#crumpled chronicles

[desertfangs]

Items in the Suggestion Box at Court that Marius will definitely pretend he did not see: • Night Club Blood Rave like in Blade • Talent Show • Vampire Baseball

[pallases]

bro im so confused 😭 line sensing wasn’t working earlier in the week at first like the robot couldn’t even stay straight so i changed p control value from positive to negative and it was able to follow a straight line that way but then it got to a turn and ran into the wall and i thought hm maybe the p control value just isn’t big enough like it just can’t turn sharp/fast enough but now im back at it and it seems like it’s straight up turning in the opposite direction ??? but that doesn’t make sense bc the sign of the value was DEFINITELY the issue before like my robot was not responding right at All just nonsense movements and then i switched it to negative and bam straight line following like magic.. what is Going On

[onebadassunicorn]

The Way We Were

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, despair, death, suicide

word count: 4.1K

Taglist: @motheroffae @demon-master-zero @tele86 @batboyslutt @salvatoresister1 @callsign-midnight @angiieguevara @kk191327 @rcarbo1 @jennigsonl

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Image owned by Cece’s Bookart Chronicles.

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

********

Chapter 6

Azriel POV

The pain hit Azriel like a physical blow, sharp and searing, as if someone had driven a blade into his chest and twisted it. One moment, he was standing in Rhysand’s office, listening to your last message through the bond, and the next, it was gone—you were gone.

The bond snapped violently, leaving a hollow, aching void where it had once been. His knees buckled, and his screams echoed through the halls of the House of Wind, raw and unrelenting, each one a visceral cry of anguish that seemed to shake the very walls.

He was on his knees in Rhysand’s office, his wings limp and his hands clawing at the bond that no longer existed. His shadows flailed around him, wild and uncontrolled, as though they, too, were mourning the loss of something they could never retrieve.

“NO!” he wailed again, his voice breaking as he slammed his fist into the floor. Tears streamed down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “No, no, no! She can’t be gone!”

Rhys was beside him, his hands gripping Azriel’s shoulders tightly in an attempt to ground him. “Azriel,” he said, his voice firm but thick with his own grief. “You have to breathe. You—”

“I CAN’T!” Azriel roared, shoving Rhys’s hands away as his entire body trembled with the force of his despair. “She’s gone, Rhys! She’s gone!”

The door to the office burst open, and Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta rushed in, their faces pale and etched with alarm. The sound of Azriel’s cries had drawn them from every corner of the House, but nothing could have prepared them for the sight before them.

Azriel was crumpled on the floor, his usually composed and stoic demeanor completely shattered. His wings dragged limply behind him, his shadows a chaotic storm around his trembling frame. He clutched at his chest as though trying to hold himself together, but it was clear he was falling apart.

“Azriel?” Feyre’s voice was soft but trembling as she stepped closer, her violet eyes wide with concern.

Rhys glanced at her, his expression grim and heavy. “She’s gone,” he said quietly, the words seeming to weigh down the entire room.

“What do you mean?” Cassian demanded, his hazel eyes darting between Rhys and Azriel. “What the hell is going on?”

Rhys took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he prepared to deliver the news. “Y/n was on a mission,” he began, his voice low but steady. “A dangerous one. Undercover in the Hewn City. She volunteered because...” He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Azriel, who let out another broken sob. “Because she thought she had the least to lose.”

Feyre gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Why didn’t we know? Why didn’t she—”

“She asked me not to tell anyone,” Rhys said, his tone filled with regret. “She wanted it to be her mission, and she didn’t want anyone else involved. I respected her wishes.”

Nesta’s usually stoic face crumpled as she took a step back, her hand gripping the edge of the desk for support. “She was my friend,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”

Cassian staggered, his hand gripping the back of a chair as he tried to process the words. “Like a sister,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “She was like a sister to me. And now—” He broke off, shaking his head as tears streamed down his face.

Feyre knelt beside Azriel, her own tears falling freely as she reached out to him. “Azriel, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t seem to hear her. His entire world had narrowed to the overwhelming, suffocating pain that consumed him. “She was my mate,” he choked out, his voice barely audible. “And I didn’t tell her. I didn’t... I let her think she didn’t matter.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and crushing.

Nesta turned away, covering her face with her hands as silent sobs wracked her body. Cassian moved to her side, his expression torn between his own grief and the need to comfort her.

Rhys stayed close to Azriel, his hand resting on his friend’s shoulder even as Azriel continued to wail and sob, the sound raw and unending.

“She didn’t know,” Azriel whispered brokenly, his head falling into his hands. “She didn’t know how much I loved her. How much I needed her. She thought... she thought she wasn’t enough.”

Feyre’s tears fell harder, and even Rhys’s composure began to crack as he looked down at the male who had always been their steady, unshakable spymaster.

But Azriel was inconsolable.

Each passing moment only seemed to deepen his despair, the bond’s absence a constant, agonizing reminder of what he had lost. He had waited too long, taken too much for granted, and now he was left with nothing but regret and the hollow shell of what might have been.

Hours passed, but Azriel didn’t move from the floor of Rhys’s office. His sobs gradually quieted into a haunting silence, but the devastation in his eyes remained.

He was a shadow of himself—broken, lost, and hollow.

The Inner Circle tried to help, tried to pull him from the depths of his grief, but Azriel remained unreachable, his heart and soul shattered beyond repair.

The days that followed were a blur. Azriel withdrew completely, retreating to his room and refusing to see anyone. His once-pristine appearance became disheveled, his usually sharp amber eyes dull and lifeless.

He stopped training, stopped flying, stopped eating unless someone forced him to. His shadows, once lively and alert, now moved sluggishly around him, as if they, too, were mourning.

A few days later, Rhys approached Azriel in his room, his usual commanding presence softened by grief. In his hand, he held a sealed letter.

“She left this,” Rhys said quietly, holding it out to Azriel before turning and letting Azriel read the letter in private.

Azriel hesitated, his hands trembling as he took the letter. The parchment was soft under his fingertips, your handwriting familiar even before he broke the seal.

He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words as tears blurred his vision.           

_________________________________________________________

Azriel,

If you’re reading this, then it means I didn’t make it back.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry for the pain of the physical break in the mating bond will cause you, even if you might believe I wasn’t worth that grief. I don’t know how to start this letter, because there’s so much I want to say, and I never had the courage to say it when I was alive.

The bond snapped for me years ago. I felt it, clear as day, like a thread tying me to you in a way I couldn’t explain, a way I never expected. I wanted to tell you so many times, Azriel. But how could I, when I saw how happy you seemed with her? How could I stand in the way of something that brought you even a flicker of light in the darkness I know you carry?

I convinced myself that it didn’t matter. That my feelings didn’t matter. You were smiling, laughing more than I’d ever seen you, and I thought I could be content just watching you find that happiness—even if it wasn’t with me.

But then everything started to change.

Slowly, so slowly, I began to lose you.

Do you remember how we used to go down to the Sidra and people-watch for hours? You’d tell the most ridiculous stories about strangers’ lives, and I’d try to one-up you with something even more absurd. It always made me laugh, even on the hardest days. And flying—Azriel, those moments meant everything to me. Feeling the wind rushing past us, knowing you were the one carrying me. I felt safe with you in a way I never felt with anyone else.

But you started doing those things with her. I’d catch glimpses of you and Elain by the Sidra, her laughter ringing out like it belonged in another world. I saw the way you looked at her when you took her flying, the way your shadows wrapped around her protectively. I tried to convince myself it didn’t hurt, but it did. Every time I saw you with her, it felt like another piece of me was slipping away.

And yet, I couldn’t be angry at you. You were just being you—kind, thoughtful, devoted. I couldn’t hate you for loving someone else, even as it tore me apart.

I missed you, Azriel.

I missed us.

I missed the way you used to look at me, the way you used to confide in me. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being the person you turned to, and that was the hardest thing to accept. You were my best friend, my anchor, my everything, and I didn’t know how to tell you that without making it all worse.

I thought if I could just bury my feelings deep enough, if I could put on a brave face, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

But it did.

It hurt more than I can put into words.

And then, that night in Rhys’s office... when I saw you at the door, and I felt the bond snap for you... Azriel, I wanted to believe it would change something. That maybe, just maybe, it meant I mattered to you the way you’ve always mattered to me.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just walked away, and I told myself it was because I wasn’t enough.

I’m sorry if that sounds cruel. I don’t mean it to. But it’s the truth I’ve lived with for so long—that I was never enough for you. Not as your friend, not as your mate, not as anything.

I hope you find someone who makes you truly happy, Azriel. Someone who gives you all the love you deserve, who stands by your side in a way I never could. I hope you fly with them, laugh with them, and find the peace you’ve always been searching for.

And maybe, in another life, things will be different.

Maybe then, I’ll have the courage to tell you all of this in person.

Maybe then, you’ll see me the way I’ve always seen you.

But for now, this is goodbye.

Please don’t blame yourself for what happened.

I made my choices because I wanted to protect the people I love—you most of all.

Be happy, Azriel.

For me.

With all my love,

Y/n

______________________________________________

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, the letter trembling in his hands as he read it again.

And again.

The words blurred as tears filled his amber eyes, but he couldn’t stop himself from tracing every line, every word, as if reading it enough times might bring you back.

But you were gone.

The bond—his bond—was gone.

That thread, that fragile, miraculous connection he hadn’t even realized he wanted so desperately until it was too late, had been severed.

And with it, the one person who had truly seen him, understood him, was lost forever.

He felt it like a gaping wound in his chest, an emptiness that nothing could fill. He had never truly believed in the idea of a mate completing someone until that moment, when your absence hollowed him out entirely. It wasn’t just grief—it was despair, sharp and suffocating, pulling him under like a riptide.

At one point, Azriel had thought it made sense—the idea of three sisters for three brothers. Feyre and Rhys were perfect for each other, bound by a love so fierce it was almost enviable. Nesta and Cassian had a bond that burned just as brightly, full of fire and passion. It had seemed logical, hadn’t it? That the third Archeron sister, quiet and gentle Elain, would fall to him, the shadowed and silent brother.

He’d told himself it was what he wanted, that the Mother had crafted a perfect symmetry in their lives. He had tried to convince himself that the softness of Elain would soothe the darkness inside him, that her kindness would balance the weight of his shadows. But now, sitting in the suffocating quiet of his room, he saw how stupid, how utterly foolish, that idea had been.

The letter crumpled slightly in his fists, and he clutched it tighter, his wings curling around him as if he could shield himself from the pain. His shadows writhed around him, erratic and desperate, searching for something they couldn’t find.

Searching for you.

He hadn’t realized how much he relied on you until now, when you were gone and the memories came crashing down, one after another, like daggers.

He thought of the mornings by the Sidra, sitting with you in the sunlight as you both sipped tea and watched the city come to life. Your laugh had been brighter than any star, your smile the only thing that could pull him out of his darkest thoughts. You’d nudge him with your elbow, challenging him to come up with the most ridiculous backstory for the people passing by. And he always did, just to hear that laugh again.

He thought of the times he’d taken you flying, the way you’d grip his shoulders tightly at first but then relax as you trusted him to keep you safe. You’d shout at him to go higher, faster, your joy infectious, and he had never felt more at peace than when you were with him.

He thought of your training sessions, your sharp wit and competitive spirit pushing him in ways no one else could. You’d smirk when you managed to best him, and he’d laugh, genuinely laugh, because with you, he could let his guard down.

And then, slowly, those memories began to twist.

He hadn’t even realized when he started to pull away from you. It had been so gradual, so unintentional, that he hadn’t seen it until it was too late.

The mornings by the Sidra became mornings with Elain. He thought of all the times he had taken Elain to the Sidra, convincing himself it was right, that it was fate. And yet, those moments had felt hollow, empty. They had lacked the spark, the warmth, that came so effortlessly with you. He hadn’t noticed, at the time, how he’d stopped inviting you to join him.

The flights he once cherished with you became flights with Elain. He thought of the flights he had shared with her, how her timid grip on his shoulders had never felt like home the way yours had. How he had been so blind, so lost in a fantasy of what he thought his life should look like, that he hadn’t realized what he was sacrificing. It hadn’t felt the same, but he’d told himself it didn’t matter.

Even the training sessions shifted. He had tried to convince Elain to train with him, his gentle coaxing a stark contrast to the fiery banter he had shared with you. He thought he was helping her, thought he was doing something good, but now he could see how he had pushed you aside without even realizing it.

And the whole time, you had been there, watching him, hurting silently while he drifted further away.

Yet - it had always been you.

His perfect match.

His mate.

The thought hit him like a physical blow, and he doubled over, clutching the letter tighter to his chest as his shadows writhed in agitation around him. He saw it now with agonizing clarity—the way you had always been there, the way you had made him laugh when he didn’t think he could, the way your presence had brought him a comfort he had never been able to put into words.

He had spent so much time chasing a dream that wasn’t real, blind to the fact that the thing he had always hoped for—the thing he had needed—had been right in front of him all along.

The one thing he had dreamed of since the darkest days of his youth, since those endless nights of pain and loneliness, was a mate to call his own. Someone to choose him, to see him, to love him despite the scars on his hands and soul. And when the Mother finally gave him that gift, she ripped it away before he could do anything about it.

His hands shook as he read your letter again, your words cutting into him like a blade.

“The bond snapped for me years ago.”

Years.

You had known for years, and he hadn’t seen it.

He hadn’t seen you.

He had been so caught up in the idea of Elain, so consumed by his own insecurities and fears, that he had let you slip away without even realizing it.

Azriel’s chest ached as he remembered the last time he saw you in Rhys’s office, the way your eyes had met his when the bond snapped for him. He had been so shocked, so panicked, that he had done nothing. He had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of what it would mean, too unsure of how to fix what he had already broken.

Now, he would never get the chance.

The Mother had taken you from him before he could tell you how much you meant to him. Before he could say that he loved you—not as a friend, not as a partner in battle, but as the one person who had ever truly mattered to him.

Azriel let out a broken sob, his wings drooping as his shadows curled tightly around him like they were trying to hold him together.

But they couldn’t.

Nothing could.

Azriel leaned back against the wall, clutching the letter to his chest as tears streamed silently down his face. The memory of your laughter, your smile, your voice played over and over in his mind like a cruel echo. He could almost hear you teasing him, could almost feel the warmth of your presence beside him.

And now you were gone.

The thought was unbearable, and a choked sob escaped his throat as he doubled over, clutching the letter to his chest. His shadows surged around him, frantic and chaotic, as if they, too, were mourning.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling and broken. “I’m so sorry.”

But his apology would never reach you.

You would never hear the words he had been too afraid to say.

You would never know that you had been his everything, even when he was too blind to see it.

Azriel sat there for hours, the letter still clutched in his hands, as memories of you played over and over in his mind. He thought of your laughter, your smile, the way you had always been there for him, even when he didn’t deserve it. And he thought of your words, the way you had poured your heart into that letter, even as you prepared to face the possibility of never coming back.

“Maybe in the next life, things will be different.”

The words haunted him, wrapping around his heart like a vice.

Azriel didn’t know how to live without you.

The bond was gone, and with it, the piece of himself he had only just begun to understand.

He felt incomplete, untethered, and utterly alone.

And in the darkest moments of the night, when the world was silent and his shadows were still, Azriel whispered your name into the void, hoping—praying—that somehow, somewhere, you could hear him.

But you didn’t come.

And the emptiness inside him grew.

Azriel stood on the balcony one night, the cold wind whipping through his hair and biting at his skin. The city below was peaceful, the lights of Velaris glittering like stars. It should have comforted him, but it didn’t.

Nothing did.

He reached out to the bond, or what remained of it—the frayed, severed edges that had once tied him to you.

There was nothing there now, no warmth, no spark.

Just silence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. For everything. For not choosing you when I had the chance. For not being there when you needed me. For failing you.”

His wings trembled as he stared into the vast expanse of darkness beyond the city. He thought of you—your smile, your laughter, the way you had always looked at him like he was more than the broken boy he saw in himself. You had given him everything, and he had given you nothing but pain.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist, where every breath felt like a reminder of the love he had lost.

Azriel stepped to the edge of the balcony, as the wind howled around him. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with memories of you—your voice, your touch, your light.

The cold night air rushed past Azriel as he stepped off the edge of the balcony, the wind tearing at his hair and wings as he fell. He didn’t open them. He didn’t even try.

For centuries, his wings had been his salvation, carrying him above the pain and shadows that weighed on his soul. But now, they remained tightly folded, useless against the crushing despair that consumed him.

The city below blurred into darkness, the glittering lights of Velaris fading as his tears streamed down his face, freezing against his skin. He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything but the emptiness where you used to be.

The bond was gone.

You were gone.

And with you had gone the last piece of himself that mattered.

His shadows swirled around him, frantic and restless, as if trying to catch him, to slow his descent. But even they seemed to falter, as if they, too, understood that nothing could save him now.

The world around him seemed to fade, and all he could think of was you. Your laugh, the way it used to fill the silence and make him believe, for a fleeting moment, that he wasn’t so broken. The way you’d look at him during your walks by the Sidra, your eyes bright with life and mischief. The way you had always been there for him, always seen him, even when he had been too blind to see you in return.

He clutched the memory of you like a lifeline, his mind replaying the words of your letter over and over again.

“Maybe in the next life, things will be different.”

The wind screamed in his ears, but it couldn’t drown out your voice, couldn’t erase the ache of your absence.

“In the next life,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he let his body fall faster, surrendering to the pull of the darkness below. “I’ll find you. And I’ll choose you. Every time.”

The stars above seemed to blur into streaks of light, and his tears mixed with the wind as he let the weight of his grief consume him. He didn’t try to stop it, didn’t try to fight.

Because a world without you wasn’t a world he wanted to live in.

As the ground rushed up to meet him, Azriel’s final thought was of you—your smile, your warmth, your love.

The love he had ignored, the love he had only just begun to understand when it was ripped away.

As the darkness closed in, and with it came the faintest flicker of hope.

The hope that somewhere, in the next life, he would find you again.

And this time, he would choose you.

Every time.

*********************

Y'all - It hurt me to write this but I’ve always wrote happy endings and wanted to try my hand at writing some tragedy and expand my writing beyond just the “happily ever after.”

I hope you all enjoyed it and I will definitely have more Azriel, Cassian and some Lucien coming within the next day or so. I promise they will be happier endings with some smut…although I may try another tragedy as well.  :)

Thanks for reading my fics and leaving your comments and re-blogs! 

I truly appreciate all you!

[austinswife]

DADA’S GIRL - Austin Butler

FROM SERIES — THE BUTLER FAMILY CHRONICLES

SYNOPSIS — Ever since Austin found out you were expecting a baby girl, he took it upon himself to handle the important task of dropping off and picking up Wren from school. Being the loving and protective dad he is, Austin never misses the opportunity to be there for his little girl. But today, as Austin preps for a special dinner, you pick Wren up from kindergarten instead. Things take a playful twist when some overly eager fans try to approach you, with a few even attempting to flirt with you. Wren, with her usual sass and fierce protectiveness over her mom and dad, handles the situation in her own way, causing a proud moment for Austin when you get home.

WARNING(S) — Family fluff, cute interactions, and a few playful, light-hearted moments, minor references to flirting, but all handled with innocence and humor from Wren’s perspective.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

Morning in the Butler household was always a gentle rush. Austin had woken up bright and early, like he always did, to make breakfast for you and Wren before she went to kindergarten. The smell of freshly made waffle filled the air, mingling with the sound of Wren’s little feet pattering against the hardwood floor as she rushed to her chair at the table.

You smiled, sitting down with your cup of coffee, watching as Austin brought over a plate of waffle with a little smiley face made out of syrup on Wren’s plate. He sat beside her, his eyes twinkling as he watched her dig in with excitement.

“You excited for your first day at school, sweetie?” he asked, brushing a blonde stray curl out of her face.

Wren nodded enthusiastically, her mouth full of waffle. “Mhm! I wanna play with the toys and see new friends!”

You and Austin exchanged a smile, your hearts both swelling with pride and a little bit of that bittersweet feeling that came with watching your little girl grow up so fast.

“She’s going to be just fine,” you reassured Austin, who had been extra protective ever since you’d found out you were pregnant with Wren. He’d insisted, from that very moment, that it would be his job to drop her off and pick her up from school. He couldn’t bear the thought of missing any of those milestones.

Austin chuckled, but there was a trace of emotion behind his voice. “I know, I know. I just can’t believe how quickly time’s flying.” He turned to Wren. “You ready for dada to drop you off at school?”

“Yesss mama!” she beamed, her syrupy hands in the air.

The morning drop-off had gone smoothly, like always. Austin waved goodbye to Wren as she confidently toddled into her classroom, her little backpack bouncing behind her. She gave him a big, gap-toothed grin over her shoulder before disappearing into her world of finger-painting and story-time.

With the day free, Austin decided to plan something special for dinner. He was feeling inspired, and since you’d been working extra hard on a film project lately, he wanted to surprise you with a home-cooked, fancy meal. So, as he spent the afternoon prepping ingredients in the kitchen, you took the chance to swing by the school to pick up Wren, giving Austin more time to focus on the surprise.

The afternoon sun was warm as you stood outside Wren’s kindergarten classroom, waiting with the other parents for school to end. The school bell rang, and before long, the classroom door opened, releasing a flood of giggling children, including your sweet little Wren, who ran straight to you with her arms wide open.

“Mamaaa!” she squealed, throwing herself into your arms.

You laughed and hugged her tight. “How was school, baby? Did you have fun?”

“Mhm! I made a picture for you and Dada!” she exclaimed proudly, pulling a crumpled drawing from her backpack. It was full of colorful scribbles that vaguely resembled a family portrait—you, Austin, and Wren holding hands in front of what appeared to be your house.

“Oh wow, this is beautiful,” you cooed, kissing her cheek. “I’m sure Dada’s going to love it very much, hon.”

As you were getting ready to leave, with Wren holding your hand, a group of young guys approached. At first, you didn’t think much of it—they seemed to recognize you from one of your recent roles, offering polite greetings. But soon, a few of them began to hover closer than necessary, clearly hoping for more than just a casual chat.

One of them reached out toward your arm with a cocky grin. “You’re even prettier in person,” he remarked, his tone a little too smooth for comfort.

Before you could react, Wren, with all the sass a two-year-old could muster, stomped her foot, glaring at the stranger. “Hey! Don’t touch what Dada’s!” she snapped, her voice full of toddler indignation.

The men blinked in surprise, taken aback by the fierce little girl standing protectively in front of you. You bit back a laugh, too charmed by your daughter’s loyalty to be annoyed.

You knelt down to Wren’s level, squeezing her hand gently. “Let’s go home, sweetheart. Dada’s waiting for us, and he’s making something yummy for dinner.”

Wren, still glaring at the guys, huffed. “Yeah! My Dada’s waiting!”

The men, realizing they were no match for a two-year-old’s determination, sheepishly backed off, offering quick goodbyes before disappearing down the street.

You couldn’t help but smile as you picked Wren up and carried her to the car. She wrapped her arms around your neck, leaning her head on your shoulder as you buckled her into her car seat.

“You’re so brave, Wren,” you said, still giggling to yourself as you started the car.

“I know,” she replied matter-of-factly, already distracted by her drawing. “Dada always says to protect you, Mama!”

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling at the thought of how protective Austin had always been of both you and Wren.

As you drove home, you asked Wren about her first day at kindergarten, and she happily chattered about the new toys she’d played with, the new friends she’d made, and how one of the boys in her class shared his snack with her.

“Did you have fun?” you asked as you turned onto your street.

“Yeah! But I missed Dada… and you!” she added quickly, her big eyes looking at you through the rearview mirror.

You couldn’t help but feel a little twinge in your heart at her words, but you smiled softly. “We missed you too, baby.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, you could already smell the delicious aroma of whatever Austin had been cooking up. Wren wiggled excitedly in her seat as you unbuckled her and led her inside.

The house was warm and inviting, and in the kitchen, Austin was busy setting the table, a proud grin on his face as he saw you both walk in. “There are my girls,” he said, his voice full of love as he scooped Wren up into his arms and kissed her cheek.

“Dada!” Wren squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, bug,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “How was your day at school?”

Before Wren could launch into her story, you touched Austin’s arm, trying to hide your grin. “Oh, before I forget… you might want to hear what your daughter said earlier.”

Austin’s brow quirked in curiosity. “Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

You stifled a laugh and explained, “When I picked her up, a few guys tried to come over and talk to me, and one of them even tried to touch my arm.”

Austin’s eyes immediately flickered with protectiveness, his hold on Wren tightening just a little. “They what?”

You held up a hand, still smiling. “Before I could say anything, Wren piped up and told them, ‘Don’t touch what Dada’s!’ in her sassiest little voice.”

Austin stared at you for a moment, processing the story, before a wide grin spread across his face. He threw his head back and laughed, full of pride. “That’s my girl!”

Wren beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Yeah! They were trying to touch Mama, but I told them no!”

Austin hugged her tightly, still grinning. “That’s right, bug. You protect Mama, always.”

After a few more proud comments, Austin set Wren down and told her to wash her hands for dinner. You watched her dash off to the bathroom, still smiling at how much she was like her dad.

Once Wren was seated at the table, you all dug into the delicious meal Austin had prepared—perfectly roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, along with a small dessert of chocolate mousse for afterward. Wren, with her little hands clasped together, kicked her feet under the table as she munched on her food.

“So, bug,” Austin said, his voice soft and full of warmth. “Tell me about your first day at school. Did you have fun?”

Wren nodded excitedly, launching into her innocent, toddler version of the day’s events. “I made a picture for you and Mama, and I played with the blocks, and a boy gave me his snack ‘cause he said he liked my braids.”

Austin exchanged a glance with you, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Wren nodded earnestly. “Mhm! But I told him my Dada makes the best snacks.”

Austin chuckled, his chest swelling with pride again. “That’s right, baby. No one makes snacks like your Dada.”

As dinner wound down and the night drew on, you watched as Austin scooped Wren up and carried her upstairs for bed, the two of them whispering and giggling together like they always did.

It was moments like this, these quiet, everyday moments, that reminded you just how lucky you were. Austin wasn’t just an incredible actor; he was the most devoted husband and father you could have ever hoped for. And with Wren in his arms, safe and sound, you knew that everything in your world was exactly as it should be.

[haveihitanerve]

i forgot some so here they are!!!

(thanks @originalwinnercheesecake for reminding me of these💗💗)

faints when he firsts sees the plague victims which allows his wife to comfort gregor

is a great soldier

comforts nerissa

Reasons why York is my absolute fav Underlander extra character

His name is fucking York

canonically says fuck

is also canonically seven feet tall (this is important for many reasons but the main two are 1-hes fucking tall, and 2- he can comfortably look ripred the fucking raging rat in the eye)

hes exasperated when he learns howard didnt go home

allows nibblers to stay at the fount

comforts luxa when she asks for aurora

gives Gregor the Dad-glare when he says he and ares can take her home

smooths away luxa's hair

is literally the last line of defense with ripred when saving the nibblers

fights alongside fucking RIPRED without batting an eye or giving a shit which like- kudos man and it probably infuriated ripred so even more kudos

grunts when gregor says hello which makes perdita roll her eyes and introduce him

helps luxa to govern after the war

has the balls to actively ignore ripred

uses a broadsword and cuts rats in FUCKING HALF

is just genuinely a good uncle and i wish we saw more of him instead of fuckwit Hamnet but whatever

[arc-tu-rus]

OC Deep Dive: Mina Mészáros

What common/uncommon fear do they have? Fear of RATS. Their experience on the trenches made them see things ranging from the creatures stealing food to eating injured soldiers alive. Needless to say dealing with the Nosferatu is always a struggle.

Do they have any pet peeves? More serious than just a pet peeve, but people who think they can mess with other people's lives. It happened enough in the past and still does, wether by elders or just daring ancillae, and it's enough to stain impressions.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? 1. Her Steyr is always close, even if by the bedside. Some may call it extreme or paranoid, but it's readiness and attachment in equal measure. 2. Crumpled letters from decades past by her vanity desk. 3. A matryoshka doll that looks like her; an old friend used it to smuggle a pen drive with important information, and she kept it as a token. Vampires are creatures stuck in time, and Mina is especially nostalgic.

What do they notice first in a person? They won't judge looks, everyone comes from different backgrounds and chooses to live differently, but one thing they notice is how polite others are. It doesn't matter if it's in a formal tone or more casual, but how people treat others usually tells enough about them. She is a Tzimisce, after all.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? They literally have the "Pain Tolerance" merit, so I'd say 10, if not blasting the measurer >:3. One thing I envisioned when creating them was those damage-sponge characters, that can take a lot of punches and keep fighting (I just think getting all bloody and bruised up is so much more sexier than walking perfectly clean from combat-), so that merit was SO JUICY.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (or freeze and fawn) Never flight! That's not to say she's always fearless, she just envisions courage as facing things despite these fears, a way to not be dominated by them.

What animal represents them best? Maybe a shepherd dog. Not necessarily trained to fight like guard dogs, but doing so to protect others. They're also very calm outside of combat, in contrast to the first impressions of an agent.

How would a stranger likely describe them? Strange, but can get the job done. Maybe too attached to human matters, that could get in the way. Powerful vampires and other Tzimisce would clock her lack of Vicissitude tho-

Do they have any hobbies? Sewing/embroidery, and cooking for the ghouls and garou! She recently turned 130 in our chronicle, so I have to reflect that old age 😎

Tagged by: @mortifying-macaroni ♥

Tagging: (if you guys still have OCs to do it!) @dykeferatu @jasina85 @garygoldenbignaturals @knownsome

[grandwretch]

chronicle their return

(hi, this is the fic i wrote as a gift for @stone-stars as a part of the Naddpod Holiday Exchange!)

The nightmares had kept her up for the most of the night. 

It was odd, really. Callie had expected that she'd be past the nightmares, now. They had won, after all. Alexandrite was gone for good, and all Duck Team had to do now was free the Feywild from the cruelties of a monarchy. There should be only happy dreams left. Apparently, Callie's brain hadn't gotten the memo, because all she had dreamt of since coming to the Feywild was her mother. Not the intelligent, aloofly loving mother she'd come to know as an adult. No, that would be too pleasant. Instead, Callie dreamt of her mother as she'd seen her as a child, in turns absent and terrifying. Cyra was in the worst of them, too; Some nights she was on her mother's side and some Callie was forced to watch her sister crumple under her mother's iron will. 

Last night had been the worst so far. Callie had dreamt of her mother's excution so many times now that it hardly phased her, but this time Cyra was the one on the stage. Watching her sister go through the same motions as her mother was as strange as it was horrifying. There was no way that strong, passionate Cyra would accept her fate so willingly. The nightmare continued in spite of logic, however, and Callie watched as her mother's glassy dead eyes stared out of her sister's face. 

It was no surprise that Callie was in something of a mood this morning. 

Kenna had noticed almost immediately, and had been doing her utmost to cheer Callie up. It was sweet, and had almost worked; It was no secret that Callie strove to have with Kenna the relationship that she and Cyra never had. Now, though, Kenna's eagerness to please only made Callie's fears grow stronger. 

Thinking about her family for too long always did this to her, though now it was for a very different reason. Originally, Callie had assumed that the problem layed with her, and that it was that instrinsic fault that left her distant from everyone she had ever loved. Now, however, Callie was sure that the fault left with love itself. Love was a wonderful thing, of course, but it tended not to last very long. There were more lasting things, like duty and respect. Those she could rely on. 

She had loved her mother and her sister, after all. Her mother had loved her. None of that had helped them. Even Aryox, one of the most powerful beings in the world, had gotten separated from Melora and Telaine, never to be reunited. So, no, Callie did not believe in the power of love as much as she had before. 

Knowing that they were at the end of their journey only made her nervous. She loved Kenna, and she loved Sol and Calder. She knew they loved her, too. But when this was all over, what would happen to them? Kenna would go back to Irondeep, and though Callie would hopefully have her older sister back, she would lose a little one. She knew that Cyra would want to stay in the Feywild, and it was what Callie wanted for herself, as well. Someone had to make sure the Wild took hold properly, that no one tried to take advantage of the power vacuum destroying the crowns would cause. Sol and Calder had other dreams, though. She wouldn't be able to keep them, either. 

It was useless to be upset about it, Callie knew that. Very rarely did adventuring parties stay together. Even those that loved each other. Even families. Just look at Hardwon. He had left Moonshine and Beverly for so long, and it had taken so much cajoling to get him to go home-- 

"Alright, that's enough," Calder said, setting down his whetstone and sword. "What's wrong?" 

They were sat around the fire, taking a moment to digest their breakfast. Calder had been sharpening his sword while Sol and Kenna did the washing up, and Callie had... Well, Callie had been staring into the flame and sighing morosely. That was probably why Calder was asking questions, now. 

Callie straightened her back and gave her best leading lady smile. "Oh, it's nothing, Calder. Really. I'm just being..." She waved her hand vaguely. "I'm being a bit silly, is all." 

Calder looked for a moment as if he might let it go, but Sol hopped to his side, wide eyes looking at Callie over the fire. Sol was much less likely to let something lie out of respect; He was like a dog with a bone, sometimes. A frog with a fly. Whatever. 

"No, come on, Callie," he said, voice too loud and encouraging for the early hour. "You can tell us." 

Callie chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, deliberating. "I suppose I was just..." She paused again, taking a deep breath to draw the courage to push past the embarassment. "Thinking about what happens to us after all of this is over." 

"What?" Sol replied, blinking big wet eyes at her.

"I mean... we win?" Calder said, face wrinkling with confusion. Bits of ice flaked off his brow, melting before it hit the forest floor. "We break the crowns. You restore the Wilds and get your mom back." 

"Well, yes, hopefully," Callie agreed, then tilted her head, floppy witch's hat slouching. "But I mean, you know, us. As a collective." 

"Oh," Kenna said softly. She hadn't looked up from the bags, but Callie could see her growing pale. 

"I still don't follow," Calder said, voice like cracking ice, soft and deadly. 

"Well, it's just-- I've begun to think of us as a family, of a sort. But I've never had a family that stuck together very well, and-- It all sort of feels like this has an expiration date, doesn't it?" 

Calder looked immediately stricken, jaw lax as if Callie had just slapped him across the face. Sol and Kenna, though, did not look surprised at all. Callie could see them share a look of understanding out of the corner of her eye, and somehow that hurt even more. 

Still, she rushed to soothe the look on Calder's face, which was rapidly becoming sadder the longer she let the statement hang in the air. His eyes were currently so big and round that she was sure if he cried right now they might fall out of his head entirely. "Oh, I-- I'm sorry, Calder. I know you love your family. I'm not trying to replace them, or guilt you into staying, or anything like that. I mean, I'll have Cyra back, soon, so I'll be alright." The words were forming so quickly in Callie's head that she barely had time to think about them before they were pouring out of her mouth. It was only after she heard them spoken out loud that she realized how they sounded and, wincing, Callie turned to Sol and Kenna. Words even more jumbled, she continued, "Probably. Oh, and Sol! Kenna! I wasn't trying to say that real families are better or anything, of course, I just--" 

Kenna stood and trudged to Callie's side, taking one her hands between Kenna's little ones. Even through the gloves, Callie could feel the strength in them. "It's alright, Miss Petrichor," Kenna said softly, though her gaze didn't meet Callie's. "I think of you all as part of my family, too." 

"Oh, yeah," Sol agreed, beaming at Kenna. "We already decided; It's too late to take it back now." 

Calder's voice still sounded devastated, but his face was set into the determined scowl of battle. "Of course we're your family, Callie."

The rush of words finally stopped, but it didn't make Callie feel any better. Families still split apart all the time; Especially families that Callie tried to be apart of.  "Right. Thank you," she said, mechanically. "I just... I don't want to get left behind again." 

Sol's face creased with despair. "Callie, we would never--" 

"Is that something you're afraid of?" Calder broke through with a cold focus, eyes narrowing. 

Callie hesitated before explaining, her eyes darting away from their little group and out into the dark forests of the Feywild. Her fingers, though, still clung tightly to Kenna's. "There are patterns even in the wild, you know. Observable cycles that can't be broken, like seasons or the way petals grow." Callie sighed, thinking of the pattern of her life, the shape that nature's loom had taken within her. "And I have seen one my entire life that only grows larger with every person I choose to love. You can see it in Aryox and his beloveds, my family, and I am... afraid to see it in us." 

"I get it, Callie, but we're different," Sol said, chin puffing in indignation. "We're not your mother." 

"Right, and I don't think we have much in common with Aryox, either," Calder said, rather audaciously considering how his irritation was quickly covering him in frost. 

"Really?" Callie asked, with a laugh. "Because I can see it all so clearly." 

"Explain it to us, then," Kenna said. "So that we can help." 

"I'm Aryox, obviously. Because I'm the..." Callie bit her lip. "The one who messes up." 

"No, Callie, come on..." Sol's whine of protest was ignored entirely. 

"Cyra was Telaine, and so is Calder," she continued.  

"Explain?" Calder asked, raising one eyebrow. 

Callie listed off the similiarities, raising a finger for every one. "Passionate. Argumentative. Pledges loyalty to dragons way too easily." 

"Alright, fair enough," he said with a shrug. 

Sol wasn't having it. "But I'm not your mom, Callie, and I'm definitely not Melora. Come on! It's me, Sol," he said, gesturing to himself. It was a little strange, likening a frog with a six pack and a scarf to a long lost goddess of neutrality and wilderness, but not to those who actually knew him. Not to Callie. "I don't really do the cold. Or the woods, for that matter." 

"Your new mushroom thing is pretty Melora, actually," Kenna pointed out. "Plus, like, the whole thing with death and the balance of the universe and all that stuff with Swag..." 

"Oh." Sol slumped, crossing his arms with a pout. "Well, I still don't have anything in common with your mom." 

"I used to think of my mom and Aryox as mirror images," Callie admitted. "When I imagined what he must have looked like, he was just like her. A cold and untouchable piece of the past. But now I've met him, briefly, and he reminds me more of myself. Besides, Melora is a part of my past, too; Just a warmer and loving one. Melora would have been the mother of the wild just as Oberon is the father, if she hadn't sacrificed herself." The wild had been pushed out of the Feywild long before Melora had sacrificed herself to save the world, but Callie liked to think it would have, at very least, helped a little with restoring it. Oberon probably would have had an ally, or at the very least, someone else to talk to. 

"I don't know what that has to do with me," Sol grumbled. Calder patted him with a hand so big it spanned Sol's entire back, and Callie managed a small smile as Sol struggled to maintain a pout while also not faceplanting off the log he was sitting on. 

"I sometimes wonder if the reason things never work out is if I'm supposed to be Melora," Callie continued, "or if-- If my mom fits better because of the way she does things, or if that's more Aryox, or--" 

"Miss Petrichor," Kenna began, voice even softer than usual. "I-- I hope it's okay if I ask this, but..." 

"Of course it's alright, Kenna," Callie said, because Cyra was the sort of older sister who would get mad about that kind of thing, which meant Callie wasn't. Couldn't be. "Anything." 

"Why is it so important to know where everything fits?" Kenna's nose wrinkled as she thought. "Isn't the cycle... bad?" 

Callie nodded without real intent, her gaze drifting into the fire as she thought. Kenna was right; The cycle was wrong. Unlike the real cycles of nature, there was no point to the unending heartache and cruelty. Despite what Callie's mother thought, there was nothing about grief and hopelessness that made a hero. Heroes just were, and in peaceful times they did nice things like bake bread and hug children. But the cycle made it so that heroes, willing or otherwise, didn't have a choice. They had a role to play in it, and it would not leave them alone until they either became the villain or lost everything. It had happened to Aryox, it had happened to her mother, and it was going to happen to Callie. 

If that ended, what was Callie supposed to do? Since she had stolen the egg, Callie had accepted her role in the cycle. When Glenn had stolen it from her, she knew what kind of hero she was meant to be. Tragedies needed heroes, too, just as epics and comedies did. It was only recently, when the end of her purpose began approaching, that Callie had begun to doubt her place in the story. Surely this wasn't all it could be, right? Surely it didn't end with her either dead or alone. But if not that, then what? 

  "I don't know what I'm supposed to do without it," Callie admitted. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be." 

"You don't have to be anyone but Callie," Calder said. "Not Aryox, and not Maeve or Summer, either. You're Callie, and we love you." 

"He's right," Sol agreed. "Besides, what's the point of being Peregrine if we don't break a few cycles while we're at it?" Saying that, Sol leapt off his log across the fire, landing in Callie's lap. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her neck. This way, he was a little taller than her, and Callie leaned against him, burying her face in his shoulder. She tried to wrap her free arm around his waist, but it was too far up, and instead she just uselessly cupped his butt. 

They both giggled.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about family lately," Kenna said, eventually. Sol's grip loosened a bit so he could look down at their sister. "I've decided exactly what it is that makes the best family. Do you want to know what it is?" 

"Tell me," Callie said, already sniffling thinking about Krugan and the warmth she had felt for him back in Ezry. He was the first member of this little family she had collected, and the last one she would lose-- What would he need with a sad, tall daughter when he had his real one back in his arms? 

Kenna sighed, then smiled up at Callie. "The best thing about a family is that even if they leave, they come back." 

Callie finally let herself cry, big sobs into Sol's shoulder. He patted her on the back, making little jokes about loving the extra moisture, and Kenna squeezed her hand. She felt a large hand on her head and pulled back a little, tears still streaming down her face, to find that Calder had come around to sit by her side, too. His arm was propped on her shoulders and his hand rested on her head, nearly swallowing her whole-- And Sol's little hands now sat on his bicep, tapping his fingers merrily. 

"You're right. Of course you are, Kenna, you're always right," Callie said, squeezing her hand. "I guess I'm just moody because I haven't been able to stop thinking about how hard it must have been for him. Aryox, I mean. I would never be able to walk away from you three the way he had to." 

"Fighting against Telaine, you mean?" Calder asked. Havoc's maze had revealed a lot to them, and the fact that the war between giants and dragons had all been a ploy on Aryox's part was among the least shocking of them. Nothing had dulled he pain of Aryox's ending, least of all the knowledge he was only doing it so small folk could flourish. Especially considering that for Telaine, the fight had been entirely real. 

"If it meant losing any of you or Cyra, I can't imagine I'd be all that fussed about saving the world afterwards." Even as Callie said it, she knew it wasn't exactly true; Someone had to finish things, after all. If Sol and Calder turned against her, though, getting out of bed the next day would be the most difficult thing she'd ever done. Callie would try, but mounting an entire war effort against them might just kill her.

"Yeah, I don't know if I'd be able to do it, either," Calder said, his voice barely a sigh. His eyes went foggy with memory. "I could barely make myself fight Gowan, and I was pretty sure we'd both make it out alive." 

"Look, we all saw how I reacted to evil Swag, so, you know." Sol shrugged with a rueful chuckle. "But I think that it might have been a little easier for Aryox because he could see their futures. Sure, he never got to be with them again, but Melora and Telaine were reunited, right? In the Godheart?" 

"You think he saw that?" Callie asked. She hadn't seen it on the wall, exactly, but it would make sense for Aryox to be aware of his friends' part in the war against Thiala. He had seen nearly everything else, after all. 

"He must have, right?" Sol said, echoing her thoughts. "I bet that made it easier, knowing they would find each other again." 

"I can't believe I'm saying this after everything, but a little reassurance would be nice, yeah," Callie admitted. Seeing your own future was never a good idea, and every moment of their adventure thus far had only proven that to them. She had never once been tempted to see the future when it came to their fight against Alexandrite, but when she thought about having the ability to see Sol and Calder's happy futures-- Well, her mother's actions only became more reasonable the longer Callie thought of it. The fact they were Peregrine didnt change anything; Just seeing a future where they were happy and together would soothe the ache in her chest a little. 

"Well, we make our own futures, so I can't promise anything," Sol said, "but what I can promise is that we will always be your family, Callie. No matter how long we're separated, we'll always come back together, even if we have to wait until all of us are dead." 

The morbidity of the statement hung in the air until Kenna snorted, leaning into Callie's side. "You never should have let him ride the mushroom dragon." 

"Hey!" Sol protested, though he was still grinning as he tried to scowl down at Kenna. 

"As morbid as he is, Sol's right. Kenna, too. Family isn't about being together forever. It's about always coming back. Just look at us, Callie. We both went to Ezry on our own, trying to find something to call our own, but here we are." Calder gestured to the majesty of the Feywild and Shard, leaning against the log he had abandoned. "Coming back because we know they need us." 

"Just like..." Kenna stopped mid-sentence to clear her throat, continuing in a whisper, "Just like my dad." 

"Albin and Ma have been inventing whole new kinds of technology just to follow us around the world," Sol said, absolutely beaming as he reminded her of their family back in Ezry. "I gotta admit, I'm looking forward to returning the favor." 

"We're going to get your mom back, Callie," Calder promised. "We're going to get Cyra on our side. One day, you'll be with them both." 

"Hopefully not too soon," Kenna reminded them, ever the realist.

"Oh, yeah, like five hundred years from now," Sol agreed. "But one day." 

"You have two families who love you very much, and will do anything to get back to you. No matter what." 

"I know," Callie said, on the edge of a sob. "I know, I would do the same for any of you." 

"We know you would," Calder said, ruffling her hair.

"I just worry, you know?" She admitted. They were all being so sweet, and Callie hated to keep bringing up her insecurities, but the ice in her heart still stung. The voice in her head still told her that love wasn't enough, that some people just didn't get a happy ending. "Aryox never got to go back to Telaine and Melora. It just.. makes it all too easy to think of myself on the outside like that." 

"Don't forget about Lumi," Kenna said, and with a start Callie remembered how joyous Aryox's face had been when he'd seen the little fox. She looked at Foster, slumbering by the fire, and knew that he'd always be with her. In fact, the only reason he was pretending to sleep now was probably because he trusted the rest of them-- their family --to take care of Callie. 

"She waited all that time for him," Calder said, and his voice held awe in it. "That's enough for anyone, don't you think?" 

"Besides, you think Melora and Telaine aren't still out there somewhere, fighting just as hard to get back to him?" Sol asked with a scoff. "No way! They loved him, just like we love you." 

Callie hugged Sol so hard he ribbited. 

It wasn't that they'd soothed all her fears of the future, exactly. A part of her still dreaded what came after they broke the crowns. What if Cyra wanted nothing to do with her? What if her mother's soul being released only increased how much Callie missed her? What if they split up, Kenna in Irondeep, Sol in Ezry, and Calder in Ice Knife, and they tried to keep in touch, but the letters came less and less until they stopped completely? What if Foster left her when her deal with Oberon was finished. 

But she did breathe a little easier with them pressed around her. If the worst happened, all she would have to do is ask, and they would come back. Even if they hadn't spoken in months. Even if they'd gotten in a fight over something stupid. Sol and Calder would be there as fast as possible, Kenna huffing and puffing in their wake. Deep in Callie's soul, she knew her sister would do the same, bluster and temper included. 

And she would always have her mother. Even far away, Callie could cling to that. 

It was a happy future, if a little bittersweet. That must have been how Aryox felt, too, as he froze all those years ago. Knowing that Melora and Telaine would one day become one, that the smallfolk would be saved over and over again, it must have helped. Callie just hoped they were right, that his friends were just as dedicated to him as Calder and Sol were to her-- 

Because if she couldn't keep her family, then Aryox, at the very least, deserved his.

[hellfirenacht]

Reader ==> Go Shopping For Appropriate 80's Clothes

lsekai Chronicles Master List

START HERE <<-- FIRST CHAPTER HERE

Recommended Previous Chapter: ==> Meet The Party

Chapter Summary: You go shopping, think about morality, and run into a familiar face.

Cash is king. That’s how the old saying went, right? You’d heard that since you were a kid and had taken it to heart. Plus if you carried cash, that was money that your bank account didn’t know about so if you bought something it didn’t count. That’s just basic math.

It had been payday the night you had fallen into Hawkins, and you had managed to go to the bank that day, pulling out a couple hundred from your paycheck that you had planned to stick in your piggy bank at home for a rainy day. That handful of 20s was sitting uselessly in your wallet, and you knew that you needed to do something not super legal soon.

You couldn’t keep secretly borrowing clothes from the Wheeler family. It was starting to feel weird and uncomfortable. You needed your own clothing and soon.

It was the middle of the week and Ted was at work, Karen had taken Holly to the pool, and who knows where Mike and Nancy were. That was fine with you, in the five days that you had managed to hide in the home you’d quickly figured out the schedules. You hated it though, and you knew you’d need to find a new place to live soon.

Being out of the house helped. You managed to get a feel for the layout of the neighborhood and now made the long trek to the downtown area where there were shops. Your stomach twisted at what you had to do, as you tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that illegal.

It was still technically US legal tender. Would be. Maybe? You had flipped through the 20s in your wallet and picked out the oldest and most crumpled looking bills you could find to use first for things you needed and had crumpled the rest by hand in an attempt to distract the teller from what you were about to do.

God you wish you had a car. It was hot in August, and you were already sweating through your borrowed shirt, and you desperately needed a toothbrush and some deodorant that didn’t smell like teenage boy.

It was just after noon when you arrived downtown, feeling out of place.

Guess I better get used to it. You thought to yourself.

With the Starcourt Mall burned down, your only choice was a handful of local shops and thrift stores. Thrifting would be the best bet, maybe you could spend one of your twenties on maybe a pair of pants and a new shirt if you were lucky.

Shoulder pads. Shoulderpads and blazers as far as the eye could see.

You flipped through the rack of clothing, the second hand shop you found was filled with clothing that was already dated by 1985 standards, and so with your 2023 style it was pretty far out of your wheelhouse.

You wish you had a friend in this world. Yeah, Dustin and Mike had been nice to you and letting you hide out until you could find a more permanent place to stay but they were kids. You weren’t gonna add any additional stress on them when they were already trying to help you. And there was no way you were gonna ask them for fashion advice.

...Okay you were tempted to ask Dustin where he got his Weird Al shirt that he was wearing that first night. There was a comfort that the singer was a link to all weirdos and nerds in any decade.

It took all afternoon, sorting through the racks for clothes that fit you, felt like your style, and (hopefully) helped you blend into this world. Seeing the prices made you want to cry, realizing that you could afford the few pieces of clothing easily.

Right, things were cheaper in the 80s. You add that to the mental tally of ‘reasons to stay vs reasons to try and go home’ list you were keeping in your mind.

Stay. Go. Could you even go home? Did you want to? There was a way here, so there had to be a way back. If a portal opened up and you were able to jump through it right now and end up home would you take it?

The logical part of you said yes, that would be the smart move. Shit was going to hit the fan in a few months and it would be dangerous for you to be here, you could end up dead or worse. Finding a way home should be your priority, or at least getting out of Hawkins.

But there was another part of you, a part that lived in the back of your mind, that was saying something different. Four people were destined to die, and what if you could change that?

What was your responsibility to this world? To these strangers?

Every time you thought about anything harder than your immediate needs your stomach twisted into a knot. You couldn’t think about that, not yet. There were months before this was supposed to happen, right? And you wouldn’t be of help to anyone as a homeless time traveler with out of place fashion.

But those questions were what you kept coming back to as you made your way to another shop to get yourself some toiletries and underwear. You tried to focus on anything else, the songs on the radio you recognized, the brands in the store you didn’t, the people around you-

Well, that last part didn’t work out for you as you ran smack into someone head on. You dropped the tooth brush, toothpaste, and 8 pack of value underwear that you were holding and scrambled to pick them up.

“Shit, sorry-” you started, grabbing for the toothpaste that was closest to you while the person you ran into grabbed the value pack.

You stood up, and your face paled at the young man you had run into.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the aisle like that.” Steve Harrington said, as he handed you your underwear back.

Philosophy aside, you decided that if a portal opened up you’d hop in no matter where it led you.

You grabbed the pack out of his hands, nearly dropping the toothpaste again in the process.

Before you could say anything else, you heard someone call Steve’s name and you booked it the second he turned around, leaving the toothbrush on the ground.

This was stupid, you knew that it was. There was no reason for you to be panicking like this, but when you saw him you didn’t know what else to do. Meeting him again was inevitable, and you knew that. He was friends with Dustin and the rest of the Party. You ducked into the clearance section and tried to calm your breathing.

Jesus Christ, he’d handed you back the underwear that you were about to buy. Had this been any other situation, with any random stranger it wouldn’t have mattered. You would have just gone about the rest of your day and not even thought about it unless the other person made a weird remark.

But this wasn’t just anyone, this was Steve Harrington. You couldn’t afford to fuck up any relationship with any of these people if you were going to help.

You were going to help, right? That’s what a good person would do.

Steve Harrington has a hairy chest. Your brain offered up helpfully, providing an image for you. No brain, that was not helpful, actually. Of all the information you could remember about Steve, it was THAT?

You rubbed your face and decided to check out before anything else happened. You found the aisle with the least interested looking teen and handed over the crumpled bill, holding your breath as they didn’t even look at the bill before ringing you up.

You stood outside the shop with your haul shoved in your backpack. Your D&D books were being borrowed by the boys, and you somehow doubted you’d see them again any time soon.

Now what?

Tumblr User ==> Now what?

[fourovcups]

I've been reading Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire as research for a project of mine, and it has certainly been an experience.

Desert Solitaire was one of these titles I'd heard bandied about in American nature literature growing up (the kind of thing teachers recommended once you finished Hatchet), but I don't here his work mentioned as much anymore. I recently re-encountered the title on a literal ecofascist reading list. While Abbey doesn't sound like an ecofascist himself, I can easily see why nature Nazis like him.

The book chronicles Abbey's time as a seasonal park ranger at the Arches National Monument in Utah There is a kind of uncertainty and inconsistency in the way he writes, even in the way he acts towards his surroundings in the desert. Silent Spring had only been published a few years before Solitaire was, and the eco-cultural revolution was not yet in full swing. Abbey writes lovingly about his desert environment. He describes in stunning detail, for example, the everyday beauty of a bumblebee alighting on a cactus flower, and decries the reckless "development" initiatives of the Bureau of Public Roads. But on the next page, he will say something like this: "...it's a foolish, simple-minded rationalism which denies any form of emotion to all animals but man and his dog. This is no more justified than the Moslems are in denying souls to women." Sure dude. Okay, fine, he was writing in the sixties. Some insensitivity is par for the course. But then, after pages and pages of decrying humans driving desert flora and fauna towards extinction, he describes with glee an instance where he stones a rabbit to death for no apparent reason.

It's a bizarre passage, and shows Abbey at his most unhinged. He describes the rabbit as "cowardly" for running away from threats, unlike the brave mountain lion, who stands and fights. He throws the stone and hits the rabbit's head: "He crumples, there's the usual gushing of blood, etc.," and the creature is dead. "I continue my walk with a new, augmented cheerfulness which is hard to understand but unmistakable [...] I try but cannot feel any sense of guilt." Reflecting on the incident, he concludes that his killing of the rabbit has made him a part of the desert, a membership bought by killing or being killed, being "predator or prey". Even so, he decides not to eat the rabbit, which he says is probably diseased anyway. He also describes using his walking stick to crush and stir up an ant colony, also without any reason beyond not liking ants. "Don't actually care for ants. Neurotic little pismires." These are far from the only times that Abbey violates his personal philosophy of reverence for all living creatures.

It's clear that Edward Abbey came to Arches National Monument already dissatisfied with the outside world, and with some authority issues to boot (some quick googling on his background shows two demotions as a military police officer for clashing with higher-ups). The freedom of the desert, its simplicity and balance, is a significant part of what makes it appeal to him. But its harshness, the hostility of its sandstorms and lurking rattlesnakes, draws him in just as much.

Edward Abbey is not an ecofascist. If anything, his ill-defined political beliefs can be vaguely defined as anarchistic, if they can be defined at all. Deleuze and Guattari write in A Thousand Plateaus that fascism is "a cancerous body rather than a totalitarian organism". It is fluid, mutable. Sometimes it lies latent, benign; at other times it rushes outward, colonizing piecemeal and erratically, in "flows capable of suffusing every kind of cell". Elements of Abbey, and of Desert Solitaire, contain such microfascisms.

Let's turn back to the linchpin of it all: the killing of the rabbit, which he sees as a joyous, cosmic act; one that links him into a (circular? pyramidal?) chain of being he was previously alienated from, in the atomized world of civilization. His joy is only augmented when he realizes he is not guilty for killing the rabbit. In per-modern hunting customs across the world, the taking of animal life is never free and unmediated. Thanks may be given to the spirit of the animal itself, or to the unseen powers that led the hunter to their quarry. Naturally, the sacrifice of an animal to a god was just that: for a god, not the human involved. What Abbey describes in the killing of the rabbit is something utterly different.

In Federico Finchelstein's Fascist Mythologies, Finchelstein says that in fascism, "consciousness was not a repression of inwardness (as Freud understood the workings of the Ego and the Id) but its actual distillation. [...] [Fascist consciousness] was not contemplative but similar to that of a sublime sensation of ecstasy."

The fascist subject is most "conscious" precisely when they loose themselves in the ecstatic abandon of the act. Such fascist consciousness is the foundation of the free, easy violence it facilitates.

When Abbey describes casting the stone at the rabbit, it is in a Meursault-like twilight of awareness. He sets up the encounter as a game, one in which he is a scientist experimenting on a rabbit that has been "volunteered" to him, and whose death is justifiable through its natural cowardice. He hardly realizes that the action he is carrying out, and when the rabbit dies he is shocked out of his reverie for a moment.

"For a moment I am shocked by my deed [...] but shock is succeeded by a mild elation."

For Abbey, primordial violence is what at last allows him union with the sacred world of the desert.

"No longer do I feel so isolated from the sparse and furtive life around me, a stranger from another world. I have entered into this one. We are kindred all of us [...] Long live diversity, long live the Earth!"

By carrying out this act of bare violence, Abbey frees himself from the civilized world and achieves union with the world of Nature, in which violence is a simple act: one that creates its own order rather than supporting existing ones. It is this union that, while the moment lasts, allows him to rejoice in his newfound "innocence and power".

That is where I will leave things for now. There are other, more overt themes that Abbey explores that are the chief reason Desert Solitaire appeals to many ecofascists, such as its characterizations of industrial society and "Progress". Abbey's later work, such as The Monkey Wrench Gang, set even more explicit examples of direct action and sabotage that inspired right-wing accelerationists as well as left-wing environmental activists. This is my first long-ish post; if you're interested in these kinds of posts on ecofascism and ecocriticism, let me know and I might make more in the future.

[rosesofenvy]

I was very inspired by @sha-biest goldenfuture au so I wrote a drabble for some of her most recent posts that I’m linking below! (they're also linked in the fic)

The arm incident

Leoichi

Kendratello

Check out the goldenfutureau tag if you’re confused!

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I'll Be the Sweetest Thing To Ever Scare You (5350 words) by rosesofenvy Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Samurai Rabbit: The Usagi Chronicles (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Leonardo (TMNT)/Yuichi Usagi, Donatello/Kendra (TMNT) Characters: Leonardo (TMNT), Donatello (TMNT), Yuichi Usagi, Kendra (TMNT), Michelangelo (TMNT), Raphael (TMNT), April O'Neil (TMNT), Cassandra Jones | Foot Recruit, Agent John Bishop (TMNT) Additional Tags: goldenfutureau, shabiest golden future, Post Movie, Violence, Loss of Limbs, bishop is a dick, kidnapped donnie, saving donnie from bishop, both leo and donnie lose an arm, Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Hurt, lots of comfort, Nightmares, Injury Recovery, lowkey donnie whump, but kendra makes him laugh so it's all ok

Summary: Leo doesn't regret his choices to safe Donnie from Bishop, it just means a longer recovery for everyone involved.

Enjoy :)

Leo doesn’t regret his decision. 

Donnie had been missing for a week, a week of no contact, a week of frantic searches, and a week of desperate calls to every friend and enemy they had ever encountered. They spared no expense in their efforts to find him, but it was almost a slap in the face to find that Donnie had been so close to them all along - he hadn’t even been taken out of New York. The sudden burst of Donnie’s mystic energy, coordinates and maps tracing to his exact location had been a source of relief and frustration as they mobilized and moved out. 

Leo doesn’t regret moving when he did. 

Raph and Mikey were holding down the lower levels of the base, guaranteeing their escape route since their abilities were dampened by whatever that mad scientist Bishop had cooked up. Leo was in charge of the extraction of their brother since he was by far the fastest and they were relying on the element of surprise here. Someone who’d been able to take down Donnie without their knowledge wasn’t someone they were taking lightly. Whatever Bishop had installed in the building had disabled most of their mystic powers, he can’t even risk using his portals if he didn’t want to lose a limb. 

That doesn’t matter, he didn’t need mystic powers. He would tear this building apart with his bare hands if that meant he’d get his brother back safe. Faceless scientists run screaming past him, those who attempt to stop his progression are swiftly taken care of. Whether or not those rebuffs are nonlethal doesn’t matter, what does matter is that he’s reached the main lab. Kendra had shown him the blueprints, this entire floor was a blackout but he could assume it followed the general path that the previous labs had. As he bounds up the stairwell - and enters the open floor plan, every sense screams to high alert. 

Even though Kendra was controlling every electrical aspect to the lab, this floor only had emergency lights. Even with the low glow of bulbs placed too far apart Leo’s senses are overwhelmed. There’s too much. Wires sparking from where they’d been torn from the wall blood on the floor static from a radio system now defunct thanks to Kendra’s interference blood on the wall his brother's blood everywhere. It reeks of iron and metal and sickness and despite the nausea curling in his gut Leo doesn’t hesitate to sprint forward because there’s his fucking brother. 

Leo doesn’t regret throwing himself directly into the path of danger despite every time he’s been told to stop being such a self sacrificial idiot. 

Donnie is crumpled near some sort of shadowed metal robot. Leo can’t quite make out the details with the intermittent flicker from the emergency lights, but it doesn’t matter as he darts across the length of the lab. He couldn’t see any humans in this room, something that made his scales itch with paranoia as he searched the dark corners of the lab for movement but he can’t afford to waste his attention on the absence of a being when what he came for is right in front of him. As he’s almost to Donnie, the robot his brother is kneeled in front of activates with a flash of red and a creaking of metal. 

Leo regrets not moving faster. 

There’s a blankness in Donnie’s gaze that makes Leo’s heart clench as the softshell staggers to his feet, clearly exhausted and with blood dripping from a number of wounds. Despite standing, he sways and Leo can see that Donnie doesn’t or maybe can’t register the danger directly to his right. Leo can’t tell if Donnie even recognizes him.

“Donnie! Move! ” Leo screams, finally getting in range of his brother, but it’s still not enough. There’s a red light shining over the both of them, a warning burst of heat just as Leo wraps his left arm around Donnie’s shell and uses his momentum to shove them both out of the way. The blaze that wraps around Leo’s shell and scorches his arm clean off is so sudden that he doesn’t register what had happened until Donnie is on the floor beneath him. Pain radiates from the remains of his arm and he gasps through clenched teeth as he takes in Donnie’s uncomprehending stare and the blood slowly seeping from the partially cauterized remains of the softshell's left arm. Leo slams his panic button as he takes in the physical wounds Donnie had suffered over the past week. 

“You gotta keep your eyes open for me, we gotta wait for Raph, no passin' out yet.” Leo pants desperately, trying to follow his own order as he practically collapses over Donnie, "Is anyone still here?” 

Donnie’s eyes flicker open, and Leo follows the path of his gaze up to where he recognizes an observational balcony. Leo didn't see it before in his desperation to grab Donnie, but there’s an outline of a man holding some sort of control panel. Bishop. Leo’s grip on Donnie’s shoulder tightens, but the human makes no move towards and instead sinks into the shadows where Leo couldn’t follow. The building shakes and Leo tries to lift Donnie, but it’s useless with the weakness that has filled his limbs. Pounding footsteps reach his ears and Leo turns to see Raph emerge from the same stairwell he had run up just moments earlier. 

“Leo, Donnie!” Raph’s voice is frantic as he runs into the room. Leo feels his muscles going limp despite his best efforts to remain conscious as their older brother scoops them both up, then punches the machine to destroy the glass embedded in the robot that had nearly killed them both. The floor splinters beneath their feet and Raph wastes no time making their escape. 

Leo regrets not being able to stay conscious during the destruction of the lab. He would’ve liked to revel in the downfall of one of Bishop’s pride and joys. 

Waking up in the med bay was unfortunately a familiar experience for Leo. The steady beep of a heart monitor - although it was doubled for some reason, the scent of antiseptic, and the herculean effort it took to pry open his eyelids. 

The light was nearly blinding as he tilted his head to the side, registering the flow of drugs from the IV drip making his limbs feel heavy and grimacing at the dryness of his mouth. Mikey was sitting in a chair at his bedside, and at his movement the box turtle leaps up and grips the bars to the bed. 

“Leo! Are you awake?” 

Leo can’t do much more than click in response, already wanting to go back to sleep but the stress in Mikey’s expression keeps him conscious. How long had he been out for Mikey to look so concerned? What had even happened this time? What were they all doing before…

“Here, I’ve got some water for ya,” Mikey says quickly, grabbing a cup and urging Leo to drink, “Do you want-” 

“Donnie?!” Leo interrupts, voice rough as the memory of his brother, bloody and bruised, surfaces. He realizes through the sludge of the painkillers that he’d managed to grab Mikey’s hand before he could help him with the water and his grip was trembling as he searched Mikey’s face for answers. “Is he here? Is he ok?” 

“Donnie’s fine,” Mikey reassures, pointing over Leo’s shoulder, “look he’s right there.” At Mikey’s gesture Leo lets his head fall to the other side and can see Donnie laying flat on his plastron still passed out. That nausea swirls again at the sight of all the bandages and wires that seemed to mirror what was hooked up to Leo so he tilts back towards Mikey with a small sigh of relief. 

“Does Yuichi know?” He asks after he takes a few sips of blessedly cool water and can talk without it feeling like his throat is being carved to pieces. 

“Can you worry about yourself for two seconds Leo?” Mikey murmurs miserably as he fidgets with Leo's blankets, “What do you remember? Raph didn’t see what happened and Kendra couldn’t pull cameras since Bishop had everything disabled on that floor.” 

“I had to get Donnie out of the way,” Leo replies with a frown, “If I didn’t then…” It all hits him at once. The scene in the lab, the blood, the pain of a part of him being rendered from existence. He rolls his gaze down to his right arm, feeling an odd choking feeling overtake him as he realizes that his arm ends at the bicep, wrapped tightly in stark white bandages. 

“Bishop had built something, I couldn’t see all of it since the power had been cut to most of the lab, but Donnie had just been left there. When I was trying to get to him, it lit up and I realized…” He trails off, swallowing hard as he recalls the sharp angles and the alien features of the robot, a shape that had often haunted nightmares, “If I didn’t get him out of the way, then he would’ve-” his words are cut off by his own choked sob. He’d been so close to losing his brother. Donnie was so close to being gone because of some stupid fucking scientist. 

“Ok ok I got it,” Mikey quickly says, trying to calm the rising heart rate of his older brother and prevent those pained noises from escalating.  

“You gotta tell Yuichi, Mikey you gotta call him, it’s been a week he’s probably worried sick, ” Leo gasps, tightening his grip on Mikey’s arm. The guilt of unintentionally keeping Yuichi in the dark was eating at every ounce of air in his chest. 

“I will, I’ll get Raph to do it right now ok?” promises replies, holding onto Leo’s hand with both of his until he can feel Leo’s grip loosening and can see his eyelids fluttering. 

“Okay,” Leo mumbles, the burst of energy leaving him as quickly as it had arrived. “Mikey imma sleep now ‘kay?” 

“That’s fine Leo, rest up,” Mikey whispers, patting Leo’s hand as the slider relaxes and almost instantly falls back asleep. Mikey breathes a sigh of relief once he’s sure Leo’s under then sends a text to Raph. 

-------

Yuichi knew that it wasn’t necessarily uncommon for Leo to go radio silent on missions, it came with the territory of keeping the world safe. However, it’d been a week at this point and with the abruptness of Leo’s departure, he was anxiously pacing the length of his room and overthinking everything that could’ve gone wrong. It had become his habit within the week, spending his downtime in this way but the routine is interrupted when his phone begins buzzing. 

He leaps at where it had been set on his bedside table, dropping it on the floor once before he manages to hold onto it, seeing Leo’s caller ID and nearly crying with relief. 

“Leo! It’s been a week, are you ok? What happened to Donnie?” He rattles off once he answers, clutching his phone up to his ear and holding his breath for the response. 

There’s a beat of silence before Raph replies. 

“Hey Usagi, I don’t want you freaking out ok?” Raph greets gently, “I’m gonna tell you what happened and then Mikey’s gonna bring you over here.” 

“What went wrong? Is Leo hurt?” Usagi questions anxiously, feeling his phone beginning to creak with how tightly he was holding it. All of the worst case scenarios he’d been considering claw their way to the forefront of his mind. 

“Leo and Donnie were both seriously injured in the escape from the lab that Donnie was being held in, but they’re both alive and recovering,” Raph reports, “Leo’s been in and out of consciousness for the past day and he just woke up for longer than just a few minutes. He’s been asking for you. Are you ok to come over?” 

“Yes yes of course,” Usagi replies quickly, darting around to grab his katana and tug on his shoes, “Get me over there.” 

A golden portal opens in front of him as he’s pocketing his phone and Usagi doesn’t hesitate to step through. Once the spots clear from his vision he sees that Mikey had pulled him into the atrium of their lair, both Mikey and Raph waiting for him. He can see the exhaustion in their expressions and it makes the anxiety that had been simmering begin to boil over. 

“Where is he?” Usagi demands, dropping his katana onto the nearest empty surface and flicking his ears to see if he can catch any sound of the slider. He can hear the slightly raised heartbeats of the brothers in front of him before he catches the steady electrical beeps further into the lair.

“I’ll take you to him,” Mikey says, raising his hands in a placating gesture, “He’s still kind of out of it from the painkillers, but he’s been asking about you since he woke up.” 

Usagi knows that’s supposed to reassure him but it just makes his heart beat harder as he follows Mikey to the medical bay. He’s seen Leo hurt before, but it was very rare that he or any of the brothers had to be completely hospitalized. Their healing factors often kicked in before it was needed, so the thought of both of them being injured badly enough to need serious painkillers was nerve wracking. Since Donnie was on the far side of the room, Usagi’s gaze catches on the softshell before he fully enters and turns to see Leo. 

He’s not sure what to look at first, eyes flickering from the bruises under Leo’s eyes to the bandages wrapping around his upper chest and his right arm - his right arm that was gone from the elbow down. He can’t help his gasp, moving quickly to Leo’s bedside. Leo opens his eyes at the vocalization, gaze taking a moment to focus before he smiles gently. 

“Yuichi,” He says, voice soft but clearly rough from disuse as Usagi scans the lines of IV’s and wires before leaning over and cradling Leo’s head. He wraps his arms as gently as he could, tucking Leo’s head against his own as he whispers his name. He waits until he can hear the steadiness of Leo’s heartbeat before he takes a shuddered breath and shifts to hide his face against Leo.  

“‘Chi?” Leo inquires, drawing back a bit as he can feel the heat of Yuichi’s tears against the side of his neck. 

Yuichi moves back just enough to meet Leo’s eyes as he bites back the angry choking thing that wants to scream about unfairness and instead presses his cheek against Leo’s, seeing the tears budding in the slider’s eyes. 

“Don’t you dare do this again,” He whispers fiercely, “Next time you leave, I’m coming with you.” He can feel Leo’s tears mingling with his own, and it takes only a tilt of his head to connect the two of them in a kiss. Usagi would normally worry about the fact that Leo’s brothers were likely still nearby, and would be concerned if Leo was in any pain with the proximity, but all he can think about is how he nearly lost the slider and he would’ve only known when his brothers had been able to contact him. He curls the fingers he has cradling the back of Leo’s neck, feeling the slider sigh into his mouth before he pulls back and searches out Yuichi’s hand with his remaining one. Once their fingers are intertwined, Leo visibly relaxes. 

“I won’t Yuichi, promise.” 

“Damn straight,” Yuichi says firmly, “And if you think I’m leaving anytime in the near future you’d be sorely mistaken.” 

“Well the angle you’re standing at doesn’t look comfortable,” Leo offers quietly, “Care to join me?” 

Yuichi frowns at the number of wires that Leo was connected to before carefully arranging himself on the bed beside Leo. He can feel the tension fade as he carefully tangles their legs and props his head against the side of Leo’s. The slider melts into his side, sighing in comfort and it brings Usagi back to many of their sleepovers. If there wasn’t the scent of antiseptic and the sounds of heart rate monitors, he’d be able to pretend that it was just another night after coming back from a mission. The sleepless nights spent worrying over Leo’s condition catch up to him, and he allows himself to rest with Leo tucked into his arms. 

-------

Kendra had seen a lot in her time. Being a teenage hacker often meant seeing things that she really wasn’t supposed to. Sometimes it was what the neighbors Tuesday afternoon drunken parties entailed, sometimes it was the ledgers of foreign governments and lists of experiments that were far from ethical. 

Helping two of the Hamato’s through their amputations? That was new. She can’t help but thank her instinct to pursue medicine (sure it was veterinary medicine but it had helped them out here hadn’t it?) as she clears away the materials she’d used for stitches.

She wasn’t sure what to think when she was first contacted about Donatello being missing. It seemed that the Hamato’s had just been going through each of Donnie’s contacts to see if they’d heard anything. She wasn’t sure if she was surprised that she was one of the first on his list since she was contacted mere hours after his disappearance, but she was not ashamed to admit that she threw herself back into her computer hacking days to provide her services. 

It was odd, returning to watching cameras and scanning security footage for any signs of the freakishly large turtle instead of attending to her much more morally correct job of a veterinarian. When Donnie’s systems finally pinged his location and the brothers had ran in yelling about his mystic energy, she remained as the “woman in the chair” despite every instinct to strap on one of Donnie’s battleshells and join the fight herself. 

She watched through security cameras while she remotely detonated the lab’s systems - reveling in the panic on the scientists faces as they realized that rooms were locked and sirens were growing louder thanks to her call to every station in the area regarding illegal experimentation and unauthorized lab usage. They wouldn’t be able to access the building until she opened the doors, but it was good to rile them up. The building would be going down regardless thanks to April and Casey’s actions to rig the foundations with Purple Dragon grade explosives. She had already evacuated nearby blocks, the only danger was to those that had chosen to imprison and experiment on Donnie and whatever other poor mutants Bishop had gotten his slimy hands on. Unfortunately the only area she wasn’t able to see, much to her and everyone else’s frustration, was the lab that Donnie was being kept in. 

This means that the only thing she sees when the battle ends is Leo and Donnie being carried out by Raph before she loses access to her systems as the cameras explode into a golden light. Whatever Raph had done to that lab had disabled what was hindering their powers then if Mikey was able to begin the detonation process. She hurries to the med bay, keeping her panic tucked away as the blood that had been trailing the trio flickers through her mind. There’s another flash of golden light just as she’s set up the beds and the brothers appear through Mikey’s portal. 

She still doesn’t allow herself to panic as she helps with the surgery, an odd mix of modern medicine and magic keeping the two brothers alive and stable until she steps back and deems it all they can do for the moment. Through numb lips she explains the aftercare and the Hamato’s set up schedules and watches. She should be surprised that she’s included in these, but she also knows that the only way she’s leaving Donnie’s side is if she’s dragged out. Well, after she scrubs their blood from her clothes anyway. She borrows some of Donnie’s while hers are being treated, drawing comfort in the too large hoodie as she sets up post beside Donnie’s bed. 

Leo wakes up first, unsurprising since he hadn’t been locked away for a week in a psychopath's care. Their healing factor has clearly kicked in as within a day Leo is taken off the heavy painkillers and requests to move back to his room. Kendra tries not to be impatient as she routinely checks on the stitches, monitoring for infection between her shifts with Donnie. The brothers regularly switched off with Kendra - barring Leo since he was bed bound - but Kendra insisted on spending as much time as possible with Donnie. He should be waking up soon after all and if she didn’t get to tell that stupid idiot her true feelings she’s going to lose it. 

It’s late on day two when she hears movement, glancing over to see Donnie’s eyes open wide and staring at her uncomprehending. She freezes, staring back and not even daring to blink as she waits for understanding to wash over Donatello’s expression. 

It doesn’t. 

Instead he snarls, lips drawing back to expose sharp teeth and she scrambles to press the call button (more of a localized panic button for the med bay) before Donatello tries to sit up, becoming off balance and falling to his side as he tries to balance with an arm he doesn’t have. “You’ll hurt yourself,” Kendra barks, hands going to help him sit up when he snaps at her arms, then hissing a warning when she doesn’t immediately draw back. She is so not qualified to deal with a hostile mutant turtle who had probably been through an excess of uncertified medical procedures over the past week if his injuries were anything to go by. Thankfully she doesn’t have to worry about her hand being bitten off as Raph and Mikey come running in. 

She backs off, only so that Donnie doesn’t feel overwhelmed and becomes more violent, but remains in eyesight in case he tries to rip out the IV’s. Mikey does disconnect the heart monitor since its high-pitched scream was doing none of them any favors and she could see how quickly Donnie relaxed at the quiet. It still clearly takes a moment for him to recognize where he was and who was around him with his brothers reassurances the only reason he’s willing to settle back onto the bed with a low whine. Kendra steps in, quickly checking fluids and changing out the painkillers since they were low. She can see the concern on both Mikey and Raph’s expressions, but completes everything clinically before returning to her spot at his bedside. 

“You can leave now, I can handle it,” She says only a bit harshly. It was true, she’s sure she can handle whatever reaction Donnie may have now that he’s aware of where he is. She knew the dangers of an unfamiliar face attempting to administer care, but now Donnie could see her and understood why he was hooked up to the various equipment. She had no concerns about her safety. 

“If you’re sure…” Raph says hesitantly, “You know how to get a hold of us.” 

“Yep, now go back to bed, you two are dead on your feet,” Kendra says, trying to be cold but it’s difficult when all she can do is trace the bandages wrapping Donatello’s shell. She hears the brothers leave and heaves a sigh of relief. From the glaze over Donnie’s eyes, she can tell the painkillers have a hold on him but she can't help but slowly reach out to grasp his left hand. 

“I know you’re probably loopy because those are high grade as shit,” She starts quietly, “But if I don’t get this off my chest before you fall asleep again I think I’ll actually lose my mind.” 

Donnie blinks slowly at her. 

“You’re an idiot,” She whispers harshly, “You scared the hell out of us you know? You scared the hell out of me.” She squeezes his hand, feeling him squeeze back before she can force herself to continue. “You know I didn’t even realize it until your brothers called me, but I care about you. I care about you, the guy who humiliated me every chance he could get, the dumb turtle who put a stop to a whole ass alien invasion, and the absolute dickhead who got kidnapped and hurt by an actually crazy scientist and leaving me behind.” 

She doesn’t know when she started crying. 

“You’re really making me say it, Donatello Hamato, but I like you, and if anything - I mean anything - happens to you again? I’m going to kill whoever did it with my bare hands.” 

She’s not sure if Donnie understands, but she can see the corner of his lips quirk slightly before his eyes slip shut and he stills. His breaths become deep with sleep but his hand still remains firmly grasped in Kendra’s. She doesn’t let go until Mikey comes in to take over. 

-------

A week goes by in silence. Not from all of the Hamato’s, Kendra doesn’t think it’d be possible for them to be quiet for more than ten seconds. No. Donatello has not said a single word, or even made a noise of discomfort since he’d first woken up. He rarely even signs, much to the disappointment and worry of his brothers. He doesn’t ask for food or water, although they’re brought to him anyway, and he remains in his room nestled under his blankets and only moves when absolutely necessary. Despondent is the word that immediately springs to Kendra’s mind and she hates it. 

They retain their rotating shifts, although Kendra takes as many of them as she can. The last thing Donnie needs is an interrogation from his family, since it’s clear that he’s still gathering his thoughts over what had happened to him and shows discomfort any time his brothers try to remain alone with him. She justifies her veterinary knowledge, but she can also see Mikey whispering to Raph whenever the older brother looks like he’s going to protest. Thank whatever pizza thing they worship for the younger brother’s empathy. Kendra sets up a cot that Donnie had in his lab and sleeps across the room when she can. 

This is how she knows Donnie’s having a nightmare almost exactly a week after he’d moved back into his room. 

He didn’t sleep very often, fiddling at all hours with some form of tech since he had to avoid screens with his head injury or pretending to sleep as he laid on top of the mattress. Kendra’s relief at his breaths finally evening out is short lived as a few hours after he slipped under she hears him begin to thrash, then cries out in pain as he aggravates the wounds on his shell. She’s out of the cot and onto his bed in seconds, cupping her hands gently onto his face and tapping gently at his cheeks. His eyes snap open and for a moment she wonders if she’s going to lose a finger or two before clarity comes to his vision. For the first time in a week she feels like he recognizes her. 

She finds herself wrapped in an embrace, a surprising development but not one she’s going to take lightly as she feels Donnie trembling against her. She squeezes, not enough to hurt but enough to ground as Donnie’s forehead falls heavy to her shoulder. The two of them sit there, Kendra gently rubbing Donnie’s shell until she feels his breath hitch. 

“He…made a control panel…like the technodrome…” His voice is raspy from disuse and Kendra almost wants to stop him so he could get a drink or something, but she also understands that this is important both for Donatello to say and for her to hear. Regardless of how sick the thought of hearing what caused these wounds makes her feel. 

“Or…tried to…’t was…nothing like her…” 

Kendra recalls the ship that had hovered over New York. She thinks of its size and the terror it struck into its citizens. She couldn’t imagine anyone willingly recreating that, this Bishop Bastard was even worse than she thought. Mikey had told them a bit about how the ship had been controlled - access directly to the nervous system as far as they could tell. One sleepless night Donnie had even described what it had felt like to control the ship, Kendra never forgot the almost melancholic expression on his face as he recalled connecting to it. 

“There was no synergy…just pain…it tried to control…it tried to take…take… take ….” The anguish in Donnie’s voice has Kendra holding him all the tighter, burying her face in his shoulder in the only way she could try to comfort. The words are spilling out of him now, faster and every word sounds worse as he explains in fractured segments what Bishop had done. 

“...I felt violated …it tried to control me even though it was supposed to be controlled. Bishop was furious…he didn’t understand why it wasn’t working…” Donnie let out a broken laugh, “took it out on me…but it was nothing compared to it…nausea got worse…every time I was hooked up to it…”

She can feel him shudder at the memory and she squeezes him the best she can, hoping that the weight of her against him was helping to keep him grounded as he continued talking. 

“He kept upgrading it…and connecting me to it…” He pauses, exhaling hard and coughing a bit as he does so, “It noticed too late when I took control...That’s how I got the signal out. You already know the rest…”

Kendra can feel that he’s done, the way he slumps against her and the ragged breathing as he attempts to reign in his thoughts. She’s never been great at comforting people in the conventional sense, but she has a feeling she can share what she was feeling about the whole situation. 

“What an absolute shithead.” 

She feels him jolt in surprise before he snorts, finally finally returning her hold and tugging her closer to him as he laughs. It’s the best sound  she’s ever heard. 

“Yeah, he really was an absolute dick! A real piece of work, shit from the sewers!” Donnie manages to choke out between chuckles and Kendra can’t help but lean into his laughter. 

“So just to make sure I wasn’t just high on painkillers…you did say you liked me right?” Donnie murmurs after they’d both calmed down enough to lay comfortably on the bed. Donnie doesn’t let Kendra go, drawing comfort in her warmth as she messes absently with his hand. She pressed her palm against his own, twining and untwining their fingers until he spoke - then she abruptly dropped his hand. 

Kendra groans, rolling over to hide her face against the mattress despite their tangled legs keeping her mostly facing Donnie, “Yes, yes unfortunately I did.” 

“What was that? Could you repeat it?” Donnie asks cheekily, laughing again when Kendra lifts her face from the mattress to scowl at him. 

“Yes! I did! Got a problem with it ?” 

Donnie’s face is priceless, shifting from teasing to blushing in a way that makes Kendra smirk victoriously as she gently rubs his arm. 

“I…suppose…I like you too,” Donnie manages to stutter out. 

“You tell anyone I got mushy like that and I’ll strangle you,” Kendra mutters. 

Donnie barks out a laugh, “Wouldn’t dream of it Kendra.” 

Kendra knows deep down that this isn’t over. Bishop was still out there, a destroyed lab surely wouldn’t keep him down for long. For the moment however, she’s going to enjoy Donnie’s warm embrace and do what she can to help him feel safe even if that means tearing down the bastard herself.

[svartalfhild]

I found it... lol. 7, 14, and 23 for the DA codex prompts. :3c (Do all of them or choose whichever you'd like!)

Ohohoho, thank you, friend!

7. Something written by a character from a previous game about Rook

[An excerpt from Merrill's journal.]

Varric was always too embarrassed to say it directly, but he loved all of his friends very much, and he showed it in the way he looked after them. He was a sarcastic and grumpy dwarf, but a soft one, in his heart. I will miss him more than I could possibly say, and so will many others.

But I don't think there's anyone in the world who will miss him more than Rook. Varric wrote of her a few times, and I heard still more from Isabela, but I never met her until Varric's funeral. The poor dear was as gentle and solemn as any Mortalitasi I've ever met, but she seemed empty, unmoored, like she'd run out of feelings and she was simply going through the motions of living without much direction. I've seen that look before on Morwen after she learned her mother had been lost in the Fade.

It must be especially painful for someone like Rook to lose someone like Varric. Apparently she was a foundling left in the Grand Necropolis and she'd never known anything else but the crypts and the Mourn Watch until Varric showed up. How awful to get a taste of what it's like to have a parent, only to have it snatched away a year later. I'm glad she has loyal friends looking after her now. The other necromancer that was with her appears to be her partner, and he seems a kind and steady sort, so I know she's in good hands.

14. A letter from a faction leader to a companion about Rook’s actions

[A letter from the First Warden covered in punctures and griffon slobber found crumpled in a ball on the ground.]

Warden Davrin,

Keep that little necromancer freak you've been hanging around with out of our way. I don't care that she's been helping you search for the griffons. She's an arrogant little menace who's spreading unfounded conspiracy theories that are destroying morale and distracting us from our mission. Evka and Antoine have enough on their plates without her filling their heads with ideas. If you cannot restrain her, then I will find someone who can.

Sincerely,

First Warden Glastrum

23. Excerpt from a play dramatizing Rook’s actions (Bonus: include a review of this play)

[An excerpt and review of the play From the North to the Lighthouse.]

ROOK: Look! We have frightened her! Perhaps now she will be willing to hear reason! EMMRICH: One can only hope, mijn liefje! GHILAN'NAIN: (enter stage right) Insolent worm! You have not beaten me! You cannot! For I am a god! (GHILAN'NAIN'S tentacles flop down, attempting to hit ROOK and her COMPANIONS.) LUCANIS: Mierda! I do not think she is interested in la diplomazia, Rook!

This Ferelden play's take on the heroics of the Veilguard is bizarrely highbrow in its phrasing, yet simplistic and stilted in its plot and flow. The characters frequently speak in their native tongues, and whether this is an awkward attempt to celebrate the many different walks of life the Veilguard came from or just the author making a poor attempt at appearing more erudite is unclear. The romantic subplot, while accurate to what is publicly known about Rook and Emmrich Volkarin's relationship, pushes the boundaries on what is permissible in a public theatre and what might be construed as lascivious slander by the subjects of the play. I likewise fear for the health of the author based on his comedic portrayal of First Talon Lucanis Dellamorte of the Antivan Crows. To no one's surprise, it is these risky parts of the production that make it most worth seeing. Rumor has it that Queen Anora herself has seen the play twice. The author will likely need such an ally if he hopes to continue his career as a playwright.

-Rudolf Angenent for the Cumberland Chronicle

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 100 FOLLOWERS STAR!!! I’m immensely proud of your milestone <333.

This is a request for the celebration. angst prompt; “Us? There was never an ‘us’.”

With bestfriend!Bradley. Maybe he’s been flirty with the reader since they were kids but now they’ve had enough..? But you don’t have to take it that way.

CONGRATULATIONS ONCE AGAIN, I love you so so much BESTIEE!!!💕💕💕

Pav! Thanks so much for this request! I had a ball writing it and I love the additional context! I hope this hit everything about bestfriend!Bradley you were searching for! Love you! 💕💕💕💕💕💕

Heartbreak in the Making

You're not a Navy brat, though you're sure that anyone who's ever met your best friend would assume otherwise. You'd met Bradley Bradshaw when you were both five years old. He and his mom had moved into the house next door in your small suburban Virginia neighborhood. He'd been the odd kid out, the one kids weren't sure how to include. He was quiet and always played with airplane figurines in the corner of the sandbox. 

And then one day, one of the other boys, a bully named Billy, had tried to snatch a plane out of his hand. You'd seen red, marched right up to Billy, and told him off, pushing him over into the sand and rescuing the plane. When you'd turned back to Bradley, he'd been looking at you in awe. You'd cleaned your hand on your overalls and introduced yourself before helping him up and running towards your mama with his hand held tight in yours. The two of you had gotten ice cream together with your mamas, and the rest, as they say, was history.

So, Bradley Bradshaw is your best friend. And that hasn't changed, at least for you. The truth is, you've both changed from the knobby kneed kids you were when you were younger. Time and a potent mixture of growth spurts, braces, and puberty will do that, you guess. But it was the behavioral change that confused you the most. It was inevitable. When puberty hits, some boys become attracted to girls and vice versa. So you expected the phone calls a few minutes before he was supposed to pick you up when he’d say, “Sorry, Sparrow! Marissa asked me out on a date! And I’d be stupid to say no to her, y’know? Love ya. We’ll make up for this and have movie night tomorrow instead, okay?”

What you hadn’t been expecting was the way he pulled you into his side at school. Or the way he insisted on carrying your books and walking you to and from your classes. The mixed messages were going to drive you crazy. And the worst part was that Bradley didn’t seem to realize what he was doing to you at all. The tangled snarl of your emotions is just getting tighter and tighter the more it happens. The root of the matter is that you’re in love with Bradley Bradshaw. You have been for years and each thoughtless touch and hug and kiss on the cheek? It’s like a nail in a coffin you’ve been building around yourself since the day you met him.

That brings you to now. It’s two months before your high school graduation. Bradley finally received his letter from the US Naval Academy.  You were sitting at the tiny kitchen table in the Bradshaw house, and Carole had her hands on his shoulders while you kneaded your hands together frantically as you sat across from him at the table. You can smell the scent of the lemon cleaning products Carole has been using since you were kids and feel the imperceptible shudder of the table as Bradley’s knee jolts in time with the frantic thudding of your heart. It’s silent as he rips the envelope open, and he spreads it out to read the Navy’s response. The paper is thick and heavy, each sheet embossed with the Navy logo.

From your vantage point at the table, all you can chronicle are the expressions floating across his face as he reads. At first, you can see excitement and hope. But then, with every word he reads, you can see his fingers clench around the paper, crumpling it. He tosses the letter on the table and stalks outside, the echoing crash of the back door echoing through the house.

"Can I?" Your voice is hesitant as you reach for the letter. 

"Yeah, honey. It's not good news, I'm afraid." Carole had sounded sad and a little happy at the same time. "It's going to take him a bit to adjust. Why don't you go join him?"

It's a rejection notice from the Naval Academy. You lay the letter back down and head out to find him. Like always, when he's mad, he's retreated to the shadow of the Dogwood tree in his backyard. When the two of you were younger, there had been a treehouse in it built by his Uncle Mav.

"Hey, B." You sit next to him in the grass. He's got his head in his hands and an abject look of despair on his face.

"I'm sorry." Your voice is gentle as you take in his face.

"I don't understand it. I worked so hard. And I still wasn't good enough to get in!" You can feel the exasperation in his voice as he speaks. "I did everything! And I'm a legacy. I've worked ridiculously hard! And they sent me back a letter saying that I'm not good enough to join the academy?!"

"Bradley, you can always try applying for the Navy again in a year, right?" You don't know who you're trying to convince more, him or you. "And, you know we can both go to UVA together in the meanwhile?"

"Sparrow, why would I go to UVA?" You don't know why he sounds so surprised.

"We've planned on doing that for years!" You're sure your voice and face are both exhibiting the same emotions.

"No, we haven't, Sparrow. You planned it." There's a cruel turn to his voice as he looks at you. "I never wanted to go to college with you. You're always around, and I know it's because Mom thinks you're good for me or whatever. I mean, come on. I can't always be expected to drop everything for you." Each cruel world has your heart shattering into even tinier pieces. "I'm going to San Diego. I'll stay with Uncle Mav and go to school there. I'll be closer to people in the Navy there, anyhow."

"B-but, what about us? What about our friendship?" You can't hide the quiver from your voice as you speak.

"Us? There was never an Us. You and I, we're childhood friends. Nothing more. And frankly, I think I've outgrown you." He’s looking down at you with all of the rage reflected in his eyes glaring at you.

"But, what happened? Did I do something wrong?" You're desperately reaching for anything and everything to try to understand him. "Just tell me. We've been friends for years. I'm sure I can fix whatever happened."

Bradley's voice is a cruel sneer as he looks at you. "Fix it? Fix what? I'll admit you were a good friend when we were in elementary school. But while I grew up, it didn't seem like you ever did. You're such a nerd, hiding out in the library over lunch and barely making friends. Do you even have any other friends? I mean, other than me?"

"And what about boys? There has to be somebody you like. Somebody you wanted to date. Come on. You can tell me. Or do I get to tell Marissa she was right and the pathetic little bird was in love with her best friend when he was so out of her league?"

A single tear tracks down your cheek at his words.

“Where do we go from here, then?” You’re looking into his eyes, trying and failing to corral the shattered pieces of your heart.

He tips your chin upwards, leaning into your face until you can feel the puffs of his breath on your face with a pincer grip on your chin.

“We, don’t go anywhere, little bird. You do whatever the hell it is you want to do in Virginia. I’m going to live my life without you. I wish I could say it’s nice knowing you, but frankly you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” He pushes you away before stalking back into the house.

Your heart is shattered. It doesn't help either that the next two months of school are filled with giggles and rumors floating around behind your back all courtesy of one Bradley Bradshaw.

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

[multiplicity-positivity]

hey, if this is okay to ask for, do you have any recommendations for mapping our headspaces?

we have a rather large headspace, and we'd like to be able to figure out the locations of key places (and maybe what they sorta look like) in relation to each other but nothing seems to work. thanks for reading!

hey there, our own system has been working for some time now to map out our own headspace. we have a part who has taken on the cartographer/chronicler role. i asked them to share a bit about their process, and this is what they had to say:

“Okay first up I made a list of all the places I know about. Not even necessarily places I’ve been just every place I know is there. And I talked to lots of others to ask them about places they know about. And some others can talk to the ones I can’t so we worked together to come up with a big ol list.

“Next up I started connecting the places. Like I know Margo’s garden is on the island. And I know the treehouse is on the island. But Toby’s woods is not on the island. And the (redacted) is close to Toby’s woods. And the outer space where (redacted) and (redacted) live is nearby there too. But the big ocean is still by the island.

“So once I know that a couple places are connected, I can draw them together. And I just keep drawing and drawing until it looks right. But sometimes I get it wrong. But when it’s wrong one of the others could tell me or something. And I’m not done with it I’m still working on it. Because it’s hard and sometimes I can’t reach a place and sometimes a place changes. And sometimes I gotta crumple up the map and start over because I was wrong. But I’m doing my best.”

us main fronters don’t dig too deep into our headspace for the safety and well-being of the whole system, so i don’t have much i can add here. i guess just start small with what you know, interview your headmates, and maybe try to collaborate. also don’t worry too much if your map turns out to be inaccurate, or if you have to constantly change and adjust things.

hopefully this could help? if anyone sees this who has managed to have some level of success mapping out their own headspace, feel free to share any tips or what your mapping process was like for anon.

[babydeathkid]

Crystals

The hair tie you let me borrow three weeks ago chokes my hand

until the flesh of my wrist wakes up red and ugly,

the hand that pinches at dry-leaf pages torn from chronicles of Next Year -

I was not thinking of Next Year when I lay drunk and full of words,

kissing the tines of her cutlery.

I thought of swallowing her hair, instead. I could have, and I did not.

Today, I hold the crumpled pages of books I’ll never read.

The words are in my lungs, now.

Before I held words, I held a sword.

My knuckles broke on the blade. All over, my skin bared its purple-green grief to a conscious galaxy.

I craved familiarity,

but I’d never been seen before.

I drank. I bit the bottle.

I allowed water to rinse unrecognizable words into my stomach to be digested and never-comprehended.

Today, I wear socks and rings to tell you who I am.

And this is what I do:

I wear things that I love.

Frame them and hang them from the ceiling,

You’ll knock your head on them if you’re not looking -

my wallpaper is the color of lyrics.

the creaking in my hips is a receipt I will show my deathbed one day.

it is no more to me than the receipt from dinner; the night I last touched you.

[katydoodles]

Stolen Credit Card Chronicles Headcanon: Chloé knows about Luka from Marinette. So, Chloé and Zoé spends a lot of money, backing up Marinette's fashion designer career as a "thank you" for this.

LOL I like the idea that Chloe and Luka meet through Marinette.

In the AU they are university age. Luka is studying Math and Music Theory cuz his dad is funding his tuition. Luka can afford to study what he wants, but feels weird because its not his money, and knows its a way Jagged Stone is trying to make up for being an absent father. Luka takes up a pizza delivery job and tutors on the side.

Chloe has gotten over some of her mommy issues and hero warship of her mom, but is still a shithead and arrogant. Lol she is taking revenge on her mom for years of neglect by stealing her card and spending it on what ever she wants.

Marinette happens to be doing some work for Audrey Bourgeois and comes across Chloe struggling on her math work. Audrey demeans Chloe for even trying to go to high education and should just model. Chloe gives Audrey the bird and walks away to find Zoe to spend money. That's when Marinette texts Luka to see if he has time, cuz she knows a rich girl who needs help with math.

Luka finds Chloe in the Uni library crumpling paper and violently shoving them in the trash. Luka offers his assistants and offers to tutor her, they get to work, and talk about their lives. Luka mentions that Marinette was actually the one who suggested him to tutor Chloe to make extra cash.

I have thought about this too much

[melongraph56]

day four - stories

Rythian crumpled to the ground, dropping to his knees as his clenched fists struck the earth, letting out a cry that aggravated the heavens. “Rythian!” Familiar voices called out from behind him. A vapor of lavender magic escaped his eyes as they fluttered open, returning him back to reality. His throat burned, did he scream while he was in a daze? He felt cool droplets running down his face, were those tears? Or perhaps it was the rain, it had to be the rain. Regardless, Rythian quickly rubbed his face with a hand before the girls arrived. Kirsty and Briony finally found him. “There you are! You made us worried sick,” Kirsty scolded him with her hands on her hips while Briony sat beside him with a paw on his back as she carried a worried look. They were lucky to find him unharmed thanks to that deafening cry. Rythian sat back on his knees, turning towards them, “I’m…” he paused, swallowing any saliva he had to cool his throat, “I’m sorry. Let’s go home.”

- an excerpt from a fanfic in progress

a message to zoey and rythian,

thank you for creating the blackrock chronicles, it is a wonderful immersive series that is loved by many to this day. also thank you for choosing to not finish the series. it was a hard decision to make but being burnt out is honestly awful and building sets with the limitations you had in a cubed world as well as with limited time is difficult, I know both experiences very well,,, used to build for a minecraft server to the point of burn out. nonetheless the unfinished series allowed us, the fans, a chance to have fun with our own crazy versions of an ending and opened doors to many AUs and headcannons we get to share with one another. I struggle to write whether it was for school or as a hobby to this day, however this series has always been a big motivator when I try to write and I'm grateful. thank you again

- melon