#all i ask for is for castle of sand to be the animated song instead bc NAZUNA'S FALSETTO AS THE MAIN FOCUS!!!!!!

[nazuna-tunnel-vision]

Now that we got element with ex-fine, happyele has no excuse to keep ex-valk songs from being added to the game (<-delusional)

EXACTLY, exactly!!!

it would also be a fantastic opportunity for them to release a new ex-valk song tgt with an event where mika and nazuna reconcile, or maybe one where shu finally lets go of the nazuna-centric red colour scheme. like you know how valkyrie was a unit created to show nazuna off, and the red-black colour scheme was selected to frame nazuna's blond hair and red eyes. did you notice that shu's FS1 is roughly the same shade of red as the old-valk fits, even though frankly it doesn't go that well with his pink hair. shu has some terrific artistic vision and i want to see what happens when he centres it to highlight himself.

(<- also delusional)

[ratsoh-writes]

So E totally took Pop on a fun beach side trip that i don't want to rp

Either at Seashore (or something like it, less busy), E finds a bed and breakfast with a bedroom that locks and a large bathroom combo to stay at for 3-4 days. Suds gets to come, too, but only if they don't be mean and stay in the flowerpot in the living area.

Pop and E spend a lot of time just walking around and exploring the beaches and cliffsides. It's very pretty and a bunch of different plants and animals compared to in the city are there to investigate.

Pop enjoys the sun (says it feels good on his bones) but E is a human with dumb human skin and instead wears a large sun hat almost everywhere they go. Pop stole it a few times when it was cloudy to be funny.

They did a lot of beach combing and found many crab friends. Many cool rocks were collected. They kept one shell because it was super cool (shhh). There was a competition to find the weirdest shape of driftwood. A makeshift sand castle was made from nearby wet sand and the driftwood helped make a structure (didn't bring any buckets). It was glorious.

Along the way, they visit a few small Mom and Pop shops and E gets a magnet of the city and a bag of local saltwater taffy. They try the flavors together and rank them. Lemon lime wins with watermelon in second place. They find a few locally permitted campfire spots and make s'mores one night. At one point they got ice cream in the afternoon and walked the beach, but then the seagulls attacked. Let's just say they didn't win.

The b&b was nice and they had a good breakfast with cute little orange wedges. The large bathroom had very relaxing bubble baths in it after walking all day. E had some trouble with Pop's sleepwalking but got used to it by the end of the trip. He kept running into walls since the layout was different than he was used to.

E did end up getting a sunburn on one of her forearms and Pop got to learn about that first hand. It hurts but you can also leave a white handprint on the red skin for a few seconds, but then he wanted to try making his own aloe vera and that was a fun vacation project.

The drive home was nice and they sang songs in the car from all different genres. Pop also kept asking when E was going to shed her skin (from the burn) because you gotta see it at least once, right?

Pff this was beautiful. You have pops character worded perfectly for this

A few other activities:

Pop shows E the tiny reef birds and where they nest. They take lots of pictures of the eggs

The coast is normally pretty chilly in the mornings and evenings. Both E and pop wind up getting those woven beach jackets

Pop has been collecting sea glass the whole trip. He’s promised E a home made sun catcher when he gets back

[skekheck]

Theory: UrVa’s Arrows Were Originally Meant To Incapacitate, Not Kill, skekMal

Maybe this is common consensus, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. On the surface, it seemed like urVa had wanted to put an end to skekMal at the Circle of the Suns and the Hunter escaped before he could finish the job. But then there was this line in episode 10 that always felt odd to me:

urVa: I had a dream that I was one that became two that became one again. I looked through my dark half’s eyes and knew Aughra was right. [...] ...The Hunt must end. 

It’s just “but urVa, weren’t you doing just that a day or so prior?”. But then after rewatching their standoff again it hit me: maybe urVa’s intentions were not to kill skekMal but to incapacitate him.

Let’s look at the scene again

SkekMal was shot a total of three times: the first one through his upper arm, the second around the bottom right of his torso, and the last through his upper leg (possibly thigh?). 

(Sorry couldn’t find a better pic of his leg shot)

Weird places to aim for if urVa had wanted to kill him, right? Wouldn’t he have gone for targets that would more likely result in death, like the throat or through the eye sockets? It’s not like he would miss: urVa’s a master marksman. Instead, all three shots prevented (or at least was an attempt to stop) skekMal without taking his life.

The first shot prevented skekMal from harming Rian. The second was retaliation for ignoring the Archer’s warning. UrVa flat out told him to not approach the Gelfling but you see the Hunter take a step forward anyway, prompting him to release the second arrow. The final one was an attempt to stop skekMal from escaping with Brea. Seeing as how urVa immediately collapsed after firing that arrow, it would have worked. However, he underestimated how committed skekMal was to the Hunt, considering he pushed through the pain to get what he needed done.

Those arm and leg wounds aren’t inherently life-threatening. The arrow in his torso, though, is more concerning. It’s possible it could have had or at least be at risk of damaging his organs. Now, the Skeksis have weird-as-fuck anatomy (that goes without saying) so we have no real way of knowing if it was endangering him or not. But considering the nature of his other two wounds, I don’t think it was a kill shot. A more serious wound, but not deadly if tended to. And that’s probably what urVa intended: he aimed for that spot in the hopes skekMal would stop to take care of his wounds. 

But Weren’t Both skekMal and urVa In Critical Condition?

Oh yeah, they still were and skekMal’s partially to blame for it. It’s not a great idea to move around too much with arrows lodged in you. The arrow heads and shaft could move around and cause more internal damage. SkekMal moving made what would have been minor to moderate wounds way more serious. Not to mention, he never stopped to pull them out and heal himself: he kept those things in. 

And let’s not forget how far of a distance between the Circle of the Suns and the Castle is. There are multiple versions of maps of Thra that have some siginifcant differences, but the main point is those two locations are pretty far from each other. Even if he used Bennu to fly all the way over to the Castle, skekMal would still have to deal with Brea thrashing around on his back. And it looks like he took a detour to grab a cage for her, which he then dragged through the Castle’s corridors. Baiting Rian and his friends just so he can fulfill his Hunt was apparently more important to him than his well-being (which is ironic if you believe skekMal’s philosophy surrounding the Hunt is his own way of self-preservation).

EDIT: Wanted to add that skekMal was in a difficult position in terms of what he wanted. He would know that if he’d pull those arrows out he would have to treat them right away otherwise he’d bleed to death. At the same time, he would also had to keep Brea from escaping. I think he weighed his options and found that he’d had more success just pushing through it and keeping them in then treat them later. SkekMal might had also thought the other Skeksis would be able to treat him if it was serious enough? 

And SkekTek Made It Worse

SkekTek is no doctor. He can cut up and research on animals all he wants, but that doesn’t count as medical knowledge. It’s painfully obvious he has no idea what he’s doing: his diagnosis and treatment of skekMal’s condition is enough proof of that. And speaking of which, skekTek’s diagnosis is full of nonsense:

Skektek: Subject suffers severe exsanguination. Extreme distress to the humus. [...] Imbalance of intrinsic fluids. Manifold ruptures in corporeal morphology. [Checks for a heart beat] Ah. Ah... . Expiration... is... [dramatic pause] inevitable.

Literally he’s saying skekMal has multiple holes in his body and he’s bleeding out. You know, pointing out the obvious. Also, I tried finding out if “humus” related to anything biologically, but all I could find was it’s a term for... soil made of organic matter. I’m not sure what he was trying to refer to, I think he was just misusing it to make himself sound smart.

EDIT: I have been told by a few people that skekTek might be referring the humerus, which is a bone found in the upperarm that’s forms joints at the elbow and shoulder. This would make more sense and would mean skekTek made a proper diagnosis. However, at least to me, it still sounds like he’s saying humus. Another skeksis repeats him and they also say humus, not humerus. Turning on the captions also has it as humus. This could either be a typo or skekTek did mean humerus, but said humus instead. 

And how he actually treats skekMal is atrocious. 

He pulls the arrows out without making any attempts to stop the bleeding, clean the wounds, or apply stitches. He’s letting him bleed out and he should at least know they need blood to live. Do you know what happens when someone loses too much blood? Among other side effects, organ failure and falling into a coma. SkekTek did eventually made an effort to heal skekMal by giving him essence, but it was too little too late. SkekMal’s condition was so far gone at that point he really needed Aughra’s essence to survive.

UrVa’s Intentions

And now we’re going right back to urVa. While thinking over on urVa’s actions, I started wondering if he anticipated skekMal wouldn’t stay put and that the Hunter would do his own self in by moving around with the arrows lodged in him. I mean, urVa is a mystic, an indirect kill would make sense. But giving it more thought, I don’t think that’s the case. A lot of his actions during the series suggests otherwise. 

UrVa was very contemplative, even saddened, about having to end the Hunt for skekMal. He is not like his other half: he respected and appreciated all life on Thra. He also sees the cycle of life as well as the wilderness as something untamable. This is implied while he was talking with Aughra in episode 4:

urVa: We do not get to decide when our part in the song is finished.

While urVa is one of the more proactive Mystics, he still is... a Mystic. He doesn’t believe he should manipulate or control what goes on around him and let things be. The Bestiary book points to the fact that while urVa did keep tabs on skekMal, he never interfered with his hunts. So it was a big deal when Aughra quested him with the task of stopping skekMal. 

Also I’d like to point out urVa and Aughra’s final conversation because it’s also important for this discussion:

urVa; And where does my path lead? Aughra: Into the sands to face the Hunter. urVa: [sighing and looks away from Aughra for a moment] I cannot defeat my dark half. Aughra: You will find a way. But not without sacrifice.  urVa: And if I fail? Aughra: The heroes of Thra will be lost. urVa: Mm... [pauses and takes a deep breath] I will end the hunt. Aughra: Good. Get a move on. You Mystics are not known for your swift speed. We have much to do. [...] urVa: [pauses and looks at Aughra] Will we meet again, Aughra? Aughra: [stops walking, saddened] Hm... [faces him] Some things... even Aughra cannot see, old friend.  [urVa pauses and then groans, walks away from Aughra as they both parted ways for the final time]

He shows a lot of hesitance in completing this task. I’m sure he knew what Aughra was implying: that he may have to take skekMal’s life away but he still went and asked if they would meet each other again anyway. I think he was hoping for a positive answer, that it wouldn’t have to come to that, and seemed disheartened by her answer. But he still tried. He tried to stop skekMal in a way that, while not exactly peaceful, was not meant to be life-threatening. UrVa even pleads for him to stop... twice! The first time as skekMal was making his get-away and the second time while urVa helplessly watched him go after Rian again through the Hunter’s eyes. 

These two only had one scene together so we don’t really know the extent of their relationship. But if there’s one thing that’s clear was the conflict between them. I mean, during their whole duel, the characters were purposely placed on opposite sides of the room while making sure to show that skekGra and urGoh, a pair who were able to find harmony, were always side by side. It’s also in the way they address each other: while urVa does refer to him as his dark half, he also called him by his name. SkekMal, meanwhile, only ever referred to urVa as his title and nothing more. 

But I don’t think urVa had any ill-will towards his Skeksis. He seemed understanding of him and valued his life as much as he valued all living beings on Thra. I think if they both didn’t end up in a near-death situation, he’d try incapacitating skekMal again. However he understood and accepted his situation towards the end: with skekMal on an essence high, incapacitation method was no longer possible. If he allowed it to go on, all of Thra would be at risk. It was a desperate situation, but he knew Aughra was right. She gave up her life for the preservation of the world and urVa knew he had to do the same: for her and for Thra. The Hunt had to end and in order to protect the world he cherished he had to make the ultimate sacrifice. 

[nexyra]

James Ironwood, for character ask? 👀

Aaaa thank you so much for the ask ♡ More rambling incoming !! Sorry for the wait btw, I've been both pretty busy and tired ;;

If you hate James Ironwood and don't wanna hear one good thing about him tap out now please ღ

My fav ship(s) for the character

I am not a super big shipper when it comes to James, but there are still some I like more than others soo here goes :

I think Ironwitch is a pretty good one. It's not necessarily a ship I'd search content for but I think these two would work well together ! Glynda is stern and honest and a no-nonsense kind of woman. She has the strenght to stand up to James when he slips or gets too stubborn when faced with the high stakes. At the same time, we've been shown that she cares for him and she knows he's only trying to do what's best for people. She has faith in him but also the ability to stand at his side as an equal. She seems to be the more steadfast of Ozpin's circle : loyal, you know you can trust her, and she will not crumble. This is the kind of personnality that I think James both admire and feel safe with. And the other way around, I think James is a good match for Glynda too. On a day to day basis, he's serious enough to not annoy here, but he's also a softie in some aspects and that's a nice combination to smooth out Glynda's edges.

Ironqrow is a completely different dynamic. The "we're annoying each other" dynamic is not one I'm particularly interested in usually xD But these two certainly had strong & interesting moments so it's a pretty valid ship !! Despite how they might butt heads because of the difference in their upbringing they (prior to V8) clearly trusted each other with their life. Even if Qrow jokes about shooting himself if he had to be one of James' man, when everything goes to shit there is no doubt in his mind that James wasn't responsible. Similarly, while James talks of shooting Qrow for his misbehaviour, when push comes to shove and we meet a tired Ironwood, run ragged by the pressure he's under... the only thing he does is hug him and reiterates how glad he is to see him. So again, they clearly have a lot of faith and trust in the other, and that's solid ground for a relationship.

My least favorite ship(s) for the character

Same spiel as always, shipping kids and adults is a big no from me; so any ships between Ironwood and RWBYJNOR can qualify here. That said, among the less uncomfortable ones, here are those I don't really like

This one is again because I love their relationship but platonically only, I'm talking of Winter Soldier. The reading I like best is not that Ironwood is Winter's Jacques 2.0, nor that he groomed her; but that he was an important father figure in her life. Protective and caring, who tried to help her escape with what he knew. I don't see James recruiting Winter as a way to gain a strong ally. But rather that Winter wanted to detach herself from her family name, and make something worthwhile of herself all on her own. And that the military is what Ironwood knows and understand, so naturally it's a career he'd see as a good path. Just like Winter then proposed it to Weiss. I like to think they care about each other a LOT and they're their own tight family in between the lines, even if professionalism might throw a wrench into it. For short I love them together but not romantically please =)

I don't know if there's a ship name for this, but Salem x James Ironwood would be a big nope from me too... In general, let's just assume I ship Salem with nobody because abuse.

My fav & least fav platonic relationship(s) for the character

Fav platonic relationship would be (have been because we dont talk about V8?) with Winter. Fooor the reasons I've explained above I suppose x) I (again) love the trust they had in one another and the quiet support.

There was also his relationship with Oscar that I really liked during V7, although it has been soured a bit by the (valid) reading from some people that Ironwood sought out Ozpin a lot through Oscar, and given his identity issues it is not ground for a greatly healthy relationship. Their interactions were still very intersting though ♡ I consider Oscar to be the kid who went at trying to appease James' fear or make him reconsider his decisions the best way. There was true understanding and hope for a working relationship here. I do feel that Oscar put in more work than James however (emotionally) and I wish there had been pay-back instead of a gunshot.

For my least fav relationship ? Probably Robyn or Watts ? Robyn was always very antagonistic toward Ironwood since their priorities are so different. And I overall just don't really like her after V7 so there are very few relationships with her I'm interested in (the exception is her ship with Fiona I think it's cute). Meanwhile, Watts is just a petty asshole hell bent on ruining Ironwood because he didn't pick his project. I'm not very interested in hate relationships, and since theirs wasn't deeply explored anyway, it's even more the case here. Their fight was great though, one of my favorite RWBY fights !

My favorite thing about the character

Well this was completely proven wrong by V8 buuut as of V7 I liked that he was a deconstruction of the military general (dictator) trope. Sooo you can guess how i feel about V8 X) In general among RWBY, several of my fav are fav BECAUSE they look like one trope but also have key differences that from the get go make the character stray away from said trope. For example I'm not a fan of the princess tsundere archetype at all, but I loooved Weiss in V1 BECAUSE she was extra-willing to listen and change her mind, and you could very easily tell that it was her upbringing speaking more than herself in most occasions.

Similarly, I wasn't a big fan of Ironwood before V7. I didn't hate him you know and he wasn't lower than most characters in my Tier list but I also didn't particularly care. But you know what ? I've aaaalways had a really soft spot for the "angsty angry traumatized teen". And RWBY made the mistake of extending that soft spot to "tired adults trying their best" (only to repeatedly beat them up/make them villains after making me care about them but what can you do uh)

Soo in general, I loved that Ironwood was trying so hard. I loved that he was tired and in over his head but learning and listening and trying to do good and be better despite his fears. I liked that he told his entourage about Salem and was loyal. I liked that he cared about helping the people above his own image and the way people perceived him. I liked that you could tell this was a terrible situation all around, and his decisions WERE questionnable but we could SEE that he meant WELL and was genuinely trying so hard despite how scared and tired he was.

My biggest criticism for the character

Well this won't be a surprise but in general I just wished he had stayed a morally grey character we were allowed to feel for instead of a cartoon black villain. I didn't need James to be THE Hero or anything like this despite some accusations levelled at those who like him. Him becoming one of RWBY's antagonist is honestly fine by me ! It is interesting. But I'd have preferred they kept him ambiguous and trying in his own way. (And smart because V8 Ironwood was dumb af)

I can be a tad overprotective of his character since he's just... so despised, so I think that I have inadvertently distanced myself from any of his flaws... somehow like "people are already yelling all of them so I don't need to add to this shit show" you know ? skjfkd But I KNOW he has them and it would still have been good to develop his flaws, just... not like that

But yea I'd have liked it if V8 Ironwood DID diverge from RWBYJNORQ and became an antagonist but not an iredeemable villain. LIKE,, we redeemed Hazel and Emerald and IRONWOOD is where the writers draw the line by saying "nope this one is rotten" ?? What ?

When was their writing at the peak according to me (ex : best season)

V7 definitely ! Ironwood carried V7 so hard haha. His character was fleshed out and given nuance and made to struggle and evolve and I loved him in that volume.

A song I think fits them & why

Hunger • Monsters & Men Human • Rag'n'Bone Man Way down we go • Kaleo Beekeeper • Keaton Henson Thistle and weeds • Mumford and Sons Castle of Glass • Linkin Park It's all so incredibly loud • Glass Animals

A headcanon to make up about them

His metal parts impact his metabolism so Ironwood is terrible at holding his alcohool and very little manages to knock him out. He's a workaholic. His low tolerence for alcohool is a great tool whn friends need to put him to sleep.

His joints crack and hurt in the cold, his metal parts as well and they are an hassle in the sand. James like to keep his room temperature warmer than the average atlasian because of this, otherwise he has to spend 30 min every morning simply unwiding muscles to move around efficiently.

He's not a good singer but has a nice low voice for telling stories. If he had kids, he'd probably avoid lullabies but compensate with bedtimes stories.

What I would change about them if I was making a re-write

As always, I'm kind of reflecting along the way as I write this, and one thing I'm thinking right now is... Doesn't it take away from the atlas arc message ITSELF to just pile up so many "standard bad guy" stuff on Ironwood ? Like, I wanna ask... why do we hate him ? Is he an antagonist because he lets fear get the best of him ? Because he's a classist who doesn't care about Mantle like some fans argue ? Because he's too stubborn and wants to be THE hero ? Because he doesn't listen to others ? Because he abandonned Mantle ? Because he kills peopke left and right ? Because he wanted to bomb a city ? I think you might see where I'm going with this : his status as villain is kind of messy. V8 just kept piling-up flaws and villainous actions onto Ironwood with no concern for whether this was a lenght he would go to (using the certainty that he would go to any lenghts to enact his plans), ,or whether these were one of the initial flaws/failings that led to his "fall" as an antagonist. What lesson is Ironwood supposed to learn ? Personally the very first time I yelled at my screen "No ! Why would the writers choose that ?" is when Ironwood shot Oscar. When answering criticism against medias, many people tend to look at it only through the lense of "well it makes sense in universe" or as if there were no other ways for the story to devolve. But at the end of the way, everything in a story is a choice from the writer even if it is influenced by the characters' personnalities. If I took the scene where Ironwood shoots Oscar, someone might tell me "he's crippled by his PTSD, he COULD do this." Maybe, that's a reading I can somewhat understand at least. But the writers have the power to NOT put his character in such a position. When I saw the wreck that was V7 finale, I ranted to my bestfriend about it and at no point did i say "why did Ironwood do that", I said "why did the writers make him shoot Oscar, the only point narratively would be to make irredeemable" Aaaand that's what they went for and I obviously didn't care for it. So if I had to rewrite it; I would have kept Ironwood's "mistakes" more focused. If he's wrong because he wants to abandon Mantle, because he's (understandably) scared and doesn't want to take risks; then stay focused on that. It's what makes RWBY leave, and out of all his V8 actions that's really the only thing RWBY needed to tell the whole world he wasn't an ally anymore apparently. - Don't make him shoot Oscar point blank, instead Oscar can simply fall because he flinches away from Ironwood's outburst; and a distraught/guilty Ironwood can decide that he doesn't have the time or capacity to help because of the tense situation. (Killing and not saving someone don't hold the same moral weight at all). - Don't make him kill people left and right or bomb cities, maintain the flaw of Ironwood struggling with his PTSD and his fear and not being able to take risks. - Don't paint him as a black villain, and eventually write V8 in such a way that RWBYJNORQ show taking risks might lead to a bigger victory, which was the volume's theme anyway. For example, following Oscar's destruction of the whale, a growth can occur that would bring back together the two anti-Salem factions : Oscar's risk put Atlas out of harm's way, which leads to Ironwood seeing that maybe there WAS a way to save Mantle as well as Atlas despite Salem's presence and he might have jumped the gun too quickly because of his fears. I'm not sure, I haven't thought about this extensively honestly but I hope you see what I mean. I think it would have been more focused & more in-character to focus Ironwood's failings on his fear; and the fact that he cares for the people and the greater good sometimes at the cost of the individuals. The idea that by sacrificing individuals too much you forget the people you're fighting for in the first place, could have been interesting to dig deeper into. Keep to the idea that Ironwood is somewhat disensitized to the individuals suffering for the sake of the greater good, instead of making him just

callous & uncaring.

My guess for their MBTI/Enneagram

I think pre-V8 Ironwood was an unconventionnal ENFJ. Aka, the type of character no one would type ENFJ because they go by stereotypes and Fe stereotypes are just enneagram 2 everywhere (aka nice, kind, helpful) whereas Ironwood has an enneagram tritype very common among xxTJs so that's what he looks/behaves like, but the way he thinks (what's best for the people, ethical values derived from an Atlasian upbringing) align more with Fe cognitively I think I'm going with ENFJ 6w5 1w2 3w4

Starting from V8 though, Ironwood veered clearly into ENTJ territory (types aren't supposed to change but I wouldn't say RWBY is the most consistent media when it comes to characters' personnalities)

One aspect that I think would be nice to delve deeper into ?

I understand why they didn't care to, but it'd have been interesting to get a few backstory hints for Ironwood. How did he lose half his body ? How did Oz recruit him ? Or some pieces about his upbringing ?

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Our Nightly Confidant 8

Accept your Wild side

The moon is high up in the sky, and Wild somehow does not fear it turning blood red. That was one of the things that left him wrongfooted before. There are many things he didn't know about the past. But this is one he is glad for. He doesn't want to imagine monsters coming back to life here.

The ranch, at night, is peaceful. So peaceful. Earlier, Malon's singing lulled the animals to sleep, and probably half the group, but it only made his stomach twist. She had laughed and wished them good night, her hand lingering on her husband's shoulder. Time never looked so happy, so relaxed as he did around his wife, well at home. He might have fled the second the others had fallen asleep.

Lying on the rooftop of the barn, Wild's chest ache with guilt.

One more thing to the list. One more thing Hylia wants him to remember.

He's trying, but can't find the words. Can barely make the effort to try. What will he tell Time? How will he... how can he apologize for something like this?

The tearing, rushing sound of shadow magic makes his heart leap for joy. It's the sound that told Wild the amnesiac that he didn't have to travel alone. That there'd be someone to watch over him, in the dark, in the storm, in the cold.

It's one of those sounds that speaks of home like Sidon's boastful greetings, the sing-song of little ritos or the taste of cold melon in desert shade.

Twilight materializes on the edge of the rooftop, furry and all, and Wild struggles to control his breathing for a second longer. He feels the tears close, and he knows Twilight notices them all too well with his wolf senses. Somedays, the shift is instantaneous, a steady hand on his back, a desire to lean back against a solid chest and furred shoulders.

Somedays, it's a beast that settles over his lap, and Wild takes the added weight on his legs like he's been given a second chance. He sighs, hangs his head, and, hands through fur, whispers 'thank you' as he lets the comfort of his brother's presence sink in. There's no need for other words. He runs them through his mind, and they weaken when he gives in and lets go of his tears.

'Thank you,' he tells Hylia for the hundredth time. For giving him that much longer with Twilight.

(He'd been prepared. He had known and Wolfie hadn't hidden it, as well as a wolf could tell him. That time he'd seen the black particles fly skyward, he'd known that was it, his friend was back to the realm of the goddesses.)

(He'd faced Ganon without fear, without faltering, and he'd rescued Zelda after a hundred years of fighting, and he had finally let the shame untie itself around his heart.)

(But he hadn't realized how much it would hurt to walk a lonely road, to see wild wolves that were a blue-ish gray instead of green-hued. To hear barking and never see his friend again.)

(Wild had been told his past self had lost everyone. Wolfie was the first one he did as himself.)

He's dried out the tracks on his face when the shadows shift, and the weight disappears.

“Need to talk about it?” is Twilight's opening move.

Wild thinks about it. “Probably.”

“Do you want to?”

The idea makes his mouth taste of ash.

“Later.”

Twilight doesn't say anything to that, and instead brushes the roof before sitting down and lying on his back. “Recognize any stars?”

Wild chuckles. “Still haven't found the Goatherd up there. Face it, it's a fictional one.”

“All constellations are made up, cub,” Twi replies with a cocky grin.

Wild wags his finger. “No, no, see, if they're in a book somewhere, it's official. It's science! Zelda told me so.”

Twilight rolls his eyes then leans back against the tiles of the roof. “Suuuure it is. Man, if only we had books in Ordon. Silly us.”

The warmth in his chest turns into gentle chuckles, and it's easy to lie back down, just close enough to brush his big brother's side.

He waits it out. It's hard enough to vocalize that he prefers not to take the initiative. It's a few more minutes of calm before Twi picks up on the hint.

“What is it about?”

“The usual.”

Fear. Failure. Disappointment. Guilt. The look in a stranger's eyes, the judgement and demands. That shrinking feeling that makes the air around him want to crush him paper thin. It's the usual. But this time, he can't help how the fear is strong, how the guilt strangles him. It's no wandering stranger, no fragment of his past berating him for things that happened in the great blank that was Link Before.

It's Time. The Old Man. Their Leader.

Twilight hums.

“Have I ever told you about the first time I met an Hylian soldier?”

No. For all they talk and are at ease, unless Wild asks, Twilight doesn't volunteer too much of his past. He's aware Twilight doesn't want to burden him, thinks he has too much on his plate. It's irritating, most times. So he cannot help feel a little eager even when he shakes his head.

Twilight's corner smirk feels a little sheepish. “Didn't think so? Ain't my proudest moment.”

“You? Having done anything you are not proud of? But aren't you the perfect, dutiful hero who knows when it's proper to scout and not?”

“Go swallow a bokoblin gut risotto.”

Wild rolls his eyes at the mention of the we-promised-not-to-mention-that-experiment dish. “I'll make you a portion.”

Twilight suddenly looks a little pensive. “... Think we could trick Fancy into trying it?”

Wild smirks. “There, your hidden fae side. The others never believe me when I mention it.”

“Balance, young hero.”

“Right. Story time!” Wild claps his hands. “So, your first time meeting a Hylian soldier?”

It sobers Twi right up. “... T'was at the start of my journey. Right after the point of no-return. The children of my village were taken, my childhood friend kidnapped, and the adults in a panic. I rushed out of town, and well, got immediately captured and turned into a wolf.”

“... Nice start.”

The bonk on the head is worth it. It wasn't even painful. “Shush. I'm bleeding out and you mock me, you disrespectful child. Where was I? Oh, yeah, turned into a wolf, captured, imprisoned and left to rot in a dungeon.”

The air chills, and Wild finds the story a hell lot less funny. He can't even make a joke about putting a wolf in a cage. It'd be like sand on a wound.

“I met someone there, who helped me escape. Lemme tell you, Cub, dungeons aren't a great place to develop a much greater sense of smell. Honestly, I probably wasn't thinking straight for a bit. I just wanted out. Fresh air. Anything but the walls closing in on me...” – Wild feels the shudder against his body – “I was near the exit when I met him. A proud Hylian soldier of her majesty's army. Right there in the dungeon, left a mere spirit by the twilight's influence. And he... he was cowering in a corner... I hated him.”

There's something to the weight of it that strikes Wild at his core. The sort of darkness that Twi doesn't show, that nothing he does hint at. But even with that, the thing that comes to mind most is what the story means now.

“Wow... ” Wild starts, his voice brimming with forced awe. “You're about as subtle as a goat's kick to the nuts, Twi.”

Warriors and Legend have nothing on the absolutely, smug little smirk on Twilight's face. “Still bitter, aren't cha?”

Wild throws his arms in the air. “Fighting Ganon wasn't half as painful!”

“Well, I hate to say 'I told you so'...”

“Liar! You live for it!”

Twi chuckles. “Yeah. But come on, I told you to face the goats head on.”

“They've got massive horns!”

“And legs. Now you know why no one wrestles cattle from behind. Predators are the only ones that approach the hind legs, and yeah, they get the kicks too.” A more serious look flitter on Twilight's face. “Knew a man or two that died that way, back home. Just, one day, startled an animal and it kicked. Landed on the wrong spot. The wrong rib. The head. Don't mess around cattle, Cub.”

Wild winces. Far more somber than before, he nods for his brother's sake. It's not like he never saw the horses kick when he tried to tame them. Just that he was good at avoiding them even when he was thrown off. He wants to say he would never get killed in such a stupid way, but...

(It had stopped raining, but the rocks were still wet in the shadowed spots. He hadn't known until...)

(He'd woken up to Mipha's voice, and Wolfie's panicked barks and tears, and he'd promised – promised – to never be so careless again.)

“What happened with the soldier?” he asks, because now his mind is on ghosts, and he's never known his big brother to hate them.

Twilight, annoyingly, shrugs. “Well, I broke the curse of twilight on Castle Town, so he's probably just patrolling the street like any other guard.”

“... You didn't look? You never met him again? Not even when you walked back into Castle Town later? I thought you had to do a bunch of quests there?”

“No,” Twilight starts, then frowns a bit to himself. “Maybe?”

A groan builds up in the back of his throat. “Twiliiiiight...”

Said big dumb oaf pushes him, just hard enough for a stumble. “It's not like I got a good look at his face. Or...” He looks away, quieter. “That I had nothing else on my mind at the time. I'd... I'd just been turned into a wild animal and asked to help an imp with some grandiose task. I was running around dungeons, surrounded by ghoul rats, and... there it was, the first glimpse of hope I might have had.”

Wild gulps. He hates to imagine Twilight, Hylian or wolf, ragged, hurt, looking for help and finding...

“He was cowering. I was just a farmer, kidnapped, stolen from home and twisted into this new form. I needed help. And there was a soldier, who'd signed up for this, for the protection of Hyrule and its citizens... She called me naïve. Asked me if I really thought a light worlder could brave the twilight.”

She. Wild tries not to tick at the mention of that one. Does not ask her name, because he knows a wound when he hears one. He focuses on the dungeon. The dark and damp, the chains he recalls, and he places Wolfie there, scared, and it makes him burn with anger to have the first person his brother come across turn him away.

But Twilight's lips are twisted in a grimace, his eyes heavy as they take in the night over Lon Lon Ranch.

“He was scared. And I hated him. Was I really any better? A man who couldn't take a step in the twilight without passing out? When my bones rattled with the thoughts of those critters crawling all over my body again?”

“You pushed through,” Wild says, because Twilight had to have. Twilight won. Twilight went on his quest and he saved Hyrule. Twilight hadn't... he...

“Yeah. I went through Hyrule, and one by one, saved the Light Spirits, reforged the Mirror of Twilight, fought the Usurper and the King of Evil. And along the way, I picked up some allies, mourned the people I was too late for and embraced those I saved. But I didn't forget that man. When I saw the kids of my village, locked in a basement in fear of monsters, I remembered. And it was a little easier to forgive. When I reached Zora's domain and saw the hundreds frozen in ice, the ghost of the queen begging me to help her son... ”

His voice falters, becomes thick with emotion. And Wild can't help flash back to Muzu's accusation, to Sidon's sad smile when he mentions Mipha's gift to him. He hadn't thought...

There's something knowing in Twilight's eyes. “Gifted me a Zora armor and everything. Some things don't change, Cub.”

“They should,” he whispers, unable to keep the raw hurt from it.

Twi snakes an arm around him, and brings him close. “Aye, they ought to, but sometimes they don't. It's out of our hands. We don't get to make the world the goddesses put us in. Just what we do in it. Maybe I don't bow to the guards in my Hyrule, Cub, but I don't hate them either. They were men. Just that. I was wrong to hate them for something out of their control.”

Twilight really is as subtle as a goat's kick to the nuts.

Maybe it's his turn. Like a bomb in a shrine. Go off once, and watch the whole thing crumble.

“There was a Lon Lon Ranch in my Hyrule...” he starts, slow, with a sob building deep in his chest, “I found the ruins. You could make a beeline from it to Castle Town. But... it was overrun by guardians.”

The wood under him feels hot. Feels like it's burning, like it'll collapse any second now as a reminder that even when his fellow heroes build themselves a life, he'll be right there around the corner to ruin it all.

“It just... we're here now, and there are plenty of ruins in my era, but I never... I never met the owners, but Malon's so kind to us, and the Old Man trusts me, and I can't bear thinking of their disappointment when they learn-”

“Cub, if your next sentence includes any variation of the word 'failure', I will shove you off this roof.”

Wild blinks. His words peter out. He sees the absolute seriousness of Twilight's threat. Then, confidently, “You wouldn't. I could be injured.”

Twilight's glare goes deadpan. “I will shove you off that side” – he points to the other side of the roof – “where we shoveled the cow manure. It won't hurt. Even if you land head first.”

That threat is a great deal more plausible.

There is silence, some variation that hints at the snores of the cows and horses in the barn below, that suggests the song of crickets and buzzing fairies by the grass, the stern, patient glare that only grows sharper every second it lasts.

Then, slowly, Wild scoots away from his big brother.

“Wild!” Twilight harshly calls.

“I'm sorry!” Wild yelps, taking off and running around the chimney to put something between them.

“Don't apologize! It wasn't your fault!”

They circle the chimney, feinting left and right.

“I was the Chosen Hero! I trained for the Calamity my entire life!”

“You had an entire country's worth of people helping! How can it be your fault alone? They dug those machines up, they armed themselves with weapons that Ganon had already faced! None of your people saw it coming, but you still fought to your death, even after everyone else had passed! Why is it your fault?!”

“Then why did everyone blame me?” he breaks, and he feels the low, background pain suddenly rush at the front of his mind. Every little sneer, every snide comment, every moment he pulled down his hood just to avoid recognition...

“They were wrong! All of them! The whole fucking country!” Twilight growls back. “They put Hyrule's destruction on your hands, when it was Ganon. Half of them weren't even alive when it happened. They had no right to blame you! If they wanted the world to be better, they should have made it better themselves! And if they couldn't, they didn't have the right to blame the only person that was still trying!”

His knees shake. He needs to grab onto the chimney's edge to stay upright. The want in his heart hurt so much. He feels his whole being lean into Twilight's words, scream at him to believe, to push past the memories and remember only the good, the smiling greetings, the cheers, the wedding, the sight of Zelda finally, finally freed from her battle to protect Hyrule. “Twilight,” he croaks. “Why didn't you... why did you stay? You knew... I'd died. I was a clueless, directionless, scattered-brain idiot! I'd done nothing to be worth your help. I was just like that guard. Why didn't you… Why don't you hate me?”

The hand that grabs his wrist closes with a steel grip. The shock jumbles his self-loathing enough that he glances up, and meets the fiercest blue he's ever seen. “Look me in the eyes and say you think I  can  hate you.”

It's like getting sucker punched. All the air in his lungs leave. Even though his panicked, overworking brain screams that yes, yes he could, hadn't he just told him all about him hating the failure of Hyrule's army? But he can't levy that knowledge against everything he knows now. He can't even make it counterweight the idea that, maybe, being steady now meant he found his balance before. It's all meaningless noise in the end. Wild just needs one look at Twilight, and even his worst insecurities relent.

“It's different! You're you,” he says, helplessly gesturing to all of Twilight. Like that's supposed to explain everything. “And-”

“And Time's Time,” Twilight completes. “Malon's Malon. Need I go on?”

“It's not the same!”

“Fine!”

Twilight gives him The Look. Not his imitation of Time's disappointed Look. But his patented I-will-outstubborn-you-and-the-goddesses-themselves Look. Wild is intimately aware that none of his companions have seen it as frequently as him. They haven't learned to fear it yet even though they should. They really, really should.

(Twi wrestles goats taller than him for fun. He wrestles gorons for fun. Wild himself knows better than to try that stunt after Daruk! Twi's insane and no one else has noticed!)

Teeth grind together, and there's the bitten out words that push him off balance.

“There is no Lon Lon Ranch in my Hyrule. Is that my fault? Should I get down on my knees before the Old Man and beg for forgiveness?”

Wild's reply dies in his throat, a strangled croak.

That can't be right.

He knows that Twilight's before him and after Time. Twilight's said so, the records existed about both of them, the order they were in, and Twilight so obviously knew the Old Man before this started...

But... Twilight had never mentioned the Lon Lon Ranch before. Part of him had been assuming... Except, no, it's always been about Ordon, the province of Hyrule from which he hails, the farmer village and the ranch on which he herds his precious, dumbass goats.

There's no Ordon either, Wild realizes with a strangle grasp of guilt. What part of his predecessors did he not ruin?

A hand cuffs the back of his head, and the shock of pain is just enough to get him to stick his tongue out. Twilight, in response, raises an eyebrow like he can read his thoughts. He probably can though, given how much practice he has.

“Ordon's gone by the time of your era, Cub. Renamed and probably rebuilt differently. I wouldn't recognize it if I walked the land myself. Don't try and shoulder that.”

But what else is he supposed to do about it?

“Let it be.”

But the lost-

Twilight hooks an arm around Wild's neck, and pulls him close. “Don't try to hold on to long gone dreams. Not everything's meant to last forever, Cub.”

Wild averts his gaze, who is suddenly so heavy he can only look down. Can only blink away the beginning of tears. He knows. He knows that nothing lasts forever, even this quest, but... why can't anyone stay a little while longer?

Twilight's voice softens, low and rumbling like Wolfie's noises. “We'll have to go our own way. We ain't nobodies. We're the Heroes of Courage. There's always gonna be someone in need of us in our own times. But you won't be alone. There's your Zelda, and your new Champions. Sidon'd love to cheer you up. And Farore knows Yunobo would need your delicate touch to get him out of his shell.”

He lets out a watery laugh. “Did I tell you about that time Zelda asked him to test a new model of cannons?”

Twi snorts, and the two of them manage to sit back down, lean against the chimney. His thoughts drift away from the memories of the ruined ranch, when time passes them by and a shooting star twinkles above.

“Farore's tear,” Twi points, “say a prayer.”

Wild indulges, though it goes toward Hylia. Quickly enough, he opens his eyes again, and shoots his big lump of a brother a look. “What will you do? Once we defeat whoever's behind our warping?”

“Well, probably try and avoid Zelda,” he says, sheepish, one finger scratching his cheek.

His bafflement is written all over his face, Wild knows, but he still needs to ask, in the flattest voice possible, “What?”

“My Queen and I ain't... It's more of a knightly what's it called. Fancy would know. Ah, whatever, call it what it is: respect, trust. And I know she will insist on a report. She's no fool, that one. Knows I wouldn't go off gallivanting for weeks and months on end for no reason. And she's not fond of being left in the dark. But I'll be darned if I ain't making a bee line for Ordon once this is over. I... I want to hug Colin, share an ale with Rusl and Uli, learn which of Lumi's firsts I missed, which I'll have to make up for the little lass.”

Lumi, Twilight's youngest adopted sibling. Few years old. Probably spoiled rotten the way Twi talks about her. In his mind, he pictures... a little brunette, tugging at Twilight's legs to be spun around and get piggyback rides. Maybe picking even a small stick, to play fight like her giant brother.

And Twilight would turn around, to ask Warriors to help train their little fighter and... blink at nothing. Shrug. That's what Wild's afraid of. The day he'll wake up and find he only needs to make breakfast for one instead of nine. That the others will move on and he will have to build yet another place for himself.

He hums, not wanting his voice to betray him.

“Home's where you make it, Cub.” Gentle fingers brush Wild's hair. He melts into the touch. “Sounds hypocritical when I'm the one who's always had a stable place, but even on my journey, especially near the end, I was home too. Home was a campfire and a princess with wits sharper than my sword and hair shifting like flames. It was the quiet of a cold night in the desert with lizards roasting over crackling embers. Back then, I was as happy as a goat in pasture. It never felt like it would end.”

A haunted shadow passes in Twilight's gaze.

“But it did,” he whispers. “It did, and now we're here, a new adventure, a new home for us.”

Wild hates the pain in his brother's voice. Hates that he sees his own hurt reflected, and a selfish part of him is even glad. It feels like love, this understanding. “I'll miss you,” he says, the only thing that can convey just how much he dreads the future.

“And I'll miss you too, you wild cub. No matter what insane scheme you cook up in that brain of yours, I'll miss every second of it.” Then he pulls back. “Also, don't be daft, you paid nearly five thousand rupees for that house in Hateno and chopped I don't know how many trees, you ain't just throwing that away on a whim, Cub. Sell it if you want to move.”

The non-sequitur throws him off. “I'm not!” Wild stammers, blushing. “Bolson would freak if I let it go to ruin a second time! And I still have to show Zelda around the place too.” The snicker makes him look down, grumble. “Mother cucco.”

“Good,” – the hand is rougher, no less affectionate, when it scrambles his fringe – “some sense at long last! There's hope for the future!”

Hope. Maybe Twi's not just a stupid farmer hunk. Maybe he should give that a try.

Wild's grin is a small, hopeful thing. “Who knows? Maybe we'll get to go on a third adventure together.”

He's heard a few curses about the goddesses from the others before, but he knows Hylia can't be  too cruel if she sent Twilight his way. He'll never admit it in front of witnesses, but, at the very beginning, he needed someone to watch over him. Though, Wild thinks with a bit of irritation, only at the beginning. He learns quickly. And it was mostly... the loneliness afterward.

Twilight sighs, wistful and despairing, and teasing. “That'd be something. More months of babysitting.”

Wild, despite himself, rises to the bait. “Excuse me. Which one of us attracted the wrong attention and got chased through Hyrule Fields?”

Instead of the sheepish, boyish grimace Wild was expecting, Twilight's mouth split open in a wide shit-eating grin. “You were overthinking it.”

“O-overthinking...? Wait. You did that on purpose?! There were three guardians! We nearly died!”

“Nearly never counts, young hero.”

“I broke twelve weapons!”

“You were overburdened. It would have slowed you down.” Twilight waits the right amount of heartbeat in incredulous silence, then adds: “Also, you had spent twenty minutes trying to decide whether or not you should replace your broadsword with that flaming flamberge. After that fight, you had plenty of space in your inventory. No need to hunt some Farore-damned koroks.”

Wild stares, his jaw hanging. The world just backflipped and landed flat on its face. Twilight... he what?!

“Hylia, I changed my mind. Don't reunite us past this. He'd lead me to my death.”

Twilight eventually recovers from his bellows of laughter. But the grin that remains has an edge of fangs to it, something impish that reminds him of Time's cryptic comments and Wind's mischief. “I would not. But in the event that we do die an inglorious death, the others will assume it was your fault anyway.”

Wild sputters. “W-what? No, I'd describe in excruciating details how you, big lump of a wolf, just ran straight at monsters with no plan!”

“Who would they believe between us? The wild, mannerless pyromaniac that's constantly pulling death defying stunts? Or the dutiful, dull farmhand that's always trying to reign him in? Just imagine the scene.”

Wild does. The image comes to him unbidden, of some sort of white featureless plain full of fog and the spirits of his brothers-in-arms, where they both just materialize there, singed by the fatal explosion of some guardian's laser.

He wouldn't even get a chance to speak.

They'd all just send him various flat looks and pat Twilight on the back, calling it a good run. It was bound to happen eventually. And Twilight, the ass, would soak it all up as if it was earned and not his plan in the first place!

He needs to sit down. “Holy shit, you're worse than Ganon.”

Twilight offers him a bottle of Lon Lon milk. Likely poisoned, he thinks, after that revelation. He sips some of it anyway. It's good milk.

“Wild, you can't even fathom the depths of my mercy.”

See, someone who could make 'mercy' sound ominous had no right to complain about being called evil.

“You're scaring me.”

Twilight's legs swing over the edges of the rooftop. “Good, because it seems you haven't realized how much blackmail I sit on. Months, Cub. Months and months of travels with no one to tell you no. Every embarrassing thing you've ever done, I was a witness to.”

It's probably a bit sad that Wild can't even narrow it down to a handful of incidents.

“But I haven't destroyed you yet, Cub.”

Wild fights the full body shiver that crawls down his spine. “Don't think I won't bring you down with me! I have pictures! Ah! Who will they believe now?”

“Me,” Twilight replies flatly.

He hates that this one simple word deflates his hard-earned comeback. “I hate you so much, Twi.”

“Aw, I love you too, little brother.” The arm that hooks around his neck is none too gentle. “So stop jumping over fucking lava!”

“No, I'm a free spirit! And I won't listen to your evil whispers anymore!”

With practiced ease, Wild ducks under the moblin arm trying to strangle him and slips by the edge of the rooftop. A kick pushes him forward, and he backflips just to strut over Twilight's lumbersome build, and lands in the pile of hay. Twilight has barely the time to shoot a warning 'Oy! Get back here!' that Wild sprints away into the darkness. The tearing, blockish sound of Twilight's teleportation rings behind him, and he doubles his speed. Dumb wolves can't climb over the fences or the cliffsides that surround the ranch.

He's halfway around the track when he realizes that his chest no longer pangs with the echoes of guilt. And the first thought that comes to mind is 'that conniving goat-lover!'

 ***

 Three days later, after a trek through Sky's forests, Four is the one that speaks the thing that's on all their mind.

“So... anyone else is wondering why Wild is so unusually well-behaved?” he says once Wild is out of earshot, having left with Sky to wash down dishes in a nearby stream.

Wind nods heavily as others voice their assent. Hyrule, in particular, looks a little put off since being told 'no' to exploring the region yesterday. The fact that it had been said through gritted teeth had confused him a little, but he hadn't managed to find out the reason. Wild had just asked the others to witness how he was being a 'respectable hero that follows rules, remember that'.

Legend and Warriors, though, don't seem too concerned. Counting their good fortune maybe. They do, however, make a bet about it. “Better that than moping around,” Legend snarks.

“Don't be mean,” Hyrule says, chastising. “Though I guess I'm glad he's feeling better.”

Time, wordlessly, glances at Twilight, who may or may not be staying in the background, leaning against a tree with the face of a wolf left alone to watch over three defenseless and tasty lambs. The expression does not waver at his mentor's silent question. Far from it.

“Spite, reverse psychology and some long term planning,” Twilight drawls.

That sends a shiver down their spine.

[anatidae-dragonage]

Anatidae's Master Prompt List

For DADWC:

I'm happy to give most pairings a try! Here's what I usually write:

I've been feeling kind of stuck, so I'd love ship or character suggestions not on my list tonight, too!

Het: Anders/f!Hawke, Bull/f!Adaar, Krem/f!Lavellan, Cassandra/Varric

F/F: Leliana/f!Surana, Josephine/f!Trevelyan, Sera/f!Cadash, Merrill/Isabela, f!Trevelyan/f!Surana (OC / OC)

Other: Zevran/nb!Brosca, Modern AU Anders/nb!Hawke

I also love general/friendship pairings for characters from any of the games and DLCs!

Never be afraid to send me more than one prompt (in more than one ask)! I like having a variety hoarded in my inbox.

Confession Prompts (select from eloquentmoon)

"i can't pretend anymore."

"you need to know that i have grown to care for you. deeply."

"i've loved you since the moment i first laid my eyes on you."

"you deserve to know."

"it's you. it's always been you."

"are you really so oblivious?"

"there isn't anything that i wouldn't do for you."

"i was made to love you." 

"i cannot bare to be apart from you anymore." 

"please. please just listen to me."

"don't make me say it. i can't say the words."

"i am so very in love with you."

"is it so obvious how infatuated i am?"

"i don't know if i can't bring myself to speak it."

"i know that this is not what you want to hear..."

"after everything you've done, i still love you. with all i am."

"it's true."

"i feel your absence in everything that i do alone, in every place i go without you."

"i'm falling for you."

"i am sorry that you found out this way."

Responses to "I love you" Prompts (select from i-mishalska-writer)

Do you now?

Hah, I almost bought it.

You can be really convincing sometimes.

That's low. Even for you.

Shut up!

I don't want to hear it.

You almost got me there.

I don't want your love!

You have no idea what love is.

If you say so.

Then why did you leave me?

Why didn't you say it earlier?

Song Lyric Prompts

There's a version of me that I can't offer / Because we let the same lover go

If I could hold you for a minute / Darling I would do it again

I wish I had more in common with you than our trauma

When it’s all said and done / I’ll follow the echoes

But I promised myself I wouldn’t let you complete me

Said I'm fine but it wasn't true / I don't want to keep secrets just to keep you

You've got a face I couldn't lie to

Overly Specific Modern AU Prompts

We’re stuck in an elevator together and neither of us are really afraid but oh man is this messing up my plans for the day.

We’re ecologists studying migration patterns and our field cams keep catching each other instead of the animals and I kind of want to strangle you when I finally hunt you down.

You accidentally grabbed my hand at a horror movie even though we’re strangers.

Oh god, I thought that mannequin was a person haha. Oh shit. You ARE a person.

My New Year’s Resolution is to finally learn to play the piano, and you, the instructor, were expecting a child.

We’re both babysitters who have accidentally convinced the other that these are our own children during our weekly meetings at the park.

We’re the only adults who entered this sand castle competition.

You’re at the pet store to learn about turtles, and despite not working here, I am THE turtle expert.

We meet during a late night walk on the train tracks and are only about 60% convinced the other isn’t a murderer.

[voidcat]

Company — Seijoh 4 & animals

(press “Keep Reading” for Iwa, Mattsun & Makki!) 

Oikawa Tooru, cats: It was cute, watching you unhook your hand from his to run towards any cat you saw on the street, crouching down to their level and talking to them as if they could understand you. When he said this one, you laughed and said they did understand but the look in your eyes made it clear you were serious. Getting to see a soft side of yours, unfiltered, shining and radiating so much love was a scene he loved dearly. Your bond with cats went so far back to your childhood and he loved listening to your stories.

But when you appeared in front of his door one day, on the same day as your little trip, with a box in your hand, he knew what was about to come.

“So Tooru.” “No.”

“As you know I’ll be away for a few days and cannot take my baby with me.” “Why…”

“I’ve written down a little manual on her likes and dislikes, her preference of food and how to be pet.” “Can’t you ask Iwa-Chan instead?”

“No because Iwa-Chan does not live in Argentina.” So that’s how he found himself with your cat one morning, leaving the lid open, he went back to bed.

That night when he returned from another practice ended long gone, him staying overnight, he was met with a furious glare. “What are you looking at? I left an extra plate of food for you.” Was all he said.

By the time you returned, it was too early for them to be up. Opening the door quietly, putting your bag down and tiptoeing towards the bedroom, you were met with Tooru sleeping with your cat leaning against his leg. Pulling her to herself and lying besides him with as little noise as you, you joined them.

“Maybe she wasn’t such an awful guest.” Was what he first mumbled to you. As you chuckled, she got up to adjust her sleeping position, hitting him in the face with her tail in the process. “She has a name you know.” “I refuse to say it, especially after getting hit that harshly.” “It’s not that bad.”

He scrunched up his nose once “I’m sorry, Czarina Natalya.” As you laughed again, scratching her head with one hand and stroking Tooru’s hair with the other, he asked: “I still don’t get why you brought her to me. It’s not like I’m that good at taking care of plants or pets.”

“It was so she would take care of you while I was away. Nati is pretty good at that though she likes to act cold hearted.” “I guess that’s a story for another time.” “In the morning. Let’s get an hour of sleep before she starts meowing aggressively for breakfast.”

Iwaizumi Hajime, dogs: It was an ordinary day at the beach. Enjoying the sun and the waves, letting the sounds calm you and having a mini picnic of sorts. Seeing stray dogs by the beach wasn’t extraordinary, it wasn’t a common thing either, but when the white pup approached you shyly, you couldn’t help but pat the spot next to you on the sand. Running to you and laying down under the comforting shadow of the umbrella, she accompanied the two of you for the rest of the day. Petting her on the occasion, offering half of your sandwich and giving water, it was a given she would follow you home. And you didn’t have it in you to reject her.

Iwaizumi wasn’t so keen on the idea at first. The dog did seem well, she didn’t have a collar but she appeared healthy to the eyes. But it was the eyes that captured your heart and that’s how you found yourself listing so many advantages of having a dog to live with. And it was your eyes that Hajime couldn’t argue with so that was how you ended up with a pup. She would wake the two of you up with gently bumps of her nose, accompany Hajime on his regular runs, walk with the two of you to the market and keep an ear out at night to make sure no harm came near you. “Hey Princess!” You would say and she’d lay on the floor, paws raised and belly in the open, a sign of her trust too.

When you woke up that day, it was a bright grey. Clouds clogging up the sunlight, you knew what was about to come. Going through your morning routine and getting urgent things done, you decided to allow yourself a breathe. On your way to the kitchen, you heard the first rumble. Hurrying now and taking out your relaxing tea mix, you went to grab your blanket as the water boiled. Pouring it to your french press and adding the tea, you dropped yourself to the couch. When Cotton saw you, she walked away. “Weird.” You said to yourself. When she appeared minutes later, accompanied by footsteps, you realized why she was gone for a short period of time. As Hajime sat down by your side, pulling you into his arms, Cotton joined in as well, placing her head to your lap and giving you looks of concern once in a while. That’s how you found yourself waking up in the middle of the night, the thunderstorm long gone, you in the arms of Hajime, your beloved girl sleeping with content in your lap.

Matsukawa Issei, fish: When he decided to try all the ridiculous games at the fair one night, insisting on winning a prize, you were too busy laughing to sense the seriousness in his words. But as the night came to an end, your stomach hurting from the Cotton candy you had, Issei walked towards you, the smug expression you’ve come to know so well, painted in his face. Hands behind his back, you started laughing again. No absurd color could be seen so he didn’t go and win any huge stuffed toy. But when he raised his arms with a “Ta da!”, it was a small plastic bag filled with water, and a little orange fish swimming inside. There was no way this was real.

The fish you thought was the side effect of too much cotton candy turned out to be as real as the two of you. Grabbing a big glass and filling it water, you left the fish in the kitchen that night. Waking up to meet with it again was a shock to say the least. So doing what any responsible adult and eager kid would do, you took a photo of it and went out to get a proper tank, decorative rocks and fish food. By the time Issei got up to prepare some coffee, you were still in the kitchen, head rested on your hands, watching the fish and tapping against the tank once in a while. You didn’t see the way he took a sip of his coffee as he watched the two of you.

This became a habit long after, on stressful days, one of you would take away the source of the stress away and guide the other back where Carrotcake was, watching the light break and divide into infinite colors, getting lost in the waves of its tail as it swimming in serenity. The simple life of your fish was a break from anything and everything, especially when you needed escape. Getting too attached to a fish seemed hilarious to you at first but few months in and you found yourselves researching, then going out to get him a friend and a larger tank, now with a little castle they can play in.

As you sprinkled fish food into the water one morning, Issei placed down his mug to the side and wrapped his arms around. “Who knew we would rediscover us in them?” “Next time we go to the fair, I’ll be the one to try and win a prize.” “So the family keeps growing, huh?” “Why not? They deserve a little happiness and love like ours in their lives too.”

Hanamaki Takahiro, birds: It was a regular café try-out. As Makki was trying his profiterole pyramid, your attention was pulled to your phone when the notification bing! Reached your ears. Seeing a video from your friend, who was visiting her family in her home country, you opened the app eagerly. The joyous chirping of the budgerigar filling the café in an instant, you immediately turned your volume down. Seeing the bird sing and move his head as if he was dancing, you couldn’t help but be glued to the screen. Feeling the burning gaze of Makki in you, you showed him the video and watched him as fascination took over his features. After that, it was merely a count down. When he saw an adoption post for one, he sent it to you in an instant and in a week, you were the proud parents of a budgerigar. Spending the day setting the cage in a good place and checking the water and food, you went to bed content.

Waking up with an unfamiliar and loud noise the next morning, alarmed at first, only to remember the bird afterwards, was an experience to say the least. The first time you let Boncuk out of the cage, to fly inside the living room, you had no idea what he would do to your books. Experience being the best teacher, you found yourself running to get a blanket and using it to cover the book cases. Despite the energetic nature of the bird tiring you once in a while, it was fun to have a singer in the house. He would learn where to fly and what not to chew at in time, sit on your arm or on Makki’s head in the evenings, often pooping on Makki’s head and making you laugh the loudest in your life. When he first opened his beak and made a song far from a typical tweet but more like an actual word, you yelled Makki’s name, pulled him by the arm and asked the bird to do it again. And do he did, he could say only one word but it was more than enough. With the same pride parents have when their baby first starts to walk, you took videos all day, called all your friends and made them hear this wonder on call.

Being the two of you, it didn’t took you long to teach the bird a few more words. The best one was when you called Oikawa on his birthday and Makki called out “Okay, Boncuk! Now what do we say?” “Shittykawa!”

As the two of you started laughing, Oikawa hung up, complaining as he did. Yet all the mindless fun aside, your favorite thing was to watch the two of you duet together some nights, the bird singing along to Makki as he would serenade you or dance with you.

Boncuk means “bead” in Turkish, it’s a common name for budgerigars

[mymovingfingerwrites]

bear it well, sons of adam / bear it well, daughters of eve

Historians often debated, years after grass began to grow among the stone thrones at Cair Paravel, the origin of the epithets given to the great kings and queens by their people. As the nymphs grew silent and animals forgot how words tasted in their mouths, the trail began to grow cold.

(Of course, it would be more accurate to say that historians of the type to devote themselves to this question were uniformly more curious about Susan the Gentle, about Lucy the Valiant. Edmund and Peter both passed into legend without question.)

There are some for whom gentleness comes easy. These are the people who remember birthdays, who can smile with understanding when a friend lashes out in hurt, who absorb other's tears into a warm hug. Lucy was one such person: bright and cheerful and kind more often than not. She spent nights nestled in the downy grass beneath the dryads' trees and days curled into the warm fur of the great dogs who were her guards. She forgave easily and loved quickly.

Yet her people did not name her gentle. Lucy was gentle but she did not use that gentleness as strength.

Susan was valiant. She led her army into battle as capably as Edmund and Peter, though more reluctantly; she rode in front of her troops and stared down death when it beckoned cruelly. She flirted with princes from around the world and laughingly dared them to be upset when she turned them down. She was not always brave—she had learned caution at an early age, watching her mother smile tightly in public, learning how the burden of responsibility settles into one's shoulders and never lifts—but she was courageous and determined all her days.

And yet she was called gentle.

What Susan learned that Lucy did not was how to wield gentleness as a weapon. She learned that when one's first instinct is to retreat (flee) from uncertainty or snap a clever (cutting) insult or to chide with motherly (condescending) concern, challenging that instinct into something gentle is akin to using fire to melt sand into glass. The grit remains, smoothed into a clear and cohesive front.

Let us make no mistake: she did not learn this quickly.

Ruling for Susan was, at first, like being an older sister to a great many new people, with the exception that they actually listened to her. She arranged matters in her chambers just as she liked; she grabbed at scraps of history and maths classes half-remembered and confidently melded them into a policy approach; she dictated that vegetables must be served at every meal; she chose a companion in a beautiful grey horse with brilliant eyes and drew pictures of her steed carefully labeled with curlicue letterings. The centaurs that bowed to her, the mermaids that giggled over her lush but tangled dark hair, the beavers that advised her on the structural stability of her growing castle were little more than real and complex make-believe, a version of the toys and stories she'd haughtily abandoned for her version of adolescent maturity.

Let us remember: Susan was merely twelve.

Within time, however, it would become apparent to her that she could not rely on pretend solutions to real problems. She learned that it was indeed like being an older sister to a great many people, and that she actually had to care for these people, and protect them from harm. Lucy, all of nine years old, was beloved by her subjects—but hardly expected to make any decisions.

(Susan and Peter had many discussions, late at night, when a giggling Lucy returned from a day at the beach, when Edmund took umbrage at a small slight. Being a king or queen of Narnia meant only that they had a great legacy to live into, not that they already knew how to live. These two older siblings worried and they planned and they secretly wished for their parents far more than Lucy or Edmund, who were perfectly used to deferring to their siblings when their parents were absent).

Susan went through a phase where she resented Lucy, the ease in which her little sister ran laughing through the world while Susan, concerned, trailed behind her righting her wrongs. Everyone loved Lucy, and Susan felt invisible, pressed into the margins of the songs sung of Queen Lucy’s enchanting giggle. (Lucy got to see Aslan first; she got to find Narnia and discover dancing trees and befriend a lovely faun. Susan was not allowed into war but she played no role in peace either. There was only room for one dazzling girl in this story and she was not her). Of course, it is hard to say whether Lucy required or needed Susan to watch over her with careful eyes, but Susan took up that mantle of responsibility nevertheless––as she always would.

It was Lucy, not Edmund, that bore the brunt of Susan's stress: accusations in the great dining hall that felt at times suffocating to both sisters, past deeds brandished triumphantly as weapons. Look at what I do for you. (Look what you cannot do for yourself). Edmund had quite enough of being a burden to his family; he was largely quiet and watchful, his primary vice a deep seated insecurity that manifested in a rivalry with Peter the older boy tried desperately not to encourage. It was Lucy, not Edmund, who bore this treatment with flashing eyes but a muzzled mouth. She was already gentle, remember. Lucy had not yet learned to be valiant, to stand up for her place in this world.

It was Peter who called Susan out on her slight cruelty, who took her riding and looked at her honestly and said what she secretly longed to hear: I cannot do this without you, but what you are doing does not help any of us. That was always Peter's strength: knowing how to use honesty and valor as weapons to bring others to his side; understanding how people wish to be seen and turning his clear and steadying gaze on them; making his companions feel both humbled and empowered.

Susan found as she grew that it became easier for her to do her duty and not feel resentful. She still mothered but she did so out of genuine care rather than obligation, and her advice and caution fell more smoothly on ears not blistered by admonition. She found she enjoyed casting her eyes over the reports of the day, searching for pockets of opportunity or scenting threats in the air like a hound. The strings of her bow stung her fingers but she found something like peace in the practice hall, pulling arrow after arrow out of her quiver until she could hit the center of the target every time. Here was something she could control; here she need not grab for artificial power, nor feel insecure. She at first avoided contests––uncertain in her own ability––and then cherished them––enjoyed the thrill of victory––before she learned there was no satisfaction to be gained in besting someone publicly.

Susan carried that grace and control with her as she began to age into her crown. She found trusted advisors in centaurs, mermaids, beavers, observing and leveraging the differences in each perspective. She learned to listen before she spoke—and to speak with confidence when she needed. She took Lucy with her on visits to faraway lands to satisfy her sister’s urge for adventure and left Edmund in control of her castle to give him a chance to lead away from Peter. She alone heard Peter's voice heavy with self-doubt and despair and learned to turn her sharp tongue in a new direction, soothing his heavy burdens. She found that she was listened to when she was calm and in control, that hysterics were as disruptive as a tremble in her fingers directing her arrow to the left of its target, that when she spoke she could make people feel strong and brave and noble, even her enemies.

Lucy watched her sister smile at a hostile king until the other man faltered, unsure of his own antagonism. She watched Susan lean forward in the pause, her eyes alight with the joy of the hunt, and thank the king for his concerns with a voice as clear and smooth as a river under moonlight. She watched as she asked after his grievances with the friendly, concerned voice she used to ask Lucy about the scrapes on her knees, and she watched as the king preened under the warm glow of understanding and attention.

What Lucy saw in these interactions was not gentleness. She did not know until many years later that Susan learned to be both genuine and strategic, to yield and be firm. What she saw in those moments was the way that the king flicked his eyes over Susan's lithe, delicate figure derisively but somehow came to the conclusion regardless that her big sister was someone to be trusted. She saw femininity and she longed for it in her own way.

Lucy tried it too: the forward lean, the sweet smile, the warm concern. She carefully curled her hair and patted soft rouge on her cheeks. Tell me what troubles you, she mouthed to herself.

Her efforts got her gentle pats on the head and an effusion of praise. Peter complimented her in the exact same tone he once used to enquire after her time in a wardrobe. Edmund eyed her lipstick and then tugged one of her carefully twisted curls. Susan preened a bit at the attention and walked with her shoulders thrown back. Nevermind that Lucy was approaching thirteen, that her face was losing the round edge to her cheeks, that her legs were gangly but strong, that she was the age that they had been when they stepped into their roles as leaders.

Lucy looked at the rosy glow in her sister's cheeks, the red of her lips, the gentle curve of her hair and then furiously wiped her face and looked instead to Edmund.

(Lucy and Edmund had always been similar: the sprites of the family, mischief baked into the laxity afforded to them as the younger siblings. They played at games longer than Susan or Peter, and felt, acutely in a way they could not explain, that as long as their family was going to treat them as infantile, they could continue to be so without fear).

Lucy had not minded when Susan took over her castle. Lucy had never wanted to rule; she had not the wild, desperate edge that Susan tried to conceal. Susan had realized at an early age that she would be denied power and struggled between excelling at the lines of authority left open to her and rebelling against their limitations. Lucy always had dominion over her life and her dreams and her feelings and therefore did not need to assert her control. She reveled in the ever-changing world, how the leaves changed colors, how the wind danced over her cheeks. She sought adventure eagerly, even in this magic world which in itself was a journey. She never let her siblings forget, when they questioned her drive to always explore: she had found Narnia first. She would not let them doubt her again.

But there was a new feeling welling up inside her, and Edmund felt it too.

They wanted respect.

Susan and Peter were given respect automatically; they settled into their roles as High King (and what should have been High Queen) with apparent ease. They struggled to make decisions but they accepted the ability to make decisions as their due.

Edmund—questioned and distrusted—and Lucy—coddled and protected—had to fight for that same respect.

Edmund became just because everyone expected the opposite. Some people grow on confounding expectations. (Some people call that being powered by spite). He enjoyed the pause when he would say something in a council and nobody could find a reason to discount it, the awkward beat when everyone looked at him and thought traitor before they thought king but nevertheless agreed with his ideas. He enjoyed it because the alternative was to feel weak and ashamed and avoid living the rest of his life. As time went on he found that pursuing logic and reason and fairness had its own rewards outside merely being right. He was the first to receive his name and he wore it proudly and without doubt.

Lucy wanted to confound expectations, too—but she did not want to leave behind the part of herself that was wild and fey and sweet and playful. (The lesson that she did not learn for many years was that this wanting for her true self was in itself valiant). In the meantime she tried to be good at war, but she did not enjoy it; she fell naturally into healing, but everyone seemed to think it a foregone conclusion that Lucy be skilled at care. She was the best at peace, but Narnia, luckily for its still-young rulers, was good at peace too.

But then she took agency over her crown and learned not everyone knew peace. Some of the dryads who taught her their dances were sick with fear of those who seek to defile purity. Some of the dogs who guarded her with their lives had brothers and sisters that were small and weak and considered to be without value in their part of the land.

It was easier for Lucy to be valiant for others, to rise to her diminutive height and demand justice. She was not always logical like Edmund nor persuasive like Susan, nor did her authority precede her like it did Peter.

(Peter felt often dragged by this authority as often as he did protected. He was the last to be named, and he felt somewhere inside as if they named him magnificent because they weren't quite sure what else he was but that he ought to have a title like the rest. Peter believed he was High King merely because he was the eldest, but what he failed to realize was this type of attitude was part of what made him magnificent, that the instinctive and automatic way that he assumed the position of leader and protector was what gave him his authority, that his subjects did not think less of him for disliking killing or seeking advice but rather thought more of him for his vulnerabilities. Poor Peter, lonely in his perch, his greatest censure his own sense of duty).

What Lucy could be was ferocious: to speak with passion, to argue her point vehemently, to force her opponent with a combination of emotional impact and blunt force to consider her words. When she clutched her dagger in her hand she did not feel as though she could kill but she felt as though she could wound, could draw a long and staggering line in skin and point to where the blood began to swell at the seams. Even Susan could not condescend to Lucy when she rode into the hall on the backs of centaurs and demanded they be given dominion over their own lands.

Theirs was a story of aging. That was what the legends failed to mention, what historians could not see. They remembered Peter the Magnificent in hushed, respectful whispers, impressed with the quiet majesty of this golden king without recalling specific details of his innumerable accomplishments, save the thrilling tales of his many battles. They learned only of Susan the Gentle through letters left by her suitors, through ballads of her many feasts, of memories of the twang of her bow and the clear call of her horn. They knew Edmund the Just from the decrees he left behind, his careful comments on laws and precedents, on the way his clear and level thinking carried far into the realm. They heard Lucy the Valiant heralded during dances, saw pictures of her golden hair and emerald dresses, visited libraries in towns she helped to build and heard of her compassion in stories passed down.

They see the siblings as they were when they left: bronzed and strong and athletic like old Roman gods, leaning into the hunt with the immortality of youth. Theirs were the golden years, and time passed differently for them, as though decades were packed into one human year. They grew from twelve to twenty and in many ways beyond, but let us not forget where they started.

And where they ended.

Those in Narnia viewed it as a partial triumph: the kings and queen of old returning to take their rightful place as rulers over a strange and magic land. Aslan roared and shook his blazing mane and Peter stood straight and proud and Edmund looked ahead with clear eyes and Lucy smiled a quiet but mischievous smile. They mourned Susan, their gentle queen, lost to the harsh realities of the other world. They did not mention her, lest they remind their golden monarchs of their loss, but she soon became a cautionary tale for girls reckless and wild. And though her siblings never forgot her, they too began to believe that it was somehow Susan's fault that she was not with them in the everlasting glow of their continuing reign at the end of the world. Red lipstick and nylons paled in comparison to water that sparkled like rare gems and creatures who breathed fire and wrote ballads and battles of clashing swords and ruby-red blood.

(As if being a woman meant only nylons and lipstick. As if they were not armour of their own, as if Susan did not fight her own battles. As if Susan was not a woman in a multitude of ways, as if makeup was not code for sex and clothes code for vanity. As if Susan was not their sister and they should not have believed the worst of her).

All of the Pevensie children struggled to return to their world, their majesty stripped and replaced by the confinement of their gangly adolescent limbs. Years passed quickly and they found themselves achieving a quarter of their growth in twice as much time. They tried, of course: taking riding and archery and fencing, stepping in between bullies and the tormented in schoolyard fights, studying history of their old-new world, bending their skills in diplomacy and economics and war and peace to fit the narrow constraints of what they were allowed to do as human children, not the sons and daughters of Adam and Eve that once afforded them four stone thrones and four golden crowns. They failed, of course. Their parents eyed them worriedly and their friends struggled to accept them into the fold and no Earth horse could run with the grace of a Narnia steed.

Susan struggled alongside the rest. Returning to Narnia felt like absolution and vindication, and her and Peter's banishment felt like punishment.

The difference between Susan and Peter was that gentleness did not come easy to Susan, but majesty came easily to Peter.

Peter mourned the loss of his authority without realizing that he still wore it emblazoned around his forearms and shoulders. His essays were clearly written and compelling, his peers feared and respected him, and people unconsciously moved out of the way when he moved with easy grace through a room. He could have commanded many things: a sports team, a company, a town, a country. When he returned to being only an older brother, he found his siblings no longer needed him to do so. In this new-old world he floundered, unable to carve a space for himself. Peter would always be able to rise to the occasion, but he must have a call to answer, a throne to fill.

Susan, meanwhile, was different. She had worked to be gentle; she had made the conscious effort to be kind. She had practiced smiles in the mirror and she had analyzed the efficacy of her tactics long after she had the chance to employ them. When she landed back in her preteen self, awkward and shapeless, she was not afraid to stand naked in front of the mirror, examining a body that felt alien.

She worked at this, too.

She found gentleness meant less when you were twelve and people had a preconceived notion of what being twelve meant. She found her smiles were considered to be bland and vacuous instead of mysterious and warm. Her empathy was considered her duty and her understanding was her burden.

And so she learned to be fierce again, to wear her clothes tucked jauntily, to tie up her hair so people had to confront the brightness of her eyes. She channeled her diplomacy into writing and pretended writing letters to the editor of the school newspaper was the same thing as sending weekly missives to her compatriots. While Peter walked around in a daze and Edmund and Lucy bent their heads together and whispered their plans for their inevitable return to the land of magic, Susan turned on her heel and walked away.

She befriended girls who were shockingly pretty and learned that boys in this life were no different than the princes who once fought tournaments for the honor of her company at a feast. She befriended girls who were much less pretty but nevertheless lovely and found that many girls cared less about each other's looks than she had been led to believe. She found she liked being friends with girls, that she became part of a community, that even an enemy would pass her a menstrual pad if she made the wide-eyed sign across the classroom. They were all, in many ways, bonded against the invisible enemy that loomed much greater and more insidious.

(Girls like Lucy who did not recognize the threat of this shapeless enemy were not inducted neatly into this sisterhood. Girls that knew the enemy existed but conquered it through their own ways were too often excluded. Susan felt a brief burn of satisfaction, sometimes, when bright fey Lucy played by herself after school. At other times she felt impossibly sad).

She liked being friends with boys, too. Many of them respected her sharp mind and her sharp tongue and her athleticism and her quick competitive spirit. Many too admired the neat pull of her shirt and the swish of her skirt and her shapely upper arms, toned from archery. She flirted with them and refused to feel guilty about it, and just like the kings of old, many of them bore her no grudge when she bored of them, finding it impossible to be angry with her easy smile.

(Some did, of course. Some of these she conquered with her old gentleness. Others, girls and boys alike, she stepped away from with some of her old caution, feeling the icy chill of their gaze on her back. Even queens of Narnia have enemies).

And so when the worst possible thing happened, Susan was able to fight for herself.

She'd had years of it by now. She had picked herself up after many setbacks, chosen herself in many decisions, fought to be a queen in a court that recognized few matriarchs. She had made her peace with the world she chose and even when war ripped a painful gash in the fabric of her every day she wiped away her tears, slid into her stockings, and began to carefully stitch up the edges of her life.

In this second—third, fourth—life Susan found gentleness much later. It took her many years after her siblings died to finally step into that old skin and feel it welcome her like an old friend. Now when she spoke with empathy people listened instead of dismissed. She once again learned to wield her emotions like a sword, to choose from her arsenal of tools and aim like an arrow, to be intentional with her grace and kindness. Peter and Edmund and Lucy were gone, but in a way they'd been gone for years. Part of them was always in Narnia, dreaming about those cold, stone thrones. Susan alone felt (guiltily) like there were parts of this world that she preferred to that one. She liked that here she could be sharp-tongued and glittering and hard at the same time that she could be gentle. She liked that she could reinvent herself without the weight of the entire world watching. She liked that she had to fight for what she was given, that she knew every ounce of respect was earned, that nobody had to bow when she entered a room. She enjoyed the cinema, and traveling, and reading novels, and kissing boys. She loved university and was feared (and admired) inside and outside the classroom.

And though she pretended, she never truly forgot Narnia. (Susan was not perfect; it hurt her deeply to be excluded and she refused to admit she remembered what she was being prevented from accessing). She did not forget how the land built steel into her spine and wove velvet into her tongue, did not forget the wonder of animals that could speak, did not forget the beauty of the wide brimming hills and the crash of the endless ocean. She remembered the joy of forging alliances, the way crumbly desserts tasted salty sweet on jewel encrusted plates, how the golden light of dusk blanketed the entire world in softness. She excelled at chess all her life, taught at fourteen with solid gold pieces in the courtyard of her castle. Most of all she held the all-consuming sadness when Aslan lay his weary head on the Stone Table to sacrifice himself for her little brother, the exultant joy when he returned, the absolution his deep eyes brought, the inner peace he commanded with every word.

But Susan also remembered the censorious look in Aslan's eye, the harsh tone in his growl when he informed her she had failed a test she had not known she was taking. (It is worth remembering that she did not want to follow the lamppost back to England, that she felt deep inside her that something was wrong, that she knew that they were not invincible). She remembered how she had to be queen before she was ready, how she was not invited into battle automatically until she had already proven herself several times over. She remembered the sigh of relief that her subjects gave when she was pronounced gentle, as if it washed away the memory of her earlier tantrums and cloying attempts at care. She remembered hearing ballads of her beauty and feeling rather as if she wanted to shear her head bald and dare those same kings to ask for her hand in marriage. 

 She never stopped searching for magic in her life but she stopped searching for Narnia. She felt as though she would return only if invited to; she did not want to fall accidentally into a world that did not want her. She opened no cupboard doors. She created her own magic, and her own delight, and made her own sacrifices. 

And one day Susan opened her eyes and she saw her siblings and she felt something like sadness and something like peace and something like determination. She felt that she had lived twenty years in this world and died one hundred years old in another her siblings had never known. She had seen cars and aeroplanes and war both with swords and machine guns. She knew how to use the Internet. She led marches and protests and watched with dismay as the hills of her sweet England shuddered and sprouted steel buildings. She no longer wanted to be Susan the Gentle, gentle though she may be.

Susan did not know quite what she wanted to be yet, but she locked eyes with Aslan behind Peter's shoulder and what passed between them was something like a promise.

[janellion]

okay so i just found out about your account and i'm loving it already 🥺 if you're not too busy, can i please request a story with sugawara using the prompt "what is your happiest memory?" it's okay if you don't want to do it, but thank you ��

happiest memory

pairing: sugawara koshi x gn!reader 

genre: fluff (established relationship)

wc: ~1.7k 

song recommendations: yellow lights - harry hudson x | blue jeans - johnny brenns x 

a/n: thank you so much for sending in this ask! i’m sorry it took me so long to get to, but i hope that you enjoy it! 💗

summary: suga looks over some of his kindergarten class projects and is reminded of you

A series of soft chimes interrupts the silence of the morning, prompting Sugawara to reach a slow and gentle arm over, ceasing the noise before it can disrupt the gentle sound of your breathing next to him. He looks over at you, taking in the way your hair is fanned across the soft cream of the pillowcase, the way the morning light casts soft shadows on your face, and the soft fabric of his old volleyball shirt clinging to your sleeping form. He can’t help the gentle smile that spreads across his face as he carefully moves the blankets aside, padding softly to his desk in your shared bedroom and grabbing a stack of papers, before returning back to your side, taking extra care to not disturb you.

Pulling on his glasses from the bedside table, he begins to leaf through the projects his kindergarten class submitted the day before: What is your happiest memory?”

Suga chuckles to himself quietly as he looks through the first few projects, with answers like “Getting my new dog” and “My birthday party” but his hand comes to a stop when he sees one with a quaintly drawn ice cream cone and the words “Going to the ice cream shop” and a warm smile spreads across his face as he gazes over to you, his thoughts drifting to your first date.

+++

Suga nervously fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, looking up and down the block. His heart had already been pounding in his chest, but now he feels it in his throat as he begins to consider the idea that you may not be coming.

Just as he’s about to give up, his shoulders drooping and head hanging, he’s brought out of his stupor by the sound of your voice calling his name. If he thought his heart was in his throat before, he’s sure that it’s fully left his body at this point and is now with you, bounding down the street with two ice cream cones in your hand, large smile on your face, cheeks flushed with excitement, and eyes trained on him like he’s the only thing you can see despite the bustle of the street around him.

You come to a stop in front of him, pausing momentarily to catch your breath, that same large smile softening into something more hesitant, more reserved, as you take in the way that he’s looking at you. Unable to completely catch your breath at the proximity you take a deep breath before looking up, extending one of the ice cream cones towards him. You feel your heart beat faster as you notice the warmth in his brown eyes as he looks from you to the ice cream in your hand before letting out a gentle laugh. You think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

Suga reaches forward with a smile and a thank you on his lips, wrapping his hand around the offered cone, his fingers brushing against yours as you go to withdraw them after a moment’s hesitation. He flushes at the contact, before bringing the cone to his mouth, tasting the sweet subtle vanilla flavor and the refreshing chill on his tongue. However, he’s drawn out of his enjoyment by the sound of a small gasp as he sees the ice cream from your cone fall to the ground, almost as if in slow motion. Before he can stop himself, a gentle laugh rolls off his tongue as he throws his head back in laughter.

He leans forward, offering his own cone to you with a smile and laughter in his eyes.

“Here, we can share mine” 

+++

Suga’s chest fills with warmth as he places the “Going to the ice cream shop” page to the side, flipping through a few pages before another catches his eye — “Playing at the beach”

+++

Suga woke to the sound of a series of harsh excited knocks on his door. Groaning, he pushes himself out of bed and stumbles to the front door, stifling a yawn as he goes. Opening the door, he’s blinded momentarily by the bright light before focusing on the figure in front of him, framed by the warm sunshine of the day.

“We’re going to the beach!” you exclaim, arms already full of towels, a beach umbrella, and sunscreen. Suga looks at you quizzically for a moment before laughing gently, and opening the door and stepping back to let you in. “Just let me get ready, okay?” he calls, his head shaking slightly, but a fond smile on his face, as he walks to his room to get changed.

The car ride is filled with laughter and music, the salty wind blowing through your hair as the sunlight filters in through the windshield. Suga gazes over at you, your hands animated and gesturing as you talk about all of plans that you have for the two of you once you arrive at the beach.

He shakes his head fondly for a moment before returning his gaze to the road, thinking about how he almost slept through this. If not for you, he would probably still be in his pajamas, wearing his favorite fuzzy teddy bear slippers, and pouring a bowl of cereal, instead of getting closer and closer with every kilometer to a day at the beach.

As he casts another glance around at the approaching coastline, the clear blue of the sky, the warm sun overhead, and the figure next to him, he can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment bubbling up in his chest. There really is no where else he’d rather be.

Finally making it to the beach, your hand grips Suga’s as you run forward into the warm sand, kicking your shoes off as you go and sending a flock of seagulls up into the air. Despite the beautiful view of the coast in front of him, he finds his eyes drawn to you, hair swept out of your face by the salty breeze, the sound of waves crashing in the distance, and the warm feel of your hand in his.

Your hands pulls at his excitedly until you’re both standing in the surf, bare feet warmed from the sand now being cooled by the gentle waves lapping at your ankles.

The day passes with the two of you playing in the surf, building sand castles, and tracing each other’s bodies in the sand. As he looks down at you, face framed by your hair and the shimmering white shells he’s placed in a halo around your head, eyes shining bright as you look up at him, he feels his heart swell. He’s never felt like this before.

+++

Suga shakes his head fondly, looking over at you laying next to him, that same feeling from that day at the beach still filling his chest and sending his heart fluttering. Suga flips through the few projects before stopping at one that reads “Watching the fireworks.” His eyes close, and he swears he can almost hear the pop and sizzle of fireworks in his ears.

+++

The bright blue sky was finally starting to give way to reds, oranges, and purples, as the sun made its daily journey to kiss the ocean on the horizon before disappearing. As the sky calms, the activity on the ground increases, people bustling around, preparing fireworks, settling into comfortable positions, and using the light breeze floating on the wind as an excuse to inch closer to loved ones.

Suga uses the opportunity of a fresh gust of wind to move closer to you on the bench, wrapping his arm around your back and pressing your legs together. He flushes slightly at the contact, tempted to reach his hand to rub the back of his neck, but resists in favor of using that hand to adjust the blanket in your lap so that it fully covers you. You watch his movement, heat rushing to your face as you see the way his hand reaches over, brushing lightly against your knee for a brief moment before pulling away. Unable to help yourself, you turn towards him, leaning further into his touch, relishing in the closeness and his signature scent of warm lavender and citrus. Captivated by the smell and proximity, you find yourself leaning closer than you had anticipated, eyes having drifted closed shoot open at the sound of a gentle chuckle.

Suga reaches over, his hand going to cup your face as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. The light from the fireworks flash and disappear, painting the two of you in color before melting into the blackness of the night sky. Despite the impressive display, neither of you can tear your gazes away from each other, eyes darting from lips to eyes indecisively. Suga laughs softly to himself before making the decision for the both of you and leaning in, pressing his lips to yours softly. You feel your eyes drift shut, focusing only on the soft pressure of his lips against yours, tasting faintly of the watermelon popsicle he had earlier. You know there’s fireworks going on in the background, but the crash of the lights is nothing compared to the sound of your hearts beating together as you bring your hands up to his hair, smiling into the kiss before drawing him even closer.

+++

Suga smiles down at the page of crudely draw fireworks as he brings his hand to his lips, thinking back to that watermelon popsicle taste, before leaning over and placing a gentle kiss to your temple. This causes you to stir, reaching your hand up to stroke his cheek as you blink slowly, adjusting to the light of the morning.

You pull your hand back, sitting up as you lean into Suga’s side, yawning and rubbing your eyes as you wake up. Peering over his shoulder you see the title of one of the projects, “What’s your happiest memory” you read out, your voice still soft with sleep.

He looks over at you, and the words are stolen from his throat as he takes in the way your head is framed in a soft halo by the gentle light streaming through the windows, the way your eyes flit across the page in his hand, and the smile growing on your face as you take in the drawings.

“Every one I’ve had with you”

☽

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[lyssismagical]

you were my new dream

A Parkner & Irondad - Tangled AU 

*

The paintbrush sweeps over the wall gently, adding wispy clouds to the light blue backdrop, and definition to the castle.

He could hear his father’s footsteps making their way down the staircase, shoes clicking against the stone. Shoes meant his father was going out. Again. Leaving Peter alone in the tower.

He drags the paintbrush once more across the newest addition to his walls of paintings, before tugging the curtain down over it just as his father rounded the corner.

“Hop on down from there and get some breakfast,” his father calls out, tossing an apple in Peter’s direction.

Barefeet easily hopping down to the floor, Peter catches the apple and takes a bite, slipping into his designated chair.

His father looked angry this morning, creases deepening between his eyebrows and along his forehead, curving down around his mouth.

“I’ll be out today,” he says shortly, dragging his chair up behind Peter’s and laying a hand flat in Peter’s hair without need for instruction.

Peter makes himself sing the song, feeling the power thrum in his very veins, glowing bright and young. Flower gleam and glow…

As soon as he finishes, looking over his shoulder at the wrinkles disappearing along his father’s forehead and mouth, grey hairs turning back to its regular dark brown.

“Father-”

“I have errands to run,” his father interrupts, standing up and stretching his shoulders.

Peter frowns, shoulders slumping. “It’s my birthday coming up.”

His father lifts an eyebrow, face set in annoyance like he couldn’t be bothered with trying to guess where Peter’s going with this. He tries not to let it hurt his happiness.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be eighteen.”

Beck rolls his eyes, mouth curving down. “Yes? I’m well aware of your birthday, Peter.”

Frowning, Peter rises from his chair, following his father across the room as Beck prepares what he needs for his journey and errands.

“I wanna see the lights,” Peter blurts, freezing in his steps when Beck turns on him, anger flashing in his eyes like he already knows exactly what Peter means.

“The lights?”

Peter swallows thickly, anxiety thrumming in his chest. He rubs his hands on his old paint-splattered overalls. “The floating lights. They- They go up every year on my birthday, they fill the sky. My birthday is in a few days, I want to see them up close.”

Beck’s always looked scary when he’s angry, intimidatingly taller than Peter and shoulders broad. “Are you asking me to take you out of the tower?”

Don’t fight back, he knows that much. He knows not to fight back in these kinds of arguments, and it’s normally fine. He’s okay with not asking to leave the tower, with hiding behind the brick walls and saying goodbye to his father every week or two when there’s errands he runs without Peter. But this is his eighteenth birthday watching the lanterns fill the sky through the window.

“Just for one day. Just to see the lights. And then we’d come straight back and I wouldn’t ask to leave again,” Peter bargains, unable to stop himself from clumsily backing away.

Beck lifts an eyebrow. “You wanna try that again?”

His breath hitches, fighting back tears. He hates arguing with his father, hates losing every argument he does try to have, hates that he’s backing down again, but it’s not like he has much of a choice against Beck.

“I- I think I want new paint for my birthday?” Peter tries again gesturing at the walls filled to the very brim with his paintings. He wipes his sweaty hands on his overalls again. “The nice stuff you got for my sixteenth?”

Beck runs a hand harshly over his face with a long, exasperated sigh. “You know I’m not trying to be the bad guy here? I just want what’s best for us and that means staying here, where it’s safe, where you’re safe.”

Peter forces a nod. “I know.”

“Paint? That’s a three day trip, at least.”

“I know, I just- It’s better than what I thought before. I shouldn’t have suggested that, it was stupid. Paint is smarter.”

Beck sighs again, carefully brushing back Peter’s curls. “I’ll get you paint, you’re right. You’ll have enough food here to last you three days time. Stay here, stay safe, alright?”

Peter doesn’t say anything as Beck rounds up a new, bigger basket, filled with more essentials for the longer trip out. But soon enough, Beck is ready to go, sitting on the edge of the windowsill.

“I know you don’t quite understand right now, but the outside world is dangerous, Peter. Especially for you, especially with all this power. I’m just doing what’s best for you, alright? Keeping you safe.”

“Of course, father.” Peter offers a soft smile, slipping his hands into the worn fabric of his long sleeve under his overalls, hiding the shaking. “I’ll be here.”

“And I’ll be back in three days time.”

Three days.

He stands at the window, watches as Beck climbs down the side of the tower using the web ladder Peter made, walks to the edge of their hidden enclosure, turns back and waves at Peter, and then he disappears through the vines.

Turning back to his home, Peter tries to cheer himself up. Three days with the tower alone means he can sing as loud as he wants to, climb the walls, paint, and practice baking. He can even reread the three books on his bookshelf.

Three whole days.

*

Harley runs a hand through his hair, gently cupping his little sister’s face.

“I know you don’t like me doing this, but this is for the best, okay? I’ll be back before you know it, Abbie.”

She sighs, too young, too little, to be dragged into the politics, into the mess Harley’s in.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t steal from the castle, from the King who’s still grieving the loss of his son, The Missing Prince. He knows it’s wrong to be pawning off the jewelry he steals from the castle for money or food or things to keep his baby sister happy, but he’d do anything to keep his sister safe.

“And if you get caught?”

“There’s plenty of food to last you here, and after that, I trust you to take care of yourself, to find help in the city. You know what the king would do if he found out.”

His fingers are careful, gentle as he twists a strand of her hair between his fingers. He doesn’t use her power, he doesn’t dare exploit her for her magic. He’s not cruel like that.

It was a bad situation. He was four, too young to be put in the situation he had been in. His mother was pregnant and very ill. The doctor they called in said it was likely that both her and the baby would die. But then word spread about the Queen’s pregnancy and how they found a magic flower that would heal her.

That’s where the thieving began. He snuck into the tower and stole just a few drops of the golden liquid. It wasn’t enough to save both of them, so now it’s just him and his little sister, now seventeen years old.

“Stay safe, you hear me?”

Harley offers a lazy smile, tossing his satchel over his shoulder. “Always am, Abbie. Hold down the fort.”

It’s not that the world is full of evil people, that’s nothing like the city, especially with the watchful eye of the Queen, keeping everything in order, but he worries about her. He worries that if she were caught, they might punish her for the Keener’s history of thieving. If anything, they were the bad guys, not the city folks. The only person who’d ever tried to exploit her magic was Quentin Beck, a man who wanted to use Abbie’s hair for his own good, nobody else’s.

He doesn’t keep her locked up in their rickety little home on the outskirts of the island, she’s free to do as she pleases, but she chooses not to go far, instead leaving the work to Harley. She prefers sticking to their little home, taking care of the sick people who come seek them out for her magic hair. She makes housecalls occasionally for those who can’t make the journey to find her and she never charges them, the only heart of gold in the Keener bloodline.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t be worried if I’m not home in a couple days. I don’t know how long this will take.”

She grins, corners of her eyes crinkling and blue eyes shining in the morning sun. “I know. I’ll be here.”

Harley finally turns to the forest, back to the ocean curling up the sand. He takes a deep breath, promises himself he won’t look back, and starts his trek towards the city.

* Peter’s hands are shaking where they grip the stupid frying pan. There’s a man tied to a chair in the next room over. He knocked out a man who tumbled through his window that wasn’t Beck.

He was making himself some lunch and then the man had fallen through the window and Peter had panicked, swinging the pan.

And now there was a man in the next room over, tied to a chair, unconscious.

“Hello?” The stranger calls out.

Peter curses a few times under his breath, turning in a circle as he tries to come up with something. When he comes up blank, unsure what to say or what to do, he steels himself and walks into the main room, taking a deep breath.

The boy tied to the chair looks bored, if anything. Not scared by the synthesized webbing pinning him to the chair, not worried about the bruise forming on his forehead where Peter had hit him with the frying pan, not even vaguely concerned about his satchel missing from his side.

He simply lifts an eyebrow when Peter steps into his line of vision, corners of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.

“How did you find me?” Peter demands, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to appear more confident than he is. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? What do you want?” the boy says, nose crinkling. “I’ve got places to be, darling.”

Peter can’t help the flush that touches his cheeks. He’s only ever spoken to his father, Beck, and to the animals that occasionally crawl up to his window like squirrels or birds. The closest thing he’s ever had to somebody calling him darling is reading the romance book on the shelf.

He runs a hand through his hair, relaxing at the power that runs from his fingertips to his chest. “How do I know you won’t tell anybody about me? How will I know that you won’t bring anyone else here?”

The boy sniffles like this whole conversation is boring him, but he’s starting to tug at the restraints holding him to the wooden chair.

“Why would I care about you?” the boy says, rolling his eyes. “Can you just give me my bag and let me get on my way?”

Peter takes a step back, hands on his hips. “You want your bag that bad?”

“It’s mine.”

And then an idea hits him with a brilliant clarity. “What do you know about the floating lights?”

The boy lifts an eyebrow, sinking back into the chair and giving up on trying to get out of the webbing. “The floating lights?”

“The- Uh, the lanterns?” Peter repeats, levelling his gaze like his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest. “The ones that go up every August 10th.”

“The one’s for the Missing Prince?” the boy says, tipping his head to the side. “Eighteen years ago, the King and Queen’s son went missing. They send up lanterns every year on his birthday in hopes he’ll make it back to them.”

Peter ignores the way his chest tightens at the potential coincidence. But it wouldn’t make sense. Beck is his father. Not the King.

The boy looks intrigued, mouth tipping up in a sort of amused smile, fingers tapping incessantly on the arm of the chair.

“I want you to take me to see them,” Peter says, holding his chin high. “If you do, I’ll give you your bag back.”

“That’s not a fair trade.”

Peter shrugs, bottom lip sticking out. “What do you want?”

“You live here alone?”

It’s a strange question and Peter doesn’t know how much he wants to tell the stranger about Beck, but he figures it’s only fair. “My father lives here. Beck.”

“Beck? Like Beck? Like Quentin Beck?” The boy demands, eyes widening. “If so, then that’s what I want. I want your father to never hear that I was here or that you met me or that you know anything, okay?”

Peter nods. “Yeah, of course, your secret’s safe with me. Can I ask why?”

The boy smiles coyly. “Nah, better not ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Anyway, you wanna get me out of these? If I’m taking you to see the lanterns, we’re going to need to make the trek all the way to the castle.”

Peter scrambles to find the web dissolvent from under the sink, helping the boy up from the chair.

“I’m, um, I’m Peter.”

The boy smiles, corners of his blue eyes crinkling. “Harley Keener.”

* Harley watches Peter with a sympathetic sort of curiosity.

He’s only a few months older than Abbie, a couple years younger than Harley, but he looks at the world like he’s a child who’s never experienced any of it before.

The way Peter’s barefeet touch down on the grass, toes curling in the dirt like it’s incredible. The way he moves and laughs and dances in the yard like this is the most amazing day of his life, uncaring of Harley waiting for him at the edge of the field.

The way Peter smiles brightly, practically glowing in the midday sunlight, laughing as he splashes through the little pond, grinning up at the sky, rolling through the grass.

The way Peter takes it all in like he’s scared he’ll never get to see it again.

Harley would be lying if he said he didn’t think Peter looked like a god, beautiful and smiling brightly like nothing could hurt the happiness radiating off him.

He wasn’t about to get attached to this random boy he found in a mysterious secluded tower, especially since the boy happened to have Quentin Beck as a father, apparently. Beck who’d been trying to get his hands on Abbie for as long as he could remember. When Beck found out that Abbie had a tiny bit of the magical flower’s abilities, Beck had wanted her for his own, to use her capabilities of curing illnesses and keeping people young.

Briefly, he worries about Peter, but he figures it’s not his problem to worry about the strange boy.

“You ready?” he calls out, arms crossed and leaning against the stones.

Peter lights up even more, excitement shining on his face, and he skips, literally fucking skips over to Harley, grabbing his hand and turning to race through the thick vines hiding the field from the rest of the forest, dragging Harley along with him.

On one hand, Harley adores seeing Peter radiating this kind of joy. It reminds him of a different time, a time where he wasn’t thieving, wasn’t parenting his little sister, wasn’t trying so hard just to get food on the table every night. It reminds of a time when his parents were still alive and he was allowed to be childish and innocently happy like Peter is.

But on the other hand, it makes Harley want to take Peter back to Abbie and his home, to hide Peter away from people like Beck who he knows is a bad man despite what Peter might think about his father. It makes Harley want to keep Peter safe from the true horrors of the world, from grief and ugly dark emotions, because he wants, terribly badly, to keep that shining joy on Peter’s face.

“This is the best day ever!” Peter exclaims, touching absolutely everything he can get his hands on. “Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!”

Harley tries his best to suppress a smile. “Only keeping my end of the bargain, darling.”

He watches Peter flush, a gentle blush spreading across his cheeks and nose, brown eyes sparkling beautifully.

This is considerably low on Best Days Ever for Harley. Getting chased through the forest by the guards after stealing a crown from the castle, isn’t exactly ideal, especially since he’s now met the son of the guy who’s been making Harley’s life a bit hellish lately.

They’re walking through a forest. That hardly ranks as a great day, but apparently it’s Peter’s best. That says something about the life he’s lived. It makes Harley’s chest ache thinking about a life spent cooped up in that dark tower with Beck.

So he makes a stupid joke about how circumstances brought them here of all places, reveling in the way Peter lights up in a smile, hands brushing over the trees as they walk together.

He makes it his personal goal along this strange journey they’ve embarked on, to make Peter smile as often as he can.

* “This is no longer the best day ever,” Peter admits, words echoing in the cave they’ve ended up in.

Chased by royal guards who are after Harley. Peter had no idea he’s on a journey with a Wanted Man, but he finds that he doesn’t care too much. He doesn’t really have the capability to make informed decisions about Harley or about the guards who chased them if he hasn’t spoken to anybody outside of his father ever. So, he finds he doesn’t mind.

What he does mind is the water slowly filling up the cave they’re trapped in.

Harley, eyes wide with panic and hands fumbling against the rock walls for an exit, sends a glare in Peter’s direction.

“I guess he was right,” Peter mutters, pushing himself higher up the back wall of the cave as the water continues to rise rapidly. There’s only a matter of minutes before they’ll run out of space.

Harley dives beneath the water, searching for an exit, a way out, but they’re trapped.

Peter, for his part, isn’t as scared as he thought he would be. He’s always been trapped. Maybe not in a life or death situation like he is now, but that tower had been the only four walls he knew for his entire life. He got to feel grass under his feet, he got feel the sun on his skin, he got to touch the trees, he got to meet Harley, a real human being that wasn’t Beck.

This isn’t the worst way to die, he figures. He could’ve died in that tower without having experienced anything.

On the other hand, though, if he had never left that tower, if had just let Harley leave without making any bargains, they wouldn’t be in this situation at all. They wouldn’t be dying.

Harley resurfaces, gasping. “It’s pitch black down there, can’t see anything… Who was right?”

“My father,” Peter says, head touching the cave’s roof as the water rises to their hips. “He was right about not leaving the tower.”

“He was not right,” Harley spits. “He had no right to keep you locked away from the real world.”

Peter shrugs, blinking back the tears as he accepts their fate. “If I had listened, we wouldn’t be dying. You wouldn’t be dying.”

“Your father’s been trying to take my sister from me for the past couple years,” Harley admits. “The truth may as well come out if we’re on our death beds.”

The water’s up to their shoulders now, rising fast.

“What? Why?”

Harley looks over at him, barely discernible in the darkness of the cave. “I don’t know how much you know about the city’s history, but my sister had some of that magic flower juice. Now Beck wants to use her for selfish reasons.”

“Magic… I have magic hair that glows when I sing!” Peter exclaims, eyes widening. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine-”

And the water goes over their head, completely filling the cave.

But Peter’s curls light up, filling the cave with golden light. Harley spots a section of the wall that’s filled with loose rocks, tightly packed together with a thin stream of water slipping between them.

He swims over, Peter in quick pursuit, and they both claw at the rocks, pulling them out of the way.

But Peter didn’t have the time to take a breath before the water had risen over their heads, so his lungs are burning and his hands are too slow and uncoordinated as he pulls another rock out of the way.

He watches the rocks fall, the water turning into a waterfall as it rushes through the exit, before his vision goes dark.

It’s not long before he jerks awake, coughing up the bit of water he’d inhaled. He’s held against Harley’s chest, curled up in the mud right beside the water that he assumes Harley had pulled him out of.

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him as soon as he’s through with his coughing fit, and his fingers curl into Harley’s soaking wet shirt.

“That was insane,” Peter says, breath catching on another laugh, probably more hysterical than anything.

“You’ve got magic hair,” Harley replies.

“Yeah. Always have.”

“My little sister’s does too.” Harley’s arms tighten around Peter, chest still heaving for air. “I tried to cut it off when she was little, tried to make it normal, but nothing worked. That’s why Beck’s been trying to take her from me.”

Another person with magic hair, with powers, like him. Beck always told him he was the only one, that the city would think of him as a mutant, as a freak and they’d use him for their gain.

He doesn’t want to turn on Beck, he doesn’t want to know of the life Harley’s sister lives with the same powers, but he needs to know.

“Is she- Is she allowed this freedom?” he asks, voice quiet and weak. He’s always just blindly believed Beck, believed that the world was a scary place and that what Beck was doing was for Peter’s safety. But he never once mentioned Harley’s sister, he lied about Peter being the only one with powers.

Harley swallows thickly, looking over at the river. “Yeah. I’m her only guardian and I let her do whatever she wants to as long as she promises to be careful. The only one who’s ever tried to hurt her was Beck.”

Peter’s chest aches, mind blurring through all of the lies Beck told, all of the times he’d made Peter believe that he was alone, all of the times Beck told stories of the cruel world.

As much as he wants to ask Harley for advice, ask him how he’s ever supposed to go back to the way he lived after they see the lanterns, ask him if he’s meant to leave Beck, he can’t. Harley doesn’t like him. Harley’s only tolerating Peter for his own benefit.

So instead, he pulls himself out of Harley’s arms and drags himself to his feet, tucking his shaking hands into the pockets of his soaking wet overalls.

“We should keep moving,” he says, clearing his throat.

He kind of wants to cry. This was supposed to be a one time thing. Just a short trip to the city and back with Harley before he’d go back to accepting his life with Beck in their tower. But now?

Now he doesn’t even know whether or not Beck is a good guy. He doesn’t know who to believe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. And worst of all, he feels like he has nobody to turn to. He only knows two people to begin with, but he doesn’t know if he can trust either of them.

“Yeah, of course,” Harley murmurs, following Peter to his feet. His eyes narrow and his mouth is set in a frown, crossing his arms in a standoffish way like he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, like he wants to ask questions but doesn’t know if he can.

Peter sets off again, keeping a few feet ahead of Harley to hide the tears that threaten to spill.

Harley doesn’t say a word.

* “We should stop,” Harley says after a long few hours of walking silently through the forest. “Get some rest. We’re nearing the bridge to the city and we won’t be able to sleep there.”

He nods at the tree they’ve stopped at, where a picture of his face is pinned. A Wanted Poster.

“We’re almost there,” Peter argues. He’s upset and he’s tired and his chest is still aching, hands still trembling.

“The lanterns go up tomorrow night. There’s no point in going into the city until then.”

Harley reaches for Peter’s shoulder, probably to try to comfort him, but Peter moves away from the outstretched hand, digging his fingernails into his palms to try to stop the tears that are dangerously close to falling.

He offers a pathetic attempt at a smile, and nods. “Yeah, okay, we’ll spend the night here.”

“Peter-”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Peter mutters, finding them a clearing to set up. “Could you get us some firewood?”

Harley frowns, obviously wanting to say more, but he thinks better of it and turns away.

As soon as Harley’s out of sight, far enough away that Peter can’t even hear his footsteps in the crispy leaves, a shadowy figure appears just in Peter’s peripheral vision.

He spins around, eyes wide as he takes in the cloaked figure.

“What do you want?” He says, voice cracking and showing his fear. He can’t really protect himself. Harley might as well be the weapon, the only one capable of negotiating or running or fighting if they have to. Peter’s got nothing.

The shadowy figure steps into the barely-there light of the rising moon. He pulls his hood back and reveals his face. It’s Beck.

“Father?” Peter says, voice lifting an octave as nerves and fear flood through him. He had one rule to follow: stay in the tower. And yet, here he is, soaking wet, chest aching, and in the middle of the forest.

“I’ve been tracking your movements since you fought those guards a few miles back,” Beck says, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t think you’d run off at all, let alone run off with a criminal. You know that’s what he is, don’t you?”

Peter nods silently, tears threatening to spill as he shoves his shaking hands into his pockets.

His father takes a step forward, expression softening. “I’m sure you’ve had a good time skipping through the woods with a wanted criminal, but come home, honey. We can put this whole stupid trip behind us.”

“No!” he says, surprising even himself. “I think… I think he likes me.”

Peter expects anger, he expects Beck to lash out, to force him home, but none of it comes. Instead, Beck runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Likes you? He’s just using you, Peter. Once he gets this back, he’ll leave you.”

Beck tosses the satchel at Peter and it lands at his feet, crown glittering offendingly in the moonlight.

“How did you-”

“Give that to him, see how long he stays,” Beck says. His voice is soft, gentle, as he smooths back Peter’s damp curls. “And when he leaves you with what he wants, you can still come home. To me.”

Peter shakes his head, pulling away from Beck’s hands. He hates that Beck’s being nice. It just makes everything more confusing. He doesn’t want to be locked up in the tower but he can’t be sure that Harley won’t ditch him as soon as they’ve made good on their deal.

“He’s not going to leave me.”

Beck offers one final smile, sympathetic and worrying, and then he pulls his hood over his head and disappears into the shadow.

“Hey, darling?” Harley calls out. “Could you come help me with some of this?”

Peter hurries into motion, hiding the satchel behind a tree before hurrying over to help Harley build and light the fire to keep them warm and hopefully dry them before their trek to the city in the morning.

Soon enough though, Peter lies down in the grass, upset that the childish joy of feeling grass has faded away, and upset that he can’t seem to come up with any good solutions to all the problems this journey’s created.

He watches the moon rise into the sky, stars sparkling, as Harley finished up with the fire a few feet away, making sure they have enough wood to last them the night.

Eventually, Harley lies down beside Peter, just enough space between them that they don’t touch, but close enough that Peter can hear Harley’s heart.

“I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through, but this isn’t about the deal anymore,” Harley says, eyes tracing the sky. “I don’t care about you keeping your end of the bargain, I’m not doing this for that anymore. I’m doing this for you.”

“Why?” Peter voice breaks, and he lifts his shaking hands to press the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Why do you care? What’s so special about me?”

Harley turns his head to look at Peter. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Peter. You’re smart and you’re brave and you’ve just been dealt a lot of poor hands in your life, that’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admits quietly, looking over at Harley through his glassy eyes.

“I can’t make that decision for you, darling. For now, you can sleep and tomorrow we’ll see the lanterns, and then you can decide to do whatever your heart desires, whatever your next big dream is.”

Peter frowns because that doesn’t answer any of his questions, but it does help relieve some of the stress that had been tying his stomach in knots. He lets his hands fall away from his face and instead, he grabs Harley’s hand.

The thief intertwines their fingers, sending a grin at Peter before closing his eyes. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

And even though Peter doesn’t know what in the world he’s going to after tomorrow, even if he’s terrified that this isn’t going to live up to what he’s dreaming it’ll be, even if he’s scared that after tomorrow he’ll never see Harley again, he still closes his eyes with hopeful anticipation.

* Harley feels like his universe has flipped upside down as he spends the day with Peter in the city.

He’s rarely ever been in the city for good purposes, normally thieving or running from the royal guard or from Beck, he spends most of his free time at home on the edge of the city in their little shack they call home.

But this?

Not only is he helping Peter achieve his dreams of seeing the lanterns, he keeps doing things that surprises even him. He buys a loaf of bread for lunch with the few coins he has. He dances with Peter in townsquare with a few other civilians who either don’t recognize him from the wanted posters that litter the city or choose not to report him.

Harley even takes Peter to the library, explaining quietly that his mom used to read to the children at the library when Harley was little.

And Peter, who’s never seen the city before, is lit up like a star the whole day, grin never falling from his face.

There’s this nagging feeling in his chest that he tries his best to ignore because he finds himself staring blatantly at Peter all throughout the day. Watching him smile brightly or ramble excitedly about everything and anything or watching him dance around the townsquare to the folksy music, smile never leaving his face, laughing breathlessly when Harley trips over his own feet.

Either Peter doesn’t notice Harley’s stare, or he does but doesn’t realize what it means. Either way, Harley doesn’t stop staring. He doesn’t care if Peter sees or anybody else sees him, smiling back at Peter like he’s hopelessly in love.

There’s some anxiety that twists in his stomach. There’s still a good chance Peter’s only using him to leave the tower, and as soon as he’s seen the lights, he’ll make good on his end of the bargain and that’ll be it. There’s a chance that Peter won’t want to stay with him in the city. There’s a chance Peter will choose his tower and Beck over Harley and freedom.

“C’mon, I’ve picked a good spot,” Harley says, reaching out to loop his arm through Peter’s. There’s a flash of confusion that flickers over Peter’s expression, but before Harley can dwell on it, Peter’s grinning again.

“Lead the way, Harley!”

They walk out to the edge of the city where the boats are docked and Harley guides Peter to one of them, helping him into it before he slides in after.

Harley does the rowing while Peter looks around in the same childishly naïve way he had earlier. It’s hard for Harley to even imagine the kind of life Peter’s lived, cooped up without being allowed to leave ever.

Harley’s lived the opposite, growing a garden with Abbie near their home, going swimming in the ocean, running through the forest (away from royal guards, maybe, but still), campfires every weekend.

“Look!” Peter exclaims, attention turning to the sky as the first of the lanterns are raised, the emblem of the city, an upside down triangle in a circle, glowing bright.

He finds that he has a lot of these moments where Peter watches the world with his childlike wonder and Harley watches Peter.

“Here,” Harley murmurs. “I’ve got you another gift.”

From underneath his bench in the boat, he reveals the two lanterns he’d bought in the city earlier without Peter realizing.

Peter’s eyes widen and the browns of his irises are sparkling as lanterns begin to fill the sky around them. His cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink, and he’s sporting a wide smile like his days just keep getting better.

Harley’s never participated in the lanterns, not since the first year after his mom died and he took Abbie, just a baby at the time, out to see them. They couldn’t afford lanterns, but it was nice enough to watch. Sometimes, they’ll still sit out on the beach just beyond their cabin to watch them, but even then, it’s not really tradition.

“I figured you’d want to participate,” Harley says, offering a smile as he lights the lanterns and hands one of them to Peter who’s practically glowing with excitement.

Peter’s smile is one Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever forget as they lift their lanterns into the sky together. They watch as their lanterns join the thousandth of others that join the King and Queen’s in the sky above, lighting up the city.

“Listen,” Peter says, eventually. His hands are trembling, just enough that Harley notices, and the thief takes one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. “I was scared before, I didn’t think you’d bother sticking around once you had what you needed, but, the thing is, I’m not scared anymore, you know what I mean?”

From under his own bench, Peter lifts up Harley’s satchel. The one he’d taken when Harley had mistakenly stumbled into his tower to hide from the royal guards. The one that contained The Missing Prince’s Crown, the same crown that would feed him and Abbie for weeks.

But Harley doesn’t care. He doesn’t want the stolen crown, he doesn’t care about the deal they made. He cares about Peter. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it would be better if he didn’t.

“I’m starting to,” Harley says, pushing the satchel away.

Even if Harley grew up with all the freedom in the world, Harley never knew what it felt like to care. He only ever let himself care about Abbie, anybody else was too much of a hassle, there was too much to bargain.

But Peter grew up loving everything and anything, heart so full of love to give.

Harley’s starting to get it.

With his free hand, Harley cups Peter’s face watching the younger boy blush, a shy smile touching his face. Harley leans forward, recklessly uncaring about consequences.

Their lips are about to touch when Harley sees two figures on the land across from where they’d started. One of the figures points at Harley, crooking their finger.

Harley squints and he makes out both their faces. Beck and Abbie.

Abruptly, he pulls away from Peter, hands fumbling for the oars. “Sorry, I just- I remembered something. Got places to be, people to see, you know.”

It’s obvious that Peter doesn’t know and there’s hurt flashing in his eyes as he nods like he gets it.

But Harley doesn’t have the time to explain it all to Peter. As much as he was starting to like Peter and as much as he really did want to kiss him, Abbie comes before everything.

“Stay here,” Harley says, almost beggingly because as much as he’ll play it off as nonchalant, he doesn’t want to lose Peter to Beck. He doesn’t want Peter to go back to living, cooped up in that tower. He doesn’t want to stay goodbye. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

For good measure, he picks up the satchel. It doesn’t have much, but he hopes he can bribe Beck into giving Abbie back.

“What do you want?” Harley demands as soon as he’s out of earshot of the boat and Peter.

Beck steps out of the shadow, flipping a knife in his hand. “What I want is simple, Mister Keener. I want my kid back. The one that you took from me.”

“I didn’t take him. He asked me to show him to the city.” Harley barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He has to play it safe with Abbie on the line.

“Well, I have a feeling he’d choose you over me, and we can’t have that, can we? I need a magical child, so it’s either Peter or Abbie, Mister Keener. It’s your choice, really.”

And it’s unfair, it’s cruel to ask Harley to pick, and it’s worse that he knows who he has to pick. “What do you want me to do?”

Beck laughs coldly. “Take your precious satchel and take the boat back to the city. Turn yourself in to the guard. In return, I’ll send Abbie on her merry way and take Peter back to the tower with me.”

“And if I don’t?”

Beck snaps twice and two men show themselves from nearby. They’re both tall and broad, sporting the same cold smiles as Beck. “I’ll track you both down. I’ve got plenty of contacts within the city.”

“And what? You kill us?”

One of the men shrugs. His voice is low when he speaks, “Turn you in and keep the girl. I could use some extra cash with that hair.”

Harley squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw and nods. “Fine. You win, Beck. I’ll go.”

“Good. It was nice doing business with you, Mister Keener.”

*

Harley lied. He got on a boat the moment he got his stupid satchel back. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

Peter only had to make it a few miles into the forest, alone and hurt, before Beck found him, wrapped him up in his cloak and a warm hug, and escorted him the rest of the way back to the tower.

As much as Peter desperately wants to believe Harley, wants to believe that there had to be a reason behind Harley disappearing like he did, there’s no reason he should believe a criminal over his father, the one’s supposedly been trying to keep him safe for his entire life.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Peter,” Beck says when they make it back to the dark safety of the tower. “I really wish he was a good guy, but you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes so high. He’s just a criminal who wanted to sell that crown for money. He didn’t care about you, but I do. I care. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter tries to offer a grateful smile through the tears that fill his eyes. “I know. It still sucks.”

In an attempt to help, Beck reveals a box on the table. “I got you that paint you wanted. You’ve got enough to last you at least the year.”

It doesn’t make Peter feel even remotely better. Painting for the year, means that he’ll be in the tower for the year. Cooped up and trying to waste his time painting the walls.

But he sees the attempt at a peace offering. “I’m going to, um, head up to my room. I just want to be alone for a little bit?”

His father smiles gently and brushes back Peter’s curls. Peter can’t help but to miss Harley’s touches. “Of course. I’ll make you some dinner.”

Peter nods and tries to smile back before he ducks off to his room.

He collapses into his bed, trying to stifle his cries as best as he can in his pillow. Harley lied, he betrayed him, he made Peter feel like he really cared. And despite all that, Peter misses him.

His hands are shaking again so he stuffs them in the pockets of his dirty overalls, only to feel something.

A handkerchief. One that Harley had bought him in the city that morning. It’s just a simple blue cloth with the city’s symbol, an upside down triangle in a circle, embroidered into the center in gold.

He holds it up above his head, squinting at it through his tears.

A memory of a man with the same symbol on his shirt, smiling down at Peter. There’s a crown sitting on his head, a crown that looks remarkably similar to the one Harley had stolen.

Peter jerks, blinking up at the ceiling where the same symbols shine down on him, incorporated in all the paintings covering his room.

“That’s The Missing Prince, it’s what the lanterns are for,” Harley had said when he saw Peter looking at the mural. “He disappeared when he was a baby. The King’s still hoping he’ll make his return one day.”

“I’m going to keep you safe, il mio bambino.” It’s the King, the one in his memories.

Peter, clutching the square of fabric in his shaking hands, stumbles up to his feet. It’s the answer to all his questions, but he doesn’t know if it’s the answer he wants.

“I’m The Missing Prince,” he says out loud like it’ll make it feel real.

He remembers the story Harley told of the Missing Prince. How somebody had broken into the tower and stolen the prince right under everybody’s noses, how there were search parties for two years straight through the city and forest in search of the prince before The Queen decided if they hadn’t found him yet, they probably never would.

Peter remembers the stories and if he’s right about being the missing prince, that means Beck kidnapped him. That means all these years of being locked in the tower with Beck were so nobody would find him, not to keep him safe. It was for selfish reasons.

That means that maybe Harley was right all along. That means that he’s living with a villain.

He makes it out into the hallway when he sees Beck, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Is everything okay?” Beck says, the picture perfect caring father.

“I’m the missing prince,” Peter repeats, channeling as much confidence as he can. “Aren’t I?”

Peter’s seen Beck angry before. Normally when it had been too long since he’d used Peter’s powers for his own good, but never like this. He’d never seen Beck look this angry.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asks, glaring at Peter as he starts up the stairs towards him. “What did that criminal get into your head?”

“All this time,” Peter says, clenching his trembling hands into fists as he meets Beck halfway. “All this time, I was hiding from people who would abuse my power, but I should’ve been hiding from you.”

Beck rolls his eyes like Peter’s just a child throwing a stupid tantrum. “And where will you go? Your criminal can’t help you now.”

“What did you do to him?”

“He’s turned himself in to the guard,” Beck replies, voice sickly sweet. He reaches out and touches Peter’s hair. “He’s to be hanged for his crimes.”

Peter freezes, shock running him cold. Harley’s going to die.

The man he once called his father, once loved like family, smiles down at him cruelly, and Peter shoves him away, doesn’t want him touching Peter’s hair, doesn’t want him so close.

Beck stumbles and falls down the stairs into the vanity where the mirror shatters across the floor.

“No!” Peter shouts, frozen in place. “I won’t let you use my power anymore! I won’t let you keep me here!”

But Beck smiles coldly, picking himself up from off the floor. “You say that like you have a choice.”

* “Hey!” Harley shouts, uselessly trying to pull away from the hands on his arms. His wrists and ankles are cuffed, he’s being taken to his death, but all he really cares about is Peter.

Peter, the sweet naïve boy who just went home with an awful man. A liar. Somebody who threatened Abbie and forced Harley to turn himself in. All he cares about is needing to get Peter out of that tower and safe.

They drag him out into the dirt pit where his execution will take place. One of the royal guards starts reading the list of things he’s done, the majority of them thieving and resisting arrest, all of which he’s aware he’s done. He gets that they’re just following protocol.

“Wait,” Somebody calls out, voice calm and commanding.

Everybody turns their heads up to where the voice came from and there’s a collective gasp as they recognize the man standing tall in the stands.

The guards holding Harley’s arms drop to one knee, a sign of respect for the king that stands strong.

Other than the day of the lanterns, the King never makes appearances in public, leaving all of the responsibilities up to the Queen.

“I’m officially acquitting Mister Harley Keener of all charges,” Tony Stark says, expression never changing from the uncaring mask of the King. “I would like to speak with him.”

Harley doesn’t do much but stare at the King as his cuffs are all removed and he’s given a not-so-gentle shove towards the stairs out of the stadium.

“What? I don’t understand. Sir, not that I want to die, but I don’t deserve to be acquitted after I’ve done nothing but cause harm to your city,” Harley argues as soon as he gets up to face the King.

Up close, Tony is obviously unwell. He’s pale and the dark circles under his eyes tell a story of their own. He looks wearily at Harley like he couldn’t be bothered to try to explain his thought process.

But he sighs and beckons Harley to follow as he starts walking. “A certain someone showed up at the castle gates demanding to be heard. She’s well-known around the city.”

“Abbie.” Harley doesn’t need to think twice. There are not many people who would vouch for him. The list had been up to two people as of yesterday, but he assumes Peter hates him too after what went down.

The King smiles. “Yes. She was quite the character. Down to earth, but the most stubborn person I’d ever met. She said you’d been stealing food for her, and you pawned off all the jewelry you took from the castle for food as well. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

Harley has no idea how to answer a question like that. “I’m sorry about your son. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”

“That’s actually what I’m here to ask you about,” Tony continues, leading them towards the bridge that connects to the forest. “I know you’re one to do a lot of travelling to make your money and to stay away from my guards. You’re quick on your feet, obviously a smart guy.”

“You want me to find him, don’t you?”

There’s already some thought that it could be Peter. It would be fair to assume as much. Same first name, same magic. But Abbie has magic too, he can’t jump to conclusions. Not with something this important.

Tony offers another weary smile. “I would forever be in your debt. I know it’s been eighteen years, but… I just need closure.”

“Take care of my sister, would you?”

As soon as Tony nods, Harley takes off into the forest, only one thing on his mind.

* Peter flinches when he hears Harley call out.

He’s alive, at least, but he won’t be for long if he does this.

“Peter!”

The prince listens to the sound of Harley scaling the side of the tower, unable to do more than make muffled cries through the gag in his mouth.

Harley lands on the ground, eyes widening at the sight of Peter, chained to the ground and gagged. He’s sure he’s bruised, right eye swelling shut and blood filling his mouth, but he doesn’t care. He just wants Harley to run and never look back if it keeps him safe.

There’s nothing he can do but cry as Beck steps out from the shadows behind Harley and plunges the knife into Harley stomach.

The blood spreads almost instantly, flowering out on the front of Harley’s dirty shirt.

Peter sobs, pulling uselessly at the chains that hold him down. If Peter had never asked Harley to take him to the city, if he’d followed Beck’s rules, maybe Harley would still be okay. He could’ve lived out his life, however long, with Abbie.

Instead, he’s going to bleed out in this awful tower that’s built on nothing but lies.

“Look at what you’ve done, Peter,” Beck tsks, tossing the knife to the floor carelessly. He crosses the room to grab Peter’s chains, pulling him towards the trapdoor that leads out of the tower. “We’re leave and I’m going to take you somewhere where nobody will ever find you again.”

Peter lets out a muffled shout, pulling at his chains and fumbling to get to Harley who’s fallen to the ground, curled up and bleeding.

“Stop fighting me,” Beck mutters, yanking Peter backwards, hard enough that his gag comes loose.

“I’ll never stop fighting you!” Peter cries. “I will never stop trying to get away from you. Unless you let me heal him. Please, if you let me heal him, I’ll go with you. I won’t run, I won’t fight. I’ll be what you want me to be, just let me heal him.”

Harley groans out a muffled argument, but it falls on deaf ears.

Rolling his eyes, Beck grabs another set of chains to match Peter’s, and after making sure Peter’s secure, Beck ties Harley to one of the support beams among the broken glass.

“Just so you don’t get any ideas,” Beck hisses, making sure the chains are tight around Harley.

As soon as his chains are loosened, Peter hurries right to Harley’s side, carefully pulling his shirt up to assess the wound.

“Don’t,” Harley wheezes, pushing Peter’s hands away.

“I can’t let you die.” Peter’s voice breaks and he tries his best to keep his tears at bay. It’s for the best.

Harley’s glassy eyes meet Peter and through his coughs, he lifts one of his hands to cup Peter’s cheek. “You’ll die if you go.”

Peter tries his best to smile reassuringly through his tears. “I have to do this.”

Harley opens his mouth to argue when Peter’s hand closes over a piece of sharp glass and he holds it up, turning to crouch protectively between Harley and Beck.

“You can’t win if we both die,” Peter says, eyes wide and glass trembling in his grip, digging into his palm.

“Darling, please-” Harley chokes out, reaching out to stop Peter.

But Peter doesn’t dare look back, keeps his attention on Beck’s cold gaze. That’s why, he doesn’t see Harley grabbing the bloody knife from the floor.

Without a second thought, Harley throws the knife with the last of his energy.

Beck doesn’t have the time to react and the knife hits it’s mark in the center of his chest. He sinks to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

“Harley!” Peter gasps, dropping the glass and grabbing Harley’s shoulders. Harley’s eyes are closed already. Harley died for him. “Please, please no. You can’t have him. Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine.”

When nothing happens, when the wound doesn’t heal like it was supposed to, Peter gives in to the tears and he leans his forehead against Harley’s chest as he cries. His power can heal wounds, it can keep people young, but it can’t bring people back to life. There’s an extent to his power.

“Bring back- Bring back what once was mine,” Peter whispers again, voice breaking as more tears spill down his cheeks onto Harley’s shirt. “Please.”

And then, like a miracle, Harley sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering open.

“Harley!” Peter breathes, eyes widening as the golden magic swirls in the air around them, and they watch as Harley’s wound stitches itself back up. His magic might not be able to bring people back to life, but love is a special kind of magic.

The prince throws his arms around Harley’s neck, tucking his face in the crook of Harley’s shoulder as he tries to get a hold of his crying. Harley’s arm wraps around his waist, and he presses a kiss to Peter’s temple.

“We’re okay, darling,” he murmurs, hugging Peter close like he’ll never let him go again. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it’s not okay. Not really. They’re covered in blood, Harley killed a man, the same man that stole Peter’s childhood from him. The same man who’d stolen the past eighteen years of his life and kept him hidden in a tower when Peter could’ve been with his parents.

“You were my new dream,” Peter admits, hands curling into Harley’s shirt. “After the lanterns, you were- All I wanted was you. You were my new dream.”

“And you were mine,” Harley says, sighing in relief and pressing his lips to Peter’s forehead.

It��s not okay, but they’ve got each other and that’s all that mattered.

* “I’m scared,” Peter says, squeezing Harley’s hand. He’s yet to heal himself, yet to change out of the same pair of overalls he’d been wearing since the beginning of their adventure which are dirty and bloodstained and ripped. He knows he must look like a disaster, but Harley smiles at him like he’s the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“It’s going to be okay,” Harley replies, squeezing Peter’s hand back. He’s said that a lot since they left the tower a few hours earlier.

Harley pushes open the doors to the castle where the King and Queen are waiting.

Peter remembers the King. He remembers his dad, even if it is only a single memory.

“Peter?” he says, eyes widening and jaw dropping. He crosses the room slowly as if moving too fast will make Peter disappear.

“Hi, Dad,” Peter says, blinking back tears.

His dad’s there immediately, drawing him into a warm hug, the kind of hug Beck never gave him, and kissing the crown of his head. “Il mio bambino.”

And then his mom is there, hugging from behind and holding him just as lovingly. Peter’s knees buckle at the sheer amount of love he feels, the relief of finally being reunited with his parents, and they all sink to the floor, drawing in close.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harley with his arm around a girl’s shoulders, a girl who he assumes is Abbie, both of them pretending to give the family space.

But Peter reaches his hand out, offering a watery smile, and when Harley takes it, he pulls the two of them into the hug.

“You’re part of our family now too,” Peter says certainly, smiling so wide he thinks his face will break. He’s only had this family for sheer minutes, but it already feels so much better, warmer, more loving, than Beck and the tower had ever been.

At last, Peter sees the light. It’s warm and real and bright. The world has shifted.

Now that he has them.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @tonystarkweneedyou {Let me know if you want to be removed or added}

[alien-rainbow]

The Princes Of The North and South (2/3)

Solangelo fic, Royalty AU, kinda sad ending, kinda not, Will is betrothed to Bianca 

Word Count: 1,925

Will woke early the next morning to someone ripping open the curtains in his room. Will covered his hand with his arm and groaned not expecting the queen to be the one to wake him.  

"Wake up William," Kalliope scolded turning around to glare at her husband's son. "You will bathe, get dressed in the clothes that will be laid out for you, and meet your siblings and me in the throne room within the hour," with that the queen turned quickly and strode out of the room. Will sighed and pulled himself from the bed and into one of the rooms that branched off from the main area witch held his bed and a large wardrobe. Will pulled off the nightgown and slipped into the warm rose-scented water and took a deep breath. The queen scolded him when he scented his baths but the servants had noticed that he loved the sweet sents. Thought they made an effort to sip something in when the queen wasn't watching.

"Thank you," Will said hoping that whoever's idea it was was still in the room.

"Your welcome," someone responded, Will turned to see Lou Ellen Blackstone smiling down at his as she wiped her wet hands on the edge of her apron. She then grabbed a pitch of warmed water and walked over to Will and poured it over his hair then began to rub something into massaging his scalp. Will felt his shoulders relax in part because of the bath and because of Lou's soft humming. Will could not sing to save his life and he knew it. But he could, Will though thinking again of the boy from ten years ago. He sang like an angel, Will remembered. 

Will ran through the huge castle, he and the raven-haired boy had run off after being scolded by one of the older kids. They were skipping through the rooms gazing at all shinny rooms. Then they came to a small room that was soaked in moonlight that was coming in through a huge window. A piano sat in the middle of the room with a single candle on a stand next to it sending eerie shadows across the room. Will's father had tried to teach him to play but Will wasn't any good. Will turned to leave when the boy grabbed him and pulled him towards the piano. 

"I can play you something!" The boy said excitedly as he let go of Wills's hand and sat down on the bench. "I only know a little bit of it though," the boy looked away sheepishly. 

"I bet you're amazing!" Will said anyone who could play the piano was amazing compared to him.

"It's my mama and sister's song. Mama sang it to -------- and ------- and mama both sing it to me when I can't fall asleep." the boy smiled brightly at will before placing his hands and the keys. He sings, looks, and plays like an angel! Will though as the boy began to play.

“Tu sei il mio soldatino    

la ragione per cui vivo 

Non ti scordar di mi

io veglieró su di te”

Will sat there stunded, the song was short but beautiful even if Will had no idea what it meant. Will heard his father call his name saying it was time to go. He looked back at the boy to see him frowning slightly. 

"Do you have to go?" the boy wined, 

"Yea... My dad doesn't like to ask twice," Will frowned, he had only spent a few hours with the boy but he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. "Well, I should go," Will said sadly and turned to leave only for the kid to run up to him and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. Will stood there stunned, his first kiss had been from this really pretty and perfect boy. Will was about to say something when he heard his dad call again. Instead of saying anything to the shorter boy, he placed a kiss on the boy's lips. Will could taste the sweet chocolate from the fountain on the boy's pink lips. By then they were both smiling like idiots, one because of the kisses and also because Will was being a rebel by making his dead wait. Will then turned and ran towards the sound of Apollo's voice while waving back at the boy. Wills smile didn't leave his face until they left the next afternoon, and little did Will know, the ravenett felt the same. 

Will couldn't remember the name of his sister, the meaning of the lyrics of anything of use. It annoyed him that the helpful information was the things he could not remember. Will was snapped back into reality when Lou dumped a small pitch of ice-cold water down his back. Will hissed and turned to glare at the girl though she didn't seem phased. Most people described him mad as a kitten bearing its claws and letting out an adorable high pitched meow. 

"You must get ready quickly today your highness," Lou said dryly, his mother would have been scandalized to see how Will was treated by her but Will had known her forever and was friends with the girl, though neither of them acted like it around others. Will stepped out of the bowl and as Lou wrapped a large towel around him. Will walked back into his bedroom and saw his outfit laid out on the bed. 

"It looks like someone murdered the sun," Lou said turning her head to the side to try and find an angle where the ridiculously gold outfit didn't burn your eyes. 

"Let's get this over with," Will said as he ruffled up his hair to dry it and began to slip into the gold garments with Lou's help. With the outfit on it didn't look as bad. Lou took a step back to regard him with careful eyes. 

"Cape," she said flicking up her finger then walked over to the large wardrobe and pulled out a black cape made from dark animal furs that contrasted well with the bright gold and yellow from the suit. "That's better," Lou said smiling at the prince. "Now it looks like you are the sun and not a murderer." Will laughed at the girl's bold but accurate statement. 

Lou opened the large wooden doors to allow Will to walk through them then she turned and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen while Will turned the opposite way towards the throne room. Six guards had been placed outside his door the night before, four of them flowed him while the other two stayed stationed at the door. Will walked through the cold halls that hadn't yet had the time to be warmed by the sun that streamed in through the windows, the walls were speckled with intricate paintings of the royal members of the family from past years, landscapes, and other beautiful pieces of art.

Two guards outside of the throne room open the large wooden doors on the side of the throne room, to allow Will through. Two of the guards positioned themselves outside of the room while two followed him into the room. Luckily Cecil was always one of the guards who would follow him into rooms. The doors slammed shut behind him sending a draft of air at Will messing up his hair, which, in turn, made the frown on the queen's face deepen. She took a watch out of the folds of her skirts and frowned even deeper when she realized that he wasn't late meaning that she couldn't reprimand him. After gazing at him with loathing for a few beats she turned away from him and stared at the door where their guests would be entring any minute. 

Will then walked to stand on the side of the smaller throne that the queen sat on. She had left Apollo's throne empty saying that she would never take his place. Though she hated Will, she had loved his father with all of her body, heart, and soul. Wills stood alone on the left while his siblings lined up by age stood on the other side of the queen. Eriopis looked extremely uncomfortable at being placed the closest to the queen. Will made eye contact with his sister over his mother's head and gave her a small reassuring smile. Eriopis couldn't help but smile back at her younger brother. Will's happiness had always been contagious. 

The two eldest siblings head snapped back to attention when the words opened and a line of guards filed into the room. They had on all black armor compared to the grays and golds of Papadopoulos. They also all had on wool and fur clocks covered with snow but they didn't seem to be at all bothered by the cold. The guards open ranks to reveal the King and Queen of Olympus. King Hades had a stern and clod looking face that would make anyone start shaking in their boots while his wife queen Persephone, the Prinses step-mother, was gentle and smooth but had been known to be forced to recond with if made angry. The father looked incredibly familiar though he couldn't finger out where he had seen him before. 

"Welcome to Papadopoulos," Kalliope said sanding up and inclining her head to the rulers of Olympus. Will and his siblings followed her lead by bowing shallowly. Kalliope smiled kindly at them, hiding the hatred that was bubbling below the surface. Though judging by the look on Hades's face, he could see right through her and made it quite clear he wasn't pleased. Queen Persephone eased the tension by thanking Kalliope for her kindness and they made small talk and tried to ignore the fact that the princess was not here yet. King Hades cut through the small talk and answered the question they had all been thinking.  

"Bianca and Nico will be here shortly, I hope you don't mind that we have brought my son with us?" Nico, Will thought, that name also sounded extraordinarily familiar. King Hades's comment wasn't exactly a question and Kalliope was in shock at the statement. The queen didn't like things being changed last minute. 

"No, of course not your majesty," Will said attempting to clear the air that was thick with tension. Just as he said that the doors opened and two people walked in. The princess had olive skin and dark brown eyes that sparkled. Her long dark brown hair fell to her waist. She had on a silver dress and had a tiara nestled into her hair. She was definitely pretty but her brother made Will's jaw drop and his brain short circuit. He was paler than his sister and his hair was so much darker than hers it appeared black. It was brushed back and seemed to be held in place with lots of gel. He had on a form-fitting charcoal suit and a black wool cape hung over one shoulder. He had the same look like his father though instead of staring at the queen, he was staring directly at him. Will's breath caught as he realized who the boy was, at the same the ravenett's eyes widened and his eyebrows shoot up. 

"Hi, I'm Nico!" the smaller boy said smiling brightly and sticking out his hand. "I'm here with my big sister Bianca, my mama and my papa. We're from Olympus, well technically we live in the big city, Pluto! Who are you?"

(Song link)

[selenacosmic]

Siren’s song

Gender: Romance, siren AU.

Suitor: Mitsuhide.

It was a beautiful day outside to just enjoy yourself on the beach, relax from all your problems. Well, not for mitsuhide. He doesn’t have time to just stop and relax when there’s so much to do. His part to play in the unification of Japan was important, his job was to caught any person who was against his lord ambition and it’s ready to rebel against him. He needed to do that for the own good of the country, even if it means being seen as the villain. He couldn’t care less about his reputation, it was for a greater good. Perhaps deep inside he wished things were different, that people didn’t have to hide behind a mask, but ironically he was the one who hid behind one the most. Right now he had an encounter with one of the rebels who were against Nobunaga’s ambition, he needed to pretend to be part of the plan to caught the pig on action.

“I will see you tonight at the devil’s manor, mitsuhide.” The rebel said with a wicked smile.

“I suppose you will. Farewell then.” The fox smiled widely, biding goodbye to the enemy. The beach was quite desert that day, only he walked on the soft sand. He knew he was being followed though. His steps were calm and slow, he needed to give the impression that he didn’t know anything. But of course, he couldn’t go back to castle now, he knew that his follower would try something on the way back.

Mitsuhide could take the rebel down very easily, but now was not the time to do so, the culprit had ninjas after all. Outnumbered he couldn’t do much. That’s why he needed to find a new path to confuse the ninja and bait him into a trap. And that he did. Instead of going straight to the exit of the beach he turned right on a place full of rocks, big and small. It was perfect. The fox waited with a hand on his gun, prepared for anything. Well, perhaps not for anything. He saw something on the sea, it was close to the tides, it was something so...beautiful. He didn’t believed his eyes for a moment, but he was very sure he wasn’t hallucinating. There was a beautiful woman sitting on a flat rock, he couldn’t see more than here face and torso. She was covering her plump breasts with a strange looking clothe. What was a little girl doing alone on the beach, looking so tempting? He didn’t had time to think, the ninja was behind him, ready to attack. The snake didn’t hesitate to take his gun from his waist and shot the man before he could react, he didn’t took his eyes off of you though. The loud sound reached your ears, scaring you immediately. He saw you search for the person who made the sound. Heh, how entertaining it was to see such a pretty face scared. His amusement was short as he saw you jumping into the water, now that was a strange reaction.

He could only think that you were too naive to jump into the water and think you will be safe, he looked at the dead body behind him, abandoning it to search for you and take you to safety. He walked carefully through the rocks until he reached the one that you were sitting. You couldn’t have gone too far.

“Come out, little girl. I can assure you that I am not of concern to you.” His voice didn’t hide the amusement he felt though, he knew you couldn’t be completely inside the water, you could run out of air. Then why it didn’t seemed like you heard him?

His smile disappeared for a moment as he looked at the clear water, trying to see where you were. He felt himself getting relieved when he saw you put your head out of the water to look at him, getting a scared look on your eyes. Mitsuhide just watched as you put your hands on the rock for support, showing your beautiful face. He crouched to your level, getting hold of a lock of your hair, that startled you. He laughed lowly, caressing your head to calm you.

“I see you are a very scared one, a little mouse.” He couldn’t help but compare you to the scared little animal.

“...what did you called me?” Did this guy just called you a rat? Because you were very offended. You heard him laugh again, taking away his hand from your head to your chin, adjusting your face so he could see your face better. Ah, you were indeed very charming, quite ease to tease, and your voice was quite melodic. He just found something that would amuse him a lot.

“You tremble like one, flee like one. It’s a very fitting name.” He let go of you, getting a more serious face. Intimidating. “What are you doing alone on this place? Wearing almost nothing.” You were suspicious, perhaps a distraction that the rebel made to bait him? If so, it didn’t stopped him to kill his little minion.

“I...can’t tell you. Why should I even tell you anyway?” Very bold of you to talk to him like that.

“You are suspicious. What are your intentions here?” He caught your arm to lift you from the water, only to find his eyes widen from what he saw. You weren’t just a woman, where your legs should be was a fish tail. The scales were a bright blue against the sun, what in the world? The moment you were completely off the water, the strange tail disappeared, making your legs show up. For a second he couldn’t find words to describe the shock, only to recover shortly after.

“Perhaps I was wrong to call you a little mouse. You are similar to a little fish.” His mask was back, he let go of your arm to get a better look at your whole. Your entire body was beautiful, your two precious parts getting covered. You looked at him in horror.

“Please...don’t tell anyone you saw me! It’s too dangerous for me!” You pleaded with a scared expression, making him chuckle.

“Very well, but with only one condition.” He enjoyed teasing you, you were so naive, so innocent. Even if you didn’t asked him that he would never truly say to anyone what he saw. Of course, he wouldn’t ask much from you. “Come back to this same spot in two days, I will be waiting for you.”

“What...? Oh, okay! I promise to be here!” Your confidence was adorable, your face all flushed as he scanned your body.

“Very well then, I should leave the little fish and go.” He started to walk so he could go back to the land through the rock path. When he passed you, his arm snaked around your waist, caressing your hips. “Be careful, little fish, there are bad figures who would love to capture a pretty little thing like you.” He whispered in your ear, letting go of you with a chuckle, your blushing face is adorable. With his back facing you, he continued to walk away to the beach, he could hear the sound of water splashing, meaning you were gone. He gave the place you were standing seconds before a final glance with a fox-like smile, how very amusing indeed. Mitsuhide was certain he would have fun with you.

Fin?

Hello! Just passing by to say that the next one is masamune!

[ghoste-catte]

⭐️ for You Love A Stone please? About anything!! :D

Aaah yay!! You Love a Stone is probably my favorite or 2nd favorite thing I’ve ever written, so I’m super excited to have a chance to gush about it. 

My original framework for the story was always 3 parts, based on the Okkervil River song, “A Stone”.  I originally stumbled across Okkervil River in a record shop in my hometown. I picked up the album Black Sheep Boy out of the pre-owned CD rack because of the cover art and the lyrics booklet, despite knowing nothing about how the band sounded, because something about the art just ... spoke to me and who I was at the time. A Stone quickly became a favorite of mine, because, while on the surface it’s about loving a girl who’s still in love with her dead boyfriend, in many ways it’s about loving someone who’s out of reach, or incapable of love. Maybe TMI, but especially as a high schooler, that was a notion that was really evocative to me ... I remember a lot of late nights, driving home in the rain, taking the corners on the rural back roads way too fast, scream-crying along with these lyrics, because I didn’t think I was someone who was capable of love. (I’m okay now. Therapy is a good thing.)

But anyway, I’ve been obsessed with that song for like ... well over a decade at this point, and it always seemed to me like something that could be spun into an AU, even back then. I just didn’t have the mental space to do the idea justice at the time. My original idea honestly was something to do with Sakura or Hinata, because of the whole “princess who turns away all her suitors in favor of a vagabond who left her one rose” thing, but then I sort of hit my fanfic niche and the ultimate concept became GaaLee. 

The first draft of the fic included the characters having magic abilities in each setting, something that I’m glad I left out, because I like them better as just ... ordinary people, going about their lives, and the only aspect of magic being the reincarnation cycle. For example, in an early draft of chapter 2, Lee met Gaara because he was showing off with magic sand as part of a courtship ritual. Likewise, in the final chapter, Gaara pulled Naruto’s chair out from under him with sand, rather than his foot. The mundane magic idea ended up spun into Heliotrope, another fic I wrote around the same time. 

The original conceit also was a lot more Western-centric. The middle chapter, which ended up set in the Edo period, was much more a kings/queens/castles Western medieval fantasy-type deal, but I had been reading a lot of meta about the ... Americanization (?) of anime canons in modern AUs, and so I ended up deciding to stick with a Japanese setting. I’m glad I did, and I think the fic is stronger and more unique for it, but oh my god did I end up having to do so much research. I did not know really anything at all about Edo Period Japan outside of like ‘samurai were A Thing’ prior to sitting down to write, so every time I had a thought about a sentence, I then had to think through: Okay, but is that something that feasibly would have happened? Is this breaking some major cultural mores I don’t know about? There’s probably still some of that in the fic, but hopefully there’s less. For example, in the original draft, Lee was a Buddhist monk instead of a Shinto priest, but monks have a lot fewer things they’re allowed to do and I didn’t want to go the whole ... religious figure breaks his vows for gay sex angle, because that felt kinda disrespectful. Finding information about Shinto funeral rites was especially challenging, because in modern-day Japan funerals are completely Buddhist in nature (Shinto priests aren’t supposed to deal with death because it’s unclean), so I ended up going deeeep into the literature to find historical accounts of Shinto funerals pre-Meiji Restoration. Thank god for Google Scholar. 

Likewise with the last chapter, my original thought for a modern AU was that they would both have grown up in foster care, and I intended to have them meet at something like a disciplinary/behavioral ed school. I thought this would be much quicker and easier for me to write, because I’m very familiar with the American foster care and educational system. Turns out, after a bit of research, that there really isn’t anything like the American foster care system in Japan, there’s mostly state institutions and kinship care. So I ended up having to scrap basically my whole first draft of the third chapter and rewrite it from the ground up to fit an institutional setting. Fortunately this wasn’t quite as much of a jump as from Western medieval setting to Edo-period Japan, but it was still a lot of revision. I ended up watching a very interesting short documentary and reading a ... 200-something page Human Rights Watch report about state institutional care in Japan (You can read it here, warnings obviously for child abuse and neglect) before I felt comfortable proceeding. Little things that bring a story to life, like what kind of flowers bloom at a certain time of year, what the temperature is like and how the air smells, what people eat and what they wear, are really important to get accurate or close to accurate, so I’m always looking for little things like that, and first-hand narratives and video are a great way to get those little details. I also read and watched a lot of material about homelessness in Japan, runaways, and emancipation. It was surprisingly hard to find information about people who don’t follow a typical path of high school -> college -> working a white-collar job, and I had to flex my (very rusty) Japanese skills to turn up some of the material. 

Lee in the final chapter was really an interesting challenge to write, because he was so much more wounded than Lee is in canon. A big part of my decision to write Lee this way was based on research into Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) and resiliency. In canon, Lee goes through a lot of hardship, but he has a mentor--Gai-sensei--who insulates him from a lot of his trauma. Research shows that children who have just one “safe” adult figure in their lives are much less likely to suffer the adverse effects of childhood trauma or to grow up to have PTSD. In the modern AU, Lee doesn’t have this, and he’s grown up without a single stable adult caregiver, just a rotating cast of paid adults.This is why he calls Naruto and Sasuke by their last names, because it doesn’t feel safe to him to become their friends, despite ostensibly knowing them for years. Gaara, on the other hand, is the more open one in the final chapter--after all, he grew up in a relatively intact home until recently, despite the abuse--and that’s why he befriends them and calls them by their first names, because he doesn’t have the same walls up.

Lee also has symptoms of ADHD and dyslexia in chapter 3. I often write modern AU Lee with dyslexia, because it seems a good allegory for his canon disabilities, in that it means he has to work much harder to do the things that his peers take for granted, and some of them he can’t do at all, which makes people think he’s not as smart as he actually is.

Thanks for the opportunity to talk about this fic! Like I said, it’s probably one that I hold closest to my heart. Sorry about the length!!

Ask me for the Director’s Cut of a specific story/scene/set of lines or send me a star to have me give a behind-the-scenes peek into a story of my choice!

[accessible-tumbling]

[Image ID:]

Tweet by Dr Sophie Duncan, user name @ClamorousVoice:

Twitter, what's the weirdest ever Shakespeare-in-performance interpretative choice/production aesthetic you've ever seen? I want WEIRD, please and thank you.

Tweet by Jenny Colgan, user name @JennyColgan:

A three person Henry V performed on a cart going round and round continuously in a circle. Loved it.

Tweet by Anna Reeve, user name @CyprioTartLeeds:

Student production of Hamlet, part video footage of Ophelia in bath, part squeaky-voiced glove puppets. Took hours to get half way through plot, then they just stopped ('I'm afraid that's all we've got time for…').

Tweet by John-Paul Spiro, user name @JohnPaulSpiro:

Pig Iron production of Measure: set in a morgue, Duke as mad scientist, rest of the cast naked animated corpses.

Tweet by Catherine Quirk, user name @Quirk_Catherine:

'King Lear with Sheep'! (This seems to be my answer to everything?)

Tweet by Natasha Simonova, user name @Philistella:

It's a crowded field but I'll go with Macbeth in a bouncy castle (Banquo played by an inflatable throughout).

Tweet by Louise Geddes, user name @ThisbysMantte:

Elevator Repair Service Measure for Measure. They decided the aesthetic was all about the exploration of speed and for the life of me, I still can't figure out why.

Tweet by Pete Olympian, user name @PeteOlympian:

Hamlet as almost-improv. Asked the audience to bring props, and Fortinbras was basically a duck.

Tweet by Patrick, user name @PatrickCragg:

Measure for Measure at the Young Vic, for most of the production the stage was covered (like, PILED UP) with inflatable sex dolls. Mariana appeared on stage via a screamed rendition of You Oughta Know.

Tweet by Jack Orchard, user name @Jarona7:

I saw a Macbeth on a minimalist set consisting only of a clothes horse - the only characters were Macbeth and lady Macbeth - who were in their pants - all other characters were rag dolls, and their dialogue was delivered as a high pitched squeak by Macbeth, wobbling the dolls

Tweet by Jenny Hallelujah, user name @JennyHaricot:

Seems tame compared to some of these but I once played Julius Caesar as Margaret Thatcher. I can still do quite a convincing impression.. We did Cinna the Poet as Morrissey… The scene change music, I must say, banged.

Tweet by Rose Sorooshian, user name @Jenaneter:

Hamlet done as a musical using Prince songs. The story was cut up so dramatically that it was pretty unintelligible, but the disco lighting was pretty fun.

Tweet by MyEntertainmentWorId, user name @MyEntWorld:

Illuminati Macbeth for sure. Though Titus with aliens and drag Lear were up there in terms of big swings. Ooh and Julius Caesar as PTA housewife drama. Some of these things even worked. Others… did not.

Tweet by Katarina, user name @Shweedie:

A Midsummer Nights Dream set in a vampire night club. Recommended from 15 years, lots of oral sex, biting, and blood. Stage covered in water. Puck was a doll handled by an actor and all the mechanicals were condensed into the character Bottom, a werewolf. Weird enough? 😂

Tweet by Rebecca Leiner, user name @RebeccaLener:

12th Night but instead of ending in marriage, the twins strip and face the audience for 2 full minutes completely naked then walk off stage and everyone else stares at the audience in a line for another minute before exiting.

Tweet by Emily, user name @Memilies:

I saw a two-person production of Macbeth. staged in a medieval leper colony near Cambridge. all the other characters were played by plastic baby dolls, and Lady Macbeth would do the, "voices". It was like something out of a dream.

Tweet by Aaron Vincent, user name @Pylatle1779:

A Midsummer Night's Dream directed by Miguel Narros at the Centro Cultural de la Villa, Madrid, in 2003, set in what appeared to be an empty swimming pool entirely lined with white fur.

Tweet by Kyle Smith, user name @KyleSmith46:

Saw a Romeo and Juliet where the entire black box was covered in sand. Director justified it by Saying it represented the human condition.

Tweet by M.C.Hawk, user name @MCHawk:

A walking production of (I think) Much Ado in some old Victorian cellars. It came with a free workout as the actors kept getting on bikes & the entire audience would have to jog after them to the next scene.

Tweet by Dr Lucy Bradnock, user name @LucyBradnock:

Macbeth set in a Hare Krishna colony. Still haven't got over it.

Tweet by Steph Collins, user name @StephCollins20:

Hamlet at the Deutsche National Theater in Weimar, Started off v. apocalyptic, w/ orange jumpsuits & gas masks, got a little naked, Horatio played the cello whilst delivering a monologue from the Hamlet Machine. Ghost dressed in horse harness. Fortinbras was a drone.

Tweet by Conor O'Sullivan, user name @Conor610:

I just directed a Tempest where at the end the spirits interrupted Prospera, stole some of her lines, pushed her off the stage into the audience, took off the masks they'd been wearing the whole show, and said and signed "Free" in a variety of languages as a Sigur Ros song played

Tweet by Rachel, user name @PaceAmoreLibri:

Twelfth Night where most of the cast is period appropriate and then Fabian is inexplicably portrayed as a surfer bro

Tweet by Greg Loring-Albright @GregIsOnTheGo:

I once played in a marching band that performed a score composed entirely of songs by The Kinks for a MacBeth performed in the woods.

Tweets by Thom, user name @ManOnThe100:

Ah, Macbeth as Dave Gahan in the Personal Jesus video, who delivered all his speeches to an open mic that lowered from the ceiling, wrestling-style. There were three water troughs at the front of the stage, one of which was dyed red and used in any murders.

At one point, coat racks were lowered into the troughs, then raised, to simulate rain. The side wall would come in at random, and Lady Macbeth would write on it in chalk. The stage was full of chairs in heaps. The final battle involved the actors throwing shoes onto the stage.

Tweet by Concetta Sidoti, user name @ConcettaSidoti:

Julius Caesar, in which Julius Caesar was played by a chair.

[End IDs]

Shakespeare dramatists have zero chill:

(x)

[tomoreadsandlistens]

Alone in Our Castle Sung by Olivia Lufkin

“Alone in our castle Alone in everything we have I’ll never see your face the way it is In our castle”

   2006 was a great time for JPop, at least in the anime industry. Four great artists named Anna Tsuchiya, Yuna Ito, Mika Nakashima, and Olivia Lufkin, were at their prime in popularity thanks to a manga series called NANA by Ai Yazawa. Before the anime came out in 2006, the year before had came out with part 1 of the movie version of NANA that hyped up really fast, and featured Yuna Ito and Mika Nakashima providing the theme songs for the movie. The anime was released shortly after the fact and its popularity skyrocketed. Not only was the anime fantastic but the opening/ending theme songs are some of the BEST music to have come out in anime for its time. To this day I still have the theme songs on repeat and memorized.    Thanks to NANA I was able to look into the two artists in particular that sang the theme songs; Olivia Lufkin and Anna Tsuchiya. I took the time to listen to all of their songs and I don’t regret it one bit. But considering the two artists, Olivia hands down has some of the best vocals and sounds that could exist in music. I consider very few artists to have an angelic sound to their vocal range, Olivia Lufkin is absolutely one of them. It is never a dull moment for me whenever I listen to her songs on repeat; it gives me chills every single time. Olivia Lufkin is an artist that I don’t hesitate to recommend to my friends even if they don’t listen to music in Japanese. Whenever I drive with my friends I always make sure Olivia is on my playlist. I never skip a song each time she comes on. The best feeling is when any of my friends really enjoys a song by Olivia and rocks out to her with me.

First Listen:    I’m almost certain “Wish” from NANA was the first song I ever heard by Olivia. Before I even watched the anime I downloaded any song from NANA since I was already a fan of the manga, and man am I so glad I did. The grungy, rock sound this song provides will literally engage you in .1 seconds, there is no contest. I binge-listened to Olivia’s other music out of curiosity after realizing the music from NANA wasn’t all of the music she had. I became OBSESSED very fast.    So much of Olivia’s music is experimental, whether it’s her vocals, the music production; and the lyrics are like poetry. She especially goes back between English and Japanese flawlessly and fluently. Some older songs by Olivia also feature her brother, Jeffery Lufkin, in her music as well. It is all so beautiful to the point of tears and I am not even embarrassed to admit this. I do have to admit though, I’m genuinely surprised her sister Caroline Lufkin, who is also a musician, hasn’t featured with Olivia yet but I certainly hope they will collaborate someday. Please make this happen!!

Best Album:    “The Lost Lolli” is the first album I heard by Olivia, and personally my favorite. As much as her first album “Synchronicity” is gorgeous to listen to, it doesn’t give you the full vocal range of highs and lows that you hear in her songs in later albums. “The Lost Lolli” is in English but her experimentation for the album is addictive and electric. I had this album on repeat throughout college, especially the summer before freshman year of college in 2009, the album defined my life at the time and I didn’t feel so alone. The nostalgic sounds of love, loss, even sounds of being a member of society is incorporated in her music as realistically as it could be, despite it only being sounds rather than a physical feeling. It is just an incredible way of depicting human existence. Olivia also depicts existence of celestial beings in this album, so intertwining the perspective of a human and an alien is beautifully done. In fact, you don’t even need to see it that way, it could simply be the vibe of the songs that make you feel like you’re in outer space.    Olivia’s music literally could translate the hurt you feel and wanting to be heard, regardless what her music sound like. The end result is beautiful and relatable. She is a musical genius. Rumor has it she is coming out with an album, let’s hope it becomes a reality!

Best Song:    As I previously stated above, Olivia Lufkin’s music is beautiful and addictive; Which is why it was very hard for me to determine what my favorite song by her was. But it dawned on me that perhaps her slow-sounding music is some of her best work instead of her most well known songs from NANA. Choosing “A Little Pain” or “Wish” would be too easy and obvious for this review. The one song I had on repeat of almost a decade is her song “Alone in Our Castle” from “The Lost Lolli”. The first image I have in my mind is a sand castle by the ocean, considering the beginning of the song children is heard playing in the background, but I’m thinking at a beach setting which fits this song perfectly. This song entrances you to feel alone and distant from the sounds of the children laughing and playing, somehow feeling like everyone is fading away from you but you are stuck inside a sand castle surrounded by water; that is all you have. The moments you have had with a loved one is now diminished and all you have left is their memory. You may never get the same love in return but you get to choose to move on from it. You keep those memories locked inside your castle.    This song helped me get through so many times of heartbreak. There was an unrequited love throughout high school and college that I couldn’t get over for a long time. Someone who was once my bully from childhood and was separated from me for a few years. When we were brought back together in high school, it was a transformation between the both of us. However, I was not meant to be with him. No matter the times we had of sensuality and physical bonding; holding hands and hugs; it was not enough to be together. I had an opportunity to ask him out when I gave him chocolates on Valentine’s Day in 2007, but I was too scared to. However he was delighted that he got chocolate from me and immediately ate it as he went off to class.    I lost my chances when a beautiful young girl became his lover, and they actually lasted for a long time, but in the end they weren’t meant to be either. I watched from afar for years and yet this young woman inspired me completely. It was a really bittersweet time that I have stored in my castle, but it is a lesson learned on my part.    If you enjoyed the album version of this song, I highly suggest you also listen to this live concert version, it is just as beautiful as the recording.

https://youtu.be/a2RjdDt2lFA

Lyrics can be found here: https://www.google.com/amp/s/genius.com/amp/Olivia-alone-in-our-castle-lyrics

I hope this song can help anyone else deal with heartbreak as much as it helped me. Olivia Lufkin will always be one of my favorite musicians and I sincerely hope this underrated artist gets more attention; she deserves it. 

Here is my portrait of Olivia Lufkin, also can be found on my Instagram azenobio

Until next time~Tomo

[sonderei]

I got bored and answered one of those 100-questions things so if you ever wanted to know a stupid amount of useless information about me read on, otherwise enjoy whatever content is in the next post!

Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora? Spotify

is your room messy or clean? my room is a mess, the rest of the apartment is pretty clean

what color are your eyes? brown

do you like your name? why? its grown on me. I used to get teased a lot in school “hey Ariel, where’s your best friend Flounder??” but now I work on Disney property and it’s on my name tag so I get to make a lot of kids (and adults) happy

what is your relationship status? been dating a small mess of a person for 4 years, whom I love dearly 

describe your personality in 3 words or less basically a cat

what color hair do you have? brown, or like a really dirty blonde if I spend enough time in the sun

what kind of car do you drive? color? a black 2013 hyundai accent hatchback (named Jazz)

where do you shop? where I shop: target, forever21, H&M, BoxLunch, Garage where I’d LIKE to shop: ModCloth, ASOS

how would you describe your style? I once bought an oversized Polariod windbreaker and I wear it everywhere I can??? I also love passive aggressive crop tops (”no thanks”) I wore it to a mandatory meeting at work at 9am and any time my managers asked me a question I just pointed to my shirt. So idk that should tell you something

favorite social media account I think I enjoy Instagram and Tumblr equally?

what size bed do you have? queen

any siblings? one full brother (5 years younger), one half brother on my dad’s side (13 years younger), and one half sister on my mom’s side (18 years younger). 

if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why? idk because I haven’t traveled anywhere I’d actually like to live. I love the idea of living northwest US (Seattle, Portland) or in NZ or like Scotland or somewhere with beautiful scenery but like...never been so can’t say for sure?

favorite snapchat filter? flower crown

favorite makeup brand(s) NYX is pretty much all I use but I also do like bare minimum with my makeup

how many times a week do you shower? typically every other day unless I’m super gross

favorite tv show? too hard. Steven Universe, Game of Thrones, A:TLA, and Adventure Time?

shoe size? 7-8 depending on who makes them

how tall are you? smol. Like 5′3″ or so? 

sandals or sneakers? sneakers, unless going somewhere involving water and/or sand

do you go to the gym? nah. I’m up and down stairs at least 20 times a day, usually while carrying stuff. that’s my exercise.

describe your dream date sitting in front of the Ocean Voyager exhibit at the Georgia Aquarium all day. like literally that’s it. and my date lets me without asking to move on, and ideally enjoys it as much as I do.

how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment? uhhh like $25 because that’s how much you have to have to open a new bank account which I’ve been meaning to do for like two weeks now

what color socks are you wearing? not wearing any, but I was wearing shark socks all day

how many pillows do you sleep with? just one, super soft and squishy

do you have a job? what do you do? I'm a server at a restaurant in Disney Springs at Walt Disney World. Its challenging and often frustrating and stressful but I get to meet some really cool people so it evens out. (Pat Sajak from Wheel of Fortune was in last week, I didn’t ask him if I could buy a vowel because I have some dignity)

how many friends do you have? like true friends, would drop everything for me if I asked them / needed them to? I’d say 3. But my social group is like...maybe 10 people? That I actively try to hang out with semi regularly.

whats the worst thing you have ever done? I honestly don’t even know. I forgot a woman’s ketchup last week at work and apparently I ruined her entire Disney vacation so

whats your favorite candle scent? usually anything with jasmine, so long as it isn’t overpowering

3 favorite boy names Nathaniel, Sebastian, Milo 

3 favorite girl names Riley, Maisie, Phoebe

favorite actor? robert downey jr probs

favorite actress? tessa thompson?

who is your celebrity crush? ugh. tom holland, tessa thompson, rdj? 

favorite movie? Spirited Away or Howl’s Moving Castle

do you read a lot? whats your favorite book? I used to, before I worked at a bookstore. For some reason that killed my love for reading. But favorite books were the Bartimaeus Trilogy and Abarat.

money or brains? brains

do you have a nickname? what is it? Skip (long story short, its a Cabin Pressure reference because I’ve always wanted to be a pilot)

how many times have you been to the hospital? for myself? 5? maybe 6?

top 10 favorite songs in no particular order Evolve by Phoria Put ‘Em Up by Priority Cleopatra by The Lumineers Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man Miracle by CHVRCHES Dissolve by Absofacto Taro by alt-J Lavender by Two Door Cinema Club Dinosaurs by The Maccabees Ambling Alp by Yeasayer

do you take any medications daily? nope

what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc) ehh a bit on the oily side

what is your biggest fear? losing the ones I love

how many kids do you want? NONE ZERO NADA ZIP ZILCH FUCK NO

whats your go to hair style? pull it back, messy bun if possible

what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) a p small apartment (but not tiny, I think it’s like 800-900 sq ft)

who is your role model? Steve Irwin

what was the last compliment you received? a guest at one of my tables told me I looked like one of the recent Bond girls

what was the last text you sent? bailing on a few friends who were going to Blizzard Beach because I was exhausted from having my dad in town for the last two days so I wanted to sleep

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? like 2 or 3. not very old

what is your dream car? realistic? a nice Subaru or Audi. Maybe a Tesla unrealistic? bugatti veyron

opinion on smoking? cigarettes? ew gross not around me also poor life choices weed? don’t care, just not around me please and thanks my other half is allergic

do you go to college? I did, graduated two years ago, still haven’t done anything with my life / degree

what is your dream job? anything working directly with animals, especially marine mammals, big cats, or non-venomous reptiles

would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs? big city. right in the middle of it.

do you take shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels? not usually, I have specific stuff I use for my hair that’s a lot nicer than the stuff at hotels

do you have freckles? not like a ton but yeah

do you smile for pictures? if I feel like it? also depends on who’s taking the picture

how many pictures do you have on your phone? I’d say somewhere in the realm of like 650-800?

have you ever peed in the woods? yep, used to go camping a lot as a kid

do you still watch cartoons? hell yeah, I usually prefer them to anything else. Steven Universe, Adventure Time, Voltron, A:TLA, Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends...that shit is my jam

do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds? mmmm Wendys but I usually don’t get c nugs from anywhere

Favorite dipping sauce? chick fil a sauce or ranch

what do you wear to bed? just underwear

have you ever won a spelling bee? no but I came close in middle school

what are your hobbies? not many tbh. I have a few reptiles that I take care of. I collect / trade Disney pins. I love swimming but don’t do it all that often. Uhhh...seeing how many times I can ride Kilamonjaro Safari in a row before the cast members begin to judge me?

can you draw? not really, no

do you play an instrument? nope, I can’t even read music and I can barely hum

what was the last concert you saw? uhhhh...I think Death Cab for Cutie and CHVRCHES?

tea or coffee? tea

Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts? Starbucks for drinks, Dunkin for food (donutssssss)

do you want to get married? yeah, eventually. I told the SO that ideally before I’m 30 and that we’re not having a wedding but we’re gonna elope instead because fuck weddings I don’t have the money for that or the patience to plan it

what is your crush’s first and last initial? not really a crush but more of a “current-and-potentially-forever life partner” but DU

are you going to change your last name when you get married? no idea. D wants to change their last name but idk if they’d take mine or they’d just change it to their middle name and then I’d take that? honestly it doesn’t really matter to me each way so long as I don’t get their current last name (because of bad associations)

what color looks best on you? no idea honestly. I prefer dark, muted blues?

do you miss anyone right now? my parents and siblings, and two of my best friends

do you sleep with your door open or closed? open, otherwise the cats would never let us sleep

do you believe in ghosts? nah, not really. I grew up in a town that had a bunch of history and by extension ghost stories, so it was more a part of “tourist culture” than something that seemed legitimate to me

what is your biggest pet peeve? I never know until someone starts doing it around me. but uhhhh I hate loud chewers, people that refuse to even try to see your side of an argument, and when you’re sitting somewhere in public like on a bench or something and there’s plenty of other empty seating options nearby and yet someone comes up and sits RIGHT NEXT TO YOU nope you know what that’s it I fucking hate that and it happens to me all the time at Disney

last person you called` I think my mom?

favorite ice cream flavor? cookies and cream, unless I’m at one of those places where you can basically make your own flavor in which case I will ALWAYS do a rose-infused ice cream with pistachios 

regular oreos or golden oreos? please don’t make me choose

chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? rainbow!

what shirt are you wearing? not wearing one ;)

what is your phone background? just a basic stock photo of some ferns. kinda boring but I like simple backgrounds

are you outgoing or shy? its pretty even but if I had to say one over the other I’m probably slightly more outgoing than I am shy.

do you like it when people play with your hair? only people I know and allow. don’t just come up and start playing with my hair unless you KNOW that I’d be okay with it

do you like your neighbors? haven’t met them! we moved in like a month ago but we still haven’t seen anyone that lives on our floor

do you wash your face? at night? in the morning? if I remember, but honestly I’m really bad about doing it unless I’m in the shower in which case it’s every time I take a shower

have you ever been high? nope

have you ever been drunk? sadly no. I have a ridiculously high natural alcohol tolerance, so I get sick to my stomach before I can even manage tipsy.

last thing you ate? pizzaaaaaaa

favorite lyrics right now idek and that’s a lot of effort so sorry here’s me “free pass” I’m using it on this question next

summer or winter? ugh winter always I can’t stand the heat there’s only so many layers you can take off

day or night? night

dark, milk, or white chocolate? milk or white. milk for straight eating, white for flavoring other things

favorite month? october

what is your zodiac sign leo!

who was the last person you cried in front of? my significant other