#but the first had a spelling error that bothered me greatly

[multimilfs]

Zelda Spellman x Fem!Reader: On The Basis of Understanding

Summary: ghostsunderstoodmysoul requested "Hi, darling! I didn't want to bother you so quickly, especially since you just wrote something at my request. But sorry, I couldn't resist seeing that Zelda is also on your masterlist. I was thinking about something where the reader was bitten by a werewolf and every now and then turns into one herself. She can't deal with the fact that something independent of her is taking control of her body, and she can't do much about it. And here comes Zelda, who also suffered a similar trauma when the Caligari spell was placed on her, and she herself had no power over her body. Maybe something in the context of their developing relationship? They both support each other, Zelda teaches the sensitive reader to overcome her fears and helps her control her "powers", and in return she shows Zelda what tenderness, affection and care mean. Thank you in advance and have a lovely day!"

AO3

A/N: Now I hope you all don't think I forgot about the requests in my asks.... I didn't! They're just taking a while to get to, you know, with the burnout and all. This was the first one I ever tried to write again so it was written over the course of a few months, forgive any errors or lack of fluidity on that end.

Happy halloween!!! 🎃

Tag List: @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @multifandomfix @escapetodreamworld @angel7376

Warning(s): Brief descriptions of violence

It’s that time again. The time when your skin itches unpleasantly, breaking out into a permanent set of goosebumps and your nail beds ache, the skin splitting like a bad hangnail. You wrap bandages around your fingers in hopes of quelling some of the pain until your transformation. 

The physical changes are only a temporary side effect, one that you welcome. They mean peace for a few days after; no voices, no urges, just blissful quiet and energy eventually floods your body like you’d slept for days. 

Then it ends. You open your eyes to a heavy feeling in your chest. Voices, whispers in the back of your mind prod you without end—eat this, do that, kill them. The little control you have goes to staving off those urges. 

No one notices, praise Lilith, but it's miserable. 

A hand settles on your arm and you turn to meet inquiring eyes. Zelda examines your face like she can understand exactly how you feel. Most of the time, she wasn’t too far off. 

“Have you prepared for this evening?” Zelda’s eyes dart briefly to your wrapped fingers. 

“As much as I normally do.” You answer. 

This prompts an eyeroll. Her hand leaves your arm, coming to rest on her hip as the other holds a lit cigarette. She inhales slowly, breathing it out in a quick puff. Then once more just for flair. 

“Which is to say you’ve done nothing.” She states—no question in her tone, just a knowing glare. 

“It’s a little counterproductive to prepare for something you can’t predict.” 

“Perhaps it would be more predictable if you were.” 

You laugh. A bitter note creeps into your chest, tinging the amusement with something angry. If only it could be that easy. You thrive on routine, but this… beast inside of you does everything to fight against it. Being predictable would go against its very nature. 

“If you say so, Zelda.” 

“You know this could be avoided if you allowed me to be there,” She says, inclining her head and flourishing with a hand as she speaks, “but you choose to doubt my skills.” “There is nothing about doubting your skill involved. I’m choosing not to put you in danger.” You say. The conversation alone is giving you a headache, though it’s one you have often. 

“I’m quite capable of protecting myself.” 

Humming, you let the conversation lapse into silence. It isn’t comfortable now, but soon enough it will be. You greatly admire Zelda’s willingness to help, the problem is that by helping she puts herself in danger. Too many people have been willing to put her at risk and you refuse to do the same. 

This is something you’ll figure out alone. If you hurt someone, especially Zelda, you will never forgive yourself. 

Your shoulders tense, flashes of images running behind your eyes; cruel nightmares brought on by your affliction. Nightmares of the beast taking over, rendered useless as it tears the woman apart. Bile rises in your throat as your stomach turns. 

Her hand settles on your arm once more, eyes apologetic. You give her a small smile. 

“The wards will allow you in, should you need my help.” Zelda murmurs. 

“Thank you.” 

The staccato of heels grows quiet as she walks down the hall and into her office. You let out a breath, closing your eyes and trying to push away the horrid images. Why is this your fate, of all things? Is it too much to ask for control over your own mind? 

Class doors open around you, forcing your movement. Your free period is over. In a few minutes, a class will await you, full of curious young witches and warlocks who are completely oblivious to their professor’s lack of control, lack of being. 

With your mind clouded by worry, the rest of the day passes quickly. It’s like a blur where you feel in control and yet, not present. It isn’t you speaking or moving; you watch from outside yourself as it all happens. You would blame it on the other part of yourself, but it has no involvement. It’s too busy getting ready for the full moon. 

Fear creeps in slowly, leaving you frozen in your living room. That’s all you remember before everything goes black. 

—

Something… hard is pressed against the side of your body. Not hot or cold, but lacking in any sort of temperature, and uncomfortable. You shift and something tugs at your arm. A pin-prick of pressure, pulled and released in an instant. The groan that leaves your mouth is something less than human, forcing you to open your eyes and look down. 

Splayed in front of you are two long legs covered in fur. You shift from laying on your side to laying on your stomach, feeling that familiar prickling as the wooden boards pull at your fur. The only thing allowing you to see in the surrounding darkness is an overhead light and your enhanced vision. You’re on a porch, one you don’t recognize until glancing at the door. 

Zelda Spellman stands in the doorway, leaning against the wood, smoke framing her face. She watches you with only a curious glance. You can’t believe you hadn’t caught the cigarette before, it’s stench overwhelming; unpleasant if not for the way it mingled with Zelda’s perfume. 

“Took you long enough.” She sighs, further framing herself with the smoke, “Come inside.” 

Your body moves before your mind can catch up. As if you’re on autopilot, you stand on aching haunches, moving towards her. It isn’t until your mind becomes present that you stop. That familiar voice, though faint, was ordering you not to obey—not to follow the orders of a witch. 

Before, this voice’s desires would be law, forcing you onto an alternate path. Now it was a suggestion. You continue in spite of its angry cries, following Zelda up the steps and into a room you’ve seen before. You hesitate. 

“I’ve had the sheets changed for you, go on.” Zelda urges.

Unfamiliar warmth fills your chest as you leap onto the bed. She had no idea you’d come, but made the effort anyway. The covers, no matter how old and worn, were reserved for you. You have some small place in the Spellman house. Even if it is temporary, it’s more than you had before. 

You turn, working out lumps that aren’t there. Curling in on your body, your ears twitch. A soft sigh catches them before the door closes and you’re alone. Left with the faint scent of cigarette smoke and Zelda, you settle in for the remaining hours of the night. 

—

“Hilda, don’t disturb her. She’s had a long night.” A voice hisses through your exhaustion. 

“I’m giving her some clothes.” Hilda hisses back. 

The lack of twitching in your ears is reassurance of being human once more. You try not to move too much or breathe too fast, so Hilda won’t worry that she’d woken you. If Zelda got on her case, you’d feel horrible. 

“You’ve done more than enough, now shoo.” Zelda whispers, her voice losing some of its bite. 

“I’m going, I’m going!” 

Hilda’s steps fade, but you can still feel a presence. Zelda. Her warmth seeps into your body despite her place across the room. Eyes pierce your flesh and continue to do so until you open your own. 

“Good morning.” You murmur, meeting her eyes. 

“It’s closer to the afternoon, but yes, good morning.” Zelda says. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

You shoot up, just managing to remember your state of dress before the blanket falls. Some time during the night you burrowed below the covers. Now, they’re the only layer between you and Zelda’s stare. 

The near-slip makaes Zelda’s lips twitch, a smirk beginning to form. You would glare if the energy was available to you. But when you shoot up, your vision begins to spin, and your head feels heavy. 

“I’m not in the habit of giving my guests a schedule. You needed the rest.” 

“Still, I feel… rude for intruding on your home and then missing breakfast.” 

“As if Hilda could think of you as anything other than a delight. She’s saved you more than a fair portion of her food and excitement.” Zelda scoffs, but can’t hide the note of fondness when talking about her sister. 

“Thank her for me, will you? For that and the clothes.” You smile, motioning to the neatly folded shirt and pants at your feet. 

“You can thank her yourself after you get dressed.” 

Zelda makes no effort to move and you glare. Rolling her eyes, she covers them. She sees no point in your efforts to conceal your form, being around for ages makes the stigma around the human anatomy trivial to her, especially since she’s of the same sex. But she respects your desire for privacy. 

“Something was different last night, wasn’t it?” She asks, eyes still covered as you dress. 

Now that you think of it… something had been different. Though you can’t quite place your finger on it. All you know is that you felt better this morning, less tired than after previous transformations. 

“It was, I believe. Though I’m not sure what changed.” You answer honestly, finally coming to button the pants you were offered, “You can look now.” 

Zelda lowers her hand, taking in your appearance and nodding. Then she sits back in her chair. You notice a short glass on the table next to her, no doubt filled with a sophisticated mix of alcohol, despite the early hour. 

“You seemed more like yourself when you arrived. Less… aggressive.” 

“Aggressive?” You ask, a note of panic seeping in. Have you hurt her before? 

“You’ve never done anything physical, though a fair bit of snarling anytime I came near you. You were far more annoying than dangerous.” 

Swirling the liquid in her glass, she takes a slow sip. Her eyes watch over the rim as you relax. Many times the two of you have discussed your fears, especially those related to hurting others. Causing any pain to people around you would blemish your caring spirit. 

“I had more awareness when I arrived. You told me to come inside and I could, I didn’t have to fight with… it to do what I wanted.” You admit. 

“You have to stop referring to your other half as an ‘it.’” Zelda sighs, exhausted with the effort of repeating herself, “Every time you’ve ventured closer to acceptance, you’ve gained more control. You can’t fight for the rest of your life.” “Says who?” You snap. 

It’s pure, unfiltered anger that you direct her way. She hesitates, filling you with guilt, before moving forward without acknowledgement. 

“It isn’t healthy. You know this, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.” 

“Because this thing, this curse? It isn’t me. It will never be me. How can it be, when I can’t even control it?” 

The look in Zelda’s eyes leaves you uneasy. Worse than pity or sadness, it’s an understanding. She knows what it's like to lose control and it terrifies you. You’re keenly reminded of her own experience, your stomach turning unpleasantly. 

“Whether you like it or not, lycanthropy is a permanent affliction. You lose nothing from trying to accept it.” 

“I lose myself!” Tears pull at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall with each breath. How many times will you have this conversation before she understands? 

Zelda looks into your eyes. Her mouth is open, lips poised to speak, when she pauses. A nerve has clearly been struck. It's only natural, but there will never be a conversation on this topic that didn’t strike a nerve. The open wound in your heart will know no peace. 

“In order to become what it is, it needs you, Y/N. Mind and body. It is fueled by magic, but lives only with your essence. Losing yourself is impossible.” Zelda stands, crossing the room. She stops before you, forcing your eyes to meet her own, “The being you believe is in your head? It has to bend to your will. All you need to do is accept its presence and it will fall in line.” 

You let some of the tears fall, emotion tightening in your chest. A hand wipes away the tears, delicate eyes following the trails of them. Can it really be so simple? 

Months; you’ve fought this feeling for months. So many words have left Zelda’s lips in that time. Reassurances, urges—all to accept the situation as it was. The things she said bounced off of your mind, never taking purchase, until now.

Relief should flood through your veins. The tears in your eyes should be happy, joyous. Instead, grief drags your heart from the joy it craves. You’ve prolonged this pain for months, when it could’ve changed in days, all because of your fear. 

You have no idea if Zelda will understand, but you don’t need to know. Not when she pulls you against her. Tears soak her blouse, she says nothing. Your hands clutch onto any part of her available. 

“I’m… scared.” Wincing against the grit in your voice, you try to pull away. Zelda doesn’t let you. 

“I know,” Zelda says, rubbing a hand over your back, “but one day you won’t be.” 

You hated to admit she’s right, and over time, she is. Instead of shutting the animalistic thoughts and urges out, you redirect them; picking up something to do or eating to keep your jaws busy. The fear is still ever present. As small as it is, it holds you back. 

Zelda takes on exercises to attune you to your own senses and now you stand in a large field, eyes closed as she instructs you. 

“What do you smell?” She calls from across the space. 

“I don’t know. Flowers?” 

The sigh she releases makes you grin. Then comes a click, metal on metal; Zelda’s lighter. You hear the sound dozens of times per day, enough for its absence to worry you. 

“Attune your senses to my cigarette. Expand your breadth, take it in.” 

Hands clench at your sides, you make the effort to open yourself to the surroundings. It's like unplugging your nose after swimming in a pool. For a moment, scents meld together. The mixture is like a stain on your sense of smell. Then they begin to separate, splitting like a cell. 

Petrichor clings to every blade of grass and leaf, enhancing the pungence of the sweet florals. Some are fresh, strong, their blooms new to the world. Others brown at the edges and give off musky nodes. Standing out among the natural scents is the familiar burning of Zelda’s cigarette. The tobacco is new, though the paper is damp. 

All of it is so defined now, clear and original. It was overwhelming before you latched onto Zelda. Now, in your mind’s eye, you can confirm her position based on the tobacco. It struggles to blot out the fresh blossoms on your left. If you hadn’t heard her voice come from that way before, you would locate her now. 

The more you think, the more you know it isn’t her cigarette that gives her away. Plenty of witches at the academy smoke. None of them wear the same scent, bear that same unintentional fragrance of soil like she does. It is her. As if it was written into her very DNA, you know this to be true. 

“Tell me what you know.” Zelda says. 

“They’re new, but you went out to smoke this morning. The paper was already damp before coming out here.” 

“What brand?” 

“Heavens Zelda, seriously? That’s impossible!” 

“Focus. Don’t make excuses.” She hardens her tone, sending a chill down your spine. 

You try to focus, but you can’t get a hint from the tobacco itself. Sometimes the box can give a hint of where it’s been. Nothing. You have little knowledge about cigarettes and can’t pinpoint anything. 

“I don’t know.” Your shoulders sag and you open your eyes. 

The red and white box catches your eye, you grit your teeth. It’d been so simple. Marlboro reds are popular, but that was the reason you didn’t name them. Zelda isn’t someone who ordinarily goes with the popular choice. 

“Do you normally smoke those?” 

“If I want an easy option, yes.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” A laugh escapes you, walking closer to her.

“I roll my own cigarettes, darling, that is what it means.” Zelda says. 

You raise an eyebrow at that. Everyday you learn something new about her, something obscure. She is a woman of refined taste and knowledge. The idea that she rolls her own cigarettes shouldn’t surprise you. 

Though that begs the question; if she rolls them, does she grow her own tobacco? The mortuary does reek of it, but you’d put that down to Zelda’s constant consumption. That would explain the ever present scents of less… legal plants coming from the attic as well. You guess that was just Ambrose’s doing. 

“Alright, Coach, what next?” Crossing the field to stand at her side, you offer her a grin. A small smile pulls fondly at her mouth. 

“I’m afraid I’m cutting it short today. I have far too many papers to grade this evening.” She sighs. 

Zelda pinches the bridge of her nose with two fingers, cigarette nearly burnt through in her other hand. You take it and stub it out on the bottom of your shoe. The entire moment, your eyes never leave her. The tense set of her shoulders, barely shaking hand, and creases on her forehead create a worrying picture. 

“Zelda, when was the last time you slept?” You ask. 

“Last night.” 

Her answer is quick, too quick. When your eyes meet, you can see the exhaustion reflected back in them. You reach out to rub a worry line from her forehead. It’s an unusual desire, but she allows it, despite her surprise. She even leans into it slightly. 

“And how long did you sleep last night?” You prod. 

There is no hiding the sheepish, caught expression on her face. It mingles perfectly with her typical indignation at being managed, “...Three hours.” 

“I thought as much. Come on.” 

You give her no time to adjust before taking her by the hand, pulling her across the green space in the direction of the academy. She stumbles for a brief moment. She attempts to pull her hand from your own, but your gentle grip is firm. An over dramatic sigh comes from behind you. 

“Must you manhandle me? I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Zelda says. 

“Are you?” You throw back without thinking, “Because you’re not capable of basic self care. It makes me wonder.” 

That is another piece of your affliction you are adjusting to; your natural shyness is nowhere to be found, replaced with a quick-wit that often surprises others. Zelda inhales sharply, but says nothing. She’s becoming used to your easy quips. There is nothing for her to argue against, though, as you’re right. 

It isn’t until you’re surrounded by the walls of Zelda’s office that you release her. Then you begin rifling through her desk, making her raise an eyebrow. She crosses her arms as she watches the scene, “What in Lilith’s name are you looking for?” 

“Your answer key.” You throw back distractedly. 

She’s at your side in an instant, unlocking the top left drawer and handing over a stack of papers. You scowl while she smirks. 

“What are you doing with them?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to grade your papers.” You smile. 

Zelda freezes in place. She looks as if she’s never seen you before. You wait, in awe of a truly speechless Zelda Spellman. Finally she speaks again. 

“Why?” She asks breathlessly. 

“You need papers graded and you need a nap. You can’t do both, so I can take care of one for you.” 

Her flinty, suspicious eyes soften into warm pools. Indecision keeps her from speaking. You say nothing, not wanting to interrupt the thoughts running through her mind. Is your offer really so shocking? It feels like a trifle compared to all she’s done for you. 

“I can’t let you do that, Y/N.” Zelda tries, but her voice lacks conviction. 

“You can. Now, lay on the couch, I’ll go grab a blanket from my classroom!” 

You rush from the room before she can mount an argument. Left behind in the office, Zelda sits down heavily on the leather couch. She stares at the doorway in disbelief. A tumultuous swirl of emotions pulses through her chest, a mixture of pain and longing. Somewhere relief worms in. 

When is the last time someone went out of their way for her? Someone who isn’t her family, that was. She can’t recall. The number of friends she has can be counted on a single hand—a single finger, even, as she counts only you. Her heart aches. 

You rush back into the room, a large green blanket piled in your arms. Behind the mountain of fabric, she catches the smile you aim at her. Her heart ceases in its ache, instead overwhelmed with warmth. 

“I had to dig through my chest, but I remembered you liked this one last time,” You comment, missing the shaky smile on her lips, “Now lay down and don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it all under control.” 

For once, Zelda has nothing to say. She lays her head on the arm of the couch, letting you drape the blanket over her. Her eyes follow you to her desk where you sit. Then they slip closed briefly. 

When they open again, she tries not to move. She’s content to watch you; the way you fiddle with the pen in your hand, eyes darting back and forth over the papers on the desk. You bite your lip in concentration and a fond smile breaks out on her features. 

Over the weeks of work, you’ve become sure of yourself. More than ever before. And in that, you begin to take extra steps for her. Though she’s coming to realize they’ve always been there. Your care isn’t new, just more obvious under her constant attention. Like your affections, she’s also failed to acknowledge her own. 

“Damn.” She hears you mutter, tapping the pen to the wood rapidly. Then you meet her eyes. 

A brief expression of surprise flits over your face, before you smile. Zelda lets her own smile remain. What was it she said to you—that accepting your situation would make you happier, offer more control? Perhaps accepting this feeling in her chest will do the same for her. 

“Has something stumped you?” 

“Maybe,” You say, smile never wavering, “Did you enjoy your rest?” 

“I did. It seems you need some now.” 

“I’m okay, Zelda-” 

“You can’t enforce self care on me and then refuse it yourself. It’s remarkably hypocritical.” Zelda says, raising a challenging eyebrow, “Come here.” 

Knowing you’ve been caught, you stand and cross the room. You plop unceremoniously down next to her. The action draws a chuckle from her lips, husky with sleep. 

Zelda offers a portion of the blanket to you. Rather than trade spots with you, she remains seated, waiting for your decision. It takes no time for you to take the offered warmth. In the silence of the room, you snuggle into her side. She leans back into you. 

It takes only moments before you drift into sleep. She traces a finger over your cheek, sleep pulling at her once more. Before joining you in unconsciousness, Zelda presses a sweet kiss to the crown of your head. You are safe—loved. And so is she. 

[underappreciated-bee]

Incompatible Intentions

Chapter Two

A/N: This is a Sokka x female!reader and Zuko x female!reader. This is one of my first stories so please enjoy. Also, Y/N is 10 years old in this chapter, making Zuko, Sokka, Azula and Katara 11, 10, 9 and 9 respectively. The year is 94AG.

Can be read on both A03 and Wattpad (same username)

WARNING: mention of a dead body, somewhat hand to hand combat

Also sorry for any spelling mistakes or typing errors. I have proofread this, but sometimes it just skips over my head. 

Status: IN PROGRESS

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Y/N- your name

Y/F/N- your father’s name

Y/L/N- your last name

If you’re on Chrome, you can use this extension to personalise your names.

WC: 3.8K

It had been weeks since Y/N had last seen Azula or Zuko. Summer break was over and school was back in session at the Royal Fire Academy. 

Despite her numerous pleas to her father, Y/N wasn't allowed to join the rest of her classmates back in school.  

Why he had decided to do this; she was unsure. Her father had always seemed to be a patriotic man, proud of the Fire Nation and what it stood for. Recently, however, he seemed different. She even attempted to convince him to let her join him at work. But again, he refused.

Y/N was never one to question her father and mother when it came to most things. She would always listen and do what she was told. But once her father had prevented her from seeing her friends; she wholeheartedly disagreed.

Of course, she didn't do anything drastic for a while. She listened patiently to him- hoping that he had a reason for all of this.

During the first week, she took the opportunity of her confinement to practise her firebending. During her first month, she hung out more in her room, trying to learn traditional Fire Nation Dances. And by the third month, all of her motivation had vanished: she preferred to lay in her bed the entire day.

But on the first day of the fourth month, Y/N had decided enough was enough. And now, she was getting dressed. She changed into her school uniform, readying herself to sneak out and finally go to school. It had been almost five months since she had last seen her friends and she couldn't be happier to hug them again.

It was hard to deny that Y/N missed her friends extremely. Not seeing them for so long left her feeling less than perfect. But every time she missed them, she would look down at her wrist, remembering the meaning of the jewellery that she wore: that no matter where they went; no matter how far apart they'd be from one another; they'd always be best friends. It had been almost a year since that day she thought as she solemnly began to wonder: why hadn't they visited her?

Y/N and Zuko had been friends for just over a year; spending every moment together. Well, that was before her father had isolated her from the rest of the nation for 'whatever reason.'

Unbeknownst to her, her father hadn't agreed with many of the Fire Lord's more recent plans and policies; and instead of allowing his daughter to be surrounded by such ideologies, he chose to shield her from them. 

Fire Azulon had plans to raid the Southern Water Tribe, and capture every waterbender there was. The Fire Lord believed this to be the easiest way of reaching Fire Nation supremacy; by destroying all other benders of the elements. 

Of course, his plan started long ago with the murder of the Air Nomads- ensuring the permanent destruction of the Avatar. As the Earth Kingdom and Northern Water Tribe proved more difficult to conquer, the Fire Lord believed that the Southern Water Tribe was the next easiest target.

Admiral Y/L/N disagreed strongly with these new plans, arguing that this was genocide. It came to no surprise that these newer, more invasive plans were courtesy of Fire Prince Ozai; his plans for the Fire Nation always seemed more intense than the rest of the Royals.  Of course, Fire Lord Azulon agree with his son and dismissed the Admiral's concern. 

And even though the Admiral may not have been able to say it aloud, an old family friend lived in the Southern Water Tribe; an old friend whom he didn't wish any harm upon.

Chief Hakoda and Admiral Y/L/N had met when they were children. Their grandfathers' long-lasting friendship transcending generations. Admiral Y/L/N would recall his grandfather telling him stories of a pre-war world of peace and prosperity. Their friendship began during the reign of Fire Lord Sozin, both Y/F/N's and Hakoda's grandfathers had been best friends. When the two had children, it was only natural for their kids to meet and become friends. And that happened, for a while.

 And then the Hundred-year war began, and the two friends saw each other less and less; consequently, as did their children. But as the kids grew up and began to reminisce fondly on the memories of one another; they found ways to communicate. And it wasn't long before Hakoda's and Y/F/N's fathers introduced them to one another. The two adults would converse as their children would play, momentarily forgetting the chaos of the conflict that separated their two nations. And as they aged, it became rare for the two to talk: the unwavering concern that the Admiral would be found and killed for treason due to their friendship remained ever-present.

Not too long after the Admiral's objection, the Fire Nation began preparing for their raiding of the Southern Water Tribe: The Admiral continued to advise against the plot that Prince Ozai had put in place, but it was too late.

-------

Y/N was in a different year group to Zuko and Azula and therefore were in separate classes. She wouldn't be able to see them until lunch. Annoyingly, her classes dragged, and as she waited for the lessons to end- she often found herself staring at the clock, hoping it would make time go by faster.

Despite the excitement she had felt for the better part of two hours, Y/N soon began to grow worried at the thought of seeing her friends again.  

What if the reason they never visited her was that they didn't care about her? What if they didn't want to be her friend anymore? 

Y/N's mind filled with troubled thoughts and she soon began to dread seeing her friends, debating whether or not she should go home.

Why would she think that they cared about her if they never visited her? They probably forgot all about her by now. There was no use in her being there. She should probably go home...

After her class had finished, Y/N slowly made her way to the courtyard, scared to see Zuko and Azula again. She sat down on a bench and pulled out her favourite book; figuring she needed a distraction. It wasn't long before the yard had filled up: occupied by running children playing with one another. 

A few minutes had passed when the sound of her classmates gasping and shouting snapped her out of her trance. A concerned look brushing over her features as she stood up, intrigued by whatever was going on. A crowd of children had rushed around two boys; Y/N recognised one of them immediately. 

 Zuko. 

Instantly, she rushed over and joined the others in the crowd. Her heart pumped rapidly inside her chest as she tried to make sense of what was going on. Zuko had a bruised lip, his knuckles appeared swollen; he seemed disorientated. Y/N had to hold herself back as she watched from the shadows. She couldn't get involved. Her parents would be called then she'd be caught, not to mention that Zuko maybe didn't even want her help.

Similarly, the boy Zuko had been fighting looked just as badly injured. Y/N struggled to recognise him until she realised she had seen him before. He was a boy from her history class.

His left eye swollen, much like Zuko's knuckles. His eyebrow had a cut and a bruised had formed on his left leg. Y/N slowly walked closer as she tried to get a better view of the fight. Zuko had knocked the boy to the floor, turning his back to him and walking away.

"You're not worth it," Zuko mocked.

People soon began to lose interest walked away. But Y/N stayed; this felt too easy.

The boy swiftly brought himself up off of the floor, steam blowing from his ears, and spread his legs apart in a fighting stance; taking a deep breath. Y/N gasped quietly, instantly realising what the boy was about to do. All of her responsibilities quickly dismissed as she ran to tackle the boy to the ground.

With full force she landed on him, stopping the lightning bolt he was about to shoot at an unsuspecting Zuko. The lightning shot past his arm barely missing him. The crackling of the electricity made the young prince turn around briskly, a panicked look on his face. His eyes landed on Y/N, as her body held down the boy who he had moments ago pushed to the ground.  Instinctively, Zuko ran towards Y/N. 

"Y/N what the hell was that?" he asked his worry rapidly turning into anger, at the realisation of what his friend had done, " Why did you do that? He could've hurt you!"

"Yeah well, he was about to shoot lightning at you." she retorted, picking herself up off of the ground. "I'm sorry for trying to protect you." She stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I don't need your help." his words coming off harshly through gritted teeth.

They were more severe than he'd first meant them to be, his face dropping in realisation. Y/N's anger had faded at Zuko's cruel words and she quickly turned away, starting to speed walk back to her bench. Zuko swiftly ran after her. 

"Look Y/N I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

She scoffed at his words as she quickly picked up her book, shoving it in her bag, refusing to look him in the eye. 

"I was just worried about you. And seeing you on the floor after you tried to save me, well I. I didn't mean it. " 

"You sure sounded like you meant it when you said it a minute ago Zuko." she spat back, her anger and betrayal seething through her words. 

"Y/N, please," he begged once more, but she refused to look up at him. Giving up on trying to reason with her, Zuko instead opted to question her. 

"Where have you been these past four months?" his voice laced with concern. 

She took a moment to process, almost as if she couldn't believe what she had heard, "Maybe if you'd bothered to come to find me, you wouldn't be asking that question." Y/N's pain evident as she placed her bag on her shoulder aggressively, before staring Zuko directly in the eyes.

It clicked. 

Zuko suddenly realised why she had refused to look at him the entire time they'd talked. It wasn't until that moment that he finally saw the betrayal she hid behind her beautiful  E/C eyes. The hurt and anguish she felt by being abandoned by her best friend.

She looked away from him for a second, catching the eyes of everyone that had been staring at them. Briefly, she made eye contact with Azula, seeing her beside two girls, she recognised one of them as Mai, her partner in music class.

Y/N hadn't realised that they had attracted this much attention. Rapidly, she looked to the ground, then back at Zuko.

 "I'm leaving."

As she turned away, Zuko intrinsically grabbed onto her wrist. For a short moment, she looked back at him, the tears that had welled up in her eye threatening to escape, before she snapped her wrist away from him and walked home. 

This was a mistake.

---------

Arriving home, Y/N slowly walked into the house, carefully and quietly in case someone was inside. She quietly tiptoed towards her bedroom and closed the door behind her; a sigh of relief escaping her lips. 

Effortlessly, she got changed into her nightgown before throwing herself on her bed. The cool of the sheets finally grounding her and she began to forget all the problems today had brought with it. She snuggled tightly into the sheets and closed her eyes; a little nap wouldn't hurt.

Abruptly, Y/N opened her eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly as she heard the distant voices of her parents. Seemingly, they were having a conversation about something and had seemed to be doing so for a while.

Y/N rubbed her eyes gently before getting discreetly out of bed. She walked to her door and turned the handle slowly, leaving the door with a slight crack in it so she could hear what was going on. 

Despite the open door, she couldn't hear what her parents were talking about any better; they had finally quieted down and were now speaking in hushed murmurs. Y/N immediately became more intrigued as she tried to open her door further to hear what was going on. But the door creaked. 

Agonisingly, Y/N looked up and made eye contact with her parents. 

Dammit.

"Ma' what's going on?" she asked, her concern quickly turning into panic at the sight of her mother. Had she been crying?  

"Y/N sweetie it's ok. Everything's going to be ok." she rushed to her daughter's side and enveloped her in a tight hug, " I promise you it's all going to be ok."

 Y/N was remarkably confused. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips pursed.

"Ma' please what's happening?"  she looked into he mother's eyes, examining her, hoping she could find out more.

"Y/N, baby, can you go to your room and pack some stuff quickly; only the absolute essentials, ok?" she looked at her daughter to make sure she understood. 

Y/n nodded, walking back into her room she glanced at her father who had now sat down at his desk: was he writing a letter?

--------

It had been nine days since that night. Y/N's parents had refused to tell her what was going on, but she was a smart kid. It didn't take long for her to realise what had happened. 

What she had yet to figure out was why it had happened; why had they been banished from the Fire Nation? Her mind would often wander back to that day, questioning if it was her fault. Strenuously, she would think back to that night as she desperately tried to remember if she had heard anything that her parents had said: but nothing ever came to mind.

It was a long and tiresome journey, which Y/N had slept for the majority of. She remembers walking a lot and being on a couple of boats, yet nothing stood out to her. It was almost as if she went numb in the following days. Her mind refusing to believe what was happening, yet her body happily obliging to her father's orders: following him wherever he went. 

They first travelled to the Crescent Island, the closest land of Fire Nation territory to the Earth Kingdom. From there, they travelled south towards the Chin Village. And there they met him: Hakoda. He was taller than Y/N first imagined. But then again, everyone is when you are a nine-year-old child. Hakoda had arrived on a small boat, accompanied by other members of his village, and soon they began their journey home.

Upon their arrival, the Admiral and his family weren't greeted with pleasantries: as expected. No one felt truly comfortable around the Fire Nation family, which was understandable.

 Despite Hakoda's pleas of reasoning, no one wanted to trust them-not completely anyway. This, surprisingly, applied to Hakoda's children. Despite their similarity in ages, and the long-standing friendship between the two families. Y/N found it hard to bond with Sokka and Katara. 

As their parents would talk and gossip, Y/N would watch on as Sokka attempted to sword fight, and Katara tried to move a droplet of water from her bowl. Even though she too could bend, Y/N was scared to do so. Scared that if people in the village saw her abilities, they'd cower in fear more greatly than they already had. That they'd isolate her more strongly from the village- if that were even possible. So she held back.  She watched on gloomily as the two siblings would bond and play, and she'd be left staring blankly at the snow.  But she didn't blame them. Of course, she wouldn't. Why would she, when Zuko and Azula had done the same to her before?

--------

Six weeks had passed in the Southern Water tribe, and Y/N slowly started to feel at home again. Sure it wasn't as warm as her old home, but she found it to be more comforting- even if no one trusted her or her family. Rumours and whispers had started to spread: gossip from other neighbouring villages. 

The Fire Nation had arrived. 

Upon hearing the news, former Admiral Lee had snapped back into action and quickly dragged all of the abled men and women into one of the igloos, no doubt to prepare for battle. And even if no one had told her, Y/N knew too; she knew they were coming.

When the day finally arrived, all Y/N could do was hide. As her parents and the rest of the men left to defend their home,  Y/N hid away inside one of the farthest igloos.

 She remembers seeing her parents that morning, waving them an ecstatic 'Good Morning' before running off to play with the penguins. She didn't return until she heard Katara's shaky voice call out to her. 

In the past few weeks that Y/N  had been there, Katara never dared to talk to her; rarely ever even looking at her. But as she ran up to the young girl, Y/N could see the panic that was plastered on Katara's face. Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

The two girls ran inside an igloo, as they hid with Sokka and their grandmother. Neither Y/N's parents nor Sokka and Katara's were anywhere in sight. Were they here? Had the Fire Nation arrived?

Desperately she tried to get answers from Kanna, but the old lady wouldn't budge. Only ever daring to speak to shush or comfort the children. 

Then it happened. Then Y/N heard the horn of a ship she never thought she would have to hear again. 

A Fire Nation warship.

Subconsciously, Y/N snuggled deeper into Kanna's arms as she tried to comfort herself. She didn't know why the Fire Nation could be here. What could they want? They had banished her family and they left without a fight. What more could they want? 

Impatient and worried, Y/N was the first to run out: Kanna's grip too weak to stop her unrelenting determination. She was going to find her parents. Sokka was next, following Y/N outside of the igloo as he ran towards a boomerang on the ground and picked it up. 

He wanted to help fight against the raiders. He was a man now- well, he sure thought he was. Highly improbable that a nine-year-old boy would be considered a man. Katara was next, slipping through her Gran-Gran's fingers and running outside into the cold air. Frightened, they all looked at one another as they saw the 'black snow' falling on them. 

Y/N  swiftly ran towards the front of the village as she tried franticly to search for her parents. Having two fire bending parents was always a great thing in Y/N's eyes. But now, now that they had to use that fire bending to fight against their home nation? Now, she wasn't so sure.

She briefly saw Katara run in the opposite direction, in search of her mother, no doubt. Sokka, though, was right behind her- boomerang in hand- ready to fight. 

It wasn't long before she saw her mother. Her ferocious and powerful nature present as she took down Fire Nation soldier after Fire Nation soldier. A proud smile grew on Y/N's lips as she watched her mother take down men twice her size. She had always hoped that one day she'd be as skilled as her.

However, her smile quickly vanished when she saw the tears that had begun to cascade down her mother's eyes; the liquid covering her rosy cheeks.

Y/N abruptly looked in the direction that her mother had not pried her eyes away from; praying she wouldn't see what she thought she would. 

But she did. 

A distraught whimper left Y/N's lips as she stared at two Fire Nation soldiers, carrying her father's limp body onto the ship.  

As she watched the horrifying image play out in front of her, Y/N found it hard to breathe. Her voice stuck inside of her chest as she tried to talk, to scream, to have any sort of reaction. But she couldn't. 

Hearing Y/N's cry, Sokka looked away from the group of warriors he was studying and glanced at her. 

His body tensed as he saw a single tear drip down the side of her cheek.  Following her line of sight, Sokka saw two men boarding a ship with her father's body in their arms. Startled and anxious: he watched as Y/N cried silently, gawking at the ship her father had just been taken to. 

He could be alive he thought. He could be alive and only unconscious. They could bring him back. He could be okay. But even he knew that that would be wishful thinking.

It wasn't until Y/N heard a thud on the ground that she finally ripped her eyes away from her father. 

Her mother was on her knees, arms behind her head as soldiers cuffed her arms. Y/N looked towards her confused, staring at her for an answer. Then it clicked.

She was surrendering.

 Her mother- the most stubborn person she knew, one of the most powerful firebenders in the Nation - was surrendering, and she couldn't do a thing about it. 

But she had to do something. She had to go in and help. She had to save them. It was unachievable, that she knew. But she had to try. She couldn't just-

Her thoughts were interrupted as she saw her mother be moved. She was pushed forcefully onto the cold metal of the ship,  spitting disgustedly at one of the soldiers. Then, he reacted the only way he knew how- a bright orange flame scorched her mother's skin as she screamed in pain. 

The sparkle in her mother's eyes was slowly dying, and as she looked up and at her daughter, they shared a moment of adoration.

 They looked at each other for a little while longer until her mother mouthed a final 'I love you' and 'I'm sorry' before being dragged away deeper inside the hull of the ship.

A gut-wrenching, uncontrollable scream escaped her lips as she watched her parents get taken away. The harrowing cry echoed from her chest as she dropped weakly to her knees. Sokka swiftly, dropping down beside her in an attempt to comfort her. 

He instinctively stroked her hair and shushed her as he tried to calm her. Long ago, he had given up on trying to fight. His father didn't need him: Y/N did. He brought her closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder- muffling her cries from the Fire Nation soldiers in an attempt to keep her hidden.

His eyes were glued on to her, his mind muddled with ideas on how to help her. If only he had looked up to see his mother get dragged away towards the same fate.

TAGLIST:

@iris-suoh

 @sokkaandzukosimp

 @kaylove12​ 

A/N: remember to like and share! It shows me you are enjoying the story :)

[wherearemyglassesbro]

A h/etalia Umbrella academy au but it isn’t actually one, it’s just inspired by UA kinda...idk

//Uh keep in mind that this is going straight from the drafts onto your dash and uhhh there will for sure be spelling errors so don’t roast me lmao

Roman ‘Roma’ Vargas: An eccentric billionaire who founded the Academy of the World’s Finest (or the AWF for short). He gets bored very quickly and went from buying rockets to building hotels to managing casinos to buying children. A very crazy sequence of events! (Roma has many secrets but I don’t feel like fleshing it’s out rn this is just the bare bones of this just for fun!! And if you’ve seen both seasons of UA you probably already knows what you need to know). One faithful day, October 1st 1989, multiple beautiful babies were born from women who were not pregnant the day they were born. This phenomenon made itself known to Roma and he was off to find as many of these children that he could! He sent his staff all over the world to buy these children. He successfully purchased 9.

Number 1, purchased for $10,000 in Las Vegas: Number 1 was picked to be number 1 because Roma thought he was such a strong looking baby. Alfred was actually purchased fifth out of his siblings but no one knows that except Roma himself. Alfred, from a young age, was able to cause an obscene amount of damage. When he held Roma’s hand while learning to walk, he crushed the bones in his hand. When he kicked a soccer ball down the hallway, it went through the wall like a meteor. When he knocked on Arthurs door to bother him, the door snapped in half (and Art screamed bloody murder). He has an insane amount of strength without even trying! It was very hard for him to get a handle on it because he’s so spontaneous and isn’t really one to think before acting but once he and hs siblings started training for hero work?? That was his motivation to be better, to control his power to use it against bad guys!!! He’s the golden boy of the family, he never disobeys Roma and will never, even now, say anything bad about him. ‘Hey! He’s my dad, he saved me from whatever shithole life I was destined to have in Nevada. I couldn’t be more thankful for my life! And mom, if you’re watching this...Thanks. I don’t know who you are but...Thank you’

Number 2, purchased for $25,000 in Le Mans: Number 2’s power presented itself only after he learned to talk. Francis’s power of persuasion is both a blessing and a curse for him. He’s struggled greatly with being ‘number 2’, he wants the same validation and attention as ‘number 1’ gets. He doesn’t think it’s fair. He often used his power for bad things arond the house like ‘J'ai entendu une rumeur that you broke every finger on your right hand!’ that was a very gruesome morning for Alfred and the scolding that Francis got scarred him for life as he was insulted and cursed out in front of his family. Even after that, he still kept up his happy exterior. He was also usually the face of the AWF, appearing on magazine covers which he may or may not have influenced the writers just a bit. His power is strong but he does not use it on Roma because he’s terrified of what would happen if he did!! As he’s gotten older, he’s falls off the wagon a little but he’s trying to make a solid recovery. Also, when he was 7 he found out he was born in France! He then forced himself to become totally fluent in French and taught himself to have a French accent too. Whoopie....

Number 3, purchased for $1000 in Sicily: Number 3 is a dangerous child, he was from day one. When he was born, he was presenting a 116 degree fever yet he was acting totally normal. His mother was convinced he was the devil and was more than happy to sell him off to Roma. Roma felt a deep connection to Lovi from the start....Lovi looked like him. He looked like he could be his biological son. Lovi got special treatment from Roma often but he still felt overshadowed by his siblings. I mean, a majority of his siblings are pretty blondes. He felt left out often. But he would channel that anger into training and cooking! He has a trick that he likes to do, cracking an egg into his palm and cooking it. That one impresses Alfred every time! Not that he’s hard to impress. Lovi would often push himself too far in his quest to be the best and snap at his siblings, leaving him even more alienated from them. He spent a lot of time around Roma and Feli, mostly Roma. He got a lot of one-on-one training with him and a lot of praise too. All he ever wanted to do was be perfect for his father. He set bad guys on fire, did interviews on live tv, set fire to a warehouse full of gang members, all kinds of stuff that he never would have done on his own. Stuff that he didn’t want to do. All so he could impress Roma

Number 4, purchased for $700 outside of Berlin: Number 4 has always been hyper and loud! But his powers suddenly developed over night, which was terrifying for him. Gilbert awoke in the middle of the night to pee one night and was met with a ghost in the bathtub. Naturally, Roma encouraged him to speak with ghosts and would make him go to cemeteries to talk to the dead. Ghosts scared him so he’d secretly take Benadryl to knock himself out but as he got older, he realized that he couldn’t be scared anymore cause these ghosts needed a friend :( so he used these ghosts to fight in missions and in return, he’d play games with them and chat with them, just being friend with the ones who had a hard time crossing over :’) he likes using his powers for good but feels like he’s taking advantage of his ghost friends sometimes which took the fun out of crime fighting

Number 5, given to Roma for free outside of Kyoto: Number 5 got a late start compared to his siblings. His powers took awhile longer to manifest and he had trouble learning to read. But once he caught up, he proved himself to be the smartest out of all of them. Smarter than some of them combined, even. Kiku still often indulged in his siblings antics but at the same time, he felt he was somewhat superior to them. He learned to poof himself from one side of the room to the other, starting off small. He figured out he could time travel one night when Francis and Gil were hammered and knocked a vase over. Kiku felt every muscle in his body tense, then a sensation of falling, then he was suddenly 10 seconds in the past!! Wow!! He caught the vase before it could hit the ground and kicked Fran so he fell down, leaving him to sleep on the foyer floor while Gil just stood there like ‘wtf...?’. When Roma started berating him for ‘getting too cocky’, Kiku threw a bit of a hissy fit and decided to jump to the future!! He did and landed himself in the aftermath of the 2019 apocalypse, unable to get back home cause he wore himself out and had no idea what he had even done to get himself there in the first place lmao sucker.

Number 6, purchased for $10,000 in York: Number 6 was an extremely fussy baby. All he did was cry and cry and cry, it was very frustrating for Roma since the other babies were somewhat easier to handle. Arthur was indeed a handful. When he was hungry, baby food tins and spoons would float out of the pantry and over to his highchair. When he wanted to torment his siblings, he’d take their things and throw them across the room with his mind. When a sinking was annoying him, he’d simply lift them up and shove them out of his room. Easy. He is probably the smartest or second smartest of his siblings. He isn’t the most athletic but he spent lots of time studying, so much so that Roma had to constantly buy new books for Art to read to keep him mentally stimulated. He was often a voice of reason though no one listened to him. When fighting he was very useful!! He never needed to get close to the bad guys, he could throw them around without moving a muscle! The only downside is that it wore him out after awhile...Ugh. He avoided the media but did do interviews with his mask on, encouraging kids his age to stay in school! By the time Art was 13, he was taking college level tests and reading college level material so...he’s one smart cookie

Number 7, given to Roma for free in undisclosed location in Russia: Number 7 is too powerful for her own good. At a young age, Francis was told to convince her that she had no powers. This was done in secret, only Roma, the house staff, Francis and Kiku knew it happened. Everyone else was oblivious and left out of the loop. Vanya has the ability to shake the earth, to cause obscene amounts of damage in the blink of an eye. Her power was something that Roma could have never prepared himself for. So from that day on, Vanya was a ‘normal girl’. She watched from the sidelines as her siblings got to train and fight. She sat with Feli to paint or sew or just talk. She went through every day feeling worthless, like she wasn’t meant to be a part of this family. She channeled her feelings into art, painting canvasses worth of rainy cities or melting people. She made a series of paintings depicting her siblings’ abilities through chunky brushstrokes and vibrant colors. Each painting sold for over one million dollars. She thought her art career would impress her father. It didn’t.

Number 8, purchased for $15,000 and 10 cows outside of Oslo: Number 8 was always a quiet boy, he kept to himself and Roma thought he may be powerless as well for almost 5 years until lightning struck the house...on a bright sunny day...not a cloud in the sky. Turns out Lukas and Kiku were arguing. They were only 5 so they were just shrieking and yelling nonsense then BAM!!!! Lighting. Roma was so terrified but Lukas was giggling and shooting soarks out of his hands, his hair sticking up like crazy. He was always quiet and reserved, he spent a lot of time in the library or on the roof just looking out over the city. He didn’t like sneaking out of the house like his brothers and sisters did but he went ‘to keep an eye on them’...he always had fun though. He stayed away from the media and wore a mask that his most of his face so he wouldn’t be recognized. Sadly, in a tough fight in a hostage situation, Lukas was shot and killed when he was 15, right when he was starting to consider writing a book about hero work and how as he aged, he was becoming more confident in himself due to helping others. It was a tragic loss for his siblings

Number 9, purchased for $800 and a new car in La Coruna: Number 9 was successful from the start, surpassing her siblings in height very very fast. Her power just happens to be her speed. Carmen, as a baby, was a lot to handle since she crawled around the house at 40 miles an hour. Even her sleep schedule was quick, she’d take a 20 minute speed nap and have enough energy to run around for hours after. When she was introduced to the idea of being a hero, she agreed so fast that she nearly bit her tongue off. She always got her chores done quick, helped around the house, all of that since a task that would take 3 hours only took a few minutes for her. She was a great female role model and did many interviews for teen magazines to encourage girls to be their best, that has always been her message. She even wrote ‘GRLPWR’ on her cheeks in black paint before heading off to fight crime in case she had her picture taken. Roma wasn’t a huge fan of that but she didn’t care too much :) she has always stuck up for her sisters!! And she has always been close to Fran and Gil but as they got older, their interests began to differ so she found herself hanging with Vanya and Arthur more

Feliciano Vargas: Roma Vargas’s only biological son. He does not have powers and often felt left out when he was left behind while his siblings went on missions. He’s 2 years younger than the rest of them and is often referred to as ‘stupid little brother’ by Lovino which hurt his feelings. When he was a baby, they were like 2 and a half so they didn’t see him as ‘aww look my baby brother!’ They just found him annoying cause he cried a lot. Like his siblings, he never met his mom but he does feel good knowing that he will always have his dad. When he and the academy kids fight, he will often rub it in their faces that at least Roma is his biological dad. That really rubs salt in the wounds, huh? Feli has always gotten on well with Vanya, they got left behind all the time so they got to paint and play music together :) they made eachother very happy

Gilbert and Lukas: Gil didn’t really like Lukas much when they were younger cause Lukas was just...quiet and reserved. Gil is the exact opposite. But now that Lukas is dead, Gil pities him and hangs out with him. They trained a lot together but Gil got embarassed when they trained cause if someone were to walk in, they’d just see Gil shouting and punching at nothing so...They trained in the dark at 3am on the roof where they wouldnt be interrupted. Now that Gil is older, he can channel Lukas almostperfectly. Lukas has an almost totally physical form when Gil uses his powers, allowing Lukas to channel lightning the way he was able to when he was alive. Lukas doesn’t like doing that too often cause it’s a bit cruel, getting to feel alive when you’re not :/

Kuma: Kuma was a normal polar bear that was experimented on in a lab that Roma funded. The scientists combined his DNA with monkey and human DNA and after much trial and error, they were able to get his brain to process English. So he wears a collar that allows him to talk. He scolded the kids for running around in the house but then five minutes later he’d let them ride his back while HE ran around the halls :) he was like a fun uncle to them. He wore a bow tie :)

Wan yu: Roma fell in love with a woman from China when he was younger. She was studying culinary arts in Italy and he absolutely fell head over heels for her. But things didn’t work out. So once the tech came around, he had an advanced robot version of his first love created for the sole purpose of loving him and his children. She was programmed to be a great role model, compassionate, patient and...A good cook. The kids all called her mom or ma and even though she never technically had favorites, she was always fond of little Kiku. She was the one who taught him to read when he had trouble doing so and she’s stay up late with him in secret to help him catch up in other languages. The kids all had to learn Italian, English, Spanish, Greek and Russian bedore they were even 8 years old. Since Kiku took a bit longer to grasp that kind of stuff, she would sneak him down to the library to have one-on-one lessons with him. :) she was also very caring when it came to Alfred, she saw how hard he pushed himself sometimes and it hurt her to watch. She made cookies for him on especially rough days

Lukas’s death: Lukas’s death hit Arthur, Vanya and Gilbert especially hard. Arthur and Lukas bonded over similar interests, Lukas and Vanya played chess all the time and gossiped and Gilbert always thought that Lukas was the coolest sibling he had. His death was used as motivation for everyone else to continue training. Gilbert ‘summoned’ Lukas three days after his death and Lukas has followed him around ever sicne. Lukas wasn’t avtually summoned, he’d been secretly roaming the house for days and decided to just let Gil think he summoned him. Roma was depressed about his son’s death for a week or so but he never really allowed himself to feel negative emotions for too long so he was over it a bit...too quickly.

[ninetalees]

Sufferance, chapter 3

Is finally here! Been working on this on and off for the last few weeks. Hope you enjoy! As always, feedback is appreciated. Also, let me know if any of you get the movie I’m referring to, lol.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24019411/chapters/59125465

They didn’t speak about what had happened the next day.

Or the next, or the next. Before Hop knew it, it had been a week and the atmosphere of simmering tension had not eased. It was mind-numbingly frustrating and Hop wanted to understand, but how could he ask, where would he start? All he could do was watch.

He watched Bede smiling along with Sonia, on his knees in the dirt in the Weald, brow furrowed in concentration on the PC in the lab or with his head in a book. He especially watched him when he bade him farewell in the evenings, his pale skin and flowing hair set alight by the shimmering hues of the sunset. Hop watched, but he couldn’t understand; he couldn’t read the thoughts that flitted behind Bede’s eyes and hung unspoken between them.

“…you know you have talked about nothing but Bede for the whole of this conversation?” Gloria’s voice cut across him mid-sentence, as he was complaining how Bede was so mannerly around Sonia, all smiles and questions about her work. Hop was convinced it had to be a front; he had never known Bede to warm to anyone without a lot of graft on their part. More fool them.

“Well, I have a lot to say,” Hop replied, affronted. “It’s not like I care or anything, I just need to vent. He’s so…” he gestured with the hand not holding the phone – one that happened to be holding a piece of toast. From the corner of his eye he could see the spray of crumbs that littered the floor. A problem for later; the whole place could do with a clean. He had been so busy with work for the last week he’d hardly had time to even consider anything else.

“Uh-huh, sure sounds like you don’t care.” There was a wryness to Gloria’s tone that set Hop’s teeth on edge. “This happens every time you two hang out, you know. You don’t stop going on about him for ages.”

“Like I said, I have a lot to say about him,” Hop shot back. “He’s just so… I don’t understand what he’s trying to do, you know? Like I was saying, he’s so pally with Sonia – she actually likes him – always asking her questions about what she does and about the Weald and about science. As if he actually cares.” He snorted. “I get that he’s here to work – this project obviously is important to him, I’ll give him that, but as if he’s ever been nice to someone for no reason in his life. Like he actually gives a toss about anything Sonia or anyone in this town does.”

“Hop,” Gloria sighed, exasperated. “He’s not trying to do anything. I told you to give him a chance, didn’t I?”

“I have been,” Hop growled. “I’m just saying to you, best mate to best mate, that he’s a pain in the arse and no-one seems to be able to see past his weird, smarmy front. I mean, if he’s so interested in science and what we’re studying at the lab, why would he not ask me? We spend way more time together than him and Sonia do. It’s because he’s not trying to gain my favour because he knows I know what he’s like.”

“You may be my best mate but Bede is my friend too, you know,” Gloria replied with a yawn. “And maybe he’s not asking you questions because you’re being hostile as shit? I wasn’t going to tell you this, but the night I stayed after you left he said that it had been really nice to for the three of us to spend that time together. He’s making an effort Hop, you should too.”

Hop stood to begin getting his things together for the day ahead, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his cheek. “Don’t take his side,” he snapped. “And we all say sentimental shite when we’re drunk.”

“It’s not about sides, Hop. There are no sides.” He could hear the roll of her eyes in her tone. “Look, I’m not going to indulge you further about this. I have to go anyway – big press conference this morning.” She clicked her tongue with disapproval. “I hope you’re doing okay. I love you lots, y’know? Try not to overthink about Bede. I know you refuse to believe it, but he is a good guy. He’s changed.”

“I love you too,” Hop replied, weakening. He sighed. “I… maybe to you he’s changed. But I still… still think…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You go – I need to get to work too. Talk soon.”

“Talk soon.” Gloria hung up. Hop took the phone away from his ear and stared aimlessly at the screen for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Gloria – Bede had changed, for her. Because he respected her. But not Hop – as far as Bede was concerned Hop was a mere small-town professor who had thrown in the towel on battling because he had failed. And Hop couldn’t tolerate that. He hadn’t mentioned to Gloria what had happened with Amelia. Truthfully, he was a little ashamed of how he had reacted; his feelings had just been compounded in the moment. He was used to Gloria and her fans whenever they went anywhere together, and their fawning had never bothered him in the slightest. Never before had he been able to associate the word contrite with the shiny-haired, stuck-up footnote on his life that was the Ballonlea Gym Leader. But that day he had apologised – apologised for what? Offending Hop with his fame? For reminding him that he had everything Hop had once wanted? Did he not understand that Hop had moved on?

He pocketed his phone and piled his breakfast dishes into the sink before heading out. The weather that morning broke the sunny spell they had been enjoying for the past few weeks; the sky was grey, threatening rain, but the spring heat still hung heavy in the air. Hop had already slipped out of his coat by the time he arrived at the lab. Sonia, seated at the PC, raised her hand in a wave without turning around. “Morning Hop,” she greeted. Hop set his bag at the door and came to stand behind her, eyes alight with curiosity. “Morning,” he replied. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Just having a glance over some of the environmental comparisons yourself and Bede have made between the Tangle and the Weald so far.” Sonia gestured to the graphs on the screen. “Bede mentioned you hadn’t had much luck in scouring out anything notable yet, so asked for a second opinion.” She leaned forward, squinting in concentration as though looking more closely would uncover some as-of-yet unrevealed secret. “I haven’t caught anything either. But that’s what science is all about, right? Trial and error.”

“This whole excursion might prove to be useless,” Bede’s voice came from behind them, and Hop whirled to see him making his way down the stairs from the balcony, face obscured by the pile of books he was carrying. He set them on the countertop and came to stand by Hop. “But it was something Opal always talked about looking at again, so… I thought it might be nice to pick it up. In her honour.”

The three of them fell silent for a moment. Opal had passed away 3 years ago. It was an inevitability, of course, but not one that anyone who had ever known Opal had ever entertained. She had always seemed larger than life: a garish pink thread on the tapestry of the colourful characters of Galar’s elite. Hop couldn’t imagine how disconcerting it must have been to watch her grow frailer and frailer, culminating on that grey autumn day in Ballonlea. When he stole a glance at Bede his features were creased, the line of his shoulders rigid. The sight of him swallowed in the throes of his grief was a lightning flash of déja-vu, and for a moment the two of them were standing side by side at that graveside again, Hop’s throat thick with half-formed sentiments that couldn’t arrange themselves into words.

“She had a greatly inquisitive mind.” Sonia’s gentle voice wrenched Hop back to reality. She had turned in her seat to face Bede and laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. Hop noted how Bede tensed under her grip for an instant before rearranging his expression into its usual mask of neutrality. “Thanks, Sonia,” he murmured.

Sonia smiled encouragingly and squeezed his arm once more before getting to her feet and breezing past them to her desk. “That reminds me.”  She plucked a folder from among the swathes of papers scattered into disorganised piles on her desk. Hop had always thought it must be a physical extension of her mind: outwardly cluttered, but everything had a place and Sonia knew exactly where that was. She waved the folder in their faces, then slapped it into Hop’s hands. “This is for you to bring over to Gr- Professor Magnolia’s.” She flushed at the near slip-up. “She called this morning to inquire after your research; she helped Opal when she came to look into the Weald, a long time ago. I told her I would put together some notes and have you bring it over. Is that okay?” she grinned at Bede. “She was excited to see you – said it’s been too long.”

To Hop’s surprise, Bede’s expression brightened considerably. “Oh, really? One step ahead of me as usual – I had meant to get in touch with her to let her know I was around.” The more time Hop spent with Bede the more apparent were the gaping holes present in Hop’s image of him, a photograph over a flame. He’d had a peripheral awareness of Opal’s friendship with Magnolia but at no point had he thought to draw the conclusion that Bede must be close with her, too.

“Word travels fast around these parts, Bede,” Sonia replied with a laugh. “Unlike me, she didn’t forget you were coming. When I went round for tea yesterday that was the first thing she asked about – when you would be dropping by to show her what you had accomplished so far.” She nodded to the folder. “I put that together this morning, said I would send you both over today. Since it’s a joint effort.”

“Of course.” Bede’s tone was tinged with excitement. “I can’t thank you both enough for your help.” Hop bristled instinctively, but couldn’t locate anything in Bede’s expression but genuine warmth. He shook off the discomfort and smiled shakily back, and was glad when Sonia swooped in to respond for the two of them.

“Not at all! That’s what we’re here for: to answer questions about Pokémon and their world.” Hop mumbled something that could pass as agreement before slipping the folder under his arm. “Let’s be off then,” he said to Bede. He nodded at Sonia. “Be back in a tick.”

“Take your time! Magnolia will be thrilled to see you both.” She beamed. “You’ve been working hard, you deserve a break.”

Hop wasn’t sure he would classify this as a break – he would probably rather be working – but refrained from complaint in the face of Sonia’s palpable delight. He knew she often worried for her grandmother; after her husband had passed away she was all alone in that house and Sonia was often too busy to visit as much as she would like. Magnolia was independent and hard as nails, but at least with Hop and Bede there Sonia could relieve herself of the nagging concern for a few hours. Instead, Hop departed with a smile and a nod, the folder clutched to his chest.

Bede strode ahead, his gait hurried and purposeful. Hop trailed a few paces behind, not quite dragging his feet but making no effort to keep up, either. By the time he reached Magnolia’s house Bede was standing by the gate, tapping an impatient rhythm in the dust.

“You never told me you’d been around these parts before.” Hop remarked as he drew up beside him.

“You never asked.” Bede slid open the latch and motioned impatiently for Hop to follow as he trotted up the garden path. Hop scowled at his dismissiveness.

“Oh, right, because I’m supposed to ask you about every possible scenario that might have happened in the world in order for you to mention it. Because that’s how conversations work, is it?”

They were standing outside the door, now. Bede rolled his eyes and raised a hand to bang the Pyroar knocker against the peeling paintwork. “How would I know? You’re always the one insisting I don’t know how to talk to people when I tell you not to yell in the pub.”

Hop’s eyes narrowed. Indeed, there may have been one or two instances of that particular nature. He opened his mouth to snap back only for the door to be flung open to reveal a beaming Magnolia. She had taken to using a zimmerframe in her old age (after much coaxing from Sonia), her posture slightly hunched like a half-folded deckchair. But the smile on her face did more to brighten it than the wrinkles did to crease it. In that moment, with her white hair shining in the crack of sunlight between clouds and the glimmer of delight in her eyes, she appeared ten years younger.

“Bede, dear,” she greeted. “It’s been too long. Have you grown?”          

Bede grinned and skirted neatly around her zimmerframe to gather her into a careful hug. “No, I think you’ve shrunk.” Hop balked at his cheek, but Magnolia only laughed.

“Your tongue is sharp as ever I see.” She tutted affectionately and released him. Bede’s cheeks were pink, perfect ponytail ruffled from the embrace. Hop barely recognised him.

He only realised he had been staring when Magnolia touched his arm. “And lovely to see you too, Professor.” She nodded to the folder in his hands. “Is that for me?”

“Uh…” he blinked stupidly for a moment. The research. “Uh, yes. Yes it is.” He proffered the folder. “Sonia mentioned you were interested in our research?”

“Bring it through, I have the tea on.” Magnolia turned to shuffle back into the hallway. “And yes, very interested. As I’m sure Bede has told you myself and Opal started this project years ago. She was always interested in the Weald, but League life is so busy.” Magnolia let out a wistful sigh. “And life is so short. Before you know it, you’re an old crone like me, confined to days spent watering plants and endless cups of tea.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. Sonia is run off her feet trying to get you to stay indoors, I bet,” Bede replied with a laugh, following her inside. Hop was left standing in the doorway, reeling. How was it that he was the one out of sorts, here in the town of his birth? Bede had come and now nothing made sense. His life had been a clear, shallow lake: uncomplicated and safe. Bede had dropped in like a stone, the resounding ripples touching everything Hop had once known to be absolute – his friendships, his career, his past. Now he was left squinting into the pool, struggling to recognise the constantly shifting reflections.

“Hop?” Bede poked his head around the doorway of what must have been the living room. “You alright?”

Hop started. “Uh, yeah. Fine.” He met Bede’s gaze. There remained a dainty flush to his skin, strands of white-blond falling messily into his eyes. In that instant Hop had the bizarre urge to grab his shoulders and shake him, pull him real close and dig his nails into his skin. Maybe if he got close enough he could see what he was missing, could claw out the contents of his brain so well concealed by wry smiles and disparaging sniffs.

 Instead he shut the front door and made his way into the room from where Bede had appeared. It was indeed the living room. The lights were low, so much so Hop could mostly only make out the shape of things. The plush furniture, the oblong shadows of chests of drawers and dressers along the lengths of the walls. Every available surface was decorated with photo frames, even the dusty piano in the corner. Hop’s eyes were drawn immediately to flashes of red in several pictures, bright spots in the relative darkness. He wandered up to one in particular over the fireplace. A much younger Sonia stood with her arm thrown carelessly around Leon, under the shade of the trees in Magnolia’s back garden. They were laughing, faces alight with excitement and despite the stillness of the image Hop could envision so clearly their playful jostling it were as though they were standing there in front of him, brimming with joy and youthful exuberance. He stared until his eyes watered and the edges of his vision blurred. There was probably a photo like that of him and Gloria, somewhere.

“Cute picture.” Bede materialised behind Hop so suddenly he whipped around, arms flailing, and narrowly avoided hitting Bede in the cheek.

“Yeah,” Hop replied at last. He shoved his hands into his pockets so as to avoid any more near-accidents. They observed the photo, the silence sitting heavy on their shoulders. When Hop glanced at Bede his usual smooth expression had resettled into place, the hair that had been falling around his face pulled back. He found himself wondering in that moment what Bede had been like as a child: he hadn’t up until now ever entertained that fact there had been a time when the now-Gym Leader had been wide-eyed and top-full with hope for the future. Hop knew Bede had not had the easiest start in life, having spent some time in an orphanage, but his insight ended there. Bede had never spoken about his beginnings himself – all the information Hop had he had gleaned from his League Card as a Gym Challenger. He had never dwelled any further.

He opened his mouth to ask – he didn’t know what exactly – when Magnolia returned, slowly wheeling a drinks tray laden with a teapot and matching china. Bede flung himself across the room to help her and she laughed at his fussing as he carefully set about transferring the contents of the tray to the coffee table.

“I told you, I didn’t need help,” she scolded affectionately. As she spoke, however, she lowered herself carefully into an armchair, the seat a perfect indent of her shape, happy to let Bede take charge. Hop moved to assist Bede by pouring the tea into the cups. It annoyed him he had not jumped to help immediately: his reaction times were off, as though he were moving through cement. Somehow, Bede fit this scene moreso than he did. If this had been one of the photos on the walls Hop would have been the accidental thumbprint in the corner.

Once the tea was poured and the places set, Hop and Bede took their seats. Hop blew on the steaming cup in his hands, enjoying the damp heat on his skin and how the sensation distracted him from Bede and Magnolia’s murmured recounting of an old story about Opal. Eventually, Magnolia raised a slightly trembling hand to point at the folder sticking out of Hop’s coat.

“Anyway,” she began. “On the subject of Opal, I would be extremely interested to have a look at what work you’ve done on her project thus far.”

Hop snapped to attention and laid down his cup to draw the folder from his inner pocket and hand it to her. “Yes, of course,” he replied, business-like. “As you can see we haven’t made a great deal of progress yet. We’ve noted some similarities between the Tangle and the Weald on the basis of temperature and certain species of plant-life, but that’s about it as of yet.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There’s far more differences than there are similarities, that’s for sure. In fact the differences are so vast I can’t help but wonder if the similarities are merely coincidental and we’re looking from the completely wrong angle. But I don’t know where else to start.”

Magolia’s eyes twinkled with interest, and her fingers leafed through the report with an ease unweighted by age. “Hmmm.” She clicked her tongue. “I would be inclined to agree with you. I was surprised when Opal came to me first – I told her, besides the fact that they are both forests, the two locations would have very little in common. But she was insistent, and her preliminary research was sound – according to all known literature Weezing did indeed first inherit its Fairy-typing in the Weald.”

Bede raised a finger. “If I may,” he cut in, glancing at Hop as though for permission. “It is interesting that it’s only Weezing. There are no other Fairy-types to be found in the Weald at all.” He titled his head. “There obviously is something about the environment that is attractive to Fairy-types in particular – that has to be true. Otherwise Weezing would have never developed the typing in the first place. But why only Weezing? Why have no others spawned there?” He sighed. “It’s perplexing indeed.”

Unthinkingly, Hop had lowered his hand to run a finger around the smooth metal of the Pokéball in his pocket. He wasn’t in the habit of carrying his entire party around with him anymore – the wild Pokémon that populated the areas surrounding Postwick and Wedgehurst were less than threatening. It was Zacian who accompanied him today, the legendary beast who had chosen Hop as its partner. Not no others. Zacian was the Fairy-type protector of the Weald. He sat up straighter in his seat with this sudden realisation, eyes widening. Could it be..?

Hop said nothing. This was something he wanted to look into himself first, to determine whether it was worth sharing with Bede. They were supposed to be conducting this study together, he knew that, but he couldn’t bear the thought of introducing Zacian to Bede, to opening up this part of his world to him quite yet. It was too precious, a thread that pulled taut together the lives of himself, Gloria and their hometown. No – he would look himself first; it was unlikely to be the answer, anyway.

Bede and Magnolia had moved back to talking about Opal, so Hop could allow himself to zone out of their conversation. He mostly watched Bede, enraptured. It were as though his usual cool exterior had quite literally thawed away: Hop had never seen him so animated, so uninhibited. He gestured and laughed – like laughed, head thrown back, teeth glinting in the low light – and was receptive to Magnolia’s affection, her gentle hand-pats and cooing smiles. Hop remembered seeing a movie, once, where the narrator talked about rude people only wanting to be loved, and if you were to show them that love they would open like a flower. How strange it was, to observe Bede bloom before his very eyes.

The afternoon was more pleasant that Hop had expected it would be. They talked a lot about Opal, her legacy and influence, about their shared pasts, about Sonia, about Gloria. They spent very little time, in fact, straying into conversation that could be labelled scientific. At one point Hop chanced a glance out the window, and all of a sudden the sun was low in the sky, shades of orange and pink streaked across greyish-blue. When he withdrew his phone from his pocket to check his phone, 5:34 blinked back at him in the encroaching darkness.

“Oh wow,” he stood. “Half-past five already! We should be getting back.” He grinned at Magnolia. “Sonia will be wondering where we’ve gotten to – today was supposed to be a working day.”

“Oh, wisht. She knew well what would happen.” Magnolia gave a dismissive wave of her hand, as though batting Hop’s words out of mid-air. “The moment I heard you were embarking on this project, I asked her to make sure you two came around at some point. It’s such a joy to see the youth delving into scientific study. It’s not a glamourous path, but such an important one.”

Hop’s smile became soft. He did not know if her words were for his benefit, but it left a lightness in his chest nonetheless. “Thank you,” he murmured, shaking her outstretched hand. “I think so too.” It steeled his resolve, knowing someone like Magnolia was behind him. He had seen Sonia, her own flesh and blood, have to fight for her approval – it wasn’t granted lightly.

Bede joined him on his feet. “I agree.” He nodded to Hop. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without Sonia or Hop, and Opal would have been lost without you.”

Hop eyed him warily, expectant of a punchline. Bede’s gaze was unblinking, wide and sincere. It equally left him warm and made his skin crawl. “Is my job,” he replied, his tone breezy and reflecting none of the unease that had settled like a rock in his stomach. He was glad when Bede moved to lean forward and carefully hug Magolia goodbye; Gloria always said his expressions were an open book. He couldn’t account for what he was feeling now.

Bede and Magnolia said their farewells and Hop and himself headed out. They left Magnolia sitting in her chair with their research. She would have seen them out, she said, if she had been 10 years younger. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she had gripped Bede’s arm, her lips curling into a mischievous smirk. “Manners are a youngster’s game. Get old and you can do and say as you please.”

They had all laughed, then, and Hop was glad the visit had ended on a lighter note. He still felt out of sorts, his skin prickling with apprehension. The sensation persisted as they stepped out the front door and into the diminishing daylight. Hop paused to take a deep, calming breath through his nose. The familiar notes of woodsmoke, of earth and freshly-cut grass steadied him, kept him grounded. This was his home – his little corner. Nothing could change that. He caught Bede’s inquisitive sideways glance as they made their way out the gate and set off in the direction of Wedgehurst, but Hop pretended not to notice. He remained stubbornly silent, in fact; hands jammed into his pockets and posture hunched like that of a stubborn child’s.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that quiet at any social gathering.” Bede’s smooth remark broke the silence. Hop lifted his eyes from his shoes to examine his face. His gaze was fixed on the sky, shoulders thrown back in a more relaxed fashion than Hop had ever seen. Normally Bede’s teasing would have him bristling but now he could only laugh nervously, still uncertain.

“Yeah, well, was pretty difficult to get a word in edgeways.” Hop found his voice at last. “I didn’t realise you and Magnolia were that close.”

“She and Opal were close friends.” Bede turned to face him. “They saw each other when they could. And Magnolia isn’t difficult to grow to like.”

Hop pressed his lips together, searching his expression. Bede wore a small, aimless smile, awash with memories of better times. This was what he had wanted, a glimmer of an opening, fleeting as a fish darting out of sight of a shadow; he had to move now or it would be lost.

Instead, words spilled from his lips before he had a chance to register what he was saying. “I mean, old ladies always had a thing for you anyway, didn’t they?”

Hop had strolled a few paces ahead before he realised Bede’s pale figure was no longer in his line of sight. He stopped and turned around, to be faced with a Bede he was far more familiar with; jaw tensed, eyes steely, all rigid, straight lines down to his hands that were curled into fists.

“Could you stop?” the words escaped from between Bede’s clenched teeth in a hiss. Hop blinked warily at him, the unease that had sat in his stomach melting out to run ice-cold through his veins.

“Stop what?” he asked, proud his voice didn’t tremble. He looked so angry.

“I have tried with you.” Bede’s tone was terrifyingly even, at odds with the rage that creased his features. “I understand that you don’t like me, and that’s fine. I don’t need you to like me. I don’t need you to be my friend.” He took several steps towards Hop so their faces were mere inches apart, and Hop wondered for a spilt second if he should be prepared for Bede to punch him. “But I do need you to stop being a fucking child so we can work together. You need to get over the fact that I beat you and was nasty to you seven years ago. You need to move on.”

Hop flinched at his words, as though they had dealt a physical blow. The chill in his veins has been replaced by fury that burned white hot and itchy beneath his skin. “You think that I don’t like you because you beat me in a battle seven years ago?” he snarled. “You really think that’s the reason?”

Confusion flitted across Bede’s expression, momentarily displacing the mounting tension. “What other reason is there?” he asked. Hop wanted to curl his fingers into his stupid, perfect hair and drag him close to spit the words in his ear.

“I don’t like you because you’re a self-important, disparaging piece of shit who thinks they’re better than everyone.” Hop’s voice rose. “I don’t like you because you trampled my confidence in the mud and have the audacity to suggest that was just you being nasty. And I especially don’t like you because you think you’ve fooled everyone, but you haven’t fooled me.”

Bede’s eyes narrowed. “I respected you, you know,” he murmured. “You made a good life for yourself, on your own terms. I tried to show you that. I thought this would be different, I really did.” He took a step back. “I should have known better.”

Without another word Bede brushed past him, a spectre retreating rapidly into the dusk. Hop was left standing alone, blood drumming in his head. It was the adrenaline coursing through his system that had been holding him upright, and upon the passage of the perceived threat he collapsed to the ground like a newborn foal.

He wanted to call out, make him come back and insist they finish this, but when he opened his mouth the metallic tang overwhelmed him. He raised a tentative hand to his lip and realised he had bitten it so hard it was dripping crimson into the dust.

[hoseokutie]

Best Friends Baby 5

Hey! I’m back with another part ti this series, I hope you all enjoy it. and I would like to thank all of my followers and fans of this series that stick around and wait for me to update, you all are greatly appreciated!!

Previous Parts can be found here: Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4 

Words: 2.4K

Warnings: Swearing, Possible spelling errors

                         ___________________________

“So let me get this straight, you had sex and then you decided to act as if nothing happened?” Your best friend, Amani asked as you both sat on your couch and ate dinner.

“Okay, first of all don’t say it like that, and second of all yeah that is lowkey what happened.” You shrug your shoulders and continued to eat.

“That’s so scandalous! How long has it been since to two had sex? The party was like a month ago, how have you guys just moved on!?” She questioned, while in complete shock and you just shrugged.

“We talked about it, acknowledged it, had sex a few more times then moved on. The end.” You smiled at her then took a sip of water. 

“You are wild as hell, but that’s why you’re my best friend.” You two high fived one another and went back to enjoying your meal.

“So totally off topic, but like is his friend Jungkook single?” She asked, looking at you in all seriousness.

“I uh, I’m pretty sure he’s single, do you want me to ask for you?” You looked over at her and chuckled when she shyly nodded.

You looked up from your meal when there was a knock on your door, then followed by your other friend singing loudly from the opposite side of the door.

“Oh my lord, Kira just come in!” You said and shake your head at her silly antics.

She opens the door and locks it behind her as she walks into the house dancing as if she won the lottery.

“Why are you so damn happy?” Amani asked.

“I just found out that I am not pregnant which means I get free drinks this Saturday!” She exclaimed, dancing her way to the couch.

You stifled a laugh and shake your head, grabbing the dishes from the coffee table.

“Girl, you kill me every time you open your mouth to say something. You are hilarious.” You tell her, putting the used dishes into the washing machine.

“I’m a comedian for a reason, right? And shit, I bought extra just to be sure.” She reached over and grabbed some food that was still in the takeout container.

Amani smiled and reached over grabbing one of the extra pregnancy tests before laughing herself as she read the label.

“Hey, Y/N, we should take one of these for fun. I’ve always wanted to try one.” She grabbed a second test for you and stood up making her way into the kitchen.

“Out of all the things that you want to do with your life, this is one of them?” You asked, as you took the test from her hands.

“You wanted to be a burlesque dancer at 14, but you don’t see me judging you, now do you?” She smiled brightly and went into the guest bathroom, you looked over at Kira and just stared at her.

“Just do it girl, what’s the harm?” She shrugged and rolled her eyes, nodding her head towards the upstairs bathroom.

You sighed and nodded your head before shrugging your shoulders as well.

“Yeah I guess you’re right, y'all better be lucky that I have to pee real bad anyways.” You ran upstairs and into your bathroom.

You turned on the light and shut the door before making your way to the toilet to do your business and take the silly ass test. 

You quickly read the box and opened it, before making your way to the toilet and peeing on the stick. 

“This is not easy.” You mumbled to yourself as you finished using the bathroom.

You set the test to the side on a piece of tissue, flushed the toilet and proceeded to wash your hands. After drying your hands and turning off the water you checked your phone.

You went through your apps, liked some pictures on Instagram, left at a few comments on select peoples posts, and laughed at a few memes. You really doing anything to pass the time.

“Sis, it’s been five minutes! What are you doing in there? Did you go on Instagram again? That app is going to ruin you!” Amani said making beats on your door.

“Amani, shut the hell up!” You opened the door and both girls walked into the room.

“Did you look at it?” Kira asked and you shake your head before messing with Amani by showing her some photos of Jungkook.

She pouts and hits at your phone, you laugh playfully and move your phone out of the way before she can hit it.

“I’m serious Y/N, let me know if he’s single, looking to mingle, and interested into black girls.” She said, emphasizing the last part.

You laughed before nodding your head.

“Alright, ms. needy. I will make sure to find out about you. You follow him on Instagram and Snapchat, so I don’t know why you don’t just ask him yourself.

“Oh my fucking gosh!” Kira said loudly, interrupting you and Amani’s small talk.

“What’s your problem?” Kira asked walking over to her before her eyes widened and her lips puckered. 

“What? Why are you both making that face?” You asked before walking over to them and looking down at the test. 

You felt everything around you slow down as you read the results from the test. Two prominent blue lines was all you managed to see.

“Fuck.” You mumbled taking the test from her hands and sitting down on the floor, your body not being able to stand and process these emotions.

“I don’t understand, we were careful. I know we were.” You said looking at your friends who sat across from you.

“You may not have been as careful as you thought sweetie.” Kira said, reaching over to hold your hand.

“What are you going to do?” Amani asked, taking the test from your hands so that you could try and focus a little bit. 

“I have to tell Joon first, Jesus I need to tell him now!” You grabbed your phone and went to dial his number but froze.

“What’s wrong Y/N?” Kira asked looking at your frozen state.

“I can’t do it, I’m scared. I don’t even know what to say. What if he hates me and I lose one of my best friends?” You begin to panic.

Amani scoots closer to you and holds you in her arms, she held you close and kissed the top of your head.

“You don’t need to stress about anything, because everything is going to be just fine. You’re gonna tell Joon the truth and you both will be responsible adults and figure this situation out. Stop stressing.” She held your face in her hands and you nodded before picking up the phone and dialing his number. 

Your nerves made time seem like it was so much slower than it actually was. The phone began to ring, part of you wished he didn’t answer, but the other half wish that he would have picked up by now. 

“Hello best friend, how can I help you on this lovely evening?” Namjoons voice rang through the phone and you calmed down.

“Hello moon child, what are you doing right now? I was wondering if we could possibly talk.” You held Kira’s hand and waited for an answer.

“I’m not doing much. Just folding my laundry, typical Friday night for good ole Joon.” He said in a fake enthusiastic tone.

The small act put a slight smile on your face and you let out a small breath of air.

“Well, would you mind coming over? Feel free to bring your laundry. You can even bring some of the other boys if you’re up for it. I’ve got Kira and Amani with me so, yeah.” You slowly stood up and rubbed your forehead.

“That sounds like a plan, I’ll send a text to the group chat and see who’s able to join us, I’ll see you in about 30 minutes.” He informed you.

“Sounds good to me, I’ll see you when you get here.” You hung up the phone and looked at yourself in the mirror.

“I look a hot mess.” You said out loud and chuckled.

“Not gonna lie, you do, but it’s definitely allowed under these recent events.” Kira said, standing up behind you. 

“Well you’ve got some time before he gets here. What do you want to do?” She asked rubbing your back.

You looked in the mirror and shrug your shoulders taking the test from Kira before looking at it again.

“I just wanna get this over with.” You answered, looking at the bother of them 

                                          ______________

About half an hour passed before Namjoon finally arrive at your house, you and the girls greeted him at the door with hugs.

“Sorry it took so long, I had to give RapMon another bath because he thought it would be fun to run in the backyard.” He said while shaking his head.

“Oh he's so precious and innocent.” You said patting Joon on the shoulder.

“Where’s the other boys?” You asked, walking over to the living room.

“Jungkook and Chim will be here soon, Tae is on a date so he won’t be able to make it. Yoongi said he would let me know, and Hoseok and Jin are gonna come by after the gym.” He told you.

Amani silently thanked the gods above when she heard Jungkook was going to be joining them and she did a small happy dance.

“So what’s up, is everything okay?” He asked wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Everything is as okay as it can be.” You shrugged and chuckled sitting down on the couch with him.

“Uh oh, that does not sound as positive as it should. Talk to me like I’m one of the girls. Is it a boy? Somebody from work bothering you? I’ll cut someone if I really have to. You know I’ll do it.” He said in all seriousness and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No it’s nothing like that, well actually when you think about it, i guess it does have something to do with a boy. Yeah it does.” 

You were not going to let your nerves get in the way of telling Namjoon what the issue is, he deserves to know the truth. 

“Hey I’m here for you what’s up?” He took your hand and held it in his own.

You smiled and blew out a small breath of air before clearing your throat and holding his hand in your own.

“Namjoon, what I’m going to tell you could possibly, no, I know it’s going to change our friendship. Forever.” You said to him in all seriousness. 

He held your hand up to his face and smiled cutely to help calm your nerves and reassure you.

“Hey, nothing could ever change our friendship. You’re my girl and I care about you deeply. Now talk to me.” He took your hand off his face and you nodded your head. 

“Namjoon, I’m-” The moment you started talking there was a knock on the door.

“I got it!” Kira said running to the door.

“Hey, it’s probably just the boys. Just go ahead and finish your thought. What’s up?” He got your attention and you cleared your throat. 

“Namjoon… I’m pregnant.” You finally told him and you watched him freeze up.

You instantly regret your decision and let go of his hands, you watched him try and make a sentence, but he just continued to stumble over his words.

“You ...pregnant? Are you serious? This isn’t another one of your pranks is it?” He asked in all seriousness.

“No, I’m not joking. Namjoon I’m so sorry.” You told him and he shook his head, standing up and pulling you into his arms.

“No, don’t apologize. This is something we’ve done together. We’re both in this together. Just wow, I’m really caught off guard.” He said rubbing your back. 

Part of you was still scared about everything, but when Namjoon pulled you into his arms, deep down you knew everything was really going to be okay. 

“Hey we having a hugging party or something?” Jimin asked walking into the living room with his arms open with Jumgkook following behind. 

You laughed as the boys hugged you and Joon, Kira and Amani also joined in on the group hug and everybody laughed.

“Why are we hugging?” Jungkook asked in confusion.

“There’s going to be a new addition to the group.” You pulled away from the group hug and stood there with your hands on your hips.

“Who’s getting a dog?” Jimin asked in all seriousness and Amani laughed.

“Jimin, I’m pregnant.” You told him and his eyes went wide before looking between you and Joon.

“I knew it! I always knew that you two would make babies in the future!” He exclaimed before hugging you both again.

Everyone in the room laughed and shook their heads at Jimin’s excitement. 

“I’m not the youngest anymore.” Jungkook said with a cute pout.

“No buddy you’re not. But in all seriousness, we are the only people that needs to know about this, as well as the other boys. I think we should wait to tell our families, especially since we don’t have a set plan.” Namjoon said, looking down at you.

“Yeah I think that’s a good idea, wait a couple of months then let everybody know. That seems like a good idea.” You nodded your head and leaned on Namjoon.

“Well nonetheless, congratulations, but I am hungry, Y/N please tell me you have food or that one of your friends can cook something.” Jungkook said, rubbing his stomach.

“I can make you a breakfast sandwich, I know it’s late but-” Amani began talking before Jungkook cut her off.

“I love breakfast sandwiches, please make me one.” Jungkook said pulling her into the kitchen.

“I’m gonna go take a shower while we wait.” Kira said, waving at us.

“I um, I don’t really know where to go so yeah.” Jimin said rubbing the back of his neck.

“You can sit on the couch with us and be incorporated in our plan, if you want to of course.” You said, sitting down on the couch pulling the boys down on either side of you.

“Joon, if that’s okay with you.” Jimin looked over and Namjoon smiled.

“Hey, I don’t see why not.” He gave his signature smile.

“Then let’s get to planning!” You said excitedly. 

[lovecraft-adventures]

From the series of one shot “Mine”

Just one dance (one shot) 

Little interaction between Lovecraft and Killer.  (2550 words)

(if people see errors in the text please tell me in private, I need people to read it and say it to me, and make me improve my writing skill) thank for reading !

The music, the colors, the smells, everything for the young skeleton seemed so new, his pale purples pupils slowly begin to warm up in a golden color. In front of him, this great underground city was in celebration, in what universe, were they? He did not know it and his curiosity did not push him on the way to this answer.

His sidekick, on the other hand, does not particularly share his desire to mingle with this feast, his alarmingly red soul trembling in the doubt that this place made him feel, he had expressed several times his desire not to come, but he was the one who had to take care of the young prince that night. The small hand came to reach the largest skeleton's hand to catch his attention, without even looking at him, his eyes still fixed on the sparkling lights of the costumed party that unfold in this huge stone courtyard. Even the false stars of the ceiling of the underworld could not compete with all that colorful joy, what were they celebrating? He did not know it. 

He did not care, his little feet smacked with excitement on the stone floor where they had perched, he wanted to go, dance, play, let off steam. Arriving without difficulty to detect all his little clues, the tallest did not ask the question, he suspected what the youngest wanted to do, but he could not just let him go, risk losing him and lose his life returning to the castle without the prince. A deep sigh had passed his teeth before he finally abdicated, he was not stupid, Lovecraft was very clever and resourceful, if he refused his whim, he would go by himself any means possible and imaginable.

- I can find monster's ashes to take a taller appearance... and steal costumes too. The taller skeleton looked at him for a long time, weighing the pros and cons before finally grabbing his hand and teleporting them further into what looked like a lodge. People had long been under the lights dancing to the music, so he did not worry about meeting too many people, he took a suit that seemed to fit him, something he was not used to wearing, too much color and pattern, red, gold and green, never he would be imagined himself wearing green.

 The youngest has eclipsed and come back now with an adult monster, bring him to his sidekick, the poor bunny monster has looked at the skeleton without eyes and has the glowing soul with great fear, but did not have time to make the slightest sound, bones had pierced it to turn it into dust. A small sneeze made Killer turn his head towards the prince, the young was covered with dust, making him let out a mocking laugh that he did not bother to hide, but the youngest did not say anything, having already started to trace a large circle around him to have as much dust as possible before casting his spell, the light of his magic covered him before absorbing the remains of the monster he had just killed and allowed him to gain a few inches. - That's better, we're doing the same size now ~ He let out a giggle before trotting across the room to look at all the suits still available, he came back to Killer before wiping his face with a wet handkerchief to remove his eternal black tears. Surprised the adult with the sweetness of the gesture, he was much more used to be kicked in his shins coming from him. Once finished the prince laid a mask on the face of the other smiling at him with a satisfied look. - To have more fun better go incognito ~ Go, I'll find something for me. He did not like taking orders from the youngest, he was not part of his court after all, as he repeated so often, but he still took this one, finishing to dress before leaving the piece, waiting for it at the door. He waited a few minutes before seeing the young skeleton come out, a fine garment than his, more feminine? He would say, even if it was not a dress, the tunic coupled to his skeleton body give him a silhouette all but masculine. A beige feathered mask covered his face and his clothes pulled from green to royal blue ending on the darker mauve.

- The music is not bad, it changes the classic tempo on which Nightmare taught me to dance. - sure, even more folkloric. -Ah, are you finally talking? It's not too soon. - Oh, you see me sorry, your highness, I can be quiet again. Lovecraft does not say anything, his eyes looking up to the sky while a thin smile that draw on his face, taking the hand of the adult near him to embark him in the crowd, his skeletal tail showing his excitement of the moment, that fussy to jostle some dancer, once in the middle of the mass it turn to his rider, taking his other hand to put it on his hips, making him blush with an uncertain look, not hearing any lament however, he began to dance, bringing Killer to do the same on a rhythm that change waltzes on the only discs of the castle. The sounds of timpani and guitars were more complicated to follow than he would have thought, still trying before calm down, feeling already tired, he looked at the killer in the eyes then, he seemed to embarrass, and a little breathless.  He then chose to play another game, smiling greatly at his babysitter who was suddenly feel in danger. His pupils grabbed that of his counterpart, seeing a fright pass over his face and tears slowly trickle back under his mask, making him smile with a much more amused look, like a sadist who took pleasure in seeing this little suffering to rise in this being already breeze, his pupils was mauve darker it was split with a black stroke very feline, suddenly making the fear go up, especially that he could not help but spend his tongue on the edge of his teeth as a sensual provocation. He did it by pure reflex, he leaned more on the other skeleton blowing on his teeth while the taller seemed lost, prey to his own demons, his soul having taken this twisted form that announce his extreme bad beech. "Killer"  He suddenly has a jump, like a return to reality, hearing his name whisper with fun so close to his teeth, the prince was fixing him with his eyes back gold, a big smile painted on the visible part of his face, he was playing with him, he knew it, it was all a game. His soul, which had calmed down for a moment, returned to boiling with rage at this observation, then unleashing the young man's hands to push him back with a certain brutality, making him fall back, he looked at him from his height. With a disdainful air, blowing in an attempt to calm himself before turning away and walking to the oppose direction, leaving him in the middle of a crowd that had stopped dancing for a few seconds before resuming their nocturnal waltz. - When it's Nightmare, he does not say anything … Killer was going to walk, leaving the crowd to find more isolated corners, of the noises and all this monsters, finding alcoves of tranquility, a little secret garden that certainly circled the great castle, a few people were there, certainly enjoying the silence of the place, the glittering plants was hanging on the rocks and the trees with dead appearances offer a more tranquil setting, an atmosphere resembling that of many waterfall. He finally settled under a stone arch, looking evasive the rest of the place, when the prince is gonna finish his games, he will come to him as always. He can not help but think how much this young skeleton was most irritating to him, having constantly been on everyone's mind since his arrival, that was beyond him, the missions had become less frequent, and even Nightmare often spent his nights at the library to teach him magic. Feeling alone, he was used to it, but seeing a newcomer take up so much space, this false child, it was not his appearance that attracted the group's praise, but the fact that he was protected by the master of nightmares with an iron wrist. Perhaps it was the most hurtful. Nightmare had never protected one of them, much less so much, he had long believed that Lovecraft was his son, but over the years he had to admit that they had little in common and this body that never grows up, it is only quite recently that he had discovered that this form was the one chosen by the youngest to save his energies and that he needed monster dust to change it. He was a long-time adult, Killer being certain of it but still dependent on their protection. For a reason they did not know, the little skeleton was often the target of their boss's brother, Dream, the kindness incarnate, always ready to help his neighbor but also to kill this skeleton with the appearance of a child, said like this could seem strange. Dream often call Lovecraft a world-devouring monster and yet, Killer does not imagine it destroying worlds as did Error, certainly there was this wave of human soul devouring by an unknown creature the first year after the arrival of the younger but coincidence stop there, there was no more murder of this kind for a long time. Too much mystery surrounding Lovecraft, too much for him, too much to trust, and too much to let himself be manipulated as he tried to do so often . His fists squeezed, thinking about it before relaxing to land next to him, he finally sat down to think.

He took a moment to notice the silent presence of the other skeleton near him, how long had he been there? He stared at him, as if waiting for an answer, but Lovecraft did not even look at him, staring at some fluorescent flowers in his fingers, thoughtfully. He seemed bored by his expression and gentle and uncertain gestures about the plants he certainly seeks not to crush, but not enough to force him out of his thinking and force them to leave, So he remained silent, asking himself how gives back a little morale, can be when making an effort … 

He took a deep sigh and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, turning his head toward him, looking into his eyes, this time he would not be caught in his pupils, he straightened up and invited the other to do the same, taking his hand to help him get up, not releasing it afterwards, extending his second hand to invite him to take it, dragging him a little farther from the ark, making him put his hand on his hips so that he instinctively took the pose he had always taken to dance, before starting to take some steps on a fixed rhythm, swaying, rhythm of a waltz they had learned at the castle.

The youngest opened his mouth, but said nothing, just ending up adjusting his steps to start this sweet dance and comforting, because it was something he knows, something he knew how to do, his comfort zone. A slight, more sincere, less sadistic smile that appeared on his face after a few minutes had made Killer wonder if the prince was only bad when he felt nervous or helpless. Lovecraft began to whisper, keeping his words only for the adult in front of him. - Nightmare did learn it to you? - No, I learned alone. - really? Yet you are his favorite pawn. - Not with all the time he's spending with you ... - Would this be the jealousy I hear there? - You would like that. Lovecraft glared at him with his half-closed eyes, like that little sarcasme touched his twisted ego, before calming himself down to go back as if nothing had happened, his reaction made Killer smile more than he would have thought. - I will not be able to be it once I have the power to wear my crown. - Do you plan to keep Nightmare with you? - Yes, it is already planned since well before my birth ... But it will not be right now. - So... Nightmare has a place in your court. I guess it's the same for Dust and Horror - you would like that. But no, they are not in it... Maybe... If they are still alive once my crown recovered... - um ... - Do I deduce that you think you are out of the lot? - ... What? - I take it for a yes ~

The youngest gave a more than sincere laugh at Killer's surprised look, having stopped this little waltz of comfort, he quickly calmed down when he saw the terrible redness of the other skeleton cover up with his tears of ink, he looked at him a moment before he came to take off his mask and come to wipe his tears with the fabric he had kept earlier, sighing with a satisfied air once finished. - You are part of those who take care of me, despite the constraint, I do not intend to leave behind one of the only ones who still have fun with me. - but... Dust and Horror ... Play with you, not me. - Dust and Horror play with me like they play with a little brother, it's fun, a few minutes, but it does not have the spice of an agreement in hate ~ - ... So I will continue to suffer very long. A new pure laugh escaped Lovecraft, giving reason to Killer, but Killer was not offended, he had suspected, and then, he also understood, in a way. - Are we coming back? - No, if the castle of this universe is so beautiful, I want to see the rest, let's go to waterfall. - to let you push me in one of the puddles? - Am I so predictable? An amused little smile appeared on Killer's face, it was fun yes, like a little rivalry, or friends he did not want to admit it? How long he had been deprived of such a strange, but also life-giving relationship, he had no idea. They finally returned, quite late, very late, with festive clothes covered in mud, soaked to the bone, Horror and Dust was on missions, but the master of the place saw them pass and ordered them directly to go change quickly before soiling the castle. This outing was beautiful, not the most beautiful, but full of flavor all the same. Lovecraft had found his account, visiting the universe at random was often good, and he was already happy to fill one of his journal with this experience. Killer had quickly left to isolate himself in his room to find the rest and especially to seek answers to all his new questions. 

[nana-of-light]

Hi guys!

Nana is still going strong and enjoying herself. Last I checked, she was roaming around Northern Thanalan, at “Camp Bullfrog”. The gearset I updated her with around level 49, but felt like surprising her with a glamoured version of it. The above shot is what it ended up being, which she really liked. At 50 (yes! She finally hit 50!), I surprised her with a Ramuh bow to go along with it, plus another gear upgrade. We haven’t done any new dungeons yet since the last update. We did, however, do Garuda and Cape Westwind. When she unlocked Garuda, she had parked her character outside the instance entrance and told me she was “waiting outside the gates of hell”. The run itself went pretty smoothly and without much to really note. Same goes for Cape Westwind. Although, I did notice her get hit by a cleave from the boss, so I may need to go over that with her.

I notice she doesn’t seem to have much of a preference on customizing things. She’s happy with anything I give her, and every time I ask her what color she wants something, she says she doesn’t mind. The closest I see her get with customization is changing up her minion every now and then (she’s been running around with the Nana Bear that I gave her early on). She’s just happy to play the game though it seems.

For awhile, she wasn’t using a battle chocobo, and struggling with certain areas when alone, dying. I guess she is making death parades in stronger areas.. I helped her unlock her battle bird though, and she’s said that’s made such a huge difference for her. I gave her 99 gysahl greens too, so she should be good for awhile there. When I brought up how she could recolor her bird, I asked her if there was a color she wanted, but she didn’t seem too interested in going through the trial and error or feeding and waiting 6 hours at a time. When I offered to do it for her while she was asleep, she was on board with that. So I aimed to get her a white one, but using the same method I did previously didn’t work (somehow I did 1 successful feeding and went from default to white one time), and I ended up with sylph green, i think. The above screenshot was mainly to show her the chocobo and have a more recent/cute picture of her character. The first thing she wanted to do when logging on the next morning, was go see him.

So now that she is level 50, this seems to greatly bother her. As I ran along with her while she worked on quests, she pointed out twice, on different occasions,  that she wasn’t “getting any points”. I wasn’t entirely sure this would happen since she only had ARR, but I explained what was going on once it clicked for me. For weeks, I had been looking around for her for a PC download version of the game that was a standalone Heavensward. This apparently no longer exists, and all I found it on were two very sketchy websites that I ended up avoiding. I guess I just wanted her to get the sense of awe and excitement I had with the HW menu screen (plus, it’s the prettiest one, imo!). I think you can purchase physical copies still, but her laptop actually wasn’t built with a CD/DVD drive...? (oh, I recently found out she has an Acer Predator laptop. That really surprised me! And the keyboard is backlit with a red light, so it also matches the red PS4 controller I picked out for her. This makes me happy. Lol) But anyway, I explained her options to her, and it seems like she’s going to be purchasing the complete bundle of ARR/HW/SB Stormblood (thanks to nightmarecandle for clearing this up for me! I didn’t know SB included HW). I wanted to buy it for her, but had to deal with car repairs then found out someone slashed two of my tires?? What terrible timing and luck.

She still has a decent bit of MSQ left and is a bit over leveled thanks to all her side quests, so she still has content to work on at least. I think Castrum Meridianum and Praetorium are up next. Plus, there’s finishing her bard quests, which she for some reason keeps pronouncing and spelling as “bart”.

Oh right, we still haven’t made the trip to visit her, but that’s still coming up, just a bit delayed due to irl events. Anyway, I hope you all are enjoying the new patch!

 Till next time! o/

[deal-right]

Ok Questions for the OCs! For Felys and Arkan (the guy with the red hair) Number 2, 4, 10, 17, 27, 28 And for you my amazing and inspiring senpai: F, G and J

*I’ll put this under a read more because it ended up being way too long c’:

2- How easy is it for your character to laugh?

Arckan: Very little, it won’t be a loud, cracking laugh but more like a soft one, kind of like a “hehe” accompanied with a smile. To make him crack out laughing you’ll have to take him by surprise ;D 

Felys: She’s quite the opposite to Arckan, forget about that sof laugh, that doesn’t exist in Felys. Either way she wouldn’t find prepared jokes (”why did the chicken cross the road” kind of joke), but she’d really enjoy a good prank and funny situations that happen in the spot.

4-How easy is it to earn their trust?

Arckan: Too easy for his own good c’: (the poor soul suffered the consequences for that). After going through a really bad situation in his story he tried not to trust anyone buut that didn’t last long. No matter what happens he’ll always be trustful.

Felys: When she meets someone she’s kinda neutral regarding trust, she won’t give her life for you but there’s no reason not to trust you either, time will tell. You have to earn her trust but as long as you don’t give her any reason not to do so you’ll be good.

10-What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

Arckan: “As long as I’m here nothing will happen to you.” Guess what happened to that person. He did intend to keep his promise buut things don’t always go as planned and you can bet it haunts them.

Felys: “No I didn’t eat the cookies for the charity sale mom.” Yes she did. She didn’t know what their purpose were but there were cookies and she wanted cookies, they basically had their name in them. Only after commiting her crime she read the note attached to the plate that indicated the purpose of the cookies along with a warning for Felys. She spent the night cooking as fast as she could to replace them, it was the perfect crime, but they tasted foul and the few brave souls that tasted them ended up with stomach ache.

17-Are they easily embarrassed?

Arckan: YOU BET, especially if you know how to press his buttons you’re in for an entertaining afternoon with a frustrated Arckan. The other option is to go overboard with compliments ;D

Felys: It’s hard to imagine her embarassed. She’s not going to feel second hand embarassement, and if she’s caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing she’ll make up some excuse in the spot x’D (it’ll be a really really bad one no one’ll believe but that won’t stop her from trying lmao).

 Right now I can only think of two things: either you see her in a period of trial and error (aka: when she’s trying at failing at cooking or trying to learn a new spell and failing miserably) or if someone suddenly showed up at her house, it’s extremely messy and she would rather keep that big mess of a house to herself.

27-What causes them to feel dread?

Arckan: There are some people and certin uniform that just by seeing them he’ll be petrified, but there’s especially one person who terrifies him the most. Besides that, being left alone and heights (this last one’s mainly because Afraid of Heights is one of his character songs and I love it

Felys: Water’s obviously her weakness so she’d rather not be near anyone she doesn’t trust with water at their disposition (if she’s alone she doesn’t have a problem with it tho). Besides that, squirrels and thinking about how destructive her power actually is (she won’t talk about it and it won’t usually show, but it’s something that stays in the back of her mind).

28- Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Arckan: He valuates honesty a lot but he also doesn’t want to harm anyone so he’d rather tell the truth, but being really careful with how he words it.

Felys: If it’s something important she’d tell the truth being straightforward, for her the truth is more important than feelings in those cases. If it’s not a big deal she would, as I said before, make up some badly planned lie that probably anyone will believe.

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

When I think about them I feel some kind of happiness and pride that’s just… Magical. I’ve been working on them since I was like 12 or something, so the fisrt oc’s stories (Arckan was the very first :D) are… How to word it… Not very good x’D They’re not the best stories nor the most original in the world, they’ve been greatly influenced especially by the enormous amount of anime I saw at that age, and they’ve been in development since then, I’ve been creating new possible outcomes, scratching them, they’ve canged in personality and become deeper characters. For example Arckan was at first a very dark guy who was very edgy and all. I haven’t erased that part, but I’ve changed it a bit and let the character evolve through different stages of his life, and now he’s like the Squad Dad than anything else x’D

Regarding Felys, she’s one of the lastest oc’s I’ve created and I’m really really happy to have done so. She’s the first one who has a full story from start to end I’m going to make a comic of, and I’m really excited to do so. It’s been hard, especially at the begining, to build her character, and her story is far from the amazing comiccs I read, but I still loved thinking about it nonetheless. Plus in the times I’ve feeling really unmotivated about keeping on with her, amazing people like you, antarestyl, namekian maoh and obviously my amazing sister have motivated me, be it with fanart, comments or great advice

Despite their flaws I love them all deeply and I’ve had a lot of fun creating and developing each one of them, they’ve only been a positive outcome for my imagination and free time, so I can only feel positive, happy and passionate when thinking about them

G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most?

There’s nothing they could do that ‘bothered’ me, but I’ll try!

Arckan: The same thing I talked about earlier, the trusts he puts in people, he always ends up hurt because he’s too dependant on others and is up to giving everything he has for you, love yourself a bit more dear c’: Luckily he’ll end up surrounded by people who really love and support him for real, but that’ll be a trial and error journey full of errors.

Felys: She’s careless. Very careless. Seriously x’D In that aspect she reinds me of me, since I’m extremely clumsy have some kind of gift to break things, but I do try not to do so and feel horrible whenever that happens but Felys? Nah she’s so used to things ending up in ashes by accident she just kinda rolls with it. She tries (more or less) to be careful but she’s helpless x’D

J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

I guess this ask is meant to be for OC’s from an existing universe, but since all of my characters live in an original world I created for their story the answer is nope! 

Felys in fact lives in the same world as Arckan, but very, very far away from him. She does interact with Fellby, but I’ll try my best to keep him as close from canon as I possibly can >:D

[ahensaanmyr]

To Spite Gods: Part 2 (End)

I think you’ve spent so much time alone that you’re used to it by now.

Still went with you guys, didn’t I?

The stone walls around him were constantly cold. Up here in the snowcaked mountains, the only thing you ever got was cold. The blanket gripped at his shoulders did nothing to alleviate it, and neither did the thick clothes over his scratched and bruised form. The iron shackles certainly didn’t help. What was greater the shame, he wondered… was it his capture and imprisonment here, or was it his failure to assist his queen? He had known the risks, of course. When the demons had finished the murals, the monster they summoned with the blood of his subordinates was enough to prove that there was terror in mind for Verte’s world. He and the priestess had fled the temple and let the monster run amok in the forests of Ashenvale, the beast befouling the earth and slaughtering the locals for weeks before the forces of the Moon Guard managed to subdue and obliterate it.

Meanwhile, Verte went to his Queen’s aid. He stood by the side of her armies as they summoned demons and made pacts with devils, preparing for the coming of the one they called Sargeras. It was a name he heard the priestess speaking in her foul tongue when she said her prayers. Apparently, it was the lord of the them all. They expected to see him very soon. Verte was looking forward to it. He had never really seen a god before, not a true one, and perhaps this one would not disappoint.

His sword cut down many of his former brothers and sisters as they stormed the palace. The sky had ripped open and rained fire on the earth, and the atrocities of his station bled into Azeroth as its protectors rose to defend it. He had gone far beyond the point of no return. Where before he needed comfort and excess to clear his mind every night, now he slept like a babe, barely feeling more than the weight of his sword. The battles were ruthless, with the defenses of Azshara’s palace chipped away by day only to be reinforced by hideous monsters by the night. Verte had even seen the corruption of Neltharion and the destruction wrought by that black dragon’s actions. It all seemed over for Azeroth. He followed his orders and with nervous anticipation waited for the arrival of the Dark Titan.

It was during one of those waiting nights that the world tore apart.

He was resting against one of the palace’s ramparts, waiting for the next call to go out for defenses, when the alarm gongs echoed throughout the gilded halls, shaking the stone and metal beneath their feet fiercely. All were rushing to the Queen’s aid at the shores of the Well of Eternity, and he was nearly there when he saw the first cracks in the palace. At first he thought it was an attack by the druids again, but when the earth split open and lava spewed out from the fissures, only to be flashed solid by roaring ocean waters, he knew it was something worse, something far, far worse. He got to the antechamber and caught only a glimpse of the heathen druid lord and his queen in combat, and the Well between them churning and twisting. Arcane light flashed as fire consumed forests of vines and rain extinguished the flames, frozen solid by spellwork only for the ice to burst as moonlight and sunlight beamed and burned away magic. Verte favored his queen to succeed of course, until something above him crumbled and a piece of the palace the size of a kodo fell on him.

He had not expected to wake. A miserable way to die it would have been, dying to a chunk of falling rubble, but he supposed he could have accepted it. When he felt the pain from a hundred wounds and the rope of vines twisted around his ankles and wrists, he wished he could have. They had argued for hours on whether or not to kill him as they had killed all the others, and it almost seemed as if he’d meet an executioner’s axe before someone stepped in and vouched for him. He would learn the error of his ways. The man who supported him and stayed the blade looked him in the eyes, staring with a face all too similar to his own.

Then they had dragged him up here to the cold. Food came through a slot in the door, just as chilly as the dungeon cell every time. There was nothing to do here but to wait for the decision to come down- would that worthless lowborn bastard brother of his let him rot in a cell, or was there some other purpose in store? The sharp edge of the cuffs shined in the low light of the room. Bored, he had ground one side of them down to make a weapon, but nobody bothered to open the door long enough for him to use it. Now he scratched at his scraggly and unkempt chin with them, contemplating dragging them across his throat. It wouldn’t be an honorable death, or even one for any history books, but what else did he have but his life? He could wait here in this cell for the lowborn to decide his fate or he could take it in his own hands. The cuffs shifted slightly as he slid his hands lower, to his shoulders. The keen line of shining iron in the otherwise black and bleak room tempted him. It was like the light at the end of death’s tunnel, only at the entrance. How easy would it be to get the last laugh like this?! Take that, you traitorous bastards. You can’t even have me!

The gleam reminded him of a different shimmer, a shimmer he had seen months ago. His oath was to his Queen, yes, but she was dead. He had another oath. That demon had made him swear in blood to make an enemy of the gods. He swore, but it was with cold terror in his heart. He had seen one of them kill a thousand. But seeing the battlefield, seeing their numbers routed by a single one, that cold terror was replaced with nervous anticipation. Oh, they could die. It wouldn’t even take him a thousand to kill one. They were made of flesh and blood. He lowered the cuffs. Getting out. He swore an oath. He longed to see their blood run. They called him a monster, now. What would they call him when he was a man who killed gods?

The door of the cell shook and clicked and Verte pushed his hands into his lap, staring at a wall. The wood swung open and gave the Moon Guard his first real burst of heat since he had been locked in this place, the fire warm on the other side as an elf in shining armor stepped inward, his helmet off as he frowned down at him. In many ways, the two of them were exactly alike, right down to the ears, the black hair, the azure skin, even the turn of the lip so valued in the Highborne circles. What Verte’s horrid excuse for blood lacked was the golden eyes that the Baldassares valued so greatly. Verte noticed he had also spent the time carving new tattoos into his face, perhaps to separate himself even further.

“Dangal. Come to hit me again?”

The armored elf clenched his fist a bit and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Please, brother. I want to know if you’ve learned the error of your ways. Queen Azshara is dead. With her passing she took the damned world with her. There’s nothing left now but to pick up the pieces.”

“In all of your hands, of course. Was this ever anything more than a coup, Dangal? Now the druids are in control, the Highborne are hunted and chased across the forests and fields, and how do you treat magic, our race’s lifeblood, our inheritance from the Well itself? How many have you executed so far?”

“How did you know all that?”

“Little birds come to the window.”

Dangal looked to the side of the bare, unadorned wall. “What choice do we have, Verte? That magic brought the demons here, it brought the world to ruin. I might not approve of it being punished so harshly, but in order to protect what is left, we have to do whatever it may take.”

“Even if it means killing your family? How is dear father doing?” Verte grinned, but Dangal smiled back.

“Quite alright, actually. He’s given up his staff and books and is working as a farmer.”

“He was a master arcanist-

“Was, Verte. We all have to make changes.”

Verte frowned and lowered his head, going quiet. Dangal spoke up again but was quieted as the elf before him sniffed.

“If father was given up the spell, maybe...” He shifted around, holding his hands closer to his knees. “I don’t know, brother.” The word was acid on his lips, but he said it anyways. To his glee, Dangal squatted down beside him, looking at him intently. “Maybe it is time. The Queen did such wicked things.”

Dangal leaned in further, nodding. “It’s alright, Verte. We’ll get your name cleared, our family won’t have to live in squalor, either. We can work together t-“

It was a quick motion. Verte’s hands came out of the blanket the moment that Dangal went in for a hug and swept across the guard’s neck, the sharpened edges of the cuffs swiping across. Drops of red blood splattered on the dungeon floor, Dangal’s eyes widening as he stammered and sputtered, trying to speak as Verte rose and bode him to the ground by his chest, forcing his arms away from his neck every time he tried to grab it to stop the bleeding. The gash spilled a torrent of crimson, flapping and squeezing as he tried to gasp and breathe, only making the wound worse.

“Shh. Shh, bastard. I’m sure you’ll serve as good mulch for your druid friends. Lie back and die a traitor’s death. Shh.”

The grabbing hands at Verte’s own grew weaker and weaker, and soon they fell to his sides, fingers but twitching as the flow of blood slowed and pooled beneath the cut elf. His eyes rolled backward, and his facial tics were reduced to nothing more than lip twitches and the flare of a nostril. Verte searched Dangal’s still warm body, finding a key and undoing the blood-drenched shackles, tossing them into the side of the cell with a clatter as he rubbed his wrists, sneering.

Escape was important, but for now he sat beside the sorry, dying fool that called himself his brother and watched every bit of life drain from him.

That doesn’t mean much, considering the situation you were in.

 I wasn’t THAT bad off.

Glaslem couldn’t feel much of anything. Oh wait, no, that was just numbness for a moment. There was the feeling. Correction. Glaslem could feel everything. His already injured hand throbbed, the soreness of it churning his stomach. It was definitely worse off than it had been, probably broken, but he couldn’t tell from the mass of cloth it had become. At least it was only dirty and not bloody. His right leg was sprained, definitely. Every time he moved it, it shot pain through his body that felt like an explosion. He landed on it, that’s what he remembered. His side trickled even more blood, and with his uninjured hand he touched at it, wincing as he felt a rib sticking against his breastplate.

Three stabs had been enough to convince the dragon that it wasn’t a good idea to be attacking this particular castle anymore, and it had flown off at a speed that made him nearly black out. He had held on bitterly, grinding his teeth with the sword buried in the lizard’s back, getting ready to stab again until it tucked it’s wings inward and rolled so fast that he was flung off. He righted himself as quickly as he could and thought to tumble the moment he hit the ground, but his right foot landed first and that was all for the story before unconsciousness.

He sat up (to his immediate regret) and looked around, wincing. Where was he? He didn’t recognize these particular rolling hills apart from any of the others in Arathor. Slowly he crawled up to his feet, leaning against his sword for support and sighing. Standing up took him nearly a minute. Walking was going to be hell. Still, he couldn’t just lay there and wait for someone to find him. A wandering patrol from the Empire could find him and they might recognize him. He might be a mercenary, but that wouldn’t matter if he was bloody and beaten. If it wasn’t a military patrol, he might be found by trolls. He didn’t worry about trolls usually, but he’d make a good meal for a tribe of them, the way he was now.

He limped forward, shifting his sword around so that it acted as a crutch. The movement made him cringe and he gagged on sour agony, but he took another step, sliding along the grass that occasionally turned from green to red with droplets of his blood. It took him an hour to reach the crest of the hill and then another hour getting down it, something that normally wouldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. The constant starting and stopping ground on his nerves, but any faster and he knew he wouldn’t be moving very much at all. He crossed more hills as the sun died down, finally finding a tree in the endless highlands that he could hunker down beside as the day turned to night. In the darkness, his barely focusing eyes spotted smoke in the moonlight, and a campfire far to the east. He pointed in that direction and fell asleep, exhaustion winning out over pain.

He woke up before dawn to find the campfire still roaring and blessed his luck, hoisting himself up to his agonized feet and sliding along towards it, using the flame as a beacon. The sun rose as he crossed another few hills, the smell of woodsmoke and charring meat sharp in the air and causing Glaslem to drool, wiping his mouth with his bandaged hand. Every step was new suffering, but his body got used to it eventually. It was noon when he finally arrived on the outskirts of the camp and thankfully found the fire still burning and people still wandering around in it. He found somewhere close and hid as well as an eight-foot elf could. His body ached and his stomach growled, but he’d do no good stumbling in to a possible Arathi camp and hoping for mercy.

The soldiers moving around the camp wore no colors and flew no flags, but the rich smell of their cooking betrayed how much they were working with. Rosemary, Thyme, Basil, Yeast, Sugar- all of these things filled the air around the camp, and they weren’t that common around this area of the highlands. He was surprised he could pick up that many different scents. Maybe the fall had fixed his broken nose again. Glaslem’s ears twitched, picking up subtle sounds. The tuning of a lute somewhere there, the crackle of the fire, soft conversation. He heard the word ‘Lordaeron’ used a lot, but couldn’t quite tell if it was being used in a good way or a bad way.

There was a familiar voice among them. Glaslem smiled, standing up and limping towards the camp, whistling loudly to make sure they knew he was coming. Swords were drawn from scabbard and the distinct tug of a bowstring sent his ear flapping, but he continued forward slowly.

“Who the hell’s that?”

“Wait, I think I saw him at the fight. Was he on our side?”

“He was killing Arathor troops, but who knows with the elves…”

“Glaslem?”

There was that familiar voice again… A short ginger-haired girl made her way through the throng of soldiers, having to squeeze a little to get by. Eight soldiers in total not counting Agerio, and he was too injured to wait until they were asleep to grab what he needed. He leaned heavily against his sword, making a pitiful image, partly for sympathy and partly so they wouldn’t see him holding his knife under his cloak. Trust was a valuable commodity and one he wasn’t so willing to give away.

“Agerio, what do you know. Small world. Could you do me a favor and fix this shit?”

“Were you the one who-“

“Jumped on the dragon? Yeah.”

The soldiers blinked, staring at him with a mixture of awe and suspicion. Their weapons didn’t lower any. Agerio moved past them though, slowly and cautiously as she looked over his wounds, turning her eyes and mouth down in worry and shock.

“You WALKED here like this…? Okay, I c-“

“No.” Said a voice from the crowd.

Glaslem raised his head up a bit from the small priestess tending to him, who was glancing back as well. Oh, for the love of- well, at least the raptor head was deflated. That was a little funny. Zaburo’s shiny armor was dented and tarnished with smoke, soot, and scratches, and from the patches of shine visible on the surface, he had tried to scrub it away with polish to no avail. He still bore that pompous, irritable look on his visage that yelled out to the world around him that he was better than you, and had the deeds to prove it. He marched over, standing behind his troops and spitting.

“He pays if he wants services.”

“Are you kidding, Zaburo?” Glaslem sneered, staring him down. The noble shifted around uncomfortably, but didn’t move. He had soldiers to protect him. “After what I did at the keep and to the dragon AND after you underpaid me?”

“You, were paid adequately, elf. Money grubbing, ungrateful. What can anyone expect?” Zaburo laughed and his lackeys nervously laughed with him, their weapons half lowered. Glaslem grit his teeth, eye twitching with anger and the pain from his injuries. Didn’t really have time for this.

“…Fine. Fine. How much for her to heal me and to get some rations?”

“Oh, you want to be FED too?! Typical! Ah, alright. After all, money talks to your kind. Fifteen gold.” Glaslem sighed, shutting his eyes and frowning. Well, guess it would be time to start over- “Per wound.”

“Excuse me?” That had been from Agerio, the priestess shooting a look back at the commander. Glaslem’s response was less polite.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“-per wound, with an extra five for the rations. That should get you well enough to leave my camp. It’s the least you can do for the destruction of the League.”

“You’re blaming me for that?”

“You’re an elf. You should have known earlier what we were getting into.”

Glaslem didn’t look at Zaburo. Another look at that smug face and he would have ignored the sharp arrows notched in bowstrings in front of him. If he just left, he’d die. Exposure would kill him if the blood leaking out of his wounds didn’t attract a REAL raptor. At the same time, Zaburo’s idea of ‘five gold rations’ was probably a loaf of stale bread. Even if he healed the side wound so that he wasn’t going to bleed out, he’d starve to death with his limited mobility. Not that he actually had the gold for the rations anyway… Glaslem looked down at Agerio, chewing on the inside of his lip. She was worried, shifting and rubbing her shoulders in anxiety and disgust The soldier’s arrows were pointed down. They weren’t as tense with the priestess in the way.

Bad move.

Glaslem ripped his knife out from his cloak and wrapped his arm around Agerio’s chest, the priestess yelping as he yanked her up into his chest, pinning her with the knife at her throat. The bows went back up just as quickly, but they shook worriedly. Zaburo snapped to attention, sneering.

“Bad idea, elf! Shoot him.”

“Sir, she’s in the way.”

“I don’t care!” Glaslem grinned. The soldiers didn’t seem to take that as a command to open the volley.

“Sir, we can’t. She’s a priestess.” Glaslem stared them down, his knife hand steady despite his injuries. Pain was forgotten for adrenaline. Agerio didn’t so much as wince, frozen in terror.

“Yeah, that’s right. Any of you want the death of a priestess on your hands? I doubt it. Prospect of Hell doesn’t sound too good, right? Not to mention what those priests’ll do to you and your families.”

“You dirty elven coward!”

“Glaslem-“

“Heal my leg, Agerio.”

Shifting around a bit, she panted in his grip and shakily slid her hand down, grasping his thigh. A flash of light later and he could feel the tension and agony of his twisted leg fade away. The elf let out a sigh and hitched her closer to himself, backing away slowly, dragging his sword with him and pinning her between it and him.

“SHOOT HIM! I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT A PRIESTESS! I WILL PAY YOU EACH TEN GOLD TO SHOOT HIM!”

They didn’t. They also didn’t follow, letting Glaslem and Agerio wander off backward into the rolling hills. He couldn’t really walk with her, so he limp-dragged her along, keeping the sharp blade close to her flesh. They really are cowards, he bitterly thought, watching as they lowered their bows and backed away into the camp. Glaslem glanced back and found a tree, putting his back against it.

“Alright. Heal the rest of me, quick.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

Glaslem went quiet, staring back at the camp. The fire was still lit, smoke spilling up into the sky. His eyes searched for moving figures, but found none.

“What? No. You thought I was going to stab you or something?”

“You still have a knife to my throat!” Her voice was a high-pitched squeak or worry and panic.

“…Oh. Oh! Shit, sorry. Force of habit, I’m used to unwilling hostages.”

“You are?!”

“Look-“ He took the knife away and even dropped it for good measure, holding his hand up. He would have held both, but his sword weighed down the other. “-it’s a long story. Heal me.”

“Alright, but I’m coming with you.”

“That’s probably a bad idea-“

“Better than staying with them. Zaburo had me give up the gold you gave me as a travel expense and confiscated all of my books.”

Agerio turned now that she was free, her hands glowing with light, the pain and agony of his wounds fading as bones knit, muscle mended, and flesh sealed. As she healed him, he bit down on and ripped the bandages off of his hand, freeing it from the sword handle just in time for the magic to snap it back into place, the elf squeezing his eyes shut in response to the sound and pain. He rolled it, gratified at the lack of ache as he tested every bit of his body, giving a happy sigh.

“You priests are something else.”

“Yes, but don’t get hurt again. I don’t think I could manage it again until we rested.”

Glaslem sighed, hoisting his sword up and setting it onto his shoulder. He knelt down and picked up his knife, flipping it in his hand to hold it to her. She took it. “You’re sure about this? Means I’ll have to make a detour.”

“Where are you going?”

“Gonna go kill that dragon.”

Agerio stared at him dumbfounded as he pushed off the tree and started off down the hill, much faster now that he wasn’t having to use his massive sword as a crutch.

I suppose so. It was rather impressive…

 I’m just naturally impressive. Heh.

Verte squatted down beside the body of a slain Lordaeron troop, looking it over. It was covered in claw and bite marks. Bodies were the only bounty to be found here at this keep, bodies so mutilated and burned that it was obvious where the dragon’s rage had been centered. Everything else was gone. There was nary a gold coin or tiny gemstone left, and even the bodies had been stripped of armor and weapons. It had been a massacre from the inside out, but the corpses stopped piling up once they left the keep. He sighed and stood up, looking at the wall and blood still drying on it’s surface. One of the soldiers had smeared out a symbol on it, some plea for aid for any listening god. Verte smirked. They’ll probably think this place is cursed after this.

A cloaked figure stepped out of the keep itself, slinking forward like a shadow with the black cloth covering the body. “Any alive?” The elf asked, staring at the figure for a moment before two metal-clad hands reached up and pulled the hood back, revealing a near-white face with small, pointed tusks.

“No. There’s a dead drakonid in there, though. Took about four of them…”

“Tch. Maybe next time they won’t charge into a dragon’s den.”

“I don’t think they knew.”

“No foresight. Don’t have any sympathy for them, Orenga.”

Verte put two fingers into his mouth and whistled sharply. From the ramparts a whistle came back. A tall human figure, hair gold and body lanky, strolled down from the wall, taking every step with a droop that made him seem either tired or just suave, and from the look on his face, it was likely the latter. The man put his hands on his hips and cocked his back, smirking insufferably. The elf frowned.

“Got a trail, Sekot?”

“Headed north towards Lordaeron. Looks like she had the drakes gather up her loot, because she flew off in a hurry.”

“She devastated these people. Once they were inside, the Drakonids and spawn tore the soldiers apart and dropped the gate while she scorched the army outside so badly they had to retreat. I would be shocked if any of the ones inside were left alive. Maybe she had another hoard to hunt down?”

“No.”

“…No?”

“No, because she was injured. From the sense of it, right in her back.”

“Orenga, get the horses. We need to move now!”

Oh, you’re such a braggart.

 ONE of us has to be. You’re all so damn humble!

Agerio kept quiet through the rest of the journey, trailing behind Glaslem with a look of worry until they finally arrived at a small village in northern Arathor. The town had been occupied by Lordaeron forces, not that it mattered much; traveling with the priest was something Glaslem would have to do more often. The angry glares were cut short when the symbols and robes were seen, with heads bowing in reverence and respect to the young priestess who, to anyone just glancing about, might’ve had the massive elf as a bodyguard. They even got some free bread!

“Hell, I should just join the church. Think I’d make a good knight?”

“You are too much a fool.”

“Mshmarter then ‘oo.” He said, mouth full of bread.

They approached a small chapel at the far side of town, some of the peasantry giving bows to the priestess and worried looks to her pointy eared escort. Agerio stepped to the doors and gave a happy sigh, leaning against the heavy wood in reverence, muttering a prayer. Glaslem occupied himself by leaning back against the doorframe with his arms securely crossed over his chest. She picked her head up off of the wood and looked over to Glaslem with a frown, one hand on the door’s handle.

“Are you sure about this? Really? Glaslem, it’s a dragon!”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal.”

“…It’s a DRAGON!”

“Look, don’t worry about me, alright? I’m a mercenary, you shouldn’t care about people who get paid to kill people. Go in there and settle into a world apart from my bullshit.”

“I will pray that you remain safe.”

“Ah, don’t do that. Then I’d be out of a job.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Glaslem jerked his head upward in a motion for her to continue in. The door swung open and then shut. The elf took a deep breath in through his nostrils and stepped down the steps, rolling his shoulders and keeping his sword on his back. He knew this area, and he knew there was a pass through the mountain nearby he could use to get into Lordaeron proper. From there, he’d spend the little bit of his gold on a guide, maybe a tracker to hunt it down. A brief thought of just picking up more work popped up. The war was still going after all, and there was always need for more soldiers on the front lines. He shook the thought out of his mind. Slaying a dragon was just too enticing. Stupid sure, but enticing. With any luck it’d still be injured! With one of his gold pieces he bought a bag’s worth of bread and rations, filling his waterskin at the well.

As Glaslem left the village, he didn’t notice a woman in rags watching him from behind one of the buildings, waiting for him to leave before she disappeared.

The sun slid down over the horizon by the time he reached the pass. His body was fresh and still spry, but without a torch or a lantern there’d be little use trying to go through the mountains in the dead of night. Thankfully it was the midsummer. It’d be cold up on the mountain but down here at the base it was calm and quiet, the wind barely blowing save for a slightly damp breeze from the top of the mountain. Camp for Glaslem was nothing more than a large enough rock for him to sit against, wrapping his cloak around tight and leaning back as he shut his eyes, letting his ears twitch and pick up the sounds around him, his sword leaning against the rock.

It was too bad that Orenga was too quiet for him to pick up, even with his elven ears open wide. She climbed up atop the rock he was sleeping against, leaning down to look his face and features over with a soft smile. Her gauntleted fingers came down, claws almost brushing across his cheek before she stopped and turned her face in a frown. She leaned back up and huffed silently, pouting as she slid off of the rock and away.

The camp was dead still when Orenga arrived back, Verte and Sekot looking up at her in the darkness.

“So who is he?”

“Don’t know. No symbols, simple armor, big sword’s about the only special part of him besides the fact that he’s an elf.”

“That alone is enough to set him apart h-“

“Cute, too.”

Silence. Verte sighed heavily, and Sekot grinned and buried his face in his hands. Orenga blinked. “What?! You know that’s not why I want him here, anyway. Are we going to take him with us?” The elf ran his hand through his feathered white hair, shaking his head.

“Not likely. He’s just another rogue element in the chase.”

“But you know lone wolves don’t last long without a pack…”

“Lone wolves also choose to be alone, Orenga. Sekot, you’re sure she went this way?”

The human leaned forward, his arms over his thighs, nodding. “Aye. Still illusioned, though moving fast. I don’t think she can fly very high with her injury.”

“Did you see where it was?”

“Back I think, from the limp.”

Verte shifted around a bit and sat cross-legged, holding his sword in his lap. This sword had stayed with him for a long time, through nicks and breaks, across centuries, across two continents that had once been one. It had been newly tempered in the blood of Gods. Ever since he had come to this land though, it had been dull. Not a single scale had been chipped by his blade. He’d fix that with this one. Admittedly, that was what he had been saying with every new one they found…

“We’ll wait for a while, let the stranger go up the path first. If she kills him, we’ll be able to get the drop on her while she’s distracted.” Sekot nodded, but Orenga frowned, furrowing her brow at Verte. He turned to her. “We’re not heroes, Orenga. You know that.” The troll said nothing, turning her nose up and moving to her bedroll with a low ‘hmpf!’ Verte sighed and looked over his sword.

 Glaslem awoke to a bird chirping, picking through his bag. With a shout it leapt and flew away, with a small piece of bread in its beak. “You little shit!” He called after it, sighing and settling down, rubbing his hands across his face. It was a gentler morning than the one before, but his back cracked from the rough bedding, really nothing more than his cloak draped over the front and back of him. Maybe he’d get a night with a bed once he crossed the border, with any luck. He definitely still had the gold for it. With a yawn he picked himself up off of the ground and stretched, his body a cacophony of creaks and pops as he worked circulation back into limbs that’d been pinched by his posture on the ground. He spat and grabbed the piece of bread the bird had been nibbling, taking a bite right out of it and washing it down with a mouthful of bland-tasting, lukewarm water from his waterskin. Then he picked up his sword, propped it on his shoulder, and started up the pathway, tugging his cloak tighter and pulling his hood over his head to block out the chilling winds that were whistling down from the narrow passage.

Fresh dawn sun did little to warm him as he trudged upward, his boots crunching in frost and scattered pebbles. The path sloped greatly after only an hour of travel, the journey growing perilous as he was forced to keep only one hand on the handle of his sword to catch himself every time he stumbled. Glaslem’s boots were heavy, but they struggled to find a place in the slippery earth. Eventually he switched to just burying his sword in the damned ground and ice, using it as a pick to drag himself further and further upward. After hours of grueling travel, he finally found a place covered over by a lip of rock on the mountain peak above, keeping it dry. Glaslem rested there, finishing off the bread and glancing out over the land. Below him the Highlands stretched over like a green quilt concealing a pudgy giant, hills and mounds pushing the land upward and making a mess of what could’ve been clean, straight emerald. The elf pulled his cloak tighter around himself and sighed, the breath freezing in front of his lips. How did this mountain get this cold this fast? It wasn’t even that high up… His fingers shook, and he huffed on them to warm them, working blood back into the digits during his short break. All the way up here he could even trace his steps and see the ruined keep he had been in the other night, still spilling black smoke up into the sky from the flames caught by the dragon’s rage.

“The hell am I thinking…?” Glaslem said to the chilling air, frowning. Pride? Eh. He didn’t care what people said about him, whether they thought he was mad or if they thought he was brave. It’d be nice to be able to set his shoulders a little higher and snobbily say ‘Heh yeah, I managed to kill a dragon’, but that’d only put food on the table and women in his bed for a few months. He didn’t have anything particularly AGAINST dragons, big scary scaled monsters they may have been, at least not enough to make it his mission usually. Everything told him to just get over the lizard, let her go her way. He’d almost be over the thought and the word would pop up again.

Mortal.

Mortal this. Mortal that. Mortal trespasses, how dare the mortals do such a thing… like every step he took he should be kissing a scaly claw for the chance to breath that day. He didn’t like people, but they didn’t make him as angry as Gods did. People were at least people. Gods were supposed to be better than that. It was hard enough living without dealing with something that didn’t trying to tell you what to do.

He sharply gasped, wincing. He hadn’t realized that he was clenching his teeth. He rocked his jaw around a bit, breathing on his hands again to warm them as he continued along the path, sticking close to the side of the mountain to keep himself from looking down. The frost was less prominent as he went higher, giving him a hell of a lot less trouble walking, but it wasn’t much comfort. The air grew colder and colder even as the sun hung directly over his head, the daylight’s warmth doing little to keep the shake out of his shoulders and wrists. The wind here was heavier too, forcing him to keep his cloak pulled tight with one hand as the other kept his sword comfortable. He STILL managed to slip a few times, though not on ice but from exhaustion. Step after step he climbed until he finally reached the point that the path sloped back downward, grateful to have a downhill.

There was also a rounded clearing here, bearing a single long dead tree with its branches like spines trying to catch light to protect it from the bitter cold. Glaslem trudged to it and sighed, leaning his sword against it and breathing heavily, grinning. Only a few more hours and he’d be back in summer warmth, back somewhere the weather made sense, with green trees and fresh grass, and a few hours past that a bed that he could sleep a year in. Yeah. That sounded nice. He looked down, noticing a pile of burlap below him and a pair of yellow eyes glaring up at him.

“SHIT!” The elf stumbled back, startled and leaning forward to prop his hands on his knees. “You scared the hell out of me… sorry. Didn’t see you there.” The pile of burlap shifted slightly, the bag-like coat wrapping tighter around the figure as she stood and looked at him, still glaring. “Look, I’ll be out of your way in just a second. Just need to catch my breath and I’ll be down the mountain.” The woman strode forward towards him, limping slightly. Her eyes glowed gold, still narrowed towards him. Mage, maybe? He thought, frowning. “I’m not trying to start trouble-“

“RUN!” Glaslem jerked his head back at the voice and saw a troll get yanked back behind the stone wall. Well, that was weird. He looked back as he heard cracks, and a faint arcane pop. The dragon was staring back at him.

Fire pooled in it’s mouth and he dove, instinct taking over as his cloak was singed by flame, the clearing taken up almost entirely by the dragon’s form. He low-crawled away, trying to get away before a claw punctured his healed side and reversed that, sending him flying and crashing into the tree, the wood and his body snapping as he went through it and into the stone wall behind. Blindly he reached out, his vision swimming and head throbbing as his hand clasped around something hard and heavy and he stabbed it forward, hearing a screech as it plunged into something soft, but the object snapped. Glaslem blinked, finally able to see properly. His sword was beside him on the ground, while a branch from the broken tree had been jammed into the dragon’s gum when she tried to come down on him. Taking the moment, he picked himself and his sword off of the ground, tasting heavy copper and spitting out the mouthful of blood that had pooled there.

The dragon crunched through the branch and spat it aside, swinging down on him with her claws. He blocked it with his sword, but it was like blocking a battering ram, sending him stumbling and tripping aside before he managed to catch his feet again and turn to face her. He ran to the side but breathing was difficult, his side dripping down and staining the gray ground red. Glaslem swung blind, managing to slash across the dragon’s palm and duck another swipe, rolling out of the way of another blast of fire. With a sweep he slashed across her scaly cheek, the dragon roaring in anger and lifting back. He watched her carefully. If she breathed fire close, he could attack her face. If she swiped, he could get her in the palms of her hand, though the backs were too heavily armored. The neck as well was too tough to go for, which was a damn shame because that was his go to for lizards and raptors. There wasn’t enough room to hit him with her tail, and from the way her wings curled on her back to cover her previous wound, he wouldn’t have to worry about her flying.

“ELF.” The dragon said, curling her lips back in a sickly smile as he stared her down, gripping his sword tightly.

“Oh, now you want to talk?!” He clenched his teeth in a grizzly smile, more for grit than glee.

“HOW FAR CAN YOUR KIND FALL BEFORE THEY JUST DIE?”

Glaslem froze, which was a mistake. She charged forward before he could react, ramming him in the stomach with her snout and shoving him forward. His boots scraped and scrambled on the stone, unable to find a place. She had all four claws planted on the ground and now her head dangled over the side, shaking violently. He glanced down and immediately regretted it, the jagged chunks of rock that would meet him below calling for him. He still had his sword, but one hand was occupied with gripping a scale with dear life, trying to keep from flying off.

The wind picked up harshly, the dragon’s eyes shutting for a moment of surprise as it buffeted against her, sending her crashing to her side and rolling with the force of the gale, off the edge of the mountain. She scrabbled at the side with her claws, digging them in deep to keep herself from falling. Glaslem looked over to where the wind had blown from and saw nothing, but didn’t look a gift dragon in the mouth; with a scream of rage he plunged his sword down between the dragon’s eyes.

The last image in her mind before she died was going crosseyed as she stared up at the mortal that killed her. Then, they both fell into the rocks.

 Verte frowned, stepping to the edge of the cliff, careful not to slip in the splattered blood and scale. He gripped his sword’s handle tightly, though the shaking of his hands wasn’t from the cold. This was nothing compared to Winterspring. His sword was securely in its scabbard and completely, utterly, clean. His eyes cut down at the corpses below. The dragon had landed first, her wings skewered and body pierced by the rocks. The giant elf lay on the bottom of her jaw, gripping his sword even in death.

“What a fool. He could have just leapt off, landed on the rocks. Why did you warn him, Orenga?!”

“I couldn’t just let him die!” The troll woman looked at the edge as well, though with less frustration than her elven companion. Her fur coat was wrapped tight around her shoulders and she sniffed.

“It didn’t matter in the end, did it? Idiot. He could have at least had the decency to die BEFORE he fell.”

“That’s cruel, Verte.”

He sighed. It was, wasn’t it? After all, the elf had just done their job for them. They went to kill the dragon and the dragon was dead. Mission accomplished, right? It didn’t keep the black hole in his chest from roaring louder at every chance he had and every chance he slipped…

“Well, at least be cruel to his face.” Sekot said, smirking as he looked over the edge with arms crossed over his chest. Orenga gasped, her hands shooting to her mouth as Verte whipped his head around.

“What?”

“He’s not dead.”

 Glaslem pulled his sword free with a grunt and screamed. Some would say that it was a primal or animalistic sound, but it wasn’t that. There was shaking from fear, gurgling from pain, and a squawk at the end as it died off. It wasn’t the scream of prey killing a predator. It was directed at the heavens, at the shining sun. It wasn’t telling the people up on the cliff that he was still alive. It was telling the Gods that he was.

 “Humility is a virtue, isn’t it?” Verte said, smiling. The campfire crackled lightly. How long had it been since then? Twenty years? Twenty decades? Time moved so fast when you had a well and proper job to do. Orenga, Sekot, and Orogal were all asleep in their tents, leaving only the two elves to sit by the fire. Verte just sat with his sword in his lap, shining in the flickering light, while Glaslem drank heartily from a metal cup of coffee.

“It won’t be when this is all over, I think. Plenty of stories to tell at taverns across the world! But yeah… sleeping. Sleeping will be good when we’re retired.”

“I think I’ll keep that in mind, Glaslem. It might be a good thing to do.”

“In between spending time with your wife?”

“…Can I be honest?” Verte’s lackadaisical smile drooped down to a worried frown. “I don’t think I want to just settle down.”

“Tch, I figured not. What do you want to do instead, then?”

“I want to rule something.”

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Back-Tracking: Beneath Apple Manor (1978)

Some years ago I played through Beneath Apple Manor, one of the earliest commercially available CRPGs (and possibly the first ever).  It’s something of a proto-Roguelike, and as I recall it was a tight, replayable game that I enjoyed quite a bit.  It scored a 41 on the RADNESS Index, and it’s still the third-highest ranked CRPG on the blog so far, so it must have been doing something right.

At the time, in my hurry to move on, I didn’t bother trying very hard to complete it on the highest difficulty level.  At the time I was just allowing myself some respite from the endless labour of the PLATO CRPGs, and the prospect of moving forward with my list was too enticing. I had no time to waste on perfecting the games I played, I had to move on to, uhhhh, Space.  Well, they weren’t all winners.

Leaving that difficulty level unbeaten has been just one of the things bothering me about the blog, so I decided to go back and have a proper crack at it.  After all, I have the time right now.  My first thought upon firing up Beneath Apple Manor was that I had vastly overrated it.  It’s the sort of thing that tends to happen in the early days of a project, before things are nailed down. But gradually I figured out the systems again, and I’m pleased to say that I think I got it right the first time. It’s still fun, and it only took me a few tries to beat difficulty level 5 as a practice run.

I’m lazy, so I recycled this screen shot from five years ago.

Difficulty level 10 is another story altogether.  The goal of Beneath Apple Manor is to delve into the dungeons beneath Apple Manor and find the fabled golden apple.  You fight monsters along the way and build your stats, as in most CRPGs.  The apple doesn’t appear until your stats are high enough, and balancing the activities that drain your stats (like fighting monsters) with raising them through spending XP is a big part of the game.  Level 10 makes that really hard by making the monsters very, very difficult to defeat.

The original version of the game has five monsters.  It starts with slimes,  that are pretty weak but can damage your armour, and ghosts, which drain your strength score and can only be hurt with magic.  From there it moves up to Trolls (with the ability to regenerate their hit points), Purple Worms (high hit points and high damage) and Dragons (really high damage, but lower in hit points).  On most difficulty levels it’s not that hard to beat the starting monsters, but on level 10 even a fight with one lowly slime is no guaranteed thing.

On easier difficulty levels it had been my standard practice to clear out every level, find every treasure chest, and kill every monster.  I had to change that for level 10, and instead of clearing everything I started using hit and run tactics.  If I found a chest, I’d hightail it back to the stairs.  If I encountered a monster, I’d also run back to the stairs and descend to the next level; the levels descend infinitely so it doesn’t matter if you skip one entirely.  They generate based on your stats as well, so they don’t get any harder until you’ve grown stronger.  There are ways to avoid combat, by listening at doors, using the X-Ray spell to reveal your surroundings, and using the teleport spell in real emergencies.  It was slow going.

Much like tabletop D&D, you gain experience points from finding gold as well as winning fights, so I was still able to use these hit and run tactics to build my character’s stats.  And eventually, after nearly two hours of painstaking advancement, I reached my goal.

You’ll have to take my word for it that I didn’t just recycle this screenshot from five years ago.

While I was still in the zone with this game, I decided that I’d quickly cover the special edition, because checking out ports and alternate versions of games is something I do now.  So here’s another “Port of Call”, which I guess has become a regular feature.

PORT OF CALL – BENEATH APPLE MANOR SPECIAL EDITION (1982)

The Apple II version of the special edition was released in 1982, but for some reason the version that I found didn’t work properly.  I can’t remember why, and now that I’m testing it, it seems to work fine.  But anyway, it’s a cracked version, so it’s probably inauthentic in some way.  I went with the DOS port from 1983.  (Actually, according to mobygames this loaded as a boot disk, and didn’t run through DOS at all. How that works with current-day DOSBox, I haven’t the faintest idea.)

Are IBM-PC games allowed to look this good in 1983?

This one has a proper title screen, and even a nice rendition of Edvard Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King”.  (I’m the sort of philistine that has more appreciation for a PC speaker version of this than a fully orchestral one; in many ways I’m like the anti-Chester.)  The graphics are greatly improved: instead of ASCII characters or coloured blocks, the characters are represented with icons, and the whole thing is much more pleasant to look at.

The game plays pretty much exactly as it did before, except for the inclusion of two new monsters: Invisible Stalkers and Vampires.  Invisible Stalkers have no icons, and their only special ability is that you can’t see them; you have to figure out which direction they’re attacking you from through trial-and-error.  Vampires have an icon with a cool Dracula cape-and-collar, and when they attack they drain your Intelligence.  Neither of these additions do much to make the game more difficult: they don’t appear until around the same time as Purple Worms and Dragons, and they dish out far less damage than those two monsters.  The added variety is welcome though.

This level has a dragon, a vampire, and one chest. It’s probably not worth taking on that dragon, though.

It also has two new magic items.  The original game had magic swords and armour, a wand that cast the Zap spell at no cost to your intelligence, a wand that opened doors at no cost to your strength, potions that affected your stats, and a potion that wiped your memory (and your map).  The special edition adds magic boots that make it easier to sneak past monsters, and a potion of clairvoyance that makes it so you can see the entire dungeon level.  That potion’s a good one, because it’s permanent; once you get it, you can see every dungeon level from the start and plan your path out accordingly.  I had that potion for the screenshot above.

Using the same hit and run tactics, I was able to beat this version on difficulty level 10 as well.  The new additions didn’t require me to change my tactics, and to be honest the potion of clairvoyance actually made it a little easier.

Accurate for the time.

The ending of this one uses the same pun as the original, by making the “fabled golden apple” an Apple computer.  Then it pulls a swerve, and tells you it’s something even better: a golden IBM PC!  A little bit of my tribalistic, Apple-hating heart was warmed by this.  (Don’t worry, I’m being cured of my irrational anti-Apple bias by this blog; the Apple II is obviously the best games machine of its era.)

Hold your horses mate, you’ve got a decade or so before you can brag about anything.

As far as the RADNESS Index goes, I’d give this an extra point in Aesthetics, and also give it an extra point for the new monsters.  (I think I rated it too low in that category originally anyway.)  Taking away the bonus point, because this version lacks the historical significance of the original, it ends up with a RADNESS Index of 44.  It’s the version to play, for sure.

NEXT: I’ll play Greg Hassett’s Enchanted Island over the weekend (a probable one-post game) and on Monday I may have a quick back-tracking post up on the graphic adventure versions of Scott Adams’ first three games: Adventureland, Pirate Adventure and Mission Impossible.

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/back-tracking-beneath-apple-manor-1978/

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A question about poorly edited books

By Hugh Howey

Regina asks: “So, I have a serious question here, and forgive me if you’ve addressed it in a blog or something somewhere. Why do you think that there are so many badly- or un-proofread e-books? It seems to me that writers have so many more editing avenues these days. I’m reading this great, imaginative story right now, full of adventure and great characters, and I keep getting sucked out of the moment by spelling, homophone, and syntax errors. Lord knows, I’m no grammar police, but it makes me a little crazy! What do you think?"

Good question, Regina. The reason for so many poorly edited books these days is the same reason so many bands you go see at small gigs have an instrument out of tune, an amplifier that doesn’t sound great, or a singer who is off-key. Respectively, each of these is a matter of professionalism, cost, and ability (amount of practice).

Reviews certainly help highlight books with and without problems so readers know ahead of time. Be sure to notice the books that are well edited, and reward the author by highlighting this fact for other readers. Or do what my editor did and email the author with suggestions. Or reach out and offer editing services. Freelancers are popping up everywhere, and they are both sorely needed and greatly appreciated. Many of us just don’t know any better as we set out. We’re all still learning.

This might not seem obvious at first, but some of the fault lies with our expectations as readers. Shakespeare couldn’t spell a word the same way twice in a single sentence. Back in the day, words were there to communicate ideas, not to align to some golden standard. There was no standard. It was left up to the writer. Punctuation didn’t even always exist. At one point, all the letters ran together. No spaces, no periods, no nothing! It was up to the reader to do the work and piece together the meaning.

So writers have indeed gotten lazy these days, but so have readers. We expect perfection. Not a hiss or pop of static or a missed note. Maybe we should train ourselves to read how people used to read: with a little effort. Not getting hung up on discrepancies of spelling and punctuation (which used to abound), but allowing the words, in all their variability, to form pictures in our heads.

This takes practice. It takes a different approach to grammar and spelling. You have to learn to see words the way we hear voices: with accents and drawls and occasional mispronunciations. I go back and forth between books written by US authors and UK authors, and the variability doesn’t bother me at all. It’s part of the voice. I see authors all the time who use semi-colons between dependent and independent clauses, which is technically correct, but I take their meaning, gather a deeper breath, and read on.

They are the ones leading me. It’s their dance. I can choose to fall in with a slightly different step and enjoy the diversity of experience, or I can approach reading the way we perform the electric shuffle, crying “That’s not perfectly right!” and wishing everyone felt the same.

But the primary onus is certainly on the writer. They should have respect for what they’re doing. But if I had to pick between a great storyteller who lacked precision of language and a perfect writer with no story to tell, I’d take the former every single time. We teach too much prose to writers and not enough plot. Plot is king. Prose is pawn.

A version of this article appeared at The Wayfarer

Hugh Howey

Hugh Howey is the author of the award-winning Molly Fyde saga and the New York Times and USA Today bestselling WOOL series. The WOOL OMNIBUS won the Kindle Book Review 2012 Indie Book of the Year Award.