#I’ve never done one of these I hope this suffices! some of these are ones I’ve had in mind some of these I just came up with right now

[dragondawdles]

uhh I know your current interests thingy says "man idk" but do u possibly have any bug fables headcanons ??

hihi I do indeed! I’ll stick my thoughts beneath a readmore for ease of skippability and also for spoilers:

leif ≠ leif. like is’s less “leif was resurrected and came back complicatedly different” and more “leif super dies in snakemouth and leif as we know him is the cordyceps”. I mean they aren’t as mutually exclusive as I may be presenting them as but idk! I like leaning into how weird leif’s whole deal is. let him wrestle with legacy let him wrestle with his borrowed yet vividly personal memories and feelings let him grieve leif and muse and elizant I and continue to live. let him be a weird not-quite moth

a bit along the same lines, leif having health issues as consequence of leif stuff. wounds that don’t quite heal right (thinking his injury in ch4 is a big one), some form of vision impairment, and poor dexterity are the main ones I’ve got in mind and that last one is maybe a little bit of projection as a treat

leif being a fantastic actor is already canon but I would like to extend that off stage. I think he’a scarily good at putting on fronts acting however he would like to present himself. I think his facades even fool himself sometimes

vi being raised as a potential successor to the queen when she was young before getting a bit older and being moved to the honey factory and ultimately striking out on her own is maybe not canon compliant but I think it’s potentially very interesting and funny. could’ve been a princess but she chose violence.

vi being wholly able to fly the entire game but not even bothering to until the end when she is directly ordered to do so by the queen is so funny I don’t think there’s some deep rooted psychological reason for that I think she’s just like that. maybe one day down the line she’ll appreciate the oddly elusive gift of flight for what it is but as of now she just walks everywhere since bugaria’s built to be accessible to flightless bugs so why not y’know! she just likes to walk! maybe she has really good lower body strength for a bee as consequence

kabbu’s a theatre enjoyer! he can be too enthusiastic sometimes (he’s not always great at volume control) and he’s seen enough plays that he knows what makes a play good and bad and he’s not a good liar if asked about it, but he’s a well-liked regular at his local theatres. he’s occasionally mistaken for an aspiring actor himself with his passion and his boisterously earnest nature but no, his heart lies elsewhere. he just really likes the theatre

kabbu gets shy about it but he’s a really good singer too. mothiva will never know

chompy’s favorite bug is leif (of course, likewise leif spends the most time with chompy and talks to/about her often, although he kinda spoils her and she usually goes to him for sympathy whether earned or otherwise). she considers vi a playmate/rival much to vi’s chagrin. she sees kabbu as a firmer authority she can’t weasel past, but finds his approval all the more special, and often accompanies him/comforts him on his worse days whatever the reason may be.

chompy thinks todd (leif’s turbo nephew) is another chomper.

postcanon neolith fluent in roach

zasp and mothiva childhood friends mayhaps

more of a worldbuilding headcanon (because bug fables’ worldbuilding is a little bit flimsy for my tastes cough cough) but I think the bugs that exist outside of the strict “species = kingdom” is fun to consider. like moths being more nomadic and individualized, and it’s families and their descendants that align themselves with the kingdoms rather than a whole flutter of them. maybe it’s more common to see lone unassociated beetles than bees, for example. idk if I were braver about bugs I’d be attributing those traits more I like it when creatures are creatures with creature traits :] bug enthusiasts who attribute those traits for me are my heroes

also I know it’s a common headcanon but bug fables and hollow knight existing in the same universe is really fun. I don’t think they’re all that close to each other spacially or tonally but thematically and for the antics!! idk. maybe quirrel shows up on his precanon travels and warns about the folly of eternity and the numerous bugs devoting their lives in some way or form to finding the everlasting sapling just kinda. politely nods along vehemently disagreeing

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter V - Two Hearts as Embers

Summary: On the eve of your wedding day you are left feeling agitated, anxious and lonely. But an unexpected late-night visit and some surprising revelations might be just what you need to calm your racing heart.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 4k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece), ritualistic self-inflicted wounds, ritualistic blood consumption

Notes: Hellooo! It’s me again, and I bring you something I have been dying to write for a while (pretty much since chapter got published). I had lots of fun writing this one and ended up loving how it came out.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I have left the question of the reader’s parentage more ambiguous (she can be biologically Laenor’s daughter, or Harwin Strong’s or some other folk Rhaenyra decided to bed once, it doesn’t matter). I did this in order to not imply a certain appearance for the reader and leave the whole thing up for interpretation.

High Valyrian translations are in the end notes.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope with all my heart you enjoy!

Next chapter | Previous chapter | Masterlist | Read on AO3

You had never been more agitated than you were feeling after supper. Not even the bath you requested your maids fix for you had helped to calm your skittish nerves, nor did the calming tea Alicent suggested you drink before bed. Sleep eluded you, so you decided to read something as a distraction but found yourself rereading the same sentence several times, such was your lack of concentration.

Time couldn’t go by any slower in your opinion. It had been almost four whole moons since your betrothal to Aemond, and not a day went by that you didn’t wish the wedding day would arrive faster. No less than three days after your quarrel with Jason Lannister in the courtyard (to which Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at Tyland’s apologies on behalf of his brother, pretending not to notice the proud smile Daemon sent your way once you’d told them what happened) your mother had given birth to a healthy baby girl, to whom she gave the name Visenya. You insisted on helping with the delivery, like you had done before with the birth of Aegon and Viserys, and nothing she said could pry you from her side.

“You shouldn’t see me like this, tis’ not a pleasant sight.” she had said, even though Visenya’s birth was the most uncomplicated one compared to her two older brothers you had witnessed.

“Worry not, mother.” you had soothed her, swallowing down your own fear of the whole situation “I wish to be here for you. And besides, it shall be me in the same place as you are now soon enough. I should see what awaits me.”

Almost as soon as she could stand unassisted again, without much care for her own well-being, she started planning and preparing your wedding feast, much to both Daemon’s and Alicent’s dismay. She started ordering servants around, asking the maesters to send ravens to all great houses, requesting the cooks to buy different exotic meats. You told her all the fuss wasn’t necessary, that just a feast with the whole family would suffice, but she and even Alicent scolded you, saying that the heirs to the throne warrant only the best on their wedding day.

After getting past her initial shock at the way Rhaenyra handled things, Alicent joined in the wedding planning efforts. The whole ordeal brought them closer, and now without the looming figure of Viserys, the very thing that had drifted them apart in the first place, and Otto no longer caring about securing Aegon’s claim, the both of them managed to find their footing again and their friendship started to bloom once more. It was the main reason you tried not chiming in too much on the planning of your own wedding, wanting them to have this moment for themselves knowing how much, at least on your mother’s side, she had missed her best friend.

Now, on the eve of the day you were to be wed, you were disproportionately anxious and you couldn’t even understand why. You knew Aemond wanted to marry you as much as you wanted to marry him, you knew this union would avoid a bloody and gruesome war between your kin, you knew it would make both of you, and in turn both your mothers, happy. Then why did you suddenly feel so apprehensive? It couldn’t possibly be due to cold feet, you could think of nothing else but how much you wanted this day to come. So why?

You wanted to see Aemond. His presence brought you comfort and you always felt safe when you were with him, ever since you were merely more than a babe, and even more so now that you had gotten to know each other once more. But Alicent, fervorously adept in the Faith of the Seven, had prohibited you from seeing one another after dusk had fallen, claiming that the groom seeing the bride before the wedding brought misfortune to their union. So you resigned yourself to simmering alone in your thoughts until the wedding, or until you have gone mad.

Deep down you knew you could talk to your mother. She would most likely understand, even relate to what you were feeling. However, you felt like she already had too much on her plate with the last minute preparations, same thing with Alicent (and to be honest you still weren’t all that close to your soon to be good mother, maybe someday). Daemon had been away from court for almost a week now, no word to where he was going, just a promise that he would most definitely be back for the wedding. You could talk to Helaena, but you didn’t wish to bother her with such trivial matters, as she had her hands full with her two children (three if you included her husband in the bill). Jace and Luke? Absolutely not. Maybe Baela could talk some sense into you if she was still awake at this hour.

There was one other person who used to bring you a similar sense of security as Aemond did, someone you used to go to when you felt frightened as a child and who calmed you down in a way your mother never managed to match. But he was no longer here, and the almost debilitating ache his absence evoked in your chest brought tears to your eyes. You shook your head, desperate to get rid of this feeling and focus on something else

Then something caught your attention. A muffled, dry thud echoed around your chambers, so low you almost didn’t hear it. It sounded out again, louder this time, and you guessed it was coming from the wall. Or rather behind the wall. Walking over to where the sound was coming from, you placed your head on the cold stone, the side of your face flat against the surface as you tried to listen better. You beamed brightly once you heard the sound again, this time right under your ear: someone was knocking on the wall from the other side.

Eagerly, you opened the door, expecting it to be your soon to be husband, but the face that greeted you on the other side was not who you were hoping for.

“Daemon?” you questioned, feeling more confused than ever. He didn’t answer and only stared at you until you stepped aside to let him into the room “When did you get back?”

Once again your question went unanswered as he sauntered into the chambers, and only now did you realize he was holding a beat up parcel in his hand, its contents unknown to you.

“What are you doing here?”

He placed the parcel on your bed and turned around to face you.

“Put these on and meet me outside when you are ready.” he walked back the way he came, halting only when you grabbed his hand.

“Daemon, what is going on?”

“Just do as you are told.” his face softened upon noticing the apprehension on your face, a reflection of your earlier fidgety state “Trust me on this, alright?”

After a beat you nodded, moving back towards the parcel. Looking over your shoulder you noticed Daemon had walked out the hidden door once more, leaving it ajar just a crack. As you opened the bag you were left puzzled as you pulled robes that were almost the same beige, grayish color of the parcel. As you unfolded it, however, you noticed the red details on the fabric, lining the bottom of the skirts, cuffs and shoulders. You changed out of your nightgown and pulled the robes over your head, tying it around your waist. 

Staring at your reflection on the mirror, something about the clothes, all the intricate details on the midsection and the patterns embroidered in colors, all of it seemed almost too familiar to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on where you remembered it from, though, no matter how long you stared at yourself in it. Deciding not to dwell too much on it, you followed Daemon out the secret door.

A thousand questions raced through your mind as you followed him through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast. When had he gotten back? Where had he been? Where were you going? None of the scenarios you created in your head made any sense so you kept your head down and followed after your step-father. You eventually left the passages, coming out on the side of Aegon’s High Hill that faced the sea. Daemon started walking towards Shadowblack Lane, intending to climb all the way down to the beach. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, careful to watch your footing on the steep track.

“You will see.” he gave no more away, elusive as ever.

“You know, kepa, had I not known you for so long now I would think you are trying to abduct me before my wedding day.”

“You know I have never been the biggest fan of the one-eyed cunt, tala.” he chuckled at the scathing glare you sent his way “But you seem fond of him, so I rest my case.”

You walked the rest of the way in silence before you stood a short distance from the beach. There, as you walked ahead of Daemon, you spotted three lone figures, standing next to decorations in shades of red and yellow and illuminated by lit pyres. Upon closer inspection you realized one of them was your mother, holding something you couldn’t quite make out in her arms, and another was a priest or cleric of some kind. The third person, on the other hand, you couldn’t even see for their face was obscured by the hood of their cloak.

As she noticed you approaching, Rhaenyra nudged the hooded figure who turned around to face you as well, and when you could finally see under the cloak you felt like your heart had ceased beating and all air left your lungs in a single, shaky exhale.

No, you thought, it can’t be. He was dead, had been dead for years. He couldn’t possibly be here, your tired mind had to be playing tricks on you.

But when he pulled the cloak down, revealing all of himself to you, it was clear it wasn’t an image conjured by your mind to toy with you. He was really here.

“Father?” 

Your voice was so soft, so scared that if you spoke too loudly you’d break whatever spell you were under, wake up in your bed and find out you had been dreaming all along. Tears brimmed in your eyes, something heavy and tight burning on your throat, as you felt a hand gently rubbing between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t even noticed when Daemon had caught up to you, now trying to bring you comfort in your most vulnerable moment. One look at your mother smiling kindly at you, a mist in her own eyes as she gave you a single nod, had you taking off running into the arms of Laenor Velaryon.

You buried your face in his chest, your arms circling his waist as his own wrapped around your shoulders, one hand gently cradling the back of your head and holding you tightly against him. Years upon years of pent up grief, of deep seated longing and anger and resentment and pain and desperation poured out of you, a weight being lifted off your shoulder as they shook from the force of your sobs. You felt him tightening his arms even further around you, swaying you from side to side as he used to do when you were younger and in need of comfort, and the realization that he was here, that he was truly alive, made you shed even more tears and cry even harder.

Eventually your sobs subsided to sniffles and you pulled back, staring up at him. He used the bottom of his cloak to dry the lone tears that still rolled down your cheeks, the coarse material helping ground you enough to properly take in the sight of him. He looked expectedly older than you remembered, more worn down, but at the same time the lines of worry on his face seemed less deep than before, like he was happier, more free somehow. His silver hair was a lot shorter, having foregone the dreads and letting his natural curls take over. 

“H-how… how are you-?!” you hiccuped, still not fully understanding the situation.

“Tis’ a long story, mayhaps better suited for another time.” he spoke delicately “Your mother can explain it to you in the future.”

“But what are you doing here?” 

The grin that spread across his face was as bright as you remembered, so mirthful and full of life. 

“You did not think I was going to miss my little girl’s wedding, now, did you?” he poked your ribs, another nod to simpler times.

For a moment you panicked, holding tightly onto his forearms as if he would disappear if you let him go.

“No, you can’t!” you stammered, fearful “If someone sees you at the sept-”

“No one will see me,” he shook his head, running a hand over your hair in hopes of soothing you “for I am not going to the sept.”

“Then how…?”

Your mother finally stepped forward. 

“Tis’ why we are here tonight.” she spoke for the first time since you arrived at the beach and it was then that you figured out what she was holding. 

A traditional headpiece.  

And everything started making sense. You might not have remembered the clothes but you could never forget the headpiece worn by your mother during hers and Daemon’s own wedding. You had been too out of it to truly pay attention to what was happening, for the death of your father and the whole ordeal with Aemond on Driftmark were still fresh and weighing heavily on your mind, but you remember looking at her and thinking how well the piece suited her, making her look like the most beautiful woman in the realm in your eyes.

It made sense, the robes, the cleric, the decorations.

It was a valyrian wedding ceremony.

“Getting Caraxes to accept him as a passenger was quite the task.” Daemon jested. So that’s where he had been the previous days, he had gone to fetch your father.

Rhaenyra and Daemon had organized the whole thing in order for you not only to have a wedding in the traditions of your roots, something they knew both you and Aemond cherished deeply and bonded over, but also to give the opportunity for your father to witness it.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Laenor continued, cupping your cheeks “You are my first born and my only daughter, no matter what anyone says.”

The smile that took over your features threatened to split your face in half from how large it was, a new wave of tears pooling in your eyes as you hid in his arms once more. It didn’t matter if you were his by blood or not, he was your father. He was the one who had cared for you, who soothed you when you were sorrowful, who held you when you were frightened. He was the one who had started teaching you how to fight, how to defend yourself against a world that would certainly try to bring you down. He was your father and you loved him as such.

A set of footsteps approaching had you pulling back from him, turning to face whoever had intruded in your moment, only to come face to face with Aemond. He was wearing similar robes to your own, the clothing complementing his figure and making him appear even more handsome to you. 

He stared at you in bewilderment, his eye moving rapidly between your father next to you and your mother who now stood next to Daemon. She placed the headpiece in her husband’s hands as she walked towards Aemond, and as she approached him, Laenor gently grasped your shoulders and turned you away from them, starting to style your hair.

You tried not to eavesdrop, you really did, but Rhaenyra wasn’t being very subtle either way.

“This is me trusting you.” she spoke with conviction, not wavering in front of a man seemingly feared by the whole court “If this got out, it could be my ruin. I am trusting you to keep this secret, valonqar, as I am trusting you with her.” there was a pause in her speech before she continued “Should you break my trust, for any reason whatsoever, either by betraying me or her, I will take her away from you. You will never see her again.”

It was silent for a moment, her words striking fear even in your own heart, before you heard Aemond’s quiet answer, his voice almost a whisper.

“Kostā pāsagon nyke, mandia. Nyke kivio.”

A warmth spread through your chest as you took in his words. Laenor seemed to notice your giddiness for he chuckled at your antics.

“Does he make you happy?” he spoke after a moment, his tone more serious than before.

“He does.” you answered without hesitation.

His hands settled on your shoulders, his voice lowering so only you could hear.

“And do you love him?”

Turning around you noticed the pleading look in his eyes, hidden behind the wall of sterness, and you noticed how much your joy mattered to him, even after all these years.

“I do.”

His worry melted away as he smiled brightly again.

“Tis’ all I could ask for.” he pulled a few strands of your hair, giving it its finishing touch “There, now you are the prettiest princess in the realm.” he spoke softly, reciting the words he would always say when helping you style your hair as a child. 

With a kiss to the top of your head, your father turned you back around towards your husband to be, who stood next to Rhaenyra, and something made you stop dead in your tracks. 

He was no longer wearing his eyepatch.

Sometime between the moment he arrived and now, while you had your back turned to him, he had bared his face for all to see. The force of the realization of what he did, of what this meant to him almost brought you to your knees. This was him, trusting in your mother, like she trusted him before. By trusting her enough to show her the most vulnerable side of him, one he had admitted once to having never shown anyone other than yourself and the occasional maester before, not even his own mother, he was proving to her that the faith she had placed in him wasn’t unwarranted.   

In this very moment you knew you never wanted to spend another day apart from him ever again.

Rhaenyra stepped forward then, the headpiece back on her hands and, as you walked closer to the two of them, she placed it on your head, straightening your clothes. She didn’t have to speak, for her smile revealed everything she was thinking.

I am so proud of you.

“I know, mother.” you whispered and you could swear she blinked a few times too fast, trying to keep her own tears from falling. She took a step back, going to stand between Laenor and Daemon behind you as you finally turned to face Aemond fully.

He looked beautiful, perhaps more than you’d ever seen before. The light cast from the pyres shining on the sapphire, glimmering like the night sky, made him look almost celestial, the red of the robes contrasting against his pale skin and under the white strands of his hair. As you stood before each other, so close you could feel the heat emanating from him, all your thoughts were silenced, none of them mattering now that you were about to be united in fire and blood.

“Shall we begin then?” your mother gestured for the man, who you now realized was a dragon priest, to step forward and stand besides the two of you, handing Aemond a small blade made of dragonglass.

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va sȳdronti vāedroma.” the man spoke in a measured cadence, almost as if he was reciting a love poem or singing a ballad.

Blood of two, joined as one

Aemond raised the blade to your lips, cutting a small line across the middle of your bottom lip.

“Mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr.”

Ghostly flame, and song of shadows 

He brought a finger to your lips and tenderly, almost reverently, dabbed his finger in the speck of blood that had formed on your skin. He traced a line in the middle of your forehead, right between your eyes, branding you with a mark, his mark. 

“Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteski.”

Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires

You, in turn, did the same to him, reveling in the softness of his lips as you slashed his skin. Like he had done, you gathered the crimson liquid and marked him as inherently yours.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, qēlossa ozūndesi.”

A future promised in glass, the stars stand witness

The dragon priest then handed you a larger dragonglass blade which you used to slash a line across your palm, handing it to Aemond so he could do the same, none of you minding the sharp sting. Then the both of you took each other’s hand, perfectly aligning the fresh cuts as your fingers intertwined almost on instinct.

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo, rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.”

The vow spoken through time, of darkness and light

With a goblet placed under your joined hands, collecting the dripping crimson of your mixed blood, the priest wrapped an embroidered ribbon around your hands, uniting you for eternity.

Once he was done reciting the vows, the man then handed you the chalice and Aemond’s eye followed your every move as you brought it to your lips. The coppery taste didn’t bother you,  warmth filling in your chest at the comfort the thought of consuming the merge of both your essences elicited in you.

Aemond did the same, taking a generous gulp from the goblet, and you couldn’t help the flush that took over your cheeks as you watched the way his throat moved as he swallowed or how his tongue peeked out of his mouth as he licked his lips, not letting one drop go to waste.

Only after the dragon priest had taken the chalice from his hands did Aemond step even closer to you, toes almost touching. He placed a finger under your chin, tilting your head to look at him, thumb delicately tracing the line he had cut on your mouth. Then slowly, gently, he pulled your face towards his and placed a soft albeit passionate kiss on your awaiting lips. He kissed you with devotion, with a sureness of a man who knew exactly where he wanted, no, needed to be. He poured all of his feelings into that one kiss, sealing your fates forever now, tying it to one another.

He reluctantly pulled back, although he did relent to one final tender peck as your lips chased after his own, resting his chin on your shoulder as he embraced you.

“I have longed for this day for as long as I can remember.” he whispered, like he was bestowing upon you his most well kept secret “And now you are mine.” 

“I am yours.” you cupped his cheek as you pulled back, running a thumb over his scar like you had come to learn soothed him “As you are mine.” 

“I am.” he nodded as he nudged his nose against your cheek, causing your head to turn to the side, facing your family “I have always been.” 

As you stared at your family, Rhaenyra no longer trying to hold back her tears as both Laenor and Daemon tried comforting her, you felt loved and adored and safe and content in the arms of your husband. In this very moment, you couldn’t help but thank whatever gods were listening for giving you this, everything you could have ever dreamed of. You’d cherish it greatly from this day, until the end of your days.

High Valyrian translations: - ‘kepa’ and ‘tala’ - father and daughter (meant here affectionately, not by blood, as there are no terms for step-relative in High Valyrian) - valonqar - younger brother - kostā pāsagon nyke, mandia. nyke kivio - you can trust me, (older) sister. i promise

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

[thefallennightmare]

Arranged-ten

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: Tags for this will be open, just shoot me a message or comment if you're interested!

Tags: @alexxavicry @mdpplgtz03 @broadwaybabe18 @samsgirl93 @cherryflavoureds-blog @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @clqrosmgc @loumaaria-blog @queerqueenlynn @pampeop @cjand10 @purplerain85 @savannahcole99 @evanstanhoney @sebastianstansqueen @portrait-ninja

Arranged Masterlist

The sudden rush of wind blew the bottom of my dress but I paid no mind to it, the cold breeze having no effect on my already frozen stature. My broken eyes were glued to the large hole in the ground where a two person casket had just been lowered, now filling up with dirt. The men on both sides of me stood with their arms crossed at their hips, not bothering to utter a word. Even if the funeral had ended some time ago, they knew that it wasn’t the time to leave. 

Bucky spared no expense, giving my parents the best funeral they could ever imagine. All of their friends and family came out, some shocked that I had gotten married, especially since it wasn’t known that I was even dating anyone. A quick lie of ‘we kept it quiet for so long, that's why’ seemed to suffice. 

I don’t know how I would have made it without Bucky by my side. He was there for me this past week more than I could have ever thanked him for. He put the majority of his meetings on hold so he could be with me, giving me whatever I needed. 

The night I received the news was the first night Bucky and I shared a bed. I was broken and Bucky was afraid to leave me so he stayed with me that night, holding me in his arms until I fell asleep. The next night I found myself crawling into his bed when the nightmares began, thinking of how my parents died, and Bucky quickly wrapped me up into his embrace. 

That was the last night we slept separate, opting to fully move into Bucky’s room. 

It had been a week with zero updates from the detectives. There was no fingerprints, DNA, or any sort of evidence left behind. 

“Whoever this person was, they knew what they were doing.” Detective Roth’s words kept replaying in my head. 

Up until now, I had been upset and broken about losing my parents, especially after the last conversation I had with them. But now I was pissed, angry, and ready to figure out things on my own. I thought about asking Bucky, him having connections that I would need, but I didn’t want him knowing what I was up to. If he did, he would force me to stop. 

“Doll?” 

I hummed, still not able to form words, but kept my eyes glued to the ground below. Bucky sighed and linked out fingers together, the vibranium of his wedding band pressed into my skin. He decided to wear it on his right hand, mentioning something about having enough vibranium on his left. Bucky made that joke a few days ago, in hopes of it cheering me up. 

It didn't. 

“Y/N,” he pressed again. “They’re done.”

I blinked, shifting back to reality, and looked up towards Bucky. He’s had the same look plastered over his face the last week; sorrow. I told him countless times to stop giving me that look, I didn’t need him to feel sorry for me anymore. 

Which is exactly what I told him now. 

“Stop giving me that look, Bucky. I’ve been getting it all day and I’m so fucking tired of seeing it,” I sighed. 

Bucky nodded then wrapped an arm around me to pull me into his chest. “Sorry. Let’s get you back home then.” 

With my own arms wrapped around Bucky’s back, I looked over towards the other man that stood next to me all day. 

“Are you coming back with us, Steve?” 

The blonde shook his head. “I’ve got some errands to run but I’ll be there tomorrow.” 

Besides Bucky, Steve had been there in my mourning and grief stricken state, a shoulder to cry on when Bucky had to step out for some kind of business. 

“I’m guessing it's back to business,” I looked up towards Bucky. 

He answered my question with a soft kiss to my lips. “I’m sorry, doll.” 

I shrugged, letting him know I didn’t mind. Only because I had been planning on running a couple errands myself and the only way I would be able to do that was if both Bucky and Steve were preoccupied. 

Soft snores sounded behind me as I traced the gold bands of Bucky’s vibranium arm while he slept. His bare chest pressed against my back worked like a personal heater, warming me the second we laid down together. Our feet were intertwined together at the end of the bed, and I knew when he began to twitch that I would be safe to sneak away. 

Steve and him had been busy all day in the office with meetings working like a revolving door. I didn’t see who was coming or going because I had been in bed all day. Bucky thought I needed more alone time to mourn but I was doing the opposite. 

I spent the majority of the day on my laptop and phone trying to chase down any leads I could in my parents murder; where they spent their last moments before coming home and who saw them that night. 

It was all dead ends until I remembered someone who could help me in getting the answers I wanted. As much as I didn’t want to or the fact that Bucky told me to stay away, I needed his help. He had connections in law enforcement that I didn't. 

It was almost midnight and he said that he would text me soon with an address of someone that remembers seeing my parents an hour before the murder. 

Turning over in Bucky’s embrace, I watched him for a moment. His eyes moving underneath its lids, snores coming from his parted lips, and his messy hair falling into his face. Under the moonlight breaking in from the window, he looked so peaceful and divine. 

I brushed the hair out of his face and laid a soft kiss on his cheek, the growing beard scratching my lips. His grip tightened while he buried his face deeper into my neck, leaving his own kiss. Guilt filled me knowing that I had gone against his word and was lying to him but I knew that this was what I had to do. 

My phone buzzed on the table behind me and I did my best to reach for it in hopes of not waking Bucky. 

21412 Longview Lane. 30 minutes-J.W.

“Who is it?” Bucky grumbled into the back of my neck. 

Shit. 

“Just another friend of my parents sending their condolences,” I lied while snuggling closer towards him. 

“At midnight?” His half lidded eyes looked at the clock. 

I smiled at his sleepy voice and nodded. “Late bird I guess.” 

Bucky hummed before rolling towards the other side of the bed and when his back was turned, I placed a few kisses down his spine. 

“I can’t sleep so I’m going to go downstairs and make some tea.” 

With his grumble of words as a response, I knew this was the only chance I would get to sneak away for a bit. 

I rubbed the red mark on my wrist with a grimace towards the guard who opened the metal door in front of me, a loud buzzer sounding throughout the building. As I walked through the long hallway, I tried to mentally prepare myself for the fight that was about to ensue the second we got into the car. 

What I had just gone through the last two hours paled in comparison to the man that was waiting in the lobby. I wished they would have called anyone else but since he was my husband, they had to call Bucky. 

My tired glance landed on Bucky who was leaning against the front desk, an angry scowl on his face. The cop next to him handed him all of my personal belongings and he took them without saying a word. 

“Hi,” I muttered once I was in front of him. 

Bucky kept his hardened face before linking our hands together and somewhat nicely dragged me to the car. The twenty-minute drive home was complete silence, the only thing that could be heard in the small confinement was Bucky’s heavy breathing. He had been gripping the steering wheel so tight that his flesh knuckles had gone white. 

The car eased up the drive and once he was parked in front of the house, I made a quick dash inside, hoping to avoid whatever conversation that was about to ensue. 

“Arrested, Y/N? Are you fucking serious?!” Bucky’s voice boomed as he slammed the front door shut. 

The sudden raise in his voice caused me to jump slightly and I turned on the staircase where I had only made it to the third step. 

“It was stupid. The cop only arrested me because I'm married to you. He wanted to make a point by arresting New Yorks most feared mob boss' wife,” I shrugged. 

Bucky pinched his eyes in annoyance. “What the hell were you doing trespassing on someone's property across town in the middle of the  night? Do you know how dangerous that was, especially because Steve or I weren’t with you.” 

“I wasn’t alone,” I defend. 

HIs shoulders went rigid. “John Walker? Really? Have you lost your fucking mind?” 

I sliced him in half with my gaze. “I know what I’m doing, Bucky.”  

“Did you forget what I told you about Walker?” He asked. 

“I didn’t have a choice, Bucky. He’s the only one that can help me!” My voice was now raised, anger mixed with annoyance. 

His brow raised in confusion. “With what? Breaking into someone's house?” 

I hesitated, unsure if I should tell him the truth. He could see the way I resisted and I’m sure he could hear my heart hammered hard against my chest. Sweat began to form in my palms so I wiped them on my pants before taking a deep breath. 

“I’ve, uh, been looking into my parents murder,'' I stuttered. 

Bucky’s eyes softened. “Why, doll?” 

“Because no one has had any answers! It’s been over a week and nothing!” I snapped. “If the cops won’t do anything then I will!” 

“And you go to Walker for help?” 

The hurt in Bucky’s voice didn’t go undetected and my heart dropped, realizing that maybe I should have gone to him in the first place; could have avoided an arrest charge. 

“The John that I know is different from the one you do, Bucky. There was a point in my life where he would have done anything for me,” I defended my choice. 

“You knew him, Y/N. He’s not the same anymore,” Bucky responded with a flat tone. 

“How do you know?” I curled a brow. “Oh that’s right, you won’t tell me because it’s on the list of ‘secrets to keep from Y/N.” 

I turned on my heels, ready to end this conversation, but Bucky followed close behind as I made my way to our room. 

“You need to end this whole pretend cop nonsense.” Bucky said while shedding himself of his leather jacket, tossing it onto the couch in our room. 

I chuckled dryly. “Haven’t you learned that you can’t tell me what to do?” 

Bucky stepped in front of me as I tried to slip away from him into the bathroom. 

“This is serious shit, doll. You can end up hurt or worse.” 

I raised a finger to him. “I won’t stop until my parents' murders are either caught or dead. If I get hurt in the process, who cares.” 

Bucky’s face fell. “Don’t say that.” 

I shrugged. “You mean to tell me that you would be hurt if something happened to me? Bucky, this marriage was built on an arrangement between you and my parents. They’re dead so you can consider yourself off the hook.”

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice cracked. 

I ran a hand through my hair. “Look, I'm exhausted and just want to go to sleep. We’ll figure everything out tomorrow morning.” 

I didn’t bother giving him time to respond as I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

Eeee, thank you for the Jason Todd headcanons!

Would you mind doing a drabble about him taking care of you? (baby/toddler regression please)

Also, are you taking anon tags?

Here you are! I've never written in this POV before, it was surprisingly flexible. I also don't know what anon tags are haha, never done asks before. Hope this is alright!

-----

“Need t’be small… That okay?” You mumble as you and Jason stagger into your shared apartment after a long night. It hadn’t gone as well as you would’ve hoped; one of the victims you saved almost certainly wasn’t going to make it even after being rushed off to the hospital, and the two of you were covered head to toe in blood, grime, and bruises.

Jason drops his helmet by his muddy boots. “Yeah, I’ve got you. How small we talkin’ kiddo?” He says the nickname with ease, and the blurry feeling in your head that’s desperate for cozy blankets and sleep grows stronger.

You shrug, rubbing at your tired eyes with the only clean part of you hand. “‘Dunno. Small.”

“Alright, I’ll get a bath running and we’ll get you cleaned up and ready for bed. Or do you want a shower?”

Normally you’d answer bath in a heartbeat, but baths took forever and you were sleepy now. All you wanted to do was stop feeling so icky so you could snuggle into bed with a paci and your blankie.

“Sh’wer…” You mumble, shedding your gear and stumbling after him to the bathroom.

Jason turns on the tap and sticks his hand under the water, waiting for it to warm up. “D’you need help?”

You think you can wash your body just fine, but you don’t think your arms are gonna work right to wash your hair, which felt the worst, so you nodded. “Jus’ a bit. Hair p’ease.” You say, stifling a yawn.

He smiles gently and grabs the removable shower head. “Sure thing. Hop in and then we’ll get you some pj’s and I’ll read you a story, how’s that sound?”

You clamber into the tub and the warm water washes over you. It feels nice on your muscles, which ache all over, and the heat makes your eyes droop.

“Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, c’mon,” Jason chuckles softly, “I know you’re tired.”

You both work in comfortable silence for a few minutes. You do your best to wash away any dirt you can see while Jason carefully massages shampoo and conditioner into your hair and rinses it out. Once you’re both satisfied, he helps you out of the tub into a soft towel and then into your favourite pairs of pyjamas.

“Which paci do you want, honey?” He asks, fishing through your box of little things in your closet.

You don’t respond. Your mind is pleasantly clouded with soft fuzz, your tongue feels heavy and your eyelids heavier. You make a little humming noise instead, hoping that will suffice.

“Alright, the yellow one it is.” Jason returns from the closet with your yellow paci, your blankie, and a book. You can’t read the title, but it doesn’t really matter. He holds the pacifier out to you and you take it in your mouth, flopping down into the comforter of your bed and snuggling in. Your blankie is tucked up under your chin and around you snugly, and the bed dips near your feet where Jason sits down and opens the book.

“You ever read James and the Giant Peach, kiddo?” He asks, not really to you. You’re already dozing off, lost to soft blankets and exhaustion. You hum, eyes slipping closed.

“Until he was four years old, James Henry Trotter had a happy life…”

[simplifiedemotions]

Dreams

His love for her was a sharp-edged knife he had to learn to breathe around.

**

First, a seven-year war. A turncoat after his parents were killed. Little reason to live but too much of a coward to die. 

Draco joined the Order. He’d traded in finely-barbed insults for a med kit because they had seemed to know that his greatest torture apart from dying was having to endure the presence of Hermione Granger.

Their great bloody healer with her manic schedules and biting instructions. She’d made it clear she hated him when he showed up to the dingy room she used for potion brewing.

It came as no surprise that he’d fallen in love with her.

It came as no surprise that she’d broken his heart.

**

They had no choice but to keep him on as healer after the war. His skills made him indispensable. Even if they hated him, they needed him.

He looked down at his clipboard, shock stuttering his heart to a stop before it started pounding against his chest.

Patient: Hermione Granger. His eyes skimmed past information he already knew, before they landed on the reason she was there.

It had happened a year before the war ended.

**

She was a Healer and Curse-Breaker. She was never meant to be caught in a skirmish, but she was foolishly soft-hearted and had responded to an urgent call for backup.

He had been in another safe house treating injured Order members when she’d gone.

He returned to see her convulsing on the ground, her throat torn from a precise-impact bombarda.

His hands shook as he healed her ravaged throat, as he directed his wand over sinew and bone, over ruptured veins.

He was the one who took care of her, who took on her workload whilst she recovered. Who shoved potions down her throat when the pain overroad her coherency. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d known intimacy through hurt.

**  

It hurt to look at her now. Sitting primly on the hospital bed, she met his gaze with a shrewd assessment. 

She opened her mouth as if to speak, and he hoped against hope that sound would come out; that she’d somehow reveal to him that her brilliant brain had found a way to heal her ravaged throat. 

Nothing. He watched her take in a heavy breath before exhaling in frustration. 

“If this is some joke, Granger, I’ve not the time nor the energy for you.” He knew he sounded cold. He told himself he didn’t care, even as her face fell, her large brown eyes a spark of hurt.

She rose, untucking her wand from her sleeve and turned her back to him, and he watched the shift of her shoulders as she straightened her spine and raised her wand. He knew what the spell was almost immediately. The flagrante curse, used to make objects searing at first touch. It could also be used to write out words, which she was currently doing.

She’d learned to do a charm known for draining magical energy at an incredible speed—and she’d done it without incanting it.

Anger moved through him suddenly and sharply. He moved quick as a flash, taking Granger by the shoulders and pivoting her towards him before taking both her hands in his, her wand clattering to the ground but he barely noticed because—his eyes widened in horror—there were scorch marks patterning most of her hands.

“You idiot!” he snarled at her. He felt cold with rage. “Have you been using this as your method of communication this entire time? Do I really need to remind the Muggle-born that paper would suffice?”

Hermione shook one of her hands out of his and pointed up and to her side. Realising that he didn’t read what she’d said earlier, he turned his head to see the words outlined in a red-gold hue.

I tried to fix my voice for five years on my own. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

But it ended off there from when he’d grabbed her.

What was the rest of her sentence going to be?

His heart wrenched inside his chest. He turned back and demanded, “why?”

She picked up her wand from the ground, drew out new words. There was something sad and resigned to her face as she turned back to him.

I’ll explain.

**

Granger explained all her attempts at getting her voice back. Potions, spells, even—horrifically—performing surgery on herself.

Draco stood, horrified at what she was telling him, staring at the raised scars on her throat as she took off the scarf she was wearing.

More words, more explanations on procedures they could do if Draco was willing to help her, inspiring in him a maelstrom of emotions: rage, fierce protection. But it was mostly unbearable longing that he felt as he looked at her, remembering the soft moments they’d had, the sound of her voice in his ear as they made love, at the bite in her arguments whenever they would fight, at how she looked softer in sleep, made better by the way she would cling to him, as if he were her only anchor in a desolate sea.

“Why didn’t you ask me, Granger?” He could hear raw pain in his voice, and she seemed to notice because she gave him a wan smile and shook her head.

She didn’t think she needed to consider Draco in her after. He felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach. 

She was softer without the war. It hurt him that he couldn’t have experienced it with her.

He straightened his shoulders. “If you think there is something I can do to help you, Herm-Granger, I will.” 

He gave her a bitter smile. Best not get too vulnerable.

He looked away when she smiled at him again.

**

Bloody weeks spent on every single thing Draco could think of. Potions. Modified spells. He was sure he’d burned through the manor library on every single Charms book just to find a working revitalisation spell.

Tests, speech therapy. He’d even in a fit of mania researched if he could somehow purchase a new voice box for her. It wasn’t an option, but he also realised how much he didn’t want to hear any voice but hers.

There was absolutely nothing he could do. Still, he wouldn’t give up.

I have something to tell you.

Draco looked at her from his crouched position on the small table he’d transfigured for himself to write on. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

Granger fidgeted with her wand. She raised it again to write.

I don’t want you to be angry with me.

Still, that didn’t stop her from giving him the truth.

**

Draco stood for long minutes, just staring at her. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to parse out her words into something that made sense.

His throat was dry as he finally said, “If you knew all this time that you couldn’t fix your voice, why did you come to me?”

She drew her wand up, writing, I didn’t know if you’d forgive me. 

Something burned behind his eyelids. He was losing his control. He had to leave before she decided to rip his heart into further shreds. The knife slid deeper. “Forgive you for what, Hermione?” he said, voice cracking on her name.

Tears welled in her eyes. She made slashing movements with her wand, her normally clean letters changed by her emotions as she wrote out another sentence.

I loved you—still love you, but I didn’t want you to be stuck to this broken version of me. I didn’t think you could love me unless I was whole—so I left.

Draco crossed the room in three long strides and crushed her in his trembling arms, ignoring the spark of pain that hit him as he crossed right through her searing words.

Words do hurt, he thought ruefully as he breathed hard against her hair, taking in her flowery scent, feeling at home in the circle of her arms as she pressed herself against him and drew her hands up his shoulders to clutch at his robes.

“You could have told me. I would never have stayed angry with you.”

He just wanted her to stay. Even if it was only as friends. Even if the knife tore at him each time she smiled.

He let her go long enough to meet her unamused expression.

“You can’t love me, though. I know you don’t.” He didn’t know if it was anger, or a bone-deep sadness, that prevailed against his calmer emotions. He’d gotten so good at hiding it all, until the storm of her stepped back into his life. “I know what we had—it was a distraction. You wouldn’t have chosen me in other circumstances.”

He knew he sounded self-loathing. Couldn’t help it. There was a quake of emotion rising in his chest, bypassing all reason and logic.

A raised brow, Granger stepped out of his arms and lifted her wand again.

His eyes widened when he saw the word legilimency in red.

“You can’t be serious.”

She only gave him a nod. He imagined she'd say something like of course, you idiot, if she could speak.

“Hermione, I’m not—” he was interrupted by her stepping right up to him, taking him by the collar and pulling him down to her level. Her eyes were fierce, and in them he saw her demand—and her permission.

She wanted to show him something that he wouldn’t believe with words.

He looked up, meeting her steady gaze, pressing forward as his wand met her temple and uttering the spell, spilling himself inside her head.

What he saw—oh what he saw. He almost called her cruel for the images she gave him, before realising the truth of them.

Him, through her eyes, seven years ago. 

He felt the way she peeled him apart in her mind, that day that was defined by several dust motes in the rickety library where she sat to watch his interview with Harry and Lupin. He expected the riling energy of looking at your enemy, but there was also inquisitiveness there. A curiosity.

Flash forward, one month later and they were screaming at each other. Draco accidentally knocked into her, sending a new batch of healing potions crashing to the floor. Her screams of accusation turned to waves of anger turned to pointing fingers and cruel words.

The next day, he’d brought her a new batch. Ignored her indignation that he’d stolen into her potions stores and demanded he come back as he walked out the door. He watched her as she stared at his younger self’s back, surprised to see her frowning. Still, that feeling of curiosity that went over all other things. 

A rare empty night at the main safe house. They were the only occupants in an otherwise quiet house. A surprise shared drink, but even more was the surprisingly pleasant conversations. He felt the pleasantness between them; he remembered how tense he felt because he was so sure they were about to fight again. But it was only a tentative conversation that was their third guest of the evening.

He still remembered the small smile she’d given him, at how it prompted something in his heart to go wild. Now, he was hit with the force of her emotions, too: a pounding heart, a nervousness she was confused by and didn’t know how to name, a lingering feeling of heightened emotion. 

Was it his or hers?

Later, their first kiss. The boy who had made all the wrong choices never felt more right than in the moment he had grabbed Hermione’s face, stalling her argument about a jealousy she’d insisted she didn’t feel over Susan Bones touching his arm in a flirtatious way.

What she felt for him was nothing soothing. Pure horniness. He’d felt the same.

More scenes flashed. Their first time together, which Granger of the present nudged him to move on from. He could feel her embarrassment through their connection and couldn’t help his grin. 

He loved that night. Loved how she responded to him. Loved how much she could say with her body. He kept moving on, finding more like them. They spoke so often through sex at first. Anger, curiosity, resentment, all wound up as tightly as her legs around his waist.

He didn’t understand what she was showing him.

The scenes slowed down. It was the fifth year of war. She had still looked at him a lot. He’d never realised how much. 

Year six: a sick yearning he would call his own if he wasn’t so aware he was seeing all this through her mind—her heart.

Year seven, near the end: she, watching him as he slept beside her. She’d already lost her voice. It was only days from now that the war would end, and she would disappear from his life for five years. 

He normally slept fitfully. They all did. So he was surprised to see he didn’t wake as Granger tenderly traced his face. As she swept gentle thumbs across his cheekbones and over his closed eyelids, as she used her hand to cup his face and kiss him sweetly, so so sweetly, on his forehead.

She was looking at him—she was feeling something he could never fully put into words. The same as he felt—the same.

it was—

He realised why he couldn’t name the difference. He was looking for something to discern her feelings from his, only to realise they were one and the same.

He pulled out of her mind, wanting—needing to see her face. He knew with certainty her first words to him in the hospital—the words he’d interrupted before she could finish them.

I tried to fix my voice for five years. I’m sorry I hadn’t contacted you. I—

I love you.

He pushed her hair out of her face.

He knew her heart. Her dreams. He knew her.  

They kissed for a long time under the bright hospital lights. Tears stained their cheeks and their teeth clacked as they kissed clumsily, as they slid onto the floor and made a mess of the neat tiles.

There was nothing clean about their coming together. There were no words to carry out the breadth of feeling that passed between them.

Maybe that was the whole point all along.

[shrinkthisviolet]

7 and 12 with Barrisco for the angst and hurt/comfort prompts, please please please please? (if possible)

Absolutely! The first one is a bit on the shorter side, but the second one is longer (and tbh it's one of my favorites that I've written) :D hope you enjoy them both!

7: "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now." (takes place during 1x20, the night after they look into Cisco's dreams/memories)

The thing about having meta powers involving retention of memories of other timelines was that it kinda sucked. No, scratch that, it really sucked. He knew Barry didn’t mean any harm by asking him to look into his dreams. Cisco himself had agreed to it—they needed a way to uncover what had happened, to nail Wells—Thawne for something, and that was their smoking gun. But it turned out, excavating the memory and actually reliving it in front of an audience tended to make the nightmares worse. Everything was in sharper focus now—Wells—Thawne, Cisco really had to stop calling him Wells—’s fond smile, the sting of his words (“you have shown me what it’s like to have a son”), the pain of that vibrating— Cisco gasped, jolting upright as his heart hammered. A gust of wind rushed into his bedroom—oh right, Barry had agreed to sleep over in case something happened—and Cisco felt a gentle, hesitant hand on his shoulder, Barry’s voice slowly filtering in: “…co? Do you need something? Can I—no, wait, stupid question…” Cisco knew what Barry was going to ask, and truthfully, he needed it too, so he threw himself into Barry’s arms and sobbed in earnest. Barry didn’t hesitate to hug him tight, to whisper soothingly, “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” “I loved him,” Cisco choked, “he was like a father to me, I loved him, I thought he loved us, why…?” It was the one question he could never answer. The one that kept him awake at night, that left him with tears on his face. If you loved me so much, if I really showed you what it was like to have a son, then why did you kill me? “I’m sorry.” Barry’s voice hitched. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” All Cisco could do was cling tighter to Barry and cry. (And wish, not for the first time, that he’d never gotten these powers at all.)

12: "Help me." (post-3x07, pre-3x08)

As far as text messages went, Cisco had rarely been as worried as he was right now, with Barry having sent one of the most concerning texts of their entire relationship—even as far back as before they’d started dating.

<need help. please. our place ASAP>

Our place. If not for how clearly desperate he was, Cisco would pick a fight over that alone.

Because once, it had been their place. A few months after the stuff with Zoom, Cisco had confessed his feelings for Barry, and Barry had confessed his own in turn (Caitlin and Iris, who themselves had finally sorted out their feelings, had no doubt engineered something—there was no way all the doors in STAR Labs had suddenly locked at the same time in the middle of the day). After that, well…it was a very blissful few months. Barry was a doting boyfriend, and dating a speedster was truly something special.

But then…something had changed. Barry had for some reason seemed out of sync with him, and Cisco couldn’t figure out why. Had he said something? Done something? He kept asking, but Barry kept assuring him it was nothing.

But then…Cisco found out what Barry had done. Whose life had been taken as collateral damage. And now…

Well. To put it most amicably, they were on a break.

(To put it less amicably, Cisco kept his distance as much as possible so he would be less tempted to punch Barry in the face.)

So, suffice to say, Barry was damn lucky that he sounded desperate enough to tug on Cisco’s heartstrings.

“I’m here!” Cisco sighed. “Now what was so imp—?”

He froze. Barry was standing in the middle of the room—in the middle of their living room—looking like he’d just come out of a fight. And lost.

Savitar. It had to be, right? No one else could hurt Barry like—

“Help me,” Barry gasped, more desperate than Cisco had ever heard him. “Cis…co…”

Cisco rushed over to Barry, catching him just as he fell, and grunting softly as he moved him to his couch.

“S-sorry…” Barry gasped, “f’r…barging in…”

Cisco winced. “Barry—”

“Didn’t know where else…to g—”

“Dude, whatever else is going on between us, I’m not just gonna turn you away!” Cisco ran a hand through his hair. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

“S-Sav…tar…”

As Cisco expected. “Okay. I’ll call Caitlin, but…I’ll do a little screening first.” He held up his fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“No concussion,” Barry murmured. “Feel fine…just dizzy. I can…hear fine. Three fingers.”

Cisco nodded, relieved, starting to stand. “Caitlin can do a better checkup on you when she—”

“No!” Cisco flinched as Barry grabbed his arm hard. Barry winced. “I-I mean…I’m fine. Just…I just need…rest. Your first aid kit. Please?”

He was already sounding better, so Cisco reluctantly nodded, excusing himself to grab the first aid kit. “You’re sure you don’t want Caitlin to check you over?” He asked as he brought back over, opening it.

“I’m fine.” Barry smiled. “Got my best friend here to look after me, don’t I? In case I need anything?”

“Anything,” Cisco promised. As pissed as he was at Barry, he could put that aside for today, just until he was feeling tip-top again. So instead, he opened the kit and started patching Barry up.

Barry squeezed Cisco’s hand—something about his smile was off, it was strange, but maybe it was the pain he was in—and said, “I don’t deserve you, Cisco.”

Cisco laughed nervously. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” Barry insisted, stroking a thumb along the back of his hand. “Cisco…I’ve done wrong, I’ve hurt you, I was reckless, I got Dante killed. You can’t imagine how sorry I am.”

Cisco pursed his lips, busying himself with cleaning Barry’s injuries. “It’s fine.”

Barry huffed. “Stop saying it’s fine. It’s not fine. I hurt you, and I’m sorry I did it, and that you felt like you couldn’t be mad at m—”

“Barry.” Cisco squeezed his hand back. “I am mad, okay? I’m gonna be mad for a while. But it is fine.”

After a few moments, Barry spoke up. “Do you still want me to—?”

“No,” Cisco said quickly, knowing exactly where Barry was going, looking back down to the injuries he was now bandaging. “No. Don’t you dare ask me that. That’s not fair.”

“I would,” Barry whispered. “For you? I’d do anything. Don’t you believe me, Cisco?”

Cisco’s eyes met Barry’s, and he suddenly saw the truth of it—the extent of how far Barry would go.

To make it up to him? Or just because he loved him?

(Or is there something else going on?)

“You should get some rest,” Cisco said finally, finishing up and standing up.

“Cisco—”

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Cisco, wait.”

And Cisco, naturally, stopped at the sound of Barry’s voice.

“I love you,” Barry whispered. “You know that, don’t you?”

Cisco turned to face him. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do. Now get some rest, okay? You sound pretty off-kilter. I’ll call Caitlin in the morning, and that’s final.”

Barry laughed softly. “If you insist. Night, honey.”

Cisco’s heart did a flip. He and Barry were still technically broken up, he shouldn’t feel like this over Barry audaciously calling him that, but… “You too, Bear.”

That night, Cisco dreamed of Barry. More specifically, he dreamed of kissing him again.

(But he also couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong. He just wished he could figure out what.)

(Laid up on Cisco’s couch, and nearly fast asleep, Savitar smiled.)

prompt list!

[shesmore-shoebill]

im just starting to watch the smosh mouth episode with arasha and WOAH was it. a Not So Good idea to check the comments. its definitely okay to disagree with an opinion of a cast member and i know its the nature of youtube comments (particularly smosh’s youtube comments section) to discuss these things, but the number of times i’ve seen people call amanda a “major red flag” or immediately label her as a bad person just left a bad taste in my mouth.

Oof yeah, Im not even gonna look. That's unfortunate, although not too surprising I guess. I tend to not watch a lot of Reddit Stories or read the comments on Reddit Stories for a similar reason lol. As someone who can disagree with some of Amanda's knee jerk takes in gen, and some of todays, I can totally see why her opinions/way of expressing them can catch people off guard/why people might have found it off putting.

But I also generally tend to land in the camp of, at most, like. "well, that's unfortunate. 🤷‍♀️." Honestly, people are perfectly justified to feel put off or surprised or discomfited, but its always worth revisiting what is actually helpful/healthy beyond that reaction. Ive just cut out like another two paragraphs talking about this but suffice it to say. Yeah. Ah man. I hope you can steer clear of the comments for a bit, and fingers crossed we can get more Amarasha with slightly less excitement surrounding it. I also think that a few of the people leaving more vehement hate comments about Amanda have actually done it semi-consistently on a few of these videos, so I'd. Take it with a grain of salt.

Anyway if desired, word dump under the cut on how I tend to view my own disagreement + thoughts on why the reaction can be so vehement. Its a little incoherent because I should've been asleep three hours ago whoops.

It's helped me to understand that a lot of it comes down to:

- The perspective that Amanda tends to approach things from (largely based off her own lived experiences) can be very different from mine. It doesnt mean it invalidates my lived experience or anything, nor does mine invalidate hers, but the base assumptions I'm making vs hers are probably very different. Not mutually exclusive, just different. Not acknowledging the difference means that miscommunication can happen where it feels like direct disagreement is happening when its more that two pretty distinct questions/trains of thought are being considered, with differing, or nuanced answers. Given different contexts, I might agree with her a lot more, or less!

- The kind of discussion that she and the others are going for- aka, often gearing for a baseline amount of, if not optimizing for, entertainment/comedy- is probably also different from what I might want/expect. (Like a deep dive on philosophy or logistics or just specific answers to questions/thoughts I have). Expecting a deeply nuanced, meticulous and fully considered discussion in a podcast intended for discussion and bits hosted by two comedians is probably not going to pan out for me. Or TL;DR Amanda might double down for a bit, not to actually die on a hill for an argument.

- In general I think Amanda holds opinions strongly- esp ones informed by her personal experiences AND loves committing to a bit. i went on a spiel already in the replies here chatting about some of this. But basically it comes hand in hand with the confidence that i really admire about her, and I don't generally feel like invalidation or malice is intended. If prompted to walk through her reasoning, I can typically see where she's coming from, even if I don't agree, and its nice to think vice versa might be true. But I probably will never know for sure!

- Generally it's not the end of the world TO disagree. its just like that sometimes. If it feels like the disagreement means the other person HAS to be a "bad person", its good to revisit that instinct and understand why. What assumptions are you making? Is it defensiveness or disappointment? etc etc. I don't have to convince myself of anything, but if I'm having a strong emotional response, it's good to know why.

- Arasha especially was helpful for clarifying elements of the above! But you can only ever get so much clarity. So yknow. Like at a certain point, no matter how much brain gymnastics I do, its not a discussion between me and Amanda or whoever I disagree with. So at a certain point, I need to be OK with whatever info I have + my takeaway. Whatever that looks like.

- Above all else, we don't know these people!

sorry i was gonna make this more fun but i need to sleep, and will probably be busy enough tomorrow that i didn't want to leave this in my box. TL;DR. yeah. its unfortunate. Steer clear of comments there for a bit, things'll even out. I hope that helps!

[eightoflunaresau]

HELLO & WELCOME TO THE BLOG DEDICATED TO MY FANTASY LIFE AU - THE EIGHT OF LUNARES!!!

This the blog dedicated to my Fantasy Life AU! This is to help organize updates, art and information for said AU. I'm still figuring out a lot of details so I thought this could help with that! This also, however, acts as an ask blog as well! You can ask me about the lore or ask the characters themselves! Yep, you can ask the main Eight whatever ya want- within reason. ANYWAYS- it's an ask/rp blog for organizing with a dash of random FL content I find! I'll put character info, rules and general info under da cut. Explore the Eight of Lunares world and have fun, safe travels adventurer :D

Greetings and welcome to the Eight of Lunares archives, I, Writer, shall be your guide! Since I made all this, I'll catch ya up to speed, alrighty?

⭐First, let’s list off the main Eight: We have Itri, Meradith, Oak, Niko & Sweet Tea, Nashira, Agate, Parsnip & Torrent. This has most of their information AND their art so I recommend checking those out :)

⭐Now here’s the summary of what this AU is (I will probably have to update it in a different post on my own time but for now this will suffice.)

⭐Also I think the Eight of Lunares AU tag on my main would be nice as well so there ya go.

⭐A couple of rules/general notes about this blog: Try to keep things PG-13 with asks and comments (you will be informed privately if things are taken too far), sometimes I’ll answer as the Eight and sometimes I’ll answer as myself (tags will indicate so), some answers will have art and some won't, AND have fun :D (that felt too long lol sorry)

⭐Okay but please be patient with me, I’m still deciding a lot about the au and I’m hoping this helps me with development, especially this is all in one place- I’ve never done something likes this so oof

⭐THAT IS ALL FROM ME! LEAVE ALL MAIL AT THE POST OFFICE AND WE’LL (me, the Eight lol we’re in this together) DO OUR BEST TO ANSWER! AHHHHHHHHHH-

⭐BYEEEEEEEEEE!

~ SAFE JOURNEYS TRAVELERS! ~

[pocket-lad]

CH 9- Nick Van Owen

Prev

“Oh,” Ian said. “That’s fine.” He thought about how deep and how fast the stream must look from Adelaide’s perspective, especially if she couldn’t swim.

“So, we can just go… I guess,” Adelaide said.

Ian didn’t move from his seat. “Have you ever tried?”

Adelaide looked up at him, confused and a little annoyed. “In what circumstance do you think I’d have the chance to swim? I haven’t found the lake in your walls yet.”

“Ha, point…point taken,” Ian admitted. Sitting next to her like this, Adelaide couldn’t even pretend they were on the same wavelength. They sat the exact same way, side-by-side, but he rose up taller than any building. She forced herself not to back away.

“You want to learn?” Ian asked.

“Not really.”

Ian laughed. “I can just hold you, then.”

Adelaide looked up, searching for his eyes, but they were simply too high. Ian didn’t realize how absurd that suggestion actually was, but it was either that or stay filthy.

“Okay,” she said quietly. Adelaide slowly peeled her jacket off her body, removed her bag from her shoulders, and took her knife off her belt, setting them all in a small pile away from the edge of the stream and stalling for as long as possible.

Ian lowered his hand for her to hop on. She did without hesitation, but that wasn’t the hard part. The hard part happened when his hand lowered toward the surface of the stream.

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait,” Adelaide yelled. She could hear the rushing water and felt cold flecks of it spring up onto her skin.

Ian paused, awaiting further instructions. When none came, he said matter-of-factly, “I won’t let you drown.”

“Yeah, but what if a fish tries to eat me?” Adelaide laughed, but behind the joke there was truth. She took a few deep breaths. “...I trust you….On the count of three?”

This was stupid. This was so stupid. She could live with mud. But before she could second guess herself, Ian was counting.

“One…two-” The cold water splashed against her body, forcing her backward against Ian’s hand. The shock was the worst of it, going from mildly warm air to freezing water. The movement of the water was off-putting as well. She knew if Ian wasn’t there, she’d get swept away in the current, never to be seen again.

Adelaide sputtered and splashed, trying to gain her bearings. When she finally stood up, she realized the water was really only up to her waist. She could do this.

She scrubbed at her face and arms as fast and as best she could, washing away the ground in dirt until she couldn’t see it or feel it anymore. She also tried her best to ignore Ian hovering over her. Knowing they were on a time crunch, she called it when she felt mildly clean.

Ian lifted her out of the water and set her shivering form on the ground next to her stuff.

“I distinctly recall saying on the count of THREE!”

 “It wasn’t so bad!”

“It was actually weird and horrible and freezing, thanks. But also… thanks.”

“Of course. Probably one of - one of the weirder things I’ve…done,” he said.

“Alright, don’t look!” Adelaide said as she opened her bag to pull out her spare clothes.

“Okay,” Ian laughed, turning away.

Adelaide did feel a little nervous with Ian’s back turned, but knew she was being completely irrational, so she hurried up and changed into her new clothes. She was still pretty wet and her hair dripped down her back, but the dry clothes helped immensely. She couldn’t say she felt completely clean, but she felt a lot better. “Okay,” she said, calling Ian’s attention.

“Excellent,” he said. Before he hopped to his feet, he cupped some water in his palms and splashed his face. Water sprayed everywhere.

“Watch it!” Adelaide yelled.

“Ah…whoops,” Ian said, but he was obviously amused. He wiped his hands off on his clothes and held one out. When she stepped on, he cupped his hands around her and blew hot breath onto her body, hoping that would suffice as an apology.

Adelaide recoiled. "Ew, stop! Gross!" she exclaimed. Ian's breath smelled like a dying animal and the invasion of her personal space was too much. No matter how much she trusted him, she couldn't stand to be anywhere near a giant's open mouth. Even if the warm air felt kind of nice.

"Suit yourself," Ian shrugged. As he stood up, he set her on his shoulder and they heard Roland call off the break. Just in time. “We are gonna teach you to swim when we get back home, though.”

“We’ll see,” Adelaide muttered. She never had any reason to learn and shouldn’t ever have any reason to learn, but here they were.

They rejoined the group, and instantly Kelly asked to be carried. She looked exhausted, and Adelaide couldn’t blame the poor girl. Not only was Kelly facing threats no adult should face and was probably scared out of her mind, but the humidity and uneven terrain made for a very difficult walk. How was a child supposed to prepare for or deal with any of this?

“I can’t, sweetheart, I’ve got Adelaide,” Ian said.

Oh.

Adelaide felt very guilty all of the sudden. She knew Ian was struggling with their relationship and she didn’t want to be another wedge splitting them further apart. Also, she didn’t want Kelly to resent her (for multiple reasons). Also also, she certainly didn’t want to be a burden to Ian.

Without thinking much about it, Adelaide offered to ride with someone else. “No, it’s fine. I’ll, um, I’ll go with…um…” She was hoping Sarah was nearby. If she could trust anyone else here, it would be her. But with Sarah nowhere to be seen, she went with the only other option in the vicinity. “...Nick!”

Upon hearing his name, Nick turned in their direction, oblivious to the conversation.

“Della, she’ll survive. She has two completely functional feet. She can walk,” Ian said, but the sentence was pointed at Kelly.

“Seriously, I’ll be fine,” Adelaide said in a voice that did not sound fine. In fact, it sounded scared. “Nick, is it okay if I stay with you for a little bit?”

Nick looked dumbfounded. “Um…sure.” He hesitated then reached for Adelaide on Ian’s shoulder.

Adelaide yelped and Ian stepped backward with his hands up. Nick stood there, confused as to what exactly was happening.

“Okay,” Adelaide breathed, shaking. “So, uh, first of all. No grabbing. That’s - that’s not, uh…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, too frazzled. In the blink of an eye, Nick's hand could've yanked her off her perch and carried her off to God knew where. It was a stark reminder to always keep her guard up around Beans. Even 'friendly' ones. It also didn't help that she was still shivering from her time in the stream, unable to retain enough body heat while she was still wet.

“Here,” Ian said, and he held his hand out for Adelaide.

Adelaide began to regret this decision, especially after Nick reached for her. She obviously couldn’t back down, but she proceeded with much more caution, intently watching each of his fingers for any sign of movement. Not that she'd have much time to react. Clearly.

“I don’t bite,” Nick joked.

Adelaide knew he was joking since Eddie made that exact same joke earlier, but he didn’t know how real of a concern it was for her. She forced a nervous laugh. Why did Beans find that so funny?

Slowly, she shuffled onto Nick’s hand. Adelaide reminded herself she’d already been there before, back in the collapsing trailer, so she should be completely fine. Granted, he was holding her captive in a massive fist at the time, but he definitely didn’t hurt her.

“Do not go far,” Ian warned Nick with a pointed finger, then turned to pick up Kelly.

“I’ll. Be. Fine , Ian. I can already see you stressing out,” Adelaide assured him. She paused, then added, “Go talk to her.”

Ian gave her an imperceptible nod, grateful for the chance to talk (semi) privately with his daughter. But before he walked a couple paces ahead, he also made sure to give Adelaide a look that said, behave.

Adelaide rolled her eyes from down in Nick’s hand as she watched him walk away. The sudden realization that she was completely alone with Nick hit her like a truck, and nerves began to worm their way through her spine again. Realistically, Ian was well within earshot, but a million things could go wrong at any moment, and her mind conjured up all of them at once.

Adelaide looked straight up at the underside of Nick’s chin. She gulped, but was able to choke out a repeat of Ian’s request. “Please don’t go far.”

Nick knowingly smirked. “You got it.”

Trying to counteract her pathetic admission of nerves, Adelaide pushed off of Nick’s hand and immediately got to climbing up his olive green T-shirt.

Nick froze in his tracks, eyes wide and tracking her progress, arms hovering uselessly in mid-air.

Once Adelaide reached his shoulder, she gave a little smirk of her own. Giants freaked out when she did that, and though she wasn’t sure why, it made her feel powerful and mischievous. Good. Let them freeze.

Nick shook his head to clear the feeling of tiny people crawling up his body (causing Adelaide to give a quick, annoyed shout.) He expected Adelaide to say something, considering she asked to ride with him. When she didn’t, he was content to walk in amicable silence.

It was true that Adelaide had nothing to say; she didn’t even know where to start, so she just kept her mouth shut. Another reason was that she was focused on working out Nick’s walking pattern. It was still casual, but not as casual as Ian’s. They were similar heights, too, but the gate was just off enough to require concentration.

Eventually, Adelaide got the hang of it (mostly), and that also happened to be the moment Nick reached his maximum threshold of boredom.

“So…how’d you end up here?” he offhandedly asked.

Adelaide jumped, used to the pleasant silence. His voice was much louder than Ian’s. “Like here here, or…?” she clarified.

“Well, looks like we’ve got a lot of time, so,” He gestured vaguely to the space around him, giving Adelaide the floor. She assumed this meant he wanted the full story, which put her fight or flight instincts on high alert. Her first instinct was to tell him off, to let him know it was none of his business, but she had to remind herself that he was just curious. He was just trying to fill the time. So, Adelaide took a deep breath and tried to tell the most bare bones story possible.

“Uhh…I mean, I guess I lived in another state when I was little. Then I got kidnapped and shipped to Texas. I found Ian’s house, I lived there on my own for eight years, then Ian kidnapped me, but then we became friends, I guess, then he dragged me to Jurassic Park the First, and then he tried to get me to stay home from Jurassic Park the Second, but I said if he goes, I go, so. That’s how I got here. You?”

“Woah, woah,” Nick said, gesturing for her to slow down. “You can’t just drop something like that, like it’s nothing, then ask about my boring-ass life.”

“I’d hardly call it boring,” Adelaide interjected, thinking about all the cool shit she’d seen from him so far, and something told her that was just the surface. Whether Nick heard her or not, he kept talking.

“You were kidnapped?” The tone of the question was much more casual than Adelaide expected, as if he were asking how her day was.

Still, Adelaide’s defenses rose. She didn’t know his intentions with this information. “Twice. Why?” Her demeanor grew spikier by the second.

“Just making conversation, s’all,” he shrugged, sending Adelaide into his neck. She pushed off it, body rigid and alert. Then his words sank in. She relaxed a little. She was being ridiculous.

“No, right, sorry, um… just a little protective of information regarding my… kind, y’know?” she admitted.

“Understandable. I wouldn’t tell us either. Especially if-” he indicated the kidnapping.

“Yeah, um, the guy knew about us or specialized in us or whatever. He took us to sell as pets.” Adelaide made sure to emphasize the pause after that part, hopefully making Nick realize why his ‘pet’ comment offended her so much. She couldn’t bear to mention the part about her parents, so she didn’t. “I escaped somewhere en route and went to the nearest human house I could find. Blah, blah, blah, eight years. One day I get stupid or lazy or whatever and drop my guard, so Ian finds me and holds me hostage till I tell him information about myself.”

“And you still trust that guy?” Nick blurted.

Adelaide gazed up ahead at Ian, who was laughing with Kelly, while she thought about her answer. “Yeah, I mean, he let me go. And also he’s done a lot of things to build up that trust over time. Wouldn’t you do the same, if Ian weren’t here with me? If you found me on your own? Beans don’t react logically to people like me.”

“Hmm,” Nick hummed. “You know, if you allied yourself with the right people, we could take down guys like him and whatever organizations they’re working for.”

“And reveal our existence to the whole world? No thanks.” Ever since meeting Ian, Adelaide considered options like that, but at the end of the day, the risks far outweighed the benefits. And if, by some miracle, borrowers were able to rally public support, that still didn’t stop the government from doing what they wanted to do. 

The silence dragged out for a while until Adelaide remembered to be polite. “And what about you? How’d you get here?” she asked.

“Money,” Nick said, but then elaborated. He talked about his background in photography and documentary filmmaking, how he traveled to the craziest places for odd jobs. It really did all come down to money in the end, but there were added benefits - women, awards, saving the Earth. He explained his affiliation with Greenpeace, which was some kind of organization working toward a ‘greener Earth’.

Adelaide listened in awe. She knew her scope of the world was much smaller than humans, but it never ceased to amaze her just how vast it really was. This was a completely different reality than she, and even Ian, experienced.

Their conversation was interrupted by Roland calling for another break. That seemed odd, considering they took one not too long ago, but nobody was complaining.

Nick plopped down on a log and Adelaide clung on for dear life. She started to ask a question, but Nick shushed her. She was going to protest until she realized they were eavesdropping.

“Come with me,” Roland said to some guy. “And you. If he’s alive, we’ll find him. The rest of you keep right on. Ten minutes, you’ll reach the ridge. Wait for us there.”

“Ten minutes, you’ll reach the ridge. Wait for us there,” Adelaide repeated in a bad imitation of Roland’s accent. She and Nick laughed, unable to help themselves. “Why is this guy in charge?”

“He is in charge because he’s an expert in his field - tracking, navigating, and hunting large predators,” Roland said, turning to face them. The smiles dropped from their faces as he approached, gun resting on his shoulder. “If you would like to lead the rest of this expedition, Miss Adelaide, then be my guest.” He stared down at her, waiting for an answer.  Adelaide shot to her feet, eyeing the gun. It was maybe three feet long and looked heavy, and despite the fact that the most dangerous thing in her immediate vicinity was a Bean, the gun scared her infinitely more. They were deafeningly loud, and Adelaide knew that if she were to get shot with one, there wouldn’t be a trace of her left.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” Nick said, trying to keep antagonization to a minimum but having trouble.

“I have. Many times. And then it got boring.”

Nick changed the subject. “Who’re you looking for, anyway?”

“Dieter Stark. Disappeared maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

“Good,” Adelaide blurted, drawing all eyes to her. (Or at least, Nick tried to look at her, but she was too close to his neck for him to see properly.) She shifted uncomfortably but held her ground.

“I know you may have had your differences, but no man deserves to die here-”

“Yeah, like Eddie,” Adelaide goaded. She didn’t know why she kept bringing the man up. It wasn’t like she was close to him, but the fact that he saved their lives without a second thought deserved respect. But in the end, it wasn’t about him. It was about making a point, making the InGen team feel bad. Adelaide felt a little guilty using his name for her prideful cause. 

“-He is one of my men. He will not be left behind,” Roland finished without blinking.

“Easy for you to say. He didn’t dangle you by your leg.” Adelaide could feel herself digging a deeper and deeper hole. Her brain begged her to stop, but her mouth didn’t seem to care.

Roland crouched down quickly, putting himself closer to eye level. Adelaide jumped, then shifted closer to Nick’s neck, which at least provided the appearance of protection. Roland noticed this but chose not to say anything.

“Get out of my space,” Nick said, and Adelaide could feel him tense up.

Roland ignored him. “You’d be happy to know, Miss Adelaide, that Deiter’s most likely dead. I will give him the courtesy of searching, but I highly suspect he’s gotten himself into more trouble than he could handle.”

With that, Roland stood up and took off. Adelaide let out a deep, long, sigh and wiped the sweat from her forehead. That man was intense.

“You like picking fights or something?” Nick asked.

“Do you?” Adelaide shot back.

“As a matter of fact, I do. You just gotta be able to finish what you start.” Nick stood up, leaving Adelaide with those thoughts. He called out to everyone to keep going, and the group obliged.

What made Adelaide the angriest was that Nick was right. She couldn’t act nervous and scared if she was going to antagonize Beans, and she couldn’t antagonize Beans if she was going to act nervous and scared. It was just so hard to keep her mouth shut sometimes. And on the other hand, Beans had no right to use their height advantage to purposely intimidate her just because she felt like there was something worth standing up for. At least, that’s how she justified it.

Movement caught Adelaide’s eye, and she saw Ian struggle to stand up. His leg must really be killing him, but she knew he would never admit it. She should probably go free him from carrying Kelly.

“Can you take me back to Ian?” she asked.

Nick also saw this and understood. “Yeah, sure thing.”

Ian was just about to lift Kelly up when he saw Nick approach. His heart pounded and his head immediately jumped to everything that could be wrong. When he saw Adelaide sitting calmly on Nick’s shoulders though, he relaxed.

“She’s sick of me already,” Nick said with a smile on his face, and before he could grab Adelaide, Ian’s hands were already there. Nick flinched, mildly uncomfortable with the invasion of his personal space, but Adelaide quickly hopped on Ian’s hands as he pulled them out of the picture.

He put her on his shoulder and nodded a ‘thank you’ at Nick, who returned the nod.

“You know I have to ask. Is everything-” Ian began.

“Yes, everything is okay. He didn’t hurt me, he didn’t call me any names. We had a lovely conversation,” Adelaide rattled off.

“Good.”

They walked silently for a moment as the sun slowly set.

“How’s your leg?” Adelaide asked. She figured she’d given it enough time so that her request to go back to Ian and her worry over his leg wouldn’t be connected. She was wrong. Ian saw right through her.

“Is that why you came back? Because you saw me, um…?”

“No!” Adelaide said a little too quickly. “No, um, Nick is um… I actually hate him now. He hurt me and called me names and we had a terrible conversation.”

“Mhm,” Ian said.

Adelaide changed the subject, but it still wasn’t a comfortable one. “How did it go? With Kelly, I mean?”

At this point, Kelly had already run off to talk to Sarah, so they didn’t have to worry about her hearing the conversation.

“It, uh…it went good. We had a talk, and it was - it was good.”

“Riveting,” Adelaide said sarcastically. Ian just laughed.

They walked on, and Adelaide told Ian about Nick and his adventures and how cool she thought he was. Ian listened patiently, but he knew people like Nick. He kept his opinions to himself, whether good or bad, not wanting to taint Adelaide’s opinions on the world.

It didn’t skip their attention that Roland and his men returned sans Dieter Stark, and after a little more walking, they decided to call it for the night and make camp.

Right. Camp. Sleeping. Sleeping in front of Beans. Falling into a state of unconsciousness with hostile Beans everywhere. It was in that moment that Adelaide decided she wasn’t going to sleep that night.

.

Next

[foxesfantasys]

Hello I am still alive and writing! I apologise that this chapter took a while longer than the other two, I’ve been quite busy these last few weeks. Happy holidays everyone and I hope you enjoy!

Double Trouble AU: Separation Together

Chapter 3/3: The Halfa

Several weeks had passed before he was allowed to return to Casper High. His friends had visited whenever they could, bringing stacks of work and notes with them each time. They didn’t ever stay for long, and he isn’t sure if it’s because they feel guilty for what happened.

They seem to stay for longer when the ghost is out of sight, hidden or just keeping his distance, still not for very long but more than usual. It makes him… Angry? Or, is he sad? Both. Danny thinks it makes him sad and angry at once when his friends avoid the ghost.

He isn’t sure which half of him is feeling each.

Danny did his best to complete as many assignments as possible while recovering, that way he won’t have fallen too far behind once he returned. In the end, he’s pretty sure they didn’t do very well on any of it, he’s never been very smart in the academic sense.

The more he recovered the less they settled, there was less need to be close. He is aware that Danny isn’t really a one anymore, that he is only a one when the ghost and the human need to be close. But that is not to say Danny only exists when they settle, just this version of Danny.

His memories are strange now, coherent but strange. The clearest are when he is a one but he can remember what the ghost and the human have seen as well, so long as they’re willing to share. It’s an interesting experience to have two sets of memories for the same moment.

This does, however, mean he knows exactly how they ended up in their current situation.

The ghost couldn’t return to Casper High like the human could, but they knew leaving him alone in the Fenton household was out of the question. So although he couldn’t return in the same way, he still followed beside his human invisibly.

It wasn’t a perfect solution obviously, there’s only so long a ghost can remain invisible without a break, especially a young and inexperienced one like himself. With all the practice the ghost had done he could comfortably remain invisible for just over an hour. 1 hour 3 minutes and 47 seconds to be exact. Yes, they had timed it.

So whenever they could, his two halves had ducked into a cleaning closet or bathroom stall to give the ghost a short break. They'd been lucky so far, but knew eventually they’d need an alternative in case there was no chance for a break.

When lunch hour finally arrived and the human was greeted with a green abomination of a meal, suffice to say the ghost was no longer concerned with his lack of appetite. Danny can still taste the awful stuff burning through his taste buds.

Sam had seemed so proud of convincing the school to try this new menu, meanwhile Tucker was understandably upset by this new meatless diet. Personally Danny had no preference when it came to school lunch, the food was never good whether it contained meat or not.

Both his halves had been glad to see his friends again, even if they were bickering it was nice to get back a semblance of normalcy.

He hadn’t decided if he should interfere or not before it turned out he didn’t need to.

Because then came the screaming.

Someone in the kitchens it turned out. An accident with some hot oil, it had burned half their arm. Fenton hadn’t got to see it himself, didn’t think he’d have really wanted to even if he got the chance, but word travels fast in a school full of bored teenagers. Supposedly it had been a grotesque sight, bubbling and blistered everywhere, seared all the way up the forearm.

The human had never seen the wound himself, but Danny could still remember the imagined recreation that his human halfs mind made from the chatter of his schoolmates.

Of course the person in question was rushed away and taken good care of, but he remembers the chill the human had felt the whole time. It had been unnatural, like a looming cloud, an omen that this wouldn’t be the end. He had ignored it at the time, shrugged it off as a draft, or just shock.

And then the next day there was another accident. A fire this time, in the kitchens just like before. Not a big one, it stayed contained to the kitchens, something the human had thought very lucky at the time.

That same foreboding chill filled the air despite the flames, enough that the human was sure he could see his breath mixing with the smoke.

Somehow nobody was hurt too badly, only some minor smoke inhalation. School ended early that day. And it stayed closed for a few days to fix any damage. Apparently although the food is awful, even the school faculty wouldn’t leave the kids without lunch. Who knew.

None of the students had been allowed to go home on their own, parental supervision had been deemed necessary before leaving the grounds. “For safety,” they had said. “In case you get any side effects from the smoke.”

Now, they had understood why the faculty would want their parents to escort them all home. They really did. But when your parents are the infamously ghost obsessed Fentons, they couldn’t help but dread their arrival. Danny is still somewhat surprised that the Casper High faculty handled the whole situation so professionally.

Later he asked his friends, his family, nobody else had noticed a chill that day, even the ghost. But Phantom is naturally cold now, so he supposes it would make sense that he didn’t notice any difference.

The human had decided he was just imagining things, decided to start wearing more layers since he’s apparently more sensitive to the cold now.

And he had thought that was the end of it, a few unfortunate accidents at school and him needing to wear a few extra layers to keep away the cold. The following few days had been completely normal, good even. Fenton had thought once Casper High opened up again everything would continue to be normal.

Then that day, today, came around the corner like the universe's personal spite filled slap in the face to Danny, both of them.

Once again lunch hour rolled around, but this time when the human felt that foreboding chill he happened to look towards the kitchens. Danny remembers it felt like his eyes had been pulled to a very specific spot, something just wasn’t right and he knew, but it wasn’t clear what it was or how he knew it was wrong.

He had watched that spot for several moments, the ghost's green glowing eyes joining his stare while hidden away with invisibility.

Danny watched.

They waited.

They saw.

Danny saw the pointy green ears and red piercing eyes, the burns and blisters and singes. It looked as if the entire right side of the face and neck had been burned till it melted. In some places it was worse than others, the least burned areas were near the top and bottom where it looked like only clothes had been singed, while the worst was the central area where the mouth should have been. Whatever accident had befallen this person left sharp pointed teeth and dark green gums visible behind the melted strings of flesh that had once been a mouth, surrounded by bubbling blisters and dark burn scars.

He couldn’t help but cringe at what he saw. And what he saw was the ghost of a lunch lady.

What came next is a messy blur of ghost instinct and human panic. Even now that they have settled there is a constant hum of Intruder Intruder Intruder Protect Get Her Out Get Away Mine Protect-

It’s loud and confusing and he wants to follow. Wants to hiss and challenge because this is my home and these are my friends, but he knows that’s only coming from his ghost half. He also knows that his ghost half is just as overwhelmed by these feelings he can’t control.

“It’s dangerous, we should warn everyone and get away quickly before it starts attacking,” his human half declared aloud. But Danny didn’t move yet.

“But it could still hurt people,” his ghost half argued. “Even if everyone gets out of the cafeteria today it will still be here tomorrow and the day after! Or worse, it could end up somewhere else with even more people.”

Dread welled up at the thought of the amount of people who could get hurt, completely oblivious to the ghostly presence, because why would they worry about something that isn’t real. Then he remembers the fire and the oil and guilt adds to the ocean of emotions built up in Danny’s chest.

If only he had realized what was happening sooner, maybe he could have stopped that poor person from getting burnt or prevented the fire that left so many people out of school and work for days.

“What do we do?” His human half asks, lacing worry into their shared voice when the Lunch Lady’s red eyes lock with Danny’s blue-green. Sure they know the ghost is there now but what difference does that make? He isn’t a ghost expert like his parents, not to mention he hadn’t brought any ecto-weapons for Phantoms peace of mind. Not that he would have either way, it’s not like ghost attacks are a regular thing that could happen everyday.

Danny is half ghost now, he has powers, can’t he do something with those? But he’s only practiced with invisibility! He can’t fight it! Well he has to do something!

His two halves don’t get long to argue before the lunch lady’s echoing shouts find their way down the hallways and snap him back to focus. He had ended up almost right outside the entrance to the kitchens along with his friends who had apparently followed him because he was acting weird. He’s not sure when he left the cafeteria, nor does he remember his friends calling out to him. Well, note to selves: try not to get so distracted arguing that we forget to pay attention to our surroundings.

The lunch lady must find something while staring down at Danny and his friends. He’s not sure what it is she found in them, but judging by the furious screech that followed… Clearly she had not liked it.

A scared cry and Sam’s panicked yell of “Duck!” brought his attention away from the ghost that was towering over them, and towards the- is that meat? Is she really just throwing meat at them?

And he really shouldn’t think like that, because that’s when the meat grows eyes and mouths. Mouths that open and reveal lots of needle sharp teeth and eyes that watch them with hunger.

“Actually, I think that's goose.” He only vaguely hears Tucker comment from behind him, only to be followed by an unhappy grunt from Sam.

Now, as he ducks and dives to avoid the living meat being thrown at him and his friends it’s clear Danny doesn’t have the choice to back down anymore, not just to save himself but his friends as well. “Fight it is then,” he declared.

It was long, difficult, and insanely scary, but when the battle was over, Danny was the victor. He had a lot more bruises and jagged little cuts from claws and needly meat teeth than he had that morning. But considering they had both thought they would die a second time during the whole battle, well, Danny thinks he did pretty well in comparison.

The hand lasers were a surprise. He’s pretty sure they’ll be having a talk about that later, and Danny is glad he probably won’t be around for it.

He knows his two halves will figure things out in the end, but he’d rather not have to listen to the process if he doesn’t have to. It gets hard to stay in balance when the ghost and the human aren’t in agreement, luckily they almost always are.

When one half wavers the other supports, be it emotional, physical, or otherwise.

Yeah. Danny thinks he’s going to be ok. Every part of him.

[fruitymocha]

Elysian

That dream where Albedo crafted you from the finest marble

Featuring: Albedo x gn!Reader (they/them and you/your used)

Warnings: Reader has existential crises at least once per POV switch, slight religious themes,

A/N: here’s you guys’ early Valentine’s gift from me to you. yes, I finally decided to do an explicitly romantic piece (that isn’t yandere). And yes, this is inspired by the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea (actually, it’s more of an au/retelling). It was too good of a concept to pass up on writing. Also you guys have no idea how long it took to find the perfect title (I went through a lot of different ones before settling on this one). By the way, this story kinda takes place in an au where everyone from Mondstadt is living in a sort of Ancient Greece type location instead of regular Mondstadt. I hope I’ve done this concept justice, and without further ado…

Let me make your dream come true…

The reds, pinks, golds, and oranges of the dawn filtered through the windows, coloring the blank canvases, parchments, and sketchbooks, as well as the stocks of clay, glass, metal, wood, and marble.

That’s when Albedo knew he had stayed up too late, pouring over his artistic endeavors. Well, it’s nothing new, of course. It is what he is known for, after all. Albedo, the recluse Renaissance man. He is the epitome of the genius stereotype. A brilliant mind who is awake far beyond reasonable hours, slaving away at the latest inspiration, theory, or idea. A brilliant mind that seemingly has that spark of madness. A brilliant mind who lives for his work. And the two closest colleagues he has, Sucrose and Timaeus, are unable to stop him, though they try with logical reasoning and kind words.

Sucrose walked into the ivory and caramel-colored studio early in the morning to greet Albedo, who had decided to work with her in her endeavors to study biology. Now imagine her surprise to see her mentor with bruise-like dark circles under his eyes, carefully scanning the details of a work in progress sketch. Perhaps a new painting idea, or perhaps he finally decided on a new project for his chalk pastels. It didn’t matter, really. Clearly, Albedo was in desperate need of rest. She cleared her throat, which did nothing to catch the attention of the pale-haired man. Sucrose figured it must have been because her voice was too quiet, or because Albedo was in his own little world, or a combination of the two. With this in mind, the mint haired girl stepped closer to get his attention and let him know she had arrived. In this process, she was able to get a glimpse of a still-life sketch from over his shoulder. A single cecilia in a vase. She barely got to appreciate the sketch before the sketchbook was abruptly pulled away from her gaze and slammed shut by none other than Albedo himself.

“It was uninspired anyway,” he muttered to himself. “I need a grander idea,”

“Um, Mr Albedo-?”

“I knew you were there, Sucrose, I just needed to get everything on paper before I forgot the concept while focusing on our biology studies,” he explained.

“Uh- shouldn’t you get some rest?”

“I’ll be just fine, Sucrose,” he assured her, but Sucrose wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Are you sure, Mr Albedo? You have some pretty dark circles under your eyes-”

“A sip or two of wine should suffice, Sucrose,” Albedo interrupted her concerns, and Sucrose could do nothing but relent. After all, Albedo is the one supervising her, not the other way around.

~*~

After going through a couple scientific experiments with Sucrose and Timaeus assisting him, Albedo made his way back to his isolated studio up in the mountains. Luckily, summer was approaching, meaning the mountain winds didn’t have that wintry bite to them. Instead, they were cool and relaxing as the zephyrs flowed through his fluffy hair.

Many criticized Albedo for his lifestyle, and that notion never truly left his mind, unless he was drowning his mind in academia or the arts to express his passions for such subjects. They called him a loner. Now that wasn’t necessarily true. He enjoyed the company of Sucrose and her biology endeavors. He appreciated Timaeus and his dedication to alchemy. He admired the Traveling Twins, who knew their fair share of the world and the different cultures they’ve been exposed to. And he liked to be in their company, too. Though neither Albedo nor the twins were astronomers in any sense, they did like to occasionally talk about or study the stars together.

But the nearby villagers don’t know that about Albedo because they don’t care to. They just like to point fingers and call him the loner mad genius simply because silence and alone time bring him peace and happiness. He’s perfectly content skipping out on large feasts and village-wide worship of the Gods, but evidently that’s frowned upon. Some have even started the rumor that he’s sworn himself to never fall in love. That never actually happened, he simply isn’t interested in any of the local villagers. No, he can’t imagine ever thinking of any local villager in a romantic light. In the past, he still held hope that he’d meet someone different. Someone with whom he could share mutual appreciation and respect.

Someone who wouldn’t judge him for his behavior. Someone who would instead try to be empathetic and understand things from his perspective.

But no, no one in this tiny communal village has that sort of grace or kindness to them. He’s given up on that fantasy. Perhaps he should seriously consider adopting a nomadic lifestyle for a bit and explore the world with Aether and Lumine. Maybe only then would he find someone to suit his tastes, wants, and needs.

Before he knew it, Albedo had arrived at the door of his secluded studio, roof supported by towering columns. Caryatid columns, the columns made to look like women supporting the roofs of buildings with just their heads.

It was then that Albedo had been struck with inspiration.

He rushed into the studio, pulling out his sketchbook and using his stylus to sketch a figure. A figure that did not yet have a definite appearance, simply a vaguely human body in a vaguely anatomically accurate pose. Leaning forward, with robes and a vague sketch of hair billowing around the body as if the wind were caressing the figure. A hand outstretched in an almost theatrical manner. The figure was just like the frescoes of nymphs and angels on the ceilings of some temples of worship.

And then drowsiness hit Albedo like a spell. He knew he wouldn’t get anything substantial down in this state, so he decided to leave the details for tomorrow. Besides, he had big plans for this concept. He knew he’d need to be absolutely focused on each and every detail. But first, he’d need materials. Yes, he’d need a supplier to get him an appropriately sized block of the finest marble…

~*~

For next couple days, Albedo was hard at work, trying to vividly imagine the perfect being to encapsulate in marble. What body type should they have? What kind of hair type, and how long? What would the shape of their eyes be? What about face shape? Nose? Lips? He tried to mix and match many different combinations of features, but it always seemed like something was off. Missing. But what?

Just then, a knock was heard at the door.

“Come in,” Albedo called out to the visitor as he took one last look at the sixth facial rough draft. The door opened to reveal Aether and Lumine. “Ah, it’s you two. Welcome to the studio. What brings you here?”

“Sucrose told us you were busy at work with a ‘grand project’. May we inquire as to what that project is?” Lumine asked.

Albedo thought for a moment. This project, as grand as he believes it to be, is a project he holds dear to his heart. To reveal everything would be to lay his heart out for all to see. He would be completely vulnerable. But he still trusted the twins with his feelings, so he gave them just enough information.

“I was inspired by the Caryatids outside the studio. I was…overcome with a desire to sculpt a person,” he explained carefully.

“So are you going to find a model?” Aether asked.

“No,” Albedo said immediately, perhaps slightly harsh in tone. He cleared his throat, and attempted to prevent a misunderstanding from arising due to his carelessness. “I’d rather not base the image on someone else. This is a being of my own creation. A muse that has yet to exist,”

“Do you know what the statue’s gonna look like yet, Albedo?” Aether asked, as Lumine eyed the sketchbook left open on the page of drafts.

“I’m guessing it’s a work in progress,” Lumine said, still eyeing the drafts. Albedo grabbed the sketchbook, promptly closing it.

“I’m still working out the details, but I think I have a general idea…” Albedo looked away briefly, almost in a timid manner.

“So, would this…muse to-be…be your ideal person?” Lumine inquired.

“Ideal…person?”

“Like, romantically? Would they be your dream lover?” Lumine pressed on.

“That’s- that is not the intention I had for this project. I simply felt like creating a human sculpture,” Albedo was nothing short of bewildered by Lumine’s suggestion.

“Lumine! You can’t just make assumptions like that! Sorry, Albedo,” Aether apologized awkwardly. Albedo simply sighed.

“It’s quite alright. I’m used to…strange assumptions… at this point,”

Of course that didn’t make it any less jarring for him to think about this odd suggestion. However, Albedo wasn’t about to let Aether or Lumine carry the burden of guilt for stirring emotions he’s certain they didn’t mean to provoke. And so, he bid the twins farewell at sunset so they’d have enough time to get to the village before nightfall. Meanwhile, on the seventh draft, Albedo took features he’d liked from the previous six, as they’d all had similar faces, but slightly different auras to them.

As night fell, Albedo looked at the finished seventh draft. Something still felt missing, though the model was perfect. But what was missing? Albedo decided to take a break and look out the window to calm his mind. The stars were twinkling, painting the indigo sky with light.

Huh. Light.

Albedo turned back to the seventh draft. That’s it. Of course! Each draft had an aura, but it was missing a light. And so, Albedo focused on adding that light to those eyes.

And there was his muse. His greatest project. Perhaps even his magnum opus. Only time will tell, but one look at the seventh draft, and he knew it was the final draft. His muse was finally complete. Now all that was left was for the marble shipment to arrive.

~*~

The marble had arrived. Now of course Albedo never neglected his alchemical studies nor Sucrose and Timaeus’ occasional request for help or clarification. However, just thinking about getting to shape the fine marble sitting in his studio was enough to make him feel giddy. Everything was there, he just needed to put in the work.

So when he got back to his studio at the end of the day, and saw the giant block of marble sitting under his skylight, he was itching to get on the oddly shaped (but perfectly stable and practical) wooden platform and grab hold of his mallet and chisel.

And that’s exactly what he did.

For the next few weeks, he slaved away at the slab of marble, getting every detail down. Every edge, every curve, every crease and every mark. And of course, he never forgot to give his muse that light in their eyes. And finally, his muse was finished.

At the foot of the statue, Albedo gazed at those light-filled eyes. And right then and there, he felt a strange fondness. Like he wanted to cherish it for himself. The magnum opus no one would be able to freely gaze at. No one but Albedo himself, the creator. But he realized he forgot one thing: a name.

He tried many different ones with many different origins, meanings, and sounds. But eventually he settled on one.

“Hello, Y/N. My name is Albedo, and I am your creator,”

~*~

You were nothing but a marble statue. A hand reaching out for nothing, yet outstretched so delicately. You could not express your emotions on your face, nor speak, nor move. And yet, you knew that you were conscious. Sentient. You could feel and think just as your Creator could. Or, at least it seemed to work similarly for you based on what your Creator vocalized to you.

Mostly, he wallowed in loneliness and misunderstanding, but he always told you that he felt at ease with you. Sometimes, though, he’d get visitors.

A short, mint haired girl named Sucrose, who evidently studies biology and alchemy under your Creator’s supervision. She was soft-spoken and kind. She always referred to your Creator as “Mr Albedo”. As for how she treated you, she was in awe. She quite liked your robes and your expression, and sometimes she would talk to you, as well. You liked her presence, and perhaps if you could move or speak, you would’ve liked to be her friend. Friend is the right word, yes? At least, Creator calls her “friend” and you think you’d like to spend time with Sucrose the same way he does.

A young man with brown hair named Timaeus, who also studies alchemy, but evidently does most of his work in the village. Apparently, the village is filled with people, but your Creator has said many times before that the people there make assumptions about him. You’d like to go to the village anyway, though, if only to see Timaeus’ work (and maybe make those villagers understand that they were wrong about Creator).

Blonde haired twins. The boy, Aether, had his hair in a braid, and primarily wore gold and dark brown. He was kind, and always willing to help. He simply referred to your Creator as Albedo. Aether would sometimes put things in your outstretched marble hand, such as flowers. You really appreciated that. In fact, he, Sucrose, or your Creator himself would take the time to explain what it was you were holding. You wished you could go outside so that you could see the flowers growing in their natural habitats. Maybe you could even go with Aether, or Sucrose, or-… well, as much as you’d like the idea, you doubted Creator would humor you just to take you to see flowers. But it would be the perfect opportunity to let Creator take a break, Y/N! Your inner self told you. No, you knew your best bet was convincing Aether or Sucrose. Lumine, the pale haired one cut in a bob, wearing white and pale blue, would tell you stories. Stories of foreign lands, epic battles for survival, and sometimes more mundane events such as strange, funny, or recent things they witnessed or heard from others. You’d never seen the faces of the people Lumine talked about, like Jean, Klee, Diluc, or Venti. But, due to all the stories you’d heard about them, you already felt connected to them in some way, like distant friends.

Even so, you still longed for a way to leave the studio in the mountains, and see all these people for yourself. See the world for yourself. Oh, how you longed for someone to grant you true life. Perhaps Creator, who in theory could figure out a way to create life someday. Or Sucrose, who specializes in studying life and living organisms. Or even the patron god of this nation that everyone talks about. What was his name? Ah yes, you remembered now: Barbatos. Perhaps he could extend his divine touch and bless you from the heavens, or wherever it is that he resides.

But for now, you’d simply have to remain content with what you had.

~*~

Albedo, in the end, allowed his closest friends to see his masterpiece. But as the days went by, he felt more and more of an attachment to the marble statue in the center of the studio. As the days went by, your presence only became more and more lovely. Why or how, Albedo couldn’t put his finger on, but he knew he was falling hard and deep. For you. You, who embodied everything divine and perfect and Elysian. You, an entity Albedo couldn’t fully break away from.

And so, he started to come up to you in your delicately crafted glory. He stood upon your platform, and gently rested his face on your outstretched hand. “Oh, Y/N, how I wish you were truly alive…” he murmured, staring at your unmoving eyes. “Perhaps then, you and I could form a true bond. Not one of Creator and the Created, but simply two souls that belong side by side,”

Obviously, you did not move, nor make noise. You were a statue, after all. Nothing more. Were the villagers right? Was Albedo truly so isolated he grew an attachment to a human-shaped object by accident? No, it couldn’t be, for he already had close friends he saw fairly often. And yet there was something about you that drew him in, statue or not.

He recalled Lumine saying something about inventing an ideal partner. At the time, it sounded absurd, and absolutely was not his intention. But now, Albedo wasn’t so sure of himself. Maybe it wasn’t the intention, but did Albedo end up creating a dream person by accident? Is that what you are to him? He didn’t exactly know, but he knew one thing: he did care for you immensely. You were precious to him, that was undeniable, and he couldn’t imagine that ever changing.

Before he knew it, it was nighttime once again. “Y/N, I’d better get some rest. It is already late. Good night,” he said, gently running his thumb across your outstretched palm before stepping off the platform you stood on, and making his way to the corner of the studio where he often slept, not too far from the skylight, which you now stood under.

~*~

Days went on like this. You wondered what he meant when he spoke to you about bonds. You were his Creation, but it seemed he wanted something different from you. Would he prefer it if you considered him a friend, like Sucrose and the twins were to you and him? Or was there something else still? As much as you tried, you couldn’t easily make that transition in your mind. You managed to stop referring to him as “Creator” in your head, but you could not quite bring yourself to refer to him by his name. It felt too special for you to use, as you were but a being of marble. You were not human.

As the days passed, you would watch him work on his art projects. Sometimes, he would sketch things in the studio that he brought from the outside world, such as fruit or flowers. Sometimes he’d use chalk pastels or charcoal and draw something, or someone. There were even times when he’d do something more hands on, such as pottery, glass blowing, or wood carving. He did like to experiment in every sense of the word, it seemed. But he put the most effort into his paintings and his marble sculptures. And no matter what he worked on that day, he’d always show you what he accomplished with a shining light in his eyes. Genuine passion. He’d ramble to you about what inspired the art piece, explain his thought process, and share what the piece was supposed to represent. It seemed every piece had a story. A purpose. If you were a Creation in the same way that his paintings were, then what did you represent? What was your story? What was your purpose? He never did tell you, even if he did show you great care and kindness.

Every day was like this.

Until Sucrose and the twins came to inform the lone sculptor of the coming celebration. Down in the village, seven days would be given for the people to dedicate themselves to their patron god, Barbatos. Seven days to appreciate what he stood for: the winds and freedom. The temples would also be open to accept confessions and prayers from all who sought out guidance. At least, that’s what Sucrose told you.

Funny how no one knew of your sentience, yet they treated you as a living being and friend anyway. Was it your human design that prompted this? You found this to be likely. But you secretly hoped that someone had noticed the spark of life in your marble eyes, no matter how faint. If those around you truly understood you, you would be less lonely inside. Sure they talked to you, and acted like you could hear them (which you could, but they didn’t know that), but it was a one-way path. They couldn’t hear your thoughts. You couldn’t express your emotions to them. They had you, but you didn’t truly have them, did you?

In any case, Sucrose, Aether, and Lumine all suggested that your creator at least spend one day of the festival down in the village. He said that he’d consider it, but your weren’t entirely sure he meant it. After they left, the alchemist sighed and slumped into his painting chair.

“As if I want to go to the village… then again, if I don’t go I’ll get more criticism… hm…” he continued to mutter to himself about the good and bad sides of going to the village. You want him to go though. Just once. Even if you will be lonely up in the studio on your own. It’s okay, as long as he lives life. He sighed again.

“Just one day. I’ll go for just one day. And I’ll bring you something from the village. That way, you can also celebrate and show respect to Barbatos,” he said to you in that smooth, calming voice of his. You’ll miss him dearly, of course. But you’re also so happy that he decided to enjoy himself, at least for one day. And you’ll even get a small thing so you can celebrate too, even if you are stuck in your marble form.

But it seemed the festival wouldn’t be happening for a while. So you and he waited.

And as the time passed, you began to notice smaller details and habits. The more you stared into his eyes, the more you felt drawn by their bright hue. His pale hair looked quite nice from where you stood. Perhaps if you could move your fingers, you’d like to see for yourself just how his hair feels. You imagine it to be soft and pleasant to the touch. Your heart seemed to overflow with a certain feeling whenever he came up to you and gently held your outstretched hand, or looked deeply into your eyes.

But you knew it was not the same as your fondness for Sucrose, Aether, and Lumine. With them, you simply wanted to spend time, have a good laugh, and share conversations and memories. With your sculptor, you wanted… more. You didn’t know exactly what you wanted from him, but you knew you wanted to be closer to him than any other. You cared for him very much, and wished for nothing but time and closeness. Together. He always tells you that you were a gift from above: a glimpse of divinity. However, you couldn’t help but think of him in a similar way. While appearance is trivial compared to character, you could not deny the way his appearance seemed to exude grace, wisdom, and compassion. There was a dreamlike gentleness to his very soul that bled out into his outward appearance, and you would be a fool to lie and tell yourself it was an illusion. The only problem was that you didn’t have a word for this sentiment. You knew it was more than friendship, but what could be more than friendship?

Is this the type of bond he wanted? Or were you being too much? How could you ever know?

Unless you somehow prayed to Barbatos for guidance. After all, you already knew how the ritual worked after watching your dear sculptor openly pray in your line of sight multiple times. Perhaps if you managed to do so during the festival, you’d be more likely to receive an answer?

All you have to do is wait.

~*~

Albedo felt like he was losing his mind. Only slightly, but the feeling was there nonetheless. He felt an unusual attachment to Y/N, his beloved muse. They were nothing but a statue, and yet it was as if they had a soul all their own. And not just a “soul” of art, meant to convey the story or purpose of an art piece. No. Albedo felt a certain aura coming from Y/N. Almost as if they were conscious. Sentient. Alive.

Regardless, Albedo found himself becoming more wistful and forlorn at the fact that you were not technically a person. Simply a creation he thought up one day and gave a marble vessel to. He found himself wishing you did have a human body. He could feel it in his bones that if Y/N were to become a being of flesh and blood, they would stick by him. But would they love you? His inner voice interjected. Would they know what love even is?

Albedo had no way of knowing the answer.

Unless he decided to seek guidance from Barbatos, that is. Perhaps on the day he decides to go to the village, he can stop by one of the shrines of depths and pray. What he would ask of the Wind God, Albedo didn’t know, exactly. But he knew he had to ask about Y/N.

~*~

And so, the first day of the Festival began after your patient waiting. The sculptor had left, not for the village, but to get fresh air and create art outside. He reasoned with you that doing outdoor activities amidst the mountain breezes would show sufficient appreciation for the Anemo God’s wind currents. Oh, how you wished you could feel such a thing against your skin. The most you could do was listen to its whispers from the inside.

But you had plans for this first day. You decided you would attempt to sleep. While you had no need for it, not being truly alive, you wanted to experience what he referred to as “dreams”. You decided to try and calm your mind… let it wander.

But you did not seek to dream for the sake of dreaming. No. You sought to use dreams to communicate with others. Perhaps through your dream, you could contact the great Wind God and ask to be granted life. And, at night, as an added bonus, you could try to communicate with your sculptor— no— Albedo, through these dreams. Your heart fills with joy at the thought of finally being able to express your thoughts and feelings, and truly form a bond with him. However, try as your instincts might, your current marble vessel cannot move to express the joy and energy that fills you to the brim. It feels as if a whirlwind were trapped, encased within a jar made of thick glass, difficult to break through. Oh how you could not wait to make this first attempt at contact.

When Albedo returned, you had noticed that his hair had become tousled playfully by the winds outside, and he was none the wiser as to the state of his pale locks. He once again decided to show you his latest creation, as he always did.

“Look at this latest painting, Y/N. It depicts the winds blowing against a field of wildflowers. Yes, this location is on the mountain. I decided to paint this in honor of the first day of the festival, since the wind’s effect on the wildflowers is technically the focus. I… I wish you could have seen it for yourself instead of a painted recreation. But, it can’t be helped. You are a being of Elysian marble, after all. I couldn’t possibly risk the elements damaging you,” he set the painting on his previously empty easel, and poured himself a glass of wine. As he took delicate sips of the red drink, he glanced at you every now and then.

“Tomorrow, I will go outside with Aether and Lumine. We will see if we can find something suitable for you to hold for the rest of the festival. But for now, I must get ready for bed. Good night, my dear Y/N,” he said. And when he rested his head upon the pillow of his bed, you too, prepared for a night of dreams.

~*~

Albedo was in a sea of grass and wildflowers, rippling like waves due to the cool winds. But there was something else. In the center was a circle of cobblestone, and a marble pedestal. Just in front was a plaque that had your name on it, a short description of how you came to be underneath, as well as your creator’s name.

But you were gone. The Elysian figure was missing from their rightful place. Albedo, unaware he was dreaming, quickly became concerned with your whereabouts.

Meanwhile, you walked barefoot among the wildflowers. Yes, walked! Your skin was no longer pale marble, but a lovely and healthy shade of (s/c). Your hair was well kept and (h/c), with the perfect (hair type) locks. You, unfortunately, could not see your eyes, as there was nothing around that could reflect your face back to you. But no matter. Perhaps in another dream a mirror or other reflective surface would be more readily available to you. You excitedly flexed your fingers and toes and arms and legs, and you stuck out your tongue, moved your eyebrows, smiled widely. You did all those things you saw everyone else do and more. You twirled in the dream-wind, spinning on the balls of your feet, and soon enough you jumped and swayed your arms, playing around with the freedom of movement you never had as a marble statue. And all the colors and sounds around you were so pleasant and vibrant and comforting to you. If this is what it meant to live, then surely the Wind God would not fault you for your desire of true life.

Everything was in so much detail you could almost feel the wind and smell the flowers. It was all perfect. Albedo truly did have a vivid and artistic vision, even asleep! But you soon noticed him concerned over your whereabouts, and you noticed your vacant pedestal. So you decided to approach him carefully.

And soon enough, the both of you locked eyes in this wondrous dreamscape Albedo created. Or did you create it? Was it a combination of both? Surely it must have been, or perhaps it didn’t matter. It could have been orchestrated by Barbatos himself for all you care. What mattered was that you both froze at the eye contact.

“…Y/N?” Albedo asked tentatively.

“Indeed. I’m here,” you smiled widely. You decided you liked your voice. Surely you must find a way to use it more when you are granted life.

There was only one problem.

You knew Albedo didn’t recognize you as sentient. He had not reached a point of lucidity in this dreamscape. Even if he did, he likely thought you were a figment of his subconscious reflecting his desires back to him. But he’d understand someday, you were sure of it.

“I want to ask you something. Before you wake,” you said tentatively.

“Of course, what is it?” you could tell Albedo was still somewhat bewildered by your human form in this dream world.

“Is there something beyond friendship?”

Albedo paused for just a second before responding.

“Yes, of course. Love,”

Love. Is this the answer you were looking for? Is this what you felt for him?

“What does it mean… to love?” You asked him. Albedo chuckled and smiled.

“Why don’t we sit down?” You caught a starry glint in his eyes. Not of mischief, but of genuine happiness. The same glint he always had when he showed you his art pieces. But somehow, it was stronger. Was it because he could finally talk to you? You sat down across from him, among the rippling wildflowers.

“Love can have different forms, actually. You can have philia: ‘love’ for your friends. Though that really is known as friendship,”

“Like with Sucrose and Aether and Lumine!” You said excitedly. “I’d like to be friends with them when I am granted life,”

“Right. Then there’s storge: love for your family,” you stopped smiling.

“But…as your Creation…I have no family,” Albedo gently placed a hand on top of yours.

“Family doesn’t have to mean blood related. Sure, most people mean that when they say family, but in your case, you can choose. Whoever you feel can support you and stick by you like a parent with their child, or a sibling with their fellow sibling, or whatever you want to imagine,”

“So, storge is love for someone who guides you through this world with love, right?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but once you’re granted life, we can talk more about the world,” Albedo promised.

“Is there an example in the real world you can give me?” You asked.

“I suppose I’m like an older brother to Klee, if we’re listing people you already know…” you smiled once again.

“Okay. Is there anything else?”

“Oh there’s more than just two. I’m just getting started,”

“What’s next?”

“There’s agape: the love people have for humanity itself,”

“You can love everyone?”

“Well, not every single individual, no. It really means something more along the lines of compassion or empathy. Where you’d be willing to help or care for others when they need it,”

“Ah, okay, so would that apply to the village?”

“Actually, yes. Mostly,”

“Except they don’t really like you,”

“Hold on, there, they don’t hate me. They just don’t know me that well,”

“…If you say so…” you said. And then you felt it. Your fingers and hands and wrists became stiff, as did your toes and feet and ankles. You looked down at your hands, terrified of the lack of movement. You were slowly turning back into marble and you could feel it. You began to panic. “Why is this happening? I’m dreaming- I can’t- I don’t-”

Albedo grabbed you and held you close, running his fingers through your hair. “Hey, you’re okay, I promise,” he said to you. It crawled up your arms and calves.

“No… I don’t want to be a statue… I want to live!”

“You will be granted life. I will make sure of it,” you felt in go to your upper arms and thighs. There was no way for you to move now.

“Every day… I just want to live like you. I want to leave the mountain and meet people… I want to actually talk to Sucrose… and Aether… and Lumine… and you. I want to meet everyone you all talk about… I want to know what it is you mean when you say you want to create a bond with me…”

It was up to your midsection, creeping too close to your heart for comfort.

“Please don’t cry, Y/N, you’re going to be okay, you’ll be alive soon,” he promised. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, and barely choked back the sobs wrecking your throat.

“I need you to listen to me… I can hear you… and I can see you in the real world. I may not be able to speak to you, or move, or show my emotion on my face… but I am sentient… I can think and feel just like you, out there… please believe me…” it soon reached your neck.

“…you’re not dying, Y/N… you’re okay, as long as you haven’t been chipped away, or destroyed…” you saw a glint of lucidity. He now knew this was a dream. But he never confirmed that he believed in your sentience.

“…don’t you believe me…? I may not have a vessel of flesh and blood… but in my mind I’m real… I’m a person… I’m alive in my mind… why won’t you believe me…?” It made its way to your jaw, and now you’d hair was solid and unmoving. Albedo said nothing. He simply put his chin on the top of your head and held you close.

And then your crying stopped. Albedo closed his eyes, and held you, but soon enough, your presence was gone altogether. Your platform and plaque were also gone. And the wildflowers suddenly didn’t look so vibrant or beautiful to Albedo anymore.

Your consciousness returned to the marble vessel in the studio. You were stuck once again. You wish you could cry or scream or throw a fit. But you couldn’t let it out. All you could do was try to bear the emotional pressure that filled you to the brim. You could hear Albedo’s soft breaths behind you. He must still be asleep.

He didn’t believe you, did he?

Was it really a good idea to follow him into his dreams?

Perhaps tomorrow night, you should attempt contact with the Wind God instead.

You could hear Albedo tossing and turning in his sleep behind you.

~*~

The second day arrived, and a new face burst through the studio. A little girl with blonde pigtails and a red dress. She was very excitable, and you almost worried she’d crash into one of your creator’s works.

“Klee, be careful!” Albedo warned her, though his voice still maintained that calm and collected demeanor.

So this is Klee.

“Okay!” She said, ceasing to run, though she still jumped in place a bit. Then she noticed you in the middle of the studio. Of course. “Who is this person?” She asked.

“Y/N, my latest marble sculpture. Aren’t they lovely?”

“They’re very nice looking! I wish they were a real person, then you wouldn’t be so lonely up here,” if you had the ability to laugh, you would have.

“I’m not lonely, Klee. Sucrose and the twins visit me often, and Timaeus stops by sometimes as well,”

Sucrose, who accompanied Klee during her trip to the studio, nodded her head in agreement.

“But when they’re not here and I’m not here you’re alone,” You found it particularly satisfying how Klee essentially voiced your unheard concerns in your stead. You tell him, Klee!

“…Y/N keeps me company…”

“Mr Albedo, Y/N is a statue,” Sucrose pointed out.

“Regardless,” Albedo interrupted, wanting to move on, “we should be getting ready to go down to the village,”

“Yay, festival day!” Klee got all energetic and excited again.

“After today there are still five more days, Klee. So don’t feel like you need to do everything all at once today,” Sucrose reminded her gently.

“Okay!” She said. Albedo then looked up at me as Klee was busy talking to Sucrose.

“Are you truly… sentient? Have I truly created a conscious being?” He asked softly, looking up at me. Of course I couldn’t respond. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell you a code word here in our waking world, and if you know the word when you gain true life, I will know for sure that you were right,”

You waited in anticipation for the word he would give you.

“…I’m sorry I can’t wholeheartedly believe in your sentience. I just have no way of proving it,”

So what’s the code word?

“Hmm… let’s see if I can come up with a good code word…” Albedo pondered for a moment before turning to you.

“I’ve got it,” he said with confidence. “Elysian,”

Elysian, huh? I can remember that…

“If you come to life, and you say this word, I will know you are sentient,” Albedo confirms.

“Albedo, are you coming? We’re going out to the town again,” Sucrose called.

He turned to look at Sucrose and Klee.

“Coming,”

He turned back to you.

“Goodbye, Y/N,”

And with that, you were all alone.

So you decided to try and sleep again.

~*~

When you opened your eyes, you were in an empty plane, with nothing but teal surrounding you, and a few cecilia flowers on the ground, creating a path to a short figure. They wore white garments that didn’t cover much of the body. Then again, you only wore a simple white robe. Who were you to judge? You loved the freeing feeling of being able to move once more, and ran over to the figure. They also had large white wings protruding from their back. Their hair was dark with longer teal ends, braided. Their eyes were a similar color.

“Who are you?” You asked them.

“I am Barbatos, God of Wind and Freedom,”

“I am Y/N… a marble creation made by Albedo,”

“Albedo… I am familiar with him and his… reserved tendencies,”

“Barbatos… may I ask a question?”

“Of course, Y/N,” he chuckled.

“What is stronger than friendship?”

“Why, love of course,”

“But what does it mean to love?”

“To love someone is to care for them. To see the inside and outside equally, and to accept their imperfections. But you want to know two types in particular: eros and pragma,”

“What do those mean?”

“Eros is the romantic or physical type of love. To find someone physically attractive, and initiate physical displays of affection. It’s sensual in nature. Pragma is a long term type of affection. The kind where you want to be with someone forever,”

“Is that how I feel about Albedo?”

“I don’t know, is it? Only you can know for sure, Y/N,”

You thought for a moment, almost scared of the epiphany you’d reached. You’d need time to digest it all. But you had one more thing to ask.

“If it isn’t too much to ask, I would like you to grant me freedom of my own,”

“What do you mean, Y/N? Are you unhappy with your life?”

“I want to be like the others. I want to live life as a human. I don’t want to be an unmoving statue for eternity,”

“Hmmm… I shall see what I can do, dear Y/N,”

“Thank you, Barbatos,”

He simply smiled as he played his lyre, and soon enough, you awoke.

~*~

As the days of the festival inched by, Albedo started to wonder what he should do. He had come to the strange conclusion that he had fallen in love with Y/N, his marble creation. But he had no idea how to cope with this latest discovery. So he visited the Temple of Barbatos in a time when the winds were strong and the sun was high.

“Lord Barbatos, hear my prayer,” he said to the towering winged statue as he placed his offering of cecilias. “May you grant me the freedom to find love similar in spirit to Y/N, my magnum opus,”

Barbatos, from the winds above, indeed heard Albedo’s prayer. Though he knew what Albedo truly wanted to say. He wanted Y/N themselves, not a mere facsimile. And with his prior knowledge of Y/N’s desire to have the same freedoms as a living human, he crafted his perfect plan for the two yearning souls.

~*~

When Albedo arrived back in his studio, he knelt at your feet.

“Y/N… you’ve stolen my heart. I cannot lie to myself, or to you. Oh how I wish you were made of warm flesh instead of cold marble,” he rose to step onto the platform, and cupped your cheek. “I fear I shall not be happy with anyone else except you,”

Barbatos, who watched from above, watched in anticipation, and enacted the plan.

Albedo kissed you on your marble lips, and the generous Barbatos granted you your ultimate freedom: humanity.

When Albedo separated from you, he leaped away in shock, and you stepped down from your platform. You looked at your hands, bending your fingers excitedly. You touched your hair, your robes, everything. You smiled.

“I’m alive!”

“Whats the code word?” Albedo asked, his voice nothing more than a wind’s whisper in awe.

You smiled wider.

“Elysian,”

Albedo leaped into your arms.

“So you were conscious the whole time,” he whispered.

“And I love you too,”

“Forever?” He asked.

“Forever,” you nodded.

~dream realized~

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Sitter

Mycroft Holmes x Bethany Wheeler (OFC)

Story Masterlist

Chapter 3 - Wedding Photos

Mycroft sat at home in front of the fireplace, thinking that he should have gotten back into the gym at some point, he’d put a little weight on and it plagued his mind somewhat. He would make sure he was up at a reasonable time to start training again.

One thing that crossed his mind very briefly was whether his fondness for Bethany had anything to do with his desire to get back into shape. He quickly dismissed it, but the way the light had illuminated her in the stairwell stuck with him. Mycroft had her number burned into his mind, seeing it in a list of profiles he had on people Sherlock associated with, several times he thought about calling her and making some vague excuse, but she wasn’t stupid, she would see straight through it and him.

Mycroft knew that she would have to walk past the same house that night and it worried him, she wouldn’t want him to put surveillance on her and so he didn’t, not that he didn’t think about it all day, but she didn’t want to be seen as unable to look after herself. A text would have to suffice.

Congratulations again on passing your exam. I hope you made it home safely. – MH

Mycroft stared down at his phone thinking on how stupid he felt, texting a woman he liked so late at night. She likely wouldn’t reply, so he put his phone down on the table beside him and thought up some vague excuse he could use by way of apology and explanation for his actions.

His phone vibrated.

Sherlock said you probably already knew my number, I guess that’s what being a big fancy government man is all about. Thank you and yes, there was a police car up the road just driving around so I had no trouble at all. How has your evening been? – BW

Mycroft felt his heart swell, a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He remembered suddenly something Sherlock had said about being lonely, Mycroft denied it at the time, but he couldn’t help but feel incredibly lonely when talking to Beth, like she still wasn’t close enough.

Adequate. And yours? – MH

Adequate? That’s a very plain word, I assume you’ve been working? – BW

I have. – MH

On secret government spy things? Or just paperwork? – BW

A little of both. – MH

There was a brief pause between his last text and her reply. He wondered what she was doing at this time of night.

Why did you really text me? – BW

To congratulate you on passing your exam and make sure you made it home safely. – MH

Mycroft frowned at the question she’d asked. He convinced himself that it was the truth, but it seemed she may not have been so convinced.

Was that it? – BW

Mycroft went to type, but his own trepidation stopped him.

Mycroft, did you want to talk about something? – BW

He sighed and put his phone back in his pocket and retired to bed. It was a while before he finally fell asleep, all he could think about was how quiet his home was and how much he wanted to hear Bethany laughing again.

Mycroft was up early every day to start his work out regime again, he put himself on a strict diet and was determined to lose the weight he’d put on. He hadn’t seen or text Bethany since that night and he was determined to maintain a distance from her from now on.

Mycroft had managed to lose three pounds in the first week of his new plan and was feeling pretty good about himself. He jumped off the treadmill and felt satisfied that he was well on his way to losing what he wanted. His phone rang, it was Sherlock.

‘Yes, what? Sherlock.’ Mycroft panted.

‘Why are you out of breath?’ His little brother asked, making Mycroft feel self-conscious.

‘Filing.’ He lied.

‘Either I’ve caught you in a compromising position or you’ve been working out again.’ Sherlock knew him far too well, though he’d never admit to it. ‘Favour the latter.’

‘What do you want?’ Mycroft was done with this conversation.

‘I need your answer Mycroft, as a matter of urgency.’

‘Answer?’

‘Even at the eleventh hour, it’s not too late you know.’

‘Oh lord.’ Mycroft sighed.

‘Cars can be ordered, private jets commandeered.’

‘Today? It’s today, isn’t it?’ Mycroft wandered near to his chair, needing to rest his legs. ‘No, Sherlock, I will not be coming to the “night do” as you so poetically put it.’

‘What a shame. Mary and John will be extremely-‘

‘Delighted, not to have me hanging around.’

‘What about Beth?’ Sherlock’s question disarmed Mycroft slightly. He’d forgotten that Bethany would be there, wearing what he could only imagine would be a beautiful dress and one that illuminated her features. ‘She didn’t come with a date you know, she and Lestrade are having a drink, but there’s no chemistry there.’ Mycroft noted the emphasis on one word in particular. ‘I suspect she’s looking for something a little higher class.’

‘Why would I care?’ Mycroft heard the lie in his own voice.

‘Oh, I don’t know, why would you care enough to get Lestrade to send a car around the block close to her home every few nights?’ Sherlock shook him slightly. He decided not to engage anymore.

‘So, this is it then? The big day.’ Mycroft sipped his orange juice and went to sit down finally. ‘I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you from now on.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’ll be just like old times.’

‘No, I don’t understand.’

‘Oh, it’s the end of an era, isn’t it? John and Mary. Domestic bliss.’

‘Oh no, no, I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new chapter,’ Sherlock was clearly in denial about how the wedding would change his life. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I know that silence. What?’

‘Well, I’d better let you get back to it. You have a big speech or something, don’t you?’

‘What?’ Sherlock demanded.

‘Cakes. Karaoke… Mingling.’

‘Mycroft!’

‘This is what people do Sherlock. They get married. I warned you. Don’t get involved.’

‘Involved? I’m not involved.’

‘No.’

‘John asked me to be his best man, how could I say no?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘I’m not involved.’

‘I believe you. Really, I do.’ Mycroft couldn’t help his grin. ‘Have a lovely day and do give the happy couple my best.’

‘I will.’ Sherlock said through gritted teeth. Mycroft felt satisfied that he’d won this battle, despite not starting at an advantage.

‘Oh, by the way, Sherlock. Do you remember Redbeard?’

‘I’m not a child anymore Mycroft.’

‘No, of course you’re not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock.’

Sherlock hung up the phone and Mycroft was left contemplating Sherlock’s response. He continued on with his day and much to his delight and dismay, Sherlock sent him two pictures of Bethany that made his knees weak.

The first was her standing just outside the church and she looked every bit as beautiful as Mycroft expected her to look. It was a stunning red dress that sat over one shoulder and stopped just above her knees, he couldn’t quite be sure, but it didn’t look especially expensive and was probably bought specifically for the wedding, she was still a student, luxuries weren’t a priority. But she was smiling, her red heels amplified the way the dress clung onto her slightly curved features, she was enviously slender, her skin tanned and everything about her expression was that of a youthful and bright nature.

The second was her sitting with a glass of champagne with a small smile playing on her lips. She was obviously watching something in the distance, her legs elegantly folded over one another, and her fingers wrapped around the crystal clear glass. She looked at peace and content and… happy. Mycroft felt his heart beat a little quicker and even Anthea asked if he was alright.

‘Yes, perfectly fine, thank you.’ He knew his cheeks were a little warm, but he was more annoyed because he’d stopped looking at the picture of Bethany. He wished he could’ve just gone to the celebration just to see her, but he was doing so well not thinking about the idea of them together.

‘The car is waiting to take you home, Mr Holmes.’ Anthea said, leaving his office.

Mycroft sighed and sat back, running his hand over his face. He wanted to take his phone out and look at the wonderful creature that was Bethany Wheeler, but he just couldn’t bring himself to venture down that rabbit hole whilst inside his office.

He eventually went home and settled down with a film, but he just couldn’t get into it properly. His mind kept turning towards his phone.

Sherlock was kind enough to send some photos of the celebration tonight. I would say you looked lovely, but I wouldn’t want you to think your anarchic ways were softening me. – MH

Mycroft smiled, she would like the teasing nature of his text and hopefully she would take the compliment.

Mycroft! Why didn’t you come? You could have not told me I look lovely in person. – BW

That made him laugh.

Believe me, no one would want me there. I’d rather leave John and Mary to their special day without me lurking around. – MH

Don’t be silly. Sherlock said you were thinking about coming, you should have made the trip. There would have been free wine in it for you. – BW

So, you could get me drunk and pry state secrets from my vulnerable condition? I think not. – MH

Damn, you caught me. Nicely played Mr Holmes, next time you might not get so lucky. – BW

I sincerely hope so, Miss Wheeler. You’ve presented yourself as a worthy contender. – MH

Another compliment? Are you sure you’re not already in a vulnerable condition? – BW

I’ve only had one drink, I suspect you may be further along. – MH

Yeah, Greg and I had quite a lot of wine with dinner and then the champagne later, but we’re starting to sober up now. – BW

I see. – MH

Mycroft felt a twinge of guilt, he really shouldn’t have been encouraging himself to dwell on Bethany so much, especially when she was clearly not thinking straight.

Oh, Mycroft, we’re not going to do this again, are we? – BW

Do what? – MH

The thing where you say something nice, we have a bit of banter and then you give two word answers and drop off the face of the earth for a week. Why did you text me? – BW

Mycroft took a deep soothing breath. She was sharper than he was giving her credit for. Maybe his feelings weren’t so far-fetched, she obviously liked talking to him otherwise she wouldn’t reply.

I just enjoy talking to you. – MH

He hoped that would be enough to settle her questions, but the second his phone rang he realised it wasn’t nearly enough.

‘Miss Wheeler.’ Mycroft answered, preparing himself for what he hoped would be a brief conversation.

‘Mycroft, it’s Beth and you know full well that I prefer that over Miss Wheeler.’ She sounded stern, but the slightly slur in her words told him, she wasn’t upset at all. ‘Now, why don’t we discuss what this is all about.’

He couldn’t hear anything in her immediate surroundings, so she must have been alone, where was the only question.

‘Where are you?’ He asked, not quite being able to stand not knowing or being able to picture her properly.

‘I’m waiting for a taxi outside the venue.’

‘Alone?’

‘Of course, I’m not alone, there’s people everywhere, but they’re all drunk and tired.’ She chuckled. ‘Why? Were you hoping I would be alone?’ Mycroft decided not to answer, but his silence spoke volumes. ‘Mycroft, what’s going on?’

‘In what sense?’

He listened to her sigh, starting to give up. ‘Look, I’m not stupid, you’re far too important and several classes above me in every sense, you’ve got no right to take an interest in me. If you were just concerned about Sherlock, you’d put surveillance on me and watch from a distance, but as far as I can tell you haven’t. You text me last week for a reason, you’d already congratulated me on my exams, so why did you start up another conversation?’

Mycroft stood up and wandered over to the window. ‘I wanted to make sure you made it home safely.’

There was a brief moment of silence while she contemplated his answer. ‘Mycroft, are you lonely? Do you just want someone to talk to?’

‘What?’

‘Because if that’s all it is, you only had to say.’ She half laughed. ‘God, here I was thinking you were monitoring me or something.’

‘Why would I be monitoring you?’ Mycroft frowned but felt secretly relieved that the conversation was steering away from something more revealing.

‘I don’t know, why do you monitor anyone?’ She chuckled. ‘Maybe you can see how good I am at Chemistry and you feel threatened by that.’

Mycroft had to admit he liked her more when she teased him. ‘I see there’s no fooling you Miss Wheeler, I am indeed threatened by your grasp of chemistry and mathematics, I knew I’d regret helping you.’ That laugh of hers was one of the only things that made him really smile.

‘I wish you could’ve come today.’ He could hear the distinct sound of her biting her lip and it made him suck in a sharp breath.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s been great and watching Mary and John get married was amazing,’ he could tell she was starting to shiver, she must have been outside. ‘Sherlock’s speech was his usual brand of insanity, and he solved a murder at the same time, so that was different. It’s been fun.’

‘I sense a “but” coming.’ Mycroft just wanted her to keep talking to him, he just wanted to listen all night.

‘Yeah… you should have come.’

Mycroft waited but it seemed she had nothing more to say. ‘I’m curious about why.’

‘Oh, can’t I just wish for something without there being a reason?’

‘You can, but the balance of probability suggests an ulterior motive.’

He listened to the sounds of her getting into a taxi that finally arrived and giving them the address. She also ushered what sounded like an almost unconscious Lestrade into the taxi.

‘Look, if you tell me why you text me, I’ll tell you why I wished you were here tonight. Deal?’

Mycroft thought about it for a moment, it seemed like a fair trade, but the idea of giving up that information was still a little overwhelming.

‘Very well.’ Mycroft conceded. ‘I… wanted to hear from you. To talk to you, possibly make you laugh.’

There was a short pause before she spoke. ‘Mycroft, you don’t have to answer, but I have to ask… do you like me?’ Mycroft felt his face flood red.

‘That question wasn’t part of the deal,’ he deflected. ‘You were supposed to tell me why you wished I was there tonight.’

‘Yeah…’ Bethany cleared her throat. ‘I guess I just wanted to see you in your blue suit again. You look good in it and I like the banter we have… makes me feel a bit special, you know.’

He knew, he knew far too well. He made a mental note to wear his dark blue suit again when he knew he’d be seeing her. Mycroft was desperate for her to look at him with her dark eyes and scan him with a hint of desire.

‘Sorry,’ she said, breaking his concentration. ‘I’m still a little drunk. Maybe I shouldn’t have called.’

‘Perhaps, but I think this conversation has been rather revealing.’

‘That’s what I mean.’ She chuckled. ‘Look, can we just forget this ever happened?’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid, I have an excellent memory.’ Mycroft smiled, listening to her giggle. ‘But I will concede that your consumption of alcohol may have made us both a little more… forward than usual.’

‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Bethany took a breath. ‘Anyway, it’s a long trip home and I’ve got to drop Greg off, I’d best leave you to your evening.’

‘The journey will be roughly forty-five minutes,’ Mycroft calculated quickly. ‘Seems rather expensive and quite lonely by the sounds of Lestrade.’

‘Yeah, he’s out like a light,’ she chuckled. ‘But I saved up knowing it’d take a chunk out of my savings. It’s what you do for friends though, isn’t it? Money’s just money, there’s always more of it somewhere.’

‘Indeed.’ Mycroft admired her kind and self-sacrificing nature. ‘Perhaps you could allow me to keep you company?’

‘Seems a bit harsh on the driver,’ she said. ‘He’s the one driving and if we’re both asleep or otherwise occupied, it would seem quite ungrateful, don’t you think?’ He supposed she had a point. ‘Unless there’s something specific you’d like to say?’

Mycroft was quiet, he just didn’t want the call to end just yet. ‘You’ll be with Sherlock this week? Standing in for John?’

‘Yeah, just until they’re back from their honeymoon.’

‘Maybe I could pop in at some point, see how you’re getting on?’

Bethany chuckled. ‘Mycroft, you’re allowed to say you want to see me. Friends are supposed to want to see friends, it shouldn’t be something you have to make an excuse for. I’d love to see you at some point this week.’

‘Good, well, that’s settled then.’ Mycroft didn’t miss how she referred to him twice as a friend, he didn’t really want to be her friend, he wanted more than that, but he’d settle for what he could get. ‘I will see you at some point within the week.’

‘Yes, you will.’ She was definitely smiling, widely and it made him happy.

‘Goodnight, Bethany. Stay safe for me.’

‘Goodnight Mycroft. I’ll see you soon.’

Mycroft waited a moment before hanging up. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face and this time he really didn’t mind. He liked hearing her happy and still being able to challenge him despite having had a fair amount to drink.

Mycroft took one last look at the two photos Sherlock had sent. Bethany was beautiful and Mycroft was in a little too deep, but a part of him didn’t care, she was making him happy and that felt far too precious.

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[tsarisfanfiction]

Before and After

Fandom: One Piece Rating: Teen Genre: Family Characters: Law, Penguin, Shachi, Heart Pirates

Law’s life was divided into Befores and Afters.

Whew, it's been a while since I last wrote any Heart Pirates (or One Piece at all) but clearly these characters are still embedded in my muses because finding their characters again wasn't any challenge at all (which was a relief).  In fact, it's been so long that Hakugan's name hadn't been revealed yet, so I've now got to figure out where to place him in my version of the crew's dynamics...

I joined @stereden's Winter Exchange this year for the first (but hopefully not the last!) time, and my match was Castled_Rook, whose prompt options included some Heart Pirates found family (which is, hopefully obviously, what I went for), which has always been my favourite thing to write in this fandom, so that was a perfect match as far as I was concerned :D   Hoping they agree after seeing this fic!

There's a warning for this fic but I'm not entirely sure how to word it, so hopefully this will suffice: a character considering if they would have wanted to live if they'd had the time to think in a life-threatening situation.

Law’s life was divided into Befores and Afters.

Before the Flevance massacre.  After the Flevance massacre.

Before Cora-san. After Cora-san.

Aged thirteen, those two Befores and Afters had encompassed everything he was, with the underlying weight of white lead cloying in his body, destroying him from the inside out.

Losing his family had destroyed him.  Losing Cora-san had obliterated him from existence.

Law had never thought he’d outlive the clumsy idiot who meant well but screamed incompetence with every blunder.  In hindsight, when his thoughts were clear from ever-present fevers and resignation paired with desperation, Law realised he hadn’t wanted to outlive Cora-san, hadn’t wanted to lose and grieve a man that meant so much to him.

He’d already outlived his family once.

Then he outlived his family again.

Law could acknowledge that it was a good thing he hadn’t realised he’d felt that way back on Minion Island.  If his mind had been – not clearer, but sharper, more self-aware, he might not have followed Cora-san’s last wishes.

He might not have lived.

Law loved Cora-san, but did he love him enough to live for him when he’d left him without a family again?  Evidence pointed to yes, because that was exactly what he’d done, but Law was aware, with the cold, harsh truths of hindsight, that if he’d focused on a different emotion, on losing family rather than destroy the world (destroy Doflamingo)… the answer may not have been yes.

It was a good thing the cards had fallen in the order they did.

Not to say Law was glad Cora-san was dead – that was so far from the truth even a liar like him couldn’t even begin to try and say it; the clumsy idiot had no right to leave him like that, no right to go and die to save him when he should have lived for him – but Law would forever be eternally grateful that he had lived. That Cora-san had saved him.

If he had died, he would never have met his crew.  His nakama. His third (and final) family.

Law had no way of knowing if he would outlive this family, too.  The pattern in his life suggested that it was a possibility, but also Law was no helpless child any more.  He was a Captain, a Supernova, a feared member of the Worst Generation, powerful enough to rub shoulders with some of the greatest on the seas (or go toe to toe with them in battle).

He was a doctor.  A surgeon.  And he had the Ultimate Devil Fruit to back him up.

He was no god, but he could play at being a god, play with lives and who lives and who died for as long as he drew breath – and his crew?  His nakama, his family?

Law refused to outlive them, too.

“You’re brooding again.”

Penguin slid onto the bench next to him, pushing a fresh mug of steaming coffee in front of him and taking a loud drink of his own.  “Beri for your thoughts?”

Law ignored him, wrapping his fingers around the mug and watching the letters EATH stand out on his fingers while the D of the thumb opposed them.  The metal transmitted the heat straight into his skin, almost hot enough to burn.

“Law?”

“It’s nothing,” he told his nakama.  Penguin made a disbelieving noise, but something must have convinced him to drop it because he didn’t push any further – although the next slurp of his own drink was obnoxiously loud in a way that Law was more used to hearing from Shachi.

They’d grown up together. Penguin had been Shachi’s older brother the younger’s entire life – not by blood, but Law had learned twice over that blood wasn’t the rule of family (look at the Donquixote brothers, look at Cora-san and Law, look at his nakama).  Shared habits and obnoxious traits were hardly a surprise.

Law didn’t let himself wonder what shared habits he and Lami might have developed, in time.  Didn’t let himself remember the ones that had started planting their seeds already, before being suffocated out by white lead and a blaze of fire.

(Didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that her face had long since faded from his mind, and that all he remembered was her big, gap-toothed smile, and I love you, nii-san! echoing in the depths of his ears.)

As if summoned by Law’s stray mental observation, or perhaps Penguin’s mimic of his own drinking habits, Shachi materialised on his other side, throwing himself onto the bench with aplomb and almost spilling his own mug of dark bliss.  The smell rising from his own coffee was tinted with something else, and Law knew the news his nakama had for him before he even opened his mouth.

“Bepo says we’re coming up on the island,” the ginger reported, taking a slurp loud enough to rival Penguin’s and smacking his lips together obscenely.  “We’ll reach it in a few hours at our current speed.”

It wasn’t an island that held any real significance for them – it was just the next one on the route to Laugh Tale, although the fact that it was on the route at all, the fact that it was a New World island, meant it was one to be approached with caution. Law – and Penguin, Shachi, Bepo, all his nakama – had read up what they could find on the islands of the New World and thought they knew which one they were coming up on (and, more importantly, who it was currently in control, which Yonkou’s territory they were encroaching on this time).

An island on the horizon meant more conflict, and if nothing else, Law could plan for those, at least.

“I want everyone in the infirmary between now and then,” he said, and Shachi hummed, draining his mug and letting it hit the table with more force than strictly necessary.

“Already spread the word,” he said, and once upon a time Law would have hated that Shachi knew and shared his orders before he even alerted Law, but it had been thirteen years since Swallow Island, and two older teenagers with makeshift weapons and a cowering mink cub.

Thirteen years.

He’d had ten years in Flevance.  Three with one or other Donquixote brother.

He’d spent those two lengths of time combined with the three of them, and despite his thirteen year old self’s attempts not to let anyone in ever again, that had been a battle he’d lost before it’d even begun, and Law was glad for it.

There was no-one in all four Blues, no-one in the Grand Line, no-one in the world, that knew him better than the trio he’d founded the Heart Pirates with, and once upon a time Law would have recoiled violently at the idea of being known.

Now, as he gave a nod of acknowledgement, it was a fact of life, a safety net to catch him when he needed it.

(And it went both ways; they knew him but he knew them, knew the little tics and habits that lurked beneath the concealing hat, behind the dark shades, beyond the thick white fur. He knew Shachi had spread the order because he, too, worried about their nakama and the fact it only took a stroke of bad luck to take someone away forever.  He’d known they were coming up on the island before the ginger had even opened his mouth by the smell of mocha because Shachi only indulged in that particular mix of caffeine and comfort when there was an expectation of conflict in their near future.  He knew, already, that Penguin would be the last into the infirmary, letting Law remove his vital organs only once the rest of the crew had undergone the same surgery because he knew his armament was the best in the crew and if they were caught early, he had the best chance of protecting his own body.)

He drained his own mug and stood up, gesturing wordlessly for Shachi to follow him while Penguin gathered up their mugs with a mutter he didn’t mean about it not being his job to clean up after them.  Penguin would be last, but Shachi was always first.

(If Law didn’t fear long term consequences of keeping his nakama’s vital organs out of their bodies, Shachi’s would never be in his body, not with his non-existent armament.)

The procedure was quick and painless.  Shachi had been through it so many times he didn’t even react when the gelatinous cubes erupted from his body and Law Shambles’d them into their allocated place with the secure vault deep within the Tang, not even taking a moment to readjust before hopping off the bed and pulling his tank top back on – Law didn’t need his nakama to take their tops off to get at their organs, but the less in the way, the less potential there was for something to go awry, and Law was a big fan of minimising risks to his nakama.  The shades were next, covering closed eyes, before Shachi threaded his arms back through the sleeves of his boiler suit and yanked the zip up with a familiar zzzhp, snapping the covering flap into place.

“Thanks, Law,” he grinned, clapping him on the shoulder before tugging his hat onto his head.

Law didn’t need thanks, not when the action was always inherently selfish – he wouldn’t outlive his nakama if his nakama didn’t die – but Shachi had taken to thanking him every time and Law had never admitted his selfishness out loud, even though he knew Shachi knew him well enough to understand why he did it.

(There was also the fact that Shachi seemed to lose all self-regard once his organs were removed, revelling in the pseudo-immortality it gave him and taking risks that made Law’s own heart want to leap out of his chest because he knew he could, trusted Law to put him back together whatever befell him.  Law didn’t particularly want thanks for enabling that streak of Shachi’s either, but his single-minded ferocity in battle had saved other nakama more than once, so it was something Law just had to live with. Shachi wouldn’t stop anyway, no matter what he ordered, asked, or begged.  It wasn’t in the ginger’s nature to hold back when his loved ones were in danger – it was a trait they shared.  A trait the whole crew shared, for better or worse.)

“Send Bepo and Hakugan in,” he said instead, because while Bepo was one of the less fragile members of the crew and per breakable hierarchy should be near-last, he needed Bepo on navigation and battle ready as early as possible, and Hakugan had a way with the Tang’s helm that necessitated him there at the first signs of trouble, so he needed to be ready early.

Shachi flicked him a lazy salute, carefree and disrespectful of the origin because Shachi hated pirates the most but he hated marines, too, and disappeared as Ikkaku poked her head around the door, oil streaked through her hair and splattered across her boiler suit.

“Reporting for organ removal duties, Captain!” she chirped, and Law waved her to take a seat.  After her came Bepo and Hakugan, as requested, then the rest of the crew filed in, some alone and others in groups, with Jean Bart and then, finally, Penguin rounding off the crew.

This was not a new routine; his crew knew how to work around their organ removals and their island ahead duties with ease of practice, and Law trusted Penguin and Shachi to keep everything running smoothly from the command room as he went through the motions of making each of his nakama, his family, just that little bit harder to kill.

Law’s life had been a series of Befores and Afters.

Before Swallow Island.  After Swallow Island.

Before the Heart Pirates.

There would not be an After the Heart Pirates.  Jack, and Zou, had come closer than Law ever wanted to come (the only time in years his nakama had faced a battle with their organs in their chests, vulnerable to not just injury but poison) but for as long as Law could do something about it, it would not happen.

There would be no After his family.  Not this one.

[rarepairnation]

hi abby!!! for the fic writer asks: 1, 4, 19, 28? :)

hii anna thank you!!! <3 sorry this took me AGES to do these last two weeks have been simply. exhausting. yeah it’s monday. gonna send you more in a moment to make up for it LOL

1. the last sentence you wrote

“come,” says aragorn, “i may not have the sort of supper master samwise is certainly cooking up, but i hope a different secret will suffice.”

they're hanging out....🥺

4. a story idea you haven't written yet

sooo many...hmm ok what’s plaguing my brain right now that i have no like Zero words on the page for. probably the faramir and gandalf and denethor's death fic. i think about it...frequently. there's a longer post about this somewhere but i just think that faramir and denethor's complicated relationship should get to affect faramir and gandalf's less complicated relationship for the worse <3 what do you even do when you have no one left to blame for the death your father drove himself to and you find out that YOUR mentor saved YOU and then stood by and watched as he burnt himself alive. WHAT DO YOU DO!!!! it plagues me.

19. the most interesting topic you've researched for a fic

i feel like i never end up in particular like….idk. historical rabbit holes like i see some people go into for some reason? actually i know the reason and its if i really let myself get into it id never get anything done. i’ve already been seeing that with rivendell au. and most things i write are so…nebulously atmospheric. that i don’t necessarily need to get the details exactly right. but i guess the one that pops out in my brain is when i ended up on the wikipedia page for “forlorn hope” which is a REAL MILITARY TERM for a sacrificial vanguard. THEY REALLY CALL IT THAT. i think about this all the time.

28. your least favourite part of the writing process

ugh the one im in right now. where im kind of lost in the weeds and muddling through a section (usually the end / some sort of a transition. im awful at those) and it kind of feels like everything is bad and i don’t know what i’m writing about anymore. i find it so hard to step back and get the bigger picture because it feels like it doesn't actually help me put any more damn words on the page. but that is just my brain lying to me.

fic writer's asks

[leothetraveler]

Foreign King AU

Chapter 2 - The First Sermon

I couldn’t help shaking, even as I tried to steel myself. I’d never done anything like this before, and I wish I didn’t need to now. But it needed to be done.

The high priest that has been helping me in this insisted a sermon was necessary. I was never one for words. But…they had a point. These people required guidance. They desired it, even. Knew no other way to live, except by another’s rules. So as their god, I needed to tell them what “grand plan” I had in store…except I had nothing at this point. No goal other than being a counter-balance for the lamb. But I had to say something to the dozen or so…wait, that looks more like thirty. Looks like more people had arrived while I thought of what to say. Well. There is no use hiding behind this pillar.

I step out into the temple proper. A crude platform was arranged in haste to suffice for the sermon. Little more than an oversized soap box. Regardless, the altar was already placed upon it, so I need to be up there as well. The workers had forgotten stairs, making me have to climb up and look foolish in front of the crowd. I don't think they cared much compared to what I might say, but it was a bad start regardless.

I reached the altar, placing my meager page of scrawled notes on it. A book of Leshy’s old teachings was left here. Worthless to me, as I planned to stay far from the Old Faith’s methods.

“...I have never been one for…grand speeches. Especially ones where I am unprepared due to such short notice.” I said, eyeing the high priest in the corner of the room. Even through the hooded robe, I could see him fidget as I called him out for announcing a sermon would commence on the same day he convinced me to do one.

I rolled my eyes before continuing, “...I guess…I shall start with a few uncomfortable truths. Firstly, I don’t intend to be a simple successor to Leshy’s reign.” I picked up the book that was left on the altar, “This is going to be a fresh start. For us, for the crown, and for all of Darkwood.” and I tossed the leatherbound book aside. Least I hope it was just leather. The people before me followed the book with their eyes as it landed beside me on the platform, a shocked expression on each and every face at my act of defiance.

“Secondly, I am not here to make yet another cult. This is going to be a proper church. I’m sure you have never heard of such, but from what I’ve seen, you people are adaptable. I doubt a difference in name is going to change that.” I tried to give a reassuring tone to my words. There was a lot of change from what they knew. I needed them to understand and trust that I want what is best… makes me sound like the lamb…

“... I know you people have no concept of a church, so let me give a bit of context. In the lands I am from, cult is a word only used to describe cruel and unjust faiths where the leader acts as a false god to trick others into suffering for their benefit. Nothing but lies and illusions. No crown. No divine powers. Just a comforting lie. And so, this is not going to be a cult. I am no false god, spreading lies for my own gain. This crown of mine is no illusion meant to deceive, but my symbol of office. My proof of godhood… And all the responsibility that comes with it.”

I paused to gauge the crowd. Some were starry eyed at my words, the crown alone enough to gain devotion. Most were listening intently, clearly intrigued at where I was going with my speech. And of course, there were skeptics. Their frowns are a clear sign of their doubt.

I’ll need to put such doubts to rest. Which brings me to why I am even there. I took a deep breath and tried my best to speak with authority. “I took this crown for one reason, and one reason alone. To create a better future for everyone in the lands of the Old Faith. Because I have seen the evils spread by the bishops and the lamb. The bishops care only about preserving their power, even as fate comes to claim them. And while the lamb preaches about destroying the Old Faith, they mimic their practices in the name of The One Who Waits. They are no better than the bishops, and would only lead to a darker age. So I found the defeated crown, and restored it. So that I could do what the lamb has been promising. Bring a true end to the Old Faith, and build something better in its place. A safe haven. A home for all. Not as a God of Havoc, like Leshy was. But as a Lord of Order and justice.”

There was not a face before me that wasn’t in awe of my words…time for the let down…the harsh truth. “But such is not an easy task. If it was, another before me would have done so.” And there it was. Smiles in the crowd faded into confusion. Too late to turn back now. “While the crown may be restored, most of its power was lost upon its defeat. And so long as the red crown remains intact, the Lamb can rise again, and again, and again. Simply going to war with the lamb will not bring us victory. This church is still in its infancy. This temple, in ruins. But I have a plan. I wouldn’t be here before you if I didn’t.” This was it. If any part of my impromptu speech was going to be a dealbreaker, it was this part. While the plan was simple, I doubted many would agree to it. The first part in particular. But I would explain it as best I could.

“To start with, I will be forced to make a truce with the lamb, and leave the bishops to their fates. Their deaths are inevitable at this point, and as I have said, we are not ready to march to war. The lamb’s desire for revenge will keep them out of Darkwood while we regain our lost strength.” Uncertainty. Clear as day on many faces. But zealotry in others. Encouraging. I continue, “Secondly, while I intend to found my church on these holy lands, I need not limit myself to the faithful within them. As the other bishops fall, I expect there will be those who wish to escape the lamb’s fury. There is always room in my church for more, and so I will open my doors to them. As the rightful king of Darkwood, all the people of these lands are welcome, so long as they follow my decrees. Be they of Anura, Anchordeep, or Silk Cradle. I offer asylum to all.” that brought most of them back to my side. A merciful ruler is often betrayed, but always beloved. All that’s left is closing words. A hopeful message to inspire.

“While the age of the Old Faith comes to a close, it is not the end, but a new beginning. The stage may be set, but the story’s end is left unwritten. You may either flail, grasping for power. as the world plunges into darkness. Or, you can stand with me and build a glorious new dawn. What do you choose?” The crowd erupted into cheers. Despite having never done such before, I clearly knew what I was doing. Or maybe the crown helped? Who knows. But the first part is done. With their loyalty secured, I could get to work repairing the temple. Making it into a home, and a fortress, should such be needed.

As I began to walk off the platform, one of the followers' voices managed to break through the cheering crowd. “E-excuse me! My lord? I must ask something!” The crowd hushed itself. All attention lay on the one who had demanded my attention. “Very well,” I said, turning in the direction of the voice, “what is your question?” The one who spoke, a young rabbit, pushed their way to the front of the crowd. “I am sorry to interrupt such a joyous moment, great leader, but I had to ask…what shall we call this ‘church’ of ours? Surely it needs a name beyond such, yes?” Murmurs echoed through the temple remains. It seems everyone agreed with the rabbit, but had not thought of such themselves. Even I had to admit, it had slipped my mind. I looked up across the temple grounds. The last light of the day could be seen through the entry hall, slowly fading. While it was dusk, for a moment, it could pass as the dawn…

“New Dawn. That will be the name. The Church of a New Dawn. It fits quite well, don’t you think?” I didn’t require a response. The wide eyes of my new congregation were enough. “Alright. There is work to be done. Find yourselves somewhere to sleep tonight. Tomorrow, we will begin to rebuild.”

FIRST NEXT>>

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Grind

No, not the employment-related one. I mean the grind that seems to come standard with so many video games these days. Because apparently the employment-related one isn’t enough for people.

When I first played Dragon Age: Inquisition, I was trying to do it spoiler-free, and ended up flailing so very hard that I missed out on a lot of stuff. Some people I needed to talk to didn’t get talked to, some side quests didn’t even trigger... Let’s just say it’s a really good thing that the Trespasser DLC wasn’t out at that point because I entirely missed Bull’s loyalty quest the first time through. (Though I am still annoyed that they sold us the actual ending as DLC later; so tired of shit like Legacy and Trespasser ripping out stuff we really need to understand future games and then selling it back to us for more money. It’s one thing when a game comes out in chapters; at least you know you’re buying the next installment when it’s chapters. But of course they’re not going to tell us, “Oh, by the way, we’re not giving you the real ending until you pay us more, and there’s a whole bunch of stuff you might need to know about for the next game to make any sense that you can only get if you pay us even more.” It’s ... kind of disgusting.)

Anyway. Point is that when I first started playing Inquisition on the very first run, I had no idea exactly how completionist you had to be to get the entire story. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed until I played a second playthrough with spoilers and walk-throughs and all manner of other shit. I don’t think that should be necessary, y’know? I don’t think you should have to go through the Wiki or be a completionist of the highest order just to get through a game, and I sure as hell don’t think you should have to hack through ninety-eight thousand miles of sweet fuck all in order to get through everything. And yet, that’s exactly what you have to do most of the time in Inquisition. A friend of mine put it best - I like the game that’s buried under the busywork. It just means I have to really be in the mood for the busywork before I can pick up a playthrough again, so it generally takes months to finish one, because I set it aside for weeks on end until I feel like pushing through.

Suffice to say that I finally finished most of a playthrough with an elven mage, something I haven’t really done since my nearly abortive first spoiler-free playthrough when it first came out. In that one, I didn’t get half the loyalty missions done, I never locked in the romance with Cullen I was after (which I think meant I was one of the first in my Tumblr circle to discover that Josephine turns up to offer a friendly shoulder if your Inquisitor’s single during that whole thing in the Winter Palace) ... and Trespasser wasn’t even a thing at that point. I’ve finished Jaws of Hakkon and Descent (I always do that before endgame, even if I don’t want to bring Solas, because I like being heavily overlevelled when I kick Corypheus’ ass - I KILLED HIM ONCE AS HAWKE AND REALLY RESENT HAVING TO DO IT AGAIN; FUCK’S SAKE, COULD WE PLEASE HAVE FINAL BOSSES STAY DEAD?!? DO NOT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE END OF ABSOLUTION), and I’ve only got Trespasser to go. I don’t know what the Fade sections of that look like for an elven Inquisitor ... and I hear rumours about a Cullen wedding before everything goes to the “Dead Qunari” place. I loved the Sera wedding, and I will admit to loving the whole thing where, at the end of the main game, the advisors bow and then Cullen is, “Okay, don’t care if we’re supposed to be dignified and official, I AM HUGGING YOU NOW”, so I’m looking forward to the culmination of that ... even as I hope he’s still surrounded by mabari puppies. (I may dislike Greg Ellis immensely, but I’m not taking that out on a very well-written character who Ellis just happens to voice.)

Honestly, I am still of the opinion that Dragon Age 2 should have been the open world free-for-all and Inquisition should have had a similar (if at least slightly less copy/pasted) structure to Dragon Age 2. I would have been happy to traverse ninety-eight thousand miles of sweet fuck all with Hawke because frankly that’s what Hawke was about, particularly in the first act - trying desperately to make ends meet in Kirkwall as a refugee. Hawke’s story was a sprawling thing where they ended up in the right (or wrong) place at the right (or wrong) time to be pivotal to changing the world, and wandering around doing random grindy shit is part of that. Whereas an Inquisitor should be getting letters at all hours telling them to go to a rather less huge area to fix a thing. Isn’t it funny how, while Dragon Age 2 was the rushed game of the two, Inquisition is the one that leaves you spending a lot of time poking through the turnip and wondering where the meat is, and being told you can’t  have your dessert until you eat at least most of said turnip? DA2 just has the higher story-to-faff ratio, when it feels like that should have gone the other way.

I have hopes for DA4. (No, I am not calling it that idiotic name; Dread Wolf is two words anyway.) I don’t know how high they are, but I have them. There’s the meat of a good game in the stew that is Inquisition, once you get through the turnip. I just hope they fix the story-to-faff ratio in DA4, is all.