#I should make art for them but it’s been so long

[goodlucktai]

raised on little light (1/3)

rise of the tmnt word count: 2k pairing: leo & oc i've had this idea rattling around since the rise farewell comic earlier this year made it canon that the turtles had another brother and a sister floating around somewhere. we know who their sister is, so this is my take on that 5th brother. i hope you enjoy meeting him <3 big thank you to @soldrawss and @mykimouser for enabling my insane behavior (and thank you again to sol for drawing the art i included in this chapter!!!) title borrowed from northern attitude by noah kahan read on ao3

x

2020

Leo regretted his last words as soon as they left his mouth.

“Hero moves are totally your style”? As if Raph doesn’t have enough issues already.

But what he meant—what he would have tried to explain if there was time—was that Raph is his hero. He’s always been Leo’s hero. And if Leo could be anything like him, even for a second, even if it was the last thing he ever did, then he could be satisfied with that. 

It’s a silly thing to be stuck thinking about, laying on a torn up chunk of earth with a monster ominously lumbering somewhere below, looking for where it threw its toy. Laying there, feeling every bruise and broken bone, and hoping that he didn’t hurt his big brother’s feelings.

They’ll be okay, Leo thinks, trying to make it be the thing that gives him courage instead of just more homesickness. They’ll miss me, maybe for a long time, but they’ll be okay.

Leo’s supposed to be fighting for his life, but it’s all he can do to keep a grip on the photo in his hand, the only thing in this entire dimension worth holding onto. It’s all he can do to keep his eyes open when every blink is longer than the last. 

It feels like enough of a rebellion. The Krang looked annoyed that he was still breathing the last time it batted him through the void like a fly, which gives Leo the idea that he should probably be dead by now. He feels a detached sort of pride at how grown-up he’s being about all this. Better late than never

Leo waits for the Krang to come for him, dripping his blood and sneering his daddy’s nickname for him hatefully as it does, and hopes he made his family proud. 

Leo hopes he’ll go wherever Gram-gram is. It would be nice to know someone when he gets there. 

Movement in his periphery snags Leo’s attention. His brain starts throwing up warning flags, signaling danger—anything moving around in here is another parasite, or a Krang hound, nothing he’ll want to be sprawled out on a silver platter for—but he can’t summon any urgency. 

He turns his head and finds himself looking up at another turtle. 

It’s the very last thing he expected to see. They both just stare at each other for a moment. 

The newcomer appears to be a few years older than Leo, based on the broadness of their shoulders, and half a head taller. Their skin is more gray than green and their plastron is so pale it’s closer to white than yellow. Their carapace, what Leo can see of it, is a deep blue-black and they’re covered, skin and shell both, in white spots. Two of the spots on their face give the impression of eyebrows lowered in a glare, but they don’t seem angry at him.

The turtle is completely unfamiliar to Leo, which is saying something. He thought he and his family had the monopoly on… this whole situation. 

Disquieted, Leo remembers that he’s supposed to be the only turtle here. That was a very significant part of the decision he’d made. 

It must be a hallucination, he decides, instantly comforted by his own reasoning. That makes sense. He just wished that if his mind was going to conjure him some dying company it could at least be someone he knows. An imaginary Mikey or Donnie or Raphie for one last hug. One last affectionate forehead bonk. An “I still love you,” if that wasn’t asking too much. 

Don’t you cry now, he scolds himself sternly when his eyes start to blur and burn. It’s not about you. 

With a resounding crash of metal against stone, the Krang finds them at last. He’s snarling something that Leo is too slow to piece together before he cuts himself off—surprising the hell out of Leonardo by acknowledging the hallucination. That’s not how that works. 

“Another pest ,” the Krang hisses. His serrated teeth glint when he draws his gummy lips back in an ugly smile. His tone is oily and unpleasant when he adds, “You’re less colorful than those other ones. I would have remembered seeing you. Where were you when your accomplices were fumbling about in my Technodrome like the stupid creatures they are?”

“We won,” Leo reminds the alien, even though it makes him cough. His lips are warm and wet now but he won’t think about why. “Blew up your ugly ship. Who looks stupid now?” 

“Shut your mouth!” the Krang roars, going from slimy to homicidal in about three seconds. Leo cringes, every ounce of animal instinct in his body urging him to hide in his shell and ride the rest of this nightmare out. 

The spotted turtle snaps, “Don’t talk to him.” 

It would have made sense if he was looking at Leo when he said it. Don’t engage, don’t bait the big monster that could kill you with as much effort as it takes you to blink, et cetera ad nauseum. If only he’d had a nickel for every time he heard that. 

But instead the turtle is looking at the Krang, and he’s radiating the kind of cold-blooded murder that you mostly only see in movies. He has one arm flung out in front of Leo like he actually means to use it to stop the Krang from getting any closer. 

“Don’t even look at him,” he goes on, sounding seconds away from baring his teeth. 

This guy is significantly unaware of the danger he’s facing, and Leo ought to warn him about what enormous clusterfuck he’d just wandered into. Leo ought to say he appreciates the reptile solidarity, but you should definitely run, new guy. 

But this probably isn’t actually happening outside of his own head. And besides, Leo has to focus really hard on his numb fingers so he doesn’t drop his photo. 

“I’ll look where I please,” the Krang says, as unbothered by the hallucination as he was by Leo’s entire family. “Starting with that fool head of yours. I’m interested in whatever backdoor led you here. If it’s my way out, well —”

Adrenaline surges through Leo, and he’s hardly aware of moving before he’s lurching up and shouting out, “No!” 

He can’t get out, he can’t. Leonardo won’t be able to trick him again. He won’t be there to help this time. 

“I do have one thing for you,” the spotted turtle interrupts to say, reaching over his shoulder for what turns out to be a compound crossbow strapped to his back. 

Leo doesn’t know a lot about archery so it’s weird his fictional turtle does, crank-cocking the weapon like it’s an extension of his arm. He watches cluelessly as the turtle slides something very purple out of his jacket pocket and notches it into the groove where the bolts are supposed to go. It’s definitely not a bolt, but it’s a piercing-type projectile of some kind, and it fits in the crossbow like it was designed with crossbows in mind. 

The turtle aims the bow at the Krang, who clicks the claws of his metal suit on the ground the way Splinter would drum his fingers on the kitchen counter when he was waiting on the microwave. The Krang looks condescending and mildly curious, like he’s watching dumb little animals do something they’re not trained to do. 

“He told me to tell you he’s sorry he couldn’t be here to see this part,” the spotted turtle says, and then shoots without a second of hesitation or unnecessary dramatics. 

The Krang bats the projectile away, or tries to, but it explodes on contact with his armor, and suddenly all Leo can smell is burning metal. Then burning meat. 

The Krang begins to scream, clawing at something defiantly purple with a mind of its own that eats straight through him the effortless, immediate way corrosive acid chews through soft tissue. It moves like nanotech, covering as much of the Krang as possible in a manner of seconds and clearly designed to consume whatever it touches like a school of cartoon piranhas. 

Donnie would love it, color scheme and all. 

The Krang stumbles drunkenly, howling like a creature possessed, and Leo and his turtle companion both watch silently until he tips over the edge of the hunk of torn earth they’re on. Gravity is nonexistent in this dimension, so he doesn’t so much fall as sort of drift in another direction while he’s distracted with the purple stuff that’s doing its best to eat him alive. 

The last handful of minutes have been so bizarre that it’s actually going pretty far in convincing Leo that none of it happened for real. The Krang hasn’t actually found him yet. This is clearly a dream. Or a pre-death electrical storm as the neurons in his brain fire up to fizzle out.  

He tips his head to the side again to stare up at the archer, who is putting his bow away with perfect confidence that whatever that purple thing was, it will do the job. 

“Who are you?” Leo asks stupidly. 

“Gio,” the probably imaginary turtle replies.

Leo’s mouth runs off before he can stop it. “Just Gio? Like Cher?”

God, he thinks. That was stupid, Leo. Not the time or place, Leo. You’re in the prison dimension. You’re dying here and you can’t even cut the jokes now? Raph was so right about you.

But the imaginary turtle surprises him by smiling slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling just barely upwards in a way that somehow completely transforms him. Not the time or place for jokes or smiling at them but here they are. Like company.

“Giorgio Hamato,” ‘Gio’ says. That lands in Leo’s ears as something remarkably worth making a lot of noise over, but he can’t begin to unpack it. And after a second, he forgets what the remarkable part was. His mind is a deck of cards that got shuffled too enthusiastically and ended up scattered all over the floor. Gio doesn’t seem to mind when Leo just blinks at him, adding, “I’m here to take you home.”  

“Pretty sure Uber doesn’t come out this far,” Leo mumbles, the words a paint smear, all thick and wet and muddy. One of his teeth feels broken and it’s keeping him awake, a blistering ache that cracks through the back of his mouth like lightning. “And I’ve got, like, zero bars.”

This is how I cope, he thinks, watching the bigger turtle absorb the second bad joke in as many minutes. Leo’s blinking fast so he doesn’t cry. He’s trying to focus on anything but the pain radiating through his whole body, and the swallowing darkness all around him, and the ruins of ancient metal ships looming where they float unrestricted by gravity, and the ballistic howls of a pissed-off pink alien still dealing with whatever the heck this Gio guy did to him.

He can’t focus on any of that because all of that is scary and he’s already terrified. He needs to not be terrified because he doesn’t want to be that kind of ghost when he haunts his family. He wants to be the friendly, funny kind, the kind that gets to stay at the end of the movie, the kind that will make silly faces at Mikey so he doesn’t get scared, and leave sticky notes for Donnie to remember to charge his phone and drink enough water, and cover Raphie with an extra blanket while he’s asleep because it gets cold at night but he always leaves his bedroom door open for them.

If Leo’s friendly and funny, if he helps, he’ll get to stay. He didn’t get to stay the first time, so this time he has to make it stick.

Larger hands wrap around his. It doesn’t register for a second, and then it does in a big way.

Leo jerks his head up. Moving just that much hurts like his ribs are broken all the way down and the bones in his leg have all melted into liquid agony, but it clears some of the fog away.

Someone is holding his hands in the prison dimension.

An alien like the Krang wouldn’t know the first thing about the human gesture, the togetherness of it, so it’s not some mean trick that’s being played. And it can’t be an imaginary turtle that Leo dreamed up, after all, because kindness would be the last thing he’d give himself.

Possibly very real Gio says, “Fuck Uber. Whatever that is. And don’t repeat that word.”

The punchy breath Leo chokes in is going to punch out again as a laugh or a sob. Leo squeezes the bigger turtle’s hands, photo crinkling between them, suddenly tethered to something in this void and hysterically certain that he’ll die for real if Gio lets go.

“I’m sixteen.” Leo’s voice wobbles. He doesn’t know what to react to first. He doesn’t understand how this is happening. He holds on. “I can say the fuck word if I want to, I’m practically an adult.”

Gio’s face does something it hurts to look at. His eyes are dark and sincere, the shape of them entirely familiar. There’s a warmth inside him that permeates the gloom. A star belonging to a much larger galaxy, but more significantly, belonging to the same crooked constellation Leo belongs to.

I know you, he thinks, surprised by the truth of it. I do. Where have you been?

“We’re going home,” Gio says, the certainty in his voice like one of those huge stones a river parts around, unmoved by the currents and crashing water. “I know the way out. Don’t worry about it. Close your eyes.”   

The worst thing that could happen has already happened, Leo thinks. There’s no reason not to trust him. There’s nothing left to lose. He closes his eyes.

He feels himself drawn in, tucked against the built-in armor of a turtle chest, head resting on a broad shoulder. He’s been carried like this a million times before. He didn’t think it would happen again. Somewhere along the line, he’d been picked up for the last time and put down for the last time, and now he’s here, where no one who loves him can reach him, to scoop him up when he falls asleep on the sofa and take him to bed.

But Gio lifts him up like he’s still a kid. The Krang is bellowing hateful promises in between the grating shrieks of pain, promises of what he’ll do when he gets his hands on Leo, but all of that is far away. 

Leo isn’t afraid anymore. He isn’t going to be a ghost.

He’s pretty sure he’s going home.   

[ghostgirl-22]

Do you think patrick ever put on a queer/gay movie as a subtle way to get art out of his shell, like "yeah dude ive wanted to watch this movie for ages" and its okay its chill, look how hot they are, look how happy they are

"Is kissing boys different to kissing girls?"

Oh he definitely did… I’m sorry this is so long nonnie!!!

CW: 18+ NSFW | period typical internalized homophobia

—-

Patrick’s lying in Arts bed with his headphones on going through his catalogue of dvds trying to figure out what B movie they can watch and make fun of while they get high. The whole time Art is using his back as a writing surface to finish his math homework.

Patrick pulls his headphones off and drops them on the ground. “It’s Friday. Do you have to do that now?”

“It’s Friday night, we have the tournament Saturday and Sunday so when exactly?” Art says distractedly, erasing.

“On the bus like I do.” Patrick smiles and turns to look at him. Art pushes his shoulder back down. Patrick shrugs and focuses back on his dvds.

“Stay still.” Art demands.

“Forgive me if I’m just trying to get you to have a little fun in our last few months at Mark Reballato Tennis Academy.”

“You know I do actually plan to graduate, right?” Art says dryly.

“So you can go to Stanford?” Patrick says wrinkling his nose in irritation.

Art puts his notebook down on Patrick’s back. “You know Tashi’s gonna be there right?”

Patrick shrugs. “So, just two overtalented people wasting time…”

“Aww so you’re calling me talented?” Art teases.

“You are,” Patrick says. “When you don’t think too much, which Stanford should help you with. I’m sure they don’t over think anything there.”

“Whatever man,” Art sighs. If anything it’ll help my tennis. I think you’re just scared I might steal her away.”

“Not even a little bit, but speaking of her… do you remember how you let me put my tongue in your mouth?” Patrick smirks.

Art goes all quiet like he’s doing homework again but Patrick doesn’t hear the pencil scratching paper.

“You always bring it up like you think I want you or something.”

“You wanted something, I felt it,” Patrick says pushing himself up as Art grabs the notebook off him before it falls.

“Come on man, don’t be gross, that was for her.”

“How is that gross?” Patrick asks, mildly amused, mildly irritated.

“You know what I mean,” Art says. “‘m not gay.”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with it right? Not to mention I’ve seen you before…touched you before… and…I mean remember what we did after she left? Didn’t I make you feel better?”

“We don’t always have to talk about it.”

“We don’t never have to talk about it either.” Patrick counters.

Art takes a deep breath and rests his head against the wall trying to find a way to change the subject. “Dude, if you’re gay just let me have another shot with her.” Is what he comes up with, dumb pretty smirk on his lips.

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Yeah whatever, fine I’m gay…actually that reminds me of this movie you can gayly watch with your gay best friend.”

“I’m just joking. You don’t have to—“

“Well I’m not joking, come on, put this away, loser,” Patrick grabs his notebook and stuffs the papers inside.

“Okay Jesus, Patrick don’t wrinkle it all up.”

“I’m not, chill out. Get the smoke detector.”

Art sighs and climbs off the bed. He steps on Patrick’s bed and reaches up to disconnect the detector from its place on the ceiling. He puts it in the bathroom. Then he shoves a towel beneath the crack in the door.

All the while Patrick’s combing through his dvd case for one random movie he borrowed from Netflix at the start of the year and he’d forgotten to mail it back so they charged him. (That’s sadly how he ended up with a lot of his dvd collection.) He’d watched it once by himself because he thought the main guys were hot and he wanted to jerk off in peace without Art voicing confusion at the idea of him jerking it for a man.

But it had been surprisingly deep for one of those campy queer movies. And of course it was about a guy in love with his roommate which… even for Art’s ability to delude himself wouldn’t be subtle at all.

“What’s this?” Art asks.

“The movie we���re gonna watch. This guy is a male hooker but he ends up getting hired by this old guy who mostly just wants his company.”

Art frowns.

“Come on, relax. You can be straight and watch it. Movies don’t turn people gay and you’re not gay…so what’s the big deal?”

Art looks like he wants to argue but decides it’ll just be easier to surrender. Patrick rolls the joint while Art puts it in the dvd player.

It’s not all his fault. Art was raised with apple pie and Americana. He’s a J Crew catalogue wearing, red blooded New England boy. His family is pretty liberal but in the way that they support all of it as long as it remains out there faceless and unknown… far away from their life and their home. Art’s expected to play a sport, go to an ivy, marry a beautiful girl and likely start a career in politics if tennis doesnt pay off. So this idea that life could ever deviate from that makes him glitch out.

All the tension they have between them is so much easier to just bury. Like none of it matters. It’s not supposed to change the trajectory of his cookie cutter life anyway.

Art sits on his bed next to Patrick they’re both leaning against the wall Patricks feet dangling over the mattress, Art with his legs crossed. Patrick lights up the joint and hands it to him.

—-

They’re pretty baked halfway through and Arts fidgety. It’s at a scene where the main character is touching himself watching his roommate in the shower. “He’s hot right?” Patrick asks.

Art takes a breath. “Dude.”

“Yeah I know…you’re not gay.” Patrick smirks, but even in the dim glow of the tv he can see the way Art’s already starting to show in his boxers.

The third roommate catches the main character watching and wants to suck him off. Then while third roommate is sucking him he starts fantasizing about all three of them hooking up, kissing sloppy on the bed.

“Is this porn?” Art whispers. “Are we really watching gay porn?”

“No I wish… unfortunately they don’t show you that much but imagine if me and you and Tashi were roommates.You watching her shower… while I…”

Art makes a strangled noise and Patrick rubs his own cock, smiling to himself. Art’s just getting there but Patrick’s been hard for the last 30 minutes.

“Patrick,” Art whispers. He’s starting to touch himself over his boxers.

“Give me the joint,” Patrick says, softly. It’s their third one. “If you drop it on the bed again we’ll both be in trouble.”

Art hands it over and Patrick puts it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. He moves closer to Art reaching over to help him. Art leans back, letting Patrick take over. Patrick reaches into his boxers. “Mm Patrick… have you seen her naked?” Art asks.

“No,” Patrick whispers. “Just her underwear. But…I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“I feel like I can still taste her lips.” He moans while Patrick plays with him. Patrick can’t help but ease his other hand into his own pants. “I wanna…ah… I wanna… see her all soaped up wet and…” Art continues.

“And…?” Patrick breathes.

“Fuck… can you… can we…do what we did after…”

Patrick smiles and nods even though Art likely can’t see him. He gets on his knees and Art scoots towards the edge of the bed. Patrick takes Art’s boxers down and starts sucking him off. touching himself the whole time.

“Mm fuck,” Art breathes.

He barely lasts 2 minutes before he’s filling Patrick’s mouth with so much jizz. Patrick swallows it down, while listening to Art moaning for him. All the hair on his arms standing up. He rests his head against Art’s thigh making quick work of himself, using part of the sheet to keep it from getting all over the floor.

Patrick settles where he is on the floor, breathless when he’s done. Looking up at the television like it was fucking nothing even though his heart is still racing.

Main character has moved so far away from the threesome fantasy. He’s now angsty and worried about his best friend who’s apparently being pursued by someone else. Some other more wholesome gay man. Patrick ponders rewinding but when he looks up at Art, he’s lying back on the bed, hand casually on the waistband of his boxers, tapping his bare feet on the floor just watching.

Patrick rubs Arts leg idly.

“Who’s this loser?” Art asks of the more wholesome gay man.

Patrick laughs. It’s exactly what he thought on his first watch through.

They end up watching the rest of the film. Again, it’s surprisingly more emotional than the premise (male hooker wants to fuck his roommates). Main character ends up learning to be more open about his feelings in his time chatting with the elder gay client. And the emotional part is hearing the elder gay man talk about what he went through to fall in love with his partner when it was much more taboo and unacceptable. And how even though they meet late in life they still lived such a full and happy life (if too short) before his partner passed. And main character’s roommate even gives him a chance and they go out on a date.

Art’s rubbing his eyes when it’s over.

Patrick gets back on the bed next to him. “That was nice right?”

Art’s clearly trying to hide his feelings so he just nods and when he feels okay to use his voice he says. “Seems kinda deep for you.”

“Well I can be deep,” Patrick smirks. He curls his fingers into Art’s hair. “I mean it’s cool right? They were happy.”

”I always wonder where they imagine movies like this to happen? San Francisco probably.” Art laughs, lightly. He looks away from Patrick and Patrick puts his hand back by his side.

“Well I think it could happen anywhere but good thing you're going to California soon.” Patrick says, just as light.

Art looks at him again and then looks at his lap. “I mean it wasn’t just her that made me feel…” he murmurs.

“Me too,” Patrick says.

“So I don’t know…I mean I’m not gay but…but maybe I’m something else…”

“I definitely am.”

Art sighs. “You make me something else.”

“Is that so bad?” Patrick asks.

Art rubs his hands on his thighs and then leans in and gives Patrick a kiss.

(Had to google if Netflix existed in 2006 😭😭 it did but they mailed dvds. Also I made Patrick lie. Movies definitely make you gay. Look what Challengers has done to me!!)

[frozen-snowflakesandsunflowers]

Jared Bush says Frozen 3 will surprise people | Latest Updates

In an interview during D23, last weekend in Brazil, Jared Bush, the recently appointed CCO, gave away some teases about Moana 2, Zootopia 2 and the future of Encanto, but he also mentions a bit about Frozen 3.

He says:

“Yeah, yeah, Frozen 3 is coming. And from what I've seen so far [of the film] I think people are going to be surprised. I can’t give away too many spoilers, other than to say that Jennifer Lee is leading the charge and that the story and the direction that she’s taking these characters, what they’re facing, what they’re going to go through, I think is going to surprise a lot of people but it's also going to deliver on everything that people love about Frozen.”

So surprised is the word he uses to describe how we'll react to Frozen 3. That's given because as Jen has said recently that the concept art that was shown during this year's first D23 is just a glimpse of what we could see in the movie. Apart from what we make from that concept we have no clue what Frozen 3 is about and tbh I have to give it to the team for not spilling a single detail about the movie. I know we want to know more but imo I think they're saving all that content for the end of 2026 and into 2027. Maybe a few teases or better insight of the story by the end of 2025, but who knows. Probably also because they're still working on it so whatever they would have told us about the film so far, could have changed and form opinions in our heads about it which they really don't need at this current stage of production. I don't think the cast have even got the script yet as the story is still developing!

Bush also mentions that Frozen 3 is going to deliver on everything that people love about Frozen. Now that's the only real piece of information given - the focal point being on what we want to see. That's what the questions on the first D23 event were about - what we would like to see, what we feel is left to tell. We love the characters, the story, the individual arcs of those characters, the dynamics, the settings, the potential, the mystery, and so much more and so I'll take this a positive sign. That's all of what I make of it.

I know nothing major was revealed in this interview, but I still thought I'd share for those who do take into consideration these little hints and teases. Since Frozen 3's date has been pushed back from 2026 to 2027, most of the content will be given the year of the release and some the year before base done the previous two films promotion (it could be different as this movie is a two parter). I know that's quite long to think about (😭) especially with the honest disappointment that Frozen Winter Festival was not a short film or an official short series but rather just a YouTube series (which is cute nonetheless and good to see they're feeding the younger fans of the franchise), but now moving into 2025 we have 2 and bit years left so we should get more teases in interviews and events here and there.

But regarding FWF, I don't blame them too much because all their focus is on the Frozen 3 and 4 as it is being made back to back, then I'm certain it'll be worth the wait. We can still hope for some kind of Frozen content soon as we do have a couple more years to go so let's see. 🤷🏽‍♀️

P.s I have some Frozen edits I'd love to share so I'll post those if you need something new regarding Frozen. ❄️

[lulublack90]

Prompt 13 - Snow Cone

@jegulus-microfic November 13, Word count 762

Previous part First part

Regulus was stunned that he’d even been able to say Barty’s name. He felt numb and cold, but mostly, he felt as if he were frozen in place. James’s protective arm moved from his waist and he would have protested if he could make his brain work, but all he could do was stare at Barty. And then he was being moved. It took him a second to realise that James had pushed him behind him and blocked him from Barty’s view. 

“I suggest you leave as quickly as you appeared,” James growled. The words took a long time to penetrate the thick fog engulfing Regulus’s brain, but they did seep in, and he felt an overwhelming rush of affection for James. James had remembered Barty from that one story he’d told him when they were first getting to know each other before he’d even moved in with James. The man who’d stolen his first kiss right before Walburga appeared and then been too ashamed of him to help him after his parents had thrown him out. His first and only friend. 

Something came over him then. Why should James have to defend him? He was more than capable of defending himself. He took a deep, shaky breath and came out from behind James, moving to his front. He glared up at Barty, all his pain, anger, and hurt bubbling over at the sight of him. 

“Get away from me,” He snarled. “Get away from my art and get away from my boyfriend.” 

“Come on, Regulus, don’t be like that,” Barty huffed a small laugh. “No need to be so sensitive,” 

“SENSITIVE?! You absolute arsehole! You literally stole my first kiss, and then when my mother came and caught us, you disappeared, leaving me alone to deal with her, and then after she’d hit me and thrown me out, you refused to help me. I had no one and nothing, and you left me on the street like some mangy dog. I never asked you to tell your dad that you kissed me. I came to you as a friend needing help, and you turned me away. I slept in the park that night. I was terrified that someone would find me and hurt me.” He was shaking, unable to go on. James’s warm arms wrapped around him and turned him into his chest, cradling his head against his warmth. Regulus nestled into it, comforted, all his pain washing away just by touching James. 

“Reg, I had no idea you had nowhere to go…” Barty started, but Regulus spun his head, fixing his icy glare on Barty. 

“Yes, you did. I told you that I had nowhere else to go. No one else would take me in…”

“Prongs, Reggie! I found the refreshments. There's a guy with this big machine, and he scoops these balls of— they call it snow, but I’m pretty sure it's just ice—and then adds syrup to it. They are delicious. Snow cones the chap told us… what’s wrong?” Sirius and Remus had finally caught up and Sirius stared at Regulus’s distraught face. 

“Fucking hell. Sirius? Really, Reg, Sirius?” Barty scoffed at him. 

“You!” Sirius spat as he realised who was standing in front of him. Before anyone could say any more, Sirius had tipped his snow cone upside down on Barty’s head and shoved him backwards. “Get away from my brother, you useless waste of finite resources. You waste of space. Get fucking lost!”

“Come on Barty,” Evan stepped in as Barty bared his teeth and stepped up to Sirius. Regulus was terrified that Sirius was going to start a fight. “It was lovely seeing you Reg, sorry,” Evan said sadly and dragged Barty away. 

“Reggie, are you alright?” Sirius said through gritted teeth, not looking at him. 

“Yeah,” He said timidly, sinking back into James’s embrace. 

“Shhh, sweetheart, shhh,” He heard Remus’s soothing tones as he tried to calm Sirius. James swayed them to and fro gently, giving Regulus all the time he needed to collect himself. 

“Do you want to stay or do you want to go home?” James asked gently, his words vibrating in his chest under Regulus’s ear. 

“I want to stay. I won’t let him ruin this for me.” He said, determined. He took one last inhale of James’s calming smell and moved out of James’s arms but took his hand in his. “Sirius, you said something about a ghastly treat. Where are they?” And together, they walked around the rest of the exhibits, not seeing either Evan or Barty again. 

Next part

[aeleif]

A whimsical poll for the people of tumblr

Hope people enjoy this. I spent a long time making it and I'm really proud of it :D

You are walking through the woods and suddenly you come across 7 tree stumps laid out in a perfect circle.

As you move into the circle, an unknown voice starts speaking, "I've been waiting for you."

Searching for the owner of the voice you look around, but find no one. You decide to look at the tree stumps instead. On each of them lay an item.

"You may choose only one, each come with great power. Choose carefully as you cannot change your mind after," the faceless voice stated.

Only look below the cut once you've chosen.

Once you pick up your item, a scroll appears right in front of you. The ivory paper wrapped in a crimson ribbon floats before you, waiting for its contents to be read.

Once opened it reads,

(Go to the item you chose)

The Golden Potion - This grants you immortality immediately once drank. You will not age past your current age and not die from anything that would kill you otherwise. The immortality can be broken at any time you choose, but you won't continue aging, you will instantly die.

The Silver Pocket Watch - You can use this to manipulate time. You can do this by moving the hands of the watch in the direction you want time to go. The time that shows on the watch will be the time in reality. You can also stop time by stopping the watch from moving.

The Black Notebook - Ah, the elusive death note. With this notebook any person in the world can be sentenced to death, all you need to do is write their true name in it along with how they die. No one will find out you did it. This version also comes with no consequences and no shinigamis.

The Rainbow Jellybean - The jellybean before you can turn you into any creature of your desires. Whether that be a vampire or a werewolf. A fairy or a mermaid. Or a mysterious monster made out of pure darkness. You can be whatever you wish to become. This lasts for the rest of your life, so choose wisely.

The Pink Sketchbook - With this sketchbook you can bring anything you draw inside of it into reality. Want a nice cake to eat? Just draw it in the sketchbook! Have an OC that you desperately want to be real? All you have to do is draw. The sketchbook works perfectly no matter the skill of your art. If you draw a really bad looking cake it will come out looking like the cake that you desire.

The Purple Book - This book is actually a spellbook! It contains all the spells you need in order to become a powerful mage. Want to become an evil wizard and destroy the world? This book can help with that! With spells ranging from destruction to conjuration, all you need to do is work hard to perfect the spells inside and you'll be the world's most powerful being in no time!

The Red Shoes - When you wear these shoes you gain the ability to be transported into any world of your choice. Whether that be from your favourite film or one you made up. But do not let that fool you, you can still get harmed and die in these worlds, choose carefully! You may take off these shoes once in the world, but you will need them to get back to this world, so don't lose them.

-

I made this more writing heavy that I should have as an excuse to practice writing. I'm not a writer but I want to try writing at some point and have no idea where to start.

I hope people like this and aren't put off by all the words. Thank you to anyone who takes part <3

[waterfire1848]

What kind of videos the gaang would make, if they were youtubers?

Hello, anon!!!

Ngl I don’t know much about YouTube videos that aren’t movie/tv reviews😂 but I will try!

Aang & Zuko - Stunts. They have a whole channel dedicated to them doing stuff that should probably get them killed but never has. It’s not uncommon for them to go to an empty playground or abandoned area with a lot of structures so that they can climb up and jump off of stuff.

Katara - She has two types of videos. The first are meditation/self help where she teaches people how to mediate and answers questions that they may have about their situations in life. Her other types of videos are fighting videos where she shows off her skills in martial arts. She did a collab with Suki once where they did five key lessons on self defense for girls.

Sokka - Food videos. I don’t even think this one needs explaining he just goes to different restaurants and tries as much food as possible. Once his channel gets popular, he starts getting compensation for all the meals. His fans have requested that he make a playlist of him just going to 1 star rated restaurants but Sokka has always refused, saying he can’t do that to himself.

Toph - Prank videos. Since Katara informed her that she would probably receive a call from police if she did scamming videos she had to stick to prank videos. She does ones out in public like “disappearing through a door” or “walking on water” or “uber driver change” (all real prank videos by the way). She does wish she could do scamming videos but pranking people is just as fun.

Suki - Like I said before, she also does a lot of fighting videos but unlike Katara she also specializes in tutorials. She’ll have videos dedicated to showing every step of a specific fighting move or she’s just doing exercise and slowing it down so people can follow along. She never does a video without other members of her gym (the Kyoshi Warriors).

Mai - Knife videos. Firstly, she reviews the knives she has because she collects them. She’ll show off how they look and what they could potential do. Then she shows herself hitting impossible targets. One time she had someone who refused to say anything but that she was making it all up and it was wires. Mai invited him on, placed an apple on his head and perfectly cut it in half. The guy left after he peed his pants thanks to the knife that was sent flying at his head.

Ty Lee - Makeup videos. She has had all the girls—and Aang—on her channel at some point. Sokka and Zuko have been dragged over once or twice. But she basically shows people how to use different products, has story time while she puts on her makeup and shows people how she manages her long hair.

Azula - Fashion and luxury life videos. You know those people who make videos just to show you how awesome their life is? Yeah, Azula’s one of them. Her fashion videos are a bit more….informational though because she takes the time to show what’s practical/what’s best for different occasions. (She also has a secret history channel that no one knows about where she just spouts history facts about any major or event in history. She distorts her voice so no one knows it’s her.)

[silverskye13]

Nex you can't do these things to me. I'm feeling so many emotions ahhhhh. I have been sitting on a snip inspired by this for a little while. I hope you don't mind me tacking it onto your post. I want people to see the art.

Uhhh. Tw wounds, wound description, character death, strangling

There were many times in his life when Helsknight's world moved in slow motion. It was a side-effect of adrenaline. The world slowed down and turned into quick, stuttering movements that were all instinct and spine. In that strange world of timeless reaction, there was no true emotion or memory. Sometimes he had no recollection of things he did or said, only the smeared impressions of breath and sensation and color. A half-life of movement.

Welsknight was coming for him, and his sword was a living thing in his hand, lightning and sinew. Helsknight was moving to meet it, cold prowess and surety. He could feel where their blades would meet like he could feel his own heartbeat, and his mind was charting his next sword strike after. A one-handed swing, and if the angle was right, he would snake his blade into the crook of Welsknight's arm where it would cripple his movements, and then--

And then Tanguish was there. His knife parried Helsknight's sword long before its fated arc. Tanguish was right there and he was commanding in a voice more loud and sure than Helsknight had ever heard him.

“I said stop!”

Helsknight felt it in his bones like thunder, a command that came from the soul. There was a brief, weightless, eternal moment; the space between heartbeats. Helsknight glared down at Tanguish incredulously, caught between surprise and rage. His coherent mind, the part in charge of speech and thought that faded out when he focused so hard on fighting, scrambled to attention and tried to find its reason. To make sense of what had just happened and respond to it. His instincts, the one that screamed he should keep fighting, and the one that screamed he needed to protect Tanguish, tripped over each other and tumbled into a witless heap at his feet. 

Then he realized Welsknight hadn't stopped moving. He was still an impression of breath, and sensation and color; a half-life of movement.

Tanguish made a noise, the odd stuttered gasp Helsknight had heard a thousand times in the Colosseum when someone took a wound they weren't expecting. His back arched, his eyes widened with shock and blooming pain. His dagger slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

Helsknight only knew he dropped his sword because when Tanguish fell into him limply, his arms wrapped around him. There was blood on his hands. The warm slick wept across his fingers and set them trembling. They sank slowly to the ground and Helsknight cradled Tanguish as best he could, trying to spare him the pain of jostling his wound. It didn’t work. Tanguish choked and gasped when Helsknight's knees hit the ground, his hands tangling so tightly in Helsknight's shirt, the fabric threatened to tear. 

Helsknight's mind had gone still and placid as a frozen lake, all coherent thought melting down into the pit of his stomach where something dark was slowly stirring. Some deep, indescribable emotion, kin to defeat and rage, that boiled and sickened him at once. The hand that held Tanguish’s back searched gingerly, found the clean edge where Welsknight's sword point had entered skin, somewhere near Tanguish’s spine. There was a lot of blood, so dark it was nearly black as it spilled to the floor. 

[This is a mortal wound] 

The thought broke through Helsknight's frozen-over mind, rising fully formed and sure. It did something funny to his chest, like there was no space left in his ribs. It ached like a bruise in his breastbone. Helsknight was not a doctor. What he knew of wounding could be summed up by his experiences in the Colosseum; what won him a match, and what lost it. Something instinctual inside him, something that had memorized the color of blood, and the placement of blades, knew with bone-deep certainty that there was nothing he could do about this. So Helsknight started talking. Whispering. His forehead bowed close to Tanguish’s face, listening to the fear and pain in his breathing, and willing calm into his voice.

“It's alright. I've got you,” Helsknight told him, in his voice of tarnished brass. The Knight's voice. The one that couldn't lie; that comforted and reassured. The one that Welsknight abused so egregiously when he tried to compel Helsknight to kneel. “I've got you.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Tanguish gasped, his eyes a little too wide with panic and pain, the pupils thin, cat-like slots. His voice was thick, and his breaths came in shallow hiccups that weren't right. “Th-that was stupid. That was so stupid--”

“It wasn't stupid,” Helsknight reassured him, brushing a gentle hand along Tanguish’s cheek, wiping away a tracing tear, and caging a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “You were trying to help.”

Helsknight's voice still sounded distant to him, like he wasn't truly speaking. His world had narrowed to Tanguish’s eyes, and his hand braced behind his back, hot and slick with blood, and the feeling of Tanguish’s fingernails digging into his forearm and shoulder. It felt as if Tanguish were convinced, if he clung with all that was left of his flagging strength, he would not die. 

That was not how wounds like this worked.

“You weren't-- you weren't listening.” Tanguish informed him miserably. “I had to-- I had t-to stop you.”

“You stopped me,” Helsknight told him, pressing his forehead to Tanguish’s. “You were so brave.”

“I'm scared--”

“Don't be. You will be back in a moment.” 

Helsknight realized the grip on his shoulder and arm was relaxing, Tanguish's hands sinking away from him as they lost strength. Tanguish muttered something, half-slurred syllables. Something about dying. That he hated it, or that it scared him, or simply that he was.

“You will be back in a moment,” Helsknight told him, still in that calm, knight's voice. “Don't be scared. I'm right here. I'm right here.”

Tanguish whispered one more thing, weak and fervent. And then he was gone. Helsknight was abruptly kneeling on the ground, his arms empty and cold. There weren't even bloodstains to mark Tanguish's passing. Only a cold stone in Helsknight's chest, freezing his blood with the certainty that he had… failed. Tanguish had called him here to protect him. Protect him from Welsknight of all people. And he didn't. There was a crazed, distant part of himself still clawing itself from the ice in his head that wanted to dive onto his own sword, screaming. That perfect knight inside of him that desperately wanted to punish so great a failure. And then that perfect knight in his soul wanted to drag himself on his hands and knees to Tanguish, and beg for forgiveness.

But that perfect little knight was still trapped under the ice with his rational thought, and his ability to plan more than a few seconds ahead. It all clawed for escape, screamed for his attention under muffling cold, and dark.

“That wasn't supposed to happen,” Welsknight said, his voice muffled under three layers of Helsknight's grief. “He shouldn't have-- I wasn't aiming for-- that wasn't what I was trying to--"

Welsknight didn't get to finish his sentence. Helsknight was moving, his mind a cold dark, still frozen, but his chest boiled. He couldn't name the emotion that wrapped his hands around his other half's throat, only that it was a living thing, and it was twisting its claws in his ribs. And it kept twisting and twisting when he pinned Welsknight to the ground, a knee on his chest, his hands wicked vices. A sense of despair and failure and shame so intense, it could only turn into rage.

It would be a terrible, bloodless death, silent as a grave, and cruelly slow. It was not something a knight would do. Welsknight's pulse was a trapped bird fluttering beneath his fingers, and his fear prickled the edges of Helsknight's consciousness like the crawling of insects. Welsknight's own hands groped and searched, desperate for escape. His eyes pleaded.

Tanguish's small, fading voice, weak and fervent, whispered at him from beneath the cold dark of his thoughtless anger.

"Don't kill him -- please."

The perfect knight in him was screaming.

Welsknight's digging fingers were trying to slip beneath his, pry them away.

"Don't kill him -- please."

Helsknight leaned harder against the knee on Welsknight's chest, just in case his grip loosened enough to allow breath.

[Will you fail twice? The perfect knight screamed at him. Will you fail again? Better to fall on your own sword. Better to fall on your own--]

Helsknight screwed his eyes shut. Beneath his fingers, Welsknight's pulse was fading. The hands scrabbling at his weakened to half-conscious reflex. The fear crawling at the corners of his senses was melting into a heady sensation of nothing. Quiet. Helsknight wanted that terrible quiet more than he wanted the sun, or cold water.

"Don't kill him -- please."

Helsknight released his other half, and his knee slipped free of his chest. Welsknight came back to consciousness like a drowned man surfacing from a great depth, all choking coughs and whooping gasps. Helsknight didn't wait for him to recover. He searched for his sword and sheathed it. He grabbed up Tanguish's knife then and, resisting the half-mad urge to stab himself with it, vanished into hels.

trick-or-treat! >:D

Sorry King but you’ve been tricked!! And as a fellow RnS enjoyer you get the quick doodle of if Helsknight wasn’t fast enough to block Wels’ stab! A little brainworm I couldn’t get out of my head

[mourningmaybells]

really painful when most of the posts in a podcast’s tag are venn diagrams with other podcasts and blanket statement posts… is anyone drawing podcast lesbians here?

[tahopo]

we truly regressed when people started buying into the genderbending is inherently transphobic thing. yeah that twelve year old being inquisitive and having fun on deviantart was your enemy all along.

[zodiac-monkey]

[solaestial]

I'm glad you're evil too - Pinocchio-P

[sluckythewizard]

'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'

[luck-of-the-drawings]

FOR A BEAT OF HEART, THE BREATH IS SHOT. AND WITHIN A BREATH, THE HEART IS CAUGHT. THE PIPES ARE BURSTING, UNDER GREAT STRESS, BOLTS TORN ASUNDER, MAKING A MESS. A FINAL COUGH, A FINAL RETCH, A GOREY SLOUGH, CLAIMED BY WRETCH.

[hulloitsdani]

i want to know your anna thoughts so bad hi.

Hullo! Sure I can provide some Anna thoughts! I have so god damn many. Some other characters are also going to work their way in here too, if you don’t mind. And buckle up, this is gonna be a long one. I got a whole short story for y’all here.

Without further ado, I present to you: The Commander Anna Post

Let’s have some fun, shall we?

So in the age discussion of the feh main cast from a while back, I mentioned how I accounted for Anna’s bizarre position in Askr’s military by making her a child soldier. She has been fighting since she was a young teenager and has logged a decade of combat experience at this point.

I want there to be some fun consequences for this. For example, Anna is rocking some very serious injuries that will likely be with her for the rest of her life. Most notable being her left shoulder. Just by looking at her in full commander regalia, it’s not obvious that there’s any kind of issue. But Anna can’t lift her left arm all the way anymore. Her armor does an excellent job covering up the inconsistency, as it doesn’t allow for that level of mobility anyway. But take the armor off and you can see her shoulder is an absolute mess. It is, and I quote, “the worst healing job I’ve ever seen” according to Veronica.

It’s a bizarre sight for the kid. It’s not the type of thing she expected to learn about an enemy commander. Perhaps THE enemy commander. But in this situation that hardly matters, as she is the group healer as they all trek deeper into the realm of the dead. And Veronica is tending to her wounds only to find the pitiful scarred skin, warped and uneven from a hastily rushed healing process. It’s from a long time ago, she explains. From when she was still just a foot solider. But that… doesn’t make sense does it? Was Bruno not her ally? He has the capacity to heal— he was the one who taught Veronica the little she knows. Even his worst attempts were leagues better than the work done here.

Anna can only shrug, a motion made mostly with her right shoulder. He didn’t reveal that he was a mage of any kind while he was with them. So, even if he wanted to, there’s a chance he could not afford to. Veronica doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s this… uncomfortable knowing between the two of them. They know now, in retrospect, that swallowing down the truth like that must have ate Bruno alive. Just another reason for his sorry state that they didn’t catch until it was nearly too late. Add that to the pile of tiny behaviors that now make sense, right? The intensity of his expression as he insisted Veronica learn how to heal despite her protests and the daggers he’d stare into the intricate scaring on Anna’s shoulder. Throw them all in. Every last piece.

Commander Anna looks at the princess and unexpectedly breaks the tension with a laugh. You see, it’s funny, because this is exactly how she started to figure out Zacharias was Bruno. Very few know about her shoulder. She’s not exactly brazen about it, nor do the people she interacts with have the medical knowledge to glean how serious it is. She doubts even Kiran knows, to be honest. The only person who knows without a shadow of a doubt is Zacharias, because he was there when it happened. He’s probably the reason why she survived that day at all. So, you must imagine her surprise, when a masked stranger targeted this weakness and forced her to fight left handed. It was the most bizarre fight of her life! Fighting someone who clearly knew her, but she herself could not place!

Veronica was not there, but she can picture the lunacy of it. Bruno fighting his comrade as the commander attempted to fight a stranger. She hasn’t really seen Anna entirely thrown off before, but knowing that her brother managed it brings her satisfaction. She deserves it after all the times her and the rest of these fools have done it to Veronica. Feels like comeuppance. She chuckles. They both do. Gods she’s having a moment with the enemy commander. What has the world come to?

Fjorm has a far less positive reaction to piecing it together. After the events of book 2, she knows her time is short. She… cannot face the remains of her family in this state. It would be a slow painful death to rot away behind castle walls and wheeze into soft silks. No, she would much rather die on her feet. Put her body to good use while it’s still able.

So she trains. She trains until she feels her bones threaten to snap. She must have been at it for hours before the commander offers to spar her. With how busy Anna normally is, it’s a rather rare opportunity to spar one on one. Fjorm instantly leaps for the chance.

So they fight, and Fjorm can see it. The way her left arm lags and the scarring that curls out from beneath her sleeve. Burns maybe? Possible electricity? Clearly an old injury from a mage. A weakness in her defenses that she can exploit, surely.

Anna makes no such thing possible. Maybe she learned since her fight with Bruno or maybe Fjorm isn’t fast enough to take advantage of it, but Anna easily evades any attempt to use this against her. Focusing her left just seems to earn Fjorm a swift jab in return. From there, the fight might already be over. Anna’s left arm might be lacking but her legs and mobility sure aren’t. She takes the opportunity to effortlessly bully her way into Fjorm’s space and renders her lance useless. It’s infuriating, but Fjorm is learning. She can do this— she has to. Ten losses deep is when Anna calls it. They put good work in and it’s time for lunch!

Fjorm is ready to throw her lance into the sun.

She insists she can keep going, but the commander is not budging. Still, she tries to push her luck. But once a look of annoyance makes a home on her features, Fjorm knows that’s it. Another disappointing loss. Damnit. She turns to find someone else to spar, but is very surprised to find Anna will not allow such a thing. They are both going to take a break, or Fjorm might find herself barred from the training grounds. She states that if Fjorm cannot be trusted to keep her own wellbeing in mind, then she cannot be trusted out here at all.

However, Anna provides her with a singular counter offer. This can all be avoided if Fjorm tells her what’s wrong. Because she isn’t stupid, something is clearly amiss. And Fjorm— at wits end and most definitely exhausted, dehydrated, and starving—flips her lid a bit. Begins to go off. She’s angry at Anna, and her stupid backswing with her axe, and her own inability to deal with it despite her inherent disadvantage with a lance, and how she keeps failing in front of the people here, and how weak she must appear, and how even the commander of an army in Askr is outclassing her as a warrior and leader, and how she can’t even hate her for it because Anna is just doing her job, and how that all means that the problem must lie within herself!!!

That’s, uh, wow. That’s more than Anna bargained for. She briefly internally wishes that Kiran or Sharena was here right now, as they’re far better at this type of thing. Maybe… she should just go for the most obvious one, yeah? Yeah! Anna isn’t a leader. Commanding people and leading them are vastly different skills. Complimentary! But different.

Look, on ledger, the order entirely under her name, but in practice it is run by four people. Alfonse, Sharena, Kiran, and herself. And it very much HAS to be. The order operates at such a large scale now that the division of labor was necessary. Anna is not so egotistical to think she could run this whole operation by herself, either.

This includes the actual leadership position of the order. Anna is very good at telling people what to do and when to do it, but actually rallying people to a cause? That’s wayyy above her pay grade. Hardly has the force of personality to pull that off. But the others do, and so does Fjorm. Hell, Fjorm has that is SPADES. Despite having lost just about everything, she managed to rally her broken beaten homeland against Surtr and Muspel through sheer force of will. That’s kind of insane, and it’s a little bizarre to the commander that the savior of Nifil can’t see that.

Besides, she’s not a better fighter than Fjorm either. She quite physically can’t be! Fjorm is angry that she couldn’t defeat her in less than ideal circumstances, but let’s be real, all she needs is a little practice. And maybe a full eight hours of sleep. And some food. And water. Can you see what she’s putting down here? The only real leg up Anna has on Fjorm is that she’s going to ask for help, despite the heavy hit to her ego. It’s why the order exists as it does, after all.

That conversation leaves Fjorm with a lot to think about. Both as a person and of her view of Anna. She apologizes for behavior and swears to do better. As proof of her determination, she takes her up on the offer of lunch, much to Anna’s amusement.

Much later down the line, Sharena learns— PROPERLY learns, within the realm of dreams. She’s not blind though. Over the years she has noticed the scaring and the favoring of her right hand. Soooo, Sharena makes an effort to cover her! Stick by her left! Her massive shield is more than capable of protecting her too! And that’s the routine they fall seamlessly into as they follow Peony through Freyr’s dream land and Freya’s nightmare.

Anna generally deals with the challenges of that place better than the rest, for the aforementioned reasons. She knows her limits, she asks for help, and she talks her problems through. The vulnerability may be uncomfortable for her at times, but it is not enough to prevent her from doing so in order to progress smoothly. It might hurt her pride a little as commander, but Sharena and Alfonse are her friends, no? She can say that now, after walking through literal hell and back with them. So she doesn’t mind if they are the ones to see the child she grew around to protect.

Rather angry kid, if you can believe it! Stubborn too. Getting split and copied throughout time and space as a result of Askr and Embla’s never ending war had that effect. And Sharena gets to see that little girl, stubbornly clinging to her axe, bleeding from a wound on her leg that she knows one day will scar over.

It’s from one of the first battles she was ever in, Anna explains. As a merchant, her dad saw it fit to train her in order to defend herself from bandits. And she had put those skills to use before— but not like this. Never like this. It was the first true fight for her life. Not very pleasant, as you can imagine! She still gets nightmares sometimes, as you can see. Happened a few times in the realm of the dead actually. But, luckily, it no longer haunts her as much as it once did. It’s just a scar on her leg now!

The sentiment doesn’t comfort Sharena much. This is, frankly, awful! She hates how scared she looks! A-and how large the wound on her leg is! She hates how… unaware of it she personally was! Why didn’t Anna tell her about this sooner? To which Anna can only shrug. Nobody asked, and if she’s being honest, she probably wouldn’t have told. Not the whole truth anyway. She can admit when she needs help but… she’s still human. It’s a lot easier to admit she had a nightmare than admit that she finds the very thought of bleeding out a worse death than drowning. Still gets her the help she needs, without being more vulnerable than necessary. Sharena rests her head on her shoulder.

“Are all of your scars like this?”

Anna… blinks. No. They’re not. Not even the one on her leg is all bad. She was saved by this elderly couple and their son, who saw the fighting and began dragging injured soldiers off the battlefield. They made awful puns the whole time they stitched up her leg and gave her the best tea she ever had. Anna has bought a lot of different teas trying to find it, but to this day, she has no clue what it was. Makes it better, to be honest. Sharena looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

Ah, story time then? Okay. Well. Uh, this line on the inside of her elbow is from a bandit. Rather nasty encounter, but she returned the favor by shoving an entire container of expensive makeup powder into his eyes. Her dad was so mad but god it was so worth it. And this scar on her thumb is from one of her first times cooking in the road. She was pealing a potato but one of her sisters slammed into her and nearly took off her finger. This nick on her clavicle is from the first battle she ever won. When the enemy finally retreated she screamed so loud that her voice was raw for a week. Then there’s this scar underneath her chin, which has to be the most embarrassing ones she has. Zacharias and her had some leftover money one week and decided to treat themselves to a drink or two or five. In trying to make it back to the barracks, they both fell. Hard. She walked away with this, but Zacharias fully fractured his wrist. Explaining what happened to the healers the next morning was dreadful. And… and then there’s the one on her shoulder. Anna was actually recovering from it when she met Alfonse and Sharena.

The princess sits up for that one. Really? Gods she didn’t show it. And it’s because, on some level, she couldn’t. It was from the last battle before the shaky truce was called between Askr and Embla. The one Veronica will inevitably break. And the truce was called for good reason. The battle was hell on earth. Anna… nearly died there. She should have died there, frankly. A point blank strike from a lightning mage with metal armor in the rain should have been the last mistake she ever made. But by some miracle, it wasn’t.

… In retrospect, she thinks it’s because of Zacharias. Things got hazy after she went down, but knowing what they do now, he must have used his own magic to kill the mage and heal her. She didn’t walk out unscathed, but it was enough.

Haha, gods, she will never stop feeling guilty about him, will she?

Anyway, the injury was pretty bad. Her shoulder never moved the same again. But seeing as they were both recently hired to be Sharena and Alfonse’s retainers, they couldn’t exactly let Gustav know how serious it was. Might cost them the job. So a truly comical level of shenanigans went into ensuring it was kept secret. Including this game she created where every time Zacharias accidentally touched her injured shoulder, he would pay up 10 gold. He was not a very touchy guy, but even Sharena knew that this was something he just did. A tiny reassuring shoulder pat to convey that he was listening. So this was, perhaps, the best money making scheme Anna ever came up with. His apologetic look would shift so quickly into one of so much instant regret. And Sharena, upon reflection, remembers this.

WAIT WAIT WAIT SHE REMEMBERS THIS. THATS WHAT THE NOTE PASSING THING WAS!!!! Alfonse had pointed out in one meeting that the new retainers were passing something between each other and Sharena insisted it must have been notes because of how boringgggg it was. BUT NO IT WAS GOLD. ZACHARIAS TOUCHED HER SHOULDER EARLIER IN THAT MEETING AND SHE WINCED. HE THEN WAITED A WHILE BEFORE PAYING UP TO NOT MAKE IT OBVIOUS. THATS HILARIOUS!!!

Anna starts cackling as Sharena begins to line up all the pieces. The nightmare fully dissipating as she shares in this silly secret. There’s a chance she would have died with it. Hell, we know of a world where she probably did. This is not a story she’d even give to her family of merchants, who despite being direct reflections of her, do not share the scars she’s littered with. Never had to be, and thus don’t quite understand. But, Sharena does. All her friends do. And it feels weird to say that because real friends have always been in short supply. But gods this is too good. How absolutely absurd it is, that they are in the realm of dreams trying to find their missing friend and defeat the goddess who took them, and Commander Anna of the Order of Heroes is about to pop a lung laughing as she tells Princess Sharena of Askr about the fallout from the time she nearly died.

It’s dumb! This is dumb! And it’s possibly the happiest she’s ever been.

[lunarharp]

into the deep end - 30k T orufrey fic, focusing on memory trauma, disability, and romance.

the sweet oblivion of the victim, the poisoned freedom of the other.

for one moment - it had felt like two parts returned - the needed reunion of two disparate halves. no more secrets, no more pain.

the moment you get to give back what you never wanted to take. that moment, under the night-blooming flowers, when they had both let out the same single broken sigh of relief.

but they were never whole to begin with, were they?

qifrey swore he wouldn't say 'sorry' to this man any more if he could help it - sorry is cheap now. he didn't want to be in a position ever again where you only have 'sorry' left. so he just looks down into the threads of his blanket, strains his eye until it hurts, feeling his insides - his throat, heart and head - burn with pain. he expects more, but olly says nothing.

olly says nothing.

[pup-pee]

jokes @ night r not funny in the morning,,,

originally the blue was green but then i decided 2 b pan