#be mindful comes from link's father's advice to him

[linksthoughtbrambles]

I would love to hear about "Be Mindful" :)

Wow, anxious, it's amazing you asked about that one, because it's a draft of an idea I had for a gift fic for you! I ended up not going with this one because I thought it would end up extremely long - like a multi-chapter fic - but I would like to write it in the future.

It's an AU in which the only initial change from BotW is that Link arrives at Hyrule Castle much earlier with his father - long before he would pull the sword - and meets Zelda right away, neither of them having any idea who the other is. It gives them a little time to develop a relationship without the sword being an issue, and changes the entire chain of events. Here's a snippet:

----

A fair number of people were in view—some soldiers on the battlements, some Sheikah, some going about daily castle business—but a glint of bright lemon-yellow drew Link’s eye to a woman taking the same path he and his father had to reach the courtyard stairs.

That bright yellow sat atop her head in the form of hair—an astoundingly long braid wrapped around the rest of it, tied back out of her face.  She clutched something to her chest—a book maybe—and she had a frown on as she watched the flagstones pass her feet.  She was walking fast, her practical clothing allowing it far better than a dress would have, but it wasn’t Sheikah clothing, nor did it look like a servant’s.  She wore Hylian trousers, soft and close to form-fitting like his, and boots (also a lot like his) with a practical shirt and bodice, with leather half-gloves.

He found her eyes downturned, as deep green as rhododendron leaves in sun-dappled thicket, and his heart—which had ceased to beat—careened into his ribcage.

She was beautiful, wasn’t she?   She-

She looked up.

Her eyes widened as her mouth fell open.

Link realized he was doing the same thing.

“Uh,” he said.

“Oh!” she said.

Her eyes stayed on his.

And his stayed on hers.

Somehow, it didn’t feel awkward to Link.

Apparently it didn’t feel awkward to the woman either.  She approached him, small step by small step, hugging her book to her chest more tightly.  “Are you new here?” she asked.

Why wouldn’t Link’s mouth close?

He tried very hard to swallow.  His mouth and throat were so dry—but he couldn’t take out his canteen and just… swig water down while she was waiting for him to answer her.  Right?  Right.  Imagine if she did that.  If he asked her what her name was, and she just… grabbed that container off her belt and started drinking from it, looking him right in the eye while she gulped and gulped and gulped and time just got longer and that WOULD get more and more awkward, with total silence except for the gulping—he wouldn’t be able to look away from it either, he’d be riveted to the spot.

Yep.  He would not drink from his canteen. That would be really off-putting and it would take way too long to answer.

Kind of like how he was taking way too long to answer—right now.

Her mouth had closed and she had kind of a worried look on her face.

“Sorry,” he said.

“S-sorry?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“For what?”

“For- for taking so long to answer you.”

She just stared at him.

“Oh!  Right!  Um.  Yes, I’m new here,” he said, turning a little red, but less red than he thought he would, so that was something.  He needed to get his inner monologue under control.

Her face started moving in an odd manner.  It turned downward and to her left a little, and that side of it scrunched up a bit.  Then that corner of her mouth started to turn up and ohhhh, she was going to laugh at him, wasn’t she?  Yeah, he deserved that-

“Eh- eh- hehehe!” she giggled.

Yeah.  Totally deserved.  He was kind of an idiot.

“I take it by the sword at your side you’ve come to enlist?” she asked.

Link’s mouth dropped open for the second time.

She… still wanted to talk to him?

“Yeah-s,” he said.  On the end of the word, he’d remembered courtly manners were a little more formal than what he’d been used to in Hateno.  He turned ever so slightly pinker than he’d already been.

It didn’t do anything to dampen the smile the woman now wore.  She turned her face upward and it accentuated the swooping shape of her nose.  “I see.  Have you some skill already?”

“Oh,” he said.  “I- yeah, I know how to use a sword,” he said.  His hand itched to come up and grip the back of his own neck or scratch the back of his head, but he resisted.  No need to act like a shy kid.  People would make enough fun of him, with how short he was.

----

[It's still in a very drafty state - but someday I hope to spruce it up and flesh it out!]

Thanks for the ask!

[aidansloth]

Voice Modulator Shenanigans

Summary: You and Hitoshi find yourselves in his dorm having fun with his voice modulator when you accidentally let some top-secret information slip.

Warnings and A/N: just swearing, this is all fluff don’t worry! Reader is gender neutral and written in the 2nd person. If you think Hitoshi is ooc, no he’s not. He's just happy.. Maybe inaccuracy on how his mask works but listen, I’m not an engineer. Oh, and established relationship. 

Words: 0.6k

I also posted this on AO3! Here's the link!

It takes a good while for your and Hitoshi’s laughter to calm down, maybe too long but in your defense he did just give a flawless Katsuki imitation using his mask. When you finally find it in yourself to speak he’s still wiping tears from his eyes.

“I think you should pursue acting honestly.” 

He grins. “Yeah?”

“As a hobby even. I’d come to see your shows.” His grin becomes a smile and it gets even wider.

“You better bring me flowers for those shows then.”

“Only if you promise that I get a backstage pass.” 

“Deal.” 

There are a few beats of comfortable silence, your heads are laying next to each other on his pillow. Your shoulders are touching and the only thing you can hear is his breathing, gentle and regular. An idea pops into your head. You sit up and turn to look at your boyfriend, hardly containing your excitement; he looks up at you and he can already tell he’ll give you anything you ask for.

“What?”

“Can I try your mask on?” 

He stares blankly for a few seconds. “Sure. Though I’m not sure it’ll stay on your face correctly since it’s meant to fit my face exactly.”

“That’s fine, can you help me though?” Hitoshi had already the intention of helping you but he keeps that to himself, instead he nods and sits up with you, grabbing the device from his nightstand. 

“Who do you want to imitate?”

“Darth Vader.” 

He stares at you.

“What?” You ask.

“I thought you were more creative than this babe.” 

“Oh shut up and help me put on this damn mask.”

“Aye aye captain.”

He places the piece of equipment on your jaw trying to adjust it to your face as well as possible, he then toys with the settings. When he’s done he places a kiss on your forehead before moving away. 

“There, try to speak.” 

You clear your throat. “HELLO- OH GOD, IT WORKS!”

“Of course it works.”

“OH STOP IT WITH THE SASS.” He smiles fondly but doesn’t respond. You straighten your back and clear your throat again as you’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life. 

“HITOSHI, I AM YOUR FATHER.” 

He just stares at you. You stare at him. 

“OH COME ON, THAT WAS FUNNY.”

“No it wasn’t. Here, watch this.” With care he takes the mask off you and adjusts it on himself instead. You watch him change the settings in silence, wondering what character he’s got in mind. Once he’s done he looks at you dead in the eyes and speaks.

Gollum’s fucking voice comes out.

“My precioussss.” 

You cannot contain your laughter for the life of you. You end up falling back on the bed while clutching your stomach. And just like that three little words escape without your knowledge. 

“Oh my god I love you.” 

He freezes and so do you. He rips his mask off carelessly, chucking it on the black sheets under you. You slowly creep up from your position to look at him. 

“You what?”

“I, ehm- I love you?”

“Is that a question?”

“No! I- I love you. I do.” Silence falls again, your gazes never wavering. 

“Do you also or…”

“Oh God, yes, sorry, yes. I do. I love you too.”

A smile forms on your face and he matches it. 

This is a very sweet and romantic moment for the two of you as you can imagine which is why your gremlin ass decides to ruin it.

“You know- I might not mind the Gollum voice again in different circumstances-” You get interrupted by Hitoshi’s cushion being thrown in your face.

Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism/advice is welcomed.

[therainscene]

Stranger Things 4 is themed around A Nightmare on Elm Street -- Vecna is a child-killer-turned-demon who murders teenagers from within their own minds; his heavily scarred skin and clawed hand resemble that of Freddy Krueger; and the actor who played Freddy himself plays his father.

I think Stranger Things 5 is gearing up to do something similar with The Terminator. Linda Hamilton (Sarah Connor) is the upcoming guest star this season; Vecna's exposed skull and vine-covered neck resembles the T-800--

--and Will's speech at the end of S4 bears striking similarities to Kyle Reece's famous "it can't be reasoned with" speech.

If Vecna is the T-800... then the Mind Flayer is the perfect candidate for Skynet.

[And Hawkins National Laboratory is Cyberdyne Systems -- a military-funded lab that meddled with phenomena beyond its ability to control and paved the way for a sinister hive mind to enter the world.]

I'm pretty sure that the Mind Flayer lies at the heart of whatever timey-wimey stuff is going on. It's suspiciously linked to timeline inconsistencies -- Will is already able to sense it in his neck before his possession in S2, and young Henry in TFS is haunted by the spider monster he wasn't supposed to create for another 20 years.

I've already written a theory on how a causal loop could tie Will and Henry to the Mind Flayer -- whatever's going on is probably more complicated than this, since my theory doesn't explain why the Upside Down is frozen -- but it's worth a read, I think, as it's the same type of time paradox as the one in Terminator and could easily be at the core of ST's time shenanigans.

Will is Kyle Reece or Sarah Connor -- so does that mean he's going to be a gun-toting badass?

No.

This scene is Will coming full circle from that moment in the shed at the start of S1: backed into a corner and forced to resort to violence because he sees no other way out. He doesn't want to kill the monster; he has to.

But the difference is that he's not cornered anymore.

This time around, Will knows his enemy, and he has supportive friends and family at his side. He's just so beaten down -- by Vecna, by Hawkins, by perceived rejections from Mike -- that he's lost all confidence in his ability to stand up for himself on his own terms.

I know it seems at first glance that Will advocates the use of violence in desperate times, but consider the context of the episode in which the above scene appears:

Joyce is reminiscing about her missing son while dealing with Lonnie telling her what to do and feel about it. Shortly after, she realizes how manipulative he's being and permanently kicks him out of her life (and the show lol) -- no violence necessary.

Will's advice hadn't been about the value of violence, but about the value of refusing to play by abusers' rules -- a key lesson in Stranger Things, as we've been watching El learn it the hard way over the course of four seasons.

Will cannot self-actualize by "finally" pulling the trigger on an approach that symbolizes his homophobic father's macho expectations. S5 is going to be about him regaining his self-confidence and allowing his authentic, gentle nature to guide him to the real solution.

So, to return to the "he's not gonna stop" speech: the theme at play here is inevitability, and it's one of the central themes of The Terminator -- not simply because the titular assassin is unstoppable, but because of the love story that drives the plot:

If Skynet hadn't sent the T-800 back in time to kill Sarah Connor before she could give birth to the leader of the human resistance, then Kyle would have had no reason to go back in time and end up unknowingly fathering John. No matter how hard Skynet tried to snuff John Connor out of existence, the rebellious love that created him was just as inevitable as the T-800.

This, I think, is the message at the heart of both Terminator and Stranger Things, and is the reason why The Terminator would be the perfect choice for S5's theme movie:

Sometimes the horrors wrought by humanity are inescapable...

...but so too is the hopeful human drive to love each other and overcome them.

Read Brenner's role in creating Vecna as a metaphor for homophobic Reagan-era fear-mongering and it all clicks into place, I think.

[mattiebluebird]

Yk that post that's like ‘signal is the spiritual successor to nightwing’ bc I DO & IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT NON-STOP.

And the comics pretty much confirm it (To Me) in Grayson #15.

So in this issue each of the Robins, minus Steph (RIP Steph) get paired off with one of the We Are Robin gang and give them their own advice on what it means to be Robin.

Tim—whose main problem with this whole thing is that they don't know these kids, how can they trust them?—gets paired with Andre Cipriani, a mob kid whose dad was murdered by a rival gang when he was eight years old. Tim trains Dre by having him fight blindfolded. He tells Dre that being a Robin is about truth and investigation, which makes sense, right? Tim became a Robin by figuring out Batman and Robin’s secret identity (keep this in mind, all the Robins’ advice links to their origin).

To be a Robin, you have to understand what you don't know. And then you must seek to know it. You must always ask: how can I see into the dark? Batman once told me, being a Robin can be summarized into one word: investigation.

These two were an interesting choice to pair up. I would've thought they'd put Dre with Jason, given their violent tendencies—Dre is smart, but at this point in the comics doesn't strike me as particularly investigative. Then again, right after this arc he goes undercover in a gang, so maybe he learned something?

Speaking of learning something: at first I thought they should've paired Dre with Steph (#teamcriminaldads lmao), and while that would be an interesting team, Dre did learn from Tim. If Riko were present in this issue, she would've been a good fit for Steph, as she idolizes the Batgirls and Steph was both a Batgirl and a Robin. Plus, Steph and Riko are both brave & have mean streaks, something that Riko has trouble showing because of her shyness. Steph’s advice probably would've been along the lines of “being a Robin is about defiance”.

Besides, if Tim and Dre weren't paired up, we never would've gotten this interaction.

— You like Liszt.

— What?

— Franz Liszt. The composer. You play the piano. I looked you up. People who play the piano like Liszt.

Points to Tim for the most autistic small talk ever. ‘You like this, which I know because I researched you in a totally non-creepy way.’ Amazing. 10/10.

Dax gets paired with Jason. They're interesting parallels. Dax is the inventor/mechanic of the team, but also sort of the wild card with very strong morals, like Robin!Jason in a way. Like Jason, Dax’s father is (implied to be) a crook, though they took different moral directions because of that—Dax is completely opposed to gun violence.

Anyways, Jason's main reservation is that you can't have Robin without Batman. And I guess he decided to solve this issue by just becoming Batman & making the WAR crew relive his origin story by stealing tires from the mob.

Y'know, kid, Batman once told me, being a Robin comes down to one word: confidence.

Jason Todd, the Crime Alley street kid who had the balls (and the skills) to steal Batman's tires and get away with it. Sort of. Confidence, indeed.

Damian's problem with the Robins is, of course, that they're weak, and strength (according to him) can't be trained; you either got it or you don't. He gets paired with Izzy, who probably has the toughest home life of the WAR crew. Her brother's in a gang (that he regularly beats her up for not joining), and she's failing all her classes because she's too busy working night shifts at her mom's restaurant to sleep or do homework.

So Damian's advice to her is pretty apt:

Batman told me that there is one word that captures the essence of being Robin. Suffering.

Damian and Izzy are both outwardly surly, stubborn characters who have had to fight to survive. Notably, Izzy is the first of the crew to almost resort to killing/guns (in WAR #6). She's also probably the best fighter in the WAR crew after Dre and Riko. She does dancing, gymnastics, judo, and kick-boxing.

And, finally, we reach the point of this whole post: Dick & Duke.

Duke deduces Dick's secret identity in like .5 seconds.

— I've solved a lot of hard in my time. This ain't hard.

— No. No, it wasn't hard. Not for you. Again, Duke Thomas?

Dick: You discovered my secret identity!

Duke: What? Like its hard?

After scoping out their strengths and weaknesses, Dick sends the Robins on individual assignments: Dre and Tim to investigate, Dax and Jason to cause a distraction, Izzy and Damian to apprehend Robo-Batman/Gordon.

Dick brings Duke on to a roof for a stake-out, where they have this exchange.

— You think only the originals understand how to be Robin?

— Nope.

— Yeah. Me neither.

Then it turns out that Dick actually turned them all in to the cops because he wanted them out of harm's way. He's been watching Duke for a while and he knows he's scared of heights, so he led him onto a roof he knew he couldn't get off of. Just before they part ways, Dick imparts his Crucial Robin Advice:

Batman once wais to me that being a Robin is about one thing. Family.

(I find this whole thing super ironic considering Dick's whole aside concerning the Robins was the fact that it doesn't matter if people know you're manipulating them as long as it works.)

The point of Robin? Family. Dick and Duke are alike in this way. Dick only became Robin to get justice for his parents’ murder. Duke only joined WAR to find his parents.

Their origins and motivations are similar, and so are the characters themselves. Dick is often called the world's second-greatest detective next to Batman himself. Duke is a child prodigy—one of our first introductions to his character is when he tried to solve the Riddler's riddles in Zero Year. He loves puzzles. He's an amazing detective.

And, of course, one of the things we know and love about Nightwing is his inherent kindness, something that's present throughout Duke’s entire character arc. Even their hero names, Signal and Nightwing, are parallels of each other (light and dark). Batman’s first sidekick and his last. And, like Nightwing, Signal formed his own team (WAR) with no help from the others (except Alfred ig).

Of course, the entire point of Signal’s character is that he's not just a Robin. He's something different. It reminds me of that post that's like—’poor dick grayson, originator of a legacy he never meant to be a legacy, crushed with guilt and jealousy when he looks at all those who came after’. To me at least, it makes sense that Nightwing’s successor would've never been a Robin at all.

[e-dubbc11]

Ik the summer sleepover is long gone 🥲 But i got hit with Matt Murdock feels and I saw the angst prompt list. Feel free to ignore this!!!!!

So this is for my fave catholic hoe 🫠

"You have to let go." - Y/N's already dead and he keeps hallucinating that she's still there

or

"I give up. You won." - Y/N breaks up with Matt because he always keeps her at arms length but it reaches breaking point when Elektra comes back

Chose wisely 😭💖

I could never ignore anything you send me, my dear friend ♥️ I hope you like what I did. I went with the first one BUT your second prompt reminded me of a Matt fic I wrote awhile back called Unsung Hero, so if you’re feeling ambitious, I’ll leave it linked HERE.

Thank you for always sending me things that pop into your brain, I love them ♥️

Letting Go

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F! Reader

Warnings: Death, dealing with grief

Word Count: 1.4K-ish

Summary: You’ve been gone for awhile yet Matt still feels you everywhere he goes, he swears you’re there with him but you’re not and in order to start processing his grief, he has to say goodbye

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

It hit him every time he walked into the apartment. It was here where he felt an overwhelming sense of your presence…only you weren’t there, you had been dead for 8 months now.

Reminders of you were scattered all over the apartment like stray pairs of earrings on the nightstand, a bottle of your favorite perfume, or the blanket you used to when you were quietly reading on the couch.

Not having his sight, Matt was never exactly sure what you looked like. He only had the pictures in his mind. Based on the description you had given him, he knew your eye color, your hair color, and the tone of your skin but he remembered the softness in your voice, the curves and hollows of your body, and the sound of your heartbeat as you slept soundly next to him.

Matt could never see your smile but he knew when you were smiling. He felt it tug on his heart as it stretched across your face when he did something to make you laugh or when he called you “sweetheart” but it also crushed him to taste the salt in the air if you had been crying.

He loved the smell of fresh flowers you would bring home every Friday for your date night at home but you always bought ones that didn’t have a strong scent because you didn’t want it to be too overwhelming for him. He loved how considerate you were, worrying about overloading his senses, like if the music was too loud or if cleaning products were too strongly scented.

Matt’s only wish was that he could have kept you safe, he wished he could have protected you, and more than anything he wished he wasn’t the first one to hear your heart stop beating.

Everywhere he went, he felt you with him, and he swore you were there. When Matt stopped for his morning coffee or Thai food, he had to stop himself from ordering your usual. He just couldn’t believe you were gone. You were dead and never coming back.

The guilt ate at him every day. Matt blamed himself and his nights as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen suffered because of it. “What’s the point in doing this if I couldn’t save the one person I loved the most?” He had asked himself after a particularly bad night.

Talking to Father Lantom helped but not as much as he hoped it would. Matt wanted answers that Father Lantom didn’t have. He would just tell him that “God had his reasons.” And Matt just thought he was being punished in every way possible. It was the typical Catholic guilt.

“I know you don’t wanna hear it but you know exactly what I would do, Red. I’d make sure they’d never get back up again.” Frank had said.

By asking Frank for advice, you knew Matt’s desperation was apparent as he had seriously contemplated taking their life. He knew it wouldn’t bring you back but maybe it would make him feel better knowing he avenged your death.

Maybe the hallucinations would stop, maybe he would stop hearing your voice in his head, and just maybe it would stop him from reaching for you as he was trying to fall asleep at night. The scum of Hell’s Kitchen felt his wrath every night and with every punch he landed, with every drop of blood that was spilled, he had hoped he would start to feel better but he didn’t.

And what about the tortured and unspeakable dreams where he would have to hear you cry out in pain over and over again. The heartbreak Matt felt left him miserable enough to be vulnerable whether he was awake or asleep.

At least when he was awake, he could throw himself into his work, talk to Foggy and Karen, and you would be far away from his mind. It was the alone time that left him confused, angry, and ashamed. Those feelings infiltrated his body where his heart was scorched and irregular with spasms.

“I still feel her here, Foggy! I can still smell her perfume, feel her smile against my lips, and hear her laugh. I swear she’s still here!” Said Matt, emphatically.

“But she’s not Matt, she’s gone.” Foggy had said.

You knew all of this was true because you were stuck in between worlds, you could see him. And like an angel on his shoulder you were there with him, protecting him as he was protecting his city.

As he sat perched on the rooftops of Hell’s Kitchen, you would reach for him, gently brushing his shoulder, and you were positive that he could tell you were there by the way his head would tilt to the side. You knew you couldn’t stay with him forever, but long enough to be able to tell him goodbye and that you were alright.

With his cheeks flushed with rage and his mouth twisted in anger, Matt left the office and headed for home even though that’s where he felt your presence the most.

He decided not to go out that night but instead he set aside the random belongings that you had left behind, held them in between his fingers, and gently inhaled the scent of your perfume one last time.

“You’re here with me now, aren’t you angel. I know you are; I’m not crazy like Foggy thinks I am.” Said Matt.

You’d give anything to be able to touch him again, to feel his days-old stubble against your cheek, or run your fingers through his soft brown hair.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling but knew you didn’t have much time so you moved in close to look at him one more time.

Matt was so handsome. You were going to miss his hazel colored eyes with the little flecks of gold like autumn leaves, the dimple on his cheek when he smiled, his soft full lips against yours, and the low gravelly tone of his voice. It always sounded so calm and soothing to you except on the night you died.

His screams could probably be heard for blocks in every direction but he was the last thing you saw before your world went dark and you were suddenly looking down at your body while Matt tried and then the paramedics tried to revive you.

After your funeral, Matt stayed after everyone else had left and apologized profusely for not being able to save you. Matt had to let you go but he told himself that burden of guilt rested on his shoulders. Although, you knew it wasn’t his fault.

You knew he couldn’t hear you but you replied anyway.

“I’m here, Matty, but I have a feeling not for much longer.” You said, trying to touch his hand but it just passed straight through and maybe you willed him to hear you as you spoke again. “You have to let go.”

You sensed he was ready to say goodbye which pained you more than that mugger’s lethal stab wound ever could.

“I don’t want to but I have to let you go, sweetheart.” Matt said as his eyes shined with unshed tears. “I’ll always love you, y/n.”

If you were capable of crying, you would have.

“I’ll always love you too, Matt.” You said with a warm smile and “touching” his face.

He closed his eyes and let out a long exhale just as you swept your hand across his cheek, almost as if he could feel your touches.

A slight smirk stretched across his lips as he said, “You’re trying to tell me you’re ok, aren’t you.”

Your hand ghosted against his other cheek and he smiled again.

“I’m ok, Matty. It’s alright, you can let go now.” You said.

The light at your back was calling to you. It was time to go. Although you didn’t know where you were being called to, you wished with all your heart that Matt would be alright and deep down, you knew he would be.

As you turned to walk away, you gazed at Matt one last time, committing to memory what he was wearing, the look on his face, and any other small things you never wanted to forget about him.

You loved the way he adjusts his glasses, rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up, the way he puts his suit on in the morning, or anytime he kissed you and told you he loved you.

You wondered if he had little things about you he committed to his memory, and if he did, what were they? It made you sad that you’ll never know what they could be but you hoped that Matt Murdock would never ever forget you.

Tag List: @munsonownsmyass @gijos @chezagnes @elgrandeavocados @freshabogados @matt-erialgirl

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @k-marzolf @fluffyprettykitty @hellskitchens-whore

Thank you for reading, I appreciate it! I’ve only tagged a handful of people. If you liked it, you can tell me, I don’t bite. I know I haven’t written for Matt in awhile, no pressure.

[nowimjustastranger]

This ask is for infinity falls, how far are Stanford and Stanley willing to go for eachother morally?

Also does Pacifica eventually get adopted into the Pines family?

They're a dark version of the Pines family for a reason, so there's pretty much no line they wouldn't cross for one another. There's absolutely no slash between the brothers (because ew), but they are far more attached to one another than what is socially acceptable. Therefore, they can come off as suspiciously close to incestuous at times (think Sam and Dean from Supernatural, this link goes more in-depth about the topic).

Basically, they act like they're married even though their feelings toward each other are strictly platonic. And yes, everyone pokes fun at them about it. Though Stan takes the teasing better than Ford, who is disgusted by the implication that he would ever pursue a romantic relationship with his brother. Ford's visceral reaction each time the topic is brought up is honestly why the joke has even gone on as long as it has.

As for your second question, Pacifica wouldn't be adopted into the family because she simply wouldn't want to be (though Stan has pulled her aside to offer). But, if she ever changed her mind, then they would officially add her to their family in a heartbeat. Her lack of sharing their last name doesn't mean that she's not one of their people though.

She would be closest to Mabel and Ford, but she has an obvious soft spot for Stan and sees him as a father figure (which she will never admit to anyone). Mabel is her best friend, but she confides in Ford, who gives her advice and suggests solutions to whatever problem she brings to him.

Plus, he's really good at girl talk. He's invited to all of Mabel's sleepovers (sometimes having to turn down the invitation due to work deadlines), getting his nails done and playing silly games. Ford is actually the one who encourages the girls to snuggle up to him when they're all tuckered out, the girls drifting to sleep as Ford recites some book or another as a makeshift bedtime story.

Spending time with Ford would, in turn, cause Pacifica to bond with Dipper over how amazing Ford is.

[stars-and-inkpots]

could you possibly do one where Tav is on the verge on burnout in Baldur's Gate, from carrying the litteral weight of the world on her shoulders, plus the murders, dismembered clown, emperor chattering away in her mind and just tryingto help every soul in the city... oh, and everyone looking to her for guidance in making difficult life decisions... possibly after advising Wyll not to take the pact and/or one of their companions being abducted

And Gale being there to help her and lift her spirits up (maybe a little guilty about being too wrapped up in his hubris before having a forgiving audience with Mystra to notice how hard it all was on her)

I loved this idea so much because Act 3 really is just so overwhelming and stressful I was excited to write something about it! Thank you!! I hope you enjoy!

The Weight of The World | Gale x Reader

There is so much you have to do. So many things you have to fix and people you have to save. It's starting to become overwhelming carrying so much alone.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Blood and injury, panic attacks (kinda), hurt/comfort, comfort, angst, cuddling, spoilers for Act 3

Ao3 Link: The Weight of The World

Word Count: 1,799

You like helping people. If there is a way you can make someone else’s life easier, you are both eager and happy to do it. It’s in your nature to give. 

But you’re wearing yourself thin. 

It seems that ever since you got off that nautiloid, you’ve been helping people. First, it was the tieflings in the Grove; then the Shadow-Cursed lands; then the refugees on the way to Baldur’s Gate. And along with all of those problems, you’ve also been helping your companions with their own; some with higher stakes than others. 

Wyll is quiet today, and when you notice the look on his face, guilt quickly settles in beside the exhaustion that rests on your shoulders. 

He is free now, but it has come at such a steep price. You were there with him when Mizora appeared to offer him the deal. He had asked you for advice. You told him that he deserved a chance to be free from the infernal chess board he had been forced to play on for so long. 

But what if you were wrong? What if you don’t find a way to save his father? What if Baldur’s Gate is worse off without the duke once everything is done and over with and the dust has settled. What if Wyll ends up blaming you for the death of Ravengard, resenting your decision that was his own to make. 

You’re happy to help… happy to give counsel to your companions when they (so often, it seems) need it, but why should you be the one making the decisions for such things? How can you be expected to decide between Wyll’s freedom and his father’s life? 

You haven’t even begun to prepare for what could lie beyond the walls of Cazador’s palace, but you’re certain it can be nothing short of dreadful. 

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the task at hand. You have potential murder victims you need to find. 

More people that need saving. 

---

Finding the Stormshore Tabernacle after Elminster arrived to tell Gale that Mystra had yet another message for him was only another goal added on the growing list of things you needed to do. This, of course, took a little priority, given how much you could tell it mattered to Gale. 

You brush off the growing exhaustion that hasn’t had a chance to fully dissipate in the wake of so many new problems. 

You stand in front of the statue of Mystra, Gale beside you while the others wait outside. You can feel the magic that flows around it, crackling and humming like an electric current. It is not a feeling that brings you comfort or a sense of calm that one might expect from a god; perhaps that is mainly because of your own opinions of the goddess though. While he does a good job at hiding it, you can tell that Gale’s nerves are beginning to get the better of him. You bring your hand to rest it on his shoulder. 

“Time was I’d have given my right arm for a chance to speak with Mystra again. The left one too. Maybe a knee…” he says quietly, and as much as you want to believe he is exaggerating, you know there is an air of truth to his words. 

“You know you don’t owe her anything, Gale.” You hope he knows that. It’s impossible for you to understand the nuances of their relationship, and you recognise that, but you know that what she had asked of him was cruel and manipulative. 

“Perhaps,” he answers. Then adds, “Her first love was always the weave. At best, I was always a close second.” 

You can’t tell if he’s trying to justify Her actions to you, or simply giving himself a reason for them that hurts less than the idea that she did not truly care for him like he did for Her. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Despite your personal distaste for the goddess, you would accompany him in an instant if it was what he desired.

“As much as I’d prefer not to face her alone, I’m afraid the magic is only able to bring one person through. I’ll only be gone a minute though. Wait for me, please.” His voice shakes only slightly. You would wait for him even if he didn’t ask. 

When he turns to face the statue again, he moves his hand like he’s grasping at something in the air. Then just as quickly, he is gone. 

You wait there anxiously. You wonder if you should have told him not to come here. It was entirely possible that Mystra only asked him to come here so that she could punish him for not following her orders to blow up both himself and the Absolute. It would be another lapse of judgement that would impact only your companion. 

The stress of the week is steadily catching up to you again, pushing itself into the forefront of your mind while you wait for Gale to return. Thankfully, he doesn’t take long. 

Gale reappears in a small flash of shimmering purples. He is smiling, which you assume is a good thing in spite of the general unease the thought of him speaking with the goddess brings. 

He recounts the visit with you while the two of you find the rest of your party outside. 

---

No one says anything when you go straight to your tent after you return to camp, Gale letting go of your hand to give you a moment to yourself. 

Lae’zel is gone, taken by Orin, and being held ransom in the Temple of Bhaal. The memory of the encounter makes you sick to your stomach. 

Lae’zel rounding the corner, bloodied and limping, clutching her side while blood pours out in thick rivulets. Your heart beating so fast that you worry it will stop entirely. Grasping her arm to pull her with you, refusing to leave her behind. The feeling of her flesh shifting under your palm, moving, undulating in that unnatural and revolting way you had come to recognize in the shapechangers you had encountered. You recoiled backwards into Gale, watching in horror as Lae’zel’s form shifted; her neck snapping to the side sharply. Her green skin fading to pale grey. It was never Lae’zel at all, but Orin. 

She cornered you into making a deal with her. You were to return with Gortash’s netherstone, or Lae’zel would be left to bleed out on the temple floor. 

You can imagine Lae’zel’s voice, condemning you for giving in to the Bhaalspawn’s orders. But you know Lae’zel. You know that she is not as unshakeable as she likes to present herself. You know that, wherever she is right now, she is scared. 

You can barely think. Everything feels blurry, the world fraying at the edges of your vision dissolving into a mess of colour and sound. 

You should have noticed. Gortash had warned you. 

You still have so much you need to do. 

How did you let this happen? 

---

Gale waits a few minutes before he follows you to your tent. He waits nervously outside, unsure. 

“Can I come in?” He asks softly. 

“Please,” you answer, and his heart breaks at the roughness of your voice; no doubt from crying and struggling to keep the sobs quiet enough that the rest of the camp wouldn’t hear them. 

Your eyes are tired, fresh tears still flowing freely down your face. 

Gale is terrified too, just like you and so many of the others, but something else weighs heavy on his chest. Guilt, he quickly realises as he looks at you. 

You’ve been dealing with so much, and so much of it alone. You’ve taken their problems and made them your own; you’ve done everything for them. You’ve bore their worries, their concerns, and their mistakes. You’ve had no one to do the same for you. 

“Gale-” you start, but a sob bubbles out of you cutting you off as your shoulders shake. 

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers into your hair after he quickly gathers you into his arms as he sits beside you. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he’s protecting you from the world itself. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologise through hiccups against his chest. He only gently shushes you, carding his fingers through your hair. 

“If there is any apologising to be done, it is us to you. You’ve been doing so much for us; carrying our burdens and helping with them. I will admit even I have been far too preoccupied with my own mess that I failed to consider the weight that we’ve put on you.” 

“I should be able to bear it,” you say mournfully. 

“Absolutely not,” Gale objects. “It’s impossible to do that alone. You are only one person. You are not weak because you failed to carry the weight of the world alone.” He sounds so certain, so genuine in everything he says that you know he isn’t merely saying this to comfort you. “Even if you struggled with even the simplest problem, it would be no slight on your abilities.” His words, as reassuring and comforting as they are, bring on yet another wave of tears. He rubs his hands soothingly along your back. 

“You are not weak because of this,” Gale assures you once you’ve mostly stopped crying. 

“Thank you,” you answer after a while. “Thank you.” 

The two of you sit there together. The steady rise and fall of his chest while you lean against him helps calm your racing heart. Gale hums softly, and you relax in his arms. 

“Everything is going to be alright. We’ll do this together,” Gale says, with a finality that leaves no room for disagreement. 

You nod, too exhausted in both body and mind to bother with speech for now. You reach blindly for one of Gale’s hands, holding it tightly and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. You feel him return a kiss of his own to the top of your head. You don’t need to use your words to explain your gratitude for his presence in your life. He understands you all the same. Your love may go unspoken, but never unheard. 

You let yourself relax. The weight of the world may be both figuratively and literally on your shoulders, but your companions can help you hold it. 

Yes, you think to yourself as Gale moves you both to lay down on the bedroll, everything will be alright. It will be difficult, but you will be fine. And at least, in his arms, you can pretend that everything will be fine for now. You have to hold onto the hope that everything will be fine.

[differentnighttale]

Benvenuto travelers

Guess I need to formally introduce myself.

Welcome to the Writers Oasis and I am your host or genie. Come, come and sit while I weave you tales and hand your advice under the warmth of the palm leaves and come sip the clear, Crystral water and feast.

First and foremost, I am a minor.

I love to write and create worlds. I live inside my head.

I might be asexual (grey ace) and possibly bi.

I love writing poems, and I plan to write writing advice, memes (writing memes, memes and ace memes)

I am POC, a girl of colour and I live in West Africa, but I love traveling around.

She/her/hers.

I am not religious, but I respect it.I do have a faith but is still there tho.

I love writing diverse characters from Black to Queer to different religions.

I plan to post snippets and expose more about my world and characters soon.

I love writing dark themes that people are shy of.

I love reading Webtoons and just chilling on Wattpad.

I am a traveler,literally and in my mind.

I am a Indie Girlie.

My fave genres to write are fantasy. Dark fantasy, urban fantasy, epic fantasy, high fantasy and science fantasy but I like to branch out.

Horror, romance, adventure, dark romance, fantasy romance and paranormal.

I am currently writing a dark, horror and urban fantasy which deals with the disappearance of a young, teen girl and the horrors that happen after unfolding and how her friend, Nathenial deals with the demons and monsters which haunt him and the belief that he deals with mental illnesses. But in reality, he sees the shadow realm after being invited into the girls father's study.

So, sit tight buckle up.

Well, ciao for now.

I am also a fan of horror video games.

Here's a link to Tara:Wolf Chronicles

Introduction to ongoing WIP:Tara:Wolf Chronicles

[selunesdreams]

Eating Crow

Chapter 2: Gems of Antiva

“I haven’t had a cup of Andoral’s Breath since before the Venatori stuck a demon in me.” Lucanis’ smile was wasted on Illario, whose eyes remained fixed on Rook as he pulled out a chair for her. She lowered herself cautiously, as if it could be snatched away from under her at any moment.  “You see, Fiamma? My cousin is all stomach and no heart.” His words were syrupy as he took his place across from her, but there was something very, very threatening in his gaze.  “Rook.” Lucanis corrected politely. “She goes by Rook now.”  Illario’s eyes narrowed. “I heard. You would really abandon your namesake? Your father’s legacy?”  “I don’t need a name nor reputation that precedes me in this fight.” Her voice remained plain and unaffected as she replied. “I earned Rook, it wasn’t bestowed onto me like some curse. I’ll return to Fiammetta once it suits me again, if it ever does.”  “Well, then you won’t mind me continuing to address you by the name your father called you by? I would prefer to honor the Flame of Treviso, not cause him to roll in his grave any more than he already has.” “One has to have a body in order to roll in a grave, Illario.”

Pairing: Lucanis x Fem Rook/OFC x sometimes Spite??

Summary: Rook gets out her rock collection and reminisces about her dead mom. Illario wants to meet, and Lucanis finally gets that cup of Antivan coffee. This chapter covers the quest "Coffee with the Crows". No major warnings, just dead parents and Illario being…Illario. You know, the lighthearted stuff. Link to Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.4k

Things of note: 18+ fic, MDNI! Rook is Fem, human, mage, Antivan Crow. I like writing storylines and tension, but there will be smut! I don't know how the tags/warnings will evolve, but it's reasonable to expect some messy Spite consent stuff? Please read on AO3 if you need to track warnings, they will be inevitably detailed better there (or just want to be real sweet and give me hits/kudos/comments).

Dante De Riva’s advice to his young daughter had always been a bit cryptic. The “Little Flame of Treviso”, he had called Fiamma. He came to regret his advice when his daughter became so good at hiding that neither he nor his wife, both assassins trained to find people, could not find her. 

No child of an Antivan Crow grew up with the luxury safety. So parents created rituals, games, protocols - all conceived to keep children prepared for the worst. Fiamma hadn’t faced real danger. Not really. But today, for the first time since she’d been chased through the streets of Treviso by an angry rooster from the market, Fiamma was scared. And so she did what her father trained her to do, and she kept out of sight. 

Because today was her mother’s funeral. 

Gemma De Riva, “The Gem of Antiva”, lived a brief life. Twenty-eight years, to be exact. When assassins died young, it was typically a contract that took them out. Fiamma didn’t know what a contract was, but she knew when her parents accepted one, because they would be gone for days, sometimes weeks. Usually one at a time, but every once in a while, they’d go together, and auntie Viama and cousin Viago would come over, or she’d stay with the Cantoris down the street. 

Crows always came home to roost, but when they didn’t, contracts were to blame. Fiamma always believed contracts were the only bad thing that could happen to a Crow. Until her mother. 

For weeks, Gemma’s health declined. It started with fatigue. She sequestered herself away for a couple of days, claiming she just needed to rest. Days later, her eyes were bloodshot, and her olive skin grew clammy and pale. When her mother couldn’t leave bed, Fiamma joined her, and Gemma would read aloud to her, pausing occasionally to cough into a blood-speckled handkerchief. That was usually about the time when her father would send Fiamma to play alone in her room. 

And then mama was gone. Peeking from behind corners in the hallway, she and Viago would listen to their parents whispering about poison - something Viago explained to her like a sickness you give someone on purpose. But it would be okay now, Viago assured her, because now they could all move in together and make a new family. His father was a king, but didn’t talk to him, because he was a bastard (Viago couldn’t tell her what that meant), and he had half-siblings, but he’d never met them. But Dante and Fiamma could be his new family, he’d told her, trying to help her see the bright side. 

And Fiamma loved Viago, she really did, but how could he and auntie Viama possibly replace mama?

Hiding out in the back room of the cathedral during the funeral, Fiamma lined up colored rocks in a row. A green one for Viago, a red one for daddy, gray for auntie Viama, and a purple one for her. She pulled the pink ribbon from her hair and set it off to the side to represent the Cantoris. Teia couldn’t talk very well yet, but Fiamma had a feeling they’d be good friends someday. The stones felt off, no matter how she rearranged them. Frustrated, she swiped her hand along the floor, sending them rolling across the granite tile. 

“Are you playing marbles?” 

A boy dressed in a too-large suit stood in the doorway, his long black hair nearly reaching his shoulders. His dark eyes surveyed the room like he was looking for monsters in the shadows. 

“No, I’m making a new family.” Fiamma said, crawling on the floor to retrieve her rocks one by one. The boy crouched beside her, helping her search.

“Out of rocks?” He asked. 

“Auntie Viama wouldn’t let me bring my dolls.”

“Oh. You’re Fiammetta.” The boy frowned. “I’m sorry about your mom. My parents are dead, too.”

“My daddy is still alive. He’ll always be alive.” Fiamma said proudly. 

“Parents always die.” The boy retrieved her green rock from under a nearby statue of Andraste and dropped it in front of her. 

“That’s not true. Lots of people have parents.”

“Not Crows.” 

“No. You’re wrong.” Fiamma insisted, “I’m smarter than other six-year-olds. You can’t trick me.”

“My little cousin Illario is six and still can’t read. I believe you.” The boy said with a smirk. “So, which rock is you?” 

“The purple one.” She said, chewing on her lip. “It doesn’t seem right, though.”

He hummed in admiration. “I like the purple ones. They’re my grandma’s favorites. They’re called tourmaline. There are pink and green ones too. But here…” 

He shoved his hand in his pocket and dug out a small, iridescent stone that shimmered between his thumb and forefinger. Smooth and cube-shaped, it reflected glimmers of white, pinks, and blues back to her. 

“Take it. It’s a fire opal. You should have it for your collection. It kind of reminds me of you.”

Fiamma plucked it carefully from his hand, letting the cool rock roll around on her palm.  

“But it’s yours.” She protested, holding it out to him.

“Nah. I stole it from my grandma’s dresser.”

“You shouldn’t steal.” She said, but closed her fist around it, anyway. 

“Caterina won’t miss it. She likes it when I steal, but only from her. She says it will make me a good Crow someday.” 

“Your grandma is First Talon Caterina?” 

He nodded. 

“You’re Luca?” 

“Lucanis.” He corrected her quietly. “Nobody calls me Luca anymore. Not since my mom died.”

“Oh. Well…” Fiamma set down the opal next to the tourmaline and the red stone. “Maybe you can be the purple rock.” 

But Lucanis didn’t answer, and when she looked back up, he was gone.

─── ⊹⊱♤⊰⊹ ───

Rook woke up with a start, scanning the room. Schools of fish swam in the Fade’s illusions overhead and she exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. Solas had called this place a meditation chamber, but since her arrival here, all she’d had were nightmares. Though, with the addition of Lucanis to their team, it seemed she would no longer be haunted by visions of Varric being stabbed over and over again. Instead, just memories of dead people and rocks, apparently. 

She wasn’t sure which was worse. 

Rising from the green chaise she called a bed, she pulled a fresh pair of training leathers from her wardrobe and slipped them on. They’d become worn over the past year, the stitching slowly coming apart at the seams. Viago would call her a disgrace. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

The main hall was empty, oscillating rocks and miscellaneous objects shimmering in blood light above. On a nearby desk, a scroll tied in purple ribbon waited for her. A contract. 

She delicately pulled at the thread and uncurled the parchment. It bore only four short lines, a missive from Illario: We need to talk. Café Pietra. Nightfall. Bring Lucanis. 

Rook tossed it aside. They were fighting elven gods. What possible news could Illario of all people have that required their attention? At least he wanted his cousin to tag along - that meant this was business, not a personal call. Judging by the hourglass on the table, they had an hour to get to Treviso. 

She crossed the courtyard. Since Bellara had fixed the Eluvian and they’d cleaned the Crossroads of some of the blight, it had become more pleasant to look at. Passing through the kitchen, she knocked on the pantry door. Of all the rooms the Lighthouse had to offer, Lucanis and his demon had chosen a glorified closet to call home. A far cry from the luxuries he used to enjoy in Caterina’s estate. 

“Come in.” A voice called from within. She crossed her fingers for Lucanis, not Spite, and pushed inside. 

“You asked for time…has it been long enough?” She asked, leaning against the wall. 

“Yes, my head’s clearer.” Lucanis said, sitting cross-legged on his makeshift cot and sipping from a mug in his hands with a wince. “Though I would kill for a good cup of coffee.” 

Rook could have rolled her eyes. Growing up in Treviso would cultivate a snobbish affection for quality roasts in anyone, but Lucanis’ standards were, at best, unreasonable. Maybe his habits were endearing to the others, but she’d lived in the same home as him before. He wasn’t exaggerating: there was a good chance he would kill to satisfy his caffeine craving, if he hadn’t already. 

“You’re in luck, then. Illario requested a meeting in Treviso. Tonight. With both of us.” 

“You don’t seem thrilled. Not exchanging love letters with my cousin anymore, I presume?”

She shoved off from her place on the wall, standing over him as he swirled the grounds in the bottom of his cup, unphased. 

“I might have been your subordinate in the Crows, and yes, you had the pleasure of seeing me at my most humiliated. But within these walls - in this contract - we are equals, and you will treat me with the respect I’ve earned.” Rook snarled. 

Lucanis sat his mug down on the floor and stood, holding out his hands in a peaceful gesture. He bowed - genuinely, not mocking her - bending slightly at the waist. 

“My apologies. I meant no disrespect.”

Despite being nearly the same height as her when he rose, he had the imposing presence of someone a full foot taller than Rook. Perhaps it was just that she had a rough tally in her mind of the people he’d killed. She sighed, slumping against the wall behind her and letting her head fall back. 

“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t been sleeping. I’m on edge.” 

“I can empathize. Spite is stronger when I’m asleep. So I try not to do it much.” He stepped past her, holding the door open. “Let’s go find Illario. There will be time to chat on the way.”

They returned to the main chamber of the Lighthouse and descended the staircase to the Eluvian. 

“You’ve got questions. You might as well ask them.” Lucanis said, breaking the silence that Rook had grown pleasantly comfortable with. His voice echoed in the nothingness surrounding the bridge to the mirror. 

“I have a few. We’ll start with the obvious: how did the Venatori manage to capture the Demon of Vyrantium?”

“Someone set me up. I had a contract for Calivan. I took a ship from Treviso to Minrathous, and the Venatori were waiting for me when I arrived. I don’t know how they convinced the Crows I was dead, but I woke up in the Ossuary with Zara gloating about it.” 

He stepped through the Eluvian, moving seamlessly once his feet landed in Treviso without interruption. As if it were the most natural thing in Thedas. Rook had been using the Eluvians for days and still felt dizzy every time she exited one. 

“Illario wants to meet at Café Pietra at nightfall.” She said, glancing at the sky. “I have no desire to get there early, so we have a little time to kill.” 

“Good. I need a few things from the market.”

Rook groaned, but didn’t object. The man had just spent a whole year in an underwater prison. Who was she to decide whether he should go grocery shopping? 

She followed him from vendor to vendor, watching him cross items off a crumpled list he’d stowed in his pocket - a spearmint plant for Harding, fresh fruit for Neve, ingredients for a Dalish seafood dish Bellara wanted to make. Gifts for all of his companions, except her and Varric. Typical of him to overlook her, but it was fine. She was used to it by now, and Varric hated gifts anyway. 

“Is that everything on your list?”

“Should be. Let’s get to the café.”

“So,” Rook said, stooping to drop a few coins in a beggar’s dish as they exited the market, “I know Caterina volunteered you to work with us. Are you okay with that?”

Lucanis chuckled. “Did Viago ever consult with you before sending you out on a contract?”

Rook snorted. “No.”

He paused as they crossed over a bridge, watching the streetlamps reflect over the dark waters below. He took a deep inhale through his nose, closing his eyes and wrapping his fingers around the railing. It was beautiful - her favorite view of the city - so she let him enjoy the moment in silence. It was the kind of thing that might keep a person sane through a year of torture - the promise of return. The desire to protect. 

“It’s good to be home, no?” 

She flexed her hands at her sides. “It’s fine.” 

“Fine?” He opened his eyes and gave her a puzzled look, as if he’d never heard anyone describe Treviso anything short of breathtaking. “You didn’t miss home while you were away?”

“I left of my own volition after becoming a local disgrace. I don’t have the right to miss it, nor call it home.” 

“Nobody gets to tell you what you can or cannot call home.” He shook his head. “Home is a feeling. Not a bed, not a house. Not even a city.” 

“Caterina volunteered you for a contract, not to play therapist.” 

“Volunteered or not, Fiammetta, there’s still plenty of reason for me to work with you.” He pushed off the railing, giving her his full attention. “I owe you a debt, for one.”

She dipped her chin, pivoting to continue down the path. “It’s Rook.”

“Right, sorry.” He said, taking a few long strides to catch up.

“So, what do you think Illario wants?” She asked, changing the subject. 

“Hopefully, he has intel on Zara. Or…he just wants to whine about how much he’s missed us.”

“He might miss you,” she said in a low voice, “But don’t even joke about-”

“Illario.” Lucanis said, cutting her off as his cousin stepped into view. 

“Finally, I thought you might leave me all by my lonesome.” He replied, giving Rook a once-over before gesturing for them to join him at a nearby table near the water’s edge. 

“Please. You think I’d ever pass up Café Pietra’s coffee? I haven’t had a cup of Andoral’s Breath since before the Venatori stuck a demon in me.” Lucanis’ smile was wasted on Illario, whose eyes remained fixed on Rook as he pulled out a chair for her. She lowered herself cautiously, as if it could be snatched away from under her at any moment. 

“You see, Fiamma? My cousin is all stomach and no heart.” His words were syrupy as he took his place across from her, but there was something very, very threatening in his gaze. 

“Rook.” Lucanis corrected politely. “She goes by Rook now.” 

Illario’s eyes narrowed. “I heard. You would really abandon your namesake? Your father’s legacy?” 

“I don’t need a name nor reputation that precedes me in this fight.” Her voice remained plain and unaffected as she replied. “I earned Rook, it wasn’t bestowed onto me like some curse. I’ll return to Fiammetta once it suits me again, if it ever does.” 

“Well, then you won’t mind me continuing to address you by the name your father called you by? I would prefer to honor the Flame of Treviso, not cause him to roll in his grave any more than he already has.”

“One has to have a body in order to roll in a grave, Illario.” She said with a warning smile. While the years had hardened Rook, they had also changed her for the better. Apparently, Illario had only gotten worse.

“Enough.” Lucanis growled. He had been silent for most of the exchange, his arms folded and eyes flitting between them as he leaned back so far in his embellished iron chair that the front legs lifted off the ground. He typically didn’t get involved in their spats unless he felt a line was crossed. Which Illario was known to do, from time to time. Like now. 

“Whatever.” Rook waved her hand dismissively. She wasn’t attached enough to Varric’s nickname to play this game all night, nor did she have the energy for it. 

Lucanis shifted forward in his seat, clasping his hands together. “Let’s get to business, mm?”

“Agreed. I think we’ve done enough Three Crows In a Coffee Shop Bickering to bore the spies.” Rook said. 

“Just about. The most persistent one gave up when Lucanis started waxing romantic about roasts.” Illario sneered. 

“It’s a very good roast.” He grinned, bringing a bit of levity to the conversation. “So, you have something, or did you just miss us?” 

“The Crows I sent after Zara have picked up her trail. They say she’s gone to Vyrantium.”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “How did she get all the way there when she was just in Treviso to kill Caterina only days ago?”

Lucanis nodded. “She’s right. Zara’s given you a fake lead, cousin.”

Rook did her best to not take too great a pleasure in his approval. Or Illario being proven wrong. 

“You have better information?” He demanded. 

“It’s obvious, is it not? We’re compromised. There’s no other way Zara could even touch Caterina.” Rook said. 

Illario’s lip curled. “Yes, you would know so much about my grandmother after serving as her errand girl for a couple of months, wouldn’t you?”

“Rook is the one who broke me out of that underwater hell, and she’s been the only one trying to save our home from certain doom at the hands of elven gods.” Lucanis snapped. “Whatever transpired between the two of you, put it to rest.”

“If the Crows protecting Zara are here in Treviso, she has no reason to leave.” Rook interrupted, as if Lucanis didn’t just scold his cousin on her behalf. “I’m telling you, your lead is wrong.” 

“Fine. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll clean house.” Illario rose abruptly to his feet, his iron chair scraping loudly in protest against the cobblestone underneath. “Leave this to me and worry about all that saving the world business you’ve been going on about.” He shot a glare at Lucanis and stormed off.

“How long do you think he’s going to lurk and watch us to make sure we’re not talking about him?” Rook asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Lucanis rose without excusing himself, and walked to the bar, returning with two mugs of coffee. 

“Long enough for me to get a refill.” 

He pushed a cup towards her and swirled his around before taking an appreciative, slow drink. Rook leaned onto her elbows, resting her chin on her wrists. 

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” she asked snidely. 

“It’s enough of what I need it to be, for now.” He said, setting his cup down. “You know, I understand why you’d change your name.” 

“I didn’t change it.” She sat back quickly in her seat. “I’m just…taking a break.” 

“Still…” Lucanis averted his eyes. “Even before I was captured, my life was never really my own. So much has been determined for me.” He leaned over the table, holding her gaze. “The mess with the Antaam - you owned it, and you paid the price. When you had a rare opportunity to reinvent yourself, you made the most of it.” 

He fell back in his chair. 

“Make whatever name you want for yourself, Rook. I’ll call you whatever you tell me to.”

She smiled at his words and reached into the hilt at her waistband, producing a wyvern tooth dagger, and placing it before him on the table. 

“For me?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. She nodded. 

“I loved wyverns as a kid. Caterina would never let me have one of these, though.” He turned the blade in his hands. “Thank you.”

He ran his fingertips over the edge delicately, looking up with a hint of alarm on his features. “I just realized I didn’t get you anything.” 

“Sure you did.” 

Rook brought the cup nestled in her palms to her lips and winked, taking her first sip of Antivan coffee in over a year. It tasted bitter and sweet. Like Treviso. Like home. 

[stardustandash]

take care of her legacy

Whumptober Day 29: Fatigue – Burnout

The weight of everything that’s happened in the last few days hangs heavy around Cal. He’s lost three people he considered friends and mentors. He nearly lost himself too. If Merrin hadn’t been with him, Cal knows he would have been lost to the darkness. He can still feel it, creeping in the back of his mind and lingering on the edge of his connection to the Force, just waiting for an opportunity to sneak back in.

Ao3 Link

Ash stings at Cal’s nose. He wipes it away, his first movement in hours. He blinks, mind coming back after wandering in the dark for so long, and is surprised to find that the sky is no longer dark overhead, instead replaced by a pale dawn light.

The pyres in front of him smoulder slightly. There’s nothing much left of Cere or Cordova or Bode, just a few lumps of bone in the ashes. Their bodies are gone and their spirits returned to the Force. He wishes desperately that he would wake up from this nightmare safe in the Anchorites base on Jedha. That he could talk to Cere again, or learn about one of Master Cordova’s adventures chasing the secrets of the Zeffo. That Bode was really his friend.

The weight of everything that’s happened in the last few days hangs heavy around Cal. He’s lost three people he considered friends and mentors. He nearly lost himself too. If Merrin hadn’t been with him, Cal knows he would have been lost to the darkness. He can still feel it, creeping in the back of his mind and lingering on the edge of his connection to the Force, just waiting for an opportunity to sneak back in.

Cal scrubs a hand down his face. The others must be back at the Mantis already. There’s not much else to explore here on Tanalorr other than the old Temple, and after everything that happened in it he very much doubts they would go there. Eventually Cal will come back and turn it into a place for the Hidden Path, a place for Cere’s legacy to grow, but for now he can’t muster the energy to face it. And they should probably get Kata away from this place. Rambler’s Reach is full of people who would love to have a kid to look after and dote on and will be safe enough.

The walk back to the Mantis isn’t very long, though the rocky trail seems to go on forever. Cal stumbles over some of the bigger stones. Everything that’s happened seems to be coming back to haunt him in more ways than one. He aches from head to toe, and his limbs feel like the bones have been plated in lead. Every blow he traded with Bode echoes through his joints, and the memory of the fight makes the lightsaber clipped to his belt heavier.

The sight of Merrin, Greez, and Kata outside the Mantis does help lift Cal’s spirits. They look tired, and red rings both Greez and Kata’s eyes, but they’re here. Together and whole.

They pile into the Mantis. Greez scurries off to the cockpit to transfer the data from the compass into the ship’s computers, BD-1 at his side offering advice. Cal lets himself drift over to where Merrin has pulled Kata over to the couch and sits down beside Kata. He’s not sure how the girl feels about him. He did, after all, kill her father only the day before. But she doesn’t shy away from him, and the Force around her feels steady. Before he’s even aware of it Cal is slipping sideways along the back of the couch and drifting into a deep sleep.

Cal wakes as the ship jostles a landing. At first he’s disoriented. There’s a weight across his lap and a hand in his hair. He blinks awake to find familiar Koboh sunlight streaming in through the viewports and Kata draped across his and Merrin’s laps and snoring gently. The hand leaves his hair and he looks over to see Merrin watching him. For a moment they take each other in, the new cuts and bruises and the spark of life that still burns in the both of them.

Then Greez is stumbling out of the cockpit with BD-1 on his heels, looking just as exhausted as Cal feels. He looks at the three of them cuddled together on the couch and sighs. Then Cal feels the air shift. No not the air, the Force. It rights itself, as if Greez is capable of reaching out and pulling it, settling the strands of it over himself in a familiar pattern.

“Alright. Food, then bed. For all of us. I don’t want to hear anyone complaining about it being whatever the heck time it is, we all need as much sleep as we can get,” says Greez.

Cal doesn’t argue. It feels like his thoughts are wading through mud as he gently shakes Kata awake and helps her out of the ship. As he steps out into the bright sunlight behind her Cal can feel every ache and pain rearing its ugly head. He’s slow, but they all are. They bypass the bar for now, instead entering Pyloon’s through the steps down to the basement door. The room at the bottom is a haven after the events of the last few days. The plants and knickknacks scattered around the room do a lot to make it inviting after the barren nature of the base on Nova Geron and the empty atmosphere on Tanalorr.

Greez disappears up into the bar while Merrin and Kata head for the tiny ‘fresher attached to the room. While they’re gone Cal sets about setting up a few spaces on the ground for himself and Greez to sleep, leaving the bunks for Merrin and Kata, and then dragging a small round table to the centre of the room and throwing four pillows down around it. Just in time, as when he’s placing the last pillow Greez wanders back down with a tray heavy with food and Merrin and Kata return looking cleaner and more relaxed.

“Alright. We’re going to eat, and we’re going to sleep. Anything else can wait until tomorrow,” says Greez.

The look he gives them is enough to curb any rebuttle. As they settle around the table Greez begins dishing out plates of vegetables coated in butter and herbs, a cheesy pasta, and some kind of nerf dish with a bright, peppery sauce. As much as Cal is sure it’s delicious, he can barely taste the food as he chews it. His mind is buzzing with the need to get up and do something, anything, but he has no direction to go, and his body feels so incredibly heavy. The warm food only adds to the heavy feeling, and feeling like a youngling, he lets Greez guide him to one of the blanket nests he’d set up earlier and is asleep almost instantly.

The next day Cal and Merrin begin introducing Kata to the residents of Rambler’s Reach. Zygg and Wini fawn over her, and Cal thinks there might just be a few fashionable but useful items coming Kata’s way in her future. Mosey promises to teach Kata how to ride a nekko, Skoova Stev tries to launch into his life story, and Zee is thrilled to meet Bode’s daughter. However, the person to truly get Kata’s attention is Pili. The rooftop garden is so different from the cold room Cal had met her in on Nova Geron, and it’s clear Kata loves the plants and the hum of life that surrounds the garden.

With Pili watching over her, Cal and Merrin retreat back into Pyloon’s, with Merrin peeling off and leaving Cal at the bar. He feels oddly exhausted, though they’ve barely done more than one circuit around the outpost. He leans heavily against the bar and gets Monk to whip him up a strong mug of caf. He just needs something to focus on, and he’ll be alright. He’s just feeling the weight of grief, he’ll have his usual energy back tomorrow, if not his happiness.

The next day does not bring more energy. Cal drags himself out of the basement of Pyloon’s and into the daylight, determined to do something. Though they had a pyre for Cere, Cordova, and Bode, there is still one Jedi that Cal has not put to rest. And while he doesn’t trust himself to make the full journey up to collect Dagan’s body from the observatory where it floats above the mountains while feeling as exhausted as he does, he can at least get to the forest array and visit the place where he slept for two hundred years.

Cal doesn’t bother telling Greez or Merrin his plan, and BD-1 has gone off to keep an eye on Kata. It’s just a quick trip through the forest and back, it should be no trouble. Except that by the time he arrives at the forest array he’s covered in mud from several slips and falls and ready to sleep for a week. It’s also far later in the day than Cal expected. Still, he presses on with his quest. At least this time he doesn’t have to complete the whole puzzle with the Koboh dust again. He makes his way through and up the tower.

The chamber where Dagan was held holds the scars of their fight. There are long black marks in the walls and floor and the bacta tank is shattered. Cal walks up to it anyway and places a hand on the glass. The echoes left on it are easy to sort through. Dagan was trapped in a dream, so the echoes are only a haze of emotions. First there is anger, then acceptance, then a deeper sorrow that turns to hate. Everything that Cal has been taught leads to the dark side.

Cal knows then that there was nothing he could have done to keep Dagan Gera in the light. Sorrow fills him as he thinks about all the knowledge and talent that is lost now that the last four Jedi he knew are gone. With a deep breath he releases his emotions for Dagan into the Force. All the sorrow, the fear, the forgiveness he feels for him. Cal wonders if Dagan can feel it, if there’s anything left of him in the Force to feel. He takes his hand off the glass and takes in the room one last time before heading back.

By the time Cal rolls back into Rambler’s Reach it is an hour past nightfall. Not yet late, but far later than Cal expected he’d be. He can feel Merrin before he sees her. Her disappointment and worry roll across the dusty ground towards him from the edge of the outpost. When she sees him he only has a moment to try and parse her expression before BD-1 is leaping off her back and sprinting towards him, cursing him out the whole way.

“Sorry, buddy. Lost track of time,” says Cal as he squats down to give BD a pat and let him on his back.

“Do I get an excuse as well?” asks Merrin. Her tone is just on the edge of angry. “Greez was beside himself with worry. I would like some warning next time I have to deal with that.”

“I really didn’t think I’d be gone so long.”

Merrin crosses her arms. “Where did you go?”

“There was one more Jedi who deserved a goodbye,” says Cal.

Merrin softens. She takes in Cal’s muddy appearance and relents, dropping her arms and leading him back into the outpost. It’s quiet between them, but in the way that means everything is alright for the moment. Cal soaks it in, and realizes just how tired he is. He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn as they approach Pyloon’s. Merrin first tosses him in the ‘fresher, then guides him to another delicious meal he barely tastes, and Cal is asleep before he finishes his plate.

The next day Cal decides to tackle the Mantis alongside Greez. Their flight through the Koboh Abyss, as well as everything else, has left a new collection of dents and scrapes, as well as some wear and tear on the hyperdrive and boosters. If they’re going to go back to Tanalorr and try and use it for the Hidden Path, they need a ship that can navigate the Abyss. Cal lets Greez buff out the external damage and goes where he knows best – the inner workings.

Again that same sluggishness drags at Cal. He knows the Mantis in and out like the back of his hand, repairs shouldn’t take much more than the morning. Yet by the time Greez forces him to stop and shoves a sandwich in his hands Cal’s only gotten a couple of the booster lines fixed and hasn’t even begun to touch the hyperdrive. His whole body creaks as he sits on the ramp next to Greez.

“So how’s the hyperdrive coming along?” is of course the first question Greez asks.

“I haven’t started it yet,” says Cal around a mouthful of bread and nuna and lettuce.

Greez looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “You know, it’s not like we’re going anywhere for a while, why don’t we spend the rest of the day relaxing. Pili’s already putting Kata to work changing around the garden, I could whip us up some mocktails and we could supervise.”

“We should get it done though. We need to get Tanalorr on the Hidden Path as soon as possible now that we’ve lost Jedha.”

“Kid, the galaxy can give us a break for a few days. We definitely need it,” says Greez, trailing off quietly.

“But Cere, her legacy, I just can’t let it die,” says Cal.

Greez takes a deep breath and takes Cal by the shoulders, forcing him to look down at him at an awkward angle.

“Cal, I need you to listen to me, and listen good. The Hidden Path is not Cere’s legacy. Neither is the Jedi Archive. Those were her passions, her projects, and her goal was to keep your Jedi knowledge alive as much as she could. But that is not her legacy,” says Greez, staring intently at Cal. “You are her legacy. Everything she taught you, everything she did to keep you alive and whole. And I’ll be damned if I fail that. So sit there and eat your sandwich, and then I don’t want to see you with a tool in your hand for the rest of the day. I’ll sic BD on you, and that is a threat.”

Cal sits in the wake of Greez’ speech feeling odd. His mind is sluggishly trying to process what Greez is saying while at the same time trying to fight of a tide of emotions that Cal hasn’t let himself feel.

He doesn’t notice the first tear slip down his cheek until Greez’ own eyes water.

“It’s okay Cal. I miss her too.”

Cal is too exhausted to stop the tears once they’ve started, and Greez lets him cry, one hand rubbing his back while he gets it out. The tears don’t last long, and when they end Cal feels oddly empty. Drained. He has nothing left to get him up off the ramp. Greez lets him sit as long as he needs, offering nothing but his quiet companionship.

Since the day Cal first stepped aboard the Mantis he’s never stopped moving towards some kind of goal. He’s not sure he knows how to rest, but he’s willing to let Greez help him. If not for himself, then for Cere.

[gumnut-logic]

Five times Alan discovered a secret and one time he kept one (Part Two)

Part 1 | Part 2

I wrote the next chapter! Two in a row :D Unfortunately there won't be one tomorrow as work will be from 8am to beyond 8pm, but will write as soon as I can.

Thank you soo much for all the kind comments you left on Part One. Thunderfam is amazing ::hugs you all so much::

Thank you again to the wonderful @onereyofstarlight for reading through and supporting me :D ::hugs you extra tight::

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

Alan glared at Thunderbird One as she shot out of her hangar beneath the pool.

Why today? The first day that both Dad and Scotty were going to be home since he had finished school for the summer break. He had had plans!

After watching the Launch together, there should have been some Dad and big brother time down at the beach. Gordon and Virgil were over on Aotearoa for a swim meet. John was in space, as usual, Grandma was doing some remote medical consultations and the day had supposed to be just the three of them.

If he wasn’t eleven, he would stamp his feet like a two-year-old.

He understood that what his father and brothers did was important. But he was important, too! They hadn’t done anything as a family for ages and they were always getting interrupted!

One was long gone, along with Uncle Lee and Thunderbird Two, both tearing off into the west, but Alan continued to glare at the blue sky, hating whoever had chosen this moment to steal the light speed ship. The launch had been so cool and Dad, Scotty and Johnny linked in…it had been so much fun watching it together…

So much for that.

John had cut him off from watching the rescue. Dad was against Alan seeing his family in action no matter how Alan pleaded.

His space brother had taken to providing some edited and ‘safe’ versions of some of the rescues his family took part in. But only some, and there was a little terrified voice in the back of Alan’s mind that spoke of horrors unseen.

His father and brothers had come home hurt on more than one occasion.

The sky ignored his glaring.

Okay, fine. He was grown up enough to understand why things like this happened. He wasn’t a baby.

It just sucked.

Another little voice in his head piped up to declare that sitting here moping was far from useful to himself or anyone else.

The voice sounded far too much like his big brother.

Though he wasn’t sure which one. All of them liked to give him ‘advice’.

Grumping, he pushed himself to his feet. Maybe Kayo could come down to the beach with him. Even though she was older by a few years, she was always happy to keep him company.

He stood up and realised he felt better for making a decision and having something to do.

He ignored that little voice that proclaimed ‘I told you so’.

Virgil. Though Gords was generally the smart ass, so it could be him.

Scotty just smiled and John looked all knowing, and you know what? Yeah, his brothers were slowly driving him insane.

Kayo was out on her rounds with her Dad. Kyrano was their security specialist. Gordy reckoned Kyrano and Kayo had lived on the Island before Dad bought it. He said that one of the little beach huts had been their house.

Alan thought Gordon was pulling his leg.

Knowing the Island was Kyrano’s job. He regularly made his rounds checking the sensor network and the stuff that kept their island hidden. Kayo went with him as she wanted to be just like her Dad.

Alan could understand that. After all, Alan wanted to be just like his Dad, too.

That thought brought up the fact that Dad wasn’t here right at this moment and the annoyance along with it.

Be almost like his Dad.

The guilt that accompanied that thought followed him down the stairs and out into the warm and sunny morning.

Perfect beach weather.

He grit his teeth.

Get over it already.

He stomped past the pool and out onto the gravel path that ultimately encircled the Island, purposefully taking the opposite direction to which he knew Kyrano worked, hoping to meet them towards the end of the process.

There was a breeze rattling the palm trees above him and many of the pokey trees were sporting their fluffy red flowers. Birds were arguing amongst them.

They were pretty lucky to live here, he had to admit. How many other kids lived on an Island in the tropics?

Well, he didn’t live here all the time. The last couple of years, he had shared his time with Kyrano’s house in Kumeu, Aotearoa, so he could go to school. It was close to both his and Gordon’s school and the GDF airport. Convenient for a family who used rocket ships and planes for transport.

Yeah, his life was so cool sometimes.

He had to admit that he hadn’t wanted to leave the farm when he found out about his father’s plans.

It had been scary and he had said goodbye to so many friends.

But Scotty had promised that he would fly him wherever he wanted to go whenever he could, and, bar rescues, his big brother had stuck to his word. Not only had Scotty flown him to Kansas several times, but to many other places. Alan was so lucky. He had seen and done so many things other kids his age couldn’t even conceive.

Of course, there were the secrets. He wasn’t allowed to talk about International Rescue and he understood why. It was hard, but he did his best.

Scotty said he was proud of Alan.

That only made Alan want to try harder. One day he would fly rockets just like his brothers and save people.

He made it past Two’s runway, around the edge of its backing cliff and onto the west side of the Island. The moment he stepped into the open air, the breeze strengthened, tousling his hair and pushing his t-shirt up against his chest, the material rippling like the waves on the water below.

It wasn’t cold, just cool, and smelled of the ocean that stretched blue to the horizon.

He paused a moment to stare out into the distance.

So cool.

The path wound back into the forest as it skirted the edge of the Island. Along here were the sensors that reported to Thunderbird Five, and the cloaking technologies keeping them safe. Alan wanted to know how they worked, but he hadn’t quite managed it yet. Brains talked gobblety-gook when he asked. John and Virgil had given him an outline, but it wasn’t enough. John said he needed some elementary physics education before it would all make sense.

Alan had asked John to teach him.

So that’s how he ended up with a physics curriculum for the summer holidays. If it took him a step closer to being able to fly Thunderbird Three, he was all for it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

It was tearful and…female.

Kayo?

“I couldn’t tell you, Tanusha, you were too young.” Kyrano’s quiet and measured tones were in stark contrast.

“How can you be so calm?!”

“I have no proof.”

“But you said it was him.”

Alan stood frozen in the middle of the path. Kayo sounded like she was crying. That in itself told him she wouldn’t want him hearing her.

He slipped quietly off the trail and stepped behind the remains of an old rockfall. He would let them pass and then sneak away.

She would never have to know.

Kyrano’s calm voice danced along the cliff to Alan’s ears. “I am certain. However, he is difficult to locate and vengeance is unrequited. I speak of this now so you are aware.”

“I was aware before. Now I just want to kill him.”

“Daughter, do not let him take more than he already has.”

“But the Tracys…”

“Mr Tracy is aware of the threat.”

“They used to work together!”

“No longer.”

“Does he know-?”

“He knows enough.”

“You didn’t tell him?!”

There was a pause. “Mr Tracy knows enough. I do not wish to burden him with something that might provoke needless guilt.”

“Father, the Tracys are blameless. The brothers-“

“Do not know. Do not need to know. Mr Tracy is a force of good in this world. One of far too few. He knows of Gaat’s character and has treated him as such.”

“But you said he killed Mum.”

Alan sucked in a breath. Kayo’s mom?! He and his brothers had always shared the loss of their mother with Kayo. Kayo had lost hers, too, dying when she was very young. There hadn’t been much detail other than it had been sudden and Kyrano refused to talk about it, just like Dad. It was an unspoken rule, ‘don’t ask about the dead for fear of upsetting the living’. Well, once spoken…by Gordon, after a fight with their father.

Alan hadn’t asked about that either. He hated it when Gordon cried.

But someone had killed Kayo’s mom?! Someone called Gaat?

Why didn’t Kyrano want to tell Dad? What guilt? What didn’t he know?

“Alan, report back to the villa.”

He jumped. John’s voice from his collar comms startling him.

Before he could answer, Kyrano tore past at a full run, Kayo attempting to keep up with him. Her eyes flickered in Alan’s direction but only for a moment.

“Alan, now! We need you home.” There was something horrible in John’s voice, a panic.

Frowning, Alan automatically obeyed, his legs moving before his thoughts were sorted. He thumbed his collar. “FAB. What’s wrong?”

“T-There’s been an accident.”

-o-o-o-

Part 3

Author's note: If you are interested in Alan's adventures in Kumeu (several months after the events here) I have two fics about Alan at school here - Anna Kent.

[ghostchems]

the rose

terzo reminisces about simpler times.

authors note: y’all want some angst and goofiness? well you’ve come to the right place! inspired by something that happened to @tasty-ribz! less than 1k words. ao3 link.

Terzo’s quarters had been a complete mess since he was forcefully retired. It was still fresh in his mind, happening a few weeks ago and his room reflected his mental state. Clothes were everywhere. The bed was unmade. Stacks of dirty plates and glasses lined the walls.

He was sitting on the floor, half dressed, rummaging through his things. Suddenly, he launched an item across the room in frustration. Terzo felt his life was over. What was he supposed to do now? He had no responsibilities. Nobody was counting on him anymore. He was alone, again… like he had been for so long prior to his ascension.

He continued rummaging through his things, rummaging through memories. Everything had been taken from him but he still had his memories. He felt lost, surrounded by relics that didn’t even matter to anyone anymore. They only mattered to him.

In the sea of purple, black and gold, something red and lacy caught his eye. Terzo reached for it, pushing aside the clothing beside it and pulling it up to his face. Red, lace, panties. His lips stretched into a smile, perhaps the first time he had smiled in the last few weeks. 

***

Secondo wouldn’t stop laughing at him. Just because he was three months older, he had this idea that he was so much more mature than him. Meanwhile, he was just as clueless — but was good at playing the genius, the older, more responsible brother.

“Why is this funny, fratello? I am asking you for help.” Terzo’s cheeks were flushed, trying to hide it with his hands. “I really like her.” His voice cracked and he couldn’t help but stomp his feet. Puberty. Goddamn puberty. 

Secondo was already taller than him and was built like a Greek god. Terzo had always been smaller, shorter, but he could be a quick bastard. He started to clap his hands in his brother’s face to get him to focus.

 “Okay, okay.” Secondo laughed, pretending to wipe a tear from his eyes. “It’s just – of all the girls you like the one that’s–”

“SECONDO!” He was about to snap, to tackle his brother to the floor and start wailing on him. Terzo could feel the tears of frustration starting to well up in his eyes. “Per favore, I am asking nicely.”

He didn’t want to admit that he wanted Secondo’s advice. The girls flocked to him, despite his rather grumpy behavior. He had his first girlfriend in first grade. This was the first time Terzo had ever felt feelings like this and he knew that his brother had experience with that sort of thing. Plus, going to their father was not an option. They were pretty much left to their own devices and their older brother was off doing his duties as a high-ranking member of the church.

“I have just the thing, fratello.” Secondo finally got a hold of himself, pulling open a drawer and rummaging around for a moment before grabbing a fake rose. “Give this to her. She’ll know what it means.” He handed it to Terzo with a knowing smirk.

“Che bella!” Terzo looked it over, smiling faintly to himself at the thought of giving it to his crush. “The color is striking, sangue rosso.” He mumbled, then looked up at brother with a wide smile. “Grazie a mille, fratello. Thank you, thank you.” He couldn’t wait, immediately leaving Secondo’s room to go find his love.

“Che idiota.” Secondo sneered after he had left.

Terzo felt like he was walking on air, his feet carrying him to the classroom. He gave a small knock on the open door, his eyes falling to Sister Juliette sitting behind her desk. She seemed to be grading papers. His face was already flushed when she called him over to her desk.

“Terzo, back again to help me file some papers?” She asked, smiling at the boy. He was quite the teacher’s pet.

His breath caught in his throat. Her smile. Terzo walked slowly into the classroom, his anxiety skyrocketing. This was it. He was doing it – admitting his love of his teacher with a beautiful rose for a beautiful woman. 

“S-sister Juliette?” His voice cracked again as he extended his arm, holding out the rose to her. The poor boy was trembling.

“Oh, Terzo, thank you.” She tenderly took it from him and turned it over in her hands. “It’s really… it’s quite–” Her eyes narrowed as her fingers brushed over the rose itself and she pulled it from the plastic slowly. The rose unfurled, revealing a pair of red, lace underwear.

“Merda. Merda. Sister Juliette, I didn’t know –” Terzo had gone pale, his voice cracking all over the place as he tried to explain. He was almost crying again. Sister Juliette tried to calm him, to soothe him and tell him that it was all okay but it didn’t help. He ended up snatching the underwear from her hands and running away from the classroom.

***

Terzo remembered hiding out in his room for a little while, quieting himself and his mind before returning to Secondo’s room and exacting his revenge. It took almost every single ghoul in the abbey to tear them apart, with Secondo suffering the worst of it. He chuckled to himself, thinking about how much they had grown since being children: how much they had changed and how much they were still the same. 

He twirled the underwear around on his finger, just as he used to do on stage. Things used to seem so simple, so uncomplicated. Terzo missed those days. He slingshotted the underwear across his room and it landed on another pile of his memories.

All he knew now was uncertainty.

[juminies]

before I met you,

jumin finds that writing vows is somewhat more complicated than anticipated

jumin x reader, 1038 words, fluff

♡

He draws a single line through a sentence he’s written (rewritten) 10 times already. Huffs as he puts his pen down. He had been so confident about this a few hours ago!

Elizabeth 3rd jumps up onto his desk upon hearing his displeasure; knocks the pen to the floor as she does with a disconcerting clatter that makes Jumin wince slightly. She nudges her head against his arm. He retracts it and runs his hand through his hair, pushing stray strands out of his face, then returns it to to scratch under her chin. He rests against his other hand, squishing his face into a slight pout.

“Am I overthinking it?” he asks her. She leans into his pets, purring as he continues, “I feel this would be much easier if I had someone to run it by. V would be the obvious suggestion, but he’s almost impossible to get a hold of these days. I could request Assistant Kang’s advice, but I highly doubt she’d like to be involved with my personal business”—a pause—“and I forgot I gave her a vacation. Tsk.”

The feline leisurely stretches herself out over his notes in response.

His tone becomes more of an indirect musing as he adds, “Luciel already shared that link to the strange wedding forum which turned out to be relatively useless, and I can’t see Yoosung nor my father being particularly helpful in this area for vastly different reasons. Zen could have an idea because of acting… but no. I would rather not bicker over my wedding vows.” He bends down to pick up his pen from the floor. “Maybe I’ll keep him in mind as a last resort.”

Jumin knows how he feels about you. He feels it so, so deeply that there’s absolutely no mistaking it — love resonates from his very being when he’s so much as in your presence. What you’ve done for him, what you continue to do for him, there’s no doubt that you’ve changed him for the better. He only hopes he can continue to be the same for you. But how to express it in words barely comes naturally to him after so long keeping all emotion bottled away. It still feels a bit awkward, sometimes, even confessing his love to you aloud.

“You’re good with words,” you’d told him once. “Do you know that?” He does know, he told you. Being good with words had always been one of his strongest capabilities. It’s something he’s proud of. He’s succinct, confident, persuasive. Usually. For some reason when it comes to you he often finds himself practically tongue-tied. Not to mention he’s never been put in a position that makes him feel so vulnerable.

He looks back to Elizabeth 3rd. “I can acknowledge that you won’t be at all insightful either way, but I could at least use a practice audience.”

He gently shifts her off of the paper he’d been writing on and picks up the most recent draft, clearing his throat as his eyes scan over the first couple of lines.

“Before I met you, I—”

Then he’s interrupted by a soft piano melody drifting from his phone.

“Jumin,” you chime when he picks up. Hearing you call his name immediately washes away the discontentment he’d been feeling just moments prior. “I texted you a little while ago but you didn’t respond, so I thought I'd call in case you didn't see. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be there soon. I know you don’t like sudden interruptions much.”

“Considerate as always. Thank you.”

“You better not have been working on your day off.”

He smiles. “Not a morsel of C&R related activity is going on here, don’t worry.”

“Good. I’ll see you in thirty minutes, okay?”

“Thirty?” he asks.

There’s a long pause before you admit, “...An hour.”

“Alright.” A warm chuckle. “I’ll see you then.”

“I love you!”

“I love you too.”

—

“Forty-seven minutes,” Jumin confirms as you let yourself into the penthouse. “I’ll try to be more precise next time,” you tease as you walk into the kitchen and begin to carefully unpack two slices of cheesecake from the bag you’d been carrying them in. You click your tongue upon noticing one of them is slightly messed up from the journey over.

“How was your morning?” Jumin asks. He leans to rest on the kitchen island beside you.

“I met a nice older woman while I was browsing in the bakery nearby. She stopped me to tell me I look like C&R Jumin Han’s wife.”

“Wife?” he echoes. He likes the way the word feels, he’s come to find. “What did you tell her?”

“Well I was a bit surprised. Nobody has ever told me I look like your partner rather than just asking if I am. Typically I try to avoid answering, because I don’t know who’s asking. Of course I’m proud beyond belief to be marrying you”—you bite back a smile as his face lights up—“but you know how I am with not wanting to draw too much attention to myself. I just wanted my cheesecake.”

“Beyond belief?” Jumin asks.

“Of course,” you reiterate, leaning in quickly to press a kiss to his lips before turning around to grab dessert plates from a cupboard. “But that’s besides the point! I wasn’t in a hurry, and she seemed sweet, so I laughed and told her I actually am his fiancée.”

“What did she say?”

“She didn’t believe me!”

“Oh? How dare she accuse my dearest wife-to-be of being a liar.” There’s a grin on his face when you turn back to him that couldn’t possibly disguise the fact that he finds it just the slightest bit amusing. “We ought to track her down and tell her off.”

“We could invite her to the wedding to prove a point,” you suggest as you move the cake to the plates and slide Jumin the less beat-up piece. Something about the gesture makes the idea of finishing his vows seem a lot less intimidating all of a sudden.

He switches his plate with yours before speaking again. “The more people who get to see you make me your husband the better.”

[turnupswritessometimes]

Geppetto's Boy - Lies of P - Ch7

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54517777/chapters/138571591

Summary: A collection of oneshots set throughout the game, mostly exploring P and Gepetto’s relationship. (But exploring P’s relationships with most of Hotel Krat too.)

First | Previous | Next

Chapter Seven

Ergo was humans.

Ergo was made from humans.

Ergo was life. Literally. It was human lives.

P killed one of the monsters on his way back to the hotel. Ergo had flown from it. The alchemist had been right, then. This sickness was because of Ergo. The very thing P needed to live had caused the petrification disease. The puppets had been the reason for all of Krat's downfall; their frenzy, and their poisonous Ergo. He was a puppet. He had been part of the reason Krat was in the state it was in.

And yet, as he made his way back to the hotel, he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that the blue, swirling Ergo could also be so terrible. It was beautiful; it was beautiful, and it was what brought him to Sophia. It was what had brought him home - the hotel was his home.

He stopped, on the steps of his home, his hand over his chest. His heart ran on Ergo. When his father opened him up, his face was lit with the soft blue light. How could something so beautiful be so terrible too?

"Hey, pal…" Gemini seemed to hesitate. "You don't think…"

All P was doing was thinking. His mind whirred, round and round. He couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with the Head Alchemist: with Simon Manus. Could he trust him to tell the truth? He supposed he had to: he had as much reason to believe him, as he did believe his father? Things were starting to come together, like fragments of a broken mirror. If he had some patience, he could piece it back together.

Though, he felt a twinge of fear at what it could mean.

"I need to speak to Polendina," P murmured. Because Polendina said his Ego had awakened: Polendina remembered things. It would make a terrible sense with what he had learnt.

"Shouldn't we see Geppetto first?" Gemini asked. "I mean, he'll want to know about this-"

"He might already know. He must already know." P was sure of that, when he said it. His father must know the truth about Ergo; must at least know its effects on humans; he was a clever man. "But he will not tell us the truth."

Gemini's voice was soft, and only half-scolding: "You don't know that."

But P did. He looked up at the hotel, finding the window of his father's room. He knew Geppetto now, and he knew what he would say and do. He knew that he had already hidden so much from P, that he wouldn't think of hiding this. He had gotten P to do exactly what he wanted.

"He does not lie," he said. "But he does not tell the truth, either."

He only told P as much as he needed to know, to keep him obedient. To keep him being a good boy.

Gemini listened. He gave a long, low chirp, his light dimming. "It's up to you. I don't control what you do. I can only give you advice."

P almost smiled. He felt exhausted from the fight, and more exhausted from the revelation, but at least he still had Gemini. He brushed his fingers over the top of the lantern. "Thank you."

Then he noticed there was something very wrong, with Hotel Krat. Noticed, now that Gemini was dimmer, there weren't as many lights coming from the building. The door was open - the door was damaged. From the glimpse he saw inside, he could see the lobby was in a state; the plants overturned and a tile cracked. Something had happened.

He rushed in, drawing his sword. Almost everything had been overturned. The photoframes had been smashed, and glass scattered the floor. The welcome desk was cleaved, woodchips trailing across the cracked marble floors. A chandelier had fallen, over the stairs, making everything darker; making shadows dance across the walls.

"I don’t like this…" Gemini murmured at his side. P didn’t reply. This was unnerving. More unnerving than walking into the Grand Exhibition, knowing it contained monsters. His home had been attacked. Someone had attacked his home.

When he went upstairs, when he found everyone, he learnt the details.

It had been attacked. The hotel had been attacked, and his father had been taken. Kidnapped. Geppetto had been kidnapped, and P had not been there to save him, this time. P hadn't been there. This had happened because of him.

It had all happened because of him.

All the way down to him inviting Allidoro to the hotel. His father had warned him about inviting everyone to the hotel, but P hadn't listened. He hadn't obeyed. He hadn't done what his father said. And because of that, his father had been taken from him. It had been the alchemsits. The alchemists, who were turning people into monsters. What were they going to do to his father?

It scared him, and he still hated being scared.

It wasn't just Alidoro, he thought, as he turned back down the corridor. It had been the fox and the cat. They had said their next job was for the alchemists. They must have known about this. He had trusted them too. He had suspected they were lying, but he'd thought they were good.

It was all P's fault.

He couldn't remember feeling angry, but he was angry, now. Furious. Hot. Not warm, like when he was happy, or proud. This was an itching, raging anger that made him want to fight. P had never wanted to fight like this. This feeling made him want to hit and maim and hurt something. He wanted to let out the burning rage onto something; to destroy something and have the satisfaction of knowing he had done that.

He retreated back to the lobby, becuase he hadn't trusted himself around the others. He didn't want to shout at them. He didn't want to hurt them. He couldn't risk hurting the people he cared about.

P looked at the gramophone in the lobby. The table it sat on was chipped, but the gramophone itself was in tact. He'd spent a long time listening to its records; loved listening the music, and how it skipped and crackled sometimes. But now, he wanted to smash it. Into pieces. It was so delicate, and it would be so beautiful to break it. To use his own hands to destroy such a beautful, delicate thing.

"Clever one."

He turned, to see Sophia there. His anger swirling like a hurricane inside him. He clenched his jaw, so he wouldn't shout at her, because he didn't want to shout at Sophia. He clenched his fists, and kept them clenched at his sides.

Sophia was soft, as soft as she always was. Her blue eyes looked at him, sadly. "I don't believe you've ever felt rage before, have you?"

P couldn't even shake his head. His chest heaved with a burning breath. "I've never wanted to destroy before."

"That's because you are just." Sophia stepped forward, her dress moving gracefully around her. She held out a hand, as if she was going to touch his cheek, but then stopped, as if she was afraid to touch him. "You don't have to destroy, now, darling."

He didn't want her to be afraid - not of him. He didn't want to be angry, anymore. He caught her hand, and tugged it to him, feeling clumsy. Sophia leant closer, unfurling her fingers to cup his cheek.

"How?" How could he stop being furious?

"Take a breath," Sophia said. "Keep breathing, and it will get easier. You can control that anger, and save it for the people you're truly angry at."

P tried to breathe. He wondered how breathing even helped, when he was a puppet. But it did. When he took a long breath, he felt some of the fire die down. It brought him back to himself. He leant into Sophia's touch, his heart racing. He kept breathing, searching her face. Her eyes were like sapphires; were the same deep blue as Ergo.

"Or, you can let it pass," she said. "You can let it wash over you, like a wave."

"I want that." He didn't like anger. Anger didn't make him feel like himself. Anger made him feel like he was going to do something terrible.

"Then you do that, clever one."

Sophia smiled at him. She brushed his hair back, behind his ear, her finger trailing down his jaw. The touch was so gentle compared to the violence he wanted to commit. Was this how the Black Rabbit had felt, when he'd wanted to take P apart? Was this how that donkey-man had felt, on the bridge, when he'd wanted to kill Geppetto? Could he blame either of them, for their feelings?

Being a human, he was finding, was much more difficult than he'd ever thought. There were so many different kinds of pain. There was so much more that he hadn't felt, and didn't know if he could stand feeling.

P nodded. He caught her hand again, and squeezed it gently. He wanted her to be closer. When Sophia was close to him, he felt he could be good; he felt as though he was more than Geppetto's puppet.

"My dearest friend!"

It was Venigni's voice. P turned towards the sound, and he knew Sophia was slipping away. She always did, whenever anyone else was there. He didn't understand it, but thought if he asked, she would hide from him too. Now, he wished she would stay. She always knew what to say to bring him back to himself.

By the time Venigni had made his way down the stairs, P stood alone in the foyer. For once, Venigni looked a mess; his hat gone, hair a mess, coat akimbo. He was panicked; of course he was. They'd been terrified, without him. How could he had let that happen?

"Oh, grazie a Dio!" he said. "When you rushed from the room, I thought...well, I'm glad you've not done anything hasty, compagno."

P shook his head. His hair swayed with the movement.

"Good, good."  Venigni brushed his own hair back. His hand shook. "Because, forgive my saying so, you are not prepared to rush off to another battle."

P supposed he wasn't. His legion arm needed tuning up, and now the anger had dulled, he felt pain where he'd been hit in the fight. Not to mention the blood, jamming up his legion arm. Geppetto had always cleaned the blood off him. Had always kept him perfect.

"I'm alright," he lied.

"You may be alright, but my beautiful arm is not." Venigni closed the gap between them. He caught P's wrist before he could pull away, turning it over to examine his palm. P could pull away, if he wanted to - but he didn't. "I cannot allow you to shame me by fighting with this."

"My father always repaired me," P said. He didn't realise it would hurt to say, but it did. His father had always been there.

Venigni stopped, for a moment. He nodded, then. "I am sorry about what happened to Geppetto. But will you allow me to help you?"

P looked at his legion arm. He had never cleaned or fixed it himself. Not anything more than Venigni's repair tool, wich gave it a second lease of life but didn't fix it for good. He didn't know if he could do it himself; his father had never given him the chance.

He nodded.

"Thank you." Venigni did smile. Did look genuine, if still shaken. "Step into my office, if you will."

If P had been in a better mood, he would have smiled. Instead, he nodded, and stepped towards Venigni's space. Pulcinella clunked down the stairs, watching them, almost hesitantly.

Did he have an ego, too, P wondered? Did he also have a human soul within him?

He laid his arm on Venigni's worktable, and he could see it now. Could see the dozens of small repairs that needed to be completed before it would work well again. Could feel, now, that it was an effort to make it work. Now the anger was gone, he felt drained.

Venigni paused, over it. He looked at P, as though he was expecting him to object. P took a deep breath, letting go of the last drags of anger. He nodded, again, setting his jaw.

"I cannot imagine how you must be feeling." Venigni sought for his tools, thumping the bag down on the table. He started work, easing P's fingers into place and taking off the plating.

He didn't want to look. Not this time.

"Geppetto is a good man," Venigni said.

He was the creator. It had been on that recording, from the King of Puppets. From Romeo. Geppetto was the creator, and all the puppets had been obeying Romeo, but also Geppetto. Romeo, it seemed, was also bound by that covenant. His own creator had destroyed him.

He hadn't told Venigni about that. He'd lied, and said he hadn't been able to hear, either.

How far would his father hurt him, if he needed to?

"Ergo is humans," he said, instead. He thought it best that someone else knew.

"Excuse me?" Venigni asked.

P looked at him. "Ergo is human souls. That's why puppets release it when they're destroyed. The monsters too, they release it, when they die."

Ergo and ego didn't sound too different. Pulcinella had paused at the doorway. What was he thinking? It was easier for P to wonder that, than to keep thinking about his father. His father who must have known about the ergo. Who had given P an ergo heart.

What was in P's heart?

"The Head Alchemist is using ergo to create monsters. To evolve humans, he said," P continued.

"That's awful." Venigni paused in his work, to look at him. P stared back. "And now they've taken Geppetto too."

"Because he knows about Ergo." Or because it would draw out P again? He wasn't sure. He knew he was going to get his father back. He was going to be a good son; he was going to be a good boy.

"That is their mistake." Venigni continued his work, and relief shoot through P. He felt his arm fixing. "I have never seen anything you cannot triumph over, bello."

Because P was made to destroy. Designed to destroy. The very arm Venigni was fixing was a weapon. Finally, he felt he could put his weapons to good use.

P didn't answer. He waited, feeling his arm be fixed. He brushed Gemini's lantern with his spare hand, waiting. He wanted to go. He wanted to go now, becuase if he was fighting, he wasn't thinking. If he thought too much, he'd realise what everything meant.

And he didn't want that. Suddenly, surely, he didn't want the puzzle pieces to fall into place.

"Thank you," he said, when Venigni released his arm, declaring it was as good as new. It shone in the gas lamps.

"I know I am not as fine a maker as Geppetto," Venigni began again, pausing longer this time, looking over him. "But there are...other repairs. If you'd permit me, I could..."

He trailed off, gesturing to P's chest. His heart. He had internal repairs that needed seeing to; he felt that too. Felt like he was overheating.

P put his hand over his heart. It was racing. He looked at Venigni. This man had irritated him, often, but this man was a friend. His friend. Looking at him earnestly form behind his glasses.

He trusted him.

P nodded. "Alright."

Venigni blinked, shocked. Then he beamed, like a child in a sweetshop. P couldn't help smiling, a little. He lifted himself, so he sat on the table, pushing back to make himself comfortable. He unbuttoned his coat, and his waistcoat. Pushed open his shirt, and realised he'd never done that before. Had never gotten to do that before, because his Father had always been the one to do it. It was strange, to do it himself; to make a decision.

Venigni's fingers hovered, over his chest plate, pausing.

This feltintimate, P realised. Venigni could break him, if he felt inclined. His life was in this man's hands.

He put his hand on Venigni's wrist, meeting his eyes. Venigni stared back, and nodded.

And Venigni opened him up, and got to work fixing him. P waited, sparks dancing through him, and watched Venigni's expression. It was different to watching his father. Geppetto was impassive, methodical. Venigni's eyebrows twitched, his mouth moved, as he worked.

"You're beautiful," Venigni murmured. "Truly, you are – a masterpiece."

He was a copy. P knew that, now. He was a copy of the little boy in the portrait; a copy of Carlo. But how could he resent his father for doing that, now he had been taken? How could he have been suspicious of him? How could he have been such a bad son, when his father had always been good to him?

P smiled, a little, and let Venigni work. He was grateful for Venigni had made him stop. This gave him time to think. If he'd rushed on, straight away, he worried he might have done something terrible.

He might have killed, without his father telling him to. Might have not felt remorse for hurting humans.

Could he do that?

He might have to do that, now, as he pursued the alchemists.

Venigni closed P's chest. His hand lingered, on his bare skin. He looked up, and P realised they were close. Very close, and Venigni was examining him. His glasses were low on his nose, and his eyes seemed bare without them.

"You are beautiful," he repeated.

P felt warm. This wasn't about his mechanics; it was about his appearance. He didn't want to say that it wasn't his face. It was Carlo's. He put his hand over Venigni's.

"Thank you," P murmured. This made him feel alive; his heart whirring.

Venigni smiled, softly. "May I?"

P wasnt sure what he was asking, but he nodded, all the same.

Venigni reached up, with his spare hand, and tucked P's long hair behind his ear. It was different to how his father touched him; this wasn't maintenence; this was something more. Something closer to Sophia. This was touch.

"Buorna fortuna, my friend."

Venigni pressed his lips against P's cheek. On one side, and then the other. He stepped away, and P felt sparks on his skin. He blinked. Found himself smiling, ducking his chin like he was embarrassed. He was embarrassed. He could feel, even if he shouldn't be able to. He nodded.

Eugenie arrived, then. She brushed her hair back, retying it, adjusting her glasses.

"I am sure your weapons need a buff up too," she said. She looked nervous. "Or perhaps I can improve them before you head out again?"

P nodded, drawing his blade. He held it out on his palms. "Thank you. Both of you."

He had a team. He had friends, who were ready to repair him and his weapons. For once, Eugenie didn't smile, as she looked over his sword. She worked silently, and hard, whilst he paced. Tested his arm.

Noticed the puppet they'd used for sparring was broken, on the floor. Did that puppet have an ego too?

P leant against the door of the hotel, listening to Venigni and Pulcinella's soft voices and the sound of Eugenie tinkering. His friends had calmed the fury inside him.

Now he was ready to save his Father.

*

P suspected he'd known, before the beach. Long before the beach, though he couldn't say how much longer. Just that he'd known, even before he saw the memories.

He stood, his boots half-buried in the sand, and finally admitted it.

"My Ergo is Carlo."

Gemini didn't chirp. For a moment they stood there, together, the wind whipping P's clothes. Sand buffeted his cheeks.

 "Do you remember...being him?" Gemini asked.

"No." P's heart thudded. He wondered if that was Carlo, trying to get out. "No, I only remember parts, but it's like..a book. I remember these things and I know they happened, but it doesn't feel like it happened to me."

He was Carlo. But he wasn't. He had been Carlo, once, and now he had Carlo's Ergo in his heart, yet Carlo hadn't returned. The boy in these memories didn't feel like him.

He stepped forward. The waves washing to the shore sounded very far away.

"My Father knew that."

Gemini paused, again. "Yeah, I think you might be right about that, Pal."

"He built me to replace him."

P knew that. He thought he'd known when he saw the portrait, for the first time. He'd known, but hadn't let himself realise it. Perhaps he'd even known before that. Perhaps, when he was presented with Carlo's old uniform, and Geppetto had looked at him like that, as if he was looking for something inside him. He had Carlo's ergo, he was built to look like Carlo.

And he wasn't.

It explained all of those looks that he didn't understand. Every time it felt like he'd said something wrong. It hadn't been what Carlo would do. He had failed. He wasn't Geppetto's boy. He couldn't be.

"Pal?" He heard Gemini's voice distantly. He hadn't moved, he realised, he still stood on the beach, the wind whipping his hair across his face. His hair. That had been why his father wanted to cut it. P hadn't let him.

"If I had been better, this wouldn't have happened." If he'd been a better replacement for Carlo.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Gemini's lantern glowed brighter, to get his attention. He looked down at it, blinking. "You didn't kidnap Geppetto. You were doing what he said. Going to the Grand Exhibition."

"He told me not to trust anyone outside the hotel."

"And I'm sure glad you did."

"Carlo wouldn't have." He felt sure of that. Felt sure that Carlo had only trusted Romeo.

"Maybe. But it was trusting people that got you the cure for Lady Antonia. It was trusting people that got Eugenie closure about her family. It was trusting people that helped us get this far, kid."

"Those were all lies."

"And that makes you better than Carlo."

P raised an eyebrow at Gemini. "Maybe Carlo was a good liar."

"You tell me."

P knew. He knew that Carlo was an atrocious liar. "He wasn't."

"See, I can't tell if you're lying or not."

P couldn't help it. He smiled, just a little. That could have been Gemini's plan all along; to lift his spirits. He still felt entirely weighed down, but not quite so terrible – not quite so terrible that he wasn't Carlo.

He took a step. The memories continued around him. He hadn't wanted to be Carlo. He'd known that.

But he did still want to be a son.

He let the memories form around him, let them fill up the gaps in his mind, and understood what Carlo's life had been like. Understood Carlo was gone, now. P may have his Ergo and his memories, but he wasn't Carlo any longer. That boy was gone. Maybe Ergo wasn't quite human souls. Perhaps there was more to what a human soul was.

Perhaps he still carried part of Carlo, but now it nestled alongside something else. Hi owns?

"Gemini." They'd reached the steps of the great, stone building. It loomed so large that it seemed to have become one with the stony, grey sky.

Perhaps he still carried Carlo's soul, but now it nestled alongside something else. His?

"Gemini." They'd reached the steps of the great, stone building. It loomed so large that it seemed to have become one with the stony, grey sky. "Do you think it's possible? To develop a soul?"

Gemini didn't answer straight away. His light flickered.

"You know, pal," he said. "I think anything's possible."

P smiled. He stepped forward.

He didn't know what he was going to do, when he met his father again.

But he did know who he was, now. He wasn't Carlo.

He was P.

[pinkeoni]

Will Byers & Laura Palmer Part 2 - Henry & BOB

Part 1

One big parallel between Will and Laura is the similarities between their tormentors: Henry and BOB. There are many connections between both characters, which is why I’ve separated it into its own post.

TW for discussions of child sexual abuse below

Originating from an alternate world called the Black Lodge, BOB is a vengeful spirit that feeds off of the pain and sorrow of others. BOB operates very similarly to how Henry used the Mind Flayer in seasons two and three, by possessing people and using them to commit horrific acts.

BOB, like Henry, is a bit like a hive mind. The people who have fallen victim to BOB live within The Red Room, similar to Henry's Mind Lair.

BOB sexually abuses Laura, haunts her nightmares and wishes to possess her or else he will kill her. In Fire Walk With Me, Laura says that BOB has been coming to her since she was twelve years old, which is the same age that Will was when he was taken by Henry. (Although, a line in The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer suggests that BOB may have been around her for awhile)

This post by @bylrndgm shows a visual similarity between BOB's stalking of Laura and Henry's stalking of Will (via Mind Flayer)

The human being that BOB had possessed in order torment her was Laura's own father, Leland.

Laura's mother, Sarah, was unaware of this nightly abuse, although part of this was because Sarah would be drugged at night by Leland. The show portrays Leland as more or less another victim of BOB, helpless in his situation, however FWWM frames Leland as having a lot more agency in his actions than was previously shown.

These posts here show similarities between Sarah and Joyce

This post I made shows the parallels between the scene where the kids trick and entrap a possessed Billy in ST3 and the scene where the police trick and entrap a possessed Leland in TP

The name similarity between Lonnie and Leland is pretty clear. As for Lonnie's sexual abuse of Will, it's much more discreet than how Leland/BOB's was shown. Instead of going into detail here I'm going to leave a couple of posts I already made here and here. Even aside from Lonnie's hinted abuse, sexual assault imagery between Henry and Will is still present and much more overt.

It's interesting the Bob we get in Stranger Things is not only correlated with Will's father but also with his possession. Bob takes up the role of Will's father figure in his life, and him trying to give fatherly advice to Will inadvertently led to his possession. Not only that, but Will's possession scene is intercut with shots of Bob. (Of course, Bob here is not evil unlike BOB)

So what does this all mean in terms of Will's arc in the show?

I already made a post before discussing my belief in Lonnie's larger part in Will's narrative. Now, I don't think that Lonnie's abuse of Will came from being possessed by Henry, he was definitely acting of his own volition. I do think, however, that there may be a similar reveal as to who the monster in Will's life really is.

In TP, the audience knows that BOB is Laura's killer for awhile. What the audience didn't know until much later, though, was that Leland was the one who was possessed by him and carried out the act of killing his own daughter.

The audience knows that Henry is the monster in Will's life. What they may not know about is the extent of Lonnie's abuse. Furthermore, Will himself may not even be aware of this. Laura knew that BOB had been abusing her, but she didn't know that it was her father until the events of FWWM.

This is related to the idea of Will's missing memories. These memories are likely tied to his father's abuse, as I said in the birthdaygate post I linked earlier. Will is going to have to confront these memories in some way. He probably believes that the only monster in his life is Henry and, like Laura, is going to learn the truth about his father.

Now, Henry is still the "big bad" of the show and his abuse of Will is still apparent, I once had someone think that I was trying to claim that Lonnie was the main antagonist of the show so I wanted to be clear on that. I do, however, still believe that Lonnie is definitely a major antagonist in Will's life and integral to the story.

There are always differences of course, these are two different stories with two different goals. BOB is a mysterious inhuman spirit who is purely evil, while Henry has human origins and his story is building to be much more complex than that. Will, fortunately, is also more likely to have a happier end than Laura. Instead of losing to the evil, he will overcome it.

tagging: @bylrndgm @heroesbyler

[psychics4unet]

Hello beautiful woman, 💓

My father is suffering with chronic disease.Will he get recovered, if yes, how much time will it take?😭😭.will I get my dream career within next two years to help him? 😭

I wish u will respond to my ask. Thank you so much🫂 and LOVE AND BLESSING TO YOU🤍🌸

Free Psychic Reading – Message from the Spirits via Ouija Board!

Hey there! 🌟 Just a quick note: I can’t give advice on health issues since those should really be addressed by medical professionals. So, I did the psychic reading on your career path only. Wishing your father all the health in the world! 💖✨

The spirits revealed three words: Perseverance, Opportunity, and Support.

Perseverance: This word signifies the importance of staying committed to your goals, even when faced with challenges. The spirits encourage you to keep pushing forward, as your determination will be key in reaching your dream career. 💪✨

Opportunity: The spirits indicate that opportunities will arise in the next two years that align with your career aspirations. Stay vigilant and open to new possibilities that come your way, as they may lead you closer to your dream job. 🌟🔑

Support: This word highlights the presence of supportive people in your life who will help you along your journey. Whether it’s friends, family, or mentors, lean on them for guidance and encouragement as you pursue your career goals. 🤝❤️

In summary, the spirits affirm that with perseverance and an open mind to new opportunities, you are likely to achieve your dream career within the next two years. The support around you will play a crucial role in your journey. Keep your focus and believe in yourself! 🌈💫

Got questions or need some insight into your life? I'm here to help with personal psychic readings! For just $7, you can get answers to up to 7 questions! More info at:

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