#before going back to exactly the same thing presumably forever

[sleepymaddy]

.

[starrynights-sunnyskies]

⋆*·ﾟa clash to keep her ... misa x femreader (& zecira x reader)

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when there's a familiar face amongst your opponents in today's match, misa's insecurities get the best of her and she fears she might have to step up her game for you to want to keep her forever.

or: a pouting misa being jealous of fellow goalie, zećira mušović, one of your closest friends and presumed ex.

as requested

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Misa was very aware of the eyes on her as she walked onto the pitch for her pre-match warmup, people already calling out her name to hopefully get a reaction. She smiled towards the stands, hoping it had been directed to at least some of those who’d called out for her. People were slowly starting to find their seats in the arena, their chatter white noise together with the upbeat music softly echoing all around her. Today was another match day, one which Misa had set her eyes on ever since their opponent had been announced. Sweden was a strong national team, often landing quarter and half finals in tournaments and home to some key players to various clubs around Europe. She’d played a fair amount with Jakobsson at Real Madrid for a while, and Olofsson was one of her current teammates. She knew not to underestimate them, and that was exactly why she put her mind back into focus as soon as her cleats dug into the grass beneath her feet. She’d been put on the starting eleven, right at the top as number one, of course. It felt great knowing she could play another match, but that feeling was nothing compared to knowing she’d share the pitch with you, her girlfriend.

Though she’d gotten to know you little by little each time national camp had rolled around, the spark hadn’t properly ignited until a few weeks ago. Things were fresh, new, exciting and nervous, and Misa lapped every feeling up, having never felt like such a hopeless fool in love. It had been as strange as it had been fun to discover this new side to her, but she loved letting the feeling lead her even more each time her romantic gestures or surprises would earn her a smile from you. The way you would look at her, hold her and care for her had been nothing short of euphoric and if this lovey-dovey feeling would last, she desperately wished she could keep you around for a lifetime. 

Misa approached the goal, gave the pole a good rattle and jumped up to hit the bar. This was her stage tonight and damn would she give a performance if she could. She took a few big sips of her bottle before throwing it beside the post, grabbing the gloves she’d secured behind her waistband and put them on. This was routine for her, and she should’ve acted on autopilot, but there was something different this time around. 

Her eyes kept glancing at the tunnel, waiting, longing... and it distracted her, that much was clear. Even onlookers could see her staring at something invisible on the side of the pitch, but those who didn’t know why, thought nothing of it. 

Misa had wanted to wait and walk out together, but you were going to take longer than usual and she needed to warmup with some of the strikers. You were getting taped up, your ankle still a vulnerable spot after the injury you’d gotten three months ago at your club. It had been nothing too serious, just a light sprain, but still, you knew to be careful with your body. It was always exciting to play a match, even if your current national team situation had taken that drive and enthusiasm down a couple of notches. Still, it was an honour to play the sport you loved most and to see people from all ages come together for the same reasons. Playing for both club and country had taken you to quite some countries throughout your career so far, and it had left you making friends from all over. Some teammates felt more like colleagues than friends, but those who you’d gotten close to, would always have a special place in your heart, no matter if you still played with them or not. It was why you were even more excited for the match ahead as you tied up your cleats, humming along to one of the songs that was playing in the locker room to keep the energy high.

There were a couple of familiar faces in the opposing team for you today— Kaneryd, Björn and Eriksson for example. But the one face you’d missed most was that of Zećira Mušović. You’d been contracted by Chelsea during the same transfer window as Zećira, and, as the new girls on the team, you had stuck to each other like glue. You’d been assigned a flat in the same building by the club, so carpooling had been a given from the get-go. She’d also helped you remove the hideous floral wallpaper all around your flat and in return, you had helped her carry all the furniture she’d bought at Ikea that day inside, her country’s trusted store even helping her out overseas. It had both come paired with loads of cursing in Spanish and Swedish though, but had ended in sighs of exhaustion and laughter. She’d knocked on your door the day after, a packet of her favourite Kafferep’s in her hand which she’d put in her bag to hand out as an introduction gift to everyone. A thing she had held onto after that, because each time she’d come back from Sweden, she had a new packet of cookies with your name on it in her suitcase. You’d invited her in and emptied the entire packet with some tea, to immerse yourselves to the English culture, and watched a match on your laptop, since your TV still hadn’t arrived. Zećira was fun, caring, easygoing and between your initial trouble speaking English and her laidback nature, your friendship worked like a charm.

It had been hard to move away from your familiarities for the first time in your life, having to adjust to a culture, country and language you didn’t know much of, but it had been easier to do while having a friend around, someone who could relate. She learned to understand your Spanglish and was one of the few who could pinch through your accent. It had helped pull you out of our shell, which in return had introduced you to the goofy side your friend had.

You discovered London together on days off, tried cafe’s and restaurants and binged every new show Netflix would put out. The Chelsea girls had quickly turned to calling the two of you Biggy and Smallz, in which you were obviously Smallz next to the tall tower that Zećira was. Still, you were not to be underestimated with your fiery nature on the field. You were a defending tower of your own when it came to your play, always stopping an attack or cheekily sneaking away the ball from someone's feet whenever you could. Having you play close to her had strengthened Zećira’s backline, making sure her wall extended to the group of defenders you were part of. Playing at Chelsea had ended up being one of the best experiences of your life. It had opened doors for you, if not career-wise, then definitely when it came to your personal life. You had been in your early twenties, afraid you’d missed out on a best friend after having focused so hard on football, but there she’d been, entering your life fashionably late but with Kafferep’s to make up for it. After your contract had ended and you’d felt the need to freshen things up and start somewhere new, and maybe play a little closer to home again, you’d been surprised by how well you’d kept in touch. It hadn't ever been that easy with other ex-teammates. Things would fade out eventually, you presumed, like it always would. Then again, Zećira wasn't just any teammate. You didn’t live in the same flat anymore, nor did you see each other every month, but Zećira never missed an important date, and she could always expect to wake up to a congratulatory message whenever she’d played a good match.

You hadn’t seen her in a while, which was the reason behind the pep in your step as you walked out of the locker room and saw a couple of yellow jerseys pass you. Your eyes looked around, hoping to find the red of your best friend’s goalie kit as you walked out the tunnel and onto the pitch, immediately feeling your cheeks dust with pink as people called out your name. It would never feel normal, which was exactly why you cherished it so much. The arena was slowly filling up, so you deemed it enough time to at least take a picture with the adorable kid waving your jersey in one hand and a marker in the other. The way his eyes lit up and widened in size as he saw you approach, made a wide grin of your own break out. He was too shocked at the entire thing to answer your questions whether he was excited or ready to cheer. You lovingly put a hand on his shoulder when he started to ramble to you about having your Chelsea Home and Away jersey as well as your current club’s, and that he’d watched the last national match with his teammates. A few pictures were in order after that, obviously, but you gently excused yourself as the arena filled up more, not wanting to throw a spanner in your warm up routine. But as you jumped down from the barrier, two gloved hands held your elbows to soften your landing. 

“Hej, litet.” 

You would recognise that Swedish twang out of a thousand.

Zećira looked down at you, eyes squeezed shut as her expression was one of pure joy. You squealed almost immediately, jumping into the arms that were already beckoning you into them. She pulled you to stand on your tippy toes as you hugged, and as she kept laughing, you couldn’t help but join her. 

“What are you doing here?” She rose an eyebrow, feeling playful.

“I was trying to find the nearest tube station, but I don’t know how I ended up here.” You motioned around you, then at your kit, “Think I’ll just commit to it now.” 

She rolled her eyes at you, immediately catching onto the reference from when you’d ended up getting lost in London’s web of metro lines. Each time you'd taken one and submerged from the Underground only to find out you were in the wrong distract, again, you'd laughed before descending the stairs and taking another one. You'd eventually found your way back to your flat, but the sun had set already and your bank account had been a couple of pounds lighter from all the unnecessary travelling. It was safe to say that you had tried to evade London's maze of metro lines as much as you could after that.

“Though, making sense of that tube map didn't take me as long to figure out than that gibberish you spoke to me in those first few weeks.”

She groaned and held her arm when you didn’t hold back and punched her, the pounding of your fist loud against her skin. She rubbed the spot, but it didn't make the mischief in her eyes disappear, “Ai-” She laughed, then pushed against your shoulder, letting you stumble back a step, but her eyes widened and her hands immediately pulled you towards her when you almost fell over the stack of practice cones behind you. 

“Are you trying to get us down to ten players already?” You huffed out playfully, watching as she grinned again.

“Worth a try, but, hey, listen-” She put her hand in front of her mouth, voice turning to a whisper, “I have something for you, but only after the game. Kolakakor,“ She added as she watched your reaction.

You beamed at her, “You brought me cookies?! How did you even know I’d make it onto the roster this camp?”

Zećira shrugged, big gloved hands squeezing together as she answered nonchalantly, “I had a feeling. How’s the ankle?”

You pushed out your leg, turned it and twirled your ankle around, as if you were Cinderella showing off her glass slipper. 

“Wow, you need new cleats.”

“And you need new gloves. Hell, Zeći, I can smell them from here.”

A playful glint appeared in her eyes, “Yeah, you can? How do they smell from here?” She pulled you into a headlock with one arm, the other moving close to your face as she planted a quick kiss on your hair. 

“Smallz!” You heard a voice and matched it to Johanna, Kaneryd, and felt two slender arms join the huddle and trap you further into Zećira’s chest. 

“Jojo! Don’t team up, help me!”

You heard the two Swedes laugh.

“Sorry, tonight you’re the opponent.” Johanna giggled, rubbing your back and smiling at you through Zećira’s hold as she waved goodbye to do some drills of her own. “We’ll catch up after we win!” She winked at you from over her shoulder. 

“So, like, maybe in a couple of years, then?”

Johanna rolled her eyes and waved you off.

You sensed Zećira was slowly letting go and decided to seize the moment. Immediately, she pulled you tighter against her tall body, engulfing you, when she realised you were trying to flee.  

“Let go or-”

“-or you’ll send your girlfriend after me?”

“They’re filming us, I can’t have them see me weak!”

"Let them film! Let them see the true you!" She laughed, knowing clips of your interaction would probably end up in multiple edits again. Oh, they couldn't be more wrong about the two of you.

Zećira rolled her eyes when you yelped. She let you go, watching in amusement as you let out an annoyed gruff while touching the hair she’d messed up and you’d spent so long perfecting in the mirror.

“So, tell me, how is the girlfriend?” She teased, poking at you before you playfully slapped her hand away. But before you could reply, you heard the staff call out for you and watched the last of your teammates walk onto the pitch.

“Raincheck?” 

“Gotcha.” She winked, accepting your hug and watching you run to your side of the pitch to start your warmups, the smile not leaving her face.

Meanwhile, from under her goalpost, Misa had turned into a sour pouting mess.

She had perked up upon seeing you enter the pitch, had then watched with a soft smile as you interacted with the child, but had then felt her stomach drop when you didn’t come up to her, but was swooped away by her instead. She had watched the woman sling her arm around your torso and had watched her plant the softest kiss on your head. She had watched how you scrunched your nose and let her hold you, had seen the two of you laugh and play. Misa absentmindedly juggled the ball from one hand to the other, eyes zeroing in on the entire encounter, no longer focused on warming up with her teammates. She let out a groan as a ball hit her thigh, whoever had shot it not wanting to go easy on her. With furrowed brows, Misa turned to the presumed perpetrator, seeing a grinning Jenni giving her a look, hands on her hips in challenge. 

“Next time I’ll aim for your head, idiota,” She stopped the ball Misa had rolled back towards her, giving the girl some time to walk back to her goal. 

“Shut up, or I’ll come for your fucking ankles, Jennifer.” She huffed, eyes furrowed and expression mirroring her feelings. 

Jenni whistled, amused at how her friend had changed from focused and happy to play, to a jumble of sadness and annoyance, “Oh, do you say your prayers with that same dirty mouth?” Jenni glanced behind her, following Misa’s line of sight, face immediately breaking out into a bigger grin as she realised what was going on. 

“I think you should go for her ankles instead.”

“Her hands, more like.” Misa mumbled out.

Jenni rolled her eyes, “You’re adorable, right now, you know that?”

The rage and offence on Misa’s face made Jenni only laugh louder. 

“That’s only further proving my point.”

Misa pretended to kick the ball in front of her as hard as she could, only stopping last-minute, making Jenni shield herself and her laughter behind her arms for the shot that never followed. 

“Oye, she’s bullying me-” Jenni’s voice bellowed across the field, catching the attention of multiple people standing around. No one reacted, knowing better after seeing the clownish grin on Jenni’s face.

“Just go up to her,” Jenni shrugged after Misa had blocked one of her shots and passed the ball back to her, “Stake your claim. Show her which goalie she should keep closer.”

“I don’t want to be that pathetic overly jealous new girlfriend and already scare her away."

"But you are the over jealous new girlfriend. At least, right now, you are."

Jenni took another few shots at the goal, sensing how Misa was losing her drive and concentration by the second.

"Then how about you go and be the confident girlfriend instead? Shake her hand, introduce yourself, show that you aren't afraid."

Misa only huffed, "You know that will only make me look even more jealous and protective, right? If I let her do her thing, it shows I have confidence in us and that I trust her. Which I do. I just don't trust her." She nudged her chin to the side of the pitch, where the two of you were still talking.

"Sure, you really ooze confidence right now," Jenni rolled her eyes, "I think you're giving way too much power to some stupid rumour, Misa."

"Well, I still don't want everyone to film the entire thing and put online how pathetic I am."

"Oh, so you'd rather have them film them now and give the internet the impression that they're girlfriends who are reuniting after some time apart?"

If looks could kill, Jenni would be buried in the earth beneath her feet right about now. Misa kicked the ball with pure intent to hurt, but Jenni only jumped aside, taking another ball lying nearby to kick back instead.

"She seems busy. And happy.”

“Busy and happy being smothered by someone other than you, you mean?” Jenni chuckled, “At least she has a type— broody brunettes with big hands and bushy eyebrows.”

Misa’s eyes flitted to you again, watching how your friend caught you from falling over with such tender care, it hurt her heart. Your relationship was so fresh that you hadn’t even had the ex-partners talk. You had yet to exchange awkward stories or reminisce on past heartbreaks. She hated it now, as she watched you and Zećira fall in easy conversation together, wondering if there’d been something between the two of you at some point like the gossips online had said. She'd seen the countless pictures and edits of the two of you on your tagged page. She shook her head, willing the thoughts away.

Though she was already falling fast and hard for you, she had yet to get to know everything about you. It often made her nervous about how deeply she was already falling in love with you. If she was feeling like this after this short amount of time, she didn't want to know the romantic fool she'd be within the next year. But right now, she hated how she knew that the Swede knew you better, while she was supposed to be the one to know you the best. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as a wave of insecurity suddenly washed over her. She’d stopped watching the two of you talk entirely as she’d seen the ease of which your conversation flowed, kicking the ball back to Jenni.

Your eyes finally found Misa’s as you approached them not long after. A shy smile accompanied with the most adorable wave was sent her way, turning Misa from a scowling grump into a pouting lovestruck fool. Her face softened immediately and she waved her gloved hand back at you.

“Misa and Y/N, sitting in a tree-” 

Jenni dodged the ball being thrown at her.

“Say it louder and the entire arena will hear, why don’t you?”

“Sorry,” Jenni retreated, knowing she was one of the lucky few to already know about your relationship. Not as if the entire team hadn't already been gossiping though...

You jogged over, face bright and extra cheerful, but glowered playfully when Ona pulled you back by the hem of your jersey, redirecting your focus from your girlfriend to getting your body warmed up for the match. Misa had to make do with the apologetic smile you sent her, but a grin and thumbs up from her stopped you from feeling bad at the prickly pout on her face.  

Minutes later, she stood in line at the kick-off, face stoic as she rushed passed and quickly shook every Swede's hand, making sure to squeeze a little tighter when glove met glove at the start of the line.

Misa liked how she had you close as soon as the match started, the red jersey with your name in yellow lettering never too far out of her sight. When the ball was on the Swedish side of the pitch and nowhere near her goal, she could feel her thoughts wander. But the worries and insecurities never lingered long when the Swedes swiped the ball back. 

As the halftime whistle sounded and her stomach fluttered when she watched you wait for her to catch up to walk off the pitch together. But with the game still on the forefront of both your minds and your mind and body still reeling with adrenaline, there was no time to dwell on anything else but how to remain your advantage and up the score in the second half. 

She sat down in her cubby, took quick gulps of her bottle and looked for you, realising your eyes were already on her as you wiped at your hairline with a towel. With her intense and focused gaze directed at your flushed face, she realised it reminded her of something. It seemed your mind went to the same place as she saw your expression change, your focus swaying ever so slightly. Misa swallowed and wiped her chin with the back of her hand, then gestured the bottle to you from across the room. You approached, your cleats tapping against the floor, and stood in front of her, looking down at her as you drank from her bottle. Misa’s arm wrapped around your legs, pulling you to stand against her as you all turned to listen to the new tactic being explained. Her strong hold and the soft yet dominant show of her love for you sent you reeling, but you distracted yourself by taking another few sips. You had always been touchy, hell, the entire national team was pretty comfortable and affectionate with each other, something some of your club teammates had playfully blamed your culture for. But that meant that none of your teammates batted an eye at the physical contact the two of you exchanged. Well, you thought they didn't.

You wanted to give the bottle back to Misa so she could finish it, but she gently pushed it back towards you with a gentle smile on her face, ushering you to empty it. Of course it would go against Misa’s nature to not put you first place. You leaned against her, hand resting on her shoulder as she welcomed your touch by pulling you in to stand even closer.

“How’s your ankle?” She softly whispered to not interrupt the talk.

You smiled reassuringly, “Good so far, don’t worry,”

As you listened how your practiced tactic was explained again to refresh your minds, your thoughts wandered off to how your Swedish friends were on the other side of the wall, discussing how to have you lose. Football was a funny sport, you realised— it was one that had helped you make a plethora of friends both among your national teammates and your club ones. No matter the match, there were always friends, connections and familiar faces. But on the pitch, the faces blurred and all you had eyes for was the ball they were trying to sneak passed you. You were used to playing against friends, but they were opponents on the pitch. After all, each match was just that— another match. What happened on the pitch, stayed there as well. Badmouthing, harsh shoves and nasty looks would all be laughed at afterwards. 

A soft tap on your hip and the cacophony of cleats beating against the floor snapped you out of it. That, including the kiss you felt against your temple. Misa stood up, grabbed your hand and guided you out with her, back into the tunnel. A crowd of red and yellow jerseys gathered quickly, waiting for the ref to give the green light to walk back out onto the pitch. But you felt your girlfriend squeeze the living hell out of your hand the second a different shade of red flashed through your peripheral. You turned your head and watched as your friend and girlfriend locked eyes for the first time.

Zećira narrowed her eyes. Her face was pure focus and enmity. Immediately you turned to Misa, who straightened her back ever so slightly to try and gain some length on your tall friend. Misa’s face was set in stone— hard and hostile. Your eyes flitted back to your Swedish friend, feeling surprised and shocked at the interaction between the two, all while your girlfriend still squeezed your hand as if her life depended on it. 

The Swedish goalkeeper then dipped her head in silent understanding and respect, something Misa reciprocated, but only after tilting her head and analysing the woman’s sincerity first. 

The shrill sound of the ref’s whistle echoed around you, and off you all went again. Still, you couldn’t quite brush off the encounter you’d just witnessed. You had wanted to introduce the two to each other after the match, seeing as they were both important people in your life. You knew Zećira would suss out Misa first, wanting her judgements of your girlfriend to be based on her own experience, and not by your lovestruck and biased gushing. And you definitely knew Misa would at least be a little aloof and cautious, stemmed from her protectiveness over you, especially when meeting new people. But to have it go this way… you hadn’t expected it. You didn’t want to have to step into the role of mediator between your best friend and your girlfriend. The prospect of how this could further play out worried you.

As the game commenced, you kept muttering silent prayers, hoping that it had just been the adrenaline and rivalry that had fuelled the encounter between them. Like how you’d almost sent Magda plummeting to the ground during a corner kick just now and how you’d yelled at each other, but how you'd also know she would brush it off after the game with a smile.

She squared up to you, getting in your face, and as you felt Alexia’s and Irene’s hands tugging you away from the confrontation, your eyes flashed to those of Zećira who was tightly clutching the ball against her chest, watching it unfold in front of her. She seemed to say something to Magda in Swedish, something that made the woman retreat with a huff and a nasty look directed your way. Zećira's eyes didn't find yours again, and you hated it. You wanted her to look at you so you could try and read her eyes and confirm that your worries had been false, that your friend’s head had been in the game back in the tunnel, and that it had been the reason why her usual giddy smile hadn’t appeared.

You’d even glanced back towards Misa a couple of times during the rest of the game, only to see her so wrapped up in it, that you knew it was useless to try and find your answers while you were still playing.

At 95 minutes, the whistle sounded through the arena. Spain had won with one to nil, but just barely. Sweden had been a tough opponent today. They’d made you run in circles and try and lure you out, but you had stuck to the initial plan. The backline had been unwavering today, with Misa being the theoretical end boss waiting for them in the goal on the rare occasion they did pass through you all. The score could have been higher, had Zećira not been in the way the entire time. Granted, that was her job on the pitch, but still.

As you waved and clapped in gratefulness in response to the chants and cheers, your feet led you to the dreaded and inevitable moment that had filled you with worries for the past fifty minutes. 

You met your girlfriend halfway as she’d already walked up to you and decided it was probably best to at least get rid of some of her adrenaline by signing stuff and chatting with fans. Then afterwards, you two could wind down in the locker room, freshen up, and hopefully the emotions would be dwindled enough so that Misa and Zećira could properly meet each other with rationality and a clear mind. 

You kept glancing over to your girlfriend every now and then in between photos. You noticed how she always knew when to answer your glances. That, or maybe she'd been staring all along. But there seemed nothing off about her behaviour, or the look in her eyes, not right now at least. 

With your hand on her lower back, you leaned in so that she could hear you over the noise, “I’m going back in to check with physio, you finish up.” 

Misa glanced at your face over her shoulder. You saw the thought in her eyes before she could open her mouth, “I’ll be fine, mi cielita, it doesn’t hurt, it’s just precautionary.”

You knew there were eyes and phones on you, so you played it off friendly and disappeared off the field. 

After getting the all-clear from physio, you walked to the locker room. It was quietly buzzing inside, everyone winding down in their own way. Some girls were chatting or sitting by themselves and scrolling through their phone, some were showering or listening to music and then… there were the gossips. Of course, it was all fun and games and only ever ended in fits of giggles. You had to admit that you often even enjoyed listening in or adding a comment or two of your own. All innocent amusement, of course.

You could hear them mutter amongst each other, but your ears perked the second you heard your girlfriend’s name enter their conversation. 

“-at Misa? Did you see the way she was before the match?”

“With Jenni?”

“Yeah, but also before that?”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look both so distraught and prickly at the same time.”

“It's Misa."

"Yeah but, did you really not see the pout on her face the entire time?”

“Uh, I’m sorry if I was busy making sure to warm up instead of diving headfirst into another injury.”

“You always miss out on these things-”

“-no, I don’t, because I have you three to keep me up to date, don’t I?”

“I’m pretty sure I know why she was like that though because when-”

You pretended to busy yourself by undressing, carefully placing your stuff in the cubby behind you. Their voices turned to a hushed whisper you could no longer hear from your side of the locker room, and when you looked up to see if they had perhaps stopped talking altogether, you saw four sets of eyes already on you. 

They all quickly looked away, not realising you had caught their entire conversation, too. They went back to their whispers and glances but fell silent when Misa walked into the locker room.

Misa pulled her hair out of her bun, aimlessly threw her gloves in her cubby and forcefully started to tear the tape off her hands, not even wincing as it pulled at her flesh. You watched as they watched, Misa only adding substance to their gossiping with the moody frown on her face as she sat down, legs sticking out and head falling back against her locker. Her behaviour stuck out like a sore thumb after the match she had just played. There was no need to look this sullen after having stopped attempt after attempt from the Swedish side. They’d won. She hadn’t conceded a single goal, and it had not been out of lack of trying on the opposing side. It was obvious that something else was going on.

Their eyes flitted back to you, clearly seeing if you would act on it. It was as if Misa’s mind linked with theirs momentarily as her eyes found yours and she opened one of her arms, a silent request for you to keep her company. 

“What’s wrong?” Alexia’s gentle voice wondered, stopping you in your tracks and making you readjust the straps of your sports bra to pretend you hadn’t just meant to walk over to Misa.

Misa looked up at her friend, shrugged, and kicked off her cleats. 

“Well, that’s not reassuring,” Alexia sat down beside her, observing her quietly, “You’re being weird.”

Misa grumbled, “Weird how?” 

“You haven’t said a word ever since leaving the locker room a few hours ago. And you’re brooding.” She added.

“I’m not-”

Alexia gave her a look, rose her eyebrows and signalled to Misa’s face, who immediately rubbed the frown off it and wiped the pout away.

You met Alexia’s eyes momentarily as your Capitana leaned in, whispering, “If you want to be lowkey about it… you’re doing an awful job so far, amiga.”

You felt their eyes on you and didn’t want to make things too obvious. So, you grabbed your toiletries and left for the showers, feeling one particular set of eyes burn in the back of your head as you walked away from her.

Misa walked in not long after, locking eyes with you as you rinsed the shampoo out of your hair. Her body moved behind the blurred glass panel between you. 

“Misa?”

Her head popped around your panel before her name had so much rolled off your tongue, as if she had been desperately waiting for you to call out for her. You smiled and wiped the soapy foam across her eyebrows away before it could drip into her eyes. 

You then leaned in, pinching her chin between thumb and finger to pull her closer, and planted a chaste kiss on her wet lips. Her hand immediately rested on the curve of your hip and she leaned in for another one. You felt her melt into it, deepening it, tongue colliding with yours in a sensual kiss. You both ignored how the risk was high that one of your teammates could walk in. You pulled back and snuck another quick kiss against her lips. You scrunched your nose, hand sliding to cup her cheek instead, “I really like you,” You winked playfully and gave her a soft slap against her cheek, then turned around to continue your shower routine.

Her eyes still watched as the water fell around you and onto your skin. The water pelting down, the steam and the smell of your lovely conditioner masking the entire room made the entire thing that more intoxicating. 

“You’re waisting water, cielita.” You tutted.

She chuckled lowly at your tone before turning back to her shower.

Then, you heard knocking against the panel beside you and you watched as a heart appeared on the fogged panel. Next, an I and a U appeared on either sides of the heart. The adorable message immediately turned your insides to mush. With your relationship still fairly new, you were still in the giddy phase where lingering touches could make you blush. You were still discovering little things about her. Silly little things, like how it felt to have the weight of her hands on your hips and how that would make your heart beat faster, how the butterflies in your stomach would go insane when she looked at you in a way she hadn’t before, or when you learned something new that could make her smile. You hadn’t dared to tell her you loved her already, but with Misa continuing to make your heart do somersaults with gestures like these, you knew it was only a matter of time. 

Patri and Claudia walked into the showers, sparing you only an acknowledging glance before doing their own thing. More teammates started to pile in after that. 

You pulled a towel off the hook and wrapped it around you, cursing when you realised you hadn’t taken a smaller one with you for your hair, when a hand appeared, holding one out for you.

Misa.

“What about your hair?”

You heard the love in her voice as she chuckled, “I’ll be fine, it’s just water,”

“I have a spare one-” Salma offered you, but Misa appeared and pushed the towel against your chest, wanting you to accept hers.

You missed the way your teammates gave each other a look, or how they realised Misa had chosen the shower right next to yours when she’d had plenty of others to choose from before they had all walked in. They weren’t stupid. Some giggled, others playfully side-eyed each other or whispered something behind their hands. 

“Wait- use one of my spare shirts then-” You pulled one out of your toiletry bag, ���It’s microfibre.” You saw the puzzled look on Misa’s face as to why in the hell that would matter, “It’s better for your hair,” You merely shrugged, missing the soft smile she sent your way. Of course, you’d know such adorable things. It almost made her forget what she was trying to push to the back of her mind.

You sat in your assigned cubby, dressed in comfortable clothing and applying a fragrance when Misa walked towards her bag. She smiled cheekily before throwing on her clothes and motioning for you to come and sit with her— attempt number two. She opened her arms and slid down slightly, a clear invitation to sit on her lap. And so you did, arms wrapping around her neck as you watched her answer a quick text before her attention went back to you.

“What?”

You shook your head, “Nothing.”

“It’s never nothing when they say it's nothing,” She chuckled and you grinned along, liking how she finally seemed at ease again now that she had you in her arms.

“What’s this now? They?!”

She shrugged, waved a hand around, looking all smug, “Eh, you know.”

You played along, “I most certainly do not! Are there others?!” 

She mumbled against your neck, inhaling the mixed scent of your body wash, shampoo and fragrance. Her voice was low, “Do you really want to know?” 

“I don’t know. Do I?” 

Misa’s teeth softly dig into the flesh of your collarbone, biting down very slowly to ease you into the pleasurable pain. She muttered against your skin, “I could tell you?” She looked up at you, her hand massaging the flesh of your thigh, “Or I could show you how you’re the only one for me?”

Before your cheeks could flush at her hooded eyes, a knock sounded on the door of the locker room. Then again a few seconds later, when no one had replied. The girls who hadn’t already left for the bus or to chat with family and friends after the match, were either still showering or all huddled up in front of the mirrors. So, you quickly jumped up from Misa’s lap, ignoring how she slapped your butt as you did. 

Your head popped outside as you opened the door, eyes immediately brightening as you saw a freshly showered and snug looking Zećira standing there, backpack in one hand, a packet of cookies in the other. 

“Sorry, but we don't buy at the door.”

“No buying, I come bearing gifts,” She laughed, noticing how you glanced behind you. You didn’t want to open the door fully now that some of the girls were changing, in case some staff walked by and peered inside. “We’ll come right out-”

She nodded in salute and stepped to the side as you closed the door. Misa immediately knew what this meant and dread filled her all over again.

“Love, there’s someone I really want you to meet.” You started gently, a reassuring smile to match as you offered your hand to her. You saw the gears in her head turning as she bit her lip, she was far away in thought and worries. Misa snapped out of it when you wiggled your fingers in front of her, “Trust me. Come on, babe.”

She let you pull her up and you immediately pulled her against you and into an embrace.

“You’re both really important to me and I’d love for you to know one another.” You muttered into her damp hair, and she melted at the mellowness of it.

Misa nodded and patted your back, a quiet plea to be let go of. No matter how much she enjoyed having you in her arms, she needed to prepare herself. And she could not do such a thing if she kept hearing her heartbeat thud in her ears, something that was entirely your doing. If what was about to happen would be anything like the swift encounter she’d already had with your friend, well, she needed to toughen up.

With her hand in yours, you stepped out into the hallway. Zećira pushed herself off the wall when she heard the door open and her eyes immediately flitted to Misa’s, who looked like a shy toddler with her hand in yours. Misa was aware of that, so she immediately straightened her back, realising that it had been a pathetic attempt at wanting to seem as tall as the woman in front of her. She felt you start to swing your intertwined hands between you and, even if she loved you for it, she hated how it wounded her tough act right now. Misa felt embarrassed about how she seriously doubted your judgement skills if you had ever decided to befriend this tall and brooding Scandi.

Zećira’s eyes narrowed, trying to gage the woman you had fallen for, trying to sense if she had to scare the living hell out of her or not. Misa answered her intense look the same way she’d done in the tunnel— her head tilting and her lips tightly pressed together. She rose an eyebrow as the goalie in front of her stuck out her hand and looked down at her, daring her to shake her hand. Misa’s hand immediately fell into Zećira’s, accepting the challenge, both women squeezing so hard that their knuckles turned white.

“Good game,” Zećira nodded, like the good sport she was.

“Good game,” Misa repeated, feeling pathetic how her brain hadn’t been able to come up with something better on the spot. 

“I’m Zećira,” Your friend smiled a tightlipped smile, squeezing Misa’s hand even tighter.

“Oh, I’ve heard,” Misa rose an eyebrow, having to fight the urge to look at her with disdain, “Misa.” 

Your girlfriend immediately wound her arm around you the second she let go of the handshake, making it known that the two of them were only shaking hands because she was your girlfriend. 

It was then when you realised why Misa had been so quiet all along... acting so off. She was jealous. You looked at her in another light then, noticed the tension in her face, the fire in her eyes. Your heartbeat quickened at the realisation that she had to like you a lot in order for her to grow this jealous. It worked you up, you shamefully admitted. If only she knew she didn't need to worry for even a second that you wouldn't be hers. You took the slightest step closer against Misa, hoping it would make it clear to her that you longed to be around her, no matter how much you loved your friend.

You felt dizzy the way your eyes had followed the two women and their display of dominance, like a damn tennis match. They stared at each other for an agonising beat, and you were about to get into your role as mediator when Zećira suddenly let out a chuckle. A genuine one, not a sarcastic or hostile one. She started grinning then, and her twinkling eyes of amusement took in the incredulous questioning look on your face.

“I almost had you there, didn’t I?” She directed at Misa, who looked just as taken back. Then she turned to you, "She didn't falter for even one second, I like her!"

Zećira continued, as if she hadn't just given the women in front of her major whiplash, “Well, I didn’t bring enough cookies for three… especially not with her appetite, but we’ll divide equally." She pried open the container, "We just have to keep an eye on that one so she won't eat the entire thing herself,” She smiled at your girlfriend as if she’d known her for weeks already, and you shook your head, snapping out of it.

You cleared your throat, feeling yourself relax again now that you realised Zeći's demeanour had been an act to see how Misa would react, “How generous of you. Do I have to get Johanna test these for me or can I trust that you haven’t put salt instead of sugar in them just to spite me?”

Zećira’s laugh echoed across the walls, remembering that one time she had done that. On accident though, even if she still didn't have you entirely convinced. She shook the box with cookies, knowing you would want to dive in right away. Then, she turned to Misa, “I promise they’re really good. They’re... caramelly… don’t you guys like that? Dulce... something-something?”

“Dulce de leche?” You wondered, watching as your friend snapped her fingers in eureka, “How stereotypical of you. And that’s originally South-American, idiot.”

“Hey, I’m trying!”

She was right, you had to give it to her. Which reminded you…

You quickly nudged Misa, who cleared her throat and grabbed a cookie, muttering a silent thank you. She had quietly watched the entire encounter turn a 180, and she was still trying to wrap her head around it all. She continued to stare at Zećira before finally looking at you, feeling the way you immediately clung to her as soon as you could. Then she looked back toward Zećira. There were zero signs of malice, resentment, bitterness or jealousy in the now kind eyes of your friend as she watched the two of you all loved up. The entire turn of events had alienated Misa and made her think that it was simply an act Zećira was upholding for your sake, but Misa saw the sincerity in which the Swede carried herself around you two as she ushered you to the seats in the hallway.

Your girlfriend grinned bashfully when you planted a kiss on her lips before grabbing a cookie of your own, diving in right after. You groaned at the taste, having missed her Kafferep surprises.

“No salt,” Misa put her thumb up after taking a bite, finally loosening up when she realised the coast was clear and that the threat she thought she had to deal with had passed. Or better yet, hadn't been there to begin with.

You grinned up at your girlfriend, happy how she was starting to warm up to your friend and joining in on the banter. You knew she had the best dry banter anyway, it was part of her charm and how she’d captured your attention.

You attentively brushed some crumbs from Misa’s t-shirt, hand falling to hers right after. Zećira’s expression softened as she watched the ease and comfort of which you acted around each other, “So, you’re the lucky one who’s finally got her wrapped around someone's finger, huh?”

Misa turned to you, face finally breaking out into a wide grin. She hated how she had doubted your relationship for even a second, but she wholly blamed it on the fact that it was just so good, that it simply seemed too good to be true. But it wasn't. Life could be harsh, but sometimes, it could give you the most wonderful presents at the most random moments.

She realised it then as she looked right into your eyes, "I am the lucky one, indeed.”

⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ⋆*·ﾟ

© 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘂𝗰𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝘆.🖤

songs:

she calls me daddy - king mala

kiss or kill - stela cole

the less i know the better - tame impala

people i don't like - upsahl

[sp00kymulderr]

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+. sexual themes, more love than intended, cock and balls, cursing, drug use, Dieter being ridiculous. Don’t think about logistics too much. Unedited.

Word Count: 900

Summary: Dieter has a gift for you

A/N: This is dedicated to my most beloved @covetyou because I love her and for no other reason at all...comments and reblogs forever appreciated! To follow for fic updates only go to @sp00kyupdates​ or see taglist details on my masterlist. Header by me. Credit to banner maker.

“Dieter?”

Your voice rings out in the empty kitchen where you’d left him wrapping presents an hour ago while you ran the last of the pre-christmas errands. An empty coffee cup and distinct smell of weed the only telltale sign that he was in here until recently.

Turning on your heel, you head back in to the hallway of your newly shared home and shuck off your coat before beginning up the stairs. He’s probably in the bedroom.

Until you hear the distinct grunting breath of a man from the front room – presumably your boyfriend.

“Hey, Dee. You in-” You start through the door and stop your footsteps and your sentence at the same time, losing your breath too for a moment.

There under the Christmas tree lying on his side is your very own Dieter Bravo – stark naked with a cocky half smile on his plush lips.

“Merry Christmas, cookie” Dieter grins wide and proud, ignoring the roll of your eyes because he knows the smile that follows is far more meaningful.

“Baby, what the hell are you-” Again you’re caught off guard as your eyes wonder down his gorgeous form, over the soft swell of his stomach and down to where, yep, you are seeing what you can’t believe your seeing. “Jesus christ did you really…”

His dick in gift wrap.

Haphazard as fuck but nevertheless, your man has attempted to wrap his cock up for you.

He giggles a little and you can’t help but laugh with him as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. You can tell from his eyes and his lopsided smile that Dieter is obviously high, which explains a lot, but it’s still so fucking ridiculous that you can’t help the echo of laughter passed between the two of you as you sit on the floor beside him to examine closer.

It’s the gold wrapping paper you’d used for your parents presents, because of course it is – but you try hard not to think too much about that right now. How the hell he hasn’t given himself a nasty paper cut you don’t know. There’s a red string tied in a messy loose bow at his base, and one of the sticky back bows resting beneath that on his balls.

“How the fuck?” Is about all you can muster and he’s still grinning like an idiot, disgustingly proud of himself. You have to pinch yourself to make sure this absurdity is even real.

“Wanna feel your present, cookie?” Dieter asks in the low suggestive tone you’re used to, and using that same nickname he’d given you on your second date.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, I hope you know that”

Your amused smile takes away from any admonishment in your words. Dieter knows how to make you laugh, he always has. It’s part of why you love him the way you do.

“C’mere” Dieter murmurs softly, and pulls you close for a kiss which you happily recieve “Please unwrap me babe, it’s actually pretty uncomfortable” he adds against your lips.

“I don’t even know where to…” You sigh and pull away, making him lie on his back so you can start unwrapping delicately. He’s wrapped everything loosely, but he’s swiftly hardening as he watches you concentrate and it’s certainly making things more interesting.

He groans softly as you untie the string, less slack on it as he gets harder from your touch and your unmistakable heavy breath. It’s not exactly the worst present you’ve ever unwrapped, no matter how many times you’ve seen his beautiful cock before.

Finally unwrapped, you sigh in relief and lean down to place a kiss the tip before looking back up at him.

“You like your present, cookie?” He asks softly, less seduction and more adoration as he watches you. Looking over at his face you’re taken breathless for a moment, heart skipping a beat. He’s so pretty like this, lit up by the lights of the gaudy Christmas tree he’d insisted on. He’s so goddamn beautiful it makes you ache all over for a second.

With one more look at his damn gorgeous face, you slowly pull the sticky bow from his sack and relish in the eager moan that falls from Dieters lips as you give them a tender squeeze. Fuck, he’s fully hard and you’re soaked now.

“I love my present” You tell him gently, already pulling off your own clothes eagerly before straddling him.

“Fuck” Dieter grunts out as you start to rock slowly, rubbing your cunt over him with your clit catching on the head and making you gasp out a moan of pleasure. You soak him as your slick gathers, getting more turned on by the second by your stupid boyfriend and his antics.

After a moment you rise up on your knees and take his cock in your hand, angling to sink down but he stops you with gritted teeth.

“Wait- wait...put these on” Dieter requests with wide eyes, pleading as if he thinks you’re in any position to deny him anything.

You have to roll your eyes again as he holds up the felt antler headband, with little jingle bells attached to it.

“Gotta hear those bells jingle while you ride me” He grins again so stupidly, and you both erupt in to a fit of giggles once more.

He looks at you with pure, honest love as you slide the stupid headband on to your head without protest.

“Love you, cookie”

“Love you too, you idiot”

Find part 2 here

[sugarsnappeases]

hi karaaaaaa talk to me about any rare pair you feel like yapping about <3

aaaaaa hiii this made me so happy <333 i’ve decided it’s Time for us to have a proper chat about tomlily….. @quillkiller and i’s second-born child

the first thing you need to know is that they’re both sociopaths (sociopath lily oh how i looove youuu)..... i made this post before about the quote 'beautiful monsters composed of every individual perfection' and how it relates to lily, but i think it's interesting to consider in terms of her being a sociopath (this is actually how our first tomlily convo began, way back whenever it was). her making sure that every part of herself is viewed as perfect, carefully curating her public image - she's the miracle muggleborn! so smart, so kind, so helpful and friendly and every single good characteristic! a shoe-in for head girl, the perfect prefect, responsible and hard-working and everything that anyone could possibly want from her! and she's good at it too. everyone sees her exactly as she wants them too..... not unlike our good friend tom marvolo riddle when he was at hogwarts...........

i think one of the central parts of their relationship is the concept of immortality. they’re both kind of made up of the same sort of thing. they’re the same at their cores. both of them showed up at hogwarts as muggleborns thrust into a completely new world and they’re both so determined to succeed and be more than what they came from and to have absolutely everything, to have their cake and eat it too!!!!! for lily, this comes in the form of being revered, putting herself on a pedestal, she’s going to Leave Her Mark and be remembered and she doesn’t care what she has to do to get there (btw i really recommend this fic about sociopath lily, it’s so so interesting and i think nearly entirely encapsulates my vision of her……). the idea that if she can’t be immortalised in her deeds while she’s alive, she’s going to become immortal in her death, martyring herself. she’s a saint, she’s a puppet master, she’s as close to a god as a girl can get.

without. of course. resorting to actual immortality. which is the path tommy boy chooses. obviously. i think there are such parallels here. he’s a presumed-muggleborn, in slytherin, the house of the ambitious and the pureblood supremacists, he’s got the biggest god complex known to man and he grew up in an orphanage in london in the middle of the blitz!!!! all factors that contribute to his fear of death and his desperation to be More Than That. more than just another orphan killed by a bomb. more than just another nameless muggleborn lost in the pureblood-centric society. more than anything that anyone has ever seen before. he’s going to make a name for himself, and he’s going to make sure that nobody ever forgets it, and he’s going to be immortal. he’s going to be more god than man (even if it makes him a monster).

anyway. taking them together, as you can see, they’re cut from the same cloth (although side note!! i think lily’s lack of fear of death gives her the potential to be even more dangerous than tom is….) and bc of this, they’re the only ones who can see under each other’s carefully curated masks (although!! another side note… i think they each have another person who can - dumbledore for tom, and petunia for lily, but that’s not entirely relevant rn).

they understand each other and they want to cut each other open and burrow their way into each other’s rib cages. they kill people together - lily is much more messy w it, all blood under her nails and on her teeth. tom prefers the cleanliness of an avada kedavra but the blood gets all over his clothes anyway from when he touches lily. also cannibalism and intricate blood rituals that bind them together forever and intertwining themselves so thoroughly that nothing could ever separate them (although! another side note! jen and i don’t think they’re at all interested in sex. the other things they do (murder etc) are far more intimate and romantic and exciting to them!!!!).

and in the end, they’ll kill each other, pull each other apart and devour each other entirely. the only person who could possibly kill tom is lily, and vice versa, they’re the only ones that would have the right to, or the power to, or deserve to etc etc. at the end it’s always them, a ticking time-bomb. them and a knife or a gun or a curse or a fire and their teeth sinking into each other and their blood flowing through each other’s veins and over each other's dying bodies. bc tom is the only one that Sees lily and lily is the only one that Sees tom, and they recognise themselves in each other and it’s soul-deep and dangerous and nasty and hungry and knowing and self-destructive and so so so sooooo interesting to me

consider: two people w the most Pristine public reputations. they’re politicians or something w bright white smiles and absolutely No skeletons in the closet. it’s a Win for non-purebloods worldwide to see them succeeding, they’re exemplary students and people and Public Figures. EXCEPT!!!! as it turns out!!!! they’re fucking serial killers!!!!! i imagine them falling asleep in each other’s arms covered in blood from their latest victim, having their morning shower together, washing the blood out of each other’s hair and then going into the office….. they get caught. eventually. obviously. and it’s probs lily’s fault lol. but GOD guysss just imagine the scandal. the headlines. the shock and intrigue and horror at these two Perfect People having done such horrific things. they go on the run and/or commit a little bit of murder-suicide before they get caught btw. like i said nobody kills them but each other…. anyway enough from me!!!! thank you for letting me ramble <333

[blushblushbear]

DID A THING--

It's based on one of those scenario's I typed up the other day. Detective PC and secret killer Cole!

I don't know if I'm gonna write more of this (I'll probably do a second installment at some point) and though I'm gonna try and keep the writing vague, this is mostly based on my own player oc so specifications around them may come up whenever I continue (mostly them being female)

but for now enjoy the drabble! god I love detective shows

uhhhh, trigger warning murder mentions????

You watch tensely as another body is wheeled away under a white sheet, letting out a sigh as you look back at the crime scene-- the coroner's report and on scene forensics will be able to tell you time of death and circumstances of death, but you know you're still not going to find a lead.

This was the fifth one this month, and twelfth over all-- and you still haven't managed to find a lead. You finish up with the head officer on scene and tell him to call you if he finds anything. Knowing he won't, you pull away in your car, a headache already beginning to set in.

You march through the precinct like a rolling storm, file in hand. Out of the corner of your eye you see a familiar smug gleaming at you over the cup of coffee he's sipping, and you pick up the pace as your eyes roll.

"Well now, don't you look like you had a rough morning." Cole purrs as he leans forward in his desk chair, "Another photo for your collage I presume?"

"Not now, Cole." you snap back as you stride past him, holding up a hand.

You shut the door to your office, plopping the file down on your desk and slamming your hands down on the surface a frustrated groan.

You glanced up at the white board that was turned around for the comfort of anyone passing by, then back down at the file on your desk.

With a sigh you opened the folder, glancing over the on sight report as you walk over to the board and flip it.

On the opposite side, there's a spread of crime scene photos, reports and your own notes scattered across surface. You add the newest photos and report to the mix, using a sharpie hanging by a string from the side of the board to mark the date on the bottom of the photo.

Twelve cases in the last month and a half. All in within the same city. The killer always leaves a mess of a scene, but never any clues. No finger prints, no dna, no note-- Nothing.

You step back to look at the bigger picture, hoping maybe this time some kind of truth would reveal itself.

Maybe they're not all linked. Maybe there's more than one killer. Maybe--

A knock breaks your chain of thought.

"Come in." you absent mindedly call over your shoulder as your gaze stays fixed on the board.

The door creaks open and a smooth voice sends your eyes rolling again,

"Has anyone ever told you you look ravishing when you're lost in thought like that?"

You sigh.

"What do you want, Cole?" you say not looking his way. He likes to try his best to get under everyone's skin, but he always seems especially interested in getting under yours. It's not hard honestly-- he's a smug asshole with a know it all attitude and a handsome face that seems to be set exclusively to petty sneers. He forever seems disinterested in everyone and everything around him, but is also apparently constantly watching and paying the closet attention possible so he can know exactly what buttons to push when he needs something, or if he's just bored-- usually the second one.

"Just admiring this tasteful collection you've amassed." Him and his coffee of cup stride on in as he glances over your white board, "Very gruesome. You should submit it to a gallery."

"Cole," you rub your finger to your temple before finally looking his way, "Did you actually need something or are you just here to be a nuisance?"

"Oh no, I didn't need anything." he chuckles taking a sip of coffee. Before you can begin the yelling he says, "but the chief did want to see you."

Your expression melts from anger to worry, and Cole's smirk widens a little more as he watches,

"Wait-- what does the chief wanna see me for?"

[superfluouskeys]

i know you're probably not into maleficent/aurora anymore, but since you were like THE malora writer, i'm curious in what do you think would happen to maleficent when aurora dies? either from natural causes like old age or somethiing terrible happened

My friend, this is so kind of you to say!! This is also, unfortunately, MY JAM LOL

So in my personal interpretation, I think once Aurora became more sure of herself and the relationship, she would learn (passively, not even really thinking of it as such) to de-fuse Maleficent a lot of the time. Maleficent is naturally temperamental and always about 3 bad steps away from starting a fight. Once Aurora learns that this is just sort of how she is and she isn't actually mad, and doesn't even usually mean anything by it, Aurora learns to just kind of skillfully sidestep like 99% of Maleficent's bad moods. As a result, because she isn't being fought at every turn, Maleficent (also without realizing it) calms down a LOT, and tends to stop seeing everything as a challenge or threat, even from ppl who are not Aurora. This mostly just freaks ppl out, because you know she always seems super calm until she is suddenly Not LOL, and the average person does not know how to tell Maleficent's "actually calm" from her "quietly seething."

Additionally, while I believe that Maleficent operates on her own code of ethics and doesn't just do whatever, I also think her ethics and what she considers "wrong" differ significantly from where the average human would draw the line. As she grows more comfortable in her relationship with Aurora, I think she would be surprisingly willing to draw lines where Aurora wants her to, at least most of the time, because in her mind, e.g. not harassing someone who mildly annoyed her is important to Aurora, while it's not that important to Maleficent.

However, I think both of these changes, no matter how long Aurora lives, are utterly temporary. Once Aurora is gone, Maleficent will go back to the way she was before, if not ultimately worse, because in a sense kindness will remind her of Aurora, and I don't think she will ever reach a place where that is a good thing for her.

I think Maleficent's first reaction would be a kind of desperate fury, sort of like a wounded wild animal but with very powerful magic. She would be absolutely terrorizing the countryside, especially anyone she perceived to be responsible. It's almost worse if Aurora dies of old age, because then the fault in her mind would lie with...everything, the nature of life itself. This phase could last forever, depending on other factors, and I think it would be a very long time before Maleficent is even slightly functional again.

Even in eg. Prisoner-verse where Maleficent has other friends, I can see her getting into terrible fights with almost all of them. Girl can be next-level vicious when she wants to be, and even if her friends have known grief, most of them don't know exactly what she's going through, and therefore from Maleficent's perspective are not in a position to comment. Also I think "Aurora wouldn't want you to live like this" or similar would be like, the worst possible thing you could say to her, and might send her spiraling into a murderous rage all over again, because how DARE you presume to tell her what Aurora would want?

I am really a sucker for these kinds of villain backstories LOL, you can play me the same tune over and over and I will never get tired of it. I think the only kind of person who could reach Maleficent would be someone who's sort of similar to Aurora, at least in unfailing kindness. I'm imagining someone just trying to save her village or w/e from being razed to the ground showing sympathy to Maleficent for her lost love, and Maleficent showing just the smallest amount of mercy in memory of Aurora, even if ultimately she hasn't changed or healed at all. (oh my godddddd don't look at me I want to write this now lol)

So anyway, it was 5:30 in the morning, a very normal time to be awake, and I was thinking, well, would anyone in Prisoner-verse be able to calm her down at all? I think she and Kinsale would absolutely get into a really bad fight, and Zenovia would try to be chill about it but she would also pretty quickly be like okay well talk to me when you've calmed down lol. And then I realized............

--

“Hey.”

Maleficent doesn’t move.  She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting here.  Odd, that she doesn’t feel a fresh wave of fury at Joy’s presence.  Then again, perhaps she is simply too tired to feel much of anything.

“I’m not going to say anything.”  Joy holds out her hands in a show of defense.

Maleficent inhales, sighs.  Her throat is burning.  She only distantly remembers the sound of screaming, and realizes now that the memory was of her own voice.

“Good,” says Maleficent.  Joy of all people should know that there is nothing to say.

A long silence follows.  Joy joins her on the floor some distance away, and pretends to train her gaze upon the fire.

“I do have one question, actually,” says Maleficent.

“Hm?”

Maleficent closes her eyes.  She tries to imagine Joy the way she looked in pictures, with long, beautiful hair that she wore in intricate curls, and a radiant smile full of youthful mischief.  “How did you…not…”

But words fail her.  She holds out her hand, grasping at nothing.

“What,” says Joy, “burn down the world?”

Maleficent sighs again.  It is as apt a question as any.

“Well, it was perhaps to my benefit that I am not nearly so powerful as you, Mistress Maleficent,” says Joy, although her characteristic attempt at wryness comes out remarkably strained.  “I wouldn’t have gotten very far.”

Maleficent opens her eyes.  The flames of the fire flicker and dance, enticing in their destruction.  “I’m not sure I would have cared.”

Joy chuckles, dry and mirthless.  “Yes, well,” she says.  She does not continue.

Outside, a terrible wind howls, desperate and mournful.  The windows rattle and the fire flickers low, casting them both in dramatic shadow.

Maleficent inhales.  She closes her eyes again.  “Does it ever…?” 

The words catch in her throat.  She already knows the answer.

“No,” says Joy quietly.  A long silence follows.  The embers from the fire crackle meekly, and the mournful wind falls deadly silent.

“But…I don’t know.  You find…other reasons.  To, you know…”  She waves her hand vaguely at the fire, and stokes it back to life.

Maleficent shakes her head.  Reasons?  The word feels foreign, meaningless.  “I don’t know that I ever had a reason for anything, before…”

Before her, she means to say, but she cannot.  There was always a before her, yes, but now there is an after her.  Everything from now on is after her, without her, and the mere idea of it is something akin to drowning, or perhaps slowly suffocating, deep underground, with the weight of the earth sinking down upon her chest.  What did she do before?  How did she live?  However is she to live now, knowing what she has lost?

“Yeah,” says Joy simply.

Maleficent doesn’t know how long they sit together in silence after that.  It hardly matters.

--

ANYWAY THANK YOU ANONYMOUS FRIEND I HAD FUN LOL

[rowanthestrange]

Devil’s Spawn (There Are Two Wolves Inside You)

I think this The Empire Of Death theory ties together I think everything we need to, with no messy exposition needed. That’s not to say I think this is literally it or anything happens exactly like this, take everything as a ‘or maybe something along those lines’. Some bits I feel are likely, others as less but could make sense. But it works with the themes, Ruby’s continued unfortunate relationships with loops and paradoxes, while creating a narrative that would still be watchably cohesive.

So. We engage with our original Ruby being Of Death idea. Which to at least some extent I think is certainly undeniable: ~66.6 metres, probably the one who wore a death-coded black hooded cloak (cus she has all the characteristics of The Woman aka Ruby including the pointing), the Sutekh’d TARDIS presumably took Fifteen to London where she was at, being devil’s spawn/the antichrist is a good way for people to abandon you forever in a cursed timeline, she persisted past her own death in 73 Yards as if it’s for other people, born Christmas eve, she was left at a Church which is intrinsically funny, and Ruby, blood, blehhhr.

And when the Goblins go to eat baby Ruby, what do they chant as Carol Of The Bells plays? “Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast! Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast! Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast! Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast!”

I’m doing the risky move of hitting you with the crux of it and then working back: Ruby being a kind of offspring/granddaughter of Death. A god of abandonment.

We know there’s something up with Ruby, it seems unlikely she has two bio-parents and the underlying story of every episode in the season means the meta suggests she was created. And probably by herself, as everyone has created their own antagonist force so far.

Ruby hasn’t awakened yet — Chrysalis theory — she is currently a human. However we have actually already seen a glimpse of her Awakened god form in The Woman.

If we go by 73 Yards, the god within her is already bound. But was then released when Ruby broke the fairy ring. (This being why The Woman seems unreconcilable with Old Ruby in terms of knowledge and motivations while still ostensibly being the same entity). And a deliberate paradox was what she did to seal herself again.

The question has never really been if it’s Ruby under the hood, we go on about paradoxes all that first episode and it looks like her. The obvious assumption is that she somehow abandoned herself as a baby. We only know the Doctor cried at who he saw, but that memory was sealed away and he no longer knows.

But if this is the case what does it have to do with Sutekh and the Doctor? As god of Death why not just kill the Doctor, why go to effort here with all of this? The Dance. The Drama. The Emotion. Because Sutekh is a petty bitch like all of them have been so far. It will be his undoing.

Does Sutekh know what Ruby is? But for that matter - why the hell does he know who Susan is? Originally he didn’t know a thing about the Doctor - he was nothing, he didn’t even know Gallifrey by name, he was as an ant to him. But maybe the Toymaker rabbited to his mother/father/other about his favourite show he was watching with his legions of kids, possibly was told to provide information, certainly it creates some very useful knowledge restrictions, but one way or another Sutekh found out everything he needed to know to create a true revenge story. To make the Doctor suffer as much as possible before killing the universe. So does Sutekh know what Ruby is??? It could go either way. Can he interpret 73 Yards or not?

In either case, the offspring of gods clearly are capable of having their own nature and will. Certainly the Maestro feels less under daddy’s control than Harriet Arbinger does under Sutekh (though she does cry - remnant of the person she was as a caterpillar being souped? Or because she has always known what The End will mean for her as much as everyone else? Currently unknowable).

But you could guide things.

This is potentially what Mrs Flood is, the guide. Anything from a secret hero that Sutekh has no knowledge of, to a servant of Death, making sure Ruby is in the right place at the right time, pushing her towards the Doctor. Mrs Flood, as in the biblical one, that wiped out all life but the chosen in a ship. The ship that will recreate the living from its contents is vital to the story of the Flood after all, and as we’ve seen she has been keeping a close eye on the TARDIS. ‘Mrs’ - She’s married. She knows what a TARDIS is. She knows where the cameras are. She points Ruby towards the TARDIS. She knows who The One Who Waits Is. Has suddenly evil vibes like she’s in league with Sutekh. She’s kind of a cow. She causes problems on purpose. She’s always hiding. She isn’t making your tea. Says Rose and Ruby look beautiful. She is there to wave to the Doctor, refer to his box of tricks, when the Doctor first says in Church what he later will mirror in Legend, that maybe he’s the bad luck, maybe visiting people in the TARDIS he brings Death. She has a very pretty blue door. … I think Mrs Flood is the TARDIS. Some manifestation thereof. The ‘Mrs’ in particular makes me think it must be her, not a harbinger ‘daughter’.

(Blink and you’ll miss it she carries a notebook hidden in the blankets in the first episode. Writing things down to remember? Time is memory and memory is time. But we’ll come back to that later.)

Also the Doctor started thinking he’s the bad luck, he doesn’t want to go back and see people he loves because he believes when he travels in the TARDIS somewhere he brings death. He has become superstitious. The salt. His superstition became real. That is how, when, and why Sutekh attached. Because the Doctor believed the TARDIS brings Death. So it did.

I imagine Sutekh has his harbinger bring the TARDIS to the Doctor. Allowing Sutekh to manifest (perhaps looking more traditionally) in front of the Doctor rather than by talking by a proxy.

Now. Sue. What is she? Her name is Sue, short for Susan (I’ll be exclusively using the shortening for obvious reasons). S Triad, anagram for TARDIS. Was going to change the world using implied TARDIS tech. (Notable that while her face was there, Sue didn’t seem to exist in the same way in 73 Yards - neither changing the world with the TARDIS tech she was allegedly on the cusp of releasing, nor ends the world either, and Sutekh seemed to disappear along with the Doctor, the TARDIS now quiet). She has a red ring. She was chrysalis’d as a human. Her face has seemingly appeared everywhere during their travels and when a literal sleeper agent, she claims to have dreamed those events. She does not simply dream across space, she dreams across time, dreams things that haven’t even happened yet. She was taken over by Sutekh at the exact same moment the TARDIS was.

When we see writing on a screen, the Doctor informed Ruby in episode one, that’s not actually what it looks like. It’s the TARDIS translating and making you see it that way. Perhaps Sue’s face being everywhere, was the TARDIS translation circuit - not actually Sue but translating their real faces into hers, Sutekh luring them in.

I believe she was created by the TARDIS. That she is essentially the TARDIS and Sutekh’s ‘daughter’. The other gods have created people. Clearly Harriet Arbinger managed to be created even before Sutekh manifested. The gods send harbingers who warn us of their coming. I don’t think any of us would deny that the TARDIS is a god. We were told to watch the Bad Wolf finale, and with Jackal-formed Sutekh on top of the TARDIS, I think we are quite literally looking at:

There Are Two Wolves Inside You.

I think the bulk of the story is going to be Sutekh Killing the Universe. What that looks like. Him laughing that the Doctor thought this was his relation when in fact she is Sutekh’s. And us finding out not just what Sue is or her godbeing powers, but perhaps more importantly, what we are going to do with her. Perhaps because killing a god is not so easy, especially if they are linked to Death itself. We have already seen someone transcend their own death. But she was chrysalis’d once maybe you do it again. Perhaps the Doctor has to put her in her new home himself, we give her a fresh start like Boom Town. Leave the new her to be found and raised better.

(Alternatively: this is what happens if we don’t fix past mistakes. If you catch my drift. If not yet, come back and catch it later.)

Of course really the story is about Ruby. The Doctor sent Ruby not to him and Sutekh but to a broken time window that he believes the sheer force of her trauma both old and fresh will rip open the weakness in reality fully and she will be able to step through to 2004.

Lots of options here: If she notices her baby self will she be able to stop running forward? Picking it up? Interfering? And if she does is the woman still there? If Ruby is in 2004 does she just come back? Or in an option I don’t know if I like but we do have prior precedence for, does she make an ultimately dead timeline by taking that as time to plan and meet up with the Doctor having lived all the way back up to then? She aged as well as a time lord in the many years we saw in 73 Yards, and perhaps any interference she did in 2004, means once again she is living a dead timeline that will be unravelled back to an earlier point at paradox completion.

But I said Ruby was a god of abandonment, leaving, loss, banishment. Where does that chrysalis-theory fit in?

Now possibly simple and Sutekh just does the bird-burning if he is aware, wanting to show how he has influence over this new Sarah muhahaha.

Maybe when they deal with Sue.

While I’m not big on it, if Ruby in 2004 did something as insane as take herself, dead timeline Ghost!Ruby being ultimately forced to have to go back and abandon herself…would probably do it.

But maybe you don’t even need all that, and it’s just as simple as if she picks herself up at all. Perhaps because her ‘abandoning herself’ means ego-wise too.

Or maybe Ruby’s awakening is simplest of all - the same as the thing the Doctor did to attach Sutekh to the TARDIS. A superstition. A belief about herself. She believes there is something wrong with her and that it’s her being a child of the devil. And so she is.

The caterpillar learns that it’s a butterfly. She Awakens.

Perhaps given the triad theme, and the playing with of religious themes, possible we’re looking at three Rubys in play there. To cram down an episode’s worth of to-ing and fro-ing and cutting down as if they were one set of Church events: On a surprisingly dead street for Christmas Eve, our about to be ghost!Ruby rushes over to her “mother” 66.6 metres away from Baby!Ruby, god!Ruby tells our Ruby what the baby is so she will abandon it. She 73 Yards points at Ghost!Ruby. She abandons the baby and also impossibly awakens. And god!Ruby is a paradox. Perhaps they seal each other away now, or just long enough for one last act.

Whatever happens, as with 73 Yards, a time-loop paradox will seal The Woman away in the end. And god!Ruby herself will vanish once the conditions of her birth can no longer be met.

Sutekh has still killed the universe.

At his point, god of life or not, perhaps the Doctor too.

Now we have possibly already seen the effect the Doctor’s disappearance had on Sutekh’s existence. But alternatively, Sutekh is not a good mother/father/other, and for a god that drives everyone away…what good would Death be either?

Either way, like everyone else, Sutekh wove the rope he hanged himself with using his own hands.

We were promised a Susan Twist At The End. It hasn’t happened yet of course, not even halfway through the story but now? Now the devil has come with the Apocalypse and everything is dead and gone.

Now it’s The End.

Susan Foreman and the TARDIS have always been heavily linked: Susan appears in the show before the TARDIS. She claims to have named her that (possibly as in translated to English, and the TARDIS has translated it to us that way ever since), but also the TARDIS quite literally possesses her in The Edge Of Destruction, no different to Sutekh with Harriet, and because the TARDIS is in danger, makes Susan go on a murderous scissor rampage inside her. (If you haven’t seen TEoD ((oh same acronym as The Empire Of Death. huh. thank god we weren’t told to keep a special eye out for wordplay)) it is short - 2 parts iirc, iconic, has more of the TARDIS than we’ve seen in New Who, and as episode three informed much of the depth we’ve the TARDIS ever since, it is incredible). And yet Susan has been linked to red, like our ‘Red god’ Sutekh - her original name suggested to be Arkytior, meaning Rose, in a comic from 1994, the reason why when Russell brought the show back, he named the first new companion that. But there is no need to argue between links to the TARDIS or Death - to speak of one to speak of the other since Time and Death are always linked as symbiotic opposites for us.

Perhaps we can guess the unknown planet where Sue ended up.

Harbingers foretell the arrival of the gods. Our Bad Wolf god materialises.

As our ark that survived the flood, the TARDIS recreates the dead universe from her memories - the start of Tales From the TARDIS, that shared line coming back to haunt us. Big Bang Three, recreating the universe and perhaps the Doctor himself from memory, Amy Pond would be so proud. The Doctor manifests in the Memory-TARDIS as she seeks to rebuild. And the TARDIS will begin by pulling in the original one, the one who waited, the child he abandoned and never went back for. And at the end of her long life, the Doctor is finally reunited with his granddaughter Susan. We get a scene between Fifteen and old Susan, the full version we will see later in Tales From The TARDIS, and the episode we watch there will be The Dalek Invasion Of Earth and we’ll cry, we’ll all cry. Give Susan the chance to be angry. Tell him that it hurt, for all it might have been — for all it was — for the best, it hurt forever. But say she lived in spite of that pain. Found happiness in her life. And at the end of this incredible life she lived, even now with the perfect opportunity to do it, she insists she wouldn’t change one line.

And then perhaps, just perhaps, Susan starts to change. Perhaps it does not look quite the same as regenerating as we’ve come to know it. More ethereal. A god never awakened. But there is no death here now.

The meta still makes the most sense if the Doctor has fundamentally caused all of this for Ruby, by abandoning a child and never returning, his fault. And if Ruby is the same person, who was born at the end of Susan’s long life in a mirror to living past her own death in 73 Yards, then perhaps here lies a new paradox - we have a Susan who got to talk to the Doctor again and tell him he hurt her…and thus healed. Who never passes on that abandonment. Therapy out of order. And this is why Carol Of The Bells, and the scene in The Devil’s Chord, that now she is free from that pain her soul inherited, it now has room for its true purpose, to Sing.

The Doctor cradles the baby that lies in the lingering warmth of his granddaughter, is his granddaughter. And for a moment imagines the universe where he keeps her. All the adventures they’ll have. A universe where he does right by her this time.

A universe where a woman grows bitter and alone, dozens and dozens of children never knowing the warmth of her care. Where there is no Ruby Sunday playing with her band painting the town red, and the universe is dimmer for it.

And so he wraps that baby up warm and tight, snug as a bug. Finds himself by the Church In Ruby Road. And yet again, does the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, even if it’s for the best, and abandons a child. He abandons Ruby. He walks away. He cries. And it snows.

[hippolotamus]

10 please and D and P or H and T!!

Hi, friend!!!! I have completely given up on trying to contain my word count for these 😅 While the majority of the song is very David Rose, my brain latched onto the final verse for Tim. Putting it under the cut because 595 words 🫠

send me 1-100 and i'll write you a drabble based on the corresponding song

“I missed you, Skippy.” 

The words are a balm as much as they are a cut. A stabbing reminder of everything Tim can’t have. Could never have, really. Hawk was never his to keep. And as impossible as their love was before, it’s even more so now. Because Hawk belongs to Lucy. He���s a family man, a paragon of virtue within his world. Even if it’s all a lie. 

Tim can’t help but hate himself for the fraction of a second where he gives in to the fantasy that is loving and being loved by Hawkins Z. Fuller. He pretends that this moment is real and yearns to live in it forever, briefly considering bargaining with God if only he could be granted this one thing. This speck of time when Hawk is holding him, cherishing him. When he feels the warm brush of lips against his neck and jaw, the light scrape of stubble against his cheek, the fingers tangling in his hair and the hand at his back, as if Hawk truly wants to keep him. He smells the musky scent of cologne, mixed with Tide and a unique aroma that could only belong to Hawk. 

It takes him back to a rented room in 1952 and a crackling radio playing swoony love songs to cover the sound of their immorality. To stolen moments when they raised their middle fingers to God and loved with abandon. Because that’s what it was – love. Not sin. Not a mistake. Love. At least for Tim. 

And that thought strikes him like lightning, grounding him to the present. To the reality that is. The one where Hawk says he misses Tim, while the family Hawk left him for waits a quarter mile up the road in the main house. Presumably none the wiser. 

He wants to ask Hawk what exactly it is he misses. Is it the sex? The relative safety of someone he didn’t have to hide his secrets from (even though Tim is certain there were many between them)? But he doesn’t do that, because it will accomplish nothing. Instead he talks about Father Lawrence, and the possibility of holding two truths. 

He lets the pain of his words sink in and reflect in Hawk’s eyes, and he hopes they do hurt. Even if it will never be the same, Tim needs some validation in the form of knowing Hawk is in a fraction of the amount of anguish Tim has been carrying in his heart, like a slow-acting poison, for the last fifteen years. 

When Hawk’s inner turmoil – whether it be real or imagined – retreats behind a familiar mask of indifference, Tim accepts the tainted gift for what it is. Possibly the closest he will ever come to hurting the bulletproof Mr. Fuller. 

“Please leave.” Tim doesn’t have to ask twice before Hawk is out the door again, leaving him to the heavy silence of his makeshift sanctuary. 

He kneels in front of the stone fireplace, clasping his hands together, unsure what to think or say. What could he confess or ask forgiveness for? Because how, as he had once disclosed to the Army priest, could love be a sin? This love that blooms eternal in Timothy Laughlin’s heart for one Hawkins Fuller, no matter how he tries to trample it like a pesky weed. This love that he’s certain will taunt him for eternity, perhaps into the afterlife, and never let him go. 

Tim closes his eyes and begins to speak, praying the rest will come of its own accord. “Dear Heavenly Father…”

tagging some other beloveds who might be interested @stereopticons @statueinthestone @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @watchyourbuck @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @legalgal421

[nero-vanderwolf]

“Shinjiro? It’s the middle of the night, what-”

“Ken is missing.”

Fuuka freezes, phone slipping out of her hand. It clatters to the floor, and she can faintly hear Shinjiro’s voice asking if she’s alright.

Ignoring it, she rushes to the drawers by her bed, grabs her Evoker and shoves in its holster, setting it on top of the drawers for tomorrow.

“I’m here. I’m sorry for the wait. There’s nothing we can do right now, but tomorrow I’ll gather everyone and we can discuss matters further. You said the Investigation Team meets at the Junes food court, right?”

Fuuka can almost hear Shinjiro’s nod as he answers.

“Yes. If you can summon everyone there, we’ll be there too.”

It doesn’t take an ace detectice to Shinjiro is referring to himself and Akihiko, but Fuuka wonders vaguely if they’ll allow Goro to accompany them. After all, Ken was younger than Goro when he joined SEES, but this is another matter entirely.

Shinjiro sighs, cutting through Fuuka’s thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop going quiet on me. I keep thinkin’ something’s happened to you too.”

Fuuka winces. “I’m sorry, Shinjiro. I just... I’m thinking. Planning. I’ll gather everyone at 10 tomorrow.”

Shinjiro goes silent this time, but Fuuka can hear background noises. Akihiko’s voice sounds faintly as he shouts.

“Shinji! Where is Ken!?”

“He’s missing, Aki. We’re gonna gather everyone tomorrow and look for him.”

“Tomorrow!? Who knows what could have happened to him by then!”

“There’s a good chance he was another victim of those kidnappings. And every single time, they’ve ended up in the damn TV.”

There’s no more background chatter, and the line suddenly goes dead. Shinjiro has hung up, Fuuka presumes, and closes her phone to end the call on her end too.

Now, to contact the others.

It’s exactly 10:15 when Yu-kun comes rushing up to the food court, tugging his jacket on over his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I had to wait for Nanako to get back so she could watch the house- Is everyone else here already?”

He grabs a seat, settles in with the rest of the cluttered group. Yosuke-kun nods. “Yep, you’re the last one, Partner. Don’t sweat it, though. We understand.”

The Investigation Team all nod, grim looks on their faces.

“However,” says Naoto-kun, “the sooner we discuss our plans, the better. We have a large group here, so that means we could potentially make separate groups to spread out and search for Ken-kun in the TV world. We would have to work out who goes with whom, but that can be decided when we get there. For now, we must check the weather report. We only have a limited number of days to save Ken-kun before he is killed by Shadows. Rise, if you would?”

Rise-chan nods. “It’s going to be sunny all week, but the deadline for rescuing Ken-kun is... The fourth. That’s when the fog will set in on our side, and Ken-kun will be lost forever. That gives us two weeks to get in and rescue him.”

Fuuka feels her blood turn to ice as Naoto-kun and Rise-chan mention the possibility of Ken dying. As she fidgets with the Evoker around her waist, she can only imagine how terrified Shinjiro and Akihiko must be.

Goro speaks up. “One thing about the groups. I’m coming with you all.”

Shinjiro responds immediately. “No, you aren’t.”

Goro holds his ground, standing up. “Yes, I am! That’s my brother in there! I can’t stand by and watch! I have to help!”

Akihiko replies this time, desperation on his face. “You haven’t had the proper training with your Persona yet!”

Goro scowls. “Who says?”

Shinjiro freezes. Fuuka glances at the twins, at Mitsuru and Yukari, at Junpei. At Koromaru. But not at Ken.

The guilty party shrink down into their seats, eyes fixed firmly on the ground and table. The Investigation Team.

“You all let him come with you!?” Akihiko demands, and Rise-chan worries her lip with her teeth, eyes sparkling.

“He has the same power as us... We know how to help-” She begins, but Akihiko cuts her off.

“All of you are children! You don’t know how to properly handle your Personas either!”

He falls silent, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Shinjiro grabs one, entwines their fingers.

“...You all could have gotten yourselves in serious trouble thus far. Honestly, it’s impressive that you haven’t. The TV world is still dangerous, but you all seem to know what you’re doin’.”

Rise-chan blinks rapidly, teeth sunk into her bottom lip. Shinjiro reaches over, gently places a hand on hers.

“This’ll all be okay. We’ll save Ken before the fog comes. Then, once we do that, we can help you get a bit of a better handle on your powers. There are some neat things you can do with Personas.”

Rise-chan looks up, and nods once. It’s firm, determined. The others share similar expressions, and the old members of SEES bear expressions similar to that of when they were venturing into Tatarus right before a full moon, grim and determined to get stronger.

Faintly, she feels a connection to everyone. She feels a bond forming, tight and strong, bound by everyone’s determination to save Ken and solve the mysteries of Inaba.

Mitsuru is the one who voices Fuuka’s thoughts.

“Something tells me SEES will end up staying in Inaba longer than we anticipated,” she says with a small smile.

Makoto and Kotone sit up a bit straighter, glancing at each other. There is a shared look of bemusement on their faces. Kotone clutches her blouse. Makoto holds his hand on the back of his neck.

“Something the matter, you two?” Mitsuru asks, and Kotone speaks up.

“...When we sealed Nyx away, we sacrificed the powers of our Personas. We used the power of the bonds we formed to finish it once and for all... So we thought we wouldn’t be able to form any more. Or at least, none with power behind them. But this...”

“It’s the same feeling as before. Whenever we formed a powerful new bond, we had this feeling. Kotone’s chest would ache, the hairs on my neck would stand up. This... This is the same feeling,” Makoto adds, voice quiet.

“A new bond...?” Yukari asks, but Yu-kun seems to understand perfectly.

“Whenever I form one, the pit of my stomach drops like I’m on a rollercoaster. I just had that feeling. I think... I think even though I’m the only one who can get any power from this bond, with my wildcard abilities, you two are still experiencing the effects. Were you wildcards?”

They both nod, and Yu hums. “Then that’s why. Your bodies grew accustomed to the feeling, and your hearts, though separated from their powers, still recognise the bond formed. There are some neat things you can do with Personas. Right, Shinjiro-san?”

Shinjiro hesitates, then nods.

A new bond, formed from determination and empathy. One with power unforetold, unbound by rules.

A Social Link, the Finders of the Lost, of the Judgement Arcana, is formed. And with it brings tidings of new fortune.

OH MY GOD SCREAMAMAMMUNNGGGGG ok WE FINALLY HAVE MORE TO KEN'S DISAPPEARANCE!!!! akihiko would definitely be the one to rush into things. his sons in potential danger? GO!!! RUSH IN!!!! IMMEDIATELY!!!! which is honestly a valid reaction. and shinji, while also scared, is there to calm him down. ALSO YU DO NOT LEAVE NANAKO HOME ALONE IM SCARED WE'RE GONNA HAVE A DOUBLE CHILD DISAPPEARANCE ON OUR HANDS!!!!! also kotone and makoto explanation on Nyx... probably not lore accurate but dont give a shit. the fact they still feel when a bonds been formed... and yu's there like "me too." ALSO THE FINDERS OF THE LOST???? THATS SO FUCKING COOL AND IM AGGRHAHAAAHHHHG

[ladyintree]

some headcanons about tai's parents:

tonya & cliff(ord). tonya is a real estate agent (subject to change idk) and wesley is an english professor at a nearby community college. the two met in college. tonya played basketball and broke various school goals; wesley played soccer but ultimately quit his first year in because he realized there were other activities in college he'd rather focus on and didn't want to play soccer forever. though they met in college, they didn't start dating until a few years after graduation.

cliff is more laid back than tonya but tonya is hardly stricter. tonya sees that tai is a lot like her whereas cliff sees that tai could potentially be more like him if she ever burns herself out on something she thinks she'll love forever.

cliff is always the first one to tell her that nothing is as serious as she's making it out to be; he wants her to have fun and enjoy things rather than getting caught up in winning and succeeding. he'll be the one to say "it's just high school soccer, you've got your whole life ahead of you" and he is well aware it's going to go right over her head, because tai wants to win and that's all that matters. he gives her a pep talk before every single game with something along the lines of, "it's not life or death!" / "the world doesn't end if you lose." / "don't forget to have fun." she appreciates the effort, and she's glad he's supportive no matter what, but most of the time, those speeches are daunting to her because it's never how she views the game or, frankly, the world.

her mother can see that her father's tactics don't always work with her, and she usually tries a different approach, mostly in line with how tai goes about it but still encouraging her not to burn herself out. tai's ambition isn't because of her mother's success, she doesn't feel like she has to live up to her in any way -- she just looks up to her and it encourages her to be the best version of herself. but "the best version of herself" is usually tai doing exactly what both of her parents try to warn her about and often going too far / doing too much.

when the plane went missing, cliff refused to believe the worst case scenario and assumed that he would see his daughter again. tonya had a harder time staying optimistic and was much more realistic - not only did she think her daughter was likely dead, but she didn't think the plane would ever be found and give them real closure. it caused a bit of tension between them but all of their arguments were coming from the same place; they just pissed their daughter and wanted her back. they were always open to the idea of having more kids after tai, but it never happened for them, and that's starting to hit them even harder now that the house is so quiet and they feel so alone.

tonya and cliff planted a memorial tree for her after a year of her missing and presumed dead. it was a way to try to soothe them both; tonya promised cliff that he didn't have to give up hope on taissa's return just because they were memorializing her, and cliff promised tonya that he would try to look forward the way tonya's been trying to do all those months. (more info)

in the years she was missing, they seemed to learn a lot more about their daughter than they ever expected to. taissa had friends, but she didn't have many people that she was close to - definitely not friends that she was bringing home, and that became really obvious by how rare it was for them to see any of taissa's peers reach out. most of the people who reached out to them were neighbors + people in their communities who knew them rather than taissa. taissa really didn't have many close friends; she had her teammates, and that always felt like enough for her.

after tai returned home, her parents cut off many of their friends. they did not go easy on anyone who was persistent on asking them or tai questions about what happened if it seemed like they were digging for their own personal benefit. if someone had some weird conspiracy, they never spoke to them again.

[funsize-cenobites]

Small thing I've noticed in my Freelancer arc rewatch that I'm sure someone- maybe many people- has already brought up. I'm not sure if it was intentional or just down to Shannon's performance but I kinda love it regardless-

In the moments when Wash has had enough and snaps at someone. When his voice raises and he's impressing on them just how stupid something they said sounded or how idiotic they're acting. In the brief moments before he wrangles himself back into control and masks the stronger emotions:

His anger and annoyance really really seem to mirror Church's.

And this is why I can't be sure whether or not it was intentional. Outbursts like this are already a staple of RvB's comedy and each character has their moments like this. However while rewatching Reconstruction and hearing both Washington and Church in tandem, I can't not notice it. It feels like a very subtle not subtle nod to their connection. One you only really recognize after having the context.

The pitch and way their voices crack- even the flash fire immediacy of it- when they snap just feels so eerily same-ish.

But at the same time, with Washington a lot of these moments feel almost like an intrusion. As if he genuinely hates that it happens. Its always immediate, like Church's outbursts of impotent rage, brief, and he tries to cut it off as quick as it comes. He always seems to try and return to monotones pretty quickly.

It doesn't feel out of place persay- we see Washington in later seasons pre-Epsilon and he's plenty capable of getting upset and yelling, but it doesn't feel... the same. I could be misremembering how Shannon and the writers characterized him during PFL but at least in rewatching now and knowing all the little eccentricities abd details they wrote into the show back then, post-Epsilon Wash's moments of frustrated anger feel like a bleed. It feels like that aspect of Epsilon- probably one of the strongest Wash felt aside from pain and fear- has been hard to shake.

Which is where I go more into speculative territory?

Because with all we know from the end of Reconstruction: Wash suffered most of the trauma from Epsilon in silence so the Councilor and Director wouldn't know.

While he clearly had some kind of initial break from reality- likely a fairly awful catatonic state with bursts of semi-lucidity and confusion- Wash managed to keep at least some semblance of his shit together. I assume by leaning hard into dissociation and derealization both as a coping mechanism and a way to protect himself and that little bit of Epsilon forever imprinted within him.

Epsilon is Memory. He is The Cycle incarnate. He lives, ironically, whether or not his AI form survives because of Washington. Because he gave it all to him. Epsilon is just a part of Wash now, forever. That part of the fragment that is stuck in time, trapped in place, and suffering.

And I gotta stress this bit: Wash could have said something, but he never did.

I do think its because he realized that the suffering of himself, his team, and Alpha, couldn't be for nothing.

I do, wholeheartedly believe that even in insanity, even after being devalued and mocked by his team (Despite clearly being good at what he does? Hes on Carolina's team. Hes on the MOI with the Director. Hes pretty consistently high on the leader board!) and presumably, abandoned by them... Wash listens to Epsilon. He has such empathy.

I promise all this has a point, Im not JUST spouting Agent Washington propaganda- though it is also that.

I just mean to show how complex I see their relationship, both incredibly, painfully brief yet lifelong. We didn't get to see how long exactly they were together before Epsilon tried to destroy himself but it was long enough for Wash to listen and to care.

It was long enough that Washington became a survivor after losing Epsilon, but... wasn't he always? All that changed was that now he had a Purpose.

As far as his compassion and empathy goes, even later on with Wash never wanting his mind violated like that ever again; even with him never being okay with putting another AI in his mind casually. I don't think he truly hates Alpha or Epsilon. I actually think he has the most empathy for Epsilon out of anyone because lmao, who else could know him more intimately?

I like to think in his own way, while taking the only chance he had, Epsilon begged Wash for help, to be avenged and remembered.

Epsilon probably knew they wouldn't delete him. Probably knew being implanted was the only chance he had to destroy himself while ensuring the mission of vengeance lived on. He begged Wash for help, knowing damn well that what he was doing was breaking Wash too.

Passing on the trauma. Starting another cycle of harm like the Director before him.

But you know? Despite all this being my own current thoughts/opinions on it, I kinda love thinking of it this way. I love that Washington... breaks that cycle eventually.

He finds a home with the Blues. He loves all the sim troopers and eventually realizes that he's hurt each and every one of them. Then he spends the rest of his life trying to make up for it.

In that way, moreso than the death of the Director or dismantling of PFL as a whole, I think Wash did do right by the Epsilon in his head. His Epsilon. And by proxy, himself. Because- circling all the way back to the original idea of the post- you can't have one without the other anymore.

[primatechnosynthpop]

If You Push Them Too Hard, They're Going To Break

Part 5

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

"Careful of the bus, Bret," Jemaine called from halfway up the flagpole he was trying to climb using his nunchucks. A bell was ringing noisily from somewhere, so maybe he should have used telepathy to be heard over it, but the bell gave him a headache that telepathy would only worsen.

"Yeah, I see it," Bret called back. "It's the witch we're fighting, so it'd be hard to miss."

"I just thought maybe you weren't paying attention. It looked like it was going to hit you."

Bret, already several metres away from the witch, jumped back another couple feet as he lined up a shot. "It's not gonna hit me."

The witch in question, despite otherwise resembing a bus, had a spectral woman with water-textured hair chained to the front like the figurehead of a ship. Its windows displayed flickering sepia flashbacks to what were presumably the old days. The original plan had been for Jemaine to break the windows and climb inside, but a glimpse inside the bus had revealed that the whole thing was lined with fangs, so instead Bret was going around shooting out the tires while Jemaine... didn't really know what he was doing anymore. Getting a better look at the labyrinth, he supposed. From what he saw so far, it looked a lot like a place he'd been to back in New Zealand. Maybe this witch used to be a fellow kiwi.

"Do you ever think about that?" Jemaine asked, mostly to himself. "About what all these witches used to be like?"

"Not while we're fighting them," Bret replied as he took out the witch's front left tire and sent it skidding toward a mosaic wall. "But afterwards, yeah."

"It's disturbing, isn't it?"

"Not really."

"It is. It's disturbing. They used to be just like us."

Bret couldn't offer a retort to that because just then the bus witch took a sharp turn and bore down on him with a roar. He neatly somersaulted out of the way seconds before it would have flattened him. As soon as he was back on his feet he fired off two more arrows into the witch's tires. By then he'd forgotten entirely what he and Jemaine were talking about a moment ago.

A metallic clang resounded from several feet away. Bret glanced over his shoulder to see an animated bronze sheepdog statue jumping up at Jemaine, jaws snapping. Jemaine was trying to kick it off while also trying not to lose his grip on the flagpole, but with each shake of his leg he slid a few inches further down. A smirk tugged at Bret's lips as he watched his partner struggle with the familiar. He waited a while before cheekily asking,

"You need help with that dog, Jemaine?"

"I'm handling it fine," Jemaine grumbled as the familiar gnawed on the platform section of his boot. "Why don't you go back to giving the bus flat tires?"

-

"This is a fun one, isn't it?" Bret asked as he bounced from treetop to treetop in a marmalade-scented labyrinth with the saturation of a saturday morning cartoon. The witch, a dragon that looked and moved like it was stop-motion, took another swipe at him which he dodged as easily as the last fifty.

It was a rhetorical question, but Jemaine provided a counter argument anyway. "It's not fun."

"Yeah it is."

"It's not," he insisted as the witch's spiked tail flew toward him and he caught it in his nunchucks. The impact pushed him back a couple feet, slamming his back up against a tree.

Bret touched down in the same tree a moment later and fired an arrow toward the witch's mouth, only for it to let loose a burst of fire that incinerated the arrow before it could touch it. "It is. It's like a tv show."

"Exactly. It's making me want to go home and watch tv, but we can't until we've killed this witch, which is taking forever."

As if to back up Jemaine's argument, the witch aimed its fire-breath at Bret, who barely threw his arms over his face in time to guard himself. He half-hopped, half-fell backwards out of the tree and landed with a tumble in the bushes, lightly singed. He brushed himself off with a grimace and raised his bow to fire again, only to freeze and blink awkwardly as he realized that what he held up was little more than a pile of bow-shaped cinders. While his brain took a moment to catch up with the situation at hand and provide him with the solution (summon another bow) the witch broke loose from Jemaine's hold and lunged at Bret, jaws open.

In the couple of months they'd been at this, Jemaine had studied up a bit on how nunchucks actually worked, and as a result his magical ones hadn't done as many fantastical things lately. His magic, influenced by his wish for people to listen to them, was linked with the power of suggestion. But unlike Bret, Jemaine hated Kyubey, so he'd never talked to the alien and worked that out. All he knew was that he didn't want to see his little buddy's head get bitten off. And so, when he flung his nunchucks at the witch, their chain lengthened in midair until it was long enough to wrap around the witch's entire body and immobilize it.

Bret ducked behind the foliage and pressed himself as flat against the ground as he could, trembling. The witch's jaws nearly missed him as it hit the ground with a thud and skidded to a stop. The very end of the absurdly long chain wrapped around its muzzle, and the wooden stick on the end bonked it right between the nostrils, causing it to snort. Bret might have found that cute if it hadn't almost eaten him.

"You could've just had a long chain for your weapon if you wanted to use a long chain," he remarked when Jemaine came over to help him up.

"I don't always want to use a long chain," said Jemaine. "Usually I want to use nunchucks. It's just that sometimes I want the chain on them to be longer than usual. But a long chain on its own, that's not cool."

"Nunchucks aren't cool either," Bret told him.

"They can be."

"Not if you have to magically enhance them to use them how you want."

"It is cool," Jemaine muttered defensively, shoulders hunching. "It's magic."

Throughout this, the witch writhed and lashed against its bindings. Just before Bret could open his mouth to retort about how ironic it was that Jemaine was now calling magic cool when before he hadn't even wanted to be a magical girl, the witch broke free of the dubiously cool long chain and reared back with a roar. Jemaine and Bret stopped what they were doing and stared blankly up at it for a moment before unanimously deciding to put their debate on hold and finish it off.

*

A futuristic labyrinth inhabited by a dancing robotic witch (well, it had been dancing before they killed it) dissolved back into a regular street. Jemaine let out a weary sigh as he tapped their newly won grief seed against his soul gem to drain away the dark spots. They'd used a lot of magic in that fight. He'd had to imbue his nunchucks with extra power for them to even make a dent, and Bret had wasted dozens of arrows that bounced harmlessly off the witch before finally slipping a few through the chinks in its armour.

Still, they'd won. Their exhaustion mingled with exhilaration as they climbed on their bikes and began peddling back toward their neighbourhood.

<Emergency magical girl meeting. On the rooftop of the consulate building.>

The unexpected telepathy startled Bret so much that his hands clamped around the brakes. Cursing (rather mildly in terms of words, but with a level of irritation that was anything but), Jemaine swerved to avoid crashing into him and then caught Bret by the sleeve so he wouldn't fall over.

<Now's not really a good time,> Jemaine replied to Murray's message. <We're on our way home from a witch hunt.>

<Right, well, I did say it was an emergency.>

<What's the emergency?> Bret asked.

<It's... well, it's not really something you can help with, necessarily, but...> Inflection in telepathy could be harder to gauge than in spoken conversation, but Murray sounded so scared and hopeless that it gave them pause. <Look, just come over, please, guys?>

When they got there, Murray was standing right by the edge of the roof, facing the gray sky. When Jemaine and Bret approached he turned and flashed them a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Ah, good, you're here... I'll just mark you both down as present, then?"

"Guess so."

"Sure, yeah."

He grabbed a pen out of his shirt pocket and clicked it open only to realize belatedly that he didn't have a clipboard or anything else to write on. Could he write on his clothes, maybe? Or his skin... no, that would be unprofessional.

"What's this about?" Jemaine pressed, sounding annoyed. Yes, he was always annoyed, wasn't he? Right up until the last few weeks when things turned around and Murray briefly believed he'd finally proven himself as a manager. "You've called us up here and you haven't explained why."

"Well, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, I talked to Kyubey, and now I know a lot more about being a magical girl than I did before." He paused, running his tongue around his mouth anxiously. It was difficult not having office supplies to fidget with or a chair to swivel in to keep his body occupied. "The bad news is most of what I learned. I... item one: soul gems. Here's my soul gem."

He held up the gem in question. It was even darker than it was the time he asked to borrow one of Bret's grief seeds. Upon seeing that, Bret and Jemaine exchanged a wary glance. Hopefully Murray wouldn't ask the same favour this time. Hunting witches together was easier than doing it alone, but it meant they had to share their grief seeds, which were only good for two uses anyway before you had to hand them over to Kyubey for recycling. It was a delicate system, but it worked. Letting someone else use one of their grief seeds would just screw the whole thing up.

"I had my soul gem on my desk earlier," Murray said, "And Greg came in and asked about it, and... well, I didn't really have all the answers for his questions, so I asked Kyubey..."

"Where are you going with this, Murray?"

"Yes, well, I was just getting to that. They're our souls." Saying that aloud made tears spring up in his eyes just as they had a few minutes ago when Kyubey calmly explained it all. He took a few deep breaths before continuing, "Apparently we magical girls have an easier time of it when our souls are out of our bodies. We can't... can't feel the full extent of our injuries... and what have you."

Bret and Jemaine stared blankly at him for a moment. Jemaine thought of his soul gem in Bret's hand and the accompanying feeling of someone touching him. He blushed at the memory of Bret fingering the gem even though there was no need for him to blush over things like that anymore. Bret thought about Dave and the lighter, and the pain that had erupted from somewhere deep within him. Just the memory was enough to make him shiver and wrap his arms around himself protectively. His long-forgotten annoyance over that incident returned with a surge of betrayal as he realized that Jemaine had tried to pawn off his soul and Dave had tried to burn it. The fact that neither of them could have known what they were doing didn't matter. The point was, he could have been killed. Except, if his soul was outside his body, wasn't he technically already...?

"You mean we're zombies?" Bret asked, his voice small.

"If you want to put it like that, yes. Doesn't exactly seem worth getting a wish for anymore, does it?" Murray's voice took on a jarringly bitter tone, and his fingers twitched erratically against his soul gem like he wasn't quite in control of his movements. "And that brings me to item two: wishes. I'm sure you remember my wish to heal Toby. You'd think that was a good one, wouldn't you? A... a wish well-spent?"

Bret and Jemaine had already forgotten again about Murray's dog's health problems, but they hesitantly nodded anyway. Bret thought it sounded like a good wish, at least. He'd met Murray's dog a few times and enjoyed letting it climb all over him and lick him.

"Yes, well, apparently not," Murray continued. "See, now Toby's developed a brain tumour! I tried to fix it with my healing magic, but that only made it worse, and now..." His voice broke, hand clenching around his soul gem tight enough to crack it. "He'll have to be put down. My wish was good for nothing in the long run."

"Aw, Murray, that's not..."

"And your wish, Jemaine," he went on. "You probably wouldn't have even made a wish if it wasn't for my influence. To think I led you down the path of trading away your soul... I'm a terrible manager."

"Well, I don't know about that," Jemaine muttered under his breath. His decision had honestly had nothing to do with Murray and everything to do with Bret, but he thought telling Murray that might just make him more upset.

"No, it's true," Murray said loudly, speaking over whatever platitudes the band might have had to offer. "Even all the gigs lately-- that was all you, wasn't it, Jemaine? You and your wish. It had nothing to do with me after all. I could probably just disappear and you... you'd be better off without me."

His voice cracked at the end as tears fell from his eyes and landed on his soul gem. Jemaine didn't have time to come up with a way to refute his manager's self-deprecation without outright lying. Hairline fractures spread down the surface of the blackened gem and it shattered in an explosion of tiny fragments.

Murray's body crumpled immediately. Bret caught him in a bubble of anti-gravity magic before he could fall over the edge of the roof, but he only held him for a few short seconds before he realized with a nauseating wave of deja vu that it was too late. Just like that time in Mel's labyrinth, Murray was too still. He hung limp in the air, head tilted back and eyes still open in a blank stare into nothingness. And his soul gem, the thing he'd just explained really housed their souls, was gone. Instead, on the edge of the roof at his feet where it had fallen from his hand, was a grief seed.

A sudden wind whipped up. Bret released Murray, half in shock and half in resignation, turned on his heel and bolted along with Jemaine. Debris kicked up by the howling gusts buffeted them. Jemaine raised his jacket over his head for protection while Bret, who wasn't wearing a jacket, had to bring his arms up around his head to guard himself.

They made it halfway down to the building's top floor before Bret suddenly stopped in his tracks. Jemaine continued his scramble down the stairs until he realized Bret had stopped. He looked back up at him, saw the look that had settled over his face, and guessed with a sinking feeling what Bret was going to say. Sure enough--

"There's a lot of people in this building," Bret said slowly with a horrified understanding in his eyes. "Greg and... uh, Helen and everyone. If a witch hatches here it could eat all of them."

"Since when do you care about Greg?"

"I don't really, but magical people are supposed to protect regular people."

"What, really?" Jemaine barked out a hysterical laugh. "Is that what you do, Bret? Don't think I've forgotten that time you ran away and left me to die."

That was a ridiculously petty thing to bring up at a time like this, but Bret didn't call him out on it. He just said matter-of-factly, "Well, I wasn't a magical man then, Jemaine. Things have changed."

He punctuated the statement by transforming in a flash of light, hand clasped tight around his bow. Jemaine grabbed his other hand.

"Bret, wait," he pleaded. "We already fought a witch and we're low on magic. And..." He tried not to let either his voice or his bottom lip tremble. "I don't want to kill Murray."

"It's not really Murray anymore," Bret said in a low voice. "Besides, we already did it to Mel."

Jemaine could have stopped him with his magically enhanced strength if he really wanted to. But Bret slipped his hand out of Jemaine's grasp and marched purposefully back up the stairs to the roof, and Jemaine only stood there for a moment before he sighed, transformed, and followed a few paces behind.

The labyrinth had already taken shape during their brief retreat. It was like walking into a scrapbook that was also a tornado, with faded photos whipping by too fast to get a good look at. In the eye of the storm was a giant slightly squashed birthday cake with burnt candles sticking out of it and spelling something in the witches' runic language. The witch, a humanoid figure in business clothes, crouched atop the cake with its arms curled around itself protectively while doll-like familiars with computer screens for heads laughed and threw tins of ginger nuts at it. What looked like a zombified english bulldog lay sunken halfway into the cake at the witch's feet, growling.

"Huh, that's funny," Bret remarked. "He doesn't look that different now that he's a witch."

Jemaine hummed in agreement. "Guess he wasn't lying about finding his look."

With that somber exchange of quips hanging in the air, there was nothing more to do but draw their weapons and charge.

*

When they got home an hour later, Jemaine immediately trudged to the bedroom and flopped facefirst into bed. Bret's plan was to take refuge in the bathtub fully clothed, but when he was grabbing his pillow off the bed he spotted the gleam of Kyubey's eyes from where it perched on the windowsill. He remembered what Murray had said and it gave him pause. He turned, hugging the pillow to his chest, to face his alien friend.

"Was it all true, Kyubey? What Murray said about soul gems and everything?"

<Yes, all the information he shared with you was correct.>

"Why didn't you tell us earlier?"

Jemaine spoke over Kyubey's calm <Because you didn't ask> with his own curt answer:

"Because he's a dick."

"Aw, don't say that, Jemaine," Bret protested without as much conviction as he would have liked. He sat down on the edge of the bed, pillow in his lap with his knees drawn up to his chest. "He probably had a reason, didn't you, Kyubey?"

<Would it have made any difference?> Kyubey asked with a coy tilt of its head. <You've had no problem fulfilling your magical girl duties up to this point. I don't understand how leaning more about the details of the contract after the fact should change anything.>

"It would've made a difference if you told us earlier," Jemaine grumbled. "I don't suppose you thought about how we'd feel about all this."

<My species has no emotions, so such trivial matters play little to no role in our decision-making process.>

Kyubey just sounded so smarmy there that Jemaine couldn't take it anymore. Rising from the bed in a flash, he transformed and tried to swat the alien with his nunchucks. Kyubey hopped down from the sill, deftly dodging, but Jemaine stomped on its tail. While it was pinned and wriggling he grabbed it by the scruff and wrapped his nunchucks around its neck to choke it.

"Jemaine, stop," Bret gasped, horrified. "You're hurting him!"

"I'll hurt him as much as I like," Jemaine shot back. "The furry bastard ruined our lives."

Bret chewed his lip, conflicted. The sight of a cute creature in distress made his stomach churn, but he had known Jemaine a lot longer than Kyubey, and he knew his bandmate had a point. "Yeah, but... I mean... he did make it so we'd get gigs."

"Yeah, and what's going to happen to that now that Murray's gone?" It sounded like a rhetorical question for Bret to mull over until Jemaine tugged his weapon tighter around Kyubey's throat and asked it directly: "Will we keep getting gigs now? Or do all our wishes time out and you don't give us a heads-up about it?"

Kyubey raised its head to meet Jemaine's accusatory glare, its cutesy expression unchanged. Despite its initial squirming, it now dangled in his grasp with little resistance, like it wasn't bothered by the predicament.

<Wishes don't have a set time limit,> it explained. <However, how long their effects last in practice depends on the wish. In your case, you specifically asked for your manager to get you gigs, but did not specify how long you wanted him to live. It was fortunate that you had enough potential to undo his previous death when you made your wish, or it may not have had the desired effect in the first place.>

"So?"

<So, as to your question, it is possible you will get another gig in the future. However, as the conditions of your wish are no longer in place, there is no guarantee.>

That did it. With a contemptuous snort, Jemaine gave a final harsh tug on either end of his nunchucks, and Kyubey's head popped off. Bret recoiled, eyes going wide and fingers digging into the mattress. He couldn't believe it. Once he realized what he'd done, Jemaine couldn't quite believe it either. The nunchucks fell from his hands, Kyubey's decapitated body along with them, and he took a step back.

"Flip. Bret, I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"You killed him." Bret stood, eyes dark, and took a step toward Jemaine. Jemaine took a step back, unsure what his partner was going to do and afraid to find out. "I know you didn't like him, man, but he was my friend. You can't just go around killing people's friends... it's not cool."

Just as those words left his mouth, the door swung open halfway and an identical second Kyubey trotted in. Bret and Jemaine stared, their emotional turmoil forgotten in favour of unified amazement and bewilderment and horror, as the new Kyubey hunkered down over the corpse of its predecessor and started eating it.

"...Ah... see, Bret?" Jemaine tried once he'd gotten his mouth to work again. "It's not so bad... there's a new one now."

Bret didn't react to that. He just stared, taking in how casually Kyubey devoured its own corpse, and replayed in his head what the alien had said about having no emotions. Had it really been his friend at all, he wondered? Or had it really just been using him and Jemaine all along-- and Murray, and Mel too? Dave had the right idea, he thought. Maybe they shouldn't have become magical girls. But they couldn't go back on contracts after making them and now... now...

Tearing his gaze away from Kyubey's self-cannibalization, Bret grabbed his discarded pillow and ran to the bathroom, where he put his original plan into action and curled up in the tub. It only took a few seconds for his eyes to start watering, but he didn't let the tears fall.

He felt like an absolute idiot. Him and his stupid wish. If he hadn't made a contract first then Jemaine wouldn't have either, and sure, they might never have gotten gigs, but they'd be safe and secure in their normal lives. Now they'd lost their only fan, they'd lost their manager twice, there was no telling how much longer they had to live themselves... and Bret never even got to go to space and meet Bowie. He'd done it all for nothing. And just now, if the second Kyubey hadn't come in-- he'd been so angry, and it was a colder fury than he knew what to do with. What might he have done to Jemaine? Would he have hurt him? If he let his anger run away from him, would he have...?

Back in the bedroom with Kyubey, Jemaine swallowed hard. Just an hour earlier, when they thought they'd be going straight home and making dinner and going to bed early so they could get up on time for a band meeting the next morning, he had asked if Bret needed to use the grief seed they got from the robot witch. Bret had said no, he was fine. Jemaine wasn't so sure that was true. And after seeing Murray hatch into a witch before their eyes, he wasn't willing to risk it.

Bret had forgotten to shut the bathroom door in his haste. Jemaine padded in and knelt beside the tub with only a minor twinge of apprehension. He took the grief seed out of his pocket and dangled it in front of his partner like he was offering a dog a treat.

"Bret, look, it's the talking grief seed." He made the grief seed dance back and forth and put on a sort of growly monster voice to represent it. "Come on, show me your soul gem! I'm hungry for some despair, I want to gobble it all up and make your soul gem nice and clean..."

It struck him as he was doing that how macabre it was, given that grief seeds used to be soul gems and by personifying them he was basically promoting cannibalism. In a way. As far as he knew, stoves weren't typically constructed from the things you'd cook in them. Anyway, what mattered was that Bret raised his head and rubbed the back of his hand across his face with a sniff. Encouraged, Jemaine tried to ignore the implications and carried on.

"Let me see that soul gem, Bret. I won't rest until it's nice and shiny. Come on... eh? Don't you want to feed the talking grief seed?"

Despite himself, despite everything, Bret couldn't help but laugh weakly at Jemaine's performance. As much as they got on each other's nerves, Jemaine always knew how to make him feel better when it mattered. He sat up, summoned his soul gem into his hand, and let Jemaine press the grief seed to it and clear away the worst of the tarnish.

It wasn't enough to purify it fully. Jemaine's was a little muddy too, but he'd worry about himself later. But once the grief seed was all used up, Bret found that some of the tension had unknotted in his chest and he could breathe a little easier. Smiling faintly, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Jemaine's and laced their fingers together.

They'd be okay, he thought. Maybe not forever, but for now. They had each other.

Part 6

[aquadestinyswriting]

Truth's Embers

Summary: Vera finally makes it to the front door of the Ironforge household, but finds her resolve wavering.

Words: 2,290

Warnings: None, amazingly. Aside from quite a lot of angst.

Tags: @druidx @homesteadchronicles @asher-orion-writes, @blind-the-winds, @odysseywritings, @writeblrsupport,@freedominique

note: this is a continuation of the story started in Where Secrets Lie

Vera swallowed nervously, dithering at the front door of the modest house just off the main street of the trading district. All she had to do was knock on the door, hand the journal in her hands, hidden underneath her cloak, to whoever answered, then walk away.

The young dwarven woman cleared her throat, raised her hand and rapped on the smooth stone surface. She waited, holding her breath as she heard heavy footsteps approach the door. Whoever was coming to answer was grumbling profusely.

It seemed like it took forever before the door opened to reveal a portly middle-aged man wearing a toughened leather jerkin and troos. He blinked in surprise, staring at the sandy coloured vestments that trailed under the travel cloak the young woman at his door was wearing. He cleared his throat and stepped to one side,

"Well, ye might as well come in rather than dithering in the doorway." He sighed. Vera startled a little,

"I really shouldn't… I-I don't want to impose." She stammered. Gruk Ovaksson rolled his eyes and jerked his head towards the hall behind him,

"Given that ye're clearly from the Cathedral and are otherwise unknown to me, I absolutely insist." He said, voice low. Vera swallowed thickly, nodded and stepped through the door. Gruk closed it behind her and chivvied the younger dwarf straight through to the sitting room.

"Morag, hen, we've a visitor." He called as Vera swept her hood back and cautiously sat on the chair the middle aged blacksmith had chased her to. She glanced to a doorway, leading to what she presumed was a kitchen, where another dwarven man, nearly five inches taller than she was, wearing scuffed mail armour had just appeared. This new person cocked his head to one side as he regarded the inquisitor in front of him, stepping into the sitting room,

"Oh, hello Vera. You finally managed to make Inquisitor, huh?" He asked. Vera blinked owlishly at the paladin, hardly believing her luck,

"As I live and breathe. What in Moradin's name are you doing here Forhoksson? Last I heard you went on a five year expedition to Khull." She exclaimed. Gruk grunted as he sat in his favourite chair by the fire, eyeing the young woman warily,

"You know each other?” he asked. Yoruk turned to the blacksmith and nodded,

"Aye, Vera was the one who convinced me to go into training as a paladin." He explained. The younger man turned his attention back to Vera,

"I ken ye were away for a bit to deal with some family stuff, so you missed out on a lot. I'm here because Gruk and Morag offered me a place to stay once I came back. My mother decided to disown me not long after I proposed to Merri, so I can't exactly go back there." 

Vera's eyes went wide. The last time she and Yoruk had seen each other, he'd mentioned falling for one of the acolytes he'd noticed in combat training, but that had been the last she'd heard about it. Now he was telling her that the girl he'd fallen for – and had since proposed to – was the same young woman that she'd helped to wrongly arrest for treason and heresy? She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It was one thing to have to speak to Meredith’s parents, it was quite another to have to inform her fiance about what had transpired. Vera was shaken out of her thoughts by another, feminine voice, piping up from the door to the hall,

“Och, Gruk, the least you could’ve done was offer the poor lassie a drink.” Morag chastised, waddling into the sitting room and sitting heavily on the sofa next to Yoruk. Yoruk clapped a hand to his forehead,

“Sorry, I was the last one in the kitchen, and I didn’t think.” he groaned, “Let me get that sorted out.” he offered. Vera vehemently shook her head,

“No, please, you honestly don’t need to go to such trouble.” she said quickly, feeling a wave of nervous nausea hit her upon realising that Morag was several months pregnant. No, there was no way she could do this. Not if she became responsible for anything happening here.

Morag sighed softly and shook her head, noticing that the younger woman had gone very pale under her beard and had started to hyperventilate,

“It’s alright, hen. We already ken that this is probably about Meredith.” she said. Yoruk snapped his head around to stare in confusion at the middle aged woman,

“Wait… why does this have anything to do with Meredith?” he asked slowly, “ I know I only showed up an hour ago but-” he cut off as Morag shook her head,

“We’ll explain everything that’s been going on shortly, son. I want to know what yer friend wants to tell us first, then we can backtrack.” he told him patiently. Yoruk’s mouth twisted into an unhappy grimace, but he nodded and sat back, his gaze sweeping over to Vera.

Vera shrank back at the expectant looks on everyones’ faces. She slowly took out the journal Meredith had handed to her, swallowing thickly before taking a deep breath and staring between Morag and Yoruk’s heads.

“Given your reaction to my appearance at the door, I believe that you know there’s something up.” she said, glancing over to Gruk. The smith nodded, crossing his arms over his chest,

“Aye.” he snorted, “Given that the Toreguarde situation is all anybody’s been talking about for the last few months, I figured you were the sorry sod sent to give us an update.” Vera grimaced,

“Not exactly.” she said, her voice low. “I’m not actually here on official business by any means, but I am here to tell you about what’s going with regards to your daughter.” Morag tilted her head in confusion, while both Gruk and Yoruk’s faces fell into deep frowns. Vera’s heart hammered as she looked around the room,

“What was the last thing you heard?” she asked. Morag huffed another sigh, rubbing at her swollen belly anxiously,

“The last we heard from Father Ragnarsson was that Merri was back in Toreguarde and about to face off against Darkhide with her friends. We did hear, through the vein, that Darkhide had been defeated and his army routed, but we’ve had no word otherwise.” Vera ignored the stunned look on Yoruk’s face to stare at Morag in confusion,

“Nothing at all?” she asked, voice strained. Morag shook her head again. It was at this point that Gruk spoke up,

“We figured she was just busy sorting things out in the aftermath, but that was more’n a month ago. We expected that we would have received a message of some sort about how she was. To be honest, it’s starting to make us wonder if… ye ken.” he said, voice cracking. Vera looked at the despondent father and sent him a tight smile,

“On a positive note, Meredith is currently alive and well.” she said, her own voice starting to quaver.

“Positive note? ‘Currently’ alive and well?” Yoruk growled dangerously, “I’ve no idea what in the bloody Pit is going on, but you better start talking.” Vera’s took in a deep breath and whooshed it out again,

“That was the good news. The bad news is that, apparently, the High Inquisitor has reason to believe that Meredith is guilty of treason against the crown and heresy against the church.” She said slowly, “Now, I know for a fact that whatever charges he’s put against her are complete codswallop, but he put out a warrant for her arrest about a week ago.” Vera paused a moment to allow the information to sink in. All three dwarves had gone very pale and Gruk currently looked like he wanted to break something. Yoruk simply looked confused,

“Why does Firetome even believe such nonsense?” he asked plaintively.Vera blinked, before recalling that Yoruk had only recently arrived back in Fangthane himself. She shook her head,

“Firetome got elected to the position of Archlector after Vanskleig passed a couple of months ago. He named Garl Grimbeard High Inquisitor not long after.” she explained. Morag huffed a stressed sigh,

“We knew about that appointment already. To be fair, we weren’t entirely happy with that announcement, but what reason has he to believe that Merri is a heretic of all things?” she asked. Vera shook her head,

“I don’t know. All I can say is that, apparently, Grimbeard has some sort of major Grudge against your daughter.”

“Grudge or no, he needs some bloody evidence and he better have it. Thank Throff Merri’s no’ come home in that case.” Gruk grumbled, “As scared as I am that she’s o’er in Toreguarde, given the rumours that have come back about the place recently, I shudder to think what Grimbeard would do to her if she showed up at the front door of the mount now.” Vera snapped her mouth shut at Gruk’s words. Yoruk – who had been staring at Vera in disbelief as he processed what he’d just been told – narrowed his eyes again,

“Inquisitor Darkbek,” he said, voice low in warning, “have you anything else you want to share?” Morag brought her hand to her mouth, eyes brimming,

“Oh, she hasn’t?” she whispered.  Vera closed her eyes briefly before turning to the older woman, her vision clouded by her own tears,

“We got word that she’d been spotted in the mount about three days ago.” she said, voice strained, “She must’ve found out about the arrest warrant because she managed to avoid capture for two days. She was eventually caught skulking around the Contemplation Chamber earlier this morning.” 

“And you’re the sorry sod they sent to tell us.” Gruk groaned, placing his head in one of his hands, rubbing at his temple. Yoruk growled again, gripping the arms of his chair and causing the wood to creak ominously,

“I’m not just gonna sit here while-” he was cut off by Vera rounding on him and Dispelling the divine magic he’d unconsciously started to gather around him. The Inquisitor glared at him for a moment before relaxing once more,

“I’m sorry Forhoksson, but I can’t let you.” she said, “Storming over there and making demands will only make matters worse. Besides, I’m not actually here on official business.” Gruk’s head snapped up and everyone else stared at the young Inquisitor,

“Then why..?” Gruk asked, trailing off. Vera picked up the journal Meredith had given her,

“When I went to give Meredith her meal, she told me to give this to you. Apparently there’s a reason Grimbeard has a Grudge against her, and her account as to why is in here.” she explained, handing a wide-eyed Morag the leather-bound book. Morag’s expression softened as she ran her fingers over the cover,

“If this has her account of any wrongdoing on Grimbeard’s part, then surely it can be used as evidence against her arrest?” she asked. Vera shook her head,

“I don’t know.” Vera admitted, “However, in order to even get an arrest warrant, Grimbeard needed to have had some other evidence. I doubt an account written by Meredith would be taken as sufficient proof since she hasn’t brought anything else with her aside from some personal belongings.” Yoruk drummed his fingers absentmindedly,

“I’ve no idea what else mo goal has been up to, but since she’s apparently made some friends over in Toreguarde, can’t we ask them to bring the evidence we need here?” he asked. Gruk was the first to answer,

“Not unless we want to get in a heap o’ trouble with the law ourselves.” he said wearily, “Toreguarde’s been placed on the Fangthane’s official Book O’ Grudges and the whole population has been expressly forbidden from going anywhere near the place or contacting anyone that might still be there.” he smiled mirthlessly at the paladin, “A lot went on while ye were away, lad. Not a lot of it good.” Vera sighed and nodded,

“Mr Ovaksson has the right of it, Yoruk. I’d be obligated to arrest you if you tried. Besides, Meredith herself said she didn’t want to get them involved. She said they had enough on their plates as it was.” she added. Morag rubbed at her belly again with a soft smile,

“Aye, that’s Merri all over. Utterly selfless to a fault” she sighed. The middle aged woman opened her eyes and looked up at Vera with a curious expression, “I have to wonder then, why you came to tell us all this?” she pondered. Yoruk raised an eyebrow at the statement, as did Gruk. Vera squirmed a bit at the expectant stares she was getting,

“Because it’s the right and just thing to do.” She replied, “Despite a lack of evidence on Meredith’s part, I know that she’s done nothing wrong and that her arrest is a result of some sort of corruption in the higher echelons of the church and/or council.” Yoruk crossed his arms over his chest and nodded,

“Glad to know we’re on the same team then.” he stated, “So, what’s the plan for taking down about half our church’s leadership then?” he asked. Vera stared at him for a moment, before feeling a gentle warmth near her heart,

It’s the best chance you have.

“Well, we’re going to need to get a few more people involved.” she said. Morag chuckled and gestured to Gruk to get himself into the kitchen while she hauled herself up and went off to grab a corkboard for the two younger dwarves to use. Gruk grumbled and stalked off where he was bid while Yoruk and Vera sat on the floor pulling out scrolls of blank parchment, quills and ink.

[nowis-scales]

FE Liveblog Updates

Hey hey! It’s been a little while since I last did any live blogging — and maybe you care, maybe you don’t — but as I have… a lot of potential live-blogging to do, I wanted to give some updates, notices, and minor thoughts. So if you’ve been following along with any of them, here’s where you’ll get your info. Yay!

‣ Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia:

Hmmm… what is there to say about this one? I need to continue it, first of all. It should hopefully be picking up sooner rather than later, finishing off Act 2 in Celica’s path, and then presumably switching back to Alm. I don’t have too much to worry about here, just making sure that I’m getting a healthy dose of support conversations! If I don’t by the end, I may just play again and see what else I can gather. Otherwise… I’m considering a more stack-em-up style to my posting like the other playthroughs, just so it’s less of a spammy feeling. If you have any opinions, please do let me know!

‣ Fire Emblem Engage:

Yep yep, I’ve already got a liveblog of this one set up! As I write this post, I have just beaten Chapter 3, so you will soon be able to find the liveblog under #koto plays engage , and avoid spoilers with #Fire Emblem Engage Spoilers. I’m very excited to share my thoughts so far, so it should be super fun to share! I don’t know when exactly I’ll get that set up, but probably towards the tail end of the next liveblog I’ll be talking about…

‣ Fire Emblem Three Houses: Crimson Flower: I think, with my desire to introduce an Engage liveblog, continue the Echoes one, and someday continue this one… I might get back to this one sooner than I anticipated? I’m still somewhat iffy on this one, just because… well, in the event that you’re new here, let’s just say that CF as a route is just very much not for me. That’s not to say that I look down on or would chide anyone who enjoys it — my rule is, forever and always, as long as you’re kind I don’t mind — but it’s just not the most positive playthrough. So while I’m leaning more towards yes to going back to it, I want to make sure that it’ll be an okay experience for everyone involved.

The good news is, I have newly set up some measures to keep all of the critical stuff contained where you want it. Firstly, I have a new tag I’ll be using to tag posts with the super critical stuff (#Fódlan Fault Finding) and of course I still have the tag meant for criticism in relation to EdeIgard’s character writing in the route (#Shut up about Del). I also have a series of emblems I’m going to be using, to mark each section of the post based on how critical it is. So for example, if you only want to read the positive stuff, you’ll look for a flower with both black and white on each petal, like this: ❃ There’s about four total, ranging from positive, neutral, joking criticism, and hard criticism. That way, you can pick what you like, and go from there!

Otherwise, I think I have about 12 posts already (some of them are leftovers I missed before I stopped before) built in a Google Doc just so I had time to organize my thoughts and review them for sharpness. I’m considering posting them twice a week just to get things moving along so I don’t have a gazillion playthroughs ongoing, but let me know if you have any good ideas! I could even intersperse the posts with live blogs of the other games just to keep things cheery, if that’s preferable.

‣ Fire Emblem Three Houses: Azure Moon & Silver Snow:

These ones, I am… stumped on. I’d like to chronicle them as well, I find live-blogging a super fun endeavour (even if I realize the live-blogs mostly entertain me instead of all of you), but again that’s something to run at the same time as all the other liveblogs. I could wait until Echoes concludes, I could just pick Azure Moon up once CF concludes, or I could intersperse playthroughs with CF and AM to balance out negativity like I just mentioned. It’s hard to know exactly what to do, and even in posting AM, I’m wondering if I should just post SS at the same time… I think probably not, as that would get really confusing, but it’s also the nature of just not having so many on the go. So… yeah, I dunno! Just like for the others, thoughts are welcome.

As you can see, at the moment, it’s all just a matter of figuring out where to put what!

[just-another-fic-blog]

Valentine’s Day: Aekku/Oegwipari

Oegwipari wasn’t sure what point it was he’d fallen asleep.

He remembered hearing that there had been a rescue operation. He remembered hearing his long-presumed-dead partner had been found. He remembered that he and Mulmangcho had gone to the infirmary waiting for him to wake up. He remembered Mulmangcho had left at some point. The last thing Oegwipari remembered was that he had climbed into the hospital bed, and curled up on Aekku’s chest. He’d started listening to his partner’s heart, beating in his chest. Taking in his scent. He must have fallen asleep to that. It was easy to fall asleep to that. It always had been…

What he woke up to was a hand on his back.

“P-pari?” Aekku’s nickname for him sounded raspy. A little hollow. It didn’t matter. It was his voice. And he would take it in any form it came in.

“Aekku!” Oegwipari leaned forward, kissing his partner on the mouth. “You’re alive!”

Aekku said nothing for a moment. Using his one good eye to look at him. Then, shakily, he spoke up once more. “Y-you’re here. Really here? I’m not dreaming?”

“No,” Oegwipari shook his head. “You’re not dreaming. I’m here.”

Aekku looked around. “And…where is here, exactly?”

“Wolves’ Den.” Catching Aekku’s confusion, he simply shrugged. “They joined the fight. I don’t know why.”

“Hm. Bout time they were useful for something.” Aekku shifted up, gown slipping slightly, revealing the bandages. “But…you’re here. Right?”

“Yeah.”

Aekku reached out, cupping Oegwipari’s cheek with his enormous hand. “I thought you were dead,” he murmured. “I-I’d overheard the guards say something about Geomun, and I knew you were stationed at his base…b-but you’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” Oegwipari assured him, holding the hand close. “I’m okay. And you’re…” he trailed off.

“…alive. Yeah. Don’t know that I’d say I’m alright.” Aekku sighed, looking down. “Bastards did a number on me…”

“I…I heard the doctors talking about that.” Oegwipari sighed. “…how are you feeling?”

“Like shit. Happy to see you again, but still like shit.” A sigh. “I still can’t…I kinda expect I’m going to wake up back there. Or that this is one last hurrah before I’m gone for good. This just feels too good to be true.”

“I know what you mean.” Oegwipari fell back on Aekku’s chest. “You’re with me. You’re still with me…”

Quiet for a moment more. Each of them holding onto each other.

“Aekku?”

“Hm?”

“Let’s get married.”

Aekku startled. “M-married?!”

“Why not? We’re in Wolves’ Den. It’s legal.”

“That’s…I m-mean, yeah. Yeah it is. But…Pari, do you realize what you’re asking?”

Oegwipari thought a moment. “I’m asking if I want to live the rest of my life with you. I’m asking if I want to hold your hand and call you my husband. I’m asking if I want to be yours, forever. And I do.”

“Pari…” Aekku struggled for a minute. “Pari, I want that, too. You have no idea how much I do. But…you don’t know what they did. You don’t know how it changed me.”

“I can learn.”

Aekku swallowed. “A-and what if…it broke me? W-what if they did something that made it so I’ll never be the same as I once was?” He started shaking. “What if I’m not the weasel you fell in love with?”

Oegwipari thought for a moment. Then, “Do you still like boxing?”

“W-what?” Aekku stared at Oegwipari, letting out a confused laugh. “Of course I do.”

“Your laugh is still the same,” he noted. “And…do you still love me?”

Aekku’s eye softened. “Of course I do.”

“Then you’re the one I fell for. Hurt, scared. Maybe changed. But not broken. Never broken. Not to me.”

“Pari…” Aekku trailed off. Then, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes!” Aekku held Oegwipari’s face. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

“Oh, Ku!” Oegwipari kissed him. Deeply. The sort that had Aekku holding back. He was holding back. And now he would be forever.

When he did pull away, his…fiancé smiled at him. “So how should we do it?”

“We’ll wait until you’re out of the infirmary,” Oegwipari said. “But it doesn’t have to be a big thing. We’ll just have my brother there, and someone to officiate. We’ll figure out the details later.”

“Sounds good to me.” Aekku gave a grin. “I do like small things.”

Oegwipari laughed. And he’s continue laughing for a long, long time.

[a-wumper-on-the-internet]

The Lord’s Favorite- Act 3 Drabble:

a lil context here. it will be helpful going in - however, I am not writing in chronological order! this is REALLY late in the story where the line between whumper and whumper has been truly and utterly fucked. so don’t worry if u aren’t picking up everything - I write for me.

Ethan stared at his hands. The god - no, the kid on the other side of the sofa was staring at the floor, presumably. He had never seen the man’s eyes behind the curtain of hair and shadow, but he could at least guess from the tilt of his head.

“Ro���tharoth,” he mumbled. The other flinched, curling up further into the corner of the couch. He would have chastised him for bringing his boots onto the furniture, but that was Before Ethan. Before Ethan would have never let god into his home anyway. He wouldn’t have broken every bone in god’s body. He wouldn’t even know what a thumbscrew is, let alone how to operate it. 

Before Ethan was a very different person than Now Ethan. Ethan did not say anything about the shoes on the furniture.

“Ro’tharoth. We need to talk.”

The newly human’s voice, childishly high-pitched and pouty, answered back, small and whispered. “Bout what?”

“You killed me. I tortured you. We need to talk about it.”

They scoffed, speaking in their usual short bursts of childish vocabulary and stumbling tongue, as if they weren’t used to their own mouth. Maybe they were - the little he saw of their “true” form, it was all mouths. “I fixed myself. You’re fixed too. No hurt. It’s ok now. No reason to talk.”

“We need to talk about what happens next. What… what to do next.”

“I am a god.”

He sighed. “Your brothers sent you here, and you’re human now.”

“Humans do not heal the way I do. I can put myself back together.”

“You still were hurt-“

“So?” The thing had no visible eyes, face shrouded in shadow aside from gnashing teeth and a gaping maw, but Ethan could just tell the not-god was rolling its eyes. “You did the hurting! It’s your fault. I don’t wanna talk to you.”

He sniffed, because he was not going to cry in front of the closest thing to the devil that exists. “You hurt me first.”

“You- it was-“ it sputtered, “I didn’t mean it! And you meant it. So there! That means it’s your fault.”

“You killed me! Tortured me! Thousands of times, and now you expect me to say it’s okay because it was an accident? It happened!”

“What you did. Not accident. Purpose. Worse.”

He sighed and wondered what exactly brought him here, the doll of a very disturbed child-god turned torturer of that same child-god then turned unfortunate makeshift-therapist for both himself and his… abuser? Victim to his abuse? God? Enemy? Whatever Ro’tharoth was.

“Well, we can play who’s fault is it forever, or we can try to…” Move on? Thank it out? The words felt cheap before they even spilled from his mouth. 

“No wait forever. Have to… do something. Try.” Ro’tharoth finally said, stumbling over the words

“Yeah. Let’s make a deal? You like deals, right?”

“No magic. Can’t make.”

“A human deal then, without magic.”

“Maybe.”

He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and looked the blind god directly in his metaphorical eyes. “We’re stuck together in this… being immortal thing. Not human but not god. And I hurt you and you hurt me, and it’s unforgivable on both sides, and-“

“Get to the point, dummy.” Evan felt a sort of dark humor in the fact that the first full sentence he had heard from Ro’thatoth this conversation had been an insult directed towards him.

“-we’re stuck together. Let’s agree to try to not hate and hurt each other for eternity. Deal?”

He stuck his hand out and hoped he didn’t look as stupid or anxious as he felt. He flinched on instinct when Ro’tharoth’s arm shot out, but settled slightly when he felt a hand in his.

“Deal.”

The god’s claws were pricking into his palm, but they weren’t purposely cutting into him, not tearing into his flesh and carving tendons like a hot knife through butter and reaching for his throat. Just slightly pricking at him, enough to send adrenaline through his veins. The god’s ears were pulled back slightly, like a cornered dog, and he remembered offering a hand to them and then pulling, laughing as limbs pulled from sockets and their mouth twisting to a silent scream. Faintly, he wondered if they felt the same fucked-up fear.

It wasn’t going to be okay. It would never be. He’d spend centuries, millennia, an eventual forever with the devil that orchestrated his hell and the child he chose to break. They had twisted each other up enough that they could not be the same again, piercing each other to leave agony and yet so entwined that they could no longer be separated.

But he let his arm go slack in the handshake, no pull or tug or even strain of muscle. But the grip on his hand lessened significantly, nails no longer touching skin.

It’s not going to be okay, or like Before. But maybe, just maybe, these little concessions, minuscule expressions of guilt and pain and fucked-up understanding could be a start.

They had to be.