#I chose a very loose interpretation of the prompt

[paused-waterfall]

Hot take: We shouldn't expect the admin-driven lore on QSMP to make sense.

Let me explain. First off, here's what I'm not saying: That no one should want it to make sense, or try to make sense of it. Those are both very normal things to do. But I think we'll all enjoy ourselves more if we let go of the assumption that the pieces of lore we're given will/must come together to form a comprehensible whole. Cause that's just not a result that this medium is good for.

Loosely admin'd player-driven improv is a medium that has proven amazing in a lot of ways, but it's a terrible system for creating internally consistent lore. In D&D, the DM listens to damn near every word the players say at the table, and can interrupt them at any time to give word-of-god rulings on anything that disagrees with the worldbuilding in their head. QSMP doesn't have that. The players spend significant stretches of time unsupervised, interpreting and interacting with the world in creative ways that could, at any point, contradict the admins' plans. If players were under constant pressure to detect grey areas of the lore and avoid interacting with them without consulting others, it would greatly hamper their creative options and break the flow of livestreams. (This was apparently a significant issue later on in the DSMP, and is probably a component of why the Hermitcraft world and lore regularly reset)

Even when an admin is around to give immediate feedback, they can't directly talk, nor can they be considered an entirely trustworthy source. The only fandom-accessible Word of God for the QSMP is Twitter-- a source that plenty of the fandom and at least one of the CC's never sees.

So, without any means for the admins to enforce a consistent world, what does that leave us with? Well, it leaves us with dozens of worlds! Every player has an interpretation of the lore in their head, plans for their own character, and interpretations of the rest of the characters. And in this whole cacophony, the admins have a choice: Should they make the admin-driven lore just one more world, running alongside the players' worlds and sometimes complementing them, but sometimes clashing with them? Or should admin lore be focussed on bouncing ideas off of the players, giving them juicy prompts and reacting to what the players want, without adhering to any strict plan?

I think the admins chose option 2. The admin lore drops do not look to me like hints at a big, pre-planned mystery. They look like creative writing prompts tailor-made for the players. And I hope the fandom doesn't feel let down when they don't all converge on a big reveal.

[melisusthewee]

hap fri!!!! i'd love to see 'The smell of freshly baked bread' for Morris x Quinn 🥺

I think I might have been a bit loose in my interpretation of this prompt, but I am very happy with how this turned out and had a lot of fun writing it!

Sour Dough Pairing: Inquisitor Quinn Trevelyan/Ser Horatio Morris Word Count: 3,169 words Rating: G for @dadrunkwriting

Quinn Trevelyan had started to like mornings in the countryside.  The bedroom had no windows which he found to be a bit oppressive, but it made the room nice and dark and Quinn found that slowly over time he had begun to sleep better for it.

It certainly helped that he never had any true responsibilities in the country.  There were no meetings to get up for, no expected appearances, and no servants knocking on his door or letting themselves into his quarters to serve him tea and breakfast.

Well… perhaps he missed the tea and breakfast part.  Morris never put together any tea trays for him, but then Morris usually left in the mornings and Quinn liked to sleep in so there wasn't much of a point to it.  Morris would get up with the sun and putter about quietly in his kitchen before going out to check on his animals.  Then - if the weather seemed promising - he would leave for the nearest village and Quinn would promptly stretch out in the bed, happy he could finally now enjoy all to himself.

With Morris gone, Quinn could gather up both pillows just the way he liked it.  He didn't feel cramped.  He didn't have to share the blankets.  The bed was not made for two people, but it was all that Morris had and Quinn had not yet decided how to broach the subject of needing a bigger bed, a bigger room, and perhaps even a bigger house.  He wasn't certain he wasn't still just a guest here, and he liked it in the country and he liked it even more with Morris so he chose not to press his luck.

If Morris walked to the village, it would take him about an hour.  He would stop at the baker's and pick up a loaf of fresh bread, and then depending on the weather and how amicable he felt, he'd either turn around and come home or he'd be gone for nearly the entire morning.  The longer he was gone, the greater the chance he returned with something interesting - pastries today instead of just bread; the blackberry jam that Quinn liked so much; a bouquet of flowers just because.  And Quinn would spend the time alone resting and enjoying sleep that was slowly coming easier to him.

Except today something was off.  Quinn had been vaguely aware of Morris rising like usual and had rolled over and gone right back to sleep himself - just as usual.  But some time later - he had no idea what time it was, just that it seemed like it ought to still be morning - he was woken up by what he thought smelled like smoke and burnt toast.  At his feet lay his dog with her paw over her snout as if to say she could smell it too and did not like it.  But Quinn was not as calm, out of bed and on his feet in an instant.

"What sort of dog does nothing while the house is burning!"

But as he burst out of the bedroom into the main room of the cottage and stood there in nothing except what the Maker had given him, he could see that the cottage did not appear to be on fire at all.  Not yet, at least.

Morris had not gone to the village.  He was instead seated at his kitchen table, looking miserable and forlorn until Quinn's appearance caused him to instead appear quite confused.  "Are you all right, Trevelyan?"

"Are you?"

Horatio Morris' dark hair had in recent years begun to show signs of greying.  It was most evident in his beard which had started to become speckled with bits of silvery-white, but he had also sprouted a few lonely wisps of silvery hair hidden among his dark brown curls.  But the man Quinn found himself looking at right now was very grey, like someone had tossed him about in powder.  His hair looked dusty and nearly white, with patches of the same white powder smeared across his cheeks, his nose, across the painter's smock he had decided to put on that morning, and up his forearms nearly to his elbows.

"I was making bread," Morris said quietly.

That explained the smell that had roused Quinn from his sleep.  The cottage wasn't on fire, but Morris had given it a very good try.

There was flour everywhere.  Lumps of what Quinn assumed must be dough had been stacked in different places on the table.  Each clump looked unique - some seemed exceptionally wet, and others phenomenally lumpy.  A glass jar was tipped over on its side and Quinn wasn't entirely unconvinced that its contents weren't alive and trying to crawl out and across the table.  There were eggshells all over the floor which left Quinn confused because as much as he was wholly inept in the kitchen, he was pretty certain that eggs were not an ingredient in bread.

Quinn walked over to the table, careful to avoid stepping on any of the mess underfoot, and inspected the nearest ball of dough.  He picked it up, trying not to grimace at the texture of it.

"Well…" he said slowly after he had dropped the dough back onto the table with a wet plop, "I'm sure it will look different once it rises."

Morris' already deflated face fell further.  He buried his face in his flour-covered hands, sending up a soft white cloud and a forlorn-sounding moan.  When Quinn did not say anything, Morris - in the perfect picture of a tortured artist - gestured off towards the side.

Of course, thought Quinn, he had smelled something burning.

A wooden board sat near the open window and on it sat what Quinn assumed were supposed to be finished loaves of bread.  The words "loaves" and "bread" were quite generous though as what had been set out were rather deflated, unevenly blackened, and very misshapen.

"Have you tried cutting out the burnt bits?" asked Quinn, trying to be helpful.

Morris looked up, giving him a dirty look.  Clearly, Morris had checked and there were no unburnt bits aside from the soggy dough gathered on the table in front of him.

"I didn't realize you were an expert baker," said Morris petulantly.

Quinn laughed - not at Morris and his predicament, but at the silliness of the idea.  "Don't get cheeky with me, Horatio, you know if I'd done this I very well would have succeeded at burning down your house."

That got Morris' expression to soften a little though there was still a rather morose feel to his gaze.  “I don't understand what I did wrong… it's just flour, water, and yeast…”

Quinn did his best to brush away the flour that coated the nearby seat, but decided it did not seem clean enough for him to settle his bare cheeks on and instead moved to absently draw a line through the flour dust that littered the table.

“Maybe you didn't pray enough,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

Morris stared at Quinn blankly.  It was evident from the vacant stare that he did not have the slightest inclination what Quinn was going on about, but with someone known as the Herald of Andraste suggesting he pray harder, he wasn't entirely sure how serious Quinn was right now.

So Quinn explained.  “Back home, the women in the kitchens used to sing parts of the Chant whenever they were waiting for the dough to rise.”

Morris ran a hand through his hair, sending up a cloud of flour.  “You're saying my bread didn't turn out because I didn't ask the Maker to leaven it…?”

“No, Horace, I'm not that daft,” said Quinn.  “But parts of the Chant are pretty long.  It takes the Sisters in the Grand Cathedral an entire year to sing it from beginning to end.  Maybe your dough hasn't sat long enough.”

“Well how long is it supposed to sit for?”

“Don't ask me.  I'm not a baker.”

Morris groaned in despair and put his head down, burying his face in the arms he'd folded on the table.  Quinn frowned.  It was only bread.  It shouldn't be the end of the world.  So what if Morris couldn't bake?  Neither could Quinn and it didn't bother him one bit.  Besides, there were plenty of things Morris was good at on his own.  It shouldn't be a big deal that this wasn't one of them.

Quinn knew better than to tell Morris this when he was in one of his artist's melancholy - for it certainly seemed like one of those to Quinn.  So instead Quinn walked over to the hearth and retrieved the little pot that Morris had attempted to bake in.  Hefting it in one arm, he walked back over to where Morris still sat with his head down, and placed the pot on the table.  Quinn then quietly began to pick up the lumps of dough that Morris had abandoned and placed them in the pot one by one.  Once finished with his patchwork assembly of dough, Quinn retrieved the discarded lid and placed it so the offending concoction was properly covered.

Clearing his throat to get Morris’ attention, Quinn slid the pot across the table.

“Maybe,” said Quinn slowly, “you wash all that flour out of your hair, I find myself some clothes, and we go get some proper bread in the village.  And perhaps when we return, enough time will have passed that the thing in here has become something bread-like.”

Morris looked up and over at the pot Quinn had slid in front of him.  His expression was still dark and moody, but as his focus shifted from the results of his failed labour to Quinn - who was still quite naked and beginning to feel a bit awkward about it - the barest hint of a smile ghosted across his face.

“You want to walk to the village with me?” he asked shyly.

“I suppose so, yes.”

The significance of the gesture was not lost on Morris, whose face already seemed a little brighter as he abandoned his kitchen mess to go clean himself up.  Quinn didn't really go out much and tended to avoid anywhere with people.  It was too difficult now that he was so easily recognizable and so Quinn's world had mostly become the boundaries of Morris’ property - which was plenty of land and space, but very quiet and empty.  The nearest village wasn't very big, but it was still a village, and that meant Quinn would have to perform his role as Herald if he was recognized - a role he didn't really believe in much anymore.

But, Quinn reasoned, it would be time with Morris and that was always time well spent.  It would cheer him up, and while he was not certain he was ready to admit it to anyone, making Morris happy was important to him.  It felt… good whenever he saw the man smile, and the bright look in Morris’ eyes whenever he glanced at Quinn made him feel warm, flustered, and twenty years younger.

It took the better part of an hour for the two of them to get themselves in a presentable order.  Quinn was just exiting the barn with his horse when Morris emerged from the cottage, his hair still damp from washing but back to its normal dark colour punctuated with only the usual bits of grey.

When Morris caught sight of Quinn and the freshly saddled horse, he paused, hands on his hips and looking a little confused.  “I thought we were walking.”

“You can if you'd like.  But I've walked across most of Thedas.  I much prefer to have my horse do most of the journey for me.”  Quinn patted the flank of the mare affectionately.  “Besides!  She's got saddlebags!  And you're not going to tell me I went through all the effort of saddling her for nothing.”

“You should have let me take care of that,” Morris said, moving to take the reins from Quinn.

“She's my horse,” Quinn insisted, “and I got here well enough on my own.  I don't need help.”

He looked at Morris pointedly.  He knew the man had good intentions and he was getting better at asking first instead of just assuming Quinn needed help, but it was still difficult not to get irritated or offended when Morris seemed to constantly ask about doing the same things again and again.  There were things Quinn was perhaps slower at with only one hand but perfectly capable of doing in the end.  Looking after his horse was one of them.

Be nice, he reminded himself.  Today was now about cheering Morris up, not picking petty fights.  So he held his tongue, handed Morris the reins, but hefted himself up into the saddle unassisted.

To his credit, Morris took the slight edge of Quinn's pettiness in stride.  “But you're going to make me saddle my own horse?”

Quinn leaned forward in his saddle and grinned.  “I thought you wanted to walk.”

“You are an ass, Quinn Trevelyan.”

But there was no barb to the insult and the familiar threat of laughter could be heard in Morris’ voice.  Quinn chuckled quietly and held out his hand for the reins.  Morris obliged, but before he could head to the barn to retrieve his own horse, Quinn wrapped the reins around the horn of his saddle and then held out his hand a second time.  Morris looked at him rather perplexed, but Quinn was insistent with the gesture.

“Theia can handle the two of us.”

Morris hesitated.  He seemed to be sizing up both the horse as well as the saddle.  There also appeared to be another debate going on inside his head, judging from the way his brows creased.  Quinn had learned that to his surprise Morris had kept a lot of parts of himself held very close to his chest and away from anyone's business.  He had his own reasons that Quinn admittedly didn't understand but his friendship with one Dorian Pavus had made him realize that it wasn't something he could fix for him and could only be supportive in whichever way the other person wanted him to be.

Two men on a horse wasn't anything odd.  It wasn't anything to second guess or think about.  And even if someone did, it was exactly what it looked like so what did it matter?  But Quinn knew he couldn't push Morris out into a world he wasn't ready for, not this time.  All he could do was just keep offering his hand and hope that one day Morris might be brave enough to take it.

Today turned out to be that day and when Morris suddenly grabbed Quinn's hand, Quinn nearly lost his balance in surprise.  But he recovered quickly, gripping Morris’ hand firmly and smiling broadly as the other man took the invitation and hoisted himself up into the space behind Quinn.

“All right?” Quinn asked, after he had shifted forward in the saddle to try and make enough room for them both to sit comfortably.

“I think so, yes,” replied Morris.

It was good enough for Quinn who took the reins in his hand and tapped his heels against the flank of the horse to urge her forward.  He whistled for his dog, who fell into step trotting alongside the horse, and they set off for the road.

The weather appeared promising as the sun seemed to be reaching its zenith in the sky.  A few clouds could be seen here and there but they were white and fluffy, not the sort that tended to threaten rain.  Spring was getting on into summer, but the heat had not yet arrived and settled over things.  It was a nice day to be outdoors, Quinn decided, with the sun on his face as they passed by green fields of grass flanked with colourful wildflowers that had burst into bloom.

Morris had put his large arms around Quinn's waist, settling into a level of comfort that would likely have made both of them blush had they been looking at one another.  Quinn was tempted to tease him, but when he heard Morris sigh and felt the press of his head against his shoulder, he decided that holding on to this closeness was much more important.

For all the secret sentimentality that Quinn was holding on to, Morris’ mind was still turning over the kitchen in his mind.  Quinn realized once he heard another sigh that sounded less content and a little more dramatic.  He rolled his eyes, but chose not to dislodge Morris from his shoulder.

“I suppose I ought to give up,” Morris was saying.  “I am not made to succeed in the kitchen.”

Perhaps a little dramatic was a slight understatement.

“I've not complained about your cooking yet.  You make very good stews.”

“Any idiot could make a stew,” grumbled Morris.

Quinn made a dismissive noise at the back of his throat.  He couldn't make a stew.  He could barely make a cup of tea and even that was only something he had recently attempted to learn.  He had been asked to watch the stew pot once or twice - at Morris’ and back when the Inquisition had been a thing.  Once in the Hinterlands, the broth had started to boil over and Quinn had sat there and watched it happen because it's all he had been asked to do and he wasn't certain what one was supposed to do when these things happened.  He had been sent into the field with only army rations after that - something he was still cross with Cullen about all these years later.

“It's just bread, Horatio,” said Quinn after a while, finally returning from his thoughts back to the present.  “Don't let it bother you so much.”

“If only it was just bread,” said Morris, sounding once again much more dramatic than Quinn felt the situation called for.  “I tried making mead once, you know.”

“Mead?” said Quinn in genuine surprise.  “When did you make mead?”

“The first year I had my bees,” explained Morris.  “I had all this honey and didn't yet know what to do with it.  So I got it into my head to be a brewer.”

“I take it things went poorly?”

He felt Morris nod against him and heard another sigh.  “I put the jars in the barn to ferment.  They exploded.  My horse was startled but unhurt, but an entire harvest's worth of honey just splattered all over the walls.  I'm a little afraid of trying it again.”

Quinn didn't respond right away, uncertain whether he should encourage Morris and if not, how honest he should be in explaining why.  But the day was bright, and Quinn was determined not to let this time spent together become clouded by other things.  So he chose his words carefully, feigning an airy dismissiveness that he knew would make Morris laugh.

“Ah… well… I don't drink mead anyway.”

[nausikaaa]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for tagging me @forabeatofadrum! i’m a little late posting, but finally found some inspiration to write again, so here’s some of a new perspective from my post-troy novel- Hermione. context below the cut as always!

All in all, I was thoroughly unimpressed with my husband, and his awkward mannerisms were beginning to grate on my already exposed nerves. And then he did something that did more than just irritate me. He stood up, walked away from me, and joined the dance.

I didn’t move a muscle, but I could feel eyes on me. This is ridiculous, I thought. Dancing was for young girls, not men such as him, small and lithe as he may have been. I wondered if he intended to humiliate me, or was he truly oblivious to the ways of the world? I knew he grew up on an island, isolated from the rest of Greece, but this was unorthodox by any standards.

He leapt and whirled with seven women from Skyros, ranging from barely his elder to just over a decade older. They all shared his ginger hair and blue eyes- his aunts, and there in the centre, his mother, Deidamia. I thought she ought to be ashamed of herself, a widow, dancing! Her skirts flew around her, her feet barely touched the ground, and she laughed and laughed as she took her son by the hand and spun him round.

I took a small sip of wine and hoped my veil would hide the red of my face. My grandfather made furious eye contact with me from across the hall, as though this shameless display was somehow my fault, while my mother had the audacity to clap along with the beat. My father didn’t even seem to notice anything amiss, deep in conversation with one of Neoptolemus’s advisors.

I cast my eyes skyward and silently prayed he would get whatever this was out of his system by the end of the song and return to my side, where I would pretend to be amused by his antics to save face and return to the silence we had been comfortable in before, but the song came to an end, a new one started, and he didn’t stop.

I downed the rest of my wine and waved a slave over for a refill.

i love writing Hermione so much, i think anyone who reads my carry on Agatha fics can tell i just really enjoy writing from the perspective of a total bitch (affectionate)

Hermione is the daughter of Helen of Sparta/Troy and her first husband, Menelaus. after the war she was married to Neoptolemus, also known as Pyrrhus, the son of the hero Achilles and a hero (or war criminal, depending on your persuasion) in his own right.

Hermione had been engaged her entire childhood to her cousin, Orestes, but sources vary on which man she loved. whatever the case, Orestes eventually killed Pyrrhus and took Hermione by force.

the interpretation i chose to go with is that Hermione and Pyrrhus’s relationship begins very strained, Hermione has very rigid ideas about what is proper while Pyrrhus, having grown up surrounded by young women and then losing any remaining childhood wonder he may have had when he was drafted for the war at 15, likes to cut loose and buck tradition.

eventually, they manage to find common ground- the expectations they have grown up under due to their parents. Pyrrhus is the son of the greatest warrior the world had ever known, but he hates violence and can’t stand the sight of blood, for all he was forced to endure it at Troy. Hermione is the daughter of the most beautiful woman in history, but she resembles her father and has a very strained relationship with her. after this, they grow close and have a loving relationship, but Hermione struggles to conceive.

after only 4 years together, Hermione suffers a miscarriage, prompting Pyrrhus goes to Delphi to pray to Apollo, who has cursed him. Hermione also carries a family curse, but there’s nothing she can do to end it, it’s built upon generations of infanticide and cannibalism (the House Of Atreus is wack), and there he is killed by Orestes, who then goes as kidnaps Hermione.

Hermione’s POV ends there, but we see from Astyanax, the main character, that she eventually escaped Orestes and went back to Skyros, Pyrrhus’s home country, the place she was happiest, where she was accepted as the Queen by his aunts and the people. so a bittersweet ending.

and here’s what Hermione and Pyrrhus look like, in this scene and 4 years later:

fun fact: Hermione’s hair is short in the first picrew because Spartan girls would cut it short for their weddings. Spartan men and women lived very segregated lives as men were raised in military barracks since childhood, and both young men and women often had gay relationships with others their age because there just wasn’t the option to be with someone of the opposite sex. so the short hair was both a symbolisation of rebirth for women but also to ease men into heterosexuality 😂

for a late wip wednesday or next six sentence sunday, i tag @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @ileadacharmedlife @ionlydrinkhotwater @martsonmars @confused-bi-queer @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @bazzybelle @castawaypitch @ivelovedhimthroughworse @gekkoinapeartree @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @moodandmist @tea-brigade @whatevertheweather @stillgeekingout @wetheformidables @onepintobean @basiltonbutliketheherb @theearlgreymage and @whogaveyoupermission

[queen-eevee]

tigers + “no one will die in your name but you” !!

(this takes place sometime around Season 7, Day 78)

Zion may have been too deep in her work to notice when the figure at her door first appeared, but she wonders if they know her ignorance is purposeful now. Even their polite throat-clearing doesn’t break her concentration; she just calmly continues to tinker: tightening the bolts around Iron Lion’s left arm to secure the new panel in place, double-checking her blueprints as she goes. Only when she’s sure the last bolt can’t turn any further does Zion give a tired sigh and slowly raise her head.

Seeing Mummy standing there is a surprise. She throws Zion a sheepish smile, shifting a takeout container back and forth between her hands.

“Sorry,” she whispers, “I didn’t want to interrupt, but Randy picked up dinner for the team and said someone might want to bring you some. We tried texting you but…”

“Oh.” Now Zion feels bad. She reaches for the offered container when Mummy walks forward—Greek salad, if the smell of pepperoncinis is anything to go by—and clears a spot for it on her workbench. “Thank you.”

“No problem!”

An awkward silence settles over the two. Mummy rocks back and forth on her heels and looks over her shoulder towards the door. Zion fights for something to say and arrives at nothing, only noticing how her right hand has formed a loose fist around her pencil.

“How...long have you been working for?” Mummy asks, hesitant. 

Zion hides a wince. “What time is it, again?”

“Nearly 8:00, I think.”

“Then...only a few hours.”

“Liar,” another voice chimes in, startling the two of them. Zion peers around Mummy to see Hiroto walk through the doorway, holding utensils and a glass of water. She shoots Zion a knowing smirk. “Famous says they heard someone welding at 4:00am last night.”

Zion scowls. “Well, Famous is a narc.”

Mummy laughs as Hiroto sets the glass down next to Zion’s long-empty water bottle.

“I did have to take a break to play today,” Zion points out, gesturing emphatically with her pencil. “So technically, it’s only been a few hours since I started again.”

Hiroto rolls her eyes and gives the mech towering in front of her a lazy once-over. “Started what? Does Lion need repairs already?”

Zion nods, looking back towards her notes. “'M just getting a head start on some upgrades.”

There’s a muffled shifting of fabric and a clicking of shoes as Mummy backs away from the workbench and quietly bows out of the room. Her departure shouldn’t wash Zion with a wave of relief but it does, and a pang of guilt immediately follows. Hiroto, however, completely oblivious to both Zion’s emotions and Mummy’s exit, continues to slowly circle the Iron Lion. 

“What are you upgrading?” she asks, gently brushing her hand along its side. “Finally getting around to adding those wings Fearful hated so much?” The mech lets out a hollow ring when she bumps her knuckles against the shell. “Or a new batting mechanic?”

“I’m making it fireproof.”

The footsteps stop. When Hiroto doesn’t reply right away, Zion glances up from her blueprints to see her staring at the cockpit, expression indecipherable. Her eyes glow bright orange in the light of the fluorescents.

“…You can do that?”

Zion rolls the arm she’s working on over to its other side. The metal groans in complaint. 

“Not yet,” she admits. “But I’m trying.”

Hiroto nods, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth. She doesn’t meet Zion’s eyes. Her expression doesn’t change. Zion suddenly wonders if it was actually Famous who had been awake to hear her working at 4:00am.

“If you figure something out,” Hiroto murmurs after a moment, “maybe we should start making mechs for all the stripes.”

The weak sarcasm in her voice is more than obvious, but Zion’s eyebrows still shoot up to her hairline in surprise, grin near-giddy.

“Oh? Does this mean you’re finally coming around to my idea of a fully mech-ed team?”

At Zion’s excitement, the clouded look on Hiroto’s face disappears. She lets out a bark of laughter, lips curling into a sharp smile of all canines. 

“I’m good with anything that might piss off the peanut.”

[snidgetwidgeon]

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

[stingslikeabee]

[ ATTENTION ] : to get receiver's attention, or to guide it elsewhere, sender hastily takes their hand.

'take my hand' prompts . accepting

It would be a lie if Melissa said she wasn’t curious about the surprise Daigo had planned for their day out – in an unexpected turn of events, she hadn’t been the one asking him out for some fun time away from the controlling gaze of her manager (while was, in itself, a contradiction – the hostesses should not be going around inviting their regulars for dates, but rather the other way around). But Daigo had not only prompted their outing himself - he also asked her to change her shift to an earlier one on a very specific day and be ready to be picked up at her place by 7:30pm.

His last note had made her even more excited about whatever he had in mind: ‘Dress flashy, Melissa-chan.’

Concentrating on her normal clients and making small talk with the customers had been a nightmare on that day; Melissa was distracted and counting the minutes to go home and get ready, but luckily the flowing alcohol offered her a way to hide her slip-ups and blame it all on lightheadedness. Truth was – she was stone sober; the girl made a point to pretend to drink and partake because she had no idea what was in store for her later that night and she wouldn’t dare to miss it for the world.

The hostess interpreted ‘dress flashy’ somehow liberally – she imagined it was supposed to draw attention, but she had no idea if it was related to the colors she needed to be wearing, or the style of her clothes, so she chose both. Inspiring herself after some magazines and the occasional girl groups who strolled around Shibuya and got photographed for lifestyle blogs and columns, she picked up a black mini-skirt with knee-length boots of the same color, pairing it all with a turquoise crop top with long, fitting sleeves. The fabric was glittery and smooth, almost creating the illusions of ocean waves over her skin.

She pinned her hair in a high ponytail for a change, leaving only a few strands loose instead of most of her hair as she usually did it. The dangling earrings were bigger than normal, as well as the bracelets on her wrists which made soft jingling noises every time she moved her hands. Melissa supposed it was a different attire from what she usually had on, not to mention her heavier make-up – and it wasn’t until she took her place beside Daigo inside the car that she knew she had nailed it.

“You look stunning, Melissa-chan,” he said with a light nod of his head and a wolfish grin; but it was the way his eyes swept over her figure that told the hostess that she had passed whatever test that was. Not knowing where she was being taken to made it harder to dress properly, but she didn’t look terribly out of place when she compared herself to Daigo.

He looked unusual too – mostly in black as usual, and with the usual mix of metal and leather adorning his hips, as well as a few rings on both his hands and a couple crosses hanging around his neck – but his parka had been changed for a dark red jacket, and it looked like a sukajan one with dark striped sleeves. She was curious about whether or not it had a design on the back, but even more so about the actual vehicle they were in. Did Daigo own a car?

“So, do I get a hint about where we’re going, why we’re dressed like this or the fact you’re behind the wheel?” she queried with good humor, but evidently content to relax in her seat and watch Daigo drive. He looked to be in his element – while he was evidently paying attention to the road and respecting all signs and lights, there was this air about him that suggested something dangerously exciting just around the corner. His posture while steering the car just irradiated it all – a confidence that had very much drawn Melissa in, and a charisma that ensured she stayed.

“You lasted this long without knowing a thing – you sure you want to be spoiled now?” he asked with a raised eyebrow and a side smirk that were two things she lacked the immunity for; groaning and calling him a 'bastard' before breaking down in genuine laughter, Melissa then moved forward to play with the radio controls, finding some nice music for the ride and resigning herself to wait.

Light-hearted conversation flowed easily between the two of them as it always did; instead of walking around a scenic route or at the club, Melissa was now slightly fascinated by how otherworldly it felt to be talking to Daigo about anything and everything while the road lights flashed above them and he moved smoothly between lanes, taking exit after exit in the expressways and headed towards Yokohama, if she was reading the signs right.

It wasn’t a long trip – Melissa had been to the neighboring town a few times by train on the weekends, but never at night. She wondered if there was a reason they were getting not only out of Tokyo but going by car (rented? Surely Daigo couldn’t have a car, his apartment building had no parking space – but Melissa suspected her friend wouldn’t yield any answers now). But soon the hostess realized they were taking the way to the pier, and that made it even less sense. Why the pier? Tokyo had its own docks and harbor area if Daigo had something to show her.

But it wasn’t until they actually made it to their final destination that she understood it all – it hadn’t been about the place at all; but rather about who gathered there. By the time Daigo drove into the Daikoku Futo parking lot, the hostess had all but glued herself to the window of her seat, eyes wide with wonder and her brain trying to just process everything she was seeing outside.

It felt like a movie – a collection of all sorts of different cars gathered there, with modifications and improvements and all sort of creative additions and painting jobs. Daigo’s smile appeared to be fixed on his face – he was clearly enjoying the reactions he was getting out of Melissa, even if she was barely aware of his eyes on her; he was focused on finding a good spot, then parking and getting out of the car.

He offered his hand to the hostess once they were back on the ground – and led her through the crazy crowd of underground racers, car tuner maniacs, avid drifting fans, wannabe-DJs and all types of people. While they walked, he offered some details around car models and names – Melissa was by no means an expert, but even she could acknowledge just how wild the idea of a Ferrari 360 with Swarovski headlights was - or a Nissan 350Z with 16 dolls on the bonnet. It was pure chaos and freedom, with beer bottles and loud music setting the tone and she loved every second of it.

“How did you know they would be here?” she asked him when they paused, Melissa drawn in by a vehicle with some neon lights that made her laugh when they changed colors and projected them on the couple as if they had been standing under one of the many local Ferris Wheels during the night. She looked up to Daigo and his face was almost enigmatic in response – the way his eyes twinkled with amusement was something else that night, but maybe it was just the place they were in.

“Let’s just say I have a friend, who has a friend… And with the right friends, you always know when they’ll be around,” he offered as an explanation, and it dawned on Melissa – the entire parking lot was currently a pop-up event; nothing about it was sanctioned, and probably only certain people were made aware of where and when they would meet to try and avoid the police. Well – no wonder Daigo had asked her to be ready at a particular day and time; he wouldn’t be able to ensure everyone would be there much later in case the authorities showed up.

“This is fucking awesome,” she breathed, and they both sidestepped a guy who either had drunk too much or resorted to other substances if the way he came dancing towards the couple was any indication. But as chaotic as the place was – there were hardly any fights or confrontation. It felt like a wild rave with everything – and now Melissa saw why they had needed to dress for the part. Whether it was okay for her to be there, she didn’t know – but no one looked at her like she didn’t belong, despite her clear western looks.

It had been Daigo who heard it first – with the loud beats of the songs playing nearby, Melissa did not notice the sirens in the distance, but her friend was more attuned to the scenario than she was. Suddenly, Melissa felt her hand being gripped and pulled hastily by the man, who had none of the proud and pleased smiles on his face – his look was one of urgency, and the hostess realized that people around them suddenly seemed to move, as if something had shifted.

“Melissa-chan, come,” he said, pulling her away and linking his hands – and as they start to run, Melissa heard the sound of what were undoubtedly police cars approaching, and rather fast. Suddenly, her excitement converted into adrenaline, and she broke into a run alongside Daigo, doing her best to keep up with him – his steps were larger, faster, and he wasn’t in heels, but the idea of getting caught by the cops was not appealing to either of them.

Most people were getting into the cars to scramble – but they didn’t need to do it because Daigo’s Toyota was a very normal model; leaving it behind and hiding among the buildings in the pier seemed like a safer choice, and that had been the young man’s choice in terms of refuge. By the time they got to the cargo area, Daigo continued to look at the warehouses and scattered crates with attention, then finding a narrow alleyway and motioning with his head towards the path.

Melissa nodded, following him blindly – never, in her entire life, she thought she would be one day fleeing the police for being present at an illegal underground racing event with her best friend and club regular, and yet here they were. She felt like laughing at everything, probably a byproduct of the adrenaline that was flooding her system – but she held it in, inhaling sharply and trying to be as silent as possible even though the cars were not apparently heading their way.

In the darkness provided by the close buildings and scarce illumination of that part of the pier, Melissa suddenly felt her heartbeat thumping loudly at her own ears. Her back was pressed against the wall of one of the warehouses, Daigo pressed close to her and shielding the woman from any outer threat. His head remained high and eyes (and ears) focused on the distant noises from the parking lot – a lot of cars seemed to have gone away, and the sound of sirens followed them. The police were likely going to give chase to the racers, and would soon leave the parking lot empty.

They just needed to wait for a while until the coast was clear – and while she did that, Melissa looked at him again. She was trapped between his body and concrete, in a terribly lit and deserted place, with no one to cry for help and in the company of the one guy who was labeled as a menace to Kamurocho, and a danger to almost anyone. And yet, the woman feared absolutely nothing – not even being caught by the cops, now.

Daigo always had her back – and she knew she would be safe with him.

“When you said I looked stunning earlier,” she said in a whisper, but it had been enough to draw his attention; Daigo moved his head to look at her, and thanks to the time spent in darkness, the hostess was now able to see the changes to his facial expressions and it went from concerned to curious only – they probably could talk without being overheard, “Did you say that because you knew I could be getting my first mugshot tonight, Daigo-kun?”

There was a pause there – but at her teasing grin and light poking of his ribs, he ended up snickering himself, shaking his head at his friend’s terrible joke. He inhaled sharply before letting the air out slowly, and Melissa could feel the way it made a loose strand of her hair flutter, eventually captured by two of his digits.

“Of course not,” he dismissed her concerns while twirling the hair around his index finger and then letting it go, eyes focusing on her face once more and lips curving upwards before they flashed a row of white teeth, “I promised you’d be safe with me before, didn’t I? Besides, I’d never let any of these old-timers frisk you in these clothes. Not happenin’ on my watch.”

“All I’m hearing is that all my effort for tonight will be lost because we didn’t take any pictures when we arrived,” she pouted, but her fingers found the sleeves of his jacket and tugged at it softly, playing with the silken fabric for a while, “And yours, too. I’ve never seen you in this one before – we should go someplace else for food and purikura, Daigo-kun. We need mementos of tonight, even if the police almost caught us.”

“They never saw us, you mean,” he rolled his eyes playfully while arguing, but he eventually settled back on her face. He seemed to consider something for a moment, mostly likely her pleading face – she clearly did not want to end their night sooner than anticipated just because their very much illegal outing had been crashed by the police. They were dressed nicely, they had a car, and most importantly – time with each other.

Melissa just didn’t want to go home yet.

“Okay, so how about you continue to be our getaway driver for tonight then? If you come here often, where do you grab a bite afterwards? We didn’t come all the way to Yokohama for half an hour of fun, right?”

And there it was – Melissa had come to realize that she was able to tell when she said something that was just the last push Daigo needed to make a decision because of the way his eyes shifted; it was very much like watching the cogs turn and something clicking into place. He relented – and while his smile looked rueful and he muttered something about her being ‘impossible’, he ended up giving her a chaste kiss on the top of her head that was very much affectionate.

“Fine. It’s not like I have to return the car until morning anyway,” he said, and the woman smiled triumphantly – so it was a rented one! “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. We’re not going back to Tokyo until the sun rises, Melissa-chan.”

She laughed, countering his provocative gaze with additional pokes to his chest before nodding as defiantly as she could despite their height differences – it always did give Daigo an edge when he wanted to look intimidating. “It’s a deal, Daigo-kun.”

[ampleappleamble]

—

It was a day's hike to the cliffs, and a day's hike back. Pallegina went anyway, of course.

It was a good opportunity to assess the members of this ragtag band she was joining up with, as combatants and as people. Overall, she was fairly impressed with their martial skills– their tactics and group cohesion were sound, but she was sure to make note of their evident lack of formal training and quality equipment. She'd found herself pleasantly surprised at their generosity and inclusiveness, sharing food and drink and smoke and stories as freely with their feathered newcomer as they did with one another. No one had even brought up her "divine heritage" until they'd been sitting around the campfire that first night, and the aumaua who'd broached the subject had actually managed to look appropriately bashful as he'd done so. Although in retrospect, an Avian Godlike woman in a brotherhood of paladins probably wasn't too outlandish a concept for these kith, considering that their squad leader was apparently an Awakened Watcher.

Pallegina had been fielding annoying, invasive questions posed by strangers about her body and her soul for her entire life, but Axa was a newly-minted freak, it seemed, and so was not quite sick of talking about it just yet. And her friends weren't either: with minimal prompting, Aloth had recounted her nightmares and her past life memories, Edér had remembered her staring at the tree in Gilded Vale for nearly half an hour, Kana had practically rhapsodized about her conversations with ghosts in caves and in dungeons. And the next morning, as the group stood on the bluff overlooking the sea, Sagani had handed Axa a misshapen little lump of adra, and Pallegina had watched as the orlan peered through it and into the In-Between.

She'd been told the woman was a Watcher, and she'd more or less accepted it as truth, but the paladin hadn't exactly been expecting a demonstration just yet. After a few minutes of watching the little woman sway to and fro in the wind, apparently mesmerized by the adra carving the dwarf had given her, concern for her wellbeing had compelled Pallegina to approach and take her by the shoulders, attempting to shake her out of it before she wobbled her way over the cliff's edge.

"Everything... all right in there?" she'd muttered, lightly slapping the little woman's cheek.

"Adra arch," Axa had rasped in reply, violet eyes wild and unfixed. Sagani had gently pried the carving from her fuzzy hands then, smiled compassionately at the other two women before asking Edér where in the Dyrwood an adra arch might stand.

That was... very strange. But stranger things have happened, Pallegina had reminded herself. She'd kept reminding herself of that as they'd made their way back to the city, as she listened to the others' stories of reincarnated souls and mysterious cults, dead brothers and ancient tablets and a haunted castle this eccentric little woman called home.

Ambassador Agosti had been less than pleased to receive his agent nearly three days after Verzano had been cut loose, and accompanied by a pack of disheveled strangers no less. But Axa was nothing if not a fierce defender of her troops, it seemed, and although she'd made a valiant effort to keep her comments civil, eventually Agosti had frayed the little woman's last nerve with his dismissive arrogance and insinuated threats, finally ending up on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing himself for once. Pallegina had known then that she'd chosen her new companions wisely, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at Agosti as he stammered and sweated under the orlan's indignant outburst.

Her amusement at Axa's antics had been soundly quashed, however, by the new assignment laid upon her shoulders, one that she had dreaded might be in the works but had hoped would never actually be implemented– the negotiation of a new trade agreement between the Vailian Republics and Eir Glanfath, one that took blatant, vicious advantage of the Dyrwood's badly weakened state due to the Hollowborn crisis. It made sense in the short term, financially and practically, for the merchants of the Republics to step in and take the reins where the Dyrwoodans would not. But what gave Pallegina pause were the long term political implications of essentially kicking the Dyrwood while it was down, especially now at such a crucial juncture in the deciding of the country's legislation regarding animancy. If the Ducs Bels willfully chose to make an enemy of the Dyrwood now, it could have long-reaching consequences that could do untold damage to the Republics in the years to come, particularly for the animancy community. Animancers were already under attack in this country, superstitious types blaming them for causing this soul plague by somehow invoking the wrath of the gods, as well as for their ill-fated attempts at curing the nation's blighted children. Would the people of the Dyrwood, fiery and reactionist as they were, still tolerate animancy at all should the Republics, animancy's shining champion, stab them in the back while they were at their weakest and least reasonable? What would become of Vailian animancy without competition to keep them sharp, or collaborative efforts to keep them abreast of the latest developments? Even if animancy was permitted to continue in the Dyrwood, its practitioners would be loathe to share their discoveries with their Vailian counterparts, leading to an inevitable stagnation in the soul sciences– or even worse, the Republics could potentially fall behind the Dyrwood, languishing in the past while the Dyrwood moved ahead, forging the future without them...

No. This was not permissible, not after all the Republics and its animancers had done for her. But still, she had her orders. Now all she had to do was carry them out, one way or another.

"Twin Elms is a good long way from here," Sagani reassured her afterwards at their table at the Charred Barrel, swirling her ale around in her tankard and feeding her fox under her chair. "And Axa'll find more than enough distractions along the way, I'm sure. Plenty of time to come up with some sort of... creative interpretation of your orders."

Pallegina tried to smile, but only produced a weak grimace. "Then I hope our Watcher friend is more 'creative' than I am. I have many strengths, but subterfuge has never been one of them. And one can only openly defy the powers that be so many times before their patience runs out." She stared pensively into her wine as she spoke, couldn't help but think of Verzano's fate, Agosti's warnings.

"I'll drink to that," Edér mumbled around his mouthful of roast pork and potato, raising his cup in a commiserative gesture before knocking it back. "Axa ain't much for bullshittin' folks– not as far as I've seen, anyway– but she's got a knack for solvin' problems, and for pushin' her luck 'n' gettin' away with it. If anyone can finagle some kinda deal that'll keep your ducs happy without totally screwin' over the Dyrwood, I'd wager it'd be her."

"Elegantly stated, Edér," Aloth deadpanned, rolling his eyes and pushing his food around on his plate. "Speaking of Axa, she's been away from the table for quite a while now..." The elf lifted his head, anxiously scanning the throng of diners, drunks, and debutantes. "If I recall, she only said she wanted to catch up with Ingroed and Nonton, but I don't see her at the bar anymore."

"Ingroed and Nonton?" Pallegina glanced around idly and spotted the little woman almost immediately– that bold red hair was unmistakable, even when mostly obscured behind the fat asses and round bellies of the taller kith surrounding her. "More friends, I assume?"

"Couple of folks from my hometown, Gilded Vale. She helped 'em outta a rough spot." The blond man glanced over at the bar, smiling at his former neighbors.

Kana looked up from his dinner, face flushed with drink. "Ah! Are those the ones who set a trap for the dead man in the bear's den?" He beamed at Pallegina, practically glowing with enthusiasm. "You must have her tell you the tale, my lady. A truly inspiring account of our Watcher's unique insight at work. She learned of their betrayal from the spirit of the victim, you see! But there's a tragic twist–"

"Hey, now, don't spoil the ending, big fella, you wasn't even there. Let her tell it." Edér had caught sight of Axa too, just as she'd turned away from the well-dressed elf she'd been speaking with, and he beckoned the redhead back to their table with a wave of his hand. The stranger watched her go, nervously fiddling with his ostentatious jewelry as she sauntered back to her friends, while Pallegina tried to remember where she'd seen him before, his eyes widening in alarm as he caught her staring at him.

"Talking about me behind my back again?" Axa sighed, grinning and shaking her head as she clambered back into her seat. "Gods, I can't leave you scoundrels alone for a second. They didn't tell you a bunch of ghost stories, did they?" She winked at Pallegina, and the paladin noticed just how tired the orlan looked.

"Only the true ones!" Kana laughed a bit too loudly– not atypical of him, but the alcohol certainly amplified his natural exuberance. Aloth delicately scooted his chair away from the overly jolly giant, vexation plain on his face.

If Axa noticed anything unusual, she didn't mention it, only chuckled and took a long drag from her pipe. "Found out where your adra arch might be, Sagani. Turns out it's somewhere over by Twin Elms, believe it or not." She glanced up at Pallegina, a cautious little smile on her tawny face. "Unfortunately, I've also heard tell that the road leading there is badly flooded right now due to inclement weather. So it looks like we'll have some time to kill before we can head over that way."

"Belfetto," Pallegina sighed. She appreciated the attempt to cheer her up, letting her know she had time to decide how to handle the Ducs' request, but she had a feeling that the longer she dwelled on her predicament, the more it would weigh on her mind.

Aloth leaned close to the little woman. "I take it this means we're to head for the catacombs on the morrow, then?" He looked simultaneously anxious and eager, as though preparing to take on a task he knew to be important but especially onerous. A familiar burden, Pallegina mused.

"Ah... perhaps," Axa replied, looking away quickly. "There are a few other things I'd like to tend to first, though, if you're all amenable. I was just talking to that elf over there, the one in the fancy robes with all the gaudy jewelry, and he's asked me to do him a favor. See, he has this friend who's a courtesan at the, uh, at the Salty Mast..."

She winced as everyone at the table put down their forks and goblets and gave her their undivided attention.

Pallegina downed the rest of her wine.

—

[lindorthedragonslayer]

Aerith/Cloud’s Resolution Scene ✨

Normally, I like just reading other people’s thoughts on things, but since this scene, and Aerith herself are so tragically underappreciated, I decided to contribute to the conversation myself. :)

Warning: “there will be monsters.” (I.e. there will obviously be spoilers for FFVII Remake, but also the original game - based on my vague childhood memories of it, anyhow - Advent Children, and defs some Clerith bias shining through, so if that ain’t your cup of tea, please scroll away~) 

This scene was one of my absolute FAVOURITES in the remake because - on top of it being both visually, and musically stunning, as well as amazingly well-acted - I felt like it showcased Aerith, and Cloud’s characters, and their dynamic SO incredibly well. 

⁑ On Aerith ⁑

First, there’s Aerith. At the start of the scene, Aerith is her usual spirited self. When Cloud asks if she’s okay, she immediately reassures him, telling him that being back at Shinra was like “going back to [her] childhood home,” that it wasn’t "that bad,” even though that was far from the truth. Similarly when Cloud informs her that her “mom’s really worried, too,” Aerith, true to form, latches onto the chance to further lighten up the mood by teasing him about the unsaid sentiment that he was also worried about her (although this unexpectedly backfires on her).

Time, and again, it is implied that Remake!Aerith knows details that she shouldn’t, and the outcome of events that haven’t transpired yet (maybe the Whispers showed her glimpses of the future like they did with Cloud, and co.?). So, I believe that it is her awareness of her tragic fate paired with her own grief over suddenly losing her mom, Zack - and now Elmyra, and her home, too -  that prompts her to deliver her hauntingly beautiful speech about cherishing the present moment, to express her heartfelt gratitude to Cloud for all the happiness he’d given her, and to say her iconic “you can’t fall in love with me” line. She knows perfectly well how devastating it is to suddenly lose someone precious to you, so she tries to find a way to both prepare Cloud for that seeming inevitability, and also prevent him from getting too attached to her, and experiencing the same profound sense of loss she has because of her. 

I think it’s so sad, yet beautiful how Aerith’s loneliness is at the very heart of so many of her words, and actions. Aerith is so spirited, and lively, so full of life, because, to her, the girl who suffered so many great, and sudden losses, each, and every moment is “so precious, and fleeting.” Because of her early childhood, she learned to find, and appreciate the little joys in life, and the good in the people around her - even, and especially when neither were immediately apparent. This sad, pure girl, who is so touched by people simply seeking her out to be with her, works so hard to ensure, and protect the happiness, and lives of those precious to her, even if it comes at the cost of her own. 

⁑ On Cloud ⁑

Then, there’s Cloud. In this scene, Cloud refuses to go along with Aerith’s charade: he calls her out on her “childhood home” lie; ignoring her teasing tone, he sincerely admits to being worried about her; and, he listens attentively to what she does honestly say, encouraging her to continue speaking, even when she’s uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

For the very first time in the story, the seemingly aloof Cloud actually takes a firm stance on something, and even fights for it. When Aerith tells him “not to fall in love with [her],” that his feelings for her “[aren’t] real,” Cloud responds with,  “Don’t I get a say in all this?” With this curt response, Cloud actually asserts himself for a change. Cloud, the boy who, up until now, never really bothered to correct anyone’s (often misguided) impressions of him, who repeatedly chose to drop matters, and distance himself instead. Who later has an identity crisis, and doubts whether, or not “Cloud Strife,” and all his thoughts, feelings, and memories are truly real, and his, and not something Sephiroth simply created. Right here, and now, for the very first time, Cloud interjects, gets annoyed, and stands up for himself when someone tries to decide how he feels, and keep him away.  

And then, Cloud, the boy who coped with social rejection all this time by setting himself apart, reacts to Aerith’s attempt to push him away by taking a page from Aerith’s own book: he holds his ground, and further inserts himself into her life. “I’m coming for you.” This quiet, but firm resolution of his marks the beginning of Cloud’s journey to becoming the hero, and person he always wanted to be, I think. Previously, Cloud simply, and begrudgingly went with the flow: while he helped Avalanche, Jessie, T*fa, and Aerith (because “he’s a merc,” and, a good guy at heart), he never offered his own input on matters, and always yielded to their decisions, even if he wasn’t too keen on it himself. However, taking Aerith back from Shinra was so immensely important to him; it was a cause he decided to fight for all on his own, regardless, and in spite of everyone’s (Aerith, Elmyra, T*fa, Barret’s) contrary stances on the matter, and a cause that he gradually started calling all of the shots for. By the end of the mission, and game, the others actually look to Cloud for direction on what to do next, cementing his role as the leader of their ragtag group.

⁑ On Cloud & Aerith/Clerith ⁑

Now what I’ve always loved about Aerith, and Cloud’s relationship with each other is that - whether you see it romantically, or platonically - their connection is based on an easy friendship that brought both of them so much happiness, comfort, courage, and strength. Their bond with each other wasn’t built on any epic, world-shattering event that brought them together, but rather on a thousand quiet, little moments that they chose to share together.    

For Aerith, who was weighed down by so much sorrow, and unwanted responsibility, Cloud was someone who gave her so much to smile, and fight for. With Cloud, she was able to just let loose, and really live: being with him allowed her to be her true cheeky, mischievous, and energetic self without any restraints; to adventure in, and be part of the outside world she longed for without fear. At the same time, Cloud inspired her to be a little more open, and vulnerable, as well as to face her Cetra heritage head on in order to save the Planet that he, and all her loved ones live on - two huge shifts for her as someone accustomed to hiding behind a smile, and turning away from trouble. 

Likewise, for Cloud, Aerith was someone who both accepted him for exactly who he was, while also inspiring him to be better. When presented with Cloud’s cold, and distant SOLDIER facade, Aerith wasn’t deterred in the slightest; in fact, she became even more determined to stick by his side, and get him to open up to her. Through her relentless teasing, silly antics, and steadfast friendliness, Aerith quickly broke down many of the walls Cloud built around himself, encouraging him to just be himself without any pretenses. After meeting Aerith, Cloud was inspired to do so many things he previously scoffed at, like taking a break, and being more actively involved with others. In Aerith’s company, Cloud was happy, and showed that he did actually care in his own awkward, clumsy way. However, Aerith didn’t “fix” Cloud with her love, nor did she make herself the centre of his universe: she simply stubbornly stayed by his side, which encouraged him to really appreciate, and rely on the people around him, work through his issues himself, and even save the Planet.   

All in all, I believe that Aerith, and Cloud’s resolution scene perfectly captured every aspect of their relationship together. As usual, they’re initially shown directly across from each other, gazes locked, but choosing to close the distance between them. It’s a quiet moment where nothing particularly major, or dramatic happens - even the music is quiet, and gets quieter still at its climax. Yet, there’s so much love evident in every little moment, and gesture they make: they inspire honesty in each other, give each other the motivation to face another day, and once again make their desire to be together for just a little bit longer so heartbreakingly obvious. Furthermore, Cloud’s later claims about being someone who cherishes everything, and being okay because he isn’t alone anymore are so reminiscent, I think, of Aerith’s monologue here, proving that he really did take her words to heart.  

Despite the game’s purposeful ambiguity in the romance department (lest they make multiple version of the same scene, or have Cloud come off as a player), it is still clear that, as friends, or lovers (this part is up to personal interpretation, and preferences), Cloud, and Aerith’s bond with one another is one that brought them so much happiness, and strength, making it one of the most precious ones they have. In a game that heavily highlights contrasts, Cloud, and Aerith are an example of how opposite personalities can complement each other so well, making it all the more beautiful, and tragic. That’s what I believe, anyway. 

[distapata]

1, 7 for fanfic writer asks

Thank you so much for sending this in !!!! It really means a lot to me whenever I get an ask, so thank you for being a part of this amazing feeling I have and asking me stuff 💙

1. What’s your favorite character(s) to write for?

The answer should be simple, given the amount of fanfiction I have written for a specific fandom ( most of which is unfinished and thus, unpublished ), but it really is not. I love Dhruba and Tara, so, so much, to the point where I use them to play out different scenarios and scenes in my head - they are my sandbox. But !!! Writing wise, character wise, I had so much fun exploring Ashish's character arc, and nothing has been able to top that.

Ashish is a minor ( well, not exactly minor but not exactly major either ) negative character who is selfish with a capital S and cares for two people except himself, and is willing to go to great lengths to succeed in his plans. His lack of a conscious has been one of my favourite things because I could explore that side and make him a flippant observer to tragic events and not care about how that makes him look. And, the balance of his diabolical side and the side that actually cares about his family was very interesting to write about. I would have never thought I would like writing him.

But I do 💙

7. What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of? 

Headcanon-wise, this ranks near the top, although it uses a very loose definition of 'headcanon' and is more of a summary between a Canon character's relationship with my OC.

I am also quite proud of my version of the Deepti-Saikat back story which is angsty enough, but still realistic, and hopefully does not make a joke of things. Currently unpublished because there is a chance it will be included in the actual fanfictions I will eventually write, but if anyone would still like to give it a read, message me here and I'll send it over. Please praise me and my amazing writing skills.

Two minor headcanon things I am proud of, are a) Chandni's character arc, which I had headcanoned very, very early in the show, and it took a long time for them to get there, but they did go there and I felt so proud and happy to have 'predicted' it. b) I came up with an OC named Kush ( short for Kushal ) to pair opposite Mahi ( a minor character but one of my favourites ), and the show did get her a guy named Kush and I got a good kick out of it.

Other headcanons I am proud of include the two in this post, because Priyom comes to me in short spurts so I am happy to have something penned down about him. He is an interesting personality for sure, and he is mine, which automatically enters him in my special circle, but I don't know him that well and this imagery was strong and beautiful and I am proud of my moment of clarity with him. And of course, I am always and forever proud of whatever I do with Meghna, so here is the link to another one because she is my baby and I love her and I am going to put her name everywhere I deem fit, sorry, not sorry.

Writing wise, the diya scene is still at the top because it is very close to my heart. Unfortunately I can't find the link right this moment but it is all there in Google Docs so interested people just poke me here.

Out of the published works, I chose the Dhrubatara ones instead of the original prompts because hey, this is actually about fanfiction even though I have gushed about Meghna, a lot. Moving on - here are the two pieces I am really, REALLY proud of - Deepti's point of view and some insight into my interpretation of the character, and my perception of Anuja, who is just that, a concept, memories and feelings and thoughts, not whole, but an impression of a person.

Sorry this got so long and rambl-y, that's just who I am and at this point I have learnt to embrace it. I do, however, apologise for the lack of a readmore, but if I don't add them, people comment and tell me to add them so I get some extra number of notes and I am greedy.

[otterandterrierwrites]

{Hungry hearts} XI. Chowder and fortune cookies

A/N: Hungry Hearts is back! This is my loose interpretation of the March prompt at @hanleiachallenge​: luck. It’s set during the EU novel Razor's Edge by Martha Wells, one of my favourites. I’ve always wanted to write something set in this little getaway. I'm thinking there might be one more chapter set on Hoth before ESB, then we'd move to the trip to Bespin very briefly and then jump to post RotJ, but I'm open to suggestions!

also on Ao3 // FFN

***

From the main hold, Chewie growled that there was food now but there wouldn't be for much longer so everyone better hurried up. Han rolled his eyes at the threat as he wiped the worst of the grime off his hands and face before taking a quick detour to the 'fresher. Like the big fuzzball would ever let the princess starve.

He ran into Her Worship herself on his way out of the cabin as she waited for her turn to wash her hands, Threepio tottering behind her. Thankfully, the usually oblivious droid marched on.

'Excited to see what he brought this time?' Han asked, dawdling by the open hatch.

'So far, yes,' Leia said from the 'fresher, 'although I'm a bit concerned he might start to push it soon, you know? Raise the stakes?'

'Oh yeah, I hear ya. That's definitely a concern.'

She raised an eyebrow as she joined him back in the corridor. 'Thanks, that makes me feel better.'

'Well, hey, he's never fed me anything I couldn't keep down,' he reassured her.

'Has anyone ever told you you're possibly the worst motivational speaker in the galaxy?'

The smell that greeted them as they gathered around the Dejarik table told them that, once again, Chewie had hit the mark.

They had taken a short time away from the hustle and bustle of the Rebel Alliance's fleet, hoping that the crew of the Aegis —a gunship of surviving Alderaanians who had turned to piracy after the planet's destruction—would rendezvous with them to join the cause. Two days ago, the Millennium Falcon had landed on a small trading port in Wroona, one of the Alliance's message drop points, and waited.

Han was very much okay with that. After the craziness of their last mission—nearly blown to space dust by Imperials, fighting a killer mining droid, being captured by a sadistic Lorddian pirate, nearly blown to space dust by the Imps again , all in the span of a couple days—he thought a vacation was long overdue. They couldn't go out sightseeing, or motosurfing, but he was happy to just spend some time not being shot at. Leia had probably figured that out when she'd asked him and Chewie to come with her. That, and the fact that they didn't have any duties lined up, since they were not part of the Alliance.

Chewie had taken out three round styrofoam containers out of a bag and set them on the small checkered table.

'[I hope you like Wroonian seafood chowder,]' he told them as Han and Leia slid onto the bench. '[You can go get food yourselves next time if you don't.]'

The creamy broth had chunks of frella fish and shucked nyorks with diced vegetables, and it was so delicious that nobody was in any hurry to relieve the Wookiee of his food-picking duties.

'Gotta love sea ports,' Han commented between mouthfuls. 'It could be the poorest, murkiest place, but they'll know their seafood.'

'[Oh yeah? Here I thought you would never forget about Venonduri,]' Chewie said with a titter, making Han moan with chagrin.

'What happened?' Leia asked, looking between the two friends.

'Not a story you wanna hear at lunch, Princess, trust me.'

Leia made a face. 'Oh. Got it.'

'But Princess Leia, perhaps it would be useful to know more about Venonduri!' Threepio chimed in. 'What if we visit it in the future?'

'We'll just refrain from ordering any seafood, Threepio,' Leia told him seriously, making Han and Chewie laugh.

Leia seemed to be in good spirits so far, but Han wondered how much that would last if the Aegis failed to show up today again. He knew she would act like it was no big deal in front of everyone else, but it'd be eating at her inside that she had personally failed to sway them over to her cause. Han was good at being the subject of Leia's disappointment in that department.

At least they had come to an unspoken truce after their trip to Odona, although that was another thing Han didn't know for how long it would hold. That mission, just the two of them scouting the planet's unpredictable polar continent as a potential new base, had also been kind of a mess. Not only had that one featured multi-eyed monsters and old acquaintances with a grudge, but Odona had turned out to be non-viable for the base. Also, he and Leia had snapped at each other most of the time. That wasn't anything new; they had been snapping at each other since the moment they had met—but then, for a while, they hadn't, or not as seriously and constantly, at least, and it had been nice. Then they started doing it again, but things were different from what it had been like in the beginning, and their fights took longer to digest, and while they did, they corroded Han's insides a bit, like acid. It wasn't like he set out to fight with her, either, but that's where they seemed to land anyway.

Han knew where this ended if they chose the alternative to fighting. He'd been there a couple of times, and sworn he never would again.

'We certainly don't get much fresh fish these days,' Leia said with a sigh then, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin.

'We can get some before we go,' Han offered. 'It'll keep for one meal at least, for when we get back.'

'Oh, I could ask but I don't think they will clear an expense like that. Fresh fish for the whole fleet… that's not going to be cheap.'

Han frowned. Who said anything about fish for the fleet?

'Right. I wasn't—never mind. Fish ain't that expensive here, Princess, especially if you buy in bulk. Wouldn't hurt to ask.'

After lunch, Leia went back to her work followed by Threepio, Chewie to his tinkering (he always found something to "improve" on the Falcon ), and Han decided it was a good time to delete outdated and damaged files in the ship's navicomputer, a task he always thought he should do one day but never really wanted to. An hour later, he was bored out of his mind.

Getting up from his chair, he stretched his arms up with a groan. He took the long way back to the main hold, peeking into the crew quarters as he passed by. No sign of Leia there. She was not working in the communal area, either, but he did find C-3PO uttering suggestions nobody had asked for. That was weird: Leia had brought him along to help her with work and kept the droid with her at all times. Even though Han knew she grew tired of his constant chatter sometimes, she had promised him and Chewbacca that Threepio wouldn't get in their way.

As Han walked in, he caught the droid jumping back as Chewie roared in annoyance from inside a maintenance hatch.

'Oh dear, there is no need to get so worked up, Chewbacca,' Threepio said. 'I was merely saying—'

'Goldenrod,' Han interrupted, 'd'you know where's Leia?'

'Why, yes. The Princess said she was going out to get some fresh air.'

Alarms set off in Han's brain. 'Outside?'

'That is correct. She said not to worry, she would stay quite close to the freighter.'

'Yeah, alright. Better go check on her anyway.' Thinking it would be better for all if he kept his friend from tearing off the droid's arms during this trip, Han said, 'Are you any good with computers, Goldenrod?'

He didn't have to worry: Leia was sitting on the dock just outside the Falcon , the pant legs of her jumpsuit rolled up as she dipped her feet in the water. She was leaning back on her elbows, basking in the sun, and when Han walked closer, he realized she had her eyes shut and a peaceful look on her face. Despite himself, his stomach felt as if he'd skipped a step, and for a moment he just stood there, staring at Leia.

She rarely looked that relaxed and content, seemingly free of worries, of pain. Anyone who walked by could have mistaken her for a regular crew member, catching a bit of sunlight before rocketing back to the stars and to the next port. Not a princess. Not a survivor, an enemy of the Empire, a rebel leader. Just a young woman enjoying the sea.

She deserves this , Han thought, even though he generally didn't think much about who deserved what because he knew the galaxy didn't work that way. What he could do was grant her the solitude she had sought out, though, so he stepped back. He didn't think a single board had creaked under his boots, but it wasn't the first time Leia's hearing appeared to be better than most humans. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him.

'Is everything okay?' she asked, sitting up straight. Han knew what she was hoping to hear.

'Yeah. Sorry, didn't mean to get in your way.'

'You're not,' Leia told him. Her shoulders sagged a little before she leaned back and closed her eyes again. 'Come here and take your boots off, the water is so lovely.'

'Uh, if you're sure.'

Boots and socks were ditched, and Han joined Leia on the dock, pulling up his trousers. The coolness of the water felt wonderful on his bare feet; it was no wonder it had been enough to make Leia at ease.

'Oh hey, Chewie got us these,' he said, suddenly remembering. From one of his vest pockets, he took out two crisp-looking cookies and handed one to Leia. She gave the treat a small, delighted smile.

'Fortune cookies. I haven't had one of these in years.' She took the wrapper off the folded wafer and tucked it in her pocket, then looked expectantly at Han. 'Go on, let's crack it together.'

Han held the cookie between his thumb and index fingers and broke it, catching the crumbs in his other hand. He pulled out a thin strip of flimsi from the wreckage. As he cleared his throat, Leia cried, 'Wait, wait!' and covered his fortune with her hand.

'I'll read yours and you read mine,' she said at his confused look. Han had never heard of people doing it that way, but he swapped with her. Leia nodded for him to go on.

'"You will take a pleasant journey to a place far away",' Han read. He looked at the view around them, then raised his eyebrows at Leia. 'I think this prediction came a little late.'

'Maybe it's talking about my upcoming expedition to Hoth.'

'Oh no. Please tell me you're jokin', Princess,' Han begged.

'Better start airing those warm layers, flyboy. Okay, now yours.' Leia cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, looking at him for a few seconds with a pretend air of wisdom. '"You may want to run, but you should stay and fight."'

There was a pause.

'What?' Han watched her face, and caught her tell: a subtle flaring of her nostrils that meant she was bluffing. He narrowed his eyes at her. 'That what it says, huh?'

He dove to wrest the strip of flimsi out of Leia's hand; she shrieked and pushed a hand against his chest, and they struggled for several seconds until Leia gave it up. She laughed, her cheeks red from the effort. The last time she had blushed that badly, they had been crammed in the Aegis ' refresher, the only place that had been private enough for them to discuss sensitive information. He hadn't been very relaxed, either, as the warmth of their bodies had made the tiny hiding place suffocating. In spite of the uncertainty and danger of their situation, it had been near impossible not to follow the trail of a drop of perspiration down her collar, the movement of her lips as she talked, the curve of her falling braid as it fell on her shoulder. He had been nearly jumping out of his skin with the increasing need to kiss her, to touch her.

Realizing he had been staring at her for too long, he looked away as Leia brushed some wisps of hair behind her ear, and read his fortune aloud.

'"Enjoy yourself while you can".' Han frowned and looked at Leia again. 'That sounds like a threat.'

She shrugged, popping a piece of cookie into her mouth.

'Should have stuck with mine.'

'Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't ya?' Han muttered. He picked apart his wafer, the tiny printed messages still clutched in one hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Leia finished the rest of hers, swinging her feet in the clear water.

It had been three years since a farmboy and an old wizard had hired him for discrete passage to Alderaan. Where would he be now if he hadn't taken that gig? Dead, if he hadn't managed to get anything else to pay off his debt. Even if he had, Jabba would have dropped him anyway, as he was not in the way of giving second chances. Then he would have looked for jobs somewhere else, gone back to his old haunts. Made new friends that he wouldn't trust as far as he could throw them. Found someone to warm his bed at night, someone who wouldn't care that he didn't care one way or another to overthrow the Empire. He could have kept doing what he had been doing for the rest of his life.

But he had met Luke, and he had met Leia, and no matter how hard he'd tried—although, if he was honest with himself, which he wasn't, he had not even tried that hard to forget about them and leave them behind. And he didn't exactly hate the Rebellion—the pay was basically nothing, there were people who didn't like him much, and as the latest mission had proved, it wasn't free of backstabbers—but he had to admit it felt good to stick it to the Empire. It gave him a purpose like he hadn't had in a long time.

Mothma had offered him a colonelship some time ago. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to quit the games and take it. He'd have to ask Chewie before he made any decisions, but he knew how that conversation would go.

It would be one hell of a peace treaty, for him and Leia. It would be one more gamble.

For now, Han lay back on the dock and closed his eyes, soaking in the sun's warmth. He would enjoy himself, while he could.

[kosei-on]

(the sb anon again) was hesitant to send another... here's the prompt that i wasn't able to fit in the last msg set in the archieverse shadow always had a secret admiration for blues' wayward attitude but chose to abide to his given orders after blues' betrayal, shadow's longing to be free like him begins to surface ahhh i'm sorry if i went overboard and got into specifics, you could also take your own liberties! have a nice day! ヽ(；▽；)ノ

I had to look up what broodish meant in ur the last message, but I agree with it. I end up writing a lot about what characters are thinking because my mind is always just;;; Running... I’m not a huge ShadowBlues fan (I only really ship TempoBlues and since I ship BassRock- BluesBass has become my enemy)  And I feel super inspired by ur message!!! It isn’t perfect for how you asked, but I hope, that you liked it anon!!!

But y’all, send me all the rare pairs!!! I’m so happy to have enthusiastic peeps here, send me everything that is N O T I N C E S T.

____ Shadow has always thought Breakman, Protoman- whatever stupid identity he obsessed over at the moment was a strange conundrum. His past was ruled by dictatorship and orders. To not abide by Terra’s rules, to not believe in Ra Moon and worship him like the deity he was, the great and malevolent ruler, meant death. If he could be honest to himself, he didn’t miss Ra Moon too much. But why he didn’t he wasn’t sure. He should miss him, the last part of his past, he was supposed to help him rule the earth and yet he failed and while it felt horrible, the pain had faded and he was lost and yet not, he still had orders to follow.  Dr. Wily was almost as strange to him as Breakman. He didn’t have much experience with humans, but he was fascinating in ways different from the creation of Dr. Light. It was hard to put into words, words were so fleeting and temporary. So easy to twist and misconstrue. They are held to loose definitions that are interpreted in different ways. Easy to replace with words that mean practically the same thing- actions are much louder. When someone hands you something without asking if you wanted, it spoke to how they thought of you. 

Protoman understood this. Wily did not. Why use 10 words when a 100 would do? He understood he hated Dr. light by the way he wanted him dead, he didn’t need a lecture.  Protoman, Breakman, he understood this. When he wanted to take him back to Dr. Wily, Shadowman deliberately wanted to provoke him into a fight. Just to feel his strength. He could tell, in a brief battle, the tide was turned to him, however, he wasn’t sure about a longer battle. It worried him. He could feel his faith in Wily waning, and if he were to flip, and he couldn’t manage him... 

Well, that’s what happened. It frightened him almost, the poison in his words as he spat to Wily. Unbeknownst to him though, Wily had made precautions to ensure he didn’t flip. Of course, such methods were against his moral standings, but he already knew Wily was not a fair or honest man. So he tried to not let it bother him. In the days leading up to the incident, Dr. Wily was flipping through a dictionary, angrily muttering to himself as he paged through the bounded pages.  “I suppose you wouldn’t know the definition of ‘Susurrus’ would you?” Shadowman stared.  “Chrissake, I can’t use the internet in case someone cracks my identity- God- how did anyone live without the internet?! Oh, finally, here we go, ‘whispering, murmuring, or rustling.’ Why wouldn’t you just say murmuring?!” he threw the science journal against the wall, Shadow didn’t flinch as it banged against his head and fell with a thump.  “These fancy types always use the long and complicated word when the lamens term would work better. It’s monotonous.” Shadow didn’t listen to the rest of his rant. The dictionary had opened to a word, and one stuck out to him.  wan·der·lust/ˈwändərˌləst/ noun: a strong desire to travel. "a man consumed by wanderlust"

He thought of Protoman. He was gone and hadn’t come back. But Wily was so sure of himself he didn’t ask him to leave. Well, that was fine. He had a perfectly fine time entertaining himself. But the word, “Wan-der-lust. Wanderlust. Wanderlust.” toiled around his head. Had he ever had a strong desire to travel? 

That was months ago. Megaman defeated Cossack's robots, and while he knew Wily was alive he had only heard rumors, like whispers of the wind. When he found him, gave him sort of a signal he would return, but for now he was a: vag·a·bond/ˈvaɡəˌbänd/ noun: a person who wanders from place to place without a home or job.

Living the life of wandering mindlessly. Sometimes he stayed in one place for several days, tucked for several days in a tree. Survival wasn’t much of a problem, he didn’t run on the energy canisters the robots of this miserable planet did. He was fine running the way he was, or so he told himself. But his enemy was boredom, and he fought it in an intense struggle. So much so he was most entertained having dreams. He once dreamt he had won a race, and spent the money on buying a ninja house and a red scarf.  The red scarf stuck to him. His silhouette was dark in the full moon as he stood over the house... It was a scene more suited to Protoman... He did betray Wily after all. He was angry at first, mostly at Wily for being so insistent and sure of himself, unable to accept he could have been wrong. But he supposed that it wouldn't matter, and he should be over it now. He had nothing to do now that he was alone. Without his master's orders, until there was a signal, there was a sign, he had to wait. He was growing tired of it.  

Protoman’s words echoed through his head, the last time he saw him. “I might be a coward, I might have betrayed Wily but at least I am beginning to understand who I am! Who are you? Who is Shadowman? All you do is follow orders! if you were without them what would you do?” Oh, he HATED him. Loathed him, of course, he wouldn’t understand.  Actions spoke louder than words, but those words cut deep. He couldn’t begin to understand his line of reasoning. The one who changed names and identities like the phases of the moon- which, tonight was a lovely crescent- understood himself better than someone who was told who he was from the very day he was made. it was ridiculous. 

...Although... He had time to think. He asked himself, when had he ever felt wanderlust. It was that longing in his chest when he stared at the stars, the miles sprawling in front of him. He had seen himself had bright they shined, and how endless space was. Insignificant, but together in an army, he was part of something bigger. That claimed planets and conquered galaxies. 

But he was just a speck. All this time, he wanted to be more than a speck. He tried to hard, but, he was a- “Goddamn fool!” Or was he? The thoughts contradicted and ran away in his head. he did not miss Wily. Not in the slightest.  But he did miss Ra Moon. As much as he said he didn’t miss him as much as he should, Ra Moon was a scary but dominating presence. You could feel how insignificant you were to him, and that was beautiful because when you were beside him, you were part of a being that was just so much more. 

“I want to be free,” he said in a susurrus. 

It felt right. For once words spoke louder than actions. And he would have sat there in the grass surrounded by a limited amount of trees if his instincts had not overridden that. He stood on his feet, shuriken glinting in the moonlight and he stared where the leaves of the tree rustled. 

Protoman stood there, and the silhouette was not perfected, but his visor shined, and scarf rustled perfectly with the wind.  “...Shadowman, put that way, it’s too nice of a night to fight,” he scoffed like he had offended him. Shadowman was so shocked by this he let out a slight “huh” sound. Begrudgingly, he did put it away and crossed his arms. 

“...It was a nice night.” 

“Right. So... Shouldn’t you be with Wily?” “A nice night like this would be better spent without company.” “Yeah? Well... I’m going to assume that means you don’t know where he is.”

“Do you have any idea?” Protoman shook his head and dropped down from the trees. “No. I want to though, so I can kill him,” he added “That’s impossible.” “Hmmm... Maybe.” What does that mean?  “Well, I took your advice. It’s wonderful, being bored all day with nothing to do.”

“You didn’t take my advice then. Who is Shadowman?” “...” the fact that Shadowman didn’t have anything that wasn’t abstract after 30 seconds spoke a lot. Protoman crossed his arms, giving off a smug aura.  “Well. Fine, who is this ‘Protoman?’“ “...Someone who wants to go home but can’t.”  Shadowman stared at the stars for another moment. “...If that is how you define yourself, I suppose we have that in common.” “Really... Huh.” they both gazed at the stars for a long while.  “...If you’re bored, you could come with me.” Shadowman's eyes shifted to him, and then shifted back forward.  Another moment, where words spoke louder than actions. A vagabond to offer company on their wanderlust was not something he expected. He nodded.

[chibistarlyte]

these hands could hold the world

tododeku week day 2--intimate

a very loose interpretation of the prompt, involving izuku constantly reaching out for things

also here on ao3

.

Izuku always felt like he was reaching for something unattainable.

His tiny four-year-old heart was shattered when he found out he was Quirkless. All his dreams and aspirations had been ripped away from him, far out of the reach of his small hands.

But he kept reaching. Kept stretching his arm out, extending his fingers as far as they could go in the infinitesimal hope that he could touch it, even with just his fingertips…

.

“Can someone like me become a hero?”

.

Izuku had a long way to go.

For whatever reasons were unclear to him, All Might, the Number One Hero and the person he looked up to the most in the entire world, chose Izuku as his successor.

Him. Little, useless Izuku.

But the enormous power of One for All couldn’t just be handed to him. No, he had to continue reaching until he was strong enough to take it firmly in his own hands.

And even when he was able to hold on to this power, he couldn’t control it. Couldn’t contain it.

It broke his bones, but it didn’t break his spirit. 

He just kept pushing, just kept reaching.

.

Being a hero meant sticking your nose into things that you shouldn’t. It meant trying your best to help people, no matter what.

Izuku felt the compulsion when he dashed in thoughtlessly to rescue Kacchan from the sludge villain. And now, he was feeling it again. That need to help someone.

Todoroki.

Izuku stretched out his shattered fingers, trying to reach his troubled classmate–no, friend–to take his hand and pull him out of whatever darkness he was stuck in.

And when flames burst from Todoroki’s body, Izuku felt his fingertips just barely grazing a frozen heart.

.

Izuku was so used to reaching out for everything, he wasn’t used to someone else reaching out for him.

He laid sleeplessly on his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling as his mind replayed over and over again the encounter with Stain. Things could have gone so much worse. He, Todoroki, and Iida were all injured in some way during the fight. And it was a tough fight. The most difficult Izuku had faced thus far in his hero training. All things considered, though…

Izuku might not be able to walk, but at least no one had died.

He flexed the fingers of his right hand, balling them into a fist before relaxing them again. Over and over, the simple action relieved a bit of the tension still quivering in his aching muscles. Then, something warm covered his hand and he froze.

“Midoriya?”

Tearing his gaze from the ceiling, Izuku tilted his head to see Todoroki standing next to his bed, left hand holding onto Izuku’s right. He blinked owlishly up at his friend, his cheeks growing warm. “Todoroki-kun? Is everything alright?”

Todoroki didn’t respond at first, just stood there watching Izuku with mismatched eyes. Those eyes then fell to their hands on top of the sheet and he said, “Does your hand hurt?”

Izuku’s eyes followed Todoroki’s, and he wondered why his hand felt so warm in Todoroki’s before belatedly realizing, oh, this was Todoroki’s fiery side, of course it would feel warm.

“N-no,” he answered, shaking his head, his curls bouncing with the movement. “I just...feel restless, I guess.”

A hum was all he received in response as Todoroki knelt down next to Izuku’s bed, gingerly folding himself to a sit on the floor. He still held onto Izuku’s hand, almost like a lifeline.

Izuku looked between their joined hands and Todoroki, and even though Izuku was on the bed and Todoroki was on the floor, neither of them speaking, with only their hands touching, this singular moment felt so...intimate that Izuku couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He slowly turned his hand so that their palms were touching, and slowly slotted their fingers together. His green eyes cautiously watched Todoroki for any sign that the other boy was uncomfortable with Izuku’s brazenness. None such expression came. Todoroki only furthered the action and folded his fingers around Izuku’s scarred hand and gave a gentle squeeze.

.

When Izuku woke the next morning, his arm was dangling off the bed with a ghost of warmth still on his skin.

[ghosthunthq]

Are We Breaking Up, or Is It Just the Heat?

She served him unfiltered Earl Grey tea. Post-canon.

For: @sprghosthunter

By: @dreams-of-kalopsia

Prompt: Noll having his tea leaves read (before or after the series)

Hi, sprghosthunter! Here’s your fic~ :3 Thank you for your prompt; I didn’t know anything about tasseography before, so writing this was an educational experience for me. The title is still subject to change since I just wrote the first one that came to mind. Suggestions are very welcome. XD Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story! ^u^ 

____

The past three weeks had been rather… trying.

June had quickly switched to July, like a spark that set Japan on fire. To Noll, whose body could not ventilate itself as efficiently as an average human’s could, any venture outside his apartment or the office was hell. On particularly hot days he would hole himself up in his apartment and leave the office to Lin, who never failed to set out in time to open SPR at 10 AM. On cooler days, or when he needed to consult a reference book in the office library, as was often the case, Noll would begrudgingly take the cab to Shibuya early in the morning, his mood spoiled for the rest of the day.

It did not help that whenever he mustered the effort to go to the office, he was forced to put up with the usual bothersome rabble. Yasuhara had recently started part-timing again despite being well into law school, saying that he needed the money to get his air conditioner repaired, but Noll could tell that it was just an excuse to stay somewhere closer to his school. The others had been shamelessly and unapologetically forthright with their intentions, much to his annoyance. It also did not help that Mai was on leave until she finishes gathering data for her thesis, which meant there was no one to remind those noisy people to keep their daily contributions to the world’s noise pollution to a minimum.

Thinking of Mai only turned his spoiled mood absolutely rotten.

Despite being gone from work for three weeks, she never thought to phone and check up on her workplace. He understood that data gathering was a time-consuming, important step in writing an excellent thesis, and he would have overlooked her radio silence had the others been treated the same way. But according to what he would overhear from the chatter outside his office (and, given the noisiness, he heard a lot), Mai had been in contact with everyone else but him. That presented the possibility that she had developed some sort of aversion to him. Perhaps all the months they had spent together finally convinced her that his bad personality would never change, and she grew tired of it.

Noll knew what was happening. He had heard about this situation from Madoka before, witnessed Gene use it as an excuse to almost every girlfriend he had lost interest in. The time of onset at eight months into the relationship seemed to fit, too.

‘End of her honeymoon phase?’ Gene laughingly said through their mental link the last time he had woken up, completely unaffected by Noll’s death glare. ‘I can assure you, Noll, the real thing’s so much messier and more troublesome.’

Coming from someone who had the attention span of a goldfish when it came to relationships, Noll did not feel the least bit assured.

The hot summer days dragged on without any reprieve from his rotten mood. He soon started wondering if he could blast the whole world away.

His suspicion came to a head the day Mai returned from her leave. She acted so normal, so happy to be back.

And then she served him unfiltered Earl Grey tea.

Noll stared blankly at the cup, watching the floating tea leaves sink to the bottom. “Do you expect me to drink this, Mai?” he asked just as blankly.

“Yup,” Mai answered with an eager nod. “But before you start drinking, you have to think about what could happen in your immediate future, and keep thinking about it while you drink.”

He narrowed his eyes in distrust, but her eagerness did not waver even under his scrutiny. “What are you planning?”

“To read your tea.”

Tasseography?

“Why?”

“Because I learned it recently and wanted to try it.” She checked the cup’s temperature with the back of her hand before gently pushing it towards him. “Drink it while the temp is right. Leave a tablespoon’s worth, though.”

Noll considered glaring and shooting down her request, but he knew that that would not work on her. It never did. Nevertheless, he glared at her as he sipped the tea to express his displeasure, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of loose leaves brushing against his lips.

While he knew enough about tasseography to disqualify it as an authentic demonstration of ESP, he decided to momentarily suspend his disbelief in favor of Mai. He reflected on the question she wanted him to ask.

His immediate future… Why would it interest her? Was there some event in his future that she wanted him to be aware of?

A breakup, for example?

If this was how she had planned to break up with him, she sure was putting too much effort into it. Noll would have to appreciate the painstaking way she chose to end things. He should make it easier for her, then, as courtesy.

He swallowed against the sudden bitterness of the Earl Grey.

In a few minutes, the cup of tea dwindled into a tablespoon of tea. Using his left hand, he swirled the teacup three times counter-clockwise before inverting it on the saucer. Then he rotated the cup three times again at Mai’s signal. As he turned it upright with the handle facing south, he surreptitiously rearranged some leaves into certain shapes.

Twisted figures, to denote disturbances. A deer, denoting quarrels or disputes. A raven, disappointment in love. Scissors, separation of lovers.

Four ominous symbols. Those should help her open the topic so they could get this over with quickly.

“Let’s see…” Mai said, pulling up a chair to sit across from him. She peered into the cup and concentrated on the figures formed by the leaves.

He unconsciously held his breath.

“I see an… uh… umbrella on the rim?” She pointed at one of the figures he had distorted with his PK. “You must be experiencing difficulty and annoyance recently.”

It appeared to him more like a mushroom than an umbrella, but he held his tongue. It was not like she was wrong with her interpretation.

“I also see… a ladder. And a line going west. There’s a ship, too, and… a bird?” She squinted. “A swallow. So I guess you’ll have a successful journey westward, and it’ll have a pleasant ending.”

Noll studied the scattered tea leaves in the cup. Aside from the symbols he had formed, he could barely see anything else. His brows furrowed. Was Mai looking at the same things as him?

“At the bottom… there’s an abbey, surrounded by squares. You’ll eventually be free from worry and find comfort and peace.”

None of the symbols she just mentioned were in his teacup. Now that he thought about it, she could not have possibly found time to memorize tasseography symbols and their meanings while preparing to write her thesis, much less learn to read tea leaves. Her swift, confident reading and interpretation could only mean that she had memorized this particular set of symbols beforehand, and that she had been merely pretending this whole time.

He regarded her with a cold glare. “Mai. Stop wasting my time and get straight to your point.”

Mai had the nerve to look sheepish. “Ehehe~ You got me,” she easily surrendered as she produced a white letter envelope from her jacket. She handed it to him.

It contained a flight ticket to London via Heathrow. His flight ticket. He met her gaze with wide-eyed confusion.

“I thought you needed a vacation,” she answered his unsaid question with a smile and explained further, “So I talked to your parents, Madoka-san, and Lin-san as soon as I was free. They were happy to arrange things. I also cleared up our schedules for that time period; I’ll take care of the office while you’re away.”

“What makes you think I needed it?” he finally managed to ask.

“Well…” Mai propped an elbow on the table, resting her chin on one hand. Her other hand held up a finger for each of her reasons: “I heard from Ayako and Masako that you’ve been unbearably grumpy for weeks now. Bou-san complained that you rejected seven promising cases consecutively. John told me he’s worried about your health because you barely step out of your office. Even Yasu volunteered to take care of you in my stead, though honestly he just wanted to stay in the office because your ‘colder treatment than usual added to the air-conditioning’.” She chuckled. “I figured the heat was getting to you.”

“You sure have a lot of free time, chatting with the others in the middle of data gathering,” he commented, his tone disapproving and acerbic.

“Of course not! But they kept calling even if I don’t answer. It was really bothersome!” She crinkled her nose, then smiled again. “But at least I got updates on you and the office.”

With this piece of information, Noll’s earlier suspicion was dispelled, and for once he willingly acknowledged that his brother had been right all along.

He released a long sigh, weary but relieved. If he had gone so low as to jump to an irrational conclusion, then the heat must really be affecting his mental processes. Maybe he did need to go home for a while, at least until it cooled down in Japan.

For him to accept the time off, though, he required one condition met.

He slid the envelope back to Mai to start bargaining for it. “I don’t need it.”

Her smile fell. “What do you mean you don’t? Haven’t you been in a constant bad mood lately?”

He shrugged. “I feel fine.”

“Just take a few weeks off, Naru,” she said as she slammed her hands on the table, her frustration visibly mounting.

He raised a brow. “And leave the office to you?”

“Yes! It’s not like you haven’t done it before!”

She was right, so he disregarded her reply.

“I’d rather keep working.”

“I won’t let you work yourself to exhaustion!”

He crossed his arms and scoffed at her words. “Well, what will you do, come with me to Cambridge just to make sure I’m taking a break?”

“If I have to!”

There it is.

Noll took the envelope. “It’s settled, then.”

“Wh-What?” Mai spluttered, thrown off by his abrupt turnaround.

“You said you’ll come with me to Cambridge.”

“Eh—You were serious?! I thought you were mocking me!”

He gave her a dull look. “Am I the type of person who took vacations?”

“N-No.”

“So do you think I’ll stop working just because someone told me to?”

“I guess not…” she agreed but still looked unsure.

“You look like you need the break more than I do, anyway.”

She scowled at him. “Hey, what do you mean by that?!”

“It means I want you to come with me.”

Noll watched, amused and secretly in awe, as Mai’s angry expression froze, morphed into open-mouthed surprise, and became flushed with a radiant smile.

“Okay,” she finally said.

He couldn’t help smiling back.

For the first and last time in his life, he believed what was foretold in his tea. Mai had read him well.

____

References:

- “Tea-Cup Reading, and the Art of Fortune-Telling by Tea Leaves” (2006) by A Highland Seer, found in the Project Gutenberg website.

- “Your Essential Guide to Tasseography, the Practice of Reading Tea Leaves” (2018), an article by Aliza Kelly Faragher, found in Allure’s website.

- “Tasseography Symbols for Reading Coffee or Tea Leaves: What Do the Forms in Your Coffee or Tea Cup Mean?” (2019) by Lindsey Goodwin, found in The Spruce Eats website.

[artycreaty]

Emogust 2019 - 13.08 Misunderstanding

[ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz]

All the Way Home I'll Be Warm

by GottaGoBuyCheese

A collection of usually unrelated ficlets based on the prompt lists for 2019. The table of contents will include a brief description of each chapter, so check inside to see if there's something specific you want to read, since I don't want to clog the main tags with highly specific stuff that only applies to one chapter. The TOC will be updated as we go along, and relevant warnings/tags will be included at the start of each chapter. Posting will be irregularly irregular, chapters will most likely go up well after their prompt day is over, and there's a decent chance I'll skip some prompts to get to the fun ones, since I'm only going to fall further behind.

    DAY 1: Shaky hands/"It will be fun, trust me."

  His hands tremble where they clutch the metal railing, and he wishes he remembered how to blink, because the vast sea of altocumulus crawling toward him is distracting him from the much nicer sensation of two warm hands enveloping his.

“My dear,” says a soft voice in his ear, “I won’t let you fall.”

  (In other words, Aziraphale takes Crowley skydiving.)

Words: 992, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen, M/M, Other

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: tagging both relationships because most chapters can be interpreted either way, (more overtly romantic chapters will be noted at the start of the chapter), (more overtly i.e. more than an outsider referring to them as partners or husbands or something), whumptober 2019, Fictober 2019, though honestly the chapters will probably be only loosely based on the prompts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, (at the start of each chapter...if I get around to writing more than one chapter lol), (this semester is trying to kill me but bY SOMEONE I WILL MAKE IT TO DECEMBER IF I HAVE TO CRAWL), Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Crowley Has Acrophobia, (very mildly in this fic), did I really delete and retype all these tags to fix a typo? yes., will these tags FINALLY post in order after the 6th try? HOPEFULLY!, EDIT: fine AO3. don't let me fix that typo. see if I care

source http://archiveofourown.org/works/20882249

[ao3feed-goodomens]

All the Way Home I'll Be Warm

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/31LJqse

by GottaGoBuyCheese

A collection of usually unrelated ficlets based on the prompt lists for 2019. The table of contents will include a brief description of each chapter, so check inside to see if there's something specific you want to read, since I don't want to clog the main tags with highly specific stuff that only applies to one chapter. The TOC will be updated as we go along, and relevant warnings/tags will be included at the start of each chapter. Posting will be irregularly irregular, chapters will most likely go up well after their prompt day is over, and there's a decent chance I'll skip some prompts to get to the fun ones, since I'm only going to fall further behind.

    DAY 1: Shaky hands/"It will be fun, trust me."

  His hands tremble where they clutch the metal railing, and he wishes he remembered how to blink, because the vast sea of altocumulus crawling toward him is distracting him from the much nicer sensation of two warm hands enveloping his.

“My dear,” says a soft voice in his ear, “I won’t let you fall.”

  (In other words, Aziraphale takes Crowley skydiving.)

Words: 992, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen, M/M, Other

Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: tagging both relationships because most chapters can be interpreted either way, (more overtly romantic chapters will be noted at the start of the chapter), (more overtly i.e. more than an outsider referring to them as partners or husbands or something), whumptober 2019, Fictober 2019, though honestly the chapters will probably be only loosely based on the prompts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, (at the start of each chapter...if I get around to writing more than one chapter lol), (this semester is trying to kill me but bY SOMEONE I WILL MAKE IT TO DECEMBER IF I HAVE TO CRAWL), Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Crowley Has Acrophobia, (very mildly in this fic), did I really delete and retype all these tags to fix a typo? yes., will these tags FINALLY post in order after the 6th try? HOPEFULLY!, EDIT: fine AO3. don't let me fix that typo. see if I care

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/31LJqse