#and it certainly won’t be really funny over a year when the server only has girls~

[i-like-forcefem]

Interested in forcefemming as a guy and now the other 4 "guys" in a discord server have come out as transbians. I didn't do anything and now I'm the only cis guy left in the server. What happened is this normal? Did you do it?

Perish the thought cutie! I’d never do anything like that!!! Though as a totally uninvolved bystander I would be a little worried if I were you

Though if whoever is doing this is anything like me she definitely won’t leave the job at 80% compeltion

And if she’s anyone like me she might’ve even taught your friends how to transform you next!

But don’t worry, I’ve never met anyone else who’d do something like that, and it’s not like I’m involved here~

[wasabito]

had so much fun writing for my baby boy tendou, so here’s my entry for the hqhq sfw server collab! be sure to check out the rest on the masterlist found here! enjoy ✨

words: 3.0k

prompt: “you woke me up at 3am for this?”

synopsis: your neighbor is ridiculous, kind of annoying and little bit on the weird side, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

You had to be the biggest idiot on the planet—an obvious exaggeration, yes, but you were still inclined to believe it was true. 

How else could you explain the feeling of being so utterly fed up with one’s actions like this? Were there enough words in the dictionary to describe just how exhausted you were by your own antics, more specifically, your forgetfulness since that’s what had landed you in a world of pain and embarrassment?

The answer was no.

You sat with your back pressed against your front door, head in your hands and chin tucked between your raised knees and chest. At your side was your wallet along with stacks of newspapers, coupons and whatever else had been stuffed in your mailbox, bills probably. Advertisements too. Honestly, it was hard to be happy about a new restaurant opening up down the block when you were currently stuck—locked out of your apartment to be precise.

The landlord of your cheap little complex wasn’t expected to be back for another hour according to the sign posted outside of his office. So until then, you’d remain posted up by your doorstep like some loiterer. 

You shifted in place and blew a puff of air from your lips, feeling little pinpricks in your legs. For the fifth time in the last forty-five minutes you felt like kicking yourself, hard.

The sun hung low, nearly touching the distant horizon signifying the end of another day. Even the sky was painted a warm umber, casting dim shadows.

“Locked out, huh?” came a snide, but accented voice.

It took you way longer than necessary to realize that suddenly you weren’t the only person on this floor. God, where was your head at?

A pair of forest green crocs stood before you, complete with a few odd charms and trinkets. A cartoon volleyball, pinned next to a smiley face, a donut and a gaudy “i heart paris” chain dangling from the ankle strap. A person’s shoes could say a lot about who they were...your mother thought so, at least.

Resisting the urge to projectile vomit all over this stranger’s rather questionable taste in footwear, your wary gaze panned upward, glossing over white tube socks and a pair of the longest legs you’ve ever seen on a person—yet another exaggeration. You came face to face with a crooked smile. Curious ruby eyes returned your stare with almost the same amount of scrutiny.

Who the hell was this guy?

Mystery-man easily towered over you, and not only because you were hunched over and sitting. He was tall as hell, all lanky build, gangly arms and legs disguising lithe muscle and a surprisingly sturdy frame. He looked like the i-run-every-morning type; semi-athletic at the very least. His buzzed hair was the color of cinnamon, no that wasn’t right, paprika maybe? Either way, it contrasted sharply with the paleness of his skin, so much so that you could see the faint blue of the veins in his arms.

“Yoohooo, anybody hooome?” He tilted his head at you.

“Huh? Oh uh, yeah, I’m locked out. I forgot my key inside and Mr. Laurent won’t be back until later.”

“Hmm. That sucks...”

“...Um… do I… do I know you or something? You look a little familiar.”

He pinned you with a funny look, before pulling out a set of keys from the back pocket of his shorts.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t~ I mean we are neighbors, after all.” Laughing as if he’d made some sort of joke, he entered his apartment with a twirl and a dramatic wave of his arms.

You stared at his door for a solid minute, only to finally succumb to your urges and facepalm at your own idiocy. Of course he looked familiar, how could he not when he literally lived four feet away.

With a sigh of resignation, you braced yourself for another hour spent sitting outside your front door. It wasn’t like there was any other place you could go or anyone you could call. The battery icon on your phone blinked red, warning that it was soon to run out of juice. Guess that meant no Among Us or Subway Surfer for you.

Five minutes later, the door next to you opened. It was Mystery-man again, but this time, he sat in front of his door, just like you were. And he did so with a bag of pretzels and a jar of nutella in hand.

“Must be bored out here by yourself.” He crunched on a pretzel before offering you the bag to take some. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya company.”

You weren’t sure why, but there was something about this guy that intrigued you. You half-wondered if it was the funny little curl of his smile, or the wideness of his eyes that made it seem like he was looking at all of you, all at once. 

"You must be pretty bored...uh,"

"Satori Tendou, but most people call me Tendou. Miracle boy works just fine too."

"Right... Tendou, as I was saying, you must be incredibly bored to come sit out here with me. You sure you don't have anything important to do?"

Tendou's grinned widened. "Positive! And it costs me nothing to be neighborly, so don't even sweat it."

That was...nice of him?

If sitting outside with you was the way he wanted to spend his late Tuesday afternoon who were you to deny him? And truthfully, you didn't mind the company, at least not really. Provided this guy wasn't some creepy-stalker-weirdo, you were sure there wasn't any harm in getting to know the person who lived one door over.

"So, Tendou, how long have you lived in the area? You don't really look like you're from around here...I could be wrong."

Tendou raised a thin brow at you. "Weeeell, if you're asking about how long I've lived next door, it would be about three maybe four months give or take, but if you're asking how long I've lived in Paris, it would be a year next month. Speaking of, I think Semisemi has a birthday coming up..."

You watched as he pulled out his cell phone and tapped away at the illuminated glass screen. You couldn't help but notice the goofy little anime stickers on his phone case. One in particular caught your attention.

“Is that...Kirara? From Inuyasha??”

“Oho! So, you recognize this?”

Backtracking, you mumble out, “Ah, well…only a little.” Though your face was turned away, the tiny smile on your lips was not hidden from Tendou and he thought you were pretty cute.

Funnily enough, what you had expected to be a rather unnerving and possibly creepy exchange turned out to be anything but. Tendou was incredibly fun to talk to—a bit teasing and a little overwhelming with his superfluous hand movements and gestures. But he was funny and a lot kinder that you would’ve given him credit for.

You learned that he was originally from Japan; it explained his accented French. He had come to Paris right out of high school to study culinary arts in one of the most renowned countries for it. Now he worked as a chocolatier, under the tutelage of a master patisserie in the city, an older man who was both a creative genius and a thorn in Tendou’s side. Tendou spoke of his teacher with equal parts awe and annoyance. 

And he got to know you too. How you’d found yourself in Paris, thousands of miles away from home in an effort to rediscover yourself in the city full of rich history and culture. 

You didn’t have many friends here, and it truly was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.

Soon, you both heard the telltale sound of jangling keys as your landlord rounded the corner with his clipboard in hand. Once you were able to get your door open, you waved a goodbye to Tendou.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you really didn’t have to.”

“No biggie, it was fun!” He threw a mischievous little grin and a peace-sign over his shoulder and reentered his apartment. 

You found yourself wanting to cross paths with him again, and hopefully in better circumstances. But you hadn't known your wishful thinking was soon to manifest as you ambled through grocery store aisles a week later, eyeing down any items with pictures on it.

“Why in the hell is this toilet paper so expensive.” You mumbled.

“So, you complain about the price of toilet paper, but wear sneakers that cost two-thirds our rent.” That voice sounded familiar, and after hearing it for about an hour just days ago, you were a bit surprised you could recognize it so quickly. 

Stunned, you looked up to find Satori Tendou, your quirky neighbor with an arm full of pita chips, a milk carton, and baby carrots.

“I never said I made the best choices.” You found yourself smiling despite the previous crease in your brow. “...Dude, get a cart before you drop everything.”

Instead of getting his own, he simply dumped what he had into your cart with a teasing grin. You couldn’t argue with his logic there. Tendou sidled up against you, once again towering over you with a kind of ease that should be criminal. “Need help reading something?”

You wanted to say no. You almost said no. But swallowing your pride, you gave a weak nod. “Yeah, this word right here.” Pointing to the unfamiliar script printed on the label. “What the heck is this?”

“Weeeeell, looks like that brand is scented, ya know, for when ya—”

“Don’t bother finishing that sentence...please.”

You quickly grab what you need and continue on down the aisle with Tendou following closely behind.

Just like when you’d first met him, he made conversation the entire way. By the time you both made it to the cash registers, you’d argued at least three times over french pronunciations and whether cashews were the cousin of peanuts.

And just as last time, he left you with a grin and a peace-sign while you stared after his retreating back, paid groceries in hand.

After an entire day spent baking, you found yourself on Tendou’s doorstep with a tupperware full of baked goodies later the next evening. You had been meaning to thank him for being such a good neighbor to you. It was certainly unexpected, but a welcome gesture nonetheless.

You only had to knock twice before the door was wrenched open and you were greeted with the set of...vanilla? Some pop song played in the background while your neighbor looked at you curiously.

"H-Hey Tendou, I um...I baked you these." You held out the plastic container, hoping he'd simply take it from you without question and you could return to your apartment without somehow embarrassing yourself. "There's a little bit of everything in there, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, macadamia nut—wait you aren't allergic to anything, right?"

"Nooope! Not a thing, thanks neighbor!"

"It was no problem, especially since you've helped me, not once but twice now."

Frowning, you couldn't help but be a little upset with yourself. You'd come to France to prove that you could, in fact, live a normal life outside of your family’s jurisdiction but day by day you were proving to need them more and more. 

It was disappointing, to say the least.

"Hmm, what’s with the constipated look on your face. Did the toilet paper not help?” Tendou tilted his head at you with a teasing grin, lips curled at the edges, taunting. You blinked up at him, surprised, and if you were honest, a little annoyed too. 

"Hah?!"

"Just thought it was worth a mention, nighty-night~!"

Tendou proceeded to shut the door on you; one hand rested on the frame and the other held on to the cookies. You quickly took a step back lest he chop your entire arm off, ready to trudge off in the direction of your own home but not before sticking your tongue out at him.

Stupid Tendou, always saying stupid shit. 

You were on the couch, half asleep when it dawned on you that it had been his own twisted, “Tendou” way of cheering you up. 

The rest of the month passed just like that. Occasionally, you would bump into Tendou at the grocery store, or the leasing office, or even the laundromat. And every single time, he’d either make you laugh until your sides hurt or annoyed enough to want to give him a friendly punch. At one point, you two had even exchanged phone numbers, because according to Tendou “it was ridiculous not to have your friends on speedial” which only led to hours spent on Facetime or playing iMessage games.

You knew exchanging numbers would come back to bite you in the ass, it was only a matter of when.

It was clear you weren’t going to any sleep tonight, that was for sure. The incessant buzzing of your cell phone every five minutes was an enemy to your circadian rhythm. You could name on one hand those in your contacts with enough sense to know that you lived in a completely different time zone from them now.

Somehow your neighbor was the very last person you suspected, but it was his contact photo that stared back at you, goofy looking grin and all. You squinted against the brightness of your screen in your otherwise dark bedroom.

you up?

come quick

gotta show ya somethin

come oooon

you're awake, i know you are

It took you less than a minute to shuffle on a pair of slippers, grab your keys (you weren't going to forget them this time) and slip out of your apartment.

You hadn't even knocked twice before the door was pulled open. Tendou looked a mess, more so than usual. Unidentified stains littered the apron looped around his thin waist, streaks of what you hoped were just flour and granulated sugar were all over his hands. You almost wanted to ask if he was baking or dealing dope.

“You woke me up at three in the morning...for this?”

“Yuuup!”

"When I said you could call me at any time, I really didn’t mean any time.” You scratch your side, a contemplative look on your face at the sight of Tendou in what you would assume to be his pajamas. An old volleyball hoodie with the words "Shirazorizawa" printed across the front, and old sweats the were so obviously cut with scissors at the knee.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled a curt, “Alright, move aside.”

Tendou ushered you over to his kitchen where several of his cooking supplies laid on the island, along with a tray of some chocolate dessert spread.

“It’s all still in the testing phase, but I think I’m onto something here.”

He was definitely giving off “mad scientist” vibes. You tried not to snort.

Holding a small chocolate cake in his hand, he smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Open wide."

You obeyed, far too tired to argue, and let him pop the treat into your mouth. Tendou watched as you chewed, as if it were the most interesting thing ever. His wide gaze carefully took in every shift in your expression.

"So? Whaddya think?"

"I...," You chewed a bit more. "...It's delicious! Is that—"

"—Pistachio, why yes it is!" 

Tendou was practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. "It takes the entire thing to a whole new level."

You had to agree with him there. This was probably the best chocolate madeleine you'd ever tasted. "Great work, miracle boy. Will you be introducing this new recipe to Claude?"

Mentioning his teacher seemed to sober him up a bit. "Ehh, maybe? The old man's a bit of traditionalist, so I'll just have to figure out a way to get him to approve."

"Maybe try calling him at three in the morning?" 

Tendou stuck his tongue out at you before popping a dessert in his mouth. The pure delight on his face was so contagious, you found yourself smiling just the same. You couldn’t help but admire his passion.

“Hey, Tendou… do you like your job?”

He blinked at you, chewing coming to a slow halt. “Well of course! The pay isn’t the best just yet, but it’s a labor of love. I’m willing to put my all into it at least.”

“Huh… that’s pretty cool.” You wiped your fingers on a nearby rag. “I hope to feel the same one day… if I can figure out what I wanna do.”

“Why not bake? You’re pretty good at it.”

“Oh am I? Last week you said my baking needed some work.”

“Well, duh, but my standards when it comes to confectionaries are impossibly high. Even so, I think you’d be successful as a baker. What’s stopping you from pursuing your labor of love?”

And that was the thing with Tendou. He talked a lot, teased even more, but it was never idle ramblings. Somehow, he always seemed to hit right at the heart of the issue with almost painfully uncomfortable accuracy.

“I don’t really know so…” You looked away, trailing off.

“Either way,” he said and placed a finger under your chin, raising your head until you were looking him in the eye. “I’m rooting for you.”

For a moment, you simply stared, awestruck. It was the first time in a long while someone was actually putting their faith in you, believing in you. He had come blazing into your life unabashed with his easy grins and gaze alight with mischief. His encouraging words, sincerity, sensitivity. Tendou was really incredible.

“Tendou…” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Of course, what are neighbors for.”

BONUS:

Three months later you sat curled up next to Tendou on his sofa, his entire apartment smelled of chocolate cocoa with hints of cinnamon.

Before you was an application. Culinary school.

“You really think I can do this?”

Tendou placed his head on your shoulder with a tiny smirk. “One hundred and twenty percent!”

You pondered for a moment, then decided that if he thought you were up for the challenge then you’d believe him.

“For the record, you probably aren’t supposed to recommend your girlfriend for an interview. You know, conflict of interest and all.”

Tendou laughed and pulled you closer. “Trust me, we’ll be fine, so don’t worry your pretty little head, ‘kay?”

[hollenka99]

May Death Do Us Part

Summary: Wilbur dies and in the void, a voice refuses to accept his end. Prologue of Unequal Halves of the Same Whole

Warnings: Death, blood, stabbing, brief description of a dead body

It's only the two of them in this small room. It feels even tinier now that he's blocked the entrance to prevent anyone else coming other than Phil. The silly thing is this wall before him, the one with the button he's determined to press yet even now still has slight doubts about actually going through with doing so, it's not remarkably thick. It's not like there's multiple layers of stone between himself, Phil and the rest of the world. He's technically a stone block's width away from the whistling explosives. The others are fighting, he comments to the air. L'Manburg will have to concern itself with a force more destructive than some mere fireworks in a matter of minutes. If he does indeed detonate the nation he helped found. Phil seems determined to prevent that. But, then again, Phil doesn't know that Wilbur has cursed himself with a Chekov's gun, one that by its nature can't be left on display forever. When he mentions not even knowing if the button is rigged, the blond man laughs. Did he really want to take that risk? Well... As for there potentially being a lot of TNT connected to the device, yes that's the point. Regardless, it's clear Phil is in denial that Wilbur is absolutely ready to do this. His loss. The moment is ripe. It's best if he takes advantage of it. "Phil..." Now or never. "There was a saying, Phil, by a traitor once part of L'Manburg. A traitor I don't know if you've heard of. Eret?" "Yeah." Phil's expression is wary and rightly so. He'd be concerned if it wasn't, honestly. "He had a saying, Phil." These six words have stuck with him for months. Since... the beginning of August, it must have been. Ever since, he's never truly known whether to take people's words at face value. He'd made the mistake of trusting Eret and cost his loved ones a life. Who could tell if another one of his 'friends' was plotting his demise behind his back. Best to eradicate the plague that is L'Manburg with everything that made it so before they get a chance to reveal their true loyalties. Perhaps he's doing them a favour, betraying the lost cause in their stead. Either way, it is time for the words that will end up haunting the man who raised him since he was six. He almost wants to be sorry for bestowing the burden of them onto a new victim. However, he's so caught up in the moment, so thrilled to be at the point his goal is finally coming to completion after all these weeks, that he directs his energy to not truly smiling as he utters the infamous phrase. It does nothing to hide the pride in his voice that the time for his grand finale has finally come. "It was never meant to be." There is a satisfying click as the button accepts the pressure exerted on it. In that second before the world reacts to what he has done, he regrets letting Phil see this. He's close enough to the wall that he predicts the force of the explosion will find its way to him. Debris too if he's not already dead. It won't be pleasant to witness. But well... Phil made the decision to confront him directly and neither of them can change this situation now. He goes out saluting with eyes shut tight. Or at least, he would have if he wasn't knocked to the ground by a force not in allegiance with the TNT. Phil is pushing himself off from where he'd been laying on top of him when he opens his eyes. The wings are ruined. Wilbur wouldn't be surprised if he learned the older man has permanently grounded himself with that sacrificial act. One way or another, they are both alive. The damage has been done to the land before them as well as themselves. Ash rains down upon Wilbur as he rises to his feet to observe the consequences of his actions. Phil's eyes are full of horror and agony as he does the same from where he remains sitting. "My L'Manburg, Phil!" He throws his arms out. "My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished! If I can't have this, Phil, no-one can." "Oh my god..." The older of the two mutters in disbelief. "Kill me, Phil, kill me." He unsheathes the sword that had been situated by his side, tossing it towards the man he's appointed his executioner. "Phil, stab me with the sword. Murder me now. Kill me. Killza. Killza! Do it. Kill me, Phil, murder me. Look, they all want you to. Do it, Phil, kill me." "Y- You're my son!" He cries back, getting to his feet. And oh, that's caused him to be taken aback for a second. His... son? Well, he supposes neither he nor Phil were immune to the feelings that can naturally arise in arrangements such as theirs. Phil had been friends with his mother before her death. As such, he had felt obliged to care for her young son whom he's supposedly viewed in a fond light. The stories went that Wilbur had liked him back in turn. Of course, any and all attachment had waned on Wilbur's part as he aged into a teenager left to raise another parentless boy while Phil travelled with a piglin the same age as his 'son'. Son? Please. Phil had a funny way of showing it in that case. His standards for a father had been low but 'forcing a kid to become independent years before their time then randomly appearing out of the blue to talk them down from mass destruction and saving said child's life' still didn't reach the mark. If Phil wants to prove he's on his side, there remains one thing he can do for him. "Phil, kill me." He requests for the thousandth time. "No matter what you do, no matter what you pull, I can't-" "Look. Look! How much work went into this and it's gone. Do it." He challenges once more. "Do it." At this, Phil relents. A slash is made with another swiftly following it. Blood begins to flow and he's glad he doesn't give a shit about this outfit. Not that it even matters since he won't see dusk tonight. He drops, head smacking against the floor. And holy shit, is that what fire aspect feels like? He suddenly gains a profound understanding of why animals slain with these types of swords provide meat edible upon the moment of slaughter. He'd understood it in theory obviously but fuck, he wants to apologize to any creature whose throat he's aimed that sword at. He wonders whether he'd perceive someone pouring lava into the wound as a punishment or a distraction. He breathes through it. He won't cry, not in his final minutes and certainly not in front of Phil. Phil himself doesn't seem to have the same resolve to remain composed. The sword has left his grasp, having clattered to the floor. He is knelt, folding in on himself slightly with palms pressing into his eyes, and lets out a pained groan. It sounds like a mix of grief and acknowledgement of the agony his destroyed wings must be putting him in. Phil's heads lifts and their eyes meet. With some newfound determination, he gets up and lifts Wilbur's torso so he's leaning against him in a semblance of a sitting position. He subsequently moves the young man he supposedly considers a son to have his back against the wall. "Fuck, you couldn't just let- you couldn't just win? You had to just throw your toys out the pram." Hands are on his shoulders to steady him. Phil's frustration goes ignored. "Phil, you know when Dream- well, I guess you don't know but Dream said earlier that there was no traitor. He said earlier- he said 'hey, do you know what? There's no traitor', he said to me. And you know what?" Wilbur weakly chuckles. "He fucking lied. He lied. Phil, it's Technoblade. Phil, it's Technoblade." "Oh my god. The most powerful person on the server is the traitor?" "Phil-" He catches the attention of the man who is desperately trying to locate where the piglin may be outside. Phil's gaze snaps right back to him. Wilbur continues his warning with a bloodied grin. "And he has 8 withers ready to go." "Oh my god, I need to get out of here." True to his word, Phil glances back at the sealed entrance then the massive hole that used to be a wall. Calculation made, he descends down the rubble to the battle brewing below. "Go as fast as you can, Phil. Go see them, go on. Bye-bye. Bye-bye, Phil." With no-one to hear him anymore, he sighs and mutters to himself. "We won. It's over." He's not entirely sure what Dream was on about earlier in regards to there apparently being no traitors. Of course there were traitors. It was Wilbur and Technoblade, the man who had been planning to detonate an abundance of TNT for weeks and the man who had been gathering wither heads for anarchistic purposes. Honestly, who else would it be? Speaking of the TNT, as he overlooks the destruction, he doubts all of it has gone off... perhaps only half of it. It doesn't matter. The deed is done. Though he's miraculously managed to maintain conversation, the effects of the sword are increasingly taking hold. Bleeding out isn't the most pleasant thing to endure even without the enchantment wreaking havoc on his nervous system. Although, he's certainly no stranger to this kind of death by now. Punz had stabbed him and left him for dead in the Final Control Room. The same man's arrow found his chest while Wilbur and Tommy were escaping L'Manburg upon being exiled. Had the arrow not struck vital organs and stolen his second life quickly, it likely would have caused him a similar fate as his first and now current deaths without appropriate medical attention. Still, being the man of the arts and politics he once wanted to liken himself to, he could appreciate a good leitmotif. He can spot a wither or two in the sky. He supposes if he checked the communicator on his wrist, he'd see several user status updates regarding this development. Good, let Techno have his time to shine. It's an interesting last view, the rubble he's created, but he can't help feel a sense of pride. This has been his goal for so long and despite the delay of a month, it's finally over. "Tubbo, you are president of a crater." He says with delight. "Enjoy." Shortly thereafter, death at last envelops him. Phil does not come back to the room where the body of the boy he raised lays. Perhaps it is due to him becoming preoccupied by the withers and subsequent aftermath, maybe he cannot force himself to witness the end result of him fulfilling his son's final request. Regardless of the reason, the fact of the matter is that what physically remains of Wilbur Soot will be there tomorrow when Tubbo traverses the rubble along with Fundy and Quackity in an effort to begin rebuilding the nation following the events of the previous day. The president of L'Manburg will state that his predecessor should be left there to rot, promptly constructing a new wall to officially seal him in his tomb. The path his actions have led him down had to end eventually. If he thought about it too much, it almost seemed inevitable that by travelling down it, he would arrive at this room, to where he was to breathe his last, to his consequential final resting place. But that is to come and it is only his physical destiny. Every other aspect of him finds itself in darkness. There is nothing. And in the nothingness, there is only him. It is the outskirts of a black hole's event horizon, ready to scatter his atoms when time itself comes to an end. It is a sensory deprivation room in the heart of a city bustling with noisy activity, overloaded with an infinite variety of colours and aromas, though you would forever be none the wiser. It is the expanse of space with any and all celestial bodies too far to detect with your exposed being. The void accepts him as its latest inhabitant. In the abyss that follows his demise, silence is shattered. "What are you doing?" "This isn't right. I want to go back." "This is what we wanted. It's over now. We don't have to carry on." "There must be another way." "But we're dead. There is no reversing that. There is no 'other way' either." "What if we started over though? What if we came back somehow without the paranoia and mistrust. Someone must have cared about us, right?" "You're talking about changing who we were." "I'm talking about reverting back to a happier version of ourselves. We've done the whole 'bad guy' thing. Why don't we be the good guy again? We won't have to worry about being betrayed if everyone likes us." "...I don't think I appreciate your line of thinking." "I think my reasoning is sound." "This is crazy! We can't just show up like nothing happened. We blew up the country. We said it ourselves, if Phil didn't do it, somebody else probably would have put their sword through us." "We'll never know if we don't try." "Stop it!" "No. I'm doing this for our own good." "But I don't believe it will be beneficial. If you would just listen to me-" "If you're so content with how horribly things ended then here you go. You keep all these memories. Wallow in them. I definitely won't be needing them." "Wait-" "Meanwhile, I'm going to give us the second chance we deserve. And I'm going to do so back down there with a clean slate." "Don't do this. Please." "I'd rather take amnesia over missing this chance." Yellow burns in their line of sight, highlighted by the lack of colour. An additional arm forms. Another joins it as do two extra legs. Rapidly, one entity separates into a near identical pair. One pulls away as their twin uses both hands to pull an arm back towards them. They struggle like this momentarily before the rejecter shoves his counterpart away, causing himself to fall further and further from any continued attempts to stop him. The first is left in a wealth of misery, hatred and anxiety upon the split commencing. Anything they ever fondly cherished, even if they hadn't acknowledged it recently, is ripped from them. Memories of childhood, of playing music, of accomplishments worthy of pride are left negated in the aftermath. If the Grinch's heart grew three sizes upon accepting love once more, then this half's heart was currently shrivelling to a third of its typical capacity. Resentment fills them as their twin tumbles to the world below. The second is overcome by joy, excitement and hope as the transfer is made. Gone are the pain, the regret and the sorrow. They are free to go about their existence without a care in the world. Like a foreign object burning upon contact with the atmosphere as it tumbles, everything unnecessary disintegrates. In the fire, they are cleansed. They are able to float and avoid their feet needing to touch the ground with the absence of all that undesirable weight. The closer their new attempt at life approaches, the more they feeling as if they are flying towards it. Who cares about the other half they are leaving behind? He can take care of himself. Besides, he's been in the reins for too long. A ghost wearing a yellow jumper appears in the room where his originator succumbed to exsanguination hours beforehand. A body wearing a brown trenchcoat with red staining his shirt and fingerless gloves overlooks the surrounding ruins. Or, at least, he would be were his eyes not closed. However, it goes without saying it is disturbing to see your own corpse right in front of you, to look at your own face and know there is no life to be found upon it. So he escapes in the same direction a blond man had done earlier. Night has fallen but he knows that come morning, he will have plenty of opportunities to reunite with friends under his new name of... Ghostbur. Yeah, he wants to be called Ghostbur. Wilbur was someone else entirely so why not adopt a second identity to mark his second chance at life. It is the first memory that is solely his own and he promptly forgets it.

[eat0crow]

Maribat prompt - Bruce adopts Marinette please? (Sorry if I misunderstood and this is what you did Not want. If that's the case just ignore this, sorry)

Nope, you didn’t misunderstand at all Anon! I hope you don’t mind a bit of humor, I had a really shitty night-so many customers decided to yell at me it’s not even funny. I needed something lighthearted.

Beta read by some lovely people on the Maribat Discord server.

Who Needs Paperwork?

Bruce is done. So painfully done, that the only one who can’t see just how thin a line he’s walking is the source of his annoyance. Hal Jordan, the very man who makes homicide look more appealing every day. Did Bruce really need a moral code?

It just seemed to get in the way.

From behind him doors slam, people scatter, and yet Hal won’t catch the hint. “All I’m saying is that, isn’t it time you guys settled down, and had a whole flock of little birdies?”

Bruce has never, not once in his life, desired friends. He hadn’t wanted a relationship either, yet here he is, six months into a decades in the making relationship with Clark Kent. If Bruce had known that the League would take his relationship as a sign of him getting soft, he would have sworn Clark to secrecy.

“I’m going to the training room.” Which should have roughly translated to 'follow me, and I’ll use you for target practice'. Several people within hearing distance shudder at the implication. Bruce is darkly satisfied; he hasn’t seen this much fear directed at him in months. Hal Jordan, well Bruce has theories on how green lantern cores affect intelligence.

None of them are particularly positive.

“It’s never too early to start working on your ninja kid army,” Hal says lightly, as if he’s talking about the weather, and not something as morally bankrupt as child soldiers. Sure he trained Robin young, but it’s not like Bruce had a choice. Dick would have been fighting mob bosses with or without his consent. Training had been the only thing keeping him out of even more danger. “Who’s going to carry on your terrifying legacy?”

“I already have Robin.” And because Bruce can see Hal’s next sentence before he even says it— “And Clark has Conner. Aside from procreation being wholly unnecessary, it’s also physically impossible. You are aware that it requires a woman to produce off-spring, right?”

“Yeah, tell that to LexCorp,” Hal mumbles under his breath. Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t ever wondered about that. Sure Conner’s a clone, but he’s also the most stable clone Bruce had ever seen. He wouldn’t put it past Luthor to have spliced in a secondary set of DNA. “Just think about it Spooky. Combine your brains with Clark’s powers and bam! You’ve got the one person on earth who could defeat Doomsday without breaking a sweat. Isn’t that a better tomorrow?”

Bruce stops, because things make a lot more sense now. Doomsday had been terrifying, he opened up a whole world of possibilities. Of threats too strong for the League to deal with, just waiting. There’s no escaping this conversation. Even if he tunes it out now, Hal will just bring it up again and again, until Clark finally catches on. That will make the man pout.

Bruce really doesn’t like it when Clark pouts.

He might not have the patience to deal with Hal’s solution to apocalypse inducing threats now, but he’ll have even less later when Barry no doubt joins Hal’s crusade. One idiot is bad enough. Bruce is not willing to explain to Dick why he killed his best friend's uncle.

“That’s why the Young Justice League was formed,” Bruce points out slowly, his voice careful, like he’s explaining the concept to a toddler. Hal probably has an I.Q that stalled around the fifth grade, so same difference. “Their role is to carry on our legacies in protecting earth after we’re unable.”

“That’s not what I mean! Sure, by the time they graduate out of the little leagues they’ll be ready to take over, but that’s just it. They’re a miniature Justice League. They’ll have the exact same blind spots as us. I’m talking about combining skill sets here.”

Bruce actually hadn’t thought of that, and as much as the words choke him to admit, Hal is right. They would be subject to the exact same failings as the current League. They’re a group trained to take over specific positions. They’ve been trained for years and no one, not even Robin, would be able to break close to half a decades worth of habits.

They make it to the training room, and a flash of vivid, bright red catches his eye. The newest member, Ladybug is talking to Clark. Bruce hadn’t been aware that he would be joining him for this training session, but it all works out nicely.

Ladybug looks worn, and Bruce doesn’t doubt she is. The girl is Diana’s apprentice, not sidekick. They've both been adamant about that. No one, not even Diana, knows her identity. Bruce could respect a healthy dose of secrecy, but she’s only around Dick’s age. The information on her is scarce, and Diana is tight-lipped. Partially out of ignorance and partially out of some vague magical pact her mother made.

A combined skillset.

Ladybug doesn't have years of habits to break. If her own admissions are anything to go by, she doesn’t have any formal training outside of noncombatant magic. She’s dangerously smart too. Bruce has seen her improvise enough times. Sure, she might not have as much super-strength as Clark, but Bruce has seen her lift far more than her frame should allow. Maybe strength proportional to a ladybug’s? Her skin is certainly reinforced by what has to be the tensile strength of an exoskeleton.

Which is glossing over her ability to create solid matter through pure will—maybe he'll have Hal train her a bit, her powers are similar enough to a Green Lanterns’.

“You have a point, Lantern.”

There’s a suspicious pause. “I do?”

Bruce offers him his most deadpan expression. So even Hal knows that ninety percent of what leaves his mouth is garbage, good to know. “The League will be comprised of individuals with the same failings as current Leaguers. In the event of world-ending threats, we can not afford these failings. So I will be taking your advice.”

“Oh, that’s...good.” Hal looks perplexed, like he hadn’t expected his argument to land him anywhere but in a body cast.

“However,” Bruce continues, walking over toward Clark and Ladybug. “I have no interest in experimental science that’s no doubt illegal in numerous countries. So, we’ll be adopting.”

“We will!” Clark shrieks from his left.

Everyone else in the room gasps. Bruce ignores them, reaching out instead to grab Ladybug. “She’ll be the perfect candidate.”

"Bruce," Clark whines. "That's not how adoption works. You've skipped so many steps."

Bruce sends him a pointed look, the one that says play along or you're sleeping on the couch. Clearly, Clark gets the message because he shuts up. The look on his face also implies that Bruce is going to be out in the dog house for this stunt, but he chooses to ignore it anyway.

So what if Alfred likes Clark more. Bruce still owns the house.

Ladybug, to her credit, only blinks.

Wide blue eyes stare at him, she looks eerily similar to Dick and Conner. They all share the same coloring: black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. She has Dick’s delicate bone structure, Bruce could probably pass the two of them off as twins.

Dick is going to be roped into teaching her some actual acrobatics as soon as possible. Would a grappling hook be an appropriate ‘welcome to the family’ gift? Bruce doesn't trust her yo-yo.

A beat passes. “I already have parents.”

“Not superhero parents.”

[heartofether]

Bonus Episode #3 - Leave a Message TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

VAL

Hey there! Val here with a couple of special announcements before our third bonus episode. First off, our season two release date has been set and will soon be announced. Before then, however, we have an abundance of teasers and bonus content coming your way. Be sure to follow us on Twitter and Tumblr to keep up with all of our new releases.

Second, do you want to talk to other Heart of Ether fans, either about the show or whatever else your heart desires? We now have an official Discord server! We have automatic roles, specialized channels, daily quotes and question of the day, and in the future, we may use it to host special events. The invite link is on our socials and our Carrd, and we would love it if you joined us!

Last but certainly not least: we all like tea, right? What about podcast-themed tea? That’s right, you can now buy The Heart of Ether-themed tea with the help of Adagio Teas! (not sponsored, just using the service) A portion of the proceeds will go to The Trevor Project, which helps provide crisis intervention and suicide prevention for LGBTQ+ youth. The link to browse our tea collection will be in the description of this episode, or on our socials if you want to look there.

Right, I’m done with my rambling. Here’s another bonus fluff episode—and this time I at least 90% mean it! Talk to you soon!

AUTOMATED VOICE

Please state your message.

[THEME MUSIC PLAYS.]

[THE DIALOGUE THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE EPISODE IS SLIGHTLY MUFFLED, AS IF THEY ARE SPEAKING OVER THE PHONE.]

ROSE

Hi! This is Rosemary Quinn. Unfortunately, I’m not able to return your call right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Have a lovely day!

[PHONE BEEP.]

IRENE

Hey, it’s Irene. I just wanted to check and see when you’d be coming over? Text me and let me know if you have an estimate.

Oh, and my dad is going to the store, so I know you mentioned wanting to make brownies? Did you mean, like, from scratch or is just a box mix fine? ‘Cause I’m good with whatever. Just text me what you need, and I’ll ask him to pick it up. See you later! Bye!

[PHONE BEEP.]

IRENE

Hey. It’s Irene. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks.

[PHONE BEEP.]

ROSE

Hi, Irene! I’m sorry to call, but you said you were having some issues with your texts, so I thought this would be a safer bet. Are you available after school today? If you don’t mind, I could really use some help with the chemistry homework. You seemed to at least kind of understand it, or maybe you were just pretending like the rest of us were. [SHE GIGGLES.]

I also just am not super fond of Mr. Morrison. Nobody is. I mean, I try to be nice to him, nicer than most other students, and I think he likes me for that. It doesn’t mean he’s actually willing to be helpful, though. I think he sees me as some sort of air-headed bimbo, which is both misogynistic and presumptuous. Olivia told me he might be retiring, though, so fingers crossed?

Anyways, would we be able to meet up and work on it together? I’ll buy you a coffee for your time. Just let me know! Oh, and no need to call me back, we’ll see each other at school most likely. I just thought I’d call and ask before I forgot. I’ll talk to you later, bye!

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

IRENE

Hey, are you still at the school? I try to have school spirit—sometimes—but events really aren’t my thing. Maddy seemed to be into it, though, so I figured you might still be hanging out with her.

Anyways, if you decide you’re done with it, I was thinking about going to Sonic and it’d be great if you tagged along? It’s not the same when I go by myself. I’ll pay, obviously, since I’m the one inviting you. Call me back if you’re interested, and we can work something out. Alright, bye.

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

[THERE IS THE SOUND OF DISTANT CONVERSATION AS ROSE TALKS]

ROSE

Hi there, Maddy just wanted me to tell you that when you get here, make sure you go through the back door so you don’t disturb her grandparents. They’re not in a great mood tonight. You’ll have to hop the fence, but if you need help, I can go down there. I’m excited to see you! Bye!

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

[THERE IS A SLIGHT BREEZE HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND.]

IRENE

Hey there, I just wanted to apologize for leaving in such a rush. It was just a lot, and I didn’t really, well. I honestly didn’t feel super welcome there? That’s not your fault, though. It was everyone else.

It just—I don’t want to sound rude, but it doesn’t feel like our “group” actually cares about me a lot? I mean, maybe it’s because of my interests, or because I don’t dress or act like stereotypical straight girls do. I’ve known them all since freshman year, but honestly? You’re the only one I’ve ever really clicked with.

They like you, though. Everyone does. I don’t mean that in a snarky or jealous way. Just in the way that…well, you’re Rosemary Quinn. Everyone wants to be your friend, I guess. You just have that aura.

[A BEAT, THEN, EMBARRASSED] God, I’m sorry, that’s such a weird thing to say. I’m really not good at this whole friends thing, huh? I’m surprised you’ve stuck around for this long. I called you to apologize—now for multiple things it appears—but also to tell you that if you’re looking for me, I went to the park. It’s like a five-minute walk from Maddy’s house, and I have my board with me, so that helped.

I’m sure you’re not looking for me. You’re probably having fun at Maddy’s birthday party. You texted me to ask if I was okay, though, so I guess that’s why I called. You always do. You’re the one person who’s consistently cared, who’s always checked in on me when my social anxiety kicks in and I decide to leave early. Is that how you are with everyone, or…?

Jeez, I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Just, sorry for running off, I’m at the park sitting on the swings if you need me. Bye.

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

IRENE

[SOMEWHAT DESPERATE] Hey, it’s Irene. Please call me back. I— [SHE HUFFS.] I really think we need to talk.

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

IRENE

[DEFEATED] This is my third time trying to call you. At this point, I’m pretty certain you’re actually ignoring me.

I’m not mad, Rose. I promise I’m not. It was—it was nice! I liked it. Really liked it, actually, um. But you ran off to go home before we could really talk about it, and now it really feels like you. Well. Like you didn’t mean to, and now you regret it.

[SHE GROANS.] I’m not saying that to guilt trip you. I mean, maybe I’ve got it completely wrong. Maybe you’re scared that I didn’t like it, which isn’t true. Which would mean that we’re just walking in circles around each other, worried about what the other thinks. It would be funny if I wasn’t so worried about you.

[A BEAT, THEN] Do you wanna know the truth, Rose? I’ll tell you.

[SOFTER] Do you remember when we were building snowmen back in December, outside of the school? You made one named—god, I don’t remember. Was it Queen of the Valley? Some sort of royalty. You always come up with such extravagant names for things, it’s…

Anyways, you said what would make it perfect is if it had a crown to wear. By some absolutely absurd coincidence, I had a paper crown in my locker. I had learned to make them during study hall when I got bored. The school was still open, so I ran back inside through the empty hallways to go grab it.

When I came back outside, you grinned, your cheeks rosy and your hair still a mess from the wind that had only just died down. You took the crown from me, and you looked me in the eyes, giggling. You said, “I could kiss you right now.” Then you ran to give her majesty the crown.

And I didn’t say it. Of course I didn’t. I was too scared of that feeling I felt. I felt so warm, even with a blizzard on the horizon, and that terrified me. I wanted you to kiss me, though. I wished so badly that you had, it physically ached.

I gazed at you there, as you placed the paper crown upon the Queen’s head, Maddy rolling her eyes, but still smiling. In the moment, though, I hardly processed she was even there. I didn’t even process the groundskeeper glaring at us, or the cars driving past as teachers left for the day. As I stared at you, it was like you were the only thing I had ever known, and all I remember thinking was, “This is what will destroy me. This will be my downfall.”

[A PAUSE, THEN, HOPEFUL] But maybe it doesn’t have to be. Because you did kiss me, in the end. I’m glad you did.

Call me back, please?

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

[THERE IS BACKGROUND NOISE HEARD AS ROSE STANDS OUTSIDE OF HER HOUSE.]

ROSE

[SINKING INTO DISAPPOINTMENT] Hi, Irene! Just, um…just making sure we’re still going to the dance together. I’m outside my house waiting. My mom’s starting to get pretty upset with me for not being gone already, and just uh…standing here like an idiot. Won’t let me come back inside, though, because she thinks that if I’m not out here, you’ll—actually, I won’t try to understand her reasoning. I haven’t been able to for the past sixteen years.

But, um…please let me know? I’ll be waiting. Goodbye.

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

[IRENE IS HEARD DESPERATELY TRYING TO GET HER SHOES ON AND GET OUT THE DOOR.]

IRENE

Rose, I am so, so, so sorry I’m late. I promise, I’m on my way, I’m literally—

[HER DAD CALLS OUT, MUFFLED BY THE DOOR, AND SHE CALLS BACK]

IRENE

Yeah, I’m coming!

[THEN, AS SHE'S HEARD RACING ACROSS THE CARPET] I don’t wear makeup very often and I kept messing up my eyeliner and by the time I looked at the clock—I’m sorry. I have no idea how I’m supposed to make this up to you, but I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?

[MUTTERING, CURSING HERSELF AS SHE PACKS HER BAG] First dance I get with you and it’s the only one I’m late to. Of course it is.

[SHE'S HEARD WALKING OUT OF HER ROOM, THE DOOR OPENING.]

IRENE

Okay, I’m going outside now. I love you. See you soon.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[THIS TAKES PLACE SECONDS AFTER THE LAST ONE.]

IRENE

[SLOWLY] So. I just told you I love you. I didn't mean to, but if you feel that way, too, then great. If not, then just pretend it was a slip of the tongue and we can spend the rest of the night pretending it never happened! Yeah. Um. Yeah. See you soon.

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

[THERE IS AMBIANCE OF THE CAFE AND PASSERBYS AS ROSE TALKS.]

ROSE

Hi, I’m outside of the cafe now! I haven’t ordered yet, so we can go in together.

[A BEAT, THEN, SOFTER] I brought something for you. Early this morning, when dawn was just barely teasing the sky, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I have no idea why I woke up in the first place. Maybe my muscles knew something I didn’t. I decided to slip out through my bedroom window, though.

If my mom noticed, she hasn’t told me yet. She knew I was going out today, but I’m sure I’ll still come home to her sitting on the couch intently, giving me that look she always does. I don’t care. She can do whatever she wants.

I got on my bike and I rode out to the park—not the one we usually go to. This one is in the opposite direction. It’s much vaster, less playset and more nature. There were flowers that had just started blooming. I picked some with the gentlest hand I could manage. I wish I had thought to bring scissors, but I hope the flowers will forgive me for my carelessness.

I thought long and hard before picking each one, making sure the colors matched just right, that the sweet scent they produced was in perfect harmony. I tied them with a ribbon I had around my wrist, and sealed it with a kiss, just for you. It took me all morning.

[A BEAT, THEN, SHE GIGGLES] Oh, wait, I think I just saw you pull in. Okay, I’ll talk to you in a second—

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

IRENE

Hey. Just wanted to make sure you got home safe. I love you. Call me back when you hear this, okay?

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

ROSE

[LAUGHING] God, I must have just missed you. Yes, I got home safe. Thank you for checking, dear. Sir Griffin the Third says hello!

[TO SIR GRIFFIN THE THIRD] Hey, look, it’s Irene. Say hello!

[IRENE SHIFTS. SIR GRIFFIN THE THIRD IS HEARD PURRING. HE GIVES A SMALL MEOW.]

ROSE

[GIGGLING] I’ll talk to you later, I love you!

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

IRENE

[HER VOICE CRACKING] Hey, I just saw your texts about your mom. Are you okay? Do you need me to come pick you up? You’re more than welcome to spend the night at my place. My dad said you can stay as long as you need, so don’t worry about that, okay?

I wish I could do more to help. I wish I could make her stop. Have you told your aunts about some of the stuff she’s done? They sound like good people, from what you’ve told me. I know they live far away, but still, they might be able to do something.

Right, um, just let me know if you need me to come get you. I love you. Bye.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[THERE IS RUSTLING AS ROSE LOOKS THROUGH HER BAG.]

ROSE

Hi, I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to check, did I lose my bracelet at your house? I can’t find it anywhere. It’s the one you gave me, and I really, really don’t want to lose it. It’s like a good charm for me. Please text me if you find it. If not, it’s okay. It might just be somewhere I haven’t checked yet. Thank you, honey. I love you. Goodbye.

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

[THERE IS THE SOUND OF HER CAR ENGINE, ALONG WITH SOFT GUITAR PLAYING OVER THE SPEAKER.]

IRENE

Hey, I’m parked outside! It’s okay if you’re not done yet, I can wait. I know you like to take your time getting ready for dances, and it definitely pays off. You’re gonna look beautiful regardless, though, so just come out when you’re ready. Love you!

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

ROSE

[TIRED] Hi. I’m sorry to call you so late. To be frank, I didn’t expect you to pick up at all, but I know you’ll hear this in the morning. I hope you’re sleeping well, by the way. I— [SHE YAWNS.] I can’t sleep. That’s not unusual, but I’ve just been thinking a lot.

Do you remember when you fell in the creek? It was late autumn, and even though I pulled you out just seconds after, your teeth were already clattering. I wanted to cry, you looked so miserable, but you acted like it was hardly a big deal.

That one coffee shop was the closest warm building, so I had to take you there. One of the baristas brought out some towels for you, and even gave you a free hot coffee. I should visit them again one day, if they still work there. Maybe bring them a thank-you gift.

Anyways, I gave you my jacket, which you almost refused because you didn’t want me to be cold, but I honestly didn’t even notice it. Once we were almost certain you weren’t going to catch frostbite, we went back to your car and drove back to your house.

On the way there, while we were at a stoplight, you looked at me and said, “I’m just happy it wasn’t you.”

I laughed and said, “Well, it feels like I was in there with you. I got chills just looking at you.”

You said, “Is that how relationships work? We feel each other’s pain?”

And I said, “What happens when one of us dies, then? Will the other die, too?”

And you said, “I hope so. I can’t imagine life without you.”

“But what if you could just live your life for me?” I said. “If one of us dies early, the other should have to live double the life to make up for it.”

You hummed, and then said something I’ll never forget: “I may continue living, but that doesn’t mean I’ll like it. Life is so wonderful when you’re in the world.”

And I should have told you, then, that whatever wonder I bring is only because of you. Every time you smile, or say something stupid, or brush your hair out of your face, there’s a bit more color in the world. I think our colors bleed together, then. You are a universe in my hands and I love you more than both of our lifetimes could ever contain.

And I didn’t have the words to describe it all until right this moment. I couldn’t afford to forget.

So, I love you. In this life and the next. Goodnight, dear.

[TWO PHONE BEEPS.]

[IRENE'S DAD IS HEARD TALKING ON THE PHONE IN ANOTHER ROOM. ON THE MIC, IRENE IS HEARD QUIETLY CRYING. THERE ARE FOOTSTEPS OUT IN THE HALL. THE DOOR OPENS.]

DETECTIVE

[DISTANT] Ms. Gray, could I please speak to you?

[A PAUSE AS IRENE SOBS.]

IRENE

[QUIET, SHAKILY] Please pick up.

[PHONE BEEP.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: “Foul smell of the things that we do to escape There is no glamour in this. No rock and roll. This is just endings. This is just grief.”

Kate Tempest in Hold Your Own, 2014.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 36

Catch up on AO3

~*~Sebastian~*~

I can’t believe I popped off like that and embarrassed the hell out of Emma. Her laughing it off was good, but I still felt bad. After I said thank you, I took her hand from my chest and kissed it before dropping our hands between us and heading toward the restaurant.

The manager was waiting at the hostess stand when we arrived. He led us to our table and said our server would be right with us. We were at the same table, by my request, only I couldn't bear to sit across from her tonight. I took the chair with my back to everyone, diagonal to her, where I could touch her.

My leg rested against hers while we flipped through the menus. A minute later our server showed up, "Hey, you're back."

I'd requested her too. "I promise we won't stay until close tonight."

She swiped her hand down, "Don't worry about it. What can I get you guys to drink?"

Emma pulled her lips to the side, "I'd like a margarita on the rocks with salt."

"Do you have a preferred Tequila?"

"Patron Silver."

I looked from Emma to our server, "That sounds good."

"I'll be right back."

Emma smiled, "Thank you, Cindy."

I was struck, again, by her kindness to everyone. Especially me. I took her hand to bring her attention to me, "I like opening doors." I also like to say awkward shit when I'm trying to explain myself to this woman. She makes me stumble over words like an idiot. Let's try again. “Your compliment caught me off guard. I went for self-depreciation. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I have no idea why I got embarrassed."

I noticed her cheeks turning red again, "You're blushing again."

"I can feel it." She used the hand I wasn't holding to feel her cheeks.

Whatever was going on was cute as hell. She certainly wasn't embarrassed while I was fucking her into the wall. I digress. I need to finish my explanation. "I like to open doors, carry things, and take your hand because I want to make sure you know I think you're special, because you are. Special to me."

"I want to kiss you."

The look on her face and softness of her voice did things to me. My stomach felt funny and I wanted to press in the middle of my chest. "You can kiss me." I leaned closer and waited for the touch of her lips. It was too short. "You can always kiss me."

"Ok, two patron margaritas on the rocks with salt."

Boy, was this feeling familiar. I looked at Cindy, trying not to laugh. "Thanks, Cindy."

"No problem. Do you know what you want? Ready to order?"

"I do know what I want." I looked at Emma. "Do you know what you want, sweetheart?"

She wasn't blushing now. "I do." She took her eyes from mine, "I'd like the seafood pasta."

"I’ll take the salmon." I handed our menus to Cindy. She walked away and we started laughing. I think this is going to be an interesting night.

Emma's eyes went wide, "Oh! It turns out we have friends in common."

"We do?"

"I called Angie to do the girl thing where we dish about the new guy. After I'd told her about you, I sent her the bear picture."

I snorted a laugh, "I like the fish one. Our relationship is defined by you kissing a fish in a bag before me."

She threw out, "We're making up the time” then went on with the story. "Ang remembered Eli had met you and went to find him.” She did this thing with her hands like she jumping from point to point. “Eli is in band with Boone. Boone is now married to Kirk. You know Kirk from Gossip Girl and were at the bachelor party with Eli. He remembers you from other parties too, but that was the connection.” Emma put her hand on her chest, “I was at the wedding."

"Well, that was a bad decision on my part." Fuck me.  Wait, I think I had a date for the wedding before I had to cancel.

"No, you weren’t supposed to meet me then."

I scratched my head, "I was filming. I saw pictures. Beautiful wedding." I made grabby hands for her phone, "Pictures of Eli."

"You‘ll recognize Eli. He has the best hair." She dug her phone out of her purse and clicked through a couple of screens before handing it to me. “Look around.”

I flipped through the pictures trying to find one that sparked a memory. Maybe a dozen in there was a video of Boone and Eli's band. I turned on the sound. That did it. "Oh yeah, I remember him. Good musician. I think I got stoned with them."

Emma snickered, "That sounds typical.”

"Did you get anything interesting on me?"  I was curious.

She shook her head vehemently, "We laughed about him being a character reference, but no.  He said you’d been to gigs and a couple of parties, but we probably wouldn’t have noticed because no one really paid any attention to you. You were just another guy hanging out with friends. Said you were funny drunk with your friends.”

I nodded, "That is me in a nutshell." I was making a mental list of my traitorous friends who might know her. “The drunk with friends part can be pretty loud and borderline obnoxious.” Only really good friends.

“Aren’t we all.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, “Angie and I put on quite the show. Eli either stands back pretending not to know us or tries to reign us in. We dance and sing then get to the you’re my best friend and I love you stage. We can have complete conversations saying single words. Eli can usually figure out what’s going on.”

“Best kind of friends. I like when one of us will text the other to come rescue or comment on something.” I remembered the other night, “Could have used that the other night.” She cocked her head to the side. “That dinner and cocktail party. So many conversations I wanted out of. Ended up hanging out with the husband of one of the execs.”

“Everything go ok otherwise?”

I nodded, “Yeah, everything’s good.” I hadn’t had a chance to tell her about it yet. “It’s a Japanese watch ad.” 

Emma ran a finger over my wrist next to the band of my watch. That shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. “You going to get a new watch out of this?”

“Oh yeah, already got my eye on one.”  Two actually. “Dinner was with company executives, then the party was spouses and lower executives. We went to this amazing sushi place. So good.”

We talked and laughed through dinner, switching off telling stories. It was easy conversation. We were recognizing names and asking questions to put things together. I was excited for the next part where we got to know each other’s friends.  I had an idea, but I’d wait until later to talk to her. Of course, there were a few of my friends who already knew her. Kirk and I were going to be having a talk. I didn’t give a shit about information on her. I want to know why he never set us up? He throws other women in front of me, why not her? My friends are, well, they're my friends for a reason. There's a group of college friends I get together with every so often. They're fun and remind me of where I came from. Gym friends, who make that time fun. Work friends are other actors or people in the business. Then there's the guys. A group I’ve known for years and I count as my best friends. I take vacations with them and they travel with me sometimes. This is the core I count on to call me on my shit and keep me grounded. They're the most important and who I talked about most tonight.

I paid the check and we headed out. The sun was close to setting and the sky was already turning the colors she loved. Perfect for a romantic walk by the river. "Wanna take a walk?

"Love too."

We veered out of the parking lot right past the CRV. I'd been holding her hand, but once we were close to the river, I put my arm around her shoulder so she wouldn't get cold. Not really. I just wanted her close. I'd told her I'd be happy being quiet with her and I was. There was noise all around and we walked in comfortable silence. I liked how she fit against me under my arm. The way her hand felt on my waist. How when the breeze blew I could catch the faint scent of her perfume. Her hair was silky over my arm. A lot of times she feels like sensory overload. Right now, she feels calming. Very calming, which doesn't make a lot sense to me given the amount of contact.

Once the people thinned out, I led her to an empty bench. I kept my around her and Emma laid her hand on my leg, her head on my shoulder, and I pressed my lips to her hair before laying my cheek there. I reached for her hand and twined our fingers. The sun was sinking fast. I’ve always been underwhelmed by sunsets. Sure they’re pretty, but I was looking for excitement and was disappointed. Now, I get it.  There’s not an explosion or some big event marking the end of the day. It’s simply the outcome of a complex situation. Interaction of light, cloud, humidity, and temperature. They don’t plan or rehearse, they just come together to see what they make. I had a very new and satisfying view of sunsets now. Something tangible she’s taught me. I broke the silence with a kiss on her forehead and decided to tell her.  "I have a deeper understanding of sunsets now. You taught me. Sunset isn’t the end. The fifteen twenty minutes after are just as beautiful."

"Does that make sense with anything else?"

The teacher in her was coming out and I nodded, "Anything really. We came out for dinner, but the walk after has been as just as good. And there’s a lot to be said for after sex where you’re basically internalizing the physical and emotional parts."

Emma smiled, "A lot of life happens after the high."

Her words hit me in the chest. I leaned forward to look at her, "Keep talking."

"I think people miss a lot of really good stuff because they're focused on some big payoff. And people-miss the good that comes from something bad."

I squinted my eyes, "You're an optimist."

"No, no." She shook her head with a frown. "I’m very good at finding a silver lining and over time I’ve learned to trust in that. I really do believe I'II be alright no matter what happens."

"You're strong." I never wanted to leave this bench, this conversation.

"And you’re not?" Her tone gave away her disbelief.

I smiled, "I am. I'm not in a good business for weakness. I used to send out these homemade audition tapes. A friend would shoot them and I’d send them to anyone, just to keep me showing up on their desk. Must have sent out hundreds. Lots of no responses and rejection. I kept pushing forward. I try to be true to me, to do what's right for me. Sometimes that means making a shitty choice for a long-term gain. There's strength there. It takes strength in maneuvering through all the bullshit. My overthinking and bouts with lack of confidence make me human. One of the many things I love about acting is slipping into a character. I’ve studied, and researched, and built the character, but once I step into him it's not about me anymore. It's about doing justice to the script, the director, the other actors, the project. When it all comes together it’s the greatest feeling. I'm good at that."

And here we were again in the middle of some intense conversation that started from nothing. From her smile she either had the same experience or she was connecting with me. Assume the first, hope for the second.

"I think that's when I’m the best teacher and enjoy it the most. When I get lost in what I'm doing. Because teaching first grade is a lot of embarrassing moments strung together. Forget the singing and dancing in class. I was at a gas station at seven am in a fairy costume." The roll of her eyes emphasized how ridiculous she thought the situation.

I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "Both our jobs are a little ridiculous."

"I think you win." We both snickered. “I read or saw something about Evans and Hemsworth between takes cracking up because they were two men dressed up as superheroes. Just looking at each other and laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I love blooper and gag reels for those moments."

"It's a lot of fun." I was still playing with the strand of hair I’d tucked behind her ear. "Do you usually straighten out your waves?" The question stung. I hadn’t known her long enough to know the answer.

"I shower when I get home from the gym. It's a mess in the morning and easier to do this than fix the mess. The shorter it is the curlier it is. I like the waves, but I like how soft it is like this. I like running my fingers through."

"Yeah? Me too."

I didn't even try to resist the urge to kiss her. I wouldn't have succeeded anyway. I caught her smile as I got closer and smiled too. I tangled my fingers in her hair with the first brush of lips. I was neither surprised by nor displeased with the touch of her tongue against my lips. I let her control and deepen the kiss, letting her take what she wanted. When she moved away, I drug my hand from her hair to her cheek, my thumb caressing her soft skin. I stayed close and kissed her softly before settling back with her tucked against me again.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I wasn't thinking of anything. I was staying completely in the moment. There was so much soak in. A gentle tug of her fingers brought my attention to her, "You ready to go?"

I nodded and stood up. A few feet onto the path she bumped my hip with hers, "Race ya'."

I was all in, but looked at her feet, "You're not wearing the shoes for this."

She didn't break eye contact as she took off her shoes, letting them dangle from her fingers. "Ready?" she squatted down. "Set." She took off and yelled over her shoulder, "Go!"

"You cheat!" I took off after her laughing.

Shit, she's fast. Not so fast I can't catch her, but she's fast. I waited until we were about halfway back to the CRV before I crept up on her, "I'm coming for you.” She put on a little more speed, but I went past her. I yelled, "You cheat!" again when she grabbed onto my shirt. I started laughing so hard it slowed me down and Emma went past me. I got close enough to wrap my arm around her waist and haul her back against my hip, "Gotcha."

Emma kicked her feet, trying to get away, "Who's cheating now?"

I brought her in front of me, wrapping both arms around her middle, and lifting her off her feet, "Never said I didn't cheat." She waved her arms and legs in front of us. I laughed and held her tighter. "Stop or I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you."

A very indignant voice said, "You will not."

I put her down, took her by the shoulders to turn her around, and looked at her with a quirked eyebrow.

Emma put her hands on her hips defiantly. So intimidating. Covering her hands with mine I beat over and stood back up with her folded over my shoulder. Her hands went to my hips and I could tell she was holding herself up. "Sebastian."

I started walking, "Emiliana"

"People can see."

"No, they can't. It's dark." I glanced to the side. Not sure if they can see, but a few are looking. I kept walking.

"I’m going to grab your ass."

"I'll spank you."

"Tease." She dropped down, relaxing against my back.

"You started it." I punched in the code and walked to the other side, putting her down the same way I'd picked her up.

Emma's hands went to the back of my neck, stopping me from completely standing up. She gave me a smacking kiss tinged with a laugh, "You're fun." Her arms tightened around my neck in a hug.

I learned from her previous next-to-the-car compliment and just said, "Thank you" and hugged her close.

Inside Emma's place she let go of my hand and pointed toward the ground. "I'm going to go wash my feet." She held one up and it was filthy.

"I'll be right up." I gave her a quick kiss and headed to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. I could hear the water running in the tub when I got upstairs. I busied myself shoving clothes back in my bag, plugging in my phone charger, and turning down the bed.

Emma came out of the bathroom and walked to her side of the bed. We stood there looking at each other. I reached over my head to grab my shirt and pull it over my head. Emma's eyes ran over my chest before she lifted her shirt. I returned the favor and checked her out while undoing the button and zipper on pants. I dropped them to floor, leaving me in only my boxer briefs.

Emma swallowed hard and pointed in the direction of my hips, "Nice thighs."

"Thanks." Her skirt fell to the ground leaving her in matching pink, what looked to be silk or satin, bra and panties. "Ooof." I pointed all over, "Nice... everything."

"Thanks."

I reached for my briefs at the same time she went for her bra. I crawled into bed while she removed her last bit of clothing. I stretched out, waiting for her. She scooted up right next to me and I ran my hand from her naked hip to side of her breast, my eyes taking in all of her. "You're fucking amazing."

My statement wasn’t aggressive. I was in quiet awe and I barely recognized my own voice. I meant more than her body. Everything about her. The more I learn the more I want her.

Before she could respond my mouth was on hers, covering her lips with soft kisses. She moaned with the first touch of my tongue and pulled me closer. The feel of her hands on my back, her nails tickling my skin, had me craving more. I scooted down her body, teasing her nipple with my tongue. Hard to know if it was my hands or mouth she liked more. She arched her back into the contact and drug her fingers over my scalp.

"You made me feel so good." Her body shuddered with the tugging of my teeth. "How do I ask for more in Romanian?"

I kissed lower on her belly, "Mai mult." I braced for what she was about to do to me.

"Mai mult, Sebasti-an."

Lightning bolt straight down my spine that branched out to my chest and cock. "Orice vrei, iubito." I placed a wet kiss on her hip before translating what I'd said. "Anything you want, baby." I wiggled into the space between her legs that she'd made for me. Tonight's discovery was that a sucking kiss on her inner thigh, mere inches from goal made her squirm and gasp. I spent a good bit of time testing how far up and away from her cut line the reaction went. The length was sensual and got me jerks and shivers, but it was inner thigh even with her vagina, barely a finger width away from the cut line that really worked. It was the perfect place where I could kiss and touch at the same time. I wanted to leave a mark there, mark her as mine. I wouldn't without her permission, put I wanted to. Very cave man of me, but tonight wasn't cave man. I lifted her leg over my shoulder, sliding my hand under her. I squeezed her ass, pulling her up while my other hand made soft strokes down her inner thigh to ease it to the side. I liked working to get her legs apart. I used soft touches and firm strokes. I wasn't going to grope her like a teenager in heat, unless we were playing that game.

She liked the foreplay and stimulation. I was happy to give. I liked watching her respond to me. I get off on it too. It’s not always this way, but Emma's pleasure is a primary goal for me. I want to be a good lover so she'll crave me the way I do her. I know she does by the way she comes done under my touch.

Tonight, was for slow. I went down on her, leaving wet kisses on pink skin and using my fingers to pulse inside her. Every so often I replaced my fingers with my tongue and got a deep taste of her. It took a few minutes to get her clit into the game. It needed some coaxing to come out of hiding, but then Emma liked firm contact there. I alternated between open mouthed teasing licks and gentle sucking and vibrating. Sometimes a mix of all three. I slid my thumb inside her, her slickness easing the way. I rubbed along her as I licked her, my thumb repeatedly entering her and my middle finger skating over her other entrance. After one or two passes I looked up to her, "Tell me to stop."

Her response, "Mai mult, Sebasti-an."

More.

I kept up the movement until I could tell she was getting close. No surprises. I ran my finger over her a few times before gentle pushing inside her. Emma slammed her hands on the bed, her head canting back, and she absolutely screamed my name. Not said, not yelled... screamed. She arched off the bed then collapsed. I could see her thighs shaking.

I felt like a god.

Giving her time to come down, I slowly kissed my way up her body. I wanted her with me for the next part, not comatose. By the time I got to her neck her arms were around me with her hands on my ass.

Emma hooked her leg around my calf, “Condoms. Nightstand.”

I looked beside the bed, there were two. “Which one?”

“Both.” She stretched up to kiss me.

I pressed my body against hers, trapping my cock between us, and reaching for the nearest nightstand. When I went to my knees, she followed me. Her hands caressed my stomach and side while she kissed my chest. I worked around her to roll on the condom. I leaned forward and eased her back on the bed. Before her head hit the pillow, I was pushing inside her. She felt so warm and good wrapped around me. I stopped when I was deep in her to savor the feeling.

A smile crept slowly over Emma’s face and she put her hands on my face, stroking down to my shoulders. I returned the smile and started moving. Her hips met mine stroke for long slow stroke. I dropped my head to her shoulder, “I want this to last.” 

I don’t think I was talking just about the sex.

And last it did. We went from a slow steady missionary to a crazy sexy her on top. The way she moved, danced, with me inside her was something I wanted to memorize. I loved watching her stomach tighten with each stroke and way she went from smiling to biting her lip to her breath catching. Her fingers rested on my stomach and moved with her rhythm. I kept my hands on her thighs and watched for as long as I could. When I knew I couldn’t take much more I sat up and wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight to me. My hands were splayed high and low on her back to make sure she stayed close. She moved her legs where her feet were on the bed by my hips. Her legs squeezed my sides as tight as her arm around my shoulders held me, her other arm draped over my shoulder and her hand was in my hair. Movement was small and slow as we kissed. It was all I needed. I could feel her wrapped all around me. I buried my face in the crook of her neck and held her down on me, fighting for breath as the orgasm took me.

I fell back on the bed taking her with me. Emma kissed my neck making me shiver. “Good god.”

She huffed out a breath, “Umm, yeah.”

We stayed wrapped around each other until I started to go soft and slip out of her. She pushed onto hands and knees, climbing out of the bed. “Condom.”

I pulled it off and handed it off to her. I rolled to my side to watch her walk to the bathroom. I fussed with the bed and lifted the covers when she came back. A few seconds later we were cuddled up on our sides, arms and legs tangled together. We kissed lazily, enjoying the “fifteen minutes” after the high. Exactly like I’d said earlier, there was something good about letting the physical and emotional sink in.

This was heavy on the emotional.  I can’t tell you why it was different, or even really how, but it was. At the end when I could feel her wrapped all around me, it wasn’t just physical. I could FEEL her wrapped all around me. Yet, another part of this day I didn’t want to leave behind. I know it’s been a fucking week and I know it’s new and exciting. I know, I know, I know. But it’s good and I like it. We talked about it being crazy to think we were falling for each other so fast. It is crazy! A really good kind of crazy. And what am I supposed to do pretend I don’t know or push away the feelings? That seems really, really stupid. I’d be missing some incredible stuff. Really stupid. So, there’s the choice. I either just enjoy this and feel all of what I know is happening and let it do its thing, or I don’t. Guess which I’m picking?

I stopped the endless kissing that had been going on and ran my fingers over her cheek, “Just so you know. The matching bra and panties was getting closer to my Fantasy Friday.”

Her smile would have busted through any lies I was trying to tell myself. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me.”

I gave her a side eye like I was considering not. “I have a thing for strings.”

“Strings?”

I pursed my lips and nodded, “Like corsets. Garters. Things I can play with and have to figure how to get you out of.”

She made a noncommittal, “Hmph”.

“You into fantasy fulfillment?”

“I’m into whatever’s going to make you smile.”

I felt that all the ways to my toes. “Emma . . .” I sighed and shook my head, smiling. “You make me smile.”

[miraculous-romance]

“Don’t Do It Adrien!!”

Since Christmas was around the corner, my friends from the Adrien Protection Squad Discord server and I have decided to have a private Secret Santa event! I was lucky enough to get one of my teammates, one of the hosts from the event @emsylcatac and I couldn’t have been more happier! Hope you’ll like it and we’ll stay friends for a long time! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!!

A Miraculous Ladybug AU of how Adrien knows Ladybug is Marinette but he’s trying so hard not to say it. Coincidentally, he forms a stronger friendship with one of the less active superheroes and asking for help to hide his feelings from her.

Alix was roller skating in the Louvre Museum when she heard the two familiar voices.

“Chat, for the last time, NO.”

“Oh come on, m'lady. This time, I’m serious! If we knew each other’s identities, then it would be a lot easier to…”

“…Be captured by Hawkmoth, hurt our loved ones, LET THE VILLAIN WIN?! I can’t risk Paris for your love for me, kitty…” Alix hid, agreeing in secret with Ladybug. As a (future) superhero, she understood the importance of having secrets. It didn’t surprise her that they were hiding their identities.

“OR. We can win faster!” She agreed with that too. Wouldn’t it be simpler to plan his defeat?

A beeping noise filled the museum. It were their jewels. Without uttering a word, Ladybug left at the speed of light. Chat, thinking he was safe, de-transformed. He fell on the ground, not sure of what to do anymore.

The pink haired girl couldn’t move. Was that who she thought he was? “A-Adrien?” She mumbled. To her dismay, the boy swiftly turned around. He stood up. For a few moments, they stood there. Motionless. “Alix? H-How long have you…” “From the part Ladybug said “No.”“ BUSTED. This was bad. Really bad. Unforgivably bad. If the love of his life ever thought to give him a chance, she will certainly disregard those thoughts after she finds out what he had done. How was he supposed to get out of this mess?! There has to be to play it off.

“So, uhh, what’s up?” He tried to play it cool. “You’re Chat Noir.” she whispered. Oh Lord. She won’t forget it. Okay new plan. Think, Adrien Agreste, think! “It’s a good thing I was the one who saw you.” She gave him a reassuring look and sat on the bench nearby. She patted the empty part of the bench. Adrien took it as a sign so he sat. “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll keep your secret.” The girl winked at her friend. “Thank you.” Of course she would, how could he ever doubt her? She is a fellow teammate after all. Well, in the future at least. Soon. Then a sudden realization struck him. He looked around. “Oh no, the cameras” “Don’t worry about that. The cameras turn off for a while after an akuma attack” Thank God.

Not knowing what to say next, she uttered the first thing that popped into her mind.“So, you’re in love with the bug, huh?” Obviously. “Why are you chasing after a girl you don’t even know? What if she’s an older woman or even a guy?”

“But I do know her. The girl behind that mask. I know who she is.” Alix’s eyes widened. Oh no. This will crush Marinette’s heart. How does she tell her… NO. She can’t. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Lies. If she knew who Ladybug was, maybe she’d try to help Marinette with Adrien, if only a little. “But I have to, I can’t keep this bottled up, PLEASE!” Adrien’s brows furrowed, his lips pursed. He took her hands, as if he was urging to yell out the mystery girl’s name. She sighed. He let go of her hands.

“Okay, who’s Ladyb…” “Marinette.” …Come again? The girl thought she heard the name of her best friend. She blinked hard. His pupils were dilated. “Ladybug is Marinette. I’m in love with Marinette” Adrien repeated, making sure she didn’t mistunderstand. Oh crap. Ohcrapohcrapohcrap. “Adrien, THIS IS HUGE!” She got up, pacing around the bench.

“So you’re into… And she’s… Wait do you know that the boy she likes is…”

“Me, I know” he smirked proudly.

“Is that why you want her to reveal your identity to you, so you could be together? Adrien, you can’t do that.”

“Well then it’s a good thing that I have you now.” Wait WHAT?!?!

“Hold on, I thought you will always love Ladybug. And I’m sorry, I never liked you that way or felt toward anyone.”

“No, not that. And hey, I’m a catch!” he winked. “What I meant is, can you help me try to hide my feelings for her?” Well this turned into a big complicated horse poop.

“You want me to, what?! Be your anti-wingwoman?!”

“Exactly!”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“At any second now I can run toward her and yell out that I love her. I can’t afford to lose her for that!”

“That’s… A good point. But promise me you’ll be careful next time you detransform.”

He nodded. “I purromise” Alix chuckled. “And cut the cat puns, they’re not that funny.” They shook their hands.

This new bonding experience might not be so bad.

~5 days after Alix found out~

For a while, she had a pretty easy job. She sees Adrien fanboy over his beautiful, talented, courageous etc future mother of his children (all his words) and she would listen to him. And listen. And listen. The other part of the job was to stop him from flirting, making cat puns and all around obsessing in front of the girl he likes.

One of the times he was pretty close to revealing his feelings for her… If Alix wasn’t there to hit him.

The girls and Adrien were looking at Marinette’s designs, all superhero themed, when he came across the Chat Noir pages.

Black hoodie with ears, small details were green. Black skirt with a small black cat on the right side. A black and green bracelet.

The boy was in awe. The girl he adores was so talented, he just wanted to sit next to her as she sew all of those outfits from her notebook. He carefully gave Marinette her book back and mumbled. “I love you.”

He starred intently at her. And that’s when he felt a strong pain on his head. It was Alix. She hit him with her fist on the head. The two looked at each other before he could realize what he had said. “YOUR DESIGNS! I love your designs.” Fixed it.

Although Marinette wasn’t sure if she heard the previous sentence correctly, she was still happy to hear it. She considered it as one of her fantasies and brushed it off. “Th-Thank you Adrien.”

And soon the bell rang. From start to finish, the girls hadn’t said the word. Still they started to suspect what kind of relationship the sport girl and the model boy had.

[dragonindigo245]

Another Sanders Sides Monster AU

Patton Canis

Patton was originally a human before he was bitten by a rabid dog.

Or at least he thought it was.

Now Patton be a werewolf.

He appears human normally but on a full moon he becomes a white wolf with bright blue eyes.

None of that stuff where you can see their werewolves in their human form. Makes Patton harder to hunt.

His hair is actually dog fur now though, it looks like human hair but feels like petting a dog.

Pat does like to be pat.

When he becomes a wolf he can only suggest doing things. Otherwise the wolf part is in full control. Begging does nothing.

Patton doesn’t tend to remember much during full moons but he does get dreams about being the wolf.

He’s extremely afraid of big dogs. He doesn’t mind small dogs though and will cuddle them.

One time when he was a werewolf the wolf actually communicated with a few dogs. Turns out dogs are by far smarter than humans.

Patton barely remembers it and couldn’t go into full detail about why they were.

He was coincidentally allergic to silver before being bitten. The silver adjustment wasn’t to bad.

Patton is now allergic to chocolate and grapes like a dog is. He mourns not being able to have real chocolate in his cookies.

In wolf form he did try dog food. Horrible but not as bad as you would think. It was mostly the aftertaste.

Patton can growl and do other dog noises if he chooses but can’t understand dogs in his human form.

So he doesn’t really do that.

Logan Silver

Logan died on October 19th, 2016.

Don’t ask him how he died. He goes quiet until the subject is changed.

He was risen from the dead as a zombie because yes.

Well that was the reason at first.

He later found out Emile summoned him on accident.

So Logan tried to live a normal ish life again. He was thankfully guided by Emile and Remy back to it.

It didn’t take much adjusting however due to dying only 3 years ago. Society hadn’t changed that much.

Logan has dead white eyes and is covered in stitches, otherwise he is pretty much like a normal human.

Oh and he can dismantle and regenerate himself. There’s that.

He will sometimes play fetch with Patton in his wolf form to keep him from running off and killing things. Fetch as in throwing his arm and Patton biting the crap out of it.

Logan is extremely smart and was originally an detective. When he died though he was lost to the world. Now he studies anatomy.

He often has to bandage wounds for everyone. He doesn’t mind.

Logan goes stargazing with all the sides frequently.

Roman Gryphon

Roman is a harpie who was raised by human parents after he was shot in the wing as a child.

Roman is terrified of the sound of fireworks due to this, he does like watching them with noise canceling headphones though.

His parents are both male because we need a dose of even more gayness.

It was really a coincidence that Roman ended up Bisexual.

Roman was homeschooled to prevent any further harm to him so he ended up creating a Discord server where he met people instead of meeting kids at a school.

The humans on the server didn’t believe he was a monster so he took a picture showing his wings and talons. There the other monsters DMed him, freaking out about how they weren’t the only ones.

He created another server specifically for the other monsters. There was only 8 members on there but still. They talked and stuff.

More on that later too.

Roman really wants to be an actor but is unable to pursue it due to his wings.

He just sticks to preforming in his prince outfit in his room. His favorite skit currently is playing Prince Neeven in The Princess and the Frog.

His favorite Disney movie is Aladdin though.

We don’t talk about the sequel though. He gets passionate about it.

Virgil Nimbus

Virgil has been around since the end of the Dark Ages.

He got bitten by a vampire and barely managed to escape with his life.

When his teeth and nails grew sharp he locked himself in a room held together by silver.

There he developed his powers for many centuries. He can become a wolf but besides changing his shape he can fly, regenerate, lift things three times his size, and another power to be mentioned later.

He has developed a way of feeding off of himself but it hurts tremendously as well as taking time.

He has to cut himself and let the blood drain off of him so his heart can replace the blood, and then drink the old blood. So yeah, not pleasant at all.

He would often go days without eating cause of this.

On his birthday (December 19th) of 2001 he was found and immediately killed all 10 of his rescuers out of hunger.

Seeing as how it was his first kills, it messed him up mentally.

His other power comes from feeding off of others. If he bites someone, as long as his fangs are in them, they feel calm and become unable to move. A lot like a spider.

Deceit found him curled on himself and they ended up getting into a fight because Virgil attacked him.

Deceit pinned him easily after he noticed Virgil was really small and weak.

Virgil ended up learning how the human language developed from Deceit as well as modern technology.

Virgil also learned only human like blood can feed him so he still uses his old methods.

He eventually met everyone on Romans discord server and he’s the only one who hasn’t seen the others face to face.

Vines are his favorite thing ever. He’s disappointed it died.

He’s actually the most up to date with memes despite being centuries old.

He has been “adopted” by Patton on Discord. He is surprising okay with this.

Deceit Malpolon

Deceit was born a naga. He has the lower half of a snake and an upper half of a human.

He is actually gender fluid and will bite you if you refuse to use his correct pronouns for the day.

Which would hurt cause he’s venomous.

He can also hypnotize people who stare into his eyes.

He was visiting Germany and came across Virgil. He was stow away and had a much harder time bringing Virgil back with him.

Thankfully he could speak fluent German and semi understand Virgil even if his speech was outdated.

He was hurt pretty badly a bit after the trip back. His hands were crippled for some time and he lost some scales around the left of his face.

This was by a hunter who was honestly stupid for wanting to hunt him. It was more of torture for Deceit.

Virgil did kill the hunter before he decided to shoot Deceit. Afterwards Deceit would attack any human that tried to get within a mile radius of where they lived.

Deceit is actually really protective of Virgil and hardly lets him leave the house alone. They only leave when Virgil goes out hunting really. Virgil doesn’t mind most of the time but it leads to complications.

Deceit won’t admit he gets separation anxiety.

Remus visits them every now and then but he’s not allowed near Virgil because he will eat Virgil as discovered.

Deceit is a pathological liar. He loves lying despite how much it seems wrong. He has to resist the temptation and it can get hard for him.

What he can’t control is the urge to chew everything. If he gets anxious or upset he has to clamp down on something.

His hands are full of bite marks and he has holes in all his sleeves. He has plastic shapes he should bite on but he doesn’t carry them around.

Another anxious habit is coiling around himself over and over until he manages to painfully knot himself.

Deceit owns little necklaces that have a tablet on them and give the days pronouns.

I’m calling Deceit a “he” for now cause I’m used to it and they can’t determine their gender out of the fic.

Remus

Oh no we reached Trash Goblin who isn’t actually a goblin.

That would be a funny alternative to what he actually is though. XD

He’s actually a wendigo in the skin of a human.

He kinda created his own body.

He started hanging around humans way to much and developed a personality besides whatever an “endless hunger” personality is.

He often chews on stuff to keep the edge off his hunger.

He owns dog chew toys and chews on those too. His favorite thing to chew on besides bones.

So he’s doing better than Dee.

Despite his... exhilarating personality... he’s actually very tactical. He picks humans to kill very carefully and waits until their guard is lowered, most of the time when their sleeping.

Though he wakes them up on “accident” so he can see the terror in their eyes.

Yeah he’s a sadist.

That’s pretty much expected.

He was on the Discord server once and people immediately assumed he was Romans brother. Now it’s a huge joke because Roman hates it.

Remus is aro despite his sexual remarks.

He also eats small rodents for the heck of it.

One time he presented Logan the head of someone and Remus immediately claimed him as his favorite when Logan asked if he could keep it.

Remus hasn’t tried to eat Roman or Logan but has attempted eating Patton and Virgil. If he met Remy or Emile he would most certainly try to eat them.

He only goes after the more human like ones.

Emile Picanii

Emile is around 26 and is a trans male.

Emile is a couples therapist as usual but has taken up trying to do therapy for the monsters.

He has a spell book that he can use to make magic. That’s how he summoned Logan.

Most of the time he keeps it tucked away in his jacket but rarely he will use it on patients discreetly.

He still asks for their permission but does it in a way he doesn’t sound like he’s asking.

So far his spells haven’t backfired except for the Logan incident.

Emile is on the Discord server and has his own channel to help the monsters on.

He has actually gotten Roman and Patton to come to a live therapy session that turned more into a hang out.

Logan has had a therapy session in voice chat but nothing more. Virgil has text ones while Remus and Remy don’t do any.

Emile tries to convince Remus to at least but he declines.

Emile got into cartoons from Roman because Emiles parents didn’t allow him to watch cartoons.

So now Emile has a Stich onesie among many other things Disney, SU, and anime.

However just because of all this doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his downs. He sometimes has depressive days and overworks himself often.

Thankfully he has a therapist as well because he can’t recommend seeing a therapist without taking his advice.

He’s getting a lot better too!

He has naturally pink hair for some reason. He likes to dye it streaks of blue to match.

Remy

Remy is a sleep paralysis demon. He gives people nightmares that lead to sleep paralysis.

He doesn’t exactly care tooooo much but occasionally gives sleep paralysis to people when he’s not sleeping or drinking coffee.

He can enter dreams if he wishes to but doesn’t really do that.

His eyes are light sensitive so he typically wears sun glasses.

He also has narcolepsy and people tend to fall asleep around him. It’s a weird thing where nobody can stay awake.

He still tries to be awake though.

His coffee is always from Starbucks with the seasonal flavors or caramel.

(I’m really tired writing this so that’s funny.)

Remy is a part of the server but already knows who each person is.

Remy owns an black barn owl named Roast, a reference to coffee.

He met Emile before any of this and grew to be good friends with him.

They drink Starbucks together and ‘gossip’ (Emile doesn’t really gossip but they talk about celebrities and stuff)

So this is the monster AU for Halloween! Will probably write something with these bois. Happy Halloween!

(Also I tried to make the last names unique from the typical ones okay bye)

[thepurplebutterflythings]

Blind Date (Part 1 of 3) - Jake Peralta

Gif: brooklynninenine on Tenor

Word Count: 1.2K

Paring: Jake Peralta x (f)Reader

Summary: Y/N and Jake are set up on a blind date. Y/N reluctantly visits her mother.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: I ADORE Jake and Amy as a couple, but, obviously, in this they aren’t together. 

Masterlist

Requested: Anon

________________________________________________________________

‘So, you’re a detective?’ Y/N asked curiously to the man who sat across from her in the bar. Normally she dreaded nights out and blind dates, but this one was certainly worth it. When her friend said she knew the perfect guy for Y/N, she was beyond hesitant about it, but, thankfully, she went through with it as now she now had a good-looking, funny New York detective.

‘Uh, yeah,’ her date, Jake, said with a nod. ‘At the 99.’

‘Cool, do you have a favourite case you’ve worked on?’

‘Um…’ Jake frowned as he thought about what her question, ‘well… wow, amazing how whenever someone asks a question all the answers just fly out the head, isn’t it?’

‘I know what you mean.’

‘But, hey, I’ve got a beautiful woman opposite which is distracting, so maybe I can catch a break about it this time?’

‘Well, the compliment has definitely endeared you to me now,’ Y/N laughed, ‘so, yeah, I’ll give you a break.’

‘Phew,’ Jake smiled, jokingly wiping his brow. ‘So, what about you? What do you do?’

‘Oh, nothing as exciting as being a detective, that’s for sure!’ Y/N said, ‘I work as a server at Masa.’

Jake nearly choked on his wine as she revealed the restaurant she worked for. Masa was one of the highest prices, most famous restaurant he had heard of – mainly because Charles wouldn’t shut up about wanting to go there and eat.

‘I’ve heard of it,’ Jake said with a nod as he lowered his glass back onto the table. ‘My friend, Charles, is desperate to go.’

‘Well, with the holiday’s coming up the wait list is very long, tell him to wait till New Year,’ Y/N advised with a chuckle. ‘So, Jake, what made you agree to a blind date?’

‘I trust Gina’s opinion – she’s yet to be wrong.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Y/N laughed, ‘Gina’s got, like, a power or something.’

‘When I left work today she was planning her speech for our wedding,’ Jake told her.

‘Lord, how long is it?’

‘Currently? Three hours, not including the 30 minute dance.’

‘Sounds about right,’ Y/N nodded, ‘maybe we should elope?’

‘And face her wrath? Nah, we just need to get super, duper drunk.’

‘I like your style, Peralta,’ Y/N grinned as she lifted her glass at the same time as Jake, clinking them together in a cheers.

________________________________________________________________

‘How long do you have before you’ve got to get back to work?’ Y/N asked Jake as he took her on a stroll through the park during his lunch break.

‘I’ve still got fifteen minutes.’ He assured her, ‘just enough time for a romantic stroll and to make my lady feel fancy.’

‘Oooo, Detective Peralta! You know how to treat a woman, don’t you?’ Y/N teased. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to visit my Mother this evening, so I’ll gladly take this as a comforting memory before having to deal with her!’

‘Your mother?’ Jake asked with a frown as they sat on a bench. ‘You’ve never spoken about her before.’

‘Well, we’re not close,’ Y/N sighed, pushing her hair back, ‘practically unloaded me onto my dad the moment I came out the womb. She wasn’t there for birthdays or Christmas – very career driven, which I respect, but, at the end of the day, I was more of an inconvenience to her than anything else. The only reason she really talks to me now is that she takes co-workers to Masa to butter them up and requests me as a server cause ‘I’m your mother, Y/N, remember that when you think of sabotaging me’, like I actually consider risking my job to pour hot soup over her because I’m petty. Just because she holds the smallest of grudges doesn’t mean I do!’

‘Yikes,’ Jake said, giving her a sympathetic look, ‘what’s her job?’

‘Honestly?’ Y/N looked at Jake, ‘she works at One Police Plaza.’ She confessed resulting a shocked look from Jake, ‘as I said, we aren’t close, so, like, I don’t really talk about her to, well, anyone.’

‘Want me to come along with you?’ Jake offered ‘no one can be mad at this face,’ Jake gestured to his face with a boyish grin.

‘As much as I’d love you to come, Mum would completely loose her shit if she found out I was dating a cop.’

‘Seriously?’ Jake cocked an eyebrow as Y/N nodded wearily. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know, some petty feud with another officer when she was younger or some shit!’ Y/N shrugged it off, ‘I don’t really pay attention to what she says anymore.’

‘Well, if you’re free afterward perhaps you can come by mine, we can open some wine and you can bitch all you want about your mother!’

‘Jake Peralta, you are a man who truly knows how to treat a woman! Wine and Bitching? I’ll marry you right here and right now!’

‘Ha, ha,’ Jake chuckled as they got to their feet, ‘Come on, let’s get you back to work before your boss has my head.’

________________________________________________________________

Y/N sighed and reluctantly knocked on the door of Madeline Wuntch’s office door. Her mother had cancelled the reservation at the restaurant they would’ve been eating at and told Y/N to come to her office instead.

‘Come in,’ Wuntch called out as Y/N entered the room.

‘Hello, Mother,’ Y/N said as she closed the door behind her, ‘why did you cancel our reservation? It was a perfectly fine place to dine.’

‘Well, I have a lot of work,’ Wuntch said. She hadn’t lifted her head to look at Y/N as of yet, caught up entirely in her paperwork. ‘I thought I’d tell you we’ll have to reschedule.’

‘And a call wouldn’t surfice? Had to be face to, well, paper now did it?’ Y/N rolled her eyes as Wuntch pulled her glasses off and lowered the paper, giving her daughter a glare. ‘Watch it, Medusa, don’t want to turn your only off-spring into stone, do you? Keep in mind I’ll be picking your care home.’

‘I thought I would tell you face to face that next week I have a reservation at Masa for myself and a co-worker. I want you on your best behaviour.’

‘Why? You introducing me as your daughter? Or am I just the server again?’

‘Don’t start with me today, Y/N,’ Wuntch scolded as she got to her feet and walked firmly over to her daughter, ‘I have had to deal with Raymond again today.’

After years and years of hearing her mother complain about this Raymond, Y/N had never even set his eyes on the man. Y/N was hidden away in the dark, something that Madeline made sure no one had ever heard about. Y/N Y/L/N, as far as Madeline was concerned, was not a Wuntch by blood or otherwise. She was purely her father’s daughter.

‘Yeah? What’d he do?’ Y/N leaned against the door, ‘reveal your hooves to the Plaza?’

‘This is not the behaviour I want to see next week, Y/N,’ Wuntch warned her.

‘Relax, Mother,’ Y/N huffed, ‘I’m always professional, aren’t I? Unlike you, I won’t risk an entire career out of some trivial feud.’ Y/N stood up straight and met her mother’s eyes, ‘anything else, mother?’

‘No, that will be all,’ Wuntch nodded before walking back to her desk. ‘I shall see you next week.’

‘Yep, see you then, Mother,’ Y/N nodded unenthusiastically before giving a tight lipped farewell smile and walking out, closing the door behind her.

[umbraastaff]

I’ve just been thinking--it’s about time I make a proper index for my TAZ fics, huh? Also contains: mini-series, ficlets, goof posts, and lyric comics.

(All of the fics are rated G, or T at most for McElroy-appropriate language.)

FICS

I Saw Seven Bounties | Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends, Complete | Mostly lighthearted, episodic recounting of Kravitz and Barry’s rivalry throughout those first twelve years on Faerun. 24K. -->Extras: Lich Eyes, Fantasy Starbucks, Alt POV for Chapter 1 & Chapter 5, Sorry

They Say Fire Took Phandalin | Small-town supernatural/sorta-haunted-house AU |  Fresh out of grad school, Barry Bluejeans takes a job and a house in the rural nowhere-town of Phandalin. And it’s not like he thought fitting in would be a walk in the park, but the people there all act really weird, and it’s almost like they’re expecting something of him, too. 11K/~20K.

What Can’t Be Done Alone (Detective Squad) | Canon Divergent, Found Family, Fluff | AU where the voidfish works a little better, and Angus never finds the Bureau. Instead, he finds a strange lich in a cave, and he most certainly continues to work this case and not gradually get adopted instead. 18K/~22K. -->Extras: Drangus AU Oneshot

If I Wanted to be Funny I’d Name This Fic “The Time Belt” | Futuristic sci-fi AU feat. time travel | Taako meets the only people in years who recognize the Institute’s name. Known time criminal Barry Bluejeans continues to evade law enforcement. 2K/??.

Overgrowth / Undercurrent | Roleswap AU, Johnchurch, Pining, Twoshot, Happy ending optional | Overgrowth is a oneshot that follows John, the Starblaster’s chief diplomat, through a series of parleys with Merle, the center of the plane-consuming mass of plants that’s been chasing his crew. Undercurrent is a sequel about their post-canon reunion. 4K + 6K. --> Extras: PLAYLIST by @merle-casts-zone-of-truth

Davenport Remembers | Post-canon, Oneshot | Davenport meets with his crew members to try to reconcile his anger with Lucretia, or to decide whether he should. 1.5K.

MINI-SERIES

AU Where Taako is a Lich - Pretty much what it says on the tin here, folks!

Baritz (ask series) - A fusion of Barry and Kravitz, who took over my blog and answered asks for a while. (He originated in the Gallows/S&S lyric comic.)

Good Adventures (Good Omens crossover) - The Antichrist’s wishes summon the wrong boatful of aliens. Thankfully, it seems they’re apocalypse experts. [with plot-ideas help from @avijohann​.]

Omen Zone (Good Omens crossover 2) - Barry is a demon. Kravitz is an angel. Kravitz probably won’t ever admit that they’re friends.

Pokémon: Century Version (Pokémon crossover) - Stolen Century AU where they’re all pokémon trainers. Faerun spin-off: Double Trouble

Till Death, Don’t Let’s Start - Barry fucks up. Kravitz is present.

Very Normal Blog Posts (ask series) - In which Garfield is not at all dangerous, and I am perfectly fine. <alt: chronological link - desktop only>

COMICS & ART

Gallows/Steady and Stronger (Double lyric comic) - Canon-divergent AU where, as the world is ending, Barry gives up to Kravitz. [Image description version]

[Lyric Comics] - Other, shorter lyric comics based on single verses of songs.

Dear Scientist’s Log (series) - Illustrated ship logs from Barry J. Bluejeans.

Movie Madness (Comic) - Barry obsesses over the unforgivable.

Palette Prompts (Arts) - Art from art meme prompts.

Pregananant (goof comic) - You know the one.

REAPER (Comic) - Baritz fuses with Lup.

These Jeans? (Animatic) - Barry advertises jeans.

They’re Both Tessa Thompson (Comic) - Lucretia has a nightmare. Barry reassures her.

War (Goof comic) - prompt: "taakitz with CAT”

What’s bigger than this? - The Red Robe.

FICLETS

Back Soon - Kravitz leaves a note with unfortunate wording.

Bodyswap: Barry & Davenport - During Wonderland.

Casual - AU where the red robe talks like a normal person.

Command - Barry misuses his magic.

Davenport - There’s something unsettling about that butler.

Hangin’ Out - Lup and Magnus.

Harvest - Roleswap AU: Barry is the Hunger.

Healing Necromancy - Merle tries to teach Barry some tricks.

Hope - Barry knows she’s still out there.

How Long? - Taako is frustrated.

In Pieces - The staff.

Liches Forget Too - AU.

Lucretia Forgets - In which there was a mistake with the voidfish ichor.

Lup’s Robe - Gifts from Taako.

Mourning Glories - The flowers in Merle’s beard.

New Years - Celebrations and fears.

Parole - Barry and Kravitz bonding hours.

Phone a Friend - Baritz (the fusion from Gallows/S&S) meets Angus.

Raising the Dead - Barry has to use his crew members’ corpses. [sequel]

Robbie...? - Magnus breaks into the brig immediately after Petals to the Metal.

Second Apocalypse - Based on that one party liveshow. What was the rest of the crew doing, again?

3 Sentence Fics - Pairing + AU prompts.

Smartstone - Lup gets stuck in a Stone of Far Speech, instead.

Stir Crazy - Barry waiting for a new body to grow. Thoughts of Lucretia.

Writing Things Down - In case you forget (again).

You Remember - Taako remembers.

PROMINENT GOOFS

Barry’s Dead - But he’s fine! Calm down!

Character Development - Joke’s on you, DM!

Crystal Kingdom - An absolutely bonkers arc.

Dealer - Merle pun.

Decapitate Me - for making this post

Don’t Care - Taako during the finale. [bonus]

Epilogue - Bracer struggles. [bonus: 1, 2]

Explain the Hunger (Good Omens crossover) - Magnus explains the hunger to Aziraphale and Crowley. They react in varying ways. [with cursed art contributions from @avijohann and @mspainttaz]

Fifteen Dollars - Plus interest. [Bonus]

Fullmetal Kingdom - They’re the same, right?

Gender - And lack of roles.

Gnomes Don’t Exist - They’re all aliens, actually.

Hot Diggity Shit - Been a while.

Icon Confusion - The saga of people thinking my icon is a carrot. [chrono link - desktop only]

Incomprehensible Denim - Jeff Angel’s illegal pants.

In Case it Changes Anything - Taako, Kravitz, and lies.

Irresponsible Teens - Magnus and Lucretia get into trouble.

I Saw Seven Nerds - That’s the post.

Gogurt - Taako’s crimes.

Learning to Drive - i.e. Barry & Davenport Bonding(?) Hours.

Live Shows - The general mood.

Lucretia’s Efforts - A proper meme? On my TAZ blog?

Lup Said No Thanks - That time Magnus was in a tree.

Magnus’ Death - So many close calls.

Nearest Middle-Aged Woman - Clint’s characters’ friends.

Necromancy? - You must be mistaken!

Ned’s Aliases - The Truth.

Pirate Debt - Davenport during that one liveshow.

Punch Squad - SQUAD!

Reaper Cloak - Thoughts.

Relic Names - She probably changed them.

Responsible Necromancy - Good and bad ideas.

Resume - It’s not like they thought it would be relevant.

Schools of Magic - And the Sash was what, again?

Self Care - Respect the dead, please.

Server Shenaniganry (art) - TAAKO THE CAT, NO!

Soulmate AU - Where your soulmate’s greatest enemy is on your wrist. [alt]

Stern’s Truth - You Know.

Taako’s Last Name - Taako’s last name.

Team Composition - The post where everyone wants to argue with me about what qualifies as a wizard.

Third Option - Taako saves the day.

You’re Laughing - End of Suffering Game.

THEORIES/MECHANICS/THOUGHTS

Aloof - Holes Taako refuses to fill.

Barry’s Lucky Possessee - Graphic novel theory hopes & dreams.

Catpiling - Stolen Century thought.

Davenport’s Deaths - Sucks when you always wake up driving.

Death Leaves a Mark - Stolen Century AU concept.

Everyone Else - Some people didn’t get perfect endings.

Fantasy Nonsense - lore about the word “fantasy,” as in “Jesus Fantasy Christ.”

Fragments - Magnus’ memory.

Forgiveness - Old post about the crew’s thoughts on Lucretia’s actions.

Forgot to Erase - Lucretia’s errors.

FULL TIMELINE POST - the Balance timeline.

Gauntlet - (disproven!) Theory about the final relic, from before it was confirmed in the show.

Gnome Nicknames - Thoughts on Cap’nport.

High School AU - Some old headcanons.

Home World Names - The pattern in surnames (or lack thereof) on the IPRE’s homeworld.

Hour - This isn’t a thought so much as an Actual Thing That Magnus Said before the time loops had started, which is absurd.

Idiots in Love - The IPRE’s collective braincell was lost for all of Legato. [2]

Liches, Alone - Being stuck as raw emotion for an awfully long time.

Losing Julia - And subsequent developments.

Love - What was remembered and forgotten.

Love Without Fear - Thoughts on bonds during the Stolen Century.

Memory - Barry actually shouldn’t have remembered anything.

Nickname - Memory of Lup.

Paladin Barry Theory - Converging evidence on Barry’s multiclassing.

Paradox AU - blueprint for 8th, 9th, 10th, etc. Bird AU of your choice(s). (Extra)

Phylactery Mechanics - How liches differ.

Produce Flame - Mechanics of John killing Merle.

Recklessness - THB’s actions recontextualized.

Relic Schools of Magic - They don’t have them!!!

Relicswap AU - Where all the birds get swapped out.

Seven Birds as Gods - Ask-prompt thoughts.

Staring at the Sun - The birds and their light sensitivity.

Story, Song, & Sorcery - Effects on the young population.

Sword Tornado - Magnus Mechanics. [bonus: Time Warlock]

The Good Place AU - A series of crossover thoughts.

Tree Climbing - Davenport shenanigans.

Unique Magic Types - [and combo styles]

What Killed Maureen - hint: it wasn’t Fisher.

[ernmark]

Ok, in the space vegas fic, we have Juno realizing he's screwed and actually really into Peter. How about the moment when Peter realizes he's actually fallen for Juno? 👀

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | NSFW Part 9

It isn’t inevitable. 

Juno may insist that there’s no getting out of it, but he hasn’t seen the escapes Peter has made over the course of his illustrious career. If he wanted to avoid a phone call, there was no force in all the universe that could make it happen.

It is important to note, then, that Peter fully consents to having this conversation with Juno’s secretary. And not because he was bullied or annoyed into it, as Juno seems to believe. True, there may be an inkling of guilt involved-- after all, it was Peter’s carelessness that spilled the secret of their relationship to her in the first place-- but Peter would hardly call it a guilt trip, either. 

In fact, he rather enjoys their conversation.

“So this is Rita!” he effuses, the moment she appears on the screen of Juno’s comms. He flashes his warmest, most winning smile. “Juno’s told me so much about you, but you’re even lovelier in person.”

Really, it takes nothing at all before she’s blushing and giggling, her questions deflected with compliments and charm and gushing commentary on the most recent drama streams. 

Juno watches him the entire time-- at first ready to intercede and yank the comms out of Peter’s hand, then scowling and surly, and finally dumbfounded as his secretary dissolves into a drooling mess. 

“How the hell did you do that?” he asks, once Peter finally ends the call. 

“I just found the right way to talk to her. There’s a right way to talk to everyone, Juno – you just have to find it.” Peter folds the comms and presses it into Juno’s hand, leaning too close to be casual. His fingertips linger against Juno’s palm. “Here’s hoping we find ours soon, eh?”

“Real funny, Nureyev.” Juno rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop his gaze from flitting to the point of contact. “You already got me in bed with you. I think we’re past the point where you need romance me.”

Peter leans closer still. “But what if I want to romance you?” 

Juno misses a beat, but he manages a shrug. “Everybody needs a hobby, I guess.” 

“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind joining me for dinner and a show tonight. There’s a performance of Love in the Time of Vaudeville that I’m told I can’t miss.” 

--------------

The show is, naturally, a delight-- even moreso thanks to a running commentary from Juno, shared behind a cupped hand during the show, and bantered over the dinner table as they share their meal, and mumbled incoherently across the pillows as he drifts off that night. 

Peter stays awake, watching as Juno’s face goes soft, as his eyes flit about behind their lids while he dreams, as he drifts into the deepest phases of sleep.

This is the time to get up and leave-- if he waits too long, Juno might wake up from the sound of it-- but Peter puts it off for another minute, and another, and another. Juno just looks so vulnerable like this, so trusting and tender and sweet, and Peter wants--

He slips out of bed and into his clothes without making a sound. 

Peter wants to not be caught, and that means taking care of the paperwork before the Solar government catches wind of an Outer Rim terrorist in their space. According to the keyloggers he left on City Hall’s servers, the marriage license has finally been filed. It’s time to move.

Getting into the building proper is no issue, thanks to the key card he swiped from the assistant governor’s pocket just before the show. The cameras are obvious and easily avoided. Just like that, he’s in the filing room, staring down a hundred thousand physical documents.

His gloves whisper against the stacks of file folders until he comes to the right date and time. The marriage license and certificate, each signed in a drunken but unfortunately legible scrawl: Peter Nureyev. 

He slides them free from the file and slips them into his bag. These nobody will miss-- enough documents get innocently misfiled every day that their absence will go unnoticed. 

Now all that’s left is the digital record.

It won’t be difficult. He already knows the passwords. Using one of the local networked computers will get him safely past the firewalls and security encryptions. It’s even well-organized, as far as government filing systems go. He finds the file quickly.

All it will take is a few key strokes, and he’ll be no longer married to Juno Steel.

His name will be a secret once more. He can leave Venus behind, and with it the hotel room, and the performance, and the pretend relationship and all its absurd trappings. 

He stares at the file, his fingers lingering over the mouse, not quite willing to open the file. 

It doesn’t make sense. Why should he hesitate? This past week was certainly fun, but it was a vacation from his real life, nothing more. Years from now he’ll look back fondly over his brief marriage, but that’s all it will ever be: a fond memory. 

But he doesn’t want it to be just a memory.

The realization closes like a fist around his chest, and suddenly he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want it to be over. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He wants to keep being married to Juno-- he wants to take him to dinner and talk to him for hours about things that don’t matter and listen to his breathing slow as he falls asleep. He’s gotten the briefest taste of a hundred quiet intimacies, and he wants to bask in a hundred thousand more-- he wants to explore them all. 

With Juno. Only with Juno.

He opens the file.

[alphawave-writes]

Evil actions and good intentions chapter 13: ‘Charon and Sigma’

Synopsis: The penultimate chapter. The climactic battle to end all battles, as Harold, Sigma, Symmetra, and Winston face off Harold's mysterious imposter. But who's really behind the mask?

Read it here or find it on AO3. You can find me on twitter @alphawave13 or on my Sigrold discord server. 

If you like my stuff, please do support me by asking about my writing commissions, or by supporting me on ko-fi.

-

It’s almost like gazing into a phantom. For the longest time, his mind adrift in that accursed facility, he often wondered how Harold would look like if he were alive. That was long before he knew Harold was alive, of course, long before he had any control over his abilities and long before rescue would ever come for him. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, having someone on the other side to comfort him. He knew Harold’s mannerisms well enough. It was a simple thing of transplanting that to a new body. The Harold his mind concocted was not unlike the one that stood before him right now, a voice as soft as silk and eyes that perfectly reflected the stars in the sky.

It’s a stark contrast to the Harold by his side, scarred physically and mentally by the Earth and the Moon and the space in between. This Harold, who has lost the innocent naivete of his younger years, who dirtied his hands with blood in a moment of fury, who chose the moniker of Charon and has stuck by his side all this time. This Harold stares at his counterpart in absolute hatred.

“Don’t play games with us. Who are you really?”

“I think you’ve got other things to worry about other than my identity. Your reputation, for example, if you attack me. It won’t look good on Overwatch if you do anything. And that’s not to mention this.” He puts his hand into the pocket of his lab coat and reveals a small USB. Sigma is only able to catch its bright purple colour before the imposter pockets it once more. “You’ll be wanting this, won’t you? All the files have been backed up in here. And you know what, I’ll do you a favour. I’ll do what you want, and we can all leave here in peace.”

As he says that, there’s a large creak as metal breaks. Computer screens all around them begin to fizzle. The server is down. All communication systems are down. No one can contact Horizon ever again.

Winston’s brows wrinkle. “What do you want?”

The imposter smiles impishly. “What I just said. No one will ever know the truth about Harold Winston. The only remaining evidence of your existence and your research is on this USB. You have what you want. Let me have what I need.”

“You know we can’t allow you to do that. That research is important,” Winston says.

“You really want to stand in the way of science?” He shakes his head. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

“You are not me,” Harold growls.

The imposter stares at Harold for a few seconds before chuckling softly. “No. I’m not. I am Harold, but you? You’re the Jade Hare, Specimen: 31. If you really are with Overwatch, I bet you’ve been given another codename on top of all that.”

Harold grits his teeth but says nothing. His cheeks are slightly pink in anger, or perhaps shame. Sigma glares at the imposter.

“The world wants me to return to Earth, I want to return to Earth. They don’t want this Jade Hare nonsense, and they certainly don’t want Overwatch because they are looking into the future. I can give them that future because I see it too. I share their vision. And I will do anything to make sure it comes true.”

Sigma wants to fight back, but his allies do not move and so he does not either, not even to protect Harold’s honour. Even if he was not part of Overwatch, he does not know if he has the strength to fight even a figure in Harold’s image. He wants to hate this man like Harold does, but he loves Harold too much, and that love extends to people that bear his appearance. He's not strong enough, of mind and spirit.

Beside him, Harold crouches down and drops the files on the ground. He holsters his jet injector and walks forward purposely. The other Harold quirks an eyebrow behind his rectangular frames.

“So, I’m not Harold then?” The real one asks.

“You don’t have to be. Not anymore,” the imposter says.

Harold’s lips pull up into a smirk. “Good.”

Suddenly, with ferocious speed he dashes forward and shoves his palm into the imposter’s frames, disintegrating before his very eyes. The imposter steps back, falling to the ground in surprise as Harold grapples him, punching once, twice, before the imposter disappears, leaving behind a robotic endoskeleton. The USB clatters harmlessly onto the ground. The imposter reaches for it but Harold is faster, hissing loudly as he shakes his hand, when suddenly Sigma hears a metallic whirr followed by the clang of metal against the hard floors. Sigma turns around, just barely avoiding a lunge from his imposter. With his powers, he breaks bits of the floor, smashing them together into a boulder before flinging it at his opponent. The imposter is smashed into smithereens, reverting back into its original robotic appearance. A third robot behind it takes his appearance.

“What are you?” Sigma growls.

There’s the puff of an explosion as Symmetra zaps another robot. “Cease your games this instant.”

The imposter laughs maliciously. Their voice has taken on a metallic tint. “Still haven’t figured it out, Satya? It’s a shame. I thought you were much better than that.”

“What…?”

The imposter laughs again, but not in Harold’s voice. The illusion flickers as their appearance morphs and warps. His hair turns into a lighter shade of brown while his skin turns dark as mocha. Their face twists and turns until it no longer resembles Harold, clothes transforming from a lab coat into a familiar looking uniform made of purples and whites.

“Sanjay Korpal?” Symmetra gasps.

“I didn’t want to have to do this,” Sanjay says. “You had so much potential. You could’ve grown to be a great agent for Vishkar, possibly even the best. We could’ve helped the world be reborn. Make sure no one ever has to suffer like we did.”

“You are not the real Sanjay.”

“Of course I’m not. I’m back down on Earth, but I’ve got my helpers up here.” Sanjay smiles. “Funny what a bit of connection can do for you. Hard light and space technology really do go hand in hand. Perhaps the next step for Vishkar is to collaborate with Lucheng Interstellar more in the future.”

Sigma stares at the robotic endoskeleton, vaguely human in shape, a camouflage device imprinted on their head. Beside the device was a flickering dot. All the other bodies have their own flickering light, beating to the same rhythm. A rhythm that does not repeat. Sigma’s seen this technology before, when Lucheng first tried to establish contact with Horizon shortly after the gorilla rebellion. The robots worked on the same neural network, not unlike a hive mind.

“We are meant to bring peace and order,” Symmetra says. An orb of hard light penetrates through a mob of robots, collapsing in a line like domino pieces. “This is not the way of Vishkar.”

“No, Satya. This is the way of Vishkar. You just never saw it for what it truly is.”

The other robots charge at Winston, who stands his ground, ready to fight, only for the robots to all run past him. They smash their heavy bodies to the glass. An alarm whines in the background, an automated voice calling throughout the speakers warning people to avoid damaging the glass. The robots ignore this, charging again and again, the voice repeating its warning again and again. Winston takes off his glasses, growling menacingly as his skin turns crimson, swiping the robots away with his arms, but it doesn’t work. There’s too many of them.

Sanjay smiles cruelly as he turns to Sigma, eyebrows raising as if daring him to attack. Sigma’s lips twist into a scowl as he hurls the hyperspheres at him, destroying the robot, but soon another robot takes his appearance, and then another. The laugh that Sanjay gives is cruel, almost mocking.

“He’s trying to trigger a lockdown!” Harold shouts. “Stop him from destroying the glass. If he breaks it, we won’t be able to get back to the spaceship.”

“You’ve got other things to worry about,” Sanjay says. “Did you really think that USB has what you’re looking for? I’ve got copies. All I need to do is get the encryption key and transmit it back down to Earth, and soon we will know all about your secrets.” His eyes flit to Harold. “You really want to risk that?”

Harold shoots electricity from his jet injector, frying Sanjay. The other robots all begin to take the appearance of the fake Harold as they continue to ram themselves into the glass. Sigma joins Harold, Satya, and Winston in destroying as many as they can, a mountain of bodies by their feet, but the robots still come. It feels endless. Tiring. Sigma can feel his grasp over his abilities slip in exhaustion.

“Please avoid damaging or tampering with the gla—please avoid damage—please avoi—please av—ple—ple—ple—”

The voice dies, and the alarm stops for a second. The lights power down, the only illumination coming from the glowing lunar surface outside and the brilliant blue Earth. Then a new sound echoes, and the world is bathed in blood red light.

“HORIZON LUNAR COLONY INTEGRITY BREACHED. INITIATING LOCKDOWN. INITIATING LOCKDOWN.”

The sounds of shutters rolling down masks the cruel laugh Sanjay gives. Winston is the first to act, leaping out of the way of the robots, glasses returning to his face. He grabs ahold of Satya, and leaps forward back to the observatory and the spaceship.

Sigma is about to follow them when he hears Harold yell. The robots, having completed their job in initiating the lockdown, are now mobbing him. With a wave of his hand, Sigma breaks the chains of gravity and lifts them above Harold. He rushes over, helping Harold stand.

“We have to get on the spaceship before the shutters close. We don’t have time,” Sigma orders.

“I can’t,” Harold says.

“Why not?!”

“The gorillas. They’ll die if we don’t stop the lockdown. The shutters will corner off each individual section of the colony. If they’re relying on the self-sufficiency stations, the farms, the medical stations, they'll all be locked off. No one else will be able to get back here to save them in time and if Sanjay has corrupted all the robots, they won’t be able to do any repairs. I have to help them.”

“Those damned apes have done nothing for you, there is no need to sacrifice yourself for that selfish lot.” Sigma gingerly cups Harold’s face. “Don’t do this. I’m not losing you again. Come back with us before it’s too late.”

Harold frowns. “Siebren,” he starts.

“D-don’t do this,” Sigma whispers. “I’m not as smart as you. Not as strong. I can’t do this.”

“Help me, Siebren. We can do this together.” He takes Sigma’s hand and grips it firmly. Amidst the red, Harold’s golden eyes are as warm as the sun. “My nanobots and your powers, we can be unstoppable.”

“Dr. Winston! Dr. de Kuiper!” Winston calls.

Sigma grits his teeth, tears beading from his eyes. He turns to Winston and Satya, a pained expression on his face, his throat impossibly tight.

Harold smiles bittersweetly. “Get to the spaceship and get out of here, sport. Before it’s too late.”

Winston’s eyes widen in understanding, then horror. “Dad!”

“I’m sorry, champ.”

Sigma opens his hand and uses the force of gravity to push Winston and Satya away, back towards the door to the observatory. Winston stares at Harold for a few seconds from the other side, just as the shutter closes over the door. Winston bangs frantically at the door but apart from some small dents, it does not budge. There is no noise for a minute or two, and then there is the sound of the spacecraft disembarking, blasting off into the cold regions of space.

By Sigma’s side, Harold gives a small smile. Sigma huffs. “I am going to regret this.”

“I know.” Quieter, he says, “Thank you.”

One side of Sigma’s lips quirks up as he brings the robots down to the ground, smashing them into bits. With his powers, he clumps them all up into a ball and hurls it at the shutter to the next sector of Horizon, cracking it open. They run through the wreckage and into the next section.

Harold runs forward, Sigma using his powers to destroy the shutters that block their way. He can see Harold’s eyes flit through the different sectors, mind racing.

“What do we have to do, Charon?”

“We’ve got two options: seal the glass or stop the emergency lockdown. Even if you destroy all the shutters and unlock all the different sections, the base will be losing oxygen. Depending on how much oxygen is leaking, we’ve got anywhere between minutes to weeks.”

“And how much oxygen is leaking?”

“I don’t know,” Harold says. “All I know is we need to head to maintenance. Sector 02. Best case scenario, one of the systems might be able to put an emergency seal in. Second best, there’s a kit for us to do it manually.”

“And if neither of those things are possible? If we can’t get there for whatever reason?”

Harold glances nervously at Sigma.

“Harold,” he utters slowly, “there is a way for us to get back down to Earth, is there?”

Harold doesn’t respond. He keeps his head straight as Sigma blasts down the next shutter doors.

As they race forward, Sigma sees glimpses of the other primates, staring curiously at them. He sees the different sectors, once built for human research and human needs, now repurposed to suit primate needs. Farms are at maximum capacity, growing a variety of fruits and vegetables, the auto-dispenser distributing the rare bit of meat. Clothes are ripped to make hammock nests. And there are so many more of them, so many young ones that can make even his heart melt at the sight. He has to admit, he’s worried that he may have to fight them off, but they’re all looking strangely at him.

No…not at him. At Harold. They’re looking at Harold like he’s a stranger.

Harold glances over his shoulder. “Keeping up?”

Sigma huffs. “May I be the first to say that Horizon was structured horrendously? Why have all your departments in specific sectors?”

“Blame Lucheng, not me,” Harold laughs.

When they finally get to the maintenance sector, Harold immediately dashes for the main office where the computers are. He fiddles with one of them for a minute, his face lighting up.

“The system is still in place," Harold says excitedly. "And not just the one to cease the lockdown, I can stop Sanjay too. All I need to do is—”

Sigma is about to join Harold at the computer when suddenly he feels a pair of strong arms shove him forcefully to the wall, one hand clamped tightly over his neck. His eyes widen as he takes in the massive gorilla holding him like he weighs nothing.

“Simon?!” Harold shouts.

“Why are you here?” Simon’s gorilla eyes narrow on Harold. “You,” he seethes.

“Let him go!”

Before Simon can respond, Sigma hears the distinct clank of metal on floor as multiple robots charge in, bearing the imposter Harold’s appearance. Harold tries to get his jet injector ready, but it’s swiped out of his hands. He’s shoved to the floor, fists desperately trying to get some damage on the metal surface underneath, only to return battered and bruised. Simon doesn’t react, just stares at the scene with mild confusion.

Sigma’s not sure if the oxygen rapidly escaping his body is from Simon’s grip or from the colony itself. He hears another siren, a different warning blaring over the speakers, which he assumes it about the oxygen levels. All he can concentrate on is the area where that little flickering dot would be behind the camouflage. He wants to fight back, but he can't. His powers are failing him with every breath he attempts. His body gets weaker with every second that passes.

“You want to be dead so bad, don’t you. You really have a death wish,” one of the imposter robots snarls.

Harold doesn’t look at the robots. He’s staring at Simon, making a complicated hand gesture. Simon’s grip weakens slightly. Harold’s doing his own plan, Sigma realizes, but is it the same as the one he’s thinking? What is Harold thinking? Why can’t he figure out what Harold is thinking?

“I should have done this earlier," the robots say simultaneously. "Back when you were in Oasis. I chose to keep you alive, because I thought you’d be more useful alive to us. But that’s my mistake, one that I shall rectify.”

“S-Simon,” Harold gasps. “A-air…lock.”

Simon’s lips twist into an unreadable expression, and then his skin turns crimson, letting go of Sigma to swipe at the imposters. Harold is able to scramble free, racing to the computer. His fingers dance on the keyboard while Sigma catches his breath, trying to make sense of this battle between robots and gorilla. Nothing makes any more sense. But then when did anything make sense in his life? Harold types away, “One moment, give me one moment…yes!”

With his words, the lights go out once again. When it returns, everything is the same clinical white. From Sigma’s angle, he can still see the shutter to the next section still firmly in place. Sanjay turns to Harold, shoving Simon away to race after Harold. He is fast, able to close the distance quickly, only for the robot to stop dead in its tracks mid-stride. It falls down with a heavy thud by Harold’s feet.

Sigma turns to Harold, not sure if the expression on his face is amazed or terrified. He assumes it’s the former when Harold chuckles quietly. “These robots are still the original service bots from decades ago. No matter how much Vishkar or Talon might have tampered with them, you can’t get rid of that killswitch. They won’t be moving or transmitting anything anytime soon.”

“You noticed the hive mind network too?” Sigma asks.

“You’re not the only smart guy here,” Harold chuckles.

Simon is still staring at Harold. His skin returns to a dull grey as he brushes himself off. There’s no more anger in his expression, but his face is not entirely kind. “I have built up my people here on this land. If you think we are giving it over to you—”

“I’m not here for you or the others,” Harold replies. “This is your home now. If you know how to get us back to Earth, I’ll make sure no human will ever disturb you.”

Simon gives a soul-piercing glare at Harold for a few seconds before retreating. His expression is stoic. “Fix the mess you made and get out of here. This is our territory now. The moon belongs to the animals.”

It’s not the peaceful conclusion Sigma hopes for, but considering this was the very gorilla that threw Harold out of the airlock the first time, he thinks it’s as much as he can hope for. He's not sure even he can win in a fight against gorillas, much less genetically-engineered ones with a vendetta against humans.

Sigma rounds up all of the robots into a pile near one of the airlocks while Harold undoes the lockdown and seals the crack in the glass. With Sigma’s abilities he forces the weight of gravity on the endoskeletons, crushing them beyond repair and recognition. All except one, that is. There is one endoskeleton that is still maintaining the Harold disguise. Using the pieces of the other endoskeletons, Sigma is able to take a rudimentary picture and send it back to Lucheng Interstellar. The assumption will be that Harold Winston is dead for real this time. Sanjay won’t be able to use Harold’s appearance for his own purposes anymore.

They have a small audience now comprised of the other test subjects, all bigger and older than when Sigma last remember seeing them, silently judging from a far distance. Sigma catches Harold gazing upon them sadly but it is clear there is no love lost between the animals. Though Harold loved them like family, they only saw Harold as the torturer who got away. One wrong move and the animals will attack again. Sigma would comfort Harold, but he knows it's not necessary. This life is no longer his. In more ways than one, the Harold Winston that Siebren de Kuiper fell in love with did die on the moon.

The glass sealed, a warning sign of common lexigrams placed next to the crack, Harold helps Sigma push the robot pieces into the airlock. Harold puts in his code, and the pieces fly off into the moon, scattering across the crater. Not the most environmentally friendly way of disposing the robots, but the safest given the circumstances.

“There is one escape pod in the Hangar,” Simon says. “I do not know if it is functional. You will have to repair it yourself.”

“And if it can’t be repaired? If it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll throw you out the airlock just like last time.” His voice is neutral but the way his brows lower make it clear he will make good on his promise.

Slowly they make their way to the Hangar. The escape pod in question is in fact an old satellite. There is no propulsion system, and very little in the ways of comfort and safety, but it can be repurposed to be habitable and be directed to Earth. With the combined efforts of their powers there is a possibility they may be able to survive the impact. It’s far from ideal, and the chance of death is high, but Simon’s threat still hangs in the air. There is no way that Overwatch will be able to requisition another spacecraft in the near future.

“It’s funny, being up here, fixing this up. Wouldn’t have considered doing this the last time I was up in space,” Sigma says.

“How so?” Harold asks.

“The last time I was away from Earth, I was trying to harness a black hole. It was all to do with space travel, actually. Considering what I know now, I probably harnessed something more akin to a wormhole than an actual black hole. I saw it both in reality and in my mind’s eye. If I try, I can almost hear its melody.”

“You think you could do that? Make a wormhole to get us back home?”

Sigma frowns. “You don’t know what it was like when I had my accident. Everything happened all too fast and then far too slow. I felt like I spent a second and a million years trapped in that moment,. I don’t know what will happen if I try to summon it again. I have to get the math right, I need to make sure all the equations are correct.” Sigma gazes at the floor. “Truth is, I am afraid of that thing. Have been ever since.”

Harold puts a hand on Sigma’s shoulder. “Let’s get this thing done then. We’ll keep it as a last resort.”

Sigma smiles. “Sure.”

They continue working side by side on the old satellite. Sigma doesn’t know how much time has passed, just that his body is slow to respond when he hears the ringing alarms of the hangar doors open. Outside is a construction robot, designed for the continued repair of Horizon Lunar Colony, but it’s long since been dormant since the rebellion.

Or at least it should. But all too fast and all too slow Sigma realises that it's moving. And it's charging at them.

Harold whips his head around, readying his jet injector, but he’s too slow to react. He’s pinned to the ground, heavy metal trapping his leg with an audible crack, making his shriek in guttural pain. The gorillas hoot and screech in anger, going red in rage as they try to attack this new intruder, but the construction robot swipes them away with ease. Sigma fires a volley of hyperspheres at the robot, but he’s also shoved to the ground. The voices in his head are drowned out by the alarms blaring above his body and the weak groans that escape his lips.

The construction robot picks the two of them up like they weigh nothing, rapidly moving to the hangar doors. Air is rapidly escaping from them, gravity threatening to pull them out into the moon’s atmosphere. Sigma needs to concentrate to use his powers, but he needs one look of Harold, blood oozing out of his leg, and his breathing gets heavier and quicker. Gravity is fluctuating, but it doesn’t affect the massive construction robot, built specifically for use in multiple different gravity conditions.

The voice that comes out of its voice box is filled with static, crackling noisily, and barely audible. “You make my work worthless. You ruined months of work and years worth of research, and for what? To hide your precious little nanobots for a little bit longer?”

Harold punches until his knuckles are bleeding. “Siebren!”

"If you want to be dead, Harold Winston—"

Sigma desperately flings whatever piece of equipment his powers can raise at the robot, but it only dents it slightly. The construction robot is still functioning.

“—then I’ll make your wish come true.”

“Siebren, make the wormh—”

The construction robot throws them out into the cold reaches of the moon and shuts the door. Even if the door wasn’t locked, they’re floating uncontrollably, the low gravity propelling them far away, too far away to get back in time. They make no sound when their bodies finally hit the coarse surface of the moon. No sound can be transmitted from this world without air. The only thing Sigma can hear is not the universe’s whisperings, not the incessant voices in his head, but his own thoughts, as clear as crystal.

We’re going to die.

Harold stares at Sigma with golden eyes as he tries to crawl to him. It’s not easy in the microgravity, but he floats over, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Sigma feels the soft glow of the nanobots surround his body and enter his bloodstream. Suddenly his one breath feels like it can last so much longer, but it will only buy him seconds. It’s lunar day on the moon, and the temperature is so hot it feels like he’s melting. His skin is sticking to his armour. He's burning alive from the intense heat.

Harold is mouthing some words at him. The same thing he was trying to say before they got sucked out. In this moment, time all too fast and all too slow, he’d tell Harold his greatest fears if he could. He’d tell Harold that the only reason he’s never tried to summon the black hole is because he’s afraid. He’d tell Harold the only reason he never tried to summon a worm hole is because he’s afraid. So much of his life after that tragic accident has been dictated by fear, both the ones he acknowledged and the ones he didn’t.

He almost expects the universe to whisper its dark magic at him and tell him to give up his mind once again, but it remains silent this time. It’s his decision, the universe says in its silence, to die on the moon by the side of his beloved or risk his mind once again and open up the wormhole and take them back to Earth. He wants to give up. He wants to be weak by Harold’s side one final time. He wants to, because he is a villain who has done nothing good in his life, regardless of his intentions. Villains deserve to die at the edge of space, boiled and frozen alive.

But he’s not a villain anymore. He has people who love him. People who care for him and about him. People who look up to Overwatch and its members as a symbol of hope. If he inspires just a little bit of heroism, just enough of a spark to incite curiosity in just one person out there in the world, he can’t be a villain.

He wraps his arms around Harold, humming a noiseless tune that no wind can carry. A wormhole appears, growing between their chests, threatening to consume them. In that wormhole he sees the bridge between time and space. He sees the infinite realities and the infinite version of himself warped and changed through the efforts of infinite realities. Except it’s not just infinite versions of him, but also infinite versions of Harold and Overwatch, all smiling brightly. He thinks of Watchpoint: Gibraltar and the medical wing with Mercy and the training areas with the practice robots and that comfortable king-sized bed and the glimmering waters of the sea, the moon high above their head.

In a flash, they are gone, disappearing from the universe for a moment.

-

When Sigma wakes up, he thinks he might have died for real. All he can see is blinding white surrounding his vision. He sits up, wincing as pain shoots up his back and all throughout his skin. He glances down, his body wrapped in bandages like a mummy, drips attached at his forearm. Slowly he peaks under the bandages. His skin is noticeably burned, but in the final stages of healing. In days, maybe a week, it'll look like normal flesh once more.

He's alive, he realises slowly. He's alive and breathing and safe.

“Dr. de Kuiper,” a voice sighs. “We were so worried about you.”

Sigma blinks as the light fades into acceptable levels. He’s in a hospital bed, surrounded by many of the members of Overwatch. Mercy is there, as is Tracer, Symmetra, Genji, Sojourn, and many others. He's almost certain the entirety of the reformed Overwatch team is there in this room, except there are some noticeable exceptions. Winston is not here. Neither is Harold.

“Where…?” He coughs loudly, his throat impossibly parched. On instinct, Mercy hands him a glass of water with some kind of tablet fizzing inside.

“Drink,” she says.

He nods slowly, being careful to down it all. He wipes his mouth, relieved that the skin on his face feels relatively normal.

“We found you both on the cliffside here on Gibraltar, unconscious. A gust of wind could have blown you off the cliff altogether if we didn’t catch you as soon as we did. You had severe burns on your skin and a few of your internal organs. I had to work day and night to save you both.”

“He’s…he’s alive, isn’t he?”

Mercy’s face falls for just a second. The rest of the crowd glance nervously at each other.

Suddenly there’s the sound of the door opening loudly, crashing into the wall. Mercy glares at the intruder.

“S-sorry about that,” Winston smiles nervously.

Sigma turns his head slowly to see Harold himself, scarred but smiling, tears beading in his eyes. With Winston's help, he slowly approaches Sigma’s bed, putting a hand on his leg.

“Thank god you’re OK," Harold says.

He can’t stop himself. He turns his body and pulls Harold into a crushing hug. Harold’s laugh turns into a groan as he pats Sigma incessantly. “O-OK, big guy, let me down.”

There’s a few quiet chuckles from the others as Sigma hesitantly lets go of Harold. When Harold relaxes, Sigma punches him lightly on the arm. Harold yelps, more in surprise than pain.

His gaze sweeps over Harold, from the nasal catheter and his grey hair down to his casual clothes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes settles on the newest addition on Harold’s person. One of his legs is in a cast, messages written out on blue and green marker on the bandages. The wheelchair he’s sitting on is old and decrepit but usable. “Turns out nanobots can’t do much about broken bone,” Harold explains. “Compound fracture like you wouldn’t believe. I saw my leg in the x-ray and it was like a jigsaw puzzle. But I’ll be good to go in a month or two, depending on how fast the nanobots work.”

“That is if it sets in the correct position,” Mercy counters. “You must be very careful to ensure that the bone does not set in the incorrect position. If it does, you won't be able to walk or run properly ever again."

"I'll be fine," Harold insists. "I'm sure I will with your nanobiotics. I've been doing some reading on them, and I'm thinking it might be possible to combine them with my nanorobots. Nanobiotic nanobots. Has a nice ring, doesn't it?"

Mercy gives a hint of a smile before it gives way for professional stoicism. Sigma turns to Mercy slowly. "Is it possible I can talk to Harold? Alone?"

Mercy isn't even able to open her mouth before Tracer blinks forward, pushing Mercy towards the door with an overenthusiastic grin. "Not a problem, Doc, we'll get out of your hair. Come on, everybody. Hut two, hut two. Leave the space dads to do their space dad things."

On Tracer's orders and her incessant shoving, everybody crams themselves through the door and shut it behind them. Harold looks up at Sigma, his soft smile growing coquettish. "Guess we're alone now."

"Indeed," Sigma says softly.

There are a thousand different things Sigma can say to show his appreciation and his love and his relief and his hurt. There are so many things for him to say, but he doesn't say them. He just takes Harold's hand into his own, feels the warmth spread through his body, and knows deep in his soul that this is the man he loves, and whom he will love in return.

"Never make me do that again," Sigma whispers. "And never risk your life like that again."

Harold grips Sigma's hand tightly, his smile as bright as the light of a 1000 suns. "No promises, big guy. I'll always help the ones that I love and care about."

"Does that include me?"

"That will always include you," Harold says. He places a tender peck to the back of Sigma's hand. "From now till death do us part."

Sigma laughs weakly. "I don't think even death can tear us apart."

Harold stays for the rest of the day, chatting about everything and nothing. Sooner or later, the two of them fall asleep, Sigma in his bed, and Harold in his wheelchair, their heads leaning towards each other.

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP - 39: Once Upon A Time We Had A Lot To Fight For. We Had A Dream, We Had A Plan

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net  -  AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4; Chapter 37; Chapter 38

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

AN: Okay, this was a tough chapter to write, though for once not because of the content. Let me tell you about the fourteen days since I last updated. The first nine I had writer's block and couldn't get even one word down for this story. Then followed two days where I was on quite a high and got down 7k words, which is a lot for me. And after that, there were two and a half days through which I struggled again to get anything done, which left me and my alpha-reader with less than half a day for edits. I still can't believe it's actually done by now, and if it sucks... well, then I'm sorry!

In addition, I'm not quite sure of this chapter. It got awfully long, but somehow I feel like nothing happens. I mean, I know that's not true. But still, it feels off. Well, it's something of a bridge chapter, I guess.*sigh*

This week's chapter owes its title to a friend who made me listen to The Rasmus again after many years of not thinking much about this band. And when I listened to 'Sail Away'... well, the very first lines of lyrics of that song just really hit me. They fit so well to how Hiccup and Astrid feel right now.

Also, a special shoutout to @lauracalabresi Thank you for your comments over the last few days, they were a great encouragement! ^^

. o O o .

Hiccup couldn’t remember how he’d made it back to the stables, nor how the night had passed in any specific detail. It was all just a blur of pain and sorrow, of desperation and hopelessness. It was over. Everything was over. It was true what he’d told Cami once, after all, that his entire life only revolved around her. But now, she was gone, and he didn't even understand why. He’d been so sure...

But now, it seemed as if the Gods had abandoned them, if not for that guttering spark in his chest that kept reminding him of her, cruel and unrelenting.

When Eret arrived at the stables, hours after the sun had risen, Hiccup was still sitting in his stall, unmoving, staring blankly out the small window, and registered nothing until his cousin’s broad hand touched his shoulder.

“Hey, Hiccup. You okay?”

Slowly, Hiccup turned to look at Eret, and forced a wry grin to his face.

“Hey. Yeah, I’m just… just tired, I guess. I’m sorry, I didn’t finish polishing all of your kit, but I’ll get back to that today.”

Eret gave him a scrutinising look, but nodded, accepting this explanation. “That’s fine, I won’t need it right away. But–” He paused, his eyes on Hiccup’s injured and bandaged hand. “What’s this?”

Quickly, Hiccup covered the hand with the other one. “Nothing. I cut myself, but it… it’s nothing.” At some point last night, the pain of the cut had eventually registered in his mind, but it was still too dull and unimportant to matter. All it did was remind him of her hands on his as she’d attended to the cut. Probably the last time he’d ever felt her touch… He swallowed, then made an effort to appear normal. “Anyway, what brings you here today? Don’t you need to do some training, or so?”

Eret still looked at him funny, but then shook his head. “Maybe later. But I came here for another reason. The thing is… I’m going to need my squire from now on. The hunts start tomorrow and then there’s the first small tournament in a few days, and… I already talked to father and we agreed that it will be safe enough now to keep these hotheads–” he nodded at the stallions, “– in a separate part of the main stables, now that the herd isn’t there anymore and there’s enough free space. They need to get used to that anyway. So... for the rest of our stay, you’re going to be my squire full time, which also means you’ll have to move; I can’t afford the time for you to hike back and forth to these stables. We could move to our townhouse, where there’s enough space for you to have your own room… but Grandfather’s staying there and...” he shrugged helplessly.

Hiccup needed a moment to wrap his head around what Eret had said. He seemed to be sorry for some reason, but Hiccup actually couldn’t see why. As much as he’d enjoyed the solitude of these outer stables during the past months, a change like this seemed like the best thing that could happen to him right now. It would keep him busy, would keep him from mentally tearing himself apart. It would keep him from remembering all the nights they’d spent here...

And then the rest of it registered. Oh. Right. His grandfather, who thought of him as a failure. Well, he was right, after all, but that didn’t mean Hiccup needed to hear it from the old prune.

“So what else is there?”

“Sharing a room in the squire barracks or the couch in my rooms,” Eret said apologetically, and then hastened to add, “It’s clean! I promise!”

Hiccup almost laughed – out of humour or despair, he had no idea. But he managed to keep the smile up. “The couch will do,” he murmured.

Something like a relieved smile played around Eret’s lips. “I’d hoped you’d say that. Dag and I already organised a trunk for your things and while it’s not an enclosed room, you’ll at least have a separate corner for yourself there. A little bit of privacy. Come, I’ll help you pack your things, then we can get the horses ready to be moved.”

Not having any reason to hold back, Hiccup got to work. His few possessions were quickly tossed in a rucksack – with Hiccup carefully avoiding a certain object hidden between the straw bales least Eret would ask unnecessary questions – before they turned their attention to the horses. All the while, Hiccup felt as if Eret was throwing him weird looks every now and then, but it never became so obvious that he felt like asking about it. To him, it wasn't important, and if Eret wanted to talk about something… well, then he could bring it up. Which he eventually did.

They had just started their way to the main stables – with Hiccup riding Chomp and leading Hunter at his side while Eret rode Squish and led Crusher – when Eret eventually broke the silence. "So… what do you think of these… new plans?"

Hiccup snorted. "What's there to think about?" he asked and tried not to sound as bitter as he felt. "I’m your squire and I would have needed to fully act like it by now anyway. So this is good, a change for the better.” Wrong! “And in case you meant the… the festivities... It's the King's right to entertain his people with hunts and tournaments and whatever else he's planned. It might even get interesting for us.” He forced himself to shrug nonchalantly in case Eret was still watching him.

“Yeah, interesting might be the right word.” Eret let out a deep sigh. “But that’s not what I meant. I mean this whole wedding scheme. I don’t get why Uncle Osmond thought that was a good idea. Or Daniel or my father, for that matter.”

Hiccup’s hands around Chomp’s reins tightened; it made him wince when the cut stung and the stallion snort in annoyance. Was Eret honestly asking him what he thought about her impending wedding? If he hadn’t been in danger to spill out exactly what he was thinking, he might have laughed. Instead, he just said, “Same answer. I don’t think it is my place to question the King’s decision. She’s going to marry one of these noblemen for the sake of the Kingdom. That isn’t really different from what was planned before, right?”

“True,” Eret admitted reluctantly. “But it still doesn’t feel right. And it’s certainly not right for Swanja! From what Snot said last night, she isn’t herself anymore. She lost her spark, her wit. He said she’d tried to appear unperturbed, as usual, but he saw right through her. All this must have hit her pretty hard; she was devastated at her birthday dinner. She wouldn’t even let us help or comfort her, for Odin’s sake!”

He sounded tense, worried, and Hiccup was incredibly glad that they’d reached a narrow path by now that wouldn’t allow them to ride side by side. It meant Eret couldn’t see his expression of soul-deep pain and self-loathing. Devastated… That seemed like an apt description of her the last few times he’d seen her. And it had been his fault.

Everything was his fault! And always had been… If he’d spoken his mind more firmly all those years ago, about not losing their connection to the Kingdom, his father might have stood up against their fellow tribesmen. If he’d acted more like the tribesman their people had expected him to be, they wouldn’t have been so openly against him being the heir to the High Chief’s title. If they hadn’t lost their standing within the tribes, his parents and siblings might still be alive and he would be a knight by now too. He could even participate in this competition for her hand as a ducal heir himself.

The thought was too good to be true, literally, and, unable to bear it, Hiccup pushed it aside. They all had thought they’d been doing the right thing back then, and reprimanding himself for it now, when he knew better, wouldn’t do him any good. Besides, he didn’t even need to go that far back into the past to pin down his mistakes.

He should have stayed away from her in the first place. The idea that, after all the things he’d messed up, his life could change for the better… this too had been too good to be true. Again, he’d made the wrong decision by becoming Eret’s squire just to be able to see her again, and now, she was paying the painful price for his impudence. Oh, he’d thought he’d been right back then, too. But the pain in her eyes last night was wholly and entirely his own fault, and any attempt of his to comfort her was bound to only hurt her more.

There was nothing he could do to help her.

Except…

“Don’t worry,” he heard himself say, oddly calm and composed. As if it wasn’t really him who was speaking. “What was is you said once? The Princess is a fighter. She’s tough. This whole wedding thing took her by surprise, but I’m sure she’ll accept it, eventually. She’ll come around and then you all can be there to support her when she’s ready for that.”

Eret grunted, but didn’t say any more until they’d reached the end of the narrow pass where he waited for Hiccup to take his place next to him. “You’re right,” he admitted, face turning to Hiccup, who was now focused entirely on keeping his feelings locked away as deep inside himself as possible. “But this is still different. Our fathers want her to marry one of us. How can we support her as her brothers when everyone is looking for signs as to who she’ll choose as her betrothed?”

“But maybe that’s the point,” Hiccup replied with a light shrug. “She was to marry one of you anyway, wasn’t she? Maybe it’s time to get over how you grew up like siblings and start seeing each other as what you are. An option. I… I think I know her well enough by now to say that she won’t spontaneously fall in love with one of those strangers her father presented to her. But a love match was never a likely possibility – for neither of you. And I remember what Daniel said on that first night we spent here, your accolade. He said that you would be good for each other, and… and I agree.”

Saying those words felt like a hungry beast tearing at the dead remains of his heart and soul. It hurt! But it was better this way. His own pain he could deal with, but hers? Not so much. And if it wasn’t within his power to help her directly, then the least he could do was send comfort in another form.

As they rode on, Hiccup was aware of Eret’s scrutinising gaze on him, and all he could hope for was that he wouldn’t see how Hiccup felt inside. But he didn’t say anything else until they reached the stables where a group of grooms quickly took over the horses to lead them to their new stalls.

“Hey, Hic,” he eventually spoke again once they were alone. “I know I offered to help, but… Would it be all right for you to get Markor and Cassie on your own? They shouldn’t give you any problems, after all. And I’ll take your bag up to my rooms, and…” he paused, grimacing, then shook his head. “There’s a message I have to send and I need to see whether I can find Dagur. Gotta talk to him…” He ran a hand through his hair, and if Hiccup wouldn’t be feeling so dead inside anyway, he’d be sorry for his cousin. It wasn’t only she who’d gotten thrown into this mess, after all…

But still, it was better this way.

“Sure,” he agreed with a sympathetic smile and a clap to Eret’s shoulder. “See you tonight then.”

On his way back to the outer stables, he wasn’t able to control his thoughts and emotions any longer though. He didn’t cry; after last night he didn’t think he had any tears left, but the pain still returned in full force.

It’s better this way, he kept chanting to himself. No matter how much the thought of her marrying Eret or one of her other brothers hurt, it was still the best option there was. She would have a good life with a husband who respected her as a person and not just saw her as an object, who cared for her. It might not be the right kind of love that connected them, but at least there was some form of affection, enough for her to eventually find comfort in her fate. It was all that was left for him to hope for.

And if she chose Eret… Well, Hiccup did feel sorry for him and Dagur. Even with knowing that their relationship couldn’t last, having it end this abruptly couldn’t be easy either. No wonder Eret had wanted to talk to his lover.

Once back at the outer stables, he concentrated on getting Cassie and Markor ready. It was a welcome distraction, and the familiar motions and the simple affection the horses offered gave him comfort, Cassie especially. She’d been with him for so many years now, had been his only support during trying times, and now easily adapted to his pain again. He took several minutes just scratching her and accepting her rubbing her nose to his chest, until something like a smile was back on his face. Not a happy but at least a content one.

The smile didn’t last long though, only until he entered Markor’s stall. The gelding directly looked up at his visitor, clearly hoping and then being disappointed as it wasn’t who he’d hoped it would be. The sight gave Hiccup a new sting, and he did his best to cheer the horse up by rubbing and cuddling his neck.

“I know, I know. I miss her too,” he whispered, hiding his face against the gelding’s warm fur. It was three days now since she’d last been here – a long time considering how often she’d been here during the past three months. No wonder Markor missed her, especially since he couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t come. “But don’t worry, boy. She’ll get back to you. You’ll see.”

Hiccup let himself feel comfort from the horses’ presence for a few minutes longer, before he got them both ready. He struggled a bit with which saddle to put on Markor, but then decided on the ridiculously decorated side saddle. It was the official saddle, after all, and he would need to ask Eret where to store the unofficial but more practical one.

When he was done, he let his gaze wander through the stables that had been his home during these past wonderful months, and gulped. Leaving this place for good felt like a sign. It was truly over, and their time really had only been borrowed, had never been intended to last.

He was about to leave when he remembered the one thing he’d left here before and hurried back to his former sleeping stall to retrieve it. If anyone was to find it by chance, it would only raise unnecessary questions. Hesitantly, he picked up the small swan-shaped oil pot. His chest was tightening – at the sight, at the memories, and at what it stood for. He’d been so grateful to Cami for this gift, not just because of why she’d given it to him but also because of what else it represented. He’d meant to keep it during the weeks and months of their separation, as a reminder and a promise for better times. The scent of the oil alone would have served to comfort him over missing her. But now? Now, it only hurt to look at it, the cool ceramic feeling as if it was burning his skin. All it did now was remind him of what could never be.

With a low suppressed sob, he stowed it away into a pocket, then left the stables without looking back. He tried to leave it all behind him as he once more rode down the path to the main stables on Cassie’s back, but his thoughts kept whirling around the pot and what it stood for. Why had the Gods abandoned them? He’d told her that maybe they’d been wrong, that they weren’t soulmates meant for each other after all. But he didn’t believe that, not really. She’d been right, he’d felt it too, the connection, their bond – and still felt it! All that had been real! And yet… And yet, the Gods had turned away from them, had separated them without leaving them any hope. Why? What had happened, what had changed?

A whirlwind of thoughts blew through Hiccup’s mind, thoughts that, in a way, added another layer of pain to his battered soul, but that, at the same time, made perfect sense.

It was all his fault.

With shaking hands, he pulled the pot back out of his pocket – leaving Cassie to find the way on her own – and stared at it. They’d gone too far... It made sense, now that he thought about it. This had to be what had angered the Gods. Them ignoring the rules, getting intimate before it was allowed. A part of him wanted to blame Cami for her support, for her assurance that it would be all right as long as they kept to certain rules. But Hiccup knew that wouldn’t be fair. It had been his decision to go further than he’d felt comfortable, than he’d been taught was allowed. He had ignored the rules he’d learned, had given in to his desire. He should have known better!

His breath became ragged as he kept staring at the oil pot and everything clicked into place. Them getting intimate must have angered the Gods. The timing was a clear indication. They’d gone too far, and before they’d been able to break another rule with their forbidden plan to have anal sex, the Gods had put an end to it. The timing was unmistakable.

It was all his fault!

A pained sob tore itself from Hiccup’s throat. Having lost her… that was bad enough. But now, he knew that it had been his own doing, that he should have known better. If he hadn’t been so foolish and selfish… their future would still be in reach.

Hiccup’s hand tightened around the pot – until it cracked. Without a warning, he was emerged in a cloud of intense mayweed scent, and it momentarily rendered him blind and deaf to everything around him. His mind got flooded with the memories he’d tried to hold back – of her smile, of her being in his arms, of burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. Of the flush on her face and her little gasps, of the taste of her skin, of holding her through the night. Of all the things that could never be.

With a pained and desperate outcry, he hurled the pot away. He wasn’t looking, didn’t care where it might land. He only wanted to get rid of it, to never relive those memories again. It was too painful.

But when he heard the splash of water, he looked up after all, puzzled. Without him noticing, Cassie and Markor had paused near the little lake that used to house her swans, and the pot must have landed in there.

How fitting, Hiccup thought bitterly as he watched the waves on the surface getting smaller and fading away. Eret had told him about the swans’ fate, how that, too, had hit her. It felt oddly right that this place now was also where all their hopes, dreams, and plans for the future were buried. Forever.

He stayed for a little while longer, gazing at the now-calm lake, and let the pain wash through and out of him. It was over, and there was nothing he could do but accept it.

He let himself wallow for a little bit longer, then forced every remaining trace of pain into a distant corner of his heart to keep it locked there forever. From now on, he had to function. Be it the upcoming tournaments and other occasions or the possibility of still seeing her regularly in case she chose Eret – he couldn’t let her or anyone else see his pain.

From now on, he wouldn’t let his emotions slip ever again.

. o O o .

A part of Astrid still clung to the hope that she would eventually wake up. Nothing seemed real; not the days she’d spent getting introduced to all her suitors, not the evening meals she was to take in the usual company of her father, the Grand Dukes, and their sons, and not the nights when she lay awake crying or too agitated to fall asleep until exhaustion took over. And now, she sat beneath a neat little pavilion, overlooking the fighting grounds that were decorated for the first of many upcoming tournaments, and still didn’t feel as if she was fully awake.

The whole setting was just… surreal. The sudden snow from the previous week had all melted by now, but it was still rather cool, and the practical part of her mind was grateful for her gloves and the warm cloak she was wrapped in – even as her heart kept recalling the warmer days from not so long ago. Around her, everything seemed dull and bland, colourless beneath the grey sky, except the brightly painted flags and banners everywhere which seemed completely out of place. It all just felt wrong to her. And the fact that the men in the arena beneath somehow believed that fighting each other would gain them her favour was just absurd.

Not for the first time, a pained outcry sounded over the crowd followed by a wave of whispers as one of the fighters fell to one knee and clutched at his thigh. Blood quickly stained his blue-and-green-coloured clothes in shades of red, and Astrid hoped that the blow from his opponent's sword hadn’t severed his main artery. It was quite possible that he’d not survive if it had.

The thought upset her even though she didn’t feel as if there was much left of her to be upset. She’d probably talked to this man during the past days, and now, he might very well be dying a pointless death. And the worst was that, if he died, he wouldn’t be the first and certainly not the last one either.

The first had been an accident during a short hunting trip two days prior. The man’s horse had been wounded by a misguided arrow from one of his companions, and the fall off his horse’s back onto the uneven ground of the forest had caused severe injuries – or something like that. Astrid only dimly remembered how the King and the other men had talked about it during dinner. It had been one of three deaths on that day, and since then, the body count had only climbed higher.

And as much as the small sane part of her mind despised these unnecessary deaths, she still had to admit that they weren’t unusual. Accidents during hunts happened. Likewise, injuries during tournaments weren’t uncommon. Many of the young men who participated considered the event incomplete if they hadn’t gotten a scar out of it. Once she had agreed with that bit of joking humour, but now? Now, she just felt numb.

So it was with a heart of stone that she watched the loser be carried off to the healer’s tent, festooned with Freya’s symbol. He wouldn’t be the last victim of these festivities, that was for sure. But as much as she loathed that thought… it wasn’t what really bothered her.

As selfish and as vile as the thought made her feel, she couldn’t bring herself to care too much for these strangers who had all come to haggle over her future as if she was nothing but a pretty adornment for their household. They had known what they were in for.

Although… with a strong sense of unease, she remembered the half hour she’d had to spend with Thuggory the other day. And even though she tried to forget his words, they still lingered.

“So here we are, Milady Astrid, in a close and intimate conversation, just like it should be. I hope you’re enjoying my company, because you’d better get used to it.”

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I will never become your wife. There’s nothing you can do to make me choose you!” It had been nearly the only words she’d said for days she actually remembered.

But Thuggory had only laughed. “Oh, you naive and stupid girl. You think I can’t force you to choose me? What if there’s nobody else left? What if I remove every other candidate until you see reason? You will become my wife, whether you want it or not.”

A shudder ran through her at that memory, and she quickly buried it in the depth of her mind. Thuggory could talk all he wanted, and chances were that he’d get himself killed. She didn’t even really feel bad for hoping for that outcome. But even that wasn’t what really concerned her.

No, what truly occupied her mind was the same topic that was ruling her every thought since the moment the King had made his announcement on her birthday.

She could see him standing at the side of the battleground, holding Eret’s substitute shield and sword ready in case his master might need them. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d fled from her in the armoury that night, and even though she’d known he would be here, the sight of him had floored her completely.

During the last few days, her heart had… No, it hadn’t started to heal, but it had become numb. She’d refused to think about him, hadn’t let her consciousness dwell on what couldn’t possibly be true. He couldn’t have been right! This wasn’t the first time they’d encountered difficulties or misunderstandings, like when they’d first started to get intimate and he’d more or less avoided her for days. Back then, they had only needed some good advice and the chance to talk openly until everything was clear again. This was no different… wasn’t it?

Her eyes were burning, her lower lip starting to quiver, and she turned her attention back to the fighting men before she would burst out into tears in public. It will all be solved, she repeatedly thought to herself. We just need time to work it out.

But deep inside, she knew that this was very different from the little problems they’d encountered before. Because they already had talked. And it hadn’t solved anything. On the contrary, as much as she hated to admit it, the words he’d said to her at the armoury were not ones she could easily dismiss.

‘We’ve already lost.’

Yes, she’d refused to believe those words, but she also couldn’t simply dismiss them as wrong. No matter how much she wanted to ignore them or how much she tried to come up with a solution… she couldn’t find one. Maybe he’d been right after all...

This was another thought she’d vehemently ignored during the past days, but now… Seeing him standing there tore all wounds open anew. No, she didn’t want to believe that their shared future had been nothing but a pipe dream. But arguing against it became harder and harder, especially with seeing the utter hopelessness in his posture. Oh, he might be trying to hide it, to appear unperturbed and focused on his work – but she easily saw through him just like he’d always been able to see through her mask. She could see how much he was suffering, saw the pain in his hollow eyes. He’d said that he still loved her, that their feelings hadn’t been just their imagination. And yet, he’d clearly given up. There was no fight in him anymore, no strength to even consider fighting. He was broken, and seeing him like that broke her, too.

Biting down on her lip, hard, she gazed down at her hands, clenched into tight fists to keep them from trembling. So, what if he had been right? She’d tried her best to find a solution, but everything she’d brought up he’d warded off as impossible, and rightly so. And he who was so much smarter than her, who was able to think so quickly and come up with solutions for every problem… had given up. Slowly and against her will, the realisation seeped into her heart.

They’d already lost…

Once more, she glanced at where he stood and it felt as if her heart was breaking all over again. It was over, really and truly over. Her hand wandered to her chest as if to catch the shards and keep them together, but it was no use. A fresh wave of pain tore through her and it only got worse when she saw him grimace and mimic her gesture, his hand pressing to his chest as if he could feel it too. For a short heartbeat, he glanced up at where she sat and their eyes met. It was like a last goodbye, a last shared moment, the acknowledgement that he felt the same but that that didn’t change anything.

There was no hope left for them, nothing they could do.

. o O o .

The realisation left her feeling hollow, even more so than the pain of the announcement and his words had before. There was nothing left for her. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope or to fight for. All that was left to her was a dull and empty future with a man she didn’t care for while always remembering what she’d lost, what could have been. It was a frightening thought, and for two days, it was all she could think about, making her tumble deeper and deeper into her misery, until Ruff put an end to it.

“This can’t go on,” she exclaimed when she spotted the plate of once more untouched tea and biscuits. “I get that you feel horrible and I’m sorry, I really am. But you’ve got to eat! You can’t let yourself waste away just because that boy turned your head and broke your heart. No matter how much you might despise this and how little I like to remind you about it, you’ve got responsibilities.”

Astrid snorted, the only reaction that gave away she’d listened at all with her standing by the window and looking out over Lake Vola’s calm surface. Responsibilities… Yes, that was all that was left to her. Fulfilling the expectations placed on her, marrying to keep the Kingdom stable and popping out children for her future husband until her body gave up. It wasn’t any different from what she’d been prepared for all her life, but where before she’d accepted the thought with a certain composure and even a hint of pride to fulfil this duty, it now only made her feel dreadful. But who knew… maybe she would be lucky; maybe she would end like so many other women and not survive such a life for long…

She flinched when, without a warning, a hand touched her shoulder. “Milady, you’ve got to move on,” Ruff said urgently. It could have come across as cruel and cold-hearted, but Astrid knew her maidservant well enough. Most of all, she was practical. “I know it’s not easy, but you have to. You have a few hours left before today’s hunting party returns and you’ll have to welcome them back; how about you try and get on other thoughts until then, take a break? You could visit your horse; Tuff can escort you there. Or the herb garden? Maybe there are a few plants that already grow, or you could clean it up for the warmer days?”

Swallowing, Astrid closed her eyes. Ruff was right, and she knew that. She couldn’t continue like this forever, like nothing but an empty shell. Eventually, she would have to go on, to get over him. A tiny voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her that this was wrong, that she shouldn’t have to get over him, that they were meant to be… But she ignored it and hoped that, one day, the voice would disappear. So far though, it only threatened to tear her apart – the logical knowledge that they had no chance against the denial still simmering beneath – and she wrapped her arms around herself in a fruitless attempt to keep herself together. Suddenly, seeking distraction sounded like an excellent idea.

“Okay,” she whispered weakly. A slight frown crossed her face as she thought about Ruff’s suggestions though. The idea of visiting Markor was alluring, but even with him now housed at the main stables, he was too tightly linked to all those wonderful memories she tried to forget, and she wasn’t sure whether she could stand being near him yet. No, that wasn’t an option, and visiting the herb garden wasn’t an appealing idea either; it would only remind her of these last few days at the dead royal gardens where she’d been offered like meat to a pack of wolves. But what else could she do?

Something like a small smile tugged at her lips as she remembered another option, another place she could go and hide from reality, from who she was, and where she got treated like a normal person.

“Is Tuff ready?” she asked in a quiet but somehow steadier voice. “I’d like to go visit Fishlegs.”

Ruff reacted with an approving grin. She even went so far as to pack the biscuits and other pastries to take with her, even though Astrid felt odd bringing food Heather might very well have prepared herself as a gift. However, she understood that Ruff’s main motivation was her hope that Astrid might still eat something, so she didn’t say anything, and not even half an hour later she knocked on the door to her friends’ house.

There were grunts and the shuffling of cloth audible, even through the door, but it still took over a minute before a tired looking Fishlegs opened her. When he recognised her though, his face brightened. “Astrid! Now, that’s a surprise. Uh, come in, come in.”

He stepped aside and waved her in, threw a wondering look at Tuff but shrugged and closed the door again when her warder made no attempts to come in as well and instead stayed with the chickens outside. He hurried around on his short legs to which he owed his nickname, and picked up boxes and other stuff to make room for her.

Astrid hesitantly took the seat he eventually offered to her and watched him with a worried expression. “Is everything all right? Is this a bad time for me to visit?” she asked, a little self-consciously. She’d looked forward to coming here once the plan was made, but hadn’t spared even a second to think about whether her friends even had time for her. But Fishlegs directly warded her concerns off with a smile and a shake of his head.

“No, no, don’t worry. We were just taking a nap, but it’s time to get up anyway.” As if to contradict himself, he yawned. “Uh, sorry. ‘s been a tough few days, but who am I telling this… Still, it’s good to see you. How are you doing?”

Warding his question off with a grimace and a shrug, she began to unpack the parcel of treats Ruff had given her. She hadn’t come here to dwell even more on her situation though, so she directly changed the subject. “And you?”

Fishlegs gave a little shrug, then longingly eyed the biscuits. “May I?” He reached for one when Astrid nudged the parcel toward him without a word, and ate it with obvious delight. “Mmh, that’s good. Not sure when I last ate anything.” He took another one, and only continued speaking once it was gone, too. “I’m okay. Tired. Overworked. Usually, I wouldn’t take a nap at this time of day, but Master Mulch insisted on it. He claimed that I’ve been on my feet for over thirty hours – and the fact that I don’t know whether that’s true is probably proof enough. But there’s just so much to do! It’s like these men are actually out on getting severely injured. More than one even asked whether he’d keep a ‘cool scar’ out of it.” He shook his head and helped himself to another pastry.

Or others are out to get them injured, she thought, grimacing as she again remembered Thuggory’s sneer. She shuddered, but ignored Fishlegs’ inquisitive look. “So, what kind of injuries do you have to treat? Mostly cuts, I assume?”

“Aye. Or that’s my job, at least, while Master Mulch treats the more urgent injuries,” he nodded, then intently looked at her. “Do you remember how to treat such a cut?”

Astrid chuckled, surprising herself with the sound. It felt odd, as if her being happy was some form of betrayal. But that was a stupid thought; Ruff had been right in insisting for her to get distracted would do her good. And she also was incredibly grateful for Fishlegs to catch up on her mood so quickly.

“I think so?” she replied to his question, focussing on what he’d taught her. “First, you have to clean the wound, with clear water or maybe strong alcohol. Then you put willow bark tincture on it, for disinfection and against the pain. Depending on how deep the cut is, you might need to sew it shut with a good needle. At last, you cover the wound with moss to soak up blood, put a tight-enough cast around it, and threaten the patient with your eternal wrath in case they don’t give the wound enough rest to heal properly,” she recited Fishlegs’ former lesson – even though the last bit was her own addition. It had the desired effect as it made him laugh and congratulate her on still remembering.

They chatted for a while longer, with Astrid feeling lighter by the minute, until Heather joined them. She looked even more tired than her husband had, and gracelessly slumped onto the bench next to him. At first, she eyed the pastries Astrid had brought with a slightly wrinkled nose, but then shrugged and picked one to nibble on.

“Hey, love. Had a good rest?” Fishlegs asked, then jumped up, startling Astrid. “Wait, I’ll make you a mug of that herbal tea. Astrid, what about you?”

“Sure, why not,” she replied with an amused smile, then turned her attention back to Heather. “Lots of work for you too, I guess?”

Again, Heather shrugged. “Yes, but it’s manageable, all in all. Mostly providing refreshments for those watching the tournament and preparing and preserving whatever them men bring from those hunts. It’s not like the crazy increase of work Justin has.”

Astrid raised an eyebrow at her, which made the other woman chuckle.

“Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking. I say that, but still, here I am, looking as if I’d been up for over three days straight.” She shook her head, a soft smile spreading over her face. “But I still say it’s not the work. I’m just kinda always tired lately. Maybe I’ve caught some bug, or so. It’ll pass.”

Before Astrid could reply anything, Fishlegs returned and placed a steaming mug in front of each. “So, here you go. But I’ve gotta leave you now. I’m sure we’ll get new patients once the hunting party returns, and I need to help Master Mulch prepare for that. Bye, Astrid. Was great to see you again.” He waved at her, bent to kiss Heather goodbye, and left.

Astrid reached for her mug, and hummed. She knew that the brew was too hot to drink it yet, but she could still enjoy the heat as part of the comfort around her, and she basked in it all, in this small sanctuary.

Until Heather brutally tore her back into reality.

“So, you’re getting married,” she stated.

It wasn’t a question, and when Astrid threw her a short baffled look before quickly averting her gaze she thought she detected a strange expression in Heather’s eyes. Pity, determination, and… satisfaction? But no, she certainly had imagined that last one, she thought and shook her head, chiding herself. She, too, was overly tired and exhausted, that was all. “Yes,” she breathed, the only answer she could think of. What else was she supposed to reply anyway? It wasn’t a secret, after all. Not anymore.

Heather watched her for a minute, quietly, and then sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding weirdly formal. “I remember what we talked about some while ago, and… Well, judging by how you haven’t openly proclaimed your love yet and your gloomy mood… I guess the one you had feelings for isn’t someone your father would approve of?”

Astrid pressed her lips shut, her hands around the mug tightening. This was not why she’d come here. She didn’t want to talk about this, about him, didn’t want to think. She wasn’t strong enough for that, not yet. “No, he’s not,” she mumbled weakly. “And-and it’s over anyway.” Saying it out loud, now that she knew it was true, hurt even more, and she hoped that Heather would drop the topic now. But apparently, she wasn’t that lucky.

“I see,” Heather sighed. “Well, again, I’m sorry for you. But this is part of what I meant, you know? When you asked me about how it feels to be in love and I told you to be careful? And it’s probably better this way anyway, that it’s over I mean.” She sighed again. “Gods, I sound heartless. I’d apologise, but what I wan– what I need to tell you won’t sound any better to you.”

Astrid wanted to make her stop talking, to order her if necessary, but she couldn’t find her voice. Unbiddenly, just thinking about him made images and memories flash through her mind, of his shining eyes when he smiled, of his touch when he cradled her cheek, of his warmth when he held her in his embrace. They flooded through her, leaving her powerless to rein them back in, and only Heather’s voice – even as it had caused this in the first place – was able to tear her out of it again.

“The thing is… I know that a marriage out of love is one of the best things that can happen to a person. But you are more than just an ordinary person! You aren’t just responsible for your own happiness, but also for that of your people. And even though I wouldn’t want to begrudge you a love match… I want to ask you to make a prudent choice. Please, think of your people.”

Astrid was trembling, but with the painful memories had also come the numbness of the last few days. As if her body and mind reacted on reflex, shutting down to ward off any harm. “What exactly are you asking of me?” she heard herself ask, her eyes on the little waves on the tea’s surface.

Heather gave a deep sigh. “I… I want to ask you to marry Dagur – or his horse-crazy boyfriend, if necessary. These two… with their impossible relationship and their refusal to marry and take responsibility, they’re a bigger threat to the Kingdom’s stability that those pathetic Malarians who can’t do anything but be an annoying pain at the border. Please, I-I’m begging you. It is within your power to separate them and end this selfish infatuation of theirs that so easily can turn half the Kingdom into chaos. Marry Dagur and give him an heir. It’s w-what the people need!”

There was a heavy silence once Heather stopped talking. To Astrid, it felt oppressive, like a thick blanket smothering everything; every sound, her thoughts, her movements, even the air to breathe. Only slowly, she managed to raise her head and to look at the other woman.

Heather was clearly afraid of having spoken her mind so openly. She was watching her with wide eyes, one hand over her mouth to cover it, the other wrapped around herself in something like a protective gesture. It was a funny sight, in a way. This woman, who had adamantly fought expectations and the people who had wanted to keep her in the place she’d been born into, was afraid of her, a powerless puppet who wasn’t even allowed to choose what she was wearing? It was ridiculous.

But Astrid felt too numb to laugh. Instead, she silently gazed at the woman who she’d thought of as a friend until now. “Thanks for the tea,” she eventually whispered, let go of the untouched mug, and rose to her feet to leave.

In passing, she heard Heather mumble another “I’m sorry!” but she wasn’t in a condition to accept the words.

Tuff looked up in surprise when she appeared next to him, but quickly caught on to her mood after he caught her expression. “Guess that didn’t go as Ruff hoped, eh? What a surprise… You wanna go back?”

Astrid nodded and mutely followed Tuff back to her chambers. And all the while, her head was spinning around what Heather had said.

How dare she? How dare she ask something like this of her? Essentially, it was the same thing the King had asked of her, the same he had suggested. But marrying Dagur – or Eret or Snotlout for that matter – that was insane! How could people even think of this option? It was ridiculous, and wrong, and simply impossible.

. o O o .

No matter how much Astrid tried to dismiss Heather’s suggestion as pure idiocy, the thought kept popping up in her mind at the weirdest of moments. Over and over, she mulled it over in her head, all the reasons why it was a stupid idea and could never work out. It was annoying – but she was still grateful for it. Thinking about this kept her mind occupied and prevented her from drowning in pain. At night, she was still helpless to the onslaught of memories, crying until she had no tears left, but at least during the day she was managing better now. And during dinner two days later, she was even able to pay attention to what happened around her again.

“Hey, Dag. Could you hand me the cheese plate?”

The question came from Snot next to her, and Astrid reacted without thinking as she reached for the plate that stood right in front of her and pushed it over to him.

“Uh… thanks, Astrid,” Snot grunted, clearly perplexed.

She gave him a nod and something like a small smile, then looked around into the astonished but smiling faces of her brothers. “What?” she asked, a little defensively. It wasn’t as if she usually was too proud to help either.

Eret’s smile softened a little. “Nothing. It’s just good to have you back.” She frowned, but he didn’t elaborate and she was grateful for that. She really hadn’t been here lately, had she?

With a low sigh, she reached for a bread roll and the cheese as well. She did it out of reflex, to not get scolded again for eating too little, and only after taking a first bite did she realise how hungry she actually was. Maybe Ruff had been right after all. Maybe it was time for her to accept the lot fate had dealt her and roll with it. As always, the thought came with a hidden, painful sting, but she refused to let it hit her, to even let the tiniest of thoughts about… about this topic reach her consciousness. She might be more composed now, but she certainly wasn’t strong enough for that. So when Eret addressed the older men at the other end of the table a minute later, she happily focused all her attention on their conversation.

“Uncle Spitelout? I know I’m asking this every night, but have you received any news from Daniel today?”

At that, Astrid looked up with real interest now. Whenever Spitelout was at the castle, he happily took over overseeing the royal pigeonry for the time being. She’d never understood his fascination with the birds, but then, everybody needed a hobby, she assumed. It made him happy and also meant that he was always informed about what kind of messages had left or reached the castle through the homing pigeons. And even with how twisted her thoughts about Daniel were these days, she was still eager to hear from him.

However, Spitelout, who’d just pushed his plate away with a clearly satisfied sigh, just gave a little grunt and shook his head. “Sorry, boy, but there still was no answer. The last time we heard from him was a week ago when he informed us that everything goes as planned.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, ‘No news are good news’. Besides, who knows whether your message has even reached him yet? My birds only fly to their nests in Westhill, after all, and from there a courier would have to be sent out to find him and deliver your message – and while we know where the Prince is supposed to be, itineraries in that region can be seen as little more than polite suggestions.”

“Looks like you’ll have to wait until he’s back, son,” Eret II added with an amused smile. “Just be a little patient, he’ll be back in two weeks anyway.”

Eret grunted, but didn’t ask anything else, and instead focused on his overly full plate.

Astrid had watched the short exchange with a bit of apparently obvious bewilderment, so Dagur, who seemed to have caught her puzzled look, now leaned over to explain in a low voice. “Eret sent a pigeon with a message to Westhill, a day or two after… well, after this whole mess started. I read a part of it and it was hilarious; a collection of not-very-nice insults and the repeated demand for what in the name of Hel’s pale tit Daniel had been thinking.” He shrugged, grinning. “To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if Daniel chose not to answer. I certainly wouldn’t. Either way, their next meeting is going to be fun. Chippy was fuming in the beginning, and I bet he’s still not entirely calmed down, though don’t ask me what exactly it was that had set him off like that. He didn’t even tell me.”

She threw a glance at Eret, and the tight grip with which he held his cutlery and the slightly troubled grimace on his face seemed to prove Dagur’s words true. It made her wonder. Sure, she didn’t have the most sisterly feelings for Daniel these days either; his knowing about this plan and not telling her felt like too much of a betrayal. But it made little sense for Eret to have the same reasons for his anger. She didn’t get the chance to further wonder about his behaviour though.

“I’ve got to agree, it’s good to have you back among the living,” came suddenly Snot’s voice from beside her, and when she turned to look at him, he had a wide grin on his face. “And since the kitchen provided us with this dish tonight... May I suggest you try this cold venison? It’s deer prepared after a recipe our chef in Westhill developed, and it is delicious.”

Perplexed, she watched as Snot placed a piece of the rosy meat onto her plate before she could even react. Then she grimaced, and shook her head. “No, thanks. No venison for me,” she mumbled. Snot couldn’t know her feelings there, of course. But she simply wasn’t able to eat any form of venison – or meat in general – lately. Not since her birthday.

“Snot, you really are an idiot, do you know that?” Dagur commented dryly as he reached over to pick the venison off her plate and devoured it whole. The sight made a small amused smile tug at her lips. Good manners weren’t exactly one of Dagur’s strong assets – and probably never would be.

Snot huffed, but didn’t further react to Dagur. Instead, he turned his attention back to Astrid and the cheese plate between them. “I’m sorry, how thoughtless of me. But… well, then how about this?” He cut off a piece of soft cheese with a greyish-yellow rind and held it out for her with a broad smile. “Father and I brought this on your father’s request; he liked it a lot the last time he visited Westhill. It has a rich and piney flavour that only develops when the cheese gets extra time to age.”

Hesitantly and with a slight frown, Astrid accepted the offered cheese, more out of reflex than of real interest. What was up with Snot? It wasn’t as if she didn’t know this behaviour from him; focussing all his attention on one person, being friendly and observant while more or less subtly advertising himself, his family, or his home. But so far, he’d never directed it at her! Was he actually flirting with her? He couldn’t be serious, could he? Surely, he had to be joking, overacting to throw it back into their fathers’ faces… right?

She looked at him, trying to detect something in his expression, a twitch of his lips maybe or an amused spark in his eyes. But there was nothing. Still trying to make sense of Snot’s behaviour, she took a bite of the cheese, but couldn’t help but grimace at the weirdly unctuous taste. “Urgh, sorry, but I think I’ll pass this one,” she said in as polite a tone as she could muster. She kind of appreciated Snot’s attention as it served as a good distraction, but it still left a strange aftertaste.

Hoping he would leave her be now, she wanted to reach for her glass of wine, but sighed when she found it empty.

“Here, let me get you a refill,” Snot directly prompted. He reached for one of the wine carafes at the end of the table, and before she could even blink her glass was filled again. “This one is another speciality we brought from Westhill, and if I remember correctly, you quite liked this one. ‘Rich-yet-not-overpowering berry fruit flavour surrounded with hints of cassis and cherry’ was your description, I think.”

Despite her annoyance at his renewed attention, Astrid couldn’t help but feel grateful, both for the wine and that he’d remembered. She tried a sip, and couldn’t help but hmm. The rich liquid tasted wonderful and made her relax almost instantly. Before she knew how, the glass was empty, and with a low, regretful sigh, she placed it back onto the table. She didn’t want to get drunk, couldn’t afford it, but the idea of getting rid of all her problems, if only for a few hours, was alluring. And the wine really did taste good.

So she didn’t object when Snot got her another refill, and didn’t even mind him directly diving into his next story about all the formidable vineyards they had in Westhill and how much more they could have.

With a resigned sigh, she settled on sipping her wine and tried to drone out his monologue. A part of her tried to reason that he certainly didn’t mean to annoy her into anger with his apparent flirting. Maybe she was just too over-sensitive and strained right now to detect the signs of joking.

Because he couldn’t be serious, right? He couldn’t be actually flirting with her. No matter what their fathers wanted, he was still her brother! But the longer the dinner lasted, the more plain his advances became and the more she wished to get away from him. Snot, like all of her brothers, had always been a source of comfort to her, but tonight she felt the opposite.

His behaviour reminded her of the impossible implication of her marrying one of them. Although, at least Snot didn’t seem to think it impossible, even though the thought made her shudder. Marrying one of her brothers… that was completely insane!

Wasn’t it?

 . o O o .

Right...Yeah, it still feels like not much has happened in this chapter, but it's actually been a lot, I think. Many little things, development, preparation...Sorry if it sucks...

And I promise this is still very much a Hiccstrid story!

*jumps back into hiding*

Next chapter

[missmonkeymode]

My story with google + since its ending soon

So, first things first. How did I get on google plus in the first place? Honestly I'm not fully sure, I think it was a mix of youtube being glued onto google plus, my brother using it, and maybe being lonely I don't fully know. I remember the first thing I did, it was basically add a bunch of pokemon stuff to my feed and follow my brother. Nothing much really happened then, but the more important part is what happened a little bit later, like a couple of months after I made the account. I found a group of people who roleplayed warrior cats. I know, warrior cats. I was intrigued by the thought of roleplaying, since it was like a joint story (in my eyes at least). I immediately joined and made my first oc ever. Her name was Ivy, she's a young cat who hated everything and everyone and was weirdly strong. I made her design in a dolldevine thing. Funny thing though, I didn't even read one book about warrior cats before I joined the group.

That was technically the first time I had internet friends. I remember thinking that everyone was like, cool older teenagers but I found out recently that the closest friend I had was literally 2 years older than me  so who would've thought. Eventually, the community got more and more inactive, and we just stopped. We stopped roleplaying with each other, and I think I was the only one who stuck with google plus from that group weirdly. This lasted until like, mid 2015 I wanna say? I dont't fully remember, but it doesn't fully matter, just by 2015 we split up.

So mid 2015 to early 2016 I literally remember nothing from them except liking minecraft youtubers (VAGUELY THO). All I do remember is getting kicked from this one group for breaking the rules once, but screw them right? I was messing around on youtube, and I found Jacksepticeyes playthrough of undertale in February of 2016. I fell in love with undertale. To be honest, I think that was one of the most intense hyper fixation I've ever had oopsie. I started following anything related to Undertale, including rp blogs since I knew what they were. Then I found someone who roleplayed Ink Sans.

Now about 7th grade me: I wasn't at the best place if I'm honest. I didn't have any friends, mostly what I did was read since I didn't have a phone at the time, I was extremely antisocial, and all I remember is like, the only time I had fun at school was watching the theatre kids dick around in theatre class even though I was too timid to actually say hi.

7th grade me was a different person than now me, even though I still have some traits from older me. But hey we ain't here to hear kit talk about how she thinks her life changed and junk we here about g+ baybee

So when I found this Ink Sans roleplayer, I checked out their blog since I was really into undertale aus and Ink Sans was new to me. I immediately followed after I saw their content. I was in awe, this person was a great rper, was everything 7th grade me wished to be (funny, confident, friendly, all that good jazz), and they liked undertale. I started commenting on their post, and we became friends. I remember becoming friends with them, and befriending their friends. I still know who they are to this day, and I still follow them even if we're not really friends anymore. Eventually the Ink Sans rper made a group where their friends hung out, and you can imagine how shocked and excited I was. Who'd like plain old Kit, all she does is read. But nevertheless, I dedicated the good chunk of 2016 in that group.

Overtime, I learned everyones name and stopped referring to them as their character. Ink Sans's mun's name was Uki, a Gaster Sans became Izzy, a Flowey became a Cy, etc etc. Everyone was older than me, I was the youngest in the group. I remember good things about that place, but one thing I don't remember is how horny e veryone was besides me. Lowkey I think because of skeleporn that they posted that I use to get fluseterd when thinking of sans f. So people were chilling on the server, then Uki got into homestuck. SHe got the others into homestuck, and I believe I was the last one to get into it (mostly because of my brother lol). So we all were posting about homestuck, and as a joke, Uki invited as many Eridan rpers to the server (since she had a crush on eridan lol) and eventually a dude named Myth joined. I'm a mutual to him on tumblr now so thats poppin. Myth is a good friend but he wasn't the quietest person. Eventually because of how rowdy it got, Uki's mom found out about the server and banned her from social media.

Everyone was devastated after that, especially her boyfriend Cy, and that launched the group into a weird limbo where we'd talk to each other and still be friends outside of the group, but not actually be active in the group. Officially it died in summer of 2016, but if I had to say when it died, I would say late winter after Uki left it died. 2016 came and went, and now its 2017 with a good chunk of friends still being into homestuck, so we decided to start roleplaying together as homestuck ocs. That's when things get weird and take a turn towards the sour.

So Izzy, the person who was gaster, started dating this papyrus roleplayer, who we called pap. Myth Introduced us to some more people and then yeah. OH WAIT I FORGOT TO MENTION LOGAN AND LGBT! So this group was the first time I figured out that the lgbt community existed, and Logan was a Pansexual gal who had a lot of drama irl but overall was pretty chill. BACK TO THE STORY!

So everyone had an oc, and everyone was at various places in their roleplaying life. Some people they were great at it, some people didn't start rping until the group started, some people were rusty at it but has some expirence (that twas me).  Because of this group I opened up MSPaint and actually figured out how it worked and start using it. It was fun but some people were..... unsavory to be kind. What I'm going to say in the spoilers contains tw of being sexually gross and suicide.

Around spring Izzy and Pap's relationship started getting shakey, and Izzy wanted to break up with Pap. At the time I had no idea what happened, but apparently Pap threatened Izzy with suicide if she did break up with him.  Izzy told Logan about it, and Logan told everyone to unfollow him. I didn't since I didn't know what was happening, but Pap was shunned from the group and I have no idea what they're doing today. It was a good thing to, his character were gross. Again, I didn't realize it at the time but like, his homestuck characters were fucking WILD. If I remember correctly (and i do) one of his characters tried to hump other characters and yeah that was bad. I made my character punch him and was bout to rip off his troll dick so yeah I did register that that was bad, but I didn't realize the gravity of it. Also another one of his characters kidnapped another character and had them as a sex slave maybe? yeah so good riddance to him.

Tl;DR Pap was gross and bad, so he's gone.

So like, late 2017, the rp group went inactive and some people I still know and talk to. A guy called Muff that joined later is still a good friend of mine. But that split up, and each person just stopped using google+ all together. All that really stayed was Myth, Izzy, and Muff. Logan had something happened with an ex and now deleted her account. I don't know what happened to her, all that she's safe. Cy just slowly moved to a new site, and we didn't stay in contact. 2018 rolled in, and I decided to be more out there and like, try to actually do things irl so that's where I changed from middle school Kit to Kit right now. I still used google+, I found some more friends whom are way better than some of the people who I interreacted with in 2017. Nothing eventful happened that year, but it was an amazing year nevertheless. Now early summer 2018 happened and i found jojo's bizarre adventure, and to my surprise some of my newer friends liked jojo! So we bonded over that, somehow passed them while reading/watching it, and life is going good. Then the announcement thhat google+ is ending happened.

Everyone, and when I say everyone I mean everyone, freaked out. A little bit about google+ culture is that you can literally become friends with everyone no matter follower count or post, it was a great place to make friends. Everyone was in a tizy about how they were going to keep their friends since nobody wanted to lose them. Another thing about google+ culture is how terrible the site is. To anyone here who's familiar with tumblr, imagine the tumblr staff but they dont fix bugs and don't care much about the site, and that's honestly the google+ staff. So everyone jokes about how the site is bad, there was a meme that was created to poke fun at the bugs (it was gold stars), and everyone said "when will this god forsaken site ended". Literally at first nobody knew if the announcement was real or not thats how much people joked about the end of google plus.

According to an article, the original end date was going to be in August. This was announced early this year, so people had time to plug other social media and things like that. But, that wasn't the fate of google+. Somehow someone leaked information about some users, so the google+ team decided to end it earlier. Tomorrow google plus won't be google plus, it'll be google business. Luckily I got peoples twitter and tumblr and all that jazz but.... damn. Who would've thought that google plus would end. None of us certainly did.

[listoriented]

Burnout: Paradise

1. Burnout. Spinning wheels without moving. Antipodean slang. The smell of burned rubber.

The blank word document is another rounded bend. A few cars here and there loaded in. Driving these virtual streets is seeing ideas, tangents, discourse, thoughts spill off. In front is always nothingness. An inability to grasp on to anything coherent. Yes this is synecdoche, yes this is consumerism, a shiny shell of petromodernity – an actual critical theory term that I now take seriously - yes this is me, my life, my phd in miniature, the imperfect totalising open-world game, or yes this is a microcosm of the entirety of trying to play through the letter “B” of my steam library, stop-start, hopeful then despairing, takes longer than it should, yes this game is a magnum opus and I wish so hard to fill my lungs and release until my fingers are pinching some inflated balloon perfectly full of a graspable idea, or yes this game is fundamentally empty, a comment on a comment; at the bottom of all searches for purpose we find searches for purpose, etc. 

So I start and I start and I start again. I drive I drive I drive. Event after event ticks down, my license goes from learner to D to B to A and then I hit my goal, “Burnout license”, and still I don’t know what I’ll write. Something about driving, in general; driving as notionally relaxing, driving while thinking about other things. How do people write? Write things? My PhD is in pieces on the floor and in the computer and in my head. I drive around Paradise City and terrible emo from the mid-noughties plays, interspersed with long bouts of classical. Days pass, and in the game the day turns into night and back again, and I adjust the clock to make this happen slower, and the weather changes in Paradise City, a little – cycles of rain and cloud and sun - and here in Melbourne the weather changes too. It was the tail end of summer when I started, and we’ve been through the surprising highs and lows of autumn, now settling into winter, doing it all again. There are no roads leading in or out of Paradise City, and it’s a long drive back from the hills.

2.      Burnout. A series of arcade-style racers made for various platforms by Criterion Games [official site] between 2001 and 2011.

It’s a little uncanny, this pocket of 2008. It just looks real good to my rusty, unfussy eyes, like in visual terms it hasn’t aged in ways other games from that year age (though my friend James vehemently disagreed). It does the trick. It does lots of tricks. And it seems rare too, to say of a 2008 game that it’s a masterpiece, that it’s the best of its class, though of Paradise this is surely true, if all reports are to be believed with regards to all other open-world arcade driving games that have come since, including everything else made by Criterion.

Any doubts about its age are firmly put to bed by the soundtrack, though, which despite prominently featuring that Guns N’ Roses song from 1987 just screams mid-2000s at me, abundant “rock” guitars, masc whine and all, very of its time, salvaged by one timeless Avril Lavigne banger, a chunk of classical, and (to a certain extent) personal nostalgia for a time when this sort of soundtrack just seemed vaguely synonymous with “driving game”. There’s also the dated blemish of inane unmutable advice-slider DJ A(u)tomica, who at least has the good grace to (somehow) avoid repeating himself, even after seventeen hours of driving, at a clip of one quip every few minutes or so. There’s also the very 2008 nod to renewable energy via Paradise’s wind farm, harking back to that post- An Inconvenient Truth moment of progressive euphoria when we really all believed we could build towards a sustainable future that would also accommodate our oily desires, before another decade of resource-industry funded filibustering hadn’t proven this, again, impossible.

And yet Paradise stands up in ways that surpass the non-ironic soundtrack of fragile masculinity and the very 00’s DJ Atomica, despite or because of the people-less world, the flat and drab urban interior, the hardly even tokenistic ways of engaging with the city as function rather than form. I particularly like how B:P has not even the faintest hint of story, how even in terms of progression it purely becomes a game of exploration, winning events, checking boxes. It melds (excuse me for a second) form and function and manages not to get in the way of itself – the story is what the player does in the game, where the player goes. It’s kind of breathtaking, rare for any game before or since. (Hopefully it’s clear that I’m not advocating for the dissolution of narrative in games, only that the lack of narrative pretence here is very suited to this particular game, and very preferable to the kinds of irrelevant and bloated narratives that are thrown over e.g. other driving games).

Ah, 2008. It was just there! And yet so far. I played Burnout Paradise for a running total of seventeen hours over nearly three months. During this time, I also played forty-two hours of Tetris99. Everything in its place. Criterion recently announced they’ll shut down the Burnout Paradise’s online servers in August, though Paradise lives on in Remastered (2018) glory, Origin only. 

3. Burnout. The act of refuelling the boost capacity of an engine by running out of boost.

Despite the time I’ve spent with it, the fact that I managed to complete its main in-game objective, and the running thoughts on time and place and representation of cultural norms, I feel I’m struggling to say much of definition about Paradise that fits easily into the scrapbook nature of this blog. Perhaps in some ways it's too close to life; a series of arbitrary checklists through which feeling happens (nebulously) around. I "liked" it but do not feel moved to thought, and I'm aware that that is the point – it’s a game that allows you to drive, endlessly, if you want to, think and do whatever. It won’t get in the way (barring DJ Automica butting in every couple of minutes – he literally cannot be switched off).

I do not drive much these days. Last year when Lauren and I moved to Canberra, we drove nearly 4000 kilometres across the country. The landscapes wound by, at the time fleetingly, but they piled on and left deep rivulets in my head, and though it was just five days and nothing really happened – we leant on the accelerator, stopped every hour, listened to music, stayed in nothing-motels quite literally hundreds of kms from anywhere else and ate forgettable takeaway - it feels immense, now. Driving is funny like that - you are never quite in a place, separated from it by machine noise and windows and infrastructure, the one activity you can do to facilitate thinking about something else. Still, impressions, motion, the sense of having moved, of having journeyed. Here in Australia, the fossil fuel lobby has won its third straight election in a row. Hope is eroding into nothing.

Probably my favourite hour or two in Paradise City was spent mucking around in the online section with Roy and James, trying to check off a few of the game's multiplayer challenges. These involved such serious exercises as trying to do barrel a series of barrel rolls, or try and land on top of each other, or smash into each in mid-air, or drive on top of a parking lot to jump a ramp onto a shopping centre. It was very good, if a little eerie and dystopic, strewn with outdated real-and-paid-for advertising billboards, branded vehicles, quaint echoes of paused time and uncanny dilapidation.

The mill of the game I could never quite settle on - I “liked” it, I think, but it wasn’t without problems. I found the single-player events to be mindlessly enjoyable, ploughing other cars into crash barriers, or effortlessly holding down "boost" to accelerate down a straight and into a finish line, celebratory cutaway shot ensuing. Sometimes I crashed into too many grey girders that my eyes hadn't picked out and got frustrated, or sometimes I missed a critical turnoff and got frustrated. Sometimes they just felt like chores, and it was certainly sometimes annoying to not be able to restart events that I had botched, and it took me ten hours to learn you could opt out of races, stunt runs etc just by letting the car idle for a few seconds. And knowing this probably would have saved me a lot of time in the early game, because like I said it’s a long way back from the hills, where like three out of eight events end up at, and committing to staying in a race which after a couple of botched turns and unseen barriers you’re definitely not going to win, whose distant finish line is going to land you a long way from the nearest event (once you finally get there) can feel pretty dire, really, though there was also part of me that admired how Burnout refused to let you jump around the map, forced you to drive, take your time, see the city, see the sights.

I did appreciate the cracky coloured collectms of Paradise City, how they brought the city to life, sort of, or gave it the impression of being a well designed and thought-through playground, though I never got too completionist about them, the core exercise of the whole thing. Both John Walker of RPS and Chris Donlan of Eurogamer have written about Paradise’s fluoro crash gates, the impulse to reinstall the game every year and knock them all down from scratch. Along the way to getting my “Burnout license” I unlocked 36 of the 75 vehicles, jumped 35 of the 50 super jumps, broke 79 of 120 neon red billboards, and smashed through 353 of 400 aforementioned glowing yellow crash barriers. The game puts me at 55% completed. No steam achievements (woulda been nice, perhaps, given that Burnout Paradise is fundamentally a collectmup; nothing but metres and percentages). I’ve driven a little over 1000 miles, supposedly, which is certainly more than I’ve IRL driven over the past few months.

4.  Burnout. noun Physical and emotional exhaustion; breakdown caused by overwork. Commonly associated with “crunch”, “the video game industry”.

But here there is also pure hesitation. Procrastination. The fear of moving on, even at the end of this little step of what has ballooned into an impossible project. I can see the next letter waiting there, a new chapter, a chance for renewal. The one disappearing behind us has drawn out so far, encompassed a few years and a fair bit of change, and now almost petered into nothing at the final gate. I want to hit the ground running but I'm not sure I'm ready, and in the meantime various other deadlines swirl around, make it difficult to see the clear path ahead that I crave. And so it is that the temptation has been there to keep driving the streets of Paradise, its anonymous suburbs and abstract goals, continue delaying the inevitable, or the nearly inevitable, or the not-inevitable-at-all of writing this post and moving on to the next chapter, because it turns out this is a project I once made a choice to begin, and could at one point choose to stop.

There are nagging questions, of course. Who blogs, anymore? Who reads blogs anymore? How does one find a blog they like and then continue to follow it for the span of its natural life? Does anyone use “bookmarks”? What’s an RSS feed? I'm not even sure, in a broader sense, that I know where to find the kinds of writing about games that I want to read at the moment, at least not reliably, outside of say the occasional check-through of Critical Distance or Unwinnable. I look at the slate of games coming out and find it hard to be excited by anything much, the hype and the saturation. It is bountiful until it is not. The guilt element of playing games – something inherited from childhood that I’ve never been entirely able to dissociate - has become more and more prominent. I've increasingly used games as a tool for procrastination and a coping mechanism, a distraction from various (work/study and other) anxieties. I've also been aware of myself doing this, and in turn the kinds of gaming experiences I've relied on have been more focused on short term, low-investment distraction (hence the sudden unyielding devotion to Tetris, which really was just filling the hole left by an earlier act of self-discipline AKA uninstalling Rocket League; more recently, as I’ve managed to put the Switch away for longer periods, I’ve turned back to another simple but deceptive time-filler in Mini Metro. Choose your poison, basically). For a while it seemed Burnout would not only fill this role but do it responsibly: it seemed great for dropping into in short bursts - win a race or two, unlock a new car maybe – without quite the same dangerously addictive pull for me as those other games. But then I heard the GnR song "Paradise City" one too many times (it's mandatory with startup), or got sick of the menu loading times, and it lost this specific part of its appeal.

And then there's the subjective nature of this particular Sisyphean project - the knowledge that here I am pushing a rock up a mountain of my own making, one that exists only for me, entirely built out of and defined by the games and bundles I chose and continue to choose to buy, the rules I chose to set. Life is short, this task is absurd, and at the moment it's not even a joke I feel particularly happy about sharing. Sometimes I get to play great games here, games I may never have gotten around to; at other times I am playing shit games for this blog, and in the process there are inevitably other things I'm not doing. One choice erases another. Increasingly it feels like an isolated pursuit - playing games in general, not just the writing and making of this here blog. It seems like I know fewer people who play games these days, between falling out of touch with friends, seeing lots of other old friends give up games in one way or another, and playing games less frequently with those who I still know. I’ve accidentally become something of a game hermit. For years I've loved the camaraderie and easy familiarity of social gaming experiences even when I haven't loved the games that conduct them - the feeling of being connected to people even in a transient, shallow, goal-oriented sense, but even these I'm not sure I believe in anymore, or I find myself less and less willing to invest in the "right" titles to facilitate it.

I’m into my thirties now, and maybe this is just a feeling of age, life, I dunno, priorities finally shifting to where people told me they should’ve years ago. One of my oldest friends is about to have a baby, though he more or less quit video games over a year ago now. I'm extremely happy for him. Two of my younger cousins just had children, several hours away by plane – my uncle, a new grandfather to two babies, makes posts on facebook claiming climate change is a socialist hoax, and I can’t help but think of the kind of world his grandchildren are going to inherit. I'm mulling over a missed deadline that's been a thorn in my brain now for months, the single-largest hitherto unsaid reason why this post has taken so long to dig its way to the surface. This month marks the five year anniversary of another cousin’s sudden/unexpected passing; he was five years older than me, and though I’ll never be able to make sense of it, I feel like I get that there’s something sort of vulnerable about this age, when the things you want don’t quite work out, or when you’re a bit aimless and stuck in your patterns and feel like things aren’t going to change. He was so kind and gentle, a beautiful soul and a terrible Zerg, and I miss him so much. And one year ago I drove from Canberra to Melbourne and slept on the floor of this house I now call home while I waited for a truck with rest of my stuff to arrive. I’m very aware of the calendar, of change and inertia, of patterns and decay, of newness sprouting underfoot, but I don’t know how games fit at the moment, or I’ve lost the thread of feeling like they’re actually important, or why, amongst all the noise.

Burnout: Paradise is at the start, in the middle, and right at the end of all these things. It's a great game, part of me feels, or wants to say I feel. Playful, irreverent, childishly violent, simultaneously full of stuff and empty of matter. I'm happy I've played it, happy I can say that I've played it, happy to understand on an experiential level most of what it offers, happy I'll be able to remember it later, nod in some hypothetical conversation where someone brings up Burnout: Paradise and say I know what they mean, yeah. I get it. When we were playing it online together briefly, a couple of months back now, Roy told me that Burnout Paradise is the only game he ever one hundred percented twice - once on 360, once on PC - and that it was almost three times, because the first time he was almost done with it, someone broke into his house and stole his Xbox and all his games, and that Paradise was the only game that he re-bought with the insurance money, so determined he was to tick every box the game left open to tick, even if it meant doing it all again.

But maybe – counterpoint - I don’t get it. I’m finding it harder and harder to make good sense of this kind of experience, or feel like this kind of thing is (in some arbitrary way) a net positive, or that it’s okay to keep glossing over the emulation of destruction that games of so many different kinds fundamentally rely on. Outside there is so much suffering, so much to be upset about, and I no longer feel like there is time enough to sink into mindless (rather than meaningful, perhaps?) distraction. Or I’m finding it harder to get beyond the thought that this is an extension of the distraction/avoidance behaviour that I realised might actually be a problem in my life.

“Burnout” is, you’ll know, here in the great mess of the year 2019, a buzz word, particularly in the games industry. Games company employees have perpetually been expected to work unsustainable hours out of some sort of devotion to the industry, creating a cycle of talent depletion and toxic work cultures. But as is often the case with games, it’s a tip-off of what happens elsewhere, across the board. The mass casualisation of careers across all industries, the gig economy, pressures caused by un- and under- employment, the dissipation of viable faith, social-media and political stresses: all of these are leading to burnout, everyone has burnout, we are inundated with burnout. There is something ripe about the words or the idea of Burnout: Paradise, the very conceptual juxtaposition that seems to be two sides of the same coin, that feels very reflective of this moment, what we are all experiencing versus what we were promised. But what does this have to do with Burnout: Paradise, the game in which you pretend drive fake person-less cars around a virtual city, have horrific, visceral crashes from which you immediately respawn and “beat” by achieving a long series of arbitrary victories, collecting all there is to collect? Something, nothing, I don’t know.

“Burnout” means a lot of things, and the meaning of “burnout” the game adopts isn’t the other ones I’d associate with cars – a burnt out engine, or the smell of burning rubber - but one that exists only for the series, so far as I can tell: getting to keep using your boost because you’ve been continually using your boost. Keep going at all cylinders or bust, basically – except not, because the consequences for interrupting the boost are slim even on the relative scale of things that can go right or wrong, in this game where there is never really all that much on the line for the player anyway.

Paradise. n. Heaven. A place to await judgement. An enclosed park. Eden.

In Paradise City the grass is trim; the girls (all humans actually) are non-existent, unless you happen to be riding a motorcycle, presumably because a motorcycle without a rider would look very weird.

In Paradise City the cars are peopleless and drive themselves, so maybe it is an early vision of the tech bro version of Paradise. Or maybe the cars are driven by people who can only exist on the outside of the world of Paradise City, looking in across the matrix. Or maybe in Paradise City the people are the cars. This is Cars, the movie, sans dialogue.

In Paradise City all the cars emulate brands and models that exist in "the real world" but are called by names that exist only in the Burnout franchise.

In Paradise City all the cars ostensibly run on petrol, which is infinite but unnecessary, because going through a petrol station merely refills the car's boost capacity, whatever that is, rather than imply that your car would stop running if you at some point failed to “fill up”. It's very important that you know, though, that the cars run on petrol, because otherwise it wouldn't be a realistic representation of cars. Even in Paradise.

In Paradise City cars exist and then don't exist.

In Paradise City a lot more cars suddenly exists if someone decides they want to flip their car over and see how much monetary damage they can cause.

In Paradise City cars crash and crumple in a hyper-realistic way, but it's okay because the cars have no drivers and anyway all cars are all miraculously fine again after a few moments.

In Paradise City the railway has been shut down to give cars more places to hang out. 

In Paradise City the whole city runs on wind energy, because it's important to care about the environment too, because you can have both, promises the radio, though seeing as there's nobody there in all of Paradise's buildings it's unclear, anyway, what such energy would actually be running.

onward to Caesar 3

[aion-rsa]

Blizzard’s Reputation Won’t Be Saved by J. Allen Brack “Stepping Down”

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

In a brief statement released earlier today, Blizzard confirmed that J. Allen Brack will be stepping down as the “leader of the studio” and will be replaced by Jen Oneal and Mike Ybarra who will serve as “co-leads” of Blizzard moving forward. There’s no word on what Brack will do next, but a separate statement published by Activision notes that Brack is “leaving the company to pursue new opportunities.”

What you won’t find in either statement (beyond vague references to “integrity and inclusivity” as well as Oneal and Ybarra’s reported commitment to “all” Blizzard employees) is a direct reference to California’s lawsuit against Blizzard over the company’s practices and policies, the controversy over certain Activision Blizzard executives’ responses to the state’s investigation, or the fact that players are staging protests against Activision Blizzard as part of their own responses to these stunning allegations.

So what does Brack have to say about all of this? Well, he previously addressed the lawsuit in an internal email that was leaked to various media outlets, but his official statement on his “decision” to step down is significantly shorter and frustratingly generic:

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

“I am confident that Jen Oneal and Mike Ybarra will provide the leadership Blizzard needs to realize its full potential and will accelerate the pace of change. I anticipate they will do so with passion and enthusiasm and that they can be trusted to lead with the highest levels of integrity and commitment to the components of our culture that make Blizzard so special.”

You know, there’s quite a bit to talk about here, but I can’t get over that “components of our culture that make Blizzard so special” line. When Brack references that culture, I don’t imagine he’s talking about the toxic culture of abuse, sexism, harassment, and employee demoralization that apparently existed behind the scenes for far too long. I assume he’s instead talking about the years that Blizzard spent making all-time great games while convincing so many of us that they were a loving and caring company made of passionate gamers who would do anything for their fans and each other.

But you know what? I don’t think Brack deserves to be able to reference those days, even if we do choose to believe they ever really existed. He is, after all, the man who had this to say in response to a fan’s question about whether or not Blizzard would ever add legacy servers for World of Warcraft:

“No. By the way, you don’t want to do that either. You think you do, but you don’t.”

At a time when the much-maligned Warlords of Draenor expansion sunk WoW‘s reputation lower than it had ever been before, Brack had the audacity to tell fans that one of the features they’d been asking for the most was something they only thought they wanted.

While it’s certainly at least a little funny that Brack was forced to reveal WoW Classic just one year later (and that Classic‘s subscriber numbers proved that he was wrong), there are many fans who will always remember him as the guy who not only seemed to fundamentally misunderstand what WoW fans wanted but was bold enough to think that he could gaslight them into somehow believing that WoW‘s then-modern days were so clearly better than what had come before. I’ve spoken before about how the Final Fantasy 14 team’s commitment to their fans is a big part of the reason why that game is pulling ahead of World of Warcraft, and clips like that only help sell that argument.

However, I don’t want to make it sound like J. Allen Brack was somehow the only person on the WoW team who believed that they knew what fans wanted better than fans did. There’s a very good chance he was simply the figurehead on that day and that other members of that panel would have expressed similar (if perhaps better worded) views that were in line with the “passionate” thoughts of one of the team’s leaders.

Honestly, it feels like Brack is playing a similar role now. He may be stepping down, but does anyone believe that Brack was the last member of the Blizzard team who represented the company’s darkest days? We know for a fact that there are other toxic executives at Activision Blizzard based solely on recent statements made by those executives, but we don’t know how many people were put into the positions of power over the years because they too bought into the culture that Brack and others cultivated, contributed to, and, at times, simply let slide.

Blizzard is now in a position where they have to convince everyone but diehard fans that things really have changed. While I’d like to believe that they’ll do that by forcing more executives out the door, implementing serious culture/policy changes, and promoting the next generation of great Blizzard creators, my fear is that people will be willing to overlook all of that and simply judge Blizzard by the quality of their upcoming games. Of course, with World of Warcraft at a low point, Hearthstone sometimes struggling to chase its glory days, Overwatch 2 navigating the early levels of development hell, and Diablo 4‘s release nowhere in sight, it’s honestly not clear whether even good games can save Blizzard in the near future.

Mostly, though, I feel sorry for those Blizzard employees who never did anything but their jobs (and were perhaps even victims of abuse at one point) and are now tasked with solving a problem that they inherited. J. Allen Brack was given a golden parachute just as those who remain at Blizzard were handed the keys to a crumbling empire. If we’re to believe that Blizzard’s incoming leadership has nothing but good intentions regarding the future of the company, then it is a shame that they’re only being elevated now that the company is in this situation while others before them were able to coast by on misguided public perception, legacy works, and whatever sense of self-worth their egos provided.

There’s little doubt that a small army of incredibly talented people with good intentions remains at Blizzard. It’s just a shame that their efforts will now be judged based largely on how they navigate the sins of their predecessors. As someone who would have previously called themselves a long-time fan of most of Blizzard’s games, I truly hope that they’re able to make the most out of what could most generously be called a stacked deck. However, as others have pointed out, the sad truth of the matter seems to be that Blizzard may become the next BioWare and serve as little more than a brand name.

Titles mean a lot in the corporate world. Until 2018, Mike Morhaime was CEO. When Brack took over, he was president. Now, Oneal and Ybarra are described as "co-leaders." A clear glimpse at who's really in charge: Bobby Kotick

— Jason Schreier (@jasonschreier) August 3, 2021

The post Blizzard’s Reputation Won’t Be Saved by J. Allen Brack “Stepping Down” appeared first on Den of Geek.

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