#apparently my brain only wants me to focus on last kingdom

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Oh shit, I never told you that Merlin isn’t my actual name??

Igraine reveals… one hell of a secret, and not the one you’re thinking of:

Part 2   Part 3   Part 4(final part)(coming soon)

TW: Uther being a Jackass I guess?

Arthur knows about his dumbass servant’s magic. He wasn’t best pleased, in fact, he was furious when he first found out; how is supposed to protect his servant-turned-best-friend-except-that’s-super-secret-even-from-himself if he’s off doing stupid shit like Sorcery in Camelot?!

He was a lot more sympathetic when Merlin explained that he’d been born with it, and that his destiny was, literally, tied to Arthur’s. That, mixed with the fact that Arthur tended to get himself into a LOT of trouble, without even realising it most of the time, means Merlin has no choice but to be doing stupid shit like Sorcery in Camelot.

Merlin is currently giving Arthur the silent treatment, not that Arthur seems to notice. The two of them were waiting for Morgause to finish whatever it is she was doing to, apparently, allow Arthur to speak to his mother.

She doesn’t take long, and though Merlin keeps his distrustful gaze on her the whole time, he still can’t quite tell what it is Morgause has done. She looks to them with a blank expression, though her focus is mainly on Arthur as she gestures him forward:

“It’s ready, Prince Arthur. Close your eyes, both of you.”

Arthur frowns briefly but does as told. Merlin raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms, and staring Morgause down; she rolls her eyes and huffs quietly when she realises that he isn’t going to take his eyes off her, but gives in, turning away and performing some sort of simple looking (though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it isn’t simple) ritual.

The Witch lets out a deep breath and steps back, and Merlin’s hard stare is finally drawn away from her when a shower of golden sparks materialises in a cloud in front of The Prince.

Arthur opens his eyes to see Igraine standing there, practically glowing, looking every bit the glorious Queen she once was. She gives him a soft smile, and Arthur can only stare, his mouth moving of it’s own accord:

“Mother?”

Merlin stares on in suspicion as Igraine’s smile grows:

“My son.”

She pulls him forward into a tight hug, and though Arthur had started off forcing himself to be wary, he falls into the hug easily, struggling to hold his tears in. They pull back after far too short of a time, and though Merlin was still distrustful, he wishes she had held Arthur just a little longer.

Merlin’s heart breaks as Arthur goes on to apologise for being born, but his feelings quickly turn to anger as Igraine explains the truth, how his people were being hunted, burned, vilified, all because Uther was too much of a hypocrite to admit his mistakes or listen to reason; but he couldn’t lash out now, this time was for Arthur, not him.

Igraine’s face falls even further, and she grips Arthur’s shoulders tightly:

“But we do not have time to talk of this, I can feel the other side pulling me back, I must be quick. Arthur, my son, you have a brother, and you must find him.”

Merlin’s eyes go wide and he tenses in place; this had better not be some twisted trick on Morgause’s part to destroy Arthur, because he would destroy her in return if it was. And he would do it in a far messier way. Arthur just looks shocked:

“A brother? How?!”

Igraine smiles mournfully:

“A twin. He was so small when he was born, I thought he wouldn’t make it, but though I can’t see his face, I know he lives, I can feel it. He had hair dark as the night sky, a complete contrast to your golden wisps-”

She lifts a soft, gentle hand, and runs it through Arthur’s hair with a smile:

“-but his eyes, oh his eyes were just as golden as your hair, before they faded to the colour of the sky.”

Arthur gasped but Merlin tensed even further, certain that this must be some sort of trick:

“He was magic?”

Igraine smiles again and nods:

“It’s not common, but not completely unheard of for people to be born magic. Your brother was, and it was beautiful.-”

He smile falls into something more angry, though she’s clearly trying to hide it:

“-Your father... did something. I do not know what; by the time my soul was restful enough to be able to look back upon the world, it was too late, he was gone somewhere I could not see. I know he still lives, your father was too much of a coward to admit his mistakes, but too much of a hypocrite to keep to his convictions and destroy the child, which I can be grateful for. I feared he had been sent far away, but you must find him, restore his heritage.”

Arthur nods vigorously, his eyes wide and desperate, and Merlin finds himself desperate to believe that this spirit is true and genuine:

“What else can you tell me about him? Do you know where he is? What he looks like now?”

Igraine’s face falls into a soft smile again, though she shakes her head mournfully:

“He is powerful, extremely so. I worried he was dead until I suddenly felt him; he appeared in Camelot, around three and a half years ago. His power is vast, I can sense it stretching for miles and miles, though I can not pinpoint the epicentre; he is somewhere within the Kingdom, you must find him.”

Merlin frowns in confusion, stepping forward to interrupt, though he desperately doesn’t want to:

“Did you name him? Your son?”

Igraine looks to him suddenly, as if she weren’t aware they had company, but quickly turns almost her full attention to Merlin with a soft smile:

“You. You looked after my boy, thank you. Thank you for all that you have done. And yes-”

She looks back to Arthur:

“-I named him, though I whispered it with my last breaths, Uther would certainly not have used it, and I do not know if Gaius heard me.”

Arthur responds quietly, his cracking voice heavy with too many emotions to name:

“What is it? What’s my... my brother’s name?”

“Myrddin.”

Merlin takes in a quiet gasp, and Arthur, always with at least one half of his brain focused on his manservant, turns to him:

“You know that name?! Merlin, do you know someone in Camelot with that name?”

Merlin just stares at Igraine, his eyes wide and his hands shaking:

“How... how do you think he got out of Camelot? How would Uther have sent him away?”

Igraine’s face is confused, but mostly curious as she takes a step towards him, still with one hand on Arthur’s shoulder:

“Gaius and Balinor possibly, perhaps Nimueh, though I imagine she fled rather quickly. They were Uther’s closest friends before the purge, and they all practised magic, they would have been... sympathetic, tried to help the child. Why? Are Arthur’s questions relevant? Do you know my son??”

Merlin’s eyes flickered between the two of them, but when Arthur says his name again, his voice nothing short of desperate, his gaze fixes on The Prince:

“Arthur, I... I never told you, because I didn’t think it was... relevant, but... Merlin isn’t my real name.”

Arthur recoils, shocked, and utters a dumbfounded “What?!”. Merlin gulps, and looks to Igraine briefly before resuming his fearful, and slightly confused, stare on Arthur:

“When I was young, my magic was still strong, but I had no control over it. I would subconsciously summon animals to my side constantly. Mostly small things, but the occasional stag or bear would wander through the village to find me. But... but what came most often where the birds; the village is essentially in the middle of a forest, and... and there were thousands of merlins. So I got that as a nickname, Merlin, and it just stuck.”

Arthur just shakes his head, caught off guard but mostly just annoyed:

“You heard my mother, Merlin, we don’t have much time, what is this-”

Merlin interrupts him:

“Just listen!! My real name.... it’s Myrddin.-”

Igraine takes in a quiet gasp, mumbling more to herself than anyone else “Gaius heard me.” but Arthur just stares. Merlin holds his gaze, but after a few moments, he looks back to Igraine:

“-My mother... she... she wouldn’t lie to me, nor would Gaius... this... it’s a mistake. It’s... it’s a common name, right?!”

Igraine responds in a hushed tone, though Arthur barely moves, still staring at Merlin as though he had gained a new head:

“Show me some magic, my boy.”

Merlin stutters and shakes his head, laughing incredulously before he notices her pleading face and looks to Arthur, almost for permission. The Prince gulps before nodding, just once, and Merlin lets out a deep breath. He holds his hand out in front of him, palm up, and without even needing to mutter a spell, a single flower grows; a Camelot-red Tulip, it’s petals dipped in gold.

When his eyes fade back to blue, he looks up to see the others’ reactions: Arthur is smiling softly, always eager to see Merlin’s magic, as if he had forgotten the situation at hand, but Igraine... oh, Igraine was staring at him with such wonder, tears slipping down her pale cheeks.

Merlin drops the flower without a second though and shakes his head minutely, but Igraine just nods, allowing the hand on Arthur’s shoulder to slip down to his hand so she could tug him forward, towards Merlin:

“Myrddin, my boy, my son. You came home all on your own.”

Merlin just shakes his head again and steps back:

“No. No this... this isn’t real, this is a trick, or... or something. How do we prove it? How do we know you’re not lying or some trap laid by Morgause?!”

Igraine sighs, but nods, understanding:

“Ask Gaius and your... your mother, and thank her for me, for raising you with so much love. The doorway is closing, I can feel it.-”

Her gaze moves lovingly between then two of them, and when she steps forward once more, she takes Merlin’s hand before he can move away, pulling the two of them into a tight hug:

“-I am so endlessly proud of you both, and I love you, always.”

She fades from the air, and within seconds Arthur’s arms are falling in on themselves, nothing under them to hold their weight and forceful pressure.

The Prince’s head whips towards Morgause, who until that point had been completely forgotten about:

“Bring her back!”

Her stare is fixed on a frozen Merlin, though she slowly looks to Arthur when he takes an intimidating step towards her and goes to open his mouth again:

“I can’t. The doorway closes of it’s own accord, I can’t bring her back again. But that was... unexpected. I apologise, you shouldn’t have had to find out like that.”

Arthur shakes his head angrily at her denial, but quickly refocuses and looks to Merlin, who still hasn’t moved an inch. He puts a soft hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly until the other man looks at him; Arthur isn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but Merlin’s eyes to be filling with tears definitely wasn’t it:

“I... this can’t be real. My mother, Gaius, Kilgharrah, they all would’ve known. Why wouldn’t they tell me?”

Arthur pulls him into a hug, silently vowing to stop Merlin’s suffering as soon as he’s possibly able, that they would discover the truth no matter what. Merlin’s arms just hang limply at his sides, though he does push his face into Arthur’s neck as The prince responds:

“I... I don’t know, Merlin. Maybe they thought it would get in the way of that destiny of yours, maybe they were waiting for my... for The King to pass.-”

He pulls back, but keeps his hands on Merlin’s shoulders:

“-Lets just... get back to Camelot, and we can figure it out. We can go downstairs to talk to Kilgharrah.”

Merlin shakes his head, stepping back and wiping his sleeve over his eyes roughly before walking purposefully towards the horses:

“No, he’s the least likely to be honest, we’ll talk to Gaius. Though if any of this is true... I’m having some bloody harsh words with my... with Hunith.”

Arthur flinches slightly at the anger in Merlin’s voice, but after a quick glance to a slowly retreating Morgause, he follows him to the horses and they start the fast paced journey back to Camelot. The only words exchanged, around an hour in, were Merlin’s quiet, humourless:

“Gwaine’s never going to believe this.”

And Arthur’s responding snort of derisive amusement.

~

They manage to stay out of sight when they arrive back in the city, which is good really. Arthur’s lowly simmering rage had been reaching taller and taller heights with every pound of the horses’ hooves against the hard ground. But before he confronts his father, they need confirmation, in the form of Gaius.

They stalk quietly through the castle, using servant corridors and hidden passages to avoid being seen, but all bets are off when they reach the Physician’s chambers.

Gaius looks up with a quiet gasp when the two men burst in, locking the door behind them. Arthur’s blank stare and Merlin’s barely concealed anger force his shock and relief to morph into confusion:

“Merlin, Prince Arthur, where on Earth have you been? The King has been panicking, sending out patrol after patrol to search for you.”

Arthur’s face remains blank, and when Gaius looks to him for an answer he just moves his gaze to Merlin, allowing him to determine the pace of this much needed conversation. Merlin’s dark gaze is now fixed on the floor, though his jaw and hands are tightly clenched, and his breathing is shaky in his anger. His voice comes out lethally quiet, and Arthur can tell that it’s only a matter of time before he explodes:

“Gaius, what’s my name?”

Gaius just looks slightly taken aback, like he hasn’t quite grasped Merlin’s meaning despite its plainness:

“My boy, whatever are you-”

He’s interrupted when Merlin looks up at him sharply, his eyes blazing and his face turning slightly red:

“It’s a simple question Gaius: What’s. My. Name?-”

Gaius’ eyes flicker to Arthur in confusion, but Merlin breaks from his near frozen stature, moving with a speed that Arthur had never seen in him before to slam his hand on the table:

“No, don’t look at him, look at me. What’s my name, Gaius?!”

Gaius nods, his eyes sad as he gulps before answering quietly:

“Myrddin, but you already knew that.”

Merlin takes a deep breath and nods, his fingers tapping rhythmically, though a tad aggressively, against the table. Arthur goes to step forward to put a calming hand on his shoulder but Merlin shoots him a withering look and he stays back. Merlin’s hard stare returns to the resigned physician:

“And my parents?”

Gaius gulps again but straightens his posture, putting up a confused façade, though it’s easy to see through:

“Hunith is your-”

Merlin slams his hand on the table again, much harder this time, and a voice in the back of Arthur’s head—the one at the forefront was spitting obscenities and planning rather gruesome ways to murder his father—makes a note to check his hand later, a hit like that had likely broken something, though Merlin was clearly too furious and confused and upset to notice:

“DON’T LIE TO ME!”

Gaius is taken aback at Merlin’s bitter yell, but he softens again at the tears on his ward’s cheeks; he collapses into a chair on the other side of the table, rubbing his eyes tiredly before looking up at the distraught man:

“Uther and Igraine Pendragon. You are a year older than your mo- than Hunith led you to believe, and you are Arthur’s twin brother.-”

Arthur turns away angrily, vocalising the curses that had been playing on a loop in his mind, and Merlin nods, pushing his injured hand into the table without even realising:

“-I am so sorry, my-”

Merlin shakes his head and holds a hand up to stop him but doesn’t say anything, not pulling away this time when Arthur steps into place beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder, waving the other one aggressively at the elderly physician:

“You had no right, no right to keep this from us. I grew up being taught to hate magic, miserable and alone, and Merlin grew up hating himself, just as miserable and alone, if not more so. You had no right to take us away from each other.-”

Gaius goes to respond, but Arthur stops his excuses before they even make it past his throat:

“-No. There is no excusing this, you and my father took my brother from me, and there will be no forgiving that. I’ve known about Merlin’s magic and our entwined destinies for over a year, you’ve had every opportunity to tell us, but you didn’t. That’s not even mentioning the nature of my... our mother’s death. You are a coward, and in your cowardice you have been cruel; I will not stand for it. Where is my- where is The King?”

Gaius nods slowly, standing on almost wobbling legs before gesturing to the door:

“The King is with Sir Leon trying to figure out where to look next, they’re in the council chamber. You are right, and I am sor-”

Arthur cuts him off with a sharp gesture and a dark look, taking Merlin’s uninjured wrist and pulling him towards the door. The servant (Prince?) follows easily, unable to meet Gaius’ gaze and allowing Arthur to drag him briskly through the corridors towards the council chamber.

By the time they reach the chamber, Merlin has broken out of his stupor, wiped his tears, and pulled his wrist from Arthur’s grip, instead walking alongside him and using just as much force when they both push the doors open and stride in.

Uther and Leon both look up rapidly, startled at the sudden intrusion, but whilst Leon looks relieved and sends the two of them a small smile, Uther looks angry:

“Arthur. Where have you been? I have had search parties out looking for you. Arthur?”

Arthur doesn’t answer for a few moments, but a glance at Merlin by his side gives him the confidence boost he needs and he straightens his back, draws his sword, and stares The King right in the eyes:

“I know what you did to my mother, and I know what you... what you took from me.”

Uther stands tall, glancing to Leon briefly as he announces:

“Leave us. No one is to enter.”

Leon looks between the three other men, but doesn’t make it to his second step towards the door before Arthur has his sword pointed at his chest, though The Prince’s gaze stays on his father. Leon knows it’s less of a genuine threat and more of a way of emphasising his words, but that doesn’t stop him from taking a slight, wary step back:

“No, Sir Leon, you will stay.”

Leon glances nervously to the red-faced King, but doesn’t move. Uther looks furious at Arthur’s denial of his orders, but The Prince pays him no mind, finally turning to look at Leon with a slightly softer look in his eyes:

“Sir Leon, do you bear witness?”

Leon frowns slightly, looking between Arthur, Uther, and Merlin once again, frown deepening as he spies the unshed tears in Merlin’s eyes and the purple bruise forming over one of his hands. He finally looks back to Arthur, moving to stand to attention with one hand held over his heart and the other resting on the hilt of his sword:

“My Lord Prince Arthur Pendragon, I, Sir Leon, bear witness.”

Uther just splutters angrily, but Leon pointedly keeps his gaze on Arthur until The Prince nods at him and is the first to look away. Merlin had stayed silent the entire time, but visibly relaxes when Leon swears to stay, and that just makes the knight even more curious; this seems to be just as much about Merlin as it did Arthur’s parents.

The Prince moves his gaze—and his sword—to be pointed at The King once more, and he takes a deep breath before forcing the words from his mouth:

“You used magic, against my mother’s will, so that you could conceive. Is this true?”

Uther huffs angrily, gaze dashing to the other two men before it settles on Arthur again:

“This is preposterous, Morgause has lied to you.”

Leon is practically holding his breath at the side of the room; he can clearly tell that Arthur is moments away from striking his own father down, but does he interfere? Does he let it happen? And he still has no clue what’s bothering Merlin so much, other than the obvious pain in his hand.

Arthur takes slow steps towards Uther, inching the blade closer and closer to his throat:

“You are the one that’s lying. You started a genocide because you insisted on blaming magic for your own mistakes, and that’s not even the worst thing you did.-”

Arthur lets out an incredulous laugh, and Uther takes a step back as Leon tenses and Merlin stays blank:

“-I had a brother, a twin born with magic. You were too much of a coward to admit your mistakes but too much of a hypocrite to stick to your convictions, so you sent him away instead of killing him.-”

Uther goes pale, taking another stumbled step back as Leon’s eyes go wide, his gaze jumping to Merlin with a sudden, dreaded clarity.

(Perhaps Leon had picked up on Merlin’s magic a few months ago, and perhaps he had come to the conclusion that the younger man was the best protector Arthur could have.)

“-Do you even know his name? Mother said you would likely refuse to use it, but do you even know what it is?!”

Uther quickly regains his anger, his fury snapping into place as he gestures threateningly and thunders:

“It was an abomination! A creature of magic that destroyed your mother and almost tainted you! I should have slaughtered it where it lay-”

Merlin takes in a sudden breath at his words and Leon clenches his jaw; itching to comfort the younger man, but knowing that he wouldn’t exactly be welcomed right now. He’s meant to be here as an impartial third party.

Arthur throws his gauntlet down before Uther can finish his aggressive assertion, and Merlin gulps, moving properly for the first time since he’d entered the room. He grabs Arthur’s arm and pulls him back slightly:

“Arthur you can’t, he’s your... he’s The King.”

Arthur glances to him:

“I don’t care, he took you from me, he had no right.-”

He looks back to Uther, who is now staring at Merlin with a shocked venom. No one notices the way Leon quietly draws his sword; impartial his arse, he’d protect Arthur and Merlin to his dying breath:

“-You are the abomination, and you will pay for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve sent Myrddin, that’s his name by the way, further afield, perhaps I’d have been more inclined to keep you alive until I found him. Pick it up.”

Uther’s gaze doesn’t move from Merlin as his face grows redder and redder. He doesn’t look down to the gauntlet, nor does he look at Arthur, nor does he notice Leon creeping closer:

“You. You foul, hellish, beast!”

Without another second’s of hesitation, he lunges forward and draws his sword all in one move. Arthur reacts too slowly, not expecting The King to attack Merlin instead of him, and Uther pushes him out of the way, swinging the sword down harshly toward Merlin’s chest before Arthur can block him. Merlin is too shocked and angry and scared and upset to even think of using his magic, so just stumbles back helplessly, falling and landing harshly on his already broken hand, yelping slightly.

Before anyone can even blink, Leon is there, stood over Merlin with blazing eyes and his sword raised. He parries the King easily, and by the time Uther has processed one of his own knights turning against him, Merlin has scrambled back, injured arm held to his chest, and Arthur has moved to stand at Leon’s side, sword raised.

Uther can only stare in furious bewilderment, but it doesn’t take him long to concede that he has been outmatched. He calls for the guards, though once they’ve spilled into the room, six in total, they stutter to a confused stop when they see The Prince and The First Knight seemingly defending a servant (a well-loved, well-known servant), from The King.

Arthur, without looking away from Uther, speaks harshly, his voice controlled and forceful and, frankly, Kingly:

“Arrest The King and escort him to his rooms. Remove all weapons and bar the windows and doors, I want him under constant guard.”

Uther screeches angrily, both at Arthur’s words and the fact that the guards make no moves to detain The Prince and the knight, like he clearly wants. Before he can actually say anything, Arthur speaks again, his voice even louder than before, first to the guards:

“NOW!-”

And then back to Uther:

“-You will either be arrested for your crimes, both against our family name and humanity as a whole, or I will kill you where you stand.”

Uther tries his best to stare Arthur down, but there really is no competing with the fire in his eyes, and it only takes one short nod from Leon for the guards to step forward and confiscate The King’s sword before they pull his arms around his back and push him towards the door. He digs his heels in and begins screeching again, though they can only make out the odd word, it’s mostly just “BETRAYAL!” and “SORCERY!” and “HOW DARE YOU!”. Arthur pulls Merlin to his feet gently, frowning at his purple wrist and knuckles before sighing and rolling his eyes, nodding to Uther and muttering, just loud enough for Merlin and Leon to hear:

“I don’t suppose you could do something about that, could you?”

Merlin looks shocked, but huffs out a gentle laugh when Arthur just raises his eyebrow in question. He looks to Uther just as the guards struggle to open the door, muttering a quiet spell under his breath, his eyes flashing golden. Leon takes in a slow breath at the obvious display of sorcery; he’d been constantly on edge since he discovered Merlin’s talent, desperately fearful that someone would find out. Thankfully, the guards are entirely focused on the task at hand.

Uther quickly goes quiet, his head drooping, and Arthur grimaces as the guards struggle to hold his sudden dead weight. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing aloud when they turn to him with questioning looks; he just nods and gestures regally for them to keep going.

Soon, the room is quiet again, only the three men remaining. Leon looks between them apprehensively but Arthur just takes a fortifying breath before focusing his attention on Merlin’s arm, holding it gently in front of him and frowning worriedly:

“I’m guessing you haven’t gotten any better at healing magic since the arrow incident?”

Merlin scoffs and rolls his eyes:

“That wasn’t my fault, you’re the one that yanked it out of my shoulder and left the damn head in. And for your information, yes actually, I’ve been practicing. But I really think we have more important things to deal with at the moment, like the fact that the council is going to freak out when they find out you had The King arrested.”

Arthur shakes his head, giving Merlin a firm look:

“Merls, I just found out that you’re my twin brother, you are the important thing right now. Heal your hand, I don’t care how long it takes. Leon will take care of the council until we get there.”

He looks pointedly to Leon, and the knight nods, clearing his throat with a confused frown as he replies:

“What... uh... what would you like me to tell them, My Lord? Before your arrival? And where would you like them?”

Arthur smiles, grateful that Leon knows to take cues from him, knows what to focus on, knows that he is being trusted:

“Take them to the Throne Room. Tell them that Uther has been forcibly removed from the throne, that I have discovered the existence of my magical twin brother, whom I intend to have announced as Crown Prince within the week, and that I plan to legalise magic.”

Merlin, already pale and shaky, flinches, starting up with a “But I don’t want-” but Arthur cuts him off with a harsh, though fond glare, looking back to Leon to see the knight’s face shocked and pale. He purses his lips, before humming thoughtfully and speaking again:

“Actually... that probably wouldn’t be for the best. Just inform them that it’s an emergency, reassure them we haven’t started a war or anything, and tell them I’ll be arriving shortly.”

Leon visibly relaxes and nods, giving Merlin a soft smile and ruffling his hair quickly before striding from the room. Merlin huffs at the affection, but Arthur can tell he’s secretly pleased and copies Leon’s fond smile. Merlin looks to him confusedly:

“Why will the council have to wait? It’ll only take a few moments to heal myself.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, nodding at Merlin’s hand pointedly and crossing his arms as if he were expecting failure. Merlin just rolls his eyes before looking down to his injury and muttering a few words, grimacing as his knuckles realign, and the bruise recedes. It doesn’t disappear completely, but the bones and deeper muscle tears have obviously repaired themselves, and Merlin looks very proud of himself as he looks back to Arthur:

“That’s the best I can be bothered to manage-”

Arthur huffs disapprovingly but knows he isn’t going to get any better than that:

“-so why are the council waiting?”

Arthur sighs, putting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and leading him to the door:

“Well, you look one stiff breeze away from keeling over, and I imagine you’ll want to speak to Gwaine?”

Merlin looks to him suspiciously, but allows Arthur to lead him through the castle towards where Gwaine was almost certainly pacing worriedly in his rooms:

“I thought you didn’t approve of Gwaine?”

Arthur grins wolfishly:

“Oh, I don’t, especially now that I know that you’re a Prince, and my brother, but it’s my duty as the oldest to threaten him more than I already have.”

Merlin stops suddenly in the corridor and pulls Arthur back:

“Hang on a minute you prat, first off, when have you ever threatened Gwaine? And second, who said you’re the oldest?”

Arthur’s smile just grows and he grabs Merlin’s uninjured wrist to start pulling him down the corridor again:

“Literally the day I found out he was attempting to court you, which was about a month before you figured it out by the way,-”

Merlin grumbles, but doesn’t argue:

“-and I’m the oldest because I said so, and mother said naming you was... was one of the last things she did, so you obviously came out second, idiot.”

Merlin rolls his eyes yet again, but doesn’t say anything as they come to a stop outside of Gwaine’s room. He takes a deep breath, and Arthur moves his hand up to his shoulder again, giving him a small smile and a supportive nod. 

The Warlock knocks on the door, and Gwaine opens immediately. The knight relaxes significantly when he sees that it’s the two of them back from God knows where, though he tenses again as his eyes run over them; he takes note of Merlin’s red eyes, injured wrist, and generally shaky demeanour. He also quickly catches on to the protective way Arthur is standing behind him, and the way The Prince’s loose hand shakes slightly with left over adrenaline.

Despite himself, Merlin relaxes and smiles when he sees Gwaine; with everything that had been going on he hadn’t really had a chance to think about how much he missed him, about how much he needed his support.

Gwaine pulls them into the room quickly, shutting the door behind him and turning around to see Merlin looking at him sheepishly, and Arthur staring at him with a predatory smile:

“What happened? Where have you been? Is everything ok?!”

~

End of Part 1!!

Hope y’all enjoyed this!! I probably could’ve fitted more in, but I figured this was a good point to stop. Part 2 and 3 are out (link @ top), part 4 won’t be too long!!

Drop comments and things lads, I love y’all!!

[desthesleepdeprivedwriter]

A Winter's Ball

Day 1 of the Fundywastaken week

Hosted by @fundyfiles

Fundy didn’t really like balls.

They always demanded so much energy. How to behave correctly, how to dress, how to look, how much time you have to be there, how to dance, how to eat, and the list goes on and on.

So, when his father told him that they would have a Winter’s Ball hosted at their palace, the only thing Fundy was happy about was that he wouldn’t have the trouble to behave during the trip. And he could steal food from the kitchens without big troubles. Definitely the best outcome.

What didn’t he like about the situation? The ball was only to welcome some far kingdom stupid king and his court. Which means he would have to be placed as some dumb mannequin right beside the rest of the family AND be forced to oblige his younger uncle to behave. Great. So. Fucking. Great.

Fundy did his best to pretend to not be bothered while testing his clothes, but his ears pressed against his head and tail wrapped around his leg really didn’t help his case. His father knew him way too well, so he just sighed and approached his only and annoyed son.

“C’mon, Fundy. Don’t be like that.” Wilbur tried, smiling a little. Fundy just rolled his eyes, now looking up. “Like what? You know I hate balls.” “I know, but you’re a prince! Part of the-” “Part of the great Antarctic Empire. Ok, I know that. It doesn’t mean I have to like this bureaucratic bullshit.”

Wilbur shaked his head, usually the talk wasn’t this bad. “Fundy, what’s wrong this time?”

“....It’s the prince.”

“The prince? You only met him once, Fundy!”

“He was a snobby asshole!”

“He was ten!”

“Imagine now, with 21!” Fundy huffed again, ears perking up and a slight growl in his voice, only getting a weak slap due to his behavior.

“Deal with it, Fundy. You will be the host of the ball, and you supposedly have some royal manners.”

"Fine. But, if he acts like a bitch, I'll bite his face off."

Wilbur ended up smiling with that, huffing his son's orange hair. "You sound just like your mother. She also hated this royal stuff."

"Wasn't she also the one who stole your gold when you were 18?" Fundy poked, knowing that story like the back of his hand.

"My gold and my heart." Wilbur half sang, he had a song written with that exact lyrics.

Fundy pushed his dad away, ending the talk by saying he would do his best, and went back to testing his clothes.

The ball came, and Fundy wished he had run away the day before it.

There he stayed, right beside Tommy and his royal hyperactivity, both of them not wanting to be there, pretending to be some good behaved family.

The northerner king and her court entered the large ball venue, people complimenting them as they passed by. The king was a sheep hybrid, and the people said she used to be king of the pirates before being declared king. Her name was Puffy, and her kids were named Foolish, Dream and Michelle, and, as far as Fundy knew, all adopted.

That's why Fundy didn't even bother to look at them, focusing on his friend Niki talking with Eret, or Tubbo and Jack Manifold quietly snatching food from the table.

Fundy waited for the moment his grandpa, Emperor Philza, went to compliment King Puffy and he quietly left his place, followed by Tommy. Which one went in a different direction, and Fundy was the lucky one to be stopped by Technoblade.

"Where are you going?" He asked, voice low.

"I was bored, and I have a sweet!"

Fundy took out a chocolate treat wrapped in plastic from his pocket, putting it on Technoblade's hand and quickly moving away before he could stop him. "Love ya, Uncle Techno!"

Fundy walked fast, zigzagging around the corridors and halls, finally ending up on a cool and quiet balcony. The stars were shining in the night sky and the snow started to slowly fall. It was pretty, and calm.

Well, at least for a while.

Someone also walked in, and they both stared at each other in surprise. The other man was blond and had green piercing eyes. The bottom half of his face was covered by a white scarf, probably due to the cold.

"Uh… how did you end up here?" Fundy asked, since he was in one of the furthest points from the ballroom.

"I got lost, this place is huge." The boy said, voice muffled by the scarf. He placed himself right besides Fundy, side-eyeing the fox. "Wait, aren't you one of the princes? I saw you there."

"Yeah…" Fundy said, kinda annoyed. "Prince Fundy, not at your service."

This made the boy laugh, and Fundy noticed the reptilian-like pupils dilated a little. This guy was a reptile hybrid, no doubt why he was suffering with the temperature, it must be hard to be cold-blooded.

“Damn, are you always this harsh with people?”

Fundy actually held himself back this time, noticing that he was kinda aggressive with the poor guy. “Sorry, I was just stressed. Balls aren’t my thing.”

“What, you can’t dance?” The guy mocked, leaning towards Fundy.

“I am actually a great dancer, smartass. But there’s this other court here and I’ll have to probably talk with this other prince… He is an idiot.”

“What?” The guy almost looked offended. “Why?”

“He is a snob. I’ve met him before, I was a kid, but I can feel when the vibe is wrong.”

“And….” The guy tried to make his way, nervously hitting the balcony. “Can’t you give him another chance?”

“For that, I’d have to go down to the ballroom, and act like a prince. Won’t do that, I hate to behave.”

“I can see that, you don’t act all prince-y like.”

Fundy scuffed, laughing a little. “If you actually knew what it is like to be part of this family, you’d know it's not that glamorous.” The guy sympathetically nodded, letting Fundy talk. “Dad is so annoying, and he wants me to be the perfect prince. Tommy always get away with his antics, while I just get fucked.”

“Wow, dirty mouth.”

“Wow, boring.”

They stared at each other, a spark of challenge between two boys that apparently never met before.

“Me? Boring?” Fundy nodded, taking out another sweet from his pocket and eating without ceremony. “I can prove I’m not.”

Fundy raised an eyebrow, curiosity being his fatal flaw. “I’ll bite it, how?”

The other man fixed his clothes and stole the rest of the threat Fundy left on the balcony taking out the scarff just to eat the chocolate.. “Dance with me, I can prove balls aren’t that bad.”

For once, Fundy hesitated.

It was a guy he never met before, but now he was staring at mischievous and challenging green eyes and a smirk that made him feel something. His breath condensed in the cold air almost as smoke. A dragon hybrid, where he met a dragon before?

“C’mon, Fundy… The fox doesn’t bite?” And there it was, the last push. Fundy should think before going into this stuff.

But it was too late to think, Fundy taking the hand offered by the mysterious guy and feeling only the heat of a challenge.

“Bet accepted.”

And now, Fundy was in the middle of the dance.

The guy pulled Fundy close, taking the lead of the dance, and they spinned around the floor, in the middle of other people. Fundy could see Niki surprisingly staring at him, Tommy saying something behind his back, and his uncle Techno eating a threat like the one Fundy bribed him with. But his focus was in his moves, eager to prove that he was a great dancer.

He stole the control of the dance in the middle of a spin, and, for a moment, he saw the dragon slightly blushing, but he kept dancing.

The control shifted, and shifted, and they lost count. Both were in charge of the dance. It was funny, and Fundy was actually enjoying himself for once. Songs passed one after the other, and they kept enjoying themselves.

Fundy only stopped after seeing his grandfather approaching, right besides the northerner king. Fundy and the guy stopped dancing, making a small reverence to the two monarchs.

“Oh, I’m glad to see you two are getting along!” King Puffy said, a relieved smile on her face just to match the surprise on Philza’s. “I was worried that I’d have to, hm, calm down some conflict.”

Fundy was confused, or at least he wanted to be, because the reveal of what was going on already happened in his brain,and he didn’t want to acknowledge that.

“Don’t worry, dad, me and Prince Fundy got along just fine.” The guy said, and Fundy ignored the fact he knew his name. No. It couldn’t be him.

“Great, Dream. I’m going to need you to come with me. Can you?” She asked, in a really sweet tone.

“Okay, let me just end this talk with Fundy.”

Both the Antarctic Emperor and the northerner King nodded and walked away, Philza still looking back to Fundy.

“Well, I have to go.”

Prince Dream held Fundy’s hand, planting a kiss on the back of it. “I hope I didn’t bore you”. The dragon hybrid smirked one last time to Fundy and left, disappearing between the crowd.

Behind, only a flustered prince with a fast beating heart, convinced of how much of a prick that stupidly beautiful northerner prince was.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.), Part XXVII (A Tale’s End)

I would have walked away from this story (forever) a very long time ago if it weren’t for the constant and unwavering support of @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed. They have held my hand through this – through my tantrums, through my protestations that I didn’t know what I was doing, and through the times I begrudgingly admitted that I actually like the end of product. This story is dedicated to them and to their friendship. This has been a ride, and writing it has been an endurance contest. My gratitude to everyone who has read this, liked it, reblogged it, favorited it, or sent me a message. This is the end. I hope you enjoy. xx.

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations | Part VII: Magnolias | Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market | Part XVII: Stables | Part XVIII: Alarms | Part XIX: Visitor | Part XX: Cuffed | Part XXI: A Woman’s Speech | Part XXII: The Harlot Queen | Part XXIII: Rarer | Part XXIV: Balmoral & London | Part XXV: The Ring | Part XXVI: Baile na Coille

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.) Part XXVII: A Tale’s End

Claire’s limbs were leaden, and yet she rose from the bed.

Fraser’s sleepy noises (ones she teased sounded Scottish) were missing, and his long, even breaths had risen from bed with him.

In the absence of his noises, it was quiet, too quiet.

The scent of him (sage and clove) was like a mislaid memory (an empty space where it had been tucked against her nape), and the duvet was cool when she flopped one arm over into the bedding.

She already knew that Jamie was gone.

She rose and slipped into her dressing gown before making her way down the hall. Her feed had carried her down the halls on many nights, her arms clutching their colicky bairn and tracing a path that she had hoped (usually in vain) would soothe her.

She did not bother to flick on a single light switch.

In London, the underbelly of their home was always in motion. The clamor of it all made her mind whir, her eyes rebel in the night to focus on the ceiling, and her fingers clutch to insomnia.

At Balmoral, the quiet was like another layer of skin, and the stillness went to the center of her bones.

Scotland.

It was here that Claire had demanded they spend their one-week honeymoon before setting off on a tour of the Commonwealth’s various holdings.

It had been in Fraser’s cabin that they spent their one-week honeymoon, her body feeling like the crescendo of a symphony under his hands and lips. Idly tracing the conch-shaped curve of his bared hip bone, Claire wondered aloud whether the walls of the cabin would keep their secrets. Turning his new wife gently onto her back (“my Queen” – a breathless, almost-whimper on his lips) and rising over her, Fraser had touched her belly and kissed the space between the clotheslines of her clavicles. Breathlessly, he asked her to commit that when they spoke, it would only be truth.

There was room for secrets, but no lies.

She had agreed, just as breathlessly, and he held her hand as he kissed down her body, glancing up her sternum before closing his mouth over her.

It was here that Claire had demanded they spend their first months as a family of three.

On the same bed from which she had just risen, she had given birth to an heir.

It had been the last thing on her mind.

They had been married for six months.

With Jamie’s hand crushed in hers, and his sister mopping sweat from her forehead (a bond she quietly conceded once reminded her of her own sister), their baby came into the world.

With a final push, an immense feeling of relief flooded her. She felt light, like her body was no longer being twisted in opposite directions by a molten-hot vice, as though the weight of an entire kingdom was not bearing down on her pelvis.

The relief was short lived.

Claire’s arms quaked under the effort of pulling herself fully upright. She breathed for a moment, trying to keep her inhalations even.

The part of her that was relieved was rapidly giving way to a gnawing panic.

Brows furrowing as the umbilical cord was clipped, her eyes darted from Jamie to the doctor who had attended the birth and back again.

“One final push,” the midwife who had been there throughout her labor said, stepping in as the doctor turned away.

“Ye did it,” her husband breathed, only tearing his eyes from his wife’s face to look at the silent bundle in the midwife’s hands.

“No…” Claire breathed, the weight that had been bearing down on her lower half suddenly in her chest, expanding and contracting, wheedling its way into the space between her bones and her organs. “No.”

“A nighean–” Jamie started, but she shook her head.

“Tell me it’s okay. That the baby...”

He said nothing, his hand closing over the cap of her shoulder as he craned his neck.

His breaths were short, dry, shallow.

Her voice was imploring as she snapped, “Jamie. I can’t… if the baby is… tell me that-”

And then the wailing came.

A desperate, fevered, cold yowl that sounded almost inhuman. It would not stop, and she prayed that it never would as long as it meant that their baby (mysterious, puckered, purple, blood-covered) would suck in breath after life-sustaining breath.

“The bairn…” Jamie started, immediately fading away as his voice cut.

“She’s just fine, mam,” Jenny laughed, gently moving a soft cloth over the birth-slicked baby. Claire had nodded, still feeling the nagging tug of uncertainty in her belly until she saw the bundle move from Jenny’s arms to Jamie’s.

She lowered herself back to the pillows stacked behind her back, sighing and thanking God.

Julianna Alexandra Elizabeth Faith, the heir apparent and tiniest member of the royal House of Beauchamp, was perfect – ten fingers, ten toes, button nose, cap of jet-black hair, earlobes with skin as soft as velvet, and the smallest bow of a mouth.

She barely heard the words that followed.

Blood.

The commands.

Back up.

The pleas.

She has to be okay. Ye dinna ken, she’s everything.

Their perfect daughter had torn her spectacularly, and just twenty minutes after giving birth in their bedroom, Claire was transported to the hospital, where she went into surgery for hours and stayed for six nights.

It was behind her now, left in some small hospital retrofit to make way for a postpartum queen. What remained was Balmoral – the place where she could ensconce herself in the history of her lineage as she wrote the history of her own family.

She could live here in Scotland.

As a wife.

As a mother.

As a woman, above all else.

Try as she did, she never felt that way in London.

The easiness of this place. The way that it felt like home, even though her accent was a reminder that it had not always been her home.

On this night, a little over six months after the birth of Julianna, she heard Jamie before she saw him.

His voice was low, a mix of Gaelic and English. All of his words blurred together.

As carefully as possible, she toed the door open another inch and leaned against the doorframe.

“She’s a braw one, yer mam.” He was shirtless, but shrouded in a plaid on the chaise at the center of the sitting room just outside their suite. Flames popped and crackled in the hearth, small bursts of sparks spiraling up and up as the fattest log broke in two. “Ye should’ve seen her, laborin’ wi’ ye. She’s a fearsome thing, ye ken. Ye didna make it easy on her, refusin’ to come out… she was so set on meetin’ ye.”

Claire mopped away the stinging in her eyes with the hem of her robe.

“I didna ken if I could love something as much as I love ye, mo chridhe, but seein’ ye, it’s as if a piece of my own heart, my brain, and my wame lives outside me. I felt it the moment yer mam told me that ye were in her belly. Above all, I kent I must protect ye both, and I will. Until the day I no longer draw breath.”

Claire’s own breath was coming ragged now, listening to him. She had not expected to feel so different in the aftermath of the easy pregnancy and long labor.

To feel as though her emotions were like a balloon on the end of a long string, floating high above her head at all times. As though the slightest breeze could shift them, change her entire existence.

“And someday, when ye’re no’ a bairn, we’ll share wi’ ye how ye surprised us, a leannan.”

Julianna let out the quietest coo that made Claire’s thighs and fingertips tremble. She wanted to take her baby in her arms, to have her close, to take comfort from the fact that her soft limbs were still warm, that her heavy head was held firmly in place by an increasingly-strong neck.

Out of hand, the doctor had dismissed the ebbs and flows of these moods as baby blues. Jamie, in turn, dismissed the doctor with no slight amount of outrage, demanding that someone with “the sense the good lord gave a turnip” help his wife.

That the fog was not imagined. The sense of isolation she felt, even when surrounded by people, was not a matter of someone just being around for her more. The feeling of disconnection from their baby was not a function of being Queen.

Sticking a finger into the doctor’s paunch, Jamie had hissed that the Queen (“my fucking wife”) would not be so dismissed, that if he refused to help, they would find someone who could, who would.

Jamie was a hands-on father, and she was grateful for it. Even with all of the help her status (their shared status) could bring, he made himself present. He rose with her in the night, brought her warm compresses when she shed tears over engorged breasts and cracking nipples. He changed diapers with little more protest than a wrinkled nose at the spectacular streaks of shit that would somehow paint themselves up their daughter’s spine. And he did what he could in the darker days just to be near, even if it meant holding Claire’s hand in the dark and wiping away her seemingly sourceless tears.

But the fog had started to lift, the haze in Claire’s eyes becoming less impenetrable.

Just weeks earlier, she said she was ready to ride again.

And they did.

They picnicked at night, after dark when the baby nurse had assured them she was quite alright.

He plucked roses from the garden to tuck behind her ears.

They stole kisses with her back gently pressed against trees or with his on a picnic blanket, her rounded hips cupped by his hands as she tentatively reintroduced the friction of her body to his.

And one evening a few nights later, when he had looked away for only a minute before turning back, his wife was slipping free of her blouse, her curls wild and her smile wide as she unclasped her bra.

That night, with the sounds of summer as the backdrop and the late-night-Scottish-dusk just descending into dark, they made love in the stables, their bodies joining for the first time in months. He took his time, asked her again and again if she was sure, if she was ready. When she winced, he stopped. She shook her head, then nodded with a sigh as he began to move inside of her with an almost-exquisite tenderness. They were cautious with each other, circumspect, as though either might be broken by a hurried touch or indelicate mouths. Utterly besotted by one another’s bodies and the way intimacy felt familiar, comfortable, and lived in.

At the scene in front of her, just days after their reconnection, Claire swallowed hard, silently begging her eyes to dry out. She had shed enough tears in the last six months to last a lifetime.

“Ye wanted to be in our wedding, so ye nested yerself early in yer mam’s belly, ye fierce wee thing. We’ll show ye the pictures. The day I married yer mam is the happiest day of my life... second only to the day that I met her…” At that, Julianna let out the lowest little whimper of a cry, and Jamie tut-tutted for a moment, then continued, “Her fat arse was leanin’ over the gate in the stable, and I couldna stop smiling.”

“Hey,” Claire breathed in feigned exasperation, stepping fully into the room. “My arse was not that fat, and I quite enjoyed our wedding day. Also, I’ll thank you not to teach the heir to the throne such things.”

“I kent ye were there,” Jamie said as he looked over, humming. “I have a hunter’s senses for yer presence, a nighean.”

Claire pursed her lips, rolling her eyes as she strode the rest of the way across the sitting room. Carefully, she took the bundle from his arms. “I think this wee girl’s nighttime garbling, and our resultant insomnia, are enough to dull even the most astute tracker’s senses.”

Jamie lifted the edge of his plaid, allowing Claire to slip in beneath its warm folds. She centered herself between his legs, leaning against his bare chest as she carefully slipped one bare breast through the neckline of her robe. Jamie’s hand rested loosely on her waist, his fingers flexing for just a moment as Julianna’s lips parted then closed around Claire’s nipple. Claire stiffened for a moment, then relaxed backwards into his chest. Julianna left one soft palm to rest just above Claire’s heart.

Closing her eyes, one hand cupped behind Julianna’s head and one on the baby’s soft bum, Claire whispered, “Tell me about the wedding. What would you tell her?”

“Our wedding?”

Claire opened her eyes and craned her head back just enough that he could see her roll her eyes. “Whose wedding do you think I want to hear about?”

“Jenny’s maybe?” he posited, eyes crinkling at the corners as her shoulders bounced with hardly-contained laughter.

The baby’s mouth slipped free and an impressive stream of milk sprayed her cheeks. Jamie and Claire’s laughter was cut short by the soft, threatened grumble of their bairn. It was a precursor to a cry from the suddenly quite-crabby Julianna. With the baby gently mopped up, and returned to her middle-of-the-night suckling, Jamie began to recount the wedding day. By then, Julianna had one eye half-closed, the other lazily roving around in an utterly useless attempt to focus on something as she fed.

“I didna expect ye to look the way ye did. I kent ye’d be beautiful, of course, but I thought somehow ye’d be someone else’s bride, ye ken? That ye’d be dolled up for a ceremony. A queen prepared for a royal wedding – no’ for our wedding – but there ye were. Ye were as bonnie as I’d ever seen ye… as bonnie as I thought I’d ever see ye. At least until I saw ye like this… wi’ our bairn at yer breast, and Christ, I dinna ken what I did to have such a rare woman love me.”

She felt warmth flood her cheeks, the tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. Bloody Scot. “You looked pretty handsome yourself in that uniform that I knew you did not want to wear.”

A long hum came from him, the vibration beginning low in his chest and making her own body vibrate.

The wedding was not the ordinary royal nuptials in ways that went even further than the fact that she was carrying the heir to the throne.

The dress she wore was light, modern, and cut just right to conceal their secret. Together, they had carefully wrapped it in tissue and tucked it away at his cabin. So it wouldn’t end up in some stuffy museum with a bland placard, she explained as she rose on tiptoes to push it to the back of a closet.

They married in candlelight, with a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the gardens at Balmoral in her hand.

She wore Jamie’s ring, and for some reason she was not at all surprised when her hand did not tremble as he slid it over her knuckle and let his fingers linger on the band for a moment. Her own voice was low as she slipped a band of gold down his finger, whispering the words back to him that he had said to her.

I give you this ring, James Fraser, as a sign of our marriage and mutual trust, our love and our promise to care for one another over all others.

The papers could scoff all they wanted, muse over what a slap in the face it was to the Commonwealth she headed. To give away power, a piece of her divine right.

Nevertheless, she gave herself to him, just as he gave himself to her. She had done it long before that moment, long before the promise concluded.

This day. All of the days we have remaining.

Julianna grunted, released, and whimpered the start of a gut-wrenching, milky cry before latching on again with only the slightest encouragement. This time, both of her eyes closed and her hand fell to a tiny, balled fist above her brows.

“She has a tooth coming in,” Jamie whispered, his hand slipping up Claire’s arm and coming to rest on her shoulder.

“Trust me,” Claire murmured. “I can feel the bloody thing.”

Claire allowed her eyes to close, her attention somehow equally split between her husband’s even breathing and the gentle suckling at her breast. She felt Jamie tuck her hair behind her ear and kiss her temple.

“Ye’re a braw queen, mo nighean donn, but ye’re more than that. Sae much more.”

She wet her lips and turned her head, slowly shifting the now-sleeping bundle in her arms. “Is this what you thought it would be, Fraser?” There was no tentativeness in her voice – it was as though she already knew the answer, but just wanted to hear him say it. “Your life here... with me?”

Humming, his hand skimmed down her upper arm, cupped her elbow, and then found its way to her fingers. His palm covered her hand, and his fingers brushed the narrow expanse of their baby’s lower back.

“Ye helped me come back to life, Sassenach. All that time after the war, I was dead. I didn’t ken it then, but I loved ye then. Before I met ye.”

Running a finger along Julianna’s cheek and tucking her breast back into her robe, Claire whispered, “I loved you both before I met you. You brought me to life, Fraser. I always will love you.”

Fraser shifted, his stubbled cheek against hers as he wound an arm around his queen’s waist and drew her closer.

“So long as my body lives, and yours—we are one flesh,” he whispered. The magnolias at Balmoral smelled like zested citrus and honey. The scent was in the air along with the smoke from the fire Jamie started. Julianna cooed quietly and nestled her face against Claire’s breast, her lips having gone slack. “And when my body shall cease, my soul will still be yours. Claire—I swear by my hope of heaven, I will not be parted from you.”

Claire closed her eyes, the feeling of his rising and falling chest against her back and that of their baby on her own chest.

This was her beginning.

The End

[scottymcgeesterwrites]

Final Fantasy XV Review

Year: 2016

Original Platform: PlayStation 4

Also available on: PC (Steam), XBox One

Version I Played: PlayStation 4

Here we go. The final Final Fantasy review of the main single-player games. I just want to say, first off, we’ve been waiting for this game since 2006. It took them ten damn years to finally release this game. I clearly remember the teaser trailer they released when it was called Final Fantasy XIII Versus, and my next-door neighbor and I were so hyped for this game when we were freaking teenagers. After years of delays, Square Enix revamped it into Final Fantasy XV.

Did it live up to the wait? Well, read and find out.

Synopsis:

Noctis Lucis Caelum is the heir to the throne of the kingdom of Lucis. On his birthday, he sets off with his three best friends and bodyguards (Ignis, Prompto, Gladio) to marry his betrothed, Lunafreya. The marriage is supposed to be a political one, though Noct and Lunafreya had grown up together and become fond of each other. But peace turns to war as the empire of Niflheim betrays Insomnia and invades. Noct, now on the run, has to reclaim his right to the throne by collecting the necessary family heirlooms which will banish the darkness.  

Gameplay:

Open-world Final Fantasy.

That is the big selling point for this game. 

A MASSIVE step up from Final Fantasy XIII’s gameplay, Final Fantasy XV has you roaming around and attacking enemies on the field in real time. The battle system returns to something slightly more conventional by having you cast spells and use items. It seems like this is what Square really intended to do after Final Fantasy XII. Looking back, Final Fantasy XIII feels like some prototype before Final Fantasy XII, so it really becomes apparent that Final Fantasy XIII’s gameplay comes off as a huge mistake.

This game’s major’s strength comes from the player engaging with a massive world. You camp. You take on hunts. You take on a bajillion sidequests. You run across the world. You drive across the world. You can ride a chocobo across the world.

However, the dip in the gameplay comes from how easily accessible these sidequests are. The map tells you exactly where you go 24/7. I started to have an existential crisis around my 50th sidequest in a row. Why am I doing this? What’s the point? I go here to kill a thing, or go there to help someone by giving a potion or taking a picture. You start to realize that a good bulk of sidequests are either hunting daemons or fetching an item. You start to deconstruct the meaning of playing a video game as you think to yourself, “Why do I play video games?” while also thinking “But wait, one more and then I swear I’m done.”.

I get it, not everyone has the time nowadays to figure out a huge game like this. I get it, video games are now marketed to everyone for ease. At the same time, I personally love a good challenge. I mean, I’m the guy who has Dark Souls as one of his favorite video games of all time, so my opinion on the matter might definitely be skewered compared to most. I generally want to feel like I actually figured something out by myself rather than following a tracker on the screen and walking from task to task and then saying, “Okay done. Next.”.

Too much of that and playing a video game starts to feel like a 9 to 5 job to me. This game is great to play during quarantine, but at one point I saw playing this game as feeling like an actual job. Wake up, eat breakfast, time to hunt some daemons.

This is the growing conflict some people have with story-driven games versus open-world games. I see the argument focused too much on words like “linear”, but in reality we should be talking about “automation”. If a video game is too automated, then did you really play a video game? Or did you watch a movie that allows you to control the camera angle? At first, the idea of driving around an open-world Final Fantasy game sounds amazing. Isn’t that what fans always dreamed of? In reality, you don’t really drive around at your leisure. Even when you have the car set to “manual”, you can’t speed up, drive off-road, or pull off a sick drift like in The Fast and the Furious. Your car still automatically stays on the road wherever you’re going. It’s not so much “manual” as it is “I can control where and when to stop and which road to take”. Riding chocobos at your leisure is much more fun, but becomes increasingly impractical as you can just fast-travel to necessary locations in your car.

The sights and sounds of the fictional world of Eos are enough to gloss over these shortcomings though. It IS still fun to roam around and fight monsters and save the day. My bottom line is, “You don’t think about just how mindless the tasks are unless you keep playing for many days straight.”. And I poured hours into this game day after day because of the 2020 pandemic quarantine.

Graphics:

Obviously the best thus far. However, in-game facial expressions on the NPCs are still quite stilted and awkward. This game made me realize that we’ve yet to jump a hurdle when it comes to in-game graphics. The game is so polished but there are still limitations when it comes to giving the characters natural movements, both in body and lips. So an NPC could be shouting “WOW THAT’S AMAZING!” but have a straight face jumping up and down, despite the fact that the character model is the most realistic we’ve created so far in a video game. I was looking back at in-game cutscenes of Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, and found it ironic that they can portray body movements so much better, but that’s the trade-off. Less graphics power to portray realistic bodies, but the graphics power can then be allocated to focus on natural movements. Nowadays, all the graphics power is focused on making things look good, but that hardly leaves room for making things move naturally.

Story:

After the overly-complicated plotline of Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XV feels like a breath of fresh air. On the surface, it’s a straightforward tale of a boy seeking to become a king after his father is brutally murdered by enemy forces. The bromance between the young king and his bodyguards is endearing. Each character feels distinct and genuinely makes you laugh. The setup sounds like prime real estate for an emotionally charged storyline.

Unfortunately, it falls apart somewhere around the last quarter. What should have been a strong and straightforward story turned into a rushed, hasty mess by the final act.

The story started SO strong, they practically had it in the bag, but then it became apparent that many important elements were glossed over - especially when it came to the main villain. I realized that some things required me to read between the lines, or even were only explained in character dossiers in the archive section of the menu. Supposedly, the movie Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV explains more, but do you really expect me to have to watch a separate movie to understand the actual game? The final quarter of the story feels like someone was trying to finish NaNoWriMo, realized they were running out of time, and quickly jumped from scene to scene to reach that 50k word goal. The ten-year time-skip is a joke. The final chapter is sorely disappointing.

The ending was appropriate though, and even beautiful. However, the overall story didn’t have the necessary emotional weight to really make me feel anything. I thought to myself, “I feel like I should be tearing up but instead I feel nothing.”. Even Final Fantasy XII, which lacked a romance, had me swelling up at the end. Final Fantasy XV didn’t make me swell up until literally the last few seconds of the post-credits scene.

People complained about the advertising (Coleman, Cup Noodles) but that didn’t bother me.

What does bother me is the lack of variety in the main cast, and in numerous ways. There were so many interesting side characters that didn’t receive much screen time, or use at all in the story. The strong focus on only the four male leads made it a sausagefest. I was craving more out of Aranea Highwind and Iris Amicitia. They are important but don’t get any screen time at all in the final chapter, nor do we ever hear from them ever again after the time-skip. Aranea Highwind was such a cool character, but once again ends up being wasted potential.

The main cast lacked distinctive styles. When I first saw the main cast, I had a hard time telling them apart. They looked like a k-pop band. Compare the main cast of Final Fantasy XV to literally any other Final Fantasy main cast and you can immediately spot the difference.

The four main leads do have distinct personalities, and I quite loved hearing their comments and banter. It felt realistic, but at times it became ridiculous. I rolled my eyes when Prompto would say things like, “Hashtag sorry not sorry.” That was a bit too on the nose, and came off as Square trying to pander to the current generation.

But what really rubbed me the wrong way is the incredible lack of non-white characters in the entire game. Lestallum feels so wrong to me as a Hispanic. Lestallum is supposed to be modeled after Havana, Cuba.

Its music, its buildings, its activities. It has a tropical climate, and yet every single denizen is pale white. Every. Single. One. I am not exaggerating. It feels so absolutely wrong walking around that city and not seeing anyone with the slightest shade of brown. This isn’t some uncalled-for SJW rant, it’s a simple fact. Tropical climates breed tanner skins. My brain naturally did a double-take when seeing the all-white population, saying, “Hmmm, something’s wrong here.”. For God’s sake, Final Fantasy XII, made over a decade earlier, did a better job at displaying the various nuances in skin tones, and that was on the PlayStation 2! Final Fantasy X, even older, seemed to properly portray tropical beach populations, inspired by the Philippines, with the character Wakka.

I noticed that they really took the time to incorporate elements from virtually every single Final Fantasy game. Aside from the crystals, the modern settings, and other obvious elements, four male leads are reminiscent of Final Fantasy III, the sinister chancellor hearkens back to Kefka from Final Fantasy VI, the enemy Yojimbo resembles Final Fantasy X’s version of Yojimbo, a certain boss battle reminded me of Cid Raines from Final Fantasy XIII.

Also, there’s Dino. Quite possibly the most annoying Final Fantasy NPC ever.

The overly obnoxious Italian stereotype made me want to punch his face, and also took me out of the experience of the fictional world. Every time you spoke with him he's all like "HEY HOW YOU DOIN WELCOME TO OLIVE GARDEN YOU TALKIN TO ME BADA BING BADA BOOM SPICY PIECE OF MEATBALL CAPISCE? AMIRITE??"

Square seemed to treat this game as a milestone in the series, alluding to everything the series ever did. It’s a shame that the story itself wasn’t quite up to snuff to be held in such regard.

Music:           

The game’s major lyrical song is copyrighted, which is a first for a Final Fantasy game. It makes sense why they chose the song “Stand by Me”, both in literal and figurative terms of the story.             

The score to this game is quite fantastic. The series has its first female composer, Yoko Shimomura. I have absolutely no complaints about the music. Nobuo Uematsu didn’t even pop into my head during the entire game. It’s the first time since Uematsu’s departure that I felt immersed in the score. The motifs are distinct and strong. The battle music is vibrant and an orchestral orgasm to listen to.    

Notable Theme:            

“Somnus”  

The main theme of the game. It plays right away in the main menu. I love how it is incorporated into the rest of the score, and my brain kept wanting to hear it to its completion.   

Direct Sequel?           

Nope. However, there is downloadable content that fills in the gap of events within the game. Supposedly, Final Fantasy XV is loosely connected to Final Fantasy XIII and Final Fantasy Type-O, all sharing common themes and possibly set in the same universe. You can also watch the prequel movie, Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV.

Did it Live up to the Hype?           

Eh.           

Yes, and no.            

It was cool to play around, but the rest is a flaccid attempt at being a notable entry in the series “for fans and first-timers”, as the words proudly display every time you load the game. It’s not the worst in the series, but certainly not the best. It’s somewhere in the mid-to-low tier.

[jaeminlore]

The Sun Shines in the Knight | Mark Lee

playlist

summary: golden, as i open my eyes. hold it, focus, hoping; take me back to the light. — golden, harry styles. / mark doesn't want to fall in love, but he doesn't want to be forgotten, either.

words: 4.05k+

category: knight!mark x gardener!reader, gender neutral reader, mark is on the ace/aro spectrum but idk how to label it, mark is in love with the sun.

warning(s): injuries, anxiety

a/n: this is lowkey inspired by me and my friend but its also taken a mind of it's own

The sun is the last think Mark sees on the battlefield. Just as his back hits the damp grass and his ears ring in the anticipation of a long nap (read: a concussion) he sees the sun pulse in his vision, brighter and brighter until he succumbs to his injury.

The sun is, coincidentally, the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the healer's room. There's a bandage around his bare torso to cover a particularly nasty blade wound, and a thin scab across his jaw. The only window in the room, high and arched, serves as a direct viewing of the sun in all of her glory. The rays warm his skin, and for a moment, he thinks about going back to sleep.

His head pounds when he closes his eyes, though, and he figures it'd be better to get up and force his blood to do some circulating.

The healer — Jaemin — isn't in the room, and so Mark decides he isn't under any important watch that would force him to stay cooped up all day.

He sits up, the anticipated curl of his spine sends an immediate zip of pain through his ribs, and Mark groans aloud, having forgot what a broken rib feels like. 

But the sun moves to his shoulders, and the feeling is euphoric, so he braves the pain in favor of visiting the garden. There has to be a hidden patch of grass somewhere, sun kissed and waiting to be slept upon.

Mark briefly pauses in his journey to take a detour into the kitchen, where he fills up a wooden cup with cool water directly from the pump. He drinks three full glasses before he decides he's properly hydrated, then he slowly makes his way to the back garden, side-stepping the noble children who run around the roses while their mothers attend afternoon tea.

The royal garden has many sections: a garden for the kitchen, where vegetables are grown, a flower garden for the royal florist, color coded for easy arrangements. There's an herbal garden just for Jaemin and his peers, for balms and potions alike. There's a fruit orchard too, but it's past the garden wall, closer to the abundance of the lake and the clear water it produces.

The garden wall itself is somewhat of a maze. While the outer is a high stone gate, made to keep intruders out, the following layers are made of thick shrubbery that are often clipped into different shapes. Then there are hedges, planted to be somewhat of a maze for privacy. It's often in the maze that nobles walk with their suitors, or where strategists discuss their, well, strategies.

Mark dives into the maze and searches for whatever empty landing he can find. After sidestepping a few appalled nobles (apparently a beaten-up knight dressed in nothing but bandages and cotton is not what one wants to see during tea time, but Mark doesn't exactly know where his shirt is, so) he finds a patch of clovers. The weeds are plentiful, and a bright emerald green that makes Mark feel happy for no reason. The sun shines down on the overgrown patch, and Mark realizes that the patch is already occupied by a small rabbit. It's a grey cottontail, one he's seen a few times in the garden. He's sure it belongs to one of the gardeners, or is at least comfortable enough with them to hang out so much. Mark knows rabbits don't particularly like people.

The rabbit in question is munching on a clover, it's little pink nose twitching as it does so. 

Mark decides that he'll risk it, so he approaches the patch anyways, and lies down on his back, letting the sun blanket him. 

(He can hear the rabbit's clicking as he falls asleep.)

-

"Oh, hi." It's your voice that wakes Mark up from his dreamless slumber. He's surprised to find that it's already sundown when he wakes, and his body is still just as weak as it was when he fell asleep. Maybe moreso now (what is Jaemin always chiding him for? Heat exhaustion?) At least he drank enough water to stay hydrated throughout everything.

It takes him a few moments to get reoriented with his surroundings. And finally, he remembers your presence; curves his neck to see where you've gone off to.

You're still there, in a shirt that's far too big for you. The collar nearly hangs off of your shoulder, showcasing your soil-stained collarbones. You're not paying attention to him anymore, not that Mark really expected you to.

You pick up the rabbit instead, chiding it in quiet an exasperated voice as you warn him about being in the sun for too long. (Maybe you and Jaemin would get along.)

"'M sorry," Mark mumbles out, stumbling over his dry mouth and his slow-to-rouse brain. He finally sits up, his ribs still screaming in protest, and he looks at you.

You gaze back at him, the grey rabbit snuggled close to your chest. You're not smiling. You look uncomfortable, if anything, and Mark hesitates to keep talking to you. 

But you speak first. "Why are you apologizing? You have every right to sleep outside."

The tone in your voice makes Mark feel warm inside. It's hardly judgmental, bordering between disconcertment and daring. There's hesitance in your words. Your voice wavers as you assure him he can hang out as long as he needs to, and Mark wonders if you're making up these rules for him, or for you.

"I should head back to Jaemin and get my bandages changed," he says matter-of-factly, like you care or asked.

"Okay." You blink at him, and although the sun is setting, Mark can still he it's reflection in your eyes. He wonders if you know that the sun is attracted to you.

(He thinks it'd be weird to ask. No one else thinks about the sun as much as him, so it might sound less like a compliment and more like a creepy overstep. Mark never wants to overstep.)

-

Getting back into training is harder than Mark thought it should be. Sure, it's been months, and his wounds have healed completely, but he still has visions of the battlefield, still gets anxious at the sound of a blade, and lately he's been longing for something more peaceful.

He's not trying to be selfish. Really, he loves knighthood. He loves protecting his kingdom and helping the innocent. It's all he ever wanted to do since he was young. And sure, he's gotten older and more solemn, but it doesn't change the fact that he's halfway there. He's still a young knight, just years past being a squire, and he still has so much to prove and so much to learn.

He absorbs information like a sponge. He practices his moves until daybreak, often slumping into his bed without so much as a bath or a meal to heal his aching bones. He does everything he can to please his captain and fellow teammates. The thought of their disappointment shatters him already. Anxiety floods his veins at the mere thought of them disapproving of his actions.

That's precisely why he doesn't tell anyone he's slowly breaking on the inside. It's nothing he can't handle. Nothing he hasn't been through before. Only this time it's not well hidden in the privacy of his bunk. This time it's starkly noticeable in the way he flinches at every swing of the blade, every clang of a shield against a suit, every shrill call to order from his captain.

He falls again, the sun both his enemy and closest friend as he's chided once again about the dangers of dehydration. 

His mouth is too dry to tell his captain that it isn't dehydration at all. It's anxiety, and the fear that this feeling is going to be his forever. He kind of wants to go to sleep and never wake up, but even that thought brings on shame.

He closes his eyes, feels the sun burn against his eyelids, and wills it to burn him up, if just to let him feel something.

-

You're in the clover patch again. Not again, because Mark hasn't seen you since the first time and it's been months, but again, because he sees you now, and the days blur so easily in his mind nowadays that he really feels like he just saw you yesterday.

You have a basket in your hand, and you're gathering bunches of clover with precise care, ignoring his presence. Mark figures you just don't hear him, but he sees your gaze flit to him and he realizes you're avoiding acknowledgment on purpose.

Mark supposed this is where he leaves. 

Only he doesn't, because he's drowsy beneath the afternoon sun, and this is the only place he can go where he won't be chided for his rash decisions.

(The sunburn on his chest is actually healing nicely, thank you very much.)

"What do you use so many clovers for?" He asks, eyes hesitant when they meet yours.

You look shocked that he's speaking to you. Not in an appalled way, but more like you expected him to ignore you altogether.

Mark doesn't want to ignore you; never really has. 

"Jaemin asked me to." So you already know Jaemin. "For cough syrup."

"Ah." Mark doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want you to think he's done talking to you, but he's horribly awkward at things like this. Talking. Friendship. Whatever is going on here.

"You fainted today," you say. "Maybe you shouldn't be out in the sun so much."

"Oh, it wasn't because of the sun," Mark amends. He sits down, away from the clover patch so he won't disrupt your progress. "I get anxious when I fight now. That's all."

"You were anxious enough to pass out?" You ask him, and then your voice gets lower as you seem to answer yourself, "Well yeah, I guess increased blood flow would make you pass out. That was stupid to ask."

"Not stupid," Mark says. He doesn't know what else to say though.

It's a weird in-between place of wanting to talk to you and having nothing to say. He decides maybe he should just dive into the deep end. "Ever since the last battle... it's been hard for me to keep up. I'm afraid of swords now, which shouldn't happen, but I guess something in my brain got triggered when I was wounded, and now swords connect with pain. They've always been connected with pain though, so it shouldn't be new. It's just new to me."

You hum. It's enough for Mark to know you listened. He thinks maybe you're good at listening, even if your only reply is a solemn hum. Then, "You can't help it if you have trauma in your life. It's expected since you're a knight, but don't push it down so much that you fall ill."

"Yeah." He says. "I won't."

(He doesn't. And sometimes he does. It really depends on the days, but he's trying, and somehow he thinks that's all you meant for him to do.)

-

Mark is always around so many people. He thinks about it on his birthday, when Jaemin takes him and all of his fellow knights to the nearby inn for drinks. Mark feels the numb sting of a person who has many companions but no one to confide in. He takes it in stride; always has, but it burns down his throat along with the whiskey.

He watches Johnny flirt with the innkeeper, and when the tall man comes back with keys to the nicest room, he gives them to Mark. A "Happy Birthday, man." on the top of his tongue.

Everyone howls, their minds going to dirty places, and Mark has to quiet them down by saying he doesn't want to have sex tonight. Or any night for that matter. Everything in his chest burns from the laughter he receives in turn, along with the assurance that he'll get intimate when the right person comes along.

He visits you the next morning and recounts the tale. 

"Some people don't want sex," you say. There's a surety in your voice that makes Mark wish you were with him last night, if only to defend him. He doesn't want to be selfish, though — doesn't want you to think he's only using you for his own benefit — so he leaves with his thoughts and the sun on his back.

-

Your schedules don't really coincide. Mark never sees you; not in the audience at jousts, or in the kitchen during meal time. He knows the both of you are in completely different sectors of the castle — your presence is really only mandatory in the garden, while Mark's is mandatory everywhere the king is.

But sometimes Mark thinks about you during jousting tournaments, when he gets a high score but no one praises him for it. It's just expected of him, and yet he wishes there was someone to praise him for his hard work. It's not easy doing what he does, especially when he has so much anxiety doing it.

He wants to find you. He wants to breathe in your presence— wants to ask you if you think about him too, in the spaces between obligation and freedom. In the moments where you can be whoever you wish.

He wonders if you picture him.

The sunburn on his shoulders makes his skin itch more than usual, and Mark thinks about taking a swim in the lake to clear his mind. 

He stands on the dock, mind foggy with the what-ifs and the how-tos and the imagine-if-Y/n-ever-thought-about-yous. He hesitates to take off his shirt, because left in only his cotton shorts he feels vulnerable. The scars that mark up his chest make him feel weak, like he's never been enough, and he'll never be enough so long as his skin doesn't clear. 

He doesn't feel like a man. Never really has. In his mind he is still a child playing pretend, and life is catching up to him, all too quickly and all too harshly for him to prepare for whats to come.

The sun reflects on the surface of the lake. Shadows of minnows and frogs pass beneath him, and Mark finally loses his shirt.

He dives in, feeling the slimy seaweed wrap around his ankles almost immediately. And yeah, it's uncomfortable, but it beats his leather boots and the sweat that builds up after a full day of practice.

A small frog hops onto his shoulder, frightening him, but it dives back into the water just as quickly, so Mark focuses on calming his breathing.

"Mark Lee," you call out. 

Mark slips on the seaweed and falls back into the water. He closes his eyes tightly and lets himself break the surface. He feels his cheeks flood with heat, and he wonders if the sun can penetrate the water.

"Hi," he says softly. Water drips off of his eyelashes. Drops land on his cupid's bow and stay there as he stares at you.

Maybe you could feel him thinking about you. Maybe he sent some kind of cosmic energy out into the world, and you sensed it.

Maybe fate just works in mysterious ways.

Mark doesn't know what to say. He watches you sit on the dock and take off your shoes. You dip your toes into the water and smile at him. It's a bigger smile than he normally receives, and Mark feels like maybe you're opening up to him. He feels really good, and he isn't sure if it's the sunny daze or your warm gaze.

Maybe it's both.

Mark decides that he wants to hold you. Maybe it's too romantic a thought; maybe it's not romantic enough, but it sears his eyelids, and when he closes his eyes he can feel his hands splayed at your waist.

Yes, it's too romantic of a thought.

The sun is glaring now, taunting him. It's as if he doesn't know that he's failing in every way, staring at you without saying anything. He wants to reach out and ask you for advice on anything. Everything. He wants to get you talking; thinking about him, even just for a few minutes, but it's hard when he can't find his voice.

His shoulders itch again. He takes it as a sign. "Do you know any- uh- plants to help with sunburn?"

You smile even brighter somehow, and the sun is behind you now, mocking him as it rings a halo over your head. The light romanticizes you in a way Mark doesn't think he can. He doesn't think he's capable of it, but he longs for you.

He longs for you harmlessly, and his heart aches at the thought of you out of his life. Despite your monthly appearances, they mean more to Mark than he realizes most of the time. And he wants to tell you that he'd like to see you more often. Monthly greetings could turn into weekly meetings. He could see you more— bask in your presence; your light. He wants to drown in the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe. He wants to fall apart at the sound of your laughter.

He wants to love you, and he knows he isn't quite capable of love. Not in the way his mother expects him to be. Not in the way his friends expect him to be. Certainly not in the way he expects of himself. And yet, some selfish part of him hopes it will be enough for you. He hopes more than anything that one day you might accept what little love he can offer amongst the busyness of his life. Amongst the closed doors of his heart.

"Aloe vera," you say. "There's some one the healer's room, even though Jaemin is out for the week."

Mark finds a piece of himself feelings rather jealous at the fact that you seem to always know Jaemin's schedule. Why can't you know his?

"Okay," he says. "I'll ask him for some when he returns."

"I have a key." You stand up. "Come on, I'll find you some."

Mark stumbles his way out of the water, slipping twice on seaweed and three times over his words. "You really don't have to." He buttons his shirt over his scars, ears burning red because he can sense you looking at him. Studying him like you're hoping to find something amiss.

Mark follows you to the healer's room. When you order him to sit down, he obeys.

"Here," you hand him a jar of clear goop. "Rub this on your burns until they go away. And if you need any more, come find me."

Come find me.

Your words still ring in his head that night, as he applies more aloe to his body. He wants to come find you tomorrow, and he wants you to stay with him the entire day. He wants to hear about what goes around in your head and in your heart.

He wants to break the wall between the two of you and reach out; touch your soul and find that his is the same.

Mark stays awake until the sun comes up.

-

Beneath the lemon tree, you lay half-asleep. You stroke your rabbit's head and hum a tune, something you heard a long time ago. Maybe in a lullaby or an old shanty.

The sun is far too hot for you, which is why you've found a place in the shade.

You can hear the sounds of swords clanking against each other. Despite your reluctance, you think of Mark, and you wonder if he's doing alright. With his anxiety, and the way he's prone to accidents, you tend to worry about him a lot.

As much as he might think he's hiding it, Mark is a perfectionist just as much as he's a worrier. The two are more than likely related, but they double up in your brain as reasons to reach out to the boy every so often.

You aren't even sure Mark likes you. Like, as in, just enjoying your presence. Mark always seems a little too nervous; a little too eager to leave when he's around you.

You're sure it's you: the only common denominator in every situation.

Mark has a lot on his plate; he's got so much to deal with and so much he puts on himself.

You want to help, but you aren't sure where your place is in Mark's life. You could just be a passing soul; not an actual friend. You don't know, and you don't know the protocol for asking.

You told him to come find you if he ran out of aloe, but does that mean he isn't allowed to find you otherwise? You've only given him an option, and yet it doesn't feel like enough. It feels like maybe he won't visit you at all.

The sound of practice ceases, though your mind doesn't know if it's because practice is over or if it's because you're nearly asleep.

You wake up, and Mark is sitting a little ways off, clicking his tongue at the rabbit. He doesn't notice you've waken up.

"Hi," you say. "You found me."

Mark looks up, mouth open in a shocked expression. His neck is still red from the sun; and it creeps down onto the skin of his bare collarbones. "I didn't- I didn't see you there. Your shirt is the same color as the grass."

"Huh?" In your sleepy daze, you look down at your sleeve and notice that is does match the ground. Maybe Mark really didn't notice you. Maybe this is all fate. "Oh. Sorry then."

"No!" Mark crosses his legs. "No! Uh, I wanted to find you. I just thought you wanted me to wait until I was finished with the aloe."

"That was just an excuse," you say sheepishly. 

Mark is in his uniform (sans the jerkin). Leather pants and a violet shirt, untied at the chest. His skin is still colored, but it seems a bit more pink than the bright red it was yesterday. "It's been working then?"

Mark looks down at his chest and clothed shoulders and nods. "Yeah, uh— It's been working. So, uh, what are you doing here?"

"I'm just taking a nap away from the sun," you say. You roll onto your back and look up, eyes locked at the giant star that shines through the lemon tree leaves. 

"Why would you want to be away from the sun?" Mark narrows his eyes, shoulders hunched over as he reaches for the rabbit. 

"Her name is Garnet," you say. "And the sun is harmful. It can hurt your skin and your eyes. It's better to stay cool."

Mark picks up Garnet and snuggles her into his chest. "I don't think I could ever stay away from the sun. I love the warmth."

"Seems so," you murmur. Mark seems to exude warmth. Seems to radiate the sun itself, like Apollo personally kissed his shoulders; his cheeks; his lips, and Mark shines more golden than the sun at times. Especially when he smile, he seems to personify the sunbeams. "You should stay here with me."

"In the shade?"

"Lay beneath the sun," you reach your hand out.

Mark looks surprised, his golden eyes shining with a sort of gleam that rivals the lake surface. He lays down beside you in the sun and takes your hand in his. "Okay."

You smile, heart full at the action, and even though Mark seems sleepy, you will yourself to stay awake and immortalize each moment in your memory. 

And when his breathing slows; when you think he's finally asleep, he turns on his side and faces you. "Is this... Is this enough for you?"

Something unsaid slips between his words, like finality. Like, this may be all you'll ever get, and he wants to know if it's enough.

You smile at him. You can the sun in the reflection of his eyes; feel the soft grass beneath your skin; the warmth of Mark's hand in yours. 

"This is more than enough."

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 4 Part 4

Hello, once again, another piece of Midnight Striga for your reading pleasure!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

With a grunt of exhaustion, Boscha crashed to the floor. The spar had dragged on just long enough to make her and the demon long for rest without them actually needing it. While it may not have been the nightmare she had been dreading when she saw Luz’s smile, it was certainly its own kind of hell. ‘But,’ she mused, a small grin forming, ‘At least I’m starting to make real progress.’ She slowly traced a circle, free of the instability that seemed to plague every spell she formed lately, a small flame forming in front of her. She chuckled to herself at the irony.

Here she was, captain of the Grudgby team, Fire Magic Specialist and Potionist in Training, and she was reduced to the most basic spells she knew of. The fact that she could even get this little flame, no bigger than her thumbs pressed together, without worry was a vast improvement over where she started after that day. She sighed, hauling herself to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Luz pouring over that strange crystal thing she had brought in; it was sort of like a Scroll, apparently, not that Boscha understood how. Helping the so-called Demon King to his feet, they wandered back over to Luz.

“Ahem!” Boscha cleared her throat, prompting Luz to throw up her arms in shock, suddenly scrambling to secure her… Terminal, she called it? “So, how did we do?” She said calmly, raising a brow as Luz sheepishly chuckled.

“As much as it pains me to be in agreement with the interloper,” King began, prompting a tick-mark of annoyance from Boscha, “I too wish to know just how impressive I am, and how I can become even greater!!” It took a lot of effort for Boscha not to yell at the little menace for the ‘interloper’ comment, it’s not like she intended to come here!

“Now King,” Luz lightly admonished, “A ruler must be gracious to their guests, even unexpected ones. While you may not be comfortable with Boscha’s presence, and understandably irritated from your earlier encounter, that must not influence your behavior and judgement. A King looks after his Kingdom, and all who dwell within it.” Boscha honestly expected the pompous little demon to start screaming at that, so she was genuinely surprised that he only grumbled slightly and kicked at the ground. “If you apologize for being rude, and say it like you mean it, I’ll get you some snacks later.”

“Hmm… Deal!” King agreed. He turned to Boscha and visibly pulled himself up to his full height. “As the King of Demons, I offer my sincerest apologies for my conduct. Will you accept it?” Boscha had to admit, he certainly sounded sincere. She figured he wasn’t, but it was still impressive.

“I accept your apologies… your majesty.” Boscha said, only reluctantly tacking on the last bit at Luz’s expectant look. How was she so good at getting under Boscha’s skin?

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Luz drawled, a too-pleased look on her face. “Let’s take a look at what you can work on.” Boscha and King both made inquisitive noises as she turned the screen of the Terminal towards them, eyes widening as they saw their fight lay across the screen. It was something you could see on any Scroll, but this certainly cemented the fact that Humans had some analog to the communications device.

An image appeared, Boscha launching some rocks that had cracked off the ceiling in response to King’s first spell like Grudgby balls. She remembered the stinging sensation in her hands at that stunt, but the sight of King frantically dancing out of the way on screen brought a tiny smile to her face. “Boscha, you displayed some solid tactics, not instantly going for your magic and using your environment to attack with you. However,” She let the video play, showing Boscha rapidly spinning up Spells to launch… only for them to detonate and send her flying back, King sprawled on the floor in laughter at her expression. “Your muscle memories for Spell Casting, while ordinarily a useful trait for combat if you can avoid overly recognizable patterns, are hindering you while you’re recovering your skill.” Luz finished.

Luz turned to King, who straightened up with a gulp. She narrowed her eyes. “Now, on to King.” She turned back to the Terminal, tapping away rapidly before pulling up some new scenes from their spar, King nervously ringing his paws. Another video popped up, showing King launching his spell towards Boscha, thankfully without any sound coming through. The on-screen Boscha avoided the massive spell by the skin of her teeth, Boscha’s ears ringing in sympathy at her memory. She grinned at the sight of King panting after his spell ended, only to yelp and run as her on-screen double rushed him in anger. “King, I’m gonna be blunt, your magic is powerful, but it’s incredibly draining, and the fact you are totally still while using it means that when the spell ends, you are basically defenseless.” King sheepishly kicked his feet, glancing to the side, while Luz looked on.

Luz cracked again. “I got to say, I’m impressed.” She chuckled at the dumbfounded looks she received. “I’m serious, the two of you did way better than I thought you would.”

“Well, how did you think we’d do?” King tentatively asked.

“I expected you to exhaust yourself inside of a few minutes blasting away at Boscha,” Luz bluntly replied, steam-rolling past his squawk of outrage, “and I expected Boscha to lose focus and just keep trying to cast spells.” Boscha would’ve been offended, but that honestly sounded like something she would’ve done if she hadn’t gotten that demonstration of how powerful the demon’s spell was. Luz smirked. “There isn’t a whole lot I can do to help right now, but in the long run, I think I can sketch out some training regimes to cover your respective weak spots.”

Boscha and King exchanged glances, then nodded. It made sense to them. With that settled, the three decided to head back upstairs. Boscha idly wondered why Luz had the hesitant look in her eyes when she said there wasn’t much she could do, though.

Luz groaned internally, resisting the urge to slam her head against the nearest wall. She was absolutely certain that the debriefing she had gone through with Boscha and King had been a disaster. She had visually confirmed how haphazardly they had gone about things in their spar, even if they had been smarter about it than she thought they would be going in, and had basically admitted that she had thought they would’ve been brain-dead rookies only to be proven wrong! Why had she agreed to taking that job!? Oh, right, because it gave her a way to help people and covertly undermine an undoubtedly corrupt regime starting with the youth; curse her bleeding heart!

As she gathered up the assorted snacks and drinks, making care to remember to grab the treats she had promised King, she wandered out of the Kitchen. As she entered the backroom the group was using to discuss things while Eda got her rest, she was surprised to see Boscha and King laughing about something like old buddies. She spoke up, bemused. “Well, don’t you two look chummy.”

“Oh-hohoho My Titan! Luz! Boscha just told me the funniest story about a Slingshot, a Stink Potion, anda Coven Guard!” King cackled, pounding on the table as he laughed.

“Oh, really? Now this I got to hear.” Luz mused, setting the assorted drinks and snacks on the table. Half a minute later, she was pounding her fist on the table right beside King, tears of uncontrolled laughter gushing down her face. Boscha looked painfully smug at the reaction her story had gotten. “Pffff! W-W-With the Gu-guard! A-And the B-bom-b! And the Cheese!! How you did all that and didn’t get caught, I will never know!!”

“Yeah! I didn’t get caught! That’s what happened!” Boscha sheepishly chuckled, deciding against telling them she had to be bailed out by her parents for that stunt. At least it was funny, though.

As the group enjoyed the treats Luz had brought back, Luz let out a sigh of content. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.” Boscha mused, feeling relaxed after the… drama from before. “Not what I expected from the Owl Lady’s place.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” King queried. Luz was just as lost. Eda’s reputation wasn’t that bad, was it?

Boscha blinked, puzzled. “Wait, are you saying that you guys don’t know?” She said, something like shocked awe in her voice.

“Know what, Boscha.” Luz droned.

“Well…” Boscha drawled, still shocked at their lack of knowledge on the topic. “When it comes to the Owl Lady, rumors have always been flying around.”

King snorted. “Trust me, we know. We live with her, remember?”

“As I was saying.” Boscha enunciated tightly after being cut off. Her voice dropped into a deeper, more… mysterious sounding register. “Years ago, a Witch studied at Hexside who was gifted beyond compare. Considered a once in a lifetime prodigy, her skill at learning magic, using it, and her sheer power were without equal in her age group, even outclassing some adults. Her name was Edalyn Clawthorne.”

Luz and King paused, allowing themselves to sink into the story. They had to admit, some of what Boscha was saying lined up with Eda, ability wise at least.

“However, despite her incredible gifts, Eda was a maverick,” Boscha continued. “She openly held rules and order in contempt, and sneered at those who upheld them. Still, she was desired by the Covens, all vying for her incredible gifts, even those outside of her chosen track wanting to tap into her great power for their own agendas. Such attention made her arrogant, believing she was above the constraints of others.”

Luz and King deadpanned; while it was phrased more harshly than the reality, that was definitely Eda being described.

“One day, during tryouts for the Covens, particularly for a spot in the Emperor’s personal Coven, Edalyn boldly and publicly denounced the Coven System, proclaiming it beneath her. The crowd was shocked, unable to comprehend such a thing. As she walked away, smug in her superiority, she collapsed in pain.”

Luz and King leaned in, paying close attention to the details.

“Before the gaze of the crowd, Edalyn’s body twisted, growing in size. Feathers sprouted from her arms, her hands and feet twisting into sharp talons. Her body warped into an Avian form, sprouting wings large and powerful enough to hold her aloft. Her eyes became as dark as night, drinking in even the brightest of lights. Her jaw warped to accommodate a mountain of jagged fangs. She had become the Owl Beast.” Boscha paused, with Luz and King gasping in shock at the tale.

Clearing her throat and taking a drink, Boscha continued. “As the transformation ended, the monstrous beast was beheld by the crowd, and found to be repulsive, a monster. The crowd jeered, and chased the beast into the woods, it’s haunting cries echoing through the town. Eventually, Edalyn returned, and proclaimed herself a Wild Witch, and an enemy of the Covens. The Emperor’s Coven declared her transformation a punishment from the Titan for defying the system, making her to be an example. And thus, the Owl Lady was born.” Boscha finished, voice returning to normal. She leaned back, adding, “And ever since then, she’s basically been used as a scary story by parents to warn their kids about the dangers of pride and going against the system.” 

Boscha shrugged. “I mean, I never really believed the story, not any more than any of the other kids, but it was still a big thing to learn about, and a lot of the more free-spirited kids growing up got less outspoken after hearing her story.” She paused, scratching her chin in thought. “It probably makes it more believable that she lives outside of town and regularly shows up and causes trouble. Seeing someone described as a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy reduced to a crazy old bat, no offense,” She quickly raised her hands placatingly at an angry King and Luz, “probably made a lot of kids treat the warning more seriously.”

Luz froze, not entirely sure how to process this. King was stock still, glancing at his pauses in confusion. Clearing her throat, Luz spoke up. “Well, that was certainly entertaining, I’ll admit, but how does anyone know she actually-”

“HOOOOOTTTTT!!”

Luz abruptly cut off at the sound of Hooty’s pained scream. The three glanced at each other, before quickly rushing out the door. As they crashed into the Living Room, they froze in horror. The place was ripped apart, the couch shredded, the assorted piles of random junk strewn about, Hooty’s door knocked off its hinges with Hooty himself out cold. Claw marks covered the walls.

The three scanned the room, stomachs filling with dread. As they wandered the room, Luz took stock of the damage; whatever had caused this either wasn’t very high on the intelligence level, or was insanely scared and angry. King crawled over to Hooty, sniffing at him, feeling a surprising degree of relief at the sound of his breathing. Boscha positioned herself in the center of the room, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Just as she was about to speak up, Boscha stilled, feeling hot, heavy breathing across the back of her neck.

With trepidation, Boscha slowly turned around, blanching at the sight behind her. A large, feathery body, twice as tall as she was. Long heavy wings pressed tight against its sides, but doubtless capable of spreading to full length in an instant. Deep pools of darkness where its eyes would be. A jaw filled with jagged fangs. Boscha screamed. The beast roared. Its claws slashed down towards the panicked witch.

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 60

Chapter 60 WHOOT WHOOT! 60 days ago I started this journey with only 2 followers, and now I have 337! I can’t thank you all enough 😭It means so much to me that you all like my little world. 

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 60: First Lady

The general was waiting for you as you both sat down. Kylo and the general sat opposite of you. The lieutenant came up to join you. The general looked at Kylo, who nodded and began, “We are here to discuss your duties as First Lady of the First Order. An inaugural role that has not been done before in the history of the galaxy.”

He paused to make sure you were paying attention and understanding the gravity of the position. You nodded to signal him to continue.

“As the First Lady of the First Order, you have many duties, some more obvious than others. First, you act as the identity of the First Order, the face in which our people will rely upon and trust. You are the focus of unity and pride. The person who gives a sense of stability and continuity to the First Order. You are the official recognition for success and excellence. And you are to support the ideal of voluntary service.”

You were to be the complete face of the First Order. Not Kylo, who is hidden behind his mask, but you. “So you are asking me to be like the queen of England,” you asked trying to make sense of your role.

“Yes, in many ways, except you have actual power when you want it. While she is unable to make decisions for the United Kingdom in its entirety, as that power now belongs to parliament, you do. The only person who can override your decisions is the Supreme Leader himself.”

You watched as Kylo nodded along to what the general was saying.

“You shall be in charge of official First Order Social events like the formal dinner that we just had, and ceremonial events like commissioning of new destroyers and bases. You shall present titles of high honor within the First Order Military, and any civilian titles. You may also preside over military ceremonies such as remembrances of historic galactic battles, and major retirements.”

Your eyes grew wide at the list of things you would be responsible for. The general could see the look of hesitation on your face as you were processing everything.

“Of course you won’t have to do everything alone. You shall have a team of people to help you, one of which is the lieutenant,” he then gestured to Mitaka sitting next to you. “And a few others, you shall not have to handle everything yourself, but you will essentially be supervising it all. You will also be handling many correspondences which will go through your team, and you will be a patron of many charities. We will need to announce a charity today as a start. That is a decision we can make together, so you do not have to make it alone.”

You sat back in your chair as you started to process everything. Your life has shifted from working a 9-5 job, to doing very little with your time, to now being a head of state all in the matter of a month. Less than a month ago you were wondering who Kylo Ren was and now you were to be leading the largest government in the galaxy with him. Leading a group of people you had no idea existed. Being a face to the galaxy when you were perfectly content to just be friends with your match and living a life alone.

You felt his hold on your mind once more, the worry that you felt dissipated. You don’t know whether or not you should be comforted by this or horrified. He was in your mind messing with things.

‘There is nothing to be afraid of Kitten. You will do great. This is one of the big steps in becoming an empress, my empress.’

Something about the way he said that you would be his empress made your belly warm. A spark of desire to be something powerful to him.

You could feel his tendrils of hold swirling with that desire in your mind. Playing with it, caressing it. You closed your eyes at the feeling, your body welcoming the touch. The tiny rational portion of your mind was screaming, but the feeling was so nice that you ignored her.

You felt a hand touch your face, which shocked you out of your bliss. It was Kylo’s hand. His eyes told you that he was just as spellbound as you were.

Both the lieutenant and the general didn’t seem to know what to make of the moment as they both shared a confused face at both of your actions.

Kylo’s hand caressed your cheek before he withdrew it. His eyes never leaving yours. No words were spoken between you, not even in your mind, but you knew what just happened changed something.

You could almost hear the rational part of your brain whimper in pain at being ignored, whimper because of his grip on your consciousness. That rational part being afraid at what just occurred, but the rest of your existence being overjoyed at it. You could feel the tendrils recede slightly and the rational part slowly coming out of the corner that it had been backed into. Still very much afraid of the dark mass that just took over.

The general spoke first, “M’lady shall we go over what will need to be decided today?” He hesitantly looked between you and Kylo, trying to figure out your next course of action.

Without breaking eye contact with Kylo, you responded, “Yes. I think will be best.” You examined Kylo’s face as if it were a rare piece of art. Going over every last detail.

“We should decide what charity you should patron first. Is there anything, in particular, that strikes an interest in you m’lady? Any topic that you would prefer?” You could hear some unease in his voice as you failed to look at him. Your eyes still locked on Kylo.

You could feel the tendrils shift as a thought presented itself, “Something for abused or neglected children.” You watched as Kylo’s eyes phantom fluttered for a moment. His eyes then roaming your face as yours did his.

Both of your breathing is in sync. Two halves of a whole as his hold on your mind made itself at home. The tendrils tucking themselves in the corners of your skull, occasionally skimming your brain when needed, but mostly just there watching.  

“There are many orphanages throughout the galaxy shall I choose one for you,” asked Hux with his voice wavering. You could hear how uncomfortable the whole situation between you and Kylo was making him. You could not see nor hear the lieutenant, but you guessed that he was worse than the well-seasoned general.

Kylo answered for you, “Yes.”

You heard the general stand, “Well sir, m’lady we best be off to our luncheon. There is much to discuss.”

Kylo stood first, holding out his hand for you to take. Which you did. He then tucked your arm under his. Never breaking eye contact as you walked down the stairs and to the entrance of your chambers. You paused as Kylo put on his helmet, breaking your stare and trance. He then faced forward as you walked down the winding halls to the conference room.

You entered arm in arm with Kylo; he guided you to your seat, you never took your eyes off of him. Still enrapt in a trance. He walked with power around the room as he reached the head of the table where he chose to stand.

All around you were the High Command members, most of whom were holograms as they holocommuted in. Luckily for you, Pryde was also holocummuting in. You were relieved at his lack of physical presence. You also noted that there were several other officers standing along the opposite wall to you.

Kylo addressed the room, “Today is Lady Ren’s official first day as First Lady of the First Order,” he paused and you could hear a small applause coming from the High Command, both those who were physically present and those who weren’t. “She has many responsibilities in her new role, you are to do what she asks of you as if it was an order from me.”

You watched as chins raised in acknowledgment. You could see that some were not happy about having another person ruling over them. Kylo sensed this too as his head cut to an older male admiral, “I sense unease Admiral Berand.”

What shocked you was that the man wasn’t even here, he was holocommuting. Were Kylo’s Force abilities that strong?

“No, sir,” said the admiral.

You watched as Kylo marched around the room and came up next to the holo projection of the man. Even though they were technically a galaxy apart, the admiral shrank away from Kylo. “Good, keep your thoughts under control or I will do it for you.”

You could feel the tendrils in your own mind flex with excitement. They apparently wanted the admiral to mess up, so they could arrange his thoughts for him.

Kylo then spoke again addressing the room, “You have all given candidates for Lady Ren’s staff. Her chief of staff will be Dopheld Mitaka, now a captain, but there still remains her press secretary, correspondence secretary,  social secretary, her advisor, and her spokesperson. Five positions to fill. And after General Hux’s initial weeding of the candidates, there are 15 applicants. We shall now proceed with the filling of positions.” Kylo then gestured to the Allegiant General to start. Hux then waited patiently for your signal, waiting until you were ready.

You broke your gaze from staring at Kylo to look to your side. You gestured to Mitaka to come forward and join you by your side. Which he gladly did. You then nodded to the general to commence the application process.

You picked out your press secretary, social secretary, advisor, and spokesperson with ease. You took into account the opinions of Kylo, Hux and Mitaka. The final position of the correspondence secretary was being considered.

Unfortunately, Pryde’s recommendation was still in the running. The young officer that he had put forward as an applicant gave off similar vibes to the man himself. Almost a younger version of himself. You quickly denied his choice. The officer had a look of disappointment and anger on his face as he was forced to step back. You could tell your decision also displeased Pryde as you had a feeling that this officer was going to be some sort of informant to him.

Across the room, you could see Kylo’s body stiffen as he was probably monitoring both men’s thoughts. He barked at the officer to get out and to return to the Steadfast as he was no longer needed here. You watched as he left the room. He was the only rejected officer that was asked to leave before the meeting was over.

Next up was General Parnadee’s choice, a nice young lieutenant with a kind face. Parnadee introduced her, as the other generals did with their recommendations, “This is Lieutenant Amala Graven. She has an impeccable memory. The ability to recall voices and has a knack for routines. She is quiet but very decisive when it comes to printed languages. She has been my trusted personal secretary for two years and I can think of no one better for the position of correspondence secretary.”

From what you knew of Parnadee, even after entrusting your home planet to her, you knew that if she was recommending someone, especially someone, she trusts that you should highly consider the person. You then looked over her file, which was a clean record. She came highly recommended from the academy and she had been promoted quickly into Parnadee’s trusted and highly coveted secretary position.

After sharing a look with Mitaka, you made your decision. You looked at the female lieutenant in the eyes and said, “I believe you will make an excellent correspondence secretary and I would be honored if you would join my staff.”

The lieutenant thanked you and joined the group of others that had been selected. Your attention then shifted back to Kylo as he dismissed them and Mitaka while you were to have the luncheon portion of your meeting.

Everything went by rather smoothly after that, Hux telling those who holocommuted in that they were free to go as no official business was going to be discussed. You were thankful because you were sick of Pryde’s holo eyes watching your every move.

You watched as slowly every hologram was disconnected. Pryde getting in one last final creepy stare before disconnecting. You were relieved when Kylo took a seat next to you instead of his official unused one across from you.

You were in a large conference room filled with only a few generals and admirals. Lunch was served and Kylo relented in taking off his helmet so he could join you as you ate. Small pleasant discussions popped up around you. The Allegiant General giving his opinion here and there to the different conversations.

Meanwhile, you and Kylo ate in a comfortable silence between you two. There seemed no need to say anything as you could feel the tendrils exploring your mind. Seeing how far they could go before hitting a wall or turning around. You could feel them warmly caressing your happiest memories and completely covering those that caused you pain. You felt light-headed but in a way that didn’t make you sick, but as if a weight had been relieved from your consciousness.

You felt as if you could stay in this moment forever. But soon you would have your lesson with the general and soon you would have to move on with real life. But for now, you chose to be stuck in this moment. This little piece of forever.

A/N: Note that I see every comment and reblog w/ # and I love them so much! Tumblr is kinda hard to respond with just note that anything coming from @justanotherhockey-blog​ is from me!

[jetsetlife138]

Imaginary - Chapter 1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader Summary: You come across a device that throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. The inhabitants of Hell are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Alternate Universe, Canon divergence, language, drug references

Note:  This first chapter is kind of a tease for where the story could go. I wasn’t sure how it would go over with an audience, so I’m eager for some feedback. As the story goes on, it will focus around the Reader and Alastor’s relationship. 

Agony. That’s the only word one could use to describe what you had been through. One minute, you were shopping at your local thrift store inspecting an old remote control, and the next minute you were thrown into a black hole. Your body had felt like it had been ripped apart and messily thrown back together over and over again as you continued to float through time and space. It was a sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced and never wanted to again. 

Your head felt so heavy. It was difficult to tell whether or not you were still floating or if you were finally stagnant. Reaching your arms out, the palms of your hands were met with a hard, flat surface, letting you know that you were steady on solid ground.

It was difficult to decipher the noises around you considering there was a loud ringing in your ears, but from what you could tell it sounded like multiple hisses and whispers. Strangely, the thought of that brought you a bit of comfort. At least you weren’t dying alone… if that was really what was happening.

Using all of your remaining energy, you started to focus on the voices around you.

“What is it?”

“Dipshit, what does it look like? It’s a human.”

“It’s a girl!”

“A girl?”

“No, it’s a woman!”

“Is she dead?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“How the fuck did a human get here?”

“Can we eat her?”

Whoa, what? It was incredibly overwhelming. Clearly there was a group of people surrounding you, and trying to differentiate each voice was negatively impacting your already fragile state of mind. They couldn’t possibly be saying what you thought they were saying.

Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, blinking a few times due to the brightness. After allowing your vision to focus, your breath caught in your throat at the sight. Everything was… animated? On top of that, you seemed to be surrounded by freaky creatures; things that you would only see in nightmares. Oh shit. What kind of drugs were you on? Did you accidentally drop acid? Did someone sneak an insane amount of magic mushrooms into your lunch? No, no, no, this couldn’t be possible.

Rubbing your eyes and looking around once more, much to your dismay, your surroundings remained the same. One of the creatures took a step closer to you, causing you to instinctually raise your hands defensively. When you saw your own hands, you outwardly yelped. They, too, were animated and now only two-dimensional.

You felt nauseous. Your whole world was crashing down around you. It couldn’t be real. It had to be a freaky nightmare. But then… why weren’t you waking up?

Looking around, your eyes met one of the creepy creatures. She appeared to be a cross between a human and a snake, her eyes glowing yellow as she stared daggers at you.

“Wh-where am I?” you croaked, your voice hoarse and thick with emotion.

The snake creature cackled before hissing back at you, “Isn’t it obvious, girl? You’re in Hell!”

Hell? Is that what happened? You died, plummeted to Hell, and this was your eternal torment?

When you didn’t respond, one of the other creatures grew impatient, addressing you with a thunderous voice, “Why do you still look human? Are you alive or dead?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you murmured, shaking your head, still trying to cope with your current predicament.

Suddenly, you felt a firm grip on your arm as one of the creatures grabbed you harshly, raising you to your feet. “I call dibs! Finders keepers!”

“That’s bullshit!” one of the others called out, snarling. “I saw her first!”

The others burst out in arguments, trying to determine which of them would take ownership of you. It terrified you to hear things like, “Can I have her left arm?” or “I’ll take her foot!”

Just as you were about to have a complete mental breakdown, a voice cut through the crowd. “Get your hands off of her!”

The crowd parted to reveal a less terrifying looking creature, who seemed to be more human-like than the rest of the animalistic mob. At first glance, she seemed to be a girl with wide eyes, long blonde hair, and suspenders, giving her a somewhat innocent appearance.

“She’s coming with me,” she declared, though her demeanor was timid, almost as if she was unsure of herself.

“Over my dead body!” one of the other creatures bellowed, followed by multiple jeers of agreement by the rest.

The girl snarled, catching you off-guard when her face temporarily morphed into something else entirely. Horns sprouted from her head while her eyes glared with red hues. Baring her sharp teeth, her menacing expression instantly silenced the others. After a brief moment, she effortlessly returned to her former and much less terrifying self. “As princess of Hell and heir to the throne, I hereby decree that she is under my protection… um… until further notice. Okay?”

Suddenly, you were shoved from behind, causing you to stumble towards the princess who had basically just claimed ownership over you.

She met your eyes with a tender smile, placing a hand on your shoulder and whispering, “You’re safe, I promise. Just stick with me.”

All you could manage was a grateful nod of your head, still not able to properly speak.

As the two of you walked away, you could hear the others behind you hissing and growling in disapproval, apparently disappointed that they weren’t able to have their way with you.

Your mind was in a fog as you followed the princess, feeling woozy as you took in more of your surroundings. There’s no way this could have been a dream. It felt too real. On top of that, there was no way that you were creative enough to come up with an entire world such as the one you were in. This was a version of Hell that you never could have fathomed, but it was all too authentic.

“My name is Charlie, by the way,” the princess greeted, cutting through the awkward silence. “Well, actually, it’s Charlotte, but everyone calls me Charlie.”

Barely managing a smile, you nodded before stuttering out your first name in return. 

“It’s so great to meet you!” she beamed. “So, um… how did you end up here? We’ve never had an actual live human here before! This is so crazy! Where did you come from?”

It was obvious that she was trying to contain her excitement, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. You couldn’t blame her. You were also just as curious about the other inhabitants of Hell as they were of you, but you couldn’t quite form enough words to ask her any of the things that you wanted to. It was difficult enough to try and cope with your current predicament. 

“Honestly… I don’t know how I got here. The last thing I remember was going shopping with my friends. Next thing I know, I’m here, looking like a cartoon.”

“A cartoon?” she questioned. “What’s that?”

You gawked at her for a moment. Did she really not know? “Um… it’s what you are. An animation. A drawing.”

She continued to stare at you, clearly not understanding what you were trying to explain. How were you supposed to clarify? “In my world, we look different. This world is two-dimensional, and we’re three-dimensional where I come from. The way you and your world looks… it’s what we call a cartoon. It’s… difficult to explain.” "I see..." she trailed off, clearly uncertain of how to respond to that kind of information."  "So, um," you began, awkwardly wringing your hands. "What were those things back there? You seem different than them. More... like me, I guess."  She smiled warmly at you, easing the tension a bit. "Those are Sinners, the inhabitants of this Ring of Hell. They were alive once, but now they're here in our Kingdom. Their appearance is less human-like because once they arrive in Hell, they become demons and lose some of their human attributes. They can be a little... aggressive." That was putting it mildly. "I look different because I'm not from the human world. I was born here in Hell."  "That's... bizarre," you commented more to yourself than to her. 

“Well, we can talk more about it later when you’ve had a chance to relax. We’re almost there!” she squealed with excitement.

“Where are we going?” you inquired.

Her eyes grew larger with a certain sparkle as she raved, “The Happy Hotel! Vaggie, the manager and I opened it together! It’s the first facility to have its own demon-rehabilitating program!”

She beamed with pride as she spoke of it, but everything she said was nonsense. “You have your own demon-rehabilitating facility? ...In Hell? Does that really work?”

“Well…” she murmured unsuredly. “It’s still in the beginning stages. It’s a work-in-progress, but we’ve just employed some new staff members that’s really bringing it all together!”

This entire conversation was absurd. In what universe was this an actual topic of discussion? Well… apparently this one. It was extremely difficult to wrap your brain around, and you weren’t sure if you were ever going to come to terms with it.

“We’re here!” she revealed, her demeanor absolutely giddy. It was obvious that she was proud of her work.

Looking up, you took in the large building. It was… insane. It defied all logic. The alleged hotel was a mix of a grandeur building constructed out of things that had no place there, such as a train engine and a large boat. It reminded you of a glitch in the Matrix or something. On top of that, it seemed a bit run-down, and could obviously use some work, but maybe that’s just how things looked in Hell. Oh, yeah. You were definitely going crazy. 

She led you inside where you were met with an incredible and regal entryway. The architecture was… bizarre, for lack of a better word, which matched its outer appearance. Everything was exaggerated, just as it would be in a wacky, fantastical animation.

Stepping further into the hallway, you saw a mirror out of the corner of your eye. Hesitantly approaching it, you were finally able to take in your full appearance. You couldn’t help but laugh when you saw your reflection. It seemed that you were still very much yourself, but your features were altered to fit the universe you were now in. It was surreal to say the least.

Charlie approached you from behind, speaking softly, probably to keep from startling you. “Just sit tight for a minute, okay? I’m gonna go grab Vaggie.”

Nodding, you watched her skip down the hall and disappear, leaving you alone with your thoughts. What were you going to do now? How were you going to get home? Could you even leave this place? How was she going to keep you safe from those other creatures that wanted to kill you?

As you mind flooded with questions, a chill in the air caught your attention. A high-pitched ringing made you flinch as you rubbed your ears, confused as to where it was coming from.

You were caught off-guard when an unnatural static-filled voice spoke from behind you. “Well, hello there, my dear.”

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - I Was Given Four Rules to Follow ... I Broke Every One: Chapter 2/3 (Rated PG13)

Summary: When Warlock Dowling is summoned to the old South Downs cottage of Aziraphale and Crowley to help clean out their attic, presumably after their deaths, he is given four rules to follow.

... He breaks every single one.

Notes: So here's the chapter where we really lean into that post-accident imagery. Again, it's not gory, but it may be unsettling. Please be warned. Also some very mild thoughts of suicide on Aziraphale's part, the typical 'why don't I off myself to be with me husband instead' sort of inner monologue.

Read on AO3.

I drove back to The South Downs in the Celestial Blue Fiat Crowley had gifted me last anniversary completely on autopilot. I never really used the thing, to be honest, so I was astonished I hadn’t run off the side of the road, especially when the thought was ever in the back of my mind. I kept the windows down, breathing in deep the brisk air and trying not to think too hard over what I was about to do. Or what I could do instead, the possibilities ranging between getting on with my life - sell the cottage and travel the world, forget about everything that had led up to this point … or driving straight off a cliff.

Of course, if I was lucky, fate would decide for me, and I would catch pneumonia driving in the freezing cold with the windows down and only a thin jumper for protection.

I put the radio on and cranked the volume. I caught a replay of The London Symphony Orchestra performing Holst’s The Planets as I tried to focus on everything and anything besides my dead husband waiting for me, lying naked on our bed, packed in ice with several brand new swamp coolers blasting on high to keep decomposition at bay. I thought it best to stow him out here in the middle of nowhere for the time being instead of at our flat in Mayfair - less a chance of anything going wrong, of the swamp coolers drawing suspicion (seeing as it had barely broken seven degrees Celsius over the past month), or (if this worked) people who knew my husband to be dead seeing him walking around, and asking questions.

Accepting that that was a possibility led me back to the question of why was I doing this? Why was I so set on bringing my husband back? Why didn’t I leave him be, allow him peace? Why didn’t I take the opposite route, off myself, and go be with him instead? Had to admit, it was a lot more natural than what I was intending. But there was a simple reason for that.

I’m a coward.

A bloody coward.

I don’t know what awaits us after death. Not truly. I’d been raised a Catholic, and I hold strong to many of those principles still (mostly out of guilt inflicted upon me by my dear old mum). According to the teachings of the church, a Heavenly kingdom would be ours after death … but not if I killed myself.

Suicide was an unforgivable sin.

If I wanted to see my husband again, this might be the only avenue available to me.

I didn’t want to wait, rely on “faith” that we would be together again, and risk being wrong. I was tired of playing guessing games with my future.

I felt like a massive ball of contradictions flying down the motorway at felony speeds, both exhilarated and terrified at the venture I was about to embark on. The old woman wasn’t wrong. For as blisteringly angry as I got with her, that was the worst part. I was tampering with the laws of nature. I knew that. I loved Crowley more than anything, more than my own life, but Crowley was dead, and in the eyes of the universe, there should be nothing I can do to change that.

But apparently there was.

I’d found it.

And I was going through with it regardless, even if it scared the shit out of me.

I’d not told another living soul about this. I had a pretty good idea of what might happen if I did. I didn’t require an intervention, and I didn’t need institutionalization. I wasn’t crazy. I was grieving, searching for the same solutions that dozens of people have probably thought of but would never admit to. But other people - people who knew me as the eccentric book seller of Soho who didn’t actually sell any books and who once rented a live python for the sole purpose of roaming the store in order to keep uni students away at the start of the school year - might not see it that way.

I had also entertained the possibility that this might be a scam - a way to extort five thousand pounds out of a grieving widower willing to pay anything to have his husband back. Except that the old woman – possibly a hundred or so years older than God – put on a convincing act of being afraid for the paltry sum of five thousand (paltry considering what the granddaughter had said about their financial straits - tens of thousands in mounting debts, interest on bank loans that have ballooned into larger sums than their principals, and the shady men who dropped by most nights to ‘browse’ even though they bought nothing but always broke something in ways that implied mishaps more sinister).

They probably could have gotten twenty thousand out of me easily.

I switched off the radio when I turned off the motorway. It wasn’t like the music would disturb anyone. I lived miles away from my closest neighbor. But it seemed disrespectful to keep the volume so loud.

Disrespectful to the dead.

I love our cottage, fell in love with it the first moment I laid eyes on it, but that was back when it was about to become a home.

Now, it was a tomb.

What would our property agent think - that kindly, middle-aged woman who kept making moon eyes at us every time we snuck a kiss - if she knew I was harboring a corpse in my bedroom? The expression of shock that would erupt on her pinched face nearly made me laugh. But the overwhelming pitch blackness of the cottage sapped me of anything even remotely similar to glee.

When I had left earlier in the day, I had neglected to keep any lights on. It seemed fitting to have the place dark while my husband’s body lay within. But I wished I had left one light on at least, or put a torch by the door. My cellular phone battery had died somewhere along the way so it was of no help whatsoever.

As I opened the door and peered into the living room, I held my breath, half-expecting Crowley’s naked corpse to meet me at the entryway. I chided myself for being an idiot, though how ridiculous was it really? A day ago, when I went searching Soho shops for that horrid incense Crowley used to love in the hopes of keeping his favorite scent alive in the house, I would have agreed that the concept of life after death was ludicrous.

That was until I stumbled upon a teenage girl who promised me the secret to bringing Crowley back.

“Cr---Crowley? Crowley, honey? I’m home, my dear,” I called out, hoping that he wouldn’t actually answer. I was thirty steps away from walking out of my comfort zone and into a world I would rather not know existed, so Crowley coming back to life on his own would tip me over the edge into insanity.

I reached out a hand and turned on the light. My living room, warm and comforting, decorated in muted blues, cinnamon browns, and subtle creams, welcomed me. There was nothing out-of-place here.

Nothing dead.

I continued to the bedroom, switching on lights as I went. With every step, I had to convince myself to keep going. I originally pictured me racing into the house, eager to get this started. But with reality staring me in the face, I wasn’t sure. But I didn’t have the luxury of waiting to see if I would eventually change my mind. Crowley’s internal organs, especially his brain, were decaying fast, regardless of how much ice or air conditioning I piped into the place.

Soon the choice wouldn’t be mine to make.

Twenty steps brought me to the threshold of my bedroom where I stopped, staring at the closed door. I reached down and patted the bottle in my pocket, feeling the lump through the linen of my trousers. Touching it gave me the strength I needed to move my hand to the doorknob, but I halted once more with it hovering when I heard a small creak – like a foot stepping lightly on the hardwood floor. It was the house settling, I told myself. That was what Crowley always said when I woke him in the middle of the night to the sound of odd creaking and whining.

“It’s a mid-century house,” he’d say. “The floors contract in the cold and expand in the heat.”

“So what your saying is …?” I quipped.

“... the house talks in our sleep,” Crowley had replied without opening his eyes. “Now go back to your reading so I can get some sleep, too.”

“Just the house settling,” I muttered in my best rendition of Crowley’s accent, plucking the explanation from my mind and saying it out loud to make it real. “Nothing else alive in the house except for me.”

Still, I couldn’t bring myself to open the door.

I heard the creak repeat, closer this time.

I swallowed so hard, everything from my jaw to my stomach ached.

“Crowley? Are you there? Are you … are you waiting for me, my dear?”

Of course he’s waiting for you! I scolded myself. He’s waiting for you to grow a pair and get this over with.

I sighed, allowing the rush of breath in my deflating body to give my hand momentum, touch the doorknob, and open it like I had hundreds of times before.

This time was no different.

Yup. Maybe if I kept telling myself that, it would feel real.

I turned the knob and switched on the light without thinking about the sight that awaited me on the bed. My eyes flicked up … and my stomach fell to the floor.

There was Crowley, right where I had left him, lying in bed, eyes closed. He looked asleep and, from this distance, normal except for a few cuts and bruises on his face. The accident hadn’t banged his body up that badly, not from what I had noticed, though I didn’t make it a point to look at him for too long.

His neck was why not.

His broken neck from the whiplash that had killed him instantly.

He’d been leaning forward in his car seat, looking at street signs, stuck on a small, offshoot road that the GPS on his phone had apparently never heard of before. He had cautiously entered the intersection when a pickup flew through out of nowhere and slammed into him from behind. Crowley jettisoned forward and hit the steering wheel.

Being a classic car, restored to original condition, it had no airbag.

I blinked back the tears that leaped to my eyes at the thought of the accident that took my husband from me, at the fact that the driver of the truck, being sloshed out of his gourd, walked away from the same accident with only blacks and blues. The police caught the bastard a few miles down the road when his engine stalled.

He claimed he didn’t stop because he thought he had only struck a deer.

“H—hey,” I said, trying to get comfortable with the idea of talking to my husband again. “I went out shopping today, and you’ll never believe what I brought home.”

I could see my own breath as it met the air in the room, like walking into a gigantic meat locker, making what I was doing that much more morbid. My knees knocked but I clamped them together to keep them mobile. I reached the bed, and my casual, conversational tone disappeared, the words wavering as I spoke them.

“I think … this might … help …” I hiccuped, side-eyeing my husband’s body. Crowley’s skin appeared waxy, coated in moisture from the frigid air, and the color wasn’t right. I knew that soon blood would pool and Crowley’s unnaturally pale skin would turn black so I had to hurry, but every muscle in my body screamed for me to turn and run.

I touched the bed, and I’m ashamed to say, I whimpered.

I can do this, I can do this … I chanted to myself. I reached out and let my hand brush Crowley’s fingers. I tried to recall their warmth, the way Crowley’s touch made me feel loved, desired. Whole. I wanted that back, and I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way. I knelt on the bed, crawled over to Crowley’s body, and leaned over his serene face.

“I’m going to get you back,” I whispered, cursing the fear in my voice. “If I have to claw my way into Heaven and drag you back with my own two hands, I’m going to get you back.”

I pulled the blue bottle out of my pocket. I held it to the light and gave it a swirl, watching the liquid spin around the belly of the glass and then settle into a shimmering mass. Crowley’s life was sitting in the bottom of that bottle. All I need do was give it back.

I yanked out the stopper and brought the bottle to Crowley’s lips.

“Bottoms up, love.” I pecked a kiss to his cold skin and then tipped the contents into his mouth. I expected to see Crowley’s throat move as he swallowed, his eyes snap urgently open, but they didn’t. The potion didn’t act instantaneously the way I’d assumed then. He was still dead … but not for long.

I remained kneeling at Crowley’s side, staring into my husband’s face, heeding the ancient woman’s words to be the first person Crowley saw when he opened his eyes. I knelt and knelt for over an hour, thighs cramping in the freezing cold. The sharp prickle that comes with poor blood circulation assaulted my skin, the thought that this was an elaborately planned and executed hoax becoming more a likelihood as time passed.

The sun started to light the grass and hills outside. I could barely see the early morning rays seep in beneath the blackout curtains, but there they were nonetheless - evidence of a brand new day. Still, there was no change, no sign, nothing on Crowley’s face that might give me a reason to hold on. I struggled against exhaustion, grasping at thin straws of hope, but with each passing minute, I was failing.

It had been a dream – a wonderful dream.

But I had to wake up and face facts - my husband wasn’t coming back to me in any form.

I’d been most grievously had.

I stretched my limbs - one leg, then the other. Then I lifted my torso, bending my arms and flexing my hands. I crawled backward off the bed, raising my arms above my head, listening to my spine snap and pop. I looked at Crowley again, peacefully expired – one last look before I made plans for his burial.

I was beginning to feel it was about time.

I walked to the dresser and opened the top drawer, looking for my pajamas. Before I did anything, I needed a nap or I would drop dead on my feet.

I winced at the ill-placed pun, but chalked it up as part of the healing process. Gallows humor. I could never appreciate it before.

That probably wouldn’t change.

I rummaged through the drawer, looking past perfectly suitable shirts and lounge pants but for what, I didn’t know … until I found it.

A journal.

I have lots of journals, to be honest. Writing is a passion of mine, along with reading. In their pages, I have documented everything that has ever happened to me in excruciating detail - as if anyone would ever be interested in that sort of thing. As if reading about my pains or my triumphs would help anyone. I don’t find myself to be remotely (as the kids put it) relatable. I have no desire to be famous, and the circumstances of my life (mainly my marriage to Crowley) have made me wealthier than I could ever possibly enjoy in my lifetime.

But not today.

Today I felt numb to everything around me, and not just because of the intense cold. Nothing seemed to matter. I left my pajamas in the drawer and hopped back onto the bed. I might have been cavalier about it, but there was nothing here for me to fear. What lay in bed beside me was a body, nothing more - flesh and blood rotting from the inside with no unique soul to keep it all together.

Make it worth something.

I opened my journal - this journal - to the first empty page where a blue ballpoint pen had been shoved into the spine, waiting for me. For how long …  I can’t remember. I picked the thing out and uncapped it. I put the tip to the paper, but I didn’t start writing right away. I hadn’t written in a journal in weeks. Where should I start? Do I pick up where my last journal entry left off, no matter how long ago that was? Even if it ended on a happy memory, like me and Crowley going to the cinema, having dinner at The Ritz?

Making love in the backseat of his Bentley?

Or do I forget all that and start a few minutes ago when I finally decided to give up on the possibility of my husband coming back? A couple of hours ago when the old woman almost refused to sell me the potion? Or that horrible night, when the police showed up at my door with apologetic looks and horrendous news?

While I juggled those thoughts, trying to decide, the world around me began to awaken. Birds sang their melodious songs in the bitter cold. The wind outside knocked against my window. A tiny critter scritched inside the walls, which would have had me running for the traps, but not today. Whatever you are, little creature, you have been granted a stay of execution.

Nothing would be dying within my home today.

The sun rose higher and the room got brighter. To my surprise, it heated up a little, and the ice cubes on the bed began to melt. I heard them collapsing in their piles, some having turned to water, making way for others to fall. The bed dipped as I shifted my legs beneath me, my crossed limbs having fallen asleep in their bent up positions. I cleared my throat, the sound rumbling in my chest, though the voice didn’t sound entirely my own. My ears had been ringing during the drive home and for most of the night, so I imagined I must have caught some kind of cold.

But as I reasoned out all of this, going about my task, my heart realized a truth that my mind hadn’t.

When my mind caught up, it went blank.

My blood turned to ice, secondary to the chill in the room, helped naught an inch by the invading sun. I didn’t think I could get any colder, but I did. That inside out feeling returned as another started to register.

I no longer felt quite so alone.

I lowered my journal, glancing up from the blank page to find Crowley, rolled onto his side, staring at me with wide, emotionless eyes.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #292

“dear god, let’s make this fucking clear: dear god, there’s nothing that i fear”

What internet browser do you use? Chrome. What brand water do you drink? (Smart Water, Dasani, etc) Mom just grabs the Great Value jugs. Do you have a job? No. Are you full-time or part-time? N/A Are you watching TV right now? No. Or are you listening to music? Yeah, "Mr. Crowley" by Ozzy. Such a great song. Would you go to jail for 3 years for $1,000,000? No. I would NOT survive in jail. When's your birthday? February 5th. I cannot fucking believe I'm almost 25. Thoughts on kids? Too impressionable for me. Even with my niece and nephew, I feel like every single word I say just like... stamps into their brains, and what if I say something that negatively affects them? I feel like it's my responsibility as an aunt to be a fountain of wisdom when I'm definitely not. I just get nervous around kids. Worst punishment you've ever received by your parents? I wouldn't call it a "punishment," but when I skinned the everliving fuck out of my knees and Mom was patching me up while I was just sobbing away, my dad literally roared "SHUT UP!" from my parents' bedroom, and it's stuck with me forever. Honestly, I think it may be a root in my extreme fear of men yelling. Worst punishment from Mom, probably this time where she smacked the shit outta my arm as a kid and left a clear handprint for a while. Are you the type who is completely against abortion? Why? No, I am firmly pro-choice, despite being pro-life most of my life. I don't feel like writing a moral essay, but basically, I absolutely cannot agree with forcing a woman to carry a human they don't want for whatever reason for nine fucking months, endure one of the most traumatically painful things known to man, and then properly and adequately care for that child. That is such a huge fucking responsibility that should be forced upon *nobody*. "But adoption!" Yeah, go tell that to the thousands of children waiting on you. This is leaning on exactly what I said I wouldn't do, so moving along. Have you ever read a book that actually changed your outlook on life? "I’ve read some books that were phenomenal, but I wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to say that they 'changed my outlook on life'." <<<< This was Johnny Got His Gun for me. Does your favorite flower hold any meaning to you? No. What would you do if your favorite animal became endangered? I would fucking freak. Have you ever owned an expensive eyeshadow palette? No, but I honestly do want at least one, primarily with a deep black and then some nice grays and neutral colors. Do you own a tripod for your camera? Yes. Are your nails always painted? Quite the opposite. What's one thing you've had a toxic reaction to? A breakup. Which holiday is your favorite to decorate for? I honestly don't really decorate because I just don't have the motivation, but Halloween is the best. Were you popular in school? Nope. Are there any foods that often give you heartburn or indigestion? BANANAS, dark sodas (like Coke or Dr. Pepper), peanut butter can... It's hard for me to tell much now because I have chronic heartburn and am medicated for it. Works great, so I don't experience this much. Is there something you intend to buy in the near future? Yes. Once my tattoo is done (I'm setting the appointment the next time we leave the house, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH), what I have left is going towards Venus' new terrarium. She really needs a 40 gallon. Is anyone in your family artistically talented? What about musically? I was the art kid, and family still insist I should be an artist. What cute behaviors or characteristics does/do your pet(s) have? Omg, Roman has so many. He nuzzles me all the time, will collapse into my hand to pet him, he insists on being the little spoon at bedtime (no, really), he literally tries to groom me with his teeth, licks my face... He is just a doll. My little buddy for sure. Now onto Venus. She loves to chill next to me in bed or find a cozy place under the covers, and omgggg does she love to slither around the bed doing the periscope thing. So curious. What's the screensaver on your computer? I don't have one. What’s the sexiest thing about a guy? I am WEAK for nice shoulderblades/muscular shoulders ok. What’s the sexiest thing about a girl? I am an ass bitch and I will not hesitate to admit it ayyyyyeeeee. Who were you with at midnight on January 1, 2021? Nobody. Who was the last person to send you a message on social media? My sister Misty. She's planning to surprise Mom (her stepmom, anyway) by showing up in a few weeks with her fiance and all her kids she's never met but desperately wants to. My mom is the only "real mom" she's ever had, and she just feels so bad that she has a by now teenage daughter (among three other younger ones) that has never met her "grandmother." It's just an expensive and long trip, but Misty's finally called it enough and is just driving down here with everyone. Mom is going to fucking sob. ^ What qualities does this person have, that you appreciate? Nice timing for this, since her fiercely anti-mask bullshit is all I can focus on about her lately... but there are good things about her. She truly is a very loving, passionate woman that, just like me, feels deeply and expresses it. What was the last thing that caused you to scowl, or frown? Does grimacing count from a sudden bodily pain? Have you smiled at any point during the last hour? Yeah. I'm watching the VOD of Arin Hanson playing Kingdom Hearts 2 for charity, and he went on a total fucking laughing fit. His laugh is so precious, so I just couldn't stop grinning. What was the last thing you consulted Google for? Ensuring "grimace" was the right word for my former expression, even though I was pretty positive it was correct... I don't know if anyone's noticed, but my English skills are degrading, particularly in spelling. It's concerning me. I was an English whiz my whole life up to now. My only guess is it's related to how godawful my memory is also declining. So, did anyone send you a "Happy New Year" message when midnight hit? No. When was the last time you were on a carousel? Probably not since I was a teenager being goofy with Jason or somebody. What is the closest you have ever been to an elephant? I have a picture on my dA of a beautiful elephant walking RIGHT by its fence at the zoo. It was pretty amazing, considering just how incredibly immense their enclosure is. Have you ever played Halo? No, it's not my kinda game. Have you ever read a National Geographic magazine? Oh, I'm positive I've read sections while in waiting rooms of various places. When was the last time you had a pillow fight? I have no idea. Realistically it was probably w/ Jason since that sounds like some cute playfighting thing we'd do, but I don't remember a particular instance. Name somebody who you think deserves more respect: "Retail works. The horror stories my mom has on the daily is absolutely ridiculous. People can be so incredibly rude." <<<< I absolutely agree with this; what friends and strangers alike rant about is just depressing. Nobody, especially those working through a goddamn pandemic that's killing thousands, deserves the disrespect that comes their way. Have some goddamn decency and know half the issues you bring up to retail workers isn't even their damn fault. Ohhhh, I could rant about this. In your own words, define what the word sexy means. So you mean like, what I think is considered sexy, not just the general definition? If that's the case, uhhh. Self-confidence (but absolutely not arrogance) is very attractive to me as a bitch who lacks it entirely, as well as good manners, being outgoing, and just... charm. I don't quite know how to describe that "charm" other than I'm really drawn to people who are unique and happy with it and just seem to have an aura about them that feels good to be in. What is the most popular tourist attraction where you live? I'm going to look at this question as if you're asking about my state and not general location because 1.) there ain't shit here and 2.) I'd prefer to keep relatively where I live quiet on the Internet. Looked it up and apparently NC's biggest tourist bait is the Biltmore Estate. Never been there myself, but it'd be pretty dope. Without looking - do you know what brand your underwear is? I'm in my own home and pjs, who the fuck wears underwear with that criteria lmao. Are you any good at volleyball? NOOOOOOOOO. I went to a volleyball camp thing once when I was younger and that shit hurts the hell outta your hands. I didn't stay long. Have you ever had a water balloon fight? Why of course. Do you think some babies are ugly? Quite honestly, probably most, especially newborns. Don’t you miss Chuck E. Cheese? I do; going there was one of the most exciting possible things to me as a kiddo. Do you think Fall Out Boy is gonna be a classic band, like Queen or AC/DC? Possibly. I mean they sure are pretty successful and well-known. Do you love stuff-crusted pizza? Eh, it's not my preference, but I'll eat it. Do you apply lotion after you bathe? No, but I really should, given how dry my skin is. What’s your favorite color? Pastel pink. Who did you have your most amazing kiss with? I'd like to not think about this. Has a YouTube video of yours ever gotten over 10,000 views? Lol definitely not. I think at least one on my older channel hit 1k somehow???? It was a birthday gift I made for someone. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? lol I already have one there. At some point I'm getting it covered, though. Do you like Robert Frost poems? I do! Do you go to church every Sunday? I never do. Have you ever been in a relationship on-and-off for more than a year? No, I don't play that game. You want me or you don't, so I'm not wasting my time on your uncertainty or just our lack of stability for whatever reason. If you had to get famous for one of the following, which would you choose: music, acting, writing, modeling? Absolutely writing. What do you think of girls with huge boobs that don’t wear bras in public? ?????????????????? i don't?????????????? care???????????????? they're not my tits??????????????? What is the last thing you tried on in a store? I don't know. I avoid trying shit on like the plague. And then it ends up being too big/small. I wonder why. Is sleeping naked more comfortable than in clothes? I've only ever fallen asleep naked once, and accidentally at that, so I really don't remember how I felt about it? Consciously though, I would feel very, very vulnerable so don't have plans to when I have my own place. Have you ever had a dream in which you were making out, or more, with someone? HAHAHA Y'AAAAAALLLLLLL THIS WAS DEADASS THE ONLY LUCID DREAM I'VE EVER HAD LMAOOOOO Do you feel as though you have a good memory, or are you forgetful at times? Do you feel that your short-term memory or long-term memory is better? My short-term memory is absolutely atrocious, like to the point it seriously affects my ability to get shit done. You can give me something that needs to be done and I will forget in a heartbeat. Now, my long-term memory is astonishing. I can remember many things from my childhood in incredible detail. Have you ever had a concussion or some other sort of brain injury before? Did you need to have surgery for it? I've had a concussion or two. I can't remember which. I didn't need surgery. Do you have any sort of mental illnesses or disorders? What do they involve? Yeah: chronic depression, crippling social anxiety, generalized anxiety, avoidant personality disorder (AvPD), obsessive compulsive disorder, PTSD, bipolar II, and I think that's it. My head's a mess and a half. What’s the longest that your hair has ever been? How about the shortest? When is the last time that you got it cut? About to the small of my back; how it is now, which is pretty much shaved on the left and fades to near my chin on the right. I actually got it cut last month; we've gone to a family friend for years whose shop is just an extra building by her house and very rarely has more than two clients in it. We had masks on, of course. At what age did you start getting gray hairs, if you happen to have any? I don't have any. Somehow, given my stress level at all times, haha. What are some ways that you style your hair? Do you use any sorts of products in it? It's too short to style. I don't use any products in it but obviously shampoo. Who was the last person to truly get on your nerves? What do you think caused you to feel that way? Probably my mom. I think she was in a rotten mood for one reason or another and just being snappy and generally rude. Do you recycle? Is this through choice or do you live somewhere where it’s compulsory? We do; it's by choice, and it'd be immensely ignorant not to where we live considering it literally gets picked up with the other garbage. Do you prefer plain, carbonated, or flavored water? Do you think you drink enough water throughout the day? I've never tried carbonated water, and flavored water rarely works for me due to artificial sweeteners giving me beastly headaches. So I'll just take really cold, filtered water. Have you ever needed to call the police, ambulance, or fire department? I had to call the ambulance for my mom right before her cancer was discovered because she was literally immobile and in ungodly pain. When was the last time you visited the library? What was the purpose of your visit? At my old college, as the newspaper photographer, I took some artsy pics up there. I will probably forever worry that leaving school resulted in the biggest career opportunity slipping through my fingers through that newspaper. Do you see a lot of wild animals where you live? Are any of them dangerous? I guess about the normal amount you'd see in the country. Some dangerous animals live here, sure, that's probably everywhere, but you very rarely see any. Aside from when you were born, have you ever had to stay the night in the hospital? For suicidal thoughts and one attempt, yes. Have you ever experienced a panic attack? Ahhhh, do I know those well. Thankfully, it's been a long time since I had an all-out panic attack. Would you ever want to go into the medical profession? Was your answer different pre-COVID? Nope. Well, besides being a vet, which I haven't wanted to be since I was a kid. Where you live, are people paying attention to whatever restrictions are in place to help control COVID? Many? No. Because it's apparently a fuckin hoax or not as bad as the government wants us to think. Fucking cretins. Do you get a real or artificial Christmas tree? Artificial. Real ones aren't worth the money nor mess. What’s your favourite type/flavor of popcorn? Caramel corn. Do you drink oat milk? No, but I'm interested in at least trying it. The dairy industry is absolutely repulsive if you look into it, and I'd love to do what I can to take as little part in it as possible... even though I am a dairy fiend. I seriously wish I could go vegan, I am just WAY too picky for it. Do you love thrifting? Oh fuck yes. I've been very few times in my life, but I'mm all about it. Do you consider using only lowercase letters your aesthetic? I do find it visually appealing; I like the flow of similar letter height. I never do it for "serious" things, but on places where it's "for the aesthetic," it's likely that's how I'll write something. Do you say “mood?” Way too much lmao. Do you own fairy lights? No, though I would like them if it wouldn't look stupid in my room. Do you own glass straws because the metal ones kind of gross you out because you can’t tell if they are clean or not? ... I didn't know glass straws were a thing. I have a handful of metal ones though, but I always forget I have one in my purse when I go out... Have you made a TikTok? No. Do you own airpods? No. Are you afraid of Mercury in retrograde? I don't believe in a planet's position or whatever having any effect on people. Do you make life choices based on astrology? Definitely not, considering I don't believe in it to begin with. How many pairs of converse shoes do you own? Maybe like, five? Number of jeans in your closet: Zero. What accent do you have? Not really any, but sometimes I sound kinda southern with specific words. Do you have a big butt? Yo I got a Hank Hill ass, so no. Do you count how long you and your gf/bf have been together? In my past relationships, yes, I assigned our anniversary to memory. I don't really... know why, like it doesn't really matter how long you've been together, I just do. Have you graduated? From HS, yes. I dropped out of college three times lmao. Rihanna or Lady GaGa? Ohhh, not sure. Maybe GaGa, but both ladies have songs I love. "Disturbia" doess beat all of her songs, tho. The fuckin BEAT. Do you use fake eyelashes? Never tried 'em. Which was the last book that really captivated you? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. What makeup brands do you use? I'm not loyal to any, really. I would be if I could afford expensive shit, but yeah, that ain't my life.

[breezy-cheezy]

I finished Final Fantasy 7 Remake

Long story short, I loved it!! So much!! And there’s alot I wanna rant about so here we are. A review of sorts?? Major spoilers ahead! 

And if y’all think you’re immune to spoilers because you played the original FF7, YOU ARE NOT. Lots of new stuff here....just warning y’all.

Although! I did find this great looking walkthrough playlist if anyone’s interested and can’t play the thing themselves? Idk how complete it is with the details, but from a glance it looks nice! 

- FIRST OF ALL the music in it all is amazing!!! From the menu song all throughout, I got Emotional. All the rehashings of Aerith’s theme?? Tifa’s theme?? The FF7 main theme here are there?? AMAZING!!!! I need to find a tracklist or something there are so many versions of the songs specific to the scenes they played in and I die??? Man it is Good. 

- On the music front, I really enjoyed the Jukebox feature! So they could add in old classic songs that story-wise couldn’t appear yet...good nostalgia there. 

- Lil disclaimer, I played the original FF7 fairly recently, on Steam. HOWEVER. I played Crisis Core years ago, and watched Advent Children, etc. And Final Fantasy music has been a staple homework playlist for me for ages now.... So yes I’m new to the whole FF7 original story. But not new in how most people are...it’s a weird situation lol. Like I knew the general FF7 story for awhile but just recently filled the details....

- The gameplay is awesome!! I wasn’t great at it, but...tbh it felt like mechanics combo of the original FF7, FF15, annnnd Kingdom Hearts :D Also appreciated it PAUSED when you picked out commands lol. Loved upgrading weapons. Loved working with materia. I wish there were like...ways to save a materia set so you could easily switch over when your characters were switched out though X’’’’D 

- Biggs is Aro/Ace

- Cloud is VERY Aro/Ace

- Tifa might be Ace

- I decided long ago (in my Crisis Core phase) that Sephiroth is Aro/Ace. There’s nothing to “prove it” in this game but I’m holding to it. I have claimed these characters askjdhuiwdhguerhgr

- Side note, slightly related, but I love how the relationships shone in this remake?? Lots of casual, comfortable touch with Tifa and Cloud (in which Cloud seems in general pretty touch averse due likely to Trauma) in a “we’ve known each other our whole lives” way and gosh I love them. Aerith with Cloud is adorable. Barret!!! Was characterized SO WELL here, and I love him way more than I ever did!! Barret and Tifa interactions as well were so heartfelt and wonderful aaaaaa how good

- Like...Barret haaaates Cloud in the beginning. But somewhere along the way he adopts Cloud instead and ain’t that fantastic?? He just can’t contain how much he cares about others and especially his daughter and goSH I love him. 

- Aerith!! I love her!! She gave such a vibe that she knows more than she says, but is still so cute and sweet and sassy I LOVE!!!! Also that scene in the train graveyard with baby Aerith ;;~;; 

- Also

Cloud: You need any help??

Aerith, climbing a ladder: I’m fine. You don’t need to treat me like a princess or anything~~~

*ladder breaks*

Aerith, completely serious: s h * t.

I LAUGH

- Cloud was actually really cute with kids!!!!! 

- I think I saw a post where they talked about how much more consistent characterizations were here?? I have to agree. I feel some stuff was lost in translation while playing FF7 original, and it felt alot more put together, character-wise, here. I feel like some of that was learned from FF15 and its success with character relationships?? It was Good. 

_ I rambled about this before, but Wall Market was every bit as embarrassing as you would think. *covers face*

- Also I thought it was interesting how they handled who was in your party when! A little annoying sometimes though, switching materia around!!! DX I also really wanted to actually PLAY Red XIII/Nanaki....but sure make him an NPC, whatever. (I am grateful he healed me often.)

- *me when Nanaki shows up* AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!! THERE HE IS!!!!!!! (sidenote, in the original, I didn’t wanna call him by his experiment name. He’s the only character I changed the name of. The name I picked? Ignis. :”D )

- The motorcycle segments were ANNOYING AS HECK, especially that last one in escaping the Shinra building DX The game forced your camera to focus on the boss and that made the controls VERY ANNOYING. Cool to watch tho.

- I actually almost completed the game boss fight chain early last night!! But RIGHT when I got to Sephiroth, the family demanded I get off the TV for their use D: all that progress....I had to redo ALOT. DX 

- STILL the fights were VERY cool! Reminded me of KHII end alot actually, jumping around on broken floating buildings and whatnot?? Also the creature looked like a HUGE DARKSIDE heartless lol

- There’s actually alot in this remake that gives alot of a KH feel to me?? Nomura I see you....

- *screeching the One Winged Angel theme still not knowing the words* 

- I LOVED how they showed scenes of the future in the end?? Probably ripped from Advent Children, but?? The characters actually seeing that?? Going “this CAN’T be our future!!” Yo. Also it’s implied it might not HAPPEN now going against destiny and all. I know alot of people are pissed but I am EXCITED. I’m all for a fix-it fic game thank YOU. 

- Speaking of fix-it: ZACK. ZAAAAAACK!!!!!! It’s implied he’s alive in one reality so WHERE IS HE??????? I’m so curious about this new story. I’m gonna eat up theories. I want!! To see!! My baby boy!!!!!! to be Fair (haha) I spoiled myself knowing he was in the game but I didn’t know WHEN!!!

- This is terrible, but I love how much they expressed how NOT OK Cloud is. His mental state is awful, but boi won’t talk about it. 

- Like I know it’s in the original, but it comes up ALOT more in the remake, and the flashbacks/brain short out moments are more obvious in HD for sure. Plus Cloud’s eyes seem more green there, which is a great touch!! Also the incredible FORESHADOWING it brought. Love it. Please someone help this idiot with his headaches....

- I did get annoyed with the whole scene in Hojo’s lab. Cloud’s walking like a zombie toward where Jenova is, saying CONCERNING things, and NO ONE reaches out until he outright collapses? We all just gonna stand back and watch?? Sure ok. 

- Hojo is absolutely disgusting and horrifying and exactly how I imagined him, creators did great job.

- Also why does no one use curaga in these character death scenes???? Potion? Anything????Hello??????

- I was so relieved Wedge (and one of his 3 cats) got to live, and then devastated when they chucked him out a window last minute ;;A;; still. I didn’t see a body. Maybe he’s ok.....*sobs*

- I WAS NOT EXPECTING BIGGS TO BE SEEN IN RECOVERY THO YEEEEESSSSS (I love ANY sign that they DID manage to change the future a little...I thought he was dead!!) Fun fact! The one part I legitimately started crying was when Biggs “died”! Hhhhhhhhhh

- Those dang dementors huh? X’’’D Whispers of fate...there to make sure the story goes according to the original game basically. Does that make the whispers the purist fans of FF7? ...please don’t kill me for that comment sidfiushguigerha

- I just wanna say making a game ABOUT making a remake (that is different from the original) and the struggles in that is VERY meta and so clever and delightful and I LOVE IT. I really wanna see what happens next....

All in all I spent 52 hours on this game. WAY more than I expected for only covering Midgar. And I ENJOYED it!! Some parts felt like the story was being dragged/padded, but most of the time I didn’t care. Also there’s even more to do?? Apparently I missed some scenes....I don’t have time for now, but maybe someday. Or maybe I’ll just look them up ;;7;; 

It’s a good game y’all!!

[yukiwrites]

Byleth and Sothis, In This Together

Thanks for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! This is more and more fun to write as it progresses ;v;) I hope you like it!

Summary: Now that they know who put the Crest Stone into Byleth’s heart and when, Sothis and the three professors are stumped on finding the reason for such action -- what could’ve driven Rhea to do such a thing? Byleth is then summoned to speak with the Archbishop...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10  - Part 11  - Part 12  - Part 13 - Part 14  - Part 15

Byleth and Manuela hadn't been long in Hanneman's office -- the three of them were still relaying all the information they had up until that moment: Rhea was unmistakingly the one who put Sothis' Crest Stone into Byleth's heart right after he was born, but for what reason?

Sothis didn't seem to believe that it was out of the goodness of her heart as Byleth apparently did, despite all of Her efforts to hide such thoughts from him. Well, neither did Manuela and Hanneman for that matter, but they were more vocal about it than Byleth's mindmate.

It wasn't as though Byleth was purposely ignoring his father's warnings about Rhea, -- be careful around her, never let your guard down, don't trust her and so on -- it was simply because, to the young professor, Rhea was a rather... complicated existence.

She had treated him with warmth from the beginning, while still keeping an invisible wall around herself. Not to mention that obviously hid the fact that she was a Child of the Goddess, an immortal being of legend -- so it was little wonder that she made herself to be unapproachable, hiding behind a mountain of secrets. Yet, she was the one who, due to unknown reasons, allowed Byleth to live by putting his heart in contact with Sothis'. She gave him the one irreplaceable friend Byleth would always carry with him.

He wanted to know why, he wanted to know so badly he could barely keep up with the conversation, but... Perhaps due to Sothis' motherly request from before the mission, he couldn't find it within himself to think of her as his coworkers did.

She was powerful and dangerous, that was the undeniable truth -- everything else could only be made certain by speaking with her.

Byleth tried saying much, but was immediately vetoed by all three of them moments before an uncertain knock was heard by the door.

"Professor Hanneman? Forgive me for dropping by so suddenly..." Dimitri's voice sounded from the corridor, making all three professors exchange curious glances, ultimately resting their gazes on Byleth, as the Blue Lions' instructor.

"Oh, what is it, my lad?" Hanneman asked from his desk, slowly rising towards the door, wondering if he should open it or shoo the boy away from where he stood. Manuela slouched on her chair, throwing one hand to the side so Hanneman would dismiss him. Byleth made a motion to get up, curious as to what his House's leader wanted.

"Ah, you needn't see me in if you do not want to, sir." Dimitri waved his hands as though the older man could see the gesture. "I was simply looking for Professor Byleth... Lady Rhea has called on him, but I have not been able to find him despite searching everywhere he could have gone, so I confess I am... overcome with worry."

At the mention of Rhea's name, all three professors froze in their tracks, their eyes wide. Sothis placed one hand over her chin in thought, nudging the back of Byleth's mind. "There's no way she knows what we found out, so you will need to hold your tongue. I shall put you on a leash if the need arises!"

The three of them once again exchanged glances, nodding to one another. Hanneman finally took the last step towards the door, unlocking it. "Worry no longer, Son. Byleth is right here," he said as he made way for the younger professor to pass.

Dimitri's shoulders visibly sagged, his worried expression softening slightly. "Professor...! It's so good to see that you are well! I thought- I didn't want to think that-"

Byleth flashed a sad smile to his student, patting him on the shoulder and silently leaving the room. The Prince followed quietly for a few steps before gasping and turning to bow in thanks to Hanneman, immediately going back to following Byleth.

He opened and closed his mouth, not knowing the proper time to speak, but afraid to put it off any longer. "Professor, ah, if you'd like, you could join me at the dining hall after your audience with Lady Rhea? You haven't eaten properly since... since it happened. Have you?" He looked like a lost puppy, his steps uncertain and his voice cracking.

Sothis commented as much inside Byleth's mind, drumming her fingers over her throne. The Professor simply took one hand to the pocket that contained his father's diary, lowering his gaze a few inches more as his shoulders followed suit.

"Forgive me..." Dimitri's voice was but above a whisper from behind Byleth's back. "I suppose it is much too soon to coax you back into the normal swing of things." He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves squeaking in protest. "I-I am so very sorry about Sir Jeralt, Professor. I'm so sorry I couldn't do anything to help, even though I was right there."

The Professor shook his head with a low sigh. "Thank you, Dimitri. You've done more than enough by guiding the Blue Lions back safely when I couldn't. I couldn't ask more of you."

"Professor Byleth..." Dimitri looked as though he was on the verge of tears, though the only one who could see it was Sothis, from Byleth's back. "No one would blame you if you took more time to yourself. I believe that there's strength in taking the time to grieve for those we've lost -- though it's also important to remember that no matter how sad you are, eventually the tears will dry up. That's when you have to figure out what you're living for."

"What I'm living for..." Byleth repeated the words more to himself than to the prince, his mind too cluttered with all sorts of information and feelings to feel straight enough to look for a proper reason to live rather than an immediate goal.

"He's right, you know." Sothis apparead beside her friend, moving as though she could walk like he did. "Young, raw and pitiful, but right."

Dimitri spoke of the tragedy of Duscur that scarred him for the rest of his life and how he was still finding the broken pieces of himself along the way. About the guilt and duty of a survivor. About upholding a loved one's wishes after their death.

"There are tragedies occurring all around us," Sothis slid one cold hand into Byleth's," the most we can do is find our own ways to cope with them. To some, that means revenge; to others, it means forgiveness."

No amount of overwhelming information could steer Byleth out of this path etched in his mind, however. He frowned, clenching the hand Sothis held as though he could squeeze hers.

"Indeed." She said simply, jumping into the air to float. "The wicked must be punished."

Dimitri escorted Byleth all the way to the audience chamber, reluctantly excusing himself once the Archbishop made her appearance. Sothis followed suit, wanting to focus her energy into guiding Byleth through the conversation instead of making herself visible to him during the meeting.

"Don't ask about the weapons, or the past, or the Stone, or the enemy -- you can and will browse my memories of them instead." Sothis flicked his brain, metaphorically holding it with short leashes.

Rhea expressed her condolences to Byleth, bowing slightly in her grief. "Jeralt had been a friend of many years... It devastates me so to hear of his passing."

"Friend? Hardly!" Sothis sneered.

"Friends of many years?" Byleth asked almost at the same time, making Sothis shriek and grind his head with both fists in panic.

"Don't ask about this-"

"It was a long time ago -- during the days your father was still a soldier from the Kingdom." She replied readily, her tone warm despite the grief in her expression. "I saved him just as he was about to perish, which resulted in him coming back with me to the monastery and devote himself into becoming a Knight of Seiros."

"... Huh. So you're from the Kingdom! How fitting it is that you are teaching its very Prince!" Sothis commented over Rhea's voice, making Byleth squint to be able to focus on the Archbishop's words. He pursed his lips.

"If he was so devoted... why did he leave the knights?" Byleth asked tentatively, making Sothis drag her hands through her cheeks in horror.

"You're cutting it really close, you foolish child!" She paced back and forth in front of her throne, too nervous to simply sit and become a sentient voice in Byleth's mindscape.

Rhea flashed a lonely smile, clutching her hands slightly. "He... fell in love with one of the nuns of the monastery. Eventually, that love bloomed into a child -- you, dear Professor." She lowered her head. "However, there were too many... complications during your birth. Your mother begged me to save you, knowing full well that it would cost her life."

Sothis frowned. "Cost her life? Jeralt said something similar in his diary, though he only received the news of her death and your birth..."

Rhea glanced to the floor before sustaining Byleth's gaze. "He... never truly accepted the decision and ultimately stole you away from the monastery."

"Yeesh, the way she's speaking, it is as though he took something that belonged to her instead of his own child." Sothis crossed her arms in frustration, then bobbed her head to the sides. "Well, I suppose she did had reasons to be upset, considering my Crest Stone was within you, though that makes it even harder to understand the reasons behind it all. She ended up losing it for over twenty years!"

Byleth's own thoughts echoed inside his mind alongside Sothis' voice, making his eyes spin. "Who..." He shifted the weight of his body to one leg. "Who was my mother?"

Rhea pressed her lips into a thin line. "She was my... protegée."

"Protegée?" Byleth tilted his head to the side.

"You... resemble her in many ways." The Archbishop flashed a small smile. "She, too, wasn't one to express her feelings on her face, at least until she met Jeralt. Much like how you've changed since you've arrived here, so did she once she got to know your father. Their love was... hard to ignore." She said in a diplomatic tone, making both Byleth and Sothis narrow their eyes in doubt.

"What is this child doing, monitoring other people's love affairs like that?" Sothis chewed the inside of her mouth. "Did she have any connection with your mother before you were born? After all, she did give my Crest Stone to this woman's baby -- I cannot help but wonder what their relationship was. Surely it was much deeper than a simple guardian and her protegée."

"Did-" Byleth hesitated. "Did you save me because it was a plea from her or-" He watched how Rhea's eyes slowly widened as he spoke, though the end of his sentence was cut off by Alois' loud arrival.

"Pardon my intrusion! I have a report on the Knights' patrols... O-oh, Byleth, I-"

"Now! Get away from there before she gets suspicious!" Sothis urged, making Byleth shoot his head up.

"It's okay, Alois." He said in a hurried voice. "We can talk more later."

"Indeed we can." Rhea nodded solemnly, waiting for the Professor to be completely out of sight to ask for details of the patrol.

His frown deep, Byleth meant to return to Hanneman's office right away to put his (and Sothis') thoughts in order, but Dimitri, Claude and Edelgard were waiting for him at the end of the staircase.

"Professor Manuela recommended that you should have a proper meal," Edelgard said unprompted as the professor reached the last step. "So we agreed to come with you if only to keep you unbothered during your dinner."

"Well, Hanneman didn't need to tell me to come, just so you know." Claude sneered at the princess before placing himself beside Byleth. "C'mon, Teach, a warm meal's gonna make you feel less miserable."

"Claude...!" Dimitri gasped, trotting beside his friend.

"What? It's the truth! He's not gonna feel better now, but at least eating will make him feel alive!" 

[dragonkeeper19600]

Super Mario Bros.: Fallen Star AU (Part 1)

This is an AU I’ve been developing for a while. It’s basically my take on the stock “Bowser defeats Mario and conquers the Mushroom Kingdom” scenario. I haven’t decided if I want to do this as a fan fic, a series of fan fics, a comic series, whatever, so I decided I might as well lay out the basics here. 

The name “Fallen Star” is a double entendre. The first meaning refers to the weapon Bowser uses to conquer the Mushroom Kingdom: a star that fell from the sky. The course of history in the Mario world is often determined by the presence of stars and other celestial bodies on Earth, the Power Stars, the Beanstar, the Dark Star, the Shine Sprites, the Cobalt Star, etc. All of these entities contain great power and great capacity to be used for either good or evil, but one star proved itself more devastating, more uncontrollable than all the others. This was the Havoc Star, which fell to Earth in a fiery blaze. 

The Havoc Star crashed into the ocean, and the force of its impact was so great that it caused flooding in coastal cities around the world. Bowser’s forces found it smoldering in the sea depths, the water around it broiling to a white heat. They managed to contain it with Kamek’s magic and unleashed it as a weapon on the Mushroom Kingdom.

All stars are living beings, but this star seemed heedless of any attempts to communicate with it. It couldn’t be controlled or reasoned with, the only voice it had seemed to be a scream. Bowser didn’t see it as a sentient being and instead as an infinite energy source to be pointed in the general direction of a target.

The devastation this thing wreaked on the Mushroom Kingdom was total, and there was a lot of collateral damage even among Bowser’s own forces, as Kamek’s attempts to wrangle it relied a lot on trial and error. Even Bowser grew uneasy at the extent of its power, but he was far too prideful to admit to his fear and carried on laying waste to the Mushroom Kingdom. 

Mario and Luigi had no way to fight this thing. They decided to focus their efforts on evacuating as many of the Toads out of the Kingdom as possible, hoping to buy time for the Star Sprites to find a solution. But, they are only two men, and the star was more powerful than both of them. Luigi is captured, and Mario and Peach are forced to go into hiding. Bowser takes the opportunity to install himself in the now vacant Peach Castle.

Alone together, Mario decides to make one final bid to stop Bowser. Peach will run for the border while Mario takes one last stand against Bowser.

And this is the second meaning of “Fallen Star” because Mario never returns from this encounter.

Mario throws down with Bowser inside of Peach’s Castle, but when Mario gains the upper hand, Bowser orders Kamek to unleash the Havoc Star on the castle with the two of them still inside. 

Kamek is alarmed and refuses at first, but Bowser is seeing red. 

He’s basically razed the Mushroom Kingdom to the ground and still Peach eludes his grasp?

The only thing left for it is to burn everything.

So, the Havoc Star is set loose upon Peach’s Castle, where it proceeds to tear it apart. 

Bowser manages to escape by the skin of his teeth. 

But, Mario is pinned under falling rubble and unable to get away,

So the castle collapses with him inside it. 

When the smoke clears, and there’s nothing left of the castle but blackened stone,

Bowser is in a state of shock. 

Somehow, he didn’t expect Mario to actually die. 

The reality of it is only now sinking in.

And, he doesn’t know what he feels.

Meanwhile, Luigi is being held prisoner in the dungeon of Bowser’s castle

Because he’s too dangerous to let loose.

Bowser actually gives him the news in person.

He’s halting and awkward with it. He doesn’t attempt to console Luigi, but there’s something almost regretful in his words.

Luigi’s brain is a blank.

He can’t comprehend what’s being said to him. 

All he knows is that Bowser must be lying.

He sits in that dungeon for months, waiting for Mario to rescue him.

And as each day goes by without any sign of his brother, 

A horrible, all-consuming terror takes hold of Luigi’s soul.

What if it’s actually true? 

Three months go by of Luigi trying, with increasing desperation, to stamp down the awful possibility.

But then, finally, one day, there’s chaos up above.

Someone is storming the Bowser’s Castle. 

Luigi hears crashing, blasting, all kinds of foundation-rocking noise

Before a masked person drops into his cell. 

The person with the mask blasts a hole open in the wall,

And pulls Luigi out into a waiting airship.

Only when the airship is flying away does his rescuer remove their mask.

It’s Daisy. 

Daisy is overjoyed to see Luigi, but Luigi only has one question:

“Is Mario with you?”

The look on Daisy’s face says it all. 

For the first time in three months, Luigi breaks down completely. 

Everything, everything is gone.

Everything has lost its color.

Daisy just holds him as he cries. 

When they arrive back in Sarasaland, they are greeted by an anxious Peach.

She made it out. 

She, and the other Toads that managed to escape, are hiding out in Sarasaland. 

Daisy and the rest of the Sarasaland nobility have been spreading rumors of Peach taking refuge elsewhere. 

They have most of Bowser’s forces convinced that Peach has run to the Lunar Kingdom with plans to head deeper into the galaxy.

Only Daisy, her father, and the other four kings know that Peach is actually in Sarasaland. 

For the first few weeks of his own exile in Sarasaland, Luigi doesn’t see much of Peach.

He seems to be numb to the world. He sleep walks through his day. 

At night, he’s wracked with sobs and can’t catch a single wink.

Daisy, to her credit, doesn’t leave his side during all this time. 

She spends all day with him, she encourages him to eat, she lies next to him at night.

She feels overwhelmed. 

She’s grieving for Mario, too, but she knows Luigi is feeling an anguish beyond her comprehension.

She feels inadequate. 

But, Luigi clings to her desperately each night. 

After a month, Daisy tells Luigi she has to tell him something important. 

It’s a struggle for Luigi to hear what anyone else is telling him.

But Daisy has such a serious look on her face that Luigi summons the effort to pay attention.

“Maybe we should’ve told you sooner, but we didn’t want to overwhelm you with so many things at once.

“Peach is pregnant. 

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

Shock. Even greater than the moment in the cell. 

When? How?

Daisy admits she doesn't know all the details.

“After all. I wasn’t there.”

But, apparently, that last night before Mario left to fight Bowser,

Peach and Mario knew there was a decent chance they might both die.

They didn’t want to leave anything unsaid or undone.

Daisy wonders if perhaps a baby was the outcome Peach was hoping for. 

To carry on his legacy, you know? 

Luigi is distraught. 

It’s Mario’s baby. He should be here.

Daisy agrees. Mario should be here.

But, Luigi is here. 

Peach needs him.

Daisy takes Luigi to see Peach immediately after.

Her smile is apologetic. 

She asks Luigi how he feels.

He says he doesn’t know.

Which is fair.

It’s a lot to process.

Peach says the baby is doing well. 

Toadsworth was evacuated too, and he never leaves her side.

Luigi doesn’t need to worry.

She tells Luigi the baby will probably have a lot of questions about its legacy.

Luigi will be able to answer questions that she doesn’t know the answer to.

Also, she wants the baby to know Italian.

Mario taught her some things, but she isn't fluent. 

She doesn’t want the baby to lose that part of its heritage.

She’s gushing, saying too many things at once. 

She’s wrought with emotion, too. She hardly knows what she’s saying.

But, the last thing she says is,

“I’m so glad you’re here, Luigi.

“I give thanks everyday that you’re here.”

It’s strange, but the news of the baby seems to rally Luigi.

While obviously still grieving, the darkness that had weighed him down seems to lighten somewhat.

He seems more awake, more alive.

Whenever Peach asks for something, its practically a race between him and Toadsworth who can get it to her first.

Luigi, as the younger, has the advantage. 

He holds her hair back when she needs to puke, he gets up in the dead of night to make her food.

Though she knows it isn’t fair, Daisy grows jealous. 

Luigi is spending so much time with Peach, and the baby seems to unite them in a way that leaves Daisy feeling left out. 

Besides, she knows that Luigi never really stopped being attracted to Peach.

But, Daisy is enough of an adult not to go to Peach with these feelings.

Instead, she communicates them to Luigi in a very apologetic, mature way. 

She admits she feels like a failure. She wasn’t able to help Luigi like Peach was.

Luigi is surprised that she thinks of herself that way.

He tells her he’s immensely grateful for how kind and patient she has been with him.

How patient she’s still being with him.

Daisy saved his life. He’s never forgotten that.

Daisy presses her hand to her mouth to hide her smile.

But, she can’t hide her tears.

She though she hadn’t been able to help Luigi with his grief.

But all this time, Luigi thought of her as his hero. 

The months pass, and the time comes.

In a cottage hidden away from the world, Peach goes into labor.

Luigi and Daisy wait outside while Peach is attended to by a doctor.

After a while, Daisy is called into the room.

Peach has asked for her.

Daisy is taken aback.

“Why me!?”

The nurse says she doesn’t know. Peach asked for her specifically.

Daisy heads inside nervously.

She don't know nothing about birthing no babies.

Luckily, Peach just wants Daisy to hold her hand.

She tells Daisy she didn't ask for Luigi because she didn’t want him to panic.

Daisy laughs nervously.

Joking around like this, it almost feels like old times.

Eventually, Luigi hears the baby cry.

Daisy comes outside and gives the thumbs up.

It’s all good.

In the months leading up to this moment, when Peach and Luigi were discussing names, Peach admitted she didn’t want to name the baby after Mario.

Mario’s name would already be a huge part of the baby's life. 

Peach wants the baby to have its own identity.

Luigi is touched that Peach understands.

Anyway, it’s a moot point, since the baby is a girl.

The doctor tells Luigi he can go in and see them.

He goes.

Peach looks exhausted, but happy.

The baby is sleeping. 

Luigi can’t believe how beautiful the baby is.

Peach agrees.

“We did good, huh?

“Would you like to hold her?”

Luigi is nervous.

He’s afraid he’ll drop her.

Peach says she trusts him.

Luigi takes the baby.

She’s so light. 

She doesn’t wake up, only stirs under the blanket.

They’re a banished princess and a disgraced hero, both living in exile,

But home is right here in his arms. 

The Italian word for star is stella.

It seemed like a perfect name.

“Hello, Stella.

“I’m your uncle.”

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 13

Prompt:  Unfortunately, I’ve had no prompts that I was able to fit well with sorting the mess I’ve landed our heroine and Loki in. However, I heard a song which I think it’s going to help and a sister came up with the rest. This chapter’s prompts are as follow: “A little wicked” by Valerie Broussard, Bifrost , and a heart. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual (I think), references to lovemaking, angst, sass, death threats, sadness, did I mention angst? We will get backer to happier days with citrussy goodness...eventually...maybe A/N: If you like, PLS reblog. Any comment is welcome! This chapter will probaably be the last untill I’ve handed in the paper on my BA project, sorry. Check out my masterlist in the meantime (can be found in bio)

Demanding

… Loki’s PoV   …

The hollow sound cuts through walls and bones, through Loki’s very soul as he jolts awake in the cell within the very foundations of the castle. A blue shimmer runs across his limbs, but the fallen prince is oblivious to it as every part of his brain analyzes the options of defense against whichever unknown enemy Odin’s two wolves are warning the kingdom about. The beasts rarely make a sound louder than a barking greeting but now…this has only happened once or twice before in all of history when the ruler of Asgard had been in peril.

[Y/N]. Despite the woman’s odd position as a Midgardian guest introduced by Loki, surely the Einherjar or at least Thor will see to it that she’s safe. If only she will listen to them.

… Reader’s PoV   …

No one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne Beware the patient woman, cause this much I know

The heart’s thumping away rapidly in your chest as you see guard upon guard in gleaming armour line up in a circle all the way around the broad, golden throne where you’re sitting. At least the wolves have stopped howling, but it’s in favour of pacing the empty area between you and the spears that are lowered to point at you. Well, you try to assure yourself, it would’ve been too much to assume anything less. Still it’s with a certain apprehension that you accept which course your actions have set you upon.

“[Y/N],” Thor’s deep voice comes from somewhere behind you, “what are you doing?”

You don’t dare to turn around, to look for the face that you know will be radiating with confused concern. He’s taken kindly to you and it feels like you’re letting him down somehow. He’ll understand later. Keeping your head high and back straight, your eyes fix upon the gigantic door at the very end of the darkened throne room.

“Prince Thor,” you acknowledge, “is the king on his way?”

Coming around to stand before you, the blond god shoves one of the wolves unceremoniously out of his way, earning nothing more than a slight “yip”. “If all you wanted was to speak with father, I am sure a request would have been sufficient.”

The tone (though too rough) and comment are so familiar it makes your eyes sting. Yes, it might’ve been…but it wouldn’t send the right signal. Guilt and frustration wars within you, the spear is slippery in your hands that are holding it so tightly your knuckles are tingling. One wrong word or move, and any of those weapons pointed at you will suddenly be stuck through you…or maybe you’ll have an up-close encounter with the biggest wolves you’ve ever seen. And all for some stupid, calculative, seductive Trickster. I’m so fucked.

“An audience wouldn’t help much if the king doesn’t trust the extend of my dedication.”

“He would listen and consider any request.”

“Would he let Loki go if I asked him?” The silence and averted eyes are answers in their own right. “I thought so.”

“Yet this?” Strong arms sweep to encompass the scene around the opposing parties. “Lay down Gungnir, step down from the throne and let us talk.”

“I’d love to Thor…I really would.” For a moment you allow your steely appearance to falter, locking gazes with the prince through a haze. “But it wouldn’t help. Not anymore, because it won’t get me what –”

A thunderous impact of wood against stone signals the arrival of Odin stalking through the doors in a flood of torchlight that flickers and dances in the reflections of the armours of even more guards. Even from this distance, it’s obvious that he’s hastily dressed in something remarkably similar to a bathrobe, just not as fluffy. For a second, an image of the All-Father dressed in a pink, fluffy bathrobe and matching slippers appears in your mind but it’s chased away the moment you see his face contorted with rage. Yeah…I’m dead.

“What,” he hisses, surprisingly calmly, “is the meaning of this?” With long strides, Odin makes his way to the dais where everyone moves aside for him. Not you.

“Father, she clai–“

Thor’s cut off sharply: “Let her speak for herself unless you side with this mortal.”

Ouch. It’s hard to say what hurts the most, the venom laced into that last word or the way Thor looks to you pleadingly before stepping over to stand by his father.

“Your majesty,” you begin.

“So you recognize my authority, still,” Odin promptly challenges.

Managing to bite back a sigh, you count to ten before continuing. “I have no wish to denounce your rule, All-Father, you’ve been a kind host and I’m deeply grateful for the care and hospitality of Asgard.”

“Then enough of this nonsense. Seize her!”

You’re on your feet faster than you realize, the deadly sharp tip of Gungnir inches away from the old king as Thor and anyone else in the room pounces at you before stopping abruptly. That was too fast…how could I do that? There’s no time to consider it now, though, your focus solely on the Asgardian before you who’s looking down at his own weapon aimed at his chest. Okay, maybe your focus is slightly divided because the hot air of a pair of predators is curling around your neck and arms, sharp teeth bared as a last warning.

“[Y/N]…” Even Thor’s stunned at the development. “What are you doing?”

“You said it yourself, and really there’s no doubt…” The words nearly get stuck in your throat, but the doubt and guilt is gone, leaving behind a wonderful peace that Odin clearly recognizes. “Let Loki return to Midgard. You can banish him all you want but let him out and let him live.”

“You risk your life for him?” A watery, blue eye challenges your sanity.

“Yes.”

Clearly exasperated, Thor reaches for you but stops at the motion from his father. “[Y/N], be reasonable. Loki would not want this…he risked his life to save yours.”

“I know…and how am I supposed to live with that knowledge?”

To the king, I will bow, at least for now One of these days a-coming, I'm gonna take that boy's crown

…   Loki’s PoV   …

The howling has stopped. Einherjar have come and gone, at first whispering agitatedly amongst each other, but since then silence has fallen, laden with a different tension which can almost be tasted in the air. Chaos. Insecurity. Loki lives for these things, but normally he’s the one to cause them and being left out of the loop is infuriating to say the least. Pacing the bright cell, frost snakes from each footstep in tendrils towards the walls as the Jotun’s attention and concerns are anywhere but with himself, the only apparent consolation being that there appears to have been no bloodshed. What has happened?

Faint voices hint at new arrivals to the dungeons and Thor appears shortly after on the other side of the golden shimmer that keeps the prisoner safely inside the perimeter.

“Brother, what is going on? Is [Y/N] safe?” The words have left Loki’s mouth in a garbled hurry.

There’s an electric shine to the older brother’s eyes and…is that…amusement? “If by safe you mean currently alive, then yes.”

“Don’t be cryptic, it suits you ill.”

This time a broad smile proves the suspicion. “Your girlfriend’s currently holding father at spear point.”

The words individually make sense but strung together like this and accompanied by the twisted amusement the meaning as a whole becomes blurred. Loki witnesses, as though removed from his own body, how the barrier is lowered and the brothers and a few einherjar leave the dismal dungeons.

Every nerve sing with the tension crackling from the people surrounding the slender prisoner, fusing his mind and body again. Oh, how he used to love that sensation. The thrill of watching others scrabble helplessly to understand and survive the chaos dragging them anywhere at once. This time it’s different because not only does he recognize the frantic uncertainty, Loki’s sharing in it. What is she doing? The bafflement that had consumed the Trickster at first is replaced by an array of possible scenarios which all, somehow, grab his heart in a vice. Spearpoint. Glancing at his brother, the hope that Thor merely is jesting is snuffed – the warrior does not posses such humour. Odin at spearpoint. No such thing should be able to happen without the offender losing their life the instant the weapon was readied. Unless…

“The spear. The spear.” Loke recalls the impossible weight of Gungnir perfectly although years have passed.

Thor grunts in approval. “And she wields it well, I may add.”

Two corridors pass in a seemingly endless blur before the group finally enters the grand hall through a side door, granting Loki an immediate view of the strangely twisted situation. A golden ring of nervous guards surround the only calm people, yet Odin and [Y/N] should logically be the most agitated in this scene due to the evident threat to their lives. The tip of Gungnir wavers delicately with each breath of the Midgardian. Grace. Unbidden, Loki appreciates the ferocious beauty of the woman, her body poised and controlled. Deadly perfection.

“Beloved.” She doesn’t flinch at his word, merely smiles. “What are you doing?”

“I’m negotiating your release.”

Moving closer, Loki sees the shift in the wolves standing at either side of the woman he loves. They are ready to attack her, tear out the delicate throat that has moaned his name so prettily. Only Odin’s order holds the beasts back. Why hasn’t he let them? Soft wrinkles and fragile skin speak silently of the millennia the king has lived and the hardships he has navigated the kingdom safely through until reaching this very point in time and space where a mortal holds the king’s spear to the king’s own heart. A few delicate threads in the robe have already been damage by the sharp metal.

“You…decided the best way to plead my case was by threatening the All-Father with Gungnir?”

[Y/E/C] never leave the single pale blue before her. “Frankly, I didn’t actually intend for this to happen,” the words are softened by her own chuckle, “I w’s snooping ‘round to learn more ‘bout what I’m up against…came here and saw the spear lying, so…I decided to try’t out.”

“Geri and Freki often spend the nights here,” Odin muses softly, “they saw you.”

“Correct, your highness.” The smile’s gone from the lips Loki has come to adore. “Forced to improvise then.”

Gentle, despite the stern voice, the woman explains her demands: in exchange for letting the king live and get Gungnir back, she and Loki will be allowed to leave Asgard safely, banished once more for eternity or unless the verdict be retracted. She even apologises for the turn of events, admitting that it’s a poor way of repaying a life debt.

Silence returns while Odin considers the proposal.

Hands red, hands red just like he said I am a little wicked

Using the time to look around, the adopted son finds that more people have appeared in the shadows from where they watch nervously. Several faces are familiar such as Heimdall’s and Sif’s, old friends whom he abandoned and lost the right to count on, adding to the pain that drove Loki too far astray. I got red in my ledger too. No Asgard has long since seized being the fallen prince’s home.

“[Y/N] daughter of [Y/mom’s/N],” Odin announces loud enough for all to hear, “even if your actions had been limited to wielding Gungnir and sitting on the throne the sentence would have been eternal imprisonment.”

Let her live, she does not understand our customs. Loki can feel the nails bite into his palms, but he must stay calm or the pending verdict may become even worse. Gaze flicking from the two figures, an unconditional admiration takes root in his heart at the stoicism with which this fragile mortal is facing her doom.

“From our conversations, I have learned that you are intelligent and kind of nature and it leads me to believe that violence holds no interest for you,” Odin continues, earning a soft nod, “thus your motivation must stem from somewhere else…the love you have found for Loki…a love that he has proven with the breach of his sentence to be mutual.” The slightest quiver of [Y/N] lips threatens to break Loki’s resolve. “I remember love. There was not one thing I would not do for my beloved Frigga.” A silent tear slips from Odin’s healthy eye. “I accept your terms, [Y/N] of Midgard. Upon my word, no ill shall befall you or Loki on my orders if you leave now.”

…   Reader’s PoV   …

Sometimes life can work out really well despite how hard you’ve tried to fuck things up. Staring at Odin, you feel your mouth fall open as what he just said seeps into your brain. All right. Slowly stepping back while trying to ignore the imposing presences of the wolves, you accept that the mad plan worked. Yes. Right then. Mouth closing, you still can’t shut up the inner voice that reminds you that technically there hadn’t been a plan, just a stupid idea grabbed out of nowhere as an avalanche of troubles started rolling. Okay. Yes. That’s it. Both wolves step aside as you turn the spear for Odin to take. The moment it leaves your hands, you start shaking from all that has transpired.

“Thank you,” you manage to squeak to the king.

Old but strong hands grab your upper arms soothingly. “I do not condone of your actions…yet I have hope, the love the two of you hold for each other may be vital.”

Next moment it’s Loki’s arms around you and his hands tugging you so close you only can breathe in his scent.

It’s not really you, that walk with the tall, black-haired god through the city, along the Bifrost (which you only vaguely realize is one of the most breathtakingly gorgeous things you’ve ever seen) and into a golden sphere of magical, Asgardian technology. It’s a bit more you that bids the king farewell after listening to the consequences if you or Loki should return uninvited (death both or, if only one of you pulls such a stunt, at least for the trespasser and imprisonment for the other). It is however completely you, that feels the full force of the rainbow bridge hurtling you through the universe, dropping pieces of your organs and mind along the way. Or so it feels.

[teriiiwrites]

2019 Writing Wrap-Up

I typically do this on my main rather than here because I always forget this exists, but not this year! 

Another year where I didn’t end up sharing a single thing I wrote in its entirety so I’m sticking with my trend there lmao. Good to know that some things never change. But I have taken the first steps towards that - namely, starting this blog to give myself a place to talk more about writing. 

Now, onto the stats!

Total for 2019: 104,374 words!

I actually wasn’t expecting to even near the 100K mark this year, so the fact that I passed it was a pleasant surprise. It’s significantly less than I hit in 2018 (over 170K), but I’m still very proud of what I accomplished throughout the year. 

My focus over 2019 was based a little less in silly concept story ideas (which I still love dearly and want to do more of this next year) but I tried to focus a little more in diversity. In the types of stories, the characters in them, and how they were written. I did my best to push my boundaries with it, which often led to taking longer with my writing and probably is one of the reasons the word count of the year wasn’t as high as last year. But I felt it was important for me, and I’m glad that I worked on what I did. 

The longest piece I wrote was my WIP NaNo novel, Castle on the Hill, which hit 57,037 words. I’m hoping to work a little more on it in 2020 and maybe finish up a first draft over the summer, when I have a little more time. 

With that, here are some of the highlights:

~~

“They say the British are starting to listen to our people there! That they might consider changing some of the voting laws!” He preaches with the pride of a man who has always believed in the good of the British, but it is confusing to hear him speak like this.

Wasn’t it only months ago when his father spoke of the evils of the British invaders? Of the unforgivable things they’d done? How is it that, now, he draws his own family closer to the center of their spiderweb?

(A Wanderer on a Scorched Path)

~~

That night in the motel had turned into a week, which turned into a month, and so on until all Laine’s memories of her early childhood involved Do Not Disturb signs and vending machine dinners. 

(A Walk Down Memory Laine)

~~

In hearing of her success, the townsfolk quietly cheered for her, disregarding their previous contempt for the malicious girl who’d tormented them. She was all at once one of theirs. Hadn’t they laughed with her, waved at her, made faces at the small girl who had seemed so unlike her family? And perhaps all of their attempts at kindness were being paid off. Finally, here was a Grey who would break the curse of her cruel family and be a decent sort. 

(The Grey Manor)

~~

A familiar coach split the crowd, curtains drawn over the windows. It was almost easy to believe that the Greys were inside, eager – if Greys could be eager – about reuniting with their youngest. But there was only one Lady Grey left. 

(The Grey Manor)

~~

It was during one of these heavy snowstorms that the Visitor arrived in town. None could claim to know where she came from, and fewer still knew her name. Even the details of her appearance never quite matched up – some said she was an old woman, with hair like straw and wearing rags better fit for carrying potatoes than being worn. Other claimed she was no older than thirty, that the apparent age was only due to her gravelly voice and wild, fair hair. They said that though her clothes were faded and tattered and too large on her tiny frame, one could still see the frayed ruffles and faint design of what once must have been a fine gown. 

(The Grey Manor)

~~

Years had passed since the doctor’s apprentice had last been to the Grey Manor. He’d been one of many who had taken a thrill at the abandoned house while Lady Grey had been away. He now considered himself above such superstitions. Yet the effect of the snow-covered cemetery and the sprawling, leafless ivy across the outer walls could not be blamed wholly on the overcast sky. 

(The Grey Manor)

~~

The doctor’s apprentice made his way deeper into the house, but the Grey Manor felt more fit for ghosts than the living. 

(The Grey Manor)

~~

“Good afternoon, Clara!” I greeted as I waved for her to take a seat before my desk.

“Doctor,” she responded in kind. She pulled back the chair and fell into it in one fluid motion. “Things are on the up-and-up!”

As much as I appreciated her enthusiasm, having supervillain clients typically meant having to gently discourage their flavor of ‘on the up-and-up’. 

(The Desk of Dr. Isselhardt)

~~

“I think I’ll start off with a vacation. I was initially thinking of revisiting the city I grew up in, but finding a kennel for my hellhounds would be a nightmare, and I just know none of my friends would take them in.”

I had met Jekyll and Hyde once, when I’d bumped into Clara on my morning jog in the park, and I couldn’t blame them.  

(The Desk of Dr. Isselhardt)

~~

The angelic child screamed like a demon, yet Camila adored her more than she’d known she was able. 

(Quinta and Her Cat)

~~

Amara leaned back against the door, staring at the ceiling. “Your Guardians don’t seem as sympathetic as you make them out to be.”

Deirdre kicked out her foot, but only caught the edge of some piping. “They have to choose their battles. They’re strong, but not so strong as to fight all of them.”

“Legal skirmishes between the elite is apparently a higher priority than the oppression of thousands,” was Amara’s reply.

Deirdre didn’t respond; she had nothing more to say. 

(The Great Guardians)

~~

One of the aliens is moving quickly towards me, and I realize my impression that they are humanoid was a little premature. Though its head, neck, and torso are vaguely like mine, the bottom half of their bodies are more like a spider. A gray, spider centaur. With no face.

A small part of my brain asks why I'm not terrified. I have no answer for it. 

(Alien Abduction)

~~

Sir Michel had been in Eastcairn Keep only once before, but the imposing walls of stone were as familiar as if he had grown up here. The halls were cold and impersonal, as though acknowledging that they'd been around long before Sir Michel had arrived and they would stand the same long after he was gone. 

(Foul Play)

~~

"I have a sister." Andromeda's voice was soft, but it carried as though all of the forest had quieted to listen. "The kingdom is in no great danger of losing an heir."

Sir Michel chuckled at her naivety. "Princess, if you believe that your father will allow for this - "

"Then let him come to tell me himself."

Never before had Sir Michel been interrupted by a woman. His laughter caught in his throat, and, for a moment, he was too stunned by Andromeda's audacity to respond. 

(Foul Play)

~~

"The King is busy running a country, as one day your future husband shall."

"And I suppose you think that by carrying me back to the Keep, you'll be given the position?" Andromeda asked bitterly. She brushed a loose braid behind her shoulder. "You, a man with nothing but a meager title, sitting on the throne? No one with sense could expect such a fate for you, yet here you are."

"Yet here I am," was the knight's weak response. He couldn't understand how it was that he spoke far louder than the princess, and yet his words didn't seem to carry half as well or ring half as true. 

(Foul Play)

~~

"One of your men killed Tihomil, but not you. The trial is not fair."

"We don't fight fair when it comes to your life." 

(Foul Play)

~~

Andromeda pushed herself away, pulling her dagger with her. When she lifted a part of her skirt, Sir Michel saw that it was strapped to her leg, a place no honorable man would've thought to check. When she bent down again, her face was no more than a foot from the knight's.

"I don't fight fair when it comes to my life," Andromeda hissed. She wiped the blood staining her hands onto Sir Michel's breastplate, trailing red across its center. 

(Foul Play)

~~

As his vision began to tunnel, Sir Michel the Righteous' last sight was that of the princess stealing off into the night, her movements as feral and graceful as something too wild to be contained in the Keep. 

(Foul Play)

~~

Josef Weber was a quiet and privileged man, and the two together gave him the appearance of being far prouder than he actually was. This view was encouraged by the fact that he surrounded himself with few friends, and that those he kept were similar in stature and wealth to himself. 

(Castle on the Hill)

~~

The night sky was illuminated by fireworks, casting a scarlet glow over the small, German city of Heidelberg. Its castle stood imposingly atop a hill, awash in the red, mimicking fires that had taken the structure from what it had once been to the ruins that now overlooked Old Downtown. Crowds of thousands had flooded the streets, watching the annual celebration in awe as the fireworks reflected in the Neckar River below. 

(Castle on the Hill)

~~

“Shouldn’t you be running back to Hulmarra? I thought you were loyal to your lady.”

Theren’s laugh was abrupt and loud, but when he stopped, his voice was coldly stern. “We’re loyal to two things. Gold and discretion. It just so happens Lady Iltazyara is well equipped with both.”

Verna smirked. “Only those two things? If I paid you to kill your sister, would you do it?”

“That price would cost far more than you have,” Theren said with a condescending smile.

“You’d be surprised how much I have at my disposal,” Verna taunted.

“Then we can talk later.” Theren winked in her direction and grinned broadly at the impatient look on Rowan’s face. 

(The Virtuous Seven)

[furbyfubar]

How's Sweden? 🇪🇺🇸🇪❤️

In what context? Do you mean for the country as a whole or what? Big question...

Never mind, I get few enough asks here that I can give you a more comprehensive answer. I'll use it as an excuse to take stock of my personal trends against those of my country? Sorry not sorry for the incoming wall of text. Note, this is why you shouldn't say "How do you do?" to anyone from Sweden; we're tragically likely to give you an honest answer!

Weather for Sweden: You're UK based, so lets go by stereotypes and start with talking about the weather I suppose? It's winter, so the weather here is *usually* quickly summed up as "dark". Right now Sweden has between ~7 hours 15 minutes of time between sun up and sun down in the far south of Sweden, and "fuck you" minutes of sun on the far north, where it's currently polar night until about two weeks into January. On top the normal lack of sun, Sweden got an early Autumn this year and had less actually sunny days than usual in October and November due to clouds. So yeah, vitamin D deficiency for about 25% of the population according to my doctor. And many of the ones avoiding a deficiency are doing it by eating supplements. On a longer time scale, ”climate” not “weather”... Yeah, we’ve been having heat records broken and all that shit here the past few years as as well while having some winters be worse due to the Gulf stream being messed up..

Rating: 3.5/10  – It sucks, but it's not much worse than the expected level of suckiness?Weather for me personally: I'm based in Stockholm and we're currently at 6½h of sun up time per day, but like I said, it’s been cloudy. Not so cold so far though. The problem for me personally is that when the sun goes down at 14:52 I often miss out on the sun completely due to my fucked up sleeping patterns. Or the sun is up but covered while I’m going to work and that's it for sunlight that day. I'd likely suffer from winter depression if only I could separate it from my normal depression. We’ve had some snow that stays on the ground, but we’re somewhat surprisingly not in the hell that is streets filled with snow-water slosh yet.

Rating: 3.5/10 – I don’t think the weather sucks more or less for me than it does for the country on average. (Places north of the polar circle excluded; I would really no be able to stand months of polar night.)

Health for Sweden: Sweden made #6 on the Bloomberg 2019 Healthiest Country Index, up two positions from 2017. Up from a score of 88.92 to 90.24 out of 100, so apparently it's not just other countries having worse health, things have gotten a bit better here.Rating: 9.24/10 – Well, Bloomberg hopefully put a lot more effort into their score than I’ll ever do, so I’ll just re-scale and steal it. 

Health for me personally: I had to basically skip a year due depression and exhaustion. Not being able to work due to a non-functioning brain obviously sucks, but to bring this back to how Sweden is: Being able to be on sick leave for almost a year and thus being able to focus on getting medication that works for me and not being worried about getting evicted for not making rent is a blessing. I'm back to working part time since October while still on sick leave for 50%, trying to ease me back in to the productive work force. So far going well. If I’d been forced to somehow work or starve, or live off my parents or something instead, I’m pretty sure I’d either be much deeper in depression right now, or be dead. I’ve still not really found meds that work great for me, but I'm feeling much better than I was a year ago.

Rating: 3/10 – I'm as optimistic as a clinically depressed person gets to be.

Status politically for Sweden (as I see it personally): It's getting more fucked by the day. The Moderate party just broke their campaign promise to not cooperate with the Sweden Democrats, a party born from neo-Nazi and white power movements. For UK context, think of the British National Party. Now imagine them going from a fringe group in the '90s to getting 20% of the votes in recent polls. They've been doing this all while having a whole bunch of scandals that would've hurt or killed the credibility of any non-fascist party. They're racist, homo- and transphobic, and operate their own alternative media that have ties to Russian disinformation efforts. So yeah, as a gay guy who's seen the inside of a few history books: Outlook not great.

Rating: 2/10 – If only because it can still get worse. Think first act of Cabaret.

Love life for Sweden: Hmm, check in on satwcomic.com I suppose?

Love life for me personally: Yes please? I've been single for longer than I'm willing to admit. I've barely dated anyone for ages due to my aforementioned depression making me not feel like someone worth dating. Also, there's some types of vitamin D deficiencies that eating supplements won't cure...

Rating: I really don't want to put a number on this so I won’t. Honestly, graphing out my love life numerically doesn't sound all that productive. But somewhere at the edge of the Bell curve is the guy for me?

Economically for Sweden: Sweden's been in a upward business cycle since 2016, but it's ebbing out and is expected to be balanced sometime next real. Ie, things have been good, but things aren't quite yet bad. Rating: 5.5/10 – I suppose? Not really my area of expertise.

Economically for me personally: Not complaining at all on this front. I got an IT job four years ago after having worked part time in retail for a bunch of years and having been a student before that. I've managed to not raise my monthly expenses even nearly as much as my pay went up. So while I’m not wealthy, I'm still surprised by being able to have a savings account that grows steadily and still having more spending money over each month.

My rating: 8/10 – This quote by Charles Dickens comes to mind: “Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pound ought and six, result misery.” 

Social life in Sweden: According to this article I just Googled up from half remembering reading in 2015, “The expat quality of life survey" published by HSBC, Sweden was the worst country for the category "Making friends". Looking at the data on HSBC's website we're apparently no longer dead last as a place to be making friends, we're now 31st out of the 33 countries listed, with Japan at 32nd place and Saudi Arabia last at 33rd. The United Kingdom is at 29th.

It is close to impossible to make friends here by talking to random strangers in most situations, as only weird people talk to strangers. Of course that mentality is self-fulfilling since if you assume any stranger talking to you is weird, drunk, or high, you will not want to make friends with strangers that talk to you, and you won't want to talk to strangers more than you have to or risk being branded weird. Even striking up random conversations at a pub will be more difficult here. 

But don’t despair, there’s a trick! Find the few social situations where Swedes want to talk to people they don't know: This is done by joining some organization or club of some sort. It doesn't really matter if it's a board gaming group, a student group, doing volunteer work for the local Pride or some other NPO or if it's a club for people who really like a certain breed of dogs. Once we've decided that we're among our own kind of people (and I don't mean "other Swedes") we'll happily talk to strangers, and not only about subjects related to that specific organization. Step two is converting them to be your friends and not just some randos you can talk to at some club meeting. I’m sad to say that traditionally this is done with alcohol, either by dragging people along to a pub/bar, or by inviting them or being invited by them to some sort of party. Without alcohol the fallback is fika. If the organization you’ve joined is something that you will naturally be spending time doing outside of the organization or club meetings that’s also ideal. Once you’ve invited or been invited to a few things outside of the organization it’s not strange to invite them to other social things than what the organization cares about.

For fairness to anyone reading this that didn’t read the article: I should probably also mention that the same HSBC study had Sweden as the top country in Europe for “overall quality of life” for expats here. And third best in the world, just behind Singapore and New Zealand in the same category. "Swedes make great friends but terrible strangers”.

My rating for making friends in Sweden is : 3/10 - Join a club, any club.

Social life for me personally: I have a few great close friends and a bunch more not quite as close friends who are also great. Come to think of it, many of them I've met through one of the three different organizations I've been most active in, and most of the rest I met through those friends. I'm really thankful for having friends who are still around even after I've spent way too much time feeling too bad to be very social or friendly at all.

My rating of my friends: 10/10 - No, I'm not biased.OK, so let’s average those numbers up and pretend the averages mean something!

Sweden: 5.81Me:  6.63Wait what? I’m winning?