#This may be rewritten yet I don't know

[wonder-worker]

Thinking about Elizabeth Woodville as a gothic heroine is making me go insane. She entered the story by overturning existing social structures, provoking both ire and fascination. She married into a dynasty doomed to eat itself alive. She was repeatedly associated with the supernatural, both in terms of love and death. Her life was shaped entirely by uncanny repetitions - two marriages, two widowhoods, two depositions, two flights to sanctuary, two ultimate reclamations, all paralleling and ricocheting off each other. Her plight after 1483 exposed the true rot at the heart of the monarchy - the trappings of royalty pulled away to reveal nothing, a never-ending cycle of betrayal and war, the price of power being the (literal) blood of children. She lived past the end of her family name, she lived past the end of her myth. She ended her life in a deeply anomalous position, half-in and half-out of royal society. She was both a haunting tragedy and the ultimate survivor who was finally free.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,811 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

11/30/24: **This Chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

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It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

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[apt502-if]

The demo to Apartment 502 is here!

It's been a long road. First thank you for your patience and understanding. 502 has been delayed so much mostly due to my own resistance, but it's here!

The demo is the pilot episode and I consider this an introduction. Episode 1 is when things really start to move but I wanted a good start just to introduce some key characters.

What to expect:

⛟ move to nyc and get dumped! (totally normal)

⛟ meet the people you will spend your time with now that you're totally and completely alone

⛟ try to find some purpose now that you're utterly alone in a city you don't know. totally cool. not a problem at all

**the stats have not yet been implemented and will be added in the next update!**

This is a WIP that I have changed constantly. There may be errors or typos/mistakes and if there are, please let me know, especially if there are parts where it may seem like a passage or scene was skipped.

You can probably tell where I started frantically deleting and changing plot points lol. The next update, this demo will probably be rewritten and updated but we'll see. I just wanted to get this out because if I didn't, I never would.

I hope you like it!

The demo is 41,780 words. Play Apt. 502.

[catghoststories]

Frank, Eddie, and the Tell-Tale Heart

So, I know the main focus of this update was Poppy, which I was happy to see (though I'm not happy to see what happened to her).  I do have a theory cooking about her, Sally, and the Commedia Dell'arte, but Frank n' Eddie are my favorite pair, and I've been stewing over this particular theory since the July '23 update.  This tiny line from the Looky-Loo storybook is what cinched it for me.

Source: Merchandise Page, Looky-Loo Storybook

This line isn't read out loud, but we can see it at around the 9 minute in the video, above Eddie, looking so polite.  It reads,

"Villains!" I shrieked, "I can deny it no longer! I admit the deed!—tear up my flower bed!—here, here!—it is the ticking of my beloved alarm clock!"

This isn't the actual line from The Tell-Tale Heart.  The original line reads "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!—tear up the planks!—here, here!—it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

Source: The Tell-Tale Heart

The Tell-Tale Heart is about someone murdering their roommate, cutting him into pieces, and hiding the evidence under the floorboards of their house. 

And I think this is what Frank is going to do to Eddie, in an attempt to protect him in a perverse, misguided way.

This rewritten lines seems very specific to Frank and Eddie.  We know Frank loves his garden.  And who's the only character in the Neighborhood who owns a clock?  Eddie.

At the end of the Homewarming video, Frank sees how distressed Eddie is.  As many have theorized, Frank seems to be somewhat aware of what's happening, although we don't know to what extent.  But he sees that Eddie is now in the line of fire of The Powers That Be, and he becomes worried for him.  

I think Frank will dismantle Eddie and hide him in his garden until he deems it 'safe' for Eddie to come back, once the 'eyes' are off him.  (Kind of reminds me of the Eye of Sauron from Lord of the Rings).  An unintentional—or perhaps intentional—side effect of being dismantled and put back together, with new parts, is that Eddie doesn't remember things well. 

Including, possibly, his and Frank's relationship.

This goes along with the theme we've seen several times in WH now, including this new Halloween update.  The puppets unintentionally—yet seriously—harm their loved ones in order to protect them from something they deem far worse—whatever that may be.

As these posts by kykudos, oniongrass, and nikkiiiscute discuss, there is an image from one of the hidden bug clips of Frank's garden with 9 clothespins—one buried in the dirt.

Source: Welcome Home Hidden Audio ('til it's back on the official site :3)

And there's the references to burial in Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight, too.  This post by the-nosy-neighbor goes quite a lot into this song very well, especially how it might indicate Frank could put Eddie into a suspended state!

Source: Transcript Page, Bug-a-Bye and Goodnight

Now I have been thinking about this dismantling/reassembling thing for a long time, especially since the last Halloween update.  Eddie is one of the puppets with a new costume, and he is Frank(enstein)'s monster.  And he has a big yellow band-aid on the back—Frank's color.  If Eddie is taken apart, Frank will patch him up again.

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(Also, I'm curious about the blue hand and face in Eddie's costume design. That's Barnaby's color. Does Frank use Barnaby's spare parts to put Eddie back together?! 😳 Especially since I feel like Barnaby's time on Mister Bone's Wild Ride is fast approaching—but that's yet another post 😅)

But based on the Tell-Tale Heart line, Frank may have been the one to do the dismantling in the first place, which is quite dark.  Based on the below picture from the former staff member page—clearer image here from Clown's Tumblr—Frank may be aware they're puppets and made up of various parts.

Source: Welcome Home Wiki until it's back on the official site :3

There is also an intense piece on Clown's Ko-Fi here (please support Clown if you can!) that shows butterflies doing SOMETHING to Eddie. Are they putting him together? Or taking him apart to join them in their hibernation? 🤔

Frank also likes gelatin. As he tells Poppy in their hidden audio, 'it holds perfectly sliced fruit beautifully'.  Perfectly sliced, cut up fruit, eh?  Gelatin is a preservative that we also see in the cookbook recipe, and we all know Eddie has an unholy encounter with his single pea.  So yet another symbol of suspended animation that is related to Frank and Eddie.

Source: Merchandise Page, Cookbook

So it seems like Frank has some experience in preservation, hibernation, etc. and knows how to use it, if it comes to it.

The next big update will likely be spring-themed.  A long time ago, Clown posted that Frank has a holiday in spring. Of course this isn't canon until it's on the website, but either way, I think Frank will have an important role in the spring update, which I believe will also focus on Julie.  We may see him wake up Julie from hibernation...and Eddie from his dirt nap.  

Source: Clown's Tumblr

(I've been so curious about that shadow behind the flower.  At first I thought 'OMG, it's Eddie's hand!', but I don't think so. 😅 I dunno what it is, but it doesn't quite seem flower like to me...🤔)

This Ko-Fi post (again, please support Clown if you have the means!) was posted around Easter this year and had a bunny/Easter theme.  Clown says "What is there to say though... Well! We know what the next holiday is in our Home Sweet Home, I'd say."  A huge theme of Easter/Spring are Rebirth and Resurrection.

As this post by serene-hatterene so beautifully details, Frank may feel pressured to kiss Julie to wake her up to prove his heteronormativity.  Maybe to further protect Eddie, too, to prove they aren't a thing.  Seems like Julie's family may show up this update, too, and we know family can cause a lot of pressure for couples during holidays. 😬

My last item isn't that strong, but I have been thinking of since the July '23 update.  In Eddie's Big Lift, Frank says the following line:

Source: Transcript Page, Eddie's Big Lift

The tense of "You always did work too hard" always bothered me.  Why doesn't Frank just say, "You always work too hard!"  And Eddie doesn't seem to know what he's talking about. Frank sounds almost wistful here.  It's like he's talking about his ex—a former version of Eddie, pre-dismantling, perhaps?

(Also, 'Enjoy the ground, Mr. Dear'? Dude, if this theory is right, that line is even more screwed up than it already was. 😳)

Here is my order of how I feel these events actually happened:

Secret Bug Audios (Eddie and Frank flirting) -> 1st Halloween Audio (Eddie still seems like his chipper, knowledgeable self) -> Homewarming -> Springtime (and Eddie's Resurrection)? -> Eddie's Big Lift

Not quite sure where this last Halloween update lands, but I feel like it's later.  Eddie seems ignorant of the potential adverse effects The Brickening (TM) could have on Poppy.  I feel like he's been more sensitive to Poppy and others in the past (but maybe I'm wrong, I'm biased towards him, heh).  Perhaps after his Reconstruction, his memory has now been reset, and he has "fallen into line" with the other Neighbors and their weird, pile-onto-one-person ways.

Anyway, what do you all think? 😬😬 I do hope I'm wrong, since Frank is my favorite, and this would make me feel very differently about him. 😬😬😬 Please tell me your own WH theories, too! I find them so interesting!

[deramin2]

I keep seeing people make the unspoken assumption with The Legend of Vox Machina that large changes made, especially to their most beloved parts, were rewritten that way from the beginning. I don't see a lot of space held for the idea that they might have tried writing things the way they happened in the AP and it didn't work. The things that hit hard in the breadth of an actually play may not emotionally work at all when condensed.

Percy's death and resurrection is a great example. Immediately killing off Ripley and then rushing Percy back home to attempt a resurrection worked really well in the actual play with player/audience knowledge of the gamble inerrant to resurrection and an agonizing week before any resolution was possible. But condensed into an animated show with almost no passage of time, it would take away the weight of that death completely. It would remove the stakes not just for his death, but all others after him.

Multiple resurrection rituals are another thing that worked really well in the AP, but would end up being tedious and repetitive in animation. Especially when they all miraculously work. You don't have a DM telling the audience what the stakes are and then see the gamble pulled off successfully.

In adaptation writers often have to choose between 1:1 events without the context that made them impactful, or changing events so the emotional beats translate. I'd much rather have the heart and the vibe be what's kept.

It's also very silly to say "XYZ didn't happen" when the season hasn't ended and we might not have gotten to it yet. I've seen people be salty about this numerous times only for it to come up in the next set of episodes. You have to be a little chill when you know things got moved around to fit better.

I just feel like if you dwell too much on the desire to see your favorite bits adapted exactly as they happen, it's easy to end up disappointed. And easy to miss why things might have had to change to make a stronger story in a different medium. You have no idea how many times things were reworked to fit before a different direction was taken. You have no idea how much they actually cared and wanted to keep things. Or even what was most important out of a scene to the creators themselves.

The AP was a first draft and sometimes as a writer you have to kill your darlings to better support the entire story instead of specific cool scenes that emotionally miss in the broader context of the story. I'd much rather lose scenes I wanted to see in order to see a whole arc that ultimately hits home on the same emotional level.

[kerubimcrepin]

Dofus: The Production - what is left of the old movie

Originally, the movie was supposed to tie in with the game and the Welsh & Shedar series, and be a trilogy.

As we had already explored on this blog, this did not happen for a variety of reasons.

Welsh and Shedar got cannibalized by other projects due to its cancellation, and the script of the movie "Dofus Book 1: Joris Jurgen" had to be completely rewritten from its old plot;

In that movie, Joris was likely supposed to be a street urchin, who survived together with Lilotte, who was a rogue, and the trailer we have for the older version of the movie reflects that:

As we can also see from the trailer, and the poster featured earlier, proto-Kerubim is also a part of the movie, and Khan was not yet meant to be a boufbowler.

(And considering the posters, the cat that inspired Kerubim's design was also a part of the movie. I wonder if it's related to Welsh's cat from Welsh and Shedar? But maybe I'm just crazy.)

Subsequently, the movie came out at a much later date than planned originally.

(two images included because, bizarrely, there are two versions - one with Joris's tail censored, and the other with his tail uncensored. This proves that already at this point they had a draconic backstory in mind for him, though we do know that at the time of Wakfu season 1 (and, likely, the cancelled DS game, as was noted in my post about it) it was not the case.)

Also, interestingly, it is the only art of this time to include the tail. A possible error on Xa's part, or something that was considered very briefly?

In the end, Kerubim (as well as Simone) swallowed up not just the design of Welsh's cat, clothes, and Ecaflip friend;

He also got the role Julith was supposed to have, both metaphorically, and also literally.

Or not entirely — considering the fact that Joris was supposed to spend time with him anyway, since we have art of Joris on his mount from that old draft.

It's quite interesting, to think of all that could have been different in the 2009-2012 version of the movie!

But even during the making of the second draft of the movie, a lot of things have changed. From the first idea of Joris winning Kerubim back at a pachinko machine, to the concept art of Joris's non-possessed appearance.

The movie was being actively rewritten at the time of the making of Aux Tresors, so some of the early drafts were already tied in with its canon — taking place in Astrub, to be specific — but not with its ending, because the show was still ongoing.

At one point there was supposed to be a whole cast of Huppermage characters, and judging from the fact one of them is mentioned in the following text, they did play some sort of role in the plot:

It is likely that from this early draft it was decided that Joris would be a boufbowl fan, which was then worked in as a plot point in Aux Tresors.

(Stélina may be a proto-version of Bakara.)

It also seems that at this stage, it would be likely that Lilotte was reworked to be the Princess of Bonta, before eventually becoming the Ouginak we know and love.

After this Ankama once again returned to the concept of Lilotte as an orphan, though — even when the movie was still set in Astrub!

And it seems that the draft involved travel between Astrub and Bonta, judging from the usage of a Zaap to attack Luis.

And even at this point they have come up with the tragically cut "Joris and Khan go to adult industry workers and Joris (10yo boy) engages in depressed underaged drinking" scene.

(I'll never forgive Ankama for cutting this. I still argue that it's in character for Khan, our detested/beloved turbovirgin, to do this — as long as he doesn't get together with any of the women due to thinking himself "too good" for them.)

Also, at some point the gods were supposed to play a role. And personally, I am glad it was cut — it feels a bit too grand for the first movie in what was supposed to be a series.

I don't have any grand statement, or conclusion, but it is interesting to see all the ways the movie has changed.

[firelxdykatara]

I too ship Zutara and think they should have been canon. Although for me it's important to know how such a rewrite would go down. I tried to think, and I'm lost.

After Mai betrayed Azula for him, will he just go "sorry, not interested"? He isn't obligated to date her because of this, but her redemption hinges on Zuko and I don't see it being satisfying if he ends up rejecting her after this.

I thought the solution would be to rewrite her arc in boiling rock to make her have a moral realization, but then the problem with Maiko is practically solved. Their relationship wasn't salvaged by her redemption because last time they talked, Mai still didn't understand what's wrong with the Fire Nation and only changed because she loved Zuko. So how do you make it both satisfying & logical?

With Kataang the problem is the Chakras. The problem with the original (in my opinion) is that after he opened his chakra, letting go of his attachment to Katara, he's still attached (forcing a kiss on eip). Should TCoD get rewritten so that Azula shoots him before he opens it? Then why wouldn't he just open it later? Maybe the chakra would be locked so he feels as though he doesn't need to overcome his attachment just yet. In that situation, how would his chakra even unlock? The stone thing felt like nonsense, so how would I do it?

So yeah I have no idea how to approach this. How would you? (Thanks)

I've been rotating this ask in the back of my head like a rotisserie chicken for a few days--it's interesting because I don't generally stop to think like, how would I write them out of these relationships, I either ignore the relationships completely (which isn't hard, they were barely footnotes in the cartoon) or play a little bit with jealous exes or something. Thinking about like, In A Perfect World where Bryke wasn't in charge of ATLA post-canon (because if zutara had been canon, you can be sure they would've made us regret it) is interesting, and I do have thoughts on how I'd handle their relationships in a rewrite.

(this got long, so the rest is beneath the cut)

Assuming you mostly want to keep canon intact, I think maiko would be the easiest to work around, given how little relevance their relationship has in canon. The problem with maiko as an endgame ship is that it was not set up that way--if it had been, it would not have begun entirely off-screen and their whole relationship would not have been a study in misery and utter inability to connect emotionally. His relationship with Mai was there to showcase just how much he had changed and how little he fit into the life he had been so sure he wanted more than anything since his banishment. It worked very well to highlight Zuko's growth--how that contrasted to Mai's lack of it and why she could not understand him even at his most open and vulnerable--and did not work nearly so well when she was shoved back with him in the epilogue, after he'd quite literally forgotten her existence (he never mentions her again after Boiling Rock, not even to say a word of mourning, considering he'd have every reason to believe she was killed for defying his sister).

I don't think you can fix this by giving Mai some moral realization, because there simply is no room for it. As @araeph says in the essay I linked:

As a character, Mai is very useful to the story during Zuko’s return, because she represents everything that Zuko gains by sticking by his father. A girl who cares about him; the ability to indulge her; the authority he has over others at the palace; we see it all in his interactions with Mai. But this makes Mai a tether to a life he has long outgrown. Her function is not to advance Zuko’s character development, but to obstruct it, which also unfortunately means that Mai gaining a full understanding of Zuko’s trials would be disadvantageous to the story. If she knew everything about him and still wanted him to stay, it would give Zuko more cause than he should have to remain in the Fire Nation, but if she knew and encouraged him to leave and join the Avatar, it would rob Zuko of the triumph of making this decision on his own. In other words, there are good narrative reasons for keeping Mai in the dark; it just doesn’t make their relationship any stronger.

The seeds of a genuine redemption arc (one that includes some sort of moral realization and change to her moral framework) for Mai would have to have been planted far earlier than five episodes from the end of the series, but doing so would have of necessity detracted from Zuko's own character arc and the realizations that he makes despite his attachment to Mai (or more specifically to their relationship, which I feel like he was clinging to more out of a sense of abject loneliness he couldn't shake rather than genuine feelings and emotional connection).

So, in my mind, since we're tackling this with an eye towards getting rid of maiko with the fewest ripples to the overall story anyway, the easiest way to do this would be make one slight change to the end of the Boiling Rock two-parter--have Ty Lee (who had always been the least gung-ho of the trio about bowing to Azula's whims and had to be textually threatened into joining her in the first place) save Zuko's life, and then have Mai (who showed the most genuine affection for Ty Lee anyway) save Ty Lee. I love Zuko more than I fear you always fell flat for me as some epic declaration of love, anyway, since a) Zuko is not around to hear it, and b) unlike Ty Lee, she never showed much fear of Azula to begin with, so it wasn't a very high bar to clear. It was a cool line that was entirely unearned, and I don't think it would be missed, there would be some cute mailee crumbs this way, and a throwaway line of getting them released from the prison after the war ended could wrap up their presence in the story pretty nicely.

Now, kataang is a little trickier, if only because the last leg of Aang's character arc is almost completely derailed by his refusal to let go of his possessive attachment to Katara, to the point where he never naturally reopens his chakras, he has to have the Rock of Destiny hit him in just the right place, and the deus ex lionturtle there to give him a way out of having to make a hard moral choice. (I've maintained for years that if you work the final act of your main character's overall arc in such a way that it could have been solved by one good session with a chiropractor, something got fucked along the way.)

The thing about Aang's chakras is that, narratively, his whole thing with Guru Pathik and leaving his training early to save his friends was basically his version of Luke running away from his training with Yoda on Degobah because of his Force vision, only to find out that his friends were in the process of rescuing themselves and then losing his hand because he hadn't completed the most crucial part of his training. What's missing, therefore, from the last act of Aang's character arc, is the return.

See, in Star Wars, Luke pretty explicitly makes the wrong choice when he chooses to prioritize saving his friends over attaining enlightenment and fully mastering the Force. It was the only choice he could have made, but it was still the wrong one--because, like Aang, his friends did not actually need him to save them, he actually almost makes it harder for them to get away by requiring them to save him because, like Aang, he loses a battle in a very critical way. This was a lesson he desperately needed to learn, and it is clear he has learned it by the time he makes it back to Degobah and witnesses the end of Yoda's life, his own enlightenment having already been reached.

But Aang never goes back to the Guru.

And the text refuses to allow us to sit with the fact that he made the wrong choice in prioritizing his attachment to Katara over his ability to master the Avatar State. He is actually narratively vindicated about it, because the plot bends itself into a pretzel so that he doesn't have to spend any time during the last book trying to reopen his chakras and regain access to the Avatar State, handed both in the final battle with no excess effort on his part, and handed the girl into the bargain. (The girl who never even wanted him, so far as we can tell from all the lack of cues she gave him that she actually returned his feelings.)

And I think this could have been solved with a few scattered scenes. Let Katara actually have some agency in her own romantic relationship (or lack thereof), insofar as noticing Aang's advances and clueing the audience in to how she actually feels. Let Aang struggle with the fact that he can't reach the Avatar State, that his mastery of the elements is in limbo because he can't access his full power, rather than ignoring all of this until the end of the show. If we're trying to keep the shape of the last season roughly the same, let Katara confront Aang about the invasion kiss.

This would have been the perfect time to establish that Katara actually does feel some type of way about Aang prior to the epilogue, and it could have saved us from the exceedingly cringey EIP kiss that Aang never apologized for. How it comes across now, of course, is that Katara basically pretends it never even happened, to the point where she doesn't even know what Aang is talking about during EIP until he reminds her--the death knell for any shot their relationship had at looking requited, because I can tell you, as someone who's been a teenage girl, if someone I had conflicted but burgeoning romantic feelings for had kissed me, I would not have completely forgotten about it only a few weeks later--and we never get any indication as to what she actually felt about the kiss (which was not mutual, despite what Aang's dialogue in the EIP scene implies) except for the fact that she looked away and frowned afterwards. (A change mandated by Bryke, who wanted to leave her feelings completely ambiguous; the original storyboards had her smiling to herself.)

So, with an eye towards wrapping up Aang's puppy love crush and establishing Katara's distinct lack of romantic feelings for him, have her talk to him about the kiss. A good frame of reference for this would be Meng's conversation with Aang in "The Fortuneteller", where she finally realizes that he doesn't like her in the same way she likes him. Katara and Aang's conversation about the invasion kiss could be a callback to this, with Aang having some important realizations--that just because Katara doesn't share his feelings doesn't mean she loves him any less, and just because he can't have her the way he wanted doesn't mean he has to love her any less, that she doesn't belong to him but that's ok, because she's still his family and they'll always have each other's backs. Which could have functioned well in helping him take another step towards unblocking his chakras. Going back to the Guru directly may not have worked, since by this point in the story we're hurtling towards the final confrontation and Sozin's Comet, but let Aang reflect on what the Guru told him with new understanding granted him by his experiences throughout the first half of the season.

To keep the stakes high and up the suspense, obviously, he shouldn't have fully unlocked his chakras and the AS before the final fight, but the seeds could be planted--little moments like a talk with Katara about the invasion kiss, maybe a little more empathy and understanding from him about why Katara needs closure in TSR, etc--and then, during the final fight, rather than hand him all the answers on a silver platter, have him almost lose. He still can't go full Avatar, he's out of time, he still doesn't know exactly what to do about Ozai given his own pacifism and desire to preserve that part of his culture--he tries to fight but he's pretty quickly overpowered. Idk how I would've animated this, and maybe it wouldn't have looked as cool for the final fight, but the true climax of the finale was the Zuko and Azula agni kai anyway, so it hardly matters--I'm picturing him doing the rock-shield thing and going into a brief meditative state, where he finally achieves the enlightenment necessary to unlock the AS on his own, no rock of chiropracty necessary. And at this point, I'd give Ozai a Disney Death, since leaving him alive causes more problems than it solves and it's not necessary for Aang to kill him for him to die--they're fighting on a mountain ffs--but if you don't want to change that part then him figuring out energy bending as part of becoming a fully realized Avatar would at least feel more earned than the lionturtle just handing it to him. (And that could've been foreshadowed better by seeding the idea for it earlier in the season.)

After all of that, particularly if you up the emotions during the agni kai and have Zuko and Katara kiss there (or something less explicitly romantic but still tender, like a brief forehead touch), it'd feel pretty natural to have a just friends ending for Aang and Katara. Maybe a brief, slightly awkward but ultimately amiable conversation if Zuko and Katara had a ~thing at their final fight, and then the final shot of the series could be the gaang all together, maybe zutara holding hands or Katara resting her head on his shoulder or something, but since they already kissed there wouldn't feel like a need to end the whole show on romance, something which I've always felt missed the point of the series.

And then, y'know, after that, the world's your oyster! This is how I'd do it if I were trying to keep the bulk of the final season intact. Of course, breaking it all down to its component pieces and rebuilding from the ground up is also an option, but that'd probably be a longer post lol.

[mariikado]

Bookshelf in Good Omens 2. What clues to look for and what to pay attention to when reading each book.

And don't show this to Neil! And don't ask him about it!

Carefully! There may be spoilers here.

1. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.

The main character sits alone and writes a diary. There is also a very interesting love polygon in the book. At the very end of the book there is an interesting moment about the girl’s father, who writes his book in an interesting way.

For me, this was the answer to why Good Omens 2 was made the way it was: incomprehensible, confusing and with a lot of questions after viewing.

2. No Woman No Cry: My Life with Bob Marley by Rita Marley.

This is Maggie and Nina's book.

Look for the donkey, as well as the story of Rita's shooting. Notice what Rita says when she remembers Bob (he's dead, but he's everywhere).

3. The Crow Road by Iain Banks.

Not only discussions about God are important, but also the meaning of the expression “the crow road.” Notice the angelic goats dressed as ravens in the intro. Remember the story of Job, remember those little goats who followed the crow's path. Try to tie it all together.

And also pay attention to the meaning of matches. What do they mean for the story in the book and could they mean the same for our story?

Crowley recommends this book to Muriel not only because it contains a lot of discussions about God. He knows how important the matchbox is in the story, and he wants Muriel to know it too. Muriel must know that matches are the key to solving the mystery. At the very end of the second season, the story is just beginning to develop. The matchbox doesn't appear in the plot yet, but it will happen in the future, and Muriel must know in advance what it means. I think so.

4. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon.

A very interesting main character, with a very interesting perception of the world around him. I think this is a hint on how to watch Good Omens 2. The second season needs to be watched the way this boy looks at the world around him. He also has interesting thoughts, some of which may be important to our story.

5. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.

I have identified five characters. One of them is a naked man (note the reason for his undressing), the second character experiences déjà vu and has strange relationships with colleagues, the third character will do anything for profit (even if he has to bomb his own), the fourth character is compared to God (note , what ultimately happens to him), and the fifth is not entirely noticeable, but wears fake glasses and a mustache. Find them all and analyze what happens to them and why, what their goals are and what consequences their actions have. Think about how this all fits into our story and who these five characters are like.

6. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez.

Besides the wonderful love triangle, there are almonds to be found here. This is a small clue to the meaning of almond coffee. The character is a photographer with his secret love - I think this is also a small key to unraveling the mystery of Good Omens 2.

7. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

There are matches here too, find them. Try to analyze the thoughts of the main character. I still couldn't decide who this book belonged to: Aziraphale, Crowley or Muriel. I'm leaning towards Muriel. Although Neil said that Muriel may not be Muriel in season three. So Aziraphale or Crowley could become Muriel in the future. I still think it's Aziraphale.

The main character of this book underwent shock therapy, and this smoothly leads us to the next book.

8. 1984 by George Orwell.

If you still doubt that history is being rewritten within history, do not doubt it. This book is direct proof. I would also suggest that the shock therapy in the book is an analogue to the erasing of memory and reformatting of consciousness in our history. Then that would explain what I said earlier about Muriel. This book confirms all my previous theories and reasoning. Who, for what purpose and how many times rewrites history - we will find out in season 3.

9. The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler.

This book contains another clue to the mystery of almond coffee. The book also features a dead bookstore owner who photographed the character's real killer, who was illegally transporting alcohol. There is a little quote about how everything was planned in advance, and this quote is said during the kiss.

10. In this post I talked about the Bible: here.

But I forgot to mention Aaron's rod. This is another key to almond coffee. Read the story of how flowers grew from Aaron's rod and what it means.

11. The Great Gatsby by Francis Scott Fitzgerald.

Gatsby was a liquor smuggler, he loved a blonde and in the end he got shot because of her, don't forget that. This all dates back to 1941. So who's shooting who?

12. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger.

To be honest, I have a hard time understanding why this book is on the shelf. The book could be there because of a guy who has a dead red-haired brother (yes, Crowley's brother or twin could very well be real). The book may be there because of the story of catching children over an abyss (the story of Job). The book may be there because of the description of the film, in which a guy loses his memory after a war (after the apocalypse, someone has to survive).

13. A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket.

I recommend reading this series of books and also watching the series. I think the books and the show together will help you understand who Sadie is in Good Omens 2.

Also look for snakes, zombies, anything related to crows, secret codes used by characters (Prime uses them too). Look for smart thoughts, there are many of them. Look for librarians, read about the secret society. We ourselves are a small secret society: we collect information bit by bit, analyze it and share it with each other. Everyone notices something different and everyone is right in their own way. There are many clues in both the books and the show. Feel free to draw parallels. There are even moments that are filmed very similarly in both series.

14. Herzog by Saul Bellow.

A difficult book. Lots of talk about God and faith. I relate this book to the character who will survive the whole apocalypse mess in season 3. Read it for yourself, maybe you will have other thoughts.

15. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

This book needs to be read from cover to cover. The whole story with the revolution and the French guillotine. Think about who those same revolutionaries in our history could be.

All moments with similarities between the two main characters, and also pay attention to the spy. Remember that Jane Austen is a spy. I still assume Jane Austen is Shax. In episode 4, Shax becomes Crowley; Before the stunt, Shax becomes like Aziraphale. Thus, in the dressing room there is a spy and two characters similar to each other (you can read about this here). There is a scene at the end of the book that may shed some light on what is really going on in the dressing room.

In the book you can also find a rose on the hat. Think about this character and the reason he put a rose on his hat.

Find this sign “👆” and its meaning in the book.

Find a seamstress in a book who walks hand in hand with someone very similar to the main character.

This book is on many posters in the hands of Aziraphale for a reason.

16. Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad.

Just read Lord Jim's story and apply it to our Jim.

17. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Jim is also in this book. And this Jim stole a treasure map from a bad pirate. We can only guess what Jim brought to the bookstore in our story: a “map of buried treasure,” a book of life, the power of God. What other options?

18. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Yes, there is a very interesting love story and more than one. A parallel can be drawn with both couples from the book. Jane Austen herself also plays an important role throughout the second season.

Read books, look for clues, superimpose season 2 on these books. This is the wonderful world of Good Omens - an incredible work and an amazing journey!

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I may have been reading a bit too much omegaverse but I stumbled upon your stuff on ao3 and uh now it’s not getting out of my head so I’m here

may I request omega!Steve + alpha!Bucky having a sparring session that escalates beautifully?

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Also, before we get into it, I semi-recently wrote another lil thing here on Tumblr about Steve and Bucky sparring that you might want to check out, although that prompt fill is much, much angsty-er and not omegaverse specific.

And, lmao, that's fair. I haven't been thinking a lot about omegaverse recently, but every time I am on my omegaverse bullshit I am on it and into it.

And I was really thinking about what I could do with sparring and omegaverse and smut, reading your prompt, but then... I had a thought: omegaverse, fighting not sparring, and something similar to this iconic scene from Captain American: The Winter Soldier.

Then, things got angsty. I'm sorry, lmao. I didn't mean for it to happen! It just did.

So, consider the idea that Steve and Bucky were bonded mates before Bucky fell and "died" during the war. Bucky is Steve's alpha; Steve is Bucky's omega. Yet, when Steve wakes up in the modern world, not only has history been rewritten to say that Captain America was an alpha but, also, his relationship with Bucky has been erased. It had to be because if it weren't, that would mean that either (a) they would have to claim that Steve and Bucky were an alpha-alpha couple which they don't want to do because that'd make them queer and that's not a good propaganda pawn or (b) they would have to claim that Bucky was the omega, swapping Steve and Bucky's designations which is... plausible... but, that would mean admitting that omegas went to war and, that, again, is unpopular and not good propaganda. So, they just destroyed their relationship entirely and reassigned Steve's designation.

Steve isn't sure how to feel about his life being eroded like that. His relationship; his very, very strong feelings about what society tells omegas, especially omega men, they can or can't do; his history; his understanding. But, as fucking confused as he is about all that, warring with himself and trying to figure out where he stands, it is easier to let it be. Without his bonded mate--really, with having just lost his bonded mate according to his body, that doesn't know it's been seventy years, it thinks it's been just a handful of weeks since Bucky "died", his mating cycles haven't started to try and re-calibrate, triggering themselves to get back on tracks. Bucky was the one his heats were synced to. His grief puts a halt to his regular cycles for now anyway. Besides, the suppressants that exist nowadays are so much better than those from Steve's time.

So, yeah, it's much easier to let the world think he is an alpha, using scent-blocking deodorant and body wash and all that, letting people believe that it's just the chivalrous thing Captain America would, of course, do because his alpha scent is so fucking strong, if he didn't, he'd have a multiple-block line of omegas trailing after him throughout New York City.

They don't know the truth.

No one really does. There are just one or two high-security clearance people at S.H.I.E.L.D. in medical that know because they're synthesizing an extra strong heat suppressant for when Steve's body does decide it will try to realign itself without his mate. The secret needs to be kept.

However.

That all fucking changes in the blink of an eye when, finally, fucking finally Sam, Nat, and Steve track down the Winter Soldier, or rather, the soldier tracks them down to a rundown metropolitan area, all empty warehouses, junk cars, and beat up loading docks. They're running (or flying, in Sam's case) through cracked concrete and warped metal, swearing they see the soldier around every corner and hearing him, too. Their coms are haunted by whispers of each of them believing to have heard his footsteps just ahead, the sound of his arm recalibrating just over their shoulder, his weapon cocking behind them, or the eerie, all-around them sound of his breath through his mask, filtered and almost Darth-Vader-esque (Steve knows that reference, thank you, Sam).

It's hours of a wild chase, running in circles.

A death spiral.

Until...

Steve chokes on his own spit, sweating through his stolen museum uniform, as he's rushed from behind.

He's hit.

There's a nanosecond of stunned shock before he registers what's happening--it's the muzzle of a gun shoved into his back unforgivingly and trying to throw him to the ground with the impact. Steve bends under the weight but throws his own mass to the side, not letting himself get pinned to the ground and effectively evading the heavy gun pressed against him. He's lucky that the soldier doesn't just shoot a hole through him.

As he rolls away from the impact. His back stings with hot, vicious pain. He slams his shield to the side and CLANG! rings the dinner bell. Metal on metal. The large, bulky machine gun the soldier is carrying clashing with his vibranium shield. The vibration of the hit rattles Steve's teeth in his jaw. He won't let himself be stunned again, though.

So, he throws more of his mass behind his shield when he gets both feet on the ground and strips the soldier of his biggest gun. But not before he fires off a handful of shots against his shield at point-blank range. The POP, POP, POP of the gun is so loud Steve is momentarily deafened, his ears ringing so badly that there's no sound at all. The heat of the gunpowder combusting radiates through Steve's shield back into his body--he can feel it in his arms. His heart races. The combustion is all he can smell. He doesn't need hearing or smell, though. Not when he's so close. He doesn't mind being burned alive, either. Not in his frantic state of mind. He's right fucking here. This is the closest they've come. They need to make this happen. And they need it now. So, he can take it.

He has to.

Another shove and the soldier loses his grip entirely. The big, heavy gun skids across the ground, scraped up and scratched on the concrete before finally slowing to stillness impressively far away from them. Already, though, the soldier is moving to grab another.

Steve needs to beat him to the punch. Brute force.

And so, he has no choice but to swing the shield away, leaving himself open to be hit, but sacrificing safety to hold onto the muzzle of the next much smaller handgun the soldier rips out of its holster.

Steve can't let him have it.

They struggle in the overcast, humid weather.

Strength-to-strength.

Hand-to-hand.

Breath-for-breath.

They're shockingly on par with each other, even as the soldier's arm recalibrates with a mechanical war cry, whining sharply through the ringing in Steve's ears. But ultimately, the handgun goes flying, too. Landing on the magazine, jostling it, and making it pop off in a random direction. It doesn't hit either of them. Steve doesn't hear Sam or Natasha close by either, so they're safe for now. He focuses on the fight he has in front of him, trusting they'll keep themselves out of harms way as best they can.

The gun just goes off once and then slides across the ground just as the other one had. The dragging sound of it is sickening like nails on a chalkboard. Steve wants to wince but can't risk it. His eyes have never been more goddamn open.

The soldier has a knife next. Not another gun.

Steve, through his exerted panting, lets out something of a sigh of relief, at least that shit can't make as much terrible, sharp fucking noise. It's also, y'know, good that the threat of having holes shot through him isn't as pressing. A knife is still bad, but he can work with a knife. He can.

He will.

Steve backs up, giving himself room to play. Both side-stepping for real and faux rushing in, Steve blocks every stab, cut, and swing the soldier throws his way, forcing him to make moves he wouldn't if he weren't brawling with Steve.

With more and more missed hits, Steve can see he's getting frustrated. He isn't tiring out because Steve isn't tired out. Not yet. He can do this all day. But the soldier is getting angry--it's the only flash of emotion he's seen on his face. Granted, he's never seen this much of his face before with his goggles gone. His mask is still firmly in place, though. Only his eyes are exposed--especially his eyebrows are exposed, 'cause they're so dark and expressive, furrowing in aggravation with what must be a vicious snarl.

The next thrown stabs are reckless. He's leaving himself open. Steve takes the window he's giving, exploiting it and using it to his advantage. Punching in.

Steve manages to get the knife away from him, too, but not before the soldier strips him of his shield entirely. It rattles against the ground like a coin dropped, rolling around its rim with an obnoxious clang!-groooooiinng-roooooiing-ooooooiinnnng-rnnnnng-rrrrrnnnng.

They're fists to fists then.

It could only be more vulnerable if they were bare knuckles to bare knuckes. That'd suck worse. The soldiers metal arm could surely best his flesh and bone to a bloody pulp easier than Steve could fuck over his metal architecture.

It's a rushing, messy blur of body-weight-thrown-behind-them punches and knee-sweeping kicks, getting knocked down and getting up, rolling and turning and tucking. At some fucking point, Steve's face down on the floor, fist thrown out into nothing but concrete, and he's gasping through his gritted teeth. His ribs hurt. He sees fucking red but it washes out, running pink and then clear like a bloody wound rinsed clean behind a faucet, as soon as he feels the soldier's organic arm wrap around his throat like a boa constrictor.

Shit.

Steve opens his mouth, gasping, not through his teeth this time. He fights that much harder. Motherfucker.

He twists like an alligator in a death roll, except he's not holding onto prey. He is the prey, and he desperately needs not to be. In the soldier's grasp, he lifts his leg and kicks it back hard. The soldier barely grunts, and instead of being deterred by his thrashing and kicking, he hauls Steve's body back as if he weighs nothing at all.

Steve twists harder and harder and harder and ends up with his nose in the soldier's armpit, his neck twisted and strained harshly to the side, tendons screaming at him. His vision is just starting to go fuzzy at the edges without oxygen, getting choked by the soldier so intensely, when--

Steve's choppy, barely successful inhale that fights to happen under the instinctive need for air, his lungs spasming and chest heaving even while his brain knows he won't find any oxygen--that inhale, it brings in the barest hint of a devastingly familiar scent.

Bucky.

The scent that's wafting off of the soldier's underarms is undeniably alpha, and it's choked with the acrid scent of distress and exhaustion. But, deeper, beneath that unpleasant, unwashed scent, it's just... that's... it's-! That's the smell of his alpha. Seventy years long dead. His alpha.

His alpha smells like sweet tobacco and fragrant cigarettes and summer sweat and well-loved leather and deep, old woods. His alpha smells like home. His alpha smells like himself. Bucky. His alpha used to smell, most of the time, like Steve. They were always all over each other, of course.

Steve can't tell if the soldier smells like him. For one, he's always slathered in scent blockers, so he's not even sure what he smells like without them anymore. And for another, the moment is there and then gone, so he doesn't get more than a single, earth-shattering whiff.

It's a faint whiff, even though the soldier's smell is so strong, but Steve knows what he fucking smelled.

He knows the truth.

His body knows the truth, dropping limp beneath Bucky, reacting so viscerally to his alpha. All the fight drops out of him.

Alpha.

His body screams for his alpha.

Steve doesn't even fucking do anything, he can't. His hindbrain works a million times faster than his conscious, logical brain. He folds to his alpha because that's what his innermost omega demands. That's what it wants. That's what it needs.

Bucky.

He needs Bucky.

He needs his alpha.

He misses his alpha so fucking much.

Steve whimpers, the call of his mate's designation right there on his lips, "a-alpha," but it dies before he can get it out. He doesn't have the air for it.

And in a fucking flash, before he's even processed what's happening in his logical brain, he's hard. His body and hindbrain are working overtime to push him. Hitting hyperdrive. He's wet. He's gutted with the sudden onslaught of heat rushing into him.

Heat.

Steve is on the cusp of spilling over like a little Dixie cup beneath a pouring, rushing faucet.

Pheromones. Fever. Slick. Cramps.

Heat.

He's tripping.

He is.

He is spilling over.

Steve is unraveling. Every constructed asset of Captain America peeling away beneath the terror and celebration he exists undeather, knowing that his bondmate is alive. Terror for what's become of him--what's been done to him--and celebration for knowing he's still alive, even if alive may be a stretch. He is a shell.

He is a shell because Steve's Bucky wouldn't choke him intent to kill. But the soldier does.

The soldier is.

The soldier is going to do him in.

The soldier would--the soldier will choke him out. The soldier will kill him. He will because he's been giving the opportunity on a silver platter, Steve's body limp. His instincts can't be overriden. The pure relieve and horror he feels. The rushing, rising tide of his stunted heat suddenly overcoming him. The soldier would murder Steve if not for Sam, who does a flying kick to Bucky's shoulder and knocks him away from Steve.

Bucky growls roughly, even more frustrated than before. But, something in him has changed. His eyes dart between Steve and Sam uncomprehending what's happening. There's the darkness of primal instinct behind those eyes. Steve desperately wishes he knew if it was his natural alpha instincts or whatever perverted, twisted instincts whoever did this to him placed in his broken mind.

This is Bucky, but this isn't Bucky.

Steve watches, heart throbbing in his crushed, hurting throat, as Bucky scrambles to his feet. Body lifting and moving with deadly precision, his metal hand clutches at his flesh and blood shoulder. It's sitting at an awkward angle compared to the rest of his body. Sam's kick must've dislocated it. Steve can't shove down his own growl, territorial over his alpha who's been abruptly dangled in front of his face, just out of reach.

Although Steve's possessive, mate mate mate protective instincts turn into a whine quickly. One of his hands lifts without his conscious input and stretches out toward Bucky. His fingers tremble, aching to soothe the hurt he's masking and aching to be soothed himself. Moments from every heat he's spent with his alpha over their life together flash before his eyes as his alpha's eyes bore into him, confusion plain as day, then realization, then horrified fear, and then he's scurrying away.

Bucky doesn't bother to grab a gun, knife, steal his shield, or anything. He's just high-tailing it out of there--there one moment and then gone the next and leaving Steve to deal with the aftermath.

Alone.

With no mate.

Entirely devastated.

Steve is choking and sputtering after being choked, feeling wet and sticky between his legs as the fever of heat really starts to sink its teeth into him. Jesus Christ. One smell of his alpha and his grieving, out-of-wack body has locked itself into a tailspin. Jesus Christ. He's so fucked. So not fucked. He remembers what his heats were like after the serum. They're unstoppable. Worse than they ever were when he was just a runt omega. He needs his alpha.

How's he going to survive one without him?

What is he supposed to do?

Steve has just begun to comprehend some of what unfolded, and he already feels helpless. He's crushed. There's nothing he can do.

Steve swallows a pathetic cry, stuffing it down his throat.

A cramp roils through Steve's shivering body. He ends up collapsing forward into a ball, his cowl-covered forehead hitting the concrete ground with a desperate, defeated clunk.

His ears are still ringing. His heart is still, of course, pounding. His nose tells him he can still smell his alpha, his perfect, familiar scent crowded by the scent of so much fucking pain. And his eyes squeeze shut that much tighter. So, he can't hear what Sam is saying. He can't see Natasha rush over. He can't parse out the questions they're asking him or the way they're touching him gently, trying to figure out where he's hurt, how badly he's hurt. Steve can do nothing but try and fail to grapple with the impending doom of knowing he's in for a week of agony without his alpha.

His alpha who is alive.

He has to find him.

He needs him.

P.S. if you enjoyed this pain™️ you'll like this orphaned fic, "it's gotta get easier somehow ('coz, i'm falling, i'm falling)"

I forgot about it until I finished this little drabble, but I've had it bookmarked forever, so, it probably inspired this subconsciously!

[yuurei20]

Dialogue Comparison: Twst Manga vol.3

A comparison of the official translation of volume 3 of the Twisted Wonderland manga vs. the original manga (vs. the original game vs. EN server)

Original Game/Manga Chenya: At least...I'm on a different level than you all over there.

EN Manga Chenya: At least, I'm on a different level than your average mage in training.

EN Game Chenya: Let's just say I'm not from the other side of the looking glass.

(While EN-Game Chenya's line was wholly rewritten, EN-Manga Chenya may sound as though he is insinuating that he is a particuarly powerful magic user. In the original game/manga, Chenya is just teasing the group of Ace, Deuce, Grim and the Prefect.)

Original Game/Manga Chenya: Huhuhu~n♪ (This is the sound of Chenya humming, which can also be heard in the audio)

EN Manga Chenya: And the momeraths ♪ ...OutgraaaaBe! ♪

EN Game Chenya: Ha ha ha ha...!

Original Game/Manga Trey: But...for me, I just can't scold him.

EN Manga Trey: ...I don't have the heart to scold him.

EN Game Trey: I don't think the situation calls for it.

Original Game/Manga Trey: But, for me...I just can't bring myself to scold him.

EN Manga Trey: I just can't bring myself to criticize him...!

EN Game Trey: But for me...I can't hold that against him, you know?

(Trey and Riddle's shared history was rewritten for the EN Game. It has yet to be confirmed if it will be kept in tact in the EN manga.)

Original Game/Manga Crowley: The strength of magic is the strength of imagination.

EN Manga Trey: The strength of one's magic is the strength of one's imagination.

EN Game Trey: Visualization is key to spell casting.

(The word "imagination" will sometimes be removed from the English-language game, which is interesting as the characters generally use the English-language word "imagination," which can be heard in the audio. The word is repeated often.)

Original Game/Manga Ace: And how a kid turns out isn't what decides a parent's worth.

EN Manga Ace: And you can't judge a parent's value based on how their kid turned out, either.

EN Game Ace: And the accomplishments of a child aren't determined by the worth of their parents.

(I have always wondered why this was translated backwards in the EN game.)

Original Game/Manga Riddle: Why are playing cards the only thing I can produce!

EN Manga Riddle: Why can I only conjure cards?!

EN Game Riddle: (removed)

Original Game/Manga Riddle: The only acceptable response is, "Yes, Riddle-sama!"

EN Manga Riddle: The only acceptable response is, "Yes, Lord Riddle!"

EN Game Riddle: The only response I will accept from you is, "Yes, Housewarden Riddle."

The English-language game has localized the "-sama" honorific as Mr., Master, O Great, O mighty and Count (when it does not drop it from dialogue).

[mimisempai]

P.S. I love you

Summary

The post brought a large, thick envelope addressed to Aziraphale. In a few moments the angel is plunged back into the past as he rereads these letters he wrote and never sent... letters which, when read between the lines, all say the same thing.

Notes

Flufftober Prompt : Written but never sent

On Ao3

Rating G -  714 words

Crowley looked up from the newspaper he was reading when he heard the familiar sound of the mailbox flap on the front door.

He dropped the paper on the coffee table, stood up and picked up the single envelope lying on the floor.

It was big and thick, and when he saw the name on it, he called out, "Angel, you got mail!"

As the demon went to the kitchen, Aziraphale came out, and when he got close to Crowley, he took the envelope his lover was handing him.

The angel sat down at his desk and carefully opened the envelope under the amused gaze of Crowley, who had returned to the sofa.

He took out a bundle of sheets that looked more or less old from where Crowley was looking.

Aziraphale frowned and muttered, "Dear Cr... oh, I don't think it's for me..."

Then Crowley saw him blush as the angel shook his head and said, "Ah! Erm... no, no, I didn't say anything."

Crowley, his curiosity piqued, asked, "Are you all right, Angel? Is that bad news?"

Continuing to read, Aziraphale waved his hand at the demon and said, "No, no, everything's fine. Keep reading, keep reading your paper."

Crowley, amused by the angel's antics, chuckled softly and then resumed his newspaper, knowing from the angel's focused expression that he would learn nothing more. Yet. Which didn't stop him from occasionally glancing in Aziraphale's direction.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, engrossed in his reading, went through a myriad of emotions as he progressed, flapping letter after letter.

They all began in the same way.

Dear Crowley.

My dear Crowley.

All the letters he'd written but never sent.

Some unfinished.

Words crossed out, then rewritten several times, then left undone because the words weren't enough.

Some where a tear had smudged the ink.

Some containing only one line, others three pages long.

Several times the angel's throat tightened, or he felt the need to smile or laugh as he relived certain moments from his past through his own words.

When he finished reading, he glanced at Crowley.

His reading had taken so long that the demon had fallen asleep, the newspaper open on his chest. For the angel, there was something surreal about seeing the object of all those letters lying there like that, after reading all those fragments of their past.

Aziraphale carefully folded the letters, placed them in the envelope and took it before sitting down beside the demon.

He placed the envelope on the coffee table, picked up Crowley's newspaper, folded it and placed it beside the envelope, then curled up against the demon, who instinctively wrapped his arm around him as he slowly woke.

Crowley asked in a sleepy voice, "Are you all right, Angel?"

Aziraphale nodded against him.

"All right."

"What was in the envelope? You looked completely engrossed."

Azirphale replied quietly, "Unsent letters." 

Crowley sat up a little, now fully awake, and, holding the angel against him, asked, "Oh? From whom to whom?"

Aziraphale replied, blushing slightly, "From me to you. I think an angel of our acquaintance must have done a bit of tidying up in the bookshop and seen fit to send it."

Crowley straightened even more, then, seeing the envelope on the coffee table, bent to pick it up before stopping and asking, "May I?"

Aziraphale told him gently, "You may, but it won't tell you anything you don't already know."

"Meaning?"

While reading the letters, written in his own hand, Aziraphale had realised through these words, written over the centuries, a truth that had taken him much longer to admit to himself, either in thought or in word. 

All those words, written, crossed out, scratched out, smeared with tears, said only one thing in the end.

He raised his hand and placed it on the demon's cheek, saying softly, his voice full of emotion, "That I love you."

Crowley leaned his cheek into the angel's hand and replied with a small smile on his lips, "Then I don't need to read them when I can hear those words in your voice."

Smiling, Aziraphale drew the demon's face close to his until their lips pressed together in a sweet kiss that told the demon far better than dozens of faded letters how much his angel loved him.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

South Downs cottage series : here

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[generouskittentidalwave]

Talking about Odysseus after disappearing for months

Ah greek mythos tumblr, one of my first tumblr stomping grounds. Alright ima make this short and sweet on my current thoughts on Odysseus

Ancient greek Odysseus is such a fun character and one of my fav ancient greek heroes that I've studied so hard I know things about him by heart. However it's hard to outwardly enjoy his character with the public as ppl either take things heavily out of context because they don't know ancient Greek and translations suck, and they read stuff about him also heavily taken out of context by those same ppl that paint him as an asshole, abusive, aggressive, womanizer who cheated, which none of these are true, and the asshole part is only half true as it could be seen as an asshole by our standards but back then he was genuinely a good sane guy with the hubris the size of an ox and heavily undiagnosed adhd. Or they see Odysseus as one character which a lot of ppl, even ppl who love his character, do so they claim everything the character has ever done to being one person, both good and bad, when that is furtherest from the truth.

In reality Odysseus is not one single person and never has been. Homer did not create his character, he created an adapted and revised version of his character that many have created before he came along and many have created after him. Even non Greeks created stories about him. The story about Odysseus leaving that one guy on the island? Yeah never actually happened in greek terms, in reality Odysseus wasn't actually there in the story at all and didn't do or say much of anything other than "🕴" the whole time, yet because of that one story ppl blame him for being the main cause of it anyway. Odysseus has never been and never will be one person, you basically find a variation of him that you like and enjoy it and add bits from other stories to it and boom there ya go, enjoy it. That's how it works and always has worked for centuries.

And Odysseus is being brought back and rewritten all over again in our modern era via Epic the musical by taking a character that was created beforehand and adapting and revising said character, just like homer once did, and so did the others before them. And in the future ppl may question the morals of said musical and make another Odysseus to fit their modern time. It's an endless cycle that will repeat itself forever.

If you were to ask me who my favorite Odysseus is? The Odysseus in EPIC the musical while adding a few bits of the Iliad here and there (hoping he makes an Iliad musical one day), it's the one I grew most attached to and love as an adaption. Ancient Odysseus is an amazing one but Modern Odysseus is my personal favorite.

So enjoy your variation of Odysseus and have fun with it as long as you stay respectful to the greek culture and it's original source (aka don't make Odysseus a horrible man and his two rapists girlbosses and label him a cheater, that shit AIN'T flying around here. Period.)

And I hope you all have an amazing day and night! ^^

[formulauno98]

A Birthday to Remember - Part Four - Toto Wolff x Reader

Originally written as an OC, inspired by an amazing request from @latte-luxe, I have rewritten this to a Reader POV, no descriptions and no use of your name. The only brief description is of a butt (you can probably guess why).

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Caution may contain fluff.

Author’s Notes: Disclaimer, purely fiction, no-one is married in this alt-universe.

The sun was high in the sky as you and Toto finished brunch together on his terrace, Toto having laid out an impressive spread of pastries and mimosas for your final meal together. The peaceful morning a surprisingly domestic contrast from the frenzied night of passion that you had just shared. It was the perfect end to your birthday weekend.

“Thank you for this,” you said, savouring a bite of a buttery croissant. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

Toto smiled, watching you with a look of satisfaction. “It was no trouble at all. I wanted to make this weekend special for you.”

“You succeeded,” you replied, raising your glass. “To an unforgettable birthday.”

“To unforgettable moments,” Toto echoed, clinking his glass with yours.

Packing your things back into your weekend bag, you felt mixed emotions. Your unexpected, whirlwind romance was over as quickly as it had begun and you knew deep down that this was a one-off, no matter what Toto said. Your lives were too different, it would never work.

——

As you sped along the scenic coastal road back towards the airport, once again in Toto’s classic 300SL, you were both lost in your thoughts. The morning had passed all too quickly and you both knew that their weekend was almost over.

Reaching over, Toto took your hand gently in his, his large hand easily covering yours. "I don't want you to leave yet," he said softly, his eyes never leaving the road.

"Neither do I," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "But reality calls."

You shared a quiet moment, Toto holding your hand until he had to shift down a gear, the picturesque scenery blurring into a backdrop to your fragile emotions.

——

At Nice airport, you checked in all too quickly and turned to Toto, heart heavy with the impending goodbye. It was silly really, you’d known this man all of two days but had gotten swept up in a wave of emotions and been offered a glimpse into a glamorous world that you would never be a part of. 

As you stood in front of the departure gate, the bustling airport crowd around was a stark contrast to the intimate weekend you had just shared. A tourist had even approached Toto for a selfie, something he had reluctantly but politely obliged while you stood there awkwardly. It was yet another reminder of the two vastly different universes that you existed in.

"I know it’s stupid to say but I'm going to miss you," Toto said, pulling you into a tight embrace, his eyes filled with sadness. 

"I'll miss you too," you whispered, holding on to him tightly, enjoying the strength and warmth of his arms around you for one last time.

You shared a lingering kiss, the world around fading away. Pulling back, you smiled, "Thank you for the best birthday I could have ever imagined."

"The pleasure was all mine," Toto replied, his dark eyes sincere, "Please call me when you are home safe, if you can."

"I will," you said, standing on tippy toes and giving him a final peck on the cheek before turning towards the security checkpoint.

As you walked away, you glanced back to see Toto standing watching you, his arms folded, his expression unreadable. Noticing you he smiled and waved, a little goofily. At first sight, he may have seemed intimidating but having now spent time getting to know him, you could see beyond the icy facade and found him truly endearing.

Waving back, you were thankful you had almost rounded the corner as you could feel tears welling up. You willed yourself to stop and be thankful that you had had such a brilliant birthday, both with your friends and with Toto. It truly had been a birthday to remember.

——

The first few weeks after your return were filled with frequent messages and calls from your handsome paramour. Toto would share snippets of his hectic life, sending blurry pictures from various tracks, while you shared your daily life and the joys and challenges of your busy job. You may have been worlds apart but the spark remained.

Despite the distance, the connection felt strong and you made plans to meet up again, discussing the logistics of possible weekends and holidays. But as time went on, the frequency of your communication began to wane, Toto's demanding schedule and constant travel across time zones making it difficult to pin down dates and maintain regular contact. You, too, found yourself buried in work, your days now filled with meetings and endless reports.

Your conversations became sporadic and eventually, the messages stopped altogether. You knew that maintaining a relationship with someone living such a different life was always going to be a challenge, but you cherished the memories of your wild birthday weekend and tried not to get too sad about it. Life carried on as normal and you had to smile when you were sat at home watching the Monaco Grand Prix and Toto flashed up on the screen, frowning at the camera as his team struggled around the punishing circuit. He really was a handsome man and as much as you hated to admit it, the best sex of your life.

You resolved that you were never going to hear from Toto again, he was likely busy with work and had probably met some thirty-something-year-old who had taken his fancy. Knowing that you too had to move on, you allowed your friends to set you up on a few dates and tried your best to forget all about Toto.

——

But try as you might, unfortunately, that one weekend with Toto had somewhat ruined other men for you. Sure enough, you had met some perfectly nice and objectively handsome guys but they were missing the charm and the spark that you had felt with Toto. 

It was a rainy Thursday evening late in June when your phone buzzed unexpectedly. It was almost the Summer and you were counting down the days until you could escape work for a few weeks, even if you hadn’t made any travel plans. Glancing at your phone absentmindedly, expecting it to be one of your friends checking in, your heart skipped a beat when you saw Toto's name flash up on the screen. With a mixture of excitement and nervousness, you opened the message.

"Hello my love, I know that it’s been a while and for that I am sorry. I hope you’re doing well? I can’t get you out of my head and was wondering if you’d like to join me on my boat for the summer? Let me know. All my best, Toto."

You stared at the message, your mind racing. You had truly resigned yourself to the idea that you would never hear from this man ever again, yet here he was, inviting you on another adventure. Your initial reaction was scepticism, having been burned by fleeting romances before. But as you re-read the message, you felt a familiar warmth. The memories of your short time together came rushing back and you couldn't help but smile.

After a few moments of reflection, you decided to respond.

"Hey, I‘ve been thinking about you too. That sounds amazing, I’d love to join you. When and where should I meet you?"

Toto’s reply was almost immediate. 

"Fantastic. I’m currently docked in Antibes, in the South of France. When are you around? Let me know and I’ll arrange everything. Can’t wait to see you again."

Touched by the fact that he was prepared to arrange everything, you hastily replied, leading to you spending the evening hashing out the finer details via Facetime. It had been months since you had properly spoken to one another but it oddly felt like no time had passed and the hours flew by as they finally set your plans to reunite in stone. You would fly to Nice and join Toto on his boat for a week.

——

The days leading up to your trip were a whirlwind of preparation and anticipation. You could hardly focus on your work, your mind drifting to thoughts of sunny days on the water and starry nights with Toto. You confided in your friends, who were both excited and slightly cautious. They’d already been with you through the highs and lows of whatever this situationship was and were still weary that Toto was some kind of billionaire playboy with ulterior motives.

As the plane touched down in Nice, the sky as blue as you remembered, you felt a flutter of nerves. What if things had changed? What if you didn’t click the way they had before? You pushed those thoughts aside, reminding yourself that you were here for an adventure.

Stepping into the arrivals lounge, you were greeted by a smartly dressed driver holding a discreet sign with your name. Guiding you through the airport, he quickly whisked you away in an elegant black Mercedes saloon. 

The ride to Antibes was short but filled with stunning views of the Mediterranean coastline and as the miles ticked down, you felt the butterflies in your stomach building with anticipation.

As the car pulled up into the marina drop-off area, you spotted Toto waiting at the dock. He looked as handsome as ever, dressed casually in a white linen shirt, navy shorts and smart espadrilles. His face lit up when he saw you stepping out of the car and he rushed to pull you into a warm embrace, keeping things considerably more PG than he had the last time you’d been together.

"Welcome back," he said, his voice filled with genuine happiness. "I’m so glad you’re here."

"Me too," you replied, your smile matching his. "This place is beautiful."

“I know,” said Toto, proudly, taking your luggage from the driver, and thanking him for his service. 

“Oh you don’t have to do that,” you said, surprised that Toto would carry luggage.

“Nonsense, and besides it weighs nothing,” he said, effortlessly swinging your large duffle over his shoulder before taking your hand in his, “I hope it means you packed only bikinis.”

You shook your head laughing, chastising him but secretly relieved that the spark was still there.

As you boarded the boat, a sleek and luxurious yacht, you couldn’t help but be impressed. The teak deck was immaculate, home to elegant cream sunloungers and an expertly laid dining table, already laden with brunch.

“Welcome,” said Toto, setting your luggage down before a deckhand scurried to collect it, “I took the liberty of ordering brunch as I thought you might be hungry but let me show you around first.”

——

The next few days passed in a blissful blur and you quickly realised that things were just as easy as they had been the first time around. You spent their mornings lounging on the deck, sipping coffee and chatting non-stop. By day, you explored hidden coves and swam in crystal-clear waters and by night you dined under the stars, sharing considerable amounts of wine-fuelled laughter before retreating to Toto’s luxurious master suite, passionately rediscovering each other into the early hours.

One such evening, you were still reeling from the surreal feeling of your reunion with Toto as you lounged together on the deck. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the two of you as you sipped champagne contently, leaning your head into Toto’s broad chest, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush.

"I still can't believe I'm here," you said, breaking the comfortable silence. You looked up at Toto, who was gazing at you with a mixture of amusement and affection.

"I’m glad you decided to come," Toto replied, his eyes twinkling. "I was worried you might say no."

"Why would I say no to an adventure with you?" you asked, your tone light but words sincere.

"Well, I was worried you might have moved on," Toto admitted. "I wouldn’t have blamed you. I know I haven’t been the best at keeping in touch."

You smiled, reaching out to stroke his hand. "Life gets in the way. But I’m here now, and that’s what matters."

"Do you remember the last time we were together?" Toto asked, his voice soft. "The airport, the way you looked at me when you walked away?"

"How could I forget?" you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to leave."

"I didn't want you to either," Toto confessed. "I felt so stupid, I know that it was only one weekend but you knocked me sideways.”

You looked at him, your heart aching with the memory. "For real?”

"For real," Toto repeated back, his eyes intense, "I know it’s a lot to consider, and I don’t expect an answer right away, but I want you to know that I want to see where this can go."

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t expected such a declaration, but it warmed your heart. "Toto, I…"

He held up a hand, stopping you. "You don’t have to say anything now. Just think about it. Enjoy the Summer with me, stay longer. We can figure out the rest as we go."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and excitement. "Okay. Let’s see where this takes us."

——

Spending an extended amount of time together, it became more apparent that there was a connection beyond the wild weekend you had shared all of those months ago. Your week-long trip extended to two, giving you and Toto time to explore more secluded beaches where you could be alone and away from prying eyes. Each day bringing you closer, and your bond growing stronger.

For the first time in a long time, you felt truly happy, ready to embrace whatever came next. You were grateful Toto had come into your life and wanted to stick around. 

Your fateful birthday weekend had truly been one to remember.

[ceresun]

late night trouble

pairing : n. longbottom x gn! reader

summary : after someone causes trouble in the greenhouse, you’re left to clean up the mess. luckily for you, you’ve got yourself a helping hand.

extra : this is another reupload from my old account! this one isn’t rewritten though. hopefully you guys like it. i’m just trying to keep this account somewhat alive for a bit. i’ll probably rewrite this at some point. this was based off a prompt but I can’t find it, so if any of you know and could tell me it would be appreciated!

“MINUS 15 POINTS FOR SLYTHERIN! AND YOU'VE JUST EARNED YOURSELF A NIGHT'S DETENTION!” Professor Sprout could be heard yelling from across the corridor.

You could practically already hear the complaints and shouts from your house members when you got back to your common room. You didn’t even have anything to do with the situation. It was just bad timing! But that doesn’t matter now that you’ve gotten yourself a night’s detention, doesn’t it?

“You better clean yourself up for your next class! And I expect you to be here after school hours ready for your punishment, alright?” questioned Professor Sprout.

“Yes, Professor Sprout.” you say, just wanting this whole ordeal to be over with.

“Good! Now run along now!” Professor Sprout adds before walking away to clean up the greenhouse for her next class.

For context, someone had set off some sort of explosion in the greenhouse causing all of the pots to break and all the plants to lay on the floor. You just happened to be in the greenhouse at the time that the explosion had happened is all! Yet, Professor Sprout just doesn’t seem to believe you. It was someone else's mess yet you are stuck having to clean it up.

“Scourgify!” you say, watching as the dirt all over you disappears. With that, you make your way over to your next class hoping you don't arrive late.

NEVILLE WATCHES FROM THE DOOR OF THE NEARBY GREENHOUSE as Professor Sprout scolds you for the explosion that had just happened.

He knows you wouldn’t try and pull something like that off. Yes, like to cause trouble from time to time, but you wouldn’t do something like this. All of your jokes were out of fun and to get people to laugh a bit, not potentially harm someone and not even get a good laugh out of it.

“Professor Sprout..!” Neville called out while walking towards the greenhouse the professor was in. “Erm.. I just wanted to talk to you about what just happened—“

“—If you’re here to try and get me to forget about the detention then it’s no use. I’ve already given out the punishment. There’s no taking it back now.” Professor Sprout interrupts.

“It was just wrong timing! How were—“ Neville tries to explain before being interrupted again.

“—And I've already made my decision! Now, I assume you have your own classes to attend to?” Professor Sprout says as a couple of her students start to walk in.

Neville nods dejectedly. He felt bad knowing that you were stuck with an unfair punishment while the person who did deserve it was off the hook! ‘If only I could do something to try and cheer them up.. I mean, they’re my friend! I know I’d want someone to try and cheer me up.. But what can I do..?’ he thought, walking out of the greenhouse.

As he walked to his next class he still wondered what he could do. It wasn’t until he overheard two students talking about sneaking out of their dorms after hours that he finally realized what he could do. All he had to do now was wait until after hours and hopefully not get caught.

HOURS HAD PASSED SO SLOWLY as you awaited your punishment. You just wanted to get it over with. Luckily for you classes were over and it was now time for dinner.

You grabbed your platter and filled it up with as much food as you could. You’d be in the greenhouse for a while working so a bit more food than usual would probably be necessary. Little do you know that someone may or may not be stuffing his face, having the same idea as you.

“Woah calm down Neville! You know the food isn’t just going to magically grow feet and walk away!..Y’know unless someone actually puts a spell on it. But that’s not the point!” Hermione said, stopping him from continuing to put a whole load of food in his mouth.

Neville looks away sheepishly. “I’m just..really hungry is all..” He says, awkwardly laughing.

“Well alright then..”

DETENTION WAS surprisingly..calming? You thought that maybe you’d have to grade piles of essays or maybe even repot some mimbulus mimbletonia that Professor Sprout keeps around.

You probably should’ve realized you would be stuck repotting all of the plants that were destroyed and cleaning up the mess that was left behind. Sighing, you get to work and start cleaning up the floor first. You would use magic if you could but according to Professor Sprout that’d be “lazy” and there would’ve been no use to give her this punishment.

So you grab a broom from a storage closet in the corner of the greenhouse and get to work. It didn’t take you long to finish sweeping and then pick up some shards of the pots that hadn’t been picked up yet.

‘Time sure does pass quickly..’ You think before looking at the plants messily planted into small cups or containers, ready to be put into actual pots.

Grabbing as many pots as you could (without dropping them!!), you made your way over to larger pots where the smaller pots would be placed. Only about an hour had passed since you first came in and you had barely repotted less than a quarter of what you had to do.

‘She could’ve at least assigned someone to help me.” you think, still annoyed that you had to do all this when it wasn’t even your fault!

It was almost as if some higher being had heard her thoughts when you heard some shuffling behind you. You swiftly turn around, eyes wide open. “Who’s there?” You question shakily.

All of a sudden, there’s a hand on your shoulder while the person behind you yells out “boo!” You yell and run to the other side of the greenhouse in a panic. You’re shocked to see Neville fucking Longbottom. You were well acquainted with him, maybe even enough to call him something of a friend. But you didn’t expect he’d come to help you.

“Oh, geez. Did I really give you much of a scare?” he asks with his usual awkward smile.

“Yeah! I didn’t expect you of all people to pull something like that.” you respond with a laugh.

“And I didn’t expect you of all people to cause an explosion in the greenhouse of all places!” he bites back with the same playful tone you had and laughs.

“touché.” You say, laughing before making your way back to the pots you were working on. “Don’t just stand there! Come help me!” You tell him, playful tone evident in your tone.

“Roger that!” He responds, keeping the playful banter going.

The next two and a half hours were spent with laughs and playful banter bouncing off of the greenhouse walls. You two probably should keep the volume down low but that doesn’t cross your guys mind. Especially with all of the fun you two are having. Dirt being thrown at each other and smeared on the other's face. This includes whatever else you guys could possibly find, like water.

“Hey! get back here!” Neville yells out, chasing you around the greenhouse with damp dirt on his hand just waiting to be smeared all over you.

“Noo!” You laugh, running around the room trying to avoid Neville and his dirt covered hand.

It went on like that for a while more before you two calmed down. Who knew being chased and chasing could work up such a sweat? Walking up to the window, you open it and feel a gush of air run past you. It felt nice compared to the heat just previously.

All of a sudden, you hear a meow come from the entrance of the greenhouse. Filch and his damn cat.

“What’s wrong?” Neville asks, noticing that you’ve paused to look towards the entrance.

“Huh..? Oh! C'mon hurry!” You quickly lead him over to the open window and gently push him out. Luckily, you had pushed him out just in time as Filch was already walking into the greenhouse when you turned back around.

“What are you doing here? It’s past hours!” Filch yells out.

“Professor Sprout gave me detention.. She said she told you I'd be in here.” You respond.

“Oh, you? I thought you would’ve finished by now.” Filch asks.

“Yeah, well I’m not soo..”

“You got me running all the way over here for nothing!” He says to Mrs. Norris.

You make sure he’s nowhere near the greenhouse when you usher Neville to come back inside. That was a close call!

“What was that?!” He asks, laughing as a rush of energy fills him.

“Sorry! I panicked!” you respond.

“So you pushed me out of the window?” he asks, lightly laughing.

“It seemed like the fastest way out!” you try to explain.

“It’s alright! I thought it was quite funny.” Neville reassures you with that sweet toothy smile of his.

You never actually noticed it. His smile. In fact, you’ve never quite noticed anything about him appearance wise. His hair was all fluffy and long. His eyes were bright and full of life. Maybe you’d have to hang out with Neville more often.. As some time passes you two finally manage to repot all of the plants and set everything up how it’s supposed to be. Quietly, you two walk out of the greenhouse and stand there.

“Let me walk you to your dorm.. It’s quite late.” Neville offers.

“You sure? I’ve already kept you up too late!” You respond, feeling guilt creep up on you as you truly realize how late it is.

“I’m already up so there’s no need to worry about that.. Besides, I chose to stay up and be here with you!” He says, giving you that smile if his.

Walking to the common room was tricky as you two had to try and practically become invisible with the amount of times you came across Filch. You two make it to the Slytherin common room and stop. “..Goodnight Neville. Thank you for tonight!” You say softly as to not alarm anyone or wake someone up.

“It was nothing! Goodnight to you too!” He says, starting to turn away before you grab his arm and kiss his cheek.

“..Goodnight!” You say once more before scurrying into your common room.

Neville is left standing there dumbfounded. You just kissed his cheek.. Neville places a hand on the cheek you had just kissed and blushes. For the rest of the night, the kiss is all he could think about. Maybe he’d start to hang out with you more..

© ceresun >ᴗ< -> my works are not to be translated or reposted without permission!

[chronicbeans]

Hazbin Rewrite - LGBTQ+ Identities

Hazbin seems to be trying to do a lot of LGBTQ+ Representation, and while I do like that it's trying, I do believe it could be improved upon. I also do know that you can't satisfy everyone in this regard, so if you prefer the canon representation than that's totally fine! This is mainly for the characters I've rewritten so far and one I've started rewriting, so there may be characters missing that I'll add on in a separate post or by editing this one. (This'll probably be the first time people see I've renamed Anthony)

Characters included: Charlie, Vaggie/Rebecca, Lucifer, Niffty/Delilah, Baxter, Angel Dust/Anatoly, Alastor

TW: A LOT of these people don't know LGBTQ+ Terminology so they don't use them (In those cases I moreso describe them without using a label)

Charlie - She's bisexual and in a relationship with Rebecca.

Rebecca/Vaggie - She's a lesbian trans woman. However, after learning about the term sapphic, she mostly uses that to describe herself.

Lucifer - Due to being an angel, he technically has no sex or gender, so I won't even try to describe what gender he is. He only uses he/him because everybody assumes he's a man due to the way the scriptures were translated and the fact he doesn't mind those pronouns. Besides that, he goes unidentified due to not keeping up to date, and if people ask what his sexuality is he just says "I like women".

Niffty/Delilah - She's asexual and sex repulsed, but often struggles with the fact that she is. She's also alloromantic, but due to not knowing many LGBTQ+ terms, is unidentified as well. She knows who she's open to in terms of romantic attraction, but has no idea how to label it. She's romantically opened to dating anybody who is very masculine presenting, but because she's really obsessed with Baxter she pays no attention to anyone else.

Baxter - I'm sure, due to how many theories on whether or not Baxter is trans that this is probably going to be the most interesting part to a lot of people. I propose this option: Baxter is intersex and gender apathetic. He was assigned female at birth, but when puberty hit he started getting more masculine features like facial hair, and when his parents got him checked is when they found out. He spent the first part of his childhood as a girl, then his parents told him to pretend to be a guy so he wouldn't get bullied, so the second part was spent as a boy. Because of that, he learned he just didn't care about gender, only going by masculine pronouns because he's used to it and he looks more masculine. Only Niffty knows this, though, because she was the only one how told about it during his life. Because everybody in Hell assumes he's a guy, whether it be a trans guy due to his lure or a cis guy, he uses heterosexual to describe the fact he's only been interested in women so far. He hasn't left men out of the question, though, he hasn't felt attracted to one yet.

Angel Dust/Anatoly - Gay and cis, but loves to present feminine. He dresses in drag more often than not, and when dressed in drag he likes to use she/her because it helps play up the character. So, a lot of people assume he's a trans woman when he isn't, but he doesn't necessarily mind that. To him, it means his drag art is just really, really good!

Alastor - He just doesn't know. Like, he doesn't even care about all this LGBTQ+ labelling when we all should be seen as things beyond labels, so he doesn't know what they are, and doesn't know where he's fall. As stated by him "I have my entire, probably immortal afterlife to figure it out! No need to rush. Plus, half the people here don't even look human, anyways, and considering I was attracted to human men and women in my life, I don't believe half the people here are anywhere near my list of potential candidates."

[blurbfics]

There'd Better Be a Mirrorball | Azriel x OFC [part five]

Summary: Azriel and Eowyn begin their one-on-one training. A request is made.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: male/female sparring, blink-and-you-miss-it praise kink, slow-burn

Minors, do not interact

a/n: this scene was actually the first one I wrote and i've rewritten it so many times i don't even know what words are anymore. sorry its so short!

part four

Masterlist

"I held your hand until the light/ The scars were on the back

And all the time we were the right/ Was it just retract?

And they can try to put you down, wear you out/ Get you through the idea of the luck

Well, I thought you were the sweetest kill

Did we even know?"

Broken Social Scene, Sweetest Kill

She had to remind herself, for what felt like a million times that first day, that there was nothing to feel nervous about. It’s not that she felt uneasy or unsafe with the Shadowsinger. Quite the opposite. In the past few months that she’d been training with the rest of the Valkyries, she’d embraced the newfound strength and confidence that rose within her, both physically and mentally. Found out she actually enjoyed spending time with others, not only the priestesses, but also the High Lady on the semi-frequent occasions she visited the House of Wind, and of course, with the Illyrians as well.

Although she wouldn’t go so far as to call Cassian and Azriel her friends, there was more than professional respect shared amongst them. It wasn’t hard to break that wall of professionalism with Cassian, in fact he insisted on it lest he feel restricted or stilted by such a superfluous thing as polite manners, but Azriel… Azriel was entirely different.

To Cassian that is. Because every time Eowyn interacted with Azriel, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense that she knew him, or rather, that he knew her. She didn’t know where the stupid idea came from. In fact, whenever it sprung back to the front of her mind when she was near him, she promptly banished it away at once, yet it always returned.

Thus, the fact that they spent the first training session in absolute silence other than Azriel’s given instructions and occasional corrections only made it that much more awkward. And irritating.

Eowyn wasn’t the most talkative fae by nature, much preferring to observe her surroundings than interact, but something about the silence between them irked her. It wasn’t so much that he wasn’t talking that bothered her, it was that there seemed to be so much left unspoken between them. Like they were both on the verge of an important revelation and neither of them had the balls to speak up first.

So two days later during their second session together, she gathered her wits and decided to get the job done herself.

The pair were currently sparring with long wooden staffs. The first few months of her training consisted of learning and getting used to the basics: breathing exercises, core strengthening, stamina building, with an emphasis on building the necessary strength and muscle to carry on the rest. Soon, she learned the basics of hand-to-hand combat, had moved on to sword fighting (with practice wooden swords, of course), and had even spent a few weeks learning archery. 

She was aware that sparring with her was like child’s play for Azriel. She had seen him truly spar with his brothers to know that he could kill her with a single hand, and one had to only glimpse at them— at the panting breaths puffing out at the veil covering her face, arms bare for once and glittering with sweat due to the day’s heat (on its last trenches of summer in its attempt to give them its all before it settled in for a seasonal retreat)— and him, face serious and focused on her movements and technique but otherwise untouched by both the sweltering weather and the exertion she felt and was sure to feel for days.

“May I-“ she interrupted herself with a hiss when the end of his staff hit her thigh, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to point out a lapse in her defense. She smacked it away with the end of hers, not bothering to get into position before attacking, hoping it would serve as a distraction to get a hit in. Clearly, her lousy attempt didn’t work, earning her another two whacks on either side of her arms for her lack of defense and centering herself before attacking.

The goal of their extra training lesson consisted of one thing, Azriel had told her, she just needed to get one hit in. If she got a hit in, they would be done for the day and would meet in two days time to try another technique in which she had the same goal.

Smug bastard knew it wouldn’t happen, thus, she had to remain for the remainder of the two hours they were set to train together.

“May I ask you a question?” she huffed, taking a step back to center herself. She angled her body only slightly to the side, making sure to keep her weight centered as she held her staff up in a defense position, knees bent slightly.

She awaited his response as she awaited his attack. He swung his staff at his side in a skillful swoop as he considered her for a moment. The response came first. “Within reason.”

In a flurry of movement, much too fast for her to comprehend, he had her both disarmed and on her ass. She scowled up at him even though he couldn’t see her face. Still, he snorted lightly in amusement, as if he knew just exactly what she’d called him in her mind, before extending a hand out for her.

“It’s about your shadows,” she confessed as she gripped his hand for him to yank her up. Didn’t even think about it when she did so, but when she touched his hand and felt the scars under her fingertips, scars she’d seen him hide away in shame, she couldn’t help the way her fingers lightly grazed them as he gently pulled away once she was on her feet. She felt him tense under her hand at her words, however, his lips pursing almost imperceptibly.

“Nothing invasive,” she promised immediately, unsure of how to tell him she didn’t mean to ask how he came to master his shadows. Didn’t want to inquire after something so intimate. “I'm just curious about them. If they’re sentient, if they’re their own magic or if they’re the same as the shadows there,” she gestured towards the stairs vaguely with her head, “if they’re different from my own shadow. If they have opinions…. If they share them with you” she looked down at the silhouette of her formed at her feet from the sun's light.

He considered her words, only angling his head in a gesture to continue. She picked up her staff and took her defense position once more, awaiting. 

“Yes and no,” he replied cryptically. She rolled her eyes behind her veil. When he didn’t elaborate and shifted to mirror her stance, she understood. Didn’t know how but she didn’t miss a beat at her queue.

Attack.

Though he was ready for it, she went to strike fast and hard, diagonally right to left, using her other hand to swing the staff around, advancing as she did to slice, hard, once, twice, three times, she swung low for his feet and used the momentary shift in movement to swing back up and strike forward and then swing.

He smoothly parried each swing, staff swiftly connecting with hers with a force that rattled her bones, meeting each strike and shifting out of the way as she tried to push him back. Not once did she manage to get even close to hit him and yet his eyes glinted with a satisfaction she had never seen before, especially not directed at her.

She and Azriel? Yeah, they weren’t close like that. So why was she feeling a strange kind of familiarity with him as if she knew him and he understood her?

Begone, she mentally hissed at the thought, parrying off his own quick attempt to sneak an attack and responding in kind.

“Good, Eowyn” he almost purred, and the shiver that ran down her spine at the praise and the way her name rolled off his tongue was so powerful she almost didn’t hear the words that followed. “They are sentient, and they are their own entity, but they’re also an extension of myself. They make sure their opinions are known to me,” he emphasized, his show of only the briefest instances of fondness for his shadows causing something in her to perk up at attention. Then his face contorted, “As for how they operate among the shadows…. How I travel through them, I… apologize. I’ve never been good at explaining them. Even my brother’s don’t fully understand…”

“I understand,” she nodded earnestly, before shaking her head, “I mean I don’t understand because I don’t have shadows obviously but I can empathize with the… feeling.” Her words lost their spark towards the end, the last word coming out stiltedly and rough.

If he thought her a fool, it didn’t show on his face. 

“Let’s go through that again, there were a few places you left your guard open.”

Once he’d had her repeat the exact movements she had done and had constructively criticized every aspect of them and had her do it twice more ‘but properly this time,’ he spoke up.

“You’re not from the Night Court, are you?”

She tilted her head slightly, considering pulling the same move he did, but then decided against it, too interested in where the conversation was leading.

“What makes you think that?”

“Your accent,” he replied immediately, “it’s good. Enough to convince anyone else, but I can hear it in the cadence of certain vowels, like when you said ‘ask.’”

The deftness with which he provided not only his argument, which was a certainty at this point, but also clear examples shouldn’t have sent her for a loop but it did. Only briefly.  Because he was the Spymaster of the Court of Nightmares, after all, and a notorious one at that.

“And where am I from?” She couldn't help but challenge. Suddenly it wasn’t the infamous Shadowsinger, often serving as the Night Court’s torturer and executioner, asking her questions, but rather it was her testing how much of the rumors and whispers that breezed in the wind were true about him. At that moment, eyes locked on his, even though he couldn’t see hers, standing before each other in paralleling fighting stances, she found him immeasurably fascinating.

She wanted to open his mind and inspect every thought, every secret, everything that made him him.

His jaw twitched, wings ruffling slightly. She grinned under the veil.

“You were the only one, out of all the priestesses, that didn’t bask in the sun when you came out here for the first time.”

Again, she wasn’t sure why she was surprised by how much he noticed. She had seen him almost as soon as she’d crossed the threshold leading up from the stairs that first time, but he had been talking with Cassian, facing away from her.

“I-“ he hesitated for once. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable-“

“You’re not.”

He startled slightly at the firmness of her tone but took it well, only nodding once before continuing.

“You joined us in early spring. By summer, almost everyone wore less layers due to the heat, but you didn’t… I mean, until recently,” he cleared his throat, and if Eowyn didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn the tip of his ears turned pink as he glanced down at her bare arms. “I can only assume it’s because you don’t like feeling the sun on your skin.”

Quite accurate.

“So… any guesses?”

She hadn’t noticed when they had stopped, her staff was still in her grasp but they now stood in front of each other, simply talking.

“Winter.”

She tilted her head, slightly disappointed but figured it was as good a guess as any. Her contempt for the sun– not something she was too vocal about– had less to do with the time of day or weather and more to do with the feel of the heat it emanated, a reminder of the pain she’d been forced to endure. “Dawn,” she corrected, glancing at the clock to see they had ten minutes left. Didn’t linger on the thought that crossed her mind, on how time flew by without her noticing.

“But you didn’t live there long.”

“Are you still guessing or do you already know everything?”

“I don’t-“ he shook his head, looking almost affronted, if the brief flash of emotion could be called that. “I haven’t looked into you, if that’s what you mean. No. I respect your privacy, and the privacy of everyone seeking safe haven in the library.”

“With the exception of a few, though, right?” She’d heard of how he’d saved Gwyn. Had heard the same story from several other priestesses who had gushed over the handsome shadowsinger over the years.

“Well yes, but only when I’ve been able to provide help, or when I get justice for them… with their permission and by request.”

“Right,” Eowyn nodded. She glanced at the clock again. Two minutes.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to answer me?”

She hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side, “what was the question again?”

“Dawn Court. How long were you there?” his eyes narrowed.

“Why don’t you… look into it?”

He stared at her blankly. 

She sighed. “You have my permission. In fact,” she swung the staff at her side in the exact perfect synchronized way he had done before when taunting her, “let’s call it a request.”

part six

taglist: @lilah-asteria , @a-courtof-azriel, @honk4emoboyz , @feyretopia , @mrsjna , @buttermilktea11 , @bravo-delta-eccho , @kylieinwonderland