#THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE I'M SO SORRY

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | My Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Queen!Reader

Plot: The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there’s a willing soldier at your disposal.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and mentions of violence.

Words: 4OOO

“There are guests, Your Majesty,” John tells you with pity in his voice, not mentioning it because he thinks you have forgotten, but because he needs you to be aware of the important fact. If you tried hard enough, it wasn’t too much of a task to remember your duties and who those entailed, but it was a relief to have John around to remind you of such things, since you valued your duties and relations with the outside world dearly.

You glance around nervously and give him a guilty pout, grabbing the last of your belongings.

“I know, I am so sorry, but this is important. Send them a plane and I will get back to them as soon as I can,” you plead and quickly rush out of the room to the main entrance hall, John following you as you make your way to the prepared jet.

Mind occupied by making sure your small legion is armed and ready to go as you walk, you get brought to an abrupt stop when two large men block your path. Raising your head, you glower curiously at the rude interruption. As busy as you have been the past weeks, you study each and every encounter you plan, so you know exactly who the two men are.

“Captain Wilson. Sergeant Barnes.”

“Your Majesty,” Sam’s greeting is curt, yet kind. “I don’t suppose a sudden departure is part of your infamous warm welcome?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You have an awful lot of courage speaking to a queen this way,” you warn him, your tone formal before your features soften towards your guests. “But I apologise. Something important came up and I hardly think sending you into war with me is considered a warm welcome.”

The man you recognise as James Barnes lets out a humoured scoff. “Clearly, you don’t know us very well.”

Your eyes dart between the men suspiciously and a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, hardly able to contain it at the sheer boldness coming from the men. After a pregnant pause and your legion having left the hall to board the jet, you slowly turn to John.

“John. You heard the men. Get them suited and onto the jet.” Sharing one more glance with the men, your eyes lingering on the twinkle of mischief in Bucky’s eyes, you brush past them and step onto the plane without another word.

…

“It’s not often a queen goes into war with her people.”

“Well, unfortunately my legions are struggling on their own,” you explain to Sam calmly.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, brows pulled together in slight worry.

“John? Could you please bring them up to speed while I get ready?”

As John takes over and shows the two heroes what their next mission will be as they serve someone else’s queen, you step over to the side and let one of your generals help you suit up. Slipping into the modern metal, rusted with nano technology, the shimmering suit glides over your body perfectly.

From the corner of your eyes, you notice Bucky Barnes losing interest from John’s briefing and your eyes lock with his. There’s a rush of heat pulsing through your body at the sheer boldness of Bucky not breaking eye contact once he gets caught staring. His eyes rake up and down the sleek suit and lock back onto yours, a knowing smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth before he drags his eyes away and turns back to his previous conversation.

Leaving you absolutely flustered and furious.

Did he just ogle a queen?

…

Bucky is startled enough for it to nearly show on his face when he sees the feral look you have on yours. He knows that look, has worn it plenty of times himself. Battle doesn’t quite leave your body and mind as soon as it is over. Even with your spectacular win, which Bucky knows is mostly because of your reliability and skills as a powerful leader, the raging chaos of adrenaline lingers like you have days worth of battles to fight still.

He came in to check up on you post-battle, easily slipping past your guards, to find you pacing in your blood-splattered gear around the chamber before what he assumes is your bedroom. The hall is large and decorated wonderfully, but so very empty with your restless figure pacing through it. He’s certain he can feel your energy buzzing all the way up to the impossibly high ceilings.

Having enough decency to announce himself, he gently knocks on the door from inside of the room. When you whirl towards him in your frenzy, he finds it amusing enough to plaster a smirk onto his face. “Restless, my queen?”

You huff through your nostrils. “I still have fight in me.” He knows. “I want to kill them for springing that attack on us.” He knows that too, but the gravel in your voice awakens a slumbering beast inside of him and fire starts curling around his bones.

“I think you gave them enough hell for what they did to you,” he assures you and something in your eyes seems to soften at that. You did give them hell. Rightfully so.

“But this energy–” You shake out your trembling hands to rid yourself of that restlessness. Bucky nods and slowly prowls closer, hands gliding into his pockets as he slants his head to the side to observe you.

“I know,” he acknowledges, “it takes a while to wear off.”

“How do you handle it?” you ask him, taking a steadying breath as he crosses the room. “After a fight, how do you get rid of all of that energy?”

Bucky flashes you a grin, his brows raising with intrigue and a mischievous shimmer in his eyes. “I hardly think I could speak about such methods to a sophisticated queen.”

“Sophisticated, my ass,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at the broad soldier. “You hardly felt like you had to be appropriate when you were watching me put on this suit,” you say with a scoff, ushering to the intricate metals you’re wearing.

“In my defence, I hadn’t seen you fight yet. Whereas now,” he shrugs, “I’d prefer staying in your good graces.”

“You fuck it out, don’t you?”

Bucky’s blink is the only sign of his surprise and he cocks his head at you again. “Excuse me?”

“The only way to get rid of the energy after battle is to get your dick wet,” you clarify, “isn’t it?”

Bucky chokes on a laugh, stepping even closer to you now with his hands still in his pockets, close enough to make you have to tilt your chin up. “You have a filthy mouth for a queen,” he breathes and to accentuate his words, his eyes drop to said mouth.

“I didn’t become queen by being prim and proper,” you explain with a little less fire than you intended to say it with.

“No,” he breathes, “you didn’t.”

Another restless shudder up your spine reminds you of your predicament, your thudding heartbeat not coming to a rest. You sigh, searching those blue eyes still trained on your lips. “Care to help a queen out?”

“You want to see me bow for you again, don’t you?” He smirks and finally raises his eyes to meet yours.

You can’t help but smile slightly, giving him a guilty shrug, because yes, you loved seeing him bow for you earlier as you stepped onto the battlefield. Not just that, plenty of pretty men had bowed for you. It was Bucky’s willingness and respect as he took a knee for you that was particularly invigorating. He matches your smile and takes a long second to let you take in what he is about to do, before slowly sinking to his knees in front of you, steady hands moving to rest on your thighs.

“Your people are awfully lucky to get to serve you every day,” he murmurs, looking up at you with eyes of fire and submission. That manages to make heat surge to your cheeks and ears, swallowing hard as you take in the sight before you. “May I?”

It takes all of your power not to nod too eagerly before he starts working off the buckles and belts of your suit, the nanotechnology wingmanning perfectly as the metal retreats into the hard base of the suit.

Soon, you are in nothing but your underwear. Bones and muscles are trembling beneath your skin in response to forcing your body to be utterly still. Chemical reactions are ricocheting against the barrier of your skin to make you spring apart. So much energy. So much fire and passion and fury still roiling inside of you. A heavy blanket settles over it – desire. But before you can order him to act on it, Bucky comes back to a stand.

“Close your eyes,” he mutters.

“I’m close to fighting you, Sergeant Barnes,” you promise him, showing your active restraint, but deciding to close your eyes anyway.

He huffs a soft laugh and you feel his eyes burning into your skin, a knuckle brazenly trailing over your collarbones and down the centre of your chest. “I will take you up on that another day,” he answers and your blood heats up at the fact that Bucky revels in both of those sides of you. Most men cower at your bloodlust, but not him. He kneels before it.

Speaking of him kneeling–

“I didn’t tell you to get up,” you remind him and his hand pauses.

“I didn’t particularly think it would be fair to leave you standing as I proceed to immobilise your legs, my queen,” he drawls and you snap your mouth shut. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you find him having taken a step back, holding out his hand for you to take.

Carefully taking it with a questioning look in your eyes, Bucky leads you to your bedroom like he has been there a thousand times. Slowly and deliberately, he guides you to your own bed, still fully clothed himself in those black leathers.

“I expected it to be more rough,” you admit steadily. “Fucking out that energy...”

Bucky turns back to you, hands now on your waist as he pivots you with your back to the bed, the backs on your legs touching the foot of it. “Fucking you roughly won’t do the trick,” he explains. “Fucking you thoroughly will.”

If you weren’t quaking before, this would do the trick. Your heartbeat is pulsing between your legs, hammering for attention, the seams of your underwear teasing you more than the man before you. It paralyses you, that desire coursing through your veins like syrup, makes you fall quiet. Only for a short while.

“Then do it.”

Bucky’s brows raise again, not having expected you to fold so fast. “What?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” you hiss at him. “I need you to fuck me before I explode.”

Bucky smirks at you again and you’re so tempted to smother that smirk – you have your ways. “I am not yours to give orders to.”

You restrain from rolling your eyes at him, the close proximity making you prone to holding your breath and making your words coming out strained. “I’m not going to beg for it.”

“You already have,” he reminds you, not an inch of him giving away that he might be unravelling. “And I think you will, sweetheart. I think you are seconds away from begging for it.”

As if in answer to his outrageous insinuation, a shudder racks through your bones and flashes of that wild battle make your nervous system rush to life again. It’s so frustrating, to have so much energy begging to be released.

His solid eyes and steady hands on your waist make you want to sink into him for relief. You want Bucky to tear you apart, almost similar to the way he tore apart those monsters earlier. Calculated, precise and only slightly unhinged. His fighting earlier was like a choreography your body wanted to study and practice until it can memorise nothing else. The way his muscles moved, the precise strikes of his metal arm, the focused crinkles in his handsome face, his thick thighs planting him firmly onto the ground – your ground. Fighting for your lands. For you.

My queen, he had called you. You suppose he does answer to your commands, then. But you might just beg for it. If only because it feels so tempting. To whine for his pleasure, sob for it and make him serve you like he wanted to do earlier. How awful, for a queen to want to beg for it.

“Please,” you almost gasp from holding your breath for too long.

He hums, low and deadly, his finger kneading gently and appreciatively into your soft flesh. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs and before you can shout in outrage, he slowly dips down and presses his pillowy soft lips to your collarbone, instantly making your head tilt backwards.

His hands pull you close enough for your front to be pressed to his and your hands automatically grab his shoulders. His lips part and his tongue traces a singular line over the thinnest piece of skin on your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His mouth moves up, tongue dipping in and out to raise your pulse as he suckles at your skin. Your fingers curl slightly and your body starts to nearly shake with jitters at the adrenaline coursing through you like an electrical charge.

Bucky bites down on the tense skin beneath your ear where he hums against you, the sound ringing in your head like a gong. His hands have travelled to your back, stroking up and down the bare skin until your bra pops loose with you barely noticing. You tremble with need when all you are left in are your panties and Bucky pulls away to once again sink down to his knees.

You swallow hard at his stare from below you and follow his silent command to sit down at the edge of the bed. Hooking his hands around your knees, he presses them apart and lifts one leg over his shoulder. Your fingers dig into the soft sheets with anticipation and you only break the intense eye contact to watch his tongue trace his bottom lip. He hooks your other leg over his shoulder and drags you to the very edge of the bed, getting comfortable on his knees.

“Is this where you want me?” he asks, but you don’t deign to answer him. “Kneeling before my queen.”

“Something tells me you don’t mind being there at all,” you answer tightly and his hands stroke up and down your calves lovingly. Bucky presses one kiss to your inner thighs, taking in a big whiff of air and groaning at the smell of your arousal.

“There is something about eating a meal on my knees that speaks to me,” he drawls, his eyes settling on said meal, only covered by the thin fabric of your panties. He presses another kiss, right over the damp fabric. You shudder.

“Then eat,” you bite back, scrambling to hang onto your power as a queen.

Bucky gives a wide grin, keeping his eyes on your soaking core. His hand lifts and his finger loops into the fabric, making you bite your lip painfully hard at the brief touch. He pulls the fabric to the side, spreading your legs enough for him to dive in, but not doing so yet. “That is no way to speak to your soldiers.”

Your soldier, Bucky supposes after today he is. You’re torture. Your smell, your voice, your body, the sheer power you have over him – over everyone.

Your hand finds his hair and you rake your fingers through the thick, brown tresses. Your eyes are soft when Bucky looks up to find them. “Will you take the honour of being my soldier?”

You’re genuine, he’s sure of it. Bucky can tell you’re asking him for so much more than just this. And considering his current predicament, he will consider his duties as your soldier later. Right now, he can only nod, entranced by the queen who has her legs wrapped around his head. He can only think of one duty right now and that is to rid you of all of that devastating warrior energy the only way he knows how.

Bucky buries his face between your legs and begins his feasting. Nudging his nose against your clit and prodding his tongue in and out of you. Licking every inch of your warm, wet, lovely cunt as if it’ll guarantee a place in your kingdom for him.

Sam will kill him for never returning home, but by the heavens, he can’t find it in him to care enough. Not with you tasting so heavenly and– fuck, those goddamn moans.

…

He was right, he was so fucking right. The slow and steady and longs thrusts make your body hiss in delight. The thorough swivel of his hips when he’s buried into you as far as possible, releases every bit of pent up energy that suffocates you. The sharp snap of his hips right as he’s about to hit home makes you shudder and sob, clenching around him every time as if you feel every thrust like the very first one.

Bucky strikes your deepest spot with each one, your hair between his fingers, your back arched to meet him and your cheek pressed into the mattress. Your eyes flutter painfully against your will, your toes curling when pleasure wraps around every abdominal muscle, your pussy spasming around him in need for release as the pressure between your hips grows to be unbearable.

The sounds that slip from your parted mouth sound inhumane. Soft and pitiful whimpers between huffs of breath. Oh God, oh God. You need him to slow down for a second, except he’s not going fast at all. He’s slow and deep and oh God, he’s so fucking deep.

You grapple for a grip in the sheets, any tether to reality slipping from your mind after every move he has already made. The last of your control, your power as a queen, slips away from you on a phantom wind, desire clouding every piece of domination inside of you. It’s all his now, you are all his now.

Within a short second, you get hauled up by your hair, arched against his heaving, sweaty chest until his mouth nips at your earlobe. Your hands grab his hips behind you, nails digging into his firm skin.

“You still there, my queen?” he coos, and you feel his grin as his mouth grazes over your neck possessively. Your answer is the harsh tightening of your nails into him and the groan he lets out makes you clench around him wantonly. “Oh, somewhere. You’re somewhere in that sex-riddled brain of yours. Losing your mind a little, are you?”

You swear you mean to speak a sentence – a word, at least – but the sound that comes out sounds like another garbled moan and Bucky laughs at your demise. He quickly presses a loving kiss to your shoulder, a deep thrust settling him so deep inside of you, you flutter helplessly around him.

“Don’t worry,” he hums, another deep thrust following as the hand in your hair slips to securely grip your throat and move your ear back to his mouth. “Next time, I will let you take the reigns. You can tie me to the bed and use me to make yourself come. I’m looking forward to it, actually.” You pulse around him and he snickers. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Prefer to have control and use the ones that serve you.” He bites your ear softly and squeezes your throat. “Oh, but you look so pretty like this. Don’t take this away from me, sweetheart.”

It's a whirlwind of emotions that rush through you at his words. You feel his desperation to have you like this seep through his ignorant confidence having you exactly like he wants you. The last of your working brain cells are screaming yes, yes, yes at his request. You’ll let him have you like this every day for the rest of your life. And it flashes before your eyes, him waking you up by slowly fucking you, hand back in your hair and lazy mouth muttering filthy things against your skin. God, he’s filthy.

Your vision is swirling as his pace picks up and blood flow to your brain is slightly limited by his grip. Ecstasy is rushing through your head and limbs with heavy tingles, and your moans raise in pitch. The metal hand bruising your hips with its possessive grip, slides between your legs and messily toys with your clit, the feeling making you want to buckle over.

“Shit!” you gasp and throw your head back into his shoulder, thighs quaking at the stimulation. Too much, it’s too much. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel every inch of him glide in and out of you with an ease and precision that feels degrading and embarrassing. Bucky’s breath is equally laboured now and his grip on you turns from possessive to desperate, like he cannot get enough of you into his hands.

“Come for me again, my queen,” he purrs in your ear, knowing what that term now does to you, and you nod blindly. Following his command blindly, unable to resist the feeling of his deep thrusts and his firm circles on your clit any longer, you let the warmth of your orgasm consume you. You tremble and shake and stiffen at his touch and he doesn’t stop. “Come on, keep coming. Keep fucking coming, baby.”

You choke out a sob, surely drawing blood with your nails as you gasp for air, for any word to make him ease up on you, but he only stops when you buckle over and your trembling form succumbs to the sheets below you. Curled up on the sheets, bearing the waves of pleasure that haunt your every nerve, you feel Bucky’s exhausted and sex-glazed eyes watching you carefully. You faintly feel the trickle of him come pulsing out of you and it nearly makes you smile.

Two hands, one scorching with heat and one a welcome cool, gently stroke up the sides of your thighs, cooing sounds coming from Bucky as he watches you come back to your senses. Lips follow his soothing touches, warm kisses being pressed to your quickly cooling skin.

“How’s that post-fight energy?” he asks softly and your eyes finally flutter open to meet his curious ones, the blue shimmering with… Pride.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you.”

He laughs, “Again?”

You breathe a soft laugh and he at last presses a kiss to your lips. If you had the energy, you know your body would betray you by lifting your head to chase his lips.

You finally let out a defeated sigh, letting the corners of your mouth lift to a lazy smile. “Thank you.”

“At your disposal,” he mutters back with slight amusement and you open your eyes again to look at him. God, he’s beautiful.

“Are you,” you dare to ask, earnest in your eyes, “at my disposal…?”

“It would be an honour.”

“Likewise.”

“That is more than I’ve ever had before.”

“The honour?”

He nods. And then leans in, his mouth brushing your ear as your eyes flutter closed again, goosebumps rising over your skin. “I will bow for you any day,” he breathes softly, “my queen.”

[skyward-floored]

Impa breathes out slowly, shifting into a ready position as she faces down her opponent.

Volga stares back at her, firelight shining off of his spear as he also stands ready, and they move at the same time, Volga lunging forward as Impa raises her naginata to block him.

She succeeds, but doesn’t have enough time to even think of attacking back before he’s swinging at her again, spear jabbing quickly at her defenses. It’s all Impa can do for several moments to just avoid being struck, Volga’s speed greater than one would expect.

Sweat beads on Impa’s brow as Volga batters at her, her heart pounding as she narrowly avoids a swing of his spear. If he manages to land a solid hit, it’ll all be over.

Impa grits her teeth and finally manages to fight back, breaking out of the pattern she’d found herself in and thrusting her weapon at Volga.

Their weapons lock, the two straining against each other. Impa's arms shake as she strains against him, Volga’s strength impressive and much greater than her own. So Impa pushes for only for a moment longer before sliding nimbly out of the way, ducking down and swiping at him. Volga moves at the last second, smoke puffing from his nose, and the two whirl around each other in a dance of weapons, Impa trying to dart in and land a hit, Volga methodically blocking her attacks.

Sweat is pouring down her brow now, but Volga doesn’t look like he’s having an easy time of it either, panting as they both dodge and attack with equal frequency.

They're almost completely evenly matched.

Volga twirls his spear in a series of short jabs, and Impa lunges out of the way just barely too slow, the blunt end smacking her. An ache shoots up her side, but she isn’t badly hurt, and she notes the brief opening Volga leaves as he tries to get her while she’s reeling.

Impa avoids another thrust, and prepares herself for the next attack. She purposely leaves an opening this time, just large enough to be noticeable, and Volga takes it, lunging towards her with his eyes gleaming.

But instead of hitting her, Impa uses his momentum against him, twisting around at the last second and hooking her foot around his leg.

Volga stumbles, his eyes wide with surprise, and Impa whips around and knocks him flat on the ground with her naginata, whirling it around and pointing the tip at his neck.

He looks up at her and she looks down at him, both of them breathing hard, the smell of sweat and smoke in the air.

Impa smiles.

“I win.”

Volga snorts, resting his head back on the ground as he lightly pants. “Seems you still have some tricks I haven’t figured out.”

“Well I can’t reveal all of the Sheikah’s secrets,” Impa smirks, and Volga rolls his eyes.

Impa pulls her naginata away from his neck, and reaches down, offering him a hand up. Volga takes it, unlike the last time they sparred, and doesn’t immediately let go once he’s upright.

“Impressive,” Volga says, mouth twitching up into a smile. “Not many can momentarily best a dragon. Someday you might even properly beat me.”

“...Excuse me? Which one of us was flat on his back a moment ago?” Impa replies with a brow raised, and Volga tosses his head.

“I gave you a handicap. I used no fire, and never transformed.”

“We both agreed to not use any magic or anything of the sort before we started, we both had a handicap,” Impa says pointedly, and fights the smile that tries to form at the face Volga makes.

“...MaybeI let you win,” he huffs, and Impa can’t help her laugh.

“You're too honorable not to give it your all, Sir Dragon. Admit it Volga, my skill in weaponry bests your own,” she says teasingly, and though Volga looks away, it isn’t fast enough for Impa to miss the fact that there’s still a smile twitching on his lips.

“...Perhaps. Pity there were no witnesses to your supposed victory.”

Impa opens her mouth to argue, but closes it as she realizes Volga’s right. There’s nobody in the cave the Gorons have designated as a sparring area, probably because it’s rather late at night. They had no audience for their spar except for the small lizards that sometimes hide under the rocks.

Which unfortunately means Volga is correct.

Volga laughs at her expression, and Impa swats him on the arm, unable to stop her own smile.

“Well the next time I beat you, I’ll do it in front of an audience so that no one can deny my victory,” she says firmly, walking to the wall and placing her weapon against it. Volga does the same, and they lean against the rocks, both still catching their breath from their fight.

“I don’t plan on losing,” Volga says, looking over at her with a gleam in his eyes. “I won’t hold back.”

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Impa replies. “The only way to improve oneself is to train against a real challenge, and your style is quite unique. Before coming here, I knew very little about fighting techniques aside from my tribe’s, and that of the Hylians.”

“You’ve improved since then,” Volga says, watching a lizard skitter under a rock. “I can tell a marked difference between when we first fought and our spar tonight. You’re truly growing in your skill.”

He smiles again, and they look at each other, an odd sensation sweeping through Impa’s chest. It’s similar to the excitement she’d felt when she managed to knock Volga down, but not... exactly.

It’s certainly different from the annoyance and near hatred that she used to feel whenever she’d see one of Volga’s smirks, and she knows he feels the same, his grins less smug, his pride eased more to simply confidence when they’re together. Somehow they’ve become friends despite their less-then-friendly interactions at first, and Impa enjoys having another warrior around to talk to.

Especially because of the other feelings she sometimes gets when she looks at him now.

...Not ones I should be dwelling on, she thinks hastily.

“It’s rather late,” she notes with a clearing of her throat, and Volga nods. “And I unfortunately have a meeting in the morning.”

“My condolences,” Volga chuckles, and Impa smirks.

“Don’t be too happy. You’re supposed to be there as well.”

Volga grimaces, and Impa smiles, groaning a bit as she stretches. She’s going to be sore tomorrow, but the spar was more than worth it. Impa stops leaning against the wall then, retrieving her naginata in order to place it back in her room, and turns back to Volga to bid him goodnight.

And startles when he suddenly leans close to her, his blue eyes trailing along her face.

Impa blinks at his closeness, the heat that had just begun to leave her face returning full-force. She meets his gaze, and he looks back, a faint smell of fire and smoke coming off him.

Then Volga softly nuzzles his face against hers.

“Goodnight Impa,” he says in a surprisingly quiet voice, his breath against her skin making the hair on her neck stand up.

Then he pulls back, and leaves.

Impa watches him go with a shockingly warm feeling sweeping through her middle, and she raises a hand to the cheek he’d nuzzled against, her heart doing an awful lot of leaping around.

It must be a dragon thing, she thinks almost dizzily, her fingers cool against her hot face. Platonic, surely.

...Surely?

Impa stands by herself in silence for another few moments, trying to get her wits about her, and blows out a slow breath as a smile slips onto her face without her permission.

Then she leaves as well, glad now that nobody is around to see the color of her face.

...

The memory fades, and Impa looks down at the scale she’d been rubbing between her fingers, orangish-red and shimmering in the lantern light.

She holds it up and studies the small details she knows so well, the way the color changes when she tilts it, the faint warmth it gives off. She’s not sure why she still has it after so many years.

It’s not like it makes the memories hurt any less.

Voices drift past the half-open flap of her tent, and Impa’s ear twitches at the soft sound of Link’s voice, Proxi chiming in answer. Her son's quiet laugh reaches her, and the sound equally warms her heart and tears at the ragged edges of it.

Impa sighs as Link's footsteps recede, his voice fading away, and she looks at the maps she's supposed to be using to plan out a route.

She breathes out, running her thumb along the scale one more time, then returns it to the small pouch at her hip, closing it tight, and putting her thoughts from Volga.

It's harder then it should be.

[fleetsonourgecentral]

hii not sure if this blog is active still but since its the 23rd, that means scourge finally gets the birthday he deserves in the fleetway universe.

OH SHIT HAPPY (late) BIRTHDAY TO THE BASTARD MAN HIMSELF

~~~

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Mmn."

"Scourge."

"Can't you take a hint?" Scourge hissed, swatting at the finger insistently poking him in the head. "'M sleeping. Go away."

"Absolutely not," Sonic snorted, evidently giving up on poking Scourge awake and upgrading to physically shaking him. "If I let you sleep in, you'll just be bitching later."

"When have I ever bitched about sleeping in?"

"Repeatedly. Get up before I push you out of bed."

It wasn't an empty threat, and Scourge knew it. The knowledge, however, did not stop him from burying his head under the pillow and groaning long and low. "Fuck off and let me dream about setting Tekno's experiments on fire."

It was disappointing, but not surprising, when instead of heeding Scourge's command, Sonic yanked him out of bed by his ankles, letting him crack his head on the cold, unforgiving floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Scourge twisted in Sonic's grip, pulling his poor ankles free. He glared up at Sonic, who looked down at him with his arms folded, customary smug smirk on his face. It was sorely tempting to kiss that stupid smirk away, but that would require getting up, and Scourge was seriously considering pulling the blankets off the bed and curling up on the floor and going back to sleep out of sheer spite. "What was that for?"

"Get up and you'll find out," Sonic said, nudging him with his foot. "It'll be worth it, I promise."

"How about you get up and find out a new place to sleep tonight," Scourge grumbled, reluctantly hauling himself to his feet. "Won't even let me sleep in peace when there's no new missions you need me for... don't get in the bed if you want to be up at the asscrack of dawn."

"This is my room," Sonic said, linking his arm in Scourge's before Scourge could contemplate throwing himself back under the bed-sheets. "If it bothered you that much, you would go crawling back to your own room."

"Maybe I will."

"Sure you will."

"You think I won't?"

"Prove me wrong tonight if you want to, but you're not going back to bed today. After all the bitching you did about the birthday chair on my birthday, I'm not going to let you sleep your birthday away and give you the chance to bitch about not getting the chair."

"Some boyfriend you are, not letting me sleep in on my..." he trailed off, half-asleep brain finally registering Sonic's words. "Birthday?"

"Yes," Sonic said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Birthday."

That couldn't be right. His birthday wasn't until...

Scourge frantically tried to remember the date, and when his memory failed him, he snuck a glance at the calendar.

Huh. Well, fuck him sideways, look at that. It was his birthday.

Scourge... had honestly forgotten all about that.

It wasn't his fault! It was this stupid dimension and their backwards way of writing dates. The weirdos wrote the day before the month, like maniacs, instead of putting the month first like a normal person. That little difference had tripped him up more times than he cared to admit, and he'd lost count of the amount of times the mix-up had gotten him into trouble. His recent tactic was to just leave all the date stuff to everyone else, and while he had gotten better at remembering their weird system, it still didn't come to him automatically. It was one thing to know, logically, what month it was, and another thing entirely to look at the date and associate the unfamiliar order with the month they were in. So he hadn't been paying much attention to the date, and the reminder of his birthday just sort of... slipped by him.

Apparently, though, it did not slip by Sonic. He remembered. Although Scourge couldn't remember ever telling him when his birthday was, so how Sonic knew was beyond him.

"It's my birthday, and you're still making me get up at ass o'clock in the morning?" Scourge complained, shoving down the warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest as he snatched his glasses from the nightstand. It was a familiar feeling by now, and it didn't bother him as much as it once did, but it was way too early for anyone to see him feeling sappy feelings.

"Oh please, it's only nine o'clock," Sonic snorted, dragging him out of the room. "Nowhere near the asscrack of dawn. Quit your bitching."

"I think I should get to sleep in as long as I want on my birthday. Don't I get any birthday privileges? What kind of fucked up dimension is this?"

"Your birthday privileges are the birthday chair. Move your ass, or you won't get any of the presents you were bitching about missing out on on my birthday."

Presents? Well, that was a motivator, Scourge couldn't lie. He dragged his feet for a few more seconds, just to prove a point, just so Sonic wouldn't win, but with lingering sleep slowly losing its grip on him, eagerness took its place, and he couldn't stop himself from picking up the pace a little. Sonic, like the dickhead he was, noticed immediately, and that stupid knowing smirk returned, and fuck, Scourge really needed to kiss it off his face. He'd do that. Later. Pencil it in to his to-do list. He'd get around to it right after he opened his presents.

Downstairs, the rest of the Freedom Fighters bustled about, the same way they had done for Sonic's birthday. Just like before, there were no cheesy banners (thank fuck for that) and the old ratty armchair had once again been dragged out of storage. The hand-made banners from last time were nowhere to be seen, but that was expected; those were banners for Sonic, after all, and Scourge didn't want banners about Sonic Day hanging from the walls on his birthday anyway. Overall, there weren't as many decorations as Sonic had, and the ones that were in the process of being hung up were boring and generic, but as most of those decorations from last time mentioned Sonic specifically, Scourge wasn't too upset about it. There was a green cushion on the armchair, though, which wasn't there last time, and Scourge took his rightful place on his throne for the day with smug satisfaction coiling in his chest. It wasn't much, but the cushion was so clearly bought with him in mind. It was for him and him alone, and it did wonders for his ego. No wonder Sonic was so pleased with himself while sitting on the armchair on his birthday.

"Scourge!" Amy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, beaming at him with a bright smile Scourge still wasn't used to. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks." Scourge leaned back in the armchair, crossing his legs and doing his best to shove away the bubbling discomfort. Amy didn't need to know he still wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to such genuine... genuineness. If she knew, she'd probably do it more, under some kind of excuse like helping him get used to it, which was such bullshit; Scourge knew her well enough by now to know she liked messing with people, and liked messing with people by being nice to them even more. The only reason she'd stopped telling people she was Sonic's girlfriend was because Scourge bragged about dating Sonic too much for anyone to believe it; apparently not even dating Tekno was enough to get her to stop, because Tekno found it funny and encouraged her to do it more. If anything united the Freedom Fighters outside of, well, fighting for freedom, it was opportunities to screw with Sonic.

Speaking of Tekno, she also fluttered in and out with presents clutched in her arms, parroting another "happy birthday" in his direction, although thankfully she was gone almost as soon as she said it, so he didn't need to reply. Even Tails waved at him as he flew in with a few more decorations.

"Sonic, can you-"

"Yeah, yeah, already on it," Sonic interrupted Amy, dashing into the other room after Tekno to help. Scourge peeked through the doorway after him; from what he could see, the pile of presents was nowhere near the size of Sonic's pile on his birthday, but he guessed that was to be expected. Sonic was the Hero of Mobius, receiving presents from grateful citizens in every Zone they entered, including a few sent over from the Special Zone, and Scourge had no interest in being viewed as a hero by anyone. No one had the same sense of gratitude towards him as they did towards Sonic.

An envelope and present landed on his lap before he had the chance to feel anything about that.

"From Ebony," Amy said quietly as she passed, like a secret. "And... well, the rest of them, too, I guess."

Raising an eyebrow, Scourge ripped open the wrapping paper on the present; Sonic had waited until all his presents were brought into a pile at his feet, but considering who this was from, Scourge figured he'd be forgiven for opening this one early. It was nothing special - a simple mug, Scourge couldn't tell if it was hand-made or store bought - but it was honestly more than he was expecting. It would be good to put his hot chocolate in, if nothing else, since he broke his last designated mug and hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet.

Setting the mug aside out of sight, he ripped open the envelope next. A cheesy birthday card greeted him - gross - but when he opened it, he was greeted with a glorious sight: money. Score.

He almost didn't bother reading the words on the card, but he was feeling gracious, so he skimmed them. Ebony's neat, cursive handwriting greeted him: thank you for all you've done for us. From Ebony, Pyjamas, and Super - The Groovy Train

Ew, sappy shit. Scoffing, Scourge tossed the card aside with the mug, ignoring whatever weird feeling was happening in his chest. He didn't even know why they'd bothered to send him anything; he didn't even like them that much, he only showed up to babysit Super if Ebony promised to pay him. But hey, if it meant he got birthday money out of it, he wasn't going to to question it too much.

Folding his arms, Scourge watched Tails and Amy hang the rest of the decorations. Someone managed to get their hands on some balloons, which they'd scribbled "yearly survival day" on in marker. And - oh boy - they'd found some banners to hang up after all. Amy was balancing on a ladder holding one end, while Tails grabbed the other, flying up to stretch the banner out-

Oh.

That... that was a hand-made banner. Not one of Sonic's, and not a generic or cheesy one, either.

Thanks for bullying Sonic, it read, with a bunch of names scribbled underneath. Signatures. Signatures of people he knew, people he was... friends... with. Front and center, proud, not tucked away at the back where they'd be out of sight.

Scourge stared at it. It was objectively ugly, an eyesore if he'd ever seen one, clearly made with limited resources, and the letters smushed together at the end where they'd clearly started to run out of room when they were writing. It was messy, far from perfect, nothing lavish or fancy. In all his life, he'd never had a birthday banner as ugly as this.

A pesky lump formed in Scourge's throat. He swallowed it down. At least his eyes were dry, and if that changed, his tinted glasses would hopefully hide that.

And oh fuck, there was Sonic suddenly standing before him, arms full of presents, glancing at the banner before meeting Scourge's eyes with that stupid, stupid, smug and knowing smirk.

Fuck it. He wasn't waiting. He was moving this task to the top of his to-do list.

Sonic barely had time to drop the presents onto the meager pile before Scourge seized him by the arms, dragged him in, and finally kissed that smirk off his face.

His triumphant plan promptly failed, for although Sonic couldn't smirk, his smugness was apparent in his kiss, instead. Asshole.

"Worth getting up for, huh?" Sonic said when they broke apart. "Was I right, or was I right?"

"Eh, I've had better," Scourge lied, pulling Sonic onto his lap. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

"I've got something planned for later," Sonic promised, looping an arm around Scourge's neck without his customary complaining. "Bring your spray can, we're going vandalizing."

... Fuck, Sonic knew him too well. Damn it, Scourge loved him. It was actually unfair how much he loved him. He'd say there should be a law against it, but... well, Scourge wasn't exactly famous for giving a flying fuck about the law.

"You'd better treat me to dinner after," Scourge said, instead of saying any of that sappy shit.

"You'll get burgers or hotdogs from the first stand we see and that's it."

"Cheapskate."

"You'll get over it."

It wasn't lavish, or extravagant, or over the top, or any of the flashy, fancy things he was sure he'd get when he became the King of Moebius. And it was still too damn early, and he would've still liked a lie-in. But the hand-made banner was for him, and was signed, and Sonic wasn't even complaining about being in his lap, so... it would do.

It would do just fine.

[marionmorse]

Short Fuse is the funniest fucking ship name to me because it's: 'oh yeah, fuse! Like bombs having a fuse! That's a cute way to reference Demo!'

and then engie's just short.

[mugentakeda]

WELL. I had an anon that was kindly asking me background info on my oc jiro and whatever he had going on with lu ten. I had the Fawking response all done and had it saved as a draft right. and i just needed to switch it to post but tumblr Wouldnt Let Me (it was saying something "went wrong" idfk) so I deleted the draft and was gonna try posting it again thinking the ask would reappear in my inbox but it DIDNT it just deleted the whole ask along with the draft :((( so i'm just gonna post it all here anyway and hope that the anon sees it fhkdndncmxbc,dndkzhnx

-basic stuff: 27 (<-when he meets lu ten), nonbender (<-doesnt need bending lol)

-finest jewelry maker in the fire nation. he also does metal art like embossing and figures and shit. he collaborates closely with famous potters and tailors in the FN to make stuff for the royal family and their special occasions (like holiday and celebration banquet jewelry and bedazzled outfits and shit). he also works with fire nation theaters, to help with their costumes for their more pricey productions. he's made MANY crowns for the royal family as well.

-oldest of 3 brothers. the business he owns was passed down in the family thru generations. jiro inherited (usurped?) it when he was 23, after he beat his father to death for smacking their mother around. their mother lives with the middle brother and his family on one of the outer FN islands. the youngest is estranged and started his own (less successful) business out of jealousy towards jiro.

-neutral on the war in the same way june the bounty hunter is- money is money to him. and when I say neutral I mean neutral. he obviously doesn't get clients or customers from other nations due to the war but if he did then he'd be more than happy to serve them. but his business still wouldn't be affected no matter the outcome of the war because even without international clients his wallet is thick, so he doesn't really care what the outcome ends up being. he believes a true businessman goes wherever the wind takes him and is good at adapting. not a "stuck in his ways" type of guy. the royal family is his top priority client obviously, but it's simply because they pay the most for the finest pieces. it's not out of any kind of loyalty or patriotism.

-jiro likes material things and having money, but he's genuinely super passionate about his craft and the arts in general. he does a lot of other crimes (<- lol) but counterfeiting isn't one of them. all his products and art are genuine, handcrafted, made to detail. he's probably kinda disgusted by the idea of counterfeit and scamming because he genuinely looks forward to the reaction of his clients when they receive what they paid for. he does the act of service, he gets the praise and the money, he's a happy camper.

-despite all of the above, his demeanor is the definition of greasy and sleazy- but he also can be genuinely suave when he wants. he'll charm the pants off your granny. but not sleazy in the same way zhao is, though (cus zhao is no real charmer lol). cus zhao is high in the navy so he's Very stuck up, and he's also an otl (<-???) ass-kisser. he's a slimy douchebag, but still one that adamantly adheres to and enforces fire nation law. he's a guy that has goals and will do anything to get there. meanwhile jiro, you look at him and you know he does criminal shit. he just gives the danger vibe, and he flaunts it with confidence. and you must reach at least level 4 friend to unlock the gentlemanly, white-knight-syndrome side of jiro.

-what jiro DOES do for criminal activity is that as he has most of all the fire nation nobility and high court (along with the Literal royal family) in his pocket. he has eyes and ears in a LOTTTT of people's business. sensitive business. criminal business. blackmail on top of blackmail. he's only loyal to people he personally gives a shit about, and whatever the people he cares about gives a shit about. he's got the love in his heart to make those extensions because he really is thoughtful in nature. but anything outside of that is not his problem so yes he WILL sell your ass out. the most dependable man in the world if he loves you, but the most venomous, backstabbing scorpion-viper if he doesn't care about you.

-and he doesn't hire goons- the business and its dealings are done all by him, and him alone. so if you air out his business or try to fuck with him, he will show up in your house alone and kill you in the next 24 hours i PROMISE you. preferred form of doing so is beating to death. and them is workers arms baby so you aren't getting out of it alive!!! jiro isn't very tall but he is strong as FUCK. and because of the fact that he knows everybody's dirty laundry he gets away with all of it lol. jiro is not afraid of jackkkkk SHIT (<- which is why he's very dependable if he loves you. he's unflinching and dedicated)

-as for him and lu ten: he and lu ten met by chance (they quite literally ran into each other in the palace and toppled over each other), and ended up being twin flames. lu ten's like the orange cat to jiro's black cat. they balanced each other out and jiro was exactly what lu ten needed at the perfect time. their first date or whatever (Doing An Activity Together) was having lunch and tea together in the palace gardens, and it kinda spurred from there. they spent time together like an old retired couple basically lol??? lunches, dinners, long walks from evening to night, doing their tasks in silence but they're next to each other so it's fun (<-parallel play for adults), sitting on benches for hours and just talking and bird watching. two people with tough jobs, so they sometimes forget to stop and smell the roses, but they reserve time for each other so they can stop and smell the roses together.

-it isn't ALWAYS them acting like a retired old couple though cus like I said jiro is a sleaze bag and a flirt. azula was the only one that really noticed and she was very disgusted by them and would constantly swear lu ten has a thing for losers. but then again she'd claim any person lu ten messes with to be a gross loser so there's that

-as soon as they got close to tension hitting a boiling point the siege situation rolled around (<-AVERAGE COCKBLOCKER IROH MOMENT) and lu ten obviously didn't come back. and jiro never let go of it because of all the "what ifs" and how there was something there that was mutual but it never became official or was put into words. so there's more regret rather than bitterness about lu ten's absence in jiro's life. like "right person, wrong time" trope??? but this is the dai li au so they'll be fine eventually lol

-after lu ten died and ozai took over, jiro was silently cut off from the royal family. ozai didn't directly order that or anything but he didn't commission or hire jiro for anything the way azulon always did. jiro also quietly removed himself from the whole political ring and just focused on his work. didn't have a reason to stop and smell the roses anymore, but the work never quits and the world didn't stop turning

-once azula got old enough to be let loose into the playing field, she hired jiro under the table due to her knowing how close he'd been with lu ten (which makes him someone she felt that she could trust), and he got put back into the political game (<- to everyone elses dismay). since her first rodeo was outside of the fire nation, he became her eyes and ears back home.

-and he wasn't forced by her or intimidated by her- he was brought back to life by finally having a real reason to get back in action again. at first, azula being the kid lu ten personally took care of for the first little portion of her life (<-which is a secret jiro knows from lu ten. azula doesn't know about that, and it's gonna stay that way. it's more to be a driving force for jiro. cus jiro has a "whats yours is mine" mindset when he loves someone. so what lu ten loved, jiro also loves. so whatever azula wants from jiro, jiro will provide it to her.) was what made being her guy so easy, but he ends up taking a genuinely liking to the crazy kid. he feels like they get along pretty well cus they're like-minded when it comes to their methods

[blackjackkent]

Raphael waits until Voss has left the room before turning fully towards Rakha with a wide, almost ingratiating smile. "I'm glad you came," he says mildly. "Not to my door, not yet, but to the final reckoning." He tips his head, studying her thoughtfully for a moment, then raises one hand.

"One more thing before we begin, though."

Rakha starts to argue, to tell him that she is not here for him, that she doesn't want anything he can possibly offer her - that her aim was to bring Lae'zel here to talk to Voss, and that Raphael's presence here is nothing more than an annoying flicker out of the corner of her eye...

...and then he snaps his fingers.

...and Rakha's mind goes blank.

Narrator: For the first time since the nautiloid, your mind is clear. It's... unsettling.

(A/N: Hahahahaha. So. Okay. I straight up forgot that this was a thing that happened, but damn if it doesn't come out of nowhere and completely bulls-eye the target.

It's become pretty clear to me over Rakha's journey since Act 1 that mental peace is the only goal she has that is stronger than the murder urge. It's stronger than her desire to defeat the Absolute, stronger than her love for Wyll, stronger than anything. And she's had a couple places where she's been able to get fleeting moments of it to varying degrees and in varying ways - the myconid spores, sex with Lae'zel, dancing with Wyll, channeling the Weave with Gale, sleeping cuddled up with Scratch and Buddy, and - most recently - the moment of "ecstasy" granted to her by the nymph in the room next door.

But most significant by far has been the Guardian/Emperor and her time in the Astral Prism, either in dreams or reality, as those have been the most complete and extended moments where both the tadpole and the beast have shut up in her head. And those experiences have driven most of her biggest recent decisions - particularly the decision to treat the Emperor as an ally despite its illithid nature, and to consume the Astral Tadpole.

One of Raphael's primary goals in this conversation is to convince Rakha that what he has on offer - the Orphic Hammer, and therefore a means to stand against the Emperor - is worth giving him the Crown of Karsus. And he opens the conversation by casually, literally with a snap of his fingers, proving that he can provide Rakha with the most important thing that she values about her existing partnership with Empy.

And, in fact, given that the narrator specifies for the first time since the Nautiloid, I'm inclined to say that Raphael in fact does it BETTER. I might have assumed that the game only means that the Emperor is no longer present in your mind, but there is a Dark Urge specific dialogue option here indicating quite directly that the murder urge is ALSO quiet in this moment.

This is such an in-character bit of smooth manipulation on Raphael's part that it is hysterical to me that the story has developed such that it happened by complete accident.)

Rakha goes completely still, as if she has been struck to stone. Her breath feels frozen in her lungs.

Silence. Everything inside her is quiet. The sound of the brothel fades to a distant hum and then out of hearing completely. The worm is unmoving in her temple. The beast sleeps. Everything is calm, and the only thing inside her skull is... her.

She opens her eyes - not having realized she closed them in the first place - and stares at Raphael in undisguised wonder. "The tadpole is slumbering..." she whispers. "And my blood... isn't boiling..."

Raphael smiles slowly. "I gave you back your privacy by shutting that illithid in your pocket out of your mind. It can't hear us."

Rakha shifts her weight uncertainly. This is Raphael, she reminds herself. A devil, like Mizora who tore Wyll's life apart. An evil not to be trusted. A creature she hates.

But the quiet is so deep, so impenetrable. Even the Guardian - the Emperor with whom she has thrown in her lot - has never silenced the voices in her head so thoroughly.

Does he know the statement he has just made to her? Or is it merely the luckiest of lucky guesses?

"Then speak freely," she growls. "Tell me why you brought me here."

Raphael relaxes, looking pleased, and lounges back on his heels. "I brought you here because I'm true to my word," he says smoothly. "And I can make all of this tadpole business go away - which means you and your lovely friends can remain blessedly free of tentacles." He smirks. "Unless some have already sprouted in places I can't see."

Settling his weight forward again, he hooks his hands behind his back with a businesslike attitude. "Let us speak plain," he says, his tone now crisp. "I'll admit - you've impressed me. I wasn't sure you'd make it this far. But no matter how far you come, you're still on the road to ruin - a road that leads directly to a confrontation with the elder brain."

His head tips forward, his eyes fixing on Rakha's. "At best, it will kill you and everyone in this city. At worst, it will assimilate you, and you won't have enough free will left to even wish you were dead." His gaze flicks to the pack on her hip. "You have the key to destroying it in the palm of your hand, though."

"The Astral Prism?" Rakha says slowly. What he describes doesn't exactly spark fear in her; none of it is anything she doesn't already know. What she doesn't understand is his angle, and the unexpected silence in her brain makes her thoughts feel strange and uncoordinated, as if she is running a few seconds behind the conversation.

Raphael shrugs. "In a manner of speaking. But it's the one inside the Prism that you need. Not the illithid - the gith." He spreads his arms dramatically. "I can give you the means to break him free."

Rakha frowns. This clarifies nothing - in fact, it increases her confusion. Why does Raphael want Orpheus freed?

"Speak, devil," Lae'zel says abruptly. Her eyes are narrowed with intense attention, her fists clenched at her sides. "We're listening."

Rakha hesitates. Yes - of course Lae'zel will want to hear more, if this is indeed what Raphael is offering, regardless of his reasons. And in truth, Rakha has been fairly conflicted on this point ever since they learned the Emperor's true nature.

The Emperor has been her ally up to this point, has granted her mental peace on occasion, guided her, advised her. Confided in her, even. But so has Lae'zel - and Lae'zel wants Orpheus freed. Which of them does Rakha owe more loyalty to?

Until this moment, it had seemed a moot point, since only the Emperor could protect them from the Absolute's influence; it stated quite clearly that Orpheus, if freed, would not provide the same service. Raphael, though, seems to see things differently.

"Orpheus's guards tried to kill me," she points out slowly, thinking out the statement word by word. "He's dangerous."

"To illithids - yes," Raphael says dryly. "But despite your reckless embrace of the parasite and recent mutations, you're no mind flayer... not yet. Orpheus would gladly execute the Emperor, but to you he will be a friend. After all, you're at war with an elder brain."

Rakha cocks her head to one side. "The Emperor is the only reason I'm still alive," she points out.

"No," Raphael says patiently. "*Orpheus* is the reason you're still alive. The Emperor is abusing the gith for its own ends. And it's doing the same to you." His lip curls. "You're nothing more than the beast of burden that will transport it to the elder brain. An ox requires food, and the occasional beating to keep it moving. You are simpler - the Emperor's words serve as both carrot and stick."

Narrator: Perhaps it is true that Orpheus would ally with you against the elder brain, but if he proves uncooperative once free, you may have to kill him.

Frustrated rage scratches at the back of Rakha's head - and absently she feels a flicker of wonder at realizing that just for this moment it is her rage, not the beast's anger but her own, grounded entirely in her own thoughts.

Raphael is, she has to admit, making a certain amount of sense. But there are only two interpretations here - either the Emperor is manipulating her or Raphael is. To agree to Raphael's manipulations would be to help Lae'zel - but it would mean siding with a devil, a tacit betrayal of Wyll. To stand with the Emperor would honor something of what she has learned in the past months about loyalty, friendship, honor - but it would mean abandoning Orpheus to his fate, a tacit betrayal of Lae'zel.

(A/N: I legitimately don't know wtf to do here. XD Raphael and the Emperor have both played Rakha like a fiddle so deftly, and Wyll and Lae'zel have both wormed their way so thoroughly into her life and thought processes, that she is now effectively deadlocked between them. This would actually be an easy decision if it weren't for MIZORA of all people, who isn't even in the room.

This is one of the few times when it would actually be awesome if Lae'zel just made an executive decision to do something dumb without my input but unfortunately there's no "defer to companion" option in this conversation.

I can't even very easily pick based on what I haven't done before, because I haven't either agreed with Raphael OR allied with the Emperor; Hector rejected Raphael's deal and then broke into the House of Hope on his own.

Jeez.

Ultimately I think we're going to stick with the Emperor because Rakha is, in her own way, oddly loyal to those she's decided have earned it, because I'm curious how the game plays out if you're on good terms with it, and because no matter how complete the mind-silence Raphael can provide and how much Lae'zel wants Orpheus to be free, I can't see Rakha agreeing to make a deal with a devil, particularly this devil, with Wyll right there in the same room.

Sorry, Lae'zel. :(

I'm going to slightly tweak one line of this conversation, however, in order to be able to get more info on the hammer before Rakha makes her decision, because she always wants more information.)

"Perhaps it's worth taking the risk,"(*) she says slowly. "How do I free Orpheus?"

"The Orphic Hammer," Raphael says matter-of-factly. "An artifact capable of shattering the chains that hold Prince Orpheus is held securely in my House of Hope even now."

Rakha lifts an eyebrow. "Perfect. Give it to me."

Raphael laughs brightly. "Such an eager little pup!" he says, a touch mockingly. "Surely you realize there is an exchange to be made. You scratch my back, I scratch your parasite."

Rakha's jaw works. "Just tell me what you want."

Raphael's expression hardens. "I want the Crown that dominates the elder brain," he says flatly. While Rakha absorbs this revelation, he looks past her, towards Lae'zel - perhaps seeing that she is the more willing listener. "And you, Lae'zel of K'liir... want to free the forgotten prince, do you not?"

"I want nothing more!" Lae'zel agrees earnestly.

Again that cool smile drifts onto Raphael's face. "Then it is settled, is it not? A Crown for a Hammer. A bargain of a lifetime, Lae'zel of K'liir..."

Rakha ignores his attempts to draw Lae'zel into the conversation, too focused on the information at hand, struggling to force her brain to process it. "What exactly is the Crown?"

"Power," Raphael purrs. "Ancient and full of wonder. I have craved it ever since the archwizard Karsus created it, long centuries ago, and brought doom to the empire of Netheril. That was the great age of humanity, and Netheril's flying sky-cities were the apex of civilization."

He smiles coldly. "I was there the day it all fell apart. Entire cities plummeted from the sky, like angels with broken wings." His eyes flick half-closed with a beatific expression. "The screams, oh the screams - hundreds of thousands of people watching in horror as the ground came up to meet them. It was not a happy meeting."

Then his eyes open again, and he is once again cool, matter-of-fact. "And Karsus was responsible. Not driven by malice, but by ambition. He forged a Crown imbued with all the powers of magic, a Crown that would make any who wore it a god." He snorts dismissively. "Men cannot contain so much power. The Crown destroyed its creator, and his empire fell with him. Karsus' Folly, the bards and scholars call it. I call it hope. The hope of creating a better world, and the perils of unchecked hubris."

He clenches one fist, a fiery light flaring in his eyes. "I knew then that the folly of mortals could be the triumph of devils, and that I could use that Crown to unite the Nine under one Archdevil Supreme. Me."

So that's what he wants. Power on a grander scale than ever conceived, in the Hells or anywhere else. "What makes you think," she asks, "you'd succeed in using the Crown where Karsus couldn't?"

To her surprise, that light in his eyes suddenly flares from satisfaction to rage.

"I AM NO MORTAL!" he roars. "And I do not fail."

Rakha squints. "If you don't fail, how come you didn't get hold of the crown then?"

It's a factual question, not a gibe, and surprisingly enough, he takes it as one and simply shrugs. "The Archdevil Mephistopheles snatched up the Crown and squirreled it away in one of his vaults," he says bitterly. "So much power and potential kept inert. He made a miracle into a museum piece." His eyes narrow. "I raged, but only for a decade or so. Then I waited, ever watching, for more than a thousand years, for a mistake, a mishap, a misadventure."

Again that slow smile. "And these Chosen who have caused you so much trouble accidentally did me a favor. They brought the Crown back into play."

"How did they come to have the Crown?" Rakha asks.

He scowls. "Through the aid of a diabolist, someone capable of opening a portal to the Hells -- *deep* in the Hells. They must have raided Mephistopheles' vault. Impressive, I must admit." A dismissive shrug. "But they'll be dead soon. If you don't kill them, the elder brain will. It doesn't have feelings in the way you'd understand them, but it seems rather angry."

His expression settles, his eyes fixing on Rakha's again. "It is inevitable. When you destroy the brain - and you will, because you must - the Crown will be yours for the taking. ANd when that moment comes, you give the crown to me. In exchange, I give you the Hammer now."

"Tsk'va!" Lae'zel snaps. "We should do as the devil asks. The Prince of the Comet must rise again!"

Narrator: A simple transaction, it seems. But it's more than that. He's offering you an alternative to the mind flayer in your head. Take Raphael's deal and you could free Orpheus. With Orpheus free, you would have no need to rely on the Emperor. But there's no guarantee Orpheus would be on your side. And if you take the deal, you'll have to fulfill it. You'll have to deliver the Crown of Karsus to the Devil himself. He claims his ambition is to unite the Hells. But can he be trusted to stop there? Do you trust him more than you trust the Emperor?

For a very long time-- Rakha says nothing at all.

This, then, is what they mean by temptation, what she is being offered right now. Wyll has said it is the domain of devils, and there is no question that Raphael knows her, and what she wants, with a depth she would not have anticipated. He has dangled an unsubstantiated promise of peace and victory in front of her in exchange for his own power, and the part of her that is made up of animal instinct wants to grab at it with both hands.

But she is more than that, isn't she? When the beast is silenced, there is more to her than that.

She can feel Wyll's eyes on her as this devil offers her an alliance against the thing that saved her over and over again. And she knows - thinks she knows, hopes she knows - what he would do, in her place.

"No deal, Raphael," she says abruptly. "I'm leaving."

All the warmth drains out of Raphael's expression instantly and his smile turns brittle. "I won't stop you," he says coolly. "But time is running out, so don't stay away for long. If you see reason, I'll be here waiting, right up to the moment the world ends."

-----

(*) The line in game is a flat "It's worth taking the risk" (and the other two lines are "i'm convinced" and "goodbye", so there's no actual uncertain option here).

[imeriayapping]

Hi bestie, hope you are doing fine. <3 you are one of my favorites here btw, just wanted to let you know this before continuing. <3

About the last thing you posted, I wanted to write you something because you said you hope at least one person writes to you.

I, myself, usually write out of necessity, I have to write only because of my degree, and loscar being my favorites, are always the characters I use to work with words. The concept is usually similar. I have some kind of a fixation I can't get rid of. Maybe I'm not satisfied with something? I don't know.

For some reason, whenever I write about them, one of them is not present and sometimes it's vague whats the reason behind it. In addition, another frequently used symbol in my writings is usually some kind of a garden that comes with them. A kind of symbolism for their love or their absence. An overgrown garden is usually used to symbolize the absence of one of 'em, and a beautiful lush garden reflecting the light in a beautiful way is usually a symbol of their good, or better days when they were together, in love, and happy.

You can use all the above and some kind of a supernatural or paranormal thing. Make one of the characters into a ghost or maybe let it be realistic and make one of them solely an idea that the other one has in mind. A product of their imagination or madness.

I didn't have any idea, and I thought maybe writing this to you; gives you some kind of a picture? Even if at last you don't like it and forget about it, at least, I've tried. I'm not really good with giving ideas or words, so an imagery was all I could give. Hope it helps one way or another. :>

With love, a friend. <3

Omg first of all skndkskdkslskfk thank you soooo much for this ask!!!! I'm very honoured to be one of your favourites (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)♡

Second of all i really like your idea so here something that my brain generated when i read it, hope you like it :p it won't be finished or anything but still something

It always was there, as long as he could remember there was a door that lead to a garden. It wasn't magical itself (at leat it didn't show anything to logan) but it's just always appeared behind any door if he thought about it enough. Garden was beautiful but always only for him to see, logan could never find it when he wasn't alone. The incident when he was six and tried to show it to Dalton but without any luck for twenty minutes before giving up and being teased about "imaginary garden" was enough.

One of the first times Logan gone there he broken a few branches and stomped few flowers, it wasn't out of cruelty but more of childish need to destroy sometimes. But after that only thing he was answered with was quiet gust of wind that made plants sing. It shouldn't have gotten any reaction from him probably but still, Logan was momentarily flooded with shame because of his actions, a gentle voice in his head reminding him to treat everyone around with kindness while broken wood shined under the sun as to remind him of what he did. Logan flew out of the door right after and didn't try to summon garden back for a few weeks.

Afterwards he got into a habit of helping the garden any time he visited, maybe picking up few leafs or watering flowers with hose that always was somewhere around. Besides that he just hang out there as before, sometimes running wild or just napping under trees.

Time was moving the same for outside world and here so for most part Logan only had bit's and pieces of time to spend there before his family would start to worry.

As his life progressed there always were three constants - racing, garden and oscar.

After moving to Europe it was pretty nice mix to keep him grounded, a passion of his life, a place ha can feel at home that will always be there for him, and only person that would be his friend no matter what distance is between them.

Meeting oscar probably one of the best parts of moving, part of the reason not to give up. Their friendship wasn't one to fall apart from distance of being in different series (tested in Logan's first year in f3) and by the time they got to f1 the bond is stronger than ever.

It makes Logan wish sometimes to show his garden to oscar but at that point garden became his place of solitude, his always sunny runaway spot. Even if he knew he wasn't there alone, Logan saw that sometimes pots were moved around or leafs that he put off cleaning weren't there when he came back. Maybe it's garden being actually magical, maybe someone actually come there but they never bothered him so he figured thay couldn't be too bad.

So he continued opening closest door whenever things became too much and sticking close to oscar, two simple truths of his life.

Until one day after oscar being so sweet to him and logan wanting to repay to that he broke his promise of not breaking anything in the garden. Well technically he didn't break, just carefully cut off a few flowers that he doesn't remember planting, to make a small bouquet for oscar. But it was fine wasn't it? He always could just put some new there and it's not like there was someone to mind.

Or so logan thought before he saw frown settle onto Oscar's face just few minutes after he received flowers, his initial smile melting away longer he looked at bouquet. This reaction made Logan anxiously ask if everything was alright but he was quickly reassured that nothing is wrong and oscar even going as far as to kiss him on a cheek, leaving him dizzy while oscar retreated back to McLaren.

Logan tried not to think too much of this interaction because he's pretty sure it would just drive him mad. So he hides this memory in furthest corners of his mind till he gets back to garden hoping to water some greenery and maybe even plant a flower that he was eyeing for a while.

It all came to halt when he was walking past flower bed that contained flowers that he cut off before. There was a McLaren cap hanging on one of the strongest stems that were left there as a result of his bouquet preparations. When he picked it up there was a little note with "these were mine >:(" that in pairing with cap left no room to imagine who other person in the garden was

"Fuck"

[greghatecrimes]

If I'm not around much the next couple days, it's just cause I'm absolutely exhausted from work + procedure. But I miss House and hanging out on here, so hopefully answering asks asap and more screencaps and rewatch this weekend :3 Maybe even some In the Dirt planning if I'm lucky

[offdensen]

missed that ask meme, curious about wonder! (also didn't know you wrote, just read your trek fics they are 😳🩵🩵🩵🩵)

aw, thank you! i really appreciate that :')

okay so wonder is an old project from when i first got into trek eight years ago. i barely wrote any of the actual fic, but the unfinished outline is over 7k words. it's a beast. i have no idea if i'll ever finish it lmao

there's this movie called this is war (2012) starring chris pine (all my feelings about aos and aos!kirk aside, i love cpine. what a guy) about two guys who are spies and end up competing each other for a lady. it's a romcom. it's not good. but!!! i thought the premise of jim and spock being undercover agents for starfleet intelligence and both falling for bones would be a fun sandbox to play in.

some key notes (this shit is long sorry):

jim and spock have worked together for two years; spock nearly always calls him sir, even when they're alone in private; they both have feelings for each other but. well. they're stupid

bones is still a medical doctor, of course. fresh on the heels of a divorce, he moves to a colony planet and works in one of the largest hospitals in the capital city, avicenna clinic and emergency center

this colony planet, nasir, is located near the border of the beta and alpha quadrants. there are three main cities on the northeastern continent with a string of rural settlements between them, with each main city named after medieval muslim astronomers (al-shatir in the north, al-haytham in the south, and the capital al-khwarizmi in the middle). this continent is largely humid with regular rainstorms and 65°F average temperatures year-round, making it suitable for growing fresh produce, the planet's main export

there is some weird political stuff happening in al-khwarizmi, which is why jim and spock are sent there on assignment; an agent-in-training chekov and long-time investigator scotty are working with them in tandom, but behind the scenes

uhura is a xenolinguist studying the influence of standard on non-human colonists' languages; she is in relationship with chapel, head nurse at avicenna; they are both some of bones' only friends in the colony

sulu is a botanist specializing in xenoagriculture, studying the efficacy of the planet's soil as well as a strange fungus that's been infecting some local crops

rand is a reporter for al-khwarizmi's local news station who's been trying to uncover the reason behind the abnormally high number of political representatives resigning from their positions

and some plot beats:

jim meets bones at a bar and is drawn to him immediately; they build a quick and easy rapport; "jim feels a little butterflies-in-the-stomach high as he watches leonard leave and he makes a mental note to come back to this bar tomorrow"

he later discovers that bones is the same doctor that spock sought after in his preparatory research, having made certain to find a skilled doctor with a xenobiology background in case their mission goes awry

spock requests an interview with bones before his scheduled physical upon discovering that jim in interested in him; they Do Not get along initially, but the physical appointment goes over much more smoothly and that's when spock is like "oh. i'm also fascinated by this man"

jim and spock establish three rules about pursuing bones: not discussing one another with bones, do not infringe on one another's wooing, and no sex. at this point there's no solid "this is polyamory" but rather a "winner-takes-all" deal

it's uhura and chapel that convince bones to deliberate polyamory with jim and spock; still abiding by their rules, they agree, still keeping their knowledge of the other a secret. i'm sure that won't cause any problems in the future :)

a lot of dates. oh my god they go on so many dates. mckirk at the arboretum and camping in tents and slow dancing in a park gazebo; spones at an art gallery and a vulcan restaurant and the aquarium. someone breaks one of their rules. whoops

while all of this is happening, there's an overarching plot regarding political intrigue, a possible homicide, and a plague. it's all very ambitious and probably the reason why i never got very far. maybe one day!

[theghostofashton]

congrats on the milestone. 🌟how about:

married prompt: "I'm going to bed. Do NOT stay up all night." "...Hmm."

thank you so much!! 💕 this one kinda got away from me haha, i hope you enjoy!

“That smells so good, baby.”

TK comes into the kitchen just as Carlos is setting their dinner down, dishtowel draped across one shoulder. As he’s turning back to grab a serving spoon, a pair of arms slides around his waist.

“Thank you for cooking,” TK murmurs, his breath tickling Carlos’s ear. Carlos turns his head just slightly, enough to press a kiss to his temple, and leans back into him.

“It’s just pasta.”

Every ounce of him wanted to just order takeout and curl up with TK on the couch, but after barely managing to squeeze in lunch from outside the past three days, he was determined to cook their dinner tonight. The desire had increased tenfold when TK had texted him and described his shift as ‘disgusting’, warning him that he was getting right into the shower as soon as he walked in the door. Carlos had promised himself he would have dinner waiting once TK had gotten out.

“No it’s not.”

Carlos smiles sheepishly in the direction TK is looking, another bowl sitting beside the dish of pasta.

“I made a salad.” He just chopped up whatever veggies they had left in the fridge and tossed them with some tofu, not a big deal. He’s happy when he can get there before they start to spoil and create something out of them.

“It’s really good,” TK says, once they’ve sat down and started eating. Something warm blooms in Carlos’s chest. He watches TK spear a piece of tofu and pop it into his mouth, the small smile that comes over his face as he chews.

read the rest on ao3!!

[tigergendermoved2tigergender]

Remembering the toxic hellscape that was 2015-2019ish SU fandom and just how much hate the show got is really insane when you rewatch the show after it's been a while. Like the show is good what the hell were any of these people talking about

[queenofbaws]

There's been a drought of non-poly Chrashley-focused content for quite a while now (apart from the occasional story on Ao3), and I'm starved for ANYTHING featuring the nerds and their schmaltzy escapades. I've considered remedying this situation by making my own food (read: trying to write my own fanfiction), but I fear I wouldn't do the characters justice. You've proven to be a talented author from what I've read of your works, so would you be willing to write a soft, sweet snippet in my stead?

catch me catching up on some not-quite-six sentence sat(or)sunday!

"So...is it that you think glaring it down is somehow going to magically make it safer, or...?" He couldn't mark it down as a full victory, not with the way her mouth was twisted up like that, but there was juuust enough laughter in her eyes for Chris to pat himself on the back. Not that he ever needed much of an excuse to do that.

After another moment of heavy, heavy consideration, Ashley sighed, then groaned, then forced herself to take a single lurching step over the threshold and into the cable car. She mumbled something as she shrugged her bag off and plunked it down on the same bench where he'd ditched his, and while he couldn't make most of it out, he for sure caught "death trap" and "tin can" thrown around in there.

"That'd be a 'yes' on the glaring question, then?" he teased, pretending not to follow her with his eyes as she sat beside him. She folded her arms and sighed again, and he nudged her shoulder with his own. "Think about it this way," he tried instead, "maybe it's Peter Pan rules - if you believe we're going to drop about a million feet and plunge to our icy deaths, then we will, and if you don't, we won't!"

"Chris! Oh my God." Ashley dropped her head into her hands, laughing tensely. Very, very tensely. "Do you seriously think that's helping?"

"Nah. I just didn't want to go full bad movie cliche and say, y'know...c'mon, Ash, what's the worst that could happen?"

The cable car's door clicked shut, the mechanism began to hum, and Ashley's laughter took on a desperate note. "Oooh but you said it anywayyy!"

She scooted another few inches away from the window, and just like that they were flush against each other, her arm pressing into his...from between, like, twelve layers of jacket, anyway. They hadn't even chugged a single inch up the mountain yet and whoop, yeah, uh huh, now Chris was all aboard the Anxiety Express too, his ticket paid for, processed, and punched in not by heights or the decidedly out-of-date maintenance sticker on the back window but Ashley herself. As was so often the case.

What was his move here? Did he have a move here? And, maybe more importantly, since when did he think about his life in terms of moves?

Okay, that last one was actually easy enough to answer: Since he'd hung up with Josh all of three minutes ago. It had been a thirty second call, if that, just enough to let him know they were heading up and he should expect them at the summit's station in the next ten minutes or so...but in true Josh fashion, he'd managed to pack that thirty seconds with as much psychic damage as humanly possible.

"Hope you two have a nice ride up," he'd said cheerfully enough, which had tripped at least five different warning alarms in Chris's brain. "See the sights, revel in the atmosphere, engage in a much-needed heart-to-heart...you know, just...really enjoy each other's company."

Good ol' Josh. Always knowing the exact thing to say to leave a guy completely unarmed.

Armed! Was that the answer? He could, in theory, sort of stretch his arm around her shoulders. People did that, didn't they? If someone they were with was freaked out? It...it didn't have to be seen as a romantic gesture, not if all he was doing was comforting her, but...but would she see it like that?

The cable car crept a foot off the ground, two, three, four, five...and right as they crested the roof of the station, it...well, it stopped. Completely.

"What's going on?" All it took was the cable car rocking once as it came to a halt and Ashley was on him, her face buried in the fur lining of his parka and her arms wrapped so tightly around his middle he could feel her fingers knotting at his side, Princess and the Pea style. "I can't look! How high up are we? I - wait, no, I don't want to know! Don't tell me!"

"I...we're like seven feet up, Ash. Like, maybe eight. Nine?"

"Make up your miiiiiiiind!" she groaned into his coat, her shoulders shaking as he did, in fact, scrounge up courage enough to wrap his arm around them. "I knew this was a bad idea...God, I hate these stupid things!"

"They've never stalled like this before. It's probably just, uh, a glitch or something. The system needs to warm up a little bit." He tried to sound confident as he said it, even as he glanced out the window and started running the numbers in his head. Could they jump out if they needed to? Maybe. It'd probably hurt, though, and he was prone to getting hurt on leisurely walks around the block, to say nothing of sick, snowy stunts. Plus, it'd taken a hell of a lot of convincing to get Ashley into the cable car in the first place; convincing her out of it...

"Yeah," she agreed, poking her head out from his coat only long enough to shoot a worried glance out the window on her side, "they've never stalled like this before, that's the problem, Chris! Maybe this is it! This is the time they break down for good! We're going to be stuck up here and - "

Before she could get another word out, the lights in the car flickered. And dimmed.

They turned to each other, eyes wide as panic began to really set in, and...and then...wait.

Now wait one fucking second.

The car suddenly filled with music. Music of the low and slow variety, that was, music the likes of which you only ever heard during the swelling denouement of a cheesy Hallmark romance movie, and Jesus Christ, he was going to kill Josh when they got to the summit. If they got to the summit.

Chris's head fell back against the glass panel behind him with a dull thunk. He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as they went. "Well," he said, feeling his adrenaline begin to flag, "looks like someone installed speakers in this bad boy since our last visit."

"Oh my God. Oh my...God." Beside him, Ashley slumped. Up until that moment, she'd been a spring wound tight against his side; now she felt more like a ragdoll folded up under his arm, her heartbeat still frantic enough that he could feel it through their layers upon layers of winterwear.

A moment later the cable car chugged back to life, rising up, up, up into the sky and towards the lodge, its lights low and its jams smooth. Chris waited for the moment Ashley straightened again, prepared himself for their inevitable separation...and even as the lights of the summit slowly came into view, it did not come.

"You just had to say it, didn't you?" Ashley asked after awhile, her arms still tight around him, her head still nestled in his parka's lining. "Just had to go and jinx us, huh?"

It took him a second, but when it clicked, it was all he could do not to laugh outright. Instead, he pressed his luck a liiittle more, tightening the arm around her shoulders to pull her closer before setting his chin atop her head. "Ash, uh, if this right here is the worst that could happen, I gotta be honest, I would love to know what your idea of the best-case scenario would've been."

[iiboronii]

Everyone strap in for my reply to Artic's post about the confneection building. I threw it in a Google Doc because Tumblr wasn't auto saving for awhile and that makes me antsy and the entire thing is one and a half pages long in 11 point arial font.

[withoutalice]

writing prompt- you cool with Tex x aid? Theme: playful cantor over a shared meal? If not, it’s cool. Alt pairing if preferred- same theme, ratchet and first aid?

Ough i'm sorry idk Tex's characterization very well so I did Ratchet x First Aid ;-;

Words: ~600

Warnings: Not much! Some descriptions of eating and full bellies at most. Just some medics having a good large comforting meal. Overall funny and introspective...

[ It’d been a long shift in the medical ward, leaving the CMO and CMO-in-training ravenous. Even though they both enjoyed cooking over eating out personally, the medics were too exhausted to make dinner themselves... ]

“What are you thinking to eat tonight?” Rat/chet asked. Fir/st Ai/d shrugged and flopped onto the couch.

“Feeling like…comfort food…maybe savory?”

“Hmm, how about pasta?” Rat/chet pointed out. Fir/st Ai/d mumbled an affirmative into cushions. After placing the order, Rat/chet got to cleaning off their dining table; he didn't bother to clean off all the dishes though.

"Well, Ai/d, don't fall asleep before you eat! I can't have you getting run down now..."

Fir/st Ai/d pushed himself into a sitting position and accepted the bubbly energon Rat/chet offered. Being a medic wasn't for anyone, and Fir/st Ai/d realized how resilient one must be to be the C/MO. Rat/chet didn't show much of an air of exhaustion, even though Ai/d knew he'd been working more this week than him by a bit.

They rested in silence, until their takeaways arrived! Fir/st Ai/d quickly unpacked the bags, Rat/chet watching him amusedly...

"The food is delicious, isn't it?"

Fir/st Ai/d looked up in surprise. He had been so focused! "Yeah, it feels like we haven't had a proper meal in ages..."

The C/MO shrugged. "It's nice to not be cooking for once, though."

"Mhm...though, it is always good when you do cook!"

"That's very kind of you to say..." Rat/chet hummed as he pulled his order in front of him. It smelled divine.

The pasta is deliciously al dente when they eat it, topped with a variety of sauces and toppings. Rat/chet got a heaping helping of pesto pasta. He sprinkles parmesan cheese eagerly on it, while Fir/st Ai/d breaks open his takeaway container of creamy alfredo with veggies mixed in.

As they eat, the two medics are relaxed and enjoying their meal, keeping up conversation as they do so.

Rat/chet takes a large bite, holding his servo in front of his mouth while he asks: "And how are your patients doing tonight?"

Fir/st Ai/d shrugs again. "Stubborn about taking their meds, but otherwise, they seem to be doing well."

"That's good to hear..."

They scarf down more pasta in content silence for a moment; before Ai/d speaks up again.

"I heard from some of the other medics that you've been more patients than usual lately. How are you holding up?"

Rat/chet twirls his fork around. "Not too bad, honestly. It's been a bit hectic, as our team has grown, but I'm holding up fine...."

Ai/d finishes his dish, wiping his face into the crook of his arm. "But don't you think you should take it a bit easier?"

Rat/chet tilts his helm back and scoops the rest of his meal into his mouth, setting the container aside. "Ah, probably. But someone has to do it, right?"

"Yeah, I get that. But I just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself too, you know?" Fir/st Ai/d blurts out the last part awkwardly, hoping the C/MO doesn't laugh at him.

Rat/chet just smiles warmly and gets up to clean up, bloated tummy brushing Ai/d's side when he leans over to collect the dishes. Ai/d hums approvingly.

"I can't believe i finally feel full...when's the last time we ate something other than rations in between shifts?"

He hears Rat/chet laugh from the connected kitchen.

"Oh, who knows, but it sure was delicious. Might have been a bit too much for me even-"

Fir/st Ai/d ends up moving back to the couch, holding his own full belly. He sighs happily.

"No wonder they call it comfort food..."

[drainbangle]

wait omg i’m curious about your unpopular thoughts about temenos writing wise.. i love when people discuss octopath writing it’s really enriching to see what we all have to say about certain story elements. plus you’re like a temenos representative to me. your thoughts about temenos make me go “so true!”

Aw, thank you! It took a while for me to decide on what to write here, since honestly I could go on for… frankly any aspect of this guy, especially in regards to treatment in fanon. But for now, I'll focus on my thoughts regarding how people treat tragedy in Temenos' story— namely, Crick's death— and why I personally dislike it as a writing decision and why I disagree with the idea that it is necessary.

Note: Goes without saying, but this is my personal opinion. If you believe otherwise, then that's all good. I'm not writing this to say that any one person is wrong, just to talk about an issue I have with the game's writing itself.

To start, I'll say that my main reason for disliking Crick's death in SH route is a matter of practicality. Killing him off causes Temenos to lose the main person that he had a fantastic relationship and banter with, and in my opinion, Temenos works best when he's bouncing off another person; not unlike most under the Sherlock-archetype.

Also, genuinely? It works wonders to keep Crick alive, if just because it provides a fantastic avenue to explore Temenos' institutional trauma. Having a character that's lived a different experience but within the same harmful institution opens up ways to explore the scope of its harm. And yes, this is for Crick specifically; not Ort, not the travelers, but Crick.

I think it really adds something that Temenos was raised by the church while Crick converted as a teenager during a really difficult time in his life. These two are good for each other. Crick sure as hell makes it a lot easier to write Temenos in fic.

(If you have a different experience, again, that's cool. I'm glad for you. I, however, will never fail to take the easy way out.)

(This is a lie, I'm over here making up fantasy church law for fic stuff but that's not related to this answer.)

I won't pretend that disliking Crick's death is an unpopular opinion. I mean, "Stormhail Fix-it" is an entire genre of fic on the OT2 Ao3 tag. What I do feel tends to go unaddressed though, is the fact that the idea that Crick's death is canon, therefore it is necessary, therefore it is the best decision; an idea that I wholeheartedly disagree with.

Within the text itself, Crick is killed off in order to give Temenos a personal reason to pursue Kaldena, thus putting him at odds with Kaldena's motivations being driven by her ideology and worldview that, "because humans committed the massacre, it was the gods' mistake to put us here". I also won't pretend that Kaldena's writing here isn't fucking awful, because Crick's death is also a device to make the player want Kaldena defeated even though she is just as much as a victim of the church; and that's to say nothing of her portrayal as an indigenous and dark-skinned woman.

These decisions are ones I disagree with. Killing Crick off was unnecessary to give Temenos reason to pursue the culprit, because Temenos already had someone close to him killed; and that's Pontiff Jörg. He raised Temenos from infancy, but due to the lack of focus on him outside of banter conversations, it's never relevant to his motivations outside of the desire for truth because a crime was committed. 

We also didn't need to kill Crick off to show that the church was a terrible institution, because Roi already went missing in action. The Sacred Guard is the main body of law within Eastern Solistia, it's not unreasonable to think that the reason why Temenos dislikes them is because they clearly didn't do shit to investigate his disappearance.

However, one thing I really don't agree with is the idea that Crick's death is necessary because Temenos' story is a tragedy. And if you asked me why, I'd ask this in turn: why is death the only form of tragedy? Furthermore, why must a tragedy contain only tragic events? That in mind, what gives anything value in a tragedy, then?

Pretend we cannot completely rewrite Temenos' story. Even then, changing Crick's death to a permanent injury, a coma, or whatever is still a tragic event; and that's nothing to say of living with the consequences. Isn't losing your faith a tragedy? Isn't losing something you worked for years to do a tragedy?

Similarly, I'd still argue that it's more valuable to make Stormhail a near-death experience because not only does it show Temenos succeeding in making someone question the church but also the terror that is feeling like you're doomed to repeat tragedy. Even if you really aren't, it's hard to dismiss that feeling; especially when it has to do with being victimized by institutions.

And before someone says, "but bad things happen to good people in real life", I'm not treating these characters as living, breathing people who are subject to things like gravity, hunger, and exhaustion. I'm treating them as choices, and choices made that I disagree with. 

It's why I make different choices. I choose to make Crick have to deal with chronic pain onwards. I choose to make Temenos realize change is still possible. I choose to let them both leave Stormhail alive. Are these better choices? I don't know. But I'll never stop questioning the ones made by the writers regardless; much less stop disagreeing with them.

So, in summary: I dislike Crick's death. I dislike Temenos having to spend the rest of the story without someone he can talk to so easily because Crick's absence weakens a lot of his scenes in Temenos 4. But more than that, I dislike the idea that tragedy is necessary on top of the idea that it is superior. Tragedy's good, I adore the genre; but written in mindful doses and all that.

[rebornofstars]

* I know I’m technically a focus on art but I also want to chat as writer—what’s one of your favorite troupes that you rarely write whether it’s because you feel you can’t do it justice or just because you don’t? Me personally I am an AVID fan of mind bending/un-reality fics, but I can never write them to a satisfactory level. They’re so fun to read especially when they’re multi-chapter and you’ve gotta theorize on wtf is going on!!! It’s quirky and fun!!!! No one knows what’s going on and I ADORE that type of confusion. Learning to write is fun but I’m not at that level yet and I’m excited for when I can GGHRAAAHHH!!!!

OH BOY. oh boy. hello there thank you so much for the ask i absolutely love it. this took me a while to respond to because i had to get my thoughts in order 😅 i like a good never-say-never attitude, but there are many many things i write that are not as good as the blurry versions of themselves rotating around the inside of my head! the potential, u know? i can never do the potential justice. somehow i don't think that will ever change.

one thing i definitely struggle with is long-term character development - whether it's romantic, like a slow burn, or platonic or just in terms of narrative structure, whatever. i can't seem to get it happening to my satisfaction. i am so comfortable collecting snapshots of specific points of a character's journey, but when i try to slowly allow them to grow and change, it always feels cheap idk 😬😭 i'm also not so good at writing stories which span a longer period of time and/or have timeskips. it's mostly due to lack of practice with longer stories, and i'm working on improving!

in terms of more specific tropes or genres, though.... mysteries. i can never figure out how heavy or subtle the foreshadowing should be. comedy is also hard, although i've been practicing that one and i think i'm slowly getting the hang of a few different styles that are more humourous. and sometimes i read, like, Feist and Wurts' Empire trilogy, or Rothfuss' The Name of the Wind, and realise all over again i have a looooong way yet to go when it comes to introducing worldbuilding into a story naturally and intuitively. also, this might be silly, because the LU fic i'm most known for is literally about this, but reveals? i'm not so confident i can live up to the hype or satisfactorily fulfill the tension i've built. i hope my cursebreaker readers are not going to be disappointed by the payoff/reveal i have planned 🤞🤞😁

that being said, though, i keep writing all of those tropes and genres anyway, and it's really an honour to have the space and encouragement to be giving it a shot. i'm so grateful that all my recurring readers have put their trust in me and my ability to deliver a good story. throughout my childhood writing has always been a very solitary endeavour for me and i cannot express how much fun i've been having on ao3 over the last year, and tumblr the last few months. i've never had a fandom community like this before 💕 and i like to think that while i'm still growing my skills, i also have the potential inside me for anything, if i give it a good shot and keep at it. i think we all do.

i'm very sorry for all of this word vomit 😁 i guess, to chat as a writer, all i can say is i also LOVE reality bending stories, and they're SO FUN and you're SO RIGHT, and i don't have so much one problem writing as i do a lot of smaller more general ones, because i like to throw myself into my problems head-first, and i believe that you too have a million potentials inside you if you keep at it, and i for one am very, very excited to see where you go. i guess this whole answer was a gesture of enouragement, in the end. 🤩🥰