#anyway took me almost two decades but i figured it out: STOP PUTTING THE HORIZON LINE IS COMPLICATED PLACES THE MIDDLE OF THE PAGE IS FINE

[lightbulb-warning]

wip! based on the fte!! this was supposed to be a small doodle!!! It’s me and my compulsive urge to overcomplicate my life against the world!!!! (/exasperated!!!!!) /lh

[whythinktoomuch]

i. apocalypse now & then

Kara touched down, her boots meeting the earth with a metallic clunk that was promptly swallowed up in the dust and utter grayness of her surroundings. The warnings came immediately—insistent beeps, bright red numbers and figures flashing before her eyes.

“How’s it looking?” asked the tinny voice in her helmet, and Kara sighed.

“Yeah, you were right. Place is infested,” she said, studying the mess of debris and desolation that seemed to feed directly into the faint horizon in every direction. “Kryptonite readings are off the charts. There’s either a tower nearby, or mines just planted all over. Maybe even both, if i’m Iucky.”

Alex let out a harsh breath. “Look, I know you’re not going to leave until you find those people, but you better watch your fucking back out there, okay?”

“Hm… don’t I always though?”

“You ask that every single time, and every single goddamn time, I have to re-mind you of all—”

“All right, all right…” Kara said, rolling her eyes. “Just stop worrying so loudly already, jeez. I’ll keep you posted the entire time.”

“Like that was ever an option.”

“Love you too,” Kara said breezily, and she began her search.

She explored the area in proportioned sections, slipping periodically into x-ray vision, keeping her feet drifting an inch off the ground at all times. You just never knew these days. By now, Kara had stepped on enough lead-wrapped kryptonite mines for one lifetime, which coincidentally had been the same number of times it took to gray almost the entirety of Alex’s head. Or so Alex claimed anyway.

Apparently, over two decades of this sort of living could do that to a person: make them older, but also, steal away every last bit of their sense of humor. 

--

Whenever Kara happened upon a particularly extensive blind spot—jagged slabs of lead piled on top of each other—she took her time. Carefully sifted her way through all that rubble, with a spare bit of rebar or her heat vision from a safe distance. Calling out to any potential survivors that could have been trapped underneath. But as she steadily neared hour two of her search, it was starting to look like a lost cause. That whoever had sent that distress signal must have since succumbed to the environment, like so many others already had done before them.

Then Kara heard it.

Whipping her head around, Kara strained her ears to their very limit, all the while silently cursing how muffled everything sounded in this godforsaken suit of hers. It took a minute or so to hone in on it, but she finally made out the distant voice.

Help us. Save us. We’re down here.

Kara snapped into action, already hurtling full-speed toward the source of the cry. “Alex, I found them.”

“About fuckin’ time,” Alex said, but the note of relief carried through the speakers loud and clear. It always did, of course, given the scarcity of such a feeling as of late. “All right, get them out of there, and hurry your ass up. You’ve already been out there for too long.”

The voice grew louder and more distinct as Kara approached it, and eventually, she could even distinguish other people in the mix—their whispers, the muted beats of their heart seemingly punctuating every word, and all the shallow breaths of air in between. She counted at least five separate individuals, five more lives that she could potentially save from this impossible landscape.

But by the time Kara reached the point where the voice was sounding from below rather than from the distance, her excitement had all but waned, receded back into the ever present anxiety hanging in the air.

“… Fuck,” she huffed out, staring at the large swathe of broken rock and dirt and twisted metal beneath her, the letter K spray-painted all over the surface in a faded green. “Alex. They’re in a mine-rigged shelter.”

“Forget it then. Just get out of there,” Alex said, all rather predictably. “We can send an extraction team with defusers in the morning.”

“But that’ll take too long,” Kara protested. “It would take days, just for a task force to cover all that distance, and these people need help now.”

“No. I want you to put down a marker and come right the fuck back home,” Alex said. “That’s your last kryptonite filtration suit! If anything happens, if you sustain even the slightest bit of damage out there, you could—”

Kara cut the feed and swiftly locked her comms from all available channels, employing one of the few tips Winn had passed onto her before he died. Because Alex didn’t understand. How could she, when she wasn’t the one who had to listen to these desperate cries for help from people just barely out of reach.

She floated outside the presumed blast radius, planted her feet firmly to the ground, and went to work. Uncovering the buried shelter bit by bit, one sizable mass of charred rubble dug up after the other. It wasn’t easy. The kryptonite in the area, though not exposed, was much too close for comfort even through her suit. And it made the sun hotter, everything heavier, and Kara’s progress as slow as it could possibly be.

But all that—the sweat gathering on her brow, the soreness burning up her lower back—was a very small price to pay when weighed against the lives of at least five people in need. So, Kara kept going. She kept burrowing deeper into the earth with her bare hands, until the sun was but a small twinkle above her head and her fingertips were brushing against a patch of warmed metal.

And she could hear them better now. They were so close.

Kara pressed her palm against what had to be the outer wall of their shelter. “Hey, can you hear me in there?”

“Please help us!” came the frantic response, only somewhat muffled now. “Please get us out! We can’t breathe in here!”

“Okay! Okay… I’m gonna get you out, okay?” Kara shouted back, heart thumping hard in her ears. “Just… hang on.”

A quick once-over was all it took to determine that the wall before her—like most other surfaces nowadays—was naught but a few inches of commercial steel, coated in a thin layer of lead. And as such, all it would to take, of course, to break into such a structure was—THUNK!—a single punch from the Girl of Steel herself.

Kara ripped a hole in the wall, using her heat vision to melt down the edges as she tugged the entire thing apart. Eventually satisfied with her efforts, she was just about to crawl through her rather crude but functional doorway when the speakers in her helmet abruptly flipped back on.

“—him back to life, and just… throttle him for showing you that trick!” Alex was practically hollering in her ear. “Why would you ever need to do that anyway? The whole frickin’ point of the—”

“Whoa, Alex, Alex, it’s fine! I’m fine! Just shh!” Kara hastily cut her off. “I’ve pretty much got my foot in the door already, okay? So, I’m helping these people whether you like it or not.”

“Yeah, you fucking better,” Alex said with a scoff. “I want to look these people in the eye while you explain to me what was so goddamn special about them that you had to…”  

And Kara barked out a laugh, shaking her head in wonder as Alex continued to chew her out in a way that only sisters could, apparently. “Hey, you can do whatever you want, okay? Just let me bring them home first.”

“Fine. Just don’t kill the comms this time.”

“Oh, I would never.”

“Kara, I fucking swear to—”

But the rest of all that swearing quickly faded into the backdrop, as Kara finally poked her head into what should have been just another underground refuge from everything their world now had to offer. Because ten feet below from where she had burrowed her way in, was not a handful of dehydrated people waiting to be rescued—only masses upon masses of thick coils and plates of smooth black metal shifting about.

That’s when Kara realized that it’d been quite some time since she’d heard a cry for help. And soon after that was when a muted click! sounded, then somewhere down there in the midst of all that darkness and mechanical movement, came another loop of voices calling out to her.

“Oh shit…” Kara whispered, and at least ten sets of glassy eyes flicked up to stare at her. The pre-recorded voices immediately cut out, and the entire room lit up in a vibrant green as the machines all powered up with a collective hum. “Shit, shit, shit, you were right!”

“Right about what?” Alex demanded, but Kara was too busy heeding her long overdue advice of getting the fuck out there to respond.

Kara burst from the ground in a flurry of dust and clattering scrap metal, already heading for the horizon at full-speed. She needed to put as much distance as possible between her and the decoy shelter. It was nothing short of an honest-to-Rao miracle that her sudden escape hadn’t tripped any of the mines on-site, but now, it was only a matter of time.

Still hurtling away, Kara threw a glance over her shoulder just in time to see the first three drones break through the surface, already mindlessly chasing after her. Then the third and the fourth crashed right on through after them, which abruptly led to a series of rapid beeping, which abruptly led to a violent disturbance in the air that stole away all the sound from the world and knocked Kara right out of the sky.

(next part here)

[3pirouette]

Fic: Five, Four, Three, Two... One (1/1)

Title: Five, Four, Three, Two… One By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Distribution: AO3  Anyone else please ask first :)

Sequel to Six Dates, Times, and Places 

Story Summary: Steve nodded, looking away over the horizon. “I’m still sorry about it.”

“Don’t be,” Bucky moved his hand back to his lap, lacing his flesh fingers with his vibranium ones. “You got me out eventually. You stopped me when it counted.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, “Not every time.”

“Enough times.” Bucky was adamant, his voice sharp and brokering no arguments. – Six Dates, Times, and Places

There were five more dates. This is the story of the very last, and maybe most important, one. Angst, Canon-compliant death. 

A/N: Yes, in theory there are four other stories to be told. But to me, this is the most important one. It makes a lot of the MCU make sense, and is a headcanon of mine. No promises on if I’ll ever revisit the other dates, this is the only one I ever really planned on telling.

For Steggy Week Day 7: Free Choice

~*~

Steve and Peggy made a plan in 1948. Somewhere between arranging the wedding and securing him a new public identity, they set down ground rules regarding the last five dates, times, and places. They would do whatever they could, in reason, to get Bucky out.

Steve would do whatever he could, reason be damned, to make sure Peggy stayed alive.

It hurt his head to think of how it all worked. He wished for someone to talk to about it, to try to help explain this cyclical loop to him, to explain to him how he’d already done this and Bucky knew about it, yet it was still his unknown future.

What he really wanted to know, above all else, was if he could actually change anything or if every choice he made was already pre-destined. Was he just a chess piece playing out a game that had long since been played already or could his move affect or change the outcome?

He had to believe what he did made a difference.

It was too depressing not to.

He once asked Pym his thoughts on the matter, disguising it as a hypothetical question based on a Sci-Fi movie he’d seen, but the man was too theoretical, too unable to break it down for someone who wasn’t a scientist for his opinion to be helpful or reassuring.

He’d asked Howard once in the beginning. Howard took it almost too seriously, reminding him so much of Tony as he talked about all the things that could go wrong, the paradoxes, the potential for catastrophe. By the end of the night, Howard was drunk and staring at him dangerously, and ended the night by telling Steve he shouldn’t have come back.

They’d never talked about it again, but Steve noticed Howard started to keep his distance from them. It was a slow process as he distanced himself. Year by year, he saw them less and less. Peggy thought it was Howard being Howard, pulling away from the good things in his life and burying himself in his work.

Steve was fairly sure it was him.

Even then, though, Steve thought it might be for the best.

It had always rubbed him just a little wrong in the 21st century that Tony had seemed indifferent about Peggy, that he didn’t know her well when she had helped Howard build SHIELD. Steve couldn’t understand then how Tony had managed to avoid being around Peggy so often, how her influence hadn’t been felt by him at all.

He knew that Tony hadn’t met Peggy’s husband, had barely known Peggy for all those years. He didn’t know about Steve and Peggy’s relationship during the war for all Howard had bragged about Steve to his son, and Peggy’s death hadn’t phased him in the slightest.

Steve found out as the years ticked on, and as Howard and Peggy drifted apart, that it made sense.

While it was possible Tony had known Steve all along, and hadn’t realized it had been him or had played along, the easier thing to do, especially since Steve knew how it all ended, was to stay as far away from the boy as possible.

Which ended up being easy once Peggy found out Howard was working on the side for the pentagon, trying to recreate Erskine’s serum yet again. She stopped speaking to him all together unless it was necessary for work, and the yelling between the two when the topic came up was unfathomable.

And through it all, Steve kept his little scrap of paper, even with the dates memorized.

In 1956 they sent the kids with the Jarvis’s to the mountains for a week and Steve didn’t leave Peggy’s side for a minute until it was over and they were left watching Bucky slip through their fingers.

In ’65, Steve tried everything he could think of to keep Peggy away from New York City, but when the President called, she couldn’t say no and Steve still couldn’t pull Bucky from the clutches of Hydra.

With the kids grown and out of the house, Steve and Peggy had taken the opportunity in 1972 to try to figure out how to turn the tables on him by prepping months ahead for the assault they expected in the swank DC hotel Shield liked to put Peggy up in when she had to be in town. They had blueprints and had tapped into surveillance and thought they were prepared, but he still managed to slip away in the night.

In 1986, their son had taken up the mantle. Strong like his father, Steve and Peggy brought him into the family secret, and Steve gave their firstborn the job of helping him protect Peggy while they were at an unavoidable State Dinner. Steve and Peggy were both proud, and yet still saddened when the paper was right, yet again, and Bucky slipped away into the night.

Steve generally didn’t ask much of her when it came to where she went or who she saw, especially for work. Peggy didn’t argue with him when it came to the dates on the paper.

Asking her to stay away from the Pentagon for the last date was easier than he’d anticipated.

For this last one, though, it wasn’t just about Peggy.

There was one date left, and it might be the most important date of them all: December 16, 1991.

Despite having their differences, Steve couldn’t at least try. He begged Howard to get out of town. He told him as much as he could, but didn’t reveal the exact time or place that he knew to be the man’s downfall. Just the day. “As far as you can. Take Maria, take Tony, please.”

Howard wanted to push back, especially with how estranged they’d become, but he knew better than to try to defy Steve’s knowledge of the future. “She’s been mentioning going on a vacation, anyway. Bermuda, Bahamas, someplace like that. I’ll have Jarvis arrange it.”

Steve thought he was in the clear. Peggy was staying home, Howard was going to be out of the country, and no one was going to be on a back road just outside of DC in the middle of the night on December 16.

He was going to fix this one. If changing nothing else mattered, this one thing did.

He was nervous all day, fidgeting about the house and checking doors and window locks until Peggy had to stop him and physically make him sit down. It was cold, and a Monday, and it left Steve with little to do but think about the hours ticking by until the very last deadline. They had leftovers from Sunday dinner, then worked on what still needed to be bought or ordered for Christmas for the kids and grandkids, and ended the evening in front of the television, nestled together under a blanket, sidearms within easy reach. They watched MacGyver then flipped between the football game and Murphy Brown. She had a glass of chardonnay and he finished off the red she said was too dry.

Steve had almost, almost thought they’d managed to somehow escape the fate of the last date on the paper as he clicked over to the evening news.

Until the phone rang.

Mister Jarvis’ voice echoed through the phone, tinny and distant.

Steve felt the grief well up in him.

If he hadn’t known it yet, though he was sure he’d become sure of it decades ago, this was the moment that proved it: none of this could be changed. It was always, always meant to be exactly the way it was.

“What… what was he doing there?” Steve choaked out as Peggy wrapped around him. “He was supposed to be on vacation. On the plane by then.”

Jarvis’s voice wobbled on the line. “He pushed back the flight. He was to deliver something to the Pentagon, then head to the airfield.

It welled within him and he rushed through their home to the bathroom, retching the little in his stomach out.

December 16, 1991: Howard was dead. Maria was dead. Tony was left alone.

It had been as much his fault as anything that Tony hadn’t known his father as well as he could have, and now he was gone.

He felt like he was watching Tony die all over again.

He’d failed him.

Peggy hung back in the doorway, eyes full of tears. “He told me he canceled it.”

Steve looked up at her, confused, and swiped at his mouth with his hand.

“Department of Defense contract meeting.” She stepped into the room and sat by him, her hand on his shoulder as he crumpled against the wall across from the toilet. “We were supposed to video conference with DOD contractors from all over the world, that’s why it was so late at night. He told me he’d cancelled it.” She swallowed hard and tried to sniff away her tears. “It’s the only reason I can imagine he was going there.”

“What… what could be so important?” Steve asked, eyes welling.

“He’d fixed it,” Peggy whispered, snuggling into Steve’s side. “He had a viable version of the serum.”

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, swiping at his eyes. “If they knew—”

Peggy kissed his head fiercely. “Of course, they knew. That’s why they sent the Winter Soldier. The always know.” She sighed, her own tears falling. “I was supposed to be in that car, not Maria. He just couldn’t stay away from the office for one day.”

His voice was still hurting, still confused. “They’ve never programmed him to go after anyone else before.”

“Maybe you did save me by keeping me home. Or maybe this day wasn’t me, darling,” she whispered, trying to comfort him, comfort herself. “Maybe it was the serum itself and they were collateral damage. Maybe it was Howard.”

“It is my fault.” Steve shook his head and looked at her. “I knew the date, the date Howard died, and how. I knew it, Peg. I should have…”

Peggy pressed her finger to his lips. “How long ago was it that Barnes gave those to you, hum?” She let her hand caress over his cheek and behind his neck. “We’ve tried, for so long, to try to change the outcome. To bring Barnes back. But it has never worked.”

Steve slumped further, resting his head on her shoulder. He felt a tear drip from her cheek to his, and he wiped it away harshly before tucking them closer together. The tile was cold, but it assured him that he wasn’t completely numb.

“I think we’ve both known, all along, that this whole thing was always supposed to go one way,” she whispered softly, her voice thick with tears as she ran her fingers through his hair. “You’ve never shied away from helping anyone in your life,” she softly spoke against his temple. “You tried. That’s all Barnes ever asked.”

“No,” Steve bit out, voice low and thick. “I saved you. But I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save Howard. I couldn’t save Tony…”

Peggy sat up tall, pushing Steve away from her until he could look her in the eyes. “Now, you listen to me. You didn’t kill Howard. Hydra did. You didn’t kill Tony. He sacrificed himself because of that man, Thanos. You did everything you could to save not only the ones you love, but millions of other people.” She grabbed him by his wet cheeks, her own tears still spilling over. “The tragedy is that this was how it has always been, and was always meant to be, not that you didn’t try hard enough. If you could have changed the world with just your will alone James would be joining us for Christmas dinner and things with Howard and Tony would have gone much, much differently.”

Steve’s eyes flickered over her face for a moment before he reached up, taking one of her hands in his and kissing the palm fervently. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin, eyes closed. “I’m sorry that you lost a friend because of me. I’m sorry that you lost all these years together.”

Peggy nodded, sniffing away a fresh set of tears. She swallowed hard before speaking. “Howard made his choice, and I made mine. And I don’t regret a day.” She pulled him back to her, hugging him closely. “Not a single moment, my love.”

“I’ve made my peace with it long ago, Steve,” she whispered after a long moment. “I didn’t see what you saw, I don’t know what you know, but the world had to burn to bring you back to me. To give us our family. We have all lost so much, and from what you’ve said, Tony’s losses have only begun. Maybe this has all happened before and it is destined to happen again, I don’t know.” She kissed his cheek, holding tight. “But tomorrow? Tomorrow the little slip of paper in your sock drawer no longer holds any power over us.”

Steve held her tight on the bathroom floor, tears trickling quietly for both of them as the clock in their bedroom ticked by the seconds in the silence. “I don’t know how to help Tony.”

“We’ll figure something,” she whispered. “There may be no help for him, Steve. To become the man that will sacrifice his life for the universe, he may have to go through everything just the same.”

“I wish…” He sighed, unable to finish.

“I know,” she replied softly. “Me, too.”

[xaviersfandomwriting]

The Importance of First Impressions

Or: How Remus Got Himself Kidnapped, Like An Idiot.

Hoo boy. This is, or rather was supposed to be my gift for @arc-gx for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange for this past Christmas. I’m sorry for taking this long to get it out, I just kept putting it off and putting it off and all of a sudden it’s mid-January like wtf… Anyway, they asked for Logan angst or intrulogical and I figured “why not both?” and here we are. Again, super sorry this is almost a month late, but here you go. This is actually the first fanfic that I’ve ever actually finished, so any tips are greatly appreciated!

Word Count: 1120

Summary: When a royal wedding is disrupted by tragedy, Roman must go forth and rescue his brother, but does Remus really want to be saved?

Pairings: romantic intrulogical, familial creativitwins

Warnings: Homophobia (being forced into a het marriage), unsympathetic Logan (but it’s just acting dw), minor innuendo, major character near-death, general angst (most of it’s just Roman being dramatic tho)

Today was supposed to be one of celebration, of merriment! The crown prince was to be married, and to the princess of an incredibly powerful neighboring kingdom, one which Prince Remus was to rule over, once the day comes. At least, that was the plan. Tragedy had struck, the prince had been kidnapped by a dark mage, and was being held hostage. Naturally, Prince Roman, being the proud and chivalrous young man that he was, immediately volunteered to lead a mission to rescue his brother. It was only now, as he approached the dark tower which had loomed along the horizon for the entirety of Roman’s travels, that he began to have second thoughts about the advisability of this mission.

He had started this quest with 10 of the kingdom’s greatest knights, only for each to either meet his end or turn around and head home, leaving the prince alone in his journey. He tactfully approached the entrance, checking for any sign of magical traps. Thankfully there were none to be found, and he soon found himself standing in the center of a massive entrance hall.

“Face me, magician!” he bellowed into the empty building. Though he was at first only met with a fading echo, soon enough a deep chuckling ricocheted throughout the chamber, the shadows seeming to bend together into a human form at the top of the ornate staircase across the hall.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting yet more royal blood to enter my domain,” the sorcerer’s hands burst alight with blue flame, brightly illuminating the previously dim room, “did you come here, all on your own, in some vain attempt to ‘rescue’ your brother? How delightfully lamentable. Soon you’ll be disposed of in much the same way he was.”

Roman charged for the stairs, only for the sorcerer to disappear once more. Likewise, the shadows of the room began to pool beneath the prince, forming a swirling mass beneath his feet just before giving way, sending him falling through an inky void. Not for long, however, as soon another such portal formed pulling Roman back to the tower, though he now found himself leaning against the parapets for support, easily hundreds of feet above the entrance hall he stood in only moments before. Before him stood his quarry, an indigo staff materializing in his hands, glowing with arcane energy.

Roman leapt forward, driving his sword toward the man who kidnapped his brother, only for the mage to easily deflect the blade with his staff. He deftly leapt backwards, only for Roman to charge forward again, feinting a similar attack, only to thrust his pommel into the sorcerer’s gut and sweep his leg beneath him.

The spellcaster was caught off guard by the sudden move and found himself on the ground with the tip of the prince’s blade pressed against his windpipe before he could react.

Roman glowered at the man before him. “Give me one good reason not to run my blade through your throat, slime.”

The magician’s eyes widened at his words, he made to scramble backwards, only for the blade to follow until his head knocked against the stone wall of the parapets. “I… You- I-” she stammered, gulping.

The prince raised his blade, ready to end this pitiful excuse for a dark mage until a voice cried out from the stairwell into the tower. “ROMAN, NO! STOP!”

The sound of his brother’s voice made the prince drop his blade in shock. He whipped around to see the crown prince, looking just as resplendent as the day he was kidnapped. He ran between his brother and the sorcerer, ready to protect his captor.

“Remus I- wha-” Now Roman found himself unable to form words. “What in the name of all things good and gay in this land is going on?”

“Well, this might take a little bit of explanation...” Remus failed to meet his brother’s eyes for a moment. “I may have… staged my own kidnapping? With Logan’s help?”

Roman looked aghast “You what?” staged his own kidnapping? How- why- so many questions swirled through the younger prince’s head as he fell to his knees. “I- I don’t… understand.”

“It’s quite simple, actually.” The sorcerer, Logan, had stood back up, dusting himself off. “Your brother asked me to deliver him from the castle to, as I believe he put it ‘get out of that damn nasty het marriage mom and dad are trying to force me into for the good of the kingdom or some dumb crap’, and I simply had to play the part of evil sorcerer in order to scare off any would-be knights in shining armor. I must say, it was rather entertaining. Not to mention some of the… other benefits.” the previously stoic man shot the crown prince a sly look.

“Oh my stars, please don’t. I have to put up with that sort of talk enough whenever he’s around.” Roman looked away from the two, his face growing several shades redder. “So, Remus doesn’t want to come back. But I can’t exactly go home empty handed, what am I supposed to say, ‘Oh I’m sorry guys turns out the prince just noped out of here! Sorry, better luck next monarch!’ I mean I might have to take up the crown at this point, and it’s not exactly as if I could pass off as straight or anything. Mom and Dad aren’t gonna be happy, whatever happens.”

“Well, that doesn’t have to necessarily be the case.” Logan’s hands glowed, producing a large bucket filled with ash. “Here’s what you should do...”

“And so, the prince solemnly returned to the capital, bringing back word that his older brother had perished by the sorcerer’s doing. Roman had dispatched the magician himself, but it was too late for the crown prince. In light of his sorrow over the events which took place, as well as his lack of preparedness, Roman chose to abdicate the throne, leading to a succession crisis lasting nearly a decade. The former prince secluded himself from public life, never really seen in public again. Secretly, he had fled the kingdom not long after his abdication, making a name for himself as a valiant knight. As for his brother, he and the magician who he had asked to kidnap him lived a peaceful, happy life together. The end.”

“Jeez bro, you wrote a whole fairy tale fic just to ship me and Logic?” Remus dangled down from the top bunk of their shared bed in the mindscape.

“...shut up” Roman snatched the leatherbound book from his twin, putting it alongside all the other “side fics” that were never meant to see the light of day, even if Remus kept finding them.

[ka-za-ri]

34 and 11 please with Lucifer and Simeon.

So, I couldn’t tell if you meant Lucifer/Simeon as a pair or Lucifer and Simeon with the reader... sooo I just went with it. Took me a while to figure out how to write this with a good dynamic. A little bit of fluff, a little bit of angst, a lot of romance... I hope you like it! (unedited bc we die like heroes here) Gender Neutral Reader

_(:3 」∠)_

Part of the Two-Part Drabble Game Requests

Setting: Date gone wrong Quote: “Your hand is in my personal space. Not that I mind. Character: Lucifer and Simeon

It was supposed to be a cute little outing downtown with Simeon. It was supposed to be a well deserved break from your hectic life to unwind and spend some time with the guy you liked. It was supposed to be the perfect day out. Some lunch, some window shopping, maybe a stroll in the park and then watching the sunset together.

Supposed to be.

However, neither of you had been made aware of the festival being held in town that day. Instead of the usual bustle of a reasonably busy weekend, the streets were packed with crowds. Your senses were assaulted by all the sounds, smells and sensations that came with a festival. 

At first, you wanted to ride it out, pretend it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. However, Simeon could sense your discomfort with having to deal with so many people in one place at one time. “Let’s go somewhere else.” he suggested when he noticed the way you flinched at any remotely loud, sudden sound. 

You were more than happy to get out of the thick of things and to somewhere quieter. Simeon seemed to know all of the good hole-in-the-wall cafes and brought you to one of his favorites. Immediately, the warm wood finishing and the quiet chatter put you in a much more agreeable state of mind.

Simeon led you to a quiet corner of the cafe once your orders had been retrieved and placed his hand on top of yours. “Sorry I didn’t plan this day better.” he apologized, rubbing soft circles on the back of your hand. “I know how you are with crowds and I didn’t think to look…”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink and letting the familiar flavors take the edge of your frazzled nerves more. “It’s okay.” You reassured him. Though the date hadn’t gone as planned, you still got to spend some quality time with him. “I don’t think either of us really looked up if there was going to be anything going on downtown today. It’s neither here nor there.” 

He smiled softly, adoring how you were still so determined to be out and about with him despite usually being an introvert. It was a rare opportunity for both of you to have time to do anything like this. Simeon didn’t have the right words to quite express just how happy he was to just have time with you. “Well, since we’re here, I think I remember there’s a pa--”

“Simeon?”

Simeon stopped mid sentence when he heard his name being called. He looked around to see who the owner of the voice was and as soon as he saw who it was, he broke out in a wide grin. “Lucy? Is that really you? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Simeon scooted his seat over to allow Lucifer to join in. You stared, dumbfounded at the sudden intrusion, but didn’t question it. The way Simeon beamed and grinned when he saw this person was an expression you rarely saw. It was likely best to leave things for the time being.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it? And who might this be?” 

“My partner!” Simeon stated proudly before introducing you to him. 

“A pleasure to meet you. Lucifer.” The stranger greeted smoothly before pulling up a chair to join you at the table. “I hope I’m not intruding on your date together.”

“Oh, no not at all.” 

It would have been rude to interject and tell him that he was intruding. You had to keep Simeon’s smile in mind. It was an expression you rarely got to see. He was usually so cool and collected, seeing him so animated was a bit of treat for you. For his sake, you didn’t want to cause a scene. Your initial date plans had been foiled anyway, it wasn’t like your day could get any worse, right?

“Lucy and I go way back.” Simeon explained. “At least two decades.”

“I think it’s a little more than that.” Lucifer chimed in. “And can you not call me that in public?” 

“Okay fine Lucifer.” Simeon corrected himself. “What have you been up to these past few years? I feel like we lost all contact after you quit your last job.”

“Ah, well…” 

What they had was a bond that went beyond what you could ever hope to achieve. The way they interacted and reminisced about the times they had together pushed a thorn of envy into your heart. They had all the time in the world and you had only ever occupied a fraction of Simeon’s life. It didn’t feel right to cut into their conversation as they reminisce over the past and caught up.

They pulled you into a life with them that you could never experience. The drink in your hand grew tepid as the hours went by and they continued to chat. It was almost as if you weren’t there, as if you didn’t matter. Despite being surrounded by people, it felt oddly lonely to be at that table with them. They were in their own little world and you could only imagine what it would have been like if you were with them.

For a moment, you were pulled out of the romantic moment you were having with Simeon to see him in a way you were never permitted to. This stranger and his stories about his life drew out an energy and a life no one ever got to see. It was an odd magic Lucifer had and you were equal parts grateful and envious of it. 

There was something that drew even you in. Lucifer had a way with words that had you entranced and falling in love with the world he built. You could understand how Simeon seemed to be so smitten with reconnecting with him. The stories he shared were mundane yet somehow so colorful, you could imagine yourself right there with him. It put you in a comfortable lull and you didn’t mind being so quiet during the time the three of you shared.

“So what brought you out to this side of town anyway?” Lucifer asked, turning to you for a change and dragging you into the conversation. 

You snapped out of your daze and blinked. Surely he was asking Simeon and not you; however, when you looked up at your partner, you were surprised to see that he too was looking at you, waiting for an answer. “Ah, well…” You laughed nervously, fidgeting with the empty cup in your hands. “We were supposed to be on a date downtown…”

“So I was interrupting something.” 

“Well, no. I mean, it was too crowded downtown so we left early.” You shrugged, pretending it didn’t affect you as much as it did. Having a whole day of plans ruined more than once weighed heavily on your shoulders. But, moving the focus to yourself was selfish and rude. After all, Simeon hadn’t seen Lucifer in years, you weren’t about to break up a long awaited reunion. “It’s not a big deal. It’s probably better that we ended up here anyway.”

Lucifer hummed, tapping his finger on the table and assessing the energy between all parties at the table. “Well, I apologize nonetheless for interrupting and usurping your time. Allow me to make it up to you both.” 

You learned quickly that Lucifer moved the world at his own pace and all in his wake were helpless in objecting his whims. He led the two of you out of the quiet cafe and onto the streets washed with the warm oranges of a perfect sunset. One of his hands held onto Simeon while the other near dragged you along to follow his impossibly quick gait. 

He moved with a grace and a purpose you wouldn’t have expected for someone traveling so fast. You stumbled, half jogging to keep up with him. You didn’t know if you should be worried about where you were being taken. Simeon’s cheerful laugh as he was being towed behind Lucifer seemed to at least bode well.

While the scenery flashed by you and all you could do was focus on keeping up with Lucifer’s long strides and purposeful direction. You could only hope that he wasn’t about to lead you to your untimely demise. While frantically trying to match his pace, you realized that you couldn’t deny how easily this man had injected himself into your life. The way he asserted himself and dominated the pace of the day had you a little bit infatuated with him. His life beyond the little tidbits he shared at the coffee table had piqued your interest and left you yearning for more of his stories. The backdrop of Simeon’s gleeful laughing only added to his allure as it seemed like this man was the only person in the world who could pull such strong emotions out of your partner.

By the time he let the two of you stop and catch your breath, you were greeted with a grand view of the town below you. If you squinted, you could make out the rough outline of the downtown buildings where your day had begun. The sun had just sunk past the horizon and twilight washed across the city. Tiny twinkling lights from the windows illuminated the darkened residential areas, bringing the night sky to earth.

Further, the distinct whistle and pop of fireworks went off where the festival was being held. You made your way over the railing at the ledge you had arrived at and leaned against it to get the best view of the show. “Oh wow, I didn’t know this place existed.” You breathed, admiring the light show.

“Hopefully it makes up a little for the awful date this has been.” Simeon apologized softly, he reached for your hand and squeezed it softly. “It’s been a bit of a flop, huh?” 

You giggled, it was impossible to be mad at him when he was so cute. Oblivious as he might be, you could forgive him for one terrible date. “Well, really, you have to thank your friend for saving it.” 

Simeon tilted his head and looked at Lucifer who had joined you at the railing and mouthed a quick thanks in his direction. Lucifer only shrugged, waving it off as if he did things like this on a regular basis. 

While they had their little silent exchange, you let your emotions stew. You were being unreasonably selfish wanting to keep Simeon in your life while also getting to know Lucifer better. The two of them had a chemistry you couldn’t deny and if all things didn’t work out in the end, you reasoned it would only bring them together while you made a graceless exit out of their lives. Perhaps it was the overall romantic ambience that emboldened you to go for it.

You tried to be subtle, but you were sure Lucifer was the kind of person who took note of everything that happened around him. Before you could reach out for him, you felt his fingers pull your hand closer to his, lacing themselves in between his own and securing your palm against his. 

“Uhm… Excuse me, your hand is in my personal space….” You paused, averting your gaze and trying not to be too flustered about it. “Not that I mind…” You mumbled the last part as the boom and crackle of the fireworks drowned out your words. 

One hand held the love of your life, the other held the hand of an alluring stranger who had an impossibly strong pull. Between them, you were torn and impossibly selfish, wishing you could have both in your lives. The show was dying down and before it ended, you knew you had to make a choice. 

“So, Lucifer.” You started, finally gathering up enough courage to look him in the eye. “How about you come over for dinner sometime?” 

“That sounds lovely, I would be honored to join you.”

Behind you, Simeon leaned to the side, catching his old friend’s eyes. He grinned from ear to ear, winking knowingly and squeezed your hand in reassurance.

Perhaps the date wasn’t a total flop after all.

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 11/26(?) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Dragon Age: Awakening Ensemble Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

She didn’t ask, Loriel would tell herself, after. She never asked.

But that was later, much later. For a long time, everything was fine.

After the bloody clearing, Loriel fell into her work the way one might fall down the stairs—not all at once, but once the process had begun, it became almost impossible to stop.

It was almost like being back in Kinloch. She spent all day surrounded by stone, studying magic. Only now it was on her own terms, something she was doing because she wanted to. Her freedom looked an awful lot like her prison, but it didn’t matter what it looked like. What mattered was what it was.

And of course she still had Yvanne.

Most days she woke later than she liked, with the whole morning having slipped away from her. The guilt of having done that was enough to rattle her out of any desire for breakfast, so she would go without. She would spend the day at her work, following one idea and then another. It went intolerably slow. Sometimes she couldn’t tell if an experiment had failed because her idea was bad, or because she’d done something wrong. It was just so hard to do this alone. But asking Yvanne to help was unthinkable (though she had promised, hadn’t she? She had promised to help.)

And when she could no longer stand going back and forth with herself about whether her ideas or her methods were bad, she would go back to her bedchambers. Yvanne would be there, along with a dinner in any possible condition between ‘slightly cooled’ and ‘stone cold and beginning to curdle.’ They would talk, or rather, Yvanne would talk. Loriel would nod along and eat her congealing meal, hardly tasting it. Her mind would be on the project she’d abandoned downstairs, churning with ideas for new ways to try it, if maybe she should return to an earlier form, if maybe she was struggling fruitlessly and Avernus had figured it out decades ago and it would have been faster simply to ask him.

Yvanne would finish telling her about her day, and ask her about hers, and Loriel would shrug and report that it had been pretty uneventful, really. Just work. And they’d maybe break out an aged bottle of red, and go to bed, and have sex, and afterwards Loriel would lie awake and think of blight and blood and spirit, and eventually, often when the dawn rays were already beginning to break over the horizon, she would sleep.

And then it would begin again. And again. And again.

—

Her library grew, as she requisitioned books from distant libraries, or else copied treatises herself. Her quantity of notes multiplied precipitously, until she could no longer easily keep track of them herself—and it wasn’t as though she could hire an assistant. Nobody else could understand her shorthand, anyway.

Letters from Avernus weren’t frequent, but always illuminating. Rarest of all were cryptic scrawls coming from the Architect. These generally raised more questions than they answered. She wondered if he wrote them himself, or if Utha or Seranni scribed for him. Perhaps Velanna would recognize her sister’s handwriting if she saw it—but Loriel never showed her. The thought of going out and talking to people, of being seen by them, turned her stomach.

She still had the opaque black crystal the Architect had delivered to her with Velanna. It had seemed so exciting at first, like it was surely the answer to everything. But the longer she tried to puzzle out its secrets the less she understood it. The rare times she had contact with the Architect, he was less than helpful. He kept assuming that she knew all sorts of things that she didn’t. When she asked in writing, his response WOULD explain the parts she already thought were obvious. Useless. Avernus, being nearly two centuries old, was bad enough, but the Architect was not old but ancient, and his humanity was further behind him.

She left the crystal on her desk, until looking at it made her sick with anger at herself. Then she shoved it in a drawer where she couldn’t see it anymore.

Probably she would have made more progress if she kept things better organized, but she’d never needed to be particularly organized before, and now she had no idea how to do it. Nobody had ever taught it to her. Every time it occurred to her that today would be the day she put things in order, it only took a minute of looking around at the mess for her to despair and give up.

It was pathetic. It wasn’t as though she’d never done original magical research before, but the Calling was another beast altogether. There were so many moving parts, and the more she learned the more confused she got. She needed a break, but a break simply wasn’t possible.

Because the clock was ticking. Every day she didn’t understand the Calling was another day that the unthinkable might happen. That one of them might begin to hear the song.

Alistair had said thirty years, but that had been at most thirty years. And even if the average was twenty, twenty-five, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be as few as five, for some people. Was it written down somewhere, how long each Warden lasted before the Calling claimed them? Where would she find such a document, if it was?

Yvanne still had awful darkspawn dreams. Did that mean she was more vulnerable to the Blight than other Wardens? Did that mean the Calling would come to her sooner? Did sooner mean twenty years rather than thirty—or as few as five? How much time did they have?

What made one person vulnerable to the Blight, and another one hardy to it? What made one person survive the Joining, and another one perish? What made one person’s blood different from another’s?

Or was it in the blood at all? Maybe it was something else. Some quality of the spirit, the same thing that made some children mages and spared others, perhaps. What made spirits different? Maybe Justice would have known, but Justice was gone. Justice was gone because of her. She and Yvanne pretended like it was because of Anders, but really it was because of her. Anders was gone because of her, too. What a farce. What a ridiculous, ugly farce. It was a wonder Yvanne didn’t hate her. It was all such a wonder, the fact that they still loved each other, such a wonder. It made her exhausted.

But what else was she going to do, with the time left to her? This was all she was good at.

Death’s child could do this one thing. She couldn’t do everything that was asked of her, not even most things. But maybe she could do this. Just this one thing. Just this one.

—

The thing about their arguments was that they really weren’t all that frequent. Most of the time they got along fine. Most of the time they lay down together, and rose up together, and kissed each other fondly. And it was not the most exciting of all possible lives, but wasn’t that what they’d fought for? Most days, when she was with Yvanne, Loriel could half-believe herself happy.

The problem was that it was always the same argument.

Yvanne would drink too much, and Loriel wouldn’t say anything, because it wasn’t her place. Yvanne would always do exactly what Yvanne wanted, and all attempts to prevent her would be ultimately fruitless. It still put Loriel on edge. So every time Yvanne brought it up—she only did it when she was drunk—Loriel was already on edge, so who could fault her for reacting the way she did?

“We could leave all this behind,” Yvanne would say. It was what she always said, as though wheedling would do it, as though she could wear her down. And usually Loriel would demure and conciliate. She’d always been so good at it.

But today she lost her temper. “That is not an option,” she snapped. “I’m not like you. I don’t give up on things.”

As soon as she said it she held her breath, waiting to see Yvanne draw back in hurt and offense. But instead she just rolled her eyes.

“That’s not even true,” Yvanne said. “You’ve given up on lots of things. You’ve given up on almost everything.”

Loriel stiffened. “Just what, exactly, have I given up on?”

Yvanne made a broad, flicking gesture around the room. “What haven’t you given up on?” She started counting off on her fingers. “The rest of the world. This Keep. Everyone we ever knew.”

Her mind went instantly to Anders. You gave up on him, too,  she thought poisonously. Faster than I did. But Yvanne wasn’t done.

“You know you keep accusing me of running away,” she said sardonically. “But notice how I’m still here. I stayed. I never ran, I always stayed with you. It was always, only, ever, you.”

You wanted to run, though, Loriel thought. You wanted to.

“All I ever wanted was a home in the world, with you,” Yvanne said. She’d said it before. Many times. “But you’re not with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Loriel said, exasperated. It was a lie. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“You have, though.”

No more than you have, she thought. It was almost as though Yvanne didn’t see her at all, when she looked at her. What did she see?

“All I ever wanted was to be with you,” Yvanne repeated distantly. “There wasn’t room for anything else.”

But I am with you! She had to say it out loud, but her throat was so tight. She had to say it. She had to. If she could just— “But I am with you,” she echoed. “I’m here. I’m not gone.”

“Not yet.” Yvanne put her hands over her face. “Maker, I’m so afraid. All the time I’m afraid.”

A cold pit of ice dropped into Loriel’s stomach. This was not a standard part of The Argument. “Afraid. You’re afraid of me.” Was it so shocking? Everyone else was afraid of her. She had made herself frightening. She had done it on purpose.

Yvanne’s head snapped up. “ Of you? You bloody idiot—I’m afraid for you! I’m afraid I’m going to walk in on you in a pool of your own blood and won’t be able to bring you back. I’ve researched so many advanced healing spells, just in case, but it might not end up mattering. You can’t bring back the dead.”

“I’m not going to die,” Loriel scoffed. “Not any time soon, anyway.”

“You can’t know that.”

As many as thirty? As few as five?

“I know it as much as anyone can know anything,” she retorted. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not taking any undue risks.”

“Now that’s rich!” Yvanne said scornfully. “That might be the boldest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Now that got under Loriel’s skin. What right did she have to say that? And to say it as though it was self-evident. As though Loriel were simply being obstinate in not acknowledging it. As though it were anyone’s business but her own what she did with her own life and her own body.

“You don’t own me,” she said, too harshly. “I own me.”

“Wasn’t saying I did,” Yvanne muttered.

“No, I rather think you were,” Loriel said icily. “It isn’t what you said, but it is what you meant.”

Yvanne huffed, threw her hands up slightly. “Excuse me for suggesting that people with lives as tangled up together as ours might owe each other something!”

Then maybe they shouldn’t have gotten so tangled.

“And I owe you what, exactly?” she said instead. “To do with myself as you will, simply because you don’t trust me?”

Yvanne took a long time to respond. Then, quietly, “I don’t often ask you for things. But I’m asking you for this. Please.”

Loriel wanted to ask her what in the Maker-forsaken void she was talking about. Did Yvanne think Loriel would be any different outside the comfortable confines of Vigil’s Keep? Did she think the poison was in the flagstones?

For a brief moment she considered it. Abandoning her work, come what may. The Calling would take them some day, and she would never know which day—only that when it took one of them, it would take them both.

She thought about the great wide worlds, its endless sky, its infinite varieties. It choked her with its vastness. Who would she be out there?

“No,” she said eventually. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

“Right,” Yvanne muttered, in the tone that meant the argument was over. It was the answer she’d been expecting. “Course you can’t.”

Loriel shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t. She was sorry, she was. But she really, really couldn’t.

—

Her newest idea was to test everything on rats. Surely it would have better results than trying to recreate the Blight in a glass vial. The Wardens had a vial of Archdemon blood, which had to be added dropwise to darkspawn blood, along with a dozen other things, to function in the Joining. She could infect the rats, and study them, try to cure them. She would regret their deaths, but it would all be worth it in the end.

A part of her knew she didn’t understand the Blight well enough to even bother with the rats. But she was so tired of failing. After all, Avernus had most of his success with live subjects.

Catching the rats was the hard part, requiring an elaborate series of paralysis glyphs and sense crystals. Then there was the matter of keeping them contained, fed, and watered. She spent weeks figuring out some way to manage the rats, all the time her mind wandering, such that the work of a few hours stretched into a full week.

In the end it didn’t matter. All the rats she infected with Blight died right away, and she didn’t know why. Had she miscalculated the dose? Were rats fundamentally different from people, in some way? But animals could be blighted, so that couldn’t be the case. Could one of the lower animals be made into a broodmother? Could rat-darkspawn be created?

The thought of trying to get more rats to try and find out was more than she could bear. She sat splayed in her chair, wondering if perhaps she could find a breeding pair and have them produce offspring for her, but in order to make that work she would need to figure out some kind of accelerated growth spell. It was surely doable, in theory, but it would involve creation magic, a field she knew nearly nothing about.

(Yvanne knew about creation magic. Yvanne had promised to help her with this, once. She had promised.)

So she abandoned the idea entirely, and returned to glass vials. Months of effort, wasted.

She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes. Tired. So tired.

You don’t have to do this, Yvanne had said. I’m doing this for you, Loriel had said. So many times she had said that.

And it was true. It was! She was doing this for her, for the both of them. For all the Wardens. For all the people of Thedas. Because she was the Hero of Ferelden, and a piss-poor one at that, and she owed this to them. And to her Wardens. And to Yvanne, and to herself.

It was true. Wasn’t it? It was. It was! She was doing this for her. For everyone, but really just for the two of them. Who gave a damn about anyone else? The world had turned its back on them, over and over. Loriel had struggled so hard to save them, and were they grateful? They weren’t. Was it so wrong to want to do something for the one she loved?

(If Yvanne really loved her she would have been grateful. If she really loved her she would have supported her. If she really loved her she would have been able to see—)

—

That year had been a late winter followed by an early summer, and Loriel nearly missed the whole spring.

Months later (who knew how many). The same argument.

Yvanne had said: How do you think I feel?

How you feel, Loriel thought scornfully. “How you feel!” she said, not nearly as scornfully. “It’s always about you, somehow. Always about Yvanne and what Yvanne wants and how I can give it to her, that’s always been the story. Maybe if you really loved me—”

She broke off. That wasn’t fair. It wasn't fair and it wasn't true. Yvanne loved her. Loriel loved her back. That much was true. That was the one eternal constant of the universe.

It wasn’t fair and it wasn't true, and when Loriel could think straight she remembered it. But she was so tired, so exhausted that the world bent and twisted before her eyes and she couldn't tell truth from darkspawn blood.

She pinched the bridge of her nose . “I’m...I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. I didn’t mean that.”

Yvanne seemed to soften. More than anything Loriel ached for comfort. Not even magic. A touch would do. She was reminded of the time at Redcliffe, when she had first done blood magic, and all she had wanted was reassurance that everything could be alright. Yvanne hadn’t given it then.

“You’re right. You aren’t thinking straight,” she said, not giving it now. “So let me know when you are.”

Usually at this point Loriel would storm off in a huff to go work, and in a few hours she would come back and everything would be forgiven. Because that was what love was about, wasn’t it? It was about pain. It was about forgiveness despite the pain. It was about the choice to love and forgive and forget the pain. But this time it was Yvanne who managed to storm away first, except she didn’t storm. She walked calmly and closed the door quietly, not in anger, but resignation. Loriel was left alone in their chambers, the last place where they still shared a life.

(Maybe if you really loved me—)

No, that wasn’t true, Yvanne loved her. ( But she couldn’t see her anymore .)

Loriel needed to sit down, but there were so many articles of clothing on the nearest chair that she sat on the bed (their well-used bed, that had so delighted her when this had all begun) instead. And even sitting took too much energy, so she lay back. Maybe she could sleep for a while. Just a little while, so she could think straight.

But sleep didn’t come. Her racing thoughts were wide awake, and hungry, and had no pity for her.

She had always been afraid that she wasn’t good enough for beautiful, vivacious, lovely Yvanne. That one of these days Yvanne was going to figure it out and leave her. For a long time she’d been holding her breath, waiting for the blow.

But maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe it wasn’t that she wasn’t good enough for Yvanne. Maybe it was that she was just all wrong for her ( wrong wrong wrong, it slithered through her mind like crawling worms in the dirt), maybe they only fit together at all because they’d grown together like the intertwining roots of trees. She thought of vines twisted together so tightly they had fused ( parasites, living off each other, sucking the life out of each other, unable to survive any other way)

Now they’d traded the Circle for the Wardens. And love born of terror, perpetuated in bondage, what was that worth?

What did they have in common, anyway? Their whole lives. Their magic. What else?

She stared into the darkness, wishing she knew some spell to end all thought.

(What else? What else? What else?)

—

It wasn’t about the blood. It was about the sacrifice.

In that sense, to call it blood magic was a misnomer.

You can’t get something for nothing. This was the oldest rule in the book, from back before there were books, before writing, before language. It was as simple as anything, and it was as true of entropy magic as of blood magic.

Loriel knew all about entropy. The rule of entropy was this: you can’t get something for nothing.

That was why it was impossible to draw her own blood, store it, restore herself, and use it later. Blood stored in a vial, divorced from the pain and loss it had caused, had no power. The blood itself was inert. It was the pain that mattered.

She had to suffer. It had to be this way. It could never have been any other way.

Life was pain. It wasn’t all pain. But it was pain, sure enough. And pain was life, for only living things could suffer. For every sting of the blade, she knew herself to be alive. Here she was in the depths of the underground, nearer to the deep roads (the darkspawn) than to the sunlight, but while she hurt she lived.

Yvanne didn’t understand that. Yvanne was a healer. She didn’t understand the necessity of pain. She never had.

But you can’t get something for nothing. That was the rule. (Loriel knew all about rules. She had always been so good at following the rules. So, so good, and what had it gotten her?)

Her current project involved attempts to refine blight from blood—her own, a darkspawn’s, and an archdemon’s. Each Warden-Commander was entrusted with a vial of Archdemon blood, a single drop of which was used in the Joining cup. Loriel had it here, a measly quantity of it. It ought to have been refilled when Urthemiel had fallen, but nobody had been there to tell her to take its blood. She hadn’t known she was supposed to do that, and now here she was wasting the small quantity she had away on her useless experiments. (But that could be a good thing, that could mean that when she used it all up there would be no more Wardens and if there were no Wardens that meant there was no Warden-Commander and if there was no need for a Warden-Commander then Loriel could—go where? Do what?)

She wanted to understand what made Warden’s blood different from darkspawn blood, and what made both of them different from archdemon’s blood. She had for days now been heating, distilling, refluxing, heating again, countless hours spent staring at glassware full of the murky stuff, ( half-wondering what it would feel like to take the vials and smash them on the table and feel the shards of glass in her skin ), because surely it couldn’t be a matter of mere concentration. Darkspawn were not Wardens with more Blight inside them. And Archdemons were something different entirely.

Why were all the archdemons dragons? What did dragons have to do with Blight? But no, not dragons—old gods. But why were the old gods in the form of dragons? The Chantry would say that they were false gods of no significance, but even if that were true, why would beings clearly much more powerful than mere animals take those forms? Urthemiel had been the god of beauty; the Architect had been his high priest. Loriel had slain Urthemiel. She had driven a sword—

( she barely knew how to use it, it should have been Yvanne, it should have been her, none of this was meant for her, that was why she was down here in the dark, because she had taken what rightfully ought to have been somebody else’s, because she had transgressed, and now she was being rightfully punished )

—through its skull. She remembered how its bones had cracked. It had already been most of the way to dead by the time she finished it off. She’d hardly contributed to its killing at all.

(she’d picked up the sword, nearly as long as she was tall, because she happened to be nearby, it had just happened, she hadn’t meant to—)

Did the Architect know that? Did he know she had slain his god? Did he still regard the archdemon to be his god? It was no more corrupted than he was. (Would that be Loriel’s fate? Was that the fate of every Warden, to someday become the monsters they fought? What was the difference between them and the monsters, anyway? That wasn’t so bad. She’d been a monster all her life, what would be the difference?)

The bright blade bit into her scarred skin. The veins there were weakening. She would have to pick a new place to cut, soon. Her blood ran hot and warm down her skin. Loriel incanted. Nothing happened.

(What was the Architect’s name? What had he looked like? Who had he been when he had been a man?)

She changed the words of the incantation, then the pronunciation. She changed how she held her fingers. She cast again and again. Nothing happened.

(He deserved it though, that’s what he got, for breaking the rules. Rule-breakers had to be punished, that was the rule. That’s what he, what she deserved. That’s what she deserved, for expecting something for nothing.)

Her blood clotted and the flow stopped. It still hurt, but was that enough? No, it wasn’t, she could tell. The pain was necessary but not sufficient. She needed to bleed to cast spells like this, or else they’d always fail, and she’d have no one but herself to blame.

The knife bit into her flesh again.

(Yvanne didn’t understand, of course she didn’t, how could she?)

She didn’t feel the knife slip from her numb fingers, and though she felt herself slipping, felt herself fall, by the time she hit the floor she had already slipped into something like sleep—but not peace.

She dreamt herself in the Black City, wandering its winding streets and high towers. She knew only that she was desperately searching for something—someone?—that she couldn’t find. When she looked down at her hands they were claws, the bulging veins there black with the same Blight that ran through the gutters and oozed down the walls. It flooded the streets and rose higher and higher, up to her hips and shoulders, in her mouth and her eyes and over her head, and all was black.

—

Loriel woke slowly. First she became aware of her body and the bed it was lying in. At first she didn’t notice anything unusual, and then she did—the absence of pain. Nothing ached or throbbed or stung. She felt better than she’d felt in many months. She was suffused with the vague sense that whatever dreadful thing had been happening, it was over now, if it had ever even happened. Perhaps it had only been a terrible dream.

For a while she let herself float peacefully in the dim twilight of half-sleep, aware enough to relish the glorious lack-of-pain. But finally she had no choice but to open her eyes, and remember everything.

Yvanne sat sleeping in the wooden chair besides the bed. Her cheek pressed against her shoulder, her chin on her chest. It looked singularly uncomfortable.  Loriel wondered why she’d sat there instead of getting into bed with her. She reached out and touched her gently on the elbow.

Yvanne started, her eyes flying open, then relaxing. There were dark circles under her eyes, and they were red-rimmed; she’d been crying, but had stopped some hours ago, presumably when she’d fallen asleep.

“You’re awake,” she managed, “That’s good.”

Loriel coughed hoarsely. Her throat was dry. “How long was I…?”

Yvanne glanced out the window. It was dark, with no trace of either daybreak or sunset. The candles were all extinguished, and all that illuminated the room was a trio of Fade-wisps fluttering around Yvanne’s head like a halo, casting her in an eerie greenish light. “I don’t know. Most of a full day, I think.”

A glass of water stood on the bedside table. Loriel drained it, leaning on her elbow. She opened her mouth to ask what happened, and then closed it. Some of her memory was trickling back, as though after a hard night of drinking. You bloody idiot, I’m afraid for you! I’m afraid I’m going to walk in on you in a pool of your own blood and won’t be able—

Instead she lay back. She knew better than to insult her by apologizing. The fact that she was even thinking of apologizing annoyed her. I’m the one that almost died, and somehow I need to comfort her ?

Eventually Yvanne said, “How do you feel?”

Loriel thought about it. “Good, actually,” she said. “Better than I’ve been. Much better.” Whatever exact combination of healing spells and potions Yvanne had administered, it had really done the trick. She felt like she could think clearly for the first time in...she didn’t even know how long. She was herself again.

She had the sudden traitorous thought—all along Yvanne could have helped her like this, and for whatever reason, she hadn’t.

“That’s good.”

What a funny path life took. Only a handful of years ago their positions had been reversed, and it had been Loriel sitting and fretting at the bedside, feeling helpless and afraid. She didn’t feel helpless or afraid now. She just felt tired—clear-eyed, but so tired.

“Thank you.”

At that Yvanne couldn’t take it anymore. She drew a rattled half-sob of a breath, and suppressed a hiccup. “‘ Thank you’? What was I supposed to do, leave you there?”

It occurred to Loriel how exhausted Yvanne looked. Not just tired, but...older. It could have been only the flickering Fade-light, but—some of the lines on her face looked new. Were they really new, or had Loriel just not been paying attention? Would she have turned to her, years down the road, and been surprised to see an aged face looking back at her?

All at once the guilt crashed over her, so intense it made her nauseous.

It would have been easier if she’d loved her any less.

Did you love me for me , she thought, or because there was no one else? And that thought hurt.

Then she thought, did I love you for you? And that thought hurt much worse.

“Loriel, I…” Yvanne swallowed, staring at her laced fingers between her knees. “Loriel, I can’t do this anymore. Something has to change.”

You’re right, Loriel thought, deciding. It does.

She struggled into a sitting position, and then realized it wasn’t much of a struggle. She was only stiff from sleeping so long. She scooted out of bed and found herself shivering in only a billowing nightgown. She didn’t have to look long for her robe; Yvanne had put it in the top drawer of the northmost chest of drawers. Her feet were cold on the stone floor, but she could live with that.

She went to her desk, rummaged for parchment and ink and quill. It was really more Yvanne’s desk these days, and she kept it in order. She stood as she wrote; the document would not need to be long. It only required her signature, and her seal.

“Do you know where my signet ring is?” Loriel asked.

“Upper right drawer,” Yvanne said automatically. She hadn’t spoken or moved, had only watched Loriel move about the room with uncertain eyes.

She found the ring. “Thank you.” Sealing wax lay in the same container, dark burgundy stuff; blue was more fitting for the Warden-Commander, but red would do. She dripped the wax onto the bottom of the document and pressed her ring into it, leaving an impression of the double-headed griffon symbol of the Wardens. The ink had had time to dry while she’d fumbled with the wax.

She read over what she wrote, once, twice, thrice, just to make sure. But her mind was clear, and short of letting it sit overnight—not an option—she was sure she’d covered all her legal bases.

Yvanne finally rose. “Loriel?” she said hesitantly. “What is that?”

Loriel rolled up the parchment and handed it to her before she had a chance to lose her nerve.

“It is a legal document, signed and sealed by the lawfully appointed Warden-Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and Lady of Soldier’s Peak,” said Loriel. “It states that Warden-Lieutenant Yvanne Amell is abroad on official Grey Warden business of highest priority, and that any attempts to impede her free movements will be met with swift reprisal by the Grey Wardens of Ferelden and the Ferelden Crown. And there’s some more legal jargon at the bottom if you want to review that.” She raised her chin. “I can’t promise it will keep you safe from anything out there, far from it, but it should make public life as a mage on her own a much easier prospect.”

I can’t do this anymore, Yvanne had said. It was her favorite gambit. It meant— I’m doing as I’ve decided. Do whatever you want, but my course is set. Most times in their life it had been a bluff—until Amaranthine.

Well, no more.

“I don’t...what?” Yvanne looked at the parchment, then at her. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Loriel said tiredly. “You don’t understand. And you never will.”

She knew it for the truth as she said it. For the nearly twenty years that they had known each other, for all the things they shared, for all that they had walked within each other's very souls, Yvanne would never understand. What did Yvanne know about darkness, about decay? Yvanne grew gardens and built castles in the sky, content to pretend that the world ( their bodies (them)) weren’t falling apart. Yvanne would never understand Loriel, and Loriel—it had become now blindingly obvious—would never understand Yvanne.

Loriel would never understand Yvanne, and she was tired of trying.

For an endless, awful moment they stood suspended in time. Yvanne stared at the parchment, the wheels in her head turning and creaking as it dawned on her, the full significance of what Loriel meant. In that long moment, it dawned on Loriel, too, the magnitude of it. She was standing on a shore, beholding a massive wave rising up to swallow all that she knew, and it had not crashed down on her head yet, but it would, any second now, it would.

“Are you telling me to go?” Yvanne said. Just to make sure. Just in case she’d misunderstood.

Ask me to come with you, Loriel thought then, desperately, as though that was going to save them. If she only asked, Loriel’s resolve would break, and she would have said yes. She would have followed her to the ends of the earth, if only because the prospect of living without her had now become terrifyingly real.

But Yvanne didn’t ask.

She didn’t ask, Loriel would tell herself later. She never asked.

Loriel would remember for the rest of her life the sight of Yvanne clutching the parchment and tearing out of the room. Loriel didn’t know why she would go after this—only that it would be far away, and that she was unlikely to ever see her again. Because she understood as well as Loriel did, what this meant for them—that the farce was finally over, the soap-bubble of their shared dreams well and truly popped. As it had always been destined to be.

For Loriel’s basic nature was that of entropy, and that meant she understood the nature of all things was to, eventually, cease. Every mechanism must someday wind down, and every life must eventually extinguish, and every love must eventually fizzle. You could run and run and run, but entropy would always get you in the end. Loriel had tried denying it, had tried cheating it, but it was no good.

Because you couldn’t get something for nothing. That was what Yvanne couldn’t seem to understand.

And that was why it had to be this way. That was why it had to end.

[thewritewolf]

Nino’s Quest Chapter 8: The Quest Begins Again

Adrien and Marinette are a stuttering mess for reasons unknown to the Lord DM, but that won't stop him from pushing this story forward. The party seeks out a dread enemy - The Necromancer!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3.  My ko-fi.

Nino knocked at the door to the familiar apartment and heard his girlfriend’s voice call, “Come in!”

Stepping inside, the first thing he noticed - after Alya, of course - was the bags of groceries on the table. A warm smile lit up his face as he recognized them as the ingredients for one of his favorite meals that he’d ever had at the Cesaire household.

“Is all this for me, babe?”

Alya quirked an eyebrow and put a hand on her hip. “Well, I was hoping that you’d share with the rest of the party…”

“Hm…” He tapped at his cheek, pretending to give it some thought. “I guess that’s a fair deal. Need a hand cooking it up?”

She scoffed. “No, but I wouldn’t turn down help if you’re offering.”

The sound of chopping vegetables and the sizzle of the meat on the stove was all the noise that passed between them for a few minutes. The two of them worked well together, especially when it came to the kitchen. As Nino was busy cutting the carrots, he finally broke the silence.

“So where is everyone today?”

“You probably guessed Nora is at a tournament. If you did, congrats - you were right.” Alya leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. “Took awhile but she’s finally in a league that she doesn’t just completely wreck instantly.”

Nino nodded along. “That’s totally sweet. She needs to be challenged if she’s gonna get any better.”

“Her point exactly. Ella and Etta are with mom and dad. They were going to the park, then to a movie. We should be clear for the next few hours, at least.”

“That’s not far off from what our last couple dates have been like.” Nino chuckled. “Park, movies, although we did go out for dinner a few days ago…”

“It’s good exercise. Can’t be too out of shape when Ladybug calls us back into the fight.”

“Right on. And if we are already out and about, it's way easier for you to go charging into an akuma battle phone-first, yeah?”

Alya had the decency to blush at that. “So, ah, you noticed that, huh?”

“Mhm. Don’t worry, babe. It’s all good to me, so long as we’re chillin’ together.”

“Aw, thanks babe.” She turned around to stir the rice some more. Still stirring, she asked over her shoulder, “By the way, have you seen the footage of the last akuma battle?”

He snorted. “Babe you say that as if you don’t have me read all your posts to edit them.”

“Okay, fair. So you’ve noticed that Ladybug and Chat Noir have been acting… kinda weird lately?”

“Understatement of the year. Stealing glances at each other, stutters when they actually manage to talk to each other, all those blushes. They’re the second biggest mess of all the couples in Paris.”

“And the biggest mess is our babies, right?”

“Yup.” Nino dumped the carrots in with what Alya was stirring. “All props to Ladybug and Chat Noir though - they’re giving our kids a run for their money, even though Marinette has had way more practice being awkward. And my boy Adrien is right there with the best of ‘em.”

Alya sighed. “It’s a mess. But I bet we can fix-”

“Babe.”

“What? I’m just saying if we-” Nino put a finger on her lips, silencing her despite the glare she shot his way.

“You gotta let them figure it out on their own. They’ll get there eventually.”

“Yeah? Well, let’s see how you feel after this session. You haven’t had to see them together nearly as much as I have.”

“Yeah, I really wish Ms. Bustier would start letting us do groups of four.” He paused. “Is it seriously that bad?”

Her eyes widened for a moment, remembered exasperation crossing her face. “You’ll see, cappy.”

Her phone went off. “Well, that’s them. Just in time for lunch, too.”

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

As he’d expected, Marinette and Adrien were quiet and blushy as ever. This ultimately left the leadership of the party in Alya’s hands - a task that she was uniquely qualified for as they sought out leads for the Necromancer’s lair.

“Alright, dudes. We’ve all leveled up. You’ve just finished shopping in the marketplace and you’re ready to leave town on a moment’s notice. But you’ve got no clue on where to head out. What’re you going to do about it?”

Silence greeted him as Alya looked between their friends and the way they very deliberately avoided each other’s eyes while surreptitiously staring as much at each other as possible.

“Right, well…” Her eyes sparked as an idea occurred to her. “So we’re basically drumming up leads, right? Doing research, chasing down rumors of this bad guy?”

“Yeah, babe, you got it.”

She rubbed her hands together in excitement. “Now that is something I can do. What’s the marketplace look like? What sort of people do I see there?”

“Besides the locals? Rough mercenary types, travellers dusty from the road, wandering merchants, that sort of thing.”

There was a pause as she narrowed her eyes in thought. “Tell me more about the travellers. What do they look like?”

He rolled a perception check behind his DM screen. “You notice that a bunch of ‘em are sticking together and they’ve got kids with them. Their threads are pretty similar too, like they got ‘em from the same place. They seem pretty uneasy, casting suspicious looks around them.”

“It’s not normal for wanderers to take their children with them, yeah?”

“Not usually, no. Unless they’re nomads.”

She shook her head. “Nah. Nomads wouldn’t be that freaked out by new people. It sounds like they’re country folk that were driven into the city. Which means…”

“...Refugees?” Adrien supplied, frowning at the table.

“Only one way to find out. I’ll walk up to them.” Alya cleared her throat and adopted her character’s voice. “Excuse me, can I ask you where you’re from?”

Nino dropped his voice an octave. “Doesn’t matter much anymore, does it? Nothing left to go back to now.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Strange happenings up in the mountains, lass. Smoke billowing out. Scared me to my bones, it did. We picked up and headed out.’ The dude gets a distant look, like he’s remembering the sight. ‘Been on that farm for six generations. But I hear we were the lucky ones.’”

“I thank him for his time. What do you guys think?”

Marinette and Adrien seemed to have forgotten their embarrassment for the moment. Adrien shuffled his character sheets again. “Do I know any legends about the mountains? Like, monsters that lived up there, or old forts? Maybe it’s not the Necromancer at all but something else.”

Nino took a long sip of his pop. “Roll it.”

A grin split Adrien’s face as the die landed high. “What’ve you got for me, bro?”

“You remember hearing stories about a lost dwarven city out there. It went quiet decades ago, though.”

“Dwarves…” Marinette cupped her chin, her eyebrows creased with worry. “Like, big forges, deep mines, strong doors? Enough space to arm and equip and army? That sort of dwarves?”

Nino finger gunned at her. “One and the same, my dude!”

Alya buried her face in her hands. “Fantastic. If the Necromancer isn’t there, I bet he wished he was. Let’s go.”

“Don’t we want to look for other clues?” Marinette asked.

“Y-yeah.” Adrien swallowed heavily, dragging his eyes away from Marinette to Alya. “He could be somewhere else.”

“Doubt it. And even if he isn’t, someone is driving honest people away from their homes. Necromancer or no, we’ve got to do something about it.”

Steely determination dawned on their faces. “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil…” Marinette began.

“...Is that good people do nothing,” Adrien finished. “Guess it’s settled then.”

With their goal in mind, the rest of the session was spent on travel. They met more people on the road - battered survivors and the usual wanderers alike. It put a strain on their supplies, but they helped out as best they could while approaching their destination. After a couple hours of social encounters and skill checks to help the displaced, they were close.

“Looming on the horizon are the great western mountains. While they’re usually supes gorgeous, something about ‘em feels off. Just like the farmer dude said, there are smoke plums coming from somewhere in the mountain range. And that…” Nino said as he closed his DM notebook, “Is where we’ll end today’s session. If you chose right, next session might totally be the end of the Necromancer, and this adventure.”

The tapping of Adrien’s pen came to a stop, Marinette’s packing finished, and even Alya looked up from her character sheet. All of them wore similar expressions of surprise.

“Wow, really? It doesn’t feel like its been that long…” Alya muttered.

Marinette frowned. “It can’t be almost over already, can it?”

“No way!” Adrien brushed the thought aside. “I’m sure we’ve got plenty of adventures still in us.”

“That’s up to you, my dudes. This campaign might be almost over, but there could be more.” Nino shrugged and chugged the last of his pop. “If you want to, I mean. But anyway, that’s a question for later.”

Slightly more somber, they finished packing up. Adrien took Marinette and Nino home

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

Direct Message to Adrien

Nino: So Bro Wanna tell me whats goin on between you and M?

Adrien: There isn’t anything Which is half the problem But don’t worry about it

Nino: No can do We’re best buds Its my job to worry about you

Adrien: And I get that I really do! But you’ve gotta trust me There isn’t anything you can do Sorry :(

Nino: Well… okay. I’m here if you need me dude

Adrien: I know [heart emoji]

-----

Direct Message From Alya

Alya: Did he tell you anything?

Nino: Nah, babe Clammed up U?

Alya: dang No Mari is hiding something Not sure if it is a BAD something But def something

Nino: Not much we can do about it I guess Just let ‘em figure it out

Alya: Speak for yourself, cappy Theyre almost there They just need… ...a little push

Nino: Alya...

Alya: What? It won’t be much Just a gentle nudge Really

Nino: [eye roll emoji] Alright fine What did you have in mind?

Alya: heh heh heh Okay so! We get them into class early Like SUPER early Maybe like an hour

Nino: Alright… Tough to pull off Esp for Mari But doable

Alya: ...and then we lock the door behind them And we leave them alone We don’t open it until either they’re dating Or class starts Preferably the former

Nino: That’s What No Stop

Alya: Why not? It worked for us And it smells a whole lot nicer too

Nino: point You know what? Sure We’ll do it Otherwise we might be waiting on them for a g e s

Alya: I knew you’d see it my way. ;)

[hermannsthumb]

Hey dude!! Never done this before so I’m sorry if I screw it up but love the prompts you reblogged and thought I’d give it a try. Newmann wedding fics are the cutest things in my opinion so I thought possibly write a combination of 16, 7, and or either 2 or 9. Your newmann fics are the absolute best, I read them whenever I’m having a really bad day and they always cheer me up. Your a fantastic writer and you have such and amazing personality! I Hope you have a lovely day

16: Weddings, 7: Beach, 1: Fireworks, 2: Sunburn AND 9: Stargazing, 

from summer prompt memes here

combining yours with @francissaintgermain​ for a double whammy of wedding...AND THANK U BOTH for the really sweet words :’)

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

“Seems a bit of a hassle, if you ask me,” Hermann says. “All this bloody planning, and money, and effort—”

“It’s not a hassle,” Newton says. “I mean, it is, but—it’s gotta be worth it, you know? It’s romantic.”

It takes Hermann a great deal of effort to not roll his eyes. Newton’s idea of romantic includes necking on the couch while Ghostly Encounters plays on the television set and showing Hermann how many pieces of sushi he can cram into his mouth at once. (His record is ten, and he would’ve kept going if Hermann didn’t remind him that they were in a very nice restaurant and he paid quite a lot for the reservation.) It isn’t what Hermann meant, anyway. “I’m not talking about weddings in general,” he says. “I mean this sort. With all the—” He waggled his hand vaguely. “Extravagance.”

Extravagance did not fully encompass everything this wedding was. Hermann’s cousin and his fiance—wife, now, Hermann supposed—-had rented out a massive chunk of beach for it, with all the trappings of the sorts of things you’d expect for a beach vacation. Bouquets of tropical flowers. Bridesmaids in flip-flops. Seagulls swooping down every few minutes. Tiki torches at the end of each aisle of chairs, one of which had nearly caught the sleeve of Newton’s gaudy Hawaiian shirt (“I have to dress for the theme, babe,” he insisted) on fire when he passed it. It would’ve been nice if they hadn’t set the damned thing at midday, with the sun broiling overhead and making everyone squint and almost certainly burning Hermann alive, despite the long-sleeved linen shirt and sunhat he donned, and the fine layer of sunscreen Newton took a bit too much sensual pleasure in applying to him back in the hotel room. None of the other Gottliebs (genetically predisposed to pastiness) appear to be faring much better: Hermann spies his aunt a few rows up, who’s beginning to resemble a surly, dark-haired tomato.

Still. Hermann’s the only one of his immediate family to be invited, and his cousin paid for their airfare and hotel room, which is in some outrageously expensive resort with a spa and mimosas at the complimentary breakfasts that Hermann thinks Newton would call bougie, and they’ve got it for a week at that, so Hermann can’t bring himself to complain too much. It’s not as if he’s had the chance to go on many vacations in the last decade. The break is well-deserved and nice.

Newton leans in close with a grin and a nod to the front of the aisle, where the bride and groom have taken each other’s hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Gottlieb that happy in my life.”

“Nonsense,” Hermann says, and then realizes Newton does make a fair point: it’s not just Hermann’s aunt on the groom’s side of the aisle who’s surly. (Genetic predisposition to pastiness and melancholy, he supposes.) He goes for a different approach. “I’m certain I looked that happy on our wedding day.”

“You were kinda just crying the whole time, dude,” Newton says.

Hermann flushes. He had cried a little bit. “It was—er—overjoyed crying.”

“It was cute,” Newton says, grin softening out into something a bit dopier. He slings his arm around Hermann’s shoulders, and Hermann can’t help but lean in to his touch and smile back.

They both startle a moment later when the crowd suddenly begins clapping; the couple have finished reciting their vows, it appears. “Thank fuck,” Newton whispers. “I’m starving. I hope they have those tiny cream puff things at the reception.”

They don’t, but they have plenty of seafood (apt for the theme). Newton settles on filling a plate with a comical amount of jumbo-sized shrimp and some crab legs. The reception is likewise on the beach, under a great big tent lit up with lanterns and more torches only a short walk down from where the ceremony took place, and Hermann has to admit he’s beginning to see the appeal of the extravagance of it all. The oppressive heat’s dissipating, finally. The sea breeze’s picked up enough to ruffle the ends of Hermann’s hair and even make him shiver (and lean in a touch closer to Newton). The sunset’s gorgeous on the horizon. Even the live band is pleasant, and Hermann recognizes one song as something Newton’s played for him on the guitar before.

After dodging a fair number of his relatives, most of whom give Newton (with his tattoos and ear piercings and tiny Godzillas patterned on his shirt) side-eyes even before he lunges in and catches the bride’s bouquet, only to guiltily throw it back when he realizes it’s for the unwed partygoers, Hermann and Newton find their assigned table at the edge of the dance floor and sit down to watch the fireworks show overhead. Because of course the wedding party sprung for fireworks. “God, I fucking love this,” Newton says, beaming like an overeager child. “We should’ve had fireworks at ours.”

“Ours was indoors,” Hermann reminds him.

“I didn’t mean inside the building,” Newton says.

He downs a third of the frozen daiquiri he got from the bar and offers the rest out to Hermann, who shakes his head. “Do you wanna dance?” Newton says. His lips look sticky, vaguely red, and terribly inviting, so Hermann steals a quick kiss before he bothers responding.

“In a bit, perhaps,” he says. His hand drifts up to cup the side of Newton’s face. His cheeks are rougher than usual: he forgot to pack his razor, and they haven’t had the time to find anywhere that sells disposable ones yet. Hermann doesn’t mind it, though it’d tickled like mad in bed last night when Newton tried to kiss his throat. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

Newton nods and unhooks Hermann’s cane from the back of his chair, then, almost as an afterthought, crams several of the shrimp from his plate into the top pocket of his shirt. Hermann makes a face. “No use in wasting them,” Newton says. He holds the cane out to Hermann.

They walk, arm-in-arm, far enough down the beach that the tent becomes a dim glow and the music barely audible before they ease themselves down on the sand and spread out. Above them, stars are beginning to appear. The night sky is far clearer and far more devoid of light pollution out here than anywhere else Hermann has been before; Newton, excitedly, points out three shooting stars before Hermann’s even made himself comfortable. (Another pleasant benefit of this all.)

Newton’s shirt is unbuttoned enough to give Hermann a glimpse of the kaiju piece that spans across his chest. Hermann used to hate it. Hermann used to hate a lot of things about Newton. “I ran into your uncle at the buffet table,” Newton says. “Mustache. Looks just like your dad. He didn’t believe me when I said I was your husband. What constellation is that?”

“Hercules,” Hermann says automatically. “Do you regret it?”

Newton turns to frown at him. “Do I regret what?”

“Our wedding,” Hermann says. “It wasn’t very—flash.”

It’d been quick. In and out. Courthouse affair barely even two months after they closed the Breach. Newton wore a bow tie borrowed from Tendo, Hermann slacks with a coffee stain on the left leg. They didn’t even have a honeymoon. It seemed romantic at the time, almost as if they were eloping—they loved each other, after all, they had in silence for a decade, they saved the world together, they drifted together. They’d been in each other’s heads. It seemed foolish to wait.

“Oh.” Newton laughs. “Of course I don’t regret it.”

“You wouldn’t have preferred all this?”

“Dude,” Newton says. “We have, like, two friends, and you hate half your family. Who would we have invited?”

“Fair point,” Hermann says, satisfied.

“Besides.” Newton rolls onto his side and drapes his arm over Hermann’s waist, and he rubs his scratchy cheek against the crook of Hermann’s neck. “You gotta know I would’ve literally married you anywhere.”

“Ah, Newton,” Hermann stammers, “stop—”

“Nope,” Newton says, mistaking Hermann’s reticence for bashfulness over the public display of affection, and nuzzles and kisses at him this time. “No way. Anywhere.”

“‘S not that,” Hermann says, and winces in pain, because Newton’s stubble is suddenly feeling a hell of a lot sharper, “Newton, it’s—sunburn—”

Newton rolls off of him, giggling madly. “How?” he says. “I put a whole fucking bottle of sunblock on you. You were wearing that stupid hat.” He prods at the sunhat, resting on the sand a few inches away with Hermann’s cane.

Hermann ghosts his fingers over the skin of his neck gingerly; it’s hot and tender to the touch, as is the skin of his shoulders and upper arms through his clothing. Bloody figures. If it’s this bad already, mere hours after the ceremony, he doesn’t even want to know what it’ll be like tomorrow. “I certainly don’t know how,” he says.

The kiss Newton leaves on his reddened skin is far more delicate this time, without a hint of his stubble. “Poor baby,” he says, with a mocking pout. It turns suggestive in seconds, aided by the hand that he slips up under the hem of Hermann’s linen shirt and massages circles with over his abdomen. “I’ll just have to rub aloe all over you when we get home tonight, yeah?”

“Mm,” Hermann agrees, eyelids drifting shut. It’s nice, more than nice, and, for a moment (there’s no one around to see, after all), Hermann is considering indulging Newton in some light touching and kissing in return. Then he wrinkles his nose. “You smell like shrimp, darling,” he says. It’s killed any lust that Newton may have been inspiring in him. Newton retracts his hand.

“There’s still one in my pocket,” he admits.

[astral-rendezvous]

Joke in the Middle of the Caracal Dawn (Part 1)

A continuation of the Travelling Teamaker series  

Below the cut, enjoy!

Sometimes adventure brings wanderers into incomprehensible places and situations. The False Cliffs were not quite incomprehensible, but they did defy intuition. Mountains comprised of oozing, viscous mud should be unable to hold a solid form and yet they did. Obelisks and cliffs of mush littered the landscape as far as the eye could see. Not a tree, bush, or even a weed seemed to grow from the slick ground. Suction formed under the adventurers’ feet. Each step grew more challenging than the last.

“Cyrano,” Brandy gasped, “can we take a break? We’ve been walking through this muck for hours. My thighs are killing me.”

Cyrano glanced back at her and grinned. “I would have expected your thighs to have more endurance, Brandy.”

“Oh shut it, my work requires different muscles than this,” Brandy panted and looked around, “ Are we even close to our destination? There’s nothing here.”

Fiddling with a crumpled map, Cyrano nodded. “Yes, yes, it should be just another...um...I think…”

And so they sloshed through the soupy ground as the sun moved across the sky, nearly reaching the horizon. As Brandy was on the brink of suggesting they turn back, they came upon a path that snaked up a craggy mountain. Solid rock poked through the goop. Cyrano jumped at the sight.

“This is it!” he cheered.

“Are you sure?” Brandy couldn’t bring herself to share his enthusiasm. 

“It has to be it!

“Well, at least that path looks easier to tread.” She dragged her feet out of the cloying mud and thanked the gods for solid ground.

As the sun dropped and darkness prevailed, a bitter chill swept through the canyons. A shiver travelled up Brandy’s spine. She had dressed for the moderate climate of the day, thinking they would be back to their camp by nightfall. To make matters worse, she had worked up a sweat while trudging through the mud, resulting in cold and clammy skin. She looked at Cyrano, who was a few strides ahead of her, and forced herself to think of the reason she joined him in the first place. That unbridled optimism and unfettered determination sparked a sense of adventure that seemed like fantasy from the dull corners of the inn she worked night after night. The ugly and unwelcoming landscape, the seemingly endless trek, being led by a harebrained elf — it all had to be better than making dispassionate love to the same dozen or so drunkards week after week. Surely, some greater sense of satisfaction would come from her wanderlust. 

“We’re getting close now! Look at those caves ahead!” Cyrano pointed a small distance ahead.

Relief washed over her as she put faith back in her adventuring companion. His ear to ear grin, and his smiling eyes exuded foolishness, but Brandy couldn’t help but smile back.

“See, I told you!” Cyrano said gleefully as he inhaled deeply, “These are the caves that home the rare and delicious stalactite sugar.” 

Brandy nodded to signal her approval as she caught her breath. The final portion of their ascent had been steep, leaving them both winded. Cyrano reached for a flask and handed it to Brandy. 

“Drink, it’s been a long day.”

She unscrewed the cap and took an ample swig as droplets poured down the corners of her mouth. Rather than water or tea, the flask was filled with a potent alcohol. A hacking cough accompanied her gulp. 

“By Gods, Cyri! You really should drink something other than alcohol once in awhile.”

“I do, I drink tea. I have water in here too, if you would prefer that.” He rummaged for a second flask. 

“Yes, please. What is this heinous stuff anyway?”

“Branchwood Liquor. It’s a specialty in my hometown,” he stated with an assured nod. 

“It’s horrible,” she retorted.

Before entering the cave, Cyrano lit two torches and handed one to Brandy. Upon discovering that she had never been in a cave before, he gave her a short lecture on the dos and don’ts of spelunking. Due to exhaustion from the day and skepticism about the elf’s expertise on the topic, Brandy zoned out while he spoke. 

“Alright then, let’s go! So long as we don’t run into any cave caracals, this should be uneventful. Isn’t this exciting? Rumor has it, not a single soul has traversed these caves for decades.”

Brandy’s hands and forearms numbed. Not a single soul had traversed these caves for decades. What a fantastic and terrifying thought. She filled her lungs with air, straightened her back, and followed the dauntless elf into the guts of the mountain. The first thing she noticed about the cave was its damp coolness, it did not sting the skin like the brisk cold on the surface. Next, she listened. Aside from the muffled thuds of their footsteps, there was a deep, almost soothing quiet. She had expected booming echoes, but instead was met with silence. 

Dark paths spiraled deeper and deeper into the earth, but no sign of sugar crystals appeared. Brandy lost faith in her travelling companion yet again, and she started to lose her will to trek on. 

“Cyri, hun, I know you’re really hopeful about finding this sugar, but this cave seems endless.”

Cyrano stopped in his tracks and sighed. “Yes, sometimes adventure seems that way.” He turned to face her. “I hope you are having a nice time. I know this environment isn’t exactly idyllic, but it has its own charm. I promise when we reach those stalactites, it will be beyond magnificent!”

“I’m sure it will be.” She exhaled through her nose as she kicked dried mud off her boot. 

“You sound dubious,” he remarked. 

“I’ve been dubious for some time now.” She stiffened her lip and just as she was a hair's breadth away from asking to turn back, a glimmer in the distance caught her eye. For an instant, the light from her torch reflected a silvery shimmer from the otherwise dull cave wall.

“Did you see that?” she urged.

“Hmm?” 

“There was something shining on the wall.” She hurried her step and waved her torch to recreate the shine.

And what the light revealed was not one bright point, but an entire wall of twinkling crystals that shone like countless stars in the blackest of nights. The adventurers gasped simultaneously and silently agreed to run towards the spectacle.The path turned and they found themselves in a large cavern dripping with points of crystallized light. Brandy slowed and gawked before the hundreds or more stalactites. Cyrano, less proficient at containing his excitement, skidded to stop himself from crashing into some of the lower-hanging formations.

Chuckling with arms crossed, Brandy confessed, “I was wrong to doubt you, this is truly magnificent.” 

“Isn’t it? It’s more spectacular than I imagined! I don’t think I’ve ever seen such illuminations before!” He paused to sniff the air. “And can you smell it? It’s sweet and almost...minty?”

“Yes, yes I can smell it. Perhaps there’s a hint of cherry too?” Brandy asked with a smirk.

Cyrano wafted air towards his nose and closed his eyes. “No, no ...hmmm maybe? Yes, yes I do catch some subtle cherry undertones.” 

Nearly vibrating with laughter, Brandy let out an abrupt snort, “I’m just kidding. I don’t smell any cherry.”

He brushed off her guffawing as he reached for a small chisel in his satchel. “I see you’re testing my gullibility. Well I’ll have you know, I’m extremely gullible!” 

She buried her face in her hands and muttered, “You’re not supposed to admit that to people.” 

“I have a difficult time keeping my gullibility clandestine; I’ve chosen to embrace it.” He chipped away at the stalactite sugar as he captured its shavings in a cup. “Make yourself comfortable. Let’s try this new brew before we head back to the surface.”

The floor was smooth albeit damp, not the ideal place for tea time, but Brandy’s aching legs yearned for a rest. She placed her knapsack on the ground and flopped on top of it with an unseemly moan. Her sore muscles thanked her for the relief. She smiled at Cyrano as she watched his joy at collecting the sugar and preparing the tea. 

Unbeknownst to the adventurers, their peaceful respite was soon to be unpleasantly interrupted. The map and knowledge that led them to the stalactite sugar was quite a bit outdated - the False Cliffs and their sugary caves were far from uninhabited. Had Cyrano and Brandy traversed the leeward side of the mountain, they would have encountered an entrance to the sugar mines with a steep fee for a guided tour. 

“Euwā umȉnna,” Cyrano cupped his hands and whispered into his palms before pouring the piping hot brew.

“Is that Elvish?” Brandy asked.

“What’s this about Elvish in my mines?” a voice boomed from across the stalactite room. 

"It would seem, we're not alone," Cyrano stood from his spot and called to the stranger, “Yes, hello! We are adventurers who've come seeking stalactite sugar. My name is Cyrano Alfvenias, I’m a wood elf and a teamaker. I travel the world —”

“That’s enough! I’m not interested in your story, Elf. All I want to know is what gives you permission to trespass here.” Out from the shadows, the owner of the booming voice emerged. 

A stout figure with a robust beard, torch in one hand and a large pickaxe in the other, frowned and tapped his foot. He wore fine leather, and was adorned with gems and gold. Brandy quickly started collecting her belongings, readying herself to leave, at the very sight of him. 

“Oh, you’re a dwarf!” Cyrano remarked, “Nice to meet you, sir. But It seems you are misinformed. These caves have been abandoned for years. If anything, they belong to the caracal, but certainly not to any dwarves.”

Brandy hid her face in her hands. She had never met a dwarf before, but she knew enough about the basics of communication to know that Cyrano was off to a very bad start.

The dwarf turned a deep, indignant red and galumphed over to the adventurers. 

“Elves have dictated our territory for long enough! We claimed these mines two years ago. Both of you are trespassing in my territory and that’s final! It also looks like you took some of my sugar! If you don’t—”

“I’m very sorry, sir! We’ll be on our way now.” Brandy pleaded and tugged at Cyrano’s sleeve. “Return the sugar, Cyri. We don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

“No, hold on. We came all this way! Can't I just take a tiny, nearly imperceptible amount? It won’t hurt anyone.” The elf was committed as ever to obtain that which he had sought. He erroneously had the expectation that the miner would be sympathetic to his request. 

"Taking any amount is considered a criminal offense. So tell me, Elf, do you know the Dwarven punishment for theft?" the miner snarled. 

Undaunted by the threat, Cyrano’s levity persisted."If I had to wager a guess, I'd bet it's a relatively short senten—" 

"No!" Brandy swiftly interjected as she elbowed Cyrano in the ribs. "No he doesn't know! We both don't know and we sincerely apologize for any offense we may have caused." 

The dwarf eyed the teapot and cups on the ground. “The sugar that’s been boiled into that tea can’t be returned to me, now can it?”

“No, but you’re welcome to have some tea.” Cyrano smiled widely while he reached for the pot. 

Just before Cyrano rested his hand on the teapot, the miner stomped the elf’s fingers down to the ground. Cyrano winced and bit his lip to stop himself from yelling out. Brandy cried out his name and kneeled by his side.

“Do you think this is a joke, Elf?” the dwarf snapped.

“No, I-I can see that you are very serious.” His characteristic optimism had vanished from his voice as he squirmed to release his hand.

“The punishment for theft is that I get to smash all of your fingers with a hammer of my choice. I lied when I said it was a Dwarven punishment. It’s really just my punishment.” He grinned.

“That’s fine, just let her go.This isn’t her fault. She’s new to adventuring, but I’m experienced. She trusted me as her guide, and I failed her. I should have done more thorough research on this location." Despite his fear, Cyrano forced his voice to be steady.

“It would be a shame to ruin those pretty hands. Fine, the human is free to go.” The dwarf nodded and motioned for her to shoo.

With trembling lips and tears in her eyes, Brandy called out to her adventuring partner. “Cyrano, don’t do this. I’m just as guilty as you are.” 

~~~

Thank you for reading. 

To be continued in Part II

[darlingpetao3]

Me + You = Three (EoWells x Reader)

Rating: T

Summary: After finding out you, the Reader, are pregnant, you’re beyond nervous to tell boyfriend Harrison. How will he react when he learns he’s going to be the father of your unborn child?

At first, you had thought the unannounced barf-fest at work had to do with last night’s dinner.

Oh, how you were sorely mistaken.

When you got back to your apartment, you took three different brands of pregnancy tests (because if dating one of the top scientists of the modern age had taught you anything, it was trial and error was key).

Each one came out positive.

You don’t even know where to begin! You thought about maybe having kids one day, but now seeing as that day was suddenly on the horizon, it was about time you started getting things in order. Like, telling your boyfriend for one thing.

And this was the real problem. Harrison has never mentioned anything about having kids in the future, and if it does come up in conversation, he glosses over it. That sneaky avoidance trick politicians and actors use when they’re asked a particular question they want to avoid. Which could only mean…

What if when you tell him the news, that you’re carrying his unborn child, he freaks out? What if he leaves you? How could you possibly deal with that outcome?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard on your phone. At first, they type out various phrases like:

Remember that amazing night we had a while back…?

DELETE.

Guess what I’m carrying (and it’s not in my hands!)?

DELETE.

Congrats on being a soon-to-be DILF.

DELETE. DELETE. DELETE.

No. Obviously you couldn’t just drop a bomb like this on him through a text! Especially something of this magnitude. It had to be face-to-face. It was the right thing to do, after all. So you settle with: What do you say to Chinese tonight? I’ll pick up and bring to yours?

A couple minutes later, though it felt like a decade, Harrison finally texts back:

Good thinking, as always. See you soon.

And so, after picking up both your favourites at Central City’s best Chinese place, you make your way to Harrison’s, mind reeling from being overworked with figuring out the right way to tell him. When you reach his front door, you give it a quick knock while opening it and an “I’m here!” to announce your presence. Harrison wheels over to greet you, while you bend down to plant a kiss on his lovely lips. Lips that got you into this current predicament, no doubt.

“Hi, honey,” he says, quickly checking you out, almost too fast to catch. “You’re looking extra beautiful today.” You give a little laugh.

“You’re just saying that because I brought the food.”

“It takes multiple accumulating components to create a whole,” Harrison teases. You set the food down on the dining table and the two of you dig in. You both describe your days, what silly things your coworkers did today, how you each couldn’t wait to see the other later. After each new subject that came up, the news of your pregnancy would be on the tip of your tongue, ready tell him.

But you could never follow through.

“Would you mind passing me a fortune cookie?” Harrison asks. You hand him one and leave the other for yourself.

“What does it say?”

Harrison straightens out the little strip of paper and reads, “'Life changing information is just around the corner.‘” Whoa, they must have a real psychic working on these ones. “Interesting. Maybe it has to do with our work down at the Lab. Let’s see what yours says.”

You crack the cookie open and read your fortune.

“'Be wary with your trust. Not everyone is what they seem.’ I bet it means Barb at the reception desk. I think she’s a scam artist. I’ve had my eye on her…”

“Here, let me pour you a drink to calm your suspicions,” Harrison says while preparing you a hit from his coveted alcohol collection.

“Oh, no, I’m fine, thanks.”

“That’s different,” he notices. “We normally have a drink or two after dinner.”

“Well, I’m trying something new,” you shrug. “Maybe I’ll lay off the alcohol for a while, you know, to get in better shape!” Harrison’s eyebrow arches, a sign he’s not buying it.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Okay. It seemed there would be no ‘perfect’ time to tell him. Might as well be now, right? “Hey, do you think you could help me with this equation? I want to see if my math is right.”

“Sure.” He sounds surprised, yet delighted you’ve come to him with a supposed math question. You pull out a pad of paper and pen from your bag. You scribble out a couple words and signs, then hand it to him. Harrison plays with his glasses while squinting, then becomes very still. Worryingly still. His eyes don’t leave your scrawl with the written equation: Me + You = Three.

Your heart races waiting for an answer, a reaction, anything.

“Listen,” you start, trying to remain calm. “I know we’ve never actually discussed children, but-”

“This changes everything,” Harrison says, almost like to himself. “This wasn’t in the plan…” You can’t help the tears starting to well up in your eyes. This is the end, isn’t it?

“…But what a miracle it is.”

A rush of relief courses through you and out with an exhale. “Really? You think so?”

“I’m positive.” Harrison’s smile is everything you needed. “Anything that results from us, more specifically from you, is undoubtedly a gift.” His hand hovers in front of your stomach. “Can I…?” You nod.

Harrison places his hand on you, and when he does, you can almost see his thoughts. Wondering what your futures will be like with this baby in it.

“Amazing.”

Time flies by, even if it didn’t necessarily feel that way. Carrying a baby was beyond hard work and felt like the days drained on and on.

Shortly after confessing the news, he asked you to move in with him. It was hard being on your feet all day, but luckily you had Harrison, who would dote on you without the need for a prompt. A lot, come to think of it. Maybe even excessive. When you scratch your neck ever so slightly? Harrison’s there, hands at the ready to give a massage, for fear you’re hurting. Thinking about going in for that chocolate cake in the fridge? Forget it – Harrison is lurking around the corner, readying himself to lecture you about caffeine intake with pregnancy. Or when you’re both out and about, he has to give everyone an ocular pat-down for any possible threat to your health or safety. Not to mention the nine million texts he sends throughout the day to see how you’re doing. And sure, it might be a little much, but you’re having his baby and it’s probably something to do with strong male instincts to be so protective over you.

Currently, you wander around the vast modern house you have been calling your home for six months now, with no aim. Even though it’s the weekend, Harrison is trying to figure out some problem at work with his team. Apparently, it’s crucial in finding out something important. You can never remember all the scientific things he tells you.

But the strange part is that you haven’t heard from him for the entire time that he’s been gone. Normally you would have had a bunch of texts from him already. Now it’s you worrying. You take out your phone and call his cell… Wait. His ringtone is coming from the bedroom. He must have forgotten it here. Well, you’ll just have to take it to him. You need out of the house anyway.

You take the scenic route to S.T.A.R. Labs to avoid the traffic and walk right on in, trying to remember which room it was the team of scientists worked in the most. Aha! You heard voices. Rounding the corner, you peek your head into the room, and sure enough, there he is. Harrison consults one of his colleagues, a shorter fellow, about some piece of tech that looked like a tricked-out pair of sunglasses.

“Harrison?” you call. All heads turn at the sound of your voice. You wave his phone in the air and fully enter the room. “You forgot this at home. Thought I’d drop by.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he says quietly, rolling up to you.

“I know. I wanted to. You do so much for me, I wanted to return the favour.” The other three pairs of eyes can’t stop staring at you in shock. More precisely at your very round stomach.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” you address the situation. Harrison closes his eyes momentarily, then turns to face his team.

“(Y/N), this is Cisco, Caitlin, and Barry.”

“Hi,” you say. They all greet you a little awkwardly. Did Harrison not mention you to them?

“Hello,” Cisco says. “You’re very… pregnant.”

“Cisco,” the woman, Caitlin, chides.

“What? She is.”

“It’s nice to, um, finally meet you, (Y/N),” Barry says with a kind, yet slightly weirded-out smile. You catch them giving each other odd looks while Harrison isn’t looking.

“Harrison, can I talk to you for a second?” He wheels himself out into the hall, following you away from the room. “What was that all about?” you ask. “They were acting very strange. Almost like they’d never heard of me, ever?”

“I don’t share details about my personal life at work,” he puts simply.

“But it felt more than that, too! Like they know something I don’t.” A funny look crosses his face for a second, then it disappears.

“You know I love you more than I can say, right?” he asks. You nod.

“And I love you just as much.” There’s a pause. You can tell he’s thinking hard.

“If something were to happen, and I had to leave here-”

“You mean move away?”

“Uh, yeah, move away. Would you come with me?”

Why would he need to leave Central City? “Is it far away?”

“Some might say that.”

“Not that it matters because of course I would go with you. We have to be together.” You place a hand on your round stomach. “All of us.”

“It makes me incredibly happy to hear you say that.” Harrison sets his hand on top of yours and the moment he does, the baby kicks. His face lights up.

“Whoa, powerful kick!” you note. He smiles.

“Fast, too.”

~

Requested by @bartallenisbae : Hey I was wondering if you could write a eobard thawne x reader about the reader finding out she is pregnant and is scared to tell eobard but he is really happy and he gets over protective during the pregnancy

A/N: I hope it’s alright I went with EoWells specifically! This is what popped into my mind when I read the request :) The last bit of the story takes place around S01E20, when Team Flash figures out Wells is Thawne, hence the awkwardness between the Team. This also turned out way longer than I had initially thought it would be.

[marinette-buginette]

Turn Loose the Mermaids(Part 30)

AU belongs to Taulun

Well this chapter is somehow filer-ish and I don't really like it but welp. Thanks to @miracujess for being my beta and dealing with my shit

First | Next

Chat Noir came to the conclusion some things never change: Kim has always been an impulsive idiot, Nino gulps down at least two bottles of rum since the day they met, and Chloé still screamed louder than a banshee. At least this time, it was for a good reason. Afterall, it wasn’t everyday the most feared pirate of the Seven Seas bursted into your cabin.

“Take her not me!” Chloé kept screaming while pushing her cousin in front of her as a shield. Sabria was her name, if he recalled correctly.

Chat rolled his eyes at his old friend’s antics. Ignoring her shrieks, he went directly to the huge jewelry box on her vanity. Opening it, he began to take out the different pieces from it.

“This looks like it was made by a blacksmith, not a goldsmith. Neptune, did someone make this and thought it was a good idea?” he scoffed as he kept throwing the jewelry he found unsatisfactory over his shoulder. He knew very well Nino was by the door, catching them in a little satchel while chugging down some rum, most likely. “This is decent —hm, never mind, this is making my eyes bleed. Who actually pays good coin for this eyesore?” Chloé kept shrieking, though, if he had to be honest, now it sounded more as if she was offended by his comments about her taste in jewelry rather than shrieking out of fear.

“Oh, these are actually pretty. I’ll take them,” he announced while putting the pair of earrings in his pocket. “It was very nice making business with you, lady.” He gave her a two fingers salute and exited the cabin, leaving Chloé still screaming. Serves her right for all the times she put him in chokeholds back when they were kids.

“This is going well,” Nino remarked while they looked around the deck. Most of the soldiers that were on guard were dead, and what was left of them were fighting a battle that was already lost. “I can’t believe we got so lucky to rob the ship the princess was on.”

Chat rolled his eyes and snorted. “If the idiot who thought putting the sole heir of the throne on a bilander with the idea that pirates wouldn't attack it is also in charge of the general schedule and routes and naval tactics of the royal fleet, then I’m not surprised at all we live in such a prosperous time for piracy.”

His eyes scanned along the ship then shifted towards the horizon. Just in time to notice three shapes far off in the distance. Raising his voice, he ordered, “Everyone retreat!”

The pirates moved swiftly, carrying the haul and leaving an almost deserted ship with a deck bathed in blood behind. “Change the sails and catch the western wind, we need to move fast.”

The crew began to move around as Chat glanced over his shoulder. If he had to make a wild guess, they were three brigs. He rolled his eyes. What a poor strategy, to make three warships tail a small merchant vessel to only make sure it doesn’t get attacked by pirates. Please. Chat knew something important was aboard the ship when he saw the royal flag flying high and proud. As if anybody would think it was a simple small merchant ship when that thing fluttered in the wind. Chat felt himself relax as the speed of La Coccinelle picked up and the course changed. He was sure the brigs won’t try to follow or engage them in combat. They had better things to do. For example, taking care of the shrieking princess and bringing her home safely. Chat tapped the pocket where the earrings were. Hopefully Marinette would like them,

Her eyes were glistening; she had never expected to see this place again. It was a such a twist of fate, if she had to be honest. When Chat had announced there is a small island where they will stop for a night, she never would've imagined it would be this particular island. The crew got off the ship, and, settling on a small beach on the western side of the island, made a campfire, singing and drinking. And while singing along with the crew had become one of her favourite hobbies, she had other plans for tonight. Especially when she looked out the cabin window and saw the island. Chat was rather surprised when she insisted they had to go on the island, too. He had meant to take her, but he didn’t understand where all the enthusiasm came from. Not until they reached a small clearing with a little waterfall and a makeshift hammock. My island, that’s how Marinette referred to it. Chat looked around the small clearing, the place that Marinette told him used to be her shelter for decades, every night when her legs appeared.

She was toying with some things in a little chest that was hidden behind the waterfall: er little treasure she used to collected in her baby days. Se played around with a colorful feather. So many things from that little chest seemed too banal right now, after she had read books from the human world. Her heart almost longed for the aura of mystery these simple objects carried once upon a time, when she had found them on ship wreckages. She tickled Chat playfully with the feather, making him sneeze, and giggled when he gave her the stink eye. Putting the feather back in the chest, she extended her hand.

“Walk with me?” she requested and her husband immediately took her hand and stood up.

It was peaceful on this side of the island. Only the two of them, the birds and the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. Marinette sighed, content enjoying the peace.

“I never thought I’d share this place with anyone. It was my little safe paradise, where no one besides myself was supposed to be. And this island was the only thing that knew my secret.” A soft smile appeared on her lips. “But that’s changed now.”

Chat smiled down at her, squeezing her hand. The moonlight gave her dark hair a blue reflection. Like the ocean. Like her eyes. Oh, how he loved her eyes. And her smile. And… everything about her really. He seemed to realize every day, again and again, just how much he loved Marinette.

Then Marinette stopped abruptly and began tugging his hand towards the ocean. “Come with me in the water. Please.”

He nodded, following her steps. How ironic was that? Willingly following a mermaid in the water. It was an amusing thought, especially when he hasn’t thought of her as “the mermaid” for a long time now. Marinette. His wife. His love. His love that has just jumped on him, making both of them go under the water. Chat tried to keep the air in his lungs, until he heard Marinette giggle.

“Open your mouth, silly,” she said, letting herself float in the water, her dark hair surrounding her as a halo. “Don’t you know? Kissing a mermaid let’s you breathe underwater.”

Chat opened his mouth to answer, realizing a second too late his mistake. But there was no sensation of drowning and his lungs didn’t feel like they were burning. He felt perfectly fine, even with all the water he was swallowing right now. He looked at Marinette, unsure of what to say. She just shook her head and swam to him, pulling him into a kiss. Chat wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. And even though the water was warm, Chat felt warmer with Marinette’s lips on his. They could stay like this for a while. The night was young and, for once, it felt like the whole world was at peace.

The room was dark, because even thought it was still day outside, the afternoon sun barely filterering through the thick curtains of the office. A tall figure satin a chair, his cold blue eyes scanning the document in his hand. With a tired sigh, he put the paper down. He won’t have time to read it properly anyway, if the booming steps coming from the hall were a sign of anything. The doors of his office were slammed open as King André marched in followed by six guards.

“Your Highness.” The man stood up, managing a court bow.

The king didn’t even bother to reply. “Unacceptable! Inadmissible! Humiliating! How dare they attack my daughter and rob her?! My daughter!”

The taller man stood silently, letting the king throw his hissy fit while stifling his urge to roll his eyes. The incompetence of this man is exactly what brought the kingdom into the miserable state it is in, with those lowly scums roaming the seas without a worry in the world. And it seems he only took a stand when his little brat was affected. Typical. If this incompetent fool of a monarch would have listened to him since the beginning they wouldn’t be in this situation to being with.

“I want Chat Noir caught. I want to see him hanged before my own two eyes for daring to attack my daughter,” the king finished his rant, spinning on his heels to face the taller man.

A faint smile appeared on on the man’s lips, yet something almost cruel shined in his cold blue eyes.

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

[videogamelover99]

The Oracle

A/N: I bring you the thing I had wanted to write in like forever: the saltiest reunion yet. But come on, did you really think I’d leave this character out? Not a chance.

Based on Flat Dreams by @pengychan. AU by @doodledrawsthings. Enjoy.

Part 1

Part 2 

“He is awake.”

“So soon?” Jheselbraum casts a look at at dimension 46’/, where Mabel Pines reaches to shake the hand of the monster they defeated only a year or so ago. “I would have expected at least a few more centuries.”

“I’m sure you know that time is relative.” The is a tone of amusement in the Ancient’s words. “It has been a lot longer than that.”

The Oracle takes that in, watching the events in Stanford’s home dimension play out, and hums in amusement, “‘A different form’,” she repeats to herself, “You couldn’t resist the irony, could you?”

The Axolotl chuckles, “Rather fitting, considering the many times humanity was deceived by him.”

“And who brought him to his demise.” she mutters. It is strange, seeing the used to be triangle in a completely different form, and she feels a certain satisfaction when he starts to panic, staring at his newfound body in shock. That’s when Mabel Pines finally collects herself, putting her grappling hook to good use. “Looks like the universe is giving its tormentor a warm welcome.”

Another chuckle. “What will you do now?”

She shrugs, her gaze still aimed at the two small Pines twins as they argue on what to do. She’d waited for a trillion years to see her mistakes paid for. And now, when Bill Cipher is finally getting what’s coming for him, she can’t help but feel a bit overwhelmed. Interfering now seems too soon. She’ll stay, and wait her turn. For now, she has her own personal comedy to watch. If the Pines family handles him as well as they had so far, then she has nothing to worry about. Besides, she has a feeling her meeting with Bill Cipher wasn’t that far away. A brief glimpse in the future tells her as much.

Then she’ll rub his loss in his eye. Or eyes. Seems like he has two now.

“I’ll stay.” she answers finally, turning to her friend. “A confrontation now doesn’t seem all that appealing.”

“It’s your choice.” the Axolotl seems to have expected that from her. He gives a farewell nod before leaving. The temple seems quiet now, but it doesn’t matter. There is a calm relief, now that Bill would not be posing a threat to anyone. And a certain anticipation, an emotion the Oracle hadn’t felt in a very long time. She will wait, then. After a trillion years, waiting doesn’t seem that hard at all.

…

“Wait, so you’re the one that helped my uncle defeat Bill, right?”

“That would be me, yes.” Dipper Pines is, as Jheselbraum soon finds out, extremely likable. He’s smart, resourceful, and has a thirst for knowledge not unlike that of his great uncle. In only a few hours the boy manages to ask enough questions to fill a star system. She tries her best answering all of them, seeing as how they are somewhat predictable, yet some just have her at a loss of words.

“Can I get your autograph??”

“Um…”

“NEVERMIND THAT!” Mabel literally jumps in the conversation, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Tell me, if you’re really an oracle, how come you don’t speak in rhyme?”

“Mabel, this isn’t Percy Johnson-”

“Shush, this is an important question.”

While the younger Pines twin is subdued but thoughtful, the older one is the complete opposite. She’s loud, lively, and a welcome change to the usual quiet of the temple. Unlike her brother, the questions Mabel asks are often slightly absurd even for the Oracle.

“It would be a pointless amount of effort to do so.”

The girl seems to think it over, then nods approvingly. “Fair enough. Okay, but why are you purple?”

“…Symbolism.”

Mabel gives another satisfied nod, “Gotcha.” Her brother looks even more confused.

The Oracle’s attention is briefly torn away from the children as she casts an unimpressed look at the balcony, where her third visitor sits with his back to her, trying his best to ignore all three of them. “He’s always like that.” Mabel supplies. “Plus, you know, you kinda helped defeat him and all that junk. He’s probably still mad about that.”

“Of course.” Her tone turns cold, and the twins seem to flinch slightly at that. The Oracle noticeably softens her demeanor. “Why don’t you two go explore?” she asks instead, careful to keep her voice friendly. Often times she ends up intimidating the mortals she converses with, and while that’s understandable, it mostly makes her conversation with them…awkward. She’s sure not to make the same mistake with the Pines children.

Judging by the brightened looks on both of their faces, that shouldn’t be a problem. “Oh, we did,” Dipper confesses eagerly, “though most of your books aren’t in English, so kinda hard to..read. I wrote some stuff down though, so-”

“And I found a lazer gun!” Mabel cuts off her brother, “Or I think it was a lazer gun. Maybe it’s a can opener…it looks like a gun. And you’ve got a lot of weird gadgets, lady. Where do you get them all, some kinda sci-fi black market?”

“Yes, a lot of the parts come from…interesting places.” she smiles, the two lower eyes crinkling in amusement. The girl’s enthusiasm seems to be contagious, and the Oracle doesn’t mind at all.

“Wait, so what kind of stuff do you actually have? Can you show me? I mean, you don’t have to I just- yeah sorry, it’s just so cool.”

That is flattering, extremely so, despite the fact that the boy is slowly running out of air. “I’ll be glad to show you sometime, but for now, I’m sure you’d want to see what the rest of this dimension is like.” The Oracle gestures toward the balcony, where far below them the valley extends into the fading sun on the horizon. The village lights were just starting to appear, blinking serenely in the distance.

The two human children stare at her dimension in silence, before Mabel brakes it with a whoop of joy. “YES! Wait…” she glances back down at the settlement warily, “It’s not gonna be like last time, right? Cause we kinda pissed off an alien princess, and then these giant buff guards started chasing us. Through one of them was kinda cute…”

“Correction, Bill pissed her off.” Dipper glares at the figure who made himself comfortable on her terrace.

“Bill pisses everybody off.” the boy’s twin shrugs. “I don’t know what’s so surprising.”

“Good point.”

After she assures them that her dimension is one of the safest they could possibly visit, Jheselbraum  hands both of them translators and sends them on their way. To think that the two were running around without one. No wonder their journey hadn’t been that pleasant.

The woman finally turns her attention to the elephant in the room. Bill Cipher. The monster she’d worked most of her trillion year old life to defeat is now sitting on her stoop like it’s nothing, so the least she could do is give him a nice warm welcome. The Oracle fixes her seven-eyed stare on the back of his head, silently watching. The tension in the room winds up, ready to burst as soon as one of them speaks. Of course, the one that eventually does is Bill. “Whatever you gotta say, say it already.” he doesn’t turn around, but she can tell by his tone he is angry. That is not surprising in the least.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Oh come on! What, don’t even wanna gloat about anything? That stupid piece of metal in Sixer’s head, maybe? Or maybe that unicorn spell you were so eager to share with him? Don’t think I didn’t notice it was you.” the demon finally turns around to give her a humorless sneer. Jheselbraum, in turn, keeps her expression calm, devoid of any fury she might be feeling right now. That only seems to fuel his own anger. “Let me guess: the big frilly got you those eyes, didn’t he? I betcha you’re one of the guys whose dimensions I freed, right? And you were pissed because you couldn’t take a little change. So he offered you some kinda deal, to “stop his chaos”, yada yada, and you took it because you were so eager to play hero. Did I get it right? I bet I did, didn’t I?” he fixes her a mirthless smile. It seems like Cipher tried his hardest to find the words that would best get a reaction out of her. To be fair, it was a pretty good try. But considering that it’s exactly what the Oracle expects from him, it doesn’t prove to be very effective.

“Yes. I suppose there’s some truth in it.” As tempted as she is, she doesn’t mention that the dimension he destroyed was hers as well. So far, Bill Cipher did not give any hint that he knows her identity. She’d like to keep it that way, for the time being. It’s interesting to see how long it will take until he figures it out. Perhaps he won’t. It has been a trillion years after all, easy for him to forget. “Though some respect could be shown for the Ancient. He’s the reason you’re still here, after all.”

“Oh yeah, thanks! Feels great to be me again! Except I’m not, am I?” Bill raises his voice almost to the point of shouting, and it echoes through the temple, leaving an uncomfortable heat in the air. “SO YEAH, THANKS FOR PUTTING ME IN THIS USELESS SKIN PUPPET.”

“The alternative would be death.” Though you deserve a lot worse than that.

Bill falls silent, turning away abruptly to stare at the valley below. It isn’t hard to guess what he is thinking, she spent too much time observing him not to know. In this body he is mortal, the maximum he could live is 6 or 7 more decades. A long time for most, but for beings like themselves, it was nothing but a blink. To Bill, this form is nothing but prolonging the inevitable. No doubt it scares him.

Good.

“So, which dimension was it, anyway?” he asks suddenly, faking amusement. “22? 1.357? 666/513? Oooh, I bet it was one of those flowery, happy-go-lucky ones like this one, huh? Too bad it’s ALL GONE NOW. The nightmare realm’s got more use for it than the idiots that lived there.” he pauses, turning to stare viciously in all seven of her eyes. “And you’re still here, taking the ‘moral highroad’ or whatever. Helping people. And what did they ever do for you, huh? Nothing. Soon enough they’ll forget all about you, because mortals only care about what concerns them. So you’ve ‘defeated me’, congrats. Here’s a gold star, you’re free to go. What now, Seven-Eyes? Too bad nobody knows what you did, right? Nobody cares. You’ll just stay here, alone, dancing to his tune. Hope you’re HAPPY about that.” Jheselbraum casts long, cold look back at the demon. It seems that the horrifying one-eyed beast is now reduced to nothing but a pathetic kicked puppy, whose bark is far worse than his bite. Though the Oracle has to admit, it’s a bit impressive. For him, this is technically the first time they’ve ever met, and Cipher still finds something about her that actually hits its mark.

There’s a temptation to march over to the demon and shake him, to give him a harsh reminder that the only reason he is still alive is because of the mercy of those whom he has wronged. To rub his loss in his face, to remind him that he is nothing but a pathetic little man now, with not even a scrap of the power he had before. Nora wants to take all those millennia of hurt and hopelessness and anger and hurl it back in his stupid ignorant face, and make him feel at least a fraction of what she felt because of him. That was what she had planned to do.

But something holds her back.

Spotting the hesitancy, Bill looks ready to spout something else, but loses his nerve when she shoots one look at him. The Oracle finds herself fiddling with her pendant, a nervous habit she had developed a few millenia ago. It catches the demon’s eye, and from the corner of her vision she can see him staring at it, an unreadable look on his face. She drops her hand, leaving to tinker with one of her personal projects, though her attention is elsewhere, and the action seems more like a need to keep herself busy than anything else. After an eternity of waiting, that method of occupying her time seems common to her. All she does is wait, and the Oracle can’t help but feel frustrated just at the familiarity of it. She waited most of her existence to see Bill Cipher defeated, and waited for the right moment to rub that defeat in his face. But now, she can’t even bring herself to say anything, and the waiting game begins anew. Except now she is waiting for the twins to come back, and hopefully distract her from the thoughts of the past that keep on surfacing, despite her best efforts to snuff them out.

And, as if to her own silent plea, the children do come back, holding an assortment of trinkets that they seem to have acquired free of charge and chatting amiably with each other. “You’re such a nerd, Dip Dop!”

“Hey! This thing could be really useful, you know?” Dipper waves a small book around, and Jheselbraum could just make out the title: A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Multiverse.

Well. At least he would get a laugh out of it. Once the disappointment clears away.

“Besides,” the boy continues, “who gets a freaking pillow when they visit another dimension?”

“Actually,” the Oracle gestures at the woven mass of cloth in Mabel’s arms, “It’s a bagpipe.”

“Ooh,” the girl looks down at her new-found souvenir. “So like an interdimensional bagpipe?”

“No, a regular one.” The two blink simultaneously down at the object.

“How did it-”

“Who cares!” Mabel squeezes the instrument in a strange sort of hug, making it emit a small tooting noise. “I’m keeping it!”

“Alright, just make sure not to break it.” the Oracle smiles at the girl. Yes, Mabel Pines is extremely likable. There is a sort of nostalgic feel she can’t shake away when taking to the child, though in all honesty she cannot place where it’s coming from. “I believe it is time for you to be heading back. Your family is extremely worried about you.”

“Oh man,” Dipper drops the books he’s been holding and grips the sides of the hunting hat he’s wearing. “The Grunkles! They’re probably freaking out right now. Mabel, we gotta go back! Uh-” he turns to her pleadingly. “How do we go back?”

The Oracle reaches for something cluttered among the shelves that she’s been saving a while ago for this exact occasion. She hands it to the boy carefully. “These are dimensional scissors. They would be able to get you back to your dimension safely. But,” she explains as the two twins look at them quizzically. “These are only good for three uses. So please don’t go joyriding.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Mabel salutes playfully. “Hey Bill, quit sulking, it’s time to go home!” The demon, who left her balcony a while ago to stare at the hydrodisplacer she had assembled a few weeks before with mild interest, turns to look back at the girl with a confused sort of frown. “Home?”

“You know, the Shack!”

“Oh, right.”

Dipper inspects the scissors. “It looks like one of those kiddie ones for arts and crafts. Uh, no offence,” he remarks quickly at her, blushing in embarrassment, “It’s just- how do you use them? Just cut the air or-?”

Bill stanches them away with an annoyed growl, dismissively slicing through the fabric of reality, leaving behind a glowing blue cut where spacetime had divided to provide a pathway through. “Great, LET’S GO.”

“Wait!” Mabel looks back at the woman, still clutching the slightly battered bagpipe. “We’ll meet again, right?”

Jheselbraum winks with three of her eyes. “Sooner than you think.”

The girl beams, waving one last time, before fearlessly dragging a nervous looking Dipper and an impatient looking Bill right through the portal.

“I’ll be watching you, Norm.” The demon freezes at the nickname, turning around to look back at her in newfound shock. Or more exactly, at her pendant. His eyes then dart up to her face, a realization in them that is hard not to catch on to. He opens his mouth to say something, only to be dragged into the portal by Mabel’s impatient grip. The Oracle watches the three disappear, and then the rip in reality closes, leaving the temple quiet and empty once again.

And for the first time in a trillion years, she breaks down laughing.

…

A week passes by before Bill Cipher finally returns, dimensional scissors in hand and looking ten times more livid than before.

“I take it you’ve figured it out by now.” She says, calmly watching the demon out of the corner of her bottom left eye. Cipher looks like he’s just about ready to break something, and her relaxed demeanor only seems to fuel his unrelenting anger. She tries not to smile in amusement.

“I thought you were dead.”

The last word seems to hover heavily in the air for a moment, and the Oracle blinks in surprise, turning around fully to stare back at her visitor. Enacouraged by her stunned silence, Bill keeps going, his volume growing with every word. “A TRILLION YEARS, and not even a ‘hey Bill, how’s it going? By the way, I’m totally fine, living it up in my fancy mansion on a freaking mountain, not a pile of dust and ashes at all, WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT?’ SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE HELL, NORA?”

She pushes back her surprise and tries not to wince at that name, the one she hadn’t heard in quite a while. “Is that what you are mad about?”

“Oh trust me, I’ve got a whole list. THAT just takes the cake. I thought you were dead, and you just show up like it’s no big deal with your-haha-” he cuts himself off with laughter, gripping a nearby column to keep himself upright. “Wow, okay. The whole ‘wise, ancient oracle’ shtick? Real clever of ya, Nora, hard to guess it was you under all that.” he sobers up then, renewing his glare.

“That’s not my name anymore.” she remarks, watching as he sputters indignantly.

“No your- are you serious?” Bill throws his hands up. “That’s THE MOST CLICHE THING I EVER HEARD YOU SAY. WHERE DID YOU GET THAT FROM, SOME B-RATED SOAP OPERA??” He points an accusing finger in her direction. “OH YEAH, LIKE ‘JHESELBRAUM’ IS WAY BETTER. IS YOUR LAST NAME YOUR POSTAL ADDRESS, TOO?”

She blinks, considering how off kilter this conversation is going. Then again, this is Bill. “I…don’t think that’s relevant.”

“NO IT ISN’T! But you wanna know what is? YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!”

This is a little more of what she had expected. Jheselbraum’s expression turns from surprised to cold once again. “Actually, I believe I’ve succeeded.” The way he opens and closes his mouth, not knowing what to say, makes her snort under her breath. “What, the great Bill Cipher has nothing to say now? And here I thought you were a maser with words.” She looks away to examine the edge of her sleeve. “I guess dying changed that.”

“YOU- WHY WOULD-”

“Why do you think?” The spark of anger, the one that’s been death for so long finally ignites, and burns in a cold, unmasked fury as the Oracle slowly walks up to him. Bill notices the change, and almost subconsciously backs away a few steps as she looms over him. “I watched dimensions burn and people die just because you thought it might be fun. Do you know how many I’ve met that suffered because of you? Stanford Pines was no where near the worst case, oh no. There were people whose minds you’ve shattered completely because you felt like it. Beings whose scars were too deep to ever heal, and I had to put them back together again. So many I’ve watched that suffered because of my mistake, because I believed what you promised me. And what did you promise me, Bill?”

Make it worth something.

I will.

“Well, did you?”

Bill, who had been glaring at her as she talked, flinches away at that as if she were yelling, despite her voice being only slightly above a whisper. He looks to the side, biting his lip and not saying a word, and even though her mind is now clouded with anger Jheselbraum can’t help but notice how strange it is. The scenario she had seen had Bill yell back at her, defending the chaos he created, and giving her an excuse to throw him off her mountain.

He does none of those things, and it strikes the Oracle just how different this seems to be from how he had acted a week ago. And she berates herself for all this time not even taking a glance at Gravity Falls, because she has no idea what could have possibly happened to make him act this way.

“So, you’re not happy about that.”

Jheselbraum blinks down at him, and resists the sudden urge to laugh. “Now why would you think that?” she asks, the anger no longer present. She is still looming over him, and Bill only seems tense, something between fear and disappointment in his expression. The Oracle takes a small moment to note just how small he is compared to her. Nothing like the terrifying demon he made himself to be. She steps back finally, giving him space to breathe. Bill straightens out, only to fiddle with the sleeve of his sweater awkwardly. The bright yellow color and the big, black eye on the front has Mabel’s handiwork written all over it. That girl is a bit too open, a bit to accepting for her own good. “If you have something to say to me, say it now. Those scissors only have one more use, after all.”

That is an unsubtle message to get out. Bill takes it without comment. “You kept it.” he says instead, gazing at the pendant she’s wearing. The original grey has been gone for a long time, replaced with an intense dark purple that seems to absorb all light. So he still remembers it as well, despite how different it looks now. She regards the necklace with a detached sort of acceptance and offers him no explanation, partly because she is tired, the anger draining most of her energy, and partly because she has none. “You can go now,” is all she says instead. “The sun is almost rising.”

“Fine.” He says not without a hint of rejection. There is a sound of reality splitting at the seams, and then he is gone.

Jheselbraum gazes at the brightening hizon, watching as the sun showers Dimension 52 in a gentle golden glow. Her grip is on her pendant. It’s like the layers of hurt she kept buried for eons had emerged again, and the Oracle doesn’t quite know what to do. So she stares at the valley down below, and tries not to think about the conversation that just happened.

“He is still angry.” Well, that proves to be futile, and she turns to face her second visitor with a small frown. The Axolotl makes a sound not unlike a sigh, and his presence does seem to soothe the soothsayer somewhat. “I’m sure you aren’t very surprised at that.”

“What…happened?” she asks instead, eyes still directed at the horizon line. She absentmindedly rubs her pendant, and realizes that she is anxious. “Why is he-?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him that yourself.” she could hear the slight smile in the being’s voice. “His bubble cracked, and of course the All-Seeing Eye was not left unscathed. No matter what he wishes you to believe.” He regards her patiently for a while, before his gentle voice breaks the silence once again. “Will you join them?”

Jheselbraum finally tears away from the scene outside to look at the piece of parchment that had made it to her only a short time ago. Stanford Pines had found a way to reach a dimension as remote as hers, and the Oracle can’t help but be impressed. “In a while,” she replies, hand on her pendant once again. “I…need to think.”

There is a silent acknowledgement, and then she is alone again. One of the few things Bill had gotten right simply by looking at her. In the silence, there is finally nothing to distract the Oracle from her concerns, and for once the concerns are about the past as much as they are about the future. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. The future still worried her a whole lot more, and for good reason. The Oracle makes the mistake of, once again, glancing at what lies ahead.

And sees nothing but flames.

[itsclydebitches]

AO3: x, Prompts: Breaking Away, Challenged, Shadows, Faith, Pretense, Troubling Thoughts, Future, Reflection, Running Away, Complicated, Exhaustion, and Breakfast (most below the cut). 

“Oh c’mon!” Tulip howled, torn between kicking Cass from the backseat and clamping her hands over her ears. “You’ve played almost nothing but Clarkson for the last hour. Who the fuck put you in charge of the music anyway?”

“That coin,” Jesse muttered, glaring daggers down where it had rolled into the footwell.

Cass just cranked the volume higher, pretending not to hear them. “Take a chance, make a change, and break awaaaaaay!”

Tulip grabbed hold of Jesse’s ear and twisted. “We’re ditching him at the next gas station.”

“You don’t have to tell me!”

***

“You certainly make the strangest of friends,” DeBlanc murmured. He carefully slipped the jacket from Jesse’s shoulders and folded it over his arm. His shirt and two rings followed.

“They ain’t exactly ‘friends’...”

Definitely not based on how the beefy guy was eyeing Jesse, just itching to break him in half. Which he could do, easily, if Jesse made the mistake of letting him get his paws on him. Lucky for him though, smaller meant faster.

“I’m taking him out quick,” Jesse whispered, right from the corner of his mouth. “When I do the rest of these bastards are gonna come and they’ll come hard. During the fight to ease back towards the far corner. When things get hairy make a break for the backdoor.”

DeBlanc’s eyes had gone wide, then they narrowed. “I can help you, preacher. I—”

Jesse turned, just enough to bump his shoulder against DeBlanc’s. It was, he realized, a gesture of companionship.

He was the friend.

“Cass and Tulip ain’t gonna make it in time, and one of us has got to get Fiore.”

DeBlanc hesitated at that. “But—”

“I’ll be fine.” Jesse smiled and with a last, reassuring look he walked out to face his opponent.

And yes, against all odds he was.

***

Nighttime was Cass’ territory. No fucking duh. You’d think his dumbass friends would remember that after all these years.

“The fuck does that have to do with Twister?” Tulip hissed. She had her legs awkwardly wound around Jesse, her arm beneath Cass’ elbow, and her ass pressed up into his face.

Not a bad place to be, in all honesty.

“Because,” he said, straining to spin the wheel. Ha. Green. “You guys know how much goddamn skill it takes to avoid the sun each day? I’m a twisting master.”

“Cheat—” Jesse bit out right before he collapsed on them both.

***

Ah. Their obvious choice. The glue that bound them all together, beyond pasts, perceived futures and—hell—even species. Faith was the one constant in all their lives and it never wavered. Which, they supposed, was exactly what faith was meant to do.

Problem was, none of them had it in God anymore.

Jesse, tearing off his collar and burning it with his lighter, grounding the ashes beneath the heel of a well-worn boot. Tulip, literally turning her back on the town that had claimed her, raising middle fingers high to the sky. For the first time in decades Cassidy taught himself restraint in his feedings, reclaiming the humanity that was stolen from him on the bank of a river. Fiore carved his love for DeBlanc out of rebellion and DeBlanc rebelled solely for his love. None of them needed the likes of God anymore.

They’d already found faith in each other.

***

They’d known each other a week and all Cass could focus on was how damn nice Jesse was. Jesse fucking Custer, who gave him clothes and meals and beer out of his fridge. Who practically shoved him into the (comparatively) five-star accommodations of the church attic and gave him his conversation every day—every day—like it wasn’t something rare and precious. Jesse had been a generous constant for seven days now and Cass was poised for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t know what you’re so tense about,” Jesse said casually, ignoring the way Cass’ shoulders shot up around his ears. “But whatever it is, you can chill the hell out, okay?”

He couldn’t. Men like Jesse just didn’t exist.

Still.

“…right then,” Cass muttered, accepting one more beer.

Maybe he could pretend. If Cass got to keep waiting for Jesse’s cruelty for another week, a month, a year...

…he’d wait forever. If only he was that lucky.

***

“Do you ever think he orchestrated it?”

The question caught DeBlanc off guard. He paused in his reading, looking up to find Fiore staring at the bible in his hands. It was another long moment before he was able to put two-and-two together.

“You mean...us?” he asked, voice pitched low.

Fiore gave one, jerky nod.

Taking a deep breath, DeBlanc dropped his gaze and deliberately turned the page, casual. “If that’s true—if our relationship is really a part of his grand plan—then it in no way lessens my love for you. You can plan many wonderful things in this life. Parties. Children. Vacations. Your future. The planning does not take away from the joy of the act itself.”

From the corner of his eye, DeBlanc caught Fiore swallowing.

“And if this is his will then clearly you have his blessing, and... and I am happy for you.”

Silence reigned in the hotel.

“...thank you, DeBlanc.”

***

“Please stop,” Emily whispered, her kids kicking up more of a racket than usual. It was like they were trying to get in a life’s worth of excitement in under an hour. They were indescribable. Endless.

She loved them—of course she did—but sometimes Emily wondered if this was the only life waiting for her. Three chaotic toddlers who’d turn into sullen teenagers, then adults who wanted little from her but money and material support. It was a horrible thought... but one based in evidence, if the history of this town was anything to go by.

Emily hung her head, rubbing fiercely at her eyes. There must be something. Something else to look forward to. A meaning to this life—

No. She thought she’d found that in a preacher.

“Please,” Emily begged, unsure if it was a demand or a prayer. “Give me something—”

And something came. For a brief second it was the hottest wave against the back of her neck. Emily had just enough time to straighten, turn, and catch nothing but white on the horizon.

She indeed found something in death.

***

Another morning, another routine to run through. Jesse took the shower as Cass fetched breakfast. Tulip cleaned up while Jesse ate. Cass gathered there shit until Tulip was ready to go. They had differing needs and preferences at the start of start their day, but they all took a moment to acknowledge the mirror.

Jesse took stock of the new scars on his face. He catalogued them, forcing himself to remember each mistake.

Tulip did the same, though her scars were figurative. You couldn’t see them on her skin, but she knew they were there. Her mouth had never puckered like that. Her eyes didn’t use to be that heavy.

And Cass did what he’d done for decades: watching the slow, seamless change he underwent, year by year. He didn’t get older exactly... he just got different.

They took stock of who they were on that day and what those people needed to do.

Only then did they walk out the door.

***

“I’ve got a plan,” Cass hissed, just loud enough for Tulip and Jesse to hear. It was like a breath of fresh air after being stuck in a stuffy room. Unconsciously, both of them relaxed—just a bit.

“Yeah?” Tulip said. She eased back a step and the mass of gang members came even closer. She froze, listening to the sounds of weights shifting, weapons readying, the tipping point before all-out chaos. “Care to share?”

“Remember RWBY?”

If the situation hadn’t been so dire they would have balked. As it was, Jesse barely restrained from kicking him.

No, no. Kick the enemies. The hoard of them.

So Jesse swallowed instead, praying that this was going somewhere. “That shitty anime you had us watch?”

“It’s a web series and yes. C’mon, you noobs. The fuck did Jaune say before they fought the Nevermore?”

Jesse was staring like Cass had lost his mind, but Tulip actually cast her mind back.

“Run and live,” she said.

Cass straightened, grinning. “Yeah, luv. That’s an idea I can get behind.”

Jesse pursed his lips. “Run it is then,” and the three of them kicked up dust as they got the hell out of dodge.

***

“It ain’t that complicated,” Cass drawled. Their bartender seemed to think otherwise.

She pointed at them each in turn, as she’d done twice now throughout the night. The other patrons were starting to get real sick of being ignored, but a few quick looks from Jesse kept them planted in their seats.

The woman bit her lip in concentration. Her pointer finger settled on Tulip. “So you and the preacher had a thing way back,” she said slowly. “Broke up. Then the preacher man started a thing with him...”

“Name’s Jesse,” Jesse muttered, not for the first time.

“And the two of you, you two men...”

“Were together,” Tulip finished for her, voice tight.

“...right.” The bartender nodded just a little too forcefully. “But then the preacher got back together with you, but you didn’t break up with you—”

“We’re all dating,” Cass bit out. “We’re. All. Dating.”

She snapped her mouth shut before smiling awkwardly. “But how does that work?”

“Jesus fuckin’ christ.”

***

“Aww, ain’t he cute,” Cass sang, pinching Jesse’s cheek. Rosy coloring and deep, even breathes. He didn’t stir. ‘Dead to the world’ didn’t even begin to cover Jesse’s state. Cass was sort of tempted to take a picture. And then plaster it everywhere.

The stares pulled him out of his daydream though. Cass side-eyed the people lined up on either side of the street, pausing in their daily lives solely to give them the stink-eye.

“Uh...”

Tulip smirked. “Really. You’d think they never saw a black woman carrying a white preacher bridal style before.”

***

Saturday morning and things were as perfect as they’d ever been. The church goers weren’t due for another hour, giving them plenty of time for a hearty breakfast before things got underway. Tulip had made up a variety of options (well, she’d bought frozen and microwavable things) and she and Cass both were still dressed in nothing but t-shirts—both of which were Jesse’s. It was going to be another hot day, but for now it was just pleasantly warm. Scattered beams of sunlight fell in patterns across the table.

“Hit me with the waffles,” Tulip said, her foot sneaking out play with Jesse’s beneath the table. He grinned and caught her in a quick kiss.

“Now that ain’t fair,” Cass teased, so of course he got one too.

Jesse couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

And yet... he paused, suddenly the plate of waffles held suspended in the air. The briefest flicker of doubt crossed his face and Jesse acknowledged the shiver that ran down his spine

“Is�� is this a dream?” he murmured.

Cass smiled. “Well of course it’s a fuckin’ dream. You’re never gettin’ the nine-to-five life. But I’ll tell you, Padre, you’ve got another twenty minutes before you gotta wake up.”

Jessie nodded, then finished passing the food. “...Alright then. That’ll do.”

[abakersquest]

CHAPTER TWO - WALLY’S DESTINY

Wally considered himself a very well rounded wallaby, many others would say quite learned for his current occupation. In his time living in Animana, he’d seen some very interesting sights. None, mind you, match the sight of two very large and heavily armored members of the royal guard, standing horribly hunched over in his tiny kitchen, struggling to pull a mystical sword out of an oven, and failing miserably with every attempt.

“My, but this is delicious!” Cinera said between mouthfuls of the donut Wally had given her. “Mmm, what’s on this anyway?”

Still fixated on the sight of both guards clasping their mighty and well trained hands around the grip and pulling with all they have, Wally absently replied, “It’s a glaze recipe from Insicai. I didn’t have access to the flower nectars it called for so I had to- I’m sorry but what is happening right now?”

“Sounds to me like you were about to give away a baking secret,” She giggled.

“What? No not- I mean that!” Wally pointed to the guards just as one began patting the other on the shoulder, consoling him. “Why couldn’t they lift it out?”

“If I had to guess, because it’s yours, not theirs,” she said before she finished off the last bits of donut and licked the remaining glaze off her fingers. “I hope you have more of those, I’m wholly addicted.”

“… I’ll get you a half-dozen box if you explain what you mean by ‘it’s mine,’ because that makes no sense.”

“Ooh, bribing a royal official, you ARE a cheeky one!” She laughed softly patting him on the head with her staff just as he was set to deliver some panic driven response. “Did you forget the soul reading I gave you already?”

Wally looked at the staff’s gleaming gem then back to her. “Is that what that was?”

“Mmm? Oh! I forgot to tell you? My mistake.” She daintily wiped the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief before continuing. “But yes, the soul reading clearly indicates you and the Flare are tied. Well, I say ‘tied,’ but it’s really more of an iron chain. In fact, I’m quite interested to see what would happen if you tried leave here without it. But I don’t think your shop would do well with another large hole in it.”

Wally sighed as he remembered exactly how much destruction the sword had already done. He cautiously looked it over after the guards had made their way back outside. His? A legendary artifact wielded by someone who’s a hero to everyone living today? What cosmic humorist thought to drop something so unbelievably powerful and influential into the hands of a River’s End Street baker? Before he knew it he was staring again. Except he realized it didn’t feel like staring, instead it felt more like an engaging conversation held by two old friends in a café with lovely spring weather outside. This was, however, an absolutely ridiculous thought because Wally didn’t have any friends he’d do that with, and the Stellar Flare was a magic sword. Still, he felt the unrepentant urge to reach out and take hold of it.

As his hand clasped the grip, a brilliant flash of light filled the room, and the air shook with the chime of a metaphysical bell. From the exposed portion of the blade, ethereal flames spread and danced across every surface of the kitchen before quickly retreating to their origin. The whole of the Stellar Flare glowed like the midday sun as Wally placed a second hand on the grip and finally pulled it from the oven. In his hands, the blade seemed to change size until it no longer dwarfed its new wielder entirely. Upon reaching this size it ceased to glow and Wally finally had the room to think about what just happened.

He now stood in a small ring of fire that wasn’t fire. In his hands the Stellar Flare had a comfortable weight to it, nowhere near what he imagined such a weapon would weigh even given its reduced size. As he thought on the warmth of it once more, it really did feel alive to him; a living and breathing thing made of metal, which may have been a ridiculous notion to him before, but now, it suddenly had been catapulted into the realm of possibility.

“Mister Walter.”

Wally instantly snapped out of his silent existential crisis and turned to face Cinera. As he did the flames around him vanished, and the Stellar Flare’s glow dimmed to a much more tolerable shine.

“Do you happen to have another apron?”

Absolutely dumbfounded by the question, it took Wally almost a full minute to finally reply, “... Yes?”

“Good, we’re going to need it.”

“W-… I’m sorry what are we going to need a second apron for, much less the first?”

“Well Wally, I know The Outers have been improving in recent years, but is it really a place you want to be seen carrying an impossibly valuable artifact out in public?”

Wally’s ears shot straight up at the realization, and with surprising dexterity he removed his own apron and began to wrap it around the blade.

“Ooh but you are a sharp one; I’ll be outside in the carriage with the big armored fellows on it when you’re ready.” With that, she bowed her head to him and made her way outside.

Whenever he was given a solid task to perform, Wally’s thinking became steadier. It was as if a chore or duty acted as an anchor point to his mind. He could perform whatever task and find in the time it took to complete it, a solution to almost any greater existential problem. Of course, up until this moment, most of his existential problems involved things anyone would face in the day to day of living. Managing finances, remembering the groceries you need, figuring out where you left your favorite cup. So, as he retrieved the spare red apron from the small closet at the rear of the kitchen, Wally found himself scrambling to make sense of what was happening. A magic sword that helped to end a decade long war had chosen him, a baker, to be its new owner, and now, Royal Seer Cinera was sitting outside in a carriage waiting to take him to…

It was here that Wally’s mind did a startlingly accurate impression of a rubber band snapping. “THE CASTLE?!” He slapped a suddenly free hand over his mouth, almost dropping the sword. He fumbled to get it back into his hands and finish wrapping it in the red and green aprons. Finally satisfied that the long shape of a sword was indiscernible from that of an oddly wrapped plank of wood, Wally quickly made for the carriage outside and was about to step through it’s open door before he hopped back down, locked the door of his shop and then returned toward the carriage.

Before entering however, Wally noticed that a number of children have gathered around it, staring in wonder and interest at the Greater Dynas that was tied to its front. A powerful six legged creature with golden forewings adorning its back and a finely bejeweled steel harness affixed to its great horn, truly a creature well suited to pulling a carriage of regal bearing. The parents of these children would however consider the Dynas’ decorations a needless bit of bragging, as only people in Castle Town could begin to afford even Lesser Dynas, and you only ever saw those if someone from Castle Town brought one with them. No, folks in The Outers had to make do with whatever breed of Cucujo you were lucky enough to afford. They were much smaller and weaker than their regally embraced cousins, but still rather well suited to heavy work and, some claim, were slightly more clever and friendly.

Climbing in at last, Wally felt immediately out of place in the plush and lustrous surroundings of the royal carriage. He was struck by the clear talent that had gone into the woodwork, the finish, and the metal additions that made everything pop.

“It’s a bit much, innit?”

He turned away from studying the interior to meet Cinera’s eyes.

She tucked her arms into the sleeves of her robes and crossed them over her chest. “You don’t have to say anything, I already know. It wouldn’t do for servants of the royal family to ride in something less ostentatious than this, right?”

“It’s… Well it’s very well made, that’s for sure.”

Cinera subtly cocked her head to the side. “You weren’t thinking how the cost of this could’ve fed a family of four for a month?”

A soft and genuine smile formed on Wally’s face as he looked back over to the wall of the carriage nearest him and ran a finger over it appreciatively. “A craftsman worked tirelessly on this, I know that much. You don’t work this hard and not earn what you deserve for it.”

The seemingly permanent smile on Cinera’s face grew wider. “Optimist are we?”

“I’d like to think so. Although, I’m having trouble seeing the bright side of all… This…” He lifted the wrapped sword slightly to emphasize it.

“Because if the sword is here and looking for someone to use it, it must mean there’s something to use it on, right?”

Wally nodded, his drooping ears betraying his trepidation.

“… And yet you still picked it up, got into this carriage, and now going off to see the king and queen about it. That’s not something someone who’s totally scared would do, eh?”

He looked down at the disguised Flare, unable to commit to any response. In fact, Wally didn’t look up from it at all until he heard the sound beneath the carriage change from cobblestone to something else. He couldn’t place it at first until he looked around and realized they’d gone through the inner gate and were headed through Castle Town. Lovely houses and shops lined the streets, clean mason work and well kept trees to accent them, with clean gas lamps and well dressed well-to-do as far as he could see. Wally grasped the front of his simple white cotton work shirt and felt like an enormous embarrassment was waiting like a storm on the horizon. There was nothing he could do about it really, he very much doubted he could ask them to stop so he could rush home and put on the slightly threadbare hand-me-down that was his father’s wedding suit.

So there he’d be, in front of the king and queen, in a white shirt and dirt brown pants, the ultimate visage of peasantry on display. Wally would’ve kept ruing on this if not for the sight of Anmeister Castle in the distance. Instantly, all his worry and doubt were replaced with the warmth of memory and imagination. He was just a boy the first time he’d seen it, a massive and elegant building made of white gleaming stones that shone in the daylight, giving it the look that it’d been expertly carved from a single piece of flawless marble. “The last time I saw Anmeister Castle…” He began. “I was very young, and I asked my mother if it was made from sugar cubes.”

“Sugar cubes?” Cinera tittered.

“Yes I know… Guess that explains the whole baker thing, now doesn’t it?”

“Look at you now, sharing like we’re old friends.” Cinera playfully chided.

Wally recoiled. “Oh! I… I’m sorry! I was being overly familiar just then, wasn’t I?”

“No, I just like seeing you panic.” Cinera then burst out laughing. It was an infectious sound, and Wally couldn’t help but join in at his own expense. “There see?” She finally said when the moment had calmed. “You’re all worked up over the part of this that doesn’t mean anything.”

He tilted his head curiously, “Huh?”

“This is formality, Wally. You’re just introducing yourself to two people who happen to be a bit important.”

“More than a bit, I should say.”

“No.”

Wally was taken aback by the suddenly stern tone of her voice.

“You’re more important than they are right now, don’t forget that. What you’re holding in your hands has the power to reshape not just the world, but its history. Your choices and your actions will no doubt have enormous repercussions for ages to come. The last time the Flare appeared its wielder helped to crush an army that threatened to plunge the world into untold darkness.”

Wally went rigid with fear. “M-m-m-me? B-but I’m not-“

Cinera reached over and placed her hand on Wally’s. “No. Don’t focus on who you aren’t. There’s no good that can come of that. Who you are is what matters, and what you decide to do. Let no one dictate, mandate, command, or deride. Your choice is the final say and no one else’s. You’re Wally, a baker, and someone, somewhere, decided you should guide the turn of history, and the rest of us are along for the ride.”

Wally stared at her as the weight of such a task became immeasurably heavy on his back. It was impossible responsibility for any one person of any standing to bear, much less a wallaby whose greatest achievements include ‘making really good cookies.’ He felt something in him hollow out and his body began to slowly collapse like a deflating soufflé as he barely managed to say, “I… Can’t…”

“If you can’t, then don’t,” Cinera settled back into her seat. “That’s my point. Say ‘no’ if that’s what you really want. Doing nothing is still a choice, after all.”

Wally sank into his seat and back into a non-responsive state. His thoughts turned over the events of the morning in the hopes of finding his feet; ‘I woke up, went downstairs, started making scones and then I suddenly became the world’s lynchpin? Aren’t there a few steps missing in-between? Certainly some sword training should’ve been involved.’

The carriage finally came to a halt before the main entry’s stairs. Wally moved while keeping his eyes on his own feet, essentially sleepwalking his way past guards, advisors, various nobles, and the like. If any of them happened to speak, Wally hadn’t heard a single word. He was lost in a muddle of thoughts so thick, he couldn’t pick one to hold onto and focus with.

“Mister Walter?”

The voice was kind, yet there was clear strength behind it. It cut through the noise of his own mind and right to the center of his attention, and for some reason it reminded him of his mother. Slowly he looked up and before him sat King Jacob and Queen Vivian, and just beside them stood the captain of the guard, Grand Knight of the Kingdom, Sir Hector the First.

Before he was king, Jacob Cervas, as he was called then, served as a general in the United Front Army before marrying into the Anmeister family shortly after the war’s end. A powerful soldier in his own time, there are many who claimed he’d killed a dozen of the seemingly invincible Black Rock Knights on his own.

Vivian Anmeister, while still a young princess, maintained the kingdom after the initial attack of the Sauroian Army had taken the lives of the former king and queen. Her leadership, courage, and conviction throughout the war earned her the epithet, ‘The Dauntless Empress.’

In addition to their regal standing and personal histories, Animana’s king and queen were also red deer, affording them a level of size and strength one would consider appropriate to their positions. There were few who they did not tower over.

Sir Hector, first and only son of Sir Hammond, was a dog like his father before him. Some even say he’s his father’s mirror image. He joined the city guard when he was only 15, demanded no special treatment, and worked hard to earn his position and title. He is both idol and icon to the myriad across Animana and is by many considered its mightiest defender.

And there before them stood Wally B. Walter, a humble baker, who couldn’t look more intimidated if he tried. He fumbled over a few half muttered syllables, found his mouth dryer than it had ever been, and that his legs were at the ready for the maddest dash of his life. His eyes darted around the room, afraid he’d be struck down for looking directly at any of the three people standing before him for more than a moment. Finally his eyes found something that didn’t strike every panic switch he had. Beside him stood Cinera, her face almost aglow with the most sincere expression of understanding he’d seen on any face that wasn’t owned by a member of his own family. It was, somehow, enough for him to find a calm center in the storm of emotions and anxiety inside himself. He then bowed as gracefully as anyone could while hugging a sword hastily wrapped in aprons.

“Wally B. Walter, at your highness’ service.” His voice rang clearer than it had all day.

“Mister Walter,” the queen began. “Yesterday, Seer Cinera foresaw the coming of the Stellar Flare, a blade that once cleaved a path to victory amidst the chaos of the Grand War. We do not know where it has been or why it has chosen to return. Do you?”

“D-… Me? I mean! N-no your majesty, I haven’t the foggiest- I MEAN, I don’t know why-” Wally huffed air out of his lungs to stop himself from jabbering on. He took a deep calming breath. “As far as I know it crashed into my kitchen and destroyed my new oven… NOT that I’m asking for financial compensation of any kind your majesty, I’m simply stating the facts of the matter.”

The king and queen exchanged glances for a moment before the King spoke. “Seer Cinera, what say you?”

“My vision of the events has not changed your majesty.” Cinera’s staff began to glow, its soft blue light painted the images she described onto the air. “I saw the Flare falling from the heavens and into The Outers, then Mister Walter standing here before you, and finally an indescribably great darkness on the horizon; a sign that something terrible is gaining strength somewhere in the world.”

“What is your recommendation then?” The queen asked.

The light retreated to the staff and Cinera shrugged her shoulders. “Well… That’s not really up to me now, is it? If I had to recommend anything, it’s that you listen to what Mister Walter has to say on the matter.”

Wally almost bounced on the spot when the conversation turned back to him. He mumbled slightly as he struggled to find something to say before the light of inspiration struck. “SIR HECTOR! Sir Hector, the Flare was wielded by your father so… It’s maybe your birthright, yes? So I… I think he should have it then. I mean it might just be some matter of chance it fell into my bakery, or maybe I was just supposed to bring it to him. That certainly makes more sense. Don’t you think?”

He looked at the sea of doubtful faces before him and did his best to hold his tiny flicker of hope.

“Well! I’d say it’s at least worth a shot,” Sir Hector said before approaching Wally.

A very slim smile crept onto Wally’s face as he unwrapped the Stellar Flare. As best he could, he held it up to present it to Hector who took hold of the grip and pulled.

The sword didn’t move, not one inch, as if it were glued to Wally’s palms. Of course it was held there by the magic of the sword, because if Wally had actually glued it to himself, Sir Hector would’ve flung him across the room by now with the effort he’d exerted.  

Hector released the grip of the sword and smiled conciliatorily. “Sorry lad, looks like it’s yours after all.”

Wally began to shake as if the world was exclusively quaking under his feet. “But that doesn’t make any sense, I-I-I’m just a baker! I don’t know the first thing about sword fighting! Or, or, or any kind of fighting for that matter! It’s Just-…” It was suddenly harder for him to breathe. Wally had never spoken so much and been so scared at the same time, so he hadn’t properly rationed the air in his lungs. He gulped another bit of air and very quietly said, “It’s just… It’s too much.”

There was silence in the throne room that grew heavier with every passing moment; its weight smothered any words anyone thought to say. The owners of the strongest voices in the room now faced their personal truth in the form of a terrified wallaby. The King, The Queen, and The Knight were all people who stood on battlefields willingly so that people like Wally never had to. They, who were ready and able to sacrifice themselves for the many in any battle, now faced the task of asking this innocent baker to do the same.

“Wally,” Cinera was the first to break the silence. “I told you. You don’t have to do this at all if you don’t want to.”

He stared at her suddenly and in his panic forgot manner and his place and shouted, “But that’s just it! I can’t say no!” His grip on the blade tightened almost audibly as the most honest words he’d ever spoken came out as strongly as he could speak them. “How… How could I possibly turn my back on this?! The Stellar Flare is here to help save the world isn’t it?! That’s what it’s for and it decided I’m the person to help that happen!” He closed his eyes, unable to meet the gaze of any of them as his voice slowly began to soften. “If I don’t, who knows what could happen? How many people could be hurt or outright killed… How could I possibly live with myself if I just said ‘no?’”

In the silence he’d created with his emotional outburst, he finally managed to look down at the sword in his hands and saw his face reflected in it. He saw the worry and doubt playing around his eyes and the undeniable fear that lay in them. He was terrified and unsure, but honestly believed what he’d said. There wasn’t a choice, he couldn’t possible turn his back on the whole world to save himself the trouble. “I’ve…” He paused, startled by the sound of his own voice in the quite throne room. “I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to do exactly… But I absolutely will do it.”

Suddenly he felt a weight on his shoulder, no, a grip, he tracked the shine of armor up to Sir Hector’s face and found there a friendly smile. In a voice only Wally could hear, he said, “Damn fine answer if you ask me.” Hector then moved to a place just beside Wally and respectfully half bowed to the king and queen. “By your leave your majesties, I shall accompany Sir Walter wherever this quest takes him. The lad will need a proper tutor in swordsmanship after all.”

The befuddled wallaby looked up at the knight. “S-Sir wh-what?”

The kindly and warmhearted grin of the knight gave Wally a sudden feeling of comfort, despite the fangs therein. “Oh come now,” he said amicably. “You’re obviously going to be knighted before you leave. If for nothing else than that declaration you just made.”

His gaze rocketed toward the king and queen who both nodded in tandem.

They then stood and approached Wally, who rapidly fell into a proper kneel, resting the sword on the ground. Hector handed King Jacob his sword and then stood back. “Typically,” King Jacob began. “There’d be more ceremony and celebration for this sort of thing… If you don’t mind Walter, I should hope we do this properly upon your return.”

Wally’s tongue had knotted itself in his mouth, he could only nod.

The king smiled and held the sword aloft. “May I know your full name then?”

Wally cleared his throat. “Wally Bartholomew Walter, sire.”

“Wait,” Queen Vivian couldn’t help but interject with a sudden realization. “You are a wallaby… Named ‘Wally B?’”

“M-my parents believed a name like that would make me more approachable, your highness. Very non-threatening, good ice breaker at parties, and so on.”

“… Did it work?”

“Absolutely not,” Wally replied rather grimly.

“Well. I feel it suits you regardless. Knights of our kingdom should be approachable by anyone they happen to meet.”

King Jacob cleared his throat. “May I continue?”

The queen smiled apologetically to her husband and nodded.

“Now,” The king rested the point of the sword on Wally’s head, “Wally Bartholomew Walter, for the people of Animana and by the royal decree of Anmeister. I, King Jacob Anmeister, proclaim you protector of this kingdom and its people, a knight of the royal court.” He pulled the sword away and handed it back to Hector. “Now arise, Sir Walter of the Flare!”

Wally stood, holding the sword in hand again, and doing his best to match up with what he thought was appropriately regal posture. Really it was just him standing on his toes slightly to make himself seem a little taller.

“Your majesties,” Cinera began, “It will take me at least a day to discern where Sir Hector and Sir Wally must first journey. I suppose that will be enough time for the two of them to prepare whatever supplies they will carry.”

“Very well then,” King Jacob said. “Best that the two of you dress casually, if need be, say that you are traveling mercenaries to explain your weapons and skills. Whenever possible, keep your presence hidden.”

“I shall escort Sir Wally to a carriage so he can prepare for the journey ahead.” Cinera motioned for Wally to walk with her.

As the two left the throne room, Wally noticed that the hall was cleared and the only sound to be heard was their own footfalls. He wondered where all the people he’d ignored on his way in had gone until Cinera began to speak. “My abilities as a Seer first came when I was a child, you know. This was a few years before the start of the war. My power of foresight and natural gift for magic made me an outcast amid other children and even fellow townsfolk. In time it was decided by the former king and queen that I’d become a royal advisor, so they sent me out into the world and to many teachers. My life was lived for me by the whims of royalty, scholars, and tutors.”

The light of understanding slowed Wally���s feet. “… So that’s why…”

She didn’t acknowledge his change of pace at first, continuing her explanation. “I didn’t want them, no, anyone to take your freedom, Wally. It’s not fair that you should be made to do this. Or rather, that’s what I thought.”

Quickly catching up, Wally asked, “What changed your mind?”

“You did. I could already tell you were kind… But what you said in there was more than just simple kindness and compassion. You may not believe it, but there are still people who’d look at the responsibilities you just took on and still say ‘no.’” She turned to face him and rested her hand on his shoulder. “That was truly brave of you Wally. Never forget that.”

He was taken aback by that, he honestly hadn’t thought it a brave choice, or even a choice to begin with. It was simply the right thing to do to him. Hearing that he still could’ve said no, and that that was the furthest thing from his mind, filled him with a warm sense of pride.

“Oh, one thing before you go,” Cinera reached into her sleeves and produced the two aprons they’d brought to hide the Stellar Flare. “You dropped these in the throne room.”

Wally produced a mildly crazed little laugh and shook his head. “Right, in all the terrifying doubt I completely forgot. I’ll get to wrapping right away.”

“Mm, no. I have a better idea. Hold out the sword, please.”

Wally did as she asked without pause, watching as she carefully draped the aprons over the sword and lifted her staff. The air began to shake unnaturally as unintelligible words left her throat. A blue glow spread out over the surface of the aprons and began to move them. They warped and stretched, wrapped into themselves and around the blade. With a brilliant and sudden flash of blue light, they were gone, replaced instead with a fine lacquered sheath in their colors.

“My, but you certainly had owned those for a long time. There was plenty of memory and sentiment to work with.”

Wally spoke as he turned the Flare over in his hands and beheld her handiwork. “You turned them into a sheath with… Memory and sentiment? Is that how magic works?”

“Some magic, yes. Strong emotions and the like imprint on objects over time, and you can use them like lamp oil to fuel a reaction. Now it’ll be easier to carry.”

“Not by a lot,” Wally silently muttered. “But most certainly better than nothing.” He donned his most honest smile and nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Cinera.”

Appreciative of the wallaby’s honesty; she returned the smile in kind. “So, shall I have the carriage take you back to your bakery?”

“No.” Wally said with some pause. “I should go home first.”

<[Chapter 01]–[Index]–[Chapter 03]>