#cause she’d still be allowed to learn to fly!!!

[lya-dustin]

A Coward Kills With a Kiss

Cw: murder, incest, infidelity, trauma, blood, period accurate behaviors regarding marriage, infidelity and lower class people and Aemond being book!Aemond.

Rated M

This isn't done with any hate towards Alys or Alysmond, this is just me exploring the Aemond cheats trope in an dark and angsty way.

The war wasn’t kind to anyone, least of all to her.

Her brother had been murdered by her husband when his resentment and anger led Vhagar to attack Luke, Aemma had learned that no matter how her visions plague her no one fucking listens and worst of all, that you cannot expect people to give you the loyalty you give them in return.

Aemond had promised eternal love to her, wed her despite his mother’s intent to drive them apart and she’d given him a son hoping that blood would be enough to stay the swords that came flying out after his father’s death.

Aemond who was made for her as she was made for him, who loved her since they were small children and wed her with fire and blood so that if they die in the war they reincarnate as lovers in their next lifetime.

But it was not enough.

She was not enough.

Harwin’s bastard sister, Alys, had become his paramour, impregnated her and worse still, he treated her as if he loved her.

That night Aemma wished he’d die in his duel with Daemon as she cried into her pillow.

But he did not die.

Vhagar died from her wounds, but Aemond managed to get himself loose and toss Daemon off him as their dragons fell into the Gods’ Eye.

Silverwing was the last of the castle dragons unless you counted Rhaena’s hatchling, and the egg little Aemon had been given by his father before he was even born.

They marched to Kingslanding expecting a hero’s welcome, thinking she’d be foolish enough to allow him inside with his whore and his bastard in tow.

But he was wrong, everyone who believed her a foolish little girl would be proven wrong.

“Have Prince Aemond allowed inside the city, but not his whore.” Aemma ordered and eschewed Queen Alysanne’s crown in favor of the one Queen Visenya wore.

She had Aegon the Conqueror’s Crown, but it was not meant for her as was the one her mother and grandsire inherited from Jaehaerys.

This was a new dynasty, after all Aemma was born a Velaryon with dark eyes and dark skin of the Merlin King’s daughter, Melusine and the silvery hair of Raemond the Valyrian, the first King of Driftmark.

She was as much a dragon as she was a sea horse, something even her husband forgot.

Aemma supposed they were all long overdue a reminder.

While he has come to love Alys and owes his life to her, the sight of Kingslanding is enough to remind him where his priorities stand.

And when the orders came that Alys be forbidden to enter the city, Aemond didn’t hesitate to obey knowing his true family was the one inside the walls not outside of it.

The witch knew he would never marry her and the babe ---if it’s born at all given her age and history--- would be a bastard sent to the Wall, to the Faith or the Citadel where he wouldn’t be seen nor cause trouble. Alys would be provided for as long as she remembers his place and their affair over.

Aemma could order her death if she pleased as it was her legal right as his wife and queen.

There was no use to Alys now that the war was over and he was king consort, besides he would have many more children with Aemma who would be of the right blood anyways.

It was a cruel fate for Alys, but she was his lover not his wife and she knew how the world works.

The ruins of the Dragonpit loom over as a testament of the war’s cruelty as he rides through with no parade or anything to show who he was.

People had lost their fear of him even after he defeated Daemon because unlike his wife, he no longer had a dragon nor an army. People had lost their respect for him when they learned the rumors of Alys being true.

They sneered at him, pelted him with rotten food and called him every name under the sun.

Even his mother wasn’t spared in the smallfolk’s insults.

But Aemma was adored, seen as the beautiful princess who avenged her mother by killing his brother with her dragon as mother was forced to watch.

Seen as the rightful ruler, as the savior of the realms and their family.

Aemond supposed he deserved some of it, but really, they act as if he was the first man to take a whore during wartime.

No matter, after he swears fealty to his wife ---who will forgive him for sure--- and is instated in his rightful place by her side he will make them all pay for this disrespect.

“I promised you I wouldn’t die, my queen.” The prince cannot help but smile when he sees her on the Throne.

His beautiful wife with thick slivery ringlets and lilac eyes wearing the red and black of House Targaryen.

Aemond almost forgives her for having him presented to her court as Prince Aemond the Kinslayer.

“That was the one promise you kept, husband.” She replied with a steely look in her eyes.

So his infidelity had hurt more than he had assumed it would. Aemond cared deeply for his wife, but he had spent an entire year without her, and he wasn’t made of stone.

Alys had been there to fill in the blank and help him cheat the Stranger if he kept her as his paramour. He came to care for her too, but never as much as he did for the girl he wed twice.

“And for that I intend to apologize for till the end of my days, my love.”

Aemma had always been the one he would love until his last breath and the only person Aemond would grovel at her feet for her forgiveness.

“Shall I prove it to you by swearing my oath to you, my wife and queen?” he asked taking Dark Sister, the sword he had claimed the night he survived the God’s Eye.

His own sword, the one Aemma had her grandsire find in Essos, had been lost in the water along with Vhagar, but Visenya’s Blade was more than adequate to replace it.

“You may.” The queen does not appear to have been moved, her dragon’s blood had shone through and provided the armor that led her to survive all their family.

But underneath the steel lies the soft beating heart of the girl he loved; all he must do was crack its hardened shell.

For all her claims of being strong, Aemma feels herself pathetically weak.

He speaks as if nothing had changed, as if he didn’t break her heart a thousand times even before he took the whore for his lover.

She doesn’t want to forgive him, even if the remaining greens demand he remain her husband and consort as part of their surrender.

There are no feasts, no sign of celebration about his return to her.

They are to have a quiet reunion and he will see the babe on who’s life he had sworn on when he promised her he wouldn’t kill her little brother.

She hates him.

She loved the boy he was but hates the man who stands before her thinking she would forgive him.

It pains Aemma to know their love was never meant to be anything but a tragedy, even as Aemond holds his son in his arms and the sapphire eye cries just as it would if it had been a real one.

Their son sleeps in the cradle they shared as babes, and it is the fact that he looks and even sounds like the boy she wed that has her hand shaking.

It is a wonder his dagger has not fallen from her hands.

“I am sorry for waking him, Aemee, I just couldn’t resist holding him after so long.” He apologized as he had tried to do earlier before she left the room claiming to have a meeting with the new stewards.

But the truth is she left because she cannot forgive him.

His touch revolted her, his mouth had tasted of the blood he spilled and made her spill and the mere idea of having to live with the man who trampled everything she gave him under his foot had made her realize what she had to do.

She was never meant to rule with her true love beside her, she was never meant to be happy, and he was never meant to live while her brothers are dead.

“Kill him!” Luke’s voice hissed in her ears.

“Avenge me and yourself, sister!” the ghost was joined by others who died because Aemond wasn’t man enough to stand against his fucking mother.

She doesn’t know when she raised the knife, Aemma barely registered what she had done when she plunged it into Aemond’s back.

“Aemma, what are you doing?!” He is shocked and bleeding and yet not fast enough to stop her from plunging it a second time as he tries to stop her.

“Aemee, please, this isn’t you!” He tries as the blood comes out of his wounds and yet she manages to stab and slash his torso as he fought her.

He tries not to use force, fearing he might hurt her, and she gives into her hysteria as she takes advantage of his pain and injuries to kill him.

“Aemma, I’m sorry!” he cries out before she dealt the final blow.

Aemma sobs violently and finally lets the knife fall from her hands.

The guards find her cradling his bloody corpse as she cries like she has never done so before. Her baby son echoes her cries as bloody as his parents on the nursery's floor.

The queen only hears the guards send for her grandfather and the maesters as she grieves for herself and Aemond and all they could have been if it hadn’t been for the fucking war.

“I love you, I’m sorry!” she begs the corpse with his face frozen in horror at knowing what she did.

“I killed him, I killed him, I killed him!” she sobs violently as her grandfather tries to pry her off Aemond’s body.

“You didn’t, the whore did, she wanted to kill the three of you because he discarded her as all men do.” The Seasnake takes control as any Hand would do and before evening the nursery is spotlessly clean and Aemond’s body wrapped in linen atop a pyre.

As far as anyone knows, Alys Rivers had snuck into the nursery with her so called magic and murdered the prince consort when she couldn’t kill her.

As far as anyone knows the queen was his loving wife until the end and no one mourns him as much as she does as she pressed her lips to his one last time.

[sailtomarina]

An Exchange of Pretty Faces

Hermione squealed as the Beauxbatons’ carriage appeared on the horizon, the powder blue globe led by a fleet of impressive Abraxan steeds that flew through the sky. She waited outside with a crowd of her fellow students, all of them bundled within their fur-lined red robes to stave off the winter chill.

“Hermy-own-ninny, shall I lift you on my shoulders?” Viktor teased from where he stood behind her, his large hands coming to rest on your shoulders.

“You will not!”

His chuckle caused a flush to rise along her neck and up to her cheeks. Her first and oldest friend at Durmstrang, Viktor’s teasing about her height had only increased as they got older and the difference between them widened.

“Maybe these French students vill match your stature better, kote.”

She turned to smack him on the arm, while he pretended to cower in fear at her harmless attack. Hermione ignored the glares of those around them. Jealousy and discrimination were familiar enemies at the school, something Hermione had learned from her very first year. Pureblooded ideologies ran rampant in Durmstrang’s halls, extending from students to teachers to the very foundations of the institute.  

Muggle-borns were not accepted at Durmstrang, and, normally, Hermione would have attended Hogwarts. She had been born and raised in her early years in England, but a terrible accident left her orphaned and in the care of a previously unknown magical ancestor, Hector Dagworth-Granger. The renown potioneer took to the northern territories for his research, bringing young Hermione with him.

Hermione wanted to thank whatever gods and circumstances made it so that she caught the eye of Viktor Krum, a prodigy Quidditch flier who didn’t take kindly to discrimination. It certainly wasn’t the dangerous sport that brought them together—she couldn’t stand flying and spent more time worrying about possible injuries than enjoying his games. They did share interests in Transfiguration and Ancient Runes, which was more than most of the fans who catered for Viktor’s interest could say for themselves.

“I hear some of their students count Veela in their ancestry. Isn’t that fascinating?” Hermione gushed, wondering if she’d be able to spot any of the likely suspects. Would they sprout wings, or might the Durmstrang students all be in danger of their infamous beauty?

“Perhaps, though I doubt that vill help them vin in the end.” 

Viktor referred to the entire reason for Beauxbatons journey to Durmstrang. Their month-long visit was the first of its kind in what was meant to be a friendly exchange of cultures. He had listened with amusement when Hermione likened it to Muggle exchange students. Instead of staying in a fellow student’s home, the Beauxbatons students would stay within the institute itself.

She jumped up and down trying to see over the people in front of her to catch a glimpse of the students exiting the carriage. From what she could tell, their uniforms matched the light blue hue of the carriage. She was relieved to see that someone had warned them about the time of year and made sure their cloaks were also lined with lovely white fur. Even from where she stood, she could tell they still shivered.

It wasn’t until much later after they’d followed the delegation into the castle’s banquet hall that Hermione got a chance to see one of the students far closer than she would have expected. Despite Viktor’s constant presence, she still found herself next to one of the few empty spots at their table.

“Is this seat taken?” She startled at the musical voice belonging to a boy she could easily imagine as a descendent of Veela. 

His hair, nearly white and of the finest texture she had ever seen on a boy, grew long and was tied together with a fine gold cord, allowing the ends to trail over the front of his shoulder. She might have been tempted to describe his features as too sharp, but instead felt caught by the lightness of his eyes, something else she had never before seen. They were the soft grey of her snowy owl’s wings.

“Ne. Have a seat,” answered Viktor from her other side.

The strange, beautiful boy dipped his head in gratitude and slid into place. Hermione’s face burned as she realized Viktor answered to cover her awkward staring.

“Excuse me, but are you Viktor Krum?” His eyes shone with curiosity as he looked past Hermione.

Great. Was he just another one of Viktor’s fans?

“I am.” They shook hands over her plate. Hermione had half a mind to smack hers atop theirs straight into her mashed potatoes.

“And you? What is your name?” Those pale orbs now looked curiously at her, and she was glad she hadn’t given into her impulse.

“My name’s Hermione Gr—”

“Hermione? Like in Shakespeare, or Homer?” Her name rolled off his tongue like a pleasant melody.

Her jaw dropped. This was the first time anyone had ever, ever asked about her name, and not to joke about the length, but from actual recognition.

“Shakespearean Hermione, from A Winter’s Tale. I’m surprised you knew!”

“Well, Hermione of A Winter’s Tale, I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco, like the constellation?”

This time it was his turn to smile in delight at her connection. “The same! My family has a tradition of taking names from the stars.”

“Draco is a strong name,” Viktor said approvingly, causing the other boy to noticeably preen.

Hermione mustered up her courage. “I hope you don’t mind me asking…”

“Ask away.” Draco tentatively sipped at his borscht, before humming and taking several more spoonfuls.

“…but are you, by any chance, related to any Veela?”

Viktor snorted at the nonplussed look that crossed Draco’s face.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just that, you’re so…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she realized how silly what she was about to say sounded.

“What Hermy-own-ninny means to say is that you are very pretty. Vhite hair, vhite skin, sharp face,” Viktor elaborated for her, each item in his list a nail driving into her back.

“Oh! I, uh, no. As far as I know, there are no Veela in the Malfoy line.” She noticed Draco had a habit of playing with the ends of his hair. He did so now and when he’d first asked to sit next to her. “Thank you, though. I think you’re pretty, too.”

Rather than sound like the sort of automatic response one gave as a compliment for a compliment, he sounded sincere, but before Hermione could say anything in response, his next words wiped the smile right off of her face.

“What did you say your last name was, again?”

Usually, when someone asked for her family name, it wasn’t out of some passing curiosity to know her full name. It was because they cared, and cared greatly, about her lineage. They wanted to know if she came from good wizarding stock, to assess her worth in comparison to theirs.

“Granger. Hermione Granger.”

And there it was: the forehead wrinkle, the faraway gaze as the listener sifted through their knowledge to pinpoint anything that might signify importance. 

“Are you related to the Dagworth family?”

Now that did catch her by surprise. “Hector Dagworth-Granger is my great uncle.”

Draco’s eyes were piercing in their recognition. “You’re the Mudblood heir they spoke about in the newspapers.”

This wasn’t the first time Hermione had heard the derogatory phrase, but hearing it still cut her deeply now as much as it did the first time. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and reply, but Viktor beat her to the punch.

“Take that back, Malfoy,” he said, his voice shaking in fury on her behalf.

She registered surprise on Draco’s face, and saw the way his eyes flickered between the two of them in suspicion. “Are you two…dating?”

“Ve are not dating. Ve are friends, and vot you said is inexcusable. Apologize now or you can forget ever talking to us again,” Viktor insisted, his hand coming up to rest reassuringly on her back.

Draco stayed silent a bit longer as he stared at them both. He had already shifted slightly away from her, as if afraid they’d touch elbows like they already had multiple times from the start of their conversation. He opened his mouth, only to shut it once more.

That was enough of a message for Viktor.

The Bulgarian stood and held a hand out to Hermione, which she took without hesitation. Before she followed him away, however, she turned one last time.

“For what it’s worth, Draco, it was nice speaking to you. I hope you enjoy your time here.” She smiled sadly at the way he continued to look at her, his brow furrowed and lips tightly pressed together.

Perhaps, in another life, under different circumstances.

She hurried after Viktor, already intent on convincing him to finish writing his Transfiguration essay with her.

Grey eyes that shifted with his mood from pale ice to stormy clouds followed them all the way across the hall until they exited. Draco turned back to his plate, soup now cold and unappetizing in the absence of what he had hoped would be a couple of new friends. The plates in front of where they’d sat had already disappeared as if they’d never been there at all.

He was lucky Madam Maxime hadn’t heard their exchange, or she would have been livid. His own mother would have disapproved of his blatant display, one she would have deemed beneath their station despite her own husband’s use of the term. That was a large part of why he’d been sent to Beauxbatons Academy after all. As his mother would put it, it was long past time the Malfoys and Blacks put away their prejudices and looked to the future. Like a bigot, he had reverted to old insults.

He would try to find Viktor and Hermione and apologize like he should have done immediately from the start. Draco hoped they would listen. He wanted to ask Viktor to fly with him. He wanted to learn more about Hermione, no matter her last name. Did she like to read, like he did? Was her hair sentient? Its large mass was what had called him over to their part of the table in the first place.

Draco hummed as he finished the last of the pelmeni he’d scooped onto his plate. It was decided. He would look for them at breakfast the next day, and all would be well.

WC 1752

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 4 - Alternate Universe, September 25 - Beauxbatons/Durmstrang AU

Cross-posted to AO3

This prompt was super fun to imagine and write! I've said this before, I know, but I really want to read a longer story of this setting now. Why did Hector insist Hermione attend Durmstrang? Was it really out of affection or to keep her close for convenience? Or was it for another reason? Does Viktor actually harbor unrequited feelings for Hermione? And will Draco obtain their friendship like he hopes?

[madlyn5ever]

Part 2 of Madlyn headcanons!

-despite texting pretty much everyday (except that time between the Halloween party and opening night where Ash wasn’t texting Maddie)

Ashlyn has no idea where the hell the siblings actually went when everyone didn’t show up for rehearsals that one day (or where they go in general when they’re not at school) (especially since Miss Jenn only seemed phased that everyone else was missing and not Jet or Maddox) and she finds out that the siblings had to fly home to help their parents pack up their house to move.

Ashlyn has never been happier than she was learning that her girlfriend was actually moving to live near her.

(Okay but seriously this plot line was very thinly fleshed out like it appears they moved schools to be at East, but it also somehow to me heavily seems like they’re from California, -maybe that’s just cause I am and shallow lake is in CA- so they’d have to move states, right?)

-Maddox tries to teach Ashlyn archery. Tries.

-Ashlyn gets Maddox to watch a show her, Carlos, and Kourtney watch together. She doesn’t totally get it but she doesn’t say anything so that she can spend time with Ash. Eventually though she gets really into it in secret at Ashlyn’s when she leaves her room for a minute and Ash, suspecting that she didn’t really have much interest in it stands in her door frame smiling smugly at her girlfriend until she notices her prescience and, whilst having been screaming at the tv about what the characters should be doing, freezes in embarrassment.

-Maddox watches camp site set up videos on YouTube, just, people setting up camp sites either with music over the video or with the people explaining what they’re doing and why. Like how to set up a tent (she already knows but she likes to watch) and one time she stumbled upon Dewey Wood advertising camp shallow lake, (with passive aggressive feelings about the campers) and explaining how the Cabins get ready for summer.

He mentions that there’s really only one camper he more than tolerates, because she actually respects the camp and it’s rules to the letter, and he wants to hire her but she’s legally not allowed to work for him because she doesn’t have any certificates to watch children. He is talking about Gadget.

She never brings it up to him but when she hears “I don’t really like children, but there is one camper, Gadget, who’s been coming her for years, she actually respects the place. If you ever come her for the summer talk to her, and maybe if you listen this place won’t be such a mess.”

- Ashlyn put a whole handful of coins in her mouth as a child. (I can’t explain it she just looks like she did that)

-They’re song (other than call it what you want) is ‘If My Heart Was A House’ by Owl City

-after everyone goes to Denny’s opening night, they all go to Ashlyn’s house (EJ’s staying over so everyone is allowed to stay over not just the Girl’s and Seb) and Ash and Maddox finally officially confirm that they’re girlfriends to each other. Everyone say’s their “ooo”’s and embarrasses them light heartedly. Jet does it the most, Maddox’s being his sister and bestfriend and all,

One comment from Maddox to Jet about him and Kourtney shuts that up real quick.

- Ashlyn asks Maddox what she wants to do for their first date. An escape room she can’t solve was not what Ashlyn thought she’d choose, but listening to Maddie confidently guess tings that aren’t part of the puzzle and try and connect objects that don’t go with finding their key is worth it. She doesn’t have the heart to tell Maddox how bad she clearly is at escape rooms so she goes along with it and tries to connect Maddox’s “clues” with her while also secretly solving the real puzzle and let’s Maddie “find” the key once she solves it by gingerly convincing Maddox to “maybe check under that box over there”

Maddox still has no idea.

-Maddox eventually gets Ashlyn to watch Shang Chi for the first time with her since she almost knows the movie by heart now. She’s so excited to show her girlfriend Michelle Yeoh, and also Awkwafina singing Hotel California.

[corinne-eaglebridge-sso]

Getting closer to getting all the horses I rode on at my old stable (before the accident)! I now have Masha (black NSH, though irl she was a Dutch harness horse), Jordan (chestnut KWPN, not sure of irl breed but his mom was Luna so most likely Freiberger), Ranger (bay KWPN, I’m pretty sure irl he was a KWPN mix with something?), and technically Luna (g1.5 danish warmblood, so I might replace her with a different model. Sse release freibergers pleaseeee).

Still missing: Kismo. There’s not been a pony that has the right model *and* looks like him yet. How hard is it to get a simple chestnut pony with white markings? :(

Just to be clear - the newest photo from all of these is Jordan’s, from 2021. I have not ridden since my accident in late 2021, about 4 months after that photo was taken. The oldest (Kismo) is from 2015, when I was about a week from turning 11, and very early in my riding journey. The photos overall tend to skew older.

(More info on all of them under the cut)

Kismo is the pony I learned to ride on - and it almost wasn’t him. They wanted to put me on Bonte, but Bonte had already done the max excercise they allowed their horses to do each day (I think Bonte did a driving thing earlier in the day?) so they put me on Kismo, the more… difficult of the two. We just, worked, so my instructor kept me on Kismo. (Which worked out great, because from the interactions I had with Bonte in groundwork, Bonte and I just didn’t get along great.) He had such a stable gallop, like one you'd see in a western movie. Scared of stepping in puddles, though, which could cause issues on trail rides.

After Kismo, I started to ride Ranger a bit more - he was the “all around” lesson horse, capable of handling both kids and adults. Lazy as anything, unless you caught him on a good day, and spooked easily - my instructor tended to lunge him before lessons if there was anything in or around the arena that might set him off. He’s the one who caused me to learn how to hold in my scream/yelp reflex.

The stable I rode at was a boarding and breeding stable first - the daughter of the owner was the one giving me lessons. Luna was one of their broodmares, so I did not always ride her for a long time. She wasn’t exactly lazy, not like Ranger, but she was stubborn, unless you went on a trail ride with her - she was like dynamite then. I learned to sit through bucking from her, even though she only did it a few times. We had a Shetlander as a boarder once, and Luna was terrified - the Shetlander, Verona, was being groomed (our main grooming stations were attached to the poles that had the arena “walls” (see the photos) and Luna spooked so bad from seeing her that she made a full 180 and galloped away - and even made a flying change! She did that a lot, the flying changes that is. It was nice once it stopped being surprising.

Masha is (or well, sadly, was) my beloved <3. Not a lot of us could ride her, she was very sensitive. Masha and I just clicked together though. She was already a senior mare when I started riding her - my guess is that she was born around 2000, based on the one time I remember asking her age and it being 19 at that time. She was a harness horse that was scared of the harness, and she had never been able to get pregnant, even though they tried. Masha was well. She was my soul horse, pretty much. We just got eachother. She’d take it easy on me if she felt I was stressed - although she would sometimes be more rough on me as well, so that I did not have space in my mind for anything but riding her. Her gallop was wild and reckless, and I had to remember to breathe - but once you moved with her, it was nice, even if she couldn't always maintain it for a long time, and she often started from the wrong foot, causing us to have to go back to trot and try again. She was a good jumper, but had had an accident with a rider falling and her almost landing on them, so she was scared to approach jumps. Once you got her over them, though, she was incredible. As she got older, though, health issues started to come up. She collapsed while I was mounting to warm up for a dressage competition once - I had to switch to Ranger last minute. Pressure spots on her back, likely, but it was terrifying still. I was the first person allowed back on her after her recovery. Later, she had two muscle knots in the same ankle - and those were fixed for a while, but the leg issues kept coming back. Last I heard, she was sold to a horse trader (this happened after my accident). I mourn her still. I hope she ended up as a paddock buddy somewhere, but, well… she was in her mid 20’s, with health issues… I don’t blame the stable for selling her. But I just grieve her and the fact I never got the chance to say goodbye.

Then lastly, Jordan. Luna was nursing a foal, Masha was injured, Ranger was being ridden by someone else in my class, and I had long outgrown the ponies by that point. Jordan was the one my instructor put me on. One of Luna’s sons, extremely green, 6 years old and very eager to please. For the short time I rode him, he was already incredible. And then we had our first jumping class together and the accident happened. I don’t blame him for it. He was following the guides I gave him, if overeagerly. I shifted my weight to one side (because of losing a stirrup, and losing balance, but he didn’t know that), so he turned. He did not run after I fell, instead approaching me carefully. He was always eager to please. Even when I visited during recovery, he remembered my voice when I called out to him and raced through the meadow to the fence to see me. I’m sure he’ll be an excellent lesson horse eventually, one that will make many people very happy, just like he made me happy. I miss him.

I didn’t intend to go on a infodump about all these horses but. I guess I did. And it doesn’t feel right to remove it, so I guess it’s staying.

[faoighiche]

Faelures | Cass & Burrow

PARTNER : @magmahearts TIMING : Current. LOCATION : Downtown. SUMMARY : Burrow is caught by an angry mob of humans. Luckily, the local superhero Magma is nearby to help. WARNINGS : None.

The humans were quick, but Burrow was quicker. Always a pace or more ahead of the stomping feet behind her. She did not have the same luck with the barrage thrown at her: one smacked firmly on her back. It clanged as it met the ground: probably metal. It left a bruise like metal. Not that she let it stop her. She still needed to outpace the swinging bat — she could hear its whooshing in the air behind her. If only her precious parasites did not yearn for the humans, then she could be done with them. But their yearning would always become her own, so she too craved the humans’ insides. It would only lead to minor discomforts; not like the humans would ever understand. Nor did she care to change it. Even if her roundworm eggs wanted carnage, she still would have been slipping them into that bakery’s bread. So many humans had already gladly accepted their intrusion with a smile on their faces. It could have been such a lovely thing… until she was spotted. They should be grateful her parasites found them worthy to be hosts! She would only offer the best for her parasites. And the best they were, the humans’ legs not tiring as they continued to chase her. 

Down and down the alley they chased. Down to a tree that would be Burrow’s sanctuary. She scrambled up the branches, finding a comfortable resting spot high amongst them. The humans scurried to the trunk, banging at the bark, causing some to fall to the ground. They had to go and injure another worthy host as well! They screamed at her to return to the ground, but she was uninterested. This was all too dramatic for her liking. “If you accept to put down your makeshift weapons, you will never see me again.” That bind was ready to be rid of both of their problems, if only the humans could be reasonable enough to take it. For the moment, they too were uninterested in giving into her demands. She considered calling to her roundworms and sending the grown ones squirming into the humans’ lungs. A tempting thought. But it would cause suspicions to become certainties. They would know of her parasites’ presence and kill them. No. She called to another: the parasitoid wasps resting nearby.

It was too soon, really, for Cass to be doing this. On some level, she knew that. Her shoulder still ached, still hadn’t healed entirely, and she still felt the warden’s presence around every corner. Like he was waiting for her, like she was one step away from his knife finding her skull instead of her shoulder this time. She was supposed to be taking it easy, still, supposed to be letting herself heal. But she was bad at that, she was learning; she was bad at sitting back and doing nothing, especially when Alex was at school and Kaden was at work and the cabin was empty. She felt so afraid, and she didn’t want to. She wanted to feel strong again, wanted to feel brave. So she turned back to the thing that had always allowed her to feel like she was a thing worth being. She dropped her glamour — a relief, since the concentration to keep it up had been harder to come by since that cold iron had slashed her flesh — and she went out.

Cass was weak. Cass had nearly died at the hands of a hunter, to a weapon she still didn’t entirely understand. Cass had laid on an autopsy table and seen ghosts on the faces of the people she’d loved. Cass had needed saving, like a damsel in distress. But Magma wasn’t like that. Magma was strong, Magma was brave, Magma was a motherfucking superhero. Cass wanted to be Magma now, wanted to be Magma most of the time, really. Magma made a difference. She liked that.

So, Magma she was. All rocky skin and glowing veins, following the sounds of trouble to the foot of a tree, where baseball bats sent bark flying. A twinge of anger stirred in her gut. Trees weren’t her domain, but she still hated to see them hurt for no reason. And, as she heard a voice calling down from the branches, she realized that trees weren’t the only thing these bats were trying to hurt. “Baseball bats?” She called out, making her presence known. “Really? What are you, Steve Harrington? Quit while you’re ahead.”

If only the humans knew the importance of a schedule, Burrow would not be in this mess. When the humans left for work, when they slept, what they focused on eating, what items they regularly used — where these things were missing is where she burrowed herself into. Of course, in hindsight the ooze would change this predictability. Humans were creatures of mimicry. When the world became disarrayed, they acted accordingly. A chaos she had thought she had accounted for, but who could really account for the uncontrollable. Oh, if only she had arrived in this human nest sooner. She could be nestled nicely in the Aos Sí of her choosing, enjoying a steaming mug of cocoa. Instead, there was a ringing in her ears. For once, she would rather have the buzzing of wings. She called to them: closer and closer.

All the clamoring distracted Burrow from the buzzing within. That burning that always clawed its way up her back when one of them was near. Yet, even without that gnawing pain, she would have known the other was an oread. No other could possess that swirling dance of magma and rock. A living light that was a fire to the moths: as dazzling as it was dangerous. A magnificent truth exposed without a lick of caution. In the middle of a human nest, no less! How deranged. While Burrow would indulge in her truth more frequently than her promise allowed, she would never think to do the same. It wished for death. It was careless. It was… useful, Burrow suddenly realized. The humans became too distracted to yell, their mouths now preoccupied with gawking.  

Only moments, of course, since these were residents of Wicked’s Rest. “Wha- what the hell are…” The quiver in the man’s voice was replaced with a growl. “Oh, fuck off! This doesn’t fucking concern you.” He gripped his bat even tighter, now that he had two targets for it. The fear and suspicions in them all was palpable. Burrow was, unfortunately, familiar with such dangerous things. “Hello. Why are you exposing yourself to the humans?” It was clearly not a common occurrence, or her searching would have been fulfilled long ago. No, this was an outlier, as it should be. Did everyone in the other’s Aos Sí act so brazenly? At least oreads were no use to her and her parasites — such an Aos Sí can be easily written off as too much of a risk.

She felt it as she approached the tree; that quiet flutter in her stomach, that familiar pull. Whoever was hidden in the branches wasn’t human, or undead, or a shifter. They were fae. They were like her. And, as it always did, the revelation filled Cass with a quiet anxiety, a sharp unease. Whoever it was was bound to dislike her, because fae usually did. They’d think her strange or reckless and want very little to do with her when all was said and done. The rejection would hurt, she knew; it always felt so much sharper coming from someone who was meant to be biologically inclined towards companionship with her, like she was failing at even the most instinctual of things. She could feel the blade of it resting against her skin, a ghost of the warden’s cold iron that had almost killed her in the form of preemptive grief. 

She pushed it away for now. Whoever was up there — another nymph, or a faun like Conor, or a spriggan — they wouldn’t like her, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they needed help, that someone was trying to hurt them. Cass had needed saving when Rhett’s blade was against her skull, but she didn’t need saving now. She could do the saving now instead, could be useful again. She wanted that. She wanted it more than anything. To prove herself, even if only to herself.

“When somebody is trying to hurt someone, I make it my concern,” she said, letting the crackle of her voice shine through, letting it sound less and less human. People were afraid of her true form, sometimes. When she was trying to make friends, she hated it. But when she was out as a superhero? It came in handy. She glanced up to the tree, where the fae hidden in the branches seemed to be addressing her now. She tried for a smile, the expression somewhat muted by the stony nature of her skin. “Hi!” She greeted, ignoring the man with the bat for now. “I’m a superhero. This is how I make sure nobody recognizes me. I don’t usually walk around like this, but it comes in handy when I want to make sure nobody knows who I am, you know? Are you okay? Did they hurt you at all?”

Did this fae feel sympathy to the humans? The oread was comfortable not just to exposure, but to dabble in their concerns. To chase away the monsters under their beds. Or attic, in Burrow’s case. It made more sense, despite how ridiculous, than for the fae to feel sympathy for herself. When this savior turned her attention to Burrow, her limbs readied. The climax of her urgency was matched with the buzz of wings in the air. It may have been avoided if she had caught that smile. She knew the meanings for most expressions. The causes for squinted eyes or twitched antennae. But rocks and their ways of feelings were, well, a mystery. Enlightenment only came when a cheery voice erupted from the other’s mouth.

The buzzing of the wasps stopped. “Uth?” Burrow muttered. Was she the one being given aid? Gods, what was happening? It was becoming clearer that there was something wrong with the fae of Wicked’s Rest. It was so strange and terrible, to get a taste of the comradery she had only ever seen at a distance. She would savor its temporary sweetness before spitting it out once proven fruitful. Even if it already had a… weird taste. Superhero? She had heard the word through various walls, accompanied by tales of punching and bright colors. Well, the oread had the latter covered. “They will not know your disguise, but they may recognize what you are.” Parker had been very keen to avoid any bloodshed for his fellow ironmongers. A natural inclination for one's kin, but it hinted to the presence of others nearby. Others who could hear the tale of a ‘girl’ with melting stones for skin. 

Burrow looked down to the humans, who could not come to a consensus to which fae they would stare. Should they focus on their prey or the sudden predator? She did not suffer from the same conflict; her eyes stayed fixed on them, despite continuing to address the other. “Yes I am okay. Yes they have harmed me. They threw something hard at my back.” A human was quick to retort, “You were poisoning our food, you freak!” How aggravating to twist her actions. She was giving them a beautiful blessing; a chance to make their bodies useful. But of course they were incapable of understanding it. She would not bother to explain. “I was not,” was the only answer she would give.

It was a familiar warning, one that had come often from the elder nymphs in her aos si. You put us all in danger when you risk exposing what you are to the world, they used to hiss, even if they’d never seen fit to explain to her what kind of danger she was meant to be avoiding. Until Wicked’s Rest, Cass had known nothing of the existence of wardens and hunters, had been unaware that there was an entire subspecies of humanity designed specifically for killing her. Would it have stopped her from clinging to humanity as she had back in Hawai’i? She wasn’t sure. Part of her knew, deep down, that this hunger would have always existed inside of her, this quiet desire to find acceptance from her mother’s kin. 

She only shrugged at the warning now, the same way she had all those years ago on the island. There was an anxiety in her chest that hadn’t existed there before, of course — she could still feel the phantom hand around her throat, the knife slipping into her shoulder — but she pushed that away. Rhett hadn’t gone after her because he’d seen her in Magma form. Alex said he could sense her, that hunters had the ability to know when someone was the kind of thing they went after regardless of what disguise they might be wearing. “If people come after me for helping people who need it, I can deal with that,” she replied, more confident than she felt. There were worse things to be hurt for, she thought. There were worse ways to go. She’d rather be targeted because of her heroism than pulled away from safety at random by someone she’d thought trustworthy, rather bleed for others than for nothing. If people like Rhett were going to target her either way, she’d prefer it if they learned of her existence because she’d used it to do something good. 

The other fae was okay, and there was some relief at that, though Cass did feel a flare of anger at the fact that these people had thrown something at her back. She shot the nearest human a sharp glare. “She says she didn’t,” she said, firm and unyielding. “And I don’t think she’s a liar.” It was easier to trust fae than it was to trust humans, despite her fondness for the latter. Humans lied so easily, as simple as breathing. Fae found it much more difficult. The fae in the tree said she didn’t poison their food, and there didn’t seem to be any discomfort accompanying the statement, so Cass let herself believe it. Besides, it was so much easier to side with the person hiding in a tree than it was to agree with the ones standing at the foot of it with baseball bats in their hands and violent intentions in their expressions. “Even if she did do something to your food, what’s hurting her gonna do? The food would still be messed up. Just don’t eat it. Put the stupid bat down, go to the grocery store. Or stay here and try to fight, and get all embarrassed when I kick your butts. Up to you!”

How altruistic. Burrow did not understand it. Selfishness was demanded by her nature, but it was not entirely at fault. While she knew such generosity existed between other fae, how it bound their souls together, it was never tied to her. No one had shown her how to tie those knots; no one had shown her what they meant. After all, she was a monster. But, in that moment, she was just one in the crowd. The oread defended her words as if she were any other fae. Strange. For a wonderful blink, the fae’s favor was hers. “Right. I do not lie.” Such a disgusting thing. She could never understand the humans’ obsession with it. It was their second worst trait. 

Another terrible trait was their proclivity for fear, but at least that had its uses. Burrow watched the oread make her loyalties known — watched as the humans’ confidence melted away. She could understand why other fae were so addicted to community. With just that one addition, the course of Fate shifted. Puffed chests began to concave as the oread’s threat settled in the humans’ hearts. It was hard to boast when met with a match in physical might, and the oread was particularly mighty. Burrow was mighty in her own ways. She would seize their tremble in judgment. “As I said. If you accept to lower your makeshift weapons, you will never see me again.” The bind nestled innocently before them, waiting like a hookworm waited to be stepped on. The humans grumbled amongst themselves, yet between the tones of frustration she did hear the sprinklings of “fine”s. Good enough. The bind claimed them. 

A few humans began to slowly retreat, the others being pulled into that flow, and with it their weapons followed. They lowered. Then stopped. Everything stopped. The humans choked on that silence. The only show of their continued consciousness were their eyes. They darted about rapidly, never settling on anything. Unable to settle on anything. The weapons returned to their tight grips, but it did not return what was lost to them. Still, those eyes searched desperately into nothing. It was then that the silence was broken. A cacophony of wails, followed by the blind bashing of bats. “Ach, shit,” Burrow hissed.

It was better, Cass thought, to end things like this without a fight. She didn’t like hurting people. She never had. Violence was a thing to be used sparingly, only when absolutely necessary and never more than what was called for. The best heroes won as many battles with words as they did with fists, leaned on diplomacy as much as their powers. Cass had always wanted to be like that, had always wanted to be the kind of hero who hurt only those who needed hurting and never harmed anyone irreparably. Being fae helped with that; binds were useful things, able to ensure that no one went back on their promises. And she was glad that the fae up in the tree was making use of one now.

She relaxed as the humans lowered their bats, pleased with herself for the peaceful resolution even if it hadn’t been her who had orchestrated it. But then… something happened. The humans stilled, and something in their eyes seemed to change. They were looking without seeing, and Cass felt her breath catch in her throat. The fae’s words had been precise, she realized, and there had been a reason for that. The bats swung out, blind but violent. One slammed against her side, the sound reverberating as metal met stone. It hurt, in spite of the rocky surface of her skin. She stumbled back a few steps, out of reach of the bats.

Furious, she looked up into the branches. “What — What did you do? They were leaving! They were going to leave! You didn’t have to —” Another bat swung towards her, the man brandishing it drawn to her voice now that his sight was gone. She sidestepped to avoid it, ducking behind the tree with her chest heaving. Guilt ate away at her. This was her fault, wasn’t it? At least partially. She’d talked them into accepting the deal, had damned them just as much as the fae in the tree above. “Why would you do that?”

“Tha fhios agam!” I know! Burrow mirrored the oread’s frustration, for this all was a mirror to failures of the past. It was those pesky words that were her obstacle. What she truly wanted was not a lack of sight but a lack of notice. To be made a fly in the corner, free to take what she wanted. But the humans were not enticed by ‘do this and you will not notice me.’ An obvious predicament, though she had tried… and failed. Well, seeing was a type of noticing. She had hoped ambiguity would be her partner, as it often was eager to be, but found it lacking in this case. Her preference was for frankness, and it seemed her magic preferred it, too. A loss of sight was much more direct than what she desired. And what she desired was not this. Even if the humans could not see her, they were certainly noticing her then. 

A parasite did not want chaos. Chaos led to detection; detection led to poison. Burrow was not a helpless worm unknowing of the mebendazole soon to come and starve them. She was safe up in her tree, yet still, she felt the prickling of unease. Her wasps had the air join that prickling. Under the will of her essence, the buzz of small wings became the shriek of a banshee. It consumed the humans: all they knew was the buzz and all they were was the buzz. Desperate to escape total assimilation, they scattered. Aimless and graceless, but still the humans found their path away. Follow the quiet away from the buzz. Once the last human disappeared, the wasps also followed the quiet. Silent and pleased, they rested on branches, waiting to be called. 

“One day I will perfect that bind.” But that day had yet to pass. Burrow severed its knot, letting the bind break into oblivion. No use in leaving evidence that the humans could use to hunt her later. She looked down to the oread. Right. She was not alone. The corner of her lip twitched: almost a smirk and almost nothing at all. The humans would likely blame the one who was not disguised as them. It was in their nature to favor their own kin. If only she could experience the same sentiment. “Do not bother scolding me for my poor binding. I am aware. I severed the bind.” 

She couldn’t understand what the other fae was saying. The language was unfamiliar to her, but the tone wasn’t. The frustration, the uncertainty… It occurred to Cass that the results of this bind may not have been an intentional thing. She thought of Kuma, of how dangerous a bind could be when you didn’t know what you were doing with it. Anger turned to sympathy in an instant, even as she had to step behind the tree to avoid the blind blows from the terrified people still swinging. Most fae she’d met — save for Ren, who was her own anomaly — were better at this than Cass was. They’d been raised the way fae were meant to be raised, grown up around people like them. Maybe this one in the tree was more like her. Maybe there was still companionship to be found here.

Buzzing insects descended on the humans, and they scattered to avoid the sensation of being both blind and deaf. Cass was torn between her desire to go after them and make sure they were okay and her desire to stay beneath the tree and do the same for the fae within its branches. In the end, the latter won out, leaving her cemented in place. It was natural, she thought, to feel more drawn to the one who was more like her than the ones who’d just been trying to hurt her. It was an expected thing. 

She looked up into the tree, catching sight of the other girl within the branches for the first time. With the humans around, looking up for an extended period had been too dangerous to risk; that wasn’t a problem now. The girl looked about her age, which made sense. Older fae tended to find it easier to perfect binds. She admitted to having severed the bind, and Cass felt the relief swirl within her chest. “Okay. Good. That’s good.” She paused for a moment. “I wasn’t going to… scold you. I just — I thought you did it on purpose at first. And that’s — They were just scared. You know? People do stupid things when they’re scared. But I get it. The, uh… The trouble perfecting the bind. I’ve had accidents with that, too.”

Burrow knew well how often stupidity and fright were paired. While she was often safe inside obscurity, there were moments like the one that had transpired. The humans had only seen a glimpse of her nature, a glimpse of something they feared to murderous intent, and they had been sent into a frenzy. The lapse of judgment made them easier to bind. If only it didn’t come with the possible consequence of knives or poisons or bats in her face. It was why she preferred less drastics routes, but Fate did not care for her wants. So, yes, the oread’s logic was sound. It was the lack of a want for scolding she found odd. The oread had been content to do the same a moment ago, and admittedly she was justified in continuing to do so. What changed? It seemed the fae was very forgiving, or overly empathetic, or both. Strange. “Yes, I am aware. Of how the humans were scared and stupid, not of your… bind mishaps.” 

Well, if the oread was no longer in a sour mood, then the conversation could continue. There were other things Burrow would prefer to discuss. The only thing she cared to discuss with fae. She leaned forward, her dreads falling forward to caress her face. A shadow covered her features, leaving only the lights of her eyes visible. “As you can see, the humans do not like me.” The fae didn’t as well, but that wasn’t relevant. “I am in need of an Aos Sí. Do you know the location of any?” If the oread truly was the standard to whatever nest she hailed, Burrow would be sure to avoid it for her greater goal. But maybe, hopefully, the residents knew of more appropriate nests. One that wasn’t on some hunter’s radar due to the fae galavented about in their truth like the one before her. 

“Humans aren’t the only ones who do stupid things when they’re scared,” Cass replied with a small shrug, thinking of all the terrible things she’d seen people of all different species do with fear as an excuse. “Sometimes I think it’s the only thing everybody has in common, you know? You’d think it would bring everybody together, but…” It only ever served to turn them against each other. Her shoulder twinged faintly, the memory of Rhett’s hand around her throat never far from the forefront of her mind these days. The people who’d been after the fae in the tree weren’t hunters, she didn’t think; if they had been, they wouldn’t have run, wouldn’t have hesitated to attack her. But it didn’t matter much in the end. They could do just as much damage.

She looked up into the tree still, making note of every feature she could make out on the other fae. She wanted to recognize her if she saw her again. If she was struggling, maybe she needed a friend. Maybe Cass could be that. “They don’t usually like me much, either,” she admitted, even if it hurt to say. Of course, fae didn’t tend to like her much, either, but she kept that to herself. Her face fell, however, at the question of an Aos Sí. “I’m not really… in the know about that kind of thing,” she said with a shrug. “I haven’t been a part of one since I was a little kid, and it’s a really long ways away from here. I don’t know of any in town. What kind of fae are you? Are you a nymph? Maybe I can help you find one with people like you.”

“Fear does not make anyone want connection. I know that well.” If it did, Burrow would be the most beloved fae of her old nest. They would have never let her go, they would have never allowed her to go — filled with the same insatiable want as her parasites. Instead, all she had was her parasites. They would never fear her, for she was made to destroy their fears. The oread did have some sense. The fae and the humans were all connected in their fear of her parasites. She would see them all end if their bodies were not filled with such useful nutrients. Well, usually. Even that the oread lacked. Though, she could still find use in things less tangible. In words and ideas and knowledge. Accept that was lacking as well. 

Gods, another stray.  It felt as if this place was a nest of strays, too far spread to even make a proper féth fíada. Of course, Burrow knew (or perhaps more accurately, hoped) that wasn’t true. It was likely those that were of a nest never bothered to leave. It was what she would do; it was what she wanted to do if any of the fae would cooperate. But, no. Another ignorant stray — another useless conversation. 

Well, only presently, it seemed. The oread offered future usefulness to her. How altruistic. Burrow would work with that, especially if the oread was as adept at finding as she was intimidating. Many moths could fall prey to that brilliant flame. “My family are the protectors of the boneless. Na gun cnàimhan… The entomids.” It would have burned the same as any other lie if she had said she was one, too. The last she had thought, truly thought, she was an entomid was before she could properly pronounce the word. No, her role was a monster. That was what she was. But other monsters were not what she seeked. Though, other entomids were not what she seeked either — not specifically. “I would enjoy a nest of fae that are not just entomids. I simply want to find a nest.” 

“Depends on what you’re afraid of. Mutual fear can bring people together… for better or worse. Usually worse.” Mutual fear made a crowd into a mob. Being the thing that a large group of people were afraid of could end poorly. Cass had a feeling the fae in the tree knew that well, if the reaction of the humans who had been chasing her was any indication. Cass knew it, too. It was rare, the number of times she’d been chased instead of left, but it was still a substantial enough thing to bear mentioning. It wasn’t something she enjoyed. She doubted it was something anyone enjoyed.

She couldn’t see the other fae well enough to see the disappointment on her face, but she knew it must have been there all the same. This stranger was seeking community, and she’d found Cass instead. How could that ever be anything even remotely resembling enough? Cass wasn’t in a position to offer anyone any kind of belonging; she couldn’t even find it for herself.

Cass nodded along as the other spoke, making a note of it. An entomid. A little unfortunate, she thought, that this one would arrive just as Ren was leaving; the two of them could have found some belonging with one another, maybe, had things worked out differently. “I don’t know of any others in town anymore,” she admitted, a little disappointed in herself. “But I know other kinds of nymphs. Maybe one of them knows of an aos si you could join.” Teagan knew a lot about fae things, didn’t she? Cass didn’t think the nix was a part of an aos si, but maybe that was by choice. Maybe she knew of one, even if she wasn’t a member. Dr. Kavanagh likely knew none, considering how in denial she was about most things, but that might have been worth an ask, too. “What, um… criteria are you looking for? We can narrow it down.”

Fear did have humans clamoring upon themselves like mindless worms. They were a communal species, after all. A community that Burrow was not welcomed. She may be a monster too, but the humans shared no love for her. Nor did she often share their fears, but in the times she did, it did not bridge the gap between them. “Mutual fear has never connected the humans to me. That is irrelevant.” Totally and truly, for she had lost interest in the topic. It was a lost cause — a path that led to disappointment and death. The other, the one that ended in the claiming of an Aos Sí, was all she cared for. It would lead her parasites to a place where fear would never harm them again. A place this fae was so sweet to help find.

Anymore. Well, Fate smiled on Burrow again. If she had arrived in town a moment sooner, she would have been forced to play nice with the entomid — at least, for as long the oread proved useful. What a shame, though, that she could not watch as her parasites slowly took away all their precious insects. “Yes. I would like to… know what those other nymphs know about the Aos Si here.” She would not say she would like to meet, for that was a lie. She merely wanted their knowledge and nothing more. Their exchanges would not extend any longer than they were useful. “I want to find a nest of those who are connected to the creatures, the plants, the fungi, and the waters of this world. I do not want a nest of those of the shadows or the light or the cold. They may live in the nest, but I do not want one that is composed only of those types.” She would do better to continue struggling as she did now, then try to make a home with those. They attracted nothing for her precious ones to feast upon. It would be a slow and unfortunate death for them all.  

She didn’t want to argue, but she could have. Cass had spent years of her life chasing the affections of humans, trying with everything she had to make them love her. And in a lot of ways, she’d had more success with them than she had with fae. Humans — or people who used to be human, like Aria and Alex — had a habit of loving Cass better than those with shared heritage knew how to. But she understood the other nymph’s desire to find a connection with people more like the two of them. She understood that quiet yearning for an aos si to belong to, even if she’d given up finding one for herself a long time ago. She wanted to help. She really did.

She just wished she were better at it. She knew so few fae here in town, and none who belonged to a larger group of them. Especially with specifications. Finding an aos si was a feat all its own, but a specific one? One not made up of certain kinds of nymphs, but with those like the one in the tree? It would be a challenge. “I can try,” Cass agreed. “I can try to find that for you. But… I’m not sure I’ll be able to.” Fae didn’t like her, and if fae didn’t like her, they were highly unlikely to share with her something as personal as the location or details of their aos si. But if she failed… this fae wouldn’t like her, either. She wanted to try, wanted to find something, wanted to be useful. “Did you come from one? An aos si, I mean. Were you a part of one before?” Maybe that explained why she was looking for something so specific. A desire to recreate a lost home was a big motivator. 

Burrow let out a disappointed hum. The oread had seemed so eager to help, it was assumed it had been paired with the capacity to fulfill it. The oread had seemed capable of anything moments ago: strong and steady against the ire of all those humans. But the fae did not lie. They may trick and mislead, but they did not lie. The oread did not believe she was competent, so naturally, Burrow believed as well. A pity. While the fae in this nest were slower to discern her true nature, she knew her luck would be spent soon. To have a fae, a true and magnificent fae, as assistance would have been a wonderful asset. Still, any help at all was a rare commodity. Though she will not provide Burrow with her greatest want, the oread could provide hints. Things that Burrow could use to find it herself. There was power in numbers — such a power Burrow often wielded. “You will try, then. I will use whatever you provide me.” 

Burrow tensed. A finger clenched in a way that severed the bark under her grasp. An echo of an old pain rebounded against her chest, writhing inside her heart as if it had been made anew. It soon simmered into nothing, as all echoes do. Her heart returned to its normal tempo. “Yes, I come from a nest. It was a long time ago.” Nearly half her life could be split between being home and being without. In that time, she had learned her true home was many. As many homes as she could claim. She did not need that thing from the past. “It… The old nest will not do. I am in need of another nest.” One that her family could not refuse her to keep. They had known what she was, unlike the fae of Wicked’s Rest. That ignorance would be their end.  

Cass tilted her head a little at the other nymph’s wording. “I’m not making any promises or anything,” she warned. No matter how much she wanted this stranger to like her, she refused to allow herself to be bound. She’d do her best to help, but she wouldn’t promise anything more than that. She wasn’t capable of anything more than that, and she didn’t want to doom herself because of it. 

But… it was hard not to feel some sympathy for the fae in the tree. She didn’t know what had forced the other from her aos si, but it was clear that something had. It could have been hunters, could have been that her community was no longer there to return to. Or it could have been something more like Cass’s experience — a banishment that saw her desperately seeking belonging elsewhere. Cass had found hers among species unlike her. Ariadne, Alex, Metzli, Milo, Wynne, Van… not fae, but good all the same. This nymph seemed to have little interest in that, though. She was steadfast and certain of what she wanted. Maybe there was something admirable in that. “Okay. That’s all right. Forget the old one, we’ll see if we can find you something new.” She paused a moment. And then… “I’m Cass. What’s your name?”

Burrow returned the head tilt. “I am aware.” The fae never made promises to the likes of her — not without something to be gained. She did not want to make an exchange with one who could not fulfill their end. It was a deal guaranteed to end in the other’s torment. She knew many fae enjoyed that sort of play, but not her. She wanted results, not fun. “You would have already made the promise if you were interested.” Still, a shame she could not be given the promise freely. It would have hinted at a confidence that could have secured Burrow her new home. Instead, she must rely on the oread’s passing whimsy. And it would surely be passing, as the fae did not stand her for long. 

Burrow’s frown was lost to a shadow, but not in the tone of her voice. “No. I will not forget the old one. The memories remind me of what I am.” As a child fresh in the human world, weakness had plagued her mind. It had made her want to give it all away. To be rid of the memories of her parents calling her monster, but also the memories of a warm bed and constant food. She had wanted to be made anew amongst the humans. But she could not forsake her parasites. The memories reminded her why she must succeed. The world was cruel to all the parasites; they needed a sanctuary only she could provide.

“My name is Burrow.” Just as the words escaped her lips, she heard commotion in the distance. It tore her attention away from the oread, casting her face finally in the light. It stung her eyes, forcing them into a squint. But she did not need wide eyes to gather that the approaching noises were human in nature. 

There was no anger at the lack of promise, at least. Cass would accept that as a victory, albeit a small one. Fae often grew frustrated when they weren’t promised things they thought they deserved; Cass had experienced it so many times over the years. If she was being honest, she’d admit that she’d felt such frustration herself a time or two. But it wasn’t much fun being on the receiving end of it, and she was glad to avoid it now. She offered the other nymph a grin that seemed to split the surface of stone on her face. “That’s right,” she agreed. Those who were foolish enough to make promises were usually foolish enough to do so quickly, after all. 

There was a quick stab of anxiety through her chest as the other spoke again, a flash of fear. She’d said the wrong thing, hadn’t she? She always did. Say the wrong thing too many times and you’d lose any shot of friendship, she knew that. Quickly, she tried to backtrack. “No, I don’t mean — Not forget it, like, literally forget it! More like, um, who needs them, right? You’re here now, so screw them. Memories are important, but, you know, you’re probably better off without the people. Right?” Was she digging the hole deeper? It was hard to say.

It was almost a relief when the commotion sounded in the distance. At least it would save her from messing anything else up with her big mouth, right? She looked up into the tree towards the other nymph, towards Burrow. “They’re coming back,” she said quickly. “If you come down, I can get us somewhere they won’t find us. There’s an entrance to a cave nearby! We can hang out there until it’s safe.”

The bubbliness of the oread’s tone popped, and all her words became jumbled. Burrow had learned that it could mean the other was nervous. A spike of nerves she was unsure of the cause. It certainly was not the approach of the humans, based on the oread’s previous bravado. Had Burrow said something worrisome? It was a curiosity she did not care to expand upon. “I see. Ok.” There were other things on her mind, such as what to do about the mob around the corner. If she followed one of the sturdy branches she had perched upon, she would be close to a nearby building. Close enough to reach a railing. A well placed jump here and there, and she could make it up onto the roof. But, it seemed to not be necessary. 

Burrow’s gaze returned to the oread — returned to the shadow that concealed her look of caution. The only other fae to offer her such help had been Teagan, and that had been secured with a bind. Secured even further with the knowledge that Teagan, too, was a monster. This fae had neither assurances. Those shifting rocks that made her face were impossible to understand, only matched in obscurity by the oread’s intentions. Was this a trick? The oread had announced herself a hero and the fae did not lie. Cass seemed forgiving and altruistic and (dare she think it) kind. Seemed. Burrow had never known the fae to be kind. It was foolish to trust it. What she did trust was the animosity of the humans, which (truthfully) she wasn’t sure she’d fare much better against. She let out a sigh. “Do not harm me, or you will discover the might of my domain.” A promise without a bind, though she would uphold it the same. She let the warning linger in the air. “I will follow you to the cave.” 

Burrow scurried down the tree, landing silently upon the ground. An unnecessary action, for the approaching clamoring would cover any noise she made. “Lead the way.”

[moondancediner]

daydreaming - ii

summary: Tess tries to figure out what Rooster wants from her. It doesn't end well.

bradley bradshaw x tess mitchell

word count: 5k

warnings: swearing, fluff, angst (happy ending in pt 3 i promise), small age gap (about 3 years), alcohol, daddy issues, best friends to lovers and it's very complicated.

a/n: once again, i was sure this was only going to be two parts and now it's three. so.... sorry?

i debated talking about Tess's mom in this fic and decided against it cause it doesn't add or take anything away from the story. i just imagine Carole took her under her wing after she found out and the two of them kept Bradley and Tess close so they would always have some sort of family around.

italics are flashbacks, regular text is about one year after the mission

part ii is brought to you by Coca-Cola, Shania Twain, and ABBA

Also, lmk if you caught the New Girl reference

masterlist || pt.I || pt.III

Tess’s feet pounded heavily on the sidewalk by the time she reached the Hard Deck. Penny’s house wasn’t far from her bar and Tess’s head had been a mess for nearly a week, spinning out of control since the second she laid eyes on Bradley. She cleaned her room, bathroom, kitchen, and Amelia’s room all before noon and still, there was no reprieve from the tsunami that her mind had become.

Months ago, she’d read in a blog post about connecting mental and physical health - its clever title Running From Your Brain: All the way you can connect your body and mind was what drew her in -  that running was a great way to clear one’s mind, so, after digging through still unpacked boxes and every closet in Penny’s modest home, she laced up her dusty sneakers and headed out into the early California afternoon, hell-bent on calming the raging storm.

Moments after the initial high wore off and her lungs started fighting that burn from rough breaths, it seemed like it was going to work, like the Bradley shaped shadow that was following her around had finally subsided. It was only her, the sun, and the pavement beneath her cushioned toes. The pain of her breath washed away any other thought, because how could you think of anything else when your entire body was screaming at you to just stop. Tess always relished in this sort of feeling, she loved being able to feel the muscles in her body change and shape themselves anew, molding themselves into what was needed to complete the task.

Bradley always teased her about never becoming a pilot, and he would tell anyone that would listen that she had a preternatural sense up in the air. ‘It’s scary how much of a natural she is’, he would always say. 

Tess didn’t know if it was just pure genetics, or if it had something to do with the fact that she took her first ride in the cockpit of an F-14 when she was just five years old. Her mom had nearly lost her head when Tess came home that night and immediately started sharing all about how daddy had taken her up in his plane. Pete let her sit right up in the front with him, she was so tiny he was able to buckle her into his seat with him, and he was confident in his ability to keep her safe - it was just a short fly around the island after all. 

Tess wasn’t allowed inside a plane again until she was twelve. 

Then Mav taught her to fly his Mustang when she was sixteen, a month before she got her driver's permit - he insisted she learn to fly before she learned to drive. She was a natural, and Tess would never forget that first time she snuck out of the house and into Bradley’s Bronco, nearly getting caught by Ms. Henderson’s yappy chihuahua, the two of them a giggling mess all the way to the runway. He snuck them through security and she got them into the air before anyone caught them. The sound of his silence and awe was something she still dreamt of.

She expected someone to be waiting for them once they landed, expected a good, stern talking to about how dangerous it is to steal a plane and fly without any kind of clear pattern. But only Maverick was waiting when they touched down, arms crossed over his jacketed chest, fighting a smile as Bradley and his daughter walked sheepishly toward him. 

The one thing Pete was sure to never forget was how Bradley reached out his hand and grabbed Tess’s, putting himself in the line of fire, fully ready to take any and all blame for the night’s activities. Pete could only point to the exit, following them on his motorcycle all the way to Tess’s house, making sure she was inside before he cruised away. 

None of them brought it up again. 

Tess let out a small curse as the ball of yarn that had become her mind once again became unraveled. The image of Bradley sitting outside her childhood home pulling at all the loose ends. 

Tess and Bradley avoided any serious conversation about their relationship like the plague. For years and years it was just something fun while they were together, something simple, and Tess liked to think they remained best friends for all of these years because of it. 

But suddenly, it was holding hands out in public, kissing in front of anyone and everyone, a hand always somewhere on her body, as if he needed to be grounded by her. He was with her every second he wasn’t training, searching her out, spending hours sitting at the bar while she worked, sneaking into Penny’s house in the dead of night because he couldn’t sleep without her. Small, absentminded things that were never there before but Bradley acted as if they had always been like this. Like it had always been so easy.

It made Tess want to vomit. 

All those years pining after him, waiting for him to just notice that she was so deeply in love with him, waiting for him to stop running away from her for just a second long enough to see her see them see the good in staying. 

Tess knew how much he loved his job, how much he loved flying and she would never fault him for that, but he was so scared of leaving someone the way Goose left Carole.

The way Goose left him.

So what was different now? What was so different about this mission that had him clinging to her every night, every second he was around?

And why was she getting her damn hopes up? 

But by the end of the run that was supposed to help clear her mind Tess felt no relief and instead had one extra question buzzing around her brain.

Who the fuck runs for fun?

She pushed the wooden doors open, knowing Penny would be in there doing her usual daily bookkeeping, and promptly fell to the ground, something she wouldn't dream of doing on any other day had she not cleaned said floors the night before. There was nothing quite like scrubbing a sticky floor for hours to distract from the chaos of life. 

“Fuck. Running,” she managed to get out between labored breaths. Amelia appeared above her, lights casting an angelic glow around her head, and handed her a glass of water. “You’re an angel.”

Amelia just laughed and walked back over to her spot at the bar. “You’re welcome. Mom’s in the office if you’re looking for her.” 

Tess sat up to take a sip, eyes blurring for a moment at the sudden movement, before focusing on the back door, and the ocean that waited just outside, which she was sure could cool her off much faster than the small glass in her sweaty hands. So she stood, dusted invisible dirt off her running shorts and placed the glass on the countertop as she walked by, making sure to ruffle Amelia’s hair as she passed, just for good measure. 

“Tell you mom I’m good to close tonight when she comes back out.” Tess popped her shoes off when she got to the back door, briefly hoping that they and her socks wouldn’t stink up the place while she took a quick dip, “and can you grab me a towel from the closet? I’m going to go jump in the ocean to cool off.”

“Enjoy the view,” was all Amelia said, waving a hand without turning around, head buried in some textbook. 

Tess was only mildly confused about that statement until her eyes adjusted to the bright sun and she was met with a team of abs and wet, sweaty sun-skin that had her jaw dropping in utter surprise. The team of aviators playing right where the water was cresting the sand didn’t notice her walking towards them, and she was thankful for the couple minutes she got to just stand and watch them play some strange version of football, sure it was something Maverick cooked up. 

She spotted Bradley quickly, picking his tall, golden haired head out from the crowd while she slowly meandered down the sand and laughed as he scored a touchdown, chest bumping his teammate while Hondo blew his whistle and Tess’s mind was once again an ocean of questions she had no answers to.

And Tess had never been happier. Or more terrified.

The worry that pelted her chest every time she thought about this mission left her gasping for breath in the middle of the night. Bradley and Maverick refused to tell her more than the sheer basics and it had her laying in bed every night for the past week staring at the ceiling while the fan made slow rotations above her, memorizing the feel of Roosters muscled shoulders under her arms, fingers tracing lines across his back while his sleeping head rested on her chest.

Maverick spotted her after another play and ran up the beach to where he had a chair and towel set up, almost as if he knew she would show up (or maybe it was just a spot for the old man to rest when the young ones wore him down), abandoning his team in favor of sitting with her. They protested - loudly - but he waved them off without a second glance.

“Hey kid,” 

“Hey, Mav,” 

He reacted as if he’d just been punched in the gut, and Tess tried not to let it affect her. She’d kept him at an arms distance since he came back - it was just another tidal wave of questions she knew she wouldn’t get answers to. She was used to him disappearing for periods of time, that was par for the course with a father like hers, but it was always accompanied by a note, a text, a call, a damned email even. This time he was just gone. No calls, no communication at all. And Tess was at her end with him. 

She still remembered the first time he left, still felt the sting that everyone else’s dad’s and mom’s and whoever lived with them all the time - were there for them. That even the ones whose parents were separated still had two homes to go to. Tess had one home - a good home - but her dad never had a home base. He was constantly switching, moving around from place to place, and it seemed like he was always gone and out of her small reach. On a boat in the middle of some ocean where contact was impossible. Even the other girl in her class - Jessica P, the name still made Tess want to roll her eyes - whose mom was in the Army, got to exchange letters while she was gone, or make phone calls and send pictures, something Jessica never let anyone forget. 

On show and tell days she would bring in those letters and pictures from far away places, and then rub it in Tess’s face that she never got anything of the sort from her dad, even though Tess was absolutely sure - even at eight years old - that her dad’s job was way cooler than anything Jessica’s mom was doing, or would ever do. 

She would always come home crying on those days, and Rooster - he was still just Bradley back then - would find her after a couple minutes, when she didn’t show up in his backyard like she always did after school, and hold her and tell her that her dad’s job was way cooler, and that Jessica P must be the dumbest person in the whole elementary school. And it always made Tess laugh, and even though they never really talked about their dads because it always made Bradley so sad, he would talk about all the cool things the pilots did, and he would make up stories about all the crazy things their dad’s got up to in the air. 

And that was her dad. Tess got used to him not being around, got used to him showing up out of the blue, to her being shipped off to visit him whenever he had a spare moment. She knew that he loved her, knew that he wanted to be there for all the milestones, but something in him kept him away, kept him pushing towards the job in front of him. Kept him running away. 

And just when she got used to him not being around, the constant ache of not having him around, Bradley joined the Navy. 

“Have a nice run?” He teased, taking in her disheveled state, though the mischief in his words never quite reached his eyes. 

“Fuck no, it’s so humid it felt like I was inhaling water every time I took a breath,” she laughed with him, coming to stand next to the chair he sat down in, hands on her hips while she observed their game, “what are they playing?” 

“Dog fight football,” he told her, smiling at his invention, “gotta play offense and defense at the same time… You should join them, take my spot.” 

“Ha, yeah right, I came out here to cool off not get even sweatier,” and she tried to calculate how quickly it would take her to run into the water before she was caught, but her odds didn’t look promising with that giant wall of aviators in her way. So, she watched Bradley again, having the time of his life with his old and new friends and her gut twisted again. “How bad is this mission?” 

“Well, if everything goes to plan, not bad at all,” 

And if that was supposed to make her feel better, it sure didn’t. 

“So… you and Bradley?” He asked tentatively, like if he pried too hard she would come crumbling down.

“Yeah, I guess” Tess said in a huff of air, unable to help the smile that graced her lips. 

“When did that happen?” 

She shrugged. “I guess it’s always kinda been there.”

“Tess,” the tone of his voice made her want to run, sprint as far from him as possible because it sounded sad and like a warning and like he was about to say something she didn’t want to hear, sounded like he was about to tell her it wasn’t a good idea. To stay away from him because it wasn’t going to end in sunshine and rainbows. 

But to stay away from Bradley Bradshaw would be like trying to breathe underwater.

“Sweetheart-”

“Hotshot!” Hangman spotted her before Maverick could say what he wanted to say, and Tess was thanking whoever for the perfectly timed interruption. “Get your ass over here!” His yelling alerted the rest of the crowd and then Rooster’s eyes were on her and she barely had time to get out a short string of curses before he was sprinting up the beach for her.

“Bradley! Don’t you dare!” She held out a hand and when that didn’t slow him in the slightest she turned tail and ran. Tess sprinted towards an unclear direction, looking back every couple seconds to see him getting closer and closer and she couldn’t help the screams and laughs that escaped her while he chased her. 

He caught up quicker than she anticipated, arms coming around her waist and she was both surprised and impressed that they didn’t immediately topple into the sand. Instead, he spun her around and then repositioned an arm so it was under her legs to carry her bridal style over to the waiting group. 

“Ew T, you’re so sweaty,” he commented when she brought her hands up around his neck to stabilize herself, but the smile on his face betrayed his words, and him lifting her slightly to place a kiss so sweet and gentle it had her toes curling, negated his words completely. 

“You’re one to talk Bradshaw, I’m practically slipping off of you right now,” she laughed against his lips. And what a slip it would be, she thought, his taught, rock-hard abs under her body.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” his efforts earned him a laugh so full of sunshine, her head chucked back into the light, his whole body warmed. 

He only put her down once they reached the group of pilots, all yelling and cheering that she was joining the game, and once she was on her feet again, Tess ran over to give Phoenix a hug while Rooster was yelling for a time-out to the other team.

Tess made sure to send a look over to Hangman, two fingers coming to squinted eyes before she pointed at him, making sure he knew she was coming for him and he smiled motioning for her to come and get it. 

They had a funny relationship, her and Jake. He had an ‘I’m the best and I know it’ attitude that never quit, but she saw through his facade the second they met. He flirted with her and she flirted right back, but she put him in his place so fast his world shifted on its axis and ever since they’ve developed a teasing friendship. Hangman knew he could let her have it cause he knew she’d give it right back to him. And Jake knew from the second Bradshaw’s eye’s landed on her, that she was completely off limits. 

“All right, I’m quarterback-“

“Of course,” Tess interrupted Bradley, rolling her eyes at his macho display. The rest of their team tried and failed to hide their laughs throughout the small huddle that they now formed. 

“Oh, alright Hotshot, tell me how you want it then,” his voice was rough as gravel and she hoped that the sun blocked the fact that she was turning bright red. It didn’t, and Rooster made a note to tuck that line away for later.

“You can still be quarterback, I’m gonna be your running back,” she pointed to her chest and then around to the group, assigning everyone their positions one by one until she got back to Bradley, “I’m gonna run up the left side, Nat you go right and try to distract Hangman. From what I’ve seen he more often than not leaves his left side completely open and just has Coyote hanging out back there. Now, I’m way faster than Coyote so, B, as soon as Hangman lets go of the ball, you throw it to me and I’ll be home free.” 

Tess had never seen a group of Naval Aviators so quiet before. 

“Holy shit, I’m so in love with you,” 

Her heart might as well have been a puddle of pink heart shaped goo. A blind man seeing the sunshine for the first time couldn’t hold a candle to him at that moment. And Tess could only stare back, everything she was about to say taking an escape route from her open mouth. 

She tried not to let everyone around them know that this was the first time he had ever said anything like this to her. She loved Bradley, had been in love with him for as long as she could remember. But Bradley Bradshaw didn’t love like that. His dad died before he was five years old, Maverick crushed his dreams, ripped the carpet out from under his feet and delayed his dream career, his mom died too young and he was not going to put someone else through that pain or loss that he’d been through his entire life. 

It was different than saying I love you - they said that all the time. He said he was in love with her. 

Thirty years of waiting and Tess was hoping for something a little more romantic, but fuck if that wasn’t the most Rooster way to do things. Flying by the seat of his fucking pants.

“Shit, I think I might be in love with you too,” Phoenix said with a laugh, breaking the silence that still fell over the group. Everyone laughed along with her and started getting hyped up, patting each other on the backs and chest bumping their way over to their new positions. 

Tess could only look at Bradley and try to decipher that look behind his sunglasses. He trailed her all the way to her starting position, right behind him, and didn’t turn around until Fanboy was calling for his attention. Everything about his expression was unreadable. 

Life moved in slow motion until the hike, until Fanboy released the ball to Bradley and she took off running straight for Jake. Hangman’s ego played into her plan perfectly, he held onto the ball until she was close enough to touch him, and as soon as the football left his fingertips she turned, catching Rooster’s throw to her chest and dodged Coyote’s outstretched arms all the way to the endzone. Or, wherever Hondo decided the endzone was. 

Tess threw the foam ball into the sand while Hondo blew his whistle and then turned around to rub it in Hangman’s face that she bested the bastard, but her celebratory dance (which may or may not have included a tongue and fingers pressed to her forehead in the shape of an L) was cut short when Rooster ran up to her. His arms wrapped around the bottom of her thighs and he hoisted her up to the sky.

He spun her around, once, twice, and then set her down in the sand. 

Tess looked up at him, that darkness taking over her green orbs, sucking the sunshine out of his chest as she turned and walked away from him.

Bradley stared for a moment, watched her walk away, watched her run her hands up and over her face into her ponytailed hair, watched her shake out her hands, wondered if he actually saw a slight tremble through her fingers or if that was just his imagination playing games with his head. 

He didn’t bother explaining to the group when his feet finally caught up to the rest of his body and he took off down the beach after her. 

He reached out a hand to her, landing on her upper arm that she brushed off quickly, like he’d just electrocuted her. “Sweetheart-”

“Don’t you dare.” She turned, a pointed finger coming up to tell him to keep his distance, or else, and he looked to her face, to the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her cry. 

Other than his mom’s funeral, where even there she only shed a few tears when everyone had gone and left.

No, this was a rare side of Tess that even he rarely got to see. 

“God!” She yelled, bringing her balled up fists to her eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you!?” 

“Honey, I don’t-”

“Bradley!” 

His spine snapped straight. As rare as it was to see her cry, it was just as rare that they used each other’s first names. Neither of them really knew how it started, but as kids they came up with so many different and funny nicknames for each other that it started to feel weird to say the other’s given name out loud. And her voice when she said it… it sent ice cracking down his veins. 

He stared at her again, sure that any words that came out of his mouth right now would be the wrong ones, that his words would only unleash the angry beast that hid behind her eyes.

After too long of a pause, she finally whispered out, “what do you want from me?” and Bradley swore he felt his heart crack in his chest. 

Tess couldn’t take it anymore. Her own heart felt foreign in its place, like it was someone else’s, like it didn’t fit in its spot anymore. Like it didn’t belong there. 

The question danced on his tongue: “what are you talking about?” but he stopped himself before he could ask it. Because he knew what she was asking, what she needed him to say, but he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to say it. To do it. To finally put his money where his mouth was. 

He just confessed that he was in love with his best friend and he couldn’t bring himself to finish the job. Snug on that perch. Same old Rooster.

They stared in silence again and when it became too much, when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to hear what she needed to hear she finally said what she’d been holding back all this time.

“You’re a coward.” Her head shook as she said it, bottom lip trembling while she blinked the tears that crested her eyes back into her head. And when he continued to say nothing she turned and walked away. Headed for the Hard Deck and for once in her life, hoped that he wouldn’t follow. 

He didn’t.

Bradley begrudgingly followed Tess back to their group of friends that had now completely taken over the back of the bar, fingers lazily curled around hers while she led him through the crowd, past Hangman who was showing off to some girl at the dart board, past Coyote holding his hand over his eyes, much like that first night they’d all arrived in Miramar. Phoenix and Bob still played pool at the blue table, though it seemed that more socializing was happening than any actual game. 

Tess smiled and danced her way over, head bobbing to the music coming out of the old jukebox, giving a little shoulder shimmy as she made eye contact with Halo across the room, singing the words to her friend. 

It was part of her birthday surprise, having absolutely anyone and everyone he could manage to get a hold of back in this bar, where she met most of them for the first time. He even managed to get old friends from their school days crammed into the tight space. The smile on her face had been well worth the weeks of headaches, scheduling, and secrets. 

Bradley pulled her closer, lifting their joined hands up for her to spin under, which she did easily, hand landing gently on his exposed wife beater, green eyes just as gentle on his face. His free hand fell gently into place on her lower back, keeping her hips close to him.

“Having a good time?” He asked, swaying her slightly to the gentler song that now played. 

“The best. Thank you.” 

Her lips pursed and he leaned down to place a sweet kiss onto them. Even after all this time, every time he kissed her it still felt like the first. Like that late summer in his Bronco, right before her senior year, right as he was about to leave for flight school and she had done nothing but complain all summer about how she still hadn’t had her first kiss yet. So he did the only thing he could think to do, he grabbed her face - probably a bit too rough, but she was starting to grind at his nerves - and he kissed her like he’d never kissed anyone before. 

And Tess would never tell anyone this, but she never wanted to be kissed by anyone else ever again. Every first kiss after that was a pale gray sky compared to the searing fireworks of colors that erupted over her body that night sitting outside her house while the sun set in front of them. 

“Anything for my girl,” he said against her lips once he pulled away. 

“Hotshot!” Jake called, interrupting Bradley’s mission to get her out of this bar as quickly as possible. “Come get your ass kicked!” 

Tess looked over to see him waving her to the darts board. They had a running competition going. She was up by one game and there was no way Jake Seresin was leaving California again before that changed. 

“One of these days,” Rooster mumbled, pressing his lips to hers a few more times, not quite ready to let her move away from him. 

Tess laughed. “He’s so good at interrupting us.” 

She pulled away, dropping from the tips of her toes she needed to stand on to reach his face, and grabbed the beer from the hand that wasn’t on her, taking a swig.

“It’s like a radar goes off in his little pea brain.” He grumbled, and Tess let out a laugh he wanted to get tattooed on his heart. 

“I better go before he causes a scene,” she said without moving her feet, as if she was waiting for any excuse not to go. “Try not to miss me too much,” she winked and walked off, his beer still in her hand. 

Rooster watched her walk away, hips swaying in a way he knew was meant just for him, and it wasn’t until she reached Jake that he realized she stole his drink. He laughed, shaking his head at his wife who was now shit talking with Hangman and Coyote, the former's conquest of the night long gone and forgotten. The word - wife - still felt fresh in his mind almost a year later. The day he asked her to marry him played like a movie every time he saw her. 

“Did I ever tell you,” Maverick said, appearing to Rooster’s left, “what she made me promise right before the Uranium mission?” 

He looked down at Mav, who’s eyes didn’t stray from his daughter from the moment he walked through the doors. 

“No, I don’t think you did,”

---

thnks for reading, i love you a whole lot

If you liked this, please consider reblogging🫶🏻

want more? all you gotta do is ask babes

[thefanficmonster]

Caution

Corpse Husband & Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Dark Humor (Lighthearted)

Genre: Platonic Fluff, HUMOR, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: The shenanigans of the two best friends who’ve been roommates and have been spending way too much time together during quarantine.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request! I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it and write it but here it finally is! Hope you come across it even after all this time and give it a read - if so, I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy  ❤

“Why are you calling me when you’re literally down the hall?!“

“You didn’t hear me yelling and I really don’t want to interrupt whatever Satanic ritual you’re in the middle of performing.“

Valid excuse, or so Corpse thinks it is as he grins over the dining table which is set up for dinner - all be it very poorly but Y/N wouldn’t be able to do it any better which comforts him.

“You’ve already interrupted it.“ With that, she hangs up on him. A second or two later, the music that’s been blasting from her room subsides and she walks out in the hallway where Corpse has a clear view of her for the first time today.

“What animal were you sacrificing today, sweetie?“ He asks in a sing-song voice, mimicking a parent asking their child what they did at school that day.

Y/N sits down in her chair, not at all amused by his joke, narrowing her eyes at him, ready to fight sarcasm with sarcasm, “Animal sacrificing is reserved for Friday nights only, remember? On Sundays the sacrifice must be human.”

He sits down as well, twirling his fork in the bowl of noodles in front of him, “Aww, that’s too bad hun, you can’t really find a lot of people on the streets nowadays. However, if you’re thinking of breaking and entering I must say you’ll have to count me out.”

She smirks, “Why would I break into a stranger’s home when I am living with a rather annoying person myself.”

Corpse puts a hand over his heart, ‘offended’ by Y/N’s comment, “Oh come on now, it’s the season of giving dear! Can’t you give me another chance to be a good roommate.”

If she’s being honest, Corpse is a great roommate - best one she’s had or will ever have. A big element of them getting along so well is the long friendship they had even before moving in together. It might not seem like they are too fond of one another to an outsider. But someone who knows them well enough can guarantee the two would do anything for each other. Corpse is a pretty non-confrontational and quiet guy who does look intimidating but would never live up to it. However, if someone upsets Y/N, he’s no less dangerous than a pissed off lion. Y/N is similar - a small neutral and rather unopinionated bean. Very few things fly on her radar cause she’s so done with everything and everyone and has learned how to not allow anything to surprise or shock her. She doesn’t let many things offend her or bother her but mess with the guy who’s basically been her older brother for almost a decade now and - although the whole sacrificing and Satan worshiping thing is a joke - she’d gladly sacrifice you to the Under-lord without a second to consider it.

“Indeed it is the season of given, although early, but I’m still gonna give myself the gift of a new roommate.“ She replies nonchalantly, taking a bite of the noodles Corpse over-spiced for the shits and giggles of it.

He doesn’t reply, just hums in response as he cautiously watches her reaction to the flavor of her food. He’s even filled a glass of water for her and left it by her plate in case she needs it but as it seems she hasn’t even noticed the change in flavor.

“What have you been doing all day? I mean, I get you were working on a song - I had to play my own music to drown that shit out - but what came of it?“

He smiles, knowing full well she bops it full volume when he’s not home. He knows this cause he caught her in the act - it’s not a guess anymore, it’s a full-blown fact supported by not documented evidence which maybe wouldn’t stand in court but it’s enough for him to have some leverage and certainty when she’s being a dick about it.

“I finished the song. Posted it too.“ He shrugs as though it’s nothing. receiving a nod with the same amount of enthusiasm back from Y/N.

Regardless of the lack of reaction from both parties, they’re both thrilled.

“That’s great.“ She gives him a hint of a smile, “We gotta celebrate, no?“

Realizing they’re finally on the same wavelength, he nods with a smile and proceeds to get up and go to the kitchen to grab the red wine they’ve got for special occasions - or to cure breakups, either goes - and two wine glasses. 

He pours them each a bit, knowing many refills will come, and the two clink their glasses, taking a sip before continuing to eat.

Well, Y/N continues to eat while Corpse spits out the bite he just took, appalled by the saltiness of it. “What the hell, Y/N?!”

She snorts and continues to eat while Corpse accepts defeat, realizing he should never leave her alone with his food ever again. 

“You win this round...” He mumbles under his breath as he walks to the kitchen to boil himself a new bowl of noodles.

                                                           *  *  * 

It’s been about three hours since the incident and Y/N’s gone back to her room once again to play Minecraft with some friends as she usually does in the evenings when she’s finished her homework for her college lectures.

She’s in the midst of betting with one of the friends who can build a better makeshift house in ten minutes or less when she gets a text from Corpse, asking to do the her dishes, aka the bowl her noodles were in and her utensils as well as glass of water she did end up taking a sip of while Corpse wasn’t looking - the spice really got to her at one point but she got it under control.

Figuring it’s the least she can do after basically ruining his dinner, she tells her friends she’ll be back shortly and mutes herself on the Discord call. 

Upon walking out the door, however, she doesn’t really get far. Instead, she walks straight into the web of caution tape put on the outside of the door, stuck to the door frame.

Y/N does her best to not lash out as she ‘calmly’ tries to untangle herself from the stripes of caution tape that have wrapped themselves around her like snakes upon detaching from the door frame. Despite her tries, what ends up lighting the fuse of anger within her is the quiet laughter of her roommate coming from the living room.

“CORPSE!!!“ She screams in frustration which only fuels Corpse’s satisfaction, making his laughter louder. “I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo  @beatrhizn  @blueberrystigma  @beatrhizn  @chicken-taco-burrito  @scorpios-echo  @nyctophiliiiiaaa  @squirreljoe

[ladybugout-au]

Dear. GOD. After seeing Furious Fu, I would honestly love to see LBO!Marinette just chewing out Su-Han for all his canon-to-fic BULLSHIT. Like, I know you’ve already got a plan to incorporate Feast into LBO, which I’m super excited for, so this asshole showing up with all his nonsense after the new Team Miraculous is set, hell maybe even after they’ve already retrieved the Butterfly and the Peacock, and watching Marinette (and possibly Fu since he has the memories to stand up for himself) tear this dude a new one would really be the cherry on top of an already awesome fic. Sorry to rant in your inbox lol but the new episode just made me so. ANGRY.

In the lounge room of the Liberty, everyone jumped as they heard a noise from up above deck, as if something heavy had fallen or been dropped. Marinette briefly pulled away from Luka’s hold, staring up at the ceiling and wondering aloud, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Juleka admitted, exchanging concerned looks with Rose.

“That definitely wasn’t Mom,” Luka noted with a tilt of his head.

Pounding footsteps followed, making it clear that a person had clearly gotten on the houseboat without the gangplank being there.

Nino jolted on alert, turning to Duusu with a hushed whisper. “Hide!”

“All of you,” Kagami began, standing up and looking around vaguely at every kwami. “get out of sight.”

The kwami, breaking out of their trance after the brief scare, scattered in every direction to find their own individual hiding places, some choosing to hide with their respective holder and others preferring to hide behind or inside objects. Ivan went into his usual protective mode, wrapping an arm around Mylene while she clung to him.

Marinette stood up, rushing over to the table and picking up the Miracle Box to stow it away. She looked around, then dashed for the microwave and stored the box inside.

She shut the door just in time for the intruder to descend from the staircase: an old man, dressed in Chinese garb and carrying a strange mystical-looking staff. He had a stern expression, his brows knitted together as he scanned the room like none of them were even there. He raised his staff, his gaze eventually locking on the microwave the Marinette was standing near.

Without a word, he pushed Marinette aside, earning an offended, “Excuse me—hey!” from her as he grabbed the microwave door and tugged it. When that did little more than jostle the microwave itself, he tried blindly tampering with the buttons to no avail.

Marinette slapped his wrist away, standing with all her pride as guardian as she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He glared at her in response. “Young lady, I demand you open your magical sealing chamber and return what’s rightfully mine!”

She blanked, the words catching her completely off-guard. This guy thought their microwave was a magical sealing chamber?

In response, Marinette gave a brief glance to the others, who were all looking back at her with equally puzzled expressions, any tension from before completely gone.

An unspoken question echoed throughout the room: Is he for real?

Before Marinette could ask any further, Tikki emerged from her hiding spot, flying over and explaining, “Marinette, I know who this is! This is great master Su-Han, the guardian of the Miracle Box!”

Marinette raised a brow skeptically. “But I’m the guardian?”

“He was responsible for the box before the incident that Master Fu caused,” she corrected.

Su-Han looked down at Marinette condescendingly. “So you are the current holder of the box.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed unapologetically. She gave a side-glance to Luka and the others, seeing that they were prepared to stand up and fight for her, but she gave a subtle gesture to let them know that it wasn’t necessary. Resolving to deal with Su-Han herself, she faced him again. “How did you find us?”

He held out his staff, the jewel on it mere centimeters from her face. “Guardian scepters are equipped with compasses that can find their Miracle Box at any given time.”

“In case you lose it?” Marinette blurted out, but didn’t apologize or try to take it back.

“Insolent!” Su-Han gasped. “You are not even a proper guardian. I can tell that this box hasn’t even been properly passed down to you!”

“Because Master Fu gave it to me,” she explained, “and we agreed that he should keep his memories.”

“Fu?” Su-Han echoed. “You mean Wang Fu? Chicken legs?”

Is this guy five? Marinette wondered.

Orikko popped out from their hiding place, waving a paw at Su-Han as if in warning. “I take offense to that!”

Su-Han glared at Orikko at the comment, and Orikko quickly ducked back down. Turning his attention back to Marinette, he continued, “Wang Fu is a student who wasn’t even able to fast for a day, nor do a thousand finger-pushups. He was never a rightful guardian, and he failed to fulfill the hope we’d seen in him.”

“Master Fu may have made mistakes, but he’s done his best to make up for all of them!” she argued. “He protected the box for over one hundred years and it’s because of his choices that our team was able to defeat Hawk Moth!”

“Team?” Su-Han asked, his face scrunching up as if he were piecing something together.

“Yes!”

Marinette gestured to her boyfriend and friends for emphasis. Luka, Ivan, Kagami, and Juleka stood while Rose and Nino pinched and stretched their shirts to show off their respective miraculouses.

“Children?” Su-Han gaped. Glaring at Marinette, as if she had personally given out the miraculouses herself, he declared, “Children are never meant to hold miraculouses, especially from the first and most powerful Miracle Box! Kwami are extremely powerful, cosmic creatures!”

A voice piped up from across the room. “Y-you say that, but—!”

Marinette and Su-Han turned to look at Nooroo, who had peeked out from behind Rose’s shoulder. He breathed up, seeming to gain some confidence, then floated out to the center of the room.

“They saved me and Duusu from the hands of evil! We would still be in Gabriel’s clutches if not for them!”

“What?” Su-Han asked. Just when Marinette thought they might be getting somewhere, he turned back to her and accused, “The peacock and butterfly were lost?!”

“Fu lost them when he was escaping the temple,” Marinette explained, a mixture between unphased and annoyed at the man’s outbursts, “but we got them back and everything’s okay now.”

Luka chimed in from his place near the couch, “Marinette has been an incredible leader, as both Ladybug and the guardian.”

She smiled at him in thanks, but Su-Han was clearly focused on anything but the positives.

“Ladybug? You’re even wearing a miraculous?! Guardians aren’t meant to hold miraculouses!” he said, throwing his arms out for effect.

“What—why?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Instead of answering her, Su-Han pulled out a book, shoving it pointedly towards her with the cover facing downwards in his palm. “Let me remind you of a few important rules you’ve violated.” He flipped through a few pages, then pointed at one of them. “Rule fourteen: Kwami must not live outside of the box.” He flipped through a few more. “Rule fifty-two: Guardians must never lose a miraculous. “He flipped to a page near the end. “Rule one hundred and thirty-three: Guardians must never, under any circumstances, wear a miraculous.”

“Master Fu wore a miraculous,” she argued, having never heard of any such rule from him.

“And that proves exactly what I’m talking about!” Su-Han retorted. “Neither you nor Fu are capable guardians because neither of you have respected the rules of the order!”

“...”

When Marinette initially imagined the Order of the Guardians and the people who ran it, this was not what she’d pictured. She had pictured zen and calm, not belligerent and immovable. She was reminded vaguely of her grandfather when she first met him, and that wasn’t a good thing.

She tossed another gaze at everyone, who gave her the same look and nod in response: let him have it.

“Young lady, I’ll repeat myself once,” Su-Han warned. “Return the Miracle Box and the miraculouses to me before--”

Marinette grabbed the book out of his hand, shut it with a satisfying “clap,” then set it back in his hand. “No.“

“What did you say?” he asked, aghast that she would speak to him that way.

“I said no.” Marinette advanced on him, the sheer force of her presence making him take a step back. “Now let me remind you about everything you must’ve missed this whole time.”

She raised a finger at him, raising additional fingers as she went on. “One: You intruded on my boyfriend’s house without any sort of permission. If you’d actually called out to us, we might’ve actually been willing to come out and listen to what you had to say. Two: You wouldn’t have even been able to be here in the first place if not for me using Miraculous Ladybug after our team took down Feast, which you weren’t able to do. Three: We aren’t children, we’re teenagers, and the fact that you can’t tell the difference or bother learning what technology is shows that I shouldn’t trust you with the Miracle Box even if you had a right to it. Four: You didn’t bother to listen and blamed me for losing miraculouses when it was you and your order who didn’t keep an eye on a poor boy who didn’t want to be there. Five, last but not least: I say the kwami are allowed out of the Miracle Box because I am the guardian. You and your order have been gone for over one hundred years and you can’t go making demands after I brought you back. You told me rules I didn’t even know about and didn’t explain why you have those rules in the first place. The kwami are my friends and they have feelings and I’m not going to shut them in a box because you told me to.”

Silence filled the room, no one saying a word and Su-Han’s face contorting between shock and outrage.

Marinette took a step back, standing at the ready and gesturing to herself. “So if you want the Miracle Box, you’re going to have to go through us first.”

She tossed a look at her team, all of them doing a synchronized, confrontational motion to face Su-Han.

“Tikki!”

“Plagg!”

“Wayzz!”

“Pollen!”

“Trixx!”

“Nooroo!”

“Duusu!”

They then shouted in unison, “Transform me!”

Several individual flashes meshed together, overtaking the room and then fading to leave several heroes behind, their weapons equipped for battle.

Su-Han looked amongst them, a flicker in his eyes that hinted that he knew he would be outmatched, but also wasn’t willing to admit it. He retreated a few steps back, hands out to show that he was prepared to defend himself.

It was at that moment that Ladybug heard and noticed movement from behind him, realization striking and a smile overtaking her face. Pulling back from her fighting pose, she placed a hand on her hip and stated confidently, “Captain Anarka will escort you out.”

He looked confused, and he was only able to let out a, “What—?” before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Su-Han wasn’t even able to turn around before he was pulled backward, a jewelry-adorned fist decking him in the face and sending him flying into the staircase. His scepter fell to the floor and he could only gape at the woman standing there, cracking her knuckles while he was sprawled out on the stairs with all air having been knocked out of him.

“A trespasser on my ship, eh?” Anarka asked, a grin on her face but her eyes glinting with malice. “I don’t take kindly to ship rats who threaten my crew and think they’re too good to walk the plank.”

Su-Han hurried to get up, only for Anarka to grab him by his shirt and haul him up the stairs, a rapid shuffling noise following as Ladybug went over and shut the door.

A few seconds passed and the atmosphere shifted to peace, everyone mutually releasing their transformations and relaxing. Marinette smiled reassuringly at everyone, letting them know that things were okay, but then jumped as she heard a resounding, “Marinette!”

The kwami all emerged from their hiding places, Marinette having no time to react as they all charged at her, their tiny bodies clinging affectionately to whatever they could grab of her.

“You’re amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“You stood up for us!”

“You’re the best guardian ever!”

Marinette gasped, finding it hard to move without disturbing any of them. Trying hard not to laugh, she protested, “Aha—hey! Stop, you’re all tickling me!”

She blushed, looking over at her teammates who were only staring at her with pride, which just made the pink on her cheeks turn red. “This is so embarrassing!”

Once the kwami had their fill of thanking her, they finally obeyed and flew away, each giving her smiles of approval. She covered her face with a hand, waiting for the shyness to die down, then noticed the guardian scepter out of the corner of her eye, still lying on the ground.

She approached, touching the scepter at first to make sure it was safe, then properly picking it up and letting it stand next to her. She tapped the gem on top, eyeing the compass that Su-Han had been talking to her about, then followed its direction back to the microwave. She walked over, opening it up, then took out the Miracle Box and held it in her free hand.

Looking back and forth between the two clearly ancient objects, she couldn’t help chuckling. “They don’t really suit me.”

Her friends giggled in response, Luka in particular shooting her a warm smile and approaching. One of his hands went to the scepter and the other went to rest on the Miracle Box.

“I think you make them work, actually,” he replied.

Marinette beamed at him, thoroughly warmed by the compliment. It didn’t feel like that long ago when her support was lacking and defeating Hawk Moth seemed like a pipe dream.

Now, holding the Miracle Box and scepter in her hands, she didn’t know why she’d ever doubted herself.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then, looking at the Su-Han-less room, she gave a shrug and walked back with Luka to the couch. “So, where were we?”

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Returning Home Chapter 2- Thorin Oakenshield x OC

Thorin Oakenshield x Bellarose Baggins

Description: Bellarose finds herself joining the Company of Thorin Oakenshield when her brother isn’t up to the task. 

Word Count: 2k

“Wait, Oakenshield?” Bellarose questioned, earning a nod from Thorin. “Where have I heard that name before?” Everyone watched Bellarose’s pondering, some either in confusion and some in curiosity. She’d reacted so differently to their presence than Bilbo had, and yet she still managed to act as odd as him. After a moment of thought it finally hit her. 

“Oh! The prophecy!” She exclaimed, proud that she managed to remember. 

“Prophecy?” Thorin repeated with a raised brow, earning a nod from her. 

“The lord of silver fountains,

The king of carven stone,

The king beneath the mountain shall come into his own,

And the bells shall ring in gladness at the mountain king’s return,

But all shall fail in sadness and the lake will shine and burn,” she recited before smiling at him. “The prophecy of the Durins - or in your case, Oakenshield.”

“Where in the world did you learn that?” Bilbo questioned in bewilderment. 

“I read it in a book about Dwarven history,” Bellarose shrugged in response, then looked around at the rest of the Company. “But what does any of this have to do with my brother?” 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve gathered that this is an adventure based on your conversation this morning,” Gandalf started. 

“Yes,” she answered slowly, urging him to continue. Rather than immediately doing so, he gestured her into the dining room and sat down. She obeyed and sat beside the Dwarf named Bofur, who offered her a jovial smile. She returned it politely then looked as Gandalf pointed to a map that sat on the table. 

“Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak. The Lonely Mountain,” he continued as she examined the map, specifically focusing on the mountain with a red dragon beside it which had been drawn on it. 

“Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end,” Oin added. 

Bellarose stared at the Dwarves in shock as realization washed over her. “Wait, wait, wait. Surely you don’t mean to tell me you are going to try and take back Erebor? What about Smaug the Terrible?” 

“You know of Smaug?” One of the younger Dwarves, Kili, asked, earning a nod from the Hobbit. 

“Dwarven history, remember?” She asked rhetorically before looking at the Gray Wizard again. 

“The front gate is sealed so we cannot get into the mountain that way, but there is another entrance. If we can find it, of course. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skill to find it. But there are others in Middle Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, I believe that it can be done. That is why we need a burglar in our company, and that is why we are here.” 

“You want my brother to go on a quest?” Bellarose asked, becoming excited as she stood and faced her brother. “Bilbo, you have to-” 

“I’m not going,” the boy snapped at her, which made her pause. He never spoke to her that way, not even once. Bilbo, along with everyone else, also seemed shocked by his interruption as well. The Dwarves also looked disappointed by his declaration, but he didn’t pay attention to it. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as she shot a glare at him then faced Gandalf. 

“Well if he’s not going, then I will.” Her statement caused an uproar from everyone except for the Wizard. 

“Absolutely not!” Bilbo exclaimed. 

“A quest like this is no place for a lady,” Balin said. 

“The wild is no place for a lady,” Kili spoke. 

“Especially a Hobbit,” Fili added from beside him. 

“I won’t allow it,” Thorin concluded. 

“And why not?” Bellarose questioned firmly, crossing her arms as she faced him. “You are in need of a burglar, and I am offering my services. There’s no way you’d be able to get through that door without a Hobbit. I know how to fight, and if that isn’t enough I would be more than happy to learn whatever it is I’ll need to survive from you lot. Besides, a little dirt has never hurt me.” 

“I can attest to that,” Gandalf piped up. “Miss Baggins is incredibly quick witted and has always had a knack for not being afraid of getting rough when she finds herself in the presence of a hostile person. Thorin, You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and if Bilbo will not do it, then she is our best shot.” Everyone watched as Thorin stayed silent for a moment in contemplation, then he sighed. 

“Alright then,” he conceded, sliding a scroll of parchment across the table to her. “A contract; just the usual summary of out of pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements and so forth.” Bellarose, much to everyone’s surprise, didn’t look deterred by this information and instead stepped into the light to read the contract. 

“Cash on delivery, up to, but not exceeding one fifteenth of total profit, if any,” she mumbled as she read the terms. “Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to lacerations, evisceration, and/or incineration. Alright then, let me just go get a quill.” With that, she walked out of the dining room and into the drawing room to grab a quill and ink from her brother’s desk. As she walked back she heard him speak. 

“You can’t be serious,” She heard Bilbo say in disbelief. “That is my sister! You can’t just let her go on this dangerous quest where she could potentially die.”

“I am not the judge of this, dear Bilbo,” Gandalf responded simply. “Bellarose’s future and decisions are in her own hands. There is nothing either of us can do about it.” 

“Exactly,” the girl concluded as she set the contract on the table. After uncorking the ink she dipped the quill into it then proceeded to sign her name on the blank line. Once she was finished, Balin took the contract and read it. 

“Well, everything seems to be in order,” he said before smiling at her. “Welcome, Miss Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.” The others cheered loudly, which made the girl giggle. 

“So, when do we leave?”

“As soon as the sun rises tomorrow. You might want to pack,” Thorin answered from beside her. She nodded with a bright smile and skipped off to her room. 

Later that evening, Bellarose couldn’t sleep, too excited to do so. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours she decided that a cup of tea would probably help. So, she stood and tied her robe around herself before opening her door and tiptoeing to the kitchen. Upon arriving she was surprised to see Thorin still sitting at the head of the table mulling over the map. She got over it quickly however and cleared her throat quietly so she didn't scare him, offering him a kind smile when he faced her. 

“I was going to make some tea. Would you like some?” She offered quietly. The Dwarf stared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. 

“Please,” he added in the same tone as her. Bellarose nodded and grabbed the kettle, filling it with water before setting it on the stove. 

“That was a beautiful song earlier,” she muttered quietly, remembering the beautiful song the Company had sung by the fireplace before bed. 

“I thank you,” Thorin responded with a small smile. 

“I have only ever read it, I’ve never heard it sung,” she continued. “And I don’t believe I’d be able to do it justice with such a light voice.” That earned a quiet chuckle from her new leader, which admittedly made her smile. One for the fact that she actually got him to laugh (from what she’d gathered in the few hours that she’d known him she guessed that he didn’t do that often), and another for how nice his laugh sounded so nice. 

“Perhaps you could harmonize,” the man said simply. Bellarose didn’t verbally answer as she had to take the kettle off the stove before the whistle became too loud. She poured the water into her favorite teapot and allowed the tea to steep. After setting everything on the table she took a seat beside him, glancing at the map for a few minutes before the Dwarf spoke. 

“So, what are you doing up? You need sleep before we leave,” he said, thanking her afterwards when she poured him a cup of tea. 

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged with an awkward smile. “I guess it’s nerves keeping me up, or maybe excitement.” 

“I take it you’ve never left the Shire,” he muttered. 

“Honestly? I’ve barely been out of Hobbiton,” she answered truthfully, which made him smile. Whether it was mocking or amused, she didn’t know. 

“But, that doesn’t mean that I don’t have what it takes,” she added quickly. 

“I don’t doubt it.” Now that admittedly caught her off guard. For a moment she could only look at him, trying to figure out whether he was actually just mocking her now. He seemed to notice her staring because a quiet laugh left his lips. 

“I believe you proved it when you willingly volunteered for a perilous journey that doesn’t promise your survival,” he explained. That made her relax back into her seat as she took a sip of her tea. 

“Ah, got it.” There wasn’t much else that she could say to that. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks. 

“May I ask you something?” Thorin suddenly asked, earning a nod from her. “Why did you volunteer for something like this? You know what lies at the end of this quest, you read the contract, and yet you still signed it without a second thought. Why?” Bellarose was silent as she thought about how to answer. 

“Well, I could lie and say that it is simply a sense of duty to help those that don’t have a home reclaim theirs, but I don’t believe that you would appreciate that,” she started, making both of them chuckle as he nodded. 

“You would be right about that.” The girl nodded, then sighed as she leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. 

“To be fair, that is part of the reason, but in all honesty it was the call of adventure. I grew up on stories about my ancestors like my great-great-great-great uncle Bullroarer answering that same call and being able to live their lives during it, and the fact that it has come to the whole ‘Bagginses don’t go on adventures’ saddens me greatly. I want to break that, I want to be able to help while exploring what Middle Earth has to offer - both good and bad. I knew that if I didn’t accept this position - or rather, volunteer - then another opportunity would never present itself to me in my lifetime. That is why I volunteered.” 

Now it was Thorin’s turn to stay silent. Bellarose watched as he thought over her explanation. Finally after a few minutes he faced her once again, and she was pleasantly surprised to see a genuine smile on his face. 

“You know what, Miss Baggins, I believe you’ll fit into this company just fine,” the Dwarf muttered sincerely. That, in turn, made the girl smile

“Thank you, Mister Oakenshield.” 

“Just Thorin,” he corrected her gently. “We’re about to spend the next indiscernible amount of time together.” 

“Very well Thorin,” she giggled. “And please, just Bellarose is fine. Depending on just how close we get I may even let you call me Bella.” They shared yet another laugh, then Thorin looked down at his now empty cup. 

“Well, we should both get to bed,” he muttered as he stood, looking at her with that same smile. “Goodnight, Bellarose.” 

“Goodnight Thorin,” she whispered as she stood as well. For a moment they just stood there, but eventually Thorin made his way to his pallet after sparing her another glance. With one last look to the future King, Bellarose made her way to her bedroom (leaving the tea dishes for her brother to clean in the morning) as a small smile formed on her face. She had a great feeling about what was to come.

[massacre-girlypop]

Last part of Petra’s backstory. Very lore heavy and honestly, kinda wordy, but all very relevant and I feel like it really ties up the beginning of her story. @ebevkisk

CW: Mentions of trauma and abuse, mention of child death, horror elements

Angel of Blood Part III

Smug red eyes and a smile that could shake anyone’s resolve, a person not too much older than Petra with a facial structure and short red hair stood waiting near a rock and slowly started to pace their way closer. Wearing a dark navy tunic and skin tight black pants, venom filled the air the closer they got.

Petra had spent a week with her thoughts after the Symmetry had crawled into her brain and pried the locks off of it, so she remembered everything. And she was furious.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you where you stand.” Petra spat, still exhausted.

The person cackled. “Come now, is that any way to treat your sibling? And you couldn’t even if you tried.”

Petra snarled. “I don’t see a sibling. I have no family. I had a family. Our so-called father took them from me. People who you call family attempted to corral and contain me for their own purpose. Your parents knew who we were and, instead of treating us with love, they willfully made us suffer. All to teach us a lesson.”

“Our parents wanted us to become strong. They knew the world we would be born into and knew that in order to be the deities they knew we could be, their parenting had to be a little stricter than most.”

That abyssal force that now sat in Petra’s psyche that she now had a name for tried to crawl its way out, but she forced it back down. “That’s even worse considering dad was an angel and mom was a devil, Radurga! You sided with them after all of the pain and suffering they put us through?”

“Oh please, even you, dear sister, the great Goddess of Blood and Shadow, have to admit you wouldn’t be nearly as effective if you didn’t have our loving father’s help.”

She wanted to fight them. She wanted to destroy her sibling, but her body was exhausted. The rations she kept on her were only sufficient enough to keep her alive. She couldn’t age, but hunger would still kill her.

Radurga continued. “Well, either way, Auntie Multanith did what we set out to do. Her angelic charm did quite well against the best mortality had to offer. Now, all of the gods will fly into a rage and mortality will run to the Deep for help. And now, you can finally rejoin the family after being kept from us for so long.” Radurga grabbed Petra’s arm and Petra felt a glaring pain sear through her nerves that she instantly recognized as an enchantment spell, seizing control of her agency.

All of this new information was too much to bear. Her exhaustion wouldn’t allow her to resist and, even if she could, the knowledge that her family and those that worked with them caused the deaths of over a million people caused all of her fighting spirit to flee. As her sibling clouded her brain with commands, a tear ran down Petra’s cheek as she gave in to the aberrant chaos that Radurga willed into her skull.

Then, she heard a click and her brain cleared. Petra grabbed Radurga’s skull and, using her divine power, willed the blood in her veins to form hardened claws on her finger tips. Petra drove the claws into their scalp causing them to yell in agony.

As Petra spun out of their grasp, an aura older and deeper than any she’d ever felt filled her body and the entire world around her came to a screeching halt.

Behind her sibling, a crack in the ground formed and out rose a pure white tiefling covered in tattoos of clocks and scales. Her heartbeat could be felt from meters away and it mimicked that of a ticking grandfather clock. Her eyes were a deep grey and, as she rose from the ground, she waved her hand and Radurga’s face turned blank as if they were being rewired. The tiefling then palmed their forehead. “Young deity, do not presume to know the wills of those who live separate lives. Learn or be swallowed by the passing of eons.” Petra collapsed in exhaustion, and as her vision tunneled into darkness, she witnessed Radurga being thrown into a hole in reality as the god slowly walked towards her.

~~~

Sometime later, Petra slowly woke up to the rumbling of the ground. As she gradually opened her eyes, she found a warm fire, a stew broiling, and the tiefling stirring a pot. The pot smelled like chicken and pine berries and she seemed completely unbothered by the incessant earthquake.

The tiefling turned. At closer proximity, her grey eyes burned with a wisdom and a sheer vastness that was hard to comprehend. It felt as if she was reading Petra at a spiritual level and that there was nothing she could hide.

Petra sat up and almost passed out again. The tiefling offered a bowl without a word as she continued to study Petra. Petra began to wolf down her food, completely ignoring her manners because it had been weeks since she’d had a decent meal.

“Interesting how an aasimar of your nature would stand against another of her kind. Especially one of her blood.” The tiefling spoke with a deep yet calming tone.

Petra felt the experience with her sibling settle into her brain. “I am aasimar, but I’m also nephalem. I’m a hybrid. And that was not my sibling. I don’t talk to my family. My family were two wizards in Pelo Avias and a goblin in Pelevair.”

The tiefling nodded. “I wouldn’t know what that’s like. My sister and I get along quite well. She can be very serious, but only because her job takes a heavy toll on her mental health.”

Petra finished her stew. “You didn’t destroy my sibling, did you?”

The tiefling gave the smallest of smiles. “No. It’s not my job. I merely opened their eyes and displaced them somewhere else on the continent. I cannot confirm they won’t still be insufferable, but the hold your parents had on them is broken.”

Petra nodded and felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. She didn’t care for her sibling, but she knew that trauma wore on people and you can’t always tell how people react.

The tiefling stared deep into her red and purple heterochromic eyes. “You have a touch of destiny about you, young aasimar. Especially one with such a strong affinity towards her domain. Don’t think I didn’t notice the claws.”

Petra blushed. “I didn’t know my domain. Not until today. My parents kept that from me. Blood and shadow, huh? Who knew I’d become so edgy? I couldn’t have something more adorable? Like cats or hellhounds or jumping spiders?”

The tiefling gave a small chuckle. “Remember, actually becoming a goddess takes hundreds of years of work and, even then, it’s not guaranteed. Godhood isn’t based on who you are, it’s based on whom the primordials choose. You would know. You spent so much time in the Accretion that your brain is practically swimming in knowledge.”

A light clicked on in Petra’s brain. “You’ve been watching me. You’ve kept an eye on me my whole life. How come you never talked to me?”

The tiefling gave a warm laugh. “And do what? Hi, I’m an ancient goddess who’s been your protector since you were born and helped you escape your family. Do you want to become my cleric? That sounds weird and I don’t function like that.”

Petra heard she was a goddess and immediately started scanning through the massive library in her mind, searching for the answer. “Nytoria?”

The tiefling smiled. “Who ever said wizards don’t take stock in religion?”

Petra couldn’t believe it. “Goddess of Time, Free Will, and Judgment.”

Nytoria looked impressed. “Most people don’t even know my name, much less my domain. Iridesia would be delighted to meet you.”

The earth continued to rumble furiously. Petra looked around. “What is happening? We’re not near a fault line.”

Nytoria’s face turned grim. “When Multanith deceived the council, hundreds of thousands of aasimar just like yourself were sent to their deaths for no crime other than existing. Why? We don’t know, but what we know is that mortality will believe anyone is a threat if told a convincing enough lie. When those aasimar died, several gods flew into a rage. Behemoth rose to the surface. Veloria started changing the landscape. Lythera even willed the seas to become deeper and more dangerous as punishment. This war got infinitely more heated because a goddess decided to interfere with mortal affairs and it cost many of the gods their beloved children. I’ve never seen my sister, Malathriel, more inconsolable. So many souls she had to escort before their time. Lots of them were children.”

Petra felt the weight of this. It came with the realization that the gods did deeply care for humanity and that’s why they kept their distance.

Nytoria continued. “Hence why once we restrain the Disciples of Ruin, we will draw up the Accords of Disparity. Humanity is meant to grow on its own and, if we keep interfering, who knows if any of us will survive. We would still create clerics and warlocks and paladins, but we can’t directly affect mortality’s course.”

Petra nodded. This was a lot to process. Nytoria continued. “Which brings me here. Petra, my darling, I need you to be our eyes and ears. Once this war ends, I want you to gather trusted people to help lead humanity in the right direction. Not directly, just make sure no outside forces try to sway their progress. There are several different planes with enemies, deific or otherwise that have their eyes here and we can’t always be there to drive them back. Especially if we can’t interfere on a mortal level.”

Petra felt nervous because she never saw herself as a leader. She was a bookworm. Knowledge and spells were her comfort zone. She also knew, if she didn’t do this, more people like hers would be lost to nightmares like this.

Petra nodded. “Then I accept.”

Nytoria smiled. “I knew I chose right. Stick out your arm.”

Petra pulled back the sleeve of her left arm and Nytoria turned and grabbed her wrist gently. “Now, this is going to hurt really bad, but I need you to trust me.”

Nytoria started chanting and Petra felt every nerve in her body sear with pain. Every blood vessel she had felt like it was going to pop and she started to buckle under the intensity. She looked down and, through the agony, she saw a glowing blood red sigil appear on her skin that ran up her arm and stopped at the inside of her elbow.

The pain stopped and Nytoria pulled out a bottle. “Here, drink this. It should help.” Petra took a swig and it tasted like cinnamon.

“You are now a blood cleric of Nytoria. This should help you discover more about your domain and open you up to more divine magic. Also, when you find more trustworthy individuals, this will mark them for me to bestow my blessing upon them. You don’t need it, but they will have the same resilience that you do. Once they hit 26, they will become incapable of dying by natural means and they won’t age.”

Petra was on the verge of tears. Her life had been a mess of people coming and going. She finally felt like she had an anchor. Someone invested in her success who could help her protect herself and those she cared about.

Nytoria stood and, from the void, she pulled a beautifully crafted rapier and presented it to her. “This is a Song of the Myriad. If it exists, it can become it. Something tells me you’ll be able to use it to its full potential.”

Petra grabbed it and it almost felt alive in her hands.

Nytoria smiled at the now rising sun and a tear ran down her face. “I will try to talk with you as much as I can, but I can’t make any promises. Just promise me, you will be the unseen blessing the world needs.”

Petra smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

Nytoria placed her forehead against her new cleric and vanished.

~~~

200 years later, the taps of Petra’s boots echoed through the hallways of her fortress. Olvara, a mage of great reputation, had gifted it to her right before her death and so, Petra had named it Olvara’s Pocket. The fortress sat outside of the material plane in its own dimension.

Petra had spent the last 200 years learning everything she could glean about everything. Mortality, combat, magic, divinity. There was still a lot to learn, but she had begun to feel capable that she could fulfill her patron’s wishes. She had also managed to find people that she could call a family of like-minded individuals.

20 years after her pledge with Nytoria, the gods had recused themselves from general mortal interaction and had retreated beyond the reach of the material plane. Some hid behind the divine gate, some sequestered themselves in the material plane outside of the purview of the living, others were restrained in the deep or had retreated to safe havens after their devastating loss. Mortality had continued to rebuild and slowly the world was finding its anchor.

As she reached the doors to her main banquet hall, she heard the chatter of the people she had come to trust as she swung them wide open.

As she walked closer, she observed the people she had spent years getting to know as they returned the look with various responses. A purple tiefling and a being from the astral plane had a distracted gaze like they were in another room with their respective projects. The druid and the paladin gave their undivided attention. A mermaid came up to the surface from her canals that ran throughout the stronghold and a monk had no reaction, though Petra knew she was probably the most attentive in the room. From the ceiling, a girl with Draconic wings who she knew as her second in command landed next to Petra. “Ready when you are.”

Petra felt a swell in her chest as the confidence she’d been growing for a long time finally started to show.

“Hello, my lovelies. I have new intel. Let’s make some dinner and take a night to relax. We have some things to talk about.”

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

to elaborate a bit more on that point about that thing in the special feeling like a regression in the doc’s arc...

one thing that had been worked in a lot in the collective meta of the fandom, since 12′s era and all throughout 13, is that in this phase of the show, you could see that the doctor seemed to be finally growing emotionally, in small but significant ways. specifically in learning to treat people: the way 12 tried to be there for bill, set boundaries for clara, or that 13 made An Attempt (tm) at reaching out to graham, had the fam make her understand she could rely on others, etc. but by having the special kind sort of letting the doctor off the hook for canonizing that the doctor never visited / checked on ace + tegan  (besides being contradictory to new who canon... tho this is really a minor point bc extra-canon continuity isn’t that important to 90% of the audience lol), it validates that interpretation that “the doctor doesn’t have the emotional toolkit to handle so much separation, guilt and consequential loneliness” and adds “and they will never have it!”, which collides with so much of that theming we’ve seen of growth for the doctor. and it’s specially tricky with the companions we see: tegan (someone who left under very bad terms, in ways that implied the doctor had become more like the time lords than he realized), ace (someone who had grown to see the doctor as her whole family, in a very dependent way) and yaz (someone who got so many mixed signals and until the specials, was expected to some kind of commitment) all these companions have an element of “unresolved”-ness to their goodbyes. but in the special, the feeling i get is that the doctor hasn’t actually improved in this regard, and the lessons from all these lifetimes / companion stories have not made them change. the message the special imparts is that "actually, the doctor Was Right in abandoning them, it was to let them grow". and this is honestly, not necessarily a bad decision. i think in the case of ace, it works mostly well because of the "let children fly" line, and it could work in the case of the other companions as well... if it had been more explicitly brought home to the idea that the doctor is not good for their companions,  like how i said in the post,  have the doctor say something to them like "i can't give you what you need / you neded to make your own rrrrooots, susannn" and have the companions be like "we still wouldn't have traded it for anything" or smth. even just having that with yaz, it would have been possible to make the connection to the others in the support group. [ps also from a different pov...  thinking the doctor never visits them again it's just kind of unbelievable if you've seen a min amount of EU stuff honestly 😅 . there's bajillion incarnations of the doctor running around, and logic suggest they'd have to have run into any of them at some point, esp because most of them would end up working in the cases the doctor works with (like ten running into SJ bc she was investigating an episode of the week... it was just bound to happen eventually, statistically speaking)] overall idk, i think it's not a bad stance to take necessarily (that 13 did not actually manage to internalize all the things she'd learned), 'cause character dev doesn't need to be a straight, upwards line to still be dev. but the feeling i get is that overall the writing was too committed to a "feel-good" vibe with 13, it didn't allow her to "get dirty" and problematize her actions, in the ways it seemed to be set up many times.

[ragingbookdragon]

Finding Love In The Louvre

A Bruce Wayne x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.2K Warnings: None

Author's Note: An old story I edited! Enjoy the fluff! -Thorne

The day started as it usually did, her standing by the elevator, waiting for the doors to open so she could hand him his coffee and explain his schedule. Sure enough, the doors opened at eight A.M. on the dot, and he stepped out, briefcase in one hand, phone in the other. He shoved his phone in his pocket, accepting the outstretched coffee she held. He moved quickly, but she kept pace.

“Good morning Mr. Wayne.” He hummed in return, taking a sip of the coffee; she paid no mind, continuing with, “So today you have a board meeting in room one-forty-two,” His mouth opened to complain, but she held up a hand, silencing him, “I can’t put it off any longer, I’ve already tried.” He grumbled in return, causing her to smile lightly as she kept speaking.

“That starts in an hour, and it should end at eleven. I recommend after that you go and check with Lucius about the gala coming up while I order lunch. I should have that ready by twelve-fifteen, then the rest of the day is paperwork and the occasional friendly visit with the office workers.”

By the time she was done, he was taking a seat at his desk, shifting papers around. She stood with her tablet in one hand, the other propped on her hip. “Anything you need me to do before I go sit down?”

He handed her a sheet while he looked at the monitor, waiting for the retina scanner to start. “Fax that to Gotham Academy, if you would.”

She took it, looking it over before asking, “This for Damian’s field trip to the Louvre?” He nodded, and she murmured, “I still can’t believe you managed to talk the headmaster into letting you fly his class to France for a couple days.” She eyed him over the top of the paper. “You know you’re going to have to go, right? You got the trip allowed. It’d look bad on your part if you didn’t go.”

He finally looked over at her, a curious sparkle in his eyes. “Have you ever been to France, (Y/N)?”

She tipped her head side to side. “If you count a plane ride over France while on the way to Holland, then yes. But have I been to France? No.”

Bruce leaned back in his seat, hands curling around the arm rests of his seat. “Do you want to go?”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “And keep an eye on a group of rambunctious teenagers? Uh…no. I already have enough trouble keeping your group in check.” Bruce gave a laugh at her words, but she followed with, “But if you need me to go with Damian, I can work it into the schedule.” He nodded, and she tapped at her screen. “Alright, I’ll fax the paperwork with our information for travel.” She turned, making her way to her desk when his voice reached her.

“Wait! Our inform—I’m going too?”

She simply threw a thumbs up, sitting at her desk.

***

She settled into the cushioned seat, a sigh of relief slipping through her lips.

An amused voice sounded beside her, “Getting comfortable (Y/N)?”

She hummed, pushing the button to recline her seat. “Eight hours in first class? Are you kidding me? Of course, I’m getting comfortable.” Bruce grinned, settling into his seat the same as her. She watched him groan as he lifted his legs, stretching them out.

A knowing tone came up and she said, “I told you not to wear hard-bottomed shoes. You should’ve gone with sneakers.”

“Why do you enjoy torturing me, (Y/N)?”

She laughed at his words, looking over at him. “I tell you not to do things and you do them anyway. It’s not hard to find the chastising humor in it.” Bruce opened his mouth to reply, but it was cut off by a small huff, and they both looked over, seeing his youngest son collapsing into a seat beside them. (Y/N) reached over, gently caressing the top of his head. “Don’t want to hang around with the simpletons anymore, Damian?”

He nodded and closed his eyes, curling up in the seat. “I have never met a group of kids more idiotic than my class.” His eyes flew open, and he leaned across the arm rest, a sneer on his face. “Just last week, that troglodyte Trevor made a comment so ridiculous, even his reasoning was absurd.”

(Y/N) nodded and asked, “What’d he say?”

Damian scoffed and replied, “He said that he wanted to be like Achilles because he looked cool.” She waved a hand for him to continue. “So, I said, ‘Really, you want to be a man that throws a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way?’ And this fool had the audacity to look at me like I had just asked him-”

His rant was cut off by Bruce, who said, “Damian, enough.”

Damian rolled his eyes whispering, “I cannot stand how stupid they are.”

(Y/N) snorted, leaning close and telling him, “Give them a chance, Damian.” The look he gave her made her wish she’d had a camera, and she continued with, “You have to remember, these people haven’t been schooled like you have. You’re more advanced than the average thirteen-year-old. They’re still learning how to switch classes without a teacher escorting them.”

Damian leaned back, a look of thought on his face, then he retorted, “They are still stupid.”

(Y/N) reached over, handing him a book. “Here kiddo. Keep yourself occupied.”

He took the book, flipping it over. “What is this, ‘Hell Divers’ about?” (Y/N) popped a cracker in her mouth, pointing to the back. He read it silently, then made a motion to hand it back. “Doesn’t look interesting.”

(Y/N) swallowed and put another cracker in her mouth, shifting it to the side of her cheek with her tongue as she pushed the book back. “I brought the whole series.” She grinned at him, holding up the set. “I bet you can’t read the entire thing by the time we land.”

Damian scowled, snatching the books from her, and opening the first one. She gave a satisfied smile and turned back to the front when she felt eyes on her. (Y/N) looked over, seeing Bruce staring at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She raised an eyebrow questioning, “What?”

He tipped his chin towards Damian. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Get him to read something he didn’t find interesting?”

(Y/N) reached over and condescendingly patted his arm. “The same way I get you to buy new suits every gala.”

Bruce looked at her in confusion. “And that way is?”

(Y/N) reclined in her seat, pulling her blanket up to her chin and pulling the eye mask down her eyes. “I tell you that someone there might be able to out dress you, and that spurs you to make sure you look the best.”

She couldn’t see him, but she could picture his face and arms as he pouted, “So you manipulate me?”

“With all the care and affection you need Mr. Wayne.” And that was all she said before rolling over and curling up and drifting off.

***

“And stay with your guides at all times! Chaperones, if you get lost or separated from your guide, you have Mr. Wayne and my cellphone numbers, please call, do not stay lost!” (Y/N) looked at the chaperones and guides. “Does everyone understand?” Cheers and nods came from all sides, and she waved them off. “Then be free! Curfew is at nine P.M.! Be there before nine, please! And be careful!” Her words fell on deaf ears as the groups dispersed, and she groaned lightly, rubbing her temples.

A hand rested on her lower back and she looked up, seeing Bruce smiling at her. “Don’t worry so much, (Y/N). Everyone will be fine.” She nodded, trusting his words, then he tipped his head to the side. “Damian’s hailed a cab. Let’s go hit the Louvre, then we’ll go to lunch.” She followed him to where Damian was holding the car door and slid inside.

***

The drive didn’t take long, and soon they were walking around the museum. Damian had wandered off, waving his hand, and saying, “I can handle myself.”

She and Bruce simply nodded, watching him go before they set off themselves. They walked around, observing the pieces, until (Y/N) saw a particular one. Her feet sunk into the ground and she stopped, staring at it in admiration.

Bruce glanced between them. “Nike?”

She nodded, telling him, “I remember learning about her in Humanities back in community college, but I never actually imagined ever seeing her.” (Y/N) paused, a calm look coming across her face. “Pictures don’t do her justice. She’s more impressive than I thought. And bigger.”

Bruce listened to her, then asked quietly, “Do you like art, (Y/N)?”

She tipped her head side to side. “Here and there. I like pieces that catch my eye or look interesting.” She glanced at him. “I really enjoy history and science museums.” (Y/N) reached over, nudging him in the side. “Maybe for the next fieldtrip, you can fly us to D.C., and we can hit the Smithsonian.” (Y/N) stepped away and nodded to the next room. “C’mon, let’s go to the next exhibit.”

He fell into step beside her and as they observed the next piece he murmured, “Would you like to go to the Smithsonian, (Y/N)?”

She half focused on his words, absentmindedly replying, “Whenever the next field trip comes up, sure.”

A gentle grip took her hand and she looked over, seeing a serene look in his eyes, and he asked, “No…would you like to go to the Smithsonian…with me?”

(Y/N) blinked, then gestured clumsily between them. “Like…just us?” He nodded and she clarified, “Me and you…together?” He nodded again, a smile accompanying it, and she couldn’t help but ensure, “No one else? Just…us?”

Bruce huffed a laugh, gently squeezing her hand. “Just us.”

(Y/N) felt her cheeks warm, and she looked down, mumbling, “Oh…I…I don’t know if the schedule is clear…”

Another squeeze followed by, “As the boss, I can clear any and all plans made.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, but she pushed it aside, glancing back at him, her eyes firm. “Are you being serious with me right now? You’re not pulling joke?”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed and he admitted, “I don’t actually know if I should be offended that you think I’m playing a joke or not, but to answer your question, no, I’m not pulling a joke.” He let go of her hand, trailing his fingers up her forearm, the other arm curling around her. “I’m being one-hundred percent serious.”

He gave her a smile, blue eyes shining. “I would like it if you spent the weekend with me in D.C.” He paused, lips pulling downwards as he added, “Or just spent the weekend with me. We don’t have to go anywhere…if we’re together, that’s all that matters to me. I just really want you—”

(Y/N) cut him off, pressing her lips to his cheek. He grinned at her, watching as she murmured, “I would love to go to D.C. with you, Bruce.” She pulled away, slipping out of his grip, and wandering off towards the next room. He stared at her back, heart thumping in his chest when a voice sounded below him.

“Took you long enough.” His mood soured, and he looked down, seeing Damian standing there, arms crossed over his chest.

“When did you get here?” He asked.

Damian glanced up at him and muttered, “Since the start of your embarrassing courting.” Bruce reached over and ruffled his hair, laughing at how Damian slapped his hand, a glare in his eyes.

“It wasn’t embarrassing.”

“Not to you. But the others were considering throwing up.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Others?”

Damian simply held up his phone, and Bruce looked into the eyes of his other sons who were returning his gaze, albeit smugly.

“So, (Y/N)’s finally gonna join the fray? Cool!”

A hand shoved Dick’s head aside, and Jason looked into the camera. “I’m seriously surprised it took you this long, old man. I mean, how long has she been your secretary? When Dick got there?”

A new voice picked up from the side, and Tim’s head squeezed into view. “Actually, (Y/N) was there before Dick got there. She was there when Bruce started working at W.E.”

Dick’s head shoved Jason’s aside, and his snarky grin appeared. “But the point is, nice going, Bruce! It’s only taken you like seventeen years to get her to go out with you! You must be one weird guy for it to take so long. Maybe it’s because—”

At this point, Bruce had grunted, turning on his heel and marching off after (Y/N). Dick sputtered through the camera, “Damian! Go after him! I haven’t finished explaining his problems!”

“There’s not enough time in the world to explain all the old man’s problems.”

“You’re one to talk, Jason.”

“I dare you to say that to my face replacement.”

Damian rolled his eyes, shutting off the phone and walking after his father, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

[barbarianprncess]

is there a reason you’re blushing like that !!!!

i actually loved writing this so thank you for the prompt!

forever house

read on ao3

or

“Mom, I’m home!” Percy calls distractedly into their apartment as he wrestles with his skateboard.

“Hi honey,”  Sally answers from the couch, and he can hear the smile in her voice when she says “There's a surprise for you in your bedroom.” He furrows his brow and hurries upstairs. He opens his bedroom door expecting cookies and is instead greeted with familiar blonde hair and a bed overrun with papers far too complicated to be his own. He can’t help the smile that overtakes his face at the sight of his girlfriend, still in her Catholic school uniform.

“Hey!” He leans over his bedspread being very careful not to wrinkle her designs to plant a kiss on her cheek. “How’s my favorite genius?”

“Hey Percy.” Annabeth is currently scrambling to get her papers in order, which he finds odd because usually when he calls her a genius she’ll smile and kiss him extra gently. And then she only needs a little prodding and he can get her to explain what she's working on. She gets this crinkle in the corner of her eyes when she talks about her projects and gesticulates wildly to get him to understand. It’s awesome.

But right now, Annabeth is beet red, eyes manic, and piling papers with a vengeance. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening but Annabeths got this look in her eye- like one wrong move and she’s gonna bolt. “What’re you working on?”

“Nothing!” She says voice cracking in a way that clues him in on the fact that the subject of her stress but her work. Which Percy finds ridiculous because he may not understand the nuanced and complicated world of design, but Annabeth’s smarter than anyone, she’ll figure whatever it is out. Annabeth gets like this sometimes- ADHD fixation and her need for perfection is a combo that doesn’t mix well and in the months that they’ve been dating, there have been more than a few times when Percy had to loosen her fistes curled around her designs in frustration, and talk her down from a panic attack because Apollo didn’t love his statue. Percy hates that her work does that to her, but he likes taking care of her.

“Annabeth,” He says slowly, hands already positioned to relieve her of the designs that she managed to wrangle in her lap, but she bats them away.

“No, no it's not- I’m not.” She looks up at him and her eyes soften at his concern. “I’m fine, seriously I’m not stuck on anything.” Percy raises his eyebrows skeptically.

“Sooo… is there a reason you’re blushing like that?” Annabeth's hands fly up to her neck as if she can stop the flush of her skin from the outside. Which is a mistake on her part because Percy immediately grabs the blueprint she was so desperately trying to hide. She lunges for it, causing the remaining papers to fall forgotten on the floor, but Percy's growth spurt, along with the angle she’s sitting on his bed, makes it so he’s able to keep her at bay.

“Percy!! Give it back, oh my gods, I’m gonna kill you!” He’s heard that before and he’s still breathing so, he takes his chances. He makes out the words “Forever House: Annabeth Chase”, and a vague sketch of what looks like a shoreline. He catches Montauk and something about support beams when Annabeth finally succeeds in snatching the paper from him. She’s flushing even harder now, and her hands are covering her face.

“Which of the gods are asking for a forever house?” He laughs until he notices Annabeth shaking her head and she lets out a muffled ‘none of ‘em’ from behind her hands.

“Hey, hey Annabeth.” He says softly poking at her sides and pinching at her cheeks (he gets mostly fingers because she’s still covering her face but, all the better to grab her hands with). She sighs and lets him take her hands and sit on the edge of the bed, still not meeting his eyes. He squeezes the fingers in his grasp, a silent promise not to make fun of her, and she takes a deep breath and forces out an explanation.

“Well, a couple weeks ago, while I was waiting for you to get out of school, me and your mom talked for a while and she mentioned some of your trips to Montauk and how much you loved them, and we were looking at pictures and she mentioned how you always said you wanted to live there, right on the beach when you got older, and inspiration kinda struck and I started sketching out your hypothetical beach house. And I guess subconsciously, your beach house became a version of…. the forever house.”

Now, Percy’s heard of the hypothetical ‘forever house’ before. Annabeth had told him once about her favorite theoretical place, created when she was little. Having lost every person and place she was told to call home, caused a deep distrust for anywhere she lived in the future. (He doesn’t blame her, he’s not sure he could ever trust anything if he went through what she went through before Luke turned to Kronos- let alone everything she went through after.) So to cope, in her head she’d design a house that she’d build when she was older- now known as the forever house. She told him she daydreamed about building it, how it’d be open and bright with huge windows so she’d never feel alone again. But, despite its openness, it’d be sturdy and rooted in place. The design and location changed over time but it always had big windows and it was always immobile. And no matter what happend, that house would be her ‘something permanent’. Her forever house.

As what she was saying registered, Percy’s smile grew impossibly wide. Annabeth must’ve assumed he was laughing at her and deflated. “I know, it’s stupid and creepy just forget it ok I didn’t mean-”

He let go of her hands as she rambled and cut her off with a kiss. He wasn’t sure how to articulate what he was feeling with words, so he let his body speak for him. His thumb swipes at her cheek (I’m sorry that you had to build a house in your head because the people that were supposed to love you didn’t, it wasn’t your fault, thank you for trusting me anyway), he runs fingers through her hair (It’s an honor to be a part of your future, I’m going to care about you, on purpose, for as long as you’ll let me), he tilts up her chin to deepen the kiss (I love you, all of you).  

When they part he rests his forehead on hers and allows himself a minute to be in awe of her. He learned a long time ago that Annabeth was brave. But after learning so many of the intimate details of her past, he thinks that her ability to love at all is an act of bravery. Everytime she tells him a secret, or holds his hand, or lets him walk through one of her walls is an act of rebellion. To love Annabeth is to be in awe of her relentless courage.  

“Thank you.” He whispers. He doesn’t clarify what for and she doesn’t ask. She just smiles something small and says, “You’re welcome.”

He kisses her forehead because he can and half-laughs out, “You made me a house.”

“Ugh.” She buries her head in his shoulder bites at his collarbone in annoyance. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t, you love me, you know how I know?”

“I’m begging you to shut up.”

“Because you made me a house!” He says gleefully into her hair.

Annabeth shoves him back on the bed and he pulls her down with him. She half on top of him, face buried in his chest when she retorts,

“I made us a house.”

He hopes she doesn’t mind when his arms tighten around her. It’s instinct. And a necessity. And when he whispers i love you into her hair, it's a silent promise. A promise to do anything and everything possible to get them to that house one day. From the way she smiles into his shirt, she’s gonna do the same.

[never-rpg]

LIGHT ONE UP, LET ME BUM A SMOKE, STILL COMING DOWN, DRIPPING THROAT, I GOT ANOTHER MAN’S BLOOD ON MY CLOTHES, BUT IT AIN’T HIS FAULT.

I. The Other Place

His childhood wasn’t always an unhappy one–at least, it didn’t start out that way.

They were happy for a time: him; his mother, Alice; and father, Nathan Senior. Their overcrowded tenement house left much to be desired, but they could spend most of their time outside when the weather was kind. What was most important was they had each other. 

–That is, until one particular hot and sticky summer.

Sickness swept through Chicago like wildfire, raging through the slums with a ferocity Nate had never seen. He still remembers the piles of corpses that littered the cramped city streets, how the ash from the burning bodies lingered in the air and stung his nose. 

Along with many of their neighbors, this illness stole one more very important person from him: His loving mother.

Things only got worse from there. Nathan Sr learned to drown his grief in beer, and would often be found at the local saloon when he wasn’t working. Over time, his shifts at the railroad grew longer, and the payouts smaller. He became increasingly quick to anger, his rage igniting at the smallest of flints, dispelled only by a painful crack of his belt against his only son. Surely he was the cause of his anger. 

Over time, young Nate learned how to move soundlessly throughout the apartment. He found comfort in the shadows of the low sun that concealed his face and form, before nightfall cloaked him in darkness. It was the closest he could get to being invisible without vanishing completely. 

These evenings are how he met Fiona, the redheaded girl from down the street. She was his escape: the glowing street lamp in the dark and dirty slums they lived in. He loved to make her laugh, to pick flowers for her; anything to see her sparkling smile. She was his safe space, where they could play and and talk about anything that crossed their minds. 

When Peter found him, she was the first person he told–the only person he told, in fact.

“Meet me at midnight,” he had whispered. 

True to his word, the mysterious boy showed up at the stroke of midnight–but Fiona was nowhere in sight. Nate’s palms began to sweat. Had something happened? Maybe I should go look for her.

But there was no time: Peter said they had to hurry, and Nate knew he couldn’t risk his lucky shot at freedom. Maybe she just decided not to show up, Peter reasoned. Maybe the things she’d told him under the stars weren’t even true in the first place. Still, Nate’s hesitance prompted Peter to tell him they could come back for her someday. With a decisive nod, he allowed himself to be whisked away by the boy who shined in the night sky.

II. Neverland

The island was just as magical as Peter described. Sure, life on the island wasn’t always easy, but it was certainly better than what he left behind. Every day held something new, and no two "suns" were the same. Never once did he regret his decision to take the boy's hand and fly into the night.

Nate was someone who struggled with change, even in his youth, but he adjusted with time and Peter's guidance. He learned how to craft a bow and arrow from branches he found in the forest, practicing his aim on wild pigs and rabbits until his training landed them supper more often than not. It was both a hobby and a productive task, an opportunity to provide for the Boys and Peter after doing the same for him. His new friends dubbed him "Bandit," both because of his sharp-shooting, and because the first time he snuck onto a pirate's ship, he snatched them up a souvenir. To this day, he'll still swipe bits of food, rusty old daggers, or silly little trinkets that catch his eye when the occasion calls for it.

Memories of his old life drifted away, fragments rewritten with distance. It wasn’t long before the only pieces of his past life were the ones better left forgotten, sour as the stale scent of lager that lingered on his father’s breath. 

III. Fiona

Every now and then, however, he would be reminded of her. A peripheral glance at a ladybug, of how she would embroider the little spotted bugs on the inside of his shirt sleeves, would weigh like lead in his stomach. Her voice would lilt in a neglected corner of his mind, A stitch in time saves nine. He would ask Peter when they were going back for her, raw with renewed guilt. Peter would brush him off. Soon, he’d say, and Nate wouldn’t dare push him. Not with all he’d given him so far. 

About three years after first landing on the island (It was hard to tell time in this new world so he couldn't be sure – there wasn’t a calendar to mark the days, nor a clock to dictate how he spent his time), Peter finally made true on his promise. Nate wasn’t sure what inspired it, but he didn’t care. Fiona was here. She was home.

All was right in the world, and his loyalty for Peter soared. He gave it his all during their house sparring sessions. When they faced those sea dogs, he participated with renewed vigor. Gruesome acts would reward him with Peter’s praise, and he learned to hone his archery skills towards pirates instead of pigs. And most of all, he never failed to follow their leader’s rules. 

His loyalty to Peter hasn’t wavered, despite his falling out with Fiona. After all, this was where he belonged. The Lost Boys were his home. Peter saved him on that night all those years ago, and he would always, always be grateful. 

CONNECTIONS

✘ FIONA: last remaining connection to The Other Place and his former self ✘ DAVIE: friend, mutual bad influences, get each other intro trouble ✘ SAWYER: scoffs at, thinks the new kid is too soft for the pack ✘ FLETCHER: respects, fascinated by, taken aback by their friendliness

FACE CLAIM IS HERMAN TØMMERAAS | TAKEN

[skyemisc]

Deuce Spade Birthday SSR Story Translation

NRC Newspaper Interview: Birthday Interview Feature

~Deuce Edition~

Option: Happy birthday. What were your thoughts in the days leading to your birthday?

Deuce: Thank you! I’m happy to hear “Happy Birthday!” from so many people.

Deuce: But… Honestly it was a little nerve-wracking.

Deuce: I figured I was used to these kinds of celebrations thanks to the the Unbirthday parties…

Deuce: It’s really different when you’re the center of attention.

Deuce: Still, everyone put in a lot of effort for today, so I’ll enjoy it to the fullest!

Deuce: A lot of my favorite egg dishes were also made and I can’t wait to eat them.

Screen: You really enjoy egg dishes, huh.

Deuce: Yeah. I like both eating and cooking them.

Deuce: I used to think fried eggs were simple. Just put the eggs over heat, but when I did it myself, I found out that was more to it.

Deuce: Making an ideal sunny-side up egg was pretty challenging… Back in the day I practiced quite a bit.

Deuce: Oh, speaking of… A while ago, Clover-senpai and I got pretty into making different egg dishes!

Deuce: Talking about what would be good in omelets, and teaching me how to make a simple-to-make custard…

Deuce: I never talked about egg dishes that much before, so it was really fun.

Deuce: Well, Ace was nearby going “I don’t know understand this cooking gibberish” and looked bored out of his mind.

Deuce: When I learn the super special melt-in-your-mouth custard recipe, I wanna try making that next time.

Deuce: Once I get that down, I’ll tell you. Feel free to bring Grim too for a bite.

Episode 2:

Screen: What do you enjoy?

Deuce: I like riding on a Magical Wheel. Also, I like tinkering with machines.

Deuce: Mom’s hopeless with machines, so I was always the one setting up the different household electronics.

Deuce: Instead of reading the instructions, she’d reluctantly try it out herself. It was fun to watch.

Deuce: Well, apparently to the people around me, it seems that repairing and services appliances is more of a specialty than a hobby to me.

Deuce: Occasionally, people would come and bring broken appliances and it was kinda troubling. I’m not that skilled, honestly…

Deuce: Earlier, when I tried listening to music with the Dorm Lounge’s worn-out cassette player, it stopped working.

Deuce: You know the old saying to hit appliances to fix them? I jokingly hit it and it started playing again.

Deuce: Diamond-senpai just so happen to be nearby to see it…

Deuce: He went around and told people half-jokingly that “Deuce-chan’s hands caused a miracle!”

Deuce: Word started spreading and it became a huge thing. It even got to my friends at some point…

Deuce: I kept getting told “Wow, you can repair different machines? That’s cool!”. I’m at a loss…

Screen: What are you dreams for the future?

Deuce: To become a police officer. …Not just any division… I want to join the division specialized in anti-mage combat, which is said to be the cream of the crop even among police.

Deuce: I know getting into the trade won’t be easy, but I have no intention of giving up.

Deuce: For the sake of my future, I’m doing all I can while I’m here.

Deuce: Every single day, I practice magic, I practice flying, and I even review my lectures on top of that.

Deuce: I don’t exactly have the best test scores in class though. W-Well I guess I just have to do my best from now on.

Deuce: Also, what I’m putting my efforts most into simulating situations in my head!

Deuce: I’ll watch movies and dramas where the lead role is a police officer and study how they do investigations and catch the criminals.

Deuce: I’ve memorized how to look cool in a chase and what signature phrase they’ll say when arresting the bad guy.

Deuce: I’m all set, to go to a crime scene immediately, aren’t I?

Episode 3:

Screen: What do you normally do for fun?

Deuce: Recently I’ve been playing cards with my friends at the dorm a lot.

Deuce: I used to be so into magical wheels, so I wasn’t used to playing games with my friends. It was really fun.

Deuce: Otherwise, I’ll play different app games; like ones where you build towns or beat monsters.

Deuce: Oh yeah, a while ago there was a big thing going on in the dorm with puzzle games.

Deuce: You have to match the same colors and then it disappears. The rules are simple and it’s really entertaining.

Deuce: But more and more students came to join and stayed up late…

Deuce: Many wouldn’t wake up in time and Dorm Leader Rosehearts would get at the necks of a lot of the students…

Deuce: …Actually, I was one of them too. I got too into a showdown with Ace, I stayed up the whole night…

Deuce: Even after telling myself I’d take everything more seriously… I learned my lesson.

Deuce: Since then, I only allow myself to play games for one hour a day.

Screen: What do you do on your days off?

Deuce: I do a lot of physical training.

Deuce: Sometimes when I’m in the sports grounds, I end up training with Jack, who’s in the same club as me—the track and field club.

Deuce: Even if we start off practicing on our own, we end up getting competitive on reflex being close to each other on the field…

Deuce: I start out planning to do some light training but then it ends up like an all-out battle…

Deuce: On some days, I end up running over a few dozen laps before I come to my senses.

Deuce: By the end of it, we’ll both be tired and exhausted. Makes you wonder what exactly we’re doing on a day off, right?

Deuce: Oh, recently Epel’s been joining us too. He’s got a lot more guts than you’d expect from his appearance.

Deuce: …I’ve always liked riding around on Magical Wheels with my fellow comrades, and that goes for jogging too.

Deuce: Running with everyone versus by yourself is just so much more satisfying and gives the best feeling.

Deuce: Ah… B-But I do more than just training on my days off. I take care to study too!

Screen: Thank you for letting me listen to your stories. Once again, happy birthday!

[snidgetwidgeon]

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”