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amethystina · 3 months ago

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Anonymous raccoon here once again escaping from my garbage can. I’m really glad to hear that your former stepdad is out of the hospital and I’m sorry to hear that your aunt is in the hospital :( Wishing her a speedy recovery. You’ve definitely been getting put through the wringer both through life issues and health issues and I’m wishing that you have a moment to yourself to breathe. Taking things slowly is soooo important and I’m glad you’ve been reading at least! One of the best ways to wind down I feel like lol.

And man, in terms of the therapist I feel you. I’ve struggled with therapists due to already having done so much gah damn reading previously and learning so many strategies etc. But you’re right - you’re the patient and it’s his job to figure things out! Even if you’re possibly a trickier patient. So I hope that you find a therapist (or that this one) crunches some thoughts in his brain and finds maybe a completely different way to approach things. I’m of the opinion that there is no defined way to do therapy and sometimes it’s necessary to go a lil off the rails and off the books. Wishing you luck and sending good vibes your way in hope things are only uphill (positively) from now.

Thank you so much 💜 My aunt is being very tight-lipped about her condition, unfortunately, so at the moment it's a case of "no news is good news." I'm assuming she's doing better because I haven't heard that she's died, basically.

Taking things slow is very important, yes, and I wish I could do it more than I am right now, but the truth is that things have been unravelling for the past year and it's all coming to a head. I haven't really discussed this openly before (because I get very defensive about certain aspects of my private life) but, to make a very long story short, my wife got sick last summer which left me to take care of practically everything within the household for about six months. And I do mean everything.

Which is another reason why I've been so tired. We have a very big house and I was already burnt out and exhausted, but suddenly had to singlehandedly make sure we didn't starve or the house fell apart. And this is on top of deaths and illnesses and worrying about my wife and various stresses at work, yes. It was rough. And honestly pushed me closer to a complete breakdown than I have ever been in my entire life — which, considering the life I've had, is saying something.

So, all things considered, I'm kind of surprised I'm even functional at this point?

My wife is doing a lot better now, thankfully, but I still have to do the majority of the household chores that involve physical exertion. And, after much agonising and deliberation, I had to put on my big girl pants and talk to my wife about selling the house because I simply can't take care of it on my own. It's too much work for one person, especially considering how easily exhausted I am. And even if we love this house, we both agreed that it's the best course of action. And, while we're at it, we're going to be moving into separate apartments because it's become more and more apparent that I need more space and alone time. I want to live on my own again.

We're going to stay married, though! And probably spend a lot of time together. We're just not going to live together.

And, unsurprisingly, all of this is taking up a lot of energy and space inside my head right now. There's a lot to do in terms of the house and getting it sold, then finding apartments for us both, and getting ready to move. I'm optimistic and think this will be an improvement to my energy levels in the long run, but there's still a lot left to do before I can reap any of the benefits.

So I won't be able to take things slow for the foreseeable future, unfortunately 😅

Anyhow. My therapist has already told me that he doesn't think he can contribute all that much to how I'm dealing with my stresses and issues because I already have so many strategies in place. It took three appointments. Which is almost a new record! But only almost.

I don't hold that against him, though (and he did tell me to reach out again if things got too overwhelming) but yeah. I'm an incredibly difficult client and I think I unsettle a lot of therapists because I understand myself so well already and they're not used to that. They get confused when they don't have to hold my hand all the time and I can reach my own conclusions, often in between appointments. And I look fine, you know? And can express myself so eloquently and thoroughly, so surely my problems aren't bothering me that much? Surely I've got this covered?

Or at least that's what they tell me.

My therapist did thank me for being so interesting to talk to, though? He said it was fun and fascinating to talk to someone so perceptive, introspective, and wise. So that's a compliment, I guess? He's by no means a bad therapist, I want to point out, but it's clear that he's used to working with people who need more simple and direct guidance. So definitely not the best fit for me. But, if nothing else, I got an opportunity to voice all the thoughts currently whirling around inside my brain and could get validation from an outside source. Which is something?

But yeah. No more therapist appointments for me, apparently, and a lot of my attention is going to have to go to selling the house and moving. Though I suspect the moving won't happen for another six months or so, at the earliest. But we'll see.

Thank you so much for checking in again 💜 It feels a bit like I just keep piling on more and more tragedies and crises every time someone asks me how I'm doing, but that's just my life right now I guess? And, as mentioned, it sometimes takes a while before I'm actually comfortable or willing to mention some of them out loud. I'm, uh, a little too adept at shouldering burdens in silence. So this has actually been going on in the background for months already, I just haven't wanted to talk about it until now.

But yeah. In case you wanted another reason as to why I haven't been able to write as much lately, there you have it. Life's just been really difficult this past year.

But here's to hoping that things will get better once the house is sold and I can move into my own apartment? And hopefully get more peace and quiet? And just focus on taking care of myself for once?

I want to stay positive.

Thank you again and please take care 💜

#Amethystina Replies #Anonymous #Anonymous Raccoon #You're getting your own tag now yes 😘#Some of the things I deleted in the last answer made it into this one #Since I've had a little more time to work through them I guess #I'm not exaggerating when I say that things have been difficult lately #And I've been keeping a lot of it secret #Because I'm just a very private person in general #But it also makes me frustrated every time someone tries to place demands on me #And asks when the next chapter of this or that fic is coming #Because I DON'T HAVE TIME #Or the energy #I was literally in survival mode for the majority of last year #With no room for leisure time or rest #But my readers don't know that #And can't know that unless I tell them why I'm so stressed and tired #But I don't WANT to tell them because I'm still in the middle of it and that makes me feel vulnerable and defensive #So yeah #I wrote so little last year because I had to take over full responsibility of our household for several months #While also working #And dealing with grief and medical emergencies left and right #So writing wasn't even on my list of priorities tbh #But maybe it can be this year?#Here's to hoping!#Will I ever write an answer to an ask that isn't a complete bummer?#Stay tuned to find out!

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years ago

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your probably gonna get tired of this fiction but I need a part 3 to the ones where wednesday thinks yn is woth xavier and Enid makes her ask yn out and now they're dating can we get a part 3 where Wednesdays still jealous of xavier

This extension of the story shouldn’t exist, this extension shouldn’t have even been taken into consideration; Following the basic structure of a three part act- much like how most of modern story telling was formatted - Wednesday’s story started with her craving a forbidden fruit just out of her grasp. Then later came to it’s thrilling conclusion when you happily accepted her as your girlfriend. After all no one wants to read about what happens after happily ever after for the harsh realism of not all relationships are built last, no matter how well matched the lovers might be; for it only servers as a great reminder that nothing was meant to last forever.

People tend to actively choose to live in ignorant bliss as to avoid accepting the notoriously worst aspects of humanity. They subconsciously refuse to use the cognitive thinking abilities because it meant to not only to evaluate the way things were but to evaluate their own actions and beliefs also; To some, this would be considered too much work whilst to others, it’s all they’ve been doing their entire existence. So why was it that in this moment did Wednesday wished to become blissfully ignorant to the way you and Xavier walked within unnecessarily close proximity to one another as you both entered the quad.

She has long accepted that you and Xavier were inseparable friends but did he really have to be sat so close to you to the point that his shoulder was permanently attached to yours? It made her skin crawl with the thought of him tainting your skin. To make matters worse for Wednesday, Xavier rested his head against your shoulder with a pout as though exhausted from the walk over to her table; That wasn’t the worst part for her, the worst part for Wednesday was the fact that you laughed at his actions. “I’m sorry babe, doofus over here lost sleep because he was too preoccupied with the projects within his private paradise,” you turned to stare down at his head, “again.”

Xavier whined as he burrowed his head deeper into your shoulder; Wednesday wanted to craft his luscious golden brown hair into a basket of which would serve to carry his severed head should he continue the way that he has. “Where’s the snooze button on this thing.” He joked as he pretended to act as though he was attempting to turn off an alarm, making you laugh which in turn made him smile upon result. You and Wednesday weren’t necessarily open about your relationship, preferring to keep pda to a minimum, unless behind closed doors; The only person aware of your relationship was Enid, so to the rest of Nevermore instead of her being the one you were actively dating it was Xavier.

You never had qualms about not being able to parade your girlfriend around as you respected her wishes; Wednesday on the other hand was internally seething at her own idiocy for not foreseeing the detrimental effects of this predicament. Her black heart only grew darker when you playfully shove Xavier off of your shoulder and act offended of being compared to that of an obnoxious alarm clock. “The next time you wish to fall asleep in class, do so on your bag or sketch book because your shoulder privileges have been revoked.” Xavier gasps, hurt, as he turned to look at Wednesday. “You hearing this?” He asks.

“My ears are fully functional the last time I checked.” Wednesday replied shortly which no one took to heart considering that this was just how she socially interacted. However you could differentiate when she was being hostile and when she was just being her usual self. You were well aware of how your close friendship with Xavier was affecting your girlfriend, hell way before you and Wednesday were dating you would utilise your close friendship in hopes of making her jealous; Which worked they way you intended but fear that it had seemed so far into her that it soon became an insecurity.

An insecurity that only told Wednesday that due to her emotional stump and refusal of partake in grand gestures of PDA outside the dorm room, you would sooner or later search that fulfilment elsewhere; primarily in Xavier. However Wednesday knew of your loyalty to her, to your friends and in her assuming such a thing of you would put her into question of whether or not she actually knew you. “Xavier,” you placed your hand on your friends shoulder, “would you mind giving me and my girlfriend a bit of space for a bit.” You asked of him as he stared into your eyes in gauging your emotions. Xavier and yourself built a method of checking in on one another without the use of words; You’ve known each other long enough to be able to get a good read on what the other was feeling at certain moments.

So afterwards a brief moment of silence Xavier smiled softly, patting you on the shoulder before muttering a small ‘okay’ before leaving you and Wednesday to have the whole table to yourselves. “Why’d you send him away? I thought you were content with having your best friend around all the time.” Wednesday asked, feeling slight relief that she didn’t have to compete for your attention anymore. “You wanna know why?” You laughed as you reached over to grab her colder hands in yours, squeezing them in hopes that a drop of your warmth would bleed into her palms. “I sent Xavier away for his own safety. You were on the precipice of murdering him out of jealously.”

Wednesday almost flinched away at the accusation but your hands held her steady that she found herself squeezing your hands almost out of instinct. “I don’t see why you protect him like you do, can he not protect himself all of a sudden?” She asks bitterly, remembering how you’d go out of your way to have Xavier’s back whenever the normies of Jericho got a little headstrong with their ‘pranks.’ He was in fencing for fucksakes. You found humour in her perception of the artist and decided to let her in on some first hand experience. “Wednesday, Xavier is the equivalent of a damsel in distress. He needs me to protect him from doing stupid shit.”

You felt immense pride when you saw the edges of her lips quirk upward, tightening your grip on her hands, “You on the other hand,” you continued, “can handle yourself quite well and besides I find your verbal beatdowns attractive.” You winked, making your girlfriend scoff at your blatant flirting. Whatever it was that you were doing, it was working it’s magic on her. The jealously and insecurity she had felt prior were now a thing of the past when you smiled lovingly at her. Wednesday knew you didn’t look at Xavier the way you looked at her, you looked at her with love, admiration and caring; Whilst with Xavier, it was purely platonic. Your eyes may shine for him but they glowed for her every. Single. Time.

It reminded her of where your heart truly lied at the end of the day despite it’s sheer size to withhold both her and Xavier in it. However Wednesday had a tendency to be selfish and the inability to share the things she held of priceless value within her bleak life. She may not have trusted Xavier had he said there was nothing between you; but she trusted you indefinitely to go as far as to believe when you say that theres nothing short of platonic feelings between you and Xavier. “As much as i despite to admit but you’re right I can hold my own whilst Xavier on the other hand cannot despite talking big of himself.” Wednesday said as she found the inside of her chest tickling when your lips turned upward into a smile.

“Oh believe me, Xavier is as pathetic as they come.” You mused, finding hilarity whenever the boy would hide himself behind your back whenever he was being a little shit. It was an endearing trait when it was posed against others but when it was used against you, that’s when you found Xavier at his most annoying. “However, I believe we’ve talked enough about that knobhead for one day, how about we head off to garden and prick our fingers on rose thrones just to feel something?” You raised your brows as in a silent invitation. Wednesday didn’t say anything other then stand from her chair with your hands still in hers before effectively dragging you to the school gardens.

#wednesday addams x reader #Wednesday Addams x you #Wednesday Addams imagines #Wednesday Addams imagine #wednesday addams fanfic #Wednesday Addams fic #wednesday x reader #wednesday imagine #Wednesday imagines #Wednesday x you #Wednesday fic #Wednesday fanfic #Wednesday fluff

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gnomgnomovich · 2 years ago

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About Brok.

It is that moment after you lick your wound a little (thanks, Santa Monica, God bless you all :D) that you started to think. And then came an understanding that Brok is not only a great person, but the huge part of a GOW:R’s plot - more than we thought.

In a first place, he was a brother and a friend. And the Great Blacksmith, of course. His personal basis, even if he was always acting grumpy and brutally honest, was actually the same as the Sindri’s. Brok helps, cares and protects his people - family and mates. IMHO, he was simpler (not dummier) than Sindri, that makes him more... Whole. That’s why he can just be himself and don’t give a goat’s fart about others opinion :) I myself dare to think that we will be good friends, because we have same personalities, and I’m a master of toilet humor (me ant’ getting better with age, my dudes).

But let’s talk about the game’s plot. Specifically - about Brok and prophesies. I think that prophesy cannot foresee him because of 3/4 soul, a-a-a-a-and that makes me wonder: how much the painting of future could be changed if his soul was complete?

What if some of his actions help Faye in her fate-changing route?

We don’t know when exactly he lost his soul, but I think it can match with the entire Odin-prophetess-giants-foresight thing. Also... Faye was a good friend to the dwarves. They seem to hang out often, so maybe that relationships help her to change the fate of her husband and son.

I cannot but think about it.

And so, not to mention Brok’s supreme role in starting Ragnarök: exposed Odin’s disguise, doesn't let him take the mask, become the reason to fight for Kratos and Sindri. Not everything in this line is good, tho...

I’m not telling that everyone are in the second stage. It’s just THE scene in the house was a turning point to action and changing for almost everyone. At least for Kratos, Atreus and Sindri.

I miss him.

Here is some doodle about this best boiz ever. And again, sorry for lack of English language, hope no one dies after reading my notes :D

#god of war #god of war ragnarok #god of war spoilers #gow #gowr #brok #sindri #night time thoughts

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zalrb · 2 years ago

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more unpopular kate/kathony (kanthony?) opinions! - bridgerton 2.07 review

1. I’m watching this like, wow Edwina doesn’t get a happy ending. Hell, even in the Directors’ Cut of LOTR, Eowyn gets with Faramir!

2. Oh great, is Kate going to masturbate to the memory of her kissing Anthony the Mouse?

3. She looks so stiff in that kiss though.

4. Yes.

5. This entire situation reminds me of this part of Poor Unfortunate Souls

6. They’re so going to change the lyrics in the live action. Anyway, off-topic.

7. And Kate just looks annoyed that Edwina won’t talk to her rather than contrite.

8. I just find the Bridgerton family extremely annoying.

9. “Reputation! Reputation!” Oh my god, Anthony is a man, he’ll be FINE.

10. “I give credit to your imagination, Miss Danbury, a bigger story I cannot foresee.” Lmao, maybe don’t speak, Kate?

11. AND THEY GAZE AT EACH OTHER ACROSS THE PROMENADE BECAUSE THEY ARE IN LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE.

12. Even though Edwina is right there and all of the ton is watching because looooooooooooooooooooove.

13. I just don’t have time for Olitz-like ships.

14. This Eloise scene is long.

15. “A ball.” Ha, Edwina’s eye roll, she deserves her own show.

16. NOW THAT ANTHONY IS NO LONGER LIVING A LIE, THE DOG FINDS HIM SUITABLE AND DOGS ARE GREAT JUDGES OF CHARACTER. TRUE LOVE WILL ALWAYS SET YOU FREE.

17. Lmao, sorry, I find this love story insufferable.

18. omg guyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyys, he just can’t HELP but stare at her

19. I just feel like Edwina deserves to do the Regency version of this to Anthony

20. Their love and attraction is SO POWERFUL that they’ll have to stay on OTHER SIDES OF THE ROOM DURING THE BALL.

21. Ugh.

22. I don’t know if I can live through another Kathony dance.

23. Derry Girls Clare should just be Belle.

24. Mouse Man Mouse Man

25. HE GOT A WHIFF OF HER PERFUME AND NOW HE IS IN HEAVEN, RELISHING THE SCENT OF HER.

26. And this is the other thing too, Kate is extremely passive. Like, OK Edwina doesn’t want to talk to her but if she’s supposed to want her happiness more than anything, if this is supposed to be killing her inside, then at least try to make amends but she’s just standing around looking wooden and maybe sometimes catching Anthony’s eye.

27. Oh jesus christ are eloise and whatshisface going to kiss now that they’re arguing?

28. No. Good.

29.

I mean has it though?

30. “I am reaping the consequences of destroying it” girl, you’re masturbating in bed. Like just be HONEST.

31. “Happy endings do not exist, Kate” well, not for you, Edwina, but they will for her.

32. Anthony is so fucking shameless.

33. “We should be ashamed of what we did” and there’s going to be a speech about how he’s not ashamed or how she’s not ashamed, a Delena “I’m not sorry” speech. I don’t care.

34. WHY is Colin a character? WHAT DOES HE DO.

35. He gives sooooooooooo much more than she does. He carries them, honestly.

35. Oh yes, sniping and arguing, which is just their foreplay. I’m bored. We’ve done this already.

36. Yes, yes, consume

I feel like the only time I’ve ever been like I get it, they didn’t even use the world consume

37. Oh they do make him do the “Do you think I want to be in this position” McDreamy “DO YOU THINK I WANT TO LOOK AT YOU” the more they drag this out, the more impatient I become and not in the way they want. I feel like Garrett from Superstore but instead of affair it’s get together

38. Anthony: I’ve lived my life for my family. Kate: OMG SAME. Me

I had to see it. All I’ve seen is both of you complain.

39. I don’t think a stylized sex scene worked here but that’s just a personal preference, if they’re all like “YOU CONSUME ME” “I CAN’T ESCAPE YOU” “I LIVE FOR MY FAMILY LET’S LIVE FOR OURSELVES” and they kiss and he fingers her then he’s all i’ll stop and she’s like don’t, I want to see/hear the frenzy, the heavy breathing, I want it to seem as organic as possible, like I would want a Shameless sex scene at least at first and then they can do the stylistic one during round 2 or something

40. KATE. I’M SICK OF THIS.

You fucked him. OWN IT. Because I don’t find the “journey” to her just allowing herself to be happy well executed at all because they don’t delve into Kate (or any of the characters) enough for this to be anything other than by-the-numbers and superficial so this just comes across as disingenuous and that’s the other problem with stylized sex scenes, they’re deliberate and don’t give off the impression of impulsivity or the heat of the moment so I’m just like IT’S TOO LATE FOR THIS.

41. This is why I like Cersei-like characters they just fucking own it.

42. AND ANTHONY IS SUCH. A DICK.

43. OH NO, SHE’S GALLOPING IN THE RAIN.

44. Lmao, I am not watching anything Bridgerton EVER again.

45. It’s done.

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kawaiijohn · 4 years ago

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Rewind, Rinse, Repeat Chapter 1

For Invisobang Minibang 2021

Ao3 Link

Chapters: 3 finished, 12 total Rating: T+ Warnings: Major and Minor Character Death- all temporary, Implied Child Abuse/Neglect, Strong Language, Mild Body Horror, Mild Injury. Other warnings listed by chapter Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton, Pariah Dark, Levi | Leviathan (OC), Mal (OC), Observants, Mentions of other characters Ships: Lost Time, Dark Ages, CW & OC child, CW & Levi | Leviathan (OC) Genre/Tropes: Human AU, Magic AU, Found Family, Character Origin, Hurt/Comfort, Original Magic System and Lore Additional Tags: Existentialism & Existential Angst, Memory Loss & Amnesia, Corruption, Clockwork Centric, They/Them Pronouns for Clockwork, The Fenton's A+ Parenting, Obersvant Bashing

Summary

“Clockwork can I ask you something? How did you become a ghost?”

The tale surrounding the mystery of Clockwork's existence; a world where magic is common and ghosts are not. A world where one lonely, average mage tries with all their might to save what means most to them. A world where things need to be remade into something better.

Shout out to my betas @bibliophilea and @moonlights-shadow-warrior for keeping me sane, @13thdoodle for letting me use their OC, Levi, @dailudannos and @sailor-toni for providing art for later chapters, and all the folks over at @invisobang for being awesome!!!!

Chapter One below the Cut. The rest is available on my Ao3 account because tumblr linking/posting is hella broken.

Chapter 1: An Inquiry

“Hey, Clockwork? Can I ask you something?”

Clockwork looks over from the mirror they were watching intently. “You already have, Daniel,” they reply, offering the other a smirk.

“Oh, ha ha. You've never said that to me before.” The reply is filled to the brim with sarcasm, as per usual. Danny rolls his eyes, but a small smile gracing his lips betrays the fact he isn't annoyed in the least. “Seriously, though. It’s something that's been on my mind like... every day for the last two weeks!!" He raises his hands towards the sky, flopping back in the air dramatically. "But... it's kinda, y'know. Personal-” Danny trails off, slightly embarrassed.

Of course. Clockwork finds themself smiling fondly- Danny thought he’d said something he shouldn't have- an inquiry that could make his guardian upset (as if it's even possible to upset Clockwork like that). A question is a question, and this is a worrying habit of his that the Time Master is trying to help break, even if it's still somewhat endearing to them.

“I uh, I mean... it’s personal about- to you, not to me. That’s what I meant!!” Danny continued.

Clockwork stares at him, unblinking. An idea (or thousands) of what he may ask flashes through their mind’s eye. With a single, calming pulse to their Core, Clockwork pushes the involuntary slideshow of timelines aside as if they're no more than curtains. They need to focus on the window in front of them; the here and now, not the temporal drapery.

It's a habit they are trying to overcome for Daniel’s sake. To ensure their ward's growth, they need to stop peering into the near future as often- not discourage his asking of questions. After all, what is a child if not but a well of endless curiosity? Cutting Danny off is also sure to disallow the development of any trust or patience Clockwork needs to build within their young ward. They wouldn’t receive either of those things if they assume what he wanted to ask.

It's common decency to not assume, lest it ‘make an ass out of you and me’, according to Daniel.

It is going to be a tough habit to break, but by the (other) Ancients, they're trying their best. Their ward deserves the infinitesimal choices all other children have when asking things of their guardians, so even if they do glimpse to the future, they will not mention it to him. Clockwork refuses and will continue to refuse to take their ward’s agency away; to not have a choice in things is a fate worse than fading.

The boy has been quiet, stuck deep within his own thoughts even after an impressive five minutes and thirty-seven and a half seconds of silence (uncharacteristic of the boy, Clockwork notes).

Now that just won't do- he must have lost his train of thought. Clockwork gestures at the ghost boy, motioning for him to continue. It works- Danny adverting his eyes and clearing his throat, "Well, it’s just like- you know so much about me- like, how I died, the whole Ghost Zone Prince business, that entire disaster doomed timeline with Dan... I just keep thinking- no- realizing, that I barely know anything about you!!” He throws his arms up in thinly veiled frustration.

Clockwork smirks. “You had another question, did you not?” They place a hand along the edge of the closest Temporal Mirror, turning to face the mirror- still halfway facing Danny. They can see his inner debate clearly written on the boy's face- the mirror reflecting as if it were an ordinary object (for now). They turn towards it fully and watch Daniel's reaction from behind them, acting as if they aren't finding joy in their ward's hesitation. It's always adorable when he tries not to offend Clockwork. "I may be able to work with time, but that doesn't mean I wish to float here waiting for an answer all day."

Danny blinks a few times, rolling his eyes again in response. Clockwork is certain that if they weren’t secured to his skull by human musculature they’d fall out and roll away. “Well, I’m sorry for trying not to be rude and like, asking outright... but since it’s you I have to always be super direct!! Jeeze you’re frustrating sometimes!” He floats towards his mentor, crossing his arms.

Danny often forgets Clockwork isn't easily upset over trivial things such as questions. Most questions are about things they already know the answers to, anyways. And the few things that they don’t know when asked, they figure out soon after. Such is the duty of the Master of Time- to be a step ahead of everyone and everything else always. Besides, in most timelines (68.3% of them, to round up) the question Daniel wishes to ask is along the lines of ‘What was your past like?’ Another small fraction (a little under 20%) the question is ‘How did you get so strong?’ . And even in the remaining timelines, the question would be along the lines of ‘How do your time powers work?’

They are each things Clockwork expects Daniel to ask them at some point or other, as it were. There isn’t really anything Daniel can ask that could be too shockin-

“Clockwork, I was wondering… how exactly did you become a ghost?”

They... did not see that coming… in any of the timelines they’d glimpsed. Clockwork stills for only a fraction of a moment, but it’s long enough for Danny to flinch, feeling as if he’s crossed a line. They hear more than see Daniel shrinking in on himself as they look off into nothing, buried memories waking slowly in their mind.

Clockwork is brought from their introspection by a mumbled curse. “Shit! I mean... uh crap??" They just stare at Danny as they are brought back to the present. "Never mind just... sorry for asking... Oh man! Did I offend you somehow? Ancients dammit, this is what I was worried about!!” They watch him curiously, soft whirring coming from their ward's anxious core. “We can just forget about it if-” Daniel’s hands wring together nervously, shoulders tense with worry and face full of guilt.

Right- facial expressions are also important for a young ghost's emotional communication and development. Sometimes the Time Master wonders if their isolation in Long Now affected their social behavior (it did). Their face is carefully blank most times, so they set to fix it- they offer a small grin, hand coming to rest on Daniel’s shoulder. “It is more than fine, Daniel. You asked if you could ask a question- which is in fact, two questions, I should note- but I gave you consent to ask it of me.” They squeeze his shoulder to placate the worry.

“It’s about time I told you this story, as it were. I just did not foresee it being told at this very moment." Clockwork floats slowly, turning away from their Mirrors. "Come along- it’s best we sit for this. I’ll have one of your friends bring us some tea.”

Danny floats after his mentor, looking around the room the two normally use to study history of the Realms. “So, uh… is it a long story or...?”

“Oh, it is very long, indeed.” They fly through an ornate door and over to their favored 'chair'- a stack of comfortable cushions in violets and blues, both impossibly cool and warm at the same time. They recall Daniel discovering the room, eyes full of wonder and posture relaxed. Clockwork chuckles- the first time their boy had wandered in here he'd decided to take a running dive into the pile, jumping up in surprise when it was cold as ice, yet warm as fresh laundry. The expression on their ward’s face is one of their fondest memories; a happy moment amongst all the tedium of watching time.

“It may take a while to tell this tale proper. But, it is a story that ought to be told.” Daniel makes himself comfortable on his chair of choice- an unholy combination of 'borrowed' pillows and what appears to be a more modern gaming chair- complete with an obnoxiously bright green-black color scheme. Clockwork has to hide another smile as Danny wiggles himself deep into the pile. “So, Daniel- what do you know of the phrase ‘Totems of Power’?”

“I thought I was getting a story, not a pop quiz! Unfair!!” His disdain for schooling makes Clockwork laugh fondly before the boy continues. “But they’re like… hmm how do I explain this? Well, there’s the universe right? Like every timeline and every result of every timeline all at the same time kind of ties into the main universe thingy- but there's still a main timeline, and that's kinda like... Main Street, and the other possible timelines are uh... like side streets with dead ends? But there's other forces that like, aren't time and… uhhh...”

He hums, crossing his arms deep in thought. Clockwork takes the time to purr-sing-hum at one of the many blobs floating in and out of their lair; Daniel had asked them to keep some around as pets and the Time Master was happy to oblige. They were unable to deny something so beneficial to the young Prince, after all. The one deemed ‘Mr. Pants’ by one of Daniel’s friends answers their call. Clockwork buzzes to it a quiet request- ‘bring Daniel's favorite tea and mugs for two, please.’ The little thing chirrups and zips off through the walls- eager to serve the Lair’s owner and be (potentially) rewarded with pats (from Daniel).

The Time Master brings their undivided attention back toward a grumbling ghost boy, lost in thought. “Daniel if you need to ask for help I’m glad to-”

Danny snaps his fingers, coming to a realization before his mentor can finish. “I got it!! The best way to explain it is ‘The Universe needs to run smoothly, so there’s certain forces- like Time or Space- that are upheld by a powerful entity, like a person or like… the avatar of that concept? Yeah, something like that, but they ensure the aspect they represent is properly cared for so the universe doesn’t completely like, die.’” Danny nods to himself. "It's why you stepped in to stop Dan, to make sure the world didn't end like that."

“That is correct- it is my job to ensure this universe of ghosts and reality doesn't crumble prematurely. Now, do you have a recollection of any other Totems you may have encountered?”

“Well, yeah! We call them ‘Ancients’, though- so like… Pandora is the one for war and history, and Nocturn is for like… dreams? The Void or something, maybe? And then there’s old man Pariah who isn’t one, but he said there’s a Leadership Ancient somewhere, and then-” Danny pauses, blinking at Clockwork in realization. “Wait, you asked that for a reason, didn’t you?”

“That I did. Becoming the Totem, or Ancient of Time is where this story starts.” Clockwork hums, seeing Mr. Pants fly back towards the two- nearly spilling scalding tea all over the ground. “Now then. We have drinks. We are sitting comfortably. I believe it’s time I spin my tale for you.” They take a sip, closing their eyes in bliss.

They open them once more and see Daniel sitting, eyes full of stars and eager- Eager to hear, eager to fire off a question a minute. It makes a chuckle bubble up in their throat, to see their favorite person so excited to learn.

“Once upon a time, there was a human; average in most ways, a simple person living a simple life. They would get up in the morning, perform their daily tasks, and go to sleep at night. Day in, and day out- a boring, but fulfilling existence.

“However, where this story differs from what we recognize as reality, is that in this realm, humans who could control magic were the norm. Think as if it were like one of those fantasy games you and Tucker play together- mages, healers… all of those and more were commonplace when I was alive. Yes, humans can wield magic now, but it is nowhere near as frequent as they could in our tale.”

They pause, seeing that Danny was about to interrupt. “Wait wait- this realm? Like- this is a completely different reality?? And people can wield magic now??? Are you messing with me? Like… I thought it was all just-” The boy stops, his train of thought drifting off the tracks as it tends to now and then.

“Yes, first, this is a completely different realm from either the Mortal Plane or the Ghost Zone. Second, Daniel- tell me... have you not noticed the magic of those you have encountered? Blood blossoms… a reality warping gauntlet? The existence that is ‘Freakshow’ in general should be a red flag, seeing as his talents were… strangely non-ghostly in origin. Not to mention objects such as the Infi-map...”

“Man, I wish I could forget about Freakshow… who mind controls ghosts??? He was the worst!” Their young ward crossed his arms and grumbles.

“If you’re done sulking about your past misadventures and former foes, I was in the middle of telling a story, if I recall correctly. One you asked I tell you…” Clockwork simply stares, unblinking as steam wafts from their slowly cooling tea.

All is well, they knew Danny would only take approximately 4.85 seconds to snap his attention back to their story. Clockwork sips their tea, waiting.

Danny snaps out of his thoughts only a millisecond off of Clockwork's prediction. “Sorry... it’s just super weird to think that magic actually… still exists? Like ghosts are real and all but magic being a thing feels a bit far fetched, don’t ya think?” He pouts, brow furrowed.

The Master of Time finally closes their eyes, removing the hood from their head. White hair floats gracefully behind them, settling just past their shoulders. Clockwork opens their eyes again- a serious, yet warm expression directed at their ward. “Magic is simply defined as reality altering acts using both energy and the willpower of a sentient being, if that helps.” Another sip. Mr. Pants made a wonderful batch of tea, as always. They smile wider when they notice Danny’s expression- the boy has never seen them without a hood, and they know doing this will (in 99.78% of all possible timelines) convince the boy to take what they said seriously. ”Just as ghosts can be defined as ‘ectoplasm given form and consciousness’, forces beyond humanity and the physical realm can be explained with scientific terminology if you know where to look.”

“So like... what all did magic have to do with this ‘simple human’ version of you? Did you ever have the power to shoot lightning?? Could I shoot lightning if I tried? Like were you some sorta time wizard? Is that why you’re all… timey-wimey and powerful?” Danny wiggles his fingers with a look of confusion on his face.

Clockwork always finds their Core warming when their boy acts his age. He's abnormally prone to shoulder the destiny of the world on himself and often forgets he's just a kid. “You could continue asking questions one at a time, or you could allow me to tell my story. The choice is yours, Daniel.” They smirk, watching as Danny purses his lips, his steady flow of questions stopping short. The best answer. “Perfect- all is as I thought it would be.”

They close their eyes and reminisce as they continue. “Now- to answer your last question… Yes. You could say magic is how I came to be the Master of Time in both the Infinite Realms and the mortal plane, but there is much more to the story than that. Other players, situations, and pure circumstances. The universe in its infinite chances and possibilities brought myself, as well as many others to the situations they face here and now.” Clockwork pauses, taking the moment to stare straight through Danny’s soul. “Even yourself.”

The boy shudders, an appropriate response. “Wait... me? Did you… do something in the past to like… a past version of someone we know?? Can that even happen???” Danny is already enraptured by the story, eyes twinkling as his mentor opens up about themself. The boy is obviously thinking about everything that has happened, everything that could possibly have happened, and everything that Clockwork could possibly drop on him.

They feel Daniel cautiously tug on loose strands of time to see if he could possibly scope out what is about to be said, quickly failing to do much else beside give himself a small headache. “Time stuff is still really confusing, Clockwork…”

“You could say that. You could even say that trying to mess with time in the inner sanctum of Long Now is the most confusing ‘time stuff’ one could do if they were not myself.” They grin- a Temporal Mirror appearing behind them with a thought.

“What’s the mirror for?” Danny catches sight of himself and looks away, embarrassed that he’s been literally glowing with power after trying to do something so simple with his developing powers. The glow is something he’s been working on suppressing recently. After all, it would be a shame if other ghosts could see the boy powering up by aura alone.

The Master of Time smirks, bringing tea to their lips again. “I thought it would be fun to attempt braiding my hair and doing my makeup for once. It has been an awfully long time since I’ve done either.”

They stare at Danny who just bursts into laughter. “Did you just use sarcasm??? Man, I didn’t know you could lighten up, Clockwork!” The boy laughs harder, sinking deeper into his nest of pillows. After a few minutes he was finally wiping tears from his eyes. “But no. Seriously… what’s the mirror for??”

“Why, what they are always for, Daniel- seeing through time and space.” Clockwork waves their hand. The mirrors show an image of a human with dark hair and burgundy eyes. They have a large, hooked nose and medium brown skin- and Danny finds himself having a hard time guessing their gender. The human sits at a desk, paused in time with the delicate gears of a clock sprawled along the desk surface, tools in hand.

Behind Clockwork, the image changes, showing the human living through an average day- images play in small spurts, never showing the whole story. “Do you understand what’s being seen?” The young boy nods, grabbing Mr. Pants out of the air as the blob drifts between the two. Good, he will probably need the companionship, especially towards the end.

This isn’t the easiest story to tell, nor is it easy to listen to, but with a sip of their tea, Clockwork continues.

#danny phantom #invisobang #invisobang 2021 #dp #phanfic #art #my fic #RRR #dantes vibe corner

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sacrificethemtothesquid · 3 years ago

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Hi! First of all I’d like to say how much I love your blog, the writing/mental health tips are always so on point, they’ve helped me more than you can imagine.

Second, I’m kind of going through a rough time. Health problems + mental health problems and no support from people around me. Sometimes I pour my heart out just to be silenced by their silence or by them gaslighting me. Writing is the thing that keeps me going. Sometimes I say to myself I only want to keep living because I know I have things to write. (Not that I’d do something to myself, it’s about the health issues that scare me and end up becoming big monsters.) I know this is too much to share and ask from you, but it’s late at night and I was finishing a story today, I was so excited about having time to finish and being on a roll, creative juices flowing and all, when suddenly it was like a blackhole drained all my energy and all the “progress” I felt I was making, so I couldn’t write, I felt like crying, I sent messages to people I miss that don’t miss me. I’m a mess. I don’t know if I panicked because I really have a due date for this story, maybe I’m sabotaging myself. Could you please give me some advice? Anything.

All the hugs, darling. It always takes courage to reach out and I'm so glad you did. I'm no wise sage, but I can speak from my own experience and hope that you find something useful from my own personal chaos.

I don't know what you're going through, but it sounds like A Lot and I'm sorry to hear it. You are brave and strong. You know that, but I want to say it anyway. You're under a lot of pressure and it's normal to examine the reasons why you're alive. I'm so glad writing is your refuge. It's the same for me.

Your comment about the black hole draining all your creative energy really resonated. Things have been A Lot in my life lately too, without any foreseeable resolution. My dad's still in the hospital, I'm in a rut about house projects and feeling overwhelmed about it, we're dealing with some big stuff with Husbandthing's family, and frankly I need to stop reading the news and go touch more grass. My body is exhausted. Writing is supposed to rejuvenate me, but when I sit down and open myself up, there's just dust and blowing tumbleweeds. It's frustrating and it's painful and I hate every second of it. I'd planned on having this novel done by mid-February, which was perfectly reasonable, but since all the Everything started, my production tanked and now I'm nowhere close.

I'm a mess. You're a mess. We're not okay, but I keep telling myself it's okay to not be okay. This is part of the ebb and flow of human existence. When I'm having a bipolar low, I can either rage against it - and, um, often do - or just accept that it exists and hunker down until it passes. (Acceptance is not always my strong suit.)

As a friend pointed out recently, sometimes you need a cover crop in your garden, something other than the vegetables that puts nutrients back in the soil. Maybe that means taking a break from what you're working on and working on something else. Warp and Weft saved me last month because I desperately needed to be writing something and the novel just wasn't going to happen. When that was done, the novel still wasn't happening, so I've been trying to be gentle about that.

I saw a post ages ago about a cleaning technique called junebugging: you put yourself in the vicinity of a task and do stuff around the task, like wiping down the counter instead of doing the dishes, with the end result that if you don't end up doing the dishes, you still get dishes-adjacent cleaning done. (The post explained it better, sorry.) I've been junebugging my writing lately: I sit down in the morning, take stock of my word count, make notes of things, maybe read back a bit or read another part of the trilogy entirely, and if I don't end up adding things to the section I'm working on, I'm trying to accept that that's okay. It's like the discourse around sleep hygiene: if you're suffering insomnia and can't fall asleep after half an hour, get up and do something else for a bit, then try again. Don't just lay there hating yourself.

A common refrain from my support group: if being hard on ourselves worked, it would have worked by now.

I guess what I'm saying in this long, rambling, caffeinated way is to be gentle with yourself. Don’t panic. You will write again. It’s part of who you are. There is a soft, tender part of you that needs nourishment and love, and it sounds like maybe you're not getting that from the people around you, and I’m sorry about that. Hold space for what you’re feeling, because you are good and valid and what you’re feeling is valid.

Take care of yourself, lovely, and keep in touch. Let me know how it goes.

#sorry this got so long #I am Feeling things this morning

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dialovers-translations · 4 years ago

Text

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Laito Maniac [Epilogue]

ー The scene starts in the entrance hall in Eden

Yui: ( So this is Eden, the place where Karlheinz-san lives... )

Laito: Nfu~ He doesn’t seem to be around. ...Well, I expected as much.

Seems like we have no other choice but to wait. Good grief.

Yui: Shouldn’t you look for him?

Laito: I can’t. No, to be more precise, it would be a waste of time and energy...I guess?

Yui: ...? What do you mean?

Laito: Hmー ...How should I put this? ...It’s a bit difficult to explain. ..Well, I suppose you’ll find out eventually.

I wasn’t expecting to meet him right away after showing myself here out of the blue either.

That man knows everything. I’m sure he’s aware as to why I’m here as well.

Yui: Eh...!?

Laito: I guess you could compare him to God. Not only does he foresee everything, he never shows himself.

Because he knows that time is not ripe yet.

Yui: W-What do you mean...?

Laito: He can predict the future. However, while he can foresee what can happen, he can’t change it.

Picture yourself in front of a river, for example...There’s a large obstacle somewhere far up ahead...

He can see the entire river, so he’s already aware of the obstacle.

However, he can’t stop the flow of the water, nor would he attempt to stop it himself.

ーー I guess putting it like that makes it a little easier to understand...? Nfu~

Yui: Yeah, I feel like I can vaguely understand what you’re trying to say.

( He knows that Laito-kun has come and why he is here. )

( However, he hasn’t shown himself because it isn’t the right time for them to meet yet, right? )

( ...I wonder what kind of person he is to be capable of such a thing? )

Laito: That’s the current situation, so let’s take it easy here for a while, okay?

He should show himself when it is time.

Yui: Yeah...

( ...Somehow that’s a little anticlimactic after stressing myself out the whole way here. )

( Besides, it feels weird to relax here. )

( Laito-kun’s here to kill the owner of this castle after all... )

( To a measly human such as myself...The way things are handled over here in the Demon World are on a completely different level, far beyond my comprehension. )

Laito: Say, Bitch-chan? Let me show you something nice.

Yui: Something nice...?

Laito: You’ll find out once you follow me. Nfu~

*Rustle rustle*

Laito: Come on, this way.

Yui: Yeah.

ー The scene shifts to the flower fields

Yui: Wah...How beautiful...!

Laito: Right?

Yui: ...What are these flowers called?

Laito: Hmー Their name, huh? I’ve never even thought of that.

Yui: I see...

( I’ve never seen these kinds of flowers before... )

( The petals become multi-colored when hit by the light, so they’re very pretty... )

Are these flowers exclusive to this garden, perhaps?

Laito: Exactly. They don’t bloom anywhere but in these flower fields at Eden.

Yui: I see...

Laito: ーー These flowers, you see. They’re immortal.

Yui: Eh?

Laito: Nfu~ Just like us. As long as no supernatural powers are involved, they won’t ever wither.

Yui: They never...wither? Such flowers exist...?

Laito: I mean, there’s creatures like us which are immortal...

So it isn’t all that strange there’s similar plants as well.

Yui: I see. Good point...

Laito: If only...the same could be said about humans.

Yui: ...Laito-kun...

Laito: I wouldn’t have to be plagued by any weird thoughts if you could be like these flowers, right?

Yui: Um...This might be a strange question to ask, but can I not become a Vampire then?

Laito: ーー It didn’t work.

Yui: Eh?

Laito: I started considering making you one of us a long time ago.

For some reason, I couldn’t. Under normal circumstances...A human would slowly transform into a Vampire by having their blood sucked repeatedly.

We call this ‘the awakening’...

But for some reason, you never awakened. I don’t know whether your heart’s the blame for that, or if it’s something entirely different...

Yui: I see...

( My heart was taken from Cordelia and put inside me... )

( In that case, it honestly wouldn’t be all that strange for me to become a Vampire, so I wonder if there’s some other reason behind it...? )

Laito: Are you upset, Bitch-chan?

Yui: Eh...? Why would I be?

Laito: Because I tried to make you one of us, without ever asking your opinion on the matter.

Yui: No. I’m happy knowing that you thought that far ahead for me.

Besides, if anything, I’dーー

Laito: Nfu~ You would have preferred to become one of us?

Yui: I just thought that would allow me to stay with you longer.

Is that strange...?

Laito: It is. Or rather, don’t you think you’re taking the concept of immortality a little too lightly?

Yui: Am I...?

Laito: I guess in the end, both humans and Vampires want whatever they don’t have.

Being able to naturally pass away is such a blessing after all...

Yui: I guess it is to you guys...I’m sorry, I...

Laito: No need to apologize. I’m the one who tried to take that privilege away from you after all.

If anything, I should say sorry, no? ...Fufufu.

Well then, guess we should get back inside soon?

Yui: Yeah...

ー A flashback ensues

Cordelia: ...!! Why...Why!? Why won’t he come!?

He...Karl said that he would come today...He broke his promise with me!! Unforgivable!!

Who does he think I am...!? I am the daughter of the Demon Overlord, Burai...!

All other men are head over heels for me and yearn after me...So why does Karl...!?

Laito: ( ...She’s having one of her lunatic episodes again. Honestly, she should stop bothering since it’ll only exhaust her. )

( I don’t think there’s any reason to get so upset? )

( For one, this happens all the time. He never changes. )

Cordelia: God!! I won’t forgive him...!!

*Thud*

Laito: Oh come on, don’t be so mad. Calm down...

Cordelia: How am I supposed to stay calm right now!? Aah, god...It grinds my gears...

Laito: Nfu~ But you have me, don’t you? Just forget about that man already.

Cordelia: ーー Hah?

Laito: ‘...Hah?’, you say? How cruel...

Cordelia: I have you, so what?

Laito: What do you mean? ...I mean, I could replace him and...

Cordelia: Time to get off your high horse. Listen carefully? You aren’t Karlheinz.

Don’t get the wrong idea. You’re no replacement for him.

Laito: ...

Cordelia: ーー Haah...Honestly, Karl...You’ve kept me waiting for so long...I can’t believe it...

Just look at how much I love you!

Laito: ...

( Then, what exactly am I? )

( If I’m not his replacement, then!? What...purpose do I serve!? )

Monologue

ーー That one sentence she spoke,

was a fatal blow to me.

Pierced deeply through the heart,

I came to realize how foolish I had truly been.

I even felt the desire,

to kill myself on the very spot.

I had the wrong idea this whole time.

I thought that she sought after me,

both to spite him,

as well as a way to replace him.

However, reality was different.

I was nothing,

but a way for her to vent off her frustrations.

In other words...

I was her personal trash can,

to throw in all the ‘love’ she didn’t know where to go with.

Looking back at it now, I was shallow-minded.

To think that while twisted,

there was something there,

which could be considered love.

I truly believed so,

and I wanted to believe.

ー The flashback ends with Laito waking up in the guest room

Laito: ...!!!

Haah, haah...A dream?

( Oh, it was just a dream...Even so, it felt incredibly real...A true nightmare... )

( All of this probably happened...because I’m currently at this place, at Eden... )

( This is his territory...He could easily (1) manipulate my dreams... )

Fuck...!!

*Rustle*

Yui: Nn...

Laito: Whoops...!

( Right, she’s lying next to me... )

...

Yui: ...

Laito: ( Thank god. She’s sound asleep, huh...? )

Yui: Uu...

*Rustle rustle*

Laito: ( ...Such a thin neck. I could probably snap it with just one hand... )

( A fragile...and delicate neck. )

*Rustle*

Laito: ( If I use both hands like this, it’d be over in a second... )

*Rustle rustle*

Laito: Kuh...

Yui: Uu...

Laito: ...!!

Yui: ...Uu...

Laito: Bitch-chan...?

Yui: ...

Laito: ...!!

( What was...I doing just now...!? Did I try to...kill her...!? )

( ...Even though I told her...Told her that I’m here to kill him to be able to look at life more brightly... )

( No...I’m not killing him for that reason... )

( I want to be killed by him. Because then I can die. )

( I won’t have to see her perish either. ...I want to avoid that. )

...

( I’m scared of myself...At this rate, I’ll end up killing the person I love the most. )

( Just like...I killed her. )

Fuck...This is messed up, isn’t it!?

Why am I like this...!? Kuh...

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) わけない or ‘wake nai’ is a tricky one, because the two possible meanings it has are polar opposites. Either it means ‘easily/easy’ or ‘there’s no way’. Although in the latter case, ‘wake ga nai’ is more commonly used.

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<- [ Maniac 10 ] [ Ecstasy Prologue ] ->

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #laito sakamaki #dark fate #diabolik lovers translation #dflaitomaniacepilog

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overdramatic-queer-antagonist · 4 years ago

Text

Mick Mercury's Failed Attempt At Espionage

Summary: Mick Mercury was easily the most incompetent person Peter had ever met, and it infuriated him how long it took for them to be introduced. Notes: There is a severe lack of Mick Mercury in Season 3, and that will not stand, so I put him in.

Read it on Ao3

Fic:

"JJ! Hey! JJ! Hello? Can you hear me?"

Peter would not have made any connection to the aforementioned 'JJ,' and Juno Steel had he not been glowering at the petulant ex-detective when the unfamiliar man called out and seen how Juno had tensed at the voice.

The large man made a noise of annoyance, and oh God, he's walking towards Juno. Peter wasn't worried for the lady, he was wholly aware Juno knew how to handle himself, but Peter had yet to foresee an outcome of this conversation that didn't blow their cover.

"Juno Steel!" the man yelled as Juno continued to ignore him.

It was, unfortunately, very clear who he was addressing, and the woman Juno had been flirting with gave him a confused look. Peter would be lying if that didn't please him ever so slightly, but, as always, he filed that feeling away for later and went to save Juno's ass.

"Dear," Peter called out, attempting to get into the act of a doting husband, which had recently become much more difficult for him. Juno glanced at him appreciatively and went to stand at his side, where Peter promptly put an arm around his waist.

“You gave me a bit of a scare Mercury,” Juno said, looking at Peter for confirmation he wasn’t being dumb. Peter nodded ever so slightly as permission to continue. “Haven’t heard my maiden name in a while, no one’s called me that- well- since the wedding!” Juno forced a laugh that sounded more nervous than casual, but the woman he was talking with looked like she understood which- okay. That bothered Peter because that meant she was okay with flirting with a married man, but whatever, filed away.

“Wedding?” Mercury yelled. “JJ, You never told me anything about any wedding.”

“Listen, Mick, I know you're upset, but can we talk in private,” Juno’s eyes flickered to the woman he’d been speaking with, and Mick- Mick Mercury. What a fucking name- nodded. Juno led Mercury to a private corner of the ballroom, and Peter followed automatically. Mick gave Juno a look, but Juno returned it with one of his own, and Mick dropped whatever he was thinking. Peter couldn’t decide if it was frustrating or charming that they could hold a conversation without speaking. He settled on frustrating, simply because they were clearly close, and Juno had never thought to mention him. Granted, Peter wasn’t sure why that frustrated him, but it did. Another thing to file away.

The exact second they’d arrived at their designated corner, Mick spun on his feet. “Okay, what the hell, J? I always thought when you got married I’d at least get invited! I mean, obviously, I thought Benten or- hell, even Sasha would be man/maid of honor, but I thought I’d get an invite!” Juno tensed at the mention of Benzaiten, and Peter subconsciously put a hand on his lower back. Juno tensed more at this, but after a moment, relaxed. Mick continued on, oblivious. “And come on Juno, how long have you ever known this guy? We saw each other recently, and you didn’t even think to mention him?! I mean, I know we’ve grown apart since I almost got you killed by a serial killer lady, but come on, man!”

Juno gave Mick an incredulous look. “Okay, first of all, last time we saw each other, a robot made you try to kill me, not exactly the best time to bring it up. Second-”

“Second…” Peter interrupted before he, himself knew what he was doing. “We’ve known each other for three years. And my apologies for the lack of notice, Mick. See, I lead a very dangerous life, and my lady and I thought it safer to keep knowledge of my existence away from anyone who wasn’t trained in combat. And also Rita, but mainly because she tapped Juno’s comms and listened in on a very…”

“Oh my god!”

“Sorry, dear. I forgot how easily flustered you are.”

Mick gave Peter an appraising look for a second before deciding the answer was good enough for him and moving on. “So if you live such a dangerous life,” he lowered his voice to a -frankly terrible- whisper, “Then what are you doing here?”

Peter lowered his voice conspiratorially, “I really shouldn’t tell you this but, we’re on a secret mission. ‘Above Dark Matters’ secret. How about you?” This was a ridiculous cover, but he’d gotten away with stranger, besides, he was a little distracted by the woman Juno had been speaking to, looking their way, hungrily, no doubt at his companion. Peter’s grip around Juno tightened, and, to his surprise, Juno leaned into it.

“Really? Above Dark Matters? Juno, that’s great! Wow, Sasha must’ve flipped when you told her!”

“I didn’t Mercury, that’s what secret means. And I didn’t tell her about the mister either, and if you do, I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“Good. Hey, my husband asked a good question, why are you here?”

“I thought it might be good to get off of Mars after the whole Newtown debacle, so I got a job at a catering company, and then I got fired for eating all of the cupcakes, so I decided to join the party, and they haven’t noticed yet.”

Juno snickered. "Glad to see you're back to normal."

"Yeah, me too. Being responsible was exhausting, even with the good habits some of it brought. Anyways, I'll get back to the party, let you two plan out your secret mission," Mick finished that statement walking backward and, when it was finished, promptly ran into a plant.

"What was that about?" Juno asked. "I mean, I get that you had to lie to him, but why... That?"

"Why did you leave me in that hotel room?" Peter asked. He'd meant it as a joke, at Juno's expense, of course, but it came off a bit more genuine than he would have liked.

Juno flinched, and for a moment, all Peter wanted to do was sweep him up in a hug, apologize for bringing it up and move on, but Peter was allowed to be angry. After what felt like an eternity but was probably 5 seconds tops, Juno spoke, "We need to talk about that eventually. You know. If we're gonna be working together."

"And we will, Dear Detective, but not right now. I believe the bidding is starting soon."

---

The bidding did not go as planned. While Peter would like to claim it was entirely the fault of his accomplice, he would be dishonest if he did so, and Peter Nureyev lied to many people, but not himself. Mostly.

Their new plan was as followed, Juno would continue to distract Ms. Zolotovna -the woman, who'd been eyeing him all night- and Peter would swipe it while nobody- not even the cameras- was looking. The first flaw of this plan came from one Mick Mercury, who was really starting to piss Peter off.

Mick had cornered him while he was making his rounds to destroy all the cameras.

"Hey! Uh... I never got your name, but Juno's husband!"

Peter turned around a little more aggressively than he meant to. "Yes?" He asked, already on his last nerve.

"I- uhh... listen, bud, this conversation is gonna be real awkward if you don't give me something to call you."

Peter quickly scanned his brain for a moniker he'd used with Juno, one that the lady may have mentioned to Mick in passing but not have gone into too much detail. There was only one with the chance of fitting the bill. "Rex. My name is Rex."

Mick's eyes lit up with recognition, and Peter immediately regretted his decision to use a name that had been plastered all over Hyperion to a native of the area. But there didn't seem to be any panic in Mick's eyes. Just... worry.

"Listen," Mick said, more serious than he had been all night. "I don't wanna give you some shovel talk. I'm sure you already got that from Rita." Peter had, which was strange considering Juno swore up and down that he never mentioned their past relationship. "But I just want you to know that, when all that went down, and you left, you really broke his heart. So just- be careful this time, okay? You and I both know he's more delicate than he lets on, and I can tell from the way you look at him that you love him, so just don't mess it up. Please?"

There was a definite moment where Peter stopped breathing until he remembered Juno and he were posing as newlyweds. He then forced his well-practiced laugh and asked, "Am I that obvious?"

"Yeah, like the way you were glaring at Ms. Zolotovna? You looked like you wanted to kill her! Oh! But you don't have to worry about that. Juno looked like he was just as close to killing her as you were, and I don't think he's ever cheated in his life. Well, there was that one time, in second grade when he-"

Mercury went on rambling for a while. He and Rita would get along swimmingly. Not that Peter was paying attention. No, he was far too busy staring into space. Apparently, Mick thought he was jealous of Ms. Zolotovna. Which, of course, couldn't be farther from the truth. He'd just been bothered that Juno would allow himself to become so distracted, that was all... Mostly.

Looking at him with Zolotovna felt wrong. Of course, it felt wrong, Peter tried to convince himself. Once upon a time, he had been in love with Juno. Even if those feelings had since dissipated it still made his stomach churn to think of Juno with anyone else. Maybe that wasn't healthy. Peter was starting to think maybe Juno was right about them needing to talk. But now was not the time nor the place for a heart. Just another thing for him to file away.

Right, Mercury was talking to him. God, Peter really needed to swipe that map so they could get out of there. "Well, Mick. I can assure you, I'd sooner die than hurt Juno. Will that be all?"

Mick seemed to have been interrupted mid-sentence, but he was friends with Juno, so Peter assumed he was used to it. "Oh! No, Juno wanted me to go get you for your-" he dropped his voice to a stage whisper "-secret-ay mission-ay."

Peter's brain stopped for a solid second. "Was that- was that meant to be Pig Latin?"

"No," Mick said, winking dramatically.

Peter followed Mick, a tad bit shaken by the implication that Mick Mercury didn't know what Pig Latin was in the slightest until the pair eventually reached Juno.

"Took you long enough, what? Were you stuck in a flowerpot?" The lady asked when they'd reached him.

Peter laughed, not entirely sure who the question was directed at. "Mick tells me you have a plan?"

"Not a plan, an observation. There's a camera trained on the map, one which you won't have time to dismantle before the dance begins in-" Juno looked at the grand clock in the center of the room "-4 minutes."

Peter grimaced in thought before eventually coming up with a solution. "Mick, when I give you a signal, try to get caught. Juno and I'll give you a lift back to Mars."

Peter was expecting some resistance from Mick, but he just nodded enthusiastically, "Okay, Rex. Uhh... I'm not really used to all this spy stuff. What's the signal?"

Peter only thought for a moment before coming up with an answer, "I'll trip on my heels."

Juno laughed, "Babe, that's a shit idea. What if you actually trip?"

Peter pointedly ignored the feeling in his chest when Juno called him 'babe' and instead responded, "I don't trip, dear."

Juno blushed and began to argue before being interrupted as the dance began. Peter silently held his hand out for Juno to take, and the lady barely hesitated before taking it.

Once they were far enough from Mick, Juno began to snicker softly to himself.

"What?"

"Feeling nostalgic, Rex?"

Peter laughed along with him. "What? It's the only name I could imagine you bringing up. Granted, I didn't expect it to stick with Mercury, but uh... I'm-"

"Don't. At least you had a reason. I was just scared."

"Of what?"

"Later, Nureyev," Juno whispered.

As they walked onto the dance floor, Peter could almost laugh with delight. Zolotovna hadn't been tracking his companion this entire night. She'd been tracking him. Maybe that said something about his self-confidence, maybe it said something about his affection for Juno, or maybe all it said was he would not make a very good detective. Either way, there would be a slight change in their normal routine.

"Juno, I do believe you'll have to be the one to swipe the map, someone seems to be watching me."

'Ugh! She's still doing it? That's messed up. Like our cover is as a married couple, and she has no problem making goo-goo eyes at you!"

Peter laughed, "Madam Dauphine, are you jealous?"

Juno gave him a smirk, "Of course not, Monsieur Dauphine. I know you have better taste than that."

"I must've if I married you."

Juno gave him a smile. Not the snarky one Peter'd been expecting. A soft smile, one full of admiration. Peter remembered this smile, right after they'd stopped Miasma, and Juno miraculously survived, bleeding from one eye and looking at Peter as if he'd been the one locking himself in a room about to explode.

"What's with that look?" Peter asked.

"Nothing," Juno said. "I just forgot how fun it is to work with you when you aren't pretending to be someone else."

Peter grinned at Juno as they separated. Him going to distract Zolotovna, Juno going to swipe a billion-dollar artifact.

---

Their plan had gone off without a hitch, Zolotovna was rambling on with some love confession, or the other, and Peter was pretending to listen, watching in awe as Juno gracefully swiped their prize from behind his glasses. Peter had come up with some logical reason to reject Zolotovna, guessing she wouldn't be all too satisfied with the excuse of "I'm happily married," something about organized crime. He doesn't remember. Even managed to get a little over a billion creds from her.

He then made his way over to Juno. Planning on waiting a few minutes to escape into the crowd before signaling Mercury. And as he made his way to Juno, a golden goddess, a perfect image of beauty and grace, with his dark brown skin and curly hair and the scars scattered across his skin. Peter did the unthinkable. He tripped. Too distracted by the image in front of him to notice his misstep. That is until Mercury started taunting the guards.

Then he, Juno, and Mercury were running across the yard to where Jet was waiting with the car. At some point, Peter's arm had ended up around Juno's waist, likely when he nearly fell over trying to throw his heels off and grabbed onto Peter for stability. They finally reached the car, and Juno threw open the door, the three of them clamoring in at top speed.

"Hello, Ransom, Juno. Who's this?" Jet asked in the same deadpan tone, as always.

"We'll tell you later, now fucking drive!" Juno rushed, a little breathless.

"Alright, then. Buckle your seatbelts."

"Go!"

---

When they got back to the ship, Buddy spent approximately 30 minutes rotating between tearing Peter and Juno to shreds for their performance and greeting Mick and asking if he was staying for dinner. She did, however, agree to bring Mick back to Mars before making their way to their next mission.

Later, Peter and Buddy had a much kinder conversation. One that brought up an emotion that Peter had not felt in a very long time. Familial love. He would try not to think too much of it, but an undeniable comfort had begun to settle into Peter's stomach.

There was another knock on the door after she left, and he already knew who it was. Finally, after nearly a year, it was later.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #tpp season 3 #tpp fic #tpp nureyev #peter nureyev #tpp juno #juno steel #junoverse #tpp mick #mick mercury #jupeter

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honklore · 4 years ago

Text

is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. “Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.

#quackity fluff #quackity fanfic #quackity scenarios #quackity angst #mcyt fanfiction #quackity x reader #quackity x you #mcyt x reader #pixiecap//

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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prompt from @alominific: a snapshot from FWB ‘verse, in which everybody absolutely, without a doubt, knows what color Jamie’s eyes are

“Dani?”

She raises her head, fingers sliding between the pages of her book to mark her place. “Yeah?”

“Got a weird question for you.” Jamie is leaning against the kitchen counter, frowning at her phone. Dani would best categorize her expression as gently perplexed--not the first time something on the internet has sparked such a look, though the inciting incident could be anything from an odd social media message to a truly bizarre animal photo.

“Shoot,” Dani says, when it becomes apparent Jamie is lost in whatever has plucked up her puzzlement. “Though if it’s about the mating rituals of ducks again, I really don’t think I’m the person--”

“What color are my eyes?”

Not what I expected. “Um. Do you...not know?”

Jamie gesticulates with the phone as though it’s just insulted her family name, shaking her head. “No, look--stop laughing, there’s a goddamn debate raging over on my most recent photo. Which, honestly, how bored do you have to be? Eye color doesn’t spark debate.”

“Evidently, it does.” Dani grins. "Your fan club never ceases finding new ways to stay busy, huh?”

Jamie squints at her. “Are you stalling?”

“No!” Why stall? This is an easy question. Barely a question at all, really. A nice-straightforward-- “Your eyes are definitely--I mean, they’re--”

“You have to look?” Jamie sounds scandalized, squeezing her eyes shut and clapping her free hand over her face for good measure. “Jesus, Dani. You’ve only been starin’ into ‘em for a year.”

“No, it’s not--” Dani flops back in her chair, closing her own eyes and casting back. The memories spill over, neat as Saturday morning: Jamie, grinning from across the table; Jamie, glancing up in the supermarket; Jamie, gazing down at her in bed.

Jamie, whose eyes are definitely, absolutely--

“Blue?” Dani asks hesitantly. Jamie makes an undignified noise.

“That was a question. You just answered a question with a question.”

“Brown,” Dani says, with as much certainty as she can muster. “They’re definitely--”

"Brown?” Jamie sounds vaguely outraged. “You think they’re brown?”

“Well,” Dani says, a bit peevishly, “what color do you think my--”

“Blue.” Jamie doesn’t even wait for her to finish. Her mouth is working, the way it does when she’s trying desperately to hang on to a grumpy mood even as it’s slipping away. “Blue as a fuckin’ summer sky. Blue as the songs say. Blue as--”

“All right! Point made.” Dani leans over the kitchen table, book forgotten, hands reaching hopefully toward Jamie’s hunched frame. “C’mere, let me look. We’ll settle this.”

“Oh, settle it, will we?” Jamie grumbles. “Sure, right, you’re doin’ me a favor.”

Now she’s just being childish. Dani raises an eyebrow.

“Would you say keeping the upper hand in this conversation is more important than sleeping in my bed tonight, or...?”

“Valid.” Tossing herself moodily into the next chair, Jamie shakes the hair from her face, leans in, opens her eyes comically wide. “Right. Settle it, then.”

Dani leans close.

Dani looks.

Dani keeps looking.

“Seriously?” Jamie blinks rapidly, scrubbing a hand across her face. “Practically half a goddamn hour, you still don’t have an answer?”

“They’re--” Dani makes a helpless gesture. “They’re--very pretty.”

“That is not,” Jamie says, clearly fighting a grin now, “what I asked.”

“So pretty,” Dani repeats. “Gorgeous, really. Best eyes I’ve ever--”

“Dani Clayton, do you legitimately not know what color my eyes are?”

“Well, they’re like a--I don’t know, a sunbeam.”

“A sunbeam,” Jamie repeats, like Dani has started speaking French mid-conversation. Dani winces.

“Sure. Beautiful. And, um. Unknowable.”

“This is ridiculous.” Jamie flips her phone in her hand, taps the screen several times. “We’re getting a professional opinion.”

“I’m not a professional opinion?”

“You just told me my eyes are sunbeams. All rights to a career as number one Jamie enthusiast have gone out the door for the foreseeable.” Jamie punches something on the screen and folds her arms on the table as the phone begins to ring.

“So, who are you,” Dani begins, cutting herself off when a voice on the other end of the phone says pleasantly, “Wingrave residence, Mrs. Grose speaking.”

“Hannah,” Jamie sighs. “Dire question for you. What color would you say my eyes are?”

There is, Dani is amused to note, an extremely long beat of silence, after which Hannah’s voice--hesitant, and not the least bit formal now--pipes back up.

“Um...blue?”

“This is ridiculous,” Jamie repeats, sounding as though she has no idea how she’s ended up surrounded by such lunacy. “Ask Flora. Flora will know.”

“You’re outsourcing to the children now?” Dani is mildly insulted.

A scuffling sound, as Hannah covers the phone and calls for the kids. Another, as tiny feet skitter over tile. Breathless, and no less excited for it, Flora’s voice filters through the speaker.

“Jamie!”

“Flora,” Jamie says, narrowing her eyes at Dani with a grim little smile. “Important question for you. What color are my eyes?”

“Well,” Flora’s tiny voice comes back without missing a beat. “They’re definitely not blue--” Jamie makes a vindicated little motion in Dani’s direction at this. “--because Miles has blue eyes. And they’re definitely not brown, because mine are brown.” A pause, as Jamie leans back in her chair and smirks. “I think they’re...green.”

“Green,” Jamie repeats. Dani takes her by the chin, twisting her jaw left and right in an effort to coax the poor kitchen lighting to reveal hidden secrets. “You think so?”

“They’re not,” Dani mouths. Green, she feels, is a very straightforward color. Jamie’s are anything but straightforward.

“Yes,” Flora says with all the certainty of a child who rarely believes herself to be wrong. “Definitely. Except for the days when they’re not.”

“Oh,” says Jamie in a rather distant tone. “Well, clears it right up then, doesn’t it?”

“You’re welcome!”

“Well.” Dani taps the table once. “That’s--who are you calling now?”

Jamie mutters something that sounds just a little too much like last hope for Dani to take seriously. She shakes her head.

“I’m really starting to think--”

“Owen,” Jamie says, hefting the phone to her ear. “Oi. Quick question--no, everything’s fine. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Okay. Look, question: you’ve been looking at my face for a while, yeah?” A pause, as Owen ostensibly agrees. “Great. What color are my eyes?”

Dani watches, amused, as the determination slowly drains from Jamie’s face. It is replaced by something very much like defeat, her head slumping onto her arms; by the time she’s saying, “Right. Uh huh. You really think so?”, her face is almost completely barricaded in the sleeve of her flannel.

“He said blue, didn’t he?” Dani asks, when Jamie hangs up and slides her phone so forcefully across the table, it nearly spills onto the floor. “You know, there are many shades of--”

“Gray,” Jamie says into the hollow of her arm. “He seemed very sure they’re gray.”

“Gray is,” Dani says helpfully, “sort of like blue.”

Jamie makes a noise a little like a growl. Dani swallows the impulse to laugh.

“Jamie.”

“Mm.”

“You don’t actually know the answer, do you?”

Jamie raises her head, hilariously morose. “I honestly write a different fuckin’ answer on every form.”

The giggles are going to make it out of her, Dani recognizes; it’s just a matter of fending them off long enough to get Jamie grinning, too. “What, um. What does the fan club have to say about it?”

Without looking, Jamie fumbles for her phone. Takes a deep breath. Flicks it open.

“There is,” she says dryly, “a dead tie between gray, green, and fuck all knows, she’s hot.”

“That settles it, then.” Dani slips out of her chair, resting her chin gently on Jamie’s shoulder. “Next time you have to fill out a form, just write in fuck all, she’s hot, and you’re golden.”

Jamie snorts, dropping the phone and leaning back into the embrace. “Really think they’re pretty, at least?”

“None prettier.”

"Maybe I’ll just start putting that.” Jamie shakes her head. “Prettier than yours. Think that’d go over all right?”

“Think they’d stop arguing the minute they saw your face,” Dani says, and finds herself meaning it with no shame at all. Jamie turns, nuzzling into her hair.

“You’re just saying that to distract from how you defaulted to brown.”

“Okay, literally everyone said a different color, you’re still going to tease me for brown?”

“Dani.” To punctuate the imminent point, Jamie widens her eyes again--as far as she can manage, at least, while dissolving into laughter. “Of all the fuckin’ colors. You picked the one I have never once seen in the mirror.”

“Well, someone wouldn’t let me look.”

Still laughing, Jamie shifts in her seat, catches her around the waist, pulls her down into her lap. “You,” she says fondly, “are the smartest person I know. And, if I’m being honest, the love of my life.”

“And?” Her hands are warm, slipping under Dani’s shirt, her mouth soft on Dani’s neck. It’s almost pleasant enough to forget Jamie is about to say--

“And your observation skills are, and I mean this with boundless affection: non-existent. I mean. Brown?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Dani takes her face between gentle hands, gazing at her with all the seriousness she can muster. “Let me get this right. Your eyes are...a perfect green-gray-gold-hazel. In this light. Tomorrow, I’ll provide an update out in the sun.”

Jamie’s entire body is shuddering with laughter, her head falling forward until Dani releases and allows her to lean into her collar. “Best stick to pretty, I think.”

“I thought you’d say that. But if you want me to drop a comment tomorrow, resolving the issue once and for--” She cuts herself off with a shriek as Jamie stands abruptly, hoisting her with a sharp motion onto the table. “You’re about to pretend we never had this conversation, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Jamie says pleasantly, brushing a kiss against her lips. Her hands are sliding up Dani’s thighs, squeezing just hard enough to distract from the issue. “Unless you’d say keeping the upper hand is more important...”

Dani sees no reason to dignify this with a response.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #AU one-shot #this is possibly the most self-indulgent prompt I've ever filled barring Walking With the Lady #but it was short and sweet and made me laugh so here we are #turns out I really like playing in this 'verse with small plot-light additions. hope everyone's chill with that #it'll be on AO3 too in a sec if that's your jam

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refinedbuffoonery · 4 years ago

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Looking Through A Window (7)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Sorry for the delay! I either have my shit together in real life or fandom life, but never both at the same time lol. Anyway, I got endless joy from reading all your reactions to last chapter’s clifhanger (sorry not sorry). I didn’t respond to comments because I don’t trust myself not to spoil anything, but just know that I appreciate every single one of your theories. Also, many of you were at least somewhat correct. (Yikes am I becoming predictable?? Gotta fix that.) This chapter ends at a good stopping point, so I’m going to switch gears and write a couple chapters of other fics (which I encourage you to read!!) before coming back to this. But fear not! I have big plans for the future of this fic, and I’ll send you all down the theory rabbit hole soon enough. xoxo

*****

The world narrows until Mac is only aware of two things: his racing heart and the fact that Riley is gone.

The blood is fresh, but there’s no sign of a struggle—no sign of anything, really. The windows are locked and unbroken, the bedroom door is half-closed the way it always is. Not a single thing is out of place…except for Riley.

So, where the hell is she?

His body goes taut as the worst case scenario plays in his mind. Please don’t be gone, Mac silently begs. Please.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. So when the shower turns on with a loud thunk, Mac flinches. Hard. Without thinking, he scrambles out of bed and lunges for the bathroom door.

As he bursts through the door, Mac’s awareness shifts to three things: Riley is alive, she’s naked, and she’s screaming.

“Mac!” She hisses, glaring over her shoulder. If looks could kill, he’d be very, very dead by now. At least her back is to him. “What the hell?”

Mac barely hears her over the roaring in his ears. He scans her naked body, trying and failing to be professional as he scans for injuries.

His eyes land on the blood smeared between her thighs, then the thin stream rolling down the inside of her knee. As understanding dawns on him, Mac holds out his own blood-covered hand in silent explanation.

Riley winces. “Sorry about the blood.”

Mac still feels a little disconnected from his body when he says, “I was afraid you were dead.”

Embarrassment floods Riley’s face. She begs,“Can we please finish this conversation when I’m not naked and bleeding all over the floor?” Mac’s gaze automatically flicks to the drops of blood between her feet, but he doesn’t move. His limbs are still frozen in place, the way they’ve been since he found her. “Get out!” Riley snaps.

His own embarrassment finally taking hold, Mac stumbles backward, tripping over the door frame on his way out.

While Riley showers, Mac busies himself by stripping the bed and washing the sheets and blankets. Not just because it needs to be done, but because it’s easier to process emotions when his hands are busy. It feels like he just experienced the entire spectrum of human emotion in the span of three minutes, and now all these untethered feelings are floating around in his head. As he works, Mac examines them one by one.

He woke up this morning wanting to cuddle with Riley. Not just wanting to, but comfortable enough to act on that desire.

When his hand landed in the blood, his brain immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. He is deeply afraid of said scenario.

Then panic set in, as he desperately tried to prove himself wrong.

Followed by relief at finding Riley and learning the blood was not from an injury, but from a normal bodily function.

Then embarrassment, because he freaked out and barged in on her over something he could’ve deduced for himself if only he’d just stopped to think. He’s supposed to be smart, so why couldn’t that big brain of his, as Jack would say, figure this out?

The answer to that question, at least, comes easily: Because it’s Riley, and he doesn’t always think with his head when it comes to her.

For example, while he’s mortified at seeing her naked, a part of him wishes she’d been facing the other direction.

Mac starts the washing machine and decides to do the mature thing and hide in the kitchen for the entire foreseeable future. He spies Harley lying on the couch, gazing out a window. “And where were you for all of this?” he asks. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.”

Harley stares at him for a few seconds before resuming her vigil, and Mac hears the message, loud and clear: You’re on your own.

When Riley still hasn’t emerged from the bedroom long after the shower turned off, Mac suspects that she’s hiding too. He doesn’t blame her.

It’s late morning by the time the laundry is finished, and Mac can’t hide any longer. Clutching the still-warm sheets and blankets to his chest, he cautiously ventures into the bedroom. Riley is lying on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chin, and a pang of sympathy echoes in Mac’s chest. Her eyes are closed, but Mac doubts that she’s actually asleep.

Dropping the sheets on the floor, he asks, “Are you alive?”

Riley groans. “No.”

“Could you please go die on the couch then, so I can make the bed?” She groans again and mumbles something incoherent. “Also you’ll feel better if you eat something.”

“No I won’t.” She sounds like a whining toddler, and Mac has to stifle a snort. Still, a bit of the awkwardness dissipates. But only a bit.

“Yes you will. I know you, Miss Hangry.”

“I’m not hangry.”

“Says the one who skipped breakfast.”

“I was hiding from you.”

“So was I,” Mac confesses. Riley cracks a single eye open at that, just in time to see his cheeks heat. “Trust me, I am way more embarrassed than you.”

It takes him a second to notice that she’s blushing too. “Wanna bet?”

Mac starts putting the fitted sheet on the unoccupied side of the mattress. “I didn’t see anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Nothing he hasn’t seen before, anyway, but Mac wisely decides to keep that part to himself. “Victoria’s secret is still a secret,” he adds with a wink.

Riley rolls her eyes. “You did not just say that.”

“Made you laugh, didn’t it?” Mac gives her a shit-eating grin, and despite her best attempt at hiding it, amusement slips through the cracks in Riley’s unimpressed facade.

“Whatever. We don’t have to do anything today, do we?” Mac raises his brow at the question. For all the years he’s known Riley, she’s always been more of a ‘suck it up’ kind of person, not a ‘stay in bed’ person. So her question is surprising, if not mildly concerning.

“Nope.” He pauses. “Are you okay? This isn’t like you.”

Riley rolls onto her back. “Dude, it feels like someone took a cheese grater to my insides.”

Mac winces at the mental image. “Ouch.”

She pauses, as if contemplating her next words before she says them. “I got a new IUD a couple months ago, and this one makes my cramps way worse. I used to be able to ignore them, but this sucks.”

Not knowing how to reply to that, he squeezes Riley’s ankle in a way he hopes is reassuring. Mac flicks his gaze up to meet hers and finds Riley already looking at him. Her gaze is warm and steady, but Mac can see hints of pain clouding her dark eyes. He thinks it isn’t fair that her body turns on her like this.

"I'm getting back in bed the second you're done making it," she warns.

"Go right ahead."

Riley wanders into the kitchen, and, true to her word, reappears right when Mac finishes smoothing down the comforter, with Harley at her heels. To Mac's surprise, Harley jumps on the bed, waits for Riley to get situated, and then tucks herself into Riley's side. A smile blooms on his face. Riley puts an arm around Harley, pulling the dog into her stomach before moving to scratch her head. When Harley licks Riley’s face in return, Mac suddenly gets the feeling he's watching something private.

Satisfied that Riley is in capable hands, Mac leaves without another word.

*****

Beneath the weathered wooden conference table, Harley’s head rests on Mac’s foot as she dozes through the Patriots’ council meeting. When they arrived, no one looked more put off by their presence than Conrad, but, true to his word, Ethan welcomed Mac and Riley with open arms and encouraged their participation. A murmur of dissent snaked through the room, but no one openly questioned Ethan’s decision to include them.

Twenty minutes in, Mac would rather be anywhere but here. The “meeting” so far has been very little business and mostly rehashing some fishing trip a few of the guys went on over the weekend. Mac is holding out hope that it won’t be a complete waste of his time, but said hope dwindles each time someone exaggerates about the size of a fish.

There’s nothing interesting to look at in the room, save for Riley. No art, no plants, no wall of guns. Not even a clock. Just drab gray walls with no windows. And he doesn’t dare study any of the men for longer than a second or two each. Making an enemy is as easy as looking at someone the wrong way, and Mac has no desire to antagonize the other members of the Patriots…at least not yet.

Extricating his foot from beneath Harley’s head, he’s just about to make an excuse about needing to use the restroom when Ethan’s phone rings. After quickly checking it, Ethan excuses himself from the meeting with a curt nod to Conrad. Mac understands the look; he’s given and received it countless times himself, after all. Permission to continue without him. Because despite his tendency to toe the line, Conrad is still Ethan’s trusted lieutenant. The exchange is subtle, practiced, and apparently insignificant to the other men at the table, who are somehow still talking about fish.

When the storytelling finally lulls, Conrad clears his throat. "Let's start with recruitment. Report." No nonsense, right to the point. Maybe he’s tired of the fish conversation too.

As Conrad steers the conversation through the various items on the agenda, Mac realizes two things.

One, the Patriots are far more organized than he originally made them out to be. This is no grassroots startup, and their plans go much deeper than protests and parking lot shootings.

Two, Conrad is careful not to let anyone share too much information, instead asking everyone to give their detailed reports in individual meetings. And it's more than just trying to keep him and Riley in the dark. It's almost as if…almost as if Conrad doesn't want anyone to see the big picture besides himself.

Mac decides to take his theory for a test drive. "I know I'm new here," he says, "but why have everyone meet with you a second time individually instead of sharing their full reports now? Wouldn't that be a better use of time?"

Conrad sneers. "On the contrary, boy, why would I waste everyone's time making them listen to information they don't need to know?"

It takes every ounce of Mac’s self control not to roll his eyes.

Beneath the table, Riley grips his knee, nails digging in through his khakis. Mac wants to tell her that he’s thinking the same thing she is, but he can’t. The best he can settle for is a brief touch on her arm before needing to do something with his hands to distract himself from the way his skin burns under her touch. He elects to drum his fingers on the table, mostly to push Conrad’s buttons even further.

If Conrad’s furrowed brow is any indication, it works.

“Do you mind?” Conrad says with a pointed glare at Mac’s hand.

Feigning ignorance, Mac replies, “Mind about what?”

“The tapping.”

“Oh!” Mac makes a show of sliding his gaze down to his hand before flattening his palm against the table. “My bad.”

Looking none too pleased, Conrad moves on, but to Mac’s surprise, the man sitting beside him leans in to whisper, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He's not the one to piss off." His words are tinged with genuine concern, and under different circumstances, Mac would appreciate the advice.

"He's a man," Mac whispers back, "just like everyone else at this table." Minus Riley, of course.

The man presses on. "The previous occupant of your seat was shot point blank for asking too many questions." Mac's brows raise at that. "You're sitting in a dead man's chair."

Mac pockets that little detail gratefully, but he hesitates before ultimately heeding the man's warning. He fiddles with the button on his sleeve, impatiently waiting for the meeting to end so he can share his theory with Riley.

What Mac doesn't anticipate is Riley beating him to it, pulling him aside before they're even back in the car. "Conrad's compartmentalizing information," she says in a quiet, confident tone.

They’re too exposed to be having this conversation. Mac nervously checks for eavesdroppers, but doesn’t spot any. Deeming it safe for now, he replies, "Yeah I thought so too."

"He's made himself essential. No one else knows how everything works." Riley pauses, eyes catching on something over his shoulder. Barely audibly, she adds, "An asshole and a control freak." He doesn’t need to turn around to know she’s looking at Conrad, not when she has a white-knuckled grip on Harley’s leash.

"So if we eliminate him…"

Riley nods in understanding. He’s controlling everything in an attempt to rise through the rankings and seize power. So if they eliminate Conrad, the whole organization may very well come tumbling down in his wake.

Now they just have to figure out how the hell to accomplish that.

"What if we help him?" Riley suggests, reading Mac’s mind.

"What?"

"We've spent all this time looking for the weakest link, but maybe…maybe we need to attach ourselves to the strongest one." A stray curl falls in Riley's face, and as she brushes it behind her ear, Mac absentmindedly wishes his fingers were brushing it back instead. Riley continues, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we should help him become more powerful than he already is. That way, we can do as much damage as possible when we take him out."

A man they don't know walks by, and Mac nods in greeting. Waiting for the man to move out of earshot, Mac drops to one knee, giving Harley a good scratch. She wags her tail and opens her mouth in a smile, clearly enjoying the attention. When the coast is clear again, Mac says, "You just made this op so much longer, but I think you're right."

Riley snorts. "What, is there somewhere else you need to be?"

Gazing up at the woman before him, the answer is obvious. Not unless you're coming with me.

*****

In the gray hour before dawn crests over the world, Mac wakes to something tickling his nose. He exhales sharply, trying to blow it away, but the tickle persists.

His face is pressed into the nape of Riley's neck, and a deep inhale causes a few strands of her hair to go up his nostrils. Reaching up to brush Riley’s hair out of his face, he hesitates right before his calloused fingers brush her skin, afraid that even the barest touch will shatter the moment. As soon as Riley wakes, he'll have to hide behind his mask of indifference, and Mac isn't ready to do that yet.

For as long as he dares, Mac allows himself to imagine what it would be like to wake up with Riley for real, in his own home. He sees her curled in his bed, sheets pulled up to her chin, hears the soft, steady cadence of her breathing, smells the lingering traces of perfume on her skin.

Riley stirs in his arms, and the vision blurs, moving out of reach. Mac grasps for it, but it evaporates into nothingness as she settles back against him.

He shifts his focus to the very real sensation of Riley’s body tucked into his. Her back to his chest, his leg slotted between hers, her ass pressed against his—

Shit.

Mac jerks backward, trying to put as much space between them as possible before Riley wakes and realizes just what she scooted back against.

Except, in his haste, Mac doesn’t realize there’s a third party present until his foot slams into the small, warm body lying at the foot of the bed. Guilt washes over him at Harley’s ensuing yelp.

Awake, Riley mumbles, “Did you just kick the dog?”

“It was an accident!” Mac insists, sitting up. He turns his attention to Harley. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. You can come back if you want.” He pats the bed in a way he hopes is reassuring, but Harley merely eyes him with suspicion before slinking out of the room.

“I can’t believe you kicked the dog,” Riley says, still half-asleep. “She finally slept with us, and you betrayed her.”

“I told you it was an accident!”

“Betrayal.”

Mac rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Riley sighs, rolling back to her side of the bed, and Mac isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Or maybe a little bit of both. “You better go apologize.”

Mac scoffs. “And let you take over the entire bed while I’m gone? I don’t think so.”

And there it is. The closest they’ve come to acknowledging the evolution of their bed-sharing habits. Particularly the newfound lack of sticking to their respective sides. If he’s being honest with himself, Mac doesn’t know where to go from here. He wants to see it as a sign of things changing between them. Obviously Riley is aware of their precarious positioning, but based on her casual relocation, she doesn’t see this any differently than the dozens of times they’ve slept squished in a small space together in the past. Whether she’s aware of the other thing, she doesn’t let on.

“Your funeral,” Riley says, pulling Mac out of his head.

Right.

The dog.

The dog whose forgiveness he needs to earn via extra breakfast. Maybe extra dinner too.

Sighing, Mac goes after her, cursing his inability to get things right with either of the females in this house.

~ Tag List ~ Want to be added? Send me an ask.

@angelinanao

@annmariestuff

@dreambelievergeek

@emilyscotson

@erika-amber

@fandomsilovewithoutshame

@fangirlfreak08

@g3svv

@hellishrose

@holbytlanna

@i-cant-think-of-a-name-15

@ijamaica5535

@justaghostmonument

@likeit-or-leaveit

@losingitovermacriley

@macrileyedits

@macs-paperclips

@multi-fandomshipper101

@mylifequotesshowallofthem

@nikki-1607

@orange-cat-vet

@penny114

@redjedistarfighter

@sxrein

@tall-tanned-tattoo

@thecarrieonokay

@tom-hunter-summah

@whatsabex

#beth writes #looking through a window au #macgyver #macriley #angus macgyver #riley davis

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mariaiscrafting · 4 years ago

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ahhhh ty ty ty <3

ok, so I think that what makes Dream act this way (iykyk) is how dreamwastaken became so big so quickly. and by quick I mean fucking lightning speed.

he didn't have enough time to learn enough about cc etiquette, especially in these three aspects: influence, boundaries and fanbase/stans/whatever you call it. I'll try to explain it:

• Influence: Does he know the influence he has? Like, when he hears that he is the myct with the largest fanbase, does he really process that? I remember he talked about not being able to control all of his fanbase and there's bad apples everywhere -- which is true, and that only like 1% of his fanbase breaks his boundaries (that include sending hate for him, harassing, doxing, etc. yk, basic twitter culture lol) but, honey, with your big ass fanbase, 1% is still a lot of people. As a content creator you *have* to be aware of that.

let's take the hbomb situation. First off, as a streamer, it's you that set the mood of the stream. Even if he was only messing around with his pals, even if they did say to do not send hate to hbomb, dt dunking on him created a toxic environment, which caused his fans being toxic towards hbomb and you know what happens next. Hell, when this happened, I was watching Tapl and he was watching them and he was crying laughing over them screaming bc they were just. so loud and so aggressive that it was kinda ??? Sirs, this is literally a Minecraft Stream lmaooo

my point is, that was not the road that dreamwastaken, 21M fans, should've taken. he don't condone his fans actions but he knows his fans are diehard and will always be on his side, he should be more careful before stating negative opinions, especially if its towards another person.

• Boundaries and Fanbase: He posted a list of his boundaries a while ago, idk if you know or seen it (btw please george copy your bestie for the love of god <3) but I'm not talking about those boundaries, I'm talking about the basic boundaries between cc and viewer. boundaries that, in my opinion, should exist between cc and viewer. I get that Dream is an open person, an oversharing type of open person if I may add, but I think he should take a step back regardless. When I heard that he was taking a time from twitter, I genuinely got so glad, not because he couldn't start any drama then, but because it would do so so good for his mental health. I'm not even that fond of him, it's just that for me, any cc taking a break or outright leaving twitter is a win for me. I know how RSD is hard to deal and honestly letting shit out it's better but dream you have dt you have bbh so please don't make things worse online 😭 I know how good can be to feel validation from millions of people but. it's not a good idea, especially in the state that his fanbase is on rn (this topic is kinda sensitive to talk abt for me bc people be outright ableist and hide it as criticism like. say that shit's not helping his reputation and whatever without acting like he's fucking. manipulating his fanbase for being affected by his rsd💀 or, on the other hand, don't say that hes just being adhd🤪 when he's just being an asshole like damn that's a Him thing bro lol)

(omg it's so big I'm so sorry and theres a part two I'm so sorry tumblr user messed-up-gal ToT) - morango 1/2

pt. 2:

Dream is the proof that the people who loves you can be your downfall. istg. Have you noticed that every drama that Dream enters, people usually get more mad abt how his fanbase reacts (85% they'll react in a bad way) than Dream himself? it's not always, but its definitely more likely. I'm not saying Dream is saint, he Is petty and his ego does him dirty and made him choke multiple times before,, But! i dont think hes a bad guy. he's literally just a dude. ok, he's a 21yr old white gamer man that has a trumpie past (maybe?? idk. I think hes cured now ig lol) so he's bound to do some shitty things but he still tries to get better and hopefully he'll mature. 21 is old enough but it's still so young, yk? I kind of lost my mind during the end and my eyes are literally begging to be closed so tl;dr: Its gonna be hard for him to become a better cc bc his fans don't let him be criticized (by infantilizing his adhd symptoms or the mob mentality as soon as someone says anything abt him), the honest criticism get lost between lies from antis that don't know shit, he still has a lot of growing up to do and overall he became famous too fast and he needs to learn things even faster bc as soon as there's not a single one dream hater on sight they'll turn their back and attack him instead lmao I hate twitter i definitely have more to say but I'm tired and my memory is shit. just-- hate dream if you want, love dream if you want, nobody is obligated to have an opinion but I wanted to express mine. have a lovely day! -morango 2/2

Aight, there's a lot to unpack here, so Imma try to only go into the points I have something to add to (here's what I talk about in each paragraph, if you want to jump to a specific point):

Speed of Dream's rise to fame

The "bad apples" in the Dream fanbase

Post-MCC HBomb stream

Not condoning versus actually condemning his fans

Manipulation & RSD

Criticism of Dream, his fanbase, and his brand

The “just a dude” argument, flipped

First, I agree that one of the many factors that has resulted in the current image Dream has set up for himself, the way his fanbase functions, the ways people hate on him, and the way the Dream brand functions, is the speed of his rise to fame. It's unique, and there are probably a hundred social/psychological angles that could be used to examine the exact effects of that speed upon all of these facets of the Dream Name; did rapid fame beget the rapid rise of unrighteous hatred, did those waves of hatred then instigate the rise of a surprisingly overdefensive fanbase, did that rapid fame get to his head and/or result in an inability to appropriately handle all the after-effects of rapid fame, etc.? That point you bring up, about how the speed of his rise to fame requires him to learn even more quickly, is so interesting to me. I think that maybe Dream expected to get pretty famous pretty quickly, hence the preparedness in regards to some mechanics of influencer fame- merchandise, business-building, networking, knowing how to manage his fanbase to best benefit him. But I don't think he expected to get this famous this quickly. This is all speculation of course, as are this entire post and your ask, but I think that he just couldn't anticipate having to learn how to handle enmasse controversy, waves of antis, or every Youtuber speculating/knowing about him; and yeah, that results in him having to learn all of these things very quickly, lest he allow his whole brand and fandom to fall apart.

Second, I disagree with the frequent argument that Dream's fanbase is only marginally toxic. Personally, I think that the circumstances of Dream's fame, his personality and management of his fanbase, and his brand of content have resulted in the very specific kind of stan that Dream stans are. I don't think this is simply a case of "all fandoms have a small percentage of assholes who take it too far;" rather, the nature of the community itself breeds the kind of mentality of "an asshole who takes it too far." I only even know this because I was a Dream fan (kinda a stan, I'm ngl). At one time, I watched every single Dreamwastaken & Dream Team video multiple times; I listened to the Manhunts on repeat, as though they were podcasts; I followed mostly smiletwt and dttwt accounts on mcyttwt; I had upwards of 10 tabs for AO3 DNF fics open on my phone at a time; I watched DNF and Dream Team Being A Family-esque compilations on repeat; I watched every George and Sapnap alt stream I possibly could; I went out of my way to defend Dream against Redditors and Twitter antis regarding the cheating scandal. For the latter half of 2020, and a couple months of 2021, I lived and breathed this part of the fandom; so when I say that Dream stans are a whole other breed than any other kind of mcyttwt stan, I say that because I used to be like that, too. I usually use parasocial very loosely or ironically, but Dream stans are genuinely one of the most parasocial fanbases I have ever seen or been a part of. The level of investment Dream stans have in this man's life, the lengths they will go to to defend him, the amount of psychonalysis and digging they do on his life and character, the amount of emotion he can evoke in them- it's taken to another level, man. This isn't just characteristic of a fraction of his fanbase; this is what the fanbase is like as a whole.

Third, I partially disagree with your take on the HBomb thing, but not in the way one might think? I actually empathize with the way they reacted much more than I thought I would, simply because I suspect I have RSD (also suspect I have ADHD, have for several months now) and I can see myself getting insanely frustrated because of something like that. Like yeah, it was "just a MC stream" or "just an MC game," but that's kinda disregarding the fact that something that might seem like "just a [insert inconsequential thing]" to a rational mind might have a major emotional consequence/take a major emotional toll on someone with RSD, or really anyone who gets easily impatient/angry about video games (Sapnap reminds me of many of my friends, in that way). The issues I, personally, had with the way they handled the HBomb situation is that these are simply explanations and reasons for my empathy; they are not excuses. I have no excuse when I get irrationally angry about something inconsequential in my own life, for a couple of reasons. One, because I am an adult and I need to learn how to handle my reactions and manage my own anger. Two, because as someone with many mental problems, it is my responsibility to learn coping mechanisms to ensure my own emotional stability and livelihood; this includes learning whatever I need to handle RSD- whether that be isolating myself from others when I know I will become violently/passionately angry about something, creating and sustaining a support system that can get me through bouts of extreme emotion, finding healthy emotional outlets for my negative emotions that won't harm myself or others, or a combination thereof. I don't think what they said about HBomb post-MCC was an irreversibly horrible thing, or anything. I think there were errors committed by two men who should be fully capable of foreseeing and preventing those errors, but I don't unconditionally hate Dream or Sapnap for the post-MCC stream or comments. I just wish they had made amends quickly, publicly, and sufficiently, because the greatest consequences from the whole thing weren't even from those two criticizing HBomb themselves; they were from the waves of backlash because of their immense influence on the MCYT fandom, which could've been prevented, if they had acted maturedly and responsibly after the stream.

Fourth, you’re right, that he doesn’t seem to condone his fans’ behavior. I detest the frequent anti argument that one of the reasons Dream should be criticized is because he explicitly uses his fanbase to attack others, or something of the sort. Personally, I think he created his fanbase in a very specific way and interacts with them in such a way so as to benefit him as much as possible, yes, but he never actually tells his fanbase to go and yell at or harrass anyone. Still, there is a significant difference between not condoning something and condemning something. It might seem unfair, and it might be annoying of me to say this, but I truly think that someone with this large a fanbase, especially one as overzealous as Dream’s, needs to be condemned every single time it goes on some kind of rampage/harrassment campaign. Either that, or Dream needs to make a definitive, permanent statement against any kind of harrassment of others on his behalf. I know he’ll occassionally make the odd tweet or serious stream addressing something his fanbase did, but one of the many reasons his fanbase keeps doing the same damn thing is because he’s so lukewarm and spotty about this condemnation. A fanbase like his needs to be given explicit guidance and boundaries for the numerous things they do in his defense- harrassing/doxing antis, harrassing people who criticize him who aren’t antis (respectful criticism, other CCs, other MCYT stans, etc.), harrassing the people he critcizes (i.e., HBomb), speculating about his personal life (his relationship with his gf, his mental health/ADHD, his romantic life, his childhood, etc.), and speculating about his relationships with his friends and colleagues. My personal ideology is that, if you have significant influence over someone or a group of people, you are at least somewhat responsible for the things those people do or don’t do, if it at all relates back to you. I’m so fucking tired of the argument that CCs aren’t responsible for what their fans do. Obviously they aren’t responsible for every single one of their fans, and obviously they can’t fully control their fans at the end of the day. But I think there are certain things that reach such a level of extremity that does make those CCs responsible. This can be measured by either scale or intensity; that is to say, if a CC’s fanbase does things on an extremely large scale, or one person from/a fraction of the fanbase does something really extreme, then the CC is made all the more responsible. Another CC I’ve always had trouble discussing with other people on this subject is Pewdiepie, in particular, about the extremists in his fanbase. Because the things a small handful of his fans have done in reference to him and/or in his name were so fucking extreme, I thought Pewdiepie had to take at least some responsibilty. Along a similar vein, because the things Dream’s general fanbase does are so widespread and on such a massive scale, Dream has to take at least some responsibility.

Fifth, okay. Hmmm. I want to tackle this point you made about the ableism he faces in some criticism of him carefully and with empathy, but not coddling. One, I do think a lot of the criticism he receives for the ways he handles criticism (post-cheating Tweets, reactions to John Swan, post-MCC HBomb stream, etc.), disregard his RSD and can be oftentimes ableist. I’ve actually encountered people irl who criticize this aspect of Dream’s character, and have had to explain to them their disregard for how ADHD/RSD affect neurodivergent people’s reactions to criticism. But - and this is a big, and very controversial but - I think mentally ill/disordered people can 100% leverage their mental illness/disorders for the sake of manipulation. This is actually something I’ve learned from a psychiatrist, regarding the ways people I know and I handle our anxiety and depression. This manipulation can be unwitting or intentional, but it is entirely possible, and the possibility shouldn’t be entirely dismissed as ableist. Living with a mental illness or disorder that others know about/that you are very public about puts you in an interesting position to receive frequent sympathy, empathy, and/or pity. I’m not saying that empathy for Dream having ADHD/RSD is entirely unjustified; on the contrary, I have frequently expressed how I can relate to his ADHD symptoms and have defended him for expressing those symptoms, both on mcytblr and in real life. I am saying that Dream fans tend to use his ADHD as a kind of shield for a lot of criticism levied against him, including the supposition that he could be manipulating his fanbase to defend him because of his public expressions of RSD. So yes, my theory is that Dream knows how to levy every aspect of his life for his personal gain and for the growth of his brand, and that includes his ADHD. I think he has courage for his openess about his ADHD, I think his openness has contributed to the rise in awareness of mental health and empathy for neurodivergent people within Gen Z, and I think at least some of his expressions of RSD publicly/online weren’t intentionally made public. All that being said, I also think he has to know just how much his fanbase cares about defending him for his ADHD, and I think he has to know that some of the things he does related to his neurodivergence endear him to his audience, in a coddling, baby-ing, mildly ableist sorta way. Maybe this is all incredibly presumptuous of me. Of course, I can never know the real intentions behind any Dream video, Tweet, or stream. Maybe I’m just projecting, because I can see myself doing just this, if I had the maturity I had circa 2018-2019. Idfk know, man.

Sixth, I actually agree with you here, people probably do get more mad at his fanbase than him. Dream puts out content pretty seldomly, considering the frequency of content output for other Youtubers/streamers in his field/at his brand size. And yet, he has received masses of criticism. Considering that the things Dream himself does/says do not entirely correlate with the amount of criticism he receives, I think it’s a logical assumption that a lot of that criticism actually goes back to the size of his presence online, rather than the man himself. That is to say, because of the massive community he’s amassed, the exponential growth of his fanbase, their presence on every single social media site and in virtually every single Internet space/fandom, and the size of his metaphysical presence in his fields, Dream is much bigger than the man himself, so the criticism he receives will, at least in part, be a direct or indirect result of all these other aspects of the Dream brand. Something I don’t think many Dream fans/stans, or even most MCYT fans in general, understand, is that Dream isn’t just “one guy” in the eyes of the Internet- at least, not anymore. He hasn’t been for nearly a year. Like Pewdiepie, Mr. Beast, and other CCs who have amassed similar levels of fame and wealth via Internet content creation, Dream is a brand now, and most people will treat him as such. He isn’t just some uwu soft boy playing Minecraft anymore. He is on a whole other level from any other MCYT in his friend circle or colleague interaction bubble. His words will never again live in a vaccum or private bubble, his friend circle will never again be under anything less than intense scrutiny, his past actions will never again be simple mistakes or silly errors, his words will never again be casual tweets or streams for laughs among a couple thousand followers. Dream’s name represents something much bigger than just the one man. As such, all aspects of his brand, including his fanbase, will tie back to him and, ultimately, to any general criticism of him.

I’m not saying I like any of this, and I actually think the evolution of influencers from people to a marketable brand with similar mechanisms, responsibilities, and liabilities as a corporation is some kind of late capitalism nightmare fuel; I’m just stating my own observations and theories as to why so much anti-Dream criticism seems to be directed at his fanbase, rather than him.

Seventh, he’s just a guy, you’re right, but I think a lot of the antis on Tumblr understand this more than you know. As I’ve seen it, the sentiment among much of the “DSMP stans DNI” crowd seems to be that of “Dream/other MCYTs are such ‘bad’ people, so why do their fans stick to these mediocre, racist men, when there are so many better people to watch/better content to consume?” We know this argument is flawed for many of the obvious reasons - the conflation of all MCYTs’ actions regardless of individual identity, the equating of a CC’s fanbase’s morality to that of the CC they enjoy watching, the exxageration of any error MCYT CCs have committed as bigotry/racism, the fundamental misunderstanding and misinformation that led antis to believe this exxageration of the facts, etc. But I want to focus on the general, underlying sentiment of, “why not watch someone better, when your creator is problematic?” Sometimes, I ask this of Dream stans. Yes, being mildly ignorant, getting involved in the scandals Dream has, and being a right-leaning/libertarian centrist in the recent past all seem like harmless things, all things considered. One could say Dream isn’t nearly as bad as many antis who are misinformed seem to believe, and that there are much worse CCs Dream stans could be watching and creating fan content for. But I think what Tumblr antis wonder is, aren’t there also much better MCYTs/CCs people could be watching and stanning? Because he’s just some guy, right? Is his content truly so exceptional or is he really so exceptional a person, that people have to stick by him, despite the things that spike up regarding his current or past actions? I think that’s what made me finally decide to stop watching Dream. I realized he was just Some Guy. The Dream Team was a comforting dynamic to indulge in, DNF was a cute ship to read and speculate about, and Manhunts were fun videos to watch; however, once the Reddit posts came out and I read them in-depth, the cost-benefit analysis tipped over to the “not worth it” side for me. I realized Dream’s content, while fun and comforting, was not entirely unique, and wasn’t worth sticking around for, given what I then knew about his past political leanings. If he is just Some Guy, then there are a hundred more like him out there. There a hundred more ships, a hundred more found family dynamics, a hundred more entertaining and skilled Minecraft players. So while I agree with you on the point of people being allowed to love him regardless because he is just a guy, at the end of the day, I think that, if we are to believe that sentiment or use that argument in such a manner, we should also understand the flip side- that, if he is just some guy, why is it worth sticking around? To that I say, maybe because people just enjoy the simple things they enjoy.

Anyways, I wholly agree with your tl;dr. Thanks for that insanely long ask, this was a fun thing to keep me occupied while I’ve been at work, facilitating Zoom sessions this whole morning.

#ive been writing this on and off since 830 am est SHEESH #dreamwastaken #dream critical #eh i think im relatively lenient of him here given my past posts ab him #but still just in case the blacklist tags for yalls convenience:#discourse #/neg #asks #long post #long posts #this a LONG one bois #morango

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lordsisterxotome · 5 years ago

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IkemenVampire boys with an S/o who has bouts of selective mutism? (Some days I’m the most talkative person and then the next I don’t say anything) -Blue anon (feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable!)

Hey Blue anon!! Sorry for the wait!! A bunch of stuff came up and I wanted to put in the research before I started writing this. Hope it’s accurate! The rest of the boys will be released later, but I wanted to get this out for now.💕

Napoleon:

At first, it alarms him. He’s only seen something similar to this in shell shocked soldiers, unable to shake off the nightmares of the battlefield, so it worries him when he sees a similar behavior reflected in the person he loves.

The first time it happens, MC clams up in the middle of a date out in the city, something she heard or saw while he left for a minute rendering her tongue useless.

At first, Napoleon thinks she’s upset with him, that she’s intentionally not speaking to him, but concern adds to his confusion when he catches her nervous gaze, empty of any hostility or anger.

He quickly deems that asking her what’s wrong isn’t going to get an answer, so he does the first thing that comes to mind to try to help her.

Gently taking her hand, he leads MC to a park he knows nearby, finding a bench secluded amongst the flower bushes lining the path. Removing her from whatever situation made her so uncomfortable in the first place ought to help, he hopes.

Softly, tentatively, he draws her into his lap, into the safety of his embrace. Through touch, he tries to reassure her that everything’s okay, that she can be vulnerable around him.

Napoleon knows how strong she is, how capable, so he’d be lying if he said it didn’t scare him a little to see her like this. He doesn’t know what to do to make it better, doesn’t quite understand what happened to cause it in the first place, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try his hardest to help the person he treasures most.

His hand rubs soothing circles into her back as he presses his lips to her hair and he hopes the contact helps, waiting for her to relax in his arms.

Minutes pass as Napoleon sits there with her in silence, but he’s willing to wait hours until she feels comfortable again. The sound of birds chirping and wind rustling through the trees seems to help a little, the quiet, peaceful sounds of nature coaxing whatever had disconnected in her to right itself, and he can feel her muscles finally loosening.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, carding his fingers through her hair.

“Yeah,” comes her reply, and he’s both relieved and heartbroken; relieved that she’s speaking again, and heartbroken at how small her voice sounds, how meek.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Snuggling closer, her arms wrap around him as she tucks her head underneath his jaw. “Later. Can we just sit like this for now?”

“Of course,” Napoleon answers, curling around her a little tighter. “Anything for you.”

Mozart

Before he and MC became a couple it confused and annoyed him to no end.

One moment she couldn’t stop talking to him, but when he told her off for bothering him, her jaw would shut, tighter than a steel trap, and he wouldn’t hear another word from her for the rest of the day.

Whenever it happened, Mozart always thought it was because she was childishly avoiding him, his snark having gone a little too far. He didn’t know that each time it was because she physically couldn’t speak, her mutism induced by his sharp tongue.

It bothered him more and more as he fell deeper in love with her. When it occurred, he always became angry with himself for having driven her away, confused that someone as strong and stubborn as her would take his empty complaints so hard.

Still, he didn’t confront her about it, choosing not to pay it too much mind, and he often forgot about it entirely when they bantered back and forth, teasing smiles on both of their faces.

She thawed his frozen heart at an alarming rate, clipping the thorns attached to his words, and it happened less and less as he became more tender with her.

It wasn’t until after they became a couple and he witnessed her turn mute right in front of him one day, that Mozart decided he couldn’t take it anymore, the painful squeezing in his chest too much to bear.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, he presses his forehead to hers, staring deep into her wide eyes as he does.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demands, and immediately bites his lip at the harshness of his words, attempting gentleness as he tries again. “Why do you…? Why does this happen? Where’s that stubbornness that drives me so crazy?” He curses himself internally for fumbling over his words, for letting his mounting anxiety break through his composure. It’s just part of the remarkable power she has over him, to strike such worry and panic into the depths of his soul without a word.

Mozart gets even more frustrated when MC only replies with a blink and a nervous shake of her head, lips remaining closed in an uncomfortable smile.

With a frustrated grunt, he takes her hand and pulls her to the music room, loosening his grip when he realizes how tight he’s clutching her. Sitting her down on the couch, Mozart walks over to his piano and takes a deep breath before looking over at her, his annoyance fading away as he takes in her apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, and her lips part in a surprised ‘o.’ “You deserve someone who won’t make you uncomfortable to the point you won’t even speak to them, but I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. I’m never letting you go, so I want you to know that I’m going to do my best to be the man you deserve.” His smile is tender as he gazes at her, finishing, “I love you and I’m right here whenever you need me.”

And then he plays, music flowing from the keys in gentle rises and falls, until her shoulders relax and her eyelids fall.

She’s wrapped in the sound of his love and devotion long after the last note has faded away into the night, tucked away in her lover’s protective embrace.

Leonardo

He knows about her mutism long before she actually tells him about it.

Leonardo’s a clever man and he’s seen, done, and experienced much more than she could ever know, so he’s able to put it together after the first few times it happens.

Even before they became a couple, Leonardo always found his eyes drawn to her, drinking in every part of her existence, so he notices when her voice mysteriously cuts off, lips closing to hide a suddenly still tongue. He notices when her eyes suddenly refuse to meet that of anyone else, desperately looking for an escape route.

It makes him curious at first and a little pissed later when he realizes it only happens in situations where she’s uncomfortable.

Despite his better knowledge of life and it’s inevitable ups and downs, Leonardo never wants her to suffer through any discomfort, especially if it has such a great effect on her.

Her first couple weeks at the mansion, he spends so much time driving her crazy, MC doesn’t have enough time to even think about being uncomfortable, and he’s pleased to see her become more and more comfortable around the mansion. Despite his best efforts though, he can’t protect her from everything, especially her own internal affliction.

He doesn’t know what caused it, and a dangerous part of him stirs in response to whatever did, but when he finds her in the library one day, silent to his calls of her name, he’s powerless but to help her in the only way he can.

She just looks so small, curled up against the arm of one of the brown leather sofas, her expression blank as she flips mindlessly through the pages of a book. MC startles at his entry, opening her mouth, but falters when not a sound comes out, shutting her jaw with a snap.

Scooping her into his arms, Leonardo feels her fingers dig into his coat as he carries her over to one of his favorite napping spots over by the bookshelf. He sinks to the ground, gently placing her between his legs with her back against his chest, and he wishes he could do more, cursing his inability even for all his strength, but all he can do is fill the warm silence with his deep baritone.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, sinking to the floor against a bookshelf with her in tow. “You don’t have to answer. I’m here.”

The look in her eyes is expectant as she peeks up at him, foreseeing questions, but he only smiles, his gaze soft as he ruffles her hair. “Maybe I just wanted to hold you. Have you thought of that?”

There’s an unspoken question in her expression as she blinks at him, but she sighs and relaxes into his grasp, letting him talk about anything and everything that comes to mind. He talks about the weather, about what he did that day, about even the most insignificant things, and all the while they just sit like that, until she’s finally relaxed enough to laugh at something he says, and he feels like he can breathe again.

#ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen x reader #cybird #cybird ikemen #romance #comfort #headcanons #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp leonardo #otome #otome x reader

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sir-gwaine-my-man · 4 years ago

Text

A rewrite of the ending for The Letter for the King

If we're being honest, did the ending live up to anyone's expectations? Certainly not to mine. My babies deserved better and I hope my attempt at writing can help to rectify that for anyone else looking for a happier - and hopefully better - ending. At some point, I'll probably write a fic for the entire series, possibly with an OC (maybe a younger sibling of one of the knights because I want more interactions with Piak). Feedback would be greatly appreciated! I'm always looking to improve. I struggle with accurate characterisation in fanfics when writing non-canon dialogue/scenes so if anyone has any tips then please send them my way.

I know there's maybe 12 people in the fandom (this had better become a running joke, so help me) but hopefully I will please those 12 of you. This will take place from when they exit the sewers. Without further ado, let us proceed.

5000+ words

~~~~~~~~~~

The thick, rancid scent of the sewers still lingered in the air as the novices clung to the ladder several metres up. Damp metal frigid to the touch, covered in something that they wouldn't dare to ask the origin of. Even Tiuri - who had made his way to the top of the ladder - could still smell the murky water (or, at least, what they thought to be water) below.

He swung the grate at the top open, gritting his teeth as he hoisted himself up and out of the entrance to the sewer. The fresher air was a welcome comfort in the dimly lit room, candles flickering gently in the little draughts that filtered in, and he was thankful to take in a deep breath of fresher air.

Pushing himself over the edge with a grunt of effort, he turned around to help Piak climb out, safely pulling him up. It was certainly far more graceful than Tiuri's attempt to get himself out.

"You're pushing me again," Jussipo snapped, looking down and glaring before pulling himself out as well, a look of clear disgust etched upon his face.

"Because you're going even slower than you were before," Arman retorted, evidently still frustrated at having to go through the sewers.

"It's-it's in my hair! It's in my hair." Jussipo's face contorted as he tried to hide the extent of his revulsion as he essentially jumped out of the exit.

Arman came out soon after Jussipo, quickly pushing himself out, glad to be away from the dreadful place, and was quickly followed by Foldo. "It's definitely not water," Foldo choked out through the stench, his face paling as he resisted the nauseating temptation to throw up any food still left in his stomach.

"See?" Tiuri started, trying to reintroduce some positivity into their quest that seemed to lack a favourable outcome for the foreseeable future. "I told you. Easy."

The others stared at him as though he were insane, many still looking disgusted from their time in the sewer. Foldo looked greener by the second. No one particularly wanted to know what was in the sewer now that they knew it wasn't water from his expression. They also didn't want to know how Foldo found out.

The group rushed out of the room, breaking out into a run as they hurried to get to the throne room. They had hardly made it down a single corridor before turning into a hall and running straight into a line of servants.

Attempts at acting natural were made. Bowed heads, feigned interest in the exquisitely crafted banners and candleholders - although, they had to admit, they were beautiful. But, of course, despite the dirt on their clothes, they still reeked of nobility and they neither looked nor acted like the staff of the castle, not to mention the swords hanging from their belts. Still, the servants had far more important matters to attend to other than herding some wandering nobleman's children back to the feast.

As soon as they were alone, they all raced through the open doorway, speeding down more passageways, thankful not to encounter anyone else.

"That was close!" Piak exclaimed with a smile, jogging next to Jussipo, clearly enjoying the excitement.

"Be quiet," hissed Arman sharply, turning back to the boy. "You don't know who could be lurking in the shadows, listening to our every word."

"Don't talk to him like that," Jussipo replied, moving threateningly closer, attempting to turn any anxiety brewing within him to confidence.

"I'd appreciate it if you directed your aggressive energy towards the task at hand, please," Tiuri sighed. "Besides, I think we're safe for now."

"Perhaps we should be a bit quieter, it couldn't hurt," Foldo suggested gently.

They continued their way through the castle, footsteps echoing far louder than they would've liked through the stone hallways. Cautious glances were frequently casted towards the windows, the steadily rising blood moon harsh and bold against the dark sky, glaringly bright as it outshone the gentle twinkling of the stars.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Arman asked as Tiuri led them down yet another tortuous corridor. "We're running out of time. You could be getting us lost for all we know."

"Of course I know where we're going," Tiuri insisted, vaguely remembering visiting the castle once as a child. If he was being honest, he was mostly guessing the path to the feast. "It's around this corner."

The door creaked as he pulled it open, but they paid it little mind as they hurried down a set of steps and into yet another corridor. It would be a miracle if anyone knew their way around the entire castle.

"Come on," he whispered as they ducked around a wall, praying that the area would be empty.

It was, in fact, not. "Where do you think you're going?" a heavily armoured guard asked as the five of them came to a shuddering halt in front of him.

Jussipo was just about to come forward - casting worried glances towards Foldo and Piak - with a story about how they were the sons of some visiting nobles and had gotten lost when the guard keeled over following a sharp blow to the head from the pommel of a dagger. The knights-to-be watched in confused shock as he fell over to reveal Iona behind him.

"Surprise," she said, tears evidently brimming in her eyes as she looked at the people she could almost call friends before she turned them in.

Arman rushed towards her in a fit of rage, his fist raised as he prepared to strike. He was followed by the rest of the novices, ready to jump to his defence if needed, but Arman was brought to a quick halt by the blade millimetres from his throat, glinting menacingly in the candlelight. Iona urged him back in what seemed to be reluctance.

"You have every right to hate me," she began, the dagger still held out in front of her.

"Well, we do hate you," Arman claimed, jumping forward again as Tiuri held out an arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

"I hate me too. What I did... what I've done." She finally held the dagger back by her waist, a choked laugh escaping her as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill. "I'm sorry," Iona admitted, the tears that she had attempted to withhold streaking down her cheeks despite the wary glances the group gave each other, "for all of it. I'm sorrier than you'll ever know. But I just... I wanted you to know that."

With a determined look, she furiously wiped away the tears, seemingly angry at herself for showing such emotion. Iona turned away, ready to never see any of them again.

"Iona?" Tiuri called out.

Iona stopped, turning around as hope glittered in her eyes. Tiuri approached her, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace as if to say that he forgave her, it was alright now, she was forgiven. She returned the hug with one arm, seeming to relax for a single moment.

And then the moment broke, shattering into hundreds of pieces of betrayal and hurt as she snatched the letter with her free hand.

"Every time you think you've got her pegged," Jaro chuckled as he entered the hall with two knights following, a sinister edge to his laugh, "she turns around and she surprises you all over again." Tiuri backed up to the safety of the group, fear and pain smothering his features as Iona hesitantly handed over the letter, a frown upon her face. Was this really the right thing to do? Yes, of course, Tiuri had dashed her hopes of becoming a knight, this was her only way forward. Jaro took the letter with a sickening smile, pocketing it. The group's hands reached for the hilts of their swords, prepared for a final display of courage. "Looks like the letter's not going to the king after all. Now, do you want to walk away and live or make a futile gesture of defiance and die?" Each of the boys drew their swords with little hesitation, willing to put their lives on the line to save the world they knew. "A futile gesture it is." The three Red Riders and Iona drew their swords as well, a determined grimace etched upon everyone's faces.

Jussipo turned to Piak, the brother that he had sworn to himself that he would protect at all costs. He couldn't risk Piak’s safety, not for anything, not for the world. "Stay there," he whispered, gently pushing him back.

With a fierce cry, Jaro charged towards them, the novices racing into the fight. This included Piak who had decided to ignore his brother's instructions and fight anyway with little regard for his own life and lack of training, using his lack of size to dodge any incoming attacks.

Sword clashed against sword, metal ringing out in the brutal melodies of battle. Deafening clangs that brought the children's hearts to their throats for, after all, despite all that they had been through, they were still children. Adrenaline surged through each person, the fight blurring time and reality as they solely focused on the simple motion of swinging their swords. Back and forth. Blows and parries. Attacks and counters.

Piak stayed close to Jussipo, ready to jump to his aid at a moment's notice. That was until Jaro had forced Tirui to the floor. The tip of his sword inched closer to Tiuri's throat, slowly threatening to slice through skin. Piak took the distraction as an excuse to nick the letter from Jaro's belt, instantly jumping to action.

"I've got it!" Piak called out at the same time Jussipo yelled out his name more out of fear than anger. Piak passed the letter to him as Jussipo looked towards him in a mix of frustration and admiration.

"What did I tell you?" he asked in breathless exasperation as he deflected another attack. "Tiuri!" he yelled as he flung the letter through the air, Tiuri deftly catching it. "What are you waiting for?"

"Go!" Arman and Piak insisted in sync as Tiuri rushed out of sight, quickly chased by Iona and Jaro.

In that brief moment of distraction, in those few seconds in which the group thought they could recover, one of the Red Riders lunged towards Piak, the most defenceless of them all. In that split second before the sword hit him, Jussipo saw what was happening. Not Piak, anyone but him. He wasn't even supposed to be here, he was too adventurous for his own good.

In that split second, Jussipo remembered everything he could about Piak. The way he would leap around as he practiced fighting with a wooden sword. The way he could talk about anything and everything for hours. How he would sneak him extra food from the kitchens after a particularly tough training session. How he was so carefree despite all the troubles in the world.

In that split second, Jussipo made a decision. Whatever it takes, he thought, whatever it takes to save my brother.

With a breathless but purpose filled shout of, “No!” he leapt in front of Piak. Jussipo tried to deflect the incoming sword but he knew there was little point in even attempting to raise his weapon before the sword plunged into his chest.

Everything seemed to slow down at that point. He felt as though he should cry out in pain, the agony coursing through him immeasurable. He could hear his heart beating inside his skull, strong and steady and pounding and loud, far too loud. Why was it so loud? It was becoming difficult to breathe, ragged gasps attempting to escape his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was it so hard? The panic mixed with the agony in a violent surge, every ounce of his being fighting against the sickeningly cool metal inside him. And everything was becoming blurry and hazy and he wanted to just let go, to not be tethered to this world in which he felt so much pain. Why wouldn’t it stop hurting?

Was he dying?

And all he could do was blankly stare forward, hoping that the pain would simply vanish.

As he crumpled to the floor in a dazed heap, the faintest flicker of a smile swept across his face in the knowledge that Piak was safe, he had saved him. He hoped that Foldo would be alright. Sure, they had been friends for years, but it felt wrong to leave him after the two had just confessed their love for each other, but he would be fine, he had to be.

Piak stood behind his injured brother as the only emotion he could feel was pure shock. This was the person he had looked up to his entire life - Jussipo couldn’t die, the very thought was inconceivable. But he had to believe it, that sword should be inside him, but Jussipo had willingly sacrificed himself to save Piak. He crouched down next to his brother, attempting to support his limp body with shaking hands.

Foldo was the first to snap out of the trance. “JUSSIPO!” he screamed, his voice cracking, his world crumbling as the boy he loved threatened to slip through his fingers.

With a cry of despairing, rage fueled pain that no one his age should ever have to experience, Foldo swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing the knights backwards. Within seconds he was behind Jussipo, gently pulling him to his feet as he pushed Piak to safety behind him. Foldo helped Jussipo up the stairs, Arman close behind, knocking the Red Riders down the steps with a powerful blow.

The only thought running through Foldo’s head as he half dragged, half carried the stumbling Jussipo was how to save him. He was still alive, still fighting, there was still time. He would not let Jussipo die, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

They rounded a corner into another deserted corridor, certain that they had lost the knights. Foldo laid Jussipo against a wall as carefully as he could, his heart clenching as Jussipo groaned in pain. Piak looked on in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening.

The world seemed to twist and turn and spin and blur as Jussipo tried to remain as still as possible, dizzying waves of nausea washing over him as darkness encroached his vision. Blood had already soaked through his tunic, slowly dripping onto the floor; a dark, thick substance that stained the ground and the novices’ moods. Foldo tried to press his hands against the wound, attempting to stop the flow of blood, but his hands shook and trembled, hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Arman murmured, “I’ll do it.” Foldo gave him a nod of appreciation, withdrawing his blood soaked hands.

“I should get help,” Foldo said, beginning to stand despite his very soul shattering before Jussipo loosely grabbed his hand, pulling him back down. Jussipo could hold on until Tiuri came back, he had to hold on.

“No, stay, please,” begged Jussipo.

“It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” Gently, he brushed dark locks of hair from Jussipo’s face, terrified to hurt him any further.

Jussipo looked to him in dazed confusion, attempting to ignore the searing pain that shot through him with each movement. “Am I going to die, Foldo?” he asked, sounding so innocent and quiet that Foldo had to resist the urge to let out a choked sob.

“No, no. You’re going to be fine, I won’t let you die,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

“That’s nice, I believe you. There’s a lot of blood, though.”

“Don’t look at it, just look at me.” Foldo grabbed his hand, not daring to glance away from his eyes for a moment as he offered a weak smile. “Just try to stay awake. Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the tragedy that had befallen his friends, Tiuri ran despite the burning in his legs, despite feeling as though his lungs would tear. He was close, so close, the dining hall was only metres away. The pounding footsteps of Iona and Jaro thundered behind him but he didn’t dare to look back, he couldn’t risk slowing down.

The room fell into a stunned silence as he sprinted in, nobility providing him with questioning looks. It wasn’t every day that an Eviellan boy charged in dressed in fine clothing. Jaro and Iona came to a hasty standstill, quickly realising that they had failed. With an awkward glance at each other, they subtly backed away, hoping that they could still escape with their lives.

Slowly, Tiuri took several careful steps forward, panting slightly as his eyes darted around the room, flicking to Viridian who simply stared at him, apparently not worried about the implications the delivery of the letter could bring. One look sent chills down Tiuri’s spine as haunting eyes met his own. The guests studied him, looking down at him, judging him for his clearly Eviellan descent despite his obvious nobility. As Tiuri approached King Favian, two guards blocked his path.

“I have a letter,” he started, his voice wavering as he stood before the most powerful man in the three kingdoms, “for the king.”

“What?” the king queried.

“What letter?” Prince Iridian asked, oozing power.

“Who cares ‘what letter’?” Fantumar demanded as he stood up, trying to play his part in stopping the letter from reaching its destination. “Does the royal court now allow mere children to enter the presence of the king?”

“My father died for this!” Tiuri cried before turning to the king. “The Black Knight with the White Shield died too.”

“The Black Knight?” the king asked, his interest piqued at the mention of such a well respected knight.

“I have his ring as proof.” He removed it from his pocket, the precious silver almost glowing in the light of the room. Favian continued to listen in concern. “He was slaughtered by Prince Viridian’s Red Riders.” Gasps echoed around the room whilst Viridian remained stoic. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Who is this boy?”

“He is nobody,” Fantumar insisted, sounding remarkably suspicious considering Tiuri’s claim.

“I am Tiuri, son of Sir Tiuri the Valiant. Born of Eviellan, raised in Dagonaut. And we are all in danger if you do not read this letter.”

The king looked to Prince Iridian. With a nod, he said, “Let him through.”

Hesitantly, Tiuri approached the king, flicking a fearful glance towards Viridian. He bowed, holding the letter out in front of him as King Favian stood up to take it. And there, written out in an elegant script, sat the words that confirmed Viridian’s betrayal. Twenty families he had chosen to die, a member of one of those families slowly dying in the arms of a boy of another of those families within the very castle that Viridian resided.

The king studied it, hardly daring to believe what was in front of him. His own son desired to betray him? To kill his allies? No, it seemed impossible. Reluctantly, he turned to his youngest son. “What is this?” he questioned, not even sure if he wanted to know the answer. Viridian returned a blank stare in response. “Treachery? You take my crown? Kill my friends and allies?” He paused, still reeling from the news. “Answer me!” he yelled, fury lacing every word.

“You dare ignore your king?” Iridian asked, almost as furious as his father - despite sensing the betrayal all along - but twice as vicious. “Bow your head to your father!” Short, sharp paces clicked across the stone as he advanced towards his brother. “I will not tell you again. Bow your head. Beg for your king’s mercy.”

“If the world is to be healed,” Viridian began ominously, looking through the window to see the blood moon reaching its peak, a fierce glow shining into the hall, “then the power he has, the power you want to be yours, has to be mine. The decisions you take-” He stood up, walking up to his brother. “-the decisions the people on that list take will now be taken by me.”

“What is this?”

“Lives you’ve all led, lives of comfort and luxury, lives built on the bodies of soldiers like me and my enemies, are now over.” If it wasn’t for the cruelty dripping off of Viridian’s words, he would seem to be the most reasonable one in the room. “And yes, freedom is over too. And the world will have peace at last. A peace that will last forever.”

“He’s mad,” was all the king could offer to Iridian.

Iridian looked to a knight standing close by, handing him the letter. “Sir Tristan, gather your knights and send them to these families, they may need protection.” Sir Tristant gave a sharp nod, quickly leaving the hall.

“It has been foretold,” Viridian stated with an almost giddy smile. “And there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.” He looked to Tiuri with a sneer. “Even you.”

“Brother,” Iridian hissed, drawing his sword, “I beg to differ.”

Viridian drew his own sword with a snarl. Brother pitted against brother, familial love forgotten as the two faced each other as enemies. The swords clashed together in a blur of experience and anger. Viridian was the first to give in, lowering his weapon slightly and subjecting himself to his brother’s will. Iridian took the opportunity to sink the sword into his own brother’s chest, killing him almost instantly. Horrified gasps escaped the gathered crowd as the prince that had attempted to betray them was murdered before their eyes, Favian the most mortified of them all.

With one last look at the fully risen moon, Viridian keeled over. Dead.

But then came the darkness. From where Viridian’s body lay came a dread filled rumbling, shaking the entire room. Dark droplets of blood rose from his body, hovering in the air as they shimmered with magic and evil. They popped and fizzled in grey wisps of smoke, gathering and collecting as Viridian’s corpse was pulled from the ground by some sort of invisible force.

A rolling cloud of grey smog seemed to engulf Viridian, coalescing around him in a violent storm of malevolent darkness. Everyone in the room rushed away as the blackening cloud stretched out, absorbing every speck of light.

But Tiuri stood his ground. He may not have the magic he thought he did coursing through his veins but the idea of backing away, of faltering, never crossed his mind. He had faith.

From the dark emerged Viridian’s face surrounded by swirling wisps of the smoke, glaring out at the world he had sought to right. “NO!” he screamed. “I was to be the light that corrected this world! And you, boy, were to be the darkness! It was foretold, this cannot be!”

As his rage seemed to grow with every second, so did the size of the smoke. Churning and surging together in violent clashes.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, I wasn’t supposed to be anything,” Tiuri replied simply, looking back into the crowd.

With shaky steps, Lavinia pushed her way through the throng of onlooking nobles. Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to jump out at any moment. Any sense of logic had deserted her. Surely she couldn’t defeat whatever this was. The magic inside her, however, strongly disagreed. Its warmth spread throughout her body, tingling and gentle as it guided her to where she was supposed to be.

Her eyes were wide as she approached, fearing that she couldn’t do what was expected of her, couldn’t save everyone. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her breath escaping her as everything went cold the closer she got to the cloud of darkness.

“I know.” And he took her hand, guiding her into the darkness she was destined to defeat until it swallowed her whole as Viridian seethed, the smoke boiling in anticipation.

With gritted teeth, Lavinia allowed the magic inside her to spread out in a fierce glow so bright Tiuri had to look away. Viridian squinted at it, the light seemed to burn him away into wisps of dust.

“Foolish girl,” Viridian uttered with a maniacal smirk. He turned to Tiuri, the black smoke curling around him until he was obscured from view, ostensibly whisked away from the light. “You cannot defeat me, I am too powerful for you alone.” Lavinia’s eyes darted around in a panic as the cloud began to engulf her, the light shining out of her dimming.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Tiuri claimed, coming back into view with a dull glow, “she’s not alone.”

Tiuri and Lavinia’s intertwined hands shone with the brightest light the world had ever seen. An intense flash of white that had saved Tiuri, passing the tiniest amounts of Lavinia’s magic into him and igniting the beginnings of a power within him so great that it would be decades before it was fully understood. For now, they pushed every ounce of energy they had into sending the flow of magic into Viridian. Grunting cries of strain escaped them as all of their strength was forced into defeating Viridian.

“Stop!” Viridian yelled as parts of his magic induced body disintegrated.

“Never,” Lavinia hissed.

With a great cacophony of sound and an explosion of light that illuminated the night for miles, Viridian was blown out of existence. The darkness had been vanquished.

The two children breathed heavy sighs of relief, panting from the exertion. “You did it.” Tiuri beamed.

“We did it,” corrected Lavinia with a weak smile. “Guess you had some magic in you after all.”

“I’m not sure what it was, to be honest.” He studied his hands in confusion before looking up at Lavinia. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better.” And then she collapsed to the floor, Tiuri rushing to catch her, proving that she was, in fact, not okay.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

She gave a weak laugh. “Would now be a good time to get that reward?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The corridor that the novices had taken cover in glowed with a fierce light as Lavinia’s magic spread throughout the castle. “They did it, they must’ve done,” Arman said hopefully. “Lavinia must’ve come back.”

“They’ll be here soon, just hold on a little longer, please,” Foldo told Jussipo who, even now, was still clinging to life, refusing to let death take him.

Arman’s hands had done very little to stop the insistent flow of blood, the red liquid staining his fingers. Despite his efforts, Jussipo had lost far too much blood for their likings. All colour had been drained from his face, ghostly white in the flickering candlelight. Shallow breaths occasionally made their way past his lips but they were often ragged and forced. His eyes were strained from the pain and it was evident that it was a struggle just to keep them open.

“Y’know, they had better knight me after all this,” Jussipo said with a weak smile, coughing slightly.

“It’ll be a grand celebration,” Piak stated, speaking up for the first time since the fight. “There’ll be a feast and tournaments and everyone can sing songs about you.”

“That would be nice. Their songs can’t beat mine, though, can they, Fol?”

“No, you’ve always had the best songs,” Foldo replied, a soft laugh escaping him.

It was only moments later when Tiuri and Lavinia stumbled into the corridor. Whilst she had regained some of her strength, she was still using Tiuri as support, his arm securely wrapped around her waist as she leaned on him.

The pair stopped short when they saw what had happened, the novices crowded around Jussipo’s weak, dying body. Tiuri and Lavinia hurried over as quickly as they could despite Lavinia’s fragile state, kneeling beside him. Jussipo tried to sit up upon seeing them, gritting his teeth and wincing in pain.

“Easy, easy,” Foldo repeated as he gently pushed him back down with Piak’s help, pushing back Jussipo’s hair again, “easy.”

“Did we do it? Did we stop him?” Jussipo asked, terrified that everything they had done would be in vain.

Tiuri smiled. “How could we not stop him?”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Jussipo smiled. Even if he died he could go knowing that he had helped save the world. But the feeling of relief and celebration was brief as they focused once again on the tragedy.

“Has he messed up my hair with all his… all his fussing?” Jussipo joked, the faintest flicker of a smile upon his face despite the stabbing pain throughout his abdomen.

“Your hair looks good.”

“Better than good,” Arman added. “It looks great.”

“I’ve always had great hair,” Jussipo claimed, looking to the boy that had quickly become his entire world, “Ain’t that right, Fol?”

Foldo chuckled softly despite the tears brimming in his eyes and the clenching of his heart, placing a hand on Jussipo’s shoulder. He couldn’t let him go, there had to be something he could do.

With a peaceful release of breath, Jussipo closed his eyes, finally free of pain.

“He will be alright, won’t he?” Piak asked, his voice threatening to break as his confidence faltered, tears glimmering in his own eyes.

Shakily, Foldo placed two fingers against Jussipo’s neck, desperate for any sign of life. He was met with a weak but persistent pulse. “He’s still with us, just,” he sighed gratefully.

Lavinia’s hand hovered over Jussipo’s wound as she snapped out of her fatigued daze, a shimmering aura glowing around it, but it was fractured, flickering, faltering. “No,” Tiuri hissed, grabbing her arm. No one commented on how the magic looked stronger the closer Tiuri was to it. “You’re too weak, you’ve just defeated Viridian.”

“If I healed you then maybe I can save Jussipo,” Lavinia countered, attempting not to sound as exhausted as she felt.

“This injury is far worse. You could die, Lavinia.”

“If I don’t then he will die.” Lavinia turned back to Jussipo with a fierce determination, Tiuri’s hand falling back to her shoulder.

The last remnants of magic and energy still residing in her soul were dragged out. Forced through her veins, scraping and burning as it clawed its way out. The magic seemed gentle and warm in comparison as it floated above the wound, an incandescent glow that seemed to twist and swirl. Blood stopped leaking out, vanishing altogether as the skin stitched itself back together. Lavinia collapsed back into Tiuri’s waiting arms, welcoming the comfort of sleep.

And then it was over, a scar being the only reminder. Jussipo blinked rapidly as he awoke, confused and mystified as the agonising tear in his chest dulled to a mild ache. Hesitantly, he placed a hand where he was sure the wound had been, amazed to find no blood. And everyone was smiling, they were all alright, they had won.

“You’re alright, you’re alive,” Foldo cried, tears freely falling down his cheeks as he grinned.

“I should hope so, you’d be lost without me,” Jussipo chuckled, looking up at him, the world brightening as the darkness of death left him. “You couldn’t have found a nicer corridor for me to die in?” He looked around the dusty, deserted hall.

“We didn’t have much time, the Red Riders were-”

“Shut up.” And Jussipo pushed himself to meet Foldo’s lips in a kiss of relief and passion and ecstasy, gently cupping his face in his hands. They felt invulnerable, immune to the dangers life threw at them.

“Eww,” Piak groaned despite his smile.

The pair broke apart with breathless smiles, their hearts pounding with love. There was no way they weren’t alive. Jussipo looked to his brother who threw his arms around Jussipo in a tight embrace, almost scared to let go. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m not going anywhere.”

And they were happy.

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

Text

i can’t focus when you’re with me (i can’t sleep when i’m alone)

hello i wrote some jalex because i had XO by nightly stuck in my head and this came from that

thank you @tirednotflirting and @reveriesofawriter for the love i love you guys so much all the time

title from XO by nightly

read it here on ao3

It’s on a pink sticky note on the fridge.

back soon. xo

The sign-off is familiar. The sticky note is also familiar, though Alex doesn’t really see why Jack leaves them anymore. There’s no point to the sticky note when Alex already knows Jack will be back and is no closer to figuring out his system for deciding when. Maybe there is no system. Maybe he truly just appears whenever he feels like it.

Alex knows about variable-ratio reward schedules; he knows how the lottery works, promising an eventual reward and paying up just often enough to maintain the ruse. He isn’t an idiot. He can understand he’s not really winning the lottery when he spends every single night wondering if this will be the one Jack decides to grace him with his presence. One victory is nothing when it’s borne of a thousand failures. But Alex will take one night with Jack for two weeks without, and Jack knows that, too.

So maybe Alex is an idiot, but it’s worth it to be. Nights spent with Jack are some of Alex’s favorites. Mornings waking up without him are just an occupational hazard.

Jack doesn’t belong to him. That was never part of the agreement.

The spontaneity of Jack’s visits also cause a lot of problems in Alex’s life. He can’t plan his work around Jack when Jack has no schedule. And if Jack shows up while Alex is in the middle of something, forget it. As soon as the lock clicks and the door swings open — as soon as Alex hears the familiar footsteps and the toneless humming of Jack’s entrance — everything else becomes static.

It’s distracting. It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating.

A cool breeze edging on warm sweeps through Alex’s open window tonight. He has a textbook open on the desk and his laptop beside it. The contents of the textbook are entirely failing to stick in Alex’s brain, and he doubts taking notes is helping in any way. It’s important that he learn this, especially when they’re moving on so swiftly from this section of the material; Alex can already foresee the late night he’s going to have trying to reteach this chapter to himself once he finishes reading it.

Three excruciating pages later, Alex decides the textbook can wait for a cup of tea.

It’s quiet around Alex’s place as he treks into the kitchen to put the water on. It’s quiet more often than not these days, as Alex has gotten more and more entrenched in his coursework. He’s had less time to play music. When he has free hours now, he typically uses them to sleep. It’s not an exciting life, but it’s the one he needs to lead so he doesn’t collapse from exhaustion at any given moment.

Still, the staticky hiss from the kettle as it starts to boil is comforting. Alex leans against the counter with his eyes closed, somehow simultaneously trying to refresh his memory on everything he just spent two and a half hours reading and trying not to think about that. As much as he knows he needs a break from all the studying, he’s not sure he can really afford it.

Naturally, this is when the lock clicks and the humming starts.

Alex’s eyes fly open. He stares out across the kitchen. The kettle finally reaches a loud conclusion and clicks to let Alex know it’s officially done boiling the water. And through the open doorway, an off-key rendition of ‘American Idiot’ announces Jack’s presence.

He’s humming the guitar solo. Of course.

Warring parts of Alex’s brain fight to react to this unexpected arrival. He wants to groan, because this is the worst time Jack could have fucking chosen, on tonight of all nights. He’d like to spin Jack by the shoulders and push him back out the door where he’d come in before he gets too comfortable. Sorry, not tonight, too much stuff to do that I can’t afford to let you distract me from, he’d love to say.

But the other part of him is imagining pushing Jack by the shoulders against a very much closed door, and Alex, in his weary state, isn’t disciplined enough to ignore that thought.

Jack won’t come into the kitchen — he says it’s too domestic for him. Alex pretends he hasn’t heard the door open and close and makes himself a cup of tea anyway, fully prepared for it to go cold. Maybe Jack will understand if Alex lays it out for him. Maybe if Jack sees the textbook he’ll latch on.

Not that Alex thinks Jack doesn’t understand how much work Alex has. Jack is an intelligent person. He knows. It’s just he doesn’t care.

And Alex has to take some responsibility, because it’s not like he’s trying very hard to express that it matters to him if he passes his classes. When Jack shows up, Alex gives up. He could try harder to focus on his work, to send Jack away, but he doesn’t want to. He likes when Jack is here. He’d just like it not to overlap with nights when he has an entire textbook chapter to read, memorize, and internalize.

Steam is rising off Alex’s mug like wispy cirrus clouds. He brings it to his lips, burns his tongue taking a sip, and sighs.

Jack is sitting in Alex’s desk chair when Alex finally returns to his room.

He looks up with bright eyes when he sees Alex come in. “Hi, finally.” As he clocks the mug: “Ooh, whatcha drinkin’? Did you make me any?”

“Tea, and no,” Alex says. “I made it for me, because I’m trying to study.”

“Operative word being try,” Jack says.

“Yeah, and hopefully soon I will be succeeding,” Alex says. He’s not sure why he insists on pretending to refuse Jack when they both know with one hundred percent certainty that this is not what Alex wants nor a hill he plans to die on. For his own dignity, though, he has to at least look like he’s making the effort to be responsible. “You wanna learn about childrens’ development in their first year of life?”

“Such a hard no from me,” Jack says. “But be real. Do you want to learn about that?”

“No,” Alex says. “But I have to.”

Jack sighs. He holds out a hand and Alex places his mug in Jack’s grip. “What’s this? The usual?” Alex nods. Jack brings it to his lips, barely drinking any before exhaling harshly. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

“Yeah, I just made it. As you came in.”

“You want me to go?”

Alex sighs. “Obviously I don’t want you to go. I’d love to get some advance notice for when you’re gonna show up, though. Tonight’s such a bad night.”

“Tonight’s a bad night so far,” Jack corrects him, setting the mug down on Alex’s desk. It’s dangerously close to the laptop; Alex nudges it further away, and Jack just shakes his head a little, smiling.

“I mean tonight is a bad night for you to be here,” Alex clarifies.

“Then I’ll leave.”

“But I don’t want you to leave.”

“So I’ll stay.”

“Yeah, but then I’ll be distracted.”

Jack shrugs. “I’m honestly okay with that.”

“I’ll be distracted from my work,” Alex says, although he’s sure Jack had understood the first time. “By you. Like always.”

“And I’m okay with that too.” Jack tilts his head, stretching his neck to look up at Alex, deliberately baring his throat. He drives Alex insane, in whatever way is most accurate to the moment. Alex wishes he had more self-control, but thinking about turning Jack away and instead spending several more hours at a desk reading page after page of information he won’t absorb makes him want to cry.

And it would be rude, after all this time, to mess with the rules of the game. Jack shows up expecting that Alex will surrender, and Alex being taken aback and generally inconvenienced by this is all part of the guidelines for playing. He signed his agency away the first time he kissed Jack against the door. It’s too late to ask for it back.

(It’s not really too late — if Alex wanted it, he’d have it. He just doesn’t want it.)

Alex holds up one finger and with his other hand he lifts the mug to his lips. It’s still too hot to drink but he lets the liquid scald the tip of his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he swallows.

“You could call me,” he says.

“I don’t have your number,” Jack says.

“You could ask for it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“It’d make my life a lot easier.”

“But way less exciting.” Jack stands up, and he’s taller than Alex, and he’s so close now that Alex can count his eyelashes as they flutter shut and then quickly open again. “You can’t plan for everything, Alex.”

“Okay, I realize that, but I could definitely plan for you,” Alex returns. “Like if you just told me when you wanted to come over I could plan for that to happen. Instead of just appearing out of nowhere and—”

“What, ruining your night?” Jack casts his gaze to the open textbook. He looks back at Alex, quietly smirking. “I’m so sorry for distracting you from the absolutely fascinating timeline of child development.”

“Yeah, you should be.”

“Alex, this is a rescue mission.” Jack’s fingers land feather-light on Alex’s wrist and travel up his arm, pushing his sleeve up to his shoulder and bracing against the slope of his neck. His grip tightens as he massages the tense muscles under his fingertips. “I’m like your guardian angel. I show up when I can tell you need saving.”

“Saving from the horrors of developmental psychology?” Alex mutters, posture slipping like a landslide. Nobody on the planet can ease the tension permanently at home in Alex’s shoulders, but Jack is welcome to try.

“Yes,” Jack says seriously. “From the horrors of developmental psychology. And because I can literally feel the tension in your shoulders. When’s the last time you relaxed?”

Last time you were here, is Alex’s real answer. “I’m not clear on the relevance of this.”

Jack frowns. “I don’t want you to be stressed.”

“Then stop showing up out of the blue,” Alex huffs.

“Really? I’m the biggest stressor in your life?" Jack sounds genuinely incredulous at this.

“No, you’re not.” Alex sighs, looking anywhere except Jack’s face. “But you’re not not a stressor. You know I’m busy. You know I like to have a schedule. A little warning goes a long way.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. His fingers dig into Alex’s skin, working muscles that ache under his firm touch. It feels improbably good for something that kind of hurts. Alex closes his eyes.

“Forget I said that,” he mumbles. “We’re not gonna get anywhere. I’ve made my peace with it. You’re just going to be absolutely unpredictable and I’m just gonna be fine with it, I guess, because I like when you’re here, even if you never want to tell me when that’s going to be. It’s fine.”

Jack’s hands still. “I just think you’re overthinking it. I’m not complicated, Alex. I’m so easy. This is easy. If it were that important to you, you would kick me out, and I’d go. But you never do.” He resumes his massage, this time on the back of Alex’s neck. “You’re always working. And I’m here on a rescue mission, like I said. To keep you from drowning in it. It’s just a question of if you’re willing to be rescued.”

Alex groans. Even he’s not sure if it’s from the frustration of knowing he won’t get through anything else tonight or an effect of Jack’s halfway massage, though he figures it’s probably both. They’ve exhausted this topic and they’re making no progress. Alex is out of patience.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Rescue me.”

Jack’s warm hands move to Alex’s face, and he’s still smiling a little bit when their lips meet.

The sticky note is gone from the fridge. Alex is not surprised.

Sleep is still clinging to him, weighing from every limb. There’s a stiffness in his neck that has returned from wherever Jack apparently banished it to last night. Out the window, a blanket of clean morning light covers everything it can reach. Inside, a blanket is still dragging on the floor around Alex’s shoulders.

It’s when he’s reaching for the kettle that he remembers his cup of tea.

The blanket drags behind him as Alex treks back to his room, and there he halts in confusion. The mug is gone. He’d definitely left it here last night, and now it’s not here anymore. It had been completely full and now it’s missing.

Huh.

Alex glances at the textbook, open to exactly the page he’d left it at the night prior. There’s a pink sticky note he’d failed to notice earlier.

good luck, this seems boring as hell. xo

p.s. put your tea in the fridge xoxo

A smile crawls into the corners of Alex’s mouth and stays there.

He returns to the kitchen and finds his mug of tea in the fridge, as promised. There’s aluminum foil over the top, which seems pointless but a nice gesture. A confusingly nice gesture. Why is Jack changing the rules of the game all of a sudden? It’s unusual for him to move anything around, for him to leave any indication of his presence other than one single sticky note stuck somewhere for Alex to find.

Now, not only has he moved Alex’s tea, but there’s another sticky note. Alex finds it on top of the mug.

you’re cute when you sleep. xo

Alex stares at the piece of paper until his fridge starts beeping at him that the door has been open too long. He pulls the mug from the fridge and closes it. And then he stares some more. What is happening? What is Jack doing? Is this just going to be another new rule to which Alex is oblivious?

As the microwave reheats last night’s tea — Alex wondering as it spins how Jack had known that Alex is the kind of person to reheat the tea rather than toss it and make a new cup — Alex shuffles into the bathroom to splash some water on his face and deem himself presentable for the day.

And there, on the bathroom mirror, is another pink sticky note.

It reads:

I want to make your life easier. no pressure. xo

Underneath the words, there’s a phone number.

Alex smiles.

#jack barakat #alex gaskarth #jalex #jalex fic #all time low #atl fic #fic #my fic #im so sorry about the tea thing #guys i am 100% alex in this fic #and do you know how much i would kill to have someone just randomly show up at my door #and give me a massage #im literally dying #anyway #enjoy this #i figured id make it a real post because. yknow. fuck it why not i have the time #i have so much free time now that i dont have to worry about fic exchange #mmmmmmmm

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