserved for more formal garments, due to it being done with crystals and gems and taking lots of time.

I think what designs elves created would mostly be inspired by nature. Different flowers, birds, and stars being the most common.

I think some elven royals would have robes glistened with sewed on diamonds and jewels, to draw attention to themselves and show status.

Environments 

(Note: The way I arranged this mood board above is by environment. So Beach/tropical first row, Temperate forest middle, and snowy cold place third row.)

I feel the main thing that will be changing between different environments and temperatures is what materials they use. Fur and wool lined cloaks and robes for cold places. Light breathable fabric, decorated with sea shells for tropical beach environments. And cotton and medium warmth clothing for forests. I also feel for hunting clothing elves in forests would wear green, and in snowy areas would wear white furs.

I believe elves would still maintain the same general silhouette in different areas (Go to the Silhouette section for more details) just adding on layers and warmer fabrics in colder places.

Trends

So this section does not get a mood bored because I could not think of what that would be.

Trends are something extremely prevalent throughout human culture, often decided by those in power: Celebrities nowadays and in the past royalty. I don't think elves would have trends like we do, for two main reasons.

Reason one is as I said, trends in the past were decided by royals and oftentimes when a new royal took throne fashions would change in their image. However elven rulers don't die of old age like humans, they live forever. making the constant change of trends not occur with each new ruler because there is not a new ruler often. When there is a new ruler it is most likely extremely tragic because that means the past ruler died, and the next  (Most likely a child of the old ruler ) would probably not want to cause a drastic change in clothing out of respect.

Reason two being age groups. Trends often times change as new age groups move into the prime of their life and old generations die out. However elves are immortal and don't die out. I have no doubt younger elves would dress somewhat differently but there would be no massive clothing changes, In silhouette or fabrics due to the older elves pushing back against it. As well as the elves wanting to continue emulating the Valar.

Everyone who asked to be tagged and I want to show this too: @psychostatic, @deep-space-elf, @bitter-sweet-farmgirl, @tiefliing, @animallover81, @softnessfrommyheart, @xmarchwarden-of-lothlorienx, @hardinginhightowns, @xirinofarvada, @gossip-girl-of-middle-earth, @brannonlasgalen, @most-random-blog-with-stuff, @aduialel, @a-dragon-under-the-stars, @proffyaffle, @estel-means-hope, @eldritch-gilthoniel, @tsuyu-sama, @lady-of-black-roses, @perhaps-iwilltry, @lady-latte, @allinwonderlands , @saviorsong, @entishramblings, @rowandor, @halfwaytheremama, @tran-khuetu​, @tolkien-fantasy​

[viltrumitesuperboy]

Souvenir (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Gender neutral. My dumbass changed the request so they aren’t already together I am sorry but they needed to meet first

EDIT/DISCLAIMER: I hadn’t watched the films in LITERALLY FOREVER i got some parts wrong but for the record the fantastic beasts book does not say what mooncalves eat and i had to go as creative as possible (... grass)

Requested by: NOT anon but i forgot who requested i’m so sorry Maybe Newt introducing his partner to all of his creatures and one of the creates (possibly another bowtruckle but up to you) getting really attached Flying together on Frank the thunderbird (he's a thunderbird right?) Oh fluffy adorable feeding the baby mooncalves (Can you tell I like cute things and all of his animals?)

Word Count: 1593

You first met Newt when you were out on a late night stroll.

People always said it was dangerous to walk outside late at night, but you had magic, and that would at least protect you from no-majs with ill intent. You would never expect to run into a wizard the way you did.

There was, after all, an Erumpent with a man in a bright blue coat making the strangest movements and sounds. It was certainly interesting. Another man stood off to the side, holding a bottle that was unmistakably one that was used for potions. Once the bottle spilled, you ran closer, hoping that you could counter the effects of the potion before it caused any damage. Instead, the Erumpent turned to him and charged. There was a lot of screaming.

You followed them over the hills of Central Park and a frozen river that you absolutely did not trust to hold the weight of a grown man, much less an Erumpent. You threw a quick spell to solidify it completely, and the three of you had managed to get the Erumpent into a very small case.

"Well, it looks like we've made a new friend!" the skinnier man in the blue coat said. "Thanks for helping."

"I really didn't do anything," you replied.

"Nonsense, you froze the river, didn't you? Wonderful spellwork, by the way," he complimented.

You warily looked at the no-maj, currently trying his best to brush off whatever he had spilled on himself. You knew how dangerous it was for them to know about magic.

"Oh, I'm Newt. This is Jacob. We've been gathering all the magical creatures that... are around the city," Newt explained.

"I'm (Y/N)," you said.

You held your hand out in greeting, and he took it with a mild shake. Jacob's was only slightly firmer.

"You know, I'm good with magical creatures. They were my favourites to look for in the forest of the school I went to. If you want, I can help," you offered.

Newt smiled brightly, and motioned back to the city that surrounded you.

"Well, we've finished with this, and we've got more to do. How about we find the rest of them?"

———

Newt opened his case on the floor, nodding to it with a smile.

"Go on. I promise it's safe," he assured you.

You gave him a stern look and climbed down the ladder into a small, wooden workshop.

"Is this an expanding charm?" you called up as he started to make his own way down. "Amazing work. It's rarely ever neat when I expand anything."

"Well, it helps that I've got other magic to keep everything where it is," he grinned. "Shall we?"

He gestured to the door. You pushed it open, your mouth open in shock as you took in the desert-like area around you.

"Newt!" you exclaimed. "Do you know how much work it takes to do this? You either have very powerful magic or a lot of time on your hands."

"Well I wouldn't say I'm very powerful," he humbly responded. "I've had this case for years, and I only started with a few of these areas. Now it's a lot more, but that's not the point."

He gestured to move on, and you followed wordlessly. The disturbance in the background made it clear that it was a piece of cloth rather than the actual background, and he pushed it aside to reveal the Erumpent you had helped him retrieve.

"I found her a while ago, and I'll be returning her home once she's ready. I'd bring you closer but after recent events, I think it would be better not to cause unnecessary damage to all of New York City."

You both laughed. He led you through another curtain to where the Niffler dove into a hole, and the bowtruckles were all on a tree together.

"I'm sure you already know the bowtruckles aren't as friendly as the others in this case, but Pickett likes to hang around me sometimes," Newt said.

He put his hand out for one of the bowtruckles, who climbed onto his hand and scampered up his arm, clinging to his bowtie for a few seconds. Newt had to pull Pickett off and back into his hand, and raised him up between the two of you. You were both met each other's eyes. He looked nervous for a split second, then brought up Pickett between your line of view.

"Say hello, Pickett! This is (Y/N)."

"Hi there," you smiled.

You waved your hand to the little green creature. He jumped from Newt's hand to your shirt, and found his way to the top of your head.

"Pickett! You know you need to ask before you climb someone like that," Newt scolded.

He had his hands on his hips and glared at the bowtruckle sternly. Pickett made a noise that sounded suspiciously like blowing a raspberry and rested himself in your hair.

"I think he likes me," you laughed. "Isn't it rare for bowtruckles to be this friendly?"

"Yes, but I think-"

Newt suddenly cut himself off as a blush grew on his face. You furrowed your eyebrows at him.

"You think what?" you asked.

"Um, I talk to the creatures about you sometimes? I think he remembered your name."

You hadn't known each other too long, but you figured it was enough to be good friends.

"Oh, that's nice. It's great to meet them," you said.

He gestured for you to follow him. He turned quickly as you walked, probably to hide his red face. By the time you reached a large nest, it was completely gone and replaced with a wide smile.

"This is an Occamy! They are usually very protective of their young, but I've earned her trust just enough. I'll be releasing her and her babies once they're a little more grown," Newt said.

The blue serpent-like creature inspected you as you approached the nest. A peer over the edge gave you a glimpse of a smaller Occamy, playing with its siblings. There were chirps coming from the nest. Newt brought you along to a different environment, one that looked more like a desert.

"And that's Frank," he said.

You both looked up to see a Thunderbird flying on his own in the sky. He began to drop down and land as he spotted you.

"Frank, this is my friend! Be nice," Newt said. "You can hold your hand out to him."

You hesitantly put your hand up, around where the bird's beak would be if he was in front of you. Frank shuffled his wings, then got closer until the feathers just under his eye were tickling your hand. You carefully stroked the feathers there, and he closed his eyes in content.

"I'm in America for a lot of reasons, and all of them are to bring these creatures back home," Newt said. "Tina and Queenie have been nice enough to let me stay with them while I'm still here."

"You're welcome to stay with me as well," you smiled.

You continued onto the next area, a quieter and darker one lit by a full moon on one of the curtains. The creatures were like a strange mix of a sheep and a cow with the largest eyes that didn't look like they would fit in their heads.

"Mooncalves!" you said, taking a few steps closer.

"Wait, come back. I'll have you feed them, since it's already time."

They were still a distance away. Despite their shy nature, they were still intrigued by the new addition to their temporary home. They started to get closer. After a few minutes of preparing the bowls with Newt, two of them had already gotten very close to you. They nudged your legs, knowing that you had something they wanted. When Newt walked with his bowl closer to the rest of the mooncalves, they all flocked to him. You followed behind, and some went to you.

"Throw a bit of this onto the ground right here."

He picked up a handful of what looked like rice grains and threw them across the ground. You did the same until the soil was mostly covered. Newt pulled out his wand and mumbled a spell, which caused the soil to cover the little grains and grass to spring up from where they dropped instead. The mooncalves rushed over to the grass and began to graze.

"Grass seeds! It's much more convenient than carrying grass or taking them outside when there's a full moon," Newt explained.

"That's amazing," you complimented, which he bashfully brushed off.

He took your bowl and put it away. A bowtruckle returned to his tree and a niffler nearly grabbing your pen lined with shiny metal later, you both returned to your small room. It was as if you'd entered another world or a dream and were now being pulled back into reality. You stood face to face with Newt, a grin present on his.

"If you're not staying in New York too long, I think maybe you'd need a souvenir before you go," you whispered.

"What's that?"

You took a step closer to him and slowly pressed your lips to his. He brought you closer, a hand on your back to keep the both of you steady. When you pulled away, he kept his hand there.

"That might be one of the best souvenirs I'll ever receive, but I think I can find one better."

"Can you really?"

He laughed breathlessly, and pulled you closer once more.

[sariahsue]

Of Secrets and Snowflakes

What am I doing? What am I doing? What on earth am I doing? The obvious answer—stalking a celebrity in broad daylight—didn't seem to cover the magnitude of her stupidity. Ladybug knew she shouldn't be out here, in the cold, sitting in a barren, snow-glazed tree, staring at her breath and Adrien's front door. She was sure to be caught, and the worst of it was that she couldn't even see his window from here. All of the dangers, with none of the benefits.

It had been twenty-four hours since Chat Noir's accidental identity reveal and Ladybug just wanted to 'check on' her partner. Not talk to him exactly, but just see him. Make sure he was okay. Without him seeing her. But she couldn't really do that from here, so she'd have to loop around to his window.

Not giving herself the chance to change her mind, she unhooked her yoyo and jumped. Each swing closer gave her another ten reasons to turn back. It was too soon. Neither of them were ready. She shouldn't be putting him in danger like this.

But Ladybug was suddenly on his fence, balancing dangerously between making one last leap to his window ledge and retreating. The quiet of his yard made her stop. A breeze skimmed the tops off of snow drifts. Sunlight reflected off the icicles hanging from the roof.

She really should check on him. It hadn't been right to dump him and run like she had yesterday.

She took a breath. It was probably best to leave. Neither of them would be able to act professionally now that his identity was out in the open. If they didn't put up boundaries now, they wouldn't be able to protect Paris. And if they couldn't protect Paris, then Hawk Moth would win. But boundaries could easily become walls, and then they'd drift farther and farther apart and then—

Ladybug heard the wet smack before she felt the cold of the snowball exploding across her cheek.

"HEADSHOT! WOO!" Adrien jumped out from behind a very tall, thin snowman as chunks of snow dripped off Ladybug's cheek.

"Go on, tell me how impressed you are with that throw," he said, pulling off his woolen beanie and flourishing it as he bowed in her direction. "And I'm not even in my suit right now!"

"Shh!" Ladybug hissed, snapping her head around to make sure no one was close enough to listen.

"Who's going to hear me?" Adrien asked, putting his hat back on. The bright red pom pom flopped into his face. "My father?" He waved a mittened glove (again black and red, she was sensing a theme) at the snowman. With its pointed hair and narrow frame, it looked suspiciously familiar. Adrien ducked behind the snowman, raising one of its tree branch arms in a wave.

The snowman was much more a pile of snow if anything, shaped tall and thin into a pointed tip that resembled the twirl of an ice cream cone. It was all angles, even its thin tree branch arms stood from its frigid form and perched above its long carrot nose were a pair of oddly familiar thick-rimmed glasses. Ladybug bit down on her lip to stifle her laughter as she easily recognized the ill-fashioned, candy-cane-striped ascot tied around its neck.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he spoke with an exaggerated deep voice. "'Tis I! Gabriel Snowgreste!"

"Did you steal those glasses it's wearing?" she asked, barely managing to hold back her giggles.

"They're a spare pair," Adrien said. "He won't even notice. I want to show you something." He held up a hand to her, ready to help her down, if she chose.

Ladybug chewed her lip as she hesitated. This was dangerous. The lines between them were already starting to fuzz and disappear, and if she couldn't maintain distance—no, she could. This wasn't any different than the other rare occasions she'd been to his house.

Ignoring his hand, Ladybug jumped down to land beside him. Snow crunched under her feet. "I can't stay for long," she said, looking from her hands, to the icicles hanging from his roof, and then to his lips—ahem, back to her feet. "I'm on patrol and I don't have much time to chat up random civilians."

"Aha, 'patrol.' Gotcha," Adrien said. He took a step closer, and she started to wonder if the pink on his cheeks was only from the frigid air. "Well, thank you, M'Ladybug, for stopping by to see me, someone you've never met before, when you were obviously so busy. Tell me, what's your favorite part of being a superhero? The powers? The fans? Or is it the amazing company you keep?"

She couldn't help a small giggle. Adrien, your Chat is showing. She wasn't fast enough to convincingly cover it with a cough and saw his eyes sparkle and the color on his cheeks deepen, and realized she'd made a mistake already. Professional. Distant.

Dang it.

"Since you're here, want to stay and see what I made?" He took her silence for assent and reached for her hand, leading her across the yard.

Brisk air blew at her back, creeping across the exposed skin of her neck and ears, but Ladybug's brain was overheating. Stay here? With Adrien? Forever? Her steps were halting and uneven. When he turned to see what the matter was, he dropped her wrist immediately.

"Sorry!" he said, putting up his hands. "I didn't mean—I shouldn't have grabbed—s-sorry, I mean, we can hang out if you want? I've got hot chocolate inside. We could talk about—"

Wind whistled through the empty branches above them, carrying snowflakes and another dozen reasons to say yes, that sounded wonderful. Adrien—her partner—was warm and inviting.

"O-or," he continued, looking around the yard for inspiration. "We could watch something? Or I could read something to you? Not that I think you can't read, but …" His voice stuttered and died away under her continued silence. "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

It had only been a day, and their sync, their perfect harmony was already ruined, she could tell. How many times had Chat Noir simply looked at her and known what she was thinking? And now he was reading her all wrong.

"I really shouldn't be here," she said. "It's not safe."

"No one's going to see us," Adrien promised, a little desperately. "And we're friends, aren't we? We can hang out, right?"

"Well …" Another gust of wind, and movement caught her eye: the stick arms of Gabriel Snowgreste. Adrien had been out here all alone, ignored by everyone he cared about, and she couldn't have that. Ladybug was a woman of many plans, so from the ashes of 'pretend she had never met Adrien' another one was quickly born. It was called 'pretend everything was under control.' For his sake, and for the sake of the team, she'd set her emotions aside.

"Of course we're friends," she said, before firmly reminding herself, and nothing more. "Lead the way."

In three short skips, Adrien led her around the corner of the mansion, straight toward a mound of snow that went up to his shoulders. "Tada!"

"Oh," Ladybug said. She took in the patches of dead grass peeking out around the edges of the mound, and the shovel leaning against the side. What was it? He'd obviously worked hard, and she didn't want to say the wrong thing. "L-looks impressive?" She swallowed hard, trying to force her stutter down.

"You're admiring the wrong side, LB." He crouched and twisted out of sight. On the correct side of the small dome was a stubby tunnel opening, with a hole just wide enough to crawl through. An igloo. How had he found enough time to build an entire igloo? Shaking her head, she followed him inside.

The interior was small. Even with her height disadvantage, she wouldn't have been able to lie down without her feet sticking out the door, but that only added to the igloo's coziness factor and—she swallowed hard—sense of intimacy. Dim sunlight filtered through the thinner areas of the dome, creating a soft glow. And Adrien smiled sweetly at her as she sat down. She needed to make this quick.

"Thank you," he said, scooting closer to her.

"F-f-for?" There was no reason to stutter. There was no reason to shiver in anticipation as he lined his body up next to hers.

"Coming to see me. It's not a patrol day, so—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I miss you when I don't get to see you."

It was an odd time to realize that igloos had no windows. No one could see them, no one would witness whatever happened next. And she really needed some air, because Adrien was right there, his face illuminating the small space. How many times had Chat Noir—Adrien—told her that he loved her? The heat on her face was going to melt the igloo he worked so hard on.

"Glad I could make you beel fetter—I mean f-feel better!" Ladybug scrambled for the tunnel entrance and for safety. The biting chill brought her clarity. She'd thought she needed more time to adjust to her two favorite boys being one person, but that wasn't the real reason she was running away. She couldn't be trusted around him. Distance and control and careful plans were no match for Adrien Agreste.

"I bet you'd make a good snow angel." Adrien lay in the igloo's entrance, face in his hands and staring at her, freezing her on the spot. "Because you're so angelic."

Ladybug kind of, sort of, maybe, gaped at him for several seconds before hitching her heart back into place and closing her mouth.

"Sorry, was that too much?" he asked.

She managed to squeak out a small, "No!" before she dropped to her knees and kissed his forehead, letting her mouth rest against his skin just a fraction of a second longer than she thought she should. "Maybe next time, Chaton."

And then she bolted.

Ignoring the voice that said to stay, to see where this path led, Ladybug finally achieved her distance. She didn't turn around until her feet landed on the hard sidewalk, and they were separated by the mansion's iron fence. Adrien was still visible through the bars, crouching behind the igloo to watch what she should do, expression obscured by his creation.

Even when she was trying to protect him, she hurt him.

He wasn't just Chat Noir anymore. And not just Adrien. He was her … he was so many things to her that she wasn't even sure what to call him. He was her partner. Her best friend. The person she always wanted to run to …

And was now running away from to protect.

***

That night, darkness fell on an uncertain Ladybug. Shadows stretched beneath her dangling feet as it started to snow lightly. Marinette had known all day that she needed to apologize, that much had been obvious. She'd even prepared a thermos of hot cocoa for a peace offering.

But now what? How could she go on without hurting or endangering Adrien further? The cleanest way to keep him and the city safe was to tell him they needed to only see each other during akuma attacks, to maintain the dynamic that had always worked so well. Would either of them be able to stand that?

The only clear answer was that running away from him had solved nothing. She sighed, scooped up the thermos, and pushed off to find him. She would think of something. She had to.

Ladybug was greeted with the dark, empty windows of Adrien's room. It was too early for him to be in bed, but too late for him to be at a photoshoot. If she knew Chat Noir, and if Chat Noir was Adrien, then she was sure he'd be out and about somewhere. As she raced to all his favorite hangout spots, doubt started to set in. This was another sign of their weakening bond. He had read her wrong before, and now she couldn't anticipate where he would go.

A few minutes later and getting desperate, she swung back toward his house, hoping that maybe he'd already gone home. In between street lamps, hundreds of string lights covered buildings and fences and trees. Icy puddles and piles of snow seemed to blur together as she pushed herself faster. She arced over the park and spotted a lone figure on a bench staring up the Ladybug and Chat Noir statue. Lights hung off her stone counterpart like necklaces and scarves. The person on the bench looked like marshmallow in a puffy white coat that was several sizes too big. But she recognized the red pom pom.

Landing silently next to him, she asked, "Hey, on the prowl?"

Adrien sat up a little straighter at the sound of her voice. "Ladybug! You're here! I mean, you don't have to stay if you don't want to." He slid to make room for her on the bench, ever hopeful.

"Do you know how long I've been looking for you?" She took the offered seat and uncapped the thermos for him.

"I'm guessing you were dying to see me and have been calling my name for hours."

"You haven't been here out for hours, have you?" she asked in alarm.

"No, no," he assured her. "I was just—never mind." He took a sip of the thermos to avoid her questioning look.

They passed thermos back and forth several times before Ladybug said, "Sorry for freaking out at you earlier. I'm here because I want to spend time with you, but …" The words caught in her throat. What should have followed was, but we can't right now. She couldn't say it. She was here because she wanted to be with him. Another sip hid her struggle, as she tried to buy herself time, so he wouldn't have to see her confusion, to delay the words that would hurt him.

The wind blew, and she shivered, though she resisted the urge to lean into him for warmth.

He noticed her shudder anyway. "Maybe this isn't the best time for this conversation," he said.

Ladybug pressed her fingers into the side of the thermos, trying to draw in its heat. "I'm fine." Her teeth chattered. "Not cold." They needed to have this conversation. She needed to get a hold of herself for his sake, though she wasn't sure if she meant her shivers or her emotions.

As lightly as another breeze, Adrien's arm snaked around her shoulder, bringing with it half of the coat. She tried to protest, but he just leaned over to grab the thermos from her and pulled her deeper into his side in the process. "Sorry, but you're freezing. Don't try to hide it," was the only apology he gave.

Now she'd done it. Given him the wrong impression. He thought she was stopping because of the weather and not because she was choking on her words. He'd misread the situation again. They were out of sync. All of her efforts to fix it had failed. What was she supposed to do now?

"You probably think we shouldn't be sitting out here like this," he said. "I get it."

Ladybug frowned. Did he really? Could he tell how badly they were messed up?

"It's been pretty crazy for me. I can't imagine what it's been like for you. You're always the one with the plan, and there's no way to plan our way out of this. It'll just take some time."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Maybe … she started to hope. Maybe he did get it.

"But I trust you, Ladybug. And I'm glad we're in it together," he said. "Right?"

"Always," she said. They couldn't turn back to where they had been. And they couldn't stop their partnership from developing. But as she laid her head on his shoulder and stared up at the sparkling lights illuminating their statues, she thought maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing after all.

For now, she had a new plan …

Trust her partner.

***

Author's note: This was written for the Miraculous Writer Zine: Once Upon a Season. Together, we raised $2,385 for the Organization of Transformative Works. The zine is no longer on sale, so all the authors have been given permission to post their works!

[ot3]

your last post made me think about how I loooove how you use color in your art, it's so vibrant and full of life and movement and expression! I was wondering if you had any advice on how to do color studies? perhaps doing drawings with limited palettes? or anything similar?

First things first, thank you, I really do appreciate comments like these! this post now also has a follow up for finish limited palette pieces

I'm obviously very fond of limited palette art and color studies/color thumbnailing are great ways to get that done. When people think limited palette there's often the association of unrealistic and fantastical color palettes, but learning to limit your color use absolutely applies to semirealism and just builds stronger color theory in general. I was planning to talk about limited palettes in more realistic color use in this post, but this already ended up way too long. If that's something people want to hear about I can talk about it later.

Color theory basics crash-course! I'm sure almost anyone who has colored anything is familiar with this, so I'll be SUPER brief, but I want everyone to be on the same page for this. Color has three qualities you need to take into account: Hue, saturation, and brightness. Hue is what we think of as the 'color'. Saturation is the vibrancy of this color; how bold or dull it is. Brightness is how light or dark the color is. Here's this all labeled on a color picker I stole from google.

As a rule of thumb, things that look good in color should look good in grayscale. Having a strong range of values (brightness) makes for a strong image. Keep this in mind when you're picking colors – knowing what areas need to be light and what areas need to be dark before you start coloring will make your life easier. I'm going to teach you when and how to break this rule later, but for now let's just talk about picking a palette. I've found five to seven different colors to be a really nice sweet spot for working with limited palettes.

There are three main types of color palettes ill work with and ill provide examples each of them. I expect you to all politely refrain commenting on the amount of homestuck fanart that's here.

Monochromatic, where the piece is all within one color family with slight variations in hue, and larger variations in brightness and saturation

Accent, which is essentially the same as a monochromatic type with the addition of a strong, contrasting secondary color in one or two variants. Normally the accent color is lighter and serves as a highlight. This is not any kind of a hard rule, but is instead just what I like.

Split. There are two (or more) main colors at play, each with a couple of different shades.

Cool. Now lets see how we'd go about making one of these palettes.

 I'm grabbing an inconsequential sketch i've already got and we're gonna slap some color on it. Let's start monochromatic – I've gone and just tossed six pretty random shades of green on it, picking what goes where based on what I want to be light and what I want to be darker. 

Keep in mind, by monochromatic, I don't mean just picking one color and making it lighter or darker! Adjust your hue within the same color family – some of these are very blue, definitely more blue than green, and some are much warmer and yellower. Play around. In this stage I like to have every color on a distinct layer, so I can just recolor the entire layer at once as I tweak the palette.

 On the right, I have each color lined up in order of lightest to darkest just so I can get a sense of what I'm working with. Lets go ahead and call this one thumbnail. Now I'm gonna group the layers, duplicate them, and flatten the copy. I'll shrink it down and shove it off to the side so I can compare it to the other ones I make later.

Okay, I did a few more almost completely arbitrary monochromatic palettes. Here they are compared with their grayscale counterparts. 

All of them have the same number of colors, and lights stay lights, darks stay dark, midtones stay mid consistent between all of them, but the range of values is different between them all. The difference in light or dark between each tone is different and it gives a different mood that you can see even in black and white. None of them is more 'correct' than any other, and it's all about establishing the tone and atmosphere you want. Experimentation is key.

Now lets try making this a complimentary palette. With a strong accent color, your accent should be placed at areas of importance. People are naturally drawn to contrast and when using an accent color in a piece it'll make that area stick out, so make sure you're placing your colors with intent. For this I went back to that first set of greens I had because it was my favorite. Since this palette is over all very dark, I am going to make my accent the lightest color, because that'll stand out more. In a lighter palette, try making your accent the darkest color. Once again I must stress these are not hard rules – there are very few hard rules in art at all – but these are very useful tips for getting emphasis in the right place. This is just an example piece so I'm not being huuugely thoughtful with how I'm placing the color. 

Here's the same image but with the lightest green just swapped out for a far more vibrant accent of yellow. Looks pretty terrible. I don't want all of the papers and blinds to seem so prominent. So let's scrap this and try a different approach. We're gonna instead add our accent as a sixth color to our palette.

By adding another color, I've added another level of detail. Figuring out how to manage detail isn't just dependent on how many colors you have, but this is already going to be ridiculously long so I'll spare you that spiel. This is another one of those things I'll talk about more later if people want to hear my #thots. Using the new yellow accent, I emphasized the eyes, the mug, and added some interior detailing to the objects on the table. I also decided to place yellow in some of the windows of the outside buildings, to add a bit more interest in that area, and to justify giving yellow back lighting to our little goblin lad here, which makes him stand out nicely.

A split palette makes things a whole lot more complicated. Now that you're gonna be working with two different base colors you don't just only have to worry about which one is lighter or darker, you have to worry about how the hues look next to each other. Lets work with an orange on top of our original green here. I picked two of the greens and replaced the darker one with a darker orange, and the lighter one with a lighter orange. Now our palette is six colors split 50/50 between orange+yellow, and green. 

But now something interesting is happening. Let's take a look. If you're particularly keen eyed, you might have noticed that there's a third set of colors here, using a greyish brown in place of the oranges. What's up with that?

Well, what's up with that is, they are orange. The palette on the far right is what happens if, instead of choosing my own oranges, I simply hue-shifted the bluegreens until they were technically orange in hue. 

The oranges I chose just based on how they looked without actually checking the value and saturation of actually changed the value hierarchy of the whole piece. The table, instead of being in between the objects stacked upon it in terms of brightness, is lighter than either. This isnt bad at all – there's absolutely nothing wrong here. It's just important to be aware of things like this! This is why I said a split palette is the most complicated of the three I'm talking about here – in many occasions, the hue hierarchy can top the value hierarchy. Keep that in mind for slightly later.

I think split palettes work really well for comics, and I like to make my comics with split palettes. Whereas with a single illustration, you can just putz around with your color thumbnails until you get something good, for a comic you're locked into your palette once you've done the first page. Unless you're some sort of insanely meticulous person, in which case I envy you, you probably don't have every single page of your comic blocked out with respective values and can't apply your palette to the whole thing at once to test it. This means you'll need a palette that's pretty versatile. Having a split palette where one of the hue sets is lighter than the other overall allows you to decide whether you're going to create an overall light panel with dark accents, or vice versa. I'm gonna compare two palettes I'm using for comics to make this point. 

Here's a sampling of the comic pages in full color, at 0% saturation, and adjusted for grayscale respectively. You'll notice a slight difference between the desaturated colors and the grayscale colors – grayscale seems to hold truer to the full color version, doesn't it?

Now, here are the palettes themselves, and some grids showing the relationship between every pair of colors. When you don't know exactly what you're going to be using any given palette for, the relationship between any two colors becomes more important than ever. The bottom palette is split three ways, red yellow and blue each with a light and a dark, and then a completely neutral dark gray color. I'm using it for a long ongoing ace attorney comic I'm drawing. The top one has 4 shades of blue that go from darker and cooler to lighter and warmer, then 3 shades of orange that get yellower as they get lighter. Underneath is just the values – you'll notice that the top palette has a larger value range, with its lightest color being lighter than that of the bottom palette, and it's mid tones spaced further apart. 

What you'll also notice about the bottom palette is that instead of the reds being lighter than the blues and darker than the yellows, the value alternates dark red dark yellow light red light yellow. Take a look at the color grids. You'll notice that for the most part, every color in the palette on the right looks good with every other color. That's not nearly as true for the palette on the left. The light blue has a weird vibration where it meets either of the reds, and a few of the pairings just aren't particularly pleasant. Honestly, from any objective ideas of color theory, this palette kind of sucks shit. Lets make some adjustments to it.

I've changed the dark yellow and light red hues so now the light red is slightly darker than the dark yellow. That's the palette that's on top now. Looks better, doesn't it? But so now the question becomes why am I using a palette that looks awkward, disharmonious, and visually strained when I know exactly how to fix it? The simple answer is because I wanted a color palette that's awkward. I wanted that visual strain. I have trouble working on comics and general, especially anything as long as this one, and I wanted a color palette that already meant things would come out looking a little bit wonky, so I wouldn't be as concerned with nitpicking all the details and making everything pretty. I think the sort of visual upset also fits the tone I'm keeping with a lot of the comic.

Remember earlier when I said I'd talk about breaking the rule of stuff looking good in gray scale and in color? That's now. Take a look at this image. 

Which of the three colors is darker: the red, blue, or yellow? The stupid truth of it is that there's not really a proper way to tell. All three are technically the same 'brightness' but our brain tells us that the blue is the darkest, and the yellow is the lightest. Why do our brains do this? Let’s make em gray now.

On the bottom you can see what the colors look like when they are set to 0% saturation; as you'd expect it's a homogeneous gray blob. So then what the fuck is going on with the grayscale one? The grayscale one is closer to the way our brains interpret the colors, but we know this to be an improper rendering of their respective values. Which is the correct version, then – the grayscale or the desaturation? Luckily, we're using a computer, so we can have photoshop tell us the exact balance of hue, saturation, and brightness of any given pixel. Let's take a look now.

Wait, huh? We can plainly see that all three of the colors are at 49% brightness. But neither the desaturated value or any of the 3 grayscale values have a brightness of 49%. So what does a brightness of 49% look like?

Okay. Sure. Why not.

All of what I've just shown you regarding grayscale is to emphasize the point that your best judgment for which colors look good is a far better measuring stick for a good color palette than any technicalities. Even if the value is the same, the hue can differ enough that you can still get a beautiful finished drawing. Color and our perception of it is so, so vastly technically complex. You can not allow yourself to be bogged down by this. Simply practice, and color will become intuitive to you over time. I have a lot more I could say on the subject of picking and using your colors, but this is already insanely long. Feel free to ask any follow up questions, I hope this was of literally any use!

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Sorry you’ve had to wait a few more days. i had a much needed few days holiday in Devon. And I realised it was the first time since February that I’d travelled more than 20 miles from home!

Anyway, we’re on to chapter 7. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

Previous

AO3

Chapter 7: From Feedback to The Force

I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye. A converted barn, situated at the end of a leafy country lane, surrounded by fields full of cows and maybe a horse or two. Jamie’s office will be at one end— all exposed beams with classic mahogany and leather furniture. Perhaps chickens will be roaming around outside as tractors pull up to deliver vegetables straight from the neighbouring fields.

This image begins to fade as I follow my Sat nav instructions and take the next junction off the motorway. Country lanes look to be few and far between in this urban sprawl. Signposts along the tarmacked road point to a series of industrial estates. At the fourth such sign, I’m instructed to turn left and in three hundred yards will have reached my destination.

Having parked up, I make my way towards the large, uninspiring building which resembles some sort of aircraft hangar. Its grey concrete and corrugated iron walls match the overcast sky and the roughly surfaced car park. The only colour in this landscape is provided by the bright orange FraserFood logo emblazoned above the loading bays.

There’s a single door to the right with an intercom. I press it and wait a few seconds.

“Hello, there.” A cheery voice greets me. “Can I help ye?”

“Yes. Hello, I’ve an appointment with Ja— Mr. Fraser, Jamie. It’s Claire Beauchamp.”

“Aye, come on through. Jamie is expecting ye. Down the passage and third door on the left.”

I step into a long corridor, painted an unoriginal white. Fluorescent strip lights hanging from the ceiling cast a harsh brightness. The floor is covered with grey carpet tiles.—the same as in thousands of other working offices across the country.

What sets it apart and brings character to the otherwise anonymous environment is the artwork. Colourful photographs line the walls — a bowl of strawberries, their red glossiness accentuated by the white porcelain; a perfect corn on the cob, rivulets of melted butter flowing around the kernels; a plate of steaming tagliatelle, the parmesan shavings falling gently onto the pasta. Then, as I move further towards the office, the photographs change to a series of images that I instantly recognise, La Boqueria, one of the food markets in Barcelona.

I pause for a moment in front of a picture of one of the stalls selling spices. Strings of different chillies cascade down from the metal frame of the stall. The vibrancy of that market was intoxicating, the noise, the colours, the aromas. I remember wandering from stall to stall snacking on fat, juicy olives, slices of spiced ham and wedges of refreshing melon, just soaking up that atmosphere.

My stomach automatically rumbles at the memory just as Jamie steps into the corridor.

He laughs at this unconventional greeting. “And good day tae ye too. Ye found us alright then?”

“No problem. Sat nav brought me straight here. It’s—“ I stop myself before I say any more, but, as usual, my glass face gives me away.

“C’mon. What is it? It’s no’ what ye were expecting, is it?”

“No— yes—no. It’s fine. It’s just, well, I was expecting something more, er, rural… rustic, you know.”

He sighs, but I can tell that he’s not offended. “What, ye mean like on a farm? Wi’ chickens running around? And tractors bringing the vegetables straight from the fields?”

I nod, feeling not a little bit foolish.

“And down a wee winding country lane, that yer lumbering great vans and lorries have tae drive along? Wi’ no easy transport links fer all the deliveries? And having tae deal wi’ all the food hygiene standards in some great old barn?” He laughs. “Trust me, it may no’ be photogenic but it’s the best place fer the business.”

He takes my arm. “Let’s go intae ma office and I’ll make ye a cup of coffee.”

My stomach rumbles once more. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any of those lovely Spanish biscuits too, have you?”

*********

The display of colourful photographs continues in Jamie’s office. I don’t recognise the scenes, but, I’m guessing these are more local— fields of corn bordered by old drystone walls, hedgerows bursting with dark jewel-like brambles. I pause at a picture of an ancient stone mill, the calm water of the mill pond reflecting the rundown building perfectly.

“That’s a bonny picture, is it no’?” Jamie’s voice is low in my ear.

I turn around. He is standing behind me, gazing intently at the picture.

“It is. Where is it? I’m guessing it’s somewhere here in Scotland.”

“Aye, it’s the old mill at Lallybroch.”

“Where you grew up?”

He nods. “Generations of ma family used that mill tae grind flour fer them and their tenants. It’s empty inside now. The wheel has long since rotted away. Jenny and I would escape there whenever chores were tae be done. She took the photo, weel, most of the photos here actually.”

I study the photograph more closely. “She’s very talented as a photographer. Is that her job?”

“She’d love tae have done that, but once she married Ian and the bairns started appearing, she hasna got the time. Mebbe one day.”

He moves past me towards his desk and I catch a hint of his musky cologne. I find myself comparing it to the slightly synthetic cologne that Frank always favoured. I decide that Jamie’s is preferable. It’s more real, somehow, earthy and, well, more masculine.

“... does that sound ok?”  

I realise that whilst I was considering male scents, Jamie had been asking me a question. “Er, sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

“Am I really that boring tae ye?” He laughs. “I said I would make ye a coffee and invite Rupert tae come in and join us. He’s our Head of Product Development. Will ye no’ take a seat?”

I sit down on one of the chairs arranged around a circular meeting table and take a good look at the office while Jamie makes a phone call. The walls and ceiling are the same uninspiring white, livened up by all the photographs. There’s a couple of framed photographs near Jamie’s chair that seem to be more personal. I’m too far away to be able to see clearly, but they look like children... his nephew and niece perhaps?

Jamie’s ‘L’ shaped desk is made of grey wood, as is a tall bookcase and this meeting table. Simple, but clearly a considered purchase, no haphazard grouping of random furniture. The desk itself is remarkably free from clutter— just a laptop with two huge screens and a black leather document wallet. The contrast to the clutter on the desks in my office and home couldn’t be greater. Not that my clutter isn’t important to me—a collection of pots and dishes from my uncle’s archaeological digs plus a paperweight and letter opener that I remember, as a young child, at my parents’ house. Then I realise, looking at the family portraits surrounding Jamie’s desk, that he doesn’t need to gather mementoes from the past. He has a living, breathing close knit family creating memories all the time.

I’m well aware that most of my friends have more of a family than I have, or have ever had, and generally I’m fine with that. But every now and again it hits me right in the gut—this pang of...not loneliness, but more of being disconnected, rootless.

Before I can dwell on this,  there’s a faint tap at the door. It opens immediately and a woman stands in the doorway.  She’s easily past retirement age, quite short and… is sturdy a polite descriptor? Well, short and ‘motherly’ in appearance.

She’s very smiley too. Her eyes crinkle as she grins broadly before speaking. “Jamie, lad. I’ve come tae see if ye both want a coffee. I dinna mind making it. And mebbe a few biscuits?”

Jamie steps away from his desk. “Ah, Mrs. Fitz, how d’ye always ken what I want? Coffee would be grand. And fer ye Claire?”

“Coffee, please. Lovely. White, no sugar. Thanks.”

She looks at me for a moment before Jamie makes the introduction. “ Claire, this is Mrs Fitz. She’s worked wi’ me since I started and I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out her.”

He reaches across and pats her arm gently.

“Mrs. Fitz, this is Claire, a friend of mine. She’s been trying out our Spanish dinner party menu and has come tae meet wi’ Rupert tae give him her opinions.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fitz.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it in both of hers. “And it’s lovely tae meet ye too, Claire.”

She turns away and heads out the door.

“Right-oh. Two coffees it is then,” she says clearly, then carries on muttering under her breath as she leaves. “Friends, is it, then? A bonny lass, sure enough…”

Jamie smiles apologetically. “Mrs. Fitz can be a bit, weel...she’s been working with me a long time. She’s like a second mother tae me…”

He leaves the sentence unfinished, but I know what he’s thinking. Why can’t people understand that we’re friends, that’s all?

*******

Rupert is a complete delight, but somehow not what I was expecting. He rushes into the office just as Jamie and I are drinking our coffees. Nearly as tall as Jamie but quite a bit broader with a large beard, like an overgrown teddy bear, and clad in a sweatshirt and baggy ill-fitting jeans, he looks as if he would be more at home on a rugby pitch rather than in a development kitchen. With Jamie now standing next to him, the office suddenly feels rather small.

Jamie makes the introductions and we settle once more around the table. Rupert places his notebook and pen on the table.

“Ye dinna mind if I take a biscuit or two, do ye?” He asks, with a smile. He knows how tasty they are.

Jamie and I shake our heads and Rupert reaches out and takes two in his large, fleshy hand. He starts to eat, sprinkling crumbs all over his notebook.

“Ye canna take me anywhere,” he says as he tries to sweep the crumbs into his hand.

Jamie laughs and playfully punches Rupert’s shoulder. “Weel, ye can… but only the once, mind.”

There’s an easy camaraderie between the two of them. I’m guessing that Jamie has worked with the same people for quite a while. It’s good to see.

Rupert swallows, picks up a tissue and wipes the stray crumbs from his beard.  “Right-oh. So, Claire, thanks fer doing this—“

“No, I should be thanking you. It was a great meal.”

“Weel, glad tae hear that, but I would appreciate any improvements we could make. Is there anything we need tae change?”

I’ve been racking my brains all the way here, trying to think of something constructive to say rather than just reeling off a list of compliments, nice as that would be for Rupert and Jamie. And, honestly, I don’t know what more I can add. The food was excellent, the wine matched perfectly and the olives were a thoughtful addition.

I tell them all this and Rupert solemnly notes it all down. Sitting there, side by side, elbows almost touching, they look for all the world like two proud parents being complimented on their child’s talents. But they have every right to be proud.

“And nothing else?” Rupert persists. “Nothing we could do better?”

“Well, a couple of tiny suggestions. Maybe a few more pictures with the recipes would help. I’m not the most gifted cook.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Jamie trying to suppress a smile. He’s never seen me in the kitchen, maybe he’s imagining me as some sort of culinary disaster area. I vow to prove him wrong at some point.

“And,” I continue as Rupert scribbles in his notebook. “Perhaps add a couple of suggestions to complete the Spanish night. I made sangria to start the evening. Could you add a recipe for that?”

Rupert closes his notebook with a flourish. “Right then. Thank ye sae much fer that. Glad yer friends all enjoyed the food.”

He stands up, shifting the table as he does so.

“Weel, bye then, Claire. Lovely tae meet ye. Hope tae see ye again.” He shoots a quick look across at Jamie before leaving.

“Rupert’s a lovely guy,” I comment as the door shuts behind him.

“Aye, he is that,” Jamie shifts in his seat. “Listen, I need tae ask ye a favour.”

“Another one,” I joke. “Wasn’t the dinner party enough?”

I add a sigh, purely for dramatic effect.

“Ye can say no if ye want tae,” he continues. “But I was wondering… weel... Ian, that’s Jenny’s husband, his rugby club is having a charity dinner dance a week on Saturday. Jenny’s bought two tickets fer me and a plus one. D’ye fancy it? It would help me out of a wee bit of bother with ma sister.”

Now I’m intrigued about his “wee bit of bother” with Jenny. I don’t want to end up in the middle of some sibling squabble.

“How so?” I’m not giving an answer straight away. At least not until I know what the bother is.

“Jenny bought the two tickets fer me a couple of months ago. I think she was assuming I would bring Laoghaire. But ye ken what happened there. Anyways, she asked me yesterday about it, and ever so casually suggested I might bring Kelly— that was ma date the other night.”

The pattern of Rupert’s crumbs on the table appears to suddenly be of great interest to him. He studies them intently as he talks, his ears turning slightly pink as he does so.

“And?” I prompt him.

“And, I told Jenny that after Laoghaire and I broke up, I didna want tae disappoint her about the dinner and so I’d already asked ye tae come along. As a friend,” he hastily adds the last part.

So, what do I decide? I do love the opportunity to have a bit of a dance and rugby club dos are usually a bit of a laugh, in my experience. And of course, I know Jamie is offering as a friend, so I’m not worried about that.

“Why don’t you want to ask Kelly then?” I want the full story before I give him my answer.

“She’s a nice enough lass but I didna think we had any spark. Plus she was trying too hard. Fer example she asked me what films I liked, then when I told her, she was all ‘no way, they’re ma favourites too’.”

He adds gestures at this point, to demonstrate Kelly’s actions, one hand flapping excitedly, the other resting on my sleeve, lightly stroking through the fabric of my shirt. It feels—

“Apparently we have exactly the same taste in films, music, food, drinks, television and holidays,” he continues as he sits back and folds his arms.

“Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.” I joke. I can still feel the sensation of his hand on my arm.

He looks up at me and frowns. “I’m no’ joking. Ye would be helping me if ye came as ma plus one.”

“Ok then. I do know that I’m not on call. I can come and be your wingman, if you like. Just one question. What are your favourite films?”

“Star Wars.”

This wasn’t the answer I was expecting. He doesn’t seem like a typical fan. Maybe he has a dark side that I haven’t yet seen, with a secret stash of Star Wars figures and multiple light sabres.

“I’ve never watched any of them.” It’s true. I seem to be in the minority but I just don’t get the appeal.

“And I can tell from yer face exactly what ye think of them. But they’re classics, weel most of them, anyway,” he starts to enthuse.

I shake my head. I can’t see that he will ever convince me.

“Well, Sassenach, have I got a treat in store for you!”

And, worryingly, it seems that he’s up for the challenge.

[wylanvnneck]

Rating: G for Giganotosaurus

Summary: Based on a TFOTA headcanon which I posted on Tumblr about Cardan and Jude visiting the Mortal world and Cardan getting introduced to pick-up lines. That he uses. Frequently. Which, of course completely irritates Jude.

Originally posted on AO3 | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Chapter 1

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Jude lets out a slight sigh of exhaustion as she fights to remain poised on her throne, the picture of elegance in front of her reveling subjects. She cannot show any signs of weakness. Her husband beside her steals a glance at her from over his wine glass, noting the weariness on her face that she is attempting to hide.

She can’t help but feel a little relieved when Cardan sets the glass of wine down as he stands and announces, “The Queen and I will be retiring for the day, but do carry on with the merry making.”

She takes a moment to drink in the sight of him imperiously addressing his subjects, the gold on his cheeks glistening under the bright lights. His black eyes shining, highlighted by the Kohl on his lids. The crown sitting regally atop his raven locks which fall over the pointy-tipped ears that mark his ancestry. He is beautiful, untouchable and yet, hers. She takes the arm that he extends as they gracefully exit the hall, headed towards their bed chambers.

“Tired, my mortal goddess?” he murmurs in her ear as they walk.

She is tempted to lie, so as to not appear fragile, but this was Cardan. The only person for whom she would remove her armour.

So she replies, “ A little, I admit,” looking up into his raven eyes that seem to hold a glint of concern.

He knew that the constant celebrations of the Fae took a toll on her, but she refused to shirk her duties as the Queen of Elfhame, attending every revel. The matter often caused fights between them but the make ups were always just as passionate as their yelling was.

“Your Majesties, please excuse me,” they are intercepted by Fand, Jude’s personal knight. “Your sister has sent you a letter, Your Highness.” She hands Jude a letter with her name scrawled on the envelope in Vivi’s sloppy cursive. For a moment she’d hoped it was from Taryn, her twin with whom she maintained a rather tenuous relationship. She was still glad to hear from Vivi  who kept up a correspondence with her between the Mortal world and the Fae one, both of them exchanging letters, although oftentimes Jude’s many duties would intercede.

“Thank you Fand, you may go.” She thumbs the letter as Fand respectfully bows and retreats.

“I wonder what your sister has to say this time?” Cardan remarks as they enter their rooms, immediately starting to remove his extravagant attire and change into his equally extravagant silk night robe.

“No idea, I only hope it’s nothing to do with Madoc and Oriana.” Jude’s relationship with her father was a very, very fragile one. After all that had transpired between them, she hadn’t yet reached out to him, with only Vivi’s letters to provide her with any news of his doings in the Mortal Realm since she’d banished him. He’d said that he understood her actions, but understanding did not mean forgiving.  Not that she needed forgiving. He was the one in the wrong. But he was also still the man who had raised her to be the warrior she was now.

As if sensing her thoughts, Cardan steps closer to where she is standing by the doorframe, gently nudging her with his now free tail as she rips open the envelope. He rests his head on her shoulder and joins her in her attempt to decipher Vivi’s handwriting.

“She’s inviting us to come and visit them in the mortal realm for a while, now that things are calmer.” It was indeed true that months had passed since Jude had slayed Cardan’s serpentine form, fulfilling the prophecy and the two had brought peace to Elfhame by ridding it of Madoc’s rebels.

“She says that a short break would be beneficial for the both of us and that Oak keeps asking to see me.” She smiles to herself as she thinks of her precocious younger brother.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Cardan says. “You deserve a break, Jude. More importantly, I do, for all the hard work I attend to,” he adds with an exaggerated yawn and a smug look.

She gives that last statement as much attention as it deserved, which is to say, she ignores it.

“But can we afford to take a break? What about the safety of our Kingdom?”

“I’m sure that the Court of Shadows and our bloodthirsty redcap general can handle the Kingdom in our absence and it would only be for a few days. Besides, I am curious to see more of where my wife spent her days during her...exile.” He falters slightly on that last word, shooting her a wary look. He knows that Jude did not at all appreciate his trickery that had led to those miserable days in exile. She has forgiven him, mostly, but there was no harm in keeping the High King on his toes.

She narrows her eyes at him and in response he presses a penitent kiss to her lips.

Before they can get too wrapped up in each other he pulls away, “So it’s settled? We shall spend a few days in the mortal realm with your sister?”

“I suppose so.” Now that Jude is resigned to the idea she feels a spark of excitement at visiting her family.

* * *

A few nights later the couple, accompanied by the Roach, make their way to the sea that separates them from the Mortal lands as the fog swirls around them, each carrying saddlebags. Cardan conjures two bony Ragwort ponies from a few stalks, silent and ready to carry them across the realms. They have donned mortal clothes, Jude in a sensible black pair of shorts and a dark top, under which she has concealed her various weapons and Cardan looking quite irregular in his tight-fitting denim jeans and loose white shirt that Jude had scrounged up for him. Despite her best efforts at pleading with him, she had not succeeded in having his gold cheeks and kohl removed, creating a very striking yet confusing image of the Fae in ill-fitting mortal clothes. He did, at least, promise to glamour the pointed tips of his ears once they’d crossed.

“Worry not, Your Highnesses, your Kingdom is in good hands,” the Roach bids them farewell.

“I do hope so,” Cardan replies, giving him a quick nod, mounting his steed after Jude and tangling his fingers in the horse's leafy mane as they take off into the night.

It’s nearing dawn once they’re outside Vivi and Heather’s apartment, the horses dissolving into stalks that blow away in the dark and quiet surroundings. Cardan takes in the sights around him and Jude remembers that he’d been here once before, coming to Vivi for help after Madoc had kidnapped Jude right from Cardan’s presence, thinking she was Taryn.

“It is strange. The last time I was here I was in such a hurry to find you that I didn’t really notice much of what was around me,” he says, his enhanced eyesight not at all hindered by the darkness.

“What do you think of the mortal world so far?” Jude asks, ringing the doorbell.

“Usually at this time we Fae would be feasting and dancing, but here it’s so still and silent. It seems that no one is awake.”

“Sometimes mortals actually do have night time revels,” she replies, thinking of the nightclubs that Vivi used to sneak off to back when they lived with Madoc. She’d sometimes waltz back into Jude’s room upon returning and describe her night to her half-impressed, half-disapproving sisters, her cheeks flushed from alcohol and dancing. It felt like ages ago.

“Is that so? Perhaps while we are here we should attend one of these revels,” Cardan suggests, head tilting.

“Perhaps,” Jude replies distractedly as she wonders why it was taking so long  for someone to answer the door. They had sent a quick note informing her sister of their impending visit so they should be expected.

Finally Vivi swings open the door, her petite body clothed in a baggy set of pajamas, “Jude, you’re here,” she opens the door wider, scanning her sister with her golden cat’s eyes.

“Hello Vivi,” Jude steps inside and gives her a quick hug with Cardan following in her wake, “Sister-in-law,” he teases.

“Pain-in-law,” Vivi responds, not missing a beat. Jude smiles to herself. It was good to see her sassy half-sister again.

Jude follows her sister to the kitchen counter as she fumbles around for some mugs to make coffee in. Cardan settles himself onto a high stool, intrigued by the coffee machine that Vivi was currently operating. The three of them linger in the kitchen for some time, drinking their beverages and exchanging stories, Jude relating stories of Elfhame and court happenings and Vivi catching them up on the recent happenings in the Mortal world and Oak’s schooling and Heather’s job. Jude is relieved to know that Madoc and Oriana hadn’t gotten into any trouble in the mortal world, at least not as yet, and that they were currently living somewhere quite far off, though they did frequently come and visit Oak. They wouldn’t be visiting while Jude was here, she was glad to hear. That confrontation would have to come at some point she supposed, but not just yet.

Finally, Vivi calls it a night, showing them to the room they were to occupy and leaving them to return to her sleeping girlfriend’s side.

Cardan takes in the messy bedroom, with a half-heartedly made up bed, obviously a last minute preparation for their arrival. “So, this is where you slept when you were here?” He lays on the bed and slowly stretches his legs out in a cat-like manner, watching Jude as she deposits their bags on the floor.  

“Indeed. Not quite the level of luxury you’re used to, Your Highness,” she smirks, crawling onto the bed beside him. She pushes him aside to make space for herself.

“Nevertheless, there is something to be said about smaller beds,” he responds, putting his arm about her waist and pulling her close, freeing his tail from the jeans to wrap around her calf.

“Hmm…” she mumbles tiredly, resting her head on his chest, feeling her husband’s hands stroking her chestnut hair, lulling her to sleep.

Thank you to @cupcakesandkittens​ for encouraging me to post this fic on tumblr as well.💕

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Please let me know if you'd like me to tag you in further installations of this fic:))

[minirokushi]

The Burdens of a Hero

Sometimes the Warrior of Light needs saving too. (Haurchefant x Female! WoL. ARR Spoilers. SFW)

“What a horrendously long day.”

With his work behind him, Haurchefant steps out into the cold Coerthas night. A strong chill sweeps through the air as Haurchefant tugs on the cape he wore during these exceptionally cold times. At such a late hour, the usual hustle and bustle at Camp Dragonhead seemed like a distant memory. Any sound made by the few remaining guards was blanketed by the deep layers of snow.

Haurchefant closed his eyes, recalling the troubling events of the day: Mistress Tataru’s teary and panicked arrival, his immediate worry for his dear friend’s safety. Master Alphinaud’s despondent exterior as the events of Ul’dah were conveyed to him. How it struck him that it wasn’t until he was listening to his dear friend explain the situation that he realized: he had never seen her so truly distraught. Haurchefant wished nothing more than to comfort her in that very moment. But ensuring the safety of the Scions required immediate action and no time for further conversation.

Haurchefant sighed and looked up to peer at the moon. And as if Halone, herself, heard his earlier plea, a small red figure appeared in his line of sight. Above him, on the ledge of the Aetheryte bridge sat the very woman who plagued his thoughts: his dear friend, Kiana Kia. Reflexively, he smiled in her direction, before noticing her lack of outerwear. Surely, even the Warrior of Light could stand to catch cold in this weather. With a frown on his face, Haurchefant swiftly made his way onto the bridge.

As his footsteps neared, Kiana did not stir. Unusual behavior, Haurchefant thought, as she was usually incredibly perceptive of her surroundings being the hardened warrior she was. Upon closer inspection, Kiana’s expression appeared taut, her gaze unfocused, lost in thought. Dim feelings of pain and frustration tugged at Haurchefant’s heart as he removed his cape, draping it over Kiana’s shoulders. With this, Kiana came to, looking up at the Elezen standing beside her, clear shock on her face.

“So this is how the mighty Warrior of Light spends her nights: Stargazing.” Haurchefant says as he leans against the bridge staring up at the stars.

“Haurchefant?” Kiana asks, examining the large cape around her.

“Good Evening dear friend” Haurchefant replies. “Pray, keep my cape round you. It would not do to have you take ill now. Do not worry, I am much accustomed to the chill of the Coerthas air, I assure you.”

Kiana nods, pulling the cape around her further. Haurchefant cannot help but notice how it seemingly engulfed her small stature. An adorable sight.

“You were still awake?” Kiana asks. “At such a late hour?”

Haurchefant nods. “Yes, well upon Mistress Tataru’s arrival, I did my utmost to create a haven for you and the remaining Scions here at Camp Dragonhead. By prioritizing your safety it seems I mayhap neglected most of the daily duties in my care.” Haurchefant rubs the back of neck, suddenly feeling the fatigue from the day. “As such, I just finished reviewing the last of the reports regarding the situation in Ishgard.”

“I do apologize for our intrusion here” Kiana laments. “Were that I could do more to thank you.”

Haurchefant shakes his head. “With all due respect my friend,” he says. “Your apologies are not necessary. With all that you’ve done for my House and the whole of the realm, I am truly upset I cannot whisk you all away to Ishgard sooner.”

“Still,” says Kiana. “Thank you.”

A deep silence lands between them. They both stare into the night sky for several moments before Haurchefant’s lips form his signature grin. “Actually I do know of a way you can repay me at this very moment.”

Kiana perks up. “And what’s that?”

“Tell me what ails you” Haurchefant says meeting her eyes.

Kiana looks away. She remains silent for a few seconds before sighing and lowering her head. “I was thinking,” she begins. “About the Banquet, the Scions, everything...How the peace crumbled so quickly. And how I stood by and did naught to stop it.”

Haurchefant frowns. “With all that you have told me, I say you were put in an impossible predicament with which you could do naught by design.”

“Still I-“ Kiana balls her hands into fists. “I’m supposed to be the Warrior of Light! The Eikon Slayer! Defender of Eorzea! And I couldn’t even defend those I held dear. I just...fled and left them all behind.”

For the first time in quite a while, Haurchefant was at a loss for words. The desire to protect, to fight, to save those in need and those you loved, he understood those emotions all too well. He had suffered his fair share of losses and pain. He understood the frustrations and pangs of guilt that came with an inability to do naught else but stand aside and watch injustices take place. As a bastard son and a knight both he understood all too well. Haurchefant could not help but reach out his hand to cover Kiana’s fist. Slowly, she released them and looked up to show her friend a small smile as if to assure him that all was well. Kiana continued.

“I’ve spoken with Minfilia often. About what the legend of the Warrior of Light means to Eorzea. How the position is one that acts as a beacon of hope and thereby encourages a rise in strength and conviction across the realm. And while I have never asked for this title, I do my best to play the part well.” Kiana’s gaze drifts down to the Intercessory. “However sometimes I recognize that even the Scions are in need of the Eorzea’s Hero. Alphinaud and Tataru for instance. They need that hope, that strength, to carry on. So I didn’t think it proper to drop the facade in front of them now. They need the Warrior of Light and if I wish to be Kiana Kia and wallow in my pity I thought it best to come out here.”

With this Haurchefant felt frustrations rising in him. How silly of this young women to thrust so much responsibility and pain onto her own shoulders. How foolish. And to prevent herself from relying on her companions for counsel in times like these? Why, he had half a mind to reprimand her. But he knew she had no need for more anger. So he took a moment to compose himself before opening his mouth.

“So that is why you decided to stargaze tonight?” He asked.

Kiana nods.

“Well, with all do respect, my dear friend, might I say,” Haurchefant turns to look at her. “How foolish of a reason.”

Kiana is taken aback. She would be offended if she weren’t already confused by Haurchefant’s uncharacteristic harsh tone. But Haurchefant continues.

“I understand the need to be alone with your thoughts,” he continues. “But to do so because you do not wish to burden your allies with your troubles? Incredibly foolish.”

Kiana, still confused, stares at Haurchefant.

“They are your friends, Kiana, as am I. Your closest allies. Your worries are not burdens to us. And while I am sure Master Alphinaud and Mistress Tataru appreciate your strength, they must worry over your well being as well. Lest you forget,” Haurchefant turns to smile at her. “Before you are the Warrior of Light, before you are a Scion, you are Kiana Kia, a friend to many throughout the realm.”

Kiana blinks back tears as she smiles back at her dear friend. When the night began, she did not know what it would take to soothe the pain she felt, but somehow Haurchefant’s words found a way. Like a hearth burning bright in the cold Coerthas snow, Haurchefant’s presence warmed her completely. “Thank you, Haurchefant” Kiana responds.

Haurchefant laughs. “By the Fury, I do not believe I have done anything worthy of the immense gratitude I have received from the Warrior of Light today.”

Kiana laughs with him. “Oh, you have done more than enough” she says.

Again, silence drops between them but this time, there is a sense of levity. Of comfort. Haurchefant stares at the brave young woman before him.

“The temperature seems to be dropping rather quickly now” he says, a smiling growing on his face. “Would you care to finish this conversation somewhere warmer? My personal quarters perhaps?”

Kiana laughs. Ordinarily she would refuse Haurchefant’s advances. Either because she was too flustered to respond or otherwise preoccupied with various adventurer duties. Or both. But today, she felt no reason to refuse. Still, she thought she’d have a little fun.

“If I say yes,” Kiana begins “Will I be able to get another cup of hot chocolate?”

Haurchefant laughs. “Of course!” He exclaims. “I’ll make as much as you’d like!”

Kiana hops down from the side of the bridge and the two begin walking towards Haurchefant’s chambers, the bright light from the moon illuminating their path.

[cecilspeaks]

170 - To the Family and Friends

Love the winner, hate the win. Welcome to Night Vale.

I start today with sad news. I must inform you of the passing of Intern Victor. To the friends and family of Intern Victor, we extend our condolences. Oh, that reminds me. Our intern program has a new open spot available. Hours are flexible, as is time itself. You must be fluent in at least three languages, although one of those can be your own dream language, and another can be a future language that doesn’t yet exist. This is an entry level position. All applicants must have 30 years experience in the field of community radio, and have been the managing director of at least 2 radio stations, or equivalent unregistered stations broadcasting coded messages to our brave spies in the field. This is a non-paying position, but we do give you 4 credits to the institutions of your choice. Please apply in person by groveling before the Station Management door and crying: “Choose me! Choose me!” as their tendrils draw you slowly toward them. I look forward to meeting whoever is hired. Always so fun when we get a new intern.

And now for a look at the day’s news. The Night Vale Medical Association has ordered a review of the management of Night Vale Asylum, after a number of irregularities have cropped up involving a transdimensional missing plane and a pilot who could control people’s thoughts. “Honestly, we had a lot of cases like that back in the 60’s,” said Lonnie Chapman, chairman of the Medical Association. “Mental institutions used to be cruel places, where the fragile rift between dimensions was regularly breached and telekinetic powers were exploited. And people were treated as less than people, for the simple crime of having an illness that could not be found in the blood or the bile.” Lonnie settled back into the sagging comfort of his old arm chair, sighed and rubbed his forehead. “We endeavour to help, not to other,” he whispered. “It should be common sense, this kindness. Why is kindness not common sense?” He said this last so quietly that no one heard him. Dust motes circled tirelessly in the afternoon sun through the window. The Night Vale Medical Association is looking to shut down the outdated asylum and replace it with a brand new state of the art treatment center, located near Grove Park. More on this story as the story has more to it.

I guess I should get into a little more detail about how Intern Victor died, since some of you might be curious. You know, I think the story starts back in my very first days as host of this radio station. After the previous host, Leonard Burton, after – umm… ehhhh.. Once I took over as host of this radio station, Victor was one of my first interns. Eager and earnest and always helpful. He was first in the station in the morning and last one out at night. His research was impeccable. 

“That’s not true,” he would say every time I said something that wasn’t true. “That’s not true either,” he would say. He would say stuff like that a lot. He was very diligent. It kind of felt like we were starting this great adventure in radio broadcasting together. I thought that some day after I… after… ehhhhh.. ummm… once I was no longer host of this radio station, perhaps Victor would be the one to take over. “Some day, Victor,” I would murmur in the quietest hours of the night shift, “Some day maybe you will be where I am now.” “Maybe, Cecil,” he would say back into the intercom from the producer’s booth, “But for now, please stop murmuring that into the mic. We’re live right now. Then one day he told me he was leaving. That he appreciated all the time he had spent as an intern, that he had learned a lot, but that he felt his place in the world was not with radio after all. [sputters] “Not with radio?!” I sputtered. I simply did not understand the concept. “If there is not community radio, then what is there? What is there besides that? Will someone tell me what else there is?” “Thank you for our time together,” he said gently, and then he left. It would be the last time I saw him for many years.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s sponsor is White Claw’s new line of non-alcoholic alcoholic Seltzer beverages. Listen, everyone loves a good carbonated beverage. On a hot day, out at the beach, or not at the beach, the two places it is possible to be. It’s great to just pop one of those bad boys open and really let that water with bubbles rip on your gullet. But not everyone likes to drink alcohol, for a variety of reasons that are never ever your business. Just don’t ask or bring it up. It’s so easy to not do that. That’s why White Claw is proud to announce the newest version of our alcoholic Seltzer beverage, now without alcohol! It’s everything you loved about Seltzer water, but for the first time, you don’t have to get intoxicated. Flavors include blackberry, wild nettle, wet stone, and one we’re just calling “Tumbleweed Crush”. Even we aren’t completely clear on what that one tastes like, but hey, it’s water and it’ll make you burp without making you drunk. White Claw’s new line of non-alcoholic alcoholic Seltzer beverages. Available wherever you buy your alcoholic Seltzer beverages. This has been a word from our sponsors.

I didn’t finish with the story of how Intern Victor died, I guess. Ummm, let me quickly wrap that up. So, a few years after he left, he came back again. He was older than me now with salt and pepper hair and a stiffness to his walk. When he had left, he had been several years younger than me, but time changes us all, I suppose. “Cecil! I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he said. I bristled at this, hearing a perceived implication that I should have gone on to something larger, that by staying put I had allowed him to be pull ahead of me in some intangible way. So I responded with manic friendliness to compensate. “Still here!” I shouted. “Great to see ya, buddy wo-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-how! What have you been up to?” He told me that he had left Night Vale, gotten an apartment just outside of somewhere called Fresno, that it was difficult at first, and that he felt lonely much of the time. But that he had slowly made friends, so many friends, and had found a job that became a career that became part of his life. He worked with teenagers who were going through a tough time, seeing them through to better times. He was very well liked for what he did, and he was very good at it. “But I’ve decided to retire,” he said. “I’m getting up in the years, you know? But wow, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day.” “I haven’t,” I said. He was so much older than me then. I wondered where the years had gone and what I might have accomplished, if I had aged as well. He had retired to Night Vale to be with his family and friends and the people who knew and loved him best, and relax into the soft years of his latter life. So that… wait. Well, that’s not how he died, but I have to get to this next report. I’ll finish it in a second.

And now traffic. There was a song once sung by sailors of an island in the west, where the sun would shine forever and not a minute less. They say that on that island a sailor could find their rest, finally let slip shut their eyelids on that island in the west. But I’ve been searching, and been searching all my life, as though some cruel test, and have never found my way to that island in the west. There was a song once sung by sailors and I believed it, I confess. A foul lie I still believe in, my sweet island in the west. This has been traffic.

Intern Victor lived in Night Vale for many years more. He was active in charities and volunteer groups, continuing to offer counseling to students at the local high school. He lived in the Hefty Sycamore Trailer Park, watering a garden of flowers that he kept in pots around his trailer. It seemed that Victor was even more busy in retirement than he had been in his long career. Returning to his community seemed to invigorate him. He helped Carlos with experiments at the labs, donning goggles and lab coats and writing down numbers with hearts around them, all of that science stuff. Carlos said he was surprisingly good at it for someone without training. He worked with Dana at City Hall, creating the No More Pit initiative, which strove to keep one teen a year from entering that pit on Clement Street and disappearing forever. Now, the initiative was unsuccessful and the pit continues to devour but they, it was the attempt that matters. He acted as a volunteer lifeguard at the Waterfront Recreation Area, at which he saved a record five people in one day from drowning! A truly astounding record when you consider that there is no water at the Waterfront Recreation Area, Night Vale having an entirely arid climate.

Yes, Intern Victor was accomplished and well liked. He would have made a fine host at this radio station some day, but he never showed much interest, which is a pity. Because after I… After, well… Who will take up that mantle? Not Victor, not anymore. Well, I guess I still haven’t told the story of how he died.

Uh, let me do that just After the weather. 

[A List for Spring” by Joseph Fink https://josephfink.bandcamp.com/]

Victor was in bed. The curatin over the window shifted slightly in the breeze, so the sun flickered in the room, shadow and bright, like a message from the world outside that he would never live to understand. His breath felt like a finite quantity, slowly drawn out of his chest. He knew that the last of it was coming soon. He wanted to use the drags of his breath for words that would sum up his life, but he couldn’t think of any. He could only think of “I am tired”. He could only think of “Thank you for being here.” He could only think of “I wish I had more time”, although eh didn’t know what he would have done with that time if he had any. 

Around his bed were the people who had known him throughout his life. There was his sister Carly, and his brother Herman, and his aunt Ronnie, ancient and brittle but apparently destined to outlive him. There was his friend from college, Norm, whose hands shook as he looked into Victor’s eyes. There was former mayor Dana and her brother, leaning into each other in sorrow, keeping each other upright as a family creature of grief. There was Carlos in an understated lab coat, frowning. There was nothing more scientific than death, and yet Carlos hated the fact of it. And he wrestled with the contradiction within himself. Some natural processes feel unnatural, no matter how many times they occur to us, they are a surprise that our whole life spends telegraphing.

In the corner was Rosario, one of the teenagers Victor had worked with back in Fresno, who had eventually moved to Night Vale after getting lost in the shelves of a strange antique shop and waking up in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. She was middle-aged now, her face glistened with tears. “Everything I am is because of you,” she said. Victor snorted. “Don’t blame me,” he said with one of those last precious breaths. And she grinned despite herself. “You were the first person that cared about who I was,” she said. “I’ll never forget you.” “Already I’m in past tense,” he said, but he grabbed her hand and clasped it in a fervent silent thank you. Because she was testament that he had been useful, and there was nothing more important in a human life than to be useful to other people.

I was there too, and I stepped forward. “You were the best intern I ever had,” I said. “I know,” he said, and he winked.

It can be… strange when we first meet someone when they are young and just started out, and are in the entry positions in the career they want, to realize they have the potential for an entire life. Victor ended up a great man. A man with deep roots in the community. A man who went from 10 years younger than me to several decades older than me. And I… well, I still think of him as an intern, and I suppose I always will, but his potential was realized upon the lives of everyone in that room, and many other lives still.

A strong breeze came through the window and the flickering of light increased, as though that incoherent messenger was getting more frantic to be understood. Victor knew that his finite breaths had reached their last few. And he did not use them to say anything at all. He smiled, and met each of our eyes, and then… And then after…

To the family and friends of Intern Victor. To the family. To our families, blood or chosen. They are the net on which we can fall again and again. To the friends, to our friends. The people who make life worth living. Who help us when we need help. Who we help when we need to help.

Intern Victor was a good intern. He was a good person. He is gone. We are here. Let’s make ourselves useful. To all families. To all friends.

Stay tuned next for a tall glass of water greedily, drunk by a person who did not realize they were thirsty until the liquid hit their lips.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Earth is technically a sandwich, where the upper bread is stars and the lower bread is stars and the filling is rock and lava and a few incidental humans.

[penny-beee]

Lady Wendy

REWRITE (1/?)

Summary. Lady Wendy is an Eternal Elemental and heart broken, Loki the God Mischief is very much alive after Thanos.

Description. LokixReader(Provided Name)

Word Count. 2300

AN. I have a board for a story inspo if you want me to post it (:

Shouts from the castle help shattered and tore at my heart as they ran after me - the skirt of my dress held between my arms as I ran for my life. The people I had grown up with, the kind people that raised me and took care of me now viewing me as a monster. A witch. The one time I slip up of course being in front of the entire royal court.

I had held my power in for so long - only my mother and sister knowing of my impurities. We were sitting in the garden, watching the men play croquette (as we did every Saturday) together. Mother was sitting besides me, my head resting gently on her lap as she fondled with pieces of my hair. The relaxation soothed me - broke down the walls I had built for so long. I hadn’t realized I was making little tornados with my pointer fingers. Mother’s gaze being elsewhere but Queen Elizabeth’s being very present, the look of horror unknown until she stood from her seat.

“Witch.” The Queens voice just higher than a shout - pure hatred poured from the corner of her mouth, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched up high.

Instantly, I jumped from my mother’s lap. The word I dreaded to be called - shook me from my peaceful afternoon. I looked at my surroundings- the men had started to close in on me. One last gaze over to my mother - she mouthed the word ‘run’ silently. With a quick flick of my hands - I sent the men flying backwards to give me a head start. Running from a dozen men in a 40 pound dress was not going to be successful but I would die trying.

I trudged through the lawn - the sacred forest just a few feet ahead. One way or another I would make it through this trial. I peered over my shoulder one last time as I stopped at the edge of the forest. The crowd of angry people halting as well - I could hear the last piece of my heart shatter as they taunted me. A single salty tear crawled through my parted lips and into my dry mouth.

I turned on my heel and entered the abyss of mystery. No one had ever made it out of the forest alive - many men would go in looking for treasures beyond riches and never be seen again. Women would tell stories that the men disappeared simply to get out of their marriages. Men spoke stories of a ghost that lingered over it as if it was possessed. I however believed the forest could breathe. From my room in the castle - you could see the forest. The trees shifted in the breeze - when I would go near the tree line I could hear the groaning of the earth stretching with every breath. Nature is more than dirt and rock - its the way of life - it is life. The creator of all. In conclusion - the forest never scared me, only peaked my curiosity.

The wooden beasts surrounding the forest were dark - blackened. Grass dead and crisp under my steps - a warning sign for intruders to ‘beware’. A scent of green apple and pine carried through the air - kissing the inside of my freckled nose. A feeling of warmth caressed the places of bare skin on my figure. A strange feeling for a feared and uncharted place. The feeling was familiar though - father was similar. A knight - he towered over everyone and was a forced to be reckoned with. Father was a cold man - never showing emotion on his scared up face unless drunk off mead. I never understood how mother could do it for all those years.

A loud crunch of a twig tore me from my thoughts - my head whipped towards the location of the sound. Nothing in sight but trees. A soft airy giggle in the form of a breeze caught my eyes. Little pieces of leaf floated through it. Another wind bender? I wiped the few tears from my heated cheeks and stepped deeper into the forest - following the sweet sound. My dress ripped and shredded from the thorns - sleeves falling apart and hair going back to its natural wavy form. My feet bruised in the uncomfortable pointy shoes I had been expected to wear.

Just as the giggling stopped - a curtain of ivy shielded my vision in front of me. Curiosity took over my body, a soft grin of hope grew on my face as I pulled the ivy to the side. Bewildered at the beauty - I took every inch of the sight before me in.

The sun shown brightly - casting a slight yellow haze on the bright green and huge pine trees. Birds flew so carelessly up above my head. Wild flowers from Cornflower to Chicory adorned the ground - the grass now healthy and perfectly kept. A single white tailed Eagle in a tree across the field. The bird watched my every move, his eyes bore into my soul. I slipped the pointy shoes off my roughed up feet and shed the first layer of my dress off. The weight lightening quickly and sending a happy shiver up my spine. I stepped out into the light - the wind coming back to guide my attention to the eagle. He fluttered down - shifting into a human form effortlessly. Something I’d only heard in stories - a prince many years ago casted out just as I had been today for being a shape shifter. That was him, Prince Carter. My mouth fell open - leaving room for a little fly to crawl in if it felt fit. The Prince was as described in all the stories; pale blonde hair, almost white, pale skin with red freckles, tall and lengthy. I stood frozen for a moment before his hand on my shoulder awoke me.

“Lady Wendy, I’ve been waiting for you.” He confessed smoothly - his voice of honey in a warm black tea.

“For me? Why is that?” My voice cracked at the odd statement.

“My dear girl, you’re the protector of these woods - the winds - the animals. You’re our voice.”

“You’re our voice.” Rang in my ears for the millionth time today. Over the course of these 200 something years - I never forgot what Carter had said. I protected these woods - any soul for seen to have ill-will on my beloved home was rid of before they could step foot inside. I had grown - my powers more than a gust of wind or a tornado in my palms - I connected with the animals and plants. The persuasion of my tongue helped guide the plants in times of battle. The time of war, destruction and chaos was past us now. My home hadn’t been touched in over two decades - something I was proud of.

My hair grew out to my bum, the waves of chocolate brown would fall over my shoulders every now and again when I’d crouch down. A wooden crown adorned my head every so often - maybe a flower crown of daisies as well. I grew to love armored dresses and long simple gowns - my all time favorite being my emerald green cape and maroon red leather suit I mended ages ago. My face never fell with age - hair never grew grey - a few would come in every 15 years but nothing crazy. My hands stayed soft, a quality I never found imperfections in.

Carter had led me to a cottage one day - I had grown tired of sleeping under a willow tree. A woman with almost the most purest of intentions was allowed in the woods and had stayed in a stone lined cottage just a little deeper into the trees. I trudged barefoot through the wilted leaves and freshly watered grass. The cottage was buried under some trees, big flower bushes hiding most of the sides of it. A cozy and delicate home - something very different from what I had grown up in.

I couldn’t help but feel a tug at my heart strings, excitement filled my body. It was so incredibly adorable and it was all mine. I looked up at Carter - his almost black eyes staring back down at me. He was proud, the goofy grin gave it all away.

I grinned softly at the wholesome memory of my old friend. Oh how I miss that crazy bird. I sighed as I stood up to make my way inside - the sun was to set soon. I made my way to my little kitchen - a few dishes stacked up in my ancient sink. A task as simple as dishes - kept me level headed and humble.

Although, Carter explained many times my purpose and who I was. I never thought of myself as a “God” or Deity. I had met other benders throughout the years - some stuck in eternity with me and some down the path to die a humanly death. One of closest friends Aura was of the water element - she could feel every emotion of every wave - the heart and soul of every animal. Aura is an Eternal Elemental as I am. Cursed to protect our element(s) until another comes around to fill our shoes. The thought of death was something light to me - I had seen it so often in my animals and plants. It was peaceful, no pain came after just silence.

I sighed in content as I started washing the few dishes - times like this I wished for someone to come keep me company. I loved my animals and the earth around me but the lack of human connection killed my morale. I finished the little chore and sauntered over to my fluffy bed - over the years I realized if I didn’t have a man in my life a handful of pillows was going to come in handy. I chuckled at the thought of any man sharing my sleeping chambers - I shook the thought away and ruffled my hair up. Slipping out of my leathers and into a cotton sleeping gown. My limbs dove under the sheets - letting the warmth take over. I closed my hazel green eyes to only be consumed by rest.

I awoke the next morning just as the sun rose - my eyes fluttered open, my nose sniffing the at the familiar scent of morning dew. A personal favorite. Today felt good - my body was rested, my heart full of happiness and mind clear of any negativity. A day for dressing up. I squealed goofily as I made my way over to my closet of dresses. A newly mended gown sat in front of my pale face. That one it is. The beige gown kissed the floor and laid gently behind me - bronze metal embroidery outlined my bust and torso - creating a little corset. The sleeves were skin tight - little bronze cuffs keeping my wrists safe in a time of battle. I smiled at the beauty I felt but something was missing - my head felt too light. Cockily, I smirked at myself in the mirror. A crown. I grabbed my bronze and ruby crown - placing it perfectly upon my wavy locks.

Happily, I made my way out of my cottage and down to the meadow. A tall walking stick helped me trudge through the path. A few deer/doe laid in the grass peacefully - babies jumping around them. A few tweety birds flew besides my head - saying hello sweetly. A somber moment of pure joy - happiness from every creature I could feel the emotions of every animal and every plant - something I often casted away after the disappearances five years ago.

Suddenly, the ground shook. Nothing of my doing - I searched around the field to spot, scanning through every hint of darkness, nothing. The tree-line. A quick whistle escaped my peach lips as I summoned Clay my White Tailed Eagle to my side. I darted quickly over to the area of possible intrusion. There sat just a few feet away from the entrance, a black jet. I didn’t emerge, not yet. If they were a threat I couldn’t show my face just yet - I watched as three men stomped out of the back. A man of metal, a one eyed man and a man of mystery. My eyes furrowed as I watched them make their way towards me, my hand stiffened around my walking stick.

“Lady Wendy, we are here on good intentions. My name is Tony Stark, we met about five years ago when we came to recruit you.” The familiar voice boomed.

“You decided against me - do you remember that?” I sneered, the awkward memory of their director rejecting me because of my lack of motivation to help.

“Well we were hoping the motivation had changed after the disappearances.”

I stepped from behind the trees - my dress flowing behind my body. Clay perched himself on my shoulder and watched the scene unfold with me.

Amused - I stepped just in front of the three men. “What makes you think you can bring him back?” My poor Carter one of the vanished. My heart ached for him - he was kind and good. A man I could proudly call my brother.

“We think we found a way to get the stones together one last time.” The man I presumed to be Thor spoke up.

“And if this doesn’t work out?”

“Then we die.” The mysterious man stated - no feeling in his voice.

I sighed teetering over the weight of the two options, gazing over at Clay. Clay was only bird - I could feel like approval radiate from his feathers. Clay and Carter were my best friends - the two I could count on forever.

Finally, “You’re in charge.” I whispered to the bird before I brought Clay to my wrist and sent him off back into the woods.

“Alright, let’s get Carter back.”

[porcupine-girl]

i’M nOt GoNnA wRiTe UnTaMeD fIc

This is the prologue, currently I have 19k written so far and if I do manage to finish, it’ll likely be in the 50-75k range. But I’m at that stage where I gotta share something.

Basically: Lan WangJi decides that if Wei Ying won’t come to Gusu, he’ll just have to go to the Burial Mounds.

Most of the dialogue in this prologue is from the show - probably a mishmash of different translations. Tell me if I’ve fucked up canon at all? The intention is for this part to be fully canon compliant, nothing that would contradict canon (other than possibly some of his internal thoughts) until it diverges the very end.

PS Sorry, I deleted my first try at this post because Tumblr fucked up the spacing and I didn’t want a version with the wrong spacing to get reblogged while I edited. I’ll just have to put periods where on AO3 there will just be blank lines.

"Then come back to Gusu with me. Explain everything slowly."

"Gusu? You're talking about that place that has over 3,000 rules? I don't want to go."

Words had never been Lan WangJi's strong suit.

"Lan Zhan, what are you really up to?"

"Wei Ying, in the end, there will be a price to pay for evil cultivation."

He tried to explain himself further, tried to make Wei Ying understand that he was worried, that he didn't want to punish him, he wanted to help him, to keep him from destroying himself.

It was only much later that he could look back on the conversation and see what Wei Ying had probably seen: anger, vindictiveness, care for rule-following rather than Wei Ying's wellbeing.

Wei Ying rejected his help. And so Lan WangJi resolved that Wei Ying's wellbeing was clearly not his concern.

His resolve did not last long.

.

"Let me help you."

"Okay."

He hadn't known, at the moment he offered, what help he was even offering.

He believed Wei Ying when he said he wasn't using the same type of demonic cultivation that Xue ChengHai had created the Yin Iron for. He did not believe that what Wei Ying was doing was safe, or well-advised. But against all odds, it had gotten him out of the Burial Mounds alive, and Lan WangJi could see why Wei Ying might cling to it after it saved his life like that.

The help he could think to offer wasn't enough. He watched over Wei Ying, stepped in when he thought Wei Ying's cultivation was causing him to become ill-tempered before it could tip over into anything dangerous. It was a stopgap, not a solution.

.

"You agreed to let me help you."

"But if you don't trust me, how can you help me?"

It wasn't that he didn't trust Wei Ying. He didn't believe Wei Ying to be lying to him—he simply wasn't sure that Wei Ying was correct in his assessment of the dangers in his Stygian Tiger Amulet. Didn't understand how Wei Ying could be so confident, or whether he would even know if the Amulet was influencing his thoughts.

But words had never been Lan WangJi's strong suit.

"Once your mind becomes unstable, you won't be able to control it."

He knew from Wei Ying's response that he'd said the wrong thing. He didn't believe Wei Ying was anything like Wen Ruohan—but he also knew that Wei Ying was only human, and even Lan Yi hadn't been able to control the Yin Iron.

He should have said that.

When Wei Ying accepted his peace offering, lent the sound of his flute in duet with WangJi's guqin, he had wondered if maybe he could tell Wei Ying everything he felt through music. But it was an absurd wish. He needed to find the words.

.

"I'm studying new musical scores."

Wei Ying had been offended at the idea of Lan WangJi using Cleansing, so surely he would understand this as the peace offering it was meant to be. If that song and its powers were not what Wei Ying believed himself to need, Lan WangJi would find something they could agree on. If Lan WangJi couldn't dissuade him from this path—and he had basically given up any illusion that he could—there had to be something that would keep Wei Ying safe. Healthy. Sane.

"You really are… stubborn."

Lan WangJi resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Who is more stubborn," he asked, "the one who continues to offer help, or the one who continues to reject it?"

"Oh, come on, I've let you help me," Wei Ying said in a lighthearted tone that Lan WangJi could tell was an act. "I just don't need that kind of help, that's all. You don't need to fix me, Lan Zhan."

"I—" How could he explain this? It was true, he would like to reverse the damage that working with so much resentment had clearly done to Wei Ying. Though his primary concern was preventing further damage.

It occurred to him that Wei Ying might mean something else entirely. Lan Zhan didn't want to fix him, he wanted to heal him. Wei Ying was not broken, not defective. Did Wei Ying think that was what he thought? Was that why a hint of bitterness had snuck in on the word fix? "Wei Ying—"

"Shh." Wei Ying cut him off with a sharp gesture, one ear turned back toward the feast happening within the palace. His faux-lightheartedness was gone, replaced by a sharp, angry expression as they both listened to Jin Guangshan, like the boor he was, publicly pressure Sect Leader Jiang into renewing the marriage arrangement between Jiang Yanli and Jin ZiXuan.

"What the fuck is that asshole trying to pull now?" Wei Ying grumbled, and Lan Zhan could only follow him inside and hope that he wouldn't need calming.

.

"Lan WangJi, Lan WangJi, who am I to you?"

That hurt, but it wasn't as bad as Hanguang-Jun.

"Can you mind your own business?"

Surely it was his business if his friend was injured.

"What am I to you?"

If they were no longer friends, he hoped Wei Ying would just say that and let him heal from such a heartbreak.

"Once I considered you my soulmate."

Wei Ying looked sad, maybe resigned, but… not confidently rejecting him. It was something.

"I still am."

There was a spark of hope in Wei Ying's eyes, one that slowly faded as he looked down at his flute. Lan Zhan wanted to reassure him, tell him he wouldn't make him choose between their friendship and his cultivation, but…

But words had never been his strong suit.

.

It was wrong to be so envious of Jiang Yanli. Especially when she was the one doing the right thing, standing up for Wei Ying when Lan WangJi could only stand beside him and hurt because Wei Ying was hurting.

Could only wish he had her way with words.

.

"I want to bring someone back to the Cloud Recesses."

"Bring him back and hide him."

.

In truth, Lan WangJi didn't expect Wei Ying to comply, either. He'd asked him once, but surely he knew by now that Lan WangJi had no intention of bringing him there to punish him? And even if he wouldn't let Lan WangJi help him in any other way, if nothing else he was in growing danger from the other clans. Jin ZiXun would happily see him dead, and many of the heads of the smaller sects would happily deliver him to stay in the Jins' good graces. Perhaps, even if Wei Ying wouldn't accept Lan WangJi's attempts to heal him and prevent further damage, at least he would accept an offer of sanctuary until the cultivating world moved on to another target.

Perhaps. Most likely not, but perhaps…

.

If enough rain washed over him, perhaps he could forget which drops were rain and which were tears.

Perhaps it would wash away his confusion, his doubts.

Perhaps the cold of the rain would bring him clarity, perhaps the patter of the drops around him would explain to him how it could be that one man could be doing what is right despite the fact that all of the world's leaders had declared it to be wrong.

They were leaders. Their job was to know right from wrong, and to enforce that which was right.

Perhaps, failing that, the rain could at least wash away the sound, still ringing in his ears, of Wei Ying saying he would want Lan WangJi to kill him.

.

"Do you know what you've done wrong?"

"Are you going to continue making mistake after mistake?"

"What is the 52nd discipline of the Lan Clan?"

This time, Lan WangJi was not silent because he didn't know what to say.

He was silent because he knew that there was nothing he could say that would make his uncle less angry with him.

Nothing true, at least.

.

"Is there anyone who can give me a bright future path that is easy to go on?"

Lan WangJi said nothing, because he didn't know. But he hoped.

.

"WangJi, where have you been this past week?"

"On a night hunt."

"On a night hunt where?"

Lan WangJi clenched his jaw.

"In Yiling."

"And while you were in Yiling, did you speak to Wei WuXian?"

He could lie.

But even if he no longer believed the Lan Clan disciplines were the ultimate arbiter of… anything… he couldn't bring himself to break one merely for the purpose of avoiding punishment. There was nothing righteous in that.

"Yes."

"Did you make any attempt to capture him, or any of his Wen disciples?"

"He has no Wen disciples."

"WangJi."

"He has no disciples of any name."

"Did you make any attempt to capture him or any of the rogue Wen he is harboring?" Lan Qiren's voice rose with rage.

"No."

"WangJi, you have been warned away—repeatedly—from associations with such evil people. I can't understand why you would—"

"Wei Ying is not evil." Until now, Lan WangJi had been keeping his eyes averted, not wanting his uncle to see how he felt. Now, they cut daggers into Lan Qiren. "Nor are any of those who live with him in the Burial Mounds."

"What?" Lan Qiren let out an incredulous huff that wasn't exactly laughter. "What possible reasoning could you give to support such an absurd statement?"

Lan WangJi averted his eyes again.

"Is this question sincere, or rhetorical?"

"Excuse me?"

"I will explain my reasoning clearly if Uncle truly wishes to hear it. However, if this is a rhetorical question and Uncle has no intention of taking my answer into account—"

"ENOUGH!"

Usually, Lan WangJi withstood his punishments through sheer mental discipline and meditation.

This time, he didn't meditate. He made a plan.

[udurghsigil]

niche ask: assign joanna newsom songs to patho characters (dhdjsksksk you don’t actually have to, i am just listening to her rn)

LOVING THIS NICHE ASK . i don’t have many associations but here are a few that stand out 2 me........ ill only elaborate if u ask......... (edit: i elaborated)

capella - the sprout and the bean this is such a sweet and upbeat song but the lyrics be a little subtly sad which kinda captures capella’s whole vibe... the “sprout and the bean” thing kinda feels like a metaphor for growing up? capella’s still a kid but she’s trying to be a grownup and taking on alot of responsibility. notkin kinda does the same thing but he still embraces his childhood in a way that capella doesn’t? like... when you see them both smile, notkin’s smile is so bright but capella’s kinda has this sense of melancholy behind it.

there’s some very direct stuff that reminds me of her, like the verse abt dreams and the line “when you go away, i am big-boned and fey” feels like she’d be thinking about her mother and how she wants to try very hard to live up to her mother’s role as the white mistress. ALSO “the hollow chatter of the talking of the tadpoles who know the outside” brings up images of the kids inheriting the earth. and the repeating “should we go outside” after that also kinda. amplifies the hesitation/pressure she might be feeling to become a mistress.

victor - bridges and balloons if i have my lore off on this then ignore it BUT as i understand it... victor came to town-on-gorkhon because nina wanted to right? that where she came and... moulded and shaped it. the first verse makes me think of that. victor really loved her and the whimsical descriptions of things remind me of the general whimsy of utopian ideas and probably just generally how he felt when he was with her. the second verse feels like it’s about after she died and how he sees her in so many aspects of the structure of the town? like the roads, the buildings (the utopians say the buildings have souls alot). he seems very proud of what she and the rest of their family were able to create.

eva/daniil - only skin most of this song feels like it’s from eva’s perspective but there’s a few parts that u could maybe see as daniil’s perspective on her as well... the beginning of the song to the part where she says “a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather” feels like it’s eva thinking about her meeting daniil. something rly seemed to have.. awoken in her after she met daniil, and how she fell for him too seemingly instantly? she really admires him and his utopian ideals. “run, sing, for alive you will evermore be” kinda feels like it might be him reassuring her and referring to his quest to defeat death AND the plague by extension.

then from “but i took my fishing pole” to “smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking” feels more like it’s daniil’s perspective appreciating the time he got to spend with her. personally i never got the vibe that he fully requited her feelings though some people do... but i could still see him maybe feeling something and not fully realizing how much he cared for her ‘til it was too late.

“scrape your knee” to “mine anymore” feels like that little part of the story where she starts thinking up the idea of giving her soul to the cathedral... “scrape your knee, it is only skin” feels like that whole theme of death not being it that gets talked about alot more in the marble nest (also with what happens to her on day 12 in classic).

“stay with me awhile” to the end feels like it flips between daniil and eva’s perspectives, with daniil observing her weird suicidal/reckless comments til the moment she dies and how eva feels like she’s done good by helping daniil with her death. i’m getting a little sleepy by this point so i’m not being as detailed but. yknow. it kinda just hits me when i sit and listen to the lyrics.they had a really strange bond and i think it’s best represented by this song.

peter - go long i don’t know whose perspective this song would be from... i’d like to say andrey because of the high regard with which he holds his brother but there’s definitely a romantic edge to this song? so it. it’s not great. but he does want to save peter and protect him so. that idea still stands.

alternatively it could be peter maybe hallucinating the polyhedron speaking to him since he sees it as... well, something he loves the most in the world. it’s sort of like a self-reflection on his life, the things he’s done wrong but through a sympathetic lens, his isolation and subsequent loneliness, and how he has to move forward from the loss of the polyhedron (diurnal ending at least) but can still treasure what he created knowing it once existed. poor peter.

saburov - soft as chalk i don’t know how to explain this but something about this song reminds me of those drumming beats you always hear with army/military songs. mixed up with the chord progressions, the chords’ rhythm, and the eventual percussion that joins the piano :0 it fits his justice/law oriented role as governor, plus the repetition of “lawlessness” throughout the song. the song generally makes me think of how much he loves and cares for katerina and worries for her, mixed up with the stress/guilt he feels from having to rule over the town the way he does and how he really starts having power trips from it. the end parts feel like ... reconciliation of what happens to them in the diurnal ending.

god i hope this was interesting to read because im having Thoughts.

[transarchivist]

Do you have any podcast recommendations? I've listened to tma, wolf359, the penumbra podcast, and like...half of night vale. You seem like you'd know some good ones!

!!!

I Am In Eskew is an absolute all-time favorite of mine! It’s very firmly horror, but not tragedy. Think… WTNV but 1. on a personal scale, 2. actually terrifying, and 3. not benign. It follows David Ward, inhabitant of the city Eskew, as he chronicles some of the terrifying stuff that happens to him. Eventually, we hear from Riyo Dulae, a private investigator who’s been pulled into Eskew’s orbit. It uses place-as-horror in an astonishing way! It’s a finished product with 30 episodes and the ending is honestly amazing. I’ve listened to it several times. It’s very good. Listen to it. Please.

This got long, so the rest of the recommendations are under the cut, and in no particular order! (Eskew is absolutely my top recommendation lol) Particularly sad endings and ongoing series are specified.

Janus Descending is a finished and relatively short sci-fi horror series. It follows two xenoarcheologists (archeologists for aliens) as they inspect the site of an abandoned alien civilization. It’s told in inverse chronological order, alternating between Chel and Peter’s perspectives. Chel’s is chronological, while Peter’s is backwards. It’s an amazing format and keeps you suspended in the mystery up until the very end! It is a tragedy, though, and has a sad ending.

ars PARADOXICA is an audio drama about time-travel and the Cold War. The synopsis is this: scientist Sally Grissom accidentally creates time travel, is transported back to the Cold War, and is entwined with a clandestine branch of the US government. It’s 3 seasons long- and I will say that if you’re not good with differentiating voices I recommend either listening to it without stopping for a long period and/or reading along to transcripts. The plot is intricate but engaging and the large cast of characters each has their own unique personality. Plus: canon ace main character (as in she says she’s asexual! in canon!), a Jewish lesbian semi-main character, a mlm (bi?) man of color side-character, and several other characters of color.

Mabel is an ongoing horror podcast with elements of fae/fairy lore and the place-as-horror theme. It’s not as outright horror as TMA, Eskew, or Janus Descending, it’s much more atmospheric? It’s several seasons in, with the next season currently in production. It follows Anna Limon, who is an in-home caretaker, trying to contact Mabel Martin, the granddaughter of the woman Anna is caring for. It has lots of wlw, lots of moral ambiguity, beautiful prose, and lots and lots of fae. 

Zero Hours is a 7 episode long anthology series by the creators of Wolf 359. Each episode deals with “the end of the world - or at least something that feels like the end of the world.” There’s 99-year intervals between episode and it starts in the past and ends in the far future. It’s honestly stunning and was well worth listening to in it’s entirety when it dropped (and subsequently staying up past midnight). 

The Bright Sessions is… kinda urban fantasy? The official synopsis is that TBS is a “science fiction podcast that follows a group of therapy patients. But these are not your typical patients - each has a unique supernatural ability. The show documents their struggles and discoveries as well as the motivations of their mysterious therapist, Dr. Bright.” (I tried explaining but was having a tricky time) The characters are amazingly written and unique. (And no, it doesn’t fall into the “evil therapist” idea, in case you were worried) One of the main characters is gay (and it isn’t a throwaway line). It has good and realistic representation of mental illnesses: a main character as a panic/anxiety disorder, another has PTSD, another has depression, and so on. The main show is finished but there’s a spin off that’s being made. Specifically happy ending!

Alice Isn’t Dead is a horror podcast by the creators of Night Vale. It follows Keisha, a trucker, who is looking for her wife, Alice. Keisha encounters many strange things as she drives back and forth across America, including murderous almost-human monsters, places that are stuck out of time, and a nation spanning conspiracy. It encompasses the whole… atmosphere of middle-of-nowhere America perfectly. It’s a complete story with a novel form (haven’t had the pleasure of reading it, though). Main character is wlw, and Alice is not dead.

Limetown is a horror podcast. It follows reporter Lia Haddock as she investigates the mystery of Limetown- a town in Tennessee where over 300 people disappeared overnight, never to be heard from again. It’s finished…? I think the podcast is finished but a book and a Facebook miniseries are in development? Anyways. Sad ending. I loved the first season a lot, the second season is good too though!

The Adventure Zone isn’t an audio drama, instead it’s an actual-play show of Dungeons and Dragons (and D&D like systems). The McElroy brothers and their dad host it, and are frankly absolutely hilarious. TAZ: Balance is the first season and starts as a classic d&d game but turns into an amazing and heart wrenching story with beautiful prose and music. And also 69 jokes. TAZ:B is honestly one of the most emotionally impacting stories I’ve ever heard. It has an amazingly happy and hopeful ending. Includes: casual lgbt rep and a late game but major character is a trans woman! I’ve heard good things about the recently finished season TAZ: Amnesty, although I haven’t finished it. There’s a new season, TAZ: Graduation, that started recently, and I’ve enjoyed the handful of episodes I’ve listened to! Currently ongoing, but tragic endings aren’t something that’s expected.

I haven’t finished/caught up with these, but I’ve enjoyed them: Sayer (sci-fi. think menacing capitalist Night Vale in space, heard s3/s4 are really good), The Bridge (horror, alternate modern day. follows a watchpost on a bridge that crosses the Atlantic), The Orbiting Human Circus (from the people at WTNV. surreal fiction. hard to explain). I feel like there’s more but I can’t remember any atm. 

I’m also gonna point you towards @theradioghost‘s blog and her podcast recs tag. Her taste is amazing and I haven’t disliked a single show I’ve tried. (Also, check out her show, Midnight Radio! It’s the next thing on my to-listen list.)

[vannahfanfics]

Baby Fever

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: One Piece

Characters: Monkey D. Luffy, Nami, Red-Haired Shanks, Makino

Requested By: @deliathedork (Tumblr)

Nami stared critically up at the Jolly Roger flapping in the breeze far above her head. It was an impressively daunting illustration, a laughing skull with bright red paint streaking over the left eye overlaying two red-hilted blades. Rightly so, it would strike fear into the hearts of countless many, being the Jolly Roger of one of the four Emperors of the Grand Line. Any normal pirate would turn tail and flee as quickly as they could; if they were a bit on the reckless side, maybe, they would probably try to engage in a parlay or at least ascertain why such an impressive vessel manned by an even more impressive crew was pulling up on their stern. That’s what Nami would have down if she were captain.

However, she was not captain. Luffy was captain. And Luffy was currently vaulting himself over the side of the ship screaming like a man possessed.

“Shaaaaaaaanks! What’s uuuuuuuuup?!” The tangerine-haired navigator watched with a wearied expression as her captain, stretchy limbs and straw hat and all, all but invaded the deck of the neighboring ship to disappearing behind the balustrade. She knew that Red-Haired Shanks was an acquaintance of his and very likely meant no harm, but considering they were openly challenging Emperors left and right these days, Shanks might have just gotten a little tipsy and decided to come test Luffy’s mettle. Based on the chorus of excited cheers and laughter that were drifting down from the deck of the comparably taller ship, Nami doubted this was the case. However, she and Robin shared the only brain cells of the ship, and she maintained them by being cautious.

“Luffy! How many times do I have to tell you not to rush into things? Oh, good grief, why am I bothering? He isn’t listening,” she grumbled while crossing her arms. Franky and Usopp installed the gangplank so they could cross the thin stream of waves separating the two vessels, and considering how easily the rest of them strolled on over like they had known the Red-Haired Pirates all their lives, she supposed her concern was unwarranted. Still, one of these days, those imbeciles were going to give her a heart attack.

Nami crossed the gangplank to see that Luffy was hugging the one-armed, red-haired man tightly, with his stretchy arms wound several times around him as he nuzzled his cheek into his upper forearm.

“Shanks! Dude! I have so much to tell you! I’ve kicked soooooo many asses, you wouldn’t believe it! Hey, hey, lemma introduce my crew to you, yeah? Have you seen our bounties? Aren’t they awesome?” he was gabbing incessantly as Shanks looked on with a mix between a fatherly smile and an overwhelmed laugh. Nami pushed through the crowd of pirates to stomp right over to her captain and start tugging on the back of his red vest.

“Luffy! What are you, ten? Behave with some dignity, why don’t you?” she scolded hotly as she stretched the fabric up and down. Luffy immediately began to pout and stuck out his tongue at her. “Excuse me?” He winced at her thunderous stare, then his body drooped like a scolded puppy’s. Muttering under his breath, he unwound his arms from around Shanks and obediently released him so that Nami could deposit him a respectable distance away. “That’s more like it.”

“Wow, Luffy, your girlfriend sure is a firecracker,” the man laughed good-naturedly. Nami’s cheeks flushed pink and she held up her hands in a gesture of rebuttal.

“What? No! I’m just his navigator!”

“That’s right! How dare you disrespect Nami-swan like that! Come here! I’ll kick your ass even if you are an Emperor!” Sanji shouted and approached Shanks with a cigarette clenched in his teeth, rolling up his sleeves even though he was going to very obviously kick him. All it took was Nami batting her eyelashes and crooning a calming remark for Sanji to melt on the spot and cease his affront. Shanks eyed the puddle of Sanji wiggling on the deck of his ship.

“What a frightening young woman you are.”

“Yeah, Nami’s scary, isn’t she?” Luffy said as he propped his chin on her shoulder. She huffed and tilted his straw hat such that it was not bumping into her head, but allowed him to stoop over to perch on her shoulder. She was quite used to his complete lack of personal space. “Anyway, Shanks, what’re you doing in this neck of the woods? Don’t you got important Emperor stuff to do?”

“It just so happened that we crossed paths. I spotted your Jolly Roger. Really, I was just going to sail on by, but Makino insisted~” he trilled with a bellowing laugh. Nami gasped as Luffy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he clamped his hands down on her shoulders, head wildly swiveling around just above hers.

“Makino?! What’s she doing here? Hey, Makino, hellooooooo?!”

“Stop shouting! You’re gonna make me go deaf!” she screamed at him with a harmless but emphatic bonk to the side of his head. Though it didn’t even leave a mark, he gave her the poutiest look her could while rubbing his temple where she had whapped him.

“Why do you get to shout and I don’t?”

“Heehee,” came a girlish giggle from the crowd. “You haven’t changed at all, Luffy.” Nami and Luffy both turned as a beautiful young woman holding a swaddled infant pushed through to stand beside the much broader and taller red-haired man. Again, Luffy’s eyes bugged out of his head as he beheld the small child. Rather than going to inspect himself, as he was apparently very comfortable with now propping his chin on the top of Nami’s head, he shoved her forward to her feet were forced to clumsily carry her over to the woman and her baby.

“Whoa! Makino, when did you have a baby? Who’s baby is it, anyway? Oh my God, are you a pirate now? Did you steal it?” he accused with a horrified gasp. Makino laughed at his ridiculous notion, while Nami scowled in embarrassment at her captain’s simply insurmountable stupidity.

“Luffy, you moron. I’m the father!” Shanks huffed, shaking his head with closed eyes as he rested his one hand on his hip. Nami was counting down the seconds to when Luffy’s eyes popped out of his head for good; he made some noise reminiscent of a spit-take as he stared incredulously at Shanks.

“When the hell did that happen?” he cried as he looked between the pirate and the young mother ridiculously fast. If his spine had not been made of rubber, his neck would have snapped from the force of him swiveling. His chin was creating enough static friction against her scalp to start a fire, so she clapped her hands onto his cheeks to fix his head into place, gaze on the wee infant peering up at him curiously. “I’m so confused,” he said in a nasally whine, but curiously reached up to poke the baby in the cheek. “It’s squishy.”

“Don’t antagonize it,” Nami tutted as the infant squeaked in clear irritation.

“Would you like to hold him, Luffy?”

“Ooooooh!” he squealed and reached over Nami’s shoulders with grabby hands. “Gimme! Gimme!”

“Absolutely not. You have no idea how to properly hold a baby,” Nami refused and took the baby from Makino as she held it out. Luffy’s shoulders slumped up to his ears as he frowned grumpily at her when she turned around, cradling the baby carefully. “Oh, don’t pout, you’ll get to hold him in a second,” she huffed. The rest of the Straw Hats were very curious about Makino’s little charge and crowded around, ogling in wonder.

“He certainly is a cute little baby,” Robin smiled serenely and stuck out her index finger, her eyes brightening as he grasped it with his wee little hand. Chopper was jumping up and down begging to see, so Zoro lifted him up by his scruff to deposit him on his broad shoulder. The baby bubbled and cooed at the reindeer, making him blush and laugh.

“Aw, you’re not cute at all, you little bastard~ <3” he squealed with very obvious delight as he wriggled gleefully on Zoro’s shoulder. The swordsman in question had his arms crossed as he gazed critically down at the baby.

“So, what can it do?”

“Moss-head, you absolute moron! It’s a baby!”

“Yeah, so? You can teach babies tricks, right?”

“Dear God, I hope you never procreate.” Sanji scowled as he put his cigarette out with the bottom of his dress shoe so as not to make the baby ill with the toxic fumes. They began quipping back and forth, and next thing Nami knew they were a few yards away scrapping with each other while the Red-Haired Pirates were yelling bets. Imbeciles, Nami thought with a roll of her eyes as she gently rocked the baby up and down. After a while, the rest of the Straw Hats became more invested in the daily fight of their cook and swordsman- except the captain. Apparently he was more invested in Nami’s promise of being able to hold the infant, and was standing rigidly beside her practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Nami, Nami, can I please hold it now?” he begged with a wheedling whine. Nami clicked her tongue, not sure it was responsible to make Luffy in any way responsible for a baby, but she didn’t want to deny him the experience. She stepped close to him as she prepared to put the baby in his arms.

“Okay, hold him very gently and support his head, okay? Babies don’t have strong necks and their skulls aren’t fully formed yet, so their heads are very, very vulnerable,” she instructed. Luffy nodded vigorously as he scooped the baby out of her arms, surprisingly very natural at adjusting to cradling the little guy. Nami couldn’t help but smile warmly as he grinned brightly down at the baby, who was waving his arms with delighted little squeals.

“Hey, there, little guy! Wow, you’re so happy! My name’s Luffy and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates, so remember that, okay?” he told him, smiling so hard that his eyes scrunched up into little crescent-moon shapes. He began bouncing the baby like Nami had been earlier, then looked at Makino quizzically.

“So, what’re you doing with Shanks, anyway? Why are you in Fuschia Village? The Grand Line is a dangerous place for a baby.”

“Yeah,” Shanks sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, obviously displeased with the situation. “I snuck over to be there for the little guy’s birth, but somehow it got out to the Marines. I couldn’t risk them going after Makino to get to me. Right now, the safest place for them is with me.”

“Oh,” Luffy grimaced. “See, Nami, this is why we have to kick the World Government’s ass.”

“Yes, yes, ass-kicking will come in due time,” she sighed wearily. Makino giggled. She had a tick of covering her mouth with a hand when she laughed, Nami noticed, that was very endearing. She could see why Shanks would fancy a woman like her. As they stood beside each other, lovingly watching Luffy hold and chatter at the baby, it was very obvious that they were a doting and natural couple. Good for them, she thought with a smile.

“Hey, Nami,” Luffy said, shuffling close to her while still bouncing the baby up and down against his chest, “I want a baby.”

The screech that spilled from her mouth was unholy. She back-pedaled away from the confused young man, falling against Shank’s broad form. He reflexively caught her by the shoulders; she knew it was reflexes because he currently had his head tipped back in the most raucous bout of laughter she had ever heard, so hard that his broad body shook violently against Nami’s comparably smaller frame. Makino was blushing with a hand over her mouth and was looking between the startled navigator and the innocent-looking Luffy.

“Luffy!” Nami huffed breathlessly.

“What? I want one.”

“Stop saying that!”

“But I want one!”

“You have no idea what you’re saying!”

“Uh, yeah, I do. Me. Baby. Want. Can I have one?” Nami groaned loudly and ran a hand over her face. Truly, his idiocy and obliviousness knew no bounds.

“Luffy, you are aware of what it takes to get a baby, right?”

“Uh, yeah, Makino gave me the talk.”

“Then why the hell are you asking me?!”

“Because! There are other ways to get a baby! Somebody must be getting rid of one.”

“Oh my- Luffy, oh my God.” She was standing up by her own accord now, because Shanks had doubled over wheezing from laughing so hysterically. His face was nearly as red as his hair and Nami was pretty certain they would have to get Chopper on the scene, because he was probably going to pass out from lack of oxygen soon. Nami struggled to keep her head from exploding from how high her blood pressure was jacked at the moment. “Luffy… You just said that the Grand Line is a dangerous place for babies, right? Therefore, we shouldn’t put a baby at risk. You’ve declared war on the World Government and are competing with many other pirates for the title of Pirate King, yes?”

“Oh… Well, when you put it that way…” He frowned deeply, cocking his head to the side. She thought maybe she had gotten through to him, until that stupid grin returned to his face. “So after I kick the World Government’s ass and I become Pirate King, then can we get a baby?”

“No!” she screeched and head-chopped him. “Babies are immense responsibility! They require around-the-clock attention! Also, people just don’t give away babies! Even if we did manage to find and adopt an orphan baby, we’d still have to care for it, and none of you morons have enough brain cells to manage caring for a fake plant, let alone a baby! And stop with this ‘we’ stuff! Why do you keep asking me?!”

“Because,” he muttered through clenched teeth, cross-eyed as he stared at her hand that was still softly bonking him in the top of the head, “You’re smart and responsible. You could teach me how to take care of a baby.”

“I give up,” she sobbed as she sank down to her hands and knees, completely overwhelmed by his complete lack of tact. She didn’t know if her heart could take anymore. Did he really not know what it truly meant to ask her for a baby? Somehow through her breakdown, he had managed to not mess up holding Makino’s baby; he had kept him safe and secure through her head-chops, and the baby wasn’t even upset by all her yelling, quite content with the way Luffy was bouncing him up and down. Not that it mattered. He could hold one, maybe, but when it came time to feed one, he would be trying to give him meat.

“Hey, little guy, you hungry? Sanji makes great meat.”

“I give up,” she sobbed again as she all but melted against the wooden deck. Shanks had recovered from his laughing fit and was sitting up beside her, still red-faced as he struggled to contain short bursts of giggles.

“Ahahaha, oh, man, that was funny as shit,” he snickered as he clapped Nami repeatedly on the shoulder. “You sure have your work cut out for you with this moron.”

“I told you! I’m not his girlfriend!” she shrieked, and Emperor or no, he was still on the receiving end on one of her vicious whaps. He looked at her like a wounded puppy as he rubbed the welt where she had struck his chin with an uppercut.

“I didn’t say that! Luffy! She’s scary!”

“Yeah, I told you, shoulda listened,” Luffy shrugged and whirled on his heel to carry the baby over to where Sanji and Zoro were still fighting. “Hey, check it out, little guy! This is what a fight looks like! You’re gonna grow up to be a real ass-kicker just like us, right?” he was laughing as he made sure the baby could see the cook and swordsman whacking at each other like there was no tomorrow.

“You’re an idiot,” she sighed as she sat up and brushed her strands of tangerine hair- which probably had streaks of gray by now- from her face. Still, she had to smile. She had to admit, Lufdy did look happy holding the little guy.

He had a long way to go, but someday, Nami didn’t doubt that he would make a great father.

“Are you sure you aren’t Luffy’s girlfriend?” Makino asked as she crouched down beside her. “That was an awful lov-“

“No! No! Nope! Not happening! No, thank you!” Nami yelled with emphatic shakes of her head, literally screaming denials as it was her face that took on the crimson hue of Shanks’ famous red hair. Before the two could interrogate her anymore about feelings she was certainly not ready to discuss or even acknowledge, she scrambled over to Luffy to make sure he was actually taking care of the baby.

Great father he could be in the future, but right now, he was still dumb as a sack of rocks when it came to babies.

~Bonus~

Shanks sighed contentedly as he watched the flustered girl scurry away from his and Makino’s continuous prodding. With another short laugh, he tossed the long strands of his red hair from his face and motioned for Makino to sit down on the deck beside him; his legs were still jelly from laughing so hard he had nearly pissed himself, so there was no standing for him anytime soon. His beloved eased herself down onto her knees beside him, and his good arm immediately wound itself around her thin waist to hold her close. She rested her hand on his shoulder, smiling warmly as she watched young Nami berating Luffy for asking the baby if he wanted to hold one of Zoro’s swords.

“He’s come a long way, hasn’t he?” she sighed. Shanks nodded in agreement, then snorted in laughter.

“Still a long way to go, though. ‘Specially when it comes to women. I thought Nami was gonna kill him.” Makino giggled. He always loved her giggles. They resounded like clear bells in the morning, vibrating in his soul and lighting it alive. Watching Luffy handle his son out of the corners of his eyes, he pressed a kiss into her temple. “I love you, Makino.”

“I love you too, honey.” He smiled against her green hair, inhaling her sweet scent of summer grass and honeysuckle accented by the pungent sourness of the ale she served in the bar in Fuschia Village. He began to rub small circles into the small of her back.

“So, wanna make a bet on when they get married?”

“I heard that!”

“Oh, hell, Jesus-“ he sputtered and did not manage to duck in time as Nami wrenched off her flip-flop and chucked it with deadly precision, striking him right in the middle of his forehead. As he fell roughly down onto his back, Makino was making those delighted giggles next to him, and he had to smile despite the stinging pain in his forehead.

Glad you found yourself a nice girl, Luffy… Although, she scares me.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @searchfortheonepiece