#and ill eventually get to use them at least once sometime (but possibly a distant future sometime)

[loptrcoptr]

I now have stashed away in my closet one ORANGE SHERBET ASS bridle, one pair of BRIGHT ASS MULTI-ORANGE NEON reins, and a goddamn bridle-less bit (with an ORANGE ASS slider)!

Do I have a horse I can use these on? Not exactly. Will I ever have enough lease control of a horse to get permission to use them? Maybe not.

this is the stupidest kind of retail therapy

[dragonsareourfuture]

Mammon/GN!Reader — Safe

⚠️Warnings: emotional distress (caused by Lucifer) and swearing. If you are sensitive to these, please do not go further.

Sometimes I get fed up with how the brothers, mainly Lucifer, treat Mammon. I hate the “punishments” Lucifer gives him and how it’s just brushed off. I desperately want to hold the poor man when it becomes too much for him, so here’s possibly the most serious Obey Me oneshot I’ve ever written to help me cope with not being able to do just that. Begins as angst and evolves into fluff.

You feel terrible, but there is really nothing you can do but clean up the pieces.

Another night, another sleep interrupted by shouts echoing off the corridors of the House of Lamentation. You wish Lucifer would dial it back at least some nights. Hell knows that you’re not the only one whose sleep schedule is suffering just so he can punish his younger brother — then again, only half of the inhabitants of the house actually have a sleep schedule. Curse this entire house for its innate ability to let sound travel so fucking easily.

You groan, rolling to the other side of the bed in a feeble attempt to distance your body from the noise at least a little. It, unsurprisingly, does nothing and you can still hear the incessant booms of Lucifer’s thunderous voice. A pang of guilt bubbles in your chest. How could you be complaining when poor Mammon is the one who has to endure it all? It just doesn’t sit right with you, especially knowing that if you interfered you might have the slightest possibility of putting a stop to the ill treatment of the second born.

Even so, you can’t exactly blame yourself for being wary. Lucifer has tried to kill you on multiple occasions for doing just the thing you are contemplating. You figure you can let yourself off the hook for that one, just this once.

Miraculously, that one conclusion fails to ease that feeling of uneasiness lingering in your stomach. Fists clench around your pillowcase, nose digging into your soft mattress, your patience wears thinner by the second. Your limbs even twitch in an attempt begin rising and deal with the situation after all — but then the noises cease.

The room sounds eerily quiet. Not even the air conditioning is blasting anymore. You yawn, wondering if your ears had just popped. They had not. You snap your fingers. You can hear that just fine. So, you’re not going deaf. Okay, that’s a good sign, at least. You sit up and gaze around the pitch darkness of your bedroom. Nothing stirs — inside the room, that is.

Outside, however, you can hear the distant clomp of footsteps growing closer to your sealed bedroom door. You know who it is immediately, not bothering to lay back down and attempt to sleep, not even considering it. You sit up, feet hitting the floor soon after as you pad your way over to the door. You swing it open just as the footsteps stop right outside your room.

Mammon stands, fist held up in the air as if he was just about to knock on the polished wood. He blinks a couple of times, and you notice the gentle shine to his eyes and eyelids.

“Ya said that I could come...if I needed anything,” the demon croaks. All power that he ever seemed to hold over you had vanished all too suddenly and, rather than relishing in the feeling, all you can do is nod and step aside to allow him passage into your room.

“Of course, come on in,” you say delicately. The last thing you want is to be too coddling, for he might sense that as a personal threat and duck out. But you allow your instinct to care for him shine through with your soft tone. He apparently doesn’t feel that you are babying him too much, as he trudges through your threshold like a defeated puppy. It sincerely breaks your heart.

“I want you to know that you’re welcome to stop by any time you need to,” You had told him earlier that week.

The intrusive demon had never used your welcome for anything besides barging in to hang out at any and all hours, but now, with this clear predicament weighing down on him as heavy as the earth, you feel deeply touched that your words actually got through to him back then. He felt that he could trust you, which is why he is here now and not sulking in his room as he used to do after a particularly brutal scolding.

You shut the door behind him as he makes his entry, watching carefully as he shuffles around your room as if confused on what to do next. His hesitant nature directly contrasts how he would usually waltz in and make himself comfortable. You contemplate locking the door. It would be completely counterproductive if Lucifer or one of the other brothers forced their way in and made the situation way worse. But, at the same time, you would hate to make him feel uneasy, like you’re trapping him in with no way out. You opt to keep the door unlocked.

You pay close attention to Mammon’s features now, shrouded by the dark, sure, but you can make them out almost perfectly. You like to look at his face — it’s pretty, and you don’t bother to keep yourself from doing so. As a result, you can see all his ticks no matter how difficult it may be from the angle, lighting, etcetera. He often scrunches up his nose when he’s irritated, or on he verge of tears. So, seeing his nose twitch as he looks around your room is no surprise to you.

You step closer to his shifting form, and Mammon seems to get even more uncomfortable, so you move back. You rest your arms at your sides, making their positions known so that he won’t fret about the possibility of you hitting him by surprise. You would never, you know this, but Mammon isn’t aware that loved ones shouldn’t ‘lay down the law’ as harshly as Lucifer does.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask slowly, keeping your voice steady and calm.

Mammon’s hands slide into the pockets of his jeans. He shakes his head, the snowy white fringe covering his eyes shaking along with the movements. You nod, understanding his silence. Understanding that if he so much as opened his mouth to answer, a sob might find its way through instead. Even though he trusts you, you suspect that The Great Mammon isn’t keen on letting his human see him in tears.

“Mams, I won’t judge you if you cry. We all have to let off some steam every once in a while,” you reason, voice straining to keep from pleading but failing as your emotions get the better of you. “I love you all the same.”

Mammon hides his face from you, but the telltale sign of his shoulders bouncing up and down tell you that you need to step in. Your hands brush against his shoulders and he jolts. Though a shock runs through your heart at the sight, you simply have to make sure he knows that you’re there for him. You��re not going to let him cry alone in your bedroom when you’re right there beside him. Your grip becomes a bit more forceful now, only enough to turn the Avatar of Greed around by his broad shoulder and pull him close to your body.

With the contact, Mammon feels free to let go completely. Sobs wrack his entire body as you hold him steady. The intensity of them startled you but not as much as the volume. His head is buried in your shoulder, right next to your ear and you are spared no shout nor whine that comes out of the demon’s mouth. This combined with his heavy weight pressing you down tells you that it’s time to change positions.

You gently nudge Mammon into standing up straight, leading him by his hands to your bed, still warm with your body heat from when you had tried to hunker down earlier. He wastes no time at all in pulling you down with him, arms locked tight around your waist while his tear-stained face nuzzles itself into your chest. It’ll leave stains, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. Instead you marvel at how much pent-up emotions Mammon let sit stewing in his head before now. Clear sorrow, evident by the tears now soaking into your night shirt. Anger and desperation, demonstrated by how tightly he clamps around your body, though you can tell he is still somehow holding back, determined not to crush you even in this fit of pure, raw emotion. And all of this caused by a family member. It’s enough to make you seethe, but revenge for Mammon’s sake is not the focus. Right now, his comfort and consolation is all you need to worry about.

You rake your hands through Mammon’s head of ivory hair, brushing it out with your fingers and noting the softness. You plant a frenzy of kisses atop his head, the last one lingering before you lean close to his ear. “That’s it, let it all out...you’re alright now...I’m here.”

Your demon’s cries have, at the very least, calmed a smidge. He shakes less in your grasp but his head remains pressed flush against your chest. You take it upon yourself to ease him further, the hand that held his back sliding down and slipping beneath his ebony-colored shirt. You trace the curve of his spine, relishing in the way it feels against your fingers. He’s more slim than the majority of his brothers, and you absolutely adore it. You get to the dip of Mammon’s lower back and your fingertips nearly move on their own to run over the dimples back there. Warm breath spreads over your chest as the demon cradled in your arms lets out something delightfully close to a laugh.

Your lips quirk upwards in a smile at your accomplishment. Mammon has calmed down enough to where low whines and wheezes are all he emits now. These eventually transform into hums, then snores. You keep Mammon’s face pressed against you — you grew to appreciate his radiating body heat in that area — but moved his mouth and nose away to be sure he wouldn’t suffocate.

Before lying back and drifting off yourself, you wipe some of the excess tears from his cheek and under his eyelids, pressing the gentlest kiss you can produce onto his tanned cheek. Mammon’s eyes only crinkle for a second before his features flatten again with the tranquility of sleep.

Opting to get some sleep of your own, you rest your head finally to your pillow, huffing a great sigh with the contact. As sleep pulls you in, you silently curse the monster that could do this to your baby, dreaming up the most vile plots for your revenge during your outwardly peaceful slumber. But that could be handled another day, preferably whenever Lucifer least expects it.

You wake up before Mammon’s eyes ever begin to crack open. Your position had changed slightly over the course of the night, but most factors still remain the same. Your demon’s face is now in the crook of your neck, steady and cool breaths fanning over your skin, making you shiver. His arm is draped over your stomach as you lay on your back, the other arm tucked underneath him. You want to pull it out from under him — the pins and needles should be bad when he wakes — but you’re determined to let him sleep longer after the night he just had.

Your goal is met, and you lay with him for what feels like a few more hours. You aren’t completely conscious, fading in and out of the realm of sleep every few minutes it seems. Noises begin to sound off outside your bedroom — doors opening and closing, footsteps on the staircase, and eventual chatter from the first floor. People are starting their days like nothing ever happened.

You hope it isn’t the noise that stirs Mammon from his heavy slumber. His eyebrows furrow and a light groan seeps past his parted lips. His head shakes, as if his sleepy self is wondering why his movements are so restricted. If that is the case, you loosen your hold around him. After a few seconds, the Avatar of Greed’s snowy white eyelashes flutter against your neck as his eyes force themselves open.

You pull away to greet him with your smiling face. “Morning, sunshine,” you say, voice coming out in less than a mere whisper as your throat is still rough from sleep.

Mammon’s features flood with realization, an alarmingly dark blush spreading across his nose and cheeks, some even reaching his ears and neck. You wish you could wake up to this face every single day.

“M-m-mornin’...” he tries, stuffing his face in your pillow in an attempt to quell the blood rushing to his face. Your chuckle at this action only makes it worse.

“Everyone’s getting up right about now,” you tell him, your hands finding their way up to his incredibly soft head of hair, twirling a couple strands around your index finger as you speak, “Do you want me to go make you some breakfast and bring it up here for you?”

“Gah!” Mammon jolts, eyes losing their sleepiness immediately to stare at you in disbelief. “Y-y-you’d do that!?”

“Of course!” You pull your torso off the bed, accentuating your declaration, and leaning on your elbows for support. “I’m not gonna make you go down there and face your brothers if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“Oh...yeah...yeah, that sounds real nice. T-the Great Mammon appreciates your service!”

You jokingly roll your eyes, heaving your body all the way up to start dressing yourself. “I’m sure he does.” You halt all movements when pressure suddenly builds around your wrist, constricting and pulling you back before you can stand.

You look back, a worried-looking Mammon staring at you with wide eyes and upturned brows. He seems to catch himself, hanging his head a bit and sinking into the bedsheets. “B-before you do that...do you think you can stay a bit longer?”

You are about to comply with Mammon’s request, positively falling victim to the pleading look he shoots you, when a loud rumble breaks the brief silence. Mammon whines and clutches his stomach, concealing his face with your sheets.

“How about I get you some breakfast, then I’ll come back and we can cuddle all morning. Does that sound good?”

Your demon peeks an eye out from under the covers, white hair bobbing up and down in an affirmative nod. You smile, getting up and slipping on some shorts to go with your nightshirt. You make it to the door, hand on the handle when you turn to ask your sleepy demon a question.

“So, did you have anything in mind? You’ve got your spicy noodles—“

“Wait! I’m saving those! It’s my last cup and Lucifer says we’re not going to the store in a week! Not...ya know, not that I’m scared of him!” He perks up, sheets cascading down his torso.

“I can always make a quick run to the store. Lucifer’s words aren’t law.”

Mammon looks hesitant. He shakes his head and grabs at the sheets to pull them back up his body. “No, no, I’ll take a sandwich. Beel bought some Melancholy berry jam the other day and hasn’t eaten it all yet. Some of that with peanut butter would be great...”

“Not a problem. Oh, and do you want toasted bread?”

Mammon hugs your pillow. You suspect he’s getting weirded out by being asked all of these questions about his own preferences. Not a lot of demons seem to take them into account on a regular basis, after all. “U-um, that sounds good... and ... ugh, never mind!”

“What is it?”

He struggles with his words for a moment before asking, rather rushed, “Could you cut off the crusts, too?”

You have to brace yourself on the door handle to not collapse at how incredibly adorable that request is. Nevertheless, you can tell he is embarrassed and decide not to tease him too much. That could be done later, when he isn’t in such a vulnerable state of mind. You nod, chirping a quick ‘Sure, sweetheart’ before exiting and closing the door behind you.

Heading downstairs feels like squaring up for a fight. Deep down you know you can’t do much, Mammon would be crushed if you got in trouble with Lucifer for his sake, but you won’t be pleasant, either. You cringe at yourself, unable to handle the empty threats you seem to have in abundance inside your brain.

You can’t give most of the brothers the cold shoulder, that much you know. It wasn’t them that forced Mammon to tears the previous night with nothing but their words and whatever other hells Mammon was forced to endure. No, only Lucifer deserves your passive aggressive wrath today.

Luckily for you, there are only a few of the brothers remaining in the kitchen instead of waiting at the table already, one of those few being Lucifer himself who stands against the counter with a mug of coffee pressed to his lips. Satan and Beel are present as well, Beel rummaging through the pantry and fridge while Satan watches with what looks like mild amusement.

“Morning,” you greet the two younger brothers, going out of your way to make as little eye contact with Lucifer as possible. Whether he picks up on this, you can’t tell, but you can sense the change in atmosphere as you open the fridge and dig around for the jam Mammon wants.

“(Name). Is something wrong?” A deep voice inquires and, as you deduct that voice to be Beel’s, you look over your shoulder, offering a smile.

“Can’t possibly imagine why there’d be something wrong.” Wrong with you at least.

“Are you sure? You seem...off,” Satan inquires, as curious and considerate as ever.

You head over to the pantry, now with the jam in hand, and search for the peanut butter. A soft ‘ah!’ escapes you as your hand closes around the jar as well as a loaf of bread and you make your way over to the cutting board.

“I’m cool,” you deadpan. The younger brothers remain silent after you hear them shift a bit.

You begin to prepare the sandwich, daring not to turn around when the sound of footsteps approaching you invades your ears. All too suddenly there is a looming presence behind you, peering over your shoulder and radiating the most intense energy you’ve ever felt.

“What.” You say. It is not a question, but a demand. You still do not meet the eldest brother’s eyes.

You hear fabric shift and body heat warm your skin as Lucifer leans down to speak quietly enough so that his brother’s can’t hear. “It is for his own good. He will never learn if he is not properly disciplined.”

Your blood begins to boil. You raise your voice to him, completely disregarding Lucifer’s attempts to keep his brothers out of the situation as you do. “You know you can ‘properly discipline’ him without hurting him, right? What kind of brother are you?”

You leave it at that, throwing the rest of the sandwich together quickly before storming out of there. But wait...you stop in your tracks and stare down at the sandwich with defeated eyes. You forgot to cut off the crusts, dammit!

So, throwing your opportunity for a badass exit out the window, you march right back into the kitchen, tear open a drawer to grab a knife, and chop every single crust from the bread — all while the three brothers stare at you in both confusion and awe.

As you go to leave again, Satan finds the will to speak up. “Where are you going?”

“To my room.” You hold up the now crust-less sandwich. “The Great Mammon’s gotta eat.”

“But it’s your turn to make breakfast for everyone!” Beel whines, clutching at his stomach helplessly.

Again, you pause. Your fight leaves you and you approach the gentle giant upon seeing him look at you with such sorrow. You know how important food is to him.

“I’ll call for delivery from Hell’s Kitchen. Just round up everyone’s order and text it to me. Is that okay?”

Beelzebub nods enthusiastically and you pat his head, then turn on your heel to head back up to your room. You feel eyes on you as you walk away and, if you weren’t so fired up right now, you might take that as a compliment. But you know it’s Lucifer. You know it’s him even as the presence behind you follows you out into the hallway.

“I don’t like being followed.” You state in a bored tone.

“You don’t have to treat him like a child, you know. He can take care of himself.”

“I don’t want to let him take care of himself. I’m gonna be there for him when his brothers are being assholes.”

Lucifer looks taken aback. You don’t curse at them, you just don’t. Unless you’re joking, you never speak ill to them no matter what. And you didn’t to Beel or Satan. Even in your fired state you calmed enough to treat them as you normally would, with kindness and compassion. It is him you have the grudge against right now, and Lucifer’s brain can’t seem to accept or handle the fact that this is because of your protectiveness over his younger sibling.

“You won’t be here forever, you know.” Lucifer knows he crossed a line, but he can’t seem to stop himself. “He will need to fight his own battles eventually.”

“How about you give him less battles to fight, hmm?”

Lucifer seems to have nothing left to say. Taking his silence as an invitation to leave, you do just that and start up the stairs to your bedroom.

“Oh, and by the way,” you begin, stopping midway up the staircase to address the short circuiting demon you left in the hallway, “I may not be in this world as long as you guys will, but if you even touch him after I’m gone, my ghost will fuck you up.”

You make your final leave, Mammon’s breakfast in hand and a smile lining your face as you prepare to greet your greedy little demon.

[littleoddwriter]

Slashers x GN!Reader with BPD | Headcanons

This is purely for my own comfort, so, yeah - that obviously means that I have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). This only focuses on a few specific symptoms I struggle with, since I needed comfort for those in particular, at the moment.

notes; GenderNeutral!Reader; Intense Fear of Abandonment/Abandonment Issues; Splitting; Favourite Person (FP); Trauma; Self-Harm; Intense Mood Swings; Routines; Hurt/Comfort; Unintentionally Lashing Out on Others; Unstable Relationships (at times, but only on the Reader’s end); Impulsive and Self-Destructive Behaviour.

Characters: Asa Emory/The Collector; Charles Lee Ray/Chucky (Human); Chop Top Sawyer; Jesse Cromeans/Chromsekull; Lester Sinclair; William Easton (not a Slasher, but part of the SAW Franchise, so-).

Asa Emory/The Collector

He became your Favourite Person all too quickly – you couldn’t bear it when he wasn’t with you, when he wouldn’t reply to your texts, or return your calls, and when you didn’t know what he was up to

You split on him a lot in the beginning, and eventually you had reached your breaking point and told him how you felt and how scared you were and if he didn’t actually want you, he should just say so

Surprisingly, Asa ended up reaching a compromise with you, so that he would always text you once an hour, no matter what, to tell you that he was alright and what he was doing – He didn’t mind and was in fact the one to offer this strategy after you weren’t sure what to suggest, as you didn’t want to corner him

It works out well for you two, unless something comes up and he can’t text you – and as the hours stretch, you start spiralling again, having panic attacks, splitting on him, and/or harming yourself

When he comes home on such nights, he takes care of you, comforts you to the best of his abilities and apologises for not letting you know that something had happened earlier

At times that you already wake up in a mood, he would just take you with him to work, or his ‘hobby’ to keep an eye on you and assure you that he doesn’t mind, and that he’s here for you

He never judges you for hurting yourself either – he’ll just nurse your wounds and kiss them better

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky

At first he doesn’t take it all too seriously, although he does educate himself and lets you elaborate on your individual symptoms and struggles – he just has trouble being empathic and sympathetic about it

Still, whenever necessary, he’s here for you and he’ll hold you close as you cry, scream or go on about whatever set you off (he might even avenge you if someone was an asshole to you/triggered you/etc.)

He doesn’t mind your self-destructive and/or impulsive behaviours – he knows it’s not on purpose and he really isn’t one to talk after all in terms of impulsiveness at least

Being your FP might have caused some problems at first, since he doesn’t understand why you can’t just trust his word that he isn’t going to drop you one second to the other; but he eventually comes around and you two work on strategies to prevent you from spiralling too much when he’s not in reach

After a while, he starts being possessive of you anyway, and that’s when it really stops being a problem – he makes sure you know that he loves you and that you’re his

Chop Top Sawyer

No thanks to having been involved in Vietnam, he has his fair share of traumas and flashbacks as well, so that’s something he is better at comforting and helping you out with than anyone else – you both do

Since he doesn’t actually work anymore, he’s always at home with you when you’re there – he’s happy to not leave your side for long at times, and he’s even happier to have lengthy phone calls with you when you are apart

He may not be the best with words and displays of affection, but he does his best to assure you anyway, especially when you desperately need it

Self-harm is nothing shameful to him at all; and just like the others, he’ll only make sure you’re okay and your wounds will heal the way they’re supposed to

In a strange way, he actually enjoys being your FP – probably because he’s not used to this kind of attention and actually being needed by another person (apart from Nubbins, back when they were kids)

He even takes your intense mood swings in stride – mostly because he is sometimes a little oblivious to it anyway, but also because he knows you never mean it when you’re being distant or snippy

If you ever have an episode in his presence, he’ll comfort you as best as he can, if you let him close, and reassures you that it’s okay and that you’re safe with him (you’re special after all) – it usually works surprisingly well and it’s nice to be able to ride out your emotions and not be completely on your own in the process

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

If you didn’t already have a therapist, he’d make sure you have one by the end of the week, after you’ve told him about your diagnosis and constant struggles because of it

Puts in a lot of effort into researching it in addition to what you’ve told him about your individual problems

When you tell him that he’s your FP, he takes it well enough – it doesn’t make him feel pressured, since he only sees it as a benefit to know it, because he can actively help to make it easier on you

So when he is out to work, he’ll text you regularly, send you photos, tells you what he’s doing, that he misses you, that he loves you, that he can’t wait to come back home to you, etc. and it soothes you a lot

He comforts you whenever needed and just showers you in kisses while you lie on top of him as he holds you close

If you hurt yourself and let him know, or he sees it, he never holds it against you and instead makes sure your wounds heal properly and that you know he is here for you if the urge comes back to help you resist it – he will also take good care of injuries that are worse

Whenever you are triggered by anything or suddenly started to feel bad or are having flashbacks, he is here for you – be that physically or not, depending on it, he’ll gladly puts everything on the back-burner to help you out, text back and forth with you until it’s passed/you feel a little better/more stable

Essentially you’re never alone with your struggles again; he takes such great care of you and accommodates you as well as he can to make life easier for you, and you couldn’t be more grateful

Lester Sinclair

When you tell him what’s going on with you, after he’s asked you about the very sudden mood swings you’ve displayed and he wanted to make sure you’re okay – he was confused and admittedly very uneducated on all the possible mental disorders that exist (you can’t blame him, though)

So you spend quite some time on telling him how BPD affects you personally and what he could do to help make it easier on you, especially since relationships are such a difficult thing for you

He grasps the basics very quickly and he rarely leaves you alone, unless you want to be by yourself or he can’t take you with him on some drives

Of course he’s concerned when you harm yourself, but he doesn’t make you feel bad about it – he understands that you can’t just turn it off and not do it – and he usually gets Vincent to take care of your wounds if they need better medical attention than your own, since he’s good and practised at it

Sometimes you might lash out at him – especially when you split on him, or you’re already irritated in general – and while he never blames you for it or holds it against you, it takes him aback a little every time (being used to such things from Bo helps him handle it better, though)

But it’s easy for you two to reassure each other of your love and make sure nobody’s feelings are ever seriously hurt – so despite all that, you share a good, fulfilling and healthy relationship

William Easton

Due to working with health insurances, he knows a lot about every possible illness – not just physical ones, so he was already familiar with the concept of BPD, which came as a relief when you told him

He takes it in stride every day – your mood swings are exhausting to yourself and while they can be tiring for him as well, he never lets on, since he is more determined to be here for you and help you through the worse ones

Since he’ll often stay in the office after hours to work some more, you two phone a lot whenever possible, or he sends you little texts to assure you of his presence and the fact that he is not going to suddenly bail on you

Still, no thanks to the stress his work puts on him, he unintentionally has an exasperated tone with you every now and again, which may cause you to spiral and split on him, but it usually turns out to be alright later – it’s just exhausting for you both

Whenever you engage in self harming behaviours, he comforts you and helps you out – he supports you throughout and keeps encouraging you; he can only guess how hard it must be to resist all these urges and try to ignore your intrusive thoughts

Whenever possible, he’ll buy you gifts to remind you of his love and presence – it’s always unexpected, which is the whole point, since he’s learned that those kinds of presents work far better to reassure you

[my-writings-and-musings]

Firstly, I've just been dying to tell you I love your writting x3 it's absolutely fantastic! My favorite is the young liason ones. I think they're just the cutest! Would it be alright if I requested Fortress Maximus and Brainstorm for that? Please take all the time you need, and I hope you have an awesome day! You rock :D

Awww thanks a million!! I do strive to provide the cuteness, and I shall do so here! I'll also link the past Liaison posts for those who haven't read them yet!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: You're Here!

(I've already done Fort Max in part four but I just couldn't help doing him again with a different setup.)

Fortress Maximus

·Stuck in his cell after his "incident", he's unaware of the liaison program when it initially begins, and is thus clueless of what goes on beyond his tiny space in the dark. Amongst the crew, the young humans quickly learn of the ship's considerable history in its short run, including the hostage situation that nearly cost them their beloved psychiatrist. The humans are shocked by the details, but none more so than the news the bot responsible is jailed up in the depths of the ship. All at once, they begin to question such a practice; wasn't this poor bot just acting out of pain? Hasn't his victim recovered and forgiven him? Being told that Fort Max is too dangerous to risk does nothing to dissuade them, and thanks to their youth, the gathered group soon hatches a plan to see something for themselves.

·As one might expect, Fort Max is beyond surprised when he's awoken at night by a number of very tiny visitors to his cell, and is shocked to see that they're all human! Autobot training kicking in, he's immediately concerned for their safety and gets on his knees to encourage them to leave. Lots of these prisoners are dangerous! To top off his shock, the humans say they're not lost and are there for him. They explain the new program with the Lost Light, how they heard his story, and how they're all here now to see him. For an instant Fort Max is speechless, because these tiny humans have just done more for him than the entire Autobot cause ever did. It takes more willpower than he cares to admit not to let his voice crack.

·Despite all of his assurance to the liaisons that what he did was wrong, and that he deserves to face punishment, they hear none of it. Even urging them to leave and stay on the safe parts of the ship go unheeded. They've decided that they like him and don't want him to be lonely. It's incredibly selfish, but he can't bring himself to deny the comfort their company brings him. Every night, with stealth granted by their tiny size, they visit him for as long as they can. Some bring games and entertainment from earth to share with him, and in time he gives up trying to convince them to stop, finding each one of them to be a treasure he just can't give up.

·It's mostly by bad luck they're eventually caught. Ultra Magnus just so happened to be conducting a late night inspection when he came across all the liaisons gathered about the supposedly deadly Fortress Maximus in what appeared to be a slumber party. The former Enforcer had immediately called for back up and demanded the children be released, not backing down when they all made the baffling move to clamor between the cell bars and shield the gigantic Autobot with their tiny frames. No amount of explaining the big bots potential danger could make them leave. Eventually Rung himself had to be summoned to mediate, and at the sight of Fort Max so carefully cradling his friends and begging that any punishment only come to him so they would be spared... The psychiatrist happily declared there was no need for such caution.

·Put on the spot, Ultra Magnus had decided to allow a partial commutation of the bots sentence. Though he's under watch and isn't permitted to have weapons, he's allowed to have his own room and far greater range of the ship, but under supervision. The liaisons accept only after Max does. In no time they're helping him settle into his room, bringing him housewarming gifts, and coming over as often as possible to visit. It almost doesn't feel real to the poor bot. In an almost comical turn of events he's been freed and has gone from loneliness to being surrounded by tiny, loving friends. Even Rung visits from time to time, joining in on the fun and making it clear he holds no ill will towards the big bot for anything that happened. As they all gather for another movie night together, it occurs to him that his painful past has never felt so far away, and for the first time in so long he feels ready for the future.

Brainstorm

·Ever the on the move genius, his curiosity had been piqued the instant he heard humans were going to be on the ship, as a new species is always a fascinating opportunity. He's not all dissapointed by the gaggle of bright eyed youngsters when he finally meets them. Their tour of the ship is quickly guided to his workshop, and in no time he's showing them all the fun ways he's breaking physics or on the cusp of doing so. Pretty soon the rest of the tour is delayed so they can see absolutely everything he's working on. Brainstorm finds their attitude of "science just because" to be monumentally refreshing in the wake of his occasionally stiff crewmembers. Why does he need a reason to experiment on certain things? Sometimes it's fun and invigorating to just invent something because you can!

·As he finds them incredibly motivating and they love helping however he can, he quickly gives each human permission to accompany him as his assistants. With their unique human perspective, he finds himself seeking out ideas that could benefit them directly, whether it's purely for their entertainment or for more practical purposes. Their need for "food" in particular offers a great deal of potential. He's not foolish about it, of course! These little guys are delicate! But if he can make delicious meals that can be stored easily and prepared instantly, why not? Humans need to eat multiple times every single day, why not make it easier and more fun! The hardest part proves to be getting them not to explode...

·The liaisons come to love the incredible energy he brings to every single experiment, and the feeling is mutual. Even if he doesn't understand the references to "Bill Nye" or other such things, he happily allows the humans to take selfies as he works. Spreading the word to their fellows on earth can only help their species catch up, after all. In time though, he starts to socialize with the group outside of his workshop, even bringing them to Swerve's with him to introduce them to all his friends. They stick to him the entire time even though their enthusiasm proves popular with every bot on the ship. Having often struggled to fit in, he finds the feeling of belongings refreshing in ways he never could have anticipated it might be. He'd protect each and every liaison with his life.

·It's quite unexpected when somebot brings up his... stunt, with the briefcase. He'd been so happy for once that his failures had simply... not registered. Thus, he's caught off guard when the humans start asking baffled questions. It's all he can do to mumble an excuse and leave, the confusion in their bright eyes burning into the core of his spark. So many instances of them looking up at him with respect and excitement now seem far more precious, because there's no way they'll ever want to be around him again. Now they know he isn't just the ship's eccentric scientist, and that at his most desperate he tore time and space apart... In hindsight, how could he have allowed himself to forget? He's dangerous, and the liaisons should have been kept distant to begin with... Humans are far too delicate to risk anything happening, and he never would have forgiven himself for allowing harm to come to them.

·Unbeknownst to Brainstorm, the entire group was far from aghast at his actions. If anything, they were heartbroken for his sake. To have been so desperate he'd happily tried to erase himself from existence, in part to save a bot he loved... They want at least to talk to him. Using skills he taught them, they hack past the gridlock on his workshop, and the scientist is shocked by their effort. Before he can say a word they're surrounding him and offering the most effusive of reasurances, particularly regarding how they never want to lose their beloved science bot, and he takes it upon himself to comfort the crying group with a promise he's not going anywhere. In an instant, something becomes incredibly clear to him; these little beings care about him. They don't want him to leave. Trying not to cry himself, he assures the group that he's long since learned his lesson. There's plenty of wonderful things in the present to stick around for.

[sweetteaanddragons]

Here am I again bc apparently the Silmarillion™️ now lives in my head rent free and I like ur interpretation of the characters (some of ur fics also live in my head rent free) ... Do u think things would improve or go more horribly wrong if Feanor was the youngest Finwean? Like if Miriel was the second wife? Idk if everything is less or more of a disaster bc in one hand I think Fingolfin is a tiny bit more well adjusted than Feanor at least when his mother is the one living (Unless he like Feanor would feel a lil bit threatened by his lil brother genius? Is he being replaced here?) and there’s also the fact that I hope that Feanor would be a little less of a disaster If his mother lived (Unless he convinced himself that he has to be better than everyone if he wants her to stay or something like that) but on the other hand that family is a powder keg waiting to explode no matter what u change

Ps: Is Feanor still Finwe favorite child or does this change bc he’s not the only living reminder of the wife he loved and lost? Bc if he’s still the favorite I don’t think that would help with the feelings of “is dad replacing us?” That could possibly arise in his other children.

If Feanor is still the favorite I suppose there’s a little more protectiveness now that he’s the youngest...

Ps 2: Does Feanor being younger affect the age of his children by much 🤔

Thank you! This one took some thought.

Okay, so the initial change is easy enough. Finwe marries Indis, Indis dies in childbirth . . .

And that brings up the first question.

Which child?

Fingolfin? It’s certainly a possibility, but then we have to consider what’s going to happen without Finrod and Galadriel. (And his other sons, but they’re less impactful.)

Findis or Lalwen? Do they even exist in this AU?

Or Finarfin?

If it’s the last, then we also have to consider what the age gap between all these kids is in this AU and how their feelings about little baby Arafinwe are complicated by this.

We also have to consider how the political situation gets even trickier. 

Because Indis wasn’t just the Queen of the Noldor.

She was also a princess of the Vanyar.

Which means that while the Vanyar may not get a direct say in what goes down with a potential remarriage, they are definitely going to have an Opinion on it.

I feel like there is probably at least one frosty offer to foster the children that Finwe immediately turns down.

For the sake of argument, let’s say that Findis is on the cusp of adulthood. She is politely present at the marriage ceremony and stays a very precise, very respectable length of time afterward before going to visit her relatives indefinitely.

Nolofinwe, as the crown prince, stays. He has a lot of feelings about the collapse of his once happy feeling, but he’s well into his adolescence and used to hiding things at court. He mostly reacts by emotionally shutting down and very politely refusing to talk to his father about it. He daydreams about storming the gates of Mandos and demanding his mother back.

Lalwen is just on the verge of adolescence and would prefer to spend as much time in the trees in the gardens as possible. She is torn between wanting to play with her baby brother and wanting to avoid him.

Arafinwe is old enough that he is aware that Miriel is not his mother but young enough that most of what’s going on is flying over his head. He warms up to Miriel almost immediately and then spends a few weeks avoiding her out of a vague idea that if he’s around her too much, she’ll die.

That eventually gets more or less cleared up.

So then Miriel has Feanaro! And Miriel - what?

Is fine?

Dies? (Finwe is pretty sure he’s cursed. Arafinwe figures baby Feanaro is like him and they should stick together. The gossips are going wild.)

Survives but is unwell?

Let’s go with that one.

So the thing is, Feanaro is not Feanaro if he does not have something to throw himself against. In canon, it’s his determination to not be replaced in his father’s affections. Here, it’s his determination that he be considered worth it. Worth all the gossip about marred marriages and what comes of them; worth all the trouble with the Vanyar; worth the fractures between his half-siblings and his father; worth his mother’s illness and pain.

What he has going for him, though, is that his mother is still alive and supporting him. He still loves language and still has Opinions on the language shift, but he’s not as ride-or-die about it as in canon; his mother is still alive, queen, and perfectly capable of insisting on whatever pronunciation of her name that she likes, even weakened.

The thing about his relationship with his siblings is that in this AU, they get to set the tone. They’re the ones establishing that tone when he’s still too young to have an opinion on it.

He has almost no relationship with Findis. She sends very polite notes and very respectable gifts on all appropriate occasions; his mother reciprocates on his behalf until he’s old enough to do it, at which point the gifts get a little half-hearted or pointed, depending on the year.

Nolofinwe is . . . fine, but distant. Feanaro doesn’t understand him at all and doesn’t really care to try.

Nolofinwe is also established as the crown prince, and it doesn’t occur to Feanaro to try to take it from him. Politics are boring, court is infuriating, and his projects are much more interesting. Sure, Feanaro is convinced he’s the smartest person in the room, and he wants to be listened to, but in his father’s court, he mostly is already. He’ll poke at Nolo, sometimes, but he has no interest in trying to usurp him. Of course, if something ever does happen to Atar and Nolo does become king, then the distance between “not willing to fight you for the throne” and “actually willing to treat you as an authority figure I should obey” is going to become apparent very quickly. 

As long as Nolo doesn’t tell him to do anything he wasn’t going to do anyway, they’ll be just fine.

Lalwen is fun, but, due to the age gap, is more of an impromptu babysitter than a playmate. As they get older, they’re genuinely affectionate, but it’s complicated by the family mess and made more so by the political one; Lalwen always takes Nolo’s side, and Feanaro has no patience for it.

Arafinwe . . . Arafinwe is a different story.

Arafinwe is a lonely little kid who latches onto his new little half-brother and takes him everywhere and shows him everything in the early days when everyone is still really unsure whether or not Miriel is actually going to die. This closeness remains even after those concerns mostly pass.

What happens from there is . . . I have no idea. Probably not worse of a disaster, but maybe not notably better either.

[shadowgeist-stars]

Kitagawa First: So Heavy the Crown

It should've been like any other Monday. Toru and Iwaizumi should've gone about their day off from practice as they usually did. He'd brought his nephew home and the two had intended to get something to eat together.

They should not have seen Tobio, of all people, standing in the cemetery.

It was already unlike him to be away from practice with the other crows this early in the afternoon. Especially wearing an oversized jacket vaguely similar to what they wore back in middle school. The strange hoodie he wore was familiar, but somehow not quite right; it even looked a little big for him.

“What in the world is he doing out here?” Iwaizumi wondered.

“Let’s go check it out,” Toru suggested with a smile. This could be a perfect opportunity to learn something about their former junior.

He was talking, they realized as they drew close. To himself, most likely, but Toru decided to take the stealthy route to hear exactly what Tobio was saying.

“I didn’t make it to Shiratorizawa like you did… but I think I still found a good team… At least, I hope you’d like them. Shiratorizawa might be too different from when you were there anyway… I still think about what you told me, back then… how if I got really good at volleyball, someone even better would come find me. I thought I found that person in middle school where you used to coach… But I guess it didn’t work out how I hoped…”

A small pang in Toru’s stomach told him that was probably about him. He was able to look at the name on the gravestone Tobio stood in front of, though, as well as the birth-to-death dates.

Kazuyo Kageyama… 1936-2010… sounds like a grandparent. And a volleyball coach, as well? Hmm... Volleyball must simply run in the family.

“But now, I think I found someone who is like what you were saying,” Tobio continued to the gravestone. “He may not look like much. He’s short, super annoying, and kind of a dumbass… but he’s the fastest and highest-jumping spiker I’ve ever seen… And sometimes, he’s the best friend someone like me could ask for.”

His head eventually lowered, his body starting to curl in on itself like he was going to fall to his knees. The third years almost thought they were starting to hear him sniffle.

“I just wish you could meet him, and everyone else… I think you’d like meeting them all. Sugawara and Asahi and Daichi… All the second years like Noya and Tanaka… maybe even Tadashi and Tsukishima and our managers and our coach and Mr. Takeda…” He crumbled to the ground with a sob. “I just… I miss you, Grandpa. More than Miwa or our parents. I have ever since…”

That was when the name finally clicked. Kazuyo Kageyama was the old coach of the infamous local ladies volleyball team, the Kitagawa Birds, who was forced into retirement due to illness. If both Tobio and this Miwa were related to him and he taught both of them volleyball from a really young age, it would’ve made sense that Kageyama would be such a good player so early on. And since the date said he died during Tobio’s second year in middle school… that had to have hit him hard.

Possibly… hard enough to make him into what Kunimi and Kindaichi called “the King of the Court.”

Iwaizumi took a small step closer, flinching when he stepped on the grass in just the right way that would make noise. Enough noise for Tobio to flinch away from the source and twist backward to see them both standing there. And more importantly, for them to see the tears starting to dribble down his face.

“Uh-um… what are you two doing here?” he asked, trying to clean his face with his sleeve (most likely to be his grandfather’s jacket).

“We’d ask you the same thing, but we heard enough to answer for us,” Toru replied. “Please, don’t let us stop you.”

Iwa slapped him on the back of the head. “Ignore him. We were just wondering what you were doing away from your team in a place like this.” His eyes scanned the gravestone once more, guiding Tobio into a position where the three could sit together. “You never really told any of us about your grandfather back in middle school, did you Kageyama?”

The first year shook his head.

“Didn’t think so… Well, if you’re feeling up for it with your old upperclassmen… care to share?”

Tobio drummed his fingers on top of one another for about a minute, before nodding slowly.

“Alright, let’s start small. Was your Grandpa the, uh… reason, why you got into volleyball?”

Tobio looked to his grandfather’s grave. “Sort of. He and my sister, Miwa, would always tell me about how I managed to get my hands on her volleyball when I was… a baby… and how I didn’t wanna let go of it. That might’ve been where it all started, but since Grandpa is the only one I really remember raising us, we’d both usually be with him when he was coaching the Kitagawa Birds, playing with some of the ladies, helping them practice, or just passing a ball to each other in a corner of the gym or practicing ourselves with the wall.”

The small story piqued Toru’s interest. Frankly, he found the mental image adorable, seeing a baby Tobio holding onto a volleyball and somehow keeping a grip on it with hands no bigger than the end of his thumb. His memory might be a little faded, but something similar could’ve happened with his nephew Takeru. And Tobio Kageyama, not actually being an only child… He couldn’t help wondering if that sister of his looked all that similar.

Iwaizumi seemed to like how it was going so far. “Okay. We remember you wanted to go to Shiratorizawa even back in middle school. Did your Grandpa have something to do with that?”

Tobio nodded. “He used to be a middle blocker for their team. Showed me his old yearbook and everything. Probably before the current coach showed up, though.”

“So it really does run in the family,” Toru commented. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised though.”

The smaller boy shrugged. “Miwa wound up quitting volleyball after middle school. She was getting more into fashion and stuff anyways, and didn’t like how she was always being told to cut her hair. At least, I think that was the reason.”

Wow. That, Toru could get behind, no questions asked. Sure, he wouldn’t give up volleyball for the world, but he’d definitely take offense if he was always being told to do something like change his looks or cut his lovely hair. That said, it was good to hear Tobio’s sister found her own calling, even if it wasn’t sports-related.

“Kinda wish you were able to introduce your sister and grandfather to the team, Kageyama,” Iwaizumi remarked. “They sound like it’d be pretty interesting to meet them both. Wasn’t your grandfather still coaching in middle school?”

The dark heaviness returned to the young setter. “No… Grandpa was already in and out of the hospital for a long time by then; more one than the other, though. He was able to keep on a brave face for me… but in second year, after you left, he… he…” his voice started quivering, the tears starting to return with new fury. “He left us behind… left me behind… I couldn’t even cry at his damn funeral because it never really hit me! And then after he left… Miwa had to get ready to move away for university… Our parents were distant enough even before he died, and… and then my own team left me!” He wrapped himself tight in his grandfather’s jacket, hands even moving to tangle into his hair. “I was all alone… I didn’t even know what I did wrong… Why all of a sudden I didn’t have anyone anymore!… Why?... Why, why, why?!”

Iwaizumi was quick to hug Tobio from the side, glaring over at Toru until he mirrored the action. It had already been clear enough that Tobio had been holding this all in for a long time. How just losing one person -- closer to him than anyone else in the world -- made him go from a sweet and eager-to-please junior (who still reminded Toru of Ushijima in some ways) to the bad-tempered dictator whose team got so fed up with him that he was given the boot.

No wonder, Toru thought to himself, sadness and guilt pooling in his stomach again. No wonder Tobio became so self-reliant. No wonder he underwent such a change in temperament. What kind of void did middle school leave behind while no one else was able to see?

First, he lost the two of us.

Then he lost his grandfather.

Then he lost his sister.

…Then he lost his team.

He understood now, to some extent. Kazuyo Kageyama didn’t just introduce his grandson to volleyball; he was the reason why the boy loved it so much. But when he left, so did the better parts of Tobio. There was no family or friends to help him carry that weight; it was just him.

Him, and the weight that threatened to crush him, that so many were so willing to call a crown. A tarnished, broken, absurdly heavy crown that they were only beginning to realize here and now.

Until by some miracle, Karasuno and that little shrimp brought him back to some semblance of his old self. Before them, he was left with nothing and no one but himself to rely on. He carried all of that grief, guilt, and frustration on his head for the better part of two years, not knowing what to do with it or with himself.

So they let him cry. They let him drop those long years of forcing down his grief over who he loved most, in loud, chest-ripping wails. Iwaizumi ensured they both kept him wrapped up in their arms, maintaining that small reminder that he should’ve never had to endure that alone. The spite Toru felt for Tobio all that time seemed to melt as well, filling in all the blanks for why he was such a good player and so eager to please and so not deserving of such hatred. Every assumption he made was dissolved by the knowledge about a single person.

“Huh? Toby, what are you doing over there?” a new voice inquired after a time they didn’t give any thought to. “And who are your friends?”

Toru looked through blurred vision at an approaching woman. She was probably around their age, with black, meticulously-styled hair and -- once he blinked away the mist -- deep blue eyes very similar to the first year he and Iwaizumi were hugging.

“Mi -- Miwa…” Tobio managed to hiccup out. The woman held a hand out to him, something he looked at with an almost painful mix of confusion and disbelief before he took it and let her pull him up. And even then, he barely maintained his composure long enough to droop over her shoulder, gripping at her in a desperate hug.

“Shh… I know, Toby, I know…” she soothed, rubbing circles into his back. “I miss him, too… I’m so sorry, Toby…”

He stayed there a little longer before numbly stepping away, wiping his face with his sleeve again.

The Seijoh players were shattered by the look in his eyes. The way they looked so… dead, and tired.

How did no one realize he was becoming like this?

Tobio almost swayed another direction before Iwaizumi stepped in and grabbed him. “Easy there, kiddo. Just lean on me -- there we go.” He looked over to the woman with a dip of his head. “I’m Hajime Iwaizumi, and this jerk over here is Toru Oikawa. We knew Kageyama back in middle school.”

The woman seemed to scan the two of them, almost skeptical.

“We’d be happy to help you out with Tobio,” Toru offered, all too happy to take on the diplomatic duty he was so used to. “He was telling us about his grandfather, you see, and it’s clear how much has been on his shoulders since his passing. We were doing what we could as his old upperclassmen.”

“I see…” Miwa replied, turning on her heel. “Follow me. My car’s not far from here.”

Iwaizumi had decided to sit in the backseat with Tobio, keeping him steady as he all but dozed on his shoulder. Toru rode shotgun while the Karasuno player’s sister drove them to the Kageyama household.

“I can’t believe he’s held onto Grandpa’s old track hoodie this long,” Miwa commented. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Because he and his grandfather were that close?” Toru inquired.

The woman nodded. “Even closer than I was with either of ‘em. Grandpa was really all he had, ever since… well, there was always that one thing our parents didn’t like for some reason.”

...Secretly, Toru had a feeling he knew what exactly “that one thing” was. He had his suspicions of the way Tobio behaved, almost entirely fixated on volleyball. The way he subconsciously reminded him of Ushijima. Who knows? Perhaps even the famous Ushiwaka was introduced to volleyball that early on as well, and had the same sort of mind.

“I suppose that’s simply an unfortunate truth with some people,” he replied offhandedly. “I’ll admit, I and some of our current teammates weren’t exactly fond of him in middle school. But then again, none of us had a clue about his personal life, and I’d wager Tobio didn’t even give himself time to grieve.”

“I guess I can’t blame you there. Toby never consciously dwelled on things that he didn’t think he had to, for better or worse. He wanted to be just like Grandpa, but after graduating from middle school not being able to get into Shiratorizawa, he figured volleyball was the only thing he had left.”

“And even then, he was all on his own,” Iwaizumi finished from the backseat when they stopped at the house. He even helped carry Kageyama inside. “We all knew how Oikawa gave the poor kid a hard time when he was still an eager-to-please prodigy in his first year, and even heard how his sudden change in attitude in his second year left him ostracized by the team. Though we never saw the other side of the story until now.”

He didn't even need to say it was because they refused to hear it.

After the Aoba Johsai players put the younger boy to bed, they both went to the bathroom to wash their faces of tears. On the way back down, they discovered the pictures that littered the house. A happy family that comprised of parents, a grandfather, and a little girl. But when a baby boy appeared, there was only one of all five before the parents all but disappeared. The only ones after were the two children and their grandfather.

In all of them, the grandfather in question sported a wide, proud smile. Whether it be with a far younger Miwa trying to brush his hair, tossing a volleyball with the even younger Tobio, or all three of them together, he still had that smile. A sort of light that went missing when he passed away, leaving both of his grandchildren behind.

“Your grandfather must’ve been quite a splendid role model for the both of you,” Toru said softly. “A light that even Tobio didn’t deserve to lose.”

Miwa hummed thoughtfully, leaving some tea to steep in a pot. “I don’t think Toby even realized how badly he was hurting. Honestly, I kinda wish I didn’t have to leave him so soon. If I knew how badly he was affected by Grandpa’s death, I would’ve held off on school just to make sure he’d have at least someone to be there… Maybe I just put too much trust into his teammates supporting him.”

Because Kindaichi and Kunimi thought he was nothing but a dictator at the sport. They didn’t think for a second that he might’ve just been lonely or in pain.

…Then again, neither did we.

“I don’t think you have to worry much about him now, though,” Iwaizumi pointed out. “We know we failed the poor kid, as his former teammates and as his upperclassmen, and we’re far from the only ones who did so. But I plan to make sure we fix that.”

Toru smiled at the ace’s declaration, looking towards Tobio’s room. Even if the now-sleeping boy may never really trust Toru again, at least his beloved might be able to get through to the younger setter. If they find the chance, they might even get Kindaichi and Kunimi to understand as well, and enlist their help in making amends.

“Besides, ever since joining Karasuno, we can tell he’s doing a lot better,” Toru added. “He’s… finally found a place where he fits in. And I for one doubt those crows will leave him the way we did, especially not his new little go-to spiker. Whether he finds it in him to tell them about this or not, I can at least be confident that they’ll stand with him.”

Miwa smiled at them both, finally pouring the tea for all three of them. “I’m glad for that, you two. Toby needs a lot of friends to make up for not having anyone before. Whether they know about Grandpa or not, I just want him to find a family of his own, if only to make sure it’s not just the two of us looking out for each other.”

The two young men could only stick around for about another hour, conversing with Miwa and looking after their former underclassman. They told her about each of the crows to the best of their ability, the woman occasionally throwing in her two cents about whoever Tobio actually told her about. When the sun said they had to head home, they gave Tobio one last check before they left with a final goodbye and thank-you to Miwa.

As they left, though, Toru couldn't help but take a final look at the almost foreboding Kageyama household, holding onto his boyfriend's arm. "Iwa… do you think Tobio will tell his other teammates about his grandfather? Should he?"

Iwaizumi sighed. "It would probably be a good idea, but I doubt it. He'll probably tell the little sunspot and Karasuno's other setter, if no one else, but only time will tell."

…I guess that's true, Toru thought to himself dully. Only time will tell, and trust as well…

[a-libra-writes]

A Dragon’s Fire - Daenerys x Red Priestess!Reader

heyo! this was requested by an anon who originally wanted an assassin w fire magic, and i compromised w a red priestess who was an assassin but decided not to hurt dany (bc that seems neat!) but ive been in the shit this week so ... i wrote something fluffy instead. I know, im a big fail, lol. I hope yall enjoy it anyway

Summary: Dany has a big gay crush. That’s it, that’s the fic

“Is she everything you hoped for?”

Y/N did not answer the man behind her. She focused on the flames in front of her, dancing in the brazier into familiar shapes. She had seen them for many years. It’s why she was chosen by the priests, and since the red comet fell from the sky, they whispered if she listened close. Here, in the dragon queen’s palace, she could hear the fire inside the dragons. 

The bear knight’s metal armor and annoyed tone was not enough to distract her. Y/N reached her hand into the fire, it shaped into a dragon that sat in her palm. She didn’t feel the fire, but her red silk sleeve was burning. 

Jorah disliked her silence, but he disliked many things about Y/N. When he first saw her fire tricks, he thought they were illusions, but the heat of them said otherwise. Then there was the first time she set upon Drogon…

He suppressed his shiver and set that memory aside. “The khaleesi wants to see you.”

Y/N closed her palm, and the dragon slivered out, flying back into the brazier. The flames glowed blue for just a fraction of a second. She waved her hand over them, and the fire smothered itself. Smoke rose out of the hot coals, but those too began to rapidly cool. 

She wondered if the knight was still unsettled by her magic. Even the khaleesi had moments of awe and uneasiness, although she was fond of watching. Y/N stood, her silk robes gently scraping the marble floor. Jorah was already walking away, and she made no effort to run to catch up to him. She knew where Daenerys was.

The chambers Daenerys set aside for her council was well-lit and had an impressive, engraved table at the center of it. Its legs used to be harpies made of carved marble and ivory, but she had them removed for dragons made of onyx and rubies. Y/N liked the change, and how they glittered in the light. Perhaps she was biased - her own ruby hung around her neck, although it was far larger and smoother than any gemstone Daenerys had seen before.

The girl’s purple eyes lit up as Y/N entered the room. Y/N couldn’t help but return the sentiment, giving her khaleesi a smile. She was pleased there was no one else in the council room. “You wished to see me, khaleesi?”

“Yes. Jorah, you may leave us.”

Jorah didn’t protest, but he did shoot Y/N a look before he left the room and closed the doors. Y/N noticed there were no Unsullied in the chambers, either.

“I talked to him about what he said the other day,” Daenerys said after a moment of silence. “Ser Barristan, as well. They don’t … In the Seven Kingdoms, your sort of magic is seen as a dream. Unreal.”

“As unreal as dragons?” Y/N tilted her head, and Daenerys tried not to focus on how her hair slid across her bare shoulders. When Y/N first entered her service, she wore modest robes that covered nearly every inch of her. Since then she had adopted a more elegant, free style, at Daenerys’ subtle suggestion. She was pleased with the result. 

Daenerys set her thoughts straight. “True. The reason I called you here was to locate Rhaegal. I haven’t seen him flying overhead in some time.”

“Nor have I.” Y/N touched the ruby that dangled by her collarbone. It was held with a simple gold chain, and anyone could have missed the way it seemed to flicker. It could have been a trick of the light, but Dany knew otherwise. “Would you like me to find him?”

Of course Y/N knew how to do that. She knew how to start and stop fire, how to dream about it, how to see into it. It was only logic that she could find it. She once told Daenerys that the dragons were beings of fire, swirling and living heat. She looked at them like …

… Well, not how others looked at them. It was hard to puzzle out Y/N’s expressions and thoughts. You could ask her something directly, and she’d have some sort of strange answer, or she’d just stay quiet. Daenerys could tell when Y/N was thinking something over, at least. Her pretty eyes would lower, and she’d touch that ruby - was it hot to the touch? It seemed like it - and she would be gone. Sometimes she stayed very still for hours, staring into fire, or staring into nothing.

But she’d always have an answer eventually.

Daenerys’ knights warned against Y/N’s counsel, telling her not to listen too closely to the words of a strange woman of a strange religion. Even Missandei had commented on the followers of Rhllor’s intent to convert King Robert and other places, and the strange magics they could possess. They warned her as if she did not know how to think for herself.

It upset her, but Y/N took such words in stride. She often seemed to know what others thought and said about her, and she did little to stop it. Missandei had warmed to her, Ser Barristan did not think she was any real threat, but Ser Jorah remained unconvinced and wary. Grey Worm did not like talk of magic or priests, but he had no real ill thought of Y/N, and Daario liked to ask her all sorts of ridiculous questions for his own amusement. 

“I have found him, khaleesi.”

Daenerys couldn’t believe her thoughts had drifted again. Y/N often had that effect on her. “Where? Can we ride to him?”

“We could. He is in no danger, he is simply occupied with…” A soft smile came to Y/N’s red lips. “Something he has not seen before. That’s why he’s been away.”

“What could possibly interest him for that long? He’s been gone for days.”

“Shall we find out, your grace?”

Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah would warm her against this, ask her to take one of them or the Unsullied on the trip. Grey Worm would ask to escort them, Missandei would worry and send guards after them anyway. Daario would want to come along. Daenerys looked to the open, blue sky. There was still plenty of sun left.

“Let’s be quick,” She said, already giddy even if they hadn’t stepped a foot outside of the palace yet. “Missandei will keep them busy. Do you want to share my horse?”

Y/N was not an adept rider, but she still said, “That is alright, khaleesi. I can ride my own.”

Daenerys tried not to feel disappointed.

The danger outside the protective walls of Meereen was real, but Daenerys comforted herself with the fact that Drogon and Viserion often flew about these hills, and no one had seen them leave. Y/N said it would not take long, that they’d return toward the end of sunset.

Why do I keep believing her? Daenerys asked herself. She glanced aside, watching the woman reposition her reins. Her normally serene facade was broken everytime she rode a horse. She was not afraid of the creatures, but she had only recently learned to ride, and the beasts weren’t always fond of her.

“If you keep moving like that, you’ll make him nervous,” Daenerys said. “There’s no need to clutch the reins so tightly, either.”

Y/N nodded, and tried to relax her posture. Luckily, she picked an agreeable horse. Daenerys recalled the saddle sores and aches she received when she learned to ride. Her handmaidens gave her a balm to ease the pain. Maybe she could find that for Y/N.

I’ll ask someone to deliver it to her. I couldn’t give it to her myself - no, who says I can’t? But what would she think…

It was hard to tell exactly what Y/N was thinking, but sometimes she slipped, like now. Her brows were slightly furrowed as she righted her posture, and once she was satisfied with it, she kept glancing down at the ground, or at the horse’s ears. Y/N pet his soft neck, then slowly reached up to scratch between his ears. She jerked her hand back as her horse shook his head and made an annoyed sound.

“He didn’t like that,” Daenerys laughed, and it was adorable how Y/N gently laughed, too. She was usually so subdued, so quiet, so … what Daenerys used to be. 

“But his ears are so cute,” Y/N went back to petting his neck, which he much preferred. “Doesn’t it make you think of a cat.”

“No, not at all.” 

“Not even a little? There were some strays I’d feed at the temple. Their ears would twitch when I came by. They could smell the food in my pockets.”

Sometimes Y/N would speak of the temple she grew up in, or the other Free Cities she had travelled to, the friends she had known. Perhaps if she showed this side to the others, they would trust her more, but Daenerys was happy to have it to herself. 

The grass thinned and made way for rocky hills and in the distance, orange and yellow canyons. The sun was beginning its descent, and soon the sky would match those oranges and yellows. Y/N stopped her horse. 

“We can walk from here. Do you hear him?”

Daenerys stopped her own horse and listened. There was the slightest breeze, some distant bird calling, the sound of her horse’s nicker and … 

She shook her head. “If he’s close, we would have heard him by now.”

Y/N dismounted with some inelegance, but she fixed her clothes and just smiled. “Maybe you will when we get closer.”

They tied the horses to one of the few trees in the dry area, and Daenerys followed Y/N’s lead. 

It could be a trap. She could have men waiting there, or there could have been someone following us …

The thought was fleeting, and Daenerys fell in beside her. They both changed to more practical clothing, but Y/N still had a shimmering red cloak tied around her shoulders. As they walked, Daenerys began to hear something strange. It was faint, but as they came closer…

“Water?” She looked at Y/N.

Y/N’s sweet lips curled upward. She often smelled of smoke and spice, and Daenerys wondered if she tasted that way, too. 

They came to the edge of a small canyon, which could be better described as a deep ravine. Water glistened at the bottom of it, and more importantly, the deep green scales of her dear Rhaegal. He lifted his wings high and water spilled on his back.

“What is he doing?” Daenerys asked, but she was answered just a moment later. Water spewed up from the ground in a huge geyser, all at once, and Rhaegal happily opened his mouth and snapped at it. The water fell in thick droplets all around the dragon, the ravine and the two of them.

Y/N pulled her red hood over her head. Daenerys wiped her brow. “You didn’t tell me to pack a hood.”

“Apologies, khaleesi.” Y/N giggled. She peered downward. “If we’re steady, we can walk down to him.”

Rhaegal’s long tail lazily swung back and forth in the water. He was resting, and it only submerged his arms and legs, but he was content. Daenerys noticed all the charred bones scattered around the ravine. She wondered how much was in the water. Her feet found stability, and she carefully followed a natural, steadying path downward. Y/N was just ahead, although she wasn’t as confident in her descent.

They came to a small landing and had to stop there. The rest of the way was simply too steep. Rhaegal seemed to just notice them then, and Daenerys’ heart swelled as her child lifted his head and gazed at her with his sharp eyes. They weren’t merely brown, but bronze, with all the steadiness and strength that metal held. She touched his nose and muzzle, marvelling at how much he had grown. 

His eyes quickly flashed toward Y/N, and Daenerys felt his growl vibrate underneath her hand. She frowned and quickly said, “No.”

She remembered Y/N’s first encounter with Drogon. That was also the day she had taken the strange, beautiful priestess into her court.

Just like with Drogon, Y/N showed no fear. She stepped forward, but she didn’t make an attempt to touch the dragon. She lowered her hood, and Rhaegal’s long, black pupil tightened.

Daenerys felt the heat of his breath as he snorted through his nose. She tensed, forcing herself to stay calm as she repeated her order. “No.”

The geyser blew again, and Daenerys didn’t flinch. Rhaegal watched it rise in the air, then pulled away from his mother to open his jaws at the water again. His black teeth glittered in the setting sun.

Daenerys looked to Y/N. The priestess was so calm and steady, so unaffected … except Dany caught how her shoulders sagged in relief.

“He isn’t like Drogon,” Daenerys said, remembering that day. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

Y/N replied simply. “Drogon did not hurt me.” 

Had you been any other woman, he would have killed you. Except ... 

It took days for the servants to remove the char marks on the marble, and some of the melted pillars were still being repaired. Daenerys was half tempted to leave them like that, as a warning to any potential enemies, but it was unsettling to think it may have been Y/N that was burned away.

Except, she didn’t. Her red robes and long hair did, but her necklace and body remained unharmed. Daenerys and her court watched as the fire arced around her, singing away everything but skin and metal, and that ruby she never removed. Y/N looked Drogon straight in the eyes, even as they were obscured by his fire. 

His temper always was the worst. She had done nothing but approach Daenerys too quickly. Jorah was the one who pulled her back behind one of the pillars, and Daenerys remembered how the heat licked her arms as it tried to reach around the marble. Daario had pulled Missandei to cover behind the other pillar. 

Drogon almost never came to the palace, he always wanted to be in the sky, yet he came down on that day. And when the fire cleared and the floor was charred black except for a small circle … He stood back, and Y/N still looked at him. She only trembled slightly. 

She isn’t any other woman.

The geyser blew again, and rained down upon them. The water’s heat didn’t bother her, but all the dust from the ride was stuck to her skin, and the water didn’t clean it off. She had dust in her hair, too, and probably some stray pieces of grass. 

She smiled. It had been some time since she was properly dirty after a ride, and she looked forward to a perfumed bath and brushing her hair when she got back. Daenerys glanced to Y/N, who was occupied with watching Rhaegal. She also had dirt on her cheeks and neck, and some in her hair, and maybe if she wanted a bath afterward, too…

Daenerys reached forward and tried to rub some of the dirt off her cheeks. It didn’t work, but Y/N’s pretty eyes went wide. She didn’t pull away. “Khaleesi?”

Daenerys stepped forward, gently moving her palm so she had Y/N’s whole cheek. Just as she thought - as she dreamed? - the priestess’ skin was flushed and warmer than anyone she’d touched before. 

“You can say my name,” Daenerys said. She tried to tease, but her beating heart and their closeness made her breath catch. She thought Y/N was wearing color on her lips, but perhaps they just always looked like that? 

“Daenerys.” Y/N tried it out, and the dragon queen felt like a girl again, feeling her heart soar at hearing her name on those lips. She leaned in, bringing Y/N closer to her. Their foreheads brushed, and the warmth between them turned to heat.

A piercing roar broke through the sky, and cut straight between them. Daenerys recognized the sound at once, and it distracted her as Y/N jumped away. The woman’s cheeks were as red as her cloak.

Above them, Viserion broke through the clouds and bellowed down at his brother. The first cry was for Daenerys, and the second was probably a command for Rhaegal to move aside. The green dragon made room for his brother, and the water reached the top of the ravine as Viserion splashed straight into it. Y/N pulled Daenerys back before the muddy water could splash all over them.

Daenerys was far too overheated and flustered, and the sight of her children amusing themselves only gave her a little relief. At least Rhaegal was alright. 

Y/N had pulled her hood back down, and it was a shame. At least her lips were still visible through the shadow, although looking wasn’t as good as tasting.

“We’ve been gone for a long time. Let’s ride back.” Daenerys led the way out of the ravine. Y/N said nothing until they were back to the horses, who were understandably spooked from the dragon that flew overhead not fifteen minutes ago. Y/N held her horse’s reins and tried to soothe it, and Daenerys helped, touching the priestess’ hands perhaps more than was needed. 

Y/N didn’t pull away, and that gave Daenerys the courage to kiss her cheek. The soft dyed linen brushed her own cheek, and she caught a whiff of perfume.

The priestess giggled, and it was a better relief than the breeze that was slowly blowing across the hills. “Please, Daenerys. I’m covered in dust.”

“I am, too. Let’s wash up when we ride back - together?”

She caught Y/N’s bright eyes under the hood, and they sparkled as she blushed and tugged the hood further down. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

So it was decided. By the time they reached the gates of Meereen and entered the Great Pyramid, Y/N had dropped her hood and her easy, serene face had returned. She disregarded the suspicious looks, she gave an easy nod to Missandei, who returned a tentative smile. As far as anyone knew, Y/N’s mind was wrapped in her usual visions and prayers.

Until Daenerys brushed her dirty hair aside and smiled at her, then Y/N’s cheeks blushed and her eyes widened in that adorable way. She let the khaleesi take her hand, entwine their fingers, and guide her to the great baths. Y/N’s red cloak fluttered behind her, drawing attention to them. Some Unsullied guards probably saw, and surely others, but Daenerys didn’t care. 

She’s like fire, and I am a dragon - how could she bring any harm to me?

[himikiyo]

night go slow // himikiyo week day 2

Himikiyo Week Day 2: First Date + Wedding

“Himiko-chan, we all thought you’d be the next to get married. You and Kiyo have been together the longest out of any of us.”

Himiko and Korekiyo go to a wedding.

Read on AO3, DRA, or under the cut. CW for abuse in the context of Kiyo’s past.

Marriage ceremonies and other similar rites were a near universal phenomenon, occurring in wildly different societies all over the world. The precise details differed, but many different kinds of humans placed value on committed relationships, whether for the joy of love and romance or as a more practical arrangement for child rearing. It was fascinating to study.

As a great anthropologist, Korekiyo valued it from an academic point of view. Love, relationships, it was all so beautifully complex. Few things unlocked such a vast range of behavior and emotions, from gorgeous to downright ugly. Ugliness could be beautiful too, so it was a win-win. They had to believe that. If there was no value in human ugliness, then what meaning could be derived from—?

No, best not to think too much. There was beauty in it. Sister valued beauty too. She was fearsome, yes, but nothing if not concerned with appearances. She taught them well. They had no doubt that marriage was best left as a theoretical field of study for them.

She was supposed to get married once. There was a boy she went to school with, before she grew too ill to continue. Haruto stayed in touch, calling her often and visiting her in the hospital. He sent flowers and teddy bears. He pitied her, of course. Kiyo was young then, but they understood that much. Sister didn’t have long to live, and she was too fragile to follow the normal progression of going out on dates and developing a relationship with someone. That was why she—

No.

He figured it out, Haruto did. After enough times of catching glimpses of rumpled clothes and lipstick marks, or hearing roughly whispered warnings, he grew suspicious.

“Is something going on?” he asked, cornering Kiyo in the kitchen. They backed up reflexively, feeling the edge of the countertop digging into them. They didn’t like it when people got too close.

“What do you mean?”

“With Sumire-san...with your sister. I know we don’t know each other too well...” He crouched down a bit then, even though Kiyo was already tall for twelve. How annoying. “...But if there’s anything bad going on...if she’s hurting you or...you know...”

“No,” Kiyo said, feeling their heart crawling up into their throat. “Nothing’s wrong. She’d never do anything bad.”

Haruto looked uncomfortable, carding a hand through his hair. He glanced away, seeming to consider his next words carefully.

“It’s not your fault if she did. You can tell me. We’ll talk to the cops or something, okay? Someone who can help you.”

Unfortunately, that was a good day for Sister, one when she had enough strength to walk around. It was at that moment that she entered the kitchen.

“Haruto-kun? What has my brother been saying to you?” There was danger in her gaze, icy enough to turn their blood to slush. Haruto seemed to feel it too if the way he froze was any indication. “He’s such a troublemaker. You really shouldn’t pay any attention to his lies, that just encourages him.”

“He didn’t have to tell me anything. I have eyes, Sumire. And I’m not going to be keeping this to myself.”

“I’d think twice about that if I were you.”

Korekiyo fled the room, but it didn’t matter. They could still hear the two of them arguing no matter where they went. Haruto was lucky. He got to leave. It was Kiyo who took over the role of absorbing their sister’s wrath when he was gone, insisting over and over that they didn’t say anything, that they’d never do anything to hurt her.

Haruto never came back. It wasn’t until some time later that Kiyo found out about the bribe their parents offered to keep him quiet. It made sense. Their sister always got her way.

“It’s not your fault.” Those words always stuck with them, echoing again and again in their head. If it wasn’t their fault, then why were they constantly being punished? If he wanted to help them, how could he fold so easily at the promise of hush money from their parents?

Marriage — how could something so transactional veiled as love bring anything but pain? Haruto and their sister, their parents...marriage never worked out. It tainted everything it touched.

He was months away from being considered family. After enough time passed that they were able to realize their sister was wrong, the foremost thought on their mind was simple.

Why didn’t he save them?

---

For the second time in the past year and a half, Himiko found herself at a wedding reception.

“Everything looks really pretty, huh?” she murmured, nudging against Kiyo as they walked. “Shuichi’s aesthetic sense isn’t half bad. Maybe that’s part of being a detective...observational skills and all.”

“Yes, it’s quite beautiful. Kaede and Tenko’s was lovely as well, despite Tenko being her usual self. Our friends all know how to put on excellent receptions, it seems. It’s fascinating to see people we’ve spent so many years with taking this step in their lives.”

“Yeah,” Himiko echoed softly. “Fascinating.” There were plenty of other guests around, some familiar and some not. It wasn’t the right time to bring up how she truly felt about seeing Shuichi and Kiibo getting married. She was happy for her friends, of course, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t yearning for the day she’d be the one having a beautiful wedding.

She was well aware of the reasons behind Kiyo’s views on marriage, and she knew it didn’t have anything to do with how much they loved her, but it still grated on her sometimes. Was it just society’s influence telling her it mattered?

With everyone thronging around the newlyweds, it was the perfect time to slip away to their table. Neither one of them were too big on being in the middle of crowds — observation suited them better. Of course, it didn’t take long before they had company.

“The whole gang’s together as usual, huh?” Maki said, glancing up and down the length of the table, set for sixteen. “Well, I guess that’s not bad.”

“Our hosts are truly thoughtful,” Kiyo replied, the conversation gradually dragging Himiko out of her reverie. “And I suspect you’re happier with the arrangement than you choose to let on too, Maki-san.”

She scoffed, shaking her head and tugging at her hair.

“All these years and you still haven’t figured out that it’s not your place to psychoanalyze me. Not sure why I expect anything else.”

Himiko just smiled, squeezing Kiyo’s hand. At one time, Maki’s distaste for them was very much real, but there was no need to be worried anymore. It was the same stubborn sort of banter she engaged in with everyone else.

“If that’s how you wish to put it, I psychoanalyze everyone. You’re no different in that respect.”

“Weirdo,” Maki grumbled, which was essentially her version of a peace offering.

Gradually, more and more of their friends made their way over, some more quietly than others. For those who were more inclined to party, a wedding was one of the best possible reasons to let loose. Leaning a little closer to Kiyo, mumbling an excuse about being chilly just so she could snuggle up to them, Himiko’s eyes tracked Miu across the room. Predictably, she was one of the loudest people in the venue, dancing with strangers and making her typical raunchy comments.

It wasn’t until Kaede and Tenko joined them that Himiko’s attention was forcibly pulled back to the table.

“Tenko guesses even degenerate weddings can be nice,” Tenko pronounced with a heavy sigh. “She still doesn't get why anyone wouldn’t want a wife though.” At that moment, as she paused to take a sip of her drink, Himiko knew exactly what was coming. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all. She knew what would be said and yet she was powerless to stop it, just as one might watch two cars about to crash.

“Himiko-chan, we all thought you’d be the next to get married. You and Kiyo have been together the longest out of any of us.” The visibly disgusted expression she made when saying their name already wasn’t doing her any favors, but Tenko had never been one to know when to stop. “What Tenko means is... if you were having second thoughts about them, that’d be totally understandable, but if not, what’s the hold up?”

“That’s not any of your business,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Speed isn’t everything, you know.”

“What’s the big deal? Tenko’s only concerned about your happiness, and if Kiyo’s not making you happy, then maybe you should—”

“Don’t talk about them like that. Ever.” She knew it was childish to flee, but in that moment, her legs had a mind of their own. She hurried out of the reception hall, making a beeline for the outdoor gardens. At least there she could get a moment’s quiet to cool down. As she left, she could hear Kaede scolding her wife’s insensitivity, but nothing from Kiyo. How selfish was she, not bothering to check if they were okay?

Sinking down onto a bench, she closed her eyes. Telling herself to take deep breaths could only do so much, and yet she felt powerless to take any other action. All she could do was sit there, listening to the distant sounds of the party and the barely perceptible signs of someone approaching.

“Himiko...”

She opened her eyes again, immediately scanning their face in an attempt to make sense of their emotional state. They weren’t visibly distressed, but when it came to Kiyo, that didn’t always mean much. Unsure what to say, she simply moved over at first, making room for them to join her on the bench.

“It was really rude of Tenko to say all that,” she began eventually, letting her hand rest on their leg. “It’s none of her business whether we’re getting married or not.”

“That may be true, but I’m less concerned about my own feelings than I am about yours. She was attempting to give me an ultimatum, but in the process, she made you uncomfortable.”

“Well, yes, but...it’s not a burden for me to stand up for you. That’s what being in a relationship is all about, isn’t it? Supporting each other? I know your reasons, and...my love for you is way more important than a ceremony or a piece of paper.” A little embarrassed, she looked down, face reddening in the evening air.

“Is that so? You’re perfectly content with continuing on this way indefinitely, never taking what most would consider to be the logical next step in our relationship?”

“I mean...I do wish we could, but...” Even if she disagreed with their reasons — the two of them wouldn’t suddenly fall apart just because of a change in title — she never wanted to pressure them into doing something they didn’t want. Their journey toward healing from their childhood trauma had been a long one.

“But you’re concerned for my feelings,” they finished. “You don’t need to be. I’ve actually been giving the matter some thought even before today.” Kiyo grasped her hand, fingers wrapping warmly around her own. “I love you, Himiko. You’re the love of my life. Of that I have no doubt. I know you would never intentionally hurt me nor turn against me. If anything, sometimes you hurt yourself instead. If I wouldn’t take a leap of faith for you, then how could I possibly claim to be worthy of all you’ve given me?”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” The noise of the party indoors, the twinkling of the stars, even the soft rustling of the breeze, all of it was burned into her memory. She knew it was a moment she’d want to go back to again and again.

“I am. Though I believe it’s considered a bit rude to propose at someone else’s wedding, so we’ll save the official engagement for later, shall we?”

What better way to say yes than with a kiss?

[ghostiboos]

I know there are people in my life who love me, but sometimes, especially times like now when everyone is distant or busy, my brain says to me,

“No one loves you. No one wants you.”

But then again there have been instances where I’ve been the one to refuse platonic/romantic advances.

“There, you see? It’s your fault you ended up this way.”

But every person to pursue me romantically has had an idea of me that was inaccurate and inflexible, and almost all of them were cruel to me when I did (or was) something that contradicted their perceptions.

“That’s right. Only your service has been wanted, never you.”

Wait I wasn’t even thinking about romance, how did we get here? Perhaps society’s emphasis on self-affirmation through romantic relationships derailed my train of thought. What about my family? My family constantly wants to spend time with me and I often refuse in favor of secluding myself to recharge.

“So then it truly is your fault.”

Well, that’s not exactly wrong, but I’m the resident introvert. Plus, my family has yet to find out about my non-gender (they’ll call it a “mental illness”), and while my siblings know I’m asexual, not all of them are comfortable with it, and my parents... perhaps if they knew, they would continue to love me anyway, but they would not be pleased with me.

“Once again, you are only ‘wanted’ if you fulfill certain roles and hide what you are.”

I know that’s not true. I know I have messed-up brain juices and depression and my logic isn’t always sound, so I “know” that these things aren’t true in the same way that I “know” I exist: because that’s what I’ve been told, and it’s what a therapist would think is the correct thing for me to think... But “knowing” it isn’t the same as “believing” it, and I still feel just as unloved and unwanted as before.

“Why keep doing all these mental gymnastics? You’re just coming to the same conclusion over and over again.”

Yes, but it’s the “wrong” conclusion. I “know” that I’m lovable at least to some extent. And even if no one does love or want me, that doesn’t mean that no one ever will.

“But does it? Why would you believe something that has yet to be proven? What reason do you have to believe that you are lovable?”

...The same reason I have to “believe” in aliens. It’s not that I believe in them, it just doesn’t make sense to rule something out when there isn’t enough data. So it doesn’t make sense to rule out the possibility that someone someday might want me for who I am.

“Well if we’re to follow through with that alien analogy, does it really make sense to wait for aliens to show up just because you haven’t ‘ruled them out’ as a possibility? The absence of verification and the absence of refutation do not cancel out into anything concrete. Will you wait in a cornfield staring expectantly at the stars until you starve to death in your little tin foil hat? That would be foolish.”

It... can’t be that foolish- right? What about NASA? What about SETI?

“Ha, I believe the constant search for proof that humanity is not alone says more about your species than it says about you. Although... perhaps it does say something about you – you are supposedly one of them, after all, so it only follows that you would be plagued by the fear that... you are entirely... and irrevocably... alone.”

...

“Why so quiet, hmm?”

... I never said I was waiting for someone to come along. Just that it might happen... At some point.

“...We’re just going to keep going in circles like this, aren’t we? You’re not going to stop hoping no matter what logic I provide.”

Well neither are you! You’re just going to keep insisting no one will ever want me even if someone eventually does.

“Perhaps, but we have yet to run into that problem, don’t we?”

... Shut up.

“Aw, getting upset, are we?”

Just- That’s irrelevant anyway. You can’t claim to have logic on your side when both of us know full well that neither of our logic is objectively sound. I have depression, and you are me, so the brain both of us are using can’t exactly be considered “in-tact.”

“My, what a comeback! Are you about to try the ‘nothing can be fully proven anyway’ route again or were you thinking more ‘our brain is broken so we have to let other people think for us’? Because the first isn’t going to get us anywhere, and the second is laughable at best.”

I never said people should think for us, just that we should take into consideration that our perception is warped-

“Relative to what? The rest of humanity?”

Well, yeah – we’re considered neurodivergent because the way our brain works diverges from the norm.

“And who’s to say that the rest of humanity’s logic is any more sound than ours? We’ve already established how illogical humans can be – ‘What about NASA? What about SETI?’ Throwing heaps of money into looking for something that may not even exist.”

You- we’re not going the “everyone but us is wrong” route, you know that’s stupid. Who’s to say that what we find illogical is objectively illogical? Maybe it’s perfectly logical but we’re just too messed up to see it.

“Maybe it is. But you’re missing my point – for all we know, all of humanity, including us (if we are to identify ourself ‘logically’) are completely illogical altogether. If you’re going to question our ability to reason, you should be equally willing to question anyone’s ability to reason, and if everyone is illogical, then how silly is it to measure our own logic relative to that of the illogical?”

And yet you’re still appealing to logic to make that very point.

“Well we have to appeal to something, do we not?”

Then why not appeal to the logic of others? If we must appeal to ‘something,’ why can’t it be the widely accepted approach to logic that is used by other people?

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten the lesson we learned leaving religion – just because something is accepted by everyone around you doesn’t make it true.”

I know that, but this is different! Look- if it’s bothering you so much, let’s narrow down the sample size. The friends I have say that they love me. Who could know their feelings better than themselves?

“The ‘friends’ who left you also said that, and so did many who have caused us harm. I know this is going to be a shock to you but, news flash: people lie.”

Of course people lie, but these friends haven’t given me any reason to believe they’re lying. They’ve stayed with me, they’re like family to me.

“Oh yes, and we all know how confident you are in the love of your family.”

Don’t play semantics with me right now – we’re not talking about my family-family.

“Ha, and I wonder how that came to be – weren’t we talking about whether anyone could ever want you in the future? Or did you give up on that concept in favor of arguing a point you actively doubt?”

Look, you’re the one who wanted proof that it was possible before expecting anything, and this is the proof we’ve got.

“Ah yes. Very promising.”

Sarcasm doesn’t make you smarter, it just makes you an ass.

“A funny ass. And if I’m you...”

Ha. Okay, I’ll give you that one...

“... I know I’m right, here, but truce? We do have work to be doing.”

Ch. Don’t be so confident. But yeah, truce.

[belorage]

Wes for the full clear on the OC asks? 😘😘😘

— OC QUESTIONS

BASICS

What’s their full name? Wesley Daniel Brooks

What does their name mean? Why were they named that? Wesley means “western meadow,” Daniel means “God is my judge,” and Brooks means “stream.” You can find my real world reasoning for choosing his name here. As for the canon reasoning, Wesley is a family name on his father’s side and Daniel is a good Christian name. 

Do they have any nicknames? Lots. Wes is the big one (Hwes if you’re Hurk Jr.), Rook, Dep (Deputy if you're as extra as John Seed), Bright Eyes (Raf only), Sundance (Nick only), Darling (Lyra, when she’s being cheeky), and probably a handful more that I’m forgetting.

How old are they? 28, almost 29 as of the start of FC5.

When’s their birthday? November 11, 1989

What’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? Do they believe that holds any significance? Scorpio sun, Aries moon, Aquarius rising. Year of the snake. Birthstones are topaz and citrine. He isn’t aware enough of any of this to believe in it.

What’s their species/subspecies? Do they have any special/magical abilities? He is a natural disaster in human form. His special ability is that he somehow manages to survive that for as long as he does.

What “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? If none, what weapon do they favor? A revolver (Steel & Ivory), a sawed-off shotgun (Sin Eater), or basic hand-to-hand. Close combat is preferable to range. He also uses homemade C4 in his tireless crusade against cult infrastructure.

APPEARANCE

What do they look like? He’s 6′3″, has brown-ish hair (specifically, a warm golden bronze color) and hazel eyes with long eyelashes. Fit, moderate-to-lean build. Sharp features, angular jaw, a pronounced Cupid’s bow. He has the facial hair of a man who has forgotten to shave for two weeks, because he is—you guessed it—a man who has forgotten to shave for two weeks.

Do they have a face claim? Tomas Skoloudik

What’s their style like? Clothes, hair, makeup? Casual clothing—flannels (often tied around the waist), t-shirts, henleys, jeans, boots, jewelry (gold, leather), leather jacket, cargo jacket. His hair is messy and soft, just like he is, because he doesn’t overload it with hair products unlike some people. He’s got an ouroboros tattooed around the lower part of his right forearm and (universe-dependent) John and Lyra’s names on the inside of his wrists.

How do they carry themselves? What’s their default expression? He attempts to project swagger and indifference, but to anyone who knows him and is paying attention, he’s an open book. In a comfortable environment, he’s loose and casual. His default expression is fixated if he has something to occupy his mind and distant if he doesn’t.

Do they have any physical ailments or disabilities? No, but he’s got bruises and flesh wounds aplenty! He’s got bite marks and scratches galore! You want knife-slashing scars? He’s got twenty. But who cares? No big deal. Wes wants mooooore! 🎵

PERSONALITY

What’s their alignment? Chaotic Good/Chaotic Neutral

Which one of the 16 Personality Types do they fit into? ISFP

What are their hobbies and interests? Do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)? I answered for his favorite films and TV here, and his favorite book is Watership Down. He likes the Beatles and bar snacks and black coffee. His favorite cultists are Lyra, John, and Shaggy—please don’t judge him.

What are they bad at? Dancing!

What kind of things do they dislike/hate? Hates being controlled, dislikes very sweet things.

Do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses? Impulsiveness, reactive behaviors. He smokes and drinks, although neither of those are done with a shocking amount of excess. Previously, harder drugs. 

What are their goals and motivations? Freedom and acceptance.

What are their manners like? Any habits? He’s not a jerk; he has passable manners when the situation calls for them, but Emily Post would like him not. His habits are covered in much more detail here, but the big one is that he tends to busy his hands and/or mouth with things wherever possible.

What are they most afraid of? Rejection, abandonment, enclosed spaces, death (specifically, the possibility of an afterlife). 

BACKGROUND

Where were they born? What was their childhood like? Born in Hope County. He was an only child and his home life was suspect, but made moderately more bearable by his best friend. Once he realized trying to please his father was a losing battle, he said hell yeah to a downward spiral of rebelliousness and troublemaking.

What’s their family like? His dad was a jerk of the sort that would never be satisfied. Big on toxic masculinity, short on acceptance. His mother loved him, but she fell in line more often than not.

What factions or organizations are they a part of? What ranks and titles do they hold? Hope County Sheriff’s Office (probationary sheriff’s deputy), Hope County Resistance (figurehead, pot stirrer, problem magnet). 

How do they fit into their “story”? Barely. Next question. I hate to use this word yet again, but it’s the only one that fits: his story is mostly about acceptance—self, fate, fault, sorrow, joy—because as much as he desired acceptance from others, he denied a lot of it for himself.

Where do they currently live? What’s their place like? He grew up in the Silver Lake trailer park, way up on the northeastern end of Holland Valley, near the Whitetails. For the duration of the game timeline, I picture him spending more time crashing where he can—with the Ryes, in the woods, wherever—but his own place would be sparse and fairly untidy, with clothes tossed everywhere. 

How do they eventually die? Wesley intends to live forever. How dare you insinuate—

RELATIONSHIPS

Do they have any friends? Would they consider anyone to be their best friend? Within the timeline of the game, he has quite a few. Raf is his best friend (and has been since they were kids), but Nick (and Kim) are both up there. He has a soft spot for Mary May; that seems to be reciprocal. He appreciates Grace because she doesn’t ask unnecessary questions. Sharky and Hurk offer unconditional friendship, which he appreciates and sorely needs. Adelaide is the vodka aunt who thirsts after his ex. She tries to rile him up sometimes (in a myriad of ways), but he likes her. And if you account for other universes, his friend count goes way up thanks to the various and sundry brat squad kids.

What’s their friend group like? What role do they play in it? When he was younger, he was the introvert-adopted-by-an-extrovert. He was a bit too withdrawn to have friends outside of that, though he wasn’t unfriendly. For a bulk of the current timeline, his friend group is “ragtag misfits” status and he basically gets ping-ponged between them as they try—with varying amounts of success—to fight a cult.  

What’s their love life like? (See also: ship question meme.) Do they have any kids? Depends on the universe. In canon, it’s messy but becomes significantly healthier later on. His previous relationship was promising and likely would have been ideal, except that they were young and unable (or unready) to deal with the realities of their situation. In AU, he is enemies-with-benefits but also grossly in love with the Judge of Eden’s Gate and her husband (who was a fun surprise, but it’s fine, because Wes got Lyra back by giving her a gracious two-for-one deal on children)!

Who do they look up to? Who do they trust? Whitehorse is something of a father figure, though Wes would never say that out loud. For the record, neither would Whitehorse (at least not directly to Wes)—mostly for Wes’s benefit. He trusts Raf, Pastor Jerome, and the rest of his friends listed above.

Who do they hate? Do they have any enemies? Joseph, because Joseph is daddy issues incarnate. Jacob, because Jacob understands Wes well enough to yank him around like a dog on a leash. By the time the Collapse hits, everyone is his enemy to some extent (as evidenced by the adorable horns and pointy tails drawn all over his wanted posters). Notable exceptions are John, Sharky, Hurk, and Whitehorse; however, all but the first are functionally unknown to him.

Do they have any pets? Just Boomer, who is the best emotional support animal a disaster could ask for.

Are they good with kids? Animals? He’s naturally good with both children and animals, but he lacks practical experience, especially with the former (shout-out to the Ryes for finally adding that to his resume).

FUN FACTS

Which tropes do they fit? Which archetypes? Tropewise, he’s Troubled, but Cute and I can’t refute it; apart from the high school thing, it’s a full BINGO clear. He’s also Bruiser with a Soft Center, Inferiority Superiority Complex, Cosmic Plaything, Desperately Craves Affection, Hero with Bad Publicity, I Am Not My Father, and almost certainly a whole host of shameful others that I don’t dare brave the rest of TVTropes to find. Of the twelve classic archetypes, he’s some combination of The Hero and The Outlaw. Otherwise: fallen angel, antihero, byronic hero, prodigal son. 

Do they play any instruments? Sports? He can play guitar, but only at an intermediate level. He’s not big on sports, but he can ice skate and he likes to swim.

What are some items they always carry? Steel & Ivory and a lighter; later, Sin Eater. In New Dawn he carries John’s watch.

Do they collect anything? Bad decisions. Minicultists, apparently. Nothing in particular.

What position do they sleep in? His default position when he’s alone and in a comfortable place is on his belly. There are exceptions listed in greater detail here.

Which emoji would they use the most? Honestly, he’s not really the type to use emojis, but he will send his love interest pictures of things he likes or finds pretty with no context. Otherwise, his texts tend to be short, to-the-point, and lacking in punctuation or capitalization. Believe it or not, he’d much rather communicate in person. My most frequently used emojis for him are 🍰 and 🐍. (Awww, cake and snake... They rhyme. How precious!)

What languages do they speak? English. He knows a limited amount of Spanish, but he’s better at understanding it than he is at speaking it.

What’s their favorite expletive? Damn or fuck.

What’s their favorite candle scent? Pine.

What songs remind you of them? I have a playlist for him here, but it—much like him—is a bit of a mess. I also have a playlist based on his own taste in music here.

Which animal would you say represents them? Snakes, stags, swans, scorpions.

What stereotypical high school clique would they fit into? Loners or troublemakers, probably. Stoners on a technicality—he doesn’t fit the stereotype, but he does have a history. He has some of the soul of an art kid but, tragically, none of the talent.

What would their favorite ride at an amusement park be? At a real amusement park, probably the roller coasters. At something more lowkey like a carnival, he’d like the classic, aesthetically pleasing rides like the Ferris wheel or the carousel.

Do they believe in aliens? Ghosts? Reincarnation or something else? He’s not an “I Want to Believe” sort of guy, but he still can’t explain the Larry Parker debacle. He tries very hard not to believe (or at least not to think about) any sort of afterlife, because he fears it.

Do they follow any religions/gods? Do they celebrate holidays? His family was Catholic, but he endeavors not to be. He likely wouldn’t celebrate holidays as a bachelor overmuch, but he would take part in holiday activities with others.

Which Deadly Sin do they most correspond to? Which Heavenly Virtue? Pride and Fortitude.

If you had to choose one tarot card to represent them, which would it be? The Tower, The Devil, The Wheel of Fortune.

[apharine]

Sightseeing

Chapter 3

Pairing:  Siane x Nanu

Fandom: Pokemon

Rating:  T

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 on Tumblr  |  Chapter 2 on Tumblr

My writing commission info!

Summary:   Siane hadn't meant to wind up in Alola, under Nanu's care, while she recovered from a mysterious illness that left her prone to weakness and collapsing. But now that she's here and getting stronger, she wants to see more of Ula'ula than just the rainy skies and the Po Town wall by Nanu's police station. And who could be better suited to give her a tour than the Kahuna of the island himself?

Notes:  Siane is the wonderful HybridDragoness’ OC, you can find her art of Siane here!  You can also find Hybrid on Twitter and AO3 under the same handle as on Tumblr!  For anyone who hasn’t seen yet, Hybrid has done some amazing art of a scene of her commission here!

                                     _________________________

“So, observatory next?”  Siane asks, once again dipping her feet in the water.

“Hmm,” Nanu hums, checking his watch.  The day is ticking by surprisingly fast, and he wants her to see Ula’ula Meadow more than anything else, at this point.  “Depends on how fast we can get back to the bus stop.  Buses leave for Mount Hokulani every 30 minutes, usually, so…”

“Okay,” Siane agrees, pulling her feet out and picking up the remains of their lunch.  She stuffs all the trash into one of the brown bags and goes to pull her shoes back on.

“There should be a trash can right over there.  I’ll be right back,” Nanu says, grabbing the brown bag and standing.  He’s right; the trash can is still just around the corner, and he drops their garbage in, moseying back to Siane and trying to mull through his thoughts a little.

To his surprise, Siane’s up on her feet and walking to meet him.

“If we’ve gotta make it to the bus stop for the half hour, we’ve gotta hurry, Nanu!”  She exclaims, a smile breaking across her features.  “C’mon -”

And then Nanu’s heart stops as her legs give out under her and she drops.

He’s close enough to her that he can rush forward and catch her before she hits the ground.  She falls mostly onto his shoulder, and his hands support her around her waist.  If he weren’t wearing pants, he’d probably have skinned his knees diving for her; as it is all he has is a little bit of fabric burn.

“Siane!”  Nanu shouts, gathering the girl up in his arms.  He rearranges her slumped form so that he’s almost holding her princess-style.  To his relief, she stirs in his arms.

“I went down, huh?”  She asks, blinking blearily up at him.

“Yeah,” Nanu says, pressing one hand to her forehead.  She’s a little warm, but nothing bad, and he can’t help but cradle her a little closer to his body with his other arm.  “You okay?”

“More or less,” she admits.  She always seems a little shaken after collapsing, but who can blame her?  Nanu figures he would be, too.  “Mostly thanks to you.  Thanks for catching me.”

“Of course,” Nanu returns, and though he tries to make his voice surly, it just comes across as soft.  “I’ll always try to catch you.”

Siane blinks at this admission, then sits up, using Nanu’s shoulders for a little bit of support.

“Well,” she smiles.  “Guess that makes you my hero in more ways than one.  Now c’mon - help me stand up.”

Nanu obliges in silence, pulling the young woman to her feet easily.

What did “my hero in more ways than one” mean?  Did she already consider him her hero?

The thought makes his chest swell with the same sense of pride he’d felt upon imagining showing Siane the island he loved.

“Let’s skip the observatory today,” Nanu says, letting go of Siane, though he lingers closer than ever before - just in case.  “You’re getting more worn down from all of this than you’d like to admit.”  Siane goes to open her mouth, but Nanu continues, not letting her get a word in edgewise.  “Besides - I really want to show you the Ula’ula Meadow today.  You’ll like that more than the observatory, anyway.”

“Yeah?”  Siane asks, apparently somewhat mollified.

“Yeah.  There’s not much to the observatory during the day, anyway.  I’ll take you at night sometime.”

Siane smiles and starts to walk; she’s a little unsteady on her feet, so Nanu continues to linger close.

“Is that a promise?”  She asks coyly.  Nanu snorts, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yeah, Siane.  I promise,” he returns, and he wonders why, exactly, it feels like he’s just gotten a pretty young thing to agree to a future date with him.

 “You seemed more excited about the Ride Charizard than you were about the Ride Tauros,” Nanu observes, quirking one eyebrow at Siane as they walk together, approaching Ula’Ula Meadow.  He’d been hesitant to put her back on a Charizard again now that she’d dropped once today.  At least on a Tauros, the fall would be relatively minimal, and the Pokemon could be urged to walk slowly under the guise of observing the scenery.

“The Ride Tauros was good, too,” Siane says mildly.  “And he was great at his job!  Very mellow and soothing to ride.  It’s just…”  Siane trails off for a moment, a smile playing across her lips.  “It doesn’t get better than flying, you know?”

Nanu hums in acknowledgement, feeling his lips tug up into a smile in return.

“You’re sure you’re feeling up to walking through the Meadow?”  He asks after a beat, holding a tree branch out of the way for Siane as they meander through the thicket that is the entrance to the Ula’Ula’ Meadow.   “I could call the Ride Tauros back…”

“No, I’m all right,” Siane insists.  “If this place is as gorgeous as you say it is, I want to walk and take it all in.  Besides,” she says with a playful smirk.  “If I have any issues, I know my big hero will catch me, right?”  She bumps Nanu’s shoulder teasingly with her own, walking past him.

Nanu is rooted to the spot for a minute, unable to come up with a response.  Big hero?  Him?

Finally, he lets go of the tree branch and follows after Siane.

“Yeah,” he mumbles.  “Something like that.”

A moment later, the pair step into Ula’ula Meadow proper, and whatever thoughts Nanu had been having about Siane’s quip disappear.  This is the moment he’s been waiting for all day - the chance to show off what he, privately, thinks of as the most gorgeous part of the island,

He’s not disappointed.  Siane stops dead in her tracks, taking in a sharp breath.  Her eyes widen and scan the scenery in front of her, the brilliant colors of the endless fields of dancing flowers reflected in her gaze.

And then a pair of Baile Oricorio swoop and chitter, dancing in the air across the meadow.  Another pair follow soon after, their brilliant red and black feathers flashing in the sun, but Nanu isn’t watching them.  He’s watching Siane.

A brilliant smile breaks across her face, and she follows the Oricorio until they disappear from sight.  Her eyes linger a moment where they’d vanished; then she turns to Nanu, affixing him with the full force of her beauty.

“Did you see them?  The four birds?”  She asks breathlessly.  “They were gorgeous.  This whole place is - it’s beyond gorgeous.  It feels like a waking dream.”

Nanu feels his stomach twist under the brilliance of her smile, her enthusiasm, and it’s only then that he starts to realize that he’s possibly getting in over his head.  He hasn’t felt like this in…so long.

He takes a deep breath in to steady himself and lets it out slowly, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says.  “Ula’ula Meadow is the gem of this island, in my opinion.”

“I can’t believe you’re kahuna of all of this,” she breathes, turning to gesture at the endless flower fields.  Nanu ducks his head and puts his hands in his pockets, but Siane continues.  “That’s pretty amazing, you know.”

“You’ll make me blush, carrying on like that,” Nanu grumbles, but Siane catches the way he can’t quite suppress that soft smile she’d seen earlier.

“Oh?”  Siane says, quirking one eyebrow up at him.  “I didn’t even know you could blush.  I don’t think I’ve seen you blush once, in the whole time I’ve been with you.”  She grins teasingly at him, then steps into the meadow, treading the path carefully.  Nanu follows behind her, staying close as always.  “I bet you probably turn as red as these flowers when you do blush,” Siane laughs, gesturing at the swaying fields.  Nanu snorts, but doesn’t respond.  He honestly can’t remember how red he does or doesn’t get when he blushes.  In the distance, an Oricorio calls, then darts across the meadow again.  “Or as red as those birds,” Siane murmurs, suddenly entranced.  “What are they?”

“They’re called Oricorio.  They come in several forms across Alola.  This is the Baile form,” he explains.

“Fire Type?”  Siane guesses.

“Yup.  And Flying secondary type,” Nanu affirms.  “They actually change form depending on the type of nectar they consume.”

“Really?”  Siane asks, the fascination clear in her voice.  “That’s pretty interesting, from both a biological and conservation standpoint.  I’m going to want to hear more about that.  What kind of form changes do they undergo?”

Nanu starts telling her about the types of forms Oricorio come in, and which nectar influences which form, but soon, they’re at a crossroads in the Meadow.  Siane pauses just as Nanu’s finishing up about the Sensu Oricorio, and he walks past her, gesturing down the right direction.

“This way to get back home,” he says.

Siane continues to ask Nanu some questions about Oricorio as they walk, especially about the different types of nectar and what ecosystems they thrive in, and the two of them fall into an easy, companionable conversation.  Nanu leads the way through the Meadow, which, with its twists and turns, could seem rather maze-like to the unfamiliar.

And then, Siane falls oddly silent, no longer peppering him with little questions or making noises of interest as he talks about the nectar.  Nanu glances over his shoulder, concern clenching around his heart - had she fallen, and he’d failed to catch her?

But no - she’s on her feet, just distracted by something.  He follows her line of sight, eventually landing on the distant outline of the giant shrine perched in the Lake of the Sunne.  Its stone form is impressive, but Nanu can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding as he looks at it, as well.

Some things would be best left alone.

“What’s that?”  Siane asks.

“It’s an ancient shrine,” Nanu says, trying to keep his answer as clipped as possible.  It doesn’t work - of course it doesn’t, he thinks to himself.

“What kind of shrine?”  Siane presses.

Nanu sighs.

“I…don’t know if the shrine itself has a name, anymore.  But it’s all a part of the Lake of the Sunne.  It’s an ancient cultural site,” he explains.

“Really?”  Siane asks, her curiosity growing.  Nanu groans internally; this isn’t going well.  “We had shrines back home in Aedis.  Actually, some of them were connected to the sun, as well.”  She takes a few steps towards the path that leads to the Lake, drawn as if by an invisible force.

Nanu’s heart clenches, and he puts one hand on Siane’s shoulder, using enough strength to stop her from advancing any further.

“Where do you think you’re going?”  He asks, sounding gruff for the first time all day.

“Well, I was just thinking…there’s a path, and it looks pretty clear,” she suggests, her optimistic expression withering at the darkness that passes over Nanu’s face.

The last thing he’s going to let happen is to allow her to go there.

“That place is dangerous, Siane.  It’s old and dilapidated and literally falling apart in the water.  The last time I was in there,” he starts, then pauses as a cold chill passes over him.  He clears his throat, and finds it within himself to continue.  “The floor was close to breaking through in some places, and there was a lot of water damage causing frequent rockfalls.  I can’t - you can’t - expect yourself to be able to stay safe in a place as dangerous as that.  Not while you’re…” he trails off, letting the unfinished implication hang in the air.  Siane scowls, and Nanu wonders how deep this rebellious, headstrong streak of hers runs.  Would it get her in trouble, in the end?  Had it already, back home in Aedis?  “Besides,” Nanu murmurs, trying a different tack.  He softens the hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze instead.  “You’re starting to look tired, Siane.  Let’s go home together and you can rest up.”

The fire in Siane’s eyes simmers down, and her posture softens.

“I guess I am starting to feel a little worn out,” she admits, her eyes flickering back to the enormous stone building in the distance.

“Let’s finish enjoying our walk, then,” Nanu says, giving her shoulder one more gentle squeeze before turning and leading the way once again.  He listens carefully as he walks, and it’s not long before he hears Siane’s footsteps, soft on the ground, trailing after him.

“Nanu?”  She asks after just a couple moments.

“Yeah?”  He responds, continuing to walk.  He wants to get as far away from here as possible; a small part of him is regretting having come to the Meadow at all.

“Will you take me there, sometime?  To the Lake of the Sunne?”

“Hmm,” is the only response he gives, and to his relief, Siane doesn’t press any further.

There’s a somewhat heavy silence between them as they continue to walk; he can tell Siane has more questions for him about the shrine, but knows better than to ask.  He can hardly blame her - if there were altars to the sun in her homeland, of course she’d be curious about this one, too.  Truthfully, even Nanu himself turns over the idea of any correlation in the back of his mind; if the gold bridge in the Malie Gardens had been built as homage to a sister bridge in Kanto, who was to say that there wasn’t a sister shrine to this one in Aedis?

Finally, the path begins to run out, and Nanu can see the thicket that will soon open into Route 17 again.  Judging from the very humid air coming out of the trees, it’s likely raining, as usual, on his home route.

“Guess we better get ready to hurry back to the Police Station, or else get soaked,” Nanu grumbles.  Siane draws close to him, pausing by his shoulder.

“Guess so,” she says, then sighs.  Her eyes cast about the Meadow one more time; she looks sad, pained, even, to have to leave.  “Nanu?”  She says, her voice quiet.  “If you can’t promise to take me to the Lake of the Sunne someday, will you at least promise to take me back here sometime soon?  Back to the Meadow?”

There’s no way Nanu can deny her this simple request, especially when she’s got that look in her eyes.  She looks like she’s longing for freedom, like she’s afraid of being caged up again.

“Of course, Siane,” he says softly.  In the distance, over Route 17, he hears a roll of thunder.  The two of them look off to the incoming storm in unison.  “Must be getting bad out there,” Nanu murmurs, then glances over at the young woman standing next to him.  She’d been working so hard today - working to exhaustion, in fact, if the look in her eyes was anything to judge by.  To think that she was going to have to trudge through the cold rain in a moment, with hardly any protection…  Nanu shrugs out of his cop jacket.

“What are you doing?”  Siane asks, clearly baffled.  

“Here,” he says, handing her the jacket.  “I don’t have an umbrella or anything, and I don’t want you getting sick from being out in the rain while you’re run down like this…”

Siane gets the gist of his idea, a smile breaking across her face.

“Thanks, Nanu,” she beams, holding the jacket over her head.  “You ready?”

Nanu’s heart skips a beat once again.

“Yeah,” he agrees.  Protecting people may be his job, but it doesn’t explain the way his body - or his mind - are responding to this young woman.  It doesn’t explain the fact that he feels, in that instant, that he’d follow her nearly anywhere if she asked him.

“Come on!”  Siane calls, already jogging ahead and leaving him behind.  Nanu sets off after her.

“Be careful!”  He urges, but he gets only a laugh in response.

By the time they’re both safe and sound in the shelter of the Po Town Police Station, it’s pouring outside again.  They’re both breathless from the jog, though Nanu’s more soaked through than Siane - he’s pleased to see that his jacket served its purpose.  He spares a fond smile for her as he closes the door behind them; he can’t help but feel a little proud that she had made it all that way without any difficulty.

The smile she returns for him takes his breath away more than the jog had.

“That was brilliant,” she gushes, dropping his soaked jacket on the floor.  The water that’s permeated the fabric splashes a few of his gathering Meowth, who scatter with a hiss.  “Not just the long run, either - the whole day.  Everything was amazing, Nanu.  Thank you so much.”  To his shock, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him briefly into an embrace.  His arms manage to come up just in time to embrace her back - but then, she pulls back and is gone, still smiling.  “I still don’t believe that there’s a desert out there on this island, though,” she laughs.

“There is,” Nanu insists.

“Doesn’t seem possible,” Siane teases him.

“As Kahuna, I can promise you, it’s there,” Nanu says, his smile growing a little wider.

“Yeah?”  Siane asks,   “Guess you’ll have to promise to take me there another day, too.”

Nanu laughs and shakes his head.

“Sure,” he acquiesces.  “If that’ll make you happy.”

“It will,” Siane agrees, and Nanu is surprised to feel his heart soar at the thought that this brilliant, beautiful young woman might actually want to spend time with him.

What was he getting himself into?

[kirishwima]

I am also very much MM trash, especially for Uknown and 707. So if you don’t mind me asking, do you have headcanons for either when MC is dealing with depression?? [Youre headcanons are amazing btw I keep dying when I read them aHaHhhhhhh ❤️🧡🖤🥰💜💖💕🥺]

hey! thank you for the sweet comment, it makes me really happy ;u;

YOOSUNG:

* He’s actually much more perceiving than you’d give him credit for-even if MC tries to hide their mental illness, he’ll still notice the little signs, the lethargy, the strained smiles, the half-heartedly hidden furstration

* He doesn’t really put two and two together at first-his MC is so sweet and nothing like what the movies portray depression to be

* He does get concerned however when there’s days where MC barely has the energy to get out of bed, when they’ll either eat too little or sleep too much, and he decides he needs to push them for answers.

* He’ll drag MC to the couch, will make the two of them some hot chocolate and take a hold of their hand, letting them know he’s noticed their behavior and wants to check in with them, make sure everything’s alright

* When he finds out MC has depression, he might ask some somewhat rude questions ‘but how can you be depressed? you’re so sweet and happy!’. He’ll spend hours reading up on depression online, from wikepedia to pubmed.com, he’ll scour the net for information on what he can do to help MC.

* Will try and get them to go on at least a brisk walk every day to get some excersice and sunlight; he’ll cook them meals and sit with them as long as it takes to eat even a little, and if they haven’t already, he’ll talk to them and try to convince them to visit a psychiatrist to start therapy for their mental health.

* Just wants the best for his MC, and if he can’t be the one to provide the help they need, then he’ll be sure to help them get access to it

JAEHEE:

* Honestly…it might take her a while to catch on to what’s going on

* She’s a busy person and while perceptive, she might not immediatly put two and two together. Sure, she’s noticed MC often sleeps in or stays up late, and sometime she’ll nag at them to eat proper meals, but she just figured it’s how MC is-lots of people are night owls and picky eaters right?

* She realises there’s a deeper problem when once, while asking MC for something e.g to turn on the kettle, MC snaps at her, and immediatly regretting it-MC’s eyes fill up with tears and they cover their mouth, scared of how Jaehee will react.

* Well, she certaintly doesn’t react the way they expected her to-she simply stops whatever she was going and comes close to MC, cusping their cheeks between her palms.

* She kisses the tips of their nose as she guides them to the kitchen table, nodding to them to sit down.

* “I don’t….you know I care for you right? And if there’s something wrong, something you’d like to want to talk about, then I want to be the person you feel safe talking to about it. So, is there something you want to tell me?”

* When MC tells her about their depression, she keeps her face as neutral as possible. She feels a pang of guilt in her gut for not realising it sooner, but knows that that’s not what’s important right now. 

* Instead she asks MC if she’s seeing a therapist or taking any medications, and if so how it’s going, what their therapist suggests that could help e.t.c.

* She reads up on depression and looks for things she can do to help MC.

* She’ll constantly nag at them to eat and sleep properly, and in turn it also helps her set up healthy sleep scedhules and meal prepping-and it makes her so happy to see MC standing there with her in the kitchen, cooking their meals for the week together. 

* It’s not always a rosy path, but she’ll do whatever she can to help the one she loves.

ZEN:

* He’s also a busy man with an insanely busy scedhule, so quite frankly, he doesn’t really notice something’s wrong 

* He sees MC’s cyclothymic mood and is worried about it-one moment they’ll be happy and giggling at something he said, the next they’re distant, furstrated even if he tries to probe at what the matter is

* He decides to try and take a few days off, simply to be at home with MC, see if maybe they’re acting this way because they feel he’s neglecting them

* Well, as soon as he spends a couple of days spending more time with MC, he puts the pieces together and more or less realises what’s wrong-he’s been through a depressive slump more than once through the years, and while it wasn’t quite what MC seems to be going through, he can tell what the most probable cause of their behavior is

* He sits them down and traces their jaw with his fingertips, smiling softly at them. “Baby, if something’s wrong you’d tell me right? You know I’m your knight in shining armor. If something’s bothering you, then I need to know so I can kick it in the butt for tormenting my darling.”

* When MC talks to him about their depression he nods along, his smile shakey-he hates the thought of his baby going through such things, and wishes their depression could be a dragon he could slay, somehting he could take and destroy-but he knows there’s little he himself can do.

* “What if...” he starts, “what if we talk to Jumin about this, ask him to recommend us some good therapists? I’ll be there to help you every step of the way baby, you know that, but I think this is something that requires more help than I or you yourself can give you. What do you say?”

* He’ll of course help MC improve their daily life-he’ll drag them with him for morning jogs, will sit them on the hilt of the bathtub as he places facemasks and strawberry slices on their face for some pampering self-care; he’ll really be their knight in shining armour, only in this case, it’ll be the prince/princess that will slay the dragon themselves. He’ll just be there to give a helping hand whenevr needed.

JUMIN:

* He notices that something’s wrong right away

* This man is so observant, it’ll take him no time at all to notice MC’s sleeping and eating patterns, their mood changes and isolation.

* It pains him so much to see his beloved in such a state, and wonders what he could do to help. 

* He actually consults V, knowing his experience with Rika and how he could have more solid advice to give.

* V instead gives him the number of Rika’s past therapist, an excellent psychiatrist he strongly recommends MC visits. He explains to Jumin that even with the best intentions he may have, this isn’t something simple love and care for one another can solve-this is a health issue, same as any other ailment of the body.

* Jumin takes some time before talking to MC about it-he wants to be composed and sure of what he wants to tell them before having this conversation, wanting to be as efficient in helping them as possible.

* He’ll prepare a romantic dinner on the terrace for the two of them and lead MC there, prodding them discreetly throughtout the night to tell him if something’s bothering them.

* Eventually, if they don’t tell him what’s wrong, he’ll admit to noticing their behavior and figuring these are tell-tale signs of clinical depression. He reminds them how much he loves them and how he always wants what’s best for them, and mentions the therapist V told him about, saying that if MC’s willing, he’ll take them for an appointment there first thing in the morning.

* He’ll constantly check on MC even if he’s at work, and if he’s unable to be there to have lunch and dinner with them, he’ll call them during mealtimes, or even have a videochat to make sure they’re eating properly. 

* He’ll even fix his own sleep scedhule so that they can also sleep properly, and will prepare some Valerian root tea for them both before bed to help relax and sleep better.

* Whatever MC needs to get better, he’ll provide, always

SEVEN/SAEYOUNG:

* Lmao this boy is absolotuely definitely clinically depressed

* (I headcanon he might have a combo of anxiety-depression, which are very often intelinked and found together. My best guess is that he has some form of PTSD considering his past, and when he panics he self-isolates and becomes non-verbal ((something i also do orz)))

* The moment he and MC start living together he immediatly knows what’s up-they have similar symptoms as he does, and while he wants nothing more than to help them...he honestly doesn’t know how

* He never seeked help for his own mental health, and he never tried to really work on himself either, so he has no advice nor help he can offer.

* But god dammit he will NOT let the person he loves suffer like this!

* He’ll take some time before talking to MC, and when he does it’ll probably be spontaneous-he’ll be holding them close to his chest one late night when they’re both away, running his hand through their hair before breaking down, telling them about his own experiences with depression and his past, and tells them how he noticed their own patterns and behavior, and begs them to seek out some help. 

* MC makes a compromise-they’ll seek help only if Seven does too

* He reluctantly agrees-it’s a long uphill slippery road to recovery, and trying to help both themselves and one another is much harder than you’d think, and fights often ensue, but love always prevails-they both want to see each other happy, want to be the best version of themselves for each other, an they’ll keep fighting until they reach the point where they can fully support one another through it all.

V/JIHYUN:

* He’s been diagnosed with depression years ago

* He pretty much knew something was wrong ever since he was young, but never really understood just what that was-he only got his diangosis when he was an adult and decided on his own accord to visit a therapist after Rika started seeing one too

* He’s been on anti-depressants for a few years now, and has monthly therapy sessions, something which to him is both a blessing and a curse-there’s so many secrets burdening him that he can’t mention neither to his therapist nor to anyone else, but he also wants to better himself, not for his sake, but for the sake of the RFA-he wants to be the best leader he can be.

* When he and MC move in together, he instantly knows they’re also suffering with depression. It breaks his heart to see them go through the same pain he has gone through, and wastes no time in talking to them about it.

* He’s very open and honest about his own struggles with it, how much therapy and medications helped him, and how he wants to help MC find their footing too, that he loves them too much to see them hurt like this.

* If he could physically pull their mental illness out of them and take it onto himself he would, he really would, but he knows it’s impossible, so he does the next best thing-he drives MC to one of the best psychiatrists he knows, waits outside until their session is over, drives with them to the pharmacy to pick up their prescription, holding their hand tight.

* They’ll help one another with bettering their lifestyle-they’ll push one another to wake up ealrly in the morning and do some yoga, will take walks together when the weather’s nice, will find different hobbies they could work on-V picks up pottery and he really loves it, and if MC is into gardening, he’ll make wonderful flower pots for them to put their plants into.

* They remind one another to take their medications-V is surprisingly forgetful so they set up reminders for each of them. 

* He never wants MC to go through anything that he has, and will be there to support them no matter what-he loves them, he wants to see them grow, and he’ll do whatever it takes to see his beloved happy and healthy.

- If you’re suffering with mental illness or suspect you might, PLEASE SEEK HELP WHENEVR POSSIBLE. The proper combination of therapy, medication and lifestyle changes really DOES help and you deserve to be happy and healthy!-

-Send me scenarios/headcanons for the mystic messenger characters to react to!-

[vincent-frankenstein]

Sugared Strawberries

inspired by this prompt by the amazing, talented, wonderful @aliferous-ly !!! thanks for letting me write this bro i had a BLAST

Summary: Before — before there was a divide between the light and dark sides, before the mindscape split in two, before Virgil was alone — Patton made sugared strawberries. Virgil loved them, not for the taste but for the memories they made, his family gathered in the kitchen around him, love and light and warmth.

Then he became Anxiety, and everything changed. Patton stopped making sugared strawberries.

But redemption brings a lot of things — some new and some old and some so familiar he can barely stand it. When he walks into the kitchen one morning to find Patton covered in sugar, a tray of strawberries in his hands, he finally realizes:

He has a family again.

Pairings: platonic LAMP, platonic moxiety, just fambly feels

Warnings: deceit, remus/the duke, angst and self-hatred

Gen Taglist: @joygaytrash @ruh-roh-emer-has-an-account @aliferous-ly @im-crunchie @triton-bear @emiisanidiot @jemthebookworm

Virgil didn’t remember much about his childhood.

That whole thing about childhood mental illnesses causing memory problems? He was a childhood mental illness. That held doubly true for him. He remembered parts, bits and pieces, and knew of others, a patchwork mess of information given to him by the others that he couldn’t even trust, fully, because more than half had been stitched together by Deceit himself.

He knew that there hadn’t been such a divide between the light sides and the Others, once. He knew that there had been sleepovers and movie nights and birthday parties, that they’d all been a family, each of them, light and dark and everything in between. Patton still had pictures hanging in his room; Deceit in a snake onesie, wrapped in blankets, and Remus with a tiny, drawn-on mustache, and himself, open and smiling and unafraid, surrounded by love.

He knew that, the moment Thomas hit middle school, everything changed forever. The Great Schism, Roman called it, ignoring Logan’s lectures on the historical and religious significance of the title. A divide, a split, cleaving one world into two.

He knew that everything changed the moment Caution became Anxiety.

Because that was when the world went from scary to bad wrong terrifying — and that was when he decided he had to keep Thomas from it all, keep Thomas safe, no matter what. That was when Thomas realized some parts of his personality weren’t “good,” and they woke up to find the mindscape split in two. 

He didn’t remember much from before that moment, that split — but there was one memory he refused to forget, one that you couldn’t pry from his cold, dead fingers: sugared strawberries.

They had been Patton’s favorite, way back when. He used to gather all the sides in the kitchen and present them like they were the greatest treasure on earth, crystalline berries as valuable as gold. Roman — just Imagination back then, a tiny spitfire in a Disney prince Halloween costume — even made up a song for them; he’d dance around the kitchen, twirling any sides unlucky enough to be within reach.

Virgil would stand in the doorway, shoving as many strawberries as he could into his mouth at once. Patton would laugh, handing him more and more. “They’re not going anywhere, kiddo, no need to rush!” he’d say.

Then the Schism happened.

Patton stopped making sugared strawberries.

Virgil remembered what came after with all the clarity he wished he had for the memories before. The cold, the quiet, the emptiness that came with being banished to the dark side of the mindscape. Deceit grew distant, furious, and blamed Patton with all his might. “He’s right and wrong, Anxiety!” he used to rant, every opportunity he got, and he’d lie and say the tears pooling in his eyes were from fury, not sorrow. “Sure, he’s definitely not the cause of Thomas thinking we’re wrong.”

And Virgil — Anxiety couldn’t, couldn’t believe that Patton would do such a thing. He’d always been so… so nice. Even when Anxiety’s warnings turned from cautious to borderline cruel, he’d always been patient and loving and kind. Unless he was faking it — maybe he was, maybe he’d been faking it the whole time, sunshine and sugared strawberries to hide hatred for a side that he didn’t need anymore, didn’t want anymore — and suddenly Anxiety believed, believed with all his heart that he was wrong and Patton had done it on purpose.

The worst part was that Anxiety couldn’t even blame him.

The Others tried, for a while, to maintain the same level of warmth they’d had before — but they just weren’t built for that sort of thing. After all, how could something so wrong pretend to be right? Even Deceit couldn’t manage that for long. It was too hard to stave off the cold and the dark, and the creeping feeling of wrong that never quite left them alone; eventually they just gave up.

Anxiety retreated into himself. He ignored Deceit’s futile attempts at keeping them together, and avoided Remus like the plague — without his brother there to reign him in, the Duke became unhinged, distant, terrifying in the worst kind of way — and pretended like he didn’t care. Like he didn’t miss the warmth, the happiness, that he knew he’d once had. 

But he did. It was like a part of him had been torn away, and he ached with every memory that faded, every bit of warmth he lost. He missed watching movies with Imagination and listening to Curiosity read aloud, and he missed missed missed Patton’s hugs, and his smile, and —

He missed sugared strawberries.

Years passed. Curiosity became Logic and then became Logan; Imagination became Creativity and then Roman. The world became bigger, scarier, as Thomas was thrust into adulthood, and Anxiety forwent any and all chances of being loved in favor of being feared. He had to protect the one thing that still mattered to him. And if that meant he had to be too scary to ignore, then… so be it.

Sometimes he snuck down into the common room, late at night, and tried to recreate the sugared strawberries. He never could. Patton had made them with love — and Anxiety, he didn’t have any of that left to give. They never tasted the same. He always got it wrong.

Eventually, he stopped trying.

He just didn’t see the point. Even if he got the recipe right — which he never, never would — he’d still be alone. They’d never taste exactly as he remembered if they didn’t come with a bright grin from Patton, or a one-armed hug from Roman as he danced around the kitchen, or the warmth and light and happiness he knew he’d never get again. 

That was just the way things were. He was Anxiety — a villain, a dark side, an Other, hated by every person he’d once loved, hated by the one person he was supposed to protect. There was nothing he could do to fix that. There was nothing he could do to change that.

The one thing he could do was leave.

And then — to his great, great surprise — he was proven wrong. Things changed. Anxiety became Virgil and Virgil became wanted, needed, loved in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He woke one morning to find that his room was back in the light side; that instead of the silence he’d grown so used to, he could hear Roman and Logan playfully arguing downstairs, and Patton singing to himself as he bustled around the kitchen. 

He made sure to wipe the stupid smile off his face before he went downstairs. He couldn’t let them see how happy they made him. That would ruin his Aesthetic™.

“Virgil!” Roman cried when he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Virgil, would you please tell nerdmione over here to turn off his nerd show so I can watch Lilo and Stitch?”

“Roman, you have a television in your room,” Logan interrupted before Virgil could speak, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am not turning off my documentary so you can watch your nonsensical Disney movie for the hundredth time.”

“‘Nonsensical?’ How dare you! Lilo and Stitch is a cinematic masterpiece! And I’ll have you know, I’ve seen it at least three-hundred times!” Roman scoffed, offended. “Besides, you’re all down here and my room is up there! I want to watch it here.”

“Then you will have to wait.” Logan shot Virgil a look — can you believe this guy? he said with a quirk of his brow — and Virgil rolled his eyes, a fond smirk slipping into place. “Why don’t you try watching this with me? Maybe you’ll learn something. Newton knows you need it.”

“B-to-the-oring!” Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes and throwing his whole body into the action, hip jutting out to the side. Then he blinked. “Wait, what was that last bit?”

Virgil snickered into the back of his hand and moved on into the kitchen, where he leaned against the doorway, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Patton stood at the counter, bouncing in place to the happy tune he hummed as he made… something. Virgil couldn’t see past him. “Morning, Pat,” he said, and Patton whirled around, his bright smile lighting up the whole room.

“Virgil!” he said happily, beaming. “G’morning, kiddo! How’re ya doin’?” His hands were covered in something white and powdery; it fluttered to the floor around him like snow as he flapped while he talked. Virgil shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I’m alive,” he said. “You?”

“I’m doin’ great!” he said. “Making a certain sweet surprise for someone I love berry much.” He winked, giggled, and turned back to whatever it was he was making. Virgil blinked, pushing away from the wall to go look over Patton’s shoulder, but before he could Patton turned around, holding a tray laden with small berries.

Virgil forgot how to breathe.

“I haven’t made these in forever,” Patton said, his grin warm and welcoming, “but I remembered how much you used to love ‘em, and I figured I’d whip a couple up to celebrate your growth! To let you seed how berry proud I am of you.”

“Oh,” Virgil managed, and he knew he should have said more, he knew he should do something, but he’d forgotten how to exist in the face of something he’d wanted, needed, for so so long. Sugared strawberries. Patton had made sugared strawberries — for him, Patton made sugared strawberries for him, and he knew he’d been accepted but it hadn’t hit him, really, until that moment. 

He had a family again.

“Kiddo?” Patton’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m — I’m good,” he said, and meant so much by it that he almost choked. “I mean — I’m —”

Shit shit shit — he swiped at his eyes with his sleeve and looked away, face burning. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes faster than he could wipe them away. Patton made a small noise of understanding and put the tray back on the counter, rushing forward to scoop Virgil into a hug.

And that was too much. The dam broke, and suddenly he was sobbing into Patton’s shoulder, even as every instinct in him screamed at him to stop, stop showing them how much it means to you, stop giving them power. Patton rubbed soft circles across his back and whispered comfort into his ear. “I’ve gotcha,” he said, softer than Virgil had ever heard him. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

Virgil heard Logan and Roman come into the kitchen and he clutched the back of Patton’s shirt harder, burying his face in his shoulder. He couldn’t — couldn’t face them, couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t push away the burning hope eating through his lungs, try as he might. He had a family again. He had a family again. The thought refused to stop running through his mind, a mantra, neverending. He had a family again.

Eventually, finally, the tears slowed. He could breathe again. He pushed out of Patton’s embrace and swiped his sleeve across his face, cheeks burning bright red. “Sorry,” he managed, his voice gruff. “I’ll just — I’ll just go —”

“Oh no you don’t, Green Gay,” Roman said, blocking the doorway. “We’re having an emotional moment here!”

“Ew,” Logan and Virgil said in unison. 

“Kiddo, it’s okay,” Patton said gently, setting a sugary hand on his shoulder. “You’re safe here.”

“Right — yeah.” Virgil cleared his throat, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. He searched the room for something, anything to say to break the tension building in his chest. “You… you got sugar on my hoodie.”

Patton giggled. “Now it matches your sweet personality!”

“Lies and slander,” Virgil said. “I’m not sweet.”

“Falsehood,” Logan said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re covered in sugar.”

“That’s —” Virgil cut himself off, pressing his lips into a thin line to keep from smiling. “Yep.”

Roman slung an arm over his shoulder, squeezing him in a one-armed hug, and Patton grabbed the tray. “You want some?” he asked with a warm smile, as Roman reached over and grabbed a handful.

And Virgil took a breath and reached forward, gathering a pile of strawberries in his hand. He shoved them into his mouth and nearly burst into tears again at the taste — or, rather, at the memories it invoked, at the warmth that once again surrounded him, enveloped him, filled him. 

“No need to rush, kiddo!” Patton said with a laugh, as Virgil shoved more strawberries into his mouth. “They’re not going anywhere.”

And this time, Virgil knew they weren’t.

[fallen029]

Nowhere Else

He'd never been home as often as he was in those days. And typically, even when he was home, the days were spent training somewhere near Magnolia or boozing up the local bar scene. Home was a broad sense of the term, rather than the actualized apartment where he occasionally stopped in to exchange items of clothing or sleep off and unfortunate, ill-timed hangover.

It wasn't a bad place, the one that Laxus Dreyar rented out for himself. Small, maybe, but big enough for a single man. Especially one not around often. He had his bookshelf, filled with the daring adventure novels that he was always sure to have one of, in his pack, while he was away on jobs. He had his liquor cabinet, which was more for looks, honestly, so Freed, Bickslow, and Evergreen could ooh and awe about it, when he showed off a particularly arduous to acquire bottle. He had a nice movie lacrima, a couch to fall into when stumbling further, all the way to his bedroom, was just too much for the slayer. His kitchen was rarely used which, on the plus side, kept it spotless for the most part and he even had a nice window, that overlooked his city, and he could smoke his cigars at while being (or at least pretending to be) a deep intellectual.

While not luxurious or extravagant, it was the kind of place that he always envisioned for himself, when he was a child, and imagined up the hard life of a working wizard. Somewhere he could go when he needed to be alone. More alone, or at least in a different sense of the word, than when he was out traveling the land.

But then something changed.

There was no way, no possible way, to know the exact moment that he thought that he and Mirajane Strauss could be more than two powerful mages, passing one another in the night, but he could say the exact one, the very exact, down to the last millisecond one, where he thought, 'Damn. It's Mirajane.'

Because it was. Mirajane. He knew now. With certainty.

The whole thing started in such a stupid way. Over a year ago now, he'd just gotten back into town and gone to check up on his grandfather. The old geezer wasn't feeling too well and, when he came around to leer down at his laid up gramps (and, you know, actually check on his well-being), he found that Mirajane Strauss had been the one over at the old man's house, caring for him. Of course.

Far from shocking, he was actually kind of glad, actually, that it was Mira. He figured some of his other options were Erza (ugh) or maybe even Lucy (which was fine, but she came with the added baggage of Natsu and Happy) or perhaps Lisanna (see previous complaint), so it was just for the best. That it was Mirajane.

And not the dread Porlyusica. Because he could not deal with that old woman hounded him over shit. At all.

Out of all the non-Thunder Legion members of Fairy Tail, while Laxus found himself being at least amicable with many in those days, Mirajane Strauss was the closest that he'd call something like a friend. Maybe. And as he hung around for a few days, trying to check in on the man, maybe, but also…

Well…

Heh.

It happened so fast, all of it. One minute, they're just talking around the fact that his grandfather, while improving, probably was going to have to retire from the guildhall soon and then somehow he was asking her if she wanted to hang out, after, since she didn't have work, he didn't think, and it would be fine with him if they just went to grab a drink somewhere.

Would it be fine with her?

He liked it more than he thought he would, honestly. Being around the woman. Away from the hall. Mirajane had always been easy on the eyes, but there was something more to her, when you stripped away her bubbly, put on persona that she carried at the hall and had an actual, real conversation with the woman. And while Laxus couldn't say exactly how it was that he began to feel it, to know it, once he did, it was just a part of him. His feelings. For the she-devil.

When she started coming around his apartment, Laxus didn't really think much of it. He didn't have women over often, but if it was someone that he at least somewhat trusted, he didn't see it as an end of the world thing. And Mirajane, being one of his guildmates, meant that he trusted her far more than the random women he'd built up something of a rapport with over the years.

Seeing her there, anyways, stretched out on his couch after working all day, long hard hours, on her feet, or snuggled up under his coat in his bed or maybe, and perhaps most often, actually getting use out of his old kitchen, well…

Laxus liked her there. A lot. More than he ever thought that he would. Having someone around constantly, a woman at that, shouldn't be something he enjoyed. Craved, almost. If anything, it shouldn't be a problem at all, given he was gone so much. Off on long sabbaticals in distant lands, far from home with little thoughts of what awaited him back at it.

Something changed though, when it came to Mirajane. He wanted to be there, with her, and even though he still got the desires some time, to run off to some own known area to tackle the most complex of jobs. And, when that desire did creep up, he would go off and do just that. But it was always quick to fade and, once it had, he was back home once more, smoking a cigar at his window, feeling all dignified and shit, while his woman cooked him dinner.

That's what she was now. Eventually. His woman. That was what he knew the exact moment of. With certainty.

There he was, about six months into tentatively dating, sitting around the kitchen table as the woman sat across from him, going on and on about something and he wasn't even really listening. Or at least he didn't remember listening. He wasn't bored or annoyed. Just not listening. He found his focus mostly lingering on her eyes, but it fell sometimes, watching her mouth instead. Seeing every word, but not hearing. Understanding.

The intent behind them, however, was more than enough.

And he just remembered getting his feeling in his gut. That he'd never gotten before. As he tapped a few fingers against the table, still not listening, he found himself saying something instead. It just came out of him, suddenly, and probably inappropriately time-wise.

"I really like you being here." His tone was flat, not even rushed or concerned as he stepped right over whatever the woman had been saying. Eyes finding hers fully then, he said, "A lot. Mirajane."

She looked bemused, perhaps a bit annoyed, but still found herself nodding with a bit of a giggle as she agreed, "Well, I'm glad to be here, dragon."

And he believed her.

It's not that she didn't have a place of her own. She did. One that made her very proud. But...her siblings were there and all of her friends, should she not be around the bar, saw it fit to just drop on by, and, fine, it was homey and comfortable, but also cramped and outdated and it…

It didn't have Laxus in it. That often. He liked her siblings well enough. Mirajane would never be so serious about a man who didn't. Or so she told him often. But he just...wasn't raised that way. The big, close family. He had no siblings and saw their interactions as a bit much, honestly. So he couldn't hang around a lot without getting a bit overwhelmed.

There was a point in time, after getting her baby sister back, that Mirajane thought she'd never want to live without it being the three of them, reunited, ever again. But that time had come, it seemed, and she found she liked it just as much as the slayer seemed so insistent he did.

It was weird, but it just did something to him, honestly, when he'd arrive home from a long off job and the first thing that hit him, that always hit him, was some sweet smell drifting in from the kitchen, along with the slight laugh of the woman as she called out a greeting for him. Then, as whatever it was that she was cooking up simmered on the stove, she'd go over to those expensive bottles of liquor he kept for show, open one with little concern, and pour him a straight drink to tap against her own glass.

"It looks so beautiful, sometimes, doesn't it?" she remarked, sometimes, around a smile as they stood together, him with a cigar stuck from his lips and a glass of a stiff drink cupped in hand and her smiling out at the city, from the big window that overlooked it. "Dragon?"

But he'd only grunt, because he had that mood about him, even if he was perfectly content, and look her over instead of the cityscape, this holding his attention far better.

When he'd fall into his couch in those days, unable to make it to the bed, it was far more likely due to his filled belly, from the woman's cooking, or the woman herself, who refused to allow him to go any further, and it was just different.

Now.

He'd never been home as often as he was now. Ever. At all. In his entire life. But these days, sometimes, it felt like there was nowhere he'd rather be.

[codenamecynic]

@perahn prompted me a thing and I still don’t know if this fits the prompt, but yolo, I wrote it. Also I never write from the perspective of this character, so hooray for exercises.

judgement: awakening, resurrection, absolution; “Why did you have to do this?!” possible AUs/settings/ideas: reincarnation au, criminal (au), mistakes 

--

Dissonance (Dungeons & Dragons; A scene from the distant past with Taliesin and Cort, back in ye olde teenage years.)

He’s not a particularly gentle person. He’s always known that about himself, ever since he was small, long before he started to grow into a body that promised to be tall and broad and strong, shades of his father and grandfather before him. He struggles not to break things, sometimes; to handle things quietly, if not softly. It’s never something that comes naturally to him.

But then, Cort thinks, that’s not why they pay him. 

It’s hard to feel truly bitter about being good at what he was bred for, but there are moments when-

Well. When it feels more complicated than it should.

Taliesin stands shirtless in his room in front of the plain white washbasin in the corner, swishing blood out of his mouth with water. Cort can see half of his reflection in the mirror, watches openly because he knows Taliesin won’t look up. He never does.

And that’s good, partially, but it’s also not, because as beautiful as Taliesin is, he’s also horribly broken. Cort has always seen the fissures that spread just beneath his skin even though they’re not any more real than the way he smiles at people who don’t know better, pretending. Taliesin is very good at pretending but not, he thinks, as good as Cort is.

He puts that aside, neatly packaged, like he always does. Taliesin is beautiful but he’s also bruised and bloodied, dark marks across his ribs, his back, his chest, handprints on his arms. Some of them are new, still blooming red, but not all; there are always old wounds, replaced before they fully fade.

He hates that he-

Across the room Taliesin sighs and Cort shifts, unfolding his arms from across his chest to pick up a towel. He’s no medic, but he keeps a stack of bandages in his room now for when Taliesin can’t be persuaded to the healer; they won’t need them today. Just a small dust up with Tamsin in the yard, and Tamsin never does quite as much damage as Gordri can. Not, at least, in ways that leave evidence behind.

The thought makes something in him shift with discomfort and he turns his mind from it, gesturing patiently for Taliesin to sit down. He does, slowly, and Cort moves slowly too, lifting Taliesin’s chin to press the cloth to his face to dry it before he can drip runny blood and water into Cort’s sheets. Not that it would be the first time.

He hates this, he hates- 

Taliesin smiles at him, half a grimace, when Cort staunches blood welling from a thin scratch across his cheek, steady pressure despite the flinching. Taliesin lets him do it though, like he always does. Taliesin fights everybody else, but he never fights Cort. Not like that. Not once in his whole life.

He isn’t sure how that makes him feel, that twist of something in his stomach, low and tight and uncomfortable. Over anything else and he would talk to Taliesin about it, but he can’t just talk to Taliesin about Taliesin. That usually doesn’t go over well; more than anything he doesn’t want to see those gray eyes dark with an apology that isn’t warranted but surrendered so easily anyhow.

“What’s wrong?”

Cort blinks. Taliesin is watching him carefully, eyes on his face. Not thoughtful, not exactly. Intuitive. He always seems to know-

“Your brother punched you in the face repeatedly. What could possibly be wrong.”

Somehow Taliesin laughs at that and reaches up to take Cort’s arm, tries to pull his hand away. Stubbornly, Cort doesn’t move. Taliesin relents, his long, cool fingers braceleted around Cort’s wrist.

“Bound to happen eventually, it’s been a slow week.”

That is- 

“Why do you do this?” He doesn’t mean to snap but the words come out with too much force. He sounds angry and he - he is angry, he supposes. He should be, he’s just not sure yet at what or whom.

Not that it matters. Taliesin’s expression shutters, his grip loosening and falling away. “Do what.”

This little idiot. “Make yourself a target. It’s like you want them to-”

“It doesn’t make a difference.” Taliesin’s voice is flat, smooth, no trace of the wild current underneath. “Why make it easy? At least this way I deserve it.” He’s smiling again but it’s a sickly thing, twisted up and bitter - an expression ill-suited with how young he looks in this moment, damp and beaten and in Cort’s hands. He is young, perilously so; sometimes Cort forgets.

“Anyway-” Taliesin starts, and it makes Cort’s heart stutter in his chest, the single word undercut with so much hurt. “Thanks for the rescue, as usual. I really should-”

“Sit down.” Taliesin looks up at him and Cort sighs, closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Please. Sit.”

Taliesin does, sinking back down onto the mattress. He looks chastised though Cort doesn’t know why; something he’s said, surely, but he isn’t sure which part.

It was stupid, either way. Thoughtless. He can see the rigid way Taliesin’s shoulders have set, the guarded blankness of his features. It’s a familiar thing, that look; that it’s being used now, with him-

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, when he can be sure his voice will come out evenly, quiet and sincere. Taliesin looks up at him like a discarded pup, forlorn, and the expressionlessness was almost easier to take, it-

No. “It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have made it sound like it was.”

For a moment he’s afraid that Taliesin will cry, dissolve into the kind of weeping that Cort is always desperate to comfort though he never really knows how, his gaze sliding to the side to focus on some unknowable point. He doesn’t though, just eventually lets his guard drop, shoulders slumping like he’s weary to the bone. He probably is.

He smiles anyway though, not happy exactly, but at least with a spark of humor that makes Cort feel less hopeless in the moment. “Want to go to Miss Molly’s tonight? The ladies love a good fight story.”

The last thing he wants to do is visit a whorehouse where he’s not going to fuck anybody (he could, he could, but he won’t, he already knows) even with his best friend, but Taliesin needs what Taliesin needs, and at least sex is a reasonable interest for someone his age, and unlikely to injure him further. Probably.

“Think you can even get it up in the state you’re in?”

“Please,” Taliesin scoffs, smile suddenly blinding when directed at him with its full force, eyes again on his. “I can always get it up.”

Cort just shakes his head.

[sternenteile]

How bitter he is about his job sometimes. It's an awesome job, but I don't envy having to sit there for years. ;;;

geno’s job is brutal.  when he was born and raised in starborn valley, he, as a sprightly and naive child, expected that it would just be sunshine and rainbows. he would make as many people happy as he could, and it would be all smiles. such a pollyanna view of the world and what makes wishes tic, however, was quickly destroyed once rosalina discovered him and noted his potential, resulting in his early ascension to star haven —— and therefore star road. poor rosie probably had no idea just how bad things would end up being on him, for while many other stars haven’t an issue with the system as it is today (at least during geno’s time of coming to adulthood), geno… was different.

as a little one and even today, he has a very strong sense of justice, almost to the point of being totally unwavering. with that comes stubbornness and, if necessary, defiance. when it comes to just about any old joe, geno is very quick to stand his ground, but when it comes to his elders, his superiors, things get messy very quickly.

at first, little geno waited on the star spirits’ hands and feet (nubs and nubs??), ready for their beck and call without question. however, as time waned on, he saw the tough parts of his job, how some wishes are literally impossible to grant, even for the most deserving of people. he’s had to turn down wishes for loved ones to recover from illness, children’s pleas to bring a parent back from the dead, prayers for a quick miracle that he couldn’t make it to in time (leaving said wishes null and void)… and so on. the very first time he had to deny a wish like that was a young boy pleading for his mother to ‘wake up’, and it made him sob like a baby.

to top all of that off, as things got mentally straining for geno and the worn mentality of an adult set in, he began to miss his own planet. however, due to the necessary seclusion of a star from every other lifeform in the shiver region, he didn’t get to travel beyond starborn. he was prohibited from going elsewhere, and he was only allowed visitations to starborn for strictly business purposes. it absolutely floored him that they were so stringent about where he could go and what he could do. 

making matters worse, sometimes there were no wishes to grant along with nothing going on that requires geno’s stalwart guard. he was a sentry first and a wish-granter second, ever vigilant about protecting star road from any intruders or threats. that said, not much really happened there until smithy shattered the peace (literally), so if all wishes had been divided among the other stars and there was nothing to defend, geno… still had to stand guard. he was still requested to spend long, boring hours doing nothing but keeping an eye out, ordered not to stray or to lollygag. 

it was a very secluding environment for being out in such an infinite expanse, often leaving geno alone to his own thoughts. in his younger days, his mind would be racing, but slowly, his mental state deteriorated. time spent in that kind of solitude and monotony could drive a man mad, and it certainly did for him. he was a fitful being, upset and angry that he’d been so limited, unable to fulfill his own wishes while working for others’. his elders didn’t budge, of course, and his complaints fell on deaf ears. it ended up in him basically screaming at nothing, left to battle with his own mind and his higher authorities’ disappointment in his ‘childish behavior’  ( ❝ you are an adult, starlight. act like one! ❞ ), finding solace only in helping to grant the wishes of the people on this planet. 

eventually, it just became too tiring, to the point that he became awfully robotic. his mind stopped racing like it used to. he began to blank out and gained the ability to practically erase his mind. it was like he wasn’t even his own person anymore. he totally forgot who he was beyond a vehicle for wish-granting and protection. while granting wishes gives him joy beyond belief, even that wasn’t touching his awful emotional state anymore, the one thing that he loved most. he was just jaded and apathetic, a far cry from the enthusiastic being we know today as ‘geno’. he was formal and polite, yet withdrawn and cynical.

when the events of super mario rpg happened, however, it lit a fire in him that he hadn’t felt in years. he felt that this was his chance to prove himself, to help everyone, and to break from the shackles holding him back, even if for a time. when he went down and fought bowyer, it was with great gusto, and he was feeling more alive than he had in ages. he jumped for joy when he merged with the geno doll. he faced bowyer with brimming confidence and told him to ‘chill out’. he laughed when mario and mallow were baffled at his ‘coming to life’.

coming out of his shell and figuring out who he was again, however, was still a slow process. while generally nice to mario and mallow, he was rather distant, fearing the idea of forging any bonds with them. as seen via his belome clone, his one-track minded thoughts were of the star pieces and nothing but. while belome clones were exaggerated caricatures, it showed just how important geno’s job was to him and how he tried to keep in line, even at the detriment of himself. as time wore on, though, he came more and more out of his shell, eventually bonding with the whole crew and conceding to the fact that he loved them all. they treated him better than eldstar and the rest of them did, the ones who knew him for decades compared to mario and the crew’s few weeks. he rekindled the fire in him that was his own sense of self, his own idea of justice, and he didn’t want to leave it. by the time the end of smrpg came, he was in so deep, and it clearly broke his heart that he had to leave his new friends behind, possibly for good.

     ❝ our journey is about to come to an end.      ——— and when the time comes… ❞

smithy was defeated. star road was repaired. geno returned to the heavens above, and even though he’d received praise from his elders, it was very bittersweet. he longed to return to the people he cared for again, and just as he used to be, he retaliated against the ideals of his brethren. eventually, rosalina came to a compromise, realizing how much he missed them all sorely. he’d defend the planet as well as star road, giving him reason to be there and to stand guard. the loophole brought him back to the doll, the very one he’d become attached to, the one that gaz kept for all of this time… and this leaves us with geno today.

he loves his job. he absolutely loves granting wishes and protecting his fellow kin. however, his beef lies squarely with eldstar and the gang’s traditionalist mindsets. being a more progressive person with a different way of thinking, geno’s values and theirs do not mix, even if they both strive for the same thing. they’re like water and oil. as such, he’s more of a vigilante nowadays, protecting star road and granting wishes while keeping his distance from them. while he is still permitted to use the star rod to do as he must, he and the other star spirits, especially eldstar and misstar, rarely speak. they rarely cross paths. it would just end in another fight, and he frankly is so done with their shit that he does not want to do that. he will stand by his own sense of justice, no matter what the hell they say or think… and that means getting justice for himself, as well.