#and then i will be ill with renewed fervor

[yeonbam]

this image just renewed my depression in a way that would make a psychiatrist hate to see me coming

[apostlearcana]

Info Dump. Now *holds gun*

Okay, okay! ;; Under a cut! ...but first, some history. (Also under the cut!)

Zenkichi's big turn and the first time I saw the August 14th scene was two days before my birthday, March 20. My friends were telling me that he was gonna be the one I would yell about ridiculously, and I snorted it off. How could anyone think that the dorky cop was gonna be the one I liked the most? I liked the single dad sad cops that would absolutely tear down the country for their kids. … …and then I saw the entire scene with Zenkichi after Sapporo, and I was absolutely thrown headfirst into 'wait, what in the fuck is this?' Needless to say, I had to stop after the save point because I was crying. A lot. Goofy old dork is actually- really fucking messy on the inside? Oh no. Oh NO, I suddenly latched on like a fool.

It sort of became a big spiral from there about him, and I began to come up with a ridiculous degree of sad with him that the game never explained because- it's a month long experience. And not enough time to really dive into the meat of the whole "EXCUSE ME, THE NEW DAD WE PICKED UP IS ACTUALLY FULL OF SELF-LOATHING AND BULLSHIT" sort of idea. (And about how Joker/Akiren was somehow okay with working with a fucking cop after. Y'know. All of P5/R? MUH?)

As per this introduction of Zenkichi and in my time crying about him for the last three years, I have thus come up with the following... headcanons and sobbing ideas.

🅱️LEASE NOTE A LOT OF THIS IS FIXED IN MY SILLY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE FOR THINGS, BUT IF IT SOUNDS NEAT, IT CAN BE APPLIED IN OTHER CONTEXTS.

🌸-🐺-🌸-🐺-🌸

Zenkichi and Valjean have had a connection for the last some twenty plus years. It started as that little voice in his head that would tell him to push the envelope, chase the bad guys, indulge in his anger. Zenkichi would often rebuff these advances, and over time, the voice got louder and angrier at how he wouldn't speak up a lot for himself because of 'how he just sits like an obedient dog and takes it.' It's only in Akane's jail that he finally breaks free of his chains and begins to really make a man out of himself.

Zenkichi does have some mental illnesses, mostly due to childhood trauma involving emotional abuse from his father. Emotions were pretty much a way to get his dad to yell at him about how weak he looked; being sad or angry or even melancholic were good ways to get the 'boys don't cry' talk of sorts often, and he bottled his emotions at a very early age. (And he still does many times, mainly because he doesn't want the kids to see him breaking down. The Thieves often help him with this, as does Maruki to an extent.)

There's a saying that your anger can hurt you more than it can hurt others, and it actively applies to Wolf's Fury mechanic in the Metaverse. As it stands today (04/03/2024), the kids vaguely know of his power and how it can fuck him up in the Metaverse. What the kids don't know, however, is that his wounds carry into the real world and give him many scars. At first, he tries to chalk them up to wounds he got when he was on the force for years, but it eventually will catch up to him: when the Thieves see the damage it does to him, they get… very concerned, to say the least. And they will hound him to get scar cream for some of the worse ones.

Zenkichi has smoked for a few years, but he did stop before he met the Phantom Thieves; he can't do the mile for shit, but he can jog fairly okay. His drinking habits aren't that great, though, to wear he can actually have enough to pass out. ...he's getting better though. Trying to get better. (He can get to be too lazy to get up and get one.)

Each time Enduring Soul activates for Zenkichi, it fucks him up pretty badly. I know the game mechanics say he survives with one HP and bounces back, but I've taken it a step further to say that yeah. He dies. He does die, and he comes back with renewed fervor. As the only known playable character that isn't a protagonist to have this ability, I have once more taken it to a higher degree of fuckery and made it worse.

Every one of the Phantom Thieves's experience with a shitty dad makes him want to go and punch a bastard, but they convince him not to do so... so he won't go to jail. However, he doesn't listen and visits many of them. And while he doesn't get physical, he instills the fear of Valjean into every one of them.

To help deal with his anger issues he's unlocked since his awakening, he's since remembered his hand-to-hand combat training from being on the force; with Valjean's (genuine) gentle nudges and coaxing, he finds himself slowly going back into combative sports. He finds it liberating when he can go wild in private away from the kids, knowing that many of them have some kind of trauma from adults being angry or violent.

THAT SAID… when the kids find out about his habit, I'd like to think that Zenkichi admits that he didn't want to tell the kids out of fear and their traumatic pasts and whatnot, but they're far more relieved he has an outlet for said rage that's healthy for him and not doing worse things. (It also comes in handy for other things- because these kids can't stay out of trouble too often, but that comes down the line much later.)

Gramps- does leave the force, but only after he and Miyako speak about it at length for a long time. He ends up becoming a private investigator with quite the name for himself that gets mumbled through the streets: the Wolf of Kyoto.

I have quite a number more but... this is getting long.

[theprayerfulword]

May 26

Romans 8:38-39 Paul wrote, “I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Philippians 2:10 so that every knee will bow to the name of Jesus — everyone in heaven, on earth, and under the earth.

Ephesians 1:21 [Christ is seated] far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come.

Psalm 24:1 The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it.

Psalm 86:15 But You, O Lord, are a God full of compassion, and gracious, longsuffering and abundant in mercy and truth.

Jeremiah 33:3 Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.

May you seek out those who are dear to the Lord, those who are bound, and lame, and held captive by fear, and demonstrate the kindness of the Lord through His love. 2 Samuel 9

May you understand that the reproach and ill-will of others is what they always carry in their heart, and that it is expressed, not because of who you are, but because of Who you represent, and knowing that the unjust contempt will fade, draw aside for a time, resting in the loving care of the Lord. 2 Samuel 10

May your hands be diligently about your duty, and your eyes ever kept on God, as you are taken by your feet to the places God has appointed you to be, that you may escape temptation and avoid the way of sin. 2 Samuel 11

May you realize that the world hates you just as it hated Jesus first, for you no longer belong to the world since He has chosen you out of the world. John 15

May you daily renew your connection with the vine, just as the vine daily renews the mercies that bring life, that you may be fruitful and glorify the Father. John 15, Lamentations 3

May you see, in the Word and by the Spirit, the height and breadth and depth and width of God's love for you, so that you may understand the value which others, as well, have to the Father, and be able to willingly express His love to those around you by obeying His commands. John15

My child, do not fear to make mistakes. You are weak, and you have limited understanding; you are human. I am God, and I am your great and loving Shepherd. I know you need watchful care, and I am always attentive, never sleeping. I do not make allowance for persistent and continual rebellion, but I work with those who love Me. I teach those who desire to be with Me to know My voice and follow Me more closely, that they may safely rest in peace, for that is My gift to you. It is when you utterly abandon yourself to that which you have seen and received from Me, having touched and been touched by My heart, that you are most likely to err in your zeal with limited understanding and through your own resources, But that is when I give the greatest care to you, knowing that your love for Me is motivating you. I would rather you were hot or cold, for then I can give you direction and provide you the discipline that teaches and guides you in the way you should go. When you are double-minded, indeterminate, lukewarm, indifferent, without fervor for or against the work of God, I will not take the time to unsettle your comfortable world-view. However, when you find yourself in a dead-end, having pursued My will with a desire to see Me glorified, I will not leave you or forsake you. My rod and My staff will rescue you, lifting you out of the hole you ended up in. You will have the assurance of My loving presence and never-ending merciful compassion, for I know that it was Me you were pursuing. Though you may be headstrong, I will never reject you. Though you are timid, I will always encourage you. I will never allow blunders and mistakes to entrap you in destruction. Instead, they will form the basis of My teaching and drawing that brings you nearer and reveals Me more clearly. I see your heart and I know that it is not stubborn individuality and self-will which motivates your choices, but a passionate desire to please Me through obedience to My purpose. Learn of Me, My dear one, through patient waiting before Me as well as through active participation with Me, for I am with you to train you in the way you should go.

May you remember the time-tested regulations and well-proven judgments of the Lord, finding hope, comfort, and instruction in them during suffering, for the Lord remembers His promise to enliven you and to quicken your life even though the arrogant constantly mocks you without restraint and the proud cruelly derides you in utter contempt, therefore you do not turn from God's word. Psalm 119

May you obey the Lord's precepts daily and remember the name of the Lord in the night so that the decrees of the Lord will be the theme of your song wherever you lodge. Psalm 119

May you seek God's face and entreat His presence with all your heart for He is your portion; as you have promised to obey God's words, so He has promised to be gracious to you. Psalm 119

May you not forget God's law though the wicked bind you with ropes, but hasten and not delay to obey His commands since you have considered your ways and turned your steps to His statutes. Psalm 119

May your soul lift up thanks to the Lord for His righteous laws even in the middle of the darkest trials and most stubborn struggles, for the earth is filled with the love of the Lord, Who teaches you His decrees, making you a friend to all who fear Him and follow His precepts. Psalm 119

May you submit the intents of your heart and the planning of your thoughts to the Lord, so that the reply of your tongue may be from the fullness of God's heart. Proverbs 16:1

May you accept the Lord's verdict as He weighs the motive of your spirit and the intent of your heart, bringing circumstances designed to reveal what you cannot see within you by your response to what surrounds you. May you allow Him to complete His work in your life by the cleansing of the Word and the power of the Spirit. Proverbs 16:2

May you lay your works open to the Lord, entrusting to Him your efforts and committing to Him your deeds, and He will establish your thoughts and bring success to your plans. Proverbs 16:3

[rottytops]

i definitely think the adhd medication (successfully) rewired my brain and made me seek out long term goals over short term pleasure like i have been literally my entire life so now my current goals are to unfuck my credit to move away from my shitty roomies, get my new car and actually get into an ltr lmao

SUPRISINGLY ENOUGH 2 of these 3 goals are either in progress or very obtainable ive been saving a tunna cash and i can get a new car next month after i get my license renewed and ive found this cute little studio that i can maybe move into if i get help co-signing it, then ill just camp out there until my loans are paid off in 50000 years

the last one though.,,,,its so weird. the like. burning fervor to date someone long term kinda slugged me in the back of the head! ive always WANTED a nice relationship but it was never a PRIORITY to me bc i had video games or whatever. these new feelings made me realize ive been living my life like. entirely for myself which is FINE but my standards for myself (combined with how ADHD made me content with literally anything as long as it was easy) make me like. gutter trash tier as a partner, i think. essentially as i am now, unless the other person is equal parts deranged and shitty, im utterly unlovable which is like. tough tits i guess. but if im honest about it i can at least try to change it. part of me is conflicted; if i have to change myself to become more datable, is the person really dating me, or am i just creating a false persona to get conditional love. its a scary thought but at the same time im not really changing MYSELF past getting in shape and taking care of my skin, its more im giving up on being a dopamine addicted manchild and getting my own apartment. with my own car and stuff...these are actually just completely normal goals to have and i already wanted them i just kinda have new motivation for it lmao!

you cant just force a relationship and theres no way im attracting the hoes to me in my shitty room, so i think i need to??? go??? outside??? and hang out with ppl??? utterly mortifying but when i get my car next month i think i can actually do that. id like to make more irl friends as well, i had a bunch of friends in college so. i guess ill go to more smash locals or something but outside of that sigh sigh i have no idea.

these major revelations have all hit me in like the past 2 weeks, since i started my medication and the dosage was upped, i have a lot of work to do and not that much time to do it, really!!!! i hope i can become someone like. worth keeping around in a few months time...!!! the pieces are there i just need to like, put them together....



i could write a whole thing on how mad i am that it took me so long to get medicated and how fast i became a Normal Person after being on meds but like idk that line of thinking doesnt help anybody...!! i accomplished so much even with my debilitating ADHD and now i can do so much more with a mindset that can actually handle the shit neurotypical people expect me to be able to do, considering how im literally good at everything, combined with how ive managed to survive this long with almost no real help from irl people (seriously ive gotten more assistance from my online friends than literally anybody in my family both financially and emotionally) means that me WITH medication is gonna go absolutely insane. im going to be like ultra rich this time next year, probably LMAO....or at least have a boyfriend AURHUFG



anyway if u read this for some reason i love u and also give me ideas on going out and meeting people, i think i can hold a conversation just fine but where do people even GO. do you guys think ppl at bars or whatever know about disgaea. hmmm.

[brutal-nemesis]

Dental whump. Just had a procedure done and my mouth didn't freeze properly. I felt some of it.

Yikes that sucks my guy I hope you're okay. Idk if you wanted a drabble for that but you're getting a drabble. Also i apologize for the quality because I am ill so we're a little woozy out here

Ingredients: tooth whump/gore (wow), nonhuman/vampire whumpee, starvation mention, dehumanization, probably some medical and/or vampire inaccuracies

"Let me go, you sick fucks!" he shouted as he squirmed desperately against the guards holding him. If he wasn't fucking starving, maybe he'd actually be able to escape these humans, but as he was now, he was powerless against them, and he hated it. His bare feet scrambled against the tiled floor for purchase, but even in the little instances when he managed to find it, the relentless pull of the guards made sure any leverage he won from it was quickly snatched away.

They threw him down into the chair, managing to get his wrists and ankles strapped down despite his wild thrashing. The tight leather cut into his pale skin, and he couldn't stop straining against them even though he knew it was useless. Before he knew it a strap snaked over his heaving chest, too, and another over his forehead, yanking at the strands of his sweaty hair. By the time that sadistic bitch they were calling his handler had wandered in, he was secured to the chair, the tight straps making his limbs start to feel numb.

"Well, well, look who tried to escape again. I swear, you just can't seem to accept your current situation." She looked down at him with pity in her eyes, the same way one might look at a dog that had just gotten its head stuck in a fence.

"I don't need to accept-I don't fucking belong here, you bitch! Let me go I'm not a fucking monster-"

"Really? Then why did you bite one of the guards in your little escape attempt?"

"Because I was hungry! You feed me next to nothing-"

"No, soldier, we feed you just enough to keep you docile until you can be trained properly." She reached over and pulled another strap tight, this one over his chin, keeping his mouth shut tight. "If you're going to be useful to us someday as part of our vampire forces, you've got to learn only to bite and feed on humans when ordered to. So," she pulled on a pair of latex gloves, letting them snap against her wrists, "every time you use those fangs of yours without permission," she picked up an instrument from a nearby table, holding it where he could see, "we're going to have to confiscate them." She lowered the pliers, tapping something with her foot that caused the chair to start tilting back. "Temporarily, of course, I'm well aware that they'll grow back." He felt himself start to shake, she wasn't going do that, right? She-she wasn't going take his fangs, was she? That was barbaric, fucked up, sadistic-

A far too perfect fit for this place.

Once the chair was leaned back enough that he was practically lying down, she turned a small crank that tugged the strap over his chin down, forcing his jaws wide open, so wide it hurt. "There's those troublesome fangs of yours." She tapped one of them with the pliers, a sound he felt more than heard. He shuddered as she gripped his right one between the plier's jaws, metal scraping against his tooth as he shouted in protest. But she paid him no mind, tightening her grip as she started to pull. The pressure was almost too much, his screams of rage morphing into ones of pain as she yanked the tooth free, the agony gripping his entire face as blood, his blood, dripped down his throat. A faint tink was the last he heard from his stolen tooth, and then the pliers were in his mouth again.

He tried to shake his head, to beg, to plead, but all he could do was whine and let the tears trail down into his ears as she started pulling on his other fang. The pressure was so much more intense this time, so so much that it might just-

"Oops!"

He howled, jerking against the restraints with renewed fervor as his whole face throbbed in agony, little pieces of his shattered tooth collecting in his throat. She set aside the shard still in the pliers jaws before reaching in and gripping the jagged stump sticking halfway out of the socket. He coughed and sobbed and shook and whimpered but she paid him no mind, roughly yanking out the last remnants of tooth from his irritated gums before reaching far back, so far that he gagged, his mouth full of the taste of metal and blood and latex as she grabbed those last little pieces of his precious fang, those final shreds of his dignity going with them.

She unbuckled the straps on his face, allowing him to close his aching jaw. Her fingers gripped his chin tightly, tilting it to face her, pulling up his lip with the blood-slicked pliers. "Gods, you look ugly. I hope this lesson serves you well, young vampire. If you won't use your fangs on the military's behalf, then you don't deserve to have them."

He just closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath, feeling the cold air rush past the gaping holes where his fangs used to be. He didn't know if he'd have the strength to face that kind of punishment again.

And that was what scared him.

[lilbabychilton]

omg gurrrll I love your writing!! would it be okay to request HCs for Chilton and/or Barba with a fem s/o who has a chronic illness and her meds make her really tired and weak, so she can't work and basically is like a stay-at-home girlfriend/"housewife"? I just got diagnosed and my meds make me sleep all day lmao. Can be both SFW and NSFW if you want lol

Hello there, darling! Of course I can write this! My girlfriend has Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, so I have a bit of experience with this lmao. This is both Barba and Chilton nsfw under the cut.

Chilton-

-Honestly and truly, Frederick is more than happy to have you stay at home. Being able to provide for you, and provide for you well gives him an ego boost. He is the type to brag that his wife doesn't have to work. Knowing you’ll be there when he gets home, to great him with joy and warmth brings him a sense of comfort that he’s never felt before.

-Frederick is a doctor, and a medical one at that (though he’s not exactly good at it, he’s still got some working knowledge.) So he ensures you see the best doctors possible, are on top quality medications, and he goes to your every appointment. Though you do have to stop him from competing with your doctors. The last time you saw your GP, you swear he nearly ran the other way when he saw Frederick.

-Your frequent sleepiness doesn’t really bother our dear Frederick. I mean, don’t get me wrong, sometimes he feels disappointed when you’re sleeping and he craves attention, or would like to do something with you. But at the end of the day he’s overjoyed to just have you with him. He’ll spot you napping in bed and stop in just to hold you, or see that you’ve fallen asleep on the couch and drape a blanket over you so you don’t get too cold.

-By far is FAVORITE thing about having a housewife is when you’ll surprise him by greeting him at the door in a set of his favorite lingerie. Sometimes he gets hard just thinking about it. Knowing that your his, and you look like that gets him going. He’ll take you right in the hallway if you let him. Pinning you against the hastily closed door and kissing you with the all fervor and passion of a starved man. He’ll cum, and quickly too; but lord will he make up for it tenfold. Eating you like your sweet nectar is the only thing in this world that can quench his thirst. He’ll have you coming until your legs are shaking and you’re seeing stars.

Barba-

-Rafael Barba tries his god damnedest to make sure you’re comfortable and happy; and if that means you staying home and being his darling housewife, then so be it. He makes jokes often about how you’re his “Trophy Wife” and how one day, you’ll tire of him and leave him for your strong and handsome gardener. You always respond by reminding him that you don’t have a gardener, that you live in New York, you don’t even have a yard.

-Rafi really loves having you at home, you’re always there when he comes home from long nights at work, or really rough cases. One phone call away when he needs to hear your voice. You are his calm in the middle of the storm that is his life. Always there to center him again, and renew his sense of balance. More than once he’s told you that if it weren’t for you he wouldn’t win nearly as many cases as he does, and it’s true. Without you, he wouldn’t have a sharp sense of clarity, or as hearty a moral compass.

-Our soft lawyer boy always makes sure that you take your meds, and take them on time. He even set a timer on your phone, and has a text scheduled to send to you every day at the same time. 15 minutes later than the alarm that you undoubtedly shut off.

-He doesn’t mind that you’re sleepy at all. Most of the time you’re napping he’s at work anyway, so he doesn’t see it too much. But it does give him some much needed cuddle time on the weekends. God Rafael would hold you forever if you let him. It doesn’t matter if you’re sleeping, hell he’ll sleep with you. His favorite is when you fall asleep with your head on his lap as he’s reading some boring old law book, then he can run his fingers over your soft features and truly admire your beauty.

-Sometimes, to tease him, you’ll send him semi nude pictures while hes at work. Usually in the bra that makes your tits look ethereal, and one of his favorite shirts. The pictures always come along with teasing texts about what you’re doing to yourself or what you want to do to him. Rafael curses, in spanish, every time. And every time, without fail, he comes home on his lunch break and absolutely fucking rails you on the couch. Your legs over his shoulders and panties pulled to the side, he makes sure you cum three times before he even thinks about coming. He’s not leaving that house until you’re fucked drunk and cockdumb.

[baddcop]

❝ how was i supposed to know there would be consequences for my actions? ❞

prompt. ( a )

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝     𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭     𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬     𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠     𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦     𝐡𝐢𝐬     𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞,     paired     along     with     the     signature     crossed     arms     o'er     wide     chest     and     the     sarcastic     nod     of     his     head.     some     ill     fated     laughter     lives     in     his     lungs,     short     and     cynical.     the     paled,     tired     gazed     of     the     detective     steeled     in     a     way     not     shown     prior.     because     now     he     was     working,     because     now     she     was     part     of     what     was     keeping     him     from     figuring     out     what     the     fuck     was     going     on     with     the     androids     in     detroit.           𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞     𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫     𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭     𝐚     𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭     𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭     𝐡𝐨𝐰     𝐟𝐚𝐫     𝐡��𝐬     𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐫     𝐡𝐚𝐝     𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧.      to     fail     at     such     a     task     when     it'd     taken     him     half     a     week     and     some     shakedowns     to     get     here.     in     this     interrogation     room,     staring     down     like     a     dog     on     a     hunt     at     someone     he     might've     called     his     friend     just     a     few     days     ago.     there's     a     sneer     that     flickers     across     his     lips     as     he     sinks     teeth     into     his     bottom     one     a     moment     and     lets     his    gaze     sink     in.     there     were     rules     to     this     whole     " detective "     thing,     after     all.     he     couldn't     rough     up     just     any     perp     and     get     off     scot-free.     although     he     would     like     to,     certainly.           ❛     right,     --     ❜          𝐚     𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥     𝐨𝐟     𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠     𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜,      ‘fore     he     momentarily     draws     attention     away     and     towards     the     two-way     mirror.     his     reflection     repulsive,     the     exhaustion     worn     heavy     onto     his     features     and     all     the     footwork     he'd     done,     but     he     wasn't     about     to     be     outdone     by     a     piece     of     plastic.     ego     bubbling     at     the     thought,     he     returns     his     gaze     to     her     with     renewed     fervor.

          ❛     n'jus     where     th'fuck     did     you     think     all     this     was     goin'?     ❜          𝐢𝐭’𝐬     𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝,     the     question.     trace     hints     of     soured     softness     and     a     feeling     of     betrayal.     expression     only     as     cold     as     ever     when     he     was     working,     cruel     and     bitter.

[drops-of-moonlights]

*ryo feat. Hatsune Miku’s MELT plays softly in the background*

HAPPY EARLY VALENTINE’S DAY I DIDN’T THINK I WOULD HAVE FINISHED ALL OF THESE IN JUST A DAY. Feat. a messier artstyle for once since I wanted to try some other stuff. Back on topic, these would all be the couples in the AU! Feat. their team-up attacks on each pic rather than ship names, because. Why not. More on how each couple got together below!:

(Oh, also, this whole collection kind of had a beach outing theme! if anyone was wondering why everyone was in tank tops lol. Most Valentine's Day art that's seasonally themed it's on winter, but since Valentine's on summer down here I wanted this set to reflect that.)

ORIGINAL CANON COUPLES

Brandon and Stella: Pretty close to canon, except for one thing: Stella knows from the start he’s not a prince. Solaria and Eraklyon have pretty close ties, and Stella was at one point considered to be engaged to Sky when they were younger, though Radius and Luna inmediately turned the offer down. They’ve been lowkey dating for two years or so before S1, but had to drop it in public when entering Alfea and Red Fountain as to not cause suspicions. They kinda suck at hiding the affection, so they kinda flirt every time they meet regardless, even when they pretend they totally weren’t just flirting haha shut up Timmy. Once the reveal is done to the rest of the system they lay down for a bit, what with having to deal with the fallout of that day since both Sky and Bloom kinda shut themselves in. They decide to fully start dating right before the final battle of S1 once the war is over, and so they do. They do have some issues with how they tend to take the other for granted, but they’re blessed with the power of communication so they tend to make up pretty quickly.

Tecna and Timmy: Also pretty close to canon. Tecna’s the one that aks Timmy out during the middle of the S1 war, kinda throwing it out there just in case they survive. Timmy does agree, but it was kind of a spur on the moment situation and they lowkey can’t deal. Or rather, Timmy can’t deal - Tecna’s has had a couple partners before so she knows how awkward everything is at the start, but Timmy’s kinda flying blind, which leads to some setbacks alongside S2 - mostly Timmy accidentally ghosting Tecna and Tecna not wanting to confront him. They do work out their issues as the season progresses however, and by S3 they’re the most stable couple of the entire group.

Flora and Helia: Flora and Helia knew each other as kids, and were in a friend trio alongside Krystal (then known to them as Rosa to avoid being caught), but Helia moved shortly after and they lost contact. They do recognize each other and try their best to catch up, but Helia’s kinda too focused on his art career (and also, y’know. making enough money to survive), which puts a hamper in Flora’s budding feelings for him. They do manage to snag a few cafe outings, however, and Flora decides to finally stop dancing around the subject and straight up ask Helia out during the stay at the Wildlands, which he accepts. They start dating shortly afterwards, and while they do face some issues (mostly with Flora’s somewhat overbearing caring and protective nature and Helia’s tendency to ignore everything around him), they keep steady and secure.

AU COUPLES

Sky and Riven: They have a rivalry for most of S1, but it’s more thanks to Riven’s standoffish attitude and Sky matching his stubborness that leads them to clash. Riven does tend to ignore Sky, but that’s because he doesn’t want to risk exploding on him and having to be relocated to another team, which only raises Sky’s curiosity more. Riven doesn’t date Darcy on the AU, but he does become close friends with her, which she milks for all its worth, alongside the fact people don’t know she’s part of the Trix in my AU until the nightmare attack. Riven considered her a great friend and the revelation she’s one of the witches that has been making his and his new friends’ lives hell shakes him quite a bit. After that it’s closer to canon - he goes to confront her and ends up trapped. Sky spends the rest of the arc worried sick for him and instinctively runs to hug him (which surprises him), but he’s beat by Stella, happy her oldest friend is still alive. They start to hang out more in S2, and start thinking of each other differently though they don’t realize it yet. Brandon and Stella can read them like an open book though, so they start subtly nudging them together without rushing them, knowing how Sky is kinda awkward about romance and Riven’s a stubborn dude. This carries over to S3, when after the attack on Eraklyon by Valtor and Sky’s sudden possesion makes Riven realize he’s in love with him by how crushed he feels hearing Sky give the speech about marrying Diaspro after al. (Sky is possesed here by Valtor himself disguised as a servant, rather than being poisoned by Diaspro, and to keep this cover he also makes Sky kidnap her). After Stella manages to remove Valtor’s mark from him, he gets seriously ill and stays in Eraklyon to recover, and Riven decides to stay with him to nurse him back to good health. It’s thanks to Riven’s care that Sky realizes he’s also in love with him, but they don’t confess to each other until that danceclub trip later in the season, during the middle of a dance because I’m a sappy fuck. They do have to tackle some communication issues from time to time but my Riven has the unique power of Having A Therapist, so they tend to resolve them peacefully though it takes a bit.

Aisha and Musa: do I even need to explain this one? We all saw S2. Anyways, Musa and Aisha strike a friendship during S1 thanks to their love of music and dance, and start hanging out on the regular alone. Musa was crushing on her from the second she saw her, but kinda dismissed her feelings until they knew each other better, until she started falling in love for real near the end of S1. Aisha takes longer to reach that same point, however. After escaping Shadowhaunt she lowkey clings to Musa for support, and she’s the first one she speaks with when her nightmares come back. Their lowkey date on Earth starts to give shape to Aisha’s feelings finding herself crushing back, and during the trip to the Wildlands she realizes she fell in love when her first thoughts after getting lost were all about Musa, and only her. Aisha takes the first step and asks Musa out during the interlude between S2 and S3, and start a relationship fully during S3.

Bloom and Diaspro: they don’t get the best of starts, what with Bloom’s paranoic ass attacking Dia and all. Bloom feels horrible about the event once the reveal is done, and kinda ignores both Dia and Sky for the longest time until she feels she can talk to Sky and apologize to Diaspro fully. Diaspro stays on Magix during the attack of the Trix (though rather than trying to go fetch Sky she had gone to Alfea to speak with Bloom personally), but they don’t get a chance to properly speak about anything with a war on their hands. They do get a small talk right before Sky and Bloom leave for Cloud Tower, but that one basically amounted to “we all kinda fucked up, let’s be friends regardless” and it didn’t went deeper than that. During the interlude between S1 and S2, Bloom goes with Sky, Stella and Diaspro to Domino once more to find a way to release Daphne from the mirror she’s trapped in (and how to get to the mirror in the first place), and after getting separated from the rest Bloom and Diaspro finally get the chance to properly talk about what happened. Bloom apologizes for what she did, Diaspro apologizes for how she treated her as well (since she did badmouth her in public in a bad attempt to save face), and with the promise to be friends and Diaspro getting her Glamourix, they manage to get closer. It doesn’t develop into love until well into S2, after Diaspro enrolls in Alfea and she and Bloom get even closer. Diaspro starts to realize she’s falling in love with Bloom shortly before the Shadow Bloom shenanigans, but keeps it hidden for a bit as to not dump one more thing for Bloom to worry about. Bloom on her part did develop a crush on Diaspro, but she feels it’s more akin to her minor crushes on Sky and Stella since she has a thing for blondes, so she doesn’t think much of it until the S2 finale, when Diaspro actively taking a blast from her crazed self to snap her out of the spell hits her heart hard, inmediately being filled with regret and sadness and undoing her transformation, the negative emotions overwhelming the fabricated euphoria. Dia earns her Enchantix thanks to this act and survives, however, and with renewed fervor she manages to destroy Darkar with the rest. During the interlude between seasons she starts thinking her feelings for Diaspro, wondering if she’s truly falling in love with her of if it’s just because she saved her life. It’s when Diaspro gets kidnapped on Eraklyon thanks to the possessed Sky that she realizes that she does love her, but she doesn’t get to confess her feelings at that point. It’s during the trip to Omega in search of Tecna, when in a moment where they though they might die, that Bloom confesses her emotions. Diaspro does the same, and they hug awaiting serious damage from a falling stalactite (as both of their legs were stuck on a small crevice) and being saved by Tecna at that very moment. They start properly dating after that adventure.

[aconitemare]

[jaydick] Jason Eyre

AO3

Summary: 

"As the late Master Wayne’s only natural son, Wayne Manor’s fate rests on his cultivation. Refining him will be no small feat, but you will be amply rewarded by our employer. Master Richard is a good man with a code that favors fairness and compassion,” Mr. Pennyworth said.

Jason doubted the veracity of a statement that attributed compassion to a man who abandoned a child at its most vulnerable, but he kept this thought to himself for the sake of propriety.

The air that wove through the busy streets of downtown Gotham was incontrovertibly disparate from the fresh, crisp air that filled the lungs of residents comfortably situated in Gotham Manor. Fortunately, for his constitution if not for his pleasant memories, Jason Todd was quite accustomed to the fashion in which city air — soiled by factory smoke and filthy public walkways — curled around one’s nose and tainted the senses. If Jason could not delight in Gotham’s urban ambiance, he could at least tolerate its more lurid details in the same way a visiting son could tolerate his family’s idiosyncrasies better than might his accompanying fiancée.

Some few but productive months had passed since Jason first took residence in Gotham Manor as Damian Wayne’s tutor. Jason had been blessed, he felt, with a particularly brilliant (albeit wickedly inclined) pupil. Following Jason’s official introduction to Damian, he began educating the boy at an unrelenting pace, sympathetic to neither Damian’s precocious reasoning abilities against his own cultivation, nor discouraged by his infernal tantrums. Alfred Pennyworth, the Manor’s upstanding housekeeper and overseer, enumerated to Jason with refreshing honesty all the tutors young Master Damian had driven mad to the point of self-termination. Jason, not one to be intimidated, acknowledged such a temperament as a stroke of divine luck: surely, had not the privileged youth had a better disposition, Jason would not have obtained such hasty employment at this sophisticated of an estate.

As it was, Jason had had a quieting effect on Damian unprecedented by the adults in his short life. Young Master Damian had always had the Devil in him, claimed Mr. Pennyworth, but his behavior had worsened following the deaths of his parents. Richard Grayson, inheritor of both the Manor and the son, had likely been Damian’s sole companion during the late Bruce Wayne’s life. But tragedy had made Mr. Grayson’s presence sparse. Mr. Pennyworth, unwittingly echoing Jason’s internal belief in timely providence, remarked upon the lucky appearance of Jason’s ad in the local newspaper. Mr. Grayson, on the occasions he was home, would not heed talk of sending Damian to boarding school; nonetheless, the wayward youth was wearing on everyone’s nerves.

That fateful day marking Jason’s arrival at his new home, Mr. Pennyworth had invited him to tea with more warmth than courtesy considering it was midnight when Jason’s coach finally pulled up the drive. Jason, grateful for any reception at all, accepted the aged man’s hospitality. As Mr. Pennyworth raised his cup from its porcelain plate, a shadow fell over his eyes. “I must warn you, Mr. Todd, that although Wayne Manor has the potential for joy, it has been a somber place of late, possessing a subdued atmosphere interrupted only by turbulence and tragedy. I neither wish to scare you off nor keep you in the dark regarding Master Richard’s expectations. We hope that you will help Damian Wayne regain his composure and guarantee him a future as a sensible gentleman. As the late Master Wayne’s only natural son, Wayne Manor’s fate rests on his cultivation. Refining him will be no small feat, but you will be amply rewarded by our employer. Master Richard is a good man with a code that favors fairness and compassion.”

Jason doubted the veracity of a statement that attributed compassion to a man who abandoned a child at its most vulnerable, but he kept this thought to himself for the sake of propriety. Knowing very little of Damian’s circumstances, Jason nevertheless supposed they were similar to his own. His heart thus rallied for Damian’s eventual success after the condemnation of adults who saw wickedness in a child where there was actually desperation.

And so, Jason devoted himself to Damian’s enrichment. Jason was reluctant to share the greater consensus on his pupil, yet even he had to admit in the privacy of his secret thoughts that the challenges posed by Damian were unprecedented in the whole of Jason’s career as a tutor. He was headstrong as Jason had been in his boyhood, but carried a mean streak that would keep Jason awake in his bed after the sun had melted into the land and blackened the sky. Once, during a session wherein Damian refused to speak English, spitting his rebuttals in several languages until he landed upon one Jason could not effectively communicate in. When Jason went to rap Damian’s hands, the feral child revealed a tiny blade and darted forward. Jason had stumbled backward, palms clutching his wound while Damian escaped his lessons.

The boy clearly had not predicted that Jason would return an hour later, sufficiently bandaged, to renew their studies as if no such incident had ever occurred. Foiled, Damian sat at his desk sulking but cooperative for the time being. Later that night, lying in bed and watching the ceiling, Jason reflected upon his original guardian and his loathsome headmaster. Jason had long dismissed their criticisms as shoddy excuses meant to absolve themselves of their responsibility in nourishing Jason’s antipathy. Had those adults, cast in villainy by Jason’s involuntary passions, been correct all along in their beliefs that children can be born evil? Or was Damian’s mean streak a testament to how rapidly adult carelessness can erode away a child’s empathy until there is a trench of darkness in their malleable souls?

Was Jason’s student, the young Damian Wayne, the legacy left behind by the former master of Wayne Manor — ? And — if so — could the new master, Mr. Grayson, be equally vicious from years spent in Mr. Wayne’s care?

Time would soon provide Jason with answers, as Mr. Pennyworth announced to household staff that a letter had come in signaling Mr. Grayson’s homeward travels. Cassandra Cain, Damian’s nanny, broke the news to her charge shortly after and the boy was in the highest spirits Jason had ever witnessed him in. All day, he pranced around the Manor, ordering the staff around with puffed chest because he insisted that everything be perfect for Grayson’s return.

The next day, Cassandra urged Jason to excuse Damian from his studies and allow him a vacation. Jason initially snorted a laugh at the preposterous suggestion of a child as privileged and coddled as Damian might need a vacation. Cassandra did not seem pleased by this response, although Jason struggled to discern emotions any which way from her stoic face. Cassandra was a pretty woman, perhaps a few years younger than Jason in physique but certainly not in wisdom. She carried herself like Jason imagined a lady might, despite what he conjectured to be her humble origins. She had fine black hair which she kept unfashionably short. The stark length, however, did accentuate her high cheekbones in a way that was almost becoming. Her dark eyes bore an intensity that had unsettled Jason his first week at the Manor until he grew to accept what was simply Cassandra’s manner.

“I disagree, with all due respect, with the belief that Damian does not require a vacation on the grounds that he is in possession of a wealth which, at his age, he has no concept of or real claim to,” Cassandra argued placidly. Jason was beginning to realize that Cassandra was not deficient in passion like he had originally surmised from her reticence. Instead, Cassandra possessed a nature akin to that quiet flame, as may spill from a neglected candle, that does not need to crackle or roar like a forest fire to conquer its surroundings with equal fervor. “Nevertheless,” she continued, “if you object to a vacation for his sake, you should still consider one for yours. I have no doubt Damian tires you more than you tire him.”

Jason was therefore convinced to afford himself and Damian a brief reprieve, if not for either of their sakes, then at least for Cassandra’s. He did not plan ahead for his first full day of vacation, figuring that, having been deprived of a day off his whole life, he would appreciate a morning empty of obligation. He had assumed wrongly, however, for within an hour of waking he was listless and impatient to relieve himself of relief’s ill effects. He dressed himself and hurried out the door, having surveyed the household staff about any possible items he could pick up for them while out in the city.

Timothy Drake, whose duties Jason was unclear on, was the last one to be inquired. Drake cut a trim figure in attire that was always finer than Jason felt was required for any job at Wayne Manor. The two rarely spoke or even happened upon each other, for Tim preferred to keep to the many shadows that cloaked Wayne Manor. Sometimes Jason would turn a corner and there Tim would be, exiting a room and closing the door before Jason could peek inside. Tim was always polite but the politeness felt thin as the threads that dangled off Jason’s cuff sleeves. Jason did not care for the airs that Tim appeared to put on during their interactions. He had made the mistake once of mentioning to Mr. Pennyworth his wariness of Tim — Mr. Pennyworth, lips suddenly pinched, said only that Mr. Drake was a fine young man well-respected by Master Richard. Jason had since deterred himself from developing loose lips.

Upon Jason offering to heed shopping requests, Tim regarded him with a strange, perhaps suspicious, look. He delicately took the paper list from Jason’s hands and scrutinized the items before finally saying, “That’s very courteous of you, Jason. Thank you.”

Jason took the list back with less delicacy. Tim made him uneasy. “Of course,” he said without the certainty his words might have otherwise indicated. He felt not only that he was asking a question, but that Tim knew what that question was and did not want to answer. “Uh, did you want anything then?”

Tim’s eyes abruptly met Jason’s. Jason had not even noticed Tim was not looking him in the eye previously. “A hairbrush — a fine one, if you can, as might be fit for a lady. And strawberries, too, for one should always indulge in the summer treats, or so I am told.” Tim smiled tightly, and because Jason could not fathom an event that could have distressed him, Jason had no choice but to infer that tension was a fixed trait of the odd fellow. Tim instructed Jason to follow him to his quarters, as Jason did. Tim rummaged through a drawer while Jason lingered by the threshold, intrigued to peer into the bedroom and divulge some discovery into Tim’s life, but not wholly willing to step inside and risk establishing a foundation for future familiarity between them.

When Tim returned to the door, he deposited a heavy purse into Jason’s palm. “That should be enough to cover everyone’s expenses and afford you some spontaneity in the market. I hear Damian is free from his lessons for a week. Cassandra will then bear the brunt of his animosity and hysterics.” Tim then shoved his hands into his pants pockets, a relaxed gesture Jason could not have predicted. But then, Jason did not know Timothy Drake enough to assume he might be anxious, did he? “I believe congratulations are in order,” said Tim.

“He’s a good kid,” replied Jason somewhat stiffly. He did not know what to make of the quiet insult that Jason might spend Tim’s coin, nor of the implication that such a ludicrous amount of coin was so inconsequential to a servant.

Tim scoffed and shook his head minutely, although this all seemed to be in good humor. “No, he is not. But you are admirable for pretending otherwise.”

Jason did not wish to discuss his pupil with anyone biased against Damian (although Tim could not be faulted in this area, for he was by no means in the minority holding that sentiment). Jason did not much like Damian, either, but he felt that he had earned his distaste unlike others at Wayne Manor. “Do you regularly pay for the whims and fancies of the staff here?” he asked instead.

Tim raised a thin, black eyebrow. He was a slender man and barely measured to Jason’s shoulders. His ebony hair was longer than Cassandra’s and parted messily in the center of his large, alabaster forehead. “Why do you ask? Would you like my generosity to become habitual?”

Jason could feel his anger rush in with the blood collecting at his throat. He stepped forward, relishing Tim’s immediate change in posture from relaxed to defensive. “The opposite, as a matter of fact. Perhaps you like to flaunt your comparable wealth to elevate yourself above your servile status — very well. It is in your best interests, I must warn you, however, to be less smug around me.” Imparting this, Jason took a step back. Tim remained with erect spine against the wall. “Unless you can assure me that the others let you pay for them, you can have your coin back,” finished Jason.

Tim nodded curtly. “They do. We have all known each other for some time now and are not offended by such trifles. Pay for yourself, if you like — I only meant it as a favor.”

Jason released his jaw from the harsh grind he had set his teeth into. “Very well,” he repeated, and walked off with Tim’s coin. As he navigated the grand halls and winding staircases of Wayne Manor, his thoughts circled the interaction like corvids circling what might be treasure. Tim’s bedroom was not near the servant quarters; although it was on the top floor, it had been on the opposite side of the mansion. Tim’s obvious preference for privacy warranted such exclusion, yet what could be the master’s justification for indulging Tim? Furthermore, how did Tim accumulate enough money to cover everyone’s shopping without the slightest reluctance to part with that wealth?

And why would he request a lady’s hairbrush? Certainly Tim had a lady in mind, but would he not prefer to pick out his gifts? Jason decided his lady friend was worth looking into, simply to inform her of Jason’s aid in their courtship.

Jason was contemplating how he might go about his research when he heard laughter peel through the vacant, spacious halls of the servants quarters. The laugh lacked genuine joy, or so Jason believed, and as such the soft hairs on the back of his neck did raise. His eye became keen as he tried to resume his walk with feigned nonchalance, glancing curiously but furtively at every door he passed, hoping to catch a shadow that might reveal a source. He sifted through his memories for the voices of each hand at Wayne Manor, as if he could match the laugh to its proper owner, but by the time he reached the door outside the laugh had almost completely faded in its impression like all echoes eventually do.

Jason had chosen to exit the grand residence through the great double doors that greeted guests, including himself that first night of his arrival. He noticed most of Mr. Grayson’s keep came through one of the many entrances to the side or behind the building. Such subtlety, Jason presumed, spawned from a set of formalities that — while not mandated at a place with sparse guests to happen upon distasteful staff — held a degree of precedence among Jason’s associates. Jason did not share their preference for modest concealment; his days as a student at the asylum, Lowood, taught him the bare essentials only of being an orphan: the teachers instructed self-effacement as a survival strategy, to avoid accidentally rising above one’s rank and offending those of higher blood. Jason memorized society’s expectations of him, of all unfortunate orphans, without internalizing them. He refrained from upsetting decorum when refraining benefited him; when his humility was tested, however, during extended exposure to the hypocrites of Polite Society, his practiced humility shed quickly and betrayed the well regard he held for himself internally.

Considering, then, Jason’s true disposition, his preference for finer things could elude no one. Jason utilized all resources within his sphere; his wealth could not afford him Tim’s affluent dress, but Jason planned to dedicate his first paycheck to a wardrobe that separated him from the plain garb that marked his years at Lowood. Furthermore, he was guilty of using Mr. Grayson’s reserved tea cups and silverware when serving himself. He discovered that bread was fluffier and butter creamer when distributed from a silver knife with ornate handle.

Wayne Manor’s foyer was of dark woods and exaggerated architecture that gave guests the impression of both opulence and oppression. The door itself, with its golden handles and carved detail, stood at the forefront like the master of the room. Jason paused before this earthen deity, this dancestor of some ancient and powerful walnut tree, and the final driftwood of that earlier laugh carried away as on a downstream river. What would it be like, he asked himself, to recognize this mighty master as another tool, no more or less elevated than Alfred Pennyworth or Cassandra Cain? The door permits entry to the house, and Mr. Grayson permits entry through the door. If Jason were to carry his musings farther back — he could fancy himself as Bruce Wayne, the estate’s original proprietor. Jason imagined himself not standing before the door, in plain clothes, carrying a collection of others’ coins, but wearing a gentleman’s suit as he spoke to a lowly worker about how he wanted thorny roses and chain-like patterns etched into this extravagant door. He would have had the time and the means to waste away on whims.

With a deep breath, Jason placed his hand — smooth from years in academia, interrupted by a few scars he weathered as a farmhand to the Woosan family — over the brilliant golden handle and pulled it open. Before him lay a manicured lawn, cultivated presumably for the Eyes of God alone since there was faintly ever a visitor in sight. The sky was a bruised blue that foretold rain, but not a drop soon enough to curtail Jason’s plans. He enjoyed the fresh air of Crest Hill until its boundaries eventually gave way to the plaza and its more condensed atmosphere. He paced his shopping so as to maximize his diversion and savor the day. Only once the clouds amassed over the heads of village shoppers, their gray bellies swelling with rain, did Jason conclude his meandering.

So begins our tale, dear reader, of Jason Todd, Mr. Grayson’s formidable tutor to the young Damian Wayne. At twilight a storm threatened the dry heads of everyone caught too long outdoors, and Jason braved the fearsome gales bending the branches of trees as he marched to Wayne Manor. He was nearly returned when tumultuous sounds — those of heavy thudding and barking, more or less animalistic, though wind and distance obscured the finer details — beckoned him to turn around. Behind him, a phantom had appeared up the road. In its quick approach, the phantom soon divulged its true form: a brown mare with a single rider charging at full speed towards Jason.

Ripe green leaves broke free and swirled across this tableau, catching the attention of the rider’s canine companion. Jason watched, transfixed, as the dog darted after a leaf and startled the mare. The beast threw itself back, front legs kicking the air. The rider was dislodged in the tumult some yards from where Jason still stood. He had barely registered the scene when two powerful paws slammed against his stomach, the shock of which caused him to stumble two steps backwards. The hound pawed anxiously at Jason, its tail in a flurry, and Jason flattered himself to think the animal might follow him home. Alas, the endearing creature pushed itself off Jason in the next second, pausing briefly only to ensure Jason would follow towards its fallen master. Experiencing the warmth only a loyal dog can heat in one’s chest, Jason jogged towards the rider.

At that precise moment, the gray clouds released from their cradle a full-body rain that drenched the involved parties instantly. The guilty horse, now nosing the rider with its snout, would have been totally obscured by a watery cowl to anyone of further distance.

The hound wove between Jason’s legs, nearly tripping him, and Jason had to prod him out of the way with his boot. “Titus, you ass!” the rider cursed as he pushed himself up with his arms. Jason glanced in amusement at the dog who now sat between the two men and stared intently at its master.

Jason leaned forward and offered the rider his arm. “Are you alright?” he asked, but even to his own ears the question was drowned out by the wailing weather. “Are you alright?” he shouted.

The rider clasped Jason’s arms with both hands. He slowly stood, his head ducked, yet ‘ere he reached his full stature when he faltered. His grip on Jason tightened and he slumped against his shoulder. Jason saw the rider’s mouth open and accordingly bent down so that his ear was level. “My apologies,” shouted the rider, “for I fear — ankle — bother you — please.” Even beside his mouth, Jason could only catch pieces of the man’s garbled speech. Hearing him correctly proved as easy as snatching a single leaf from the chaotic sweep of wind.

Jason inspected the rider’s body. Rain spilled over the man’s long, raven hair to perch over the bit of nose Jason could see. The fabric of his clothes sagged with the moisture they trapped, lending him a disheveled appearance — although Jason doubted his visage was any more pleasing to the eye. The rider’s pants clung to his legs, which were tucked into a pair of expensive-looking boots. One of those boots did not plant itself firmly to the ground, but instead curved inward, burdening the other half of the man’s body with his weight. “You are injured?” Jason inquired.

The rider turned more fully towards him, palms on either of Jason’s arms. He lifted his head and Jason observed the fine, high cheekbones, the ample lips, and the slight bent in the nose that on a less comely face might have been detracting, but on the rider’s only provided a certain uniqueness to his present beauty. Most bewitching, of course, were the eyes that brightened lovely dark skin like unearthed sapphires. “Please, if you could just help me onto my horse, I will show my gratitude with a ride to your destination before mine,” requested the rider.

Jason did not trouble himself with an audible response; he supported the man with an arm by his waist and a sturdy shoulder. He helped the rider balance enough to slip his limp foot into the stir-up. The rider properly mounted on his steed, Jason stepped away only for the man to seize his bicep. “Now where are you off to?” asked the rider. A grin struck his face at the same time that a bolt of lightning raked across the sky. “I believe I offered you a ride.”

Atop the mare, Jason could better discern the stranger’s other features. Aside from his singularly attractive mien, the man’s clothes — however soaked through — were indeed fine, and even upon sustaining injury his gait was that of a true gentleman’s. His implied status, paired with a smile so transparently intended to disarm, placed Jason on his guard. Jason had learned from young childhood not to trust those with any power, and what were fine clothes but a display of one’s accrued power?

Jason stepped out of the man’s touch. “No debt here, sir,” he replied with an uptilt of his chin, “you may be on your way.”

“Nonsense,” the man quickly dismissed. “That path continues for two miles; doubtless we are headed the same direction, and however much time I might delay my own destination by is certainly eclipsed by how much you delay yourself by merely walking.”

Jason was tempted to decline when another peel of lightning lit up the sky brilliantly. The man on the dark mare jerked his head upwards, his lips parting in awe as night became day and then night again within seconds. Jason, so focused on the man’s illuminated and open awe, jumped, forcibly torn from his preoccupation by another bolt of lightning. The second bolt did not light the sky; rather, it snaked to the earth like the primordial serpent and laid ruin to a nearby tree. A horrible, preternatural and electric noise accompanied the tearing sound of an ancient trunk, not wholly unlike what Jason envisioned the tearing of human flesh — or the flesh of anything alive — might sound like. Half of the tree fell to the ground across their path. Jason’s heart was disquieted.

The rider leaned as close to Jason as he could manage with his uncooperative leg. When the tree had fallen, Jason felt he could not wrench his eyes away — yet he could sense the man’s nearness, could sense his searching, and Jason instinctively turned his face as he knew the man wanted him to. He had been disarmed.

“You’re not planning to share that tree’s fate, are you?” said the man, still smiling, though his grin had lessened to a smirk which felt distinctly more smug than magnanimous. It was as if the man had ordered the tree’s destruction from the Heavens himself.

“Not especially,” Jason admitted.

“Then up you go; with haste.” The man once again seized Jason’s arm with surprising strength for an ostensible aristocrat. Jason considered asking the man to abandon the stir-up temporarily, to allow purchase, but abandoned the idea in favor of jumping and then clambering over the horse’s rear — a far more efficient if less elegant strategy. The whole while, the man watched with pursed mouth and quirked brow. The horse, calm despite the weather, chuffed and shook its braided mane.

Jason looked down at the man’s hound. “How will he fair in this weather?” he questioned. “Seems improbable for me to get there with both feet, and he’s got four.”

The man twisted around before realizing where Jason’s focus was. “Oh, Titus?” said the man. “He’s been in worse. Or perhaps he has not, but he will have to bear this regardless. And once he has, I can then say he has been through worse. A worthy challenge and reward, eh, boy?” He addressed this final part to Titus, his voice not softening like most humans with their beloved pets, but nonetheless taking on a tone that struck Jason as slightly more juvenile and idiotic.

Titus gazed at his master and Jason with enviable stoicism.

The man grabbed the reins. Jason considered his waist for a moment until the man cried a rally and Jason had no moment further to deliberate. He clutched the stranger’s waist as the horse lurched forward, Titus aiming to keep pace.

“Where to, chap? — Never mind that, provide the directions as we go.”

The mare cleared the fallen tree easily, kicking out its hooves and using its powerful haunches to suspend them into the air: for a glorious moment that began and ended in reality — yet continued, between those points of concrete action, as if eternally within his mind — Jason experienced flight, however ephemeral and however wingless, as he had dreamt an angel or a bird might. When the horse landed, and Jason was tragically reunited with dirt and ground, he remembered the days before the asylum, ones spent with Lady Woosan and her impressive brood, as Jason trained and toiled in alteration beneath a hot sun that bore over him like the watchful, burning eye of a prison guardsman. Jason would have traded all the sunny days of his childhood for this one gloomy leap.

The harsh elements rendered conversation nearly impossible. The rider seemed unaware of this, however, and although Jason heard little of what he said unless he took the care to shout, he could discern that the man was moving his mouth regularly and, on the occasion, smiling. This attempt at friendliness, so willfully blind to why there could be none, irritated more than charmed Jason. Could the rider not hear the wind over his own verbiage? Was he talking to himself and, if so, did he find himself a more suitable companion than the passenger he pretended could hear him? Jason wanted to inform the rider of his speech’s futility, yet even that would be useless in the storm’s onslaught. He, instead, settled into a resigned silence that apparently satisfied the garrulous rider as well as if Jason had talked at all. Jason supposed the rider was favor enough; if this stranger liked employing Jason as an idea of a person, an idea of a conversational partner, then Jason should happily oblige considering it took no work on his part.

Their travels continued in that fashion as Jason instructed the rider as to which turns to steer his mare towards. At the last turn which would take them to the isolated, meandering road to Wayne Manor, the rider twisted his head to assess Jason with a furrowed brow that Jason thought made him unfairly handsome, as it is an unfairly privileged few whose features can be enhanced by distress. “Perhaps he recognizes the road and knows it will be a long journey,” Jason mused inwardly. “Or,” he thought with imp-like relish, “Wayne Manor houses an old enemy, as rich folk do like to war amongst each other, don’t they?”

Wayne Manor finally crowned over the sloping hills when the downpour intensified. The rider’s thick, shaggy hair blew into Jason’s face so that did get a mouthful. He ripped his head away and glanced over the rider’s shoulder to see a branch separate from its tree and fly over their heads. Beside them, Titus began barking fiercely at the unknown enemy and their horse released a cry that the rider hastened to soothe with niceties carried away by the wind and a stroking hand on the beast’s neck.

“Is this your residence?” the rider yelled.

“Yes!”

The rider nodded, declaring, “Then onwards!” Jason imagined him wearing a somber, determined frown to match the storm — then he revised the picture to match the man, so that he saw in his mind the rider sporting a gallant grin and sparkling eye. The horse pushed through the hail of cold, sharp rain that assaulted them like rocks flung from an aerial mob. The wind wailed with renewed anger as the rain pulsed against their bodies until the storm seemed as living and breathing a thing as they were. The full appearance of Wayne Manor, with its gargoyled terraces and grandiose entryway, must have reinvigorated the rider and his animal aids for it seemed that with a climatic thrust they pushed through the final bout of rain to land beneath a suddenly clear sky.

[eligos-venator]

Do you enjoy putting your muse through angst? What do you think would break their heart the most?

I have no idea. Eligos was built in a way that his mind processes things a bit differently from those around him. While this ensures that he always is able to act in a way to keep things interesting, it also means he’s already far beyond the event horizon of the last fuck he had to give about morality and other quandaries that normally give others pause. This means he’s ill-suited to be put through angst as his normal reaction to such is a mere shrug and carrying on regardless, or in some cases, with renewed fervor merely to make a point. The few times he’s dared venture out of his shell and try to speak of some of his issues, he was told in no uncertain terms that he was better off keeping them to himself, and so since those times he’s taken it upon himself to never speak of anything that might bother him that could potentially develop into angst.

In effect, people he’s met have nipped it in the bud the moment he started to feel secure, and so that’s effectively been sealed off. If he may speak of himself again in full honesty, I have no idea, but right now he’s doubled down on relying on the usual pile of crap he uses as a front to hide issues from people and presenting himself as capable and focused purely on business. For better or worse, he's unwilling to repeat mistakes, and views ever even thinking of being honest with himself and others as one now.

As for breaking Eligos’s heart.. Probably Ibri dying. Yes, there’s people he’s somewhat attached to, but he’s lived his life knowing people are quick to backstab, betray, and sell each other out, and was taught that that’s the way of the world and how you get ahead. He likes some people, but he learned to separate himself from any such emotional attachment quickly should anything happen or circumstances in regards to others change. Ibri, however, is the first pet he’s ever had, and the first and only animal that actually likes him and liked him from the start, even if that was mostly due to the imprinting that happened when her egg hatched and he was the first thing she laid eyes upon. While she does injure him on occasion and has a massive attitude issue, she’s family, dear and irreplaceable, and unlike in regards to the people he considers near family, he’s not learned how to let go of the loss of a life that he was supposed to care for yet.

Thank you for the ask @zinniane!

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 61

Okay, shorter chapter this week due to where the break fell. Please remember that this arc involves an unknown illness, so there is mention of hospitals, medical procedures, and a minor mention of blood.

Antoine eventually relented and let me flick on my datapad to keep up with the events unfolding around me, but only with a strict order not to so much as sit up straight until we knew for sure what was going on. Nonetheless, I felt helpless as I lay in a medical berth listening and watching everything that was happening around me. Simon was at least kind and cruel enough to leave a channel open to me while he assisted the Council in their decision process regarding the potential epidemic we were facing.

"We need to minimize panic," Xiomara argued.

"By isolating people in their quarters?" The snort that accompanied the question belonged to Alistair, on loan to Simon for the duration.

"It's standard protocol for isolating a contagion."

"According to what little information we have, there is no isolating this. Everyone is already infected, to various degrees," Simon pointed out.

"The delusional rambling of a sick woman? That is really what we are going off of?" Huynh's voice barked incredulously. I could hear my sister growl from across the bay where she stood reviewing my latest test results with Antoine.

Simon, however, did not back down. "Sophia Reid is not the only person to report this information. We have corroborating information from fifty others so far, some dating from as much as a week ago."

Eino's curiosity broke in. "Why are we just now hearing about this?"

"The information comes from therapeutic patient files. Nightmares have been widespread recently, and nearly all of the crew who were already assigned to companions have allowed us access to information regarding any discussions they have had regarding the content of those dreams. They were not informed why we requested it, only that we were looking for any similarities." Grey's flat, factual tone brooked no argument.

"We still have no hard evidence of the underlying cause of this," Xiomara stated. "I have absolute faith in the report you speak of, but until we are looking at the source of this, there is a chance not everyone is infected, and I think it is best we keep it that way -"

"Sophia," Tyche's voice broke in. When I glanced up, she looked more exhausted than I had seen her in months. "Turn it off for now. It sounds like Simon and Grey can handle things."

"We don't have enough space," I murmured to myself as I flicked away my datapad. When Tyche tilted her head empathically and worked an eyebrow, I realized I said it aloud. "Medical berths," I clarified. "We don't have enough. That, more than anything, will cause panic - being afraid of not getting treatment. That's why she wants people isolated to their quarters."

Medical scans of the Terrans on the Ark were showing hundreds of cases of people with similar symptoms to mine. Worst cases were immediately transported to the nearest healing bay. Our absolute worst case was found already in a life support tank - Nixe had nearly drowned when she passed out in the water with her diving weights on. Hyper-oxygenated suspension liquid and constant whole-blood transfusions were waging war to keep her alive, but it seemed a holding pattern was all that had been managed.

Miys was treating as many people as possible in their quarters, or in the quarters of others they were familiar with who were in similar shape. Derek, Sam, and Zach were all three isolated together, while I tried to avoid thinking about the three of them suffering under an unknown illness. They were halfway across the Ark, and I couldn't help them - it tore at my heart. I desperately wanted my family together through this.

"Any luck?" I asked quietly, trying to distract myself.

Antoine sighed heavily. "Very little," he admitted, running a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. His normally ramrod posture slumped under the invisible weight of the task he had undertaken.

Isolating an unknown microscopic organism within a human body turned out to be more difficult for Noah than we expected. The colonies of bacteria that lived in and on a single person prevented simple scans from isolating on just one particular outlier. It had muttered several times about how annoying human anatomy was, as it identified a particular bacteria, only to have Antoine or someone from the research labs explain it was supposed to be there.

Not long after I received a communication from Alistair that the isolation measures were agreed upon, both he and Grey come into the medical bay, relieving the most recent scientist Miys was terrorizing. Once brought up to date by Antoine - who immediately flopped into a berth with a heretofore unseen lack of dignity - Grey took a glance at Noah's most recent finding.

They sighed in resignation. "That is intestinal flora and is necessary to proper consumption of food."

"Tell me about it," Tyche grumbled next to me.

Noah's current avatar whirled in her with surprising grace. "Tyche. How many of these digestion bacteria were you missing when you came on board?" Humorously, it used it's [large hand] to mimic squinting eyelids.

It never had stopped envying the mobility of our facial muscles.

She shrugged, wincing slightly at the pain that had developed in her shoulder as her own symptoms started to show. "I dunno. Didn't you count when you were replacing them?" After a lifetime of trouble eating - even as a kid she had been extraordinarily 'picky', and we only realized in our late twenties that may have been the start of it - she caved in and let Miys fix the issue a few months after I woke up here.

The being in question flared and started rippling it's vomu. "We did not. We - may - have cloned functional organs, along with their bacteria, and replaced yours."

"May have?"

"We did?"

She rubbed her face, groaning when she triggered a nosebleed. "Great. Anyway, how did cloning my organs and bacteria fix the problem? They didn't work right to begin with."

"We never claimed we cloned your organs."

Tyche and I traded looks of concern. "Noah," I ventured slowly. "You can't just swap people's organs willy-nilly. They have to be compatible..." A horrifying thought occured to me. "You've had to clone and replace a lot of my body... Please tell me you cloned and replaced all of it from me? That could be causing this whole -"

"Peace, Wisdom. All of your cloned organs came from your own genetic material. We are aware of the possibility of rejection... Tyche, your new digestive tract was cloned from the closest possible match." It gestured at me. "Before she arrived, you repeatedly complained that your sister had what you called 'the good stomach'."

I felt slightly queasy knowing that a copy of my guts was churning along in my sister. "How certain were you that there would be no rejection issues?" I squeaked gracefully.

"We used her own organs as scaffolding. There is no chance of rejection, I assure you."

Tyche stared at her midsection. "I never had an organ transplant... I expected it to hurt more," she ruminated quietly. "So, I can seriously eat whatever I want?" She asked, louder this time.

"Within limits."

"Pretty big limits," I pointed out. I had only had heartburn once in my entire life, and it was due to an allergy to tequila, of all things.

"Unfortunately," Miys admitted. It had developed a distinct preference for requesting what I was eating before entering a room with me. "Including that plant that eats you back."

"Pineapple," the four humans in the room corrected simultaneously, sharing a smile.

"We have to fix this epidemic," Tyche announced with renewed fervor. "I just got told I can eat anything I want, up to and including foods that make most humans sick, and I have a list, people."

At least someone was getting some good news.

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[of-forossa]

A slip of paper is unceremoniously nudged under his door, upon its tinged surface the inked letters stood out in stark contrast, bold and every single letter presented as if the writer themselves wanted to convey that they were yelling at him from afar; "For all that is wretched and holy and as graceless as I may be; I do believe you still deserve a solace, holy man " The sound of a settling bottle and shifting foot steps was heard hardly a moment after. Whoever it had been had come and gone.

"Blessed be the Church, blessed be their Holy Blades on bone sharpened..." he mutters, heady with the stench of blood and beastly musk. Teeth bared into fangs that have no proper fit for a mouth still human, the prayers dribbling from his lips are slurred and stuttered. "Blessed be Her Holiness, tempered and tested but not tempted by the Father's trial..." Here was a paragon of the Healing Church, here was their shining sword turned desperate drunkard on a communion ill-suited for men of all shapes...

Drip, drip, drop, goes the sweat falling from his burning forehead, pressed against the cold stone floor of his quarters in desperate prostration before the gods. His malformed pupils peer up reverently, up to the moonlight beaming in from the lonely window high above, and the flood of garbled prayers slows to a trickle. A once-hand claws weakly at the floor, digging trenches into stone with an unpleasant grinding, followed by the other as he slowly crawls and drags himself towards that brilliant shaft of light. Collapsing within its glare, he curls inward upon himself, clutching the radiant badge of his station in prayer renewed.

"Father Oedon, Mother Kosm, Orphaned Mergo, Benevolent Flora, have mercy... have mercy on your son..." Engulfed in moonlight, supposedly safe from the shadows within and beyond the mind, Brom traces the runes carved into his inner thoughts with a fervor that goes beyond desperation to teeter on the edge of mania. Warmth, Communion, Oedon's Embrace... and that gift from his brother now long departed, that shining Radiance that calls to him even in the depths of this growing ignorance by god-gifted but not desired. To the same light that once guided those fervent executioners of the faith into battle he clings to, wrapping himself around the torch of that brilliance as though the harsh glare burning within the mind’s eye will cleanse the curse roiling within the blood  pumping through his heart and staining his hands and teeth and tongue...

How long Brom remains there, rigid with a pain of body and mind and soul beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, he couldn’t say. Only the stirring of someone at the door rouses him from the fog of stupor, pounding head narrowing the eyes that saw but a shadow beneath the door and roaring ears catching the slightest clicking of heels against stone. For a time there is no attempt to rise or rouse himself further, no intent to pursue whatever his midnight caller had left in their wake in favor of embracing that numbing abyss rather than greeting the wakening terrors once more even weaker than before. It takes the scent of them, so faint and fleeting as it drifts over the sharp tang of blood old and new, to draw him back to himself enough to consider another crawl back from whence he’d came.

Propping himself against the thick door, chest heaving with heavy breaths from the fresh exertion and face pulled into a grimace that’s more a snarl with the depth of his beastliness, Brom scans the letter and doesn’t fight the slow slumping of his shoulders in weary relief at the familiar penmanship and the kindness suffused into them. When he plies and pries away at the door, opens it just a hair to find a brown bottle of something too harsh and too coarse to be the blood his peers indulged in, there’s something that could’ve been a laugh bubbling from his chest were his throat not so raw nor his heart so heavy.

Sequestered once more in the darkness of his chambers, the door bolted and shut tightly for the man’s peace of mind within and the people’s safety beyond in equal measure, Brom settles back down and dwells. On the bottle, cool within the grasp of his cruel claws and cool against his hideous teeth. On the letter, wounding words spun into a desire for his sake that he knows he doesn’t deserve  On the runes, etched into a mind too dulled by instinct and hunger and blood for eyes to line inside.

Brom doubts, and drinks, and dwells till long after the day has begun anew.

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife - II

A/N: My contribution to “One Quote One Shot” is up tomorrow, so Midwife’s up today... 

AO3 :: Previously

XV

“’Tis nae use.” Jamie lowered his arms despondently, and crept back to where I sat huddled against the damp wall of stone.

I had not expected him to be able to lift the grate that locked us into the thieves’ hole, but with nothing else to do, Jamie was willing to try anything. He put his arm around me, and I nestled against him. Despite the chill of the caveish hole, Jamie still radiated body heat like a small campfire.

I had told him about Malva’s untimely reappearance, her collusion with Laoghaire, the deaths she had caused. Jamie told me about Dougal’s family meeting and the trap it had actually been. Now both of us faced the likelihood of being executed for witchcraft.

We had been held captive for three days; the previous day, a small trial of sorts had been held for Jamie and me. As far as I could tell, Jamie’s sole crime was to be associated with me. The list of accusations against me was longer and more serious.

“Mistress Claire Fraser—you stand accused of witchcraft and conspiracy to do harm” The magistrate’s voice boomed in the courthouse, in order to reach even the far corners of the gallery where the village of spectators gathered. There were jeers and catcalls at this, but I did not bother to turn and face them. I could see no friendly faces in the crowd.

I could feel my hair tickling my neck, wild and unkempt. My dress was not torn, but I could feel stiff, dry streaks of dirt on my face that had come from sleeping with my head pillowed on my hands. We had not been afforded water to wash with, and only crusts of bread and water for food. No doubt part of their strategy to terrorize us, and paint me as unclean and unholy.

I tried to defend myself. Jamie, as my husband and co-conspirator, was not allowed to speak in my favor. He had been shoved back into the thieves’ hole, not even permitted to attend my trial. “There has been no witchcraft involved in any of my actions, sir. I am a midwife and a healer—”

“Do you dabble in remedies, herbs and potions and the like?”

“Herbal remedies, yes sir, of course. But as my patients can testify—”

“I understand that one of your patients is now dead. Under strange circumstances, I might add.”

My heart sank at this. Morag’s death was indeed being laid at my feet. And soon, we learned who would provide the brunt of the testimony against me.

“We call Laoghaire MacKenzie to the stand!” The magistrate nodded encouragingly at the crowd behind me, and I heard the rustle of Laoghaire’s skirts as she stepped before the bench. She deigned to glance at me, with pure hatred and disdain in her eyes, while I attempted to keep a neutral expression on my damnable glass face. Laoghaire, I imagined, was looking as pure, innocent, and maidenly as possible.

She began recounting how I had arrived at the castle under a false name, surely to confound the good Christian inhabitants of Castle Leoch. How I had wormed my way into Dougal’s confidence and he has trustingly given me the position of healer at the castle. How I had ensnared and bewitched James Fraser, who had been her betrothed, and forced him to marry me instead. Finally, she spoke of Morag’s death; she had heard from some of the other maids that I had attended her, caused her to bleed and entreated them to cover up my incompetence, when it was really a poisonous charm I had given Morag that caused her untimely death.

I could feel the blood boiling in my veins as I heard lie after lie spew from Laoghaire’s lips. Several times during her tale words had bubbled to my lips and I had tried to defend myself once more, only to be interrupted by the magistrate ordering me to silence.

“She offered love potions to the castle lasses as well. I’ve nae doubt that is how she trapped James Fraser, ensorcelled him right through, yer honor. Please, dinna let her free—who kens what she’ll attempt next!” Laoghaire turned wide and frightened eyes on her captivated audience. “Be careful, good people of Cranesmuir! Guard yerselves!” She crossed herself piously.

“Thank ye, miss MacKenzie. Ye may step down.” The magistrate waved her away.

As Laoghaire brushed past me, she hissed, “I canna wait to see ye burn, ye wicked witch.” Before I could rip the blonde locks right off her head, the constable meant to guard me slapped my hand away, hard enough to bruise. I swallowed my cry and willed the tears that sprang to my eyes to retreat. It would not help me now. I longed for the comfort of Jamie’s presence.

But it had been denied. Dougal had taken the stand then to testify against me specifically. He told the magistrate about finding an ill-wish in his own bedchamber. When he’d questioned the young maids about it, Laoghaire had stepped forward and claimed she knew who would do such a thing.

“Who else would want to cause me harm?” Dougal vociferated. “You were no doubt angry and resentful of my actions regarding your marriage to my nephew, I understand, but this is witchcraft, lass. Ye’ll burn for it, bana-bhuidseach.”

Even with my limited Gaelic, I had understood what the word meant. Witch. The crowd had taken up the cry with renewed fervor. After these testimonies, court had been adjourned for the day. I was taken back to the thieves’ hole, and the relative safety of Jamie’s arms.

He had caught me by the waist as I descended the rickety ladder into the hole, before John MacRae, the village locksman, had latched the gate above our heads with an almost apologetic expression. I had tended to his wife previously, nursing her through childbed fever. I understood he was sorry about our situation.

That situation didn’t seem likely to change anytime soon. I had recounted the first part of the trial for Jamie, as I shook with anger and despair. Jamie’s eyes glazed over and he touched the cut on his lip gingerly as he mulled over my words.

“Why Dougal?” I asked softly. “Why you?”

Jamie had understood the question. “There is no line of succession. Ye ken we are tannist – they will follow anyone with MacKenzie blood who proves a strong and worthy leader. I imagine Dougal fears it will be me, and him wi’ no sons. He said as much at the family meeting, before he had some of the castle men bind my hands and lead me to the village.”

We held onto each other tightly. The cold seeped into my bones and I shivered lightly in Jamie’s embrace. He gripped me tighter, nose in the wild dirty tangle of my hair, murmuring in Gaelic.

“If ye really are a witch, now would be a perfect time to use your powers,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“I know.” I smiled ruefully. “I wish that too.”

There was silence between us for awhile, then Jamie’s voice rose hesitantly in the dark.

“I am so sorry, Sassenach.”

“Whatever for?” I shifted to look at him, wiping my sleeve across my running nose. “There was nothing you could do, really.”

“I failed to protect ye once more. First Malva, now Laoghaire and Dougal, all of this.” He gestured futilely to the stone walls of the thieves’ hole.

“Jamie…”

“I am sorry, for ye… and our child.” He laid a tentative hand on my stomach.

Our child.

“I’m not pregnant,” I stammered.

Jamie looked at me oddly. “Ye havena had yer courses now in 46 days. I found the box ye were searching for, tucked amongst my own belongings. I put it back in yer surgery. I just assumed ye were waiting to be sure.”

“But I…” I remembered looking for the bits of cloth I used every month. Then I had found the ill-wish and my thoughts had been derailed. I had not thought of my courses again, with all that had unfolded. The cramps had disappeared on their own, and I’d thought nothing more of it. Jamie spoke true—I had not bled. The nausea I’d felt with some of my patients, including poor Morag, when it had never happened before…

“You counted?” was all I could think of to say. Of course he had noticed, had counted. We had loved each other indefatigably and now… all for naught. He would be killed, and I would likely burn after I birthed our child.

I fell to my knees in despair. Jamie crawled to me and held me as I keened and wailed into his shoulder.

Our child.

[j3nnyjams]

in @onidrills‘ game, we’d just finished up the Electric Highlands arc. here’s some of the further adventures of Haru (previous post here), including her seven siblings and her cousin Kigiku. A lot of boring stuff under the cut!

Abridged Backstory

The Kamonegi Clan is super uptight and traditional. Everyone is trained to use a sword; men are warriors who defend Momiji City, and girls are expected to be trainers and compete in a tournament to represent the Electric Highlands as its regional Battle Princess.

Haru was once a cheerful, troublemaking and defiant child who just wanted to play with Pokémon and do whatever she wanted, but she hugged the Battle Princess’s Jolteon too hard and got zapped, causing her to be afraid of Pokémon for years and shuttering herself away. The clan tried to set her up with another girl, the model daughter Kigiku, but nothing worked. After being neglected and forgotten by her parents and elders, Haru became desperate for approval and forced herself to fit the Kamonegi mold - studying to surpass her siblings, training hard with the swordmasters Yorunozuku and Ajisai and receiving many scars in the process.

Meanwhile, Kigiku won the Battle Princess tournament and soon broke the Kamonegi mold, dressing wildly, fraternizing with the rival clan (the Denchura) and bucking tradition - to the horror of the elders of the clan. Due to Haru’s renewed fervor, the elders took notice of her and chose her as the favorite to replace her cousin Kigiku, sending her on a journey across the region where she would soon learn to love Pokémon again. While she has a lot of pride in her status as a Kamonegi, it’s now clear to her friends that Haru’s spirit is somewhat broken and she derives a lot of her self-worth from adhering to expectations. She’s also struggling to have faith in her abilities as a trainer, and worries about gaining the trust of her Pokémon.

Current Story

While she hasn’t battled any more Battle Princesses since the first post, her travels have been quite eventful in the past few months (or couple of weeks, in game time). The group stopped in Morus City and ended up attending a meeting of the Battle Princesses where they discussed the activity of the gang known as the Loose Canines, and here they met Haru’s cousin, the Battle Princess Kigiku, whose lifestyle is at odds with her clan’s traditions; Kigiku, amused at this crossing of paths, has suggested that Haru ‘let down her hair’. Haru has since revealed that she aims to replace Kigiku at her family’s request, although it’s becoming obvious to everyone that the pressure weighs on her greatly. Her friends have also learned that she feels a strong, empathetic pain whenever her Pokémon take damage in battle - for reasons unknown, though Haru believes it’s instructive to her quest.

Resolving to assist Linnea in procuring rare berries to make a panacea for her gravely ill mother, she went with the group to the Mistlands in the Central Meadows to find some Haban Berries. The group got separated, but in the process Haru caught the Briarhorns Pinsir, a rare and dangerous Bug/Fairy Pokémon that had been wanted by the bounty hunters known as the Mark Guild. She named it Ibara, and with the help of her friend Fang she’s been trying to tame it - it’s easier said than done, since its level is much higher than that of her other Pokémon.

After the Haban Berries were procured, Haru took her friends to her homeland, the Electric Highlands, having heard that some Jaboca Berries might be there. She introduced them to her family in Momiji City, and together with her companions they had a Double Battle with her sisters (the talented Natsumi and bratty Fuyumi). They also went to the Denchura District where they had a run-in with her younger brother Akiyoshi -- a sensitive young man who has dreams of becoming a Coordinator and had been going shopping there in secret against his family’s wishes, causing Haru a good deal of conflict. 

Later, after getting permission from her nana Hahakomori, Haru and friends set out across the Magnet Lake and eventually found the Jaboca Berries. She got more than she bargained for, as well, when she encountered a Farfetch’d - a Pokémon thought to have been lost to the Kamonegi Clan, though it was a Fighting type and looked a little bit meaner than the books had told of. After some trials and tribulations, including a battle where they fought to a draw and KO’d each other, Haru managed to catch her and named her Rui, though the bird is temperamental. Rui is still looking for a leek of her own, and currently refuses treatment for her broken wing. Additionally, Haru’s siblings weren’t too impressed by her discovery, due to Rui’s only passing resemblance to the duck of myth.

Unfortunately, while Haru was out, her friends Fang and Xunyu had also gone behind her back and trespassed on sacred Kamonegi ground to retrieve the Zap Plate as part of Xunyu’s quest, which got them an expulsion from the castle after they were caught by Jiro. After the many ordeals the group had gone through during their time in the Highlands, Haru worried she was losing standing with her clan, but was eventually reassured by her nana and siblings that they love and care about her. Most recently, the group has returned to Morus City in preparation for going to Xunyu’s homeland to retrieve some Nomel Berries, but along the way Haru got a Ferroseed stuck in her ponytail... twice.

Every day, Haru is getting closer to her Pokémon and perhaps starting to become more of her own person, as she allows moments of fun for herself and is willing to bend the rules to achieve the group goals. Still, the road ahead is looking to be tougher than ever, and as she continues travelling, Haru knows she’ll need to train twice as hard. 

[grasslandgirl]

i'm going to be mean and say for the not-doing-too-good writing starters 'breathe' + adam/leah

hey ananda fuck you maybe ok?

send me a not-doing-too-good sentence starter and a pairing and maybe ill write another NOVELLA like this one! 

[hero gothic au, things said in italics are said telepathically, warning for blood]

“Breathe, ok? Just keep breathing, please.”

“Adam, I-”

“No, please, don’t worry about me just keep focusing on breathing, Brian’ll be here soon with Phil and he’ll know what-”

“It’s my fault.”

Adam leans back, and for the first moment since she fell to the ground, he pauses. “What are you talking about? This isn’t your fault, you didn’t know they were going to have so many reinforcements there. You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.” He reaches back down, trying to maintain pressure on the bleeding wound on her side.

She pushes his hand away and sits up a little, wincing. It hurts her side to sit like this, and Leah knows she’s not doing herself any favors- the bleeding will probably be worse now that she’s partially upright- but this is more important. Adam hovers nervously as she situates herself leaning against the wall instead of beside it, but he lets her move on her own. “That’s... that’s not what I’m talking about,” Leah says, trying to catch her breath. The adrenaline from the fight and the hit are wearing off, the pain is making it hard to focus. But she knows she has to say this. “I’m talking about Eve.”

Adam’s brow furrows, and Leah notes absently that he’s frowning now in the same way he does when he can’t figure out his Sudoku in the morning. His nose crinkles up, and he gets a little W-shaped wrinkle inbetween his eyebrows. Leah always wants to press a finger to the space and smooth out the wrinkle, but she always resisted the temptation. Until now. Slowly, she reaches up and rubs her finger along his brow bone, right above his nose. His face softens a little at the physical contact, but he’s still looking at Leah with concern and confusion. 

“Eve...” He frowns, and Leah can almost feel the weight of his anger. “What happened to Eve, it wasn’t your fault, they-”

“It was my fault. It was my idea.”

Adam laughs, a little incredulously, “Le, you’re hallucinating from blood loss or something, how could it have been your idea to have CAPE kidnap my sister?”

“They,” She wheezes again, reaching down to press a hand to her still-bleeding side, “they didn’t kidnap her.” Leah sighs, dropping her head to avoid Adam’s gaze. “She went in voluntarily, at my suggestion.”

Adam leans back. Before now, she hand’t realized, but he had been in constant physical contact. Applying pressure to her side, holding her hand, brushing hair out of her face. He’s sitting back, away from her now, though, and she feels cold from the sudden loss of contact. “What are you talking about?” He asks, but it’s less of a question and more of a demand.

“We had questions, both of us, about SWORD’s operations. We had them before we got you back, of course, but we were all so preoccupied with finding you that it didn’t seem as pressing. But after we got you back,” Leah reaches out to touch his hand. “I realized the opportunity we had. We had a way into SWORD’s base, a way to find out what they’re up to, what they’re planning, what they did to you.” Adam’s face tightens at the mention of his stay at SWORD. He doesn’t talk about it much, not even with Eve, but Leah knows Adam well enough to know it was terrible. 

“I convinced her to go in with me,” Leah continued, “I thought it would be a quick in and out mission, some reconnaissance, some intel gathering, and then we’re out again. But we weren’t as lucky as we were when we went in to get you. They cornered us, and we had to fight out way out, and I thought she was behind me and by the time I realized she wasn’t, I was being followed and I lost her,” Leah chokes back a sob. 

Adam is silent. 

I’m so sorry, Adam, she thinks to him, but for once, he doesn’t answer her. 

Her breath catches again as she tries to stifle another sob. Eve is one of her best friends, the little sister she never had, and she knows that she’s all Adam has left of his family. The pain in her side spikes red hot with each gasping breath, starting a positive feedback loop until she’s not sure if she’s crying because of the pain or if she’s in pain because she’s crying.

Adam blinks and is across the room, kicking at the abandoned helmet of some SWORD goon on the ground. “Goddammit! Why do you two always have to dig yourself in too deep? You’re too proud- both of you! We could have helped you- I could have helped you!” 

We never could have made you go back in there, not after what you went through, She sends, but if Adam hears it, he doesn’t respond. 

He blinks around the room, storming three paces in one direction, and then appearing halfway across the room, walking in another. “You were supposed to take care of her, Leah, you were supposed to keep her safe-”

I know. It’s getting hard to breathe, now.

“-We’re back together for a few weeks and then she’s gone, this time, somewhere in the hands of those people-”

I’m sorry. Leah coughs a little, trying to catch her breath. Adam keeps flashing around the room. 

“-And we don’t know where she is or what’s happening to her; and then we get ambushed in our one attempt to get some information on where they’re keeping her and-”

Leah coughs again, louder this time, and slumps a little to the side. 

“-Leah?” Adam blinks again, and now he’s back at her side, kneeling and peeling Leah’s hands away from the gash on her side. “Shit, Le, just take deep breaths, ok?”

I think it nicked my lung, Adam, Leah sends, she can’t catch her breath enough to say the words aloud. 

You’re going to be ok, just keep breathing, Le. He sends back, seemingly unconsciously, as he peels off the jacket he’s wearing and presses it to her side, trying to staunch the increasingly heavy bleeding. 

I’m sorry Adam, for everything. For letting them take you and keep you for so long, for letting them get Eve, for breaking my promise to protect her- to protect you both- I’m so so sorry.

Adam looks up and stares her dead in the eye, I was supposed to protect you both, too, ok? I chose to go to protect you all, and I don’t regret my choice. I don’t blame you. And I know Eve won’t blame you for what happened, either.

But you blame me, she sends, looking away, and you should. She sees Adam frown out of the corner of her eye, before another coughing fit wracks her body. Tell Brian and Phil-

“No.” Adam’s voice breaks a little as he speaks aloud. He presses the jacket to Leah’s wound with renewed fervor, “You tell them yourself. You tell Eve yourself when we get her back.”

Adam- She’s coughing even harder now, it’s wet with blood and phlegm.

“No, Le,” He raises a hand to the side of her face, turning her to face him. “You’re not leaving me like this.” He looks wildly around the room. 

They four of them- Leah, Adam, Brian, and Phil, split up when they first got in the base. They didn’t know what they were looking for, exactly, or where Eve was being held, and the best way to cover ground was to divide and conquer. Or so they thought. 

Adam and Leah got caught in a trap, caught in a room with a group of SWORD recruits. They managed to get the best of them, for the most part, but Leah got hit badly, and the few guards that got out locked the door behind them, trapping Leah and Adam inside. 

Adam blinks around the room again, from wall to wall, looking for structural weaknesses and pounding at the door. Brian and Phil are supposed to be on their way, but none of them know the exact layout of the base, and for all Adam and Leah know, Phil and Brian have run into the same SWORD soldiers they had. 

“I’m getting us out of here,” Adam says grimly, after a few seconds of futile searching around the small locked room.

“Adam-” Leah wheezes, still unable to catch her breath and coughing painfully. 

He picks her up bridal style in his arms, and if it wasn’t for the pressing and painful context, Leah might have enjoyed the feeling of his strong arms around her. She didn’t know he was even strong enough to lift her. 

“Hold on,” He says, screwing his eyes shut with concentration. 

Adam what are you-

“I’m going to try something.” 

Adam I love you, Leah sends, desperately, before she feels her body compress in a split second and then there’s only a huge, all encompassing blackness. 

And then there’s light again, and they’re in a hallway, and Adam falls to one knee but he’s still holding Leah in his arms and they’re out of the room.

I didn’t know you could do that, Leah sends.

Neither did I.

She smiles, a little hopeful and a little sad, and raises an unsteady arm to touch his face. And then another coughing fit wracks her body, and when it passes, she’s unconscious in his arms. 

Unconscious, but still alive. And they’re out of the room.

Adam raises unsteadily to his feet. He’s exhausted and terrified and running on fear and adrenaline, but he starts walking. They were going to get out of this. They had to.

“I love you, too, Leah,” He whispers into her hair, and then sets down the dark hallway.

[killcomet]

A short story by yours truly

Home

You don’t have to read it, but this is it. It’s for my honors english, but I thought it was really good so sure

word count: 2k

summary: Max is fighting the ideals of her kingdom and ends up leaving to find a place to call home, a place where she can dare to be without judgment.

There was a kingdom that had it all. A plentiful economy, a King and Queen, heirs to the throne, and the people were happy. Except there was one that wasn’t, Princess Max, she went against all the things she was taught, because she was different. She practiced fighting with swords and bows, she studied strategy, she hardly ever came to balls and royal meetings, declined any offers of marriage and avoided big poofy gowns. She was everything that the ideals of her kingdom went against. She could read people like the back of her hand and became one of the smartest in the land.

One day she was coming back from the training grounds, when she walked past a group of servants talking about her, the wind carrying the whispers into her ear, “I don’t understand why she has such unappealing hobbies, her parents must be so disappointed.” After hearing this, Max looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at the small group, “shouldn’t you be working?” she hissed. They quickly scattered, going down the hall in the direction came from. She let out a huff and scowled, before turning back around and looking out at the forest. The blank look on her face an almost unreadable if it weren’t for the small downward tilt of her lips. She needed to get to her parents in the throne room, having requested her almost an hour earlier. She sighs, trudging her way through the halls to find the King and Queen, mentally steeling herself again for the onslaught of whispers the wind will carry through her ears.

She walks into the throne room, the doors big and heavy, slow to open. There are pillars on either side of the large room, the ceiling covered in magnificent art, the windows made of stain glass, shining colors that made the most beautiful rainbows look whimpy. The thrones themselves were painted gold, with red velvet cushions and jewels lining the wood. There sat her parents, her father scowling at the sight of her armor. She walks toward the King and Queen with a blank look, her steady eyes burning into their faces, “King, Queen, you needed me?” Max asks in a monotone voice.

“We have put up with this nonsense for too long, and we have been lenient, but if you don't stop this ridiculousness, then we will be forced to take extreme measures.” the King says in a firm voice, a slight waver in his tone and snarl on his face the only indicator of his impatience and rage. Max winces, she had known that this would happen sooner or later, but even with the dirty comments and sneers, with the doubt clouding her mind every so often, she didn't wish to stop what she loved, so she didn't.

“I refuse to stop the things I enjoy because you don't agree with it”, trying to keep her calm was hard in these instances. “Then you will leave, you are giving some of the people ideas. Ideas that shouldn't be thought,” he pauses looking to the woman Max used to call her mother, “anything to say to Max?” the Queen comes down with a desperate look in her eyes, clinging on to whatever Max wore with fervor, as if she was drowning, “please sweetie, just forget about those silly things. They're just hobbies, we just want you to stay.” the woman says, an upward tilt and slight waver to her voice as if she was trying to convince herself of her claim as well as the princess before her. “No, you let me go the moment you looked at me the same way everyone else does,” she pauses, looking at the King, “I'll leave, but dont come after me.”

The King looks at her with the same look she looks at him, with no love in them, “Very well. Oh, and Max,” she pauses, this being the first in a long time for the King to address her directly, “I’m not the only one that thinks the way we do.” he says with malaise, the realization that his only daughter would be leaving, “I know.” Max says, her tone cold and biting.

She turns around, walking out to grab what she needs to leave, already having a place in mind for her journey of a new home. A village, fabled and far away, with many creatures and people who are free to do as they wish with no judgment. It was a dream, something that only those who have been know where it is. While walking the halls of the large castle, she had heard the people she passed whisper about her leave, and seen the knights of the kingdom grimace as she passed by out of the corner of her eye.

When she gets to her room, she grabs only necessities, such as her sword, and her bow and arrows. She also grabs a change of clothes and food she had stored under her bed for situations like this. Putting this all in her bag, she sees a necklace that she had forgotten about, as well as the book of creatures that she had had since she was little. The necklace was silver, a small pendent of a dragon curled into itself with a small green gem in its jaws. She quickly snatches it and puts it around her neck, hiding it under her armor and clothes.

As Max is walking toward the door, she pauses to look over the room she had slept in for all her life. They were mainly grey colors, with hints of dark red in areas. For a moment, she lets her guard down and a small smile graces her face, reminiscing of the past, before Max lets out a sigh and finally turns around, her sights set on the village only whispered among those who already know, in fear that others with ill intentions will find it. Max’s armor clanks with every step taken away from the place she called home, having doubts that she’ll be able to find the village, or survive in the forest. Or if she was able to succeed, after all, no one else thought she would, why should she? But then she remembers that the people weren't her, and they were not the ones that would be able to say that they tried when no ones else dared to.

With renewed motivation, she walks through the halls, quickly reaching one of many doors that lead outside the castle, specifically the one that leads to the forest. She walks out, giving one last glance to the kingdom, seeing people in the openings and windows of the castle, even seeing a few of the people she ruled over outside their homes out of the corner of her eye. Some are waving her off, a small portion having a triumphant smile on their faces, all of them having different reasons for said smile. Max lets a big smile slowly grace her face, waving the people that, thought some were nasty and vile others soft and kind, she loves. Slowly turning around as she walks, she begins her journey to find the village.

After a few days during one her rests, a pack of wolves tries to attack Max, and after fending them off, she realizes that one of them had bit her leg, and hard. She also sees that she has nothing to treat her wound, “Out of all the things I had to forget to bring, it's arguably one of the most important.” she scolds herself.

The next day, she finds a loan dirt road. “Why in the world is there a road in the middle of nowhere?” Max mutters, slowly walking toward it, the ocean-like forest eerily quiet, the only sound is the crunching of leaves under her feet and the howling of wind through the tall trees. Suddenly, she realizes there's a large green dragon laying on most of it, appearing to be keeping watch. Max slowly walks toward the large creature, the dragon stirring awake. It slowly opens its eyes, rising to its full height, narrowing a glare at Max’s small form. Breathing out, it lets out a puff of smoke, as if it was daring her to come closer.

“It's not I ever follow the rules anyway.” Max grunts. She slowly approaches, “Please, I just want to find the village.” she whispers, more to herself than the creature before her. The dragon wavers, before it uses its big claws to push her back, one of them getting caught on the chest plate, resulting in the sharp claw creating a large gash. She grunts, tears coming to her eyes, letting out a strangled gasp. She grips her gash as best she can, taking a step make to stop herself from falling. She refuses to unsheath her sword, wanting to calm the dragon before doing anything rash. Dropping all that she's carrying, she slowly walks toward the dragon, dragging her injured leg along with her. She raises her arms, trying to tell the creature that she means no harm, “Please just let me pass, its all I ask.” she had read once that dragons could understand many languages, she hoped that humans’ were one of the many on that list.

The dragon, with cat-like pupils and yellow eyes, turns its head slightly, looking at something. It then looks at Max again, breathing out smoke. A second passes where they both stand still, but Max puts too much weight on her leg, and unknowingly leans on it, making her jerk in pain and tears overflow from their ducts, “why did I have to forget that one thing.” it's more a statement than a question when she says it. The dragon slowly sits down and raises its head, letting out a sound that sounded almost like a cat yowling, signalling something. Soon, a woman and a few others, many of them being of different species other than human, came down the road. The woman slowed to stop in front of Max, carrying an ax for protection just in case it was needed. She took a quick look at both the bite and gash on her chest, gently lifting the chest plate. Looking closely at the gash, the woman glances up at Max before turning to the others, “Get this knight medical attention!” she shouts. Max quickly loses consciousness from blood loss, the last thing she sees is people running up to her and someone picking her up before everything becomes a black void.

When Max’s opens her eyes again, it's a little fuzzy, the smell of antiseptic in the air, making her scrunch her nose in disgust. She looks around and sees that her leg and chest is wrapped and healing. She groans as she sits up, and sees outside the window there's all kinds of people outside. She sees people of different species conversing, anyone who wants practicing with swords, and she can see the dragon she had met a little far off in the outskirts of the village. She hears a door open and looks to her right to see the woman from earlier walk in.

“Hey, how are you holding up? Those were some nasty cuts you had.” the woman had a hint of amusement in her soft voice, an upward tilt to her lips. Max chuckles, “Yeah well I'm doing better than however long ago it was when you found me.” she has a small smile on her lips, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome feeling, “can I walk outside?” she sounds timid yet excited, already knowing what this place is. The woman grins, a fond look in her eyes “Of course.” she helps Max up and out of the building she was held in for recuperation.

When Max walks out the door she's in awe, already iching to build her new life here. “The dragon you met was frank, he's been worried about you.” the woman looks out on all the people, a proud look on her face. Max lets out a breathy chuckle, looking back at the woman, and she sees the curious look in Max’s eyes, softly chuckling, “My name is Phoenix, and I'm the one that runs this place, a place for people to be without judgment,” she pauses, thinking about her words. A grin slowly takes refuge on Phoenix’s face, “Welcome to Seishin Village.”

seishin- Japanese for spirit

authors note: I chose the name seishin because i was thinking of the phrase free spirited, and theres a lot of metaphors all over. and sorry if the grammers a little shaky, I may have missed some stuff when editing