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humanpurposes · 1 year ago

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Sweet Dream

The Sandman AU

Her father means to summon and capture Death, but ends up with the wrong sibling. She becomes fascinated with their prisoner // Main Masterlist

Dream!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, spells n shit, mild gore, death, lowkey Lima syndrome, smut

Words: 8000

A/n: For my fellow Morpheus and Aemond lovers. Also available to read on AO3.

Roderick Burgess had always been a terrifying man. In grief he has only become more irritable and less predictable.

The telegram came in the early days of July. She delivered the news to Roderick herself, while he was in his study. Her father did not like to be disturbed and he might have beaten her to remind her of the fact, until those fateful words slipped from her mouth. “Randall’s dead.” Shot down by a German machine gun at the Somme. In the end he had been one of thousands, his body buried in a neat line of tombstones somewhere in France, his name engraved on a plaque in the church at Wych Cross, ultimately unremarkable and indistinguishable from the other men and boys who had lost their lives.

But it was not so for Roderick. He let out a sudden groan and clutched his chest as though his pain was tangible and terrible. He shed no tears– of course he didn’t, but he gritted his teeth, crying out in fury as he dashed his hands over his desk, sending papers, books, fountain pens and empty whisky glasses tumbling to the floor.

She stood frozen, waiting for his hand to descend on her for being the one to tell him, but it didn’t.

When they held a memorial service for him, Roderick handed her a piece of paper, to read before the crowd of faces she didn’t recognise.

“Randall was our family’s happiness. He was the bravest, the wisest, and kindest older brother I could possibly dream of having.” Her hands and voice trembled as she read because she knew it was all a lie. In truth, Randall was like their father. They had the same short temper, the same stubbornness and the same cruelty.

But Randall being dead meant she could reinvent him.

Lately, she dreams of happier memories and looks back on them fondly, knowing they can never be contradicted or disproved.

While her father has dreamt of Death ever since.

It’s a brisk afternoon in October when a man in a suit, bow tie and bowler hat arrives at Fawny Rig. He clutches a leather briefcase in front of him and introduces himself as Dr John Hathaway, a curator from the Royal Museum, travelled all the way from London to this quiet corner of East Sussex. She leads him through the panelled halls of the manor, to her father’s study.

Roderick barges in behind them, in a shirt and waistcoat, already smelling faintly of whisky and waving his cane in her general direction. “Tea for our guest,” he orders.

She has the pot ready and strains the dark, reddish liquid into two delicate china cups while her father and Dr Hathaway settle on opposing leather sofas in the centre of the room.

“I take it you have reconsidered?” Roderick says.

“After our meeting at the museum… I know what I said, but–” Dr Hathaway takes an unsure breath. “I received a telegram this morning. My son, Edmund, his destroyer was sunk last week off Jutland.”

It’s a loss Roderick can share, even if he doesn’t really understand how other than a few quick words of condolence. “I lost my son, Randall last year. He was my greatest joy.”

She pauses as she reaches for the sugar bowl. She has never been under the illusion that her own existence has given her father any joy, but then what sort of person would she have to be to earn his respect? She places the sugar on a tray, along with the small jug of milk and the cups, and brings them to the small table between the sofas. The pair don’t spare her a word of thanks or even a brief glance.

Dr Hathaway’s hand lingers on the clasp of his case. “If I give you this, could you truly do it? Could you really–”

“Capture the angel of Death?” Roderick says. “I believe I could.”

She shudders unexpectedly. The old groundskeeper used to say a sudden chill meant someone was walking over your grave.

Dr Hathaway clicks open the clasp and takes out an aged, leather bound book. It has no title on the cover, just gold markings in square, geometric patterns.

“The Magdalene Grimoire,” her father mutters, his eyes wide in an ominous sort of wonder. “With the spells recorded in the book, we will see our sons returned to us.”

The next night is a full moon. She stands by the door with Sykes, welcoming men and women dressed in midnight blue robes to the manor and directing them towards the door that leads to the cellar. They’re all part of Roderick’s ‘Order of Ancient Mysteries’ which as far as she can tell is a cult of fanatics who still believe in witchcraft. They come to Fawny Rig once a month, to listen to her father read from so-called ‘spell books’ as though he is a preacher.

The fanatics pull hoods over their heads and descend the narrow stone steps into the cellar with lit candles grasped in their hands. Roderick leads the way, the book Dr Hathaway gave him tucked under his arm.

She shoots Sykes a concerned frown but he just shrugs. He’s paid to organise the household and guard Burgess’ collection of relics, not to ask questions. Questions are a dangerous game with Roderick.

She trails after them and shuts the iron lock on the door behind her.

The cellar is more like a crypt, an expansive room sprawling under the house, held up by pillars and arches. In the low candlelight she makes out a set of markings on the floor in the heart of the room and this is where the Order of Ancient Mysteries gathers.

The shapes and symbols are unfamiliar to her, painted onto the flagstones, twisting and curling over each other to form a circle. Roderick stands at the very edge of it by a brass lectern.

She watches, half hidden behind a pillar as they stand around the circle and Roderick opens the book, his desired page already marked and studied in the hours since it has been in his possession.

“Tonight,” her father says to his congregation, “we will achieve what no one before us has attempted. We will summon and imprison Death.”

His eyes meet hers through the shadowy space, heavy and sunken with age, grief and months worth of sleepless nights. They glisten slightly too.

He holds his hands out and looks down at the markings on the floor. “Here, in the darkness.”

The others echo his words, softly and melodically at first. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

And so the ritual begins.

“I give you a coin made from a stone,” Roderick says, presenting the object to the ceiling as though the eyes of God are looking down from the heavens, through the house and the earth, and drops it to the floor, inside the circle of markings.

“I give you a knife from under the hills.” He holds up a thin blade and lifts his other arm so the sleeve of his robe drops to his elbow. “I give you the blood from out of my vein.”

She winces but does not look away as he draws the knife along the skin of his forearm, until dark droplets begin to fall and stain the markings.

“I give you a song I stole from the dirt and I give you a feather,” he says, raising a white feather that almost seems to glow through the gloom, “pulled from an angel’s wing.”

And all the while the voices persist. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

He drops the feather and it drifts gently down, landing in the very heart of the circle.

The room is still and she holds her breath.

The feather starts to move. It twists in a circle and floats up, lurching and turning as though it’s being blown about by a breeze she cannot feel or hear.

The voices raise to an urgent chant. Here in the darkness. Here in the darkness.

She clenches her fingertips against the stone of the pillar. She tries to meet her father’s eye again but he is fixated on the feather flying above their heads.

He calls over the chanting, “I summon you with poison,” and the moment he does the feather flickers like the striking of a match. “I summon you with pain! I open the way! I open the gates! I summon you in the name of the old Lords, we summon you together! Come!”

A noise, like a cracking whip splits her ears. The feather bursts into white and golden flames like the flash of a camera. The heat of it rushes over her face and burns her eyes.

And from the flames a body falls to the floor.

It thuds as it hits the ground, silencing the voices save for a few gasps and murmurs. She feels the flagstones rumble under her feet, sees the edges of a black cloak spilling across the floor and a head of long silver hair trailing from its head.

This isn’t an illusion. Roderick Burgess has brought forth a tangible entity, plucked from God-knows-where, lying motionless on the floor. For a moment she wonders if he is dead, until she sees a slight movement in his chest, but even then she fears she could be imagining it.

She takes a few unsure steps to where Roderick stands and the man– he is a man as far as she can tell– is further revealed to her. She can see his face now, his pale skin, the angles of his jaw and cheeks, the curve of his lips, but beyond that she finds herself unable to look away from the jewel that sits where his left eye should be. It is a bright, deep shade of blue and dotted with silver specs, like the vast expanse of twilight when the stars are out but the sky is not quite black. The eye is framed by twisted, red flesh and a scar, slicing from his brow to his cheek. It takes her a moment to realise his other eye, closer to the ground, is closed.

The only other parts of him she can see are the tips of his fingers, clasped around a small pouch.

“Is this… Death?” she utters.

“That remains to be seen,” Roderick says. He points to the pouch. “Get that for me.”

She stares back at her father. How he can speak so flippantly when a man has been conjured, seemingly from thin air, is beyond her. But he glares back, his dark expression only more formidable with his aged frown.

So she steps forward and begins to lower herself beside the man.

“Careful, girl!” Roderick barks, “don’t break the binding circle.”

She stops and looks down, where her skirt is inches from brushing over the markings on the floor. She shuffles back and, with trembling fingers, reaches for the pouch. It’s not hard to take, the man hardly resists, twitching his fingers to keep it in his grasp. It feels wrong, stealing from someone too weak to hold onto what is his.

She looks into the jewel-like eye. Can he see through it? Perhaps it has something to do with the scar? Did he place it there himself, or was he simply made this way?

Someone snatches the pouch from her. She looks up at her father as he undoes the strings and peers inside. “Sand,” he mutters, and stows it away inside his robes.

“And the jewel,” he says to her.

She means to protest, but finds she cannot.

She avoids the markings as she leans forwards. She presses her fingertips beside the man’s eye. His skin is cold and firm.

She swallows her guilt and the nauseous feeling in her throat, nudging her fingertips into the socket. It takes her a few attempts, but she pries the jewel free, wincing when she feels it come loose. If he feels any pain he hardly shows it. His brow furrows but his other eye remains closed, and he makes no sound.

She stands and offers the jewel to her father.

Roderick holds it to the light of one of the candles, giving a curious hum before he pockets that too.

“Move,” he mutters to her, pushing her out of his way as he stands over the man. He tugs on the black cloak and it falls into fragments that fade away, like dust on a breeze. The man’s body is bare, pale skin running over details of muscle and bone. He shivers and twitches like he has a fever, but still he does not speak, or even let out a breath.

“We’ll let our guest recover,” Roderick says, “and then we shall make our demands.

They leave him there for days. He does not move, or ask for food or water.

She doesn’t dream in the nights since they captured their ‘guest’. In fact she hardly sleeps at all. Each morning she wakes, already exhausted, having felt like she’s only closed her eyes for a few brief moments.

Then come the stories in the newspapers. They call it ‘the sleeping sickness’. People all over the country, and in fact the world, have been plagued, either to not sleep at all or never wake up.

On a cold, drizzly morning, a stranger appears at the door to the manor.

She listens and watches from the top of the stairs, crouching by the bannister to stay out of sight as a man with choppy silver hair and pale skin strides into the entrance hall, with Roderick following closely behind.

“Do I know you?” her father asks, furiously.

“No.” The stranger’s voice is low and almost seductive. “But I know all about you, Roderick Burgess, and the being trapped in your basement.”

“You mean to intimidate me?”

She sees a flash of a grin and a pair of pale purple eyes through the wooden balusters.

“I am here to help you,” the stranger says. “There are benefits to keeping one of the Targaryens in your confinement.”

“Targaryens?” her father echoes.

“Did you think Death was the only one of her kind? Death has family. Destiny, Despair, Desire…”

“And who have I got?”

“Dream,” the stranger says with a smile that bares his teeth.

A shiver runs over her shoulders. She keeps her jaw tight to stop herself from reacting to it.

Roderick scoffs. “What good is a God who governs dreams?”

The stranger's voice darkens. “There was a saying in the ancient times of humanity, that said the Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. But they are not Gods. They are more than Gods. They are Endless.”

He tells Roderick of Dream’s vestments, the pouch of sand and his sapphire, both of which he says Roderick may manipulate for his own influences. He says the binding circle will not be enough to contain their prisoner, that they must construct a sphere of glass within the circle.

Most crucially of all, he says no one must be allowed to fall asleep in Dream’s presence.

“Why are you helping me?” Roderick finally asks.

The stranger runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles to himself. “Little family dispute, I shan’t bore you with the details. But for your sake, and for mine, he must not escape.”

He offers his hand to Roderick, who returns the gesture after a moment of hesitation.

Before he heads for the door, the stranger’s eyes trail up to where she hides. Her heart leaps with a sense of dread, like she’s seen something she wasn’t meant to.

She doesn’t trust him, not by the look or sound of him, but her father does. He follows the stranger’s instructions, ordering the construction of the glass sphere, to be welded around their prisoner as it is made. Finally, he arranges a rota of guards to keep watch over him, under strict orders to never fall asleep, lest their prisoner escape into their dreams.

The details of his face are etched into her memory, even after months, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip, the silver falling over his shoulders. If she could dream, she is sure she would dream of him. Instead she holds onto the flashes of images that appear before her waking eyes, the pale skin of his bare body against the floor, the stars in his sapphire eye, now kept locked away in her father’s study.

She knows Roderick has tried to bargain with him, and each time he returns from the cellar more furious than when he entered it. “He will not speak a word!” his voice bellows through the quiet halls of the manor. “He will not even look at me!”

When she dares to ask questions, Roderick glares at her and tightens the grip on his cane.

The stranger with silver hair was right about something, wealth and admiration have come to Roderick Burgess in droves since he acquired the Lord of Dreams. It’s something about the sapphire, or the sand, something she doesn’t understand, but their family comes across good fortunes, which is almost entirely spent on lavish parties to entertain Roderick’s ever expanding crowd of admirers.

She wakes with the sunrise, from a void and dreamless sleep. The manor is littered with empty bottles, full ashtrays, plates of half-eaten food, odd shoes and playing cards. Her father must still be asleep, which is odd. He is usually an early riser, even after a night of drinking.

A rumbling in her stomach has her heading through the entrance hall towards the kitchen, but she stops when she sees two men waiting by the door to the cellar– two of the guards her father has hired to watch the prisoner, dressed in smart suits with service revolvers just poking out of their jackets. They look restless, peering their heads round corners, shifting their weight on their legs, not wanting to step too far from the door.

“We can’t just leave,” one mutters to the other.

“I’m not staying down there with that… thing one second longer than I have to–”

“Good morning,” she calls.

They look at her in unison, and frown.

“Have you seen Noel and Mauirce?” one of the men asks. “They’re nearly half an hour late.”

The rotation of the guards. They take eight hour shifts in pairs.

Her eyes glance to the cellar door, opened only a fraction. “I could watch him until they get here,” she says, “if you want to leave.”

It doesn’t take them long to agree.

They leave through the front door. When she hears it shut, she finally lets herself reach for the handle to the cellar door. The handle is cold, untouched for hours at a time, and a little stiff. She pushes on it slowly, carefully, making as little noise as possible.

With the cellar door closed, she shuts out the light and warmth of the morning. A silent, icy draft drifts through the narrow stairway. She follows it down, all the way to the dull, eerie light of the main chamber.

The sight takes her breath away, the glass sphere, suspended above the ground, still within the circle of markings that keep his power contained.

He sits in the centre, still bare, his knees tucked into his chest and his hair falling around his face like a veil.

As far she knows, no food or water ever passes the threshold to the cellar, and the cage is never opened. How does he breathe? How does he eat? How does he not wither away? He just sits there, stoic, his face frozen in time like a statue, like the image of a god cut from marble, to be preserved and admired.

A man like that cannot be real, and yet there he is.

“Hello,” she says.

He does not react to her voice or the sound of her footsteps as she walks further into the chamber.

If he can even hear her. She wonders how thick the glass is, if sound can permeate it, or does he just hear the sound of his own breath echoed back to him, endlessly.

She comes to lean against one of the pillars, tracing her fingertips down the cold, rough surface of the stone.

“Are you really the Lord of dreams?” she says.

His gaze lifts and turns to her, just enough that she can see his chin, his nose, and a single violet eye. It is not like the stranger’s, it is far more vibrate, burning with with a silent fury that makes her heart flutter and her skin feel tight.

“I have not dreamt since that night.”

She knows it isn’t just her. It’s the sleeping sickness, the war, the cloud of darkness looming over the rest of the world.

“The groundskeeper has a son, he’s only ten years old. He’s been asleep for months now. He can’t even eat. If he doesn’t wake up, he’ll die.”

He does not react, but his eye follows her as she takes a single step away from the pillar, towards the sphere.

“This is my father’s– our doing, yes?”

Her eyes dip to his chest, to the movement of his lungs underneath skin and muscle, a steady rise and fall with a deep, patient breath.

“My father is a reasonable man, if you could give him something, anything, I am sure he would let you out.”

He tilts his head, until she can just see the point of his scar on his cheek and the edge of his empty eye socket.

He is simultaneously the most terrifying and most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes upon. The low light only accentuates the harsh angles in his face, the ridges and lines in the muscles and tendons of his neck, torso, arms and legs.

She takes another step closer. “I would let you out, if I could,” she says quietly, like a secret.

He blinks softly, and when her eyes flicker to his lips she sees them curled into something almost like a smile, but not quite.

“Oh you would, would you?”

Her blood runs cold at the sound of her father’s voice. She whips her head around just in time to see Roderick marching towards her with his hand reaching out. His fist grips at her hair, and when she yelps in pain he hisses at her to be quiet. He drags her back up the steps, away from the cold cellar, to the warmth and the light, to the world without dreams.

She bathes before dinner, wincing as she runs her hands over the fresh bruises that mark her skin. Most of them are red, others are set deep and already turning a greyish purple.

Her father’s fury still rings in her ears. “Stupid girl! If he escapes he will slaughter us all!”

Leaning on her back is especially painful, it’s where her body took the brunt of his cane. She brings her knees into her chest, hunching over herself.

She hasn’t cried over her father’s cruelty in years, not since she was a small child. He’d always call her weak for it. Randall never cried when he was disciplined, because he knew, deep down, it was good for him. Perhaps she is simply not as strong as Randall was.

Her tears are hot and stinging in her eyes. She blinks and lets them fall onto her knees, to become the dew that lingers on her skin.

“Do you want to die, girl? Because it can be easily remedied!”

She doesn’t wear anything special, a white satin dress, with long, billowy sleeves, and applies some rouge to her cheeks, to make her seem more awake, more alive.

She reaches the bottom of the staircase as the clock in the entrance hall starts to chime. Five times. Marking the start of another shift rotation.

Two men appear from the hall that leads from the cellar, vaguely nodding as they pass her.

She can see into the dining room from the stairs, an enormous table set with silver cutlery and china plates, for just two of them.

The door to her father’s study is closed, obstructing the voices within. He’s arguing with someone.

Before she can stop herself, she’s walking towards the cellar. She tries the handle to find it unlocked. With one final look to the door to the study, she descends back into the darkness.

Two guards sit on wooden chairs by the entrance from the stairway, and immediately stand to attention as she walks into the chamber.

“Miss,” one of them calls, “you cannot be here.”

And she seems to have caught his attention too. He looks up from where he sits in the sphere, his forearm resting on his knee. His hair is pushed from his face, and his violet eye is wide, curious.

“This is my father’s house, I will go where I please,” she says, shakily, continuing until she comes face to face with the glass.

He stares at her, somewhat furious, but in a way she knows it is not meant for her.

The men behind her are muttering to each other, she doesn’t hear their words, but she hears their panic.

“It isn’t right for him to keep you here,” she says. “It isn’t right for him to think he can play with mortality. And I am as bad as he is for letting this happen.”

The tendons of his hand flex as he clenches his fist, his fingers restless as he stares at her, intently.

“If I let you out,” she whispers, “would you harm me?”

His face softens as his eye moves over her face.

He’s studying her, she realises. She imagines him noting the curves of her cheeks and chin, the shape of her mouth, perhaps the faint teartracks and the dark circles under her eyes.

What does he make of her, the daughter of his captor, the one who pried the sapphire from his eye? Roderick could be right, he might slaughter her the moment he is free from his cage.

“I would like to believe that you wouldn’t,” she says.

His expression gives nothing away.

Suddenly he shifts. His muscles tense as he comes to his feet and uncurls his spine to stand before her. Something about his movements are distinctly inhuman.

The guards behind her are shouting now, telling her to step away, calling for Mr Burgess. Their voices are inconsequential to her, muffled as though spoken behind a closed door. Her heart pounds in her ears. All she sees is him, the intense gaze of his eye, a wide palm reaching out and pressing against the glass.

She reaches up slowly, his eye growing wider with every inch she comes closer to touching the glass that separates them, but not quite meeting it.

His brow furrows as if to question her. Why are you hesitating? What are you afraid of?

She won’t be dragged upstairs again. She won’t be thrown to the floor with nowhere else to go. She will not suffer at the hands of Roderick Burgess any longer.

So she presses her hand to the glass.

Her skin is feverishly cold, her arms weightless. She can almost feel the shape of his palm through the glass, but not quite, like she is reaching for something she will never touch, clawing to the memory of a dream.

She can feel herself slipping into numbness, her eyes and her limbs becoming heavy. She presses her fingernails against the glass, silently pleading though she doesn’t know what for. An escape? An end? Anything.

His face is strangely gentle as he pouts his lips, hushing her, lulling her panic. She can feel her breathing and her heartbeat slowing, but it does not frighten her.

The glass shatters, her knees give way. She is awake enough to know she is falling, but too far gone to stop herself.

But she does not need to.

The world around her is silent– no, a gentle breeze drifts over her skin and whispers in her ear. Sunlight beams onto one side of her face and the other rests against bare skin. She feels a weight around her waist, something propping her body upright.

She tries to steady herself but the ground shifts beneath her. The arms around her only tighten their grip when she stumbles.

Finally she lets her eyes flutter open. They are in a desert, a vast expanse of dry sand, reaching as far as the eye can see.

Her head is moving with his breath, against his chest.

She tilts her gaze up, close enough that her lips barely brush over the base of his throat.

His eye is already fixed on her, holding her firmly in his arms, pulling her into him.

Wordlessly, he releases one arm from her waist, and reaches down, keeping his eye on her face. When he brings himself back up, she looks at his closed fist, where sand slips from between his fingers.

Her confusion must be visible on her face because he smiles softly at her, letting out a low “hmm” as he does.

She means to blink, but when she opens her eyes the world has changed again.

She lies face down against the ground of the cellar, dust and dirt pressing into her cheek, broken glass littering the floor around her.

She blinks again through the haze of sleep still clouding her vision. She makes out a figure in a long black coat with silver hair falling down his back. He stands over two bodies, lying lifeless on the ground, and stalks towards another.

Roderick is at the base of the stairs. He raises his cane and cries out as the prisoner reaches into his coat.

Her father’s voice fades into a spluttering, retching sound. Then he is silent. His body slumps to the floor with a gut-wrenching thud. When the stranger walks away, she sees her father sprawled out on the floor, blood spurting from his throat, seeping into his shirt, pooling on the floor around him.

She pushes herself up, leaning on her hands as her vision is blocked once again by a black coat. He stands over her, blood dripping from a knife he holds in his hand, his eye a brighter shade of violet than it was before.

He kneels beside her, taking her chin in his fingertips.

“Are you hurt?” he says. His voice is a hypnotic blend of soft and harsh, low and light, chilling in a way that sends a wave of warmth through her stomach.

She looks past his shoulder, where Roderick’s skin is turning from white to grey. “What did you do to my father?” she utters.

He jerks her head back to him. His expression is dark, lips upturned into a sneer.

Does he expect her to be grateful?

“My tools,” he says.

“You’re… what?”

“My tools. The sapphire and the pouch.”

The items that were stolen from him, that her father has now paid for with blood.

“Are you going to kill me too?” she says, digging her fingertips into the stone and the shards of glass beneath her.

He tilts his head and his lips twitch in a flicker of movement. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Tell me where they are. I will not harm you.”

Three men lay dead mere feet from them, and yet she finds herself wanting to trust him.

He offers her his arm as she stands, gripping at the thick, leather sleeve. Her palms are covered in small cuts from the glass, droplets of bright red blood pearling at the edges. He takes her wrists in his hands to have a look and tuts to himself.

“Quickly,” he says, moving towards the steps, leading her along with him, past the bodies of the guards, and the body of her father.

She brings him to the study, her hands shaking, bloody and outstretched before her. The door is wide open, a stack of papers thrown carelessly to the floor.

Roderick’s safe sits in a black cabinet in the corner of the room. She uses her fingertips to open it, wincing at the pieces of glass still stuck in her skin, but she swallows down the pain.

She guesses the combination on the first try. 1895– Randall’s birth year.

There, in the centre shelf, above the Grimoire, below a stack of banknotes, is the pouch of sand and the sapphire.

He reaches for the gem first. She turns away as he fixes it back into his socket, remembering the weight of it in her palm when she took it from him. She sees him reach forward again, but not for the pouch. He takes a hold of her wrists.

With no magic words or spells, he waves a hand over her palms. For a moment she sees a glow in his sapphire eye. The pain vanishes, so does the blood, the glass and the dirt.

She blinks a few effortless tears from her eyes. Tears for her father, tears of relief, she cannot place a cause.

Cold fingertips meet her skin once more, as the Lord of Dreams wipes her tears away, bringing her gaze to meet his.

He leans in closer, until his forehead meets hers. “Sleep,” he whispers.

She falls into him, to find herself wide awake, clinging onto him as she had done in the desert.

But they are somewhere else entirely. The sky above them is a pale yellow, like daybreak, painted with swirling grey clouds. The land here is… dead. Dead trees, barren mountains and hills, and in the distance, beyond a dried lake, is a castle of red brick, decrepit, falling into ruin.

“You see the damage that has been done to my realm?” he says. With her ear pressed against his chest, his voice is cavernous and she feels everything, the way his words drag through his throat. She feels his pain at being confined, the loss of his home and his creations.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I do not forgive easily, that is why Roderick Burgess had to die. But you…” he pulls away from her so he might look at her properly, cupping the sides of her face and swiping his thumbs over her cheeks. “I do not need an apology from you. We are free of him now.”

“Is that what you think I wanted?”

He hums with tight lips. “I have seen your dreams, as I see the dreams of every mortal. I see them as clearly as you perceive the waking world. It just so happened that our dreams coincided.”

She had never dreamt of her father’s death and she had certainly never imagined that she might have played a part in it. But she cannot deny the weight now lifted from her shoulders. She will never have to earn his approval, she will never have to endure him again. She is free of him.

“Go now,” he says, “I am sure you have your own business to resolve.”

He releases his hold of her and brings his hands behind his back. As he walks towards the castle the world around her starts to fade. She can smell the musk of the manor, the lingering smoke of her father’s cigars, the distinct scent of a winter evening.

“Wait!” she calls.

The ends of his coat swish around his legs as he turns back to face her. “Yes?” he says, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile.

“I want to know your name.”

“I have had many names,” he says.

“And how would you have me know you?”

“Aemond,” he says.

She echoes his name, letting her mouth linger on the final syllable. “Will I see you again?”

He draws the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Perhaps,” he says.

When she wakes she is laid out on one of the leather sofas of her father’s study. She looks down at her hands, traces her fingertips down her face, now free of the dirt and dust.

She wonders if she might have dreamt all of it, the beautiful man in the sphere, the glass breaking, her father’s blood on the floor…

Her life is never the same after that. With her father dead, his estate passes to her. For the first time, her life is hers to do with as she pleases.

And yet she feels an absence, a hollow longing in her chest.

Her dreams come back to her since she set him free, and each night she dreams of him.

He only appears in brief moments, like lighting, bright and brilliant, but gone in a heartbeat, before she can truly see him. She sees the movement of a leather coat, flashes of silver, violet and sapphire blue. Sometimes she is met with darkness as a pair of lips ghosts over her neck with a contented sigh and a warm breath.

She cannot bear it.

As she lies in the empty manor house, she traces her fingers over her body, her lips, down her neck and her chest, underneath her cotton nightgown, to her navel and the pool of wanting wetness between her legs, trying to imagine they are his.

She pictures the way his hair fell around his face, the coldness of his skin, the curve of his lips. She imagines them parting in a small sigh, the sound of his breath, the way his chest hummed as she circles over her bundle of nerves. Pleasure sparks at first but it keeps slipping from her grasp.

She circles faster, harder, searching for a spot that will finally give her the release she craves.

She feels heat and a sheen of sweat settling on the surface of her skin, her breathing hitches, her hips twitch under her touches. The pleasure heightens, then fades.

With her eyes tightly shut, she spurs herself on with thoughts of him, breathlessly chanting his name into the empty space and cold air of her bedroom.

“Aemond… Aemond…”

Something changes.

The mattress shifts beneath her and a weight presses against her body, her legs, her stomach, her chest.

A hand clasps around hers, ceasing her movements, and bringing it to rest by her side.

She laments the loss of the friction against her bud, her pleasure pulled away from her, but in its place anticipation blooms within her.

When she opens her eyes he is above her, against her, hovering his face over hers so that all she sees are his eyes, one violet, one sapphire.

“You have my attention,” he says in a soft but unsettling voice.

A thrill ripples through her body.

She whispers his name on an exhale of breath, running her fingertips over his arms, tense and toned as his props himself over her.

But she is somewhat dazed, her senses numbed by fatigue and the echo of the pleasure she had been chasing.

“Is this real?” she utters.

Aemond leans further into her. She feels a weight between her hips and an unmistakable hardness prodding at her centre as he brings his lips to her neck, pressing a slow, teasing kiss against a sensitive spot of skin that has her body tensing and her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Does if feel real?” he whispers against her skin.

How much has he truly seen of her dreams, her desires, she wonders? Perhaps she should feel some kind of shame, but she cannot, not when she is on the precipice of something bright, beautiful and damning. She can hardly stand being on the edge of it, having him so close but not close enough.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he teases her with his lips, crosses her legs around his hips, meeting his movements as he torturously grinds his hardening cock against her cunt, dripping with arousal, twitching and clenching around nothing at the anticipation.

“Needy little thing,” he mutters, dragging his nose along her neck as he comes to kiss the hollow of her throat.

His voice sends a shockwave through her body. Her hips buck against his, determined for relief as her fingers thread through the soft strands of his hair, and tug.

He lets out a quiet growl against her skin. A hand rests upon her thigh and trails up, bunching the hem of her nightgown to her waist and adjusting the other side.

He sits back, watching her with the same darkness and intensity as when he was trapped inside the cage, intrigued at the least, fascinated if she is presumptive.

The irony of being laid half bare before him and at his mercy does not escape her.

“I’ve heard you crying out for me, little mortal,” he says.

“You said you can see my dreams,” she says, “how?”

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he says, “in The Dreaming. I see your dreams as I see the dreams of every other being. I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world. But you…” he muses, settling his hands on either side of her waist. “You are incessant.”

She shivers and writhes under his touch, a pulsing heat settling within her.

She traces her hands over his, where they grip at her waist, along his smooth skin, the tendons and veins. His fingers are long and lithe. She knows they would feel so perfect, wrapped around her throat, stroking over her skin, pushing inside of her wet heat to coax her pleasure.

Aemond smiles to himself as though he can hear her thoughts.

He grips harder into her flesh and pulls his hips back, only to let his cock slide over her slick folds with teasingly gentle thrusts.

Every stroke pushes her closer and closer to the edge, but not enough to find release. She feels the frustrating want pulsing through her body, the coil getting tighter and tighter, her cunt clenching over nothing.

“Aemond…” she says with a breathless mewl, “please…”

“You really want it, don’t you?” Aemond growls, resting his forehead against hers. “Just feel how wet that empty little cunt is for me.”

Her eyes trail along the angles of his face, the line of his scar, the night sky in his eyes as he stares down at her, the gentle curve of his lips and how they settle into a soft expression.

Her gaze slips further down, over his throat, his collar, his pale, bare chest, the ridges of the muscles on his abdomen, the slight dip in his waist, the trail of silver hair to his cock, long, hard and flushed with need, transfixed by the way it moves against her.

She holds her breath each time he withdraws, stifling her whines into his mouth when he only keeps teasing her.

“I want it,” she groans, “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

He lets out a contented hum as he leans down to kiss her. The movements of his mouth are slow and consuming, claiming her with lips, tongue and teeth, wetness and warmth.

She holds him close by the sides of his face. In his violet eye she sees his hunger, his rage, his lust. In his sapphire, she sees oblivion.

And finally, he eases himself into her.

He fucks her delicately, dragging his cock through her gently, slowly, deeply. His lips ghost over her skin, her temple, her cheek, back to her mouth with light kisses and strained but soft breaths.

With a few deft circles over her bud she feels herself come undone around him. Her climax burns through her and she holds him closer for purchase, digging her fingertips into his skin as her resolve melts and her legs tremble around his hips.

Aemond doesn’t stop. He holds her against the mattress with a determined grip, fucking her through her peak until her pleasure settles and simmers once more.

Being kissed by him, held by him, fucked by him feels light a dream, that weightless, numb feeling of being between consciousness and sleep coursing through her limbs. It feels good, it feels deep, it feels perfect.

She cannot be sure how many climaxes he draws from her, she just feels him, his heat, his hands and his skin as he repositions her legs, guides her onto her front, brings her up to her knees, pushes her back down again, until she is a blissful, mindless mess.

He meets his own end when he has her face down on the bed, her face turned to the side against the pillow, his mouth on the underside of her jaw as he pounds into her.

“You’re doing so well,” she hears him rasp, “you’ve been so good to me… fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Her mind is beyond words and coherent thoughts. She utters the only thing she feels, the only thing she can think of, “Aemond… Aemond… Aemond…”

He stills his hips against her rear with a guttural moan, pressing his face against hers, squeezing her waist under his hands. He allows himself a few more shallow thrusts until he is spent. She feels his cock pulse within her, a warmth pooling, his spend dripping from her cunt once he has pulled away.

The weight dissipates from her back and for a moment she lies there, basking in the afterglow, feeling her chest rise and fall against the bed, the softness of her sheets under her fingertips.

She wakes to a gentle breeze running over her skin and slipping down her spine.

She allows her eyes to flutter open and recoils at the pale sunlight beaming through the spaces in the curtains.

She holds her breath.

She hears no sound or sign of life other than her own pulse.

She twists herself to sit up, noting that her bedsheets are neat and the hem of her nightgown is where it should be.

Is it possible that she dreamed it? She remembers it so vividly, but the mind has a way of playing tricks. Perhaps it was only a dream.

“Your dreams exist in my realm,” he had said. “I feel them, as clearly as you perceive the waking world.”

How do we determine what is real? she wonders as she pulls on a robe and goes to open the curtains. The morning floods her bedroom. It brings no warmth, but it brings light and life back into the room.

To dream is to live beyond ourselves, why should that be any less true than the world around me?

She seats herself before her vanity, reaching for the drawer for her hairbrush.

But something catches her eye, a glint of colour against mahogany wood, a small gem catching the sunlight.

She takes it between her thumb and index finger and brings it before her eyes; a sapphire, the size of a pearl, a deep and vibrant blue. Its edges are uneven and dull, uncut, as though plucked straight from the earth.

She turns it about between her fingers. It could be a trick of the light, but there is depth to it, a vastness within. The sapphire seems to capture the night sky, dotted with glimmering stars.

His was the same.

As the dazed state of sleep wears off, she feels the satisfied ache between her legs, the spots on her skin marked by him. She smiles to herself and holds the gem in her palm, this precious gift, this reminder, this promise from the Lord of Dreams.

Tags (comment to be added)

Sweet Dream taglist: @solisarium @sirenangelroyal @sabrinasstar @shygardengalaxy @aemondsfavouritebastard @wintrr13 @thedamewithabook @lexwolfhale @rainyforest777

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

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ad0rechuu · 1 year ago

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FROM STORM TO SUNRISE. ━━ JYH & SMG

prompts / plot. ━━━━━ you and your boyfriend yunho wake up to find your other boyfriend mingi no where to be found

part of the secret santa event. ━━━━━ fem! foreigner!reader x boyfriends! jeong yunho & song mingi , two shot : domestic fluff / slight angst (?) / an attempt at humor / soulmate au , staring: yn, yunho, mingi, mrs yang (oc) & an unnamed baker + cashier , rating: pg-13 , tw: mentions of food, metaphorical storms and tornadoes and yn is basically panicking most of the time , wc: 1421 , notes: no pronouns used but fem reader + foreigner part not mentioned and yunho & mingi aren’t soulmates but this is all because of the prequel, also i imagined the town from hometown cha cha cha for this fic !

[ to @justhere4kpop aka nadia . . . ] happy holidays (and merry christmas if you celebrate) nadia! i was your secret santa, did you have any idea? either way i have to start by apologizing i was planning a much larger fic but than a bunch of things in my personal life came crashing down so i decided to continue writing the other fic (the prequel to this one) later which means you will get two gifts ! i know the writing is terrible with this one but if you liked this someone how it’s a nice surprise for both of us! i hope you have a wonderful day and i love you mwah <3

[ listening to . . . ] Dreamy Day by Ateez

masterlist | credits to @ari-shipping-stuff for being my beta reader / writer <33

WARM RAYS OF SUNSHINE SHONE GENTLY THROUGH THE LARGE WINDOW, ALLOWING YOU TO WAKE UP IN PEACE.

You slowly opened your eyes while you stretched your arms up from underneath the blankets, a smile making its way onto your face as you felt the arm draped over your stomach move you closer in his tight grip.

Turning, you met your boyfriend’s squinting eyes. Clearly, he'd just woken up too. He dropped his head in the crook of your neck and placed a kiss underneath your shirt on your bare shoulder— a silent good morning.

You'd just woken up and you already felt giddy. You moved your hand to the mattress next to you, searching for your other boyfriend’s warm body.

Your eyes opened fully, head snapping to his usual side of the bed when you realize he wasn't there. A small storm of worry brewed in your chest as you nudged your present partner, who seemed close to going back to dreamland.

He whined a bit and it took every bone in your body not to coo at him. You managed to get over your cuteness aggression enough to ask.

“Yunho, honey, where is Mingi?”

He was the early bird in your relationship after all. If anyone would know, it would be Yunho.

To your surprise, he didn't.

“I don’t know? Maybe in the kitchen? Bathroom?” He slurred, clearly not feeling the same sense of urgency as you yet.

“M’kay. I’m gonna look for Mingi. I’ll be right back.” You ruffled his already messy hair before removing yourself from his comfortable grip. The movement only caused more whining from the sleepy giant.

Yunho heard you make your way through the apartment. Your bare feet making a rhythm of soft steps on the linoleum floor, and your groggy but comforting morning voice called out Mingi’s name over and over again.

Your voice got more and more nervous with each call of his name ringing out with no response.

When you walked back into the bedroom, Yunho was sitting cross-legged on the bed with his phone in his hands. He gave you a worried look, the gravity of the situation finally catching up with him.

“Nothing?” He asked.

You fell back on the bed with a sigh as you shook your head no, racking your brain for where your boyfriend could possibly be at nine in the morning on the weekend. You felt Yunho reach over and gently push some hair out your face in an attempt to calm you down.

“I tried texting him but I got no answer either.”

Just as you were about to respond, a sharp feeling washed over you, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

You knew what that feeling meant. It only happened when your soulmate was experiencing a strong emotion. It could range from heartbreaking sadness to mind boggling happiness to excruciating pain.

You jumped up, clutching the arm that has Mingi’s soulmate mark on it. Your eyes met Yunho's.

“I think Mingi is in trouble!”

SADLY, A SOULMATE BOND did not include a GPS. At least, that was not the kind you were blessed with. That would have saved you the trouble of walking aimlessly through the town in your pajamas and winter coats.

Due to Yunho not being Mingi’s soulmate and your soulmate mark being basically sharing skin with Mingi, you were no further than when you left the house half an hour ago.

Yunho wrapped his arm around your shoulders, rubbing it in an attempt to shield you from the cold morning weather on the island. It was a sweet gesture. The growing panic heated your cheeks more then enough, but you appreciated the comfort of it nonetheless.

He stopped his brisk pace for a second and looked at you like a lightbulb went off in his head.

“Have you tried writing to him?” He asked.

You responded immediately by looking through your pockets for a pen or a marker, or anything that could stain your skin, but to no avail.

Yunho had the same luck. But he pointed you to the closest store, and without any words needed, the two of you rushed into the building, probably giving the poor cashier a heart attack.

“Excuse me, do you have a pen or something I could borrow? It’s an emergency!” You panted as her face contorted in confusion. She reached over next to her and handed you a pen anyway.

Before you could, Yunho quickly but gently raised your sleeve up, baring your arm for you. Despite the pressure, it made you want to giggle like a school girl. You kept your lovey-dovey feelings to yourself and began to write.

‘Song Mingi, where the hell are you?’

Normally, whenever you’d write something on your body and vice versa (left side for Mingi, and right for Yunho), the receiving party could felt a tingling sensation even before reading the message. You hoped with all your being that Mingi received that sensation right then too.

After staring at your arm for five minutes, you began to feel your heart speed up even more when you heard Yunho gasp from next to you as the letters you previously wrote where erased.

Finally, you felt the storm that had turned into a tornado in your heart calm down a bit, and the letters you wrote were replaced by messy yet familiar handwriting revealing Mingi’s location.

THERE HE WAS.

Through the display window of the bakery, you and Yunho saw him.

Mingi clutched a colorful box while one of the village elders, Mrs. Yang, pulled on the other side. Both seemed to be in an intense battle as the baker behind the counter watched the two awkwardly.

The closer you got, the more it hit you; the sharp feeling you felt wasn’t sadness, anger, or pain— it was his sheer competitiveness.

Yunho held the door open and both of you stepped through with the sound of the bell signaling your arrival. The baker gave you a friendly nod, but neither Mingi nor Mrs. Yang seemed to notice you, still too fixated on arguing over what you now saw was a beautifully decorated cake.

“Song Mingi!” Your voice resounded through the store as you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

The man in question immediately forgot about the cake and trailed towards you like a puppy. He looked at you and Yunho with big eyes full of confusion.

“Baby, what're you doing here? Gosh, both of you are wearing pajamas, aren’t you way too cold?” He asked, cradling your face in his hands.

He tossed Yunho a judgmental look as if suspecting he was the reason you guys were here.

The older man flicked Mingi’s forehead before shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that. None of this would’ve happened if you knew how to answer your phone or leave a note.”

“Yeah, we were so worried something happened.” You grabbed his attention along with one of the hands that was still on your cheek.

Mingi looked down sheepishly, his cheeks slightly reddening.

“Ah, I’m sorry. You said you were craving cake yesterday so I wanted to surprise you and Yunho with cake as breakfast in bed.” He pointed behind him, doing a double take as the cake he was just ready to risk his life for was long gone.

A heartbroken expression made its way onto his face. He looked at the baker, who only chuckled.

“I’m sorry, man. You snooze you lose.”

The baker pointed outside, where Mrs. Yang was gleefully walking away from the bakery with the precious cake in her hands.

Yunho let out a boisterous laugh, clutching his stomach as you patted the pouting boy’s cheek. Though that wasn't to say you weren't trying to reign your own laughter in as well.

“It’s okay, Ming! It’s the thought that counts.”

After a couple more minutes of comforting Mingi about his lost battle, he finally agreed to get another sweet pastry (which Yunho demanded to choose as compensation for everything).

As you three walked out of the store, you didn’t feel a storm or a tornado brewing in your chest. You felt a lovely calm wash over you as both of your boyfriends linked hands with you, one carrying the box with a well-deserved red velvet cake in it on the way home.

All the worry was replaced in no time with a warm domestic sunrise growing in your heart, and you knew exactly who were to blame for that.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet

notes. again i did the gen tag list on hopes and prayers so i hope i have it right, please tell me if u want to be removed or added

taglist. @yuyusuyu @seonghwaddict @tocupid @leo-seonghwa @aestheticsluut @mrowwww @i-luvsang @cybrsan @kodzumo @gyumibear @nyukyujs @a1sh1teruu | send me an ask to be added to the general obey me or kpop taglist (or both ofc)

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whollyjoly · 8 months ago

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for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise.

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone.

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert.

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury.

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides.

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope.

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat.

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth.

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal.

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

#happy alton more day!#holy shit im actually posting this...i've been sitting on it for MONTHS #but YEAH its just...the gothic romanticism about the physical embodiment of war and soldiers and the concept of death you know??#what it means to feel and to live and to connect to those around you when it all feels so fleeting #fleeting not just due to the nature of war but also the nature of immortality #or something #...look i have a lot of thoughts about this story okay #it kills me #its also known in my brain as the “how immortal soldier!alton more made friends” story #because literally thats it thats the plot #OH WAIT did i forget to mention that speirs is also an immortal soldier in this story??#oh yeah thats the best fucking bit - they met like centuries and centuries ago on the wrong ends of one of the various punic wars #(where speirs was known back then as...wait for it...TERTIUS)#its good goddamn shit okay #also explains why alton is so fucking unflinching towards speirs at any given point and why they were so petty about the photo albums #ANYWAYS if anyone wants to hear more about this!! come stop on by!!!#also yes the title is a reference to the old guard #as is the reference to the siege of jerusalem which is where joe and nicky met #immortal soldier!alton more #alton more #nothing that lives lives forever #easy company #band of brothers fic #mine #band of brothers #bofb #hbowar #em's moodboards #em writes #jesus christ i guess that's a tag now

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malsfefanfics · 3 months ago

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OC Profile: Davi

Art by @cringeyvanillamilk, edited to icon size by me.

"We're not exactly sure where he came from, but he's become a fine member of the monastery. Davi has the heart of a knight, but he has a laid back side as well. I get the feeling he keeps us all at arms length, though. I wish to know him better. He seems particularly awkward around Felix, Dedue, and is actively avoiding Seteth and Flayn." -- Dimitri about Davi.

Full name: Davi Valerio Nicknames: Dava (by children), Vi, Brat (by Graham, affectionate) Birthday: 19th of the Pegasus Moon, 1164 Age: 21 (Pre-Timeskip), 26 (Post-Timeskip) Crest: [REDACTED] Family: Unnamed mother (deceased), unnamed father (deceased), Rui (twin brother, deceased), unnamed grandfather (deceased), Graham Govain (Adoptive Guardian), Chliodna Govain (Adoptive Guardian) Nationality: Duscur Titles: Crepuscular Commander, Warrior of the Mind Voice Claim: Jonah Scott (Legoshi from Beastars)

Interests: Weapons training, the Opera, Religious Studies Likes: Horses, Choir Practice, Training, Dancing Dislikes: Most of Faerghus, Crests, Heroes Relics

Favorite Meals: Onion Gratin Soup, Grilled Herring, Fruit and Herring Tart Liked Meals: Saghert and Cream, Beast Meat Teppanyaki, Pickled Rabbit Skewers, Derdriu-Style Fried Pheasant, Disliked Meals: Garreg Mach Meat Pie, Country-Style Red Turnip Plate, Gautier Cheese Gratin

Tea Preferences: Chamomile, Cinnamon Blend, Almyran Pine Needles

Liked Gifts: Fishing Float, Exotic Spices, Floral Adornment, Book of Sheet Music Disliked Gifts: The History of Fodlan, Legends of Chivalry, Book of Crest Designs,

Lost Items:

Strange Book of Music: A notebook filled with unfinished sheet music. The lyrics are in a language you don't recognize.

Traditional Kilt: A garment fit for a warrior. An elaborately weaved design colors it like the twilight.

Suppression Charm: A charm meant to suppress magic power. You remember seeing something similar in a Crestology book.

Starting Class: Commoner Preferred Class Path: Soldier/Monk --> Cavalier/Mage/Dark Mage/Priest --> Paladin/Wyvern Rider/Bishop/Dark Bishop/Warlock --> Wyvern Lord/Dark Knight/Holy Knight Strength: Lance Weakness: Heavy Armor Budding Talent: Faith Personal Skill: Merciful Pantheon - Increases nearby allies critical hit rates by 5% when their health is less than half.

Weapons Starting Levels:

Sword: C Lance: B Axe: E Bow: D Brawling: E Reason: D Faith: D+ Authority: C Heavy Armor: E Riding: D Flying: D

Base Stats:

HP: 30 Str: 12 Mag: 6 Dex: 7 Spd: 7 Lck: 6 Def: 8 Res: 8 Cha: 10

Learned Faith Spells: Heal (D) Nosferatu (D+) Recover (C), Seraphim (B), Aura (A) Learned Reason Spells: Thunder (D), Thoron (C), Bolganone (B), Excalibur (A), Agnea’s Arrow (A)

Recruit Requirements for Canon-Compliance AUs:

Blue Lions: must complete the Paralogues "War for the Weak" and "An Ocean View", and have B or higher in Lances, Reason, and Riding

Golden Deer: must complete the Paralogues "Dividing the World" and "An Ocean View", and have C or higher in Faith and Flying

Black Eagles: must complete "True Chivalry" and "An Ocean View", have a B in Axes and Heavy Armor.

Black Eagles (Silver Snow): Must also have completed Ashen Wolves Paralogues and have a B in Swords and Authority

Potential Supports:

Byleth

Dimitri

Dedue

Felix

Sylvain

Ingrid (up to B)

Annette

Mercedes

Edelgard

Caspar

Dorothea

Bernadetta

Petra

Claude

Lorenz (Up to B)

Hilda (Up to B)

Leonie

Raphael (Up to B)

Ignatz (Up to B)

Seteth

Flayn

Manuela

Hanneman (Up to B)

Yuri

Constance

Hapi

Balthus

Crit Quotes:

By the grace of the gods!

Ashes to ashes, as they say.

This is my vengeance!

You are not much of a challenge.

My mentor calls.

You're in my way!

You shall regret crossing blades with me!

God of War, guide me!

You are a disgrace!

Defeat Quotes:

Apologies, friends. I must fall back.

This is too much. We must retreat.

I....I won't die here....not now....

Ah...so this is what Rui felt that day...

I'm sorry, Graham. I failed....

Don't weep....I....made my choice....

Skill Level Increase Quotes:

This will aide my people well.

This blessing will serve me well.

Blessings by the God of Wisdom.

Now this is curious.

Insightful. Thank you.

Level Up Quotes:

To grow is part of life.

Blessed by the God of War.

I know I can do better.

The Gods are testing me.

Gift Quotes:

Liked Gifts: You found something truly magnificent. I am grateful.

Neutral Gifts: This is delightful.

Disliked Gifts: Perhaps you should take your curses elsewhere.

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe3h oc #fire emblem oc #davi valerio

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gyupremacy · 1 year ago

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Kiss It Better | csc.

↳ Pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader

↳ Genre: fluff, angst

↳ Au(s): exes to lovers, non-idol!au

↳ Rating: PG-15

↳ Word Count: 2.1k

↳ Warning(s): alcohol consumption, cursing (only one word, but just a heads up)

↳ Summary: After four years, you never thought you'd hear the name "Choi Seungcheol" again, let alone see the man until one fateful night at a house party.

↳ a/n: It's been a while! Two full months, and I've finally written! Writer's block sucks, but I hope to slowly but surely get back into the swing of things, but more importantly, take my time when it comes to writing. I want to thank @playmetheclassics for making this great banner and @hobeemin for giving me feedback.

@junniieesbby I didn't forget you either! Hope you like it 😊

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

"Come on, Y/N! They're doing body shots in the kitchen," your best friend Gyuri called out to you.

"As riveting as that sounds, I think I'll just stick around over here," you responded.

It was the big summer house party her boyfriend Mingyu was hosting. He was very charismatic, and anyone with eyes could see he was an attractive guy.

You introduced the two a few years ago, and they've been going strong ever since. The couple, affectionately called "2Gyu" by close friends, had been anticipating the party for weeks.

As much as you were enjoying yourself, you'd admit you felt a bit out of place. With all the couples making out or going upstairs to do who knows what was making you feel disconnected from reality.

"You sure? There's some very single guys in there you could hang out with," Gyuri winked.

Subtly was not in her vocabulary. It was known you haven't been in a relationship since you broke up with your ex-boyfriend Seungcheol four years ago.

To put it simply, it was between you and a job offer in Japan, and he chose Japan. You supported his decision at the offer of a lifetime, but the lack of communication on the matter put a strain on your relationship.

You've moved on… At least, that's what you try to tell yourself, but the wounds were still fresh.

"I'm not in much of a hanging out with guys mood, Gyu," you explained, taking a sip from the familiar red cup in your hand.

"Well, whenever you feel ready to hang out minus the guys, you know where to find me," Gyuri said, giving you a reassuring shoulder rub before taking off.

You shrugged off the notion. She meant well, but that didn't encourage you to want to mingle with others.

By the looks of it, everyone else had either left the party or passed out on the couches. There was one guy who came from the kitchen and was standing near the bathroom.

He glanced at you here and there, but nothing too out of the ordinary. The unnamed man moved from his spot and walked towards you.

"Hey! Are you friends with the host?" He asked.

"Yeah. I'm actually best friends with his girlfriend," you said.

"Gyuri? I don't think I've actually met her," he explained.

"How did you get an invite then?" You laughed.

"Through a mutual friend."

You nodded, looking around the room. There were guests dancing and just hanging out now. It was getting late, so it made sense that people began to unwind.

The guy next to you broke the small silence between you two by introducing himself.

"I'm Matthew, by the way," he smiled.

"Y/N," you greeted.

"Cool name! Are you having a fun time?" Matthew asked.

"Honestly, Matthew, I'm a bit bummed out. It's been a while since I've been at a big gathering like this," you began.

"It reminds me of an ex."

Matthew nodded his head, taking in your words as you spoke.

"It's been so long since the breakup, but certain things reminded you of him," you responded, thinking about your memories with Seungcheol.

For one, he loved big parties like this. You guys first met at a pool party hosted by an old high school friend when he walked up and asked where the swan floatie was.

The conversation flowed easily, and it felt like you both had known each other for so long. After becoming good friends, Seungcheol asked you out on a date to a carnival.

He had eaten so much cotton candy and corn dogs that he could barely make it to the car on the way out. After the late night drive, he walked you back to your apartment and kissed you goodnight.

You droned on, almost forgetting that Matthew was in front of you saying something.

"Y/N, if it means anything, I just got out of a long-term relationship myself, and it's tough. Sometimes I feel like I did something wrong," he said.

"I know I shouldn't still be hung up over it since it was four years ago, but so much was left unsaid," you replied, considering the last conversation you had together.

"It's valid that you still feel emotions about the breakup. That's something you never truly get over," Matthew said.

"It takes time."

You nodded, taking in the way he was looking at you.

"Thank you for the advice," you said.

"No problem! You're a cool girl to talk to," Matthew smiled, looking towards the ground.

You bit your lip, trying to contain the butterflies in your stomach. He ran his fingers through his hair, giggling at your awed expression.

"Thanks! I was thinking maybe we -" You were interrupted by the sound of your voice being called.

"Y/N?"

You didn't think anything of it until the voice got closer and it registered who it had belonged to.

"Y/N, is that you?"

You turned around and saw Seungcheol with a smile on his face. The kind of smile that was a mix of shock, excitement, and disbelief.

"Hi," you said indifferently.

"It's been so long!" Seungcheol quipped.

"Yeah, it's been a while," you replied, fidgeting with your hands.

Sensing the awkward situation, Seungcheol takes a look at Matthew with a confused look on his face.

"So, who's your friend?" He questioned.

"I'm Matthew. Y/N and I were just talking about how she was having a hard time getting over her ex," the two men were subtly sizing each other up.

"Oh, how rude of me," Seunghceol began, and you knew it was not going to end well.

"I'm Seungcheol or the ex if you will."

The sarcastic remark earned a small groan from you and a glare from the other man next to you.

"Hey Matthew? Could you get me another drink?" You asked, hoping that the awkward exchange wouldn't continue.

"Sure! I'll be back in a minute," he nodded, walking towards the kitchen.

Seungcheol was glaring back at him as he left.

"Cheol, what the fuck was that back there?" You whispered, folding your arms as you stared at him.

"I got weird vibes from that dude. I mean… just the way he was looking at you. I don't trust him," Seungcheol trailed off, but knowing him, you knew there was more to the story.

"You don't know him," you laughed aloud.

"The only thing you don't like about him is that he was talking to me."

The man just stood there avoiding your gaze, letting you know that what you said was the truth.

"You don't hold back, Y/N. Just like old times," Seungcheol blushed, giving you a look that you couldn't pinpoint.

"Just like old times, huh?" You uttered quietly.

At first, you were not expecting Seungcheol to be here tonight, let alone to be having a conversation with him like you were still together.

Gyuri had made her long-awaited return to her party, making the rounds to party goers before stopping in her tracks to see you with your ex.

"What is he doing here?" She mouthed, not wanting to draw his attention.

"Mingyu," you mouthed in unison with a knowing look.

She gestured at Seungcheol before signaling at the door, indicating if you wanted him to leave. You shook your head, letting her know everything was okay.

Walking back to the kitchen, you began to wonder what happened to Matthew but were left with fleeting thoughts as Seungcheol had captured your attention.

"It's getting pretty hectic. Do you want to get out of here?" He asked.

"Sure, let's go upstairs!" Taking him by the hand, you led him towards your mutual friends' guest bedroom, closing the door behind you.

You both sat near the foot of the bed wondering what the other was thinking. Seungcheol cleared his throat before I spoke.

"As much as I love a 2Gyu party, sometimes it's better to just have one-on-one time with someone," he mused.

The look in his eyes was adoring. The same one you were on the receiving end of years ago.

"Yeah, it was time to get away," you began.

"I think I saw someone fall asleep while dancing."

Seungcheol's infectious laughter made your heart flutter a bit. Despite the lost time, you didn't miss a beat, gradually falling back into a sense of familiarity with him.

"Everyone's going to have a rough morning, that's for sure!" Seungcheol jokes, watching you break out in laughter.

Whenever you laughed, your nose would scrunch up as you smiled, which he used to say was the cutest thing about you. You were a little shy about it, but it grew to be one of your favorite things about yourself.

"I missed making you smile," Seungcheol confessed, a look of longing in his eyes.

"I missed you."

As the words fell from your lips, you were experiencing the internal conflict of wanting him back in your life and wanting to guard your heart from reliving the breakup.

"I missed you too, Y/N. Thinking back, I wish things could have ended differently," he whispered.

His voice wavered a bit, and you could sense the feeling of regret in it. Tears started to form in his eyes, and he began to sob lightly.

"I lost the love of my life because I didn't take your feelings into consideration. Even though we were miles apart, somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped we'd meet again."

The emotions came over you, and your eyes started watering from his words.

"Cheol, I-I missed you too," you whimpered.

"When I saw you tonight, I was angry. I was still hurt by feeling like I was someone's second choice. My pride didn't want me to admit that."

You took a deep breath to regain your composure. Seungcheol looked down at his hands until his eyes met yours again, bringing his hand to give you a comforting graze on your back. A small "Is this okay?" from him reminded you of how caring he was and why you fell in love with him the first time.

"Seeing you again after these years felt like fate to me in a strange way. It may be cliche, but love is patient, and somehow, part of me was holding out for you," Seungcheol placed his hands on top of yours and continued.

“I would love to come back to you again and again. Despite everything that happened, I loved you then, and I love you now.”

The pure dedication and devotion in his voice lamented how the time spent apart allowed him to reflect upon decisions made towards the end of your relationship. He wanted a chance to love you again and love you right.

"I love you too, Seungcheol. To think about it, I never stopped loving you either," you squeezed his hand, a faint smile appearing on your face.

The biggest smile crept onto his face. He brought his hand up to your cheek, grazing his thumb along it.

"I was hoping you would say that," Seungcheol beamed.

His eyes managed to glow under the rather intense yellow light in your friends' guest bedroom. He looked at your lips, quickly glancing back at you for silent permission to lean in closer. Instinct took over as you leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was passionate, almost like a spark that was setting off something new, which in a poetic way was. It felt like you were kissing him for the first time all over again, except this one lingered on for a bit until you both let up.

"Y/N, I love you, and I really meant it when I said I wanted to get back together," Seungcheol began.

"I'll understand if you don't want to start anything immediately, but whether it begins with that kiss or not, I'd be happy to have you in my life in any capacity."

"I would like to see where this goes, Cheol. I think we have to make up for lost time. How about we get coffee sometime?" You asked, hopeful of what's to come.

"I would love to!" Seungcheol quipped.

You looked at the time and realized it was after midnight, and you both went downstairs to say your goodbyes to Mingyu and Gyuri before going outside to your car.

"Tonight was… unforgettable, to say the least," you joked.

"It really was, but I'm glad that we got to spend time with each other. Goodbye, Y/N!" Seungcheol beamed.

"Goodbye, Seungcheol!"

You reached out to hug him and went to unlock your car as you watched him go further into the distance. A smile appeared before you started up the engine and drove off.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

#wkcnet #kvanity #choi seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol angst #s coups fluff #s coups angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #gyupremacy

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fluffytheocelot · 11 months ago

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Carmen Week Day 5: AU

AWW YE HERE WE GO BOIS I HAVE BEEN SO HYPED FOR THIS ONE! Sorry its a bit late lol

Anyways--

Last Wolf is very near and dear to me, it was the first fic I actually had the confidence to write, but Thief's Guide is almost completely my own. It's not based off of another series, pretty much all the worldbuilding and plot is mine. Last Wolf still follows the timeline and plot of the original show (changed and added to of course, but the original show is the backbone.

A Thief's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse is exactly what it sounds like lol. Carmen and her friends surviving in an apocalypse while on the run from VILE and ACME, complete with a dope soundtrack.

And Julethief of course :) because i love them

This is definitely an AU I wanna write down, I promise. Uhh maybe when I get this chapter of Last Wolf out I'll start??? Maybe. We'll see lol.

Feel free to drop me an ask about it! or last wolf too lol.

Dope soundtrack:

if the song came out during or before 1986ish, then its probably something the characters would listen to (namely Carmen, jamming to cassettes she scavenges on her Walkman). anything after that would just be soundtrack/credits music if it was a show.

uhhh story info under the cut lol

Around the mid 1980s, Dr. Bellum's unnamed predecessor was experimenting with a virus that, well, turned people into zombies. The test run soon got out of hand, however, and the virus quickly spread to the entire world.

Technology pretty much stays the same. Radios, paper maps, Walkmans, stuff like that. Music and TV obviously aren't getting widespread release anymore, so anything that came out past like, 1986 doesn't exist.

(Wow Fluffy that's so unrealistic there's no way people wouldn't quarantine themselves to stop it-- *looks at 2020* nevermind)

VILE uses it as a power grab, offering people shelter, food, etc. in exchange for joining. Fun.

There's incredible amounts of chaos and violence for the first decade or so, until late 1999 when VILE faculty member Dexter Wolfe is assumed to have been caught and killed.

Two things happen: ACME arises as a direct rival to VILE, and VILE acquires a certain Black Sheep.

ACME wants to find a cure. VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going so they stay in power. VILE and ACME are both much more well known.

Black Sheep grows up in a VILE compound, learning all her important thief skills of course, as well as the skills needed to survive the apocalypse: Firearms, bows, blades, living in the wilderness, etc etc. Pretty much anything you can think of needing to know in the apocalypse, Carmen learned when she was like six lol.

She officially enrolls at about 15, and escapes at 16.

Eventually she figures out VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going and escapes into the night on horseback, with Cookie Booker's stolen hat and coat.

She's on the run for a while and eventually winds up in Ontario, where she meets a recently orphaned 12 yr old Player. The two become fast friends and pretty much grow up together over the next few years. Carmen is very protective of Player and teaches him how to survive in case anything happens to her.

They make their way to Boston, pick up Zack and Ivy, and Team Red is complete! (for now)

Along the way they eventually acquire our favorite grumpy ninja, Carmen's favorite ACME agent, an aussie electrician and a couple more surprise people ;)

Carmen also discovers she may be the key to ending the apocalypse, but is ACME really what they say they are?

#fluffytheocelot #fluffy’s art #carmenweek #carmen sandeigo 2019 #drawing #digitalart #procreate #carmen sandiego #art #zombie apocolypse au #a thief's guide to the zombie apocalypse au #julethief

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sjsmith56 · 1 year ago

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First Date

Summary: A misdirected mail mishap results in a young woman, recently moved to New York City meeting the Avenger, Bucky Barnes. With Sam’s help Bucky asks her out then spends the week trying to come up with the perfect first date.

Length: 5K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, named OFC (Holly), unnamed OFC (sister).

Warnings: Both sisters are mostly not physically described, they’re single, slightly plus sized, nervous Bucky, some slightly impure thoughts from OFC, otherwise this is a pretty fluffy piece.

Author notes: Alternating first person POV between OFC and Bucky. Right now it’s a one shot but it could become more if I get enough feedback. Takes place in a slightly AU MCU, after the events of Endgame and FATWS (one where Bucky and Sam tackled the Flag Smashers themselves as the other Avengers were dealing with other things). There is a tease for a double date with Steve Rogers and Holly’s sister (Coney Island?) so if you would like to see another instalment please comment.

Second date Third date

📦

Holly

I stepped out of the elevator and stopped as soon as I saw the box leaning on my door. Another package. Great. This made four packages delivered to my address instead of the other address which was printed on the shipping label. Another package I had to physically take to the post office to deliver to the correct address. Another hour out of my day standing in line then having to explain that James Barnes didn’t live at my address, was unknown to me, and that he had an unlisted phone number so I couldn’t phone him to pick up his mail. Looking at my watch I sighed. It was already too late to take the package in if I was going to make it to my evening dance class. That meant I would have to take the package to work with me tomorrow then drop it off on my way home.

“Why don’t you just keep it?” my sister suggested when I mentioned it to her at the dance studio. “Obviously the guy keeps putting something wrong on the shipping information whenever he orders whatever he’s buying.”

“You know I can’t do that,” I replied as I started in first position. “If it was my package being misdirected, I would hope that whoever received it would be honest enough to return it. They don’t come back so they obviously make it to him eventually.”

“Or he cancels his order,” said my sister as she mimicked my actions.

“Ladies, less talk, more focus,” said Madame Elise, the ballet mistress.

We both made a face at her when she turned, then both tried to stifle our giggles after. For being in our early thirties we both had our juvenile moments. After class we dried off the perspiration before pulling our sweats on. We never showered at the studio as the facilities bordered on disgusting plus there was a core group of women there with perfect dancer bodies that made us feel inadequate. I’m not into body shaming and although they never said anything out loud it wasn’t hard to see their opinions about our figures in their eyes. Neither of us needed that kind of judgement especially when we were in between boyfriends. On our way out we stopped and picked up an iced cappuccino at the coffee shop then walked to the subway. Finishing our drinks just before the train arrived, we boarded.

When it came to my sister’s stop, she stood up, did a little pirouette and performed a jeté out the door onto the platform. Grinning at her I waved then settled back into the seat ready to get off at my stop, the next one. Joining the others who were also getting off we walked up the stairs towards the exit. I had to stop at the bodega as I was out of milk so by the time I was walking up the steps of the apartment building, it was already dark. Pressing the button for the elevator I waited and waited but it didn’t come, and I groaned as I really didn’t want to walk up five flights of stairs. It had been working well when I left. One of my neighbours came down the stairs with their garbage bag for the dumpster out back.

“It was working earlier,” I stated, gesturing to the elevator.

“Yeah, it was but someone pressed all the buttons as a joke, and it got stuck on four,” he said. “It’s sitting there with an open door. The super called a repairman, but they won’t be in until tomorrow.” He headed towards the door to the alley. “You have someone waiting for you at your door. A big guy. I think he used to live there before you. Something about his mail still being redirected to your address.”

With a sigh I began the long climb up to the fifth floor. There was a man leaning against the wall outside my door. He must have heard me coming up the stairs as he looked in my direction as I exited the stairwell. Even from that distance I was aware of his size, tall and broad shouldered. His dark hair, just long enough to kiss the collar of his jacket, framed a very handsome face highlighted by a pair of incredible blue eyes.

“Hi,” he said casually, with a slight wave of his hand, before he put his phone back in his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry to bother you but the post office screwed up the redirection of my old mail, most of it anyways. They’ve been sending things with my new address on the shipping label back to here.”

“That explains it I guess.” I smiled at him. “Mr. Barnes, is it? I tried to find a way to call but there was no listing for your name. I would have dropped the packages off, but the other address is so far away, and I don’t have a car.”

“Call me Bucky.” His eyes lit up as he smiled. “Not a problem. I’ll leave you my number so if any more mail shows up here, I can pick it up at your convenience.”

Between the time I unlocked my door, and I went inside to retrieve his package I realized who he was. He was still waiting in the hallway, which struck me as odd, until I recalled that I hadn’t invited him in. Looking towards the open door I could see him waiting there patiently.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” I stammered. “Would you like to come in?”

“Sure,” he answered, stepping just inside, looking a little uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to presume anything.”

“Did you get the other packages that I returned?” I asked, holding the most recent package in my hands. “I would have brought them over but it’s quite the train ride from here to Midtown.”

“Yes, they did arrive, not that it fixed things.” His smile was warm. “I wouldn’t have expected you to do the Post Office’s job.” He looked a little more at the small flat. “You fixed it up nice here, much nicer than I had it.”

“You lived here for how long?” I asked. “I’ve been here two months.”

“Almost a year,” he replied. “After I got some legal matters cleared up, I had to live in the New York area. This was affordable and it wasn’t far from where I grew up.”

There was an awkward silence, so I stepped forward at the same time he did, intending to give him his package. In the light of my apartment, he was even more handsome, and I tried desperately to think of something to say to him, but my mind went blank, and I smiled politely instead. He took the package and nodded, then turned around, walking out.

“Wait, your phone number!” I called, running to the doorway.

He was at the top of the stairs and sheepishly came back. I unlocked my phone and offered it to him, to enter his information in. Looking at it I sent him a text, then watched as he took his phone out, seeing my name, Holly, which in my blank state of mind had forgotten to give him earlier.

“That’s a pretty name,” he said, as my attention was focused on those beautiful eyes. “I won’t forget who it belongs to.”

“Thank you, it’s been nice meeting you,” I replied.

He headed back down the stairs, and I closed the door, setting the deadbolt in place. I had just met an Avenger. 🔹

Bucky

Sam was still sitting in the driver’s seat, checking his phone when I stepped out of Holly’s building and up to the truck.

“That took you long enough,” he said.

“She wasn’t home, and I wasn’t leaving without my package,” I replied. “You must have seen her coming in. Tall, dark haired, wearing sweats.”

He shrugged. “Pretty?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I got so tongue tied. Said I would leave her my phone number then I almost left without giving it to her.”

“You get her number? Did you ask her out?”

“What, already?” I sighed again. “That’s a bit quick, isn’t it?”

“What would old Bucky have done?” he asked. “Would he have asked her out right away?”

“Yeah, but I’m not him anymore.”

“Give me your phone.”

Sam held his hand out. With a third sigh I handed it to him. He tapped out a message and sent it then handed my phone back so I could read what he sent.

Me: Are you free Friday night? I understand if you have other plans. Just thought we could meet for drinks, or I could pick you up. You don’t have to feel obligated or anything.

I couldn’t believe he did that, and I almost started texting to take it back when I got a reply.

Her: I am free on Friday night. We could meet somewhere, or you could pick me up. I’m good either way. Nothing too fancy. I’m not into that.

Staring at my phone screen I tried to think of what to say, not wanting to sound desperate or needy.

Me: Okay! I’ll pick you up at 7:30. You okay with riding a motorcycle?

Her: Sure, that means jeans and a jacket, right? I don’t have a helmet.

Me: I have a spare. Looking forward to it. See you then.

I had a date, an actual date, with a nice-looking girl … woman. Bad habit. I showed Sam and he grinned.

“See, old Bucky is still there. Where are you going?”

I looked at him and swallowed. Old Bucky would have taken a girl out in style, dinner, then dancing, then whatever came from that. But I had already told her that I was picking her up by motorcycle, which meant casual, which meant something outdoors, or a movie, or sightseeing. He started the truck up to drive back to Avengers Tower, making suggestions along the way.

“Empire State Building.”

“Heights, you know how I am about heights,” I answered.

He nodded. “Yankees are in town. You could take her to a ball game.”

I glared at him. Never, ever would I go see the Yankees play. Mets, maybe, but I had hated the Yankees since I was a boy, and I wasn’t about to change that. Sam didn’t say anything more until we got back to the Tower and up to the common room area where the others were gathered, watching Jeopardy. I held up my package, which brought some half-hearted cheers.

“Someone has a date Friday night,” announced Sam. “He’s picking her up on his motorcycle at 7:30 and needs some suggestions.”

“Empire State Building,” said Tony.

“He doesn’t like heights,” stated Steve. “Ball game?”

“Only the Yankees are in town,” replied Sam. “He nearly bit my head off when I suggested it.”

Steve grinned and shook his head, picturing that. He knew how I felt about the Yankees because he felt the same.

“The museum,” he countered. “There’s a new art exhibit.”

I shook my head. “That’s your thing, not mine. It’s okay. I’ll come up with something before Friday.”

Using my phone, I looked up all sorts of things to do in New York but kept finding something wrong with them. Either they were too formal, which I really didn’t want, or they were too noisy and crowded, which I really didn’t need. Some of them appealed to me but started and ended early, meaning the date could be over by 9 pm which didn’t appeal to the old Bucky in me. By Friday morning I was ready to cancel the date then Tony Stark turned to me in the elevator.

“I sent you an email,” he said. “Two suggestions. Take them or leave them. But the first part might be interesting for both of you and the second might be a bit nostalgic for you. The best part is that they’re not far apart and you might be able to do both, if it’s going well.” The elevator doors opened on the lab floor, and he stopped in the elevator doorway, seemingly choosing his words carefully. “I hope you have a good time no matter what you end up doing. You deserve that much.”

When I read the email, I smiled. This might not be so bad. 🔹

Holly

After Bucky left, I called my sister to tell her I had a date with the Avenger, Bucky Barnes, and that he was the one whose packages were being redirected back to his old address, now my apartment. She said something about me having all the luck as she thought Steve Rogers was absolutely dreamy. I didn’t rub it in. The next day she sent me a text.

Her: Empire State Building. He’s taking you to the top, to view all of New York. It’s right out of Sleepless in Seattle.

Me: I’ve read he’s not big on heights, due to surviving that big fall in World War II.

A few hours later she sent another text.

Her: Yankees ball game. They’re hosting the Red Sox.

The answer to that was obvious to me.

Me: He’s a Brooklyn Dodgers fan. No self-respecting Dodgers fan would ever cheer for the Yankees.

On Thursday, she texted again.

Her: Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art.

Me: 🫤

That meant I wasn’t into it. On Friday morning, after several days of sending more suggestions she texted another.

Her: Harbour cruise.

That actually wasn’t a bad idea. Wearing jeans and a jacket would keep me warm out on the water. A harbour cruise would start and end at the same pier and a motorcycle would be easier to park in the crowded area. I looked up the cruises then texted my sister back. They all started at 7:00 and he was picking me up at 7:30 so it couldn’t be a cruise. Then Bucky sent me a text.

Him: We’re still on for tonight, right? We’re going to be taking a walking tour in Greenwich Village so wear good shoes. Then we can have a late dinner at a 24-hour diner near the East Village.

Me: Absolutely. That sounds like fun. Hopefully, it doesn’t rain.

Why did I say that about the rain? Now I had introduced the thought that rain could potentially ruin our date. He sent me a reply.

Him: No rain in the forecast. I’ll see you at 7:30.

I smiled. Obviously, he had already thought of the possibility. When I texted my sister with the itinerary, she sent me a thumbs up emoji. It was looking to be a fun date, with no pressure. At 7:25 there was a knock on my door. When I looked through the peephole, I saw that it was Bucky, and opened the door.

“Hi,” I said. “Come on in.”

He brought his hand out from behind his back, producing a bouquet of mixed flowers. “These are for you.” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I always brought flowers on the first date back in the day.”

I was touched as it was a very sweet gesture. “Thank you, I’ll just put them in some water. Make yourself comfortable.”

He wiped his feet on the doormat and stepped in further, sitting down on the sofa. As he stretched his long legs out, I found a vase and filled it with water. Smiling politely, he watched me then stood up and came over to the small kitchen island.

“Everything alright?” I asked.

“I’m nervous,” he admitted. “I had a date a while ago and messed it up when I had a bit of an anxiety attack partway through. She wouldn’t talk to me after that. Can’t say I blame her.” He breathed out noticeably.

“You feeling nervous now?”

“A little.” He fixed those gorgeous eyes on me. “I’m 106 years old, haven’t really dated since the 1940s and some days I feel so old and out of place. I used to be quite the ladies' man before the war.” He breathed out again. “My friend Sam sent the original text as I didn’t think a nice-looking girl like you would go out with me.”

“I haven’t had a date in a few months,” I told him. “Before then I had a boyfriend who told me that I would be prettier if I lost 20 pounds or so. He wasn’t my boyfriend after that. I know I’m not perfect, but I like who I am. Do you want to go out with me still?” He nodded, then smiled and said yes. “Then we’ll go out. I think you’re a gentleman first, and I liked that you brought me flowers, and I liked hearing you call me a nice-looking girl.”

When I brought my jacket out, he helped me on with it, then waited patiently as I locked the door. Down at the sidewalk was his motorcycle, one of those classic ones that usually cost an arm and a leg. He unlocked the security compartment, bringing out a helmet for me. Making sure it fit properly he put his on, zipped up his leather jacket, and straddled the seat, gesturing for me to get on behind him.

“Hold on tight,” he said. “If it’s too much for you, pat my front two times and I’ll pull over. I’m a safe driver and I won’t let you fall. I promise.”

Placing my purse crossways over my body I got on behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle. Even through his jacket I could feel how firm his abdomen was. For a brief moment I pictured him shirtless (yes, it was nice) and giggled then put the thought out of my head as I leaned against his back. The rumble of the motorcycle was loud, even inside my helmet but as soon as he put it into gear it lessened slightly. The motorcycle proved to be the perfect vehicle as he could easily get out of any traffic snarl quickly and just over 20 minutes later, we arrived at Washington Square Park. After locking our helmets back inside the security compartment, he held his right hand out to me and guided me to where a small group of people were waiting. We checked in and waited for the rest of the people to arrive.

🔹

Bucky

Even though I was recognized by the tour guide I kept my attention on Holly, making sure that she didn’t feel ignored. She took my hand again as we waited for the rest of the people. When they arrived, our tour began with a history of Washington Square Park, including the fact that it was a native burial ground as well as a cemetery used to bury the dead of the American Revolution. Apparently, they still occasionally found human remains whenever an excavation had to be done on repairing utilities. We also went to what was called the Pirate’s Den, connected to a notorious woman, named Vivian Gordon, murdered in late February 1931.

“I was 12, almost 13 years old,” I blurted out. “I think I remember that. Wasn’t the mayor of New York implicated in that murder?”

The tour guide looked at me, smiling. “I can safely say that this is the first time I’ve had a participant who was around for one of the older historical events in this tour.”

It got everyone laughing and Holly squeezed my hand, smiling at me. From there we were shown where Mark Twain lived, and where his ghost apparently made appearances. The tour guide had a device that supposedly could show the presence of a ghost electronically, but it didn’t show anything there, although it did on other places that we stopped at, specifically the Brown Building, where the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire occurred, killing over 140 women. After an hour of walking and stopping at various landmarks the tour ended back at Washington Square Park. I slipped the tour guide an extra $20 and mentally thanked Tony Stark for suggesting the activity. It had been interesting, and I think Holly liked it as well. She looked over my arm as I checked the address of the diner.

“It’s close enough to walk, about twenty minutes,” I said. “Would you mind if we left the motorcycle here, so I don’t have to find another parking spot?”

“Not at all,” she responded, taking my hand again.

Making sure I was walking between Holly and the street we strolled along without speaking, not that we needed to fill the silence with anything. Instead, we just enjoyed each other's presence. We did have to dodge a guy on a skateboard that zipped towards us, but Holly just casually turned towards me as he passed.

“Sorry,” she said, as her other hand reached for my chest, and I put my other arm around her. “He came out of nowhere.”

“It was worth it,” I said, without thinking.

It was something old Bucky would say. Her face lit up as she smiled at my reply. Patting my chest with her hand, she looked up in a way that brought back memories of previous dates. I almost kissed her then she dropped her hand and returned to walking beside me, her hand firmly in mine. When we arrived at the diner Holly’s face seemed pleased.

“I didn’t know about this place!”

“Tony Stark suggested it,” I replied, holding the door open for her.

It was bright inside, considered retro for the 21st century with its checkerboard flooring, booths with padded seats, and the older lighting fixtures. In the 1940s it would have been seen as futuristic with its many curved lines in the finishings. We were seated in a booth where our knees touched. I was about to ask to be moved but she just smiled and said it didn’t bother her. It reminded me of when Sam and I first started working together during the Flag Smashers, and we had the impromptu therapy session inside the Baltimore police station. Before I could tell Holly about it, the waitress arrived to take our drink orders. Not wanting to give her the wrong impression I ordered a coffee. She ordered a chocolate milkshake and asked for a starter of mozzarella sticks. Quietly, we looked at the menu, although I tried to look at her some more. When our drinks arrived Holly ordered a chicken wrap and salad. I ordered the meatloaf special, and a bacon cheddar burger with fries on the side. Before I could explain she looked at me with some amusement.

“So, it’s true?” she asked, her eyes bright. “Super soldiers have to eat a lot of food to keep their energy up. I envy you. I wish I could eat like that.”

“It’s true but it’s not always enjoyable,” I replied. “After really heavy missions that take a lot out of us, I barely have enough energy to eat at all, but I have to force myself. Bruce … Bruce Banner, invented a supplement for me and Steve to boost our calorie intake and give us instant energy, but it’s not the best tasting and the texture is kind of awful.”

“I guess that would be a downside,” she offered. “My sister has a crush on him, on Steve.” She clarified. “She’s my best friend and we would have lived together but she got here a year before I did, found a place to share and co-signed the lease. When I decided to move here, I had to find my own place because she was locked into the lease with her roommate. We’re only one stop away from each other and we see each other a lot.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

I was asking because I knew Holly would appeal to Steve and if her sister was like her, perhaps she would be good to double date with. That would be something, a double date with Steve that might actually work in his favour as he was still as hopeless now with the ladies as he was in the 1940s.

“She’s between boyfriends right now.” A smile crossed Holly’s face that lit her up from inside. “You thinking of fixing her up with Steve Rogers?”

I shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time I tried. Even though he is more handsome now he’s still the same shy guy he was when we were younger. Takes him weeks just to get up the courage to say hi to a girl.”

She was leaning towards me with her chin resting on her hand. “I like how you call me a girl. It’s supposed to be a put down in these times, but I guess to someone of your age, someone my age is a girl. I’m not offended by it, although I guess some are.”

Just like that Holly put me even more at ease. Our mozzarella sticks arrived, and she took the first one dipping it into the sauce. Tentatively I bit into one, then smiled as the cheese stretched out from my mouth to the stick. Holly giggled a little as we grappled with the strings of cheese. Our main food arrived just as we finished the last of the appetizer. Holly stole some of my fries which didn’t bother me at all. For dessert I had apple pie à la mode, while she had chocolate cake.

Tony had good instincts referring me to this place. It was informal enough that neither one of us tried to impress the other. We talked more about all sorts of things, my love of books, her love of dancing, our shared interest in science and technology. After I paid the bill, I opened the door to the outside and we stepped out into the night, which had cooled down a little since our tour. We headed back towards the park where my motorcycle was parked. As we got closer, we could hear the sounds of music and applause.

“Street performers!” exclaimed Holly. “Please, can we watch?”

How could I say no?

🔹

Holly

Watching the street performers with Bucky was something else. He had never seen buskers like this before. Jugglers with fire sticks, catchy music and clever repartee were just the beginning. There were some aerial gymnasts doing all sorts of tricks that displayed their acrobatic abilities. A pair of guys with tap shoes danced to hip hop in ways that successfully melded the two forms of entertainment. Another guy with a bmx bicycle did all sorts of twists, turns and jumps including some on an obviously home-made ramp that defied gravity. It was an explosion of sight, sound, and colour that intrigued him, making him so much fun to be with, not to mention even more gorgeous. I gave some money to the hats that were passed around, explaining this was probably how many of the buskers made a living. He added some of his own. When we finally pulled away and began the walk to his motorcycle Bucky couldn’t stop talking about how entertaining it all was.

“Does this happen all the time here?” he asked. “Tony never said anything about it but if it does, then I owe him. That was amazing, just amazing.”

We were holding hands and he stopped at the motorcycle, pulling me closer. It was like we were in a movie as he looked so softly at me, making me feel all sorts of things, both good and kind of scary because I had never been this close to someone like him. Most of my dates were of the nerdy kind, nice but slightly socially inept. This was Bucky Barnes, handsome, notorious, and an absolute dreamboat. When our lips met, I swear there was music. Of course, we were only a block away from the park where the entertainment was still going on, but the sounds from there just seemed to add to the romance in our little moment of kissing. He could really kiss … I guess that’s something a guy doesn’t forget, no matter what kind of hell he’s been through.

“I should have asked first,” he murmured when we stopped. “I suppose I got caught up in the moment.”

“Why don’t you ask then?” I replied, looking up at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please.”

The second kiss was even better as it was accompanied by his arms wrapping themselves around me and mine wrapping themselves around him, bringing thoughts of him shirtless and more, to my mind again. This kiss also lasted a lot longer before we stopped, and he looked at me.

“I should get you home,” he said, not sounding completely convinced by his own words.

We got back onto the motorcycle, pulling up in front of my building a short time later. After dismounting I took my helmet off then handed it to him.

“I had a really good time,” I said. “Would you like to come up?”

Even in the dim light I could tell he was blushing. “If this was the 1940s, I would have said yes, but I’m not that Bucky anymore. I kind of played the field then and I want something more than that now.”

He really was something else and I looked at him with my heart racing a little. “So, you want a second date?”

“Yes, do you?” I replied yes and we kissed again, a really nice and sweet kiss. “Then I’ll call you soon. I promise.”

I went inside the door of the building and up the now working elevator. When I got inside the small flat, I looked out the window and smiled to see that Bucky was still waiting beside his motorcycle, apparently watching for me to appear. He waved to me, then put his helmet on and started up the motorcycle before pulling away. It might have been just a first date, but it was one of the best dates I had ever been on, and I hope Bucky felt the same.

If you read this one shot and enjoyed it please like, comment and reblog.

#buckybarnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #steve rogers #tony stark #first date #dating in New York #nervous bucky #what is there to do in nyc on a Friday night?

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non-un-topo · 3 months ago

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please give us a summary of summerwind and the tower!

Hello, my friend!! I would love to!

Summerwind is my big project that I'm most excited about currently. It's a canon-divergent au in which Yusuf and Nicolo were childhood friends (turned enemies, of course!). The amount of research and planning that has gone into this fic has made me really consider just writing an original book, but there are some major changes I'd have to make for that to happen. It's got a lot packed into it, and a lot of family ocs. I'm just obsessed with stories of two little friends who keep coming back to each other (or running in to each other by chance) despite the different directions their lives take, and all the strife and conflict they go through in their own lives and with each other, only to finally meet again in adulthood as enemies..... that's the good shit!!!

I've been hesitant to post it for a few reasons: The events lead up to the First Crusade, and so I'm worried about sensitivity. And, this might be stupid but, there is not a lot of romance. If there is any, it's one-sided. I know there must be some readers out there who don't mind non-romantic fics, but still lol. It's niche. There are also some moments that are quite dark, but I will include content warnings. I think I'm just really enjoying my Game of Thrones era.

Here's more of a summary for you: Yusuf's side of the story is mostly about his longing to chart his own path, to be adventurous, and most of all to serve justice. This starts with him witnessing an enslaved man being pulled by a horse as a child, and leads him to make some unfavourable decisions when he manages his own business. His story also has a lot to do with generational expectation (his grandfather leaves huge boots to fill, and his father struggles with this himself) and with his relationship to his mother, who is Indigenous. Nicolo's side of the story is very different, mostly because his family is much poorer than Yusuf's. He has six brothers all in one house, for example. There's a lot more to spoil from his side, but I can say that his close relationship to his uncle (who is his namesake), a seaman and soldier, and his later resentment of the world and the way his family is treated by the people around him all lead him to the Crusade. He's also not a priest in this fic -- I drew from the comics and mixed in my own hefty serving of headcanons lol. Instead, he wants to be a smith. His father, instead, was raised in the Church but left when he fell in love with Nicolo's mother. I've actually become so attached to both of the father ocs lol, Ibrahim and Lucio, but I've rambled enough.

I currently have the first two chapters completed, sort of stuck on part of the third but I'm making slow progress. I expect there will be around 11 chapters. I'll give you the names of the chapters, though, since I have those! And then I'll shut up. In order, with some of the dates included, they are:

Fledglings (1074-75)

Spring Thunder (1077-78)

The Free People (1083-84)

Midas (1085)

[as yet unnamed] (1086)

Spitfire (1087)

Interlude

Redwings

The Tide (1098-99)

To My Old Friend

Flight

The Tower is a tog and Annihilation hybrid I started in.... 2021 or 2022, I think? It's not technically an au. Instead I set it in the future, and from Nile's POV. All of the immortals are there except for Andy, whose death haunts Nile in flashbacks and dreams throughout the narrative. The old guard are tasked with a mission much like the one in Annihilation (book & movie), and things get very strange very fast. Without spoiling anything, I really wanted to explore what it might mean for immortals to enter Area X/the shimmer. I'm mostly following the events of the movie. As of right now, it's about 7.5 thousand words.

The title of the fic came from two things: It's in reference to the "tower" (inverted tower? tunnel thing?) that the biologist finds in the book. In the movie it's a lighthouse. The other reference is the Major Arcana card, which symbolizes danger, destruction, and unexpected change.

#thank you for enabling me my friend!! once i start i really don't stop lol...#sage writes #i'd love to finish both of these #also hey! i was re-reading he dreamless at 2am last night

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firedragon1321 · 1 year ago

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Missing Digidestined Theory

Hi and welcome to my humble abode. Tonight at 4 am, I'm going to (try) to make sense of some Digimon shit. Namely the number of Digidestined in Adventure's world, and how that correlates to a certain statement from the producers. This is entirely headcanon, possibly AU, and also made at 4-6 am. It also contains spoilers for the new 02 movie. There is a brief mention of child death. And it ends with complaints about the timeline and epilogue.

EDIT: This is no longer solid for several reasons, mainly conflicting information in 02 the Beginning, the presentation of clear AU as a theory, and the use of a ship blog as a source. On the first, I had not seen the movie yet (and now have doubts that Lui was really "the first", but that's a theory that basically ends in "Daigo/Maki's group were still first"). On the latter two points, I really should know better, and I apologize.

I have closed notifications due to some rude behavior, so I won't see any updates on this. However, I also deleted the original edit mentioning that since it itself was rude. There's really no reason to leave this up, except I like the idea generally and for archival purposes. If you still wish to read it, it is stored below. Just get ready for 40 year old Lui, lol.

I'll hook you with this- there weren't five Digidestined globally in Maki's time. There were eight.

This goes off a statement from one of the producers. You can read it all here.

Basically, the number of Digidestined worldwide would double. This ensures everyone would have a Digimon partner by 2027 (aka, the epilogue).

Doing the math- the number would exceed the global population (approximately 8 billion people) in 2020 (becoming 16,777,216 to be precise- 2019 cuts it close with 8,388,608, but the math is not wrong either way).

The exact statement says this "doubling" occurred from the Parrotmon incident forward. I personally believe that's BS because Willis exists. He receives Gummymon and Kokomon around the same time that the original Botamon spawns. There's also Meiko, Ken, and Ryo (depending on how you interpret the WonderSwan games). Meaning the number of Digidestined is higher than 8, and possibly already doubling.

Let's assume Lui is the first Digidestined. He seems to be around his early 20s (or ages really well- maybe it's Maybelline). Then Daigo and Maki's team came after him. Then Adventure team and so-on.

This all rides around this comment, as there are no official ages for Daigo, Maki, or Lui and we need them. User SharpeBB from With the Will points out the following, which I used as it's the only logical explanation I can find.

So based on this theory- assuming they were 11/12 when they were chosen, and Maki's age in the flashback is as SharpeBB claims, the original Digidestined would have set out on their mission in 1987 (using the age of 9 as a baseline for reasons I will explain later and computing in Maki's age of 21).

I assume for this theory that Maki was a Digidestined for at least two years prior to losing Tapirmon (referring to the flashback involving the Harmonious Ones). My tri. knowledge is a bit rusty. But since that flashback occurs in the Digital World, I'll have to assume she met Tapirmon in the real world, there was time fuckery similar to Adventure, adults were looking for the members of that team in the Real World, or any combination of the three.

So- 27 (Maki's age) minus 9 (assumed age when first she became a Digidestined) is 18. 18 years before tri. in 2005 was 1987.

There are five of these "original kids"- Daigo, Maki, and three unnamed ones. But you may notice that five is not an even number, nor a multiple of two. The lowest number of Digidestined that must exist globally at that time is eight. This doesn't mean for Maki's team specifically- they could be in another country, like the numerous American Digidestined.

So going backwards- there would be four Digidestined (globally) in 1986, two in 1985, and one (Lui) in 1984.

Incidentally, Lui was born on a leap year...which 1972 is. Using the baseline of 12 years (based on the above image), he would be 40 in 02 the Beginning. Let's just say he ages well.

So I bet you're tired of BS- let's get to the meat and potatoes. How many Digidestined really exist by the time of Adventure? Well, with 12 years between 1987 (original Digidestined) and 1999...the answer is 32,768.

Remember that not all Digidestined go to the Digital World. Some of this number might have died (we can't rule out "accidents" in the Digital World entirely, nor death via other means). Others might have stayed in the Real World and never went to the Digital World. Still others might have let their inner child- and partner- die (see Kizuna). But given the time gap between Daigo/Maki's team and 1999 alone, I don't think all 32,000+ of them were twiddling their thumbs.

There's more threats out there that we don't know about. There's more dead kids than we can fathom. And worse still, this only accelerates the amount of time until everyone has a Digimon. It would exceed the global population in 2009 with 16,777,216- that same number from the start- three years before 02 the Beginning.

Yet we can see that this is not the case. Ukkomon's MO is to give everyone a Digimon partner, which the world is not ready for. Recall that the production team claims the worldwide doubling occurred starting with Tai's team. Including those eight and the four outliers I mentioned, everyone would have a Digimon by 2019 (with an estimated 12,582,912 partnerships- this exceeds the global population). In 2012, this number is merely 98,304. Which makes sense for the Ukkomon plot.

So I wasted your time. Except...

I still feel this math doesn't account for things like Daigo/Maki's team and Lui. The producer's math states there are 64 Digidestined globally by 2002. But this cannot be the case as how do the Digidestined from before- or even kids like Willis- factor in? Like, they fit numerically, but how did they find their partners? Why were they chosen? Especially those before 1999, if it all connects to the Botamon in Japan? Also- assuming Lui is as young as he looks (i.e.- around Davis's age) makes Maki older than him...which makes no sense, given the average age someone becomes a Digidestined and her own assumed age.

It makes more sense for Lui to look really good for forty than the entire timeline does if we assume that the doubling began in 1999.

And this is because of two issues. One is "left hand not talking to right hand" throughout the Adventure timeline. There's simply no communication between departments (especially for the WonderSwan games, the canonicity of which is flaky even in my own personal timeline). This has resulted in other plot holes throughout Adventure canon.

Another is a hardcore determination to keep the epilogue canon, despite conflicting elements from tri. on forward. The link at the very beginning attempts to explain the epilogue, yet includes some absolutely bonkers explanations for things like why Matt became an astronaut (basically, there's extraterrestrial threats made in response to digivolution, and the Dark Masters are implied to be one of them, despite actually being linked to Apocalymon- is he also an alien???).

There was supposed to be a season 3 that would have evened out a lot of this (I'm afraid I forgot the link- if someone has it, let me know so I can add it). But we never got it, so the epilogue will never make logical sense. Almost all attempts to canonize it cause batshit lore to enter the chat, or it simply does not mesh with batshit lore from tri. onwards.

Both of these elements cause massive plot holes that make the 1999 doubling pace simply not work. So I'll play with this AU/headcanon some more. Besides, I personally find the idea of Digidestined hiding for decades interesting...

Thanks for surviving to the end!

Edit

Fixed a calculation to include Meiko (forgot her by accident.).

#digimon #theory #headcanon #epilogue complaints #this is not really sound as a theory #but canon makes less sense #digimon adventure #mention of child death #disproven by 02 the beginning #disproven theory #archive

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avalanchesumich · 1 year ago

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mastermind!au

december 26

cameron sat on cale’s couch, a small kitten in her lap as she scrolled mindlessly through all the programs on the tv.

it was quite easy for cameron and cale’s fiancé, tracey, to convince cale to get a kitten; the gaslit him using cameron’s heartbreak, and cale easily caved, as long as they didn’t name him pookiebear.

so currently, cam was home alone with her unnamed cat, cale was in his home gym, tracey went out with some of the wags for a bit, but should be back soon, and her parents and taylor were out in the city somewhere, leaving her alone.

cam felt her body freeze as she saw world juniors was on air. she wasn’t sure if gabe was in the lineup. she wasn’t sure why she selected it, and she wasn’t sure when she started crying. she was only aware of it when tracey came in, and started panicking.

tracey let cam cry into her shoulder. she caught what was on the tv, and easily put together why the girl was so upset. tracey wasn’t aware of why they broke up, just that it happened. he continued to rub cam’s back until the younger girl pulled away.

“what’s the matter, babe?”

“i miss him,” cam whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “but i shouldn’t. i should hate him.”

“why is that?”

“because,” she hesitated. “he used me. he used me to get to cale.”

“what?” tracey gasped. “what are you talking about, honey?”

“i overheard these two girls talking the day i left boston,” cam sighed. “this girl, raegan, has been trying to get with gabe for months. she was telling her friend that he… he was just using me to get to cale.”

“babe, i’m so sorry,” tracey sighed. she pulled cam into a tight hug. when she pulled away she asked, “did you talk to gabe about it?”

“not really,” cam adverted her gaze. “i just went to him and broke it off. i was so blind sided by what raegan had said and how it was everything cale was trying to protect me from that i didn’t really give him a chance to say anything.”

“cam, you have to talk to him,” tracey said slowly. “i know you don’t want to, and you probably just want to punch him in the nose, but it’s only fair. you made him hear you out, so you deserve to hear him out.”

“what if he doesn’t want to?”

“he will.”

both girls turn their head to see cale entering the room. he dropped his hockey bag on the ground and asked tracey to give him a second with his sister. tracey smiled softly at cam before making her way out of the room.

cam huffed and curled up into the corner of the couch, waiting for cale to say something. she stared blankly at the tv, which still aired the game. cale put it on mute, causing cam to look at him.

“how much of the conversation did you hear?”

“not much,” cale shrugged. “i knew more from gabe than i did from you.”

“what?”

“remember the day you were mia? no one could get ahold of you because you were stress napping? after that, i made sure gabe had my number. i felt better knowing there was another way to reach you.”

“what does this have to do with anything?” cam whispered, feeling her heart start to race.

“ever since you left boston, he’s been trying to check up. make sure you’re okay,” cale reluctantly explained. “i refused to entertain it until he told me what happened. you don’t have to do anything, i would never force you but if you miss him this much, hear him out.”

“you’ve been talking to him?” cam’s voice was flat.

“uh, yeah?” cale answered. “sorry.”

“so what do i do?” cam groaned. “go to sweden with some big gesture?”

“no!”

“yes!”

cale glared from the direction his fiancée shouted.

“do not go to sweden,” cale pleaded. “you’re an 18 year old girl who, no offense, cannot defend herself.”

“what if i brought someone?”

“if this someone’s name is valerie, the answer is still no,” cale shook his head, shrugging at the pair of flares he got, now that tracey had entered the room again. “look,” he patted his sister’s knee. “you have a phone. talk to him.”

cam nodded, watching as he stood up. “cale?” she stood up and pulled him into a hug. “thank you.”

“of course, cammy,” cale hummed. “you’re my baby sister, i’d do anything for you.”

cam pulled away. “anything?”

“i’m not convincing mom or dad to let you go to sweden.”

“fine,” cam huffed. “i’m gonna go call val, love you guys.”

she heard a chorus of love you’s as she made her way back to cale’s guest room.

#mastermind!au #gabe perreault x makar!sister

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tir-na-dean-au · 1 year ago

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Tir na Déan AU

Probably going to get seen by like three people, but, oh well, I feel like yelling into the void about a MCYT (mostly Hermitcraft and Empires SMPs) AU I may or may not eventually write, with loads and loads of Celtic mythology references 'cause I'm a nerd and proud of it.

So, most people are probably familiar with the idea of a "fae realm", but if you aren't, here's a short rundown:

There are multiple "worlds" or "realms" in almost every mythology. The Nine Worlds in Nordic, Tir na nOg in Irish Celtic, Olympus and Hades in Greek, and so on. These realms or worlds often exist parallel to our own, to the "mortal" plane, and to any other plane of existence. This is a very basic explanation, for an absolutely fascinating subject.

In this AU, I grabbed the idea of the Celtic Otherworld (Tir na nOg) being split into various "courts" (or, rather, worlds!), and booked it like a child with five cookies stuffed in her mouth.

So, me being a mythology nerd, and also a Hermitcraft fan with way too much time on my hands and way too many AU ideas, thought up the idea of the "Tir na Déan", or "Land of the Craftspeople" (because, y'know. Craft. Minecraft).

Effectively, each server in the MCYT is a different "court" of Tir na Déan, with smaller groups within each. I.E., in Tir na Impirí (Empires SMP), everyone who lives in Tir na Impirí is part of the Caisleán na Impirí, while someone who lives in Sanctuary, for example, is part of the Caisleán na Impirí and the Caisleán na Sagrario, as Sanctuary is just one small part of Tir na Impirí.

(I really hope this makes some sense.)

But! It's about to get more complicated!

See, there is, of course, more than one realm. There's Tir na Déan, as I've already explained; there's the mortal plane (which I've yet to name); and there's the land of the dead, which is largely irrelevant so far (and also currently unnamed. You can tell where my focus has been since I came up with this idea. Fae are much more interesting than us mere mortals). There's also a few others, but they're loosely connected to the main three and not currently important.

Now, while Tir na Déan is effectively in a permanent state of sword & sorcery/steampunk (because iron is a big no), the mortal plane continues to change and advance, up to the current day. The worlds do still interact, though not as frequently as they once did; they kinda view each other as "fairy tales" for the most part, stories told to children to make them eat their vegetables or go to bed on time, on both sides. The fae are just as scared of humans as humans are of fae. See, the humans have tales of fae eating people and stealing children, and the fae have tales of humans slaughtering trooping faeries and torturing their own out of fear of changelings (which are, in most parts of Tir na Déan, completely illegal. Symbolically. Like how it's illegal to build on a fairy mound in Ireland). Humans scare fae, and fae scare humans, just as people who are different often do.

But, of course, there are places the worlds collide. Places, on the mortal plane, like Brú na Bóinne (an Irish sidhe-mound), where the Veil between the worlds is said to be thinner and allow magic to seep through. In Tir na Déan, these places are where magic is weak, because it's magic that keeps the Veil intact. Opposites, once again, as faerie and man are want to be.

Now, because there are places where the worlds touch through the Veil, there are always going to be people who know about the other side.

Hence, we finally reach the Hermitcraft portion of this post, after... six hundred and twenty-five words. Welp. I'm more long-winded than I thought.

So, the Hermits are their own court, made up of fae who, for some reason, want a court but don't have one. There are characters who, like Grian, bounced from court to court, never really belonging anywhere until he found this chaotic court of madmen. There are others who, like Scar, were forcibly removed from their court for a variety of reasons, or, like Cub, chose to leave it. There's people from different worlds, like Cleo who came from the land of the dead, or Joe who was born on the mortal plane and just left. There's loads of different reasons they've become Hermits, or, as their court is known, members of the Caisleán na Díthreabhach, the Court of the Hermit.

(Definitely a stylistic choice, and not the fact that I can't figure out Irish plurals yet. Nope. Definitely not.)

So, the Caisleán na Díthreabhach are effectively cryptids, even to the fae. They're known as either the Caisleán na Díthreabhach, or the Caisleán na Strainséir (Court of the Outsider); they just kinda show up places, solve conflicts, and leave. Which, in my opinion, is very Hermitlike.

They appeared in the Caisleán na Brionn. And now there is no Caisleán na Brionn, just a few survivors who spoke of magic like they'd never seen before, and of friends and family who left with them. Some of them returned. Some of them didn't.

(Court of Dreams. Most of you probably get what happened.)

But they're also known to humans, too. Sort of.

Their court is built right on the border between the mortal and the fae lands, the place where the Veil is weakest.

Ohio.

To the fae onlooker, it looks like an imposing fortress. To the human onlooker, it's just a town with a really weird vibe. And yeah, there's loads of cryptid sightings in the area, but that surely isn't related to this strange little town that freaks everyone out, and whose inhabitants all give off really Uncanny Valley vibes. Surely. That's a stupid thought.

But there are also those who know. Humans who know that this weird Ohioan town is the place to go to find themselves on the other side. Fae who know that the Caisleán na Díthreabhach is a way out.

And it is. If you know where to go.

But even those who know would not dare do them harm.

After all, He Who Keeps The Void is their king. After all, He Who Walks With Spirits holds his banner aloft. After all, They Who Watch will warn him. After all, He Who Fears Not Iron crafts their blades. After all, She Who Death Cowers Before rallies his armies. After all, He Who Is Fear stands at his right and He Who Turns Winter Red at his left.

After all, the Hermits will fight.

And they will win.

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bread-lady · 1 year ago

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It's 1:10am and I have this idea of scout being on the show, this sis separate from my au but just an idea

Scout being rileys "little sister"

Introduction: a charater riley writes to often an outta town family member (maybe she off at private school or somthin) signed off as scout (well was planned to) in one of the letters the rest being just -S or your little sister keeping the fans on edge

Their personalities, like in game. are similar, but they are still opposites, of course! And she's not very well liked by riley. with riley calling her "more annoying then nick nack could ever!" That's saying somthing but of course riley adores her shes family after all

Cancled charater left to letters: scout was to appear in an episode called "shara ann and the sistrophe" whole episode of sibling bonding where scout would show up then become a reoccurring charater popping in for visits or events in town there beef being worse then ever but they get along slightly better by the end with scout surcuring some friendships with the groups and charaters of the show sadly this never came to plan and scout was never finished

Brought to life: midnight show happens as usual with scout being finished truly named scout and givin her task of destroying them and being called a weapon (shes not very good at her job btw) but when she appears due to already having charater in owens mind rileys little sister was born and given face to name! Scout is still scout obv and annoys rikey more then anything teaming up with nick every jow and then to inconvenience riley

If she wasn't cancled: if scout was given a name and face as planned she would be brought to life and givin her room like the rest (she controls a small portion of studio some mess up puppets listen to her so she keeps them) her task would be materiel collecting (she likes writing hinted in many letters she is one in this au to make the languageof the puppets so she and nick could write still shes better at host now) pens ink quilt paper and paring them correctly her mini game would be asking about different host world curiositys or writing her door having a letter and pen on it and looking it's been doodled on

Main game typical midnight show run where she's brought at the end: still somewhat the same she translates more and more of the writing found even if her eyes arnt very good (this is harpers fault sorta) she annoys rikey way more and points out and lack of rhyme during nicks room when she goes nick nack likes music she sjust followes it up with "but writing the music is way more fun when....nevermind" cause ehehehe angst

It's 1:31 am ill add when I have more ideas

It's 12:01pm and I figured out how scout letters would appear! during fire side chats I seems they get letters and scouts letters would appear during fan mail segments every now and then a bright blue envelope that seemed to have doodled over labeled to riley the teased scout letter would be where the the handeemen going over mail and letters received find one folded up out of its envelope someone finding it and wondering what's it about only the one who signed that shown riley snatching the letter labeled scout

I feel theletter would be visiting thing or somthing along those lines playing with the off at private school probably during a school break and request to stay with riley during her visit

Just to reappear every now and then for big events or during typical school breaks before fully joining the crew I feel scouts full name would be scout ruckus scribbles

Or scout scribbles ruckus since the handeemen with the mortimer exception all have there names start with the same letters as there last but I think this is gonna be a little side thing from my unnamed au

#hello puppets #hello puppets midnightshow #hello puppets mortimer handee #hello puppets scout #hello puppets riley ruckus #hellopuppets au #hello puppets daisy danger #its to late for dis

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sk1ttery · 1 year ago

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TeLL about Hotshot in the wallflower au plz ;)

CW for mentions of unhealthy relationships.

I warned y’all this AU is a highschool AU with angst and some heavy shit.

Shot is going THROUGH it.

So most of the Wallflower AU characters are around 18, cause senior year. But my friend and I sort of decided that some are a little younger, so 16-17. (Some even younger like Boots and Les)

Spot is one of the younger ones; he and Racer are both 17. This is because I find if really funny that a scrawny little 17 year old is the leader of one of the scariest gangs of teenagers in Brooklyn.

THAT and his right hand is Hot-Shot, this 6’4, dangerously calm tree of a man.

The Brooklyn Bunch are essentially a gang of bikers who came together to protect each other because they live in such a rough area and most if not all grew up on the streets or in extremely unhealthy situations.

Hot-Shot is essentially the dad of the Brooklyn Bunch. Despite his scary looking exterior, Hot-Shot is possibly one of the sweetest people you’ll meet when you get to know him. He’s compassionate, caring and fiercely loyal. He’s ride or die for almost all the Brooklyn bunch and the Hattan bunch when they eventually meet.

He grew up with his parents who were criminals and constantly dragging him into their bullshit. From a young age he had to cover for them and hide their crimes and because of this he became a scarily good actor.

He’d often get picked up by the police but his parents would always bail him out. Until one day, when he was sixteen, they didn’t. So he ran.

He went back to his parents’ apartment and found Ten-Pin there (the child of people who worked for his parents. Who was only a baby). He figured a kid didn’t deserve to live in that situation, so he took Ten-Pin and ran.

He went to Graves (I could also talk about Graves for hours ☹️) and stayed with him for a while till he got back on his feet and got his own place with Myron and their (new) kid Ten-Pin. Myron and Hot-Shot didn’t end up dating untill WAY later, as Hot-Shot for about two years was stuck in a very unhealthy relationship.

Because of everything he went through, he decided he wanted to protect the Brooklyn Bunch, so he made himself a safe person for them. Their parental figure. Someone they could turn to if needed. Because it was something he never had.

Some Random Facts About Hot-Shot in this AU?

He has a pet chinchilla named Rio.

He’s deaf in one ear.

He has OCD.

He’s an insomniac.

His favourite TV show is Chuck.

He works at an Ice-Cream Parlor named ‘Angel’s’, and has to wear one of those silly little uniforms and the others come into his workplace to mock him. (He also works at a currently unnamed boba place and a bar called Jenny’s)

He loves music and plays guitar and ukulele.

He’s a really good cook.

He tends to carpool for the Brooklyn Bunch despite a lot of them being able to drive themselves.

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genievillain26 · 1 year ago

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Unnamed Human and Autistic Hellaverse AU Early Conception. Trigger Warning for domestic abuse

I've created a little au per se based of off Hellaverse characters that I would like to share. It's more of a human based au that is more set in reality and has elements from my own personal experiences. The character more based off of Octavia is more or less the main character. It's a rather emotional story. I don't really have set names for the characters yet, so let's just call them based on who they are based off of. Via is an autistic teenager who is raised by a gay couple that is rather prominent in the show scene. She is multi talented in singing, cooking, sewing due to her being homeschooled since she would not assimilate well in a school setting. Her parents are Stolas and another male character that isn't really based off of Blitz, but I might work him into that character somehow. Stolas's character is more developed than the other one.

The emotional part comes in when Loona's counter part who is an other autistic girl and about 4-5 years older years older than Via her meets her and the two have an automatic bond. Loona has a rough family life. Her parents have kids from previous marriages and the youngest of them is about 14 years older than her. She does not have have any whole siblings like her half siblings do. Her parents are much older and thus her dad's dementia is getting so bad that it's causing him to physically abuse her while she is in her early to mid 20's. Too many terrible things happen in Loona's life suddenly which include her finding out that she cannot afford to move somewhere that isn't run down and dangerous, her totaling her car after losing focus while driving, losing her car insurance making it impossible for her to drive legally, and having to quit her job because she cannot drive to work anymore.

Her meeting Octavia as well as Stolas heals her. One night, she ends up slipping the memo to Via that her dad is hitting her due to his undiagnosed dementia and severe anger issues. She tells her to not tell anyone about this because the last time she did, authorities got involved, but nothing came of it. All it did was leave her in an awkward position with her parents. Nevertheless, this news troubles Via deeply, so she tells her dads. They get in touch with the authorities which causes the friend to be separated from her parents. There is a problem with this due to how she is unable to tend to the house because she does not have the money to pay the bills and because she is also tapering off of a medication that hinders her judgment and decision making skills (something I am also going through). She's too old to be put in a foster home, but her half siblings live too far away and don't want to be bothered by looking after her. Because of this, the Goetia family agrees to allow her to live with them until things are sorted out with her parents such as her parents getting anger management and the dad getting a dementia diagnosis as well as treatment for it.

Via and Loona essentially become like sisters and Stolas and his husband become her surrogate parents. Sure said character is between 20-21 years old (with Via being 15-16 when this happens), but she needs them in her medication weening process as it causes her to have negative withdrawal side effects. With Via being homeschooled and autistic, it makes it harder for her to pick up on social cues and other things that are difficult for autistic people to detect. Her friend also being autistic allows her to empathize with her and the two become close friends. They have similar interests and talents so that helps the bond grow stronger.

Via is an IVF baby. Stolas's is the birth father. He acts as more of the "mom" dad who is somewhat over protective and also babys her which can sometimes cause her to act somewhat immature for her age. His husband is the "fun" dad, he has an energy similar to Bandit Heeler in a way. They don't want to coddle her as they do give her responsibilities and teach her independent living skills, but they also understand that there are somethings autistic people cannot do and they want to accommodate her accordingly. Stolas's family is where the autism came from as family planning centers tend to have several restrictions on who is allowed to donate eggs (and I assume who can donate sperm. I only know about the egg part as I have seen stories about autistic afabs applying to be egg doners and getting rejected because of autism running in the family).

I am a sucker for the running away trope and I have gone through a few different scenarios as to how Via would run away, what age she would, be why she ran away, and where to. The current scenario I am thinking of is where Via and her dad's are on vacation at a resort because they got a gig to perform there (mostly for Stolas). She's the same age as she is in the show and isn't as optimistic as she used to be. About a year has past since Loona had to live with the Goetia's. The two are still inseparable, but that is until the dad's get an invitation to perform at a city and have an all paid access trip to a resort where the city is in. Loona cannot come along as she is not a legal member of the family in order for the free trip perks to work for her. She could pay her way there, but there is no way she has the money for the luxury resort they are staying in.

I should have mentioned that OC's of Charlie and Vaggie are in this too and they act as her god parents. Charlie started out as Via's homeschool teacher for her elementary years. The two became close friends and so did she and Vaggie. When time came for Via to transition into middle school and thus get a new teacher, her parents allowed the two to become her god parents as Stolas's family wouldn't have it in them to properly accommodate Via with their more old school and critical approach to her disability and his husband's parents have grown too old to be able to properly look after her. They wanted people who were still relatively young so they could grow along with her in the case that she needs to live with them forever. While Via is a very capable and independent person, the issue comes in with there not being any affordable housing that is safe, clean, and quiet.

Shortly before Via turns 18, her god parents move across to the other side of the country due to Vaggie getting a much better job offer. Via is not able to see them in person as often and she's also entering that rebellious teenager phase. She hits this phase a little late because she is normally very kind and obedient. Unfortunately, her being exposed to Loona's family troubles and learning more about the injustice that autistic people (as well as disabled people in general) go through causes her to become jaded. This is when she is a little more like how Via in the real show is.

While on the resort trip, she joins one of those "teen hubs" that acts as an age appropriate daycare center for kids that were dragged along on the trip (if anyone has been to a resort or a cruise, you know what I'm talking about). While Via does attend social gatherings with kids her age and has for most of her life, those gatherings were more designed for other homeschooled kids, autistic kids, and both homeschooled and autistic kids. The teens at this resort are rather snarky, judgmental, and automatically pick up on Via's autistic mannerisms. This causes them to either talk down to her or make fun of her, but most importantly, they criticize her within earshot as if they think she cannot understand what they are saying, an experience autistic people get far too common.

Via obviously knows what these people are saying and when she confronts them, they gaslight her by saying they weren't talking about her or that she must have been hearing someone else. Via also feels like she is being pushed away by her parents since the performance work they are doing is more... adult centric and they don't scar her by being exposed to what they do (not because they want to shield her from anything sex related, but because they are her parents and her seeing her parents do the things they do on stage would scar her as it would for any person regardless of neurotype. Via is very close with her parents (so much so that when she was 11 years old said she never wanted to leave the household so she could be with them forever) so them pushing her off like this upsets her. All of this trouble causes Via to run off from the resort to have a little adventure of her own. This happens while attending the "teen hub" since the staff of that club do a horrible job of keeping an eye on the teens there.

The teen hub area she is in is for teens 15-17, so the workers assume that if the kids are this old, they wouldn't need to do much to prevent the kids doing anything that could cause havoc. Via's parents also omitted her autism diagnosis in her information chart (something they only do when it comes to non-medical and non-educational settings). This is because when people do know of her diagnosis, she is given the same treatment that the teens at the resort are giving her. Once the news of Via's elopement make it to her parents, they are obviously distraught. What's worse than a 17 year old running off in a city that is totally foreign to them is when said 17 year old is autistic and thus vulnerable to all sorts of dangers in the city. She is also rather trusting, so her parents are worried sick she is going to be kidnapped by someone pretending to befriend her to do who knows what to her.

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