#and was even willing to abandon his dream if it meant you stayed

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

re: my last post. i'm not okay (in a good way)

[captainmera]

Was evelyn ever ALMOST caught by witch hunters?

I WROTE IT, BECAUSE DRAWING IT TAKES TOO LONG.

For some reason, I forgot I could just...... Write these little shorts with little illustrations alongside it, instead of drawing out the whole thing and it takes forever. So... here ya go! Two more little drawings beneath the cut with some text!

Roger growled through the gap amongst his ivory. He could not wrap his head around why his rival was standing there with bow and arrow, willing to.. What? Shoot him? For this woman. Barely a Christian woman, even. "What are you going to do?" Roger gestured at Caleb's homemade weaponry. "You're going to shoot me if I don't leave?" "Maybe." Caleb said, still not tensing the bow. "My brother's a real clever guy, he knows a lot about the body. Did you know that arterial bleeding is the most fatal?" "Uh-" "Looks the most accidental, too." Roger furrowed his brows. Caleb's brown eyes were void of warmth. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying I'm holding a bow. I'm saying I'm pretty good at using it. I'm saying I'm a woodsman, you're not. I'm saying that if I wanted to accidentally shoot you and hide your body, I could. And if you were discovered, it's an arrow in you, not an English pistol wound, or a knife. And nobody knows you were ever here." "...You're not serious." "You can always find out." "You're bluffing, I've never seen you use a bow and-" "Leave my property." Caleb repeated. "And if you are going to accuse my friend of witchcraft, you better have more than suggestive or spectral evidence." Roger glowered back, held his hands up in peace, and backed away. "Fine, I will." And left the way he came through the woods. Caleb waited until he couldn't see him any more, before locking the door and pulling the curtains. Roger had never liked Caleb, but before his rival took a break from witch hunting, Roger had at least had a competitors respect for the man. But respect turned to suspicion. Caleb had been acting strange for awhile... Glum and a lot more quiet. Then that woman showed up. And now the cove were against spectral evidences? Caleb had been the most frequent and outspoken about how witches found a lawful loophole by using supernatural means to get away with their crimes. As it was difficult to prove that a witch had tormented someone in their dreams, for example. And Roger agreed! Sure, Caleb was annoying, but they had both been amongst the best and the worst of hunters, being the same age only meant the two lads butted head to stay in their spot as head of a patrol. Being a witch hunter was a competitive sport, almost, it was hard to explain unless you participated. They were not friends, but Roger was sure if the roles had been reversed, Caleb would've been suspicious too and, honestly? Caleb would've tried to save Roger. It was just good sportsmanship. And this whole thing smelled wicked. Caleb turned to Evelyn. "Are you alright?" "I don't know.." She said and looked at her hands. Artemis had crawled out onto her shoulder to give her a comforting little spider hug. "My magic.. It didn't work." "What?" Caleb abandoned his bow by its place next to the backdoor. "It's not working?" "I don't- I was trying to make it work, he saw me. I'm sorry." Caleb lift her chin up. "Hey no, it's alright. Maybe.. You've just been here too long?" "No that's not it. I know it isn't." "Maybe you're ill?" She smiled up at the crease of worry on his forehead. He was trying to sound calm and proper, and she knew that tone of his. That rougher, almost demanding, serious tone. That tone he used with Philip and his friends when they were turning to him for leadership and give them orders - even if he was just as anxious as them.

His eyes flickered away, noticing that she had caught him spiralling with worries. He shook his head to get out of it and straightened his back. "Are you ill?" He repeated with a softer tone "No, I dont think so." "Not witch-ill, human-ill?" "No... I don't have any symptoms." "Hm.." Caleb thought back at when she had visited him at his job. "Oh, was it the sprig of dill tea?" Evelyn's eyes lit up. "Oh! Oh right that did taste awful!" Caleb couldn't help but break out into a soft scoff. "Well, good to know that folktale is true." "Huh?" "It's said sprig of dill keeps witches and evil away. That's why we drink it at the morrow' meeting." Evelyn's lips pressed into a line, feeling a little silly that she had so readily accepted tea from a bunch of woodsmen-slash-witch hunters. Of course they would be drinking things like that out of superstition.

"Right." She brushed her vest. Caleb snorted. "Stop it! I was afraid!" "Sorry, sorry. I'm sure it's only temporary." Evelyn looked at her hands. "You think so?" "Yeah. But.. Why don't you stay here, just in case, until it comes back. Yeah?" "Appreciated." "Of course." Evelyn swayed her skirt bashfully. "Caleb?" "Mh?" "Thank you." She pulled him in so she could plant a kiss on his cheek. "You've been my hero today." Caleb's limbs were full of pink and red butterflies. He laughed nervously and swatted his hand around in the air. "Oh! PFSH! O-Of course! I can't just- You're a maiden in distress! It's only the right thing-! Anytime, milady." And theatrically rolled his hand before bowing to her. And that got him in the right height for both of her hands to cup his face. "I think you deserve one more then." And kissed him on the side of his nose, his forehead, and when his smile spread his lips wide across his face, she kissed the dimple by his side. And that was enough. Caleb crumbled, and turned away from her with an incoherent sputtering of words. She smiled. Caleb put his face in his hands to cool, stroked them through his hair and coughed. "TEA?" He offered, gesturing at the stove. "Er- not, that tea, better tea." "Sure." And took a seat nearby him.

[stxrvel]

losing myself

memories of how you lost yourself trying to keep your best friend afloat. content. angst, depression and suicidal thoughts. this is post-suguru's death, except the first memory. a/n. i just can't seem to bring myself out of the angst for jjk, i apologise in advance!

jjk main masterlist | main masterlist

Helping Satoru was a way of losing yourself. When Haibara died and Suguru abandoned them, Shoko dealt with it in her loneliness and the only thing Satoru could lean on was you. Your shoulder was his support, the only thing that kept him sane to reality as you both tried to graduate and made the decision to teach school, you for a much more selfish reason than Satoru's human reasons.

Helping Satoru cost you a lifetime of loneliness. You loved your friend and after what happened you were so desperate not to lose anyone else that you were willing to do anything, even if it meant losing everything that once made you who you were and all motivation. You thought your identity didn't compare to the pain and helplessness of not being able to do anything while everyone walked away, but your decision led to a lonelier life than you had thought.

“Hey, everything okay?” Shoko approached through the hallway, the darkness relenting once she was standing next to you. “You look pale.”

“I'm fine. Just a little tired.”

The clouds around you enveloped them on either side, a somber feeling settling in between the space Shoko kept her distance with.

“Well, we've graduated. From now on the pains can't be so great.”

“Yeah, right. We're past the worst of it, aren't we?”

“I'd like to think so.”

Her cocked smile thawed a little of the chill settling in your chest, but her eyes told you everything her lips didn't. She knew, everyone knew, that you hadn't been the same since Suguru left. Satoru was staying afloat because of his goofy personality, but trying your best to keep it that way, the sparkle in your eyes disappeared. The person who used to be told that she brought the sun in her eyes had completely clouded over. Shoko saw the storms in your eyes, the impenetrable and unceasing tempest. She couldn't cross it without dying trying.

“You can talk to me if you need to.”

That was what she said every time, even though you never took her at her word. Shoko always proved she could survive on her own, however she had done it, whatever process she had to go through, the smile she gave you in those moments at least was more genuine than yours.

Satoru was too wrapped up in his own world, his own head and his own pain to stop for a moment to notice yours, which Shoko and the others could. You never placed that guilt on Satoru's shoulders, nor did you need to, but it was something you were sadly aware of. Satoru didn't push you aside because he was selfish, it was simply his way of processing things, so internally and individually inside his head. Just as you had made it your way of processing grief to help Satoru tirelessly, to the point of almost becoming his shadow.

“I don't know what to do anymore, y/n,” Satoru cried, hands holding his head and knees against his chest.

Utahime had called out to you, barely passing you out of eagerness and blurting out a couple of words that you could deduce were about Satoru. It was painful as you knew you had to prepare in advance to see him, because it was heartbreaking to have to help him process his pain while you had to keep your own at bay.

“I'm tired of dreaming about it. I'm tired of… seeing him.”

Your hands moved over his hair, his cursed technique disappearing every time you were near. You tried to contain the trembling of his body by holding his shoulders, but having you closer only made him more vulnerable.

“Not sleeping is not the solution, Satoru.”

“That's the only way,” raising his head, his puffy blue eyes returned your gaze. At times like those, you didn't know how he hadn't noticed your sunken eyes or the black bags that even years later still wouldn't go away.

But it was about him. Satoru was in bad modd. You had to help him. You had to hold him.

“No, it's not. I'm here,” your knees touched his feet, his face contracting as a fresh tide of tears lashed his chest. Cold hands wrapped around you and your numb hands wrapped around his neck. “I know you miss him. I know you regret it.”

His sobs against your shoulder grew louder and louder, but Satoru kept his grip with hostility. He held close to you as his lifeline, the float that carried him across the ocean, shipwrecked in his own pain, lost in his own mind.

“But you know you don't have to carry that pain alone, Satoru.”

“I don't know what I did, y/n…”

“You did what you had to do.”

“No…”

“If you hadn't done it, I would have.”

His head jerked up, his blue eyes crystallizing and pain written all over his face with the trail of tears that wouldn't stop flowing.

“It wasn't anything either of us would've had to have done,” you shook your head, trying to contain the memories in the back of your head, trying to focus on pain your friend in that moment, on what really mattered. “It wasn't anything either of us had to endure.”

“But you're fine…”

You almost snorted, controlling yourself enough to let out a sigh. His naive eyes wouldn't leave yours, almost as if he was constantly wondering what you were doing to deal with all that he wasn't. As if there was something wrong that he was doing or something he wasn't doing that you were, because in his eyes, up until that moment, you were fine.

“I'm fine when you're fine.”

“I'm not fine right now.”

“I know.”

You seemed to think a glimmer of understanding crossed his eyes. You didn't know, you couldn't be sure, but his face returned to your neck and the tears stopped falling. Minutes passed in silence.

“I'm sorry,” was the last thing he said that night.

Helping Satoru was something you would never regret, even when you had lost your spark and the students loved him more than you.

“I thought you were going out tonight.”

You ran into Nanami on your way to your dorm. It was getting close to the time of the outing Satoru had proposed for that night and you knew that if you didn't go no one else would show up there. You hated to think of dashing your friend's hopes, but he had already developed enough strength to go through such a disappointment. It had been months since he had becone strong enough to deal with such situations on his own.

“I'm tired.”

“For something specific?”

It was common for your friends to dance around the elephant in the room, and sometimes you allowed yourself to think how different things would be if they had at some point been more daring with their approaches, as you were with Satoru. What would've changed, then or in the past, if Nanami or Shoko had been more insistent? Where would you be now? Where would you be later?

“Nothing specific. I'd just like to get more rest tonight,” you sent Nanami a smile, the kind you had mastered to avoid such conversations.

“Very well. You know I'm just a phone call away if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Nanami.”

Were you really that selfish? In all their remoteness, your friends were still concerned about your well-being. Had enough time passed for you to not care? If you didn't want to be unwell, why was it so hard for you to accept their help?

“You've lost weight,” Satoru was right beside you from the moment you left Yaga's office.

“The mission went well, Satoru, thank you for caring.”

You tried to dodge him to go back to your room, but of course the white-haired man wouldn't just walk away just because. Lately he was closer, more attentive, more condescending…

“Are you eating well?”

Satoru was trying hard to ignore the way his words brought back dark memories. From the moment he realized what had been happening, his mind was scheming every second of the day in trying to find a way to bring you back to your original state. He couldn't even fully concentrate on the missions, but that was no obstacle for him.

“I'm tired, Satoru. It was three days. I need to sleep.”

“I told Yaga many times to let me go with you…”

“I handled it just fine on my own, Satoru.”

“I know! I'd just like to be of some use-”

“You want to be of some use? Leave me alone!”

The bed was freezing cold as it was every night. You changed the sheets that morning and organized the entire bedroom in a strange spike of energy. You felt a little better afterwards, but not enough. It had never stopped looking and feeling so empty, no matter what you did.

Satoru called you a couple of times that night, but as usual, he'd give up after a couple of tries.

You wondered again, drowsily, what would be different if only he had insisted a little more…

[cononeillbreastingboobily]

Stede and Ed really suck this season. Looking back, lots of their scenes were extremely cinematic and/or quotable: the dream sequence at the start, the mermaid scene, the thing about breathing the same air, the kiss under the moonlight, them banging with fireworks going off outside, Ed reading Stede's letter, the kiss and love confession during the fight with the English, and finally them standing together in the dilapidated house that is supposedly going to become their inn.

It felt heavily like style over substance. Meanwhile they spent the entire season flip flopping between being together, breaking up, taking things slow, taking things fast. It led to a severe case of arrested development for both of them, because at the end of the season neither of them really changed, they never talked through their issues which could help progress their relationship in a meaningful way.

I mean hell, Stede is worse this season than he was before. In the past he was self-centred and a bit of a dick, sure, but at the end of the day he did seem to care about his crew. And there he is, being the one to suggest that Ed go back to the ship and the crew, one half of which he marooned, and the other he spent weeks or months traumatizing. And on the same day that the very crew unanimously decided to kick Ed off the ship. Like??

Ed, similarly, seemed so... Confused is probably the best word to describe him this season. And I don't even mean the character himself, but the way he was written. We have established looong ago that he doesn't want to be a pirate anymore, yet after he abandons his leathers, he immediately retrieves them within like one day. And sure, he did it to protect Stede. But then he kinda... Did a complete 180° and suddenly wants to actually go back to piracy? Then he's supposed to rejoin the crew of the Revenge only to then stay on land with Stede with the intention to run an inn?

He seems all over the place, and not in a way that feels interesting or entertaining anymore. I mean hell, the first three episodes of the season were amazing, and he was definitely one of the highlights of them. He was incredibly intense in everything he did, hurting, heartbreaking, wanting to go down and willing to take the entire world with him. Those three episodes were probably my favourite bit of television that I've ever seen.

But then... Stede showed up.

And in the end Ed got reduced to this hollow character that doesn't seem to know what he wants at all, and it feels like it's going to bite him in the ass very soon, and hard. He didn't do any of the heavy lifting of development he could've or should've gone through. Izzy did. And then he bled out in Ed's arms.

What worries me is that DJenkins said in interviews before that ideally the show is supposed to end after three seasons, and (if we get season 3 at all, that is) if that is the case, if Ed and Stede are supposed to get a happy ending together that is meant to feel earned and gratifying, they won't have nearly enough time for it. I mean, they hardly talk about the things that matter, that are important to talk about if you want to have a serious relationship with another person. And sure, they might both feel this intense pull towards one another, but that isn't nearly enough to make it work between them. For one, love sometimes simply isn't enough. And I hope that they realize it in time.

[vibinsane]

please, just stay a little longer. rafayel x reader (she/her) drabble

she would have reoccurring dreams of a sea god that saved her when she was meant to be a sacrificed to him. in the dream, she was fully aware of what was happening, as if she had lived in this time before. but as soon as she would wake up, she could not recall a thing, yet she was left with a feel of emptiness, like something was missing or she had lost something very important to her.

note: this is clearly self indulgent, and i just could not get this out of my head while it popped up as i kept listening to that unknown bgm in chapter 9, so it kept yelling at me until i wrote it. pieces of chapter 1 and little bit of pieces of chapter 9 in forbidden sea. not beta read, here is your warning. i am also very rusty, but i hope those that read this will enjoy it!

warning: angst, hurt with slight comfort i suppose? but hey, it's sfw.

it was the day of his ceremony, every lemurian gathered to witness the sea god and his beloved walk into the temple. fishes of all kinds swam about and round rafayel and his beloved follower.

upon the two entering the temple, everything became silent, save for the gentle sound of the water as she looked around before her eyes landed on her hand in rafayel’s. the way he held her hand as if it were the most delicate thing in all of the sea and land made her heart skip beats. 

she closed her eyes, raised her other hand and rested it on her chest. she took a deep breath and spoke to herself.

i am willing to give him my heart.

i am willing to give him my sincerest form of worship.

i am willing to have his very being etched, engraved onto my soul as i praise and pray to him for the rest of my life.

she felt rafayel’s hand in hers, something hot began to intertwine and embed itself into her palm, it became a line and part of her soul.

then, panic rose as she opened her eyes. 

“this is my promise to you.” rafayel spoke in the softest tone much like how soft his eyes looked into hers. “for ‘tis lemuria’s vow, a bond everlasting.”

“rafayel, wait—” she smiled nervously, her heart beating too fast for her own good. “why does it sound like…you’re saying farewell to me. please, i—” 

rafayel stepped forward, lifted his arm and wrapped it around her waist, drawing her in closely like the gentle current of the sea, small blue fish began circling around them and one red one in particular seemingly settled on rafayel’s shoulder as a blue one settled on hers.

how foolish, even in the sea does her tears begin to build up. even as she was underwater with the god of the sea, she could not stop the tears from falling from her eyes.

“do not worry, i will not be gone for long.” 

"you said that last time and the time after that, stop lying to me..."

still panicked, she immediately threw herself onto him, despite his protests from last time when they snuck out to see the sunset both under the sea and above. she did not care for what rafayel would do. 

“hold me. push me away. i don't care, just—please, stay a little longer.” she begged with the weakest voice despite how much strength it took for her to tamp down this undeniable fear of being abandoned, almost etching itself right where the thread that sealed their bond remained. "can't we just stay like this for a moment more?"

rafayel stills, eyes wide and at first he did not move nor did he say anything. then, his eyes relaxed and there was a smile that etched upon his lips as he finally lifted his arms to wrap themselves around her, placing a gentle but fleeting kiss onto the top of her head. 

“once a lemurian is bonded with a human, they cannot go against their wishes.” he reminded her of what the bond entailed, despite being the young god of the sea.

“then, stay. please, rafayel—don’t leave me.” she did not care how desperate she sounded because he thought of rafayel no longer being with her terrified her and her worst nightmare soon manifested itself as she heard rafayel’s chuckle.

“i will find you no matter where you are, we will meet again. but for now, it is time for you to wake up.” 

“don’t lie to me! you always say this, every time, in this very moment and then i’m left waking up to an empty bed and something empty inside me that i can’t understand until i fall back asleep and pray to whatever deity will hear me to meet with you again. why… why can’t you stay any longer?!” 

“shh. do you not trust me?” 

she fell quiet, burying her face against his shoulder as the tears continued falling. “i do, but—” 

“there is no but. you either trust me or you do not.” rafayel sighed quietly and cupped her face, his eyes spoke louder than the words he could offer her, yet he did not know if she felt his emotions. after all, he was not that good when it came to expressing something so intense he felt which was all because of her. 

she only clung onto him tighter, refusing to wake up just to forget everything that had happened in her dream that felt so real. who is that man? where was she? why can she not recall his name?

rafayel gazed at her, knowing she was deep in thought and lifted his hand to brush away the tears, shaking his head gently. “what a shame, human tears do not turn into pretty pearls when they cry, yet i find yours the most precious in the entire sea.”

he leaned close to her ear, his fingers gently carding through her soft locks. “trust me and let me go, you will not have to wait any longer.” 

she shook her head, hugging him even more tightly. “i don’t want to! i’m tired of never remembering you in my waking life. it’s not fair!” 

“you have stayed here for far too long, do you not wish to see me in the waking life?” 

“how long, rafayel? how long until i can meet you again, what if i cannot remember you?”

“it will sadden me, i will admit, however…that does not mean that i would give up on you. after all, i will chase you to the ends of the earth.”

rafayel’s words began to fade as her vision darkens and the whalefall city is turned into ruins just as the ancient civilization of lemuria was soon forgotten.

she shot up in her bed, breathing heavily and blinked before a gasp escaped her. her hand lifted as she brushed some tears away then rubbed at her eyes. normally, she would remain confused for a short moment before pulling herself together and return to her every day life.

this time, while she cannot remember anything, she placed her hand on her chest before she drew her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms, letting herself mourn.

what am i mourning for? 

why does everything feel so empty? 

why does it feel as i i’m crying about something lost? 

what did i lose? 

…who did i lose?

eventually, she was able to collect herself and prepare for the hunter ceremony. today was the day she would become an official deepspace hunter. once the day was coming to an end, tara waved goodbye before she was being dragged by a random young boy to help him with something.

with the fish net, she looked into the pool and furrowed her brows before she could attempt to swipe one into the net, someone interrupted her concentration. 

“...but this one, bright as a flame, is a real flammula from lemurian legends.”

“flammula? i’m not very familiar with those myths or folklore.”

something in her chest tugged the moment he turned and walked away. something yelled inside her to go after him, but why? she was confused and something inside her felt disappointed as the figure gradually became smaller until he could not be seen any longer.  

[thosewildcharms]

Ugh the comparisons are so annoying. You’ll still find people insisting Shane was just ahead of Rick in terms of adapting to a brutal world. When it’s clear the ZA broke Shane, he never really measured his choices and didn’t wanted to help anyone at all. He was a coward and acted first as a coping mechanism not because he was an efficient leader.

say that anon! it's honestly not only annoying but a little troubling to me when people compare rick to shane or worse, n*gan because what do you mean shane was right and rick needed to be more like him? what do you mean if we watched the show from negan's pov we'd be on his side and see rick as the villain? no the fuck he wasn't and no the fuck i would not!

the show establishes very early that yes, violence is necessary. and since that's the case, to differentiate between the rick/the people we're supposed to love and the actual villains we have to look at their motivation. rick has been incredibly violent, but his motivation is always to protect, not only his immediately family, but anyone who becomes part of his community. the group flocked to rick instead of shane from the very beginning because he cared about everybody's welfare, unlike shane whose motivations were ultimately selfish. i always think about his last scene with rick, how shane says he's better for lori and carl, like he wants to possess what is rick's - hence why he sexually assaults lori in the CDC. he didn't love her, he felt he was owed her. the way shane so quickly and easily abandoned all sense of right and wrong and adjusted to brutality was a red flag, not something to emulate. to reiterate the parallel they drew between shane and beale in the towl finale, shane was willing to sacrifice other people (his own people!) for his own survival. we should see this as a bad thing. by contrast we know, empirically, that rick would sooner sacrifice himself than anyone he considered himself responsible for (see: the bridge). the argument that rick needed to learn to be more like shane just doesn't track for me: we saw in nebraska when he killed those two men in the bar without blinking that he was perfectly capable of doing what needed to be done. we saw it when he was the one to step up and kill sophia when she came out of the barn while shane just looked at his feet. if anything, killing shane taught rick just how far rick was willing to go. as he said in his dream sequence in 9x05, it had to be him. he had to stay alive to keep protecting the people he loved no matter what, even if it meant killing his best friend. that's his motivation.

as for n*egan. well. i can't believe in the year 2024 people are still not understanding that rick fucking grimes would never have subordinates, let alone force them to refer to themselves by using his own name. he'd never kill a child to prove a point and force submission, and would never, ever force women to become his wives and have sex with him whenever he wants via coercion because rick grimes would never sexually assault someone. do you honestly think daryl, glenn, maggie, carol, hershel, anyone in team family would have stayed with rick if he was capable of any of that? do you think michonne would have let him within fifty feet of her, let alone put an entire baby in her if that was the type of person he was? the same michonne who arguably has the best instincts of anyone on the show? who sniffed out the governer's bullshit immediately? no. when shown an alternate reality where she became a savior instead of part of team family, michonne called it hell. she only feels safe when she's with rick.

n*gan's whole thing reeks of egotism and a need for power - seeing his people as cogs in a machine meant to be put to work and terrorized and abused only to be told it's all for their own benefit. the saviors are a cult, whereas rick genuinely sees and treats his people as his family. rick's people not only love him, they're not afraid of him. they know that when he does go too far they are safe to tell him so, and that he will listen (even if it takes him a minute). rick admits he deserved it when michonne knocked him out at alexandria, and being a farmer at the prison was basically the apocalyptic equivalent of wearing the grippy socks and he did it without complaint. he lets himself be guided. as hershel said, he gets to come back, and he always does, because for rick ego and power have nothing to do with why he does the things he does. he doesn't enjoy it - it traumatizes him and he has to recover from it. this is not a person on a power trip who needs to be eliminated, but a person who is respected and as a result cared for because he does what needs to be done - things other people might not be capable of doing - but for the right reasons.

all of this is why the towl finale had to happen that way btw. not just because it was set up from the very first episode from a writing/narrative standpoint (and i'll let the much more qualified @starfruit-green speak on the socio-political aspects) but because there's no way rick and michonne grimes would ever hear the words coming out of beale's mouth and not immediately lunge. that finale painstakingly spelled out, slowly while using small words so people could understand, that rick and michonne's sword, their violence, is the necessary kind that protects, that eliminates the real threat. beale, shane, n*gan? they are the threat.

anyway. thank you to @starfruit-green and @redding for the encouragement <3

[merakiui]

👀 i literally have u on notifications but im afraid of liking first bc omg!

⏰ i love all your work and your little mumblings they’re all so yummy — honestly i can’t imagine how much you write for these little idiot boys, i have a tumblr with the sole purpose of writing twst fluff that i semi-abandoned bc writing is so draining for me

💌 see above ^^

💖 literally self explanatory since i stalk your page day in day out — i literally stayed up all night to finish one of your longer fics (until 7am!) this summer

🥵 quite literally ur work makes me horny lol >w< i have a hyper specific favorite scene you wrote

🍓when you write fluff in your mumbles, its literally the most perfect thing in the world— PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write more fluff

🎀 omg riddy in fairy-tale felicity was so sweet i loved him so much

🌺 they’re all so evil i love them so much

💡i can’t even imagine how many ideas you have in your smart noggin of yours i wanna kiss your forehead bc they’re all great

💎 your mind,,, omg you write everyone so perfectly. literally we connect via brainwaves on what the tweels act like

🧛‍♀️ THE NEWEST ROLLO FIC MAKES ME WANNA READ MORE OMFG he’s my prophet <333

(ask game)

AAAAA THANK YOU OMG!!!!! 💖 this is so sweet,,, and it means so much to me....

The twst fixation is too strong...... since it's a dream of mine to make a career out of writing one day, a lot of it is practice (and feeding the worms in my brain)!!! :D but also,,, writing is a very big part of who I am and so I can't imagine myself without writing!!! Whether it's for fandoms or ocs,,, I am always typing away at my laptop hehe.

But omg!!!! I must know because I am terribly curious,,,,,, (if you're willing to share ofc and if not that is perfectly okay!!!) which specific favorite scene might that be?? 👀 I always hope my smut work is good enough to instill just a sliver of horny in readers, so I'm happy I'm doing it correctly mwahaha!! >:D

( ˶°ㅁ°) !! I actually really love writing fluffy things. >w< cute and silly shoujo-esque romances are very fun to read and write....... I'm having the most fun adding in all of the fluffy moments in Floyb rom-com. The first sex scene is meant to be just pure horny, but I wrote it way too lovingly. ;;;;;; soft, sappy Floyb whose love feels sticky-sweet and syrupy........ yeah. („ᵕᴗᵕ„) fairy-tale felicity is one of my favorite Riddle works!! I loved writing soft yan. orz Dr. Rido is too cute...... he deserves a horsegirl. She would be very good for his mental health methinks.

🤝 us when our minds align for tweel thoughts!!!! I love those stinky, silly eels with all of my heart. orz an impossible amount of ideas for them stored in my head at all times... AND THANK YOU FOR READING THE NEWEST ROLLO FIC!!!!!! 🫶 he can make me his angel anytime. <3

[sweetcloverheart]

Clover Rants Miraculously: Train(crash) on the Brain

Hi, I’m gonna complain about “Style Queen” (and “Queen Wasp”) Again! (Warning for S5 spoilers)

For all I see the traincrash complained about, I never see anyone actually talk about how messed up it and Chloe’s motive are in context with how it’s handled - because you have the show present to us/the audience that Chloe is obsessed with getting her mother’s love and approval. So much so that she copies her every mannerism and got upset that she was more interested in her daughter’s bully victim than the daughter herself as well as mocking her on live TV, and was willing to endanger an entire train full of civilians over it on the premise that she believed doing something “heroic” would make her mother reconsider her being “unexceptional”.

It, at both it’s base and deeper levels, is messed up and awful. That Chloe both decided on this course of action and that the effect her mother’s absence has had on her influenced this are equally horrible things. And instead of addressing that, instead on tackling that obsession, instead of talking about how messed up it is Chloe felt she needed to do this to get her mom’s attention (or that Audrey, for whom she did it for with said attention in mind, responded so dismissively at the whole fiasco), instead of talking about how this was the wrong way of handling whatever trauma Audrey’s abandonment had on her and she might need to reconsider how valuable that love is if it’s driving her to try and crash trains and having her needing to ask her mother why she doesn’t love her - the show just has Marinette encourage them to bond through their shared evil and treats it like the problem begins and ends with Audrey staying in France instead of everything else it just presented within these two episodes.

And I’d be more forgiving of it if MLB was one of those black-comedy parody superhero shows, but even they manage to handle those types of topics with a bit of tact. If the entire point of Audrey’s treatment of Chloe was meant for comedy, they would (and should) have just kept things limited to the whole “Audrey’s so detached from her family and such a raging narcissist she can’t even remember her own daughter’s name” instead of dedicating the entire following episode and later ones and several mini-moments in this and the prior season to how this treatment has had a negative impact on Chloe and is one of the main reasons she’s so awful to everyone before having it drive her to almost cause a citywide tragedy and give her a magical artifact because of it. The show runners spent so much time showing how Audrey’s been such a toxic influence on Chloe even in her absence and gave such an extreme case example via the attempted train crash of why it’s bad she doesn’t seem to recognize what a terrible person her mother is/her effect is on her, so having them act like Chloe just needed mommy dearest (and how Marinette needs to give up her dream to help achieve this when there are a million different canon ones for why she can’t go to New York and why another character could and should be involved in this arc instead) to spend time with her is just baffling? Especially when they then proceed to turn around and go “LOL JK! Chloe never had any depth actually, KA-PRANK!” at everyone in the season 3 finale for having dared to get invested in the storyline they introduced in the first place! And even then, it didn’t actually solve anything because Audrey’s still a neglectful POS afterwards and Chloe goes from schoolyard bully to cartoonish psychopath before the show then decides to use her mother as a “punishment” for her Also don’t even dare talk to me about Zoe - no she is not “proof” that Audrey isn’t an excuse for Chloe being a bad person because “she still turned out good despite Audrey doing the same to her” because 1)we have zero info on how Zoe was raised in New York. All we know about her backstory is that Audrey left too and that she got bullied for lying. We aren’t told what the Lee household is like or how they treated her or what sort of life she had lived before the liar reveal forced her to moved. For all I know, Mr.Lee donates yearly to the orphaned penguin fund and his wife (if he has one) reads to blind streetlamps. We can’t say she had the exact same backstory but turned out different when we don’t know what her backstory actually is. And 2)Audrey barely effects her backstory. Audrey isn’t the reason she moved. Audrey isn’t why she got bullied by her classmates. Audrey isn’t why she was mean to Marinette after meeting her again (Chloe was). Audrey has no involvement or connection to Zoe or her character outside of birthing her and validating Chloe’s claims that a Bourgeois must be “perfect”. I could literally make Zoe’s mom any other character in the series, and not only would “Solecrusher” still play out the same way as canon - it’d still run into the same issue as mentioned. Zoe isn’t good “in spite” of Audrey’s neglect, but because that just happened to be her default setting. I can at least say Audrey is, more or less, partially responsible for how Chloe turned out as a person and involved in her character arc because the show actually bothered to show this in series. Can’t say the same about Zoe though, because the writers didn’t try to give the two a connection outside of Audrey being her ovary-donor because they cared more about making sure everyone knew Zoe was anti-Chloe and better for it instead of proving the point the fandom claims she represents.

Like, if the show had Marinette (or maybe one of the other characters they had shoving her towards getting involved) say “Chloe, your mom’s a huge b-word and you absolutely should not be hanging around her anymore than you already are. It’s the entire reason I dropped the apprenticeship offer with her. Also, you should maybe think of investing in a therapist if she has you so twisted up that you decided crashing a train was the optimal solution to her disinterest in you.” and then have that advice rejected, it’d be fine - but instead they had Marinette say they should be bonding over how nasty both are and made it out to be like Chloe being exactly like Audrey was good and necessary, before then chiding anyone and everyone for still being attached to her afterwards because how dare! Don’t you know Chloe’s evil? So much so that she’s even more evilier than Hawkmoth! She’s just rotten to the core - always has been. What do you mean we had an entire arc showing she potentially could be a good person and it’s because her mother’s a bad influence? You’re imagining things. Chloe’s just evil because evil, nothing more nothing less!

(and it’s so frustrating they only had Marinette say this so they could justify keeping Chloe as an civilian antag when they could have just had Adrien, who would be justified in saying this seeing as how he has such an unhealthy view of family relationships thanks to Gabe, take her place and have the same result - or better yet, focus on Lila, whom they brought back in “Chameleon”, and have her take Chloe’s place as the civilian antag so we could better have the set up for her eventually becoming the new Butterfly holder!)

“It’s just a kid’s show. It doesn’t have to take the subject seriously. They just didn’t want to make Chloe a hero.” Alright then. Fair. If MLB just wants to be a silly kids show, it can be that - just don’t include the topic of Chloe and her mom then. If you want to be a dumb heeheehoho show about two kids with magical super powers who want to date, then don’t include heavy subjects like child neglect. Don’t make the child neglect part of the character backstory. Don’t make it be revealed the reason she bullies people. Don’t make it lead to a 2-season long arc about the character potentially joining the good guys, and then suddenly go “LMAO nope” after stringing along the audience the whole time! Don’t give depth and character focus to character you have no plans on actually utilizing it for, and then I can happily say to myself “it’s just a dumb kids show” and leave it at that!

[eternal-love-song]

Freely Offered, Fairly Stolen

Rantaro visits the sea witch to make a deal.

[Kokichi/Rantaro] [Mermaid AU, Fantasy, Witches, Rantaro POV]

Late entry for @oumamiweek Escape/Haven

It was forbidden to go to the sea scar.

Rantaro had been raised on the warnings; cursed by the buildup of human bones, inhabited by a mer-eating witch, poisoned by the black stone deposits. For years the whispers had grown around him, becoming louder and more insistent. He had been resolved to heed the warnings when he was younger, but now he found himself swimming to the depths and looking for that forbidden place.

The sea scar was an old place. It was the once proud home to his father's people, but war had long torn the place asunder, leaving rubble and ruins behind. The structures that once stood here had long eroded, the plants long wilted, the space abandoned by all but algae. The land around it had healed, but the sea scar remained, left behind by powerful magic and fueled by dying curses. Sea witches were a scary thing, too rare for the rules to be known, too strong to be safe and accepted. Though no one knew exactly when it had happened, the rumors spoke of the sea witch taking residence here.

Years ago he never would have dreamed of coming to this cursed place, but today it was that very rumor that called him forward. He swam lower, letting his hand touch the half buried bones as he passed them and his touch brush through the wilted and withering kelp. There was a cold current running across the jagged entrance and Rantaro steeled himself as he descended.

There was a long time of darkness before he began to see the bioluminescent plants that lined the walls of the sea scar. Small things, growing out of crevices and reaching out into the darkness. Rantaro was careful to keep as much distance to them as he could, just in case they were dangerous or cursed.

He knew he wasn't alone when he began to hear a wicked laugh. "Nishishi, and then there was one."

Rantaro went still as he looked around, trying to see where the witch was hiding. He'd heard that the witch was a thief and anything you offered to her freely could be stolen. A name, a voice, even things that you didn't know someone could steal. It was dangerous to talk with such a being, but he had grown more desperate than he was afraid.

"What's a delicate little merman doing in my domain, hmm?"

The witch asking him the question first meant that he could explain, but he had to be careful. Don't offer what you are not asked for, don't give unless you will receive. He had no idea if these rules for dealing with a witch were accurate, but they sounded like good enough advice and he had very few options.

"I came to bargain," he said.

The water swirled around him. Rantaro's head jerked to the side but not fast enough to see what had moved past him. "And what are you willing to bargain?"

That question felt like a trap. He'd be offering too much for nothing, giving answers without clear questions. He stayed silent, trying to push down the thread of nerves that told him he was doing the wrong thing or that it didn't matter.

"Nothing to say?" The witch asked. When he remained silent, the witch laughed again. "Aww, and here I was hoping that you would be a fool. Guess I shouldn't be surprised though. Amami's tend to be smart."

"What?" Rantaro pressed a hand to his mouth to keep him from saying anything else.

"Nishishi!" The witch cackled again. "Curious, are you? You came here without knowing anything, did you?"

Rantaro caught sight of the witch then. White tentacles that illuminated the darkness and glowing eyes, but just for a moment before they faded to black and camouflaged to the darkness. What was this witch, he wondered. Nothing like he'd seen before, that was for sure.

"What are you?" Rantaro found himself asking. He blinked and the witch was suddenly right before, glowing eyes and wide smile much too close to his face. Rantaro flinched, finding himself with his back to the cave war before he knew it.

"I'm the sea witch," he answered. "I'm the keeper of the old words and new ways. I'm everything you fear and all that you need. Do you need a name for your nightmares?"

"Yes," Rantaro answered without thinking. He didn't want to keep calling this creature a witch though. Even if it was true, it felt a little rude.

"Name yourself first, little merman," the witch demanded.

Rantaro debated the pros and cons for a moment before deciding to just be honest. It wasn't a question, but even if the witch could steal his name, that wasn't something Rantaro really needed. Not anymore. "I'm Rantaro Amami."

The witch’s limbs became illuminated again and he could see the eight tentacles furling beneath the humanoid torso. The witch held up his hand, plucking something out of the water between them and a placing it into his other palm. "Finally, I have the full set. It was driving me crazy to be one Amami short for so long."

Rantaro moved forward, only to be grabbed by the witch’s tentacles. Both arms, his tail, and his waist were quickly wrapped, leaving him immobilized. "What do you mean?" he demanded. "Did you do something to them?"

"Hmm?" The witch tilted his head and grinned, two tentacles folding beneath his face as he made an innocent expression. "Do something to who, sweet Rantaro?"

"My sister!" he yelled. "Do you know what happened to them?"

"Oh, you sweet, silly merman," the cooed. "It seems like you're the last to know." The witch swam past him, limbs unwrapping as he moved to the other wall. There were grooves hollowed out on the shelf, lined with bottles. The bottles were filled with strange magical things; glowing swirls, oddly colored bubbles, human trinkets, and other things that he couldn't identify. There were thirteen bottles on the shelf. The witch grabbed an empty bottle and shoved his hand inside before swiftly corking it. Then he turned back to Rantaro. "Now then, Amami, what do you want to bargain for?"

Rantaro wanted to correct him, to insist that he be called by his given name. He had a lot of family after all, and being one of thirteen Amami's was a lot more complicated than being a single Rantaro. He couldn't seem to do it though. Every attempt to say his own name ended up with gasping and coughing on nothing. "What did you do?"

"Just a little souvenir," the witch said, a tentacle waving between them as if to brush off the topic. "You'd do well to answer my question if you want me to help though, before I get bored."

So the witch had stolen his name after all. Rantaro pressed his lips together and for a moment, he wanted to refuse to speak. He wanted to demand that the witch give back what he stole. But what good would it do? And did he really want to waste a potential bargain on that when he had much more important things to focus on?

He sighed. "I want to bargain for your aid to help me find my sisters. I've lost them."

"You've lost them?" the witch laughed. "The only thing you've lost is your name. You're already following the exact path that they did, a year late and a stone short."

"They've been here," he realized.

"Youngest first," the witch said, tapping one bottle in particular. "And then one by one, they all came, they all went. Some of them wanted me to wait for you, Amami. Some of them left messages and magic, some of them prayers or curses. You're all so funny. Thinking you're the only one in all the ocean to want what you want, to ask what you ask, to give what you give. It would be boring if it wasn't so funny."

"So then you know where they are?" Rantaro asked.

"Of course I do," he answered with a grin. "I'm the one that sent them there."

Rantaro swam closer, mildly surprised when he wasn't stopped again, but ignoring that as he grabbed the witch’s shoulders as tightly as he could. "Where are they? What did you do?"

He pointed upward. "They're all on the surface." He shrugged out of Rantaro's hold and moved past him. "They found that the ocean was starting to feel too small for them."

"The surface," Rantaro repeated. "Where the humans are?"

"That's right! And it's super easy to do the same thing." The witch's lips curled into a wicked grin. "For a price."

"What price?" he asked immediately.

"Nishishi, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me Amami." He swam around Rantaro, touching him with all eight tentacles, making him feel more claustrophobic than descending into this jagged crevice in the first place. "You've already paid half the price, so even if you leave now, there's one thing that you're not getting back."

"My name," he said grimly.

"That's right. And the one thing that I need from you, is to take me out of this place."

His eyes widened as he stared at the witch. "What?"

"I'm cursed," the witch answered with a frown, the first he had worn the whole encounter. Trapped to haunt this small crevice of the ocean until something and so on and so forth. The details don't matter," he waved off.

Rantaro took that to mean that he didn't trust Rantaro with the exact details. If he had been cursed though, Rantaro could understand that.

"I've gotten a promise, permission, a whole host of things to circumvent this curse and all I need now is for someone to take me away from here." His face went blank as he stared at Rantaro. "It's easy enough for me to give you legs and lungs, so that you can follow your sisters to the surface. So you take me out of here and I'll give you the path that they walked so that you can walk it too."

"What's the catch?" he asked.

The witch slowly smiled again and held out his hand. "The catch is that you'll always ask that question and never be sure you have the right answer."

Rantaro stared at the hand. This whole thing could be a lie, he was aware, or a trick. He could be abandoned on the surface or worse, in the middle of the ocean with new legs and lungs. Somehow though, looking at the witch’s face made him sure that none of those things would happen. He expected the witch's words were right on the latter, that he would always wonder and never be completely sure. Given everything that had happened, how long he had been searching, the way each of his sister's had vanished one by one with no one the wiser, he felt that this was the best way forward. He would just have to lend out his trust.

He took the witch's hand. "I agree."

The witch smiled and he looked less ominous the way his face lit up with actual joy. "Then I renounce the name of Kokichi Ouma and lay claim to the name Rantaro."

So the witch was named Kokichi. Or was? It was a little confusing, but when the witch raised an eyebrow at him, Rantaro began swimming back out of the cave floor and pulling the witch with him. He heard the clink and clank of bottles as the witch’s tentacles grabbed things off the shelf but he didn't look back. He didn't stop in fact, until he had swam full stop to the water's surface. He was unbelievably tired at the end of it, choking on air as he broke free of the water, finding himself collapsing into the tentacles of his new companion.

Kokichi cradled him as waves of agony and breathlessness overcame him. Pain crashed through him as his tail was torn in two, as his chest seemed to explode, as his skin shed scales and fins. At the end of it all, all he could think of was how beautiful the sky looked, how warm the sun made him, and how comforting it was to be in the arms of this strangely friendly witch.

[ritterum]

The Trials of Arteama

When Arteama turned fourteen, she snuck out of the temple unsupervised (something that, she would later learn, was a necessary part of her ascension ritual). The streets of Vimvi were still waking, none of the usual bustle yet to be found. Arteama, wending her way through the near-empty alleys and boulevards, felt as if the morning sun was embracing her in a cloak of divine safety, within which nothing could harm her. Eventually, she would learn that the penalties meant nobody would dream of harming a novice of the Wandering Serai in the first place. But she knew none of that at the time, and was amazed at the impunity with which she wandered the city.

Eventually she came across a stone carvers’ workshop, where she noticed one man out in the yard, his face in his hands and weeping. Driven to compassion, she approached and said to him: “Uncle, why do you weep so?”

He looked up at her with eyes still damp. “Little niece, I beg forgiveness for seeing me in such a state. I am not a good tool for the empire - my fellow workers do not respect me, for I walk differently from them, and behave too strangely. Often they leave me to complete the work of three men, and they rebuke me when I fail in their tasks. I have no recourse for justice, since the foreman thinks as they do, and will not even give me the time of the day.”

Arteama was filled with pity, and in that moment felt inspired by divine wisdom. She removed her girdle and spoke a prayer over it, then handed it over to the stone-carver. “Take this, uncle, and worry not. This girdle has been blessed by the gods, and as long as you wear it, you will work thrice as fast as the fastest worker. Thus, even though your fellows give you the work of three men, their evil wills shall be stymied, for you will not fail in your task, and those in power shall reward you truly.”

The man stared at the girdle, staying silent for a moment. “You are most generous, little niece, but surely you see that this girdle cannot solve my problems completely. What am I to do when my crew decides to increase my work-load to that of five men, or nine men? Then I will be back where I started, lest I find a priest to change the blessing each time.”

Arteama laughed gently. “That is nothing to worry about - you will be the fastest worker in your group, so the girdle will make you work three times as fast as yourself, and three times as fast as even that, if need be. In this manner will you be able to achieve whatever work-load you are assigned.”

The man looked troubled, but nodded nevertheless. “Thank you, young niece; you are right. I merely wish to be a good tool for the empire.” And, fastening the girdle around his waist, he vanished into the workshop without another word.

Arteama departed into the ever-busier streets, full of pride and satisfaction at having helped a person in need. Everywhere she went, she felt the love of the townspeople radiating out to each other: vendors presenting children with their best produce, young apprentices observing their parents with admiration, innkeepers setting out food for the beggars living on their corner. What other city took such good care of its people? And what better place on earth could there be?

Before long, however, she came upon a neighborhood with an unsettling air to it. Many in the area attributed this to an abandoned house, which they claimed to be haunted; ever since its tenant, a young soldier, had died while away in battle, the house had taken on its current aura. The neighborhood people besought her that she might dispel the house’s foul energy, and Arteama, never one to turn down such a desperate request, agreed.

The first oddity she noticed upon entering was that, far from being decrepit or fallen into disrepair, the house was well-kept. Dust had settled on some shelves and decorative drums; portraits on the wall were likewise cobwebbed, but the chairs were clear, the floor was cleanly swept, and the faint scent of porridge hung in the air. The kitchen, of modest size, also displayed no sign of pests, and none of the fruits or bread on the table had gone rotten or moldy.

The second oddity was the figure sitting in the corner, its outlines fuzzy and vague, but distinctly there. Arteama muttered a prayer under her breath, and the figure grew more solid enough that it could be recognized as a woman, eyeing Arteama suspiciously, as old as the high priestesses at the temple, and as proud.

“Goodness and grace unto you, aunt,” said Arteama, “and forgive my intrusion into your home.” At the sound of her voice, the woman started.

“You see me?” she asked, voice breaking, and Arteama nodded.

“I am of the Wandering Serai,” Arteama said. “We are granted the privilege to see what - or who - lies in the sands between.”

“Then help me, niece,” pleaded the woman. “Ever since my son died, I have become like a ghost. None of my neighbors see or hear me, and the ones that do shun my presence as if I were diseased. I could easily lift a loaf of bread, for no shopkeeper would acknowledge me; indeed, though it embarrasses me to say, I have had to resort to such measures of late to keep myself alive, since it was my son who would support me in daily life.”

“Of course,” said Arteama. “And your son, did he carry any titularies? Had he any heirs? I may have an idea of your malady, good aunt, but I must know these things first.”

The woman bowed her head in thought. “Naught that I know of, save for the seal of the house and the seal of the family line, which I gave to him in the hopes that he could start a family. This was before we knew that he would be sent off to war. He was called up before a marriage could be arranged, and he never planned on adopting, so I do not believe he has any heirs.”

“I see,” said Arteama, her pity for the old woman growing. “We are taught of circumstances such as these. I fear, my aunt, that because your son died while these seals were in his possession, they have become unbound, and in the eyes of the great city of Vimvi, this house is ownerless and your family line dead. The deep Authority that flows through these stones, which keeps our society running smoothly and obedient to the law, no longer views you as a person; hence, the people of the city no longer see nor hear you as well.”

“How is that possible?” cried the woman. “I meant for none of this to happen. Nobody told me this would happen. It is not fair.”

“This is not a common situation,” said Arteama, apologetically, “but not uncommon, either. Fortunately there are ways of rectifying errors like this, which we of the Wandering Serai are specially called for. I could even take care of this myself, but I understand if you would rather talk to a more experienced priestess than a novice.”

“Oh please, no more waiting,” said the woman, despondent. “Send for them if you must, but I beg you - do something now!”

Arteama nodded and laid her hands on the woman’s head, and in that instant, a strange glow filled the room, blue and gold, as of festival pyres seeded with exotic chymicals. “Behold: the vast and boundless Identity which surrounds us even now, which giveth every man, woman, and child a face to greet all faces. You, who have chosen to remain in this mortal land, are entitled to a face - so it has been decreed from the days of the empire’s founding. In stripping you of your face, the goodly empire has transgressed against you; in restoring it to you, the Serai makes you whole again. Let gladness fill your heart, aunt L—-, for you are once again legible to Authority.”

At this, the woman’s figure became solid again, and she wept with joy, bowing and kissing Arteama’s feet, and promising the better part of her riches to the Serai for releasing her from such a horrendous fate. Arteama, knowing little of the protocol involved in such lavish displays of gratitude, politely declined; her job now done, she had little desire to linger when so much of the divine power suffusing her remained to be applied to more problems.

Upon exiting the humble domicile, she was surprised to find that a small crowd had gathered, presumably drawn by the rippling effects of her spiritual magic, and at its head, pushed forward by the gathering throng, was a young boy in too-large clothes, no older than eight or nine years of age. Perhaps an orphan, thought Arteama without hesitation, for in the boy’s eyes there was an unmistakable look, lost but also hardened against the world, and while he appeared decently cared for, his parents did not seem to be around, and the insistence of the crowd seemed to insinuate familial demands upon her. But perhaps he was merely sick and needed healing.

“This is P—-,” said one of the old men, nudging the boy forward. “His parents and sister died of the grippe two summers ago. We noticed you were performing rites and thought we would bring him to your attention, since we know orphans are dear to your order.”

“Yes,” said Arteama, watching the boy as he looked down at his sandaled feet. “That they are.”

She knelt down on one knee in front of him and tried to meet his gaze. “You must have found something profoundly meaningful in this land, that you remained when even your sister departed. I cannot imagine what that must have been, but know that we are honored by your presence.” She offered her hand, meaning to grasp his, but he ignored it.

The old man coughed. “We were, ah, wondering if the temple would take him in or offer him an apprenticeship in place of what he lost. He has no family, and we here in the area have been taking care of him, but an extra mouth…” He threw up his hands. “Not to mention that when his Naming comes, ai! Who will stand in for him at the Devourer? Whose lines will he inherit? Too many things to consider, too much uncertainty for poor people like us..”

Arteama stood up and turned to face him, frowning. “Shame on you! You stand before this most noble pearl of Adam - this soul who, as you yourself told me, chose to remain in our sorry world when he easily could have returned to the Door of Time - and all you can think about is money! Do you not understand that these children are the foundation of the empire you call home? Do you not see that as you slap or stroke them, so do you slap or stroke the very bosom of the emperor himself? Unspeak your words and make as if I never heard them; I would sooner have fermenting horse dung in my ears.

“But as for you–” Here she took from her robes an ivory bead the size of a soursop seed and gave it to the boy, who ran it over his fingers wordlessly. “I give you this memento, that it might inspire you towards your apprenticeship. It is a sensatiaball: if you hold it like so and like so–” Here she instructed him on the proper handling of the bead, “--you will cause color and image to flow through and remain on its skin. Show us what beauty and wonder prompted you to remain in this land, young one, and I promise that the land will repay you in kind.”

Retreating from the crowd, Arteama was less thrilled to see a contingent from the Serai waiting at the edge of the crowd. They were but two, an acolyte and a monk, but the younger one’s height, their body-long prayer-bead chains, and their cinnabar-colored robes made them impossible to miss.

“Goodness and grace to you, sister Arteama,” said the monk. They both genuflected as she met their eyes. “You have missed morning services.”

“I had some business to attend to,” Arteama blurted out petulantly. “I have been doing good works in the city.”

“So we have heard.” The monk bowed again. “Even if we hurry back, we will just have missed noon services. Perhaps it would be best if we take our time walking, so you have more time to reflect on your adventures for the Deputy Primate.”

Arteama blanched - surely her departure could not be so grave that it warranted a talking-to from the head of the temple branch. She’d heard of other novices who would sneak out as well, some of whom had even gone on to become priests and priestesses in their own right. But nobody had told of being reprimanded - maybe even thrown out of the order. What had happened to the novices who hadn’t ascended in the temple? Perhaps they were sacrificed to fuel the Authority, if that was even possible (it wasn’t), or they were banished to the far reaches of Ukkabal in the claws of sky-lobsters (they weren’t). Maybe they were turned into the statues that lined the capitol’s streets, new ones unveiled every year; or they were stripped of their names like poor auntie L—-, and made to wander the countryside visible only to the leopards and the wolves. New scenarios popped up and turned over in her head, each more fanciful than the last, until before she knew it, the three of them were cresting the little hill on which the temple complex rested, and entering the great gate through which the welcoming fragrance of jasmine and ylang-ylang beckoned.

The Deputy Primate was already awaiting them in the courtyard with a couple of novices. Though she barely came up to their shoulders, the authority she exuded made Arteama want to hunch in her presence.

“Come,” said the Deputy Primate to Arteama. “Away,” she said to the other clerics, and they vanished obediently into the surrounding hallways.

Arteama followed her up the dimmed stairwell into the mess hall, and from there into the modest room that served as the Deputy Primate’s office and quarters. The birdsong was light and crisp, its echoes muffled this far in the temple.

“Before a novice ascends,” said the older woman, seating herself behind her desk and closing the windows, “it is essential that they display the three elements of character fundamental to the priesthood. These are curiosity, charity, and prudence. These three elements keep each other in check, and without them, a novice will inevitably fail to adapt to the priestly role - that is, to act as a conduit for divine intervention. You may have thought your exit from the compound a daring escape at the time; this is what we wanted you to believe, for it is essential that a priest occasionally bend the rules to get at something their heart so desires, if only to gauge it and see its qualities better. The timid stay back and let others pave the road for them - in their hands, divine power becomes a dangerous tool. Here you chose to break free and explore the city that you loved one last time before it would be denied you. In this, you showed curiosity, and I commend you.

“The charity you displayed also speaks well of you, for what is our burden as keepers of the Serai if not to ease the travelling of others? Yes, we noted the three gestures of kindness you performed - not insignificant ones either. In this, I commend you, too.”

The Deputy Primate withdrew an incense burner from beneath the desk, set it on the surface, and muttered a short chant. “However.” The burner began puffing smoke, and she removed her hand from it. “Prudence was not in great supply.” The smoke filled Arteama’s sinuses, making her eyes water, and as she coughed and sniffled to clear her head, the voice of the superior boomed in her ears. “Observe.”

And now it was as if a dozen dozen images of Vimvi swam in front of Arteama’s eyes, like all these were the spots of a leopard’s pelt, and all these spots nearly the same, but different in their own way. In the center, closest one, she saw the laborer whom she had given the girdle of speed to, collapsed on the floor of his workshop and pale with exhaustion. “This man, you gifted the ability to do the work of three men, but you did not consider that, without the respect of his crew, this would cause his workmates to pile more and more tasks upon him until he died from fatigue.”

The view shifted, zooming through the streets and over the rooftops until it settled on the second house, where city guards were dragging aunt L—- out kicking and screaming. “This woman, you made legible to Authority, but this put her in the eye of the City, and without the destroyed seals, the City no longer considers her house her own.”

Then the picture leapt to P—- the orphan, stuck in a tiny room with a tiny window, surrounded by dozens of tiny beads which he was painstakingly decorating with a single brush. “And this orphan child, whose honor you rightly defended. You remanded him to society, but did not take into account the greed of the wiser and more cunning around him, who now keep him from his mandate of play.

“It is not uncommon for novices to fail at prudence,” sounded the Deputy Primate’s voice, as the visions contracted into a single point, and Arteama found herself staring at the wood grain on the table. “You are all of fourteen years; the world has much to teach you, and in the end, what matters most is that you are able to right what you have wronged. What you have seen can still be changed. So tell me, soon ex-novice - how will you change it?”

Arteama thought for a few minutes, letting the vision-incense clear from her head, before insight struck and the answers lay bare before her. “I know now what must be done.”

The Deputy Primate nodded and got to her feet. “Then show it, and let us be off.”

So they went out of the temple and down the winding, twisty hill-ways, and though the sun shone less brightly than it had when Arteama had first left, still she felt full of vim and vigor, for she had the bottomless well of ingenuity on her side, with the floodgates of prudence to stem its flow. Presently they came to the stone carvers’ workshop, where a group of workers was looking on idly as the laborer from that morning carved inscription after inscription with inhuman speed.

“Uncle!” Arteama cried, and the laborer stopped to look at her, panting and wiping the sweat off his brow. The group of workers yelled in frustration, and one of them stepped forward, visibly pushier than the rest.

“I am the foreman here, and this is no place for two temple flowers to alight on,” said the worker. “As you have no business here, I must insist that you leave.”

“Ah,” said Arteama, “but I do have business here. Your man has something of mine, and I have come to reclaim it.” She gestured to the man to approach; he was already unfastening the girdle, a puzzled expression on his face. “I must ask for this girdle back, for I erred in giving it to you. However, in return, I have something that will fulfill your obligations and make your life much easier from now on.” Here, she took a brooch from her robes that was in the shape of a Keeper’s Mask, and as she handed it over, beams and ribbons of light surrounded it, changing its size and form until it was a full-sized bronze Mask, in all senses that of a Keeper, except that it had the most delicate ivory and jade ornamentations along the rim.

“This,” she said as he tried it on, “marks you as an Artisan of Special Skill; for as long as it is bonded to you, all will know that you answer only to yourself, to your commissioners, and to the temple of the Serai. You may continue to work in this place, for all artisans ultimately must answer to our temple, but Authority binds everyone here to treat you fairly and as your position accords. Be at peace.”

And as she and the Deputy Primate departed, already she could see that the laborer was working unmolested by his fellows, who had taken to their own tasks, occasionally jerking spastically as they attempted to fight the geas. (Such is the state of human cruelty, she would come to learn again and again; one only hoped they would soon tire of it.)

Next they came to L—’s house, where they found her outside, chatting with some acquaintances as she swept the threshold. “Little niece!” greeted the old woman. “Oh, how wonderful it is of you to come by. I was just talking with my neighbors about what life was like without access to Identity. Can you believe they forgot I even existed at all!”

“That’s how it is, aunt,” said Arteama, “but if you will forgive us, we must take care of something very quickly, and then we will be on our way. May we come inside?” And without waiting for a reply, she entered the house.

Quickly, she gathered an assortment of things from the four corners of the house on both floors: a stick of charcoal, a picture of an azalea, a cast-iron pot, two decorative war-drums, a wooden cat, a stool, and a coin. These she arranged roughly in a circle in the middle of the greeting-room, before stretching out her arms, palms down, and beginning to pray: “O bones of the earth! Through time and chance, you’ve become unbound, your carapace sloughed off and your sinews loosed. Let your ties be renewed, by the great power of VIMVI - cry out your allegiance to the Wandering Serai, and let nothing be done to you without Their forbearance. So it ever was; so it shall always be.”

Then she returned the things to their proper places and left, bidding aunt L—- a swift but hearty farewell, to the old lady’s bemusement and puzzlement.

Lastly, they sought out the young boy, which was not hard - he was playing with the sensatiaball in the dirt, in the square on the other side of the building. Seeing the pair approaching, he stared up at them with wide eyes, hiding the bead in his shirt.

“Have no fear,” said Arteama, and she took his hand, and, with the assistance of the Deputy Primate, she bonded him to the mercy of the temple, so that when he became of age, he would be able to undergo the rites of Naming and not vanish into the unseen for want of a guardian to stand in for him at the Passage through the Gates of Hours. And when this was done, the three of them went to a quiet spot by his old house and set there a memorial slab for his two parents and sister. For it is important that while orphans must be remanded into society, it should not be forgotten that their primary mandate is to explore and enjoy the world. Grief, which weakens the resolve, and renders them vulnerable to the predations of others, must thus not be foremost in their heart.

All her objectives now done, Arteama and her superior left the city and made for the temple.

“How have I done, Wise One?” asked Arteama.

The Deputy Primate nodded and smiled down at her. “It is satisfactory, Keeper Arteama.”

Runao’s Commentary:

Prudence is the hardest-won of the virtues; therefore exercise it when you can, that it may grow in your heart. Be cautious in your dealings with the temple of trade and travel, for their power is handled by fools.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Dreams of Retribution Chapter 11

Dream of the Endless x reader

Word Count: 788

Summary: Waking and reunions

The first thing you noticed during your return to consciousness was how light your wrists felt. You flexed them, testing the sensation, only to be shocked to realize there was no flesh-warm metal encircling either. Startled, you willed your eyes open despite the horrible dry feeling in both of them. The way your heartrate picked up upon seeing your surroundings was immediate.

It was your bedroom. Not the horrible, cold glass sphere and not the variable dungeon cell that Burgess shoved you in for nine years. No, this was the room you and Dream designed eons ago. The black drapes kept out the light, and the equally dark sheets kept the tone he’d designed in the Dreaming’s throne room. But really, it was the impossibly soft mattress that set your mind at ease for the first time in a century.

You were free.

And if you were free, that meant . . . 

You cast your eyes about, and there he was. There he was, sitting by the small fireplace, facing away from you.

“Dream?” you croaked. When was the last time you spoke to another person? Or when even was the last time you’d spoken at all. You knew you’d stopped crying for help quickly, but that was essentially all you knew about the time frame.

You could see his shoulders tense before he turned around to look at you. Your name was a mere exhale as he stood. He was every bit as striking as you remembered. Ethereal in a way that only the Endless could manage. “Do you need anything?” he asked the moment he was close enough to kneel by the bed.

“Come here,” the plea left your lips on a whimper.

Wordlessly, your beloved leaned closer. 

You shuffled enough that you could hold his handsome face in your too-light hands. “You’re here?” It was uncertain whether you were talking to him or just yourself. You were uncertain he was even real. All you could think about was how stunning he looked in that moment.

“And you’re home,” he said calmly. One of his hands moved to rest on yours, thumb tracing the delicate skin there.

“How?” Your throat was as scratchy as sandpaper; you paid it no mind.

“Let’s not worry about it just now. You need rest.”

“Dream,” now you sounded more forceful, more like the Nightmare Queen you’d once been. “Tell me.”

He sighed with his whole soul. “I escaped because they grew careless. I regained my tools. I found you here in the Dreaming, trapped at the gates in a hidden cave.”

Your hands fell back to the bed; your eyes slid closed. “I’ve been home for a century and didn’t even know it?”

“No one knew it.” He sounded defeated, like it was his fault despite his own imprisonment. Dream swallowed so thickly you could hear it. “The last I saw you, you made a deal with Burgess.” He didn’t need to put words to the question for you to understand.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice practically overflowing with venom. You’d racked your cursed brain practicality every waking moment since you’d woken up there and nothing. You remembered making the deal. You remembered being taken to dress to better hide amount the mortals. Then . . . “I was hit by something from behind. When I woke, I was there.”

The king of Dreams hummed thoughtfully. 

Abruptly, you decided, “You’re right.” At his adorably confused look, you explained, “We have time enough to puzzle this out later.”

He nodded, moving to stand. “I’ll let you be.”

You caught his sleeve. “Stay. We’ve been apart long enough.”

“. . . You’re sure?” As if your skin hadn’t been craving the brush of his cool fingers for a century, as if your heart hadn’t been crying out for him like an abandoned child, as if you hadn’t missed him like a lost limb.

Your fingers tightened on his coat. “Of course I’m sure.” Doubt began to set in. “Unless . . .” What if he didn’t want you anymore? How long had he been free? Had he found someone else? Maybe you simply didn’t fit anymore. Maybe--

Cool lips on the fingertips of the hand that’s slunk away from his as you fell into your downward spiral of doubts. “If you will still have me, I--”

“I will always have you,” you vowed with your whole heart.

“Then we are of the same mind.”

It was only much later, when the light had died and darkness fell upon this part of the Dreaming, when you had your cheek resting against your husband’s chest like no time had passed, that you could bring yourself to say, “Thank you . . . for saving me.”

He hummed quietly. “I am only sorry I couldn’t do it sooner.”

[goodfish-bowl]

It had been your dream, those many centuries ago, to open an orphanage to take care of the small ones without anyone else. You knew personally what it was like to be a kid growing up in the streets. By the gods, it still left it’s mark on you now. But after the good fight was done, done with the world-ending fights anyways, you found that your tale had become little more than a song, a legend, nothing more than a fairy tale, and your history faded into the shadows.

This was a fine outcome. Preferably, even. No one came bothering you at every little tragedy like they used to. It was peaceful. And then that old dream of yours came to fruition.

It had started in an old, abandon church to gods only you knew the name of, which you fixed up as a show of faith. It was not like you had anything better to do. Then there was that first group of kids, who rushed inside to hide from the coming storm. They fled from you the first time, but were lured back in by their empty stomachs and free food. You offered to let them stay, and eventually, they accepted. There were more children who came after that. After some time, children were brought to him to be raised, rather than let them be subject to the streets at all. Infants in baskets had found their way to his doorstep every couple of moons.

You started a garden out in the yard, and taught the children how to farm. It was a good skill to know, after all. You had some old seeds gathered up, and they did just as well as they did in the centuries past. People bought your crops, first out of pity, then out of desire. There wasn’t crops like this grown anymore, and few knew how to prepare them the right way. The novelty helped with the sales, and it helped to have the income on hand. The kids deserved nice things every now and again.

Some of the rougher boys had found your old sword and armor at one point, so rather than let them mess around with it and injure themselves, you taught the children who were willing how to fight. You taught indiscriminately between the boys and the girls. You knew better than to underestimate any warrior. Just like the crops, this style too, was lost to time, resurrected with the generation you raised. Fighting too, was a good skill to know.

Most of the children grew up and left, becoming apprentices, farmers, warriors, squires, and scholars. A few returned to visit, every now and again, coming with gifts and well-wishes, and a few stayed to help. But there were always more children to be taken care of, so your home was never empty.

The children knew you were old and unchanged by the passage of time. The church was remote enough that none of the villages questioned your existence, though you heard the children spreading rumors that you were the god of the church, sent to take care of them. You didn’t mind, as long as it stayed within the walls. It was better than that old legend of you being a god of war and destruction, after all. The god of lost children didn’t sound nearly as awful.

One day, the elder children who went to the market to sell crops, came back with rumors of slavers in the area. You warned all of the children at dinner about this threat, and warned them to never travel alone, and have at least one fighter among them, or yourself, should they need to travel farther than eyesight from the church.

This warning meant nothing when the slavers crashed into the church in the middle of the night, snatching your children from their beds. They must’ve thought a church so far from town, full of children and their caretakers would be an easy target. You heard the windows shatter, the shouts of the slavers, and the screams of your children in the middle of the night. Over two centuries of battle made you a light sleeper.

You were grateful at that moment that you had taught some of the children how to fight, because it not only kept your own skills and gear sharp, but bought you just enough time to throw on your armor and snatch your sword.

Unlike raising children, battle was easy and relatively straightforward when confronted with an unprepared enemy. You went outside, freed their horses and broke their carriages first, preventing escape, freed the captured, then picked each slaver off, one by one. Life was sacred, but so terribly fragile. The children had taught you that. You hated to do this in view of them, but there were bodies already on the ground and blood on their blades and knuckles by the time you emerged, so it was already too late for that.

By dawn, the slavers were decimated, those who ran, or attempted to hold the children hostage cut down with fury by either your hands or the children’s. The slaves you had freed attacked with the ferocity of a wild animal, and you let them. You gathered the bodies and counted, covered in the blood of more than two dozen men. None of your children were among them, thankfully. These were slavers, not bandits. It wouldn’t be beneficial to kill your merchandise. It would’ve been worse if they’d been bandits. You would’ve given them a much more painful death.

You sent the children inside to rest, tend to the wounded, and clean up. You sent the freed slaves with them. They would get to choose whether they wished to stay or not. You would offer them a ride to the nearest town after you finished.

You were thankful it was already late autumn, and most of the crops for the year had already been harvested and the ground still soft from it. You grabbed a shovel from the shed and got to work, and dug neat graves, spaced out and even in the field. You stripped each corpse of its things except for their clothes, then buried them. This was holy ground, so they shouldn’t revive as undead, but you still knew better than to leave such things behind. You would’ve burned them otherwise. But the dead still had no use for coin, armor, and weapons. You decided everything except for the coin would be melted down and turned into something else. Your current set of farm tools were almost a century old by this point. You needed some new ones.

It was past noon before you finished, and nearly dinner time by the time you had the soil down firmly, finished lines of unmarked graves. It was more of an honor than they deserved, but at least the crops would grow well come spring.

An immortal warrior with centuries of combat experience settles down to run an orphanage. Slave traders kidnap some of the children…big mistake.

[brokendreamscreation-moved]

@froggarolli cont.)

Oh Father he was really in deep this time. The angel had come down to the Heaven Embassy in Hell for the first time and now he was trapped! Alone! Stranded! After the events of the last Extermination Day, Heaven was understandably on edge. But some old work still needed to be finished in the nearly abandoned embassy, and finding willing hands to go down was few. After much pushing and pleading, the higher ups reluctantly allowed Lucid to accompany a few of the other workers down to Hell to gather up files and whatnot.

Of course the inquisitive, excitable angel had wandered off, the other angels too focused on getting things done and out to notice his absence. And in the midsts of it, the alarm sounded. Lucid did not know what it meant, but he assumed it was nothing good. Running the halls and opening door after door, the seraphim could not locate the other angels. By the time the alarm quieted, he was no closer to finding them.

That was until he found the gate room back to Heaven. The door was shut and barred with an angelic barrier to prevent any demon from entering the room. Or in Lucid’s case, let him leave back to Heaven. He pounded and screamed at the door, up in a panic and flurry of feathers.

After a full break down, the blue angel finally came around to formulating a plan. Staying there seemed to be the most logical, but the alarm had gone off. Meaning danger might be in the building. And Lucid did not want to stick around and find out. Heaven had to have another way out of here, right? They wouldn’t have only one way in, one way out? Yeah they likely did have only that.

Lucid finally stumbled his way out into the street, searching for something or someway to get in contact with Heaven. They always had eyes on Hell, they had to! So surely they’d see him and come to his aid, right? As he hastily made his way along the sidewalk, the angel desperately tried to talk to anyone that might be able to help him. They all hurried away, shouted vulgar insults, or in one case threw a beer bottle that narrowly missed his head. Lucid began to sniffle, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he chewed on a knuckle nervously.

But when a long hard shelled beast with round feet rolled up beside him, it was like Father had heard his pleas and sent him help! In the form of a very colorful imp. A strange creature, like a cute lizard dressed as a clown. But his plea was met with a vile accusation of a kink for his own predecessor?! Oh the horrors down here know no bounds!

“Nononono please! You-you misunderstand! I’m not Lucifer! I’m not him, but Father created me in his image to replace him but I’m not allowed to create actual things only dreams and I came down here with the other angels to the embassy and-and there was an alarm and I couldn’t find them and-and-and they locked the gate door and nobody came to get me-“

Was he even taking a breath anymore? Lucid was becoming frantic, his words rambling and getting faster the longer he went. He was a wreck, a shaking distressed mess in the middle of the sidewalk in Hell begging an imp inside a weird monster for help.

[fiflowers]

Chase Davenport Fluff Alphabet

A: activities (what do you do together?)

Chase absolutely LOVES to do just about anything with you. He’s so mesmerized and captivated by you, anything that makes you happy, he’ll do. It makes him really happy if you do the things he’s interested in, too. (I.E. watching his favorite tv shows, letting him ramble on about science, read with him, etc.)

B: Beauty (what does he find the most beautiful about you?)

Again, he thinks you’re so beautiful, everywhere. If he had to choose, he would probably say your hair. He loves running his fingers through it and playing with it when he’s bored. He loves when you let him try to braid it after you taught him.

C: comfort (how would he help you after a panic attack?)

Chase is most definitely an expert when it comes to panic attacks. He would make sure you can breathe and would stay by your side the entire time. He would know when to give you space but he would whisper supportive mantras to try and help. Afterwards, he would watch your favorite movie with you to calm you down while eating your favorite dessert.

D: Dreams (how does he picture your future together?)

Chase isn’t big on the future. He likes to stay in the moment, making sure everything’s okay. He doesn’t know where the future will take him, but he knows he wants you apart of it. He pictures eventually marrying you and possibly having a kid or two.

E: Equal (is he dominant, possessive? Or rather passive?)

Chase is very passive aggressive with you when he’s mad. He feels bad to flat out yell at you, so he’ll throw slight digs until you ask him what’s wrong. (Slightly nsfw, in the bedroom, he’s very dominant and likes to have control. He is mission leader, after all.)

F: fight (how would you fight with them? Would he easily forgive you?)

Chase hates fighting with you. It does happen, and it’ll usually build up over time. You guys will end up blowing up at one another, and then need a day or two to cool off. After Bree talks some sense into him, he apologizes after a day or two.

G: gratitude (how grateful is he? Is he grateful for the things you’ve done for him?)

Chase is very grateful for every experience he’s had. He is grateful for his bionics, his family, and his students. He knows how much you’ve done and sacrificed for him, and he’ll do anything to show it to you.

H: hugs (how does he hug you?)

Chase is big on hugs. He likes you wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your neck, or he just simply likes to hold you close after a mission if it startled him.

I: inspiration (how have you inspired chase? How has he inspired you?)

When Chase is with you, he tends to be more laid back. He’s more open to rebellious tendencies and it makes him feel like a total badass. When you’re with Chase, he encourages you to try harder in school, and it eventually really pays off.

J: jealousy (does he get jealous easily? How does he deal with it?)

Chase is a very jealous person. He tries to hide it, but every so often he’ll kiss you a little harder to remind you that you’re his. Sometimes if he can’t control himself, spike may come out to play.

K: kisses (what was your first kiss? Is he a good kisser?)

You and Chase’s first kiss felt out of a fairytale. You got caught in the rain after Leo abandoned the two of you during study hall. After a deep conversation on the walk home, he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip past him. He looked deep into your eyes and pulled you in for a long, passionate kiss. To answer if he’s a good kisser, he very much is. He knows what you like and he’s good at giving it to you.

L: love confession (how did he confess his love for you?)

After your first kiss, there was so much tension between the two of you. It was left untouched for so long, until Chase couldn’t hold back. He eventually confessed his love while yelling at you in the lab, leaving both of you shocked. It luckily all worked out, as you told him you loved him, too.

M: marriage (does he want to get married? How would he propose and how would the wedding be?)

You are the only person Chase sees a future with. You’re it for him, so he wants everything to be special. He’s propose on an isolated part of the bionic island during sunset. At the wedding, he’d rather have it small with your immediate families and closest friends.

N: nicknames (what does he call you?)

Babe, baby, love, darling, (your regular nickname,) your actual name

O: on cloud nine (how does chase act when he’s in love?)

Chase is the biggest dork when he’s in love, which means that’s the main side of him you’ve seen. He’s very giggly and blushes a lot. His siblings pretend it’s extremely annoying and tease him, but they’re secretly really happy for him.

P: PDA

Chase is very shy about your relationship. He often gets teased by his siblings that he actually managed to find a girlfriend, and it makes him slightly insecure so he’s rather show his love and affection in private. He does enjoy to sneak small kisses or hug you in public.

Q: quirk (what’s a random trait about him that’s beneficial for your relationship?)

Chase is very smart, obviously. He always knows the right thing to say and when to say it.

R: Romance (is he the romantic type? Is he cliché or creative?)

A perfect mix of both. He’s very creative while still staying traditional. He’s very romantic and enjoys small frequent gestures over random big ones.

S: spike (how does spike treat you?)

Spike is surprisingly very kind to you. He claims to respect women- especially you. You’re also one of the only people that can calm him back down to chase. Afterwards, he feels terrible and asks if you’re okay.

T: thrill (does he try new things in your relationship, or rather stick to a routine?)

Chase enjoys having a routine, although sometimes life just throws curveballs. He tries to keep things the same with you, because it’s one of the thing stable and secure things he has.

U: understanding? (Is he empathetic? Does he understand you well?)

Chase is very empathetic. He likes to make sure you’re always okay. He can read you like a book and usually can figure out pretty quickly when something is wrong.

V: value (how much does he value your relationship?)

Your relation is one of Chase’s top priorities. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he would give up everything if it meant he could have you.

W: wildcard (random thing in your relationship)

You’re the apple of Chase’s eye. His family loves you, and he loves you even more. He’s grateful that you’ve stuck around and never given up on him, even with his crazy life and secret.

X: xoxo (is he affectionate? Does he enjoy kisses/cuddles?)

Very much. He’s often shy and doesn’t like to directly ask for them, so he’ll send you discreet signals and hope you get the memo. You always do, and it puts a smile on his face.

Y: yearning (how does he cope when he misses you?)

Chase misses you a lot. Sometimes he’s on a mission and randomly thinks about you. One day he got up and went to the store, and bought one of those couple touch bracelets that vibrate whenever one thinks of the other. (Spoiler alert- he uses it A LOT.)

Z: zeal (is he willing to go great lengths for your relationship?)

Duh! Chase trusts you with his life. After you’ve supported him through so much, it’s only fair if he does the same. If you ever need him, he’ll drop just about anything to be there. He doesn’t ever want to loose you and the thought sends chills down his spine.

A/N: I hope this was good! I haven’t written anything like this before, so if you have any suggestions please lmk. Look forward to more lab rats content in the future, along with many more. I accept requests for just about anything! (Well, for the fandoms I am apart of.) <3

[luminnara]

It’s Been A Long, Long Time | Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader ch 3

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back…and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Warnings: A/B/O, some light angst

Tags:  @kyrah-williams  @oceanmermaidwitch @shawnie--jo 

Amoretta woke to the sound of a familiar alarm blaring through the compound. It was loud enough to make her wince and curl up, seeking out the warmth of her alpha while he laid next to her. She knew what the sound meant; he was officially finished with his rut, and they were going to be separated again. 

The thought made her heart ache. She couldn’t take much more of this. All she wanted was to stay by his side, her instincts telling her that he was the perfect one to watch over and protect her even if she didn’t need a protector. Though all of her suppressants greatly toned down the way she yearned and cried for him, nothing could erase those feelings completely, and each time the guards came to take him away from her, it hurt a little bit more. 

“‘Mega,” he said, voice extra low and rumbly from sleeping. 

“Alpha,” she sighed, rubbing her nose against his neck. 

He returned the gesture, tucking his face down into her scent gland and inhaling deeply. Even though she didn’t smell as strongly as omegas he encountered while out in the field, he loved her scent more than anything he had ever found before. Plus, her own scent being weaker meant that it was easier to cover her with his, and before the guards could come in and order him to leave, he made sure to rub his own gland all over her hair.

Amoretta sighed happily as he scented her, enjoying the smell of motor oil and cloves. If she was lucky, it wouldn’t fade before she got to see him again, and she would be able to at least catch a slight hint of him in her hair whenever she moved. 

“My omega,” the soldier purred, nosing her cheek to try and get her to look at him. 

She smiled softly, placing a hand on his jaw. “Your omega.”

The sound of a metal door sliding open made her close her eyes. She didn’t want this to end. She didn’t want to go back to her cell and spend another three months bored. 

“Longing,” a Russian voice over the intercom suddenly said. 

Amoretta let out a dejected breath. They were taking him away again. 

Her alpha moved to get up, listening to the words he had heard countless times before. His body was moving of its own volition, his limbs untangling themselves from hers even though he wanted to stay right there with her forever. 

“Rusted.”

He growled softly, a hand lingering on his omega’s neck. 

“Furnace.”

“Don’t go,” she whimpered, staring up at him with big, sad eyes. 

His hand moved to cup her cheek, a calloused thumb brushing over her skin. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to do as she asked. 

“Daybreak.”

He knew he was supposed to listen to the trigger words. They always commanded him, keeping him in check so that he could never have too much free thought. This time, he knew they would be followed by orders to get up and go back to his quarters so that he could await further instruction. 

But he didn’t want to.

“Seventeen.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had had such a strong urge to disobey. It wasn’t overpowering, by any means, but it was enough for him to hesitate instead of walking away immediately. 

“Benign.”

The omega on the cot looked distraught.  He didn’t like it. He wanted her to be looking at him, paying attention to him, keeping her focus on him. She shouldn’t be staring at the wall, averting her gaze from the naked alpha before her. 

“”Mega,” the soldier said, getting her attention again. 

“Nine.”

“Hm?” she looked at him, and she felt like she was getting caught up in those icy blue eyes. 

“Homecoming.”

For a moment, he just looked down at her. She was so lovely, so perfect. 

“Be good.” he said.

She sat up slightly, staring at him. He had never said that before, not like that, not in that way. He called her good omega, good girl, pretty omega...he told her to be obedient, he praised her whenever she listened to him...but he had never told her be good, not with that tone. It was almost like...a warning, or...a promise?

“One.”

His nostrils flared, chest heaving with a sigh as he turned away from her. 

“Wait!” she called, reaching for him. 

But he was already facing the door. 

“Freight car.”

The soldier bowed his head. “Ready to comply.”

Amoretta let out a pitiful wail, watching helplessly as her alpha was ordered to return to his cell. The worst part was how he did so, and he seemed so willing to leave her behind. She knew he was under HYDRA’s full control, she knew that they liked to go in and mess with his brain whenever he showed any independence, but it still felt like she was being broken up with every single time she had to watch him leave. 

“Omega,” the voice said as the door slid shut. “Return to your cell and prepare for cryo.”

Another door opened and she stood slowly, wiping away tears that she knew she shouldn’t have had. She felt stupid for caring so much. Her hopes for a better, normal life were always crushed whenever HYDRA separated them again, and watching him walk away like that without a glance back at her was taking its toll on her emotional health. 

Without much other choice, she trudged down the narrow corridor, dragging her feet despite the threat of the cattle prods behind her. While the soldier was obedient enough to be allowed to walk on his own, they never trusted Amoretta, still all too aware of how much she liked to lash out at her handlers. 

They shoved her into her holding cell, where she spent about an hour waiting around before they returned to drag her off to the lab. Sometimes, when the soldier wasn’t going to be needed for a while, HYDRA put him in cryo. Amoretta once heard a doctor saying that it was to preserve his longevity, but she was pretty sure it was just that they didn’t want to deal with him all the time. When that happened, they put her into cryogenesis, too, letting her sleep until her alpha was thawed out. 

She supposed she should be grateful for the long naps, sometimes spending months or even years at a time not having to think about the way that HYDRA kept her as a prisoner, but she hated it. She didn’t like being away from her alpha, and whenever they brought her back out of cryo, she had a tendency to get sick. 

It wasn’t pleasant. 

This time, as the doctors strapped her down, she snarled at them. She was tired of this, tired of her life with HYDRA. She was reaching her breaking point, finally. 

“Quiet,” a beta doctor snapped, picking up a syringe. 

Amoretta rolled her eyes. “Or what?”

He glared at her. “You don’t want to find out.”

“You won’t get rid of me. You need me.” she growled. 

“We don’t need you.” the man scoffed. “We can easily find another omega that can take the serum. You aren’t special, Subject 1096.”

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you?” she dared to ask. “Why give me a number and keep me around for so long if I’m not important?”

“You omegas are always so sappy.” he said, a disgusted tone to his voice. “You’re convinced the Winter Soldier is your mate, aren’t you?”

“He seems to think so.” she said defensively. 

“Does he?” the doctor pressed the needle to her arm. “Or is he just happy to have something around to fuck?”

Amoretta wanted to bite his hand off for being so rude. She wanted to scream and snap and thrash, proving that they had made a mistake when they decided to give her of all omegas the serum. She was stronger than they knew. She could tear this doctor apart if she got ahold of his hand as he stood just out of her reach. Amoretta wanted HYDRA to regret the day they chose to make her so powerful. 

But the tranquilizer was already being injected into her veins, and she could feel herself floating away. Her vision swam, her skin suddenly feeling cold as she was lowered into her cryo pod for a nice, long, icy nap. 

She wished her soldier was there with her, but he wasn’t. Instead, she was all alone, left to sleep and hope for sweet dreams filled with his cold blue eyes and the low rumble of his voice.

--

“Widow, you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Cap.” a feminine voice said through the earpiece. 

Steve Rogers nodded to himself as he crept through the dark hallways. Checking out abandoned HYDRA bases wasn’t his favorite pastime, but it was an important one, and he’d be damned if he let Nat and Clint go without him for a mission like this. Besides, he owed it to Bucky to make sure everything was taken care of; he knew how much it frustrated his friend that he wasn’t allowed near HYDRA facilities yet. 

But they just couldn’t risk anything happening, not when he had finally managed to free himself of HYDRA’s influence on his mind. 

Thanks, Wakanda.

“What’s your position, Cap?” Natasha asked. 

“Northeast hall,” Steve answered as he rounded a corner. “Looks like medical facilities. There’s no sign of--”

As soon as he had opened his mouth, a row of low emergency lights flickered to life on the floor, illuminating his path and bathing the hallway in a red glow. 

“There’s still power. Stay alert.” he warned. 

“Copy that.”

Shield in hand, Steve made his way to a set of doors, nudging them open as quietly as he could. 

He really wasn’t expecting what he saw. 

He had definitely stepped into some sort of medical bay, gurneys and instruments left abandoned whenever HYDRA had up and left this place. If it weren’t for the staleness of the air and complete absence of life, it would have looked like the doctors had been there only moments before. 

As Steve made his way around crude operating tables, sheet plastic crinkling under his boots, he spotted a soft blue glow coming from a small doorway in the corner of the room. He adjusted his grip, keeping his shield raised just in case, but as he neared the lightsource, he lowered it again. 

“Nat, you’re gonna wanna come see this.”

It only took a few minutes for Black Widow to reach her teammate, and when she did, she let out a low whistle. 

“That’s a cryo pod.” she said, leaning towards the metal device. “And it sure looks like it’s being used.”

“Is whoever’s in it alive?” Steve asked. 

“Only one way to find out. Care to do the honors?” Natasha nodded towards the metal handle on the front of the pod. 

“Is this safe?” Steve put down his shield.

“This place has been abandoned since the late 80s. Seems like the end of the Cold War scared HYDRA away from a lot of their bases.” Natasha said, peering through the small, frosted glass window into the pod. “But there’s definitely someone in there.”

“Well, we can’t exactly lug this whole thing out to the plane,” Steve sighed, grabbing the heavy metal handle. 

As he wrenched it to the side, he could hear a pneumatic hiss, air rushing out of the lock. With a heavy clang, the pod opened, and Steve was able to pull the door to the side. 

Doing so revealed a young woman, her scent too muted by the chill of cryo sleep to tell what her secondary gender was. She was nude, the sight of her causing Steve to avert his gaze in embarrassment. Natasha either didn’t notice or didn��t care, and as she pulled a glove off and pressed her hand to a cold forehead, there seemed to be movement behind the woman’s eyelids. 

“Wow. She’s frozen.” Widow commented, moving her hand down to press two fingers against her neck. “...I’ve got a pulse here, though. We’d better get her out to the transport.”

Steve nodded, taking Natasha’s place as she stepped back to call in their find. Still doing his best to be a gentleman and avoid looking at the girl, he quickly unbuckled the brittle leather straps holding the girl in place, freeing her arms and legs before pulling her out of the pod. Her skin was icy against him, but Nat was right--he could feel her heart beating slowly, her pulse speeding up towards something more normal and less like hibernation. 

“Here. Found this in a cupboard.” Natasha appeared with a musty blanket in her arms, draping it around the woman’s shoulders. 

Steve wrapped it around her before picking her up, finally daring to look down at her now that she was covered. Her hair was long and dark, and though her cheeks were a bit gaunt, no doubt thanks to HYDRA’s general disregard for human life, she didn’t seem too worse for wear. He couldn’t see any bruises on her face or neck, and her scent glands looked to be free of any mating bonds. 

Well, at least she wasn’t missing anybody special, right? Being separated from a bonded mate for so long could kill a person, especially if they happened to be an alpha or an omega. Steve still couldn’t smell for sure, but this girl had such a small stature that he had a suspicion she might be the latter. 

He caught a glimpse of a thin metal identification band around her wrist, almost like the kind used to track wild animals. On it, Steve could see SUBJECT 1096 stamped in, and he couldn’t help but grimace. What did that mean? That she was an experiment?

As he followed Natasha out into the abandoned hallway, the girl in his arms stirred slightly. She rubbed her cheek against Steve’s chest, nuzzling into him as if searching for a scent. When she didn’t seem to find what she expected, he caught her furrowing her brow, her lips turning down in a slight frown. 

“Alpha?” she asked quietly, voice barely audible. 

“You’re safe now,” Steve said, trying to reassure her. She was right, he was an alpha, and he did his best to cover her in a calming scent. The last thing he wanted was a panicked omega on his hands. 

“Not...alpha…” she said weakly, eyes still closed. She raised a hand, grabbing at Steve’s chest with tired fingers. “T-take me home…”

“We’re going somewhere safe,” he said, quickening his pace. “I promise. You’re okay now.”

She let out a tiny whine, squirming half heartedly in his grip. “Want...my alpha…”

As Steve and Natasha walked out of the hidden HYDRA bunker and waited for Clint to bring the plane down, the scent of fresh air finally roused the omega enough that she opened her eyes. Steve looked down at her, worry written all over his face, and as her gaze met his, she looked disappointed. 

Those weren’t the blue eyes she was hoping for. She didn’t know this alpha, and she wanted nothing to do with him. She wanted her soldier back, not this stranger. But she was too tired to fight, still drowsy from her time in cryo, and as he carried her onto the transport, she passed out again, hoping that her alpha would come and find her and take her away from the people she was stuck with now. 

“What--what’s this?” Clint asked, turning in the pilot’s seat as Nat and Steve boarded the plane. 

“She was in cryo,” Natasha said, grabbing an emergency cot and laying it out in the back. “Pulse is there, but we’ve got no idea how healthy she is otherwise.”

“We need to get her back to the tower.” Steve said, setting her down. 

“You got it, Cap.” Clint turned back around. “Weather’s good. Should be just a couple hours til we’re there.”

“I’ll let Bruce know.” Natasha took the copilot’s seat, immediately grabbing a headset to radio back. 

As the craft took off, Amoretta was stuck in an unwelcome sleep. The last thing she wanted was to be unconscious right now, when she knew she was surrounded by unfamiliar alphas. She was grateful for the fresh air, but with it came the scents of people, of strangers, and she didn’t like that one bit. As out of it as she was, she knew that she had been taken out of cryo, and everything else just felt wrong. 

The alpha she had woken up with wasn’t hers. She had been so happy at first, thinking that her soldier had been the one to carry her out of the base...until she caught his scent and realized that it was wrong. The second she knew she was in someone else’s arms, all she wanted to do was thrash and kick and bite, but she simply didn’t have the strength yet.

So she had to settle for sleeping, and, thankfully, dreaming. 

Cryo never seemed to give her dreams, at least not any that she could ever remember. It felt like it had been forever since she had a normal nap, though, and her mind was happy to wander. Thoughts of her soldier swirled around each other, and for the first time in a long time, she was sleeping peacefully.

With nothing else to do, Steve took a seat next to the omega, strapping himself in. And leaning back with a sigh. Who was she, and why was her scent so muted? He had never encountered an omega who was so...well, scentless before. Even when they took suppressants to keep their heats at bay, they still reeked of omega. He never thought anything could change that, but apparently, something could. 

As they flew home, he found himself staring down at her, wondering why HYDRA had her in cryo for so long. She had to be important for them to keep her around, right? They weren’t known for wasting their time with people they couldn’t use. But, then again...what use could they possibly have for an omega who didn’t even smell like one? It didn’t make sense.

“Maybe she was a test subject.” Natasha said, practically reading his mind. 

“Think so?” Steve asked, tearing his eyes away from the omega to look at the spy. 

“We found her in a lab.” She shrugged. “Before the Berlin Wall came down, they had their hands in everything. The Soviets funded countless experiments on omegas.”

Steve frowned. “Guess I missed a lot while I was in that ice.”

“Eh, not much.” Clint said. “Just the same old shit.”

Steve gave him a look.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Same old stuff. Better, goody two shoes?”

“Better.”

Barton snorted a laugh. “Come on, work is the one place I can swear without a kid overhearing! You’ve gotta give me a pass once in a while.”

“Never said you couldn’t swear,” Steve sighed, leaning his head back again. He wanted to know what HYDRA was doing with this omega. Were they experimenting on her? She looked like she was fairly healthy, so whatever they had done must not have taken much of a physical toll on her. 

There was also the matter of why they had left her behind when they abandoned their base. There hadn’t been any signs of struggle, at least not that he had seen. It looked like HYDRA had simply chosen to get up and leave one day a few decades ago, with no obvious reasoning as to why. 

Steve had to admit he didn’t really understand why they did what they did. His job wasn’t to analyze their motives, though; his job was to stop them, and that’s what he was going to do. Rescuing this omega was just one small part of that. Of course, it would help if he knew why he had stumbled across her, and what they had been using her for. 

As soon as they landed, Bruce’s assistants were waiting with a gurney, Dr. Banner himself standing nearby. Steve rushed the still-sleeping omega out, placing her down as gently as he could and then watching as she was taken inside to their medical facilities. 

“So...you found her in cryo?” Bruce asked, following after his new patient. 

Steve nodded stiffly. “There was no one else there. The whole place was running on backup batteries.”

Banner made a thoughtful noise as they walked inside. “She’s been asleep this whole time?”

“She woke up briefly while I was carrying her out to the transport. Other than that, she’s been out cold.”

“We’ll have to run some tests to see what’s going on with her.”

“Is she gonna be alright, Doc?” Steve asked.

Bruce stopped outside the lab doors. “Without knowing how long she was on ice and what exactly they were doing with her...it’s hard to say.”

Steve frowned. 

“But...the fact that she hasn’t gone into shock yet is a good sign.” He turned to enter the room. “I’ll have FRIDAY grab you when I’ve got more answers.”

Steve just nodded, standing back and watching the doctor disappear after the mystery omega. Banner was a good guy, and as an omega himself, he would do everything he could to ensure that this one was well taken care of. Steve had no doubt in his mind that Bruce would see that she pulled through. 

Something wasn’t sitting right about all this, though. The situation was bothering him beyond belief. Seriously, what was going on? What was he missing? What was so special about subject 1096?

Maybe Bucky would have an idea.

[inklessletter]

Of course Jonathan could not want to hold her back! Jonathan is a great guy, he's kind hearted, and sweet, and very much an overthinker (just like her), and I do believe that Nancy and Jonathan do love each other dearly. I agree that they make a good couple, even though their relationship is not ideal. It is great that we get to see in s3 that they are willing to work on their differences and god, there's not enough of that in the world. But the thing is, the point in which both stand in s4 are completely opposite.

They are currently in a moment in which for one to support the needs and the dreams of the other will mean sacrificing whatever they want and/or need. Nancy wants to go to Emerson (Boston) while, even if few people remembers, Jonathan's dreams is going to NYU. And even if Jonathan does not want to attend to that univeristy anymore, his heart and his mind is begging him to stay close to his family. And yes, in s3 they talk throughtheir differences, but in s4 Jonathan straight up lies to her and they don't fix it. To me, that's a step back.

That relationship is simply doomed. But it is not because lack of love, of course that's not it! They do love each other, they do want the best for each other, but one of them has to give in to the other's desires and thats not sustainable. And Jonathan spends the ENTIRE SHOW ignoring his own needs in favor of their loved ones (his mom, Will, Nancy...), and yeah, he would gladly do that again for her, but that is not a sign of a healthy relationship. No one who truly love another person would like them to abandon their dreams and hopes and needs for them.

And as for Nancy, she has spent the whole series trying to be good enough, and she's often limited by higher people, often men. And only succeeded when she had help by her side, often men. The only time they didn't question her authority is when she wasn't tied up to any other man, that is, when Robin just 'put her in charge', yet, as I said, they spent the whole s4 trying to bait the audience with some st*ncy nonsense. This might sound a cliché, but Nancy needs no man to be the badass motherf*cker that she is, and, personally, I'm willing to see that. It almost feels like they are afraid to make her great on her own.

That's what I meant that Nancy should be her own ship. That's what I mean when I say that Nancy's arc is leading for her to be respected fast enough by everyone around her without needing any help. Having j*ncy endgame would mean that either one or the other is ignoring their needs and their arcs, and that's what would make them miserable.

I do honestly think that they are meant for each other, but it is a case of right person wrong time.

Please, don't get me wrong, I love them so damn much. And I'm sure that they both can make great things together, but I also think that they would make greater things on their own.

(Also, please don't understand this as a bickering, I just love analysing this show and these characters, and I'm so happy to get to do that here with you ❤️)

steve saying he wants 6 little harringtons and nancy replying with "that sounds like a total nightmare" is so fucking funny, i giggle every time. even the duffer brothers are anti st*ncy.