#I was going to see a third drawing that would be closer to Mother's Day but since I did not manage to finish it

[cinnamonanie]

I know that in some countries Mother's Day took place days ago, but where I live has already arrived here today and idk, I had the idea of ​​making some drawings for this:

Lately I see drawings of 'aged Loids' and I know, this is far from the concept but I wanted to have the opportunity to publish content from my Fankids after months ago and at the same time show the face of what some Vocaloids would look like among the 30-40 years old :')

Shinichi/Shisui and Natsumi/Uzumi belong to @ask-the-vocafamilies

[tired-teacher-blog]

Characters : Tattoo artist Aizawa/ Florist fem reader

Featuring : Eri/ Hizashi Yamada/ Nemuri Kayama/ Oboro Shirakumo/ Emi Fukukado

Warnings and Genre : Fluff/ Romance/ Smut and Angst in future chapters/ Multi Chaptered Story

Summary : In a desperate attempt to get closer to the tattoo artist dominating every speck of your brain, you decide to pay him a visit one evening as a client seeking his service. This encounter will prove to be the beginning of something much bigger between you two, but will this new found passion be enough to stand against the difficulties your future holds?

Notes : Loosely inspired by this/ Art below is by the wonderful @/ael-draw who gifted me this gorgeous piece.

Masterlist|Second Masterlist|Third Masterlist

Chapter Count : Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12

_ "Thank you, have a lovely day." you bid the young couple goodbye and watch as they walk out of your shop, arm in arm while the girl held her beautifully wrapped present of lilies and dahlias to her chest.

A sight such as this one used to fill you with warmth and give you desire to work harder in order to see more of the happiness and love-filled-eyes of the people carrying the blooms for themselves or their loved ones.

Used to..

Yes used to, because as of recent, a sight such as this one has become no more than a reminder of your strained, so called "relationship" with the man you allowed yourself to fall head over heels in love with, and you hate yourself for that.

You hate yourself for not taking into account the possibility of his past coming back to hunt you both, you hate yourself for selfishly thinking that you could perhaps replace Eri's mother one of these days, and you especially hate yourself for not admitting the depth of your feelings when you had the chance, because truthfully, that would be the last thing he'd want to hear right now, it would only confuse and make things even harder than they already are for him.

You sigh heavily and look up at the ceiling, a snide smile curves your lips as you start thinking about the irony of it all.

You've always imagined the moment when you would finally say the words "I love you" to him, it was supposed to be perfect, just as you pictured, perhaps after one of your dates when he drops you off and kisses you goodnight, but instead of watching him walk back to his car, you would pull him by the arm and claim his lips again, deeper this time, catching him off guard and taking control, then -and only then- would you mouthe the words into the kiss before finally pulling back and watching the blinding smile illuminating his face as he whispers them back.

_ "Huh, that would have been beautiful but.." but truth be told, you no longer imagine that blinding smile, nor hear him whisper the words back, if anything, all you can see is hopelessness and sorrow on a shell of what that man used to be, because that's all what's left of him.

You pick up your phone and check your recent conversation to see if he has replied to your unanswered messages when you were lost in thought, but alas, he has not..

The decision is yours to make, you can either keep clinging to him and to your false hope of having things back to normal, or you can just let go and walk away so he could probably have another shot at happiness.

Both answers are nothing less than a death sentence to you, so maybe you should consider what's best for him and Eri instead.

You put down your phone and almost wince at the sight of your tattoo, as memories of how it came to be comes rushing back like a hurricane, it's what started it all, a once source of joy that is now but a painful reminder.

The little bells hanging at the entrance ring when swayed by the opening door of your shop, bringing you back to your senses as you prepare to greet your new customer, "hello and welco.." but the rest of the word gets stuck in your throat when you recognize the newcomer.

_ "Hello." It's her.

_ "Oh, Ms Fukukado.." what is she doing here again? 

She offers you a smile and closes the door after herself before stepping inside, it has been a while since you last saw her which was during that fateful evening at your boyfriend's place, as a matter of fact, you haven't seen much of him either ever since, but that's beside the point..

_ "Can we talk? I know you're busy so it doesn't have to be now," she's only a few steps away from you now, her elegant presence is as overwhelming as ever, "but here is my number, you can give me a call whenever you get a chance and we'll meet for a coffee, please, it's important." and with that she waves you goodbye and vanishes just as quickly as she has appeared, leaving you standing stiffly in your spot, eyes wide open and lips slightly parted as you held her business card with a shaky hand, wondering if that really happened or if it was just a figment of your imagination..

_ "Hey beautiful."

Oh he's finally calling after more than a week of avoiding you, and hearing his soothing voice almost brings tears to your eyes.

_ "Hi.. Shouta, how are you?" you would actually like to curse at him, to yell and reprimand him for ignoring you the way he's been doing for days, but you cannot find it in yourself to do so, all the agony and confusion are now washed away with a simple greeting he mouthed from the other end of the phone.

_ "I've been terrible without you," he lets out a sigh, and you can almost imagine the tilt of his head on whatever surface he must be leaning against right now, "I'm sorry for everything, you were caught in the middle of what's happening and had to suffer through it all."

It's true, completely and utterly true, you feel powerless and shackled by the whole ordeal, like a caged animal..

_ "No don't say that, I'm totally fine I promise," oh the lies..

He remains quiet for a while, the only thing you could hear from his end is the sound of his deep breath, and you wonder if maybe he has caught your bluff.

_ "I want to see you tonight, can I visit you after work?" and he finally speaks again.

Your eyes widen at his request, it's what you've been waiting for in what seemed like forever, to the point that it ceased sounding possible, but now that it's finally happening, something is compelling you to refuse.

Perhaps you're afraid that seeing him again, will only make parting ways all that harder, and maybe it's because of the woman staring at you from across the table as you spoke to him, "can I.. call you later? I'm a little busy right now, I'm really sorry."

You instantly regret the answer as soon as you speak it, granted, it's more than he has done for your sake lately, but you still hate the way you worded it.

It has never been this way between you two, so maybe this is actually another sign that your time together should come to an end..

_ "Yes of course I don't mind, please take your time, we'll talk later." you cannot see his face, but you can clearly feel the pain in his voice, and with those last words of his, the line finally goes dead.

_ "It's him I see," she scoffs before crossing her legs and leaning more comfortably against her chair, "I appreciate you not telling him that you came to see me."

_ "Yeah, it's not a problem, but you still haven't told me what this is about." your heart is racing in extreme restlessness, no matter what she has to say, it can never be in your favor.

_ "I think you know what I want." she places her cup of coffee on its saucer with a loud clink.

_ "You want me to disappear from Shouta and Eri's life." you comment knowingly and watch as she slowly nods in agreement.

_ "Everyday I spend away from them is torture, do you have any idea how painful it is to watch your child grow from afar? To see the only man you've ever truly loved with another woman?"

It's strange, she doesn't seem as smug and derisive as she usually is, because right now, the look in her eye is almost.. pained?

_ "I'm sorry, but you're the one who abandoned both of them and disappeared without a trace, that was your decision not mine, so why do I have to suffer the consequences? Eri is your daughter and that's something that will never change, but Shouta.." you choke on your words and stop yourself before bursting in tears, you cannot understand your reaction because what she asked of you is exactly what you've been already considering, but only now has it finally sunk in, that that's probably where you're headed, and it's terrifying.

"I know I'm asking too much, but please understand that this is my child and her father for we're talking about, isn't it fair for us three to be together? If not for me and Shouta then at least for Eri, she deserves to have both her parents around."

It's a compelling point that you've been running away from for a while, but maybe it is time for you to face the reality and do what you must.

The woman in front of you seems sincere with her intentions, she came back to right her wrongs so what gives you the power to deny her that?

_"You're right, I will back off I promise."

To be continued..

[peachdues]

tw: grief; some personal writing based on a rec by my therapist as I draw closer to the three year anniversary of my mom dying.

My hands are not my own; they are inherited, like the rest of me, but unlike my hair (the shade of my grandmother’s) or the hue of my eyes (a heterochromatic blend of my father’s and his father’s), my hands are wholly my mother’s.

It is a strange comfort to look down and see a part of a missing loved one. I can stand in front of a mirror for hours scrutinizing my own face and find no trace of my mother, but when I look at my hands, I am unable to see anything but her.

I was a precocious child, unable to sit still even for a moment. My restlessness persisted even at night. I was often unable to find tranquility even in sleep; prone to vivid and wild dreams that frightened me and usually startled me awake. My mother’s bedside was a frequent place of solace in the small hours after midnight. After the third or fourth time of me darting into my parents’ room on tiptoes and speaking in hushed whispers of monsters lurking in my closet, she would let me crawl in beside her until I calmed down enough to return to my own bed.

Yet, like most unruly children, rarely did her acquiescence actually soothe me. I likely owe my mother a long overdue apology for all the ways I tossed and turned and kicked while trying to settle down. But for all the sleep deprivation I inflicted, my mother’s solution was not to kick me out before I’d mellowed; instead, she gave me her hand.

She would hold it out for me to take and I, a cat transfixed by a feathery toy tangling before it, would grab it and trace the shape of her fingers. I bent them, pushed them together until she made the Vulcan salute, and turned her hand over in mine again and again. On and on I would play with her hand until I finally grew sleepy — an event she seemed to have a sixth sense for, given the struggle it took to get me there — and she would send me on my way back to my room, comforted.

Even beyond those restless nights, my mom would offer me her hand to hold in times of stress or even relaxation. If I sat beside her on the couch, my head on her shoulder, she instinctively held out her hand and without fail, I would take it. I once asked her if she minded it when I was a teenager; motherhood is marked by all the ways children demand and take, and I worried she quietly resented my entitlement to her space. I could see my question surprised her — and then she was quick to kiss the top of my head and assure me she found it just as comforting as I did. In fact, she wagered, the day I stopped reaching for her hand might just break her heart.

But I never stopped. I continued studying my mother’s hands in those quiet moments watching some silly reality show. I was fascinated by them; the rounded shape of the nail on her index finger contrasted with the u-curve of the others, but that asymmetry was the most comforting thing in the world.

They were there when I stumbled off my late night flight home from college; when I could stop being the invincible twenty year old staring down a world of limitless opportunity and regress back into her baby girl, who just wanted to cuddle up to her on the couch and have her pat my head as she always did.

And they were there even when she was not; still stroking over my hair thanks to my own manipulations, her nails painted a faint copper that I’d brought along with me to the ICU, back when we still had hope she’d be leaving sometime soon. I kept her hand smoothing over my head until the quiet beeping of her heart monitor slowed and her chest rose one final time. I only let them go when the nurses told me to bring my car around to pick up my dad so we could drive home, without her.

The last time I paid attention to her hands was when I arrived at the funeral home to help fix her makeup before her service. I did not recognize them, mottled and bruised as they were; they were too stiff, her fingers too oddly curled over her lifeless form. Of all the bitter realizations I had in the wake of my mother’s death, perhaps the most acerbic one of all was that I would never again hold my mother’s hand.

Even when I said my final goodbye to her on the day of her funeral, I did not touch her hands. I didn’t even look at them.

One of the many lessons I’ve been taught in navigating life after death is the transiency of human memory. There are details about my mother I swore I could never forget that I now find difficult to recall, even a measly three years later. I have a hard time remembering the sound of her voice, or the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. I find that I can’t decide whether her eyes were more of a chocolate-y brown or something closer to black.

But I have not yet forgotten her hands. How can I, when I see them every day?

The nails on my index fingers are round while the rest are u-shaped. The skin of my knuckles folds the same way hers did, and while I prefer acrylics compared to her choice of gel manicure, I know that when the false nails come off, my mother’s will be there.

Often, far too often for my own comfort, I catch myself wondering what they will look like ten, fifteen, even twenty years from now. I wonder whether the time will come when I look down and think, for the smallest fragment of a second, that I am seeing her again. But a more sobering part of me knows there’s a chance my hands will one day curl and swell with age in a way hers never did. And I wonder, if and when that day comes, whether I’ll still recognize my mother’s hands, or whether that memory too, will fade.

[nihilnovisubsole]

hey, gang! miss me? no? too bad, because i miss you. i think about you all the time. i hope the year has treated you well. this is, what, the third, fourth year i've done a year-in-review post? have i done more than that? it's after midnight. i can't be bothered to check. i fear a lot of the mysteries of getting older, but i will say, i don't mind that it's easier to shrug certain things off. i look back on all the times i hid from some scary fandom discourse and go, "god, why did i care?" it helps to have other things going on.

on the other hand, i guess 2024 was the year of finding out what happens when you put everything into your day job and leave nothing for the weekend. it was a wild year at work, which i assume is normal as a game ramps up to ship. i gave a lot, which was good! i'd be lying if i said it didn't take a lot out of me. important people at trade shows have now seen things i wrote! i got to work with voice actors! good news: a lot of your faves are great people! i also made, like, no progress on any of my own projects except the picrew, which i still chip away at. yes, i still draw. more on that later.

one or two people in my coworkers-turned-friends circle have broached the subject of occupational burnout and whether i've reached it yet. as i said last year, i remember what voltage burnout felt like, and it took a much weirder, angrier journey to get me there. it's kind that they're looking out for me, though. i think it's something all creative people could stand to keep an eye on. a buddy of mine even gave a GDC talk about it. it's a shame GDC is so stingy with access to its talks. at least this article has a great summary if you're interested in learning more.

there were other things, though. my mother broke her hip in june, which forced me into a caregiver role that i'm not suited to. don't worry, she's fine now. i love her, so it was important to me, but it didn't leave a lot of time to sit and write for fun. i started what i thought would be a casual fanfic project, wildly over-scoped it, and made a ton of work for myself. i outlined an original story about a difficult, personal subject and a culture i'm descended from, but not really familiar with. there's a lot of pressure to do it right, is what i'm saying. i'm taking the only path i can think of, which is to bury myself in research. the trouble is, a lot of the literature about this time and place is also very challenging, so it burns a lot of brain calories. it's a far cry from what usually gets me to start a story, which is "i want these characters to sleep together. let's see where it goes."

in a different time, i would've taken this struggle as an omen that i wasn't the right person to write this story and abandoned it. it's critical that i don't take the coward's way out this time if i'm going to honor the question i asked at the end of last year. "what is my work saying?" my mother told me the same thing a few months ago: "i think you're a good writer, you just need to find good things to say." i take that to mean i have to write closer to real experiences, which means including the parts i don't like: disappointment, loss, mistakes, uncertainty. i had all of this year to figure out how, and the evidence shows i didn't. i don't know what to say. "oh well?" maybe you can't put a deadline on these things. in the meantime, hercule and aida deserve more stories (it's an hercule and aida story), and i want more people to know about them, and maybe i can say something real through them.

this was also the year that i reckoned with the other side of "all it takes is money to make problems go away." i was able to travel, i mean really travel, for the first time. all it took was being able to throw a chunk of my salary at it. i had some shipping drama [sorry, not the romantic kind] where i had no choice but to pony up a ton of customs fees. my arm PT didn't work, so i'll have to try a specialist who's out of my insurance network and pay full price to see them. this must be what they call "being a successful adult." i thought it'd look different. i wanted to live in the city and have a hot, mysterious boyfriend. well, i can still live closer to the city if i keep saving up for that house, and maybe some hot, mysterious guy will take pity on me someday. do you think they like 32-year-olds who play video games and have flat chests? i went all the way to paris and still didn't find out. damn! 🤌

nah, i'm kidding. i mean, i'm not, but i have other things to worry about. as i mentioned above, things with my arm have taken a curious turn. after six and a half years of assuming i had tendinitis, i found out, not only is it likely not that, i may not be injured at all. the particulars of this theory get out into the weeds of neuromuscular science, so i'll only bore you with them if you want me to. the point is, if any of it holds water, it would go a long way toward explaining why none of the typical rest/heat/stretching/strengthening protocols have worked. it's actually unfathomable how much effort i've put into solving this mystery just so i can get back to drawing fictional people kissing. you can call my creative work boring or predictable or whatever you want, but never say i haven't committed to the bit.

i don't tend to read my previous years-in-review. this year, i did, because i sensed i was grappling with a lot of the same things as last year. there's nothing i hate like being repetitive. not that you would know from the way i keep writing the same three character archetypes. humor me here. i was all set to keep whining until i reminded myself how 2023 had gone, and i thought, "geez. it wasn't that bad." nobody i love died, for a start. my health is better. i have some unread books sitting around. as terrible as 2023 was, i survived it. if you're reading this, you did too.

so here's what i'm going to do. i think you should do it with me, though whether i'm in any position to give advice is up to you. i'm not going to make any predictions about whether 2025 will be bad or good. i'm just going to see what happens. deal? all right. we'll check in next year. you'd better be there!

[brandwhorestarscream]

I was gonna vote him anyway cause it’s the right thing to do (thank you for telling me about this! I would have missed it!)

can we get some Starscream happy times plz?

...

Hell yeah we can! Starscream deserves it. Everyone vote for Megatron in the pregnancy polls to redeem your free drabble!

Here we go:

“Your hi-”

“Is there news?!” Starscream practically pounces on the poor nurse, who yelps in surprise when his servos come down firmly on his shoulders. “What is their status? How are they?!”

“A-All in good health and stable!” Syringe reports, starting to smile. “All three were born safely, and their carrier has been patched up and transferred to recovery.”

Starscream's shoulders sag and the last 20 megacycles of stress is finally able to loosen and fall. He lets go of the other, and reclines against the wall. Faintly, he can feel his legs shaking. He's been pacing in this hallway off and on for nearly a full day and night cycle! His spark starts hammering in his chassis as he asks, “Are they well enough for visitors?”

“Indeed. This way, if you please.”

Starscream had been regaled countless times by his gleeful mother how his sires had wept, furiously, at his birth. Skysoar loved to giggle and wax poetic about how his two mates were completely overwhelmed by their tiny newborn seekerling. Of the three of them, only Starscream had survived the emergence, so he could understand their hyper-emotional response. He had told himself he would not follow their example, however: when he met his newsparks, he was going to do so with pride.

That notion was promptly abandoned when a member of the nursing staff very, very gently placed their eldest into his arms. He's so small, they all are, so much smaller than Starscream thought they'd be. The way Megatron's belly had swelled, he was sure they'd be at least twice as large! But his firstborn son is so petite, the tiniest little bundle of silver plating with red splotched here and there. He has an adorably round helm, chubby cheeks, and when his tiny optics squint open, they're his carrier's dazzling gold.

The newspark shifts and twitches softly, and makes the tiniest, softest little squeak as his sire pulls him close to cradle him. He murts softly, then yawns so widely his tiny chin quivers.

Starscream doesn't even realize he's crying until he opens his mouth to speak and finds he can't. His vocalizer spits static and promptly tightens, choked with sobs.

“H- Hi!” he manages to get it out after a couple attempts, voice gone hoarse and watery as tears slip freely from his optics to trail down his cheeks. “H-Hello there, hi… oh, look at you…! You're perfect…” he lifts his son higher to kiss a long, soft kiss to his forehelm. The sparkling peeps, and something in his tiny EM field flickers. He likes that, so Starscream kisses him again. Then, be reclines back in his chair, snuggling the newborn seekerling closer and beginning to rock him.

“He is beautiful, Your Highness,” someone is drifting closer with another little bundle, and when Starscream gets a peak at a little blue helm peaking out of the blanket swaddle, he feels his mouth tremble. His optics sting with more tears, but he can't stop himself. He doesn't care to stop himself. He loves his children so much that they've moved him to weep. He is not ashamed. “They are all beautiful!”

“So beautiful!” A third attendant pops up, holding the last one. “A thousand congratulations!”

Starscream had never before wished he had extra arms, but the thought crosses his mind. If he had four arms, he could hold the three of them at once, and even their mother in the final one! His second son draws near in a soft lilac seeker's careful hold, boasting Starscream's own beautiful blue paired with a deep, glossy black. Oh, his grandsire would be so glad to see the resemblance! He's peacefully asleep, and looks for all the world like an angel sent straight from Onyx Prime. His systems hum so softly, vents cycling the tiniest, most delicate puffs of air, and feeling the soft huff nearly sends Starscream into hysterics. They're so indescribably precious, and oh, he loves them so much. So much it feels like his spark may burst, unable to contain it all. More than words could ever hope to express.

He can't wait to introduce them to their carrier.

[johaerys-writes]

Hello! How does a WIP Wednesday sound? Thank you always and I wish you a happy day😆

Hello!! I didn't have time to answer this yesterday, so I'm answering today :) This is from the next chapter of As Fate Would Have It which is almost done and should be up soon!!

Patroclus on his third trip from their cart, and sweating buckets in the warm spring afternoon under the mountain of pelts he's carrying, when he notices a customer that has drifted close to their stall and is speaking with Achilles. The man is not very tall, but he's broad at the shoulders and looks quite strong. He has an oily beard which he strokes every so often with fingers covered in golden rings and gemstones, and his beady eyes twinkle with delight as he regards Achilles. By the look—and smell— of him, he must be a sailor of some sort, out in the town on errands. 

"It's my first time here," Patroclus hears Achilles saying as he draws near. "I've never been to Iolcos before."

"I would remember a face like yours," the man says, the words accompanied by a nauseating leer. "Tell me, sweetheart, did you fall from Olympus? Because you look divine to me."

Achilles' brow furrows in confusion. "My mother is a goddess," he replies earnestly. "But she's not from Olympus."

"You're a clever one, eh? Not just a pretty face." The man chuckles indulgently, leaning ever closer to Achilles over the stall between them. "Listen, I have a boat nearby; I could take you for a ride if you—"

"You need something?" Patroclus asks gruffly, depositing the pelts unceremoniously on the stall. 

The man blinks at him in surprise, as if he just materialised out of thin air. "Oh, I was just talking with your, um, associate? I have an interesting proposition for—"

"Either buy something or get lost," Patroclus cuts him off. "We're trying to sell and you're hogging all the space."

"Well, if you say so," the man replies sourly. He clears his throat and peruses the pelts without much interest; it is clear that it was not their wares that drew him there. It isn’t very long before he sets his beady eyes on Achilles once again, and his lips curl in that oily smile. "That is very lovely," he says, picking up a pelt at random. "Is it a fox, or a lynx, perhaps?"

"It’s… a deer," Achilles answers, rather perplexed, for the pelt couldn’t have been more obviously that of a deer’s. “We don’t hunt foxes. Or lynxes, for that matter. Our teacher has shown us way to keep them at bay without—”

"You hunted these yourself? My, so many talents! A man after my own heart," he chuckles, completely ignoring what Achilles was saying, which somehow makes Patroclus’ temper flare even more. The man spreads his disgusting fingers over the pelt as he says, "Doesn't Artemis get mad that you're hunting in those woods, rivalling her in beauty? I should like to see you in action, in fact; I bet you're a sight to behold—" 

"Are you done?" Patroclus snaps, incapable of keeping his anger in check any longer. He snatches the pelt out of his oily hands and gives it a quick rub down before throwing it back in the pile.

"Hey! I was going to buy that!" 

"It's not for sale."

"But—"

"I said: it's not for sale." Patroclus crosses his arms before his chest and glowers at him. "Now, beat it." 

The man lets out an angry huff. "You don't get to talk to me like that. I'm a paying customer and it's a free country. I can stand wherever I want."

"Don’t care where you stand as long as it's not in front of my stall." He straightens to his full height and squares his shoulders, stepping protectively before Achilles when the man's eyes slide to him. A low growl vibrates in his throat before he can stop it. “Do I need to make myself clearer?”

The man swallows thickly and takes a step back. "This isn’t over," he mutters sulkily before he walks away.

[girasollake]

stages of grief ✮

✮series masterlist✮

➸ CHAPTER 6 “darkest hour, wake thy power”

A/N: CW for this chap!!!!: mentions of self-harm, mentions of suicide, mentions of murder, dead bodies, blood!!!!!! i think thats it!

NOVEMBER 1ST 2019

A part of you hoped that this Halloween Jay would visit you as a ghost. Which seems silly if not for the fact you two always joked about haunting each other after you pass. You lifted the corner of your mouth at the memory as you scrolled through social media looking at your former classmates having fun on various parties. You stopped at a particular picture and squeezed your phone. Someone went to a party as Robin and Batman. You closed your phone and threw it away on the sheets, bringing your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. It often felt like the universe was making fun of you. From spotting kids in Robin's merch, seeing special foods at many restaurants being called after him, and now this. You reached for a bag in search of your pocket knife. When your palm wrapped around the cold metal, you let out a sigh and exited the room, taking quick steps towards the bathroom. Locking the door behind, you came over to the sink. Your eyes were locked on the mirror reflection, you knew it was you, but it still felt like staring at a stranger, you looked almost lifeless. With a click, you freed the blade from the enclosure, bathroom light reflecting in the metal. One of your hands was loosely above the sink, palm up, the other inched closer and with the sharper side, pressed into it. Crimson blood started slowly leaking from the soft flesh, and you watched in awe as it dripped into the sink and disappeared. You pressed the knife into the cut again, drawing even more blood, but all you felt was soft tingles. Oh, how you wished you could feel it, distract this grieving mind with other type of pain. As soon as you placed the knife down, the cut started closing up, soon leaving only a red stain. You sighed and cleaned it all up, not a scratch visible on the skin. 

You were used to being alone in the house, after all your parents were busy people, trying to make the world a better place. This time though they were going to visit your mother's cousin for the weekend. You said some final goodbyes and went back to your room after locking the entrance door. Later that day, you were looking through old albums in your parents office, as one does when they are bored out of their mind. You nibbled at an apple and flipped through the pages. You closed the third album and placed it on the shelf. Then you noticed a small black folder, squeezed between a few books, which peaked your interest. You pulled it out, only to find out there were pictures from the autopsies your mom studied. You closed it immediately, it was none of your business to look at those. But on the other hand? You opened it again and turned the pages, one by one. They were not as disgusting and explicit as you thought at first. Then you saw a picture of a murdered young boy and your stomach dropped. 

Why is death so cruel? Why isn't there a way to bring back innocent people?

You slammed the file shut, and idea formed inside your mind, a dangerous one, but a hopeful one as well. You started rummaging through your mother's things, hoping that she left that damned hospital access card in the office. You spotted the blue plastic identification card and grabbed it quickly, then headed straight to her workplace.

You used your mothers absence to your advantage, easily sneaking past the security, who were only monitoring the cameras. No one suspected you as long as you always used the access card. You stood at the door of your moms office and checked if there were any of her coworkers nearby, just in case. You didn't see anyone so you opened the door by pressing the card into the scanner and quickly put on some hospital attire along with a mask. You were quick on your feet, swiftly getting to the stairs and going down - to the morgue. The whole level was dark, you shuddered at the thought, but pushed it back into your mind, you didn't need any distractions. There were no cameras inside the morgue itself, thankfully, but there were some on the way. You decided to walk the path in total darkness, so that the cameras wouldn't alert the security. The only cameras with night vision were in the most important areas - not a damn a'la freezer for bodies. When you finally reached your destination, you turned on a small lamp sitting on a desk to your left. The room was bigger than you thought, two empty metal examination tables were placed in the middle and the whole left wall was filled with cabinets storing the bodies. You swallowed thickly, no one here besides you had a beating heart, you could feel it. You came closer to the drawers and inspected a few files, thinking which person you should choose. Your mind lingered a moment longer on a girl, who was strangled by her ex-boyfriend, who then committed suicide in her apartment. 

"You've got this." You whispered to yourself and pulled out the drawer.

The coldness made the hairs on your skin stand up, a chill ran down your spine at the sight of the white cloth, covering the corpse. Your hand hovered over the fabric, a feeling of guilt overwhelming you. This felt like an invasion of the corpse's privacy - even though it didn't have any, not anymore. You squeezed your eyes and took a breath, grabbing the sheets at the same time and pulling them down. The girl laying on the table was beautiful. Long brown locks were falling all around her face, her skin was dull, but during her life it was probably the prettiest shade of soft pink. The bruises around her throat were bluish with yellow edges, some fading away.

"Even if I can't-...I'll still try to make you look beautiful for your funeral. I'm so sorry." You spoke aloud to the pale form laying in front of you. "Okay. Okay. I've got this."

You rested your palms above the body and focused on the non-existent blood flow. You imagined the heart starting to pump the blood, color returning to her skin, pinching her cheeks a lovely shade of red, bruises fading away. For a moment nothing happened, you were about to give up on this, when the blue patches started melting into her skin, leaving a smooth surface on the neck. You let out a gasp of joy and focused even harder, on the blood, on the oxygen, the brain, every nerve in the cold body. The skin started to emit a healthy glow, colors were returning to her face, it was all there, all except a beating heart.

"Fuck!" You shoutued and fell down from the exhaustion. "Fuck! Fuck!" The screams turned into wails, tears freely falling down your cold cheeks. 

What were you thinking? That you are some sort of god? That you have the ability to bring back the dead? Stupid,stupid,stupid!!!!

You took a few steady breaths and stood up on shaky legs, breath hitching in your throat. The girl looked alive, healthy, peaceful. She looked as if she was just taking a pleasant nap. 

"At least I did the second part." You grabbed the sheets and with a soft smile of satisfaction placed it over the corpses head, sliding the drawer inside the cabinet and closing it carefully. 

As you exited the morgue, you tried to feel a heartbeat again, but just like before - there was only one, your own.

A part of you was disappointed that you don’t possess the ability to resurrect people, but also relieved. You wondered if Jason's body was already just bones, too decayed to do anything useful and help him. But it didn't matter no more - you wouldn't, couldn't bring him back. No matter how much your heart wished to do so, you were just a human after all.

[hearts-are-connected]

Random Alex Casey Headcanons

There's an empty couch open to Casey whenever he needs it. I picture one of the Anderson's walking to the kitchen and finding Casey on the couch, sleeping deeper than he ever does at his home, and he stays for breakfast before hitting the road. Or they know he's been there and left early by the neatly folded blanket and pillow sitting in the living room.

Logan enjoys drawing pictures of tired, grump Uncle Casey while he's asleep. She says he's at his most relaxed.

The Anderson's keeping certain food items or coffee blend they know he likes in their home for such occasions. Even including gifts for him under their tree because it's tradition for him to join them Christmas morning.

If he reluctantly takes part in an ugly sweater competition or two, no one is wiser as he swears everyone to secrecy regarding their photos.

Casey and his wife Miranda got a divorce due to mounting issues. The worst loss for them being a miscarriage.

Miranda fell into bad habits, and as such, took her aggression and heartache out on Casey, who tried to make things work while continuing to do his job. It got so bad that in the middle of the night, after a particularly bad argument, Casey left. All he took from the home was his favorite three-piece suit, work related items, every drawing Logan had gifted him, and a pair of shoes. He then proceeded to walk aimlessly through the dark, leaving the car behind, seeing as it was in his soon-to-be ex-wife's name.

David Anderson was leaving to go to work the following morning and was surprised to find Casey asleep on their front porch with his small box of items beside him. After rousing him and collecting his things, David put Casey to bed in one of the spare bedrooms, which ultimately became his own until the divorce was settled and Casey found a place not far from them.

Casey is a fine cook, despite everything pointing to the contrary. For a man who looks like he survives off six coffees a day with the occasional sandwich, he can fix a meal that'll leave most wanting seconds or thirds. As a thank you to the Anderson's for their hospitality to him, he cooked enough food to last them a month and provided the recipe for each dish.

When Casey first met Saga, he didn't think much of her. Figuring she'd buckle under the pressure of the job and go back home to find another career. To his surprise, she became a bright light amongst her peers. Enough so that he took her under his wing personally to teach her what knowledge he'd acquired over the years. Not realizing that in doing so, he'd not only gain a new partner, but that he'd eventually come to be adopted into a family he would cherish and gladly give his life for.

The first time he met Logan Anderson was when she was only a day old. Reluctantly entering the hospital room, the sight of Saga laid up in bed cradling her newborn daughter had pierced his hard shell in a way he hadn't thought it would. When Saga and David finally convinced him to hold Logan, he did so carefully. It was one of the first times both the new parents had seen Alex Casey genuinely smile. Teeth and all.

Logan became the brightest light Casey could remember entering his life, aside from her mother, of course. To those at the bureau, he was still the same jaded, hardened agent they'd known for years, but to those who paid closer attention, small glimpses of change appeared. Little things like a child's drawing appearing on his desk, or a coffee mug with 'My favorite Uncle' printed on it alongside a cartoon fox.

He was once ambushed on a case resulting in numerous injuries and a decent recovery time. It was the first time Logan had ever seen her uncle hurt that severely. It felt as if each time Casey woke, he'd find a small reminder that she'd been there hidden somewhere near his bed. He occasionally woke to a small kiss on his cheek. He kept one of the smaller stuffed animals she's placed on his bed. Furthermore, he always packs it in his suitcase when he's away from home, either for work or the rare rest and relaxation. Saga's never let him live it down.

The angriest he's ever been, besides numerous incidents with his ex, was when he saw a group of older kids shove an eight-year-old Logan to the dirt at the playground. Saga swears all four boys who'd bullied her daughter ran home crying when confronted by Casey.

Saga and Logan are the only ones who Casey allows close enough to snuggle. Something he'll deny until blue in the face, but on more than one occasion, either Anderson can be found using his lap as a pillow while he uses said time to catch up on some reading.

[reveriesofawriter]

book rambling don't mind me

the book kept saying anharion was his title... so was that also his name? did his name become a title when the Betrayal happened? does "anharion" translate to Betrayer or is that just what he's known as? was it a mistranslation from the old language? edit: I just reread the part where sarcean said he used to be called something else and now I feel like that's going to give away the whole ~is he the sun prince~ thing

I've seen some theories about the Collar and to what extent it actually controls james and like. as much as it would be less big and exciting to see it this way... what if the Collar is mostly symbolic? bc sarcean can talk people into doing what he wants anyway and james was obviously not immune to the charm (it's magnified for him even) well before will knew anything about himself or his powers so what if the collar was just a way to show other people that anharion belonged to him? but GOD if this moral stronghold of not wanting to manipulate james into kissing him and wanting him to do it of his own free will stops these boys from having a lil smooch for the majority of the third book I will Die

I've also seen people try to draw lines between will/sarcean and james/anharion as far as their past/present personalities and the consensus seems to be that will has a more clear line between himself and sarcean but I saw someone say it was more like intrusive thoughts and I think that's fascinating, also that will is seeing james and not anharion the betrayer when he looks at james but james in every sense is this cocky little asshole (affectionate) who flirts and uses his powers to take advantage of people while anharion in the past wasn't like that sooooo I think will isn't Seeing james as who he is I think he's seeing anharion for who he used to be before he turned against sarcean. which is so interesting when you think about will saying people shouldn't be judged by what they've done but what they can do

the tangled web of who hates who is so messy but I trust violet to, if not outright take will's side, then to convince the others to let him go like banish him or whatever instead of killing him right away (even if james's powers would physically protect him from that I just need violet to believe in him)

I'm still thinking about little 6 year old will setting a rich fucker's clothes on fire bc he laid his hands on a woman who was nice to him, how violet saved his life and he's spent every day after that trying to return the favor including using a newfound power he doesn't know how to control yet to set her free from a cage in another country

can't wait to see how the narratives shift when we get other perspectives on what the past was really like bc from what I can tell sarcean and the lady weren't really In Love they just had a fling one time

on that note I thought will was switched out for the girls somehow when they were kids but elizabeth was told her mother had a son before her and she believes that son is will, which would mean will is both blood of the lady and the dark king, which brings to question who his dad is bc they said it wasn't simon but I don't think his birth was a virgin mary situation, also I know sarcean got around but are will and simon's family related any closer than one ancestor thousands of years ago? is sinclair will's father?

I don't think tom and violet will fight to the death, tom may die in another way tho

what's the fourth kingdom and how does that pay into this? bc the first gate was in england the second was underwater somewhere and the third is in italy so the fourth...? on that note there must be more stewards alive who weren't in the hall when it was torn through, people who either left that life behind, or like cyprian at the beginning who didn't drink from the cup but still follow the lifestyle, or maybe like small covens of stewards who never went to the hall bc they found their own communities elsewhere idk it's just very eurocentric to think everyone from everywhere would meet up in this one place when the whole rest of the world exists

will needs some alone time after all this someone give him a safe place to rest and a hot drink

phillip and visander... and the unicorn....... love triangle of the ages... (I wonder if visander will find his way back into a man's body somehow or if he's stuck looking like katherine forever lol) (realistically. I don't think this man fucked his horse. but. metaphorically? metaphysically? whatever they had was probably as erotically charged as that magic scene right?)

[herald-divine-hell]

Writing prompt: “don’t you trust me”

Thank you for the prompt!

TW: Mentions and vague depictions of abuse

Time Period: Dragon Age: Origins (2008)

Setting: Lost in Dreams - The Broken Circle

Characters: Amayian Trevelyan, Lady Jacqueline Trevelyan, Warden Surana

Length: 2k+

~

He found his mother in Vasenarg's gardens, with a faint cool sea-wind crawling over the high stone walls crowned in their horned crenellations, bringing the scent of roses and violets and marigolds.

Seated high upon the stone throne with its blue-tiled dome, slender spiraled pillars topped at both ends with the rearing chest and neighing head of stallions, and vine-woven railing stretching from pillar to pillar, his mother was turned away from him, staring out to the gardens. A blissful smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and the soft echoes of laughing lines could be glimpsed with the small scrunch of her amber eyes. Long thick waves of chestnut brown hair tumbled down from a high crown of braided hair, speckled with fine gems of ruby and sapphire and amethyst. That day, she wore her birthing dress, plain and white, with only the faintest silver embroidery along the sweeping sleeves and across the bodice. The skirt spread about her like the flowering lotus, like a gown of starlight.

His feet carried him, and his thoughts swam in and out of his mind, cresting the high waves before darting into the fearful depths. The stone paved road twisting around a little bond, sprinkled with loosened petals that had been carried by the wind. Sunlight glistened across the waters, as if a thousands gems twinkled beneath. And yet, his eyes were only on his mother, and the soft song borne by the air to his ears as he drew closer. A little lullaby, the one she sang when the dreams grasped him in its hold and refused to let him go.

But on this day, no words were spoken, only hummed. But that seemed only fair. He did not deserve those words, after what he had done. After his failure.

For a brief moment, he halted, unsured if his mother would even wanted to see him. Behind, the wind scurried against him, delicate hands of unseen air pressing against his back, grasping fistfuls of cloth, as if to drag him forward. And yet, Amayian's feet seemed buried into the stone, trapped. His right thumb searched for his mother's ring, felt the cold silver touch his skin, and the tightened breath clasping his chest flowed out of him.

"My sweet son, my brave son, why are you so far?" called his mother, though she did not turn to see him. "Do you not trust me?"

Ever obedient, Amayian took long steps to his mother. No words touched his tongue. All ability to speak seemed to have fled him, just like his fears when he heard his mother's voice. A voice he had not heard for nearly fourteen years. A soft voice, warm and melodious and flowing, touched with the highborn accents of Orlais.

Small wide steps greeted him at the trefoil-arched entrance of the high stone seat, and above loomed his mother, buried in that great gown of melted starlight. Golden armbands wrought in the appearance of flowers knitted upon a delicate string wrapped around her arms, each center set with a new gem that flashed with the passing sunlight. And she was smiling, smiling that sweet smile that said he could do no wrong. Gently she patted her lap. "Come, my sweet colt. You looked so tired." The wind tugged at him, like chains bound at his wrist and neck, trying to hurl him further. "It is ok. You do not have to fear. I am not angry with you."

One step flowed into a second then a third, until he was before his mother, the Lady Jacqueline who was the Dawn of Vasenarg. His mother extended her hands; and Amayian fell to his knees, took them into his own, kissed and pressed his forehead against them, as was the way of House Trevelyan. Long fingers tightened around his, a slender palm smoothed and unworn by work, drawing him close.

Those hands released, rising and combing their fingers through Amayian's dark hair, softly scratching and smoothing the loose strands of curls, just as Lady Jacqueline always did when she came to put her children to sleep. Her palms pressed against his head, drawing him down to hide his face in her lap, her fingers never ceasing to stop their strokes. "Oh, my sweet, tired boy. Why are you so thin? Have you not eaten?"

Though his mind rushed with words, and his heart a thousand more, they could not find his lips, as if they were sewn with silver.

Even still, his mother continued. "You have not visited for so long, my son." His heart clutched with terror. Brushed upon those words were...disappointment. No, no, he thought. I cannot disappoint her. It was forbidden.

"Do you not trust your own mother so that when you fled you did not dare pay your respect her, to honor her? Did we teach you anything?"

The crack of a tongue of leather, the rush of fire along his flesh, the whisper of blood flowing along the length of his back. The kiss of leather across his face, the bursting of agony across his cheeks, over his nose, a veil of warmth that poured unto his mouth. And beneath those crackles, his uncle's voice, rolling and untroubled, conquering. "As the Maker made us to serve, magic is meant to serve, never to rule. As the Maker made us to serve, a son is a slave to his father, to his mother, to his uncle, to his aunt. Any disobedience is forbidden, be them a word, an act, a flash across the gaze."

I am dutiful, Mother. You know this. I only ever meant to serve, just as Uncle Esmarian ordained. Yes, that was his purpose. Over and over again, his uncle had made that clear. By his father's pardon and his mother's compassion, he was given life, permitted to live even after the magic stirred within his limbs. How could he be so ignorant, to refuse to honor his mother, when he failed her so? "The blood shall be shed, shall be hardened, and the wounds may heal into scars," his Uncle said, pitying. "But the lessons shall be engraved, in the mind, in the heart. Take the Maker's forgiveness, and be honored we shed it to you."

"You failed me once, yes," said his mother, in the tones of fall's mourning when the first snows came. Her fingers were still untangling the locks of his hair, still stroking his head. But her nails dug deeper, scrapping along his head, over and over again. "Yes, you failed me. I had put my trust in you, my speechless son. And how did you repay me? By forsaking your duty? For fleeing the orders of your father?"

Yes, my duty was at the Circle. Even when the blade of his cousins' drew across his chest, for his insolence in seeking to flee, the lesson was learned, the reminder to kin installed. My duty to serve my father was there, and I forbad him. I fled. But you called, Mother. No one ever told Amayian what could he do when Father's and Mother's will opposed. His mother called, and he was ordained to listen.

Something warm crawled down his neck, wet and thick, trailing down from his head. Deeper and deeper his mother's fingers dug, slowing as they curled and pressed into his skin, untangling his hair, untangling his lies, untangling his failures. The wind touched his ears, cracking as the tongue of leather in the dark room.

"But it can be pardoned, all of it. If you put your trust in me, my sweet little boy who is empty without purpose. Did you think that coming to the land of the dogs would be freeing? Ever the dogs are leashed, obedient to their masters. Ever is the grey griffons leashed to their duty. Ever is the ministerial and the sister leashed to their songs, to their Maker. Duty, my son, is the crown of mankind. Do your duty now, and stay."

These words, so very strange they were. She never spoke in such a manner. Such a thought wriggled through his mind, though not in his voice. A woman's, quiet, almost too small that it was nearly lost in the hissing winds. His heart tightening, Amayian pressed his face deeper into his mother's skirts. Too much choices. Mother knows of my failure. Who am I to deny her? His dark curls were swept up by his mother's hair, and the wind laid kisses upon the revealed skin there. Still, the slow-moving wetness dragged down his skin, burning.

"Yes." The word came dragging, drawn out. "Yes, my son. Good. You are learning. And of the lessons, the heart shall remember, even when the mind grows forgetful, arrogant. Here you shall rest, by my side. You always wanted that, no? To serve your father, your uncle, your aunt, your sister, and your brother? That was what you were made for. To serve your House. To only serve, for magic was made to serve and never to rule. Never to rule the heart or the mind. Stay, and put your trust in me. You trust me, no? You think I died, but how can I leave my son guideless, he who needed most of all, whose heart could not feel except what we ordained? Oh, my son. I do live. Can you not tell?"

Yes. He was a fool, to trust in his heart. How wrong he was...how foolish...how...disobedient. His mother was alive, and she will still live, if he obeyed, if he stayed.

A footfall, echoing across the garden, piercing through the air like an arrow whistling and taking flight. "Amayian?" A familiar voice. A man's voice, and beneath that a woman's. The woman's seemed so far away, and yet so close, kissing his ears, lifting out from his heart.

His mother's hands strangled in his hair, pushing deeper into those white skirts that swallowed all sight, almost all hearing. "Begone, intruder. This is my house, and he is my son."

The voice, the man's voice, ignored her, and something hot tore at his chest, quickly sparking before dying. "Amayian, this world is an illusion."

No, it is not. Duty is not an illusion. She is here. My mother lives. I have my duty to her, to all of them. I just need to put my trust in her, to obey. It is so very simply. There is no illusion in that.

"Yes, my son. There is no illusion, no cloud to obscure your vision. If you serve, if you stay." Her words were steel as she spoke to this intruder, this deceiver that did not exist. The only thing that existed was him, his mother, his family, here in Ostwick. "Begone, interpolar. He knows his duty, knows where his place belong."

And still, the voice ignored her. "Amayian, you know she is dead. You saw her, didn't you? I don't know what happened that day. But she is dead, Amayian. Just like my parents are. Nothing I can do can bring them back. I know. I tried. Whatever happened that day, your mother does not blame you."

Yes, she does blame me. I let her die. If I had only been stronger. If I had not let the iron chain to wrap around my heart, she would still be alive.

The woman's voice, the one closer than his own heart. She begged you to stop, said this woman's voice, the voice he heard in those suffocating dreams. The fire was burning her, in and out, the ashes pouring out of her in crimson. No matter what we could have done, she would have died. She knew that. Your father knew that.

No, no. Too much. This was all too much. Why could everything not be simple, like when he was a child? When he only had to obey his father, his mother, his uncle. He wanted to stay. Her voice, it was still there. He could still smell her perfume, soft and scented like hyacinith and jasmine. I don't want to forget. I don't want to go searching. I'm home.

The woman's voice whispered around him, hoarse and harsh and mournful. We have no home.

The man's voice urged, so far and yet pressing. "You do have a home. With us. With Sten and Raila, with Alistair and Zevran, with Leliana and I. Even Morrigan, though don't tell her I said that." And he laughed, tilted with nervousness. But it was a laugh all the same. A similar laugh that erupted from Athlaros when Amayian had answered Zevran's deviant jest with truth, and when he had to explain how the joke went to Amayian. It still made no sense, even with Leliana interrupting to get the idea in his head.

Zevran, Morrigan, Ralia, Sten, Alistair, Athlaros, Leliana. He lifted his head a little, confusion casting assurance in his mind into the depths. But his mother's fingers dug deeper, flesh and bones seemingly crushing into his skin. Fire burned through him, in and out, over and within. "No, he is mine. Mine. Mine."

The wind screamed, the petals struck at his face in rapid slashes and cuts. And in those winds, he heard Lady Jacqueline Trevelyan's screams as the blood pour out from her, and Amayian's magic did nothing. Did nothing to save her. I tried and failed.

There was a whorl and a terrible screech that broke at Amayian's world. Dark soot and wisps of fire kissed his skin as his mother's hands seemed to flung off his head, and the demon withered and screamed, carried away by the winds of the Fade. The screams were still there, even after the white skirts was gone, and Amayian was upon his knees, seeing but not seeing.

"Amayian?" asked Athlaros. And Amayian turned, seeing a long-faced man with brown hair - not chestnut brown, but the brown of soil and earth. And behind, a woman. A woman shrouded in darkness and gowned in ash and snow, with long red-golden hair cascading down the length of her right shoulder, while melted bone and flesh, flecked in angry embers smoldered from blackened, withered skin, twisted and gorged. But her eyes remained, eyes of pale blue crystal, seeing and not seeing, keen and misty, all at once.

But then they were fading, and Amayian wondered...

What was this wetness on his cheeks?

[aventurineswife]

I think I'll break the anonymity now since I feel a bit more comfortable sharing these shepherd!reader concepts with you ^^

To start off, how was your day? I hope college isn't slaughtering you the way it did to me. Second, here's to us getting the beautiful, dromas-loving blasphemer later when his banner comes out 😍✊ Third, I just saw the official trailer for Zani and wowie, she's amazing! I loooove her character design. She reminds me of Marisa from Street Fighter 6 ngl, with the whole brawler thing going on and the accent. Hoping you get her too (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

I'll try not to bombard you too much, but here's a general idea of how I view her relationship with the characters in the game. With the Astral Express crew, she acts like a third parent after Welt and Himeko, but due to her being closer in age to the trio, she hangs out with them more and is mostly involved in their shenanigans. She plays a versatile role—sometimes, she'll support Dan Heng as the level-headed person in the group. Sometimes, she'll share March's enthusiasm in exploring new worlds and getting to capture new memories. Other times—well, most—she'll act like a second gremlin alongside Caelus. And the thing is, when people comment on their shared impish behavior and express their surprise in seeing someone who's known to be a soothing, tender soul be so unhinged, Dan Heng and March just shrug. “Before we had him, we had her. We had practice.” ← their go-to response when anyone asks how they're easily accustomed to the TB's eccentricity.

I picture the reader to have the personality of a mother and a father stuck in a single body, as in she's protective, nurturing, and gentle the way mothers are… while also possessing the same occasional sternness and weirdness that comes with being a father. She likes cracking dad jokes; she laughs when TB causes trouble for himself; and the most vital element of all, she has that earth-shattering sneeze that dads have. People see her and think “aw, she's gonna sneeze. I bet it'll sound like a kitten.” only for their eardrums to burst the moment she actually does so. The Express crew probably has PTSD over their first time hearing her sneeze. 

When it comes to Caelus and her, the simplest explanation I can supply you with is that they more or less have the same dynamic as Gumball and Darwin from TAWOG. Her being the voice of reason and subtly trying to steer him away from any potential conflicts, but never really rejecting his ideas of mischief outright. If he does get unbearably embarrassing, she'll quietly remove her armband emblazoned with the AE's insignia so people won't know that they're from the Astral Express. When Caelus first boarded the Express, it was her who helped him blend in and adjust to the environment. She took initiative in getting close with him, looked after him as a newbie member, and basically stuck to his side until he was comfortable with the entire crew. Then from there, it all went downhill as they got progressively more involved in weird stuff together and now the entire crew is realizing that these two shameless gremlins should've never been put together. They run around doing side quests, getting into all sorts of trouble, and creating unforgettable memories in the process (and probably even leaving behind a mounting pile of bills for property damage, public disruption, etc.) 

This is a secret she'll take to the grave: she adores Welt to bits. There's something about his calm and protective demeanor that draws her in. He's a steady presence and an unending source of comfort with how confidently he carries himself. If he was closer in age to her, she would definitely pursue him. Ask her what her type is, and she'll sheepishly point at Welt or mention vague descriptors of him. 

When it comes to the Stellaron Hunter, she's fairly neutral about them. On one hand, she acknowledges that Elio might have good intentions with wanting to prevent a catastrophe from taking place in the future, but the countless bloodshed they commit in pursuit of it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. What's the point in even saving the universe from total annihilation if you're going to annihilate some of it in the process? However, she won't be openly hostile to them if they do encounter each other. Likewise, the Hunters also don't have much thought about her, except for Kafka and Blade. They're well-acquainted with living a life of danger and have years of combat under their belt; if anyone can smell a formidable foe, it's them. Blade describes the reader as “having the composure of someone who's fully aware that they can kill everyone within the vicinity.” Kafka probably laughs at this and replies with “a shepherd like her doesn't need something as measly as my Spirit Whisper. Just look at the monsters she has under her control.” Reader would most likely respond to these comments by opening her mouth, closing it back again, looking away to digest their words, and then aligning gazes with them with a hesitant “thank you?” During the Luofu quest when Blade met with Dan Heng and attacked him, he had essentially laid hands on one of the Express members. If Kafka hadn't stepped in to stop their fight, reader would've done so instead, and since she doesn't have Spirit Whisper like Kafka does, she might have resorted to a less peaceful route.

She has reservations about the geniuses, particularly Ruan Mei. After what she did to TB and making him battle the remains of her Tazzyronth copy, reader's trust and respect for her took a nosedive. She tells TB that she would rather entrust him to Screwllum and Ratio than Herta and Ruan Mei because those two gentlemen at least “care” for his well-being. Though, out of those four, she favors Screwllum the most. He's approachable and speaks tactfully compared to the rest; he's courteous–need I say more? Though in terms of interaction, Ratio is at the top, with his subsequent appearance in Penacony and their frequent contact after their first meeting in the Space Station. She might not like his abrasive demeanor too much, but she knows that he's someone with good intentions at the end of the day. Plus, he's surprisingly friendly when you don't act like a complete buffoon.

The IPC trio? Refer to my previous scenario pertaining to the opiuchus and the IPC's involvement in her planet. She doesn't hate them per se, but she'd be lying if she said she doesn't have her misgivings about them, especially Jade. Her and Topaz get along well, though she does wonder why Numby is so afraid of this seemingly harmless and demure woman. Aventurine, as shady as he is, does hold her in high regard because in a melancholic sort of way, reader reminds him of his sister. In the penacony arc, she meets him when he was under the influence of the Harmony and does her best to help him. It tears his heart to see someone show genuine kindness to him in his supposed last moments alive. Jade, on the other hand, is the most dangerous one of all. Reader can tell she's got the most influence out of those three. However, as usual, she doesn't outright show it because, manners, maturity, and all that. She's cordial with her at best. Similar to Topaz, Jade does question why her snakes seem cautious of her. Meanwhile, reader just views the giant snake she has and sighs wistfully. “I remember when one of my companions used to be as small as that. Now, they're all grown up.” She would say, unfazed by the intimidating size. 

Her dynamic with Boothill and Argenti is a fun one to explore. Boothill would probably find comfort in her presence given their shared background as people who has worked with farm animals. I'd like to think he would settle down with her if his life hadn't gone the way it did–she's a farm girl, she's kind, and she's good with kids? That's an ideal wife if he ever saw one. Argenti would praise her upon their first meeting like he did to everyone, and when it happened, reader just chuckled and replied, “your faith is beautiful, dear knight.” To him, she is someone who poses a threat to his journey to spread the word of Idrilla. Not because of anything bad, it's just that to Argenti, she has such a homely and warm disposition that makes you want to just stay with her and forget all about your expedition. 

First of all —

I'm honestly honored you're trusting me with your Shepherd!Reader ideas, because this is something really special you're crafting here.

Thank you for sharing this with me. Truly.

I'll treat it with all the love and enthusiasm it deserves!

Also before anything else —

You are so sweet to ask about my day!!

It’s been a bit crazy but much better now thanks to your message, actually. College has been a little brutal lately, ngl — deadlines everywhere, my brain feels like it’s sprinting a marathon while eating chips lmao.

AND YES.

WE WILL GET OUR BEAUTIFUL BLASPHEMER.

We will love him and his dromas and I will personally hold a tiny festival when his banner finally arrives.

AND ZANI, UGH!

SHE’S SO GOOD.

The brawler vibe? The Mediterranean accent?? Sends me directly into orbit.

I’m praying to the gods that you and I both get her without suffering through pity hell!!

Now for your Shepherd!Reader lore:

I AM IN LOVE.

This isn’t just a character concept, you’re building a fully-fleshed soul.

Someone that feels deeply real, like someone the Astral Express crew could lean on while still being absolute menaces together.

I ADORE About Your Vision

The Third Parent Role:

I love how she naturally fits between the parental wisdom of Welt & Himeko but still "hangs out" with the trio.

That "older sibling/young aunt" energy is SOOO warm.

Like she's not just keeping them safe, she's making their journey beautiful and fun.

Her Dual Personality (Mom + Dad energy):

YESSSS.

That contrast of:

Sweet nurturing presence

Absolute gremlin chaos

Dad-level destructive sneezes.

PERFECT.

It humanizes her in a way that's so rare — she's strong and reliable but still goofy enough to laugh at Caelus's disasters.

Caelus Dynamic (Gumball + Darwin vibes):

THIS IS GOLD.

The image of her just quietly sliding her Astral Express badge off to not be associated with Caelus’s newest shenanigans is SO FUNNY.

And so tender too — the fact that she stuck by him when he first joined says so much about her patient heart.

Her feelings about Welt:

I LOVE how grounded this is.

The quiet admiration?? The "If he were my age..." longing???

It's realistic, unforced, and it doesn’t have to be romantic — it's that deep respect that's so much stronger and more complicated than a simple crush.

(AND YOU WROTE IT BEAUTIFULLY.)

Stellaron Hunters Relationship:

Blade and Kafka sniffing out her hidden strength??? YES.

Blade calling her composure dangerous.

Kafka being impressed by the sheer size of the monsters she commands instead of her raw combat ability.

And her "thank you???" reaction to their comments cracked me up — it’s so natural.

Geniuses and IPC Dynamics:

Her cautious respect toward Screwllum and Ratio is perfect!

I love how you show she’s mature enough to judge individuals, not just groups.

(Also Screwllum IS the most polite. You're so right.)

The stuff with the IPC trio (especially Aventurine seeing his sister in her??) OH MY HEART.

That melancholy flavor is so strong and beautiful.

Jade being the most quietly terrifying one while Topaz is harmless-seeming is dead on too.

Boothill and Argenti Interactions:

Boothill seeing her as an ideal wife??

Tears.

That's so gentle for someone like him — you captured the idea of finding peace after chaos so well.

Argenti, who usually spreads devotion so easily, being so drawn to her warmth that he almost forgets his mission???

MASTERFUL.

Homely, comforting goodness so strong it derails even a pure soul’s journey?? That's so romantic in a very pure, non-shipping way.

You’ve created a rare type of character:

Strong, but not cruel.

Kind, but not naïve.

Funny, but not foolish.

Warm enough to be a home, but still wild enough to cause absolute chaos with Caelus.

I am so incredibly invested already.

[adaobiiii]

──────────────── 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 ⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Felicity cast a quick spell to clean up Fae's dormitory after their impromptu tea party. The four girls definitely felt closer than before, laughing and joking as they made their way to the mess hall for dinner. "Felicity and I will head back to my dormitory after dinner and prepare it for our sleepover" Fae explained to the girls. Once they were in the mess hall, they were surprised to see most of the Nevers unusually calm, their attention on something. 

"Traitors" she saw a dark haired Never inhale sharply.

"I think I'm going to be sick" another said, throwing something in the direction of what was catching their attention. 

"I don't know what she sees in him," a third said, shrugging somewhat dismissively. 

Curious and slightly apprehensive, the four Ever girls followed their gaze. When they saw what had drawn the Nevers' attention, they gasped in surprise. Seated at one of the Ever tables was Sophie and Tedros. Sophie clung to his hand, giggling at every word that fell out of his mouth. Fae felt Beatrix hold her hand, a silent gesture of her support. Based on the whispers around the hall the two had been with each other for the majority of the day which simply added to the sense of unease in Fae's stomach.

As Tedros popped another strawberry into his mouth, he wondered when Fae and the others would arrive. He needed someone to distract the blonde Never whose high pitched laughter was beginning to hurt his ears. Originally, William and Tristan had sat opposite to the two, but they quickly excused themselves, not wanting to be seen associating with Sophie and risk angering their female friends. 

Tedros's eyes wandered the room only to freeze when they locked onto Fae's. A smile already formed on his face, but it quickly faded as he noticed the hurt in her expression. He followed her gaze down to his arm, where Sophie was still holding his hand. His eyes widened in realization—he was the cause of her pain. Mentally kicking himself, he pulled his hand away from Sophie, giving Fae a sheepish, apologetic smile. He didn't dare look at the three girls behind her who glared at him, especially not at Felicity, who might very well turn him into a frog if he did.

Sophie looked at him confused at the sudden distance. She looked in the direction at which he was looking only to see her ex-friend. She rolled her eyes, of course the goody-two-shoes princess wannabe was getting in her way of true love. But Sophie quickly put on her best innocent face. "Teddy, why did you stop?" she cooed, trying to recapture his attention.

The boy looked at her, confusion laced in his expression, "I'm sorry, I have to go-" he began but she cut him off.

"You were just about to ask me to the Ever's Ball," she whined loudly, drawing the attention of the entire hall. Tedros immediately started defending himself, insisting he never said any such thing. Fae felt anger rise in her chest. She didn't know if he had really asked Sophie or not, but she hated the idea of not knowing for sure. If only she'd used her magic, she wouldn't be worrying like this.

Determined, Fae walked up to their table, but before she could reach Sophie, the black-haired Never—who Fae had to admit was quite attractive—stepped in front of her.

"Move, please," Fae said, giving the girl one chance to get out of her way. Her mother back in Gavaldon always taught her to give people one chance before possibly ruining their lives, joking that it was the reason for their last name.

Hester sneered at her, looking down on the shorter girl. "I don't think so," she smirked. "You jealous cause Prince Teddy over there asked out one of us Nevers instead of you poofy princesses?" she mocked in a baby voice. 

Fae scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "I couldn't care less of what you think of me but he isn't taking that under dressed she wolf instead of me," Fae snapped back, surprising many of the students. Sophie looked down at her outfit in a moment of insecurity. They had never seen the girl talk back to anyone let alone insult another student.

Hester laughed, ready to throw another insult, but before she could speak, her mouth zipped shut. Confused, she tried to open it but couldn't. Fear flashed in her eyes as she looked at Fae, realizing that the small girl had somehow silenced her. Fae rolled her eyes and pushed past Hester, ignoring the snarls from the other Nevers who had begun to shove other Ever students who stood by Fae.

She grabbed Tedros, who had already stood up once he saw her moving towards him, and dragged him out of the mess hall leaving her friends and the other Everstudents to deal with the angry Nevers. She knew she would get in trouble later as she was technically at fault for silencing Hester, but she couldn't care less. She needed to talk to Tedros. 

The prince was already rambling and apologizing trying to explain the situation but he was cut off sharply, "Shut up," she commanded, her magical features fading onto her face without her permission as emotions overwhelmed her. Tedros, shocked at her cold tone, immediately shut his mouth, waiting for her to speak. 

Fae dragged him to the Spell Hall, where she and Felicity had their classes. She knew that her powers might act up and didn't want to risk others seeing. Turning to face him, she saw the guilt that was written all over his face. She had been furious, but now that they were alone, she forced herself to remain calm.

"Tedros," she started, the boy pouting at the lack of a nickname, "why were you with Sophie?" 

The Prince swallowed hard, not understanding why it bothered her so much that he was around Sophie in the first place. "She came up to me during weapon training, when you were having your tea party. How did that go, by the way?" he asked, getting distracted.

Normally, Fae would have giggled at his puppy like nature and how easily distracted he was, but she kept her focus. "Don't change the topic Tedros," she warned.

He nodded, embarrassed. "I didn't want to talk to her at first, but I thought about you and what you said during lunch that first day," he explained. "You were so sure that Sophie was good, and so was Agatha. I thought I'd give her a chance, try to see the good you saw in her." He sighed as he looked to the ground, running a hand through his hair. 

Fae stopped, trying to process his words. "You did that because of what I said?" she asked, her voice softer now.

Tedros nodded, guilt still clear on his face. "I thought I was helping. But then I saw you in the mess hall, and you looked so... hurt. I didn't realize how it must have looked."

Fae blinked, her anger fading as guilt slowly took its place. "Oh." She stepped closer, realizing that she was somewhat at fault. "Remember when I first found out I could hear people from far away?" she asked him. He nodded, easily remembering what she was talking about, especially since he had spent hours in the library afterward, researching fairies to help her. "I never told you what Sophie and Agatha were talking about."

Tedros nodded, sensing where this was going. "Sophie was telling Agatha that they needed to get rid of me," Fae continued. "She said that I was Agatha's best friend, not hers. And, well, I don't see her as my friend anymore." Tedros nodded, now understanding why Fae didn't want him around Sophie.

"I didn't know that," he said softly, stepping closer. "My love, I'm so sorry. I never would've let her near me if I knew."

"No, I'm sorry," she interrupted. "I got mad at you over something you didn't even know about. That's my fault."

Tedros smiled at her lovingly, "I accept your apology, but I let her get way closer than she needed to be. That's on me."

Before Fae could answer, a small flicker of light drew her gaze. One of the tiny fairy guardians flitted around them, looking frantic and anxious. It let out a series of panicked chirps and chimes as it landed in Fae's outstretched palm.

"Dovey?" Fae asked, her voice tinged with worry. The fairy nodded rapidly, confirming the urgency.

Fae's heart sank at the unexpected interruption, but she knew it was important. She glanced back at Tedros, noticing that her hand had slipped into his. "We'll figure this out," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "But it looks like Dovey is looking for both of us."

Tedros met her gaze, his eyes filled with concern. "Yeah, we'll talk later," he promised, his voice steady as both of them made their way to the Dean's office. Their hands intertwined. 

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ⋆｡𖦹°‧★ 

Tedros, Fae, Sophie and Agatha stood in front of all the teaching staff of both schools. They all spoke over each other trying to get their points across but it simply came out as jumbled words. Tedros stood behind Fae, his hand in hers, a sign of comfort as they couldn't speak.

"Please! Please! Please!" Dovey silenced the rowdy group. "Dating between Evers and Nevers is strictly against the rules" she stated, Lesso immediately agreeing. 

"Evil and Good do not belong together. It's rep-" she fought the urge to gag, "Repulsive."

Fae looked to Sophie, who had the time to change into a different outfit, and Tedros in confusion. The teachers thought they were together?

"Sir, if I may." Tedros asked, receiving a nod of approval from the Schoolmaster. "I'm responsible for choosing Camelot's next queen." he squeezed Fae's hand as he spoke. "I do not take that decision lightly. And to be honest I'm quite offended you would think that Sophie was one of the possible candidates." 

Many of the teachers attempted to stifle a laugh whereas the faculty of the school of evil sneered at the boy. Fae grinned at Sophie's hurt expression. "I was simply trying to befriend her," he brought his voice down to a whisper, "which turned out to be the worst decision possible." Fae covered the growing smile on her face at his light insult. 

Sophie, seeing this as her chance to escape the evil school quickly clung onto his free arm, he looked at her with annoyance as she did so. "If he believes that we can be friends, why can't you?" she spoke out before Tedros could clear anything up. 

The teachers murmured in confusion. "So the two of you aren't together?" Lesso confirmed. Sophie was slow to answer but both Tedros and Fae immediately shook their heads no. The blonde gave up and shook her head as well.

"But we are practically platonic soulmates" Sophie added, trying to salvage the remains of her plan.

"Together or not, good and evil do not belong together, regardless of whether it is friendship or love" Dovey stated.

"But you told me nothing could keep true love apart." Agatha interrupted, "Does that not include soulmates now?" It was a weak argument but it seemed to convince the teachers. "Isn't that like the first rule of fairy tales?" Fae looked to her curly haired friend in confusion, a feeling of betrayal growing in her heart. Whose side was she on?

The schoolmaster finally spoke, "If it is true love, such a thing would certainly be momentous." He sighed, and Dovey chuckled at the idea. Fae felt a stirring inside her, an unsettling sensation she couldn't quite place. Her anger, which had been simmering since dinner, was only growing stronger.

Why were the teachers treating this situation as if it involved a broken couple? Tedros had clearly explained that he was simply trying to befriend Sophie, yet the whole matter was being twisted into something it wasn't. Fae could feel her power pulse inside her, urging to be unleashed. She recalled Felicity's advice about letting her emotions guide her magic but struggled to keep her feelings in check. She fought to maintain her composure, even as her frustration threatened to overwhelm her.

"It seems to me there's only one way to be sure." He nodded to himself, "A Trial by Tale!" he stated proudly. The teachers immediately spoke up in disagreement, none of them wanting to entertain the dangerous idea.

"You're going to have to accept, you know?" Fae whispered lightly to the Prince behind her.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure that as long as Sophie believes that the two of you are meant to be together, the teachers will make you go along with this nonsense" Fae grumbled, obviously exhausted. Tedros moved closer to her, placing a hand on her waist subtly as she leaned into him for support. Dovey noticed the interaction but said nothing, a small smile on her face.

"Sir, we accept." Sophie said quickly, speaking for the both of them even though she had no right. 

Agatha however, was more weary of the situation. "Sorry, what is a Trial by Tale?" Professor Anemone brought a palm up to her hand to hide her annoyance.

"Each of you have to enter the Blue Forest on opposite sides." Lady Lesso began to explain, whacking the Uglification teacher that sat next to her using her cane. "You have to defeat whatever danger presents itself and find each other by dawn."

"That's the place with the evil pansies, correct?" Fae whispered to Tedros who nodded.

"Help is strictly forbidden" Lesso finished.

"We can do this," Sophie said, encouraging herself more than others, "We're good enough and strong enough to protect each other." The schoolmaster let out a sarcastic huff of amusement.

"They can do this," Agatha supported Sophie, her voice firm. Fae rubbed her forehead in frustration. What is wrong with these people? she wondered. Tedros shook his head, accepting his fate. Despite being the future King of Camelot, he was currently just a prince following the orders of his teachers and the Schoolmaster. There was nothing he could do to escape this situation.

"This will get them both killed" Yuba slammed the table. Fae nodded in agreement. 

"The trial shall begin at sundown," The schoolmaster declared. "You two are dismissed." He motioned to Sophie and Agatha who immediately left the room, leaving Fae and Tedros alone with the staff. "Now, please explain exactly what happened in the mess hall." the schoolmaster ordered lightly.

"Sophie was all over Tedros, making it look like they were a couple. The Nevers were disgusted, and it caught everyone's attention. When Tedros came to his senses, he tried to pull away, but Sophie made a scene, saying he asked her to the Ever's Ball. I confronted them, things got tense, and I ended up dragging Tedros out before it escalated." Fae said quickly recapping all the events.

"I told you she was still infatuated with him," Lesso said with a nonchalant but proud aura around her. 

The Headmaster looked at Tedros and Fae with a mixture of regret and determination in his eyes. He sighed, leaning back slightly in his chair, before speaking. "I truly wish there was another way," he began, his tone apologetic, "but Sophie's infatuation with you, Tedros, seems to be turning into an obsession. She's convinced that you two are meant to be together, and no amount of reasoning has made her see otherwise."

Tedros exchanged a worried glance with Fae, who listened intently. The Headmaster continued, "After careful consideration, I've concluded that a Trial by Tale is the only way to make Sophie realize the truth. It's not a decision I've made lightly, but it will force her to realize that you two are not destined for each other."

The teacher's eyes widened, as did the two students in front of them. No wonder he was so adamant about it, Fae realized. He paused, eyes softening as he looked at the two students. "I know it's risky, and I don't want to put either of you in harm's way, but I believe this is the only way to break the spell of her infatuation. It's a trial of truth, and I'm confident that it will set things right."

Fae furrowed her brows, her worry clear as she processed the Headmaster's words. "But a Trial by Tale? That's dangerous," she said. "Is there really no other way? I don't want anyone getting hurt, especially not Tedros." Said boy placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she kept her gaze fixed on the Headmaster, searching for any sign that he might change his mind.

The Headmaster sighed, "I understand your concern, Ms. Fae. Believe me, I wouldn't suggest this if there were any other option." Fae nodded, accepting his words. 

The tension in the room eased slightly, and Professor Dovey took the opportunity to speak. "I would like to note," she began with a hint of a smirk, "that Tedros mentioned Sophie wasn't on his list of candidates for Camelot's future queen." Her words carried a subtle jab at the School for Evil's faculty, but there was also a genuine curiosity in her tone.

Dovey's eyes sparkled with interest as she continued, "If I may ask, Your Majesty... is there anyone else on this list that has made an impression on you?" Her gaze shifted knowingly between Tedros and Fae. Lesso rolled her eyes at Dovey's childish behavior, but even she couldn't hide her curiosity about Tedros's answer.

Tedros felt his pulse quicken, the question catching him off guard. He glanced at Fae, and for a moment, his nervousness was plain to see. "Well," he began, stumbling slightly over his words as he ran a hand through his hair–a nervous habit, "there is someone who's... definitely made an impression. Someone different from anyone else I've met."

His gaze lingered on the girl in front of him for just a moment longer than necessary before he quickly looked away, trying to play it off. "But, you know, it's still early," he added, his tone a bit too casual. "I think it's important to take time to really understand... what's right in front of you."

Dovey's smile widened, clearly pleased with his response, while Lesso's expression shifted to one of mild surprise. Fae felt her heart skip a beat, Tedros's words echoing in her mind. It was obvious to her—and probably to everyone else in the room—who he was talking about.

[huanzhuyulu]

Update: so I do currently have 18k of this written but haven't posted any of it because the chances of me just leaving it for 2 years unfinished at some point if I start posting something this complex as I write is high...but it's getting to the point where it's all there in my head and in outline and I know what's supposed to happen but it's just the writing that is just. so. much.

Am I planning to use my Xmas break to write this? Yes. Am I going to end up spending it gifing Ruyi nail guards or something instead? Probably.

But some exerpts I guess:

"I am so glad to see Xia Guniang is feeling better," Yong Qi said, "and I hope the pain from the wound is lessening. I have been feeling very guilty about wounding you with that arrow ever since that day.”

From what Ru Yi could tell, Xiao Yan Zi had very little reserve to begin with, and she was even less inhibited to speak to a person closer to her age, because she positively grinned and asked, “Why should you feel guilty? If it wasn’t for your arrow that day, I might never have been able to meet the emperor, I should thank you instead!”

“I am thankful that Xia Guniang does not hold a grudge,” Yong Qi said, smiling back. Picking up his tea cup, he said, “Nevertheless, I would like to use this tea in place of wine to pay my respect to the most beautiful deer.”

The statement made Hai Lan clear her throat briefly, which Xiao Yan Zi completely missed the significance of and Yong Qi just gave his mother an innocent look. But of course, it would be worse for Hai Lan to draw more attention to it than that, so the response came from Xiao Yan Zi instead.

“To the most muddle-headed hunter,” she said, with that same wide grin and sparkling eyes. Then, she tilted her head slightly and said, “But why are we using tea and not wine? There’s no spirit in toasting with tea.”

...

As Xiao Yan Zi continued to sing Xia Zi Wei praises, Ru Yi could only try to rapidly reassess the situation in her mind, especially on three crucial points. First, Xiao Yan Zi was probably right that they all dodged an arrow when Xiao Yan Zi did not decide to ‘borrow’ a princess’ father for a few days, because that would have truly been a disaster in the making. Second, whatever was to happen next to Xiao Yan Zi in the palace, Ru Yi would have her work cut out for her, dealing with this clearly very singular mind of this girl raised among the common people, unlike any personality ever seen in the palace.

Third, Ru Yi didn’t think she had ever seen Yong Qi smile at anyone the way he was smiling now at Xiao Yan Zi. And it was clear that Hai Lan did not like it one bit.

I don’t know if I will ever do anything with this…or if I do, when it would ever be finished, but here, have a random conversation between Hailan and Ruyi if Xiao Yan Zi landed in Ruyi!verse instead. Also, I guess this is meant to be read as a sequel to The Space Between the Finish and the Start. @renewedmotionforjudgment this might be in your areas of interest 😆

Keep reading

[laedback-taurus]

She’s Last

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader Word Count: 1.8k A/n: I had this idea while watching the Luca bullet scene, I cut out johns’ bullet to be able to make some changes work.

"Y/N Shelby" As soon as Luca said your name, Tommy's heart stopped. The thought what that bullet could take from him was too much and the only one that could even slightly calm him down was his wife and son.

“I was surprised how easy it was to get in a room with you” Luca Changretta sat on the end of the table in Tommy’s office.

“And now?” Tommy asked, drawing his gun.

“And now?” Luca started “and now you should know, that during the trouble you had earlier on your factory floor, I sent on accomplice into your office in overalls. He found your gun…” He pulled out and handful of bullets “and unloaded it”

Tommy checked his gun and found it unloaded. On by one Luca began lining the bullets up on the table.

“Arthur Shelby” The first bullet.

“Polly Gray” The second.

“Michael Gray” The Third.

“Ada Throne” The Fourth.

“Tommy Shelby” The Fifth.

“And finally,” Tommy heart began to beat rapidly.

“Y/n Shelby” Tommy felt his heart stop, the threat on your life was too much for him but he kept himself composed, determined to not show any reaction to this Italian in front of him.

“None of you will survive” Luca stated as he stood up to look out the office window. “Your level of security is pitiful” he turned to Tommy “I could have killed your wife when she left your home this morning” The fact that they knew your whereabouts made him sick, he thought moving you back to Small Heath would make you even a little bit safer, but they were watching you, the thought of them watching you in your home mad him sick, had they watched you care for his son, do the housework…or had they watched his wife change, that thought alone made his blood boil.

“But you see…” Luca slowly walked closer to Tommy “I want her to be last” Tommy felt like he was about to pass out, his ears rang, and his vision was cloudy, but he didn’t show any emotion, he wouldn’t.

“I want her to be alive after her family and her husband are dead, because my mother says, that this is what will hurt you the most” Tommy stood emotionless, he knew that you seeing him dead or even hearing about it would break you. He knew that you would suffer the realisation that your son would be left with no one after you were gone and that would crush whatever of your soul was left and he couldn’t bear the thought.

“Instead of sending you a black hand, I could’ve had her killed in the night. You don’t know why. But I want you to know why and I wanna suggest to you that we fight this vendetta with honour” Luca explained,

“No civilians, no children” Tommy’s immediate thoughts going to his son who is probably happy at home with you now.

“No police” Luca added.

“Welcome to Birmingham Mr Changretta”

“Grazie”

You had spent most of the day entertaining your son Charlie while waiting for his father to come home. Charlie had grown up in Arrow House so he was having a hard time adjusting to Small Heath, you could tell her was missing his home. You tried your best to keep him occupied with other things like toys or helping you cook dinner for Tommy, his form of helping was sitting on the bench and playing with some spoons. As much as you loved Arrow House it was nice to be with your son in the place you and his father had fallen in love in, its not the most romantic of places but it did hold some very fond memories. You found yourself reminiscing quite a lot while you were back, Tommy was beyond stressed and your barely saw him so lately, all you had was the memories, the one where a young Thomas stood on the doorstep, crumpled flowers in hand and a nervous look on his face, the one where you hugged Tommy goodbye, crying into his chest before he was shipped off the France, the one when he came home from France, a broken man on your doorstep and your favourite, the one where he asked you to be his wife, right after you had pulled a bullet out of his arm, you were still holding the damn thing. And now your son was in that very same house, it felt like everything had come full circle.

“Y/n?” Tommy called out as he entered the small home, he listened closely for a response, but none came. “Charlie?” he called louder this time, looking in rooms as he went, panic slowly setting in, Luca’s threats weighing heavy on his heart.

“Daddy?” at the sound of his son’s small voice, Tommy turned to see him standing at the top of the stairs with his wife right beside him, Charlies small hand gripping the side of his mum’s nightdress and the other rubbing his eye. At the sight of his little family, he let himself relax for the first time all day, they were safe, and he was home with them now, that’s all that mattered.

“Hello Charlie” He smiled at the sight of his sleepy son, dressed ready for bed “looks like I caught you just in time”

“We were just about to pop into bed, weren’t we darling?” You asked your sleepy boy who nodded.

“Will you tuck me in daddy?” He asked sweetly, how could Tommy possibly say no. Charlie noticed his father start to walk up the stairs so he reached his little arms out, waiting for Tommy to pick him up. Tommy scooped him up and started on his way to his son’s room.

“You’re getting big aren’t you” Tommy pointed out his son’s sudden growth which he wasn’t particularly fond about.

“Mummy says I’ll be big and strong like you soon” Charlie pointed out as Tommy laid him down in his bed.

“Is that so?” Tommy smiled, noticing you watching your boys from the doorway.

“Uh huh and maybe I’ll find a beautiful girl like mummy” Charlie said as tommy tucked him in.

“No one is as beautiful as mummy” Tommy pointed out.

“Well maybe I’ll get close” Your son giggled followed by a yawn.

“Goodnight little man, don’t go growing too fast, okay?” Tommy planted a soft kiss on his son’s forehead.

“I’ll try Daddy” Charlie said before closing his eyes, Tommy quietly snuck out of the room where he found you standing in the hallway, a smile resting on your face. Tommy pulled the door shut behind him before he reached out for you, pulling you towards him by your hips.

“What’s wrong love?” you asked, reaching up the caress his cheek. You could always tell when something was bothering him, no matter how hard he’d try to hide it, there was no getting past you.

“Luca showed up at work, threatened me, threatened the family and…” he could bring himself to even say the last part, but you seemed to figure it out.

“Come on, come to bed, we’ll talk there” you softly grabbed his hand and lead him to the small room you shared. You began helping him undress by slipping his coat off and then his suit jacket, hanging them on some hooks on the back of the door. As you did this, he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, working on his pants next. As he undid the button you approached him from behind, rubbing his bare shoulders softly. He slipped off his pants and turned to face you, you hands now lay on his chest, he placed his hands back onto your hips and lead you back to the bed, he sat on the edge, and you straddled him, beginning to run your fingers through his hair.

“You have to lay low for a bit” He broke the silence, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

“Tommy- “You began to protest.

“No, please listen to me love” he pleaded, looking up at you with the most hopeless looking you’ve seen on him. “He’s been watching you; he always knows where you are and at least here I can have you protected” You could tell by his voice that he was incredibly worried which scared you slightly, you hadn’t seen him this worried since you were in labour.

“I can’t lose you Y/n, I would lose my head, you keep me grounded and without you, I wouldn’t know what to do…I can’t lose you; Charlie can’t lose you” his eyes watered slightly and your heart broke. His hid his face in your chest and you rubbed his back gently as he clung to you, pulling you as close as he physically could.

“You won’t lose me Tommy, you’ll figure this out, you always do my love. I won’t leave the house unless you or someone you approve of is with me alright? I’m not leaving you; I couldn’t bear the thought of you alone” You reassured him, you felt him nod against your chest, you knew he wasn’t convinced, he wouldn’t be until Luca was dead but this was all you could do for now. You sat there for a while before he slowly pulled away, taking your hands in his. He gently ghosted his thumb over your wedding ring, your promise to him.

“let’s get some rest Tommy, you need it” You suggested, and he didn’t object, moving up the bed and guiding you up and into his arms, facing his chest.

You copied his actions from a moment ago and picked up his left hand, ghosting over his wedding band, something you both often did as a reminder of your promise to one another.

“There is something I have to tell you Tommy, I should wait but you need to know” you started, looking up at him, his tired eyes looking back at you. “Soon, we’ll be a family of four”

“I hope it’s a girl” was all he said before he drifted off to sleep with his pregnant wife in his arms and his son outside their door, building up the courage to ask if he could sleep with them.

[sea-owl]

I have a happy Polin AU !

First book version because I despise de Marina subplot, and the destruction of Peneloise, and the lack of Felicity, and the personality transplant between Colin and Benedict.

When Violet shows Colin "The List " with Pen on the top it actually works because she doesn't give it to him but tells him to check it out because it's for the nephew of a friend of hers and she wants to make sure they are all great ladies as she believes, and Colin is like "you want to just give away Pen to someone we don't even know!" and gets all grumpy which make him (finally!) evaluate his feelings and realize them.

So he procceds to go court Pen without telling her he's courting her, but telling his family and hers (who don't tell her either because they think nothing will come of it). So Pen thinks he's just being extra nice and they are getting closer. Thus whe he proposes like a couple months later in she's shocked to learn they being courted for months.

Cue hilarious / chaotic proposals only Colin deciding to make a grand gesture so there's no doubt in anyone's mind.

This is old, and I am so sorry, this got lost in my drafts.

But I like this idea! I do believe Colin had feelings for Penelope back when he shouted his infamous words on the steps, but they were still brand new, and he needed time by himself to sort them out. But as they are the Bridgertons, they can't help getting into each other's business. Too many cooks in the kitchen, and no their messing up the recipe that's wrong! When Colin was still trying to figure out what the recipe wanted exactly.

But this here, Violet saying a friend of her's having a nephew, or even one of the Rokesby cousins, are looking for potential brides then shows him a list that she actually put together for him could probably be the equivalent of leaving out an ingredient needed for the recipe, or adding something tue cook may have forgot.

Colin reads over the list Violet gave him for some other man, and his eyes widen immediately when he sees Penelope's name in the top spot. He feels his eye twitch, and no, that's wrong. Penelope can't marry into his mother's friend's nephew's family. She belongs in the Bridgerton family, she belongs with . . .him.

The very next day Colin goes to call on Penelope, but in his tunnel visioned determination forgot to say he was calling to court Penelope.

He tells their families, though. Portia asks her daughter if it was true Colin was courting her, but Penelope denied it. Though Portia also didn't say that's what Colin told her. Portia sighed, how she wished one of her daughters could bag a Bridgerton, but if Penelope says they are not courting, then Portia would believe her. That does make Portia suspicious though of Colin's true intions.

The Bridgertons on the other hand are ecstatic that Colin is courting Penelope and can't wait for him to propose.

Meanwhile, poor Penelope has no idea she's being courted. She just thinks Colin is being extra nice, and maybe pities her a little bit. This is her third season out after all. She'll enjoy the attention while it lasts.

It all comes to head when Portia or Felicity asks their Bridgerton counterpart what Colin's intentions are towards Penelope.

Bridgerton says Colin is courting Penelope with plans to marry. Featherington says Penelope has said they were not courting.

They go back and forth until said couple walks into the drawing room and then both Bridgerton and Featherington are demanding to know Colin's intentions.

Colin bursts out, "I'm going to marry Penelope!"

Penelope's brain temporarily shuts down

[meowcats734]

Two weeks passed, and I was no closer to finding my mother's soul. The rift in the basement and the repurposed monkeys were pulling in fragments of memory, but... they were drawing at random from every arrogant thought to ever cross the mind of all dead beings in history. It was hardly a surprise that I hadn't found what I was looking for.

Witch Aimes was pleased, though, if her reactions to the weekly project check-ins were anything to speak of. The project was hardly more than a proof-of-concept at this stage, but Witch Aimes claimed it was progressing remarkably quickly for a theoretical witchcraft project run by a first-year.

That was because of the demon in my dreams giving me academic advice, not because of any prodigal talent I possessed, but I didn't see any reason to let Witch Aimes know that. I didn't want to find myself on the wrong end of her memory-spear, after all.

"It's nice to see some actual academic research still going on here," Witch Aimes mused, looking over the reams of data the monkeys had collected. "It's theoretically possible that this data could give us something useful for the war, of course, but we can't just drop everything and focus solely on results over theory. That's robbing tomorrow's progress for today's shortsighted gain."

Any other time, I would have loved to hear Witch Aimes' take on academic integrity—wait, no, I got that backwards. Any other time, I would have tuned out Witch Aimes' take on academic integrity, and this was no exception. "But are we getting anything coherent out of it? Any memories?"

Witch Aimes shrugged. "Sure. Plenty of memories. This pattern—" She tapped on a crude drawing of what looked like a petal, where we'd switched the monkeys to painting. "It's a perfect match for an immature calmflower."

"We got a memory of a flower," I repeated.

"In only two weeks!" Witch Aimes agreed.

I clenched my fists. "What about something that gets me closer to finding my mother?"

Witch Aimes blinked at me. "I... beg your pardon?"

"The whole reason I started this damn project is because I need to know..." Something in me instinctively clamped down, and I held back. "I need to know what was on my mother's mind when she died," I whispered.

A flicker of sympathy darted over Witch Aimes' face. "I'm sorry for your loss," she automatically said. "But the only reason you have funding at all is the potential for weaponizing your research against Odin. As noble a goal as giving you closure might be, I can't convince the Silent Parliament to allocate funds to bringing back an echo of some boy's dead mother when they could be raising an army to prevent the deaths of thousands more."

I closed my eyes. "I understand," I said. "You won't help me."

"We're all helping out to take down Odin," she said. "Now, tell me about the data you collected on day twelve..."

###

"Yes," Odin said. "I can help."

I paused mid-rant, swiveling towards them. I'd gotten better at moving around in soulspace, even if I still had to actively concentrate to do it. "What did you say?"

Odin shrugged. "You want to find a fragment of your mother's soul. I've been spending the past two weeks and considerable resources doing exactly that."

"You found a soul fragment?" I darted forwards, grabbing them by the shoulders. If the ancient demon was bothered by my treatment, they didn't show it.

"Technically, I found three," Odin said, "but two of them are located in parts of thoughtspace inimical to human life. You would be incinerated or frozen in the planes of passion or sorrow." That tracked—the planes of elemental heat and cold would... likely be unpleasant places to go searching for memories of a long-dead mother.

"Then..." My stomach dropped. "Where is the third?" I waited for them to demand their price. Waited for them to force me to refuse. Because despite everything they'd done for me, Odin had already wrought death and destruction on a scale I hadn't seen since my childhood, and their reach would only get so much worse if they knew how to create witches on demand.

"It is located in the plane of insecurity," Odin calmly said.

I blinked. "I—what?"

"Also known as the plane of elemental falsehood," Odin helpfully clarified.

"No, that's not what—you're just giving it to me?"

Odin tilted their head. "I don't have the soul fragment on me, if that's what you're asking. The spell I have in mind will piggyback on the resonance between your memories of your mother and—"

"That's not what I'm asking," I snapped. "You're not... you're not demanding..." They weren't demanding the one thing I couldn't give up. They... they weren't asking anything at all.

"Why would I resort to demands? It's an inelegant way of enforcing my will." Odin raised an eyebrow. "I could send you there now, if you so desired. The plane of elemental falsehood is... uncanny, but it is one of the relatively few emotional planes which is perfectly safe for human life for short periods of stay. As long as you don't do anything entirely idiotic, that is."

Something in me still screamed to say no. To refuse the literal deal with a demon.

But I needed to know. I needed to know if she'd died hating herself because of me.

I held out a hand. "Do it," I said, before I could change my mind.

Odin.

Grinned.

They took my hand, and my soulspace dissolved into wakefulness.

###

The nursery rhyme was nameless, as most such rhymes were. It hovered on the edge of childhood memory and half-remembered dream, wavering as it sang through the glossy-sheened halls.

Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and now, what shall we play?

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up, back aching from lying on the painted wooden bed. Where... where was I?

Tick... tock... goes... the clock... now summer's gone away.

The room was dim and uncannily familiar, a bizarre mirror image of my rental room. I tried opening the door—it felt far too light to be made out of wood—and stepped into the creaking hallway.

"Hello?" I called.

Tick... tock... goes... the clock... I'll bring you back to me...

Though the hallway had more doors than anyone could count, the song was only coming from behind one of them. Instinctively and unerringly, I stepped forwards, trying to open the door—but it was nothing more than cheap paint on a wall, a facade as thin as a wish.

Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and I will set you free...

I knew that voice. I needed that voice. Hearing it on the other side of the wall was like a fishhook driven through my chest, inexorably tugging me forwards. I looked around for a way through, but even if I was the size of an ant, there wasn't the slightest crack in the smooth, oily wall.

But it was only a facade.

I took one step back, two, then hurled myself forwards, slamming through the painted door. It snapped instead of splintered, whatever material it was made of clearly not wood, revealing the... entity... on the other side.

The doll was the size of a human child, its too-wide eyes and cherubic blush contrasting with the distressingly fleshy lips and obscenely realistic teeth. Beneath its shoulders, even the attempts at seeming lifelike ended, a metallic, ticking skeleton of gears and springs whirring away, all powered by a humming, glowing box.

It sang with my mother's voice.

Tick... tock... goes... the clock... now, go to sleep, my child...

Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and let... your dreams... run wild...

"Mom?" I whispered, throat tightening.

The doll's head swiveled towards me, and I screamed.

It stood with uncannily fluid speed and unhinged its jaw and nope nope nope I wasn't staying around to find out what happened next. From what I understood of thoughtspace, my physical body had been moved from realspace to here; if I died, it was lights out for me. I was already sprinting back down the hallway as its distorted singing chased me:

Tick, tock, goes the clock, the song draws to an end.

Tick, tock, goes the clock, forever we'll be friends.

It was catching up. Oh, rifts, it was catching up. The floor quavered beneath my feet as I ran—

Quavered beneath my feet.

This entire place was a facade. Painted doors, paper-thin walls...

...and a floor so thin it shook when I stepped on it.

Desperately, I turned to face the oncoming demon. Its lips—my mother's lips—twisted up into a grin as I stopped—

I stomped as hard as I could on the floor, and the demonic doll fell into an abyss of clockwork and gears.

Somewhere very, very far down, two massive gears ground up the demon with a spark.

I stood there on the teetering edge of the chasm, catching my breath.

And then a wisp of light rose from the void.

Even in death, it still mournfully sang—but now, the brassy, twisted tones of the demon's body had faded, leaving me with the voice of my mother as I knew her when I was still a child.

Tick, tock, goes the clock, and though the time may fly...

Tick, tock, goes the clock, we're family, you and I.

"Mom," I breathed, and it was as much prayer as joy.

The soul fragment twinkled in the air, uncertain.

Then I reached out and let it in.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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Writing Prompt #156 — Plastic World

Writing Prompt #156 — Plastic World

Prompt: You woke up in an entirely fake world. It’s an endless doll-house plastic facsimile powered by miles of clockwork gears and levers that go straight down into darkness. You did not get here yourself, and you have no idea how to leave. (more…)