#according to everyone it’s a miracle powder

[clowningaroundmars]

Just made my own laundry detergent ✌🏼

#girlboss #ecofriendly #homesteading #offthegrid #fuckcapitalism #wellnotreallycuziboughtmostofthestuffatBJ’sandHomesense #butyouknowwhatimean

[finn-writes-stuff]

Hello :) I must admit I've been binge reading your content. I was hoping I could request a Percy (Vox Machina) x gn reader where he gets very worried when reader either nearly sacrifices themselves for him or they take a risk that he didn't think was necessary? 10/10 worried perce is adorbs but i also feel guilty o.o 👉👈 ngl I live for when he be stressing and overprotective lmao. Poor Percy needs a vacation.

I Need You

Percy hadn't let himself care for someone this much ever since he lost everyone. How had you managed to change that?

Percy de Rolo x Reader

Fandom: The Legend of Vox Machina/ Critical Role

Format: Oneshot (1550 words)

Content Warnings: Fairly light descriptions of injuries, and an argument between Reader and Percy. Talk of potential deadly harm, as this takes place after a battle.

Gender Neutral Reader

Masterlist

Consider the image of Percy on vacation in one of those Hawaiian shirts and big sunglasses. Also I do not apologize for the amount of Pike. She is everything to me<3 -Finn

"Now, I know reckless in a fight," Pike said, carefully wrapping a bandage around the deep wound on your leg. "I have been reckless in a fight. But that? That was not reckless. That was stupid. And stupid will get you killed out there! And then where would we be?" 

You knew her well enough to recognize the concern under the scolding, even as she wrapped the bandage a little tighter than necessary to punctuate her point. You felt bad about letting her look after you even after she had burned the last of her spell slots, but she hadn't been keen on taking no for an answer after getting a look at the injury, dragging you to your room in the keep. According to her, it was a miracle you’d gotten back to the keep at all on that leg after the battle. Even when you insisted you could wrap it yourself, she waved you off. Too kind for her own good with a party like this. Sometimes she was the only thing keeping you all from running headfirst to your demises. (Or at least yanking you all back when you tried.)

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, Pike. I just couldn't let Percy take the hit instead, he didn't see it coming, he would be worse off than I am now." You smiled at the cleric, shrugging your shoulders sheepishly. Pike didn��t look all that impressed, but you knew she understood. 

His gun had jammed in the middle of the battle, a familiar flaw of its mechanisms. But instead of teasing your lover about it like usual, you had seen an attacker lunge at him as he let his guard down. He was a ranged fighter, nothing should have been allowed to get that close in the first place. Of course, he dropped his guard for a moment. In any other fight, he would have been fine to unjam his gun while ducking back from the battle. 

It sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine when you imagined what might have happened if you hadn't been so close. Throwing yourself in the way and fighting off the creature had landed you with a blindingly painful wound on your leg and likely a couple of bruised ribs if the ache that came with breathing was anything to go by. It had been stronger than you'd expected, and getting hit with the flat of a weapon may have been better than the edge, but it still hurt like a bitch.

"Both of you were being stupid. If I see that happen again, you'll have Grog patch you up instead. And he hasn't quite gotten a handle on his bedside manner, yet." 

Laughing hurt, but It was good to know Pike was relaxed enough to joke. Meant that you probably weren't dying. 

"Pike! Are they-" Percy bolted into the room, looking for all intents a wild man, before stopping in his tracks at the sight of you. A load of tension dropped from his shoulders, but only for long enough for him to register your injuries. You knew you looked pretty rough. In all fairness, so did he, his white hair shot through with wisps of gray from gunsmoke and the black powder always left on his gloves. He must have been running his hands through it, if it’s messy style was anything to go off of. 

"Hey, Percy," you said softly, doing your best to offer a reassuring smile. It must have been closer to a grimace with the concerned noise he bit off  in response. There was something a little heartbreaking about the open stress and worry in his eyes as he stepped forward, hesitating to touch you. He so often had his emotions in check, that seeing them so openly on display felt unfair to him. You grabbed his hand, squeezing it a moment, and the contact seemed to pull him back out of his thoughts. 

"By the gods, what were you thinking? Are you insane? You could have gotten yourself killed! Who just jumps in front of an attack like that?" He wasn't quite yelling, wouldn't yell at you in your own room, but the panic set into his voice was more than a sufficient substitute. 

"Percy, it's not like you were dodging it, you would have been hit instead." You made an attempt at answering reasonably, trying to calm his worries, but if anything, it only made it worse somehow. 

"Then you should have let it hit me instead of throwing yourself at a blade! If it had hit you at a different angle it very well could have gone straight through you! Were you thinking at all?" He had dropped your hand now, pacing a circle in your room. 

"I was thinking about how you were going to get hit. Is it such a crime to look out for you?" 

"At the cost of yourself, yes!"

"I'm not going to sit and watch you get hurt if I can do something about it!"

"And make me watch you nearly die instead?"

Pike spoke up before you could say anything, pushing herself to her feet. "Both of you. Quit it." She was obviously both annoyed and exhausted. You and Percy both wilted under her tone as she turned to look at you. "That was a stupid and dangerous move today. Don't pull that again. Percy, Don't yell at someone who saved you, you sound like an asshole. They need to rest, so shelve your argument for later." 

The wind had been taken out of his sails, leaving him standing back by the wall, thoroughly chastised. "I, yes, of course, Pike."

"Don't walk on that leg today, take it easy," Pike said, looking back at you. "I'll be back in a couple of hours to double-check on you, but I need some rest. I'm plumb out of energy." 

"Don't worry about it, Pike, I'll be alright. Thank you." 

"Good. Now both of you, if I hear anything about you two arguing again, I'm setting Keyleth on your case." With that, she patted your shoulder and swept out of the room. 

There was a moment of awkward silence, Percy glancing around your room rather than meeting your eyes. He seemed to be debating on what to say, or maybe whether to follow Pike out the door to be out of your hair. 

"Percy,"

"I apologize. I shouldn't have been so harsh with you. Especially not while you're injured. I didn't- I, well." Staring fiercely at his feet, his apology was stumbling. There was something endearing about it, in the way there always was when he extended a branch of vulnerability. "I was worried about you. Seeing you get thrown to the ground after taking a hit for me was...terrifying, to say the least."

"Oh, Percy," you sighed, beckoning him over. "It was pretty fucking terrifying to see you about to be hit, too." 

He walked up to you, stopping in front of you and kneeling down so as to look up at you instead of towering over you. "I...can understand that. I simply don't want you getting hurt on my behalf. Or at all, really."

"Wouldn't that be lovely? Being adventurers who never get hurt." You reached a hand out, resting it softly on his cheek. He leaned into your touch, and you could see through the worry to the affection underneath it. "I don't want you hurt either. If today didn't make that obvious."

"I know, dear, I do." He nodded, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. It was achingly soft, like he was still afraid that you would break. You wouldn’t, but the gentle nature of his love still squeezed your heart. "Could I at least look after you while you recover? This is my fault." 

"Don't be an idiot, I moved of my own free will. But, I wouldn't deny some extra time with you. And I'll need the help if I'm supposed to stay off my leg." 

"We can discuss who's at fault tomorrow, love. Tell me what I can do to help?" There was an exasperated fondness in his voice, the familiar pattern the two of you always fell into. It was soothing after the sharp tension of before. 

"Just hold me? We could both use the chance to relax, I think." 

He let out a breathless chuckle, nodding and reluctantly pulling back from your gentle hold. He wasn't fragile either, not like glass ready to break. But you couldn't help but want to treat him with care, the same way he treated you as he carefully helped you lie down in your bed, shedding his coat to slip in beside you and draw you into his arms. 

There would be more fights to come, there would be more injuries and arguments, and worries. But if after them all, you could both be okay enough to end up like this, it would be alright. Your face pressed against his shoulder, his hands steady on your back. You could be safe here, together. 

As your heartbeats fell into synch, you gently pulled off his glasses, setting them aside. It made it easier to lean in and kiss him, slow and tired. 

"I love you."

"I love you too."

[en-lista]

📁 … ACCESS TO STUDENT’S FILE : GRANTED  !

✦ ⸻   *  ❪ BASIC SUMMARY !

NAME : naeva

HANGUL : 나에바

AFFILIATION : riverfield

LOCATION : decelis academy

SPECIES : siren - vampire

GENDER : female

OCCUPATION : high school student

PORTRAYED BY : calista

✦ ⸻   *  ❪ MONA'S ANATOMY !

naeva has pale red & blue eyes — though friends have said that they shine like gems when she’s furious. it is hardly difficult to determine which species has taken over her body, for only then will her irises’ color align.

her natural hair color is powder blue, but after enrolling in decelis, she chose to dye it lavender. (a bold move? yes. but it suits her so seamlessly, barely anyone remembers her old look.)

average height in everyone but the brothers’ eyes. she receives so many head pats and becomes an armrest far too often for her liking. though wearing the standardized heels will help her get the height advantage, deep down.. she enjoys those little touches, especially when it’s a kiss on the crown of her head follows suit.

✦ ⸻   *  ❪ WHO IS SHE !

a pandora’s box would be the best way to summarize her. that, and these defining traits of hers (according to her closest friends, at least):

PATIENT & RESILIENT : the underclassman in particular admire her because she rarely loses her temper. as a tutor, she never makes the student feel dumb for not understanding the concepts and takes it step by step. even the most academically-challenged were able to lift their grades (and self-confidence) since, regardless of others’ lack of belief, she never gave up on them.

ALTRUISTIC : sometimes, her friends really want to receive a ball to the head because of how selfless she is. whether it be her jacket, notes, or even time (that tends to make jino & shion sulky), naeva’s giving it up to help someone else. but at the same time, they rarely step in because she’s altruistic; not naïve. when she can tell someone’s trying to take advantage of her, she abruptly cuts them out.

SADISTIC : while naeva’s not proud of this, it’s not something she can erase due to it being in her nature. despite this, she does exceptionally well at containing it to certain times, such as sparring matches and actual battles. thanks to her self-control, only few know about her.. tendency.

IRON FORTRESS : some egotistic students believe that they’re standing in her inner circle, when they’re actually tiptoeing along the border. see, her trust is like the key to her fortress; not something she tosses around carelessly. when she lets someone in, it’s important to be mindful of their steps or else the consequences will be anything but pretty.

ENCHANTING : someone… everyone says so. there’s something about naeva that just pulls you in. she’ll have you caught in a trance, barely able to land on your knees, and by the time you snap out of it, she’s long gone. feeling like a piece of your heart is missing? it’s taken as her souvenir.

✦ ⸻   *  ❪ BACK TO THE BEGINNING !

being a child of the moon and sea, naeva was a special case. by the time kids her age were yearning to discover the world, she could barely catch her breath after being hunted relentlessly. you’d think that constantly failing to catch her would end the pursuit, but these humans were either stupid or reckless.

and then she found it: her sojourn. it wasn’t close to civilization, the atmosphere was too extreme for humans to handle.. this was it. her days of running were done—for now. so with the night’s help, she snuck in and found a space where she could rest her eyes for the night.

of course, it wasn’t just a night. it ended up being two.. three.. four months. oh what a miracle it was for her to find this place—is what she had thought before one of the inhabitants found her.

naeva stayed for one more day, just because of that golden-eyed boy who had the sweetest smile and funniest stories to tell her. then when the moon rose, she did what she mastered: she ran.

it wouldn’t be years until she found another place to stay. but hey, at least decelis academy provided decent dorms. plus, the prestigious institution stood near the ocean so whenever she felt lost, she’d find her way there.

and while they aren’t visible, naeva knows that the moon too is listening to her.

taglist : @stealanity @annoyingbitch83 @lost-leopard-beanie @starmaniic — send an ask / dm if you’d like to be added !

[thenixkat]

Pokemon games that I became Champion in

Kalos Region

Starter: Zira the Hydregon (F)

Ability: Levitate

Nature: Jolly- somewhat vain

Item: Leftovers

Moves:

Hyper Voice

Crunch

Rock Smash

Dragon Pulse

Draco the Charizard (M)

Ability: Blaze- powers up fire moves when hp low

Nature: Lax- very curious

Item: Charizardite Y

Moves:

Fly

Slash

Fire Pledge

Heat Wave

Buck the Gogoat (M) (MVP)

Ability: Sap Sipper- boosts attack when hit by grass moves

Nature: Adamant- quick tempered

Item: Miracle Seed

Moves:

Strength

Horn Leech

Leaf Blade

Earthquake

Nazca the Sigilyph (F)

Ability: Magic Guard- only takes damage from attacks

Nature: Hardy- alert to sounds

Item: Amulet Coin

Moves:

Air SLash

Psychic

Sky Attack

Dazzling Gleam

Zoro the Aegislash (F)(MVP)

Ability: STance Change- changes forms depending on what moves used

Nature: Serious- hates to lose

Item: Black Belt

Moves:

Iron Head

Cut

Night SLash

Sacred Sword

Toxic the Dragalge (M)

Ability: Poison Touch- may poison if touched by physical attack

Nature: Hasty - quick tempered

Item: N/A

Moves:

Surf

Thunderbolt

Dragon Pulse

Waterfall

Sinnoh Region

Gondwanna the Torterra(F) (partner)

Ability: Overgrow

Nature: Calm

Item: Soft Sand

Moves:

Giga Drain

Cut

Leaf Storm

Earthquake

Ducky the Golduck (M)

Ability: Damp- prevents self destructs

Nature: Modest

Item: Amulet Coin

Moves:

Psychic

Rock Smash

Surf

Waterfall

Kur the Giratina

Ability: Pressure- raises PP usage of foes

Nature: Rash

Item: Soothe Bell

Moves:

Fly

Dark Pulse

Dragon Pulse

Shadow Force

Bird?Yes the Porygon (MVP)

Ability: Download- adjusts power according to foe’s ability

Nature: Impish

Item: Razor Fang

Moves:

Tri Attack

Signal Beam

Discharge

Thunder

Champ the Machoke (F)

Ability: No Guard- all attacks always land for everyone

Nature: Quirky

Item: King’s Rock

Moves:

Rock Climb

DynamicPunch

Cross Chop

Wake-up Slap

Carcaridon the Garchomp (F)

Ability: Sand Veil- boosts evasion in a sandstorm

Nature: Serious

Item: Quick Claw

Moves:

Rock Slide

Strength

Dragon Claw

Dig

Hoenn Region

Tyson the Blaziken (M)(partner)

Ability: Blaze

Nature: Lax- highly curious

Item: Blazikenite

Moves:

Cut

Blaze Kick

Brave Bird

Sky Uppercut

Lobobo the Lombre (M)(MVP)

Ability: Rain Dish- gains hp in rain

Nature: Timid- highly curious

Item: Eviolite

Moves:

Surf

Nature Power

Dive

Grass Knot

Shout the Exploud (F)

Ability: Soundproof- immune to all sound based moves

Nature: Quiet- thoroughly cunning

Item: Silk Scarf

Moves:

Rock Smash

Boomburst

Strength

Crunch

Zapp the Eelektrik (F)

Ability: Levitate

Nature: Sassy- capable of taking hits

Item: Bright Powder

Moves:

Wild Charge

Thunderbolt

Flash

Crunch

Skitch the Sableye (M)

Ability: Keen Eye- no one can reduce accuracy

Nature: Quiet- likes to fight

Item: Sablenite

Moves:

Will-OWisp

Night Shade

Shadow Ball

Foul Play

Eo the Latias (F)

Ability: Levitate

Nature: Naughty- somewhat vain

Item: Latiasite

Moves:

Fly

Dragon Pulse

Psychic

Waterfall

Alola Region

Strix the Decidueye (F) (partner)

Ability: Overgrow- powers up grass type attacks when hp is low

Nature: Modest

Item: Grassium Z

Moves:

Leaf Blade

Grass Pledge

Spirit Shackle

Sucker Punch

Krakatoa the Toucannon (F) (MVP)

Ability: Skill Link- maximizes number of hits from multi hit moves

Nature: Bold

Item: Fightinium Z

Moves:

Hyper Voice

Brick Break

Bullet Seed

Beak Blast

Ex the Vikavolt (F) (MVP)

Ability: Levitate- immune to ground type moves

Nature: Naughty

Item: Electrium Z

Moves:

Charge Beam

X-Scissor

Thunderbolt

Dig

The Mistress the Salazzle (F)

Ability: Corrosion- can poison anything regardless of type

Nature: Naughty

Item: Firium Z

Moves:

Flamethrower

Leech Life

Dragon Pulse

Venoshock

Kaiju the Wishiwashi (M)

Ability: Schooling- in schooling form when hp is high; solitary form if low hp

Nature: Jolly

Item: Waterium Z

Moves:

Hydro Pump

Scald

Beat Up

Feint Attack

Danny the Darkrai (gift)

Ability: Bad Dreams- reduces hp of sleeping enemies

Nature: Careful

Item: Dragonium Z

Moves:

Psychic

Spatial Rend

Dark Pulse

Dark Void

[zero-insignificance]

DND Recap: The Journey to Russia

Cast includes Rose the DM, Alfie (yours truly), Fluffy Scruffington, Rayna, Truk, and Bob

We open up in the Finkelberg Tavern. We've been in the Fey Wilds for 2 weeks

Alfie has decided that he is breaking Bob's record as he's explaining all the stuff that has happened to him to his bio parents as he's downing shots of polish rectified spirit.

Alfie: Yeah, so I died. And it was horrible *takes a shot* Cora and Hurruk: *horrified* Alfie: *downs another shot* It sucked but it was the best thing that ever happened to me *downs another shot* Bob: *concerned* Maybe you should slow down? Don't want to damage your liver. Alfie: *tipsy* I can't even die. Scared I'm going to break your record? *currently on shot number 80* Bob: *goes over to the placard* Goodbye old friend... Alfie: *slams down the final shot* WOO! 81! Bob: Damn it. Alfie: You still have your darts record. *drunk* Take me out for drinks sometime and we can see who drinks who under the table. Bob: *panics* Are you... asking me on a date? Alfie: *drunk and aroace spec* What? No- is- is that what that came off as? I see you completely platonically. I would never cheat on Fluffy.

Alfie is very loyal to his friends, family, and partner. He's just bad at social cues and does not realize when he's accidentally flirting with someone. How Alfie picked up what Fluffy was putting down is a miracle.

Fast forward to 300 years after Fluffy's death: Alfie has had plenty of time to mourn. Bob has earned his soul back but is still in his redemption arc. Bob is demiromantic and has caught feelings for a certain bird. Alfie is also demiromantic and developed feelings for Bob 50 years before he did. Cue 100 years of pining before Bob confesses.

Back to Finkelberg: Alfie wakes up and has a headache. He's about to down an entire bottle of pain killers but stops and only takes two.

Alfie asks Bob if he want to come with us. And he does. "I wouldn't have it any other way." It's also not like he has much of a choice. According to the deal he is under Alfie's care. His ribs were turned into powder. Thankfully Truk healing his allergic reaction also gave his ribs and arm a boost.

Alfie: Everyone in the Nap Sack! Alfie's family and Lu: *confused* Ollie: *puts a hand in front of Creek and Argot* That's a mimic Alfie: Yeah, it is. The nap sack is actually a sub species of mimic. It feeds primarily on dreams but does need to eat meat sometimes and it mostly gets that from potential thieves. *gives the Nap Sack a pat* They make an excellent guard dog and won't eat you if I introduce you to them. *starts pointing at each npc and introduces who is coming with us* Don't eat them, don't eat them, especially don't eat him. I don't think he tastes good *pointing at Bob* Bob: I do not taste good. Rayna: How do you know that? Bob: *embarrassed* I cursed myself one time. Alfie: *makes note of that* Alright, get in the nap sack.

In the Nap Sack is Hurruk, Cora, Creek, Ollie, Argot, and Lu (Rayna's fiancé) plus Patrick and Mark. Bob has chosen to stay out for now.

"Well open the portal, Alfie!"

And Alfie pauses before trying something. All magic has a vibration, and the way Alfie casts spells is by manipulating magic to make it vibrate in a certain way. Alfie casts spells with the power of autism. Me: Rose, we've talked about this. Can I? Rose: Roll to see if you can. Me: *rolls* 18. Rose: You do it successfully. He thinks back to the portal spell he made yesterday and reaches a handout to start making the magic in the air vibrate. During this process the party just sees Alfie violently vibrating as this is the first time he's done this with such a powerful spell.

Then he stops vibrating and a door appears. "I DID IT!" Truk walks over to the door as Alfie gains his bearings and pushes on the door. Rose: Flip a coin. Truk's player: Heads. Rose and Me: *at the same time* It's a pull door. Me: OOOOOH! Truk: *twists the doorknob* Rose: the door opens, and you see a forest.

We all step through the doorway and Truk recognizes this to be the territory of the Kingdom of Russia.

Rose: Alfie. Russia is a kingdom that fell to an eldritch entity. If they find out what you are that would not be good for you. Me: I know.

Alfie's form isn't consistent. The black feathers never really stay in the same place. So, Alfie half shifts into the form he had before he died. He is now a white bird with his current hairstyle. His form is more solid and unassuming. Looking at him you wouldn't know what he is.

Rose: You look even more like a chicken now. Me: Alfie knows. He'll have to swallow those comments.

Fluffy finds a pile of snow and scoops some of it up. Rose: Roll perception. Fluffy's player: *rolls* fuck Rose: It has a slight yellow tint to it Alfie: *runs over to Fluffy and smacks it out of their hand* NO Fluffy: But it's lemonade flavored! Alfie: *drags them away from the snow drift* I can't believe I'm marrying you.

Truk: I know this place like the back of my hand. Bob: Do you know that mole on the back of your hand? Truk: yes, I do- Rose: You go to look at the mole on the back of your hand and it's gone. Truk: *concerned* Where did it go? Me: it turns out the mole is your conscience. Bob: I'm just joking, pulling your leg! /j and what not *waves his hand and the mole reappears*

Fluffy: You know baja blast isn't that good Bob: What did you say? Fluffy: It's just that Dr. Pepper is way better. Bob: What is a Doctor Pepper? Fluffy: It's a soda and it's like sweet barbecue water. Bob: *to Alfie* Can I have some? You can summon things. Alfie: ... Alright *summons a mini can and gives it to Bob* Bob: *drinks it* that's nice. Fluffy: Can I have one? Alfie: *gives them a mini can of dr pepper* Fluffy: *takes one sip and gives the rest of it to Bob* Alfie: I'll allow it. Bob: *eats the can* Rose: Above Bob's head is some text that reads

"addiction rejected"

Truk calls out "There should be a town about an hour in that direction."

Bob collapses to the ground in pain because his ribs are powder. "Alfie... Can I please go in the Nap Sack?" Alfie helps Bob into then Nap Sack and tells him very sternly that he is not allowed to make deals with anyone in the Nap Sack. Alfie: My parents just got their souls back. Bob: *in pain* I WON'T TAKE THEIR SOULS.... *pops some pain killers* We can play liars dice though~ Alfie: *points at Argot* Don't gamble with the child. Fluffy's player: Don't gamble with the child!?

Alfie climbs back out of the Nap Sack and Truk decides to climb a tree to get a better look at our surroundings.

He fumbles the survival check and a branch he's holding onto breaks. So, he falls to the ground, and he lands on his angelic steel covered great club taking 15 points of damage. We call falling out of a tree "pulling a Patrick."

Rose: You really could have asked the party member with wings to do that. Fluffy's player: Fluffy climbs the tree. Rose: Roll at advantage Fluffy: *climbs the tree successfully and spots the town*

Alfie rushes over to Truk and checks him over. Truk is dazed and surprised at what happened and Alfie fights the urge to call him an idiot and does a medicine check to heal 4 hit points. Truk: Ow. Alfie: *deep breath* Are you okay? Truk: I'll be fine.

Alfie helps him up and Fluffy says that the town is probably a 15–20-minute walk away. This confuses Truk. That isn't quite right.

Fluffy: I'm stuck... Rayna: I'll catch you! And Fluffy jumps and Rayna catches them.

We start walking to the town and Rayna is still holding Fluffy and Alfie appears in front of her, does the grabby hands and says "gimme my partner." Rayna plops Fluffy into Alfie's arms. After a while Fluffy says "You can put me down." Alfie responds with "Nah. This is good practice for our wedding." Fluffy is just like "Oh! Okay!" Truk: Someone will definitely recognize me. Only the royal family has these eyes. Alfie: I can polymorph you. Fluffy: You could wear sunglasses. Truk: I could wear sunglasses... Alfie: Then people would look at you like "Who's this prick" for wearing sunglasses inside. Rayna: You could pretend to be blind. Just hold onto one of us. Truk: That could work. Alfie: BUt- WhA- G- *lets out a sound of exasperation* Rayna: Get out your jungle chompers. They can be your seeing eye animals. Truk: You know what? No. If they recognize me, they recognize me.

We are met with a large gate.

Rose: This town is that of Arstotzka. Everyone: GLORY TO ARSTOTZKA. Rose: There is an orc guarding the gates Truk's player: Do I recognize him? Rose: You do recognize him. Truk: Alexei? Is that you?

The orc's eyes light up. Alexei: My king! It's been so long... Truk: Yes, it has. I need to ask, who is the one who has been ruling in my stead? Alexei: That would be your uncle, Viktor. He has been ruling for the last 21 years. Alfie: *mutters under his breath* What is this, Hamlet? Bob: I actually met Shakespear once, lovely fellow, excellent sense of humor. Alfie: Really? What other members of human history have you met. Bob: Have you heard of Oppenheimer? Fluffy: *still in Alfie's arms* yes Alfie: yeah, I've heard of him. Bob has met Jack the Ripper.

"He has no claim to the throne- Wait 21 years?" For Truk it has been 11 years since Betty White decimated his kingdom and killed his parents. Alfie lets out a sound of understanding. "Two weeks in the fey wilds is 10 years here." "Alexei, I need to get to the Capital. Are there any horses or carriages?" Alexei seems uncertain before answering. "I'm afraid it'll be 3 days before another wagon comes around."

Rayna and I feel like this was suspicious and we both roll insight. "You both get the feeling that he has ulterior motives."

Rayna: Truk, I don't trust him. Truk: What are you talking about? I've known him since I was little! Alfie reaches out and grabs Truk's hand and shakes his head and just goes "no no no no..." Truk remembers Alfie's reaction in Sh'am, that trauma response, what lead to Alfie being in this realm and listens to his intuition.

Truk draws his great club and sternly speaks to Alexei. "There is something you aren't telling me." And Alexei squirms under Truk's gaze before breaking. "Viktor told me that you'd come eventually... He said not to let you make it to the Capital." Truk nodded before speaking. "Go to your family. Love and cherish them for the rest of your days." Alexei nods and leaves wishing us good luck.

And so there we are standing in front of the gate to Arstotzka. Truk tries pushing to gate open and Rayna and I help knocking this massive door off its hinges. Normally Alfie would fix the doors, but this is Russia and he's trying to not tip them off to him being an Eldritch God.

Truk shouts to the guards to open the second gate and they say that they can't. Alfie turns on his true sight and it is a major illusion. We walk right through the second gate.

Truk finds a wagon that is without a horse, but that's okay because we have a furry pink fellow that could definitely pull it.

Alfie calls out to Bob in the nap sack to let him know that a certain pink creature is coming out. Bob thanks him for the warning.

Bob owes Alfie 5 debts now.

Alfie lets Paul the pink buffalo out of the pokeball he was in and gives him a scritch under the chin. Paul: MOO! Alfie: Hey buddy! How are you today? Paul: *content* Moo! Alfie: That's good. We need your help with something. Paul: *questioning* moo? Alfie: We have this wagon that needs pulling. Are you up for it? Paul: *annoyed* moo. Alfie: There are some apple turnovers in it for you~ Paul: *excited* MOO!? *trots over to the wagon and lets Truk strap him in* Alfie gives Paul a fresh apple turnover and he eats it happily. I help Bob into the wagon cuz he has decided to come into the out now and I don't want him getting more hurt. Alfie picked him up and gently set him down in the wagon before pulling Fluffy up.

And we're off on a journey to the Capital of Russia. It's a 5-hour long journey so we have time to kill. Truk has hold of the reins and has his eyes focused on what's in front of him.

Alfie is quiet for a moment as Arstotzka faded into the distance. "Nobody can know. Nobody here can know what I am." Truk speaks up "If anyone tries anything I will kill them." Bob says that he wouldn't dream of it. He doesn't want to admit it, but he has grown rather fond of Alfie and the party.

Fluffy has a coloring book out and Alfie turns to Bob and tells him to step into his office. Bob is confused. Alfie is a licensed therapist. Normally he would use his pocket dimension as his office, but he hasn't learned how to make mobile portals yet so Alfie gestures for Bob to follow him to the back of the wagon. It is time for therapy.

Bob: *groans* Do we have to do therapy? Alfie: We made a deal. So yes. Bob: *follows Alfie to the back of the wagon and sits down* With a wave of his hand a one-way muffling charm is placed to maintain client confidentiality. Anyone outside of this area cannot hear what we are saying.

Bob does not look happy about this and when he looks at Alfie, he is wearing a tartan jacket and glasses with a pen and clip board in his hands. Clementine is out of her pokeball to act as a therapy animal. "Tell me about your childhood. This is a safe space." Bob crosses his arms takes a deep breath and starts. "You already know about my absent mother. My father wasn't there for me as he was emotionally unavailable at the time. Neither of them ever told me they loved me or was proud of me" "And how did that make you feel?" "Not... good." Alfie jots that down in the notebook and nods serenely. Alfie starts off with gentle probing questions for the first 30 minutes and starts asking the more hard-hitting questions. "You were adultified at a young age, weren't you?" "Yes. I had a bunch of responsibilities thrust on me." "So, you didn't have the chance to be a child." Bob flinches since Alfie hit the nail on the head before nodding. Clementine climbs into his lap and he starts petting her subconsciously. "It seems to me that you have an intense desire for control in your life, from what you do to what you eat and drink to who you befriend in your own way, even controlling others. But if you control every little thing, you'll never really get the chance to live. You have to embrace the spontaneity of life." Another nail has been struck. "You've been doing what people expect you to do, whether that be your parents, the citizens of Finkelberg, to us" he gestures at the party. "That includes who you think you're supposed to be. Fearless. Strong. Powerful. Sought after. Not one to be trifled with."

Eventually Alfie strikes down the main issues.

He does not know who he is.

He has major self-esteem issues.

He doesn't know who he wants to be.

He does not think he deserves good things.

And he needs a hug desperately.

By the end of the session, he is clutching onto Alfie as he cries, and Clementine is nuzzling into him cuz she knows he needs it.

Bob is emotionally, physically and mentally exhausted and asks if he can take a nap. So, Alfie summons a pillow and sets it down and Bob lies down for some much-needed rest. He is still adjusting to needing to sleep every day instead of once every 100 years.

Hours pass and Rayna makes a makeshift ballista. We see the Capitol coming into view. "Do you think your uncle knows we're here?" "Definitely." We see a guy riding on a black horse. Assuming it is a messenger going to tell Viktor that Truk has returned Rayna fires the ballista at him skewering him through the chest. The guy falls partially off the horse, but his foot is in one of the stirrups and his arm got caught on the reins making the horse panic and start moving in a circle.

Alfie hops out of the wagon and Truk stops the wagom and Alfie slowly approaches the horse with a hand outstretched and clicking his tongue. Rose: Roll an animal handling check at advantage. Me: 23. Rose: The horse whinnies and neighs but calms down. With a wave of magic Alfie releases the horse from their fallen rider and places a hand on its snout. "Shhhhh... It's alright. You're safe. We won't hurt you." The horse leans into his touch. Alfie and horses are distant kin in a sense as horses are also canonically eldritch entities. Rayna removes the chunk of wood she fired at the guy.

Alfie: Do you want to come with us? Horse: *positively* Neigh (he trusts Alfie). Alfie: What do we name you? Fluffy: Mr. Krispy. Alfie: *looks at the horse for confirmation* Horse: Neigh Alfie: Mr. Krispy it is.

Alfie puts Mr. Krispy in a pokeball along with Clementine and Paul marking Krispy's ball with a K.

Horse get! Mr. Krispy has joined the party!

He starts looting the rider's body and finds a folded-up piece of paper. He unfolds it and it is a child's drawing. Alfie: *hisses* Uh Rayna? Rayna: Yes? Truk: What is it? Alfie: *grimacing* This guy had a family... He has a kid... Rayna: oh fuck. *pulls out one of her scrolls of revivify* Casting the spell the rider bolts upright panting in fear and Alfie grips onto his shoulders and tells him "Breathe. You're okay. You're alright." and waits for the rider to get his bearings and helping him up.

The rider then notices Truk and bows. "Apologies my liege. I did not see you there." "It is more than okay, go back to your home and spend time with your family."

And he turns and starts walking to where he came from muttering about where his horse went.

The party starts walking towards the Capitol and Alfie runs back to the Wagon and wakes Bob telling him that we're here and that he should get in the Nap Sack. He sleepily nods and just kind of slithers into the Nap Sack. Alfie flies off to join his party. The Capitol of Russia is composed of many rings and levels. Outside of the walls are houses that seem to be abandoned and the Capitol is silent. "This feels like a trap." "This is definitely a trap."

The air feels off as the sun is setting. Something is watching us from the darkness.

Things get darker and darker, and that feeling of being watched intensifies.

Alfie closes his eyes and places a hand on the ground searching for the vibrations of anything living. "You don't feel anything living..." And then he checks for anything dead.

"There's something wrong with the realm of the dead." Alfie relays this message to his party and tries to call on Hades. A note floats down to his hands. It reads "Gone fishing -H" "Oh fuck it must be date night-" And then 4 shadows appear around Alfie and one of them strikes him. "Does a 23 hit?" It does. Alfie is going to take 6 points of necrotic damage but it's halved since he has a resistance. Alfie lets out a slight yelp of pain and pulls out a torch, striking it against the scales on his arm lighting it ablaze. "WE GOT SHADOWS." He shouts as he draws his Crimson Blood Blade.

We are surrounded by 12 shadows, and we can see them thanks to my torch. Fluffy casts light on my shirt and I playfully say: "That makes me the light of your life~" Fluffy blushes and Rayna shouts at us to stop flirting as she shoots two of the shadows.

Truk takes his great club and strikes down one of the shadows next to Alfie who narrowly dodges it and the shadow screeches as the angel steel burns it killing it. Alfie swirls around slashing two of the shadows and they let out a screech as they die.

Then two of the shadows sneak up on Fluffy while Alfie is distracted. They strike them and they fall down dead.

Alfie's eyes go wide with horror as he sees them fall to the ground. And he snaps.

He is silent as his form glitches and his bones creak, his eyes trained on his partner. The glimpse of his true form hurts his party members, and a special kind of magical darkness descends over the party. Truk's truesight cannot penetrate it. Only eldritch entities can perceive through it. They can only see 2 feet in front of them and Rayna makes her way over to where Fluffy was to use another revivify scroll.

Then the sounds start. It's unsettling and they can tell that these sounds are not coming from Alfie. They are coming from the shadows. There are slow screams and squelching noises. Crunching. The sound of something breaking and a maw sinking into spectral flesh. The worst part is that Alfie is completely silent.

Eventually the darkness lifts and Truk sees Alfie standing there, covered in black sludge. The shadows are gone and he's shaking with a thousand-yard stare. Truk approaches Alfie and says something to him. Alfie doesn't respond. His eyes scan his surroundings and his eyes land on Fluffy who is breathing with Rayna nearby with a disintegrating spell scroll in her hand. He doesn't speak. He doesn't make a sound. He just walks past him over to Fluffy Scruffington and pulls their weakened body into a hug letting out a sigh of relief.

Fluffy lets out a groan of pain and Alfie silently picks them up and takes them to the Nap Sack. And tells each of his parents to take care of them.

When he emerges, there is a difference in the way he stands.

He is silently fuming. If Truk doesn't kill Viktor, he definitely will.

Alfie levels a stare at the gates to the Capitol and they open. The architecture itself is afraid of him right now. It has finally set in to the party that if Alfie wanted to, if it weren't for the fact that he cares about them, he could kill them in minutes. He could incapacitate them in one move because even though Truk has truesight what he comprehends is not what he is. It's a censored and simplified version of what Alfie is. If Alfie shows them, they will perish or fall to madness.

Most gods cannot even comprehend the true monstrosity that is an Eldritch Horror. Brick is one of the few that can.

And so, we enter the Capitol enduring the whispers of the citizens as they witness the return of the rightful king of Russia and his entourage.

One of them makes a comment about Alfie which earns them a glare that ages them 30 years. We are stopped by some guards who say that we are not allowed to go any farther. Truk shouts for them to move as he places a hand on his great club. With Alfie and Rayna's help in an intimidation check the guards all shit their pants and step aside.

We follow Truk through the castle and make our way to the throne room. The doors in there are ornate gold. Alfie: Those doors are so tacky... Truk: My father decorated. Alfie: Interior design was not his strong suit.

Truk tries to push the doors open. "This is the second time this has happened." And he breaks the doors down sending them flying off their hinges.

Then we see Viktor. He is a human man who just starts monologuing. Truk tells him that he has no claim to the throne and Viktor's response takes him off guard. "Neither do you." "What are you talking about?" "You should ask your father." "Brick Brick Brick."

Brick appears and he has some explaining to do. Brick may be a floating brick, but we can tell that they are uncomfortable. Alfie does not take his eyes off of Viktor. "What is he talking about?" "I am your biological father." Truk's eyes flicker from orange to blue as he learns this. "But... How?" It turns out 3 months before the wedding of Truk's mother (the orc member of the royal family) and Truk's father (a human) Brick slide into his mom's DMs.

Brick has game.

"WHY?" "Just look at her." and we feel Brick gesture to a large portrait on the wall of Truk's parents. They are both SMOKING HOT. Two incredibly attractive individuals and Alfie looks from the portrait to Truk and keeps doing that for a minute before saying "No wonder you're so attractive." Truk blushes and stutters out "W- what?" "Truk you are a very attractive individual and now I can see why." Alfie is not flirting at all. He's just stating a fact.

Viktor seems to be annoyed and Alfie senses that something is off. There's something just a bit wrong with the tone of his skin and the way he moves He turns on his truesight. "You can't see someone who isn't there."

So, he rolls an arcana check ending up with a 17.

"You sense fiendish magic in this room."

And he says this in an uninterested and unimpressed tone: "There's a fiend among us."

And there is a laugh as Viktor vanishes in front of the party and we see a demonic winged woman with grey skin and reddish orange hair and horns. A flaming halo floats above her head.

Her name is Zariel, and she lets out an evil laugh.

She is dancing around the questions and Alfie is not tolerating it.

Alfie looks very unimpressed at her. "Tell me, Zariel. Do you know what I am?" "Of course I do, young eldritch being." "Then you should know not to waste my time..."

She breaks the news that Viktor has been dead for years. She owns his soul now. He made a deal so he could rule Russia.

Truk steps forward and speaks with her, gesturing for us to stay back. Alfie is ready to eviscerate her, but he holds himself back and waits.

And so Truk and Zariel talk. He offers to make her to ruler of this Kingdom for a price. She is to rule his people fairly. He is allowed to come and go as he pleases. She agrees and is now the figurehead of Russia.

Boss fight avoided

Fluffy: *pokes their head out of the Nap Sack* You mean I almost died for nothing?! Zariel: Who almost died? Alfie: A bunch of shadows almost killed my fiancé! Zariel: Oh, I hate those things...

Brick is still there, and it turns out Zariel and him are exes.

If we want Viktor's soul we can kill this dragon that Zariel hates. Alfie would like to give him a spectral bitch slap cuz he is racist.

Truk has a bunch of half siblings who know what they are but they're all assholes. We are now tasked with finding them and killing them that way they don't inherit Brick's powers in the event Brick dies because they are bad people.

I ask Brick if they can heal Fluffy and they say yes so, I hold Fluffy in my arms and they feel a boop on their nose and they are healed up to full health. Brick asks if I also want them to heal Bob.

I say yes and tell Bob to come out and he says quietly and fakes wiping tears and says "I'm gay." and Alfie is just like "I can tell."

Brick heals Bob's ribs and arm and he shouts in pain because Harry Potter was right. Regrowing bones HURTS. A lot.

Then Zariel sees Bob's face and goes "Bob! Is that you?" and he immediately goes back in the nap sack like "No. Bob is not home." Zariel and Bob dated before he realized he liked men.

Zariel tries to make an advancement and Alfie just goes: "NO! BAD ZARIEL. He isn't interested. He likes men." And she's just like "Oh" and backs off. "Do you know if any friends or family that happen to be eldritch beings are also single?" And Alfie pauses. "Not family, but I do have one friend that might be interested but I don't know if you'll like their base form..."

And Alfie says, "Sea Biscuit Sea Biscuit Sea Biscuit." And in a burst of black flames appears a brown horse with a white spot on his nose and black wings. And a very eloquent British accent leaves the horse's mouth as he speaks. "Ah! Hello Alfie! Lovely to see you again! Where are we?" Sea Biscuit was a horse that was cursed with sentience by a wizard.

And Zariel squeals. She loves horses and she makes her way over to him. Alfie: Sea Biscuit, this is Zariel. Sea Biscuit: Ah! Lovely to meet you! They call me Sea Biscuit. Zariel: You are beautiful- Sea Biscuit: *is picking up what Zariel is laying down* Take me out to dinner first.

Zariel and Sea Biscuit just click. They already seem to be a match made in hell or heaven or the outer planes or whatever analogy you want to use.

Truk takes Sea Biscuit aside and starts explaining things to him. Truk: How would you like to rule this Kingdom with her? Sea Biscuit: I would not be opposed to it. I'm interested to see how our relationship progresses. It's lovely to meet you by the way. And Sea Biscuit extends a wing out for Truk to shake. And they shake.

Alfie asks Brick about the spell book he has and where it came from. Brick is bullshitting us, and we all clock him on it. Brick doesn't know where the book came from.

Sea Biscuit does have a very convenient humanoid form and shows it to Zariel who blushes.

Bob questions if Zariel is still here and Alfie tells him that she is preoccupied with someone else.

Then he says that we have a wedding to plan.

Zariel perks up at that and asks us what we want.

The weddings of both Fluffy Scruffington and Alfie and Rayna and Lu are being planned.

[gomistore]

Knee Pain: The Most Effective Remedies to get rid of.

Nowadays, Knee pain is very common among older people and can be the cause of many things, from arthritis to injury. The problem could be in the joints themselves, or indicate an issue with the tendons (the cords that attach muscle to bone) or ligaments (which connect the thigh bone to the lower leg bones to stabilize the knee). When you have an injury in your knee, which can occur quite easily from activities like running, dancing, or even merely putting your foot down wrong, it affects many aspects of daily life and you maybe want to do just about anything to speed the healing.  Unfortunately, if you have arthritis, it is incurable and can bother you and cause discomfort for the rest of your life. But anyway, there are some effective natural remedies that can reduce your pain and improve conditions in and around your knees. Some of these natural remedies you eat, and others you apply directly to the affected knee – for some, you can do both! You can try these remedies alone, in combination with each other, or along with medication from your doctor. They are all gentle and come with no worrisome side effects.

1. Pineapple, cinnamon, and oat smoothie.

The starting point of Wellness is the kitchen, and the proper nutrition does wonders for strong knees, ligaments, and tendons. This breakfast smoothie gives your body a ton of vitamins, minerals, and fiber, and it just tastes so good. In addition to the vitamins and phosphorus they contain, the pineapple gives the body a compound called bromelain, which is strongly anti-inflammatory. The ingredients are: 1 cup cooked oats, 1 cup water, 1 cup orange juice, 3 cups chopped pineapple, 1 heaping teaspoon of ground cinnamon, and 1 teaspoon of honey. If you want, you can also add a palmful of crushed almonds to add more protein, fiber, and vitamin E. Simply add all ingredients except the oats into a blender and get it started on a low setting. Then slowly add the cooked oatmeal with the blender still running and blend until smooth.

2. Coconut oil.

Coconut oil is considered by some as the miracle oil that will help you lose weight, prevent heart disease, and even make you smarter. Although there are many benefits associated with coconut oil, do bear in mind that it is a saturated fat. One tablespoon will net you more than 50% of the daily recommended limit of saturated fat, According to the American Heart Association. However, our recommendation is that you massage the knees that hurt with it. The fatty acids contained in coconut oil are natural lubricants and are anti-inflammatory. Simply warm your oil a little until it melts into a liquid and rub it into affected areas. The combination of massage, natural lubrication, and lauric acid should loosen up your knee joints and minimize pain.

3. Apple cider vinegar.

Apple cider vinegar is another natural remedy that everyone uses for nearly everything, and studies are supporting people’s claims. When it comes to knee pain, the alkalizing effect of ACV is able to disband toxins within the knee that may be sparking inflammation. You can benefit from apple cider vinegar by either drinking it or applying it to your knee. If you chose to drink it, the optimal amount is 2 tablespoons per day. Some people take it straight, while others mix it with water or sweeten it with honey.  If you prefer to use it topically, mix your ACV with olive oil and massage the painful knees once per day for at least a week to notice some significant results.

4. Ginger.

Ginger contains a powerful compound called gingerol, and it is a strong anti-inflammatory compound that lessens swelling as well as muscle pain. Ginger can be eaten or used to massage in the skin. Luckily, it really smells and tastes great! Ginger is effective either fresh or dried/powdered form, so go ahead and spray it into soups, stir fries, and the batter for baked goods. To prepare a tasty tea, add approximately 2 tablespoons of fresh grated ginger root, and 1-2 tablespoons of honey, to 1 ½ – 2 cups of water. You start by boiling the ginger in the water for at least ten minutes, remove it from the heat, and strain. Then add honey and lemon juice, if you prefer to. Drink it daily! You can also get pre-made ginger oil from the supermarket and use it to massage the painful areas.

5. Sesame oil & lemon.

In China and India sesame oil is used widely for a variety of health problems, both internally and externally. It seems to help prevent muscles convulsions, and for that reason, sesame oil can relieve the pain associated with arthritic or injured knees. You should try massaging it into the joints daily. Also, gently warming the oil provides extra soothing element. There are people who swear that citric acid is also very helpful to relive joint pain if mixed with sesame oil. Even though there are no studies that do confirm this, anecdotal evidence suggests that it is worth a try.  To do this you can simply cut a lemon, dunk the open face of it into sesame oil, and use it to massage the spots where the pain is.

6. Carrots.

One of the ancient Chinese remedy for knee pain is carrots. Their orange hue is due to beta-carotene, an antioxidant which reduces inflammation. Carrots also contain another powerful anti-inflammatory compound which is vitamin A. When carrots are cooked in hot water the effects seem stronger, however you can also benefit from them by eating them raw. Juiced, chopped, or grated, it’s a wise habit to aim for about two servings daily.

7. Turmeric.

If you enjoy eating or cooking curry, you are, then, already familiar with turmeric, which gives the food that distinguishing flavor. Turmeric is a miracle spice, as studies have discovered that it rivals ibuprofen in terms of its ability to lessen pain. The reason behind this is that turmeric contains a high level of a compound called curcumin, which has been used for ages in holistic medicine because of its anti-inflammatory effects. Consuming turmeric regularly has even been linked to a lower risk of developing osteoporosis or rheumatoid arthritis. The spice can be purchased in capsules, then added to all sorts of meals for an exotic taste, or put into a cuppa. Anyway you get it, try to take in some turmeric daily if you suffer from knee pain.

8. Mustard Oil.

Straight mustard oil, even though it sounds like food, is not actually safe to be consumed. (Mustard essential oil, on the other hand, is okay to consume.)  After being mixed with milder carrier oil, like olive or coconut, either type of mustard oil can be useful when massaged into painful knees. It is said to promote blood flow and reduce inflammation, thus soothing pain. To boost the effects, you can add garlic or onion to your mustard oil, cooking gently for about 10 minutes before straining and cooling. Both garlic and onion contain a compound called allicin, which also lessens inflammation. We motivate you to try all of these natural remedies to get a clear idea about which of them delivers the best pain relief for you. Results depend on the reason of your knee pain, but you are not allowed to exceed the amount of healthy staples on our list. They all have numerous health benefits beyond reducing inflammation. Also the topical treatments can’t hurt. We surely promise less pain, more flexible knees, and better overall health. Just give a try. We hope you feel better soon!  

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[ombreblossom]

speaking words unspoken

This is my gift for @bluejayblueskies for the 2021 @tma-valentines-exchange! I hope you like it!

AO3 link is located in the source :)

Summary: They're a week and some change into their stay at Daisy's safe house, and Martin is still having some trouble with the Lonely. Jon picks up on this and tries to make things better. And he does! In his way, but not before some miscommunication and exhaustion waylay his efforts (about 6.5K words)

The grocery store is awfully busy for a small town nestled in the heart of the Scottish Highlands. Residents of the village wander among a haphazard collection of shelves ranging from middling height to impossibly tall. There seems to be little rhyme or reason for where items are placed from aisle to aisle, forcing Martin to have to search around in order to find anything, increasing the number of people he inadvertently bumps into.

If Martin gave it any more than a cursory thought, he'd come to the conclusion that it's not entirely unexpected, the nearest Tesco many tens of kilometers away and only a smattering of towns in between.

Martin isn’t really in a position to have that cursory thought, though, as freshly escaped from the Lonely as he was. Nervous energy thrums along his skin, speeding his movements and making him quick to avert his eyes in the infrequent event someone meets them. Most people still easily pass their gaze over him, as if he were merely a wisp of tepid air lazily making its way across the store room—a left-over effect of his association with the One Alone. Martin doesn't mind so much the lack of attention paid to him, but he can't help but feel an uncomfortable pressure against his skin when other people are near.

He can't even be near Jon sometimes, not without the pressure overwhelming him, and doesn’t that just smart.

Martin resolved to brave the thick, after-work crowd for this, though, “this” being gathering the supplies needed for a relaxing night in Daisy’s safehouse following a rushed and terrified flight from London and everything that had happened with Peter and Eli-Jonah, Not!Sasha, and the hunters. They weren’t on holiday, Martin had to keep reminding himself. They weren’t on holiday, but he was probably the happiest he’s been in years, and he wants to celebrate that. With Jon. 

With Jon. What a concept. He was elsewhere in the store, continuing an extended effort of picking up things they'd conceivably need for the long term. Just in case. Martin’s trying to not examine his shaky optimism too closely, but he is in love, and it's impossible to not consider his current position beside Jon as anything but a miracle.

Ah, there’s finally some room in the sweets aisle. Flanked on either side by various baking paraphernalia, Martin enters the aisle and heads straight for a small section of colorfully-wrapped bar chocolate. Not that Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London likes sweet chocolate—goodness, no. Or sweets at all for that matter. At least not things he classified as “obnoxiously sweet,” an ambiguous term if Martin had ever heard one. Over time, Martin has come to understand it to mean barely sweet, like an echo of sweetness that had once been present and is no longer. He's never said as much, but Jon likes his sweets like he likes his tea: oversteeped to the point of bitterness with the barest hint of sugar and the slightest bit of added color from milk. 

And Jon does this unbearably adorable thing where he breaks the bar up into smaller pieces, not even according to the pre-set perforations, mind you, and nibbles on the thing for hours at a time, either to savor the flavor (which Martin cannot possibly fathom) or because Jon is a lying liar who lies about liking bitterness to that degree, and this is the one thing he has managed to successfully lie to anybody about.

It’s probably the former, but Martin would be delighted to find out it’s the latter.

So, he gladly picks up a couple of ninety-percent dark chocolate bars for Jon and turns them over in his hand, feeling the rough texture of the plain, if colorful, wrapping paper surrounding them. Martin does his best to dodge around other shoppers who've entered the aisle, picking up some granulated sugar, flour, baking soda and powder, and cinnamon for banana bread (his personal favorite). It stirs feelings in his chest that Jon had bought bananas several days ago with the (if not explicit, then quite obvious in hindsight) intent to let them over-ripen. Martin starts to head toward the cashier with the rest of his items when he feels a cool hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers together.

“Hey,” Jon begins, a soft warmth in his voice, “Did you get everything we needed?” Jon rubs his thumb in light, rhythmic circles onto his own, and it takes everything Martin has in him to not instinctively pull his hand out of Jon’s gentle hold. It feels nice—Jon feels nice—but it's very nearly too much right now. He hates this, hates constantly putting Jon in a position where he has to somehow intuit Martin’s feelings because not even Martin himself quite understands what exactly sets off the chain reaction of fear and pressure and too many people and the roaring—

There’s suddenly nothing but air around his hand, and Martin misses Jon’s solid presence acutely as much as he found it altogether too much. He doesn’t want to look over at Jon to see his placating smile, the one Martin imagined Jon wore as he all but dragged the both of them through King’s Cross station to barely make it on time for the soonest train to Inverness. That same smile that Martin watched Jon affect as he took on the bulk of the dusting and washing that needed to be done upon arrival at Daisy’s safe house. The same smile that Martin woke up to every morning, knowing that Jon had very likely spent several hours just sitting in their bed waiting for Martin to wake up to make sure he didn’t do so alone. 

Martin looks anyway and isn’t surprised to see the smile in question.

If Martin had to describe it, he’d say it conveyed a sense of loss, of mourning, of wanting to protect what remained of a previous whole. It’s an implicit acknowledgement of the pieces of Martin that have been irreparably warped by the Lonely and an acknowledgement that Martin had already lost much to mundane loneliness long before Peter took advantage of his grief and recruited him in waylaying the Extinction.

He never wants to see that smile again, and so he looks away.

“Is there anything else we still need to get, Martin?” Jon rephrases and, after a long beat, continues, “Why don’t I finish up here and we can meet up in a few moments at the bookshop?” The bookshop that Martin knows that Jon knows is likely deserted at this time in the late afternoon, not too long before the elderly shopkeep, Fiona, closes her doors in anticipation of beginning her own nightly rituals. “I’m almost finished with the books we brought from London, and last time we were there—”

“Jon—” Martin sighs while Jon continues.

“—you mentioned Discworld, and it occurred to me that I have somehow managed to avoid reading any Pratchett, despite reading what I can only imagine was nearly every book left at all the second-hand bookshops in and around Bournemouth. Did you know—”

Jon keeps going with tidbits of what he knows of Terry Pratchett, which is an awful lot considering he just admitted to having not read anything by the man. Martin missed this, listening to Jon talk about anything and everything. He dare not interrupt him, even with everyone walking around them. He also refuses to throw Jon’s gift of distraction back at his face.

Color rises in Jon’s cheeks and his brows furrow when he presumably realizes he’s been talking for a while. “My point is I don’t mind finishing up here. Really, I don’t.” Jon’s trying to help. He’s trying to help, damn it, he repeats to himself. Lord knows that all Jon has ever done is try to help, in his way. Martin’s the one who can’t go five seconds without his fear around other people flaring out of control. Jon shouldn’t have to go it alone to preserve his comfort.

Martin takes some deep, steadying breaths. Jon waits patiently for him, his free hand fidgeting unobtrusively. 

“No, I'm good," he asserts, threading his words with as much certainty he can manage, and decides then and there that it is so. "I have everything we need for dinner tonight here and a couple extra things, too." He waggles his eyebrows a little at this. "I assume that you're over here because you've finished getting the essentials."

Every time Jon laughs is an exercise in appreciating opposing extremes. His eyes close as if he can’t bear to look at the object of his amusement any longer, and the corners of those eyes crinkle in the prettiest way, taking the breath right out of Martin’s body when it happens. And he holds his hand in front of his mouth like his laughter is something to be smothered, never to see the light of day, the reasons for which Martin can't be certain, but he suspects he wouldn't like them. "Indeed. And a few extra indulgences," Jon teases, winking. Winking! Does Jon wink? Clearly he does, but this is new information, a treasure trove hidden among stormy seas. “I picked up some sausage; sausage always adds an extra depth of flavor to this sort of thing.”

Laughing lightly, Martin says, "Let's get going, then. We have an extremely full evening of relaxation ahead of us."

"Since when do you find cooking relaxing, Mr. Microwave Meals?"

"Since it's a safe activity that we can do together now that we're away from the Institute of Terror, Mr. Will Subsist on Granola Bars and Spite For Days at a Time If Left to His Own Devices."

Jon looks thoughtful suddenly. "Safe. Now there’s a concept," Jon says with no small amount of incredulity.

Martin pauses. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jon?” Martin goes cold at the thought that Jon might have seen something and not told him.

“What? Oh, no. It’s just…” He trails off, his gaze drifting upward toward the ceiling. “This, being here—with you—is probably the safest I’ve felt in a long time. It-it almost doesn’t feel real. Like any little thing I do or neglect to do could potentially burst this bubble of happiness I’ve all of the sudden found myself in.” 

It’s moments like these that Martin might actually be willing to believe that Jon is in his early 40s, the age he’d be now if the ridiculous lie he told about his age when they all started in the archives had been true. The pressing weights of repeated trauma, responsibility, and regret age his features considerably, and it hurts to look at. Martin wants so badly to smooth away the lines that seem to have taken up permanent residence between Jon’s brows however he can.

Martin ventures that he’s calm enough now to at least comfort Jon, if not enough to accept any for himself. He grabs the same hand that grasped his own minutes before and just. Holds it. Jon goes taught, like a newly-strung bow, words of reassurance waiting on Jon’s lips, that no, it’s okay, Martin, you don’t have to do this.

Well, too bad. Martin wants to do this, the Lonely’s lingering influence on him be damned. Martin draws Jon’s hand up to his lips and presses a kiss onto his knuckles. Jon gasps quietly, eyes wide. His grey-streaked dark hair is slipping out of its loose braid, whether from Jon playing with it in idle moments or from the wind that is altogether too often present in the Highlands, Martin couldn’t say, but the image endears him to Martin all the same.

“Well, take it from someone who’s spent a lot of the last year feeling not-quite-real: this is real, Jon. We’re here and safe, at least for now,” Martin assures him, grinning. “Let’s go pay for this stuff, yeah? And let’s go home.” Jon, momentarily speechless, simply nods his assent.

They’re able to leave the store with their purchases eventually and decide to make their way to Fiona’s bookshop anyway, picking up a few volumes while they’re there: a collection of Robin Robertson’s poetry for Martin and a geographical history of the Scottish Highlands and Terry Pratchett’s Guards, Guards for Jon to chew through. And neither of them would dare leave without giving Maggie, the resident feline guardian, some well-earned scritches. “It takes an awful lot of energy to mind an entire bookshop, after all,” Jon says every time they visit, all the while accumulating what could only amount to an unhealthy amount of cat hair—so much so that Martin’s started to find it laying about in the safe house. Jon doesn’t seem to mind it and says it reminds him of living with The Admiral.

It’s a decent walk back to the safe house. They started late enough in the day that the sun is already beginning to sink below the horizon, so they end up leaving after giving Maggie far fewer scritches than any of them would have preferred. Jon rebuffs Martin’s offer to carry all of their purchases, stubbornly hanging onto their books and his share of the groceries. This is becoming a familiar game to them, one that tends to escalate to silly, frantic grabbing for the others’ bags and eventually devolves into giggles and light shoulder bumping. Today, Martin manages to relieve Jon of his groceries, opening up one of Jon’s hands for holding, which Martin promptly attempts to take.

Jon turns his head to him and gives him a look that practically asks in his stead, “Are you sure this is okay?” The likewise unsaid “I don’t want to hurt you” bounces back and forth between them, and Martin answers by interlacing their hands and giving Jon’s a squeeze in hopes that it will quell the worry that’s carved into the lines of Jon’s face.

It does, and the contented sigh Jon makes is one of the loveliest sounds he’s heard. They continue their trek home, the route long and winding.

Not too much later, though, Martin notices something...off about Jon. He notices in increments almost minute winces when Jon steps on the leg Prentiss' worms ravaged, more frequent bumps into him that had nothing to do with showing affection but allowing Martin to take some of his weight for a moment, and some far-away looks.

Martin doesn’t quite have the shape of it until they’re talking about something or other, something simple, easy, meaningless in the grand, cosmic scheme of things, and Jon stumbles. He tries to laugh it off, but there's something not quite right about Jon's laughter this time. The way he bounces his shoulders in suppressed mirth is subdued—sluggish, even. An increasingly concerning picture paints itself in Martin’s mind.

A long, hard look at Jon forces him to confront the deep, dark circles under his eyes set against skin uncomfortably grey, nearly all traces of flush gone from his face, a stark contrast to earlier in the day.

How had he missed this? Maybe he’s been more absent than he thought. He’ll have to keep a close eye on Jon throughout the evening, maybe shepard him to bed if he seems to get any worse.

Only a sliver of the sun remains visible above the horizon when they arrive at the safe house, casting a soft orange glow over the vast grassy spread of the Highlands. Martin pays the sight little mind, though, all of his focus intent on the man in front of him currently unlocking their front door, and he can’t not notice how long it takes for Jon to insert the key into the locking mechanism.

As they’re putting away their groceries, visions of Jon doing the very same thing by himself play in his mind’s eye. He’s only able to summon disconnected images of the first several days of their....could he call it an elopement? Their not-so-great escape from the Archives? He recalls Jon preparing meals for them, bundling up to leave the safe house for groceries, washing their clothes in a small, foot-powered washing machine and later hanging them up on a clothesline outside to dry. Martin also recalls Jon bringing him overly-steeped tea and an old crocheted blanket when all he could do was sit on Daisy’s ancient green corduroy sofa and stare into the void in front of him, the sounds of lapping waves Coming ever closer.

All the while wearing that damnable smile. Shame pools within Martin, shame that Jon had had to take up so much responsibility recently and that Martin can’t say how well Jon’s been sleeping or taking care of his own needs in the meantime. If today is anything to go on, Martin supposes the answer to both of those questions is likely “no.”

“Martin, could you turn on the lights? We’re losing daylight fast.” Jon has a balancing hand on the countertop and is putting their dry and canned food items. Martin does as he’s asked, bathing the entire kitchen and living area in warm light. Martin walks back toward the kitchen area and is greeted with a “thank you” and a kiss. He could get used to this, used to feeling loved and appreciated.

“Is something bothering you, Martin?”

He looks at Jon, concern writ large on his still ashen face and eyes boring into him. Concern has no place being there right now. If anyone has any right to be concerned at the moment, it’s Martin.

“What? No. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve just been awfully quiet since we got home, and after what happened at the store, it’s not surprising that you might still be feeling...off.”

Projection, much? Martin wants to say but has the wherewithal to hold it back. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. Jon. I’m all right.”

Jon eyes him up and down, and after seemingly not finding what he’s looking for, nods once and smiles (again with the smile...) once more. “All right. You’ll tell me if something’s bothering you, though, won’t you?” 

“Yeah, Jon, of course I will.” And he intends to mean it.

“Good,” Jon says and walks over to where Daisy keeps her cooking vessels, grabs her Dutch oven, and places it on the stovetop.

“Why don’t I be your line chef today, Jon, and you work the stovetop? You’re much better at the actual cooking part than I am.” 

“Mmm. There’s a lot of prep work that goes into this and not a whole lot of actual cooking, so let me help you,” he says, shakily opening a couple drawers in search of a suitable chef’s knife. 

“You sure? You’re looking a little peaky over there,” he replies without meaning to and curses his loose tongue.

Jon pauses midway through grabbing one of Daisy’s old wooden cutting boards and blinks slowly. “Oh…. Yes, I’m sure. What do you mean, looking ‘peaky’?”

“It’s just,” Martin starts, collecting the fennel seed, basil, rosemary, and the rest of the spices they needed for their meat sauce and a bowl to mix them in. Too late to not approach the subject now. “You’re exhausted, Jon. You spent most of our walk home either tripping over air or leaning on me for support.” He had wanted to be subtle, but subtlety is no longer on the cards.

Considering this for a moment, Jon’s eyebrows scrunch up in a way that Martin finds so endearing and opens a nearby cupboard to take out a couple onions and a bulb of garlic. “Sure, I’m a little tired,” he concedes, “but we have all evening to relax. I’d like nothing more than to cook with you, Martin.”

He should’ve known Jon was a sap. The signs were all there. “Well, how could I say ‘no’ to that?” He says and means it, though worry continues to percolate in the back of his mind.

“You can’t, and you know it.” Jon teases.

They go about preparing their meat sauce, Martin double- and triple-checking each measurement before pouring the appropriate amount of each spice into the mixing bowl and Jon dicing onions. 

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” 

“Chop onions without tearing up and cursing your hubris that ‘this time will be different’?”

Chuckling softly, Jon apparently thinks better of sliding his hand down his face before answering, pivoting to the most level deadpan Martin thinks he’s ever heard from him, “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that I spent years perfecting my abilities. Training with the best of the best to strengthen my tears ducts to such a degree that they are, quite literally, incapable of passing tears from my lacrimal glands to my eyes.”

Martin raises a dark eyebrow, amusement in his voice as he replies, “You should probably see a doctor about that, you know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he draws out. “The real answer, of course, is my grandmother devoted a lot of her time to making sure I could at least cook according to a recipe along with providing some general rules of thumb. I chopped many an onion in search of culinary adequacy. Never progressed much past following recipes, though. Ask me to create something from scratch, and you’ll witness a horror the likes of which has never been seen before.”

“Just out of curiosity, which fear do you think takes credit for culinary disasters?”

“Probably depends on the nature of the disaster, honestly, but…. Hmm. Maybe Corruption? Or Flesh, maybe? Either way, it doesn’t bear thinking about, especially not while we’re preparing to eat ourselves.” 

While Martin is rummaging through the fridge in search of where Jon put the ground beef and sausage, he hears a hiss coming from Jon's direction. 

Martin whips his head over to where Jon's been dicing onions and his heart clenches at the sight of deep red blossoming over the wooden cutting board.

"Jon! What happened? You're bleeding," He says, stating the obvious, feeling like his throat is closing up behind his words. "Where are you bleeding from?" Martin crosses the room in record time, places a hand in Jon's shoulder and surveys the area in front of him.

Blood leaks sluggishly from a cut on Jon's middle finger. A splatter of crimson on the knife Jon has been using clues Martin in to what happened. "Jon, just stay right there, okay? I'll go grab the first-aid kit. I’m sure there’s some kind of antiseptic or disinfectant in there. I’ll be right back!”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but Martin’s already gone, heading for the cabinet under the bathroom sink, head abuzz with worry and heart hammering in his chest.

When Martin returns, Jon’s running his hand beneath the running tap and blood trails down into the sink in pink rivulets. Jon glances at him, the same exhaustion that stared back at him when Jon and the rest left for Great Yarmouth on his face, a combination of physical exhaustion and the culmination of several months of emotional upheaval, of bitterly contemplating his own humanity and his role in Elias’ inscrutable plans.

“There’s no need to worry about the first-aid kit, Martin. Didn’t you hear? I heal, ah, preternaturally fast these days. See?” Jon holds up his hand to Martin, and, much to Martin’s surprise, the seeping cut on Jon’s finger is completely gone, no trace even of a faint scar. 

“I...I didn’t know, Jon,” he almost whispers. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since I—since I woke up. From the coma.”

Martin mouths an “oh” and considers what this means in the context of what knows about Jon’s actions while he’d been working for Peter. It’s almost sadder that Jon ventured into Ny Alesund knowing that he couldn’t be permanently harmed—or into the coffin, for that matter. Walking into extreme danger knowing that he’d likely bring pain on himself but he’d almost certainly live despite it—”self-destructive” was even more accurate than Martin had imagined at the time Daisy said it.

Martin heaves a tension-relieving breath and hopes it doesn’t sound like a sigh. Making Jon feel guilty about something he can’t exactly help isn’t something he wants to do tonight. Or ever. “Why don’t I go put this back, then, and let’s pick up where we left off. I’ll take over the solemn duty of chopping onions if you start preparing the beef and sausage.”

“Yeah, that might be for the best,” Jon concedes too easily. 

The room is quiet after that. Not much sound ever permeates the safe house’s walls, trees and hills absorbing much of the ambient noises of the surrounding area before they even get to their cottage. And they’ve both gone silent, the only sounds filling the room the sharp thuds of a knife hitting wood and the squelching of ground meat. 

By time Martin’s done dicing one onion to replace the one Jon bled on and an extra onion that the recipe didn’t call for because “onions are flavor vehicles, Martin,” or so Jon claims, Jon’s still mixing the beef and sausage together.

“H-hey, Jon, I think you’ve mixed those pretty thoroughly, don’t you?”

“Mmm.” He stills, hands still submerged in the mixture.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks slowly, head and gaze drawing downward, like he no longer has the will or strength to work against gravity.

Martin reaches out a hand to shake him out of his stupor but thinks better of it. Has he somehow lost more color in his cheeks? “Jon, I think you should maybe go lay down or at least sit down.” Nothing. “I’d love to hear you talk about Discworld if you’re not ready to lay down yet.”

This seems to break him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into. “Oh. Ah, yes. Right. I understand. I’ll, um, just go.”

What is there to understand, Martin wonders as Jon turns back to the sink and runs water and soap along his hands, movements almost comically slow if not for how worrying they are and the frenetic energy that usually accompanies Jon completely missing.

Martin reaches out a supporting hand, intending to grasp Jon’s upper arm. “The bedroom’s awfully far away; let’s get you to the sofa, and I’ll bring over some tea and blankets, yeah?” 

With energy summoned from the aether, Jon leaps out of the way of his hand, throwing himself boldly against the lip of the countertop with a cry. “No. No. That’s all-that’s all right. I can get there by myself,” he says, chest heaving and the trembling Martin noticed more pronounced than even a moment ago.

“Jon, love, you’re not in any condition to be doing anything by yourself. In the most affectionate way possible, you look like you feel awful right now. Please let me help.” Martin’s unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Jon looks—Looks?—looks at him, eyes wide, almost bulging, fear and a host of other emotions dancing wildly in them. “No, n-no. You don’t have to…. Please, don’t. I didn’t want this.”

“Don’t what, Jon? What didn’t you want?”

“This. I didn’t want this.”

“Um. I don’t really understand, Jon, but let’s talk about it over on the sofa. We’ll be more comfortable there.” Martin takes a small step forward, palms of his hands facing forward in a gesture of openness and safety. This time when Jon leaps backward, he slips. Martin’s not close enough to grab onto him, and a split second later, the deafening crack of Jon’s head hitting the wood floor fills the room and clamps a vice around Martin’s heart. 

Too shaken to yell his name, he bounds over to where Jon lies still and slides into a sitting position beside him. All Martin can see for a terrifying, desolate moment is Jon in that familiar adjustable hospital bed, crisp, undisturbed white sheets carefully arranged over top of him, attached to various monitors that have been silenced to not alert staff of his absent heartbeat and non-existent oxygenation levels.

“Jon. Jon. Come on. Don’t do this to me. Jon, do something—say something if you can. Please, don’t….” Should he move Jon at this point? Martin remembers from a rudimentary first-aid class he took when his mother’s worsening condition started to accelerate that you shouldn’t move people with suspected head or neck injuries without first stabilizing them, but they had nothing like that here. And there was still some question as to how far his healing ability really extended.

He has to be okay. Without giving the action any thought, Martin gently places a hand atop Jon’s chest to check for breathing. They’re shallow breaths, but his chest does rise and sink in a slow rhythm, and Martin lets out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding.

“Love?” He near whispers, as if Jon were merely asleep. “Come back to me.” He brushes away some of the fly-away hairs that have fallen onto his face. That is when Jon begins to stir.

“Jon? Jon!” Martin exclaims. For whatever mysterious reason, Jon is trying to wriggle away from him. “Don’t try to move yet. You hit your head pretty hard, and your healing isn’t immediate, Jon. Just stay put!” Jon wasn’t listening to him, still scrambling to move out of Martin’s reach.

That’s enough of that. Martin lays himself over Jon’s chest and holds him while he waits for him to calm down.

It takes some seconds, maybe a minute or two, but Jon does calm down eventually, becoming boneless in Martin’s arms.

“Hey,” Martin starts, “you with me, Jon?” 

Jon lifts a hand slowly, making a so-so gesture.

“Okay. How’s your head?”

He winces. “Hurts.”

Martin hmms. “Do you feel dizzy?”

Jon gives a minute shake of his head.

“Okay. I’m moving us to the sofa, then. And don’t try to protest,” Martin warns.

Martin gets half-way to his feet, slips his arms until Jon’s legs and back, and proceeds to pick them both up off the floor. In the short time it takes to cross the room, Jon nuzzles his head into Martin’s chest. The frustration and concern and worry Martin’s feeling subsides somewhat in the face of overwhelming affection for this man, and he hugs him just a little bit closer.

“Stay here; I’ll be right back,” Martin says as he lays Jon down gingerly onto the sofa. He puts their dinner ingredients back into the fridge for the time being and puts some water on for chamomile tea. His thoughts drift as he waits for the water to come to a boil and some more as he waits for the tea to steep. He glances at Jon every so often, who has rolled over onto his side while Martin’s been gone.

“Hey, you,” Martin says as he sits in front of Jon at the edge of the sofa, the mug of chamomile making a soft thunk on the table.

“Why are you doing all this, Martin?” Jon murmurs into the worn fabric underneath him, and Martin can’t tell if he was supposed to hear it or not.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Jon.”

“Why are you staying so close to me, touching me? Taking care of me?”

“I would have thought the answers to those questions were pretty obvious,” Martin says mildly, carding his fingers through Jon’s hair.

Jon’s silence says everything.

Martin exhales and then steels himself for a delicate conversation. “I love you, Jon. Have done for quite a while now. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your pain and discomfort, I want to do it.”

Jon clenches a fist and refuses to look at him. “I know that, Martin, in every way possible. But...” he stops, apparently to think. He sounds wrecked. Tabling this conversation for when Jon is feeling better might be a better idea, but it’s rare that Jon gets the gumption to speak openly about the things really bothering him, so Martin’s remains quiet. “Things haven’t been easy for you since…. Christ, for a long time, I think. Since Prentiss, at least. But since leaving the Lonely, you’ve been…. You go away for long periods of time, and it seems like you can’t handle people being around you, too.”

It occurs to Martin that they’ve never actually addressed any of this together, not their individual traumas, not their shared traumas, not this thing, these feelings, between them. They’ve been testing the waters, so to speak, bit by bit. Touches and soft barbs and sweet words pass between them unacknowledged but nevertheless heartfelt. But so much else has also remained unsaid in the interim, he now realizes. 

“And I get it. No one escapes one of the fears without being marked, and you’ve been marked thoroughly by the Lonely, Martin. It’s...it makes perfect sense that these things are happening, that you feel overwhelmed when people are near.”

He stops again, and Martin gives him ample time to gather his thoughts. Martin is still running his hand through silky salt and pepper strands when Jon lifts his head and looks up at him. His complexion still carries that worrying gray tint and his eyes are and cheeks shine with moisture.

It’s the darker green spot on the sofa where Jon had had his face pressed that really does Martin in, that causes him to throw caution to the wind

“Move back a little, Jon. Just a little, okay?” He says, low and soft. Jon mutters a “yeah” and does as he’s told. “Thanks, love. Now, hold still.”

Daisy’s sofa is by no means a large sofa, and Martin is by no means a small man, but he’ll make this work. He lays himself down beside Jon and works his arms around him, tucking himself into any space he can against him, the lines of their bodies almost completely flush with one another. His back is close enough to the edge that Martin constantly feels like he’s about to fall, but it’s worth it to have Jon in his arms like this. “I’m listening, whenever you’re ready to continue.”

Jon buries himself in Martin’s chest before picking up where he left off, prompting Martin to cup the back of his head and pull him in closer.

“You’ve borne the brunt of maintaining our relationship for so long, Martin, and now it’s my turn. I can take care of you when you’re far away, when you can’t be around people. I can do the shopping, I can cook. I can do all these things.

“And I can stay away when it’s too much for you to be around me.” He clenches the fist caught between them even harder. “I don’t want to be the cause of your pain, Martin. That’s the last thing I want.”

Martin considers all this for...several moments, really, and comes to an ugly conclusion.

“Jon...is this why you didn’t let me touch you earlier?”

A muffled “yes” reaches Martin’s ears, and his heart just breaks.

“We really should have a long conversation about this in the near future—preferably when you’re feeling better—but I want to say a couple things right now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course, Martin. I want to hear everything you have to say.”

Martin gives a little squeeze of gratitude and then continues, “For one, you’re right. There’s leftover stuff from the Lonely I’m dealing with right now, and sometimes it’s hard to be around anyone. And I hate it so much that ‘anyone’ sometimes includes you. From here on out, I’m going to try to tell you when I’m feeling this way, so you don’t have to try to guess. And if I’m reaching out to you, please trust me that I’m okay in that moment.”

“I do trust you, Martin. I trusted you to handle Peter. I trusted you to handle the Extinction. I’ll...do my best to trust you in this, too. I...I’m just deeply afraid of ruining this, ruining us.”

“Thank you. And I understand. I worry about that, too, but please also trust me when I say there’s not much that you could do that would ruin this.”

Nodding into Martin’s chest, Jon whispers, “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. And second, I want you to know that, as far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to feel like you need to make up for anything.” Jon is tensing up, preparing to protest—he can feel it. “No, I mean it. Our relationship isn’t transactional. You don’t have to meet every comfort I offer you with one of your own just for the sake of reciprocation. That’s not how it works. You’ve done so much for me Jon, just by being you. That’s not even including the Lonely and everything that’s happened after, though I’m grateful for all that, too. You’re already here for me in every way that matters. You don’t need to do anything more.”

Martin places a kiss on the crown of Jon’s head, and they just lie there, soaking in each other’s presence, previous evening plans all but forgotten. Martin thinks Jon dozes a little bit, the stress of the evening finally taking consciousness away from him, but he’s proven wrong when Jon speaks up once more, muffled slightly by Martin’s jumper.

“For the record, I love you, too. In case that needed to be said.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘need,’ necessarily, but I won’t lie and say I don’t like hearing it!”

“I see,” Jon croaks. The man needs to rest. “Well, I guess if you don’t need it, then I won’t bother saying it.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” He laughs and feels the smile on his face widen.

“I have an idea, yes.”

“Good. Now, drink your tea.”

Martin pushes himself away from Jon to give him some room to sit up and to get a good look at this face. His face isn’t covered in tears anymore (now probably absorbed by the fibers in his knitted jumper), but he looks positively exhausted, eyes lidded and face otherwise lax in an easy smile, not at all like the one he wears with the intent to soothe. Martin places the still warm cup of chamomile in Jon’s hand.

“Still feeling up for a little dinner?” He asks.

Jon hmms and replies, “Yeah, I could eat a little. Just give me a few minutes to—”

“Absolutely not, Jon. I’m going to make dinner while you take a nap here. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. A nap sounds wonderful.”

“Good. I’ll wake you up when everything’s finished.”

Martin starts to dislodge himself from Jon when Jon reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Love you. And good luck.” Jon gives him possibly the most self-satisfied wink he’s seen before taking a sip of his tea.

It’s not terribly cold in the safe house with a fire going, but Martin lays Daisy’s crocheted blanket over Jon anyway, and starts taking everything back out for dinner.

It’s meat sauce—how hard could it be?

[ifmywishescametrue]

numbers are hard

also on ao3

Steve has been acting strange all day, and for the life of him Tony can’t figure out why. It starts with sex when they first wake up, which isn’t all that weird. More tender than usual, slower and sweeter than most days, but nothing that makes him question anything right away. The only slightly abnormal part is that Steve skips his run entirely for it, but it’s happened before. 

Breakfast is the first real sign that something is up, when Steve breaks out all of the stops to produce french toast dusted with powdered sugar and topped with sliced strawberries. It’s quite the step up from his everyday toast and eggs, and his grin when Tony compliments his cooking is brighter than the morning sun coming in through the wall of windows. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Tony says, dragging a piece of french toast through a puddle of maple syrup. 

Steve leans over, and the kiss he plants on Tony’s cheek is slightly sticky. “You deserve something nice today.”

Tony chews his bite slowly, processing that. Nice today, implying that today is different than other days. He checks the date on his phone as inconspicuously as possible. 

There’s nothing significant that strikes him about May 10th. He has a couple weeks to go until his birthday, five more days until the anniversary of their first kiss. Another eight until the anniversary of their first real date. May 10th couldn’t be less special if it tried, really. 

For now Tony shrugs it off, chalks it up to just another Steve thing. Like the way he wears socks to bed, but only in December, and drinks a different flavor of tea for every day of the week. 

But then it continues throughout the morning. Steve asks him to go for a walk with him in Central Park, and he seems more affectionate than usual when they’re in public. With the Captain America mantle hanging heavy on his shoulders, Steve has typically always been more reserved around others. Their relationship has never been a secret, but Tony knows for a fact that there is exactly one paparazzi photo of them kissing in existence. There are quite a few more with hand holding, maybe the occasional shot of Steve’s arm slung around his shoulder, but never more than that. 

Today, Steve kisses him on the pedestrian bridge as they lean against the railing, then again when Tony gets ice cream on his lips from the cones they buy from a street vendor.  

“You’re in a very good mood today,” Tony observes on their walk back to the tower. 

Steve smiles, “Why shouldn’t I be? It’s a good day.”

Tony nods in agreement, though he still isn’t sure what separates today from all the rest. 

At some point it stops being strange and starts giving him anxiety. Weird turns into terror-inducing, because he has to be missing something, right? Boyfriends don’t just wake up one day and decide to be extra caring for no reason at all. 

He thinks about asking, but what if he really has missed something important? He can picture the look on Steve’s face when he realizes that Tony has forgotten something that clearly matters to him. The way his eyes will widen slightly, brows turning down and shoulders slumping. Then his face will close off again, turning perfectly neutral to hide the hurt and disappointment. He’ll say it’s not a big deal, but Tony will know he’s lying. 

So he stays quiet through the afternoon while he works in the lab on team upgrades and Steve sits on the couch and sketches. It’s easily the most normal part of the entire day, and Tony basks in the quiet comfort of just co-existing with the person he loves. 

Steve goes upstairs after a few hours, kissing Tony’s cheek and patting the bots’ metal arms as he goes. He tells Tony to be on time for dinner, and his voice is more pointed than usual, which is why Tony heads up early to be able to shower off the grease from his hands and arms. 

There’s a candle burning on the table when he walks into the dining room post-shower and a vase of flowers sitting a safe distance away from the flame. Tony freezes at the sight, but hopefully Steve doesn’t notice as he comes into the room with two plates. 

He smiles softly as he sets them down and pulls out Tony’s chair for him. Tony reaches for the glass of red wine the second he sits down. He’ll need it for the night ahead of him. 

The dish in front of him is some type of pasta in a creamy red sauce, and after the first bite he asks, “Did you make this pasta yourself?”

Steve nods, and even in the dim lighting Tony can see the way his ears have gone pink. “I had to practice a couple of times to get it right. Luckily Clint volunteered to taste test.”

Now Tony is downright desperate to know what he’s missing, but still unwilling to ask. So he hopes he can be vague enough in his conversation to get Steve to say it. 

“I don’t know how I deserve all that work, but thank you.”

Steve’s response, while sweet enough to melt Tony’s heart, doesn’t help. “You’ve done a lot for me. It’s really the least I could do for you.”

He keeps failing all throughout dinner. Every time he vaguely talks about the significance of the day, Steve answers with something that would probably make sense if Tony was on the same page as him. 

It’s in the kitchen after dinner that he finally breaks. 

“I can do these,” Tony says, gesturing to the sink full of dishes. “Seeing as you cooked and all.”

Steve wraps his arms around him from behind, breath ghosting over Tony’s neck as he ducks down to kiss him there. 

“Or,” Steve murmurs, “we could just leave them there for tomorrow.”

“What?” Tony asks. He twists around in Steve’s hold and presses his palm to Steve’s forehead. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get sick anymore, but you’re clearly delirious.”

Steve laughs, “I’m not delirious, and I’m not sick either. I just want to make the most of our anniversary.”

Tony’s mind goes blank. That was the one thing he was sure he could eliminate from possibilities. He frowns, “It’s not our anniversary. Our anniversary is next week. May 15th.”

Steve’s face crinkles. “No, it’s today. May 10th.”

“On May 15th, you came down to my lab after that mission in New Jersey, and you yelled at me a whole bunch about being reckless - which you were wrong about, by the way - and then you kissed me and I asked you out.”

Steve looks at him like he’s grown a second head, and his arms drop from around Tony’s waist. “On May 10th, we came home from a mission, I rightfully told you that you were being reckless, I kissed you because you told me to make you shut up, and then I told you that I was in love with you. Nothing happened on May 15th.”

“No, no, I know it was May 15th because I thought it was ironic that we got together on the two year anniversary of when you called me an asshole for the first time, and I know what day that was because I marked it on your calendar as a joke, and then you called me an asshole for the second time.”

“It’s May 10th because we had our first date on May 13th. We went to that theater, because they were showing Friday the Thirteenth, and you said that I had to see it because everyone else has.”

“JARVIS, please tell Steve that he’s wrong.”

Steve scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “You’re about to be really upset when your own creation betrays you by telling you I’m right.”

JARVIS cuts off Tony’s snarky reply before it can finish forming. “According to my data, the event that you both have described occurred on May 7th of last year.”

Tony and Steve exchange a look, and it’s painfully silent until JARVIS speaks again, “I can provide the recording of this event if you would like.”

Tony waves his hand through the air to dismiss the suggestion. “No, that’s okay, J. We believe you.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and his face turns pink. “So I guess we missed our anniversary.”

Tony dissolves into laughter, and Steve stays serious for all of three seconds before he’s joining in. He hooks his arms around Steve’s neck, getting on his tiptoes as he pulls Steve down to meet him in the middle. Steve’s hands cover his hips completely, warm on his skin even through his t-shirt. 

“Happy one year and three days?” Tony offers. 

It’s one year and two days longer than he ever thought they would make it. He expected Steve to change his mind after the first day, when Tony was such a nervous wreck that Steve had to be wondering how he ever got his reputation for a playboy in the first place. And when that didn’t happen, he expected Steve to grow tired of him. To come to the same realization that every other significant other has reached throughout the years - that he isn’t worth the effort. 

But here they are 368 days later, and Steve still wants him. He would call it a miracle if he believed in that kind of thing, but the reality is that against all odds, they just work together. There’s no one else he would rather be with, and he knows that Steve feels the same. 

Steve smiles, “Happy one year and three days.”

[bewaretheidesofmarchyall]

Dream SMP Good Omens AU

I wrote a Good Omens AU! It’s on AO3 here, but I’m also posting it here

Sixteen years before the apocalypse, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage. Two of them were human as human can be, while the third was prophesied to bring about the great war between heaven and hell, start the apocalypse, and just have a generally fun time. 

How exactly did the antichrist get left on a doorstep on a rainy night?

A few hours before

Our journey starts in a graveyard, where Baby No. 1 was found. 

Now, when I say "Baby No. 1", know that I mean the great destroyer, future doom of the world, bringer of death, currently wrapped in a fluffy blue blanket in a wicker basket, etc. 

He glanced around at the tombstones almost judgmentally, as though to say I don't think this is where one-day-old children go, but hey, I don't know enough about existence to dispute this. 

The wicker basket remained tucked away in the graveyard for a while, a few drops of rain gently falling down. Apparently, the poor weather was what Baby No. 1's escort was looking for, as he appeared as the mist began to gather. 

Wilbur Soot always had a penchant for dramatic atmosphere.

Quite a few lords of hell would call Wilbur the worst demon ever to walk the pit. This was absolutely untrue. Wilbur was a fairly mediocre demon that happened to be walking the pit, but certainly not the worst, putting that stupid fiddle contest bet aside. 

The gossip-mongers would only say things like that (and other, harsher things) because Wilbur had been one of the best fallen angels to ever swear vengeance on a broken sword. 

But it's frankly hard to keep up an emo phase for 6,000 years.

He strolled over to the basket, checked to make sure that there was still a baby in it, and waited impatiently for the thing's ride to arrive. Technically, he was supposed to be the one driving the antichrist to St. Beryl's Orphanage, but he had tickets to see Heathers that night and decided to use that most clever trick: Getting someone else to do his work instead. 

Still, he didn't have much trust in the guy he'd asked, and wanted to make sure that the child actually got from the graveyard to the car.

It was already five minutes past the scheduled time, and the weather was terrible, and he was fine with starting the end of days, but why did he have to work overtime? At least Schlatt wasn't here to laugh at him being on babysitting duty. 

Almost on cue, a raspy laugh came from the shadows of the church in the center of the graveyard. Ugh. Speak of the angel. 

Almost everyone would call JSchlatt the worst angel to ever wear a suit. 

And they would be absolutely right. 

He had no care for heaven, or the great war, or any sort of noble deed. The only predictable thing about him was his biting snark and the ever-present stink of cheap alcohol. 

When he entered a room, everyone there knew that they would soon regret not keeping him out by any means necessary, and he knew that they knew, and he enjoyed that. 

The greatest miracle ever performed in all of earthly and non-earthly history was that he hadn't been thrown out of heaven by his horns yet.

"Are you on babysitting duty, Wilbur?". Wilbur crossed his arms, trying and failing to hide the annoyance on his face. He could have had a cool arch-nemesis, but no. He was stuck with this dick.

"Laugh all you like, Schlatt-"

"Oh, trust me, I am."

"But once the child reaches 16, he's going to bring about the finale of this pathetic excuse for an earth".

Okay, so maybe he wasn't entirely rid of that emo phase. Schlatt looked at him, smug.

"Whatever you say, Soot. Hey, did the lower-downs tell you who's watching over your little finale?"

"I am. I'm watching over the antichrist, being a "corrupting influence" (whatever that means), that sort of thing."

"Well, my higher-ups had a similar idea. They seem to think that if the kid is nudged in the right direction, he'll start the apocalypse and fight on heaven's side. Bla bla bla, defeating Satan and/or Slimecicle, honestly I zoned out during the briefing. Long story short, they thought the kid needed a positive role model, and my name got picked.". 

The idea of "positive role model" and "Schlatt" being considered at all similar rattled Wilbur enough that it took a few seconds for the implications to sink in.

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. We're going to be neighbors!"

"No, no, no, no-"

"Isn't this exciting?". Wilbur barely restrained a scream, and only shuddered in horror. Before he could lose what was left of his sanity and discorporate anyone, a car horn beeped. It's about time.

He half walked, half sprinted over to the black car. The window cranked open, revealing a nervous foxlike face.

The general consensus was that Fundy was too mediocre of a demon to be worth any notice. 

He'd never been seen doing anything appropriately horrible or failed spectacularly, so according to most of hell he didn't exist. 

In truth, Fundy was about to prove tonight that he was much worse of a demon than they thought.

"Sorry I'm late, I forgot I cursed a major highway, and then I had to drive on that highway to get here, and-"

"Just take the kid.". The basket was passed to Fundy, who looked at it with fear and wonder.

Baby No. 1 didn't look like an antichrist (I mean, he was the only antichrist at this point and could only look like himself, but he didn't look like how one would expect an antichrist to look). He just looked like any one-day-old baby. Fundy tried to disguise how grateful he was about that. Maybe, just maybe, the plan could work. 

He looked back up to Wilbur.

"So, what was the important demonic business?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, you said you had "important demonic business", and that's why you couldn't drive the kid yourself."

"Ah, yes. That important demonic business. Well, Fundy, that's for me to know and you to not know.". Wilbur shifted, hiding the Heathers tickets in his coat sleeve.

"Enjoy your drive!". With that, he teleported away from the graveyard. Schlatt shrugged, and continued eating protein powder out of the jar.

-----------

Fundy drove like a maniac down the highway, swerving off the road to avoid the cursed-induced traffic. 

He'd pulled off hundreds of scams before, but they were all on the humans. He'd never scammed the forces of heaven and hell simultaneously before. He was pretty sure that was called "treason". Which was punishable by death if he got caught. This is the worst idea of my entire fucking existence. 

As he sped down the road regretting his life choices, rain pouring down on the windshield, his co-conspirator teleported into the passenger seat.

"Hey, you ready to do something illegal?"

The executives in heaven had no idea what to make of Quackity. 

They could hardly call him the worst angel when there was Schlatt running about drunk off his ass, and he was even good at his job most of the time. Even now, the executives couldn't quite pin down a time he'd directly broken a rule.

However, he had a habit of taking the rulebook, shaking it out, finding whatever loopholes existed, and using them to do whatever he pleased.

There wasn't a rule saying he couldn't wear yeezys and sunglasses to important board meetings. 

There wasn't a rule saying that he couldn't try to seduce the archangels, that was implied at best. 

And there wasn't a rule saying that he couldn't get attached to the human world. The higher-ups had never considered that anyone would, so it hadn't been written down in the paperwork. 

Their mistake.

Here was the truth: Quackity didn't want the apocalypse to happen. If you spend 6,000 years in any place, how can you not care about it? Sure, humans are there and gone in the blink of an eye, but the things they make to show they were here can stay for centuries.

He knew too much history about the place to just stand back and let it get set on fire. 

So, he'd searched through all of heaven for a collaborator. There was no one willing to help him there, their reactions ranging from "I'd love to help, but I don't want to get hellfire poured on my face" to "If you're insinuating what I think you are, I'll turn you in to get hellfire poured on your face".

So, he took the escalator down to the basement. It took him a while to find someone, even there, but eventually he met a familiar fox-faced demon, and a plan was hatched.

Why did Fundy join in on a dangerous scheme like this one?

Attention, mostly. Humans were the only ones to really acknowledge his existence, even if it was almost all negative attention. Which was fair. He did steal their things a lot.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Great.". Quackity looked into the basket containing Baby No.1, breathed a sigh of relief that he looked like a normal human, and revealed a cardboard box. Inside the cardboard box was Baby No. 2, wrapped in a green blanket.

When I say "Baby No. 2", know that I mean a quiet mortal child with wisps of light blond hair, born to a regular human that didn't want him.

"I found him on the side of the road.". The two of them sat in silence for a while at that, before Fundy brought up the plan again.

"So, we drop them both at St. Beryl's."

"Yeah."

"And then they think that this kid is the antichrist, and the antichrist is the kid."

"Yeah."

"And our bosses try to raise the kid and sway them to the dark side or whatever, while we raise the antichrist and keep them from destroying the world."

"Yeah."

"Um. Quick question."

"Yeah?"

"If we're putting them both on the doorstep at the same time, how do we know they won't think the antichrist is the antichrist and the kid is the kid?"

"....I didn't think about that.”. They pondered the problem together. Eventually, Fundy conjured a sharpie and wrote "antichrist, this side up" on the side of the cardboard box in bold letters.

"That should work. Also, you need to stop teleporting into my car while it's moving. You could fuse with the seats, and that would suck to clean up."

And so, Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2 were dropped off on the doorstep of St. Beryl's Orphanage. It was harder than expected to say goodbye to Baby No. 2, but they managed. 

The duo was somewhat confused by the third baby on the doorstep, who hadn't been put there by any of them, and actually just so happened to be dropped off at the wrong orphanage at the wrong time.

Baby No. 3 was in a red blanket, and when I say "Baby No. 3", know that I mean a human child that was currently doing what he would be doing for much of his life: Screaming at the top of his lungs. 

It is assumed that he was born to humans since he was one, but the kid could have been dropped off by a galaxy for all we know.

All that we need to know is that fate had not favored Baby No. 3, and that would continue for a while.

And so, three babies were dropped off on the doorstep of an orphanage, sixteen years before the apocalypse.

--------

Quite a few people (and things that at least looked like people) were excited about this. It was supposed to be a secret that the antichrist was at St. Beryl's Orphanage, so obviously everyone from purgatory to Portland had heard the news.

The lobby was jam-packed with a few demons with extremely good disguises, far more demons with very bad disguises, a mafia-style group of angels, another mafia-style group of angels but they were pretending to be a book club for some convoluted reason, a few very lost ghosts who didn't even want to be there in the first place, the man who was going to burn the orphanage to the ground in a couple of hours, the dread Charlie Slimecicle, hassled orphanage staff, and, notably, the owners of two motorcycles in the parking lot. 

The two motorcycles were a sickly hospital white and an empty-seeming black respectively, and their riders were lowkey famous (not that they liked to brag about it or anything). 

Any and all apocalypse enthusiasts knew their names (or at least their titles), and once they met up with two more friends Doomsday would truly be underway.

But that party wouldn't be started for another sixteen years. 

For now, only two out of the set of four were gathered, and tonight was less about the apocalypse than the drama and firsthand gossip to get. They sat in the corner, watching the chaos unfold with reflective eyes.

-----------

Now, someone would eventually have to adopt these babies. The antichrist would have to grow up among the mortals, and St. Beryl's Orphanage was always more of an apocalypse creating scheme than an orphanage to begin with, so they would have to find some unwitting soul to take Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 soon. 

Thankfully for everyone involved, three humans that showed up that day ready to adopt, with varying degrees of dread.

The first was a man seemingly in his late thirties, wearing a green coat that could almost be considered a cloak.

The second was a young adult with sunglasses and an almost royal quality about them.

And the third was a sweet-looking young woman in a soft striped sweater, who clutched an ancient book tightly under her arm.

They were quickly hustled through the lobby by the head of the orphanage, who tried her best to keep anyone in the group from seeing anything odd happening around them (Which is a bit of a challenge when certain demons think that a fake mustache from a corner store is enough to look completely non-supernatural). 

She rushed around from the tiny waiting room with the potential parents to the room with the babies to the stampede outside, internally wishing that she'd done what she'd planned in college and been a therapist instead of running an orphanage/doomsday cult.

All of the humans in the waiting room were understandably confused, but their questions were unheeded. 

The three of them sat in silence for several minutes. When it became clear that no one would be coming to check on them, small talk was attempted. 

Names were learned (The first parent went by the name Philza, while the second was named Eret, and the third Niki), the weather thoroughly discussed, and finally, the conversation turned to the inevitable:

"So, why are you here?". The question was asked by Eret, who seemed genuinely curious. Phil looked down from the clock he'd been watching, annoyed.

"To adopt a child. Why else?"

"I figured that, but what led you here? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, I'm just trying to break the silence.". Phil continued staring at the wall, preparing his words.

Half an hour before

"You want me to what?"

Phil had been driving home when he got the call. If he really had a say in the matter, he would have sent that to voicemail in two seconds flat, but his caller wasn't the kind of person you could hang up on ("person" wasn't even accurate to him). The rain was falling down on the windshield, the traffic was abysmal, and apparently he was supposed to adopt a child. 

"Listen, with all due respect, I owe you nothing anymore. I don't have to do missions for you, I don't have to kill for you, and I especially don't have to take care of a baby for sixteen years for you.". He nodded along as the other side of the call said his bit, before responding.

"Sixteen years is quick? Maybe to the likes of you it's quick, for me it's actually a sizeable chunk of time! I don't care that I have to 'just keep him alive-'". He was cut off, and he waited impatiently for his chance to speak again, which he got.

"You and I have gone our separate ways. Me and Technoblade are both in retirement, and there's no way in hell I'm adopting a child. That's my final word.". 

The voice on the other side of the call spoke how he usually did: Methodical, calm, devoid of mercy. Mentioning Techno had been a mistake, and the conversation eased into detailed and pointed threats. Finally, he gave up.

"If I do this, you'll finally leave me and Techno alone?". An affirmative answer. Phil sighed, already weary of the experience.

"Fine. Screw you, but fine. I'll take your stupid project."

Current

Phil folded his arms, a scowl on his face.

"I'm just very paternal."

For some reason, Eret doubted that, but they nodded anyway.

"I decided I wanted to adopt a few months ago. I mean, I have the money for it, and there are so many kids without parents. I think I just wanted to do something about it, and try to give some kid a good childhood.". They laughed quietly under their breath.

"Sometimes I feel like something else put the idea in my head.". Phil and Eret looked towards Niki, expecting her to speak. She held her book close to her, fingers drumming on the cover.

"I've known for a while that I was going to adopt a baby today. St. Beryl's Orphanage, April 1st, the year I turn 19."

"How did you know?". Niki opened the book, re-reading the same familiar page.

"It's just fate."

-----------

Meanwhile, the two horsemen of the apocalypse were tired of just watching. 

If they stayed any longer without doing anything, this trip wouldn't be worth the motorcycle fuel. 

They rose from the seats in unison and slipped casually into the baby room. The head of the orphanage had been slumped against the wall, exhausted. However, when the duo entered the room, she leapt to her feet.

"Excuse me, no demons, no angels, nothing dead or dying, no refunds, no Charlie, and no one I don't want here is allowed in this room!". The one cloaked in black stepped forward, hands raised in a pacifying gesture and a kind smile on his face.

"Well, I'm none of those things! My name's BadBoyHalo, but most people are kind of formal and call me Famine.". That last bit of the sentence was accompanied by a sheepish eye roll, as though to say I know it's silly, but I can't help being well-known.

"My friend over there is George. What's your name?". The head of the orphanage tried very hard to feel suspicious. There were two strangers in the most important room there, she should have her guard up as far as possible. Yet, for some reason, she couldn't feel any distrust for the Famine in front of her.

"My name is Puffy. Why are you here?"

"Us? We're just here for a look. Right, George?". George hadn't really been interested in the conversation, although it was hard to tell what he was thinking about behind his white sunglasses. He raised his head, looking bored.

"Yeah. Sure.". 

Puffy could see several concerning things about letting two horsemen of the apocalypse take a quick look at the antichrist, but she couldn't quite think clearly.

She tried to focus on the current situation, but all she could think about was how much she wanted a good night's sleep, and a vacation, and a different life. Bad's smile remained constant, cheerful and understanding.

"Is this the job you want, Puffy?". She shook her head, eyes glassy.

"When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero. Help out people who needed helping. I really have no idea how I got here.". Bad nodded.

"Well, Puffy, you seem tired. There's a lot of muffin-heads outside making a racket, and it seems like a lot to deal with. If you want to just go upstairs and take a quick nap, we can handle things for you!". Puffy quietly agreed and walked out of the room in a daze. Already, she could tell something was wrong, but she felt sapped of the strength to care.

As her head hit the pillow, she made a vow to herself that if she came back and the kids were harmed in any way, she'd personally bring hell to their doorsteps.

-----------

"Bad, did you seriously hypnotize a woman so you could hold a baby?"

"Not just a baby, George! Three babies!"

"That makes it much better, yes.”

"You're just upset that they like me more.". Bad bounced around the babies, cooing over them.

"Who's the cutest little antichrist? Who's the tiniest omen of doom? You are!". He picked up Baby No. 2 and tapped his nose.

"Boop!". George stood there quietly.

"He's going to be mad if he finds out we came here."

"Exactly, if he finds out. Besides, he needs us."

"I know he needs me. You, on the other hand, are kind of on thin ice."

"Calm yourself. Hold a baby.". Bad picked up Baby No. 2 from his box, where antichrist: this side up was clearly visible, and handed him to George. George held the green-blanketed baby, staring intently into his eyes. 

Baby No. 3 started screaming once more, and Bad ran over to pick him up and shush him.

"Aww, it's okay. You're not going to die for another 16 years, you have nothing to scream about now!". Baby No. 3 seemed to take in his words for a few seconds, before shrieking even louder. 

The door was flung open by the ominous angelic book club, who tried to shove their way to the child in George's arms. Bad sighed, exasperated, and shifted into a more monstrous form.

"Seems like I have to do some security work. Can you hold this one too?". Without waiting for an answer, he passed Baby No. 3 to George and walked out into the hallway, using his hollow iron scales to push otherworldly paparazzi aside.

After the first act of Heathers, Wilbur slipped out of the theater. It wasn't a particularly good production, and he didn't see the point in staying. 

He decided that if he wasn't going to do anything else, he should probably teleport to St. Beryl's and do his job. 

The orphanage was even more chaotic than before, and he had to light one or two minor demons on fire to clear his way. 

Finally, he reached the room with the antichrist. The room was mostly empty, except for one basket in the corner, and a familiar stranger holding two babies and panicking slightly.

The stranger turned to face Wilbur, and he realized who he was speaking to. He'd never met a horseman of the apocalypse before, but he'd heard of their reputations and seen them from afar.

"Pestilence. Pleasure to meet you.". Pestilence leaned nonchalantly in the doorway with a smile, which was quite a feat for someone holding two sobbing children.

"Please, call me George."

"George. Interesting name, for someone with your position."

“What's wrong with it?"

"It's fine, your colleagues have just mostly had ridiculous names. I mean, who in their right mind names themself Sapnap? No offense, don't discorporate me."

"Well, relatively speaking, I'm pretty new to the job. Stick around another 500 years, and who knows what will happen?"

"With your name, or with discorporating me?"

"Both, I guess.". Wilbur checked his pocket watch (it had been broken sometime in the 1910s, and he hadn't had the time to get it fixed, but he still liked the idea of checking a pocket watch).

"Fun as this conversation is, I was thinking that I should be the one to deliver the child to his parent.". George opened his mouth, probably to say no, but the sound of the babies crying increased. He stopped, irritated, and nodded.

"Why not? It's not like I actually work here."

"Excellent. Just give me the antichrist, and I'll be out of your hair. Unless you want to meet up again after this-"

"I'm good."

"Alright.". George held Baby No. 2 and Baby No. 3 side by side, as if weighing them. He titled his head from the child wrapped in a green blanket to the child wrapped in a red blanket. Finally, he handed the one in red to Wilbur.

"I'm pretty sure this is the antichrist. I'm a bit colorblind.". The sentence was accompanied by an airy laugh and a small grin, and Wilbur smiled back before leaving the room with Baby No. 3.

-----------

Phil was going to murder him. 

The guy couldn't die, but he was going to murder him anyway. Of all the petty things, he had to threaten Philza and his loved ones just for him to sit in a room for hours for absolutely no reason. 

Was this that creature's sick idea of a prank? 

Five seconds before he was going to storm out, agreement be damned, there was a polite knock on the door. He got up to open it, and Baby No. 3 lay on the floor, silent and peacefully sleeping for the first time in his short existence. 

Phil shrugged, deciding not to question it.

He gently picked the baby up from the ground, and headed home. 

(If he'd been looking more intently, he would have noticed 1) A certain demon sitting cross-legged on the ceiling, having decided that he probably shouldn't come face to face with someone he was supposed to spy on, and 2) His closest friend hiding behind a newspaper in the lobby, ready for some good old fashioned arson).

-----------

Anyway, once the antichrist was safely adopted (or so they thought), all that was left was to find a place to put all of these bonus babies. George picked up Baby No. 1 and Baby No. 2, and headed for the waiting room, where Eret and Niki regarded each other as friends already.

Unfortunately, Quackity decided that he had some meddling left in him for the evening, and he decided to make sure everything was going according to plan. He teleported into the orphanage seamlessly, folding his wings into his coat and looking over his sunglasses.

George strolled into the waiting room.

"Pick a child, any child. I don't have all day.". Eret tilted their head in confusion.

"Isn't there paperwork, or an application process, or something official we're supposed to-"

"Do you want the kid or not?". Niki reached for Baby No. 2, and Eret shrugged and took Baby No. 1.

Quackity watched the process take place through the keyhole. 

This seemed alright. They both seemed like non-horrible humans, and he'd be fine watching over either of them for the 16 years. Then, he noticed the book under the young woman's arm. 

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. First edition, which should be impossible, unless she's some kind of descendant. And I'm not dealing with lying to a witch. 

He tried to remember which kid was the actual antichrist and which was the fraud. 

The green one and the blue one were both important. The blue one was the fake, and the green one was the real deal, right? Or was the green one the fake, and the blue one fake? Wasn't there a red one at one point? Fuck. 

At the last moment, Quackity decided that he couldn't just stand still and risk it. He did the first thing that came to mind and killed the lights. 

The lightbulbs exploded, leaving everyone in darkness. In the chaos, he telekinetically switched the babies.

Alright. No witches today, thanks. I'll just follow the other one home from afar, and everything will be fine.

----------

Later that night, when the orphanage was almost empty, a man set his newspaper aside and crept through the building. 

He lit Molotov cocktails with precision and chucked them wherever a fireball seemed needed. Flames weren't his usual method of destruction, but he had to get creative sometimes. 

His plan had been slowed down by Phil showing up at this "orphanage", but once he left the game was back on.

If anyone wanted to start the apocalypse and take away everything the two of them had worked for, they'd have to go through Technoblade.

The entire building was consumed and burnt to the ground. The arson case would remain unsolved, like most of his work, and Techno hadn't seen any potential casualties that would make people want to investigate. 

Sadly, there was one person left in the building when it burned, and she couldn't wake up from her dreams of the sea and a sword in her hands to smell the smoke.

----------

Wilbur followed Philza home unnoticed, disguised as wisps of shadow and cigarette ash. 

In lieu of a cradle, Phil temporarily arranged a drawer as a bed for Baby No. 3 and set him down. Once the baby seemed safe and calm, he left to collapse on the couch. 

Wilbur frowned. Where's his name? Names were important. They could be bargained with, broken, foretell fate, and be used as a lifeline if need be. You didn't just leave a child without a name.

This had to be remedied. He conjured a post-it note and a pen, and snuck over to the drawer considering the merits of different names. 

Kraken? Should I name him Kraken? No, he doesn't seem like a Kraken. The child stirred once, yawning, bright blue eyes nearly opening.

His name is Tommy.

The realization hit Wilbur all at once. Tommy wasn't a particularly demonic name, but it just felt too right to pick anything else. 

So, he wrote "Tommy" on the post-it note and stuck it on the blanket, hoping that Phil would think it had been there the whole time. 

The baby grabbed his finger as he pulled back his hand, not letting go. Wilbur's heart wasn't melted at all. Not a bit.

"I'm going to need that back, Tommy.". Carefully, he took his finger out of the tiny hand's grasp.

"It's very nice to meet you. My name's Wilbur. I'm your guardian, Tommy, and you're going to burn down the world one day."

-----------

At the same time, Quackity followed Eret back to their home (although mansion might be more accurate. Was the chandelier really necessary?). 

They'd been planning for this for months, and anything that Quackity could worry about had already been taken care of five minutes ago. Baby No. 2 was even named quickly and with care.

The angel breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing evil could be named "Tubbo", right? 

Eret disappeared to a nearby room, allowing Quackity the chance to formally meet him and Fundy's charge. He teleported down to the cradle and contemplated the kid.

"Hey, I know that this has been a long day, but I'm Quackity. Me and my friend are going to be looking after you for a few years, because Tubbo? It's up to you to save the world. Good luck."

-----------

At the same time, Niki went back to her home. 

The rain finally stopped, and she put the Nice and Accurate Prophecies back on the shelf to hold Baby No. 1, the real prophesied end of days. 

I don't know if I'm ready for this. I don't know anything about being a mother, or stopping the apocalypse, but I'm expected to do both.

The child opened his eyes. They were the one usual thing about an otherwise average baby: One eye was a fiery red, while one was a leafy green. They vaguely reminded Niki of a forest fire.

She set up the cradle and cast various charms, determined to get this right. 

She was so focused on protecting her son (for he was her son, now) that she didn't notice a skeletal green hand reach out of the shadows for her book and cut out select pages and phrases with a knife of bone. 

Niki gently put her child down, already full of intense care for him.

You're going to be okay. I don't know about heaven or hell or any of those idiots, but I can promise you one thing, Ranboo: I'll make sure you're safe. I swear it.

Hope you enjoyed!

[justablobfish]

Decoration wars (must include glitter)

Day 8 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

______

"Yennefer!" 

The door to her room bursts open suddenly and it's only through some kind of miracle that she doesn't drop the decanter full of moonshine extract into the concoction she's brewing. 

"What. Do you. Want?" she demands without turning around. 

"I need your help with something!" Jaskier gasps, slightly out of breath from running up the winding stairs of Kaer Morhen. A quiet thud tells her that he's placed a heavy object on the table in the middle of the room. 

"Jaskier," she throws over her shoulder impatiently, as if she were explaining to a child why it is a bad idea to run around with a knife in hand. "This experiment is extremely unstable. One drop too many and it might explode right in our faces. So can you please keep it down?" 

It's not true, of course. But if she doesn't get this right, all her work of the past three hours would have been in vain. 

A loud bang shakes the crumbling walls of the keep. This time, she does drop the decanter. Green goo bubbles up and boils over the edges of her cauldron. 

"What the fuck was that?!" she snaps as she spins around to snarl at Jaskier. "Why is it that ever since you started coming to the Witcher keep things always devolve into chaos?" 

Maybe that's not entirely fair to the bard, but she was working hard on this brew and now she has to start all over again. 

"It's all the fault of Lambert and that weird other Witcher he brought along," Jaskier pouts. "They found this weird contraption in a back alley market in Oxenfurt and now they need to try it out all over the place. That's actually what I came to talk to you about!" 

"What contraption?" Yennefer sighs as she pinches the bridge of her nose. 

"Well, it's a long tube and if you light the end on fire, it shoots a bunch of coloured paper scraps out the other end," Jaskier explains. "Those two tasteless apes call what they're doing decorating. Can you imagine? With paper scraps! The audacity! The tastelessness!" 

As if to accentuate his point, there's another bang coming from the room right below them. 

"So you came to me to stop them?" Yennefer clarifies. 

"What? No, of course not," Jaskier returns in surprise. "I need you to help me make better decorations! That's why I brought this." 

He points at the table where he placed something earlier. It's a sack made of silk and filled to the brim. 

It's not that Yennefer is interested in joining in on the bard's shenanigans, but she is curious by nature. So she ventures closer and takes a peek into the bag. It contains a weird looking kind of powder. 

"And what kind of poison is this for, exactly?" she inquires with a click of her tongue to signal that she's still annoyed. 

"It's ground down minerals. I bought it at the Passiflora, knowing it would come in handy one day. Prostitutes mix it with their makeup to make it sparkle." 

"Glitter," Yennefer concludes. "You bought a bag full of glitter. And what do you want me to do with it?" 

"Put it in a bomb, of course!" Jaskier beams. 

"A bomb?" Yennefer asks, incredulous. 

"Exactly!" Jaskier confirms. 

"You want me to make a glitter bomb?" she asks again and runs a hand down her face, exasperated. 

"Yes! It's the perfect response to this assault of the senses!" Jaskier marvels. "It'll be much prettier than paper scraps!" 

"Get out," Yennefer sighs. 

"What, why?" Jaskier splutters. "What's wrong with my plan? It's perfect!" 

"Sure," Yennefer deadpans. "Aside from the risk of injury, the fact that this keep is already at the brink of collapse even without lighting a fucking bomb and that this stuff would be getting literally everywhere, including your clothes, where it will itch terribly, and your food and the-"

"Okay, I get your point," Jaskier interrupts her. "It was only an idea…" 

He clutches the glitter satchel to his chest and trails back out the door, pouting the whole time. 

With a sigh she turns back to her failed project to see if there's anything she can salvage. 

There is not, she determines in the exact same moment as another bang from Lambert and Aiden's toy echoes through the hallways. 

She grits her teeth and portals the cauldron into the backyard to discard its contents. 

When she returns to her room, Geralt is waiting for her with a squashed and sad-looking plant in his hands. Great. What now? Yennefer's patience is running more than thin. 

"Yen!" Geralt greets her. "I need your help. Lambert and Aiden are-" 

"I'm in," Yennefer interrupts him. "I'll help you get rid of their dumb toy." 

"What? No, that's not it," Geralt clarifies. "They're clearly in love with each other, but Lambert refuses to acknowledge that, so Ciri and I are worried that he'll chase off the only person who seems capable of tolerating the bastard." 

"And what does that have to do with me?" Yennefer sighs. "Sounds like something you should discuss with the bard." 

"He's part of the plan, too," Geralt reassures her. "I need you to enchant this mistletoe so that it grows all over the ceiling of the main hall. Ciri is currently lighting candles all over the place, and we'll ask Jaskier to provide the music. It's a foolproof plan! According to Ciri, anyway." 

Dust trickles from the ceiling as Lambert's toy goes off once more. 

"Get. Out!" Yennefer orders between clenched teeth. 

"But-" Geralt starts to protest. 

"Now!” She screams and throws the door shut with an Aard sign as soon as Geralt scrambles through it. 

She's had enough of these shenanigans. If it's stupid decorations they want, then stupid decorations they shall get! 

The next morning, Kaer Morhen's halls are decorated with a myriad of pretty glass baubles which catch the light in them and dip everything in rainbow colors. 

The marvel of the various inhabitants of the keep doesn't last long, though. Every time someone passes by the strange items, a deep voice echoes through the halls, narrating whatever the people nearby are doing in a most critical and sarcastic manner. 

"There goes the bard again, striding down the halls all importantly, as if he's not just trying to get away from his chores." 

"Well someone forgot to lace up their trousers!" 

Lambert glances down. His pants are fine. He falls for the same comment another two times.

"Attention everyone! The cat is out of the cradle. I repeat: The cat is out of the cradle and can't be contained!" 

Or a simple "Hmm" spoken from whichever bauble Geralt's back is facing, causing him to flinch and spin around several times. 

[maggotmouth]

          hello, i’m nora ( she / her, 24, gmt ) and i almost exclusively join dark academia rps. please find below everything i have thus far on otto ballantyne, a theatre and classics student who was arranged to be married to one of the students who disappeared. i’ve honestly been itching to write otto again for months, so thanks to this lil group for giving me the opportunity. can’t wait to get my teeth stuck into him again. please bombard me with discord messages for plots. here is his  pinterest.

act one: application.

THOMAS DOHERTY   ,   CIS-MALE   ,   HE/HIM         →         according   to   the   school   records   ,   OTTO HORATIO BALLANTYNE   has   been   attending   sacred   heart   for   the   past   four   years   .   i   last   saw   them   hanging   around  the  cliffs   ;   i   think   they   were  reciting   shakespearean  soliloquies  to   the   wind   and   a   weathered   old   skull.   at   twenty   -   three   years   old   ,   otto   has   been   studying   theatre   &   classics   and   get   this   ,   i   heard   that   he   was   arranged   to   be   married   to  alice   rosseau   before   her   untimely   disappearance  ,   and  was   desperate   to   call   off   the   affair  —   figure   it’s   true   ?   everyone   around   here   always   associates   them   with    an   aged   bottle  of   malbec   glugged   carelessly   at   the   after - show  ,  the   kind   of   confidence   that   only   a   private   education gives ,  white   lines   of   powder   snorted   off  a   marble  sink  with    lovers  you’ll   later   deny  .   in   the   time   since   these   strange   happenings   ,   they   have   have   not   encountered   any   unexplained   occurrences   .         (   written   by   nora   ,   24   ,   she/her   ,   gmt   )

act two: the muse !

ok so lemme start off by saying otto is heavily inspired by if we were villains by m l rio and the secret history by donna tartt. very serious actor. into the classical plays, but would definitely fit in a production of posh by laura wade. originally i wrote him for a murder mystery dark academia group but when the group ended i missed him so much i decided to bring him here.

born in south london, but raised in cheltenham. went to eton or harrow or one of those posh english boarding schools for boys. we love the homoeroticism of learning latin with your homies and chanting sonnets in caves by candlelight.

youngest son in his family. was fiercely competitive with his brother nathaniel growing up. having an older brother who was incredibly intelligent and successful made otto learn to treat his life like it was a fight. constantly trying to be better and ‘prove himself’.

otto’s a brat. filthy rich public school boy vibes, very riot club. champagne all over the ceiling and driving well over the limit. custom-made cuff links he loses in taverns when he rolls up his sleeves to lean on the bar. needing to know so much about a character you’re playing that it consumes you ; you can no longer tell which parts of you are otto and which parts are macbeth.

characters who have inspired him:  alistair ryle in the riot club, francis abernathy in the secret history, anthony marston in and then there were none, oliver marks in if we were villains, achilles in the song of achilles, dorian gray in tpodg.

a fun fact is he is a natural blonde and spent most of his childhood that way but he now dyes it dark because he thinks that’ll give him more versatility in terms of the roles he can play. blonde ppl are usually cast as only the lover or the innocent n he wants to play villains and heroes and leading men as well.

very gay, n that’s pretty much a known thing by everyone but his family?? his family have arranged to have him married to women twice n both times its not worked out. the first time he basically drove her away with his reckless hedonism and alcoholism, and the second arranged marriage was to alice, one of the four students who went missing

archetypes: the figurehead. the challenger. the magician. the knight. the underdog.

ENTP-T / the debater personality. 

theatre arts major, minoring in classics.

trigger warning for internalised homophobia / familial prejudice.

act three: the biography !

     heavy is the head that wears the crown, though yours is the size of a tennis ball when you are born three weeks premature, barely formed enough to open your eyes. for those first few weeks all your parents knew were fear and love — fear that you would leave them, love that you had made it through so much, hooked up to wires like a fish in a cryogenic tank. to them your heart that learned one day to beat of its own accord was a miracle. perhaps that’s why you became their golden boy.

     being born as a boy on the brink of death makes you invulnerable. you were achilles and the world couldn’t touch you for you were shielded from harm by a mother’s protective spell. should nathaniel lay so much as a finger on your skin, a voice would raise like the sound of a god from the veranda where she sat sipping her wine, play nice, boys! the sound of it thick with merlot. in every fight they took your side ; angel-headed creatures never lied. you soon learned that adults would believe anything if they liked you, that flattery will get you anywhere and to the well-trained mind, conversation was little more than a parlour game.

     you harboured your mother’s beauty, the softness of her voice, the firmness of her skin and light in the corners of her smile. of your father, they’d say you inherited his wit, though that was your own — as was the golden hair that tousled your head, taken not from ambrose ballantyne but rather the bout of his three-week business trip to germany when your mother had bedded the gardener. if he knew, he never mentioned it. to believe such a fate would imply that he was not enough for her. though you noticed one day when you were nearing five and the sun was ripe on your freckle-flecked skin that the gardener had stopped coming at all. the grass, once shaven to its scalp, now grew to your knees.

     at school, you learned with porridge still clinging to your mouth that the way to win over your teachers was through your smile. yours was the kind of school where the christmas play was not the nativity but rather the story of the gods, and stardom came to you in the role of apollo, sun shining from your beaming face, a bright halo of hair around your head. this was the first time you noticed a coldness in nathaniel’s eyes as your father threw you over his shoulder and your mother drenched you in praise. a bout of food-poisoning on your brother’s part rendered the italian restaurant, visited in your honour, abandoned. you never did find out if he was faking.

     the room to his door remained shut after that and you learned to wile away your hours in the company of nannies and children from neighbouring castles, played at knights and rescued princesses from nearby dungeons, a tin-foil crown lopsided on your head. you learned to seek influence in the faces of those around you, how their eyes would widen as they hung like stalactites to your words. storyteller. prophet. riddler. prince. you cut your tongue into a well-kept sword and sparred with it thrice a day.

     by nine you had read all of dickens novels. by eleven, all of shakespeare’s comedies — though you understood them as much as a cricket knows the meaning of the cosmos. still, it sounded rich and impressive when asked by aunties at dinner parties, what are you reading in school, otto? he finds the curriculum tiring, your mother would say, stroking a hand through your thick head of hair. otto’s just finished the merchant of venice. soon you grew to ignore your brother’s glowers at your back. your mother’s was the only smile you needed.

     in cap and blazer your mother would drop you off at school, gated and turreted, the kind that was the envy of poorer neighborhood wives. when you were young, you were sure the gifts that came your way were yours alone, though as you grew older, you learned to expect them in the same way the school expected cheques from your parents. they named them benefactors, you noticed one day, on the wooden plaques fixed to the common room walls. the same plaques you would one day notice their names engraved upon in the arching hallways of sacred heart. acclaim was bought, not earned, and your success was littered with blood money.

     what’s a king without a kingdom? your father surely wanted you to inherit his, though it was not in law and corporal finance that you found yourself a castle, but rather upon the stage. when red curtains split, you found you could become anything with the power of your will — boy, man, lion, snake, each of them wrung out by wordsmiths dead in their graves, a certain romance in the dusky smell of stage lights. when every eye in the room was focused on you — that was when you felt most powerful. like a piece of art, you were something to be looked at and admired — and perhaps in the absence of self-earned merit your vanity blossomed, for even if the trophies that lined your cabinets and the a-grades in columns on a sheet came from heavy pockets, your parents could never buy the sound of applause.

     actors are by nature volatile. though your facade was swifter than an arrow, backstage they would call you tempestuous, bigoted, vain. still, it never left the wings of the theatre. there was a kind of reverence surrounding you that words could not taper, godliness following you from school to college, a peer admired in the practice rooms of sacred heart where you poured over chekhov and ibsen but yearned to read sophocles and euripides.

     you learned to pride yourself on your looks — a sharpened jawline and a sharper tongue — and found that people would do almost anything for a beautiful face. in the beginning, alice was one so much. first colleagues, then friends, then a frequenter to the table in your family’s house. with arrogance carried in the curve of your brow, you only ever saw her as an accessory. that changed when you met her brother, let yourself stumble, brogues in a size that differed from your own kicked beneath your bed, a shirt with a larger neck size, pulled sheets, the smell of a foreign cologne.

      talk travelled. it wouldn’t do to have word of your deviance spread further than the ballantyne house. while your parents would claim they were forward-thinking, more lenient than their parents had been, there was a conservative priggishness to the way they’d brush such matters under the rug, your father scarcely able to meet your eye over the dinner table. soon after, the arrangement was set with you all but exalted from the plans until alice had been informed. too late to back out, neither of you all that eager to be wed, though your families would coo when you fixed your hair or she, in keeping with the role, adjusted your tie. at first it amused you to play house with one such as alice, but soon you grew listless. like a caged beast you felt suffocated by the falseness of it all. you’d leave the dinners held by your joint households and return bedraggled, smelling of whiskey and sex. you’re not sure alice ever knew the reason why you couldn’t love her, though perhaps she suspected. at night, the names that would fall from your lips would never be hers. oliver. daniel. mason. rupert. charles.

act four: character investigation !

        otto’s an extremely materialistic character who obtains pleasure through the things you can buy in life rather than that which comes to you by way of humble experience. he likes rolex watches, armani suits, louis vuitton travel bags, silk scarves imported from india. he likes to drink wine from decades gone by, where he can almost taste the funk of a victorian farmer hand pressing the grapes into a pulp, or to read a manuscript from the special collections section of the library that he knows has passed through hands which have gone on to achieve greatness. to otto, alice was always an extension of this hedonistic, pleasure-seeking attitude — she was something to be paraded like the equestrian trophies on his bookshelf, or his name on the honour roll. it’s not that he didn’t see her as a person — he’s hardly a chauvinist, although it could easily be inferred from the disdain with which he talks to some women — but rather that he saw her as someone ethereal and admirable and of high social standing who would elevate his social standing, by extension, were he to spend time with her. (this was such a convoluted sentence omg sorry)

         the engagement was not his choice. even the idea of it had never crossed his mind. he had never thought to marry – marriage to otto was a tool used for financial gain — and being already wealthy, he was content to live out his days as a bachelor. he would take lovers, of course, but it would be on his own terms without the involvement of the law. alice was chosen as a match for otto because she was from a wealthy, well-liked family and the two had been friends since childhood. it seemed to their parents inevitable that they would marry, and so all that was left was the agreed arrangement between the families and the exchanging of rings. strictly speaking, if the marriage between otto and alice had gone ahead, then alice would have been nothing more than a trophy wife to otto. it would have been a miserable marriage for her, and he would have grown to resent her for it — not resent her for the fact that he could never truly be free to love someone he wanted (for he still would) but resent her, and by extension his family, for taking the option to do that openly and publicly away from him. she would always be seen as the beard, the scorned lover, the cuckold, and it would dampen any future relationships he held with the stain of that upset.

act five: wanted plots !

people who he was friends with as a child (either in london or cheltenham if anyone in this group has a muse from there) but grew apart from when he was sent to private school / they view him as entitled now and the two no longer have much in common

someone who auditioned for the same role as him, but otto got it, and they’ve resented him for it ever since !  want this bad. or put your thang down flip it and reverse it: someone who got the role otto wanted and he loathes them for it.

hasn’t really dated anyone? at college, he tends to hook up with people in a vapid sort of way? so he wouldn’t rEALly have past relationships with boys unless it was….. incredibly quiet and on the DL, literally meeting up in the woods after school to read plato and play with each others hair. suddenly realised i want this. someone give me someone he reads plato in the woods with and kisses up against tree bark because even though everyone basically KnOWS otto isn’t out n probably never will be :/

alternatively someone who he had a vapid, senseless hook up with and grew attached to  :/ rude.   in this house we lov angst

i guess some friends he actually likes would be cool. maybe someone who he has a hold over, because he’s quite an engaging character with good leadership qualities, like at parties he’ll be the one telling the story and gesticulating wildly and everyone’s watching him or looking to him for where they’ll go next / how the night will pan out. if he has a hold over someone maybe he has some sort of leverage whereby they’ll complete his work for him if he’s out getting drunk which he usually is. if tht sounds like ur character is naive n could be coerced, hit me up

people he knows on a very superficial and base level in the fact that their only interactions together involve doing coke off someone’s sink and stumbling home in the dark. otto’s a massive hedonist. if he were a greek god, he’d be a mix between dionysus and apollo, but he has achilles’ vanity.

[tipsycad147]

Aizen Myo’o

By shirleytwofeathers

Aizen-Myōō,  also known as Rāgarāja, is one of the five Wisdom Kings. Other titles and names include the following:

Lord of Passion

King of Lust

Lust-Drenched One

Impassioned One

King of Sexual Passion

Ragaraja, Buddhist Lord of Passion, travelled from India to Japan, where he transformed into Aizen Myo’o, venerated by Japan’s esoteric Buddhist sects as King of Love, Lust, and Desire, patron of erotic love and sacred sexuality. He helps convert earthly, physical desires into transcendent love and spiritual awakening.

He is portrayed as a red-skinned man with a fearsome appearance, a vertical third eye and flaming wild hair that represents rage, lust and passion. Also the Lustful-Tinted Wisdom King was popular among Chinese tradesmen who worked in the fabric-dying craft, typically accomplished with sorghum.

He is still venerated as a patron of landlords, prostitutes, homosexuals and petitioned by devotees for a peaceful home and abundant fortune in business. There is usually a lion’s head on top of his head in his hair, representing the mouth into which thoughts and wishes may be fed. Some of these are the wishes of local devotees who make formal requests for success in marriage and sexual relations.

Aizen Myo’o is King of Lust because he helps control it, explore it, or transform it into enlightenment. He is petitioned for assistance with the physical and emotional frustrations of suppressed sexuality. Aizen Myo’o is revered as patron of gay love, but he may be invoked for assistance with any kind of love or romance, including self love.

Aizen converts earthly desires (love/lust) into spiritual awakening, and saves people from the pain that comes with love. Aizen is celebrated in Japanese rites to achieve harmony and friendship, to succeed in one’s romantic endeavours, to gain the love and respect of others, and to reach a clear understanding of the Dharma (Buddhist law).

Favoured People:

Aizen Myo’o guards prostitutes and sex workers. He is venerated by those for whom sex is a business, including sex shop owners and those working with any form of pornography or erotica. He is also venerated by singers, musicians and landlords.

He is the patron deity of dyers, possibly because the second part of his name means “dye” or “to dye” (hence “soaked”).

Today, Aizen is revered in Japan’s gay quarters as the patron of love. Aizen does not appear in Indian texts, and is unknown among India’s deities.

Iconography

Aizen is usually depicted with a red body possessing eight arms and three eyes on an angry face. A lion’s head rests in his hair, symbolising passion. He carries bows and arrows, which symbolise love as well as his role as a destroyer of evil.  Aizen’s red body symbolises the power to purify sexual desire. He is typically bright red, suggesting the force of the passions, yet, at the same time, the vigour of his compassion.

He is portrayed as a red-skinned, frowning man, his appearance representing suppressed lust and passion. He variously has two, four or six arms; in the latter form, his hands bear a bell, a stick, a thunderbolt, a lotus, a bow and an arrow. Similarly, he sometimes has two heads, with a lion’s head in his wild hair.

His lion headdress indicates that Aizen possesses the strength of the five wisdom Buddhas. His three eyes are able to see the “three realms” of desire, form, and non-form.

His mouth is usually half-opened and reveals fangs. His hair is fiery and stands on end. Aizen is often surrounded by flames, which indicate the burning power of the passions. Aizen is usually seated on a lotus throne and carries a lotus flower in one of his four arms.

The most distinctive feature of Aizen is his bow and arrow, which is the best way to identify him (though it is sometimes missing). Interestingly, experts on Buddhist iconography are not agreed about the precise meaning of the bow and arrow.

All agree that it is a weapon against evil. Furthermore, according to some, it chases away carelessness and neglect (in observing Buddhist precepts).

For others, the arrow is Aizen’s love (somewhat like Cupid’s arrow), and, in another theory, it is the conquering strength of wisdom. Sometimes, Aizen holds a small mirror, a symbol of the void in Buddhism. He typically appears with six arms, but sometimes with only four.

The blood-red body and flaming halo of Aizen Myōō, the Wisdom King of Passion, represents the state at which sexual excitement or agitation becomes enlightenment and passionate love becomes compassion for all living things. In Buddhism, he manifests as a vajrasattva.

Aizen Myōō is the embodiment of rage: his hair stands on end, a snarling lion rises from his head, and his six arms brandish Esoteric Buddhist weapons and other emblems of power. The bow and arrow in his middle hands are attributes appropriated from Kama, the Hindu god of love.

Though fearsome in appearance, this wisdom king acts only out of love for others. In Japan, Aizen is thought to control the amorous passions, redirecting them to ward the struggle to overcome desires.

In contrast to this righteous anger, jewels of good fortune forming flaming clusters spill from a vase in front of the deity’s lotus throne. While Aizen Myōō’s appearance may instil fear, the faithful afflicted with problems of the heart address him as a popular intercessor.

The Rāgarāja Mantra

Appropriately, Rāgarāja’s mantras are pronounced in either Chinese or Japanese transliterations of Sanskrit; the cadences depending upon the respective region where his devotees reside and practice, and whether in the Shingon or Tendai schools. His seed vowel, as written in bonji, is pronounced “HUM,” usually with a forceful emphasis coming from the use of lower belly muscles.

To invoke Ragaraja, one needs to form his mudra and chant his mantra. While holding the mudra, rub the middle fingers against each other – this represents ”love to connect.” By invoking him in this way, Ragaraja will come quickly and descend into your body.

Here’s a video:

For the sake of the men and women in emotional distress, sentient beings engaged in love and passion, and couples who are separated and need to patch up their relationships, here is the Sadhana of the Ragaraja Affection Practice:

The practitioner must first enshrine the image of Ragaraja. The practitioner may purchase an image, or find an artist to paint an image of Ragaraja, or get a sculptor of Buddhist statues to carve one.

The Offering

Find the stamen from a red lotus and remove 108 strands from it as an offering. Also make offerings of other foods with a mix of the five tastes: sweet, bitter, sour, salty and hot.

Preliminaries

Perform the Fourfold Refuge, the Great Homage, the Great Mandala Offering, and the Four Immeasurables.

The Mudra

Form the Root Mudra of Ragaraja: The two hands have fingers crossed and inwardly clasped like a vajra fist, except for the middle fingers which stand erect and crossed over each other. Form the mudra first before entering into the visualisation.

Visualisation

Visualise Ragaraja descending from the light of the sun. Visualise flames surrounding the body of Ragaraja. Visualise your loved ones appearing within the flames. Visualise the arrow of Ragaraja shooting towards the hearts of the loved ones.

The Mantra

Recite the mantra of Ragaraja: OM MAHARAGA VAJROSNISA VAJRASATTVA JAH HUM BAN HOH. Recite this mantra 108 times, or 1080 times, counting the recitation with your mala beads.

The Meditation

Sit in meditation and enter into samadhi. The practitioner visualises himself entering into the heart of Ragaraja together with his loved ones.

Once he comes out of his meditative absorption, the practitioner dedicates the merits and asks that Ragaraja keep his vows to bring fulfilment to the desired love and relationship.

Concluding the Practice

After performing the Great Homage, take the 108 strands of the red lotus stamen combined with sandalwood incense powder and burn the mixture before the statue of Ragaraja. When you cultivate this practice, a miracle may happen after only a day.

Some individuals may request a sculptor to carve a small statue of Ragaraja out of white sandalwood, about the length of one`s finger. You may enshrine the statue in your shrine, and bring it along with you when you leave the house.When you practice doing this, you shall find fulfilment in all things, especially earning respect from people.

Important Points

I hope everyone who practices this method will benefit from it. However, remember that this practice is meant for those who are sincere and honest, and will not work for people with ulterior motives.

If a female who is flirtatious and married desires another male, this practice will never work.

If a male who craves the opposite sex desires another lady when he already is married, this practice will never work.

If a prostitute with ill intentions desires to catch a rich man, this practice will never work.

If a male whose heart is fickle and whose actions are topsy-turvy, speaks of love but actually desires sex, this practice will never work.

Here is a verse:

Supreme as Ragaraja himself, Whose merits and vows are kept firmly in his heart, When you are sincere and your love is strong as gold and rock, Pray to him and receive his pure light Which quickly transforms a relationship to one of affection. As the self-nature is dissolved into the realm of affectionate beings, All hindrances shall be eliminated, Closing the gap between those truly in love

Other Mantra Practices

Ragaraja is a great and mighty deity of love and respect. If relations between a couple are not harmonious, if one wants to acquire great love and admiration from male and female friends, if one wishes to become president or an artist, if one wishes to have a great affinity with all people, if one wishes the presence of valuable people, if practitioners need companions for success on the path of cultivation or need help from someone, if one needs the help of others in one’s studies, if farmers need workers to work for them, and if businessmen need nonstop benefits, they should all practice Ragaraja.

Assisting in Attaining Spiritual Union with the Principal Deity Dharma

While practicing Vajrayana Buddhism, even after you recite mantras and practice many dharmas, you may still not have any spiritual response from any deity. By reciting Ragaraja’s mantra 300,000 times one will quickly achieve spiritual response.

Ragaraja has great dhama power. One can readily receive spiritual union with one’s personal deity while praying to him for it. Therefore, everyone should chant the deity’s mantra, because he belongs to ”love to connect.”

One will rapidly achieve spiritual union if one practices one’s personal deity after having recited Ragaraja’s mantra for 300,000 times! This is because he is ”love to connect,” which means to ”get you connected.”

Dharma for Annihilation of Evil

Paint or draw Ragaraja’s image then hang the image on the west wall so that Ragaraja’s image faces east. Then, after completing 300,000 recitations of the Ragaraja mantra, you can perform the ”Shooting with Ragaraja’s Bow and Arrow Dharma.”

Facing to the front, visualise the person you consider to be your enemy in front of you and yourself holding a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. Then shoot the arrow at the visualised person. The person will no longer go against you.

A second method is as follows. One chooses the afternoon of a ”Chu” (”Removal”) day to practice the dharma. Standing in front of Ragaraja’s image face to the east and form a gesture as if shooting an arrow while you recite the Ragaraja Mantra 108 times. Then, visualising your enemy in front of you, shoot the arrow at him. Your enemy will immediately retreat.

Dharma of Drawing an Image

Vajrayana Buddhism highly regards painting a Buddha’s image. While you are painting the Buddha’s image, your entire mind is so focused that you will paint continuously. Because of this attentiveness, the divine nature of Ragaraja will enter the painting you have drawn, and the painting will already be powerful when you hang it up.

When practising Image Drawing Dharma, one will obtain spiritual union quickly and easily because after drawing Ragaraja’s image for so long, Ragaraja is imprinted in one’s mind.

Dharma of Love and Respect

Homa for love and respect must be performed between the 16th and 30th days of the lunar calendar. Set up the fire offering mandala in the form of a lotus shaped semi-circle. All offerings, such as flowers, fruits, food, drinks, clothing or other items must be red in colour. Throw 180 red lotus stamens into the homa fire burner to be burned. When reciting the mantra, chant ”hum tsa-zhi-hum re” Command ‘name of the person’ and ‘name of the person’ to love and respect each other.”

Please remember, this is to be practised by one who is honest and sincere. It is not meant to be practised by ”one who has evil intentions.”

Nectar Dharma

Ragaraja sits on top of a nectar vase. A lotus stems grows out of this nectar vase becoming a thousand petaled lotus. Visualise that Ragaraja transforms on top of this thousand-petaled lotus, Rajaraja is transformed from the syllable ”hum” The lotus is transformed from the syllable ”bang.” The nectar vase is transformed from the syllable ”seh.” Visualise Ragaraja moving to the top of your head. Ragaraja’s nectar vase is dripping nectar which enters your central channel. Visualise your whole body filled with nectar that eliminates all your bad karma.

You can visualise the amrita as red because Ragaraja is red in colour. At this time, your whole body is filled with red amrita and you are purified. This way, you can easily go to Buddha’s Pure Land.

Carved Image Dharma

Have someone carve an image of Ragaraja about the height of your right thumb. Ragaraja’s height, width, and length should be exactly the same size as your thumb. Because you desire Ragaraja to be fully engraved in your heart, when you have completed 300,000 mantra recitations, Ragaraja will then have a spiritual union with you. Wherever you go, everyone will respect you and all their love will be reflected on your body.

One should practice Carved Image Dharma to protect oneself from being harmed by witchcraft, black magic spells, or evil practices. What one needs to do is to carve the image of Ragaraja and wear it as a pendant in front of one’s chest.

While wearing the carved image of Ragaraja, if you fall in love with a person and wish for Ragaraja to help reciprocate love from this person, all you need to do is recite the Ragaraja Mantra 7 times, and say the person’s name. Alternatively, say ”command ‘names of the person’ and ‘name of the person’ shall love each other.”

Also, after completing 300,000 recitations of Ragaraja Mantra, carry the carved image of Ragaraja with you. Recite the mantra 7 times while on the plane; 7 times while on the boat; 7 times while on the train; or 7 times while in the car. Whichever transportation you take, or if you are walking, or anywhere you may be, recite 7 times; you will not encounter any disasters or calamities.

Dharma of Exorcising Demons

When helping a mentally ill patient or a person possessed by evil spirits, visualise yourself transforming into Vajrasattva. Then visualise that the syllable ”hum” on the palms of both hands transform into Ragaraja. On top of your head, the ”hum” syllable transforms into Ragaraja; on your face, the ”hum” syllable transforms into Ragaraja. Transform your ”Vajrasattva” body into ”Ragaraja’s” body. Pat the back of the mentally ill patient or person that has been possessed by evil. Or recite ”hum tsa-zhi-hum re” and pat the patient’s back with both your palms. The evil spirit possessing the body will then naturally leave.

Dharma of Detoxification (Dharma of Purification)

All you have to do is recite the Ragaraja mantra 300,000 times. Then, for any food that you eat, first recite ”hum tsa-zhi-hum re” 7 times. After eating this food, even if it was spoiled or contaminated, the food will become fresh and clean again. When you go home, you will not have diarrhoea.

Someone may put a curse on you with black magic, or put a curse on your food, or lace your food with sedatives or other mind-altering drugs. All you need to do is face toward the soda or food and recite ‘ ”hum tsa-zhi-hum re ‘ 7 times and the drugs or sedatives will no longer be effective. Anything that is contaminated will lose its effectiveness and be purified. Anything that is bad will become normal. Anything that has been poisoned will be detoxified.

Therefore, if one falls under spells of black magic or is harmed by witchcraft such as that practiced in Sichuan, Yunnan, Guangxi, and Xiangxi, the witchcraft and the black magic spells can be undone as long as one practices this dharma.

Even if you find yourself in hell and see poisonous snakes, just recite ”hum tsa-zhi-hum re” 7 times and the poisonous snakes will leave. If you are in the hell of swallowing red hot molten metal balls, all you need to do is recite the Ragaraja Mantra 7 times ”hum tsa-zhi-hum re” and the metal balls will turn into moon cake. When you are in the hell of filthy excrement recite ”hum tsa-zhi-hum re” 7 times and all the feces will turn into sausage. Any bad thing will transform into something good.

Information collected from a variety of sources.

https://shirleytwofeathers.com/The_Blog/powers-that-be/aizen-myoo/

[foxofthedesert]

Arrow FanFic | Dinah x Laurel | A Christmas Miracle

Part 4 – The Miracle (AO3 Link)

A vicious chill threads through the alleyway outside the Carmine Kanigher Shelter, sending waste detritus of modern civilization skittering in every direction.  Mice and rats flee for cover as fat flakes of snow begin to fall.  Soon the entire area will be blanketed in a carpet of fluffy white powder.  A Christmas Miracle for Star City courtesy of a recently reunited father and daughter duo of certain...arctic talents who are in town for the first of what will become the annual Team Flarrowgirl – a universally reviled portmanteau courtesy of one Ralph Dibney – Christmas extravaganza.  

Pushing off the cinder block he’s occupied for the second time tonight over the past few minutes, Marv adopts a toothy grin.  He already worked his seasonal miracle, which if his best friend Nora’s spotty accounting of history unrelated to her dad can be trusted is taking place right about...now.  Nervously, he lifts the sleeve of his jacket to check the vitals monitor on the modular biometrically keyed device wrapped around his wrist, finding all readings back within ideal parameters whereas only hours before they were fluctuating wildly.  Just to be sure his efforts were indeed successful, he pinches himself in several places to ensure his central nervous system is still functioning correctly that he is still corporeal and has not disintegrated due to a seismic shift within the causal domino chain that will eventually result in his birth less than six years from his present location in spacetime.  

As a reward for a mission accomplished, he sifts through the menus on what Nora calls their Vibe-rators – bless the innocent, adorable, perpetual child that she is, Nora has yet to grasp why nicknaming the gadgets that in honor of their esteemed inventor, their beloved Uncle Cisco, was not quite the honor she thought it was – and quickly deactivates the artificial aging matrix produced by some seriously shway tech that, savvy as he is, even he doesn’t fully understand.  He also unilaterally decides to never adopt the pseudonym Marv ever again.  

Honestly, what was I thinking going with that? Quen shakes his head, chuckling ruefully as the answer dawns on him. There is a longstanding Christmas Eve tradition in his house of watching Christmas movies all evening until everyone is too tired to keep going, and this year they are breaking out amongst other titles both of Macaulay Culkin’s Home Alone films.  Double-dipping those gems before bed is, in his opinion, just about the perfect way to cap off a perfect Christmas Day with his family.  Which is why he has to get a move on or he’ll be late and his Moms will not be happy.  Nor will Aunt Sara and Aunt Ava, who are actually supposed to drop by this year instead of ducking his Mom’s invite with some lame explanation of a temporal anomaly that needed fixing like, pronto.  Come to think of it, Maya, his older sister by a year and a half, is coming back home from a work thing in National City for the annual Lance family Christmas and will almost certainly use his tardiness as another excuse to hit him.  And Quen can’t have that.  She has enough reasons as is without adding valid cause. Plus, his damn shoulder has been abused enough by his sibling’s iron fists, thank you very much!

Glancing back toward the street he’d watched a younger, more hardened version of his softer mother approach him from, the familiar tug of welcome memory pulls him under its sway. His Ma is still a knock-out according to all his friends, who often break out an ancient acronym he chooses to ignore so as to not require a bleaching of his brain, so the age difference was not that jarring.  But it was beyond weird to see her so restrained and world weary.  

Of his parents, his Ma is the positive one, the tactile huggy, kissy, slightly smothery mom who sings while she cooks, dances as she cleans, and who cried – on camera! – at his graduation...every last one of the four so far.  So many wonderful memories of her flash by that he can hardly sort through them all. Her singing him to sleep while he was little and really, really sick while his Mom cradled him close to her chest and rocked him in her favorite rocking chair.  The absurd, bonkers, overboard, birthday bashes she organized for both him and his sister every friggin’ year until they were old enough to insist she dial back the adorable insanity.  The way she would stand to the side giggling uncontrollably at his ultra-competitive Mom once he got old enough to regularly beat her at basketball or soccer or video games.  How a few stern words from her spoke volumes more than a profuse tirade from his Mom ever could amongst one of the many lectures he endured regarding the vital importance of taking responsibility for one’s own actions.  How she always smells like an amazing blend of vanilla and cinnamon and can with a single enveloping hug and a lingering forehead kiss banish every iota of hurt, confusion, pain, and fear plaguing her children, even when they are fully grown adults.  His Ma is a lionhearted woman who loves with every last ounce of her strength, and it was more than a little disconcerting to witness her holding that ferociousness ransom in the obviously fading hope that a rescuer might appear to set it free.  Thankfully, he is a devoted son who is willing to brave her wrath to secure her happiness, which he did by pushing her toward a certain irritatingly complicated blonde.  

The various images of his Ma, heartwarming as they are, mingle with one of his other mom as he watched her first set foot in the shelter.  Looking for all the world like she didn’t know what the hell she was doing there, all the while unwilling to surrender an inch to fear or doubt, she was yet so fragile he was afraid to even breath in her general direction lest she shatter into a million pieces.  He had to get to know her first before he risked ingratiating himself to the point she would grant him permission for one stilted hug.  

He’d like to say that it shocked him to see her so walled off, the woman who carried and nourished him inside her body for nine months and then endured unspeakable pain to deliver him safely into the world, but it didn’t.  His Mom has always had trouble letting people in, which in combination with her frightening dark side could make her a foreboding person to approach.  From his first memories, he can recall glimpsing fleeting specters of what he’d witnessed in earnest while on this escapade in the past: a simmering rage and innate cynicism fueled by pain that only his Ma can assuage.  Once or twice he was the unlucky target to bear the brunt of an outburst that scared him witless, and scared his Mom even more – so much so that she would sequester herself in the bedroom or the spare bathroom until she calmed down or his Ma intervened to soothe the offended beast back into her thick iron mental cage.  He never really understood why his Mom got that way sometimes until just last year, about five months after his eighteenth birthday, when he learned about Black Siren.  That wasn’t a happy time for him, or for his Mom.  He had always known she had a troubled past, but that...that shook the foundations of his essential being, made him doubt his own moral and ethic core, and worst of all caused him to doubt his Mom’s ability to love.  It took both his Ma and his Uncle Ollie teaming up to knock some sense into him for him to get his head out of his ass and to stop avoiding and start talking to his Mom again.  

And now?  Well, now he’s glad he knows about Black Siren, because if nothing else, this trip into the past has given him a reality check as to just how awful his Mom’s life was to have molded her into the hateful person she was before his Grandpa took a chance on her that his Ma later picked up and ran with.  Once, and fortuitously, she got to the shelter early enough to join in a group session with the therapist that visits the facility once per week.  He had to sit there silently and listen as she got roped into sharing, then grit his teeth through the empathetic agony of her divulging a lot more than she had originally intended.  The things she went through before she met his Ma...Quen shudders at the very thought.  The silver lining to that intolerable experience is that at least he has a reference to work with dealing with her occasional mood swings.  

Also, this foray has given him a new, unique perspective into how much his parents love each other.  To have overcome so much adversity just to be together is, quite frankly, astonishing.  Nora has told him so many times that his Moms’ love story rivals that of any epic parental romance within the group of kids belonging to the venerated members of the Justice League, but he never quite believed her.  How could he when they were competing with the likes of Superman and Lois Lane, the Green Arrow and his Overwatch, the Flash and Iris West, and Supergirl and her mysteriously broody governmental handler all the kids simply know as their favorite Aunt Alex.  But those precious hours surreptitiously watching them interact in the kitchen and during the post-dinner clean up operation afforded him a view that, while slightly biased, was able to recognize that same divine spark between them that he sensed whenever he was around his friends’ folks.  It was nice, so nice that his heart is still soaring high in the clouds above, to be given the immense privilege of bearing witness to the event that will begin an inevitable spiral into his – and his sister’s – future conception upon a recovered Kryptonian Genesis ship.  And come what may, be it unavoidable tragedy like Nora’s Uncle Wally getting imprisoned outside the timeline by Abra Kadabra, or some catastrophic event like Darkseid himself descending upon his Earth tomorrow, he won’t be forgetting this adventure any time soon.  It has ignited in him a flame of hope that cannot be quenched and solidified a belief that will endure until his death that love really can conquer all.

“Well, I guess you guys will see me in five years and twelve months on the dot” he says, his gaze turning instinctively to the apartment in which he knows his parents to be making the first baby steps toward a future they have both risked life and limb to protect multiple times.  “Good thing it’ll be sooner for me.  Just hope you guys don’t kill me when I tell you where I’ve been for the past month...”

And with the press of a button upon his Vibe-rator – he snickers at the thought of the name – Quentin Nicholas Lance disappears from view to join his best friend for their return trip to the future.  He is not seen again until many years later. Twenty-four years,  ten days, seven hours, and thirteen minutes to be precise, which is two minutes late and of no consequence to anyone but Maya, who uses that as an excuse to hit him.  

Damn that punchy brat.  

Quen rubs his sore arm, but the smile on his face remains until he is engulfed by two pairs of arms that officially ring in another Merry Christmas for the Lances.  To his unending delight, in addition to a new Quantum Tablet, his Moms pulled some really big strings to get him into the Air Force Academy.  He can’t wait to tell Nora!  And as he rushes to dial his bestie up on his Vibe-device, he gives them both the biggest hugs he can muster up.  He doesn’t see how their eyes catch over his shoulder, glowing with love for each other and pride for their child and happiness over his happiness, but then again he doesn’t really need to.  He sees it every single day.  Nor would it have registered even if he had caught it.  He is far too excited to think of little else than realizing his dream of becoming a pilot.

Merry Christmas to me! He thinks as he hears Nora’s voice chime through the tiny, nearly impervious subdermal implants designed by his Uncle Cisco that were wired into his ears after a childhood accident his Mom still hasn’t forgiven herself for rendered him deaf.

“Hey!  You’ll never guess what I got for Christmas!”

Nora does guess, the know-it-all brat, but his enthusiasm doesn’t diminish one iota. This is, after all, the best Christmas ever.  And not just because he got everything he wanted, but because he got to watch his parents take the final steps in their journey falling in love.  How many kids get to make that boast?  Not any he knows of besides Nora.  

Quen has an extended family that loves him, a bright future ahead of him, a sister that would fight the world for him, and Moms who love him – and each other – more than he could ever begin to describe.  And that makes him the luckiest kid alive.

THE END 

[xclusivefashionmeetslifestyle]

Grandma’s Secret Beauty Hacks

Grandma…. The word itself is enough to make a smile on your face. Every grandma has magic in her hands. Even it is no wonder that her mommy magic best beauty tips are useful even though they were decades ago. Her ageless beauty tips will never go wrong because she has the secret to keeping our glow. Many times we underestimate the power of hommy tricks, but don’t take it lightly. Because under their light, we get the real glow. Following are Some Beauty Tips for You:

1.      For Smooth and Soft Skin

If you want soft and smooth skin, avoid applying harsh soap to the face. Generally, we all are using soap to clean the soap. But when you are running out of your facewash, don’t go for soap. Use grandma’s homemade face pack of Gram Flour. Or simply you can use salt/sugar as a natural moisturizer. You can use both separately as a scrubber.

2.      To Make Your Teeth Whiten

Nowadays everyone is facing a problem with their teeth. To make your teeth sparkle mix a little bit of water with a pinch of baking soda and brush it on your teeth twice a week.

3.      For Soften Hair

To make your hair soften, you need to massage your scalp with oil before washing it off. Without massaging your hair with oil, makes your hair ruff if you are not using any kind of conditioner. While you are using oil, don’t use a conditioner after washing your hair. Because oil itself is enough to soften your hair. According to me, coconut oil is the best to massage your scalp.

4.      Basic Hommy Make-Up

If you don’t want to use make-up that includes chemicals then you can use dried beetroot (powdered form) as a blush. Other than that the mixture of activated charcoal and coconut oil works great as your eyeliner.

5.      Weekend Special Skin (It’s Party Time)

For instant and fresh glow, you can add papaya to your list. Simply you can rub it on your face for a fresh look or you can also add it to your diet. As we all know that “The inside of the stomach comes to the face”.

6.      For the Perfect Pink Pout

Nowadays we all are using lip balm and lip gloss to moisturize and nourish our lips. But that results in brownie or black lips. But what our grandma is suggesting is to apply ghee on lips as ghee is the natural moisturizer. It prevents our lips from getting dry. And keeps our lips hydrated.

7.      For skin cleansing

You can use lemon and row honey as a natural cleanser. Take a slice of lemon and put 1-2 drops of honey on it. And then gently rub it on your face for 3-5 minutes. It gently removes impurities from your skin and makes it very glossy. Other than that you can use your spit as a natural cleanser. When you apply your first fresh spit on your face, it kills germs and bacteria from your face and makes it neat and clean.

8.      For Removing Dark Circles

Today’s generation mainly faces dark circles problems due to lack of sleep, exhaustion, rubbing of eyes, etc. You can use potatoes as a natural remedy for dark circles. Just slice a potato, make it wash, and gently place that slice under your eye for 5-10 minutes and see the miracle.

9.      For Acne-Free Skin

 For anti-acne skin, a mixture of neem, turmeric powder, and olive oil is the best solution. Our grandmas are amazing. They are having the solution to each and every problem. To cure acne, just grind neem leaves and add turmeric powder and olive oil to it. Make a paste and store it in a small jar. You can apply this paste whenever you want. Try it. It really works. Other than that, our grandma is suggesting we rub tomato on facial skin for fairness. And to gain a natural glow, avoid drinking packed juice. The better way is to drink natural fruit juice which is homemade. Let me tell you one more thing, even these tricks and solutions are not much expensive as your parlor treatment. In spite of going to the parlor, you can also gain a fair look at a home through grandma’s hommy tricks. Your valuable comments and thoughts are waiting. Even if you have any inland ideas regarding such problems or any tricks then write us for beauty. Read the full article

[woshisouaoman]

"Turtle son" cornered no bottom line fraud, 18 cheat art "uniform"

For the broken gate smelly "chicken body odor" eyebrow painting lips, painting pancake cheat "comrade-in arms" investment

The winter solstice has passed, Guo Wengui's life into the winter of ice and snow, debt, lawsuit constantly cut repeatedly judged repeatedly, the territory of assets and was seized, simply broken drum is not afraid of ten thousand beating, a pair of brother is a rogue brother who is afraid of the attitude. Leek did not cut, only cut a lonely. Approaching the end of the year, in order to buy some New Year goods, Guo Wengui repeated the trick, to put the gate and "chicken body odor" eyebrow painting lips, stage. In the studio, Guo Wengui's use of saliva horizontal water, claimed that the Gate downloads more than YouTube, "chicken body odor" page views also created a world miracle. Discernable people know at a glance, "bully brother" this is for ants to draw cake across the space, temptation "comrades-in-arms" to take out the last instant noodles investment, for its life.

Before the "chicken body odor" private equity case dust settled, the SEC will be a 539 million penalty thrown to the "happy king", will also be the "chicken body odor" fraud accumulated money in front of the ant powder. In other words, the SEC issued a fine, Guo Wengui himself admitted fraud, ironclad evidence under the circumstances, just a stroke of the pen to its a "surprise". But Guo Wengui fraud heart dies, a day don't cheat, comfortable, that will be "chicken smell" move, then a cloud "chicken smell" luxuriant appearance, but is also there, less than three hundred thumb up, or ant states its operating results, over thousands of wind is also lining pheasant platform, no matter how deluded, also could not prevent fraying. And its fraudulent behavior has been thoroughly stripped, before the Trump self-built social media platform some operation, let ant fans clearly see that the "brother fraud" Gate has no investment value, but also blow out Wengui's use of "Trump settled" lie to raise the temperature of Gate flame.

Guo Wengui in order to save the decline of gat, recently in the studio crazy to Gat Terry water, exaggerated downloads no more than new bottles of old wine, take the opportunity to cut a wave of leek plug a huge debt hole. Everyone knows "Guo Gate" is just a "vanity", the number of registered accounts, fans and page views are all Guo Wengui black-box operation, more ridiculous is no security measures, easily taken down by hackers, users are streaking, shodily, from head to toe is a capital "cheat" son. Now its assets are seized by the Dalian court according to law, the United States PAX case of huge debt not also, the SEC is also King Kong angry, the poor Guo Wengui can not even pull out a turtle hair to ask what senior engineers to maintain. It can be seen that the fraudulent gate platform created by "Master Guo" personally has no advantages in entering, so crazy fraud, to build a grand mirage for ant powder, cheat money has reached the point of jealous blackness. Lu yao knows horsepower, want to be, Guo Wengui played the guise of "fact revolution", there is no bottom line "cut chives," let a all the ants powder light in debt, or their families whose families, their despicable is widespread indignation and discontent, again how rhetoric is also a chopping board of salted fish, it is impossible to turn over, the pan is not JianLouEr. Moreover, ant powder break investment bank like COINS are "guo leader" forced "coin locked" for three years, a penny is no ants in my pocket, then sweet, also can smell, it is better to give or COINS to unlock, let the ants to cash out, everyone achieve freedom and wealth is not yet set investment, also need not to the musicians "deceit" a piece of two pieces, Let alone when what "international supermodel", dry mouth live with goods.

[everly-kindred]

Everly’s Diary - Entry #2

Synopsis: Eve enjoys the chaos and wonderment of the winter holidays, and the wait for her Hogwarts letter continues!

Words: 1,360

Date: 27th of December, 2025

Dear Diary,

It’s been a few days since nearly all the holiday celebrations have been… well, celebrated. Now we simply await the new year! I’m saddened to say that my Hogwarts letter has not yet arrived, but mum and dad say I have nothing to worry about. I certainly hope they’re right, though my cousin did once say I might not get in since my family isn’t ‘pure-blood,’ whatever that means. But then my uncle scolded him and said that ‘no one has given a rats tail about blood purity since the nineties,’ so, who knows.

Things have gotten crazy since my birthday. So many things to celebrate, after all! Of course, I know it’s all separate, but my brain kinda mashes everything together as one big winter celebration that lasts about a week between all the family members I have to see. There’s the Winter Solstice, otherwise known as Yule, which is more so recognized on my dad’s side, while my mum’s side prefers Christmas. Either way, the traditions, while amazing, have put me in a perpetual state of sleepiness.

I guess I’ll start with the things we did at my dads. For Yule, we got our Yule Log which we had carved from an oak tree and burned with runestones for light, warmth, and happiness in the dark days ahead - Kaunaz, Peorth, and Wunjo. After the Yule Log was lit, we did a candlelight walk with several witches and wizards my mum and dad are friends with.

In this celebration, we both greet and say farewell to the darkest day of the year, and know that from here on out, we will be gradually granted more sunlight. When the sun had gone down, we lit a pathway through a forest nearby with candles and lanterns. Everyone gathered around a bonfire and sang a song, which, I wish I could remember the words to. I should have written it down right after, truthfully. It reminded me very much of the kind of song a phoenix would sing - rebirth, and light in the dark. With everyone singing it all together, it was quite haunting but also filled me with an odd sort of hope. I'll ask my parents what the song was tomorrow, I think.

We then walked the lit pathway with our own lanterns and candles in hand, in complete silence. The world around us seemed an endless black oblivion, with only tiny flames to follow. I nearly slipped once or twice, too. It was, like I said, dark, but on top of that, it was also quite muddy.

When we got home, we all had a dinner of soups, bread, and roasted vegetables, and I did a tarot reading with a Yule-specific spread I had gotten from a book my mother gave me. It was designed after a Christmas tree, with five questions for me to answer. The first was called ‘the star’ and asked me what my life had looked like the past year. For this, I drew the Empress in reverse. Based off of what the book that came with my tarot deck had to say, this means that I’ve felt like something has been lacking in my life, and I am unsatisfied. It suggests that I take a step back from things that lack creativity and look to myself to see what I am craving.

Next was ‘the branches’, which asks me what I appreciate most about myself. For this, I drew the one of coins, which suggests that I appreciate inspiration and positivity, and am willing to work hard to achieve these things. After that was ‘the needles’ which ask me what my greatest weaknesses are. For this, I had drawn the nine of swords, which says that I torment myself with my own thoughts, which means that ultimately, my own anxieties are my greatest enemies.

Following that is ‘the pinecones’ which asks how I can make positive changes for my future. At this I pulled the knight of coins, which tells me to apply determination and perseverance in the future, to maintain my goals and push through any trials I may face. Lastly, for ‘the trunk,’ I am asked what I should pay attention to, to keep me moving in a good direction. For this, I ironically enough pulled the Emperor in reverse. This warns me that someone with authority over me may abuse my ‘good nature’ and that I should be cautious of manipulation. I can’t think of anyone I know who is like that, but I’ll be sure to keep an eye out…

After my Yule reading, my dad and I made ‘witch balls’ which are glass ornaments that you decorate. Muggles believe that the ornaments by themselves will be enough to ward away negativity, but dad put a few charms on them. ‘Just in case,’ he said. I filled mine with some pine needles, cinnamon, hazelnut, powdered ginger, citrine, and garnet, and then painted a star on the outside with gold paint. I decided against hanging it on the tree and instead hung it in my window.

At that point, it had gotten quite late, so I went to bed and had very peculiar dreams. I dreamed as though I were but a few inches tall, and climbed on my windowsill. I used a candle like it were a broomstick, and flew into the sky. I had an old-timey nightcap on like the kind my grandpa wears, and I used it as a sort of bag to collect the stars from out of the night sky. It was a pleasant dream, really.

The next day, I had gone to my mum’s house for Christmas. I had a very long debate with her about how Santa is probably just a really old wizard who borrowed the Philosopher's stone, and how he probably uses floo powder and apparition to get everywhere with his red velvet bag that has obviously been enchanted with an extension charm and featherlight. Mum laughed and says it’s impossible, but sometimes I hear about Christmas miracles that make me think otherwise.

When we got home, I helped my mom make gingerbread ornaments to hang on the tree. Mine didn’t turn out quite as nice as hers had - I was particularly messy with the icing. By the time we had finished, mum and my stepdad’s family had arrived, and it was time for dinner on Christmas Eve.

I ate enough to make me sick. Mostly mashed potatoes, but I also had a great deal of chicken pot pie, and this baked fruit my mom makes - yams, prunes, and apples with brown sugar. Then, we opened presents. I didn’t get a whole lot this year, which is fine, honestly. I’d had such an amazing birthday, after all. Though I did get this stuffed fox with snowflakes printed on its velvetine fur, and it’s probably my favourite present so far.

Only one other thing happened that night, something I haven’t fully wrapped my head around. If I were a muggle, I’m sure it would have been quite frightening. While I was trying, and quite frankly failing, to fall asleep, I heard a clattering in the living room. I thought for sure that my theory about Ole’ St. Nicholas had been correct, but when I poked my head around the corner, I saw someone of transparent silver, who seemed to be the saddest creature I’d ever seen. She looked and sounded like a woman, and drifted around the Christmas tree. It seemed like she was trying to put out the candles that were hung from it.

I sat there watching her for a long time, all wrapped up and hidden in my blanket with my fox in my arms. But eventually, I drifted to sleep, and by the time I had woken up not more than an hour later, she was gone. I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again or know her story, but according to mum, ghosts are common in our world, and all muggles really fear is ‘that of the unknown.’

I’ve written quite a bit, and that’s about everything that happened, so I suppose I’ll stop for the night. I’ve managed to stay up late, again, but luckily, I can sleep in. See you next time, in 2026 perhaps?

Sleep well! - Everly

About the Character: Everly Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page. 

About the Author: My name is Elowen! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr! 

Outfit Credits:

Hair - TRUTH / Beatrix

Fox - EF: Spirit Animals: Winter - Fox

Nightgown - hazy . dreamer baby . M 9

Necklace #1 - .Atomic. {Unicorn Horn} Necklace

Necklace #2 - Kibitz - Magical moon and star necklace - copper